TH

HE wintry west extends his blast,

And hail and rain does blaw;

Or, the stormy north sends driving forth.

The blinding sleet and snaw:

While tumbling brown, the burn comes down,

And roars frae bank to brae:

And bird and beast in covert rest,

And pass the heartless day.

"The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast," The joyless winter-day,

Let others fear, to me more dear

Than all the pride of May:

The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul,

My griefs it seems to join;

The leafless trees my fancy please,

Their fate resembles mine!

Thou power Supreme, whose mighty scheme

These woes of mine fulfil,

Here, firm, I rest, they must be best,

Because they are Thy will!

Then all I want (oh, do Thou grant

This one request of mine!)

Since to enjoy Thou dost deny,

Assist me to resign.

The Cotter's Saturday Night.'

INSCRIBED TO ROBERT AIKEN, ESQ.

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 Aiken in a cottage would have been ;

Ah! though his worth unknown, far happier there, I ween!

November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh;

The short'ning winter-day is near a close;
The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh;

The black'ning 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 and glee.
His wee bit ingle, blinking bonnily,

His clean hearthstane, his thrifty wifie's smile,
The lisping infant prattling on his knee,

Does a' his weary carking cares beguile,

And makes him quite forget his labour and his toil.

Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in,

At service out, among the farmers roun':
Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin
A canny errand to a neibor town:

Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown,

In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her ee, 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.

Wi' joy unfeign'd, brothers and sisters meet,
And each for other's weelfare kindly speers :
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 and her shears,

Gars auld claes look amaist as weel 's the new

The father mixes a' wi' admonition due.

The Cotter's Saturday Night.

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

And mind their labours 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 ee, and flush her cheek,
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 strappin' 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 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.