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0, SAW YE BOXNIE LESLEY !
I hear her in the tunefu' birds,
I hear her charm the air ; There's not a bonnie flower that springs
By fountain, shaw, or green, There's not a bonnie bird that sings,
But minds me of my Jean.
0, saw ye bonnie Lesley
As she gaed o'er the border ! She's gane, like Alexander,
To spread her conquests farther.
To see her is to love her,
And love but her forever ; For nature made her what she is,
And ne'er made sic anither!
Thou art a queen, fair Lesley,
Thy subjects we, before thee; Thou art divine, fair Lesley,
The hearts o' men adore thee.
FROM “ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL." I am undone : there is no living, none, If Bertram be away. It were all one, That I should love a bright particular star, And think to wed it, he is so above me : In his bright radiance and collateral light Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. The ambition in my love thus plagues itself : The hind that would be mated by the lion Must die for love. 'T was pretty, though a plaguer To see him ev'ry hour ; to sit and draw His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, In our heart's table, - heart too capable Of every line and trick of his sweet favor : But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy Must sanctify his relics.
The deil he could na scaith thee,
Or aught that wad belang thee; He'd look into thy bonnie face,
And say 'I canna wrang thee !"
The Powers aboon will tent thee;
Misfortune sha' na steer thee; Thou 'rt like themselves sae lovely
That ill they 'll ne'er let near thee.
THE SUN UPON THE LAKE IS LOW.
The sun upon the lake is low,
The wild birds hush their song,
Yet Leonard tarries long.
From home and love divide,
Each to the loved one's side.
I've wandered east, I've wandered west,
Through mony a weary way;
The luve o' life's young day!
May weel be black gin Yule ;
Where first fond luve grows cule.
The noble dame on turret high,
Who waits her gallant knight,
The flash of armor bright.
The level ray to shade,
For Colin's darkening plaid.
By day they swam apart,
The hind beside the hart.
Twitters his closing song,
But Leonard tarries long !
O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison,
The thochts o' bygane years Still fling their shadows ower my path,
And blind my een wi' tears : They blind my een wi' saut, saut tears,
And sair and sick I pine, As memory idly summons up
The blithe blinks o' langsyne.
'T was then we luvit ilk ither weel,
'T was then we twa did part ; Sweet time -- sad time ! twa bairns at scule,
Twa bairns, and but ae heart !
SIR WALTER SCOTT.
'T was then we sat on ae laigh bink,
To leir ilk ither lear ; And tones and looks and smiles were shed,
I wonder, Jeanie, aften yet,
When sitting on that bink, Cheek touchin' cheek, loof locked in loof,
What our wee heads could think.
Wi' ae buik on our knee,
My lesson was in thee.
I marvel, Jeanie Morrison,
Gin I hae been to thee
hae been to me?
Thine ear as it does mine!
Wi' dreamings o' langsyne ?
I've borne a weary lot ;
Ye never were forgot.
Still travels on its way ;
The luve o' life's young day.
Since we were sindered young
The music o' your tongue ;
And happy could I die,
O' bygone days and me!
O, mind ye how we hung our heads,
How cheeks brent red wi' shame, Whene'er the scule-weans, laughin', said
We cleeked thegither hame ? And mind ye o' the Saturdays,
(The scule then skail't at noon,) When we ran off to speel the braes, –
The broomy braes o' June ?
My head rins round and round about, –
My heart flows like a sea,
0' scule-time, and othee.
O lichtsome days and lang, When hinnied hopes around our hearts
Like simmer blossoms sprang !
0, mind ye, luve, how aft we left
The deavin' dinsome toun,
And hear its waters croon ?
The flowers burst round our feet, And in the gloamin' o' the wood
The throssil whusslit sweet ;
THERE lived a singer in France of old
By the tideless, dolorous, midland sea.
There shone one woman, and none but she.
And praised God, seeing; and so died he.
For she bowed down to him weeping, and said, “Live”; and her tears were shed on his face
Or ever the life in his face was shed. The sharp tears fell through her hair, and stung Once, and her close lips touched him and clung Once, and grew one with his lips for a space ;
And so drew back, and the man was dead.
The throssil whusslit in the wood,
The burn sang to the trees,
Concerted harmonies ;
For hours thegither sat
Ay, ay, dear Jeanie Morrison,
Tears trickled doun your cheek
Had ony power to speak !
When hearts were fresh and young, When freely gushed all feelings forth,
Unsyllabled — unsung !
O brother, the gods were good to you.
Sleep, and be glad while the world endures. Be well content as the years wear through ;
Give thanks for life, and the loves and lures ; Give thanks for life, O brother, and death, For the sweet last sound of her feet, her breath, For gifts she gave you, gracious and few,
Tears and kisses, that lady of yours.
DAY, IN MELTING PURPLE DYING
Rest, and be glad of the gods ; but I,
How shall I praise them, or how take rest ! There is not room under all the sky
For me that know not of worst or best, Dream or desire of the days before, Sweet things or bitterness, any more. Love will not come to me now though I die,
As love came close to you, breast to breast.
Day, in melting purple dying ;
Ye but waken my distress ;
I shall never be friends again with roses ;
As a wave of the sea turned back by song. There are sounds where the soul's delight takes fire, Face to face with its own desire ; A delight that rebels, a desire that reposes ;
I shall hate sweet music my whole life long.
The pulse of war and passion of wonder,
shine, 'The stars that sing and the loves that thunder,
The music burning at heart like wine,
These things are over, and no more mine.
Thou, to whom I love to hearken,
Veil, if ill, thy soul's intent,
Let me think it innocent !
Gifts and gold are naught to me,
I would only look on thee!
Yet but torture, if comprest
In a lone, unfriended breast.
In a look if death there be,
These were a part of the playing I heard
Once, ere my love and my heart were at strife ; Love that sings and hath wings as a bird,
Balm of the wound and heft of the knife.
The wine and leaven of lovely life.
Willie, all to you and me
How shall I watch for thee, when fears grow Is that spot, whate'er it be,
stronger, Where he stands no other word
As night grows dark and darker on the hill ! Slands - God sure the child's prayers heard — How shall I weep, when I can watch no longer ! Near the Alma River.
Ah ! art thou absent, art thou absent still? Willie, listen to the bells
Yet I should grieve not, though the eye that seeth Ringing in the town to-day ; That 's for victory. No knell swells
Gazeth through tears that makeitssplendor dull; For the many swept away,
For oh! I sometimes fear when thou art with me, Hundreds, thousands. Let us weep,
My cup of happiness is all too full. We, who need not, -just to keep
Haste, haste thee home to thy mountain dwelling, Reason clear in thought and brain Till the morning comes again ;
Haste, as a bird unto its peaceful nest ! Till the third dread morning tell
Haste, as a skiff, through tempests wide and Who they were that fought and — fell
Flies to its haven of securest rest !
Poor the bed is, — poor and hard ;
WHAT shall I do with all the days and hours Dreaming of us two at home;
That must be counted ere I see thy face? Or, beneath the starry dome,
How shall I charm the interval that lowers Digs out trenches in the dark,
Between this time and that sweet time of grace ? Where he buries — Willie, mark ! Where he buries those who died
Shall I in slumber steep each weary sense,
Weary with longing ? Shall I flee away
Into past days, and with some fond pretence Willie, Willie, go to sleep ;
Cheat myself to forget the present day? God will help us, O my boy!
Shall love for thee lay on my soul the sin He will make the dull hours creep
Of casting from me God's great gift of time ? Faster, and send news of joy ;
Shall I, these mists of memory locked within, When I need not shrink to meet
Leave and forget life's purposes sublime ? Those great placards in the street, That for weeks will ghastly stare
O, how or by what means may I contrive In some eyes — child, say that prayer
To bring the hour that brings thee back moro Once again, - a different one,
near ? Say, “() God! Thy will be done
How may I teach my drooping hope to live By the Alma River."
Until that blessed time, and thou art here? I 'll tell thee ; for thy sake I will lay hold
Of all good aims, and consecrate to thee,
In worthy deeds, each moment that is told THE WIFE TO HER HUSBAND.
While thou, beloved one ! art far from me. LINGER not long. Home is not home without thee: For thee I will arouse my thoughts to try Its dearest tokens do but make me mourn.
Allheavenward flights, all high and holy strains; 0, let its memory, like a chain about thee,
For thy dear sake I will walk patiently Gently compel and hasten thy return !
Through these long hours, nor call their min. Linger not long. Though crowds should woo thy utes pains. staying,
I will this dreary blank of absence make Bethink thee, can the mirth of thy friends,
A noble task-time ; and will therein strive though dear,
To follow excellence, and to o'ertake Compensate for the grief thy long delaying
More good than I have won since yet I live. Costs the fond heart that sighs to have thee here?
So may this doomed time build up in me Linger not long. How shall I watch thy coming,
A thousand graces, which shall thus be thine ; As evening shadows stretch o'er moor and dell; So may my love and longing hallowed be, When the wild bee hath ceased her busy humming,
And thy dear thought an influence divine. And silence hangs on all things like a spell !
DINAH MARIA MULOCK.
FRANCES ANNE KEMBLB
DISAPPOINTMENT AND ESTRANGEMENT.
Young Jamie loo'd me weel, and socht me for his bride;
THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE.
FROM MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM."
FOR aught that ever I could read,
But, saving a croun, he had naething else beside.
And the croun and the pund were baith for me!
He hadna been awa a week but only twa,
My father brak his arm, and young Jamie at the
And auld Robin Gray cam' a-courtin' me.
My father cou'dna work, and my mother cou'dna spin ;
I toiled day and nicht, but their bread I cou'dna win;
Auld Rob maintained them baith, and, wi' tears in his ee,
Said, "Jenny, for their sakes, O marry me!"
My heart it said nay, for I looked for Jamie back;
But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrack;
The ship it was a wrack! Why didna Jamie
Or why do I live to say, Wae's me?
My father argued sair, my mother didna speak, But she lookit in my face till my heart was like to break ;
Sae they gied him my hand, though my heart was in the sea;
And auld Robin Gray was gudeman to me.
I hadna been a wife, a week but only four,
And a' the warld to sleep are gane;
O sair, sair did we greet, and muckle did we say;
AULD ROBIN GRAY.
WHEN the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin;
LADY ANNE BARNARD