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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 storns and tempests raise you up, For prey a' holes and corners tryin';
Some cock or cat your rage maun stop Whyles on the strong-wing'd tempest flyin',
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 shard,
The raptur'd hour,
Sweet on the fragrant flow'ry sward,
In shady bow'r (7):
Then you, ye auld snec-drawing dog! To say her prayers, douce honest woman!
Ye came to Paradise incog, Aft yont the dyke she's heard you bummin',
| And played on man a cursed brogue, Wi' eerie drone ;
(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,
Wi' reekit duds, and reestit giza,
Ye did present your smoutie phiz . Ayont the lough;
'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,
While scabs and botches did him gall, Awa ye squatter'd, like a drake,
Wi' bitter claw,
And lows'd his ill-tongued, wicked scawl,
Was warst ava ?
But a’ your doings to rehearse,
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,
Evin for your aake!
NEW-YEAR MORNING SALUTATION.
thy auld bin Knaggie,
| At brosses thou had ne'er a fellow
For pith and speed;
Whare'er thou gaed.
The sma' droop-rumplit, hunter, cattle, ON GIVING HER THE ACCUSTOMED RIPP OF
| Might aiblins waur't thee for a brattle; CORN TO HANSEL IN THE NEW YEAR.
But sax Scotch miles thou try't their mettle, A GUID 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
Osaugh or hazle.
Thou was a noble fittie-lan',
Aft thee and I, in aucht hours' gaun,
In guid March weather, And thy auld hide's as white's a daisy,
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-fill'd brisket, Thou ance was i' the foremost rank,
Wi' pith and pow'r,
Till spritty knowes wad rairt and risket,
And slypet owre.
When frosts lay lang, and snaws were deep.
I gied ily cyn 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; Ye then was trottin' wi' your minnie:
But just thy step a wee thing ljastit,
Thou snoov't awa.
My pleugh is now thy bairn-time a';
Forbye sax mae I've sell’t awa, That day ye pranc'd wi' muckle pride,
That thou hast nurst: When ye bure hame my bonny bride:
They drew me thretteen pund and twa, And sweet and gracefu' she did ride,
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! And wintle like a saumont-coble,
Yet here to crazy age we're brought,
Wi' something yet.
And think na, my auld trusty servan', 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,
Wi' sma’ fatigue.
The auld guidwife's weel-hoordet nits (15) Tallawern. (8)
Are round and round divided,
And mony lads' and lasses' fates UPON that night, when fairies light,
Are there that night decided : On Cassilis Downans (9) dance,
Some kindle, couthie, side by side, Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze,
And burn thegither trimly; On sprightly coursiers prance;
Some start awa wi' saucy pride, Or for Coleon the route is ta’en,
And jump out-owre the chimlie Bencath the moon's pale beams;
Fu’high that night.
Wha 'twas, she wadna tell;
But this is Jock, and this is me,
She says in to hersel': Where Doon rins, wimplin', clear,
He bleez'd owre her, and she owre him, Where Bruce (11) ance rul'd the martial
As they waud never mair part;
Till, fuff! he started up the lum, ranks, And shook his Carrick spear,
And Jean had e'en a sair heart Some merry, friendly, countra folks,
To see't that night. Together did convene,
Poor Willie, wi' his bow-kail runt, To burn their nits, and pou their stocks, Was brunt wi' primsie Mallie; And haud their Halloween
Ann Mary, nae doubt, took the drunt, Fu' blythe that night.
To be compared to Willie. The lasses feat, and cleanly neat,
Mall's nit lap out wi' pridefu' fling, Mair braw than when they're fine;
And her ain fit it burnt it ; heir faces blythe, fu' sweetly kythe,
While Willie lap, and swoor, by jing,
'Twas just the way he wanted Hearts leal, and warm, and kin': The lads sae trig, wi' wooer-babs,
To be that night. Veel knotted on their garten,
| Nell had the fause-house in her min," Some unco blate, and some wi' gabs,
She pits hersel and Rob in;
In loving bleeze they sweetly join,
Till white in ase they're sobbin'.
Nell's heart was dancin' at the view, Their stocks (12) maun a' be sought ance;
She whisper'd Rob to leuk fort: They steek their een, and yraip, and wale,
Rob, stowlins, prie’d her bonny mou’ For muckle anes and straught anes.
Fu' cozie in the neux fort, Poor hav'rel Will fell aif the drift,
Unseen that night. And wander'd thro' the bow-kail,
But Merran sat behint their backs, And fou't, for want o’better shift,
Her thoughts on Andrew Bell; A runt was like a sow-tail,
She lea'es them gashin' at their cracks, Sae bow't that night.
And slips out by hersel': Then, straught or crooked, yird or nane,
She through the yard the nearest taks, They roar and cry a' throu’ther;
And to the kiln she goes then, The vera wee-things, todlin', rin
And darklins graipit for the bauks, Wi' stocks out-owre their shouther:
And in the blue-clue (16) throws then And gif the custoc's sweet or sour,
Right fear't that night. Wi' joctelegs they taste them;
And aye she win't, and aye she swat, Syne coziely, aboon the door,
I wat she made nae jaukin';
Guid Ld! but she was quakin'! The lasses straw frae 'mang them a'
But whether 'twas the deil himsel. To pou their stalks o' corn (13);
Or whether 'twas a bauk-en', But Rab slips out, and jinks about,
Or whether it was Andrew Bell, Behint the muckle thorn :
She did na wait on talkin' He grippet Nelly hard and fast;
To spier that night. Loud skirl'd a' the lasses ;
Wee Jeuny to her granny says, But her tap-pickle maist was lost,
“Will ye go wi' me, granny ? When kuittlin' in the fause-house (14) I'll eat the apple (17) at the glass, Wi' him that night.
| I gat frae uncle Johnny :"
She fuff't her pipe wi' sic a lunt,
In wrath slie 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, was a gilpey, then I'm sure
I was na past fyfteen :
And stuff was unco' green;
It fell that night.
A clever, sturdy fallow :
Tiat lived in Aclimacalla :
And he made unco light o't;
That very night."
And he swour by his conscience,
For it was a' but nonsense. The auld guidman raught down the pock,
And out a handfu' gied him ; Syne bade him slip frae 'mang the folk, Sometime when nae ane see'd him,
And try'd that night. He marches through amang the stacks,
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 Humphie,
Asteer that night!
To win three wechts onaething (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;
And she cried, “L-d, preserve her!”
Fu’ fast that night.
They hecht him 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'
Afl'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 whimplit; 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 brackens, 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 toil'd, Wi'a plunge that night.
Lone from your savage homes exild, 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 Phæbe, in her midnight reign, Because he gat the toom-dish thrice,
Dark muffled, 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’rs (23), wi' fragrant lunt, Descend ye chilly, smothering snows! Set a' their 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!
Truth, weeping, tells the mournful tale, How shall your houseless heads and unfed ; sides,
How pamper'd Luxury, Flattery by her side, Your looped and windowed raggedness,
The parasite empoisoning 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,
The powers you proudly own?
Is there beneath Love's noble name,
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,
She strains your infant to her joyless
[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!