 | The Poetical Works of Robert Anderson |  |
61
STANZAS
WRITTEN ON THE BANKS OF EDEN, NEAR CARLISLE; WHERE A FAVOURITE GROVE HAD BEEN CUT DOWN.
“There's not one shrub, or flow'r,
But tells some dear-lov'd tale to me;
Or paints some happy hour,
That I, alas! no more shall see!”
Miss Blamire.
But tells some dear-lov'd tale to me;
Or paints some happy hour,
That I, alas! no more shall see!”
Miss Blamire.
This spot I dearly lov'd to see!
'Twas childhood's paradise to me;
And more than thrice ten times the sun
His annual course hath run,
Since first this bank, crown'd by a wood,
I saw reflected in the flood;
And mark'd the early shelter'd primrose spring:
Then tore it from its mossy seat,
And sought the town, with nimble feet,
More proud than any king.
'Twas childhood's paradise to me;
And more than thrice ten times the sun
His annual course hath run,
Since first this bank, crown'd by a wood,
I saw reflected in the flood;
And mark'd the early shelter'd primrose spring:
Then tore it from its mossy seat,
And sought the town, with nimble feet,
More proud than any king.
This spot I dearly lov'd to see,
Where warbling songsters wanton'd free!
And fancy oft hath drawn the scene,
The lawn, and meadows green;
The distant hamlet, darken'd glen—
Ev'n midst the noisy haunts of men,
When manhood's seasons wing'd with pleasure flew,
The hazle copse, where oft the nest
I prying sought with panting breast,
Were ever in my view!
Where warbling songsters wanton'd free!
And fancy oft hath drawn the scene,
The lawn, and meadows green;
The distant hamlet, darken'd glen—
Ev'n midst the noisy haunts of men,
62
The hazle copse, where oft the nest
I prying sought with panting breast,
Were ever in my view!
This spot I dearly lov'd to see,
When from youth's daily labour free!
Here would I trace on many a page,
The follies of the age:
Or fondly listen friendship's voice;
Or deem my fair a matchless choice;
But dreamt not love and friendship soon decay:
A heartless pilgrim, now, I mourn
The joys long fled, ne'er to return,
And sigh the hours away!
When from youth's daily labour free!
Here would I trace on many a page,
The follies of the age:
Or fondly listen friendship's voice;
Or deem my fair a matchless choice;
But dreamt not love and friendship soon decay:
A heartless pilgrim, now, I mourn
The joys long fled, ne'er to return,
And sigh the hours away!
This spot I dearly lov'd to see,
Where lovers' names grew on each tree!
Ah! Infancy, thy scenes are dear,
And call forth many a tear!
Fall'n are the trees that form'd a shade,
Where oft contemplative I stray'd;
Or tun'd my pipe to strains of mirth and love.
The stately oak, the humble flow'r,
That bloom and perish in an hour,
Man's short existence prove!
Where lovers' names grew on each tree!
Ah! Infancy, thy scenes are dear,
And call forth many a tear!
Fall'n are the trees that form'd a shade,
Where oft contemplative I stray'd;
Or tun'd my pipe to strains of mirth and love.
The stately oak, the humble flow'r,
That bloom and perish in an hour,
Man's short existence prove!
| The Poetical Works of Robert Anderson | |