The following compositions are, with permission, transcribed from a small volume of juvenile poems, with the title "Miscellanies, by N. R.," which was printed many years ago, for private circulation only, by Mr John Hunter, now auditor of the Court of Session.
On fair Clydeside thair wonnit ane dame,
Ane dame of wondrous courtesie,
An' bonny was the kindly flame
That stremit frae her saft blue e'e.
Her saft blue e'e, 'mid the hinney dew,
That meltit to its tender licht,
Was bonnier far than the purest starre
That sails thro' the dark blue hevin at nicht.
If ony culd luke and safely see
Her dimplit cheek, and her bonny red mou,
Nor seek to sip the dew frae her lip,
A lifeless lump was he, I trow.
But it wuld haif saften'd the dullest wicht,
If ae moment that wicht might see
Her bonny breast o' the purest snaw,
That heavit wi' luve sae tenderlie.
An' dear, dear was this bonny dame,
Dear, dear was she to me,
An' my heart was tane, an' my sense was gane,
At ae blink o' her bonny blue e'e.
An' sair an' saft I pleadit my luve,
Tho' still she hardly wuld seem to hear,
An' wuld cauldly blame the words o' flame
That I breathit so warmly in her ear.
Yet aye as she turn'd her frae my look,
Thair was kindness beamit in her e'e,
An' aye as she drew back her lily han',
I faund that it tremblit tenderlie.
But the time sune cam, the waesome time,
When I maun awa frae my dear,
An' oh! that thocht, how aften it brocht
The deep-heavit sigh an' the cauld bitter tear!
Then socht I my luve, her cauld heart to muve,
Wi' my tears, an' my sighs, an' my prayers,
An' I gaed by her side doun the banks o' the Clyde,
An' the hours stal awa unawares.
'Twas a still summer nicht, at the fa'ing o' licht,
At the gloamin's saft an' schadowie hour,
An' we wander'd alane till the daylicht was gane,
An' we cam' to a sweet simmer bour.
The mune was up i' the clear blue skye,
The mune an' her single wee starre,
The winds gaed gently whisperin' bye,
Thair was stillness near an' farre.
Alane we sat i' the green summer bour,
I tauld her a' that was kind and dear,
An' she did na blame the words o' flame
That I breathit sae warmly in her ear.
She listenit to the luve-sang warm,
Her breast it throbbit and heavit high;
She culd hear nae mair, but her gentill arm
She lean't upon mine, wi' a tender sigh.
Then warmly I prest wi' my burning lips,
Ae kiss on her bonny red mow,
An' aften I prest her form to my breast,
An' fondly an' warmly I vowit to be true.
An' oh! that hour, that hallowit hour,
My fond heart will never forget;
Though drear is the dule I haif suffer'd sin syne,
That hour gars my heart beat warmly yet.
The parting time cam, an' the parting time past,
An' it past nae without the saut tear,
An' awa' to anither an' farre awa' land
I gaed, an' I left my ain dear.
I gaed, an' though ither and brichter maids
Wuld smile wi' fond luve i' their e'e,
I but thocht o' the sweet green hour by the Clyde,
An' that thocht was enough for me.
Oh! Mary, while thy gentle cheek
Is on my breast reclining,
And while these arms around thy form
Are fondly thus entwining;
It seems as if no earthly power
Our beating hearts could sever,
And that in ecstasy of bliss
We thus could hang for ever!
Yet ah! too well, too well we know,
The fiat fate hath spoken—
The spell that bound our souls in one,
The world's cold breath hath broken.
The hours—the days—whose heavenly light
Hath beam'd in beauty o'er us,
When Love his sunshine shed around,
And strew'd his flowers before us,
Must now be but as golden dreams,
Whose loveliness hath perish'd;
Wild dreams of hope, in human hearts
Too heavenly to be cherish'd.
Yet, oh! where'er our lot is cast,
The love that once hath bound us—
The thought that looks to days long past,
Will breathe a halo round us.
