By oppression's woes and pains!
By your sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!
Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!
Let us do or die!

4. THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT.
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,

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 hameward

At length his lonely cot appears in view,

Beneath the shelter of an aged tree;

[bend.

Th' expectant wee things, toddlin' stacher through
To meet their dad, wi' flichterin' noise an' glee.

His wee bit ingle, blinkin' bonnily,

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

Does a' his weary carking cares beguile,

An' makes him quite forget his labour and his toil.
Belyve the elder bairns come drapping 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 deposit 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 weelfare kindly spiers;

The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnoticed fleet;
Each tells the unco's 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 and their mistress's command,
The younkers a' are warnèd to obey;

66

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: [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 Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek; With heart-struck anxious care inquires his name, While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak;

[rake. Weel pleased the mother hears it's nae wild worthless

Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben;

A strappin youth, he takes the mother's eye; Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill-ta'en :

The father's crack of horses, pleughs, and куe. The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy, But blate an' laithiu', scarce can weel behave; The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can

spy What makes the youth sae bashiu' an' sae grave, Weel pleased to think her bairn's respected like the lave. O, happy love! where love like this is found! O heart-felt raptures! bliss beyond compare! I've pacéd much this weary mortal round, And sage experience bids me this declare."If Heaven a drait 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,

Is there in human form, that bears a heart,

[gale."

Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening

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 honour, virtue, conscience, all exiled?
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!
The halesome parritch, chief of Scotia's food:
The soupe their only hawkie does afford,

That 'yont the hallan snugly chews 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,
They round the ingle form a circle wide:
The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace,
The big Ha'-Bible, ance his father's pride;
His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside,

His lyart haffets wearin' thin an' bare;
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide,
He wales a portion with judicious care;

And "Let us worship God," he says wi' solemn air.
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 beats the heavenward flame,
The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays:
Compared with these, Italian trills are tame;

The tickled ear 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,

How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed;
How He, who bore in heaven the second name,
Had not on earth whereon to lay his head:
How his first followers and servants sped;
The precepts sage they wrote to many a land:
How he, who, lone in Patmos banishéd,
Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand,
And heard great Babylon's doom pronounced 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,"
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.
Compared with this, how poor Religion's pride,
In all the pomp of method and of art,
When men display to congregations wide
Devotion's every grace, except the heart!
The Power, incensed, the pageant will desert,
The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole ;
But haply in some cottage far apart,

May hear, well-pleased, the language of the soul;
And in His book of life the inmates poor enrol.

Then homeward all take off their sev'ral way;
The youngling cottagers retire to rest :

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 flowery 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.

5. AULD LANG SYNE.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And never brought to min'?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And days o' lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,

We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet
For auld lang syne.

We twa hae run about the braes,

And pu'd the gowans fine;

But we've wander'd mony a weary foot

Sin auld lang syne.

For auld &c.

We twa hae padl't i' the burn

From mornin' sun till dine;

But seas between us braid hae roar'd

Sin auld lang syne.

For auld &c.

And here's a hand, my trusty frere,

And gie's a hand o' thine;

And we'll tak a right guid willie-waught

For auld lang syne.

For auld &c.

And surely ye'll be your pint-stoup,

And surely I'll be mine;

And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,

For auld lang syne.

6. RANK.

For auld &c.

The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
The man's the gowd for a' that.