The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd Centenary Edition. With a Memoir of the Author, by the Rev. Thomas Thomson ... Poems and Life. With Many Illustrative Engravings [by James Hogg] |
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 | The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd |  |
“Now we are free,
Now we are free,
We Seven Sisters now are free,
To fly where we long have wished to be!
And here we leave these babies of ours,
To dwell within our shady bowers,
And play their pranks in the moonlight dell,
With the human beings they love so well.
For oh, they are babies of marvellous birth,
They are neither of heaven nor yet of earth;
And whether they will live till time be done,
Or fade away in a beam of the sun,
Or mount on the polar heights sublime,
And to worlds of unknown splendour climb,
Is a mystery which no eye can pierce,
But His, the Lord of the universe:
But this we know,
That above or below,
By the doors of death they shall never go.
Now we are free,
We Seven Sisters now are free,
To fly where we long have wished to be!
And here we leave these babies of ours,
To dwell within our shady bowers,
And play their pranks in the moonlight dell,
With the human beings they love so well.
For oh, they are babies of marvellous birth,
They are neither of heaven nor yet of earth;
And whether they will live till time be done,
Or fade away in a beam of the sun,
Or mount on the polar heights sublime,
And to worlds of unknown splendour climb,
Is a mystery which no eye can pierce,
But His, the Lord of the universe:
But this we know,
That above or below,
By the doors of death they shall never go.
“Adieu, our sweet little babies, for ever!
Blithe be your lives, and sinful never;
You may play your pranks on the wicked and wild,
But wrong not Virtue's sacred child—
So shall your frolics be lightsome and boon,
On the bridge of the rainbow or beam of the moon;
And so shall your loves in the bridal bowers
Be sweeter still than your father's and ours;
And the breezes shall rock you to soft repose,
In the lap of the lily or breast of the rose;
And your beauty every eve renew,
As you bathe your forms in the fragrant dew
That stands a heavenly crystal bell
In the little dew-cup's lovely well.
Your drink be the haze on the moonlight rill,
And your food the odour which flowers distil,
And never let robes your forms adorn
That are not from the web of the rainbow shorn,
Or the purple and green that shines afar
In the breast of the eastern harvest star.
And then shall you ride
O'er land and o'er tide,
O'er cloud, and o'er foam of the firmament wide,
O'er tree and o'er torrent, o'er flood and o'er flame,
And The Fairies shall be your earthly name.
In joy and in glee
Your revels shall be,
Till a day shall arrive that we darkly foresee;
But note you well when these times commence,
And prepare for your departure hence.
Blithe be your lives, and sinful never;
You may play your pranks on the wicked and wild,
But wrong not Virtue's sacred child—
So shall your frolics be lightsome and boon,
On the bridge of the rainbow or beam of the moon;
And so shall your loves in the bridal bowers
Be sweeter still than your father's and ours;
And the breezes shall rock you to soft repose,
In the lap of the lily or breast of the rose;
And your beauty every eve renew,
As you bathe your forms in the fragrant dew
That stands a heavenly crystal bell
In the little dew-cup's lovely well.
Your drink be the haze on the moonlight rill,
And your food the odour which flowers distil,
And never let robes your forms adorn
That are not from the web of the rainbow shorn,
327
In the breast of the eastern harvest star.
And then shall you ride
O'er land and o'er tide,
O'er cloud, and o'er foam of the firmament wide,
O'er tree and o'er torrent, o'er flood and o'er flame,
And The Fairies shall be your earthly name.
In joy and in glee
Your revels shall be,
Till a day shall arrive that we darkly foresee;
But note you well when these times commence,
And prepare for your departure hence.
“When the psalms and the prayers are nightly heard
From the mossy cave or the lonely sward;
When the hunters of men rise with the sun,
And pursue their game till the day be done;
And the mountain burns have a purple stain
With the blood of men in the moorland slain;
And the raven croaks in the darksome cloud,
And the eagle yells in the heavens aloud,
We you command,
With heart and hand,
To leave the links of fair Scotland:
Away! dismiss!
And seek for bliss
In a happier, holier sphere than this!
From the mossy cave or the lonely sward;
When the hunters of men rise with the sun,
And pursue their game till the day be done;
And the mountain burns have a purple stain
With the blood of men in the moorland slain;
And the raven croaks in the darksome cloud,
And the eagle yells in the heavens aloud,
We you command,
With heart and hand,
To leave the links of fair Scotland:
Away! dismiss!
And seek for bliss
In a happier, holier sphere than this!
“Sweet babies, adieu!
And may you never rue
The mingled existence we leave to you!
There is part of virtue and part of blame,
Part of spirit and part of flame,
Part of body and passion fell,
Part of heaven and part of hell.
You are babies of beauty and babies of wonder;
But fly from the cloud of the lightning and thunder,
And keep by the moonbeam or twilight gray,
For you never were made for the light of day.
Long may you amid your offspring dwell—
Babies of beauty, kiss and farewell!”
And may you never rue
The mingled existence we leave to you!
There is part of virtue and part of blame,
Part of spirit and part of flame,
Part of body and passion fell,
Part of heaven and part of hell.
You are babies of beauty and babies of wonder;
But fly from the cloud of the lightning and thunder,
And keep by the moonbeam or twilight gray,
For you never were made for the light of day.
Long may you amid your offspring dwell—
Babies of beauty, kiss and farewell!”
The Knight of Dumblane, from that day forth,
Never utter'd word upon the earth;
But moved about like a spirit in pain
For certain days, then vanish'd again;
And was chosen, as my old legend says,
The patriarch King of the Scottish Fays,
With full command o'er these beings strange;
But his human nature never would change,
Till, at the end of a thousand moons,
All deck'd with garlands and gay festoons,
He was borne away, with lament and yell,
And paid as kane to the Prince of Hell!
Never utter'd word upon the earth;
But moved about like a spirit in pain
For certain days, then vanish'd again;
And was chosen, as my old legend says,
The patriarch King of the Scottish Fays,
With full command o'er these beings strange;
But his human nature never would change,
Till, at the end of a thousand moons,
All deck'd with garlands and gay festoons,
He was borne away, with lament and yell,
And paid as kane to the Prince of Hell!
| The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd | |