The Home Book of Verse Volume Ii Part 108

Allan Ramsay [1686-1758]

WILLIE AND HELEN

"Wharefore sou'd ye talk o' love, Unless it be to pain us?

Wharefore sou'd ye talk o' love Whan ye say the sea maun twain us?"

"It's no because my love is light, Nor for your angry deddy; It's a' to buy ye pearlins bright, An' to busk ye like a leddy."

"O w.i.l.l.y, I can caird an' spin, Sae ne'er can want for cleedin'; An' gin I hae my w.i.l.l.y's heart, I hae a' the pearls I'm heedin'.

"Will it be time to praise this cheek Whan years an' tears hae blenched it?

Will it be time to talk o' love Whan cauld an' care hae quenched it?"

He's laid ae han' about her waist-- The ither's held to heaven; An' his luik was like the luik o' man Wha's heart in twa is riven.

Hew Ainslie [1792-1878]

ABSENCE

With leaden foot Time creeps along While Delia is away: With her, nor plaintive was the song, Nor tedious was the day.

Ah, envious Power! reverse my doom; Now double thy career, Strain every nerve, stretch every plume, And rest them when she's here!

Richard Jago [1715-1781]

"MY MOTHER BIDS ME BIND MY HAIR"

My mother bids me bind my hair With bands of rosy hue; Tie up my sleeves with ribbons rare, And lace my bodice blue!

"For why," she cries, "sit still and weep, While others dance and play?"

Alas! I scarce can go, or creep, While Lubin is away!

'Tis sad to think the days are gone When those we love were near!

I sit upon this mossy stone, And sigh when none can hear:

And while I spin my flaxen thread, And sing my simple lay, The village seems asleep, or dead, Now Lubin is away!

Anne Hunter [1742-1821]

"BLOW HIGH! BLOW LOW!"

Blow high, blow low! let tempest tear The mainmast by the board!

My heart (with thoughts of thee, my dear!

And love well stored) Shall brave all danger, scorn all fear, The roaring wind, the raging sea, In hopes, on sh.o.r.e, To be once more Safe moored with thee.

Aloft, while mountain-high we go, The whistling winds that scud along, And the surge roaring from below, Shall my signal be To think on thee.

And this shall be my Song, Blow high, blow low! let tempest tear....

And on that night (when all the crew The memory of their former lives, O'er flowing cans of flip renew, And drink their sweethearts and their wives), I'll heave a sigh, And think of thee.

And, as the s.h.i.+p toils through the sea, The burden of my Song shall be, Blow high, blow low! let tempest tear....

Charles Dibdin [1745-1814]

THE SILLER CROUN

"And ye sall walk in silk attire, And siller ha'e to spare, Gin ye'll consent to be his bride, Nor think o' Donald mair."

Oh, wha wad buy a silken goun Wi' a puir broken heart?

Or what's to me a siller croun, Gin' frae my luve I part?

The mind wha's every wish is pure Far dearer is to me; And ere I'm forced to break my faith, I'll lay me doun and dee.

For I ha'e pledged my virgin troth Brave Donald's fate to share; And he has gi'en to me his heart, Wi' a' its virtues rare.

His gentle manners wan my heart, He gratefu' took the gift; Could I but think to tak' it back, It wad be waur than theft.

For langest life can ne'er repay The love he bears to me; And ere I'm forced to break my troth I'll lay me doun and dee.

Susanna Blamire [1747-1794]

"MY NANNIE'S AWA'"

Now in her green mantle blithe Nature arrays, An' listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braes, While birds warble welcome in ilka green shaw; But to me it's delightless--my Nannie's awa'.

The snaw-drap an' primrose our woodlands adorn, An' violets bathe in the weet o' the morn; They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw, They mind me o' Nannie--an' Nannie's awa'.

Thou laverock that springs frae the dews of the lawn, The shepherd to warn o' the gray-breaking dawn, An' thou mellow mavis that hails the night-fa', Give over for pity--my Nannie's awa'.

Come, autumn, sae pensive, in yellow an' gray, An' soothe me wi' tidings o' Nature's decay; The dark, dreary winter, an' wild-driving snaw Alane can delight me--now Nannie's awa'.

Robert Burns [1759-1796]