And when abroad in summer morn,
I hear the blythe bold bee
Winding aloft his tiny horn,
(An errant knight perdy,)
That winged hunter of rare sweets,
O'er many a far country,
To me a lay of love repeats,
Its subject—thee.
And when, in midnight hour, I note
The stars so pensively,
In their wild beauty, onward float
Through heaven's own silent sea:
My heart is in their voyaging
To realms where spirits be,
But its mate, in such wandering,
Is ever thee.
But, oh, the murmur of the brook,
The music of the tree;
The rose with its sweet shamefaced look,
The booming of the bee;
The course of each bright voyager,
In heaven's unmeasured sea,
Would not one heart pulse of me stir,
Loved I not thee!
Bleaching her claes.
[George Murray.—Air, "Ballenden Braes."—Once printed in Upper Canada.]
One morning I dander'd, (I needna say when.)
Whaur a wee bickering burnie rins through a low glen:
I met a young lassie upon the green braes,
Was herding her lammies and bleaching her claes.
The smile on her cheek had the rose's bright hue,
Her complexion was fair as the fresh fa'in' dew,
Her yellow hair stream'd like the sun's parting rays,
And her breath was as sweet as her new-water'd' claes.
I said, "Lovely maiden, how caller the air!
The season how pleasant, the rroming how fair!
The fields are a' flowery, the flowers are a' dew,
And if earth hae aught fairier, sweet girl, it is you!"
She cried, "Let me be; I maun notice my claes,
And canna mind a' thing that ilka ane says,
My mither aye tauld me—and likely she'll ken—
That there's fouth o'fine tales, but nae faith in young men."
"O dinna leuk blate, though your mither may scauld;
Her heart-blood is daiver't, she's doitet and auld,
And say, bonnie lassie, what ills ye could dree
Frae the laddie that loves ye, and loves nane but thee?"
I kiss'd her, I press'd her, mair tender she grew,
And sank in my arms, crying, "Laddie be true!"
Though pride wad ha'e frownit, and art made a phrase,
The lassie had nane that was bleaching her claes.
I am married.
Now I'll whistle, now I'll sing,
Now I'll caper, now I'll fling,
Now the chairs about I'll ding;
For guess ye, man, I'm married.
The happy day is come at last,
A' my doubts and fears are past,
A' my cares behind me cast,
For fast and firm I'm married.
Oh! how happy I am now,
Happier than a prince, I trow,
When I pree her bonnie mou',
And think that I am married.
The bachelor's a stupid ass,
Pretends he disna like a lass,
Weary may his moments pass,
Till ance that he gets married.
Oh! the Eumph, he disna ken,
That they're far the happiest men
Wha a bonnie lass ha'e ta'en,
And kiss'd her, and got married.
Never heed the want o' siller,
Gif her cheek's a rosy colour,
Clap her aye, and whisper till her,
What think ye to be married?
