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But, ah! my breast is human still ;
But yet, with fortitude resigned
The gloomy mantle of the night,
PICTURE OF AUTUMN.
When autumn, bleak, and sun-burnt do appear,
When all the hills with woody seed are white, When levying fires, and lemes, do meet from far the sight;
When the fair apple, rudde as even sky,
A BOAT RACE—AND WRECK.
One gusty day, now stormy and now still,
And who is she apart? She dares not come
An ardent spirit dwells with Christian Love,
DANGER OF A FIRST TRANSGRESSION.
STILL there was virtue ;—but a rolling stone
When down it rolls, and at the bottom lies,
FROM "THE COTTAR'S SATURDAY NIGHT."
Ar length his lonely cot appears in view,
Beneath the shelter of an aged tree; Th’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,
Belyve the elder bairns come drapping in,
At service out, among the farmers roun';
A cannie errand to a neibour town;
In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e’e, Come hame perlaps to show her braw new gown,
Or deposite her sair-won penny-fee,
Wi' joy unfeigned brothers and sisters meet,
An' each for other's welfare kindly speirs : The social hours, swift-winged, unnoticed, fleet;
Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears :
The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years ;
Anticipation forwards points the view. The mother, wi’ her needle an' her shears,
Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new; The father mixes a' wi' admonition due.
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, ance his father's pride: His bonnet rev’rently is laid aside,
His lyart haffets wearing 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 with solemn air
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 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 ha'e 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 did groaning lie
Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire; Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry;