Halloween

Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain,The simple pleasures of the lowly train;To me more dear, congenial to my heart,One native charm, than all the gloss of art.Goldsmith.

Upon that night, when Fairies lightOn 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' roveAmang the rocks and streamsTo sport at night;

Amang the bonie, winding banks,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 HalloweenFu' blythe that night.

The lasses feat, an' cleanly neat,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 startinWhyles fast at night.

Then, first an' foremost, thro' the kail,Their stocks maun a' be sought ance:They steek their een, an' grape an' wale,For muckle anes, an' straught anes.Poor hav'rel Will fell aff the drift,An' wander'd thro' the Bow-kail,An' pou't, for want o' better shift,A runt was like a sow-tail,Sae bow't that night.

Then, straught or crooked, yird or nane,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 themTo lie that night.

The lasses staw frae' mang them a'To pou their stalks o' corn;But Rab slips out, an' jinks about,Behint the muckle thorn:He grippet Nelly hard an' fast;Loud skirl'd a' the lasses;But her tap-pickle maist was lost,When kiutlin i' the fause-houseWi' him that night.

The auld guidwife's weel-hoordet nitsAre round an' round divided,An' monie lads' and lasses' fatesAre there that night decided.Some kindle, couthie, side by side,An' burn thegither trimly;Some start awa, wi' saucy pride,An' jump out-owre the chimlieFu' high that night.

Jean slips in twa, wi' tentie e'e;Wha 'twas, she wadna tell;But this is Jock, and 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 heartTo see't that night.

Poor Willie, wi' his bow-kail runt,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, an' swoor by jing,'Twas just the way he wantedTo be that night.

Nell had the fause-house in her min',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 bonnie mou,Fu' cozie in the neuk for't,Unseen that night.

But Merran sat behint their backs,Her thoughts on Andrew Bell;She lea'es them gashin at their cracks,An' slips out by hersel:She thro' the yard the nearest taks,An' to the kiln she goes then,An' darklins grapit for the bauks,And in the blue-clue throws them,Right fear't that night.

An' aye she win't, an' ay she swat,I wat she made nae jaukin;Till something held within the pat,Guid Lord! 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 talkinTo spier that night.

Wee Jenny to her Graunie says,'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 apronOut thro' that night.

'Ye little Skelpie-limmer's face!'I daur you try sic sportin,'As seek the foul Thief ony place,'For him to spae your fortune?'Nae doubt but ye may get a sight!'Great cause ye hae to fear it;'For monie a ane has gotten a fright,'An liv'd an' di'd deleeret,On sic a night.

'Ae Hairst afore the Sherra-moor,'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 and wat,'An' stuff was unco' green;'An' ay a rantin kirn we gat,'An' just on Halloween'It fell that night.

'Our stibble-rig was Rab M'Graen,'A clever, sturdy fallow;'His sin gat Eppie Sim wi' wean,'That liv'd in Achmacalla;'He gat hemp-seed, I mind it weel,'An' he made unco light o't;'But monie a day was by himsel,'He was sae sairly frighted'That vera night.'

Then up gat fechtin 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 sturtin;The graip he for a harrow taks,An' haurls at his curpin:An' 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 theeAs 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 shouther gae a keek,An' tumbl'd wi' a wintleOut-owre that night.

He roar'd a horrid murder shout,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';An' wha was it but GrumphieAsteer that night!

Meg fain wad to the barn gaenTo winn three wechts o' naething;But for to meet the Deil her lane,She pat but little faith in:She gies the Herd a pickle nits,And twa red-cheekit apples,To watch, while for the barn she sets,In hopes to see Tam KipplesThat 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 an' 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 thriceWas 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 haurlinAff's nieves that night.

A wanton widow Leezie was,As cantie as a kittlin;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' lands met at a burn,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' bickering, dancing dazzle;Whyles cookit underneath the braes,Below the spreading hazel,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 jumpit,But mist a fit, an' in the poolOut-owre the lugs she plumpit,Wi'a plunge that night.

In order, on the clean hearth-stane,The luggies three are ranged;And ev'ry time great care is taen,To see them duly changed:Auld uncle John, wha wedlock's joysSin' Mar's-year did desire,Because he gat the toom dish thrice,He heav'd them on the fireIn 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 and cheary;Till butt'rd So'ns, wi' fragrant lunt,Set a' their gabs a-steerin;Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt,They parted aff careerinFu' blythe that night.

In order, on the dean hearth-stane,The luggies three are ranged."—Page 48.