A May Night near Dumfries.

By Arthur Clark-Kennedy

In the still hush o’ that May nicht,

Bathed in a saftly purple licht,

A mellowed landscape, blue an’ grey,

The drowsy, dreamin’ village lay.

A mavis frae a siller birk

Was singing lullaby; the kirk

Loomed up against the mist, its graves

Aroun’ it like white-tippit waves.

Mixed wi’ the soughing o’ the saughs

Came croonons frae the Nith, which draws

Doun thro’ the valley to the toun,

In ane gran’ harmony o’ soun.