Volume Ii Part 168 (1/2)

If Colin's weel, and weel content, I ha'e nae mair to crave; And gin I live to keep him sae, I'm blest abune the lave.

And will I see his face again, And will I hear him speak?

I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought, In troth I'm like to greet!

For there's nae luck aboot the house, There's nae luck ava'; There's little pleasure in the house When our gudeman's awa'.

William Julius Mickle [1735-1788]

(or Jean Adam (?) [1710-1765])

JERRY AN' ME

No matter how the chances are, Nor when the winds may blow, My Jerry there has left the sea With all its luck an' woe: For who would try the sea at all, Must try it luck or no.

They told him--Lor', men take no care How words they speak may fall-- They told him blunt, he was too old, Too slow with oar an' trawl, An' this is how he left the sea An' luck an' woe an' all.

Take any man on sea or land Out of his beaten way, If he is young 'twill do, but then, If he is old an' gray, A month will be a year to him.

Be all to him you may.

He sits by me, but most he walks The door-yard for a deck, An' scans the boat a-goin' out Till she becomes a speck, Then turns away, his face as wet As if she were a wreck.

I cannot bring him back again, The days when we were wed.

But he shall never know--my man-- The lack o' love or bread, While I can cast a st.i.tch or fill A needleful o' thread.

G.o.d pity me, I'd most forgot How many yet there be, Whose goodmen full as old as mine Are somewhere on the sea, Who hear the breakin' bar an' think O' Jerry home an'--me.

Hiram Rich [1832-1901]

”DON'T BE SORROWFUL, DARLING”

O don't be sorrowful, darling!

And don't be sorrowful, pray; Taking the year together, my dear, There isn't more night than day.

'Tis rainy weather, my darling; Time's waves they heavily run; But taking the year together, my dear, There isn't more cloud than sun.

We are old folks now, my darling, Our heads are growing gray; But taking the year all round, my dear, You will always find the May.

We have had our May, my darling, And our roses long ago; And the time of the year is coming, my dear, For the silent night and the snow.

But G.o.d is G.o.d, my darling, Of the night as well as the day; And we feel and know that we can go Wherever He leads the way.

A G.o.d of the night, my darling, Of the night of death so grim; The gate that leads out of life, good wife, Is the gate that leads to Him.

Rembrandt Peale [1778-1860]