It wasna that lang afore I began to discover
that it was a' a delusion and a snare. Whan I fell asleep, I wad dream
whiles that, openin' the door into ane o' thae halls o' licht, there
she was stan'in' lauchin' at me. And she micht hae gane on lauchin' to
a' eternity--for onything I cared. And--ten times waur--I wad whiles
come upon her greitin' and repentin', and haudin' oot her han' to me,
and me carin' no more for her than for the beard o' a barley-stalk. And
for makin' a sang--I jist steikit my lugs (stopped my ears) whan I
heard a puir misguidit canary singin' i' the sunshine. And I begud to
hear a laich lauch far awa', and it cam' nearer and nearer ilka week,
till it was ringin' i' my verra lug. But a' that was naething
compairateevely. I' the mids o' a quaiet contemplation, suddenly, wi'
an awfu' stoon, a ghaistly doobt pat it's heid up i' my breist, and
cried: 'It's a' fause. The grey luik o' life's the true ane, and the
only aspec' ye hae a richt to see.' And efter that, a' the whusky in
Glenlivat cudna console me.--Luik at me noo. Ye see what I am. I can
whiles sing an auld sang--but mak' a new ane!--Lord, man! I can hardly
believe 'at ever I made a sang i' my life.
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