 | Poems by the late John Bethune |  |
153
NATIVE SCENES.
Sweet scenes for childhood's opening bloom,
Or sportive youth to stray in;
For manhood to enjoy his strength,
Or age to wear away in.
Wordsworth.
Or sportive youth to stray in;
For manhood to enjoy his strength,
Or age to wear away in.
Wordsworth.
Alas! to loftier minds than mine
The innate gift of noble song,
And glorious energies, divine,
Of stirring eloquence belong.
The innate gift of noble song,
And glorious energies, divine,
Of stirring eloquence belong.
Be then my theme, a homely theme,
Yet not unmeet for lady's eyes,
Whose spirit can enjoy the dream
Of flowery fields, and glowing skies—
Yet not unmeet for lady's eyes,
Whose spirit can enjoy the dream
Of flowery fields, and glowing skies—
Whose heart is form'd to feel the spells—
The unutterable charm which binds
To native groves and native dells
Pure uncontaminated minds.
The unutterable charm which binds
To native groves and native dells
Pure uncontaminated minds.
The beauties of my native vale,
And beauties of my native lake,
In other hearts perchance may fail
The chords of sympathy to wake;
And beauties of my native lake,
In other hearts perchance may fail
The chords of sympathy to wake;
But there are some whose eyes may see
This simple uninspired song,
Whose hearts have felt, perchance, like me,
That fascination strange and strong.
This simple uninspired song,
Whose hearts have felt, perchance, like me,
That fascination strange and strong.
154
The gentle hills, which round enclose
A rural amphitheatre sweet,
Seem calmly watching the repose
Of the green landscape at their feet.
A rural amphitheatre sweet,
Seem calmly watching the repose
Of the green landscape at their feet.
And whatsoe'er on earth is fair,
Of sylvan shades, or waters pure,
Or flowery fields, collected there,
Appears in beauteous miniature.
Of sylvan shades, or waters pure,
Or flowery fields, collected there,
Appears in beauteous miniature.
There blossoms many a lovely tree
Whose shade the pensive spirit calms,
More pleasing far, I ween, to me
Than all the pride of Indian palms.
Whose shade the pensive spirit calms,
More pleasing far, I ween, to me
Than all the pride of Indian palms.
At eventide I there may range
Through silent walks, in thoughtful strain—
Through solitudes I would not change
For myrtle groves or Grecian plain.
Through silent walks, in thoughtful strain—
Through solitudes I would not change
For myrtle groves or Grecian plain.
Let those who have no homes to leave—
No hearts their dwellings to endear—
No friends their absence would bereave,
To distant lands for pleasure steer.
No hearts their dwellings to endear—
No friends their absence would bereave,
To distant lands for pleasure steer.
Where Nature's fairest features shine,
In quest of beauty let them go,
To wander by the banks of Rhine,
Or gaze upon the Alpine snow;
In quest of beauty let them go,
To wander by the banks of Rhine,
Or gaze upon the Alpine snow;
Or on Lake Leman's glassy breast,
On summer days embark and glide,
Where mightiest bards have soothed to rest
Their troubled thoughts and wounded pride.
On summer days embark and glide,
155
Their troubled thoughts and wounded pride.
But still let my enchanted eye
Behold the lake I love the best;
Still in the woods which round it lie,
Contented let me toil, or rest.
Behold the lake I love the best;
Still in the woods which round it lie,
Contented let me toil, or rest.
More dear to me the meanest stream
Which winds my native plains among,
Than Hermus or Meander seem
In all the pomp of classic song.
Which winds my native plains among,
Than Hermus or Meander seem
In all the pomp of classic song.
Not even the far-famed Castalay
My soul with such delight could fill,
As the scant brooks which murmuring play
Adown each long-frequented hill—
My soul with such delight could fill,
As the scant brooks which murmuring play
Adown each long-frequented hill—
To feed with ever fresh supplies
The lake upon whose surface clear
The hues which gild the evening skies
In mirror'd majesty appear;
The lake upon whose surface clear
The hues which gild the evening skies
In mirror'd majesty appear;
Where, mingling with the clouds of heaven,
Surrounding fields, and forests green,
Begemm'd by the bright star of even,
All meet to variegate the scene—
Surrounding fields, and forests green,
Begemm'd by the bright star of even,
All meet to variegate the scene—
Till darkness gather to conceal
That bright and beautiful display,
And the sad moralist must feel
How soon all earthly joys decay.
That bright and beautiful display,
And the sad moralist must feel
How soon all earthly joys decay.
156
Oh! not on earth's extended sphere
Can fairer fields or waters gleam
Than those which fancy renders dear,
When brighten'd by affection's beam.
Can fairer fields or waters gleam
Than those which fancy renders dear,
When brighten'd by affection's beam.
Amid these scenes, I fain would spend
Life's short'ning and uncertain lease,
And bless'd with hope, await its end,
When He who conquer'd Death may please.
Life's short'ning and uncertain lease,
And bless'd with hope, await its end,
When He who conquer'd Death may please.
But if it be my destined lot,
In future years of toil, to roam
Far from each fair familiar spot
Which smiles around my cottage-home,
In future years of toil, to roam
Far from each fair familiar spot
Which smiles around my cottage-home,
May Heaven this boon vouchsafe to me,
With joyful footsteps to return,
Once more my native fields to see
Ere life's faint taper cease to burn;
With joyful footsteps to return,
Once more my native fields to see
Ere life's faint taper cease to burn;
And in some love-endear'd abode,
While those sweet scenes around me lie,
Breathe forth my soul in sighs to God,
And 'mid the prayers of friendship die!
While those sweet scenes around me lie,
Breathe forth my soul in sighs to God,
And 'mid the prayers of friendship die!
| Poems by the late John Bethune | |