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 |
 | I. |
 | II. |
MORNING.
SCENE.—A BARN. |
|
|
| III. |
| IV. |
 | The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson |  |
MORNING.
SCENE.—A BARN.
My fortune leads to traverse realms alone,
And find no spot of all the world my own,
Goldsmith.
And find no spot of all the world my own,
Goldsmith.
Hail! ye drear shadows, willing I approach
Once more to join you, from my humble couch;
Welcome, ye friendly shades, ye kindred glooms!
More do I love you than the wealthy's rooms.
The dark, damp walls—the roof scarce cover'd o'er,
The wind wild whistling thro' the cold barn-door:
Those, like myself, are hung in ragged state,
And this seems shrilly to deplore my fate.
Once more to join you, from my humble couch;
Welcome, ye friendly shades, ye kindred glooms!
More do I love you than the wealthy's rooms.
The dark, damp walls—the roof scarce cover'd o'er,
The wind wild whistling thro' the cold barn-door:
Those, like myself, are hung in ragged state,
And this seems shrilly to deplore my fate.
Far from a home, Fate has my lot design'd,
A lot inglorious, and a lot unkind;
No friend at hand to bless my list'ning ear,
No kind companion to dispel my care;
No coin to level round the flowing bowl,
And in dark shades, to wrap the welt'ring soul;
If that is bliss, 'twas what I never miss'd,
And were it all, I'd rather be unbless'd.
A lot inglorious, and a lot unkind;
203
No kind companion to dispel my care;
No coin to level round the flowing bowl,
And in dark shades, to wrap the welt'ring soul;
If that is bliss, 'twas what I never miss'd,
And were it all, I'd rather be unbless'd.
But, come, thou cheerer of my frowning hours,
Native of heav'n, adorn'd with blooming flow'rs;
Thou, who oft deigns the shepherd's breast to warm,
As on the steep he feeds his fleecy swarm;
Sublimes his soul, thro' Nature vast to soar,
Her works to view, to wonder and adore.
Tho' Fortune frown, and writhing Envy hiss,
Be thou, O Poetry, my pride, my bliss;
My source of health—Misfortune's adverse spear,
My joy hereafter, and my pleasure here.
Native of heav'n, adorn'd with blooming flow'rs;
Thou, who oft deigns the shepherd's breast to warm,
As on the steep he feeds his fleecy swarm;
Sublimes his soul, thro' Nature vast to soar,
Her works to view, to wonder and adore.
Tho' Fortune frown, and writhing Envy hiss,
Be thou, O Poetry, my pride, my bliss;
My source of health—Misfortune's adverse spear,
My joy hereafter, and my pleasure here.
While yet sad Night sits empress of the sky,
And o'er the world dark shades confus'dly lie;
Forth let me stray along the dew-wet plains,
While all air echoes with the lark's loud strains.
With lonely step I'll seek the gloomy shade
Of yon wide oak, half bending o'er the glade;
Here let me rest, unseen by human eye,
And sing the beauties of the dawning sky.
And o'er the world dark shades confus'dly lie;
Forth let me stray along the dew-wet plains,
While all air echoes with the lark's loud strains.
With lonely step I'll seek the gloomy shade
Of yon wide oak, half bending o'er the glade;
Here let me rest, unseen by human eye,
And sing the beauties of the dawning sky.
How still is all around! far on yon height
The new-wak'd hind has struck a glimm'ring light;
Hush'd is the breeze, while high the clouds among
The early lark pours out her thrilling song;
Springs from the grassy lea, or rustling corn,
Tow'rs thro' dull night and wakes the coming morn.
And see! sweet Morning comes, far in the East,
Pale lustre shedding o'er the mountain's breast;
Slow is her progress, unobserv'd her pace,
She comes increasing, and she comes with grace;
The dewy landscape opens to the eye:
Far to the West the gloomy vapours fly,
Instant awake, the feather'd tribes arise,
Sport thro' the grove, or warble in the skies;
Blithe and exulting with refreshen'd glee,
From ev'ry bush and ev'ry dropping tree.
The new-wak'd hind has struck a glimm'ring light;
Hush'd is the breeze, while high the clouds among
The early lark pours out her thrilling song;
Springs from the grassy lea, or rustling corn,
Tow'rs thro' dull night and wakes the coming morn.
And see! sweet Morning comes, far in the East,
Pale lustre shedding o'er the mountain's breast;
Slow is her progress, unobserv'd her pace,
She comes increasing, and she comes with grace;
204
Far to the West the gloomy vapours fly,
Instant awake, the feather'd tribes arise,
Sport thro' the grove, or warble in the skies;
Blithe and exulting with refreshen'd glee,
From ev'ry bush and ev'ry dropping tree.
In sullen silence to her ancient home,
Where close shut up she doses all day long,
The hermit owl, slow takes her gloomy way,
And frets and grudges at th'approach of day.
The bat, the busiest of the midnight train
That wing the air, or sulky tread the plain,
Sees Morning open on each field and bow'r,
And ends her mazes in yon ruined tow'r.
Where close shut up she doses all day long,
The hermit owl, slow takes her gloomy way,
And frets and grudges at th'approach of day.
The bat, the busiest of the midnight train
That wing the air, or sulky tread the plain,
Sees Morning open on each field and bow'r,
And ends her mazes in yon ruined tow'r.
Now is the time, while joy and song prevail,
To spurn dull sleep and brush the flow'ry dale;
To climb the height of some hill's airy brow,
Where woods shoot branching from the cliffs below;
Where some clear brook winds in the vale profound,
And rich the landscape spreads immense around;
While, under foot, gay crimson'd daisies peep,
And shepherd's clubs hang nodding o'er the steep;
There, on the downy turf, at ease reclin'd,
Invite the Muse to aid your teeming mind;
Then shall grim Care, with all his furies fly,
As sulky Night speeds from the dawning sky,
And your calm breast enjoy a rapt'ring glow,
Which wealth or indolence can ne'er bestow.
To spurn dull sleep and brush the flow'ry dale;
To climb the height of some hill's airy brow,
Where woods shoot branching from the cliffs below;
Where some clear brook winds in the vale profound,
And rich the landscape spreads immense around;
While, under foot, gay crimson'd daisies peep,
And shepherd's clubs hang nodding o'er the steep;
There, on the downy turf, at ease reclin'd,
Invite the Muse to aid your teeming mind;
Then shall grim Care, with all his furies fly,
As sulky Night speeds from the dawning sky,
And your calm breast enjoy a rapt'ring glow,
Which wealth or indolence can ne'er bestow.
Let boist'rous drunkards at th'approach of day,
In stagg'ring herds forth from the tavern stray;
Stand, belching oaths, and nauseous streams of wine,
Less men resembling, than the grov'lling swine.
The cit, with pride and sordid meanness bred,
His be the privilege to snore in bed;
No knowledge gaining from the changing skies,
But just his bed-time and his time to rise.
In stagg'ring herds forth from the tavern stray;
Stand, belching oaths, and nauseous streams of wine,
Less men resembling, than the grov'lling swine.
The cit, with pride and sordid meanness bred,
His be the privilege to snore in bed;
205
But just his bed-time and his time to rise.
Mine be the bliss to hail the purpling dawn,
To mark the dew-drops glitt'ring o'er the lawn:
Thrice happy period, when amid the throng
Of warbling birds, I join the grateful song;
Or wand'ring, thoughtful, near the bubbling stream,
Or wrapt in fancy by the early beam;
Each gives a joy, an inward, reigning bliss,
Pen can't describe, nor lab'ring tongue express.
To mark the dew-drops glitt'ring o'er the lawn:
Thrice happy period, when amid the throng
Of warbling birds, I join the grateful song;
Or wand'ring, thoughtful, near the bubbling stream,
Or wrapt in fancy by the early beam;
Each gives a joy, an inward, reigning bliss,
Pen can't describe, nor lab'ring tongue express.
O thou dread Pow'r! Thou Architect divine!
Who bids these seasons roll, those myriads shine;
Whose smile decks Nature in her loveliest robe,
Whose frown shakes terror o'er th'astonish'd globe,
To Thee I kneel; still deign to be a friend,
Accept my praise, and pardon where I've sinn'd;
Inspire my thoughts, make them unsullied flow,
To see Thy goodness in Thy works below;
That whether Morning gilds the sky serene,
Or golden Day beams o'er the blooming plain,
Or dewy Ev'ning chears, while Philo sings,
Or ancient Night out-spreads her raven wings;
Whether soft breezes curl along the flood,
Or madd'ning tempests bend the roaring wood;
Rejoic'd, adoring, I may view the change,
And, while on Fancy's airy plumes I range,
Collect calm Reason; awe-struck eye their ways,
And join the chorus, since they sound Thy praise.
Who bids these seasons roll, those myriads shine;
Whose smile decks Nature in her loveliest robe,
Whose frown shakes terror o'er th'astonish'd globe,
To Thee I kneel; still deign to be a friend,
Accept my praise, and pardon where I've sinn'd;
Inspire my thoughts, make them unsullied flow,
To see Thy goodness in Thy works below;
That whether Morning gilds the sky serene,
Or golden Day beams o'er the blooming plain,
Or dewy Ev'ning chears, while Philo sings,
Or ancient Night out-spreads her raven wings;
Whether soft breezes curl along the flood,
Or madd'ning tempests bend the roaring wood;
Rejoic'd, adoring, I may view the change,
And, while on Fancy's airy plumes I range,
Collect calm Reason; awe-struck eye their ways,
And join the chorus, since they sound Thy praise.
| The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson | |