Susanna Blamire Poems

And ye shall walk in silk attire,
And siller hae to spare,
Gin ye'll consent to be his bride,
Nor think o' Donald mair.
...

The wars for many a month were o'er
Ere I could reach my native shed,
My friends ne'er hoped to see me more,
But wept for me as for the dead.
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When silent time, wi' lightly foot,
Had trod on thirty years,
I sought again my native land
Wi' mony hopes and fears:
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Gin living worth could win my heart,
You would nae speak in vain;
But in the darksome grave it's laid,
Never to rise again.
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Though Bacchus may boast of his care--killing bowl,
And folly in thought--drowning revels delight,
Such worship, alas! has no charms for the soul
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Go, sweet companion of the Spring,
Go, plume the little songster's wing;
And, when it steals from every eye,
Place thou the downy feather nigh;
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When you retire from every eye,
Is it to breathe the secret sigh,
Or drop the silent tear?
Does Fancy, to some former day,
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Ye fairy Elves from every cell,
I warn you to repair,
From those in acorn cups who dwell,
To those in coral chair;
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How sweet to the heart is the thought of to--morrow
When Hope's fairy pictures bright colours display;
How sweet when we can from Futurity borrow
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We've hed sec a durdum at Gobbleston parish,
For twonty lang years there's nit been sec a fair;
...