The Cottar's Saturday Night. Wi' heart-struck, anxious care, inquires his name, While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak; 177 Weel pleased the mother hears, it's nae wild, worthless rake. Wi' kindly welcome, Jenny brings him ben; The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye. But blate 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, O happy love,-where love like this is found!- '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." 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? Points to the parents fondling o'er their child? Then paints the ruined maid, and their distraction wild! But now the supper crowns their simple board, That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood, The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell, How 'twas a towmond auld, sin' lint was i' the bell. The big ha'-Bible, ance his father's pride: His lyart haffets wearing 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, with solemn air. They chant their artless notes in simple guise; The tickled ear no heart-felt raptures raise; 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; The Cottar's Saturday Night. Or, Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry; Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire; 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 banished, Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand, And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounced by Then kneeling down, to Heaven's Eternal King, No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, 179 While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere. Compared with this, how poor Religion's pride, 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 several 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 clamorous 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. From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs, The cottage leaves the palace far behind; O Scotia! my dear, my native soil! From whom my warmest wish to heaven is sent! Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content! 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-loved isle. O Thou! who poured the patriotic tide That streamed through Wallace's undaunted heart! Who dared to nobly stem tyrannic pride, Or nobly die, the second glorious part; (The patriot's God, peculiarly thou art, The Fakenham Ghost. 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. 181 BURNS. THE FAKENHAM GHOST. HE lawns were dry in Euston park: Benighted was an ancient dame, And fearful haste she made Her footsteps knew no idle steps, But followed faster still; And echoed to the darksome copse That whispered on the hill, Where clamorous rooks, yet scarcely hushed, Bespoke a peopled shade; And many a wing the foliage brushed, And hovering circuits made. The dappled herd of grazing deer, That sought the shades by day, |