The cudgel in my nieve did shake,

uncovering

hideous moan

grave wall, buzzing

dreary elder-trees

one

lancing

rush

sound

fist

Each bristled hair stood like a stake,

When wi' an eldritch, stoor quaick-quaick, frightful, hoarse

Amang the springs,

Awa ye squattered, like a drake,

On whistling wings.

Let warlocks grim, and withered hags,

Tell how wi' you, on ragweed nags,

They skim the muirs and dizzy crags,
Wi' wicked speed;

And in kirkyards renew their leagues
Owre howkit dead.

Thence countra wives, wi' toil and pain,

May plunge and plunge the kirn in vain;
For, oh the yellow treasure's tacn

By witching skill

Auttered

ragwort

over excavated

country churn

taken

And dawtit, twal-pint Hawkio's gaen petted, twelve, become

As yell's the bill.

*

When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord,

And float the jinglin' icy boord,
Then water-kelpies haunt the foord,
By your direction;

And 'nighted travellers are allured
To their destruction.

And aft your moss-traversing spunkies
Decoy the wight that late and drunk is:
The bleezin', WILD, mischevious monkeys
Delude his eyes,

Till in some miry slough he sunk is,
Ne'er mair to rise.

When mason's mystic word and grip,
In storms and tempests raise you up,
Some cock or cat your rage maun stop,
Or, strange to tell!

The youngest brother ye wad whip
Aff straught YOURSEL.

Langsyne, in Eden's bonny yard,
When youthfu' lovers first were paired,
And all the soul of love they shared,
The raptured hour,

Sweet on the fragrant flowery swaird,
In shady bower.

Then you, yo auld sneck-drawing dog!
Ye came to Paradise incog.,

And played on man a cursed brogue,
(Black be your fa!)

And gied the infant warld a shog, 'Maist ruined a'.

D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz,
Wi' reekit duds, and reestit gizz,
Ye did present your smootie phiz
'Mang better folk,

And sklented on the man of Uzz
Your spitefu' joke?

milkless, bull

thaws

water-spirits

Will o' the Wisp

blazing

more

sward

old stealthy

trick

gave, shake

[hair

smoked clothes, withered

dirty

glanced

6.19

49

beat, Lowland, [Highland

know

But, faith! he'll turn a corner jinkin',
And cheat you yet.

But fare-you-weel, auld Nickic-ben 1
O wad ye tak a thought and men'!
Ye aiblins might-I dinna ken-
Still hae a stake-

I'm wae to think upo' yon den,
Even for your sake!

suddenly

perhaps

TO JAMES SMITH.

"Friendship! mysterious cement of the soul!
Sweet'ner of life, and solder of society!
I owe thee much!"-BLAIR,

DEAR Smith, the slcc'est, paukie thief,
That e'er attempted stealth or rief,
Ye surely hae some warlock-breéf
Owre human hearts;
For ne'er a bosom yet was prief
Against your arts.

For me, I swear by sun and moon,
And every star that blinks aboon,
Ye've cost me twenty pair o' shoon
Just gaun to see you;

And every ither pair that's done,
Mair ta'en I'm wi' you.

That auld capricious carlin, Nature,
To mak amends for scrimpit stature,

She's turned you aff, a human creature
On her first plan;

And in her freaks, on every feature
She's wrote, the Man.

Just now I've ta'en the fit o' rhyme,

My barmie noddle's working prime,

My fancy yerkit up sublime

Wi' hasty summon:

Hae ye a leisure-moment's time

To hear what's comin'!

Some rhyme a neighbour's name to lash;

Some rhyme (vain thought !) for needfu' cash
Some rhyme to court the country clash,
And raise a din;

sly, wheedling

robbery

spell

proof

twinkles

shoes

going

other

more taken

woman stinted

yeasty fermented

For me, an aim I never fash-
I rhyme for fun.

The star that rules my luckless lot,
Has fated me the russet coat,
CONDEMNED my fortune to the groat;
But in requit,

Has blest me wi' a random shot
O' country wit.

This while my notion's ta'en a sklent,
To try my fate in guid black prent;
But still the mair I'm that way bent,
Something cries "Hoolie!
I red you, honest man, tak tent!
Ye'll shaw your folly.

"There's ither poets much your betters,

Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters,

Hae thought they had insured their debtors
A' future ages;

Now moths deform in shapeless tatters
Their unknown pages."

Then farewell hopes o' laurel-boughs

To garland my poetic brows!

Henceforth I'll rove where busy ploughs

Are whistling thrang,

And teach the lanely heights and howes
My rustic sang.

I'll wander on, with tentless heed

How never-halting moments speed,
Till fate shall snap the brittle throad;
Then, all unknown,

I'll lay me with the inglorious dead,
Forgot and gone!

But why o' death begin a tale?

Just now we're living sound and hale,
Then top and maintop crowd the sail,
Heave care o'er side!

And large before enjoyment's gale,
Let's tak the tide.

This life, sae far's I understand,
Is a' enchanted fairy land,

Where pleasure is the magic wand,

That, wielded right,

Maks hours like minutes, hand-in-hand
Dance by fu' light.

The magic wand then let us wield;

For, ance that five-and-forty's speel'd
See, crazy, weary, joyless eild,

wrinkled face.

Comes hostin, hirplin' owre the field,

Wi' creepin' pace.

51

coughing. limping

[o'er

twilight

When ance life's day draws near the gloamin',
Then fareweel vacant careless roamin':

And fareweel cheerfu' tankards foamir.
And social noise;

And fareweel dear, deluding woman!
The joy of joys!

Oh, Life! how pleasant in thy morning,
Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning!
Cold-pausing Caution's lesson scorning.
We frisk away,

Like schoolboys, at the expected warning,
To joy and play.

We wander there, we wander here,
We eye the rose upon the brier,
Unmindful that the thorn is near,
Among the leaves !

And though the puny wound appear,
Short while it grieves.

Some, lucky, find a flowery spot,

For which they never toiled or swat;
They drink the sweet and eat the fat,

But care or pain;

And, haply, eye the barren hut

With high disdain.

With steady aim some Fortune chase;

Keen Hope does every sinew brace;

Through fair, through foul, they urge the race,

And seize the prey:

Then cannie, in some cozie place,

They close the day.

And others, like your humble servan',

Poor wights! nac rules nor roads observin';

To right or left, eternal swervin',

They zig-zag on;

Till, curst with age, obscure and starvin',

They aften groan.

Alas! what bitter toil and straining-

But truce with peevish, poor complaining!
Is Fortune's fickle Luna waning?

E'en let her gang!

Beneath what light she has remaining,

Let's sing our sang.

My pen I here fling to the door,

And kneel, "Ye Powers," and warm implore,
Though I should wander Terra o'er,

In all her climes,

Grant me but this, I ask no more,
Aye rowth o' rhymes.

without

quietly, saug

go

aourdance

D