THE TEARS I SHED MUST EVER FALL, MRS. DUGALD STEWART. The tears I shed must ever fall; Their toils are past, their sorrows o'er, And those they lov'd their steps shall tread, And death shall join to part no more. Though boundless oceans roll between, But bitter, bitter are the tears Of her who slighted love bewails, In vain does memory renew The hours once ting'd in transport's dye; And turns the thought to agony. No cold approach, no alter'd mien, He made me blest-and broke my heart! [The four first lines of the last stanza are by Burns.] CHEROKEE INDIAN DEATH SONG. ANNE HUNTER. Born 1742-Died 1825. The sun sets in night, and the stars shun the day, But glory remains when their lights fade away. Begin, ye tormentors; your threats are in vain, For the son of Alknomook will never complain. Remember the arrows he shot from his bow; Why so slow? Do you wait till I shrink from the pain? Remember the wood where in ambush we lay, And the scalps which we bore from your nation away. I go to the land where my father is gone : [Wife of the celebrated John Hunter, and sister to Sir Everard Home.] O GIN MY LOVE WERE YON RED ROSE. red rose, O gin my love were yon Into her bonnie breast to fa'! O were my love yon lilac fair, Wi' purple blossoms to the spring; How I wad mourn, when it was torn When youthfu' May its bloom renewed. [The first stanza of this exquisite little song was published by Herd in 1776, "the thought is," writes Burns, "inexpressibly beautiful; and quite, so far as I know, original. I have often tried to eke out a stanza to it, but in vain." The poet nevertheless, after balancing himself in his elbow chair, and musing for five minutes, produced the other verse; which, though he thought little of, is only inferior to the original. From Herd's MSS Sir Walter Scott printed in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, a different copy of the Song, which is bere subjoined. O gin my love were yon red rose, That grows upon the castle wa', Down on that red rose I wad fa'. O gin my love were a pickle of wheat, And growing upon yon lily lee, And I mysell a bonny wee bird Awa' wi' that pickle o' wheat I wad flee. O gin my love were a coffer o' gowd, 1 wad open the kist whene'er I list, O my loves bonny, &c. Allan Cunningham has given from tradition two additional verses, in which the lover wishes his lady first a "leek," and next a "a. grant gean," both certainly modern fabrications. And that curious four old verse, Mr. Peter Buchan, has presented the ingenious Mr. Motherwell of Glasgow, with "a perfect copy of the old song as current in the north, and recovered by him," for which all true antiquaries stand his debtor, if any one of them could for a moment believe the silly additions Mr. Buchan has made to Herd's beautiful fragment genuine. Could not Mr. Buchan procure the original of Tam Glen," somewhere near Aberdeen, and oblige that learned gentleman, who's -grown so weel acquent wi' Buchan And ither chaps, The weans haud out their fingers laughin And pouk his hips. Sce MOTHERWELL, BUCHAN, and HoGG's Edition of Burns, TALK NOT OF LOVE. CLARINDA. Part vi. p. 103.] Talk not of love it gives me pain, There, welcome win, and wear the prize, Your friendship much can make me blest, O why that bliss destroy! Why urge the only one request You know I will deny! |