Now are we fresh and swank as eels,
And fit to walk a score o' miles;
And if the day wad but keep fair,
We'd tramp a score o' miles and main.
But worms hae left the grassy sod,
And streek themsel's out on the road;
Aud, as they crawl, they seem to say,
" My lads, beware o' rain the-day. "

The far-aff hills creep near the toons,
And draw their mist-keps ower their croons;
Near seems the distant lammie's bleat;
Kye snuff the air and winna eat;
The swallows lowly skim the field;
The trees unusual fragrance yield: —
Hills, trees, kye, lambs, and swallows say,
" My lads, beware o' rain the-day.