Imatges de pàgina
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37. With what voice does the avalanche | heard in its descent from these peaks to speak? the clouds ?

38. What destruction do avalanches sometimes occasion ?

39. Why "livery flowers"?

40. What is said of the wild goats,-of the eagles, of the lightnings?

41. How high up do clouds usually rest? (Ans. Clouds are most frequently less than a mile in height).

42. Are not the "sky-pointing peaks" much higher than this?

43. Will the avalanche be seen and

44. Why will they not be seen and heard there?

45. What are the duties of an ambassador?

46. In what way are these done by this mountain?

47. By what titles is the mountain addressed in the last few lines?

48. What were the duties of the ancient High Priest in the Temple ?

49. What is this Hierarch called on to do?

Sleekit-sleek.

XXVIII.-LINES TO A MOUSE.

Beastie-little beast. The termina-
tion ie marks the diminutive.
Bickering brattle-hasty run.
Laith-loth; as baith, both.
Pattle--a small spade to clean the
plough.

Whyles-sometimes.

Win's-winds. The final conson-
ant is often ommitted, as an' for
and, o' for of, &c.

Big-build.
Foggage-long grass.
Snell-bitter.
But-without.

Hald-abiding place, home.

Daimen icker-an ear of corn oc- Thole-endure.

casionally.

Thrave-twenty-four sheaves.

Lave-leaving, the rest.

Wee bit housie-little bit of a house.

Cranreuch-hoar-frost.

No' thy lane-not alone.

Gang aft a-gley-go often wrong.

WEE, sleekit, cowerin, timorous beastie,
O, what a panic's in thy breastie !
Thou needna start awa sae hasty,
Wi' bickering brattle!

I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee,
Wi' murdering pattle!

I'm truly sorry man's dominion
Has broken nature's social union,
An justifies that ill opinion,

Which maks thee startle

At me, thy poor earth-born companion,
An fellow mortal!

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

'S a sma' request;

I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave,

And never miss't!

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
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!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste,
An' weary winter comin' fast,

An' cozie here, beneath the blast,

Thou thought to dwell,

Till crash! the cruel coulter pass'd
Out-thro' thy cell.

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

To thole the winter's sleety dribble
And cranreuch cauld!

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XXIX. THE MITHERLESS BAIRN.

Bairnie-diminutive of bairn, a | Airn-iron.

child.

Sairly forfairn-sorely distressed,

Frecky eager, ready.

Dowie-worn out with grief.

destitute.

Haps-wraps, covers up.

Lithless comfortless.
Siccan-such.

Clutches-i.e. pulls at his hair.
Lo'e-love.
Mools-earth.
Bannock-barley-cake.

Hackit heelies-heels chapped with Couthilie-kindly.

the cold.

WHEN a' ither bairnies are hushed to their hame
By aunty, or cousin, or frecky grand-dame,
Wha stands last an' lanely, an' sairly forfairn?
'Tis the puir dowie laddie—the mitherless bairn!
The mitherless bairnie creeps to his lane bed,
Nane covers his cauld back, or haps his bare head;
His wee hackit heelies are hard as the airn,
An' lithless the lair o' the mitherless bairn!

Aneath his cauld brow, siccan dreams hover there,
O' hands that wont kindly to kaim his dark hair!
But morning brings clutches a' reckless an' stern,
That lo'e na the locks o' the mitherless bairn!

The sister who sang o'er his saftly rocked bed,
Now rests in the mools where their mammie is laid;
While the faither toils sair his wee bannock to earn,
An' kens na the wrangs o' his mitherless bairn!

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Her spirit that passed in yon hour of his birth
Still watches his lone lorn wanderings on earth,
Recording in heaven the blessings they earn,
Wha couthilie deal with the mitherless bairn!

Oh! speak him na harshly-he trembles the while,
He bends to your bidding, and blesses your smile:
In their dark hour o' anguish the heartless shall learn,
That God deals the blow for the mitherless bairn!

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XXX.-THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT.

ROBERT BURNS was born January 25th 1759, in a clay-built cottage, raised by his father's own hands, on the banks of the Doon, in the district of Kyle, Ayrshire. At the age of six he was sent to school, and appears to have been a diligent little student. At an early age he assisted his father in his farming business, continuing his education at intervals. When about twenty, he composed several of the poems which afterwards distinguished his name. After various domestic trials, when on the point of leaving England for Jamaica, where he had got a situation, the publication of his poems awakened so much interest in their author, that he abandoned his purpose, and after an unsuccessful experiment in farming, obtained an appointment in the excise. He died at Dumfries, in the year 1796, at the early age of 37 years.

The following remarks are by Dr. Currie, the early biographer of Burns. "The Cotter's Saturday Night is tender and moral, solemn and devotional, and rises at length into a strain of grandeur and sublimity which modern poetry has not surpassed. The noble sentiments of patriotism, with which it concludes, correspond with the rest of the poem. In no age or country have the pastoral muses breathed such elevated accents, if the Messiah of Pope be excepted, which is indeed a pastora! in form only."

Hawkie-cow.

Sugh, means, the continued rush- | Halesome-healthful, wholesome, ing noise of wind or water. Stacher-stagger.

Flichtering fluttering.

Ingle-fire.

Belyve-by and by.

Tentie-heedful, cautious.

Braw-fine, handsome.
Sair-sadly, sorely.

Spiers-inquires.

Uncos-news.

Gars-makes.

Claes-clothes.

Eydent-diligent.
Jauk-trifle.

Hallan-a particular partition wall
in a cottage.
Cood-cud.

Weel-hain'd-well-spared.

Kebbuck-cheese.

Towmond-twelvemonth

Sin' lint was i' the bell-since the flax was in flower.

Big ha' Bible-the great Bible that
lies in the hall.

Lyart haffets-gray temples.
Wales-chooses.

Beets-adds fuel to fire.

NOVEMBER chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh;
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 labour goes,
This night his weekly moil is at an end,
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes,
Hoping the morn 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;

Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher through
To meet their Dad, wi' flichtering noise an' glee.'

His wee bit ingle, 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 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 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 new gown,
Or deposit her sair-won penny-fee,

To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be.
Wi' joy unfeign'd brothers and sisters meet,
An' each for other's welfare kindly spiers:
The social hours, swift-winged, 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 shears,

Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new ;
The father mixes a' wi' admonition due.

Their maister's an' their mistress's command,
The younkers a' are warned to obey;
An' mind their labours wi' an eydent hand,
An' ne'er tho' out o' sight, to jauk 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 now the supper crowns their simple board,
The halesome parritch, chief o' Scotia's food:

The soupe their only hawkie does afford,

That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood;
The dame brings forth in complimental mood,
To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd 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.

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