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[OLD BALLAD.] WALY, waly, up the bank,

O waly, waly, doun the brae, And waly, waly, yon burn-side,

Where I and my love were wont to gae! I lean'd my back unto an aik,

I thocht it was a trustie tree,
But first it bow'd and syne it brak',-

Sae my true love did lichtlie me.

O waly, waly, but love be bonnie

A little time while it is new;
But when it's auld it waxeth cauld,

And fadeth awa' like the morning dew.
O wherefore should I busk my heid,
Or wherefore should I kame


hair? For my true love has me forsook, And says

he'll never lo'e me mair.

Noo Arthur's Seat sall be my bed,

The sheets sall ne'er be press’d by me; Saint Anton's well sall be my drink;

Since my true love's forsaken me. Martinmas 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 am wearie.

'Tis not the frost that freezes fell,

Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie,

But my

'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry; love's heart grown

cauld to me. When we cam' in by Glasgow toun,

We were a comely sicht to see;
My love was clad in the black velvet,

An' I mysel' in cramasie.

But had I wist before I kiss'd

That love had been so ill to win,
I'd lock'd my heart in a case o' gowd,

And pinn'd it wi' a siller pin.
Oh, oh! if my young babe were born,

And set upon the nurse's knee;
And I mysel' were dead and gane,

And the green grass growing over me !


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UEEN and huntress, chaste and fair,

Now the sun is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver chair

State in wonted manner keep : Hesperus entreats thy light, Goddess excellently bright! Earth, let not thy envious shade

Dare itself to interpose; Cynthia's shining orb was made

Heav'n to clear, when day did close : Bless us then with wishèd sight, Goddess excellently bright!

· Cramasie, cramoisie, crimson.

Lay thy bow of pearl apart,

And thy crystal shining quiver ;
Give unto the flying hart

Space to breathe, how short soever:
Thou that mak'st a day of night,
Goddess excellently bright!






ISHONOUR’D Rock and Ruin! that, by

Tyrannic, keep the Bird of Jove embarr'd
Like a lone criminal whose life is spared.
Vex'd is he, and screams loud. The last I saw
Was on the wing ; stooping, he struck with awe
Man, bird, and beast, then, with a consort pair'd,
From a bold headland, their loved aery's guard,
Flew high above Atlantic waves, to draw
Light from the fountain of the setting sun.
Such was this Prisoner once; and, when his plumes
The sea-blast ruffles as the storm comes on,
In spirit for a moment he resumes
His rank ’mong free-born creatures that live free,
His power, his beauty, and his majesty.



T the corner of Wood Street, when daylight

appears, Hangs a thrush that sings loud, it has sung



three years :

Poor Susan has pass'd by the spot, and has heard In the silence of morning the song of the Bird.

'Tis a note of enchantment; what ails her? She


A mountain ascending, a vision of trees;
Bright volumes of vapour through Lothbury glide,
And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside.

Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale, Down which she so often has tripp'd with her pail ; And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove's, The one only dwelling on earth that she loves.

She looks, and her heart is in heaven : but they

fade, The mist and the river, the hill and the shade: The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise, And the colours have all pass'd away from her eyes !


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limbs I lay,
It hath not been my use to pray
With moving lips or bended knees;
But silently by slow degrees,
My spirit I to Love compose,
In humble trust mine eye-lids close,
With reverential resignation,
No wish conceived, no thought exprest,
Only a sense of supplication ;
A sense o'er all my soul imprest-
That I am weak, yet not unblest,
Since in me, round me, everywhere
Eternal strength and wisdom are.

But yester-night I pray'd aloud
In anguish and in agony,
Up-starting from the fiendish crowd
Of shapes and thoughts that tortured me :
A lurid light, a trampling throng,
Sense of intolerable wrong,
And whom I scorn'd, those only strong!
Thirst of revenge, the powerless will
Still baffled, and yet burning still !
Desire with loathing strangely mix'd
On wild or hateful objects fix'd:
Fantastic passions ! maddening brawl!
And shame and terror over all !
Deeds to be hid which were not hid,
Which all confused I could not know,
Whether I suffer'd, or I did :

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