Thou, Pow'r Supreme, whose mighty scheme Here, firm, I rest, they must be best, THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. Inscribed to R. A****, Esq. Let not ambition mock their useful toil, GRAY. My lov'd, my honour'd, much respected friend! The lowly train in life's sequester'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 repose; The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes, At length his lonely cot appears in view, His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie wifie's smile, The lisping infant prattling on his knee, Does a' his weary carking cares beguile, Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in, Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. Wi' joy unfeign'd brothers and sisters meet, An' each for other's welfare kindly spiers: 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. Their master's an' their mistress's command, An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' night, Implore his counsel and assisting might: [aright!' They never sought in vain that sought the Lord 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 Benny's ee, and flush her cheek; Wi' heart-struck anxious care, inquires his name, While Jenny baffins is afraid to speak; Weel pleas'd the mother hears, it's nae wild, worthless rake. Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben; A strappan youth; he taks the mother's eye; 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 maks the youth sae 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! • If Heaven a draught of heavenly 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.' Is there, in human form, that bears a heart- 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, The halesome parritch, chief o' Scotia's food: The soupe their only Hawkie does afford, That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood: The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bare; They chant their artless notes in simple guise; The tickl❜d ears no heart-felt raptures raise; Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. The priest-like father reads the sacred page, How Abram was the friend of God on high; Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage With Amalek's ungracious progeny; Or how the royal bard did groaning lie Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire; Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed; And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounc'd by Heav'n's command. Then kneeling down, to Heaven's Eternal King, The saint, the father, and the husband prays : Hope springs exulting on triumphant wing,'' That thus they all shall meet in future days : 6 1 Pope's Windsor Forest. |