« 이전계속 »
So may this doomed time build up in me
A thousand graces, which shall thus be thine ;
FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE.
Then I'll sit down and cry,
And live aneath the tree,
I'll ca 't a word frae thee.
DAY, IN MELTING PURPLE DYING.
Day, in melting purple dying ;
Ye but waken my distress;
I'll hie me to the bower
That thou wi' roses tied,
I strove myself to hide.
Where I ha'e been wi' thee ;
By ilka burn and tree.
Thou, to whom I love to hearken,
My time, O ye Muses, was happily spent, Say thou ’rt true, and I 'll believe thee;
When Phæbe went with me wherever I went; Veil, if ill, thy soul's intent,
Ten thousand sweet pleasures I felt in my Let me think it innocent !
Şure never fond shepherd like Colin was blest! Save thy toiling, spare thy treasure ; But now she is gone, and has left me behind, All I ask is friendship's pleasure ;
What a marvellous change on a sudden I find ! Let the shining ore lie darkling, —
When things were as fine as could possibly be, Bring no gem in lustre sparkling;
I thought ’t was the Spring ; but alas ! it was
With such a companion to tend a few sheep, Tell to thee the high-wrought feeling, To rise up and play, or to lie down and sleep ; Ecstasy but in revealing ;
I was so good-humored, so cheerful and gay, Paint to thee the deep sensation,
My heart was as light as a feather all day ; Rapture in participation ; .
But now I so cross and so peevish am grown,
So strangely uneasy, as never was known.
My fair one is gone, and my joys are all drowned, Absent still! Ah! come and bless me!
And my heart - I am sure it weighs more than · Let these eyes again caress thee.
a pound. Once in caution, I could fly thee ;
The fountain that wont to run sweetly along, Now, I nothing could deny thee.
And dance to soft murmurs the pebbles among; In a look if death there be,
Thou know'st, little Cupid, if Phoebe was there, Come, and I will gaze on thee !
'T was pleasure to look at, ’t was music to hear : MARIA GOWEN BROOKS (Maria del Occidente).
But now she is absent, I walk by its side,
Must you be so cheerful, while I go in pain ? WHAT AILS THIS HEART O' MINE ?
| Peace there with your bubbling, and hear me What ails this heart o’mine ?
complain. What ails this watery e'e ? What gars me a' turn pale as death
My lambkins around me would oftentimes When I take leave o' thee ?
play, When thou art far awa',
| And Phæbe and I were as joyful as they ; Thou ’lt dearer grow to me;
How pleasant their sporting, how happy their But change o' place and change o' folk
time, May gar thy fancy jee.
When Spring, Love, and Beauty were all in
their prime; When I gae out at e'en,
But now, in their frolics when by me they pass, Or walk at morning air,
I fling at their fleeces a handful of grass ; Ilk rustling bush will seem to say
Be still, then, I cry, for it makes me quite mad, I used to meet thee there :
| To see you so merry while I am so sad.
My dog I was ever well pleased to see | Will no pitying power, that hears me comCome wagging his tail to my fair one and me; || plain, And Phæbe was pleased too, and to my dog said, Or cure my disquiet or soften my pain ? “ Come hither, poor fellow ;” and patted his To be cured, thou must, Colin, thy passion rehead.
move; But now, when he's fawning, I with a sour look But what swain is so silly to live without love ! Cry “Sirrah !” and give him a blow with my No, deity, bid the dear nymph to return, crook:
For ne'er was poor shepherd so sadly forlorn. And I 'll give him another; for why should not Ah! what shall I do? I shall die with despair ; Tray
Take heed, all ye swains, how ye part with your
THE SAILOR'S WIFE.*
AND are ye sure the news is true ? shade,
And are ye sure he's weel ? The cornfields and hedges and everything made !
Is this a time to think o' wark? But now she has left me, though all are still
Ye jades, lay by your wheel ; there,
Is this the time to spin a thread, They none of them now so delightful appear :
When Colin 's at the door ? "T was naught but the magic, I find, of her eyes,
Reach down my cloak, I'll to the quay, Made so many beautiful prospects arise.
And see him come ashore.
For there's nae luck about the house,
There's little pleasure in the house
My bishop's-satin gown;
My stockin's pearly blue ;
It's a' to pleasure our gudeman,
For he's baith leal and true.
Rise, lass, and mak a clean fireside,
Put on the muckle pot ; smile ?
Gie little Kate her button gown, Ah! rivals, I see what it was that you drest,
And Jock his Sunday coat; And made yourselves fine for a place in her
And mak their shoon as black as slaes, breast ?
Their hose as white as snaw ; You put on your colors to pleasure her eye,
It's a' to please my ain gudeman, To be plucked by her hand, on her bosom to die.
For he's been long awa'. How slowly Time creeps till my Phæbe re
There's twa fat hens upo' the coop turn, While amidst the soft zephyr's cool breezes I
Been fed this month and mair ;
Mak haste and thraw their necks about, burn ! Methinks, if I knew whereabouts he would tread,
That Colin weel may fare ; I could breathe on his wings, and 't would melt
And spread the table neat and clean, down the lead.
Gar ilka thing look braw, Fly swifter, ye minutes, bring hither my dear,
For wha can tell how Colin fared And rest so much longer for 't when she is here.
When he was far awa'? Ah, Colin ! old Time is full of delay, Nor will budge one foot faster for all thou canst Mariner's Wife is now given, by common consent,' says Sarah
* Bartlett, in his Familiar Quotations, has the following : " The say.
Tytler, to Jean Adam, '1710-1765."
But while she missed from those sweet sounds
The voice she sighed to hear,
Was discord to her ear.
Nor could the bright green world around
A joy to her impart,
ANNE C. LYNCH (Mrs. BOTTA).
Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech,
His breath like caller air ; His very foot has music in 't
As he comes up the stair, -
And will I hear him speak ?
In troth I'm like to greet !
I hae nae mair to crave :
I'm blest aboon the lave :
And will I hear him speak ?
In troth I'm like to greet.
There's nae luck at a';
WILLIAM JAMES MICKLE.
COME TO ME, DEAREST. COME to me, dearest, I'm lonely without thee, Daytime and night-time, I'm thinking about
thee; Night-time and daytime, in dreams I behold
thee; Unwelcome the waking which ceases to fold thee. Come to me, darling, my sorrows to lighten, Come in thy beauty to bless and to brighten ; Come in thy womanhood, meekly and lowly, Come in thy lovingness, queenly and holy.
ABSENCE. When I think on the happy days
I spent wi' you, my dearie ; And now what lands between us lie,
How can I be but eerie !
Swallows will flit round the desolate ruin,
som ; The waste of my life has a rose-root within it, And thy fondness alone to the sunshine can
How slow ye move, ye heavy hours,
As ye were wae and weary! It was na sae ye glinted by When I was wi' my dearie.
ON A PICTURE.
A veil of beauty spread, She sat and watched her gentle flocks
And twined her flaxen thread.
Figure that moves like a song through the even ;
other; Smiles coming seldom, but childlike and simple, Planting in each rosy cheek a sweet dimple ; 0, thanks to the Saviour, that even thy seeming Is left to the exile to brighten his dreaming.
The mountain daisies kissed her feet;
The moss sprung greenest there ; The breath of summer fanned her cheek
And tossed her wavy hair.
The heather and the yellow gorse
Bloomed over hill and wold, And clothed them in a royal robe
Of purple and of gold.
You have been glad when you knew I was glad
dened ; Dear, are you sad now to hear I am saddened ? Our hearts ever answer in tune and in time,
love, As octave to octave, and rhyme unto rhyme,
Come to me, dear, ere I die of my sorrow,
ABSENCE STRENGTHENS LOVF Rise on my gloom like the sun of to-morrow; There's not a wind but whispers of thy name. Strong, swift, and fond as the words which Il
B. W. PROCTER speak, love, With a song on your lip and a smile on your
Short absence hurt him more, cheek, love.
And made his wound far greater than before ; Come, for my heart in your absence is weary, - Absence not long enough to root out quite Haste, for my spirit is sickened and dreary, - All love, increases love at second sight. Come to the arms which alone should caress thee, Henry II.
T. MAY. Come to the heart that is throbbing to press thee!
'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, JOSEPH BRENNAN.
And robes the mountain in its azure hue.
Isle of Beauty, fare thee well!
T. H. BAYLY.
MEMORY IN ABSENCE.
TIME IN ABSENCE. And memory, like a drop that night and day Love reckons hours for months, and days for Falls cold and ceaseless, wore my heart away!
years; Lalla Rookh.
nights? And drags at each remove a lengthening chain. Eightscore eight hours ? And lovers absent The Traveller.
More tedious than the dial eightscore times ? Of all affliction taught the lover yet,
10, weary reckoning! 'Tis sure the hardest science to forget.
Othello, Act iii. Sc. 4. Eloisa to Abelard.
THE UNWELCOME LOVER.
Merchant of Venice, Act i. Sc. 2.
PRESENCE IN ABSENCE.
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to airy thinness beat. When, musing on companions gone,
If they be two, they are two so We doubly feel ourselves alone.
As stiff twin compasses are two ; Marmion, Cant. ii. Introd.
Thy soul, the fixt foot, makes no show To live with them is far less sweet
To move, but doth if the other do.
And though it in the centre sit, Than to remember thee!
Yet when the other far doth roam, I saw thy form.
It leans and hearkens after it,
And grows erect, as that comes home.
Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
ROGERS. A Valediction forbidding Mourning. DR. J. DONNE,
DISAPPOINTMENT AND ESTRANGEMENT.
| Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for WITH how sad steps, O Moon ! thou climb'st the
But saving a crown, he had naething else beside. skies,
To make the crown a pound, my Jamie gaed to How silently, and with how wan a face !
sea ; What may it be, that even in heavenly place
And the crown and the pound, they were baith That busy Archer his sharp arrows tries?
for me! Sure, if that long with love acquainted eyes Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case ;
He hadna been awa' a week but only twa, I read it in thy looks, thy languished grace
When my mither she fell sick, and the cow was To me that feel the like thy state descries.
stown awa ; Then, even of fellowship, O Moon, tell me,
My father brak his arm ---my Jamie at the sea Is constant love deemed there but want of wit ?
| And Auld Robin Gray came a-courting me. Are beauties there as proud as here they be? Do they above love to be loved, and yet Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess ? | My father couldna work, — my mither couldna
spin ; Do they call virtue there ungratefulness?
I toiled day and night, but their bread I couldna
Auld Rob maintained them baith, and, wi' tears THE BANKS O' DOON.
in his e'e,
Said, “Jennie, for their sakes, will you marry YE banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,
me ?" How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair ? How can ye chant, ye little birds,
My heart it said na, and I looked for Jamie back; And I sae weary, fu' o' care ?
| Buthard blew the winds, and his ship was a wrack; Thou 'lt break my heart, thou warbling bird, His ship it was a wrack! Why didna Jennie dee?
That wantons through the flowering thorn ; | And wherefore was I spared to cry, Wae is me! Thou minds ine o' departed joys, Departed — never to return.
My father argued sair - my mither didna speak,
But she looked in my face till my heart was like Thou'lt break my heart, thou bonnie bird,
to break; That sings beside thy mate;
They gied him my hand, but my heart was in the For sae I sat, and sae I sang,
sea ; And wistna o' my fate.
And so Auld Robin Gray, he was gudeman to me. Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon, To see the rose and woodbine twine ;
I hadna been his wife, a week but only four, And ilka bird sang o' its luve,
When, mournfu' as I sat on the stane at the door, And, fondly, sae did I o' mine.
I saw my Jamie's ghaist -- I couldna think it he,
Till he said, “I'm come hame, my love, to marry Wi' lightsome heart I pou'd a rose,
thee !" Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree ; And my fause luver stole my rose,
O sair, sair did we greet, and mickle did we say : But ah! he left the thorn wi' me.
Ae kiss we took — nae mair - I bad him gang
I wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to dee, AULD ROBIN GRAY.
And why do I live to say, Wae is me ! WHEN the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye a' | I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin ; at hame,
I darena think o' Jamie, for that wad be a sin.
LADY ANNE BARNARD.