But what he had to dine upon, In faith I shall not say; But I'll wager he'll not come again For it's thump, thump, &c. On the sad morning when I rise, For it's thump, thump, &c. Come to me when Evening flings. Her shadows o'er Night's dusky wings: Full-orb'd, on plain and upland beameth, And through the depths of ether streameth. Come to me then-it is the hour, While night conceals her joyous blushing, Tales not meet for maiden's ear, From passion's lips like spring-tides gushing. Come to me then, when ev'ning flings Her shadows o'er earth's fairest things; When sadly sweet, from distant grove, Is heard the night-bird's plaintive numbers, And all around, beneath, above, Seems hush'd as infants' dreamless slumbers. The Braes of Balquhither. To the braes of Balquhither, I will twine thee a bow'r, Wi' the flow'rs o' the mountain. To the bower o' my dearie. When the rude wintry wind Idly raves round our dwelling, On the night breeze is swelling, As the storm rattles o'er us, Wi' the light lilting chorus. Now the summer is in prime Wi' the flow'rs richly blooming, 'Mang the braes of Balquhither. The Downhill of Life. In the downhill of life when I find I'm declining, May my fate no less fortunate be, Than a snug elbow-chair can afford for reclining, And a cot that o'erlooks the wide sea; With an ambling pad pony to pace o'er the lawn, While I carol away idle sorrow; And blithe as the lark that each day hails the dawn, Look forward with hope for to-morrow. With a porch at my door both for shelter and shade too, As the sunshine or rain may prevail, And a small spot of ground for the use of the spade too, With a barn for the use of the flail; A cow for my dairy, a dog for my game, And a purse when my friend wants to borrow; I'd envy no nabob his riches or fame, Or the honors that wait him to-morrow. From the bleak northern blast, may my cot be completely Secur'd by a neighboring hill, And at night may repose steal on me more sweetly, And while peace and plenty I find at my board, And when I at last must throw off this frail covering, But my face in the glass I'll serenely survey, And with smiles count each wrinkle and furrow; And this worn-out old stuff, which is threadbare to-day, May become everlasting to-morrow. Oh! Hush the Soft Sigh. Oh! hush the soft sigh, maid, and dry the sweet tear, When its balm breathing dew I delighted to sip, At noon when the rose's warm blush thou shalt see, Oh! think of the wreaths thou hast woven for me! At night when the moon in mild splendor shall move, Oh! view that fair planet, and think how I love. Eveleen's Eower. Oh weep for the hour, When to Eveleen's bower The lord of the valley with false vows came; From the heavens that night, And wept behind the clouds o'er the maiden's shame. The clouds past soon From the chaste cold moon, And heaven smil'd again with her vestal flame; When the clouds shall pass away, Which that dark hour left upon Eveleen's fame, On the narrow path-way Where the lord of the valley cross'd over the moor; And many a deep print On the white snow's tint, Show'd the track of his footstep to Eveleen's door. Soon melted away Ev'ry trace on the path where the false lord came; But there's a light above Which alone can remove That stain upon the snow of fair Eveleen's fame. The Wounded Hussar. Alone to the banks of the dark-rolling Danube Hussar ! From his bosom that heav'd, the last torrent was streaming, And pale was his visage deep mark'd with a scar; And dim was that eye, once expressively beaming, That melted in love, and that kindled in war! How smit was poor Adelaide's heart at the sight! How bitter she wept o'er the victim of war; Hast thou come, my fond love, this last sorrowful night, To cheer the lone heart of your wounded Hussar? Thou shalt live, she replied, heaven's mercy, relieving Each anguishing wound, shall forbid me to mourn! Ah, no! the last pang in my bosom is heaving; No light of the morn shall to Henry return! Thou charmer of life, ever tender and true! Ye babes of my love that await me afar! His faltering tongue scarce could murmur adieu, When he sunk in her arms, the poor wounded Hussar ! |