THE CHARMED BARK. ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. The tree that built my bonnie bark In the west nook of an old kirk-yard, Among the bones of men, my lads, Was temper'd in a dead man's blood, Look on yon cloud, an old man said, And hearken to that sweeping blast, A wise man when he looks on these When I was late on Lapland's shore That sung around me on the sea, And murmur'd in my sail S That murmur'd in my milk-white sail, A man who sails a charmed ship The hand which holds the winds at will AE HAPPY HOUR. ALEXANDER LAING. The dark gray o' gloaming, The lone leafy shaw, A' blooming in flower, Make ae happy hour. A kind winsome wifie, A clean canty hame, An' health to endure, Ye lost to affection, Whom av'rice can move, To woo, an' to marry, For a' thing but love; Awa' wi' your sorrows, PEGGIE. JAMES HOGG. The bittern's quavering trump on high, The scented hawthorn's snowy flower, Mixed with the laurel's buds, I've strewed Deep in my maiden's woodland bower. O come, my love, the branches link The stars behind their curtains wink, With envious smile our bliss shall see ; Shall spread to shield the dews from thee. O let me hear thy fairy tread Come gliding through the broomwood still, Then on my bosom lay thy head, Till dawning crown the distant hill. And I will watch thy witching smile, List what has caused thy long delay, And kiss thy melting lips the while, Till die the sweet reproof away. BONNIE LADY ANN. ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. There's kames of honey 'tween my love's lips, And gold amang her hair, Her breasts are lapt in a holie veil; Nae mortal een look there. What lips dare kiss, or what hand dare touch, Or what arm of love dare span The honey lips, the creamy palm, Or the waist of Lady Ann! She kisses the lips of her bonnie red rose, Wat wi' the blobs of dew; But nae gentle lip, nor semple lip, Maun touch her Lady mou. But a broider'd belt, wi' a buckle of gold, Her jimpy waist maun span— O she's an armfu' fit for heaven, Her bower casement is latticed wi' flowers, Tied up wi' silver thread, An' comely sits she in the midst, Men's longing een to feed. She waves the ringlets frae her cheek, Wi' her milky, milky han', An' her cheeks seem touch'd wi' the finger of God, My bonnie Lady Ann! The morning cloud is tassel'd wi' gold, Like my love's broider'd cap, An' on the mantle which my Is monie a golden drap. love wears Her bonnie eebrow's a holie arch Cast by no earthlie han'; And the breath of God's atween the lips Of my bonnie Lady Ann! |