Poems by James Hyslop :: :: University of Virginia Library

When moorlands clad in autumn's pride
Displayed the heather's purple bloom;
And Spango's hills, wi' thyme o'erspread,
Breathed nature's sweetest wild perfume.

128

'Twas then the loveliest mountain maid,
My dark-eyed Lydia, sought the mountains,
With little Cupid by her side,
To gather berries by the fountains.

The softening graces, mild and meek,
Were sweetly in her glances mingled;
Her auburn tresses o'er her cheek
Fell down in many a waving ringlet.

Her heart was innocent and warm,
Awake to love, yet undesigning;
Courageous at th' approach of harm—
Such was our tricky god's companion.

Where scarlet berries hung half-hid,
In clusters 'mong the rustling green,
Cupid and Lydia onward strayed,
And cull'd the ripest to be seen.

The winy clusters, dangling round,
Whose ripening juices Cupid sips,
Tho' they were cull'd by Lydia's hand,
Oh! they were not like Lydia's lips

For sweetness. When they both had drank
These sweets till taste began to cloy,
Wearied and faint upon the bank,
Sunk down the little am'rous boy.

Oh! he was tired and wished to sleep;
For it was warm and sunny weather.
Here was a bed, rich, soft, and deep,
Among the wild flowers and the heather.

My Lydia's bosom, kind and warm,
Was touched to see the infant's grief;
Nor dreamt there could be any harm
To bring his little heart relief.

Where red the mountain heather wav'd,
In all the pride of opening blossom,
The tender-hearted girl received
The wearied boy into her bosom.

129

Her down-soft hand, as white as milk,
Around his little neck was plac'd;
His pillow was the purple silk
That veiled her sighing, snowy breast.

His curtain was her love-locks, spread
In ringlets o'er his languid eyes;
Wee Cupid ne'er had sic a bed,
Neither in earth, nor in the skies.

While thus he lay within her arms,
Entranced amidst her softening glances,
Sweet languor stole o'er all her charms,
And gentle sleep sealed up her senses.

And now the little am'rous thief,
Thinking he hadna got enough yet,
From her bright tresses, to be brief,
He stole a ringlet, and ran off wi't.

Like many anither thievish wight,
His treachery but began his sorrows;
For Cupid, in his hasty flight,
Forgot behind his bow and arrows.

Soon Lydia wakened, seized the bow,
Perceived the theft he had committed:
The thief ran trippin' o'er the knowe;
An arrow to the bow she fitted.

“Stop, thou ungrateful, treach'rous child!
Or else this arrow brings thee death.”
Cupid, with guilt and shame appall'd,
Sunk trembling down upon the heath.

“How durst you, impudent, presume
To steal a ringlet of my hair?
Was it for this my breast found room
For you, ungrateful? Let me hear.”

“O, be not angry, Lydia fair!
Your beauty caus'd me to transgress;
I'd ne'er have touch'd your shining hair
But for its charming loveliness.

130

“Hear me a moment. Oh, forgive!
I meant this little lock to twine,
To dart the winged shafts o' love
Frae that wee golden bow o' mine.”

“Your golden bow, impert'nent thief!
I'll let ye better ken whose aught it;
Your memory mauna be sae scrimp;
Next time ye steal, mind Lydia taught ye't.”

In love's array while Lydia stands,
O how bombaz'd his godship looked;
She snatch'd her ringlet frae his hand,
And cuff'd the lugs o' little Cupid.