Sendin' the stuff o'er muirs and haggs,
Like drivin' wrack;

But may the tapmast grain that wags
Come to the sack.

I'm bizzie too, and skelpin' at it,
But bitter, daudin' showers hae wat it,
Sae my auld stumpie pen I gat it
Wi' muckle wark,

And took my jocteleg and whatt it,
Like ony clark.

It's now twa month that I'm your debtor,
For your braw, nameless, dateless letter,
Abusin' me for harsh ill nature

morasses sea-weed topmost

busy, active beating, wet got

much trouble

knife, mended

any

selves jades

praise

brewer

Your friendship, sir, I winna quat it,

And if ye mak objections at it,

Then han' in nieve some day we'll knot it,
And witness take,

Aud when wi' usquebae we've wat it,

It winna break.

But if the beast and branks be spared
Till kye be gaun without the herd,
And a' the vittel in the yard,

And theekit right,

I mean your ingle-side to guard
Ae winter night.

Then muse-inspirin' aqua vitæ

Shall make us baith sae blythe and witty,

Till ye forget ye're auld and gutty,

And be as canty

As ye were nine year less than thretty,

Sweet ane and twenty!

But stooks are cowpet wi' the blast,
And now the sinn keeks in the west,
Then I maun rin among the rest,
And quat my chanter;
Sae I subscribe myself in haste,
Your's, Rab the Ranter.

quit

fist

whisky

curb

cows, going

victuals

thatched

fireside

one

both

gouty

cheerful

shocks, overturned

sun peeps

run

quit, pipes

EPISTLE TO THE REV. JOHN M'MATH.

WHILE t the stook the shearers cower
To shun the bitter blaudin' shower,
Or in gulravage rinnin' scower

To pass the time,

To you I dedicate the hour

In idle rhyme.

My Musie, tired wi' mony a sonnet

September 17, 1785. shock, reapers

On gown, and ban', and douce black bonnet,
Is grown richt eerie now she's done it,
Lest they should blame her,

And rouse their holy thunder on it,
And anathem her.

beating confusion

sober

fearful

I own t'was rash, and rather hardy,
That I, a simple, country bardie,
Should meddle wi' a pack sae sturdy,
Wha, if they ken me,

bard

knew

Can easy,

wi' a single wordie,

loose

Lowse KIRKS upon me.

But I gae mad at their grimaces,

Their sighin', cantin', grace-proud faces,

Their three-mile prayers, and hauf-mile graces,

Their raxin' conscience,

Whase greed, revenge, and pride disgraces

Waur nor their nonsense.

There's Gawn,* misca't waur than a beast,

Wha has mair honour in his breast

Than mony scores as guid's the priest

Wha sae abus't him;

And may a bard no crack his jest

What way they've use't him?

See him, the poor man's friend in need,
The gentleman in word and deed,

And shall his fame and honour bleed

By worthless skellums,

And not a Muse erect her head
To cowe the blellums?

Oh, Pope, had I thy satire's darts
To gie the rascals their deserts,
I'd rip their rotten, hollow hearts,
And tell aloud

Their jugglin' hocus-pocus arts
To cheat the crowd.

A' KEN I'm no the thing I should be,
Nor am I even the thing I could be,

Gavin Hamilton.

half

stretching

whose

worse than

blamed

wretches

talkative fellows

give

But twenty times I rather would be
An atheist clean,

Than under gospel colours hid be
Just for a screen.

An honest man may like a glass,
An honest man may like a lass,
But mean revenge, and malice fause
He'll still disdain,

And then cry zeal for gospel laws,
Like some we ken.

They take religion in their mouth;
They talk o' mercy, grace, and truth,
For what? to gie their malice skouth
On some puir wight,

And hunt him down o'er right and ruth,
To ruin straight.

All hail, Religion! maid divine!
Pardon a Muse sae mean as mine,
Who in her rough imperfect line,
Thus daurs to name thee;

To stigmatize false friends of thine
Can ne'er defame thee.

Though blotch't and foul wi' mony a stain

And far unworthy of thy train,

With trembling voice I tune my strain

To join with those

Who boldly daur thy cause maintain
In spite o' foes:

In spite o' crowds, in spite o' mobs,
In spite o' undermining jobs,
In spite o' dark banditti stabs
At worth and merit,

By scoundrels, even wi' holy robes,
But WICKED Spirit.

O Ayr! my dear, my native ground,
Within thy presbyterial bound
A candid liberal band is found
Of public teachers,

As men, as Christians too, renowned,
And manly preachers.

Sir, in that circle you are named;
Sir, in that circle you are famed;
And some, by whom your doctrine's blamed
(Which gies you honour),

Even, sir, by them your heart's esteemed,
And winning manner.

Pardon this freedom I have ta'en,

And if impertinent I've been,

false

scope

poor

dares

Impute it not, good sir, in ane
Whase heart ne'er wrang'd ye,

But to his utmost would befriend
Ought that belang'd ye.

one whose

belonged to

TO A MOUSE,

ON TURNING UP HER NEST WITH THE PLOUGH, NOVEMBER

1785.

WEE, sleekit, cow'rin', tim 'rous beastie,
Oh what a panic's in thy breastie !
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,

Wi' bickering brattle!

I wad be laith to rin and chase thee,
Wi' murd'ring pattle!

I'm truly sorry man's dominion
Has broken nature's social union,
And justifies that ill opinion,

Which makes thee startle

At me, thy poor earth-born companion,
And fellow mortal!

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen icker in a thrave

hasty clatter

loath ploughstaff

sometimes must

ear of

Now thou's turned out for a' thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the winter's sleety dribble,
And cranreuch cauld!

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:

little

weak walls, winds

build

rank grass

both sharp

comfortable

ploughshare

stubble many

without, hold endure, drizzle

hoar-fros

alone

The best-laid schemes o' mice and men,
Gang aft a-gley,

And lea'e us nought but grief and pain,
For promised joy.

Still thou art blest, compared wi' me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But, och! I backward cast my ee,
On prospects drear!

And forward, though I canna see,
I guess and fear.

go oft wrong

eye

HALLOWE'EN.*

The following poem will, by many readers, be well enough understood; but for the sake of those who are unacquainted with the manners and traditions of the country where the scene is cast, notes are added, to give some account of the principal charms and spells of that night, so big with prophecy to the peasantry in the west of Scotland. The passion of prying into futurity makes a striking part of the history of human nature in its rude state. in all ages and nations; and it may be some entertainment to a philosophic mind, if any such should honour the author with a perusal, to see the remains of it among the more unenlightened in our own.

"Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain,
The simple pleasures of the lowly train;
To me more dear, congenial to my heart,
One native charm, than all the gloss of art."

UPON that night, when fairies light,
On Cassilis Downanst dance,
Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze,
On sprightly coursers prance;
Or for Colean the route is ta'en,
Beneath the moon's pale beams;

There, up the Covet to stray and rove
Amang the rocks and streams

To sport that night.

Amang the bonny, winding banks,

Where Doon rins, wimplin', clear,

GOLDSMITH.-B.

Where Bruces ance ruled the martial ranks,

And shook his Carrick spear,

Some merry, friendly, country folks

Together did convene,

To burn their nits, and pou their stocks,

And haud their Hallowe'en

Fu' blythe that night.

over, fields

meandering

once

nuts, pull

hold

Hallowe'en or All Hallow Eve is thought to be a night when witches, devils, and other mischief-making beings are all abroad on their baneful midnight errands; particularly those aerial people, the fairies, are said on that night to hold a grand anniversary.-B.

+ Certain little romantic, rocky, green hills, in the neighbourhood of the ancient seat of the Earls of Cassilis.-B.

A noted cavern near Colean House, called the Cove of Colean; which, as well as Casilis Downans, is famed in country story for being a favourite haunt of fairies.-B.

S The famous family of that name, the ancestors of Robert, the great deliverer of his country, were Earls of Carrick.-B.