Classic Poem

The Scottish kirk the English church do name,
The English church the Scots a kirk do call;
Kirk, and not church, church and not kirk, O shame!
Your kappa turn in chi, or perish all,
Assemblies meet, post bishops to the court;
If these two nations fight, 'tis strangers' sport.

I left my horse in the oaken grove,
And sought the presence of my love;
The watchmen went their wonted beat,
I placed me at my lady's feet.

And with my loud-voiced songs, I broke
My lady's slumbers, and she woke;
She woke — and then sweet accents stray'd
From the loved bosom of the maid.

" 'Tis time (she said), 'tis time to rise,
The dawning morning lights the skies,
The day draws near — and busy men
Wake to their wonted toils again.

" The little birds have roused them long,
Shaken their plumes and tuned their song;
Have tuned their songs and winged their flight,
And left me to my sorrow's night. "

O why should separation's power
Divide us in auspicious hour?
Love! bound to each our hearts shall be,
And undisturbed by jealousy.

Night! silent are thy steps and slow,
Fain would I to my lady go;
Fain would I pour my fondest vow —
But nothing can console me now.

My heart is wrapp'd in dark distress —
In gloom, and in unquietness —
What can her absent charms replace,
What smile, where smiled her lovely face?

O heaven! not long — not long, may I
For this, my distant maiden, sigh!
" Sigh not — it is enough for thee
To rest on my fidelity. "