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.
[High mantles the reek o' the village gay]
High mantles the reek o' the village gay,
As the sun sinks in the west;
As pensive and slow by the meadow I stray,
To muse on the maid I lo'e best.
As the sun sinks in the west;
As pensive and slow by the meadow I stray,
To muse on the maid I lo'e best.
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And dear is the hum of the village bairns,
At evening as they play;
It is borne on the wing of the gloaming gale,
And wafted far away.
At evening as they play;
It is borne on the wing of the gloaming gale,
And wafted far away.
And fair and sweet are the village maids,
As they lightly trip the green;
But the air and the grace of my lovely young Jess,
Proclaim her the village queen.
As they lightly trip the green;
But the air and the grace of my lovely young Jess,
Proclaim her the village queen.
Soft, soft is her smile as the blush of May,
When morning purples the sky;
And wild are the tones of her witching voice
As the Zephyr of spring sweeping by.
When morning purples the sky;
And wild are the tones of her witching voice
As the Zephyr of spring sweeping by.
Like a ray of the morn are her yellow locks,
O'ershading a bosom of love;
And saft shoots the beam o' her bonny blue eye
As the glance o' the timid dove.
O'ershading a bosom of love;
And saft shoots the beam o' her bonny blue eye
As the glance o' the timid dove.
I've promised to lead her to the hazel shaw,
When the sun rides high at noon;
And cheer her lone hours wi' the fondest love tales,
Till the broad flaming orb gangs down.
When the sun rides high at noon;
And cheer her lone hours wi' the fondest love tales,
Till the broad flaming orb gangs down.
I've promised to pu' her the wilding rose,
The daisy and the blue-bell,
To weave a love wreath her tresses to braid,
By the brink of the fairy well.
The daisy and the blue-bell,
To weave a love wreath her tresses to braid,
By the brink of the fairy well.
I've sworn by the smile that dwells on her lip,
And the sparkle that lives in her e'e,
That till baith are quenched by the damps o' death
I true to her will be.
And the sparkle that lives in her e'e,
That till baith are quenched by the damps o' death
I true to her will be.
| The poetical works of William Nicholson | |