XVIII.

He marches through amang the stacks,

Though he was something sturtin; The graip he for a harrow taks,

An' haurls at his curpin :
An' every now an' then he says,
"Hemp-seed, I saw thee,

An' her that is to be my lass,
Come after me and draw thee,
As fast this night."
XIX.

He whistled up Lord Lenox' march
To keep his courage cheerie ;
Although his hair began to arch,

He was sae fley'd an' eerie :
Till presently he hears a squeak,
An' then a grane an' gruntle;
He by his shouther gae a keek,
An' tumbled wi' a wintle

Out-owre that night.

XX.

He roar'd a horrid murder-shout,
In dreadfu' desperation !

An' young an' auld came rinnin out,
To hear the sad narration:

He swoor 'twas hilchin Jean M'Craw,
Or crouchie Morran Humphie,
Till stop! she trotted through them a';
An' wha was it but Grumphie
Asteer that night!

XXI.

Meg fain wad to the barn gaen,

To win three wechts o' naething: But for to meet the deil her lane,

She pat but little faith in :
She gies the herd a pickle nits,
An' twa red cheekit apples,

To watch, while for the barn she sets,
In hopes to see Tam Kipples
That vera night.

XXII.

She turns the key wi' cannie thraw

An' owre the threshold ventures But first on Sawnie gies a ca',

Syne bauldly in she enters;

A ratton rattled up the wa',

An' she cried L-d preserve her, An' ran through midden-hole an' a', An' pray'd wi' zeal an' fervour, Fu' fast that night.

*This charm must likewise be performed unperceived, and alone. You go to the barn, and open both doors, taking them off the hinges, if possible; for there is danger that the being, about to appear, may shut the doors, and do you some mischief. Then take that instrument used in winnowing the corn, which, in our country dialect, we call a wecht; and go through all the attitudes of letting down corn against the wind. Repeat it three times; and the third time an apparition will pass through the barn, In at the windy door, and out at the other, having both the figure in question, and the appearance or retinue, narking the employment or station in life.

XXIII.

They hoy't out Will, wi' sair advice:
They hecht him some fine braw ane;
It chanced the stack he faddom'd thrice,
Was timmer propt for thrawin':
He taks a swirlie, auld moss-oak,
For some black, grousome carlin;
An' loot a winze, an' drew a stroke,
Till skin in blypes came haurlin
Aff's nieves that night.
XXIV.

A wanton widow Leezie was,
As canty as a kittlen;

But och! that night, amang the shaws,

She got a fearfu' settlin!

She through the whins, an' by the cairn,
An' owre the hill gaed scrievin,
Whare three lairds' lands met at a burnt
To dip her left sark sleeve in,

Was bent that night.
XXV.

Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays,
As through the glen it wimplet:
Whyles round a rocky scar it strays;
Whyles in a wiel it dimplet;
Whyles glitter'd to the nightly rays,

Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle;
Whyles cookit underneath the braes,
Below the spreading hazel,
Unseen that night.

XXVI.

Amang the brachens, on the brae,
Between her an' the moon,

The deil, or else an outler quey,
Gat up an' gae a croon :

Poor Leezie's heart mais lap the hool;
Neer lav'rock height she jumpit,

But mist a fit, an' in the pool
Out-owre the lugs she plumpit,
Wi' a plunge that night.
XXVII.

In order, on the clean hearth-stane,
The luggies three‡ are ranged,

* Take an opportunity of going, unnoticed, to a Bear stack, and fathom it three times round. The last fathom of the last time, you will catch in your arms the appear ance of your future conjugal yoke-fellow.

+ You go out, one or more, for this is a social spell, to a south running spring or rivulet, where "three lairds" lands meet," and dip your left shirt sleeve. Go to bed in sight of a fire, and hang your wet sleeve before it to dry. Lie awake; and some time near midnight, an apparition, having the exact figure of the grand object in ques tion, will come and turn the sleeve, as if to dry the other side of it.

Take three dishes; put clean water in one, foul water in another, leave the third empty: blindfold person, and lead him to the hearth where the dishes are ranged: he (or she) dips the left hand: if by chance in the clean water, the future husband or wife will come to the bar of matrimony a maid; if in the foul, a widow; if in the empty dish, it foretells, with equal certainty, no marriage at all. It is repeated three times, and every time the arrangement of the dishes is altered

And every time great care is ta'en,

To see them duly changed:
Auld uncle John, wha wedlock's joys
Sin Mar's year did desire,
Because he gat the toom-dish thrice,
He heaved them on the fire

In wrath that night.
XXVIII.

Wi' merry sangs, and friendly cracks,
I wat they dinna weary;

An' unco tales, an' funnie jokes,

Their sports were cheap an' cheery, Till butter'd so'ns, wi' fragrant lunt, Set a' their gabs a-steerin; Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt, They parted aff careerin

Fu' blythe that night.

THE AULD FARMER'S NEW-YEAR MORNING SALUTATION TO HIS AULD MARE MAGGIE,

ON GIVING HER ACCUSTOMED RIPP OF CORN TO HANSEL IN THE NEW-YEAR.

A GUID new-year I wish thee, Maggie! Hae, there's a rip to thy auld baggie: Though thou's howe-backit, now, an' knaggie, I've seen the day,

Thou could hae gaen like ony staggie

Out-owre the lay.

Though now thou's dowie, stiff, an' crazy, An' thy auld hide's as white's a daisy, I've seen thee dappl't, sleek, and glaizie, A bonnie gray:

He should been tight that daur't to raize thee,
Ance in a day.

Thou ance was i' the foremost rank,
A filly buirdly, steeve, an' swank,
An' set weel down a shapely shank,
As e'er tread yird;
An' could hae flown out-owre a stank,
Like ony bird.

It's now some nine an' twenty year,
Sin' thou was my good father's meere;
He gied me thee, o' tocher clear,

An' fifty mark;
Though it was sma', 'twas weel-won gear,
An' thou was stark.

When first I gaed to woo my Jenny,
Ye then was trottin wi' your minnie:
Though ye was trickie, slee, an' funnie,
Ye ne'er was donsie ;
But hamely, tawie, quiet, an' cannie,
An' unco sonsie.

That day, ye pranced wi' muckle pride,
When ye bure hame my bonnie bride;
An' sweet, an' gracefu' she did ride,
Wi' maiden air!

Kyle Stewart I could bragged wide,

For sic a pair.

Sowens, with butter instead of milk to them, is always the Halloween supper.

Though now ye dow but hoyte an' hobble An' wintle like a saumont-coble,

That day ye was a jinker noble

For heels an' win'!

An' ran them till they a' did wauble,
Far, far behin'.

When thou an' I were young an' skeigh, An' stable-meals at fairs were dreigh, How thou wad prance, an' snore, an' skreigh, An' tak the road! Town's bodies ran, and stood abeigh, An' ca't thee mad.

When thou was corn't, an' I was mellow, We took the road aye like a swallow: At brooses thou had ne'er a fellow, For pith an' speed: But every tail thou pay't them hollow, Where'er thou gaed.

The sma', droop-rumpl't, hunter cattle,
Might aiblins waur't thee for a brattle;
But sax Scotch miles thou try't their mettle,
An' gar't them whaizle:

Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle
O' saugh or hazel.

Thou was a noble fittie-lan, As e'er in tug or tow was drawn! Aft thee an' I, in aught hours gaun, On guid March weather,

Hae turn'd sax rood beside our han',

For days thegither.

Thou never braindg't, an' fetch't, an' fliskit, But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit, An' spread abreed thy weel-fill'd brisket, Wi' pith, an' pow'r, Till spritty knowes wad rair't and risket, An' slypet owre.

When frosts lay lang, an' snows were deep, An' threaten'd labour back to keep,

I gied thy cog a wee-bit heap

Aboon the timmer;

I kenn'd my Maggie wad na sleep
For that, or simmer.

The cart or car thou never restit;
The stevest brae thou wad hae fac't it:
Thou never lap, and sten't, and breastit,
Then stood to blaw;

But just thy step a wee thing hastit, 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: They drew me thretteen pund an' twa, The vera warst.

Monie a sair daurk we twa hae wrought An' wi' the weary warl' fought! And monie an anxious day, I thought We wad be beat!

Yet here to crazy age we're brought,

Wi' something yet.

See stern oppression's iron grip,

Or mad ambition's gory hand,
Sending, like blood-hounds from the slip,
Wo, want, and murder, o'er a land!
E'en in the peaceful, rural vale,
Truth, weeping, tells the mournful tale,
How pamper'd luxury, flattery by her side,
The parasite empoisoning her ear,

With all the servile wretches in the rear,
Looks o'er proud property, extended wide;
And eyes the simple rustic hind,

Whose toil upholds the glittering show,
A creature of another kind,

Some coarser substance, unrefined,

Placed for her lordly use, thus far, thus vile, below;
Where, where is love's fond, tender throe,
With lordly honour's lofty brow,
The powers you proudly own?
Is there beneath love's noble name,
Can harbour, dark, the selfish aim,
To bless himself alone?
Mark maiden innocence a prey
To love-pretending snares,
This boasted honour turns away,
Shunning soft pity's rising sway,

Regardless of the tears, and unavailing prayers!
Perhaps, this hour, in misery's squalid nest,
She strains your infant to her joyless breast,
And with a mother's fears shrinks at the rocking
blast!

"O ye! who, sunk in beds of down,
Feel not a want but what yourselves create,
Think, for a moment, on his wretched fate,
Whom friends and fortune quite disown!
Ill satisfied keen nature's clamorous call,

Stretch'd on his straw he lays himself to sleep,
While through the ragged roof and chinky wall,
Chill o'er his slumbers piles the drifty heap!
Think on the dungeon's grim confine,
Where guilt and poor misfortune pine!
Guilt, erring man, relenting view!

But shall thy legal rage pursue

The wretch, already crushed low
By cruel fortune's undeserved blow?
Affliction's sons are brothers in distress,

A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss!"

I heard nae mair, for chanticleer
Shook off the pouthery snaw,
And hail'd the morning with a cheer,
A cottage-rousing craw.

But deep this truth impress'd my mind-
Through all his works abroad,

The heart benevolent and kind
The most resembles God.

DESPONDENCY.

AN ODE.

I.

OPPRESS'D with grief, oppress'd with care,

A burden more than I can bear,

I sit me down and sigh:

VOL. III.-14

O life! thou art a galling load,
Along a rough, a weary road,

To wretches such as I!

Dim backward as I cast my view,
What sickening scenes appear!
What sorrows yet may pierce me through,
Too justly I may fear!

Still caring, despairing,

Must be my bitter doom;

My woes here shall close ne'er,
But with the closing tomb!

II.

Happy, ye sons of busy life,
Who, equal to the bustling strife,

No other view regard!

E'en when the wished end's denied,
Yet while the busy means are plied,
They bring their own reward:
Whilst I, a hope-abandon'd wight,
Unfitted with an aim,

Meet every sad returning night,
And joyless morn the same;
You, bustling, and justling,
Forget each grief and pain:
I, listless, yet restless,
Find every prospect vain
III.

How blest the solitary's lot,
Who, all-forgetting, all-forgot,

Within his humble cell,
The cavern wild with tangling roots,
Sits o'er his newly-gather'd fruits,
Beside his crystal well!

Or, haply, to his evening thought,

By unfrequented stream.

The ways of men are distant brought, A faint collected dream:

While praising and raising

His thoughts to heaven on high, As wandering, meandering,

He views the solemn sky.

IV.

Than I, no lonely hermit placed
Where never human footstep traced,
Less fit to play the part;
The lucky moment to improve,
And just to stop, and just to move,
With self-respecting art:

But ah! those pleasures, loves, and joys
Which I too keenly taste,
The solitary can despise,

Can want, and yet be blest!
He needs not, he heeds not,

Or human love or hate,
Whilst I here must cry here,
At perfidy ingrate!

V.

O! enviable, early days,

When dancing thoughtless pleasure's mazu

To care, to guilt unknown!

How ill exchanged for riper times,

To feel the follies, or the crimes,

Of others, or my own!

Belyve the elder bairns come drapping in,

At service out, amang the farmers roun': Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin A cannie errand to a neebor town: Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown,

In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e, Comes hame, perhaps, to show a braw new gown, Or deposit her sair-won penny-fee,

To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. V.

Wi' joy unfeign'd, brothers and sisters meet,

An' each for others' weelfare kindly spiers: The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnoticed fleet; Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears ; The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years; Anticipation forward points the view. The mother, wi' her needle an' her sheers, Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new The father mixes a' wi' admonition due.

VI.

Their master's an' their mistress's command,
The younkers a' are warned to obey;
"An' mind their labours wi' an eydent hand,
An' ne'er, though out o' sight, to jauk or play:
An' O! be sure to fear the Lord alway!

An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' night!
Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray,
Implore his counsel and assisting might:
They never sought in vain that sought the Lord
aright!"

VII.

But hark! a rap comes gently to the door;

Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moor,

To do some errands, and convoy her hame. The wily mother sees the conscious flame Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek; With heart-struck, anxious care, inquires his

name,

While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak; Weel pleased the mother hears, it's nae wild, worthless rake.