THE niest was o' the black coat tribe,
Wi' sturdy limbs and shouthers wide;
Uninfluenc'd by cauldrife Saturn,
Had lang been gapin' for a patron;
Yet somehow ne'er the nail cou'd hit,
But mist it ay just at the bit:
Whether the age had swarm'd wi' teachers,
Or men war thowless grown 'bout preachers;
Or sense was scorn'd while clubs had chances,
Or priests war plentier grown than manses,
Or if the laddie wanted merit,
Or savour'd mair o' flesh than spirit;
Or gin they're a' like ither men—
Its mair I'm sure than I can ken.
But wha can hae a mind sae mirk,
Altho' his rev'rence gat nae kirk,
To think that he shou'd jog thro' life,
Without the pleasures o' a wife;
Or, like a celibastic Roman,
Forswear the joys o' lovely woman!
A nei' bour's bairn was he, I ween,
An' at the college aft had been;
Had learnt to trim his beard wi' grace,
Wi' whiskers hauf-gate o'er his face;
Could speak an' spell, wi' modish skill,
An' broach the doctrine o' “free will;”
Put on his claes wi' meikle pain,
An' brush them clean o' stour and stain;
Name kittle words, as smooth as satin,
An' shaw how they war born frae Latin;
Whyte whalebone busks for ladies dink,
An' wrote love-letters without ink:
Right sharp the vulgar's fau'ts discernin,
An' saw the benefits o' learnin',
Could mak' a bow, or shak' a paw
Wi' ony gentle o' them a'.
Whan dark December's days were short,
He sometimes try'd the shooting sport.
Now, as John's groun' was thinly dyket,
An' had the muirfowl that he liket,
Wou'd aft come in, an' tak' a seat,
To see the lass, an' crack wi' Kate;
Or gi'e the present o' a hare;—
For he was ay made welcome there,
To what the house cou'd e'er afford
O' coal, or yill, or bed or board.
Syne she wou'd spier gif he cou'd tell
What age was Adam whan he fell?
Whether the serpent flew or gaed?
If Abel's wound was on his head?
Gif Cain's mark was warl' like?
Wha biggit Paradise yard dike?
Wha it was first that span a sark?
Gif Aaron's rod was peel'd o' bark?
If circumcision hurt ane sair?
What was the weight o' Abs'lom's hair?—
Wi' mony mae, o' sic like kin',
Might puzzl't mony a learnt divine,
Wer'tna that Stackhouse, by his study,
Has made them plat and plain already.
When for sic kindness, in return,
He'd aft invite them owre the burn,
An fell twa burds whyles wi' ae stane—
Said grace, and saw young Betty hame.
Whan times ‘wou'd answer, now and than,
He'd tak' her kin'ly by the haun’,
Say, not a lady he did know,
A haun' sae saft or fair cou'd show;
Then kiss't, and clasp it to his breast,
An' say, he wou'd be truly blest,
The too much favour'd, happy man,
Wou'd get that heart, as weel's the haun'
While she wou'd, laughin, push him aft,
An' say, I'm sure the man's gane daft.
When last frae E'nbrugh he came hame,
He brought her a braw muntit kame,
A box, a broach, a gowden pin,
An' learnt her how to put them in;
Then shaw'd her fashion's newest rig,
An' how to crisp an curl a wig—
Wi' meikle mair, ye'needna doubt,
A countra lass kend nought about;
Till thro' the countra, kirk, and clachan,
She turn'd the tap and ton o' fashion,
But ance, when gloamin' shed her rays,
As they came owre the breckan braes—
The auld fouks now war out o' sight,
The sun was sunk ayont the height,—
His arms he laid around her waist,
An' ay he close, an' closer prest.
“My dear Eliza! love,” he said,
“My only angel! heav'nly maid!
Come, sit thee down, till I explain
The causes o' my grief an pain.
With ardent fires my breast doth burn,
It's a' for your sweet sake I mourn.
O let me clasp thee in my arms,
An bless me wi' thy heaven o' charms.”
Syne said, his heart was in a low;
He spak o' darts, and Cupid's bow:
Niest ca'd her Venus, Heb', an' Iris,
An' names that stunn'd her wi' their queerness;
Till, by some motions o' his haund,
She better cam to understand.
“'Tis love,” says he, “mak's me sae free;
I hope, my soul, ye will forgi'e.”
“These hopes shall ne'er be realis'd!”
Quo' Bet, offended and surpris'd.—
“Is that your scripture, an' your readin',
Your E'nbrugh tricks, and college breedin'?”
Yet still he held her in his grip,
An wasna willin' to let slip:
Says, “Haud your tongue, Bess, for my blessin,
David, ye ken, was gi'en to kissin'.”
When lo! a bark came frae the hill,
An' syne a whistle, loud and shrill.—
'Twas shepherd Sandy, wi' his doggie,
Cam skelpin' down the glen sae scroggie;
His plaid outowre his shouther flung,
While wi' his notes the echoes rung.
Right fain was she the tyke to see:
The fribble down upo' his knee;
Nae langer parley did he claim,
But let her gae, and slippet hame;
Nor was he hurried to come back,
Wi' Kate or her to get a crack.
Oh! luckless, perverse, nameless failin,
Tacket to ev'ry rank an' callin',
To a' capacities thy lessons
Are fitted up, an' a' professions;
Alike thy balefu influence clings
To cobler's stalls an' courts o' kings;
Thou lead'st the righteous aft astray,
The virgin green and maiden gray,
Till searce a lifetime can atone
For what some thoughtless moment's done:
But if thou mean'st ere to do right.
Or I've found favour in thy sight,
Oh! never saw thy wil'-kail seed
Near by the poet's houseless head,
Or let his dreams ken aught about ye,
For, 'las, he's fraiks anew without ye.