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The lay of the Scottish fiddle : a tale of Havre de Grace | ||
36
X.
Oft from his bed he forth did hie,
At ghastly midnight hour,
When witches on their broomsticks ply,
And fairies leave their bowoe.
At ghastly midnight hour,
When witches on their broomsticks ply,
And fairies leave their bowoe.
And roam at large o'er hill and dale,
And prowl in silence round,
Skulking, like sheeted spectre pale,
O'er holy churchyard mound.
And prowl in silence round,
Skulking, like sheeted spectre pale,
O'er holy churchyard mound.
And if perchance he hap'd to find,
A hen roost he might rob,
Or shirt, aye swelling in the wind.
Or any other job;
A hen roost he might rob,
Or shirt, aye swelling in the wind.
Or any other job;
Merrily, merrily he would hie,
To the castle and hide his spoil,
And when was rais'd a hue and cry,
Like holy innocent would smile
To the castle and hide his spoil,
And when was rais'd a hue and cry,
Like holy innocent would smile
The lay of the Scottish fiddle : a tale of Havre de Grace | ||