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When winter muffles up his cloak,
And binds the mire 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 waefu' 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 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 mony a weary hag he limpit,
An' aye 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,

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' muirfowl 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, whare'er he be!
Is th' wish o' mony mae than me;
He had twa faults, or maybe 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, 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 Kilmarnock.

HALLOWEEN'.

[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.]

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.

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 route is ta'en,
Beneath the moon's pale beams;
There, up
the cove3, to stray an' rove
Amang the rocks and streams.

To sport that night.

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.

2 Certain little, romantic, rocky, green hills, in the neighbourhood of the ancient seat of the Earls of Cassilis.

3 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.

Amang the bonnie winding banks
Where Doon rins, wimplin, clear,

Where Bruce ance rul'd the martial ranks,
An shook his Carrick spear,

Some merry, friendly, countra folks,
Together did convene,

To burn their nits, an' pou their stocks,

An' 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.

The famous family of that name, the ancestors of Robert, the great deliverer of his country, were earls of Carrick.

5 The first ceremony of Halloween is, pulling 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, straight 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 fortune; and the taste 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 appellation, 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.

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