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But, with her heart, if not her ear,
The old loved voice she seemed to hear :
“I wait to meet thee: be of cheer,
For all is well !”



I am undone : there is no living, none,
If Bertram be away.

It were all one,
That I should love a bright particular star,
And think to wed it, he is so above me :
In his bright radiance and collateral light
Must I be comforted, not in his sphere.
The ambition in my love thus plagues itself :
The hind that would be mated by the lion
Must die for love. "T was pretty, though a plagne,
To see him every hour ; to sit and draw
His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls,
In our heart's table, -- heart too capable
Of every line and trick of his sweet favor :
But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy
Must sanctify his relics.


IF to be absent were to be

Away from thee;
Or that, when I am gone,

You or I were alone;
Then, my Lucasta, might I crave
Pity from blustering wind or swallowing wave.
But I'll not sigh one blast or gale

To swell my sail,
Or pay a tear to 'suage

The foaming blue-god's rage ;
For, whether he will let me pass
Or no, I'm still as happy as I was.
Though seas and lands be 'twixt us both,

Our faith and troth,
Like separated souls,

All time and space controls :
Above the highest sphere we ineet,
Unseen, unknown ; and greet is angels greet.


0, Saw ye bonnie Lesley

As she gaed o'er the border ? She's gane, like Alexander,

To spread her conquests farther. To see her is to love her,

And love but her forever ; For nature made her what she is,

And ne'er made sic anither!

So, then, we do anticipate

Our after-fate,
And are alive i' th' skies,

If thus our lips and eyes
Can speak like spirits unconfined
In heaven, — their earthly bodies left behind.

Thou art a queen, fair Lesley,

Thy subjects we, before thee ; Thou art divine, fair Lesley,

The hearts o' men adore thee.


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, how or by what means may I contrive THE WIFE TO HER HUSBAND. To bring the hour that brings thee back more

near ? Linger not long. Home is not home withont How may I teach my drooping hope to live thee :

Until that blessed time, and thou art here? Its dearest tokens do but make me mourn. 0, let its memory, like a chain about thee,

I'll tell thee ; for thy sake I will lay hold Gently compel and hasten thy return !

Of all good aims, and consecrate to thee,

In worthy deeds, each moment that is told Linger not long. Though crowds should woo thy

While thou, beloved one! art far from me. staying, Bethink ther, can the mirth of thy friends, For thee I will arouse my thoughts to try though dear,

All heavenward flights, all high and holy strains ; Compensate for the grief thy long delaying For thy dear sake I will walk patiently Costs the fond heart that sighs to have thee Through these long hours, nor call their min. here?

utes pains. Linger not long. How shall I watch thy coming, I will this dreary blank of absence make

As evening shadows stretch o'er moor and dell; A noble task-time; and will therein strive When the wild bee hath ceased her busy humming, To follow excellence, and to o'ertake

Aod silence hangs on all things like a spell ! More good than I have won since yet I live.

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Thou, to whom I love to hearken,

Come, ere night around me darken ;
Though thy softness but deceive me,

My time, 0 ye Muses, was happily spent,

When Phoebe went with me wherever I went; Say thou 'rt true, and I 'll believe thee; Veil, if ill, thy soul's intent,

Ten thousand sweet pleasures I felt in my Let me think it innocent !

breast :

Sure never fond shepherd like Colin was blest ! Save thy toiling, spare thy treasure ; But now she is gone, and has left me behind, All I ask is friendship's pleasure ;

What a marvellous change on a sudden I find ! Let the shining ore lie darkling,

When things were as fine as could possibly be, Bring no gem in lustre sparkling ;

I thought 't was the Spring ; but alas ! it was Gifts and gold are naught to me,

she. I would only look on thee !

With such a companion to tend a few sheep, Tell to thee the high-wrought feeling, To rise up and play, or to lie down and sleep ; Ecstasy but in revealing ;

I was so good-humored, so cheerful and gay, Paint to thee the deep sensation,

My heart was as light as a feather all day ; Rapture in participation ;

But now I so cross and so peevish am grown,
Yet but torture, if comprest

So strangely uneasy, as never was known.
In a lone, unfriended breast.

My fair one is gone, and my joys are all drowned,

And my heart -- I am sure it weighs more than Absent still! Ah! come and bless me!

a pound. Let these eyes again caress thee. Once in caution, I could fly thee;

The fountain that wont to run sweetly along, Now, I nothing could deny the

And dance to soft murmurs the pebbles among; In a look if death there be,

| Thou know'st, little Cupid, if Phæbe was there, Come, and I will gaze on thee !

'T was pleasure to look at, 't was music to hear : MARIA GOWEN BROOKS (Maria del Occidente). But now she is absent, I walk by its side,

And still, as it murinurs, do nothing but chide ;

Must you be so cheerful, while I go in pain ? WHAT AILS THIS HEART O' MINE ?

Peace there with your bubbling, and hear me What ails this heart o' mine?

complain. What ails this watery e'e ? What gars me a' turn pale as death

My lambkins around me would oftentimes When I take leave o' thee ?

play, When thou art far awa',

And Phoebe and I were as joyful as they ;
Thou ’lt dearer grow to me ;

How pleasant their sporting, how happy their

time, But change o' place and change o' folk May gar thy fancy jee.

When Spring, Love, and Beauty were all in

their prime; When I gae out e'en,

But now, in their frolics when by me they pass, Or walk at morning air,

I Aling at their fleeces a handful of grass ; Ilk rustling bush will seem to say

Be still, then, I cry, for it makes me quite mail, I used to meet thee there :

To see you so merry while I am so sad.


My dog I was ever well pleased to see

Will no pitying power, that hears me com. Come wagging his tail to my fair one and me;

plain, And Phoebe was pleased too, and to my dog said, Or cure my disquiet or soften my pain ? "come hither, poor fellow ;” and patted his To be cured, thou must, Colin, thy passion rehead.

move ; But now, when he's fawning, I with a sour look But what swain is so silly to live without love! Cry “Sirrah !” and give him a blow with my No, deity, bid the dear nymph to return, crook :

For ne'er was poor shepherd so sailly forlorn. And I 'll give him another; for why should not Ah! what shall I do? I shall die with despair ; Tray

Take heed, all ye swains, how ye part with your Be as dull as his master, when Phoebe 's away?


JOHN BYROM. When walking with Phæbe, what sights have

I seen,


How fair was the flower, how fresh was the

green! What a lovely appearance the trees and the

shade, The cornfields and hedges and everything made ! But now she has left me, though all are still

there, They none of them now so delightful appear : "T was naught but the magic, I find, of her eyes, Made so many beautiful prospects arise.

And are ye sure the news is true ?

And are ye sure he's weel?
Is this a time to think o' wark?

Ye jades, lay by your wheel ;
Is this the time to spin a thread,

When Colin 's at the door ?
Reach down my cloak, I 'll to the quay,

And see him come ashore.
For there's nae luck about the house,

There's nae luck at a';
There's little pleasure in the house

When our gudeman 's awa'.

Sweet music went with its both all the wood

The lark, linnet, throstle, and nightingale too ;
Winds over us whispered, flocks by us did bleat,
And chirp! went the grasshopper under our

But now she is absent, though still they sing on,
The woods are but lonely, the melodly 's gone :
Her voice in the concert, as now I have found,
Gave everything else its agreeable sound.

And gie to me my bigonet,

My bishop's-satin gown ;
For I maun tell the baillie's wife

That Colin's in the town.
My Turkey slippers naun gae on,

My stockin's pearly blue ;
It 's a' to pleasure our gudeman,

For he's baith leal and true.

Rose, what is become of thy delicate hue ?
And where is the violet's beautiful blue?
Does aught of its sweetness the blossom beguile ?
That meadow, those daisies, why do they not

smile ?
Ah! rivals, I see what it was that you drest,
And made yourselves fine for - a place in her

breast? You put on your colors to pleasure her eye, To be plucked by her hand, on her bosom to die.

Rise, lass, and mak a clean fireside,

Put on the muckle pot ;
Gie little Kate her button gown,

And Jock his Sunday coat;
And mak their shoon as black as slaes,

Their hose as white as snaw ;
It's a' to please my ain gundeman,

For he's been long awa'.

How slowly Time creeps till my Phrebe re

turn, While amidst the soft zephyr's cool breezes I

bun ! Methinks, if I knew whereabouts he would tread, I could breathe on his wings, and 't would melt

There's twa fat hens upo' the coop

Been fed this month and mair;
Mak haste and thraw their necks abort,

That Colin weel may fare ;
And spread the table neat and clean,

down the lead.
Fly swifter, ye minutes, bring hither my dear,
And rest so much longer for 't when she is here.
Ah, Colin ! old Time is full of delay,
Nor will budge one foot faster for all thou canst


Gar ilka thing look braw,
For wha can tell how Colin fared

When he was far awa'?

• Bartlett, in his Familiar Quotations, has the following :" Theo Mariner's Wife is now given, 'by common conscut, says Sira Tytler, to Jean Adam, 1710-1765."

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