|James Hogg by John Watson Gordon|
How can you bid this heart be blithe,
When blithe this heart can never be?
I've lost the jewel from my crown -
Look round our circle, and you'll see
That there is ane out o' the ring
Who never can forgotten be -
Ay, there's a blank at my right hand,
That ne'er can be made up to me!
'Tis said, as water wears the rock,
That time wears out the deepest line;
It may be true wi' hearts enow,
But never can apply to mine.
For I have learn'd to know and feel -
Though losses should forgotten be -
That still the blank at my right hand
Can never be made up to me!
I blame not Providence's sway,
For I have many joys beside;
And fain would I in grateful way
Enjoy the same, whate'er betide.
A mortal thing should ne'er repine,
But stoop to supreme decree;
Yet oh! the blank at my right hand
Can never be made up to me.
James Hogg (Ettrick, Escocia, Gran Bretaña, 1770 - 1835). Pastor de ganado autodidacta. Poeta, novelista, ensayista y periodista.