 | Metrical Effusions |  |
92
MY LUCY.
“No idly-feign'd poetic pains
My sad love-lorn lamentings claim;
No shepherd's pipe, Arcadian strains;
No fabled tortures, quaint and tame:
The plighted faith; the mutual flame;
The oft attested pow'rs above:
The promis'd father's tender name:
These were the pledges of my love!”
—Burns.
My sad love-lorn lamentings claim;
No shepherd's pipe, Arcadian strains;
No fabled tortures, quaint and tame:
The plighted faith; the mutual flame;
The oft attested pow'rs above:
The promis'd father's tender name:
These were the pledges of my love!”
—Burns.
Oh Thou! from earth for ever fled!
Whose reliques lie among the dead
With daisied verdure overspread,
My Lucy!
Whose reliques lie among the dead
With daisied verdure overspread,
My Lucy!
93
For many a weary month gone by,
How many a solitary sigh
I've heav'd for thee, no longer nigh,
My Lucy!
How many a solitary sigh
I've heav'd for thee, no longer nigh,
My Lucy!
And if to grieve I cease awhile,
I look for that enchanting smile
Which all my cares could once beguile,
My Lucy!
I look for that enchanting smile
Which all my cares could once beguile,
My Lucy!
But ah! in vain. The blameless art,
Which sooth'd to peace my troubled heart,
Is lost with thee, my better part!
My Lucy!
Which sooth'd to peace my troubled heart,
Is lost with thee, my better part!
My Lucy!
Thy converse innocently free,
That bade the fiends of fancy flee—
'Tis there I find the want of thee,
My Lucy!
That bade the fiends of fancy flee—
'Tis there I find the want of thee,
My Lucy!
94
Nor is it for myself alone,
That I thy early death bemoan:
Our infant now is all my own,
My Lucy!
That I thy early death bemoan:
Our infant now is all my own,
My Lucy!
Couldst thou a guardian angel prove
To the dear offspring of our love,
Until it reach the realms above,
My Lucy!
To the dear offspring of our love,
Until it reach the realms above,
My Lucy!
Could thy angelic spirit stray,
Unseen companion of my way,
As onward drags the weary day,
My Lucy!
Unseen companion of my way,
As onward drags the weary day,
My Lucy!
And, when the midnight hour shall close
My eyes in short unsound repose,
Couldst thou but whisper off my woes,
My Lucy!
My eyes in short unsound repose,
Couldst thou but whisper off my woes,
My Lucy!
95
Then, though thy loss I must deplore
Till next we meet to part no more,
I'd wait the grasp that from me tore
My Lucy!
Till next we meet to part no more,
I'd wait the grasp that from me tore
My Lucy!
For, be my life but spent like thine,
With joy shall I that life resign,
And fly to thee, for ever mine,
My Lucy!
With joy shall I that life resign,
And fly to thee, for ever mine,
My Lucy!
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