Records and Other Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Records and Other Poems

By the late Robert Leighton

Leighton, Robert (1822-1869)

[section]

RECORDS.

II.

III.

IV.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

XI.

XII.

XIII.

XIV.

XV.

XVI.

XVII.

XVIII.

XIX.

XX.

XXI.

XXII.

XXIII.

XXIV.

XXV.

FIRST BE, THEN TEACH.

IN A ROMAN-CATHOLIC CHAPEL.

THE YEAR'S FIRST SWALLOW.

THE RAIN FALLS EQUALLY.

THE LIGHT WITHIN THE DARK.

GONE.

SABBATH.

JUDGMENTS.

BEAUTY AND RECTITUDE.

THE DRIED-UP FOUNTAIN.

PRELUDE TO A FIRST EDITION.

TO A LIGHTHOUSE AT NIGHT,

TWENTY-ONE.

WRITTEN ON MAY MORNING.

AFTER A THUNDERSTORM.

RELIEF IN POETRY.

THE DRUNKARD'S SONNET.

GOD'S DIMNESS.

UNLOSABLE FRIENDS.

NEAR DUNBAR.

PATRIOT AND POET. 1864.

TO THE REV. HUGH STOWELL BROWN.

“WHAT PLACE IS THIS?”

AT THE GRAVE OF MARGARET.

SELF-SUMMONING.

GO HOME, GO HOME.

YE THREE VOYCES.

THE WORLD'S FALSENESS.

TRUST, IN DESPONDENCY.

FRAGMENTS OF A MEDITATION.

WE ARE EVER GETTING.

THE LIGHT OF STARS.

NO END.

LET US REJOICE THAT WE ARE POOR.

WE ARE FRUIT TREES ALL.

OUR WEALTH IS WITHIN US.

LITTLE KATE.

THE LONELY ISLE.

THE POET'S THIRST.

IF THOU WOULDST BE A POET.

THE COBWEB IN THE SKY.

OUR NEW-BORN.

THE BLUSTERING NIGHT.

THE BLEAK BEGINNING OF NOVEMBER.

TO A SPARROW IN THE CHURCH.

LILY.

THE OLDEN TOWN.

FOR THE CENTENARY OF ROBERT BURNS.

THE FOX FAMINE IN AYRSHIRE.

THE DUKE OF BRUNSWICK'S DIAMONDS.

SCOTTISH POEMS.

THE LADDIE'S LAMENTATION ON THE LOSS O' HIS WHITTLE.

THE GABERLUNZIE'S SONG.

JOHN AND TIBBIE'S DISPUTE.

SPUNK JANET'S CURE FOR LOVE.

WIDOW SALMON'S PRAYER,

THE AULD GABERLUNZIE IS DEAD AND AWA'.

MY GRAY SUIT.

AULD JOHN BROON.

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275

WE ARE EVER GETTING.

Things come into us, and we know not
When they come, or how:
We know not what's within, nor what
We are getting now.

O let our eyes be ever open,
And our bosoms wide;
Beauty is ever on us laving,
Like an incoming tide.

A flood of beauty is about us,
Pressing to get in,
Through cracks and crannies of our senses
To the deep cave within.

Not to be lost—though lost it seem—
Only to slumber long,—
And out in after days to stream
In gushes of sweet song.