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Welcome, folded arms, and fixéd eyes, A sigh that piercing mortifies, A look that 's fasten'd to the ground, A tongue chain'd up without a sound! Fountain heads and pathless groves, Places which pale passion loves! Moonlight walks, when all the fowls Are warmly housed save bats and owls! A midnight bell, a parting groan! These are the sounds we feed upon; Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley; Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy. J. Fletcher
TO A LOCK OF HAIR
HY hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright night
When first thy mystic braid was wove,
Since then how often hast thou prest
A breast whose blood 's a troubled ocean,
Yet keep thy hue unstain'd and pure,
Nor heaven nor earth could then reprove me If she had lived, and lived to love me.
Not then this world's wild joys had been
Mine ireful mood had sweetness tamed,
Sir W. Scott
THE FORSAKEN BRIDE
WALY waly up the bank,
Where I and my Love wont to gae! I leant my back unto an aik,
I thought it was a trusty tree; But first it bow'd, and syne it brak, Sae my true Love did lichtly me.
O waly waly, but love be bonny
Or wherefore should I kame my hair?
For my true Love has me forsook,
Now Arthur-seat sall be my bed;
The sheets shall ne'er be prest by me : Saint Anton's well sall be my drink,
Since my true Love has forsaken me. Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw
And shake the green leaves aff the tree? O gentle Death, when wilt thou come? For of my life I am wearie.
'Tis not the frost that freezes fell,
Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie ; 'T is not sic cauld that makes me cry,
But my Love's heart grown cauld to me. When we came in by Glasgow town
We were a comely sight to see;
But had I wist, before I kist,
That love had been sae ill to win ;
And the green grass growing over me!
WISH I were where Helen lies:
Curst be the heart that thought the thought,
O think na but my heart was sair
As I went down the water-side,
I lighted down my sword to draw,
For her sake that died for me.
O Helen fair, beyond compare!
O that I were where Helen lies!
Says, 'Haste and come to me!'
O Helen fair! O Helen chaste!
I wish my grave were growing green,
On fair Kirconnell lea.
I wish I were where Helen lies:
THE TWA CORBIES
S I was walking all alane
making a mane;
The tane unto the t' other say,
In behint yon auld fail dyke,