The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson ... for the first time fully collected and compared with the original and early editions ... edited ... by the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart ... with portrait, illustrations, &c |
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 | The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson |  |
ODE.
Now night her star-enamell'd robe,
O'er half the dreary, darken'd globe,
In solemn state has hung;
Lone now the distant, murm'ring flood,
And lone the thicket, grove and wood,
Where warblers lately sung.
O'er half the dreary, darken'd globe,
In solemn state has hung;
Lone now the distant, murm'ring flood,
And lone the thicket, grove and wood,
Where warblers lately sung.
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The distant town, behind yon steep,
Now silent lies, and sunk in sleep,
Dark, solitary, sad;
No voice, no sound, can reach my ear,
Save shepherd's dogs, who haply hear
The midnight traveller's tread.
Now silent lies, and sunk in sleep,
Dark, solitary, sad;
No voice, no sound, can reach my ear,
Save shepherd's dogs, who haply hear
The midnight traveller's tread.
Amid this calm, this silence deep,
I wander here, to sigh, to weep,
And breathe my hopeless flame;
To rocks and woods I still complain,
To woods and rocks, alas! in vain
I sigh Matilda's name.
I wander here, to sigh, to weep,
And breathe my hopeless flame;
To rocks and woods I still complain,
To woods and rocks, alas! in vain
I sigh Matilda's name.
O Love! thou dear, distracting bliss,
Assist my bosom to express
Those pains, those joys I feel;
Joy, that enraptures while I gaze,
And pain, that tortures, while the blaze
Of love I must conceal.
Assist my bosom to express
Those pains, those joys I feel;
Joy, that enraptures while I gaze,
And pain, that tortures, while the blaze
Of love I must conceal.
Sweet is her form, her features meek,
And bright the crimson of her cheek
Beyond the rose's glow;
Her's is the heart, with softness blest,
And her's each worth that warms the breast
Of innocence below.
And bright the crimson of her cheek
Beyond the rose's glow;
Her's is the heart, with softness blest,
And her's each worth that warms the breast
Of innocence below.
But ah! for ever we must part!
Forget her then, thou throbbing heart,
Nor idly thus complain.
Truth, prudence, reason, all can teach
That Happiness, which mocks our reach,
But aggravates our pain.
Forget her then, thou throbbing heart,
Nor idly thus complain.
Truth, prudence, reason, all can teach
That Happiness, which mocks our reach,
But aggravates our pain.
| The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson | |