THE BLOOM HATH FLED THY CHEEK. 67 It seems as 't were but yesterday When murmured sighs and joyous tears, Discoursed my love, and told how loved Farewell! 'T was not in cold and measured phrase And long-imprisoned feelings fast Would that our love had been the love When passion's draught to our doomed lips Turns utter woe, And our poor dream of happiness Vanishes so! Farewell! But in the wreck of all our hopes Despair and love and madness meet In this, in this. Farewell! WILLIAM MOTHERWELL. H The Mango-Tree. E wiled me through the furzy croft; We married, and we sailed the main; We marched through many a burning plain; But his God keep it safe from harm! He toiled, and dared, and earned command. And those three stripes upon his arm Were more to me than gold or land. Sure he would win some great renown: Our lives were strong, our hearts were high. One night the fever struck him down, I sat, and stared, and saw him die. I had his children - one, two, three. One week I had them, blithe and sound; I sit beneath the mango-shade; I live my five years' life all o'er 'T is I, not they, am gone and dead. They live, they know, they feel, they see. Their spirits light the golden shade Beneath the giant mango-tree. MY HEID IS LIKE TO REND, WILLIE. All things, save I, are full of life: The minas' pluming velvet breasts; The monkeys, in their foolish strife; The swooping hawks, the swinging nests. The lizards basking on the soil, The butterflies who sun their wings; Each tender purple mango-shoot, That folds and droops so bashful down: It blossoms; and the children cry – It lives; but rootless, fruitless, I — I breathe and dream;- and that is all. Thus am I dead: yet cannot die: But still within my foolish brain There hangs a pale-blue evening sky; A furzy croft; a sandy lane. CHARLES KINGSLEY. 69 My Heid is like to rend, Willie. Y heid is like to rend, Willie, M My heart is like to break ; I'm wearin' aff my feet, Willie, Oh, lay your cheek to mine, Willie, Oh, say ye 'll think on me, Willie, It's vain to comfort me, Willie, Sair grief maun ha'e its will; I'm sittin' on your knee, Willie, Ay, press your hand upon my heart, Oh, wae's me for the hour, Willie, Oh, wae's me for the time, Willie, Oh, dinna mind my words, Willie, And dree a warld's shame! Het tears are hailin' ower your cheek I'm weary of this warld, Willie, And sick wi' a' I see, MY HEID IS LIKE TO REND, WILLIE. I canna live as I ha'e lived, Or be as I should be. But fauld unto your heart, Willie, The heart that still is thine, And kiss ance mair the white, white cheek Ye said was red langsyne. A stoun' gaes through my heid, Willie, Oh, haud me up, and let me kiss How fast my life-strings break! Step lichtly for my sake! The lav'rock in the lift, Willie, That lilts far ower our heid, Will sing the morn as merrilie But oh, remember me, Willie, And oh, think on the leal, leal heart, And oh, think on the cauld, cauld mools That kiss the cheek, and kiss the chin Ye never sall kiss mair! WILLIAM MOTHERWELL. 71 |