Poems by Robert Nicoll Second edition: with numerous additions, and a memoir of the author |
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| II. |
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 | IV. |
THE DYING MAIDEN. |
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 | Poems by Robert Nicoll |  |
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THE DYING MAIDEN.
The winds are soughin' o'er the hills,
The burns come gushin' doun—
The kelpie in the drumlie weil
Is singin' his eerie croon!
Sae sharp an' cauld the nippin' sleet
Blaws o'er the leafless lea,
An' Death, frae out the darksome grave,
Is callin' upon me!
The burns come gushin' doun—
The kelpie in the drumlie weil
Is singin' his eerie croon!
Sae sharp an' cauld the nippin' sleet
Blaws o'er the leafless lea,
An' Death, frae out the darksome grave,
Is callin' upon me!
O! mither, stand ye at my head—
Gang, sister, to my feet;
An', Willie, sit by my bedside,
But dinna moan an' greet.
I would like to look on those I love,
Sae lang as I can see,—
As the snaw-drap fades 'mang the lave awa',
Sae I would like to dee!
Gang, sister, to my feet;
An', Willie, sit by my bedside,
But dinna moan an' greet.
I would like to look on those I love,
Sae lang as I can see,—
As the snaw-drap fades 'mang the lave awa',
Sae I would like to dee!
O! this is a bright an' glorious earth,
An' I ha'e lo'ed it weel—
I ha'e lo'ed to sleep on my mither's breast,
By my mither's knee to kneel:
An' I ha'e lo'ed thee, sister fair,
Wi' mair than a sister's love;
An' how I lo'ed thee, Willie dear,
The Angels ken above!
An' I ha'e lo'ed it weel—
I ha'e lo'ed to sleep on my mither's breast,
By my mither's knee to kneel:
An' I ha'e lo'ed thee, sister fair,
Wi' mair than a sister's love;
An' how I lo'ed thee, Willie dear,
The Angels ken above!
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An' I ha'e dream'd o' comin' years,
When ane we twa should be,—
When Grief should sadden, Joy rejoice
Alike baith thee an' me—
When we should bear ae heart, ae hope,
Ae burden, an' ae name;
An' gang a-field thegither aye,
An' come thegither hame!
When ane we twa should be,—
When Grief should sadden, Joy rejoice
Alike baith thee an' me—
When we should bear ae heart, ae hope,
Ae burden, an' ae name;
An' gang a-field thegither aye,
An' come thegither hame!
An' I ha'e dream'd o' bairnies fair,
Wi' een as blithe as thine—
An' hair like gowd, an' rosie lips,
An' lovin' hearts like mine:
An I ha'e heard their voices sweet
Say “Mither!” unto me,
An' seen them turn an', smilin', say,
“My Father!” unto thee!
Wi' een as blithe as thine—
An' hair like gowd, an' rosie lips,
An' lovin' hearts like mine:
An I ha'e heard their voices sweet
Say “Mither!” unto me,
An' seen them turn an', smilin', say,
“My Father!” unto thee!
An', Willie, ae fond wish ha'e I—
Though I would like awa'—
To live, that I my love for thee
Sae measureless might shaw.
My love for thee! it can be known
To mine own heart alone,—
A star o' love an' gladness, thou
For ever o'er me shone!
Though I would like awa'—
To live, that I my love for thee
Sae measureless might shaw.
My love for thee! it can be known
To mine own heart alone,—
A star o' love an' gladness, thou
For ever o'er me shone!
My voice is wearin' faint an' low;
Sae, Willie, ere I gang,
You'll promise me, when I am laid
The kirkyard yird amang,
To come at e'en, when o'er the glen
The birks their shadows cast,
An' sit upo' my grave, an' think
O' me an' moments past.
Sae, Willie, ere I gang,
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The kirkyard yird amang,
To come at e'en, when o'er the glen
The birks their shadows cast,
An' sit upo' my grave, an' think
O' me an' moments past.
Awa', awa, to yonder Land,
My soul is wearin' now;
But 'mid yon Holiness an' Joy,
I'll aye be watchin' you.
An', if alane ye e'er be left,
In sickness or in wae,
Mind, Willie, that a spirit's hand
Doth lead ye night an' day.
My soul is wearin' now;
But 'mid yon Holiness an' Joy,
I'll aye be watchin' you.
An', if alane ye e'er be left,
In sickness or in wae,
Mind, Willie, that a spirit's hand
Doth lead ye night an' day.
Kiss ance again this burnin' brow;
An let me look upon
The lip—the cheek—the hazel eye
I've prized in moments gone!
My mither! ope the casement wide
That I may see the lea
Where gowans grow:—The Gates o' Light
Are open now to me!
An let me look upon
The lip—the cheek—the hazel eye
I've prized in moments gone!
My mither! ope the casement wide
That I may see the lea
Where gowans grow:—The Gates o' Light
Are open now to me!
| Poems by Robert Nicoll | |