Ne'er tell me of glories serenely adorning The close of our day, the calm eve of our night, Give me back, give me back the wild freshness of morning, Her clouds and her tears are worth evening's best light. Oh, who would not welcome that moment's returning, When passion first waked a new life thro' his frame, And his soul,-like the wood that grows precious in burning, Gave out all its sweets to Love's exquisite flame! MOORE. SONG. SWEET and low, sweet and low, Over the rolling waters go; Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me; While my little one, while my pretty one sleeps. Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father will come to thee soon; Rest, rest, on mother's breast, Father will come to thee soon, Father will come to his babe in the nest : Silver sails all out of the west Under the silver moon: Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. ALFRED TENNYSON. THE MARINER. YE winds that sweep the grove's green tops And kiss the mountains hoar, O softly stir the ocean-waves O bend his masts with pleasant gales, O leave nae mair the bonny glen, And faithless is the wind: Then leave nae mair my heart to break 'Mang Scotland's hills behind. ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. BALLAD. Он, why does my lover linger, Why waits he among the corals, While the shore is tired with my foot-tread, My rose-woven wreath is fallen, Yet in bowers under the blue waves, While my bridal garments fade, waits The lover that loves me well. He will not leave their cool shades Yet far, far over the ocean And over the wide, wide ocean Then dearer than his youth's bowers Since he will not leave their cool shades For even his love of me. JAMES W. MILLER. I WOULD take thee home to my heart, but thou wilt not come to me: Ah! lonely art thou sailing far out on the stormy sea; And lonely am I sitting with the cold dark rocks around; Weary the sight of heaving waves, weary their thundering sound. ANONYMOUS. ANNIE OF LOCHROYAN. 'O WHA will shoe my bonny foot? 'O wha will kame my yellow hair Thy father will shoe thy bonny foot, Thy mother will glove thy hand, Thy sister will lace thy middle jimp Wi' a lang lang linen band. "Thy brother will kame thy yellow hair, Wi' a new-made silver kame, And God will be thy bairn's father, Till Lord Gregory come hame.' |