Joanna Baillie Poems

WI ' lang-legged Tam the bruise I tried,
Though best o' foot, what wan he o?
The first kiss of the blouzing bride,
...

WITH the rough blast heaves the billow,
In the light air waves the willow,
Every thing of moving kind
Varies with the veering wind;
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CHARM'D by the patriot muse of Flodden Field,
My country's dearer claims the while forgot,
I almost wish'd that Surry's host might yield,
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REST , rest, afflicted spirit, quickly pass
Thy hour of bitter suffering! Rest awaits thee,
There, where, the load of weary life laid down,
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THE morning air plays on my face,
And through the grey mist peering
The softened sun I sweetly trace,
Wood, muir and mountain cheering.
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THOU , whom the giddy mock, the gay deride,
Protracted folly's scourge, and foe to pride,
I'll meet thee, poor, pale omen of decay,
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HELLAS ! farewell!-with anxious gaze I view,
Lovely in tears, and injur'd as thou art,
Thy summits melting in the distant blue,
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SOMETIMES in youthful years,
When in some ancient ruin I have stood,
Alone and musing, till with quiet tears
I felt my cheeks bedew'd,
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SUMMER still lingers, though its glories fade,
Still soft and fragrant are the gales that blow;
The yellow foliage now adorns the glade,
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SO bright the sun puts forth his glorious beams,
So fair the field beneath his lustre gleams,
So soft the south wind wanders o'er the corn,
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