J. F. Campbell Collection > Selections from the Gaelic bards

132 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
My soul is weary; my heart is breaking;
With frequent teardrops mine eyes o'erflow.
Wilt come to-night, love ? May I expect thee ?
Or, sighing sorely, the door put to?
I question fondly thy friends, and ask them,
Where last they saw thee? where thou art now?
But each one, jeering, some answer gives me,
That sends me homeward with burning brow.
They call thee fickle, they call thee false one,
And seek to change me ; but all in vain.
No; thou 'rt my dream yet throughout the dark night;
And every morn yet I watch the main.
Dost thou remember the promise made me —
The tartan plaidie — the silken gown —
The ring of gold with thy hair and portrait?
That gown and ring I will never own.
For not a hamlet — too well I know it —
Where you go wandering, or stay a while.
But all its old folk you win with talking,
.•,/'' And charm its maidens with song and smile.
^oiC(/vJ^ '^^1 •'^^; [ And yet I dare not] deny I love thee;
J'}Via.^ fK^^'^V. ' I And not a month, — oh^ nor yet a year,
^f^ '^ J*" ' \ But thee for ever,3-since first in childhood
r<^"- ^'"^''rII^ / \ I stroU'd beside theè7and thought thee dear.
rjyi,ulS%^7^^ /<«'A^^<,/My friends they warn mej and oft advise me,
-^ c^«X5ecùfl.5 hiiL. J To let thy false vow^ forgotten be : £tnt</
y (As vain their counseljas if they order'd >^ r-^ *i — .
/) Yon little streamletlroll back the sea. ^^ ^ ^^77t/^
C\ Vci^l. ^c\ y^'^, So here I wander, a tearful mourner— ^ .^ f^^tJtj
d'yEtturu-ffu hdt^ I ^ stricken cygnet, Avith music-moan, *^
^'' Ufl^iZ, oA-/^^ ^l^cvt^U^-^ "^ ^ 5^-£l