« AnteriorContinuar »
The moonshine stealing o'er the scene Had blended with the lights of eve; And she was there, my hope, my joy,
My own dear Genevieve !
She leaned against the arméd man, The statue of the armed knight; She stood and listened to my lay,
Amid the lingering light.
Few sorrows hath she of her own, My hope ! my joy ! my Genevieve ! She loves me best, whene'er I sing
The songs that make her grieve.
I played a soft and doleful air,
That ruin wild and hoary.
“You have heard," said a youth to his sweet
heart, who stood,
wood ? I wish that that Danish boy's whistle were mine." “And what would you do with it !- tell me,”
she said, While an arch smile played over her beautiful
face. "I would blow it,” he answered ; "and then my
fair maid Would fly to my side, and would here take her
place." “Is that all you wish it for?- That may be yours
Without any magic," the fair maiden cried : “A favor so slight one's good nature secures" ;
And she playfully seated herself by his side. “I would blow it again," said the youth, "and
the charm Would work so, that not even Modesty's check Would be able to keep from my neck your fine arm": She smiled, - and she laid her fine arm round
his neck. “Yet once more would I blow, and the music
divine Would bring me the third time an exquisite
bliss : You would lay your fair cheek to this brown one
of mine, And your lips, stealing past it, would give me
She listened with a flitting blush,
But gaze upon her face.
I told her of the Knight that wore Upon his shield a burning brand ; And that for ten long years he wooed
The Lady of the Land.
I told her how he pined : and ah! The deep, the low, the pleading tone With which I sang another's love
Interpreted my own.
She listened with a flitting blush,
Too fondly on her face,
And how she wept, and clasped his knees; 1
The scorn that crazed his brain ;
A dying man he lay; .
– His dying words — but when I reached That tenderest strain of all the ditty, My faltering voice and pausing harp
Disturbed her soul with pity!
All impulses of soul and sense
The rich and balmy eve;
Subdued and cherished long.
She wept with pity and delight,
I heard her breathe my name.
Her bosom heaved, — she stepped aside,
She fled to me and wept.
'T is to woo a bonnie lassie
When the kye come hame,
When the kye come hame. 'T is not beneath the burgonet,
Nor yet beneath the crown ; 'T is not on couch o' velvet,
Nor yet in bed o' down : 'T is beneath the spreading birk,
In the glen without the name, Wi' a bonnie bonnie lassie,
When the kye come hame. There the blackbird bigs his nest,
For the mate he lo'es to see, And on the tapmost bough
0, a happy bird is he! There he pours his melting ditty,
And love is a' the theme; And he 'll woo his bonnie lassie,
When the kye come hame. When the blewart bears a pearl,
And the daisy turns a pea,
Has fauldit up his ee,
Draps down and thinks nae shame
When the kye come hame.
That lingers on the hill :
And his lambs are lying still ; Yet he downa gang to bed,
For his heart is in a flame, To meet his bonnie lassie
When the kye come hame. When the little wee bit heart
Rises high in the breast, And the little wee bit starn
Rises red in the east, 0, there's a joy sae dear
That the heart can hardly frame ! Wi' a bonnie bonnie lassie,
When the kye come hame. Then since all Nature joins
In this love without alloy, 0, wha wad prove a traitor
To Nature's dearest joy? Or wha wad choose a crown,
Wi' its perils an' its fame, And miss his bonnie lassie, When the kye come hame ?
She half enclosed me with her arms,
And gazed upon my face.
The swelling of her heart.
I calmed her fears, and she was calm,
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.
WHEN THE KYE COME HAME.
COME, all ye jolly shepherds,
That whistle through the glen I I'll tell ye o' a secret
That courtiers dinna ken : What is the greatest bliss
That the tongue o' man can name ?