O happy is that man an' blest (Nae wonder that it pride him!) He sweetly does compose him; Which, by degrees, slips round her neck, Unkend that day. Now a' the congregation o'er Is silent expectation; For Moodie speels the holy door Wi' tidings o' damnation. Should Hornie, as in ancient days, The vera sight o' Moodie's face To's ain het hame had sent him Wi' fright that day. Hear how he clears the points o' faith Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath, He's stampin an' he's jumpin! His lengthened chin, his turned-up snout, His eldritch squeel an' gestures, O how they fire the heart devout— 115 Like cantharidian plaisters, On sic a day! But hark! the tent has changed its voice; There's peace an' rest nae langer; While Common Sense has taen the road, Now butt an' ben the change-house fills Wi' yill-caup commentators; 155 Here's crying out for bakes an' gills, An' there the pint-stowp clatters; While thick an' thrang, an' loud an' lang, Wi' logic an' wi' Scripture, They raise a din that in the end 160 Is like to breed a rupture O' wrath that day. His piercin words, like Highlan' swords, 185 His talk o' hell, where devils dwell, Our verra "sauls does harrow" Wi' fright that day. A vast, unbottomed, boundless pit, The half-asleep start up wi' fear, Asleep that day. 190 195 'T wad be owre lang a tale to tell How monie stories passed, An' how they crouded to the yill, When they were a' dismist; How drink gaed round in cogs an' caups, Amang the furms an' benches, 200 An' cheese an' bread, frae women's laps, 205 Was dealt about in lunches An' dawds that day. In comes a gausie, gash guidwife, An' sits down by the fire, Syne draws her kebbuck an' her knife; The lasses they are shyer; The auld guidmen about the grace Frae side to side they bother, Till some ane by his bonnet lays Waesucks for him that gets nae lass, Sma' need has he to say a grace, Or melvie his braw claithing! O wives, be mindfu', ance yoursel An' dinna for a kebbuck-heel Let lasses be affronted 210 215 220 On sic a day! 225 Now Clinkumbell, wi' rattlin tow, Begins to jow an' croon; Some swagger hame the best they dow, Some wait the afternoon. At slaps the billies halt a blink, Till lasses strip their shoon; Wi' faith an' hope, an' love an' drink, They're a' in famous tune For crack that day. 230 1785. How monie hearts this day converts O' sinners and o' lasses! Their hearts o' stane, gin night, are gane As saft as onie flesh is. There's some are fou o' love divine, There's some are fou o' brandy; An' monie jobs that day begin, May end in houghmagandie Some ither day. 1786. THE TWA DOGS 'T was in that place o' Scotland's isle When wearing thro' the afternoon, The first I'll name, they ca'd him Cæsar, The tither was a ploughman's collie, A rhyming, ranting, raving billie, Was made lang syne-Lord knows how lang. 235 240 5 ΙΟ 15 20 25 |