CAULD is the eenin blast,
O Boreas oer the pool,
An dawin it is dreary,
When birks are bare at Yule.
Cauld blaws the eenin blast,
When bitter bites the frost,
And, in the mirk and dreary drift,
The hills and glens are lost:
Neer sae murky blew the night
That drifted oer the hill,
But bonie Peg-a-Ramsay
Gat grist to her mill.
