Fietp MEETINGS. 
And he, nor any of his train, 
While minding thus to flit, 
Thinks of the weary prisoner, 
Deep in the castle pit. 
They were not gane a day, a day, 
A day but barely four, 
When neighbours spake of dismal cries 
Were heard from Spedlins Tower. 
They mingled wi’ the sighs of trees, 
And the thud-thud o’ the lin; 
But nae ane thocht ’twas a deein’ man 
That made that eldrich din. 
At last they mind the gipsy loon, 
In dungeon lay unfed; 
But ere the castle key was got 
The gipsy loon was dead. 
They found the wretch stretch’d out at length 
Upon the cold, cold stone, 
With starting eyes and hollow cheek, 
And arms pee to ipa bone! 
Now Gpediin is an eerie havea, 
For oft at mirk midnight 
The wail of Porteous’ starving cry 
Fills a’ that house wi’ fright. 
**O let me out, O let me out, 
Sharp hunger cuts me sore; 
If ye suffer me to perish so, 
Vll haunt you evermore!’’ 
O sad, sad was the Jardine then, 
His heart was sorely smit; 
Till he could wish himself had been 
Left in that deadly pit. 
But ‘‘ Cheer up,’’ cried his lady fair, 
“?Tis purpose makes the sin, 
And where the heart has had no part 
God holds His creature clean.’’ 
Then Jardine sought a holy man 
To lay that vexing sprite; 
And for a week that holy man 
Was praying day and night. 
And all that time in Spedlins house 
Was held a solemn fast, 
201 
