The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd Centenary Edition. With a Memoir of the Author, by the Rev. Thomas Thomson ... Poems and Life. With Many Illustrative Engravings [by James Hogg] |
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Cradle Song of the Elves.
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 | The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd |  |
Cradle Song of the Elves.
Hush thee, rest thee, harmless dove!
Child of pathos, and child of love,
Thy father is laid
In his cold deathbed,
Where waters encircle the lowly dead;
But his rest is sweet
In his winding sheet,
And his spirit lies at his Saviour's feet.
Then hush thee, rest thee, child of bliss!
Thou flower of the eastern wilderness!
Thy mother has waked in her cot of the wild,
And has wail'd for the loss of her only child;
But the prayer is said,
And the tear is shed,
And her trust in her God unaltered;
But oh! if she knew
Of thy guardians true,
And the scenes of bliss that await for you,
She would hymn her joys to the throne above—
Hush thee, rest thee, child of love!
Hush thee, rest thee, fatherless one!
Joy is before thee, and joy alone;
There is not a fay that haunts the wild,
That has power to hurt the orphan child:
For the angels of light,
In glory bedight,
Are hovering around by day and night—
A charge being given
To spirits of Heaven,
That the elves of malice afar be driven.
Then, hush thee, rest thee, lovely creature!
Till a change is wrought in thy mortal nature.
Child of pathos, and child of love,
Thy father is laid
In his cold deathbed,
Where waters encircle the lowly dead;
But his rest is sweet
In his winding sheet,
And his spirit lies at his Saviour's feet.
Then hush thee, rest thee, child of bliss!
Thou flower of the eastern wilderness!
Thy mother has waked in her cot of the wild,
And has wail'd for the loss of her only child;
But the prayer is said,
And the tear is shed,
And her trust in her God unaltered;
But oh! if she knew
Of thy guardians true,
And the scenes of bliss that await for you,
She would hymn her joys to the throne above—
Hush thee, rest thee, child of love!
Hush thee, rest thee, fatherless one!
Joy is before thee, and joy alone;
There is not a fay that haunts the wild,
That has power to hurt the orphan child:
For the angels of light,
In glory bedight,
Are hovering around by day and night—
A charge being given
To spirits of Heaven,
That the elves of malice afar be driven.
Then, hush thee, rest thee, lovely creature!
Till a change is wrought in thy mortal nature.
“When I awoke from this dreamless slumber,
There were beings around me without number:
They had human faces, of heaven beaming,
And wings upon their shoulders streaming;
Their eyes had a soft, unearthly flame,
And their lovely locks were all the same;
Their voices like those of children young,
And their language was not said, but sung;
I ween'd myself in the home above,
Among beings of happiness and love.
There were beings around me without number:
They had human faces, of heaven beaming,
And wings upon their shoulders streaming;
Their eyes had a soft, unearthly flame,
And their lovely locks were all the same;
294
And their language was not said, but sung;
I ween'd myself in the home above,
Among beings of happiness and love.
“Then they laid me down so lightsome and boon,
In a veil that was like a beam of the moon,
Or a ray of the morning passing fair,
And wove in the loom of the gossamer;
And they bore me aloft, over tower and tree,
And over the land, and over the sea:
There were seven times seven on either side,
And their dazzling robes stream'd far and wide.
It was such a sight as man ne'er saw;
Which pencil of heaven alone could draw,
If dipp'd in the morning's glorious dye,
Or the gorgeous tints of the evening sky,
Or in the bright celestial river,
The fountain of light, that wells for ever.
In a veil that was like a beam of the moon,
Or a ray of the morning passing fair,
And wove in the loom of the gossamer;
And they bore me aloft, over tower and tree,
And over the land, and over the sea:
There were seven times seven on either side,
And their dazzling robes stream'd far and wide.
It was such a sight as man ne'er saw;
Which pencil of heaven alone could draw,
If dipp'd in the morning's glorious dye,
Or the gorgeous tints of the evening sky,
Or in the bright celestial river,
The fountain of light, that wells for ever.
“But whither they bore me, and what befell,
For the soul that's within me I dare not tell;
No language could make you to conceive it,
And if you did, you would not believe it:
But after a thousand visions past,
This is my resting place at last.
These flocks and fields they gave to me,
And they crown'd me the Queen of Thessaly.
And, since that time, I must confess
I've no experience had of less
Than perfectest, purest happiness;
And now I tremble lest love's soft spell
Should break the peace I love so well.”
YOUTH.For the soul that's within me I dare not tell;
No language could make you to conceive it,
And if you did, you would not believe it:
But after a thousand visions past,
This is my resting place at last.
These flocks and fields they gave to me,
And they crown'd me the Queen of Thessaly.
And, since that time, I must confess
I've no experience had of less
Than perfectest, purest happiness;
And now I tremble lest love's soft spell
Should break the peace I love so well.”
“No! love is the source of all that's sweet,
And only for happy beings meet—
The bond of creation since time began,
That brought the grace of heaven to man.
Let us bathe in its bliss without control,
And love with all the heart and soul;
For mine are with thee, and only thee,
Thou Queen of the maidens of Thessaly!”
MAIDEN.
“If thou couldst love as a virgin can,
And not as sordid selfish man;
If thy love for me
From taint were as free
As the evening breeze from the Salon sea,
Or the odours hale
Of the morning gale,
Breathed over the flowers of Tempe's vale;
And no endearment or embrace,
That would raise a blush on a virgin's face,
Or a saint's below, or a spirit's above—
Then I could love!—Oh, as I could love!”
YOUTH.
“Thou art too gentle, pure, and good,
For a lover of earthly flesh and blood;
But I will love thee and cherish thee so,
As a maiden was never loved here below;
With a heavenly aim,
And a holy flame,
And an endearment that wants a name.
I will lead thee where the breeze is lightest,
And where the fountain wells the brightest,
Where the nightingale laments the oftest,
And where the buds of flowers are softest:
There in the glade,
My lovely maid,
I will fold within this rainbow plaid.
I will press her to my faithful breast,
And watch her calm and peaceful rest;
And o'er each aspiration dear,
I will breathe a prayer to Mercy's ear;
And no embrace or kiss shall be,
That a saint in heaven will blush to see.”
Then the maiden sank on his manly breast,
As the tabernacle of her rest;
And as there, with closed eyes, she lay,
She almost sigh'd her soul away,
As she gave her hand to the stranger guest,
The comely youth of the stormy west.
As the tabernacle of her rest;
And as there, with closed eyes, she lay,
She almost sigh'd her soul away,
As she gave her hand to the stranger guest,
The comely youth of the stormy west.
Thus ends my yearly offering bland,
The Laureate's Lay of the Fairy Land.
The Laureate's Lay of the Fairy Land.
| The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd | |