 | Songs of the Seasons |  |
109
THE HEIR OF ARDGOUR.
I
“When fair the wind blows,And the tide is true to its promise,
I will steer to the island dear—
To the lov'd harbour where thy home is.
II
“When calm the sea shows,And its waves carry freights of pleasure,
I will steer to the harbour dear—
To the lov'd island that holds my treasure.
III
“When fair the wind blows,And the moan is hushed on the skerry,
As day drops o'er the mountain tops,
I will betake me across the ferry.”
IV
—“Let fair the wind blow,And the tide run leal to its promise,
Craven lover they but carry over
To shame the island where my home is.”
110
V
—“Let wild the tides run,And the billows toss at their pleasure—
Dark and swift let the cloud hosts drift—
I will brave all to clasp my treasure!
VI
“Let fierce the storm blow,On its every gust a new fiend riding,
On each wave, the crest of the grave,
No moon shining, and no star guiding!
VII
“Wild though the night be,Weird its phantoms and sable its cover,
I will steer to the island dear
Where thou, the loved, art—I, the lover!”
VIII
Dreary the night is;Surge meets surge on the ominous skerry;
Roar on roar travels the shore;
And battle is fought on the waist of the ferry!
IX
Fitful the wind blows,Howling by turns and muttering low;
Woven its moods with the tale of the feuds
Wag'd on the isles in the long ago!
111
X
Frightful the tempest!Spectre ships before it are driven;
The waves writhe—for the lightning scythe
Of death is mowing for hell or heaven!
XI
Wail on the mainland!—Wail in the shieling! and wail in the tower!
Great the grief of vassal and chief:
A desolate father is old Ardgour!
XII
Wrapt in the sea-weed—Motherly shroud of the ocean's weaving!—
Lay a youth in the morning ruth,
High on the tide-mark's fresh up-heaving!
XIII
Wail on the mainland!—Wail in the chapel! and wail at the shrine!
Broken the sward in the still churchyard
For the hope and heir of an ancient line!
XIV
Wail on the mainland!—Wail and weeping on every isle!
Brave Ardgour is cut off in his flower!
Raise the coronach through Argyle!
112
XV
Empty the home is!Empty its chambers—empty and silent—
Drear the harbour, stilly the arbour—
Lone the ferry, and loner the island!
XVI
Rash were the words said—Foolish the challenge by maiden spoken!
Cruel the test of a faithful breast—
Sore the remorse, and bitter its token!
The sward break anew for a heart newly broken!
| Songs of the Seasons | |