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’ flichterin noise and glee. 
      His wee-bit ingle, blinkin bonilie,
        His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie wifie’s smile,
      The lisping infant, prattling on his knee,
        Does a’ his weary carking cares beguile,
      And makes him quite forget his labour and 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 shew 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, unnotic’d fleet;
        Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears: 
      The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years;
        Anticipation forward points the view;
      The mither, wi’ her needle an’ her shears,
        Gars auld claes look amaist as weel’s the new;
      The father mixes a’ wi’ admonition due.

* * * * * * *

      But, hark! a rap comes gently to the door;
        Jenny, wha kens the meaning o’ the same,
      Tells how a neebor lad cam o’er the moor,
        To do some errands, and convoy her hame. 
      The wily mother sees the conscious flame
        Sparkle in Jenny’s e’e, and flush her cheek;
      With heart-struck, anxious care, inquires his name,
        While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak;
      Weel pleas’d the mother hears it’s nae wild, worthless rake.

      Wi’ kindly welcome, Jenny brings him ben;
        A strappan youth; he taks the mother’s eye;
      Blithe Jenny sees the visit’s no ill ta’en;
        The father craks of horses, pleughs, and kye. 
      The youngster’s artless heart o’erflows wi’ joy,
        But blate an’ laithfu’, scarce can weel behave;
      The mother, wi’ a woman’s wiles, can spy
        What makes the youth sae bashfu’ an’ sae grave;
      Weel-pleas’d to think her bairn’s respected like the lave.

      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.