the cotter's saturday night

inscribed to r. aiken, esq., of ayr.

let not ambition mock their useful toil,

their homely joys, and destiny obscure;

nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile,

the short and simple annals of the poor.

gray.

my lov'd, my honour'd, 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 scottishys,

the lowly train in life's sequester'd scene,

the native feelings strong, the guileless ways,

what aiken in a cottage would have been;

ah! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there i ween!

november chill ws loud wi' angry sugh;

the short'ning winter-day is near a close;

the miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh;

the ck'ning trains o' craws to their repose:

the toil-worn cotter frae hisbour goes,—

this night his weekly moil is at an end,

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.

at length his lonely cot appears in view,

beneath the shelter of an aged tree;

th' expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher through

to meet their dead, wi' flichterin noise and glee.

his wee bit ingle, blinkin bonilie,

his clean hearth-stane, his thrifty wifie's smile,

the lisping infant, prattling on his knee,

does a' his weary kiaugh and care beguile,

and makes him quite forget hisbour and his toil.

belyve, the elder bairns e drapping in,

at service out, amang the farmers roun';

some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin

a cannie errand to a neibor town:

their eldest hope, their jenny, woman-grown,

in youthfu' bloom-love sparkling in her e'e—

es hame, perhaps to shew a braw new gown,

or deposite her sair-won penny-fee,

to help her parents dear, if they in hardship be.

with joy unfeign'd, brothers and sisters meet,

and each for other's weelfare kindly speirs:

the social hours, swift-wing'd, unnotic'd fleet:

each tells the uncos that he sees or hears.

the parents, partial, eye their hopeful years;

anticipation forward points the view;

the mother, wi' her needle and her shears,

gars auld es look amaist as weel's the new;

the father mixes a' wi' admonition due.

their master's and their mistress' mand,

the younkers a' are warned to obey;

and mind theirbours wi' an eydent hand,

and ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk or y;

“and o! be sure to fear the lord alway,

and mind your duty, duly, morn and 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.”

but hark! a rap es gently to the door;

jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same,

tells how a neibord came o'er the moor,

to do some errands, and convoy her hame.

the wily mother sees the conscious me

sparkle in jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek;

with heart-struck anxious care, enquires his name,

while jenny hafflins is afraid to speak;

weel-pleased the mother hears, it's nae wild, worthless rake.

wi' kindly wele, jenny brings him ben;

a strappin youth, he takes the mother's eye;

blythe 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 te an'ithfu', scarce can weel behave;

the mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy

what makes the youth sae bashfu' and sae grave,

weel-pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like theve.

o happy love! where love like this is found:

o heart-felt raptures! bliss beyond pare!

i've paced much this weary, mortal round,

and sage experience bids me this dere,—

“if heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare—

one cordial in this mncholy vale,

'tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair

in other'sarms, 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 viin! 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?

but now the supper crowns their simple board,

the halesome parritch, chief of scotia's food;