Joanna Baillie Poems

NAY , smile not, lady, when I speak of witchcraft,
And say that still there lurks amongst our glens
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BUSY work brings after ease;
Ease brings sport and sport brings rest;
For young and old of all degrees,
The mingled lot is best.
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BUTTERFLY, butterfly, speed through the air,
The ring-bird follows thee fast,
And the monkey looks up with a greedy stare;
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How happy are we in that hour we love,
When shadows grow longer and branches move;
Blithe urchins then we be!
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OUR heavenly Father sent his Son
From hateful sin to save us,
And precious blessings many a one,
Health, friends and freedom gave us.
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FAT Tommy on the carpet lay,
And held with sprightly kit his play.
To her the twisted cord he flung,
At which with teeth and claws she sprung;
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PRAISE ye the Lord with cheerful voice,
In swelling strains his praises sing,
It makes the grateful heart rejoice,
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BIRD soaring high, cloud in the sky,
Where go ye? O where go ye?
Where the smoke from the gipsy's fire is veering,
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THE harper who sat on his green mossy seat,
And harped to the youngsters so loud and so sweet,
The far distant hum of the children at play,
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SWEET power of song! that canst impart
To lowland swain or mountaineer
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