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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 | The poetical works of Susanna Blamire "The Muse of Cumberland." |  |
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.
| The poetical works of Susanna Blamire "The Muse of Cumberland." | |