THE GOLDEN WEDDING O LOVE, whose patient pilgrim feet The sacred myrtle wreathes again Thine altar, as of old; And what was green with summer then, Not now, as then, the future's face Nor less the blinding shower; The bud of fifty years agone Is love's perfected flower. O memory, ope thy mystic door; And let the light that gleamed of yore Beside this altar burn. The past is plain; 'twas love designed And mercy's shining, thread has twined So be it still. O Thou who hast Till the May-morn of love has passed David Gray [1837–1888] Moggy and Me 1227 MOGGY AND ME Он wha are sae happy as me an' my Moggy? An' chants to the bairns while I sing on the brae; Aboon our auld heads we've a nice little biggin, As thick as silk velvet and white as the snaw; A grumphie sae fat that she hardly can stand; An' something, I guess, in yon auld painted press To cheer up the speerits an' steady the hand. 'Tis true we hae had mony sorrows an' crosses, Our pouches oft toom, an' our hearts fu' o' care; But wi' a' our crosses, our sorrows an' losses, Contentment, thank heaven! has aye been our share. I've an auld roostit sword that was left by my father, Whilk aye has been drawn when my king had a fae; We hae friends ane or twa that aft gie us a ca', To laugh when we're happy or grieve when we're wae. Our duke may hae gowd mair than schoolmen can reckon, An' flunkies to watch ilka glance o' his c'e, His lady aye braw sittin' prim in her ha’; But are they sae happy as Moggy an' me? A' ye wha ne'er fand the straight road to be happy, Come down to the dwellin' o' whilk I've been tellin', James Hogg [1770-1835] "O, LAY THY HAND IN MINE, DEAR!" O, LAY thy hand in mine, dear! We're growing old; But Time hath brought no sign, dear, That hearts grow cold. 'Tis long, long since our new love Made life divine; But age enricheth true love, Like noble wine. And lay thy cheek to mine, dear, And take thy rest; Mine arms around thee twine, dear, And make thy nest. A many cares are pressing On this dear head; But Sorrow's hands in blessing Are surely laid. O, lean thy life on mine, dear! "Twill shelter thee. Thou wert a winsome vine, dear, On my young tree: And so, till boughs are leafless, And songbirds flown, We'll twine, then lay us, griefless, Together down. Gerald Massey [1828-1907] THE EXEQUY ACCEPT, thou shrine of my dead saint, Instead of dirges this complaint; And for sweet flowers to crown thy hearse, Receive a strew of weeping verse From thy grieved friend, whom thou might'st see Quite melted into tears for thee. The Exequy Dear loss! since thy untimely fate, On thee, on thee: thou art the book, Though almost blind. For thee (loved clay) Using no other exercise But which I practise with mine eyes: Nor wonder if my time go thus Thou scarce hadst seen so many years Which such a strange eclipse doth make I could allow thee for a time 1229. And putting off thy ashy shroud At length disperse this sorrow's cloud. These empty hopes: never shall I A glimpse of thee, till that day come Meantime thou hast her, earth: much good Her longer mine, I give thee all Which in thy casket shrined doth lie, Sleep on, my Love, in thy cold bed Never to be disquieted! |