Puslapio vaizdai
PDF
„ePub“
[blocks in formation]

In

Plumed for their earliest flight. bright alcoves, In woodland cottages with barky walls, [town, In noisome cells of the tumultuous Mothers have clasped with joy the new-born babe,

Graves by the lonely forest, by the shore

Of rivers and of ocean, by the ways Of the thronged city, have been hollowed out

And filled, and closed. This day hath parted friends That ne'er before were parted; it hath knit

New friendships; it hath seen the maiden plight

Her faith, and trust her peace to him who long

Had wooed; and it hath heard, from lips which late

Were eloquent of love, the first harsh word,

That told the wedded one, her peace

was flown.

Farewell to the sweet sunshine!

One glad day

Is added now to childhood's merry days,

And one calm day to those of quiet age.

Still the fleet hours run on; and as I lean,

Amid the thickening darkness, lamps are lit,

By those who watch the dead, and those who twine

Flowers for the bride. The mother from the eyes

Of her sick infant shades the painful light,

And sadly listens to his quick-drawn breath.

O thou great Movement of the Universe,

Or change, or flight of Time - for ye are one!

That bearest, silently, this visible

scene

Into night's shadow and the streaming rays

Of starlight, whither art thou bearing me?

I feel the mighty current sweep me

on.

Yet know not whither. Man foretells afar

The courses of the stars; the very hour

He knows when they shall darken or grow bright;

Yet doth the eclipse of Sorrow and of Death

Come unforewarned. Who next, of those I love,

Shall pass from life, or sadder yet, shall fall

From virtue? Strife with foes, or bitterer strife

With friends, or shame and general scorn of men —

Which who can bear?—or the fierce rack of pain,

Lie they within my path? Or shall 1 the years

Push me, with soft and inoffensive

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO. JOHN Anderson, my jo, John, When we were first acquent, Your locks were like the raven,

But now your brow is beld, John, Your locks are like the snaw; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson, my jo.

Your bonnie brow was brent;

John Anderson, my jo, John,

We clamb the hill thegither; And monie a canty day, John, We've had wi' ane anither: Now we maun totter down, John, But hand in hand we'll go, And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson, my jo.

FAREWEEL TO NANCY.

AE fond kiss, and then we sever!
Ae fareweel, alas, forever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge
thee!

Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee!

Who shall say that fortune grieves him,

While the star of hope she leaves him!

Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me; Dark despair around benights me.

I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy,
Naething could resist my Nancy;
But to see her, was to love her;
Love but her, and love for ever.
Had we never loved sae kindly,
Had we never loved sae blindly,
Never met-or never parted,
We had ne'er been broken hearted!

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest!
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest!
Thine be ilka joy and treasure,
Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure.
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever;
Ae fareweel, alas, for ever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge
thee,
[thee.
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage

[blocks in formation]

HIGHLAND MARY.

YE banks, and braes, and streams around

The castle o' Montgomery, Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,

Your waters never drumlie! There simmer first unfald her robes,

And there the langest tarry; For there I took my last fareweel O' my sweet Highland Mary.

How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk,

How rich the hawthorn's blossom,
As underneath their fragrant shade,
I clasped her to my bosom!
The golden hours, on angel wings,
Flew o'er me and my dearie;
For dear to me, as light and life,
Was my sweet Highland Mary.

Wi' monie a vow, and lock'd embrace,
Our parting was fu' tender;
And, pledging aft to meet again,
We tore oursels asunder;
But oh! fell death's untimely frost,
That nipt my flower sae early!
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the
clay,

That wraps my Highland Mary.

Oh, pale, pale now, those rosy lips,
I aft hae kissed sae fondly!
And closed for aye the sparkling
glance,

That dwelt on me sae kindly! And mouldering now in silent dust, That heart that lo'ed me dearly! But still within my bosom's core Shall live my Highland Mary.

MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN.

A DIRGE.

WHEN chill November's surly blast
Made fields and forests bare,
One evening, as I wandered forth
Along the banks of Ayr,

I spied a man, whose aged step
Seemed weary, worn with care;
His face was furrowed o'er with years,
And hoary was his hair.

Young stranger, whither wanderest thou?

Began the reverend sage; Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain,

Or youthful pleasure's rage? Or, haply, prest with cares and woes, Too soon thou hast began To wander forth, with me, to mourn The miseries of man.

The sun that overhangs yon moors,
Outspreading far and wide,
Where hundreds labor to support
A haughty lordling's pride;
I've seen yon weary winter-sun
Twice forty times return;
And every time has added proofs

That man was made to mourn.

O man! while in thy early years,
How prodigal of time!
Misspending all thy precious hours,
Thy glorious youthful prime!
Alternate follies take the sway;
Licentious passions burn;
Which tenfold force give nature's law,
That man was made to mourn.

« AnkstesnisTęsti »