Poems by Robert Nicoll Second edition: with numerous additions, and a memoir of the author |
 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
 | V. |
THE GERMAN BALLAD-SINGER. |
 | Poems by Robert Nicoll |  |
THE GERMAN BALLAD-SINGER.
Like a passing bird with a sweet wild song,
Thou hast come to my native land;
And amid the noisy crowded streets
Of the stranger thou dost stand:
And thou pourest forth a ballad lay
Of the land where the laden vine
Dips its rich ripe fruit and its sheltering leaves
In thine own beloved Rhine.
Thou hast come to my native land;
And amid the noisy crowded streets
Of the stranger thou dost stand:
And thou pourest forth a ballad lay
Of the land where the laden vine
Dips its rich ripe fruit and its sheltering leaves
In thine own beloved Rhine.
'Tis a tale of the deeds of other times—
Of the proud high hearts of old;
Which thy mother thine infant eyes to close,
At the gloamin often told:
Of a craggy steep, and a castle strong—
Of a warder drunk with wine;
And a valorous knight, and his ladye-love,—
By thine own beloved Rhine.
Of the proud high hearts of old;
221
At the gloamin often told:
Of a craggy steep, and a castle strong—
Of a warder drunk with wine;
And a valorous knight, and his ladye-love,—
By thine own beloved Rhine.
Proud singer! I see thy flashing eyes,—
Thou art thinking on that river;
The rush of its waters deep and strong
Shall dwell in thine ears for ever:
Thou art sitting in dreams by that stream afar,
And a fresh bright wreath you twine
Of the happy flowers that for ever blow,
By thine own beloved Rhine.
Thou art thinking on that river;
The rush of its waters deep and strong
Shall dwell in thine ears for ever:
Thou art sitting in dreams by that stream afar,
And a fresh bright wreath you twine
Of the happy flowers that for ever blow,
By thine own beloved Rhine.
Thou hast changed thy song to a soft low strain,
And thy cheeks are wet with tears;
The home of thy youth, in thy fatherland,
'Neath its sheltering tree appears!—
And thou seest thy parents far away,
And thy sister, loved like mine;
O! they long for thee, as thou for them
And thine own beloved Rhine.
And thy cheeks are wet with tears;
The home of thy youth, in thy fatherland,
'Neath its sheltering tree appears!—
And thou seest thy parents far away,
And thy sister, loved like mine;
O! they long for thee, as thou for them
And thine own beloved Rhine.
Thy song is done—we are parted now,
And may never meet again;
But, wandering boy, thou hast touch'd a heart,
And thy song was not in vain:
God's blessings on thee, poor minstrel boy,
May a happy lot be thine!—
May thy heart go uncorrupted back
To thine own beloved Rhine!
And may never meet again;
But, wandering boy, thou hast touch'd a heart,
And thy song was not in vain:
222
May a happy lot be thine!—
May thy heart go uncorrupted back
To thine own beloved Rhine!
| Poems by Robert Nicoll | |