The Poetical Works of David Macbeth Moir Edited by Thomas Aird: With A Memoir of the Author |
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| SONNETS
ON THE SCENERY OF THE ESK. |
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 | The Poetical Works of David Macbeth Moir |  |
SONNETS ON THE SCENERY OF THE ESK.
I.
[A mountain child, 'mid Pentland's solitudes]
A mountain child, 'mid Pentland's solitudes,Thou risest, murmuring Esk, and lapsing on,
Between rude banks, o'er rock and mossy stone,
Glitterest remote, where seldom step intrudes;
Nor unrenowned, as, with an ampler tide,
Thou windest through the glens of Woodhouselee,
Where 'mid the song of bird, the hum of bee,
With soft Arcadian pictures clothed thy side
The pastoral Ramsay.
Amid these scenes the locale of Ramsay's inimitable Gentle Shepherd has been placed, though different writers dispute as to the exact whereabouts. “Habbie's How” has, however, been the most popular as a resort for summer festivity, and still continues to be the scene o many a blithesome fête-champêtre. So thoroughly has the bard struck the heart of Scotland in this pastoral drama, that, like the verses of Tasso with the Italians, its couplets have passed into adages with its people.
Thy rocky bed 'mid Roslin's crannies deep,
While proud on high time-hallowed ruins peep
Of castle and chapelle; yea, to this hour
Grey Hawthornden smiles downward from its steep,
To tell of Drummond's poesy's spring flower.
II.
[Not lovelier to the bard's enamoured gaze]
Not lovelier to the bard's enamoured gaze,Winded Italian Mincio o'er its bed,
By whispering reeds o'erhung, when calmly led
To meditate what rural life displays;
Trees statelier do not canopy with gloom
The brooks of Valombrosa; nor do flowers,
Beneath Ausonia's sky that seldom lowers,
Empurple deep-dyed Brenta's banks with bloom
Fairer than thine at sweet Lasswade: so bright
Thou gleam'st, a mirror for the cooing dove,
That sidelong eyes its purpling form with love
Well pleased; 'mid blossomy brakes, with bosom light,
All day the linnet carols; and, from grove,
The blackbird sings to thee at fall of night.
III.
Down from the old oak forests of Dalkeith,Where majesty surrounds a ducal home,
In looking on the modern version of “The Castle of Dalcaeth,” it should be remembered that it has been successively the home of “the gallant Grahames”—of the Douglas of Otterburn — of the Regent Morton — of General Monk — of Anne, duchess of Buccleuch and Monmouth—and of the patriot Duke Henry, the friend of Pitt and Melville.
Between fresh pastures gleaming thou dost come,
Bush, scaur, and rock, and hazelly shaw beneath,
Till, greeting thee from slopes of orchard ground,
Towers Inveresk with its proud villas fair,
The patrician village of Inveresk is beautifully situated on a little hill, forming a gentle curve along the northern bank of the Esk—orchards, and gardens with terraces, stretching from behind the mansions down to the slip of pasture ground which borders the river. From the beauty of its site, and the amenity of its climate, Inveresk obtained of yore the appellation of the Montpelier of Scotland. At the western extremity of the village stood the venerable church of St Michael the Archangel, which was ruthlessly demolished at the beginning of the present century, to be supplanted by a modern building in the most commonplace taste. The house in which the Regent Randolph died, and which stood near the east port of Musselburgh, was also swept away at the same period of barbarous innovation.
Scotland's Montpelier, for salubrious air,
And beauteous prospect wide and far renowned.
What else could be, since thou, with winding tide
Below dost ripple pleasantly, thy green
And osiered banks outspread, where frequent seen,
The browsing heifer shows her dappled side,
And 'mid the bloom-bright furze are oft descried
Anglers, that patient o'er thy mirror lean?
IV.
Delightful 'tis, and soothing sweet, at eve,When sunlight like a dream hath passed away
O'er Pentland's far-off peaks, and shades of grey
Around the landscape enviously weave,—
To saunter o'er this high walk canopied
With scented hawthorn, while the trellised bowers
Are rich with rose and honeysuckle flowers,
And gaze o'er plains and woods outstretching wide
Till bounded by the Morphoot's heights of blue,
That range along the low south-west afar;
And thee, translucent Esk, with face of blue;
While, as enamoured, evening's first fair star
Looks on thy pool its loveliness to view.
V.
A beech-tree o'er the mill-stream spreads its boughs,In many an eddy whirls the wave beneath;
From Stony-bank the west wind's perfumed breath
Sighs past—'tis Summer's gentle evening close:
Smooth Esk, above thy tide the midges weave,
Mixing and meeting oft, their fairy dance;
While o'er the crown of Arthur's Seat a glance
Of crimson plays—the sunshine's glorious leave;
Except the blackbird from the dim Shire Wood,
Of the once extensive Shire Wood, in whose shade were a hundred stents or grazings for a hundred cows, only a few trees now remain. It extended from the Shire Mill on the south— with its hereditary miller—northwards to the hollow immediately below Mortonhall—the Esk having of old run almost in a line from where the mill-dam enters it to that spot. From gradually bending towards Inveresk, upwards of thirty acres have been gradually transferred to the south banks of the river. When a boy, I remember the town herd at early morn sounding his horn to collect and conduct the cows of the burgesses to these pastures. Nothing of the common now remains: all is under the plough.
All else is still. So passes human life
From us away—a dream within a dream:
Ah! where are they, who with me, by this stream,
Roamed ere this world was known as one of strife?
Comes not an answer from the solitude!
VI.
[Leaning upon the time-worn parapet]
Leaning upon the time-worn parapetOf this old Roman bridge,
The venerable bridge over the Esk at Musselburgh is believed to be of Roman construction; but no traces of its date are extant. An ancient local tax for keeping it in repair is still in force, under the name of the gentes custom.
Three noted fields of battle are within view of Inveresk— Pinkie, Carberry, and Prestonpans.
Of Forth hath seen thee, Esk, gliding away
From age to age, and spans thee gliding yet,—
Before me I behold thy sea-most town,
Yclept in Saxon Chronicles Eske-mouthe,
Its venerable roofs—its spire uncouth—
And Pinkie's field of sorrowful renown.
Scenes of my childhood, manhood, and decline—
Scenes that my sorrows and my joys have known,
Ye saw my birth, and be my dust your own,
When, as these waters mingle with the sea,
To look upon the light no more is mine,
And time is swallowed in eternity!
| The Poetical Works of David Macbeth Moir | |