At length his lonely cot appears in view, Beneath the shelter of an agèd tree; Th’ expectant wee-things, toddlin’, stacher through To meet their Dad, wi’ flichterin’ noise an’ glee. His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonnilie, His clean hearth-stane, his thrifty wifie’s smile, The lisping infant prattling on his knee, Does a’ his weary kiaugh and care beguile, An’ makes him quite forget his labour an’ 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 neibor 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 deposite her sair-won penny-fee, To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. With joy unfeign’d brothers and sisters meet, An’ each for other’s weelfare kindly spiers: The social hours, swift-wing’d, unnoticed 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 an’ her sheers, Gars auld claes look amaist as weel’s the new; The father mixes a’ wi’ admonition due. Their master’s an’ their mistress’s command, The younkers a’ are warnèd to obey; An’ mind their labours wi’ an eydent hand, An’ ne’er, tho’ out o’ sight, to jauk or play: ‘And O! be sure to fear the Lord alway, An’ mind your duty, duly, morn an’ 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; Jenny, wha kens the meaning o’ the same, Tells how a neibor lad cam o’er the moor, To do some errands, and convoy her hame. The wily mother sees the conscious flame Sparkle in Jenny’s e’e, and flush her cheek; Wi’ heart-struck anxious care, inquires his 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; A strappin’ youth; he takes the mother’s eye; Blythe Jenny sees the visit’s no ill ta’en; The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye. The youngster’s artless heart o’erflows wi’ joy, But blate and laithfu’, scarce can weel behave; The mother, wi’ a woman’s wiles, can spy What makes the youth sae bashfu’ an’ sae grave; Weel-pleased to think her bairn’s respected like the lave.