Upo' the cutty-stool was forced to ride;
The waefu' scauld o' our Mess John to bide.

The fient a cheep''s amang the bairnies now;

For a' their anger 's wi' their hunger gane: Ay maun the childer, wi' a fastin' mou,

Grumble an' greet, an' mak an unco maene. In rangles. round, before the ingle's low,

Frae gudame's 4 mouth auld.warld tales they hear, O’ warlocks loupin round the wirrikow 5:

O'ghaists, that wino in glen an kirkyard drear, Whilk touzles a' their tap, an' gars them shake wi'

fear!

For weel she trows, that fiends an' fairies be

Sent frae the deil to fleetch? us to our ill; That ky hae tint 8 their milk wi' evil ee;

An' corn been scowder'd' on the glowin' kiln. O mock nae this, my friends! but rather mourn,

Ye in life's brawest spring wi' reason clear; Wi' eild 10 our idle fancies a' return,

And dim our dolefu' days wi' bairnly" fear; The mind's ay cradled whan the grave is near.

Yet Thrift, industrious, bides her latest days,

Though Age her sair-dow'd front wi'runcles wave;

Not a whimper. .. Moan.-3 Circles.--4 Grandame. 5 Scare-crow.–6 Abide, 7 Entice. -8 Lost. Scorched.10 Agel Childish.

Yet frae the russet lap the spindle plays ;

Her e'enin stent reels she as weel's the lave. On some feast-day, the wee things buskit braw,

Shall heese her heart up wi' a silent joy,
Fu' cadgie that her head was up an' saw

Her ain spun cleedin? on,a darlin' oys;,
Careless though death shou'd mak the feast her

foy4,

A warm

In its auld lerroch yet the deas remains, Where the gudeman aft streeks? him at his ease; and canny

lean for

weary

banes O' labourers doylt upo' the wintry leas. Round him will baudrins 8 an' the collie come, To wag

their tail, and cast á thankfu' ee, To him wba kindly flings them mony a crum

O'kebbuckwbang'd, an' dainty fadge to prie'l; This a' the boon they crave, an' athe fee.

Frae him the lads their mornin' counsel tak:

What stacks he wants to thrash; what rigs to till; How big a birn 12 maun lie on bassie's back,

For meal an' mu'ter 14 to the thirlin' mill... Niest, the gudewife her hirelin' damsels bids Glowr through the byre, an' see the hawkies 15

Tak tent, case Crummy tak her wonted tids',

An' ca' the laiglen's treasure on the ground;
Whilk spills a kebbuck nice, or yellow pound.

Then a' the house for sleep begin to green',

Their joins to slack frae industry a while; The leaden god fa's heavy on their een,

An' haffins steeks them frae their daily toil; The cruizy, too, can only blink and bleer;

The restit ingle's done the maist it dow;
Tacksman an' cottar eke to bed maun steer,

Upo' the cods to clear their drumly powo,
Till wauken'd by the dawnin's ruddy glow,

Peace to the husbandman, an a' his tribe,

Whase care fells a' our wants frae year to year! Lang may his sock7 and cou'ter turn the gleyb,

An' banks o' corn bend down wi' laded ear! May Scotia's simmers ay look gay an' green;

Her yellow ha'rsts frae scowry blasts decreed !
May a' her tenants sit fu' snug an' bien',

Frae the hard grip o' ails, and poortith freed;
An'a lang lasting train o' peacefu' hours succeed !

· Fits. The milk-pail. To long. The lamp.-5 Pillow.6 Thick heads. Ploughshare. Soil. Comfortable.

THOMAS SCOTT.

BORN 17

DIED 17

FROM LYRIC POEMS, DEVOTIONAL AND MORAL. LONDON,

1773.

GOVERNMENT OF THE MIND.

IMPERIAL Reason, hold thy throne,

Conscience to censure and approve
Belongs to thee. Ye Passions, own

Subjection, and in order move.

Enchanting order! Peace how sweet!

Delicious harmony within;
Blest self-command, thy power I greet,

Ah! when shall I such empire win!

The hero's laurel fades; the fame

For boundless science is but wind;
And Samson's strength a brutal name,

Without dominion of the mind.

PHILIP DORMER STANHOPE,

EARL OF CHESTERFIELD.

BORN 1694.-DIED 1773.

ON NASH'S PICTURE.AT FULL LENGTH

BETWEEN THE BUSTS OF SIR I. NEWTON AND MR. POPE,

AT BATH.

The old Egyptians hid their wit

In hieroglyphic dress,
To give men pains in search of it,

And please themselves with guess.

Moderós, to hit the self-same path,

And exercise their parts,
Place figures in a room at Bath-

Forgive them, God of Arts !

Newton, if I can judge aright,

All wisdom does express;
His knowledge gives mankind delight,

Adds to their happiness.

Pope is the emblem of true wit,

The sunshine of the mind;
Read o'er his works in search of it,

You'll endless pleasure find.