OF A THE AIRTS THE WIND
CAN BLAW.

TUNE-"Miss Admiral Gordon's
Strathspey."

OF a' the airts the wind can blaw,
I dearly like the west,
For there the bonnie lassie lives,

The lassie I lo'e best;

There wild woods grow, and rivers row,
And mony a hill between;
By day and night my fancy's flight
Is ever wi' my Jean.

I see her in the dewy flowers,
I see her sweet and fair;

I hear her in the tunefu' birds,
I hear her charm the air:

There's not a bonnie flower that springs
By fountain, shaw,3 or green;
There's not a bonnie bird that sings,
But minds me o' my Jean.

TAM O'SHANTER.

A TALE.

Of Brownyis and of Bogilis full is this
Buke.
GAWIN DOUGLAS.

WHEN chapman billies 1 leave the street.
And drouthy neebors, neebors meet,
As market-days are wearing late,
An' folk begin to tak the gate; 2
While we sit bousing at the nappy,3
An' getting fou and unco happy,
We thinkna on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles,
That lie between us and our hame,
Where 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 frae Ayr ae night did canter: (Auld Ayr, whom 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 na sober;
That ilka melder, wi' the miller,
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller;
That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on,
The smith and thee gat roaring fou on:
That at the Lord's house, ev'n on Sun-

How mony lengthen'd, 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 Johnie, His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony: Tam lo'ed him like a very brither; They had been fou for weeks thegither. The night drave on wi' sangs and clat

ter;

And ay the ale was growing better:
The landlady and Tam grew gracious,
Wi' favours, secret, sweet, and precious:
The souter tauld his queerest stories;
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus:
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! As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, The minutes winged their way wi' pleas

ure:

Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious,

O'er a' the ills o' life victorious!

But pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed; Or like the snow falls in the river, A moment white-then melts for ever; Or like the borealis race,

That flit ere you can point their place;
Or like the rainbow's lovely form
Evanishing amid the storm.

Nae man can tether time or tide; -
The hour approaches Tam maun ride;
That hour, o' night's black arch the key-
stane,

That dreary hour he mounts his beast in;
And sic a night he taks the road in,
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.

The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; The rattling show'rs rose on the blast;

The speedy gleams the darkness

swallow'd;

A better never lifted leg,
Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire,
Despising wind, and rain, and fire;
Whiles holding fast his gude blue bor-

net;

Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet;

Whiles glow'ring round wi' prudent

cares,

Lest bogles catch him unawares;
Kirk Alloway was drawing nigh,
Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry.
By this time he was cross the ford,
Where in the snaw the chapinan
smoored; 2

And past the birks3 and meikle stane, Where drunken Charlie brak's neckbane;

And thro' the whins, and by the cairn, Where 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 stormroars thro' 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; Thro'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 ream'd in Tammie's nod-
dle,

Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle.
But Maggie stood right sair astonished,
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 old Nick, in shape o' beast;

1 hurried. 2 smothered. 3 birches.
big. 5 hole in the wall. 6 window-seat.

A towzie1 tyke, black, grim, and large,
To gie them music was his charge:
He screw'd the pipes and gart 2 them
skirl,3

Till roof and rafters a' did dirl.-
Coffins stood round, like open presses,
That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses;
And by some devilish cantrip slight
Each in its cauld hand held a light, -
By which heroic Tam was able
To note upon the haly table,
A murderer's banes in gibbet airns;5
Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd 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 of horrible and awfu',
Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'.

As Tammie glowr'd, 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 swat and reekit,
And coost her duddies to the wark,
And linket at it in her sark!

Now Tam, O Tam, had thae been
queans

A' plump and strapping in their teens; Their sarks, instead o' creeshie 8 flannen, Been snaw-white seventeen-hunder

But Tam kend what was what fu
brawlie,

There was ae winsome wench and walie,
That night enlisted in the core,
(Lang after kend on Carrick shore;
For mony a beast to dead she shot,
And perished mony a bonnie boat,
And shook baith meikle corn and bear,
And kept the country-side in fear,)
Her cutty 2 sark, o' Paisley harn,3
That, while a lassie, she had worn,
In longitude tho' sorely scanty,

It was her best, and she was vauntie.-
Ah! little kend thy reverend grannie,
That sark she coft for her wee Nannie,
Wi' twa pund Scots, ('twas a 'her riches.}
Wad ever grac'd a dance of 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 een enriched;
Even Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd fu' fain,
And hotch'd and blew wi' might and
main:

Till first ae caper, syne 5 anither,
Tam tint his reason a' thegither,
Androars out, "Weeldone, 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;8

As open pussie's mortal foes,

When, pop! she starts before their nose; As eager runs the market-crowd, When, "Catch the thief!" resounds