In what distant deeps or skies What the hand dared seize the fire? And what shoulder, and what art, What dread hand and what dread feet? What the hammer, what the chain, When the stars threw down their spears, Did He who made the lamb make thee? AH! SUNFLOWER (From the same) Ah! Sunflower! weary of time, Who countest the steps of the sun, Seeking after that sweet golden prime Where the traveller's journey is done; Where the Youth pined away with desire, And the pale virgin shrouded in snow, Arise from their graves, and aspire Where my sunflower wishes to go! Robert Burns (1759-1796) THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT (1785) "Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, My lov'd, my honour'd, much respected friend! With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end, To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, 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 short'ning winter-day is near a close; The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh; The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose: The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour 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 hame ward bend. At length his lonely cot appears in view, Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin', stachei through To meet their dad, wi' flichterin' noise and glee. His wee bit ingle, blinkin' bonily, His clean hearth-stane, his thrifty wifie's smile, The lisping infant, prattling on his knee, Does a' his weary kiaugh and care beguile, And makes him quite forget his labour and his toil. Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in, At service out, amang the farmers roun'; Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin A cannie errand to a neebor town: Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, In youthfu' bloom,-love sparkling in her e'e— Comes hame, perhaps to shew a braw new gown, Or deposit her sair-won penny-fee, To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. With joy unfeign'd, brothers and sisters meet, And each for other's weelfare kindly spiers: The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnotic'd fleet : Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears; The parents partial eye their hopeful years; Anticipation forward points the view; The mother, wi' her needle and her shears, Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new, The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. Their master's and their mistress's command, And ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk or play; "And O! be sure to fear the Lord alway, And mind your duty, duly, morn and 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; 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; The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye. But blate an' laithfu', scarce can weel behave; The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy What makes the youth sae bashfu' and sae grave, Weel-pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the lave. Oh, happy love! where love like this is found! Oh, heart-felt raptures! bliss beyond compare! I've paced much this weary, mortal round, 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, Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale." Is there, in human form, that bears a heart, 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? But now the supper crowns their simple board, The halesome parritch, chief o' Scotia's food; The soupe their only hawkie does afford, That, 'yont the hallan cnugly chows her cood: The dame brings forth, in complimental mood, To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuck, fell; And aft he's prest, and aft he ca's it guid: The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell How 't was a towmond auld, sin' lint was i' the bell. The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, They, round the ingle, form a circle wide; The sire turns o'er, with patriarchal grace, The big ha'-bible, ance his father's pride; |