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⚫ lively. • eddy.

HALLOWEEN

A wanton widow Leezie was,
As cantie as a kittlen;

But och! that night, amang the shaws,b
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,1
To dip her left sark-sleeve in,

Was bent that night.

Whiles owre a linn the burnie plays,
As thro' the glen it wimpl't;
Whiles round a rocky scard it strays,
Whiles in a wiele it dimpl't;
Whiles glitter'd to the nightly rays,
Wi' bickerin, dancin dazzle;
Whiles cookit underneath the braes,
Below the spreading hazel
Unseen that night.

Amang the brachens, on the brae,
Between her an' the moon,
The deil, or else an outler quey,b
Gat up an' ga'e a crooni

Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool';

Near lav rock-height she jumpit,

But mist a fit, an' in the pool

i moan.

Out-owre the lugs she plumpit,

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1 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

d bank.

hunhoused young cow. as high as the lark.

dry. Lie awake, and, sometime 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.-R. B.

TO A MOUSE

1

In order, on the clean hearth-stane,
The luggies three are ranged;
An' 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 tooma dish thrice,
He heav'd them on the fire,

In wrath that night.

Wi' merry sangs, an' friendly cracks,
I wat they did na weary;
And unco tales, an' funnie jokes-
Their sports were cheap an' cheery:
Till butter'd sowens,2 wi' fragrant lunt,b
Set a' their gabs a-steerin°;

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

They parted aff careerin

Fu' blythe that night.

To a Mouse.3

ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST WITH THE PLOUGH, NOVEMBER 1785.

⚫ empty.

WEE, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie,
O, what a panic's in thy breastie !

Thou need na start awa sae hasty,

Wi' bickering brattle!

b steam. • mouths in motion. d liquor. ⚫ hasty scamper.

1 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.-R. B.

2 Sowens, with butter instead of milk to them, is always the Halloween Supper.-R. B.

The date, November 1785, is the poet's. There is no more beautiful example of sympathy with the beasts, even in the poetry of Burns. His brother Gilbert could point out the place where the mouse was unhoused and made immortal on the spot.

TO A MOUSE

I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee,
Wi' murd'ring pattle!*

I'm truly sorry man's dominion,
Has broken nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion,

Which makes thee startle

At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,

An' fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen ickerb in a thrave©

'S a sma' request;

I'll get a blessin wi' the lave,d

An' never miss't!

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
It's silly wa's the win's are strewin!
An' naething, now, to bige a new ane,
O' foggage green!

An' bleak December's winds ensuin,

Baith snell' an' keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste,

An' weary winter comin fast,

An' cozie here, beneath the blast,

Thou thought to dwell

Till crash! the cruel coulter past

Out thro' thy cell.

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble,
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble,
But house or hald,h

To thole the winter's sleety dribble,

An' cranreuchi cauld!

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EPITAPH ON JOHN DOVE

But Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain;
The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft agley,

An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!

Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me
The present only toucheth thee:

But och! I backward cast my e'e,

On prospects drear!

An' forward, tho' I canna see,

I

guess an' fear!

Epitaph on John Dove, Innkeeper.1

HERE lies Johnie Pigeon;

What was his religion

Whae'er desires to ken,

To some other warl'

Maun follow the carl,

For here Johnie Pigeon had nane!

Strong ale was ablution,

Small beer persecution,

A dram was memento mori;

But a full-flowing bowl

Was the saving his soul,

And port was celestial glory.

a go oft awry.

1 He kept the Whitefoord Arms, in Mauchline, where a Bachelor's Club met.

ADAM ARMOUR'S PRAYER

Epitaph for James Smith.1

LAMENT him, Mauchline husbands a',
He aften did assist ye;

For had ye staid hale weeks awa,

Your wives they ne'er had miss'd ye.

Ye Mauchline bairns, as on ye press
To school in bands thegither,
O tread ye lightly on his grass,-
Perhaps he was your father!

Adam Armour's Prayer.2

GUDE pity me, because I'm little!
For though I am an elf o' mettle,
An' can, like ony wabster's shuttle,
Jink there or here,

Yet, scarce as lang's a gude kail-whittle,b
I'm unco queer.

An' now Thou kens our waefu' case;
For Geordie's jurr we're in disgrace,
Because we stang'dd her through the place,
An' hurt her spleuchane;

For whilk we daurna show our face

Within the clachan.'

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