While by their nose the tears will revel,
Like ony bead;

Death's gien the lodge an unco devel,
Tam Samson's dead!

When Winter muffles up his cloak, And binds the mire up like a rock; When to the loughs the curlers flock, Wi' gleesome speed;

Wha will they station at the cock?

Tam Samson's dead!

He was the king o' a' the core, To guard, or draw, or wick a bore,

Or

up

the rink like Jehu roar

In time of need ;

But now he lags on death's hog-score,

Tam Samson's dead!

Now safe the stately sawmont sail, And trouts bedropp'd wi' crimson hail, And eels weel ken'd for souple tail,

And geds for greed,

Since dark in death's fish-creel we wail,

Tam Samson dead!

Rejoice, ye birring paitricks a';
Ye cootie moorcocks, crousely craw;
Ye maukins, cock your fud fu' braw,

Withouten dread;

Your mortal fae is now awa',

Tam Samson's dead!

That woeful morn be ever mourn'd;
Saw him in shootingraith adorn'd,
While pointers round impatient burn'd
Frae couples freed;

But, och he gaed and ne'er return'de!
Tam Samson's dead!'

In vain auld age his body batters!
In vain the gout his ancles fetters ;
In vain the burns came down like waters,
An acre braid!

Now ev'ry auld wife, greetin, clatters,
Tam Samson's dead!

Owre many a weary hag he limpit,
An' ay 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, an' 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 mould'ring breast, Some spitefu' muir fowl 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 mem'ry crave

O' pouther an' lead,

Till Echo answer frae her cave,

Tam Samson's dead!

Heav'n rest his saul, where'er he be !
Is th' wish o' mony mae than me:
He had twa faults, or may be three,

Yet what remead?

Ae social, honest man want we:

Tam Samson's dead!

THE EPITAPH.

TAM SAMSON's weel worn clay here lies,
Ye canting zealots, spare him!
If honest worth in heaven rise,
Ye'll mend, or ye win near him.

PER CONTRA.

Go, Fame, and canter like a filly Thro' 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.

HALLOWEEN."

Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain,
The simple pleasures of the lowly train ;
To me more dear, congenial to my heart,
One native charm, than all the gloss of art.
GOLDSMITH.

I.

UPON that night, when fairies light,
On Cassilis Downanst dance,
Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze,
On sprightly coursers prance;
Or for Colean the route is ta'en
Beneath the moon's pale beams;

Is thought to be a night when witches, devils, and other mischief-making beings, are all abroad on their baneful, midnight errands; particularly those aerial people, the Fairies, are said on that night, to hold a grand anniversary.

+ Certain little, romantic, rocky, green hills, in the neigh bourhood of the ancient seat of the Earls of Cassilis.