LINES TO A LATE-BORN MOUNTAIN LAMB, ON A BLINK OF SUNSHINE IN WINTER.

Wee lammie, on yon Scottish hill, Sport while ye may, and tak your fill O' this bit glint o' simmer still, Puir feckless[1] thing; Winter a routh[2] o' cauld and chill Too soon will bring. Sport while ye may, my bonnie fay; 'Twill last na lang this autumn day; For sour and dour,[3] without delay Auld Winter's bound His heavy hand o' skaith[4] to lay On all around. Unsheltered on the bare hill-side, The sleety storm is sair to bide; Caught in its arms, O wae betide The hapless hour! In thy sair stress, whar will ye hide Frae its fell power? What tho' the snaw-wreath cover thee! An' frosty hand shall close thy e'e, Thy young life in adversity Thus pass awa'; 'Tis surely best thou shou'dstna dree[5] What might befa'. I wadna hae ye like to me, Aye fu' o' care for what may be, Thy glad hour clouding waefully Wi' threatened ill; Rather wi' careless thoughts and free, Thy bright hour fill. We look behind! wae worth the day! Aft miry path and feet astray, Our guiding light a flickering ray, No frae aboon— An ignis-fatuus 'mid decay And earthly gloom. How aft wi' heart's ain dool[6] opprest; How aft wi' ithers' pain distrest; How afttimes pained, how seldom blest; Joy's fairest bloom Grows on a slender stem at best, A touch its doom! We come but with a fretfu' cry, A wailfu' note to trouble joy; We go, and Nature's agony Doth still attend; The sinking heart, the weary eye, Proclaim the end. We look beyond, and there we dreed! Frae folly shall we e'er be freed? We hope, we trust, that there indeed, In time to come, We may attain the heavenly creed, And leal become. And there, my lammie, like to thee, Passive and pure, nae mair to be Assailed wi' doubt or fear that we Shall lapse or fa', But evermair frae trouble free, And earthly thraw.[7]