The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson ... for the first time fully collected and compared with the original and early editions ... edited ... by the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart ... with portrait, illustrations, &c |
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MATTY, A SONG. |
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 | The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson |  |
MATTY, A SONG.
While Phœbus reposes in Thetis's bosom,
While, white thro' the branches the moonlight is seen;
Here, lonely, I rove, near the old hawthorn's blossom,
To meet with my Matty, and stray o'er the green.
While, white thro' the branches the moonlight is seen;
Here, lonely, I rove, near the old hawthorn's blossom,
To meet with my Matty, and stray o'er the green.
Nor hardship, nor care, now my bosom harasses,
My moments, from fame, and its nonsense are free;
Ambition I leave to the folly of asses,
For Matty is fame and ambition to me.
My moments, from fame, and its nonsense are free;
Ambition I leave to the folly of asses,
For Matty is fame and ambition to me.
273
The great may exclaim, and with fury enclose me,
But fools, or the rabble, shall growl now in vain;
Their madness, their malice, shall ne'er discompose me,
Since Matty commends, and delights in my strain.
But fools, or the rabble, shall growl now in vain;
Their madness, their malice, shall ne'er discompose me,
Since Matty commends, and delights in my strain.
And kind is the lovely, the charming young creature;
Sweet beauty and innocence smile in her cheek;
In raptures I wonder, and gaze o'er each feature,
My bosom unable its transports to speak.
Sweet beauty and innocence smile in her cheek;
In raptures I wonder, and gaze o'er each feature,
My bosom unable its transports to speak.
When lock'd arm in arm we retire from the city,
To stray through the meadow or shadowy grove;
How oft do I wake her compassion and pity,
While telling some tale of unfortunate love.
To stray through the meadow or shadowy grove;
How oft do I wake her compassion and pity,
While telling some tale of unfortunate love.
Her innocent answers delight me to hear them,
For art or dissembling to her are unknown;
And false protestations she knows not to fear them,
But thinks that each heart is as kind as her own.
For art or dissembling to her are unknown;
And false protestations she knows not to fear them,
But thinks that each heart is as kind as her own.
And lives there a villain, who born to dissemble,
Would dare an attempt to dishonour her fame;
May blackest confusion, surrounding, assemble
And bury the wretch in distraction and shame.
Would dare an attempt to dishonour her fame;
May blackest confusion, surrounding, assemble
And bury the wretch in distraction and shame.
Ye Pow'rs! be my task to protect and behold her,
To wander delighted with her all the day;
When sadness dejects, in my arms to enfold her,
And kiss, in soft raptures, her sorrows away.
To wander delighted with her all the day;
When sadness dejects, in my arms to enfold her,
And kiss, in soft raptures, her sorrows away.
But, hush! who comes yonder? 'tis Matty my dearest,
The moon, how it brightens, while she treads the plain!
I'll welcome my beautiful nymph, by the nearest,
And pour my whole soul in her bosom again.
The moon, how it brightens, while she treads the plain!
I'll welcome my beautiful nymph, by the nearest,
And pour my whole soul in her bosom again.
| The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson | |