Six Songs

Sleep baby mine, enfolded in this bosom
 . . . . . . . . . .

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It is o'er! with its pains and its pleasures,
  The dream of affection is o'er!
The feelings I lavish'd so fondly
  Will never return to me more.

With a faith, O! too blindly believing --
  A truth, no unkindness could move;
My prodigal heart hath expended
  At once, an existence of love.

And now, like the spendthrift forsaken,
  By those whom his bounty had blest, 
All empty, and cold, and despairing,
  It shrinks in my desolate breast.

But a spirit is burning within me, 
  Unquench'd, and unquenchable yet;
It shall teach me to bear uncomplaining,
  The grief I can never forget.

Farewell to Northmaven,
Grey Hillswicke, farewell!
The storms on thy haven,
The storms on thy fell,
To each breeze that can vary
The mood of thy main,
And to thee, bonny Mary!
We meet not again!

Farewell the wild ferry,
Which Hacon could brave,
When the peaks of the Skerry
Where white in the wave.
There's a maid may look over
These wild waves in vain,
For the skiff of her lover,
He comes not again!

The vows thou hast broke,
On the wild currents fling them;
On the quicksand and rock
Let the mermaidens sing them.
New sweetness they'll give her
Bewildering strain;
But there's one who will never
Believe them again.

O were there an island,
Though ever so wild,
Where woman could smile, and
No man be beguiled,
Too tempting a snare
To poor mortals were given;
And the hope would fix there,
That should anchor in heaven.

Farewell! if ever fondest prayer
  For other's weal availed on high,
Mine will not all be lost in air,
  But waft thy name beyond the sky.
'Twere vain to speak, to weep, to sigh:
  Oh! more than tears of blood can tell,
When wrung from guilt's expiring eye,
  Are in that word - Farewell! - Farewell!

These lips are mute, these eyes are dry;
  But in my breast and in my brain,
Awake the pangs that pass not by,
  The thought that ne'er shall sleep again.
My soul nor deigns nor dares complain,
  Though grief and passion there rebel:
I only know we loved in vain -
  I only feel - Farewell! - Farewell!

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I love the landscape, and its heavenly hue,
The rolling river, and the swelling sea,
The deep green valley, and the mountain blue;
But better still my home -- my home -- and thee!

I love bold nature's voice, loud ocean's roar,
The pouring cataract, and the melody
Of winter winds, and sighing woods; but more
The voice of love -- my home -- my home and thee!

I have an eye that sees, a heart that feels
The charm that nature flings o'er lawn and lea;
Yet to my breast a ffequent sadness steals
To think how far I roam -- from home and thee!

And when the glories of the landscape past,
Come thick and thronging o'er my memory --
To envious hate, my love is turned at last,
For these divide me -- from my home and thee.