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From the bleak northern blast may ray cot be completely
Secured by a neighbouring hill;
At night, may repose steal upon me more sweetly,
By the vide of a murmuring rill;
And, while peace and plenty I find at my board,
With a heart free from sickness and sorrow,
With my friends will I share what to-day may afford,
And let them spread the table to-morrow.
But when I at last must throw off this frail covering.
Which I’ve worn for threescere years and ten,
On the brink of the grave I'll not seek to keep hovering,
Nor my thread wish to spin o'er again;
But my face in a glass I'll serenely survey,
And with smiles count each wrinkle and furrow,
As this old worn-out stuff which is thread-bare to-day,
May become everlasting to-morrow.
AULD ROB MORRIS.
There’s auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen,
He’s the king o’ good fellows and wale o' auld men;
He has goud in his coffers, he has owsen and kine
And ae bonny lassie, his darling and mine.
She’s fresh as the morning, the fairest in May;
She’s sweet as the ev'ning amaug the new hay,
