The Ghaist/Chapter 1
THE GHAIST.
CAULD was the night—bleak blow the whistlin wind,
And frae the red nose fell the drizzlin drap,
Whilk the numb'd fingers scantly cou'd dight aft,
Sae dozen't wi' the drift, that thick’ning flew,
In puir auld Gibby's face, an' dang him blin'.
Soir sair he pegl'd, and feught against the storm,
But aft forfaughen turu'd tail to the blast,
Lean'd him upo' his rung, and tuke his treath:
Puir Bawty, whinging, crap o' his lee side,
Wi's tail a-tween his feet, and shuke his lugs—
Gibby's auld-heart was wae for the dumb brute,
An', loutin' down, he hap't him wi' his plaid,
Clappit his head, and cry'd, "Poor fallow whisht;
"And gif I'm spair't to reach some biggit waws,
"Ye's win as near the ingle as mysel',
"And share my supper too-But we maun on—
"The night grows mirker,—an' nae noon nor starne
"We'll see the night. Sae let us face the blast,
"An' to a stay brae set as stout a heart."
Sae cheer't he his pcor bruté, and he was cheer't,
His plaid he fasten't, and he seiz't his kent,
An' to the stay brae his stout heart he set,
An' bauldly met the blast:—lang, lang he gade,
Aften he fell, and raise, and gade again,
Till he dought scarce gang mair.—When (wow, poor body!)
Quite dowf and dozen'd, thro' the drift he saw:
A light dim blinkin', and at last a house :
'T was an auid biggin', that in per'lous times
(Whan fouk rampag'd, an' fought for ilka thing,)
Had been set there to keep aff sudden skaith;
An' in fierce bruliments, wi' weirlike wights,
Hlad stoutly stood—but now 'twas tumblin' down,
O'ercome by Time, fell lown! that a' o'crcomes.—
The moon just glimmerin' thro' a parted cloud,
Shaw'd Gibby what o' the auld wa's remain'd,
And whare the creeping woodbine spread its leaves,
Light shaking wi' ilk blast of winds that blew.
—Blythe, blythe was Gibby, (Bawty too was blythe,)
He chappit at the dore, an' gif he cou'd,
He wad hae whistled too:—but wi' the cauld
Sae davert he, he cou'd na crook his mou'.
The landlord cam'—"Wha's there?"
—"A frien' (quo' Gibby)
"Wha's wantin' lodgin', an' haf dead wi' cauld."
—"Waes me, man! for ye are come o'er late,
"For ilka place I hae's already fu',
"But ae big room—'Deed frien', I necdnae lie t'ye—
"An' that has lang been haunted by a logle,
"That mony a ane has fley'd—I winna bid ye,
"But gif ye like, I'se gi'e a rousing ingle,
"An' mak' ye welcum to't.”
Gibby was cauld but when the ghaist was nam'
The sweat brake on him, an' he shook wi' fear.
"Wow Bawty!"—Then he leuk'd without the dore
Loud blew the storm—but then the ghaist-again
The blast fierce blatterin' rattled in his lugs,
His heart play'd dunt wi' monny a dowie thought,—
Hi fidg't—he look bumbaz't—he sain't himsel'
Crap a thegither—startet like ane craz't;
"I loo nae bogle;—but that awfu’night!
"Alack a day!—deed I maun tak' ye'r offer,
"Tho' I am unco fley't;—but wha can help?
"Gif I gang on, that night wad be my dead;
"And come the ghaist, I shall be dead wi' fear!
"Yet I ne'er harm't it, what need it fash me?
"Maybe it winna!"—Now kind Houp came in,
An' a pude drink drave aff ilk dreary thought.
Whan the lang drawlin' gaunt, an' drowsy e'e,
Shaw't bed-time come, he was led up the stair,
(Whare nc'er a fit for monny a day had gane,)
And thro' an entry, lang and ruinous,
Whare at the auld fail't windows the cauld blast
Garr'd Gibby shiver as he gade alang:
"The dore worth-eaten, creakit on its bands,
And in he steppit, irie, leukin' round
To ilka part he thought might ha'd a ghaist;
Aneath, and yont his bed, and up the lum,
But naething cou'd he see warse than himsel'.
A clear peat ingle bleez't on the hearthstane,
Fore gainst whilk Bawty crap, wagging his tail,
Turn'd him about, and laid him knusly down,
Thinkin' of nowther bogles nor the storin.
"Gilbert, gude 'night—soun' sleep an' a blythe mornin',"
Quo' the gudeman—and partin' steek'd the dore.
Girdy said naithing, but look'd wondrous dowf:
Fast as he cou'd howsever into bed
He gat amang the claise, out o'er the lugs,
An' sain’d himsel', an' swat wi' perfect fright:
Hard luck, alack! that the poor simple lad,
Wha ne'er was harsh to owther man er beast,
And wadnae hurt the very de'il himsel',
Wi' guests should be disturbed.—
The auld dore
Risp'd on its rusty bands. Poor Gibby glowr'd:
Bawty set up a lang and fearsome howl,
An' cour'd aneath the bed; whan, strange to tell!
The fire faughts glanc't sae clear around the room,
Ye might hac gather'd prins: the thinner rair't;
An' wi' an elritch skirl, a fell like sight,
Wi' blude a barken'd, gousty stauk'd alang,
Steer'd up the ingle, ga'e a lang how grane,
An' shook its bloody pow; and thrice it pass'd,
Wi' slaw and heavy stap, by Gibby's bed,
Wha near-hand swarf'd, and scarce cou'd thole the fright.
At length the ghaist the awfu' silence brake;
"Sax tow-monds syne, benightet here like thee,
"Fremit far frae hame, (my hame to see nae mair!)
"Wi gear weel laden, a my ain, dear won:
"O'er dear, alack! The best craft's honesty:
"I wanted to be rich ; let. Knaves tak' tent:
"For when I bless't mysel', and had it snug,
"Mark how it endet. In that vera bed
"I laid my weary limbs, when my base host
"In dead o' night came on me, nae ill dreadin',
"Reav't me of a'; and that nane e'er might ken't,
"He wi' a muckle rung dang out my harns.
"Dy'e see that ugly gash!— But be'na fear't:
"The skybald by his ain ill conscience chas't,
"Did flee the kintra—and nc'er kent the gude o't,—
"Twill mak you rich—Rise up and come awa',
"I'll shew ye whare 'tis bidden. But, now mind me,
"Under that hearth yo'll find my bains,—
"Them tak',
"And see safe yirdet into haly ground;
"Sae sall my wandering spirit be at rest,
"And may'st thou never meet a fate like mine."
Up Gibby raise,—nae daffiu' in his head,
And fallow'd his grim guide; dreary and driegh,
He pass'd the muckle yett. The cauld north win',
That blew sae loud short syne, was now fa‘n lown;
The moon shone clear upo' the new fa'n snaw,
An' made a haflin's day. When they had gane
Thro' twa-three fields, the ghaist at length stapp't short,
And grain't, and wavst his hand.—"Lo! here, (quo he,)
"Ilk bodle lies that ance to me pertain't;
"O! it is little worth whare I hae gane!
"I gi'e it a to you—Mark weel the park:
"And now, be sure, the yearding of my bains
"Dinna mislippen—O remember me!"
Nae mair he said, but whidded out of sight.
Wi' hair on end, and ilks lith and limb
Quakin wi' fear, Gibby to find a meith
Look't a' about, but nowther tree, nor buss,
Nor stane cou'd find, thro'a'the snaw spread waste.
Weary, at last, he'sat him down to sh—t;
"Eh! this (quo'he) will be a special mark!"
Syne back wi' heart mair happy he returned,
To sleep till fair day light.
Clear raise the morn,
When Gibby gaunting turn't him to the light,
And something fand—not sav'ry—whare he lay—
—The bed was shown and the ghaist was flown.