The Muse maun also now implore She'll no lang shank upon all four Neist day ilk hero tells his news, Or time mair precious to abuse, She'll rather to the fields resort, Where peerless Fancy hauds her court, THE DAFT DAYS.* Now mirk December's dowie face Wi' blinkin' light and stealin' pace, Frae naked groves nae birdie sings; *The festive season in Scotland, embracing Christmas or Yule, Hogmanay, the New Year, and Handsel-Monday, have been denominated the "Daft Days," on account of the mad frolics by which they were wont to be distinguished. The breeze nae odorous flavour brings Frae Borean cave; And dwynin' Nature droops her wings, Wi' visage grave. Mankind but scanty pleasure glean Sends drift owre a' his bleak domain, Auld Reekie! thou'rt the canty hole, While round they gar the bicker roll, When merry Yule-day comes, I trow, And kickshaws, strangers to our view Ye browster wives! now busk ye braw, Mair precious than the well o' Spa, Then, though at odds wi' a' the warl', Amang oursels we'll never quarrel; Though discord gie a canker'd snarl To spoil our glee, As lang's there's pith into the barrel, We'll drink and gree. Fiddlers! your pins in temper fix, Frae out your quorum; Nor fortes wi' pianos mix- For nought can cheer the heart sae weel It even vivifies the heel To skip and dance: Lifeless is he wha canna feel Let mirth abound; let social cheer Nor envy, wi' sarcastic sneer, And thou, great god of aqua vitæ! To hedge us frae that black banditti, * Originally employed as such by the author, this stanza is generally prefixed in the form of a motto to the immortal "Tullochgorum" (that "first of Scottish songs," as Burns calls it), by the Rev. John Skinner of Linshart. THE FARMER'S INGLE. Et multo in primis hilarans convivia Baccho, WHEN gloamin' grey out-owre the welkin keeks; * When Thrasher John, sair dung, his barn-door steeks, And lusty lasses at the dightin' tire; What bangs fu' leal the e'enin's coming cauld, Begin, my Muse! and chaunt in hamely strain. Frae the big stack, weel winnow't on the hill, That a' his housie looks sae cosh and clean; Weel kens the gudewife that the pleughs require Sair wark and poortith downa weel be join'd. * The second stanza of Burns's "Cottar's Saturday Night," it will be observed, bears considerable resemblance, in thought and expression, to the opening lines here. It might be argued, indeed, as has been often hinted, that the earlier poem inspired the later. Frae this let gentler gabs a lesson lear: Wad they to labouring lend an eident hand, At night in calmest slumbers dose fu' sound; Nor drogs their noddle and their sense confound, Till death slip sleely on, and gie the hindmost wound. On sicken food has mony a doughty deed By Caledonia's ancestors been done; By this did mony a wight fu' weirlike bleed 'Twas this that braced their gardies, stiff and strang, That bent the deadly yew in ancient days; Laid Denmark's daring sons on yird alang; Gar'd Scottish thristles bang the Roman bays; The couthy cracks begin when supper's owre; Upon the cutty stool was forced to ride, The fient a cheep's amang the bairnies now, Grumble and greet, and mak an unco mane. Frae gudame's mouth auld warld tales they hear, O' warlocks loupin' round the wirrikow; O' ghaists, that win in glen and kirk-yard drear; Whilk touzles a' their tap, and gars them shak wi’ fear! |