The sun had slipped.
[David Vedder.—From "The Edinburgh Literary Gazette," vol. II. 1830.]
The sun had slipped ayont the hill,
The darg was done in barn an' byre;
The carle himsel', come hame frae the mill,
Was luntin' his cutty before the fire:
The lads and lasses had just sitten down,
The hearth was sweepit fu' canty an' clean,
When the cadgie laird o' Windlestraetown
Cam' in for till haud his Hallowe'en.
The gudewife beck'd, the carle boo'd;
In owre to the deas the laird gaed he;
The swankies a', they glowr'd like wud,
The lasses leugh i' their sleeves sae slee;
An' sweet wee Lilias was unco fear'd,
Tho' she blumed like a rose in a garden green;
An' sair she blush'd when she saw the laird
Come there for till haud his Hallowe'en!
"Now haud ye merry," quo' Windlestraetown,
"I downa come here your sport to spill,—
Rax down the nits, ye unco like loon,
For though I am auld, I am gleesome still:
An' Lilias, my pet, to burn wi' me,
Ye winna be sweer, right weel I ween,
However it gangs my fate I'll dree,
Since here I am haudin' my Hallowe'en."
The pawky auld wife, at the chimly-cheek,
Took courage an' spak', as a mither should do;
"Noo baud up yere head, my dochter meek,—
A laird comesna here ilk night to woo!
He'll mak' you a lady, and that right soon,
I dreamt it twice owre, I'm sure, yestreen."—
"A bargain be't," quo' Windlestraetown,—
"It's lucky to book on Hallowe'en!"
"I'll stick by the nits, for better, for waur,—
Will ye do the like, my bonny May?
Ye sall shine at my board like the gloamin' star,
An' gowd in gowpins ye's ha'e for aye!" —
The nits are cannilie laid on the ingle,
Weel, weel are they tented wi' anxious e'en;
And sweetlie in ase thegither they mingle:
"Not blessed for aye be this Hallowe'en!"