 | Ochil Idylls and Other Poems |  |
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TRYING THE YACHT.
A POEM IN SONNETS.
I.—The Country fenced and forbidden.
Now, while the breath of summer up the street
Comes with the freshness of the dewy fern,
And hearts, baked in the town's black oven, yearn
For freedom and the country, it were sweet
In some far grassy wild, or hill retreat,
Where whin and broom in fragrant beauty burn,
And unconsumed, to feel, where'er we turn
The ground all holy to our naked feet!
Comes with the freshness of the dewy fern,
And hearts, baked in the town's black oven, yearn
For freedom and the country, it were sweet
In some far grassy wild, or hill retreat,
Where whin and broom in fragrant beauty burn,
And unconsumed, to feel, where'er we turn
The ground all holy to our naked feet!
Filled with the pious thought I rise and go
Repeating to myself, “This very day
I, I will stand where heaven's own wind shall blow
The town dust from my choking heart away;”
But “No!” shouts o'er the fence the keeper; “no!”
And holds me with a trespass-board at bay.
Repeating to myself, “This very day
I, I will stand where heaven's own wind shall blow
The town dust from my choking heart away;”
But “No!” shouts o'er the fence the keeper; “no!”
And holds me with a trespass-board at bay.
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II.—The Mountains only a Memory.
Therefore blaze on, ye vernal altar fires
Of crag and knoll, unvisited of me:
From the rough highway only must I see
Your golden beauty burn thro' caging wires
And fencing thorns, smothering my quick desires
To worship at your flame. But there would be
A high priest at your altars, were I free
To set my feet where my whole heart aspires.
Of crag and knoll, unvisited of me:
From the rough highway only must I see
Your golden beauty burn thro' caging wires
And fencing thorns, smothering my quick desires
To worship at your flame. But there would be
A high priest at your altars, were I free
To set my feet where my whole heart aspires.
'Tis sweet at least to know the fields are green,
With waters wandering thro' them far and near;
That in the quiet drawing-rooms serene
Of the far hills the sun is shining clear,
And that the feelings—calm, and free, and clean—
Which they inspire, may reach us even here.
With waters wandering thro' them far and near;
That in the quiet drawing-rooms serene
Of the far hills the sun is shining clear,
And that the feelings—calm, and free, and clean—
Which they inspire, may reach us even here.
III.—Freedom on the Sea.
O Thou that madest Scotland, haugh and hill,
Sharp-cleaving craig and river-channell'd lea,
Moor, marsh, and loch, my heart-warm thanks to Thee
Grateful and glad I pay, and ever will.
But there are gifts of Thine, more valued still,
Which to all men Thou gavest ever free:
Three will I mention—mind, and sun, and sea,
Which force has never fenced, nor fraud, nor skill!
Sharp-cleaving craig and river-channell'd lea,
Moor, marsh, and loch, my heart-warm thanks to Thee
Grateful and glad I pay, and ever will.
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Which to all men Thou gavest ever free:
Three will I mention—mind, and sun, and sea,
Which force has never fenced, nor fraud, nor skill!
No castle holds the Mind; no cage the Sun;
And Ocean frolics in primeval pride,—
Servant of all, he will be slave to none,
Nor own control throughout his empire wide,
But free of foot his little waves shall run,
And unrestrain'd shall roll his giant tide.
And Ocean frolics in primeval pride,—
Servant of all, he will be slave to none,
Nor own control throughout his empire wide,
But free of foot his little waves shall run,
And unrestrain'd shall roll his giant tide.
IV.—Discovery of Leviathan at Play.
Forth, therefore, o'er the blue triumphant bay,
While the sun shines this dewy morning-tide,
Borne on the back of billows! soft they glide
Under our keel, that cuts through wind and spray.
Forth! till we view Leviathan at play
Out on the wilderness of ocean wide,
With all the green waves gambolling by his side
In solitary mirth the long bright day!
Our yacht disturbs him not. We veer and tack
With larger freedom, now the winds arise;
Thrills every board, and rope and cordage crack,
And up we go half-flying to the skies,
Scaling the monster's corrugated back,
Then downward like a driven bolt that flies!
While the sun shines this dewy morning-tide,
Borne on the back of billows! soft they glide
Under our keel, that cuts through wind and spray.
Forth! till we view Leviathan at play
Out on the wilderness of ocean wide,
With all the green waves gambolling by his side
In solitary mirth the long bright day!
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With larger freedom, now the winds arise;
Thrills every board, and rope and cordage crack,
And up we go half-flying to the skies,
Scaling the monster's corrugated back,
Then downward like a driven bolt that flies!
V.—The Ark in Danger.
As from beneath us slips his living bulk,
Leaving us for a moment poised on air,
Downward as to abysmal depths we fare,
While off the laughing monster seems to skulk.
Haste to the succour of our sinking hulk
The little waves, that buoy us up, and bear
The ark we were surrendering to despair
Onward—to other fears! No place to sulk!
Leaving us for a moment poised on air,
Downward as to abysmal depths we fare,
While off the laughing monster seems to skulk.
Haste to the succour of our sinking hulk
The little waves, that buoy us up, and bear
The ark we were surrendering to despair
Onward—to other fears! No place to sulk!
If Neptune slap you with a sloppy fin,
Fling him your dignity—you were as well;
What matters for a drench'd and dripping skin
If yet you feel, and yet you live to tell
The joyful fear and freedom you were in?
Stand by the sheet, my boy, and take your spell!
Fling him your dignity—you were as well;
What matters for a drench'd and dripping skin
If yet you feel, and yet you live to tell
The joyful fear and freedom you were in?
Stand by the sheet, my boy, and take your spell!
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VI.—Sea-sick on a Holiday.
Brave must he be that with the storm would toy
In midmost ocean in a nutshell bark;
Brave must he be! And with th' increasing dark
His bravery must increase. A calmer joy
Sits on the sea, as past the rocking buoy
Glides the sea-loving landsman in some Ark
Away on a smooth keel from all the cark
And all the cares that life on land annoy.
In midmost ocean in a nutshell bark;
Brave must he be! And with th' increasing dark
His bravery must increase. A calmer joy
Sits on the sea, as past the rocking buoy
Glides the sea-loving landsman in some Ark
Away on a smooth keel from all the cark
And all the cares that life on land annoy.
But ocean's joys, the gentlest yet that be,
Are not without their tax; and he, poor squirrel!
That from his cage has hasten'd to be free—
Sick, and bewilder'd, with his wits awhirl,
Now groans to windward, and now pukes to lee,
And for his wheel longs like a home-sick girl!
Are not without their tax; and he, poor squirrel!
That from his cage has hasten'd to be free—
Sick, and bewilder'd, with his wits awhirl,
Now groans to windward, and now pukes to lee,
And for his wheel longs like a home-sick girl!
VII.—Earth's one Possessor.
Glorious in all thy phases—black or bright,
In storm or sun, both when thy surges flee,
Like horses of the desert shaking free
The glory of their necks, stately in flight;
And when they pause under the spell of night,
Like the same herd pasturing a level lea
With lower'd heads; thou seem'st, O living sea,
Earth's one possessor in thy strong delight!
In storm or sun, both when thy surges flee,
Like horses of the desert shaking free
The glory of their necks, stately in flight;
And when they pause under the spell of night,
Like the same herd pasturing a level lea
With lower'd heads; thou seem'st, O living sea,
Earth's one possessor in thy strong delight!
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Thy arms alone enclasp the mighty round,
Straining it to thy bosom; it is thine!
The various vermin of the land are found
In what escapes thy clasp; they grow, they pine,
They sink again into the sordid ground;
But thou art strong, and deathless, and divine!
Straining it to thy bosom; it is thine!
The various vermin of the land are found
In what escapes thy clasp; they grow, they pine,
They sink again into the sordid ground;
But thou art strong, and deathless, and divine!
VIII.—The Foam-Bells of the Land.
O fair is life, as foam-bells on the wave;
Yet frail as fair, as fragile as the bell!
A little while to flourish, and look well,
And a long while to moulder in the grave!
The beauty born of flesh, what, what can save?
The lion's eye, the leopard's glossy fell,
The visionary grace of the gazelle,
Life at its loveliest—graceful, brilliant, brave!
Yet frail as fair, as fragile as the bell!
A little while to flourish, and look well,
And a long while to moulder in the grave!
The beauty born of flesh, what, what can save?
The lion's eye, the leopard's glossy fell,
The visionary grace of the gazelle,
Life at its loveliest—graceful, brilliant, brave!
“The land has bubbles as the water has,
And these are of them!” Comes the natal hour,
They brighten in the sun; comes Fate, they pass,
After a little, little lease of power;—
Heedlessly o'er them runs the feeble grass,
And all their monument's an alien flower.
And these are of them!” Comes the natal hour,
They brighten in the sun; comes Fate, they pass,
After a little, little lease of power;—
Heedlessly o'er them runs the feeble grass,
And all their monument's an alien flower.
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