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O Willy, weel I mind, I lent you my hand,
I'll not sing about confusion, delusion, or pride,
Tho' my lassie has nae scarlets or silks to put on,
Tho' we hae neither horses nor menzie at command,
If we ha'e ony babies we will count them as lent,
I'll not meddle wi' th' affairs o' the kirk or the queen,
The smoke from yon cottage no longer is rising,
For night in her mantle the world has shrouded; Some calmly are sleeping, some fondly devising
New schemes to gild over the hopes that are clouded.
The moon thro' the blue sky in splendour is sailing,
The stars in the noon of their brightness are glowing, But these, tho' so lovely, ah! how unavailing
To soothe the lone heart that's with sorrow o'erflowing,
When love still remains where sweet hope is a stranger,
The present how bitter the future how lonely! Yet this tho' I feel—I ne'er pause at the danger,
But bid my heart beat, Love! for thee, and thee only.
Soon the red clouds of morn in the east will be blushing,
And thousands will hail the long-wish’d-for to-morrow, But transient my joy, as the cheek’s hectic flushing,
That bids us to hope but to add to our sorrow.
The gloamin frae the welkin high,
Had chas'd the bonny gowden beam ;
Hung heavy owre the tinted stream:
Was set wi' draps o' shining dew
That glow'd in Betty's e'e sae blue !
She saw the dear—the little cot,
Where fifteen years flew sweetly by! And mourn'd her shame, and hapless lot,
That forc'd her frae that hame to fly. Tho' sweet and mild the e'ening smil'd,
Her heart was rent wi' anguish keen; The mavis ceas'd his music wild,
And wonder'd what her sobs could mean,
It wasna kind to rob my mind
Of a' its peace for evermair;
And mak my parents' heart sae sair.
Ilk honour'd face in tears to see; Where oft I kneel'd to hear the vow,
Was offer'd frae the heart for me!
WELL! THOU ART HAPPY.
Well! thou art happy, and I feel
That I should thus be happy too, For still my heart regards thy weal,
Warmly, as it was wont to do.
Thy husband's blest—and 'twill impart
Some pangs to view his happier lot; But let them pass-moh ! how my heart
Would hate him if he lov'd thee not !
When late I saw thy favourite child,
I thought my jealous heart would break, But when th' unconscious infant smil'd,
I kiss'd it for its mother's sake.
I kiss'd it—and repress'd my sighs,
Its father in its face to see ; But then it had its mother's eyes,
And they were all to love and me.