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Misled by fancy's meteor ray,

By passion driv'n;
But yet the light that led astray

Was light from heaven!

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I taught thy manners-painting strains,
The loves, the ways of simple swains,
Till now, o'er all my wide domains

Thy fame extends :
And some, the pride of Coila's plains,

Become thy friends.

“ Thou canst not learn, nor can I show,
To paint with Thomson's landscape glow,
Or wake the bosom-melting throe

With Shenstone's art,
Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow

Warm on the heart.

" Yet all beneath the unrivall'd rose,
The lowly daisy sweetly blows;
Tho' large the forests's monarch throws

His army shade,
Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows,

Adown the glade.

* Then never murmur nor repine ;
Strive in thy humble sphere to shine;
And, trust me, not Potosi's mine,

Nor king's regard,
Can give a bliss o’ermatching thine,

A rustic bard !

“To give my counsels all in one,
Thy tuneful flame still careful fan.

Preserve the Dignity of Man,

With soul erect;
And trust, the Universal Plan

Will all protect !

* And wear thou this !” she solemn said,
And bound the Holly round my head;
The polish'd leaves, and berries red,

Did rustling play;
And, like a passing thought, she fled

In light away.

THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGIIT.

Inscribed to R. A****, Esq.

Let not ambition mock their useful toil,

Their homely joys and destiny obscure;
Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile,

The short but simple annals of the poor.-GRAY

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Mr lov'd, my honor'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; Ah! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there, I ween

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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 labor 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 homeward bend

III.

At length his lonely cot appears in view,

Beneath the shelter of an aged tree;
Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher thro'

To meet their dad, wi' flichter in noise an glee; His wee bit ingle blinkin bonily,

His clean hearth-stane, his thrifty wifie's smile, The lisping infant prattling on his knee,

Does a' his weary, carking cares beguile, An' makes him quite forget his labor and his toil.

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 show a braw new gown,

Or deposite her sair-won penny-fee,
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 ; 'l'ac 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 younkers a' are warned to obey ; " An' mind their labors 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; Chey 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 came o'er the moor,

To do some errands, and convoy her hame! The wily mother sees the conscious flame

Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek; With heart-struck, anxious care, inquires his name,

While Jenny hafffins is afraid to speak; [rake, Weel pleas’d the mother hears, it's nae wild, worthless

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Wi' kindly welcome, Jenny brings him ben,

A strappan youth; he takes 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 blate an' 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 jave

IX.

O, happy love! where love like this is found;

0, heart-felt raptures ! bliss beyond compare! I've paced much this weary, mortal round,

And sage experience bids me this declare -
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 milk-white thorn that scents the evening

gale.

X

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 ! disseinbling smooth !

Are honor, virtue, conscience, all exild ? 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

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