The Cotter's Saturday Night. - Inscribed To Robert Aiken, Esq. Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: ABCD E FGFGGHGII JKJLLFLFF JMMMMMMMM J IIIIIMIMM M NONPQJPJJ J RERESTETT J MUMUUVUVW J IJIJXJJJJ P TMTMMMMMM P TYTYZTYTT P TTTTTMTMM P PTPTTMTMM P PUPUUPUPP J A2JA2PJMJMM J UTUTTTTTT J B2P PPMPMM J TTTTTMTMM J ETETTTTTT P PTPTTTTTT P MTMTTMTMM P TTTTTTTTT

Let not ambition mock their useful toilA
Their homely joys and destiny obscureB
Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smileC
The short and simple annals of the poorD
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GrayE
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I-
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My lov'd my honour'd much respected friendF
No mercenary bard his homage paysG
With honest pride I scorn each selfish endF
My dearest meed a friend's esteem and praiseG
To you I sing in simple Scottish laysG
The lowly train in life's sequester'd sceneH
The native feelings strong the guileless waysG
What Aiken in a cottage would have beenI
Ah tho' his work unknown far happier there I weenI
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II-
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November chill blaws loud wi' angry sughJ
The short'ning winter day is near a closeK
The miry beasts retreating frae the pleughJ
The black'ning trains o' craws to their reposeL
The toil worn Cotter frae his labour goesL
This night his weekly moil is at an endF
Collects his spades his mattocks and his hoesL
Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spendF
And weary o'er the moor his course does homeward bendF
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III-
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At length his lonely cot appears in viewJ
Beneath the shelter of an aged treeM
Th' expectant wee things toddlin' stacher thro'M
To meet their Dad wi' flichterin' noise an' gleeM
His wee bit ingle blinkin' bonnilyM
His clean hearth stane his thriftie Wifie's smileM
The lisping infant prattling on his kneeM
Does a' his weary kiaugh and care beguileM
An' makes him quite forget his labour and his toilM
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IVJ
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Belyve the elder bairns come drapping inI
At service out amang the farmers roun'I
Some ca' the pleugh some herd some tentie rinI
A cannie errand to a neebor townI
Their eldest hope their Jenny woman grownI
In youthfu' bloom love sparkling in her e'eM
Comes hame perhaps to shew a braw new gownI
Or deposite her sair won penny feeM
To help her parents dear if they in hardship beM
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VM
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With joy unfeign'd brothers and sisters meetN
An' each for other's welfare kindly spiersO
The social hours swift wing'd unnotic'd fleetN
Each tells the unco's that he sees or hearsP
The parents partial eye their hopeful yearsQ
Anticipation forward points the viewJ
The Mother wi' her needle an' her shearsP
Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the newJ
The Father mixes a' wi' admonition dueJ
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VIJ
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Their master's an' their mistress's commandR
The younkers a' are warned to obeyE
And mind their labours wi' an eydent handR
An' ne'er tho' out of sight to jauk or playE
And O be sure to fear the Lord alwayS
And mind your duty duly morn and nightT
Lest in temptation's path ye gang astrayE
Implore His counsel and assisting mightT
They never sought in vain that sought the Lord arightT
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VIIJ
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But hark a rap comes gently to the doorM
Jenny wha kens the meaning o' the sameU
Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moorM
To do some errands and convoy her hameU
The wily Mother sees the conscious flameU
Sparkle in Jenny's e'e and flush her cheekV
With heart struck anxious care inquires his nameU
While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speakV
Weel pleas'd the Mother hears it's nae wild worthless rakeW
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VIIIJ
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Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him benI
A strappan youth he taks the Mother's eyeJ
Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'enI
The Father cracks of horses pleughs and kyeJ
The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joyX
But blate an laithfu' scarce can weel behaveJ
The Mother wi' a woman's wiles can spyJ
What makes the youth sae bashfu' and sae graveJ
Weel pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the laveJ
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IXP
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O happy love Where love like this is foundT
O heart felt raptures bliss beyond compareM
I've paced much this weary mortal roundT
And sage experience bids me this declareM
If heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spareM
One cordial in this melancholy valeM
'Tis when a youthful loving modest pairM
In other's arms breathe out the tender taleM
Beneath the milk white thorn that scents the ev'ning galeM
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XP
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Is there in human form that bears a heartT
A wretch a villain lost to love and truthY
That can with studied sly ensnaring artT
Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youthY
Curse on his perjur'd arts dissembling smoothZ
Are honour virtue conscience all exil'dT
Is there no pity no relenting ruthY
Points to the parents fondling o'er their childT
Then paints the ruin'd maid and their distraction wildT
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XIP
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But now the supper crowns their simple boardT
The halesome parritch chief of Scotia's foodT
The soupe their only hawkie does affordT
That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her coodT
The dame brings forth in complimental moodT
To grace the lad her weel hain'd kebbuck fellM
An' aft he's prest an' aft he ca's it guidT
The frugal wifie garrulous will tellM
How 'twas a towmond auld sin' lint was i' the bellM
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XIIP
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The cheerfu' supper done wi' serious faceP
They round the ingle form a circle wideT
The Sire turns o'er with patriarchal graceP
The big ha' Bible ance his father's prideT
His bonnet rev'rently is laid asideT
His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bareM
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glideT
He wales a portion with judicious careM
And 'Let us worship GOD ' he says with solemn airM
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XIIIP
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They chant their artless notes in simple guiseP
They tune their hearts by far the noblest aimU
Perhaps Dundee's wild warbling measures riseP
Or plaintive Martyrs worthy of the nameU
Or noble Elgin beets the heaven ward flameU
The sweetest far of Scotia's holy laysP
Compar'd with these Italian trills are tameU
The tickl'd ear no heart felt raptures raiseP
Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praiseP
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XIVJ
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The priest like Father reads the sacred pageA2
How Abram was the friend of God on highJ
Or Moses bade eternal warfare wageA2
With Amalek's ungracious progenyP
Or how the royal bard did groaning lieJ
Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ireM
Or Job's pathetic plaint and wailing cryJ
Or rapt Isaiah's wild seraphic fireM
Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyreM
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XVJ
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Perhaps the Christian volume is the themeU
How guiltless blood for guilty man was shedT
How HE who bore in Heaven the second nameU
Had not on earth whereon to lay his headT
How His first followers and servants spedT
The precepts sage they wrote to many a landT
How he who lone in Patmos banishedT
Saw in the sun a mighty angel standT
And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounc'd by Heaven's commandT
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XVIJ
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Then kneeling down to HEAVEN'S ETERNAL KINGB2
The Saint the Father and the Husband praysP
Hope 'springs exulting on triumphant wing '-
That thus they all shall meet in future daysP
There ever bask in uncreated raysP
No more to sigh or shed the bitter tearM
Together hymning their Creator's praiseP
In such society yet still more dearM
While circling Time moves round in an eternal sphereM
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XVIIJ
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Compar'd with this how poor Religion's prideT
In all the pomp of method and of artT
When men display to congregations wideT
Devotion's ev'ry grace except the heartT
The Pow'r incens'd the pageant will desertT
The pompous strain the sacerdotal stoleM
But haply in some cottage far apartT
May hear well pleas'd the language of the soulM
And in His book of life the inmates poor enrolM
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XVIIIJ
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Then homeward all take off their sev'ral wayE
The youngling cottagers retire to restT
Their Parent pair their secret homage payE
And proffer up to Heaven the warm requestT
That HE who stills the raven's clam'rous nestT
And decks the lily fair in flow'ry prideT
Would in the way His wisdom sees the bestT
For them and for their little ones provideT
But chiefly in their hearts with grace divine presideT
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XIXP
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From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springsP
That makes her lov'd at home rever'd abroadT
Princes and lords are but the breath of kingsP
An honest man's the noblest work of GODT
And certes in fair virtue's heav'nly roadT
The cottage leaves the palace far behindT
What is a lordship's pomp a cumbrous loadT
Disguising oft the wretch of human kindT
Studied in arts of Hell in wickedness refin'dT
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XXP
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O Scotia my dear my native soilM
For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sentT
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toilM
Be blest with health and peace and sweet contentT
And O may heaven their simple lives preventT
From luxury's contagion weak and vileM
Then howe'er crowns and coronets be rentT
A virtuous populace may rise the whileM
And stand a wall of fire around their much lov'd IsleM
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XXIP
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O Thou who pour'd the patriotic tideT
That stream'd through Wallace's undaunted heartT
Who dar'd to nobly stem tyrannic prideT
Or nobly die the second glorious partT
The patriot's God peculiarly Thou artT
His friend inspirer guardian and rewardT
O never never Scotia's realm desertT
But still the patriot and the patriot bardT
In bright succession raise her ornament and guardT

Robert Burns



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