суп I FAIR HELEN WISH I were where Helen lies; Night and day on me she cries; O that I were where Helen lies On fair Kirconnell lea! Curst be the heart that thought the thought, O think na but my heart was sair On fair Kirconnell lea. As I went down the water-side, I lighted down my sword to draw, For her sake that died for me. O Helen fair, beyond compare! O that I were where Helen lies! 6 O Helen fair! O Helen chaste! I wish my grave were growing green, On fair Kirconnell lea. I wish I were where Helen lies; Since my Love died for me. ANON. Суш THE TWA CORBIES S I was walking all alane As I heard twa corbies making a mane; The tane unto the t'other say, 6 'Where sall we gang and dine to-day? In behint yon auld fail dyke I wot there lies a new-slain Knight; And naebody kens that he lies there, "His hound is to the hunting gane, His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame, His lady's ta'en another mate, So we may mak our dinner sweet. 'Ye 'll sit on his white hause-bane, And I'll pick out his bonnie blue een: We'll theek our nest when it grows bare. 'Mony a one for him makes mane, But nane sall ken where he is gane; O'er his white banes, when they are bare, The wind sall blaw for evermair.' CIX FAIR TO BLOSSOMS AIR pledges of a fruitful tree, Your date is not so past, But you may stay yet here awhile To blush and gently smile, What, were ye born to be An hour or half's delight, And so to bid good-night? "T was pity Nature brought ye forth Merely to show your worth, And lose you quite. ANON. But you are lovely leaves, where we Their end, though ne'er so brave: And after they have shown their pride Like you, awhile, they glide Into the grave. We have short time to stay, as you, As quick a growth to meet decay We die, As your hours do, and dry Away Like to the Summer's rain; Or as the pearls of morning's dew Ne'er to be found again. R. HERRICK CXI THOUGHTS IN A GARDEN How vainly men themselves amaze To win the palm, the oak, or bays, And their incessant labours see Crown'd from some single herb or tree, Whose short and narrow-vergéd shade Does prudently their toils upbraid; While all the flowers and trees do close To weave the garlands of Repose. Fair Quiet, have I found thee here, To this delicious solitude. No white nor red was ever seen So amorous as this lovely green. Fond lovers, cruel as their flame, Cut in these trees their mistress' name: When we have run our passions' heat |