POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY Lament in rhyme, lament in prose, Past a' remead; The last sad cape-stane of his woes; It's no the loss o' warl's gear That could sae bitter draw the tear, He's lost a friend an' neebor dear Thro' a' the toun she trotted by him; A friend mair faithfu' ne'er cam nigh him I wat she was a sheep o' sense, An' could behave hersel wi' mense: Thro' thievish greed. Our bardie, lanely, keeps the spence Or if he wanders up the howe, Her livin image, in her yowe, Comes bleatin till him, owre the knowe, For bits o' bread; An' down the briny pearls rowe For Mailie dead. She was nae get o' moorlan tips, Wi' tawted ket an' hairy hips, For her forbears were brought in ships Frae 'yont the Tweed; A bonier fleesh ne'er crossed the clips 5 ΙΟ 151 20 25 30 335 1786. Wae worth the man wha first did shape An' Robin's bonnet wave wi' crape O a' ye bards on bonie Doon An' wha on Ayr your chanters tune, O' Robin's reed! His heart will never get aboon! THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT The native feelings strong, the guileless ways, November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh; The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh; 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, Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher through 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, 25 And makes him quite forget his labour and his toil. Belyve the elder bairns come drapping in, At service out, amang the farmers roun'; 30 Comes hame, perhaps to shew a braw new gown, Or deposite her sair-won penny-fee, 35 To help her parents dear if they in hardship be. With joy unfeigned, brothers and sisters meet, And each for other's weelfare kindly spiers; The social hours, swift-winged, unnoticed fleet; Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears. The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years; Anticipation forward points the view. 40 The mother, wi' her needle and her sheers, Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new; The father mixes a' wi' admonition due: 45 Their master's and their mistress's command The younkers a' are warnèd to obey, And ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk or play: "And O be sure to fear the Lord alway, 50 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 comes gently to the door. Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, Tells how a neebor lad came o'er the moor, To do some errands and convoy her hame. The wily mother sees the conscious flame 55 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; 60 Weel-pleased the mother hears it's nae wild, worthless rake. With kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben: A strappin' youth, he takes the mother's eye; Blythe Jenny sees the visit'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', scarce can weel behave; The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy What makes the youth sae bashfu' and sae grave, Weel-pleased to think her bairn's respected like the lave. 65 70 Oh happy love, where love like this is found! Oh heart-felt raptures! bliss beyond compare! I've paced much this weary, mortal round, 75 "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 scents the evening gale." 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 perjured arts! dissembling, smooth! Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exiled? Is there no pity, no relenting ruth, Points to the parents fondling o'er their child? 80 85 Then paints the ruined maid, and their distraction wild? 9c But now the supper crowns their simple board: The healsome parritch, chief o' Scotia's food: The soupe their only hawkie does afford, That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood. 95 To grace the lad, her weel-hained kebbuck, fell, How 't was a towmond auld sin' lint was i' the bell. The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face They round the ingle form a circle wide; The big ha'-Bible, ance his father's pride; His lyart haffets wearing thin and bare; 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. They chant their artless notes in simple guise; They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim: Perhaps "Dundee's" wild-warbling measures rise, Or plaintive "Martyrs," worthy of the name; Or noble "Elgin" beets the heavenward flame, The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays. Compared with these, Italian trills are tame; The tickled ears no heart-felt raptures raise; Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. The priest-like father reads the sacred page: Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage With Amalek's ungracious progeny; Or Job's pathetic plaint and wailing cry; Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme: |