« PreviousContinue »
Be she with that goodness blest
If she seem not such to me,
'Cause her fortune seems too high,
And unless that mind I see,
Great or good, or kind or fair,
For if she be not for me,
HENCE or file you wainndelights
short as are
Welcome, folded arms, and fixéd eyes,
without a sound !
These are the sounds we feed upon ;
TO A LOCK OF HAIR
'HY hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright
in that well-remember'd night When first thy mystic braid was wove, And first my Agnes whisper'd love.
Since then how often hast thou prest The torrid zone of this wild breast, Whose wrath and hate have sworn to dwell With the first sin that peopled hell ; A breast whose blood 's a troubled ocean, Each throb the earthquake's wild commotion ! O if such clime thou canst endure Yet keep thy hue unstain’d and pure, What conquest o'er each erring thought Of that fierce realm had Agnes wrought ! I had not wander'd far and wide With such an angel for my guide ;
Nor heaven nor earth could then reprove me
Not then this world's wild joys had been To me one savage hunting scene, My sole delight the headlong race And frantic hurry of the chase ; To start, pursue, and bring to bay, Rush in, drag down, and rend my prey, Then — from the carcass turn away! Mine ireful mood had sweetness tamed, And soothed each wound which pride inflamed :Yes, God and man might now approve me If thou hadst lived, and lived to love me !
Sir W. Scott
THE FORSAKEN BRIDE
WALY waly up the bank,
And waly waly down the brae,
Where I and my Love wont to gae !
I thought it was a trusty tree;
Sae my true Love did lichtly me.
O waly waly, but love be bonny
A little time while it is new ;
And fades awa’ like morning dew.
Or wherefore should I kame my hair?
For my true Love has me forsook,
And says he 'll never loe me mair.
Now Arthur-seat sall be my bed ;
The sheets shall ne'er be prest by me : Saint Anton's well sall be my drink,
Since my true Love has forsaken me. Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw
And shake the green leaves aff the tree? O gentle Death, when wilt thou come ?
For of my life I am wearie.
'Tis not the frost that freezes fell,
Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie ; 'T is not sic cauld that makes me cry,
But my Love's heart grown cauld to me. When we came in by Glasgow town
We were a comely sight to see ;
And I mysell in cramasie.
But had I wist, before I kist,
That love had been sae ill to win;
And pinn'd it with a siller pin.
And set upon the nurse's knee,
WISH I were where Helen lies :
Night and day on me she cries; O that I were where Helen lies
On fair Kirconnell lea!
Curst be the heart that thought the thought,
And died to succour me !
O think na but my heart was sair
On fair Kirconnell lea.
As I went down the water-side,
On fair Kirconnell lea;
I lighted down my sword to draw,
For her sake that died for me.
O Helen fair, beyond compare !
Until the day I die.