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 | Melaia and other poems |  |
My muse, though hamely in attire,
May touch the heart.
Burns.
May touch the heart.
Burns.
115
VENETIAN SERENADE.
Oh! linger not, love; for the beams of the moon
Are lighting our path o'er the glassy lagoon;
The yellow sand sparkles like gold on the shore;
And ripples of silver are laving my oar.
Are lighting our path o'er the glassy lagoon;
The yellow sand sparkles like gold on the shore;
And ripples of silver are laving my oar.
Night reigns o'er the world with her gem-crested brow,
And mirrors her stars in the waters below;
The air is delicious, with spice-breathing flowers,
That pour forth their odours from fairy-wrought bowers.
And mirrors her stars in the waters below;
The air is delicious, with spice-breathing flowers,
That pour forth their odours from fairy-wrought bowers.
'Tis just such an hour when, with those whom we love,
The soul might forget there's a heaven above;
In a moment so precious, so blissfully dear,
The wrapt spirit might fancy that heaven was here.
The soul might forget there's a heaven above;
In a moment so precious, so blissfully dear,
The wrapt spirit might fancy that heaven was here.
150
FRAGMENT.
Say on, that I'm over romantic,
In loving the wild, and the free;
But, the waves of the dashing Atlantic,
The Alps, and the eagle, for me!
In loving the wild, and the free;
But, the waves of the dashing Atlantic,
The Alps, and the eagle, for me!
The billows, so madly uprearing
Their heads on the blast-ridden main,
Mock the hurricane, dauntless, unfearing,
And roar back the thunder again.
Their heads on the blast-ridden main,
Mock the hurricane, dauntless, unfearing,
And roar back the thunder again.
The mountain, right heavenward bearing,
Half lost in the sun and the snow,
Can only be trod by the daring:
The fearful may tremble below.
Half lost in the sun and the snow,
Can only be trod by the daring:
The fearful may tremble below.
The eagle is high in its dwelling,
For ever the tameless, the proud;
It heeds not the storm-spirits' yelling,
It swoops through the lightning-fraught cloud.
For ever the tameless, the proud;
It heeds not the storm-spirits' yelling,
It swoops through the lightning-fraught cloud.
Tell me not of a soft sighing lover;
Such things may be had by the score:
I'd rather be bride to a rover,
And polish the rifle he bore.
Such things may be had by the score:
I'd rather be bride to a rover,
And polish the rifle he bore.
The storm, with its thunder affrighting;
The torrent and avalanche high;
These, these, would my spirit delight in;
'Mid these would I wander and die!
The torrent and avalanche high;
These, these, would my spirit delight in;
'Mid these would I wander and die!
185
Say on, that I'm over romantic,
In loving the wild and the free;
But the waves of the dashing Atlantic,
The Alps, and the eagle, for me!
In loving the wild and the free;
But the waves of the dashing Atlantic,
The Alps, and the eagle, for me!
LINES WRITTEN TO BEGUILE AN IDLE HOUR.
How fondly memory loves to nurse
The happy scenes of bygone years;
When childhood drank the cup of life,
Before 'twas dash'd with care and tears;
The happy scenes of bygone years;
When childhood drank the cup of life,
Before 'twas dash'd with care and tears;
When infancy, just thrown away,
Left me a wild and sportive girl,
With glowing cheek and thoughtless brow,
Half hid 'neath many a shaggy curl;
Left me a wild and sportive girl,
With glowing cheek and thoughtless brow,
Half hid 'neath many a shaggy curl;
When time flew on with rainbow wings,
Flinging a radiance round the hours
When peeping daisies seem more bright
Than Italy's Arcadian flowers.
Flinging a radiance round the hours
When peeping daisies seem more bright
Than Italy's Arcadian flowers.
Methinks I see the old oak tree,
That stands alone upon the hill,
Whose acorns, strung beneath its shade,
Keep place among my treasures still.
That stands alone upon the hill,
Whose acorns, strung beneath its shade,
Keep place among my treasures still.
Methinks I see my tiny boat,
With silken pennon, long and gay,
Now drifting on the weedy bank,—
Now deluged in the cascade's spray.
With silken pennon, long and gay,
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Now deluged in the cascade's spray.
How fearless then my footstep trod
The plank that spann'd the torrent's flow;
As light and active in my spring
As playful greyhound on the snow.
The plank that spann'd the torrent's flow;
As light and active in my spring
As playful greyhound on the snow.
How oft I rambled through the wood,
Or paced along the new turn'd furrow;
How pleased I urged my yelping dog
To start the rabbit from its burrow.
Or paced along the new turn'd furrow;
How pleased I urged my yelping dog
To start the rabbit from its burrow.
The tangled copses round about
Appear'd familiar with my tread;
The glitt'ring adder linger'd still;
The chirping linnet scarcely fled.
Appear'd familiar with my tread;
The glitt'ring adder linger'd still;
The chirping linnet scarcely fled.
Oh! those were happy, laughing days;
Such that I never thought would leave
A pensive shadow in my breast,
Or give my heart a cause to grieve.
Such that I never thought would leave
A pensive shadow in my breast,
Or give my heart a cause to grieve.
To grieve that those who used to be
My fondest, truest playmates then,
Should sadly change, since mingled with
The world, its manners, and its men.
My fondest, truest playmates then,
Should sadly change, since mingled with
The world, its manners, and its men.
To think I cannot meet a hand
So warm as those I press'd in youth;
To find the friendship proffer'd now
Has more of treachery than truth.
So warm as those I press'd in youth;
To find the friendship proffer'd now
Has more of treachery than truth.
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To know that then in innocence
I breathed the prayer and bent my knee;
Laying my heart where altars blaze
With mercy's incense, pure and free.
I breathed the prayer and bent my knee;
Laying my heart where altars blaze
With mercy's incense, pure and free.
And now to turn with blushing shame,
And find a guilty stain within,
Which darkly tells how much that heart
Hath learnt of folly and of sin.
And find a guilty stain within,
Which darkly tells how much that heart
Hath learnt of folly and of sin.
Oh! there's a feeling undefined,
Which no philosophy can smother—
There is one string more finely tuned
Within my breast than any other.
Which no philosophy can smother—
There is one string more finely tuned
Within my breast than any other.
'Tis that which rises keenly mute;
'Tis that which memory plays upon
When, lurking near some former haunt,
I muse, companionless, alone.
'Tis that which memory plays upon
When, lurking near some former haunt,
I muse, companionless, alone.
There seems a halo round the spot,
A mystic spell of joy and sorrow;
A pensive luxury of thought,
The soul from nowhere else can borrow.
A mystic spell of joy and sorrow;
A pensive luxury of thought,
The soul from nowhere else can borrow.
But hold, my pen, thou'rt growing tired
Of this dull, moralizing strain;
I'll lay thee down, but still must wish
That I could be a child again.
Of this dull, moralizing strain;
I'll lay thee down, but still must wish
That I could be a child again.
191
HE LED HER TO THE ALTAR.
He led her to the altar,
But the bride was not his chosen:
He led her, with a hand as cold,
As though its pulse had frozen.
Flowers were crush'd beneath his tread,
A gilded dome was o'er him;
But his brow was damp, and his lips were pale,
As the marble steps before him.
But the bride was not his chosen:
He led her, with a hand as cold,
As though its pulse had frozen.
Flowers were crush'd beneath his tread,
A gilded dome was o'er him;
But his brow was damp, and his lips were pale,
As the marble steps before him.
His soul was sadly dreaming
Of one he had hoped to cherish;
Of a name and form that the sacred rites,
Beginning, told must perish.
He gazed not on the stars and gems
Of those who circled round him;
But trembled as his lips gave forth
The words that falsely bound him.
Of one he had hoped to cherish;
Of a name and form that the sacred rites,
Beginning, told must perish.
He gazed not on the stars and gems
Of those who circled round him;
But trembled as his lips gave forth
The words that falsely bound him.
192
Many a voice was praising,
Many a hand was proferr'd;
But mournfully he turn'd him
From the greeting that was offer'd.
Despair had fixed upon his brow
Its deepest, saddest token;
And the bloodless cheek, the stifled sigh,
Betray'd his heart was broken.
Many a hand was proferr'd;
But mournfully he turn'd him
From the greeting that was offer'd.
Despair had fixed upon his brow
Its deepest, saddest token;
And the bloodless cheek, the stifled sigh,
Betray'd his heart was broken.
203
MY NATIVE HOME.
I'm back again! I'm back again!
My foot is on the shore;
I tread the bright and grassy plain
Of my native home once more.
My early love! my early love!
Oh! will she love me now?
With a darken'd tinge upon my cheek,
And scars upon my brow.
Yes, that she will! yes, that she will!
The flame her youth confess'd
Will never lack its warmth, within
Her pure and constant breast.
I'm back again! I'm back again!
My foot is on the shore;
I tread the bright and grassy plain
Of my native home once more.
My foot is on the shore;
I tread the bright and grassy plain
Of my native home once more.
My early love! my early love!
Oh! will she love me now?
With a darken'd tinge upon my cheek,
And scars upon my brow.
Yes, that she will! yes, that she will!
The flame her youth confess'd
Will never lack its warmth, within
Her pure and constant breast.
I'm back again! I'm back again!
My foot is on the shore;
I tread the bright and grassy plain
Of my native home once more.
My early friend! my early friend!
Oh! will he stretch his hand,
To welcome back the wanderer
To his long forsaken land?
Yes, that he will! yes, that he will!
The vow in boyhood spoken,
The vow so fond, so true as ours,
Can ne'er be lightly broken.
Hail, native clime! hail, native clime!
Land of the brave and free!
Though long estranged, thy exile ranged,
His heart comes back to thee.
I'm back again! I'm back again!
My foot is on the shore;
I tread the bright and grassy plain
Of my native home once more.
Oh! will he stretch his hand,
To welcome back the wanderer
To his long forsaken land?
204
The vow in boyhood spoken,
The vow so fond, so true as ours,
Can ne'er be lightly broken.
Hail, native clime! hail, native clime!
Land of the brave and free!
Though long estranged, thy exile ranged,
His heart comes back to thee.
I'm back again! I'm back again!
My foot is on the shore;
I tread the bright and grassy plain
Of my native home once more.
214
THE LAST LOOK.
Long, long had he waned from life, but now
Strange faintness drain'd his breath;
An icy paleness stole to his brow—
The shadow of coming death.
He gazed around the little room
Where his happiest hours had been spent,
Conning the page of poet and sage,
Or holding merriment:
He felt he was dying, and calmly took
A sad, a long, last farewell look.
Strange faintness drain'd his breath;
An icy paleness stole to his brow—
The shadow of coming death.
239
Where his happiest hours had been spent,
Conning the page of poet and sage,
Or holding merriment:
He felt he was dying, and calmly took
A sad, a long, last farewell look.
He threw a glance on all he prized—
A glance that was glazing and dim:
He mark'd the lute unstrung and mute,
To be woke no more by him:
He dwelt where the precious volumes lay—
Those treasures of pure delight,
That had charm'd away the lonely day,
And solaced the sleepless night—
Cherish'd till they had form'd a part
Of idols closest to his heart.
A glance that was glazing and dim:
He mark'd the lute unstrung and mute,
To be woke no more by him:
He dwelt where the precious volumes lay—
Those treasures of pure delight,
That had charm'd away the lonely day,
And solaced the sleepless night—
Cherish'd till they had form'd a part
Of idols closest to his heart.
He raised his eye, with a gentle sigh,
To the picture-blazon'd wall,
And his father's portrait met him there,
The dearest thing of all!
He fix'd his gaze, and a tremour pass'd,
Betraying some sudden pain:
His dark lids fell; that look was the last!
He raised them not again:
He gasp'd, and murmur'd falteringly,
“Tis o'er; now lead me forth to die!”
To the picture-blazon'd wall,
And his father's portrait met him there,
The dearest thing of all!
He fix'd his gaze, and a tremour pass'd,
Betraying some sudden pain:
His dark lids fell; that look was the last!
He raised them not again:
He gasp'd, and murmur'd falteringly,
“Tis o'er; now lead me forth to die!”
But the sand was out, his drooping head
Sunk heavily on his breast;
The chord had snapp'd, and his soul had fled
Where “the weary are at rest!”
Years have gone by, but memory still
E'er yields to his spirit's claim;
My cheek will whiten, my eye will fill,
To hear his whisper'd name;
For the moment passes when he took
His last, that long, that dying look.
Sunk heavily on his breast;
240
Where “the weary are at rest!”
Years have gone by, but memory still
E'er yields to his spirit's claim;
My cheek will whiten, my eye will fill,
To hear his whisper'd name;
For the moment passes when he took
His last, that long, that dying look.
244
STANZAS.
[My joy, my hopes, let others share]
My joy, my hopes, let others share:
In grief I'd play the miser's part;
My lips, my brow, should never bear
The index of a stricken heart.
In grief I'd play the miser's part;
My lips, my brow, should never bear
The index of a stricken heart.
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If riches were consign'd to me,
No griping hand would clutch the pelf;
For valueless the gold would be
If hoarded only for myself.
No griping hand would clutch the pelf;
For valueless the gold would be
If hoarded only for myself.
If pleasure's cheering rays were mine,
I would not bask in selfish light,
But have the circle spread and shine,
And make all round as glad and bright.
I would not bask in selfish light,
But have the circle spread and shine,
And make all round as glad and bright.
But should my spirit bend and ache
Beneath some pressing load of woe,
Unheard the heavy sigh must break,
Unseen the scalding drop must flow!
Beneath some pressing load of woe,
Unheard the heavy sigh must break,
Unseen the scalding drop must flow!
With sudden stroke or wearing pain
The barb might pierce, the worm might feed:
I'd cloak the wound, I'd hide the chain—
In secret weep—in silence bleed.
The barb might pierce, the worm might feed:
I'd cloak the wound, I'd hide the chain—
In secret weep—in silence bleed.
For did my troubled breast reveal
Its anguish to the world's wide ear,
The few would grieve, partake, and feel—
The many would not care to hear.
Its anguish to the world's wide ear,
The few would grieve, partake, and feel—
The many would not care to hear.
And could I bear the few, the loved,
To make my fears and sorrows theirs!
Could I e'er wish a bosom moved
To note and mourn my doubts and cares!
To make my fears and sorrows theirs!
Could I e'er wish a bosom moved
To note and mourn my doubts and cares!
'Twere easier far to inly groan,
And let the canker rankle deep;
Better the worst of pangs my own
Than see a dear one watch and weep!
And let the canker rankle deep;
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Than see a dear one watch and weep!
And who among the busy throng
Would heed my words or mark my tear?
The saddest tale, the foulest wrong,
Might raise a smile or call a sneer.
Would heed my words or mark my tear?
The saddest tale, the foulest wrong,
Might raise a smile or call a sneer.
Oh! well I know, whate'er my fate,
I'd meet and brook it firmly proud,
And rather die beneath the weight
Than tell it to the soulless crowd.
I'd meet and brook it firmly proud,
And rather die beneath the weight
Than tell it to the soulless crowd.
Joy, hope, and wealth, let others share;
In grief I'd play the miser's part:
I'd scatter all that's sweet and fair,
But lock the nightshade in my heart.
In grief I'd play the miser's part:
I'd scatter all that's sweet and fair,
But lock the nightshade in my heart.
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MY BIRTHDAY.
Mother, there's no soft hand comes now
To smooth the dark curls o'er my brow;
I hear no voice so low and mild
As that which breathed “my own loved child.”
No smile will greet, no lips will press,
No prayer will rise, no words will bless,
So fond, so dear, so true for me
As those I ever met from thee.
To smooth the dark curls o'er my brow;
I hear no voice so low and mild
As that which breathed “my own loved child.”
No smile will greet, no lips will press,
No prayer will rise, no words will bless,
So fond, so dear, so true for me
As those I ever met from thee.
Oh! that my soul could melt in tears,
And die beneath the pain it bears;
The grief that springs, the thoughts that goad,
Become a heavy madd'ning load;
For all that heart and memory blends
But hotly scathes and sorely rends;
And feeling, with its biting fangs,
Tortures with sharp and bleeding pangs.
And die beneath the pain it bears;
The grief that springs, the thoughts that goad,
Become a heavy madd'ning load;
For all that heart and memory blends
But hotly scathes and sorely rends;
And feeling, with its biting fangs,
Tortures with sharp and bleeding pangs.
My Mother! thou didst prophecy
With sighing tone and weeping eye
That the cold world would never be
A kindred resting place for me.
Oh, thou wert right! I cannot find
One sympathetic link to bind,
But where some dark alloy comes in
To mar with folly, wrong, or sin.
With sighing tone and weeping eye
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A kindred resting place for me.
Oh, thou wert right! I cannot find
One sympathetic link to bind,
But where some dark alloy comes in
To mar with folly, wrong, or sin.
My Mother! thou didst know full well
My spirit was not fit to dwell
With crowds who dream not of the ray
That burns the very soul away.
That ray is mine; 'tis held from God,
But scourges like a blazing rod,
And never glows with fiercer flame
Than when 'tis kindled at thy name.
My spirit was not fit to dwell
With crowds who dream not of the ray
That burns the very soul away.
That ray is mine; 'tis held from God,
But scourges like a blazing rod,
And never glows with fiercer flame
Than when 'tis kindled at thy name.
My Mother! thou art remembered yet
With doting love and keen regret;
My birthday finds me once again
In fervent sorrow, deep as vain.
Thou art gone for ever, I must wait
The will of Heaven, the work of fate.
And faith can yield no hope for me
Brighter than that of meeting thee.
With doting love and keen regret;
My birthday finds me once again
In fervent sorrow, deep as vain.
Thou art gone for ever, I must wait
The will of Heaven, the work of fate.
And faith can yield no hope for me
Brighter than that of meeting thee.
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STANZAS.
[They told me, in my earlier years]
They told me, in my earlier years,
Life was a dark and tangled web;
A gloomy sea of bitter tears,
Where sorrow's influx had no ebb.
Life was a dark and tangled web;
A gloomy sea of bitter tears,
Where sorrow's influx had no ebb.
But such was vainly taught and said,
My laugh rung out with joyous tone;
The woof possess'd one brilliant thread,
Of rainbow colours, all my own.
My laugh rung out with joyous tone;
The woof possess'd one brilliant thread,
Of rainbow colours, all my own.
They talk'd of trials, sighs, and grief,
And call'd the world a wilderness,
Where dazzling bud or fragrant leaf
But rarely sprung to cheer and bless.
And call'd the world a wilderness,
Where dazzling bud or fragrant leaf
But rarely sprung to cheer and bless.
But there was one dear precious flower
Engrafted in my bosom's core,
Which made my home an Eden bower,
And caused a doubt if heaven held more.
Engrafted in my bosom's core,
Which made my home an Eden bower,
And caused a doubt if heaven held more.
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I boasted—till a mother's grave
Was heap'd and sodded—then I found
The sunshine stricken from the wave,
And all the golden thread unwound.
Was heap'd and sodded—then I found
The sunshine stricken from the wave,
And all the golden thread unwound.
Where was the flower I had worn
So fondly, closely, in my heart?
The bloom was crush'd, the root was torn,
And left a cureless, bleeding part.
So fondly, closely, in my heart?
The bloom was crush'd, the root was torn,
And left a cureless, bleeding part.
Preach on who will—say “Life is sad,”
I'll not refute as once I did;
You'll find the eye that beam'd so glad
Will hide a tear beneath its lid.
I'll not refute as once I did;
You'll find the eye that beam'd so glad
Will hide a tear beneath its lid.
Preach on of woe; the time hath been
I'd praise the world with shadeless brow:
The dream is broken.—I have seen
A mother die: I'm silent now.
I'd praise the world with shadeless brow:
The dream is broken.—I have seen
A mother die: I'm silent now.
LINES TO THE QUEEN OF ENGLAND.
Lady, perchance my untaught strain
May little suit a royal ear;
But I would break my lyre in twain
Ere aught it yield be insincere.
May little suit a royal ear;
But I would break my lyre in twain
Ere aught it yield be insincere.
There's been enough of dulcet tone
To praise thy charms and greet thy youth;
But I, though standing by thy throne,
Would proudly dare to sing the truth.
To praise thy charms and greet thy youth;
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Would proudly dare to sing the truth.
I cannot join the minstrel throng
Who pour idolatrous pretence;
Because I deem such fulsome song
Must sadly pall upon thy sense.
Who pour idolatrous pretence;
Because I deem such fulsome song
Must sadly pall upon thy sense.
Thou art a star, whose leading light
Must beacon through a stormy way:
Shine out, and, if thou guid'st aright,
Our hearts will bless the saving ray.
Must beacon through a stormy way:
Shine out, and, if thou guid'st aright,
Our hearts will bless the saving ray.
If thou would'st walk a better path
Than regal steps have chiefly trod,
So sway thy sceptre, that it hath
Some glorious attributes of God.
Than regal steps have chiefly trod,
So sway thy sceptre, that it hath
Some glorious attributes of God.
Peace, mercy, justice, mark His reign,
And these should dwell with all who rule;
Beware! resist the poison bane
Of tyrant, knave, or courtier fool.
And these should dwell with all who rule;
Beware! resist the poison bane
Of tyrant, knave, or courtier fool.
Thou hast been train'd by goodly hand
To fill thy place of mighty care;
And Heaven forbid that faction's band
Should turn our hopes to blank despair.
To fill thy place of mighty care;
And Heaven forbid that faction's band
Should turn our hopes to blank despair.
Lean on thy people, trust their love,
Thou'lt never find a stronger shield;
The “toiling herd” will nobly prove
What warm devotion they can yield.
Thou'lt never find a stronger shield;
The “toiling herd” will nobly prove
What warm devotion they can yield.
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Remember, much of weal or woe
To millions, rest alone with thee;
Be firm, and let Old England show
A nation happy, wise, and free.
To millions, rest alone with thee;
Be firm, and let Old England show
A nation happy, wise, and free.
STANZAS.
[I've track'd the paths of the dark wild wood]
I've track'd the paths of the dark wild wood,
No footfall there but my own;
I've linger'd beside the moaning flood,
But I never felt alone.
There were lovely things for my soul to meet,
Rare work for my eye to trace:
I held communion close and sweet
With a Maker—face to face.
No footfall there but my own;
I've linger'd beside the moaning flood,
But I never felt alone.
There were lovely things for my soul to meet,
Rare work for my eye to trace:
I held communion close and sweet
With a Maker—face to face.
I have sat in the cheerless, vacant room,
At the stillest hour of night,
With nought to break upon the gloom
But the taper's sickly light;
And there I have conjured back again
The loved ones, lost and dead,
Till my swelling heart and busy brain
Have hardly deem'd them fled.
At the stillest hour of night,
With nought to break upon the gloom
But the taper's sickly light;
And there I have conjured back again
The loved ones, lost and dead,
Till my swelling heart and busy brain
Have hardly deem'd them fled.
I may rove the waste or tenant the cell,
But alone I never shall be;
While this form is a home where the spirit may dwell,
There is something to mate with me.
Wait till ye turn from my mindless clay,
And the shroud o'er my breast is thrown,
And then, but not till then, ye may say,
That I am left alone!
But alone I never shall be;
While this form is a home where the spirit may dwell,
There is something to mate with me.
263
And the shroud o'er my breast is thrown,
And then, but not till then, ye may say,
That I am left alone!
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SAY, OH! SAY, YOU LOVE ME!
By the gloom that shades my heart,
When, fair girl, from thee I part;
By the deep impassioned sigh,
Half suppress'd when thou art nigh;
By the heaving of my breast,
When thy hand by mine is press'd;
By these fervent signs betray'd;
Canst thou doubt my truth, sweet maid?
Then say, oh! say, you love me!
When, fair girl, from thee I part;
By the deep impassioned sigh,
Half suppress'd when thou art nigh;
By the heaving of my breast,
When thy hand by mine is press'd;
By these fervent signs betray'd;
Canst thou doubt my truth, sweet maid?
Then say, oh! say, you love me!
By the joy that thrills my frame,
To hear another praise thy name;
By my mingled dread the while,
Lest that one should woo thy smile;
By the flush that dyes my cheek,
Telling what I ne'er could speak;
By these fervent signs betray'd,
Canst thou doubt my truth, sweet maid?
Then say, oh! say, you love me!
To hear another praise thy name;
By my mingled dread the while,
Lest that one should woo thy smile;
275
Telling what I ne'er could speak;
By these fervent signs betray'd,
Canst thou doubt my truth, sweet maid?
Then say, oh! say, you love me!
Heart and soul, more fond than mine,
Trust me, never can be thine;
Heart and soul, whose passion pure,
Long as life shall thus endure.
Take, oh! take me, let me live
On the hope thy smiles can give;
See me kneel before my throne;
Take, oh! take me, for thine own,
And say, oh! say, you love me!
Trust me, never can be thine;
Heart and soul, whose passion pure,
Long as life shall thus endure.
Take, oh! take me, let me live
On the hope thy smiles can give;
See me kneel before my throne;
Take, oh! take me, for thine own,
And say, oh! say, you love me!
FILL MY GLASS, BOY, FILL UP TO THE BRIM!
Fill my glass, boy; fill up to the brim!
Here's to thee, dear, my life and my love;
Though thy truant one roved from thy side for awhile,
He's return'd to thee fond as a dove.
Here's to thee, dear, my life and my love;
Though thy truant one roved from thy side for awhile,
He's return'd to thee fond as a dove.
I've wander'd, and sportively sought
For another, like Venus and thee;
But found I had look'd on the sun too long,
For aught else to be bright to me.
For another, like Venus and thee;
But found I had look'd on the sun too long,
For aught else to be bright to me.
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Like Adam, I mournfully sigh'd,
To get back to my Eden of bliss;
For there's nought half so radiant on earth as thy smile,
Nor so sweet as the fruit of thy kiss.
To get back to my Eden of bliss;
For there's nought half so radiant on earth as thy smile,
Nor so sweet as the fruit of thy kiss.
Like the mate of the glow worm, I found
I had left one so brilliant behind,
That backward I flew, lest the gem should be lost,
Which a sultan right gladly would find.
I had left one so brilliant behind,
That backward I flew, lest the gem should be lost,
Which a sultan right gladly would find.
And truly I turn to thine eye,
As the Mussulman turns to the flame;
And the faith I this moment so zealously hold,
Shall in death, love, continue the same.
As the Mussulman turns to the flame;
And the faith I this moment so zealously hold,
Shall in death, love, continue the same.
Fill my glass, boy; fill up to the brim!
Here's to thee, dear, my life and my love;
Though thy truant one rov'd from thy side for awhile,
He's return'd to thee fond as a dove.
Here's to thee, dear, my life and my love;
Though thy truant one rov'd from thy side for awhile,
He's return'd to thee fond as a dove.
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