Thou are not yet at home; perhaps thy feet
Are on the threshold of thy father's door,
But still thy journey is not there complete,
If thou canst add to it but one step more;
'Tis not thy house which thou with feet can reach,
'Tis where when wearied they will enter not;
But stop beneath an earthly roof, where each
May for a time find comfort in his lot;
Then called to wander soon again must mourn,
That such frail shelter they should call relief;
And onward seek again that distant bourne,
The home of all the family of grief,

If you have forgotten water lilies floating
On a dark lake among mountains in the afternoon shade,
If you have forgotten their wet, sleepy fragrance,
Then you can return and not be afraid.

But if you remember, then turn away forever
To the plains and the prairies where pools are far apart,
There you will not come at dusk on closing water lilies,
And the shadow of mountains will not fall on your heart.

I SHALL not see the faces of my friends,
Nor hear the songs the rested reapers sing
After the labors of the harvesting,
In those dark nights before the summer ends;
Nor see the floods of spring, the melting snow,
Nor in the autumn twilight hear the stir
Of reedy marshes, when the wild ducks whir
And circle black against the afterglow.
My mother died; she shall not have to weep;
My wife will find another home; my child,
Too young, will never grieve or know; but I
Have found my brother, and contentedly
I'll lay my head upon his knees and sleep.

O! the rose is like her ruby lip,
And the lilly like her skin;
And her mouth like a faulded violet,
Wi' the scented breath within;
And her een are like yon bonnie flower
When the dew is in its cup;—
As the bee frae it its honey draws,
I love frae them maun sip.

O! her voice is like yon little bird's
That sits in the cherry-tree:
For the air o' the sky and the heart o' man
It fills wi' its melodie.
Her hand is soft as the downy peach
Upon yon branch that hings!
An' her hair its gloss sae rich has stown

Addressing reason, yet above it still,
The True Religion speaks unto the soul;
It bids the conflicts of the mind be still,
And doth each motive of the will controul.
From low to higher still is nature's law,
Written on stony tablets of the earth;
And things we see upward the spirit draw
To things, and beings of a nobler birth.
Nor man alone aspires; but God descends,
And to our faculties doth lend his aid;
That we, amidst our doubts, may see the ends,
For which the world, and all therein were made;
See too his gracious love for sinful man,

CXCIII

Since that my language without eloquence
Is plain, unpainted, and not unknown,
Dispatch answer with ready utterance:
The question is ‘yours?’ or else ‘mine own?’
To be upholden and still to fawn,
I know no cause of such obedience.
To have such corn as seed was sown,
That is the worst. Therefore give sentence.

But if your will be in this case
To uphold me still, what needeth that?
Sith ‘yea’ or ‘nay’ my question was,
So long delay it needeth not.
If I have ‘yea’ then have I that
That I have sought to bring to pass.

No man takes the farm,
Nothing grows there;
The ivy's arm
Strangles the rose there.

Old Farmer Kyrle
Farmed there the last;
He beat his girl
(It 's seven years past).

After market it was
He beat his girl;
He liked his glass,
Old Farmer Kyrle.

Old Kyrle's son
Said to his father:
“Now, dad, you ha' done,
I'll kill you rather!

“Stop beating sister,
Or by God I'll kill you!”
Kyrle was full of liquor—
Old Kyrle said: “Will you?”

Kyrle took his cobb'd stick
And beat his daughter;
He said: “I'll teach my chick

They robed the Christian's daughter;
From high embowered room
In dusky robe they brought her
Down, down into a tomb—
And oh, her dress had often been
Gay as a peacock's plume.

Forbear to tempt me, Prowl, I will not show
A line unto thee, till the world it know;
Or that I have by, two good sufficient men,
To be the wealthy witness of my pen:
For all thou hear'st, thou swear'st thyself didst do.
Thy wit lives by it, Prowl, and belly too.
Which, if thou leave not soon (though I am loath)
I must a libel make, and cozen both.

Here awa', there awa' wandering, Willie,
Here awa', there awa', haud awa' hame;
Come to my bosom, my ae only deary,
Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same.

Loud tho' the winter blew cauld on our parting,
'Twas na the blast brought the tear in my e'e:
Welcome now Simmer, and welcome my Willie;
The Simmer to Nature, my Willie to me.

Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave o' your slumbers,
How your dread howling a lover alarms!
Wauken, ye breezes! row gently, ye billows!
And waft my dear Laddie ance mair to my arms.