O, mind ye how we hung our heads, (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, As ane by ane the thochts rush back O mornin' life! O mornin' luve! O, mind ye, luve, how aft we left To wander by the green burnside, And in the gloamin o' the wood The throssil whusslit in the wood, And on the knowe abune the burn, In the silentness o' joy, till baith Ay, ay, dear Jeanie Morrison, Tears trickled doun your cheek Like dew-beads on a rose, yet nane When hearts were fresh and young, When freely gushed all feelings forth, Unsyllabled, unsung! I marvel, Jeanie Morrison, Gin I hae been to thee As closely twined wi' earliest thochts Thine ear as it does mine! O, say gin e'er your heart grows grit I've wandered east, I've wandered west, I've borne a weary lot; But in my wanderings, far or near, Ye never were forgot. The fount that first burst frae this heart Still travels on its way, And channels deeper, as it rins, The luve o' life's young day. O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, Since we were sindered young, I've never seen your face, nor heard But I could hug all wretchedness, Did I but ken your heart still dreamed O' bygane days and me! THOMAS HOOD. 1798-1845. FAIR INES. O saw ye not fair Ines? And rob the world of rest: She took our daylight with her, The smiles that we love best, With morning blushes on her cheek, And pearls upon her breast. O turn again, fair Ines, Before the fall of night, For fear the Moon should shine alone, And stars unrivalled bright; And blesséd will the lover be That walks beneath their light, And breathes the love against thy cheek I dare not even write! Would I had been, fair Ines, That gallant cavalier, Who rode so gaily by thy side, And whispered thee so near! Were there no bonny dames at home, Or no true lovers here, That he should cross the seas to win The dearest of the dear? I saw thee, lovely Ines, With bands of noble gentlemen, And banners waved before ; And gentle youth and maidens gay, It would have been a beauteous dream If it had been no more! Alas, alas, fair Ines, She went away with song, With Music waiting on her steps, And shoutings of the throng; But some were sad, and felt no mirth, But only Music's wrong, In sounds that sang, Farewell, Farewell, To her you've loved so long. LINES ON SEEING MY WIFE AND TWO CHILDREN SLEEPING IN THE SAME CHAMBER. And has the earth lost its so spacious round, The sky its blue circumference above, Where Father, Mother, Children, Husband, Wife, COBLENTZ, November, 1835. NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS. 1807. TO HER WHO HAS HOPES FOR ME. O STERN, yet lovely monitress, Thine eye should be of colder hue, And on thy neck a paler tress Should toy among those veins of blue! An angel clad in human guise; And braid for love such tresses too; And, while thou talk'st to me of heaven, Night comes, with love upon the breeze, Thou, in thy white dress, kneeling there! I fear I could leave heaven to see thee at thy prayer! |