The channerin' worm doth chide;
Gin we be miss'd out o' our place,
A sair pain we maun bide."

"Lie still, lie still but a little wee while,
Lie still but if we may;
Gin my mother should miss us when she wakes,
She'll go mad ere it be the day.

"Our mother has nae mair but us;
See where she leans asleep;
The mantle that was on herself,
She has happ'd it round our feet."

O it's they have ta'en up their mother's mantle,
And they've hung it on a pin;
"O lang may ye hing, my mother's mantle,
Ere ye hap us again!

"Fare ye weel, my mother dear!
Fareweel to barn and byre!
And fare ye weel, the bonny lass
That kindles my mother's fire!"

A LYKE-WAKE DIRGE

This ae nighte, this ae nighte,
--_Every nighte and alle,_
Fire and sleet and candle-lighte,
_And Christe receive thy saule._