"If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, One cordial, in this melancholy vale, 'T is when a youthful, loving, modest pair, In other's arms breathe out the tender tale, Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale." Is there, in human form, that bears a heart, Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth? Points to the parents fondling o'er their child, Then paints the ruined maid, and their distraction wild? But now the supper crowns their simple board, The halesome parritch, chief of Scotia's food; The soup their only hawkie does afford, That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood : The dame brings forth, in complimental mood, Το grace the lad, her weel-hained kebbuck fell, An' aft he 's pressed, an' aft he ca's it guid; The frugal wifie garrulous will tell, The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, His bonnet reverently is laid aside, His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bare; 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. 346 THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. They chant their artless notes in simple guise; They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim; Perhaps "Dundee's" wild-warbling measures rise, Or plaintive "Martyrs," worthy of the name; Or noble "Elgin " beats the heavenward flame, The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays: Compared with these, Italian trills are tame; The tickled ear 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, Or Job's pathetic plaint and wailing cry; Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire; Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. 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 his first followers and servants sped, 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 Babylon's doom pronounced by Heaven's command. Then kneeling down, to heaven's eternal King, The saint, the father, and the husband prays : Hope "springs exulting on triumphant wing,' That thus they all shall meet in future days; There ever bask in uncreated rays 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. Compared with this, how poor religion's pride, May hear, well pleased, the language of the soul; And in his book of life the inmates poor enroll. Then homeward all take off their several way; And proffer up to Heaven the warm request, For them and for their little ones provide; But chiefly in their hearts with grace divine preside. From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs, The cottage leaves the palace far behind; 348 DISDAIN RETURNED. 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. O Thou, who poured the patriotic tide That streamed through Wallace's undaunted Who dared to nobly stem tyrannic pride, But still the patriot, and the patriot bard, HE that loves a rosie cheek, Or from star-like eyes doth seek But a smooth and steadfast mind, LAKE, WITH LAWNY BANKS THAT SLOPE "LAKE, with lawny banks that slope To the water's edge, Softly rustles the wind thro' Thy long grass and sedge. "Thou hadst been a gem of earth Couched amid these hills, But some evil water-sprite "Whence thy hidden life is drawn. Why thus fretteth he, Lightly by a ruffling wind Were the waters pressed, Be it genie, be it fate, I know not, but know That the waves from yonder stream |