O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, And closed for aye the sparkling glance And moldering now in silent dust But still within my bosom's core Robert Burns [1759-1796] TO MARY IN HEAVEN THOU lingering star, with lessening ray, My Mary from my soul was torn. O Mary! dear departed shade! Where is thy place of blissful rest? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? That sacred hour can I forget, Can I forget the hallowed grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met, To live one day of parting love! Eternity will not efface Those records dear of transports past; Thy image at our last embrace, Ah! little thought we 'twas our last! Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore, The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, Lucy Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes, Where is thy place of blissful rest? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? 1045 Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? Robert Burns [1759-1796] LUCY I STRANGE fits of passion have I known: And I will dare to tell, But in the lover's ear alone, What once to me befell. When she I loved looked every day Fresh as a rose in June, I to her cottage bent my way, Beneath an evening moon. Upon the moon I fixed my eye, All over the wide lea; With quickening pace my horse drew nigh Those paths so dear to me. And now we reached the orchard-plot; And, as we climbed the hill, The sinking moon to Lucy's cot Came near, and nearer still. In one of those sweet dreams I slept, Kind Nature's gentlest boon! And all the while my eyes I kept On the descending moon. My horse moved on; hoof after hoof At once, the bright moon dropped. What fond and wayward thoughts will slide Into a lover's head! "O mercy!" to myself I cried, "If Lucy should be dead!” II She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise A violet by a mossy stone Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be; The difference to me! III I traveled among unknown men, 'Tis past, that melancholy dream! Among thy mountains did I feel And she I cherished turned her wheel Lucy Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed, The bowers where Lucy played; And thine too is the last green field That Lucy's eyes surveyed. 1047 IV Three years she grew in sun and shower; This child I to myself will take; She shall be mine, and I will make "Myself will to my darling be The girl, in rock and plain, In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, To kindle or restrain. "She shall be sportive as the fawn That wild with glee across the lawn Or up the mountain springs; And hers shall be the breathing balm, And hers the silence and the calm Of mute insensate things. "The floating clouds their state shall lend To her; for her the willow bend; Nor shall she fail to see Even in the motions of the storm Grace that shall mold the maiden's form By silent sympathy. "The stars of midnight shall be dear To her; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face. ἐσ Shall rear her form to stately height, Here in this happy dell." Thus Nature spake-The work was done- She died, and left to me This heath, this calm and quiet scene; The memory of what has been, And never more will be. V A slumber did my spirit seal; I had no human fears: She seemed a thing that could not feel No motion has she now, or force; Rolled round in earth's diurnal course, With rocks, and stones, and trees. William Wordsworth [1770-1850] PROUD MAISIE From " The Heart of Midlothian " PROUD Maisie is in the wood, Walking so early; Sweet Robin sits on the bush Singing so rarely. "Tell me, thou bonny bird, |