The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd Centenary Edition. With a Memoir of the Author, by the Rev. Thomas Thomson ... Poems and Life. With Many Illustrative Engravings [by James Hogg] |
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I hae naebody now.
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 | The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd |  |
427
I hae naebody now.
I hae naebody now, I hae naebody now,
To meet me upon the green,
Wi' light locks waving o'er her brow,
An' joy in her deep blue een;
Wi' the raptured kiss an' the happy smile,
An' the dance o' the lightsome fay,
An' the wee bit tale o' news the while
That had happen'd when I was away.
To meet me upon the green,
Wi' light locks waving o'er her brow,
An' joy in her deep blue een;
Wi' the raptured kiss an' the happy smile,
An' the dance o' the lightsome fay,
An' the wee bit tale o' news the while
That had happen'd when I was away.
I hae naebody now, I hae naebody now,
To clasp to my bosom at even,
O'er her calm sleep to breathe the vow,
An' pray for a blessing from heaven.
An' the wild embrace, an' the gleesome face,
In the morning that met my eye,
Where are they now, where are they now?
In the cauld, cauld grave they lie.
To clasp to my bosom at even,
O'er her calm sleep to breathe the vow,
An' pray for a blessing from heaven.
An' the wild embrace, an' the gleesome face,
In the morning that met my eye,
Where are they now, where are they now?
In the cauld, cauld grave they lie.
There's naebody kens, there's naebody kens,
An' oh may they never prove,
That sharpest degree o' agony
For the child o' their earthly love—
To see a flower in its vernal hour
By slow degrees decay,
Then calmly aneath the hand o' death
Breathe its sweet soul away!
An' oh may they never prove,
That sharpest degree o' agony
For the child o' their earthly love—
To see a flower in its vernal hour
By slow degrees decay,
Then calmly aneath the hand o' death
Breathe its sweet soul away!
O dinna break, my poor auld heart,
Nor at thy loss repine,
For the unseen hand that threw the dart
Was sent frae her Father and thine;
Yet I maun mourn, an' I will mourn,
Even till my latest day,
For though my darling can never return,
I can follow the sooner away.
Nor at thy loss repine,
For the unseen hand that threw the dart
Was sent frae her Father and thine;
Yet I maun mourn, an' I will mourn,
Even till my latest day,
For though my darling can never return,
I can follow the sooner away.
| The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd | |