Bulchevy's Book of English Verse Part 90

Robert Burns. 1759-1796

503. A Red, Red Rose

O MY Luve 's like a red, red rose That 's newly sprung in June: O my Luve 's like the melodie That's sweetly play'd in tune!

As fair art thou, my bonnie la.s.s, So deep in luve am I: And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry:

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun; I will luve thee still, my dear, While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only Luve, And fare thee weel a while!

And I will come again, my Luve, Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

Robert Burns. 1759-1796

504. Lament for Culloden

THE lovely la.s.s o' Inverness, Nae joy nor pleasure can she see; For e'en and morn she cries, 'Alas!'

And aye the saut tear blin's her e'e: 'Drumossie moor, Drumossie day, A waefu' day it was to me!

For there I lost my father dear, My father dear and brethren three.

'Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay, Their graves are growing green to see; And by them lies the dearest lad That ever blest a woman's e'e!

Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord, A bluidy man I trow thou be; For monie a heart thou hast made sair, That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee.'

Robert Burns. 1759-1796

505. The Farewell

IT was a' for our rightfu' King We left fair Scotland's strand; It was a' for our rightfu' King We e'er saw Irish land, My dear-- We e'er saw Irish land.

Now a' is done that men can do, And a' is done in vain; My love and native land, farewell, For I maun cross the main, My dear-- For I maun cross the main.

He turn'd him right and round about Upon the Irish sh.o.r.e; And gae his bridle-reins a shake, With, Adieu for evermore, My dear-- With, Adieu for evermore!

The sodger frae the wars returns, The sailor frae the main; But I hae parted frae my love, Never to meet again, My dear-- Never to meet again.

When day is gane, and night is come, And a' folk bound to sleep, I think on him that 's far awa', The lee-lang night, and weep, My dear-- The lee-lang night, and weep.

lee-lang] livelong.

Robert Burns. 1759-1796

506. Hark! the Mavis

CA' the yowes to the knowes, Ca' them where the heather grows, Ca' them where the burnie rows, My bonnie dearie.

Hark! the mavis' evening sang Sounding Clouden's woods amang, Then a-faulding let us gang, My bonnie dearie.

We'll gae down by Clouden side, Through the hazels spreading wide, O'er the waves that sweetly glide To the moon sae clearly.

Yonder Clouden's silent towers, Where at moons.h.i.+ne midnight hours O'er the dewy bending flowers Fairies dance sae cheery.

Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear; Thou'rt to Love and Heaven sae dear, Nocht of ill may come thee near, My bonnie dearie.

Fair and lovely as thou art, Thou hast stown my very heart; I can die--but canna part, My bonnie dearie.

While waters wimple to the sea; While day blinks in the lift sae hie; Till clay-cauld death shall blin' my e'e, Ye shall be my dearie.

Ca' the yowes to the knowes...

lift] sky.

Henry Rowe. 1750-1819

507. Sun

ANGEL, king of streaming morn; Cherub, call'd by Heav'n to s.h.i.+ne; T' orient tread the waste forlorn; Guide aetherial, pow'r divine; Thou, Lord of all within!

Golden spirit, lamp of day, Host, that dips in blood the plain, Bids the crimson'd mead be gay, Bids the green blood burst the vein; Thou, Lord of all within!

Soul, that wraps the globe in light; Spirit, beckoning to arise; Drives the frowning brow of night, Glory bursting o'er the skies; Thou, Lord of all within!

Henry Rowe. 1750-1819

508. Moon

THEE too, modest tressed maid, When thy fallen stars appear; When in lawn of fire array'd Sov'reign of yon powder'd sphere; To thee I chant at close of day, Beneath, O maiden Moon! thy ray.

Throned in sapphired ring supreme, Pregnant with celestial juice, On silver wing thy diamond stream Gives what summer hours produce; While view'd impearl'd earth's rich inlay, Beneath, O maiden Moon! thy ray.

Glad, pale Cynthian wine I sip, Breathed the flow'ry leaves among; Draughts delicious wet my lip; Drown'd in nectar drunk my song; While tuned to Philomel the lay, Beneath, O maiden Moon! thy ray.

Dew, that od'rous ointment yields, Sweets, that western winds disclose, Bathing spring's more purpled fields, Soft 's the band that winds the rose; While o'er thy myrtled lawns I stray Beneath, O maiden Moon! thy ray.

William Lisle Bowles. 1762-1850

509. Time and Grief

O TIME! who know'st a lenient hand to lay Softest on sorrow's wound, and slowly thence (Lulling to sad repose the weary sense) The faint pang stealest unperceived away; On thee I rest my only hope at last, And think, when thou hast dried the bitter tear That flows in vain o'er all my soul held dear, I may look back on every sorrow past, And meet life's peaceful evening with a smile: As some lone bird, at day's departing hour, Sings in the sunbeam, of the transient shower Forgetful, though its wings are wet the while:-- Yet ah! how much must this poor heart endure, Which hopes from thee, and thee alone, a cure!

Joanna Baillie. 1762-1851

510. The Outlaw's Song