They footed owre the watery glass so neat,
The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet:
While arts of Minstrelsy among them rung,
And soul-ennobling bards heroic ditties sung.
O had M'Lauchlan*, thairm-inspiring Sage,
Been there to hear this heavenly band engage,
When through his dear Strathspeys they bore with
Highland rage,

Or when they struck auld Scotia's melting airs,
The lover's raptured joys or bleeding cares;
How would his Highland lug been nobler fired,
And even his matchless hand with finer touch inspired!
No guess could tell what instrument appear'd,
But all the soul of Music's self was heard;
Harmonious concert rung in every part,

While simple melody pour'd moving on the heart.

The Genius of the Stream in front appears,

A venerable Chief advanced in years;
His hoary head with water-lilies crown'd,
His manly leg with garter tangle bound.
Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring,
Sweet Female Beauty hand in hand with Spring;
Then, crown'd with flowery hay, came Rural Joy,
And Summer, with his fervid-beaming eye:
All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn,
Led yellow Autumn wreath'd with nodding corn;
Then Winter's time-bleach'd locks did hoary show,
By Hospitality with cloudless brow;

Next follow'd Courage with his martial stride,
From where the Feal wild-woody coverts hide;

* A well-known performer of Scottish music on the violin.

Benevolence, with mild, benignant air,

A female form, came from the towrs of Stair:
Learning and Worth in equal measures trode
From simple Catrine, their long-loved abode :
Last, white-robed Peace, crowned with a hazel wreath,
To rustic Agriculture did bequeath

The broken iron instruments of death;

[wrath. At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kindling

THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT.

TO R. A****, ESQ.

INSCRIBED

My loved, my honour'd, much respected friend!
No mercenary bard his homage pays;
With honest pride I scorn each selfish end;

My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise:
To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays,

The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene;
The native feelings strong, the guileless ways;
What A**** in a cottage would have been;
Ah! though his worth unknown, far happier there,
I ween.

November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh;
The shortening winter-day is near a close;
The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh;
The blackening trains o' craws to their repose;
The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes;
This night his weekly moil is at an end,
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes,
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 an' glee. His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonnily,

His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie wifie's smile, The lisping infant prattling on his knee,

Does a' his weary carking cares beguile, An' maks him quite forget his labour an' 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 neebor town:

Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown,

In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her ee, Comes hame, perhaps, to shew a braw new gown, Or deposit her sair-won penny-fee,

To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. Wi' joy unfeign'd brothers and sisters meet,

An' each for other's welfare kindly spiers: The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnoticed fleet; Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears: The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years; Anticipation forward points the view.

The mother, wi' her needle an' her sheers,

Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new ;

The father mixes a' wi' admonition due.

Their master's an' their mistress's command,
The younkers a' are warned to obey;

"An' mind their labours wi' an eydent hand,
An' ne'er, though out o' sight, to jauk or play:

An' oh! be sure to fear the Lord alway!

An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' 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 neebor 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 ee, and flush her check;
Wi' 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 strappan youth; he taks the mother's eye; Blythe 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 laithfu', scarce can weel behave; The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy

What maks the youth sae bashfu' an' sae grave; Weel pleased to think her bairn's respected like the

lave.

O happy love! where love like this is found!
O heart-felt 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 others' arms breathe out the tender tale, [gale." Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening

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 perjured arts! dissembling smooth!
Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exiled?
Is there no pity, no relenting ruth,

Points to the parents fondling o'er their child? Then paints the ruin'd maid, and their distraction wild?

But now the supper crowns their simple board,
The halesome parritch, chief o' Scotia's food:
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,
An' aft he's prest, an' 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, wi' patriarchal grace,
The big ha' Bible, ance his father's pride:

His bonnet reverently is laid aside,

His lyart haffets wearing thin an' 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

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,

[air.