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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St. Mary of the Lowes.
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 | The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd |  |
St. Mary of the Lowes.
O lone St. Mary of the waves,
In ruin lies thine ancient aisle,
While o'er thy green and lowly graves,
The moorcocks bay, and plovers wail:
But mountain spirits on the gale
Oft o'er thee sound the requiem dread;
And warrior shades, and spectres pale,
Still linger by the quiet dead.
In ruin lies thine ancient aisle,
While o'er thy green and lowly graves,
The moorcocks bay, and plovers wail:
But mountain spirits on the gale
Oft o'er thee sound the requiem dread;
And warrior shades, and spectres pale,
Still linger by the quiet dead.
Yes, many a chief of ancient days
Sleeps in thy cold and hallow'd soil;
Hearts that would thread the forest maze,
Alike for spousal or for spoil;
That wist not, ween'd not, to recoil
Before the might of mortal foe,
But thirsted for the Border broil,
The shout, the clang, the overthrow.
Sleeps in thy cold and hallow'd soil;
Hearts that would thread the forest maze,
Alike for spousal or for spoil;
That wist not, ween'd not, to recoil
Before the might of mortal foe,
But thirsted for the Border broil,
The shout, the clang, the overthrow.
Here lie those who, o'er flood and field,
Were hunted as the osprey's brood;
Who braved the power of man, and seal'd
Their testimonies with their blood:
But long as waves that wilder'd flood,
Their sacred memory shall be dear,
And all the virtuous and the good
O'er their low graves shall drop the tear.
Were hunted as the osprey's brood;
Who braved the power of man, and seal'd
Their testimonies with their blood:
But long as waves that wilder'd flood,
Their sacred memory shall be dear,
And all the virtuous and the good
O'er their low graves shall drop the tear.
Here sleeps the last of all the race
Of these old heroes of the hill,
Stern as the storm in heart and face:
Gainsaid in faith or principle,
Then would the fire of heaven fill
The orbit of his faded eye;
Yet all within was kindness still,
Benevolence and simplicity.
Of these old heroes of the hill,
Stern as the storm in heart and face:
Gainsaid in faith or principle,
Then would the fire of heaven fill
The orbit of his faded eye;
Yet all within was kindness still,
Benevolence and simplicity.
Grieve, thou shalt hold a sacred cell
In hearts with sin and sorrow toss'd;
While thousands, with their funeral knell,
Roll down the tide of darkness, lost;
For thou wert Truth's and Honour's boast,
Firm champion of Religion's sway!
Who knew thee best revered thee most,
Thou emblem of a former day!
In hearts with sin and sorrow toss'd;
While thousands, with their funeral knell,
Roll down the tide of darkness, lost;
For thou wert Truth's and Honour's boast,
Firm champion of Religion's sway!
Who knew thee best revered thee most,
Thou emblem of a former day!
Here lie old Border bowmen good;
Ranger and stalker sleep together,
Who for the red-deer's stately brood
Watch'd, in despite of want and weather,
Beneath the hoary hills of heather;
Even Scotts, and Kerrs, and Pringles, blended
In peaceful slumbers, rest together,
Whose fathers there to death contended.
Ranger and stalker sleep together,
Who for the red-deer's stately brood
Watch'd, in despite of want and weather,
Beneath the hoary hills of heather;
Even Scotts, and Kerrs, and Pringles, blended
In peaceful slumbers, rest together,
Whose fathers there to death contended.
Here lie the peaceful, simple race,
The first old tenants of the wild,
Who stored the mountains of the chase
With flocks and herds—whose manners mild
Changed the baronial castles, piled
In every glen, into the cot,
And the rude mountaineer beguiled,
Indignant, to his peaceful lot.
The first old tenants of the wild,
Who stored the mountains of the chase
With flocks and herds—whose manners mild
Changed the baronial castles, piled
In every glen, into the cot,
And the rude mountaineer beguiled,
Indignant, to his peaceful lot.
Here rural beauty low reposes;
The blushing cheek, and beaming eye,
The dimpling smile, the lip of roses,
Attracters of the burning sigh,
And love's delicious pangs, that lie
Enswathed in pleasure's mellow mine:
Maid, lover, parent, low and high,
Are mingled in thy lonely shrine.
The blushing cheek, and beaming eye,
The dimpling smile, the lip of roses,
Attracters of the burning sigh,
And love's delicious pangs, that lie
Enswathed in pleasure's mellow mine:
Maid, lover, parent, low and high,
Are mingled in thy lonely shrine.
392
And here lies one—here I must turn
From all the noble and sublime,
And, o'er thy new but sacred urn,
Shed the heath-flower and mountain-thyme,
And floods of sorrow, while I chime
Above thy dust one requiem.
Love was thine error, not thy crime,
Thou mildest, sweetest, mortal gem!
From all the noble and sublime,
And, o'er thy new but sacred urn,
Shed the heath-flower and mountain-thyme,
And floods of sorrow, while I chime
Above thy dust one requiem.
Love was thine error, not thy crime,
Thou mildest, sweetest, mortal gem!
For ever hallow'd be thy bed,
Beneath the dark and hoary steep;
Thy breast may flowerets overspread,
And angels of the morning weep
In sighs of heaven above thy sleep,
And tear-drops of embalming dew;
Thy vesper hymn be from the deep,
Thy matin from the ether blue!
Beneath the dark and hoary steep;
Thy breast may flowerets overspread,
And angels of the morning weep
In sighs of heaven above thy sleep,
And tear-drops of embalming dew;
Thy vesper hymn be from the deep,
Thy matin from the ether blue!
I dare not of that holy shade,
That's pass'd away, one thought allow;
Not even a dream that might degrade
The mercy before which I bow:
Eternal God, what is it now?
Thus asks my heart: but the reply
I aim not, wish not, to foreknow;
'Tis veil'd within eternity.
That's pass'd away, one thought allow;
Not even a dream that might degrade
The mercy before which I bow:
Eternal God, what is it now?
Thus asks my heart: but the reply
I aim not, wish not, to foreknow;
'Tis veil'd within eternity.
But oh, this earthly flesh and heart
Still cling to the dear form beneath,
As when I saw its soul depart,
As when I saw it calm in death:
The dead rose and funereal wreath
Above the breast of virgin snow,
Far lovelier than in life and breath—
I saw it then, and see it now.
Still cling to the dear form beneath,
As when I saw its soul depart,
As when I saw it calm in death:
The dead rose and funereal wreath
Above the breast of virgin snow,
Far lovelier than in life and breath—
I saw it then, and see it now.
That her fair form shall e'er decay,
One thought I may not entertain;
As she was on her dying day,
To me she ever will remain.
When Time's last shiver o'er his reign
Shall close this scene of sin and sorrow,
How calm, how lovely, how serene,
That form shall rise upon the morrow!
One thought I may not entertain;
As she was on her dying day,
To me she ever will remain.
When Time's last shiver o'er his reign
Shall close this scene of sin and sorrow,
How calm, how lovely, how serene,
That form shall rise upon the morrow!
Frail man! of all the arrows wounding
Thy mortal heart, there is but one
Whose poison'd dart is so astounding,
That bear it, cure it, there can none.
It is the thought of beauty won,
To love in most supreme degree,
And, by the hapless flame undone,
Cut off from nature and from thee!
Thy mortal heart, there is but one
Whose poison'd dart is so astounding,
That bear it, cure it, there can none.
It is the thought of beauty won,
To love in most supreme degree,
And, by the hapless flame undone,
Cut off from nature and from thee!
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