THE ACLO FARMER'S NEW-YEAR MORNING MAGGIE CN GIVING HER THE ACCUSTOMED RIPP OF CORN TO A gud New-Yaar I wish thee, Maggie! Thou could hae gane like any stagge Tho' now thou's fowie, scf, an' crazy. He should been tight that daurt to raize thee, Thcu ance was the foremost rank, A fly buindy, steeve, an' swark, An' could hae flown cut-owre a stank, It's now some nine-an-twenty year, Tho' it was sma', 'twas weel-won gear, An' thou was stark. When thou an' I were young and skeigh, How thou wad prance, an' snore, an' skriegh Town's-bodies ran, and stood abeigh, An' ca't thee mad. skittish dull snort, neigh aloof short-rumped perhaps have beat, spurt wheeze willow near horse of hindmost pair hide or tow traces eight, going plunged, stopped, capered chest rooty hillocks, roared, cracked fallen gently over dish edges ere were restive steepest jogged along The sma', droop-rumpled, hunter cattle, Thou was a noble fittie-lan', As e'er in tug or tow was drawn! Hae turn'd sax rood beside our han', Thou never braindg't, an' fetch't, an' fliskit, Till spritty knowes wad rair't and riskit, When frosts lay lang, an' snaws were deep, I gied thy cog a wee bit heap Aboon the timmer; I kenn'd my Maggie wad na sleep In cart or car thou never reestit; My pleugh is now thy bairn-time a', That thou hast nurst: They drew me thretteen pund an' twa, Mony a sair darg we twa hae wrought, An' mony an anxious day I thought We wad be beat! Yet here to crazy age we're brought, And think na, my auld trusty servan', A heapit stimpart I'll reserve ane We've worn to crazy years thegither; Wi' tentie care I'll flit thy tether To some hain'd rig, Where ye may nobly rax your leather, Wi' sma' fatigue. To the evidence of Burns's warm-heartedness supplied by these kindly verses may appropriately be added the Address to the Deil. Burns's atti plough-team, issue Besides, more, away worst day's work bushel totter attentive, change reserved plot stretch, sides tude to the supernatural we have already slightly touched on. Apart from the somewhat vague Deism which seems to have formed his personal creed, the poet's attitude toward most of the beliefs in the other world which were held around him was one of amused skepticism. Halloween and Tam o' Shanter show how he regarded the grosser rural superstitions; but the Devil was another matter. Scottish Calvinism had, as has been said, made him almost the fourth person in the Godhead; and Burns's thrusts at this belief are among the most effective things in his satire. In the present piece, however, the satirical spirit is almost overcome by kindliness and benevolent humor, and few of his poems are more characteristic of this side of his nature. Hoofie Splashes, dish scald ADDRESS TO THE DEIL O thou! whatever title suit thee, |