And when is Love the richest ?
"Giving her wealth improves.'
And say what tongue she speaketh?
'She speaketh not-she loves.'
My heart, I would enquire,
What then is Love? Say on!
'Two souls that flow together,
Two hearts that beat in one!'
Transl. from the German by M. E. TOWNSEND.
NOT as all other women are
Is she that to my soul is dear;
Her glorious fancies come from far,
Beneath the silver evening-star,
And yet her heart is ever near.
Great feelings hath she of her own,
Which lesser souls may never know;
God giveth them to her alone,
And sweet they are as any tone
Wherewith the wind may choose to blow.
Yet in herself she dwelleth not,
Although no home were half so fair ;
No simplest duty is forgot,
Life hath no dim and lowly spot
That doth not in her sunshine share.
She doeth little kindnesses,
Which most leave undone or despise ;
For nought which sets one heart at ease,
And giveth happiness or peace,
Is low esteemèd her eyes.
She hath no scorn of common things,
And, though she seem of other birth,
Round us her heart entwines and clings,
And patiently she folds her wings
To tread the humble paths of earth.
Blessing she is: God made her so,
And deeds of week-day holiness
Fall from her noiseless as the snow,
Nor hath she ever chanced to know
That aught were easier than to bless.
She is most fair, and thereunto
Her life doth rightly harmonize;
Feeling or thought that was not true
Ne'er made less beautiful the blue
Unclouded heaven of her eyes.
She is a woman: one in whom
The spring-time of her childish years
Hath never lost its fresh perfume,
Though knowing well that life hath room
For many blights and many tears.
I love her with a love as still
As a broad river's peaceful might,
Which, by high tower and lowly mill,
Goes wandering at its own will,
And yet doth ever flow aright.
And on its full, deep breast serene,
Like quiet isles my duties lie ;
It flows around them and between,
And makes them fresh and fair and green,
Sweet homes wherein to live and die.
WHO is Silvia? What is she,
That all our swains commend her? Holy, fair, and wise is she;
The heavens such grace did lend her, That she might admired be.
Is she kind as she is fair?
For beauty lives with kindness:
Love doth to her eyes repair,
To help him of his blindness;
And, being helped, inhabits there.
Then to Silvia let us sing,
That Silvia is excelling;
She excels each mortal thing
Upon the dull earth dwelling.
To her let us garlands bring.
BEHIND yon hills where Lugar flows
'Mang muirs and mosses many, O !
The wintry sun the day has closed,
And I'll awa' to Nannie, O;
The westlin wind blaws loud and shrill,
The night's baith mirk and rainy, O!
But I'll get my plaid, and out I'll steal,
And o'er the hills to Nannie, O!
My Nannie's charmin', sweet, and young ;
Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O!
May ill befa' the flattering tongue
That wad beguile my Nannie, O !
Her face is fair, her heart is true,
As spotless as she's bonnie, O!
The openin' gowan,† wet wi' dew,
Nae purer is than Nannie, O!
A country lad is my degree,
And few there be that ken me, O ! But what care I how few there be? I'm welcome aye to Nannie, O! My riches a's my penny fee,
And I maun guide it cannie, O!
But the warl's gear ‡ ne'er troubles me,-
My thochts are a'--my Nannie, O!
Our auld gude man delights to view
His sheep and kye thrive bonnie, O!
But I'm as blythe, that hauds his plou',
And hae nae care but Nannie, O!
Come weel, come woe, I care na by;
I'll tak' what Heaven will send me, O ! Nae other care in life hae I,
But live and love my Nannie, O!
OH, THE SUNNY MORNING!
DOWN the mountain came the stream,
Leaping in the glowing beam
From the daylight's brightening gleam,
On the sunny morning.
Crimson foxglove, tall and high,
Bowed as though a king went by ;
Heather stood up, proud and shy,
On the sunny morning.
By the streamlet sat we two,
Throned among wild heartsease blue,
While he said, 'Dear, I love you.'
Oh, the sunny morning!
GOOD-MORROW TO MY LOVE.
PACK, clouds, away, and welcome day,
With night we banish sorrow;
Sweet air, blow soft, mount, larks, aloft,
To give my Love good-morrow!
Wings from the wind to please her mind,
Notes from the lark I'll borrow;
Bird, prune thy wing, nightingale, sing,
To give my Love good-morrow;
To give my Love good-morrow
Notes from them both I'll borrow.
Wake from thy nest, robin redbreast,
Sing birds in every furrow;
And from each hill let music shrill
Give my fair Love good-morrow.
Blackbird and thrush in every bush,
Stare,* linnet, and cock-sparrow !
You pretty elves, amongst yourselves
Sing my fair Love good-morrow.
To give my Love good-morrow,
Sing birds in every furrow.
THOMAS HEYWOOD.
GOOD night! Good night, beloved!
I come to watch o'er thee!
To be near thee,-to be near thee,
Alone is peace for me.
Thine eyes are stars of morning,
Thy lips are crimson flowers!
Good night! Good night, beloved,
While I count the weary hours.
WHEN ye're my ain gudewife, lassie,
What'll ye bring to me?
A hantle o' siller, a stockin' o' gowd?—
'I haena ae bawbee.'
When ye are my ain gudewife, lassie,
And sit at my fireside,
Will the red and white meet in your face?— 'Na! ye'll no get a bonnie bride!'
But gin ye're my ain gudewife, lassie,
Mine for gude and ill,
Will ye bring me three things, lassie,
My toom, toom house to fill?
A temper sweet, a silent tongue,
A heart baith warm and free?
Then I'll marry ye the morn, lassie,
And loe ye till I dee.
The Author of John Halifax.'
|