Alane upon the field she stood,
The tattie-bogle, tall an' prood.
But certie, she wis smairt an'
braw,
A bonnie lass, tho' made o'
straw.
Her gowden hair wis made o' oo.
Her dentie goon when it wis new
Langsyne, hid been the
guidwife's best.
Sae trigly wis the bogle drest!
The beasts they cam' frae a' the
airts.
(The tod ran tours frae furrin'
pairts.)
They cam' by day, they cam' by
nicht,
To see a maist byordnar sicht.
An' craws an sparras by the
score,
A wale o' burds, mair nor afore.
The fermer roared an' raged
aboot.
'A'll cast yon tattie-bogle oot!'
Pair tattie-bogle, she wis wae.
'Eh!' said the houlet, 'Whits a
dae?'
He flew doon frae the elder
tree.
'Noo, dry yer e'en an' herk tae
me.
'See, lassie, tak ma guid
advice.
There is nae yiss ye bein' nice.
Can ye nae glower an' skreich
an' a'
Tae sen' thae cooardie burds awa'?'
The bogle grat nae mair: instead
'A'm much obleeged tae ye,' she
said
'Ma voice is lood - jist like
the craik!'
'Then sing,' he said, ' for ony
sake!'
It chilled the verra bluid tae
hear
The bogle's sang : frae far an'
near
The burds rose up, a' frichtit
sair
An' nivver cam back ony mair.
Sae should ye pass at skreich o'
day
Alang the road frae Auchenblae,
An' hear a strange uncanny soun,
That scares the burds for miles aroon,
A soon like pincils on a sclate,
Be on yer way an' dinna wait.
Ye can be shair as onything
Ye've heard the tattie-bogle
sing.
