Poems of Purpose and Sketches in Prose of Scottish Peasant Life and Character in Auld Langsyne, Sketches of Local Scenes and Characters, With a Glossary. By Janet Hamilton |
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 | Poems of Purpose and Sketches in Prose |  |
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VERSES.
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Written by my friend, A. W. Buchan of Glasgow, suggested by reading the foregoing Ballad of Memorie in the Glasgow Citizen, March 11 1865.
How sweet the summer morning's blush,
The noontide's ripening glow,
The gloaming's shadows o'er the path
Where happy lovers go,
The lakelet's gleam, the wimpling stream
With childhood sporting nigh,
The towering fell, the cottaged dell,
The sea, the starry sky!
The noontide's ripening glow,
The gloaming's shadows o'er the path
Where happy lovers go,
The lakelet's gleam, the wimpling stream
With childhood sporting nigh,
The towering fell, the cottaged dell,
The sea, the starry sky!
Yes, Nature's face to poet's eye
Is ever pure and fair,
Is ever fresh with new delight,
And rich beyond compare.
The nabob's wealth, the monarch's crown,
Are dust upon the ground
To one who, by the Muses led,
Her treasures vast hath found.
Is ever pure and fair,
Is ever fresh with new delight,
And rich beyond compare.
The nabob's wealth, the monarch's crown,
Are dust upon the ground
To one who, by the Muses led,
Her treasures vast hath found.
And oh! the sounds that fill the air
From sea, plain, grove, and stream,
Were never such by maiden heard
In love's most ardent dream,—
As rush upon that soul, when, free
From cares of sordid men,
It wanders forth to speak with God
In Nature once again.
From sea, plain, grove, and stream,
Were never such by maiden heard
In love's most ardent dream,—
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From cares of sordid men,
It wanders forth to speak with God
In Nature once again.
In childhood's hour she fills the heart
With rapture undefined;
When press the cares of mid-day life,
She keeps from rust the mind;
And even when years shower on the head
Their never-melting snow,
Through memory's channel she can make
The godlike fancy glow.
With rapture undefined;
When press the cares of mid-day life,
She keeps from rust the mind;
And even when years shower on the head
Their never-melting snow,
Through memory's channel she can make
The godlike fancy glow.
Who are the poor, for whom we ought
The pitying tear to give?
Are they not those whom Nature's charms
Have ne'er made truly live;
Who ope their eyes, but do not see
That all is heavenly fair;
Their ears, but never hear the joy
Outgushing everywhere;
The pitying tear to give?
Are they not those whom Nature's charms
Have ne'er made truly live;
Who ope their eyes, but do not see
That all is heavenly fair;
Their ears, but never hear the joy
Outgushing everywhere;
Who pine in soul, 'mid boundless stores,
As on through life they tread,
Bewilder'd by the icy fog
Within their cold hearts bred,
Till weary age blunts every sense;
And yet no wail is heard
That they shall never more behold
Sky, ocean, leaf, or bird?
As on through life they tread,
Bewilder'd by the icy fog
Within their cold hearts bred,
Till weary age blunts every sense;
And yet no wail is heard
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Sky, ocean, leaf, or bird?
But ah! when age or failing health
The poet's foot restrains
From wandering over wintry wastes
Or summer's flower-starr'd plains,
A yearning want gnaws at the heart,
And bursts in touching moan,
As now comes from thy trembling lyre,
Sweet singer of Langloan.
The poet's foot restrains
From wandering over wintry wastes
Or summer's flower-starr'd plains,
A yearning want gnaws at the heart,
And bursts in touching moan,
As now comes from thy trembling lyre,
Sweet singer of Langloan.
O favourite of the tuneful Nine!
Thy strains we love to hear,
Albeit, when “Memorie” is the theme
Thy ballad draws the tear—
That sweet Roseha', that Calder Craigs,
And Tenach's bracken dell,
For other eyes than thine must now
Weave their enchanting spell.
Thy strains we love to hear,
Albeit, when “Memorie” is the theme
Thy ballad draws the tear—
That sweet Roseha', that Calder Craigs,
And Tenach's bracken dell,
For other eyes than thine must now
Weave their enchanting spell.
That early friends are dead and gone,
And thou left here to sigh,
With Nature's page all but expunged
From thy once kindling eye;—
Though kindly hands are near to aid,
And kindly hearts to feel,
And faith and hope within thy breast
Their heaven-born power reveal;
And thou left here to sigh,
With Nature's page all but expunged
From thy once kindling eye;—
Though kindly hands are near to aid,
And kindly hearts to feel,
And faith and hope within thy breast
Their heaven-born power reveal;
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Yet, lady, 'tis a pleasing thought,
That still, in sweet day-dream,
With soul refreshing rush, old scenes
Upon thy heart will stream,
And thrill thee with a joy, as when
Thou roam'd'st, with footstep free,
The happy earth, beneath “That light
Ne'er seen on land or sea.”
That still, in sweet day-dream,
With soul refreshing rush, old scenes
Upon thy heart will stream,
And thrill thee with a joy, as when
Thou roam'd'st, with footstep free,
The happy earth, beneath “That light
Ne'er seen on land or sea.”
For thou didst look, in life's young years,
So lovingly and deep,
On earth's fair forms, that all their soul
Within thy soul doth sleep—
Awaiting but the magic wand
Thy fancy wields, to rise
And live again, more fair than aught
Beneath material skies.
So lovingly and deep,
On earth's fair forms, that all their soul
Within thy soul doth sleep—
Awaiting but the magic wand
Thy fancy wields, to rise
And live again, more fair than aught
Beneath material skies.
And now, the beam from God's own face,
Through nature dimly shining,
With the full blaze of Gospel truth
In thy warm heart combining—
Thine ear and eye may gladly close
On earth and its poor story,
Prepared to meet the brighter dawn
Of never-ending glory.
Through nature dimly shining,
With the full blaze of Gospel truth
In thy warm heart combining—
Thine ear and eye may gladly close
On earth and its poor story,
Prepared to meet the brighter dawn
Of never-ending glory.
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