Robert Burns (1759–1796). Poems and Songs.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.
446 . A Vision
A
Where the wa’flower scents the dewy air,
Where the howlet mourns in her ivy bower,
And tells the midnight moon her care.
The stars they shot alang the sky; The fox was howling on the hill, And the distant echoing glens reply. Was rushing by the ruin’d wa’s, Hasting to join the sweeping Nith, Whase distant roaring swells and fa’s. Her lights, wi’ hissing, eerie din; Athwart the lift they start and shift, Like Fortune’s favors, tint as win. And, by the moonbeam, shook to see A stern and stalwart ghaist arise, Attir’d as Minstrels wont to be. His daring look had daunted me; And on his bonnet grav’d was plain, The sacred posy—“LIBERTIE!” Might rous’d the slumb’ring Dead to hear; But oh, it was a tale of woe, As ever met a Briton’s ear! He, weeping, wailed his latter times; But what he said—it was nae play, I winna venture’t in my rhymes.