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Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,

Their homely joys and destiny obscure; Nor Grandeur bear, with a disdainful smile,

The foort but simple annals of the Poor.


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With honest pride, I scorn each felfish end, My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and

praise : To you I fing, in simple Scottish lays,

The lowly train in life's sequefter'd scene; The native feelings strong, the guileless ways;

What A**** in a Cottage would have been ; Ah! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there,

I ween!


November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh;

The short'ning winter-day is near a close; The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh ; The black’ning trains o'craws to their re

pose: The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes, This night his weekly moil is at an end,


Collects his fpades, his mattocks, and his hoes,

Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, And weary, o'er the moor, his course does

hameward bend.


At length his lonely Cot appears in view,

Beneath the shelt r of an aged tree; Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher

through To meet their Dad, wi' flichterin noise an'

glee. His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonnily, His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie Wifie's

smile, The lisping infant prattling on his knee,

Does a' his weary carking cares beguile, An' makes him quite forget his labor an' his


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Belyve the elder bairns come drapping in,

At service out, amang the Farmers roun'; Some ca’ the pleugh, some herd, some tentie

rin A cannie errand to a neebor town: Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown,

In youthfu' bloom, Love sparkling in her e'e, Comes hame, perhaps, to Thew a braw new

gown, Or deposite her fair-won penny-fee, To help her Parents dear, if they in hardship



Wi' joy unfeign'd brothers and fifters meet, An' each for other's weelfare kindly speirs:


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