Poems, on sacred and other subjects and songs, humorous and sentimental: By the late William Watt. Third edition of the songs only--with additional songs |
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ON HEARING A Lark Singing after Sunset. |
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 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
ON HEARING A Lark Singing after Sunset.
Hail! minstrel sweet, whose dulcet lay
Escorts the fleeting hours away,
As here, at dusky eve, I stray
Across the glade,
Or muse beneath the sloe-thorn grey,
O' fragrant shade!
Escorts the fleeting hours away,
As here, at dusky eve, I stray
Across the glade,
Or muse beneath the sloe-thorn grey,
O' fragrant shade!
Meet emblem of the hapless bard,
Who feels the heedless world's reward,
From fame and profit oft debarr'd,
And jeer'd oft-times;
And oft, like thee, he sings unheard
His sweetest rhymes.
Who feels the heedless world's reward,
From fame and profit oft debarr'd,
And jeer'd oft-times;
And oft, like thee, he sings unheard
His sweetest rhymes.
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Clear is thy throat at early morn,
When rising o'er the dew-wet corn,
And, heaven-directed, upward borne,
To greet the sun;
But clearer far, while I muse, lorn—
All mortals shun.
When rising o'er the dew-wet corn,
And, heaven-directed, upward borne,
To greet the sun;
But clearer far, while I muse, lorn—
All mortals shun.
Sing on, sweet warbler of the wild,
I love thy cadence, melting, mild;
To me thou'rt music's dearest child,
By grove or moor;
Oh may thy nestlings ne'er be spoil'd,
But live secure!
I love thy cadence, melting, mild;
To me thou'rt music's dearest child,
By grove or moor;
Oh may thy nestlings ne'er be spoil'd,
But live secure!
Thou'rt solace to the shepherd gay,
Who lonely spends the summer day
Beside the streamlet's murm'ring play,
Or verdant mound,
While frisking lambs, with feigned fray,
Around him bound.
Who lonely spends the summer day
Beside the streamlet's murm'ring play,
Or verdant mound,
While frisking lambs, with feigned fray,
Around him bound.
And oft to me thou dear hast been,
When gall'd by wild poetic spleen,
Or stung by sallow-visaged teen,
In solitude,
While straying o'er the bent-field green,
In pensive mood.
When gall'd by wild poetic spleen,
Or stung by sallow-visaged teen,
In solitude,
While straying o'er the bent-field green,
In pensive mood.
Good night, sweet bird! thy lay is o'er;
And, should I never hear thee more,
Oft, till I cross time's farthest shore,
I'll mind thy song,
Which can arouse the muse's lore,
Swift, smooth, and strong.
And, should I never hear thee more,
Oft, till I cross time's farthest shore,
I'll mind thy song,
Which can arouse the muse's lore,
Swift, smooth, and strong.
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |