The rising sun, owre Galston muirs, Fu' sweet that day. As lightsomely I glowered abroad, Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black, The third, that gaed a wee a-back, Was in the fashion shining Fu' gay that day. The twa appeared like sisters twin, The third cam up, hap-step-an'-lowp, An' wi' a curchie low did stoop, As soon as e'er she saw me, Fu' kind that day. Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, 'Sweet lass, Quo' she, an' laughin as she spak, 'Ye, for my sake, hae gi'en the feck A screed some day. 'My name is Fun-your cronie dear, The nearest friend ye hae; An' this is Superstition here, I'm gaun to Mauchline Holy Fair, At them this day.' Quoth I, 'Wi' a' my heart, I'll do 't: For roads were clad frae side to side In droves that day. Here farmers gash, in ridin graith, There swankies young, in braw braid-claith, The lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang, In silks an' scarlets glitter; Wi' sweet-milk cheese in monie a whang, An' farls baked wi' butter, Fu' crump that day. When by the plate we set our nose, Some carrying dails, some chairs an' stools, Right loud that day. Here stands a shed to fend the showers, There Racer Jess, and twa-three whores, Here sits a raw of tittlin' jads, Here some are thinkin on their sins, Ane curses feet that fyled his shins, On this hand sits a chosen swatch, To chairs that day. O happy is that man an' blest Which, by degrees, slips round her neck, Unkend that day. Now a' the congregation o'er For Moodie speels the holy door Should Hornie, as in ancient days, The vera sight o' Moodie's face Hear how he clears the points o' faith Wi' rattlin an wi' thumpin! Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath, He's stampin an' he's jumpin! His lengthened chin, his turned-up snout, On sie a day! But hark! the tent has changed its voice; They canna sit for anger: Smith opens out his cauld harangues An' aff the godly pour in thrangs, A lift that day. What signifies his barren shine Or some auld pagan heathen, In guid time comes an antidote An' aff, an' up the Cowgate Fast, fast that day. Wee Miller niest the guard relieves, Tho' in his heart he weel believes An' thinks it auld wives' fables; But faith! the birkie wants a manse, So cannilie he hums them, Altho' his carnal wit an' sense Like hafflins-wise o'ercomes him At times that day. Now butt an' ben the change-house fills They raise a din that in the end Is like to breed a rupture O' wrath that day. Leeze me on drink! it gies us mair It never fails, on drinkin deep, By night or day. The lads an' lasses, blythely bent On this ane's dress an' that ane's leuk While some are cozie i' the neuk, An' formin assignations To meet some day. But now the Lord's ain trumpet touts, And echoes back return the shouts; |