Even then, when horror chiled my blood,
My heart was filled with love for thee:
The storm is past, and I at rest;
So, Mary, weep no more for me!
O maiden dear, thyself prepare;
We soon shall meet upon that shore,
Where love is free from doubt and care,
And thou and I shall part no, more!"
Loud crowed the cock, the shadow fled:
No more of Sandy could she see.
But soft the passing spirit said,
"Sweet Mary, weep no more for me!"
The Smiling Plains.
[William Falconer, author of "The Shipwreck."]
The smiling plains, profusely gay,
Are dress'd in all the pride of May;
The birds on every spray above
To rapture wake the vocal grove.
But, ah! Miranda, without thee,
Nor spring nor summer smiles on me,
All lonely in the secret shade,
I mourn thy absence, charming maid!
O soft as love! as honour fair!
Serenely sweet as vernal air!
Come to my arms; for you alone
Can all my absence past atone.
O come! and to my bleeding heart
The sovereign balm of love impart;
Thy presence lasting joy shall bring,
And give the year eternal spring.
My heid is like to rend.
[William Motherwell.—This almost even surpasses the same author's "Jeanie Morrison" in passion and pathos.]
My heid is like to rend, Willie,
My heart is like to break—
I'm wearin' aff my feet, Willie,
I'm dyin' for your sake!
Oh lay your cheek to mine, Willie
Your hand on my briest-bane—
Oh say ye'll think on me, Willie,
When I am deid and gane!
It's vain to comfort me, Willie,
Sair grief maun ha'e its will—
But let me rest upon your briest,
To sab and greet my fill.
Let me sit on your knee, Willie,
Let me shed by your hair,
And look into the face, Willie,
I never shall see mair!
I'm sittin' on your knee, Willie,
For the last time in my life—
A puir heart-broken thing, Willie,
A mither, yet nae wife.
Ay, press your hand upon my heart,
And press it mair and mair—
Or it will burst the silken twine
Sae strang is its despair!
Oh wae's me for the hour, Willie,
When we thegither met—
Oh wae's me for the time, Willie,
That our first tryst was set!
Oh wae's me for the loanin' green
Where we were wont to gae—
And wae's me for the destinie,
That gart me luve thee sae!
Oh! dinna mind my words, Willie,
I downa seek to blame—
But oh! it's hard to live, Willie,
And dree a warld's shame!
Het tears are hailin' ower your cheek,
And hailin' ower your chin;
Why weep ye sae for worthlessness,
For sorrow and for sin?
I'm weary o' this warld, Willie,
And sick wi' a' I see—
I canna live as I ha'e lived,
Or be as I should be.
But fauld unto your heart, Willie,
The heart that still is thine—
And kiss ance mair the white, white cheek,
Ye said was red langsyne.
A stoun' gaes through my heid, Willie,
A sair stoun' through my heart—
Oh! haud me up and let me kiss
