Page:The poetical works of Robert Burns.djvu/154
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THE POEMS OF BURNS.
By some auld, houlet-haunted biggin,Or kirk deserted by its riggin,It's ten to ane ye'll find him snug inSome eldritch part,Wi' deils, they say, Lord save's! colleaguinAt some black art.—
Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or chamer,Ye gipsy-gang that deal in glamor,And you deep read in hell's black grammar,Warlocks and witches,Ye'll quake at his conjuring hammer,Ye midnight bitches.
It's tauld he was a sodger bred,And ane wad rather fa'n than fled;But now he's quat the spurtle-blade,And dog-skin wallet,And taen the—Antiquarian trade,I think they call it.
He has a fouth o' auld nick-nackets:Rusty airn caps and jinglin jackets,Wad haud the Lothians three in tackets,A towmont gude;And parritch-pats, and auld saut-backets,Before the Flood.
Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder;Auld Tubalcain's fire-shool and fender;That which distinguishèd the genderO' Balaam's ass;A broom-stick o' the witch of Endor,Weel shod wi' brass.
Forbye, he'll shape you aff, fu' glegThe cut of Adam's philibeg;The knife that nicket Abel's craigHe'll prove you fully,It was a faulding jocteleg,Or lang-kail gullie.—
But wad ye see him in his glee,For meikle glee and fun has he,Then set him down, and twa or threeGude fellows wi' him;And port, O port! shine thou a wee,And then ye'll see him!
Now, by the Pow'rs o' verse and prose!Thou art a dainty chiel, O Grose!—Whae'er o' thee shall ill suppose,They sair misca' thee;I'd take the rascal by the nose,Wad say, Shame fa' thee!
ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE LIMP BY ME,
WHICH A FELLOW HAD JUST SHOT AT.
April, 1789.
Inhuman man! curse on thy barb'rous art,And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye;May never pity soothe thee with a sigh,Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart!
Go, live, poor wanderer of the wood and field,The bitter little that of life remains;No more the thickening brakes and verdant plainsTo thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield.