Volume Ii Part 158 (2/2)

As I look back upon your first embrace I understand why from your sudden touch Angered I sprang, and struck you in the face.

You asked at once too little and too much.

But now that of my spirit you require Love's very soul that unto death endures, Crown as you will the cup of your desire-- I am all yours.

Amelia Josephine Burr [1878-

”BY YON BURN SIDE”

We'll meet beside the dusky glen, on yon burn side, Where the bushes form a cosie den, on yon burn side; Though the broomy knowes be green, And there we may be seen, Yet we'll meet--we'll meet at e'en, down by yon burn side.

I'll lead thee to the birken bower, on yon burn side, Sae sweetly wove wi' woodbine flower, on yon burn side; There the busy prying eye, Ne'er disturbs the lover's joy, While in ither's arms they lie, down by yon burn side.

Awa', ye rude, unfeeling crew, frae yon burn side, Those fairy scenes are no for you, by yon burn side; There fancy smooths her theme, By the sweetly murmuring stream, And the rock-lodged echoes skim, down by yon burn side.

Now the plantin' taps are tinged wi' goud, on yon burn side, And gloamin' draws her foggy shroud o'er yon burn side; Far frae the noisy scene, I'll through the fields alane, There we'll meet, my ain dear Jean, down by yon burn side.

Robert Tannahill [1774-1810]

A PASTORAL

Flower of the medlar, Crimson of the quince, I saw her at the blossom-time, And loved her ever since!

She swept the draughty pleasance, The blooms had left the trees, The whilst the birds sang canticles, In cherry symphonies.

Whiteness of the white rose, Redness of the red, She went to cut the blush-rose buds To tie at the altar-head; And some she laid in her bosom, And some around her brows, And, as she pa.s.sed, the lily-heads All becked and made their bows.

Scarlet of the poppy, Yellow of the corn, The men were at the garnering, A-shouting in the morn; I chased her to a pippin-tree,-- The waking birds all whist,-- And oh! it was the sweetest kiss That I have ever kissed.

Marjorie, mint, and violets A-drying round us set, 'Twas all done in the faience-room A-spicing marmalet; On one tile was a satyr, On one a nymph at bay, Methinks the birds will scarce be home To wake our wedding-day!

Theophile Marzials [1850-

”WHEN DEATH TO EITHER SHALL COME”

When Death to either shall come,-- I pray it be first to me,-- Be happy as ever at home, If so, as I wish, it be.

Possess thy heart, my own; And sing to thy child on thy knee, Or read to thyself alone The songs that I made for thee.

Robert Bridges [1844-1930]

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