Chapter 23

But now our fears tempestuous grow And cast our hopes away; Whilst you, regardless of our woe, Sit careless at a play: Perhaps permit some happier man To kiss your hand, or flirt your fan - With a fa, la, la, la, la.

When any mournful tune you hear, That dies in every note As if it sighed with each man's care For being so remote, Think then how often love we've made To you, when all those tunes were played - With a fa, la, la, la, la.

In justice you cannot refuse To think of our distress, When we for hopes of honor lose Our certain happiness: All those designs are but to prove Ourselves more worthy of your love - With a fa, la, la, la, la.

And now we've told you all our loves, And likewise all our fears, In hopes this declaration moves Some pity for our tears: Let's hear of no inconstancy - We have too much of that at sea - With a fa, la, la, la, la.

Charles Sackville [1638-1706]

SONG

In vain you tell your parting lover, You wish fair winds may waft him over. Alas! what winds can happy prove That bear me far from what I love? Alas! what dangers on the main Can equal those that I sustain From slighted vows, and cold disdain?

Be gentle, and in pity choose To wish the wildest tempests loose: That, thrown again upon the coast, Where first my shipwrecked heart was lost, I may once more repeat my pain; Once more in dying notes complain Of slighted vows and cold disdain.

Matthew Prior [1664-1721]

BLACK-EYED SUSAN

All in the Downs the fleet was moored, The streamers waving in the wind, When black-eyed Susan came aboard; "O! where shall I my true-love find? Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true If my sweet William sails among the crew."

William, who high upon the yard Rocked with the billow to and fro, Soon as her well-known voice he heard He sighed, and cast his eyes below: The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands, And, quick as lightning, on the deck he stands.

So the sweet lark, high poised in air, Shuts close his pinions to his breast If chance his mate's shrill call he hear, And drops at once into her nest: - The noblest captain in the British fleet Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet.

"O Susan, Susan, lovely dear, My vows shall ever true remain; Let me kiss off that falling tear; We only part to meet again. Change as ye list, ye winds; my heart shall be The faithful compass that still points to thee.

"Believe not what the landmen say Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind: They'll tell thee, sailors, when away, In every port a mistress find: Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so, For Thou art present wheresoe'er I go.

"If to far India's coast we sail, Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright, Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale, Thy skin is ivory so white. Thus every beauteous object that I view Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue.

"Though battle call me from thy arms Let not my pretty Susan mourn; Though cannons roar, yet, safe from harms, William shall to his Dear return. Love turns aside the balls that round me fly, Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye."

The boatswain gave the dreadful word, The sails their swelling bosom spread, No longer must she stay aboard; They kissed, she sighed, he hung his head. Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land; "Adieu!" she cries; and waved her lily hand.

John Gay [1685-1732]

IRISH MOLLY O

Oh! who is that poor foreigner that lately came to town, And like a ghost that cannot rest still wanders up and down? A poor, unhappy Scottish youth; - if more you wish to know. His heart is breaking all for love of Irish Molly O!

She's modest, mild, and beautiful, the fairest I have known - The primrose of Ireland - all blooming here alone - The primrose of Ireland, for wheresoe'er I go, The only one entices me is Irish Molly O!

When Molly's father heard of it, a solemn oath he swore, That if she'd wed a foreigner he'd never see her more. He sent for young MacDonald and he plainly told him so - "I'll never give to such as you my Irish Molly O!"

MacDonald heard the heavy news, and grievously did say - "Farewell, my lovely Molly, since I'm banished far away, A poor forlorn pilgrim I must wander to and fro, And all for the sake of my Irish Molly O!

"There is a rose in Ireland, I thought it would be mine: But now that she is lost to me, I must for ever pine, Till death shall come to comfort me, for to the grave I'll go, And all for the sake of my Irish Molly O!

"And now that I am dying, this one request I crave, To place a marble tombstone above my humble grave! And on the stone these simple words I'd have engraven so - "'MacDonald lost his life for love of Irish Molly O!'"

Unknown

SONG

At setting day and rising morn, Wi' soul that still shall love thee, I'll ask o' Heaven thy safe return, Wi' a' that can improve thee. I'll visit aft the birken bush Where first thou kindly tauld me Sweet tales o' love, and hid my blush, Whilst round thou didst infauld me.

To a' our haunts I will repair, By greenwood, shaw, or fountain, Or where the summer day I'd share Wi' thee upon yon mountain: There will I tell the trees an' flooers, From thoughts unfeigned an' tender; By vows you're mine, by love is yours A heart that cannot wander.

Allan Ramsay [1686-1758]

LOCHABER NO MORE

Farewell to Lochaber, an' farewell my Jean, Where heartsome wi' thee I hae mony day been; For Lochaber no more, Lochaber no more! We'll maybe return to Lochaber no more! These tears that I shed, they are a' for my dear, An' no for the dangers attending on weir, Though borne on rough seas to a far bloody shore, Maybe to return to Lochaber no more.

Though hurricanes rise, an' rise every wind, They'll ne'er mak' a tempest like that in my mind; Though loudest o' thunders on louder waves roar, That's naething like leaving my love on the shore. To leave thee behind me my heart is sair pained; By ease that's inglorious no fame can be gained; An' beauty an' love's the reward o' the brave, An' I must deserve it before I can crave.

Then glory, my Jeanie, maun plead my excuse; Since honor commands me, how can I refuse? Without it I ne'er can have merit for thee, An' without thy favor I'd better not be, I gae, then, my lass, to win honor an' fame, An' if I should luck to come gloriously hame, I'll bring a heart to thee wi' love running o'er, An' then I'll leave thee an' Lochaber no more.

Allan Ramsay [1686-1758]

WILLIE AND HELEN

"Wharefore sou'd ye talk o' love, Unless it be to pain us? Wharefore sou'd ye talk o' love Whan ye say the sea maun twain us?"

"It's no because my love is light, Nor for your angry deddy; It's a' to buy ye pearlins bright, An' to busk ye like a leddy."

"O Willy, I can caird an' spin, Sae ne'er can want for cleedin'; An' gin I hae my Willy's heart, I hae a' the pearls I'm heedin'.

"Will it be time to praise this cheek Whan years an' tears hae blenched it? Will it be time to talk o' love Whan cauld an' care hae quenched it?"

He's laid ae han' about her waist - The ither's held to heaven; An' his luik was like the luik o' man Wha's heart in twa is riven.

Hew Ainslie [1792-1878]

ABSENCE

With leaden foot Time creeps along While Delia is away: With her, nor plaintive was the song, Nor tedious was the day.

Ah, envious Power! reverse my doom; Now double thy career, Strain every nerve, stretch every plume, And rest them when she's here!

Richard Jago [1715-1781]

"MY MOTHER BIDS ME BIND MY HAIR"

My mother bids me bind my hair With bands of rosy hue; Tie up my sleeves with ribbons rare, And lace my bodice blue!

"For why," she cries, "sit still and weep, While others dance and play?" Alas! I scarce can go, or creep, While Lubin is away!

'Tis sad to think the days are gone When those we love were near! I sit upon this mossy stone, And sigh when none can hear:

And while I spin my flaxen thread, And sing my simple lay, The village seems asleep, or dead, Now Lubin is away!

Anne Hunter [1742-1821]

"BLOW HIGH! BLOW LOW!"

Blow high, blow low! let tempest tear The mainmast by the board! My heart (with thoughts of thee, my dear! And love well stored) Shall brave all danger, scorn all fear, The roaring wind, the raging sea, In hopes, on shore, To be once more Safe moored with thee.

Aloft, while mountain-high we go, The whistling winds that scud along, And the surge roaring from below, Shall my signal be To think on thee. And this shall be my Song, Blow high, blow low! let tempest tear. . . .

And on that night (when all the crew The memory of their former lives, O'er flowing cans of flip renew, And drink their sweethearts and their wives), I'll heave a sigh, And think of thee. And, as the ship toils through the sea, The burden of my Song shall be, Blow high, blow low! let tempest tear. . . .

Charles Dibdin [1745-1814]

THE SILLER CROUN

"And ye sall walk in silk attire, And siller ha'e to spare, Gin ye'll consent to be his bride, Nor think o' Donald mair."

Oh, wha wad buy a silken goun Wi' a puir broken heart? Or what's to me a siller croun, Gin' frae my luve I part?

The mind wha's every wish is pure Far dearer is to me; And ere I'm forced to break my faith, I'll lay me doun and dee.

For I ha'e pledged my virgin troth Brave Donald's fate to share; And he has gi'en to me his heart, Wi' a' its virtues rare.

His gentle manners wan my heart, He gratefu' took the gift; Could I but think to tak' it back, It wad be waur than theft.

For langest life can ne'er repay The love he bears to me; And ere I'm forced to break my troth I'll lay me doun and dee.

Susanna Blamire [1747-1794]

"MY NANNIE'S AWA'"

Now in her green mantle blithe Nature arrays, An' listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braes, While birds warble welcome in ilka green shaw; But to me it's delightless - my Nannie's awa'.

The snaw-drap an' primrose our woodlands adorn, An' violets bathe in the weet o' the morn; They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw, They mind me o' Nannie - an' Nannie's awa'.

Thou laverock that springs frae the dews of the lawn, The shepherd to warn o' the gray-breaking dawn, An' thou mellow mavis that hails the night-fa', Give over for pity - my Nannie's awa'.

Come, autumn, sae pensive, in yellow an' gray, An' soothe me wi' tidings o' Nature's decay; The dark, dreary winter, an' wild-driving snaw Alane can delight me - now Nannie's awa'.

Robert Burns [1759-1796]

"AE FOND KISS"

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever; Ae fareweel, alas, for ever! Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee!

Who shall say that Fortune grieves him While the star of Hope she leaves him? Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me, Dark despair around benights me.

I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy; Naething could resist my Nancy; But to see her was to love her, Love but her, and love for ever.

Had we never loved sae kindly, Had we never loved sae blindly, Never met, or never parted, We had ne'er been broken-hearted.

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest! Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest! Thine be ilka joy and treasure, Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure!

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever! Ae fareweel, alas, for ever! Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee!

Robert Burns [1759-1796]

"THE DAY RETURNS"

The day returns, my bosom burns, The blissful day we twa did meet; Though winter wild in tempest toiled, Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet. Than a' the pride that loads the tide, And crosses o'er the sultry line, - Than kingly robes, and crowns and globes, Heaven gave me more, - it made thee mine.

While day and night can bring delight. Or Nature aught of pleasure give, - While joys above my mind can move, For thee, and thee alone, I live. When that grim foe of life below Comes in between to make us part, The iron hand that breaks our band, It breaks my bliss, - it breaks my heart.

Robert Burns [1759-1796]

MY BONNIE MARY

Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, And fill it in a silver tassie, That I may drink, before I go, A service to my bonnie lassie. The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith, Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry, The ship rides by the Berwick-law, And I maun leave my bonnie Mary.

The trumpets sound, the banners fly, The glittering spears are ranked ready; The shouts o' war are heard afar, The battle closes thick and bloody; But it's no the roar o' sea or shore Wad mak me langer wish to tarry; Nor shout o' war that's heard afar - It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary!

Robert Burns [1759-1796]

A RED, RED ROSE

O, my luve's like a red, red rose That's newly sprung in June; O, my luve's like the melodie That's sweetly played in tune.

As fair thou art, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I; And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun; I will luve thee still, my dear, While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare-thee-weel, my only luve! And fare-thee-weel a while! And I will come again, my luve, Though it were ten thousand mile.

Robert Burns [1759-1796]

I LOVE MY JEAN

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw I dearly like the west, For there the bonnie lassie lives, The lassie I lo'e best: There's wild woods grow, and rivers row, And monie a hill between; But day and night my fancy's flight Is ever wi' my Jean.

I see her in the dewy flowers, I see her sweet and fair: I hear her in the tunefu' birds, I hear her charm the air: There's not a bonnie flower that springs By fountain, shaw, or green, There's not a bonnie bird that sings But minds me o' my Jean.

O blaw ye westlin winds, blaw saft Amang the leafy trees; Wi' balmy gale, frae hill and dale Bring hame the laden bees; And bring the lassie back to me That's aye sae neat and clean; Ae smile o' her wad banish care, Sae charming is my Jean.

What sighs and vows amang the knowes Hae passed atween us twa! How fond to meet, how wae to part That night she gaed awa! The Powers aboon can only ken To whom the heart is seen, That nane can be sae dear to me As my sweet lovely Jean!

The first two stanzas by Robert Burns [1759-1796] The last two by John Hamilton [1761-1814]

THE ROVER'S ADIEU From "Rokeby"

"A weary lot is thine, fair maid, A weary lot is thine! To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, And press the rue for wine. A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, A feather of the blue, A doublet of the Lincoln green - No more of me ye knew, My Love! No more of me ye knew.

"This morn is merry June, I trow, The rose is budding fain; But she shall bloom in winter snow Ere we two meet again." - He turned his charger as he spake Upon the river shore, He gave the bridle-reins a shake, Said "Adieu for evermore, My Love! And adieu for evermore."

Walter Scott [1771-1832]

"LOUDOUN'S BONNIE WOODS AND BRAES"

"Loudoun's bonnie woods and braes, I maun lea' them a', lassie; Wha can thole when Britain's faes Wad gi'e Britons law, lassie? Wha wad shun the field o' danger? Wha frae fame wad live a stranger? Now when freedom bids avenge her, Wha wad shun her ca', lassie? Loudoun's bonnie woods and braes Hae seen our happy bridal days, And gentle Hope shall soothe thy waes When I am far awa', lassie."

"Hark! the swelling bugle sings, Yielding joy to thee, laddie, But the dolefu' bugle brings Waefu' thoughts to me, laddie. Lanely I maun climb the mountain, Lanely stray beside the fountain, Still the weary moments countin', Far frae love and thee, laddie. O'er the gory fields of war, When Vengeance drives his crimson car, Thou'lt maybe fa', frae me afar, And nane to close thy e'e, laddie."

"O! resume thy wonted smile! O! suppress thy fears, lassie! Glorious honor crowns the toil That the soldier shares, lassie; Heaven will shield thy faithful lover Till the vengeful strife is over; Then we'll meet nae mair to sever; Till the day we dee, lassie. 'Midst our bonnie woods and braes We'll spend our peaceful, happy days, As blithe's yon lightsome lamb that plays On Loudoun's flowery lea, lassie."

Robert Tannahill [1774-1810]

"FARE THEE WELL"

Fare thee well and if for ever, Still for ever, fare thee well: Even though unforgiving, never 'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel.

Would that breast were bared before thee Where thy head so oft hath lain, While that placid sleep came o'er thee Which thou ne'er canst know again:

Would that breast, by thee glanced over, Every inmost thought could show! Then thou wouldst at last discover 'Twas not well to spurn it so.

Though the world for this commend thee, - Though it smile upon the blow, Even its praises must offend thee, Founded on another's woe:

Though my many faults defaced me, Could no other arm be found Than the one which once embraced me, To inflict a cureless wound?

Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive not; Love may sink by slow decay, But by sudden wrench, believe not Hearts can thus be torn away:

Still thine own its life retaineth; - Still must mine, though bleeding, beat; And the undying thought which paineth Is - that we no more may meet.

These are words of deeper sorrow Than the wail above the dead; Both shall live, but every morrow Wake us from a widowed bed.

And when thou wouldst solace gather, When our child's first accents flow, Wilt thou teach her to say "Father!" Though his care she must forego?

When her little hands shall press thee, When her lip to thine is pressed, Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee, Think of him thy love had blessed!

Should her lineaments resemble Those thou nevermore may'st see, Then thy heart will softly tremble With a pulse yet true to me.

All my faults perchance thou knowest, All my madness none can know; All my hopes, where'er thou goest, Whither, yet with thee they go.

Every feeling hath been shaken; Pride, which not a world could bow, Bows to thee, - by thee forsaken, Even my soul forsakes me now:

But 'tis done, - all words are idle, - Words from me are vainer still; But the thoughts we cannot bridle Force their way without the will.

Fare thee well! - thus disunited, Torn from every nearer tie, Seared in heart, and lone, and blighted, More than this I scarce can die.

George Gordon Byron [1788-1824]

"MAID OF ATHENS, ERE WE PART"

Maid of Athens, ere we part, Give, oh, give me back my heart! Or, since that has left my breast, Keep it now, and take the rest! Hear my vow before I go, Zoe mou, sas agapo. (My life, I love you.)

By those tresses unconfined, Wooed by each Aegean wind; By those lids whose jetty fringe Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge; By those wild eyes like the roe, Zoe mou, sas agapo. (My life, I love you.)

By that lip I long to taste; By that zone-encircled waist; By all the token-flowers that tell What words can never speak so well; By love's alternate joy and woe, Zoe mou, sas agapo. (My life, I love you.)

Maid of Athens! I am gone: Think of me, sweet! when alone. Though I fly to Istambol, Athens holds my heart and soul: Can I cease to love thee? No! Zoe mou, sas agapo. (My life, I love you.)

George Gordon Byron [1788-1824]

"WHEN WE TWO PARTED"

When we two parted In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted, To sever for years, Pale grew thy cheek and cold, Colder thy kiss; Truly that hour foretold Sorrow to this!

The dew of the morning Sunk chill on my brow; It felt like the warning Of what I feel now. Thy vows are all broken, And light is thy fame: I hear thy name spoken And share in its shame.

They name thee before me, A knell to mine ear; A shudder comes o'er me - Why wert thou so dear? They know not I knew thee Who knew thee too well: Long, long shall I rue thee Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met: In silence I grieve That thy heart could forget, Thy spirit deceive. If I should meet thee After long years, How should I greet thee? - With silence and tears.

George Gordon Byron [1788-1824]

"GO, FORGET ME"

Go, forget me! Why should sorrow O'er that brow a shadow fling? Go, forget me, - and to-morrow Brightly smile and sweetly sing. Smile - though I shall not be near thee. Sing - though I shall never hear thee. May thy soul with pleasure shine, Lasting as the gloom of mine.

Like the sun, thy presence glowing Clothes the meanest things in light; And when thou, like him, art going, Loveliest objects fade in night. All things looked so bright about thee, That they nothing seem without thee; By that pure and lucid mind Earthly things are too refined.

Go, thou vision, wildly gleaming, Softly on my soul that fell; Go, for me no longer beaming - Hope and Beauty, fare ye well! Go, and all that once delighted Take - and leave me, all benighted, Glory's burning, generous swell, Fancy, and the poet's shell.

Charles Wolfe [1791-1823]

LAST NIGHT

I sat with one I love last night, She sang to me an olden strain; In former times it woke delight, Last night - but pain.

Last night we saw the stars arise, But clouds soon dimmed the ether blue: And when we sought each other's eyes Tears dimmed them too!

We paced along our favorite walk, But paced in silence broken-hearted: Of old we used to smile and talk; Last night - we parted.

George Darley [1795-1846]

ADIEU

Let time and chance combine, combine, Let time and chance combine; The fairest love from heaven above, That love of yours was mine, My dear, That love of yours was mine.

The past is fled and gone, and gone, The past is fled and gone; If naught but pain to me remain, I'll fare in memory on, My dear, I'll fare in memory on.

The saddest tears must fall, must fall, The saddest tears must fall; In weal or woe, in this world below, I love you ever and all, My dear, I love you ever and all.

A long road full of pain, of pain, A long road full of pain; One soul, one heart, sworn ne'er to part, - We ne'er can meet again, My dear, We ne'er can meet again.

Hard fate will not allow, allow, Hard fate will not allow; We blessed were as the angels are, - Adieu forever now, My dear, Adieu forever now.

Thomas Carlyle [1795-1881]

JEANIE MORRISON

I've wandered east, I've wandered west, Through mony a weary way; But never, never can forget The luve o' life's young day! The fire that's blawn on Beltane e'en, May weel be black gin Yule; But blacker fa' awaits the heart Where first fond luve grows cule.

O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, The thochts o' bygane years Still fling their shadows owre my path, And blind my een wi' tears: They blind my een wi' saut, saut tears; And sair and sick I pine, As Memory idly summons up The blithe blinks o' langsyne.

'Twas then we luvit ilk ither weel, 'Twas then we twa did part; Sweet time, sad time! - twa bairns at schule, Twa bairns, and but ae heart! 'Twas then we sat on ae laigh bink, To leir ilk ither lear; And tones, and looks, and smiles were shed, Remembered evermair.

I wonder, Jeanie, aften yet, When sitting on that bink, Cheek touchin' cheek, loof locked in loof, What our wee heads could think! When baith bent doun owre ae braid page, Wi' ae buik on our knee, Thy lips were on thy lesson, but My lesson was in thee.

Oh, mind ye how we hung our heads, How cheeks brent red wi' shame, Whene'er the schule-weans, laughin', said, We cleek'd thegither hame? And mind ye o' the Saturdays (The schule then skail't at noon), When we ran aff to speel the braes - The broomy braes o' June?

My head rins round and round about, My heart flows like a sea, As, ane by ane, the thochts rush back O' schule-time and o' thee. Oh, mornin' life! Oh, mornin' luve! Oh, lichtsome days and lang, When hinnied hopes around our hearts, Like simmer blossoms, sprang!

Oh, mind ye, luve, how aft we left The deavin' dinsome toun, To wander by the green burnside, And hear its waters croon? The simmer leaves hung owre our heads, The flowers burst round our feet, And in the gloamin' o' the wud The throssil whusslit sweet.

The throssil whusslit in the wud, The burn sung to the trees, And we, with Nature's heart in tune, Concerted harmonies; And on the knowe abune the burn For hours thegither sat In the silentness o' joy, till baith Wi' very gladness grat.