Belyve the elder bairns come drappin in,

At service out, amang the farmers roun';
Some ca’ the pleugh, some herd, some tentiea rin

A cannie errand to a neebour town;
Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown,

In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e, Comes hame, perhaps, to show a braw new gown,

Or deposite her sair-won penny-fee,
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 spiers ;
The social hours, swift wing'd, unnoticed fleet;

Each tells the uncosc that he sees or hears ; The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years;

Anticipation forward points the view. The mother, wi' her needle an' her sheers,

Garsd auld claese look amaist as weel's the new ; The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. Their masters' and their mistresses' command,

Their younkers a' are wamed to obey; An' mind their labours wi' an eydent' hand,

An' ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk or play; 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!

The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face,

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 reverently is laid aside,

His lyarta haffets wearin thin and 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.

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.

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 preside.

BURNS.

A MOTHER'S DEATH.

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Then died lamented, in the strength of life,
A valued Mother, and a faithful Wife;
Call’d not away, when time had loosed each hold
On the fond heart, and each desire grew cold;

But when to all that knit us to our kind,
She felt fast bound, as charity can bind ;-
Not when the ills of age, its pain, its care,

,
The drooping spirit for its fate prepare ;
And, each affection failing, leave the heart
Loosed from life's charms, and willing to depart ;-
But all her ties the strong invader broke,
In all their strength, by one tremendous stroke:
Sudden and swift the eager pest came on,
And terror grew, till every hope was gone :
Still those around appeared for hope to seek !
But viewed the sick, and were afraid to speak.

Slowly they bore, with solemn step, the dead :-
When grief grew loud, and bitter tears were shed,
My part began; a crowd drew near the place,
Awe in each eye, alarm in every face:
So swift the ill, and of so fierce a kind,
That fear, with pity, mingled in each mind;
Friends with the husband came, their griefs to blend ;
For good-man Frankford was to all a friend.
The last-born boy they held above the bier,
He knew not grief, but cries expressed his fear :
Each different age and sex revealed its pain,
In now a louder, now a lower strain ;
While the meek father, listening to their tones,
Swelled the full cadence of the grief by groans.
The elder sister strove her pangs to hide,
And soothing words to younger minds applied :
“Be still, be patient,” oft she strove to say ;
But failed as oft, and weeping turned away.

Curious and sad, upon the fresh-dug hill,
The village lads stood melancholy, still ;
And idle children, wandering to-and-fro,
As nature guided, took the tone of woe.