A garter which a babe had strangled;
A knife, a father's throat had mangled,
Whom his ain son o' life bereft,
The gray hairs yet stack to the heft:
Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu',
Which even to name wad be unlawfu'.
As Tammie glowred, amazed and curious,
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious:
The piper loud and louder blew :
The dancers quick and quicker flew;
They reeled, they set, they crossed, they cleekit,
Till ilka carline swat and reekit,
And coost her duddies to the wark,
And linket at it in her sark!
each, sweated, smoked cast, clothes, work
Now Tam, O Tam! had thae been queans,
A' plump and strappin' in their teens ;
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen,
Been snaw-white seventeen-hunder linen!
Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair,
That ance were plush, o' guid blue hair,
I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdies,
For ae blink o' the bonnie burdies!
But withered beldams, auld and droll,
Rigwoodie hags, wad spean a foal,
Louping and flinging on a cummock,
I wonder didna turn thy stomach.
But Tam kenned what was what fu' brawlie;
There was ae winsome wench and walie,
That night enlisted in the core,
knew, well one, goodly company know
many, to death
(Lang after kenned on Carrick shore;
For mony a beast to dead she shot,
And perished mony a bonnie boat,
And shook baith meikle corn and bear,
And kept the country-side in fear.)
Her cutty-sark, o' Paisley hara,
That while a lassie she had worn,
In longitude though sorely scanty,
It was her best, and she was vauntie-
Ah! little kenned thy reverend grannie
That sark she coft for her wee Nannie,
Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches),
Wad ever graced a dance o' witches!
But here my Muse her wing maun cour,
Sic flights are far beyond her power;
To sing how Nannie lap and flang,
(A souple jad she was and strang,)
And how Tam stood like ane bewitched,
And thought his very een enriched;
Even Satan glowred and fidged fu' fain,
And hotched and blew mi' might and main:
Till first ae caper, syne anither,
Tam tint his reason a' thegither,
Ret And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty-sark!"
And in an instant all was dark:
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied,
When out the hellish legion sallied.
As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke,
When plundering herds assail their byke;
As open pussie's mortal foes,
When, pop! she starts before their nose;
As eager runs the market-crowd,
When" Catch the thief!" resounds aloud:
So Maggie runs, the witches follow,
Wi' mony an eldritch screech and hollow.
Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin'!
FOR NOW they'll roast thee like a herrin'!
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin'!
Kate soon will be a woefu' woman!
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg,
And win the keystane* o' the brig;
There at them thou thy tail may toss,
A running stream they darena cross!
But ere the keystane she could make,
NAE HAET a tail she had to shake!
For Nannie, far before the rest,
Hard upon noble Maggie prest,
And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle,
But little wist she Maggie's mettle-
Ae spring brought off her master hale,
But left behind her ain gray tail:
The carline claught her by the rump,
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.
Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read,
Ilk man and mother's son take heed:
Whene'er to drink you are inclined,
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind,
Think! ye may buy the joys ower dear-
Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare.
ON THE BIRTH OF A POSTHUMOUS CHILD, BORN UNDER PECULIAR
CIRCUMSTANCES OF FAMILY DISTRESS.
SWEET floweret, pledge o' meikle love,
And ward o' mony a prayer,
What heart o' stane wad thou na move,
Sae helpless, sweet, and fair!
It is a well-known fact that witches, or any evil spirits, have no power to follow poor wight any farther than the middle of the next running stream. It may be poper likewise to mention to the benighted traveller, that when he falls in with ogies, whatever danger may be in his going forward, there is much more hasard in turning back.-B."
November hirples o'er the lea
Chill on thy lovely form;
And gane, alas! the sheltering tree
Should shield thee frae the storm.
May He who gives the rain to pour,
And wings the blast to blaw,
Protect thee frae the driving shower,
The bitter frost and snaw!
May He, the friend of wo and want,
Who heals life's various stounds,
Protect and guard the mother-plant,
And heal her cruel wounds!
But late she flourished, rooted fast,
Fair on the summer morn;
Now, feebly bends she in the blast,
Unsheltered and forlorn.
Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem,
Unscathed by ruffian hand!
And from thee many a parent stem
Arise to deck our land!
ELEGY ON THE LATE MISS BURNET OF MONBODDO.
LIFE ne'er exulted in so rich a prize
As Burnet, lovely from her native skies;
Nor envious death so triumphed in a blow,
As that which laid th' accomplished Burnet low.
Thy form and mind, sweet maid, can I forget?
In richest ore the brightest jewel set!
In thee, high Heaven above was truest shown,
As by his noblest work the Godhead best is known.
In vain ye flaunt in summer's pride, ye groves;
Thou crystal streamlet with thy flowery shore,
Ye woodland choir that chant your idle loves,
Ye cease to charm-Eliza is no more!
Ye heathy wastes, immixed with reedy fens;
Ye mossy streams, with sedge and rushes stored
Ye rugged cliffs, o'erhanging dreary glens,
To you I fly, ye with my soul accord.
Princes, whose cumbrous pride was all their worth
Shall venal lays their pompous exit hail?
And thou, sweet excellence! forsake our earth,
And not a Muse in honest grief bewail?
We saw thee shine in youth and beauty's pride,
And virtue's light, that beams beyond the spheres;
But, like the sun eclipsed at morning-tide,
Thou left'st us darkling in a world of tears.
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