Page images
PDF
EPUB
[blocks in formation]

Then, since my master orders, I obey.
This bonny foundling, ae clear.morn of May,
Close by the lee-side of my door I found,
All sweet and clean, and carefully hapt round
In infant-weeds of rich and gentle make.
What could they be thought I did thee forsake?
Wha, warse than brutes, cou'd leave exposed to air
Sae much of innocence, sae sweetly fair,
Sae helpless young? - For she appeared to me
Only about twa towmonds auld to be.
I took her in my arms, - the bairnie smiled
With sic a look wad made a savage mild.
I hid the story, and she passed sincesyne
As a poor orphan, and a niece of mine.
Nor do I rue my care about the wean,

For she's well worth the pains that I have tane.
Ye see she's bonny; I can swear she's good,
And am right sure she's come of gentle blood;
Of whom I kenna; - naithing ken I mair,
Than what I to your honor now declare.

[blocks in formation]

SIR WILLIAM.

Make haste, good woman, and resolve each doubt. MAUSE (goes forward, leading Peggy to Sir William). Sir, view me well!-Has fifteen years so plew'd A wrinkled face that you have often viewed, That here I as an unknown stranger stand, Who nursed her mother that now holds my hand? Yet stronger proofs I'll give, if you demand.

SIR WILLIAM.

Ha, honest nurse!-Where were my eyes before? I know thy faithfulness, and need no more; Yet from the lab'rinth to lead out my mind, Say, to expose her who was so unkind? [Sir William embraces Peggy, and makes her sit by him.]

Yes, surely thou 'rt my niece! - Truth must prevail !

But no more words till Mause relate her tale.

PATIE.

Good nurse, dispatch thy story winged with blisses, That I may give my cousin fifty kisses.

MAUSE.

Then it was I that saved her infant life;
Her death being threatened by an uncle's wife.
The story's lang: - but I the secret knew,
How they pursued, with avaricious view,
Her rich estate, of which they're now possest.
All this to me a confidant confest.

I heard with horror, and with trembling dread,
They'd smoor the sakeless orphan in her bed.
That very night, when all were sunk in rest,
At midnight hour the floor I saftly prest,
And staw the sleeping innocent away,

With whom I travelled some few miles ere day.
All day I hid me; when the day was done,

[ocr errors]

I kept my journey, lighted by the moon ;
Till eastward fifty miles I reached these plains,
Where needful plenty glads your cheerful swains.
For fear of being found out, and to secure
My charge, I laid her at this shepherd's door;
And took a neighboring cottage here, that I,
Whate'er should happen to her, might be by.
Here honest Glaud himsel and Symon may
Remember well, how I that very day
Frae Roger's father took my little crove.

GLAUD (with tears of joy running down his beard).
I well remember 't! - Lord reward your love! -
Lang have I wished for this; for aft I thought
Sic knowledge some time shou'd about be brought.

PATIE.

"T is now a crime to doubt! My joys are full, With due obedience to my parent's will. Sir, with paternal love survey her charms, And blame me not for rushing to her arms; She's mine by vows, and wou'd, tho' still unknown, Have been my wife, when I my vows durst own.

[blocks in formation]

SYMON.

That's the best news I've heard this twenty year! New day breaks up, rough times begin to clear!

GLAUD.

God save the king! and save Sir William lang, To enjoy their ain, and raise the shepherd's sang!

ROGER.

Wha winna dance, wha will refuse to sing? What shepherd's whistle winna lilt the spring?

BAULDY.

I'm friends with Mause! With very Madge I'm gree'd ;

Although they skelpit me when woodly fleid!
I'm now fu' blyth, and frankly can forgive,
To join and sing, Lang may Sir William live!'

MADGE.

Lang may he live!—and, Bauldy, learn to steek Your gab a wee, and think before ye speak; And never ca' her auld that wants a man, Else ye may yet some witch's fingers ban. This day I'll with the youngest of you rant, And brag for ay that I was ca'd the aunt Of our young lady, my dear bonny bairn!

PEGGY.

No other name I'll ever for you learn. And, my good nurse, how shall I gratefu' be For a' thy matchless kindness done for me?

MAUSE.

The flowing pleasure of this happy day Does fully all I can require repay.

SIR WILLIAM.

To faithful Symon, and, kind Glaud, to you And to your heirs I give in endless feu The mailens ye possess, as justly due, For acting like kind fathers to the pair, Who have enough besides, and these can spare. Mause, in my house in calmness close your days, With naught to do but sing your Maker's praise.

OMNES.

The Lord of heaven return your honor's love, Confirm your joys, and a' your blessings roove!

PATIE (presenting Roger to Sir William). Sir, here's my trusty friend, that always shared My bosom-secrets, ere I was a laird. Glaud's daughter Janet-Jenny, think nae shame!Raised and maintains in him a lover's flame. Lang was he dumb, at last he spak and won, And hopes to be our honest uncle's son ; Be pleased to speak to Glaud for his consent, That nane may wear a face of discontent.

SIR WILLIAM.

My son's demand is fair! — Glaud, let me crave That trusty Roger may your daughter have With frank consent, and while he does remain Upon these fields, I make him chamberlain.

GLAUD.

You crowd your bounties, sir!-What can we say, But that we're dyvours that can ne'er repay?Whate'er your honor wills I shall obey. Roger, my daughter with my blessing take, And still our master's right your business make; Please him, be faithful, and this auld gray head Shall nod with quietness down among the dead.

ROGER.

I ne'er was good at speaking a' my days, Or ever loo'd to make o'er great a frase ; But for my master, father, and my wife, I will employ the cares of all my life.

SIR WILLIAM.

My friends, I'm satisfied you'll all behave,
Each in his station, as I'd wish or crave.
Be ever virtuous, soon or late ye'll find
Reward and satisfaction to your mind.

The maze of life sometimes looks dark and wild,
And aft when hopes are highest we're beguiled;
Aft when we stand on brinks of dark despair,
Some happy turn with joy dispels our care.
Now all's at rights, who sings best let me hear.

PEGGY.

When you demand, I readiest should obey; I'll sing you ane, the newest that I hae.

SANG XXI.
TUNE.Corn-riggs are bonny.'

My Paty is a lover gay,

His mind is never muddy,
His breath is sweeter than new hay,
His face is fair and ruddy;
His shape is handsome, middle size;
He's comely in his wauking;
The shining of his een surprise;
"T is heaven to hear him tauking.

Last night I met him on a bawk

Where yellow corn was growing; There mony a kindly word he spak, That set my heart a glowing. He kissed, and vowed he wad be mine, And loo'd me best of ony; That gars me like to sing sinsyne, O corn-riggs are bonny!

Let lasses of a silly mind

Refuse what maist they're wanting, Since we for yielding were designed,

We chastely should be granting: Then I'll comply and marry Pate,

And syne my cockernony He's free to touzle air and late, Where corn-riggs are bonny.

[Exeunt omnes.]

[graphic]

Rustic Ballads, etc., for May.

GRAVES'S "BALLAD TO THE BIRDS."

AGAIN the balmy zephyr blows,
Fresh verdure decks the grove,
Each bird with vernal rapture glows,

And tunes his note to love.

Ye gentle warblers, hither fly,

And shun the noontide heat; My shrubs a cooling shade supply, My groves a safe retreat.

Here freely hop from spray to spray, Or weave the mossy nest;

Here rove and sing the live-long day; At night here sweetly rest.

Amidst this cool, translucent rill,

That trickles down the glade,

Here bathe your plumes, here drink your fill, And revel in the shade.

No school-boy rude, to mischief prone,

E'er shows his ruddy face,

Or twangs his bow, or hurls a stone,
In this sequestered place.

Hither the vocal thrush repairs,

Secure the linnet sings,

The goldfinch dreads no flimsy snares
To clog her painted wings.

Sad Philomel! ah, quit thy haunt,
Yon distant woods among,
And round my friendly grotto chaunt
Thy sweetly-plaintive song.

Let not the harmless red-breast fear,
Domestic bird, to come
And seek a sure asylum here,
With one that loves his home!

[merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small]

BRETON'S "PHILLIDA AND CORYDON."

IN the merry month of May,
In a morn by break of day,

With a troop of damsels playing,
Forth I yode, forsooth, a maying;

When anon by a wood side,
When as May was in his pride,
I espiéd all alone
Phillida and Corydon.

Much ado there was, God wot;
He wold love and she wold not.
She said never man was true,
He says none was false to you:

He said he had loved her long :
She says love should have no wrong.
Corydon wold kiss her then:
She says, maids must kiss no men,

Till they do for good and all.
When she made the shepherd call
All the heavens to witness truth -
Never loved a truer youth.

Then with many a pretty oath,
Yea and nay, and faith and troth
Such as seelie shepherds use
When they will not love abuse

Love, that had been long deluded, Was with kisses sweet concluded; And Phillida with garlands gay Was made the Lady of the May.

BLOOMFIELD'S "LUCY;"
OR, "THE HOLIDAY."
THY favorite bird is soaring, still:
My Lucy, haste thee o'er the dale;
The stream's let loose, and from the mill
All silent comes the balmy gale;

Yet, so lightly on its way,
Seems to whisper, 'Holiday.'

The pathway flowers that bending meet And give the meads their yellow hue, The May-bush and the meadow-sweet, Reserve their fragrance all for you. Why, then, Lucy, why delay? Let us share the holiday.

[blocks in formation]

Since there thy smiles, my charming maid,

Are with unfeignéd rapture seen, To beauty be the homage paid! Come, claim the triumph of the green. Here's my hand, come, come away; Share the merry holiday.

A promise, too, my Lucy made

(And shall my heart its claim resign?) That ere May flowers again should fade Her heart and hand should both be mine. Hark ye, Lucy, this is May; Love shall crown our holiday.

STREET'S "EARLY GARDEN."

WHEN the light flourish of the bluebird sounds,
And the south wind comes blandly; when the sky
Is soft in delicate blue, with melting pearl
Spotting its bosom, all proclaiming spring,
O, with what joy the garden spot we greet,
Wakening from wintry slumbers! As we tread
The branching walks, within its hollowed nook
We see the violet by some lingering flake
Of melting snow, its sweet eye lifting up,
As welcoming our presence; o'er our heads
The fruit-tree buds are swelling, and we hail
Our grateful task of moulding into form
The waste around us. The quick-delving spade
Upturns the fresh and odorous earth; the rake
Smoothes the plump bed, and in their furrow'd
graves

We drop the seed. The robin stops his work
Upon the apple-bough, and flutters down,
Stealing, with oft checked and uplifted foot,
And watchful gaze bent quickly either side,
Toward the fallen wealth of food around the mouth
Of the light paper pouch upon the earth.
But, fearful of our motions, off he flies,
And stoops upon the grub the spade has thrown
Loose from its den beside the wounded root.
Days pass along. The pattering shower falls down,
And then the warming sunshine. Tiny clifts
Tell that the seed has turned itself, and now

Is pushing up its stem. The verdant pea
Looks out; the twin-leafed, scalloped radish shows
Sprinkles of green. The sturdy bean displays
Its jaws distended wide, and slightly tongued.
The downy cucumber is seen; the corn
Upshoots its close-wrapped spike, and on its mound
The young potato sets its tawny ear.
Meanwhile the fruit-trees gloriously have broke
Into a flush of beauty, and the grape,
Casting aside in peels its shrivelled skin,
Shows its soft furzy leaf of delicate pink,

[blocks in formation]

And the thick, midge-like blossoms round diffuse
A strong, delicious fragrance. Soon along
The trellis stretch the tendrils, sharply pronged,
Clinging, tenacious, with their winding rings,
And sending on the stem. A sheet of bloom
Then decks the garden, till the summer glows,
Forming the perfect fruit. In showery nights
The fire-fly glimmers with its pendent lamp
Of greenish gold. Each dark nook has a voice,
While perfume floats on every wave of air.
The corn lifts up its bandrols long and slim ;
The cucumber has overflowed its spot
With massy verdure, while the yellow squash
Looks like a trumpet 'mid its giant leaves;
And as we reap the rich fruits of our care,
We bless the God who rains his gifts on us—
Making the earth its treasures rich to yield
With slight and fitful toil. Our hearts should be
Ever bent harps, to send unceasing hymns
Of thankful praise to One who fills all space,
And yet looks down with smiles on lowly man.

HEYWOOD'S "SHEPHERD'S SONG."

WE that have known no greater state
Than this we live in, praise our fate;
For courtly silks in cares are spent,
When country's russet breeds content.
The power of sceptres we admire,
But sheep-hooks for our use desire.
Simple and low is our condition,
For here with us is no ambition:
We with the sun our flocks unfold,
Whose rising makes their fleeces gold;
Our music from the birds we borrow,
They bidding us, we them, good-morrow.
Our habits are but coarse and plain,
Yet they defend from wind and rain;
As warm, too, in an equal eye,
As those bestained in scarlet dye.
The shepherd with his homespun lass
As many merry hours doth pass,
As courtiers with their costly girls,
Though richly decked in gold and pearls ;
And, though but plain, to purpose woo,
Nay, often with less danger too.
Those that delight in dainties' store,
One stomach feed at once, no more;
And, when with homely fare we feast,
With us it doth as well digest;
And many times we better speed,
For our wild fruits no surfeits breed.
If we sometimes the willow wear,
By subtle swains that dare forswear,
We wonder whence it comes, and fear
They've been at court and learnt it there.

« PreviousContinue »