| |
| NOW mirk December’s dowie face | |
| Glowrs owr the rigs wi’ sour grimace, | |
| While, thro’ his minimum of space, | |
| The bleer-ey’d sun, | |
| Wi’ blinkin’ light and stealing pace, | 5 |
| His race doth run. | |
| |
| From naked groves nae birdie sings; | |
| To shepherd’s pipe nae hillock rings; | |
| The breeze nae od’rous flavour brings | |
| From Borean cave; | 10 |
| And dwyning Nature droops her wings, | |
| Wi’ visage grave. | |
| |
| Mankind but scanty pleasure glean | |
| Frae snawy hill or barren plain, | |
| Whan Winter, ’midst his nipping train, | 15 |
| Wi’ frozen spear, | |
| Sends drift owr a’ his bleak domain, | |
| And guides the weir. | |
| |
| Auld Reikie! thou’rt the canty hole, | |
| A bield for mony a caldrife soul, | 20 |
| Wha snugly at thine ingle loll, | |
| Baith warm and couth; | |
| While round they gar the bicker roll | |
| To weet their mouth. | |
| |
| When merry Yule-day comes, I trow, | 25 |
| You’ll scantlins find a hungry mou; | |
| Sma’ are our cares, our stamacks fou | |
| O’ gusty gear, | |
| And kickshaws, strangers to our view, | |
| Sin’ fairn-year. | 30 |
| |
| Ye browster wives! now busk ye bra, | |
| And fling your sorrows far awa’; | |
| Then, come and gie’s the tither blaw | |
| O’ reaming ale, | |
| Mair precious than the Well of Spa, | 35 |
| Our hearts to heal. | |
| |
| Then, tho’ at odds wi’ a’ the warl’, | |
| Amang oursells we’ll never quarrel; | |
| Tho’ Discord gie a canker’d snarl | |
| To spoil our glee, | 40 |
| As lang’s there’s pith into the barrel | |
| We’ll drink and ’gree. | |
| |
| Fiddlers! your pins in temper fix, | |
| And roset weel your fiddlesticks, | |
| But banish vile Italian tricks | 45 |
| From out your quorum, | |
| Nor fortes wi’ pianos mix— | |
| Gie’s Tullochgorum. | |
| |
| For nought can cheer the heart sae weel | |
| As can a canty Highland reel; | 50 |
| It even vivifies the heel | |
| To skip and dance: | |
| Lifeless is he wha canna feel | |
| Its influence. | |
| |
| Let mirth abound; let social cheer | 55 |
| Invest the dawning of the year; | |
| Let blithesome innocence appear | |
| To crown our joy; | |
| Nor envy, wi’ sarcastic sneer, | |
| Our bliss destroy. | 60 |
| |
| And thou, great god of aqua vitae! | |
| Wha sways the empire of this city— | |
| When fou we’re sometimes capernoity— | |
| Be thou prepar’d | |
| To hedge us frae that black banditti, | 65 |
| The City Guard. | |
| |
