THE ORIGIN OF DIDACTIC
POETRY.

WHEN wise Minerva still was young,
And just the least romantic,
Soon after from Jove's head she
flung,

That preternatural antic,
'Tis said to keep from idleness

Or flirting, those twin curses,She spent her leisure, more or less, In writing po—, no, verses.

How nice they were! to rhyme with far,

A kind star did not tarry; The metre, too, was regular

As schoolboy's dot and carry ; And full they were of pious plums, So extra-super-moral, For sucking Virtue's tender gums Most tooth-enticing coral.

With the next gap, Mars said, "For

me

Don't wait, -nought could be finer,

But I'm engaged at half-past three, —
A fight in Asia Minor!"
Then Venus lisped, "How very
thad!

It rainth down there in torrinth; But I mutht go, becauthe they've had

A thacrifithe in Corinth!"

Then Bacchus,-"With those slamming doors

I lost the last half dist-(hic!) Mos' bu'ful se'ments! what's the Chor's?

My voice shall not be missed

(hic!)"

His words woke Hermes; "Ah!" he said,

"I so love moral theses!" Then winked at Hebe, who turned red,

And smoothed her apron's creases.

Just then Zeus snored, -the Eagle drew

His head the wing from under; Zeus snored, o'er startled Greece there flew

The many-volumed thunder; Some augurs counted nine, — some,

ten,

WHEN chapman billies leave the street,

And drouthy neebors, neebors meet,
As market-days are wearing late,
An' folk begin to tak the gate;
While we sit bousing at the nappy,
An' getting fou and unco happy,
We thinkna on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles,
That lie between us and our hame,
Whare sits our sulky sullen dame,
Gathering her brows like gathering
storm,

Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.

This truth fand honest Tam O'
Shanter,

As he frac Ayr ae night did canter

(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses,

For honest men and bonnie lasses). O Tam! hadst thou but been sae

wise,

As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice! She tauld thee weel thou wast a skellum,

A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum;

That frae November till October,
Ae market-day thou was nae sober;
That ilka melder, wi' the miller,
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller;
That every naig was ca'd a shoe on,
The smith and thee gat roaring fou

on;

That at the Lord's house, even on Sunday,

Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday.

She prophesied that, late or soon, Thou would be found deep drowned in Doon:

Or catched wi'warlocks i' the mirk, By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.

Ah, gentle dames! it gars me

greet,

To think how mony counsels sweet, How mony lengthened, sage advices, The husband frae the wife despises!

But to our tale: Ae market night, Tam had got planted unco right; Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely;

And at his elbow, Souter Johnny, His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony; Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither; They had been fou for weeks thegither.

The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter;

And ay the ale was growing better: The landlady and Tam grew gracious,

Wi'

favors, secret, sweet, and pre

cious:

The souter tauld his queerest stories; The landlord's laugh was ready cho

rus:

The storm without might rair and

rustle,

Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.

Care, mad to see a man sae happy, E'en drowned himself amang the

nappy!

And past the birks and meikle-stane, Whare drunken Charlie brak's neckbane:

And through the whins, and by the cairn,

Whare hunters fand the murdered bairn:

And near the thorn, aboon the well, Whare Mungo's mither hanged hersel.

Before him Doon pours all his floods; The doubling storm roars through the woods;

The lightnings flash from pole to pole; Near and more near the thunders roll:

When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees,

Kirk Alloway seemed in a bleeze; Through ilka bore the beams were glancing;

And loud resounded mirth and dancing.

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn! What dangers thou canst make us scorn!

Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil;
Wi' usquebae, we'll face the Devil!
The swats sae reamed in Tammie's

noddle,

Fair play, he cared na deils a boddle. But Maggie stood right sair aston

ished,

Till, by the heel and hand admonished,

She ventured forward on the light;
And, wow! Tam saw an unco sight!
Warlocks and witches in a dance;
Nae cotillion brent new frae France,
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and
reels,

Put life and mettle in their heels.
At winnock-bunker in the east,
There sat auld Nick, in shape o'
beast;

A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large,

To gie them music was his charge: He screwed the pipes and gart them

skirl,

By which heroic Tom was able
To note upon the haly table,
A murderer's banes in gibbet airns;
Twa span-lang, wee, unchristened
bairns:

A thief, new-cutted frae a rape,
Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape;
Five tomahawks, wi' blude red
rusted;

Five scymitars, wi' murder crusted; A garter, which a babe had strangled;

A knife, a father's throat had mangled,

Whom his ain son o' life bereft,
The gray hairs yet stack to the heft;
Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu',
Which even to name wad be unlaw-
fu'.

As Tammie glowered, amazed and curious,

The mirth and fun grew fast and furious:

The piper loud and louder blew;
The dancers quick and quicker flew;
They reeled, they set, they crossed,
they cleekit,

Till ilka carlin sweat and reekit,
And coost her duddies to the wark,
And linket at it in her sark!

Now Tam, O Tam! had thae been

And shook baith meikle corn and bear,

And kept the country-side in fear,)
Her cutty-sark, o' Paisley harn,
That, while a lassie, she had worn,
In longitude though sorely scanty,
It was her best and she was vaunt-
ie. -

Ah! little kend thy reverend grannie,

That sark she coft for her wee Nannie,

Wi' twa pund Scots, ('twas a' her riches,)

Wad ever graced a dance o' witches! But here my muse her wing maun

cour;

Sic flights are far beyond her power; To sing how Nannie lap and flang (A souple jade she was, and strang), And how Tam stood, like ane bewitched,

And thought his very e'en enriched; Even Satan glowered, and fidged fu’ fain,

And hotched and blew wi' might and main:

Till first ane caper, syne anither,
Tam tint his reason a' thegither,
And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty-
sark!"

And in an instant all was dark;
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied,
When out the hellish legion sallied.
As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke,
When plundering herds assail their
byke;

As open pussie's mortal foes,
When, pop! she starts before their

nose;

As eager runs the market-crowd, When, "Catch the thief!" resounds

aloud;

So Maggie runs, the witches follow, Wi' monie an eldritch screech and hollow.

Ali, Tam! ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin!

In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin!

In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin! Kate soon will be a woefu' woman! Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, And win the key-stane of the brig; There at them thou thy tail may toss,

A running stream they dare na

cross.