150

An' thinks it auld wives' fables:

4

So cannilie he hums them;

Altho' his carnal wit an' sense

Is silent expectation;

For Moodie speels the holy door,

Wi' tidings o' damnation.
Should Hornie, as in ancient days,

'Mang sons o' God present him,
The vera sight o' Moodie's face
To's ain het 3 hame had sent him
Wi' fright that day.

Hear how he clears the points o' faith
Wi' rattlin an' wi' thumpin!
Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath
He's stampin an' he's jumpin!
His lengthen'd chin, his turn'd-up snout,
His eldritch squeal and gestures,
Oh, how they fire the heart devout,

4

Like cantharidian plaisters,

On sic 5 a day!

But hark! the tent has chang'd its voice:

There's peace and rest nae langer;

For a' the real judges rise,

They canna sit for anger.

Smith opens out his cauld harangues,

On practice and on morals;

An' aff the godly pour in thrangs,

To gie the jars an' barrels

What signifies his barren shine Of moral pow'rs and reason? His English style an' gesture fine Are a' clean out o' season. Like Socrates or Antonine

A lift that day.

An' steer about the toddy.

175

On this ane's dress an' that ane's leuk

Or some auld pagan heathen, The moral man he does define,

But ne'er a word o' faith in

That 's richt that day. 135

"An' O! be sure to fear the Lord alway, 50 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. 55 Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, Tells how a neibor 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; 60 Wi' heart-struck, anxious care, inquires his

The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy, But, blate and laithfu',2 scarce can weel behave;

The mother wi' a woman's wiles can spy 70 What maks the youth sae bashfu' an' sae grave, Weel-pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the lave.3

O happy love! where love like this is found! O heart-felt raptures! bliss beyond compare! I've paced much this weary, mortal round, 75 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, 80 Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the ev'ning 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? 85 Curse on his perjur'd arts! dissembling smooth!

Are honour, 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?

5

90

But now the supper crowns their simple board, The halesome parritch,* chief of Scotia's food; The sowpe their only hawkie does afford, That yont the hallan snugly chows her cud. The dame brings forth, in complimental mood,

8

95

To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd' kebbuck fell,10

An' aft" he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid; The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell, How 'twas a towmond 12 auld, sin' lint was i' the bell.

13

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, 146
When men display to congregations wide
Devotion's ev'ry grace except the heart!
The Pow'r, incens'd, the pageant will desert,
The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole; 150
But haply in some cottage far apart