The poetical works of William Nicholson With a memoir by Malcolm M'L. Harper ... Fourth edition |
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SONG.
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 | The poetical works of William Nicholson |  |
176
SONG.
[While roving round the banks of Cree]
While roving round the banks of Cree,
Seeking a strayëd ewe and lamb,
The day was dry, no one was nigh,
The water smooth, the breezes calm.
Seeking a strayëd ewe and lamb,
The day was dry, no one was nigh,
The water smooth, the breezes calm.
The flowers sprung wanton by the burn;
Up through the glen the mavis sang;
I leaned me by yon birken bower,
And feared no ill from any man.
Up through the glen the mavis sang;
I leaned me by yon birken bower,
And feared no ill from any man.
But by there came a blythesome youth,
That lightly tripped along the way;
His locks were like the raven's wing,
His look bespoke a bosom gay.
That lightly tripped along the way;
His locks were like the raven's wing,
His look bespoke a bosom gay.
Soon as he spied me in the shade,
Upon his step he made a stand,
So wilily he looked at me,
And gently took me by the hand.
Upon his step he made a stand,
So wilily he looked at me,
And gently took me by the hand.
Said he, “Fair maid, the sun is high,
I've long wished for the cooling shade;—
I hope ye'll not offended be
At this small freedom I have made.
I've long wished for the cooling shade;—
I hope ye'll not offended be
At this small freedom I have made.
“May ill befall his cruel heart,
Such blooming beauty could trepan:
Be easy, dear, you need not fear,
I am no rakish Irishman.”
Such blooming beauty could trepan:
Be easy, dear, you need not fear,
I am no rakish Irishman.”
177
So sweet his looks—so smooth his tongue—
His graceful form so straight and tall;
He clasped my waist, my lips he prest;
Alas! my heart believèd all!
His graceful form so straight and tall;
He clasped my waist, my lips he prest;
Alas! my heart believèd all!
From Glasgow town he said he came,
That wealth and beauty doth comman';
'Twas then my ear—too late, I fear,
Perceived the roving Irishman.
That wealth and beauty doth comman';
'Twas then my ear—too late, I fear,
Perceived the roving Irishman.
My Mother wonders why I'm sad:
On May-day last I skipped and sang;
My sister says my bloom's decayed;
I sigh and sab the whole night lang.
On May-day last I skipped and sang;
My sister says my bloom's decayed;
I sigh and sab the whole night lang.
The time's gone by he should been here;
My feeble hopes are near a stan':
Ye maids on Cree, be ruled by me—
Ne'er trust a roving Irishman!
My feeble hopes are near a stan':
Ye maids on Cree, be ruled by me—
Ne'er trust a roving Irishman!
| The poetical works of William Nicholson | |