The la.s.sies staw frae 'mang them a', To pou their stalks o' corn;^6 But Rab slips out, an' jinks about, Behint the muckle thorn: He grippit Nelly hard and fast: Loud skirl'd a' the la.s.ses; But her tap-pickle maist was lost, Whan kiutlin in the fause-house^7 Wi' him that night.

[Footnote 6: They go to the barnyard, and pull each, at three different times, a stalk of oats. If the third stalk wants the "top-pickle," that is, the grain at the top of the stalk, the party in question will come to the marriage-bed anything but a maid.--R.B.]

[Footnote 7: When the corn is in a doubtful state, by being too green or wet, the stack-builder, by means of old timber, etc., makes a large apartment in his stack, with an opening in the side which is fairest exposed to the wind: this he calls a "fause-house."--R.B.]

The auld guid-wife's weel-hoordit nits^8 Are round an' round dividend, An' mony lads an' la.s.ses' fates Are there that night decided: Some kindle couthie side by side, And burn thegither trimly; Some start awa wi' saucy pride, An' jump out owre the chimlie Fu' high that night.

[Footnote 8: Burning the nuts is a favorite charm. They name the lad and la.s.s to each particular nut, as they lay them in the fire; and according as they burn quietly together, or start from beside one another, the course and issue of the courtship will be.--R.B.]

Jean slips in twa, wi' tentie e'e; Wha 'twas, she wadna tell; But this is Jock, an' this is me, She says in to hersel': He bleez'd owre her, an' she owre him, As they wad never mair part: Till fuff! he started up the lum, An' Jean had e'en a sair heart To see't that night.

Poor Willie, wi' his bow-kail runt, Was brunt wi' primsie Mallie; An' Mary, nae doubt, took the drunt, To be compar'd to Willie: Mall's nit lap out, wi' pridefu' fling, An' her ain fit, it brunt it; While Willie lap, and swore by jing, 'Twas just the way he wanted To be that night.

Nell had the fause-house in her min', She pits hersel an' Rob in; In loving bleeze they sweetly join, Till white in ase they're sobbin: Nell's heart was dancin at the view; She whisper'd Rob to leuk for't: Rob, stownlins, prie'd her bonie mou', Fu' cozie in the neuk for't, Unseen that night.

But Merran sat behint their backs, Her thoughts on Andrew Bell: She lea'es them gashin at their cracks, An' slips out--by hersel'; She thro' the yard the nearest taks, An' for the kiln she goes then, An' darklins grapit for the bauks, And in the blue-clue^9 throws then, Right fear't that night.

[Footnote 9: Whoever would, with success, try this spell, must strictly observe these directions: Steal out, all alone, to the kiln, and darkling, throw into the "pot" a clue of blue yarn; wind it in a new clue off the old one; and, toward the latter end, something will hold the thread: demand, "Wha hauds?" i.e., who holds? and answer will be returned from the kiln-pot, by naming the Christian and surname of your future spouse.--R.B.]

An' ay she win't, an' ay she swat-- I wat she made nae jaukin; Till something held within the pat, Good Lord! but she was quaukin!

But whether 'twas the deil himsel, Or whether 'twas a bauk-en', Or whether it was Andrew Bell, She did na wait on talkin To spier that night.

Wee Jenny to her graunie says, "Will ye go wi' me, graunie?

I'll eat the apple at the gla.s.s,^10 I gat frae uncle Johnie:"

She fuff't her pipe wi' sic a lunt, In wrath she was sae vap'rin, She notic't na an aizle brunt Her braw, new, worset ap.r.o.n Out thro' that night.

[Footnote 10: Take a candle and go alone to a looking-gla.s.s; eat an apple before it, and some traditions say you should comb your hair all the time; the face of your conjungal companion, to be, will be seen in the gla.s.s, as if peeping over your shoulder.--R.B.]

"Ye little skelpie-limmer's face!

I daur you try sic sportin, As seek the foul thief ony place, For him to spae your fortune: Nae doubt but ye may get a sight!

Great cause ye hae to fear it; For mony a ane has gotten a fright, An' liv'd an' died deleerit, On sic a night.

"Ae hairst afore the Sherra-moor, I mind't as weel's yestreen-- I was a gilpey then, I'm sure I was na past fyfteen: The simmer had been cauld an' wat, An' stuff was unco green; An' eye a rantin kirn we gat, An' just on Halloween It fell that night.

"Our stibble-rig was Rab M'Graen, A clever, st.u.r.dy fallow; His sin gat Eppie Sim wi' wean, That lived in Achmacalla: He gat hemp-seed,^11 I mind it weel, An'he made unco light o't; But mony a day was by himsel', He was sae sairly frighted That vera night."

[Footnote 11: Steal out, unperceived, and sow a handful of hemp-seed, harrowing it with anything you can conveniently draw after you. Repeat now and then: "Hemp-seed, I saw thee, hemp-seed, I saw thee; and him (or her) that is to be my true love, come after me and pou thee." Look over your left shoulder, and you will see the appearance of the person invoked, in the att.i.tude of pulling hemp. Some traditions say, "Come after me and shaw thee," that is, show thyself; in which case, it simply appears. Others omit the harrowing, and say: "Come after me and harrow thee."--R.B.]

Then up gat fechtin Jamie Fleck, An' he swoor by his conscience, That he could saw hemp-seed a peck; For it was a' but nonsense: The auld guidman raught down the pock, An' out a handfu' gied him; Syne bad him slip frae' mang the folk, Sometime when nae ane see'd him, An' try't that night.

He marches thro' amang the stacks, Tho' he was something sturtin; The graip he for a harrow taks, An' haurls at his curpin: And ev'ry now an' then, he says, "Hemp-seed I saw thee, An' her that is to be my la.s.s Come after me, an' draw thee As fast this night."

He wistl'd up Lord Lennox' March To keep his courage cherry; Altho' his hair began to arch, He was sae fley'd an' eerie: Till presently he hears a squeak, An' then a grane an' gruntle; He by his shouther gae a keek, An' tumbled wi' a wintle Out-owre that night.

He roar'd a horrid murder-shout, In dreadfu' desperation!

An' young an' auld come rinnin out, An' hear the sad narration: He swoor 'twas hilchin Jean M'Craw, Or crouchie Merran Humphie-- Till stop! she trotted thro' them a'; And wha was it but grumphie Asteer that night!

Meg fain wad to the barn gaen, To winn three wechts o' naething;^12 But for to meet the deil her lane, She pat but little faith in:

[Footnote 12: This charm must likewise be performed unperceived and alone. You go to the barn, and open both doors, taking them off the hinges, if possible; for there is danger that the being about to appear may shut the doors, and do you some mischief. Then take that instrument used in winnowing the corn, which in our country dialect we call a "wecht," and go through all the att.i.tudes of letting down corn against the wind. Repeat it three times, and the third time an apparition will pa.s.s through the barn, in at the windy door and out at the other, having both the figure in question, and the appearance or retinue, marking the employment or station in life.--R.B.]

She gies the herd a pickle nits, An' twa red cheekit apples, To watch, while for the barn she sets, In hopes to see Tam Kipples That vera night.

She turns the key wi' cannie thraw, An'owre the threshold ventures; But first on Sawnie gies a ca', Syne baudly in she enters: A ratton rattl'd up the wa', An' she cry'd Lord preserve her!

An' ran thro' midden-hole an' a', An' pray'd wi' zeal and fervour, Fu' fast that night.

They hoy't out Will, wi' sair advice; They hecht him some fine braw ane; It chanc'd the stack he faddom't thrice^13 Was timmer-propt for thrawin: He taks a swirlie auld moss-oak For some black, grousome carlin; An' loot a winze, an' drew a stroke, Till skin in blypes cam haurlin Aff's nieves that night.

[Footnote 13: Take an opportunity of going unnoticed to a "bear-stack," and fathom it three times round. The last fathom of the last time you will catch in your arms the appearance of your future conjugal yoke-fellow.--R.B.]

A wanton widow Leezie was, As cantie as a kittlen; But och! that night, amang the shaws, 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,^14 To dip her left sark-sleeve in, Was bent that night.

[Footnote 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.--R.B.]

Whiles owre a linn the burnie plays, As thro' the glen it wimpl't; Whiles round a rocky scar it strays, Whiles in a wiel it dimpl't; Whiles glitter'd to the nightly rays, Wi' bickerin', dancin' dazzle; Whiles cookit undeneath 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, Gat up an' ga'e a croon: Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool; Near lav'rock-height she jumpit, But mist a fit, an' in the pool Out-owre the lugs she plumpit, Wi' a plunge that night.

In order, on the clean hearth-stane, The luggies^15 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 toom dish thrice, He heav'd them on the fire In wrath that night.

[Footnote 15: 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.]

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 b.u.t.ter'd sowens,^16 wi' fragrant lunt,

[Footnote 16: Sowens, with b.u.t.ter instead of milk to them, is always the Halloween Supper.--R.B.]

Set a' their gabs a-steerin; Syne, wi' a social gla.s.s o' strunt, They parted aff careerin Fu' blythe that night.

To A Mouse, On Turning Her Up In Her Nest With The Plough, November, 1785

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie, O, what a panic's in thy breastie!

Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi' bickering brattle!

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 icker in a thrave 'S a sma' request; I'll get a blessin wi' the lave, 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 big a new ane, O' foggage green!

An' bleak December's winds ensuin, Baith snell an' keen!