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Though through the heart no purple tide should

flow, No quivering nerve should vibrate to the brain, The mental powers no mean dependance know;

Thought may survive and each fair passion reign : As when Lucina ends the pangful strife, [flame,

Lifts her young babe, and lights her lambent Some powers new-waking hail the dawning life,

Some unsuspended live, unchanged, the same ; So from our dust fresh faculties may bloom, [tomb. Some posthumous survive, and triumph o'er the This fibrous frame, by nature's kindly law,

Which gives each joy to keen sensation here, O’er purer scenes of bliss the veil may draw,

And cloud reflection's more exalted sphere; When death's cold hand with all dissolving power

Shall the close tie with friendly stroke unbind, Alike our mortal as our natal hour

May to new being raise the waking mind: On death's new genial day the soul may rise, Born to some higher life and hail some brighter

skies. The moss-grown tree, that shrinks with rolling

years, The drooping flowers that die so soon away, Let not thy heart alarm with boding fears,

Nor thy own ruin date from their decay: The blushing rose that breathes the balmy dew,

No pleasing transports of perception knows, The reverend oak that circling springs renew,

Thinks not, nor by long age experienced grows; Th fate and theirs confess no kindred tie, Though their frail forms may fade, shall sense and Nor let life's ills, that in dire circle rage, [sighs;

reason die ?

Steal from thy heaving breast those labour'd These, the kind tutors of thy infant age,

Train the young pupil for the future skies: Unschool'd in early prime, in riper years

Wretched and scorn'd still struts the bearded The tingling rod, bedew'd with briny tears, [boy ;

Shoots forth in graceful fruits of manly joy : The painful cares that vex the toilsome spring Shall plenteous crops of bliss in life's last harvest

bring.'

She ceased, and vanish'd into sightless wind

O’er my torn breast alternate passions sway, Now Doubt desponding damps the wavering mind,

Now Hope reviving sheds her cheerful ray. Soon from the skies in heavenly white array'd,

Faith to my sight reveal’d, fair cherub! stood; With life replete the volume she display'd,

Seal'd with the ruddy stains of crimson blood; Each fear now starts away, as spectres fly [sky. When the sun's orient beam first gilds the purple

Meanwhile the faithful herald of the day,

The village cock, crows loud with trumpet shrill, The warbling lark soars high, and morning gray

Lifts her glad forehead o'er the cloud-wrapt hill: Nature's wild music fills the vocal vale ;

The bleating flocks that bite the dewy ground, The lowing herds that graze the woodland dale,

And cavern'd echo swell the cheerful sound; Homeward I bend with clear unclouded mind, Mix with the busy world, and leave each care behind.

DENTON.

THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT.

INSCRIBED TO R. A

***

ESQ.

Let not ambition mock their nseful toil,

Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;
Nor grandear hear, with a disdainful smile,

The short but simple annals of the poor.

Gray.

My loved, 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 Scottish lays,

The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene; The native feelings strong, the guileless ways;

What A**** in a cottage would have been ; Ah! tho' his worth unknown, far bappier there, I

ween,

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 labour 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 hame

ward bend. At length his lonely cot appears in view,

Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ; The' expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher thro'

To meet their Dad, wi' flichterin 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 cares beguile, An' maks him quite forget his labour an' his toil. Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in,

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

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

In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her ee, Comes hame, perhaps, to shew a braw new gown,

Or deposit her sair-won penny-fee, To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. Wi' joy unfeign'd brothers and sisters meet,

An' each for other's welfare kindly spiers : The social hours, swift wing’d, unnoticed 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 an' her sheers,

Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new;
The father mixes a' wi' admonition due.
Their master's an' their mistress's command,

The younkers a' are warned to obey;
An’ mind their labours wi' an eydent hand,

An' ne'er, tho' out o’ sight, to jauk or play: An' oh! 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 ee, and flush her cheek; Wi’ heart-struck anxious care, inquires his name,

While Jenny haflins is afraid to speak; Weel pleased the mother hears, it's nae wild,

worthless rake. Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben;

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. 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 maks the youth sae bashfu' an' sae grave; Weel pleased to think her bairn's respected like

the lave. O happy love! where love like this is found!

O heart-felt raptures ! bliss beyond compare! I've paced 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 others 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?

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