Heath flowers being a collection of poems, chiefly lyrical, written in the Highlands. By William Glen |
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ODE, RECITED AT THE OSSIAN CLUB, BEING THE ANNIVERSARY OF The Battle of Bannockburn. |
 | Heath flowers |  |
57
ODE, RECITED AT THE OSSIAN CLUB, BEING THE ANNIVERSARY OF The Battle of Bannockburn.
Ye friendly band assembled here,
To celebrate this glorious day,
O listen, with a partial ear,
Unto a simple roundelay:
While o'er the chords my fingers stray,
Bid me awhile the sound prolong,
Smile at the simple notes, and say,
“Thou'st caught the melody of song.”
To celebrate this glorious day,
O listen, with a partial ear,
Unto a simple roundelay:
While o'er the chords my fingers stray,
Bid me awhile the sound prolong,
Smile at the simple notes, and say,
“Thou'st caught the melody of song.”
For nothing, to a lowly bard,
Is half so sweet as friendship's praise;
That is his high, his great reward,
And wakens up his brightest lays:
Then hush, while I attempt to raise
The theme whereon ye love to dwell;
And while the harp my hand obeys,
O! say the notes are passing well.
Is half so sweet as friendship's praise;
That is his high, his great reward,
And wakens up his brightest lays:
Then hush, while I attempt to raise
The theme whereon ye love to dwell;
And while the harp my hand obeys,
O! say the notes are passing well.
58
The voice of Cona now is still,
But his song fills mine eyes with tears,
As wandering up the heathy hill,
I muse on days of other years:
For nought to me so sweet appears,
As straying from the haunts of men;
And while his song my bosom cheers,
I live my youth-time o'er again.
But his song fills mine eyes with tears,
As wandering up the heathy hill,
I muse on days of other years:
For nought to me so sweet appears,
As straying from the haunts of men;
And while his song my bosom cheers,
I live my youth-time o'er again.
Peace to the bard who silent sleeps
In lonely Glencoe's mountain soil,
Where “Caledonia's Genius weeps,”
And sobs out Ossian's name the while:
Who would not their whole days beguile,
And muse the narrow dwelling o'er?
For there 'tis sweet midst summer's smile,
And wildly grand in winter's roar.
In lonely Glencoe's mountain soil,
Where “Caledonia's Genius weeps,”
And sobs out Ossian's name the while:
Who would not their whole days beguile,
And muse the narrow dwelling o'er?
For there 'tis sweet midst summer's smile,
And wildly grand in winter's roar.
But swell a higher, prouder lay,
Ere yet the fire of song hath fled;
This is the great, the glorious day,
On which the foes of Scotland bled:
Such devastation round was spread,
That Victory's self began to mourn,
When Caledonia raised her head,
And England drooped at Bannockburn!
Ere yet the fire of song hath fled;
This is the great, the glorious day,
On which the foes of Scotland bled:
Such devastation round was spread,
That Victory's self began to mourn,
When Caledonia raised her head,
And England drooped at Bannockburn!
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The thistle's green on Stirling rock,
And brown's the heath-bell far below;
Gay is the field that felt the shock,
When haughty England was laid low;
O Forth! may thy links sweetly flow,
While Stirling's daughters by thee stray,
Like beauteous rose-buds may they blow,
And none to dash the flowers away.
And brown's the heath-bell far below;
Gay is the field that felt the shock,
When haughty England was laid low;
O Forth! may thy links sweetly flow,
While Stirling's daughters by thee stray,
Like beauteous rose-buds may they blow,
And none to dash the flowers away.
Peace to the souls, then, of the brave,
To those who have our fond regards;
Light be the sod upon each grave,
And lightly tread we o'er the swards;
A tear is all love now awards;
Hush! then, ere we to mirth return—
Pledge ye to Ossian, Prince of bards,
And Robert Bruce of Bannockburn.
To those who have our fond regards;
Light be the sod upon each grave,
And lightly tread we o'er the swards;
A tear is all love now awards;
Hush! then, ere we to mirth return—
Pledge ye to Ossian, Prince of bards,
And Robert Bruce of Bannockburn.
| Heath flowers | |