Slike strani
PDF
ePub
[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors]
[blocks in formation]

She will not show her face, though woo'd by kings,
Till o'er her beat the pulsings of thy wings.
-Blow, Wild March Wind.
ROSES.

But a cry, as of pain, arose in Eden-
A sharp cry, from the lips of Eve, embower'd
'Mid her roses, she, plucking milky blossoms,
Felt thorns twain, on a sudden, smite her finger;
Sharp thorns, sharper than spears, the first in Eden;
For the roses were thornless, smooth as willow,
Ere her sinfulness. Blood-drops stain'd the petals,
Erst as white as the hellebore in winter;
And she, musing, beheld a wondrous marvel-
Where the beads of her blood the leaves ensanguin'd,
Lo! red roses were born, as joys in sorrow,

A rose, red as the nut-tree bloom in spring-days.
-The Birth of the Red-Rose.
MEMORY.

Upon the mirror-surface of the mind

The Beautiful imprints itself, in shades

And colors of its own, and thenceforth lives, Through passing days and all the weighted years,

A precious picture of the memory.

[blocks in formation]

O eyes! where dwelt the witchery of power,
Dark eyes and deep that beam'd from out a bower
Of lashes curl'd like stamens of a flower.

O hair of night! not flowing light and free
As wintry tresses of the birchen tree,
But serpent-wound and braided royally.
O form! the beauty of the Greek inbred,
Such gracious curves of brow, and lip, and chin,
And stately throat, and fair full breasts wherein
The Love-god's self might rest his drowsy head.
A Memory.

SILENCE.

[blocks in formation]

THE

ROBERT GILFILLAN.

HE sweet and plaintive lyric which preserves the name of Gilfillan takes its place among our standard songs as one of the best, if not the best of its kind. Its author was born in Dunfermline, in 1798, in very humble circumstances.

After learning the trade of a cooper in Leith, he became a clerk in a wine-merchant's office, and in 1837, was appointed collector of poor-rates for the burgh of Leith. He held this appointment till his death, which took place in 1850. Two editions of his poems have been published; but though some others of them are well written, none comes up to the standard of "Why Left I My Hame." J. R.

THE EXILE'S SONG.
Tune-"My Ain Countrie."

Oн, why left I my hame?

Why did I cross the deep?
Oh, why left I the land
Where my forefathers sleep?
I sigh for Scotia's shore,

And I gaze across the sea,
But I canna get a blink
O' my ain countrie!

The palm-tree waveth high, And fair the myrtle springs; And, to the Indian maid,

The bulbul sweetly sings; But I dinna see the broom

Wi' its tassels on the lea, Nor hear the lintie's sang O' my ain countrie!

Oh! here no Sabbath bell

Awakes the Sabbath morn, Nor song of reapers heard

Amang the yellow corn: For the tyrant's voice is here,

And the wail of slaverie; But the sun of freedom shines In my ain countrie!

There's a hope for every woe,
And a balm for every pain,
But the first joys o' our heart
Come never back again.
There's a track upon the deep,
And a path across the sea;
But the weary ne'er return
To their ain countrie!

IN THE DAYS O' LANGSYNE.

IN the days o' langsyne, when we carles were young, An' nae foreign fashions among us had sprung; When we made our ain bannocks an' brewed our ain yill,

An' were clad frae the sheep that gaed white on the hill;

Oh, the thochet o' thae days gars my auld heart aye fill!

In the days o' langsyne we were happy an' free,
Proud lords on the land, an' kings on the sea!
To our foes we were fierce, to our friends we were
kind,

An' where battle raged loudest, you ever did find
The banner of Scotland float high in the wind!

In the days o' langsyne we aye ranted an' sang
By the warm ingle-side, or the wild braes amang;
Our lads busked braw, an' our lasses looked fine,
An' the sun on our mountains seemed ever to

shine;

Oh, where is the Scotland o' bonnie langsyne?

In the days o' langsyne ilka glen had its tale, Sweet voices were heard in ilk breath o' the gale; An' ilka wee burn had a sang o' its ain,

As it trotted alang through the valley or plain — Shall we e'er hear the music o' streamlets again?

In the days o' langsyne there were feasting an' glee,
Wi' pride in ilk heart, an' joy in ilk ee;
An' the auld, 'mang the happy, their eild seemed
to tyne,

It was your stoup the nicht, an' the morn it was

mine;

Oh, the days o' langsyne! — Oh, the days o' langsyne!

FAREWELL.

Though dark and dreary lowers the night,
Calm and serene may be the morrow;
The cup of pleasure ne'er shone bright
Without some mingling drops of sorrow!
Fare thee well, for I must leave thee,
But, oh, let not our parting grieve thee.
-Fare Thee Well.

YOUTH.

I canna dow but sigh, I canna dow but mourn,
For the blythe happy days that never can return;
When joy was in the heart, an' love was on the

tongue,

An' mirth on ilka face, for ilka face was young.

-The Happy Days o' Youth.

[graphic][merged small][ocr errors]
« PrejšnjaNaprej »