"Ae hairst afore the Sherra-moor,
I mind't as weel's yestreen
I was a gilpey then, I'm sure
I was na past fyfteen :
The simmer had been cauld an' wat,
An' stuff was unco green;
An' just on Halloween
It fell that night.
"Our stibble-rig was Rab M'Graen,
A clever, sturdy fallow;
His sin gat Eppie Sim wi' wean,
That lived in Achmacalla:
He gat hemp-seed, I mind it weel,
An' he made unco light o't;
But mony a day was by himsel',
He was sae sairly frighted
That vera night."
Then up gat fechtin Jamie Fleck,
An' he swoor by his conscience,
That he could saw hemp-seed a peck;
For it was a' but nonsense:
The auld guidman raught down the pock,
An' out a handfu' gied him;
Syne bad him slip frae 'mang the folk,
Sometime when nae ane see'd him,
An' try't that night.
He marches thro' amang the stacks,
Tho' he was something sturtin;
The graip he for a harrow taks,
An' haurls at his curpin :
And ev'ry now an' then, he says,
Hemp-seed I saw thee,
An' her that is to be my lass
Come after me, an' draw thee
As fast this night."
He whistl'd up Lord Lennox' March,
To keep his courage cheery;
Altho' his hair began to arch,
He was sae fley'd an' eerie :
Till presently he hears a squeak,
An' then a grane an' gruntle;
He by his shouther gae a keek,
An' tumbled wi' a wintle
Out-owre that night.
He roar'd a horrid murder-shout,
In dreadfu' desperation!
An' young an' auld come rinnin out,
An' hear the sad narration:
He swoor 'twas hilchin Jean M'Craw,
Or crouchie Merran Humphie-
Till stop! she trotted thro' them a';
An' wha was it but grumphie
Asteer that night?
Meg fain wad to the barn gaen,
To win three wechts o' naething;
But for to meet the deil her lane,
She pat but little faith in :
She gies the herd a pickle nits,
An' twa red-cheekit apples,
To watch, while for the barn she sets,
In hopes to see Tam Kipples
She turns the key wi' cannie thraw,
An' owre the threshold ventures;
But first on Sawnie gies a ca',
Syne bauldly in she enters:
A ratton rattl'd up the wa',
An' she cried Lord preserve her! An' ran thro' midden-hole an a', An' pray'd wi' zeal and fervour, Fu' fast that night.
They hoy't out Will, wi' sair advice;
They hecht him some fine braw ane;
It chanc'd the stack he faddom't thrice
Was timmer-propt for thrawin:
He taks a swirlie auld moss-oak
For some black, grousome carlin;
An' loot a winze, and drew a stroke,
Till skin in blypes cam haurlin
Aff's nieves that night.
A wanton widow Leezie was,
As cantie as a kittlen;
But och! that night, amang the shaws,
She gat a fearfu' settlin!
She thro' the whins, an' by the cairn,
An' owre the hill gaed scrievin ;
Whare three lairds' lan's met at a burn,
To dip her left sark-sleeve in
Was bent that night.
Whiles owre a linn the burnie plays,
As thro' the glen it wimpl't;
Whiles round a rocky scaur it strays,
Whiles in a wiel it dimpl❜t;
Whiles glitter'd to the nightly rays,
Wi' bickerin, dancin dazzle;
Whiles cookit underneath the braes,
Below the spreading hazel
Unseen that night.
Amang the brachens, on the brae,
Between her an' the moon,
The deil, or else an outler quey,
Gat up, an' gae a croon :
Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool
Near lav'rock-height she jumpit,
But mist a fit, an' in the pool
Out-owre the lugs she plumpit,
Wi' a plunge that night.
In order, on the clean hearth-stane,
The luggies three are ranged;
An' ev'ry time great care is ta'en
To see them duly changed:
Auld uncle John, wha wedlock's joys
Sin' Mar's-year did desire,
Because he gat the toom dish thrice,
He heav'd them on the fire,
In wrath that night.
Wi' merry sangs, an' friendly cracks,
I wat they did na weary;
And unco tales, an' funnie jokes-
Their sports were cheap an' cheery:
Till butter'd sowens, wi' fragrant lunt,
Set a' their gabs a-steerin ;
Syne, wi' a social glass of strunt,
They parted aff careerin
Fu' blythe that night.
ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST WITH THE
PLOUGH, NOVEMBER 1785
WEE, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie,
O, what a panic's in thy breastie !
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi' bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee,
Wi' murd'ring pattle!
I'm truly sorry man's dominion,
Has broken nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion,
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
An' fellow-mortal!
I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen icker in a thrave
'S a sma' request;
I'll get a blessin wi' the lave,
An' never miss't!
Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
It's silly wa's the win's are strewin!
An' naething, now, to big a new ane,
O' foggage green!
An' bleak December's winds ensuin,
Baith snell an' keen!
Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste,
An' weary winter comin fast,
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