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life's reverses.
In which a braw party enjoys richt guid cheer,
But the gay Lady Clara does nowhere appear.
Is't a dream? or is't here a' our auld friends we see?—
There's the squire an' his leddie, an' kind Mrs Lee,
There's Maggie, an' Tam, an' a creature sae fair,
You'd think a sunray lit ilk curl o' her hair,
Wha seems the proud mansion's sweet sylph to preside,
An' sae but short syne she became Tammy's bride.
Let us glance at the faces familiar o' yore:—
Mrs Lee's ance dark locks are noo silvery and hoar,
An' her meek forehead wrinkled, but beauty benign
Pervades ilka feature and time furrow'd line;
A fine woman Jess seems, in life's richest prime,
Ilk charm but developed an' ripen'd by time;
An' the squire looks fu' handsome, an' portly, an' bland,
No a siller hair markin' a touch o' Time's hand;
An' wee hopefu' Maggie's a braw leddie noo,
Wi a world o' saft feelin', like light on her broo,
A glad, gentle creature, weel polish'd in mind,
To puir, as to rich, ever courteous an' kind;
Av', sirs, what a change has time made on our Tam?
Like his mither's, his face is still mild as a lamb,
But manhood has now superseded glad youth,
An' its stamp on ilk feature is sparklin' wi' truth;
The wife o' his bosom fit helpmeet would seem,
For her een gie's a warm an' soul-answerin' beam
To his glance, an' the bright ones she meets on ilk side,
Which regard her fair face wi' affectionate pride.
But the gay Lady Clara does nowhere appear.
Is't a dream? or is't here a' our auld friends we see?—
There's the squire an' his leddie, an' kind Mrs Lee,
There's Maggie, an' Tam, an' a creature sae fair,
You'd think a sunray lit ilk curl o' her hair,
Wha seems the proud mansion's sweet sylph to preside,
An' sae but short syne she became Tammy's bride.
Let us glance at the faces familiar o' yore:—
Mrs Lee's ance dark locks are noo silvery and hoar,
An' her meek forehead wrinkled, but beauty benign
Pervades ilka feature and time furrow'd line;
A fine woman Jess seems, in life's richest prime,
Ilk charm but developed an' ripen'd by time;
An' the squire looks fu' handsome, an' portly, an' bland,
No a siller hair markin' a touch o' Time's hand;
An' wee hopefu' Maggie's a braw leddie noo,
Wi a world o' saft feelin', like light on her broo,
A glad, gentle creature, weel polish'd in mind,
To puir, as to rich, ever courteous an' kind;
Av', sirs, what a change has time made on our Tam?
Like his mither's, his face is still mild as a lamb,
But manhood has now superseded glad youth,
An' its stamp on ilk feature is sparklin' wi' truth;
The wife o' his bosom fit helpmeet would seem,
For her een gie's a warm an' soul-answerin' beam
To his glance, an' the bright ones she meets on ilk side,
Which regard her fair face wi' affectionate pride.
