The Penguin Book of English Verse

by Paul Keegan

  30

  Thou would be found deep drown’d in Doon;

  Or catch’d wi’ warlocks in the mirk,

  By Alloway’s auld haunted kirk.

  Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet,

  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, bleezing finely,

  40

  Wi’ reaming swats, that drank divinely;

  And at his elbow, Souter Johnny,

  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;

  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.

  The wind blew as ’twad blawn its last;

  The rattling showers rose on the blast;

  75

  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,

  80

  A better never lifted leg,

  Tam skelpit on thro’ dub and mire,

  Despising wind, and rain, and fire;

  Whiles holding fast his gude blue bonnet;

  Whiles crooning o’er some auld Scots sonnet;

  85

  Whiles glowring round wi’ prudent cares,

  Lest bogles catch him unawares:

  Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh,

  Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry. –

  By this time he was cross the ford,

  90

  Whare, in the snaw, the chapman smoor’d;

  And past the birks and meikle stane,

  Whare drunken Charlie brak’s neck-bane;

  And thro’ the whins, and by the cairn,

  Whare hunters fand the murder’d bairn;

  95

  And near the thorn, aboon the well,

  Whare 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;

  100

  Near and more near the thunders roll:

  When, glimmering thro’ the groaning trees,

  Kirk-Alloway seem’d in a bleeze;

  Thro’ ilka bore the beams were glancing;

  And loud resounded mirth and dancing. –

  105

  Inspiring bold John Barleycorn!

  What dangers thou canst make us scorn!

  Wi’ tippeny, we fear nae evil;

  Wi’ usquabae, we’ll face the devil! –

  The swats sae ream’d in Tammie’s noddle,

  110

  Fair play, he car’d na deils a boddle.

  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!

  115

  Warlocks and witches in a dance;

  Nae cotillion brent new frae France,

  But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels,

  Put life and mettle in their heels.

  A winnock-bunker in the east,

  120

  There sat auld Nick, in shape o’ beast;

  A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large,

  To gie them music was his charge:

  He screw’d the pipes and gart them skirl,

  Till roof and rafters a’ did dirl. –

  125

  Coffins stood round, like open presses,

  That shaw’d the dead in their last dresses;

  And by some devilish cantraip slight

  Each in its cauld hand held a light. –

  By which heroic Tam was able

  130

  To note upon the haly table,

  A murderer’s banes in gibbet aims;

  Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen’d bairns;

  A thief, new-cutted frae a rape,

  Wi’ his last gasp his gab did gape;

  135

  Five tomahawks, wi’ blude red-rusted;

  Five scymitars, wi’ murder crusted;

  A garter, which a babe had strangled;

  A knife, a father’s throat had mangled,

  Whom his ain son o’ life bereft,

  140

  The grey hairs yet stack to the heft;

  Wi’ mair o’ horrible and awefu’,

  Which even to name wad be unlawfu’.

  As Tammie glow’rd, amaz’d, and curious,

  The mirth and fun grew fast and furious:

  145

  The piper loud and louder blew;

  The dancers quick and quicker flew;

  They reel’d, they set, they cross’d, they cleekit,

  Till ilka carlin swat and reekit,

  And coost her duddies to the wark,

  150

  And linket at it in her sark!

  Now, Tam, O Tam! had thae been queans,

  A’ plump and strapping in their teens,

  Their sarks, instead o’ creeshie flannen,

  Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linnen!

  155

  Thir breeks o’ mine, my only pair,

  That ance were plush, o’ gude blue hair,

  I wad hae gi’en them off my hurdies,

  For ae blink o’ the bonie burdies!

  But wither’d beldams, auld and droll,

  160

  Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal,

  Lowping and flinging on a crummock,

  I wonder didna turn thy stomach.

  But Tam kend what was what fu’ brawlie,

  There was ae winsome wench and wawlie,

  165

  That night enlisted in the core,

  (Lang after kend on Carrick shore;

  For mony a beast to dead she shot,

  And perish’d mony a bony boat,

  And shook baith meikle corn and bear,

  170

  And kept the country-side in fear:)

  Her cutty sark, o’ Paisley harn,

  That while a lassie she had worn,

  In longitude tho’ sorely scanty,

  It was her best, and she was vauntie. –

  175


  Ah! little kend thy reverend grannie,

  That sark she coft for her wee Nannie,

  Wi’ twa pund Scots, (’twas a’ her riches),

  Wad ever grac’d a dance of witches!

  But here my Muse her wing maun cour;

  180

  Sic flights are far beyond her pow’r;

  To sing how Nannie lap and flang,

  (A souple jade she was, and strang),

  And how Tam stood, like ane bewitch’d,

  And thought his very een enrich’d;

  185

  Even Satan glowr’d, and fidg’d fu’ fain,

  And hotch’d and blew wi’ might and main:

  Till first ae caper, syne anither,

  Tam tint his reason a’ thegither,

  And roars out, ‘Weel done, Cutty-sark!’

  190

  And in an instant all was dark:

  And scarcely had he Maggie rallied,

  When out the hellish legion sallied.

  As bees bizz out wi’ angry fyke,

  When plundering herds assail their byke;

  195

  As open pussie’s mortal foes,

  When, pop! she starts before their nose;

  As eager runs the market-crowd,

  When ‘Catch the thief!’ resounds aloud;

  So Maggie runs, the witches follow,

  200

  Wi’ mony an eldritch skreech and hollow.

  Ah, Tam! Ah, Tam! thou’ll get thy fairin!

  In hell they’ll roast thee like a herrin!

  In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin!

  Kate soon will be a woefu’ woman!

  205

  Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg,

  And win the key-stane of the brig;

  There at them thou thy tail may toss,

  A running stream they dare na cross.

  But ere the key-stane she could make,

  210

  The fient a tail she had to shake!

  For Nannie, far before the rest,

  Hard upon noble Maggie prest,

  And flew at Tam wi’ furious ettle;

  But little wist she Maggie’s mettle –

  215

  Ae spring brought off her master hale,

  But left behind her ain gray tail:

  The carlin claught her by the rump,

  And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.

  Now, wha this tale o’ truth shall read,

  220

  Ilk man and mother’s son, take heed:

  Whene’er to drink you are inclin’d,

  Or cutty-sarks run in your mind,

  Think, ye may buy the joys o’er dear,

  Remember Tam o’ Shanter’s mare.

  1792ROBERT BURNS Song

  Ae fond kiss, and then we sever;

  Ae fareweel, and then for ever!

  Deep in heart-wrung tears I’ll pledge thee,

  Warring sighs and groans I’ll wage thee. –

  Who shall say that Fortune grieves him,

  While the star of hope she leaves him:

  Me, nae chearful twinkle lights me;

  Dark despair around benights me. –

  I’ll ne’er blame my partial fancy,

  Naething could resist my Nancy:

  But to see her, was to love her;

  Love but her, and love for ever. –

  Had we never lov’d sae kindly,

  Had we never lov’d sae blindly!

  Never met – or never parted,

  We had ne’er been broken-hearted. –

  Fare-thee-weel, thou first and fairest!

  Fare-thee-weel, thou best and dearest!

  Thine be ilka joy and treasure,

  Peace, Enjoyment, Love and Pleasure! –

  Ae fond kiss, and then we sever!

  Ae fareweel, Alas, for ever!

  Deep in heart-wrung tears I’ll pledge thee,

  Warring sighs and groans I’ll wage thee. –

  WILLIAM BLAKE from Visions of the Daughters of Albion 1793

  Then Oothoon waited silent all the day. and all the night,

  PLATE 5

  But when the morn arose, her lamentation renewd,

  The Daughters of Albion hear her woes, & eccho back her sighs.

  O Urizen! Creator of men! mistaken Demon of heaven:

  Thy joys are tears! thy labour vain, to form men to thine image.

  How can one joy absorb another? are not different joys

  Holy, eternal, infinite! and each joy is a Love.

  Does not the great mouth laugh at a gift? & the narrow eyelids mock

  At the labour that is above payment, and wilt thou take the ape

  For thy councellor? or the dog, for a schoolmaster to thy children?

  Does he who contemns poverty, and he who turns with abhorrence

  From usury feel the same passion or are they moved alike?

  How can the giver of gifts experience the delights of the merchant?

  How the industrious citizen the pains of the husbandman.

  How different far the fat fed hireling with hollow drum;

  Who buys whole corn fields into wastes, and sings upon the heath:

  How different their eye and ear! how different the world to them!

  With what sense does the parson claim the labour of the farmer?

  What are his nets & gins & traps. & how does he surround him

  With cold floods of abstraction, and with forests of solitude,

  To build him castles and high spires where kings & priests may dwell.

  Till she who burns with youth and knows no fixed lot; is bound

  In spells of law to one she loaths: and must she drag the chain

  Of life, in weary lust: must chilling murderous thoughts, obscure

  The clear heaven of her eternal spring? to bear the wintry rage

  Of a harsh terror driv’n to madness, bound to hold a rod

  Over her shrinking shoulders all the day; & all the night

  To turn the wheel of false desire: and longings that wake her womb

  To the abhorred birth of cherubs in the human form

  That live a pestilence & die a meteor & are no more.

  Till the child dwell with one he hates and do the deed he loaths

  And the impure scourge force his seed into its unripe birth

  E’er yet his eyelids can behold the arrows of the day.

  PLATE 6

  Does the whale worship at thy footsteps as the hungry dog?

  Or does he scent the mountain prey, because his nostrils wide

  Draw in the ocean? does his eye discern the flying cloud

  As the ravens eye? or does he measure the expanse like the vulture?

  Does the still spider view the cliffs where eagles hide their young?

  Or does the fly rejoice, because the harvest is brought in?

  Does not the eagle scorn the earth & despise the treasures beneath?

  But the mole knoweth what is there, & the worm shall tell it thee.