I saw them wreathing a crown for thee, And thy bridal robe was a winding sheet, And the Loves that crown'd thee sat to spin it. They heap'd with garlands thy purple bed, And every flower on earth they found thee, But every flower in the wreath shall fade, Save those thy bounty scatter'd round thee, Yet sweetly sleep, While my hour I keep, For angels, to-night, shall watch and weep. O, Green Isle!-woe to thy hope and pride! And the streams of love around it flowing ;To-morrow thy tower shall stand alone, Thy hoary oak shall live and flourish; But the dove from its branches shall be gone→→→ The rose that deck'd its stem shall perish. XLII. ON PARTING. The kiss, dear maid, thy lip has left, Thy parting glance, which fondly beams, An equal love may see: The tear that from thine eyelid streams, Can weep no change in me. I ask no pledge to make me blest, Nor one memorial for a breast, Whose thoughts are all thine own. Nor need I write-to tell the tale, Unless the heart could speak. By day or night, in weal or woe, Must bear the love it cannot show, And silent ache for thee. XLIII. IN SUMMER, WHEN THE HAY WAS MAWN. In summer, when the hay was mawn, 'Tis ye hae wooers mony a ane, And, lassie, ye're but young ye ken, 'Tis plenty beets the lover's fire. For Johnnie o' the Buskie Glen He lo'es sae weel his craps and kye, For Buskie Glen and a' his gear. O thoughtless lassie, life's a faught, A hungry care's an unco care: But some will spend and some will spare, And wilfu' fouk maun hae their will; Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair, Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill O gear will buy me rigs o' land, And gear will buy me sheep and kye, But the tender heart o' leesome love, We The gowd and siller canna buy. may be poor, Robie and I; Light is the burden love lays on: Content and love brings peace and joy; What mair hae queens upon a throne? XLIV. I SAW FROM THE BEACH. AIR-Miss Molly. I saw from the beach, when the morning was shining, I came, when the sun o'er that beach was declining- Oh! such is the fate of our life's early promise, So passing the spring-tide of joy we have known; Each wave that we danc'd on at morning ebbs from us, And leaves us, at eve, on the bleak shore alone! Ne'er tell me of glories, serenely adorning The close of our day, the calm of our night ;Give me back, give me back the mild freshness of morning, Her clouds and her tears are worth evening's best light. O who would not welcome that moment's returning, |