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Great is thy pow'r, and great thy fame; | The bleezin', curst, mischievous monkies
Far ken'd and noted is thy name;

Delude his eyes,
And tho' yon lowin' heugh's thy hame, Till in some miry slough he sunk is,
Thou travels far;

Ne'er mair to rise.
And, faith! thou's neither lag nor lame,
Nor blate nor scaur.

When masons' mystic word and grip
Whyles, ranging like a roaring lion,

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!
Tirlin' the kirks;

The youngest brother ye wad whip
Whyles, in the human bosom pryin',

Aff straught to hell !
Unseen thou lurks.

Lang syne, in Eden's bonny yard,
I've heard my reverend granny say,

When youthfu' lovers first were pair'd, In lanely glens ye like to stray;

And all the soul of love they shard,
Or where auld ruin'd castles, gray,

The raptur'd hour,
Nod to the moon,

Sweet on the fragrant flow'ry sward,
Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way

In shady bow'r (7):
Wi' eldritch croon.
When twilight did my granny summon,

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,
Wi' heavy groan.

'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' you, mysel, I gat a fright

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
Wi' waving sough.

Your spitefu' joke?
The cudgel in my nieve did shake,
Each bristl'd hair stood like a stake,

And how ne gat him i' your thrall,
When wi'an eldritch, stoor quaick-quaick | And brak him out o' house and hall,
Amang the springs,

While scabs and botches did him gall, Awa ye squatter'd, like a drake,

Wi' bitter claw,
On whistling wings.

And lows'd his ill-tongued, wicked scawl,

Was warst ava ?
Let warlocks grim, and wither'd hags,
Tell how wi' you, on ragweed nags,

But a’ your doings to rehearse,
They skim the muirs and dizzy crags, Your wily snares and fetchin' fierce,
Wi wicked speed;

Sin' that day Michael did you pierce,
And in kirk-yards renew their leagues

Down to this time,
Owre howkit dead.

Wad ding a Lallan tongue, or Earse,

In prose or rhyme.
Thence countra wives, wi' toil and pain,
May plunge and plunge the kirn in vain; And now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin',
For, oh! the yellow treasure's taen

A certain bardie's rantin', drinkin',
By witching skill;

Some luckless hour will send him linkin' And dawtit, twal-pint hawkie’s gaen

To your black pit;
As yell's the bill.

But, faith! he'll turn a corner jinkin',

And cheat you yet.
When thowes dissolve the snawy hooord,
And float the jinglin' icy boord,

But, fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben!
Then water kelpies haunt the foord,

Oh wad ye tak a thought and men'!
By your direction;

Ye aiblins might I dinna ken-
And ’nighted trav’llers are allur'd

Still hae a stake-
To their destruction.

I'm wae to think upo' yon den,

Evin for your aake!
And aft your moss-traversing spunkies
Decoy the wight that late and drunk is:

NEW-YEAR MORNING SALUTATION.

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thy auld bin Knaggie,

| At brosses thou had ne'er a fellow

For pith and speed;
The Kulù Farmer's Lem-Qrar Morning But ev'ry tail thou pay't them hollow,
Salutation to his Kulù Mare Jtlaggie,

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
Tho' thou's howe-backit, now, and knaggie,

Osaugh or hazle.
I've seen the day

Thou was a noble fittie-lan',
Thou could hae gaen like onie staggie As e'er in tug or tow was drawn!
Out-owre the lay.

Aft thee and I, in aucht hours' gaun,
Tho' now thou's dowie, stiff, and crazy,

In guid March weather, And thy auld hide's as white's a daisy,

Hae turn'd sax rood beside our han'
I've seen thee dappl't, sleek, and glaizie,

For days thegither.
A bonny gray :

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,
A filly, buirdly, steeve, and swank,
And set weel down a shapely shank

And slypet owre.
As e'er tread yird ;

When frosts lay lang, and snaws were deep.
And could hae flown out-owre a stank, And thirmaten'd labour back to keep,
Like ony bird.

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
He gied me thee, o'tocher clear

For that, or simmer.
And fifty mark;

In cart or car thou never reestit;
Tho' it was sma', 'twas weel-won gear, The steyest brae thou wad hae fac't it;
And thou was stark.

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,
Tho’ye was trickie, slee, and funnie,

Thou snoov't awa.
Ye ne'er was donsie;

My pleugh is now thy bairn-time a';
But hamely, tawie, quiet, and cannie, Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw;
And unco sonsie.

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.
Wi' maiden air!

Monie a sair daurk we twa hae wrought, Kyle Stewart I could bragged wide,

And wi' the weary warl' fought!
For sic a pair.

And monie an anxious day I thought
Tho' now ye dow but hoyte and hoble,

We wad be beat! And wintle like a saumont-coble,

Yet here to crazy age we're brought,
That day ye was a jinker noble,

Wi' something yet.
For heels and win'!

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
How thou wad prance, and snore, and skreigh

Laid by for you.
And tak the road!

We've worn to crazy years thegither;
Town's bodies ran, and stood abeigh, We'll toyte about wi' ane anither;
And ca't thee mad.

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.
There, up the cove (10), to stray and rove Jean slips in twa wi' tentie e'e;
Amang the rocks and streams

Wha 'twas, she wadna tell;
To sport that night.

But this is Jock, and this is me,
Amang the bonny, winding banks,

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;
Gar lasses' hearts gang startin'

In loving bleeze they sweetly join,
Whiles fast at night.

Till white in ase they're sobbin'.
Then, first and foremost, thro' the kail,

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';
Wi' cannie care, they've placed them | Till something held within tho pat,
To lie that night.

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 :"

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She fuff't her pipe wi' sic a lunt,

In wrath slie was sae vap'rin',
She notic't na, aizle brunt
Her braw new worset apron

Out thro' that night. "Ye little skelpie-limmer's face!

I daur you try sic sportin'.
As seek the foul thief onie place,

For him to spae your fortune :
Nae doubt but ye may get a sight!

Great cause ye hae to fear it;
For monie a ane has gotten a fright,
And lived and died deleeret.

On sic a night.
Ae hairst afore the Sherra-moor

I mind't as well's yestreen, was a gilpey, then I'm sure

I was na past fyfteen :
The simmer had been cauld and wat,

And stuff was unco' green;
And aye a rantin' kirn we gat,
And just on Halloween

It fell that night.
Our stibble rig was Rab M'Graen,

A clever, sturdy fallow :
He's sin' gat Eppie Sim w wean,

Tiat lived in Aclimacalla :
He gat hemp-seed (18), I mind it weel,

And he made unco light o't;
But mony a day was by himsel',
He was sae sairly frighted

That very night."
Then up gat fechtin' Jamie Fleck,

And he swour by his conscience,
That he could sow hemp seed a peck;

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 :
The graip le for a harrow taks,

And hauls at his curpin ;
And every now and then he says,

“Hemp-seed I saw thee,
And her that is to be my lass,
Come after me, and draw thee

As fast this night.”
He whistl'd up Lord Leonox' march,

To keep his courage cheery;
Altho' his hair began to arch,

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 young and auld camn rinnin' out,

And hear the sad narration :
He swoor 'twas hilchin Jean M'Craw,

Or crouchie Merran Humphie,
Till, stop--she trotted through them a
And wha was it but grumphie

Asteer that night!
Meg fain wad to the barn hae gaen,

To win three wechts onaething (19);
But for to meet the deil her lane,

She pat cut little faith in :
She gies the herd a pickle nits,

And twa red-cheekit apples,
To watch, while for the barn she sets,
In hopes to see Tam Kipples

That vera night.
She turns the key wi' cannie thraw,

And owre the threshold venturs;
But first on Sawny gies a ca',

Syne bauldly in she enters;
A ratton rattled up the wa',

And she cried, “L-d, preserve her!”
And ran thro' midden hole and a',
And pray'd with zeal and fervour,

Fu’ fast that night.
They hoy't out Will, wi' sair advice;

They hecht him some fine braw ane;
It chanc'd the stack he faddom't thrice (20),

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.
A wanton widow Leezie was,

As canty as a kittlin;
But, och ! that night, amang the shaws,

She got a fearfu' settlin'!
She thro' the whins, and by the cairn,

And owre the hill gaed scrievin,
Where three lairds' lands met at a burn (21),
To dip her left sark-sleeve in,

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,
Fu' blythe that night. (24) Than heaven-illumined man on brother man

bestows!
See stern oppression's iron grip,

Or mad ambition's gory hand,
1 Winter Flight.

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,

[defend you

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,
choked,

The powers you proudly own?
Wild eddying swirl,

Is there beneath Love's noble name,
Or thro' the mining outlet bocked, Can harbour dark the selfish aim,
Down headlong hurl.

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!

create,

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