ON GIVING HER THE ACCUSTOMED RIPP OF CORN TO HANSEL IN THE NEW YEAR
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guid New-Year I wish thee, Maggie!Hae, there’s a ripp to thy auld baggie:Tho’ thou’s howe-backit now, an’ knaggie,I’ve seen the day,Thou could hae gane like ony staggieOut-owre the lay. Tho’ now thou’s dowie, stiff, an’ crazy,An’ thy auld hide’s as white’s a daisie,I’ve seen thee dappled, sleek an’ glaizie,A bonnie gray:He should been tight that daur’t to raize thee,Ance in a day. Thou ance was i’ the foremost rank,A filly buirdly, steeve, an’ swank,An’ set weel down a shapely shank,As e’er tread yird;An’ could hae flown out-owre a stank,Like ony bird. It’s now some nine-an’-twenty year,Sin’ thou was my guid-father’s meere;He gied me thee, o’ tocher clear,An’ fifty mark;Tho’ it was sma’, ’twas weel-won gear,An’ thou was stark. When first I gaed to woo my Jenny,Ye then was trottin’ wi’ your minnie:Tho’ ye was trickie, slee, an’ funnie,Ye ne’er was donsie;But hamely, tawie, quiet, an’ cannie,An’ unco sonsie. That day ye pranc’d wi’ muckle prideWhen ye bure hame my bonnie bride;An’ sweet an’ gracefu’ she did ride,Wi’ maiden air!Kyle-Stewart I could braggèd wideFor sic a pair. Tho’ now ye dow but hoyte and hobble,An’ wintle like a saumont-coble,That day ye was a jinker nobleFor heels an’ win’!An’ ran them till they a’ did wobbleFar, far behin’. When thou an’ I were young and skeigh,An’ stable-meals at fairs were dreigh,How thou wad prance, an’ snore, an’ skreighAn’ tak the road!Town’s-bodies ran, and stood abeigh,An’ ca’t thee mad. When thou was corn’t, an’ I was mellow,We took the road aye like a swallow:At brooses thou had ne’er a fellowFor pith an’ speed;But ev’ry tail thou pay’t them hollow,Where’er thou gaed. The sma’, droop-rumpled, hunter cattle,Might aiblins waur’d thee for a brattle;But sax Scotch miles, thou tried their mettle,An’ gart them whaizle:Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattleO’ saugh or hazel. Thou was a noble fittie-lan’,As e’er in tug or tow was drawn!Aft thee an’ I, in aucht hours’ gaun,On guid March-weather,Hae turn’d sax rood beside our han’,For days thegither. Thou never braindg’t, an’ fetch’t, an’ fliskit,But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit,An’ spread abreed thy weel-fill’d brisket,Wi’ pith an’ pow’r,Till spritty knowes wad rair’t and riskit,An’ slypet owre. When frosts lay lang, an’ snaws were deep,An’ threaten’d labour back to keep,I gied thy cog a wee bit heapAboon the timmer;I kenn’d my Maggie wad na sleepFor that, or simmer. In cart or car thou never reestit;The steyest brae thou wad hae faced it;Thou never lap, an’ stenned, and breastit,Then stood to blaw;But, just thy step a wee thing hastit,Thou snoov’t awa. My pleugh is now thy bairn-time a’,Four gallant brutes as e’er did draw;Forbye sax mae I’ve sell’t awaThat thou hast nurst;They drew me thretteen pund an’ twa,The very warst. Mony a sair darg we twa hae wrought,An’ wi’ the weary warl’ fought!An’ mony an anxious day I thoughtWe wad be beat!Yet here to crazy age we’re brought,Wi’ something yet. And think na, my auld trusty servan’,That now perhaps thou’s less deservin’,An’ thy auld days may end in starvin’;For my last fou,A heapit stimpart I’ll reserve aneLaid by for you. We’ve worn to crazy years thegither;We’ll toyte about wi’ ane anither;Wi’ tentie care I’ll flit thy tetherTo some hain’d rig,Where ye may nobly rax your leather,Wi’ sma’ fatigue. LASSIE WI’ THE LINT-WHITE LOCKS Now nature cleeds the flowery lea,And a’ is young and sweet like thee;O wilt thou share its joys wi’ me,And say thou’lt be my dearie O? Lassie wi’ the lint-white locks,Bonnie lassie, artless lassie,Wilt thou wi’ me tent the flocks?Wilt thou be my dearie O? The primrose bank, the wimpling burn,The cuckoo on the milk-white thorn,The wanton lambs at early mornShall welcome thee, my dearie O. And when the welcome simmer-showerHas cheer’d ilk drooping little flower,We’ll to the breathing woodbine bowerAt sultry noon, my dearie O. When Cynthia lights, wi’ silver ray,The weary shearer’s hameward way,Thro’ yellow waving fields we’ll stray,And talk o’ love, my dearie O. And when the howling wintry blastDisturbs my lassie’s midnight rest;Enclaspèd to my faithfu’ breast,I’ll comfort thee, my dearie O.
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