Or when the North his fleecy store

Drove through the sky, I saw grim Nature's visage hoar

Struck thy young eye.

"Or when the deep green-mantled earth
Warm cherished every floweret's birth,
And joy and music pouring forth
In every grove,

I saw thee eye the general mirth
With boundless love.

"When ripened fields, and azure skies,
Called forth the reaper's rustling noise,
I saw thee leave their evening joys,
And lonely stalk,

To vent thy bosom's swelling rise
In pensive walk.

Or wake the bosom-melting throe
With Shenstone's art;
Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow
Warm on the heart.

"Yet all beneath th' unrivalled rose,
The lowly daisy sweetly blows:
Though large the forest's monarch throws
His army shade,

Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows
Adown the glade.

"Then never murmur or repine;
Strive in thy humble sphere to shine;
And trust me, not Potosi's mine,
Nor kings' regard,

Can give a bliss o'ermatching thine,
A rustic Bard.

"To give my counsels all in one

upwards, these mystic themes exercised at all times a peculiar glamour over Burns's imagination. According to the order of precedence on

Halloween, the first ceremony appears to have

been the going out of lad and lassie hand-inhand to the kail-yard, and there, with their eyes shut, pulling each a stock or root of kail. Did earth stick to it, that signified fortune, while, accordingly as the stalk tasted sweet or bitter, the quality of the predestined wife or husband was supposed to be foreshadowed. Another mystic rite was the burning of nuts two and two, when, if they roasted quietly side by side, or if they started apart with a bang, good or evil was prefigured to the courtship. Eating an apple, candle in hand, before a looking-glass, when

The lasses feat, an' cleanly neat,

Mair braw than when they 're fine; Their faces blythe, fu' sweetly kythe, Hearts leal, an' warm, an' kin': The lads sae twig, wi' wooer babs

Weel knotted on their garten, Some unco blate, an' some wi' gabs Gar lasses' hearts gang startin'

Whiles fast at night.

Then, first and foremost, through the kail, Their stocks maun a' be sought ance;

the glass the shadowy semblance of your future partner peering at you over your shoulder. It was in celebration of mysterious ceremonials such as these that Burns penned the following poem, in which as in a magic mirror, though the superstitions themselves have long died out, their memory at least is perpetuated.]

Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain,
The simple pleasures of the lowly train;
To me more dear, congenial to my heart,
One native charm, than all the gloss of art.
GOLDSMITH.

UPON that night when fairies light
On Cassilis Downans dance,
Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze,

On sprightly coursers prance;
Or for Colean the route is ta'en,

Beneath the moon's pale beams; There up the cove to stray and rove, Amang the rocks and streams To sport that night.

Amang the bonnie winding banks

Where Doon rins, wimplin' clear, Where Bruce ance ruled the martial ranks, An' shook the Carrick spear, Some merry, friendly, countra folks Together did convene,

To burn their nits, an' pou their stocks, An' haud their Halloween

Fu' blithe that night.

For muckle anes and straught anes. Poor hav'rel Will fell aff the drift,

An' wandered through the bow-kail, An' pou't, for want o' better shift, A runt was like a sow-tail, Sae bow't that night.

Then, straught or crooked, yird or nane,
They roar an' cry a' throu'ther;
The vera wee things, toddlin', rin

Wi' stocks out-owre their shouther;
An' gif the custoc 's sweet or sour,
Wi' joctelegs they taste them;
Syne cozily, aboon the door,
Wi' cannie care they 've placed them,
To lie that night.

The lasses staw rae 'mang them a'
To pou their stalks o' corn;
But Rab slips out, an' jinks about,
Behint the muckle thorn:
He grippet Nelly hard an' fast:
Loud skirled a' the lasses ;'
But her tap-pickle maist was lost,
When kuittlin' in the fause-house
Wi' him that night.

The auld guidwife's weel-hoordet nits
Are round an' round divided,
And monie lads' and lasses' fates

Are there that night decided :

Some kindle, couthie side by side,
An' burn thegither trimly;
Some start awa' wi' saucy pride,
And jump out-owre the chimlie
Fu' high that night.

Jean slips in twa wi' tentie e'e;
Wha 't was, she wadna tell;
But this is Jock, an' this is me,
She says in to hersel' :

An' aye she win't, an' aye she swat,
I wat she made nae jaukin';
Till something held within the pat,
Guid Lord! but she was quakin'!
But whether 't was the De'il himsel',
Or whether 't was a bauk-en',
Or whether it was Andrew Bell,
She did na wait on talkin'
To spier that night.

As they wad never mair part; Till fuff! he started up the lum, An' Jean had e'en a sair heart To see 't that night.

Poor Willie, wi' his bow-kail runt,

Was brunt wi' primsie Mallie ; An' Mallie, nae doubt, took the drunt,

To be compared to Willie : Mall's nit lap out wi' pridefu' fling,

An' her ain fit it brunt it; While Willie lap, and swoor by jing, 'Twas just the way he wanted

To be that night.

Nell had the fause-house in her min', She pits hersel' an' Rob in ;

In loving bleeze they sweetly join, Till white in ase they 're sobbin' : Nell's heart was dancin' at the view,

She whispered Rob to leuk for 't: Rob, stowlins, prie'd her bonnie mou', Fu' cozie in the neuk for 't,

Unseen that night.

But Merran sat behint their backs,
Her thoughts on Andrew Bell;
She lea'es them gashin' at their cracks,
And slips out by hersel' :
She through the yard the nearest tak's,
An' to the kiln she goes then,
An' darklins grapit for the bauks,
And in the blue-clue throws then,
Right fear't that night.