IV. What tho' like Commoners of air, Yet Nature's charms the hills and woods, In days when Daifies deck the ground, On breas when we please, then, We'll fit and fowth a tune; Syne rhyme till't we'll time aill't, An' fing't when we hae done. It's no in wealth like Lon'on Bank, To purchase peace and rest; It's no in makin' muckle mair : It's no in books, it's no in lear, To make us truly blest : And centre in the breast, We may be wife, or rich, or great, But never can be bleft: Nae treasures nor pleasures Could make us hapy lang; The heart ay's the part ay That makes us right or wrang. VI. Think ye, that fick as you and I, Wha drudge and drive thro' wet and dry, Wi' never ceafing toil; Think ye are we less bleft than they, Baith careless and fearless Of either Heaven or Hell; It's a' an idle tale! VII. Then let us chearfu' acquiesce, Nor make our scanty Pieasures lefs, And, ev'n fhould Misfortunes come, An's thankfu' for them yet, They gie the wit o' Age to Youth! They make us fee the naked truth, The real guid and ill: Tho' loffes and croffes Be leffons right fevere; There's wit there, ye'll get there, Ye'll find nae other where. VIII. But tent me, Davie, Ace o' Hearts; (To fay aught lefs wad wrang the cartes, And flatt'ry I deteft) This life has joys for you and I, And joys that riches ne'er could buy, And joys the very best. There's a' the Pleafures o' the Heart, Ye hae your Meg, your dearest part, It warms me, it charms me, O all you Pow'rs who rule above! O Tbou, whofe very felf art love! Thou know'it my words fincere ! The life-blood streaming thro' my heart, Or my more dear Immortal part, Is not more fondly dear! When heart-corroding care and grief Deprive my foul of reft, Her dear idea brings relief, And folace to my breaft: Thou Being, All-seeing. O hear my fervent pray'r! Thy moft peculiar care? X. All hail! ye tender feeling dear! Long fince, this world's thorny ways Fate ftill has bleft me with a friend, And oft a more endearing band, It lightens, it brightens, To meet with, and greet with, O, how that name inspires my ftyle! The ready measure rins as fine, Were glowrin owre my pen. And then he'll hilch, and stilt, and jimp, And rin an' unco fit: But leaft then the beast then Should rue this hafty ride, I'll light now, and dight now THE LAMENT ED BY THE UNFORTUNATE ISSUE FRIEND's AMOUR. Alas! how oft does Goodness wound itself! THOU pale Orb, that filent shines, While care-untroubled mortals fleep! With Woe I nightly vigils keep, HOME. |