The Household Book of Poetry

STANZAS FOR MUSIC.

THERE be none of beauty's daughters

With a magic like thee;
And like music on the waters

Is thy sweet voice to me:
When, as if its sound were causing
The charmed ocean's pausing,
The waves lie still and gleaming,
And the lulled winds seem dreaming,

And the midnight moon is weaving
Her bright chain o'er the deep,
Whose breast is gently heaving,

As an infant's asleep;

So the spirit bows before thee,

To listen and adore thee

With a full but soft emotion,

Like the swell of summer's ocean.

LORD BYRON.

HERE'S A HEALTH TO ANE I LO’E

DEAR.

Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear,

Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear;

Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers

meet,

And soft as the parting tear-Jessy!

ALTHо' thou maun never be mine,
Altho' even hope is denied,
'Tis sweeter for thee despairing

Than aught in the world beside-Jessy!

I mourn thro' the gay, gaudy day,

As, hopeless, I muse on thy charms;
But welcome the dream o' sweet slumber,
For then I am locked in thy arms-Jessy!

I guess by the dear angel smile,

I guess by the love-rolling ee;

But why urge the tender confession

'Gainst fortune's fell cruel decree-Jessy!

Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear,
Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear;

CA' THE YOWES TO THE KNOWES.

Ca' the yowes to the knowes,

Ca' them where the heather grows,
Ca' them where the burnie rows,

My bonnie dearie.

HARK the mavis' evening sang
Sounding Clouden's woods amang;
Then a faulding let us gang,

My bonnie dearie.

We'll gae down by Clouden side,
Thro' the hazels spreading wide,
O'er the waves that sweetly glide
To the moon sae clearly.
Yonder Clouden's silent towers,
Where at moonshine, midnight hours,
O'er the dewy bending flowers,
Fairies dance sae cheery.

Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear;
Thou 'rt to love and heaven sae dear,
Nocht of ill may come thee near,

My bonnie dearie.

Fair and lovely as thou art,
Thou hast stown my very heart;

I can die-but canna part,
My bonnie dearie.

While waters wimple to the sea,
While day blinks in the lift sae hie,
Till clay-cauld death shall blin' my ee,
Ye shall be my dearie.

Ca' the yowes to the knowes,
Ca' them where the heather grows
Ca' them where the burnie rows,
My bonnie dearie.

ROBERT BURNS.

FAREWELL TO NANCY.

AE fond kiss and then we sever!
Ae fareweel, alas! for ever!

Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee;
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage
thee.

Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers Who shall say that fortune grieves him,

meet,

And soft as the parting tear-Jessy!

ROBERT BURNS.

While the star of hope she leaves him?
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me;
Dark despair around benights me.

THE LASS OF BALLOCHMYLE.

I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy-
Naething could resist my Nancy :
But to see her was to love her,
Love but her, and love for ever.
Had we never loved sae kindly,
Had we never loved sae blindly,
Never met or never parted,

We had ne'er been broken-hearted.

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest!
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest!
Thine be ilka joy and treasure,
Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure!
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever!
Ae fareweel, alas! for ever!

Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee;
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.

ROBERT BURNS.

OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW.

OF a' the airts the wind can blaw,

I dearly like the west;

For there the bonnie lassie lives,

The lassie I lo'e best.

There wild woods grow, and rivers row,

And monie a hill's between;

But day and night my fancy's flight
Is ever wi' my Jean.

I see her in the dewy flowers,

I see her sweet and fair;

I hear her in the tunefu' birds,

I hear her charm the air;

There's not a bonnie flower that springs
By fountain, shaw, or green-
There's not a bonnie bird that sings,
But minds me of my Jean.

ROBERT BURNS.

A RED, RED ROSE.

Оn, my luve's like a red, red rose, That's newly sprung in June; Oh, my luve's like the melodie That 's sweetly played in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I;

And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry—
Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
I will luve thee still, my dear,

While the sands of life shall run.

201

Fair is the morn in flowery May,

And sweet is night in autumn mild, When roving thro' the garden gay,

Or wandering in a lonely wild; But woman, nature's darling child! There all her charms she does compile Ev'n there her other works are foiled

By the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. Oh, had she been a country maid,

And I the happy country swain, Tho' sheltered in the lowest shed

That ever rose in Scotland's plain! Thro' weary winter's wind and rain

With joy, with rapture, I would toil, And nightly to my bosom strain

The bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle.

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