Lyrical forms in English; online

When, wearied with a world of woe,

To thy safe bosom I retire,
Where love, and peace, and honour flow,

May I contented there expire !

Lest, once more wandering from that heaven,
I fall on some base heart un blest

Faithless to thee, false, unforgiven
And lose my everlasting rest !

LORD ROCHESTER



SIR CHARLES SEDLEY and MATTHEW PRIOR



30. Phyllis



Phyllis is my only joy,

Faithless as the winds or seas,
Sometimes cunning, sometimes coy,
Yet she never fails to please:
If with a frown
I am cast down,
Phyllis, smiling
And beguiling,
Makes me happier than before.

Though alas! too late I find
Nothing can her fancy fix;
Yet the moment she is kind
I forgive her with her tricks,
Which though I see,
I can't get free:
She deceiving,
I believing,
What need lovers wish for more?

SIR C. SEDLEY



31. A Song



The merchant, to secure his treasure,
Conveys it in a borrow'd name :

Euphelia serves to grace my measure,
But Cloe is my real flame.

My softest verse, my darling lyre

Upon Euphelia's toilet lay
When Cloe noted her desire

That I should sing, that I should play.

My lyre I tune, my voice I raise,

But with my numbers mix my sighs;

And whilst I sing Euphelia's praise,
I fix my soul on Cloe's eyes.



37



MATTHEW PRIOR and JOHN GAY

Fair Cloe blush'd : Euphelia frown'd :

I sung and gazed; I play'd and trembled;

And Venus to the Loves around

Remarked how ill we all dissembled.

M. PRIOR

32.- Black-Eyed Susan

i
All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd,

The streamers waving in the wind,
When black-eyed Susan came aboard;

" O ! where shall I my true-love find ?
Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true
If my sweet William sails among the crew."



William, who high upon the yard
Rock'd with the billow to and fro,

Soon as her well-known voice he heard,
He sigh'd, and cast his eyes below:

The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands,

And quick as lightning on the deck he stands.

3

So the sweet lark, high poised in air,
Shuts close his pinions to his breast,

If chance his mate's shrill call he hear,
And droops at once into her nest:

The noblest captain in the British fleet

Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet.

4
"O Susan, Susan, lovely dear,

My vows shall ever true remain;
Let me kiss off that falling tear;

We only part to meet again.
Change as ye list, ye winds; my heart shall be
The faithful compass that still points to thee.

38



JOHN GAY and ALEXANDER POPE

5
"Believe not what the landsmen say

Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind;
They'll tell thee, sailors, when away,

In every port a mistress find:
Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so,
For thou art present wheresoe'er I go.

6
"If to fair India's coast we sail,

Thine eyes are seen in diamonds bright,
Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale,

Thy skin is ivory so white.
Thus every beauteous object that I view
Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue.

7
"Though battle call me from thy arms

Let not my pretty Susan mourn;
Though cannons roar, yet safe from harms

William shall to his Dear return.
Love turns aside the balls that round me fly,
Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye."

8

The boatswain gave the dreadful word,
The sails their swelling bosom spread ;

No longer must she stay aboard ;

They kiss'd, she sigh'd, he hung his head.

Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land ;

"Adieu!" she cries; and waved her lily hand.

J. GAY



33. The Quiet Life

Happy the man, whose wish and care

A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air
In his own ground.

39



ALEXANDER POPE and HENRY CAREY

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,

Whose flocks supply him with attire ;
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter, fire.

Blest, who can unconcernedly find

Hours, days, and years, slide soft away
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day,

Sound sleep by night; study and ease

Together mix'd; sweet recreation,
And innocence, which most does please
With meditation.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;

Thus unlamented let me die;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.

A. POPE



34. Sally in our Alley



Of all the girls that are so smart

There's none like pretty Sally ;
She is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.
There is no lady in the land

Is half so sweet as Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.



Her father he makes cabbage-nets

And through the streets does cry 'em ;

Her mother she sells laces long
To such as please to buy 'em:

40



HENRY CAREY

But sure such folks could ne'er beget

So sweet a girl as Sally!
She is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.

3
When she is by, I leave my work,

I love her so sincerely ;
My master comes like any Turk,

And bangs me most severely
But let him bang his bellyful,

I'll bear it all for Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.

4
Of all the days that's in the week

I dearly love but one day
And that's the day that comes betwixt

A Saturday and Monday;
For then I'm drest all in my best

To walk abroad with Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.

5

My master carries me to church,

And often am I blamed
Because I leave him in the lurch

As soon as text is named;
I leave the church in sermon-time

And slink away to Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.



When Christmas comes about again

O then I shall have money;
I'll hoard it up, and box it all,

I'll give it to my honey :

41



HENRY CAREY and JAMES THOMSON

I would it were ten thousand pound,

I'd give it all to Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.

7
My master and the neighbours all

Make game of me and Sally,
And, but for her, I'd better be

A slave and row a galley;
But when my seven long years are out

O then I'll marry Sally,
O then we'll wed, and happy be...

But not in our alley!

H. CAREY



35. Rule, Britannia

When Britain first at Heaven's command
Arose from out the azure main,

This was the charter of her land,
And guardian angels sung the strain:

Rule, Britannia! Britannia rulef the waves!
Britons never shall be slaves.

The nations not so blest as thee
Must in their turn to tyrants fall,

Whilst thou shalt flourish great and free
The dread and envy of them all.

Still more majestic shalt thou rise,

More dreadful from each foreign stroke;

As the loud blast that tears the skies
Serves but to root thy native oak.

Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame;

All their attempts to bend thee down
Will but arouse thy generous flame,

And work their woe and thy renown.

42



JAMES THOMSON

To thee belongs the rural reign;

Thy cities shall with commerce shine;
All thine shall be the subject main,

And every shore it circles thine!

The Muses, still with Freedom found,

Shall to thy happy coast repair;
Blest Isle, with matchless beauty crown'd

And manly hearts to guard the fair:
Rule, Britannia! Britannia rulef the waves!

Britons never shall be slaves.

J. THOMSON



36. To Her I Love

Tell me, thou soul of her I love,
Ah ! tell me, whither art thou fled ?

To what delightful world above,
Appointed for the happy dead?

Or dost thou free, at pleasure, roam
And sometimes share thy lover's woe,

Where, void of thee, his cheerless home
Can now, alas! no comfort know?

O ! if thou hoverest round my walk,
While, under every well-known tree,

I to thy fancied shadow talk,
And every tear is full of thee:

Should then the weary eye of grief,

Beside some sympathetic stream,
In slumber find a short relief,

O, visit thou my soothing dream !

J. THOMSON

43



ROBERT GRAHAM OF GARTMORE



37. If Doughty Deeds my Lady Please

If doughty deeds my lady please,

Right soon I'll mount my steed;
And strong his arm, and fast his seat,

That bears frae me the meed.
I'll wear thy colours in my cap,

Thy picture at my heart;
And he that bends not to thine eye
Shall rue it to his smart !

Then tell me how to woo thee, Love,

O tell me how to woo thee!
For thy dear sake nae care I'll take,
Tho' ne'er another trow me.

If gay attire delight thine eye,

I'll dight me in array;
I'll tend thy chamber door all night,

And squire thee all the day.
If sweetest sounds can win thine ear,

These sounds I'll strive to catch;
Thy voice I'll steal to woo thysel',

That voice that nane can match.

But if fond love thy heart can gain,

I never broke a vow,
Nae maiden lays her skaith to me,

I never loved but you.
For you alone I ride the ring,

For you I wear the blue;
For you alone I strive to sing,
O tell me how to woo!

Then tell me how to woo thee, Love,

O tell me how to woo thee!
For thy dear sake nae care I'll take,
Tho' ne'er another trow me.

R. GRAHAM OF GARTMORE



44



THOMAS CHATTERTON



38. Roundelay



O sing unto my roundelay,

O drop the briny tear with me,
Dance no more at holy-day,
Like a running river be.
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed,
All under the willow-tree.

Black his locks as the winter night,

White his skin as the summer snow,
Red his face as the morning light.
Cold he lies in the grave below.
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed,
All under the willow-tree.

Hark! the raven flaps his wing

In the briar' d dell below;
Hark! the death-owl loud doth sing
To the nightmares as they go.
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed

All under the willow-tree.

See ! the white moon shines on high ;

Whiter is my true love's shroud;
Whiter than the morning sky,
Whiter than the evening cloud.
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed,

All under the willow- tree.

With my hands I'll gird the briars

Round his holy corse to grow,
Elfin Faery, light your fires;
Here my body still shall bow.
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed,
All under the willow-tree.



45



THOMAS CHATTERTON and ANONYMOUS

Come with acorn-cup and thorn,
Drain my hearths blood away;
Life and all its good I scorn,
Dance by night or feast by day.
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed,
All under the willow-tree.

T. CHATTERTON



39. The Haymaker's Roundelay

Drifted snow no more is seen,
Blust'ring Winter passes by;
Merry Spring comes clad in green,
While woodlands pour their melody :
I hear him ! hark !
The merry lark

Calls us to the new-mown hay,
Piping to our roundelay.

When the golden sun appears

On the mountain's surly brow,
When his jolly beams he rears,
Darting joy, behold them now:
Then, then, oh hark!
The merry lark

Calls us to the new-mown hay,
Piping to our roundelay.

What are honours? What's a court?

Calm Content is worth them all;
Our honour is to drive the cart,

Our brightest court the harvest-hall!
But now oh hark!
The merry lark

Calls us to the new-mown hay,
Piping to our roundelay.

ANONYMOUS



JANE ELLIOT



40. Lament for Flodden

I've heard them lilting at our ewe-milking,

Lasses a' lilting before dawn o' day;
But now they are moaning on ilka green loaning

The Flowers of the Forest are a 9 wede away,

At bughts, in the morning, nae blythe lads are scorning,

Lasses are lonely and dowie and wae;
Nae daffin', nae gabbin', but sighing and sabbing,

Ilk ane lifts her leglin and hies her away.

In har'st, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering,
Bandsters are lyart, and runkled, and grey;

At fair or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching
The Flowers of the Forest are a 9 wede away.

At e'en, in the gloaming, nae younkers are roaming
'Bout stacks wi' the lasses at bogle to play;

But ilk ane sits drearie, lamenting her dearie
The Flowers of the Forest are a 9 wede away.

Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads to the Border!

The English, for ance, by guile wan the day;
The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the foremost,

The prime of our land, are cauld in the clay.

We'll hear nae mair lilting at the ewe-milking;

Women and bairns are heartless and wae;
Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning

The Flowers of the Forest are a 9 wede away.

]. ELLIOT



47



ROBERT BURNS



41, Lament for Culloden

The lovely lass o' Inverness,

Nae joy nor pleasure can she see;
For e'en and morn she cries, "Alas!"

And aye the saut tear blin's her ee:
"Drumossie moor Drumossie day

A waefu' day it was to me!
For there I lost my father dear,

My father dear and brethren three.

"Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay,

Their graves are growing green to see:
And by them lies the dearest lad

That ever blest a woman's ee !
Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord,

A bluidy man I trow thou be;
For mony a heart thou hast made sair

That ne'er did wrong to thine or thee."

R. BURNS



42. Song



O my Luve's like a red, red rose
That's newly sprung in June:

my Luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,

So deep in luve am I:
And I will luve thee still, my dear,

Till a' the seas gang dry:

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;

1 will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.



48



ROBERT BURNS

And fare thee weel, my only Luve,

And fare thee weel awhile !
And I will come again, my Luve,

Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

R. BURNS



43. Ye Banks and Braes

Ye banks and braes o* bonnie Doon,

How can ye bloom sae fair ?
How can ye chant, ye little birds,

And I sae fu' o' care?

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird

That sings upon the bough;
Thou minds me o' the happy days

When my fausse Luve was true.

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird

That sings beside thy mate;
For sae I sat, and sae I sang,

And wist na o' my fate.

Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon

To see the woodbine twine,
And ilka bird sang o* its luve;

And sae did I o* mine.

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose

Frae aff its thorny tree;
And my fausse luver staw the rose,

But left the thorn wi* me.

R. BURNS



H. D 49



ROBERT BURNS

44. To a Mountain Daisy

On turning one down witti the plough, in April, 1786

Wee modest crimson-tipped flow'r,
Thou's met me in an evil hour;
For I maun crush amang the stoure

Thy slender stem :
To spare thee now is past my pow'r,

Thou bonnie gem!

Alas! it's no* thy neibor sweet,
The bonnie lark, companion meet,
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet

Wi* spreckPd breast,
When upward springing, blythe to greet

The purpling east.

Cauld blew the bitter-biting north
Upon thy early humble birth;
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth

Amid the storm,
Scarce rear'd above the parent earth

Thy tender form.

The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield
High sheltering woods and wa's maun shield,
But thou, beneath the random bield

O J clod or stane,
Adorns the histie stibble-field,

Unseen, alane.

There, in thy scanty mantle clad,
Thy snawy bosom sun-ward spread,
Thou lifts thy unassuming head

In humble guise;
But now the 'share uptears thy bed,

And low thou lies!

R. BURNS

50



LADY NAIRN and CHARLES DIBDIN



45. The Land o' the Leal

I'm wearing awa', Jean,

Like snaw when its thaw, Jean,

I'm wearing awa'

To the land o' the leal.
There's nae sorrow there, Jean,
There's neither cauld nor care, Jean,
The day is ay fair

In the land o' the leal.

Ye were ay leal and true, Jean,
Your task's ended noo, Jean,
And I'll welcome you

To the land o' the leal.
Our bonnie bairn's there, Jean,
She was baith guid and fair, Jean,
O we grudged her right sair

To the land o' the leal!

Then dry that tearfu' ee', Jean,
My soul langs to be free, Jean,
And angels wait on me

To the land o' the leal!
Now fare ye weel, my ain Jean,
This warld's care is vain, Jean;
We'll meet and ay be fain

In the land o' the leal.

LADY NAIRN



46. Tom Bowling

Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling,

The darling of our crew;
No more he'll hear the tempest howling,

For death has broach'd him to.
His form was of the manliest beauty,

His heart was kind and soft,
Faithful, below, he did his duty;

But now he's gone aloft.

D2 51



CHARLES DIBDIN and WILLIAM BLAKE

Tom never from his word departed,

His virtues were so rare,
His friends were many and true-hearted,

His Poll was kind and fair :
And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly,

Ah, many's the time and oft!
But mirth is turned to melancholy,

For Tom is gone aloft.

Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather,

When He, who all commands,
Shall give, to call life's crew together,

The word to pipe all hands.
Thus Death, who kings and tars dispatches,

In vain Tom's life has doff'd ;
For, though his body's under hatches,

His soul has gone aloft.

C. DIBDIN



47. Laughing Song

When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy,
And the dimpling stream runs laughing by;
When the air does laugh with our merry wit,
And the green hill laughs with the noise of it;

When the meadows laugh with lively green,

And the grasshopper laughs in the merry scene;

When Mary and Susan and Emily

With their sweet round mouths sing, "Ha, ha, he!"

When the painted birds laugh in the shade,
Where our table with cherries and nuts is spread;
Come live and be happy and join with me
To sing the sweet chorus of "Ha, ha, he!"

W. BLAKE



WILLIAM BLAKE and SIR WALTER SCOTT

48. The Fly

Little fly,

Thy summer's play
My thoughtless hand

Has brush'd away.

Am not I

A fly like thee?
Or art not thou

A man like me?

For I dance,

And drink, and sing,
Till some blind hand

Shall brush my wing.

If thought is life

And strength and breath,
And the want

Of thought is death,

Then am I

A happy fly,
If I live

Or if I die.

W. BLAKE

49. Pibroch of Donuil Dhu

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu,

Pibroch of Donuil,
Wake thy wild voice anew,

Summon Clan-Conuil.
Come away, come away,

Hark to the summons !
Come in your war-array,

Gentles and commons.

53



SIR WALTER SCOTT

Come from deep glen, and

From mountain so rocky;
The war-pipe and pennon

Are at Inverlochy.
Come every hill-plaid, and

True heart that wears one,
Come every steel blade, and

Strong hand that bears one.

Leave untended the herd,

The flock without shelter;
Leave the corpse uninterr'd,

The bride at the altar;
Leave the deer, leave the steer,

Leave nets and barges:
Come with your fighting gear,

Broadswords and targes.

Come as the winds come, when

Forests are rended,
Come as the waves come, when

Navies are stranded:
Faster come, faster come,

Faster and faster,
Chief, vassal, page and groom,

Tenant and master!

Fast they come, fast they come;

See how they gather !
Wide waves the eagle plume

Blended with heather.
Cast your plaids, draw your blades,

Forward, each man, set !
Pibroch of Donuil Dhu,

Knell for the onset!

SIR W. SCOTT



54



SIR WALTER SCOTT



50. A Hunting Song



Waken, lords and ladies gay:
On the mountain dawns the day;
All the jolly chase is here
With hawk and horse and hunting-spear !
Hounds are in their couples yelling,
Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling,
Merrily, merrily mingle they.
"Waken, lords and ladies gay."

Waken, lords and ladies gay:

The mist has left the mountain grey,

Springlets in the dawn are steaming,

Diamonds on the brake are gleaming;

And foresters have busy been

To track the buck in thickets green;

Now we come to chant our lay:

"Waken, lords and ladies gay."

Waken, lords and ladies gay,
To the greenwood haste away;
We can show you where he lies,
Fleet of foot and tall of size;
We can show the marks he made,
When 'gainst the oak his antlers fray'd;
You shall see him brought to bay;
"Waken, lords and ladies gay."

Louder, louder, chant the lay,
"Waken, lords and ladies gay":
Tell them youth and mirth and glee
Run a course as well as we;
Time, stern huntsman ! who can balk,
Stanch as hound and fleet as hawk?
Think of this, and rise with day,
Gentle lords and ladies gay !

SIR W. SCOTT



55



SIR WALTER SCOTT and JAMES HOGG



51. Soldier, Rest!

Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er,

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking;
Dream of battled fields no more,

Days of danger, nights of waking.
In our isle's enchanted hall,

Hands unseen thy couch are strewing,
Fairy strains of music fall,

Every sense in slumber dewing.
Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er,
Dream of fighting fields no more :
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking,
Morn of toil nor night of waking.

No rude sound shall reach thine ear,

Armour's clang, or war-steed champing,
Trump nor pibroch summon here

Mustering clan, or squadron tramping;
Yet the lark's shrill fife may come

At the daybreak from the fallow,
And the bittern sound his drum,

Booming from the sedgy shallow;
Ruder sounds shall none be near;
Guards nor warders challenge here,
Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing,
Shouting clans, or squadron's stamping.

SIR W. SCOTT



52. The Skylark

Bird of the wilderness,
Blithesome and cumberless,

Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea!
Emblem of happiness,
Blest is thy dwelling-place,

Oh, to abide in the desert with thee!

56



JAMES HOGG

Wild is thy lay and loud,

Far in the downy cloud,
Love gives it energy, love gave it birth.

Where, on thy dewy wing,

Where art thou journeying?
Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.

O'er fell and fountain sheen,

O'er moor and mountain green,
O'er the red streamer that heralds the day,

Over the cloudlet dim,

Over the rainbow's rim,
Musical cherub, soar, singing, away!

Then, when the gloaming comes,

Low in the heather blooms
Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be !

Emblem of happiness,

Blest is thy dwelling-place,
Oh, to abide in the desert with thee !

J. HOGG



53. Billy and Me



Where the pools are bright and deep,
Where the grey trout lies asleep,
Up the river and over the lea,
That's the way for Billy and me.

Where the blackbird sings the latest,
Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest,
Where the nestlings chirp and flee,
That's the way for Billy and me.

Where the mowers mow the cleanest,
Where the hay lies thickest and greenest,
There to trace the homeward bee,
That's the way for Billy and me.

57



JAMES HOGG and WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Where the hazel-bank is steepest,
Where the shadow falls the deepest,
Where the clustering nuts fall free,
That's the way for Billy and me.

Why the boys should drive away
Little sweet maidens from their play,
Or love to banter and fight so well,
That's the thing I never could tell.

But this I know, I love to play,
Through the meadow, among the hay,
Up the water and over the lea,
That's the way for Billy and me.

J. HOGG



54. A Rainbow.

My heart leaps up when I behold

A rainbow in the sky :
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,

Or let me die !

The Child is father to the Man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.

W. WORDSWORTH



55. Daffodils

I wander'd lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host of golden daffodils,
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

58



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretch'd in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay
In such a jocund company !

I gazed and gazed but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought;

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

W. WORDSWORTH



56. Lines Written in Early Spring

I heard a thousand blended notes,

While in a grove I sat reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts

Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link

The human soul that through me ran;

And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.

Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower,

The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And 'tis my faith that every flower

Enjoys the air it breathes.

59



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

The birds around me hopped and played;

Their thoughts I cannot measure:
But the least motion that they made,

It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan

To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,

That there was pleasure there.

From Heaven if this belief be sent,

If such be Nature's holy plan,