Chapter 13

When chill November's surly blast Made fields and forests bare, One evening, as I wandered forth Along the banks of Ayr, I spied a man, whose aged step Seemed weary, worn with care; His face was furrowed o'er with years, And hoary was his hair.

"Young stranger, whither wanderest thou?" Began the reverend sage; "Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, Or youthful pleasure's rage? Or haply, pressed with cares and woes, Too soon thou hast began To wander forth, with me, to mourn The miseries of man!

"The sun that overhangs yon moors, Outspreading far and wide, Where hundreds labor to support A haughty lordling's pride;-- I've seen yon weary winter sun Twice forty times return; And every time has added proofs That man was made to mourn.

"O man! while in thy early years, How prodigal of time! Misspending all thy precious hours, Thy glorious youthful prime! Alternate follies take the sway, Licentious passions burn; Which tenfold force gives Nature's law, That man was made to mourn.

"Look not alone on youthful prime, Or manhood's active might; Man then is useful to his kind, Supported is his right: But see him on the edge of life, With cares and sorrows worn, Then age and want--oh ill-matched pair!-- Show man was made to mourn.

"A few seem favorites of fate, In Pleasure's lap caressed; Yet think not all the rich and great Are likewise truly blest. But oh! what crowds in every land Are wretched and forlorn! Through weary life this lesson learn, That man was made to mourn.

"Many and sharp the num'rous ills Inwoven with our frame; More pointed still we make ourselves Regret, remorse, and shame! And man, whose heaven-erected face The smiles of love adorn, Man's inhumanity to man Makes countless thousands mourn!

"See yonder poor o'er-labored wight, So abject, mean, and vile, Who begs a brother of the earth To give him leave to toil; And see his lordly fellow-worm The poor petition spurn, Unmindful, though a weeping wife And helpless offspring mourn.

"If I'm designed yon lordling's slave, By Nature's law designed, Why was an independent wish E'er planted in my mind? If not, why am I subject to His cruelty or scorn? Or why has man the will and power To make his fellow mourn?

"Yet let not this too much, my son, Disturb thy youthful breast; This partial view of humankind Is surely not the best! The poor, oppressèd, honest man, Had never, sure, been born, Had there not been some recompense To comfort those that mourn.

"O Death! the poor man's dearest friend-- The kindest and the best! Welcome the hour my agèd limbs Are laid with thee at rest! The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow From pomp and pleasure torn; But, oh! a blest relief to those That weary-laden mourn!"

GREEN GROW THE RASHES

There's naught but care on every han', In every hour that passes, O: What signifies the life o' man, An 't werena for the lasses, O?

CHORUS

Green grow the rashes, O! Green grow the rashes, O! The sweetest hours that e'er I spent Were spent amang the lasses, O!

The warly race may riches chase, An' riches still may fly them, O; An' though at last they catch them fast, Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O.

But gi'e me a canny hour at e'en, My arms about my dearie, O; An' warly cares, an' warly men, May a' gae tapsalteerie, O!

For you sae douce, ye sneer at this, Ye're nought but senseless asses, O; The wisest man the warl' e'er saw, He dearly loved the lasses, O.

Auld Nature swears the lovely dears Her noblest work she classes, O; Her 'prentice han' she tried on man, An' then she made the lasses, O.

IS THERE FOR HONEST POVERTY

Is there for honest poverty That hangs his head, and a' that? The coward slave, we pass him by, We dare be poor for a' that! For a' that, and a' that, Our toil's obscure, and a' that: The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The man's the gowd for a' that.

What though on hamely fare we dine, Wear hoddin gray, and a' that? Gi'e fools their silks, and knaves their wine, A man's a man for a' that; For a' that, and a' that, Their tinsel show, and a' that-- The honest man, though e'er sae poor, Is king o' men for a' that.

Ye see yon birkie,[31] ca'd a lord, Wha struts, and stares, and a' that: Though hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof[32] for a' that: For a' that, and a' that, His riband, star, and a' that-- The man of independent mind, He looks and laughs at a' that.

A prince can mak' a belted knight, A marquis, duke, and a' that, But an honest man's aboon his might-- Guid faith, he mauna fa' that! For a' that, and a' that, Their dignities, and a' that, The pith o' sense and pride o' worth Are higher ranks than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may-- As come it will for a' that-- That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree, and a' that. For a' that, and a' that, It's comin' yet, for a' that,-- That man to man, the warld o'er, Shall brothers be for a' that!

FOOTNOTES:

[31] Spirited fellow.

[32] Fool.

TO A MOUSE

Flying before a Plow

Wee, sleekit, cowrin', tim'rous beastie, Oh, what a panic's in thy breastie! Thou needna start awa' sae hasty, Wi' bick'ring brattle![33] I wad be laith to rin and chase thee, Wi' murd'ring pattle![34]

I'm truly sorry man's dominion Has broken nature's social union, And justifies that ill opinion Which mak's thee startle At me, thy poor earth-born companion And fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve; What then? poor beastie, thou maun live! A daimen icker in a thrave[35] 'S a sma' request: I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave, And never miss 't!

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin! Its silly[36] wa's the win's are strewin'! And naething now to big[37] a new ane O' foggage[38] green! And bleak December's winds ensuin', Baith snell[39] and keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste, And weary winter comin' fast, And cozie here, beneath the blast Thou thought to dwell, Till, crash! the cruel coulter past Out through thy cell.

That wee bit heap o' leaves and stibble Has cost thee mony a weary nibble! Now thou's turned out for a' thy trouble, But house or hauld,[40] To thole[41] the winter's sleety dribble, And cranreuch[42] cauld!

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane[43] In proving foresight may be vain! The best-laid schemes o' mice and men Gang aft agley, And lea'e us naught but grief and pain For promised joy.

Still thou art blest, compared wi' me! The present only toucheth thee; But och! I backward cast my e'e On prospects drear! And forward, though I canna see, I guess and fear.

FOOTNOTES:

[33] Hurrying run.

[34] The plow-spade.

[35] An ear of corn in twenty-four sheaves--that is, in a thrave.

[36] Frail.

[37] Build.

[38] Aftermath.

[39] Bitter.

[40] Holding.

[41] Endure.

[42] Crevice.

[43] Alone.

TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY

On Turning One Down with the Plow

Wee, modest, crimson-tippèd flower, Thou's met me in an evil hour; For I maun crush amang the stoure[44] Thy slender stem; To spare thee now is past my power, Thou bonnie gem.

Alas! it's no thy neebor sweet, The bonnie lark, companion meet! Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet, Wi' spreckled breast, When upward-springing, blithe, to greet The purpling east.

Cauld blew the bitter biting north Upon thy early, humble birth, Yet cheerfully thou glinted[45] forth Amid the storm, Scarce reared above the parent earth Thy tender form. The flaunting flowers our gardens yield, High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield; But thou beneath the random bield[46] O' clod or stane, Adorns the histie[47] stibble-field, Unseen, alane.

There, in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawy bosom sunward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise; But now the share uptears thy bed, And low thou lies!

Such is the fate of artless maid, Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade! By love's simplicity betrayed, And guileless trust, Till she, like thee, all soiled, is laid Low i' the dust.

Such is the fate of simple bard, On life's rough ocean luckless starred! Unskillful he to note the card Of prudent lore, Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, And whelm him o'er!

Such fate to suffering worth is given, Who long with wants and woes has striven, By human pride or cunning driven To mis'ry's brink, Till wrenched of every stay but Heaven, He, ruined, sink!

Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, That fate is thine--no distant date; Stern Ruin's plowshare drives, elate, Full on thy bloom, Till crushed beneath the furrow's weight Shall be thy doom!

FOOTNOTES:

[44] Dust.

[45] Peeped.

[46] Shelter.

[47] Barren.

TAM O' SHANTER

When chapman billies[48] leave the street, And drouthy[49] neebors neebors meet, As market days are wearing late, An' folk begin to tak' the gate[50]; While we sit bousing at the nappy,[51] An' getting fou and unco happy, We think na on the lang Scots miles, The mosses, waters, slaps,[52] and stiles, That lie between us and our hame, Whaur sits our sulky, sullen dame, Gathering her brows like gathering storm, Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.

This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter, As he frae Ayr ae night did canter (Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses, For honest men and bonny lasses). O Tam! hadst thou but been sae wise, As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice! She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum,[53] A blethering,[54] blustering, drunken blellum[55]; That frae November till October, Ae market-day thou was nae sober; That ilka melder,[56] wi' the miller, Thou sat as lang as thou had siller; That every naig was ca'd a shoe on,[57] The smith and thee gat roaring fou on; That at the Lord's house, ev'n on Sunday, Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean[58] till Monday. She prophesied that, late or soon, Thou would be found deep drowned in Doon; Or catched wi' warlocks in the mirk, By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.

Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet,[59] To think how mony counsels sweet, How many lengthened 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,[60] bleezing finely, Wi' reaming swats,[61] that drank divinely; And at his elbow, Souter[62] 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 aye 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; The storm without might rair[63] and rustle. Tam did na mind, the storm a whistle.

Care, mad to see a man sae happy, E'en drowned himself amang the nappy; As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, The minutes winged 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 flower, its bloom is shed! Or like the snowfall 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 keystane, That dreary hour he mounts his beast in: And sic a night he tak's the road in, As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; The rattlin' showers rose on the blast; The speedy gleams the darkness swallowed; Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellowed: 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[64] on through 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[65] catch him unawares; Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, Whaur ghaists and houlets[66] nightly cry.

By this time he was 'cross the ford, Whaur in the snaw the chapman smoored;[67] And past the birks and meikle stane, Whaur drunken Charlie brak's neck-bane; And through the whins, and by the cairn, Whaur hunters fand the murdered bairn; And near the thorn, aboon the well, Whaur Mungo's mither hanged hersel'. Before him Doon pours all his floods; The doubling storm roars through the woods; The lightnings flash from pole to pole; Near and more near the thunders roll; When, glimmering through the groaning trees, Kirk-Alloway seemed in a bleeze; Through ilka bore[68] the beams were glancing; And loud resounded mirth and dancing.

Inspiring, bold John Barleycorn! What dangers thou canst mak' us scorn! Wi' tippenny[69] we fear nae evil; Wi' usquabae[70] we'll face the devil! The swats[71] sae reamed[72] in Tammie's noddle, Fair play, he cared na de'ils a boddle.[73] But Maggie stood right sair astonished, Till, by the heel and hand admonished She ventured 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. At winnock-bunker[74] in the east, There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast;-- A towzie tyke,[75] black, grim, and large; To gi'e them music was his charge: He screwed the pipes and gart them skirl,[76] Till roof and rafters a' did dirl![77] Coffins stood round, like open presses, That shawed the dead in their last dresses; And by some devilish cantrip[78] 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;[79] Twa span-lang, wee unchristened bairns; A thief new-cutted frae a rape, Wi' his last gasp his gab[80] 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: Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu', Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'.

As Tammie glow'red,[81] amazed and curious, The mirth and fun grew fast and furious: The piper loud and louder blew; The dancers quick and quicker flew; They reeled, they set, they crossed, they cleekit,[82] Till ilka carlin[83] swat and reekit,[84] And coost[85] her duddies[86] to the wark, And linket[87] at it in her sark![88]

Now Tam, O Tam! had they been queans A' plump and strapping, in their teens; Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen,[89] Been snaw-white seventeen-hunder linen[90], Thir breeks[91] o' mine, my only pair, That ance were plush, o' guid blue hair, I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdies, For ane blink o' the bonnie burdies!

But withered beldams old and droll, Rigwoodie[92] hags wad spean[93] a foal, Lowping and flinging on a crummock,[94] I wonder didna turn thy stomach.

But Tam kenned what was what fu' brawlie: "There was ae winsome wench and walie,"[95] That night inlisted in the core (Lang after kenned on Carrick shore! For mony a beast to dead she shot, And perished mony a bonnie boat, And shook baith meikle corn and bear,[96] And kept the country-side in fear), Her cutty sark,[97] o' Paisley harn,[98] That while a lassie she had worn, In longitude though sorely scanty, It was her best, and she was vauntie.[99] Ah! little kenned thy reverend grannie, That sark she coft[100] for her wee Nannie, Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches), Wad ever graced a dance of witches! But here my muse her wing maun cour[101]; Sic flights are far beyond her power: To sing how Nannie lap and flang (A souple jade she was and strang), And how Tam stood like ane bewitched, And thought his very een enriched; Even Satan glow'red and fidged fu' fain, And hotched and blew wi' might and main: Till first ae caper, syne anither, Tam tints[102] his reason a'thegither, And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty-sark!" And in an instant all was dark; And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, When out the hellish legion sallied.

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke,[103] When plundering hords assail their byke[104]; As open pussie's mortal foes When, pop! she starts before their nose; As eager runs the market-crowd, When "Catch the thief!" resounds aloud; So Maggie runs, the witches follow, Wi' mony an eldritch[105] screech and hollow.

Ah, Tam! ah, Tam, thou'll get thy fairin'! In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin'! In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin'! Kate soon will be a woefu' woman! Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, And win the keystane of the brig; There at them thou thy tail may toss,-- A running stream they dare na cross. But ere the keystane she could make, The fient a tail she had to shake!

For Nannie, far before the rest, Hard upon noble Maggie prest, And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle; But little wist she Maggie's mettle-- Ae spring brought off her master hale, But left behind her ain grey tail: The carlin claught her by the rump, And left poor Maggie scarce a stump!

Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, Ilk man and mother's son, take heed: Whene'er to drink you are inclined, Or cutty sarks run in your mind, Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear-- Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare.

FOOTNOTES:

[48] Fellows.

[49] Thirsty.

[50] Road.

[51] Ale.

[52] Gates or openings through a hedge.

[53] Good-for-nothing fellow.

[54] Nonsensical.

[55] Chattering fellow.

[56] Grain sent to the mill to be ground; _i.e._, that every time he carried the corn to the mill he sat to drink with the miller.

[57] Nag that required shoeing.

[58] Jean Kennedy, a public-house keeper at Kirkoswald.

[59] Makes me weep.

[60] Fire.

[61] Foaming ale.

[62] Shoemaker.

[63] Roar.

[64] Rode carelessly.

[65] Ghosts, bogies.

[66] Owls.

[67] Was smothered.

[68] Crevice, or hole.

[69] Twopenny ale.

[70] Whisky.

[71] Drink.

[72] Frothed, mounted.

[73] A small old coin.

[74] Window-seat.

[75] Shaggy dog.

[76] Made them scream.

[77] Shake.

[78] Spell.

[79] Irons.

[80] Mouth.

[81] Stared.

[82] Caught hold of each other.

[83] Old hag.

[84] Reeked with heat.

[85] Cast off.

[86] Clothes.

[87] Tripped.

[88] Chemise.

[89] Greasy flannel.

[90] Manufacturers' term for linen woven in a reed of 1700 divisions.

[91] Breeches.

[92] Gallows-worthy.

[93] Wean.

[94] A crutch--a stick with a crook.

[95] Quoted from Allan Ramsay.

[96] Barley.

[97] Short shift or shirt.

[98] Very coarse linen.

[99] Proud.

[100] Bought.

[101] Cower--sink.

[102] Loses.

[103] Fuss.

[104] Hive.

[105] Unearthly.

BRUCE TO HIS MEN AT BANNOCKBURN

Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled, Scots wham Bruce has aften led; Welcome to your gory bed, Or to victorie!

Now's the day, and now's the hour; See the front o' battle lour: See approach proud Edward's pow'r-- Chains and slaverie!

Wha will be a traitor-knave? Wha can fill a coward's grave? Wha sae base as be a slave? Let him turn and flee!

Wha for Scotland's king and law Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Freemen stand, or freemen fa', Let him follow me!

By oppression's woes and pains! By our sons in servile chains! We will drain our dearest veins, But they shall be free!

Lay the proud usurpers low! Tyrants fall in every foe! Liberty's in every blow!-- Let us do or die!

HIGHLAND MARY

Ye banks and braes and streams around The castle o' Montgomery, Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, Your waters never drumlie! There Simmer first unfald her robes, And there the langest tarry; For there I took the last fareweel O' my sweet Highland Mary.

How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk, How rich the hawthorn's blossom! As underneath their fragrant shade, I clasped her to my bosom! The golden hours, on angel wings, Flew o'er me and my dearie; For dear to me as light and life Was my sweet Highland Mary.

Wi' mony a vow and locked embrace Our parting was fu' tender; And, pledging aft to meet again, We tore oursel's asunder; But oh! fell Death's untimely frost, That nipt my flower sae early! Now green's the sod and cauld's the clay That wraps my Highland Mary!

Oh pale, pale now those rosy lips, I aft hae kissed so fondly! And closed for aye the sparkling glance, That dwelt on me sae kindly; And moldering now in silent dust That heart that lo'ed me dearly! But still within my bosom's core Shall live my Highland Mary.

MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here; My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer; Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe-- My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go. Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North! The birthplace of valor, the country of worth; Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.

Farewell to the mountains high covered with snow! Farewell to the straths and green valleys below! Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods! Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods! My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here, My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer; Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe-- My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.

THE BANKS O' DOON

Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair? How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae weary fu' o' care? Thou'll break my heart, thou warbling bird, That wantons through the flowering thorn; Thou minds me o' departed joys, Departed--never to return!