Page images

And ever in the van of fight,
The foremost still he trod,
Until on bleak Culloden's heath,
He gave his soul to God,

Like a good old Scottish cavalier,

All of the olden time.

Oh! never shall we know again
A heart so stout and true-
The olden times have pass'd away,
And weary are the new:

The fair white rose has faded

From the garden where it grew,

And no fond tears, save those of heaven,
The glorious bed bedew

Of the last old Scottish cavalier,

All of the olden time.


The Sailor's Consolation.

ONE night came on a hurricane,

The sea was mountains rolling,
When Barney Buntline slew'd his quid,
And said to Billy Bowline :
"A strong nor-wester's blowing, Bill;
Hark! don't ye hear it roar now!

Lord help 'em how I pities them

Unhappy folks on shore now.

[ocr errors]

"Fool-hardy chaps as live in towns,
What danger they are all in,

And now lie quaking in their beds,
For fear the roof should fall in!
Poor creatures, how they envies us,
And wishes, I've a notion,

For our good luck in such a storm,
To be upon the ocean!

"And as for them that's out all day,
On business from their houses,
And late at night returning home,
To cheer their babes and spouses;
While you and I, Bill, on the deck
Are comfortably lying,

My eyes! what tiles and chimney-pots
About their heads are flying!

"Both you and I have oftimes heard How men are kill'd and undone,

By overturns from carriages,

By thieves, and fires in London.

We know what risks these landsmen run,

From noblemen to tailors;

Then, Bill, let us thank Providence

That you and I are sailors."


The Lass of Preston-mill.

THE lark had left the evening cloud,
The dew fell soft, the wind was lowne,
Its gentle breath amang the flowers
Scarce stirr'd the thistle's tops of down;
The dappled swallow left the pool,

The stars were blinking o'er the hill,
When I met among the hawthorns green
The lovely lass of Preston-mill.

Her naked feet amang the grass
Shone like two dewy lilies fair;

Her brow beam'd white aneath her locks
Black curling o'er her shoulders bare;
Her cheeks were rich wi' bloomy youth,
Her lips had words and wit at will,
And heaven seem'd looking through her e'en,
The lovely lass of Preston-mill.

Quoth I, "Fair lass, wilt thou gang wi' me,
Where black-cocks crow, and plovers cry?
Six hills are woolly wi' my sheep,
Six vales are lowing wi' my kye.

I have look'd long for a weel-faur'd lass,
By Nithsdale's holms, and many a hill ".
She hung her head like a dew-bent rose,
The lovely lass of Preston-mill.


I said, "Sweet maiden, look not down,

But gie's a kiss, and come with me;' A lovelier face O ne'er look'd up,—

[ocr errors]

The tears were dropping from her e'e. "I hae a lad who's far awa,

That well could win a woman's will; My heart's already full of love,"

Quoth the lovely lass of Preston-mill.

"Now who is he could leave sic a lass,
And seek for love in a far countree ?"
Her tears dropp'd down like simmer dews;
I fain wad kiss'd them frae her e'e.
I took a kiss o' her comely cheek—
"For pity's sake, kind sir, be still;
My heart is full of other love,"

Quoth the lovely lass of Preston-mill.

She streek'd to heaven her twa white hands, And lifted up her watery e'e

"Sae lang 's my heart kens aught o' God, Or light is gladsome to my e'e;

While woods grow green, and burns run clear,
Till my last drop of blood be still,

My heart shall haud nae other love,”
Quoth the lovely lass of Preston-mill.

There's comely maids on Dee's wild banks,
And Nith's romantic vale is fu';
By Ae and Clouden's hermit streams
Dwells many a gentle dame, I trow.

O! they are lights of a bonnie kind,
As ever shone on vale and hill,

But there's ae light puts them all out,―
The lovely lass of Preston-mill.


The Frost.

THE Frost look'd forth, one still clear night,
And whisper'd, "Now I shall be out of sight;
So through the valley and over the height,
In silence I'll take my way:

I will not go on like that blustering train,
The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain,
Who make so much bustle and noise in vain,
But I'll be as busy as they."

Then he flew to the mountain, and powder'd its


He lit on the trees, and their boughs he dress'd
In diamond-beads-and over the breast

Of the quivering lake he spread

A coat of mail, that it need not fear
The downward point of many a spear
That he hung on its margin, far and near,
Where a rock could rear its head.

He went to the windows of those who slept,
And over each pane like a fairy crept ;
Wherever he breathed, wherever he slept,

By the light of the moon were seen

« ՆախորդըՇարունակել »