Great is thy pow'r, and great thy fame; Far ken'd and noted is thy name; And tho' yon lowin' heugh's thy hame, Thou travels far; And, faith! thou's neither lag nor lame, Whyles, ranging like a roaring lion, The bleezin', curst, mischievous monkies Till in some miry slough he sunk is, When masons' mystic word and grip Or, strange to tell! Whyles on the strong-wing'd tempest flyin', The youngest brother ye wad whip Tirlin' the kirks; Whyles, in the human bosom pryin', Unseen thou lurks. I've heard my reverend granny say, Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way When twilight did my granny summon, Aff straught to hell! Lang syne, in Eden's bonny yard, Then you, ye auld snec-drawing dog! Aft yont the dyke she's heard you bummin', | And played on man a cursed brogue, Wi' eerie drone; Or, rustlin', thro' the boortries comin', Wi' heavy groan. Ae dreary, windy, winter night, The stars shot down wi' sklentin' light, Wi' you, mysel, I gat a fright Ayont the lough; Ye, like a rash-bush, stood in sight Wi' waving sough. The cudgel in my nieve did shake, Each bristl'd hair stood like a stake, (Black be your fa!) And gied the infant warld a shog, 'Maist ruin'd a'. D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz, And sklented on the man of Uzz 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, Awa ye squatter'd, like a drake, On whistling wings. Let warlocks grim, and wither'd hags, Tell how wi' you, on ragweed nags, They skim the muirs and dizzy crags, Wi wicked speed; And in kirk-yards renew their leagues Thence countra wives, wi' toil and pain, And dawtit, twal-pint hawkie's gaen When thowes dissolve the snawy hooord, And aft your moss-traversing spunkies While scabs and botches did him gall, Wi' bitter claw, NEW-YEAR MORNING SALUTATION. The Auld Farmer's New-Prar Morning Salutation to his Auld Mare Maggie, ON GIVING HER THE ACCUSTOMED RIPP OF CORN TO HANSEL IN THE NEW YEAR. A GUID New-year I wish thee, Maggie! I've seen the day Out-owre the lay. Tho' now thou's dowie, stiff, and crazy, And thy auld hide's as white's a daisy, I've seen thee dappl't, sleek, and glaizie, A bonny gray. At brooses thou had ne'er a fellow But ev'ry tail thou pay't them hollow, Whare'er thou gaed. 105 The sma' droop-rumpl't, hunter, cattle, Thou was a noble fittie-lan', 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. Thou ance was i' the foremost rank, And could hae flown out-owre a stank, It's now some nine-and-twenty year, Tho' it was sma', 'twas weel-won gear, When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, That day ye pranc'd wi' muckle pride, Kyle Stewart I could bragged wide, Tho' now ye dow but hoyte and hoble, That day ye was a jinker noble, For heels and win'! And ran them till they a' did wauble, Far, far behin'! And spread abreed thy well-fill'd brisket, When frosts lay lang, and snaws were deep, Aboon the timmer; I ken'd my Maggie wad na sleep In cart or car thou never reestit; Then stood to blaw; But just thy step a wee thing hastit, My pleugh is now thy bairn-time a'; That thou hast nurst: They drew me thretteen pund and twa, The vera warst. Monie a sair daurk we twa hae wrought, We wad be beat! Yet here to crazy age we're brought, And think na, my auld trusty servan', For my last fou, We've worn to crazy years thegither; Whare ye may nobly rax your leather, Wi' sma' fatigue. And shook his Carrick spear, Some merry, friendly, countra folks, Together did convene, To burn their nits, and pou their stocks, Fu' blythe that night. The lasses feat, and cleanly neat, Then, first and foremost, thro' the kail, Poor hav'rel Will fell aff the drift, Sae bow't that night. Then, straught or crooked, yird or nane, And gif the custoc's sweet or sour, Syne coziely, aboon the door, Wi' cannie care, they've placed them The lasses straw frae 'mang them a' The auld guidwife's weel-hoordet nits (15) Are round and round divided, Jean slips in twa wi' tentie e'e; She says in to hersel' : He bleez'd owre her, and she owre him, Poor Willie, wi' his bow-kail runt, Mall's nit lap out wi' pridefu' fling, Nell had the fause-house in her min,' She whisper'd Rob to leuk for't: But Merran sat behint their backs, She through the yard the nearest taks, And in the blue-clue (16) throws then And aye she win't, and aye she swat, Or whether 'twas a bauk-en', She fuff't her pipe wi' sic a lunt, 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, That lived in Achmacalla : He gat hemp-seed (18), I mind it weel, Then up gat fechtin' Jamie Fleck, The auld guidman raught down the pock, 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, The graip he for a harrow taks, And every now and then he says, Come after me, and draw thee He whistl'd up Lord Leonox' march, He was sae fley'd and eerie : Out-owre that night. He roar'd a horrid murder-shout, And young and auld cam rinnin' out, He swoor 'twas hilchin Jean M'Craw, Meg fain wad to the barn hae gaen, But for to meet the deil her lane, To watch, while for the barn she sets, She turns the key wi' cannie thraw, But first on Sawny gies a ca', 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, 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' Aff'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, Where three lairds' lands met at a burn (21), Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays, Poor Leezy's heart maist lap the hool; But mist a fit, and in the pool Wi' a plunge that night. In order, on the clean hearth-stane, Auld uncle John, wha' wedlock's joys In wrath that night. Wi' merry sangs, and friendly cracks, And unco tales, and funny jokes, Their sports were cheap and cheery; Till butter'd so'ns (23), wi' fragrant lunt, Set a' their gabs a-steerin'; Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt, They parted aff careerin' Fu' blythe that night. (24) A Winter Night. Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, WHEN biting Boreas, fell and doure, Ae night the storm the steeples rocked, Wild eddying swirl, Or thro' the mining outlet bocked, Listening, the doors and winnocks I thought me on the ourie cattle, Ilk happing bird, wee, helpless thing, What comes o' thee! Whare wilt thou cow'r thy chittering wing, And close thy e'e? Ev'n you on murd'ring errands toil'd, My heart forgets, Now Phœbe, in her midnight reign, When on my ear this plaintive strain "Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust! Than heaven-illumined man on brother man bestows! See stern oppression's iron grip, 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, [ers! Regardless of the tears and unavailing prayPerhaps this hour in misery's squalid nest, She strains your infant to her joyless breast, [rocking blast! And with a mother's fears shrinks at the Oh ye! who, sunk in beds of down, Feel not a want but what yourselves create, |