Wi' joy unfeign'd, brothers and sisters meet,

An' each for other's weelfare kindly spiers;1
The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnoticed fleet;
Each tells the uncos2 that he sees or hears;
The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years;

Anticipation forward points the view;
The mother, wi' her needle an' her sheers,

Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new;
The father mixes a' wi' admonition due.

Their master's and their mistress's command,
The younkers a' are warned to obey;
"An' mind their labors wi' an eydent1 hand,
An' ne'er, tho' 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:
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 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;
With heart-struck anxious care, inquires his name,
While Jenny hafflins5 is afraid to speak;

Weel pleased the mother hears it's nae wild worthless rake.

1

Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben ;6

A strappan youth, he taks the mother's eye;
Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill-ta'en;

The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye.9
The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy,

But blate10 an' laithfu'," scarce can weel behave;
The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy

What maks the youth sae bashfu' an' sae grave,
Weel pleased to think her bairn's respected like the lave.12

O, happy love! where love like this is found!
O heartfelt raptures! bliss beyond compare!

I've paced much this weary, mortal round,

And sage experience bids me this declare,"If Heaven a draught of heav'nly 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 ev'ning gale."

4 3 Gars-makes.

Spiers-asks. 2 Uncos-news.
Haflins-partly. 6 Ben-into the parlor.

some.

Eydent-diligent. Strappan-tall and hand

8 Cracks-converses. 9 Kye-kine, cows. 10 Blate-bashful.

11 Laithfu'-reluctant. 12 The lave-the rest, the others.

Is there, in human form, that bears a heart,—
A wretch! a villain! lost to love and truth!
That can, with studied, sly, insnaring art,

Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth?
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 ruin'd maid, and their distraction wild!

But now the supper crowns their simple board!
The halesome parritch,2 chief o' Scotia's food:
The soupes their only hawkie does afford,

That 'yont5 the hallan snugly chows her cood:
The dame brings forth, in complimental mood,

To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd7 kebbuck,8 fell,9
An' aft he's press'd, an' aft he ca's it good;

The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell,

How 'twas a towmond10 auld," sin lint was i' the bell.13

The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face,
They round the ingle form a circle wide;
The sire'4 turns o'er wi' patriarchal grace,
The big Ha'-Bible 15 ance his father's pride;
His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside,

Hawkie a pet-name for a cow.

3

3 Soupe5 Yont-beyond.

1 Ruth-mercy, kind feeling. 2 Parritch-oatmeal-pudding. sauce, milk. 6 Hallan-a turf-seat outside a cottage. * Weel-hain'd-carefully preserved. Kebbuck-a cheese. Fell-biting to the taste. 10 Towmond-twelve months. 11 Auld-old. 13 Lint was in the bell-flax was in blossom.

9

12 Sin-since.

14 This picture, as all the world knows, he drew from his father. He was himself, in imagination, again one of the "wee things" that ran to meet him; and the priest-like father" had long worn that aspect before the poet's eyes, though he died before he was threescore. "I have always considered William Burns," (the father,) says Murdoch, "as by far the best of the human race that I ever had the pleasure of being acquainted with, and many a worthy character I have known. He was a tender and affectionate father, and took pleasure in leading his children in the paths of virtue. I must not pretend to give you a description of all the manly qualities, the rational and Christian virtues of the venerable Burns. I shall only add that he practised every known duty, and avoided every thing that was criminal." The following is the "Epitaph" which the son wrote for him.

O ye, whose cheek the tear of pity stains,

Draw near, with pious rev'rence, and attend!
Here lie the loving husband's dear remains,
The tender father, and the generous friend :
The pitying heart that felt for human woe;

The dauntless heart that fear'd no human pride;
The friend of man, to vice alone a foe,

"For ev'n his failings lean'd to virtue's side."

15 Ha'-Bible—the great Bible kept in the hall.

His lyart' haffets2 wearin' thin an' bare;
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide,
He wales3 a portion with judicious care;

And "Let us worship God," he says, wi' 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,4 worthy of the name;
Or noble Elgin beats the heav'nward flame,
The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays:
Compared with these, Italian trills are tame;

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

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 plain and wailing cry;
Or, rapt Isaiah's wild seraphic fire;
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:
How His first followers and servants sped;
The precepts sage they wrote to many a land :

How he,6 who lone in Patmos7 banished,

Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand,

And heard great Babylon's doom pronounced by Heaven's command.

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,

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.
Compared with this, how poor Religion's pride,
In all the pomp of method and of art,
When men display to congregations wide,
Devotion's every grace, except the heart!

an island in the Archipelago, where Saint John is supposed to have written his Revelation.

The Pow'r incensed, the pageant will desert,
The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole ;'
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 sev'ral way;
The youngling cottagers retire to rest;
The parent-pair their secret homage pay,

And proffer up to Heaven the warm request,
That He who stills the raven's clam'rous nest,
And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride,
Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best,

For them and for their little ones provide;
But chiefly in their hearts with grace divine preside.

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,
"An honest man's the noblest work of God;"
And certes,2 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 human-kind,
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refined!

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! 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 pour'd the patriotic tide

That stream'd through Wallace's3 undaunted heart; Who dared to nobly stem tyrannic pride,

Or nobly die, the second glorious part,

(The patriot's God peculiarly thou art,

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!

MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN.

When chill November's surly blast
Made fields and forests bare,
One evening, as I wander'd forth
Along the banks of Ayr,

Sacerdotal stole-priestly vestment.

"Certes certainly.

Wallace-Sir William Wallace, the celebrated Scottish patriot.