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# The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter/The Foolish Old Man

From The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter (1907).
THE FOOLISH OLD MAN
A miller's daughter, as I heard tell— Sing heigh! but the maid was merry— Was loved by her father's man full well, His cheek was brown as a berry.
He made the grey mare fast to her stall, The red cow drove to the byre, Then he sought the old man in his hall, Where he sat before the fire.
Quoth he, “Old man, I have served you true, Full twenty years and over, Now your daughter's hand I do beg from you That she wed her faithful lover.”
When the farmer heard the youth so speak There was not reason in him, His anger like a storm did break, He feared he could not win him.
Cried he, “Rash youth, since you dare to nurse This dream,—this secret wooing, If you should wed, may a father's curse Be your swift and sure undoing.
“My curse shall feed on your fields of corn, On your roof-tree make its nesting, Your wife shall wish your child unborn As he pines on her sore heart resting.”
Now when this cruel oath he said The youth did chide him, crying, “Since I have neither field nor bed Your curse shall fall to dying.
“But if I had yon broad grass land, And there put roof and rafter, I vow revenge were to your hand And you'd have all the laughter.”
“If that be so,” the old man cried, Unto the faithful lover, “Take you yon keep the wood beside, And me land that it doth cover.
“So my oath fall on land and lot, On house and home forever. Your wife shall pine on the cursed spot, I shall be beaten never!”
When thus he spoke in anger wild, The youth did stay him, saying, “Since I have neither wife nor child Still goes your curse delaying.
“But should I win for my true bride Some day your own fair daughter, Alack I not then your will denied To make a grievous slaughter.”
When the old man this tale did hear. He tried no more to stay him, He gave the youth his daughter dear. So that his curse might slay him.
All silent he for a year and a day All lone with his rage and sorrow, Then he spoke his wrath, “Too long I stay, I will seek their roof to-morrow.”
At dawn he sprang on his old grey mare And to their gate went speeding. Pale at the door stood his daughter fair, Her beauty was all exceeding.
Hushed in her arms was her son so dear, As though she feared to lose him— She laid the babe with a smile and a tear Upon her father's bosom.
“Now curse, if you will, our good roof-tree And all that doth lie under, But spare our child, so dear,” quoth she, “Or cleave my heart asunder.”
He had no curse for her piteous cry. But his long lone love confessing, With dim eyes raised to the morning sky. He gave—a father's blessing.
# The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter/The Little Brother

From The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter (1907).
THE LITTLE BROTHER
O brother, brother, come down to the crags by the bay, Come down to the caves where I play; For oh! I saw on the rocks, asleep, A fair mermaid, and the slow waves creep To bear her away, away.
O brother, brother, come quick, till you laugh with me, For no mermaid so fair is she, But the little lass that I saw last night, (I hid in the shade, you stood in the light), And she weeping most bitterly.
O brother, brother, I watched her the live-long day. Saw her hair grow jewelled with spray; Once her cheek was brushed by a gull's wet wing. And a finch flew down on her hand to sing. And was not afraid to stay.
O brother, brother, will she soon awakened be? I would she might laugh now with me. She sleeps, and the world so full of sound— She's so deaf, like the dead that are under the ground, That I laugh and laugh to see.
# The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter/The Kine of My Father

From The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter (1907).
THE KINE OF MY FATHER
The kine of my father, they are straying from my keeping; The young goat's at mischief, but little can I do For all through the night did I hear the banshee keening; youth of my loving, and is it well with you?
All through the night sat my mother with my sorrow; “Whisht, it is the storm, O one children of my heart!” My hair with the wind, and my two hands clasped in anguish; Black head of my darling ! too long are we apart.
Were your grave at my feet, I would think it half a blessing; I could herd then the cattle, and drive the goats away; Many a Paternoster I would say for your safe keeping; I could sleep above your heart until the dawn of day.
I see you on the prairie, hot with thirst and faint with hunger; The head that I love lying low upon the sand. The vultures shriek impatient, and the coyote dogs are howling, Till the blood is pulsing cold within your clenching hand.
I see you on the voters, so white, so still, forsaken, Your dear eyes unclosing beneath a foreign rain: A plaything of the winds, you turn and dritt unceasing. No grave for your resting; O mine the bitter pain!
All through the night did I hear the banshee keening: Somewhere you are dying, and nothing can I do; My hair with the wind, and my two hands clasped in anguish; Bitter is your trouble—and I am far from you.
# The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter/The Leper's Betrothed

From The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter (1907).
THE LEPER'S BETROTHED
To clasp bis spirit undefiled, my spirit leaped beneath my hand, He said no sad reproach to me, but only, “Love, I understand.” O coward my eyes that would not see, held slaves 'neath closing finger-tips; O coward my flesh that would not let my spirit's whisper through your lips.
He might have said, “This rose I pulled fell not to pieces at my touch; The robin fled not at my gaze, nor hid from me her feathered clutch; The evening moon arose as fair with my sad face to look upon; The sun withdrew no single ray, caressed me as it shone; The hound still follows at my heel, nor finds me less beloved for this— But, oh! my love shrinks from my side and trembles at my kiss. Would you find horror at my touch, or poison at my body's breath, If but my flesh grew fair again, and my soul darkened with its death?”
God struck him with a fell disease, he said no sad reproach to me. He left the world of men behind for that sad isle beyond the sea;
He loved the beautiful, the sun—and God has robbed him of that right. Housed him with men that are not men« with horrors for his sight. And I, my love I have robbed from you the right of love, and hope, and trust, And gave a woman's feeble dreams that God has razed to dust. Oh, pity me, for I am weak, not worth that precious love you gave, I weep undoing, while your ship finds you an island and a grave; I curse my flesh that holds me down, my hidden face, my cowardly hand; I bless the parting voice that said, “My love, I understand.”
# The Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night/King Kisra Anoushirwan and the Village Damsel

First-level story, told by Shehrzad
KING KISRA ANOUSHIRWAN AND THE VILLAGE DAMSEL.
The just King, Kisra Anoushirwan, was hunting one day and became separated from his suite, in pursuit of an antelope. Presently, he caught sight of a hamlet, near at hand, and being sore athirst, made for the door of a house, that stood by the wayside, and asked for a draught of water. A damsel came out and looked at him; then, going back into the house, pressed the juice from a sugar-cane into a tankard and mixed it with water; after which she strewed on the top somewhat of perfume, as it were dust, and carried it to the King. He took it and seeing in it what resembled dust, drank it, little by little, till he came to the end. Then said he to her, ‘O damsel, the drink is good and sweet, but for this dust in it, that troubles it.’ ‘O guest,’ answered she, ‘I put that in, of intent.’ ‘And why didst thou thus?’ asked he; and she ​replied, ‘I saw that thou wast exceeding thirsty and feared that thou wouldst swallow the whole at one draught and that this would do thee a mischief; and so hadst thou done, but for this dust that troubled the drink.’ The King wondered at her wit and good sense and said to her, ‘How many sugar-canes didst thou press for this draught?’ ‘One,’ answered she; whereat the King marvelled and calling for the roll of the taxes of the village, saw that its assessment was but little and bethought him to increase it, on his return to his palace, saying in himself, ‘Why is a village so lightly taxed, where they get this much juice out of one sugar-cane?’
Then he left the village and pursued his chase. As he came back at the end of the day, he passed alone by the same door and called again for drink; whereupon the same damsel came out and knowing him, went in to fetch him drink. It was some time before she returned and the King wondered at this and said to her, ‘Why hast thou tarried?’ Night cccxc.Quoth she, ‘Because one sugar-cane yielded not enough for thy need. So I pressed three; but they yielded not so much as did one aforetime.’ ‘What is the cause of that?’ asked the King; and she answered, ‘The cause of it is that the King’s mind is changed.’ Quoth he, ‘How knewst thou that?’ ‘We hear from the wise,’ replied she, ‘that, when the King’s mind is changed against a folk, their prosperity ceaseth and their good waxeth less.’ Anoushirwan laughed and put away from his mind that which he had purposed against the people of the village. Moreover, he took the damsel to wife then and there, being pleased with her much wit and acuteness and the excellence of her speech.
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The bride cam' out o' the byre

The bride cam' out o' the byre.
[The author of this song, to the tune of "Woo'd and married and a'," is unknown. It appears in Herd's collection of 1776, but is of much older date.]
The bride cam' out o' the byre, And, O, as she dighted her cheeks! Sirs, I'm to be married the night, And have neither blankets nor sheets; Have neither blankets nor sheets, Nor scarce a coverlet too, The bride that has a' thing to borrow, Has e'en right muckle ado. Woo'd and married, and a', Married, and woo'd, and a'! And was she nae very weel off, That was woo'd, and married and a'?
Out spake the bride's father, As he cam' in frae the pleugh, O, haud your tongue, my dochter, And ye'se get gear eneugh; The stirk stands i' th' tether, And our bra' bawsint yade, Will carry ye hame your corn— What wad ye be at, ye jade?
Out spake the bride's mither, What deil needs a' this pride? I had nae a plack in my pouch That night I was a bride; My gown was linsy-woolsy, And ne'er a sark ava; And ye ha'e ribbons and buskins, Mae than ane or twa.
What's the matter, quo' Willie; Though we be scant o' claes, We'll creep the closer thegither, And we'll smoor a' the fleas: Simmer is coming on, And we'll get taits o' woo; And we'll get a lass o' our ain, And she'll spin claiths anew.
Out spake the bride's brither, As he came in wi' the kye; Poor Willie wad ne'er ha'e ta'en ye, Had he kent ye as weel as I; ​For ye're baith proud and saucy, And no for a poor man's wife; Gin I canna get a better, I'se ne'er tak' ane i' my life.
Out spake the bride's sister, As she came in frae the byre; O gin I were but married, It's a' that I desire: But we poor folk maun live single, And do the best that we can; I dinna care what I shou'd want If I cou'd get but a man.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The days o' auld Langsyne

The days o’ auld Langsyne.
[M'Phail.—Tune, "The Burnside."]
O happy, happy were the days o' auld langsyne, The hamely sweets, the social joys o' auld langsyne, When ilka ane wi' friendly glow and cordial heart wad join, To pledge wi' frien'ship leal and true the days o' langsyne. When ilka ane, &c.
How fled the joys that we ha'e seen, o' auld langsyne, When happy aft we baith ha'e been, in days o' langsyne: Still ilka former tender scene, wi' dear delight we min', But a' alas! can ne'er reca' the days o' langsyne. Still ilka former, &c.
How sweet the fond endearing charms o' auld langsyne, Wi' Jeanie in my youthfu' arms, in days o' langsyne; In rapture press'd her throbbing breast wi' glowing love to mine, Thae happy hours flew o'er wi' bliss in days o' langsyne. In rapture press'd, &c. ​Amang our native woods and braes how pleasant the time, To pu' for her I loo'd sae dear the primrose in its prime: Then fairer bloom'd ilk bonnie flower, mair sweet the birds did sing, When wi' the lass I dearly lo'ed, in days o' langsyne. Then fairer bloom'd, &c.
Nae mair amang our bonnie glens we'll garlands entwine, Nor pu' the wild-flower by the burn, to busk my lassie fine; Nae mair upon yon sunny knowe we'll mark the sun decline, Nor tell the tender tales that pleased in days o' langsyne. Nae mair upon, &c.
But still through life we'll happy be, at fate ne'er repine: Though warldly cares, at times, should thraw, we'll ne'er our pleasure tyne; While seated here, in frien'ly glow, wi' hearts an' han's we join, And bring again, wi' cantie glee, the days o' langsyne. While seated here, &c.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The bright sun had given

The bright sun had given.
[William Train.—Tune, "Angel's Whisper."—Here first printed.]
The bright sun had given, His light from the heaven, And had sunk down again over mountain and lea, When as Mary sat sighing By the red embers dying, She cried—"Hope never twineth a garland for me!
"I'm sportive as any, Yet look on the many—
On the many young maids round the old village tree; They dance 'neath its cover, Each one with her lover, While my Willie is always so bashfu' to me!"
Young Willie was listening, His bright eye was glistening, As he sprung to her side with a heart full of glee, The fair one's confession Outdid all expression, And if Mary was happy, what think you was he?
The bright sun had given His light from the heaven,
And had sunk down again over mountain and lea, When a young mother's numbers To her first baby's slumbers,
Were—"Kind hope had indeed a fair garland for me!"
# The Book of Scottish Song/The circle of Friendship

The circle of Friendship.
[Air, "The kail brose of auld Scotland."]
The cauld blasts o' winter blaw chill o'er the plain, And nature grows pale 'neath the tyrant's domain; We'll seek our lov'd cottage, and leave the bleak scene; For there's nought like the circle of friendship To brighten life's path with a smile.
The heart leaps wi' joy, by the canty fireside, Surrounded by faces whose faith has been tried, Where kind hospitality loves to preside; For there's nought like the circle of friendship To brighten life's path with a smile.
Tho' our table is spread with no Epicure's fare; Tho' our wealth is but sma', we shall never despair, While we just ha'e a plack wi' a neighbour to share; Still we'll meet in the circle of friendship And brighten life's path with a smile.
The nabob surrounded with splendour may pine; For friends are but scanty where sycophants shine;— Here the juice of the malt is as sweet as the vine; And there's nought like the circle of friendship To brighten life's path with a smile.
Let statesmen delight in the court's vain parade, Where each plays for self in the great masquerade.— Our pleasures tho' humble, we trust are repaid; For there's nought like the circle of friendship To brighten life's path with a smile.
While the coxcomb is lest in the butterfly throng, Where the dance to the music is floating along; We enjoy our bit crack, wi' a canty Scots song; For there's nought like the circle of friendship To brighten life's path with a smile.
Then blest be the faces that welcom'd me here, Wherever I wander they'll ever be dear,— While our glasses, at parting, will brim with a tear; For there's nought like the circle of friendship To brighten life's path with a smile.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The deuks dang o'er

The deuks dang o’er.
[The first two stanzas of this song were manufactured by Burns from an old but somewhat licentious ditty called "The deuks dang o'er my daddie." The two concluding verses are by Dr. Graham of Glasgow. The tune is old, and can be traced at least as far back as Playford's "Dancing Master," 1657.]
The bairns gat out wi' an unco shout, The deuks dang o'er my daddie, O; Quo' our gudewife, "Let him lie there, For he's just a paidling body, O; He paidles out, and he paidles in, He paidles late and early, O; This thirty years I ha'e been his wife, And comfort comes but sparely, O."
"Now haud your tongue," quo' our gudeman, "And dinna be sae saucy, O, I've seen the day, and so ha'e ye, I was baith young and gaucy, O. I've seen the day you butter'd my brose, And cultered me late and early,; But auld age is on me now, And wow but I fin't richt sairly, O."
"I carena though ye were i' the mools, Or dookit in a boggie, O; I kenna the use o' the crazy auld fool, But just to toom the coggie, O. Gin the win' were out o' your whaisling hauze, I'd marry again and be voggie, O; Some bonnie young lad would be my lot, Some rosy cheeked roggie, O."
Quo' our gudeman, "Gi'e me that rung That's hingin' in the ingle, O; I'se gar ye haud that sorrowfu' tongue, Or else your lugs will tingle, O. Gang to your bed this blessed nicht, Or I'll be your undoing, O;" The cannie auld wife crap out o' sicht,— What think ye o' sic wooing, O?
# The Book of Scottish Song/The bricht Star

The bricht Star.
[Alexander Keay, a ploughman in the Kingsmuir, Fifeshire. Air, "The bonnie hawthorn."—Here first printed.]
The bricht star o' e'enin' peep'd forth frae the sky, The winds were a' hush'd,—not a mortal was nigh, When Jenny walk'd forth 'mid the primroses pale, And pour'd her fond plaint in the sweet lovely vale.
"Ye fairies that dance in yon wild lonely dell, Whose drink is the dew frae the sweet flow'rets bell, Whose food is the incense that's borne on the gale From the primrose and hawthorn that bloom in the vale.
"O say, have you seen a young swain passing by, With health on his cheek, and with love in his eye: Detain the fond youth—now his sighs shall prevail With the maid he oft woo'd in the sweet flow'ry vale.
"O sweet smells the bean in the saft summer shower, And sweet sings the merle in his green leafy bower; But sweeter to me is my fond lover's tale, Where the primrose and hawthorn bloom sweet in the vale."
# The Book of Scottish Song/The bud on the brier

The bud on the brier.
[Tune, "The Campbells are comin'."]
The bud on the brier it is bonnie enough, An' sae is the flower on the ha', lass: How sweet shines the red setting sun in the stream, But thou art the sweetest of a', lass. The laverock on the lea, lass, The lintie on the tree, lass, The mavis aft renews her sang, But nane o" them sings like thee, lass.
The meeting o' friends may be happy, I own, An' blinks o' content gi'e us a', lass; But rapture ne'er comes frae the e'e to the heait, Save only when love gi'es the law, lass. The bottle has its charms, lass, Which toil and care disarm, lass, But lasting pleasure ne'er is found, Till love the bosom warm, lass.
In conqu'ring kingdoms let tyrants unite, An' patriots fight to be free, lass; But conqu'ring canna gi'e them the delight, I ha'e being conquer'd by thee, lass. For freedom's but a name, lass, And slavery's just the same, lass, I'll wear thy chain wi' a' my heart, Gif ye will be my ain, lass.
The love-melting kiss that I steal frae thy. lips, Will keep me aye constant and true, lass, An' ilk coming day be mair blest than the past, An' ilka endearment renew, lass. Then time may flee like wind, lass, Its loss we ne'er shall find, lass; The rose that fades upon thy cheek, Will flourish in thy mind, lass.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The cauld winter's gane

The cauld winter’s gane.
[William Train.—Air, "John Anderson my jo."—Here first printed.]
The cauld cauld winter's gane, luve, Sae bitter an sae snell; And spring has come again, luve, To deck yon leesome dell. The buds burst frae the tree, luve: The birds sing by the shaw; But sad sad is my dowie heart, For ye are far awa'!
I thocht the time wad flee, luve, As in the days gane bye; While I wad think on thee, luve And a' my patience try; But O! the weary hours, luve, They wadna flee ava, And they ha'e borne me nocht but dule, Syne ye ha'e been awa'.
Waes me! they're sair to bide, luve, The dirdums ane maun dree, The feelings wunna hide, luve, Wi' saut tears in the e'e: And yet the ills o' life, luve, Compar'd wi' joys are ama',— Sae will it be when ye return Nae mair to gang awa'.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The days of my youth

The days of my youth.
[John Mitchell.—Here first printed.]
Ah! where are the days of my earliest youth, When nature was sunshine, enjoyment, and truth? When the journey of life seem'd a pathway of flowers. And hope wreath'd with roses my days and my hours, Ah! where are the days of my youth?
Then friendship stood forth unsuspicious and free As the wind when it sweeps o'er the fathomless sea, From whose smile rose the joys that were sure to impart A gush of unmingled delight o'er the heart. Ah! where are the days of my youth?
Then love lent her charms to enliven the grove, And breath'd the delights that exist but in love; The flowers that I turn'd in my chaplet were fair, For time had not then stain'd my forehead with care, Ah! where are the days of my youth?
Ah! youth in the vortex of passion's wild flow, Reflect on the years that come laden with woe, And 'mid thy gay transports keep this in thine eye, The years are at hand when thou'lt sing with a sigh, Ah! where are the days of my youth?
# The Book of Scottish Song/The days of old

The days of old.
[Charles Scott.—Here first printed.]
We stood beside the shore,— And I knew not what to say, For I lov'd her well before, In my boyhood's golden day: And though her eye, retreating, Left the plaintive tale untold, I felt her heart was beating For the burning words of old.
We listen'd to the ocean,— But my lips they dared not speak, Though the life-blood, with emotion, Came in flushes to my cheek.— Yet our words, when they awoke, Were like falling snow-flakes cold— And we never, never spoke Of the happy days of old.
And the sun it shone as brightly As it shone when we had lov'd,— And the summer winds as lightly O'er the summer ocean roved,— And the trysting oak in yonder glen Stlll shook its branches bold;— But, ah! what spell revives again The faded loves of old?
And I long'd that we were parted, For I could not hide the sigh; And the bitter tear-drop started To the gentle maiden's eye. I walk'd the beach alone— But my heart—it felt so cold! I knew they had for ever gone, Those burning days of old!
# The American Cyclopædia (1879)/Evanston

Edition of 1879. See also Evanston, Illinois on Wikipedia; and the disclaimer.
EVANSTON, a township of Cook co., Illinois, on Lake Michigan and on the Chicago and Northwestern railroad, 12 m. N. of Chicago; pop. in 1870, 3,062. It is the seat of three Methodist educational institutions, viz.: the Northwestern university, organized in 1854, and having in 1872 11 professors and instructors, 452 students, and a library of 22,000 volumes; the Garrett Biblical institute, established in 1856, which in 1872 had 6 professors, 64 students, a library of 3,000 volumes, and an endowment of $424,000; and the Evanston college for ladies, organized in 1871, having 12 instructors and 250 students.