The Household Book of Poetry

WALY, WALY, BUT LOVE BE BONNY.

O WALY, waly up the bank,

And waly, waly down the brae, And waly, waly yon burn side,

Where I and my love wont to gae.

I leaned my back unto an aik,

I thought it was a trusty tree; But first it bowed, and syne it brakSae my true love did lightly me!

O waly, waly, but love be bonny,
A little time while it is new;
But when 'tis auld it waxeth cauld,
And fades away like the morning dew.

O wherefore should I busk my head?
Or wherefore should I kame my hair?
For my true love has me forsook,

And says he'll never love me mair.

Now Arthur-Seat shall be my bed;
The sheets shall ne'er be fyled by me;
Saint Anton's well shall be my drink,

Since my true love has 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'm weary.

'Tis not the frost that freezes fell,

Nor blawing snaw's inclemency; 'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry, But my love's heart grown cauld to me.

When we came in by Glasgow town,
We were a comely sight to see;
My love was clad in the black velvet,
And I my sell in cramasie.

But had I wist, before I kissed,

That love had been sae ill to win,
I'd locked my heart in a case of gold,
And pinned it with a silver pin.

O, O, if my young babe were born,
And set upon the nurse's knee,
And I my sell were dead and gane,
And the green grass growin' over me!

ANONYMOUS.

JEANIE MORRISON.

I'VE wandered east, I've wandered west, Through mony a weary way;

But never, never can forget

The luve o' life's young day!

The fire that 's blawn on Beltane e'en
May weel be black gin Yule;
But blacker fa' awaits the heart
Where first fond luve grows cule.

O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison,
The thochts o' bygane years
Still fling their shadows ower my path,
And blind my een wi' tears:
They blind my een wi' saut, saut tears,
And sair and sick I pine,

As memory idly summons up

The blithe blinks o' langsyne.

'Twas then we luvit ilk ither weel, 'Twas then we twa did part; Sweet time-sad time! twa bairns at scule, Twa bairns, and but ae heart! 'Twas then we sat on ae laigh bink,

To leir ilk ither lear;

And tones and looks and smiles were shed, Remembered evermair.

I wonder, Jeanie, aften yet,

When sitting on that bink,

Cheek touchin' cheek, loof locked in loof,
What our wee heads could think.
When baith bent doun ower ae braid page,
Wi' ae buik on our knee,

Thy lips were on thy lesson, but

My lesson was in thee.

O, mind ye how we hung our heads,
How cheeks brent red wi' shame,
Whene'er the scule-weans, laughin', said
We cleeked thegither hame?
And mind ye o' the Saturdays,

(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—
My heart flows like a sea,
As ane by ane the thochts rush back
O' scule-time and o' thee.

A stoun' gaes through my heid, Willie The maiden exclaimed,-"Thou seest, Sir

She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up,

And filled for him her small tin cup,

And blushed as she gave it, looking down
On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown.

"Thanks!" said the Judge, "a sweeter draught

From a fairer hand was never quaffed."

He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees,
Of the singing birds and the humming bees;

And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown,
And her graceful ancles, bare and brown,

And listened, while a pleased surprise
Looked from her long-lashed hazel-eyes.

At last, like one who for delay
Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away.

Maud Muller looked and sighed: "Ah me!
That I the Judge's bride might be!

"He would dress me up in silks so fine,
And praise and toast me at his wine.

"My father should wear a broadcloth coat; My brother should sail a painted boat.

"I'd dress my mother so grand and gay
And the baby should have a new toy each
day.

"And I'd feed the hungry and clothe the poor,

And all should bless me who left our door."

The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill,
And saw Maud Muller standing still:

"A form more fair, a face more sweet,
Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet.

"And her modest answer and graceful air Show her wise and good as she is fair.

"Would she were mine, and I to-day,
Like her, a harvester of hay.

"No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs,
Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues,

"But low of cattle and song of birds,
And health, and quiet, and loving words."

And his mother, vain of her rank and gold.
But he thought of his sister, proud and cold,

So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on, Then talked of the haying, and wondered And Maud was left in the field alone.

whether

The cloud in the west would bring foul But the lawyers smiled that afternoon,

weather.

When he hummed in court an old love tune;

« 이전 계속 »

도서