He taks a swirlie, auld moss-oak, Aff's nieves that night. A wanton widow Leezie was, But och! that night, amang the shaws, She thro' the whins, an' by the cairn, Whare three laird's lands met at a burn 14, Was bent that night. Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays, Unseen that night. the last time, you will catch in your arms the appearance of your future conjugal yoke-fellow. 14 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. Amang the brachens, on the brae, Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool; Wi' a plunge that night. In order, on the clean hearth-stane, Because he gat the toom-dish thrice, In wrath that night. Wi' merry sangs, an' friendly cracks, I wat they did na weary; An' unco tales, an' funnie jokes, Their sports were cheap an' cheary; 15 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 foretels, with equal certainty, no marriage at all. It is repeated three times, and every time the arrangement of the dishes is altered. Till butter'd so'ns 16, 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 THE ACCUSTOMED RIPP OF CORN TO HANSEL IN THE NEW YEAR. A GUID New-year I wish thee, Maggie! Thou could hae gaen like onie staggie Out-owre the lay, Tho' now thou's dowie, stiff an' crazy, A bonny gray : He should been tight that daur't to raize thee, 16 Sowens with butter instead of milk to them, is always the Halloween supper. Thou ance was i' the foremost rank, As e'er tread yird; An' could hae flown out-owre a stank, It's now some nine-an'-twenty year, An' fifty mark; Tho' it was sma', 'twas weel-won gear, An' thou was stark. When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, Ye ne'er was donsie ; That day, ye pranc'd wi' muckle pride, Wi' maiden air! Kyle Stewart I could bragged wide, For sic a pair. Tho' now ye dow but hoyte and hoble, That day ye was a jinker noble, For heels an' win'! An' ran them till they a' did wanble, Far, far behin', When thou an' I were young an' skeigh, Town's bodies ran, an' stood abiegh, An' ca't thee mad. When thou was corn't, an' I was mellow, For pith an' speed; But ev'ry tail thou pay't them hollow, Whare'er thou gaed. The sma', droop-rumpl't, hunter cattle, Nae whip nor spur, but jast a wattle O' saugh or hazle. Thou was a noble fittie-lan', On guid March-weather, Thou never braindgt, an' fech't, an' fliskit, |