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Tell her, that wastes her time and me,
That now she knows,
Tell her, that's young
That hadst thou sprung
Small is the worth
Bid her come forth,
Then die! that she
May read in thee:
heart is a-breaking, dear Tittie!
Some counsel unto me come len'; To anger them a' is a pity,
But what will I do wi' Tam Glen ?
I'm thinking, wi' sic a braw fallow,
In poortith I might mak a fen’; What care I in riches to wallow, If I may not marry
Tam Glen ?
There's Laurie the laird o' Drumeller,
“ Guid day to you,”—brute! he comes ben: He brags and he blaws o' his siller,
But when will be dance like Tam Glen ?
My minnie does constantly deave me,
And bids me beware o' young men ; They flatter, she says, to deceive me,
But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen ?
My daddie says, gin I'll forsak' him
He'll gie me guid hunder marks ten,But if its ordain'd I maun tak' him,
O wha will I get but Tam Glen?
Yestreen at the Valentine's dealing
My heart to my mou' gied a sten; For thrice I drew ane without failing,
And thrice it was written_Tam Glen.
The last Halloween I lay waukin
My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken,
His likeness cam up the house staulkin,
And the vera grey breeks o' Tam Glen!
Come counsel, dear Tittie,—don't tarry!
I'll gie you my bonnie black hen
will advise me to marry
ODE TO EVENING.
I , modest
Faught of oaten stop or pastoral song
(Like thy own emn springs,
Thy springs, and dying gales); O Nymph reserved, -while now the bright-hair'd
Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts,
With brede ethereal wove,
O'erhang his wavy bed, And air is hush'd, save where the weak-eyed bat With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing,
Or where the beetle winds
His small but sullen horn,
Now teach me, Maid composed,
To breathe some soften'd strain, Whose numbers, stealing through thy darkening
As, musing slow, I hail
For when thy folding-star arising shows
The fragrant Hours, and Elves
Who slept in buds the day, And many a Nymph who wreathes her brow with
sedge And sheds the freshening dew, and, lovelier still,
The pensive Pleasures sweet,
Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene; Or find some ruin ʼmidst its dreary dells,
Whose walls more awful nod
By thy religious gleams.
That from the mountain-side
Views wilds, and swelling floods,
Thy dewy fingers draw
While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont, And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve!
While Summer loves to sport
Beneath thy lingering light:
Affrights thy shrinking train,
And rudely rends thy robes, [Till thou hast refuged where the cheerful glow Bids welcome, and the wind-unshaken lamp,
To household mirth and song,
And dear domestic joy :]
Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace,
Thy gentlest influence own,
OU thought my heart too far diseased ;
You wonder when my fancies play
gay, Like one with any trifle pleased.
The shade by which my life was crost,
Which makes a desert in the mind,
Has made me kindly with my kind, And like to him whose sight is lost ;
Whose feet are guided through the land,
Whose jest among his friends is free,
Who takes the children on his knee, And winds their curls about his hand :
He plays with threads, he beats his chair
For pastime, dreaming of the sky;
His inner day can never die,