Volume Vi Part 19 (2/2)
Leave the dead ages in their urns; The present time be ours, To grapple bravely with our lot, And strew our path with flowers.
CLYDE BOAT SONG.
_Music by A. Hume._
Leave the city's busy throng-- Dip the oar, and wake the song, While on Cathkin Braes the moon Rises with a star aboon: Hark! the boom of evening bells Trembles through the dewy dells.
Row, lads, row; row, lads, row, While the golden eventide Lingers o'er the vale of Clyde, Row, lads, row; row, lads, row, O'er the tide, up the Clyde, Row, lads, row.
Life 's a river, deep and old, Stemm'd by rowers, brave and bold; Now in shadow, then in light, Onward aye, a thing of might; Sons of Albyn's ancient land, Row with strong and steady hand, Row, lads, row; row, lads, row; Gaily row, and cheery sing, Till the woodland echoes ring; Row, lads, row; row lads, row, O'er the tide, up the Clyde, Row, lads, row.
Hammers on the anvil rest, Dews upon the gowan's breast; Young hearts heave with tender thought, Low winds sigh, with odours fraught, Stars bedeck the blue above, Earth is full of joy and love; Row, lads, row; row, lads, row; Let your oars in concert beat Merry time, like dancers' feet; Row, lads, row; row, lads, row, With the tide, down the Clyde, Row, lads, row.
DIMPLES AND A'.
I love a sweet la.s.sie, mair gentle and true Than ony young, wood-loving, wild cus.h.i.+e doo; Her cheeks they are dimpled, her jimp waist is sma', She says she 's my ain la.s.sie, dimples and a'-- Dimples and a', dimples and a'-- That bonnie wee la.s.s wi' her dimples and a'.
Her brown wavy hair has a dark gowden tinge, Her bonnie black e'e has a long jetty fringe, Her footstep is light as the thistle doun's fa', Her wee hand is lily-white, dimpled and a'-- Dimpled and a', dimpled and a'-- And I ken it 's my ain hand, dimples and a'.
I 'll wed my dear la.s.sie, and gie her my name, I 'll get a bit housie, and bring my love hame; When winter is eerie, and stormy winds blaw, She 'll mak' me fu' cheerie wi' dimples and a'-- Dimples and a', dimples and a'-- My ain bonnie wifie, wi' her dimples and a'.
When the day's wark is done, and stars blink above, I 'll rest in her smile, and be bless'd wi' her love; She 'll sing a' the cares o' this world awa'
Frae our cosie ingle, wi' dimples and a'.
Dimples and a', dimples and a'-- Our ain cosie ingle, wi' dimples and a'.
BUBBLES ON THE BLAST.
A wee bit laddie sits wi' a bowl upon his knees, And from a cutty pipe 's puffing bubbles on the breeze; Oh, meikle is the mirth of the weans on our stair, To see the bubbles sail like balloons alang the air.
Some burst before they rise, others mount the gentle wind, And leave the little band in their dizzy joy behind; And such are human pomp and ambition at the last-- The wonder of an hour, like thae bubbles on the blast.
How breathless is the watch of that merry little throng, To mark the s.h.i.+ning globes as they float in pride along!
'Tis thus life's bubbles come, ever flas.h.i.+ng from afar-- Now a revolution, and again a woeful war; A hero or a bard, in their glory or their might; A bonnie bird of song, or a nightingale of light; Or yellow golden age, with its speculations vast-- All wonders of an hour, like the bubbles on the blast.
Shout on, ye little folk, for your sport is quite as sage As that of older men, e'en the leaders of the age; This world 's a sapple bowl, and our life a pipe of clay-- Its brightest dreams and hopes are but bubbles blown away.
We 've had our bubbles too; some were dear and tender things, That left us sad and lone as they fled on rapid wings; And others yet may rise from the future, like the past, The wonder of an hour, as the bubbles on the blast.
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