Bulchevy's Book of English Verse Part 85

LIKE thee I once have stemm'd the sea of life, Like thee have languish'd after empty joys, Like thee have labour'd in the stormy strife, Been grieved for trifles, and amused with toys.

Forget my frailties; thou art also frail: Forgive my lapses; for thyself may'st fall: Nor read unmoved my artless tender tale-- I was a friend, O man, to thee, to all.

Isobel Pagan. 1740-1821

473. Ca' the Yowes to the Knowes

CA' the yowes to the knowes, Ca' them where the heather grows, Ca' them where the burnie rows, My bonnie dearie.

As I gaed down the water side, There I met my shepherd lad; He row'd me sweetly in his plaid, And he ca'd me his dearie.

'Will ye gang down the water side, And see the waves sae sweetly glide Beneath the hazels spreading wide?

The moon it s.h.i.+nes fu' clearly.'

'I was bred up at nae sic school, My shepherd lad, to play the fool, And a' the day to sit in dool, And naebody to see me.'

'Ye sall get gowns and ribbons meet, Cauf-leather shoon upon your feet, And in my arms ye'se lie and sleep, And ye sall be my dearie.'

'If ye'll but stand to what ye've said, I'se gang wi' you, my shepherd lad, And ye may row me in your plaid, And I sall be your dearie.'

'While waters wimple to the sea, While day blinks in the lift sae hie, Till clay-cauld death sall blin' my e'e, Ye aye sall be my dearie!'

yowes] ewes. knowes] knolls, little hills. rows] rolls. row'd]

rolled, wrapped. dool] dule, sorrow. lift] sky.

Anna Laet.i.tia Barbauld. 1743-1825

474. Life

LIFE! I know not what thou art, But know that thou and I must part; And when, or how, or where we met, I own to me 's a secret yet.

But this I know, when thou art fled, Where'er they lay these limbs, this head, No clod so valueless shall be As all that then remains of me.

O whither, whither dost thou fly?

Where bend unseen thy trackless course?

And in this strange divorce, Ah, tell where I must seek this compound I?

To the vast ocean of empyreal flame From whence thy essence came Dost thou thy flight pursue, when freed From matter's base enc.u.mbering weed?

Or dost thou, hid from sight, Wait, like some spell-bound knight, Through blank oblivious years th' appointed hour To break thy trance and rea.s.sume thy power?

Yet canst thou without thought or feeling be?

O say, what art thou, when no more thou'rt thee?

Life! we have been long together, Through pleasant and through cloudy weather; 'Tis hard to part when friends are dear; Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear;-- Then steal away, give little warning, Choose thine own time; Say not Good-night, but in some brighter clime Bid me Good-morning!

f.a.n.n.y Greville. 18th Cent.

475. Prayer for Indifference

I ASK no kind return of love, No tempting charm to please; Far from the heart those gifts remove, That sighs for peace and ease.

Nor peace nor ease the heart can know, That, like the needle true, Turns at the touch of joy or woe, But turning, trembles too.

Far as distress the soul can wound, 'Tis pain in each degree: 'Tis bliss but to a certain bound, Beyond is agony.

John Logan. 1748-1788

476. To the Cuckoo

HAIL, beauteous stranger of the grove!

Thou messenger of Spring!

Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat, And woods thy welcome ring.

What time the daisy decks the green, Thy certain voice we hear: Hast thou a star to guide thy path, Or mark the rolling year?

Delightful visitant! with thee I hail the time of flowers, And hear the sound of music sweet From birds among the bowers.

The schoolboy, wand'ring through the wood To pull the primrose gay, Starts, the new voice of Spring to hear, And imitates thy lay.

What time the pea puts on the bloom, Thou fli'st thy vocal vale, An annual guest in other lands, Another Spring to hail.

Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green, Thy sky is ever clear; Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, No Winter in thy year!

O could I fly, I'd fly with thee!

We'd make, with joyful wing, Our annual visit o'er the globe, Companions of the Spring.

Lady Anne Lindsay. 1750-1825

477. Auld Robin Gray

WHEN the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame, And a' the warld to rest are gane, The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e, While my gudeman lies sound by me.

Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his bride; But saving a croun he had naething else beside: To make the croun a pund, young Jamie gaed to sea; And the croun and the pund were baith for me.

He hadna been awa' a week but only twa, When my father brak his arm, and the cow was stown awa; My mother she fell sick,--and my Jamie at the sea-- And auld Robin Gray came a-courtin' me.

My father couldna work, and my mother couldna spin; I toil'd day and night, but their bread I couldna win; Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, and wi' tears in his e'e Said, 'Jennie, for their sakes, O, marry me!'

My heart it said nay; I look'd for Jamie back; But the wind it blew high, and the s.h.i.+p it was a wrack; His s.h.i.+p it was a wrack--Why didna Jamie dee?

Or why do I live to cry, Wae 's me?

My father urged me sair: my mother didna speak; But she look'd in my face till my heart was like to break: They gi'ed him my hand, tho' my heart was in the sea; Sae auld Robin Gray he was gudeman to me.

I hadna been a wife a week but only four, When mournfu' as I sat on the stane at the door, I saw my Jamie's wraith,--for I couldna think it he, Till he said, 'I'm come hame to marry thee.'

O sair, sair did we greet, and muckle did we say; We took but ae kiss, and we tore ourselves away: I wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to dee; And why was I born to say, Wae 's me!