in vain
To find my lad wi' yellow hair.

On nights when I would rest at ease,
The merry lad begins to tease;
He'll loose the kine to take me out,
And titter while I move about.

My lightsome lad, my leering lad,
He's tittering here; he's tittering there--
I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain
To find my lad wi' yellow hair.

THE LITTLE OLD MAN OF THE BARN.

When all the big lads will be hunting the deer,
And no one for helping Old Callum comes near,
O who will be busy at threshing his corn?
Who will come in the night and be going at morn?

The Little Old Man of the Barn,
Yon Little Old Man--
A bodach forlorn will be threshing his corn,
The Little Old Man of the Barn.

When the peat will turn grey and the shadows fall deep,
And weary Old Callum is snoring asleep;
When yon plant by the door will keep fairies away,
And the horse-shoe sets witches a-wandering till day.

The Little Old Man of the Barn,
Yon Little Old Man--
Will thresh with no light in the mouth of the night,
The Little Old Man of the Barn.

For the bodach is strong though his hair is so grey,
He will never be weary when he goes away--
The bodach is wise--he's so wise, he's so dear--
When the lads are all gone, he will ever be near.

The Little Old Man of the Barn,
Yon Little Old Man--
So tight and so braw he will bundle the straw--
The Little Old Man of the Barn.

YON FAIRY DOG.

'Twas bold MacCodrum of the Seals,
Whose heart would never fail,
Would hear yon fairy ban-dog fierce
Come howling down the gale;
The patt'ring of the paws would sound
Like horse's hoofs on frozen ground,
While o'er its back and curling round
Uprose its fearsome tail.

'Twas bold MacCodrum of the Seals--
Yon man that hath no fears--
Beheld the dog with dark-green back
That bends not when it rears;
Its sides were blacker than the night,
But underneath the hair was white;
Its paws were yellow, its eyes were bright,
And blood-red were its ears.

'Twas bold MacCodrum of the Seals--
The man who naught will dread--
Would wait it, stooping with his spear,
As nigh to him it sped;
The big black head it turn'd and toss'd,
"I'll strike," cried he, "ere I'll be lost,"
For every living thing that cross'd
Its path would tumble dead.

'Twas bold MacCodrum of the Seals--
The man who ne'er took fright--
Would watch it bounding from the hills
And o'er