Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, The precepts sage they wrote to many a land : How he, who lone in Patmos banished, Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand; 130 And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounc'd by Heaven's com mand. Then kneeling down, to Heaven's Eternal King, That thus they all shall meet in future days: No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, 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, When men display to congregations wide Devotion's ev'ry grace, except the heart! The Power, incens'd, the pageant will desert, The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole; 135 140 145 150 But haply, in some cottage far apart, May hear, well pleas'd, the language of the soul; And in his Book of Life the inmates poor enrol. Then homeward all take off their sev'ral way; 155 The parent-pair their secret homage pay, And proffer up to Heav'n the warm request, 160 From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs, That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd abroad: Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, 66 'An honest man's the noblest work of God: And certes, in fair virtue's heavenly road, The cottage leaves the palace far behind; What is a lordling's pomp? a cumbrous load, Disguising oft the wretch of human kind, Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refin'd! O Scotia! my dear, my native soil! For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent! Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content! 175 And, Oh, may Heaven their simple lives prevent From luxury's contagion, weak and vile; Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, A virtuous populace may rise the while, And stand a wall of fire around their much-lov'd Isle. 180 Thou! who pour'd the patriotic tide That stream'd thro' Wallace's undaunted heart; Who dar'd to nobly stem tyrannic pride, Or nobly die, the second glorious part, (The patriot's God, peculiarly thou art, His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!) O never, never, Scotia's realm desert, But still the patriot, and the patriot-bard, In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard! 185 TAM O' SHANTER. A TALE Of Brownyis and of Bogilis full is this Buke. GAWIN DOUGLAS. WHEN chapman billies leave the street, O Tam! hadst thou but been sae wise, 5 1Ο 15 20 25 That at the Lord's house, ev'n on Sunday, The night drave on wi' sangs an' clatter; 45 50 55 The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure; Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane, That dreary hour he mounts his beast in; 70 And sic a night he taks the road in, As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; The rattling show'rs rose on the blast; The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd; 75 Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd: Whiles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares, 85 Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry.- Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing; What dangers thou canst make us scorn! Wi' usquebae, we'll face the devil!- The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle, |