Still thou art blest compared wi’ me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But, och! I backward cast my e’e
On prospects drear!
An’ forward though I canna see,
I guess and fear!
THE FAREWELL
It was a’ for our rightfu’ king
We left fair Scotland’s strand;
It was a’ for our rightfu’ king
We e’er saw Irish land,
My dear,
We e’er saw Irish land.
Now a’ is done that man can do,
And a’ is done in vain;
My love and native land farewell,
For I maun cross the main,
My dear,
For I maun cross the main.
He turned him right and round about
Upon the Irish shore;
And gae his bridle-reins a shake,
With Adieu for evermore,
My dear,
Adieu for evermore.
The sodger frae the wars returns,
The sailor frae the main;
But I hae parted frae my love,
Never to meet again,
My dear,
Never to meet again.
When day is gane, and night is come,
And a’ folks bound to sleep;
I think on him that’s far awa’,
The lee-lang night, and weep,
My dear,
The lee-lang night, and weep.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
1770–1850
WHY ART THOU SILENT?
Why art thou silent? Is thy love a plant
Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air
Of absence withers what was once so fair?
Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant?
Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant,
Bound to thy service with unceasing care—
The mind’s least generous wish a mendicant
For nought but what thy happiness could spare.
Speak!—though this soft warm heart, once free to hold
A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine,
Be left more desolate, more dreary cold
Than a forsaken bird’s-nest filled with snow
’Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine—
Speak, that my torturing doubts their end may know!