Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

ABSENCE.

TO HER ABSENT SAILOR.

FROM "THE TENT ON THE BEACH.

HER window opens to the bay,
On glistening light or misty gray,
And there at dawn and set of day

In prayer she kneels :

[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]

But, with her heart, if not her ear,
The old loved voice she seemed to hear :
"I wait to meet thee: be of cheer
For all is well!"

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER

TO LUCASTA.

IF to be absent were to be

Away from thee;

Or that, when I am gone,

You or I were alone;

Then, my Lucasta, might I crave

Pity from blustering wind or swallowing wave.

But I'll not sigh one blast or gale
To swell my sail,

Or pay a tear to 'suage

The foaming blue-god's rage;
For, whether he will let me pass
Or no, I'm still as happy as I was.

Though seas and lands be 'twixt us both,
Our faith and troth,

Like separated souls,

All time and space controls: Above the highest sphere we meet,

Unseen, unknown; and greet as angels greet.

So, then, we do anticipate

Our after-fate,

And are alive i' th' skies,
If thus our lips and eyes
Can speak like spirits unconfined

In heaven, — their earthly bodies left behind.

COLONEL RICHARD LOVELACE.

OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW.

OF a' the airts the wind can blaw,

I dearly like the west;

For there the bonnie lassie lives,

The lassie I lo'e best.

There wild woods grow, and rivers row,
And monie a hill's between ;
But day and night my fancy's flight
Is ever wi' my Jean.

I see her in the dewy flowers,
I see her sweet and fair;

I hear her in the tunefu' birds,

I hear her charm the air;

There's not a bonnie flower that springs
By fountain, shaw, or green,

There's not a bonnie bird that sings,
But minds me of my Jean.

[ocr errors]

ROBERT BURNS.

LOVE'S MEMORY.

FROM ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL."

I AM undone there is no living, none,
If Bertram be away. It were all one,
That I should love a bright particular star,
And think to wed it, he is so above me :
In his bright radiance and collateral light
Must I be comforted, not in his sphere.
The ambition in my love thus plagues itself:
The hind that would be mated by the lion
Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though a plague,
To see him ev'ry hour; to sit and draw
His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls,
In our heart's table, - heart too capable
Of every line and trick of his sweet favor:
But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy
Must sanctify his relics.

SHAKESPEARE.

THE SUN UPON THE LAKE IS LOW.

THE sun upon the lake is low,

The wild birds hush their song, The hills have evening's deepest glow, Yet Leonard tarries long.

Now all whom varied toil and care

From home and love divide,
In the calm sunset may repair
Each to the loved one's side.

The noble dame on turret high,
Who waits her gallant knight,
Looks to the western beam to spy
The flash of armor bright.

The village maid, with hand on brow
The level ray to shade,
Upon the footpath watches now

For Colin's darkening plaid.

Now to their mates the wild swans row, By day they swam apart,

And to the thicket wanders slow

The hind beside the hart.

The woodlark at his partner's side
Twitters his closing song,

[ocr errors]

All meet whom day and care divide,

But Leonard tarries long!

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

O, SAW YE BONNIE LESLEY?

O, SAW ye bonnie Lesley

As she gaed o'er the border? She's gane, like Alexander,

To spread her conquests farther.

To see her is to love her,

And love but her forever; For nature made her what she is, And ne'er made sic anither!

Thou art a queen, fair Lesley,

Thy subjects we, before thee; Thou art divine, fair Lesley,

The hearts o' men adore thee.

The deil he could na scaith thee,

Or aught that wad belang thee; He'd look into thy bonnie face,

And say 'I canna wrang thee !'

The Powers aboon will tent thee; Misfortune sha' na steer thee; Thou 'rt like themselves sae lovely That ill they'll ne'er let near thee.

Return again, fair Lesley,

Return to Caledonie ! That we may brag we hae a lass There's nane again sae bonnie.

ROBERT BURNS

JEANIE MORRISON.

I've wandered east, I've wandered west, Through mony a weary way;

But never, never can forget

The luve o' life's young day!
The fire that's blawn on Beltane e'en
May weel be black gin Yule;
But blacker fa' awaits the heart
Where first fond luve grows cule.

O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison,

The thochts o' bygane years Still fling their shadows ower my path, And blind my een wi' tears: They blind my een wi' saut, saut tears, And sair and sick I pine, As memory idly summons up

The blithe blinks o' langsyne.

'Twas then we luvit ilk ither weel, "T was then we twa did part; Sweet time - sad time! twa bairns at scule, Twa bairns, and but ae heart!

[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]

I marvel, Jeanie Morrison,

Gin I hae been to thee

As closely twined wi' earliest thochts
As ye hae been to me?

O, tell me gin their music fills

Thine ear as it does mine!

O, say gin e'er your heart grows grit
Wi' dreamings o' langsyne?

I've wandered east, I've wandered west.
I've borne a weary lot;

But in my wanderings, far or near,
Ye never were forgot.

The fount that first burst frae this heart
Still travels on its way;
And channels deeper, as it rins,
The luve o' life's young day.

O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison,

Since we were sindered young I've never seen your face nor heard The music o' your tongue;

But I could hug all wretchedness,

And happy could I die,

Did I but ken your heart still dreamed O' bygone days and me!

WILLIAM MOTHERWELL.

LOVE.

FROM THE TRIUMPH OF TIME."

THERE lived a singer in France of old
By the tideless, dolorous, midland sea.
In a land of sand and ruin and gold

There shone one woman, and none but she.
And finding life for her love's sake fail,
Being fain to see her, he bade set sail,
Touched land, and saw her as life grew cold,
And praised God, seeing; and so died he.

Died, praising God for his gift and grace :
For she bowed down to him weeping, and said,
"Live"; and her tears were shed on his face

Or ever the life in his face was shed.

The sharp tears fell through her hair, and stung Once, and her close lips touched him and clung Once, and grew one with his lips for a space; And so drew back, and the man was dead.

O brother, the gods were good to you.
Sleep, and be glad while the world endures.
Be well content as the years wear through;

Give thanks for life, and the loves and lures;
Give thanks for life, O brother, and death,
For the sweet last sound of her feet, her breath,
For gifts she gave you, gracious and few,
Tears and kisses, that lady of yours.

« ZurückWeiter »