The poetical works of William Nicholson :: :: University of Virginia Library

Come, lovely Health, wi' laughin' e'e,
I lang thy rosy lips to pree;
To wanton in thy glowin' arms,
And revel o'er thy heaven o' charms—
Thy smile each fear and care disarms.

In vain would wealth her pearlins heap,
Or varied year her treasures sweet;
What boots proud honour twined wi' fame?
Thine is the substance—theirs the name;
Even love, but thee, grows dull and tame.

'Tis thine our fondest hopes to draw,
And sweeten Nature's beauties a';
To crown afresh the warrior's head,
And strew wi' joys the bridal bed,
Where virtuous love and truth are laid.

'Tis thine the poor man's peace to earn,
Wi' thrivance to each dauted bairn;
Bear up the burden o' his toil—
His dark and lonely thoughts beguile,
And deck cauld poortith wi' a smile.

Wilt thou within my woodland's dwell,
“A' bloomin' like thy bonny sel'?”
Or paint afresh my Peggy's cheek,
Where nature did her wark complete,
Now treacherous Time has wasted bleak?

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The violet blossoms by the broom;
The bean-field blaws its saft perfume;
The wild-rose sheds its dewy tear;
The cuckoo sings her sang fu' clear—
And a' to gar thee linger here.

Well do I mind in blythe se'enteen,
When light the dancers skipt the green
Thy artless presence graced the place,
And men'd the tints on every face,
But chief my Peggy's modest grace.

When wark was scant and bairns were sma'.
And life's dull plough was dreich to draw;
Thou then wast ever smilin' near,
And proffered hopes o' future gear,
And dang out dull forebodin' fear.

Full forty springs hae slippet by,
Since Hymen's han' the knot did tie—
Thou ne'er hast left us lang distrest,
Except to show wha lo'ed the best;
But wha could judge the kind contest?

But now, alas! thy smiles are seen,
“Like angel's visits, far between;”
As birds of passage, fleet and gay,
Flit from bare bush to flowery spray,
Thou leav'st wan age to grope its way.

Ill fares the wight that's left by you,
In lonely bield wi' comforts few;

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Or totterin', forced to seek his bread,
Through the wide warld without a shed,
Wi' no a friend his cause to aid.

Virtue and Youth are twins wi' thee—
Alas! were they sic frien's to me!
The latter lang, alas, has left me!
O' mony a joy she has bereft me;
Oh! may the first, through Hope, infeft me.