The Ontario Readers: The High School Reader, 1886 Part 19

_Mar._ Then is their conduct still more contemptible; for, in my opinion, nothing could excuse the intemperance of their tongues but a natural and uncontrollable bitterness of mind.

FOOTNOTES:

[G] For the sake of brevity a part of the first scene has been excised. It subsequently appears that Lady Teazle abandons the society of the scandal-mongers, and she and her fond but somewhat irascible husband become happily reconciled.

_Oh, wad some power the giftie gie us To see oursel's as others see us!

It wad frae monie a blunder free us And foolish notion: What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us, And e'en devotion!_

ROBERT BURNS.

XXVIII. THE COTTER'S SAt.u.r.dAY NIGHT.[H]

ROBERT BURNS.--1759-1796.

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor.

GRAY.

My lov'd, my honor'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 Aiken in a cottage would have been; Ah! though his worth unknown, far happier there, I ween.

November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh;[1]

The short'ning winter-day is near a close; The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh; The black'ning 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[2] 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; The expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher[3] through, To meet their dad, wi' flichterin[4] noise an' glee.

His wee bit ingle,[5] 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' makes him quite forget his labor an' his toil.

Belyve,[6] the elder bairns come drapping in, At service out, amang the farmers roun'; Some ca'[7] the pleugh, some herd, some tentie[8] rin A canny[9] 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[10] new gown, Or deposite[11] her sair-won[12] penny-fee,[13]

To help her parents dear, if they in hards.h.i.+p be.

Wi' joy unfeign'd, brothers and sisters meet And each for other's welfare kindly spiers:[14]

The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnoticed fleet; Each tells the uncos[15] that he sees or hears; The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years; Antic.i.p.ation forward points the view.

The mother, wi' her needle an' her shears, Gars[16] 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 labors wi' an eydent[17] hand, An' ne'er, though out o' sight, to jauk[18] 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 a.s.sisting 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, an' flush her cheek; Wi' heart-struck, anxious care, inquires his name, While Jenny hafflins[19] is afraid to speak; Weel pleas'd the mother hears it's nae wild, worthless rake.

Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben;[20]

A strappan youth; he taks the mother's eye; Blithe Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en; The father cracks[21] of horses, pleughs, and kye.

The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy, But, blate[22] an' laithfu',[23] scarce can weel behave; The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy What makes the youth sae bashfu' an' sae grave; Weel pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the lave.[24]

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 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 perjur'd arts! dissembling smooth!

Are honor, virtue, conscience, all exil'd?

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, chief of Scotia's food The soupe[25] their only hawkie[26] does afford, That 'yont the hallan[27] snugly chows her cood; The dame brings forth, in complimental mood, To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd[28] kebbuck,[29] fell,[30]

An' aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid: The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell How 'twas a towmond[31] auld, sin' lint was i' the bell.[32]

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,[33] ance his father's pride: His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, His lyart[34] haffets[35] wearing thin an' bare; Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, He wales[36] a portion with judicious care; And "Let us wors.h.i.+p G.o.d!" he says, with solemn air.

They chant their artless notes in simple guise; They tune their hearts, by far the n.o.blest aim: Perhaps "Dundee's" wild warbling measures rise, Or plaintive "Martyrs," worthy of the name; Or n.o.ble "Elgin" beets[37] the heavenward flame, The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays: Compar'd 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-- How Abram was the friend of G.o.d 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 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, who lone in Patmos banished, Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand; And heard great Bab'lon's doom p.r.o.nounced 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.

Compar'd 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, incens'd, the pageant will desert, The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole; But, haply, in some cottage far apart, May hear, well pleas'd, 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 clam'rous 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 lov'd at home, rever'd abroad: Princes and lords are but the breath of kings; "An honest man's the n.o.blest work of G.o.d;"

And certes, in fair virtue's heavenly road, The cottage leaves the palace far behind; What is a lordling's pomp?--a c.u.mbrous load, Disguising oft the wretch of human kind, Studied in arts of h.e.l.l, in wickedness refin'd!

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, oh! 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-lov'd Isle.

O Thou! who pour'd the patriotic tide That stream'd through Wallace's undaunted heart; Who dared to n.o.bly stem tyrannic pride, Or n.o.bly die, the second glorious part, (The patriot's G.o.d 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.

FOOTNOTES:

[H] Inscribed to R. Aiken, Esq.

[1] Moan.