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The Isles of Loch Awe and Other Poems of my Youth

With Sixteen Illustrations. By Philip Gilbert Hamerton
Hamerton, Philip Gilbert (1834-1894)

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[section]
  
TO M. H.
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[subsection]
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THE ISLES OF LOCH AWE.
  
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 I. 
I. INTRODUCTORY.
  
[section]
 II. 
II. FRAOCH ELAN.
  
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 III. 
III. INISHAIL.
  
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 IV. 
IV. KILCHURN.
  
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 V. 
V. ARDHONNEL.
  
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 VI. 
VI. INISH ERRETH.
  
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 VII. 
VII. CONCLUSION.
  
MACLEAN OF DUART.
  
SUNRISE ON BEN LOMOND.
  
THE POOLS OF CLADICH.
  
THE PILGRIM OF WINDERMERE.
  
STAFFA.
  
INDOLENCE.
  
INDUSTRY.
  
THE BEACON.
  
MOONRISE.
  
MY OWN STUDY.
  
A DREAM OF NATURE.
  
THE GLOW-WORM.
  
AVE MARIA.
  
THE SANYASSI.
  
TO BEATRICE AT PARTING.
  
LOVE AND LIGHT.
  
MY OLD DOG'S GRAVE.
  
THE LAST LINK.
  
REVELRY.
  
PARASITES.
  
LANCASHIRE BELL-RINGERS.
  
TO A SARCASTIC BEAUTY.
  
TO HER BROTHER.
  
THE WIDOWED SWAN.
  
THORWALDSEN'S DEATH.
  
PERFUME.
  
THE HELMETED SKULL.
  
AL JANNAT.
  
EDEN.
  
TO THE MEADOW SAFFRON.
  
THE CONFINES OF THOUGHT.
  
TURNER.
  
GABRIEL RATCHETS.
  
SELF-COMMAND.
  
MARIAN.
  
THE AUSTRALIAN SHEPHERD.
  
THE FIRE ON THE MOOR.
  
DE ARGENTINE.
  
DEAR-BOUGHT FIELD.
  
APHORISMS.
  
THE PILGRIMAGE OF GRACE;
  
THE PALACE AND ITS INSCRIPTION.
  
UNFORGOTTEN.
  
MY OWN VIOLIN.
  
THE TEACHERS.
  
SINGING WITH CONSTANTIA.
  
THE DYING STUDENT.
  
THE BATH.
  
A HOUSE OF PRAYER.
  
SKATING SONG.
  
SKATING BEFORE THE WIND.
  
SLEDGING IN LANCASHIRE.
  
PARABLE OF THE STREAM.
  
TO B. H.
  
A LONDON STUDIO.
  
HADDON HALL.
  
FOR ------
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POEMS OF WAR.
  
THE PILLAR OF PEACE.
  
MARSHAL ST. ARNAUD.
  
FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE.
  
THE SHIP OF MISERY.
  
AFTER A BATTLE.
  
THE CHILD-SOLDIER.
  
TO GENERAL SCARLETT,
  
SIR DE LACY EVANS
  
THE ALLIES IN THE CRYSTAL PALACE.
  
AT DOVER.
  
CORRUPTION.
  
IMPERIAL GUESTS.
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POEMS OF SCIENCE.
  
THE CENTRAL HALL
  
FALLING STARS.
  
IODINE.
  
CORAL ISLANDS.
  
THE EMPTY PUPA CASE.
  
THE BRITANNIA BRIDGE.
  
FOOTPRINTS IN SANDSTONE.
  
CASTS.
  
ENGINE DRIVING.
  
THE NIGHT TRAIN.

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127

INDUSTRY.

My days are never weary, yet I toil
Like a strong plough that turns a stony soil;
A harvest it shall bear!
My soul is precious land I hold from God—
Early and late I furrow every sod,
And drop the rich seed there.
And still I feel no weariness nor pain
Steal over me. My labour is not vain,
For, reared with earnest care,
Autumn will show her sheaves of golden grain!
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