Poems by Robert Nicoll Second edition: with numerous additions, and a memoir of the author |
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THE NAMELESS RIVULET. |
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 | Poems by Robert Nicoll |  |
THE NAMELESS RIVULET.
We met within a Highland glen—
Where, wandering to and fro
Amid the rushes and the broom,
A pilgrim thou didst go.
Tripping betwixt thy gowany banks
I heard thy tinkling feet,
While with thy solitary voice
The primrose thou didst greet!
Where, wandering to and fro
Amid the rushes and the broom,
A pilgrim thou didst go.
Tripping betwixt thy gowany banks
I heard thy tinkling feet,
While with thy solitary voice
The primrose thou didst greet!
Then, nameless stream, I imaged thee
A pure and happy child,
Whose soul is filled with guileless love,
Its brain with fancies wild;
Which wanders 'mid the haunts of men,
Through suffering, care, and fear,
Pouring its waking thoughts and dreams
In Nature's faithful ear!
A pure and happy child,
Whose soul is filled with guileless love,
Its brain with fancies wild;
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Through suffering, care, and fear,
Pouring its waking thoughts and dreams
In Nature's faithful ear!
Like brothers, streamlet, forth we fared,
Upon a July morn,
And left behind us rocky steep,
And mountain wastes forlorn.
Where'er thy murmuring footstep strayed,
Along with thee I went;
Thy haunts were Nature's fanes, and I
Was therewith well content.
Upon a July morn,
And left behind us rocky steep,
And mountain wastes forlorn.
Where'er thy murmuring footstep strayed,
Along with thee I went;
Thy haunts were Nature's fanes, and I
Was therewith well content.
Adown by meadows green we roved,
Where children sweet were playing,
We glided through the glens of green,
Where lambkins fair were straying.
We lingered where thy lofty banks
Were clad with bush and tree,
And where the linnet's sweetest song
Was sung to welcome thee.
Where children sweet were playing,
We glided through the glens of green,
Where lambkins fair were straying.
We lingered where thy lofty banks
Were clad with bush and tree,
And where the linnet's sweetest song
Was sung to welcome thee.
Then came the forest dark and deep;
As through its shade we went
The leaves and boughs, with foliage bowed,
Were with thy waters blent.
And through the leafy veil the sun
Fell lone, and fitfully,
To kiss thy waves, that from the hills
Came flowing on with me.
As through its shade we went
The leaves and boughs, with foliage bowed,
Were with thy waters blent.
And through the leafy veil the sun
Fell lone, and fitfully,
To kiss thy waves, that from the hills
Came flowing on with me.
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And when we left the wild-wood's shade,
From fields of ripened grain
The reapers' song came sweetly down,
And thine replied again.
Away we went by hut and hall,
Away by cottage lone,
Now lingering by a patch of wood,
Now moving heedless on!
From fields of ripened grain
The reapers' song came sweetly down,
And thine replied again.
Away we went by hut and hall,
Away by cottage lone,
Now lingering by a patch of wood,
Now moving heedless on!
Where praying monks had been we passed,
And all was silent there,
Save when thy voice the echoes waked,
Which heard the hermit's prayer.
We passed by thickets green and old,
By craggy rocks so steep,
And o'er leaf-shadow'd waterfalls,
We cheerily did leap!
And all was silent there,
Save when thy voice the echoes waked,
Which heard the hermit's prayer.
We passed by thickets green and old,
By craggy rocks so steep,
And o'er leaf-shadow'd waterfalls,
We cheerily did leap!
And then a spot upon us burst,
Where hills on either side
Rose up, all clad in coppice-wood,
Which rock and steep did hide.
The ivy clasp'd each stone and bush
Thou flow'dst along between;
While rock and river, bird and flower,
Filled up the glorious scene.
Where hills on either side
Rose up, all clad in coppice-wood,
Which rock and steep did hide.
The ivy clasp'd each stone and bush
Thou flow'dst along between;
While rock and river, bird and flower,
Filled up the glorious scene.
By happy homes of toiling men,
We this sweet day have passed,
And have enjoyed each sight and sound,
As though it were our last:
And now we loiter lazily
Beneath the setting sun;
My journey ends when starlight comes,
Thine is not well begun!
We this sweet day have passed,
And have enjoyed each sight and sound,
As though it were our last:
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Beneath the setting sun;
My journey ends when starlight comes,
Thine is not well begun!
Now, Highland streamlet, ere we part,
Which didst thou love the best
Of all we've seen since, silently,
We left thy Highland nest?
Lovest thou best the meadow green,
Or Highland valley gray?
Or lovest thou best by hazel braes,
At eventide to stray?
Which didst thou love the best
Of all we've seen since, silently,
We left thy Highland nest?
Lovest thou best the meadow green,
Or Highland valley gray?
Or lovest thou best by hazel braes,
At eventide to stray?
Or dost thou love where forest trees
Thy little waves are laving?
Or wealthy fields, where golden grain,
Ripe, to the sun, is waving?
The rustle of thy fleety foot,
Upon my ear doth fall—
Thou stream, like this full heart of mine,
Dost dearly love them all!
Thy little waves are laving?
Or wealthy fields, where golden grain,
Ripe, to the sun, is waving?
The rustle of thy fleety foot,
Upon my ear doth fall—
Thou stream, like this full heart of mine,
Dost dearly love them all!
Without a name, and all unknown,
Fair streamlet, though thou art,
Be still unchristen'd! but I'll keep
Thy murmurs in my heart.
My story of thy pilgrimage
Will to the careless tell,
How much of love and beauty in
Unnoted things do dwell.
Fair streamlet, though thou art,
Be still unchristen'd! but I'll keep
Thy murmurs in my heart.
My story of thy pilgrimage
Will to the careless tell,
How much of love and beauty in
Unnoted things do dwell.
| Poems by Robert Nicoll | |