Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird

That sings upon the bough;

Thou minds me o' the happy days

When my fause Luve was true.

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird
That sings beside thy mate;
For sae I sat, and sae I sang,
And wist na o' my fate.

Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon
To see the woodbine twine,
And ilka bird sang o' its love;
And sae did I o' mine.

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
Frae aff its thorny tree;

And my fause luver staw the rose,

But left the thorn wi' me.

R. BURNS

75. THE KINGDOM OF PLUTO

(FROM THE "INDUCTION TO THE MIRROR FOR MAGISTRATES")

THENCE come we to the horror and the hell,
The large great kingdoms, and the dreadful reign
Of Pluto in his throne where he did dwell,
The wide waste places, and the hugy plain,
The wailings, shrieks, and sundry sorts of pain,
The sighs, the sobs, the deep and deadly groan ;
Earth, air and all, resounding plaint and moan.

Here puled the babes, and here the maids unwed
With folded hands their sorry chance bewailed;

Here wept the guiltless slain, and lovers dead That slew themselves when nothing else availed : A thousand sorts of sorrows here, that wailed With sighs and tears, sobs, shrieks, and all yfere,1 That, O alas! it was a hell to hear.

We staid us straight, and with a rueful fear Beheld this heavy sight; while from mine eyes The vapoured tears down stillèd here and there, And Sorrow eke in far more woful wise

Took on with plaint, upheaving to the skies
Her wretched hands; that with her cry the rout
'Gan all in heaps to swarm us here about.

"Lo here," quoth Sorrow, "princes of renown,
That whilom sat on top of Fortune's wheel,
Now laid full low, like wretches whirlèd down
Even with one frown, that staid but with a smile :
And now behold the thing that thou, erewhile,
Saw only in thought; and what thou now shalt

hear

Recount the same to kesar,2 king and peer.

T. SACKVILLE (LORD BUCKHURST)

76.—THE POET IN WAR-TIME

(FROM "THE Biglow PaperS")

TIME wuz, the rhymes come crowdin' thick
Ez office-seekers arter 'lection,

An' into ary place 'ould stick

Without no bother nor objection:

1 Together.

2 Emperor, from Cæsar: so Ger. Kaiser.

But sence the war my thoughts hang back
Ez though I wanted to enlist 'em ;
An' subs'tutes,-they don't never lack,

But then they'll slope afore you've mist 'em.

Nothin' don't seem like wut it wuz:

I can't see wut there is to hender,
An' yit my brains jes' go buzz, buzz,
Like bumblebees agin a winder.

'Fore these times come, in all airth's row,
Ther' wuz one quiet place, my head in,
Where I could hide an' think,—but now
It's all one teeter,1 hopin', dreadin'.

Where's Peace? I start, some clear-blown night, When gaunt stone walls grow numb an' number, An', creakin' 'cross the snow-crus' white,

Walk the col' starlight into summer :
Up grows the moon, an' swell by swell

Thru the pale pasturs silvers dimmer
Than the last smile thet strives to tell
O' love gone heavenward in its shimmer.

I hev ben gladder o' sech things

Than cocks o' Spring or bees o' clover; They filled my heart with livin' springs : But now they seem to freeze 'em over. Sights innercent ez babes on knee,

Peaceful ez eyes o' pastur'd cattle,

Jes' coz they be so, seem to me

To rile me more with thoughts o' battle.

Indoors an' out by spells I try :

Ma'am Natur' keeps her spin-wheel goin', 1 Suspense.

But leaves my natur' stiff and dry
Ez fiels o' clover arter mowin';
An' her jes' keepin' on the same,

Calmer 'n a clock, and never carin',
An' findin' nary thing to blame,

Is wus than ef she took to swearin'.

Snow-flakes come whisperin' on the pane,-
The charm makes blazin' logs so pleasant,
But I can't hark to wut they're say'n',
With Grant or Sherman ollers present:
The chimbleys shudder in the gale,

Thet lulls, then suddin takes to flappin'
Like a shot hawk; but all's ez stale

To me ez so much sperit-rappin'.

Under the yaller-pines I house,

When sunshine makes 'em all sweet-scented, An' hear among their furry boughs

The baskin' west-wind purr contented, While 'way o'erhead, ez sweet an' low

Ez distant bells thet ring for meetin', The wedged wil' geese their bugles blow, Further an' further south retreatin'.

Or up the slippery knob I strain

An' see a hundred hills like islans
Lift their blue woods in broken chain
Out o' the sea o' snowy silence:
The farm-smokes, sweetes' sight on airth,
Slow thru the winter air a-shrinkin',
Seem kin' o' sad, an' roun' the hearth
Of empty places set me thinkin'.

Beaver roars hoarse with meltin' snows,
An' rattles di'mons from his granite :
Time wuz, he snatched away my prose,

An' into psalms or satires ran it ;
But he, nor all the rest thet once

Started my blood to country-dances,

Can't set me goin' more 'n a dunce

Thet hain't no use for dreams an' fancies.

Rat-tat-tat-tattle thru the street

I hear the drummers makin' riot, An' I set thinkin' o' the feet

Thet follered once, an' now are quiet,— White feet ez snowdrops innercent,

Thet never knowed the paths o' Satan, Whose comin' step ther's ears thet won't, No, not lifelong, leave off awaitin'.

Why, hain't I held 'em on my knee?

Didn't I love to see 'em growin',

Three likely lads ez wal could be,

Hahnsome an' brave an' not tu knowin'?

I set an' look into the blaze

Whose natur', jes' like theirn, keeps climbin', Ez long'z it lives, in shinin' ways,

An' half despise myself for rhymin'.

Wut's words to them whose faith an' truth
On War's red techstone rang true metal,

Who ventur'd life an' love an' youth

For the gret prize o' death in battle? To him who, deadly hurt, agen

Flashed on afore the charge's thunder, Tippin' with fire the bolt of men

Thet rived the Rebel line asunder?