He passed his hours in peace. But while he viewed his wealth increase, While thus along life's dusty road The beaten track content he trod, Old Time, whose haste no mortal spares, Uncalled, unheeded, unawares, Brought on his eightieth year. The unwelcome messenger of Fate Half killed with anger and surprise, "So soon returned!" Old Dodson cries. "So soon, d'ye call it!" Death replies; "Surely, my friend, you 're but in jest! Since I was here before "T is six-and-thirty years at least, And you are now fourscore." "So much the worse," the clown rejoined; "To spare the aged would be kind: However, see your search be legal; And your authority, -is 't regal? Else you are come on a fool's errand, With but a secretary's warrant. Beside, you promised me three warnings, Which I have looked for nights and mornings; But for that loss of time and ease "I know," cries Death, "that at the I seldom am a welcome guest; "Hold," says the farmer, "not so fast! I have been lame these four years past. "And no great wonder," Death replies: "However, you still keep your eyes; And sure to see one's loves and friends For legs and arms would make amends." "Perhaps," says Dodson, "soit might, But latterly I've lost my sight." "This is a shocking tale, 't is true; But still there 's comfort left for you: Each strives your sadness to amuse; I warrant you hear all the news." "There's none," cries he; and if there were, I'm grown so deaf, I could not hear." "Nay, then," the spectre stern rejoined, "These are unjustifiable yearnings: So come along, no more we 'll part." ANNA L. BARBAULD. [1743-1825.] THE SABBATH OF THE SOUL. SLEEP, sleep to-day, tormenting cares, Of earth and folly born; Ye shall not dim the light that streams To-morrow will be time enough Sleep, sleep forever, guilty thoughts; THE DEATH OF THE VIRTUOUS. SWEET is the scene when virtue dies! When sinks a righteous soul to rest, How mildly beam the closing eyes, How gently heaves the expiring breast! So fades a summer cloud away, So sinks the gale when storins are o'er, So gently shuts the eye of day, So dies a wave along the shore. Triumphant smiles the victor brow, Fanned by some angel's purple wing;Where is, O grave! thy victory now? And where, insidious death! thy sting? Farewell, conflicting joys and fears, Where light and shade alternate dwell! JOHN LOGAN. [1748 - 1788.] TO THE CUCKOO. HAIL, beauteous stranger of the grove! What time the daisy decks the green, Thy certain voice we hear; Delightful visitant! with thee I hail the time of flowers, And hear the sound of music sweet The school-boy, wandering through the wood To pull the primrose gay, Starts, the new voice of spring to hear, What time the pea puts on the bloom, An annual guest in other lands, Sweet bird thy bower is ever green, No winter in thy year! O, could I fly, I'd fly with thee! YARROW STREAM. THY banks were bonnie, Yarrow stream, WALY, WALY, BUT LOVE BE BONNY And waly, waly down the brae, O, waly, waly, but love is bonny, And fades away like morning dew. And says he 'll never love me mair. Now Arthur-Seat shall be my bed, The sheets shall ne'er be filled by me; UNKNOWN. Saint Anton's well shall be my drink, Since my true love 's forsaken me, Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw, And shake the green leaves off the tree? O gentle death! when wilt thou come? For of my life I am weary. 'Tis not the frost that freezes fell, Nor blowing snow's inclemency; "T is not sic cauld that makes me cry, But my love's heart grown cauld to me. When we came in by Glasgow town, We were a comely sight to see; My love was clad in the black velvet, And I mysel' in cramasie. But had I wist, before I kissed, That love had been so ill to win, I'd locked my heart in a case of gold, And pinned it with a silver pin. And O, if my young babe were born, And set upon the nurse's knee, And I mysel' were dead and gane, Wi' the green grass growing over me! UNKNOWN. LADY MARY ANN. O, LADY MARY ANN looked o'er the cas tle wa', She saw three bonnie boys playing at the ba', The youngest he was the flower amang them a': My bonnie laddie's young, but he's growin' yet. "O father, O father, an' ye think it fit, We'll send him a year to the college yet: We'll sew a green ribbon round about his hat, And that will let them ken he's to marry yet." Lady Mary Ann was a flower in the dew, Sweet was its smell, and bonnie was its hue, And the langer it blossomed the sweeter it grew; For the lily in the bud will be bonnier yet. 77 Young Charlie Cochran was the sprout of an aik, Bonnie and blooming and straight was its make, The sun took delight to shine for its sake; And it will be the brag o' the forest yet. The summer is gone when the leaves they were green, And the days are awa' that we hae seen, But far better days I trust will come again; For my bonnie laddie's young, but he's growing yet. UNKNOWN. THE BOATIE ROWS. O, WEEL may the boatie row, And better may she speed; And liesome may the boatie row That wins the bairnies' bread. The boatie rows, the boatie rows, The boatic rows indeed; And weel may the boatie row That wins the bairnies' bread. I coost my line in Largo Bay, The boatie rows indeed, Wha wishes her to speed. O, weel may the boatie row, That fills a heavy creel, And cleeds us a' frae tap to tae, And buys our parritch meal. The boatie rows, the boatie rows, The boatie rows, indeed, And happy be the lot o' a' That wish the boatie speed. When Jamie vowed he wad be nine, My kurtch I put upo' my head, I trow my heart was dough and wae, And lightsome be the lassie's care UNKNOWN. GLENLOGIE. THREESCOKE O' nobles rade up the king's ha', But bonnie Glenlogie's the flower o' them a', Wi' his milk-white steed and his bonnie black e'e, The next line that he read, the tear blindit his e'e; But the last line that he read, he gart the table flee. "Gar saddle the black horse, gar saddle the brown; Gar saddle the swiftest steed e'er rade frae a town": But lang ere the horse was drawn and brought to the green, O, bonnie Glenlogie was twa mile his lane. When he came to Glenfeldy's door, little mirth was there; Bonnie Jean's mother was tearing her hair. "Ye're welcome, Glenlogie, ye 're welcome," said she, "Ye 're welcome, Glenlogie, your Jeanie to see. "Glenlogie, dear mither, Glenlogie for Pale and wan was she, when Glenlogie me!" gaed ben, But red and rosy grew she, whene'er he sat down; She turned awa' her head, but the smile was in her e'e, "O, binna feared, mither, I'll maybe no dee." UNKNOWN. JOHN DAVIDSON. JOHN DAVIDSON and Tib his wife "Guidwife!" quo' John, "did ye see that inouse? Whar sorra was the cat?" "A mouse?"-"Ay, a mouse."-"Na, na, Guidman, It wasna a mouse, 't was a rat." "Oh, oh! Guidwife, to think ye've been Sae lang about the house An' no to ken a mouse frae a rat! Yon wasna a rat, but a mouse!" "I've seen mair mice than you, Guid man, An' what think ye o' that? |