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THE POET'S SONG TO HIS WIFE
How many summers, love, Have I been thine?
How many days, thou dove, Hast thou been mine?
Time, like the winged wind When it bends the flowers, Hath left no mark behind, To count the hours.
Some weight of thought, though loth, On thee he leaves; Some lines of care round both Perhaps he weaves; Some fears,--a soft regret For joys scarce known; Sweet looks we half forget;-- All else is flown!
Ah!--With what thankless heart I mourn and sing!
Look, where our children start, Like sudden Spring!
With tongues all sweet and low, Like a pleasant rhyme, They tell how much I owe To thee and Time!
Bryan Waller Procter [1787-1874]
JOHN ANDERSON
John Anderson my jo, John, When we were first acquent Your locks were like the raven, Your bonnie brow was brent; But now your brow is bald, John, Your locks are like the snow; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson my jo.
John Anderson my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither, And mony a canty day, John, We've had wi' ane anither: Now we maun totter down, John, But hand in hand we'll go, And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson my jo.
Robert Burns [1759-1796]
TO MARY
"Thee, Mary, with this ring I wed, So, fourteen years ago, I said-- Behold another ring!--"For what?
To wed thee o'er again--why not?"
With that first ring I married Youth, Grace, Beauty, Innocence, and Truth; Taste long admired, sense long revered, And all my Molly then appeared.
If she, by merit since disclosed, Prove twice the woman I supposed, I plead that double merit now, To justify a double vow.
Here then, to-day, (with faith as sure, With ardor as intense and pure, As when, amidst the rites divine, I took thy troth, and plighted mine), To thee, sweet girl, my second ring A token, and a pledge, I bring; With this I wed, till death us part, Thy riper virtues to my heart; Those virtues, which, before untried, The wife has added to the bride; Those virtues, whose progessive claim, Endearing wedlock's very name, My soul enjoys, my song approves, For Conscience' sake, as well as Love's.
For why?--They show me every hour, Honor's high thought, Affection's power, Discretion's deed, sound Judgment's sentence, And teach me all things--but Repentance.
Samuel Bishop [1731-1795]
THE GOLDEN WEDDING
O Love, whose patient pilgrim feet Life's longest path have trod; Whose ministry hath symbolled sweet The dearer love of G.o.d; The sacred myrtle wreathes again Thine altar, as of old; And what was green with summer then, Is mellowed now to gold.
Not now, as then, the future's face Is flushed with fancy's light; But memory, with a milder grace, Shall rule the feast to-night.
Blest was the sun of joy that shone, Nor less the blinding shower; The bud of fifty years agone Is love's perfected flower.
O memory, ope thy mystic door; O dream of youth, return; And let the light that gleamed of yore Beside this altar burn.
The past is plain; 'twas love designed E'en sorrow's iron chain; And, mercy's s.h.i.+ning thread has twined With the dark warp of pain.
So be it still. O Thou who hast That younger bridal blest, Till the May-morn of love has pa.s.sed To evening's golden west; Come to this later Cana, Lord, And, at thy touch divine, The water of that earlier board To-night shall turn to wine.
David Gray [1837-1888]
MOGGY AND ME
Oh wha are sae happy as me an' my Moggy?
Oh wha are sae happy as Moggy an' me?
We're baith turnin' auld, an' our walth is soon tauld, But contentment bides aye in our cottage sae wee.
She toils a' the day when I'm out wi' the hirsel, An' chants to the bairns while I sing on the brae; An' aye her blithe smile welcomes me frae my toil, When down the glen I come weary an' wae.
Aboon our auld heads we've a nice little biggin, That keeps out the cauld when the simmer's awa; We've twa webs o' linen o' Moggy's ain spinnin', As thick as silk velvet and white as the snaw; We've kye in the byre, an' yauds in the stable, A grumphie sae fat that she hardly can stand; An' something, I guess, in yon auld painted press To cheer up the speerits an' steady the hand.
'Tis true we hae had mony sorrows an' crosses, Our pouches oft toom, an' our hearts fu' o' care; But wi' a' our crosses, our sorrows an' losses, Contentment, thank heaven! has aye been our share.
I've an auld roost.i.t sword that was left by my father, Whilk aye has been drawn when my king had a fae; We hae friends ane or twa that aft gie us a ca', To laugh when we're happy or grieve when we're wae.
Our duke may hae gowd mair than schoolmen can reckon, An' flunkies to watch ilka glance o' his e'e, His lady aye braw sittin' prim in her ha'; But are they sae happy as Moggy an' me?
A' ye wha ne'er fand the straight road to be happy, Wha are nae content wi' the lot that ye dree, Come down to the dwellin' o' whilk I've been tellin', You'll learn it by lookin' at Moggy an' me.
James Hogg [1770-1835]
"O, LAY THY HAND IN MINE, DEAR!"
O, lay thy hand in mine, dear!
We're growing old; But Time hath brought no sign, dear, That hearts grow cold.
'Tis long, long since our new love Made life divine; But age enricheth true love, Like n.o.ble wine.
And lay thy cheek to mine, dear, And take thy rest; Mine arms around thee twine, dear, And make thy nest.
A many cares are pressing On this dear head; But Sorrow's hands in blessing Are surely laid.
O, lean thy life on mine, dear!
'Twill shelter thee.
Thou wert a winsome vine, dear, On my young tree: And so, till boughs are leafless, And songbirds flown, We'll twine, then lay us, griefless Together down.
Gerald Ma.s.sey [1828-1907]
