 | Tales, in verse and miscellaneous poems |  |
244
SONG.
[Where are the joys that I felt in life's morning?]
Where are the joys that I felt in life's morning?
Where are the moments once pleasing to me?
With fortune's gay graces that flutter'd around me,
Gay as the sun-beam that blinks on the lee:
Where are the moments once pleasing to me?
With fortune's gay graces that flutter'd around me,
Gay as the sun-beam that blinks on the lee:
Why heaves my heart with this high throbbing sorrow?
Why soothing hope from my bosom thus flown;
Why is this visage so pale and dejected,
With eyes overflowin' an' fix'd on the groun?
Why soothing hope from my bosom thus flown;
Why is this visage so pale and dejected,
With eyes overflowin' an' fix'd on the groun?
Is it for Nature, that's naked an' ravag'd,
By rough wintry blasts as they scowl o'er the plain?
The sun will return, with his beams more endearing,
Soon will bring Nature her simmer again.
By rough wintry blasts as they scowl o'er the plain?
The sun will return, with his beams more endearing,
Soon will bring Nature her simmer again.
245
But what though the fields in their verdure shall flourish,
With birds sweetly chanting their notes frae the tree,
They ne'er can revive the lone bosom from mourning,
Or bring my dear Willie again back to me!
With birds sweetly chanting their notes frae the tree,
They ne'er can revive the lone bosom from mourning,
Or bring my dear Willie again back to me!
Aft through these groves wi' my Willie I've wander'd;
Simmer was cheerfu', an' Nature was gay:
Now as I wander the night it is eerie;
Dull is the mornin', an' cheerless the day.
Simmer was cheerfu', an' Nature was gay:
Now as I wander the night it is eerie;
Dull is the mornin', an' cheerless the day.
Dear is the hawthorn where lastly we parted;
An' dear is the burnie that sings thro' the glen;
But dearer to me is the youth of my bosom,
That's found a far grave o'er the watery main.
An' dear is the burnie that sings thro' the glen;
But dearer to me is the youth of my bosom,
That's found a far grave o'er the watery main.
Restless I roam, while the tempest is gathering,
On dark floating clouds as they usher the gloom;
Fortune, I fear not thy smiles nor thy frowning,
Nought now can move me on this side the tomb!
On dark floating clouds as they usher the gloom;
Fortune, I fear not thy smiles nor thy frowning,
Nought now can move me on this side the tomb!
| Tales, in verse and miscellaneous poems | |