346 THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 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," worthy of the name; Or noble "Elgin" beats the heavenward flame, The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays: Compared with these, Italian trills are tame; The tickled car no heart-felt raptures raise; Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. The priest-like father reads the sacred page, With Amalek's ungracious progeny; 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 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; THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 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, 347 While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere. Compared with this, how poor religion's pride, 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; And proffer up to Heaven the warm request, 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, The cottage leaves the palace far behind; 348 DISDAIN RETURNED. 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 poured the patriotic tide That streamed through Wallace's undaunted Who dared to nobly stem tyrannic pride, But still the patriot, and the patriot bard, DISDAIN RETURNED. - Carew. HE that loves a rosie cheek, Or from star-like eyes doth seek LAKE, WITH LAWNY BANKS THAT SLOPE. 349 But a smooth and steadfast mind, LAKE, WITH LAWNY BANKS THAT SLOPE "LAKE, with lawny banks that slope To the water's edge, Softly rustles the wind thro' Thy long grass and sedge. "Thou hadst been a gem of earth Couched amid these hills, But some evil water-sprite Troubles the pure rills "Whence thy hidden life is drawn. Why thus fretteth he, Who should be thy good genie, Thy tranquillity?" Lightly by a ruffling wind. Were the waters pressed, Be it genie, be it fate, I know not, - but know That the waves from yonder stream 350 LAKE, WITH LAWNY BANKS THAT SLOPE. Earth may smile like Eden round, Gives not back their hue. 66 Stream, that feed'st the lake, there beams On thee a living sun; Rapid, dark, thou rushest by; Wouldst thou doom outrun ?" Hoarsely thus the hurrying wave "Suns may beam, or skies may lower, "I am fed by those that draw "Peaceful mission is not mine; Springs that give me life Burst from this strange earth, as if Born with inward strife." “Turbid lake, thou must flow on, There is no redress, Ignorant, I grieved to see Nothing could be pure, |