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From heart fincere, and warm, and free,

Devoted to the shade!
Ah, why does Fate his steps decoy,

In storniy paths to roam,
Remote from all congenial joy?

O take the wanderer home! Thy shades, thy filence, now be mine,

Thy charms my only theme; My haunt the hollow cliff, whose pipe

Waves o’er the gloomy stream; Whence the scar'd owl, on pinions grey,

Breaks from the rufling boughs,
And down the lone vale fails away,

To more profound repose.
O while to thee the woodland pours

Its wildly warbling song,
And balmy from the bank of flowers

The Zephyr breathes along,
Let no rude found invade from far,

No vagrant foot be nigh,
No ray from Grandeur's gilded car,

Flash on the flatled eye!
But if some pilgrim through the glade

Thy hallow'd bow'rs explore,
O guard from harm this hoary head,

And liften to his lore;
For he of joys divine shall tell,

That wean from earthly woe,
And triumph o’er the mighty fell

That chains this heart below. For me no more the path invites

Ambition loves to tread ;

No more I'll climb those toilfome heights

By guileful Hope misled;
Leaps my fond fluttering heart no more

To Mirth's enliv’ning tirain;
For present pleasure foon is o'er,

And all the past is vain.',

THE HERMIT. Ат

the clofe of the day, when the hamlet is ftill, And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prave ; When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill,

And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove: 'Twas thus, by the cave of a mountain afar,

While a harp rung symphonious, a Hermit began No more with himself, or with Nature at war,

He thought as a fage, though he felt as a man. « Ah, why all abandon'd to darkness and woe!

“ Why, lone Philomela ! that languishing fall ? " For spring shall return, and a lover befow,

“ And sorrow no longer thy bosom inthrall ; “ But if Pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay, “ Mourn, sweetest complainer ; man calls thee to

« mourn! “ O soothe him whose pleasures, like thine, pass away!

“ Full quickly they pass but they never return ! “ Now gliding remote, on the verge of the sky,

“ The moon, half extinguish’d, her crescent displays: " But lately I mark'd, when majestic on high

“She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze. ** Roll on, thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue

" The path that conducts thee to splendor again : “ But man's faded glory what change shall renew!

Ah, fool! to exult in a glory so vain ! “ 'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more ;

I mourn, but, ye woodlands, I mourn pot for you ; For morn is approaching, your charms to restore,

“ Perfum'd with frelh fragrance, and glittering with “Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn ;

[dew : “ Kind Nature the embryo blossom will save : " But when thall spring visit the mouldering urn?

“O when fall it dawn on the night of the grave;"> • 'Twas thus, by the glare of false science betray'd,

"That leads to bewilder ; and dazzles, to blind ; My thoughts wontto roam, from thade onward to shade:

'Destruction before me, and Sorrow behind :' “) pity, great Father of Light,” then I cry'd, “ Thy creature, who fain would not wander from

" Thee ! "Lo, bumbled in dust, I relinquish my pride: “Fiom doubt and from darkness thou only canft

“ free." • And darkness and doubt are now flying away ;

• No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn. • So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray,

• The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. See Truth, Love, and Mercy, in triumph descending,

• And Natrire all glowing in Eden's first bloom ! * O'er the cold check of Death smiles and roses are

'blending,
And beauty iminortal awakes from the tomb.'

BURNS,

My

THE
COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT.

TO R. A----, ESQ.
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,

lov'd, my honourd, much-respected Friend! No mercenary Bard his homage pays ; With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end,

My dearest meed, a friend's efteem avd praise : To you I fing, in fimple Scottish lays,

The lowly train in life's fequefter'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 shortning winter-day is near a close; The miry beafts 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 fpades, his mattocks, and his hoes,

Hoping the morn in eafe and rest to spend, [bend, And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward At length his lonely cot appears in view,

Beneath the helter of a lonely tree;

Th’espectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher through

To meet their Dail, wi' flichterip noise and glec, His wee-bit ingle blinkin bonilie,

His clean hearth-flane, his thrifty Wifie's smile, The lisping infânt, prattling on his knee,

Does a' his weary kiaugh and care beguile, And makes him quite forget his labur and his toil. Belyve, the elder bairns come drappin in,

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

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

In youthfu' bloom, love fparklin in her e'e, Comes hame, perhaps, to fhew a braw new gown,

Or deposite her fair-won penny-fee, To help her Parents dear, if they in hardship be. With joy unfeign'd, brothers and fifters meet,

And each for other's weelfare kindly spiers: The focial hours swift-wing’d, unnotic'd fleet;

Each tells the uncos that he fees or hears. The Parents, partial, eve their hopeful years;

Anticipation forward points the view ; The Mother, wi' her needle and her theers,

Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new ; The Father mixes a' wi' admonition due. , Their Master's and their Mistress's comunand,

The youngkers a' are warned to obey; And mind their labors wi' an eydent hand,

And ne'er, tho' out o'fight, to jauk or play ; 6 And O, be sure to fear the Lord alway!

" And mind your duty, duely, morn and night!

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