But, L-d, remember me and mine An' a' the glory shall be thine : Amen, amen. EPITAPH ON HOLY WILLIE. HERE Holy Willie's sair-worn clay His saul has ta'en some other way, Stop! there he is, as sure's a gun, Nae wonder he's as black's the grun', Your brunstane devilship I see, Your pity I will not implore, But hear me, sir, de'il as you are, Look something to your credit; A coof like him would stain your name, LAMENT OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS, ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING. Now Nature hangs her mantle green, And spreads her sheets o' daisies white Out o'er the grassy lea: Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams, And glads the azure skies; But nocht can glad the weary wight Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn, The merle, in his noontide bow'r, Now blooms the lily by the bank, I was the Queen o' bonnie France, And monie a traitor there: But as for thee, thou false woman! Grim Vengeance, yet, shall whet a sword The weeping blood in woman's breast Nor th' balm that drops on wounds of woe Frae woman's pitying e'e. My son my son, may kinder stars And may those pleasures gild thy reign, That ne'er wad blink on mine; God keep thee frae thy mother's faes, And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend, Oh! soon, to me, may summer suns Nae mair, to me, the autumn winds Wave o'er the yellow corn! And in the narrow house of death And the next flowers that deck the spring, THE HOLY FAIR*, A robe of seeming truth and trust And secret hung, with poison'd crust, HYPOCRISY A-LA-MODE. UPON a simmer Sunday morn, When Nature's face was fair, Fu' sweet that day. As lightsomely I glowr'd abroad, Three hizzies, early at the road, But ane wi' lyart lining; The third that gaed a-wee aback, Was in the fashion shining, Fu' gay that day. The twa appear'd like sisters twin, The third cam up, hap-stap-an'-loup, As light as any lambie, And wi' a curchie low did stoop, As soon as e'er she saw me, Fu' kind that day. * Holy Fair is a common phrase in the West of Scotland for a sacramental occasion. Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, "Sweet lass, Quo' she, and laughing as she spak', "Ye for my sake, ha'e gi'en the feck Of a' the Ten Commands A screed some day. "My name is Fun-your crony dear, And this is Superstition here,. I'm gaun to Mauchline Holy Fair, Gin ye'll gae there, yon runkled pair, At them this day." Quoth I, "Wi' a' my heart I'll do't; For roads were clad, frae side to side, In droves that day. Here farmers gash, in ridin' graith, Gaed hoddin by their cotters; There, swankies young, in braw braid-claita, Are sprinin' o'er the gutters. The lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang, In silks and scarlet glitter, Wi' sweet-milk cheese, in mony a whang, And farls baked wi' butter, Fu' crump that day. When by the plate we set our nose, Then in we go to see the show: Some carrying dails, some chairs and tools, Right loud that day. Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs, Here sits a row of tittlin' jades, Wi' heaving breast and bare neck, Here some are thinkin' on their sins. On this hand sits a chosen swatch, To chairs that day. O happy is that man and blest! Which, by degrees, slips round her neck, Unkenn'd that day. Now a' the congregation o'er For Moodie speeds the holy door, Hear how he clears the points o' faith, On sic a day. |