The Complete Works. Robert Burns

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СКАЧАТЬ ay a rantin’ kirn we gat,

      An’ just on Halloween

      It fell that night.

      “Our stibble-rig was Rab M’Graen,

      A clever, sturdy fellow:

      He’s sin gat Eppie Sim wi’ wean,

      That liv’d in Achmacalla:

      He gat hemp-seed,[38] I mind it weel,

      And he made unco light o’t;

      But monie a day was by himsel’,

      He was sae sairly frighted

      That vera night.”

      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;

      An’ ev’ry now an’ then he says,

      “Hemp-seed, I saw thee,

      An’ her that is to be my lass,

      Come after me, an’ draw thee

      As fast that night.”

      He whistl’d up Lord Lennox’ march,

      To keep his courage cheery;

      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’ tumbl’d wi’ a wintle

      Out-owre that night.

      He roar’d a horrid murder-shout,

      In dreadfu’ desperation!

      An’ young an’ auld cam 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’;

      An’ wha was it but Grumphie

      Asteer that night!

      Meg fain wad to the barn hae gaen,

      To win three wechts o’ naething;[39]

      But for to meet the deil her lane,

      She pat but little faith in:

      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 bauldly in she enters:

      A ratton rattled up the wa’,

      An’ she cried, L—d 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,[40]

      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.

      A wanton widow Leezie was,

      As canty as a kittlin;

      But, och! that night, amang the shaws,

      She got a fearfu’ settlin’!

      She thro’ the whins, an’ by the cairn,

      An’ owre the hill gaed scrievin,

      Whare three lairds’ lands met at a burn,[41]

      To dip her left sark-sleeve in,

      Was bent that night.

      Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays,

      As through the glen it wimpl’t;

      Whyles round a rocky scaur it strays,

      Whyles in a wiel it dimpl’t;

      Whyles glitter’d to the nightly rays,

      Wi’ bickering, dancing dazzle;

      Whyles cookit underneath the braes,

      Below the spreading hazel,

      Unseen that night.

      Amang the brackens on the brae,

      Between her an’ the moon,

      The deil, or else an outler quey,

      Gat up an’ gae 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 three[42] are ranged,

      And 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.

      Wi’ merry sangs, and friendly cracks,

      I wat they did na weary;

      An’ unco tales, an’ funnie jokes,

      Their sports were cheap an’ cheery;

      Till butter’d so’ns[43] wi’ fragrant lunt,

      Set a’ their gabs a-steerin’;

      Syne, wi’ a social glass o’ strunt,

      They parted aff careerin’

      Fu’ blythe that night.

      XXVI. MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. A DIRGE

      [The origin of this fine poem is alluded to by Burns in one of his letters to Mrs. Dunlop: “I had an old grand-uncle with whom my mother lived in her girlish years: the good old man was long blind ere СКАЧАТЬ