On The Rocks By Aberdeen.

On the rocks by Aberdeen,
Where the whislin' wave had been,
As I wandered and at e'en
        Was eerie;

There I saw thee sailing west,
And I ran with joy opprest -
Ay, and took out all my best,
        My dearie.

Then I busked mysel' wi' speed,
And the neighbors cried "What need?
'Tis a lass in any weed
        Aye bonny!"

Now my heart, my heart is sair.
What's the good, though I be fair,
For thou'lt never see me mair,
        Man Johnnie!

Jean Ingelow

Jean Ingelow was an English poet and novelist known for her popular stories and poems in the 19th century. Her work, including 'Mopsa the Fairy', earned her recognition during her lifetime. She was also involved in the Pre-Raphaelite movement. Ingelow published several poetry collections, with her first in 1863, which was well-received and cemented her reputation as a poet.

Jean Ingelow

The High Tide On The Coast Of Lincolnshire.

Jean Ingelow, Simple Poetry

Honors. - Part I.

Jean Ingelow, Simple Poetry

Sweet Are His Ways Who Rules Above. (Hymn)

Jean Ingelow, Simple Poetry

Songs On The Voices Of Birds. The Nightingale Heard By The Unsatisfied Heart.

Jean Ingelow, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

A Sea Song.

Old Albion sat on a crag of late.
And sang out - "Ahoy! ahoy!
Long, life to the captain, good luck to the mate.
And this to my sailor boy!
    Come over, come home,
    Through the salt sea foam,
    My sailor, my sailor boy.

"Here's a crown to be given away, I ween,
A crown for my sailor's head,
And all for the worth of a widowed queen,
And the love of the noble dead;
    And the fear and fame
    Of the island's name
Where my boy was born and bred.

"Content thee, content thee, let it alone,
Thou marked for a choice so rare;
Though treaties be treaties, never a throne
Was proffered for cause as fair.
    Yet come to me home,
    Through the salt sea foam,
    For the Greek must ask elsewhere.

"'Tis a pity, my sailor,...

Jean Ingelow

Of A' The Airts The Wind Can Blaw

Tune - "Miss Admiral Gordon's Strathspey."


I.

    Of a' the airts the wind can blaw,
        I dearly like the west,
    For there the bonnie lassie lives,
        The lassie I lo'e best:
    There wild-woods grow, and rivers row,
        And mony a hill between;
    But day and night my fancy's flight
        Is ever wi' my Jean.

II.

    I see her in the dewy flowers,
        I see her sweet and fair:
    I hear her in the tunefu' birds,
        I hear her charm the air:
    There's not a bonnie flower that springs
        By fountain, shaw, or green,
    There's not a bonnie bird that sings,
        But minds me o' my Jean.

III.

    O blaw, ye westlin winds, blaw saft
        Among the...

Robert Burns

The Emigrant Laddie.

    Though long, long leagues of land and sea
    Stretch out between Braemar and me,
    I'll win home late or soon,
    Will take the old familiar way
    Past Isla Glen, up bold Glenshee,
    By sun-kissed hill and valley gray -
    These feet of mine will find their way
    At midnight or at noon.

    The hearth-fire, and the cot of stone
    Set 'mong the fir trees tall and lone,
    I'll see before my eyes;
    Hear rough winds kiss the heath-clad hill,
    The murmur gay of loch and rill,
    The mavis singing sweet and shrill,
    Hear, warm and soft as notes that thrill
    The souls in paradise.

    A voice all tremulous and glad
    Cries out: "A welcome home, my lad!"

Jean Blewett

Montrose

Gin I should fa',
Lord, by ony chance,
    And they howms o' France
    Haud me for guid an' a';
And gin I gang to Thee,
Lord, dinna blame,
But oh! tak' tent, tak' tent o' an Angus lad like me
An' let me hame!

I winna seek to bide
Awa owre lang,
    Gin but Ye'll let me gang
    Back to yon rowin' tide
Whaur aye Montrose - my ain -
Sits like a queen,
The Esk ae side, ae side the sea whaur she's set her lane
On the bents between.

I'll hear the bar
Loupin' in its place,
    An' see the steeple's face
    Dim i' the creepin' haar;^[1]
And the toon-clock's sang
Will cry through the weit,
And the coal-bells ring, aye ring, on the cairts as they gang
I' the drookit street.

Heaven's hosts are glad,

Violet Jacob

Annan Water

"Annan Water's wading deep,
And my love Annie's wondrous bonny;
I will keep my tryst to-night,
And win the heart o' lovely Annie."

He's loupen on his bonny grey,
He rade the right gate and the ready',
For a' the storm he wadna stay,
For seeking o' his bonny lady.

And he has ridden o'er field and fell,
Through muir and moss, and stones and mire;
His spurs o' steel were sair to bide,
And frae her four feet flew the fire.

"My bonny grey, noo play your part!
Gin ye be the steed that wins my dearie,
Wi' corn and hay ye'se be fed for aye,
And never spur sail mak' you wearie."

The grey was a mare, and a right gude mare:
But when she wan the Annan Water,
She couldna hae found the ford that night
Had a thousand merks been wadded a...

George Wharton Edwards

Bonnie Peg.

I.

    As I came in by our gate end,
        As day was waxin' weary,
    O wha came tripping down the street,
        But Bonnie Peg my dearie!

II.

    Her air sae sweet, and shape complete,
        Wi' nae proportion wanting;
    The Queen of Love did never move
        Wi' motion mair enchanting.

III.

    Wi' linked hands, we took the sands
        A-down yon winding river;
    And, oh! that hour and broomy bower,
        Can I forget it ever?

Robert Burns