Roused the stag from his rest
In the glen of green braiken—
But no more its loud quest
Coilantugal shall waken!
Ay! now may his hounds
In the paddock lie idle,
And the steed roam his bounds
Unrestrained by the bridle;
The proud pibroch may blow,
But its notes shall not cheer him—
O'er his breast the brown roe
May leap wild and not fear him!
Wearie’s Well.
[William Motherwell.]
In a saft simmer gloamin',
In yon dowie dell,
It was there we twa first met
By Wearie's cauld well.
We sat on the brume bank
And looked in the burn,
But sidelang we looked on
Ilk ither in turn.
The corn-craik was chirming
His sad eerie cry,
And the wee stars were dreaming
Their path through the sky.
The burn babbled freely
Its luve to each flower,
But we heard and we saw nought
In that blessed hour.
We heard and we saw nought
Above or around:
We felt that our luve lived,
And loathed idle sound.
I gazed on your sweet face
Till tears fill'd mine e'e,
And they drapt on your wee loof—
A warld's wealth to me!
Now the winter snaw's fa'ing
On bare holm and lea;
And the cauld wind is strippin'
Ilk leaf aff the tree.
But the snaw fa's not faster,
The leaf disna part
Sae sune frae the bough, as
Faith fades in your heart.
Ye've waled out anither
Your bridegroom to be;
But can his heart luve sae
As mine luvit thee?
Ye'll get biggings and mailins,
And monie braw claes,
But they a' winna buy back
The peace o' past days.
Fareweel, and for ever!
My first luve and last;
May thy joys be to come,
Mine live in the past.
In sorrow and sadness,
This hour fa's on me,
But light, as thy love, may
It fleet over thee.
The kind breath o’ Summer.
[Written by James T. Whitelaw, Glasgow. Set to music by the author, with symphonies and accompaniments by John M'Dougall.]
The kind breath o' summer blew saftly alang,
The crawflower an' gowan on ilka knowe sprang,
An' sweet was the air as I wander'd at e'en,
An' woo'd the dear lass wi' the bonnie blue een.
O clear was the burnie that wimpl'd alang,
An' sweet was the strain o' its murmuring sang,
But sweeter that voice, an' far clearer I ween,
Was the blythe bonnie blink o' her twa laughin' een.
Ae nicht in the gloamin we wander'd alane,
I speer'd gin she lo'ed me, gin she'd be my ain;
Nae word did she speak, but her answer was gi'en,
Wi' the blush on her cheek, wi' the glint o' hereen.
As the autumn leaves fell, my heart it grew sick,
I saw the rose fading that bloom'd on her cheek;
That voice now was sad that sae cheerie had been,
There shone a strange licht in her bonnie blue een.
The cauld winter cam', nought that fair flower could save,
She wither'd awa', she was laid in the grave;
The stane that lies ower her is moss-cover'd green,
But I've ne'er ance forgot the blythe blink o' her een.
