 | The Harvest |  |
17
CHARACTER OF ANNA.
The fairest of the female train
(Confess'd by every maid and swain,)
Was Anna. Fair indeed was she;
Sweet innocence, and modesty
Beam'd in each look—which charm'd the good—
The rake repented as he view'd,
Of virtuous beauty own'd the pow'r,
And would be chaste for Calder's Flow'r!
(Confess'd by every maid and swain,)
Was Anna. Fair indeed was she;
Sweet innocence, and modesty
Beam'd in each look—which charm'd the good—
The rake repented as he view'd,
Of virtuous beauty own'd the pow'r,
And would be chaste for Calder's Flow'r!
Ah! why was e'er sweet Anna's lot
The labouring peasant's humble cot?
For sure, that black eye, beaming bright,
That lovely cheek, and neck of light,
That form of finest symmetry,
That angel motion, sprightly, free,
Might well have joy diffus'd o'er all,
In brightest room of courtly hall!
The labouring peasant's humble cot?
For sure, that black eye, beaming bright,
That lovely cheek, and neck of light,
That form of finest symmetry,
That angel motion, sprightly, free,
Might well have joy diffus'd o'er all,
In brightest room of courtly hall!
Led by the moon, o'er moor and glen,
Have often come the Cheviot men,
The blithest they that wear the plaid,
And favourites of each rural maid.
Anna alone their suit denied—
Their simple tales she could deride;
In vain they knew, with graceful arm,
The plaid to throw—it fail'd to charm.
To her though hope's illusive tongue
Of higher fortune never sung;
In lovely Anna there was more
Than ever cottage saw before.
When hill and vale in beauty smil'd,
As fell the beams of ev'ning mild,
When glow'd the clouds along the sky,
And wak'd the forest-melody.
So gaily look'd her sparkling eye,
And thoughts so novel utter'd she.
As spoke a fancy, lively, fine—
Which, if illum'd by learning's shine,
May yet, in spite of penury's pow'r,
Give fame to Calder's lovely Flow'r,
And future ages bless the lays
Sweet sung by her on Cheviot braes.
Have often come the Cheviot men,
The blithest they that wear the plaid,
And favourites of each rural maid.
Anna alone their suit denied—
Their simple tales she could deride;
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The plaid to throw—it fail'd to charm.
To her though hope's illusive tongue
Of higher fortune never sung;
In lovely Anna there was more
Than ever cottage saw before.
When hill and vale in beauty smil'd,
As fell the beams of ev'ning mild,
When glow'd the clouds along the sky,
And wak'd the forest-melody.
So gaily look'd her sparkling eye,
And thoughts so novel utter'd she.
As spoke a fancy, lively, fine—
Which, if illum'd by learning's shine,
May yet, in spite of penury's pow'r,
Give fame to Calder's lovely Flow'r,
And future ages bless the lays
Sweet sung by her on Cheviot braes.
Lo! how she smiles amid the throng;
Hark! is it not fair Anna's song?
Yes—as her heart from sorrow free,
She pours the simple melody.
Ceas'd now the countless notes that rung,
The lasses list her sweeter tongue;
The youth of Calder move along,
And bless the maid, and bless her song!
Yes! all admire, but one adores!
Mark, as her song sweet Anna pours,
How speaks that glance, his inward flame!
Sylvander is the stripling's name.
Hark! is it not fair Anna's song?
Yes—as her heart from sorrow free,
She pours the simple melody.
Ceas'd now the countless notes that rung,
The lasses list her sweeter tongue;
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And bless the maid, and bless her song!
Yes! all admire, but one adores!
Mark, as her song sweet Anna pours,
How speaks that glance, his inward flame!
Sylvander is the stripling's name.
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