The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson ... for the first time fully collected and compared with the original and early editions ... edited ... by the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart ... with portrait, illustrations, &c |
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| THE SPOUTER. |
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 | The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson |  |
319
THE SPOUTER.
------All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women only players;
They have their exits, and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages.
Shakespeare.
And all the men and women only players;
They have their exits, and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages.
Shakespeare.
INTRODUCTION.
Where is the place that mair o' life ye'll learn,
Than 'hint the scenes in some auld kintra barn,
Where two-three hungry, ragged, Spouter blades,
—Wha'd better stuck through life to spools or spades,—
Driven by stern want, the fell remorseless jaud;
Mang kintra folk do ply their kittle trade?
Than 'hint the scenes in some auld kintra barn,
Where two-three hungry, ragged, Spouter blades,
—Wha'd better stuck through life to spools or spades,—
Driven by stern want, the fell remorseless jaud;
Mang kintra folk do ply their kittle trade?
There ye may see a lang horn shottle chiel,
On whose pale face, hunger is painted weel,
As Dick the Third shout for “a horse! a horse!”
To meet young Richmond, an' the invading force:
Or else some sniftering, snivelling, ill-clad loon,
Wha wadna hae the heart a cat to droon;
As stern Macbeth, rampauging through his part,
An' for his crown stab Duncan to the heart.
Anither chiel, wha ilk day thumps his wife,
There, on the stage, acts Romeo to the life;
While whimpering Juliet for a maid is ta'en,
Although last week she bore a bastard wean,
And couldna tell, though it wad saved her life,
Wha her a mother made before she was a wife.
On whose pale face, hunger is painted weel,
As Dick the Third shout for “a horse! a horse!”
To meet young Richmond, an' the invading force:
Or else some sniftering, snivelling, ill-clad loon,
Wha wadna hae the heart a cat to droon;
As stern Macbeth, rampauging through his part,
An' for his crown stab Duncan to the heart.
320
There, on the stage, acts Romeo to the life;
While whimpering Juliet for a maid is ta'en,
Although last week she bore a bastard wean,
And couldna tell, though it wad saved her life,
Wha her a mother made before she was a wife.
Or turn to Comedy: wha e'er wad think,
The chiels were hovering on starvation's brink;
Wha e'er wad think, to hear their ready joke,
That they were suffering 'neath affliction's stroke;
Or wha wad think yon funny, tumbling clown,
Wha raises laughter to the auld and young,
Beneath the fun and humour o' his part,
Concealed crushed spirits, and a breaking heart:
Yet sae it is, for down his pen he laid,
Fired by ambition for to try the trade,
At whilk great Garrick had got sic a name,
And whilk he thoucht wad lead even him to fame;
But noo he tumbles, to a score or twa
O' kintra bumpkins, in some aul' barn wa',
And sees himsel' gaun to an early grave,
Fell want and dissipation's ready slave.
The chiels were hovering on starvation's brink;
Wha e'er wad think, to hear their ready joke,
That they were suffering 'neath affliction's stroke;
Or wha wad think yon funny, tumbling clown,
Wha raises laughter to the auld and young,
Beneath the fun and humour o' his part,
Concealed crushed spirits, and a breaking heart:
Yet sae it is, for down his pen he laid,
Fired by ambition for to try the trade,
At whilk great Garrick had got sic a name,
And whilk he thoucht wad lead even him to fame;
But noo he tumbles, to a score or twa
O' kintra bumpkins, in some aul' barn wa',
And sees himsel' gaun to an early grave,
Fell want and dissipation's ready slave.
A' that, and mair, hae I richt aften seen,
When through the kintra wi' my pack I've been;
But what has brought it now just to my min',
Is an affair that happened here short-syne:
Upo' ae caul', bleak, blustry winter-day,
A Spouter blade, to our town took his way;
A lang ill-leukin' vagabond, I trow,
Dressed in a ragged coat that had been blue;
And wi' a bundle owre his shouther hung,
Tied to the en' o' a thick knotty rung;
While, by his side, trampèd a wee bit laddie,
Whose claes were like his master's, gyan duddie.
And as they slowly trudged along the street,
Plashing through dirt an' wat, wi' ill-shod feet;
Ilk aul' wife left her wheel, to rin and see
Wha that lang raggy ne'er-do-weel could be;
And as in twas and threes they gathered roun',
Wonnerin' what broucht sic gangrels to the town,
Some shook their heads, an' said—“Eh! sirs, I fear
It's for nae guid, as we owre soon will hear.”
While ithers said that—“We should thankfu' be
We ne'er had been broucht to sic misery;
But aye had haen a shelter owre our head,
An' ne'er could say that we hae wantit bread;
While some puir creatures haena where to lay
Their heads, nor yet as much as for a meal would pay.”
When through the kintra wi' my pack I've been;
But what has brought it now just to my min',
Is an affair that happened here short-syne:
Upo' ae caul', bleak, blustry winter-day,
A Spouter blade, to our town took his way;
A lang ill-leukin' vagabond, I trow,
Dressed in a ragged coat that had been blue;
And wi' a bundle owre his shouther hung,
Tied to the en' o' a thick knotty rung;
While, by his side, trampèd a wee bit laddie,
Whose claes were like his master's, gyan duddie.
And as they slowly trudged along the street,
Plashing through dirt an' wat, wi' ill-shod feet;
Ilk aul' wife left her wheel, to rin and see
321
And as in twas and threes they gathered roun',
Wonnerin' what broucht sic gangrels to the town,
Some shook their heads, an' said—“Eh! sirs, I fear
It's for nae guid, as we owre soon will hear.”
While ithers said that—“We should thankfu' be
We ne'er had been broucht to sic misery;
But aye had haen a shelter owre our head,
An' ne'er could say that we hae wantit bread;
While some puir creatures haena where to lay
Their heads, nor yet as much as for a meal would pay.”
After the Spouter had gaen out o' sight,
An' the auld wives had settled a' things right,
In a short time I had forgot him clean,
The same as if he never here had been;
When, leukin' frae the winnock, there I saw
His raggy callan, batterin' on the wa'
Big prentit bills—an' rinnin' out wi' speed
That I might his “announcement” quickly read,
I saw them headed “Wondrous novelty!”
In twa-inch letters, an' then “Come an' see!”
He then set forth his name was Mr. Main,
An' he had come direct frae Drury Lane,
Where baith their Majesties, the king an' queen,
Had aft wi' his performance pleaséd been;
And that he now was on his kintra tour,
That he might show the warl' his great power,—
Whilk was allowéd in the acting line,
By every ane, to be great an' sublime.
He then on the “Nobility!” did call,
“Gentry” an' “Public,” too, “in general;”
To come that night to William Watson's barn,
(This was in writing) where that they would learn
From certain pieces that he would recite
In the said barn, at eight o'clock that night,
The various passions of the human mind;
An' that a' those who might be sae inclined,
Would likewise hear some sangs, divinely sung
By Master Sprat; whase praises had been rung
Through a' the lan'; (a great deal mair was said,
Whilk noo has slippet clean out o' my head:)
Then ended wi' “The charge is just a penny,
So be in time, for the place wont hold many.”
An' the auld wives had settled a' things right,
In a short time I had forgot him clean,
The same as if he never here had been;
When, leukin' frae the winnock, there I saw
His raggy callan, batterin' on the wa'
Big prentit bills—an' rinnin' out wi' speed
That I might his “announcement” quickly read,
I saw them headed “Wondrous novelty!”
In twa-inch letters, an' then “Come an' see!”
He then set forth his name was Mr. Main,
An' he had come direct frae Drury Lane,
Where baith their Majesties, the king an' queen,
Had aft wi' his performance pleaséd been;
And that he now was on his kintra tour,
That he might show the warl' his great power,—
Whilk was allowéd in the acting line,
By every ane, to be great an' sublime.
He then on the “Nobility!” did call,
“Gentry” an' “Public,” too, “in general;”
To come that night to William Watson's barn,
(This was in writing) where that they would learn
From certain pieces that he would recite
In the said barn, at eight o'clock that night,
The various passions of the human mind;
An' that a' those who might be sae inclined,
322
By Master Sprat; whase praises had been rung
Through a' the lan'; (a great deal mair was said,
Whilk noo has slippet clean out o' my head:)
Then ended wi' “The charge is just a penny,
So be in time, for the place wont hold many.”
Ye wad hae thought the whole folk i' the town,
By this time 'bout the bills were gathered roun';
An' as in crowds, they stood, an' at them read,
'Twas odd to hear the droll remarks they made.
Ane said he “wonnert the great Mr. Main,
Should lea sae gran' a place as Drury lane;
That he, an' a bit raggy chiel, thegither
'Might wanner through the lan' in sic like weather:”
While an auld wife said, “Bairns, tak' my advice,
An' gang na near the place, gif ye be wise;
For I can tell you wha ere sets a fit,
Within the barn, is bookit for the pit
Whilk has nae boddam; whare the wicked's soul,
'Mang burning brumstane lies, to roar an' howl,—
As Reverend Mr. Thump-the-Deil did say
In his discourse the tither Sabbath day.
Ye needna giggle, callans, it's as true
As I'm this precious minute telling you;
An' mair than that, ye'll maybe hae heard tell
What happened to a lad ca'd Andrew Bell,
Wha ance to Glasgow, to the warehouse gaed
(The chiel being a weaver to his trade).
Weel, in that town I trow he saw a sicht
That filled him mony a day wi' muckle fricht.
Some freens had gat him to gae to the Play,
In place o' doucely in the house to stay;
When in the nicht he waukent wi' the smell
O' brumstane, as I've heard him aften tell;
An' turnin' roun', what think ye that he saw?
Just the black Devil stan'in' at the wa',
Haudin' out in his han' a muckle book;
On whilk puir Andro did nae sooner look,
Than Clootie gied the puir lad a bit wink,
And pointed to his name—written wi' red ink;
As muckle as to say, at last, my chiel,
Ye hae been fairly gruppit by the Deil.”
She then gaed on to tell us, that if we
Gaed to the barn this nicht, we'd maybe see
Some o' her words ere lang wad come to pass:
An' then she shook her head, an' said—“Alas!
Sic unbelievin' times were never seen,
They werena like the guid aul' times that ance had been.”
By this time 'bout the bills were gathered roun';
An' as in crowds, they stood, an' at them read,
'Twas odd to hear the droll remarks they made.
Ane said he “wonnert the great Mr. Main,
Should lea sae gran' a place as Drury lane;
That he, an' a bit raggy chiel, thegither
'Might wanner through the lan' in sic like weather:”
While an auld wife said, “Bairns, tak' my advice,
An' gang na near the place, gif ye be wise;
For I can tell you wha ere sets a fit,
Within the barn, is bookit for the pit
Whilk has nae boddam; whare the wicked's soul,
'Mang burning brumstane lies, to roar an' howl,—
As Reverend Mr. Thump-the-Deil did say
In his discourse the tither Sabbath day.
Ye needna giggle, callans, it's as true
As I'm this precious minute telling you;
An' mair than that, ye'll maybe hae heard tell
What happened to a lad ca'd Andrew Bell,
Wha ance to Glasgow, to the warehouse gaed
(The chiel being a weaver to his trade).
Weel, in that town I trow he saw a sicht
That filled him mony a day wi' muckle fricht.
Some freens had gat him to gae to the Play,
In place o' doucely in the house to stay;
When in the nicht he waukent wi' the smell
O' brumstane, as I've heard him aften tell;
An' turnin' roun', what think ye that he saw?
Just the black Devil stan'in' at the wa',
Haudin' out in his han' a muckle book;
323
Than Clootie gied the puir lad a bit wink,
And pointed to his name—written wi' red ink;
As muckle as to say, at last, my chiel,
Ye hae been fairly gruppit by the Deil.”
She then gaed on to tell us, that if we
Gaed to the barn this nicht, we'd maybe see
Some o' her words ere lang wad come to pass:
An' then she shook her head, an' said—“Alas!
Sic unbelievin' times were never seen,
They werena like the guid aul' times that ance had been.”
But, faith, to me her lecture was in vain,
It didna keep me back frae Mr. Main;
For aff I set, an' comin' near the door,
There stood the Spouter, wha did loudly roar
To “Be in time, an' come right quickly in,
For I am just a-going to begin;
An' if you do not soon secure your places,
The door, ere long, will be shut in your faces.
An' if ye miss this opportunity,
The like of it ye ne'er again may see;
For I can tell you, 'tis not every day
Such a famed actor will a visit pay
Unto your town, for—” here I stopped his speech
By haudin' out a penny in his reach;
An', walkin' in, sat down before a screen
That in its day had ance a bed-mat been;
Although wi' dirt an' patches 'twas sae covered,
What it had been could scarcely be discovered.
It didna keep me back frae Mr. Main;
For aff I set, an' comin' near the door,
There stood the Spouter, wha did loudly roar
To “Be in time, an' come right quickly in,
For I am just a-going to begin;
An' if you do not soon secure your places,
The door, ere long, will be shut in your faces.
An' if ye miss this opportunity,
The like of it ye ne'er again may see;
For I can tell you, 'tis not every day
Such a famed actor will a visit pay
Unto your town, for—” here I stopped his speech
By haudin' out a penny in his reach;
An', walkin' in, sat down before a screen
That in its day had ance a bed-mat been;
Although wi' dirt an' patches 'twas sae covered,
What it had been could scarcely be discovered.
As soon as I had cast aroun' my een
I scarcely could believe what there was seen,
For that whilk had been made for to appear,
When in the bill, a “brilliant chandelier,”
Was just a girr, that frae the laft hung down
Wi' cannels here an' there stuck on't a' roun';
An' in place o' the instrumental ban',
Whilk was to have been unequalled in the lan',
Before the screen, wi' a bit fiddle, sat
His raggy laddie, ca'd Adolphus Sprat;
An' scruntit “Owre the hills an' far awa,”
In tones far waur than sharpenin' a saw;
An' I but tell the truth, whan I allege,
Ere lang he had set a' our teeth on edge.
“Stop that damn'd fiddle!” roared a kintra lout,
“Or by the Lord! ye'll hae to let me out;
I never heard sic scraichin' a' my life,
The soun' gangs through an' through ane, like a knife.”
“Up wi' the hippen!” cried anither chap,
An' then wi' feet and hands began to rap.
“What are ye chirtin' at?” anither cries,
“I want you to sit up,” the first replies;
“Ye hae as muckle room as ony twa
In that place there—between you an' the wa'.”
But “Silence, silence,” ilka ane did roar
As Mr. Main cam' in, an' shut the door;
An', loutin' down, creeped in behind the screen,
Whare he was hid frae the spectators' een.
I scarcely could believe what there was seen,
For that whilk had been made for to appear,
When in the bill, a “brilliant chandelier,”
Was just a girr, that frae the laft hung down
Wi' cannels here an' there stuck on't a' roun';
An' in place o' the instrumental ban',
Whilk was to have been unequalled in the lan',
324
His raggy laddie, ca'd Adolphus Sprat;
An' scruntit “Owre the hills an' far awa,”
In tones far waur than sharpenin' a saw;
An' I but tell the truth, whan I allege,
Ere lang he had set a' our teeth on edge.
“Stop that damn'd fiddle!” roared a kintra lout,
“Or by the Lord! ye'll hae to let me out;
I never heard sic scraichin' a' my life,
The soun' gangs through an' through ane, like a knife.”
“Up wi' the hippen!” cried anither chap,
An' then wi' feet and hands began to rap.
“What are ye chirtin' at?” anither cries,
“I want you to sit up,” the first replies;
“Ye hae as muckle room as ony twa
In that place there—between you an' the wa'.”
But “Silence, silence,” ilka ane did roar
As Mr. Main cam' in, an' shut the door;
An', loutin' down, creeped in behind the screen,
Whare he was hid frae the spectators' een.
Ere lang the tingle o' a bell was heard,
An' when the screen was drawn up, there appeared
The Spouter, wi' his arms on his breast crossed,
As if in deep reflection he was lost.
An' coming forret, he made a low bow,
Saying—“Gentlemen an' ladies, I will now
Begin the night's performance with some rhymes
Made on a circumstance of bye-past times;
Where an attempt is made, for once, to show
What dire effects of misery an' woe,
Such bloody feuds oft brought upon the Land.”
So saying, the Spouter raiséd up his hand;
An' while he towards the audience took a lamp,
Broucht down his richt foot wi' an awfu' stamp,
An' when the screen was drawn up, there appeared
The Spouter, wi' his arms on his breast crossed,
As if in deep reflection he was lost.
An' coming forret, he made a low bow,
Saying—“Gentlemen an' ladies, I will now
Begin the night's performance with some rhymes
Made on a circumstance of bye-past times;
Where an attempt is made, for once, to show
What dire effects of misery an' woe,
Such bloody feuds oft brought upon the Land.”
So saying, the Spouter raiséd up his hand;
An' while he towards the audience took a lamp,
Broucht down his richt foot wi' an awfu' stamp,
And thus began:—
325
THE SIEGE.
“To horse! to horse! my merry men,
Why sit you feasting there?
When, from within yon dungeon's wall,
Your captive friends for vengeance call
In accents of despair.”
Why sit you feasting there?
When, from within yon dungeon's wall,
Your captive friends for vengeance call
In accents of despair.”
“What mean those words,” bold Stanley said;
“What mean those words I hear?
What mean those words you now have said?
Where be those friends who call for aid,
While we sit idling here?”
“What mean those words I hear?
What mean those words you now have said?
Where be those friends who call for aid,
While we sit idling here?”
“Within the cursed castle walls,
Of your fierce enemy;
Full fifty of your bravest men,
Are lying—who this day were ta'en,
And I alone got free.”
Of your fierce enemy;
Full fifty of your bravest men,
Are lying—who this day were ta'en,
And I alone got free.”
Up started brave Lord Stanley then,
Saying, “By the blessed rood,
He for this deed shall sorely pay,
Ere yonder sun has set to-day,
With his heart's dearest blood.
Saying, “By the blessed rood,
He for this deed shall sorely pay,
Ere yonder sun has set to-day,
With his heart's dearest blood.
“And now my friends, to arms! to arms;
And let us quick to horse;”
And soon five hundred men amain,
Were hurrying onwards o'er the plain;
In sooth a goodly force.
And let us quick to horse;”
And soon five hundred men amain,
Were hurrying onwards o'er the plain;
In sooth a goodly force.
And coming to the castle strong,
Lord Stanley loudly calls:
Deliver up to me those men
Which you took prisoners, and then
Shut up within these walls.”
Lord Stanley loudly calls:
Deliver up to me those men
Which you took prisoners, and then
Shut up within these walls.”
326
The warder answered him with scorn:
“Your men you ne'er will see;
For ere the sun has reached his height,
All those ta'en prisoners in the fight
Their punishment shall dree.”
“Your men you ne'er will see;
For ere the sun has reached his height,
All those ta'en prisoners in the fight
Their punishment shall dree.”
“Archers, advance!” Lord Stanley cried;
And from each ready bow
The arrows speedily were sent,
Rattling against the battlement,
Then dropping down below.
And from each ready bow
The arrows speedily were sent,
Rattling against the battlement,
Then dropping down below.
Those in the castle now began,
From loopholes in the wall,
To shoot on the invading force;
And soon from off his gallant horse,
Many a brave knight did fall.
From loopholes in the wall,
To shoot on the invading force;
And soon from off his gallant horse,
Many a brave knight did fall.
“Attack the gate!” again he cried,
And soon each willing hand
Made the blows rattle thick as hail;
To force the gate they could not fail,
Nought might such force withstand.
And soon each willing hand
Made the blows rattle thick as hail;
To force the gate they could not fail,
Nought might such force withstand.
When from the castle's lofty top—
Oh! horrible to view!—
The gory heads and mangled limbs
Of those who'd prisoners been within,
Down on the foe they threw!
Oh! horrible to view!—
The gory heads and mangled limbs
Of those who'd prisoners been within,
Down on the foe they threw!
Who, struck with horror at the sight,
Turned round, and fled away;
And long and grievously did mourn
At their disconsolate return,
And what they'd seen that day.
Turned round, and fled away;
And long and grievously did mourn
At their disconsolate return,
And what they'd seen that day.
327
As soon's the Spouter had got through his piece,
Some cried hurra! an' ithers hissed like geese.
“Saves! that's an awfu' bluidy tale,” says ane,
“Do ye think ere sic cruelty was done?”
“Aye was't, man” said his neebour, “mony a time
I've heard it tell't though ne'er before in rhyme.
It happened, man, no far frae whare we are:
But guidsake! what's the matter wi' the girr,
That it's gaun up an' down at sic a rate?
I see it's that wee blastit sinner Pate.
I say, Pate, keep yer fingers aff that string,
An' silence there, the callan's gaun to sing.”
As Master Sprat, began fu' loud to roar,
A sang nane o' us e'er had heard before,
About “Young Jeannie,” when—“Oh! damn young Jeannie,”
A fellow cried, “come gie us something funny;”
Anither said, “Man, Jock, let him alane;
I say, my laddie, just begin again,
An' pick as short a ane, as e'er ye can;
For I can tell ye what it is, my man,
Gif that yer singing be ought like yer fiddling,
The best that we can say o't, is—it's middling.”
Some cried hurra! an' ithers hissed like geese.
“Saves! that's an awfu' bluidy tale,” says ane,
“Do ye think ere sic cruelty was done?”
“Aye was't, man” said his neebour, “mony a time
I've heard it tell't though ne'er before in rhyme.
It happened, man, no far frae whare we are:
But guidsake! what's the matter wi' the girr,
That it's gaun up an' down at sic a rate?
I see it's that wee blastit sinner Pate.
I say, Pate, keep yer fingers aff that string,
An' silence there, the callan's gaun to sing.”
As Master Sprat, began fu' loud to roar,
A sang nane o' us e'er had heard before,
About “Young Jeannie,” when—“Oh! damn young Jeannie,”
A fellow cried, “come gie us something funny;”
Anither said, “Man, Jock, let him alane;
I say, my laddie, just begin again,
An' pick as short a ane, as e'er ye can;
For I can tell ye what it is, my man,
Gif that yer singing be ought like yer fiddling,
The best that we can say o't, is—it's middling.”
YOUNG JEANNIE.
A SONG.
Young Jeannie, when the owlets flew,
Oft went to meet her lover;
Where bonnie flowers were bathed in dew,
And timorous cowered the plover.
Oft went to meet her lover;
Where bonnie flowers were bathed in dew,
And timorous cowered the plover.
As roun' gaed time, young Jeannie hied
To hear young Johnnie's story;
An' aft her tender heart it sighed
O'er tales o' love an' glory.
To hear young Johnnie's story;
An' aft her tender heart it sighed
O'er tales o' love an' glory.
328
But far frae her young Johnnie's gane,
Forsaking his young dearie;
And now she wanders out alane—
Heartbroken, sad, an' eerie.
Ahint yon clouds the wan moon peeps,
A-chasing o' the gloamin';
An' casts dark shadows o'er the steeps
Where beauteous Jeannie's roamin'.
Forsaking his young dearie;
And now she wanders out alane—
Heartbroken, sad, an' eerie.
Ahint yon clouds the wan moon peeps,
A-chasing o' the gloamin';
An' casts dark shadows o'er the steeps
Where beauteous Jeannie's roamin'.
When Master Sprat had squeakit owre his sang,
Wi' cheers an' ruffin' the aul' barn-wa's rang.
An' down he sat, an' up his fiddle took,
And—while he owre his shouther cast a look—
Began “The Weaver's March” wi' a' his micht;
When some cried out—“Man! ye're no playin' richt,
That's near about as like ‘God Save the King,’
I'll tak' my aith, as ony ither thing.”
While ithers took his part, saying—“Stop yer bletherin',
The callan's doing unco weel, considerin';
But, wheesht, ye bitches, there's the Spouter's bell!
An' let us hear what he's now got to tell.”
When, in he cam', an' screwin' up his face
Began an' tell't the weaver's waefu' case;
To be a warning to a' love-born chiels
Never to lea their wark to grunt amang the fiel's:—
Wi' cheers an' ruffin' the aul' barn-wa's rang.
An' down he sat, an' up his fiddle took,
And—while he owre his shouther cast a look—
Began “The Weaver's March” wi' a' his micht;
When some cried out—“Man! ye're no playin' richt,
That's near about as like ‘God Save the King,’
I'll tak' my aith, as ony ither thing.”
While ithers took his part, saying—“Stop yer bletherin',
The callan's doing unco weel, considerin';
But, wheesht, ye bitches, there's the Spouter's bell!
An' let us hear what he's now got to tell.”
When, in he cam', an' screwin' up his face
Began an' tell't the weaver's waefu' case;
To be a warning to a' love-born chiels
Never to lea their wark to grunt amang the fiel's:—
THE FORLORN WEAVER.
On Cartha's fair banks, 'neath a tree,
That threw its broad branches around,
A weaver, most piteous to see,
Disconsolate lay on the ground:
He sighed for his Sally so fair,
Who off with another had gone,
And left the poor swain in despair,
At his cruel fortune to mourn.
That threw its broad branches around,
A weaver, most piteous to see,
Disconsolate lay on the ground:
He sighed for his Sally so fair,
Who off with another had gone,
And left the poor swain in despair,
At his cruel fortune to mourn.
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“Ah, why should I live now!” he cried;
“Ah, what signifies life now to me!
When she, who should have been my bride,
Is married to Willie M'Gee:
I'm sure if the weather was hot,
I would end all my woes in the Linn;
So I'll e'en muse upon my sad lot,
Till ance that the summer comes in.
“Ah, what signifies life now to me!
When she, who should have been my bride,
Is married to Willie M'Gee:
I'm sure if the weather was hot,
I would end all my woes in the Linn;
So I'll e'en muse upon my sad lot,
Till ance that the summer comes in.
“Then down to the river I'll go,
With my pockets well filled with old leads;
And hurried on by my woe,
Soon lie a cold corse 'mang the reeds.
Then will the false fair one sad mourn
That her cruelty drove me that road;
And shed bitter tears, as I'm borne
Along to be laid 'neath the sod.”
With my pockets well filled with old leads;
And hurried on by my woe,
Soon lie a cold corse 'mang the reeds.
Then will the false fair one sad mourn
That her cruelty drove me that road;
And shed bitter tears, as I'm borne
Along to be laid 'neath the sod.”
So saying, he chanced to look round,
And, seeing his faither draw nigh,
He raiséd himself from the ground,
And heaved up a heart-bursting sigh,—
Saying, “Ah! he is bringing a stick
To drive me away to the shop;
So I'd better myself take off quick—
'Twould be folly here longer to stop.”
And, seeing his faither draw nigh,
He raiséd himself from the ground,
And heaved up a heart-bursting sigh,—
Saying, “Ah! he is bringing a stick
To drive me away to the shop;
So I'd better myself take off quick—
'Twould be folly here longer to stop.”
And then the poor swain said,—“Alas!”
And ran swiftly along Cartha's side;
When, stumbling among the long grass,
He fell headlong into the deep tide.
When, in accents of horror, he cried—
“Help! help! or I'll quickly be drowned!”
And hurrying down to the side
We drew the poor mortal on ground.
And ran swiftly along Cartha's side;
When, stumbling among the long grass,
He fell headlong into the deep tide.
When, in accents of horror, he cried—
“Help! help! or I'll quickly be drowned!”
And hurrying down to the side
We drew the poor mortal on ground.
330
Where—streaming with water—his head
He hung like a penitent thief;
And, shaking and shivering, thus said
In a voice of deep sorrow and grief—
“From this day, a promise I make
That I'll ne'er talk of drowning again;”
And then, giving his head a guid shake,
He scamperéd home o'er the plain.
He hung like a penitent thief;
And, shaking and shivering, thus said
In a voice of deep sorrow and grief—
“From this day, a promise I make
That I'll ne'er talk of drowning again;”
And then, giving his head a guid shake,
He scamperéd home o'er the plain.
While he was rantin' owre the weaver's woes,
Loud roars of laughter aftentimes arose:
An' when the waefu' tale was a' gane through,
An aul' man near me said “Think ye that's true?”
“I dinna ken, what do you think yoursel'?”
Said I, as down the screen before us fell.
“I think it's true,” quo' he, “for weel I min'
Something gae like it, that I saw langsyne.
A tailor chiel (I'll ca' him Willie Goose,
To tell his richt name wad be o' no use)
Had been sair slichted by a bonnie lass;
An' soon as e'er he heard o't, the puir ass
Baith said and swore that he wad tak' his life,
Either by hanging, drowning, or a knife.
Sae up he jumpit, on his bonnet pat,
An' hurried aff to a bit nice quait spat;
Whare, neath some sauchs, the water ran fu' deep,
The banks at that place being gayen steep;
An' jumpit in, thinkin' he was his lane,
But twa three o' us after him had gane;
Partly to see the fun, partly to save
The silly callan frae a watery grave.
Weel, soon as ever he had jumpit in
(I'm sure the water scarce had wat his skin),
He roared for help as loud as he could shout,
An' struggled hard's he could for to win out.
An' down we gaed, an' made him promise fair
That he wad do the like o' that nae mair;
An' then I helped to draw him out mysel'—
But isna that the ringin' o' the bell?
Sae I will tell you a' the rest again,—
We'll stop an' hearken, now, to Mr. Main.”
Loud roars of laughter aftentimes arose:
An' when the waefu' tale was a' gane through,
An aul' man near me said “Think ye that's true?”
“I dinna ken, what do you think yoursel'?”
Said I, as down the screen before us fell.
“I think it's true,” quo' he, “for weel I min'
Something gae like it, that I saw langsyne.
A tailor chiel (I'll ca' him Willie Goose,
To tell his richt name wad be o' no use)
Had been sair slichted by a bonnie lass;
An' soon as e'er he heard o't, the puir ass
Baith said and swore that he wad tak' his life,
Either by hanging, drowning, or a knife.
Sae up he jumpit, on his bonnet pat,
An' hurried aff to a bit nice quait spat;
Whare, neath some sauchs, the water ran fu' deep,
The banks at that place being gayen steep;
An' jumpit in, thinkin' he was his lane,
But twa three o' us after him had gane;
Partly to see the fun, partly to save
The silly callan frae a watery grave.
Weel, soon as ever he had jumpit in
(I'm sure the water scarce had wat his skin),
He roared for help as loud as he could shout,
An' struggled hard's he could for to win out.
331
That he wad do the like o' that nae mair;
An' then I helped to draw him out mysel'—
But isna that the ringin' o' the bell?
Sae I will tell you a' the rest again,—
We'll stop an' hearken, now, to Mr. Main.”
Weel, up the screen was haurlet in a crack,
An' in he cam' an' gied “Rabbie's Mistak'.”
An, Lord! sic laughin' ran frae wa' to wa',
To hear how Rabbie doitert through the snaw
Armed wi' a muckle gun, out ower his shouther,
An' loaded weel wi' pocks o' lead an' pouther;
An' how at last the puir unfort'nate tumphy,
Wi' a lead bullet, murdered his ain grumphy,—
The bodie being sae blin', he didna ken
His ain sow frae a maukin in the glen.
An' in he cam' an' gied “Rabbie's Mistak'.”
An, Lord! sic laughin' ran frae wa' to wa',
To hear how Rabbie doitert through the snaw
Armed wi' a muckle gun, out ower his shouther,
An' loaded weel wi' pocks o' lead an' pouther;
An' how at last the puir unfort'nate tumphy,
Wi' a lead bullet, murdered his ain grumphy,—
The bodie being sae blin', he didna ken
His ain sow frae a maukin in the glen.
Then Master Sprat got up again to sing
Some verses made on the return o' Spring;
(An' while he sang, he played upon the fiddle),
But had to stop ere he got to the middle;
For sic a hissing soon was raised at him—
I ne'er in a' my life heard sic a din.
Whistlin' through fingers, yells, an' awfu' squeels,
Maist made ane think they were a core o' deils
Let loose frae Hell, the laddie to torment,—
Sae aff the stage by them he soon was sent.
Some verses made on the return o' Spring;
(An' while he sang, he played upon the fiddle),
But had to stop ere he got to the middle;
For sic a hissing soon was raised at him—
I ne'er in a' my life heard sic a din.
Whistlin' through fingers, yells, an' awfu' squeels,
Maist made ane think they were a core o' deils
Let loose frae Hell, the laddie to torment,—
Sae aff the stage by them he soon was sent.
“A stage to let!” then out a fellow cried,
An' in cam' Mr. Main, wi' warlike stride;
As if he'd been some auld grim mail-clad knight,
Ready to join his faes in deadly fight;
An' makin' us a bow, began to gie
This waefu' tale o' woe an' cruelty:—
An' in cam' Mr. Main, wi' warlike stride;
As if he'd been some auld grim mail-clad knight,
Ready to join his faes in deadly fight;
An' makin' us a bow, began to gie
This waefu' tale o' woe an' cruelty:—
THE RIVALS.
Lone, on the side of a high towering hill,
From whose mist-shrouded top pours many a rill;
Near where fierce Calder, down the craggy steep,
Brawls to the Loch, with wild impetuous sweep;
There, safely sheltered from the howling storm,
Stood a neat cottage of inviting form;
Where lived a soldier, home from war's alarms,
With his fair daughter, rich in beauty's charms.
From whose mist-shrouded top pours many a rill;
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Brawls to the Loch, with wild impetuous sweep;
There, safely sheltered from the howling storm,
Stood a neat cottage of inviting form;
Where lived a soldier, home from war's alarms,
With his fair daughter, rich in beauty's charms.
Round her fair form her golden ringlets strayed,
And every grace adorned this charming maid;
But, oh! sad grief her matchless beauty bred,
And streams of blood in deadly strife was shed!
For though she lived retired, her only care
To please her father, and his love to share.
Yet many a fierce encounter oft was fought
By fiery rivals, who her hand had sought.
And every grace adorned this charming maid;
But, oh! sad grief her matchless beauty bred,
And streams of blood in deadly strife was shed!
For though she lived retired, her only care
To please her father, and his love to share.
Yet many a fierce encounter oft was fought
By fiery rivals, who her hand had sought.
The Lord of Semple loved this blooming flower,
And oft had wished he had her in his power
Safe in the Peel, his stronghold on the lake,
Where he would her his wife by force soon make,—
Although he knew, she'd said she'd share the board
Of Fulton, Authenbathie's noble lord;
Who oft in secret wooed the mountain maid,
And of his hand, an offer oft had made.
And oft had wished he had her in his power
Safe in the Peel, his stronghold on the lake,
Where he would her his wife by force soon make,—
Although he knew, she'd said she'd share the board
Of Fulton, Authenbathie's noble lord;
Who oft in secret wooed the mountain maid,
And of his hand, an offer oft had made.
One night, when the moon shone o'er hill and glade,
The Lord of Semple, in full pomp arrayed,
Passed quickly round yon distant murmuring flood,
Intent to burn the cottage in the wood.
And when he orders gave his men to burn
The cot, he swiftly o'er the plain did spurn
With the two bravest of his valiant men,
And onwards hurriéd by Calder glen;
The Lord of Semple, in full pomp arrayed,
Passed quickly round yon distant murmuring flood,
Intent to burn the cottage in the wood.
And when he orders gave his men to burn
The cot, he swiftly o'er the plain did spurn
With the two bravest of his valiant men,
And onwards hurriéd by Calder glen;
To where the maid her lover ofttimes met
When the bright sun far in the west had set;
And there alone, retiréd in the shade,
He found her waiting, and thus to her said—
“Oft have I stooped to woo thee for my bride,
Yet thou my love and passion didst deride;
But, now, I come to woo and win by force!”
So saying, he bound her fast upon a horse:
When the bright sun far in the west had set;
And there alone, retiréd in the shade,
He found her waiting, and thus to her said—
333
Yet thou my love and passion didst deride;
But, now, I come to woo and win by force!”
So saying, he bound her fast upon a horse:
And said—“My gallant men, the path is wide;
Be quick, and gain the river's western side!”
Quick flew the horses o'er the distant plain,
Then crossed the bridge, and the loch side they gain.
There, from the beach a fisher's boat they take.
And speedily crossed the calm and placid lake;
And in the Peel secure the maiden bound,
Where nought but water did the place surround.
Be quick, and gain the river's western side!”
Quick flew the horses o'er the distant plain,
Then crossed the bridge, and the loch side they gain.
There, from the beach a fisher's boat they take.
And speedily crossed the calm and placid lake;
And in the Peel secure the maiden bound,
Where nought but water did the place surround.
When Fulton came and found the cottage burned,
He swiftly o'er the plain his charger spurned;
And, madly dashing past yon glittering rill,
Quickly attained the summit of the hill:
When, looking to the Peel, there met his view
His bride, and off in swift pursuit he flew,—
And quickly found a boat, and crossed the lake,
To conquer or to die for his love's sake.
He swiftly o'er the plain his charger spurned;
And, madly dashing past yon glittering rill,
Quickly attained the summit of the hill:
When, looking to the Peel, there met his view
His bride, and off in swift pursuit he flew,—
And quickly found a boat, and crossed the lake,
To conquer or to die for his love's sake.
Young Fulton's boat had scarcely crossed the flood
When Castle Semple's lord before him stood,
And drawing near him, in derision said—
“Come ye, young man, to claim yon beauteous maid?”
Then forth he drew his sword, a glittering sight,
And in a posture stood, prepared for fight;
Then rose young Fulton's wrath; a fiery glow
O'er-spread his face, and crimson dyed his brow.
When from the Peel, a wild and dismal cry
When Castle Semple's lord before him stood,
And drawing near him, in derision said—
“Come ye, young man, to claim yon beauteous maid?”
Then forth he drew his sword, a glittering sight,
And in a posture stood, prepared for fight;
Then rose young Fulton's wrath; a fiery glow
O'er-spread his face, and crimson dyed his brow.
Shot on their ears, and rung along the sky;
Then swift as lightning, Fulton drew his blade,
And cried, “I come! I come unto thy aid!”
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Each in his turn aimed at his rival's life;
Till both their footing missed, and, with a shock,
Plunged headlong o'er the black and rugged rock
Into the dark, deep, wide encircling flood,
Dying the lake's clear surface with their blood;
The maid this seeing from the tower on high,
Threw herself down as quick as arrows fly;
For in dire madness, she had ta'en a leap
O'er the blood-stained rock, and rugged steep,
Into the blood-dyed water of the lake:
And thus she perished for her lover's sake.
To cheer us up, after this tale o' wae,
Master Sprat cam' an' gied us “Hogmenae,”—
A funny sang made on some cheery blades,
Wha for ae nicht had left their noisy trades
To hae a spree, an' drink the auld year out;
An' faith they had richt sport, ye needna doubt:
For ane ca'd Brodie, cryin' out “Nae clash,”
Fell aff his seat wi' a most awfu' crash;
An' ane ca'd Andrew sang wi' a' his micht
“Hummle dum tweedle,” an' “Blythe was the nicht,”—
Till ilka ane, wi' drink an' fun grown weary,
Gaed stauchrin' hame, richt blithe an' unco cheery.
Master Sprat cam' an' gied us “Hogmenae,”—
A funny sang made on some cheery blades,
Wha for ae nicht had left their noisy trades
To hae a spree, an' drink the auld year out;
An' faith they had richt sport, ye needna doubt:
For ane ca'd Brodie, cryin' out “Nae clash,”
Fell aff his seat wi' a most awfu' crash;
An' ane ca'd Andrew sang wi' a' his micht
“Hummle dum tweedle,” an' “Blythe was the nicht,”—
Till ilka ane, wi' drink an' fun grown weary,
Gaed stauchrin' hame, richt blithe an' unco cheery.
“Encore! encore!” then roun' the auld barn rang
As soon as Master Sprat got owre his sang;
An' some began to cry for Mr. Main,
While ithers roared “Come, gie's that sang again!”
Till, forced wi' cheers an' ruffin' to come back,
He rattled owre this new sang in a crack:—
As soon as Master Sprat got owre his sang;
An' some began to cry for Mr. Main,
While ithers roared “Come, gie's that sang again!”
Till, forced wi' cheers an' ruffin' to come back,
He rattled owre this new sang in a crack:—
335
OWRE STEEP ROCKY MOUNTAINS.
A SONG.
Owre steep rocky mountains, bleak, barren, an' wild,
Sae wearied, I dannert alane;
When a bonnie young lassie, wha saw my sad wae,
Conveyed me awa to her hame.
Wi' bonnie green heather her cottage was thatched,
Green thrashes were strewed on the floor;
While the wild honeysuckle her winnock crept roun',
An' shaded the seat at her door.
Sae wearied, I dannert alane;
When a bonnie young lassie, wha saw my sad wae,
Conveyed me awa to her hame.
Wi' bonnie green heather her cottage was thatched,
Green thrashes were strewed on the floor;
While the wild honeysuckle her winnock crept roun',
An' shaded the seat at her door.
We sat ourselves down to a rural repast,—
Fresh fruits frae the wood richly dressed,—
While frae her black e'e sweet glances she cast,
Love slyly crept into my breast.
I tauld her I loved her; she modestly said,
In accents both sweet and divine,
“I hae rich anes rejected, an' great anes denied,
Yet tak' me, dear laddie, I'm thine.”
Fresh fruits frae the wood richly dressed,—
While frae her black e'e sweet glances she cast,
Love slyly crept into my breast.
I tauld her I loved her; she modestly said,
In accents both sweet and divine,
“I hae rich anes rejected, an' great anes denied,
Yet tak' me, dear laddie, I'm thine.”
Her air was sae modest, her voice was sae sweet,
An' rural, yet sweet were her charms;
I kissed the red blushes that glowed owre her face,
An' clasped the dear maid in my arms.
Now blithely together we watch our ain sheep,
By the side o' yon clear wimplin' stream;
An' resting on each other's bosom we sleep,
In cheerfu' bless'd, happy, sweet dreams.
An' rural, yet sweet were her charms;
I kissed the red blushes that glowed owre her face,
An' clasped the dear maid in my arms.
Now blithely together we watch our ain sheep,
By the side o' yon clear wimplin' stream;
An' resting on each other's bosom we sleep,
In cheerfu' bless'd, happy, sweet dreams.
Together we stray owre yon green heathery braes,
An' range through the wild grassy fen;
Or rest by the side o' some clear gushing rill,
That rins down to wild Calder glen.
To pomp an' great riches she ne'er was inclined,
But is glad in her humble descent;
So cheerfu' we live in our ain rural cot,
Bless'd, happy, an' always content.
An' range through the wild grassy fen;
Or rest by the side o' some clear gushing rill,
That rins down to wild Calder glen.
To pomp an' great riches she ne'er was inclined,
But is glad in her humble descent;
So cheerfu' we live in our ain rural cot,
Bless'd, happy, an' always content.
336
This second sang was scarcely at a close,
When frae his seat a kintra fellow rose;
But hardly had he oped his mouth to speak,
When a boss turnip rattled owre his cheek.
“Wha threw that turnip! curse yer blood!” he cries.
“Sit down, ye bitch!” anither ane replies;
“For, gi he dinna keep out o' my licht,
I'm damn'd, my man, but I'll gie you a fricht.”
“Come, stop your bletherin' there, ye graceless loon,
For, see! the Spouter's coming: quick, sit down!”
The folk aroun' them cried; as Mr. Main
Cam' walkin' in, to gie a tale again.
When frae his seat a kintra fellow rose;
But hardly had he oped his mouth to speak,
When a boss turnip rattled owre his cheek.
“Wha threw that turnip! curse yer blood!” he cries.
“Sit down, ye bitch!” anither ane replies;
“For, gi he dinna keep out o' my licht,
I'm damn'd, my man, but I'll gie you a fricht.”
“Come, stop your bletherin' there, ye graceless loon,
For, see! the Spouter's coming: quick, sit down!”
The folk aroun' them cried; as Mr. Main
Cam' walkin' in, to gie a tale again.
THE BENIGHTED PEDLAR.
A TALE.
Cauld blew the blast, an' on the plain
In torrents fell the blatterin' rain,
As a puir packman chiel,
Wha on the muir had tynt his road,
Gaed trudgin' 'neath his heavy load,
In search o' some bit biel,
In torrents fell the blatterin' rain,
As a puir packman chiel,
Wha on the muir had tynt his road,
Gaed trudgin' 'neath his heavy load,
In search o' some bit biel,
Whare he micht shelter frae the wet,
Or aiblins a nicht's lodgin' get;
For since the break o' day,
Bendin' aneath his heavy pack,
He'd trampit on wi' wearied back
Alang his lanesome way.
Or aiblins a nicht's lodgin' get;
For since the break o' day,
Bendin' aneath his heavy pack,
He'd trampit on wi' wearied back
Alang his lanesome way.
When, standing in a dreary spot,
An auld half-ruined shepherd's cot
The weary pedlar saw,
Whilk had fac'd mony a windy blast
Since it had haen a traveller last
Within its totterin' wa's.
An auld half-ruined shepherd's cot
The weary pedlar saw,
Whilk had fac'd mony a windy blast
Since it had haen a traveller last
Within its totterin' wa's.
337
For aff its rugged rafters black,
Mony a fierce storm had tirred the thack
An' left them stanin' bare;
While the auld, broken, shattered door,
Torn aff its hinges, on the floor
Kept out the blast nae mair.
Mony a fierce storm had tirred the thack
An' left them stanin' bare;
While the auld, broken, shattered door,
Torn aff its hinges, on the floor
Kept out the blast nae mair.
The wearied pedlar hurried in,
A' wat an' drookit to the skin,
Syne threw his burden down;
An' having quickly struck a licht,
Ere lang a bleezin' fire shone bricht,
On the black wa's a' roun'.
A' wat an' drookit to the skin,
Syne threw his burden down;
An' having quickly struck a licht,
Ere lang a bleezin' fire shone bricht,
On the black wa's a' roun'.
When having dried his dreepin' claise,
The broken door he up did raise,
Syne laid him down to rest;
When he fan' something awfu' caul,
That seemed to freeze his verra saul,
Pressin' upo' his breast.
The broken door he up did raise,
Syne laid him down to rest;
When he fan' something awfu' caul,
That seemed to freeze his verra saul,
Pressin' upo' his breast.
He started up in awfu' fricht,
An' by the fading fire's dull licht,
He saw near whare he lay:
A fleesome-looking spectre stan',
Haudin' an ell-wan' in his han'
Wi' face a' pale as clay.
An' by the fading fire's dull licht,
He saw near whare he lay:
A fleesome-looking spectre stan',
Haudin' an ell-wan' in his han'
Wi' face a' pale as clay.
Its throat was cut frae ear to ear,
An', as the pedlar glowered wi' fear,
It fixed on him its e'e;
Syne pointed to the cottage door;
When out the frichted chiel did roar—
“In Gude's name, wha are ye?”
An', as the pedlar glowered wi' fear,
It fixed on him its e'e;
Syne pointed to the cottage door;
When out the frichted chiel did roar—
“In Gude's name, wha are ye?”
338
It answered—“I'm a packman's ghost.
I on this muir my road ance lost,
An' soucht a lodgin' here;
When i' the nicht, withouten dread,
They took my life—a bloody deed!—
That they micht get my gear.
I on this muir my road ance lost,
An' soucht a lodgin' here;
When i' the nicht, withouten dread,
They took my life—a bloody deed!—
That they micht get my gear.
“Sae rise, my frien', an' fallow me,
An' I will let you the place see
Whare they my banes hae laid.”
“I'm much obliged to you, indeed;
But I wad just as soon no heed,”
The tremblin' pedlar said:
An' I will let you the place see
Whare they my banes hae laid.”
“I'm much obliged to you, indeed;
But I wad just as soon no heed,”
The tremblin' pedlar said:
“For, sir, ye see I'm wearied sair
Wi' trampin' a' day owre the muir,
Carryin' a heavy pack.”
But, seeing that the ghost looked glum,
He added—“Weel a weel, I'll come
Gif ye'll let me soon back.”
Wi' trampin' a' day owre the muir,
Carryin' a heavy pack.”
But, seeing that the ghost looked glum,
He added—“Weel a weel, I'll come
Gif ye'll let me soon back.”
The ghost then glided to the door,
An' silently moved on before
The frichted pedlar chap;
Wha trudged behin', cursin' his lot
That had brought him to sic a spot,
To meet wi' this mishap.
An' silently moved on before
The frichted pedlar chap;
Wha trudged behin', cursin' his lot
That had brought him to sic a spot,
To meet wi' this mishap.
At length, they reach'd a rocky height,
'Neath whilk the water, shining bright,
Clear in the moonbeams lay;
When the ghost said—“Amang these stanes
Down at the bottom, lye my banes,
Jump down for them, I say.”
'Neath whilk the water, shining bright,
Clear in the moonbeams lay;
When the ghost said—“Amang these stanes
Down at the bottom, lye my banes,
Jump down for them, I say.”
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“Lord!” quo' the pedlar, turning round,
“If I did that I wad be drowned,
I wad, I do declare.”
“What's that to me!” the ghost replies;
“Jump down this moment, damn your eyes!
An' don't stan' chatterin' there.
“If I did that I wad be drowned,
I wad, I do declare.”
“What's that to me!” the ghost replies;
“Jump down this moment, damn your eyes!
An' don't stan' chatterin' there.
Do ye think I've nae mair ado,
Than stan' a' nicht listening to you,
Ye thievish neer-do-weel?
I winna swear; but, by the Lord,
Gif ye don't jump down, tak' my word,
My vengeance ye will feel.”
Than stan' a' nicht listening to you,
Ye thievish neer-do-weel?
I winna swear; but, by the Lord,
Gif ye don't jump down, tak' my word,
My vengeance ye will feel.”
The pedlar then for mercy cried,
An' then, to melt the ghost's heart tried;
But it was labour lost:
For liftin' him up by the hair,
He whirlèd him roun' in the air;
Syne in the hole him tossed.
An' then, to melt the ghost's heart tried;
But it was labour lost:
For liftin' him up by the hair,
He whirlèd him roun' in the air;
Syne in the hole him tossed.
When he set up an awfu' yell
As through the air he downward fell:
An' waukened wi' a scream.
When he was lyin' in the cot,
For he had never left the spot:
It had been but a dream.
As through the air he downward fell:
An' waukened wi' a scream.
When he was lyin' in the cot,
For he had never left the spot:
It had been but a dream.
As soon as Mr. Main got through this tale
O' dreams, an' packman, an' a spectre pale,
Young Master Sprat got up again an' sang,
And faith he routed at it loud an' lang,—
But what it was about I dinna min',
For twa three fellows had kicked up a shine,
An', wi' their dinsome swearin' loud an' lang,
No ane cou'd hear a word o' the bit sang.
O' dreams, an' packman, an' a spectre pale,
Young Master Sprat got up again an' sang,
And faith he routed at it loud an' lang,—
But what it was about I dinna min',
For twa three fellows had kicked up a shine,
An', wi' their dinsome swearin' loud an' lang,
No ane cou'd hear a word o' the bit sang.
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Then in the Spouter cam' upo' the board,
An' in an instant, quietness was restored.
When he soon gied us “Eppie an' the Deil,”—
A tale about an auld wife an' her wheel;
Wha, ae nicht daunerin' hame out owre the heicht,
Gat frae aul' Clootie a most awfu' fricht:
For, in her wrath, she said—“I wish the Deil
Wou'd flee awa' wi' this aul' curséd wheel;”
And faith, nae sooner had she said the word,
Than frae the clouds the Devil downwards spurred,
An' whuppit Eppie's wheel awa wi' speed,
Whilk made the auld wife stan' an' stare wi' dread:
“Gie's back my wheel!” she cried; and, as she spak',
The Devil flung it down upo' her back.
An' in an instant, quietness was restored.
When he soon gied us “Eppie an' the Deil,”—
A tale about an auld wife an' her wheel;
Wha, ae nicht daunerin' hame out owre the heicht,
Gat frae aul' Clootie a most awfu' fricht:
For, in her wrath, she said—“I wish the Deil
Wou'd flee awa' wi' this aul' curséd wheel;”
And faith, nae sooner had she said the word,
Than frae the clouds the Devil downwards spurred,
An' whuppit Eppie's wheel awa wi' speed,
Whilk made the auld wife stan' an' stare wi' dread:
“Gie's back my wheel!” she cried; and, as she spak',
The Devil flung it down upo' her back.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” the Spouter said
When he an end o' Eppie's tale had made:
“Allow me to express my gratitude
In a few words, before that I conclude;
For the great kindness you have shown to me
In coming my performances to see.”
Ruffin' an' cheers now owre the audience rang
As he continued,—“I will, with a song,
This night's performance close, ere it be late;
When Master Sprat, to heighten up the treat,
Will sing the chorus.” He then made a bow,
An', turnin' round to Master Sprat, said—“Now,
We will begin.” Then Master Sprat upsprang,
An' syne they both began the followin' sang:—
When he an end o' Eppie's tale had made:
“Allow me to express my gratitude
In a few words, before that I conclude;
For the great kindness you have shown to me
In coming my performances to see.”
Ruffin' an' cheers now owre the audience rang
As he continued,—“I will, with a song,
This night's performance close, ere it be late;
When Master Sprat, to heighten up the treat,
Will sing the chorus.” He then made a bow,
An', turnin' round to Master Sprat, said—“Now,
We will begin.” Then Master Sprat upsprang,
An' syne they both began the followin' sang:—
THE SPIRIT OF THE LAKE'S SONG.
I sport amidst the storm,
As o'er the lake it sweeps;
And raise in glee my elfin form,
Frae the wide-spreading deeps;
In mist and spray,
At dawning day
When the sun gives place to evening grey.
As o'er the lake it sweeps;
341
Frae the wide-spreading deeps;
In mist and spray,
At dawning day
When the sun gives place to evening grey.
Chorus.
Then hark! hark! hark!To my fairy song;
As I dart like a spark
The clouds among;
In sovereign sway,
Till break of day
Chanting with glee my wild war song.
I glory in the yelling breeze,
The lightning's vivid light—
As it darts among the rending trees
In the dark lonely night;
In flashing fire,
O'er tower and spire,
Telling, with vengeance, Heaven's dread ire.
The lightning's vivid light—
As it darts among the rending trees
In the dark lonely night;
In flashing fire,
O'er tower and spire,
Telling, with vengeance, Heaven's dread ire.
Then hark! hark! hark!
To my fairy song, &c.
To my fairy song, &c.
I dance upon the rainbow's rim
As o'er the lake it hings;
And sweep along in shadows dim,
Waking the echo's rings;
With my wild song,
In numbers strong,
As it rings through the valley so loud and long.
As o'er the lake it hings;
And sweep along in shadows dim,
Waking the echo's rings;
With my wild song,
In numbers strong,
As it rings through the valley so loud and long.
Then hark! hark! hark!
To my fairy song, &c.
To my fairy song, &c.
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In fearless speed, I cleave the sky
In wild majestic liberty,
And, in freedom, I spring on high
A thing of dread and mystery;
Who, when is seen,
Is like a dream,
Or a passing breeze o'er a valley green!
In wild majestic liberty,
And, in freedom, I spring on high
A thing of dread and mystery;
Who, when is seen,
Is like a dream,
Or a passing breeze o'er a valley green!
Then hark! hark! hark!
To my fairy song, &c.
To my fairy song, &c.
When Luna sheds her silver light
Over yon rugged steep;
'Tis then I take my airy flight,
And o'er the valley sweep;
And spring on high
With cheery cry,
Till I the dark blue ocean spy.
Over yon rugged steep;
'Tis then I take my airy flight,
And o'er the valley sweep;
And spring on high
With cheery cry,
Till I the dark blue ocean spy.
Then hark! hark! hark!
To my fairy song, &c.
To my fairy song, &c.
Oh! when the thunders ring along,
And lightnings fierce descend;
'Tis then, with glee, I raise my song,
As the forest trees loud rend;
And mount on high
'Midst the revelry,
And fly with glee through the dark'ning sky!
And lightnings fierce descend;
'Tis then, with glee, I raise my song,
As the forest trees loud rend;
And mount on high
'Midst the revelry,
And fly with glee through the dark'ning sky!
Then hark! hark! hark!
To my fairy song, &c.
To my fairy song, &c.
O! how I love to hear!—but hark!
What's that towers o'er yon height?
I see! see! 'tis the early lark
Hailing the morning's light;
So I cannot stay,
But must hie away,
For see! how fast comes the sun's bright ray!
What's that towers o'er yon height?
I see! see! 'tis the early lark
Hailing the morning's light;
So I cannot stay,
But must hie away,
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Then hark! hark! hark!
To my fairy song, &c.
To my fairy song, &c.
As soon as they had finishéd the sang,
We a' got up, an' hurried aff fu' thrang;
An' as we trudged alang, many a remark
Ane to anither made 'bout the night's wark.
Some said they thocht that it was gyen queer
To hear a dead man's ghost baith curse and swear;
And that they didna think that it was fair
To lift the frichted packman by the hair,
An' syne to fling him o'er into the stream.
“Hoot!” quo' anither, “wasna it a dream?
An' weel ye ken that, aftimes i' the nicht,
Folk dream o' things that whyles gie them a fricht;
'Twas but the tither nicht I dreamed mysel'
The Deevil haurlet me awa to hell.”
This raised a laugh; an' ilk took his ain way,
Determined for to hear a full account next day.
We a' got up, an' hurried aff fu' thrang;
An' as we trudged alang, many a remark
Ane to anither made 'bout the night's wark.
Some said they thocht that it was gyen queer
To hear a dead man's ghost baith curse and swear;
And that they didna think that it was fair
To lift the frichted packman by the hair,
An' syne to fling him o'er into the stream.
“Hoot!” quo' anither, “wasna it a dream?
An' weel ye ken that, aftimes i' the nicht,
Folk dream o' things that whyles gie them a fricht;
'Twas but the tither nicht I dreamed mysel'
The Deevil haurlet me awa to hell.”
This raised a laugh; an' ilk took his ain way,
Determined for to hear a full account next day.
CONCLUSION.
Next day arrived; but ah! the nest had flown,For Mr. Main and Sprat had left the town,
An' (in their hurry) had forgot to pay
The debt they had contracted yesterday.
An' Willie Watson swore like any Turk
That it had been a thievish piece o' wark;
An' if he could the Spouter get, that he
The inside o' a jail wad let him see.
Although puir Willie said to us,—“I trow,
To sic a rascal 'twad be nothing new;
For weel-a-wat it isna his first trick,
Nor yet the first time he has ‘cut his stick.’
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An' that's I'll ken again wha gets my barn;
An' mak' them always pay the cash before
They ever set a nose in at the door.’
An' then poor Will began an' swore again,
What he wad do when he got Mr. Main;
When some auld wives said, “Man, ye should think shame,
For ye hae nae ane but yersel to blame,
For they wha mak' an' meddle wi' sic crew,
Aye meet with something they hae cause to rue.”
An' Willie clawed his head an' said, “Atweel,
They wad need a lang spoon wha sup kail wi' the deil.”
| The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson | |