Poems by James Hyslop ... With a Sketch of his Life, and Notes on his Poems, By the Rev. Peter Mearns |
 |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. | XX.
The Mountain Song.
|
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLII. |
| XLIII. |
| XLIV. |
| XLV. |
| XLVI. |
| XLVII. |
| XLVIII. |
| XLIX. |
| L. |
| LI. |
| LII. |
| LIII. |
| LIV. |
| LV. |
| LVI. |
| LVII. |
| LVIII. |
| LIX. |
| LX. |
| LXI. |
| LXII. |
| LXIII. |
| LXIV. |
| LXV. |
| LXVI. |
| LXVII. |
| LXVIII. |
| LXIX. |
| LXX. |
| LXXI. |
| LXXII. |
| LXXIII. |
| LXXIV. |
| LXXV. |
| LXXVI. |
| LXXVII. |
| LXXVIII. |
| LXXIX. |
| LXXX. |
| LXXXI. |
| LXXXII. |
 | Poems by James Hyslop |  |
XX.
The Mountain Song.
How sweet the dewy bell is spread,
Where Spango's mountain streams are lavin',
The heath'ry locks o' deepenin' red
Around the mountain-brows are wavin'!
Where Spango's mountain streams are lavin',
The heath'ry locks o' deepenin' red
Around the mountain-brows are wavin'!
Here, on the sunny mountain side,
Dear Lydia, we'll sit down thegither,
Where Nature spreads Love's crunson bed,
Among the bonnie bloomin' heather.
Dear Lydia, we'll sit down thegither,
Where Nature spreads Love's crunson bed,
Among the bonnie bloomin' heather.
143
Lang hae I wish'd, my lovely maid,
Amang thae fragrant wilds to lead ye;
And now, aneath my Highland plaid,
How blest I lie wi' you aside me!
Amang thae fragrant wilds to lead ye;
And now, aneath my Highland plaid,
How blest I lie wi' you aside me!
And art thou happy, dearest, speak,
Wi' me aneath the tartan plaidie?—
Yes; that sweet glance, sae saft and meek,
Resigns thee to thy Highland laddie.
Wi' me aneath the tartan plaidie?—
Yes; that sweet glance, sae saft and meek,
Resigns thee to thy Highland laddie.
When simmer suns the flow'rs expand,
In a' their silken beauties shinin',
They're no sae saft as thy white hand,
Upon my cheek in love reclinin'.
In a' their silken beauties shinin',
They're no sae saft as thy white hand,
Upon my cheek in love reclinin'.
The softness o' the gentle dove,
Its eyes in dyin' sweetness closin',
Is like thy languid eyes o' love
Sae fondly on my heart reposin'.
Its eyes in dyin' sweetness closin',
Is like thy languid eyes o' love
Sae fondly on my heart reposin'.
While thus aneath my tartan plaid
Sae warmly to my lips I press ye,
That honied bell o' dewy red
Is nocht like thy sweet lips, dear lassie!
Sae warmly to my lips I press ye,
That honied bell o' dewy red
Is nocht like thy sweet lips, dear lassie!
Reclin'd on Love's soft crimson bed,
Our hearts sae fondly lock'd thegither;
Thus o'er my cheek thy ringlets spread,
How happy, happy 'mang the heather!
Our hearts sae fondly lock'd thegither;
Thus o'er my cheek thy ringlets spread,
How happy, happy 'mang the heather!
| Poems by James Hyslop | |