POEMS AND SONGS FROM BURNS THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT INSCRIBED TO ROBERT AIKEN, ESQ., OF AYR Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, -GRAY. My lov'd, my honor'd, much respected friend! My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise: To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene; The native feelings strong, the guileless ways; Ah! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there, I ween. 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: 15 The toil-worn Cotter frae his labor goes, bend. At length his lonely cot appears in view, Beneath the shelter of an agéd tree; Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher through His clean hearth-stane, his thrifty wifie's smile, Does a' his weary carking cares beguile, An' makes him quite forget his labor an' his toil. Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in, In youthfu' bloom-love sparkling in her e'e- With joy unfeign'd, brothers and sisters meet, Anticipation forward points the view; 20 25 30 35 40 The mother, wi' her needle an' her shears, Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new; The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. 45 Their master's an' their mistress's command, The yunkers a' are warnéd to obey; An' mind their labors wi' an eydent hand, An' ne'er, tho' out out o' sight, to jauk or play; "An' O! 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: 50 They never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright.” But hark! a rap comes gently to the door; Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek; 55 60 Weel-pleas'd the mother hears, it's nae wild, worthless rake. 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; 65 The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye. The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy, But blate an' laithfu', scarce can weel behave; The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy 70 What makes the youth sae bashfu' an' sae grave; Weel-pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the lave. O happy love! where love like this is found! 75 In other's arms breathe out the tender tale, 80 Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the ev'ning gale." Is there, in human form, that bears a heart- That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art, Is there no pity, no relenting ruth, 85 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 soupe 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. The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bare; And "Let us worship God!" he says, with solemn air. 90 |