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Whyles glitter'd to the nightly rays,

Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle ; Whyles 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 rang'd,
And ev'ry time great care is ta’en,

To see them duly chang'd:
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.

• Take three dishes; put clean water in one, foul water in another, leave the third empty : blindfold a person, and lead him to the hearth where the dishes are ranged; he (or she) dips the left hand : if by chance in the clean water, the future hus. band or wife will come to the bar of matrimony a maid: if in the foul, a widow: if in the empty dish, it foretels, with equal certainty, no marriage at all. It is repeated three times, and every time the arrangement of the dishes is altered.

Wi' merry sangs, an' friendly cracks,

I wat they did na weary ;
An' unco tales, an' funnie jokes,

Their sports were cheap an' cheery,
Till butter'd sonst, wi' fragrant lunt,

Set a' their gabs a-steerin; Syne, wi’ a social glass o’ strunt, They parted aff careerin

Fu' blythe that night.





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, an' knaggie,

I've seen the day,
Thou could hae gaen like onie staggie

Out-owre the lay.

+ Sowens, with butter instead of milk to them, is always the Halloween Supper.

Tho' now ihou's dowie, stiff, an' crazy, An' thy auld hide’s as white's a daisy, I've seen thee dappl't, sleek, and glazie,

A bonny gray: He should been tight that daur't to raize thee,

Ance in a day.

Thou ance was i' the foremost rank,
A filly buirdly, steeve, an’swank,
An' set weel down a shapely shank,

As e'er tread yird ;
An' could hae flown out-owre a stank,

Like onie bird.

It's now some nine-an’-twenty year,
Sin' thou was my guid father's meere ;
He gied me thee, o'tocher clear,

An' fifty mark;
Tho' it was sma,''twas weel-won gear,

An' thou was stark.

When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, Ye then was trottin wi' your minnie : Tho' ye was trickie, slee, an' funnie,

Ye ne'er was donsie; But hamely, tawie, quiet, an' cannie,

An' unco sonsie.

That day, ye pranc'd wi' muckle pride, When ye bure hame my bonnie bride ; An’sweet an' gracefu' she did ride,

Wi' maiden air! Kyle Stewart I could bragged wide,

For sic a pair. VOL. XXXVIII.


Tho' now ye dow but hoyte and hobble,
An' wintle like a saumont-coble,
That day ye was a jinker noble,

For heels an' win'!
And ran them till they a' did wauble,

Far, far behin.'

When thou an' I were young an' skeigh, An' stable-meals at fairs were dreigh, How thou wad prance, an' snore, an' skreigh,

An' tak the road! Town's bodies ran,

and stood abeigh, An' ca't thee mad.

When thou was eorn'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-rumplit, hunter cattle, Might aiblins waur't thee for a brattle ; But sax Scotch miles thou try't their mettle,

An' gar't them whaizle : Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle

Oʻ saugh or hazel.

Thou was a noble fittie-lan,'
As e'er in tug or tow'was drawn !
Aft thee anI, in aught hours gaun,

On guid March-weather.
Hae turn'd sax rood beside our ban,'

For days thegither.

Thou never braindga't, an' fech't, an' fliskit, But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit, An' spread abreed thy weel-fill'd brisket,

Wi' pith and pow'r, Till spritty knowes wad rairit and risket,

An' slypet owre.

When frosts lay bang, an' snaws were deep, An' threaten'd labor back to keep, I gied thy cog a wee-bit heap,

Aboon the timmer; I ken'd my Maggie wad na sleep

For that, or simmer.

In cart or car thou never reestit;
The steyest brae thou wad hae fact it:
Thou never lap, and sten't, and breastit,

Then stood to blaw;
But just thy step a wee thing hastit,

Thou snoov't awa.

My pleugh is now thy bairn-time a': Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw: Forbye sax mae, I've sell’t awa,

That thou hast nurst: They drew me thretteen pund an' twa,

The vera warst.

Monie a sair daurk we twa hae wrought,
An' wi' the weary warl fought!
An monie an anxious day, I thought

We wad be beat!
Yet here to crazy age we're brought,

Wi' something yet.

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