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O! had ye seen the bairns’ fricht,
As they stared at this wild and unyirthly wicht,
As they skulkit in ‘tween the dark an’ the licht,
An’ graned out, Aiken-drum!

“Sauf us!” quoth Jock, “d’ye see sick e’en?”
Cries Kate, “There’s a hole where a nose should ha’ been;
An’ the mouth’s like a gash that a horn had ri’en;
Wow! keep’s frae Aiken-drum!”

The black dog growlin’ cow’red his tail,
The lassie swarf’d, loot fa’ the pail;
Rob’s lingle brack as he mendit the flail,
At the sicht o’ Aiken-drum.

His matted head on his breast did rest,
A lang blue beard wan’ered down like a vest;
But the glare o’ his e’e hath nae bard exprest,
Nor the skimes o’ Aiken-drum.

Roun’ his hairy form there was naething seen,
But a philabeg o’ the rashes green,
An’ his knotted knees play’d aye knoit between;
What a sicht was Aiken-drum!

On his wauchie arms three claws did meet,
As they trail’d on the grim’ by his taeless feet;
E’en the auld gudeman himsel’ did sweat,
To look at Aiken-drum.

But he drew a score, himsel’ did sain,
The auld wife tried, but her tongue was gane;
While the young ane closer clespit her wean,
And turn’d frae Aiken-drum.

But the canty auld wife cam till her braith,
And she thocht the Bible micht ward aif scaith;
Be it benshee, bogle, ghaist, or wraith–
But it fear’d na Aiken-drum.

“His presence protect us!” quoth the auld gudeman;
“What wad ye, whare won ye,–by sea or by lan’?
I conjure ye–speak–by the Beuk in my han’!”
What a grane gae Aiken-drum!

“I lived in a lan’ whare we saw nae sky,
I dwalt in a spot whare a burn rins na by;
But I’se dwall noo wi’ you if ye like to try–
Hae ye wark for Aiken drum?

“I’ll shiel a’ your sheep i’ the mornin’ sune,[2]
I’ll berry your crap by the licht o’ the moon,
An’ ba the bairns wi’ an unkenn’d tune,
If ye’ll keep puir Aiken-drum.

“I’ll loup the linn when ye canna wade,
I’ll kirn the kirn, an’ I’ll turn the bread;
An’ the wildest fillie that e’er ran rede
I’se tame’t,’ quoth Aiken-drum!

“To wear the tod frae the flock on the fell–
To gather the dew frae the heather-bell–
An’ to look at my face in your clear crystal well,
Micht gie pleasure to Aiken-drum.

“I’se seek nae guids, gear, bond, nor mark;
I use nae beddin’, shoon, nor sark;
But a cogfu’ o’ brose ‘tween the licht an’ the dark
Is the wage o’ Aiken-drum.”

Quoth the wylie auld wife, “The thing speaks weel;
Our workers are scant–we hae routh o’ meal;
Giff he’ll do as he says–be he man, be he de’il,
Wow! we’ll try this Aiken-drum.”

But the wenches skirl’d, “He’s no’ be here!
His eldritch look gars us swarf wi’ fear;
An’ the feint a ane will the house come near,
If they think but o’ Aiken-drum.

“For a foul and a stalwart ghaist is he,
Despair sits broodin’ aboon his e’e-bree,
And unchancie to light o’ a maiden’s e’e,
Is the glower o’ Aiken-drum.”

“Puir clipmalabors! ye hae little wit;
Is’t na hallowmas noo, an’ the crap out yet?”
Sae she seelenc’d them a’ wi’ a stamp o’ her fit,
“Sit-yer-wa’s-down, Aiken-drum.”

Roun’ a’ that side what wark was dune,
By the streamer’s gleam, or the glance o’ the moon;
A word, or a wish–an’ the Brownie cam sune,
Sae helpfu’ was Aiken-drum.

But he slade aye awa or the sun was up,
He ne’er could look straught on Macmillan’s cup;[3]
They watch’d–but nane saw him his brose ever sup
Nor a spune sought Aiken-drum.