down george's street i stoited;
a creeping cauld prosaic fog
my very sense doited.
do what i dought to set her free,
my saul lay in the mire;
ye turned a neuk—i saw your e'e—
she took the wing like fire!
the mournfu' sang i here enclose,
in gratitude i send you,
and pray, in rhyme as weel as prose,
a' gude things may attend you!