Poems by James Hyslop ... With a Sketch of his Life, and Notes on his Poems, By the Rev. Peter Mearns |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
XII. |
XIII. |
XIV. |
XV. |
XVI. |
XVII. |
XVIII. |
XIX. |
XX. |
XXI. |
XXII. |
XXIII. |
XXIV. | XXIV.
Song to Anna.
|
XXV. |
XXVI. |
XXVII. |
XXVIII. |
XXIX. |
XXX. |
XXXI. |
XXXII. |
XXXIII. |
XXXIV. |
XXXV. |
XXXVI. |
XXXVII. |
XXXVIII. |
XXXIX. |
XL. |
XLI. |
XLII. |
XLIII. |
XLIV. |
XLV. |
XLVI. |
XLVII. |
XLVIII. |
XLIX. |
L. |
LI. |
LII. |
LIII. |
LIV. |
LV. |
LVI. |
LVII. |
LVIII. |
LIX. |
LX. |
LXI. |
LXII. |
LXIII. |
LXIV. |
LXV. |
LXVI. |
LXVII. |
LXVIII. |
LXIX. |
LXX. |
LXXI. |
LXXII. |
LXXIII. |
LXXIV. |
LXXV. |
LXXVI. |
LXXVII. |
LXXVIII. |
LXXIX. |
LXXX. |
LXXXI. |
LXXXII. |
Poems by James Hyslop | ||
XXIV.
Song to Anna.
Away to the wildwoods, away, love, with me!
There's green grass on sunny braes, buds on the tree;
The palms on the white saughs are hoary and gray—
Away to the wildwoods, away, love, away!
There's green grass on sunny braes, buds on the tree;
The palms on the white saughs are hoary and gray—
Away to the wildwoods, away, love, away!
I'll lead thee where simmer comes first to the wuds,
And pu' thee a branch o' the greenest birk buds;
Where crag-bells ring bonnie thy sweet lips will tell,
And I'll climb for the flowers that are sweetest in smell.
And pu' thee a branch o' the greenest birk buds;
Where crag-bells ring bonnie thy sweet lips will tell,
And I'll climb for the flowers that are sweetest in smell.
We'll listen the linnet and join in its mirth,
And drink a' the gladness spring sheds on the earth;
And think o' blythe July's days comin' sae dear,
When simmer wi' bridal-robes busks the young year.
And drink a' the gladness spring sheds on the earth;
And think o' blythe July's days comin' sae dear,
When simmer wi' bridal-robes busks the young year.
We'll find out some green sunny spot 'mong the rocks,
'Midst the singin' o' waters and bleatin' o' flocks;
Thy soft lips of love on my cheek I will lay—
Come away to the wildwoods, away, love, away!
'Midst the singin' o' waters and bleatin' o' flocks;
Thy soft lips of love on my cheek I will lay—
Come away to the wildwoods, away, love, away!
Poems by James Hyslop | ||