POETRY.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2262, 2 July 1881, Page 4

POETRY.

WEABIN’ AW A. he Bbow Cottage—Robbbt Buens to Jessie Lbwabs. The buo lies clasp’d in amber clouds Half hidden in the sea. And o’er the sands the glowing tide Comes racing merrily : The hawthorn edge is white with bloom, The wind is soft and lown, And sad and still you watch by me, Your hand clasp'd in my own. O, lot the curtain bide, Jessie, And raise my head awee, And let the bonnie setting snn Glint In on you and me. The world looks fair and bright, Jessie, Near loving hearts like you, But puirtith’s blast sift’s summer’s love, And makes leal friendships few. O, Jessie, in tho dreary night. I olasp my burning hands Upon those throbbing, sleepless lids, O’er eyes like glowing brands ; And wonder in my weary brain If haply, when I’m dead. My aula boon friends for love o’ me. Will gie my buirnies bread. O, did the poor not help tho poor. Each in their simple way, With humble gift and kindly words, God pity them, I say ; For many a man who clasped my hand With pledges o’er the bowl, When the wine-halo passed away. Proved but a niggard soul. O, blessed thought midst our despair. There is a promise made, That in the day the rough wind blows The east wind shall be stay’d, A few short years, and those I love Will come again to me, In that bright realm without a snn That land without a sea. O wilt thou gang o’ niohts, Jessie, To my forsaken hearth ; And be sis thou host been to me, The truest friend on earth ? Sae sweetly in your linnet voice You’ll sing my weans to rest While Jeanie leans her weary head Upon your loving breast. Ah ! what is fame ? Its wreath of bays Cools not the fevered brow, Wilt tell his name in coming day, Who whistled at the plough, And wrote a simple song or two For happier hearts to sing Among the shining sheaves of com, Or round the household ring. Yet would I prize tho bubble fame. If my own artless lays Bore the sweet deeds and lovingness For future time to praise, True soul! I bless the poet skill Which won a friend like thee, Whose love ’twixt love of home and heaven, Is with me constantly.