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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Verses Addressed to the Right Honourable Lady Anne Scott of Buccleuch.
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 | The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd |  |
Verses Addressed to the Right Honourable Lady Anne Scott of Buccleuch.
To her whose bounty oft hath shed
Joy round the peasant's lowly bed,
When trouble pressed, and friends were few,
And God and angels only knew—
To Her who loves the board to cheer,
And hearth of simple cottager;
Who loves the tale of rural hind,
And wayward visions of his mind,
I dedicate with high delight,
The theme of many a winter night.
Joy round the peasant's lowly bed,
When trouble pressed, and friends were few,
And God and angels only knew—
To Her who loves the board to cheer,
And hearth of simple cottager;
Who loves the tale of rural hind,
And wayward visions of his mind,
I dedicate with high delight,
The theme of many a winter night.
What other name on Yarrow's yale
Can shepherd choose to grace his tale?
There, other living name is none
Heard with one feeling—one alone.
Some heavenly charm must name endear
That all men love, and all revere!
Even the rude boy of rustic form,
And robes all fluttering to the storm,
Whose roguish lip and graceless eye
Incline to mock the passer-by,
Walks by the Maid with softer tread,
And lowly bends his burly head,
Following with eye of milder ray
The gentle form that glides away.
The little school-nymph, drawing near,
Says with a sly and courteous leer,
As plain as eye and manner can,
“Thou lov'st me—bless thee, Lady Anne!”
Even babes catch the beloved theme,
And learn to lisp their Lady's name.
Can shepherd choose to grace his tale?
There, other living name is none
Heard with one feeling—one alone.
Some heavenly charm must name endear
That all men love, and all revere!
Even the rude boy of rustic form,
And robes all fluttering to the storm,
Whose roguish lip and graceless eye
Incline to mock the passer-by,
Walks by the Maid with softer tread,
And lowly bends his burly head,
Following with eye of milder ray
The gentle form that glides away.
The little school-nymph, drawing near,
Says with a sly and courteous leer,
As plain as eye and manner can,
“Thou lov'st me—bless thee, Lady Anne!”
Even babes catch the beloved theme,
And learn to lisp their Lady's name.
The orphan's blessing rests on thee;
Happy thou art, and long shall be:
'Tis not in sorrow, nor distress,
Nor fortune's power to make thee less.
The heart unaltered in its mood,
That joys alone in doing good,
And follows in the heavenly road,
And steps where once an angel trode;
The joys within such heart that burn,
No loss can quench nor time o'erturn.
The stars may from their orbits bend,
The mountains rock, the heavens rend,
The sun's last ember cool and quiver,
But these shall glow and glow for ever.
Happy thou art, and long shall be:
'Tis not in sorrow, nor distress,
Nor fortune's power to make thee less.
The heart unaltered in its mood,
That joys alone in doing good,
And follows in the heavenly road,
And steps where once an angel trode;
The joys within such heart that burn,
No loss can quench nor time o'erturn.
The stars may from their orbits bend,
The mountains rock, the heavens rend,
The sun's last ember cool and quiver,
But these shall glow and glow for ever.
Then thou, who lov'st the shepherd's home,
And cherishest his lowly dome,
Oh, list the mystic lore sublime
Of fairy tales of ancient time!
I learned them in the lonely glen,
The last abodes of living men,
Where never stranger came our way
By summer night or winter day;
Where neighbouring hind or cot was none:
Our converse was with heaven alone;
With voices through the cloud that sung,
And brooding storms that round us hung.
And cherishest his lowly dome,
Oh, list the mystic lore sublime
Of fairy tales of ancient time!
I learned them in the lonely glen,
The last abodes of living men,
Where never stranger came our way
By summer night or winter day;
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Our converse was with heaven alone;
With voices through the cloud that sung,
And brooding storms that round us hung.
O Lady, judge, if judge you may,
How stern and ample was the sway
Of themes like these, when darkness fell,
And gray-haired sires the tales would tell!
When doors were barred, and eldron dame
Plied at her task beside the flame
That through the smoke and gloom alone
On dim and umbered faces shone—
The bleat of mountain goat on high,
That from the cliff came quavering by;
The echoing rock, the rushing flood,
The cataract's swell, the moaning wood,
That undefined and mingled hum—
Voice of the desert never dumb,
All these have left within this heart
A feeling tongue can ne'er impart;
A wildered and unearthly flame,
A something that's without a name.
How stern and ample was the sway
Of themes like these, when darkness fell,
And gray-haired sires the tales would tell!
When doors were barred, and eldron dame
Plied at her task beside the flame
That through the smoke and gloom alone
On dim and umbered faces shone—
The bleat of mountain goat on high,
That from the cliff came quavering by;
The echoing rock, the rushing flood,
The cataract's swell, the moaning wood,
That undefined and mingled hum—
Voice of the desert never dumb,
All these have left within this heart
A feeling tongue can ne'er impart;
A wildered and unearthly flame,
A something that's without a name.
And, Lady, thou wilt never deem
Religious tale offensive theme;
Our creeds may differ in degree,
But small that difference sure can be!
As flowers which vary in their dyes,
We all shall bloom in paradise:
As sire who loves his children well,
The loveliest face he cannot tell—
So 'tis with us—We are the same,
One faith, one Father, and one aim.
Religious tale offensive theme;
Our creeds may differ in degree,
But small that difference sure can be!
As flowers which vary in their dyes,
We all shall bloom in paradise:
As sire who loves his children well,
The loveliest face he cannot tell—
So 'tis with us—We are the same,
One faith, one Father, and one aim.
And hadst thou lived where I was bred,
Amid the scenes where martyrs bled,
Their sufferings all to thee endeared
By those most honoured and revered;
And, where the wild dark streamlet waves,
Hadst wept above their lonely graves,
Thou wouldst have felt, I know it true,
As I have done, and aye must do.
And for the same exalted cause,
For mankind's rights, and nature's laws,
The cause of liberty divine,
Thy fathers bled as well as mine.
Amid the scenes where martyrs bled,
Their sufferings all to thee endeared
By those most honoured and revered;
And, where the wild dark streamlet waves,
Hadst wept above their lonely graves,
Thou wouldst have felt, I know it true,
As I have done, and aye must do.
And for the same exalted cause,
For mankind's rights, and nature's laws,
The cause of liberty divine,
Thy fathers bled as well as mine.
Then be it thine, O noble Maid,
On some still eve these tales to read;
And thou wilt read I know full well,
For still thou lov'st the haunted dell;
To linger by the sainted spring,
And trace the ancient fairy ring,
Where moonlight revels long were held
In many a lone sequestered field,
By Yarrow den, and Ettrick shaw,
And the green mounds of Carterhaugh.
On some still eve these tales to read;
And thou wilt read I know full well,
For still thou lov'st the haunted dell;
To linger by the sainted spring,
And trace the ancient fairy ring,
Where moonlight revels long were held
In many a lone sequestered field,
By Yarrow den, and Ettrick shaw,
And the green mounds of Carterhaugh.
Oh for one kindred heart that thought
As lady must and minstrel ought!—
That loves like thee the whispering wood,
And range of mountain solitude!
Think how more wild the greenwood scene,
If times were still as they have been;
If fairies at the fall of even,
Down from the eye-brow of the heaven,
Or some aërial land afar,
Came on the beam of rising star,
Their lightsome gambols to renew;
From the green leaf to quaff the dew,
Or dance with such a graceful tread
As scarce to bend the gowan's head!
As lady must and minstrel ought!—
That loves like thee the whispering wood,
And range of mountain solitude!
Think how more wild the greenwood scene,
If times were still as they have been;
If fairies at the fall of even,
Down from the eye-brow of the heaven,
Or some aërial land afar,
Came on the beam of rising star,
Their lightsome gambols to renew;
From the green leaf to quaff the dew,
Or dance with such a graceful tread
As scarce to bend the gowan's head!
Think if thou wert, some evening still,
Within thy wood of green Bowhill,
Thy native wood, the forest's pride,—
Lover or sister by thy side;
In converse sweet the hour to improve,
Of things below and things above,
Of an existence scarce begun,
And note the stars rise one by one:—
Just then, the moon and day-light blending,
To see the fairy bands descending,
Wheeling and shivering as they came,
Like glimmering shreds of human frame;
Or sailing 'mid the golden air,
In skiffs of yielding gossamer.
Within thy wood of green Bowhill,
Thy native wood, the forest's pride,—
Lover or sister by thy side;
In converse sweet the hour to improve,
Of things below and things above,
Of an existence scarce begun,
And note the stars rise one by one:—
Just then, the moon and day-light blending,
To see the fairy bands descending,
Wheeling and shivering as they came,
Like glimmering shreds of human frame;
Or sailing 'mid the golden air,
In skiffs of yielding gossamer.
Oh, I would wander forth alone
Where human eye hath never shone,
Away o'er continents and isles,
A thousand and a thousand miles,
For one such eve to sit with thee,
Their strains to hear and forms to see!
Absent the while all fears of harm,
Secure in Heaven's protecting arm;
To list the songs such beings sung,
And hear them speak in human tongue;
To see in beauty, perfect, pure,
Of human face the miniature,
And smile of being free from sin,
That had not death impressed within.
Oh, can it ever be forgot
What Scotland had, and now has not?
Where human eye hath never shone,
Away o'er continents and isles,
A thousand and a thousand miles,
For one such eve to sit with thee,
Their strains to hear and forms to see!
Absent the while all fears of harm,
Secure in Heaven's protecting arm;
To list the songs such beings sung,
And hear them speak in human tongue;
To see in beauty, perfect, pure,
Of human face the miniature,
And smile of being free from sin,
That had not death impressed within.
Oh, can it ever be forgot
What Scotland had, and now has not?
Such scenes, dear Lady, now no more
Are given, or fitted as before
To eye or ear of guilty dust;
But when it comes, as come it must,
The time when I, from earth set free,
Shall turn the spark I fain would be;
If there's a land, as grandsires tell,
Where brownies, elves, and fairies dwell,
There my first visit shall be sped—
Journeyer of earth, go hide thy head!
Of all thy travelling splendour shorn,
Though in thy golden chariot borne,
Yon little cloud of many a hue
That wanders o'er the solar blue—
That do I challenge and engage
To be my travelling equipage,
Then onward, onward far to steer,
The breeze of heaven my charioteer;
The soul's own energy my guide,
Eternal hope my all beside.
At such a shrine who would not bow!—
Traveller of earth, where art thou now?
Are given, or fitted as before
To eye or ear of guilty dust;
But when it comes, as come it must,
The time when I, from earth set free,
Shall turn the spark I fain would be;
If there's a land, as grandsires tell,
Where brownies, elves, and fairies dwell,
There my first visit shall be sped—
Journeyer of earth, go hide thy head!
Of all thy travelling splendour shorn,
Though in thy golden chariot borne,
Yon little cloud of many a hue
That wanders o'er the solar blue—
That do I challenge and engage
To be my travelling equipage,
Then onward, onward far to steer,
The breeze of heaven my charioteer;
387
Eternal hope my all beside.
At such a shrine who would not bow!—
Traveller of earth, where art thou now?
Then let me for these legends claim
My young, my honoured lady's name;
That honour is reward complete,
Yet I must crave, if not unmeet,
One little boon—delightful task
For maid to grant, or minstrel ask!
My young, my honoured lady's name;
That honour is reward complete,
Yet I must crave, if not unmeet,
One little boon—delightful task
For maid to grant, or minstrel ask!
One day thou mayest remember well,
For short the time since it befell,
When, o'er thy forest bowers of oak,
The eddying storm in darkness broke.
Loud sung the blast adown the dell,
And Yarrow lent her treble swell;
The mountain's form grew more sublime,
Wrapt in its wreaths of rolling rime;
And Newark Cairn, in hoary shroud,
Appeared like giant o'er the cloud.
The eve fell dark, and grimly scowled,
Loud and more loud the tempest howled;
Without was turmoil, waste, and din,
The kelpie's cry was in the linn—
But all was love and peace within:
And aye, between, the melting strain
Poured from thy woodland harp amain,
Which mixing with the storm around,
Gave a wild cadence to the sound.
For short the time since it befell,
When, o'er thy forest bowers of oak,
The eddying storm in darkness broke.
Loud sung the blast adown the dell,
And Yarrow lent her treble swell;
The mountain's form grew more sublime,
Wrapt in its wreaths of rolling rime;
And Newark Cairn, in hoary shroud,
Appeared like giant o'er the cloud.
The eve fell dark, and grimly scowled,
Loud and more loud the tempest howled;
Without was turmoil, waste, and din,
The kelpie's cry was in the linn—
But all was love and peace within:
And aye, between, the melting strain
Poured from thy woodland harp amain,
Which mixing with the storm around,
Gave a wild cadence to the sound.
That mingled scene, in every part,
Hath so impressed thy shepherd's heart
With glowing feelings, kindling bright
Some filial visions of delight,
That almost border upon pain,
And he would hear those strains again.
They brought delusions not to last,
Blending the future with the past;
Dreams of fair stems in foliage new,
Of flowers that spring where others grew,
Of beauty ne'er to be outdone,
And stars that rise when sets the sun,
The patriarchal days of yore,
The mountain music heard no more,
With all the scene before his eyes,
A family's and a nation's ties—
Bonds which the heavens alone can rend,
With chief, with father, and with friend.
No wonder that such scene refined
Should dwell on rude enthusiast's mind!
Strange his reverse!—he never wist—
Poor inmate of the cloud and mist!
That ever he, as friend, should claim
The proudest Caledonian name.
Hath so impressed thy shepherd's heart
With glowing feelings, kindling bright
Some filial visions of delight,
That almost border upon pain,
And he would hear those strains again.
They brought delusions not to last,
Blending the future with the past;
Dreams of fair stems in foliage new,
Of flowers that spring where others grew,
Of beauty ne'er to be outdone,
And stars that rise when sets the sun,
The patriarchal days of yore,
The mountain music heard no more,
With all the scene before his eyes,
A family's and a nation's ties—
Bonds which the heavens alone can rend,
With chief, with father, and with friend.
No wonder that such scene refined
Should dwell on rude enthusiast's mind!
Strange his reverse!—he never wist—
Poor inmate of the cloud and mist!
That ever he, as friend, should claim
The proudest Caledonian name.
| The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd | |