Poetry of the Farm and Rural Life Connecticut River reeds blown by the "Peasant Bard" |
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| SONGS. |
 | Poetry of the Farm and Rural Life |  |
SONGS.
MARY, MAVOURNIN, ACUSHLA MA CREE.
The world it is wide, and the world it is cold,
And dear to the worldling are silver and gold,
But dearer by far is my Mary to me,
My Mary, mavournin, acushla ma cree!
And dear to the worldling are silver and gold,
But dearer by far is my Mary to me,
My Mary, mavournin, acushla ma cree!
The city may boast of its mansions so fair,
I care not, tho' beauty in splendor is there;
In a lone, quiet nook a brown cottage I see,—
There's Mary, mavournin, acushla ma cree!
I care not, tho' beauty in splendor is there;
In a lone, quiet nook a brown cottage I see,—
There's Mary, mavournin, acushla ma cree!
94
Bright gems, such as sparkle in royalty's crown,
May deck with their lustre the belles of the town.
But the light of thine eye is a jewel to me,
My Mary, mavournin, acushla ma cree!
May deck with their lustre the belles of the town.
But the light of thine eye is a jewel to me,
My Mary, mavournin, acushla ma cree!
Abroad have I roved like a bird from its nest,
And viewed Nature's charms from the east to the west,
But her charms—dearest charms—sweetly centre for me
In Mary, mavournin, acushla ma cree!
And viewed Nature's charms from the east to the west,
But her charms—dearest charms—sweetly centre for me
In Mary, mavournin, acushla ma cree!
THE WINDS THAT FROM MONADNOCK BLOW.
The winds that from Monadnock blow,
When April caps his head with snow,
Are not so cutting, not so chill,
As woman can be when she will.
Yet, after all, an April snow
Is but a transient thing, we know.
When April caps his head with snow,
Are not so cutting, not so chill,
As woman can be when she will.
Yet, after all, an April snow
Is but a transient thing, we know.
The blessed breeze that round us plays
In summer's horrid, torrid days,
Is not with kindliness so fraught
As woman can be when she ought.
So be she kind, or be she chill,
She's dear, delightful woman still.
In summer's horrid, torrid days,
Is not with kindliness so fraught
As woman can be when she ought.
So be she kind, or be she chill,
She's dear, delightful woman still.
95
JOSIE, JOSEPHINE.
Pretty maiden, picking berries
In the pastures green;
Cheeks like roses, lips like cherries,—
Josie, Josephine!
In the pastures green;
Cheeks like roses, lips like cherries,—
Josie, Josephine!
Joy is in thy features glowing,
Gladness dwells with thee;
Rose of June! so sweetly blowing,
Rose of June to me.
Gladness dwells with thee;
Rose of June! so sweetly blowing,
Rose of June to me.
Rich the rural setting round thee,
But the GEM art thou;
Sure if Love had never bound me,
He will hold me now.
But the GEM art thou;
Sure if Love had never bound me,
He will hold me now.
Half so winning, half so clever
Ne'er was Gallia's queen;
Empress in this bosom ever,
Josie, Josephine!
Ne'er was Gallia's queen;
Empress in this bosom ever,
Josie, Josephine!
WHAT TIME THE KINE CAME DOWN THE BRAE.
What time the kine came down the brae,
And Vesper showed her light,
I held across the fields my way,
To pass a happy night.
Oh! there is nothing on the earth,
Beneath the sky above,
That brighten can the heart of man,
Like Woman, with her love.
And Vesper showed her light,
I held across the fields my way,
To pass a happy night.
Oh! there is nothing on the earth,
Beneath the sky above,
That brighten can the heart of man,
Like Woman, with her love.
96
A robin carolled, sweet and clear,
A hymn to parting day;
I would have lingered, him to hear,
If love had let me stay.
Oh! there is nothing on the earth, etc.
A hymn to parting day;
I would have lingered, him to hear,
If love had let me stay.
Oh! there is nothing on the earth, etc.
I saw her at the cottage door,
Beneath a climbing vine,
And thought, with worlds I should be poor,
If she were never mine.
Oh! there is nothing on the earth, etc.
Beneath a climbing vine,
And thought, with worlds I should be poor,
If she were never mine.
Oh! there is nothing on the earth, etc.
How sweet the welcome that I sought!
How sparkling, yet sincere!
Her speaking eye, that told the thought
She would not let me hear!
Oh! there is nothing on the earth, etc.
How sparkling, yet sincere!
Her speaking eye, that told the thought
She would not let me hear!
Oh! there is nothing on the earth, etc.
The cock was crowing for the day,
When homeward I returned;
How cold the dewdrops round my way!
How warm my bosom burned!
Oh! there is nothing on the earth,
Beneath the sky above,
That brighten can the heart of man,
Like Woman, with her love.
When homeward I returned;
How cold the dewdrops round my way!
How warm my bosom burned!
Oh! there is nothing on the earth,
Beneath the sky above,
That brighten can the heart of man,
Like Woman, with her love.
| Poetry of the Farm and Rural Life | |