THE AULD FARMER'S NEW-YEAR SALUTATION.

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THE AULD FARMER'S NEW-YEAR 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 !
Hae, there's a ripp to thy auld baggie:
Tho' thou's howe-backit, now,
knaggie,

an'

I've seen the day, Thou could hae gane like ony staggie Out-owre the lay.

Tho' now ye dow but hoyte and hoble,
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 and skeigh,
An' stable-meals at fairs were driegh,
How thou wad prance, an' snore, an'
skriegh

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 ay like a swallow:
At Brooses thou had ne'er a fellow,
For pith an' speed;
But ev'ry tail thou pay't them hollow,
Whare'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' gart 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 riskit,
An' slypet owre.

TO A MOUSE, ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST

WITH THE PLOUGH, NOVEMBER, 1785.

WHEN biting Boreas, fell and doure,
Sharp shivers thro' the leafless bow'r;
When Phoebus gies a short-liv'd glow'r,
Far south the lift,

Dim-dark'ning thro' the flaky show'r,
Or whirling drift:

Ae night the storm the steeples rocked,
Poor Labour sweet in sleep was locked,
While burns, wi' snawy wreeths up-choked,
Wild-eddying swirl,

Or thro' the mining outlet bocked,

Down headlong hurl.

List'ning, the doors an' winnocks rattle,
I thought me on the ourie cattle,

Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle

O' winter war,

And thro' the drift, deep-lairing, sprattle

Beneath a scar.

'Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust!
And freeze, thou bitter-biting frost!
Descend, ye chilly, smothering snows!
'Not all your rage, as now, united shows
More hard unkindness, unrelenting,
'Vengeful malice unrepenting,

'Than heav'n-illumin'd man on brother man bestows! 'See stern Oppression's iron grip,

'Or mad Ambition's gory hand,

'Sending, like blood-hounds from the slip,
'Woe, want, and murder o'er a land!
'Ev'n in the peaceful rural vale,

Truth, weeping, tells the mournful tale,
'How pamper'd Luxury, Flatt'ry 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 glitt'ring show,

'A creature of another kind,

'Some coarser substance, unrefin'd,

'Plac'd for her lordly use thus far, thus vile, below

Where, where is Love's fond, tender throe,

'With lordly Honour's lofty brow,

'The pow'rs 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 pray'rs !
'Perhaps this hour, in mis'ry's squalid nest,

She strains your infant to her joyless breast, And with a mother's fears shrinks at the rocking blast!

'Oh 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 clam'rous call,

'Stretch'd on his straw he lays himself to sleep, 'While thro' 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