 | Songs of the Seasons |  |
125
MUSINGS ON THE BANKS OF TEVIOT.
I
With thy windings, gentle Teviot!Through life's summer I have travelled—
Shared in all thy merry gambols,
All thy mazy course unravell'd.
II
Every pool I know and shallow,Every circumstance of channel,
Every incident historic
Blent with old or modern annal,
III
Which, within thy famous valley,Dealt a mercy or a sorrow—
Every song and every legend
Which has passed into its morrow.
IV
Who has loved thee, artless river,Best of all thy single wooers?
Of thy wayward, witching waters,
Who most ardent of pursuers?
126
V
On thy banks, a constant dreamer,Sitting king among his fancies,
Casting all his wealth of musing
Into thy tried course of chances.
VI
Name another in thy prattleWho has done his service better—
Tendering or accepting tribute,
Creditor as well as debtor?
VII
Out of thy redundant plenty,On the lap of living mercies,
I have woven a votive offering—
Shaped a wreath of simple verses.
VIII
Every generous wish attend thee!And, among thy generous wishers,
Takes its place with bard and scholar
The more lowly band of fishers.
IX
To that lowly band belonging,In its pleasures the partaker,
More I feel of true contentment
Than the lord of many an acre.
127
X
Still, with glowing virtues, Teviot!Graces, joys, and forms of beauty,
Fill the valley of thy holding—
Roll in dignity of duty!
XI
Forward roll and link thy fortunesWith fair Tweed—thine elder sister!
Lyne and Leithen, Ettrick, Leader,
In their earlier turns have kissed her.
XII
Welcome, more than all the others,Thou! whose fulness of perfection
Finds a grateful recognition
In this symbol of affection!
XIII
So entwined, Tweed glides exultant,As a joyful burden bearing
All thy passionate confidings—
The rich lore of love and daring
XIV
Which to ballad and romances,Oft uncouthly, bard committed,
Guided by thy chime or plaining,
To the rhythm which best befitted.
128
XV
In the arms of Tweed enfolded,Followed still by my devotion,
Thou art separate to the vision,
Wending on thy way to ocean.
XVI
Even there, I see the spiritOf whose life partook the willow,
And whose love laved slope and meadow,
Moving o'er the restless billow.
XVII
In the salmon which ascends thee—All arrayed in gorgeous scaling—
A proud legate I distinguish
From the court of Neptune hailing;
XVIII
From the kingdom of the Trident,Bearing to his native river
Noble gifts of self-devotion,
Tribute to the Tribute Giver!
| Songs of the Seasons | |