Poems and Songs By Robert Gilfillan. Fourth edition. With memoir of the author, and appendix of his latest pieces |
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| APPENDIX. |
 | Poems and Songs |  |
351
APPENDIX.
LINES WRITTEN IN RESTALRIG CHURCH YARD.
(October 8, 1848.)
Remote, romantic, solitary spot,
Where sleep the dead—removed, but not forgot!
Where the loved ashes of the lost ones lie,
Tears o'er their grave—their memory a sigh!
A father's worth, although not known to fame;
And what a magic in a mother's name;—
The harebell lifts its humble head in spring,
When gaily o'er the young flowers song-birds sing,
While Summer's glories in their beauty wave,
But faded leaves become the silent grave!
'Tis Autumn now!—and short the sun's bright beams—
Sad leaves fall thick—an epitaph each seems,
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Each o'er its turf-clad grave proclaims—“Here lies
A child, to better lands thus early gone,
Before, perhaps, the evil years come on;
A parent gathered to his last abode,
Though dust be here, the spirit's up to God!
A brother, sister, sleeping thus below,
While round their ‘narrow house’ the mourners go!
An honoured patron, or a loving friend,
This is their resting place—this is their end!”
How calm the churchyard on this solemn day,
Silence secure, and busy world away,
Unless half broken by the Sabbath bell,
Whose tones no echo from the stillness tell.
Shades of the dead! in melancholy bloom
Around you still some flowers take from your gloom,
To show that though Death's Winter reigneth here,
Hope's Spring shall bloom when Joy's eterne is near;
What time, or late or soon, when life's round's o'er,
And I must walk this waking world no more,
Here let me lie—this be my place of rest,
Where sleep the weary, and repose the blest!
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SONG.
[Oh! weel I mind the days, by our ain burn side]
Oh! weel I mind the days, by our ain burn side,
When we clam the sunny braes, by our ain burn side,
When flowers were blooming fair,
And we wandered free o' care,
For happy hearts were there, by our ain burn side!
When we clam the sunny braes, by our ain burn side,
When flowers were blooming fair,
And we wandered free o' care,
For happy hearts were there, by our ain burn side!
Oh! blithe was ilka sang, by our ain burn side,
Nor langest day seemed lang, by our ain burn side,
When we decked our woodland queen
In the rashy chaplet green,
And gay she looked, I ween, by our ain burn side.
Nor langest day seemed lang, by our ain burn side,
When we decked our woodland queen
In the rashy chaplet green,
And gay she looked, I ween, by our ain burn side.
But the bloom hath left the flower, by our ain burn side,
And gath'ring tempests low'r, by our ain burn side.
The woods—no longer green—
Brave the wintry blasts sae keen,
And their withered leaves are seen by our ain burn side.
And gath'ring tempests low'r, by our ain burn side.
The woods—no longer green—
Brave the wintry blasts sae keen,
And their withered leaves are seen by our ain burn side.
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And the little band is gane frae our ain burn side,
To meet, ah! ne'er again, by our ain burn side,
And the winter of the year
Suits the heart both lone and sere,
For the happy ne'er appear by our ain burn side!
To meet, ah! ne'er again, by our ain burn side,
And the winter of the year
Suits the heart both lone and sere,
For the happy ne'er appear by our ain burn side!
THE DREDGING SONG.
[_]
(Nothing in the romance of music can be finer than to listen from the beach, on these fine autumnal mornings, to the song of the New-haven fishermen plying the oar and hauling the oyster dredge.)
Hurrah! for the oyster-dredging song,
Ye pilgrims of the deep;
The autumn winds are fresh and strong,
Why, then, your moorings keep?
The morning mists fast clear away—
Night's reign of darkness o'er—
Up sail! up sail! 'twill soon be day,
Then leave the slumb'ring shore.
Ye pilgrims of the deep;
The autumn winds are fresh and strong,
Why, then, your moorings keep?
The morning mists fast clear away—
Night's reign of darkness o'er—
Up sail! up sail! 'twill soon be day,
Then leave the slumb'ring shore.
The ocean wand'rers court the gale
Which roars from sea to sky;
But we who raise the tiny sail,
The active oar must ply!
With early breeze we sweep the seas,
With steady stroke and slow;
The sea-birds high above us fly,
And the oyster sleeps below!
Which roars from sea to sky;
But we who raise the tiny sail,
The active oar must ply!
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With steady stroke and slow;
The sea-birds high above us fly,
And the oyster sleeps below!
There's glory in the golden field,
When the sickle glances bright;
But not like the joys the waters yield,
When their treasures come to light!
Our hands were made for the bulky wave,
Our hearts are firm and strong;
And we launch our bark—be it light or dark—
Hurrah for the dredging song!
When the sickle glances bright;
But not like the joys the waters yield,
When their treasures come to light!
Our hands were made for the bulky wave,
Our hearts are firm and strong;
And we launch our bark—be it light or dark—
Hurrah for the dredging song!
LINES ON HEARING THE GREAT ORGAN AT HAARLEM.
(August 5, 1849.)
Vast fount of sound—whence is thy power?
Æolus breathes in thee,
In thunder bursts, or swelling low
In softest melody!
Æolus breathes in thee,
In thunder bursts, or swelling low
In softest melody!
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What time thou wak'st thy voice, we think
The whirlwind blast is come,
Joined by a thousand trumpets loud,
Each with its rolling drum!
The whirlwind blast is come,
Joined by a thousand trumpets loud,
Each with its rolling drum!
As flame wakes flame when cities burn,
Far-spreading, wide, and strong,
So when thou speak'st the air becomes
One living sheet of song!
Far-spreading, wide, and strong,
So when thou speak'st the air becomes
One living sheet of song!
Thy notes are notes of joy! and now
They tell of deepest woe;
Alternate given, as frail man finds,
In this sad world below!
They tell of deepest woe;
Alternate given, as frail man finds,
In this sad world below!
Were echo dead, and song no more,
Nor mirth nor mournful strain,
Fresh from her caves thou would'st awake
The trembling tones again!
Nor mirth nor mournful strain,
Fresh from her caves thou would'st awake
The trembling tones again!
Exhaustless is thy power! thy might
No diminution knows;
As much of song remains, though now
Thou slumb'rest in repose!
No diminution knows;
As much of song remains, though now
Thou slumb'rest in repose!
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'Tis silence all! as is the grave
Where fond ones claim a tear,
They are not dead—they only sleep
As music sleepeth here!
Where fond ones claim a tear,
They are not dead—they only sleep
As music sleepeth here!
THE LAND OF BURNS.
This is the land of Burns!—here song
Poured forth its tide of purest joy,
'Mong woody braes, in gushes strong
And music's melting ecstacy!
Poured forth its tide of purest joy,
'Mong woody braes, in gushes strong
And music's melting ecstacy!
Here nature, robed in fairest sheen,
Gives out her flowers, in beauty rare;
With woodlands waving darkly green,
Along the bonnie banks of Ayr!
Gives out her flowers, in beauty rare;
With woodlands waving darkly green,
Along the bonnie banks of Ayr!
And Doon, loved fairy-haunted stream,
Sings sweetly as it flows along,
(Fit music for a Poet's dream!)
As conscious of the Poet's song!
Sings sweetly as it flows along,
(Fit music for a Poet's dream!)
As conscious of the Poet's song!
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How long it flowed by bank and bower,
Unseen, unsung, unknown by all,
'Till grasped by Burns's magic power,
As winter chains the waterfall!
Unseen, unsung, unknown by all,
'Till grasped by Burns's magic power,
As winter chains the waterfall!
Roll on, fair stream! in gentle wave,
Singing soft music, to the sea;
Thy song, the praise of him who gave
To thee thine immortality!
Singing soft music, to the sea;
Thy song, the praise of him who gave
To thee thine immortality!
LINES UPON A MOTHER'S DEATH.
Weep not for her!—ye mourning throng,
Nor let the bosom heave a sigh;
Rather awake the joyful song:
This day a saint hath reached the sky!
A spirit pure hath passed away
From earth to heaven—from night to day.
Nor let the bosom heave a sigh;
Rather awake the joyful song:
This day a saint hath reached the sky!
A spirit pure hath passed away
From earth to heaven—from night to day.
Weep not for her!—no melting tears
Need fall, though thus unbid they flow;
Full in the given round of years,
She's parted from a world of woe!
A world where sin and death hold reign,
Whose touch she ne'er shall taste again.
Need fall, though thus unbid they flow;
Full in the given round of years,
She's parted from a world of woe!
A world where sin and death hold reign,
Whose touch she ne'er shall taste again.
359
Weep not for her!—if joy is given
For true repentant sinners won;
How much more joy is felt in heaven
For one who always loved the Son?
On earth his cross was her renown;—
In heaven, behold! she wears the crown.
For true repentant sinners won;
How much more joy is felt in heaven
For one who always loved the Son?
On earth his cross was her renown;—
In heaven, behold! she wears the crown.
Weep nor for her!—the journey's o'er;
Though sometimes weary was the way,
With troubles oft and trials sore,
Still the good Shepherd was her stay.
His word, his law, was her command,—
His rod, his staff, was in her hand.
Though sometimes weary was the way,
With troubles oft and trials sore,
Still the good Shepherd was her stay.
His word, his law, was her command,—
His rod, his staff, was in her hand.
Weep not for her!—darkness and death
May claim the mortal frame of clay,
And friends may seek the silent path
That leads to homes shut out from day!
But whom ye mourn,—she worships now
Where kings, and priests, and angels bow!
May claim the mortal frame of clay,
And friends may seek the silent path
That leads to homes shut out from day!
But whom ye mourn,—she worships now
Where kings, and priests, and angels bow!
Weep not for her!—a chosen band
Bid her high welcome to that shore,
Whose waters wash the better land,
Where sin and sorrow meet no more;—
Where the pure spirit now is free,—
Where care and weeping may not be.
Bid her high welcome to that shore,
Whose waters wash the better land,
Where sin and sorrow meet no more;—
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Where care and weeping may not be.
Weep not for her!—the seraph's song,
“Worthy the Lamb, that once was slain,”
Is shouted heaven's high courts among;
And one more voice now swells the strain.
Take comfort, children, do not weep,
She did not die, but fell asleep.
“Worthy the Lamb, that once was slain,”
Is shouted heaven's high courts among;
And one more voice now swells the strain.
Take comfort, children, do not weep,
She did not die, but fell asleep.
DIRGE TO THE MEMORY OF JOHN WILSON, THE VOCALIST.
Far on a foreign shore the minstrel sleeps,
His harp on willow branches all unstrung,
Save when the breeze across it trembling sweeps,
Faint echoes 'wak'ning of the strains he sung!
His harp on willow branches all unstrung,
Save when the breeze across it trembling sweeps,
Faint echoes 'wak'ning of the strains he sung!
Not on the banks of Tweed's fair silver stream,
Nor in some nook he rests on Fortha's shore,
His “narrow house” 'mid strangers—soft his dream!
His dirge the Niagara's troubled roar!
Nor in some nook he rests on Fortha's shore,
His “narrow house” 'mid strangers—soft his dream!
His dirge the Niagara's troubled roar!
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Who now shall swell thy songs, old Scotia dear?
The “Ewe-bughts, Marion,” “Gowansin the glen,”
“Farewell, Lochaber!” or the “Parting Tear,”
“Up, gallants, up! we'll a' be Charlie's men!”
The “Ewe-bughts, Marion,” “Gowansin the glen,”
“Farewell, Lochaber!” or the “Parting Tear,”
“Up, gallants, up! we'll a' be Charlie's men!”
A wee bird chirping cam' to our ha' door,
Across the wide and wild Atlantic main,
Sad was its song—“The voice is heard no more,
That, dying, hath not left its like again!”
Across the wide and wild Atlantic main,
Sad was its song—“The voice is heard no more,
That, dying, hath not left its like again!”
The Bruce's charge—“Scots who with Wallace bled,”
Or, “Bonny Tibby, I ha'e seen the day,”
“My love is like the rose, all blushing red,”
Or, “Forest Flowers a' weeded are away!”
Or, “Bonny Tibby, I ha'e seen the day,”
“My love is like the rose, all blushing red,”
Or, “Forest Flowers a' weeded are away!”
If kindred spirits meet in better lands,
A Ramsay, Ferguson, and Burns are there,
To give him welcome with outstretched hands,
Who of their fame divided half the share!
A Ramsay, Ferguson, and Burns are there,
To give him welcome with outstretched hands,
Who of their fame divided half the share!
And thou, great Minstrel of the mighty north,
Thy laurels spreading as wide-spread thy song,
Wilt bid a vocal brother thus come forth,
Who poured thy lays our woods and wilds among!
Thy laurels spreading as wide-spread thy song,
Wilt bid a vocal brother thus come forth,
Who poured thy lays our woods and wilds among!
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And like the fabled bird that dying sings,
In sweetest melody that singing dies,
So Wilson, ere he spread his up-borne wings,
Gave out his sweetest strains 'neath foreign skies!
In sweetest melody that singing dies,
So Wilson, ere he spread his up-borne wings,
Gave out his sweetest strains 'neath foreign skies!
The broom shall wave on Cowden's hills and plains,
The heather bloom on uplands far and free,
The song-birds wake again their mellow strains
What time that bud and blossom crown the tree.
The heather bloom on uplands far and free,
The song-birds wake again their mellow strains
What time that bud and blossom crown the tree.
The mountains shall give forth their torrents strong,
These to the sea shall fall in many a river,
But Wilson! power and light of Scottish song,
Thy voice is hushed—to wake again, oh, never!
These to the sea shall fall in many a river,
But Wilson! power and light of Scottish song,
Thy voice is hushed—to wake again, oh, never!
THE WITHERED ROSE.
ON FINDING ONE IN THE AUTHOR'S COPY OF DANTE.
The rose lies withered, once so fair—
The rose that Mary gave to me
In years gone by, when, free of care,
We met on Roslin's flowery lea.
The rose that Mary gave to me
In years gone by, when, free of care,
We met on Roslin's flowery lea.
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Some fragrance yet its leaves retain,
Some ling'ring tints of beauties o'er;
As in my heart past joys remain—
Long withered now—of her no more!
Some ling'ring tints of beauties o'er;
As in my heart past joys remain—
Long withered now—of her no more!
Too pure to mingle in life's stream,
Too bright for earth's oft clouded sky,
She left us ere the sunny dream
Had shown 'twas one of briefest joy!
Too bright for earth's oft clouded sky,
She left us ere the sunny dream
Had shown 'twas one of briefest joy!
Dante! thy love to Beatrice,
Than mine to Mary not more strong,
Though thou hast placed in lasting bliss
Thy lost one in thy lofty song.
Than mine to Mary not more strong,
Though thou hast placed in lasting bliss
Thy lost one in thy lofty song.
Lone withered rose! I'll keep thee still;
Thee no rude hand shall take away;
And o'er thee shall my bosom thrill,
Though thus thou restest in decay.
Thee no rude hand shall take away;
And o'er thee shall my bosom thrill,
Though thus thou restest in decay.
Young springs shall come, and summers warm
Shall wake the flow'rets of the year;
But no fresh flower shall raise a charm,
Like thou, poor rose, that sleepest here!
Shall wake the flow'rets of the year;
But no fresh flower shall raise a charm,
Like thou, poor rose, that sleepest here!
364
SONG.
[Eliza! fairest, dearest treasure]
Eliza! fairest, dearest treasure,
Hear my vows and list my prayer,
In thy presence there's a pleasure,—
And my heart—thou'rt circled there.
When the moonbeams softly falling,
Kiss the lake or flowery lea,
Echo fast on echo calling,
Dearest then art thou to me!
Hear my vows and list my prayer,
In thy presence there's a pleasure,—
And my heart—thou'rt circled there.
When the moonbeams softly falling,
Kiss the lake or flowery lea,
Echo fast on echo calling,
Dearest then art thou to me!
When the winds are gently blowing,
And the morn in smiles appears
With the sun all brightly glowing,
Drying up fair nature's tears!
When the streams from purest fountains
In music murmur to the sea,
Greenwoods waving on the mountains,
Dearest then art thou to me!
And the morn in smiles appears
With the sun all brightly glowing,
Drying up fair nature's tears!
When the streams from purest fountains
In music murmur to the sea,
Greenwoods waving on the mountains,
Dearest then art thou to me!
Then Eliza, while for ever
Thou shalt hold my heart in sway,
Let not fate nor fortune sever
Love that ne'er shall know decay.
Years shall flow in purest gladness,
Days shall pass in happy glee,
Joy shall banish care and sadness,
Eliza! when I'm loved by thee.
Thou shalt hold my heart in sway,
Let not fate nor fortune sever
Love that ne'er shall know decay.
365
Days shall pass in happy glee,
Joy shall banish care and sadness,
Eliza! when I'm loved by thee.
A VOICE FROM THE HERMITAGE.
Give welcome! give welcome!
The spring comes again,—
Plough up the red land,
And throw in the grain!
The spring comes again,—
Plough up the red land,
And throw in the grain!
Winter,—its long night
Hath now passed away,
And spring-time, all fresh'ning,
Now bursts into day!
Hath now passed away,
And spring-time, all fresh'ning,
Now bursts into day!
Young flower and song bird
Strive to recall
The last days of sunshine,
And joy over all.
Strive to recall
The last days of sunshine,
And joy over all.
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Man, high, immortal,
Should join in the strain,
That glad verdant spring-time
Awaketh again.
Should join in the strain,
That glad verdant spring-time
Awaketh again.
Snow-storms have melted,
Ice-streams are free,
Sweetly they flow on
In loved melody.
Ice-streams are free,
Sweetly they flow on
In loved melody.
Woods, tempest-shaken,
Awake from their gloom,
And, in their spring vestments,
Now bud into bloom.
Awake from their gloom,
And, in their spring vestments,
Now bud into bloom.
Glory advances
The sere leaves among,
And waits for the echoes
Of fast-coming song.
The sere leaves among,
And waits for the echoes
Of fast-coming song.
Then welcome! O, welcome!
The spring comes again;
Plough up the red land,
And throw in the grain!
The spring comes again;
Plough up the red land,
And throw in the grain!
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TO MY MOTHER'S PICTURE.
Loved image fair, of one I love,
A picture prized art thou by me!
One feeling only doth me move—
Affection—when I look on thee!
And though the tints of eve are told
In gathering shades around thee hung,
Still in thy smile I yet behold
The face remembered once as young!
A picture prized art thou by me!
One feeling only doth me move—
Affection—when I look on thee!
And though the tints of eve are told
In gathering shades around thee hung,
Still in thy smile I yet behold
The face remembered once as young!
Not lost the rose, though fled its bloom,
The fragrance of the flower's the same;
And Winter, when it comes in gloom,
Takes nought from Summer but the name!
So those far travelled on life's day,
To them our warmest wishes spring;
Like ivy when the walls decay,
The closer round them we shall cling!
The fragrance of the flower's the same;
And Winter, when it comes in gloom,
Takes nought from Summer but the name!
So those far travelled on life's day,
To them our warmest wishes spring;
Like ivy when the walls decay,
The closer round them we shall cling!
Loved copy of a dearer still,
Fair hands have fashioned thee, and thou
Dost show the artist's subtile skill,
The placid face, and lofty brow!
A mother's love! a mother's care!
If aught of earthly fame be mine,
'Tis thou that fame with me must share—
One half these honours they are thine!
Fair hands have fashioned thee, and thou
Dost show the artist's subtile skill,
The placid face, and lofty brow!
368
If aught of earthly fame be mine,
'Tis thou that fame with me must share—
One half these honours they are thine!
My mother!—in that honoured name,
A thousand swellings fill my heart,
To mark her worth, and walk the same,
The upright and the noble part!
Not wealth, perhaps, nor honours riven
From some remote or ruthful tie,—
But to her children she hath given,
What wealth and honours will not buy!
A thousand swellings fill my heart,
To mark her worth, and walk the same,
The upright and the noble part!
Not wealth, perhaps, nor honours riven
From some remote or ruthful tie,—
But to her children she hath given,
What wealth and honours will not buy!
Then, image of a mother dear,
Long may'st thou be the transcript still,
Whilst she the living copy, here
Mak'st thou the second in our will.
The earth shall give no more of green—
The sun no more shall gild the sea—
Stars shun the night—when I, I ween,
My mother, shall not think of thee!
Long may'st thou be the transcript still,
Whilst she the living copy, here
Mak'st thou the second in our will.
The earth shall give no more of green—
The sun no more shall gild the sea—
Stars shun the night—when I, I ween,
My mother, shall not think of thee!
369
SONG.
[Come hame, lassie, come hame]
Come hame, lassie, come hame,
Come hame, lassie, come hame,
Come hame o'er the sea, to your country and me,—
Oh! come, my dear lassie, come hame!
Come hame, lassie, come hame,
Come hame o'er the sea, to your country and me,—
Oh! come, my dear lassie, come hame!
Bleak winter it took you awa',
A wearyfu' absence to me,
But winter is past, wi' its cauld sleety blast,
And simmer now glints on the lea!
A wearyfu' absence to me,
But winter is past, wi' its cauld sleety blast,
And simmer now glints on the lea!
Come hame, &c.
They talk o' their fair foreign maids,
But their beauty, nae doubt, ye wad shame;
Yet trust me, my dear, whaure'er you appear,
O, I think you look aye best at hame!
But their beauty, nae doubt, ye wad shame;
Yet trust me, my dear, whaure'er you appear,
O, I think you look aye best at hame!
Come hame, &c.
I've strayed whaur we aft used to stray,
By woodland and saft singing burn,
I've counted ilk hour, and I've watched ilka flower,
Till simmer would bid you return!
By woodland and saft singing burn,
I've counted ilk hour, and I've watched ilka flower,
Till simmer would bid you return!
Come hame, &c.
370
I'll shelter ye in a wee bower,
A' safe frae the wind and the rain—
And joy then to me, in perfection shall be,
For then my dear lassie's my ain!
A' safe frae the wind and the rain—
And joy then to me, in perfection shall be,
For then my dear lassie's my ain!
Come hame, lassie, come hame,
Come hame, lassie, come hame,
Come hame o'er the sea, to your country and me;
O, come, my dear lassie, come hame!
Come hame, lassie, come hame,
Come hame o'er the sea, to your country and me;
O, come, my dear lassie, come hame!
ODE TO WINTER.
Dread winter, thou com'st in thy rage,
Thy harbinger whirlwind appears;
Thou art old, but not weak in thine age,
Nor art thou bowed down with thine years.
Thy harbinger whirlwind appears;
Thou art old, but not weak in thine age,
Nor art thou bowed down with thine years.
From whence is thy power, mighty king?
Whence camest? and where dost thou stay
In the summer and bright budding spring,
Whose flowers thou hast withered away?
Whence camest? and where dost thou stay
In the summer and bright budding spring,
Whose flowers thou hast withered away?
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Thou raisest the winds in the sky,
Thou wakest the storms on the deep,
The navies which sink 'neath thine eye
Never maketh that stern eye to weep.
Thou wakest the storms on the deep,
The navies which sink 'neath thine eye
Never maketh that stern eye to weep.
I'm sad when I think of thee still,
For thy white locks are covered with sleet,
Around thee the wind bloweth chill,
The cold drifting snow's at thy feet.
For thy white locks are covered with sleet,
Around thee the wind bloweth chill,
The cold drifting snow's at thy feet.
Why wreak'st thou thy vengeance on man?
Why wage so unequal a strife?
Dost not know that his life is a span?
In that span is the winter of life!
Why wage so unequal a strife?
Dost not know that his life is a span?
In that span is the winter of life!
SONG.
[The mem'ry of the past]
The mem'ry of the past
Comes like a sunny ray—
A spell that fain would last,
A dream that long would stay.
Comes like a sunny ray—
A spell that fain would last,
A dream that long would stay.
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The vision bright and fair,
Appears in hues of spring,
Or decked in garlands rare,
When summer's song-birds sing.
Appears in hues of spring,
Or decked in garlands rare,
When summer's song-birds sing.
Yet soon it fades and dies,
For who would dote or dwell
On early hopes and joys,
That lang have ta'en farewell.
For who would dote or dwell
On early hopes and joys,
That lang have ta'en farewell.
When youthful prime is flown,
Its freshness and its flowers,
In music's mournful tone,
Sing—“Farewell, happy hours!”
Its freshness and its flowers,
In music's mournful tone,
Sing—“Farewell, happy hours!”
A SABBATH AMONG THE MOORLANDS.
INSCRIBED TO HIS FRIEND THE REV. MR CRUICKSHANK, MINISTER OF MANOR PARISH, PEEBLESSHIRE.
The Sabbath bell! how glad the sound,
That calls from earthly care,
To worship in the solemn place—
The holy house of prayer!
But chiefly in the moorland wild,
In some sequestered dell,
Far from the stirring haunts of men,
I love the Sabbath bell!
That calls from earthly care,
To worship in the solemn place—
The holy house of prayer!
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In some sequestered dell,
Far from the stirring haunts of men,
I love the Sabbath bell!
'Twas morn—a winter Sabbath morn,—
With deep and drifting snow,
When to the house of God the bands
With joyful hearts did go.
O'er moor and mountain, wood and wild,
They bent their lonely way,
To spend within its sacred courts,
A holy, happy day!
With deep and drifting snow,
When to the house of God the bands
With joyful hearts did go.
O'er moor and mountain, wood and wild,
They bent their lonely way,
To spend within its sacred courts,
A holy, happy day!
The aged—reverend in their age—
Ah! well the path they knew—
Came forth, all conscious that on earth
Their Sabbaths would be few!
Weep not! ye aged ones, nor mourn
In this your house of prayer;
In heaven, a long, long Sabbath is,
And ye are welcome there!
Ah! well the path they knew—
Came forth, all conscious that on earth
Their Sabbaths would be few!
Weep not! ye aged ones, nor mourn
In this your house of prayer;
In heaven, a long, long Sabbath is,
And ye are welcome there!
The young, whom care had blighted not,
Nor sorrow bended low,
Assembled where their fathers' sires
Had worshipped long ago.
Nor pomp, nor state, nor wealth, nor rank,
Nor high distinctions given,—
They seemed a family met on earth,
Before their God in heaven!
Nor sorrow bended low,
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Had worshipped long ago.
Nor pomp, nor state, nor wealth, nor rank,
Nor high distinctions given,—
They seemed a family met on earth,
Before their God in heaven!
“Praise ye the Lord with joyful hearts,
And glad hosannahs sing,
This is God's house, and this his day—
Ye people praise your King!”
And glad hosannahs sing,
This is God's house, and this his day—
Ye people praise your King!”
All with one voice obey the call,
One heart the notes prolong,
And ne'er from high cathedral choir
Burst forth a nobler song!
One heart the notes prolong,
And ne'er from high cathedral choir
Burst forth a nobler song!
Like waters, o'er their pebbly bed,
That murmur as they flow—
So swelled this song—so dear to those
That Scotia's Sabbaths know.
And when their pastor, father, friend,
Poured forth his soul in prayer,
It seemed as if the blessings craved
Showered down in mercy there!
That murmur as they flow—
So swelled this song—so dear to those
That Scotia's Sabbaths know.
And when their pastor, father, friend,
Poured forth his soul in prayer,
It seemed as if the blessings craved
Showered down in mercy there!
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Another heavenly song now sung,
Another closing prayer;
And now the band of worshippers
For happy homes prepare!
If heaven has bliss—oh! earth has peace,
When those who brothers be,
Walk in that love of Him who made
Mankind as brothers free!
Another closing prayer;
And now the band of worshippers
For happy homes prepare!
If heaven has bliss—oh! earth has peace,
When those who brothers be,
Walk in that love of Him who made
Mankind as brothers free!
SONG.
[Langsyne the flow'rets bloomed aye fair]
Langsyne the flow'rets bloomed aye fair,
And a' that met the view;
The glens and bonnie woodlands wild,
Seemed clad in beauty too!
And blithe was ilka birdie's sang,
Whatever strain was sung:
Oh, a' on earth was loveliness
In the days when we were young!
And a' that met the view;
The glens and bonnie woodlands wild,
Seemed clad in beauty too!
And blithe was ilka birdie's sang,
Whatever strain was sung:
Oh, a' on earth was loveliness
In the days when we were young!
Nought then did bode o' grief or care,
Nor sorrow e'er was dreamed;
But a' things shone wi' purest joy,
Ilk' face wi' pleasure beamed.
On ilka tree, like Eden's bower,
The fairest fruit was hung,—
Oh, sic a world o' happiness
In the days when we were young!
Nor sorrow e'er was dreamed;
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Ilk' face wi' pleasure beamed.
On ilka tree, like Eden's bower,
The fairest fruit was hung,—
Oh, sic a world o' happiness
In the days when we were young!
The maidens walked in virgin pride,
A' lovely, fair to see—
The gathered treasures o' their heart,
Seemed glancing in their ee!
And we, their willing slaves, around
Their budding beauties clung,—
Oh, then sic joys and tender ties
In the days when we were young.
A' lovely, fair to see—
The gathered treasures o' their heart,
Seemed glancing in their ee!
And we, their willing slaves, around
Their budding beauties clung,—
Oh, then sic joys and tender ties
In the days when we were young.
But age, life's winter, hastens on,
And with relentless sway,
The hopes, the joys o' sunny youth,
Takes all our dreams away!
Fond loves all lost, and friendships dead,
And hearts wi' sorrow wrung—
These now we hold for what we mourn
In the days when we were young.
And with relentless sway,
The hopes, the joys o' sunny youth,
Takes all our dreams away!
Fond loves all lost, and friendships dead,
And hearts wi' sorrow wrung—
These now we hold for what we mourn
In the days when we were young.
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SONG.
[My own, my true loved Marion!]
My own, my true loved Marion!
No wreath for thee I'll bring;
No summer gathered roses fair,
Nor snow-drops of the spring!
O! these would quickly fade—for soon
The brightest flowers depart;
A wreath more lasting I will give—
A garland of the heart!
No wreath for thee I'll bring;
No summer gathered roses fair,
Nor snow-drops of the spring!
O! these would quickly fade—for soon
The brightest flowers depart;
A wreath more lasting I will give—
A garland of the heart!
My own, my true loved Marion!
Thy morn of life was gay,
Like to a stream that gently flows
Along its lonely way!
And now, when in thy pride of noon
I see thee blooming fair,
Be peace and joy still o'er thy path,
And sunshine ever there!
Thy morn of life was gay,
Like to a stream that gently flows
Along its lonely way!
And now, when in thy pride of noon
I see thee blooming fair,
Be peace and joy still o'er thy path,
And sunshine ever there!
My own, my gentle Marion!
Though 'tis a world of woe,
There's many a golden tint that falls
To gild the road we go!
And in this chequered vale to me,
A light hath round me shone,
Since thou cam'st from thine highland home,
In days long past and gone!
Though 'tis a world of woe,
There's many a golden tint that falls
To gild the road we go!
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A light hath round me shone,
Since thou cam'st from thine highland home,
In days long past and gone!
My own, my true loved Marion!
Cold, cold, this heart shall be,
When I shall cease to love thee still,
To cheer and cherish thee!
Like ivy round the withered oak,
Though all things else decay,
My love for thee shall still be green,
And will not fade away!
Cold, cold, this heart shall be,
When I shall cease to love thee still,
To cheer and cherish thee!
Like ivy round the withered oak,
Though all things else decay,
My love for thee shall still be green,
And will not fade away!
BIRTH-DAY RECOLLECTIONS.
Oh! for the songs of other years,
When life and joy were young,
When nought but gladsome tales were told,
Or mirthful strains were sung!
When birth-day “healths” with welcome high,
Were given with cheerful brow!
Our cups, alas! in silence pass—
We've nought but “memories” now!
When life and joy were young,
When nought but gladsome tales were told,
Or mirthful strains were sung!
When birth-day “healths” with welcome high,
Were given with cheerful brow!
Our cups, alas! in silence pass—
We've nought but “memories” now!
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And round our little social homes
Was seen that watchful eye—
One who, though knit to us on earth,
Yet raised our hopes on high!
She who in childhood's helpless days,
Around our couch did bow:
A mother's name no more gives fame—
We've nought but “memories” now!
Was seen that watchful eye—
One who, though knit to us on earth,
Yet raised our hopes on high!
She who in childhood's helpless days,
Around our couch did bow:
A mother's name no more gives fame—
We've nought but “memories” now!
Youth's days are fled, and in their stead
Came sorrow, grief, and tears;
And for the sunny morns of song
We number heavy years!
Fond friends are gone, and we alone
Must 'neath afflictions bow:
Time was when we gave happy healths—
We've nought but “memories” now!
Came sorrow, grief, and tears;
And for the sunny morns of song
We number heavy years!
Fond friends are gone, and we alone
Must 'neath afflictions bow:
Time was when we gave happy healths—
We've nought but “memories” now!
SONG.
[I have dreamed of thee in the silent night]
I have dreamed of thee in the silent night,
When Nature was hushed in repose;
I have thought of thee when the morning light
O'er a slumbering world arose.
I have loved thee when summer's golden beams
Fell soft on thy beautiful brow,
But ne'er in my waking or midnight dreams,
More dear than I love thee now!
When Nature was hushed in repose;
I have thought of thee when the morning light
O'er a slumbering world arose.
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Fell soft on thy beautiful brow,
But ne'er in my waking or midnight dreams,
More dear than I love thee now!
I have wandered with thee by the valley green,
Where streamlets meandering flow—
For where is thy image, I fancy the scene,
The sweetest to mortals below!
More softly the songsters pour forth their lay,
The flowers at thy fair presence bow:
O, I've loved thee by night, and I've loved thee by day,
But never more dearly than now!
Where streamlets meandering flow—
For where is thy image, I fancy the scene,
The sweetest to mortals below!
More softly the songsters pour forth their lay,
The flowers at thy fair presence bow:
O, I've loved thee by night, and I've loved thee by day,
But never more dearly than now!
Then since I have loved thee, gentle one,
O, say that I'm loved by thee;
And Time, as he travels his swift journey on,
Shall make thee more lovely to me.
Each hour that I gaze on thy fair beaming eyes,
Or look on thy placid brow,
Emotions shall waken, and joys shall arise,
As tender and true as they're now!
O, say that I'm loved by thee;
And Time, as he travels his swift journey on,
Shall make thee more lovely to me.
Each hour that I gaze on thy fair beaming eyes,
Or look on thy placid brow,
Emotions shall waken, and joys shall arise,
As tender and true as they're now!
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SONG. THE GERMAN STUDENT'S RETURN.
The Rhine! the Rhine! beloved river,
We have traversed many strand,
Now returning, we shall never
Leave again our fatherland!
The Rhine! the Rhine!
We have traversed many strand,
Now returning, we shall never
Leave again our fatherland!
The Rhine! the Rhine!
Morning mists, how fast they're clearing
From the lofty Drachenfells,
While our barque is steady nearing
To the homes where beauty dwells!
The Rhine! the Rhine!
From the lofty Drachenfells,
While our barque is steady nearing
To the homes where beauty dwells!
The Rhine! the Rhine!
Hark! the hunter's horn is sounding,
Back to cave the echoes bring,
While our hearts with joy are bounding,
And the song of home we sing!
The Rhine! the Rhine!
Back to cave the echoes bring,
While our hearts with joy are bounding,
And the song of home we sing!
The Rhine! the Rhine!
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See the young vines how they're creeping,
High o'er mountain peaks they grow,
While the sunbeams softly sleeping,
In the fairy dells below!
The Rhine! the Rhine!
High o'er mountain peaks they grow,
While the sunbeams softly sleeping,
In the fairy dells below!
The Rhine! the Rhine!
Ancient keep and castle hoary,
How we welcome thee once more!
Where with wassail, wine, and story,
Passed the merry days of yore!
The Rhine! the Rhine!
How we welcome thee once more!
Where with wassail, wine, and story,
Passed the merry days of yore!
The Rhine! the Rhine!
Flow, thou bright, romantic river,
In thy beauty ever flow,
And our steps shall linger ever,
Where the rocky vine trees grow.
The Rhine! the Rhine!
In thy beauty ever flow,
And our steps shall linger ever,
Where the rocky vine trees grow.
The Rhine! the Rhine!
FINIS.
| Poems and Songs | |