 | Rural sketches and poems |  |
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IMPROMPTU LINES
ON A YOUNG LADY VISITING FRANCE AND THE RHI
“O, saw ye bonnie Lesley
As she gaed o'er the border,
She's gane like Alexander
To spread her conquests farther.
As she gaed o'er the border,
She's gane like Alexander
To spread her conquests farther.
Return again fair Lesley
Return to Caledonie,
That we may brag we hae a lass
There's nane again sae bonnie.”
—Burns.
Return to Caledonie,
That we may brag we hae a lass
There's nane again sae bonnie.”
The ship that bears thee o'er the salt sea-foam,
Far from the pleasures of thy youthful home,
Leaves not on English ground thy like behind,
Wafts richer treasure than the pearls of Ind:
Ye waves rebel not! clouds and storms depart!—
Or ye will rend in twain some lover's heart.
Far from the pleasures of thy youthful home,
Leaves not on English ground thy like behind,
Wafts richer treasure than the pearls of Ind:
Ye waves rebel not! clouds and storms depart!—
Or ye will rend in twain some lover's heart.
Breasting the Kentish shore thou wilt behold
Britannia's bulwarks, cliffs and headlands bold,
The rocks of Albion which sweet Shakespere sung,
(Where, gathering samphire, the poor sailor hung,)
And Dover's castle-walls still towering high
Beloved alike by Ocean and the sky!
Britannia's bulwarks, cliffs and headlands bold,
The rocks of Albion which sweet Shakespere sung,
(Where, gathering samphire, the poor sailor hung,)
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Beloved alike by Ocean and the sky!
Fast roll the waves along that Channel free,
Loud sweep the breezes o'er the bounding sea;
But, loveliness like thine, will still command
Homage from winds, and waves, and stormy strand,
Whilst beauteous sea-birds hovering in the air,
Rejoicing linger o'er a form so fair.
Loud sweep the breezes o'er the bounding sea;
But, loveliness like thine, will still command
Homage from winds, and waves, and stormy strand,
Whilst beauteous sea-birds hovering in the air,
Rejoicing linger o'er a form so fair.
Thou'lt see Boulogne's bright shore,—where, long ago,
In youth's glad prime, I wander'd to and fro,
Dear are its upland walks,—yea, ever dear,
Ev'n the harsh rocks, and sea defying pier;
Dear that lone beach, erst sanctified to love,
Where Naiads once, and sea-nymphs seem'd to rove.
In youth's glad prime, I wander'd to and fro,
Dear are its upland walks,—yea, ever dear,
Ev'n the harsh rocks, and sea defying pier;
Dear that lone beach, erst sanctified to love,
Where Naiads once, and sea-nymphs seem'd to rove.
And thou wilt wander the gay realm of France,
Region of beauty, chivalry, romance,
Through vales sweet-smiling, and majestic towns,
Groves fresh and verdant, fields which Plenty owns;
Swains frank and courteous, maidens pure, refin'd,
Will hail thy presence with a welcome kind,
And, mourning Scotland's vanished treasure, see
A Queen of love and beauty still in thee!
Region of beauty, chivalry, romance,
Through vales sweet-smiling, and majestic towns,
Groves fresh and verdant, fields which Plenty owns;
Swains frank and courteous, maidens pure, refin'd,
Will hail thy presence with a welcome kind,
And, mourning Scotland's vanished treasure, see
A Queen of love and beauty still in thee!
Would I were with thee in th Imperial town,
(The pride of cities, Europe's jewell'd crown;)
To roam with thee along the gentle Seine,
'Mid pleasant vineyards, bright with summer rain,
Pace the gay Boulevard—Palais Royale—
Jardines des Plantes—Champs-Elysee—and all
The festooned walks, rich parks, and temples free,—
Majestic Louvre, gorgeous Tuilleries.
(The pride of cities, Europe's jewell'd crown;)
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'Mid pleasant vineyards, bright with summer rain,
Pace the gay Boulevard—Palais Royale—
Jardines des Plantes—Champs-Elysee—and all
The festooned walks, rich parks, and temples free,—
Majestic Louvre, gorgeous Tuilleries.
No more the clanging trumpet frights each street,
No more is heard the furious war-steeds' feet;
Riot and red rebellion, sunk to rest,
No longer stir each palpitating breast:
But cheerful smiles and laughter-beaming eyes,
Will greet thee oft with sympathising sighs,
And love-adoring whispers kiss the air,
Wondering from what blest sphere sprang one so fair.
No more is heard the furious war-steeds' feet;
Riot and red rebellion, sunk to rest,
No longer stir each palpitating breast:
But cheerful smiles and laughter-beaming eyes,
Will greet thee oft with sympathising sighs,
And love-adoring whispers kiss the air,
Wondering from what blest sphere sprang one so fair.
And thou wilt view majestic and divine,
Immortal, glorious, ever-honour'd Rhine,
Rolling right onward beautiful and bold,
Tinged with cerulean hue, or evening's gold,
Mayence's proud towers, Cologna's spire-wreath'd town,
And lofty Ehrenstein's flower-mantled crown,
Grim forests spectre-haunted, dark and dun
And vineyards gleaming in the setting sun.
Immortal, glorious, ever-honour'd Rhine,
Rolling right onward beautiful and bold,
Tinged with cerulean hue, or evening's gold,
Mayence's proud towers, Cologna's spire-wreath'd town,
And lofty Ehrenstein's flower-mantled crown,
Grim forests spectre-haunted, dark and dun
And vineyards gleaming in the setting sun.
The silvery waters of Geneva's lake
Seraphic music in thy heart shall make;
The simple cottage, and the homes of old,
Dwellings of Truth and Freedom thou'lt behold,
Glad-hearted maidens sporting in their glee,
A people like our own, erect and free;
Mountain and vale—perchance the very dell,
Birthplace of Liberty and William Tell.
Seraphic music in thy heart shall make;
The simple cottage, and the homes of old,
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Glad-hearted maidens sporting in their glee,
A people like our own, erect and free;
Mountain and vale—perchance the very dell,
Birthplace of Liberty and William Tell.
Yet lady, though fresh prospects bring delight,
Rhine please thine ear, and Gallia charm thy sight,
Though fertile vales, proud towns, and temples high,
Salute thee,—verdant groves and balmy sky—
Nor fields, nor skies, nor cities like thine own
O'er the broad earth yon Sun can shine upon,
Nor, (pardon, lady, if I rashly swear!)
Can Rhine, nor France, boast aught like thee so fair,
Nor truer poet-heart proclaims thy praises there,
Rhine please thine ear, and Gallia charm thy sight,
Though fertile vales, proud towns, and temples high,
Salute thee,—verdant groves and balmy sky—
Nor fields, nor skies, nor cities like thine own
O'er the broad earth yon Sun can shine upon,
Nor, (pardon, lady, if I rashly swear!)
Can Rhine, nor France, boast aught like thee so fair,
Nor truer poet-heart proclaims thy praises there,
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