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Thursday, February 4, 2021

Heather Ale ....

From the bonny bells of heather 
They brewed a drink long-syne, 
Was sweeter far then honey, 
Was stronger far than wine. 
They brewed it and they drank it, 
And lay in a blessed swound 
For days and days together 
In their dwellings underground 

 There rose a king in Scotland, 
A fell man to his foes, 
He smote the Picts in battle, 
He hunted them like roes. 
Over miles of the red mountain 
He hunted as they fled, 
And strewed the dwarfish bodies 
Of the dying and the dead... 

Robert Louis Stevenson (13 November 1850 – 3 December 1894) "Heather Ale: A Galloway Legend"

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