IV.

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 shew a bra' new gown,

V.

Wi' Joy unfeigned brothers and sisters meet,

An' 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;
Anticipation forward points the view.
The mother, wi' her needle an' her shears,

Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new ;
The father mixes a' wi' admonition due.

"An' O, 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!"

VI.

Their master's an' their mistress's command,
The younkers a' are warned to obey;
And mind their labors wi' an eydent hand,
And ne'er, though out o'sight, to jauk or play;

IX.

O happy love! where love like this is found!
O 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

Or deposit her sair-won penny-fee,

In other's arms breathe out the tender tale,

To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the even

ing gale.

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' an' sae

grave;

Weel pleased to think her bairn 's respected like the lave.

X.

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 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 distrac tion wild?

XI.

But now the supper crowns their simple board,
The halesome parritch, chief o' Scotia's food;

XII.

The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face,
They, round the ingle, form a circle wide;
The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace,

The soupe their only hawkie does afford,

That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood; The dame brings forth, in complimental mood, Tograce the lad, her weel-hained kebbuck fell, An' aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid;

No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, Together hymning their Creator's praise, In such society, yet still more dear;

The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell,

flow 't was a towmond auld, sin' lint was i' the While circling Time moves round in an eternal

bell.

sphere.

Hope "springs exulting on triumphant wing,"
That thus they all shall meet in future days;
There ever bask in uncreated rays,

XVII.

Compared with this, how poor Religion's pride,
In all the pomp of method and of art,
When men display to congregations wide,

Devotion's every grace, except the heart!
The Power, incensed, the pageant will desert,

The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole ; But, haply, in some cottage far apart,

May hear, well pleased, the language of the soul;

And in his Book of Life the inmates poor enroll.

XVIII.

Then homeward all take off their several way;
The youngling cottagers retire to rest :
The parent-pair their secret homage pay,

And proffer up to heaven the warm request,
That He who stills the raven's clamorous nest,

And decks the lily fair in flowery pride, Would, in the way his wisdom sees the best,

For them and for their little ones provide; But, chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine pre

side.

XIX.

From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs,

That makes her loved at home, revered abroad; Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, "An honest man's the noblest work of God!" And certes, in fair Virtue's heavenly road,

The cottage leaves the palace far behind : What is a lordling's pomp? —a cumbrous load, Disguising oft the wretch of human kind, Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refined!

XX.

O Scotia! my dear, my native soil!

For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent,

Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil

Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet

content!

And, O, 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-loved

isle.