 | London lyrics |  |
134
INCHBAE
The flow of life is yet a rill
That laughs, and leaps, and glistens;
And still the woodland rings, and still
The old Damœtas listens.
That laughs, and leaps, and glistens;
And still the woodland rings, and still
The old Damœtas listens.
Anon he shuts a Poet's book
To heed the falling of the brook,
He cares but little why it flows,
Or whence it comes, or where it goes.
To heed the falling of the brook,
He cares but little why it flows,
Or whence it comes, or where it goes.
For here, on this bright heather bank,
His past—his future are a blank;
Enough for him the bloom, the cheer,
They all are his to-day, and here.
His past—his future are a blank;
Enough for him the bloom, the cheer,
They all are his to-day, and here.
But hark! a voice that carols free,
And fills the strath with melody!
She comes! a Creature clad in grace,
And joyful promise in her face.
And fills the strath with melody!
She comes! a Creature clad in grace,
And joyful promise in her face.
So let her fearlessly intrude
On this his much-loved solitude;
Is she a lovely phantom, or
That Love he long has waited for?
On this his much-loved solitude;
135
That Love he long has waited for?
O welcome as the morning dew;
Long, long have I expected you;
Come, share my seat, and, late or soon,
All else that's mine beneath the moon.
Long, long have I expected you;
Come, share my seat, and, late or soon,
All else that's mine beneath the moon.
And sing your happy roundelay
While Nature listens. Till to-day
This giddy stream has never known
A cadence gladder than its own:
While Nature listens. Till to-day
This giddy stream has never known
A cadence gladder than its own:
Forgive if I too fondly gaze,
Or praise the eyes that others praise:
I watch'd my Star, I've wander'd far—
Are you my Joy? You know you are!
Or praise the eyes that others praise:
I watch'd my Star, I've wander'd far—
Are you my Joy? You know you are!
Let others praise, as others prize,
The dearness of your frank blue eyes—
I cannot praise where I adore,
And that is praise—and something more.
The dearness of your frank blue eyes—
I cannot praise where I adore,
And that is praise—and something more.
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