Upon his breast he lay along,
Hard by a murm'ring river,
And mournfully his doleful song
With sighs he did deliver;
Ah! Jeany's face was comely grace,
Her locks that shine like lammer,
With burning rays have cut my days;
For Omnia vincit amor.
Her glancy een like comets sheen,
The morning sun outshining,
Have caught my heart in Cupid's net,
And makes me die with pining.
Durst I complain, nature's to blame,
So curiously to frame her,
Whose beauties rare make me, with care,
Cry, Omnia vincit amor.
Ye crystal streams that swiftly glide,
Be partners of my mourning,
Ye fragrant fields and meadows wide,
Condemn her for her scorning;
Let every tree a witness be,
How justly I may blame her;
Ye chanting birds, note these my words,
Ah! Omnia vincit amor.
Had she been kind as she was fair,
She long had been admired,
And been ador'd for virtues rare,
Wh' of life now makes me tired.
Thus said, his breath began to fail,
He could not speak, but stammer;
He sigh'd full sore, and said no more,
But Omnia vincit amor.
When I observ'd him near to death,
I run in haste to save him,
But quickly he resign'd his breath,
So deep the wound love gave him.
Now for her sake this vow I'll make,
My tongue shall aye defame her,
While on his hearse I'll write this verse,
Ah! Omnia vncit amor.
Straight I consider'd in my mind
Upon the matter rightly,
And found, though Cupid he be blind,
He proves in pith most mighty.
For warlike Mars, and thund'ring Jove,
And Vulcan with his hammer,
Did ever prove the slaves of love;
For Omnia vincit amor.
Hence we may see the effects of love,
Which gods and men keep under,
That nothing can his bounds remove,
Or torments break asunder:
Nor wise nor fool need go to school
To learn this from his grammar:
His heart's the book where he's to look
For Omnia vincit amor.
Poor little Jessie.
[James Hogg.]
O what gart me greet when I partit wi' Willie,
While at his guid fortune ilk ane was sae fain?
The neibers upbraidit, and said it was silly,
When I was sae soon to see Willie again.
He ga'e me his hand as he gaed to the river,
For oh! he was aye a kind brother to me;
Right sair was my heart frae my Willie to sever,
An' saut was the dew-drop that smartit my e'e.
It wasna the kiss that he ga'e me at parting,
Nor yet the kind squeeze that he ga'e to my hand,
It wasna the tear frae his blue e'e was starting,
As slaw they were shoving the boat frae the land.
The tear that I saw owre his bonnie cheek straying,
It pleased me, indeed, but it doubled my pain;
For something within me was constantly saying,
"Ah, Jessie! ye'll never see Willie again.
The bairn's unco wae to be ta'en frae its mother,
The linnet laments when bereaved o' its young,
But oh, to be reft of an only kind brother,—
That feeling can neither be paintit nor sung.
I dream'd a' the night that my Willie was wi' me,
Sae kind to his Jessie, at meeting sae fain,
An' just at the dawning a friend cam' to see me,
And tell'd me I never wad see him again.
I ha'e nae body now to look kind and caress me;
I look for a friend, but nae friend can I see;
I dinna ken what's to become o' poor Jessie;
The warld has little mair pleasure for me.
