The Canongate Burns. Robert Burns
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The rising sun, owre GALSTON Muirs, over, moors
Wi’ glorious light was glintan;
The hares were hirplan down the furs, hobbling with uneven speed, furrows
The lav’rocks they were chantan larks
Fu’ sweet that day. full
10 As lightsomely I glowr’d abroad,
To see a scene sae gay, so
Three hizzies, early at the road, young wenches
Cam skelpan up the way. came hurrying
Twa had manteeles o’ dolefu’ black, two, mantles
15 But ane wi’ lyart lining; one, grey
The third, that gaed a wee aback, went, behind
Was in the fashion shining
Fu’ gay that day. full
The twa appear’d like sisters twin, two
20 In feature, form, an’ claes; clothes
Their visage — wither’d, lang an’ thin, long
An’ sour as onie slaes: any sloes
The third cam up, hap-step-an’-lowp, hop-step-and-leap
As light as onie lambie, — any lamb
25 An’ wi’ a curchie low did stoop, curtsey
As soon as e’er she saw me,
Fu’ kind that day.
Wi’ bonnet aff, quoth I, ‘Sweet lass, off
I think ye seem to ken me; know
30 I’m sure I’ve seen that bonie face, pretty
But yet I canna name ye. — ’ cannot
Quo’ she, an’ laughin as she spak, spoke
An’ taks me by the hands,
‘Ye, for my sake, hae gi’en the feck have given, bulk
35 Of a’ the ten commands
A screed some day. rip
‘My name is FUN — your cronie dear, friend
The nearest friend ye hae; have
An’ this is SUPERSTITION here,
40 An’ that’s HYPOCRISY.
I’m gaun to Mauchline Holy Fair, going
To spend an hour in daffin: larking/playing
Gin ye’ll go there, yon runkl’d pair, if, wrinkled
We will get famous laughin
45 At them this day.’
Quoth I, ‘Wi’ a’ my heart, I’ll do’t;
I’ll get my Sunday’s sark on, shirt
An’ meet you on the holy spot;
Faith, we’se hae fine remarkin!’ we’ll have
50 Then I gaed hame at crowdie-time, went, breakfast/gruel
An’ soon I made me ready;
For roads were clad, frae side to side, filled
Wi’ monie a wearie body, many
In droves that day.
55 Here farmers gash, in ridin graith, smart, gear
Gaed hoddan by their cotters; went jogging, farm workers
There swankies young, in braw braid-claith, strapping fellows, fine broadcloth
Are springan owre the gutters. jumping over
The lasses, skelpan barefit, thrang, hastening barefoot, crowded
60 In silks an’ scarlets glitter;
Wi’ sweet-milk cheese, in monie a whang, many, large slice
An’ farls, bak’d wi’ butter, cakes
Fu’ crump that day. hard or crisp
When by the plate we set our nose, collection plate
65 Weel heapè d up wi’ ha’pence,
A greedy glowr Black-bonnet throws, stare, Church elder
An’ we maun draw our tippence. must give
Then in we go to see the show:
On ev’ry side they’re gath’ran;
70 Some carryin dails, some chairs an’ stools, bench planks
An’ some are busy bleth’ran talking gossip
Right loud that day.
Here, stands a shed to fend the show’rs, ward off
An’ screen our countra Gentry; country
75 There Racer Jess, an’ twa-three whores, two or three
Are blinkan at the entry.
Here sits a raw o’ tittlan jads, giggling girls
Wi’ heavin breasts an’ bare neck;
An’ there a batch o’ Wabster lads, group of weavers
80 Blackguardin frae Kilmarnock, mischief making from
For fun this day.
Here some are thinkan on their sins,
An’ some upo’ their claes; clothes
Ane curses feet that fyl’d his shins, one, soiled, shoes/feet
85 Anither sighs an’ prays: another
On this hand sits a Chosen swatch, sample
Wi’ screw’d-up, grace-proud faces;
On that, a set o’ chaps, at watch,
Thrang winkan on the lasses busy
90 To chairs that day.
O happy is that man an’ blest!
Nae wonder that it pride him! no
Whase ain dear lass, that he likes best, whose own
Comes clinkan down beside him! sitting quickly
95 Wi’ arm repos’d on the chair back,
He sweetly does compose him;
Which, by degrees, slips round her neck,
An’s loof upon her bosom, hand
Unkend that day. unnoticed
100 Now a’ the congregation o’er
Is silent expectation;
For Moodie speels the holy door, reaches
Wi’ tidings o’ damnation:
Should Hornie, as in ancient days, the Devil
105 ’Mang sons o’ God present him;
The vera sight o’ Moodie’s face, very
To’s ain het hame had sent him to his own hot home
Wi’ fright that day.
Hear how he clears the points o’ Faith
110 Wi’ rattlin and thumpin!
Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath,
He’s stampan, an’ he’s jumpan! stomping
His lengthen’d chin, his turn’d-up snout,
His eldritch squeel an’ gestures, unearthly squeal
115