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If thou dost bid thy friend farewell,
In weil or wae, whaireir he gae, Mine hart can neir depart him frae.
But doe not, doe not, prettie mine,
Fareweil, fareweil, thou falsest youth
Balou, my babe, ly stil and sleeve!
MY HEID IS LIKE TO REND, WILASI
My heid is like to rend, Willie,
My heart is like to break;
I'm dyin' for your sake!
Your hand on my briest-bane,
When I am deid and gane !
It's vain to comfort me, Willie,
Sair grief maun ha'c its will ; But let me rest upon your briest
To sab and greet my fill. Let me sit on your knee, Willie,
Let me shed by your hair, And look into the face, Willie,
I never sall see mair!
Martininas wind, when wilt thou blaw,
And shake the green leaves off the tree? O gentle death, when wilt thou come ?
For of my life I'm weary.
'Tis not the frost that freezes fell,
Nor blawing snaw's inclemency; 'T is not sic cauld that makes me cry,
But my love's heart grown cauld to me.
When we came in by Glasgow town,
We were a comely sight to see ;
And I mysell in cramasie.
But had I wist, before I kissed,
That love had been sae ill to win, I'd locked my heart in a case of gold,
And pinned it with a silver pin.
Oh, oh, if my young babe were born,
And set upon the nurse's knee, And I mysell were dead and gane,
And the green grass growin' over me !
LADY ANN BOTHWELL'S LAMENT.
A SCOTTISH SONG
Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe !
Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe !
When he began to court my luve,
Ly stil, my darlinge, sleipe awhile,
cannae chuse, but ever will
I'm sittin' on your knee, Willie,
For the last time in my life, A puir heart-broken thing, Willie,
A mither, yet nae wife.
And press it mair and mair,
Sae strang is its despair.
“I loved, — and, blind with passionate love, I
fell. Love brought me down to death, and death to
Hell; For God is just, and death for sin is well. “I do not rage ngainst his high decree, Nor for myself do ask that grace shall be ; But for my love on earth who mourns for me.
“Great Spirit! Let me see my love again And comfort him one hour, and I were fain To pay a thousand years of fire and pain."
Then said the pitying angel, “ Nay, repent That wild vow! Look, the dial-fiuger 's bent Down to the last hour of thy punishment!"
But still she wailed, “I pray thee, let me go ! | I cannot rise to peace and leave him so. 0, let me soothe him in his bitter woe!”
The brazen gates ground sullenly ajar, And upward, joyous, like a rising star, She rose and vanished in the ether far.
0, wae's me for the hour, Willie,
When we thegither met, 0, wae's me for the time, Willie,
That our first tryst was set ! 0, wae's me for the loanin' green
Where we were wont to gae, And wae's mie for the destinie
That gart me luve thee sae !
I downa seek to blamo ;
And drce a warld's shame!
And hạilin' ower your chin :
For sorrow, and for sin ?
And sick wi' a' I sce,
Or be as I should be.
The heart that still is thine,
Ye said was red langsyne.
A sair stoun' through my heart ;
Thy brow ere we twa pairt. Anither, and anither yet!
How fast my life-strings break! Fareweel' fareweel! through yon kirk-yard
Step lichtly for my sake! The lav'rock in the lift, Willie,
That lilts far ower our beid,
Abune the clay.cauld deid ;
Wi' dew-(Iraps shimmerin' sheen,
As warld has seldom seen.
On land where'er ye be;
That ne'er luvit ane but thee !
That file my yellow hair,
Ye riever sall kiss mair !
But soon adown the dying sunset sailing,
She sobbed, “I found him by the summer sea
She wept, “Now let my punishment begin !
The angel answered, “ Nay, sad soul, go higher !
DEATH AND THE YOUTH. “Not yet, the flowers are in my path,
The sun is in the sky;
I cannot bear to die.
“Not vet, I never knew till now
How precious life could be ; My heart is full of love, O Death!
I cannot come with thee!”
A WOMAN'S LOVE. A SENTINEL angel, sitting high in glory, Heard this shrill wail ring out from Purgatory : “Have mercy, mighty angel, hear my story!
INCONSTANCY OF WOMAN. There are three things a wise man will not trust : The wind, the sunshine of an April day, And woman's plighted faith.
Who trusts himself to woman or to waves
Away, away - you 're all the same,
THE DISAPPOINTED' HEART. The cold — the changed - perchance the dead
anew, The mourned, the loved, the lost — too many!
yet how few! Childe Harold, Cant. iv.
Do not drop in for an after-loss. Ah, do not, when my heart hath scaped this sorrow, Come in the rearward of a conquered woe ; Give not a windy night a rainy morrow, To linger out a purposed overthrow.
I have not loved the world, nor the world me. Childe Harold, Cant, iii.
At threescore winters' end I died,
A cheerless being, sole and sad ; The nuptial kuot I never tied,
And wish my father never had. From the Greek,
COW PER'S Trans.
Alas! the breast that inly bleeds
BEREAVEMENT AND DEATH.
But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion,
Clothed with celestial grace ;
Shall we behold her face.
And though, at times, impetuous with emotion
And anguish long suppressed,
That cannot be at rest, –
We will be patient, and assuage the feeling
We may not wholly stay ;
The grief that must have way.
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. Assume this dark disguise.
We see but dimly through the mists and vapors ;
When the soft green buds are bursting out,
And up on the south-wind comes a shout
In the mild spring evening gray.
Sturdy of heart and stout of limb, She is not dead, — the child of our affection, From eyes that drew half their light from But gone unto that school
him, Where she no longer needs our poor protection, And put low, low underneath the clay, And Christ himself doth rule.
In his spring, on this spring day.