Pagina-afbeeldingen
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O, what more of the world could one wish for

beside,

As we gazed on the river unrolled,

Till we heard, or we fancied, its musical tide, When it flowed through the gateway of gold !

"Jennie June," then I said, "let us linger no

more

On the banks of the beautiful river;

THE EMIGRANT'S WISH.

I WISH we were hame to our ain folk,
Our kind and our true-hearted ain folk,
Where the simple are weal, and the gentle are leal,

And the hames are the hames o' our ain folk. We've been wi' the gay, and the gude where we've come,

We're courtly wi' many, we 're couthy wi' some;

Let the boat be unmoored, and be muffled the But something's still wantin' we never can find

oar,

And we'll steal into heaven together.

If the angel on duty our coming descries,

Sin' the day that we left our auld neebors behind.

O, I wish we were hame to our ain folk,

You have nothing to do but throw off the dis- Our kind and our true-hearted ain folk,

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Oh how sweetly she spoke, ere she uttered a word,

With that blush, partly hers, partly even's, And a tone, like the dream of a song we once heard,

As she whispered, "This way is not heaven's: For the River that runs by the realm of the blest Has no song on its ripple, no star on its breast; Oh! that river is nothing like this,

For it glides on in shadow beyond the world's west,

Till it breaks into beauty and bliss."

I am lingering yet, but I linger alone,

On the banks of the beautiful river;

Where daffin and glee wi' the friendly and free Made our hearts aye sae fond o' our ain folk. Though Spring had its moils, and Summer its toils,

And Autumn craved pith ere we gathered its spoils,

Yet Winter repaid a' the toil that we took, When ilk ane crawed crouse by his ain ingle nook.

O, I wish we were hame to our ain folk,
Our kind and our true-hearted ain folk,
Where maidens and men in hall and in glen
Still welcome us aye as their ain folk.
They told us in gowpens we'd gather the gear,
Sae sune as we cam' to the rich Mailins here,
But what are the Mailins, or what are they worth,
If they be not enjoyed in the land o' our birth !

Then I wish we were hame to our ain folk,
Our kind and our true-hearted ain folk,
But deep are the howes and high are the knowes,

'T is the twin of that day, but the wave where it That keep us awa' frae our ain folk.

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FROM you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim,
Hath put a spirit of Youth in everything,
That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him.
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odor and in hue,
Could make me any summer's story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they
grew:

Nor did I wonder at the lilies white,

Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
Yet seemed it winter still, and you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.

SHAKESPEARE.

The seat by the door where our auld faithers sat, To tell a' the news, their views, and a' that, While down by the kailyard the burnie rowed

clear,

'T was mair to my liking than aught that is here.

Then I wish we were hame to our ain folk,
Our kind and our true-hearted ain folk,
Where the wild thistles wave o'er th' abode o' the
brave,

And the graves are the graves o' our ain folk.
But happy, gey lucky, we 'll trudge on our way,
Till our arm waxes weak and our haffets grow

gray;

And, tho' in this world our ain still we miss, We'll meet them at last in a world o' bliss.

And then we'll be hame to our ain folk,
Our kind and our true-hearted ain folk,
Where far 'yont the moon in the heavens aboon
The hames are the hames o' our ain folk.

ANONYMOUS.

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Swallows will flit round the desolate ruin,
Telling of spring and its joyous renewing;
And thoughts of thy love, and its manifold treasure,
Are circling my heart with a promise of pleasure.
O Spring of my spirit, O May of my bosom,
Shine out on my soul, till it bourgeon and blossom;
The waste of my life has a rose-root within it.
And thy fondness alone to the sunshine can win it.

Smiles coming seldom, but childlike and simple,
Planting in each rosy cheek a sweet dimple ;
O, thanks to the Saviour, that even thy seeming
Is left to the exile to brighten his dreaming.

You have been glad when you knew I was glad-
dened;

Dear, are you sad now to hear I am saddened?
Our hearts ever answer in tune and in time, love,
As octave to octave, and rhyme unto rhyme, love :
I cannot weep but your tears will be flowing,
You cannot smile but my cheek will be glowing;
I would not die without you at my side, love,
You will not linger when I shall have died, love.

Come to me, dear, ere I die of my sorrow,
Rise on my gloom like the sun of to-morrow;
Strong, swift, and fond as the words which I
speak, love,

With a song on your lip and a smile on your
cheek, love.

Figure that moves like a song through the even; Come, for my heart in your absence is weary,
Features lit up by a reflex of heaven;
Eyes like the skies of poor Erin, our mother,
Where shadow and sunshine are chasing each

other;

Haste, for my spirit is sickened and dreary,
Come to the arms which alone should caress thee,
Come to the heart that is throbbing to press thee !

JOSEPH BRENNAN.

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ISAPPOINTMENT

ESTRANGEMEN

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In This, I fondly hoped to cast,
A Friend whom Death alone could sever
with malignant Grasp,
Has born thee from my Pnast forever

But my

Breast

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