by Robert Burns
He was sae sairly frighted
That vera night.’
Then up gat fechtan Jamie Fleck,
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.
He marches thro’ amang the stacks,
Tho’ he was something sturtan;
The graip he for a harrow taks,
An’ haurls at his curpan:
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.’
He whistl’d up Lord Lenox’ march,
To keep his courage cheary;
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 showther gae a keek,
An’ tumbl’d wi’ a wintle
Out owre that night.
He roar’d a horrid murder-shout,
In dreadfu’ desperation!
An’ young an’ auld come rinnan out,
An’ hear the sad narration:
He swoor ’twas hilchan Jean M‘Craw,
Or crouchie Merran Humphie,
Till stop! she trotted thro’ them a’;
An’ wha was it but Grumphie
Asteer that night?
Meg fain wad to the Barn gaen,
To winn three wechts o’ naething;
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But for to meet the Deil her lane,
She pat but little faith in:
She gies the Herd a pickle nits,
An’ twa red cheeket apples,
To watch, while for the Barn she sets,
In hopes to see Tam Kipples
That vera night.
She turns the key, wi’ cannie thraw,
An’ owre the threshold ventures;
But first on Sawnie gies a ca’,
Syne bauldly 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 hoy’t out Will, wi’ sair advice;
They hecht him some fine braw ane;
It chanc’d the Stack he faddom’t thrice,
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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.
A wanton widow Leezie was,
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,
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To dip her left sark-sleeve in,
Was bent that night.
Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays,
As thro’ the glen it wimpl’t;
Whyles round a rocky scar it strays;
Whyles in a wiel it dimpl’t;
Whyles glitter’d to the nightly rays,
Wi’ bickerin, dancin dazzle;
Whyles cooket underneath the braes,
Below the spreading hazle
Unseen that night.
Amang the brachens, on the brae,
Between her an’ the moon,
The Deil, or else an outler Quey,
Gat up an’ gae a croon:
Poor Leezie’s heart maist lap the hool;
Near lav’rock-height she jumpet,
But mist a fit, an’ in the pool,
Out owre the lugs she plumpet,
Wi’ a plunge that night.
In order, on the clean hearth-stane,
The Luggies
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three are ranged;
And ev’ry time great care is taen,
To see them duely 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.
Wi’ merry sangs, an’ friendly cracks,
I wat they did na weary;
And unco tales, an’ funnie jokes,
Their sports were cheap an’ cheary:
Till buttr’d So’ns,
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wi’ fragrant lunt,
Set a’ their gabs a steerin;
Syne, wi’ a social glass o’ strunt,
They parted aff careerin
Fu’ blythe that night.
The Great Author of All Knowledge
The effect of this flight on the public was astonishing, and Lunardi was acclaimed a hero. He must have been suitably flattered at the brisk sale of Lunardi bonnets and Lunardi garters, which the enterprising milliners made and the faster London ladies bought with relish. Perhaps the best tribute to this flight, and to the achievement of aerostation in general, is the inscription still to be read on the monument at Standon: ‘Let posterity know, and knowing be astonished, that on the 15th day of September 1784 Vincent Lunardi of Lucca in Tuscany, the First Aerial Traveller in Britain, mounting from the Artillery Ground in London and traversing the Regions of the Air for two Hours and fifteen Minutes, in this spot revisited the Earth. On this rude monument, for ages be recorded that wondrous Enterprise successfully achieved by the Powers of Chemistry and the fortitude of Man, that Improvement in Science which the Great Author of All Knowledge, patronising by His Providence the Invention of Mankind, hath graciously permitted to their Benefit and His own Eternal Glory.’
A History of Flying by C.H. Gibbs-Smith
To a Louse, on Seeing One on a Lady’s Bonnet at Church
Ha! whare ye gaun, ye crowlan ferlie!
Your impudence protects you sairly:
I canna say but ye strunt rarely,
Owre gawze and lace;
Tho’ faith, I fear ye dine but sparely,
On sic a place.
Ye ugly, creepan, blastet wonner,
Detested, shunn’d, by saunt an’ sinner,
How daur ye set your fit upon her,
Sae fine a Lady!
Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner,
On some poor body.
Swith, in some beggar’s haffet squattle;
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle,
Wi’ ither kindred, jumping cattle,
In shoals and nations;
Whare horn nor bane ne’er daur unsettle,
Your thick plantations.
Now haud you there, ye’re out o’ sight,
Below the fatt’rels, snug and tight,
Na faith ye yet! ye’ll no be right,
Till ye’ve got on it,
The vera tapmost, towrin height
O’ Miss’s bonnet.
My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out,
As plump an’ gray as onie grozet:
O for some rank, mercurial rozet,
Or fell, red smeddum,
I’d gie you sic a hearty dose o’t,
Wad dress your droddum!
I wad na been surpriz’d to spy
You on an auld wife’s flainen toy;
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy,
On’s wylecoat;
But Miss’s fine Lunardi, fye!
How daur ye do’t?
O Jenny dinna toss your head,
An’ set your beauties a’ abread!
Ye little ken what cursed speed
The blastie’s makin!
Thae winks and finger-ends, I dread,
Are notice takin!
O wad some Pow’r the giftie gie us
To see oursels as others see us!
It wad frae monie a blunder free us
An’ foolish notion:
What airs in dress an’ gait wad lea’e us,
An’ ev’n Devotion!
1 This encounter happened in seed-time 1785.
2 An epidemical fever was then raging in that country.
3 This gentleman, Dr Hornbook, is professionally, a brother of the sovereign Order of the Ferula; but, by intuition and inspiration, is at once an Apothecary, Surgeon, and Physician.
4 Buchan’s Domestic Medicine.
5 The grave-digger.
1 Is thought to be a night when Witches, Devils, and other mischief-making beings, are all abroad on their baneful, midnight errands: particularly, those aerial people, the Fairies, are said, on that night, to hold a grand Anniversary.
2 Certain little, romantic, rocky, green hills, in the neighbourhood of the ancient seat of the Earls of Cassilis.
3 A noted cavern near Colean-house, called the Cove of Colean; which, as well as Cassilis Downans, is famed, in country story, for being a favourite haunt of Fairies.
4 The famous family of that name, the ancestors of ROBERT the great Deliverer of his country, were Earls of Carrick.
5 The first ceremony of Halloween, is, pulling each a Stock, or plant of kail. They must go out, hand in hand, with eyes shut, and pull the first they meet with: its being big or little, straight or crooked, is prophetic of the size and shape of the grand object of all their Spells—the husband or wife. If any yird, or earth, stick to the root, that is tocher, or fortune; and the taste of the custock, that is, the heart of the stem, is indicative of the natural temper and disposition. Lastly, the stems, or to give them their ordinary appellation, the runts, are placed somewhere above the head of the door; and the christian names of the people whom chance brings into the house, are, according to the priority of placing the runts, the names in question.
6 They go to the barn-yard, and pull each, at three several times, a stalk of Oats. If the third stalk wants the top-pickle, that is, the grain at the top of the stalk, the party in question will come to the marriage-bed anything but a Maid.
7 When the corn is in a doubtful state, by being too green, or wet, the Stack-builder, by means of old timber, &c. makes a large apartment in his stack, with an opening in the side which is fairest exposed to the wind: this he calls a Fause-house.
8 Burning the nuts is a favourite charm. They name the lad and lass to each particular nut, as they lay them in the fire; and according as they burn quietly together, or start from beside one another, the course and issue of the Courtship will be.
9 Whoever would, with success, try this spell, must strictly observe these directions. Steal out, all alone, to the kiln, and, darkling, throw into the pot, a clew of blue yarn: wind it in a new clew off the old one; and towards the latter end, something will hold the thread: demand, wha hauds? i.e. who holds? and answer will be returned from the kiln-pot, by naming the Christian and sirname of your future Spouse.
10 Take a candle, and go, alone, to a looking glass: eat an apple before it, and some traditions say you should comb your hair all the time: the face of your conjungal companion, to be, will be seen in the glass, as if peeping over your shoulder.
11 Steal out, unperceived, and sow a handful of hemp-seed; harrowing it with any thing you can conveniently draw after you. Repeat, now and then, ‘Hemp-seed I saw thee, Hemp-seed I saw thee, and him (or her) that is to be my true-love, come after me and pou thee.’ Look over your left shoulder, and you will see the appearance of the person invoked, in the attitude of pulling hemp. Some traditions say, ‘come after me and shaw thee,’ that is, show thyself; in which case it simply appears. Others omit the harrowing, and say, ‘come after me and harrow thee.’
12 This charm must likewise be performed, unperceived and alone. You go to the barn, and open both doors; taking them off the hinges, if possible; for there is danger, that the Being, about to appear, may shut the doors, and do you some mischief. Then take that instrument used in winnowing the corn, which, in our country-dialect, we call a wecht; and go thro’ all the attitudes of letting down corn against the wind. Repeat it three times; and the third time, an apparition will pass thro’ the barn, in at the windy door, and out at the other, having both the figure in question and the appearance or retinue, marking the employment or station in life.
13 Take an opportunity of going, unnoticed, to a Bear-stack, and fathom it three times round. The last fathom of the last time, you will catch in your arms, the appearance of your future conjugal yoke-fellow.
14You go out, one or more, for this is a social spell, to a south-running spring or rivulet, where ‘three Lairds’ lands meet,’ and dip your left shirt-sleeve. Go to bed in sight of a fire, and hang your wet sleeve before it to dry. Ly awake; and sometime near midnight, an apparition, having the exact figure of the grand object in question, will come and turn the sleeve, as if to dry the other side of it.
15 Take three dishes; put clean water in one, foul water in another, and leave the third empty: blindfold a person, and lead him to the hearth where the dishes are ranged; he (or she) dips the left hand: if by chance in the clean water, the future husband or wife will come to the bar of Matrimony, a Maid; if in the foul, a widow; if in the empty dish, it foretells, with equal certainty, no marriage at all. It is repeated three times; and every time the arrangement of the dishes is altered.
16 Sowens, with butter instead of milk to them, is always the Halloween Supper.
The Politics
Anoble tradition in Scottish poetry involves the use of animal monologues for comical and political purposes, and Burns sought to advance that tradition in the Kilmarnock edition. His own favourite poet, Robert Fergusson, had used this form in ‘The Sow of Feeling’ (1773), but Burns must also have been aware of Aesop’s blethering dogs and Henryson’s Fables, as well as Swift’s talking horses. We often find these animals can look at human nature as human nature is seldom capable of looking at itself, and the resulting poems, when as well done as this one, are masterpieces of the literary art.
The Death and Dying Words of Poor Mailie, the Author’s Only Pet Yowe—An Unco Mournfu’Tale
As Mailie, an’ her lambs thegither,
Was ae day nibbling on the tether,
Upon her cloot she coost a hitch,
An’ owre she warsl’d in the ditch:
There, groaning, dying, she did ly,
When Hughoc he cam doytan by.
Wi’ glowrin een, an’ lifted han’s,
Poor Hughoc like a statue stan’s;
He saw her days were near hand ended,
But, waes my heart! he could na mend it!
He gaped wide, but naething spak,
At length poor Mailie silence brak.
‘O thou, whase lamentable face
Appears to mourn my woefu’ case!
My dying words attentive hear,
An’ bear them to my Master dear.
‘Tell him, if e’er again he keep
As muckle gear as buy a sheep,
O, bid him never tye them mair,
Wi’ wicked strings o’ hemp or hair!
But ca’ them out to park or hill,
An’ let them wander at their will:
So, may his flock increase an’ grow
To scores o’ lambs, an’ packs of woo’!
‘Tell him, he was a Master kin’,