THE

AULD FARMER'S

NEW YEAR MORNING SALUTATION

TO HIS

AULD MARE, MAGGIE,

ON GIVING HER THE ACCUSTOMED RIPP OF CORN TO

HANSEL IN THE NEW-YEAR.

A guid new-year I wish thee, Maggie !
Hae, there's a ripp to thy auld baggie:
Tho' thou 's howe-backit, now, an' knaggie,

I've seen the day,

Thou could hae gaen like onie staggie

Out-owre the lay.

Tho' now thou's dowie, stiff, an' crazy,
An' thy auld hide as white's a daisy,

I've seen thee dappl't, sleek, an' glaizie,
A bonny gray:

He should been tight that daur't to raize thee,
Ance in a day.

Thou ance was i' the foremost rank,
A filly, buirdly, steeve, an' swank,
An' set weel down a shapely shank,

As e'er tread yird;

An' cou'd hae flown out-owre a stank,

Like ony bird.

It's now some nine-an'-twenty year, Sin thou was my guid-father's meer ; He gied me thee, o' tocher clear,

An' fifty mark;

Tho' it was sma', 'twas weel-won gear,

An' thou was stark.

When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, Ye then was trottin wi' your minnie: Tho' ye was trickie, slee, an' funnie,

Ye ne'er was donsie ;

But hamely, tawie, quiet, an' cannie,

An' unco sonsie.

That day, ye pranc'd wi' muckle pride, When ye bure hame my bonny bride;

An' sweet an' gracefu' she did ride,

Wi' maiden air!

Kyle Stewart I could bragged wide,

For sic a pair.

Tho' now ye dow but hoyte and hoble,

An' wintle like a saumont-coble,

That day ye was a jinker noble,

For heels an' win'!

An' ran them till they a' did wauble,

Far, far, behin'.

When thou an' I were young an' skiegh, An' stable-meals at fairs were driegh,

How thou wad prance, an' snore, an' skriegh,

An' tak the road!

Town's bodies ran, an' stood abeigh,

An' ca't thee mad.

When thou was corn't, an' I was mellow,

We took the road ay like a swallow:

At brooses thou had ne'er a fellow,

For pith an' speed;

But ev'ry tail thou pay't them hollow,

Whare'er thou gaed.

The sma', droop-rumpl't, hunter cattle, Might aiblins waur't thee for a brattle ;

But sax Scotch miles thou try't their mettle,

An' gar't them whaizle:

Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle

O' saugh or hazle.

Thou was a noble fittie-lan'
As e'er in tug or tow was drawn!
Aft thee an' I, in aught hours gaun,

On guid March-weather,

Hae turn'd sax rood beside our han',

For days thegither.

Thou never braindg't, an' fetch't, an' fliskit, But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit, An' spread abreed thy weel-fill'd brisket,

Wi' pith and pow'r,

Till sprittie knowes wad rair't and risket,
An' slypet owre.

When frosts lay lang, an' snaws were deep, An' threaten'd labour back to keep,

I gied thy cog a wee-bit heap

Aboon the timmer

I ken'd my Maggie wad na sleep

For that, or simmer.

In cart or car thou never reestit;
The steyest brae thou wad hae fac't it;
Thou never lap, and sten't, and breastit,

Then stood to blaw;

But just thy step a wee thing hastit,

Thou snoov't awa.

My pleugh is now thy bairntime a'; Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw; Forbye sax mae, I've sell❜t awa,

That thou hast nurst:

They drew me thretteen pund an' twa,

The vera warst.

Monie a sair daurk we twa hae wrought,

An' wi' the weary warl' fought;

An' monie an anxious day, I thought

We wad be beat!