« ΠροηγούμενηΣυνέχεια »
Sound of vernal showers
All that ever was
Teach us, sprite, or bird,
What sweet thoughts are thine :
I have never heard
Praise of love or wine
That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine.
Or triumphal chaunt,
Matched with thine would be all
But an empty vaunt,—
A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want.
What objects are the fountains
Of thy happy strain?
What fields, or waves, or mountains?
What shapes of sky or plain?
What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain?
With thy clear keen joyance
Languor cannot be;
Shadow of annoyance
Never came near thee:
Thou lovest; but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.
Waking or asleep,
Thou of death must deem
Things more true and deep
Than we mortals dream,
Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream?
We look before and after,
And pine for what is not;
With some pain is fraught;
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
Yet if we could scorn
Hate, and pride, and fear;
If we were things born
Not to shed a tear,
I know not how thy joy we ever should come near.
Better than all measures
Better than all treasures
That in books are found,
Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground!
Teach me half the gladness
That thy brain must know,
The world should listen then, as I am listening now.
WHEN maidens such as Hester die,
A month or more hath she been dead,
A springy motion in her gait,
I know not by what name beside
Her parents held the Quaker rule,
A waking eye, a prying mind,
A heart that stirs, is hard to bind,
A hawk's keen sight ye cannot blind,
My sprightly neighbour! gone before
When from thy cheerful eyes a ray
Auld Robin Gray.
When the sheep are in the fauld, when the cows come hame,
The woes of my heart fa' in showers frae my ee,
Young Jamie looed me weel, and sought me for his bride,
Before he had been gane a twelvemonth and a day,
LADY ANNE BARNARD.
My father cou'dna work-my mother cou'dna spin;
My heart it said na, and I looked for Jamie back;
My father argued sair-my mother didna speak,
I hadna been his wife, a week but only four,
O sair, sair did we greet, and mickle say of a';
Ae kiss we took, nae mair-I bad him gang awa.
gang like a ghaist, and I carena much to spin;
LADY ANNE BARNARD.