Records and Other Poems By the late Robert Leighton |
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TO MY UNCLE. |
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 | Records and Other Poems |  |
253
TO MY UNCLE.
My uncle! hallowed name, revered, belov'd!
I cannot breathe it but, within my breast,
A speechless awe arises,—I am moved
With veneration deep—like one possess'd
With some high heavenly thought that is too great
For mind to grasp in this its earthly state.
I cannot breathe it but, within my breast,
A speechless awe arises,—I am moved
With veneration deep—like one possess'd
With some high heavenly thought that is too great
For mind to grasp in this its earthly state.
O, uncle, I have learn'd to think of thee,
Not as of other men, but as I'd think
Of something holier than man could be;
And I can image thee a middle link
Of that great chain of intellect—the chain
That we may fancy earth with heaven to join.
Not as of other men, but as I'd think
Of something holier than man could be;
And I can image thee a middle link
Of that great chain of intellect—the chain
That we may fancy earth with heaven to join.
Thy home seems not to be with man on earth;
Thou lovest not to mingle in earth's strife;
Thou carest little for its idle mirth—
Thy heart all given to another life.
No earthly thought thou seemest to inherit;
Thou seemest but to live in mind—in spirit.
Thou lovest not to mingle in earth's strife;
Thou carest little for its idle mirth—
Thy heart all given to another life.
No earthly thought thou seemest to inherit;
Thou seemest but to live in mind—in spirit.
Now age is creeping on thee, cold and drear;
Thou'rt but the meagre shadow of thy prime:
And, like shore-eating waves, each ruthless year
Marks in thy form the ravages of time.
Thy tottering steps, thy feeble, lessening frame,
Presagers are of life's decaying flame.
Thou'rt but the meagre shadow of thy prime:
And, like shore-eating waves, each ruthless year
Marks in thy form the ravages of time.
254
Presagers are of life's decaying flame.
And, uncle, I could wish that thou hadst been
More snugly in the lap of comfort placed;
For thou art lone, and Poverty, I ween,
Too closely in her arms hath thee embraced.
Would thy estate were otherwise, or mine
Were rich as my desire to better thine!
More snugly in the lap of comfort placed;
For thou art lone, and Poverty, I ween,
Too closely in her arms hath thee embraced.
Would thy estate were otherwise, or mine
Were rich as my desire to better thine!
Still, thou art blest! for though in body thou
Hast little freedom on this mortal ball;
Though 'neath infirmities thou'rt forced to bow,
Thy mind is free, nor can be kept in thrall.
Freedom of body may be got for gold;
But the mind's freedom is not bought and sold.
Hast little freedom on this mortal ball;
Though 'neath infirmities thou'rt forced to bow,
Thy mind is free, nor can be kept in thrall.
Freedom of body may be got for gold;
But the mind's freedom is not bought and sold.
But, uncle, why should I thus speak of thee?
Thou knowest all and more than I can say:
And in these lines thou'lt many an error see;
But thou wilt check me where I've gone astray.
O, I have need of thee to guide me on,
For hitherto I've groped my way alone.
Thou knowest all and more than I can say:
And in these lines thou'lt many an error see;
But thou wilt check me where I've gone astray.
O, I have need of thee to guide me on,
For hitherto I've groped my way alone.
Had some instructor kindly gone before,
And shown me where best knowledge could be found,
I might, ere now, have had a goodly store
Of wisdom's wealth, of truths, deep and profound.
The little that I know, I've learned by chance—
The weeds of learning, cull'd in ignorance.
And shown me where best knowledge could be found,
I might, ere now, have had a goodly store
Of wisdom's wealth, of truths, deep and profound.
The little that I know, I've learned by chance—
The weeds of learning, cull'd in ignorance.
255
O, uncle! thou who art so dear a friend,
May I not look to thee as to a father?
And mayst not thou my wavering footsteps tend,
Pointing to where thy wisdom thou didst gather?
Nor would thy pains be wasted on me, even
Though but one step thou led'st me nearer Heaven.
May I not look to thee as to a father?
And mayst not thou my wavering footsteps tend,
Pointing to where thy wisdom thou didst gather?
Nor would thy pains be wasted on me, even
Though but one step thou led'st me nearer Heaven.
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