Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys and destiny obscure ;
Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile,
The short and simple annals of the Poor.

GRAY.

I.

My lov'd, my honour'd, much respected friend ! No mercenary bard his homage pays;

With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end,

My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise : To you I sing in simple Scottish lays,

The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene; The native feelings strong, the guileless ways; What A**** in a Cottage would have been ;

THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT.

Ah! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there I

ween!

IL.

November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh;
The short'ning winter-day is near a close;
The miry beasts retreating frae the plough;
The black'ning train o' craws to their repose;
The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes,

This night his weekly moil is at an end, Collects his spades, 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 shelter of an aged tree;

Th' expectant wee-things todlin, stacher through
To meet their Dad, wi' flichterin noise an' glee.
His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonnily,

His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie Wife's smile, The lisping infant prattlin on his knee,

Does a' his weary carkin cares beguile,

An' makes him quite forget his labour an' his toil.

THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT.

IV.

Belyve the elder bairns come drappin 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 shew a braw new gown, Or deposite her sair-won penny fee,

To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be.

V

Wi' joy unfeign'd brothers and sisters meet,
An' each for other's weel-fare kindly speirs:
The social 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.

VI.

Their Master's an' their Mistress's command,

The younk ers a' are warned to obey;

THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT.

An' mind their labours wi' an eydent hand,
An' ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk or play :
* An' O! be sure to fear the LORD alway!

An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' night! < Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray, Implore his counsel and assisting might; They never sought in vain, that sought the LORD ' aright.'

VII.

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 flameng
Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek;
Wi' heart-struck anxious care, inquires his name,
While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak;
Weel pleas'd the Mother hears, its nae wild,
worthless Rake.

VIII.

Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben;
A strappan youth; he takes the Mother's eye;

THE COTTER'S SATUDAY NIGHT:

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.

IX.

O happy love! where love like this is found!
O heart-felt raptures! bliss beyond compare!
I've paced much this weary, mortal round,

And sage Experience bids me this declareIf Heav'n a draught of heav'nly pleasure spare, • One cordial in this melancholy Vale, <'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest 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-
A Wretch a Villain! lost, to love and truth