"O what is 't that pits my puir heart in a flutter? An' what gars the tear come sae fast to my e'e? Then what gars me wish ony better to be? Nae wonder the tear fa's sae fast frae my e'e. "Wi' the rest o' my claes I ha'e row'd up the ribbon, Though now he said naething but 'Fare ye well, Lucy,' "The lamb likes the gowan wi' dew when its droukit; Lies cauld in her grave, an' will never return. THE SLIGHTED LASSIE. ALAKE for the lassie ! she's no right at a',' But the lassie has muckle mair cause to complain, The fair was just comin'; my heart it grew fain The bonny grey morn had scarce opened her e'e I' the hirin' right soon my dear Jamie I saw ; He never wad see me in ony ae place; At length I gaed up an' just smiled in his face, My neiber lads strave to entice me awa', They roos'd me, an' heght me ilk thing that was braw; But I hated them a', an' I hated the fair, For Jamie's behaviour had wounded me sair. His heart was sae leel, an' his manners sae kind! THOMAS CAMPBELL. ABSENCE. 'Tis not the loss of love's assurance, The fondest thoughts two hearts can cherish, Are fruits on desert isles that perish, Or riches buried in the deep. What though, untouched by jealous madness, Th' undoubting heart, that breaks with sadness, Absence!-Is not the soul torn by it From more than light, or life, or breath? 'Tis Lethe's gloom, but not its quiet, The pain without the peace of death. SONG. DRINK ye to her that each loves best, That's told but to her mutual breast, Enough, while memory tranced and glad Paints silently the fair, That each should dream of joys he's had, Yet far, far hence be jest or boast But drink to them that we love most, CAROLINE. I'LL bid the hyacinth to blow, There all his wild-wood sweets to bring, The sweet south wind shall wander by, And with the music of his wing Delight my rustling canopy. Come to my close and clustering bower, Fresh with the dews of fruit and flower With all thy rural echoes come, Where'er thy morning breath has play'd Come to my blossom-woven shade, For sure from some enchanted isle Where Heaven and Love their Sabbath hold, Where pure and happy spirits smile, Of beauty's fairest, brightest mould; From some green Eden of the deep, Where tears of rapture lovers weep, Endear'd. undoubting, undeceived! |