Page images
PDF
EPUB

THE LAND OF HEART'S DESIRE

"SOMEWHERE," he mused, "its dear enchantments wait,

That land, so heavenly sweet;

Yet all the paths we follow, soon or late,

End in the desert's heat.

"And still it lures us to the eager quest,

And calls us day by day"

"But I," she said, her babe upon her breast,

"But I have found the way."

"Some time," he sighed, "when youth and joy are spent,

Our feet the gates may win"

"But I," she smiled, with eyes of deep content,

"But I have entered in."

Emily Huntington Miller [1833-1913]

MY AIN WIFE

I WADNA gi'e my ain wife
For ony wife I see;

I wadna gi'e my ain wife
For ony wife I see;

A bonnier yet I've never seen,

A better canna be

I wadna gi'e my ain wife
For ony wife I see!

O couthie is my ingle-cheek,
An' cheerie is my Jean;
I never see her angry look,

Nor hear her word on ane.

She's gude wi' a' the neebors roun'
An' aye gude wi' me-

I wadna gi'e my ain wife
For ony wife I see.

An' O her looks sae kindlie,

They melt my heart outright,

When o'er the baby at her breast

She hangs wi' fond delight;

The Irish Wife

She looks intill its bonnie face,
An' syne looks to me-

I wadna gi'e my ain wife

For ony wife I see.

1207

Alexander Laing [1787-1857]

THE IRISH WIFE

I WOULD not give my Irish wife

For all the dames of the Saxon land;

I would not give my Irish wife

For the Queen of France's hand; For she to me is dearer

Than castles strong, or lands, or life. An outlaw so I'm near her

To love till death my Irish wife.

O what would be this home of mine,
A ruined, hermit-haunted place,
But for the light that nightly shines
Upon its walls from Kathleen's face!
What comfort in a mine of gold,
What pleasure in a royal life,
If the heart within lay dead and cold,
If I could not wed my Irish wife?

I knew the law forbade the banns;
I knew my king abhorred her race;
Who never bent before their clans

Must bow before their ladies' grace.
Take all my forfeited domain,

I cannot wage with kinsmen strife: Take knightly gear and noble name, And I will keep my Irish wife.

My Irish wife has clear blue eyes,

My heaven by day, my stars by night;"

And twin-like truth and fondness lies

Within her swelling bosom white.

My Irish wife has golden hair,
Apollo's harp had once such strings,
Apollo's self might pause to hear
Her bird-like carol when she sings.

I would not give my Irish wife

For all the dames of the Saxon land;
I would not give my Irish wife
For the Queen of France's hand;
For she to me is dearer

Than castles strong, or lands, or life:

In death I would be near her,

And rise beside my Irish wife.

Thomas D'Arcy McGee [1825-1868]

MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE THING

SHE is a winsome wee thing,
She is a handsome wee thing,
She is a bonnie wee thing,

This sweet wee wife o' mine.

I never saw a fairer,

I never lo'ed a dearer,

And niest my heart I'll wear her,

For fear my jewel tine.

She is a winsome wee thing,
She is a handsome wee thing,
She is a bonnie wee thing,

This sweet wee wife o' mine.

The warld's wrack we share o't,

The warsle and the care o't:

Wi' her I'll blithely bear it,

And think my lot divine.

LETTICE

Robert Burns [1759-1796]

I SAID to Lettice, our sister Lettice,

While drooped and glistened her eyelash brown, "Your man's a poor man, a cold and dour man,

There's many a better about our town."

"If Thou Wert by My Side" 1209

She smiled securely-"He loves me purely:

A true heart's safe, both in smile or frown; And nothing harms me while his love warms me, Whether the world go up or down."

"He comes of strangers, and they are rangers,
And ill to trust, girl, when out of sight:
Fremd folk may blame ye, and e'en defame ye,—
A gown oft handled looks seldom white."
She raised serenely her eyelids queenly,-
"My innocence is my whitest gown;

No harsh tongue grieves me while he believes me,
Whether the world go up or down."

"Your man's a frail man, was ne'er a hale man, And sickness knocketh at every door,

And death comes making bold hearts cower, breaking-" Our Lettice trembled;-but once, no more.

"If death should enter, smite to the center

Our poor home palace, all crumbling down,

He cannot fright us, nor disunite us,

Life bears Love's cross, death brings Love's crown." Dinah Maria Mulock Craik [1826-1887]

"IF THOU WERT BY MY SIDE, MY LOVE”

If thou wert by my side, my love,

How fast would evening fail
In green Bengala's palmy grove,
Listening the nightingale!

If thou, my love, wert by my side,
My babies at my knee,

How gayly would our pinnace glide
O'er Gunga's mimic sea!

I miss thee at the dawning gray,
When, on our deck reclined,
In careless ease my limbs I lay
And woo the cooler wind.

I miss thee when by Gunga's stream
My twilight steps I guide,

But most beneath the lamp's pale beam
I miss thee from my side.

I spread my books, my pencil try,
The lingering noon to cheer,
But miss thy kind, approving eye,
Thy meek, attentive ear.

But when at morn and eve the star
Beholds me on my knee,

I feel, though thou art distant far,
Thy prayers ascend for me.

Then on! then on! where duty leads,
My course be onward still,

O'er broad Hindostan's sultry meads,

O'er bleak Almorah's hill.

That course nor Delhi's kingly gates,
Nor mild Malwah detain;

For sweet the bliss us both awaits

By yonder western main.

Thy towers, Bombay, gleam bright, they say,

Across the dark blue sea;

But ne'er were hearts so light and gay

As then shall meet in thee!

Reginald Heber [1783-1826]

THE SHEPHERD'S WIFE'S SONG

From "The Mourning Garment "

Ан, what is love? It is a pretty thing,
As sweet unto a shepherd as a king,

And sweeter, too:

« PreviousContinue »