Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, 130 The precepts sage they wrote to many a land: Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand; How he, who lone in Patmos banished, And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounc'd by Heaven's com mand. Then kneeling down, to Heaven's Eternal King, The saint, the father, and the husband prays: Hope springs exulting on triumphant wing," 66 That thus they all shall meet in future days: There ever bask in uncreated rays, 135 140 No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, Together hymning their Creator's praise, In such society, yet still more dear; While circling Time moves round in an eternal sphere. Compar'd with this, how poor Religion's pride, 145 In all the pomp of method, and of art, When men display to congregations wide 150 But haply, in some cottage far apart, May hear, well pleas'd, the language of the soul; And in his Book of Life the inmates poor enrol. Then homeward all take off their sev'ral way; 155 The parent-pair their secret homage pay, And proffer up to Heav'n the warm request, 160 From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs, The cottage leaves the palace far behind; O Scotia ! my dear, my native soil! For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent! Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil 165 170 Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content! 175 And, Oh, may Heaven their simple lives prevent From luxury's contagion, weak and vile; Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, A virtuous populace may rise the while, And stand a wall of fire around their much-lov'd Isle. 180 O Thou! who pour'd the patriotic tide That stream'd thro' Wallace's undaunted heart; Who dar'd to nobly stem tyrannic pride, Or nobly die, the second glorious part, (The patriot's God, peculiarly thou art, His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!) O never, never, Scotia's realm desert, But still the patriot, and the patriot-bard, In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard! 185 TAM O' SHANTER. A TALE Of Brownyis and of Bogilis full is this Buke. GAWIN DOUGLAS. WHEN chapman billies leave the street, As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice! 5 IO 15 O Tam! hadst thou but been sae wise, She tauld thee weel thou wast a skellum, A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum; 20 Ae market-day thou was nae sober; Thou sat as lang as thou had siller; 25 That at the Lord's house, ev'n on Sunday, Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither; 45 50 55 Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane, That dreary hour he mounts his beast in; 70 And sic a night he taks the road in, As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; The rattling show'rs rose on the blast; The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd; 75 Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd: Whiles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares, 85 Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry. By this time he was cross the ford, Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing; And loud resounded mirth and dancing. Inspiring bold John Barleycorn ! What dangers thou canst make us scorn! The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle, 92 95 100 105 ΙΙΟ |