She leapt down the rocks In murmurs as soft as sleep; The Earth seemed to love her, And Heaven smiled above her, As she lingered towards the deep. Then Alpheus bold, On his glacier cold, With his trident the mountains strook; And opened a chasm In the rocks; with the spasm All Erymanthus shook. And the black south wind It concealed behind The urns of the silent snow, And earthquake and thunder Did rend in sunder Of the fleet nymph's flight To the brink of the Dorian deep. "O, save me! O, guide me, To its blue depth stirred, And divided at her prayer; And under the water The Earth's white daughter Fled like a sunny beam; Behind her descended Her billows unblended With the brackish Dorian stream. On the emerald main, As an eagle pursuing A dove to its ruin Down the streams of the cloudy wind. Under the bowers Where the Ocean Powers Sit on their pearlèd thrones, Which amid the streams And the sword-fish dark, Under the ocean-foam, And up through the rifts They passed to their Dorian home. In Enna's mountains, Down one vale where the morning basks, Like friends once parted, Grown single-hearted, They ply their watery tasks. 342 THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. At sunrise they leap From their cradles steep In the azure sky, When they love, but live no more. THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. Burns. INSCRIBED TO ROBERT AIKEN, ESQ. My loved, my honored, much respected friend! My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise : To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, The lowly train in life's sequestered scene; The native feelings strong, the guileless ways; What Aiken in a cottage would have been Ah! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there, I ween! November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh; 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 in ease and rest to spend, And weary o'er the moor his course does homeward bend. At length his lonely cot appears in view, Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin', stacher thro' His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie wifie's smile, The lisping infant prattling on his knee, Does all his weary, karking care beguile, An' makes him quite forget his labor an' his toil. Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in, Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. With joy unfeigned, brothers and sisters meet, Gars auld claes look amaist as weel 's the new; The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. 344 THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. Their master's an' their mistress's command And mind your duty, duly, morn and night! They never sought in vain, that sought the Lord aright!' รร But, hark! a rap comes gently to the door; Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush ner cheek; With heart-struck, anxious care inquires his name, While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak; Weel pleased the mother hears, it's nae wild, worthless rake. Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben; A strappan youth; he takes the mother's eye; Blythe Jenny sees the visit 's no ill-ta'en; The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye. The youngster's artless heart o'erflows with joy, But blate and laithfu’, scarce can weel behave; The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy What makes the youth sae bashfu' and sae grave; Weel pleased to think her bairn 's respected like the lave. O happy love, where love like this is found! |