Poems By Robert Leighton: 2nd ed |
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THE NICHT I PARTED FRAE MY MAGGIE. |
 | Poems |  |
338
THE NICHT I PARTED FRAE MY MAGGIE.
O dreary was the gloamin' sky—
The low'rin' clouds were dark and raggie:
But duller, drearier was I
That nicht I parted frae my Maggie!
The low'rin' clouds were dark and raggie:
But duller, drearier was I
That nicht I parted frae my Maggie!
'Twas Sabbath nicht, the kirk was skelt,
And we were at the kirk-gate standin';
I ken na how my Maggie felt;
But O, my heart was at the rendin'!
And we were at the kirk-gate standin';
I ken na how my Maggie felt;
But O, my heart was at the rendin'!
Her winsome looks, sae form'd to move,
Made on my heart a deep impression;
I lang'd to tell her o' my love,
But couldna mak' the sweet confession.
Made on my heart a deep impression;
I lang'd to tell her o' my love,
But couldna mak' the sweet confession.
342
We parted, and each hameward gaed:
Eerie thochts my brain were hauntin';
And O! at hame I couldna bide;
I felt as something were awantin'.
Eerie thochts my brain were hauntin';
And O! at hame I couldna bide;
I felt as something were awantin'.
Though drearier cam' on the nicht,
And though the drizzly rain was fallin',
I wander'd out to get a sicht—
My hinmost sicht—o' Maggie's dwellin'.
And though the drizzly rain was fallin',
I wander'd out to get a sicht—
My hinmost sicht—o' Maggie's dwellin'.
I gazed upo' the windows high;
A streamy licht was frae them shinin';—
Ah, she was in the licht, and I
Stood in the dark wet street, repinin'.
A streamy licht was frae them shinin';—
Ah, she was in the licht, and I
Stood in the dark wet street, repinin'.
O had I haen the power to tell
How love was in my bosom swellin',
I micht been gazin' on hersel',
Instead o' glow'rin' on her dwellin'!
How love was in my bosom swellin',
I micht been gazin' on hersel',
Instead o' glow'rin' on her dwellin'!
Adieu, adieu, thou bonnie gem!
Fareweel, thou dewy-lippit blossom!
O could I pluck thee frae thy stem,
And plant thee here within my bosom!
Fareweel, thou dewy-lippit blossom!
O could I pluck thee frae thy stem,
And plant thee here within my bosom!
The parting tears that dim my e'e,
Will rattle doon my cheek to-morrow;
Yet, were I sure she cared for me,
My hope wad soothe my present sorrow!
Will rattle doon my cheek to-morrow;
Yet, were I sure she cared for me,
My hope wad soothe my present sorrow!
| Poems | |