O happy love, where love like this is found! O heartfelt raptures! bliss beyond compare! I've pacèd 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-- A wretch! a villain! lost to love and truth! That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art, Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth? Curse on his perjured arts! dissembling, smooth! Are honor, virtue, conscience, all exiled? Is there no pity, no relenting ruth, Points to the parents fondling o'er their child? Then paints the ruined maid, and their distraction wild? But now the supper crowns their simple board, The halesome parritch,[18] chief o' Scotia's food: The soupe their only Hawkie[19] does afford, That 'yont the hallan[20] snugly chows her cood:[21] The dame brings forth in complimental mood, To grace the lad, her weel-hained[22] kebbuck,[23] fell, An' aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid; The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell, How 'twas a towmond[24] auld, sin' lint was i' the bell.[25] The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, They round the ingle form a circle wide: The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace, The big ha' Bible, ance his father's pride; His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, His lyart haffets[26] wearing thin an' bare; Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, He wales[27] a portion wi' judicious care; And "Let us worship God!" he says, with solemn air. They chant their artless notes in simple guise, They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim: Perhaps 'Dundee's' wild warbling measures rise, Or plaintive 'Martyrs,' worthy of the name; Or noble 'Elgin' beets[28] the heavenward flame, The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays: Compared with these, Italian trills are tame; The tickled ears no heartfelt raptures raise; Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. The priest-like father reads the sacred page, How Abram was the friend of God on high; Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage With Amalek's ungracious progeny; Or how the royal bard did groaning lie Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire; Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry; Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire: Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre.