SONG. Sweet spring! full of sweet days and roses, Only a sweet and virtuous soul, But though the whole world turn to coal, GEORGE HERBERT. SONG. THE world goes up, and the world goes down, Sweet wife, No, never come over again. For woman is warm though man be cold, Till the heart which at even was weary and old Sweet wife, To its work in the morning gay. CHARLES KINGSLEY. WALY, WALY, BUT LOVE BE BONNY. O WALY, waly up the bank, And waly, waly down the brae! And waly, waly yon burn-side, Where I and my love wont to gae! I leaned my back unto an aik; O waly, waly, but love be bonny But when 'tis auld it waxeth cauld, And fades away like the morning dew. O wherefore should I busk my head? For my true love has me forsook, And says he'll never love me mair. Now Arthur-Seat shall be my bed: The sheets shall ne'er be fyled by me; Saint Anton's well shall be my drink, Sin' my true love has forsaken me. WALY, WALY, BUT LOVE BE BONNY. Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw, 'Tis not the frost that freezes fell, But my love's heart grown cauld to me. When we cam in by Glasgow town, But had I wist, before I kissed, That love had been sae ill to win, I'd locked my heart in a case of gowd, And pinned it with a silver pin. O, O, if my young babe were born, And I mysel' were dead and gane, And the green grass growin' over me! ANONYMOUS. OLD TIMES. I. OLD times, old times, the gay old times, My Sunday palm beside me placed, A heart at rest within my breast, And sunshine on the land! Old times! Old times! II. It is not that my fortunes flee, I mourn whene'er I think of thee, A wiser head I have, I know, Than when I loitered there; But in my wisdom there is woe, Old times! Old times! III. I've lived to know my share of joy, To feel my share of pain, OLD TIMES. To learn that friendship's self can cloy, To love and love in vain ; To feel a pang and wear a smile, To like my own unhappy isle, And sing the gay old times! Old times! Old times! IV. And sure the land is nothing changed: The birds are singing still; The flowers are springing where we ranged; The sally, waving o'er my head, But ah, those happy days are fled, Old times! Old times! V. O come again, ye merry times, Old times! Old times! GERALD GRIFFIN. |