THE PEASANT'S FIRESIDE.
Air—"For lack o' gowd."
How happy lives the peasant, by his ain fireside,
Wha weel employs the present, by his ain fireside;
Wi' his wifie blithe and free, and his bairnie on his knee,
Smiling fu' o' sportive glee, by his ain fireside!
Nae cares o' state disturb him, by his ain fireside;
Nae foolish fashions curb him, by his ain fireside;
In his elbow-chair reclined, he can freely speak his mind,
To his bosom-mate sae kind, by his ain fireside.
When his bonnie bairns increase, around his ain fireside,
What health, content, and peace surround his ain fireside,
A' day he gladly toils, and at night delighted smiles
At their harmless pranks and wiles, about his ain fireside;
And while they grow apace, about his ain fireside,
In beauty, strength, and grace, about his ain fireside,
Wi' virtuous precepts kind, by a sage example join'd,
He informs ilk youthfu' mind, about his ain fireside.
When the shivering orphan poor draws near his ain fireside,
And seeks the friendly door, that guards his ain fireside,
She 's welcomed to a seat, bidden warm her little feet,
While she 's kindly made to eat, by his ain fireside.
When youthfu' vigour fails him, by his ain fireside,
And hoary age assails him, by his ain fireside,
With joy he back surveys all his scenes of bygone days,
As he trod in wisdom's ways, by his ain fireside.
And when grim death draws near him, by his ain fireside,
What cause has he to fear him, by his ain fireside?
With a bosom-cheering hope, he takes heaven for his prop,
Then calmly down does drop, by his ain fireside.
Oh! may that lot be ours, by our ain fireside;
Then glad will fly the hours, by our ain fireside;
May virtue guard our path, till we draw our latest breath,
Then we 'll smile and welcome death, by our ain fireside.
AH, NO! I CANNOT SAY "FAREWELL."
Ah, no! I cannot say "Farewell,"
'T would pierce my bosom through;
And to this heart 't were death's dread knell,
To hear thee sigh "Adieu."
Though soul and body both must part,
Yet ne'er from thee I 'll sever,
For more to me than soul thou art,
And oh! I 'll quit thee never.
Whate'er through life may be thy fate,
That fate with thee I 'll share,
If prosperous, be moderate;
If adverse, meekly bear;
This bosom shall thy pillow be,
In every change whatever,
And tear for tear I 'll shed with thee,
But oh! forsake thee, never.