1798? Sae dear's the joy was bought, John, To the land o' the leal! Oh! dry your glistening e'e, John! To the land o' the leal. Oh! haud ye leal and true, John! To the land o' the leal. Now fare-ye-weel, my ain John, In the land o' the leal. Carolina, Lady Nairne. A DOUBTING HEART WHERE are the swallows fled? Frozen and dead, Perchance upon some bleak and stormy shore. O doubting heart! Far over purple seas, They wait, in sunny ease, The balmy southern breeze, To bring them to their northern homes 24 32 once more. 8 A Doubting Heart Why must the flowers die? Prison'd they lie In the cold tomb, heedless of tears or rain. O doubting heart! They only sleep below The soft white ermine snow, While winter winds shall blow, To breathe and smile upon you soon again. The sun has hid its rays These many days; Will dreary hours never leave the earth? O doubting heart! The stormy clouds on high Veil the same sunny sky, That soon (for spring is nigh) 16 Shall wake the summer into golden mirth. 24 Fair hope is dead, and light Is quench'd in night. What sound can break the silence of despair? O doubting heart! Thy sky is overcast, Yet stars shall rise at last, Brighter for the darkness past, And angels' silver voices stir the air. 1858. Adelaide Anne Proctor. 32 THE PILGRIMAGE GIVE me my scallop-shell of quiet, My gown of glory, hope's true gauge; Blood must be my body's balmer; Where spring the nectar fountains: There will I kiss The bowl of bliss; And drink mine everlasting fill My soul will be a-dry before; Then by that happy blissful day, To quench their thirst 18 The Prilgrimage And taste of nectar's suckets, At those clear wells Where sweetness dwells, Drawn up by saints in crystal buckets. And when our bottles and all we Then the blessed paths we 'll travel, No cause deferred, no vain-spent journey, And when the grand twelve-million jury 'Gainst our souls black verdicts give, To Him that made heaven, earth, and sea, 28 Just at the stroke, when my veins start and spread, Set on my soul an everlasting head! Then am I ready, like a palmer fit, To tread those blest paths which before I writ. 58 Of death and judgment, heaven and hell, Who oft doth think, must needs die well. 1603? Sir Walter Raleigh. A BALLAD OF TREES AND THE MASTER INTO the woods my Master went, Clean forspent, forspent. Into the woods my Master came, Forspent with love and shame. But the olives they were not blind to Him; When into the woods He came. Out of the woods my Master went, And He was well content. Out of woods my Master came, 8 |