I've seen the morning
With gold the hills adorning,
And loud tempest storming before the mid-day,
I've seen Tweed's silver streams,
Shining in the sunny beams,
Grow drumly and dark as he rowed on his way.
O fickle Fortune,
Why this cruel sporting?
Oh, why still perplex us, poor sons of a day?
Nae mair your smiles can cheer me,
Nae mair your frowns can fear me;
For the Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.
LUCY GRAY
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray;
And, when I crossed the wild,
I chanced to see at break of day,
The solitary child.
No mate, no comrade, Lucy knew;
She dwelt on a wide moor,
—The sweetest thing that ever grew
Beside a human door!
You yet may spy the fawn at play,
The hare upon the green;
But the sweet face of Lucy Gray
Will never more be seen.
'To-night will be a stormy night—
You to the town must go;
And take a lantern, child, to light
Your mother through the snow.'