O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, The thochts o' bygane years Still fling their shadows owre my path, And blind my een wi' tears: They blind my een wi' saut, saut tears; And sair and sick I pine, As Memory idly summons up The blithe blinks o' langsyne.
'Twas then we luvit ilk ither weel, 'Twas then we twa did part; Sweet time, sad time! - twa bairns at schule, Twa bairns, and but ae heart! 'Twas then we sat on ae laigh bink, To leir ilk ither lear; And tones, and looks, and smiles were shed, Remembered evermair.
I wonder, Jeanie, aften yet, When sitting on that bink, Cheek touchin' cheek, loof locked in loof, What our wee heads could think! When baith bent doun owre ae braid page, Wi' ae buik on our knee, Thy lips were on thy lesson, but My lesson was in thee.
Oh, mind ye how we hung our heads, How cheeks brent red wi' shame, Whene'er the schule-weans, laughin', said, We cleek'd thegither hame? And mind ye o' the Saturdays (The schule then skail't at noon), When we ran aff to speel the braes - The broomy braes o' June?
My head rins round and round about, My heart flows like a sea, As, ane by ane, the thochts rush back O' schule-time and o' thee. Oh, mornin' life! Oh, mornin' luve! Oh, lichtsome days and lang, When hinnied hopes around our hearts, Like simmer blossoms, sprang!
Oh, mind ye, luve, how aft we left The deavin' dinsome toun, To wander by the green burnside, And hear its waters croon? The simmer leaves hung owre our heads, The flowers burst round our feet, And in the gloamin' o' the wud The throssil whusslit sweet.
The throssil whusslit in the wud, The burn sung to the trees, And we, with Nature's heart in tune, Concerted harmonies; And on the knowe abune the burn For hours thegither sat In the silentness o' joy, till baith Wi' very gladness grat.
Ay, ay, dear Jeanie Morrison, Tears trinkled doun your cheek, Like dew-beads on a rose, yet nane Had ony power to speak! That was a time, a blessed time, When hearts were fresh and young, When freely gushed all feelings forth, Unsyllabled - unsung!
I marvel, Jeanie Morrison, Gin I hae been to thee As closely twined wi' earliest thochts As ye hae been to me? Oh! tell me gin their music fills Thine ear as it does mine; Oh! say gin e'er your heart grows great Wi' dreamings o' langsyne?
I've wandered east, I've wandered west, I've borne a weary lot; But in my wanderings, far or near, Ye never were forgot. The fount that first burst frae this heart, Still travels on its way; And channels deeper as it rins The luve o' life's young day.
O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, Since we were sindered young, I've never seen your face, nor heard The music o' your tongue; But I could hug all wretchedness, And happy could I dee, Did I but ken your heart still dreamed O' bygane days and me!
William Motherwell [1797-1835]
THE SEA-LANDS
Would I were on the sea-lands, Where winds know how to sting; And in the rocks at midnight The lost long murmurs sing.
Would I were with my first love To hear the rush and roar Of spume below the doorstep And winds upon the door.
My first love was a fair girl With ways forever new; And hair a sunlight yellow, And eyes a morning blue.
The roses, have they tarried Or are they dun and frayed? If we had stayed together, Would love, indeed, have stayed?
Ah, years are filled with learning, And days are leaves of change! And I have met so many I knew . . . and found them strange.
But on the sea-lands tumbled By winds that sting and blind, The nights we watched, so silent, Come back, come back to mind . . .
I mind about my first love, And hear the rush and roar Of spume below the doorstep And winds upon the door.
Orrick Johns [1887-
FAIR INES
O saw ye not fair Ines? She's gone into the West, To dazzle when the sun is down, And rob the world of rest: She took our daylight with her, The smiles that we love best, With morning blushes on her cheek, And pearls upon her breast.
O turn again, fair Ines, Before the fall of night, For fear the Moon should shine alone, And stars unrivaled bright; And blessed will the lover be That walks beneath their light, And breathes the love against thy cheek I dare not even write!
Would I had been, fair Ines, That gallant cavalier, Who rode so gaily by thy side, And whispered thee so near! Were there no bonny dames at home, Or no true lovers here, That he should cross the seas to win The dearest of the dear?
I saw thee, lovely Ines, Descend along the shore, With bands of noble gentlemen, And banners waved before; And gentle youth and maidens gay, And snowy plumes they wore: It would have been a beauteous dream, - If it had been no more!
Alas, alas! fair Ines, She went away with song, With Music waiting on her steps, And shoutings of the throng; But some were sad, and felt no mirth, But only Music's wrong, In sounds that sang Farewell, farewell, To her you've loved so long.
Farewell, farewell, fair Ines! That vessel never bore So fair a lady on its deck, Nor danced so light before, - Alas for pleasure on the sea, And sorrow on the shore! The smile that blessed one lover's heart Has broken many more!
Thomas Hood [1799-1845]
A VALEDICTION
God be with thee, my beloved, - God be with thee! Else alone thou goest forth, Thy face unto the north, Moor and pleasance all around thee and beneath thee Looking equal in one snow; While I, who try to reach thee, Vainly follow, vainly follow With the farewell and the hollo, And cannot reach thee so. Alas, I can but teach thee! God be with thee, my beloved, - God be with thee!
Can I teach thee, my beloved, - can I teach thee? If I said, "Go left or right," The counsel would be light, The wisdom, poor of all that could enrich thee; My right would show like left; My raising would depress thee, My choice of light would blind thee, Of way - would leave behind thee, Of end - would leave bereft. Alas, I can but bless thee! May God teach thee, my beloved, - may God teach thee!
Can I bless thee, my beloved, - can I bless thee? What blessing word can I From mine own tears keep dry? What flowers grow in my field wherewith to dress thee? My good reverts to ill; My calmnesses would move thee, My softnesses would prick thee, My bindings up would break thee, My crownings curse and kill. Alas, I can but love thee! May God bless thee, my beloved, - may God bless thee!
Can I love thee, my beloved, - can I love thee? And is this like love, to stand With no help in my hand, When strong as death I fain would watch above thee? My love-kiss can deny No tear that falls beneath it; Mine oath of love can swear thee From no ill that comes near thee, And thou diest while I breathe it, And I - I can but die! May God love thee, my beloved, - may God love thee!
Elizabeth Barrett Browning [1806-1861]
FAREWELL
Thou goest; to what distant place Wilt thou thy sunlight carry? I stay with cold and clouded face: How long am I to tarry? Where'er thou goest, morn will be; Thou leavest night and gloom to me.
The night and gloom I can but take; I do not grudge thy splendor: Bid souls of eager men awake; Be kind and bright and tender. Give day to other worlds; for me It must suffice to dream of thee.
John Addington Symonds [1840-1893]
"I DO NOT LOVE THEE"
I do not love thee! - no! I do not love thee! And yet when thou art absent I am sad; And envy even the bright blue sky above thee, Whose quiet stars may see thee and be glad.
I do not love thee! - yet, I know not why, Whate'er thou dost seems still well done, to me: And often in my solitude I sigh That those I do love are not more like thee!
I do not love thee! - yet, when thou art gone, I hate the sound (though those who speak be near) Which breaks the lingering echo of the tone Thy voice of music leaves upon my ear.
I do not love thee! - yet thy speaking eyes, With their deep, bright, and most expressive blue, Between me and the midnight heaven arise, Oftener than any eyes I ever knew.
I know I do not love thee! - yet, alas! Others will scarcely trust my candid heart; And oft I catch them smiling as they pass, Because they see me gazing where thou art.
Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton [1808-1870]
THE PALM-TREE AND THE PINE
Beneath an Indian palm a girl Of other blood reposes, Her cheek is clear and pale as pearl, Amid that wild of roses.
Beside a northern pine a boy Is leaning fancy-bound, Nor listens where with noisy joy Awaits the impatient hound.
Cool grows the sick and feverish calm, - Relaxed the frosty twine, - The pine-tree dreameth of the palm, The palm-tree of the pine.
As soon shall nature interlace Those dimly-visioned boughs, As these young lovers face to face Renew their early vows!
Richard Monckton Milnes [1809-1885]
"O SWALLOW, SWALLOW, FLYING SOUTH" From "The Princess"
O Swallow, Swallow, flying, flying South, Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded eaves, And tell her, tell her what I tell to thee.
O, tell her, Swallow, thou that knowest each, That bright and fierce and fickle is the South, And dark and true and tender is the North.
O Swallow, Swallow, if I could follow, and light Upon her lattice, I would pipe and trill, And cheep and twitter twenty million loves.