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Great is thy pow'r, and great thy fame; The bleezin', curst, mischievous monkies
Delude his eyes,
Ne'er mair to rise.
When masons' mystic word and grip
In stornis and tempests raise you up, Whyles, ranging like a roaring lion,
Some cock or cat your rage maun stop
Or, strange to tell !
The youngest brother ye wad whip
Aff straught to hell !
Lang syne, in Eden's bonny yard,
When youthfu' lovers first were pair'd, In lanely glens ye like to stray;
And all the soul of love they shar'd,
The raptur'd hour,
Sweet on the fragrant flow'ry sward,
In shady bow'r (7):
Then you, ye auld snec-drawing dog!
Ye came to Paradise incog,
(Black be your fa!) Or, rustlin', thro' the boortries comin',
And gied the infant warld a shog,
'Maist ruin'da'. Ae dreary, windy, winter night,
D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz, The stars shot down wi' sklentin' light,
Wi' reekit duds, and reestit gizz,
Ye did present your smoutie phiz
'Mang better folk, Ye, like a rash-bush, stood in sight
And sklented on the man of Uzz
Your spitefu' joke?
And how ne gat him i' your thrall,
, Amang the springs,
While scabs and botches did him gall,
Wi' bitter claw,
And lows'd his ill-tongued, wicked scawi,
Was warst ava ?
But a' your doings to rehearse,
Your wily snares and fetchin' fierce,
Sin' that day Michael did you pierce,
Down to this time,
Wad ding a Lallan tongue, or Earse,
In prose or rhyme.
A certain bardie's rantin', drinkin',
Some luckless hour will send him linkin' And dawtit, twal-pint hawkie's gaen
To your black pit;
But, faith! he'll turn a corner jinkin',
And cheat you yet.
But, fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben!
Oh wad ye tak a thought and men'!
Ye aiblins might--I dinna ken-
Still hae a stake-
I'm wae to think upo' yon den,
Ev'n for your aake!
NEW-YEAR MORNING SALUTATION.
ON GIVING HER THE ACCUSTOMEDRIPP OF
CORN TO HANSEL IN THE NEW YEAR.
At brooses thou had ne'er a fellow
For pith and speed;
Whare'er thou gaed.
But sax Scotch miles thou try't their mettle, A quid New-year I wish thee, Maggie!
And gar't them whaizle: Hae, there's a ripp to thy auld baggie;
Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle
O'saugh or hazle.
Thou was a noble fittie-lan',
Aft thee and I, in aucht hours'
gaun, Tho' now thou's dowie, stiff, and crazy,
In guid March weather,
Hae turn'd sax rood beside our han'
For days thegither.
Thou never braindg't, and fech't, and fliskit, He should been tight that daur't to raise thee But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit, Ance in a day.
And spread abreed thy well-filld brisket, Thou ance was i' the foremost rank,
Wi' pith and pow'r, A filly, buirdly, steeve, and swank,
Till spritty knowes wad rair't and risket, And set weel down a shapely shank
And slypet owre.
When frosts lay lang, and snaws were deep.
I gied ily c y a wee-bit heap It's now some nine-and-twenty year,
Aboon the timmer; Sin' thou was my guid-father's mere;
I ken'd my Maggie wad na sleep
For that, or simmer.
In cart or car thou never reestit;
Thou never lap, and sten't, and breastit, When first I gaed to woo my Jenny,
Then stood to blaw;
Thou snoov't awa.
My pleugh is now thy bairn-time a';
Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw;
Forbye sax mae I've sell’t awa,
That thou hast nurst:
The vera warst.
Monie a sair daurk we twa hae wrought, Kyle Stewart I could bragged wide,
And wi' the weary warl' fought!
And monie an anxious day I thought
We wad be beat!
Yet here to crazy aye we're brought,
Wi' something yet.
And think na, my auld trusty servano, And ran tlıcm till they a' did wauble, That now perhaps thou's less deservin', Far, far behin'!
And thy auld days may end in starvin', When thou and I were young and skeigh,
For my last fou, And stable-meals at fairs were dreigh,
A heapit stimpart, I'll reserve ane
Laid by for you.
We've worn to crazy years thegither;
Wi' tentie care I'll flit thy tether, When thou was corn't, and I was mellow,
To some hain'd rig, We took the road aye like a swallow :
Whare ye may nobly rax your leather,
UPON that night, when fairies light,
On Cassilis Downans (9) dance, Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze,
On sprightly coursiers prance; Or for Coleon the route is ta'en,
Bencath the moon's pale beams; There, up the cove (10), to stray and rove Amang the rocks and streams
To sport that night. Amang the bonny, winding banks,
Where Doon rins, wimplin’, clear, Where Bruce (11) ance rul'd the martial
Together did convene,
Fu' blythe that night.
Mair braw than when they're fine; heir faces blythe, fu' sweetly kythe,
Hearts leal, and warm, and kin': The lads sae trig, wi' wooer-babs,
Veel knotted on their garten,
Whiles fast at night.
Their stocks (12) maun a' be sought ance; They steek their een, and graip, and wale,
For muckle anes and straught anes. Poor hav’rel Will fell all the drift,
And wander'd thro' the bow-kail,
Sae bow't that night.
They roar and cry a' throu’ther;
Wi stocks out-owre their shouther :
Wi' joctelegs they taste them;
To lie that night.
To pou their stalks o' corn (13);
Behint the muckle thorn :
Loud skirl'd a' the lasses ;
Wi' him that night.
The auld guidwife's weel-hoordet nits (15)
Are round and round divided, And mony lads' and lasses' fates
Are there that night decided : Some kindle, couthie, side by side,
And burn thegither trimly ; Some start awa wi' saucy pride, And jump out-owre the chimlie
Fu' high that night. Jean slips in twa wi' tentie e'e;
Wha 'twas, she wadna tell; But this is Jock, and this is me,
She says in to hersel': He bleez’d owre her, and she owre him,
As they waud never mair part; Till, fuff! he started up the lum, And Jean had e'en a sair heart
To see't that night.
Was brunt wi' primsie Mallie;
To be compared to Villie.
And her ain fit it burnt it ;
To be that night.
She pits hersel and Rob in;
Till white in ase they're sobbin'.
She whisper'd Rob to leuk fort: Rob, stowlins, prie’d her bonny mou’ Fu'cozie in the neux fort,
Unseen that night.
Her thoughts on Andrew Bell;
And slips out by hersel':
And to the kiln she goes then,
Right fear't that night.
I wat she made nae jaukin';
Guid Ld! but she was quakin'!
Or whether 'twas a bauk-en', Or whether it was Andrew Bell, She did na wait on talkin'
To spier that night. Wee Jeuny to her granny says, “Will ye go wi' me, granny
? I'll eat the apple (17) at the glass,
I gat frae uncle Johnny :"
She fuff't her pipe wi' sic a lunt,
In wrath she was sae vap'rin',
Out thro' that night. " Ye little skelpie-limmer's face!
I daur you try sic sportin',
For him to spae your fortune:
Great cause ye hae to fear it;
On sic a night.
I mind't as well's yestreen,
I was na past fyfteen :
And stuff was unco' green;
It fell that night.
A clever, sturdy fallow :
That lived in Aclimacalla :
And he made unco light o't;
That very night." Then up gat fechtin' Jamie Fleck,
And he swoor by his conscience, That he could sow hemp-seed a peck;
For it was a' but nonsense.
And out a handfu' gied him ;
And try'd that night.
Tho' lie was something sturtin
And hauls at his curpin ;
“ Hemp-seed I saw thee,
As fast this night.”
To keep his courage cheery;
He was sae fley'd and eerie : Till presently he hears a squeak,
And then a grane and gruntle; He by his shouther gae a keek, And tumbl'd wi' o wintle
Out-owre that night.
He roar'd a horrid murder-shout,
In dreadfu' desperation !
And hear the sad narration :
Or crouchie Merran IIumphie,
Asteer that night!
To win three wechts o' naething (19);
She pat cut little faith in :
And twa red-cheekit apples,
That vera night.
And owre the threshold venturs;
Syne bauldly in she enters : A ratton rattled
Fu’ fast that night.
They hecht himn some fine braw ane;
Was timmer-propt for thrawin’; He taks a surly auld moss oak
For some black, grousome carlin; And loot a winze, and drew a stroke, Till skin in blypes cam haurlin'
All's nieves that night.
As canty as a kittlin;
She got a fearfu' settlin'!
And owre the hill gaed scrievin,
Was bent that night. Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays,
As through the glen it whimpl't; Whyles round a rocky scaur it strays;
Whyies in a wiel it dimpl't ; Whyles glitter'd to the nightly rays,
Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle; Whyles cooyit underneath the braes, Below the spreading hazel,
Unseen that night. Amang the brackers, on the brae,
Between her and the moon, The deil, or else an outler quey,
Gat up and gae a croon:
Poor Leezy's heart maist lap the hool;
Whare wilt thou cow'r thy chittering Near lav'rock height she jumpit,
wing, But mist a fit, and in the pool
And close thy e'e ? Out-owre the lugs she plumpit,
Ev'n you on murd'ring errands toild, Wi' a plunge that night.
Lone from your savage homes exil'd, In order, on the clean hearth-stane,
The blood-stain'd roost and sheep-cot The luggies three (22) are ranged,
spoil'd And every time great care is ta’en,
My heart forgets, To see them duly changed :
While pitiless the tempest wild Auld uncle John, wha' wedlock's joys
Sore on you beats. Sin' Mars' year did desire,
Now Phoebe, in her midnight reign, Because he gat the toom-dish thrice,
Dark mutfied, view'd the dreary plain; He heay'd them on the fire
Still crowding thoughts, a pensive train, In wrath that night.
Rose in my soul, Wi' merry sangs, and friendly cracks,
When on my ear this plaintive strain I wat they did nae weary :
Slow., solemn, stole:And unco tales, and funny jokes,
“Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust! Their sports were cheap and cheery;
And freeze, thou bitter-biting frost ! Till butter'd so'ns (23), wi' fragrant lunt, Descend ye chilly, smothering snows! Set a' tlieir gabs a-steerin’;
Not all your rage, as now united, shows Syne, wi'a social glass o' strunt,
More hard unkindness, unrelenting, They parted aff careerin'
Vengeful malice unrepenting,
Or mad ambition's gory hand,
Sending, like blood-hounds from the slip
Woe, want, and murder o'er a land! Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, E’en in the peaceful rural vale, That bide the pelting of the pitiless storin! How shall your houseless heads and unfed How pamper'd Luxury, Flattery by her side,
Truth, weeping, tells the mournful tale, sides,
[defend you Your looped and windowed raggedness,
The parasite enipoisoning her ear, From seasons such as these?-SHAKSPEARE,
With all the servile wretches in the rear,
Looks o'er proud property, extended wide; WHEN biting Boreas, fell and doure,
And eyes the simple rustic hind, Sharp sbivers thro' the leatless bow'r;
Whose toil upholds the glittering When Phæbus gies a short-lived glow'r
show, Far south the lift,
A creature of another kind, Dim-darkening thro' the flaky show'r,
Some coarser substance, unrefined, Or whirling drift:
Placed for her lordly use thus far, thus Ae night the storm the steeples rocked,
vile below. Poor labour sweet in sleep was locked, Where, where is Love's fond, tender throe, While burns, wi' suawy wreaths up- With lordly Honour's lofty brow, choked,
The powers you proudly own?
Is there beneath Love's noble
name, Or thro' the mining outlet bocked,
Can harbour dark the selfish aim,
To bless himself alone!
Mark maiden innocence a prey Listening, the doors and winnocks
To love-pretending snares, rattle,
This boasted Honour turns away, I theught me on the ourie cattle,
Shunning soft Pity's rising sway,
[ers ! Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle O' winter war,
Regardless of the tears and unavailing pray[sprattle,
Perhaps this hour in misery's squalid nest, And through the drift, deep-lairing Beneath a scaur.
She strains your infant to her joyless breast,
[rocking blast! Ilk happing bird, wee, helpless thing, And with a mother's fears shrinks at the That in the merry months o'spring,
Oh ye! who, sunk in beds of down, Delighted me to hear thee sing,
Feel not a want but what yourselves What comes o' thee!