My heart it said nay; I looked for Jamie back; But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrack; His ship it was a wrack--why didna Jamie dee? Or why do I live to cry, Wae’s me? 20 My father urgit sair: my mother didna speak; But she looked in my face till my heart was like to break: They gi’ed him my hand, but my heart was at the sea; Sae auld Robin Gray he was gudeman to me. I hadna been a wife a week but only four, 25 When mournfu’ as I sat on the stane at the door, I saw my Jamie’s wraith, for I couldna think it he-- Till he said, I’m come hame to marry thee. O sair, sair did we greet, and muckle did we say; We took but ae kiss, and I bad him gang away: 30 I wish that I were dead, but I’m no like to dee; And why was I born to say, Wae’s me! I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin; I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin; But I’ll do my best a gude wife aye to be 35 For auld Robin Gray he is kind unto me. _Lady Anne Lindsay._ CLVII _THE PROGRESS OF POESY._ A PINDARIC ODE. Awake, Æolian lyre, awake, And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. From Helicon’s harmonious springs A thousand rills their mazy progress take: The laughing flowers, that round them blow, 5 Drink life and fragrance as they flow, Now the rich stream of music winds along, Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong, Through verdant vales, and Ceres’ golden reign: Now rolling down the steep amain, 10 Headlong, impetuous, see it pour: The rocks and nodding groves rebellow to the roar. O Sovereign of the willing soul, Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs, Enchanting shell! the sullen Cares 15 And frantic Passions hear thy soft control: On Thracia’s hills the Lord of War Has curbed the fury of his car, And dropped his thirsty lance at thy command. Perching on the sceptred hand 20 Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feathered king With ruffled plumes, and flagging wing: Quenched in dark clouds of slumber lie The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye.