Poems by Robert Nicoll Second edition: with numerous additions, and a memoir of the author |
 | I. |
| II. |
 | III. |
THE CAIRN. |
| IV. |
| V. |
 | Poems by Robert Nicoll |  |
127
THE CAIRN.
No chieftain of the olden time
Beneath this cairn doth lie,
And yet it hath a legend sad—
A fireside tragedy.
Beneath this cairn doth lie,
And yet it hath a legend sad—
A fireside tragedy.
A Highland mother and her child,
Upon a winter day,
Went forth, to beg their needful food
A long and weary way!
Upon a winter day,
Went forth, to beg their needful food
A long and weary way!
The bitter wind blew stormily,
And frozen was each rill;
And all the glens with drifted snow
Were filled from hill to hill!
And frozen was each rill;
And all the glens with drifted snow
Were filled from hill to hill!
The day went past, the night came down,
And in her hut was mourning,
And sad, young eyes look'd from the door—
But she was not returning.
And in her hut was mourning,
And sad, young eyes look'd from the door—
But she was not returning.
“And where is she?” her children said:
“Why lingers she away?”
The snow-storm's howl did answer make
Upon the muirland gray!
“Why lingers she away?”
The snow-storm's howl did answer make
Upon the muirland gray!
128
They sought her east—they sought her west—
They sought her everywhere;
They search'd the folds and shielings lone
Among the hills so bare.
They sought her everywhere;
They search'd the folds and shielings lone
Among the hills so bare.
The Highland mother was not found,
Nor yet her fair-hair'd child;
And superstition whisper'd low,
Of spirits in the wild!
Nor yet her fair-hair'd child;
And superstition whisper'd low,
Of spirits in the wild!
The breath of Spring came on the hills,
And dyed their mantle blue;
And greenness came upon the grass,
And scarlet heath-flowers too!
And dyed their mantle blue;
And greenness came upon the grass,
And scarlet heath-flowers too!
The shepherds wandering o'er the hills,
And in this valley wild,
Calm, as in softest sleep, they found
The mother and her child!
And in this valley wild,
Calm, as in softest sleep, they found
The mother and her child!
There lay the babe upon the breast
That had the infant nurs'd;
A mother's love that bosom fill'd
When death that bosom burst.
That had the infant nurs'd;
A mother's love that bosom fill'd
When death that bosom burst.
The daisies sweet, and lone, and pure,
Were growing round the pair;
And shepherds o'er the victims rear'd
This mossy cairn there!
Were growing round the pair;
And shepherds o'er the victims rear'd
This mossy cairn there!
129
A humble tale, and unadorn'd,
It is of humble woe;
But he who heeds not such may turn,
And, if it likes him, go!
It is of humble woe;
But he who heeds not such may turn,
And, if it likes him, go!
| Poems by Robert Nicoll | |