They filled up a darksome pit
With water to the brim,
They heaved in John Barleycorn-
There, let him sink or swim.

They laid him out upon the floor,
To work him farther woe;
And still, as signs of life appear'd,
They toss'd him to and fro.

They wasted, o'er a scorching flame,
The marrow of his bones;

But a miller us'd him worst of all,

For he crush'd him between two stones.

And they hae taen his very heart's blood,
And drank it round and round;
And still the more and more they drank,
Their joy did more abound.

John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
Of noble enterprise;

For if you do but taste his blood,
'Twill make your courage rise.

'Twill make a man forget his woe;
'Twill heighten all his joy :
"Twill make the widow's heart to sing,
Tho' the tear were in her eye.

Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
Each man a glass in hand;
And may his great posterity

Ne'er fail in old Scotland!

THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF

POOR MAILIE.

THE AUTHOR'S ONLY PET YOWE,—AN UNCO MOURNFU

TALE.

As Mailie, an' her lambs thegither,
Was ae day nibblin on the tether,
Upon her cloot * she coost + a hitch,
An' owre she warsl'd in the ditch:
There, groanin, dying, she did lie,
When Hughoc1 he cam doytin§ by.

Wi' glowrin|| een, and lifted han's
Poor Hughoc like a statue stan's;
He saw her days were near-hand ended,
But, wae's my heart! he could na mend it!
He gaped wide, but naething spak,
At length poor Mailie silence brak.

"O thou, whase lamentable face
Appears to mourn my woefu' case!
My dying words attentive hear,
An' bear them to my Master dear.

"Tell him, if e'er again he keep
As muckle gear¶ as buy a sheep—
O, bid him never tie them mair,
Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair!
But ca' them out to park or hill,
An' let them wander at their will:

* hoof.

† cast.

fell struggling. staring.

§ walking stupidly.

¶ cash.

A neibour herd-callant, about three-fourths as wise as other folk.-R. B

So may his flock increase, an' grow
To scores o' lambs, and packs o' woo' !

"Tell him, he was a Master kin',
An' ay was guid to me an' mine;
An' now my dying charge I gie him,
My helpless lambs, I trust them wi’ him.

"O, bid him save their harmless lives, Frae dogs, an' tods,* an' butchers' knives! But gie them guid cow-milk their fill, Till they be fit to fend themsel; An' tent them duly, e'en an' morn, Wi' taetst o' hay an' ripps‡ o' corn.

"An' may they never learn the gaets,§ Of ither vile, wanrestfu' || petsTo slink thro' slaps, an' reave an' steal, At stacks o' pease, or stocks o' kail! So may they, like their great forbears, For monie a year come thro' the sheers : So wives will gie them bits o' bread, An' bairns greet for them when they're dead.

"My poor toop-lamb, my son an' heir, O, bid him breed him up wi' care! An' if he live to be a beast,

To pit some havins T in his breast!

An' warn him-what I winna name To stay content wi' yowes at hame;

* foxes.

† small quantities.
I restless.

+ handfuls. ¶ manners

Śways.

An' no to rin an' wear his cloots,

Like ither menseless,* graceless brutes.

"An' niest, my yowie, silly thing,
Gude keep thee frae a tether string!
O, may thou ne'er forgather up,
Wi' ony blastit, moorland toop;
But ay keep mind to moopt an' mell,‡
Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel!

"And now, my bairns, wi' my last breath,
I lea'e my blessin wi' you baith:
An' when you think upo' your mither,
Mind to be kind to ane anither.

"Now, honest Hughoc, dinna fail,

To tell my master a' my tale ;
An' bid him burn this cursed tether,
An' for thy pains thou'se get my blather." §

This said, poor Mailie turn'd her head,
An' clos'd her een amang the dead!

[Carlyle considers this the poet's happiest effort of its peculiar kind: he classes it with the Address to a Mouse, and the Auld Farmer's Mare, but holds that "this has even more of sportive tenderness in it." It was composed one afternoon while engaged with his plough on the slopes of Lochlie. The poet's youngest brother John drove the horses, while the musing bard guided his plough in the even rig. Gilbert narrates the incident:-"As they were setting out about noon, with their teams, a curious-looking, awkward boy, named Hugh Wilson, ran up to them in a very excited manner, and with a rueful countenance, announced that poor Mailie had got entangled in her tether and was lying in the ditch. It had never occurred to the terror-stricken "Huoc" that he might have lent a hand in lifting her up: Mailie, however, was soon rescued from her peril, and lived-it is hoped-to see her bairns' bairns."]

* unmannerly.

† fondle.

+ associates.

§ bladder.

C

POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY.

LAMENT in rhyme, lament in prose,
Wi' saut tears trickling down your nose ;
Our bardie's fate is at a close,

Past a' remead !

The last, sad cape-stane o' his woe's

Poor Mailie's dead!

It's no the loss o' warl's gear, That could sae bitter draw the tear,

Or mak our bardie, dowie, wear

The mournin weed:

He's lost a friend an' neebor dear,

In Mailie dead.

Thro' a' the town she trotted by him; A lang half-mile she could descry him; Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him, She ran wi' speed:

A friend mair faithfu' ne'er cam nigh him, Than Mailie dead.

I wat she was a sheep o' sense, An' could behave hersel wi' mense: I'll say't, she never brak a fence,

*

Thro' thievish greed.

Our bardie, lanely, keeps the spence +

Sin' Mailie's dead.

Or, if he wanders up the howe,‡

Her livin image in her yowe

* good manners,

† inner room.

+ valley.