O cherry, cherry was her cheek, And first he kissed her cherry cheek, 'O wae betide my cruel mother! She turned my true love frae my door, 'O wae betide my cruel mother, An ill death maun she die ! She turned fair Annie from my door, Wha died for love o' me.' Scottish Border Minstrelsy. [Glossary. -Jimp, slender; tows, ropes; jawing, dashing.] COME O'ER THE SEA. COME o'er the sea, Maiden! with me, Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows. But the true soul Burns the same where'er it goes. Let fate frown on, so we love and part not; 'Tis life where thou art, 'tis death where thou art not! Then come o'er the sea, Maiden! with me; Come wherever the wild wind blows. Seasons may roll, But the true soul Burns the same where'er it goes. Is not the sea Made for the free, Land, for courts and chains alone? Here we are slaves, But on the waves, Love and liberty's all our own. No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us, All earth forgot, and all heaven around us! Then come o'er the sea, Come wherever the wild wind blows. Seasons may roll, But the true soul Burns the same where'er it goes. MOORE. BY THE ROLLING WAVES. By the rolling waves I roam, And look along the sea, And dream of the day and the gleaming sail, That bore my love from me. His bark now sails the Indian seas, Far down the summer zone : But his thoughts, like swallows, fly to me By the northern waves alone Nor will he delay, when winds are fair, But haste, my love! or my grave will be made, By the sad and moaning sea. R. H. STODDARD. SONG. COME on the bright sea lonely, Come homeless and friendless, and only My boat on the blue wave heaves: With its pennons, mast, and keel; 'Tis but a little shell But there I am king! The Earth is made for the slave, O maiden free! But for man, the true and brave, Waves whisper in their flow A mystery Of a secret spell they know, Of Life and of Love, and oh! Of Liberty! From the French of DE VIGNY. O MAID OF ISLA. O MAID of Isla, from the cliff Contend with ocean gallantly? Now beating 'gainst the breeze and surge, Why does she war unequal urge ? · O Isla's maid, she seeks her home! O Isla's maid, yon sea-bird mark! Her white wing gleams through mist and spray Against the storm-cloud lowering dark, As to the rock she wheels away. Where clouds are dark and billows rave, O maid of Isla, 't is her home! SCOTT. |