So come along, no more we'll part :' He faid, and touch'd him with his dart; And now, old Dobfon turning pale, Yields to his fate-fo ends my tale.

The PEASANT and his Ass.-A TALE.

S on the road a peasant drove his ass,
He spy'd a meadow rich in grafs;

And tho' he had no right to do it,

He dar'd the pound, and turn'd the beast into it.
The jack-afs charm'd at such a treat,
With choice to crop, and time to eat,
Graz'd here and there the field all over;
Then pranc'd, and rear'd, and tofs't his head,
And in the thick on't made his bed,
Like one that's nurs'd in clover.
Amidst this jubilee the foe appears ;
The clown cries out, Hafte, hafte away!
At which our afs prick'd up his ears,
And bray'd, No, friend, I choose to stay:
Will thofe folks load a double pack
Upon my back?

Why, no

then what is it to me,

If I belong to them or thee?

You may by flight your freedom fave

If you difdain to be a flave:

For me, it is no new difafter;

Nor do I know

The thing that I can call my foe,
Except my mafter.

THE

THE

COTTER's SATURDAY NIGHT,

INSCRIBED TO R. A****, Efq;

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and deftiny obfcure;
Nor Grandeur hear, with a difdainful fmile,
The short and fimple annals of the Poor.

MY

GRAY.

Y lov'd, my honor'd, much refpected friend, No mercenary Bard his homage pays; With honeft, pride, I scorn each felfifh end, My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praife: To you I fing, in fimple Scottish lays,

The lowly train in life's fequefter'd fcene; The native feelings ftrong, the guileless ways, What A**** in a Cottage would have been; Ah! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there I ween!

November chill blaws loud wi' angry fugh;

The fhort'ning winter-day is near a clofe; The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh; The black'ning trains o' craws to their repofe:

$ 2

The

goes,

The toil-worn COTTER frae his labor
This night his weekly moil is at an end,
Collects his fpades, his mattocks and his hoes,
Hoping the morn in ease and reft to spend,
And weary, o'er the moor, his courfe does hame-
ward bend.

At length his lonely Cet appears in view,
Beneath the shelter of an aged tree;

The expectant wee-things, toddlan, ftacher through
To meet their Dad, wi' flichterin noise and glee.
His wee-bit ingle, blinkan bonilie,

His clean hearth-ftane, his thrifty Wifie's smile, The lifping infant, prattling on his knee,

Does a' his weary kiaugh and care beguile, And makes him quite forget his labor and his toil. Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in,

At Service out, amang the Farmers roun';
Some ca' the pleugh, fome herd, fome tentie rin
A cannie errand to a neebor town:

Their eldeft hope, their Jenny, woman-grown,
In youthfu' bloom, Love sparkling in her e'e,
Comes hame, perhaps, to fhew a braw new gown,
Or depofit her fair-won penny-fee,

To help her Parents dear, if they in hardship be.
With joy unfeign'd, brothers and fifters meet,

And each for other's weelfare kindly spiers:
The focial hours, fwift-wing'd, unnotic'd fleet;
Each tells the uncos that he fees or hears.
The Parents partial eye their hopeful years;
Anticipation forward points the view;
The Mother, wi' her needle and her sheers,

Gars

Gars auld claes look amaift as weel's the new; The Father mixes a' wi' admonition due.

Their Master's and their Mistress's command, The youngkers a' are warned to obey; And mind their labors wi' an eydent hand, And ne'er, tho' out o' fight, to jauk or play: 'And O! be fure to fear the LORD alway! And mind your duty, duely, morn and night! 'Left in temptation's path ye gang aftray,

Implore his counsel and affisting might : They never fought in vain that fought the LORD "aright."

But hark! a rap comes gently to the door;
Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the fame,
Tells how a neebor lad came o'er the moor,
To do fome errands, and convoy her hame.
The wily Mother fees the confcious flame
Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek,
With heart-ftruck, anxious care inquires his name,
While Jenny hafflins is afraid to fpeak;

Weel-pleas'd the Mother hears, it's nae wild worthlefs Rake.

With kindly welcome, Jenny brings him ben; Aftrappan youth; he takes the Mother's eye; Blythe Jenny fees the vifit's no ill taen;

The Father cracks of horses, pleughs and kye. The Youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy, But blate and laithfu', fcarce can weel behave; The Mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can fpy

What

What makes the youth fae bafhfu' and fae grave; Weel-pleas'd to think her bairn's refpected like the lave.

O happy love! where love like this is found!

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

And fage 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 fcents the ev'ning gale.'

Is there, in human form, that bears a heart-
A Wretch! a Villain! loft to love and truth!
That can, with ftudied, fly, enfnaring art,
Betray fweet Jenny's unfufpecting youth?
Curfe on his perjur'd art! diffembling fmooth!
Are Henor, Virtue, Confcience, 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 diftraction wild!

But now the Supper crowns their fimple board, The healfome Porritch, chief of SCOTIA's food: The foupe their only Hawkie does afford,

That 'yont the hallan fnugly chows her cood: The Dame brings forth, in complimental mood, To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuck, fell, And aft he's prest, and aft he ca's it guid;

The