If this be love

If this be love, to draw a weary breath,
To paint on floods, till the shore, cry to th’air,
With downward looks, still reading on the earth
The sad memorials of my love’s despair;

If this be love, to war against my soul,
Lie down to wail, rise up to sigh and grieve,
The never-resting stone of care to roll,
Still to complain my griefs whilst none relieve;

If this be love, to clothe me with dark thoughts,
Haunting untrodden paths to wail apart;
My pleasures horror, music tragic notes,
Tears in mine eyes and sorrow at my heart.

If this be love, to live a living death,
Then do I love and draw this weary breath.

Highland

My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart’s in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer;
A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe,
My heart’s in the Highlands wherever I go.

Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
The birth-place of valour, the country of worth;
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.

Farewell to the mountains high cover’d with snow;
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below;
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods;
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods:

My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart’s in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer;
A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe,
My heart’s in the Highlands wherever I go.

Vogel-Urtheil

Als ich jüngst, mich zu erquicken,
Unter dunklen Bäumen sass,
Hört’ ich ticken, leise ticken,
Zierlich, wie nach Takt und Maass.
Böse wurd’ ich, zog Gesichter,
Endlich aber gab ich nach,
Bis ich gar, gleich einem Dichter,
Selber mit im Tiktak sprach.
Wie mir so im Versemachen
Silb’ um Silb’ ihr Hopsa sprang,
Musst ich plötzlich lachen, lachen
Eine Viertelstunde lang,
Du ein Dichter? Du ein Dichter?
Stehts mit deinem Kopf so schlecht? –
«Ja, mein Herr! Sie sind ein Dichter!»
– Also sprach der Vogel Specht.

True beauty

May I find a woman fair,
And her mind as clear as air,
If her beauty go alone,
‘Tis to me as if’t were none.
May I find a woman rich,
And not of too high a pitch;
If that pride should cause disdain,
Tell me, lover, where’s thy gain?
May I find a woman wise,
And her falsehood not disguise;
Hath she wit as she hath will,
Double arm’d she is to ill.
May I find a woman kind,
And not wavering like the wind:
How should I call that love mine,
When ’tis his, and his, and thine?
May I find a woman true,
There is Bettutv’s fairest hue,
There is Beauty, Love, and Wit:
Happy he can compass it.

Had I a cave

Had I a cave on some wild distant shore,
Where the winds howl to the waves’ dashing roar;
There would I weep my woes,
There seek my lost repose,
Till grief my eyes should close,
Ne’er to wake more.

Falsest of womankind, canst thou declare
All thy fond plighted vows-fleeting as air?
To thy new lover hie,
Laugh o’er thy perjury,
Then in thy bosom try
What peace is there!

Hear the voice

Hear the voice of the Bard,
Who present, past, and future, sees;
Whose ears have heard
The Holy Word
That walk’d among the ancient trees;

Calling the lapsèd soul,
And weeping in the evening dew;
That might control
The starry pole,
And fallen, fallen light renew!

‘O Earth, O Earth, return!
Arise from out the dewy grass!
Night is worn,
And the morn
Rises from the slumbrous mass.

‘Turn away no more;
Why wilt thou turn away?
The starry floor,
The watery shore,
Is given thee till the break of day.’

Sun of the Sleepless

Sun of the sleepless! melancholy star!

Whose tearful beam glows tremulously far!

That show’s the darkness thou canst not dispel,

How like art thou to joy remember’d well!

So gleams the past, the light of other days,

Which shines, but warms not with its powerless rays;

A nightbeam Sorrow watcheth to behold,

Distinct, but distant — clear — but, oh how cold

Auld Lang Syne

Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne!

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet
For auld lang syne

And surely ye’ll be your pint stowp!
And surely I’ll be mine!
And we’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet
For auld lang syne

We twa hae run about the braes,
An pou’d the gowans fine
But we’ve wander’d mony a weary fitt,
Sin’ auld lang syne

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet
For auld lang syne

We twa hae paidl’d in the burn,
Frae morning sun till dine;
But seas between us braid hae roar’d,
Sin auld lang syne

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet
For auld lang syne

And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere!
And gie’s a hand o’ thine!
And we’ll take a right gude-willie waught,
For auld lang syne

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet
For auld lang syne

Life

Life, believe, is not a dream
So dark as sages say;
Oft a little morning rain
Foretells a pleasant day.

Sometimes there are clouds of gloom,
But these are transient all;
If the shower will make the roses bloom,
O why lament its fall?

Rapidly, merrily,
Life’s sunny hours flit by,
Gratefully, cheerily
Enjoy them as they fly!

What though Death at times steps in,
And calls our Best away?
What though sorrow seems to win,
O’er hope, a heavy sway?

Yet Hope again elastic springs,
Unconquered, though she fell;
Still buoyant are her golden wings,
Still strong to bear us well.

Manfully, fearlessly,
The day of trial bear,
For gloriously, victoriously,
Can courage quell despair!

Pair’d Not Match’d

Of wedded bliss
Bards sing amiss,
I cannot make a song of it
For I am small,
My wife is tall,
And that’s the short and long of it.

When we debate
It is your fate
To always have the wrong of it;
For you are small,
And I am tall,
And that’s the short and long of it!

She has, in brief,
Command in Chief,
And I’m but Aide-de-camp of it;
For I am small,
And she is tall,
And that’s the short and long of it!

I’ll sometimes grip
Your buggy whip,
And make you feel the thong of it!
For you are small,
And I am tall,
And that’s the short and long of it!

I sometimes think
I’ll take to drink,
And hector when I’m strong of it;
For I am small,
And she is tall,
And that’s the short and long of it!

O, if the bell
Would ring me knell,
You’d make a gay ding-dong of it;
For you are small,
And I am tall,
And that’s the short and long of it!

An old story

Strange that I did not know him then,
That friend of mine!
I did not even show him then
One friendly sign;

But cursed him for the ways he had
To make me see
My envy of the praise he had
For praising me.

I would have rid the earth of him
Once, in my pride!…
I never knew the worth of him
Until he died.