The Poetical Works of Miss Susanna Blamire (1842) - Gredos ...

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The Salamanca Corpus: The Poetical Works of Miss Susanna Blamire (1842) Not one dear friend knew aught of me. I ventur’d in; Tray wagg’d his tail, And fawning to my mother ran; Come here,” they cry, “what can he ail?’ While my feign’d story I began. I changed my voice to that of age, “A poor old soldier lodging craves,” The name and form their loves engage;— “A soldier! aye, the best we have!” My father then drew in a seat, “You’re welcome,” with a sigh, he said; My mother fry d her best hung meat, And curds and cream the table spread. “I had a son,” my father sigh’d, “A soldier too, but he is gone.” [222] “Have you heard from him?” I replied, “I left behind me many a one; And many a message I have brought To families I cannot find; Long for John Goodman’s I have sought To tell them Hal’s not far behind.” “And does he live!” my father cried, My mother did not try to speak; My Jessy now I silent ey’d, Who sobb’d as if her heart would break. “He lives indeed; this kerchief see, At parting his dear Jessy gave; He sent it her, with love, by me, To show he yet escapes the grave.” No arrow darting from a bow More quickly could the token reach; The patch from off my face I throw, And give my voice its well-known speech. My Jessy dear! I softly said; She gaz’d, and answer’d with a sigh; My sisters look’d as half afraid, My mother fainted quite with joy.
The Salamanca Corpus: The Poetical Works of Miss Susanna Blamire (1842) My father danc’d around his son, My brothers shook my hand away, My mother said her glass might run, She cared not now how soon the day. [223] . Hout! woman, cried my father dear, A wedding first I’m sure we’ll have; I warrant us live these hundred years, Nay, may-be, Meg, escape the grave! AGAIN MAUN ABSENCE CHILL MY SOUL. AIR—Jockey’s Grey Breeks. AGAIN maun absence chill my soul, And bar me frae the friend sae dear? Maun sad despair her torrents roll, And frae my eyelids force the tear? Maun restless sorrow wander far, Now seek the sun, and now the shade; Now by the lamp of yon pale star Dart quick into the thickest glade? When morning sleeping nature wakes, And cheery hearts wi’ laverocks sing, And glittering dew a jewel makes, That shines in many a sparkling ring; Her saffron robe is nought to me, Though wi’ the woodbine’s fringes tied; Things a’ look dull i’ the watery ee If what we fondly love’s denied. I’ve seen when Evening on yon hill Wad sit an’ see the sun gae down, [224] MISS BLAMIRES And, as the air grew damp and chill, Draw on her cloak of russet brown: Her namely garb was mair to me Than a’ the Morning’s eastern pride; A’ things look beauteous i’ the ee
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