But now the supper crowns their simple board,
The halesome parritch, chief o' Scotia's food:
The sowpe their only hawkie does afford,

That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood;
95 The dame brings forth in complimental mood,
To grace the lad, her weel-hained kebbuck, fell,
An' aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid;
The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell

How 'twas a towmond auld, sin' lint was i' the bell.

100 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 reverently is laid aside,

105 His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bare;
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide,
He wales a portion with judicious care;

And 'Let us worship God!' he says, with solemn air.

They chant their artless notes in simple guise;
110 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 the heavenward flame,
The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays :
115 Compared with these, Italian trills are tame;
The tickled ears no heart-felt 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;
120 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; 125 Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire;

Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre.

Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme,
How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed;
How He, who bore in Heaven the second name,
130 Had not on earth whereon to lay His head :
How His first followers and servants sped;
The precepts sage they wrote to many a land:
How he, who lone in Patmos banished,

Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand;

135 And heard great Babylon's doom pronounced by Heaven's command.

Then kneeling down, to Heaven's Eternal King,
The saint, the father, and the husband prays:
Hope 'springs exulting on triumphant wing,'
That thus they all shall meet in future days:
140 There ever bask in uncreated rays,

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.

145 Compared with this, how poor Religion's pride,
In all the pomp of method, and of art,
When men display to congregations wide
Devotion's every grace, except the heart!
The Power, incensed, the pageant will desert,
150 The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole;

But haply, in some cottage far apart,

May hear, well pleased, the language of the soul;
And in His book of life the inmates poor enroll.

Then homeward all take off their several way; 155 The youngling cottagers retire to rest:

The parent-pair their secret homage pay,
And proffer up to Heaven the warm request,
That He, who stills the raven's clamorous nest,
And decks the lily fair in flowery pride,

160 Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best,
For them, and for their little ones provide;
But chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside.

From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs, That makes her loved at home, revered abroad: 165 Princes and lords are but the breath of kings; '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, 170 Disguising oft the wretch of human kind, Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refined !

O Scotia! my dear, my native soil!

For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent,
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil

175 Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content! 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,

180 And stand a wall of fire around their much-loved Isle.

O Thou who poured the patriotic tide

That streamed thro' Wallace's undaunted heart;
Who dared to nobly stem tyrannic pride,
Or nobly die, the second glorious part,

185 (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! (1-72) This poem shows "the true pathos and sublime | Of human life." In the Odyssey, Ulysses says to Nausicaa, "There is neither anything better nor more beautiful than a man and a woman inhabiting a home, making it one by the heart." What poem previously read has given Burns the formal unity of his poem? Classify the poetical imagery of Milton, Gray, and Goldsmith's, that is present in the poem.

(73-81) Burns' “ sage experience never possessed "wisdom's root."

His father was the prototype of the sire who "reads the sacred page." The worship at the “ingle” is an imitation of service in the Covenanter Church. (165) What similar sentiment has been expressed in “The Deserted Village"? What poem was written at Dumfries that shows "the prophetic soul | Of the wide world dreaming on things to come," and which has for its theme (166) "An honest man's the noblest work of God"? Note Burns' admiration for Pope. Note the form of verse in which the poem is written, and the stanzas which are faultily constructed. Compare this poem in theme with Whittier's "Snowbound." Consult a glossary of Lowland Scotch for the dialect words.

TO A MOUSE

On Turning Her Up In Her Nest With The Plough, November, 1785.
Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie,

O, what a panic's in thy breastie !
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,

Wi' bickering brattle!

5 I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee,
Wi' murd'ring pattle!

ΙΟ

I'm truly sorry man's dominion

Has broken Nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion,

Which makes thee startle

At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,

An' fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve; What then? poor beastie, thou maun live! 15 A daimen-icker in a thrave

'S a sma' request:

I'll get a blessing wi' the lave,
And never miss't!

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
20 Its silly wa's the win's are strewin!
An' naething, now, to big a new ane,
O' foggage green!

An' bleak December's winds ensuin,
Baith snell an' keen!

25 Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste, weary winter comin' fast,

30

An'

An' cozie here, beneath the blast,

Thou thought to dwell,

Till crash! the cruel coulter past,
Out thro' thy cell.

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble,
Hast cost thee mony a weary nibble!
Now thou's turn'd out for a' thy trouble,
But house or hald,

35 To thole the winter's sleety dribble,
An' cranreuch cauld!

40

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain :
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft a-gley,

An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,

For promis'd joy.