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How mony lengthen'd', 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, bleezin finely,
Wi' reamin swats1 that drank divinely;
And at his elbow, Souter2 Johnie,
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 and clatter;
And ay the ale was growing better:
The landlady and Tam grew gracious,
Wi' secret favours, sweet and precious:
The souter tauld his queerest stories;
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus;
The storm without might rair and rustle,
Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.

Care, mad to see a man sae happy,
E'en drown'd himsel amang the nappy:
As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure,
The minutes wing'd 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 flow 'r, its bloom is shed;
Or like the snow falls3 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.—

35 Lest bogles catch him unawares.
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh,
Where ghaists and houlets1 nightly cry.

By this time he was cross the ford,
Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor 'd;2
40 And past the birks3 and meikle stane,
Whare drucken Charlie brak's neck-bane;
And thro' the whins, and by the cairn,6
Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn;
And near the thorn, aboon the well,
Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel.
Before him Doon pours all his floods;
The doubling storm roars thro' the woods,
The lightnings flash from pole to pole,
Near and more near the thunders roll;

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50 When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees,
Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze,

Thro' ilka bores the beams were glancing,
And loud resounded mirth and dancing.

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Nae man can tether time or tide:
The hour approaches Tam maun ride;
That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane,
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in;
And sic a night he taks the road in,
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.

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Wi' his last gasp his gab1 did gape;
Five tomahawks, wi' blude red-rusted:
Five scymitars, 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 grey hairs yet stack to the heft;
Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu',
Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'.

Ah! little ken 'd thy reverend grannie,
135 That sark she coft for her wee Nannie,
Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches),
Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches!

But here my Muse her wing maun cow'r,
140 Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r;
To sing how Nannie lap and flang
(A souple jade she was and strang),
And how Tam stood, like one bewitch'd,
And thought his very een enrich'd:
Even Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd3 fu' fain,
And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main:
Till first ae caper, synes anither,
Tam tinto his reason a' thegither,

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As Tammie glowr'd,2 amaz'd, and curious,
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious;
The piper loud and louder blew,
The dancers quick and quicker flew;
They reel'd, they set, they cross'd,
cleekit,3

Till ilka carlin swat and reekit,
And coost her duddiess to the wark,9
And linket10 at it in her sark!11

they And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty-sark!'' And in an instant all was dark:

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Now, Tam, O Tam; had thae been queans,12
A' plump and strapping in their teens!
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie13 flannen,
Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen!*
Thir14 breeks o' mine, my only pair,
That ance were plush, o' gude blue hair,
I wad hae gien them aff my hurdies,15
For ae blink o' the bonie burdies! 10
But wither'd beldams, auld and droll,
Rigwoodie17 hags wad spean18 a foal,
Lowping19 an' fiinging on a crummock,20
I wonder didna turn thy stomach.

And scarcely had he Maggie rallied,
When out the hellish legion sallied.

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke,7
As open pussie's mortal foes,
When plundering herds assail their byke;8
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 eldritch10 skriech and hollo.

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Ah, Tam! Ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin! 11
In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin!
160 In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin!

Kate soon will be a woefu' woman!
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg,
And win the key-stane of the brig;12
There, at them thou thy tail may toss,
A running stream they dare na cross.
165 But ere the key-stane she could make,

The fient13 a tail she had to shake!
For Nannie, far before the rest,
Hard upon noble Maggie prest,
And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle;14
170 But little wist she Maggie's mettle-

But Tam ken'd what was what fu' brawlie:21
There was ae winsome wench and walie22
That night enlisted in the core23
(Lang after ken 'd on Carrick shore:
For mony a beast to dead she shot,
And perish'd mony a bonie boat,
And shook baith meikle corn and bear,24
And kept the country-side in fear);
Her cutty sark, o' Paisley harn,25
That while a lassie she had worn,
In longitude tho' sorely scanty,

It was her best, and she was vauntie.26

1 mouth

2 stared

3 joined hands

4 old woman

5 sweated

6 steamed

7 cast off

15 hips

16 lasses

17 bony

Ae spring brought aff 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:

18 that would wean (by Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd,
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind,

disgust)

19 leaping

20 staff

21 well

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8 clothes

9 work

10 tripped 11 smock

12 girls

13 greasy

14 these

2 eyes

3 fidgeted

22 goodly

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4 squirmed

25 short shirt, of Paisley

5 then

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* Very fine linen, woven in a reed of 1700 divisions, or 46 to the inch.

7 fuss

9 the hare's

10 ghostly
11 reward

12 bridge

13 devil

14 intent

† A pound Scots is one shilling, eight pence

about forty cents.

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Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbled shore, O'erhung with wild woods, thick 'ning green; The fragrant birch and hawthorn hoar

"Twin'd amorous round the raptur'd scene:
The flow'rs sprang wanton to be prest,
The birds sang love on every spray,
Till too, too soon the glowing west
Proclaim'd the speed of wingèd day.

Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes,
And fondly broods with miser care!
Time but th' impression stronger makes,
As streams their channels deeper wear.
My Mary, dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest?
See'st thou thy lover lowly laid?

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Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS

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Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the

North,

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;

My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer;

A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe,

My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.

Farewell to the mountains, high-cover'd with snow;

Farewell to the straths1 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;

A-chasing the wild deer, and following the

roe,

My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.

THE BANKS O' DOON

Ye flowery banks o' bonie Doon, How can ye blume sae fair? How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae fu' o' care?

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird,
That sings upon the bough;

Thou minds me o' the happy days,
When my fause luve was true.

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird,
That sings beside thy mate;
For sae I sat, and sae I sang,
And wist na o' my fate.

Aft hae I rov'd by bonie Doon
To see the woodbine twine,
And ilka bird sang o' its luve,
And sae did I o' mine.

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
Frae aff its thorny tree;
And my fause luver staw2 my rose
But left the thorn wi' me.

AFTON WATER

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The birth-place of valour, the country of Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green worth;

Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,

The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.

Mary Campbell, who died in 1786; Burns's "Highland Mary."

braes, 3

Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;

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My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds thro' the glen,

Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den, Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear,

Wi' monie a vow, and lock'd embrace,
Our parting was fu' tender;
And, pledging aft to meet again,
We tore oursels asunder;
But O, 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!

I charge you, disturb not my slumbering | O pale, pale now, those rosy lips,

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I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly!
And closed for aye the sparkling glance
That dwelt on me sae kindly!
And mould 'ring now in silent dust,
That heart that lo'ed me dearly!
But still within my bosom's core
Shall live my Highland Mary.

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Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, By your sons in servile chains!

Your waters never drumlie! 2

There simmer first unfald3 her robes,
And there the langest tarry;

For there I took the last fareweel
O' my sweet Highland Mary.

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk,
How rich the hawthorn's blossom,
As underneath their fragrant shade
I clasp'd 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.

1 birch
2 muddy

We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!

Lay the proud usurpers low!

8 Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!-

Let us do or die!

CONTENTED WI' LITTLE AND

CANTIE WI' MAIR

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Contented wi' little, and cantie1 wi' mair,
Whene'er I forgather2 wi' Sorrow and Care,

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16 I gie them a skelp3 as they're creeping alang,

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