Heath flowers being a collection of poems, chiefly lyrical, written in the Highlands. By William Glen |
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TO THE EVENING STAR. |
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TO THE EVENING STAR.
O! thou mild Star, of ray serene,
With joy thy cloudless face I see;
For lovely is the nightly scene
When cheered by thee.
With joy thy cloudless face I see;
For lovely is the nightly scene
When cheered by thee.
I've seen thee where the Indian roves,
When played the cooling evening breeze,
And marked thee twinkling thro' the groves
Of Orange trees.
When played the cooling evening breeze,
And marked thee twinkling thro' the groves
Of Orange trees.
And far, where Afric's rocks are piled,
I've seen thy trembling beauties play;
And on America's old mountains wild,
I've marked thy ray.
I've seen thy trembling beauties play;
And on America's old mountains wild,
I've marked thy ray.
And where Gibraltar rears its crest,
(That monument of British fame);
I've seen thee on its summit rest,
A sparkling gem!
(That monument of British fame);
I've seen thee on its summit rest,
A sparkling gem!
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And rolling on the Atlantic sea,
I've hummed to thee a Scottish song,
As with the trade-winds, merrily,
We sailed along.
I've hummed to thee a Scottish song,
As with the trade-winds, merrily,
We sailed along.
When roaring whirlwinds swept the deep,
Unveiling death in various forms,
And thou, behind a cloudy heap,
Lay wrapt in storms,
Unveiling death in various forms,
And thou, behind a cloudy heap,
Lay wrapt in storms,
O! when again ye burst the gloom,
With joy I hailed thy lustre bright,
A Saviour from a watery tomb!
A beacon light!
With joy I hailed thy lustre bright,
A Saviour from a watery tomb!
A beacon light!
And as I now upon thee gaze,
I feel mine eyes suffused with tears;
For thou recall'st the loves of days
“Of other years.”
I feel mine eyes suffused with tears;
For thou recall'st the loves of days
“Of other years.”
Mary! my day draws nigh its even,
No joy my settled grief removes;
Wilt thou forget, in bowers of heaven,
Our happy loves?
No joy my settled grief removes;
Wilt thou forget, in bowers of heaven,
Our happy loves?
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Ah! no, tho' wrapt in scenes of bliss,
Thou'lt still reserve a sigh for me,
And wish thy Love in paradise,
To rove with thee.
Thou'lt still reserve a sigh for me,
And wish thy Love in paradise,
To rove with thee.
And Mary, “dear remembered maid,”
To be with thee is all I crave;
O! soon may I be lowly laid
In the cold grave.
To be with thee is all I crave;
O! soon may I be lowly laid
In the cold grave.
Oft will I steal from bustling noise,
And drop to thee, sweet Star, the tear;
For thou recall'st my former joys,
With Mary here.
And drop to thee, sweet Star, the tear;
For thou recall'st my former joys,
With Mary here.
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