Some start awa wi' saucie pride, VIII. Jean slips in twa, wi' tentie e'e; Wha 'twas she wadna tell; But this is Jock, an' this is me, She says in to hersel: He bleezed owre her, an' she owre him, As they wad never mair part; Till fuff! he started up the lum, Poor Willie, wi' his bow-kail runt, Was brunt wi' primsie Mallie; An' her ain fit it burnt it; X. Nell had the fause-house in her min', But Merran sat behint their backs, Her thoughts on Andrew Bell; She through the yard the nearest taks, XII. An' aye she wint, an' aye she swat, To spier that night. Whoever would, with success, try this spell, must strictly observe these directions: Steal out, all alone, to the kiln, and, darkling, throw into the pot a clue of blue yarn; wind it in a new clue off the old one; and, towards the latter end, something will hold the thread; demand wha hauds ? i. e. who holds? an answer will be returned from the kiln-pot, by naming the Christian and surname of your future spouse. XIII. Wee Jenny to her grannie says, "Ye little skelpie-limmer's face! For him to spae your fortune? "Our stibble-rig was Rab M'Graen, Then up gat fechtin Jamie Fleck, The auld guidman raught down the pock, Syne bad him slip frae 'mang the folk, Take a candle, and go alone to a looking-glass; eat an apple before it, and some traditions say, you should comb your hair, all the time; the face of your conjugal companion, to be, will be seen in the glass, as if peeping over your shoulder. + Steal out unperceived, and sow a handful of hempseed; harrowing it with any thing you can conveniently draw after you. Repeat now and then, "Hemp-seed, I saw thee, hemp-seed, I saw thee; and him (or her) that is to be my true love, come after me and pou thee." Look over your left shoulder, and you will see the appearance of the person invoked, in the attitude of pulling hemp. Some traditions say, "come after me, and shaw thee," that is, show thyself: in which case it simply appears Others omit the harrowing, and say, "come after me, and harrow thee." S *This charm must likewise be performed unperceived, and alone. You go to the barn, and open both doors, taking them off the hinges, if possible; for there is danger that the being, about to appear, may shut the doors, and do you some mischief. Then take that instrument used in winnowing the corn, which, in our country dialect, we call a wecht; and go through all the attitudes of letting down corn against the wind. Repeat it three times; and the third time an apparition will pass through the barn, in at the windy door, and out at the other, having both the figure in question, and the appearance or retinue, marking the employment or station in life. XXIII. They hoy't out Will, wi' sair advice: A wanton widow Leezie was, But och! that night, amang the shaws, She through the whins, an' by the cairn, Was bent that night. Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays, Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle; XXVI. Amang the brachens, on the brae, The deil, or else an outler quey, Poor Leezie's heart mais lap the hool; In order, on the clean hearth-stane, 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 catch in your arms the appearance of your future conjugal yoke-fellow. + 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. 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 And every time great care is ta'en, To see them duly changed: In wrath that night. Wi' merry sangs, and friendly cracks, I wat they dinna weary; An' unco tales, an' funnie jokes, Their sports were cheap an' cheery, Till butter'd so'ns, wi' fragrant lunt, Set a' their gabs a-steerin; Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt, They parted aff careerin Fu' blythe that night. THE AULD FARMER'S NEW-YEAR MORNING SALUTATION TO HIS AULD MARE MAGGIE, ON GIVING HER ACCUSTOMED RIPP OF CORN TO HANSEL IN THE NEW-YEAR. A GUID new-year I wish thee, Maggie! Hae, there's a rip to thy auld baggie : Though thou's howe-backit, now, an' knaggie, I've seen the day, Thou could hae gaen like ony staggie Out-owre the lay. Though now thou's dowie, stiff, an' crazy, An' thy auld hide's as white's a daisy, I've seen thee dappl't, sleek, and glaizie, A bonnie gray: He should been tight that daur't to raize thee, Thou ance was i' the foremost rank, It's now some nine an' twenty year, An' fifty mark; Though 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: Though ye was trickie, slee, an' funnie, Ye ne'er was donsie ; But hamely, tawie, quiet, an' cannie, An' unco sonsie. That day, ye pranced 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. Sowens, with butter instead of milk to them, is always the Halloween supper. Though now ye dow but hoyte an' hobble 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, 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 corn't, an' I was mellow, We took the road aye like a swallow: At brooses thou had ne'er a fellow, For pith an' speed: But every tail thou pay't them hollow, Where'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' gar't 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 risket, An' slypet owre. When frosts lay lang, an' snows were deep, An' threaten'd labour back to keep, I gied thy cog a wee-bit heap Aboon the timmer; I kenn'd my Maggie wad na sleep The cart or car thou never restit; The stevest brae thou wad hae fac't 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! And monie an anxious day, I thought We wad be beat! Yet here to crazy age we're brought, Wi' something yet. See stern oppression's iron grip, Or mad ambition's gory hand, With all the servile wretches in the rear, Whose toil upholds the glittering show, Some coarser substance, unrefined, Placed for her lordly use, thus far, thus vile, below; Regardless of the tears, and unavailing prayers! "O ye! who, sunk in beds of down, Stretch'd on his straw he lays himself to sleep, But shall thy legal rage pursue A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss!" I heard nae mair, for chanticleer But deep this truth impress'd my mind- The heart benevolent and kind The most resembles God. DESPONDENCY. AN ODE. I. OPPRESS'D with grief, oppress'd with care, A burden more than I can bear, I sit me down and sigh: O life! thou art a galling load, To wretches such as I! Dim backward as I cast my view, What sickening scenes appear! What sorrows yet may pierce me through, Too justly I may fear! Still caring, despairing, Must be my bitter doom; My woes here shall close ne'er, II. Happy, ye sons of busy life, No other view regard! E'en when the wished end's denied, Meet every sad returning night, Find every prospect vain. How blest the solitary's lot, Within his humble cell, Or, haply, to his evening thought, By unfrequented stream. The ways of men are distant brought, A faint collected dream: While praising and raising His thoughts to heaven on high, As wandering, meandering, He views the solemn sky. IV. Than I, no lonely hermit placed With self-respecting art: But ah! those pleasures, loves, and joys, V. O! enviable, early days, When dancing thoughtless pleasure's maze, To care, to guilt unknown! How ill exchanged for riper times, To feel the follies, or the crimes, Of others, or my own! |