Weel-pleased to think her bairn's respected like the lave. [child, rest]

O happy love! where love like this is found;
O heart-felt 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 perjur'd arts, dissembling, smooth!
Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exil'd?
Is there no pity, no relenting ruth,
Points to the parents fondling o'er their child?
Then paints the ruin'd maid, and their distraction wild?

But now the supper crowns their simple board,
The halesome parritch, chief of Scotia's food: [wholesome]
The sowpe their only hawkie does afford, [milk, cow]
That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood; [beyond, partition,
The dame brings forth in complimental mood, cud]
To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuck, fell; [well-saved cheese,
And aft he's prest, and aft he ca's it good; strong]
The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell