Poems & Ballads Volume III Part 16

On Aikenshaw the sun blinks braw, The burn rins blithe and fain: There's nought wi' me I wadna gie To look thereon again.

On Keilder-side the wind blaws wide; There sounds nae hunting-horn That rings sae sweet as the winds that beat Round banks where Tyne is born.

The Wansbeck sings with all her springs, The bents and braes give ear; But the wood that rings wi' the sang she sings I may not see nor hear; For far and far thae blithe burns are, And strange is a' thing near.

The light there lightens, the day there brightens, The loud wind there lives free: Nae light comes nigh me or wind blaws by me That I wad hear or see.

But O gin I were there again, Afar ayont the faem, Cauld and dead in the sweet saft bed That haps my sires at hame!

We'll see nae mair the sea-banks fair, And the sweet grey gleaming sky, And the lordly strand of Northumberland, And the goodly towers thereby: And none shall know but the winds that blow The graves wherein we lie.

THE TYNESIDE WIDOW

There's mony a man loves land and life, Loves life and land and fee; And mony a man loves fair women, But never a man loves me, my love, But never a man loves me.

O weel and weel for a' lovers, I wot weel may they be; And weel and weel for a' fair maidens, But aye mair woe for me, my love, But aye mair woe for me.

O weel be wi' you, ye sma' flowers, Ye flowers and every tree; And weel be wi' you, a' birdies, But teen and tears wi' me, my love, But teen and tears wi' me.

O weel be yours, my three brethren, And ever weel be ye; Wi' deeds for doing and loves for wooing, But never a love for me, my love, But never a love for me.

And weel be yours, my seven sisters, And good love-days to see, And long life-days and true lovers, But never a day for me, my love, But never a day for me.

Good times wi' you, ye bauld riders, By the hieland and the lee; And by the leeland and by the hieland It's weary times wi' me, my love, It's weary times wi' me.

Good days wi' you, ye good sailors, Sail in and out the sea; And by the beaches and by the reaches It's heavy days wi' me, my love, It's heavy days wi' me.

I had his kiss upon my mouth, His bairn upon my knee; I would my soul and body were twain, And the bairn and the kiss wi' me, my love, And the bairn and the kiss wi' me.

The bairn down in the mools, my dear, O saft and saft lies she; I would the mools were ower my head, And the young bairn fast wi' me, my love, And the young bairn fast wi' me.

The father under the faem, my dear, O sound and sound sleeps he; I would the faem were ower my face, And the father lay by me, my love, And the father lay by me.

I would the faem were ower my face, Or the mools on my ee-bree; And waking-time with a' lovers, But sleeping-time wi' me, my love, But sleeping-time wi' me.

I would the mools were meat in my mouth, The saut faem in my ee; And the land-worm and the water-worm To feed fu' sweet on me, my love, To feed fu' sweet on me.

My life is sealed with a seal of love, And locked with love for a key; And I lie wrang and I wake lang, But ye tak' nae thought for me, my love, But ye tak' nae thought for me.

We were weel fain of love, my dear, O fain and fain were we; It was weel with a' the weary world, But O, sae weel wi' me, my love, But O, sae weel wi' me.

We were nane ower mony to sleep, my dear, I wot we were but three; And never a bed in the weary world For my bairn and my dear and me, my love, For my bairn and my dear and me.

DEDICATION

The years are many, the changes more, Since wind and sun on the wild sweet sh.o.r.e Where Joyous Gard stands stark by the sea With face as bright as in years of yore

Shone, swept, and sounded, and laughed for glee More deep than a man's or a child's may be, On a day when summer was wild and glad, And the guests of the wind and the sun were we.

The light that lightens from seasons clad With darkness now, is it glad or sad?

Not sad but glad should it s.h.i.+ne, meseems, On eyes yet fain of the joy they had.

For joy was there with us; joy that gleams And murmurs yet in the world of dreams Where thought holds fast, as a constant warder, The days when I rode by moors and streams,

Reining my rhymes into buoyant order Through honied leagues of the northland border.

Though thought or memory fade, and prove A faithless keeper, a thriftless h.o.a.rder,

One landmark never can change remove, One sign can the years efface not. Love, More strong than death or than doubt may be, Treads down their strengths, and abides above.

Yea, change and death are his servants: we, Whom love of the dead links fast, though free, May smile as they that beheld the dove Bear home her signal across the sea.