Delphi Complete Works of Robert Burns (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) (17 page)
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Authors: Robert Burns
73.
Farewell to Ballochmyle (Song)
Tune
— “Miss Forbes’s farewell to Banff.”
THE CATRINE woods were yellow seen,
The flowers decay’d on Catrine lee,
Nae lav’rock sang on hillock green,
But nature sicken’d on the e’e.
Thro’ faded groves Maria sang,
5
Hersel’ in beauty’s bloom the while;
And aye the wild-wood ehoes rang,
Fareweel the braes o’ Ballochmyle!
Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers,
Again ye’ll flourish fresh and fair;
10
Ye birdies dumb, in with’ring bowers,
Again ye’ll charm the vocal air.
But here, alas! for me nae mair
Shall birdie charm, or floweret smile;
Fareweel the bonie banks of Ayr,
15
Fareweel, fareweel! sweet Ballochmyle!
74.
Her Flwoing Locks (Fragment of a Song)
HER flowing locks, the raven’s wing,
Adown her neck and bosom hing;
How sweet unto that breast to cling,
And round that neck entwine her!
Her lips are roses wat wi’ dew,
5
O’ what a feast her bonie mou’!
Her cheeks a mair celestial hue,
A crimson still diviner!
75.
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 honour the author with a perusal, to see the remains of it among the more unenlightened in our own. —
R. B.
Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain,
The simple pleasure of the lowly train;
To me more dear, congenial to my heart,
One native charm, than all the gloss of art. — GOLDSMITH.
UPON that night, when fairies light
On Cassilis Downans
dance,
Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze,
On sprightly coursers prance;
Or for Colean the rout is ta’en,
5
Beneath the moon’s pale beams;
There, up the Cove,
to stray an’ rove,
Amang the rocks and streams
To sport that night;
Amang the bonie winding banks,
10
Where Doon rins, wimplin, clear;
Where Bruce
ance rul’d the martial ranks,
An’ shook his Carrick spear;
Some merry, friendly, countra-folks
Together did convene,
15
To burn their nits, an’ pou their stocks,
An’ haud their Halloween
Fu’ blythe that night.
The lasses feat, an’ cleanly neat,
Mair braw than when they’re fine;
20
Their faces blythe, fu’ sweetly kythe,
Hearts leal, an’ warm, an’ kin’:
The lads sae trig, wi’ wooer-babs
Weel-knotted on their garten;
Some unco blate, an’ some wi’ gabs
25
Gar lasses’ hearts gang startin
Whiles fast at night.
Then, first an’ foremost, thro’ the kail,
Their stocks
maun a’ be sought ance;
They steek their een, and grape an’ wale
30
For muckle anes, an’ straught anes.
Poor hav’rel Will fell aff the drift,
An’ wandered thro’ the bow-kail,
An’ pou’t for want o’ better shift
A runt was like a sow-tail
35
Sae bow’t that night.
Then, straught or crooked, yird or nane,
They roar an’ cry a’ throu’ther;
The vera wee-things, toddlin, rin,
Wi’ stocks out owre their shouther:
40
An’ gif the custock’s sweet or sour,
Wi’ joctelegs they taste them;
Syne coziely, aboon the door,
Wi’ cannie care, they’ve plac’d them
To lie that night.
45
The lassies staw frae ‘mang them a’,
To pou their stalks o’ corn;
But Rab slips out, an’ jinks about,
Behint the muckle thorn:
He grippit Nelly hard and fast:
50
Loud skirl’d a’ the lasses;
But her tap-pickle maist was lost,
Whan kiutlin in the fause-house
Wi’ him that night.
The auld guid-wife’s weel-hoordit nits
55
Are round an’ round dividend,
An’ mony lads an’ lasses’ fates
Are there that night decided:
Some kindle couthie side by side,
And burn thegither trimly;
60
Some start awa wi’ saucy pride,
An’ jump out owre the chimlie
Fu’ high that night.
Jean slips in twa, wi’ tentie e’e;
Wha ‘twas, she wadna tell;
65
But this is
Jock,
an’ this is
me,
She says in to hersel’:
He bleez’d owre her, an’ she owre him,
As they wad never mair part:
Till fuff! he started up the lum,
70
An’ Jean had e’en a sair heart
To see’t that night.
Poor Willie, wi’ his bow-kail runt,
Was brunt wi’ primsie Mallie;
An’ Mary, nae doubt, took the drunt,
75
To be compar’d to Willie:
Mall’s nit lap out, wi’ pridefu’ fling,
An’ her ain fit, it brunt it;
While Willie lap, and swore by jing,
‘Twas just the way he wanted
80
To be that night.
Nell had the fause-house in her min’,
She pits hersel an’ Rob in;
In loving bleeze they sweetly join,
Till white in ase they’re sobbin:
85
Nell’s heart was dancin at the view;
She whisper’d Rob to leuk for’t:
Rob, stownlins, prie’d her bonie mou’,
Fu’ cozie in the neuk for’t,
Unseen that night.
90
But Merran sat behint their backs,
Her thoughts on Andrew Bell:
She lea’es them gashin at their cracks,
An’ slips out-by hersel’;
She thro’ the yard the nearest taks,
95
An’ for the kiln she goes then,
An’ darklins grapit for the bauks,
And in the blue-clue
throws then,
Right fear’t that night.
An’ ay she win’t, an’ ay she swat —
100
I wat she made nae jaukin;
Till something held within the pat,
Good L — d! but she was quaukin!
But whether ‘twas the deil himsel,
Or whether ‘twas a bauk-en’,
105
Or whether it was Andrew Bell,
She did na wait on talkin
To spier that night.
Wee Jenny to her graunie says,
“Will ye go wi’ me, graunie?
110
I’ll eat the apple at the glass,
I gat frae uncle Johnie:”
She fuff’t her pipe wi’ sic a lunt,
In wrath she was sae vap’rin,
She notic’t na an aizle brunt
115
Her braw, new, worset apron
Out thro’ that night.
“Ye little skelpie-limmer’s face!
I daur you try sic sportin,
As seek the foul thief ony place,
120
For him to spae your fortune:
Nae doubt but ye may get a sight!
Great cause ye hae to fear it;
For mony a ane has gotten a fright,
An’ liv’d an’ died deleerit,
125
On sic a night.
“Ae hairst afore the Sherra-moor,
I mind’t as weel’s yestreen —
I was a gilpey then, I’m sure
I was na past fyfteen:
130
The simmer had been cauld an’ wat,
An’ stuff was unco green;
An’ eye a rantin kirn we gat,
An’ just on Halloween
It fell that night.
135
“Our stibble-rig was Rab M’Graen,
A clever, sturdy fallow;
His sin gat Eppie Sim wi’ wean,
That lived in Achmacalla:
He gat hemp-seed,
I mind it weel,
140
An’he made unco light o’t;
But mony a day was by himsel’,
He was sae sairly frighted
That vera night.”
Then up gat fechtin Jamie Fleck,
145
An’ he swoor by his conscience,
That he could saw hemp-seed a peck;
For it was a’ but nonsense:
The auld guidman raught down the pock,
An’ out a handfu’ gied him;
150
Syne bad him slip frae’ mang the folk,
Sometime when nae ane see’d him,
An’ try’t that night.
He marches thro’ amang the stacks,
Tho’ he was something sturtin;
155
The graip he for a harrow taks,
An’ haurls at his curpin:
And ev’ry now an’ then, he says,
“Hemp-seed I saw thee,
An’ her that is to be my lass
160
Come after me, an’ draw thee
As fast this night.”
He wistl’d up Lord Lennox’ March
To keep his courage cherry;
Altho’ his hair began to arch,
165
He was sae fley’d an’ eerie:
Till presently he hears a squeak,
An’ then a grane an’ gruntle;
He by his shouther gae a keek,
An’ tumbled wi’ a wintle
170
Out-owre that night.
He roar’d a horrid murder-shout,
In dreadfu’ desperation!
An’ young an’ auld come rinnin out,
An’ hear the sad narration:
175
He swoor ‘twas hilchin Jean M’Craw,
Or crouchie Merran Humphie —
Till stop! she trotted thro’ them a’;
And wha was it but grumphie
Asteer that night!
180
Meg fain wad to the barn gaen,
To winn three wechts o’ naething;
But for to meet the deil her lane,
She pat but little faith in:
She gies the herd a pickle nits,
185
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,
190
An’owre the threshold ventures;
But first on Sawnie gies a ca’,
Syne baudly in she enters:
A ratton rattl’d up the wa’,
An’ she cry’d Lord preserve her!
195
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;
200
It chanc’d the stack he faddom’t thrice
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,
205
Till skin in blypes cam haurlin
Aff’s nieves that night.
A wanton widow Leezie was,
As cantie as a kittlen;
But och! that night, amang the shaws,
210
She gat a fearfu’ settlin!
She thro’ the whins, an’ by the cairn,
An’ owre the hill gaed scrievin;
Whare three lairds’ lan’s met at a burn,
To dip her left sark-sleeve in,
215
Was bent that night.
Whiles owre a linn the burnie plays,
As thro’ the glen it wimpl’t;
Whiles round a rocky scar it strays,
Whiles in a wiel it dimpl’t;
220
Whiles glitter’d to the nightly rays,
Wi’ bickerin’, dancin’ dazzle;
Whiles cookit undeneath the braes,
Below the spreading hazel
Unseen that night.
225
