Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn; "'Twas thus, by the light of false science betrayed, My thoughts wont to roam, from shade onward to shade, Destruction before me, and sorrow behind. 'O, pity, great Father of light,' then I cried, Thy creature, that fain would not wander from Thee : Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride : From doubt and from darkness Thou only canst free!' "And darkness and doubt are now flying away; No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn : So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray, The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. See Truth, Love, and Mercy, in triumph descending, And Nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom! On the cold cheek of Death smiles and roses are blending, And Beauty immortal awakes from the tomb!” MRS. BARBAULD. Born 1743. Died 1825. LIFE. LIFE! we've been long together, Through pleasant and through cloudy weather; Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear; Then steal away, give little warning, Choose thine own time; Say not "Good night," but in some brighter clime ANONYMOUS. About 1750. THE LAMENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW. My love he built me a bonnie bower, And clad me all with lily flower; A braver bower you ne'er did see, There came a man, by middle day, He slew my knight to me so dear; I sewed his sheet, making my moan; I took his body on my back, And whiles I gaed and whiles I sat ; I digged a grave and laid him in, And happed him with the sod so green. But think na ye my heart was sair, When I laid the mould on his yellow hair? Think na ye my heart was wae, When turned about, away to gae? No living man I'll love again, Since that my lovely knight is slain ; With one lock of his yellow hair, I'll bind my heart for evermair. WILLIAM HAMILTON OF BANGOUR. Born 1704. Died 1754. THE BRAES OF YARROW. A. "BUSK ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride, Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow; B. Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride, 66 Where gat ye that bonnie, bonnie bride? Where gat ye that winsome marrow?'' A. B. A. "I gat her where I dare na weel be seen, Weep not, weep not, my bonnie, bonnie bride, Nor let thy heart lament to leave Pu'ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow." 'Why does she weep, thy bonnie, bonnie bride? Why does she weep, thy winsome marrow? And why daur ye nae mair weel be seen Pu'ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow ?" Lang maun she weep, lang maun she, maun she weep, - Lang maun she weep with dule and sorrow, And lang maun I nae mair weel be seen "For she has tint her lover, lover dear, That e'er pu'ed birks on the braes of Yarrow. 66 Why runs thy stream, O Yarrow, Yarrow, reid? Why on thy braes heard the voice of sorrow? And why yon melancholeous weeds, Hung on the bonnie birks of Yarrow ! "What's yonder floats on the rueful, rueful flood? Upon the duleful braes of Yarrow ! 66 'Wash, oh, wash his wounds, his wounds in tears, His wounds in tears, with dule and sorrow, And wrap his limbs in mourning weeds, And lay him on the braes of Yarrow ! Then build, then build, ye sisters, sisters sad, Ye sisters sad, his tomb with sorrow, And weep around in waeful wise, His helpless fate on the braes of Yarrow. Curse ye, curse ye his useless, useless shield, My arm that wrought the deed of sorrow, The fatal spear that pierced his breast, C. "Did I not warn thee not to love, And warn from fight? but, to my sorrow, Thou met'st, and fell on the braes of Yarrow. "Sweet smells the birk; green grows, green grows the grass, Yellow on Yarrow's braes the gowan, Fair hangs the apple frae the rock, Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowan'. "Flows Yarrow sweet? as sweet, as sweet flows Tweed, As green its grass, its gowan yellow, As sweet smells on its braes the birk, The apple frae the rock as mellow. 66 'Fair was thy love! fair, fair indeed thy love In flowery bands thou him didst fetter; Though he was fair, and well-beloved again, "Busk ye, then, busk, my bonnie, bonnie bride, "How can I busk, a bonnie, bonnie bride? How lo'e him on the banks of Tweed, That slew my Love on the braes of Yarrow? 'O Yarrow fields! may never, never rain, Nor dew thy tender blossoms cover, For there was basely slain my Love, My Love, as he had not been a lover! 66 "The boy put on his robes, his robes of green, His purple vest, 'twas my ain sewin' : Ah, wretched me! I little, little knew He was in these to meet his ruin. "The boy took out his milk-white, milk-white steed, But, ere the toofal of the night, He lay a corpse on the braes of Yarrow. "Much I rejoiced that waeful, waeful day, I sang, my voice the woods returning; But lang ere night the spear was flown "What can my barbarous, barbarous father do, My lover's blood is on thy spear; How canst thou, barbarous man, then woo me? "My happy sisters may be, may be proud; May bid me seek on Yarrow's braes My lover nailèd in his coffin. 66 My brother Douglas may upbraid, And strive with threatening words to move me My lover's blude is on thy spear, How canst thou ever bid me love thee? "Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of love, Unbar, ye bridal maids, the door, Let in the expected husband-lover!" LADY ANNE LINDSAY. Born 1750. Died 1825. AULD ROBIN GRAY. WHEN the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye come hame, When a' the world to rest are gane, The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e, While my gudeman lies sound by me. Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his bride; But saving a crown, he had naething else beside. To make the crown a pound, my Jamie gaed to sea; He hadna been awa' a week but only twa, When my father brak his arm, and the cow was stown awa'; My mother she fell sick, and my Jamie at the sea, And auld Robin Gray came a-courtin' me. My father couldna work, and my mother couldna spin; I toiled day and night, but their bread I couldna win; |