 | Young Arthur |  |
175
ALLAN'S LAMENT.
There was a day, how passing bright!
When lightly I rov'd in my father's land;
There is a memory gives delight,
But mine to me is a burning brand:
Lightly my father's land I rov'd,
Proudly I stood in my father's hall,
But all beloving, and all belov'd,
Have pass'd away like the autumn fall!
And my grave shall be dug, with unholy hand,
By the foe to the faith of my father's land!
When lightly I rov'd in my father's land;
There is a memory gives delight,
But mine to me is a burning brand:
Lightly my father's land I rov'd,
Proudly I stood in my father's hall,
But all beloving, and all belov'd,
Have pass'd away like the autumn fall!
And my grave shall be dug, with unholy hand,
By the foe to the faith of my father's land!
There was a hope wore an angel's smile,
When lightly I rov'd in my father's land;
With rank and riches it would beguile,
And high in honor I look'd to stand;
Airy the visions of hope have been,
Revelry reign'd in my father's hall;
But he lies where the marble urn is seen,
And left not to pay the priest or pall:
And my grave shall be dug by unholy hand,
For ever remov'd from my father's land!
When lightly I rov'd in my father's land;
With rank and riches it would beguile,
And high in honor I look'd to stand;
Airy the visions of hope have been,
Revelry reign'd in my father's hall;
But he lies where the marble urn is seen,
And left not to pay the priest or pall:
And my grave shall be dug by unholy hand,
For ever remov'd from my father's land!
176
There was a friend, and he form'd my youth,
When lightly I rov'd in my father's land;
In wealth for ever he told me truth,
In want he alone held a fostering hand.
His humble roof was my shelt'ring room
When driven away from my father's hall;
But silent he lies in a peaceful tomb,
And he fell as on man sweet slumbers fall:
But my grave shall be dug by unholy hand,
Far, far from my friend, and my father's land!
When lightly I rov'd in my father's land;
In wealth for ever he told me truth,
In want he alone held a fostering hand.
His humble roof was my shelt'ring room
When driven away from my father's hall;
But silent he lies in a peaceful tomb,
And he fell as on man sweet slumbers fall:
But my grave shall be dug by unholy hand,
Far, far from my friend, and my father's land!
There was a maid, and she won my heart,
When grieving I stray'd through my father's land;
But heavenly beauty can stoop to art,
And torture the bosom it has trepann'd.
But she compeer'd with the great and gay
When driven was I from my father's hall;
And her scorn drove me, sorrowing, far away
In the land of the stranger to fade and fall!
And my grave shall be dug by unholy hand,
Far, far from her scorn, and my father's land!
When grieving I stray'd through my father's land;
But heavenly beauty can stoop to art,
And torture the bosom it has trepann'd.
But she compeer'd with the great and gay
When driven was I from my father's hall;
And her scorn drove me, sorrowing, far away
In the land of the stranger to fade and fall!
And my grave shall be dug by unholy hand,
Far, far from her scorn, and my father's land!
There was a pang, and my soul it rent,
When drooping I sail'd from my father's land;
And my youth must wither and age be spent
In slavery's chain, at the Turk's command;
But Heaven it heard my orphan sigh
When driven away from my father's hall;
And there is a hope can a charm supply,
As we look for the fruit when the blossoms fall:
Yet my grave shall be dug by unholy hand,
Far from all that I lov'd, and my father's land!
When drooping I sail'd from my father's land;
177
In slavery's chain, at the Turk's command;
But Heaven it heard my orphan sigh
When driven away from my father's hall;
And there is a hope can a charm supply,
As we look for the fruit when the blossoms fall:
Yet my grave shall be dug by unholy hand,
Far from all that I lov'd, and my father's land!
| Young Arthur | |