The Wizard Laird O Skene (A Ballad)

The Wizard Laird o Skene (1680-1724) Sir Alexander Skene of Skene the 16th Baron of that race Traivelled tae Padua tae larn the blaik airts o thon evil place For sivven lang years he studied there, the Deil wis maister o the skweel In necromancy, spells an herbs he learned the Deevil's lessons weel They say the laird nae shadda cast, his sowel wis promised tae Auld Nick Corbie an jaikie, pyot, an craa wir his familiars fierce an quick Should ye misfit this warlock gran, he'd reest ye straicht aff tae the dyke An there ye'd bide, the spell held gweed, nae matter foo ye'd fidge an fyke Ae nicht he ludged inbye a howff, a ceilidh kept sleep frae his bed He cursed the dauncers ane bi aa, an gart them jig till their feet bled He set alicht the Auld Skene kirk, usin sic pouers like twis a game He pit the kintraside in fear wi pliskies ower coorse tae name It's said fin Winter grippt the lan, untae Kilgour his coachman, he Gaed orders that a guest wis due, a guest that Kilgour michtna see At midnicht, the laird's coach wis rigged, an brocht afore the Wizard's haa Kilgour luiked forrit, niver back, on hearin the strange cheil's fitfaa ‘Drive on, ' the warlock cried, ‘drive on, across the frozen Loch o Skene' Kilgour wheeped on the horses, bit he teeted at the stranger's sheen An sawAuld Clootie's cloven hooves. The coach wheels brukk the ice an sank The warlock gaed an eidritch skreich, dry shod the horses reached the bank An fin the warlock's daith drew near Auld Nick sat wytin at a cave A cauld dreich autumn nicht it wis… wid Skene be gaen a Christian grave? Wis he fur Heaven or fur Hell? His fate wis sattled bi a fecht Atween the corbie an the pyot.. twa oors they warssled wi aa micht The pyot made a final lowp an tore in twa the corbie's breist Auld Nick wis swickit o his prize an Skene wis beeriet bi a priest An tae this day on ae nicht's frost the coach's wheelmerks ower the ice Shaw clear, reminders o the time the warlock kept the deevil's breast This tale is true. Ma granminnie telt me fin she cam as a bride Tae Skene, at Halloween the fowk still lichtit fires far speerits glide Gae veesit thon loch gin ye daur…the follies, griffins, gargoyles dreich The oorie an the eildritch neuks, the mist that's like a ghaistie wreath