Poems by Robert Nicoll Second edition: with numerous additions, and a memoir of the author |
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A DAY AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. |
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 | Poems by Robert Nicoll |  |
177
A DAY AMONG THE MOUNTAINS.
“Come, sit by your father's knee, My son,
On the seat by your father's door,
And the thoughts of your youthful heart, My son,
Like a stream of Gladness pour;
For, afar 'mong the lonely hills, My son,
Since the morning thou hast been;
Now tell me thy bright day-dreams, My son,—
Yea, all thou hast thought and seen!”
On the seat by your father's door,
And the thoughts of your youthful heart, My son,
Like a stream of Gladness pour;
For, afar 'mong the lonely hills, My son,
Since the morning thou hast been;
Now tell me thy bright day-dreams, My son,—
Yea, all thou hast thought and seen!”
“When morn aboon yon eastern hill
Had raised its glimmering e'e,
I hied me to the heather hills,
Where gorcocks crawing flee;
And ere the laverock sought the lift,
Frae out the dewy dens,
I wandering was by mountain-streams
In lane and hoary glens.
Had raised its glimmering e'e,
I hied me to the heather hills,
Where gorcocks crawing flee;
And ere the laverock sought the lift,
Frae out the dewy dens,
I wandering was by mountain-streams
In lane and hoary glens.
“Auld frowning rocks on either hand,
Uprear'd their heads to Heaven,
Like temple-pillars which the foot
Of Time had crush'd and riven;
And voices frae ilk mossy stane
Upon my ear did flow,—
They spake o' Nature's secrets a'—
The tales o' long ago.
Uprear'd their heads to Heaven,
Like temple-pillars which the foot
Of Time had crush'd and riven;
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Upon my ear did flow,—
They spake o' Nature's secrets a'—
The tales o' long ago.
“The daisy, frae the burnie's side,
Was looking up to God—
The crag that crown'd the towering peak
Seem'd kneeling on the sod:
A sound was in ilk dowie glen,
And on ilk naked rock—
On mountain-peak—in valley lone—
And holy words it spoke.
Was looking up to God—
The crag that crown'd the towering peak
Seem'd kneeling on the sod:
A sound was in ilk dowie glen,
And on ilk naked rock—
On mountain-peak—in valley lone—
And holy words it spoke.
“The nameless flowers that budded up,
Each beauteous desert child,
The heather's scarlet blossoms, spread
O'er many a lanely wild,—
The lambkins, sporting in the glens—
The mountains old and bare—
Seem'd worshipping; and there with them
I breathed my morning prayer.
Each beauteous desert child,
The heather's scarlet blossoms, spread
O'er many a lanely wild,—
The lambkins, sporting in the glens—
The mountains old and bare—
Seem'd worshipping; and there with them
I breathed my morning prayer.
“Alang, o'er monie a mountain-tap—
Alang, through monie a glen—
Wi' Nature haudin' fellowship,
I journey'd far frae men.
Now suddenly a lonely tarn
Would burst upon my eye,
An' whiles frae out the solitudes
Would come the breezes' cry.
Alang, through monie a glen—
Wi' Nature haudin' fellowship,
I journey'd far frae men.
Now suddenly a lonely tarn
Would burst upon my eye,
An' whiles frae out the solitudes
Would come the breezes' cry.
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“At noon, I made my grassy couch
Beside a haunted stream,—
A bonnie bloomin' bush o' broom
Waved o'er me in my dream.
I laid me there in slumberous joy
Upon the giant knee
Of yonder peak, that seem'd to bend
In watching over me.
Beside a haunted stream,—
A bonnie bloomin' bush o' broom
Waved o'er me in my dream.
I laid me there in slumberous joy
Upon the giant knee
Of yonder peak, that seem'd to bend
In watching over me.
“I dream'd a bonnie bonnie dream,
As sleepin' there I lay:—
I thought I brightly round me saw
The fairy people stray.
I dreamt they back again had come
To live in glen and wold—
To sport in dells 'neath harvest moons—
As in the days of old.
As sleepin' there I lay:—
I thought I brightly round me saw
The fairy people stray.
I dreamt they back again had come
To live in glen and wold—
To sport in dells 'neath harvest moons—
As in the days of old.
“I saw them dance upo' the breeze,
An' hide within the flower—
Sing bonnie and unearthly sangs,
An' skim the lakelets o'er!
That hour the beings o' the past,
Of ages lost an' gone,
Came back to earth, an' grot an' glen
Were peopled every one!
An' hide within the flower—
Sing bonnie and unearthly sangs,
An' skim the lakelets o'er!
That hour the beings o' the past,
Of ages lost an' gone,
Came back to earth, an' grot an' glen
Were peopled every one!
“The vision fled, and I awoke:—
The sun was sinkin' down;
The mountain-birds frae hazels brown
Had sung their gloamin' tune;
The dew was sleepin' on the leaf,
The breezes on the flower;
And Nature's heart was beating calm,—
It was the evening hour.
The sun was sinkin' down;
The mountain-birds frae hazels brown
Had sung their gloamin' tune;
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The breezes on the flower;
And Nature's heart was beating calm,—
It was the evening hour.
“And, father, when the moon arose,
Upon a mountain-height
I stood and saw the brow of earth
Bound wi' its silver light.
Nae sound came on the watching ear
Upon that silent hill;
My e'en were filled with tears, the hour
Sae holy was and still!
Upon a mountain-height
I stood and saw the brow of earth
Bound wi' its silver light.
Nae sound came on the watching ear
Upon that silent hill;
My e'en were filled with tears, the hour
Sae holy was and still!
“There was a lowly mound o' green
Beside me rising there,—
A pillow where a bairn might kneel,
And say its twilight prayer.
The moonlight kiss'd the gladsome flowers
That o'er that mound did wave;
Then I remember'd that I stood
Beside the Martyrs' grave!
Beside me rising there,—
A pillow where a bairn might kneel,
And say its twilight prayer.
The moonlight kiss'd the gladsome flowers
That o'er that mound did wave;
Then I remember'd that I stood
Beside the Martyrs' grave!
“I knelt upon that hallow'd earth,
While Memory pictured o'er
The changing scenes—the changing thoughts
That day had held in store;
And then my breast wi' gladness swell'd,
And God in love did bless,—
He gave me, 'mong auld Scotland's hills,
A day of happiness!”
While Memory pictured o'er
The changing scenes—the changing thoughts
That day had held in store;
And then my breast wi' gladness swell'd,
And God in love did bless,—
He gave me, 'mong auld Scotland's hills,
A day of happiness!”
| Poems by Robert Nicoll | |