« AnteriorContinuar »
The focial hours, swift-wing'd, unnotic'd
fleet; Each tells the uncos that he sees 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 amaist as weel's the
new ; The Father mixes a' wi' admonition due.
Their Master's an' their Mistress's command,
The younkers a' are warned to obey ;
An' ne'er, tho' out o' fight, to jauk or play; An' o! be sure to fear the LORD alway! * An' mind your duty, duly, morn an'
· Lest in temptation's path ye gang aftray,
Implore his counsel and assisting might : • They never fought in vain that sought the
• Lord aright.'
But hark! a rap comes gently to the door ;
Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moor,
To do some errands, and convoy her hame. The wily Mother sees the conscious flame.
Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek; With heart-struck anxious care, enquires his
name, While Jenny haffins is afraid to speak; Weel pleas'd the Mother hears, it's nae wild,
Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben;
A strappan youth; he takes the Mother's
Blythe Jenny sees the visit’s no ill ta'en ;
kye. The Youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy,
But blate and laithfu', scarce can weel be
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 respected
like the lave.
O happy love! where love like this is found !
I've paced much this weary, mortal round,
And fage Experience bids me this declare• If Heav'n a dráught of heav'nly pleasure
· spare, • One cordial in this melancholy Vale, « 'Tis when a youthful, loving, modeft Pair,
• In others arms breathe out the tender
6 tale, . Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the
• ev'ning gale.'
Is there, in human form, that bears a heart
A Wretch ! a Villain ! loft to love and truth! That can, with studied, fly, ensnaring art,
Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth? Curse on his perjur'd arts! dissembling smooth! Are Honor, Virtue, Conscience, all exil'd ?
Is there no Pity, no relenting Ruth,
But now the Supper crowns their simple
board, The healsóme Parritch, chief o' Scotia's
The foupe 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,