[38]
The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy,
But blate and laithfu',[39] scarce can weel behave;
The mother, wi' a woman's wiles,[40] can spy 70
What makes the youth sae[41] bashfu' and sae grave;
Weel-pleased to think her bairn's respected like the lave.[42]
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 heav'nly pleasure spare,
One cordial, in this melancholy vale,
'T is 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 perjured arts! dissembling, smooth!
Are honor, virtue, conscience, all exiled?
Is there no pity, no relenting ruth,[43]
Points to the parents fondling' o'er their child?
Then paints the ruined maid, and their distraction wild! 90
But now the supper crowns their simple board,
The healsome parritch, chief o' Scotia's food;[44]
The soupe[45] their only hawkie[46] does afford,
That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood;[47]
The dame brings forth in complimental mood, 95
To grace the lad, her weel-hained kebbuck, fell;[48]
And aft he's pressed, and aft he ca's it guid;[49]
The frugal wine, garrulous, will tell,
How 't was a towmond auld, sin' lint was i' the bell.
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