There the Storm King may dwell in the halls he loves best,
But the soft-breathing zephyr he plays in the West. Then come to the West, where no cold wind doth blow, And thy neck will seem fairer to me than the snow.
The sun in the gorgeous East chases the night, When he rises refresh'd in his glory and mightBut where doth he go when he seeks his sweet restOh, doth he not haste to the beautiful West?
Then come there with me, 'tis the land I love best— "Tis the land of my sires-'tis my own darling West.
Happy land! happy land!
Whate'er my fate in life may be,
Still again, still again,
My thoughts will cling to thee.
Land of love and sunny skies,
Rich in joy and beauty,
Merry hearts and laughing eyes
Still make affection duty.
Happy land! happy land!
Ne'er from thee my heart can stray;
I would fain hear again
The merry mountain lay.
Happy land! happy land!
Whate'er my fate in life may be,
Still again, still again,
My thoughts will cling to thee.
Like that bird of love and song,
Far from its loved dwelling,
When into the wild air flung,
What joy his note is telling!
Oh, happy land! happy land! &c.
Sylvia sleeps! and tears of night
Glitter in the silvery light;
Cowslips hang their heavy heads,
Slumbering on the verdant beds;
Silence reigns in wood and grove,
Mute the warbling notes of love;
All is hushed, till, by-and-bye,
Philomel sings Lullaby!
Sylvia wakes! and 'neath her feet
Myriad buds her presence greet,
Shaking off their pearly tears
When the fairest flower appears,
And in grove or tangled brake
Notes of joyful welcome wake;
While the lark, on upward wing,
To the sky her praise doth sing.
Rein-deer! Rein-deer! over the snow,
Let the lightning's speed be thine.
Haste thee on! thou art all too slow
For a love so warm as mine.
Oh! that thou couldst outstrip the wind
In the path thou lov'st to roam;
On, on, and win a caress as kind
As the smile that lights my home..
Rein-deer! swift is thy foot, but ne'er,
Were thy speed the wild bird's flight,
Rushing on through the realms of air,
Couldst thou reach our home ere night;
Another day-and another still-
And such days to me are years-
Must thou follow thy master's will
Ere his distant home appears.
Day is gone, and the night clouds lower,
Bringing rest to thee awhile;
I will watch for the morning hour,
Then away to thy weary toil.
Daylight sets, but oh! not in care,
Ere the shades of night are come;
Rein-deer! thou for thy speed shalt share
In the joys of thy master's home.
WILT THOU MEET ME THERE, LOVE!
Where, as dewy twilight lingers
O'er the balmy air, love,
Harps seem touched by fairy fingers,
Wilt thou meet me there, love?
While the rapid swallow's flying,
And each distant murmur dying,
Leaves alone around us sighing,
Wilt thou meet me there, love?
Where soft gales from beds of flowers
Fragrant incense bear, love,
Sweet as Eastern maidens' bowers,
Wilt thou meet me there, love?
While the bird of love is singing,
Liquid notes around us flinging,
Rapture to the full heart bringing,
Wilt thou meet me there, love?
Hey the bonnie, O the bonnie,
Hey the bonnie breast-knots;
Blythe and merry were they a'
When they put on the breast-knots.
There was a bridal in our town,
And till't the lasses a' were boun,
Wi' mangle facings a' their gowns,
And some o' them had breast-knots.
At nine o'clock the lads convene,
Some clad in blue, some clad in green,
Wi' shining buckles i' their sheen,
And flowers upon their waistcoats;
Out cam' the wives a' wi' applause,
And wished the lassie happy days,
And muckle thought they o' her claes,
Especially the breast-knots.
The bride was young, the bride was fair,
Wi' faultless form an' graceful air,
Her looks they were 'yond a' compare,
When she put on the breast-knots.
Singing, Hey the bonnie, O the bonnie,
Hey the bonnie breast-knots!
Blythe and merry were they a'
When they put on the breast-knots.
FAR DOWN A VALLEY LONELY.
Far down a valley lonely,
Just such as poets deem
May be made for lovers only,
When but of love they dream,
There came a youth and maiden,
When snow was on the ground,
And every tree was laden
With glitt'ring frost-pearls round.
Said he, "By all above thee,
My heart no change can know!"
These words, "I swear to love thee,"
He traced upon the snow.
Heigho! heigho! heigho!
It was ever so!
Lovers' words are ever,
Ever traced in snow.
The snow he wrote on, purer
Was not than her fair breast;
But the words were deeper, surer,
Upon her heart imprest.
The maiden soon did languish,
To find her lover flown;
And on in bitter anguish
She pined, and wept alone.
The words, where he had traced them,
"I swear to love thee," lo!
A month had all effaced them,
The words went with the snow.
Heigho! &c.
A word in season spoken
May calm the troubled breast,
And hearts by grief half broken
May find some place of rest;
Then who would coldly listen
To sorrow's thrilling tale,
When eyes with Hope might glisten,
If kind words but prevail.
If we but gently reason
When lost is honour's track,
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