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When any mournful tune you hear, That dies in every note As if it sighed with each man's care For being so remote, Think then how often love we've made To you, when all those tunes were played-- With a fa, la, la, la, la.
In justice you cannot refuse To think of our distress, When we for hopes of honor lose Our certain happiness: All those designs are but to prove Ourselves more worthy of your love-- With a fa, la, la, la, la.
And now we've told you all our loves, And likewise all our fears, In hopes this declaration moves Some pity for our tears: Let's hear of no inconstancy-- We have too much of that at sea-- With a fa, la, la, la, la.
Charles Sackville [1638-1706]
SONG
In vain you tell your parting lover, You wish fair winds may waft him over.
Alas! what winds can happy prove That bear me far from what I love?
Alas! what dangers on the main Can equal those that I sustain From slighted vows, and cold disdain?
Be gentle, and in pity choose To wish the wildest tempests loose: That, thrown again upon the coast, Where first my s.h.i.+pwrecked heart was lost, I may once more repeat my pain; Once more in dying notes complain Of slighted vows and cold disdain.
Matthew Prior [1664-1721]
BLACK-EYED SUSAN
All in the Downs the fleet was moored, The streamers waving in the wind, When black-eyed Susan came aboard; "O! where shall I my true-love find?
Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true If my sweet William sails among the crew."
William, who high upon the yard Rocked with the billow to and fro, Soon as her well-known voice he heard He sighed, and cast his eyes below: The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands, And, quick as lightning, on the deck he stands.
So the sweet lark, high poised in air, Shuts close his pinions to his breast If chance his mate's shrill call he hear, And drops at once into her nest:-- The n.o.blest captain in the British fleet Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet.
"O Susan, Susan, lovely dear, My vows shall ever true remain; Let me kiss off that falling tear; We only part to meet again.
Change as ye list, ye winds; my heart shall be The faithful compa.s.s that still points to thee.
"Believe not what the landmen say Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind: They'll tell thee, sailors, when away, In every port a mistress find: Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so, For Thou art present wheresoe'er I go.
"If to far India's coast we sail, Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright, Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale, Thy skin is ivory so white.
Thus every beauteous object that I view Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue.
"Though battle call me from thy arms Let not my pretty Susan mourn; Though cannons roar, yet, safe from harms, William shall to his Dear return.
Love turns aside the b.a.l.l.s that round me fly, Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye."
The boatswain gave the dreadful word, The sails their swelling bosom spread, No longer must she stay aboard; They kissed, she sighed, he hung his head.
Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land; "Adieu!" she cries; and waved her lily hand.
John Gay [1685-1732]
IRISH MOLLY O
Oh! who is that poor foreigner that lately came to town, And like a ghost that cannot rest still wanders up and down?
A poor, unhappy Scottish youth;--if more you wish to know.
His heart is breaking all for love of Irish Molly O!
She's modest, mild, and beautiful, the fairest I have known-- The primrose of Ireland--all blooming here alone-- The primrose of Ireland, for wheresoe'er I go, The only one entices me is Irish Molly O!
When Molly's father heard of it, a solemn oath he swore, That if she'd wed a foreigner he'd never see her more.
He sent for young MacDonald and he plainly told him so-- "I'll never give to such as you my Irish Molly O!"
MacDonald heard the heavy news, and grievously did say-- "Farewell, my lovely Molly, since I'm banished far away, A poor forlorn pilgrim I must wander to and fro, And all for the sake of my Irish Molly O!
"There is a rose in Ireland, I thought it would be mine: But now that she is lost to me, I must for ever pine, Till death shall come to comfort me, for to the grave I'll go, And all for the sake of my Irish Molly O!
"And now that I am dying, this one request I crave, To place a marble tombstone above my humble grave!
And on the stone these simple words I'd have engraven so-- "'MacDonald lost his life for love of Irish Molly O!'"
Unknown
SONG
At setting day and rising morn, Wi' soul that still shall love thee, I'll ask o' Heaven thy safe return, Wi' a' that can improve thee.
I'll visit aft the birken bush Where first thou kindly tauld me Sweet tales o' love, and hid my blush, Whilst round thou didst infauld me.
To a' our haunts I will repair, By greenwood, shaw, or fountain, Or where the summer day I'd share Wi' thee upon yon mountain: There will I tell the trees an' flooers, From thoughts unfeigned an' tender; By vows you're mine, by love is yours A heart that cannot wander.
Allan Ramsay [1686-1758]
LOCHABER NO MORE
Farewell to Lochaber, an' farewell my Jean, Where heartsome wi' thee I hae mony day been; For Lochaber no more, Lochaber no more!
We'll maybe return to Lochaber no more!
These tears that I shed, they are a' for my dear, An' no for the dangers attending on weir, Though borne on rough seas to a far b.l.o.o.d.y sh.o.r.e, Maybe to return to Lochaber no more.
Though hurricanes rise, an' rise every wind, They'll ne'er mak' a tempest like that in my mind; Though loudest o' thunders on louder waves roar, That's naething like leaving my love on the sh.o.r.e.
To leave thee behind me my heart is sair pained; By ease that's inglorious no fame can be gained; An' beauty an' love's the reward o' the brave, An' I must deserve it before I can crave.
Then glory, my Jeanie, maun plead my excuse; Since honor commands me, how can I refuse?
Without it I ne'er can have merit for thee, An' without thy favor I'd better not be, I gae, then, my la.s.s, to win honor an' fame, An' if I should luck to come gloriously hame, I'll bring a heart to thee wi' love running o'er, An' then I'll leave thee an' Lochaber no more.
