Ralph Waldo Emerson, comp. (1803–1882). Parnassus: An Anthology of Poetry. 1880.
The Lily of NithsdaleAllan Cunningham (17841842)
S
She’s gane to dwall in heaven;
Ye’re ower pure, quoth the voice of God,
For dwalling out of heaven!
O what’ll she do in heaven?—
She’ll mix her ain thoughts with angels’ sangs,
An’ make them mair meet for heaven.
Low there thou lies;
A bonmer form ne’er went to the yird,
Nor frae it will arise!
Fu’ soon I’ll follow thee;
Thou left me nought to covet ahin’,
But took gudness’ self wi’ thee.
I looked on thy death-cold face;
Thou seemed a lilie new cut i’ the bud,
An’ fading in its place.
I looked on thy death-shut eye;
An’ a lovelier light in the brow of heaven
Fell time shall ne’er destroy.
Thy lips were ruddy and calm;
But gane was the holy breath of heaven
To sing the evening psalm.
There’s nought but dust now mine;
My saul’s wi thee in the cauld grave,
An’ why should I stay behin’?