The simmer sun.
[Robert Gilfillan.—Tune, "The Lea Rig."]
The simmer sun now blinks again,
The laverock seeks the morning sky,
The gowan glitters on the plain,
The daisy on the mountain high;
And blythe my laddie on the hill
Sings wi' a heart, save true love, free;
His sang it seems to please me still,
Although I ken 'tis a' 'bout me!
He speaks o' love, I think o' nane,
He says without me he wad dee;
I bid him woo some ither ane,
But aye he fondly turns to me.
His pipe is sweetest on the hill,
His voice is saftest on the lea;
I canna lo'e the laddie ill
That's aye sae unco fond o' me.
The bee is for the moorland bound,
The mavis sings the braes amang,
And nature, in her happy round,
Is rife wi' music, mirth, an' sang.
Alake! my heart, whaur wilt thou gang?
'Tis no as it has been wi' thee!
To be sae coy is surely wrang,
The laddie's aye sae kind to me.
Sorrow and Song.
[James Hedderwick, Junr., editor of "The Glasgow Citizen."]
Weep not over poet's wrong,
Mourn not his mischances,—
Sorrow is the source of song,
And of gentle fancies.
Rills o'er rocky beds are borne,
Ere they gush in whiteness;
Pebbles are wave-chafed and worn,
Ere they show their brightness.
Sweetest gleam the morning flowers
When in tears they waken;
Earth enjoys refreshing showers
When the boughs are shaken.
Ceylon's glistening pearls are sought
In its deepest waters;
From the darkest mines are brought
Gems for beauty's daughters.
Through the rent and shiver'd rock
Limpid water breaketh;
'Tis but when the cords are struck
That their music waketh.
Flowers by heedless footsteps prest,
All their sweets surrender;
Gold must brook the fiery test,
Ere it show its splendour.
When the twilight cold and damp
Gloom and silence bringeth,
Then the glowworm lights its lamp,
And the bulbul singeth.
Stars come forth when night her shroud
Draws as daylight fainteth;
Only on the tearful cloud
God his rainbow painteth.
Weep not, then, o'er poet's wrong.
Mourn not his mischances,—
Sorrow is the source of song,
And of gentle fancies.
A' body's like to be married.
[We find the original of this in the Scots Magazine for July, 1802, where it is signed "Duncan Gray." There are some verbal differences between the old copy and the present.]
As Jenny sat down wi' her wheel by the fire,
An' thought o' the time that was fast fleein' by'er,
She said to hersel' wi' a heavy hoch hie,
Oh! a' body's like to be married but me.
My youthfu' companions are a' worn awa',
And though I've had wooers mysel' ane or twa;
Yet a lad to my mind I ne'er could yet see,
Oh! a' body's like to be married but me.
There's Lowrie, the lawyer, would ha'e me fu' fain
Who has baith a house an' a yard o' his ain:
But before I'd gang to it I rather wad die,
A wee stumpin' body! he'll never get me.
