Poems by James Hyslop ... With a Sketch of his Life, and Notes on his Poems, By the Rev. Peter Mearns |
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| LXXVIII. | LXXVIII.
Song.
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 | Poems by James Hyslop |  |
LXXVIII.
Song.
Oh! welcome sweet simmer—thy warm sunny breeze,
Thy green grassy meadows, thy flowers and thy trees!
The music, the gladness that Nature pours forth
From the wood and the moorland, the clouds and the earth!
Thy green grassy meadows, thy flowers and thy trees!
The music, the gladness that Nature pours forth
From the wood and the moorland, the clouds and the earth!
The dark storms o' winter are past and away,
The green swaird is thick wi' the gowans o' May;
The birk leaves and gray saughs smell fresh in the bowers,
The fox-foot and harebell on Spango's brown moors.
The green swaird is thick wi' the gowans o' May;
The birk leaves and gray saughs smell fresh in the bowers,
The fox-foot and harebell on Spango's brown moors.
Oh! blythe days to Crawick are coming again;
The new corn will spring in the glad simmer rain,
On the banks o' the burnie the mavis will sing,
An' red 'mong the linns the strawberries spring.
The new corn will spring in the glad simmer rain,
On the banks o' the burnie the mavis will sing,
An' red 'mong the linns the strawberries spring.
The hay-fields will sweeten the breeze on Crossbank,
And the wild honey breathe on the mountains o' Spangk;
On my Carco's green holms, where the bright waters lave,
Red clover, brown rye-grass, and gowans shall wave.
And the wild honey breathe on the mountains o' Spangk;
On my Carco's green holms, where the bright waters lave,
Red clover, brown rye-grass, and gowans shall wave.
The woodroof shall spread in the orchard's lone glen,
An' the broom flowers blow thick on the braes o' Bridgen';
In the holm-woods white hands will pluck blaeberries soon,
An' the sweet-brier perfume a' its hedges in June.
An' the broom flowers blow thick on the braes o' Bridgen';
In the holm-woods white hands will pluck blaeberries soon,
An' the sweet-brier perfume a' its hedges in June.
An' ladies will walk there, an' fond lovers meet,
When the gray, dewy evening fa's dusky and sweet;
They'll be stolen hours o' pleasure—how dear once to me!
But my ship, when they come, will be far on the sea.
When the gray, dewy evening fa's dusky and sweet;
They'll be stolen hours o' pleasure—how dear once to me!
But my ship, when they come, will be far on the sea.
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Then fare-thee-well Crawick! dear stream o' my youth!
I maun change thy green glens for the bright sunny south;
A lady's soft looks for the grim face of war,
And the songs of my love for the wild billow's jar.
I maun change thy green glens for the bright sunny south;
A lady's soft looks for the grim face of war,
And the songs of my love for the wild billow's jar.
And farewell, my dear one! my heart cannot tell
If I'll e'er meet again one has lov'd me so well,
If I live, I'll remember thee far on the wave:
If I die, do not weep, for I'll die with the brave.
If I'll e'er meet again one has lov'd me so well,
If I live, I'll remember thee far on the wave:
If I die, do not weep, for I'll die with the brave.
| Poems by James Hyslop | |