III.

At length his lonely cot appears in view, Beneath the shelter of an aged tree; Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin', stacher thro' To meet their Dad, wi' flichterin' noise an' glee. His wee bit ingle, blinkin' bonnily. His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie Wifie's smile, The lisping infant prattling on his knee, Does a' his weary kiaugh and care beguile, An' makes him quite forget his labour and his toil.