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WILLIAM HAMILTON. 'T is he, the comely swain I slew
Upon the duleful Braes of Yarrow. (1704 - 1754.]
Wash, O, wash his wounds, his wounds in THE BRAES OF YARROW.
His wounds in tears with dule and Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny sorrow, bride,
And wrap his limbs in mourning weeds, Busk ye, busk ye, my winsone marrow! And lily liim on the Braes of Yarrow. Busk ye, husk ye, my bonny bonny bride, And think nae mair on the Braes of Then build, then build, ye sister's sisters Yarrow.
Ye sisters sad, his tonıb with sorrow, “Where gat ye that bonny bonny bride? And weep around in waeful wise,
Where gat ye that winsome marrow?" His helpless fateon the Braes of Yarrow. I gat her where I darena weil be seen, Pu'ing the birkson the Braes of Yarrow. Curse ye, curse ye his useless useless shield,
My arm that wrought the deed of sorrow, Weep not, weep not, my bonny bonny The fatal spear that pierced his breast, bride,
His comely breast, on the Braes of Weep not, weep not, my winsome Yarrow.
marrow! Nor let thy heart lament to leave
Did I not warn thee not to lo'e, Pu’ing the birkson the Braes of Yarrow. And warn from fight, but to my sorrow;
O'er rashly bauld a stronger arm “Why does she weep, thy bonny bonny
Thou met'st, and fell on the Braes of bride?
Yarrow. Why does she weep, thy winsome
Sweet smells the birk, green grows, green marrow ?
grows the grass, And why dare ye nae mair weil be seen, Pu'ing the birks on the Braes of Yur- Fair hangs the apple frue the rock,
Yellow on Yarrow bank the gowan, row?"
Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowan. Lang maun she weep, lang maun she, Flows Yarrow sweet? as sweet, as sweet maun she weep,
flows Tweed, Lang maun she weep with dule and sor
As green its grass, its gowan as yellow, row,
As sweet smells on its braes the birk, And lang maun I nae mair weil be seen,
The apple frae the rock as mellow. Pu'ing the birkson the Braes of Yarrow.
Fair was thy love, fair fairindeed thy love, For she has tint her lover lover dear, In Howery bands thou him didst fetter;
Her lover dear, the cause of sorrow, Though he was sairand weil beloved again, And I hae slain the comeliest swain
Than me he never lo'ed thee better. That e'er pu'ed birks on the Braes of Yarrow.
Busk ye, then busk, my bonny bonny
bride, Why runs thy stream, O Yarrow, Yarrow, Busk
ye, my winsome marrow! red ?
Busk ye, and lo'e me on the banks of Why on thy braes heard the voice of
And think nae mair on the Braes of And why yon melancholions weeds
Yarrow. Hung on the bonny birks of Yarrow?
“How can I busk a bonny bonny bride, What's yonder floats on the rueful rueful How can I busk a winsome inarrow, flude?
How lo'e him on the banks of Tweed, What's yonder floats ? O dule and That slew my love on the Braes of Yar. sorrow :
“O Yarrow fields! may never never rain | Take aff, take aff these bridal weeds,
Nor (lew thy tender blossoms cover, And crown my careful head with willow. For there was basely slain my love, My love, as he had not been a lover. "Pale though thou art, yet best, yet best
beloved, “ The boy put on his robes, his robes of 0,could my warmth to life restore thee! green,
Ye'd lie all night between my breasts, His purple vest, 't was my ain sewing; No youth lay ever there before thee. Ah! wretched me! I little little kenned He was in these to meet his ruin. “Pale pale, indeed, O lovely lovely youth,
Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter, “The boy took out his milk-white milk. And lie all night between my breasts, white steed,
No youth shall ever lie there after." l'n heedlul of niy dule and sorrow, But e'er the to-fall of the night
Return, return, O mournful mournful He lay a corpse on the Braes of Yarrow. bride,
Return and dry thy useless sorrow : “Much I rejoiced that waeful waeful day; Thy lover heeds naught of thy sighs,
I sang, my voice the woods returning, Helies a corpse on the Braes of Yarrow. But lang ere night the spear was flown That slew my love, and left me mourning.
ISAAC WATTS. “What can my barbarous barbarous father do,
(1674-1748.) But with his cruel rage pursue me? My lover's blood is on thy spear,
THE HEAVENLY LAND. How canst thou, barbarous man, then woo me?
There is a land of pure delight,
Where saints immortal reign ; “My happy sisters may be, may be proud; Infinite day excludes the night,
With cruel and ungentle scoffin, And pleasures banish pain.
There everlasting spring abides,
And never-withering flowers; “My brother Douglas may upbraid, up
Death, like a narrow sea, divides braid,
This heavenly land from ours. Aud strive with threatening words to sweet fields beyond the swelling flood
Stand dressed in living green; My lover's blood is on thy spear,
So to the Jews old Canaan stood, How canst thou ever bid me love thee?
While Jordan rolled between. "Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of love, But timorous mortals start and shrink
With bridal sheets my body cover, To cross this narrow sea, Unbar, ve bridal maids, the door,
And linger shivering on the brink, Let in the expected husband lover. And fear to launch away. "But who the expected husband hus. 0, could we make our doubts remove, hand is?
These gloomy doubts that rise, His hands, methinks, are bathed in And see the Canaan that we love slaughter.
With unbeclouded eyes, Ah me! what ghastly spectre's yon, Comes in his pale shroud, bleeding Could we but climb where Moses stood, after!
And view the landscape o'er,
Not Jordan's stream, nor death's cold "Pale as he is, here lay him, lay him down,
flood, O, lay his cold head on my pillow; Should fright us from the shore,
Just and holy is thy name,
I am all unrighteousness; False and full of sin I am,
Thou art full of truth and grace.
(1702 – 1751.]
YE GOLDEN LAMPS OF HEAVEN,
Plenteous grace with thee is found,
Grace to cover all my sin;
Make and keep me pure within : Thou of life the fountain art;
Freely let me take of thee; Spring thou up within my heart, Rise to all eternity.
Ye golden lamps of heaven, farewell,
With all your feeble light ! Farewell, thou ever-changing moon,
Pale empress of the night! And thou, refulgent orb of day,
In brighter flames arrayed;
No more demands thy aid.
Of my divine abode;
Where I shall see my God.
AUGUSTUS M. TOPLADY.
There all the millions of his saints
Shall in one song unite; And cach the bliss of all shall view,
With infinite delight.
LOVE DIVINE, ALL LOVE EXCELLING. Love divine, all love excelling,
Joy of heaven to earth come down; Fix in us thy humble dwelling,
All thy faithful mercies crown; Jesus, thou art all compassion!
Pure, unbounder love thou art; Visit us with thy salvation,
Enter every trembling heart. Breathe, 0, breathe thy loving Spirit
Into every troubled breast; Let us all in thee inherit,
Let us find the promised rest;
Alpha and Omega be;
Set our hearts at liberty.
(1708 - 1788.)
JESUS, LOVER OF MY SOUL. JESUS, lover of my soul,
Let me to thy bosom fly, While the nearer waters roll,
While the tempest still is high : Hide me, O my Saviour, hide,
Till the storm of life be past; Safe into the haven guide,
0, receive iny soul at last !
Other refuge have I none,
Hangs my helpless soul on thee; Leave, ah! leave me not alone,
Still support and comfort me: All my trust on thee is stayed,
All my help from thee 1 bring; Cover my defenceless head
With the shadow of thy wing. Thou, () Christ, art all I want;
More than all in thee I find : Raise the fallen, cheer the faint,
Heal the sick, and lead the blind :
Come, almighty to deliver,
Let us all thy life receive; Suddenly return, and never,
Never more thy temples leave: Thee we would be always blessing,
Serve thee as thy hosts above; Pray and praise thee without ceasing,
Glory in thy precious love. Finish then thy new creation,
Pure, unspotted may we be; Let us see thy great salvation
Perfectly restored by thee: Changed from glory into glory,
Till in heaven we take our place! Till we cast our crowns before thee,
Lost in wonder, love, and praise.
For never title yet so mean could
THOMAS GRAY. prove, But there was eke a mind which did that
(1716-1771.) title love.
ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY One ancient hen she took delight to
CHURCHYARD. feed, The plodding pattern of the busy dame; The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, Which, ever and anon, impelled by The lowing herd winds slowlyo'er the lea; need,
The ploughman homeward plods his Into her school, begirt with chickens, weary way, came!
And leaves the world to darkness and to Such favor did her past deportment
claim : And, if Neglect had lavished on the Now fides the glimmering landscape on ground
the sight, Fragment of bread, she would collect and all the air a solemn stillness holds, the same;
Save where the beetle wheels his drouing For well she knew, and quaintly could
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant What sin it were to waste the smallest
folds; crumb she found. Herbs too she knew, and well of each The moping owl does to the moon com
Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower could speak That in her garden sipped the silvery of such as, wandering near her secret
plain Where no vain flower disclosed a gaudy Molest her ancient solitary reign.
bower, streak; But herbs for use, and physic, not a few,
Beneath those mugged elms, that yew. Of gray renown, within those borders
Where heaves the turf in many a moulgrew : Thetufted basil, pun-provoking thyme,
dering heap, Fresh baum, and marygold of cheerful Each in his narrow cell forever laid, hue;
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The lowly gill, that nerer dares to climb;
The breezy call of incense-breathing And more 1 fain would sing, disdaining
morn, here to rhyme.
The swallow twittering from the straw
built shed, Yet euphrasy may not be left unsung, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing That gives dim eyes to wander leagues horn, around,
No more shall rouse them from their And pungent radish, biting infant's
lowly bed. tongue, And plantain ribbed, that heals the
For them no more the blazing hearth reaper's wound,
shall burn, And marjoram sweet, in shepherd's
Or busy housewife ply her evening care; posy found, And lavender, whose spikes of azure No children run to lisp their sire's return,
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to bloom
share. Shall be, crewhile, in arid bundles
hound, To lurk amidst the lahors of her loom, | Oft did the harv, st to their sickle yield, And crown her kerchiefs clean with Their furrow oft be stubborn glebe has mickle rare perfume.