" Now who shall say he loves me not. "

HE wooed her first in an atmosphere
Of tender and low-breathed sighs;
But the pang of her laugh went cutting clear
To the soul of the enterprise;
" You beg so pert for the kiss you seek
It reminds me, John, " she said,
" Of a poodle pet that jumps to " speak"
For a crumb or a crust of bread. "

And flashing up, with the blush that flushed
His face like a tableau-light,
Came a bitter threat that his white lips hushed
To a chill, hoarse-voiced " Good night! "

Thou's welcome, wean! mishanter fa' me,
If ought of thee, or of thy mammy,
Shall ever daunton me, or awe me,
My sweet wee lady,
Or if I blush when thou shalt ca' me
Tit-ta or daddy.

Wee image of my bonnie Betty,
I fatherly will kiss and daut thee,
As dear an' near my heart I set thee
Wi' as guid will,
As a' the priests had seen me get thee
That's out o' hell.

What tho' they ca' me fornicator,
An' tease my name in kintra clatter:
The mair they talk I'm kent the better,
E'en let them clash;

Thou cheat'st us Ford , mak'st one seeme two by Art.
What is Loves Sacrifice , but the broken Heart?

This midnight brings a moonless,
glossless dark, leaving our dew unlit
and mysterious in the grass.
My lady
begins as usual to cross
the gloomy path,
barefoot over grass and I
shall see her face
framed in my window's glass.
And inside her wild eyes
the illusions will break.
There —
the dew changes
her ebony hair to green
and a damp lock clings
to her brow. Now she stretches
out her hand without a word
(lovers need none) to show where
the golden band of love has been removed
leaving a white circle of skin

1

This love, I canna' bear it,
It cheats me night and day;
This love, I canna' wear it,
It takes my peace away.

2

This love, wa' once a flower;
But now it is a thorn, —
The joy o' evening hour,
Turn'd to a pain e're morn.

3

This love, it wa' a bud,
And a secret known to me;
Like a flower within a wood;
Like a nest within a tree.

4

This love, wrong understood,
Oft' turned my joy to pain;
I tried to throw away the bud,
But the blossom would remain.

This fairest one of all the stars, whose flame,
For ever lit, my inner spirit fills,
Came to me first one day between the hills.

I wondered very much; but God the Lord
Said, " From Our Virtue, lo! this light is pour'd."
So in a dream it seemed that I was led
By a great Master to a garden spread
With lilies underfoot and overhead.

WRITTEN IN A POCKET BOOK , 1822.

They tell us of an Indian tree;
Which, howsoe'er the sun and sky
May tempt its boughs to wander free,
And shoot and blossom wide and high,
Far better loves to bend its arms
Downward again to that dear earth,
From which the life that fills and warms
Its grateful being, first had birth
'Tis thus, tho' wooed by flattering friends,
And fed with fame ( if fame it be)

They say the most of mothers
Are something pretty fine,
But nobody else's mother
Can be so dear as mine.

She never fails or falters
When things go hard or wrong;
No matter what my troubles,
She'll help me right along.

Her thought for me is endless —
A million times a day
She gives me love and comfort,
For which I cannot pay.

I can't begin to tell her
My love in just a line,
But no one else's mother
Is quite so dear as mine.

These are my scales to weigh reality, —
A dream, a chord, a longing, love of Thee.
Real as the violets of April days,
Or those soft-hid in unfrequented ways;
Real as the noiseless tune to which we tread
The measure we by life's old song are led;
Real as man's wonder what his soul may be, —
A guest for time or for eternity.
Real as the ocean, seen, alas! no more,
Whose tide still beats along my heart's inshore.
These are my scales to weigh reality, —
A chord, a dream, a longing, love of Thee!

There was three worms on yonder hill,
They neither could not hear nor see.
I wish I'd been but one of them
When first I gained my liberty.

Then a brisk young lad came a-courting me,
He stole away my liberty.
He stole it away with a free good will,
He've a-got it now and he'll keep it still.

Oh for once I wore my apron strings low,
My love followed me through frost and snow,
But now they're almost up to my chin
My love passed by and say nothing.

Now there is an alehouse in this town