The poetical works of William Nicholson With a memoir by Malcolm M'L. Harper ... Fourth edition |
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SONG.
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 | The poetical works of William Nicholson |  |
SONG.
[Again the breeze blaws through the trees]
Again the breeze blaws through the trees;
The flowers bloom by the burn, Willie:
Gay Spring is seen in fairy green—
The year nae mair shall mourn, Willie.
The flowers bloom by the burn, Willie:
Gay Spring is seen in fairy green—
The year nae mair shall mourn, Willie.
The tender buds hang on the woods,
And lowly slaethorn tree, Willie;
Its blossom spreads, nor cauld blast dreads,
But may be nipt like me, Willie.
And lowly slaethorn tree, Willie;
Its blossom spreads, nor cauld blast dreads,
But may be nipt like me, Willie.
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The frien'less hare is chased nae mair,
She whids alang the lea, Willie:
Through dewy showers the lav'rock towers,
And sings, but not for me, Willie.
She whids alang the lea, Willie:
Through dewy showers the lav'rock towers,
And sings, but not for me, Willie.
When frae thy arms, a' nature's charms,
What pleasure can they gie, Willie?
My Spring is past, my sky o'ercast,
It's sleepless nights wi' me, Willie.
What pleasure can they gie, Willie?
My Spring is past, my sky o'ercast,
It's sleepless nights wi' me, Willie.
Silent and shy, they now gae by,
That used to speak wi' me, Willie;
Nae tale, nae sang, the hale day lang—
Its a' for lovin' thee, Willie.
That used to speak wi' me, Willie;
Nae tale, nae sang, the hale day lang—
Its a' for lovin' thee, Willie.
Wi' wily art ye wan my heart—
That heart nae mair is free, Willie:
Then, oh! be kind, sin' now it's thine!
I had nae mair to gie, Willie.
That heart nae mair is free, Willie:
Then, oh! be kind, sin' now it's thine!
I had nae mair to gie, Willie.
But vain I've pled, for thou hast wed
A wealthier bride than me, Willie;
Now nought can heal the wound I feel,
But lay me down and die, Willie.
A wealthier bride than me, Willie;
Now nought can heal the wound I feel,
But lay me down and die, Willie.
Fareweel ye braes, and happier days!
By crystal windin' Cree, Willie,
When o'er my grave the green grass waves,
Oh! wilt thou think on me, Willie?
By crystal windin' Cree, Willie,
When o'er my grave the green grass waves,
Oh! wilt thou think on me, Willie?
| The poetical works of William Nicholson | |