by Alexander Mongomerie (c. 1545-c. 1598)
Like as the dumb solsequium, with care ourcome
Dois sorrow, when the sun goes out of sicht,
Hings doun his head, and droops as dead, nor will not spread,
Bot locks his leavis through langour all the nicht,
Till foolish Phaeton rise
With whip in hand,
To purge the crystal skyis
And licht the land.
Birds in their bour waitis for that hour
And to their prince ane glaid good-morrow givis;
Fra then, that flour list not till lour,
Bot laughis on Phoebus loosing out his leavis.
So standis with me except I be where I may see
My lamp of licht, my lady and my luve;
Fra she depairts, ane thousand dairts, in sundry airts,
Thirlis through my heavy hairt but rest or rove;
My countenance declares
My inward grief,
And hope almaist despairs
To find relief.
I die, I dwine, play dois me pyne,
I loathe on every thing I look, alace!
Till Titan mine upon me shine
That I revive through favor of her face.
Fra she appear into her sphere begins to clear
The dawing of my long desirit day:
Then Courage cryis on Hope to rise, when he espyis
My noysome nicht of absence went away.
No woe, fra I awauk,
May me empesh;
Bot on my stately stalk
I flourish fresh.
I spring, I sprout, my leavis lie out,
My color changes in ane heartsome hue.
No more I lout, bot stand up stout,
As glad of her for whom I only grew.
O happy day! go not away, Apollo! stay
Thy chair from going doun into the west:
Of me thou mak thy zodiac, that I may tak
My pleasure to behold whom I luve best.
Thy presence me restores
To life from death;
Thy absence likewayis schores
To cut my breath.
I wish, in vain, thee to remain,
Sen primum mobile sayis me alwayis nay;
At least, thy wain turn soon again,
Fareweill, with patience perforce till day.