They're dingin' doon an' levellin' up,
And makin' straught an' fair;
For folk that flee in motor cars
And little ken or care:

Little ken o' thae twa auld dykes
That wynd by RAVELSTON lea
And by CORSTORPHINE'S bosky hill
Whaur dreams, they say, rin free.

They 're dingin' doon an' makin' straught —
The howes i' th' road they 'll fill:
Wi' iron rails they 'll prim the place,
But auld Romance they 'll kill.

Thae kindly dykes that saw SCOTT pass
Wi' MARJORY rowed in his plaid —
That shelter't them frae Norlan' blasts —
Doon they will süne be laid.

Through a' my days I hae kent THE DYKES
Baith early morn an' nicht:
When corn was ripe, or snaw lay white,
And whiles by Love's müne-licht!

But O ye Dykes of Ravelston!
Wi' yer auld-world, narra road:
The new may be fine, but no' for me —
Howbeit fair and broad.