Monie a fair daurk we twa hae wronght, An' wi'the weary, warl' fought; An' monie an anxious day I thought We wad be beat! Yet here to crazy age we're brought, Wi' fomething yet. An' think na', my old trufty fervan', That now perhaps thou's lefs defervin', An' thy auld days may end in ftarvin', For my last fow, A heapit Stimpart, I'll referve ane Laid by for you We've worn to crazy years thegither; To fome hain'd rig, Whare ye may nobly rax your leather, Wi' fma' fatigue. THE TE R's SATURDAY NIGHT. INSCRIBED TO R. A****, Esq. Let not Ambition mock their ufual toil, My Y lov'd, my honour'd much refpected friend! No mercenary Bard his homage pays; With honeft pride, I fcorn each selfish end, To The lowly train in life's fequefter 'd fcene, The native feelings ftrong, the guilefs ways, What A**** in a Cottage would have been ; Ah! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there I ween! II. November chill blaws loud wi' angry fugh; This night his weekly moil is at an end, bend. III. At length his lonely Cot appears in view, Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ; Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin, ftacher through To meet their Dad, wi flichterin noife and glee, His wee-bit ingle blinkin bonilie, His clean hearth flane, his thrifty Wife's fmile, Belyve, the elder bairns come drappin in, Their eldest hope, their Jeny, woman-grown, To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. V. With joy unfeign'd, brothers and fifters meet, The Mother, wi' her needle aud her fheers, Gars auld claes look amaift as weel's the new; The Father mixes a' wi' admonition due. VI Their Mafter's and their Miftrefs's command And mind their labours wi' an eydent hand, And mind your duty, duely, morn an' night!: • Left in temptation's path ye gang aftray, Implore his counfel and affifting might: They never faught in vain that faught the LORD aright,' VII. But hark! a rap comes gently to the door, The wily mother fees the confcious flame Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flufh her cheek, With heart-ftruck anxious care, enquires his name,› While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak ; Weel pleaf'd the Mother hears, it's nae wild worth lefs rake. VIII. With kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben; A ftrappan youth; he takes the Mother's eye ;Blythe Jenny fees the vifit's no ill ta'en; The Father cracks o' horfes, pleughs, and kye. What makes the youth fae bashfu' and fae grave; Weel-pleas'd to think her bairn's refpected like the lave. IX. O happy love! where love like this is found! In other's arms, breathe out the tender tale, • Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the ev'ning gale.' X. Is there, in human form, that bears a heart A Wretch! a Villain! loft to love and truth! That can, with ftudied, fly, enfnaring art, |