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 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 pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the lave. IX. O happy love! where love like this is found! And sage experience bids me this declare'If Heav'n 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 ev'ning 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! 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? XI. But now the supper crowns their simple board, The halesome parritch, chief o' Scotia's food: The soup their only Hawkie does afford, That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood: The dame brings forth in complimental mood, To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuck, fell, An' aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid; The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell, How 'twas a towmond auld, sin' lint was i' the bell. XII. The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bare; .XIII. They chant their artless notes in simple guise ; The tickl'd ears no heart-felt raptures raise; Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. XIV. The priest-like father reads the sacred page, With Amalek's ungracious progeny ; XV. Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand; And heard great Bablon's doom pronounc'd by Heav'n's command. XVI. Then, kneeling down, to HEAVEN'S ETERNAL ་ 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, Pope's Windsor Forest. 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. XVII. Compar'd with this, how poor Religion's pride, May hear, well-pleas'd, the language of the soul; And in his book of life the inmates poor enrol. XVIII. Then homeward all take off their sev'ral way; 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. XIX. From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs, "An honest man's the noblest work of GoD:" 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! XX. O Scotia! my dear, my native soil! For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent! Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil, Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet con tent! And, O! may Heav'n 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. XXI. 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! |