A belt of straw and ivy-buds
With coral clasps and amber studs,
An' if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.
Thy silver dishes for thy meat
As precious as the gods do eat,
Shall on an ivory table be
Prepar'd each day for thee and me.
The shepherd-swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May-morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my love.
THE FLOWERS O' THE FOREST
I'VE heard them lilting, at the ewe-milking,
Lasses a' lilting, before dawn o' day;
But now they are moaning, on ilka green loaning;
The Flowers o' the Forest are a' wede awae.
At bughts, in the morning, nae blythe lads are scorning;
Lasses are lonely, and dowie, and wae;
Nae daffing, nae gabbing, but sighing and sabbing;
Ilk ane lifts her leglin, and hies her awae.
In har'st, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering,
Bandsters are lyart, and runkled, and gray;
At fair, or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching;
The Flowers o' the Forest are a' wede awae.
At e'en, in the gloaming, nae younkers are roaming
'Bout stacks, wi' the lasses at bogles to play;
But ilk maid sits dreary, lamenting her dearie—
The Flowers o' the Forest are weded awae.
Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads to the Border! The English, for ance, by guile wan the day;
The Flowers o' the Forest, that fought aye the foremost, The prime of our land, are cauld in the clay.
We'll hear nae mair lilting, at the ewe-milking;
Women and bairns are heartless and wae:
Sighing and moaning, on ilka green loaning-
The Flowers o' the Forest are a' wede awae.
THE skies they were ashen and sober;
The leaves they were crispèd and sere,—
The leaves they were withering and sere;
It was night in the lonesome October
Of my most immemorial year;
It was hard by the dim lake of Auber,
In the misty mid region of Weir,—
It was down by the dank tarn of Auber,
In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.
Here once, through an alley Titanic
Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul,-
Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul.
These were days when my heart was volcanic
As the scoriac rivers that roll,-
As the lavas that restlessly roll
Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek
In the ultimate climes of the pole,That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek In the realms of the boreal pole.
Our talk had been serious and sober,
But our thoughts they were palsied and sere,--
Our memories were treacherous and sere;
For we knew not the month was October,
And we marked not the night of the year
(Ah, night of all nights in the year!)
We noted not the dim lake of Auber-
(Though once we had journeyed down here), Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber,
Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.
And now, as the night was senescent,
And star-dials pointed to morn,-
As the sun-dials hinted of morn,
At the end of our path a liquescent
And nebulous lustre was born,
Out of which a miraculous crescent
Arose with a duplicate horn,-
Astarte's bediamonded crescent
Distinct with its duplicate horn.
And I said, She is warmer than Dian:
She rolls through an ether of sighs,—
She revels in a region of sighs:
She has seen that the tears are not dry on
These cheeks, where the worm never dies, And has come past the stars of the Lion: To point us the path to the skiesTo the Lethean peace of the skies; Come up in despite of the Lion,
To shine on us with her bright eyes; Come up through the lair of the Lion, With love in her luminous eyes.'
But Psyche, uplifting her finger,
Said Sadly, this star I mistrust-
Her pallor I strangely mistrust-
Oh, hasten!-oh, let us not linger!
Oh, fly!-let us fly!-for we must.'
In terror she spoke, letting sink her
Wings until they trailed in the dust-
In agony sobbed, letting sink her
Plumes till they trailed in the dustTill they sorrowfully trailed in the dust.
I replied This is nothing but dreaming:
Let us on by this tremulous light;
Let us bathe in this crystalline light:
Its sibyllic splendour is beaming
With hope and in beauty to-night :
See!-it flickers up the sky through the night;
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