Poems, on sacred and other subjects and songs, humorous and sentimental: By the late William Watt. Third edition of the songs only--with additional songs |
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Allan Bane's Dream.
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 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
152
Allan Bane's Dream.
Auld Allan Bane, the clachan souter,
Although nae sceptic, was a doubter
O' things that thwarted common sense;
But he to lare had nae pretence;
Nae help got he frae schule or college,
Yet still he grasped after knowledge;
At auld buik-stan's wared mony a bodle
For volumes that maist crazed his noddle;
Read baith th' abettors and cross parties
Of Norris, Locke, and sage Des Cartes,
Wha treat on matter and on spirit
Sae nice, they maist ding folk deleiret.
Although nae sceptic, was a doubter
O' things that thwarted common sense;
But he to lare had nae pretence;
Nae help got he frae schule or college,
Yet still he grasped after knowledge;
At auld buik-stan's wared mony a bodle
For volumes that maist crazed his noddle;
Read baith th' abettors and cross parties
Of Norris, Locke, and sage Des Cartes,
Wha treat on matter and on spirit
Sae nice, they maist ding folk deleiret.
To midnicht Allan aft sat porin',
Thae metaphysic themes explorin',
'Bout observation and reflection,
Which they explain wi' nice dissection;
'Bout time, infinity, and space,
And, eke, the spirit's resting place;
And whiles, by logic's deep inspection,
They would disprove the resurrection.
Thae metaphysic themes explorin',
'Bout observation and reflection,
Which they explain wi' nice dissection;
'Bout time, infinity, and space,
And, eke, the spirit's resting place;
And whiles, by logic's deep inspection,
They would disprove the resurrection.
Scarce ane cam' in to get shoon cloutit
But Allan rhymed and raved about it,
Till folk began to doubt his creed,
And Meg his wife began to dread
That, soon or syne, he'd craze his head.
But Allan rhymed and raved about it,
Till folk began to doubt his creed,
And Meg his wife began to dread
That, soon or syne, he'd craze his head.
But noucht sae harass'd Allan's brain
As when they labour'd to explain
The palace o' the inner man,
And a' his outs and ins to scan.
Ane proved, by demonstration grand,
His dwellin' was the pineal gland;
For there the nerves, frae ilka station,
Brought in the tidings o' sensation,
As aide-de-camps, on wings o' win',
Wi' news unto the marshal rin:
Anither would as plainly shaw
It had nae special hame ava,
But could at pleasure rantin' gae
Through ilka bore, frae tap to tae.
As when they labour'd to explain
The palace o' the inner man,
And a' his outs and ins to scan.
Ane proved, by demonstration grand,
His dwellin' was the pineal gland;
For there the nerves, frae ilka station,
Brought in the tidings o' sensation,
As aide-de-camps, on wings o' win',
Wi' news unto the marshal rin:
Anither would as plainly shaw
It had nae special hame ava,
153
Through ilka bore, frae tap to tae.
Ae nicht, wi' contrair notions vex'd,
He gaed to bed richt sair perplex'd:
Yet, though in's head sic thochts were swimmin',
He dover'd owre, and fell a' dreamin'
How that his body and his saul
Coost out, and had this bitter brawl.
Soul.
He gaed to bed richt sair perplex'd:
Yet, though in's head sic thochts were swimmin',
He dover'd owre, and fell a' dreamin'
How that his body and his saul
Coost out, and had this bitter brawl.
'Tis strange, auld nei'bour, folk's sae doitit
As tuilyie 'bout how we're united;
And try, by logic, that vain foible,
To contradict the holy Bible,
Wi' siccan metaphysic wraith
That they would kow the wings o' faith
Wi' reason's shears, that she might sten'
Nae farther than their narrow ken.
Vain fools! trowth, they ha'e shallow powers
Wha think this clumsy frame o' yours
Wad e'er allow them, while we're join'd,
To judge correctly wi' their mind,
When they receive their ilka notion
Frae jumpin' nerves, in panic motion,
Wha tell them many a sinfu' lee,
Syne a' the blame lies aye on me.
Thus, by your means, I'm wrang'd richt sair,
In spite o' a' their college lare:
Though no the thief, you're the resetter,
Which, in the law, is little better.
Body.
'Deed, frien', the naked truth to tell,
Thae blades are something like yoursel',
As scant o' that rare thing ca'd sense
As they're o' oucht approachin' mense.
Ilk ane still mak'st his only aim
His nei'bour rival to defame;
Or else, their bedlam notions screening
'Neath words devoid o' oucht like meaning,
Their contradictors' een they steek,
And hide themsel's amang the reek.
154
Wi' brazen front, to rave and lee?
Less jeerin', else ye'se bide the brunt
O' what wad ither folk affront.
Soul.
Vile bag o' dirt! think ye that I
Dread oucht comes frae your stinkin' stye?
What mind wad heed your brawlin' scandal?
Ye rude, unfeelin', graceless Vandal;
Sae brutal are your hail desires
That frae you naething great transpires.
A miser ye're o' every meanness;
A stews, for knavery and uncleanness;
Whase filthy appetites appear
Unquenchable wi' oucht that's here;
Which gars me pine, in deep vexation,
Till death—that blessed separation.
Body.
Mean, lewd! guid guide's, whar now is conscience,
That suffers sic infernal nonsense
To bellow frae that fiend o' pride,
And sober hamely folk deride?
'Tis past the power o' tongue to say
What filthy notions, nicht and day,
Rin through your head, ye beast uncivil,
And constant colleague o' the devil.
Some graceless plot ye're ever plannin',
And God's ain law richt aften bannin',
That fetters sae your inclination,
Ye basest wretch o' the creation!
Yet still on me ye lay the blame,
And say sic plans I foremost frame,
And slander far and near my name.
Soul.
Wi' sic low fools 'tis vain to reason;
Advice to you's aye out o' season;
Wha claver on, wi' jargon mean,
Because ye are nae farther seen.
Know ye but oucht o' nature's laws—
155
Aye, aye! like you, wi' B's and A's;
And drive the truth clean heels-owre-head—
I'd be a prodigy indeed.
Soul.
Instructor base! Come, keep decorum.
Body.
Ay, like the Academic forum;
To list to your bombastic blethers,
As licht's a goupin o' hen feathers.
Soul.
Accursed pest o' the creation,
I'se let ye feel my castigation,
That ye may learn, for time to come,
To speak wi' mense, or else sit dumb!
I'se let ye feel my castigation,
That ye may learn, for time to come,
To speak wi' mense, or else sit dumb!
Wi' that they closed, and fierce did grapple:
The soul claucht fast the body's thrapple,
And held sae firm, he wad him choked,
And noosed him sae that bluid out bocked.
The soul claucht fast the body's thrapple,
And held sae firm, he wad him choked,
And noosed him sae that bluid out bocked.
But Allan, turnin' in his lair,
Soon put to flicht this vile nicht-mare;
Yet for some time could scarce compose him,
Sae lap his agitated bosom:
Syne, neist, he tried t' investigate
The spring and cause o' this debate,
And fand it had its fountain fair
Amang his metaphysic lare:
Therefore, wi' nervous resolution,
He raised an ordeal persecution,
And brunt the philosophic nest
That had sae troubled him in rest,
And did his brain a' day molest.
Soon put to flicht this vile nicht-mare;
Yet for some time could scarce compose him,
Sae lap his agitated bosom:
Syne, neist, he tried t' investigate
The spring and cause o' this debate,
And fand it had its fountain fair
Amang his metaphysic lare:
Therefore, wi' nervous resolution,
He raised an ordeal persecution,
And brunt the philosophic nest
That had sae troubled him in rest,
And did his brain a' day molest.
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |