THE sun descending in the west, The evening star does shine; The birds are silent in their nest.
And I must seek for mine.
The moon, like a flower In heaven"s high bower, With silent delight Sits and smiles on the night.
Farewell, green fields and happy grove, Where flocks have took delight: Where lambs have nibbled, silent move The feet of angels bright; Unseen they pour blessing And joy without ceasing On each bud and blossom, And each sleeping bosom.
They look in every thoughtless nest Where birds are cover"d warm; They visit caves of every beast, To keep them all from harm: If they see any weeping That should have been sleeping, They pour sleep on their head, And sit down by their bed.
When wolves and tigers howl for prey, They pitying stand and weep, Seeking to drive their thirst away And keep them from the sheep.
But, if they rush dreadful, The angels, most heedful, Receive each mild spirit, New worlds to inherit.
And there the lion"s ruddy eyes Shall flow with tears of gold: And pitying the tender cries, And walking round the fold: Saying, "Wrath, by His meekness, And, by His health, sickness, Are driven away From our immortal day.
"And now beside thee, bleating lamb, I can lie down and sleep, Or think on Him who bore thy name, Graze after thee, and weep.
For, wash"d in life"s river, My bright mane for ever Shall shine like the gold As I guard o"er the fold."
William Blake. 1757-1827
492. Love"s Secret
NEVER seek to tell thy love, Love that never told can be; For the gentle wind doth move Silently, invisibly.
I told my love, I told my love, I told her all my heart, Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears.
Ah! she did depart!
Soon after she was gone from me, A traveller came by, Silently, invisibly: He took her with a sigh.
Robert Burns. 1759-1796
493. Mary Morison
O MARY, at thy window be, It is the wish"d, the trysted hour!
Those smiles and glances let me see, That make the miser"s treasure poor: How blythely wad I bide the stour A weary slave frae sun to sun, Could I the rich reward secure, The lovely Mary Morison!
Yestreen, when to the trembling string The dance gaed thro" the lighted ha", To thee my fancy took its wing, I sat, but neither heard nor saw: Tho" this was fair, and that was braw, And yon the toast of a" the town, I sigh"d, and said amang them a", "Ye arena Mary Morison."
O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, Wha for thy sake wad gladly die?
Or canst thou break that heart of his, Whase only faut is loving thee?
If love for love thou wiltna gie, At least be pity to me shown; A thought ungentle canna be The thought o" Mary Morison.
stour] dust, turmoil.
Robert Burns. 1759-1796
494. Jean
OF a" the airts the wind can blaw, I dearly like the west, For there the bonnie la.s.sie lives, The la.s.sie I lo"e best: There wild woods grow, and rivers row, And monie a hill 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 o" my Jean.
airts] points of the compa.s.s. row] roll.
Robert Burns. 1759-1796
495. Auld Lang Syne
SHOULD auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to min"?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And days o" lang syne?
We twa hae rin about the braes, And pu"d the gowans fine; But we"ve wander"d monie a weary fit Sin" auld lang syne.
We twa hae paidl"t i" the burn, Frae mornin" sun till dine; But seas between us braid hae roar"d Sin" auld lang syne.
And here "s a hand, my trusty fiere, And gie"s a hand o" thine; And we"ll tak a right guid-willie waught For auld lang syne.
And surely ye"ll be your pint-stowp, And surely I"ll be mine; And we"ll tak a cup o" kindness yet For auld lang syne!
For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We"ll tak a cup o" kindness yet For auld lang syne.
gowans] daisies. fit] foot. dine] dinner-time. fiere]
partner. guid-willie waught] friendly draught.
Robert Burns. 1759-1796
496. My Bonnie Mary
GO fetch to me a pint o" wine, An" fill it in a silver ta.s.sie, That I may drink, before I go, A service to my bonnie la.s.sie.
The boat rocks at the pier o" Leith, Fu" loud the wind blaws frae the ferry, The ship rides by the Berwick-law, And I maun leave my bonnie Mary.
The trumpets sound, the banners fly, The glittering spears are ranked ready; The shouts o" war are heard afar, The battle closes thick and b.l.o.o.d.y; But it "s no the roar o" sea or sh.o.r.e Wad mak me langer wish to tarry; Nor shout o" war that "s heard afar-- It "s leaving thee, my bonnie Mary!
ta.s.sie] cup.
Robert Burns. 1759-1796
497. John Anderson, my Jo
JOHN ANDERSON, my jo, John, When we were first acquent, Your locks were like the raven, Your bonnie brow was brent; But now your brow is beld, John, Your locks are like the snow; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson, my jo!
John Anderson, my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither; And monie a canty day, John, We"ve had wi" ane anither: Now we maun totter down, John, But hand in hand we"ll go, And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson, my jo.
jo] sweetheart. brent] smooth, unwrinkled. beld] bald. pow]
pate. canty] cheerful.