The Holy Fair
Upon a simmer Sunday morn,
When Nature's face is fair,
I walked forth to view the corn
An' snuff the caller air.
The risin' sun owre Galston muirs
Wi' glorious light was glintin,
The hares were hirplin down the furrs,
The lav'rocks they were chantin
Fu' sweet that day.
As lightsomely I glowr'd abroad
To see a scene sae gay,
Three hizzies, early at the road,
Cam skelpin up the way.
Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black,
But ane wi' lyart linin;
The third, that gaed a wee a-back,
Was in the fashion shining
Fu' gay that day.
The twa appear'd like sisters twin
In feature, form, an' claes;
Their visage wither'd, lang an' thin,
An' sour as ony slaes.
The tird cam up, hap-step-an'
-lowp,
As light as ony lambie,
An' wi' a curchie low did stoop,
As soon as e'er she saw me,
Fu' kind that day.
Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, 'Sweet lass,
I think ye seem to ken me;
I'm sure I've seen that bonie face,
But yet I canna name ye.'
Quo' she, an' laughin as she spak,
An' taks me by the han's,
'Ye, for my sake, hae gien the feck
Of a' the ten comman's
A screed some day.
'My name is Fun-your cronie dear,
The nearest friend ye hae;
An' this is Superstitionhere,
An' that's Hypocrisy.
I'm gaun to Mauchline Holy Fair,
To spend an hour in daffin:
Gin ye'll go there, you runkl'd pair,
We will get famous laughin
At them this day.'
Quoth I, 'With a' my heart, I'll do't:
I'll get my Sunday's sark on,
An' meet you on the holy spot;
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poem by Robert Burns
Added by Poetry Lover
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