The Complete Works. Robert Burns

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      How mony lengthen’d sage advices,

      The husband frae the wife despises!

      But to our tale:—Ae market night,

      Tam had got planted unco right;

      Fast by an ingle bleezing finely,

      Wi’ reaming swats, that drank divinely;

      And at his elbow, Souter Johnny,

      His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony;

      Tam lo’ed him like a vera brither;

      They had been fou’ for weeks thegither!

      The night drave on wi’ sangs an’ clatter;

      And ay the ale was growing better:

      The landlady and Tam grew gracious;

      Wi’ favors secret, sweet, and precious;

      The Souter tauld his queerest stories;

      The landlord’s laugh was ready chorus:[105]

      The storm without might rair and rustle—

      Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.

      Care, mad to see a man sae happy,

      E’en drown’d himself amang the nappy!

      As bees flee hame wi’ lades o’ treasure,

      The minutes wing’d their way wi’ pleasure:

      Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious,

      O’er a’ the ills o’ life victorious.

      But pleasures are like poppies spread,

      You seize the flow’r, its bloom is shed;

      Or like the snow falls in the river,

      A moment white—then melts for ever;

      Or like the borealis race,

      That flit ere you can point their place;

      Or like the rainbow’s lovely form

      Evanishing amid the storm.

      Nae man can tether time or tide;

      The hour approaches Tam maun ride;

      That hour, o’ night’s black arch the key-stane,

      That dreary hour he mounts his beast in;

      And sic 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 show’rs rose on the blast;

      The speedy gleams the darkness swallow’d;

      Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellow’d:

      That night, a child might understand,

      The de’il had business on his hand.

      Weel mounted on his gray mare, Meg,

      A better never lifted leg,

      Tam skelpit on thro’ dub and mire,

      Despising wind, and rain, and fire;

      Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet;

      Whiles crooning o’er some auld Scots sonnet;

      Whiles glow’ring round wi’ prudent cares,

      Lest bogles catch him unawares;

      Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh,

      Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry.—

      By this time he was cross the foord,

      Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor’d;

      And past the birks and meikle stane,

      Where drunken Charlie brak’s neck-bane;

      And thro’ the whins, and by the cairn,

      Where hunters fand the murder’d bairn;

      And near the thorn, aboon the well,

      Where Mungo’s mither hang’d hersel’.

      Before him Doon pours all his floods;

      The doubling storm roars thro’ the woods;

      The lightnings flash from pole to pole;

      Near and more the thunders roll;

      When, glimmering thro’ the groaning trees,

      Kirk-Alloway seem’d in a bleeze;

      Thro’ ilka bore the beams were glancing;

      And loud resounded mirth and dancing.

      Inspiring, bold John Barleycorn!

      What dangers thou canst make us scorn!

      Wi’ tippenny, we fear nae evil;

      Wi’ usquabae we’ll face the devil!

      The swats sae ream’d in Tammie’s noddle,

      Fair play, he car’d nae deils a boddle.

      But Maggie stood right sair astonish’d,

      ’Till, by the heel and hand admonish’d,

      She ventur’d forward on the light;

      And wow! Tam saw an unco sight!

      Warlocks and witches in a dance;

      Nae cotillion brent new frae France,

      But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels,

      Put life and mettle in their heels:

      A winnock-bunker in the east,

      There sat auld Nick, in shape o’ beast;

      A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large,

      To gie them music was his charge;

      He screw’d the pipes and gart them skirl,

      Till roof and rafters a’ did dirl.—

      Coffins stood round, like open presses;

      That shaw’d the dead in their last dresses;

      And by some devilish cantrip slight

      Each in its cauld hand held a light—

      By which heroic Tam was able

      To note upon the haly table,

      A murderer’s banes in gibbet airns;

      Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen’d bairns;

      A thief, new-cutted frae a rape,

      Wi’ his last gasp his gab did gape;

      Five tomahawks, wi’ bluid red-rusted;

      Five scimitars, wi’ murder crusted;

      A garter, which a babe had strangled;

      A knife, a father’s throat had mangled,

      Whom his ain son o’ life bereft,

      The gray hairs yet stack to the heft:[106]

      Wi’ mair o’ horrible and awfu’,

      Which ev’n to name would be unlawfu’.

      As Tammie glowr’d, amaz’d, and curious,

      The mirth and fun grew fast and furious:

      The piper loud and louder blew;

      The dancers quick and quicker flew;

      They reel’d, they set, they cross’d, they cleekit,

      ’Till ilka carlin swat and reekit,

      And coost her duddies to the wark,

      And linket at it in her sark!

      Now Tam, O Tam! had thae been queans

      A’ plump and strapping, in their teens;

      Their sarks, instead o’ creeshie flannen,

      Been snaw-white СКАЧАТЬ