At length his lonely cot appears in view, Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher through His clean hearth-stane, his thrifty wifie's smile, Does a' his weary carking cares beguile, An' makes him quite forget his labour an' his toil. Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in, At service out, amang the farmers roun'; To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. With joy unfeign'd brothers and sisters meet, Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new; Their master's an' their mistress's command, An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' night! They never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright!' But hark! a rap comes gently to the door, Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek; Weel pleas'd 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 wi' joy, But blate and laithfu', scarce can weel behave; The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy What makes the youth sae bashfu' an' sae grave; Weel-pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the lave. O happy love! where love like this is found! 'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair, In other's arms breathe out the tender tale, Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the ev'ning gale. Is there, in human form, that bears a heart- Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth? Is there no pity, no relenting ruth, Points to the parents fondling o'er their child? Then paints the ruin'd maid, and their distraction wild! But now the supper crowns their simple board, The soupe 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-hain'd kebbuck, fell. An' aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid; The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell, How 'twas a towmond auld, sin' lint was i' the bell. The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, His lyart haffets wearing thin an' 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. They chant their artless notes in simple guise; Or noble Elgin beets the heav'nward flame, The priest-like father reads the sacred page, With Amalek's ungracious progeny; Or other holy Seers that tune the sacred lyre. Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed, How He, who bore in Heaven the second name, Had not on earth whereon to lay His head; How His first followers and servants sped; The precepts sage they wrote to many a land : How he, who lone in Patmos banished, Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand; And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounc'd 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,' 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. Compar'd with this, how poor Religion's pride, May hear, well pleas'd, the language of the soul; Then homeward all take off their sev'ral way; The youngling cottagers retire to rest : The parent-pair their secret homage pay, Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best, For them and for their little ones provide ; From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs, An honest man's the noblest work of God:' The cottage leaves the palace far behind; O Scotia! my dear, my native soil! For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent! Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content! Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, A virtuous populace may rise the while, And stand a wall of fire around their much-lov'd Isle. O Thou! who pour'd the patriotic tide That stream'd thro' Wallace's undaunted heart; Or nobly die, the second glorious part, (The patriot's God, peculiarly thou art, His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward !) O never, never, Scotia's realm desert, But still the patriot, and the patriot-bard, In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard! O man while in thy early years, How prodigal of time! Mis-spending all thy precious hours, Thy glorious youthful prime! Alternate follies take the sway; Licentious passions burn; Which tenfold force give nature's law, That Man was made to mourn. Look not alone on youthful prime, Or manhood's active might; Supported is his right, With cares and sorrows worn, Then age and want, Oh! ill-match'd pair! Show Man was made to mourn. A few seem favourites of fate, In pleasure's lap carest; But, Oh! what crowds in ev'ry land That Man was made to mourn, Many and sharp the num'rous ills Makes countless thousands mourn! See yonder poor, o'eriabour'd wight, If I'm design'd yon lordling's slave, Or why has man the will and pow'r Yet, let not this too much, my son, The poor, oppressed, honest man, O Death! the poor man's dearest friend, Are laid with thee at rest! A PRAYER, IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH. O THOU unknown, Almighty Cause In whose dread presence, ere an hour, If I have wander'd in those paths Thou know'st that Thou hast form'd me And list'ning to their witching voice Where human weakness has come short, Do thou, All-Good! for such Thou art, In shades of darkness hide. Where with intention I have err'd, No other plea I have, But, Thou art good; and Goodness still Delighteth to forgive. |