254

AULD ROBIN GRAY.

My father couldna wark—my mother couldna spin-
I toiled night and day, but their bread I couldna win;
Auld Rob maintained them baith, and wi' tears in his e'e,
Said, “Jeanie, for their sakes, will ye no marry me?”

My heart it said na, and I looked for Jamie back,
But hard blew the winds, and his ship it was a wrack;
His ship was a wrack—why didna Jamie die,
Or why am I spared to cry wae is me?

My father urged me sair—my mither didna speak,
But she looked in my face till my heart was like to break;
They gied him my hand- my heart was in the sea-
And so auld Robin Gray he was gudeman to me.

I hadna been his wife a week but only four,
When, mournfu' I sat on the stane at my door,

I saw my Jamie's ghaist-for I couldna think it he-
Till he said "I'm come hame, my love, to marry thee!"

Oh, sair, sair did me greet, and mickle say of a',
I gied him ae kiss, and bade him gang awa’—

I wist that I were dead, but I'm na like to die,

For though my heart is broken, I'm but young, wae is me!

I

gang like a ghaist, and I carena much to spin,

I darena think o' Jamie, for that would be a sin;

But I'll do my best a gude wife to be

To auld Robin Gray, for he is kind to me.

Lady Anne Barnard.

TO MARY UNWIN.

255

TO MARY UNWIN.

THE twentieth year is well nigh past
Since first our sky was overcast;
Ah would that this might be the last!
My Mary!

Thy spirits have a fainter flow,

I see thee daily weaker grow

'Twas my distress that brought thee low, My Mary!

Thy needles, once a shining store,
For my sake restless heretofore,
Now rust disused, and shine no more;
My Mary!

For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil
The same kind office for me still,
Thy sight now seconds not thy will,
My Mary!

But well thou play'dst the housewife's part,
And all thy threads with magic art
Have wound themselves about this heart,
My Mary!

Thy indistinct expressions seem

Like language utter'd in a dream;

Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme,
My Mary!

256

TO MARY UNWIN.

Thy silver locks, once auburn bright,
Are still more lovely in my sight
Than golden beams of orient light,
My Mary!

For could I view nor them nor thee,
What sight worth seeing could I see?
The sun would rise in vain for me,
My Mary!

Partakers of thy sad decline

Thy hands their little force resign;
Yet gently press'd, press gently mine,
My Mary!

Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st
That now at every step thou mov'st
Upheld by two; yet still thou lov'st,
My Mary!

And still to love, though press'd with ill,
In wintry age to feel no chill,

With me is to be lovely still,
My Mary!

But ah! by constant heed I know
How oft the sadness that I show
Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe,
My Mary!

And should my future lot be cast
With much resemblance of the past,
Thy worn-out heart will break at last—

My Mary!

W. Cowber

TO THE MUSES.

257

TO THE MUSES.

WHETHER on Ida's shady brow,
Or in the chambers of the East,
The chambers of the Sun, that now
From ancient melody have ceased;

Whether in heaven ye wander fair,
Or the green corners of the earth,
Or the blue regions of the air

Where the melodious winds have birth;

Whether on crystal rocks ye rove

Beneath the bosom of the sea,
Wandering in many a coral grove,
Fair Nine, forsaking Poetry;

How have you left the ancient love
That bards of old enjoyed in you!
The languid strings do scarcely move,

The sound is forced, the notes are few!

W. Blake.

17

Elder Poets.

238

ALEXANDER'S FEAST.

ALEXANDER'S FEAST,

AN ODE IN HONOUR OF ST. CECILIA'S DAY.

"TWAS at the royal feast for Persia won

By Philip's warlike son:

Aloft in awful state
The godlike hero sate

On his imperial throne:

His valiant peers were placed around; Their brows with roses and with myrtle bound, (So should desert in arms be crown'd):

The lovely Thaïs by his side

Sate, like a blooming Eastern bride,
In flower of youth and beauty's pride.
Happy, happy, happy pair!

None but the brave,

None but the brave,

None but the brave deserves the fair.

Timotheus, placed on high

Amid the tuneful quire,

With flying fingers touch'd the lyre:
The trembling notes ascend the sky,
And heavenly joys inspire.

The song began from Jove,
Who left his blissful seats above

(Such is the power of mighty Love!).