Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail, Downward they move, a melancholy band, Pass from the shore, and darken all the strand. Contented toil, and hospitable care, And kind connubial tenderness, are there; And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid, 400 405 410 That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so ; Thou guide by which the nobler arts excel, 415 Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well! 420 425 That trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay, While self-dependent power can time defy, 430 BURNS. THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. My lov'd, my honor'd, much respected friend! 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! tho' 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, Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend. At length his lonely cot appears in view, Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher through His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonilie, 5 IO 15 20 His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie wifie's smile, The lisping infant prattling on his knee, 25 An' makes him quite forget his labor an' his toil. Belyve the elder bairns come drapping in, In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e, To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. Wi' joy unfeign'd brothers and sisters meet, An' each for other's weelfare kindly speirs: The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnotic'd fleet; Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears; The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years; Anticipation forward points the view. 40 The mother wi' her needle an' her sheers Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new; They never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright!' 55 But hark! a rap comes gently to the door; The wily mother sees the conscious flame Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek; With heart-struck, anxious care, inquires his name, While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak; Weel pleas'd the mother hears, it's nae wild, worthless rake. Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben; A strappan youth; he takes the mother's eye; Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en; The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye. 65 60 114 The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy, 70 What makes the youth sae bashfu' an' sae grave; Weel-pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the lave. O happy love! where love like this is found! And sage experience bids me this declare-- 'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair 75 In other's arms breathe out the tender tale So Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the 'ev'ning gale.' Is there, in human form, that bears a heart-- . Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth? 85 Points to the parents fondling o'er their child? 90 But now the supper crowns their simple board, The healsome parritch, chief o' Scotia's food : The soupe their only Hawkie does afford, That 'yont the hallen snugly chows her cood; 95 To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuck, fell, An' aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid; How 'twas a towmond auld, sin' lint was i' the bell. The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face 100 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 rev'rently is laid aside, His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bare; 105 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 air. They chant their artless notes in simple guise ; The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays : The tickl'd ears no heart-felt raptures raise ; Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. The priest-like father reads the sacred page, With Amalek's ungracious progeny ; Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire; Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme; How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed; How He, who bore in heaven the second name, Had not on earth whereon to lay his Head; How is first followers and servants sped; ΠΟ 115 120 125 130 The precepts sage they wrote to many a land; How he, who lone in Patmos banished, Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand; And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounced by Heaven's command. Then kneeling down, to Heaven's Eternal King No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, While circling Time moves round in an eternal sphere. 140 115 |