The bard, and minor poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

The wearied sun is sinking to his home,
Half hid among the golden, gorgeous clouds,
Which, as if sorrowful to see him go,
Cluster and cling around the glorious orb,
Gathering new charms from him, like a young mother,

Bright-eyed and lovely, clasping her fair child,
And smiling in its laughing, cherub face.
This is an hour of bliss: all earth is calm—
No human voice is heard—and every tree,
And flower, and green field, stretching far beneath,
And stream, and hedgerow, and sweet cottage home,
Village, and mountain side, alike are bathed
In one wide flood of full and dazzling splendour.
The lark is up on high, chanting to heaven
His song of lofty praise; the linnet too,
(That meek and beauteous bird,) warbles his lay
Of love and gladness in the distant wood;
And all the face of fair and boundless heaven,
As if in unison with this deep joy,
Is one bright, glorious, gladdening, blissful smile!

Here, in his youth, the best of Scotia's bards,
The heaven-inspired and passionate child of song,
Who, as you sun, lightened up rural life,
And threw a shade of splendour o'er the land:
The peasant-poet, who in gladness walked,
Encircled with delight, enrobed in joy,
The glory of his country—Burns, was wont
To lie him down upon this mountain height,
And mourn his hapless and untoward doom!
Here at the dawn of morn, or evening fall,
Did the inspired and heaven-born peasant sit,
And mark the rising and the setting sun;
And many a bright and burning thought, I ween,
Has that proud bard found on this lofty cliff!

Lo, what a noble prospect lies around!
How varied, how magnificent, how grand!
Sea, valley, mountain, forest, haughty rock—
Heaven's stateliest, loveliest,proudest gifts are here,
To charm, astonish, and delight the eye!
There, in stern dignity, Edina towers,
The stately “Edinborough throned on crags,”
And from the gloomy mass her castle rears
Its tall and lofty front, majestical,
As if to show afar to Britain's foes,
That science reigns not in proud state alone,
But brave and manly hearts, and powerful arms,
Are centred here to shield and guard her shores.

And, lo! old Ocean's thunders rolling far,
Lovely amid their rage! the towering waves
Seem in the distance as of gold, and glow
Beneath the farewell splendour of the sun,
Like bright young hopes so soon to sink in woe.
Oh! what imaginings arise within,
When we behold thee, melancholy main!
When we reflect upon the wondrous things,
The wrecks of stately ships, the gems, the pearls,
The wealth, the awful and the ghastly dead,
Gather'd, and hoarded up with greedy care,
Within thy dark and dreary depths below,
Or in thy coral caves and rocky caverns!

See, to the north,
Enrobed in mist, upstretching to the sky,

Scotia's gigantic mountains; and o'er all,
Ben-Nevis proudly rears its giant head,
In solitary pride, and regal might!
There, too, the famous, far-off Grampians lie,
Circled about by heaven's own glorious blue,
Half veiling from dim sight the hundred hills,
Vast, bleak, stupendous, dimly seen beyond!
Emblems of lofty hope, ambition wild,
Which soar in proud sublimity afar!

But still a lovelier prospect opes to view:
The fruitful valleys of the Lothians lie—
One mighty sea of splendour. Church, and tower,
And distant castle bathed in liquid light,
Are scatter'd in calm loveliness around;
And the soft, distant, mournful evening bell,
So full of music and melodious sounds—
All here are join'd, t' enchant and charm the soul,
To teach in Nature's wild, harmonious works,
A living, moving, pre-existent God!

And now the gorgeous sun hath sunk to rest;
The mists of evening gather round my brow;
The landscape, late so beautiful, is dimm'd
By the on-coming darkness; and blue heaven
Each moment gains a deeper, darker hue.
The eternal sea utters a sullen sound:
The distant mountains fade away from sight;
The happy valleys now no longer smile;
The plaining streams look mournfully on high,

And gleam and glow no more amid the light;
The city's noise is hush'd, not even the hum
Of congregated voices, and the crowd,
Can here be heard; the palace and the tower,
The habitations of the great, the low,
The rich, the poor, are mingled all together,
And wreaths of curling smoke roll thick above,
Like the dense vapours of embattling hosts.

Oh! who, when scenes like these are spread around,
And nature lies enrobed in majesty—
Who, when the flowing gales are sweeping on,
And mountains mingle with the azure skies,
Would live in lowly vales, and waste his days
In clogging sloth, and still inglorious ease?
Let him ascend the mountain's height, and gaze
Abroad on earth's wide, thronging, matchless forms!
And, if for his dull soul these have no charm,
No high emotion e'er will kindle there,
No kind, no gentle thought will ever glow
Within the dreary caverns of his breast!

Edinburgh, 1829.