And tak' warnin' by them yersel, never to write ae word o' poetry, to haud ye frae rivin'." "Sma' fear o' that!" returned Alec, laughing.
"Weel, I houp sae .-- Ye can mak a kirk an' a mill o' them, gin ye like.
They hae lain there lang eneuch.

Noo, haud yer tongue.

I'm gaein to fill my pipe again, afore I burn oot the dottle.

I winna drink mair the nicht, cause it's the Sabbath, and I'm gaein to read my buik." So saving, he proceeded to get the _dottle_ out of his pipe, by knocking it on the hob; while Alec took up the paper that lay nearest.
He found it contained a fragment of a poem in the Scotch language; and, searching amongst the rest of the scattered sheets, he soon got the whole of it together.
Now, although Alec had but little acquaintance with verse, he was able, thanks to Annie Anderson, to enjoy a ballad very heartily; and there was something in this one which, associating itself in his mind with the strange being before him, moved him more than he could account for.
It was called TIME AND TIDE.
As I was walkin' on the strand, I spied an auld man sit On ane auld rock; and aye the waves Cam washin' to its fit.
And aye his lips gaed mutterin', And his ee was dull and blae.
As I cam near, he luik'd at me, But this was a' his say: "Robbie and Jeannie war twa bonnie bairns, And they played thegither upo' the shore: Up cam the tide 'tween the mune and the sterns, And pairtit the twa wi' an eerie roar." What can the auld man mean, quo' I, Sittin' upo' the auld rock?
The tide creeps up wi' moan and cry, And a hiss 'maist like a mock.
The words he mutters maun be the en' O' a weary dreary sang-- A deid thing floatin' in his brain, That the tide will no lat gang.
"Robbie and Jeannie war twa bonnie bairns, And they played thegither upo' the shore: Up cam the tide 'tween the mune and the sterns, And pairtit the twa wi' an eerie roar." What pairtit them, auld man?
I said; Did the tide come up ower strang?
'Twas a braw deith for them that gaed, Their troubles warna lang.
Or was ane ta'en, and the ither left-- Ane to sing, ane to greet?
It's sair, richt sair, to be bereft, But the tide is at yer feet.
"Robbie and Jeannie war twa bonnie bairns, And they played thegither upo' the shore: Up cam the tide 'tween the mune and the sterns, And pairtit the twa wi' an eerie roar." Maybe, quo' I, 'twas Time's gray sea, Whase droonin' 's waur to bide; But Death's a diver, seekin' ye Aneath its chokin' tide.
And ye'll luik in ane anither's ee Triumphin' ower gray Time.
But never a word he answered me, But ower wi' his dreary chime-- "Robbie and Jeannie war twa bonnie bairns, And they played thegither upo' the shore: Up cam the tide 'tween the mune and the sterns, And pairtit the twa wi' an eerie roar." Maybe, auld man, said I, 'twas Change That crap atween the twa?
Hech! that's a droonin' awfu' strange, Ane waur than ane and a'.
He spak nae mair.

I luik't and saw That the auld lips cudna gang.
The tide unseen took him awa-- Left me to end his sang: "Robbie and Jeannie war twa bonnie bairns, And they played thegither upo' the shore: Up cam the tide 'tween the mune and the sterns, And tuik them whaur pairtin' shall be no more." Before he had finished reading, the refrain had become so familiar to Alec, that he unconsciously murmured the last, changed as it was from the preceding form, aloud.