 | The Poetical Works of Robert Story |  |
Beaumont Side.
1826.
O beaumont side!—The banks of Aire
Before that flash of memory fade;
And Lanton Hills are towering there,
With Newton's vale beneath them laid.
There wave the very rock-sprung trees
My curious youth with wonder eyed,
And here the long broom scents the breeze—
The yellow broom of Beaumont Side!
Before that flash of memory fade;
And Lanton Hills are towering there,
With Newton's vale beneath them laid.
There wave the very rock-sprung trees
My curious youth with wonder eyed,
And here the long broom scents the breeze—
The yellow broom of Beaumont Side!
On these hill-tops, at break of day,
My feet have brushed the pearly dew,
And I have marked the dawn-star's ray
Lost in the orient's kindling blue;
Then turned to see each neighbouring height
In Morning's rosy splendours dyed,—
While mists ascending, calm and white,
Disclosed the banks of Beaumont Side.
My feet have brushed the pearly dew,
And I have marked the dawn-star's ray
Lost in the orient's kindling blue;
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In Morning's rosy splendours dyed,—
While mists ascending, calm and white,
Disclosed the banks of Beaumont Side.
No passion then—and unpursued
The phantom hopes of Love and Fame;
My breast, with piety imbued,
Admitted—knew—no other flame.
The hill, the stream, the flower, the tree,
The wandering cloud, and ether wide—
All spoke of glorious things to me,
The lonely Boy of Beaumont Side!
The phantom hopes of Love and Fame;
My breast, with piety imbued,
Admitted—knew—no other flame.
The hill, the stream, the flower, the tree,
The wandering cloud, and ether wide—
All spoke of glorious things to me,
The lonely Boy of Beaumont Side!
For then, as yet untaught to scoff
At all my simple sires believed,
I had not joined the Scorner's laugh,
Nor night instead of day received.
Amid yon broom, my Bible dear,
And David's harp my joy and pride,
I felt as Angels hovered near—
Was half in heaven on Beaumont Side!
At all my simple sires believed,
I had not joined the Scorner's laugh,
Nor night instead of day received.
Amid yon broom, my Bible dear,
And David's harp my joy and pride,
I felt as Angels hovered near—
Was half in heaven on Beaumont Side!
But shadows dim the sunniest hill,
And dark thoughts o'er my spirit sped—
For yonder lay the churchyard still,
With all its time-collected dead.
And O! to me it seemed so sad
For ages in the grave to 'bide,
No breeze to blow, no sun to glad!—
My tears fell fast on Beaumont Side.
And dark thoughts o'er my spirit sped—
For yonder lay the churchyard still,
With all its time-collected dead.
And O! to me it seemed so sad
For ages in the grave to 'bide,
No breeze to blow, no sun to glad!—
My tears fell fast on Beaumont Side.
“Why weep, fond Boy?” a kind voice said,
“'Tis but the shell that wastes in earth.”
I dashed away the tear just shed,
And knew me of immortal birth!
—I ask not Glory's cup to drain,
I ask not Wealth's unebbing tide!
O for the Innocence again
My young heart knew on Beaumont Side!
“'Tis but the shell that wastes in earth.”
I dashed away the tear just shed,
And knew me of immortal birth!
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I ask not Wealth's unebbing tide!
O for the Innocence again
My young heart knew on Beaumont Side!
| The Poetical Works of Robert Story | |