 | Poems |  |
SONNET X.
Now, lady, that our parting is so nigh,Fain would I think that thou, in future hours,
Amidst thine own Dunedin's queenly towers,
Or, haply, Scotland's mountain scenery,
Wilt tow'rd the South turn no unkindly eye,
No scorn to think of these poor woods of ours,
And friends who dwelt in Windsor's sylvan bowers,
And him who frames this sorry minstrelsy.
Believe me, in no false or hollow guise
Sing I to thee my parting madrigal;
84
High-minded, simple-hearted—and withal
Beloved of Her whose deep, soul-beaming eyes
Hold my rapt spirit in such pleasant thrall.
| Poems | |