*Skeely Kirsty*

A stane-cast fae the clachan heid An auld feal dyke enclosed a reed O' garden grun', where flower an' weed In spring grew first aye; An' there the humble hauddin' steed O' Skeely Kirsty.

Upon the easin' sods a fou Thick-leaved an' sappy yearly grew, Which, for a scrat or scabbit mou', Beat aught in "Buchan"; An' draughts fae herbs she used to brew That drank like brochan.

To heal a heid, or scob a bane, To ease a neebour's grippit wean, Or thoom a thraw, there wasna ane Could e'er come near her; Nae income, fivver, hoast, nor nane Would ever steer her.

She cured for pleasure, nae for fees; Healed man an' beast wi' equal ease: She gae a lotion for the grease To Spence the carrier, That cured his mear, when the disease Gaed ower the farrier.

Was there a corp to streck or kist, She aye was foremost to assist; She grat to think "how he'd be miss't, Sae good and gifted"! Syne handed roon' anither taste Afore they lifted.

Ae morn grim Death--that poacher fell-- Gat Kirsty in his girn hersel'; Nae epitaph her virtues tell, It needs nae vreetin': On ae thing maistly Fame will dwell-- Her gift o' greetin'.