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K********* lang may grunt an' grane,
An' sight an' sab, an' greet her lane,
An' cleed her bairns, man, wife, an' wean,
In mourning weed;

To death, she's dearly paid the kane,

Tam Samson's dead!

The brethren of the mystic level
May hing their heads in wofu' bevel,
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 like ony 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;

Tam Samson's dead.

But now he lags on death's hog-score

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,

Your mortal fae is now awa',

Withouten dread;

Tam Samson's dead.

That woefu' morn be ever mourn'd
Saw him in shootin graith adorn'd,
While pointers round impatient burn'd,

Frae couples freed;

But, och! he gaed, and ne'er return'd!

Tam Samson's dead.

In vain auld age his body batters;
In vain the gout his ankles 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 cry'd, 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,

Tam Samson's dead!'

Whare Burns has wrote, in rhyming blether,

There low he lies, in lasting rest;
Perhaps upon his mould'ring breast
Some spitefu' muirfowl builds 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 vollies let his memory crave

O' pouther an' lead,

Till Echo answers frae her cave,

Tam Samson's dead!

Heav'n rest his saul, whare'er he be!
Is the wish o' mony mae than me;
He had twa fauts, or may be three,

Yet what remead ?

Tam Samson's dead!

Ae social honest man want we:

THE EPITAPH.

Tam Samson's weel-worn clay here lies,
Ye canting zealots, spare him!

If honest worth in heav'n rise,
Ye'll mend, or ye win near him,

PER CONTRA.

Go, Fame, an' canter like a filly
Thro' a' the streets an' neuks o' Killie,*

Tell ev'ry 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 Kilmar.

доск.

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.

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[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 all 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.]

UPON that night when fairies light.

On Cassilis Downans + dance,
Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze,
On sprightly coursers prance;
Or for Colean the rout is ta'en,
Beneath the moon's pale beams;
There, up the cove,t to stray an' rove
Amang the rocks and streams

To sport that night.

Amang the bonnie winding banks

Where Doon rins, wimplin, clear,
Where Bruce ance rul'd the martial ranks,
An' shook the Carrick spear,

Some merry, friendly, countra folks
Together did convene,

Is thought to be a night when witches, devils, aud other mischief-making beings, are all abroad on their baneful midnight errands; particularly those aerial people, the Fairies, who 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 Cassilis.

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.

To burn their nits, an' pou their stocks,
And haud their Halloween

Fu' blythe that night.

The lasses feat, an' cleanly neat,
Mair braw than when they're fine
Their faces blythe, fu' sweetly kythe,
Hearts leal, an' warm, an' kin':
The lads sae trig, Wi' wooer-babs,
Weel knotted on their garten,
Some unco blate, an' some wi' gabs,
Gar lasses hearts gang startin

Whiles fast at night.
Then first and foremost, thro' the kail,
Their stocks* maun a' be sought ance :
They steek their een, an' graip an' wale,
For muckle anes an' straught anes.
Poor hav'rel Will fell aff the drift,
An' wander'd through the bow-kail,
An' pow't for want o' better shift,
A runt was like a sow-tail,

Sae bow't that night.
Then, straught or crooked, yird or nane,
They roar an' cry a' throu'ther;

The vera wee things todlin rin

Wi' stocks out-o wre their shou❜ther;

An' gif the costoc's sweet or sour,
Wi' joctelegs they taste them;

Syne coziely, aboon the door,

Wi' canni care, they've plac'd them
To lie that night.

The lasses staw frae 'mang them a'

To pou their stalks o' corn;†

* The first ceremony of Halloween is, puiling 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, strait or crooked, is prophetic 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 fortuue; and the state of the custoc, that is, the heart of the stem, is indicative of the natural temper and disposition. Lastly, the stems, or, to give them their ordinary appeilation, 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,

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