Till presently he hears a squeak, He roared a horrid murder-shout In dreadfu' desperation! And young and auld cam rinnin' out And hear the sad narration: Meg fain wad to the barn hae gaen, She gies the Herd a pickle nits, To watch, while for the barn she sets, She turns the key wi' canny thraw, But first on Sawny gies a ca', Syne bauldly in she enters: A ratton rattled up the wa', And she cried out. "Preserve her!" They hoy't out Will, wi' sair advice; They hecht him some fine braw ane; It chanced, the stack he faddom't thrice,† He taks a swirly auld moss oak For some black, grousome carlin; groan, grunt peep stagger halting crook-backed the pig astir would, gone corn-baskets put few nuts gentle over then boldly rat urged, strong promised, one measured timber, twisting twisted odious-looking fellow let, oath shreds, dragging off his hands merry, kitten This charm must likewise be performed unperceived, and alone. You go to the barn, and open both doors, taking them of the hinges if possible; for there is langer 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 window door, and out at the other, having ooth the figure in question, and the appearance or retinue, marking the employ. ment or station in life.-B. Take an opportunity of going, unnoticed, to a bean-stack, and fathom it three times round. The last fathom of the last time you will catch in your arms the ap pearance of your future conjugal yoke-fellow.-B. But, och! that night, amang the shaws, She through the whins, and by the cairn, Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays, Unseen that night. Amang the brackens, on the brae, The deil, or else an outler quey, woods [stones gorse, heap of went swiftly shift sometimes, cascade meandered cliff eddy racing appear and disappear fern unhoused moan Poor Leezy's heart maist lap the hool; almost, leapt, sheath lark missed, foot Near lav'rock-height she jumpit, But mist a fit, and in the pool In order, on the clean hearth-stane, ears The luggies three are ranged. And every time great care is ta'en To see them duly changed: Auld uncle John, wha wedlock's joys Sin' Mar's yeart did desire, Because he gat the toom dish thrice In wrath that night. Wi' merry sangs, and friendly cracks, I wat they did na weary; And unco tales and funny jokes, Their sports were cheap and cheery; Till butter'd so'ns, wi' fragrant lunt, Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt, Fu' blythe that night.§ dishes empty know strange smoke mouths then, spirits 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 question, will come and turn the sleeve, as if to dry the other side of it.-B. The year 1715, when the Earl of Mar raised an insurrection in Scotland. But for the Muse, she'll never leave ye, Na, even though limpin' wi' the spavie MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. A DIRGE. WHEN chill November's surly blast I spied a man whose aged step His face was furrowed o'er with years, "Young stranger, whither wanderest thou? "Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, Or youthful pleasure's rage? Or haply, prest with cares and woes, Too soon thou hast began To wander forth, with me, to mourn "The sun that overhangs yon moors, And every time has added proofs Oh, man! while in thy early years, Misspending all thy precious hours, Which tenfold force gives Nature's law, "Look not alone on youthful prime, But see him on the edge of life, Then age and want-oh ill-matched palr poor "A few seem favourites of fate, Yet think not all the rich and great But, oh! what crowds in every land, "Many and sharp the numerous ills More pointed still we make ourselves Man's inhumanity to man Makes countless thousands mourn 1 "If I'm designed yon lordling's slave-- E'er planted in my mind? If not, why am I subject to Or why has man the will and power "Yet let not this too much, my son, Disturb thy youthful breast; This partial view of human kind The poor, oppressed, honest man Had never, sure, been born, Had there not been some recompense To comfort those that mourn! Oh, Death! the poor man's dearest friend The kindest and the best! Welcome the hour my aged limbs Are laid with thee at rest! The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow, From pomp and pleasure torn But, oh! a blest relief to those That, weary-laden, mourn i" |