Robert Burns: How To Know Him Part 41

_Urinus spiritus_ of capons; Or mite-horn shavings, filings, sc.r.a.pings, Distill'd _per se_; _Sal-alkali_ o' midge-tail clippings, And mony mae.' [more]

'Wae's me for Johnny Ged's Hole now,' [the grave-digger's]

Quoth I, 'if that thae news be true! [those]

His braw calf-ward whare gowans grew [grazing-plot, daisies]

Sae white and bonnie, Nae doubt they'll rive it wi' the plew; [split]

They'll ruin Johnie!'

The creature grain'd an eldritch laugh, [groaned, weird]

And says: 'Ye needna yoke the pleugh, Kirk-yards will soon be till'd eneugh, Tak ye nae fear; They'll a' be trench'd wi' mony a sheugh [ditch]

In twa-three year.

'Where I kill'd ane, a fair strae-death, [straw (i.e., bed)]

By loss o' blood or want o' breath, This night I'm free to tak my aith [oath]

That Hornbook's skill Has clad a score i' their last claith, [cloth]

By drap and pill.

'An honest wabster to his trade, [weaver by]

Whase wife's twa nieves were scarce weel-bred, [fists]

Gat tippence-worth to mend her head When it was sair; [aching]

The wife slade cannie to her bed, [slid quietly]

But ne'er spak mair.

'A country laird had ta'en the batts, [botts]

Or some curmurring in his guts, [commotion]

His only son for Hornbook sets, An' pays him well: The lad, for twa guid gimmer-pets, [pet-ewes]

Was laird himsel.

'A bonnie la.s.s, ye kenn'd her name, Some ill-brewn drink had hov'd her wame; [raised, belly]

She trusts hersel, to hide the shame, In Hornbook's care; Horn sent her aff to her lang hame, To hide it there.

'That's just a swatch o' Hornbook's way; [sample]

Thus goes he on from day to day, Thus does he poison, kill an' slay, An's weel pay'd for't; Yet stops me o' my lawfu' prey Wi' his d.a.m.n'd dirt.

'But, hark! I'll tell you of a plot, Tho' dinna ye be speaking o't; I'll nail the self-conceited sot As dead's a herrin': Niest time we meet, I'll wad a groat, [Next, wager]

He gets his fairin'!'

But, just as he began to tell, The auld kirk-hammer strak the bell [struck]

Some wee short hour ayont the twal, [beyond, twelve]

Which rais'd us baith: [got us to our feet]

I took the way that pleas'd mysel, And sae did Death.

A few miscellaneous poems remain to be quoted. These do not naturally fall into any of the major gla.s.ses of Burns's work, yet are too important either for their intrinsic worth or the light they throw on his character and genius to be omitted. The Elegies, of which he wrote many, following, as has been seen, the tradition founded by Sempill of Beltrees, may be exemplified by _Tam Samson's Elegy_ and that on Captain Matthew Henderson. Special phases of Scottish patriotism are expressed in _Scotch Drink_, and the address _To a Haggis_; while more personal is _A Bard's Epitaph_. In this last we have Burns's summing up of his own character, and it closes with his recommendation of the virtue he strove after but could never attain.

TAM SAMSON'S ELEGY

Has auld Kilmarnock seen the deil?

Or great Mackinlay thrawn his heel? [twisted]

Or Robertson again grown weel, To preach an' read?

'Na, waur than a'!' cries ilka chiel, [worse, everybody]

'Tam Samson's dead!'

Kilmarnock lang may grunt an' grane, [groan]

An' sigh, an' sab, an' greet her lane, [weep alone]

An' cleed her bairns, man, wife, an' wean, [clothe, child]

In mourning weed; To death, she's dearly paid the kane,-- [rent in kind]

Tam Samson's dead!

The Brethren o' the mystic level May hing their head in woefu' bevel, [slope]

While by their nose the tears will revel, Like ony bead; Death's gien the Lodge an unco devel,-- [stunning blow]

Tam Samson's dead!

When Winter m.u.f.fles up his cloak, And binds the mire like a rock; When to the loughs the curler's flock [ponds]

Wi' gleesome speed, Wha will they station at the c.o.c.k? [mark]

Tam Samson's dead!

He was the king o' a' the core [gang]

To guard, or draw, or wick a bore,[23]

Or up the rink like Jehu roar In time o' need; But now he lags on Death's hogscore,[24]-- Tam Samson's dead!

Now safe the stately sawmont sail, [salmon]

And trouts bedropp'd wi' crimson hail, And eels weel kent for souple tail, And geds for greed, [pikes]

Since dark in Death's fish-creel we wail Tam Samson's dead!

Rejoice, ye birring paitricks a'; [whirring partridges]

Ye cootie moorc.o.c.ks, crousely craw; [leg-plumed, confidently]

Ye maukins, c.o.c.k your fud fu' braw, [hares, tail]

Withouten dread; Your mortal fae is now awa',-- Tam Samson's dead!

That woefu' morn be ever mourn'd Saw him in shootin graith adorn'd, [attire]

While pointers round impatient burn'd, Frae couples freed; But oh! he gaed and ne'er return'd!

Tam Samson's dead!

In vain auld age his body batters; In vain the gout his ancles fetters; In vain the burns cam down like waters, [brooks, lakes]

An acre braid!

Now ev'ry auld wife, greeting clatters [weeping]

'Tam Samson's dead!'

Owre mony a weary hag he limpit, [moss]

An' aye the t.i.ther shot he thumpit, Till coward Death behin' him jumpit Wi' deadly feide; [feud]

Now he proclaims, wi' tout o' trumpet, [blast]

'Tam Samson's dead!'

When at his heart he felt the dagger, He reel'd his wonted bottle-swagger, But yet he drew the mortal trigger Wi' weel-aim'd heed; 'Lord, five!' he cried, an' owre did stagger; Tam Samson's dead!

Ilk h.o.a.ry hunter mourn'd a brither; Ilk sportsman youth bemoan'd a father; Yon auld grey stane, amang the heather, Marks out his head, Where Burns has wrote, in rhyming blether, [nonsense]

'Tam Samson's dead!'