But a white, celestial thought; When yet I had not walked above A mile or two from my first love, And looking back, at that short space, Could see a glimpse of his bright face; When on some gilded cloud or flower My gazing soul would dwell an hour, And in those weaker glories spy Some shadows of eternity; Before I taught my tongue to wound My conscience with a sinful sound, Or had the black art to dispense A several sin to every sense; But felt through all this fleshly dress Bright shoots of everlastingness.
O how I long to travel back, And tread again that ancient track! That I might once more reach that plain Where first I left my glorious train; From whence the enlightened spirit sees That shady city of palm-trees. But ah! my soul with too much stay Is drunk, and staggers in the way! Some men a forward motion love, But I by backward steps would move; And, when this dust falls to the urn, In that state I came, return.
THEY are all gone into the world of light, And I alone sit lingering here; Their very memory is fair and bright,
And my sad thoughts doth clear.
It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast, Like stars upon some gloomy grove, Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest, After the sun's remove.
I see them walking in an air of glory,
Whose light doth trample on my days: My days, which are at best but dull and hoary, Mere glimmering and decays.
O holy Hope! and high Humility,
High as the heavens above!
These are your walks, and you have shewed them me, To kindle my cold love.
Dear, beauteous Death! the jewel of the just, Shining no where, but in the dark ; What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, Could man outlook that mark!
He that hath found some fledged bird's nest, may know At first sight, if the bird be flown;
But what fair well or grove he sings in now, That is to him unknown.
And yet, as Angels in some brighter dreams Call to the soul, when man doth sleep :
So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes, And into glory peep.
If a star were confined into a tomb,
Her captive flames must needs burn there; But when the hand that locked her up gives room, She'll shine through all the sphere.
O Father of eternal life, and all
Created glories under Thee!
Resume Thy spirit from this world of thrall Into true liberty.
Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill My perspective still as they pass; Or else remove me hence unto that hill Where I shall need no glass.
I WISH I were where Helen lies! Night and day on me she cries; O that I were where Helen lies On fair Kirconnell lea!
Curst be the heart that thought the thought, And curst the hand that fired the shot, When in my arms burd Helen dropt, And died for sake o' me!
O think na but my heart was sair
When my Love dropt down and spak nae mair; I laid her down wi' meikle care On fair Kirconnell lea.
As I went down the water-side, None but my foe to be my guide, None but my foe to be my guide, On fair Kirconnell lea;
I lighted down my sword to draw, I hacked him in pieces sma', I hacked him in pieces sma', For her that died for me.
O Helen fair, beyond compare! I'll make a garland of thy hair Shall bind my heart for evermair Until the day I die.
O that I were where Helen lies! Night and day on me she cries; Out of my bed she bids me rise,
Says, 'Haste and come to me!'
O Helen fair! O Helen chaste! If I were with thee, I were blest, Where thou liest low and tak'st thy rest On fair Kirconnell lea.
I wish my grave were growing green, A winding-sheet drawn ower my een, And I in Helen's arms lying,
On fair Kirconnell lea.
I wish I were where Helen lies! Night and day on me she cries; And I am weary of the skies,
Since my Love died for me.
THERE lived a wife at Usher's Well
And a wealthy wife was she; She had three stout and stalwart sons. And sent them over the sea.
They hadna been a week from her, A week but barely ane, When word came to the carlin wife That her three sons were gane.
They hadna been a week from her, A week but barely three, When word came to the carlin wife That her sons she'd never see.
'I wish the wind may never cease, Nor fashes in the flood,
Till my three sons come hame to me, In earthly flesh and blood!'
It fell about the Martinmass,
When nights are lang and mirk, The carlin wife's three sons came hame, And their hats were of the birk.
It neither grew in syke nor ditch, Nor yet in ony sheugh;
But at the gates o' Paradise
That birk grew fair eneugh.
'Blow up the fire, my maidens ! Bring water from the well; For a' my house shall feast this night, Since my three sons are well.'
And she has made to them a bed,
She's made it large and wide; And she's ta'en her mantle her about, Sat down at the bedside.
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