 | The Siller Gun, A Poem in Five Cantos. By John Mayne |  |
207
APOSTROPHE TO THE RIVER NITH.
Hail, gentle Stream! for ever dear
Thy rudest murmurs to mine ear!
Torn from thy Banks, though far I rove
The slave of poverty and love;
Ne'er shall thy Bard where'er he be,
Without a sigh remember thee!
For there my infant years began,
And there my happiest minutes ran,
And there, to filial duty true,
The blossoms of affection grew!
—Blest days, when fond parental care
First led me to the House of Prayer;
And, full of precepts from above,
Inspir'd my earliest song of love!
Thy rudest murmurs to mine ear!
Torn from thy Banks, though far I rove
The slave of poverty and love;
Ne'er shall thy Bard where'er he be,
Without a sigh remember thee!
For there my infant years began,
And there my happiest minutes ran,
And there, to filial duty true,
The blossoms of affection grew!
208
First led me to the House of Prayer;
And, full of precepts from above,
Inspir'd my earliest song of love!
Blithe on thy Banks, thou sweetest Stream
That ever nurs'd a Poet's dream!
Oft, in the intervals of school,
I've plung'd across thy deepest pool;
Or, fishing in forbidden time,
(If youth could sanctify a crime!)
With hazel rod, and fraudful fly,
Ensnar'd thy beauteous salmon-fry;
In pairs have haul'd them out, till when,
Pursu'd by lurking fishermen,
Away I've flown, as fleet as wind,
My lagging followers far behind;
And, when the vain pursuit was o'er,
Return'd successful as before!
That ever nurs'd a Poet's dream!
Oft, in the intervals of school,
I've plung'd across thy deepest pool;
Or, fishing in forbidden time,
(If youth could sanctify a crime!)
With hazel rod, and fraudful fly,
Ensnar'd thy beauteous salmon-fry;
In pairs have haul'd them out, till when,
Pursu'd by lurking fishermen,
Away I've flown, as fleet as wind,
My lagging followers far behind;
And, when the vain pursuit was o'er,
Return'd successful as before!
Still, on thy Banks, thou sweetest Stream
That glitters to the morning-beam,
May youthful sports and joys resound;
True love and poesy abound;
And, in despite of boyish crimes,
The fishing in forbidden times,
Safe may thy fry in myriads glide
To Solway Firth, and Ocean wide;
And thence again, matur'd and hale,
Enrich the streams through Niddisdale;
While I, like some lorn pilgrim, roam
Far from thy Banks, my native home!
That glitters to the morning-beam,
May youthful sports and joys resound;
True love and poesy abound;
And, in despite of boyish crimes,
The fishing in forbidden times,
Safe may thy fry in myriads glide
To Solway Firth, and Ocean wide;
And thence again, matur'd and hale,
Enrich the streams through Niddisdale;
While I, like some lorn pilgrim, roam
Far from thy Banks, my native home!
| The Siller Gun, A Poem in Five Cantos. By John Mayne | |