Love's Secret

Ask you how Julia will behave,
Depend on't for a rule,

If she's a fool she'll wed the knave

If she's a knave, the fool.

AIR

805

Samuel Bishop (1731-1795]

From "The Duenna

I NE'ER could any luster see

In eyes that would not look on me;
I ne'er saw nectar on a lip,

But where my own did hope to sip.
Has the maid who seeks my heart
Cheeks of rose, untouched by art?
I will own the color true

When yielding blushes aid their hue.

Is her hand so soft and pure?
I must press it, to be sure;
Nor can I be certain then,
Till it, grateful, press again.
Must I, with attentive eye,
Watch her heaving bosom sigh?
I will do so, when I see

That heaving bosom sigh for me.

Richard Brinsley Sheridan [1751-1816]

LOVE'S SECRET

NEVER seek to tell thy love,
Love that never told can be;

For the gentle wind doth move
Silently, invisibly.

I told my love, I told my love,
I told all my heart,

Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears.
Ah! she did depart!

Soon after she was gone from me,

A traveler came by,

Silently, invisibly:

He took her with a sigh.

William Blake [1757-1827]

DUNCAN GRAY

DUNCAN GRAY cam here to woo,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't;

On blithe Yule-night when we were fou',
Ha, ha, the wooing o't:

Maggie coost her head fu' high,
Looked asklent and unco skeigh,

Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh;
Ha, ha, the wooing o't!

Duncan fleeched, and Duncan prayed;

Ha, ha, the wooing o't; Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig; Ha, ha, the wooing o't;

Duncan sighed baith out and in,

Grat his e'en baith bleer't and blin',

Spak o' lowpin owre a linn!

Ha, ha, the wooing o't!

Time and chance are but a tide,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't; Slighted love is sair to bide;

Ha, ha, the wooing o't; "Shall I, like a fool," quoth he,

"For a haughty hizzie dee?

She may gae to-France for me!"

Ha, ha, the wooing o't!

How it comes let doctors tell,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't;

Meg grew sick as he grew well;

Ha, ha, the wooing o't;

Nora's Vow

Something in her bosom wrings,
For relief a sigh she brings;

And O, her een, they spak sic things!
Ha, ha, the wooing o't!

Duncan was a lad o' grace;
Ha, ha, the wooing o't;
Maggie's was a piteous case;
Ha, ha, the wooing o't;
Duncan couldna be her death,
Swelling pity smoored his wrath;

Now they're crouse and canty baith:

Ha, ha, the wooing o't!

807

Robert Burns [1759-1796]

"SAW YE NE'ER A LANELY LASSIE"

SAW ye ne'er a lanely lassie,
Thinkin' gin she were a wife,

The sun o' joy wad ne'er gae down,
But warm and cheer her a' her life?

Saw ye ne'er a wearie wifie,

Thinkin' gin she were a lass,

She wad aye be blithe and cheerie,
Lightly as the day wad pass?

Wives and lassies, young and aged,
Think na on each ither's state;
Ilka ane it has its crosses,

Mortal joy was ne'er complete.
Ilka ane it has its blessings,
Peevish dinna pass them by,
But like choicest berries seek them,
Though amang the thorns they lie.
Carolina Nairne [1766-1845]

NORA'S VOW

HEAR What Highland Nora said,—
"The Earlie's son I will not wed,
Should all the race of nature die,
And none be left but he and I.

For all the gold, for all the gear,
And all the lands both far and near,
That ever valor lost or won,

I would not wed the Earlie's son."

"A maiden's vows," old Callum spoke,
"Are lightly made and lightly broke;
The heather on the mountain's height
Begins to bloom in purple light;
The frost-wind soon shall sweep away
That luster deep from glen and brae;
Yet Nora, ere its bloom be gone,
May blithely wed the Earlie's son."

"The swan," she said, "the lake's clear breast
May barter for the eagle's nest;

The Awe's fierce stream may backward turn,
Ben-Cruaichan fall, and crush Kilchurn;
Our kilted clans, when blood is high,
Before their foes may turn and fly;

But I, were all these marvels done,
Would never wed the Earlie's son."

Still in the water-lily's shade

Her wonted nest the wild-swan made;
Ben-Cruaichan stands fast as ever,

Still downward foams the Awe's fierce river;
To shun the clash of foeman's steel,

No Highland brogue has turned the heel:
But Nora's heart is lost and won,-

She's wedded to the Earlie's son!

Walter Scott [1771-1832]

TO IANTHE

You smiled, you spoke, and I believed,
By every word and smile deceived.
Another man would hope no more;
Nor hope I what I hoped before:
But let not this last wish be vain;
Deceive, deceive me once again!

Walter Savage Landor [1775-1864]

The Snake

809

THE TEST

I HELD her hand, the pledge of bliss,
Her hand that trembled and withdrew;
She bent her head before my kiss .

My heart was sure that hers was true. Now I have told her I must part,

She shakes my hand, she bids adieu, Nor shuns the kiss. Alas, my heart! Hers never was the heart for you.

Walter Savage Landor [1775-1864]

"THE FAULT IS NOT MINE"

THE fault is not mine if I love you too much,
I loved you too little too long,

Such ever your graces, your tenderness such,
And the music the heart gave the tongue.

A time is now coming when Love must be gone,
Though he never abandoned me yet.
Acknowledge our friendship, our passion disown,
Our follies (ah can you?) forget.

Walter Savage Landor [1775-1864]

THE SNAKE

My love and I, the other day,
Within a myrtle arbor lay,
When near us, from a rosy bed,

A little Snake put forth its head.

"See," said the maid, with laughing eyes

"Yonder the fatal emblem lies!

Who could expect such hidden harm
Beneath the rose's velvet charm?"

Never did moral thought occur

In more unlucky hour than this; For oh! I just was leading her

To talk of love and think of bliss.