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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Scotland: Vols. VI–VIII. 1876–79.

Lindores Abbey

The Folk at Lindores

By James Stirling

O, WEEL may I mind on the folk at Lindores;

Though it ’s lang sin’ I had onie troke at Lindores;

For the blythe winter night

Flew o’er us fu’ light,

Wi’ the sang, an’ the crack, an’ the joke at Lindores.

The auld wife an’ the lasses would spin at Lindores;

An’ the auld man to tales would begin at Lindores,

How in days o’ his youth

The red rebels cam’ south,

An’ spulzied the feck o’ his kin at Lindores.

An’ he ’d tell monie strange says and saws at Lindores;

How he hated the dominie’s tawse at Lindores,

How i’ the lang day

The truan’ he ’d play,

An’ set aff to herrie the craws at Lindores.

An’ he ’d sing monie an auld-warld rhyme at Lindores;

An’ tell o’ the covenant time at Lindores;

How Clavers, fell chiel’!

Was in league wi’ the deil,

How a ball stottit ance aff his wame at Lindores.

They were kind to ilk body that came to Lindores,

To the puir, an’ the blind, an’ the lame at Lindores;

Wi’ handfu’s o’ meal,

An’ wi’ platefu’s o’ kale,

An’ the stranger was sure o’ a hame at Lindores.

But the auld man’s departed this life at Lindores;

An’ a tear ’s in the e’e o’ the wife at Lindores;

I dinna weel ken

Whan I ’ll be there again,

But sorrow, I ’m fearin’, is rife at Lindores.