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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; Wi' heart-struck anxious care, inquires his name, While Jenny hafflins 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',w searce can weel behave;

The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy What makes the youth sae bashfu' and sae [the lave.y Weel pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like O happy love! where love like this is found!


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

And sage experience bids me this declareIf Heaven a draught of heav'nly 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 ev❜ning


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?
Partly. t Into the country parlour. u Bashful.
w Sheepish. ≈ Child, y The rest, the others.

Curse on his perjur'd arts! dissembling smooth
Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exil'd?
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 o' Scotia's food:
The soup their only hawkieb does afford,

That 'yont the halland snugly chows her cud:
The dame brings forth, in complimental mood,
To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbucke
An' aft he's press'd, an' aft he ca's it good; [fell,
The frugal wifie, garrulous will tell,

How 'twas a towmond auld, sin' lint was i' the bell.h

The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face,
They, round the ingle,i 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 and bare;
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide,
He wales" a portion with judicious care;
And Let us worship God!' he says with 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 o' the name:

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c Beyond.

b Cow.

d A partition-wall in a cottage, or a seat of turf at the outside. e Well saved or well-kept cheese.

f Well savoured, of good relish.

g A twelvemonth old.

h Since flax was in the flower. i Fire-place.

A The large hall-Bibie.

Grey, or of a mixed colour

an Temples--side of the head.

n Chooses, selects.

Or noble Elgin beetsP the heav'nward flame, The sweetest far o' Scotia's holy lays : Compar'd with these, Italian trills are tame;

The tickled ears no heart-felt raptures raise; Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise.

The priest-like father reads the sacred page, How Abraham 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 voluine is the theme,

How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed; How He, who bore in heav'n 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 banished, Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand; And heard great Bab'lon'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, [sphere. While circling time moves round in an eternal

Dundee Martyrs-Elgin-] Names of sacred melodies used p Adds fuel to, or increases devotion. Pope's Windsor Forest.

in singing psalma.

Compar'd with this, how poor religion's pride, In all the pomp of method and of art, When men display to congregations wide, Devotion's ev'ry grace except the heart! The Pow'r, incens'd, the pageant will desert, The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole; But haply, in some cottage far apart,

May hear, well pleas'd, 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 flow'ry 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.

From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs,

That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd abroad: Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, 'An honest man 's the noblest work of God:r' And certes, in fair virtue's heav'nly road,

The cottage leaves the palace far behind : What is a lordling's pomp? a cumbrous load, Disguising oft the wretch of human-kind, Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refin'd!

O Scotia! my dear, my native soil!

For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent! Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil, [tent! Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet con

r Pope's Essay on Men.

And, O! may Heaven their simple lives prevent
From luxury's contagion weak and vile!
Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent,
A virtuous populace may rise the while,
And stand a wall of fire around their much-lov'd Isle.

O Thou! who pour'd the patriotic tide
That stream'd thro' Wallace's undaunted heart;
Who dar'd to nobly stem tyrannic pride,
Or nobly die, the second glorious part,
(The patriot's God peculiarly thou art,
His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!)
O never, never, Scotia's realm desert:

But still the patriot and the patriot bard,
In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard!

The Cotter's Saturday Night is, perhaps, of all Burns's pieces, the one whose exclusion from the collection, were such things possible now-a-days, would be the most injurious, if not to the genius, at least to the character, of the man. Loftier flights he certainly has made, but in these he remained but a short while on the wing, and effort is too often perceptible; here the motion is easy, gentle, placidly undulating. There is more of the conscious security of power, than in any other of his serious pieces of considerable length; the whole has the appearance of coming in a full stream from the fountain of his heart-a stream that soothes the ear, and has no glare on the surface.'-Lockhart's Life of Burns.

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