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All countries have enough to serve their need :
Sometimes thou dost divide thy gifts to man,
But who hath praise enough 2 Nay, who hath any : None can express thy works, but he that knows them And none can know thy works, which are so many And so complete, but only he that owns them.
All things that are, though they have several ways,
Each thing that is, although in use and name
She leapt down the rocks
“O, save me! O, guide me,
And under the water
Under the bowers Where the Ocean Powers Sit on their pearlèd thrones, – Through the coral woods Of the weltering floods, Uver heaps of unvalued stones, – Through the dim beams Which amid the streams Weave a net-work of colored light, And under the caves Where the shadowy waves Are as green as the forest's night: — Outspeeding the shark, And the sword-fish dark, Under the ocean-foam, And up through the rifts Of the mountain clifts They passed to their Dorian home. And now from their fountains In Enna's mountains, Down one vale where the morning basks, Like friends once parted, Grown single-hearted, They ply their watery tasks.
342 THE COTTER’s SATURDAY NIGHT.
At sunrise they leap
THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. — Burns,
INSCRIBED to Rob ERT AIKEN, Esq.
My loved, my honored, much respected friend
With honest pride I scorn each selfish end :
To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays,
The native feelings strong, the guileless ways;
Ah! tho’ his worth unknown, far happier there, I ween
November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh;
The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh,
The toil-worn cotter frae his labor goes, – This night his weekly moil is at an end, Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, And weary o'er the moor his course does homeward bend.
At length his lonely cot appears in view, Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ; Th’ expectant wee-things, toddlin', stacher thro' To meet their dad, wi' flichterin’ noise and glee. His wee bit ingle, blinkin’ bonnily, His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie wifie’s smile, The lisping infant prattling on his knee, Does all his weary, karking care beguile, An' makes him quite forget his labor an' his toil.
Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in, At service out, among the farmers roun’; Some ca’ the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin A cannie errand to a neebor town : Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, In youthful bloom, love sparkling in her e'e, Comes hame, perhaps, to show a braw new gown, Or deposit her sair-won penny-fee, To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be.
With joy unseigned, brothers and sisters meet, An° each for other's welfare kindly spiers: The social hours, swift-winged, unnoticed fleet; Each tells the unco's 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.