THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ROBERT BURNS 22

THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ROBERT BURNS 22

He roar'd a horrid murder-shout,

In dreadfu' desperation!

An' young an' auld cam 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 hae gaen,

To win three wechts o' naething;[39]

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

That vera night.

 

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 rattled up the wa',

An' she cried, L--d 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,[40]

Was timmer-propt for thrawin';

He taks a swirlie auld moss-oak,

For some black, grousome carlin;

An' loot a winze, an' drew a stroke,

'Till skin in blypes cam haurlin'

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 thro' the whins, an' by the cairn,

An' owre the hill gaed scrievin,

Whare three lairds' lands met at a burn,[41]

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 scaur it strays,

Whyles in a wiel it dimpl't;

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 brackens 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[42] are ranged,

And 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, and friendly cracks,

I wat they did na weary;

An' unco tales, an' funnie jokes,

Their sports were cheap an' cheery;

Till butter'd so'ns[43] wi' fragrant lunt,

Set a' their gabs a-steerin';

Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt,

They parted aff careerin'

Fu' blythe that night.

 

FOOTNOTES:

 

[Footnote 28: Is thought to be a night when witches, devils, and other

mischief-making beings are all abroad on their baneful midnight errands:

particularly those aërial people, the Fairies, are said on that night to

hold a grand anniversary.]

 

[Footnote 29: Certain little, romantic, rocky green hills, in the

neighbourhood of the ancient seat of the Earls of Cassilis.]

 

[Footnote 30: A noted cavern near Colean-house, called the Cove of

Colean which, as well as Cassilis Downans, is famed in country story

for being a favourite haunt of fairies.]

 

[Footnote 31: The famous family of that name, the ancestors of Robert,

the great deliverer of his country, were Earls of Carrick.]

 

[Footnote 32: The first ceremony of Halloween is pulling each a stock,

or plant of kail. They must go out, hand-in-hand, with eyes shut, and

pull the first they meet with: its being big or little, straight or

crooked, is prophetic of the size and shape of the grand object of all

their spells--the husband or wife. If any yird, or earth, stick to the

root, that is tocher, or fortune; and the taste of the custoc, that

is, the heart of the stem, is indicative of the natural temper and

disposition. Lastly, the stems, or, to give them their ordinary

appellation, the runts, are placed somewhere above the head of the

door; and the Christian names of the people whom chance brings into

the house are, according to the priority of placing the runts, the

names in question.]

 

[Footnote 33: They go to the barn-yard, and pull each at three several

times, a stalk of oats. If the third stalk wants the top-pickle, that

is, the grain at the top of the stalk, the party in question will come

to the marriage-bed anything but a maid.]

 

[Footnote 34: When the corn is in a doubtful state, by being too green

or wet, the stack-builder, by means of old timber, &c., makes a large

apartment in his stack, with an opening in the side which is fairest

exposed to the wind: this he calls a fause-house.]

 

[Footnote 35: Burning the nuts is a famous charm. They name the lad and

lass to each particular nut, as they lay them in the fire, and

according as they burn quietly together, or start from beside one

another, the course and issue of the courtship will be.]

 

[Footnote 36: 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

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, naming the Christian and surname of your

future spouse.]

 

[Footnote 37: 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.]

 

[Footnote 38: Steal out unperceived, and sow a handful of hemp-seed,

harrowing it with anything 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."]

 

[Footnote 39: 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.]

 

[Footnote 40: Take an opportunity of going unnoticed, to a bean 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.]

 

[Footnote 41: 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.]

 

[Footnote 42: Take three dishes: put clean water in one, foul water in

another, and 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.]

 

[Footnote 43: Sowens, with butter instead of milk to them, is always

the Halloween supper.]

 

* * * * *

 

 

 

 

XXVI.

 

MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN.

 

A DIRGE.

 

[The origin of this fine poem is alluded to by Burns in one of his

letters to Mrs. Dunlop: "I had an old grand-uncle with whom my mother

lived in her girlish years: the good old man was long blind ere he

died, during which time his highest enjoyment was to sit and cry,

while my mother would sing the simple old song of 'The Life and Age of

Man.'" From that truly venerable woman, long after the death of her

distinguished son, Cromek, in collecting the Reliques, obtained a copy

by recitation of the older strain. Though the tone and sentiment

coincide closely with "Man was made to Mourn," I agree with Lockhart,

that Burns wrote it in obedience to his own habitual feelings.]

 

 

When chill November's surly blast

Made fields and forests bare,

One ev'ning as I wandered forth

Along the banks of Ayr,

I spy'd a man whose aged step

Seem'd weary, worn with care;

His face was furrow'd o'er with years,

And hoary was his hair.

 

"Young stranger, whither wand'rest thou?"

Began the rev'rend sage;

"Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain,

Or youthful pleasure's rage?

Or haply, prest 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 ev'ry time had 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 in his right:

But see him on the edge of life,

With cares and sorrows worn;

Then age and want--oh! ill-match'd pair!--

Show man was made to mourn.

 

"A few seem favorites of fate,

In pleasure's lap carest:

Yet, think not all the rich and great

Are likewise truly blest.

But, oh! what crowds in every land,

All wretched and forlorn!

Thro' weary life this lesson learn--

That man was made to mourn.

 

"Many and sharp the num'rous ills

Inwoven with our frame!

More pointed still we make ourselves,

Regret, remorse, and shame!

And man, whose heaven-erected face

The smiles of love adorn,

Man's inhumanity to man

Makes countless thousands mourn!

 

"See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd 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 design'd yon lordling's slave--

By Nature's law design'd--

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 human-kind

Is surely not the best!

The poor, oppressed, 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 friend--

The kindest and the best!

Welcome the hour, my aged 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."

 

* * * * *

 

 

 

 

XXVII.

 

TO RUIN.

 

["I have been," says Burns, in his common-place book, "taking a peep

through, as Young finely says, 'The dark postern of time long

elapsed.' 'Twas a rueful prospect! What a tissue of thoughtlessness,

weakness, and folly! my life reminded me of a ruined temple. What

strength, what proportion in some parts, what unsightly gaps, what

prostrate ruins in others!" The fragment, To Ruin, seems to have had

its origin in moments such as these.]

 

 

I.

 

All hail! inexorable lord!

At whose destruction-breathing word,

The mightiest empires fall!

Thy cruel, woe-delighted train,

The ministers of grief and pain,

A sullen welcome, all!

With stern-resolv'd, despairing eye,

I see each aimed dart;

For one has cut my dearest tie,

And quivers in my heart.

Then low'ring and pouring,

The storm no more I dread;

Though thick'ning and black'ning,

Round my devoted head.

 

II.

 

And thou grim pow'r, by life abhorr'd,

While life a pleasure can afford,

Oh! hear a wretch's prayer!

No more I shrink appall'd, afraid;

I court, I beg thy friendly aid,

To close this scene of care!

When shall my soul, in silent peace,

Resign life's joyless day;

My weary heart its throbbings cease,

Cold mould'ring in the clay?

No fear more, no tear more,

To stain my lifeless face;

Enclasped, and grasped

Within thy cold embrace!

 

* * * * *

 

 

 

 

XXVIII.

 

TO

 

JOHN GOUDIE OF KILMARNOCK.

 

ON THE PUBLICATION OF HIS ESSAYS

 

[This burning commentary, by Burns, on the Essays of Goudie in the

Macgill controversy, was first published by Stewart, with the Jolly

Beggars, in 1801; it is akin in life and spirit to Holy Willie's

Prayer; and may be cited as a sample of the wit and the force which

the poet brought to the great, but now forgotten, controversy of the

West.]

 

 

O Goudie! terror of the Whigs,

Dread of black coats and rev'rend wigs,

Sour Bigotry, on her last legs,

Girnin', looks back,

Wishin' the ten Egyptian plagues

Wad seize you quick.

 

Poor gapin', glowrin' Superstition,

Waes me! she's in a sad condition:

Fie! bring Black Jock, her state physician,

To see her water:

Alas! there's ground o' great suspicion

She'll ne'er get better.

 

Auld Orthodoxy lang did grapple,

But now she's got an unco ripple;

Haste, gie her name up i' the chapel,

Nigh unto death;

See, how she fetches at the thrapple,

An' gasps for breath.