The focial hours, fwift-wing'd, unnotic'd fleet; Each tells the uncos that he fees or hears; The Parents, partial, eye their hopeful years; Anticipation forward points the view. The Mother, wi' her needle an' her sheers, Gars auld claes look amaift as weel's the new; The Father mixes a' wi' admonition due. VI. Their Master's an' their Miftrefs's command, An' O! be sure to fear the LORD alway! An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' 'night! Left in temptation's path ye gang aftray, Implore his counsel and affifting might: They never fought in vain that fought the "LORD aright.' VII. But hark! a rap comes gently to the door; Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the fame, Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moor, To do some errands, and convoy her hame. The wily Mother fees the conscious flame. Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek; With heart-ftruck anxious care, enquires his name, While Jenny hafffins is afraid to speak; Weel pleas'd the Mother hears, it's nae wild, worthless Rake. VIII. (7) VIII. Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben; eye; Blythe Jenny fees the vifit's no ill ta'en; The Father cracks of horfes, pleughs, and kye. The Youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy, But blate and laithfu', scarce can weel be have; The Mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy What makes the youth fae bashfu' an' sae grave; Weel pleas'd to think her bairn's refpected like the lave. IX. O happy love! where love like this is found! I've paced much this weary, mortal round, And fage Experience bids me this declareIf Heav'n a draught of heav'nly pleasure 'fpare, • One cordial in this melancholy Vale, 'Tis when a youthful, loving, modeft Pair, In others 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- Betray fweet Jenny's unfuspecting youth? Curfe on his perjur'd arts! diffembling smooth! Are Honor, Virtue, Conscience, all exil'd? Is (9) Is there no Pity, no relenting Ruth, Points to the Parents fondling o'er their Child? Then paints the ruin'd Maid, and their diftrac tion wild! XI. But now the Supper crowns their fimple board, The healfome Parritch, chief o' Scotia's food: The foupe their only Hawkie does afford, That 'yont the hallan fnugly chows her cood: The Dame brings forth in complimental mood, To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd keb buck, fell, An' |