 | The Poetical Works of Robert Anderson |  |
248
TO MARY.
On thy banks, chrystal Eden, my dear native river!
In youth, and in manhood, rejoicing I've stray'd;
Tho' fertile thy meads, they so beauteous seem'd never,
Till straying with Mary, the dear witching maid:
'Twas eve's sober hour, and all silent was near us,
Save the redbreast's last note, or the hoarse-sounding stream;
Free from the proud city, no sland'rer to hear us,
The minutes flew sweetly, for love was the theme.
In youth, and in manhood, rejoicing I've stray'd;
Tho' fertile thy meads, they so beauteous seem'd never,
Till straying with Mary, the dear witching maid:
'Twas eve's sober hour, and all silent was near us,
Save the redbreast's last note, or the hoarse-sounding stream;
Free from the proud city, no sland'rer to hear us,
The minutes flew sweetly, for love was the theme.
On thy banks, winding Eden, a fond look she gave me,
Enraptur'd, I saw the keen glance of her eye;
Each grace, word, or smile, was enough to enslave me,
And thoughts of such moments now prompt the deep sigh:
Far, far did we saunter, till night drew her curtain,
'Twas hard with such beauty, such goodness to part;
However thro' life I'm the sport of frail fortune,
Still Mary, I swear, will be dear to my heart!
Enraptur'd, I saw the keen glance of her eye;
Each grace, word, or smile, was enough to enslave me,
And thoughts of such moments now prompt the deep sigh:
Far, far did we saunter, till night drew her curtain,
'Twas hard with such beauty, such goodness to part;
However thro' life I'm the sport of frail fortune,
Still Mary, I swear, will be dear to my heart!
249
Let grey-beards and fools laugh at love and at pleasure,
Their dull fusty maxims I ever despise;
Let worldlings court riches, and bow to their treasure,
Be woman my idol; dear woman I prize!
Tho' oft on life's journey, abandon'd to sorrow,
When love's divine transports with beauty I share,
I scorn the hard world, and the threats of to-morrow,
The smile of the virtuous dispels every care!
Their dull fusty maxims I ever despise;
Let worldlings court riches, and bow to their treasure,
Be woman my idol; dear woman I prize!
Tho' oft on life's journey, abandon'd to sorrow,
When love's divine transports with beauty I share,
I scorn the hard world, and the threats of to-morrow,
The smile of the virtuous dispels every care!
| The Poetical Works of Robert Anderson | |