A T Th D（1 / 3）

address to the deil

o prce! o chief of any throned pow&039;rs

that led th&039; ebattl&039;d seraphi to war—

ilton

o thou! whatever title suit thee—

auld hornie, satan, nick, or clootie,

wha yon cavern gri an&039; otie,

clos&039;d under hatches,

spairs about the brunstane otie,

to scaud poor wretches!

hear , auld hangie, for a wee,

an&039; let poor daned bodies be;

i&039; sure sa&039; pleasure it can gie,

ev&039;n to a deil,

to skelp an&039; scaud poor dogs like ,

an&039; hear seel!

great is thy pow&039;r an&039; great thy fa;

far ken&039;d an&039; noted is thy na;

an&039; tho&039; yon lo&039; heuch&039;s thy ha,

thou travels far;

an&039; faith! thou&039;s neither g nor ,

nor bte, nor scaur

whiles, rangg like a roar lion,

for prey, a&039; holes and rners try;

whiles, on the strong-d&039;d tepest fly,

tirl the kirks;

whiles, the huan bo pry,

unseen thou rks

i&039;ve heard y rev&039;rend graunie say,

nely glens ye like to stray;

or where auld ru&039;d castles grey

nod to the oon,

ye fright the nightly wand&039;rer&039;s way,

wi&039; eldritch croon

when ilight did y graunie suon,

to say her pray&039;rs, doe, honest woan!

aft&039;yont the dyke she&039;s heard you bu,

wi&039; eerie drone;

or, rtl, thro&039; the boortrees ,

wi&039; heavy groan

ae dreary, dy, ter night,

the stars shot down wi&039; sklent light,

wi&039; you, ysel&039; i gat a fright,

ayont the lough;

ye, like a rash-bs, stood sight,

wi&039; wav&039; ugh

the cudl y nieve did shake,

each brist&039;ld hair stood like a stake,

when wi&039; an eldritch, stoor “aick, aick,”

aang the sprgs,

awa ye satter&039;d like a drake,

on whistl&039; gs

let war