They hoy't' out Will, wi' sair advice;
They hecht2 him some fine braw ane;
It chanced the stack he faddomed thrice,"
Was timmer propt for thrawing;
He tak's a swirlie auld moss-oak,

6

For some black, grousome carlin; 5
An' loot a winze, an' drew a stroke,
Till skin in blypes came haurlin

7

Aff's nieves that night.

A wanton widow Leezie was,
As canty as a kittlin;

But och that night, amang the shaws,
She got a fearfu' settlin!

She through the whins, an' by the cairn,
An' owre the hill gaed scrievin,

Whare three lairds' lands met at a burn,10
To dip her left sark-sleeve in,

Was bent that night.

Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays,
As through the glen it wimpl't;
Whyles round a rocky scar 11 it strays,
Whyles in a wiel12 it dimpl't;
Whyles glittered to the nightly rays,
Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle;
Whyles cookit is underneath the braes,
Below the spreading hazel,

1 Urged.

13

Unseen that night.

Amang the branchens,14 on the brae,
Between her an' the moon,

The deil, or else an outler
Gat up an' gae a croon;

quey,

15

2 Promised.

3 Take an opportunity of going, unnoticed, to a bear-stack, and fathom it three times round. The last fathom of the last time you will eatch in your arms the appearance of your future conjugal yoke-fellow. -BURNS. Swore an oath. 9 Gorse.

♦ Knotty. ↑ Shreds.

5 Hideous old woman.
8 Hands.

10 You go out, one or more, for this is a social spell to a south-running spring or rivulet, where "three lairds' lands meet," and dip your left shirt-sleeve. Go to bed in sight of a fire, and hang your wet sleeve before it to dry. Lie awake; and, some time near midnight, an apparition, having the exact figure of the grand object in question, will come and turn the sleeve, as if to dry the other side of it.-BURNS.

11 Cliff.

14 Fern.

12 Eddy.
15 Unhoused heifer.

13 Appeared and vanished. 16 Moan.

MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN.

Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool; 1
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.

2

In order, on the clean hearth-stane,
The luggies three are ranged,
And every time great care is ta'en
To see them duly changed;
Auld uncle John, wha wedlock's joys
Sin' Mar's year3 did desire,

Because he gat the toom 4-dish thrice,
He heaved them on the fire

In wrath that night.

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 buttered so'ns,5 wi' fragrant lunt,
Set a' their gabs7 a-steerin';

Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt,8

They parted aff careerin'

Fu' blithe that night.

MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN.

A DIRGE.

WHEN chill November's surly blast
Made fields and forests bare,
One evening, as I wandered forth
Along the banks of Ayr,

I spied a man, whose aged step
Seemed weary, worn with care;

His face was furrowed o'er with years,
And hoary was his hair.

1 Burst its case.

2 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 husband or wife will come to the bar of matrimony a maid; if in the foul, a widow; if in the empty dish, it foretells, with equal certainty, no marriage at all. It is repeated three times, and every time the arrangement of the dishes is altered.-BURNS. 1815. 4 Empty.

5 Sowens, with butter instead of milk to them, is always the Halloween supper.-BURNS. 6 Smoke.

7 Mouths.

8 Spirituous liquor.

66

Young stranger, whither wanderest thou? Began the reverend sage;

"Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, Or youthful pleasure's rage?

Or, haply, pressed with cares and woes,
Too soon thou hast began

To wander forth, with me, to mourn
The miseries of man!

"The sun that overhangs yon moors,
Out-spreading far and wide,
Where hundreds labour to support
A haughty lordling's pride;
I've seen yon weary winter sun
Twice forty times return;
And every time has added proofs
That man was made to mourn.

"O man! while in thy early years,
How prodigal of time!"
Misspending all thy precious hours,
Thy glorious youthful prime!
Alternate follies take the sway,
Licentious passions burn;

Which tenfold force gives Nature's law,
That man was made to mourn.

"Look not alone on youthful prime,
Or manhood's active might;
Man then is useful to his kind,
Supported is his right:

وو

But see him on the edge of life,
With cares and sorrows worn,'
Then age and want-oh, ill-matched pair!—
Show man was made to mourn.

"A few seem favourites of fate,

MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN.

And man, whose heaven-erected face
The smiles of love adorn,
Man's inhumanity to man

Makes countless thousands mourn!

"See yonder poor, o'erlaboured wight,
So abject, mean, and vile,
Who begs a brother of the earth
To give him leave to toil;
And see his lordly fellow-worm
The poor petition spurn,
Unmindful, though a weeping wife
And helpless offspring mourn.

"If I'm designed yon lordling's slave
By Nature's law designed,
Why was an independent wish
E'er planted in my mind?

If not, why am I subject to
His cruelty or scorn?

Or why has man the will and power
To make his fellow mourn?

"Yet let not this too much, my son,
Disturb thy youthful breast;
This partial view of humankind
Is surely not the best!

The poor, oppressèd, honest man,
Had never, sure, been born,

Had there not been some recompense
To comfort those that mourn.

"O Death! the poor man's dearest friendThe kindest and the best!

Welcome the hour my agèd limbs

Are laid with thee at rest!

The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow,

From pomp and pleasure torn;

But, oh! a blest relief to those

That weary-laden mourn!"

39

ADDRESS TO THE DE'IL.1

O Prince! O Chief of many throned Powers,
That led th' embattled Seraphim to war.

O THOU! whatever title suit thee,
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie,
Wha in yon cavern grim an' sootie,

Closed under hatches,
Spairges about the brunstane cootie,3

2

MILTON.

To scaud poor wretches!

Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee,
An' let poor damnèd bodies be;
I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie,

E'en to a de'il,

To skelp an' scaud poor dogs like me,

An' hear us squeel!

Great is thy power, an' great thy fame;*
Far ken'd and noted is thy name;

5

An' though yon lowin heugh's thy hame,
Thou travels far;

An' faith! thou's neither lag nor lame,
Nor blate nor scaur.?

6

Whyles, ranging like a roarin' lion,
For prey a' holes an' corners tryin';
Whyles on the strong-winged tempest flyin',

Tirlin' the kirks; 8

Whyles in the human bosom pryin',

Unseen thou lurks.

1 It was, I think, in the winter of 1784, as we were going with carts for coals for the family fire (and I could yet point out the particular spot), that Robert first repeated to me the "Address to the De'il." The curious idea of such an address was suggested to him by running over in his mind the many ludicrous accounts and representations we have from various quarters of this august personage.-GILBERT BURNS. 3 Brimston-dish.

* Splashing violently.

This verse ran originally thus:

Lang syne in Eden's happy scene,
When strappin' Adam's days were green,
And Eve was like my honnie Jean,

My dearest part,

A dancin', sweet, young, handsome quean,