An oak’s arms clasp the blast that blows on it.
There is an air-like something which must be.
And yet not to be seen, nor to be touched.
I am made up to die; for having been
Every thing, there is nothing left but nothing
To be again.
Hark! here is a ballad-singer.
All of my own composing!
Yes, Yes—we know.
My gipsy maid! my gipsy maid!
I bless and curse the day
I lost the light of life, and caught
The grief which maketh gray.
Would that the light which blinded me
Had saved me on my way!My night-haired love! so sweet she was,
So fair and blithe was she;
Her smile was brighter than the moon’s,
Her eyes the stars might see.I met her by her lane-spread tent,
Beside a moss-green stone,
And bade her make, not mock, my fate,
My fortune was her own.
Thou art but yet a boy, she said,
And I a woman grown.I am a man in love, I cried;
My heart was early manned:
She smiled, and only drooped her eyes,
And then let go my hand.
We stood a minute: neither spake
What each must understand.I told her, so she would be mine
And follow where I went,
She straight should have a bridal bower
Instead of gipsy tent.Or would she have me wend with her,
The world between should fall;
For her I would fling up faith and friends,
And name, and fame, and all.Her smile so bright froze while I spake,
And ice was in her eye;
So near, it seemed ere touch her heart
I might have kissed the sky.I said that if she loved to rule,
Or if she longed to reign,
I would make her Queen of every race
Which tearhke trode the world’s sad face,
Or bleed at every vein.She laid her finger on her lip,
And pointed to the sky;
There is no God to come, she said:
Dost thou not fear to die?And what is God, I said, to thee?
Thy people worship not.
The good, the happy, and the free,
She said, they need no God.I looked until I lost mine eyes;
I felt as though I were
In a dark cave, with one weak light—
The light of life—with her;
And that was wasting fast away;
I watched but would not stir.Again she took my hand in hers,
And read it o’er and o’er;
Ah! eyes so young, so sweet, I said,
Make as they read love’s lore.She held my hand—I trembled whilst—
For sorely soon I felt
She made the love-cross she foretold
And all the woe she dealt.Unhappy I should be she said,
And young to death be given;
I told her I believed in her,
Not in the stars of Heaven.Hush! we breathe Heaven, she said, and bowed;
And the stars speak through me.
Let Heaven, I cried, take care of Heaven!
I only care for thee.She shrank: I looked, and begged a kiss:
I knew she had one for me;
She would deny me none, she said,
But give me none would she.My gipsy mind! my gipsy maid!
’Tis three long years like this,
Since there I gave and got from thee
That meeting, parting kiss.I saw the tears start in her eye,
And trickle down her cheek,
Like falling stars across the sky,
Escaping from their Maker’s eye:
I saw, but spared to speak.Go, and forget! she said, and slid
Below her lowly tent.
I will not, cannot—hear me, girl!
She heard not, and I went.At eve, by sunset, I was there,
The tent was there no more;
The fire which warmed her flickered still—
The fire she sat before.I stood by it, till through the dark
I saw not where it lay;
And then like that my heart went out
In ashy grief and gray.My gipsy maid! my gipsy maid!
Oh! let me bless this day;
This day it was I met thee first,
And yet it shall be and is cursed,
For thou hast gone away.
Another, please—not quite so gloomy, friend.
I wonder if the tale it tells be true.
I dare say—but you want a merrier.
Every man’s life has its apocrypha;
Mine has, at least. I have said more than need be.
It happened, too, when I was very young.
We never meet such gipsies when we are old;
And yet we more complain of youth than age.
Now, make a ring, good people. Let me breathe! Sings.
Oh! the wee green neuk, the sly green neuk,
The wee sly neuk for me!
Whare the wheat is wavin’ bright and brown,
And the wind is fresh and free.
Whare I weave wild weeds, and out o’ reeds
Kerve whissles as I lay;
And a douce low voice is murmurin’ by
Through the lee-lang simmer day.
Oh! the wee green neuk, etc.And whare a’ things luik as though they lo’ed
To languish in the sun;
And that if they feed the fire they dree,
They wadna ae pang were gone.
Whare the lift aboon is still as death,
And bright as life can be;
While the douce low voice says, na, na, na!
But ye mauna luik sae at me.
Oh! the wee green neuk, etc.Whare the lang rank bent is saft and cule,
And freshenin’ till the feet;
And the spot is sly, and the spinnie high,
Whare my luve and I mak seat:
And I tease her till she rins, and then
I catch her roun’ the tree;
While the poppies shak’ their heids and blush:
Let ’em blush till they drap, for me!
Oh! the wee green neuk, etc.
And all who know such feelings and such scenes
Will, I am sure, reward you. Here—take this.
And this, and this—too!
Thank ye all, good friends!
There’s much that hath no merit but its truth,
And no excuse but nature. Nature does
Never wrong: ’tis society which sins.
Look on the bee upon the wing among flowers;
How brave, how bright his life! Then mark him hived,
Cramped, cringing in his self built, social cell.
Thus is it in the world-hive: most where men
Lie deep in cities as in drifts—death drifts,
Nosing each other like a flock of sheep;
Not knowing and not caring whence nor whither
They come or go, so that they fool together.
It is quite fair to halve these lives and say
This side is nature’s, that society’s,
When both are side-views only of one thing.
I am glad to see you come among us, sir.
Why,
