Our Holiday Among The Hills :: :: University of Virginia Library

They enticed her away from the mountain,
Where lightly she frolickt a fawn,
From the truth of her face in the fountain,
From peace, and the blessing of dawn.

II

She had run with the light step of childhood
O'er moorland, and meadow, and lea;
And hers was the range of the wild wood,
Where boldly she sang, and was free.

III

In the shade of the hazel she rested,
She couched among wild flowers and fern;
But the stars only knew where she nested—
The stars, and the high-sailing ern.

IV

She was free as the wind, and as froward;
And fresh as the rose, and as fair;
And her speech, if outspoken, had no word
That truth did not wish to be there.

V

But they saw her, the beaux of the city,
And proffered her praise, and a crown;
And she yielded—the more was the pity—
She yielded, and went to the town.

VI

And the grace of her virginhood vanished,
And all the sweet dreams of her home;
And her friends were forbidden, or banished,
And freedom to rest or to roam.

VII

They had crowned her the Siren of Singers
—Yet never a song sang she now;

For the crown that was gold in their fingers
Was lead, and a load on her brow.

VIII

And her cheek became bloomless and pallid,
The sparkle was lost from her eye;
—All in vain to her aidance she rallied
Her mem'ries: they came but to sigh.

IX

Can they blame her, those men without pity,
For cheeks that are haggard and pale?
For they lured her away to the city,
And sought of her song to have sale.

X

Oh, the kiss and the clasp of the moonlight
Lay softer by far on her brow
Than the gyve—though it looks so like sunlight—
Which presses so hard on it now!

XI

Can they wonder, her prestige recounting,
Her voice has been silent so long,
Who enticed her away from the fountain
And source of all solace and song?

ENCHANTED GROUND.

I

Still by the banks of the stream I stand
That borders the land of Truth;
The skies are blue, and the winds are bland
And blow from the shores of Youth.
Rich are the blooms in the amber air,
And the forest favours green,
And aye the wings of an angel fair
Flash through the golden scene!
And I hear the bells of Hope that seem
To sprinkle the air with sound,
Now far away in the depths of a dream,
Now clashing all around!

II

Flow on, flow ever, Fancy dear!
Sweet stream I love so well!
Blend with the tones I yet do hear
From Hope's air-belfried bell!
And live, ye winds of youthful years!
Still, fostering, let me find,
Though on my body age appears,
Your freshness on my mind!

And still be thy bright wings displayed,
Where sometimes I may see
And feel their magic, loveliest maid!
Angelic Poesie!

A MORNING LOVE-SONG.

I

Woodbine that clingest fair
At my love's casement—
Sweet be thy savour
For sake of her bower!
Blossom that swingest there
High from the basement—
Oh for the favour
Thou hast at this hour!

II

Swallow that wingest the
Fleetest of small birds—
Thou at her waking
Canst see how she seems!
Laverock that singest the
Sweetest of all birds—
Thou at day-breaking
Canst break on her dreams!

III

Morning that flingest bright
Gold in the fountain—
Oh with thy radiance
T'enrapture her eye!
Breeze that upspringest light
On the green mountain—
Oh with thy fragrance
T'enfold her and die!

WILLIAM'S BRIDAL.

“May happiness be in that ha',
And bliss be in that bower,
And Fortune's golden treasures fa'
Upon them every hour!”
Oh never since the world began,
And love on life had sway,
Shone sweeter face or fairer sun
Than did that bridal day!
“May happiness be in their bower,
And bliss be in their ha'—”
It was the worship o' the hour,
The wish o' ane an' a'.

And never cloud aboon them hung
That sunny bridal day;
And William's bride-elect was young
And blithesome as the May!
Oh he was brave, and she was braw,
And birds aboon them sang;
Baith boor and baron blessed the twa—
And wha would wished them wrang?
—Yet William mounts the weary stairs
To sit and sigh his lane,
And a' thae bonnie hopes o' theirs
Are blastit, ane an' ane!

VOX AMORIS.

The birds are singing,
The woods are ringing,
And hark! . . . hark!
They're laughing, the waves o' the sea!
—Merrily pipe, thou mounting lark!
The girl I love loves me!

The sun is glancing,
The waves are dancing,

And look! . . . look!
They're smiling, the flowers o' the lea!
—Merrily laugh, thou prattling brook!
The girl I love loves me!

THE DAWN OF LOVE.

A young god met me yesternight
On the scented sun-dried hill,
A young god kissed me on the height
And my lips are burning still;

And it's oh! it's oh!
The morning glow
Is pulsing through my frame!
And it's oh! it's oh!
For the Lapland snow
To cool the burning flame!

He pressed a soft red lip to mine
On the moonlit mountain height,
He touched me but with his lips divine
And vanished from my sight!
But it's oh! it's oh!
The morning glow
Is pulsing through my frame!
And it's oh! it's oh!
For the Lapland snow
To cool the burning flame!

BLUE-BELLS.

Thoughts too tender to be spoken
Flood my fancy gazing there,
Where they, from their kindred broken,
Deck that mountain bare!

—Blue-bells! crowding in the crevice,
What a trustful look ye wear,
On the rough breast of Ben Nevis
Leaning, free of care!

Bonnie when the sunshine glances
Like a hope when hopes are rare,
On the cliff your shadow dances
—Bonnie past compare!

Joyous life to you's a duty,
Tossing freely, tossing fair,
All your blue tumultuous beauty,
On the billowy air!—

Dream of Beauty! be about me,
How or wheresoe'er I fare;
What were Earth—were Life without thee
But a bleak despair?

TO MAISRIE.

If you would deign on me to smile,
And dare to go with me,
I'd bear you to a fairy isle
Lies lonely 'mid the sea.

And there afar from scenes of pain
And hid from human view,
We'd practise whether of the twain
Was happier—I or you!

IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS.

In a hollow of the hills,
Green as Eden round me,
By the babble of soft rills
Slumber sweet had bound me.

As I lay in bliss entranced,
Faces, fair and smiling,
On me in a vision glanced
—All my soul beguiling.

Come again, dear angel-dream!
Never to be spoken!
What though pleasure only seem?
Though the charm be broken?

He with wisdom were at strife
That would “lichtlie” dreaming;
Half the joys of waking life,
—What are they but seeming?

FLOWER-FLAME!

One touch of Summer's golden torch
And all the land's a-bloom!
—The mountain-ridge, the garden-porch
With roses burn, and broom!

See where it runs along the lane,
Flees waving o'er the waste,
Expatiates on the mountain plain
With purple-spreading haste—

It is the fairy floral fire
Down-flashed from Summer's sun,
Keen-quivering with fulfilled desire
And liberty begun!

It leaps the grey towers of the wood,
And bounds from branch to bough,
And radiance, ripe and many-hued,
Consumes their gloom! And now

It is the fairy forest-bowers
With Summer's lamps a-glow!
It is the dawn, the day of flowers
With every bud a-blow!

—One stroke of Winter's leaden mace
Amid the Summer's fire,
And down the bright flames drop apace,
Dull, deaden, and expire!

They vanish from the blackened hill,
And from the woodland walk,
They drop into the droning rill
From off the barren stalk!

Sobs the lone wind—for ne'er a bloom
Of all he kissed remains!
It is the ghoulish land of gloom
Drenched with December rains!

—Eternal Summer! from thy heights
Reach down thy torch, we pray!
The world is cold without thy lights.
—Or come thyself, and stay!

THE WALL-FLOWER ON THE WALL.

Soft the moonlight's silvery fall
On the ruined castle wall,
Low the wind's complaining tone
Round each worn and wasted stone!

Here of yore at gloaming-fall,
Shadows on the moonlit wall,
Youth and Beauty wandered twining,
While the Star of Hope was shining!

Then, oh then, sweet love was all!—
Castles rose at Fancy's call,
Music filled th'enchanted air,
Faery blossoms flourished fair!

Softly may the moonlight fall
On the Wall-flower on the wall!
Long and low the wind complain
—Love can ne'er be here again!

THE LOVER'S WALK.

The sunset fires of evening glow
Behind a gathering cloud,
And winds that from the norlan' blow
Go past me piping loud.
But down by the meadow, and over the burn,
And up by the witch's tree,
With many a traverse and many a turn
My path this night must be!

Between me and the Druid stone
A hare scuds o'er the grass;
A cushat, with contented moan,
Upbraids me as I pass.
But through the dark planting, and out on the moss,
And over the benty lea,
With wall to leap, and water to cross,
My path this night shall be!

The moon looks up with frightened glower,
Dim-glimmering on the night;
And what is that by the haunted tower?
—My girl in ghostly white!
My troubles are over, my travels are done,
The fears of the mid-mirk flee;
The girl I love, and the only one,
—She's true to her tryst with me!

THE FISHER.

The fisher lights his evening pipe
And steers his boat to shore;
His wife now from the window looks,
Now waits him at the door.

Oh low may be the fisher's life,
And small and poor his store,
But large his love for that dear wife
Waits for him at the door.

The sunset paves his path with gold
—Now what could heart have more?
Heaven smiles upon him at the sea,
And human love on shore!

THE TRYSTING-TREE.

Their shadows to the hills return,
The sheep are in the pen,
And there's a gean by Craigie-burn
Is scenting all the glen.

Oh braw the birk, and tall the fir,
And rich the rowan-tree,
And sweet the lilac's lavender
—But aye the gean for me!

And I to see that bonnie tree
Would walk a mile and ten,
And after biding there awee
Walk blithely back again

Yet not for bonnie blossoms white,
Nor graceful girlish air
So lovely in the dusky light,
I call the gean-tree fair.

The dear, delightful, darling charm
That makes me praise it so,
God and good angels keep from harm!
—But what, you must not know!

THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY.

The knight rides merrily forth to fight—
Oh but the birds sing cheerily!
The lady weeps from morn till night
While the rain falls wearily.

The knight wins love and high renown—
Oh but the birds sing cheerily!
The lady's tears still wimple down
As the rain falls wearily.

The knight comes back all gay of heart—
Oh but the birds sing cheerily!
The lady in mirth must bear her part
Though the rain falls wearily.

The knight he knows his fame is spread—
Oh but the birds sing cheerily!
The lady knows that his love is dead,
And the rain falls wearily.