For while thus it pouts, her fingers wrestle, Twinkling the audacious leaves between, Till round they turn, and down they nestle : Is not the dear mark still to be seen? Where I find her not, beauties vanish; Is there no method to tell her in Spanish June's twice June since she breathed it with me? Come, bud! show me the least of her traces. Treasure my lady's lightest footfall: Ah! you may flout and turn up your faces, Roses, you are not so fair after all! ROBERT BROWNING. ON A GIRDLE. THAT which her slender waist confined It was my heaven's extremest sphere, The pale which held that lovely deer : My joy, my grief, my hope, my love, Did all within this circle move. A narrow compass! and yet there EDMUND WALLER. THE FLOWER O' DUMBLANE. THE sun has gane down o'er the lofty Ben Lomond, And left the red clouds to preside o'er the scene, While lanely I stray in the calm summer gloamin', To muse on sweet Jessie, the Flower o' Dumblane. How sweet is the brier, wi' its saft fauldin' blossom, And sweet is the birk, wi' its mantle o' green; Yet sweeter and fairer, and dear to this bosom, Is lovely young Jessie, the Flower o' Dumblane. She's modest as ony, and blithe as she 's bonnie, For guileless simplicity marks her its ain; And far be the villain, divested of feeling, Wha 'd blight in its bloom the sweet Flower o' Dumblane. Sing on, thou sweet mavis, thy hymn to the e'ening! Thou 'rt dear to the echoes of Calderwood glen: Sae dear to this bosom, sae artless and winning, Is charming young Jessie, the Flower o' Dumblane. How lost were my days till I met wi' my Jessie ! The sports o' the city seemed foolish and vain ; I ne'er saw a nymph I would ca' my dear lassie Till charmed wi' sweet Jessie, the Flower o' Dumblane. Though mine were the station o' loftiest grandeur, Amidst its profusion I'd languish in pain, And reckon as naething the height o' its splendor, If wanting sweet Jessie, the Flower o' Dumblane. ROBERT TANNAHILL. THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. Ir is the miller's daughter, That trembles at her ear; And I would be the girdle About her dainty, dainty waist, And her heart would beat against me In sorrow and in rest; And I should know if it beat right, I'd clasp it round so close and tight. And I would be the necklace, And all day long to fall and rise Upon her balmy bosom With her laughter or her sighs; And I would lie so light, so light, I scarce should be unclasped at night. ALFRED TENNYSON. THE LASS OF RICHMOND HILL. ON Richmond Hill there lives a lass More bright than May-day morn, Whose charms all other maids surpass, A rose without a thorn. This lass so neat, with smiles so sweet, Ye zephyrs gay, that fan the air, How happy will the shepherd be Who calls this nymph his own! O, may her choice be fixed on me! Mine's fixed on her alone. UPTON. By dae ar night, the best ov all, To zee my Fanny's smilén fiace; An' dere the stiately trees da grow, A-rockén as the win' da blow, While she da sweetly sleep below, In the stillness o' the night. An' dere at evemen I da goo, A-hoppén auver ghiates an' bars, By twinklen light o' winter stars, When snow da clumper to my shoe; An' zometimes we da slyly catch A chat, an hour upon the stratch, An' piart wi' whispers at the hatch, In the stillness o' the night. An' zometimes she da goo to zome Young nâighbours' housen down the pliace, An' I da wish a vield a mile, WILLIAM BARNES. MARY MORISON. O MARY, at thy window be ! It is the wished, the trysted hour! That make the miser's treasure poor : Yestreen when to the trembling string I sat, but neither heard nor saw : O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace Whase only faut is loving thee? A thought ungentle canna be ROBERT BURNS. IN THE STILLNESS O' THE NIGHT. DORSET DIALECT. Ov all the housen o' the pliace Ther 's gone wher I da like to call, In battle's wild commotion, The proud and mighty Mars Has darts in her bright eye, That knock men down in the market town, For the doctor's art Cannot cure the heart, That is hit from that low-backed car. Sweet Peggy round her car, sir, Has strings of ducks and geese, Just like a turtle-dove, Of the blooming god of Love! While she sits in her low-backed car, The lovers come near and far, And envy the chicken As she sits in her low-backed car. O, I'd rather own that car, sir, Than a coach and four, and gold galore, And a lady for my bride; For the lady would sit forninst me, With my arm around her waist, While we drove in the low-backed car, To be married by Father Mahar; O, my heart would beat high SAMUEL LOVER. SALLY IN OUR ALLEY. Of all the girls that are so smart Her father he makes cabbage-nets, And through the streets does cry 'em ; Her mother she sells laces long To such as please to buy 'em ; But sure such folks could ne'er beget So sweet a girl as Sally! She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. When she is by I leave my work, I'll bear it all for Sally; Of all the days that's in the week And that's the day that comes betwixt To walk abroad with Sally; My master carries me to church, I leave the church in sermon-time, She is the darling of my heart, When Christmas comes about again, I'll give it to my honey; O, would it were ten thousand pound! I'd give it all to Sally; For she's the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. Be what it may the time of day, the place be | O, might we live together in lofty palace hall, Where joyful music rises, and where scarlet curtains fall; where it will, Sweet looks of Mary Donnelly, they bloom before me still. Her eyes like mountain water that's flowing on a rock, How clear they are! how dark they are! and they give me many a shock; Red rowans warm in sunshine, and wetted with a shower, Could ne'er express the charming lip that has me in its power. Her nose is straight and handsome, her eyebrows lifted up, Her chin is very neat and pert, and smooth like a china cup; Her hair's the brag of Ireland, so weighty and so fine, It's rolling down upon her neck, and gathered O, LUVE will venture in where it daurna weel be in a twine. seen, O, luve will venture in where wisdom ance has been! The dance o' last Whit-Monday night exceeded But I will down yon river rove amang the woods all before; No pretty girl for miles around was missing from the floor; But Mary kept the belt of love, and O, but she was gay; She danced a jig, she sung a song, and took my heart away! sae green: And a' to pu' a posie to my ain dear May. The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year, And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear, For she's the pink o' womankind, and blooms without a peer : And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. When she stood up for dancing, her steps were I'll pu' the budding rose, when Phoebus peeps in The music nearly killed itself, to listen to her For it's like a balmy kiss o' her sweet bonnie mou'; The hyacinth's for constancy, wi' its unchanging blue: feet; The fiddler mourned his blindness, he heard her so much praised, But blessed himself he was n't deaf when once her voice she raised. And evermore I'm whistling or lilting what you sung; Your smile is always in my heart, your name beside my tongue. But you've as many sweethearts as you'd count on both your hands, And for myself there's not a thumb or little finger stands. O, you're the flower of womankind, in country or in town; The higher I exalt you, the lower I'm cast down. If some great lord should come this way and see The violet's for modesty, which weel she fa's to your beauty bright, And you to be his lady, I'd own it was but right. wear: And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. |