For wha can tell how Colin fared When he was far awa'?

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 see his face again? And will I hear him speak? I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought, In troth I'm like to greet!

If Colin's weel, and weel content,
I hae nae mair to crave:
And gin I live to keep him sae
I'm blest aboon the lave:
And will I see his face again?
And will I hear him speak?
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,
In troth I'm like to greet.

For there's nae luck about the house,
There's nae luck at a';

There's little pleasure in the house When our gudeman's awa'.

Then, as he lightly draws the door aside,

He hides behind it, while with baby pride,

And face aglow, in struts the little one, Flushed and rejoiced to think what it has done,

So, when men find, across life's rugged way,

Strong doors of trouble barred from day to day,

And strive with all their power of knees and hands,

Unseen within the heavenly Father stands,

And lifts each iron latch, while men pass through,

Flushed and rejoiced to think what they can do!

Turn to the Helper, unto whom thou art

More near and dear than to thy mother's heart, Who is more near to thee than is the blood

That warms thy bosom with its purple flood

Who by a word can change the mental state

And make a burden light, however great!

O loving Power! that, dwelling deep within, Consoles our spirits in their woe and sin,

song, When bitter memory, o'er and o'er again, Revolved the wrongs endured from fellow-men;

And showed how hopes decayed and bore no fruit,

And He who placed us here was deaf and mute!

If then we turned on God in angry wise,

And scorned his dealings with reproachful eyes

Questioned his goodness, and in foolish wrath,

Called hope a lie and ridiculed our faith,

Did we not find, in such an evil hour, That far within us dwelt this loving Power?

No wrathful God within, to smite us down, [frown; Or turn his face away with angry But in the bitter heart, a smile began, Grew, all at once, within, and upward ran,

Broke out upon the face—and, for awhile,

Despite all bitterness, we had to smile!

Because God's spirit that within us lay, [away! Simply rose up, and smiled our wrath

And then in haste her bower, she leaves,

With Thestylis to bind the sheaves;
Or, if the earlier season lead,
To the tanned haycock in the mead.
Sometimes, with secure delight,
The upland hamlets will invite,
When the merry bells ring round,
And the jocund rebecks sound
To many a youth, and many a maid
Dancing in the chequered shade;
And young and old come forth to
play

On a sunshine holiday,

Till the livelong daylight fail;
Then to the spicy nut-brown ale,
With stories told of many a feat,
How Fairy Mab the junkets eat;
She was pinched and pulled,
said,

she

And he by friar's lanthorn led;
Tells how the drudging goblin sweat
To earn his cream-bowl duly set,
When in one night, ere glimpse of

Where throngs of knights and barons bold

In weeds of peace high triumphs hold,

With store of ladies, whose bright

eyes

Rain influence, and judge the prize
Of wit, or arms, while both contend
To win her grace, whom all com
mend.

There let Hymen oft appear
In saffron robe, with taper clear,
And pomp, and feast, and revelry,
With masque and antique pageantry,
Such sights as youthful poets dream,
On summer eves, by haunted stream.
Then to the well-trod stage anon,
If Jonson's learned sock be on,
Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's
child,

Warble his native wood-notes wild.

And ever against eating cares Lap me in soft Lydian airs, Married to immortal verse, Such as the melting soul may pierce, In notes with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out, With wanton heed, and giddy cunning,

The melting voice through mazes running,

Untwisting all the chains that tie
The hidden soul of harmony;
That Orpheus' self may heave his
head

From golden slumber on a bed
Of heaped Elysian flowers, and hear
Such strains as would have won the

ear

Of Pluto, to have quite set free
His half-regained Eurydice.

These delights if thou canst give, Mirth, with thee I mean to live.

IL PENSEROSO.

HENCE, vain deluding joys, The brood of folly, without father bred!

How little you bestead,

Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys!

Dwell in some idle brain,

possess,

To set her beauty's praise above The sea-nymphs, and their powers offended:

Yet thou art higher far descended;
Thee bright-haired Vesta long of yore
To solitary Saturn bore;

His daughter she (in Saturn's reign
Such mixture was not held a stain).
Oft in glimmering bowers and glades
He met her, and in secret shades
Of woody Ida's inmost grove,
While yet there was no fear of Jove.
Come, pensive nun, devout and pure,
Sober, steadfast, and demure,
All in a robe of darkest grain,
Flowing with majestic train,
And sable stole of cypress lawn,
Over thy decent shoulders drawn.
Come, but keep thy wonted state,
With even step and musing gait,
And looks commercing with the
skies,

Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes:
There, held in holy passion still,
Forget thyself to marble, till
With a sad leaden downward cast,
Thou fix them on the earth as fast;
And join with thee calm peace and
quiet,

Spare Fast, that oft with Gods doth diet,

And hears the Muses in a ring
Aye round about Jove's altar sing;

Him that yon soars on golden wing,
Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne,
The cherub Contemplation;
And the mute Silence hist along,
'Less Philomel will deign a song,
In her sweetest, saddest plight,
Smoothing the rugged brow of Night,
While Cynthia checks her dragon
yoke,

Gently o'er the accustomed oak; Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly,

Most musical, most melancholy! Thee, chantress, oft the woods among,

I woo to hear thy even-song;
And missing thee, I walk unseen
On the dry smooth-shaven green,
To behold the wandering moon,
Riding near her highest noon,
Like one that had been led astray
Through the heavens' wide pathless
way;

And oft, as if her head she bowed,
Stooping through a fleecy cloud.

Oft on a plat of rising ground
I hear the far-off curfew sound,
Over some wide-watered shore,
Swinging slow with sullen roar.

Or if the air will not permit, Some still, removèd place will fit, Where glowing embers through the

room

Teach light to counterfeit a gloom;
Far from all resort of mirth,
Save the cricket on the hearth,
Or the bellman's drowsy charm,
To bless the doors from nightly harm.

Or let my lamp at midnight hour Be seen on some high lonely tower, Where I may oft outwatch the Bear, With thrice-great Hermes, or unsphere

The spirit of Plato, to unfold
What worlds, or what vast regions
hold
[sook
The immortal mind, that hath for
Her mansion in this fleshly nook;
And of those demons that are found
In fire, air, flood, or under ground,