Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en; But blate and laithfu', scarce can weel behave; What makes the youth sae bashfu' an' sae grave; Weel-pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the lave. t 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, Is there, in human form, that bears a heart A Wretch a Villain! lost to love and truth! That can, with studied, sly, 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, 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, сам That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood; urfs1a8 The Dame brings forth in complimental mood, a wo 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, cheess How 'twas a towmond auld, sin' Lint was i' the bell. tux fre The chearfu' Supper done, wi' serious face, His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bare; a fox "And let us worship GOD!" he says, with solemn air. They chant their artless notes in simple guise ; Compar'd with these, Italian trills are tame; The tickl'd ears no heartfelt raptures raise ; Nae unison hae they with our CREATOR's praise. The priest-like Father reads the sacred page, With Amalek's ungracious progeny ; Perhaps the Christian Volume is the theme, How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed; 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,' No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, While circling Time moves round in an eternal sphere. Compar'd with this, how poor Religion's pride, In all the pomp of method, and of art, May hear, well pleas'd the language of the Soul; Then homeward all take off their sev'ral way; The Parent-pair their secret homage pay, And proffer up to Heaven the warm request, That HE who stills the raven's clam'rous nest, And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride, Would, in the way His Wisdom sees the best, For them and for their little ones provide ; But chiefly, in their hearts with Grace divine preside. From scenes like these old SCOTIA's grandeur springs, O SCOTIA ! my dear, my native soil! For whom my warmest wish to heaven is sent ! Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content! And O may Heaven their simple lives prevent From Luxury's contagion, weak and vile; Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, A virtuous Populace may rise the while, And stand a wall of fire around their much-loved ISLE. O THOU! Who pour'd the patriotic tide That stream'd thro' great, unhappy Wallace' heart; Who dared to, nobly, stem tyrannic pride, Or nobly die, the second glorious part: |