O, come on your clouds, o'er the wide-rolling wave, To the hills of our freedom in triumph repair; For the blue-mantled mountains are trod by the brave, away, And the dark-dwelling sons of defiance are there. Hark! the horn's swelling tones call to danger [pass'd, And when the stern course of our pleasure is Though the whirlwinds of heaven wake around us their sway, [blast. We will heed not the tempest, and sing to the Haste, haste, my companions! the night dews are o'er; [are flown; From the mist-skirted mountains the shadows The bright morning star calls to the chase of the boar, [groan. And the rock's secret echoes are waiting his P. M. JAMES. SONG TO ZEPHYR. ZEPHYR! whither are you straying, Tell me where? With prankish girls in gardens playing, A butterfly's light back bestriding, Before Aurora's car you amble High in air; At noon, when Neptune's seanymphs gambol, Braid their hair; When on the tumbling billows rolling, To chase the moonbeams up the mountains Or dance with elves on brinks of fountains, Now seen with lovelorn lilies weeping, LEFTLY. FAIRY SONG. WOULD you the fairy regions see, By moonlight these their labours free, Then follow me, follow me, And the chaffer's bugle our guide shall be. LEFTLY. TO THE WATERNYMPHS, ON DRINKING AT A FOUNTAIN., REACH with your whiter hands to me Or else, sweet nymphs, do you but this; And I shall see, by that one kiss, HERRICK. THE POPLAR. No watchdog disturb'd the calm season of rest, And the daybeams were faintly the mountain adorning; The night dew still hung on the eglantine's breast, And the shrill cock first broke the sweet silence of morning. To the haunts of his childhood, the scenes of his sport, A wanderer came in the stillness of sorrow, The magic of life's early vision to court, And the sweetest of hours from remembrance to borrow. But the field of his culture was dreary and wild, And drear were the bowers where the rose once was blowing; The dark weed had grown where the garden had [glowing. And a wilderness spread where late beauty was smiled, Yet one poplar survived, and was lofty and fair, 'Twas the pride of his youth, when its sun rose enchanting; And Affection had treasured his memory there, And had hallow'd his name on the tree of his planting. truth, youth, Unknown was the hand that thus witness'd its [beaming; Unknown was the heart with affection thus But the wanderer thought on the friend of his [were streaming. And his spirit was bless'd, though his tear-drops Thou flower of affection, entwining the heart, To deck the drear scene of our wanderings given; Thy balm to our grief can its healing impart, And thy blossoms of light caught their beauty from heaven. P. M. JAMES. THERE'S NAE LUCK ABOUT THE HOUSE. 1 AND are you sure the news is true? And are ye sure he's weel? Is this a time to think of wark! Mak haste, lay by your wheel; For there's nae luck about the house, There's little pleasure in the house And gie to me my bigonet, My bishop's satin gown; For I maun tell the bailie's wife For there's nae luck, &c. Rise, lass, and mak a clean fire side, Gie little Kate her button gown, And Jock his Sunday coat; And mak their shoon as black as slaes, For he's been lang awa. For there's nae, &c. There's twa fat hens upo' the bauk Let every thing look braw, For wha can tell how Colin fared When he was far awa. Ah, there's nae, &c. Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech, His breath like cauler air, His very foot has music in't As he comes up the stair! |