[Footnote 3:  A noted cavern near Colean house, called the Cove of Colean; which, as well as Cassilis Downans, is famed, in country story, for being a favorite haunt of fairies.—­R.B.]

     Amang the bonie winding banks,
     Where Doon rins, wimplin, clear;
     Where Bruce^4 ance rul’d the martial ranks,
     An’ shook his Carrick spear;
     Some merry, friendly, countra-folks
     Together did convene,
     To burn their nits, an’ pou their stocks,
     An’ haud their Halloween
     Fu’ blythe that night.

     [Footnote 4:  The famous family of that name, the ancestors
     of Robert, the great deliverer of his country, were Earls of
     Carrick.—­R.B.]

     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 trig, 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 an’ foremost, thro’ the kail,
     Their stocks^5 maun a’ be sought ance;

[Footnote 5:  The first ceremony of Halloween is pulling each a “stock,” or plant of kail.  They must go out, hand in hand, with eyes shut, and pull the first they meet with:  its being big or little, straight or crooked, is prophetic of the size and shape of the grand object of all their spells—­the husband or wife.  If any “yird,” or earth, stick to the root, that is “tocher,” or fortune; and the taste of the “custock,” that is, the heart of the stem, is indicative of the natural temper and disposition.  Lastly, the stems, or, to give them their ordinary appellation, the “runts,” are placed somewhere above the head of the door; and the Christian names of the people whom chance brings into the house are, according to the priority of placing the “runts,” the names in question.—­R.  B.]

     They steek their een, and grape an’ wale
     For muckle anes, an’ straught anes. 
     Poor hav’rel Will fell aff the drift,
     An’ wandered thro’ 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 custock’s sweet or sour,
     Wi’ joctelegs they taste them;
     Syne coziely, aboon the door,
     Wi’ cannie care, they’ve plac’d them
     To lie that night.

     The lassies staw frae ‘mang them a’,
     To pou their stalks o’ corn;^6
     But Rab slips out, an’ jinks about,
     Behint the muckle thorn: 
     He grippit Nelly hard and fast: 
     Loud skirl’d a’ the lasses;
     But her tap-pickle maist was lost,
     Whan kiutlin in the fause-house^7
     Wi’ him that night.