Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green, Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, Oh could I fly, I'd fly with thee! Stanzas. THEY are all gone into a world of light, It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast, Or those faint beams in which the hill is dressed, I see them walking in an air of glory, Whose light doth trample on my days, LOGAN. O holy hope, and high humility, High as the heavens above! These are your walks, and ye have showed them me, Dear, beauteous Death! the jewel of the just! Could man outlook that mark! He that hath found some fledged bird's nest may know But what fair field or grove he sings in now 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! 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; 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, O, sister, I'll not reach my hand, Shame fa' the hand that I should take! Your cherry cheeks and yellow hair "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, There's either a ladye or a milk-white swan." The miller quickly drew his dam, You couldna see her yellow hair, For gowd and pearls that were sae rare. You couldna see her middle sma', You couldna see her fingers sma’, "Sair will they be, whae'er they be, Then by there cam a harper fine, And when he looked that lady on, He has ta'en three locks o' her yellow hair, And he brought the harp to her father's hall, He laid this harp upon a stone, "O yonder sits my father, the king! But the last time that the harp played then, Was, "Woe to my sister, false Helen!" CHAMBERS'S SCOTTISH BALLADS. Helvellyn. I CLIMBED the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn, And starting around me the echoes replied. On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was bending, And Catchedicam its left verge was defending, One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending, When I marked the sad spot where the wanderer had died. |