The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow,
From pomp and pleasures torn;
But, Oh! a blest relief to those
That weary-laden mourn!
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 thro' the flowering thorn: Thou minds me o' departed joys,
Departed never to return.
"YE BANKS AND BRAES o' BONNIE DOON."
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps,1 and styles,
That lie between us and our hame,
Whare 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 bonnie 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,"
A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum; '
That frae November till October,
Ae market-day thou was na sober;
That ilka melder," wi' the miller,
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller;
That ev'ry naig ' was ca’d a shoe on,
The smith and thee gat roaring fou on;
That at the Lord's house, ev'n on Sunday,
Thou drank wi' Kirton Jean till Monday.
She prophesy'd that, late or soon,
Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon;
Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk,"
By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.
Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet,'
To think how mony counsels sweet,
How mony lengthen'd, sage advices,
The husband frae the wife despises !
But to our tale: Ae 12 market night,
Tam had got planted, unco right,13
Fast by an ingle," bleezing finely,
Wi' reaming swats, 15 that drank divinely;
1 Openings in hedges. 2 Good-for-nothing fellow. 5 Every milling. 6 Money.
10 Dark. 11 Makes me weep.
3 Nonsensical. 4 Noisy fel
8 Was driven to have a shoe on.
13 Exceedingly comfortable.
And at his elbow, Souter 1 Johnny,
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony;
Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither;
They had been fou3 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' favours, secret, sweet, and precious:
The souter tauld his queerest stories;
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus:
The storm without might rair 5 and rustle,
Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.
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 sic3 a night he taks the road in,
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.
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