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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 | IV. |
IV.—Poems ascribed to Wilson.
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 | The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson |  |
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IV.—Poems ascribed to Wilson.
409
ODE BY THE LATE ALEXANDER WILSON.
Grim low'rs the clouds o'er the wide spreading plain,
And loud howls the wind 'cross the steep Mistylaw;
While down to the Loch the fierce Calder amain,
Its brown water pours, deeply swell'd by the snaw.
And loud howls the wind 'cross the steep Mistylaw;
While down to the Loch the fierce Calder amain,
Its brown water pours, deeply swell'd by the snaw.
Yet firmly beneath the fierce elements rage,
The Castle looks down on the bleak wintry scene;
While the old ruin'd Peil, like some grim hoary sage,
Seems a moral to man of the days that have been.
The Castle looks down on the bleak wintry scene;
While the old ruin'd Peil, like some grim hoary sage,
Seems a moral to man of the days that have been.
Ah me! what sad tales could its ruin'd walls tell,
What deeds of oppression, of war, and of strife;
When Barons of old in its chambers did dwell,
For shelter from those who oft sought for their life.
What deeds of oppression, of war, and of strife;
When Barons of old in its chambers did dwell,
For shelter from those who oft sought for their life.
But, ev'n as those days of warfare have past,
And all is now peaceful and tranquil around,
So come shall the sunshine of summer at last,
To cheer the dull scene, and invig'rate the ground.
And all is now peaceful and tranquil around,
So come shall the sunshine of summer at last,
To cheer the dull scene, and invig'rate the ground.
1784.
A. WILSON.
410
SONG.
The sun had shone o'er loch and lea,
An' frae the north the fierce win' came;
When Mattie frae her straw-roof'd cot,
Gaed out to wander far frae hame.
An' as her bosom heav'd the sigh,
She said—she said, in her deep grief—
“I'll lay me on yon braes and die!
For nought can gie this heart relief.
An' frae the north the fierce win' came;
When Mattie frae her straw-roof'd cot,
Gaed out to wander far frae hame.
An' as her bosom heav'd the sigh,
She said—she said, in her deep grief—
“I'll lay me on yon braes and die!
For nought can gie this heart relief.
Oh! saftly, O, ye breezes blaw,
That rage alang yon hills sae hie;
An' saftly rain fa' on the deep,
For my dear lad is far at sea.
Baith nicht an' day for him I sigh,
Alas! for me there's nought but grief;
“I'll lay me on yon braes and die,
An' gie this weary heart relief.”
That rage alang yon hills sae hie;
An' saftly rain fa' on the deep,
For my dear lad is far at sea.
Baith nicht an' day for him I sigh,
Alas! for me there's nought but grief;
“I'll lay me on yon braes and die,
An' gie this weary heart relief.”
She wander'd far owre moor an' dale,
She wander'd deep, deep through the snaw;
She wander'd far by burn an' brae,
Till wi' fatigue she down did fa'.
Nae mair her bosom heaves the sigh,
Nae mair she says in her deep grief—
“I'll lay me on yon braes an' die,”
For death has now gi'en her relief.
She wander'd deep, deep through the snaw;
She wander'd far by burn an' brae,
Till wi' fatigue she down did fa'.
Nae mair her bosom heaves the sigh,
Nae mair she says in her deep grief—
“I'll lay me on yon braes an' die,”
For death has now gi'en her relief.
A. WILSON.
AN AULD SCOTTISH SANG.
Owre the land as I travel, my finery to shew,
I ne'er harass my mind wi' sorrow or woe;
But blythely tak' the road, and while journeying alang,
Croon cheer'ly to mysel' an' auld Scottish sang.
I ne'er harass my mind wi' sorrow or woe;
But blythely tak' the road, and while journeying alang,
Croon cheer'ly to mysel' an' auld Scottish sang.
411
And when frae some farm-town I'm ordered to depart,
I ne'er tak' their insult wi' sorrow to my heart;
But lea' them wi' contempt, weel knowing they are wrang,
Aye comfortin' my heart wi' an auld Scottish sang.
I ne'er tak' their insult wi' sorrow to my heart;
But lea' them wi' contempt, weel knowing they are wrang,
Aye comfortin' my heart wi' an auld Scottish sang.
While I travel thro' the woods sae lanesome and drear,
It aye gi'es me pleasure my ain voice to hear;
An' sae aneath my pack, as I lightly trudge alang,
I wake the wild wood's echo wi' an auld Scottish sang.
It aye gi'es me pleasure my ain voice to hear;
An' sae aneath my pack, as I lightly trudge alang,
I wake the wild wood's echo wi' an auld Scottish sang.
Ae nicht in my rambles, a lodgin' I sought
Frae a lanely auld woman wha lived in a cot;
She ca'd me a thief, and made the door play bang,
Sae aff I set chaunting an auld Scottish sang.
Frae a lanely auld woman wha lived in a cot;
She ca'd me a thief, and made the door play bang,
Sae aff I set chaunting an auld Scottish sang.
Anither time I rappet at an auld cobbler's door,
When swearin', out he cam' wi' a most infernal roar;
Syne wi' a' his micht, a hammer at me flang,
Sae I tun'd him in his swearin' wi' an auld Scottish sang.
When swearin', out he cam' wi' a most infernal roar;
Syne wi' a' his micht, a hammer at me flang,
Sae I tun'd him in his swearin' wi' an auld Scottish sang.
Anither time I travell'd when the snaw fell thick and fast,
An' caul frae the hills cam' the biten' norlan' blast;
I lost my pack wi' every thing that did to me belang,
Yet still kept up my heart wi' an auld Scottish sang.
An' caul frae the hills cam' the biten' norlan' blast;
I lost my pack wi' every thing that did to me belang,
Yet still kept up my heart wi' an auld Scottish sang.
Sae an auld Scottish sang's aye a pleasure to me,
Whether travelin' by lan', or sailin' by sea;
It cheers the dull road, an' mak's short what seems lang,
O, a blessing to me is an auld Scottish sang!
Whether travelin' by lan', or sailin' by sea;
It cheers the dull road, an' mak's short what seems lang,
O, a blessing to me is an auld Scottish sang!
A. WILSON.
| The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson | |