The hills and dales no more resound
The lambkins tender cry,
Without one murmur Yarrow stole
In dimpling silence by;
All nature seem'd in still repose
Her voice alone to hear,
That gently roll'd the tuneful wave
She spoke and bless'd my ear.
'Take, take, whate'er of bliss or joy
You fondly fancy mine,
Whate'er of joy or bliss I boast
Love renders wholly thine.'
The words struck up, to the soft gale
The leaves were seen to move,
The feather'd choir resum'd their voice
And wonder fill'd the grove.
The hills and dales again resound
The lambkins tender cry,
With all his murmurs Yarrow trill'd
The song of triumph by :
Above, beneath, all round, all on
Was verdure, beauty, song;
I snatch'd her to my trembling breast
All nature joy'd along.
Why hangs that cloud upon thy brow,
That beauteous heav'n, erewhile serene?
Whence do these storms and tempests flow,
What may this gust of passion mean?
And must then mankind lose that light
Which in thine eyes was wont to shine,
And lie obscure in endless night,
For each poor silly speech of mine?
Dear maid, how can I wrong thy name,
Since 'tis acknowledged, at all hands,
That could ill tongues abuse thy fame,
Thy beauty can make large amends:
Or if I durst profanely try
Thy beauty's pow'rful charms t' upbraid,
Thy virtue well might give the lie,
Nor call thy beauty to its aid.
For Venus, every heart t' ensnare,
With all her charms has deck'd thy face,
And Pallas, with unusual care,
Bids wisdom heighten every grace.
Who can the double pain endure?
Or who must not resign the field
To thee, celestial maid, secure
With Cupid's bow, and Pallas' shield?
If then to thee such pow'r is given,
Let not a wretch in torment live,
But smile, and learn to copy Heaven,
Since we must sin ere it forgive.
Yet pitying Heaven not only does
Forgive th' offender and th' offence,
But even itself appeas'd bestows,
As the reward of penitence.
Ye gods! was Strephon's picture blest
With the fair heaven of Chloe's breast?
Move softer, thou fond flutt'ring heart,
Oh, gently throb-too fierce thou art.
Tell me, thou brightest of thy kind,
For Strephon was the bliss design'd?
For Strephon's sake, dear charming maid,
Did thou prefer his wand'ring shade?
And thou, bless'd shade, that sweetly art
Lodged so near my Chloe's heart,
For me the tender hour improve,
And softly tell how dear I love.
Ungrateful thing! it scorns to hear
Its wretched master's ardent pray'r,
Ingrossing all that beauteous heav'n,
That Chloe, lavish maid, has given.
I cannot blame thee: were I lord
Of all the wealth those breasts afford,
I'd be a miser too, nor give
An alms to keep a god alive.
Oh smile not thus, my lovely fair,
On these cold looks, that lifeless are;
Prize him whose bosom glows with fire,
With eager love and soft desire.
Tis true thy charms, O powerful maid!
To life can bring the silent shade:
Thou canst surpass the painter's art,
And real warmth and flames impart.
But oh! it ne'er can love like me,
I've ever loved, and loved but thee:
Then, charmer, grant my fond request,
Say thou canst love, and make me blest
Maxweltown banks are bonnie,
Where early fa's the dew!
Where I and Annie Laurie
Made up the promise true;
Made up the promise true,
And never forget will I,
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'd lay down my head and die.
She's backet like a peacock,
She's breasted like a swan,
She's jimp about the middle,
Her waist you weel may span:
weel may span,
And she has a rolling eye,
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'd lay down my head and die.
["Sir Robert Laurie, first Baronet of the Maxwelton family (created 27th March, 1685), by his second wife, a daughter of Riddell of Minto, had three sons and four daughters, of whom Anne was much celebrated for her beauty, and made a conquest of Mr. Douglas of Fingland, who is said to have composed these verses under an unlucky star, for the lady married Mr. Ferguson of Craigdarroch." -C. K. SHARPE.]
Saddled and bridled,
And booted, rode he,
A plume in his helmet,
A sword at his knee;
But toom came the saddle,
All bloody to see,
And hame came his steed,
But hame never came he.
Down came his grey father,
Sobbing fu' sair;
Down came his auld mother,
Tearing her hair.
Down came his sweet wife,
Wi' bonnie bairns three,
Ane at her bosom,
And twa at her knee.
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