Second Epistle to Davie

A Brother Poet

Auld Neibour, I'm three times doubly o'er your debtor, For your auld-farrant, frien'ly letter; Tho' I maun say't I doubt ye flatter, Ye speak sae fair; For my puir, silly, rhymin clatter Some less maun sair.

Hale be your heart, hale be your fiddle, Lang may your elbuck jink diddle, To cheer you thro' the weary widdle O' war'ly cares; Till barins' barins kindly cuddle Your auld grey hairs.

But Davie, lad, I'm red ye're glaikit; I'm tauld the muse ye hae negleckit; An, gif it's sae, ye sud by lickit Until ye fyke; Sic haun's as you sud ne'er be faikit, Be hain't wha like.

For me, I'm on Parna.s.sus' brink, Rivin the words to gar them clink; Whiles dazed wi' love, whiles dazed wi' drink, Wi' jads or masons; An' whiles, but aye owre late, I think Braw sober lessons.

Of a' the thoughtless sons o' man, Commen' to me the bardie clan; Except it be some idle plan O' rhymin clink, The devil haet,--that I sud ban-- They ever think.

Nae thought, nae view, nae scheme o' livin, Nae cares to gie us joy or grievin, But just the pouchie put the neive in, An' while ought's there, Then, hiltie, skiltie, we gae scrievin', An' fash nae mair.

Leeze me on rhyme! it's aye a treasure, My chief, amaist my only pleasure; At hame, a-fiel', at wark, or leisure, The Muse, poor hizzie!

Tho' rough an' raploch be her measure, She's seldom lazy.

Haud to the Muse, my daintie Davie: The warl' may play you mony a shavie; But for the Muse, she'll never leave ye, Tho' e'er sae puir, Na, even tho' limpin wi' the spavie Frae door tae door.

Song--Young Peggy Blooms

Tune--"Loch Eroch-side."

Young Peggy blooms our boniest la.s.s, Her blush is like the morning, The rosy dawn, the springing gra.s.s, With early gems adorning.

Her eyes outshine the radiant beams That gild the pa.s.sing shower, And glitter o'er the crystal streams, And cheer each fresh'ning flower.

Her lips, more than the cherries bright, A richer dye has graced them; They charm th' admiring gazer's sight, And sweetly tempt to taste them; Her smile is as the evening mild, When feather'd pairs are courting, And little lambkins wanton wild, In playful bands disporting.

Were Fortune lovely Peggy's foe, Such sweetness would relent her; As blooming spring unbends the brow Of surly, savage Winter.

Detraction's eye no aim can gain, Her winning pow'rs to lessen; And fretful Envy grins in vain The poison'd tooth to fasten.

Ye Pow'rs of Honour, Love, and Truth, From ev'ry ill defend her!

Inspire the highly-favour'd youth The destinies intend her: Still fan the sweet connubial flame Responsive in each bosom; And bless the dear parental name With many a filial blossom.

Song--Farewell To Ballochmyle

Tune--"Miss Forbe's farewell to Banff."

The Catrine woods were yellow seen, The flowers decay'd on Catrine lee, Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green, But nature sicken'd on the e'e.

Thro' faded groves Maria sang, Hersel' in beauty's bloom the while; And aye the wild-wood ehoes rang, Fareweel the braes o' Ballochmyle!

Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers, Again ye'll flourish fresh and fair; Ye birdies dumb, in with'ring bowers, Again ye'll charm the vocal air.

But here, alas! for me nae mair Shall birdie charm, or floweret smile; Fareweel the bonie banks of Ayr, Fareweel, fareweel! sweet Ballochmyle!

Fragment--Her Flowing Locks

Her flowing locks, the raven's wing, Adown her neck and bosom hing; How sweet unto that breast to cling, And round that neck entwine her!

Her lips are roses wat wi' dew, O' what a feast her bonie mou'!

Her cheeks a mair celestial hue, A crimson still diviner!

Halloween^1

[Footnote 1: Is thought to be a night when witches, devils, and other mischief-making beings are abroad on their baneful midnight errands; particularly those aerial people, the fairies, are said on that night to hold a grand anniversary,.--R.B.]

The following poem will, by many readers, be well enough understood; but for the sake of those who are unacquainted with the manners and traditions of the country where the scene is cast, notes are added to give some account of the princ.i.p.al charms and spells of that night, so big with prophecy to the peasantry in the west of Scotland. The pa.s.sion of prying into futurity makes a striking part of the history of human nature in its rude state, in all ages and nations; and it may be some entertainment to a philosophic mind, if any such honour the author with a perusal, to see the remains of it among the more unenlightened in our own.--R.B.

Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, The simple pleasure of the lowly train; To me more dear, congenial to my heart, One native charm, than all the gloss of art.--Goldsmith.

Upon that night, when fairies light On Ca.s.silis Downans^2 dance, Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze, On sprightly coursers prance; Or for Colean the rout is ta'en, Beneath the moon's pale beams; There, up the Cove,^3 to stray an' rove, Amang the rocks and streams To sport that night;

[Footnote 2: Certain little, romantic, rocky, green hills, in the neighbourhood of the ancient seat of the Earls of Ca.s.silis.--R.B.]

[Footnote 3: A noted cavern near Colean house, called the Cove of Colean; which, as well as Ca.s.silis Downans, is famed, in country story, for being a favorite haunt of fairies.--R.B.]

Amang the bonie winding banks, Where Doon rins, wimplin, clear; Where Bruce^4 ance rul'd the martial ranks, An' shook his Carrick spear; Some merry, friendly, countra-folks Together did convene, To burn their nits, an' pou their stocks, An' haud their Halloween Fu' blythe that night.

[Footnote 4: The famous family of that name, the ancestors of Robert, the great deliverer of his country, were Earls of Carrick.--R.B.]

The la.s.ses feat, an' cleanly neat, Mair braw than when they're fine; Their faces blythe, fu' sweetly kythe, Hearts leal, an' warm, an' kin': The lads sae trig, wi' wooer-babs Weel-knotted on their garten; Some unco blate, an' some wi' gabs Gar la.s.ses' hearts gang startin Whiles fast at night.

Then, first an' foremost, thro' the kail, Their stocks^5 maun a' be sought ance;

[Footnote 5: The first ceremony of Halloween is pulling each a "stock," or plant of kail. They must go out, hand in hand, with eyes shut, and pull the first they meet with: its being big or little, straight or crooked, is prophetic of the size and shape of the grand object of all their spells--the husband or wife. If any "yird," or earth, stick to the root, that is "tocher," or fortune; and the taste of the "custock," that is, the heart of the stem, is indicative of the natural temper and disposition. Lastly, the stems, or, to give them their ordinary appellation, the "runts," are placed somewhere above the head of the door; and the Christian names of the people whom chance brings into the house are, according to the priority of placing the "runts,"

the names in question.--R. B.]

They steek their een, and grape an' wale For muckle anes, an' straught anes.

Poor hav'rel Will fell aff the drift, An' wandered thro' the bow-kail, An' pou't for want o' better shift A runt was like a sow-tail Sae bow't that night.

Then, straught or crooked, yird or nane, They roar an' cry a' throu'ther; The vera wee-things, toddlin, rin, Wi' stocks out owre their shouther: An' gif the custock's sweet or sour, Wi' joctelegs they taste them; Syne coziely, aboon the door, Wi' cannie care, they've plac'd them To lie that night.