Classic Poem

Some say there's nae witches ava,
That it's only an auld-world dream,
Or that they've been frighten'd awa'
By science, by knowledge, and steam.
Some say sic a thing canna be
As selling ane's sel' to Mahoun;
But ye've only to hearken to me
And the story o' auld Granny Broon.

Oh, she was a gruesome auld dame!
And she howff'd by the Locher's lood fa' —
Ye couldna just ca' it her hame,
For granny was aften awa'.
She'd talk of the planets, I voo,
And show ye the way they swing roun';
There's few been as near them, I troo,
As that wrinkled auld witch, Granny Broon.

As sure's there was wreck on the Firth,
Auld Granny was aff frae her hame;
She was riding the clouds in her mirth,
Or lashing the sea into faem.
Her howe voice the fishermen kent,
That the win's and the waves couldna droon,
But they daurna gie ill wishes vent
On that wicked auld witch, Granny Broon.

And when in a riddle she'd float
On the darksome, rouch ocean her lane,
She was sure to coup some hapless boat
And mak' aff for the mountains o' Spain.
She was oot a' that wild windy night
When the bell in the steeple fell doun,
For the Session had wauken'd the spite
And the anger o' auld Granny Broon.

An' when she wad tak' to the shape
O' a pyat, and flee owre the kirk,
The Session was sure o' a scrape —
Some awfu' sculduddery work;
An' when there was death i' the cup,
She wad come like a dog and coor doun;
In terror the kimmers look'd up,
For they kent it was auld Granny Broon.

Her man gaed to skin and to bane
Wi' her changin' him into a mare,
For wi' saddle an' bridle an' rein
She rode him a' nicht thro' the air.
When auld Sturdy's mare took a fricht,
And ran till it ran itsel' doon,
Wha think ye was ridin't a' nicht
But the deevil an' auld Granny Broon.

An' to it auld Sturdy wad stick
That he saw the queer couple astride.
" Noo, grip to the tail, " quoth Auld Nick,
" An', ma certie, but we'll hae a ride! "
He follow'd thro' moor and thro' dale,
And chased them the Hie Craig aroon',
But he only could see the mare's tail,
And the nicht-mutch o' auld Granny Broon.

An' didna Kate Clurie ae nicht
Catch her playin' at cards wi' the deil?
By the time Kate got ben to the licht
He had changed himsel' into Will Steel.
When the peddler was foun' in the snaw,
Wi' an awfu' deep clour on his croon,
A hare was seen snoovin' awa'
Wi' the hirple o' auld Granny Broon.

An' didna the sailor declare
That she follow'd him thro' ilka place?
In ocean, in earth, and in air,
He kent ilka screw o' her face.
An' oh! at Vesuvius black,
It's wha does he see fleein' doun,
Wi' guid Elder Barr on her back,
But the wicked auld witch, Granny Broon?

Jean Ferly cam' on her ae day —
She was boiling hert's bluid in a pat —
" Guid guide us! " was a' Jean could say,
When she changed hersel' into a cat.
For mysel', I was sittin' ae nicht
Wi' my lugs to the win's eerie soon', —
Ye may think that I got a gey fricht
When I heard it cry, " Auld Granny Broon? "

But Death got auld Granny at last;
She sleeps in the mools wi' her cat.
That the last o' her cantrips is cast,
I'm no juist sae certain o' that!
Tho' some folk, that fain wad be wise
Abune a' that in history's laid doun,
Will threep that it's little save lies
I've been telling o' auld Granny Broon.