LOGAN. Ode to the Cuckoo. HAIL, beauteous stranger of the grove! What time the daisy decks the green, Delightful visitant! with thee I hail the time of flowers, The school-boy wandering through the wood, Starts, the new voice of Spring to hear, What time the pea puts on the bloom An annual guest in other lands, 251 Stanzas. THEY are all gone into a world of light, It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast, I see them walking in an air of glory, Whose light doth trample on my days, LOGAN. My days, which are at best but dull and hoary, Mere glimmerings and decays. CHAMBERS'S SCOTTISH BALLADS. O holy hope, and high humility, These are your walks, and ye have showed them me, Dear, beauteous Death! the jewel of the just! He that hath found some fledged bird's nest may know, But what fair field or grove he sings in now, That is to him unknown. And yet as angels, in some brighter dreams, So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes, The Twa Sisters. HENRY VAUGHAN. THERE were twa sisters lived in a bouir; The youngest o' them, O, she was a flouir! 253 There came a squire frae the west; He lo'ed them baith, but the youngest best; He gied the eldest a gay gold ring; He courted the eldest wi' broach and knife; But he lo'ed the youngest as his life. The eldest she was vexed sair, And it fell ance upon a day, "O, sister, come to the sea strand, She's ta'en her by the milk-white hand, The youngest sat upon a stane; "Oh, sister, sister, lend me your hand, And you shall be heir of half my land. "O, sister I'll not reach my hand, And I'll be heir of all your land. Shame fa' the hand that I should take! Your cherry cheeks and yellow hair CHAMBERS'S SCOTTISH BALLADS. "Oh, sister, reach me but your glove, And you shall be sweet William's love." "Sink on, nor hope for hand or glove; First she sank, and syne she swam, The miller's dauchter was baking breid, "O father, father, in our mill-dam, The miller quickly drew his dam, You couldna see her yellow hair, You couldna see her middle sma', You couldna see her fingers sma', "Sair will they be, whae'er they be, The hearts that live to weep for thee!" Then by there cam a harper fine, And, when he looked that lady on, 255 |