Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!

Forward ! let us do or die!

250. THE BANKS O' DOON.
Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon,

How can ye bloom sae fair!
'How can ye chant, ye little birds,

And I sae fu' o' care !

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird,

That sings upon the bough;
Thou minds’t me o' the happy days

When my fause luve was true.

Thou'lt break my heart, thou bonnie bird,

That sings beside thy mate;
For sae I sat, and sae I sang,

And wistna' o' my fate.

Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon,

To see the woodbine twine,
And ilka bird sang o' its love,

And sae did I o' mine.

Wi' lightsome heart I pu’d a rose,

Frae aff its thorny tree;
And my fause luver staw the rose,

But left the thorn wi' me.

251. THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh;

The shortening winter-day is near a close; The miry beasts retreating frae' the pleugh;

The blackening trains o' craws to their repose; The toil-worn cotter frae his labor 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 dad, wi' ficterin* noise an' glee. His wee bit ingle, blinkin® bonnily,

His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie wifie's smile, The lisping infant prattling on his knee,

Does a'' his weary carking 1o cares beguile,
An' makes him quite forget his labor and his toil.
Belyve " the elder bairns come drappin in,

At service out, amang the farmers roun’;
Some ca' 12 the pleugh, some herd, some tentie 13 rin

A cannie 14 errand to a neebor town:
Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown,

In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e,
Comes hame, perhaps, to show a braw

new gown,
Or deposit her sair-won 16 penny-fee,"
To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be.
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 19 that he sees or hears; The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years;

Anticipation forward points the view : The mother, wi' her needle an' her shears,

Gars 20 auld claes look amaist as weel's the new; The father mixes a' with admonition due.

15

17

Their master's and their mistress's command,

The younkers a' are warnéd to obey;
An' mind their labors wi' an eydent ?1 hand,

An' ne'er, though 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' 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 hafsins 22 is afraid to speak;
Weel pleased the mother hears it's nae wild worthless rake.

23

Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben;

A strappan 24 youth, he taks the mother's eye; Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill-ta'en;

The father cracks 25 of horses, pleughs, and kye.26 The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy,

But blate 27 an' laithfu', 28 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.29

O, happy love! where love like this is found !

O heartfelt raptures! bliss beyond compare ! I've pacéd much this weary, mortal round,

And sage experience bids me this declare, “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, 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,30

Points to the parents fondling o'er their child? Then paints the ruined maid, and their distraction wild?

The soupe

But now the supper crowns their simple board !
The healsome parritch,31 chief o' Scotia's food :

32 their only hawkie 33 does afford,
· That 'yont 34 the hallan 35 snugly chows her cood:
The dame brings forth, in consplimental mood,

To grace the lad, her weel-hained 36 kebbuck, 37 fell,38 An' aft he's pressed, an' aft he ca's it good;

The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell, How 'twas a towmond 39 auld, 40 sin "l lint was i' the bell.4

The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face,

They round the ingle form a circle wide; The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace,

The big Ha’-Bible,13 ance his father's pride;

His bonnet reverently is laid aside,

His lyart 44 haffets 45 wearin' 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, wi' solemn air.

46

They chant their artless notes in simple guise;

They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim; Perhaps Dundee's 47 wild warbling measures rise,

Or plaintive Martyrs, 47 worthy of the name; Or noble Elgin 47 beets the heavenward 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 48 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;
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 49 who lone in Patmos banishéd,

Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand, [command. And heard great Babylon's doom pronounced by Heaven's

50

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.

51

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! The Power, 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 enroll.
Then homeward all take off their several 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 clamorous nest,

And decks the lily fair in flowery 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, 52 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, 3tudied in arts of hell, in wickedness refined ! O Scotial my dear, my native soil !

For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent! Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil

Be blessed with health, and peace, and sweet content: And, O! may Heaven their simple lives prevent

From luxury's contagion, weak and vile ! Then, however 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 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,

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 ! 61 Priestly vestment.

62 Certainly.

21