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life's reverses.
The rich raven hair, an' the dark speakin' e'e,
Reminds us fu' weel o' our frien' Jessie Lee;
But the saft rounded visage an' cheek like the rose,
An' figure sae plump, seem that thoucht to oppose.
Yet, 'tis she, our ain Jessy, wi' heart aye the same,
The pride an' delight o' her noo happy hame.
A youth tall an' strappin', with soul-lichted broo,
Frae a tree-shaded side walk advances to view;
Sae wondrous the change in his features an' form,
We scarce can believe him wee Tam o' the storm.
Wi' a bound the white steps at the ha' door he clears,
An' lanchin' wi' Jess at the window appears;
But o' mither an' Maggie we're anxious to ken,
Sae, wi' leave, Maister Tammie, we'll follow ye ben.
'Tis a snug sittin' parlour, whase furnishin' chaste
Displays the perfection o' neatness an' taste;
Noucht is wantin' to mak' it baith cozie and braw,
Nae untidy arrangement, nae valgar geegaw;
The licht leaves like net work the window half-screen,
An' lichts the neat chamber wi' soft sunny green,
Whilst a vase o' rich workmanship, loaded wi' bloom,
Fresh culled frae the garden, spreads richest perfume.
Attired in a plain suit o' rich sober grey,
The mither appears an' looks bloomin' as May;
A' traces o' want produced sickness have fled,
Whilst health and contentment are there in their stead.
Ben comes a braw missie, wi' braid gipsey hat,
Half shadin' a countenance ruddy and fat;
'Tis Maggie—how changed since we gazed on her last,
Though seasons but few hae sin syne flitted past!
Reminds us fu' weel o' our frien' Jessie Lee;
But the saft rounded visage an' cheek like the rose,
An' figure sae plump, seem that thoucht to oppose.
Yet, 'tis she, our ain Jessy, wi' heart aye the same,
The pride an' delight o' her noo happy hame.
A youth tall an' strappin', with soul-lichted broo,
Frae a tree-shaded side walk advances to view;
Sae wondrous the change in his features an' form,
We scarce can believe him wee Tam o' the storm.
Wi' a bound the white steps at the ha' door he clears,
An' lanchin' wi' Jess at the window appears;
But o' mither an' Maggie we're anxious to ken,
Sae, wi' leave, Maister Tammie, we'll follow ye ben.
'Tis a snug sittin' parlour, whase furnishin' chaste
Displays the perfection o' neatness an' taste;
Noucht is wantin' to mak' it baith cozie and braw,
Nae untidy arrangement, nae valgar geegaw;
The licht leaves like net work the window half-screen,
An' lichts the neat chamber wi' soft sunny green,
Whilst a vase o' rich workmanship, loaded wi' bloom,
Fresh culled frae the garden, spreads richest perfume.
Attired in a plain suit o' rich sober grey,
The mither appears an' looks bloomin' as May;
A' traces o' want produced sickness have fled,
Whilst health and contentment are there in their stead.
Ben comes a braw missie, wi' braid gipsey hat,
Half shadin' a countenance ruddy and fat;
'Tis Maggie—how changed since we gazed on her last,
Though seasons but few hae sin syne flitted past!
