 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
281
HEATHER BLOSSOMS.
[Written on receiving at the hands of Miss McL---n a few sprigs of heather plucked at the foot of Old Ben Nevis, in the valley of Glencoe.]
And was your birth-place at the base
Of Old Ben Nevis, beauteous flowers?
On your bright leaves I still can trace
The loveliness of by-gone hours.
Thanks to the lass who gave the bard
These sweet memorials of a land
Where flourish, though the soil is hard,
A race of open heart and hand;
Where Bruce has fought, and Ossian sung,
And lyres in every glen are strung—
Where streams that down the mountains pour
Have tongues that tell of other times,
While splintered rock and ocean-shore
Shame the tame scenes of softer climes—
Where stormy cairns yet tower to show
Where heroes perished long ago,
And battle-fields, in song renowned,
Make moor and mountain hallowed ground.
Of Old Ben Nevis, beauteous flowers?
On your bright leaves I still can trace
The loveliness of by-gone hours.
Thanks to the lass who gave the bard
These sweet memorials of a land
Where flourish, though the soil is hard,
A race of open heart and hand;
Where Bruce has fought, and Ossian sung,
And lyres in every glen are strung—
Where streams that down the mountains pour
Have tongues that tell of other times,
While splintered rock and ocean-shore
Shame the tame scenes of softer climes—
Where stormy cairns yet tower to show
Where heroes perished long ago,
And battle-fields, in song renowned,
Make moor and mountain hallowed ground.
And were ye brought across the sea,
Ye heather blossoms, to awake
Such kindling memories in me,
And rouse wild longings to forsake
These western groves, and tread the land
Of plaid and pibroch, harp and brand?
Ah! while I look upon these leaves,
A darker web witch Fancy weaves;
For blood your sister-blossoms nursed
When clansmen tried in vain to rally,
And Vengeance like a night-cloud burst,
While Murder bared his steel accursed
In green Glencoe's romantic valley.
Full many moons have waxed and waned
Since war your birth-place redly stained,
But blood still crying from the ground
Seems clinging both to flower and stalk;
And though your leaves give out no sound
Of crime and woe, they more than talk.
Ye heather blossoms, to awake
Such kindling memories in me,
And rouse wild longings to forsake
These western groves, and tread the land
Of plaid and pibroch, harp and brand?
Ah! while I look upon these leaves,
A darker web witch Fancy weaves;
282
When clansmen tried in vain to rally,
And Vengeance like a night-cloud burst,
While Murder bared his steel accursed
In green Glencoe's romantic valley.
Full many moons have waxed and waned
Since war your birth-place redly stained,
But blood still crying from the ground
Seems clinging both to flower and stalk;
And though your leaves give out no sound
Of crime and woe, they more than talk.
Though dimmed the brightness that ye wore,
And paled your tints for evermore—
A mighty spell is yours to speed
The poet's soul across the main,
While martial lay and warlike deed
Chase slumber from his throbbing brain.
Ye jewels from “Auld Scotia's” breast,
Blest be the hand that gave, thrice blest.
And paled your tints for evermore—
A mighty spell is yours to speed
The poet's soul across the main,
While martial lay and warlike deed
Chase slumber from his throbbing brain.
Ye jewels from “Auld Scotia's” breast,
Blest be the hand that gave, thrice blest.
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |