ROBERT BURNS.

TAM O'SHANTER.

When chapman billies[150] leave the street, And drouthy[151] neebors neebors meet, As market-days are wearing late An' folk begin to tak the gate;[152]

While we sit bousing at the nappy,[153]

An' getting fou[154] and unco[155] happy, We think na on the lang Scots miles, The mosses,[156] waters, slaps,[157] and styles, That lie between us and our hame, Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame, Gathering her brows like gathering storm, Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.

This truth fand honest Tam O'Shanter, As he frae Ayr ae[158] night did canter, (Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpa.s.ses, For honest men and bonnie la.s.ses.) O Tam! hadst thou but been sae wise As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice!

She tauld thee weel thou wast a skellum,[159]

A blethering,[160] bl.u.s.tering, drunken blellum;[161]

That frae November till October, Ae market-day thou wasna sober; That ilka melder,[162] wi' the miller, Thou sat as lang as thou had siller; That every naig was ca'd[163] a shoe on, The smith and thee gat roaring fou on; That at the Lord's house, even on Sunday, Thou drank wi' Kirten Jean till Monday.

She prophesy'd that, late or soon, Thou would be found deep drowned in Doon, Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk, By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.

Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet,[164]

To think how monie counsels sweet, How monie lengthened, sage advices The husband frae the wife despises! . .

Nae man can tether time or tide; The hour approaches Tam maun[165] ride; That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane, That dreary hour he mounts his beast in; And sic[166] a night he taks the road in, As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.

The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; The rattling showers rose on the blast; The speedy gleams the darkness swallowed; Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellowed: That night, a child might understand, The Deil had business on his hand.

(Mounted on his gray mare Maggie, Tarn pursues his homeward way in safety till, reaching Kirk-Alloway, he sees the windows in a blaze, and, looking in, beholds a dance of witches, with Old Nick playing the fiddle. Most of the witches are any thing but inviting, but there is one winsome wench, called Nannie, who dances in a "cutty-sark," or short smock.)

But here my muse her wing maun cower; Sic flights are far beyond her power; To sing how Nannie lap and flang[167]

(A souple jade she was, and strang), And how Tam stood like are bewitched, And thought his very e'en enriched.

Even Satan glowered and fidged fu' fain,[168]

And hotch'd[169] and blew wi' might and main; Till first ae caper, syne[170] anither, Tam tint[171] his reason a' thegither, And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty-sark!"

And in an instant all was dark: And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, When out the h.e.l.lish legion sallied.

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke,[172]

When plundering herds a.s.sail their byke;[173]

As open p.u.s.s.ie's mortal foes, When, pop! she starts before their nose; As eager runs the market-crowd When "Catch the thief!" resounds aloud.

So Maggie runs, the witches follow Wi' monie an eldritch skreech and hollow, Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin'![174]

In h.e.l.l they'll roast thee like a herrin'!

In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin': Kate soon will be a woefu' woman.

Now do thy speedy utmost Meg, And win the key-stane of the brig;[175]

There at them thou thy tail may toss, A running stream they dare na cross, But ere the key-stane she could make, The fient[176] a tale she had to shake, For Nannie, far before the rest, Hard upon n.o.ble Maggie pressed, And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle;[177]

But little wist she Maggie's mettle-- Ae spring brought aff her master hale,[178]

But left behind her ain gray tail; The carlin[179] claught[180] her by the rump, And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.

[Footnote 150: Peddler fellows.]

[Footnote 151: Thirsty.]

[Footnote 152: Road home.]

[Footnote 153: Ale.]

[Footnote 154: Full.]

[Footnote 155: Uncommonly.]

[Footnote 156: Swamps.]

[Footnote 157: Gaps in a hedge.]

[Footnote 158: One.]

[Footnote 159: Good-for-nothing.]

[Footnote 160: Babbling.]

[Footnote 161: Gossip.]

[Footnote 162: Every time corn was sent to the mill.]

[Footnote 163: Driven.]

[Footnote 164: Makes me weep.]

[Footnote 165: Must.]

[Footnote 166: Such.]

[Footnote 167: Leaped and flung.]

[Footnote 168: Stared and fidgeted with eagerness.]

[Footnote 169: Hitched about.]

[Footnote 170: Then.]

[Footnote 171: Lost.]

[Footnote 172: Fuss.]

[Footnote 173: Hive.]

[Footnote 174: Deserts.]

[Footnote 175: Bridge.]

[Footnote 176: Devil.]

[Footnote 177: Aim.]

[Footnote 178: Whole.]

[Footnote 179: Hag.]

[Footnote 180: Caught.]

JOHN ANDERSON.

John Anderson, my jo,[181] John, When we were first acquent, Your locks were like the raven, Your bonnie brow was brent;[182]

But now your brow is beld, John, Your locks are like the snow; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither; And monie a canty[183] day, John, We've had wi' are anither: Now we maun totter down, John, But hand in hand we'll go, And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson, my jo.

[Footnote 181: Sweetheart.]

[Footnote 182: Smooth]

[Footnote 183: Merry.]

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

SONNET.

The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!

This sea that bares her bosom to the moon; The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers-- For this, for every thing, we are out of tune; It moves us not. Great G.o.d! I'd rather be A Pagan, suckled in a creed outworn, So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea, Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.

THE PRE-EXISTENCE OF THE SOUL.

[From Ode on the Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood.]