Poems by James Hyslop ... With a Sketch of his Life, and Notes on his Poems, By the Rev. Peter Mearns |
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The Murmurs of the Crawick.
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 | Poems by James Hyslop |  |
XXX.
The Murmurs of the Crawick.
Oh! dear are his hills to the Highlander true,
His glens o' red heather, his mountains o' blue,
His dark-rising cairn where the battle has been;
But dearer to me are the hills o' the south,
The land o' my fathers, the home o' my youth,—
Though far away, hid 'mong yon wintry clouds:
Life's earliest friends have their happy abodes
Where murmurs the Crawick 'mong her mountains o' green.
His glens o' red heather, his mountains o' blue,
His dark-rising cairn where the battle has been;
But dearer to me are the hills o' the south,
The land o' my fathers, the home o' my youth,—
Though far away, hid 'mong yon wintry clouds:
Life's earliest friends have their happy abodes
Where murmurs the Crawick 'mong her mountains o' green.
Though o'er them the cauld drift o' winter may blaw,
And a' their green beauties be hid 'mong the snaw,
And darksome and dreary the woodlands be seen;
Yet spring shall return, wi' her earliest showers,
And waken the songs o' my dear native bowers;
The primrose shall bloom on the green, dewy brae;
And lovers shall meet, at the close o' the day,
Where murmurs the Crawick 'mong her mountains o' green.
And a' their green beauties be hid 'mong the snaw,
And darksome and dreary the woodlands be seen;
Yet spring shall return, wi' her earliest showers,
And waken the songs o' my dear native bowers;
The primrose shall bloom on the green, dewy brae;
And lovers shall meet, at the close o' the day,
Where murmurs the Crawick 'mong her mountains o' green.
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Though darkness be over thy history spread;
Yet, among the lone glens, where the shepherds oft tread,
The traces of armies are still to be seen:
Out over thy valleys war's banners have streamed;
'Mong glens o' green breckens the blue steel has gleamed;
Thy banks have been dyed wi' the blood o' the brave,
And summer's wild blossoms now bloom o'er his grave
Who fell in defending his mountains o' green.
Yet, among the lone glens, where the shepherds oft tread,
The traces of armies are still to be seen:
Out over thy valleys war's banners have streamed;
'Mong glens o' green breckens the blue steel has gleamed;
Thy banks have been dyed wi' the blood o' the brave,
And summer's wild blossoms now bloom o'er his grave
Who fell in defending his mountains o' green.
Again if the foe should our dwellings assail,
By Heavens! he will find there are guardians still
To defend our lone homes and their mountains o' green:
The true-hearted sons to the combat would wheel;
Their plaids they would change for the dark-gleaming steel;
Like leaves on the tempest the foe would be borne
To the land whence he never again would return
To disturb the true hearts 'mong the mountains o' green.
By Heavens! he will find there are guardians still
To defend our lone homes and their mountains o' green:
The true-hearted sons to the combat would wheel;
Their plaids they would change for the dark-gleaming steel;
Like leaves on the tempest the foe would be borne
To the land whence he never again would return
To disturb the true hearts 'mong the mountains o' green.
No; never a foe shall set foot on our home;
But free o'er the mountains our shepherds shall roam;
No tyrant nor slave 'mong us e'er shall be seen;
The servant shall cheerfully sing o'er his toil;
The smiles o' his master his cares will beguile;
While friendship and love in ilk heart shall increase;
And beauty's sweet bloom crown his dwelling o' peace,
Where murmurs the Crawick 'mong her mountains o' green.
But free o'er the mountains our shepherds shall roam;
No tyrant nor slave 'mong us e'er shall be seen;
The servant shall cheerfully sing o'er his toil;
The smiles o' his master his cares will beguile;
While friendship and love in ilk heart shall increase;
And beauty's sweet bloom crown his dwelling o' peace,
Where murmurs the Crawick 'mong her mountains o' green.
| Poems by James Hyslop | |