The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 5.
John Greenleaf Whittier, Ed.

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[337] skilful performance of the artist lacked the novel charm of the gaberlunzie's singing in the old farmhouse kitchen. Another wanderer made us acquainted with the humorous old ballad of ‘Our gude man cam hame at e'en.’ He applied for supper and lodging, and the next morning was set at work splitting stones in the pasture. While thus engaged the village doctor came riding along the highway on his fine, spirited horse, and stopped to talk with my father. The fellow eyed the animal attentively, as if familiar with all his good points, and hummed over a stanza of the old poem:—

Our gude man cam hame at e'en,
     And hame cam he;
And there he saw a saddle horse
     Where nae horse should be.
“How cam this horse here? How can it be?
     How cam this horse here
Without the leave of me?
”
     “A horse?” quo she.
“Ay, a horse,” quo he.
     “Ye auld fool, ye blind fool,— And blinder might ye be,—
     Tis naething but a milking cow
My mamma sent to me.
”
“A milch cow? ” quo he.
     “Ay, a milch cow,” quo she.
“Weel, far hae I ridden, And muckle hae I seen;
     But milking cows wia saddles on
Saw I never nane.
”

That very night the rascal decamped, taking with him the doctor's horse, and was never after heard of.

Often, in the gray of the morning, we used to see one or more ‘gaberlunzie men,’ pack on