And hail'd the morning with a cheer,
A cottage roufing craw;

But deep this truth imprefs'd my mind-
Thro' all his works abroad,

The heart benevolent and kind

The most refembles GOD.

EPISTLE

ΤΟ

DAVIE,

A BROTHER POET.

January

I.

WHILE winds frae off Ben-Lomond blaw,

And bar the doors wi' driving fnaw,

And hing us, owre the ingle,

I fet me down to pass the time
And fpin a verfe or twa' o' rhyme,
In hamely, weftlin jingle.
While frofty winds blaw in the drift,
Ben to the chimla lug,

I grudge a wee the Great-folk's gift,
That live fae bien an' fnug:

I tent lefs, and want lefs
Their roomy fire-fide;
But hanker, and canker,

To fee their curfed pride.

II.

Tis hardly in a body's pow'r

To keep, at times, frae being four,
To fee how things are fhar'd

How beft o'chiels are whyles in want,

While Coofs on countless thousands rant

And ken na how to wair't:

But Davie, lad, ne'er fafh your head,
Tho' we hae little gear,

We're fit to win our daily bread,
As lang's we're hale and fier:
"Mair fpier na, nor fear na,"
Auld age ne'er mind a feg;
The last o't, the worst o't,
Is only but to beg.

III.

To lie in kilns and barns at e'en,

When banes are craz'd, and bluid is thin,

Is, doubtlefs, great diftrefs!

Yet then Content could make us bleft; Ev'n then, fometimes, we'd fnatch a tafte O' trueft happiness.

The honeft heart that's free frae a'

Intended fraud or guile,
However Fortune kick the ba',

Has ay fome caufe to fmile:
An' mind ftill you'll find ftill
A comfort that's nae fia';
Nae mair then we'll care then,
Nae farther we can fa’.

IV.

What tho' like Commoners of air,
We wander out, we know not where,
But either house or hal'?

Yet Nature's charms, the hills and woods,
The sweeping vales and foaming floods,
Are free alike to all.

In days when Daifies deck the ground,
And black-birds whiftle clear,
With honeft joy our hearts will bound,
To fee the coming year :

On breas when we pleafe, then,
We'll fit and fowth a tune;
Syne rhyme till't we'll time til't,
An' fing't when we hae done.

V.

'Tis no in titles nor in rank;

'Tis no in wealth like Lon'on Bank,
To purchase peace and reft;
'Tis no in makin' muckle mair:
"Tis no in books, 'tis no in lear,
To make us truly bleft:
If Happiness hae not her feat

And centre in the breast,

We may be wife

or rich, or great,

But never can be bleft:

Nae treafures nor pleasures
Could make us happy lang;
The beart ay's the part ay

That makes us right or wrang.

VI.

Think ye, that fick as you and I, 277 Wha drudge and drive thro' wet and dry,bas Wi' never-ceafing toil

Think ye are we lefs bleft than they, bombay Wha fcarcely tent us in their way,

As hardly worth their while?
Alas! how aft, in haughty mood,

GOD's creatures they oppreís bad but
Or elfe, neglecting a' that's guid,
They riot in excess !

Baith carelefs and fearless

Of either Heaven or Hell;
Elteeming, and deeming

'Tis a' an idle tale!

VII

Then let us chearfu' acquiefce,
Nor make our fcanty Pleafares lefs,
By pining at our ftate:

And, ev'n fhould Misfortunes come,
I here wha fit hae met wi' fome,
An's thankfu' for them yet;
They gie the wit o' Age to Youth!
They let us ken ourfel;

They make us fee the naked truth,

The real guid and ill :

Tho' loffes and croffes

Be leffous right fevere;

There's wit there, ye'll get there,

Ye'll find nae other where.

d