Now a' is done that men can do, And a' is done in vain; My love and native land, farewell, For I maun cross the main, My dear-- For I maun cross the main. He turn'd him right and round about Upon the Irish shore; And gae his bridle-reins a shake, With, Adieu for evermore, My dear-- With, Adieu for evermore! The sodger frae the wars returns, The sailor frae the main; But I hae parted frae my love, Never to meet again, My dear-- Never to meet again. When day is gane, and night is come, And a' folk bound to sleep, I think on him that 's far awa', The lee-lang night, and weep, My dear-- The lee-lang night, and weep. lee-lang] livelong. Robert Burns. 1759-1796 506. Hark! the Mavis CA' the yowes to the knowes, Ca' them where the heather grows, Ca' them where the burnie rows, My bonnie dearie. Hark! the mavis' evening sang Sounding Clouden's woods amang, Then a-faulding let us gang, My bonnie dearie. We'll gae down by Clouden side, Through the hazels spreading wide, O'er the waves that sweetly glide To the moon sae clearly. Yonder Clouden's silent towers, Where at moonshine midnight hours O'er the dewy bending flowers Fairies dance sae cheery. Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear; Thou'rt to Love and Heaven sae dear, Nocht of ill may come thee near, My bonnie dearie. Fair and lovely as thou art, Thou hast stown my very heart; I can die--but canna part, My bonnie dearie. While waters wimple to the sea; While day blinks in the lift sae hie; Till clay-cauld death shall blin' my e'e, Ye shall be my dearie. Ca' the yowes to the knowes... lift] sky. Henry Rowe. 1750-1819 507. Sun ANGEL, king of streaming morn; Cherub, call'd by Heav'n to shine; T' orient tread the waste forlorn; Guide aetherial, pow'r divine; Thou, Lord of all within! Golden spirit, lamp of day, Host, that dips in blood the plain, Bids the crimson'd mead be gay, Bids the green blood burst the vein; Thou, Lord of all within! Soul, that wraps the globe in light; Spirit, beckoning to arise; Drives the frowning brow of night, Glory bursting o'er the skies; Thou, Lord of all within! Henry Rowe. 1750-1819 508. Moon THEE too, modest tressed maid, When thy fallen stars appear; When in lawn of fire array'd Sov'reign of yon powder'd sphere; To thee I chant at close of day, Beneath, O maiden Moon! thy ray. Throned in sapphired ring supreme, Pregnant with celestial juice, On silver wing thy diamond stream Gives what summer hours produce; While view'd impearl'd earth's rich inlay, Beneath, O maiden Moon! thy ray. Glad, pale Cynthian wine I sip, Breathed the flow'ry leaves among; Draughts delicious wet my lip; Drown'd in nectar drunk my song; While tuned to Philomel the lay, Beneath, O maiden Moon! thy ray.