WHEN THE KYE COME HAME. My heartstrings round thee cling, Thine axe shall harm it not. GEORGE P. MORRIS. WHEN THE KYE COME HAME. COME all ye jolly shepherds, That whistle through the glen! I'll tell ye o' a secret That courtiers dinna ken: What is the greatest bliss That the tongue o' man can name? 'Tis to woo a bonnie lassie When the kye come hame. When the kye come hame, When the kye come hame: 'Tis not beneath the burgonet, Nor yet beneath the crown; 'Tis not on couch o' velvet, Nor yet in bed o' down: WHEN THE KYE COME HAME. 'Tis beneath the spreading birk, In the glen without the name, Wi' a bonnie bonnie lassie, When the kye come hame. There the blackbird bigs his nest, When the blewart bears a pearl, Has fauldit up his ee, Then the lavrock, frae the blue lift, Draps down and thinks nae shame To woo his bonnie lassie, When the kye come hame. WHEN THE KYE COME HAME. When the little wee bit heart Rises high in the breast, And the little wee bit starn Rises red in the east, O there's a joy sae dear That the heart can hardly frame, Wi' a bonnie bonnie lassie, When the kye come hame. Then since all Nature joins When the kye come hame : When the kye come hame: 'Tween the gloamin' an' the mirk, JAMES HOGG. THE KING OF DENMARK'S RIDE. WORD was brought to the Danish king, (Hurry!) That the love of his heart lay suffering, And pined for the comfort his voice would bring; (O! ride as though you were flying!) Better he loves each golden curl On the brow of that Scandinavian girl And his Rose of the Isles is dying. Thirty nobles saddled with speed; (Hurry!) Each one mounted a gallant steed Which he kept for battle and days of need; His nobles are beaten, one by one; (Hurry!) They have fainted, and faltered, and homeward gone; THE KING OF DENMARK'S RIDE. His little fair page now follows alone, The king blew a blast on his bugle horn; (Silence !) No answer came, but faint and forlorn An echo returned on the cold gray morn, Like the breath of a spirit sighing. The castle portal stood grimly wide; None welcomed the king from that weary ride; The pale sweet form of the welcomer lay, The panting steed with a drooping crest Stood weary. The king returned from her chamber of rest, The thick sobs choking in his breast; And, that dumb companion eyeing, The tears gushed forth, which he strove to check ; He bowed his head on his charger's neck: "O, steed, that every nerve didst strain, Dear steed, our ride hath been in vain, To the halls where my love lay dying!" CAROLINE ELIZABETH NORton. |