 | Poems and songs |  |
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VERSES
ADDRESSED TO THE AUTHOR OF “WILL AND JEAN.”
“The daisy-flower may blaw unseen
“On mountain-tap, in valley green;
“The rose alane, in native sheen,
“Its head may raise;
“Nae musing Poet now, I ween,
“To sing their praise.
“On mountain-tap, in valley green;
“The rose alane, in native sheen,
“Its head may raise;
“Nae musing Poet now, I ween,
“To sing their praise.
“Nae pensive Minstrel Wight we see
“Gang sauntering o'er the claver lea,
“The fireflauchts darting frae his e'e,
“The wilds amang,
“Wha native freaks, wi' native glee,
“Sae sweetly sang.
“Gang sauntering o'er the claver lea,
“The fireflauchts darting frae his e'e,
“The wilds amang,
“Wha native freaks, wi' native glee,
“Sae sweetly sang.
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“His was the gift, wi' magic power,
“To catch the thought in happy hour;
“To busk his verse wi' ilka flower
“O' Fancy sweet,
“An' paint the birk or broomwood bower
“Whare lovers meet.
“To catch the thought in happy hour;
“To busk his verse wi' ilka flower
“O' Fancy sweet,
“An' paint the birk or broomwood bower
“Whare lovers meet.
“But now he fills his silent ha';
“My sweetest Minstrel's fled awa!
“Yet shall his weel-won laurels blaw
“Through future days,
“Till weary Time in flinders a'
“The warld lays.”
“My sweetest Minstrel's fled awa!
“Yet shall his weel-won laurels blaw
“Through future days,
“Till weary Time in flinders a'
“The warld lays.”
Such was the dowie plaint o' wae
That Scotia made, by bank an' brae,
Whan Burns—poor Burns!—was ta'en away,
An' laid at rest.
Green grow the grass, light lie the clay,
Upon his breast!
That Scotia made, by bank an' brae,
Whan Burns—poor Burns!—was ta'en away,
An' laid at rest.
Green grow the grass, light lie the clay,
Upon his breast!
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But now she draps the waefu' tale,
An' notes o' transport load the gale:
Nae langer down the silent vale
She lanely mourns;
An' to her cheek, ance lily pale,
The rose returns.
An' notes o' transport load the gale:
Nae langer down the silent vale
She lanely mourns;
An' to her cheek, ance lily pale,
The rose returns.
The streaks o' joy glent in her face,
Thy steps, Macneill, sweet Bard! to trace;
To mark wi' Nature's artless grace
Thy blossoms blaw;
Happy to see thee fill the place
O' him awa.
Thy steps, Macneill, sweet Bard! to trace;
To mark wi' Nature's artless grace
Thy blossoms blaw;
Happy to see thee fill the place
O' him awa.
How sairly does her bosom beat
At poor Misfortune's wretched state,
While tracing Will through poortith great,
An' prospects drear;
An' at his Jeanie's hapless fate
She draps a tear.
At poor Misfortune's wretched state,
While tracing Will through poortith great,
An' prospects drear;
An' at his Jeanie's hapless fate
She draps a tear.
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Then mark, sweet Minstrel o' the day,
Thy Scotia's sons an' maidens gay,
Her deep wild glens, her mountains gray,
Wi' misty head,
An' eke her ilka sunny brae,
Wi' flowers o'erspread:
Thy Scotia's sons an' maidens gay,
Her deep wild glens, her mountains gray,
Wi' misty head,
An' eke her ilka sunny brae,
Wi' flowers o'erspread:
What time alane thou may'st retire,
May these thy fairy thoughts inspire,
An' set thy manly saul on fire,
In Scotia's praise,
An' mak thee strike thy native lyre
To saftest lays!
May these thy fairy thoughts inspire,
An' set thy manly saul on fire,
In Scotia's praise,
An' mak thee strike thy native lyre
To saftest lays!
To wake the pangs Despair maun dree,
Whan wandering houseless o'er the lee;
To strike the strings o' Sympathy,
Whan griefs combine;
To start the tear in Pity's e'e,
The task be thine!
Whan wandering houseless o'er the lee;
To strike the strings o' Sympathy,
Whan griefs combine;
To start the tear in Pity's e'e,
The task be thine!
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