MRS. ALICIA RUTHERFORD COCKBURN THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST I'VE seen the smiling Of fortune beguiling; I've felt all its favours, and found its decay: Sweet was its blessing, Kind its caressing; 5 IO 15 I've seen the forest, Adornèd the foremost With flowers of the fairest most pleasant and gay; Sae bonny was their blooming! Their scent the air perfuming! But now they are withered and weeded away. I've seen the morning With gold the hills adorning, And loud tempest storming before the mid-day; Shining in the sunny beams, Grow drumly and dark as he rowed on his way. Oh fickle Fortune, Why this cruel sporting? Oh, why still perplex us, poor sons of a day? Nae mair your frowns can fear me; For the Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. 20 ROBERT FERGUSSON THE FARMER'S INGLE Et multo in primis hilarans convivia Baccho, WHEN gloamin' grey out-owre the welkin keeks; When Thrasher John, sair dung, his barn-door steeks, 5 What bangs fu' leal the e'enin's coming cauld, 10 Frae the big stack, weel winnow't on the hill, 15 That a' his housie looks sae cosh and clean; For cleanly house loes he, though e'er so mean. Weel kens the gudewife that the pleughs require Sair wark and poortith downa weel be join'd. I' the far nook the bowie briskly reams; And haud the riggin het wi' welcome streams, Frae this let gentler gabs a lesson lear: Wad they to labouring lend an eident hand, They'd rax fell strang upon the simplest fare, Nor find their stamacks ever at a stand. Fu' hale and healthy wad they pass the day; At night in calmest slumbers dose fu' sound; Nor doctor need their weary life to spae, 20 25 30 Nor drugs their noddle and their sense confound, Till death slip sleely on, and gie the hindmost wound. 35 On sicken food has mony a doughty deed By Caledonia's ancestors been done; Laid Denmark's daring sons on yird alang; 40 For near our crest their heads they doughtna raise. 45 The couthy cracks begin when supper's owre; Whase floods did erst their mailin's produce hash. 50 'Bout kirk and market eke their tales gae on; How Jock woo'd Jenny here to be his bride; 55 The fient a cheep's amang the bairnies now, For a' their anger's wi' their hunger gane: Aye maun the childer, wi' a fastin mou', Grumble and greet, and mak an unco mane. In rangles round, before the ingle's lowe, 60 Frae gudame's mouth auld warld tales they hear, O' warlocks loupin' round the wirrikow; O' ghaists, that win in glen and kirk-yard drear; Whilk touzles a' their tap, and gars them shak wi’ fear! 100 Then a' the house for sleep begin to grien, And hafflins steeks them frae their daily toil; |