Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend,

And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend.

At length his lonely cot appears in view,

Beneath the shelter of an aged tree;

Th' expectant wee things, toddlin', stacher through
To meet their dad, wi' flichterin' noise and glee.

His wee bit ingle, blinking bonnily,

His clean hearthstane, his thriftie wifie's smile,
The lisping infant prattling on his knee,
Does a' his weary kiaugh and care beguile,
And makes him quite forget his labor and his toil.

Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in,
At service out, amang the farmers roun':
Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin
A cannie errand to a neibor town:

Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown,
In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e,

Comes hame, perhaps to show a braw new gown, Or deposit her sair-won penny-fee,

To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be.

With joy unfeigned, brothers and sisters meet,
And each for other's weelfare kindly spiers:
The social hours, swift-winged, unnoticed fleet;
Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears;

The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years;

THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 81

Anticipation forward points the view.

The mother, wi' her needle and her shears, Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the newThe father mixes a' wi' admonition due.

Their master's and their mistress's command,
The younkers a' are warnèd to obey;

And mind their labors wi' an eydent hand,

And ne'er, though out o' sight, to jauk or play: "And oh ! be sure to fear the Lord alway! And mind your duty, duly, morn and night!

Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray,

Implore His counsel and assisting might:

They never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright!"

But, hark! a rap comes gently to the door;
Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same,
Tells how a neibor lad cam o'er the moor,

To do some errands, and convoy her hame.
The wily mother sees the conscious flame
Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek;

With heart-struck anxious care inquires his name,

While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak;

Weel pleased the mother hears it's nae wild, worthless rake.

Wi' kindly welcome, Jenny brings him ben;

A strappin' youth; he taks the mother's eye; Blithe Jenny sees the visit's no ill-ta'en;

The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye,

The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy, But blate and lathefu', scarce can weel behave;

The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy What makes the youth sae bashfu' and sae grave : Weel pleased to think her bairn's respected like the lave.

Oh happy love!-where love like this is found!
Oh heartfelt raptures !-bliss beyond compare!
I've paced much this weary, mortal round,
And sage experience bids me this declare :
If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare,
One cordial in this melancholy vale,

"Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair

In other's arms breathe out the tender tale,

Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale.

Is there, in human form, that bears a heart,
A wretch, a villain, lost to love and truth,

That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art,
Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth?
Curse on his perjur'd arts! dissembling smooth!
Are honor, virtue, conscience, all exiled?

Is there no pity, no relenting ruth,

Points to the parents fondling o'er their child?

Then paints the ruined maid, and their distraction wild?

But now the supper crowns their simple board,—

The halesome parritch, chief of Scotia's food;

THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT.

The soupe their only hawkie does afford,

That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood:
The dame brings forth, in complimental mood,
To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuck, fell,
And aft he's prest, and aft he ca's it guid;
The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell,

How 'twas a towmond auld, sin' lint was i' the bell.

The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face,
They, round the ingle, form a circle wide;
The sire turns o'er, with patriarchal grace,
The big ha' Bible, ance his father's pride;
His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside,

His lyart haffets wearing thin and bare;

Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide,

He wales a portion with judicious care;

And "Let us worship GOD!" he says, with solemn air.

They chant their artless notes in simple guise;
They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim.
Perhaps Dundee's wild-warbling measures rise,
Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name,
Or noble Elgin beets the heavenward flame,
The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays :

Compared with these, Italian trills are tame;
The tickled ear no heartfelt raptures raise;
Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise,

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