Verse, a Breeze 'mid blossoms straying,
Where HOPE clung feeding, like a bee--
Both were mine ! Life went a-maying
With NATURE, HOPE, and POESY,
[Image][Image]When I was young !
When I was young ?--Ah, woful WHEN !
Ah ! for the Change 'twixt Now and Then !
This breathing House not built with hands,
This body that does me grievous wrong,
O'er жry Cliffs and glittering Sands,
How lightly then it flashed along :--
Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore,
On winding lakes and rivers wide,
That ask no aid of Sail or Oar,
That fear no spite of Wind or Tide !
Nought cared this Body for wind or weather
If I walk in Autumn's even
While the dead leaves pass,
If I look on Spring's soft heaven,--
Something is not there which was
Winter's wondrous frost and snow,
Summer's clouds, where are they now?
BUT lately seen in gladsome green,
The woods rejoic’d the day,
Thro’ gentle showers, the laughing flowers
In double pride were gay:
But now our joys are fled
On winter blasts awa;
Yet maiden May, in rich array,
Again shall bring them a’.
But my white pow, nae kindly thowe
Shall melt the snaws of Age;
My trunk of eild, but buss or beild,
Sinks in Time’s wintry rage.
Oh, Age has weary days,
And nights o’ sleepless pain:
Thou golden time, o’ Youthfu’ prime,
Why comes thou not again!
THE BAIRNS gat out wi’ an unco shout,
The deuks dang o’er my daddie, O!
The fien-ma-care, quo’ the feirrie auld wife,
He was but a paidlin’ body, O!
He paidles out, and he paidles in,
An’ he paidles late and early, O!
This seven lang years I hae lien by his side,
An’ he is but a fusionless carlie, O.
O haud your tongue, my feirrie auld wife,
O haud your tongue, now Nansie, O:
I’ve seen the day, and sae hae ye,
Ye wad na ben sae donsie, O.
I’ve seen the day ye butter’d my brose,
And cuddl’d me late and early, O;
But downa-do’s come o’er me now,
And oh, I find it sairly, O!
You too, my mother, read my rhymes
For love of unforgotten times,
And you may chance to hear once more
The little feet along the floor.
THE GLOOMY night is gath’ring fast,
Loud roars the wild, inconstant blast,
Yon murky cloud is foul with rain,
I see it driving o’er the plain;
The hunter now has left the moor.
The scatt’red coveys meet secure;
While here I wander, prest with care,
Along the lonely banks of Ayr.
The Autumn mourns her rip’ning corn
By early Winter’s ravage torn;
Across her placid, azure sky,
She sees the scowling tempest fly:
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave;
I think upon the stormy wave,
Where many a danger I must dare,
Far from the bonie banks of Ayr.
The coach is at the door at last;
The eager children, mounting fast
And kissing hands, in chorus sing:
Good-bye, good-bye, to everything!
To house and garden, field and lawn,
The meadow-gates we swang upon,
To pump and stable, tree and swing,
Good-bye, good-bye, to everything!
And fare you well for evermore,
O ladder at the hayloft door,
O hayloft where the cobwebs cling,
Good-bye, good-bye, to everything!
Crack goes the whip, and off we go;
The trees and houses smaller grow;
Last, round the woody turn we sing:
Good-bye, good-bye, to everything!
THE CATRINE woods were yellow seen,
The flowers decay’d on Catrine lee,
Nae lav’rock sang on hillock green,
But nature sicken’d on the e’e.
Thro’ faded groves Maria sang,
Hersel’ in beauty’s bloom the while;
And aye the wild-wood ehoes rang,
Fareweel the braes o’ Ballochmyle!
Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers,
Again ye’ll flourish fresh and fair;
Ye birdies dumb, in with’ring bowers,
Again ye’ll charm the vocal air.
But here, alas! for me nae mair
Shall birdie charm, or floweret smile;
Fareweel the bonie banks of Ayr,
Fareweel, fareweel! sweet Ballochmyle!
Ye gentle visitations of calm thought--
Moods like the memories of happier earth,
Which come arrayed in thoughts of little worth,
Like stars in clouds by the weak winds enwrought,--
But that the clouds depart and stars remain,
While they remain, and ye, alas, depart!
What is he buzzing in my ears?
"Now that I come to die,
Do I view the world as a vale of tears?"
Ah, reverend sir, not I!
What I viewed there once, what I view again
Where the physic bottles stand
On the table's edge,--is a suburb lane,
With a wall to my bedside hand.
That lane sloped, much as the bottles do,
From a house you could descry
O'er the garden-wall: is the curtain blue
Or green to a healthy eye?
To mine, it serves for the old June weather
Blue above lane and wall;
And that farthest bottle labelled "Ether"
Is the house o'er-topping all.
TO friends at home, the lone, the admired, the lost
The gracious old, the lovely young, to May
The fair, December the beloved,
These from my blue horizon and green isles,
These from this pinnacle of distances I,
The unforgetful, dedicate.
Oh Galuppi, Baldassaro, this is very sad to find!
I can hardly misconceive you; it would prove me deaf and blind;
But altho' I take your meaning, 'tis with such a heavy mind!
Here you come with your old music, and here's all the good it brings.
What, they lived once thus at Venice where the merchants were the kings,
Where St. Mark's is, where the Doges used to wed the sea with rings?
Ay, because the sea's the street there; and 'tis arched by ... what you call
... Shylock's bridge with houses on it, where they kept the carnival:
I was never out of England--it's as if I saw it all.
Did young people take their pleasure when the sea was warm in May?