Six gentlemen upon the road, With postboy scamp'ring in the rear, "Stop thief! stop thief! a highwayman!" Not one of them was mute; And all and each that pass'd that way And now the turnpike gates again And so he did, and won it too, Nor stopp'd till where he had got up Now let us sing, Long live the King, And when he next doth ride abroad, ROBERT BURNS. 1759-1796. THE COTTER'S SATURDAY-NIGHT. My loved, my honour'd, much respected friend! 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, Ah! though his worth unknown, far happier there, ween. November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh; This night his weekly moil is at an end, At length his lonely cot appears in view, Beneath the shelter of an aged tree; Th' expectant wee things, toddlin, stacher through To meet their dad, wi' flichterin noise an' glee. His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonnily, His clean hearthstane, his thrifty 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, 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' mind their labours wi' an eydent hand, An' ne'er, though out o' sight, to jauk or play; An' oh! 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!" But, hark! a rap comes gently to the door; Sparkle in Jenny's e'e and flush her cheek; Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben; A strappan youth; he taks the mother's eye; Blithe 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 blathe 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 pleased to think her bairn's respected like the lave. Oh, happy love! where love like this is found! I've paced much this weary mortal round, "If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, One cordial in this melancholy_vale, 'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair, In other's arms breathe out the tender tale, Beneath the milkwhite thorn that scents the evening gale." Is there, in human form, that bears a heart- Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth? 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 dame brings forth, in complimental mood, To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuck, fell, An' aft he's press'd, an' aft he ca's it guid; The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell How 'twas a towmond auld sin' lint was i' the bell. The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, His bonnet reverently is laid aside, His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bare; Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, He wales a portion with judicious care; [air And "Let us worship God!" he says, with solemn They chant their artless notes in simple guise; They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim: Perhaps Dundee's wild warbling measures rise, Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name: Or noble Elgin beets the heavenward flame, The tickled ears no heartfelt 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 Job's pathetic plaint and wailing cry; Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire; Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, And heard great Babylon's doom pronounced by 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: There ever bask in uncreated rays, No more to sigh or shed the bitter tear, Together hymning their Creator's praise, In such society, yet still more dear; While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere. VOL. II.-I |