TO JEAN IN HEAVEN.
SONG XIX.
1
Dalswinton holms are soon in bloom,
And early are her woods in green;
Her clover walks are honey-breathed,
And pleasant riv'lets reek between:
For lonesome lovers they are meet,
Who saunter forth with tentless feet,
The gowan bending 'mang the weet,
When evening draws her shady screen;
Retired from the noting eye,
Unloosing all the seals of joy.
2
Far in a deep untrodden nook,
A fragrant hawthorn there is seen;
Beside it trills a babbling brook,
That loops the banks of primrose green.
When spring wooes forth its blossom fair,
In solemn gait I hie me there,
And kneeling unto God in prayer,
I call upon thy shade, my Jean;
And soon I feel as thou wert near,
And heavenly whispers meet mine ear.
3
I treasure all thy tokens love;
Thy ring, thy raven fillet fair,
Which curled o'er thy blooming cheek,
And swan-white neck beyond compare;
Bright as it glisters with my tears,
The beauteous cheek again appears,
O'er which I passed the silver sheers,
And cut the sacred pledge I wear:
Drenched from my troubled eyes with weet,
I dry it with my bosom's heat.
4
Oft thou descendest in my dreams,
And seem'st by my bedside to stand;
Around thy waist, and on thy cheek,
Are marks of a celestial hand:
Divinely wakening I see,
The glances of thy dove-like e'e,
Which, smiling, thou dost bend on me,
To go with thee to angel's land:
My arms outstretching thee to take,
I sleep of heaven, on earth I wake.
