November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh;[1] The short'ning winter-day is near a close; The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh; The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose: The toil-worn Cotter frae his labor goes-- This night his weekly moil is at an end,-- Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, Hoping the morn[2] in ease and rest to spend, And, weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend. At length his lonely cot appears in view, Beneath the shelter of an aged tree; The expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher[3] through, To meet their dad, wi' flichterin[4] noise an' glee. His wee bit ingle,[5] blinkin bonnily, His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie wifie's smile, The lisping infant prattling on his knee, Does a' his weary carking cares beguile, An' makes him quite forget his labor an' his toil. Belyve,[6] the elder bairns come drapping in, At service out, amang the farmers roun'; Some ca'[7] the pleugh, some herd, some tentie[8] rin A canny[9] errand to a neebor town: Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e, Comes hame, perhaps, to show a braw[10] new gown, Or deposite[11] her sair-won[12] penny-fee,[13] To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. Wi' joy unfeign'd, brothers and sisters meet And each for other's welfare kindly spiers:[14] The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnoticed fleet; Each tells the uncos[15] that he sees or hears; The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years; Anticipation forward points the view. The mother, wi' her needle an' her shears, Gars[16] 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 warned to obey; An' mind their labors wi' an eydent[17] hand, An' ne'er, though out o' sight, to jauk[18] or play: "An' oh! 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 neebor 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, an' flush her cheek; Wi' heart-struck, anxious care, inquires his name, While Jenny hafflins[19] is afraid to speak; Weel pleas'd the mother hears it's nae wild, worthless rake.