Written When the News Arrived; 1782
TOLL for the brave,—
The brave that are no more!
All sunk beneath the wave,
Fast by their native shore.
Eight hundred of the brave,
Whose courage well was tried,
Had made the vessel heel,
And laid her on her side.
A land-breeze shook the shrouds,
And she was overset...
O, SAIRLY 1 may I rue the day
I fancied first the womenkind;
For aye sinsyne I ne’er can hae
Ae quiet thought or peace o’ mind!
They hae plagued my heart an’ pleased my e’e,
An’ teased an’ flattered me at will,
But aye for a’ their witcherye,
The pawky things I lo’e them still.
O the women fo’k! O the women fo’k!...
From “The Fire-Worshippers”
“HOW sweetly,” said the trembling maid,
Of her own gentle voice afraid,
So long had they in silence stood,
Looking upon that moonlight flood,—
“How sweetly does the moonbeam smile
To-night upon yon leafy isle!
Oft in my fancy’s wanderings,
I ’ve wished that little isle had wings,
And we, within...
Ye banks and braes o’ bonnie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair?
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae weary, fu’ o’ care?
Thou ’lt break my heart, thou warbling bird,
That wantons through the flowering thorn;
Thou minds me o’ departed joys,
Departed—never to return.
Thou ’lt break my heart, thou bonnie...
“a Weary lot is thine, fair maid,
A weary lot is thine!
To pull the thorn thy brow to braid,
And press the rue for wine!
A lightsome eye, a soldier’s mien,
A feather of the blue,
A doublet of the Lincoln green—
No more of me you knew,
My love!
No more of me you knew.
“The morn is merry June...
When the sheep are in the fauld and the kye a’ at hame,
When a’ the weary world to sleep are gane,
The waes o’ my heart fa’ in showers frae my e’e,
While my gudeman lies sound by me.
Young Jamie lo’ed me weel, and sought me for his bride;
But saving a crown, he had naething else beside.
To mak’ the crown a pound, my Jamie gaed to sea;
...
The Shape alone let others prize,
The features of the fair:
I look for spirit in her eyes,
And meaning in her air.
A damask cheek, an ivory arm,
Shall ne’er my wishes win:
Give me an animated form,
That speaks a mind within.
A face where awful honor shines,
Where sense and sweetness move,
And angel...
From “The Rape of the Lock,” Canto II. ll. 7–18.
ON her white breast a sparkling cross she wore,
Which Jews might kiss, and Infidels adore,
Her lively looks a sprightly mind disclose,
Quick as her eyes, and as unfixed as those:
Favors to none, to all she smiles extends:
Oft she rejects, but never once offends.
Bright as the sun, her eyes...
Father of all! in every age,
In every clime adored,
By saint, by savage, and by sage,
Jehovah, Jove, or Lord!
Thou great First Cause, least understood,
Who all my sense confined
To know but this, that thou art good,
And that myself am blind;
Yet gave me, in this dark estate,
To see the good from ill;
...
Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star
In his steep course? So long he seems to pause
On thy bald, awful head, O sovran Blanc!
The Arve and Arveiron at thy base
Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful Form,
Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines
How silently! Around thee and above,
Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black—...
