Since I noo mwore do zee your feace,
Up steairs or down below,
I’ll zit me in the lwonesome pleace,
Where flat-bough’d beech do grow;
Last Easter Jim put on his blue
Frock cwoat, the vu'st time-vier new;
Wi' yollow buttons all o' brass,
That glitter'd in the zun lik' glass;
Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan
For that deep wound it gives my friend and me!
Is't not enough to torture me alone,
But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be?
BY yon Castle wa’, at the close of the day,
I heard a man sing, tho’ his head it was grey:
And as he was singing, the tears doon came,—
There’ll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.
OCTOBER, 1818.
Many a green isle needs must be
In the deep wide sea of Misery,
Or the mariner, worn and wan,
SO shuts the marigold her leaves
At the departure of the sun;
So from the honeysuckle sheaves
The bee goes when the day is done;
In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes,
For they in thee a thousand errors note;
But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise,
Who, in despite of view, is pleased to dote.
MILD is the parting year, and sweet
The odour of the falling spray;
Life passes on more rudely fleet,
And balmless is its closing day.
The good Will of a Flower
The Man who would possess
Must first present
Certificate
Since our Country, our God--Oh, my Sire!
Demand that thy Daughter expire;
Since thy triumph was bought by thy vow--
Strike the bosom that's bared for thee now!
Oh, be thou blest with all that Heaven can send,
Long health, long youth, long pleasure, and a friend:
Not with those toys the female world admire,
Riches that vex, and vanities that tire.
WE never said farewell, nor even looked
Our last upon each other, for no sign
Was made when we the linkèd chain unhooked
And broke the level line.
Woman's faith, and woman's trust -
Write the characters in the dust;
Stamp them on the running stream,
Print them on the moon's pale beam,
I dreamed that, as I wandered by the way,
Bare Winter suddenly was changed to Spring,
And gentle odours led my steps astray,
Mixed with a sound of waters murmuring
OLD Man, or Lad's-love,--in the name there's
nothing
To one that knows not Lad's-love, or Old Man,
The hoar-green feathery herb, almost a tree,
Strike the gay harp! see the moon is on high,
And, as true to her beam as the tides of the ocean,
Young hearts, when they feel the soft light of her eye,
Obey the mute call, and heave into motion.
The "Origin of Love!"--Ah, why
That cruel question ask of me,
When thou mayst read in many an eye
He starts to life on seeing thee?
Weep with me, all you that read
This little story;
And know, for whom a tear you shed
Death's self is sorry.
GANE is the day, and mirk’s the night,
But we’ll ne’er stray for faut o’ light;
Gude ale and bratdy’s stars and moon,
And blue-red wine’s the risin’ sun.
You have asked for a verse:--the request
In a rhymer 'twere strange to deny;
But my Hippocrene was but my breast,
And my feelings (its fountain) are dry.