ROBERT BURNS.

FAIR HELEN.

I wish I were where Helen lies;
Night and day on me she cries;
O that I were where Helen lies
   On fair Kirconnell lea!

Curst be the heart that thought the thought,
And curst the hand that fired the shot,
When in my arms burd Helen dropt,
   And died to succor me!

O think na but my heart was sair
When my Love dropt down and spak nae mair! 
I laid her down wi’ meikle care
   On fair Kirconnell lea.

As I went down the water-side,
None but my foe to be my guide,
None but my foe to be my guide,
   On fair Kirconnell lea;

I lighted down my sword to draw,
I hacked him in pieces sma’,
I hacked him in pieces sma’,
   For her sake that died for me.

O Helen fair, beyond compare! 
I’ll make a garland of thy hair
Shall bind my heart for evermair
   Until the day I die.

O that I were where Helen lies! 
Night and day on me she cries;
Out of my bed she bids me rise,
   Says, “Haste and come to me!”

O Helen fair!  O Helen chaste! 
If I were with thee, I were blest,
Where thou lies low and takes thy rest
   On fair Kirconnell lea.

I wish my grave were growing green,
A winding-sheet drawn ower my een,
And I in Helen’s arms lying,
   On fair Kirconnell lea.

I wish I were where Helen lies;
Night and day on me she cries;
And I am weary of the skies,
   Since my Love died for me.

ANONYMOUS.

OH THAT ’T WERE POSSIBLE.

     FROM “MAUD.”

Oh that ’t were possible,
   After long grief and pain,
To find the arms of my true love
   Round me once again!

When I was wont to meet her
  In the silent woody places
Of the laud that gave me birth,
  We stood tranced in long embraces
Mixt with kisses sweeter, sweeter
  Than anything on earth.

A shadow flits before me,
  Not thou, but like to thee;
Ah Christ, that it were possible
  For one short hour to see
The souls we loved, that they might tell us
  What and where they be!

It leads me forth at evening,
  It lightly winds and steals
In a cold white robe before me,
  When all my spirit reels
At the shouts, the leagues of lights,
  And the roaring of the wheels.

Half the night I waste in sighs,
  Half in dreams I sorrow after
The delight of early skies;
  In a wakeful doze I sorrow
For the hand, the lips, the eyes—­
  For the meeting of the morrow,
  The delight of happy laughter,
The delight of low replies.

’Tis a morning pure and sweet,
  And a dewy splendor falls
On the little flower that clings
  To the turrets and the walls;
’T is a morning pure and sweet,
And the light and shadow fleet: 
   She is walking in the meadow,
And the woodland echo rings. 
In a moment we shall meet;
   She is singing in the meadow,
And the rivulet at her feet
   Ripples on in light and shadow
To the ballad that she sings.