Hearken, thou craggy ocean-pyramid,
Give answer by thy voice—the sea-fowls' screams!
When were thy shoulders mantled in huge streams?
When from the sun was thy broad forehead hid?
How long is't since the mighty Power bid
Thee heave to airy sleep from fathom dreams—
Sleep in the lap of thunder or sunbeams—
Or when grey clouds are thy cold coverlid!
Thou answer'st not; for thou art dead asleep.
Thy life is but two dead eternities,
The last in air, the former in the deep!
First with the whales, last with the eagle-skies!
Drowned wast thou till an earthquake made thee steep,
Another cannot wake thy giant-size!

Duncan Gray cam here to woo,
Ha, ha, the wooing o’t,
On blythe Yule Night when we were fu’,
Ha, ha, the wooing o’t,
Maggie coost her head fu’ high,
Looked asklent and unco skeigh,
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh;
Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.

Duncan fleeched, and Duncan prayed;
Ha, ha, the wooing o’t,
Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig;
Ha, ha, the wooing o’t,
Duncan sighed baith out and in,
Grat his een baith bleer’t and blin’,
Spak o’ lowpin ower a linn;
Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.

Time and Chance are but a tide,
Ha, ha, the wooing o’t,
Slighted love is sair to bide,
Ha, ha, the wooing o’t,
Shall I, like a fool, quoth he,
For a haughty hizzie dee?
She may *** to -France for me!
Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.

How it comes let Doctors tell,
Ha, ha, the wooing o’t,
Meg grew sick as he grew hale,
Ha, ha, the wooing o’t,
Something in her ***** wrings,
For relief a sigh she brings;
And O her een, they spak sic things!
Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.

Duncan was a lad o’ grace,
Ha, ha, the wooing o’t,
Maggie’s was a piteous case,
Ha, ha, the wooing o’t,
Duncan could na be her death,
Swelling Pity smoored his Wrath;
Now they’re crouse and canty baith,
Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.

Ailsa Craig, Ailsa Craig. Ailsa Craig
Why can't  I have you instead of
Kelsea,Kelsea,Kelsea,
what a favorite of the showbench.
Give me Leak the Lyon anytime
in favour of Pendle Improved.
Onions are for eating,
flavour is more important
to hell who wins on the show day.