Robert Burns: How To Know Him Part 39

An' mony an anxious day I thought We wad be beat!

Yet here to crazy age we're brought, Wi' something yet.

And think na, my auld trusty servan', That now perhaps thou's less deservin', An' thy auld days may end in starvin'; For my last fou, [bushel]

A heapit stimpart I'll reserve ane [quarter-peck]

Laid by for you.

We've worn to crazy years thegither; We'll toyte about wi' ane anither; [totter]

Wi' tentie care I'll flit thy tether [attentive, change]

To some hain'd rig, [reserved plot]

Where ye may n.o.bly rax your leather, [stretch, sides]

Wi' sma' fatigue.

To the evidence of Burns's warm-heartedness supplied by these kindly verses may appropriately be added the _Address to the Deil_. Burns's att.i.tude to the supernatural we have already slightly touched on.

Apart from the somewhat vague Deism which seems to have formed his personal creed, the poet's att.i.tude toward most of the beliefs in the other world which were held around him was one of amused skepticism.

_Halloween_ and _Tam o' Shanter_ show how he regarded the grosser rural superst.i.tions; but the Devil was another matter. Scottish Calvinism had, as has been said, made him almost the fourth person in the G.o.dhead; and Burns's thrusts at this belief are among the most effective things in his satire. In the present piece, however, the satirical spirit is almost overcome by kindliness and benevolent humor, and few of his poems are more characteristic of this side of his nature.

ADDRESS TO THE DEIL

O thou! whatever t.i.tle suit thee, Auld Hornie, Satan, Mick, or Clootie, [Hoofie]

Wha in yon cavern grim an' sootie, Clos'd under hatches, Spairges about the brunstane cootie, [Splashes, dish]

To scaud poor wretches! [scald]

Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee, [Hangman]

An' let poor d.a.m.ned bodies be; I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie, Ev'n to a deil, To skelp an' scaud poor dogs like me, [spank, scald]

An' hear us squeal!

Great is thy pow'r, an' great thy fame; Far kenn'd an' noted is thy name; An', tho' yon lowin' heugh's thy hame, [flaming pit]

Thou travels far; An' faith! thou's neither lag nor lame, [backward]

Nor blate nor scaur. [shy, afraid]

Whyles rangin' like a roarin' lion For prey, a' holes an' corners tryin'; Whyles on the strong-wing'd tempest flyin', Tirlin' the kirks; [Stripping]

Whyles, in the human bosom pryin', Unseen thou lurks.

I've heard my reverend grannie say, In lanely glens ye like to stray; Or, where auld ruin'd castles gray Nod to the moon, Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way, Wi' eldritch croon. [weird]

When twilight did my grannie summon To say her pray'rs, douce, honest woman! [sedate]

Aft yont the d.y.k.e she's heard you b.u.mmin', [beyond]

Wi' eerie drone; Or, rustlin', thro' the boortrees comin', [elders]

Wi' heavy groan.

Ae dreary windy winter night The stars shot down wi' sklentin' light, [squinting]

Wi' you mysel I gat a fright Ayont the lough; [pond]

Ye like a rash-buss stood in sight [clump of rushes]

Wi' waving sough. [moan]

The cudgel in my nieve did shake, [fist]

Each bristled hair stood like a stake, When wi' an eldritch stoor 'quaick, quaick,' [weird, harsh]

Amang the springs, Awa ye squatter'd like a drake On whistlin' wings.

Let warlocks grim an' wither'd hags Tell how wi' you on ragweed nags [ragwort]

They skim the muirs an' dizzy crags Wi' wicked speed; And in kirk-yards renew their leagues Owre howkit dead. [disturbed]

Thence country wives, wi' toil an' pain, May plunge an' plunge the kirn in vain; [churn]

For oh! the yellow treasure's taen [i.e., the b.u.t.ter]

By witchin' skill; An' dawt.i.t, twal-pint Hawkie's gane [petted, twelve-pint cow]

As yell's the bill. [dry, bull]

Thence mystic knots mak great abuse On young guidmen, fond, keen, an' crouse; [husbands, c.o.c.ksure]

When the best wark-lume i' the house, [tool]

By cantrip wit, [magic]

Is instant made no worth a louse, Just at the bit. [crisis]

When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord, [thaws, h.o.a.rd]

An' float the jinglin' icy boord, Then water-kelpies haunt the foord, [-spirits]

By your direction, An' 'nighted travelers are allur'd To their destruction.

An' aft your moss-traversing s.p.u.n.kies [bog-, goblins]

Decoy the wight that late an' drunk is: The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkies Delude his eyes, Till in some miry slough he sunk is, Ne'er mair to rise.

When masons' mystic word an' grip In storms an' tempests raise you up, Some c.o.c.k or cat your rage maun stop, [must]

Or, strange to tell!

The youngest brither ye wad whip Aff straught to h.e.l.l. [straight]

Lang syne, in Eden's bonnie yard, [ago, garden]

When youthfu' lovers first were pair'd, And all the soul of love they shar'd, The raptur'd hour, Sweet on the fragrant flow'ry swaird, [sward]

In shady bow'r;

Then you, ye auld snick-drawing dog! [scheming]

Ye cam to Paradise incog, An' play'd on man a cursed brogue, [trick]

(Black be your fa!) An' gied the infant warld a shog, [shake]

'Maist ruin'd a'.

D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz, [flurry]

Wi' reekit duds, an' reest.i.t gizz, [smoky rags, scorched wig]

Ye did present your smoutie phiz [s.m.u.tty]

'Mang better folk, An' sklented on the man of Uz [squinted]

Your spitefu' joke?

An' how ye gat him i' your thrall, An' brak him out o' house an' hal', [holding]

While scabs an' blotches did him gall Wi' bitter claw, An' lows'd his ill-tongu'd wicked scaul, [loosed, scold]

Was warst ava? [of all]

But a' your doings to rehea.r.s.e, Your wily snares an' fechtin' fierce, [fighting]

Sin' that day Michael did you pierce, Down to this time, Wad ding a' Lallan tongue, or Erse, [heat, Lowland]

In prose or rhyme.

An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin', [Hoofs]

A certain Bardie's rantin', drinkin', [roistering]