At Candlemas Marion Angus Lang syne at Candlemas At first cam o’ the mune, I, a bit lassie, Hame-gaun fae the toon, Fell in wi’ a stranger Frail as ony reed, Wi’ a green mantle Hapt aboot her heid. Haste, I wad haste me, The whinny road along, Whinny, crookit road Faur the grey ghaists gang. Wi her een fu’ o’ spells, Her broo runkled sair, She micht weel be the witch O’ the Braid Hill o’ Fare. Here cams Candlemas, A wan deein’ mune, Eh! bit I’m weary. Cauldrife wis the toon! Yon’s a blythe bairnie Soople as a reed, Rinnin’ wi’ a hankey Tied aboot her heid, Hastin’, hastin’, Limber-licht fit, Doon the crookit road Faur the grey moths flit. Quo’ she, ‘Ye’r sma’-bookit, Yer broo’s runkled sair, Er’ ye the auld witch O’ the Braid Hill o’ Fare?’