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When this worthy old sportsman went out last muirfowl season, he supposed it was to be, in Ossian's phrase, "the last of his fields ;" and expressed an ardent wish to le and be buried in the muirs. On this hint the author composed his elegy and epitaph.
A certain preacher, a great favourite with the million. Vide the Ordination, stanza ii.
Another preacher, an equal favourite with the few, who was at that time ailing. For him, see also the Ordination, stanza ix.
Now every auld wife, greetin, clatters,
Tam Samson's dead!
Owre many a weary hag he limpit, An' aye the tither shot he thumpit, Till coward death behind him jumpit, Wi' deadly feide; Now he proclaims, wi' tout o' trumpet, Tam Samson's dead!
When at his heart he felt the dagger, He reel'd his wonted bottle swagger, But yet he drew the mortal trigger
Wi' weel aim'd heed;
"L-d, five!" he cried, and owre did stagger; Tam Samson's dead!
Ilk hoary hunter mourn'd a brither; Ilk sportsman youth bemoan'd a father; Yon auld gray stane, amang the heather, Marks out his head, Whare Burns has wrote, in rhyming blether Tam Samson's dead!
There low he lies, in lasting rest; Perhaps upon his mouldering breast Some spitefu' muirfowl bigs her nest, To hatch an' breed;
Alas! nae mair he'll them molest!
Tam Samson's dead!
When August winds the heather wave, And sportsmen wander by yon grave, Three volleys let his memory crave, O' pouther an' lead,
Till echo answer frae her cave,
Tam Samson's dead!
Heaven rest his saul, whare'er he be ! Is th' wish o' monie mae than me; He had twa faults, or may be three, Yet what remead?
Ae social, honest man want we:
Tam Samson's dead!
TAM SAMSON's weel-worn clay here lies,
If honest worth in heaven rise,
Go, fame, and canter like a filly, Through a' the streets an' neuks o' Killie, Tell every social, honest billie
To cease his grievin,
For yet, unskaith'd by death's gleg gullie, Tam Samson's livin.
*Killie is a phrase the country folks sometimes use for Kilmarnock.
The following poem will, by many readers, be well enough understood; but for the sake of those who are unacquainted with the manners and traditions of the country where the scene is cast, notes are added, to give some account of the principal charms and spells of that night, so big with prophecy to the peasantry in the west of Scotland. The passion of prying into futurity makes a striking part of the history of human nature in its rude state, in all ages and nations: and it may be some entertainment to a philosophic mind, if any such should honour the author with a perusal, to see the remains of it among the more unenlightened in our own.
Amang the bonnie winding banks,
Where Doon rins, wimpling clear,
Where Bruces ance ruled the martial ranks,
Some merry, friendly countra folks,
To burn their nits, an' pou their stocks,
Fu' blythe that night.
The lasses feat, an' cleanly neat,
Is thought to be a night when witches, devils, and other mischief-making beings, are all abroad on their baneful, midnight errands; particularly those aërial people the fairies, are said on that night to hold a grand anniversary.
† Certain little, romantic, rocky, green hills, in the neighbourhood of the ancient seat of the Earls of Cas
A noted cavern near Colean house, called the Cove of Colean which, as Cassilis Downans, is famed in country story for being a favourite haunt of fairies.
§ The famous family of that name, the ancestors of Robert, the great deliverer of his country, were Earls of .Carrick.
Then first and foremost, through the kail,
An' wander'd through the bow-kail,
Then, straught or crooked, yird or nane,
Wi' stocks out-owre their shouther;
The lasses staw frae 'mang them a',
The auld guidwife's weel hoordet nits§
Are there that night decided:
* The first ceremony of Halloween is, pulling each a stock, or plant of kail. They must go out, hand in hand, with eyes shut, and pull the first they meet with: its being big or little, straight or crooked, is prophetie of the size and shape of the grand object of all their spells-the husband or wife. If any yird, or earth, stick to the root, that is tocher, or fortune; and the taste of the custor, that is, the heart of the stem, is indicative of the natural temper and disposition. Lastly, the stems, or, to give them their ordinary appellation, the runts, are placed somewhere above the head of the door: and the Christian names of the people whom chance brings into the house, are, according to the priority of placing the runts, the names in question.
They go to the barn-yard and pull each, at three several times, a stalk of oats. If the third stalk wants the top-pickle, that is, the grain at the top of the stalk, the party in question will come to the marriage bed any thing but a maid.
When the corn is in a doubtful state, by being too green, or wet, the stack-builder, by means of old timber, &c., makes a large apartment in his stack, with an opening in the side which is fairest exposed to the wind: this he calls a fause-house.
§ Burning the nuts is a famous charm. They name the lad and lass to each particular nut, as they lay them in the fire, and accordingly as they burn quietly together, or start from beside one another, the course and issue of the courtship will be.
Some start awa wi' saucie pride,
Fu' high that night.
Jean slips in twa, wi' tentie e'e;
Wha 'twas she wadna tell; But this is Jock, an' this is me,
She says in to hersel:
He bleezed owre her, an' she owre him,
As they wad never mair part;
Till fuff! he started up the lum,
And Jean had e'en a sair heart
Poor Willie, wi' his bow-kail runt,
Was brunt wi' primsie Mallie; An' Mallie, nae doubt, took the drunt,
To be compared to Willie : Mall's nit lap out wi' pridefu' fing,
An' her ain fit it burnt it; While Willie lap, and swoor by jing, 'Twas just the way he wanted To be that night.
Nell had the fause-house in her min',
Unseen that night.
But Merran sat behint their backs,
Her thoughts on Andrew Bell;
An' aye she wint, an' aye she swat,
Whoever would, with success, try this spell, must strictly observe these directions: Steal out, all alone, to the kiln, and, darkling, throw into the pot a clue of blue yarn; wind it in a new clue off the old one; and, towards the latter end, something will hold the thread; demand wha hauds? i. e. who holds ? an answer will be returned from the kiln-pot, by naming the Christian and surname of your future spouse.
Wee Jenny to her grannie says,
"Ye little skelpie-limmer's face!
"Our stibble-rig was Rab M'Graen,
Then up gat fechtin Jamie Fleck,
The auld guidman raught down the pock,
Syne bad him slip frae 'mang the folk,
* Take a candle, and go alone to a looking-glass; eat an apple before it, and some traditions say, you should comb your hair, all the time; the face of your conjugal companion, to be, will be seen in the glass, as if peeping over your shoulder.
+ Steal out unperceived, and sow a handful of hempseed; harrowing it with any thing you can conveniently draw after you. Repeat now and then, "Hemp-seed, I saw thee, hemp-seed, I saw thee; and him (or her) that is to be my true love, come after me and pou thee." Look over your left shoulder, and you will see the appearance of the person invoked, in the attitude of pulling hemp. Some traditions say, come after me, and shaw thee," that is, show thyself: in which case it simply appears Others omit the harrowing, and say, "come after me, and harrow thee."
He marches through amang the stacks,
Though he was something sturtin; The graip he for a harrow taks,
An' haurls at his curpin :
An' her that is to be my lass,
He whistled up Lord Lenox' march
He was sae fley'd an' eerie :
Out-owre that night.
He roar'd a horrid murder-shout,
An' young an' auld came rinnin out,
He swoor 'twas hilchin Jean M'Craw,
Meg fain wad to the barn gaen,
To win 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,
An' twa red cheekit apples,
To watch, while for the barn she sets,
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 rattled up the wa',
An' she cried L-d preserve her, An' ran through midden-hole an' a', An' pray'd wi' zeal an' fervour,
Fu' fast that night.
*This charm must likewise be performed unperceived, and alone. You go to the barn, and open both doors, taking them off the hinges, if possible; for there is danger that the being, about to appear, may shut the doors, and do you some mischief. Then take that instrument used in winnowing the corn, which, in our country dialect, we call a wecht; and go through all the attitudes of letting down corn against the wind. Repeat it three times; and the third time an apparition will pass through the barn, in at the windy door, and out at the other, having both the figure in question, and the appearance or retinue, marking the employment or station in life.
They hoy't out Will, wi' sair advice:
He taks a swirlie, auld moss-oak,
A wanton widow Leezie was,
But och that night, amang the shaws,
She through the whins, an' by the cairn,
Was bent that night.
Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays,
Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle;
Amang the brachens, on the brae,
Poor Leezie's heart mais lap the hool;
But mist a fit, an' in the pool
In order, on the clean hearth-stane,
*Take an opportunity of going, unnoticed, to a Bear stack, and fathom it three times round. The last fathom of the last time, you will catch in your arms the appear. ance of your future conjugal yoke-fellow.
+ You go out, one or more, for this is a social spell, to a south running spring or rivulet, where "three lairds' lands meet," and dip your left shirt sleeve. Go to bed in sight of a fire, and hang your wet sleeve before it to dry. Lie awake; and some time near midnight, an appa. rition, having the exact figure of the grand object in question, will come and turn the sleeve, as if to dry the other side of it.
Take three dishes; put clean water in one, foul water in another, leave the third empty: blindfold a person, and lead him to the hearth where the dishes are ranged: he (or she) dips the left hand: if by chance in the clean water, the future husband or wife will come to the bar of matrimony a maid; if in the foul, a widow; if in the empty dish, it foretells, with equal certainty, no marriage at all. It is repeated three times, and every time the arrangement of the dishes is altered
And every time great care is ta'en,
To see them duly changed: Auld uncle John, wha wedlock's joys Sin Mar's year did desire, Because he gat the toom-dish thrice, He heaved them on the fire
In wrath that night. XXVIII.
Wi' merry sangs, and friendly cracks, I wat they dinna weary;
An' unco tales, an' funnie jokes,
Their sports were cheap an' cheery, Till butter'd so'ns, wi' fragrant lunt, Set a' their gabs a-steerin;
Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt,
Though now ye dow but hoyte an' hobble An' wintle like a saumont-coble,
That day ye was a jinker noble
For heels an' win'!
An' ran them till they a' did wauble,
When thou an' I were young an' skeigh, An' stable-meals at fairs were dreigh, How thou wad prance, an' snore, an' skreigh, An' 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 fellow,
Though now thou's dowie, stiff, an' crazy, An' thy auld hide's as white's a daisy, I've seen thee dappl't, sleek, and glaizie, A bonnie gray:
He should been tight that daur't to raize thee,
Thou ance was i' the foremost rank,
It's now some nine an' twenty year,
An' fifty mark;
When first I gaed to woo my Jenny,
That day, ye pranced wi' muckle pride,
Kyle Stewart I could bragged wide,
For sic a pair.
Sowens, with butter instead of milk to them, is always the Halloween supper.
The sma', droop-rumpl't, hunter cattle, Might aiblins waur't thee for a brattle; But sax Scotch miles thou try't their mettle, An' gar't them whaizle: Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle O' saugh or hazel.
Thou was a noble fittie-lan', As e'er in tug or tow was drawn! Aft thee an' I, in aught 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,
Till spritty knowes wad rair't and risket,
When frosts lay lang, an' snows were deep, An' threaten'd labour back to keep,
I gied thy cog a wee-bit heap
Aboon the timmer;
I kenn'd my Maggie wad na sleep
The cart or car thou never restit;
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 awa.
That thou hast nurst: They drew me thretteen pund an' twa, The vera warst.
Monie a sair daurk we twa hae wrought, An' wi' the weary warl' fought! And monie an anxious day, I thought We wad be beat!
Yet here to crazy age we're brought,
Wi' something yet.