Now a' the congregation o'er Is silent expectation: For Moodie speels the holy door, Should Hornie, as in ancient days, The vera sight o' Moodie's face, Wi' fright that day. Hear how he clears the points o' faith Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath, His lengthen'd chin, his turn'd-up snout, On sic a day. But, hark! the tent has chang❜d its voice; There's peace an' rest nae langer: For a' the real judges rise, They canna sit for anger. Smith opens out his cauld harangues, On practice and on morals; An' aff the godly pour in thrangs, To gie the jars an' barrels A lift that day. What signifies his barren shine, Or some auld pagan heathen, That's right that day. In guid time comes an antidote An' meek an' mim has view'd it, While Common-Sense has ta'en the road, An' aff, an' up the Cowgate,* Fast, fast, that day. Wee Miller, neist the guard relieves, Tho' in his heart he weel believes, An' thinks it auld wives' fables: But, faith! the birkie wants a manse, Altho' his carnal wit an' sense Like hafflins-ways o'ercomes him At times that day. * A street so called, which faces the tent in Mauchline. Now but an' ben, the Change-house fills, Wi' yill-caup commentators : Here's crying out for bakes and gills, An' there the pint stowp clatters; While thick an' thrang, an' loud an' lang, Wi' logic, an' wi' scripture, They raise a din, that, in the end, Is like to breed a rupture O' wrath that day. Leeze me on drink! it gies us mair It kindles wit, it waukens lair, It never fails, on drinking deep, To kittle up our notion By night or day. The lads an' lasses, blythely bent To mind baith saul an' body, Sit round the table, weel content, An' steer about the toddy. On this ane's dress, an' that ane's leuk, An' formin' assignations To meet some day. But now the L-d's ain trumpet touts, Till a' the hills are rairin', An' echoes back return the shouts : His piercing words, like Highlan' swords, His talk o' Hell, whare devils dwell, Our vera sauls does harrow* Wi' fright that day. A vast, unbottom'd, boundless pit, The half asleep start up wi' fear, Asleep that day. 'Twad be owre lang a tale, to tell How monie stories past, An' how they crowded to the yill, When they were a' dismist: How drink gaed round, in cogs an' caups, Amang the furms an' benches: An' cheese an' bread, frae women's laps, Was dealt about in lunches, An' dawds that day. * Shakspeare's Hamlet. In comes a gaucie, gash guidwife, An' sits down by the fire, Syne draws her kebbuck an' her knife, The auld guidmen, about the grace, Till some ane by his bonnet lays, Fu' lang that day. Waesucks! for him that gets nae lass, Let lasses be affronted On sic a day! Now Clinkumbell, wi' rattlin tow, Begins to jow an' croon ; Some swagger hame, the best they dow, Some wait the afternoon. At slaps the billies halt a blink, Till lasses strip their shoon: Wi' faith an' hope, an' love an' drink, They're a' in famous tune For crack that day. |