Robert Burns (1759–1796). Poems and Songs.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.
75 . Halloween
On Cassilis Downans dance, Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze, On sprightly coursers prance; Or for Colean the rout is ta’en, Beneath the moon’s pale beams; There, up the Cove, to stray an’ rove, Amang the rocks and streams To sport that night; Where Doon rins, wimplin, clear; Where Bruce ance rul’d the martial ranks, An’ shook his Carrick spear; Some merry, friendly, countra-folks Together did convene, To burn their nits, an’ pou their stocks, An’ haud their Halloween Fu’ blythe that night. Mair braw than when they’re fine; Their faces blythe, fu’ sweetly kythe, Hearts leal, an’ warm, an’ kin’: The lads sae trig, wi’ wooer-babs Weel-knotted on their garten; Some unco blate, an’ some wi’ gabs Gar lasses’ hearts gang startin Whiles fast at night. Their stocks maun a’ be sought ance; For muckle anes, an’ straught anes. Poor hav’rel Will fell aff the drift, An’ wandered thro’ the bow-kail, An’ pou’t for want o’ better shift A runt was like a sow-tail Sae bow’t that night. They roar an’ cry a’ throu’ther; The vera wee-things, toddlin, rin, Wi’ stocks out owre their shouther: An’ gif the custock’s sweet or sour, Wi’ joctelegs they taste them; Syne coziely, aboon the door, Wi’ cannie care, they’ve plac’d them To lie that night. To pou their stalks o’ corn; But Rab slips out, an’ jinks about, Behint the muckle thorn: He grippit Nelly hard and fast: Loud skirl’d a’ the lasses; But her tap-pickle maist was lost, Whan kiutlin in the fause-house Wi’ him that night. Are round an’ round dividend, Are there that night decided: Some kindle couthie side by side, And burn thegither trimly; Some start awa wi’ saucy pride, An’ jump out owre the chimlie Fu’ high that night. Wha ’twas, she wadna tell; But this is Jock, an’ this is me, She says in to hersel’: He bleez’d owre her, an’ she owre him, As they wad never mair part: Till fuff! he started up the lum, An’ Jean had e’en a sair heart To see’t that night. Was brunt wi’ primsie Mallie; An’ Mary, nae doubt, took the drunt, To be compar’d to Willie: Mall’s nit lap out, wi’ pridefu’ fling, An’ her ain fit, it brunt it; While Willie lap, and swore by jing, ’Twas just the way he wanted To be that night. She pits hersel an’ Rob in; In loving bleeze they sweetly join, Till white in ase they’re sobbin: Nell’s heart was dancin at the view; She whisper’d Rob to leuk for’t: Rob, stownlins, prie’d her bonie mou’, Fu’ cozie in the neuk for’t, Unseen that night. Her thoughts on Andrew Bell: An’ slips out-by hersel’; She thro’ the yard the nearest taks, An’ for the kiln she goes then, An’ darklins grapit for the bauks, And in the blue-clue throws then, Right fear’t that night. I wat she made nae jaukin; Till something held within the pat, Good L—d! but she was quaukin! But whether ’twas the deil himsel, Or whether ’twas a bauk-en’, Or whether it was Andrew Bell, She did na wait on talkin To spier that night. “Will ye go wi’ me, graunie? I’ll eat the apple at the glass, I gat frae uncle Johnie:” She fuff’t her pipe wi’ sic a lunt, In wrath she was sae vap’rin, She notic’t na an aizle brunt Her braw, new, worset apron Out thro’ that night. I daur you try sic sportin, As seek the foul thief ony place, For him to spae your fortune: Great cause ye hae to fear it; For mony a ane has gotten a fright, An’ liv’d an’ died deleerit, On sic a night. I mind’t as weel’s yestreen— I was a gilpey then, I’m sure I was na past fyfteen: The simmer had been cauld an’ wat, An’ stuff was unco green; An’ eye a rantin kirn we gat, An’ just on Halloween It fell that night. A clever, sturdy fallow; His sin gat Eppie Sim wi’ wean, That lived in Achmacalla: He gat hemp-seed, I mind it weel, An’he made unco light o’t; But mony a day was by himsel’, He was sae sairly frighted That vera night.” An’ he swoor by his conscience, That he could saw hemp-seed a peck; For it was a’ but nonsense: The auld guidman raught down the pock, An’ out a handfu’ gied him; Syne bad him slip frae’ mang the folk, Sometime when nae ane see’d him, An’ try’t that night. Tho’ he was something sturtin; The graip he for a harrow taks, An’ haurls at his curpin: And ev’ry now an’ then, he says, “Hemp-seed I saw thee, An’ her that is to be my lass Come after me, an’ draw thee As fast this night.” To keep his courage cherry; Altho’ his hair began to arch, He was sae fley’d an’ eerie: Till presently he hears a squeak, An’ then a grane an’ gruntle; He by his shouther gae a keek, An’ tumbled wi’ a wintle Out-owre that night. In dreadfu’ desperation! An’ young an’ auld come rinnin out, An’ hear the sad narration: He swoor ’twas hilchin Jean M’Craw, Or crouchie Merran Humphie— Till stop! she trotted thro’ them a’; And wha was it but grumphie Asteer that night! To winn three wechts o’ naething; But for to meet the deil her lane, She pat but little faith in: An’ twa red cheekit apples, To watch, while for the barn she sets, In hopes to see Tam Kipples That vera night. An’owre the threshold ventures; But first on Sawnie gies a ca’, Syne baudly in she enters: A ratton rattl’d up the wa’, An’ she cry’d Lord preserve her! An’ ran thro’ midden-hole an’ a’, An’ pray’d wi’ zeal and fervour, Fu’ fast that night. They hecht him some fine braw ane; It chanc’d the stack he faddom’t thrice Was timmer-propt for thrawin: He taks a swirlie auld moss-oak For some black, grousome carlin; An’ loot a winze, an’ drew a stroke, Till skin in blypes cam haurlin Aff’s nieves that night. As cantie as a kittlen; But och! that night, amang the shaws, She gat a fearfu’ settlin! She thro’ the whins, an’ by the cairn, An’ owre the hill gaed scrievin; Whare three lairds’ lan’s met at a burn, To dip her left sark-sleeve in, Was bent that night. As thro’ the glen it wimpl’t; Whiles round a rocky scar it strays, Whiles in a wiel it dimpl’t; Whiles glitter’d to the nightly rays, Wi’ bickerin’, dancin’ dazzle; Whiles cookit undeneath the braes, Below the spreading hazel Unseen that night. Between her an’ the moon, The deil, or else an outler quey, Gat up an’ ga’e a croon: Poor Leezie’s heart maist lap the hool; Near lav’rock-height she jumpit, But mist a fit, an’ in the pool Out-owre the lugs she plumpit, Wi’ a plunge that night. The luggies three are ranged; An’ ev’ry time great care is ta’en To see them duly changed: Auld uncle John, wha wedlock’s joys Sin’ Mar’s-year did desire, Because he gat the toom dish thrice, He heav’d them on the fire In wrath that night. I wat they did na weary; And unco tales, an’ funnie jokes— Their sports were cheap an’ cheery: Till butter’d sowens, wi’ fragrant lunt, Syne, wi’ a social glass o’ strunt, They parted aff careerin Fu’ blythe that night.