Dew, that od'rous ointment yields, Sweets, that western winds disclose, Bathing spring's more purpled fields, Soft 's the band that winds the rose; While o'er thy myrtled lawns I stray Beneath, O maiden Moon! thy ray. William Lisle Bowles. 1762-1850 509. Time and Grief O TIME! who know'st a lenient hand to lay Softest on sorrow's wound, and slowly thence (Lulling to sad repose the weary sense) The faint pang stealest unperceived away; On thee I rest my only hope at last, And think, when thou hast dried the bitter tear That flows in vain o'er all my soul held dear, I may look back on every sorrow past, And meet life's peaceful evening with a smile: As some lone bird, at day's departing hour, Sings in the sunbeam, of the transient shower Forgetful, though its wings are wet the while:-- Yet ah! how much must this poor heart endure, Which hopes from thee, and thee alone, a cure! Joanna Baillie. 1762-1851 510. The Outlaw's Song THE chough and crow to roost are gone, The owl sits on the tree, The hush'd wind wails with feeble moan, Like infant charity. The wild-fire dances on the fen, The red star sheds its ray; Uprouse ye then, my merry men! It is our op'ning day. Both child and nurse are fast asleep, And closed is every flower, And winking tapers faintly peep High from my lady's bower; Bewilder'd hinds with shorten'd ken Shrink on their murky way; Uprouse ye then, my merry men! It is our op'ning day. Nor board nor garner own we now, Nor roof nor latched door, Nor kind mate, bound by holy vow To bless a good man's store; Noon lulls us in a gloomy den, And night is grown our day; Uprouse ye then, my merry men! And use it as ye may. Mary Lamb. 1765-1847 511. A Child A CHILD 's a plaything for an hour; Its pretty tricks we try For that or for a longer space-- Then tire, and lay it by. But I knew one that to itself All seasons could control; That would have mock'd the sense of pain Out of a grieved soul. Thou straggler into loving arms, Young climber-up of knees, When I forget thy thousand ways Then life and all shall cease. Carolina, Lady Nairne. 1766-1845 512. The Land o' the Leal I'M wearin' awa', John Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, John, I'm wearin' awa' To the land o' the leal. There 's nae sorrow there, John, There 's neither cauld nor care, John, The day is aye fair In the land o' the leal. Our bonnie bairn 's there, John, She was baith gude and fair, John; And O! we grudged her sair To the land o' the leal. But sorrow's sel' wears past, John, And joy 's a-coming fast, John, The joy that 's aye to last In the land o' the leal. Sae dear 's the joy was bought, John, Sae free the battle fought, John, That sinfu' man e'er brought To the land o' the leal. O, dry your glistening e'e, John! My saul langs to be free, John, And angels beckon me To the land o' the leal.