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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THE SPIRIT OF THE LAKE'S SONG. |
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 | The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson |  |
THE SPIRIT OF THE LAKE'S SONG.
I sport amidst the storm,
As o'er the lake it sweeps;
And raise in glee my elfin form,
Frae the wide-spreading deeps;
In mist and spray,
At dawning day
When the sun gives place to evening grey.
As o'er the lake it sweeps;
341
Frae the wide-spreading deeps;
In mist and spray,
At dawning day
When the sun gives place to evening grey.
Chorus.
Then hark! hark! hark!To my fairy song;
As I dart like a spark
The clouds among;
In sovereign sway,
Till break of day
Chanting with glee my wild war song.
I glory in the yelling breeze,
The lightning's vivid light—
As it darts among the rending trees
In the dark lonely night;
In flashing fire,
O'er tower and spire,
Telling, with vengeance, Heaven's dread ire.
The lightning's vivid light—
As it darts among the rending trees
In the dark lonely night;
In flashing fire,
O'er tower and spire,
Telling, with vengeance, Heaven's dread ire.
Then hark! hark! hark!
To my fairy song, &c.
To my fairy song, &c.
I dance upon the rainbow's rim
As o'er the lake it hings;
And sweep along in shadows dim,
Waking the echo's rings;
With my wild song,
In numbers strong,
As it rings through the valley so loud and long.
As o'er the lake it hings;
And sweep along in shadows dim,
Waking the echo's rings;
With my wild song,
In numbers strong,
As it rings through the valley so loud and long.
Then hark! hark! hark!
To my fairy song, &c.
To my fairy song, &c.
342
In fearless speed, I cleave the sky
In wild majestic liberty,
And, in freedom, I spring on high
A thing of dread and mystery;
Who, when is seen,
Is like a dream,
Or a passing breeze o'er a valley green!
In wild majestic liberty,
And, in freedom, I spring on high
A thing of dread and mystery;
Who, when is seen,
Is like a dream,
Or a passing breeze o'er a valley green!
Then hark! hark! hark!
To my fairy song, &c.
To my fairy song, &c.
When Luna sheds her silver light
Over yon rugged steep;
'Tis then I take my airy flight,
And o'er the valley sweep;
And spring on high
With cheery cry,
Till I the dark blue ocean spy.
Over yon rugged steep;
'Tis then I take my airy flight,
And o'er the valley sweep;
And spring on high
With cheery cry,
Till I the dark blue ocean spy.
Then hark! hark! hark!
To my fairy song, &c.
To my fairy song, &c.
Oh! when the thunders ring along,
And lightnings fierce descend;
'Tis then, with glee, I raise my song,
As the forest trees loud rend;
And mount on high
'Midst the revelry,
And fly with glee through the dark'ning sky!
And lightnings fierce descend;
'Tis then, with glee, I raise my song,
As the forest trees loud rend;
And mount on high
'Midst the revelry,
And fly with glee through the dark'ning sky!
Then hark! hark! hark!
To my fairy song, &c.
To my fairy song, &c.
O! how I love to hear!—but hark!
What's that towers o'er yon height?
I see! see! 'tis the early lark
Hailing the morning's light;
So I cannot stay,
But must hie away,
For see! how fast comes the sun's bright ray!
What's that towers o'er yon height?
I see! see! 'tis the early lark
Hailing the morning's light;
So I cannot stay,
But must hie away,
343
Then hark! hark! hark!
To my fairy song, &c.
To my fairy song, &c.
As soon as they had finishéd the sang,
We a' got up, an' hurried aff fu' thrang;
An' as we trudged alang, many a remark
Ane to anither made 'bout the night's wark.
Some said they thocht that it was gyen queer
To hear a dead man's ghost baith curse and swear;
And that they didna think that it was fair
To lift the frichted packman by the hair,
An' syne to fling him o'er into the stream.
“Hoot!” quo' anither, “wasna it a dream?
An' weel ye ken that, aftimes i' the nicht,
Folk dream o' things that whyles gie them a fricht;
'Twas but the tither nicht I dreamed mysel'
The Deevil haurlet me awa to hell.”
This raised a laugh; an' ilk took his ain way,
Determined for to hear a full account next day.
We a' got up, an' hurried aff fu' thrang;
An' as we trudged alang, many a remark
Ane to anither made 'bout the night's wark.
Some said they thocht that it was gyen queer
To hear a dead man's ghost baith curse and swear;
And that they didna think that it was fair
To lift the frichted packman by the hair,
An' syne to fling him o'er into the stream.
“Hoot!” quo' anither, “wasna it a dream?
An' weel ye ken that, aftimes i' the nicht,
Folk dream o' things that whyles gie them a fricht;
'Twas but the tither nicht I dreamed mysel'
The Deevil haurlet me awa to hell.”
This raised a laugh; an' ilk took his ain way,
Determined for to hear a full account next day.
| The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson | |