They thought that she was fast asleep, By the craggy hillside, As dig them up in spite, He shall find their sharpest thorns Up the airy mountain, And white owl's feather! William Allingham. AULD ROBIN GRAY 35 AULD ROBIN GRAY 1 WHEN the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame, And a' the warld to rest are gane, The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e, While my gudeman lies sound by me. Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his bride; But saving a croun he had naething else beside : sea; And the croun and the pund were baith for me. He hadna been awa' a week but only twa, When my father brak his arm, and the cow was stown awa'; My mother she fell sick, and my Jamie at the sea And auld Robin Gray came a-courtin' me. My father couldna work, and my mother couldna spin ; I toiled day and night, but their bread I couldna win; Auld Rob maintained them baith, and wi' tears in his e'e Said, "Jennie, for their sakes, oh, marry me!" 1 Note 3. My heart it said nay; I looked for Jamie back; But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrack, His ship it was a wrack why didna Jamie dee, Or why do I live to cry, Wae 's me? My father urgit sair: my mother didna speak; break : They gi'ed him my hand, but my heart was at the sea: Sae auld Robin Gray he was gudeman to me. I hadna been a wife a week but only four, Till he said, "I'm come hame to marry thee." Oh, sair, sair did we greet, and muckle did we say; We took but ae kiss, and I bad him gang away : I wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to dee; And why was I born to say, Wae's me! I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin; I daurna think on Jamie, for that waud be a sin; For auld Robin Gray he is kind unto me. JEAN-TO A WATERFOWL 37 JEAN Or a' the airts the wind can blaw, For there the bonnie lassie lives, There wild woods grow and rivers row, But day and night my fancy's flight I see her in the dewy flowers, I hear her charm the air: There's not a bonnie flower that springs But minds me o' my Jean. Robert Burns. TO A WATERFOWL WHITHER, 'midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, Thy figure floats along. Seek'st thou the plashy brink Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast, The desert and illimitable air, Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere; And soon that toil shall end; Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend Soon o'er thy sheltered nest. Thou 'rt gone, the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form, yet on my heart Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, He who from zone to zone Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone Will lead my steps aright. William Cullen Bryant. |