Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Doon!—the Doon!—mourn, sires grown old befor us,
Your birthright lost too soon—your birthright lost too soon;
Youths, maidens, wives, take up our wailing chorus!
Weep, children, for the Doon!—weep, children, for the Doon!

II

The Doon!—the Doon!—thine own great Bard hath made thee
Of Earth's famed rivers one—of Earth's famed rivers one;
Thy banks, thy braes, each tree that droops to shade thee,
Immortal praise hath won—immortal praise hath won.

The Doon!—the Doon! &c.

III

But Doon, fair Doon—why doth my memory hover
O'er thee in tearful thought—o'er thee in tearful thought?
Boyhood had past, and youth's best days were over,
Ere thou to me wast aught—ere thou to me wast aught.

The Doon!—the Doon! &c.

IV

But Doon, bright Doon, thy waters leapt to greet me,
When wedded love was young—when wedded love was young;
And on thy banks new friends came forth to meet me,—
Warm heart and cordial tongue—warm heart and cordial tongue.

The Doon!—the Doon! &c.

V

The Doon!—the Doon!—remembrance yet rejoices
O'er bliss beside thee felt—o'er bliss beside thee felt;—
The old plain home—the cheerful looks and voices
Which round its hearthstone dwelt—which round its hearthstone dwelt.

The Doon!—the Doon! &c.

165

VI

The Doon!—the Doon!—those looks no more shall cheer me
On thy deserted shore—on thy deserted shore;
Those tones which told what friendly hearts beat near me,
Shall bless mine own no more—shall bless mine own no more.

The Doon!—the Doon! &c.

VII

But Doon, sweet Doon! untouch'd some hearts behold thee,
For whom thy bright waves ran—for whom thy bright waves ran;
One, long thy lord, to alien hands hath sold thee—
That calm, grey-headed man—that calm, grey-headed man.

The Doon!—the Doon! &c.

VIII

Yet, Doon, lost Doon—the love of thy clear waters
Must still his spirit sway—must still his spirit sway;
Woe!—woe for him!—his sons!—his blooming daughters!—
Their birthright cast away?—their birthright cast away!

The Doon!—the Doon! &c.

IX

But Doon, sweet Doon!—thy murmurs will not reach them,
Where Fashion rules their lot—where Fashion rules their lot;
Strange are their hearts to lore which thou wouldst teach them;—
Sweet Doon, they love thee not—sweet Doon, they love thee not.

The Doon!—the Doon! &c.

X

But woe for Her whose home hath been beside thee
For many an anxious year—for many an anxious year!
From whose deep love no change shall e'er divide thee,
Nor make thy banks less dear—nor make thy banks less dear.

The Doon!—the Doon! &c.

166

XI

And woe for those, whose weary footsteps wander
Far in the burning East—far in the burning East!
Whose hearts e'en now, perchance, still vainly ponder
O'er hopes which here have ceased—o'er hopes which here have ceased.

The Doon!—the Doon! &c.

XII

And woe for Her o'er whom, as lost, we sorrow,—
Our once loved meetings o'er—our once loved meetings o'er!
'Midst alien cares, her grief, perchance, shall borrow
A voice from mine once more—a voice from mine once more.

The Doon!—the Doon! &c.

XIII

Yes, woe for her!—sound sleeps her virgin sister
Beneath our Southern sod—beneath our Southern sod;
Joy to her now!—long, long our homes have miss'd her;—
But hers hath been with God—but hers hath been with God.

The Doon!—the Doon! &c.

XIV

The Doon!—the Doon!—along thy banks, sweet river,
My first-born's steps have stray'd—my first-born's steps have stray'd;
Thy voice, I trust, shall haunt his thought for ever,
Till Memory's self shall fade—till Memory's self shall fade.

The Doon!—the Doon! &c.

XV

The Doon!—the Doon!—still, still to sons and daughters
Fond tales of thee we'll tell—fond tales of thee we'll tell;
Though we no more must gaze upon thy waters;—
Our own sweet Doon, farewell!—our own sweet Doon, farewell!

167

CHORUS.

The Doon!—the Doon!—mourn, sires grown old before us,
Your birthright lost too soon—your birthright lost too soon.
Youths, maidens, wives, take up our wailing chorus!
Weep, children, for the Doon!—weep, children, for the Doon!

1837.