Classic Poem

Fra bank to bank, fra wood to wood I rin,
Ourhailit with my feeble fantasie,
Like til a leaf that fallis from a tree
Or til a reed ourblawin with the win.
Twa gods guides me: the ane of them is blin,
Yea, and a bairn brocht up in vanitie,
The next a wife ingenrit of the sea,
And lichter nor a dauphin with her fin.

Unhappy is the man for evermair
That tills the sand and sawis in the air;
But twice unhappier is he, I lairn,
That feidis in his hairt a mad desire
And follows on a woman thro the fire,
Led by a blind and teachit by a bairn.