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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LOCHWINNOCH.—A DESCRIPTIVE POEM. |
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 | The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson |  |
LOCHWINNOCH.—A DESCRIPTIVE POEM.
When in the western main our orb of light,
Sinks slowly down from the advancing night;
Mute sadness hangs o'er all the lonely earth,
Old gloomy Night leads all her horrors forth;
Wild howls the dreary waste, where furies roam,
Harsh hated shrieks start from the ruin'd dome;
Dread Darkness reigns in melancholy state,
And pensive Nature seems to mourn her fate.
Such was the gloom, dear sir, that wrapt my soul,
Such were the thoughts, and such the sighs that stole
From this poor bosom, when, with tearful view,
I bade Edina, and my friend, adieu;
Bade him adieu, whose kind, engaging art,
Unbounded goodness, and inspiring heart,
Has cheer'd my Muse, and bid her joyous soar,
While Want and Ruin thunder'd at the door.
Sinks slowly down from the advancing night;
Mute sadness hangs o'er all the lonely earth,
Old gloomy Night leads all her horrors forth;
Wild howls the dreary waste, where furies roam,
Harsh hated shrieks start from the ruin'd dome;
Dread Darkness reigns in melancholy state,
And pensive Nature seems to mourn her fate.
Such was the gloom, dear sir, that wrapt my soul,
Such were the thoughts, and such the sighs that stole
From this poor bosom, when, with tearful view,
I bade Edina, and my friend, adieu;
Bade him adieu, whose kind, engaging art,
Unbounded goodness, and inspiring heart,
Has cheer'd my Muse, and bid her joyous soar,
While Want and Ruin thunder'd at the door.
193
Long was the way, the weary way to tread,
Stern Fortune frown'd, and ev'ry hope had fled;
How rush'd reflection on my tortur'd mind,
As slow I went, and sighing gaz'd behind!
Our rural walks, while the gray eastern morn,
Yet faintly breaking, deck'd the dewy thorn;
Or when link'd arm in arm, we peaceful stray'd
The Meadows round: beneath yon leafy shade
There oft the Muse pursu'd her soaring flight,
While day was sunk, and reign'd the starry night.
Farewell, I cry'd; a long farewell to you;
Fate, cruel urges, happy scenes adieu!
Stern Fortune frown'd, and ev'ry hope had fled;
How rush'd reflection on my tortur'd mind,
As slow I went, and sighing gaz'd behind!
Our rural walks, while the gray eastern morn,
Yet faintly breaking, deck'd the dewy thorn;
Or when link'd arm in arm, we peaceful stray'd
The Meadows round: beneath yon leafy shade
There oft the Muse pursu'd her soaring flight,
While day was sunk, and reign'd the starry night.
Farewell, I cry'd; a long farewell to you;
Fate, cruel urges, happy scenes adieu!
But, blest be Heav'n! when two sad days were past,
I reach'd my peaceful native plains at last;
Sweet smil'd the Muse to hear the rustics sing,
And fond to rise, she stretch'd her ample wing.
On ev'ry side the blooming landscape glow'd,
Here shepherds whistled, there the cascade flow'd.
Heav'ns! had I known what gay, delightful scenes,
Of woods, and groves, adorn'd these happy plains;
Edina's crowds and sooty turrets high,
Should ne'er have cost me one regretting sigh.
I reach'd my peaceful native plains at last;
Sweet smil'd the Muse to hear the rustics sing,
And fond to rise, she stretch'd her ample wing.
On ev'ry side the blooming landscape glow'd,
Here shepherds whistled, there the cascade flow'd.
Heav'ns! had I known what gay, delightful scenes,
Of woods, and groves, adorn'd these happy plains;
Edina's crowds and sooty turrets high,
Should ne'er have cost me one regretting sigh.
Though fair sweet Fortha's banks, tho' rich her plains,
Far nobler prospects claim the Muse's strains.
Fate now has led me to green-waving groves,
Blest scenes of innocence and rural loves;
Where cloudy smoke ne'er darkens up the sky,
Nor glaring buildings tire the sick'ning eye;
But spreading meadows wave with flow'ry hay,
And, drown'd in grass, the milky mothers stray;
While down each vale descends the glitt'ring rill,
And bleating flocks swarm o'er each smiling hill;
And woody vales, where deep retir'd from sight,
Lone rivers brawl o'er many a horrid height.
Far nobler prospects claim the Muse's strains.
Fate now has led me to green-waving groves,
Blest scenes of innocence and rural loves;
Where cloudy smoke ne'er darkens up the sky,
Nor glaring buildings tire the sick'ning eye;
But spreading meadows wave with flow'ry hay,
And, drown'd in grass, the milky mothers stray;
While down each vale descends the glitt'ring rill,
And bleating flocks swarm o'er each smiling hill;
And woody vales, where deep retir'd from sight,
Lone rivers brawl o'er many a horrid height.
If scenes like these can please your roving mind,
Or lend one rapture to my dearest friend;
All hail! ye sacred Nine, assist my flight,
To spread their beauties open to his sight.
Or lend one rapture to my dearest friend;
194
To spread their beauties open to his sight.
Low, at the foot of huge extended hills,
Whose cloudy tops pour down unnumber'd rills,
And where loud Calder, rushing from the steep,
Roars to the Lake with hoarse resistless sweep,
Lochwinnoch stands, stretch'd on a rising groun';
In bulk, a Village, but in worth a Town.
Here lies your friend, amid as cheerful swains
As e'er trod o'er the fam'd Arcadian plains;
Far from the world retir'd, our only care
In silken gauze to form the flow'rets fair;
To bid beneath our hands, gay blossoms rise,
In all the colours of the changing skies.
Whose cloudy tops pour down unnumber'd rills,
And where loud Calder, rushing from the steep,
Roars to the Lake with hoarse resistless sweep,
Lochwinnoch stands, stretch'd on a rising groun';
In bulk, a Village, but in worth a Town.
Here lies your friend, amid as cheerful swains
As e'er trod o'er the fam'd Arcadian plains;
Far from the world retir'd, our only care
In silken gauze to form the flow'rets fair;
To bid beneath our hands, gay blossoms rise,
In all the colours of the changing skies.
Despatch'd to foreign climes, our beauteous toil
Adorn the fair of many a distant isle;
Shield from the scorching heat, or shiv'ring storm,
And fairer deck out Nature's fairest form.
Adorn the fair of many a distant isle;
Shield from the scorching heat, or shiv'ring storm,
And fairer deck out Nature's fairest form.
Such our sweet toils, when Peace, with glad'ning smile,
Wraps in her wings our little busy Isle;
But when, loud bellowing, furious from afar,
Is heard the uproar of approaching War,
Britannia rousing, when aspiring foes
Call forth her vengeance and provoke her blows;
Then all the hero in their bosom burns,
Their country calls, and Rage dull Pleasure spurns;
Beneath the throng of many a glitt'ring spear,
In marshall'd lines the fearless youths appear;
The drum resounds—they leave their native shore,
On distant coasts to swell the battle's roar:
There quell the furious foe, or see their homes no more.
Wraps in her wings our little busy Isle;
But when, loud bellowing, furious from afar,
Is heard the uproar of approaching War,
Britannia rousing, when aspiring foes
Call forth her vengeance and provoke her blows;
Then all the hero in their bosom burns,
Their country calls, and Rage dull Pleasure spurns;
Beneath the throng of many a glitt'ring spear,
In marshall'd lines the fearless youths appear;
The drum resounds—they leave their native shore,
On distant coasts to swell the battle's roar:
There quell the furious foe, or see their homes no more.
But these are harsh extremes; rough labour now
Bathes each firm youth, and hoary parent's brow;
Nought shews, but brisk activity around,
The plough-boy's song, the tradesman's hamm'ring sound.
See! from yon vale, in huge enormous height,
Glitt'ring with windows on the admiring sight,
The fabric swells —within, ten thousand ways
Ingenious Burns his wondrous art displays:
Wheels turning wheels in mystic throngs appear,
To twist the thread or tortur'd cotton tear,
While toiling wenches' songs delight the list'ning ear.
Bathes each firm youth, and hoary parent's brow;
Nought shews, but brisk activity around,
The plough-boy's song, the tradesman's hamm'ring sound.
195
Glitt'ring with windows on the admiring sight,
The fabric swells —within, ten thousand ways
Ingenious Burns his wondrous art displays:
Wheels turning wheels in mystic throngs appear,
To twist the thread or tortur'd cotton tear,
While toiling wenches' songs delight the list'ning ear.
At little distance, bord'ring on the Lake,
Where blooming shrubs from golden branches, shake
Ambrosial sweets, 'midst shelt'ring coverts high,
Fair Castle Semple glitters on the eye:
As when bright Phœbus, bursts some gloomy shroud,
And glorious issues from the darksome cloud;
Superbly enters on the empyrean blue,
And shines, reveal'd, to the enraptur'd view;
So, from the trees, the beauteous structure opes,
Shelter'd with hills, and many a deep'ning copse.
The wond'ring stranger stops t'admire the scene,
The dazzling mansion and the shaven green;
The fir-top Mount, where brouse the bounding deer,
The Lake adjoining, stretching smooth and clear;
The long glass hot-house, basking in the rays,
Where nameless blossoms swell beneath the blaze;
Where India's clime in full perfection glows,
And fruits and flowers o'ercharge the bending boughs.
These, and unnumber'd beauties charm his sight,
And oft he turns, and gazes with delight.
Where blooming shrubs from golden branches, shake
Ambrosial sweets, 'midst shelt'ring coverts high,
Fair Castle Semple glitters on the eye:
As when bright Phœbus, bursts some gloomy shroud,
And glorious issues from the darksome cloud;
Superbly enters on the empyrean blue,
And shines, reveal'd, to the enraptur'd view;
So, from the trees, the beauteous structure opes,
Shelter'd with hills, and many a deep'ning copse.
The wond'ring stranger stops t'admire the scene,
The dazzling mansion and the shaven green;
The fir-top Mount, where brouse the bounding deer,
The Lake adjoining, stretching smooth and clear;
The long glass hot-house, basking in the rays,
Where nameless blossoms swell beneath the blaze;
Where India's clime in full perfection glows,
And fruits and flowers o'ercharge the bending boughs.
These, and unnumber'd beauties charm his sight,
And oft he turns, and gazes with delight.
Ye lonely walks, now sinking from the sight,
Now rising easy to the distant height,
Where o'er my head the bending branches close,
And hang a solemn gloom—sedate repose!
Now gen'rous opening, welcomes in the day,
While o'er the road the shadowy branches play.
Hail! happy spots of quiet and of peace,
Dear fav'rite scenes, where all my sorrows cease!
Where calm Retirement reigns in sober mood,
Lull'd by the songsters of the neighb'ring wood.
Now rising easy to the distant height,
Where o'er my head the bending branches close,
And hang a solemn gloom—sedate repose!
Now gen'rous opening, welcomes in the day,
While o'er the road the shadowy branches play.
Hail! happy spots of quiet and of peace,
Dear fav'rite scenes, where all my sorrows cease!
196
Lull'd by the songsters of the neighb'ring wood.
Here oft beneath the shade, I lonely stray,
When Morning opes, or Evening shuts the day;
Or when, more black than night, Fate stern appears,
With all his train of pale despairing fears.
The winding walks, the solitary wood,
The uncouth grotto, melancholy rude;
My refuge these, th'attending Muse to call,
Or in Pope's lofty page to lose them all.
When Morning opes, or Evening shuts the day;
Or when, more black than night, Fate stern appears,
With all his train of pale despairing fears.
The winding walks, the solitary wood,
The uncouth grotto, melancholy rude;
My refuge these, th'attending Muse to call,
Or in Pope's lofty page to lose them all.
But what, my friend, would all these scenes avail,
The walks meand'ring, or the stretching dale,
The wood-clad mountain, or the sounding streams,
The harvest waving in the glowing beams;
What all the pomp of Nature or of Art,
If Heaven had harden'd the proud owner's heart?
And is it so ye ask? Ah, no, my friend:
Far other motives swell his generous mind;
He lives, he reigns, belov'd in every soul,
Our wants and hardships through his bosom roll.
Those he alleviates with a parent's care,
And these, by him spread forth, disperse in air.
The walks meand'ring, or the stretching dale,
The wood-clad mountain, or the sounding streams,
The harvest waving in the glowing beams;
What all the pomp of Nature or of Art,
If Heaven had harden'd the proud owner's heart?
And is it so ye ask? Ah, no, my friend:
Far other motives swell his generous mind;
He lives, he reigns, belov'd in every soul,
Our wants and hardships through his bosom roll.
Those he alleviates with a parent's care,
And these, by him spread forth, disperse in air.
When late pale Trade, wrapt up in yellow weeds,
With languid looks, seem'd to forsake our meads;
When, for her sons, stern Paisley sole confin'd
The web to finish, or the woof to wind;
Thro' all the village desolation reign'd
And deep distress each cheek with sorrow stain'd:
Oh! may these eyes ne'er gaze on such a scene,
Ne'er may I listen to such woes again:
Here mourn'd a father for his labour gone,
Survey'd his babes and heav'd a bitter groan;
The weeping maid, tho' blest with blooming charms,
Saw now her lover forced to quit her arms;
While silence hung, and melancholy gloom,
Thro' each lone shop, and o'er each useless loom.
With languid looks, seem'd to forsake our meads;
When, for her sons, stern Paisley sole confin'd
The web to finish, or the woof to wind;
Thro' all the village desolation reign'd
And deep distress each cheek with sorrow stain'd:
Oh! may these eyes ne'er gaze on such a scene,
Ne'er may I listen to such woes again:
Here mourn'd a father for his labour gone,
Survey'd his babes and heav'd a bitter groan;
The weeping maid, tho' blest with blooming charms,
Saw now her lover forced to quit her arms;
While silence hung, and melancholy gloom,
Thro' each lone shop, and o'er each useless loom.
197
Our mis'ries reached his ear; his manly breast
Felt for our woes, nor e'en the tear supprest;
He bade us hope, nor were our hopes in vain;
Soon welcome news surpris'd each grateful swain.
Hope smil'd propitious, ev'ry shop resum'd,
New heart and soul, tho' late to ruin doom'd;
The sounding shuttle sweeps from side to side,
Swift o'er the beam the finish'd flow'rings glide;
Songs soothe our toil, and pour the grateful flame,
And ev'ry tongue reveres the patriot's name.
Felt for our woes, nor e'en the tear supprest;
He bade us hope, nor were our hopes in vain;
Soon welcome news surpris'd each grateful swain.
Hope smil'd propitious, ev'ry shop resum'd,
New heart and soul, tho' late to ruin doom'd;
The sounding shuttle sweeps from side to side,
Swift o'er the beam the finish'd flow'rings glide;
Songs soothe our toil, and pour the grateful flame,
And ev'ry tongue reveres the patriot's name.
From scenes like these, let Pride disdainful turn,
And Malice hiss, and squinting Envy burn;
But, when entomb'd, the worthy patriot lies,
And his rapt soul has gain'd her native skies,
Such deeds as these shall aggrandize his name,
While they lie buried in eternal shame.
And Malice hiss, and squinting Envy burn;
But, when entomb'd, the worthy patriot lies,
And his rapt soul has gain'd her native skies,
Such deeds as these shall aggrandize his name,
While they lie buried in eternal shame.
From Clyde's fair river to the western shore,
Where smoky Saltcoats braves the surges' roar;
A range of hills extend, from whose each side,
Unnumber'd streams in headlong fury ride;
Aloft in air their big blue backs are lost,
Their distant shadows black'ning all the coast;
High o'er their proudest peaks, oft hid in show'rs,
The imperious Misty-Law superior tow'rs;
Spiry at top, o'erclad with purpling heath,
Wide he looks round o'er Scotia's plains beneath.
The Atlantic main that opens on the west,
Spotted with isles, that crowd its liquid breast;
Hills heapt on hills support the northern sky,
Far to the east the Ochills hugely lie.
How vast around the boundless prospect spreads,
Blue rivers rolling through their winding beds:
Black waving woods, fields glowing on the eye,
And hills, whose summits hide them in the sky.
Still farther would I gaze with rapture blest,
But bending clouds hang down and hide the rest.
Where smoky Saltcoats braves the surges' roar;
A range of hills extend, from whose each side,
Unnumber'd streams in headlong fury ride;
Aloft in air their big blue backs are lost,
Their distant shadows black'ning all the coast;
High o'er their proudest peaks, oft hid in show'rs,
The imperious Misty-Law superior tow'rs;
Spiry at top, o'erclad with purpling heath,
Wide he looks round o'er Scotia's plains beneath.
The Atlantic main that opens on the west,
Spotted with isles, that crowd its liquid breast;
Hills heapt on hills support the northern sky,
Far to the east the Ochills hugely lie.
How vast around the boundless prospect spreads,
Blue rivers rolling through their winding beds:
Black waving woods, fields glowing on the eye,
And hills, whose summits hide them in the sky.
Still farther would I gaze with rapture blest,
But bending clouds hang down and hide the rest.
198
Descending from the hill's o'erhanging head,
Bare moors below uncomfortably spread.
Here stray the hardy sheep, in scatter'd flocks,
Nibbling thro' furze, and grim projecting rocks;
Strangers to shelter from bleak Winter's form,
His loudest blasts they brave, and bitterest storm;
By human hands untouch'd save when the swain
Drives to the crowded hut the bleating train;
Shears off the matted fleece with gleeful haste,
And sends them naked to the lonely waste.
Bare moors below uncomfortably spread.
Here stray the hardy sheep, in scatter'd flocks,
Nibbling thro' furze, and grim projecting rocks;
Strangers to shelter from bleak Winter's form,
His loudest blasts they brave, and bitterest storm;
By human hands untouch'd save when the swain
Drives to the crowded hut the bleating train;
Shears off the matted fleece with gleeful haste,
And sends them naked to the lonely waste.
Here, as the shepherd ranges o'er the heath,
The speckled adder sweeps across his path,
Or lies collected in the sun's bright beams,
Or wriggles forward to the distant streams;
But sudden caught, in vain the felon flies,
He feels the scourging crook, and stretch'd and gaping dies.
The speckled adder sweeps across his path,
Or lies collected in the sun's bright beams,
Or wriggles forward to the distant streams;
But sudden caught, in vain the felon flies,
He feels the scourging crook, and stretch'd and gaping dies.
Near the bleak border of these lonely moors,
Where o'er the brook the mossy margin low'rs,
'Midst clust'ring trees and sweet surrounding dells,
In rural cot a rustic poet dwells;
Unknown to him the dull elab'rate rules,
And mazy doctrines of pedantic Schools:
Yet genius warms his breast with noble fire,
And the rapt Muse seems eager to inspire.
High on the herby hill, while morning smiles,
And shoots her beams along the distant isles,
Cheerful he sits, and gazing o'er the plain,
In native language, pours his jocund strain;
“How bonny morning speels the eastlin lift,
An' waukens lads an' lassies to their thrift;
Gars lavrocks sing and canty lamies loup,
And me mysel' croon cheary on my doup;”
Or oft, rejoic'd he sings how best to rear
Big swelling roots, the peasant's homely chear,
When drown'd with milk, amid the pot they're prest,
Or mealy, bursting fill his brawny fist;
How the deep bog or wat'ry marsh to drain,
And bid bare hillocks groan with bending grain.
These are the themes that oft engage his Muse,
Swell his full breast and stretch his wid'ning views;
While wond'ring shepherds, as they round him throng,
Survey the hoary bard, and bless th'instructing song.
Where o'er the brook the mossy margin low'rs,
'Midst clust'ring trees and sweet surrounding dells,
In rural cot a rustic poet dwells;
Unknown to him the dull elab'rate rules,
And mazy doctrines of pedantic Schools:
Yet genius warms his breast with noble fire,
And the rapt Muse seems eager to inspire.
High on the herby hill, while morning smiles,
And shoots her beams along the distant isles,
Cheerful he sits, and gazing o'er the plain,
In native language, pours his jocund strain;
“How bonny morning speels the eastlin lift,
An' waukens lads an' lassies to their thrift;
Gars lavrocks sing and canty lamies loup,
And me mysel' croon cheary on my doup;”
Or oft, rejoic'd he sings how best to rear
Big swelling roots, the peasant's homely chear,
When drown'd with milk, amid the pot they're prest,
Or mealy, bursting fill his brawny fist;
199
And bid bare hillocks groan with bending grain.
These are the themes that oft engage his Muse,
Swell his full breast and stretch his wid'ning views;
While wond'ring shepherds, as they round him throng,
Survey the hoary bard, and bless th'instructing song.
When harvest's o'er, his last, his sweetest toil,
And ev'ry barn contains the rustling spoil;
When Winter growls along the frozen lakes,
And whit'ning snows descend in silent flakes;
When all without is drear, and keen-blown frost
Has each hard foot-step on the road embost;
Led by the pale-faced moon o'er drifted plains,
From many a cottage trudge the neighb'ring swains,
To hear his tale, and round his glowing hearth
To pass the night in innocence and mirth.
And ev'ry barn contains the rustling spoil;
When Winter growls along the frozen lakes,
And whit'ning snows descend in silent flakes;
When all without is drear, and keen-blown frost
Has each hard foot-step on the road embost;
Led by the pale-faced moon o'er drifted plains,
From many a cottage trudge the neighb'ring swains,
To hear his tale, and round his glowing hearth
To pass the night in innocence and mirth.
Retired from towns, from scenes of guilt and strife,
How blessed, poor shepherds, your untroubled life!
No deep black schemes employ your jocund hour,
Like birds of prey, each other to devour.
The milky flocks throng nibbling o'er the steep,
The tinkling brooks, that sweetly lull to sleep;
The warbling bank, the dewy morn's pale light,
While mists rise slowly from each neighb'ring height,
The lark's shrill song, the blackbird's wilder airs,
These are your pleasures, these your happy cares.
How blessed, poor shepherds, your untroubled life!
No deep black schemes employ your jocund hour,
Like birds of prey, each other to devour.
The milky flocks throng nibbling o'er the steep,
The tinkling brooks, that sweetly lull to sleep;
The warbling bank, the dewy morn's pale light,
While mists rise slowly from each neighb'ring height,
The lark's shrill song, the blackbird's wilder airs,
These are your pleasures, these your happy cares.
Down from this spreading moor with gath'ring force,
Impetuous Calder leaves his marshy source:
Through deep sunk vales and rude resisting rocks,
His furious current raves, and thundering smokes;
While swift he pours along in foamy pride,
Huge massive bulwarks rise on either side;
Rocks grimly low'ring o'er the darkened stream,
Hollow'd with caves where ne'er peept Phœbus' beam.
Here, in red clusters, hang the juicy rown,
There sun-burnt nuts depress the hazel down;
High on yon rock the luscious berries swarm,
Yet mock the efforts of the straining arm:
So when some poet wand'ring through the street,
If chance a sav'ry smell his nostrils meet,
Sudden he stops—looks round on some cook's stall,
And eager gazes—but a look's his all.
Impetuous Calder leaves his marshy source:
Through deep sunk vales and rude resisting rocks,
His furious current raves, and thundering smokes;
While swift he pours along in foamy pride,
Huge massive bulwarks rise on either side;
Rocks grimly low'ring o'er the darkened stream,
Hollow'd with caves where ne'er peept Phœbus' beam.
Here, in red clusters, hang the juicy rown,
200
High on yon rock the luscious berries swarm,
Yet mock the efforts of the straining arm:
So when some poet wand'ring through the street,
If chance a sav'ry smell his nostrils meet,
Sudden he stops—looks round on some cook's stall,
And eager gazes—but a look's his all.
Wild scenes, my friend, now rush upon my sight,
Of woods hung branching from the impending height;
Of rude romantic clifs, where high in air,
The fleet-wing'd hawk protects her clam'rous care;
Of Calder, winding through the deep-sunk vale,
'Midst trees embosom'd from the ruffling gale;
Impatient now thro' op'ning banks to roam,
Now rushing o'er the rock a stream of foam;
Now stealing deep, where stretch'd from side to side,
The bellying arch reclin'd arrests the tide,
While down the dizzy brink resistless fleet,
The river rolls in one wide glitt'ring sheet.
Of woods hung branching from the impending height;
Of rude romantic clifs, where high in air,
The fleet-wing'd hawk protects her clam'rous care;
Of Calder, winding through the deep-sunk vale,
'Midst trees embosom'd from the ruffling gale;
Impatient now thro' op'ning banks to roam,
Now rushing o'er the rock a stream of foam;
Now stealing deep, where stretch'd from side to side,
The bellying arch reclin'd arrests the tide,
While down the dizzy brink resistless fleet,
The river rolls in one wide glitt'ring sheet.
Adjoining this, midst bord'ring reeds and fens,
The lengthen'd Lake its glossy flood extends;
Slow stealing on with lazy silent pace,
The Peel lone rising from its wat'ry face.
Here stalks the heron, gazing in the lake,
The snowy swan and party-colour'd drake;
The bittern lone, that shakes the solid ground,
While thro' still midnight groans the hollow sound;
The noisy goose, the teal, in black'ning trains,
And long-bill'd snipe that knows approaching rains;
Wild fowl unnumber'd, here continual rove,
Explore the deep or sail the waves above.
The lengthen'd Lake its glossy flood extends;
Slow stealing on with lazy silent pace,
The Peel lone rising from its wat'ry face.
Here stalks the heron, gazing in the lake,
The snowy swan and party-colour'd drake;
The bittern lone, that shakes the solid ground,
While thro' still midnight groans the hollow sound;
The noisy goose, the teal, in black'ning trains,
And long-bill'd snipe that knows approaching rains;
Wild fowl unnumber'd, here continual rove,
Explore the deep or sail the waves above.
When Harvest loads the fields with shocks of grain,
And heaps of hay bestud the marshy plain,
Then have I seen the clouds tumultuous rise,
Huge from the south, grim dark'ning all the skies.
Then howl'd the blust'ring wind, the lashing rain
In streaming torrents, pour'd along the plain;
Down from the steep, swell'd brown from shore to shore,
O'er rocks enormous with rethund'ring roar
Hoarse Calder dash'd—the Lake a sea appears,
And down, at once, the bord'ring harvest bears;
Wheat, hay, and oats, float o'er the boiling tide,
And, lost for ever, down the current ride.
Plung'd to the middle in the swelling waves,
See swains, half-drown'd, drag out the dripping sheaves;
While on the brink the farmer stands forlorn,
And takes his last sad look of the departing corn.
And heaps of hay bestud the marshy plain,
Then have I seen the clouds tumultuous rise,
Huge from the south, grim dark'ning all the skies.
201
In streaming torrents, pour'd along the plain;
Down from the steep, swell'd brown from shore to shore,
O'er rocks enormous with rethund'ring roar
Hoarse Calder dash'd—the Lake a sea appears,
And down, at once, the bord'ring harvest bears;
Wheat, hay, and oats, float o'er the boiling tide,
And, lost for ever, down the current ride.
Plung'd to the middle in the swelling waves,
See swains, half-drown'd, drag out the dripping sheaves;
While on the brink the farmer stands forlorn,
And takes his last sad look of the departing corn.
But hark! fierce Boreas blows, keen from the hills,
The frost severe enchains the trickling rills;
Wide o'er the Lake a glossy pavement spreads,
Snow robes the fields, and heaps the mountain's heads;
Scarce o'er yon southern hill the sun appears,
Feeble his rays, far from our sight he wears.
How chill the air! how vehement the storm!
Bleak Winter growls and shakes his hoary form.
The frost severe enchains the trickling rills;
Wide o'er the Lake a glossy pavement spreads,
Snow robes the fields, and heaps the mountain's heads;
Scarce o'er yon southern hill the sun appears,
Feeble his rays, far from our sight he wears.
How chill the air! how vehement the storm!
Bleak Winter growls and shakes his hoary form.
Seasons like these, ne'er damp the glowing veins
Of rugged Scotia's hardy native swains;
Forth to the ice our little village pours,
In healthy sports to pass the shiv'ring hours.
On fleeting skates some skim its glitt'ring face,
In swift excursion or meand'ring chase;
While in black crowds the curlers throng around,
Men, stones, and besoms, thund'ring up the sound.
Of rugged Scotia's hardy native swains;
Forth to the ice our little village pours,
In healthy sports to pass the shiv'ring hours.
On fleeting skates some skim its glitt'ring face,
In swift excursion or meand'ring chase;
While in black crowds the curlers throng around,
Men, stones, and besoms, thund'ring up the sound.
Nor is our pleasure less when Spring appears,
And Sol again the changing landscape chears:
With pausing step to trace the murm'ring brook,
And o'er the stream display the purling hook;
While from each bush the feather'd warblers rove,
And soothe the soul to sacred peace and love.
Or as at sober silent eve we walk
With the sweet fair, engag'd in harmless talk,
The raptur'd heart enjoys a conscious glow,
Which care can't damp or gaudy wealth bestow.
And Sol again the changing landscape chears:
With pausing step to trace the murm'ring brook,
And o'er the stream display the purling hook;
While from each bush the feather'd warblers rove,
And soothe the soul to sacred peace and love.
202
With the sweet fair, engag'd in harmless talk,
The raptur'd heart enjoys a conscious glow,
Which care can't damp or gaudy wealth bestow.
Farewell my friend! for me no more repine;
Peaceful I live, ah! were my bliss but thine!
Through these wild banks together could we stray,
Or range the wood, to shun the sultry day;
Nor care nor pain could then my peace destroy,
And thy dear Muse would double ev'ry joy:
But since we're doomed far sever'd to remain,
Since murm'ring swells, but never soothes our pain;
Hence! ye vain wishes—Friendship, heav'nly glow,
Best, choicest bliss bestow'd on man below,
Shall reign united, with triumphant pride,
Tho' kingdoms, seas, and half the world divide.
Peaceful I live, ah! were my bliss but thine!
Through these wild banks together could we stray,
Or range the wood, to shun the sultry day;
Nor care nor pain could then my peace destroy,
And thy dear Muse would double ev'ry joy:
But since we're doomed far sever'd to remain,
Since murm'ring swells, but never soothes our pain;
Hence! ye vain wishes—Friendship, heav'nly glow,
Best, choicest bliss bestow'd on man below,
Shall reign united, with triumphant pride,
Tho' kingdoms, seas, and half the world divide.
| The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson | |