THE SCHOLAR. My days among the Dead are pass'd Where'er these casual eyes are cast, My never-failing friends are they, With them I take delight in weal, And while I understand and feel My cheeks have often been bedew'd My thoughts are with the Dead: with them Their virtues love, their faults condemn, And from their lessons seek and find My hopes are with the Dead; anon Yet leaving here a name, I trust, ROBERT TANNAHILL. 1774-1810. LOVE'S FEAR. O sair I rue the witless wish That gart me gang wi' you at e'en ! And sair I rue the birken bush That screen'd us with its leaves sae green! And though you vow'd you would be mine, The tear of grief aye dims my ee, For O I'm fear'd that I may tine The love that ye hae promised me While others seek their evening sports, Their daffin' gie's me mickle pain. When a' my nights were spent wi' glee: But O I'm fear'd that I may tine The love that ye hae promised me. Dear Lassie! keep thy heart aboon, For I hae wair'd my winter's fee: I've coft a bonnie silken gown To be a bridal gift for thee. And sooner shall the hills fa' down, Ere I'd accept a gowden crown To change that love I bear for thee. MINE AIN DEAR SOMEBODY. When gloaming treads the heels of day, And birds sit cowering on the spray, Alang the flowery hedge I stray To meet mine ain dear Somebody. The scented briar, the fragrant bean, To meet mine ain dear Somebody. Let warriors prize the hero's name! Obscurely bless'd wi' Somebody. SIR WALTER SCOTT. 1771-1832. THE CLAN-GATHERING. Pibroch of Donuil Dhu! Pibroch of Donuil ! Come from deep glen, and True heart that wears one! Leave untended the herd, Come, as the winds come when Forests are rended! Come, as the waves come when Navies are stranded! Faster come! faster come!' Faster and faster Chief, vassal, page, and groom, Fast they come, fast they come : Wide waves the eagle plume Blended with heather. Cast your plaids! draw your blades! Forward each man set! Pibroch of Donuil Dhu! Knell for the onset! JOCK O' HAZELDEAN. "Why weep ye by the tide? Lady! But aye she loot the tears downfa' "Now let this wilfu' grief be done, His sword in battle keen." But aye she loot the tears downfa' "A chain of gold ye shall not lack, Nor braid to bind your hair, Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, Nor palfrey fresh and fair ; But aye she loot the tears downfa' For Jock o' Hazeldean. The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide, The tapers glimmer'd fair; The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, But ne'er a bride was there. They sought her baith by bower and ha' ; The lady was not seen : She's o'er the Border, and awa' Wi' Jock o' Hazeldean. LIGHT LOVE. A weary lot is thine, fair Maid! To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, A doublet of the Lincoln green, No more of me you knew, My Love! No more of me you knew. This morn is merry June, I trow The rose is budding fain; But she shall bloom in winter snow Ere we two meet again. He turned his charger as he spake, Upon the river shore; He gave his bridle rein a shake,— Said Adieu forevermore, My Love! And Adieu forevermore! |