TO HER ABSENT SAILOR. FROM "THE TENT ON THE BEACH." HER window opens to the bay, "Dear Lord!" she saith, "to many a home "Blown out and in by summer gales, They come, they go, but nevermore, The waves divide. "O Thou! with whom the night is day Alive, perchance, on some lone beach “O dread and cruel deep, reveal Let winds that tossed his raven hair "Come, with your dreariest truth shut out The fears that haunt me round about; O God! I cannot bear this doubt That stifles breath. The worst is better than the dread; It might have been the evening breeze But, with her heart, if not her ear, JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. TO LUCASTA. IF to be absent were to be Or that, when I am gone, You or I were alone; Then, my Lucasta, might I crave LOVE'S MEMORY. FROM “ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL,” ACT I. SC. I. I AM undone there is no living, none, Pity from blustering wind or swallowing wave. In our heart's table, heart too capable I LOVE MY JEAN. OF a' the airts* the wind can blaw, For there the bonnie lassie lives, The lassie I lo'e best. There wild woods grow, and rivers row, And monie a hill 's between ; But day and night my fancy's flight I see her in the dewy flowers, I hear her in the tunefu' birds, I hear her charm the air; There's not a bonnie flower that springs By fountain, shaw, or green; There's not a bonnie bird that sings, ROBERT BURNS. * The points of the compass. Of every line and trick of his sweet favor: SHAKESPEARE. O, SAW YE BONNIE LESLEY? O, 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; Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, The hearts o' men adore thee. The deil he could na scaith thee, Or aught that wad belang thee; And say, "I canna wrang thee!" The Powers aboon will tent thee; Misfortune sha' na steer* thee; Thou 'rt like themselves sae lovely That ill they 'll ne'er let near thee. Return again, fair Lesley, Return to Caledonie ! ROBERT BURNS. JEANIE MORRISON. I'VE wandered east, I've wandered west, But never, never can forget • Harm. The fire that 's blawn on Beltane e'en O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, The thochts o' bygane years Still fling their shadows ower my path, And blind my een wi' tears: They blind my een wi' saut, saut tears, And sair and sick I pine, As memory idly summons up The blithe blinks o' langsyne. 'T was then we luvit ilk ither weel, "T was then we twa did part; Sweet time sad time! twa bairns at scule, Twa bairns, and but ae heart! 'T was then we sat on ae laigh bink, To leir ilk ither lear; And tones and looks and smiles were shed, Remembered evermair. I wonder, Jeanie, aften yet, When sitting on that bink, Cheek touchin' cheek, loof locked in loof, Thy lips were on thy lesson, but O, mind ye how we hung our heads, (The scule then skail't at noon,) When we ran off to speel the braes, The broomy braes o' June? My head rins round and round about, As ane by ane the thochts rush back O mornin' life! O mornin' luve ! O, mind ye, luve, how aft we left To wander by the green burnside, The simmer leaves hung ower our heads, The throssil whusslit in the wood, And on the knowe abune the burn, In the silentness o' joy, till baith Ay, ay, dear Jeanie Morrison, When hearts were fresh and young, When freely gushed all feelings forth, Unsyllabled - unsung! I marvel, Jeanie Morrison, As closely twined wi' earliest thochts O, tell me gin their music fills Thine ear as it does mine! O, say gin e'er your heart grows grit Wi' dreamings o' langsyne? I've wandered east, I've wandered west, I've borne a weary lot; But in my wanderings, far or near, Ye never were forgot. The fount that first burst frae this heart And channels deeper, as it rins, O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, Did I but ken your heart still dreamed WILLIAM MOTHERWELL. THE RUSTIC LAD'S LAMENT IN THE O, WAD that my time were owre but, I' the bonnie birken shaw! For this is no my ain life, And I peak and pine away Wi' the thochts o' hame and the young flowers, In the glad green month of May. I used to wauk in the morning I used to wear the bit young lambs Frae the tod and the roaring stream; But the warld is changed, and a' thing now To me seems like a dream. There are busy crowds around me, On ilka lang dull street; Yet, though sae mony surround me, And I think o' kind kent faces, And o' blithe an' cheery days, When I wandered out wi' our ain folk, Out owre the simmer braes. Waes me, for my heart is breaking! When I cam frae hame awa. As she shook me by the hand, When I left the door o' our auld house, To come to this stranger land. There's nae hame like our ain hame To our farm and fields sae green; . DAVID MACBETH MOIR. THE WIFE TO HER HUSBAND. As night grows dark and darker on the hill! How shall I weep, when I can watch no longer! Ah! art thou absent, art thou absent still? O, how or by what means may I contrive To bring the hour that brings thee back more near? LINGER not long. Home is not home without How may I teach my drooping hope to live thee: Its dearest tokens do but make me mourn. O, let its memory, like a chain about thee, Gently compel and hasten thy return! Linger not long. Though crowds should woo thy staying, Until that blessèd time, and thou art here? I'll tell thee; for thy sake I will lay hold Bethink thee, can the mirth of thy friends, For thee I will arouse my thoughts to try though dear, Compensate for the grief thy long delaying Costs the fond heart that sighs to have thee here? Linger not long. How shall I watch thy coming, As evening shadows stretch o'er moor and dell; When the wild bee hath ceased her busy humming, And silence hangs on all things like a spell ! All heavenward flights, all high and holy strains; I will this dreary blank of absence make |