His breakfast o'er, auld Inglis tak's the road, Frae tap to tae weel buskit an' fell snod; His hardin sark as white's the driven snaw-- The lint was fernyear grown beside the shaw; His coat an' breeks war' o' a lichtly blue, Weel waukit, an' the pick o' hame-grown woo; His hose war' rig an' fur, a guid grow grey; His bonnet blue, an's shoon as black's a slae. Oot ower the Cruives an' up the Ba'muir park He linkit at it, like some blythesome spark Stendin' alang to woo his winsome Jean, An' beik his love in her bricht glancin' een. The girss was saft an' springy, ilka blade Glancin' wi' dew, wi' emerald-green inlaid; The air was sharp, the lift was blue an' clear, An' Inglis fussled as he cross'd the muir; But noo an' than he mantit in his sang An' thocht: "Saul! the Guidwife was nae far wrang. Sin' we war' wed I've had nae cause o' grief; Troth--it's o'er true--I maun turn o'er a leaf. A couthie wife an' cantie she has been; I _maun_ gie o'er sic rants, an' that's be seen. She never heckles me but for my guid; I sall gang sober hame--I will indeed. Whan we war' wed, withoot ae word o' pride, She was the bonniest lass on Ugie's side; In a' the warld--she's bonniest aye to me, In a' the warld--a better canna be." Ah, stern resolve! thou art a glorious thing For Earl or Beggar, Ploughman, Laird, or King; But, ah! how oft our best resolves are vain; We fall, resolve, fall and resolve again. No hearts are adamant, no minds are steel; Let none condemn poor Inglis who can feel A woman's love, or tries to drown desires,-- "All tempers yield or soften in those fires." The safest plan and best--as wise folks think-- Is ne'er to mell with rogues, or love, or drink. By many a winding road, from far and nigh, Came sheep and owsen, shelts, and stirks, and kye; Goodwives and men, and lads and lasses fair, Cracking their jokes, or courting pair and pair. Below the Windmill Brae, the gazer's eye Roams o'er a glorious sight of sea and sky; The land throws forth its arms as if to press The smiling ocean in a fond embrace; Or when the wintry waves, with angry roar, Dash in wild fury on the rock-bound shore, That bars all entrance, save to driving foam,-- Guarding from harm or hurt the dear old home.