Poems by Robert Nicoll Second edition: with numerous additions, and a memoir of the author |
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| II. |
MARY HAMILTON. |
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| IV. |
| V. |
 | Poems by Robert Nicoll |  |
85
MARY HAMILTON.
As dreamin' in yon wood I lay,
A spirit came before me there,—
Immortal seem'd its holy form,
Frae Heaven sent, it was sae fair.
Its peacefu' presence seem'd to bring
Deep joy upon yon forest lone:
But aye I sigh'd, though fair eneuch,
Your no like Mary Hamilton!
A spirit came before me there,—
Immortal seem'd its holy form,
Frae Heaven sent, it was sae fair.
Its peacefu' presence seem'd to bring
Deep joy upon yon forest lone:
But aye I sigh'd, though fair eneuch,
Your no like Mary Hamilton!
Her heart by Gudeness' self was made—
Her laugh is like an angel's voice—
Her sang o' sweetness lightsomely
Gars Nature in her joy rejoice!
Her een are starns o' living love,
Whilk hallow a' they glint upon,—
The wale o' precious womankind
Is bonnie Mary Hamilton!
Her laugh is like an angel's voice—
Her sang o' sweetness lightsomely
Gars Nature in her joy rejoice!
Her een are starns o' living love,
Whilk hallow a' they glint upon,—
The wale o' precious womankind
Is bonnie Mary Hamilton!
When Life's rude storms are ragin' hie—
An' Poverty sits by my door—
When Wae is twinin' at my heart—
An' Envy counts my failin's o'er—
I'm sad eneuch; but in a blink
My grainin' sorrow a' is gone,
If ae kind glint on me fa' frae
The e'e o' Mary Hamilton.
An' Poverty sits by my door—
When Wae is twinin' at my heart—
An' Envy counts my failin's o'er—
I'm sad eneuch; but in a blink
My grainin' sorrow a' is gone,
If ae kind glint on me fa' frae
The e'e o' Mary Hamilton.
86
'Mong lowly folk her hame is made;—
A puir man's bairn I wat is she;
But Love sits in her smeeky hame,
An' kindly, kindly smiles to me.
Like some sweet rose 'mang heather brown,
Upon a barren mountain-throne,
Is she within her father's ha'—
My bonnie Mary Hamilton!
A puir man's bairn I wat is she;
But Love sits in her smeeky hame,
An' kindly, kindly smiles to me.
Like some sweet rose 'mang heather brown,
Upon a barren mountain-throne,
Is she within her father's ha'—
My bonnie Mary Hamilton!
Let a' wha think, if sic there be,
That Love an' Innocence are dreams—
That woman's heart is fause an' frail—
That purest Gudeness aft but seems—
That Maids are witches—we the fools
They cast their cheatrie glamour on—
Gae, look on her an' syne confess
There's truth in Mary Hamilton!
That Love an' Innocence are dreams—
That woman's heart is fause an' frail—
That purest Gudeness aft but seems—
That Maids are witches—we the fools
They cast their cheatrie glamour on—
Gae, look on her an' syne confess
There's truth in Mary Hamilton!
I wish upo' that bosky glen
The tearfu' e'enin' dew were come;
I wish yon sun were o'er the hill—
That gushin' burnie's waters dim;
I wish the wanderin' e'enin' wind
Were whistlin' round the breckens lone—
That I might live anither hour
O' love wi' Mary Hamilton.
The tearfu' e'enin' dew were come;
I wish yon sun were o'er the hill—
That gushin' burnie's waters dim;
I wish the wanderin' e'enin' wind
Were whistlin' round the breckens lone—
That I might live anither hour
O' love wi' Mary Hamilton.
| Poems by Robert Nicoll | |