Heartbreak

Tune - "Ca' the ewes to the knowes."


Chorus

    Ca' the ewes to the knowes,
    Ca' them whare the heather grows,
    Ca' them whare the burnie rowes,
        My bonnie dearie!

I.

    As I gaed down the water-side,
    There I met my shepherd lad,
    He row'd me sweetly in his plaid,
        An' he ca'd me his dearie.

II.

    Will ye gang down the water-side,
    And see the waves sae sweetly glide,
    Beneath the hazels spreading wide?
        The moon it shines fu' clearly.

III.

    I was bred up at nae sic school,
    My shepherd lad, to play the fool,
    And a' the day to sit in dool,
        And naebody to see me.

IV.

    Ye sall get gowns and ribbons...

As some rapt gazer on the lowly earth,
Looks up to radiant planets, ranging far,
So I, whose soul doth know thy wondrous worth
Look longing up to thee as to a star.

No coward soul is mine,
No trembler in the world,s storm-troubled sphere:
I see Heaven's glories shine,
And Faith shines equal arming me from Fear.

O God within my breast.
Almighty ever-present Deity!
Life , that in me has rest,
As I Undying Life, have power in thee!

Vain are the thousand creeds
That move men's hearts, unutterably vain;
Worthless as withered weeds,
Or idlest froth amid the boundless main,

To waken doubt in one
Holding so fast by Thy infinity;
So surely anchored on
The steadfast rock of Immortality.

With wide-embracing love
Thy Spirit animates eternal years,
Pervades and broods above,
Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates, and rears.

Though Earth and moon were gone,
And suns and universes c...

Herr. Come and let's in solemn wise
        Both address to sacrifice:
        Old religion first commands
        That we wash our hearts, and hands.
        Is the beast exempt from stain,
        Altar clean, no fire profane?
        Are the garlands, is the nard
        Ready here?

Jul.    All well prepar'd,
        With the wine that must be shed,
        'Twixt the horns, upon the head
        Of the holy beast we bring
        For our trespass-offering.

Herr. All is well; now next to these
        Put we on pure surplices;
        And with chaplets crown'd, we'll roast
        With perfumes the holocaust:
        And, while we the gods invoke,
        Read acceptance by the smoke.

To all my fond rhapsodies, Charley,
    You have wearily listened, I fear;
As yet not an answer you've given
    Save a shrug, or an ill-concealed sneer;
Pray, why, when I talk of my marriage,
    Do you watch me with sorrowing eye?
'Tis you, hapless bachelor, Charley,
    That are to be pitied - not I!

You mockingly ask me to tell you,
    Since to bondage I soon must be sold,
Have I wisely chosen my fetters,
    Which, at least, should be forged of pure gold.
Hem! the sole wealth my love possesses
    Are her tresses of bright golden hair,
Pearly teeth, lips of rosiest coral,
    Eyes I know not with what to compare.

Don't talk about all I surrender -
    My club, champagne dinners, cigars,
My hand at écarté, my harmless

"Sweeping our flocks and herds." - DOUGLAS.


O Philanthropic men! -
For this address I need not make apology -
Who aim at clearing out the Smithfield pen,
And planting further off its vile Zoology -
Permit me thus to tell,
I like your efforts well,
For routing that great nest of Hornithology!

Be not dismay'd, although repulsed at first,
And driven from their Horse, and Pig, and Lamb parts,
Charge on! - you shall upon their hornworks burst,
And carry all their Bull-warks and their Ram-parts.

Go on, ye wholesale drovers!
And drive away the Smithfield flocks and herds!
As wild as Tartar-Curds,
That come so fat, and kicking, from their clovers;
Off with them all! - those restive brutes, that vex
Our streets, and plunge, an...

Oh yesterday, I t'ink it was, while cruisin' down the street,
I met with Bill. "Hullo," he says, "let's give the girls a treat."
We'd red bandanas round our necks 'n' our shrouds new rattled down,
So we filled a couple of Santy Cruz and cleared for Sailor Town.

We scooted south with a press of sail till we fetched to a caboose,
The "Sailor's Rest," by Dago Tom, alongside "Paddy's Goose."
Red curtains to the windies, ay, 'n' white sand to the floor,
And an old blind fiddler liltin' the tune of "Lowlands No More."

He played the "Shaking of the Sheets" 'n' the couples did advance,
Bowing, stamping, curtsying, in the shuffling of the dance;
The old floor rocked and quivered, so it struck beholders dumb,
'N' afterwards there was sweet songs 'n' good Jamaikey rum.

'N'...

Here come real stars to fill the upper skies,
And here on earth come emulating flies,
That though they never equal stars in size,
(And they were never really stars at heart)
Achieve at times a very star-like start.
Only, of course, they can't sustain the part.

Going to Mass by the will of God, the day came wet and the wind rose; I met Mary Hynes at the cross of Kiltartan, and I fell in love with her there and then.

I spoke to her kind and mannerly,    as by report was her own way; and she said "Raftery my mind is easy; you may come to-day to Ballylee."

When I heard her offer I did not linger; when her talk went to my heart my heart rose. We had only to go across the three fields; we had daylight with us to Ballylee.

The table was laid with glasses and a quart measure; she had fair hair and she sitting beside me; and she said, "Drink, Raftery, and a hundred welcomes; there is a strong cellar in Ballylee."

O star of light and O sun in harvest; O amber hair, O my share of the world! Will you come with me on the Sunday, till we agree together before all t...

Your arm should only be
A spring night's dream;
If I accepted it to rest my head upon
There would be rumours
And no delight.

From the Japanese of the daughter of Taira-no Tsu-gu-naka.

Dead Petra in her hill-tomb sleeps,
Her stones of emptiness remain;
Around her sculptured mystery sweeps
The lonely waste of Edom's plain.

From the doomed dwellers in the cleft
The bow of vengeance turns not back;
Of all her myriads none are left
Along the Wady Mousa's track.

Clear in the hot Arabian day
Her arches spring, her statues climb;
Unchanged, the graven wonders pay
No tribute to the spoiler, Time!

Unchanged the awful lithograph
Of power and glory undertrod;
Of nations scattered like the chaff
Blown from the threshing-floor of God.

Yet shall the thoughtful stranger turn
From Petra's gates with deeper awe,
To mark afar the burial urn
Of Aaron on the cliffs of Hor;

And where upon its ancient guard
T...

    "Time for bed!" - the weary day
With its toils has passed away
Sol has wrapped his forehead bright
In the curtains of the night,
And his glorious lamp again
Lowered behind the western main
Leaving all heaven's pure expanse
Radiant with his parting glance

    Just a few, faint stars are seen
Ranged around the midnight queen -
A select and glorious band
Who alone may waiting stand
Hound the monarch of the night,
Bearing up their urns of light,
Her majestic path to cheer
Till the shadows disappear.

    "Time for bed!" the folded flowers
Hang their heads in forest bowers;
Nestled in each downy nest
Day's sweet songsters calmly rest;
And the night-bird's plaintive hymn
Echoes through the forest dim;
Dew-drops on the bir...

1

O Night and death, to whom we grudged him then,
When in man's sight he stood not yet undone,
Your king, your priest, your saviour, and your son,
We grudge not now, who know that not again
Shall this curse come upon the sins of men,
Nor this face look upon the living sun
That shall behold not so abhorred an one
In all the days whereof his eye takes ken.
The bond is cancelled, and the prayer is heard
That seemed so long but weak and wasted breath;
Take him, for he is yours, O night and death.
Hell yawns on him whose life was as a word
Uttered by death in hate of heaven and light,
A curse now dumb upon the lips of night.


2

What shapes are these and shadows without end
That fill the night full as a storm of rain
With myriads of ...

There are no beaten paths to Glory's height,
There are no rules to compass greatness known;
Each for himself must cleave a path alone,
And press his own way forward in the fight.
Smooth is the way to ease and calm delight,
And soft the road Sloth chooseth for her own;
But he who craves the flower of life full-blown,
Must struggle up in all his armor dight!
What though the burden bear him sorely down
And crush to dust the mountain of his pride,
Oh, then, with strong heart let him still abide;
For rugged is the roadway to renown,
Nor may he hope to gain the envied crown,
Till he hath thrust the looming rocks aside.

    I am Minerva, the village poetess,
    Hooted at, jeered at by the Yahoos of the street
    For my heavy body, cock-eye, and rolling walk,
    And all the more when "Butch" Weldy
    Captured me after a brutal hunt.
    He left me to my fate with Doctor Meyers;
    And I sank into death, growing numb from the feet up,
    Like one stepping deeper and deeper into a stream of ice.
    Will some one go to the village newspaper,
    And gather into a book the verses I wrote? -
    I thirsted so for love
    I hungered so for life!

(FINNISH.)


“O where have ye been the morn sae late,
My merry son, come tell me hither?
O where have ye been the morn sae late?
And I wot I hae but anither.”
“By the water-gate, by the water-gate,
O dear mither.”

“And whatten kin’ o’ wark had ye there to make,
My merry son, come tell me hither?
And whatten kin’ o’ wark had ye there to make?
And I wot I hae but anither.”
“I watered my steeds with water frae the lake,
O dear mither.”

“Why is your coat sae fouled the day,
My merry son, come tell me hither?
Why is your coat sae fouled the day?
And I wot I hae but anither.”
“The steeds were stamping sair by the weary banks of clay,
O dear mither.”

“And where gat ye thae sleeves of red,
My merry son, come tell ...

Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
"This is my own, my native land!"
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned,
As home his footsteps he hath turned,
From wandering on a foreign strand!
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no Minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonoured, and unsung.

IN HONOUR OF THE DOUBLE MARRIAGE OF THE TWO HONORABLE AND VERTUOUS LADIES, THE LADIE ELIZABETH, AND THE LADIE KATHERINE SOMERSET, DAUGHTERS TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE THE EARLE OF WORCESTER, AND ESPOUSED TO THE TWO WORTHIE GENTLEMEN, M. HENRY GILFORD AND M. WILLIAM PETER, ESQUYERS.


(1596)



PROTHALAMION: OR, A SPOUSALL VERSE.


Calme was the day, and through the trembling ayre
Sweete-breathing Zephyrus did softly play
A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay*
Hot Titans beames, which then did glyster fayre;
When I (whom sullein care,
Through discontent of my long fruitlesse stay
In princes court, and expectation vayne
Of idle hopes, which still doe fly away
Like empty shadows, did afflict my brayne,)
Walkt forth to ease my payne
Along the sho...