66 THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. "O father, I see a gleaming light! O say what may it be?" Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed, That saved she might be; And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave On the Lake of Galilee. And fast through the midnight dark and drear, And. ever, the fitful gusts between, It was the sound of the trampling surf The breakers were right beneath her bows: And a whooping billow swept the crew, THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. She struck where the white and fleecy waves But the cruel rocks, they gored her side Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, To see the form of a maiden fair, The salt sea was frozen on her breast, And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed, Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, On the reef of Norman's Woe! HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. THOU HAST SWORN BY THY GOD, MY JEANIE. THOU hast sworn by thy God, my Jeanie, And I hae sworn by my God, my Jeanie, Then foul fa' the hands that wad loose sic bands, But the finger o' Him abuve. And my claithing ne'er sae mean, bield, I wad lap me up rich, i' the faulds o' luve, Her white arm wad be a pillow for me, Fu' safter than the down ; And Luve wad winnow owre us his kind, kind wings, And sweetly I'd sleep, and soun'. Come here to me, thou lass o' my luve! Come here and kneel wi' me! WHERE SHALL THE LOVER REST. The morn is fu' o' the presence o' God, And I canna pray without thee. The morn wind is sweet 'mang the beds o' new flowers, The wee birds sing kindlie and hie; Our gudeman leans owre his kale-yard dyke, And a blythe auld bodie is he. The Beuk maun be ta'en whan the carle comes hame, Wi' the holie psalmodie; And thou maun speak o' me to thy God, And I will speak o' thee. ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. WHERE SHALL THE LOVER REST. WHERE shall the lover rest, Whom the fates sever, From his true maiden's breast Parted forever? Where, through groves deep and high, Sounds the far billow, Where early violets die, Under the willow. There, through the summer day, Cool streams are laving; There, while the tempests sway, WHERE SHALL THE LOVER REST. There thy rest shalt thou take, Parted forever, Never again to wake, Never, O never! Where shall the traitor rest, He the deceiver, Who could win maiden's breast, Ruin and leave her? In the lost battle, Borne down by the flying, Where mingles war's rattle With groans of the dying. Her wing shall the eagle flap His warm blood the wolf shall lap, Ere life be parted. Shame and dishonor sit By his grave ever! Blessing shall hallow it Never, O never! SIR WALTER SCOTT. |