When first the upland fountain bursts upon the plain, 'tis seen
Divided as a thousand streams, in bright yet varied sheen;
But soon they seek some kindred course, which, deep'ning as they glide
The boundless main alone may change their sweetly mingled tide.
'Tis thus with life, a thousand hopes our youthful thoughts divide,
Till all their glowing energies in one dear wish subside;
Oh! break not then the spell which e'en to joy adds new delight,
And robes creation's fairest forms with beauty still more bright!
Bonnie Mary Græme.
[From a volume of sweet and elegant poems published at Glasgow in 1842. under the title "Poems of Past Years. By James Parker."]
Oh! whar ha'e ye been roamin'—whar ha'e ye been roamin'—
Whar ha'e ye been roamin', bonnie Mary Græme
Whar ha'e ye been roamin' this cauld dowie gloamin'—
Whar ha'e ye been roamin', sae far awa' frae hame?
The tear is in your e'e—was't the pearly dew that sent it?—
It used na' sae to be, bonnie Mary Græme!
There's a glow on your cheek—was't the damask rose that lent it?—
O, what gars ye greet, or what gars ye think shame?
There's care upon your brow—ill fa' the hand that wrought it!
There's sorrow in your bosom, bonnie Mary Græme!
Sae blythsome as ye used to be, O, wha cou'd e'er ha'e thocht it!—
Somebody or ither has been sair—sair to blame!
Your step, that was sae lichtsome, gangs creepin' slow and eerie,
An' sair your voice is alter'd, bonnie Mary Græme!
A canker's in the bud that micht ha'e bloomed sae cheery,
Gin he had kept his faith to thee, bonnie Mary Græme!
My first and last love.
[James Macdonald.—Here printed for the first time.]
O morning time o' happiness, O gonden time o' glee,
When light o' heart an' fu' o' hope I roam'd the lily lee,
An' as I pu'd ilk bonnie flower amang the sparklin' dew,
I clasp'd it to my breast and said, O Jeanie, 'tis like you!
The pride o' May, the pink o' June, the gem o' summer's bowers
Were nae sae sweet by hauf as thee, my winsome queen o' flowers.
Thy cheek mair saft than eider down, an' white as driven snaw
Thine e'e o' love, thy bonnie locks, in happy dreams, yet fa'
Upon my cauld and broken heart, an' glow in fairer sheen
Than a' the flowers that ever grew on Endrick's fairy green.
Thy life was mine, my life was thine, yet a' was but a spell—
The hour is past,—my bleeding heart can only sigh, Farewell.
