Upon the green the virgins wait, Till morn unbar her golden gate, Strike up the tabor's boldest notes, The nested birds shall raise their throats, And see-the matin lark mistakes, He quits the tufted green: Fond bird! 'tis not the morning breaks,- Now lightsome o'er the level mead, Like them the jocund dance we'll lead, For see the rosy May draws nigh, She claims a virgin Queen; And hark, the happy shepherds cry, 'Tis Kate of Aberdeen. I John Cunningham [1729-1773] SONG WHO has robbed the ocean cave, To tinge thy lips with coral hue? For thee those pearly treasures drew? A thousand charms, thy form to deck, On thy breath their fragrance borne. Guard thy bosom from the day, But one charm remains behind, Nor in the circling air, a heart. Take, oh, take that heart from me. John Shaw [1559-1625] CHLOE It was the charming month of May, One morning, by the break of day, The youthful, charming Chloe The feathered people you might see, They hail the charming Chloe; Robert Burns [1759-1796] The Lover's Choice 541 "O MALLY'S MEEK, MALLY'S SWEET” As I was walking up the street, A barefit maid I chanced to meet; For that fair maiden's tender feet." Mally's every way complete. It were more meet that those fine feet Her yellow hair, beyond compare, Comes trinkling down her swan-white neck, And her two eyes, like stars in skies, Would keep a sinking ship frae wreck. Mally's modest and discreet,' 'Mally's rare, Mally's fair, Mally's every way complete. Robert Burns [1759-1796] THE LOVER'S CHOICE You, Damon, covet to possess And clasp an armful of brocade. Such raise the price of your delight With colors of adulterate art. Me, Damon, me the maid enchants No art she knows, or seeks to know; Thomas Bedingfield [? -1613] RONDEAU REDOUBLÉ My day and night are in my lady's hand; Her anger darkens all the cheerful light." While she is kind, I know of no affright; All heaven in her glorious eyes is spanned; What if the Winter chase the Summer bland! Love is my Lord in all the world's despite My day and night. John Payne [ 1770-1800] "MY LOVE SHE'S BUT A LASSIE YET”. 111 My love she's but a lassie yet, To sit an' woo I Down by the stream sae glassy yet. But there's a braw time coming yet, When fa's the modest gloaming yet. She's neither proud nor saucy yet, Bonny blinking, Hilty-skilty lassie yet. But O, her artless smile's mair sweet Than hinny or than marmalete; An' right or wrang, Ere it be lang, I'll bring her to a parley yet. I'm jealous o' what blesses her, The very breeze that kisses her, On which she treads, Though wae for ane that misses her. James Hogg [1770-1835] |