Nor are their deathly kisses sweet
On lips of any earthly man.
And half I envy him who now,
Clothed in her Court's enchanted green,
By moonlit loch or mountain's brow
Is Chaplain to the Fairy Queen.



TO ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
WITH KIRK'S 'SECRET COMMONWEALTH'



O Louis! you that like them maist,
Ye're far frae kelpie, wraith, and ghaist,
And fairy dames, no unco chaste,
And haunted cell.
Among a heathen clan ye're placed,
That kensna hell!

Ye hae nae heather, peat, nor birks,
Nae trout in a' yer burnies lurks,
There are nae bonny U.P. kirks,
An awfu' place!
Nane kens the Covenant o' Works
Frae that o' Grace!

But whiles, maybe, to them ye'll read
Blads o' the Covenanting creed,