Billy the Dollan

When Billy the Dollan was livin' alone In his li'l' white house up the highlan,' There was stories dy-liooar goin' a-tellin' on us- Aw, the lek wasn' heard in the Islan'! But Billy the Dollan is gone to his res,' An' his house is lef' sittin' alone, Wis the street full of cushag, an' weeds on the thatch, An' the kitchen as bare as a stone.

He'd be tellin' of fairies an' buitches an' all, Till we crep' in a heap to the chiollagh, For fear we'd be took at the big oul' buggane That was comin' aroun' the Mamollagh. But B,illy the Dollan has gone to his res', An' his stories have gone wis' him, too; An' there's other ones workin' the field by his house, An'g.ettin' his bons from the broogh.

Now, Billy the Dollan is buried ant gone, But there's ones say the fairies go cryin' Arount his oul' house, wis the win' in their hair, An' keekin' an' sobbin' an sighin', Lek wishin' him back from the churchyard again- For oul' Billy was friends wis them all- But he's restin' respectable under the moul', An' he'll never be hearin' them call!

MONA DOUGLAS.