Poems of Purpose and Sketches in Prose of Scottish Peasant Life and Character in Auld Langsyne, Sketches of Local Scenes and Characters, With a Glossary. By Janet Hamilton |
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VERSES,
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 | Poems of Purpose and Sketches in Prose |  |
131
VERSES,
Inscribed to an unknown Poetical Correspondent.
Where art thou, my leal “auld brither?”
Where, say where, thy lowly home?
I may never wend me thither;
Thou to mine mayhap may'st come.
Where, say where, thy lowly home?
I may never wend me thither;
Thou to mine mayhap may'st come.
Who art thou? A busy worker
In the world's great labour mart,
Tired with toil, of grave demeanour,
And a loving, loyal heart.
In the world's great labour mart,
Tired with toil, of grave demeanour,
And a loving, loyal heart.
What art thou? A child of nature,
Truthful, tuneful son of song,
Trilling out thy wood-notes sweetly,
Passing life's low vale along.
Truthful, tuneful son of song,
Trilling out thy wood-notes sweetly,
Passing life's low vale along.
Low the vale, yet oft the Muses
Wander there, and we have heard.
Sung in soft Parnassian measure,
Strains that fired the listening bard.
Wander there, and we have heard.
Sung in soft Parnassian measure,
Strains that fired the listening bard.
132
I am now an aged worker;
I have toiled, and read, and sung;
Oft my lyre was tuned to gladness—
Ah! more oft by woe unstrung.
I have toiled, and read, and sung;
Oft my lyre was tuned to gladness—
Ah! more oft by woe unstrung.
Now my task is nearly ended,
And ere long my song shall cease;
Day is waning, shadows falling;
Soon my eyes shall close in peace.
And ere long my song shall cease;
Day is waning, shadows falling;
Soon my eyes shall close in peace.
Hast thou kindred thoughts, my brother?
Dost thou muse upon the day,
When the soul, released and ransomed,
Cleaves the shades, and soars away?
Dost thou muse upon the day,
When the soul, released and ransomed,
Cleaves the shades, and soars away?
From a world of crime and sorrow
Bloody, bootless, wasteful war,
Cruel drink—its woes and horrors—
O! my soul would fly afar.
Bloody, bootless, wasteful war,
Cruel drink—its woes and horrors—
O! my soul would fly afar.
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