344 THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. Their master's an' their mistress's command And mind your duty, duly, morn and night! But, hark! a rap comes gently to the door; 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 pleased 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. The youngster's artless heart o'erflows with joy, But blate and laithfu', scarce can weel behave; The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy What makes the youth sae bashfu' and sae grave; Weel pleased to think her bairn 's respected like the lave. O happy love, where love like this is found! THE CCITER'S SATURDAY NIGHT 345 "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 pears 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 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, To 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, How was a towmond auld, sin' lint was i' the bell. The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bare ; 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,— 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; THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. There ever bask in uncreated rays 347 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. way; Then homeward all take off their several For them and for their little ones provide ; 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 heart; Who dared to nobly stem tyrannic pride, But still the patriot, and the patriot bard, DISDAIN RETURNED. He that loves a rosie cheek, Carew. Or from star-like eyes doth seek |