His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, His lyart haffets wearing thin an' 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: Compared with these, Italian trills are tame; The priest-like father reads the sacred page, Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry; Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed; I 10 120 130 And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounced by Heaven's command. Then kneeling down to Heaven's Eternal King There ever bask in uncreated rays, In such society, yet still more dear; While circling Time moves round in an eternal sphere. Compared with this, how poor Religion's pride, 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 enrol. Then homeward all take off their several way; And proffer up to Heav'n the warm request, Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best, From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs, What is a lordling's pomp? a cumbrous load, O Scotia! my dear, my native scil!. For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent! Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil 140 155 160 170 Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content! 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. O Thou! who poured the patriotic tide. That streamed thro' Wallace's undaunted heart, THE HOLY FAIR. A robe of seeming truth and trust And secret hung, with poison'd crust, The dirk of defamation: A mask that like the gorget show'd, And for a mantle large and broad, HYPOCRISY À LA MODE. UPON a simmer Sunday morn, The risin' sun, owre Galston muirs, Wi' glorious light was glintin'; The hares were hirplin' down the furrs, Fu' sweet that day. 179 As lightsomely I glowr'd abroad, Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black, The third, that gaed a wee a-back, Was in the fashion shining Fu' gay that day. The twa appear'd like sisters twin, The third cam up, hap-stap-an'-lowp, An' wi' a curchie low did stoop, Fu' kind that day. Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, 'Sweet lass, Quo' she, an' laughin' as she spak, 'Ye, for my sake, hae gi'en the feck A screed some day. 'My name is Fun-your crony dear, An' this is Superstition here, I'm gaun to Mauchline Holy Fair, Gin ye'll go there, yon runkled pair, At them this day.' Quoth I, 'Wi' a' my heart, I'll do't; For roads were clad, frae side to side, In droves that day. Here farmers gash in ridin' graith Gaed hoddin' by their cotters; -claith There swankies young in braw braid-claith Are springin' owre the gutters. The lasses, skelpin' barefit, thrang, In silks an' scarlets glitter, Wi' sweet-milk cheese, in mony a whang, An' farls bak'd wi' butter, Fu' crump that day. When by the plate we set our nose, A greedy glow'r Black Bonnet throws, Then in we go to see the show: Some carryin' deals, some chairs an' stools, An' some are busy bleth'rin' Right loud that day. Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs, Here sits a raw o' tittlin' jades, Wi' heavin' breasts an' bare neck, An' there a batch o' wabster lads, Blackguardin' frae Kilmarnock C For fun this day. 50 бо 70 80 |