Bulchevy's Book of English Verse Part 120

'Twas just whaur creeping Ury greets Its mountain cousin Don, There wander'd forth a weelfaur'd dame, Wha listless gazed on the bonnie stream, As it flirted an' play'd with a sunny beam That flicker'd its bosom upon.

Love happit his head, I trow, that time The jessamine bark drew nigh, The la.s.sie espied the wee rosebud, An' aye her heart gae thud for thud, An' quiet it wadna lie.

'O gin I but had yon wearie wee flower That floats on the Ury sae fair!'-- She loot.i.t her hand for the silly rose-leaf, But little wist she o' the pawkie thief That was lurkin' an' laughin' there!

Love glower'd when he saw her bonnie dark e'e, An' swore by Heaven's grace He ne'er had seen nor thought to see, Since e'er he left the Paphian lea, Sae lovely a dwallin'-place.

Syne first of a' in her blythesome breast He built a bower, I ween; An' what did the waefu' devilick neist?

But kindled a gleam like the rosy east, That sparkled frae baith her e'en.

An' then beneath ilk high e'e-bree He placed a quiver there; His bow? What but her s.h.i.+nin' brow?

An' O sic deadly strings he drew Frae out her silken hair!

Guid be our guard! Sic deeds waur deen Roun' a' our countrie then; An' monie a hangin' lug was seen 'Mang farmers fat, an' lawyers lean, An' herds o' common men!

kentna] knew not. wi' fient an arrow] i. q. with deuce an arrow. swithe] hie quickly. laithfu'] regretful. dowie]

dejectedly. weelfaur'd] well-favoured, comely. happit] covered up. loot.i.t] lowered. pawkie] sly. glower'd] stared. e'e-bree]

eyebrow. lug] ear.

Sir Henry Taylor. 1800-1866

656. Elena's Song

QUOTH tongue of neither maid nor wife To heart of neither wife nor maid-- Lead we not here a jolly life Betwixt the s.h.i.+ne and shade?

Quoth heart of neither maid nor wife To tongue of neither wife nor maid-- Thou wagg'st, but I am worn with strife, And feel like flowers that fade.

Thomas Babington Macaulay, Lord Macaulay. 1800-1859

657. A Jacobite's Epitaph

TO my true king I offer'd free from stain Courage and faith; vain faith, and courage vain.

For him I threw lands, honours, wealth, away, And one dear hope, that was more prized than they.

For him I languish'd in a foreign clime, Gray-hair'd with sorrow in my manhood's prime; Heard on Lavernia Scargill's whispering trees, And pined by Arno for my lovelier Tees; Beheld each night my home in fever'd sleep, Each morning started from the dream to weep; Till G.o.d, who saw me tried too sorely, gave The resting-place I ask'd, an early grave.

O thou, whom chance leads to this nameless stone, From that proud country which was once mine own, By those white cliffs I never more must see, By that dear language which I spake like thee, Forget all feuds, and shed one English tear O'er English dust. A broken heart lies here.

William Barnes. 1801-1886

658. Mater Dolorosa

I'D a dream to-night As I fell asleep, O! the touching sight Makes me still to weep: Of my little lad, Gone to leave me sad, Ay, the child I had, But was not to keep.

As in heaven high, I my child did seek, There in train came by Children fair and meek, Each in lily white, With a lamp alight; Each was clear to sight, But they did not speak.

Then, a little sad, Came my child in turn, But the lamp he had, O it did not burn!

He, to clear my doubt, Said, half turn'd about, 'Your tears put it out; Mother, never mourn.'

William Barnes. 1801-1886

659. The Wife a-lost

SINCE I noo mwore do zee your feace, Up stears or down below, I'll zit me in the lwonesome pleace, Where flat-bough'd beech do grow; Below the beeches' bough, my love, Where you did never come, An' I don't look to meet ye now, As I do look at hwome.

Since you noo mwore be at my zide, In walks in zummer het, I'll goo alwone where mist do ride, Droo trees a-drippen wet; Below the ran-wet bough, my love, Where you did never come, An' I don't grieve to miss ye now, As I do grieve at hwome.

Since now bezide my dinner-bwoard Your vace do never sound, I'll eat the bit I can avword A-vield upon the ground; Below the darksome bough, my love, Where you did never dine, An' I don't grieve to miss ye now, As I at hwome do pine.

Since I do miss your vace an' feace In prayer at eventide, I'll pray wi' woone sad vace vor greace To goo where you do bide; Above the tree an' bough, my love, Where you be gone avore, An' be a-waten vor me now, To come vor evermwore.

Winthrop Mackworth Praed. 1802-1839

660. Fairy Song

HE has conn'd the lesson now; He has read the book of pain: There are furrows on his brow; I must make it smooth again.

Lo! I knock the spurs away; Lo! I loosen belt and brand; Hark! I hear the courser neigh For his stall in Fairy-land.

Bring the cap, and bring the vest; Buckle on his sandal shoon; Fetch his memory from the chest In the treasury of the moon.

I have taught him to be wise For a little maiden's sake;-- Lo! he opens his glad eyes, Softly, slowly: Minstrel, wake!

Sara Coleridge. 1802-1850

661. O sleep, my Babe

O SLEEP, my babe, hear not the rippling wave, Nor feel the breeze that round thee ling'ring strays To drink thy balmy breath, And sigh one long farewell.

Soon shall it mourn above thy wat'ry bed, And whisper to me, on the wave-beat sh.o.r.e, Deep murm'ring in reproach, Thy sad untimely fate.

Ere those dear eyes had open'd on the light, In vain to plead, thy coming life was sold, O waken'd but to sleep, Whence it can wake no more!

A thousand and a thousand silken leaves The tufted beech unfolds in early spring, All clad in tenderest green, All of the self-same shape:

A thousand infant faces, soft and sweet, Each year sends forth, yet every mother views Her last not least beloved Like its dear self alone.

No musing mind hath ever yet foreshaped The face to-morrow's sun shall first reveal, No heart hath e'er conceived What love that face will bring.

O sleep, my babe, nor heed how mourns the gale To part with thy soft locks and fragrant breath, As when it deeply sighs O'er autumn's latest bloom.

Sara Coleridge. 1802-1850

662. The Child