The poetical works of Susanna Blamire "The Muse of Cumberland." Now for the first time collected by Henry Lonsdale; With a preface, memoir, and notes by Patrick Maxwell |
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| MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. |
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 | The poetical works of Susanna Blamire "The Muse of Cumberland." |  |
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MISCELLANEOUS SONGS.
THE SOLDIER'S RETURN.
The wars for many a month were o'er
Ere I could reach my native shed,
My friends ne'er hoped to see me more,
But wept for me as for the dead.
As I drew near, the cottage blaz'd,
The evening fire was clear and bright;
And through the windows long I gaz'd,
And saw each friend with dear delight.
Ere I could reach my native shed,
My friends ne'er hoped to see me more,
But wept for me as for the dead.
As I drew near, the cottage blaz'd,
The evening fire was clear and bright;
And through the windows long I gaz'd,
And saw each friend with dear delight.
My father in his corner sat;
My mother drew her useful thread;
My brothers strove to make them chat;
My sisters bak'd the household bread:
And Jean oft whisper'd to a friend,
Who still let fall a silent tear;
But soon my Jessy's griefs shall end,
She little thinks her Henry's near.
My mother drew her useful thread;
My brothers strove to make them chat;
My sisters bak'd the household bread:
And Jean oft whisper'd to a friend,
Who still let fall a silent tear;
But soon my Jessy's griefs shall end,
She little thinks her Henry's near.
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My mother heard her catching sighs,
And hid her face behind her rock;
While tears swam round in all their eyes,
And not a single word they spoke.
What could I do! If in I went,
Surprise might chill each tender heart;
Some story, then, I must invent,
And act the poor maim'd soldier's part.
And hid her face behind her rock;
While tears swam round in all their eyes,
And not a single word they spoke.
What could I do! If in I went,
Surprise might chill each tender heart;
Some story, then, I must invent,
And act the poor maim'd soldier's part.
I drew a bandage o'er my face,
And crooked up a lying knee,
And soon I found in that blest place
Not one dear friend knew aught of me.
I ventur'd in; Tray wagg'd his tail,
And fawning to my mother ran;
“Come here,” they cry, “what can he ail?’
While my feign'd story I began.
And crooked up a lying knee,
And soon I found in that blest place
Not one dear friend knew aught of me.
I ventur'd in; Tray wagg'd his tail,
And fawning to my mother ran;
“Come here,” they cry, “what can he ail?’
While my feign'd story I began.
I changed my voice to that of age,
“A poor old soldier lodging craves,”—
The name and form their loves engage;—
“A soldier! aye, the best we have!”
My father then drew in a seat,
“You're welcome,” with a sigh, he said;
My mother fry'd her best hung meat,
And curds and cream the table spread.
“A poor old soldier lodging craves,”—
The name and form their loves engage;—
“A soldier! aye, the best we have!”
My father then drew in a seat,
“You're welcome,” with a sigh, he said;
My mother fry'd her best hung meat,
And curds and cream the table spread.
“I had a son,” my father sigh'd,
“A soldier too, but he is gone.”
“Have you heard from him?” I replied,
“I left behind me many a one;
And many a message I have brought
To families I cannot find;
Long for John Goodman's I have sought
To tell them Hal's not far behind.”
“A soldier too, but he is gone.”
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“I left behind me many a one;
And many a message I have brought
To families I cannot find;
Long for John Goodman's I have sought
To tell them Hal's not far behind.”
“And does he live!” my father cried,
My mother did not try to speak;
My Jessy now I silent ey'd,
Who sobb'd as if her heart would break.
“He lives indeed; this kerchief see,
At parting his dear Jessy gave;
He sent it her, with love, by me,
To show he yet escapes the grave.”
My mother did not try to speak;
My Jessy now I silent ey'd,
Who sobb'd as if her heart would break.
“He lives indeed; this kerchief see,
At parting his dear Jessy gave;
He sent it her, with love, by me,
To show he yet escapes the grave.”
No arrow darting from a bow
More quickly could the token reach;
The patch from off my face I throw,
And give my voice its well-known speech.
My Jessy dear! I softly said;
She gaz'd, and answer'd with a sigh;
My sisters look'd as half afraid,
My mother fainted quite with joy.
More quickly could the token reach;
The patch from off my face I throw,
And give my voice its well-known speech.
My Jessy dear! I softly said;
She gaz'd, and answer'd with a sigh;
My sisters look'd as half afraid,
My mother fainted quite with joy.
My father danc'd around his son,
My brothers shook my hand away,
My mother said her glass might run,
She cared not now how soon the day.
Hout! woman, cried my father dear,
A wedding first I'm sure we'll have;
I warrant us live these hundred years,
Nay, may-be, Meg, escape the grave!
My brothers shook my hand away,
My mother said her glass might run,
She cared not now how soon the day.
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A wedding first I'm sure we'll have;
I warrant us live these hundred years,
Nay, may-be, Meg, escape the grave!
AGAIN MAUN ABSENCE CHILL MY SOUL.
Again maun absence chill my soul,
And bar me frae the friend sae dear?
Maun sad despair her torrents roll,
And frae my eyelids force the tear?
Maun restless sorrow wander far,
Now seek the sun, and now the shade;
Now by the lamp of yon pale star
Dart quick into the thickest glade?
And bar me frae the friend sae dear?
Maun sad despair her torrents roll,
And frae my eyelids force the tear?
Maun restless sorrow wander far,
Now seek the sun, and now the shade;
Now by the lamp of yon pale star
Dart quick into the thickest glade?
When morning sleeping nature wakes,
And cheery hearts wi' laverocks sing,
And glittering dew a jewel makes,
That shines in many a sparkling ring;
Her saffron robe is nought to me,
Though wi' the woodbine's fringes tied;
Things a' look dull i' the watery ee
If what we fondly love's denied.
And cheery hearts wi' laverocks sing,
And glittering dew a jewel makes,
That shines in many a sparkling ring;
Her saffron robe is nought to me,
Though wi' the woodbine's fringes tied;
Things a' look dull i' the watery ee
If what we fondly love's denied.
I've seen when Evening on yon hill
Wad sit an' see the sun gae down,
And, as the air grew damp and chill,
Draw on her cloak of russet brown:
Her hamely garb was mair to me
Than a' the Morning's eastern pride;
A' things look beauteous i' the ee
When by a dear lov'd favourite's side.
Wad sit an' see the sun gae down,
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Draw on her cloak of russet brown:
Her hamely garb was mair to me
Than a' the Morning's eastern pride;
A' things look beauteous i' the ee
When by a dear lov'd favourite's side.
Take these away, what else remain?
A voice of melancholious strain,—
A memory that longs, all in vain,
For joys that ne'er return again!
E'en books o'er me hae lost their power,
And wi' them fancy winna stay;
Heavy and sad creeps on the hour
When absence sickens through the day.
A voice of melancholious strain,—
A memory that longs, all in vain,
For joys that ne'er return again!
E'en books o'er me hae lost their power,
And wi' them fancy winna stay;
Heavy and sad creeps on the hour
When absence sickens through the day.
I've tried to break her potent spells,
I've pac'd unequal to and fro,
I've flown to where her name yet dwells,
But wander'd back again full slow:
And to forget, how oft I've strove—
How oft to send sad thoughts away!
But still they meet me in the grove,
And haunt me wheresoe'er I stray.
I've pac'd unequal to and fro,
I've flown to where her name yet dwells,
But wander'd back again full slow:
And to forget, how oft I've strove—
How oft to send sad thoughts away!
But still they meet me in the grove,
And haunt me wheresoe'er I stray.
Affection pulls the heart's soft cords,
And draws the eye from cheerful scenes,
And, pondering o'er a favourite's words,
Bids fond Remembrance tell her dreams.
But weary dreams through life maun stray,
And weary hours that life attend,
And heavily maun move ilk day
That keeps us frae a darling friend.
And draws the eye from cheerful scenes,
And, pondering o'er a favourite's words,
Bids fond Remembrance tell her dreams.
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And weary hours that life attend,
And heavily maun move ilk day
That keeps us frae a darling friend.
ON THE MARRIAGE OF MISS JOHANNA GALE
WITH THE REV. F. GRAHAM, RECTOR OF ARTHURET.
18TH FEBRUARY, 1792.
Once a grove of sweet myrtles soft Venus would rear,
And wreath it with roses around;
'Twas a green shade for Hope in each change of the year,
In which she lik'd best to be found.
Hymen mark'd out the spot, and would plant some sweet flower,
So he set down his gay torch the while,
Which Cupid snatch'd up to set fire to the bower,
For he joys in a mischievous wile.
And wreath it with roses around;
'Twas a green shade for Hope in each change of the year,
In which she lik'd best to be found.
Hymen mark'd out the spot, and would plant some sweet flower,
So he set down his gay torch the while,
Which Cupid snatch'd up to set fire to the bower,
For he joys in a mischievous wile.
The taper burnt clear, yet no leaf would consume,
Nor wither, nor drop from the spray;
It just warm'd the buds, and increas'd their perfume,
Like the incense that's offered to May.
Hope ran from her covert, to Hymen she flew,
He smil'd, and to comfort her said;
“Your grove's in no danger, 'tis sacred to you
And a meek blue-eyed beautiful maid.
Nor wither, nor drop from the spray;
It just warm'd the buds, and increas'd their perfume,
Like the incense that's offered to May.
Hope ran from her covert, to Hymen she flew,
He smil'd, and to comfort her said;
“Your grove's in no danger, 'tis sacred to you
And a meek blue-eyed beautiful maid.
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My torch for the purpose I've dipp'd in a flame
So lambent, it seems but to burn;
'Twas lit for a pair whose one wish is the same,
Which from heart back to heart will return.
While this sweet wish to please circles thro' every day,
Thy myrtle-bower's verdure shall last;
And the heart looking back shall perceive no decay,
Though the blossoms of Spring are all past.”
So lambent, it seems but to burn;
'Twas lit for a pair whose one wish is the same,
Which from heart back to heart will return.
While this sweet wish to please circles thro' every day,
Thy myrtle-bower's verdure shall last;
And the heart looking back shall perceive no decay,
Though the blossoms of Spring are all past.”
'TWAS WHEN THE SUN SLID DOWN YON HILL.
'Twas when the sun slid down yon hill,
And Evening wander'd through the dale,
When busy life was growing still,
And homeward swam the milking pail;
'Twas then I sought the murmuring stream,
That seem'd like me to talk of woes,
And lengthen out life's weary dream,
Which on like its dull current flows.
And Evening wander'd through the dale,
When busy life was growing still,
And homeward swam the milking pail;
'Twas then I sought the murmuring stream,
That seem'd like me to talk of woes,
And lengthen out life's weary dream,
Which on like its dull current flows.
Why dwells the soul on pleasures past?
Why think I Marion once was true?
Those fleeting joys that fled so fast,
Why should fond fancy still renew?
When fortune drove me far away,
My heart, dear Marion, dwelt with thee;
E'en now methinks I hear thee say,—
Wilt thou, dear youth, remember me?
Why think I Marion once was true?
Those fleeting joys that fled so fast,
Why should fond fancy still renew?
When fortune drove me far away,
My heart, dear Marion, dwelt with thee;
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Wilt thou, dear youth, remember me?
O yes! I cried; no change of place,
Nor favouring fortune's better day,
Can e'er erase thy lovely face,
Or wear thy heart-stamp'd form away.
Though mountains rise, and oceans roar,
They'll prove but feeble bars to me;
In soul I'll seek my native shore,
And wander every-where with thee.
Nor favouring fortune's better day,
Can e'er erase thy lovely face,
Or wear thy heart-stamp'd form away.
Though mountains rise, and oceans roar,
They'll prove but feeble bars to me;
In soul I'll seek my native shore,
And wander every-where with thee.
And still, dull absence to deceive,
My thoughts fled to each former scene;
And fancy fondly made believe
I was again where once I'd been!
I tended Marion's evening walk;
We sat beneath the trysting tree;
I saw her smile, and heard her talk,
And vow to love and live for me!
My thoughts fled to each former scene;
And fancy fondly made believe
I was again where once I'd been!
I tended Marion's evening walk;
We sat beneath the trysting tree;
I saw her smile, and heard her talk,
And vow to love and live for me!
But time and absence both conspir'd,
And Marion's truth forgot its vow;
And Fashion many a wish acquir'd,
That turns to wants—we know not how.
O Marion! could I e'er have thought
That Splendour would have rivall'd me,
This foolish heart I ne'er had taught
To think, as it still thinks, on thee!
And Marion's truth forgot its vow;
And Fashion many a wish acquir'd,
That turns to wants—we know not how.
O Marion! could I e'er have thought
That Splendour would have rivall'd me,
This foolish heart I ne'er had taught
To think, as it still thinks, on thee!
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Still through my heart thy image strays;
Thy breath is in each breeze that blows;
Thy smile, thy song, in by-past days
In Memory's page more vivid glows!
So long my thoughts with thee have dwelt,
They're far the dearest part of me;
For, O! this heart too long has felt
It loves and only lives for thee!
Thy breath is in each breeze that blows;
Thy smile, thy song, in by-past days
In Memory's page more vivid glows!
So long my thoughts with thee have dwelt,
They're far the dearest part of me;
For, O! this heart too long has felt
It loves and only lives for thee!
THE AULD CARLE WAD TAK ME FAIN.
The auld carle wad tak me fain,
And trou's my dad will gar me hae him;
But troth he'll find himsel mista'en,—
When wrang is't duty to obey him?
I telt him but the other night
How sweer I was to cross his passion;
That age and youth had different sight,
And saw things in another fashion.
And trou's my dad will gar me hae him;
But troth he'll find himsel mista'en,—
When wrang is't duty to obey him?
I telt him but the other night
How sweer I was to cross his passion;
That age and youth had different sight,
And saw things in another fashion.
Quo' he, now Meg, it canna be
But that ye think the carle handsome;
He's younger by a year than me,
And goud has for a kingdom's ransom.
Come, tak advice and be his wife,
'Tis fine to be an auld man's deary;
I's warrant ye'll lead a happy life,
And aye be mistress, never fear ye.
But that ye think the carle handsome;
He's younger by a year than me,
And goud has for a kingdom's ransom.
Come, tak advice and be his wife,
'Tis fine to be an auld man's deary;
I's warrant ye'll lead a happy life,
And aye be mistress, never fear ye.
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My mither then laid by her wheel,
And said, Dear Joe, why will ye tease her?
I ken ye lo'e our lassie weel,
For a' your joy has been to please her.
Nay, come now, think upo' the time,
When ye were just o' the same fancy,
When I was young and i' my prime,
Ye cried—Ne'er tak an auld man, Nancy.
And said, Dear Joe, why will ye tease her?
I ken ye lo'e our lassie weel,
For a' your joy has been to please her.
Nay, come now, think upo' the time,
When ye were just o' the same fancy,
When I was young and i' my prime,
Ye cried—Ne'er tak an auld man, Nancy.
Then father like a tempest rose,
And swore the carle should be the man;
That wives were certain to oppose,
Whatever was the husband's plan:
But Monday, Miss, shall be the day;
And, hark ye, gin ye dare refuse me,
One shilling never shall ye hae,
Practise what arts ye like t' abuse me.
And swore the carle should be the man;
That wives were certain to oppose,
Whatever was the husband's plan:
But Monday, Miss, shall be the day;
And, hark ye, gin ye dare refuse me,
One shilling never shall ye hae,
Practise what arts ye like t' abuse me.
To lo'e the carle that is sae auld,
Alak! it is na i' my nature;
Save but three hairs he wad be bald,
And wears nae wig to look the better:
The staff he's used this twenty year
I saw him burn it i' the fire;
Sae young the gowk tries to appear,
And fain wad mak ilk wrinkle liar.
Alak! it is na i' my nature;
Save but three hairs he wad be bald,
And wears nae wig to look the better:
The staff he's used this twenty year
I saw him burn it i' the fire;
Sae young the gowk tries to appear,
And fain wad mak ilk wrinkle liar.
My Sandy has na muckle gear,
But then he has an air sae genty;
He's aye sae canty, ye wad swear
That he had goud and siller plenty.
He says he cares na for my wealth;
And though we get nought frae my daddie,
He'll cater for me while he's health,—
Goodnight—I'm off then wi' my laddie.
But then he has an air sae genty;
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That he had goud and siller plenty.
He says he cares na for my wealth;
And though we get nought frae my daddie,
He'll cater for me while he's health,—
Goodnight—I'm off then wi' my laddie.
I'M TIBBY FOWLER O' THE GLEN.
I'm Tibby Fowler o' the glen,
And nae great sight to see, sirs;
But 'cause I'm rich, these plaguy men
Will never let me be, sirs.
And nae great sight to see, sirs;
But 'cause I'm rich, these plaguy men
Will never let me be, sirs.
There's bonny Maggy o' the brae
As gude as lass can be, sirs;
But 'cause I'm rich these plaguy men
Hae a' run wud for me, sirs.
As gude as lass can be, sirs;
But 'cause I'm rich these plaguy men
Hae a' run wud for me, sirs.
There's Nabob Jock comes strutting ben,
He thinks the day's his ain, sirs;
But were he a' hung round wi' goud,
He'd find himsel mista'en, sirs.
He thinks the day's his ain, sirs;
But were he a' hung round wi' goud,
He'd find himsel mista'en, sirs.
There's Wat aye tries to glowr and sigh
That I may guess the cause, sirs;
But Jenny-like I hate to spell
Dumb Roger's hums and ha's, sirs.
That I may guess the cause, sirs;
But Jenny-like I hate to spell
Dumb Roger's hums and ha's, sirs.
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There's grinning Pate laughs a' day through,
The blithest lad ye'll see, sirs;
But troth he laughs sae out o' place,
He'd laugh gin I did die, sirs.
The blithest lad ye'll see, sirs;
But troth he laughs sae out o' place,
He'd laugh gin I did die, sirs.
There's Sandy, he's sae fou o' lear,
To talk wi' him is vain, sirs;
For gin we a' should say 'twas fair,
He'd prove that it did rain, sirs.
To talk wi' him is vain, sirs;
For gin we a' should say 'twas fair,
He'd prove that it did rain, sirs.
Then Jamie frets for good and ill,
'Bout sma' things makes a phrase, sirs;
And fears and frets, and things o' nought
Ding o'er his joyfu' days, sirs.
'Bout sma' things makes a phrase, sirs;
And fears and frets, and things o' nought
Ding o'er his joyfu' days, sirs.
The priests and lawyers ding me dead,
But gude kens wha's the best, sirs;
And then comes in the soldier brave,
And drums out a' the rest, sirs.
But gude kens wha's the best, sirs;
And then comes in the soldier brave,
And drums out a' the rest, sirs.
The country squire and city beau,
I've had them on their knee, sirs;
But weel I ken to goud they bow,
And no to downright me, sirs.
I've had them on their knee, sirs;
But weel I ken to goud they bow,
And no to downright me, sirs.
Should like o' them come ilka day,
They may wear out the knee, sirs;
And grow to the ground as fast as a stane,
But they shall ne'er get me, sirs.
They may wear out the knee, sirs;
And grow to the ground as fast as a stane,
But they shall ne'er get me, sirs.
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AE NIGHT IN DARK DECEMBER.
Ae night in dark December, when wintry blasts blew high,
Poor Jenny sat her i' the nook and wish'd her Jocky by:
Lang time thou'st promis'd me to come frae yonder busy town,
And gin ye dinna haste I fear the wrinkles will come soon;
For I hae fret mysel wi' care, thy face I canna see,
And when ilk lass is wi' her lad I sigh and wish for thee.
Poor Jenny sat her i' the nook and wish'd her Jocky by:
Lang time thou'st promis'd me to come frae yonder busy town,
And gin ye dinna haste I fear the wrinkles will come soon;
For I hae fret mysel wi' care, thy face I canna see,
And when ilk lass is wi' her lad I sigh and wish for thee.
What signifies a mint o' gear when we are baith grown auld,
And when December i' the heart keeps turning a' things cauld?
Thou'lt grow sae cross, and I sae stiff, my will I winna bend,
For time aye hardens little fauts until they canna mend:
Men never will gie up their way, and I'll think mine the best,
And as sae lang we've courting been will be the younker's jest.
And when December i' the heart keeps turning a' things cauld?
Thou'lt grow sae cross, and I sae stiff, my will I winna bend,
For time aye hardens little fauts until they canna mend:
Men never will gie up their way, and I'll think mine the best,
And as sae lang we've courting been will be the younker's jest.
I'd have thee in an April morn when birds begin to sing,
Like them to choose thysel a mate, and hail the cheerfu' spring;
O haste to me while o'er thy way she strews the fairest flowers,
Nor suffer these poor een again to add to April showers;
I'll aye be gay, and ever smile, gin thou'lt make haste to me,
If no, I'll quickly change my mind, and think nae mair o' thee!
Like them to choose thysel a mate, and hail the cheerfu' spring;
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Nor suffer these poor een again to add to April showers;
I'll aye be gay, and ever smile, gin thou'lt make haste to me,
If no, I'll quickly change my mind, and think nae mair o' thee!
HAD MY DADDIE LEFT ME GEAR ENOUGH.
Had my daddie left me gear enough,
Whene'er I'd gane to kirk or fair,
Ilk mither had held out her loof,
And led me to her son and heir.
Now, gin a canker'd minny comes
And sees her dawty set by me,
She looks as sour as Gala's plumbs,
And wonders what the fool can see.
Whene'er I'd gane to kirk or fair,
Ilk mither had held out her loof,
And led me to her son and heir.
Now, gin a canker'd minny comes
And sees her dawty set by me,
She looks as sour as Gala's plumbs,
And wonders what the fool can see.
Hout! man, come here, ye're surely blind,
Do ye no see Miss Fowler there?
A bonnier lass ye canna find;
I wat there's nae sic dancer here.
Troth! some folk might hae staid away,
And nae ane wad hae mist them yet,
For fient a chiel I've seen the day
Has spear'd gin she can dance a fit.
Do ye no see Miss Fowler there?
A bonnier lass ye canna find;
I wat there's nae sic dancer here.
Troth! some folk might hae staid away,
And nae ane wad hae mist them yet,
For fient a chiel I've seen the day
Has spear'd gin she can dance a fit.
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Then honest Jock loupt on the floor,
And cried—We'll a' be canty yet!
And if some grudging souls be here,
O may they never dance a fit!
And let them ken, if goud's their pride,
It's no won gear that's counted yet,
They're here wad take a poundless bride!—
Rise up, my lass, let's dance a fit.
And cried—We'll a' be canty yet!
And if some grudging souls be here,
O may they never dance a fit!
And let them ken, if goud's their pride,
It's no won gear that's counted yet,
They're here wad take a poundless bride!—
Rise up, my lass, let's dance a fit.
O JENNY DEAR.
O Jenny dear, lay by your pride,
Or else I plainly see
Your wrinkles ye'll be fain to hide,
May-be at sixty-three.
But, take my word, 'tis then o'er late
To gain a wayward man;
A maiden auld her hooks may bait,
But catch us gin you can!
Or else I plainly see
Your wrinkles ye'll be fain to hide,
May-be at sixty-three.
But, take my word, 'tis then o'er late
To gain a wayward man;
A maiden auld her hooks may bait,
But catch us gin you can!
An unco prize forsooth ye are!
For, when the bait is tane,
Ye fill our hearts sae fu' o' care,
We wish them ours again.
To witch our faith, ye tell a tale
O' love that ne'er will end;
Nae hinny'd words wi' me prevail,
For men will never mend.
For, when the bait is tane,
Ye fill our hearts sae fu' o' care,
We wish them ours again.
To witch our faith, ye tell a tale
O' love that ne'er will end;
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For men will never mend.
But, Jenny, look at aunty Kate,
Wha is a maiden auld,
I's warrant she repented late
When wooers' hearts grew cauld.
An ape to lead's a silly thing
When ye step down below,
Or here to sit wi' chittering wing
Like birdies i' the snow.
Wha is a maiden auld,
I's warrant she repented late
When wooers' hearts grew cauld.
An ape to lead's a silly thing
When ye step down below,
Or here to sit wi' chittering wing
Like birdies i' the snow.
That's better than to sit at hame
Wi' saut tears i' my ee;
An ape I think's a harmless thing
To sic a thing as ye.
Good men are chang'd frae wooers sair,
And naething do but slight;
A wife becomes a drudge o' care,
And never's in the right.
Wi' saut tears i' my ee;
An ape I think's a harmless thing
To sic a thing as ye.
Good men are chang'd frae wooers sair,
And naething do but slight;
A wife becomes a drudge o' care,
And never's in the right.
There's bonny Tibby o' the glen,
And Anny o' the hill,
Their beauty crazed baith their men,
And might delight them still;
But now they watch their lordies' frowns,
Their sauls they daurna own;
'Tis tyranny that wedlock crowns,
And woman's joys are flown.
And Anny o' the hill,
Their beauty crazed baith their men,
And might delight them still;
But now they watch their lordies' frowns,
Their sauls they daurna own;
'Tis tyranny that wedlock crowns,
And woman's joys are flown.
236
DEAR NANCY.
Dear Nancy, since men have all made their own laws,
Which oppress the poor women, whatever's the cause;
Since by hardness of reason or hardness of fist
All wrong must be right if they choose to persist;
I'd have you with caution in wedlock engage,
For if once you are caught you're a bird in a cage,
That may for dear liberty flutter the wing
As you hop round the perch, but 'tis chance if you sing.
Which oppress the poor women, whatever's the cause;
Since by hardness of reason or hardness of fist
All wrong must be right if they choose to persist;
I'd have you with caution in wedlock engage,
For if once you are caught you're a bird in a cage,
That may for dear liberty flutter the wing
As you hop round the perch, but 'tis chance if you sing.
The man who in courtship is studious to please,
Throws off his attention and hears not nor sees;
Whilst her who before was the fairest of flowers
The cloud on his brow ever drenches with showers:
And the man whose rough manners were courteous before,
Gives you every reason to look for no more;
For such churls I've seen through the whole of their lives
Give nought but an oath or a frown to their wives.
Throws off his attention and hears not nor sees;
Whilst her who before was the fairest of flowers
The cloud on his brow ever drenches with showers:
And the man whose rough manners were courteous before,
Gives you every reason to look for no more;
For such churls I've seen through the whole of their lives
Give nought but an oath or a frown to their wives.
Let her speech or her manners be e'er so bewitching,
Why, women should only give mouth in the kitchen!
Nor e'en there rule the roast, for my lord must be by,
And a finger must always have in every pie.
Then he'd lifeless become,—to such silence is prone,
That you'd think him a statue just cut out of stone;
And his fair one, I'll wager, not all the year round
Hears aught of his voice save a hum-and-ha sound.
Why, women should only give mouth in the kitchen!
Nor e'en there rule the roast, for my lord must be by,
And a finger must always have in every pie.
Then he'd lifeless become,—to such silence is prone,
That you'd think him a statue just cut out of stone;
And his fair one, I'll wager, not all the year round
Hears aught of his voice save a hum-and-ha sound.
237
Now some, to advise you all evils to shun,
Bid you ever be happy by holding your tongue;
But Jack Boaster has taught me that this will not do,
For when he is railing his dear shall rail too;
And Andrew Macgrumble insists that his wife
Shall ask pardon most humbly each hour of her life:
And he's right; for, since wedlock has made them both one,
'Tis fit for such sin she should daily atone!
Bid you ever be happy by holding your tongue;
But Jack Boaster has taught me that this will not do,
For when he is railing his dear shall rail too;
And Andrew Macgrumble insists that his wife
Shall ask pardon most humbly each hour of her life:
And he's right; for, since wedlock has made them both one,
'Tis fit for such sin she should daily atone!
Then there's trim little Dicky, who calls himself bless'd
In a spouse so accomplish'd, so young, and well dress'd;
Should she play with her lap-dog, 'twould give him such pain,
He would tear down a curl, and then curl it again;
Should you travel life's road with a mate such as these,
'Tis a chance the whole journey you'd do aught to please.
Yet you fondly fancy that yours is a swain
Whom softness and sweetness will still keep the same;—
In a spouse so accomplish'd, so young, and well dress'd;
Should she play with her lap-dog, 'twould give him such pain,
He would tear down a curl, and then curl it again;
Should you travel life's road with a mate such as these,
'Tis a chance the whole journey you'd do aught to please.
Yet you fondly fancy that yours is a swain
Whom softness and sweetness will still keep the same;—
That when years have roll'd on, though your locks be turn'd grey;
Though the rosebud is blown—nay, quite faded away;
Tho' the canker of time should love's blossoms destroy,
Yet as Darby and Joan you may still be wish'd joy;—
Then hold your good humour, for that is the charm
Which can make beauty linger, and keep the heart warm;
And, when youth, with light wings, shall for ever have flown,
Make your Darby delighted to sit by his Joan!
Though the rosebud is blown—nay, quite faded away;
Tho' the canker of time should love's blossoms destroy,
Yet as Darby and Joan you may still be wish'd joy;—
Then hold your good humour, for that is the charm
Which can make beauty linger, and keep the heart warm;
And, when youth, with light wings, shall for ever have flown,
Make your Darby delighted to sit by his Joan!
238
O JENNY DEAR, THE WORD IS GANE.
O Jenny dear, the word is gane,
That ye are unco saucy,
And that ye think this race o' men
Deserves na sic a lassie.
Troth! gin ye wait till men are made
O' something like perfection,
I fear ye'll wait till it be said—
Ye're late for your election.
That ye are unco saucy,
And that ye think this race o' men
Deserves na sic a lassie.
Troth! gin ye wait till men are made
O' something like perfection,
I fear ye'll wait till it be said—
Ye're late for your election.
The men agree to gie ye choice,—
What think ye o' young Harry?
“He ne'er shall hae my hand or voice!
Wha wad a monkey marry?
He plays his pranks, he curls his hair,
And acts by imitation;
A dawted monkey does nae mair
Than ape the tricks o' fashion.
What think ye o' young Harry?
“He ne'er shall hae my hand or voice!
Wha wad a monkey marry?
He plays his pranks, he curls his hair,
And acts by imitation;
A dawted monkey does nae mair
Than ape the tricks o' fashion.
Now Sandy he affects the bear,
And growls at a' that's pleasing;
Gin ye've a soft or jaunty air,
That air provokes his teasing:
Gin ye be cheerfu', blithe, and free,
A' that is unbecoming,—
Can ne'er the heartsome temper be
Of ony modest woman.
And growls at a' that's pleasing;
Gin ye've a soft or jaunty air,
That air provokes his teasing:
Gin ye be cheerfu', blithe, and free,
A' that is unbecoming,—
Can ne'er the heartsome temper be
Of ony modest woman.
239
Then Colin, too, although polite,
Has nae sma' share o' learning,
Yet stretching out his words sae tight,
They're sadly spoil'd wi' darning.
He cons his speech, he mends his phrase,
For fear he speaks na grammar;
When done, ye'd think that a' his days
He'd only learn'd to hammer.
Has nae sma' share o' learning,
Yet stretching out his words sae tight,
They're sadly spoil'd wi' darning.
He cons his speech, he mends his phrase,
For fear he speaks na grammar;
When done, ye'd think that a' his days
He'd only learn'd to hammer.
Now Jocky he has wit at will,
He sings, he plays, he dances,
He's aye sae blithe, he's certain still
To hit the young ane's fancies;
His words they flow wi' gracefu' ease,
They speak a heart maist tender;
Yet underneath these words that please
There lurks a sad offender.
He sings, he plays, he dances,
He's aye sae blithe, he's certain still
To hit the young ane's fancies;
His words they flow wi' gracefu' ease,
They speak a heart maist tender;
Yet underneath these words that please
There lurks a sad offender.
Not a' the wealth o' rich Peru
Could keep poor James frae fretting;
The gentlest gales that ever blew
His peace wad overset in.
What can I do, gin apes below
To lead should be my station,—
Although ilk ape should prove some beau
Once famous in this nation?”
Could keep poor James frae fretting;
The gentlest gales that ever blew
His peace wad overset in.
What can I do, gin apes below
To lead should be my station,—
Although ilk ape should prove some beau
Once famous in this nation?”
240
O JENNY DEAR, I'VE COURTED LANG.
O Jenny dear, I've courted lang,
I've telt my tale and sung my sang,
And yet I fear I'm i' the wrang,
For ye'll na mak a wedding o't.
In winter when the frost and snaw
Wi' bitter blast around wad blaw,
I'd o'er the moor, nor mind it a',
In hopes ye'd mak a wedding o't.
And gin ye smil'd or kindly spak,
It smooth'd the road, and help'd me back;
I thought nae answer I wad tak,
For we wad mak a wedding o't.
I've telt my tale and sung my sang,
And yet I fear I'm i' the wrang,
For ye'll na mak a wedding o't.
In winter when the frost and snaw
Wi' bitter blast around wad blaw,
I'd o'er the moor, nor mind it a',
In hopes ye'd mak a wedding o't.
And gin ye smil'd or kindly spak,
It smooth'd the road, and help'd me back;
I thought nae answer I wad tak,
For we wad mak a wedding o't.
Now, when I gae to kirk or fair,
The laddies scoff, the lassies jeer;—
“Is this poor Jock?—the good be here!
For sure he's made a wedding o't.
What is become of a' his fun?
Alak! his joyfu' days are done;
Or else he's pawn'd his dancing shoon,
Sin he has made a wedding o't.
Sure marriage is a dreadfu' thing!
Ye mind 'tis only i' the spring
That little birdies chirp and sing,
Or, till they've made a wedding o't.”
The laddies scoff, the lassies jeer;—
“Is this poor Jock?—the good be here!
For sure he's made a wedding o't.
What is become of a' his fun?
Alak! his joyfu' days are done;
Or else he's pawn'd his dancing shoon,
Sin he has made a wedding o't.
Sure marriage is a dreadfu' thing!
Ye mind 'tis only i' the spring
That little birdies chirp and sing,
Or, till they've made a wedding o't.”
241
Then up spak honest Johnny Bell:
“My bairns, I ance was young mysel;
I've mony a blithsome tale to tell
Sin first I made a wedding o't;
My Tibby was a winsome bride,—
Nay, yet she is her auld man's pride!
Nae faut i' her I ever spyed,
Sin first we made a wedding o't:
Ilk day we live we fonder grow,
Though buckl'd fifty years ago;
Here's comfort for ye, young ones a',
Then haste ye, mak a wedding o't.
“My bairns, I ance was young mysel;
I've mony a blithsome tale to tell
Sin first I made a wedding o't;
My Tibby was a winsome bride,—
Nay, yet she is her auld man's pride!
Nae faut i' her I ever spyed,
Sin first we made a wedding o't:
Ilk day we live we fonder grow,
Though buckl'd fifty years ago;
Here's comfort for ye, young ones a',
Then haste ye, mak a wedding o't.
BEHOLD, MY AMANDA.
Behold, my Amanda, yon prodigal rose,
Flinging forth all its sweets to each zephyr that blows,
While each breeze steals some odour or soft tint away,
And next sun may destroy what has pleas'd us to-day;
Of beauty so lavish, the too selfish eye
Leaves the flow'ret, tho' blooming, to droop and to die.
Flinging forth all its sweets to each zephyr that blows,
While each breeze steals some odour or soft tint away,
And next sun may destroy what has pleas'd us to-day;
Of beauty so lavish, the too selfish eye
Leaves the flow'ret, tho' blooming, to droop and to die.
Not so that sweet bud, where fond nature bestows
Each promise of fragrance that flaunts in the rose;
With a blush seems to think she can veil every charm,
And artlessly deems not those blushes can harm;
While, with delicate prudence, it steals on the sight,
And comes forth as if frighten'd of giving delight!
Each promise of fragrance that flaunts in the rose;
With a blush seems to think she can veil every charm,
And artlessly deems not those blushes can harm;
While, with delicate prudence, it steals on the sight,
And comes forth as if frighten'd of giving delight!
242
O THERE IS NOT A SHARPER DART.
O there is not a sharper dart
Can pierce the mourner's suffering heart,
Than when the friend we love and trust
Tramples that friendship into dust,—
Forgets the sacred, honour'd claim,
And proves it but an empty name!
Can pierce the mourner's suffering heart,
Than when the friend we love and trust
Tramples that friendship into dust,—
Forgets the sacred, honour'd claim,
And proves it but an empty name!
I almost as a sister lov'd thee,
And thought that nothing could have mov'd thee!
But, like the dewdrops on a spray
That shrinks before the morning ray,—
Like the frail sunshine on the stream,
Thy friendship faded as a dream.
And thought that nothing could have mov'd thee!
But, like the dewdrops on a spray
That shrinks before the morning ray,—
Like the frail sunshine on the stream,
Thy friendship faded as a dream.
When sickness and when sorrow tried me,
Thy aid—thy friendship was denied me;
Thy love was but a summer flower,
And could not stand the wintry shower:
More for thyself than me I grieve
Thou could'st thus cruelly deceive.
Thy aid—thy friendship was denied me;
Thy love was but a summer flower,
And could not stand the wintry shower:
More for thyself than me I grieve
Thou could'st thus cruelly deceive.
243
I AM OF A TEMPER FIXED AS A DECREE.
I am of a temper fixed as a decree,
Resolv'd with myself to live happy and free;
With the cares of this world I am seldom perplex'd,
I am sometimes uneasy, but never quite vex'd;
I am neither too high nor too low in degree;
There are more that live worse than live better than me.
Resolv'd with myself to live happy and free;
With the cares of this world I am seldom perplex'd,
I am sometimes uneasy, but never quite vex'd;
I am neither too high nor too low in degree;
There are more that live worse than live better than me.
My life thus moves on amid freedom and ease,
I go where I will, and I come when I please;
I am plac'd below envy, and yet above spite;
I've judgment enough still to do myself right:
Some higher, some lower, I own there may be,
But ambition and want are both strangers to me.
I go where I will, and I come when I please;
I am plac'd below envy, and yet above spite;
I've judgment enough still to do myself right:
Some higher, some lower, I own there may be,
But ambition and want are both strangers to me.
When money comes in, pleas'd I live till 'tis gone,
I am happy when with it, contented with none;
If I spend it 'mong friends I count it but lent,
It thus goes genteelly—I never repent;
With mirth to my labour the hours sweetly pass,
Though at Saturday night I am just where I was.
I am happy when with it, contented with none;
If I spend it 'mong friends I count it but lent,
It thus goes genteelly—I never repent;
With mirth to my labour the hours sweetly pass,
Though at Saturday night I am just where I was.
244
WHEN SEVEREST FOES IMPENDING.
When severest foes impending
Seem to threaten dangers near,
Unexpected joys attending
Ease your mind and banish care.
Though to fortune's frowns subjected,
And depress'd by anxious care,
Servile souls are soon dejected,—
Noble minds will ne'er despair!
Seem to threaten dangers near,
Unexpected joys attending
Ease your mind and banish care.
Though to fortune's frowns subjected,
And depress'd by anxious care,
Servile souls are soon dejected,—
Noble minds will ne'er despair!
Prithee, friend, why then so serious?
Nought is got by grief or care;
Melancholy grows imperious
When it comes to domineer.
Be it business, love, or sorrow,
That does now distress thy mind,
Bid them call again to-morrow,
We to mirth are now inclin'd.
Nought is got by grief or care;
Melancholy grows imperious
When it comes to domineer.
Be it business, love, or sorrow,
That does now distress thy mind,
Bid them call again to-morrow,
We to mirth are now inclin'd.
I'LL HAE A NEW COATIE.
I'll hae a new coatie when Willie comes hame,
I'll hae a new plaidie an' a' o' the same;
An' I'll hae some pearlings to make mysel fine,
For it's a' to delight this dear laddie o' mine.
Bessy Bell is admir'd by a' sorts o' men,
I'll mind a' her fashions and how she comes ben;
I'll mind her at kirk and I'll mind her at fair,
An' never ance try to look like mysel mair.
I'll hae a new plaidie an' a' o' the same;
An' I'll hae some pearlings to make mysel fine,
For it's a' to delight this dear laddie o' mine.
245
I'll mind a' her fashions and how she comes ben;
I'll mind her at kirk and I'll mind her at fair,
An' never ance try to look like mysel mair.
For I'll ay be canty when Willie comes hame,
To like sic a laddie why should I think shame!
Though the laird flytes my mither, and cries, “Do ye see,
That lassie cares nought for my siller or me!”
The laird he has money, the laird he has land,
But my Willie has nought but the sword in his hand;
Yet I'd live upon Chelsea, or even wad beg,
Should my soldier return wi' a poor wooden leg!
To like sic a laddie why should I think shame!
Though the laird flytes my mither, and cries, “Do ye see,
That lassie cares nought for my siller or me!”
The laird he has money, the laird he has land,
But my Willie has nought but the sword in his hand;
Yet I'd live upon Chelsea, or even wad beg,
Should my soldier return wi' a poor wooden leg!
For I maun be happy when Willie comes hame,
To lo'e the dear laddie I'll never think shame!
I'll speak up to Maggie, who often would jeer,
And cry, “She's no canty, 'cause Willie's no here.”
I own, when I thought I should see him nae mair,
My een they grew red and my heart it grew sair;
To sing or to dance was nae pleasure to me,
Though often I danc'd wi' the tear i' my ee.
To lo'e the dear laddie I'll never think shame!
I'll speak up to Maggie, who often would jeer,
And cry, “She's no canty, 'cause Willie's no here.”
I own, when I thought I should see him nae mair,
My een they grew red and my heart it grew sair;
To sing or to dance was nae pleasure to me,
Though often I danc'd wi' the tear i' my ee.
But I'll get to singing an' dancing again,
An' I'll get the laddie and a' o' my ain;
We've a' things but siller, then why should I fret?
If there's riches in love we'll hae gear enough yet;
For I ken weel that riches can make themselves wings,
That heart-aches hide under braw diamonds and rings;
An' though love canna happiness always ensure,
It will help us wi' patience our lot to endure.
An' I'll get the laddie and a' o' my ain;
We've a' things but siller, then why should I fret?
If there's riches in love we'll hae gear enough yet;
For I ken weel that riches can make themselves wings,
That heart-aches hide under braw diamonds and rings;
246
It will help us wi' patience our lot to endure.
Sae I'll ay be canty when Willie comes hame,
To lo'e sic a laddie why should I think shame!
Though the laird flytes my mither, and cries, “Do ye see,
The lassie cares nought for my siller or me!”
The laird he has money, the laird he has land,
But Willie has nought but the sword in his hand;
Yet I'd live upon Chelsea, or even wad beg,
Should my soldier return wi' a poor wooden leg!
To lo'e sic a laddie why should I think shame!
Though the laird flytes my mither, and cries, “Do ye see,
The lassie cares nought for my siller or me!”
The laird he has money, the laird he has land,
But Willie has nought but the sword in his hand;
Yet I'd live upon Chelsea, or even wad beg,
Should my soldier return wi' a poor wooden leg!
O DINNA THINK, MY BONNIE LASS.
O dinna think, my bonnie lass, that I'm gaun to leave thee!
I'll nobbet gae to yonder town, and I'll come and see thee;
Gin the night be ne'er sae dark, and I be ne'er sae weary, O!
I'll tak a staff into my hand, and come and see my dearie, O!
I'll nobbet gae to yonder town, and I'll come and see thee;
Gin the night be ne'er sae dark, and I be ne'er sae weary, O!
I'll tak a staff into my hand, and come and see my dearie, O!
O dinna think, my bonnie lass, that I'll e'er forsake thee!
I mean to act an honest part, and loyally to take thee;
For thou art mine, and I'll be thine, and sure we'll never weary, O!
I'll meet thee at the kirk-gate, my ain kind dearie, O!
I mean to act an honest part, and loyally to take thee;
For thou art mine, and I'll be thine, and sure we'll never weary, O!
I'll meet thee at the kirk-gate, my ain kind dearie, O!
247
The fairest words o' wooing men they often turn to marriage strife;
There's Sandy, how he dawtit Jean, but now he flytes now she's his wife;
Ance she was good and fair, o' her he'd never weary, O!
But now, I trow, he cares nae mair for his kind dearie, O!
There's Sandy, how he dawtit Jean, but now he flytes now she's his wife;
Ance she was good and fair, o' her he'd never weary, O!
But now, I trow, he cares nae mair for his kind dearie, O!
But Sandy, lass, ye ken fu' weel, car'd nought but for her siller;
'Twas love of goud and glittering show that ay band him till her;
But I've nae band but love alane, and that can never weary, O!
Therefore consent and wear the chain, my ain kind dearie, O!
'Twas love of goud and glittering show that ay band him till her;
But I've nae band but love alane, and that can never weary, O!
Therefore consent and wear the chain, my ain kind dearie, O!
NOW SANDY MAUN AWA.
The drum has beat the General,
Now Sandy maun awa,
But first he gaes the lasses roun
To bid God bless them a'!
Now Sandy maun awa,
But first he gaes the lasses roun
To bid God bless them a'!
Down smirking Sally's dimpl'd cheek
The tear begins to fa:
“O! Sandy, I am wae to think
That ye maun leave us a'.”
The tear begins to fa:
“O! Sandy, I am wae to think
That ye maun leave us a'.”
248
Poor Maggy sighs, and sings the sang
He lik'd the best of a',
And hopes by that to ease her heart
When Sandy's far awa.
He lik'd the best of a',
And hopes by that to ease her heart
When Sandy's far awa.
Alak! poor silly maiden,
Your skill in love's but sma;
We shouldna think o' auld langsyne
When sweethearts are awa.
Your skill in love's but sma;
We shouldna think o' auld langsyne
When sweethearts are awa.
In blithsome Nancy's open heart
His looks hae made a flaw;
An' yet she vows the men a' loons,
And Sandy warst of a'.
His looks hae made a flaw;
An' yet she vows the men a' loons,
And Sandy warst of a'.
Now Jenny she affects to scorn,
And sneers at their ill-fa;
She reckons a' the warld thinks
She likes him best of a'.
And sneers at their ill-fa;
She reckons a' the warld thinks
She likes him best of a'.
At gentle Kitty's weel-kenn'd door
He ca'd the last of a';
Because his heart bade him say mair
To her than to them a':
He ca'd the last of a';
Because his heart bade him say mair
To her than to them a':
My gentle Kate, gin ye'll prove true,
I'll slight the lasses a';
On thee alane I'll swear to think
When I am far awa.
I'll slight the lasses a';
On thee alane I'll swear to think
When I am far awa.
249
Now Sandy's ta'en his bonnet off,
An' waves fareweel to a';
And cries, “Await till I come back,
An' I will kiss ye a'.”
An' waves fareweel to a';
And cries, “Await till I come back,
An' I will kiss ye a'.”
THE LOSS OF THE ROEBUCK.
How oft by the lamp of the pale waning moon
Would Kitty steal out from the eye of the town;
On the beach as she stood, when the wild waves would roll,
Her eye shed a torrent just fresh from the soul;
And, as o'er the ocean the billows would stray,
Her sighs follow after, as moaning as they.
Would Kitty steal out from the eye of the town;
On the beach as she stood, when the wild waves would roll,
Her eye shed a torrent just fresh from the soul;
And, as o'er the ocean the billows would stray,
Her sighs follow after, as moaning as they.
I saw, as the ship to the harbour drew near,
Hope redden her cheek—then it blanch'd with chill fear;
She wish'd to inquire of the whispering crew
If they'd spoke with the Roebuck, or aught of her knew;
For long in conjecture her fate had been toss'd,
Nor knew we for certain the Roebuck was lost.
Hope redden her cheek—then it blanch'd with chill fear;
She wish'd to inquire of the whispering crew
If they'd spoke with the Roebuck, or aught of her knew;
For long in conjecture her fate had been toss'd,
Nor knew we for certain the Roebuck was lost.
I pitied her feelings, and saw what she'd ask,
For Innocence ever looks through a thin mask;
I stepp'd up to Jack Oakum—his sad head he shook,
And cast on sweet Kitty a side-glancing look:
“The Roebuck has founder'd—the crew are no more,—
Nor again shall Jack Bowling be welcom'd on shore!”
For Innocence ever looks through a thin mask;
I stepp'd up to Jack Oakum—his sad head he shook,
And cast on sweet Kitty a side-glancing look:
“The Roebuck has founder'd—the crew are no more,—
Nor again shall Jack Bowling be welcom'd on shore!”
250
Sweet Kitty, suspecting, laid hold of my arm:
“O tell me,” she cried, “for my soul's in alarm;
Is she lost?”—I said nothing; whilst Jack gave a sigh,
Then down dropp'd the curtain that hung o'er her eye;
Fleeting life for a moment seem'd willing to stay;
Just flutter'd, and then fled for ever away.
“O tell me,” she cried, “for my soul's in alarm;
Is she lost?”—I said nothing; whilst Jack gave a sigh,
Then down dropp'd the curtain that hung o'er her eye;
Fleeting life for a moment seem'd willing to stay;
Just flutter'd, and then fled for ever away.
So droops the pale lily surcharg'd with a shower,—
Sunk down as with sorrow so dies the sweet flower;
No sunbeam returning, no spring ever gay,
Can give back the soft breath once wafted away;
The eye-star once set never rises again,
Nor pilots one vessel more over the main.
Sunk down as with sorrow so dies the sweet flower;
No sunbeam returning, no spring ever gay,
Can give back the soft breath once wafted away;
The eye-star once set never rises again,
Nor pilots one vessel more over the main.
A CURE FOR LOVE.
Time once at a synod agreed
To cure the abuses of love;
For Cupid had wrote such a creed
As none of the gods could approve.
But first, with Prometheus's leave,
A mortal he begg'd to create;
For as yet not a power could achieve
A conquest o'er love and o'er fate.
To cure the abuses of love;
For Cupid had wrote such a creed
As none of the gods could approve.
But first, with Prometheus's leave,
A mortal he begg'd to create;
For as yet not a power could achieve
A conquest o'er love and o'er fate.
As Time in his travels had sound
The various specifics of earth,
Experience, with years rolling round,
Had given their qualities birth.
This faithful associate he knew
Would cull every simple of use;
For Galen had taught where they grew,
And what the effects they produce.
The various specifics of earth,
Experience, with years rolling round,
Had given their qualities birth.
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Would cull every simple of use;
For Galen had taught where they grew,
And what the effects they produce.
Thus furnished from every clime,
His arduous work he began;
And still, as he tried to refine,
Exclaim'd, What a compound is Man!
Then flush'd with apparent success,
He thought all the hazard was o'er;
And, as he had made such a mess,
'Twas needless to add any more.
His arduous work he began;
And still, as he tried to refine,
Exclaim'd, What a compound is Man!
Then flush'd with apparent success,
He thought all the hazard was o'er;
And, as he had made such a mess,
'Twas needless to add any more.
But alas! though the compound was fine,
One simple for ever was lost;
'Twas Memory, that blossom of time;
So Man remain'd dull as a post.
Good from evil by chemical art
An anodyne extract may prove;
But had Time not left out this one part,
Absence ne'er had been made to cure love.
One simple for ever was lost;
'Twas Memory, that blossom of time;
So Man remain'd dull as a post.
Good from evil by chemical art
An anodyne extract may prove;
But had Time not left out this one part,
Absence ne'er had been made to cure love.
WHEN NIGHT'S DARK MANTLE.
When night's dark mantle veil'd the seas,
And nature's self was hush'd to sleep,—
When gently blew the midnight breeze,
Louisa sought the boundless deep.
On the lone beach, in wild despair,
She sat recluse from soft repose,
Her artless sorrows rent the air,
So sad were fair Louisa's woes.
And nature's self was hush'd to sleep,—
When gently blew the midnight breeze,
Louisa sought the boundless deep.
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She sat recluse from soft repose,
Her artless sorrows rent the air,
So sad were fair Louisa's woes.
Three years she nurs'd the pleasing thought
Her love, her Henry would return;
But ah! the fatal news were brought,
The sea was made his watery urn.
Sweet maids, who know the power of love,
Ye best can tell what she must feel,
Who 'gainst each adverse fortune strove
The tender passion to conceal!
Her love, her Henry would return;
But ah! the fatal news were brought,
The sea was made his watery urn.
Sweet maids, who know the power of love,
Ye best can tell what she must feel,
Who 'gainst each adverse fortune strove
The tender passion to conceal!
The lovely maid, absorb'd in grief,
While madness ran through every vein,—
Poor mourner! sought from death relief,
And frantic plung'd into the main.
The heavens with pity saw the deed—
The debt the fair one paid to love,
And bade the angel-guard proceed,
To bear Louisa's soul above.
While madness ran through every vein,—
Poor mourner! sought from death relief,
And frantic plung'd into the main.
The heavens with pity saw the deed—
The debt the fair one paid to love,
And bade the angel-guard proceed,
To bear Louisa's soul above.
O DONALD! YE ARE JUST THE MAN.
O Donald! ye are just the man
Who, when he's got a wife,
Begins to fratch—nae notice ta'en—
They're strangers a' their life.
Who, when he's got a wife,
Begins to fratch—nae notice ta'en—
They're strangers a' their life.
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The fan may drop—she takes it up,
The husband keeps his chair;
She hands the kettle—gives his cup—
Without e'en—“Thank ye, dear.”
The husband keeps his chair;
She hands the kettle—gives his cup—
Without e'en—“Thank ye, dear.”
Now, truly, these slights are but toys;
But frae neglects like these,
The wife may soon a slattern grow,
And strive nae mair to please.
But frae neglects like these,
The wife may soon a slattern grow,
And strive nae mair to please.
For wooers ay do all they can
To trifle wi' the mind;
They hold the blaze of beauty up,
And keep the poor things blind.
To trifle wi' the mind;
They hold the blaze of beauty up,
And keep the poor things blind.
But wedlock tears away the veil,
The goddess is nae mair;
He thinks his wife a silly thing,
She thinks her man a bear.
The goddess is nae mair;
He thinks his wife a silly thing,
She thinks her man a bear.
Let then the lover be the friend—
The loving friend for life;
Think but thysel the happiest spouse,
She'll be the happiest wife.
The loving friend for life;
Think but thysel the happiest spouse,
She'll be the happiest wife.
| The poetical works of Susanna Blamire "The Muse of Cumberland." | |