And keenly felt the friendly glow, Reader, attend,-whether thy soul Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, Or darkling grubs this earthly hole, In low pursuit; Know prudent, cautious self-control Is wisdom's root. ELEGY ON CAPTAIN MATTHEW HENDERSON. HE's gane, he 's gane! he's frae us torn, Ye hills, near neebors o' the starns, That proudly cock your cresting cairns! Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns Where echo slumbers! Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns, Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens! Or foaming strang, wi' hasty stens, Mourn, little harebells o'er the lea; At dawn, when every grassy blade Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood; Ye whistling plover; And mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood; He's gane forever! Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals; Mourn, clam'ring craiks at close o' day, Ye howlets, frae your ivy bow'r, Wail thro' the dreary midnight hour O rivers, forests, hills, and plains! Oft have ye heard my canty strains; But now, what else for me remains But tales of woe? And frae my een the drapping rains Maun ever flow. Mourn, Spring, thou darling of the year! Thy gay, green, flow'ry tresses shear Thou, Autumn, wi' thy yellow hair, Mourn him, thou Sun, great source of light; O Henderson; the man! the brother! And art thou gone, and gone forever! And hast thou crost that unknown river, Life's dreary bound! Like thee, where shall I find another, The world around? Go to your sculptured tombs, ye Great, In a' the tinsel trash o' state! my ee, While my gudeman lies sound by me. Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and socht me for his bride; But saving a croun, he had naething else beside; To mak that croun a pund, my Jamie gaed to sea; And the croun and the pund they were baith for me. He hadna been gane a twelvemonth and a day, When my father brak his arm, and the cow was stown awa: My mither she fell sick,—my Jamie was at sea, And auld Robin Gray cam' a-courtin' me. My father couldna work, and my mother couldna spin; I I toiled day and nicht, but their bread couldna win; Auld Rob maintained them baith, and, wi' tears in his ee', Said, "Jeannie, for their sakes, will ye na marry me?" My heart it said nay, for I looked for Jamie back; But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrack; The ship it was a wrack-why didna Jamie dee? Or why do I live to say, Wae's me? My father urged me sair: my mither didna speak; But she lookit in my face till my heart vas like to break; They gied him my hand, though my heart was in the sea; And auld Robin Gray was gudeman to me. I hadna been a wife a week but only four, When, mournfu' as I sat on the stane at my door, I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I couldna think it he, Till he said, "I'm come home, love, to marry thee." O, sair did we greet, and muckle say of a'! I gie'd him but ae kiss, and bade him gang awa': I wish I were dead! but I'm no like to dee; And why do I live to cry, Wae 's me? I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin; I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin; But I'll do my best a gude wife to be, For auld Robin Gray, he is kind to me. WILLIAM BLAKE. [1757-1827.] THE TIGER. TIGER! Tiger! burning bright, And what shoulder, and what art, What the hammer, what the chain? When the stars threw down their spears, Did he smile his work to see? Tiger! Tiger! burning bright, Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? TO THE MUSES. WHETHER on Ida's shady brow Or in the chambers of the East, The chambers of the sun, which now From ancient melodies have ceased; Whether in Heaven ye wander fair, Or the green corners of the earth, Or the blue regions of the air, Where the melodious winds have birth, Whether on crystal rocks ye rove, Beneath the bosom of the sea, How have you left the ancient lore I hear below the water roar, The mill wi' clacking din, O, no! sad and slow, These are nae sounds for me; I coft yestreen, frae chapman Tam, And promised, when our trysting cam', O, no! sad and slow, The mark it winna' pass; The shadow o' that dreary bush O now I see her on the way! She's past the witch's knowe; She's climbing up the brownies brae; My heart is in a lowe, O, no! 't is not so, 'Tis glamrie I hae seen; The shadow o' that hawthorn bush My book o' grace I'll try to read, O, no! sad and slow, The time will ne'er be gane; The shadow o' our trysting bush Is fixed like ony stane. JOANNA BAILLIE. [1762-1831.] THE GOWAN GLITTERS ON THE THE gowan glitters on the sward, O, no! sad and slow, And lengthened on the ground; My sheep-bells tinkle frae the west, O, no! sad and slow, The shadow lingers still; LADY CAROLINE NAIRN. [1766-1845.] THE LAND O' THE LEAL. I'm wearin' awa', Jean, To the Land o' the Leal. In the Land o' the Leal. You've been leal and true, Jean, Your task is ended noo, Jean, And I'll welcome you To the Land o' the Leal. ROBERT TANNAHILL. [1774-1810.] THE MIDGES DANCE ABOON THE THE midges dance aboon the burn; The paitricks down the rushy holm Beneath the golden gloamin' sky Gaes jinking through the thorn. The honeysuckle and the birk Let others crowd the giddy court Of mirth and revelry, The simple joys that Nature yields THE BRAES O' BALQUHITHER. LET us go, lassie, go, To the braes o' Balquhither, Where the blae-berries grow 'Mang the bonnie Highland heather; Where the deer and the roe, Lightly bounding together, Sport the lang summer day On the braes o' Balquhither. I will twine thee a bower By the clear siller fountain, Wi' the flowers of the mountain; To the bower o' my dearie. When the rude wintry win' Idly raves round our dwelling, |