Firmer he roots him, the ruder it blow;
Menteith and Breadalbane, then,
Echo his praise agen,
"Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho, ieroe!"
Proudly our pibroch has thrill'd in Glen Fruin,
And Bannochar's groans to our slogan replied;
Glen Luss and Ross dhu, they are smoking in ruin,
And the best of Loch-Lomond lie dead on her side.
Widow and Saxon maid
Long shall lament our raid,
Think of Clan Alpine with fear and with woe;
Lenox and Leven glen
Shake, when they hear agen,
"Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho, ieroe!"
Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands!
Stretch to your oars, for the ever-green pine!
Oh that the rosebud that graces yon islands,
Were wreathed in a garland around him to twine!.
Oh that some seedling gem,
Worthy such noble stem,
Honour'd and bless'd, in their shadow might grow!
Loud should Clan Alpine, then,
Ring from her deepmost glen, "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho, ieroe!"
My Highland home, where tempests blow,
Cold are thy wintry looks;
Thy mountains crown'd wi' driven snow,
And ice-bound are thy brooks:
But colder far's the Scotsman's heart,
However far he roam,
To whom these words no joy impart-
My native Highland home!
Then gang with me to Scotland, dear,
We ne'er again will roam;
And with thy smile, sae bonnie, cheer
My native Highland Home!
When simmer comes, the heather-bell
Shall tempt thy feet to rove;
The cushat dove within the dell
Invites to peace and love;
For blithesome is the breath of day,
And sweet's the bonnie broom,
And pure the dimpling rills that play
Around my Highland home.
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may;
Old Time is still a flying;
And this same flower that smiles to-day,
To-morrow will be dying.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he's a getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.
That age is best, which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer,
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times, still succeed the former.
Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry;
For having lost but once your prime
You may for ever tarry.
THE MINSTREL AND THE SONG. [Music by F. WALLERSTEIN.
Amid the city's busy throng
I heard the minstrel sing his lay:
But few would listen to his song,
The world, neglectful, turn'd away;
The music floated from the crowd
And mingled with the upper air;
I traced its measure, deep not loud,
And heard it melting sweetly there.
I saw the minstrel turn away,
But more in sorrow than disdain;
Too oft it was his lot to play
The music that he loved in vain.
'Tis thus that all that pleasure gives
Must know neglect, must suffer wrong;
The poet in the future lives,
The minstrel dies, but not the song.
[Music by F. WALLERSTEIN.
One winter morn in careless mood
I turn'd to gaze upon the sky,
But when I by my window stood,
What dreamlike fancies met mine eye ?
The glass was changed to fields and trees
With feathery clouds, and waving grain,
And fairy ships on mimic seas;—
It was the frost upon the pane..
I thought, while gazing on the view,
What houseless forms beyond it lay,
And then the sun came shining through,
And soon the scene dissolved away.
"Tis thus in sorrow's darkest hours,
When most we doubt, hope comes again,
And yielding then to brighter powers,
Grief melts like frost upon the pane.
MY SPOUSE NANCY.
[ROBERT BURNS.]
"Husband, husband, cease your strife,
Nor longer idly rave, sir;
Though I am your wedded wife,
Yet I am not your slave, sir."
"One of two must still obey,
Nancy, Nancy;
Is it man or woman, say,
My spouse Nancy?""
"If 'tis still the lordly word,
Service and obedience,
I'll desert my sovereign lord,
And so, good bye, allegiance."
"Sad will I be so bereft,
Nancy, Nancy;
Yet I'll try to make a shift,
My spouse Nancy."
"My poor heart then break it must,
My last hour I'm near it;
When you lay me in the dust,
Think, think, how you will bear it."
"I will hope and trust in heaven,
Nancy, Nancy;
Strength to bear it will be given,
My spouse Nancy."
"Well, sir, from the silent dead
Still I'll try to daunt you;
Ever round your midnight bed
Horrid sprites shall haunt you."
"I'll wed another like my dear
Nancy, Nancy;
Then all hell will fly for fear,
My spouse Nancy."
Not for thee-thou false one, never,
Not for thee these tears that flow,
Anguish though 'twere once to doubt thee,
Not for thee my present woe;
Better, thy false heart revealing,
"Twere to say, at once, we part,
Than to go on still deceiving,
While another claims thy heart.
Not for thee these tears are falling;
Who would what is worthless grieve?
But that in my utter blindness
I could so myself deceive;
Do not deem you have the power
Still to trifle more with me,
Though my heart is wildly beating,
Though I weep-'tis not for thee.
NEVER DESPAIR.
[SAMUEL LOVER.]
Oh, never despair, for our hopes oftentime
Spring swiftly as flow'rs in some tropical clime,
Where the spot that was barren and scentless at night
Is blooming and fragrant at morning's first light;
The mariner marks where the tempest sings loud,
That the rainbow is brighter the darker the cloud,
Then up! up! Never despair!
|