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.

THE WORLD OF LIGHT

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.

SCOTTISH BALLADS

HELEN OF KIRCONNELL

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.

THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL

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 enough.

'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.