And whiles their pagan wames ye'll feed
On halesome parritch;
And syne ye'll gar them learn a screed
O' the Shorter Carritch.

Yet thae uncovenanted shavers
Hae rowth, ye say, o' clash and clavers
O' gods and etins--auld wives' havers,
But their delight;
The voice o' him that tells them quavers
Just wi' fair fright.

And ye might tell, ayont the faem,
Thae Hieland clashes o' our hame
To speak the truth, I takna shame
To half believe them;
And, stamped wi' Tusitala's name,
They'll a' receive them.

And folk to come ayont the sea
May hear the yowl o' the Banshie,
And frae the water-kelpie flee,
Ere a' things cease,
And island bairns may stolen be
By the Folk o' Peace.



FOR MARK TWAIN'S JUBILEE