The Norton Anthology of English literature. Volume 2

14 0 / ROBER T BURN S Thou sat as lang as thou had siller;0 silver, money 25 That every naig� was ca'd� a shoe on, nag I driven The smith and thee gat roaring fou on; That at the Lord's house, even on Sunday, Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday. She prophesied that late or soon, 30 Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon; Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk,� night By Alloway's auld haunted kirk. Ah, gentle dames! it gars� me greet0 makes / weep To think how mony counsels sweet, 35 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,0 bleezing0 finely, fireplace / blazing 40 Wi' reaming swats,0 that drank divinely; foaming new ale And at his elbow, Souter0 Johnny, shoemaker His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony; Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither; They had been fou for weeks thegither. 45 The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter; 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; 50 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 drown'd himsel amang the nappy: 55 As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure: Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, O'er a' the ills o' life victorious! But pleasures are like poppies spread, 60 You seize the flower, 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; 65 Or like the rainbow's lovely form Evanishing amid the storm.� Nae man can tether time or tide; The hour approaches Tam maun� ride; must That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane, 70 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.

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TAM O' SHANTER: A TALE / 141

The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; The rattling showers rose on the blast; The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd; Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd: That night, a child might understand, The Deil had business on his hand.

Weel mounted on his gray mare, Meg, A better never lifted leg,4 Tam skelpit0 on thro' dub� and mire, slapped / puddle Despising wind, and rain, and fire; Whiles holding fast his gude blue bonnet; Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet; Whiles glowring0 round wi' prudent cares, staring Lest bogles0 catch him unawares. Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, Whare ghaists0 and houlets0 nightly cry.� ghosts / owls

By this time he was cross the ford, Whare in the snaw, the chapman smoor'd;5 And past the birks� and meilde stane,� birches / big stone Whare drunken Charlie brak's neck-bane; And thro' the whins, and by the cairn,6 Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn; And near the thorn, aboon the well, Where Mungo's mither hang'd hersel.� Before him Doon pours all his floods; The doubling storm roars 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;0 blaze Thro' ilka bore� the beams were glancing; hole And loud resounded mirth and dancing.�

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn! What dangers thou canst make us scorn! Wi' tippeny,7 we fear nae evil; Wi' usquabae,� we'll face the devil!� whisky The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle, Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle.8 But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd, Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd, She ventured forward on the light; And, vow! Tam saw an unco" sight! strange Warlocks and witches in a dance; Nae cotillion brent0 new frae France, brand

4. Compare this "lifted leg" to Willie's use of the 6. Stones heaped up as a memorial. "Whins": term about himself in line 47 of "Holy Willie's furze (an evergreen shrub). Prayer." Tarn's horse, Meg (also called Maggie), 7. Twopenny (usually of weak beer). occasions the poem's bawdiest wordplay. 8. I.e., he didn't care a farthing about devils (a 5. The peddler smothered. "boddle" is a very small copper coin).

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142 / ROBERT BURNS