The Bandsman’s Ballad. 1. Come wind the horn of the harvest—hark ! The harp strings thrill, and the pipes at wark ; And the festal light gleams through the door, And the snooded dames bound to the floor ; And the dancer tries his deftest craft, And the roof wags its remotest raft ; No thought of reap-hook and ripe grain, They shake the sweat from their locks like rain. 2. Bound to the strings ! it is gladsome wark, The clasp o’ the hand, and the kiss i’ the dark ; When the willing lips must in secret meet— I hae tried it, and never was ought so sweet ; The hoary men gaze, and they smile demure At their blythe bairns bounding on the floor ; And there is shout, and scream, and smack Of lips—and full cups come empty back. 3. O’er my simmer of life’s come a nipping frost— And worried wi’ eld, and this kirk-yard hoast ; I maun gaunt and glower when the piper’s croon, An’ beat time wi’ the end o’ my crutch to the tune, And my frozen blood begins to creep When the grass-green gowns come by with a sweep ; Oh, prayer, and fast, and penance, and pain, Canna bring youth’s golden days again. 4. My auld limbs streeked ’neath the round cauld moon, I maun pore on the stars, and sift how soon, The Ae shall come down wi’ a foam and a dash— And the loosened winds shall our ripe rigs thrash ; How mony ripe kimmers, “tween beltane and yule, Shall faut and grace the repentance-stool— All this I can learn as I streek my shanks On the dewy grass, by the bonnie burn banks.