address to the deil
o prce! o chief of any throned pow&039;rs
that led th&039; ebattl&039;d seraphi to war—
ilton
o thou! whatever title suit thee—
auld hornie, satan, nick, or clootie,
wha yon cavern gri an&039; otie,
clos&039;d under hatches,
spairs about the brunstane otie,
to scaud poor wretches!
hear , auld hangie, for a wee,
an&039; let poor daned bodies be;
i&039; sure sa&039; pleasure it can gie,
ev&039;n to a deil,
to skelp an&039; scaud poor dogs like ,
an&039; hear seel!
great is thy pow&039;r an&039; great thy fa;
far ken&039;d an&039; noted is thy na;
an&039; tho&039; yon lo&039; heuch&039;s thy ha,
thou travels far;
an&039; faith! thou&039;s neither g nor ,
nor bte, nor scaur
whiles, rangg like a roar lion,
for prey, a&039; holes and rners try;
whiles, on the strong-d&039;d tepest fly,
tirl the kirks;
whiles, the huan bo pry,
unseen thou rks
i&039;ve heard y rev&039;rend graunie say,
nely glens ye like to stray;
or where auld ru&039;d castles grey
nod to the oon,
ye fright the nightly wand&039;rer&039;s way,
wi&039; eldritch croon
when ilight did y graunie suon,
to say her pray&039;rs, doe, honest woan!
aft&039;yont the dyke she&039;s heard you bu,
wi&039; eerie drone;
or, rtl, thro&039; the boortrees ,
wi&039; heavy groan
ae dreary, dy, ter night,
the stars shot down wi&039; sklent light,
wi&039; you, ysel&039; i gat a fright,
ayont the lough;
ye, like a rash-bs, stood sight,
wi&039; wav&039; ugh
the cudl y nieve did shake,
each brist&039;ld hair stood like a stake,
when wi&039; an eldritch, stoor “aick, aick,”
aang the sprgs,
awa ye satter&039;d like a drake,
on whistl&039; gs
let war
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