Читать книгу The Canongate Burns - Robert Burns - Страница 24

on giving her the accustomed ripp of corn to hansel in the new-year

First printed in the Kilmarnock edition, 1786.

A Guid New-Year I wish thee, Maggie!

Hae, there’s a ripp to thy auld baggie: handful, stomach

Tho’ thou’s howe-backit now, an’ knaggie, hollow-backed, knobbly

I’ve seen the day

5 Thou could hae gaen like onie staggie, have gone, any colt

Out-owre the lay. -over, lea

Tho’ now thou’s dowie, stiff, an’ crazy, drooping

An’ thy auld hide as white’s a daisie, old

I’ve seen thee dappl’t, sleek an’ glaizie, glossy

10 A bonie gray:

He should been tight that daur’t to raize thee, able, dared, excite

Ance in a day. once

Thou ance was i’ the foremost rank, once

A filly buirdly, steeve, an’ swank; strong, trim, stately

15 An’ set weel down a shapely shank well, leg

As e’er tread yird; earth

An’ could hae flown out-owre a stank have, -over, ditch

Like onie bird. any

It’s now some nine-an’-twenty year

20 Sin’ thou was my Guidfather’s Meere; father-in-law’s, mare

He gied me thee, o’ tocher clear, gave, dowry

An’ fifty mark; a coin worth 13s 4d

Tho’ it was sma’,’ twas weel-won gear, small, well-won money

An’ thou was stark. strong

25 When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, went

Ye then was trottan wi’ your Minnie: mother

Tho’ ye was trickie, slee, an’ funnie, difficult, sly

Ye ne’er was donsie; mischievous

But hamely, tawie, quiet, an’ cannie, homely, placid, docile

30 An’ unco sonsie. very good-natured

That day, ye pranc’d wi’ muckle pride, great

When ye bure hame my bonie Bride: bore/carried home

An’ sweet an’ gracefu’ she did ride,

Wi’ maiden air!

35 KYLE-STEWART I could bragged wide, boasted the district over

For sic a pair. such

Tho’ now ye dow but hoyte and hobble, can, limp, stumble

An’ wintle like a saumont-coble, twist, salmon-boat

That day, ye was a jinker noble, runner

40 For heels an’ win’! wind

An’ ran them till they a’ did wauble, wobble

Far, far behin’!

When thou an’ I were young and skiegh, proud/fiery

An’ Stable-meals at Fairs were driegh, tedious

45 How thou wad prance, an’ snore, an’ scriegh, would, snort, whinny

An’ tak the road!

Town’s-bodies ran, an’ stood abiegh, out of the way

An’ ca’t thee mad. called

When thou was corn’t, an’ I was mellow, fed

50 We took the road ay like a Swallow:

At Brooses thou had ne’er a fellow, a horse race at a wedding

For pith an’ speed;

But ev’ry tail thou pay’t them hollow, beat

Whare’er thou gaed. went

55 The sma’, droop-rumpl’t, hunter cattle small, short-rumped

Might aiblins waur’t thee for a brattle; perhaps beat, short race

But sax Scotch mile thou try’t their mettle, six

An’ gar’t them whaizle: made, wheeze

Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle no, stick

60 O’ saugh or hazle. willow, hazel

Thou was a noble Fittie-lan’, back left-hand plough horse

As e’er in tug or tow was drawn!

Aft thee an’ I, in aught hours’ gaun, often, any, going

On guid March-weather, good

65 Hae turn’d sax rood beside our han’ have, six quarter acres

For days thegither. together

Thou never braing’t, an’ fetch’t, an’ flisket; plunged, stalled, capered

But thy auld tail thou wad hae whisket, old, would have lashed

An’ spread abreed thy weel-fill’d brisket, across to, breast

70 Wi’ pith an’ pow’r;

Till sprittie knowes wad rair’t, an’ risket, rush-covered knolls were cracked and ripped

An’ slypet owre. smashed over (by plough)

When frosts lay lang, an’ snaws were deep, long, snows

An’ threaten’d labour back to keep,

75 I gied thy cog a wee bit heap gave, feed measure

Aboon the timmer: above the rim

I ken’d my Maggie wad na sleep knew, would not

For that, or Simmer. before summer

In cart or car thou never reestet; baulked

80 The steyest brae thou wad hae fac’t it; steepest hill, would have

Thou never lap, an’ sten’t, an’ breastet, leaped, reared

Then stood to blaw; puff for air

But just thy step a wee thing hastet, a little shortened

Thou snoov’t awa. pushed away

85 My Pleugh is now thy bairn-time a’, my plough-team is your offspring

Four gallant brutes as e’er did draw;

Forbye sax mae I’ve sell’t awa, six more, sold away

That thou hast nurst: nursed

They drew me thretteen pund an’ twa, thirteen pound, two

90 The vera warst.

Monie a sair daurk we twa hae wrought, many, sore day’s work, two, have

An’ wi’ the weary warl’ fought! world

An’ monie an anxious day I thought many

We wad be beat! would

95 Yet here to crazy Age we’re brought,

Wi’ something yet.

An’ think na, my auld trusty Servan’, not, old

That now perhaps thou’s less deservin,

An’ thy auld days may end in starvin; old

100 For my last fow, bushel

A heapet Stimpart, I’ll reserve ane heaped, 8th of a bushel

Laid by for you.

We’ve worn to crazy years thegither; together

We’ll toyte about wi’ ane anither; totter, one another

105 Wi’ tentie care I’ll flit thy tether heedful, change

To some hain’d rig, reserved ground

Whare ye may nobly rax your leather stretch your body

Wi’ sma’ fatigue.

Inevitably, in that now forever lost agrarian world, of all the deep bonds between man and beast, those with horses were the most intimate and profound. Burns’s extraordinary empathy with his horses is everywhere present in his writing and is exemplified by his often naming them as expression of the current state of his own feelings. Thus, for example, the quixotic Rosinante or the disruptively comic, stool-throwing, anti-clerical Jenny Geddes. If Wordsworth needed the rhythmical stimulation of walking to write poetry, Burns discovered more varied, energised rhythms in the saddle. His Excise horse he named Pegasus, that mythical winged icon of poetical creativity. In a sense, however, all his horses had contained these magical energies as can be seen in those astonishing lines (ll. 17–44) of The Epistle to Hugh Parker.

The horse honoured here is not a flyer of that kind, though her young power had allowed her eventually to outpace the lightweight hunters of the gentry in an actual and, hence, political victory. The poem is a deeply moving, heavily vernacularised, monologue by the old man as he parallels the life of his mare and himself. Not the least of Burns’s intentions in the poem is to document the sheer, brutal harshness of the work conditions man and horse had to overcome in order to survive. McGuirk postulates that in part the poem is drawn from Burns’s memories of his father. The poem was probably written in January 1786.