And whilst our souls negotiate there, We like sepulchral statues lay: All day the same our postures were, And we said nothing all the day. If any, so by love refined, That he soul's language understood, And by good love were grown all mind, Within convenient distance stood, He, (though he knew not which soul spoke, Because both meant, both spoke the same,) Might thence a new concoction take, We see, move: An' a lovelier light in the brow of heaven Fell time shall ne'er destroy. Thy lips were ruddy and calm, my lassie, Thy lips were ruddy and calm; But gane was the holy breath of heaven To sing the evening psalm. There's nought but dust now mine, lassie, There's nought but dust now mine; My saul's wi thee in the cauld grave, An' why should I stay behin'? CUNNINGHAM. THE PEASANT'S RETURN. AND passing here through evening dew, He hastened happy to her door, For she wer gone from earthly eyes The moth did eat her Sunday cape; WILLIAM BARNES, |