HEATHER ALE. 



Rudely plucked from their hiding, 

 Never a word they spoke: 



A son and his aged father 

 Last of the dwarfish folk. 



The king sat high on his charger, 



He looked on the little men; 

 And the dwarfish and swarthy couple 



Looked at the king again. 

 Down by the shore he had them ; 



And there on the giddy brink 

 "I give you life, ye vermin, 



For the secret of the drink." 



There stood the son and father 



And they looked high and low ; 

 The heather was red around them, 



The sea rumbled below. 

 And up spoke the father, 



Shrill was his voice to hear : 

 "I have a word in private, 



A word for the royal ear. 



"Life is dear to the aged, 



And honour a little thing; 

 I would gladly sell the secret," 



Quoth the Pict to the king. 

 His voice was small as a sparrow's. 



And shrill and wonderful clear : 

 "I would gladly sell my secret, 



Only my son I fear. 



T06 



