* THE MILLER *

When riven wicks o’ mou's were rife,

An’ bonnets clad the green,

Aye in the thickest o’ the strife

Auld Dusty Tam was seen.

Nae Tarlan’ man daur flout his fame

Had he a chance to hear;

The Leochel men slid canny hame

When he cam’ aff his mear.

At Scuttrie or at Tumblin’ Fair

Nane ordered in sae free,

Or kent sae weel the way to share

A mutchkin amo’ three.

An’ when he took the road at nicht,

His bonnet some ajee,

Ye seldom saw a baulder wicht —

Till Isie met his e'e.

She waited whaur the muirlan’ track

Strikes wi’ the hamewith turn;

An’ ower him there her anger brak’

Like some spate-ridden burn.

The ouzel, startled, left the saugh

An’ skimmed alang the lade,

The kitty-neddies fae the haugh

Gaed pipin’ ower her head.

But still she flate till Tammas, now

Dismounted on the loan,

Ran to the mill an’ pu'd the tow

That set the water on;

Syne busy banged the girnal lids,

An’ tossed the sacks about,

Or steered again the bleezin’ sids,

While aye she raved without.

She bann'd the moulter an’ the mill,

The intak, lade, and dam,

The reekit dryster in the kil’,

Syne back again to Tam.

Till dark — the minister himsel’

I'll swear he couldna stap her —

Her teethless mou’ was like a bell,

Her tongue the clangin’ clapper.

Neist mornin’ she laid doon the law —

He'd gang nae mair to fairs;

An’ sae he held the jaud in awe

He kept it — till St. Sairs.