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Inscribed to R. Aiken, Esq. | | “Let not ambition mock their useful toil, |
| Their homely joys and destiny obscure; |
| Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, |
| The short but simple annals of the poor.” |
| —GRAY. |
MY loved, my honored, much-respected friend, | |
| No mercenary bard his homage pays: | |
| With honest pride I scorn each selfish end; | |
| My dearest meed, a friend’s esteem and praise. | |
| To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, | 5 |
| The lowly train in life’s sequestered scene; | |
| The native feelings strong, the guileless ways; | |
| What Aiken in a cottage would have been; | |
| Ah! though his worth unknown, far happier there, I ween. | |
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| November chill blaws loud wi’ angry sugh; | 10 |
| The shortening winter-day is near a close; | |
| The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh, | |
| The blackening trains o’ craws to their repose; | |
| The toilworn cotter frae his labor goes,— | |
| This night his weekly moil is at an end,— | 15 |
| Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, | |
| Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, | |
| And weary, o’er the moor, his course does hameward bend. | |
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| At length his lonely cot appears in view, | |
| Beneath the shelter of an aged tree; | 20 |
| Th’ expectant wee things, toddlin’, stacher through | |
| To meet their dad, wi’ flichterin’ noise an’ glee. | |
| His wee bit ingle, blinking bonnily, | |
| His clean hearthstane, his thriftie wifie’s smile, | |
| The lisping infant prattling on his knee, | 25 |
| Does a’ his weary carking cares beguile, | |
| And makes him quite forget his labor and his toil. | |
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| Belyve 1 the elder bairns come drapping in, | |
| At service out amang the farmers roun’; | |
| Some ca’ the pleugh, some herd, some tentie 2 rin | 30 |
| A cannie errand to a neibor town; | |
| Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, | |
| In youthfu’ bloom, love sparkling in her e’e, | |
| Comes hame, perhaps, to shew a bra’ new gown, | |
| Or deposit her sair-won penny-fee, | 35 |
| To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. | |
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| Wi’ joy unfeigned brothers and sisters meet, | |
| An’ each for other’s weelfare kindly spiers: | |
| The social hours, swift-winged, unnoticed fleet; | |
| Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears; | 40 |
| The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years; | |
| Anticipation forward points the view: | |
| 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 |
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| Their master’s an’ their mistress’s command, | |
| The younkers a’ are warnèd to obey; | |
| And mind their labors wi’ an eydent 3 hand, | |
| And ne’er, though out o’ sight, to jauk or play; | |
| “An’ O, be sure to fear the Lord alway! | 50 |
| An’ mind your duty, duly, morn an’ night! | |
| Lest in temptation’s path ye gang astray, | |
| Implore his counsel and assisting might; | |
| They never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright!” | |
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| But, hark! a rap comes gently to the door. | 55 |
| Jenny, wha kens the meaning o’ the same, | |
| Tells how a neibor 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; | 60 |
| Wi’ heart-struck anxious care inquires his name, | |
| While Jenny hafflins 4 is afraid to speak; | |
| Weel pleased the mother hears it ’s nae wild, worthless rake. | |
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| Wi’ kindly welcome, Jenny brings him ben; | |
| A strappin’ youth; he taks the mother’s e’e; | 65 |
| Blithe Jenny sees the visit ’s no ill ta’en; | |
| The father cracks of horses, plenghs, and kye. | |
| The youngster’s artless heart o’erflows wi’ joy, | |
| But blate and lathefu’, scarce can weel behave; | |
| The mother, wi’ a woman’s wiles, can spy | 70 |
| What makes the youth sae bashfu’ an’ sae grave; | |
| Weel pleased to think her bairn’s respected like the lave. | |
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| O happy love! where love like this is found! | |
| O heartfelt raptures! bliss beyond compare! | |
| I ’ve pacèd much this weary mortal round, | 75 |
| And sage experience bids me this declare:— | |
| If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, | |
| One cordial in this melancholy vale, | |
| ’T is when a youthful, loving, modest pair | |
| In other’s arms breathe out the tender tale, | 80 |
| Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale. | |
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| 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? | 85 |
| Curse on his perjured arts! dissembling smooth! | |
| Are honor, virtue, conscience, all exiled? | |
| Is there no pity, no relenting ruth, | |
| Points to the parents fondling o’er their child, | |
| Then paints the ruined maid, and their distraction wild? | 90 |
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| But now the supper crowns their simple board, | |
| The halesome parritch, chief o’ Scotia’s food; | |
| The soupe their only hawkie 5 does afford, | |
| That ’yont the hallan 6 snugly chows her cood; | |
| The dame brings forth, in complimental mood, | 95 |
| To grace the lad, her weel-hained kebbuck 7 fell, | |
| An’ aft he ’s prest, an’ aft he ca’s it guid; | |
| The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell, | |
| How ’t was a towmond 8 auld, sin’ lint was i’ the bell. | |
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| The cheerfu’ supper done, wi’ serious face, | 100 |
| They, round the ingle, form a circle wide; | |
| The sire turns o’er, wi’ patriarchal grace, | |
| The big ha’-Bible, ance his father’s pride; | |
| His bonnet reverently is laid aside, | |
| His lyart haffets 9 wearing thin an’ bare: | 105 |
| 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. | |
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| They chant their artless notes in simple guise; | |
| They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim: | 110 |
| Perhaps “Dundee’s” wild-warbling measures rise, | |
| Or plaintive “Martyrs,” worthy of the name; | |
| Or noble “Elgin” beets 10 the heavenward flame, | |
| The sweetest far of Scotia’s holy lays: | |
| Compared with these, Italian trills are tame; | 115 |
| The tickled ears no heartfelt raptures raise; | |
| Nae unison hae they with our Creator’s praise. | |
| |
| The priest-like father reads the sacred page,— | |
| How Abram was the friend of God on high; | |
| Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage | 120 |
| 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; | 125 |
| Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. | |
| |
| 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: | 130 |
| How his first followers and servants sped; | |
| The precepts sage they wrote to many a land; | |
| How he, who lone in Patmos banishèd, | |
| Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand, | |
| And heard great Bab’lon’s doom pronounced by Heaven’s command. | 135 |
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| 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, | 140 |
| 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. | |
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| Compared with this, how poor Religion’s pride, | 145 |
| In all the pomp of method and of art, | |
| When men display to congregations wide, | |
| Devotion’s every grace, except the heart! | |
| The Power, incensed, the pageant will desert, | |
| The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole; | 150 |
| 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 enroll. | |
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| Then homeward all take off their several way; | |
| The youngling cottagers retire to rest: | 155 |
| 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, | 160 |
| For them and for their little ones provide; | |
| But, chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside. | |
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| From scenes like these old Scotia’s grandeur springs, | |
| That makes her loved at home, revered abroad; | |
| Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, | 165 |
| “An honest man ’s the noblest work of God!” | |
| And certès, in fair Virtue’s heavenly road, | |
| The cottage leaves the palace far behind: | |
| What is a lordling’s pomp?—a cumbrous load, | |
| Disguising oft the wretch of humankind, | 170 |
| Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refined! | |
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| 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 content! | 175 |
| 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. | 180 |
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| 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, | 185 |
| 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! | |
