CUNNINGHAM. THE POET'S BRIDAL-DAY SONG. OH! my love's like the steadfast sun, One moment, my sweet wife, from thee. Even while I muse, I see thee sit Yet my heart leaps as fond for thee, As when, beneath Arbigland tree, We stay'd and woo'd, and thought the moon Set on the sea an hour too soon, Or linger'd 'mid the falling dew, When looks were fond, and words were few. Though I see smiling at my feet Five sons and one fair daughter sweet, And time and care and birthtime woes Have dimm'd thine eye, and touch'd thy rose, THE POET'S BRIDAL-DAY SONG. To thee, and thoughts of thee, belong Oh, when more thought we gave, of old, At times there come, as come there ought, And Hope, that decks the peasant's bower, A mother's heart shine in thine eye, And proud resolve and purpose meek Speak of thee more than words can speak. I think this wedded life of mine The best of all things not divine. A WET sheet and a flowing sea, A wind that follows fast, And fills the white and rustling sail, A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA. Away the good ship flies, and leaves "Oh for a soft and gentle wind!" But give to me the snoring breeze, There's tempest in yon hornèd moon, WALKER. TO A GIRL IN HER THIRTEENTH YEAR. THY smiles, thy talk, thy aimless plays, So beautiful approve thee, So winning light are all thy ways, Thy balmy breath upon my brow As o'er my cheek thou leanest now, Thy steps are dancing toward the bound And thoughts and feelings more profound, More precious to the heart, And youth shall pass, with all the brood Of fancy-fed affection; And grief shall come with womanhood, And waken cold reflection. Thou'lt learn to toil, and watch, and weep O'er pleasures unreturning, Like one who wakes from pleasant sleep Nay, say not so! nor cloud the sun Of joyous expectation, Ordain'd to bless the little one, The freshling of creation! |