Farewell! Farewell! the voice you hear, Has left its last soft tone with you,Its next must join the seaward cheer, And shout among the shouting crew.
The accents which I scarce could form Beneath your frown's controlling check,
Must give the word, above the storm, To cut the mast, and clear the wreck.
The timid eye I dared not raise,The hand, that shook when press'd to thine,
Must point the guns upon the chaseMust bid the deadly cutlass shine.
To all I love, or hope, or fear,
Honour, or own, a long adieu! To all that life has soft and dear, Farewell! save memory of you!
From Quentin Durward. [1823.]
COUNTY GUY.
AH! County Guy, the hour is nigh,
The sun has left the lea,
The orange flower perfumes the bower,
The breeze is on the sea.
The lark, his lay who thrill'd all day,
Sits hush'd his partner nigh; Breeze, bird, and flower, confess the hour, But where is County Guy?
The village maid steals through the shade,
Her shepherd's suit to hear;
To beauty shy, by lattice high,
Sings high-born Cavalier.
The star of Love, all stars above,
Now reigns o'er earth and sky;
And high and low the influence know-
But where is County Guy!
SOLDIER, wake-the day is peeping,
Honour ne'er was won in sleeping,.
Never when the sunbeams still
Lay unreflected on the hill:
'Tis when they are glinted back
From axe and armour, spear and jack,
That they promise future story
Many a page of deathless glory.
Shields that are the foeman's terror,
Ever are the morning's mirror.
Arm and up-the morning beam
Hath call'd the rustic to his team,
Hath call'd the falc'ner to the lake,
Hath call'd the huntsman to the brake;
The early student ponders o'er
His dusty tomes of ancient lore.
Soldier, wake-thy harvest, fame;
Thy study, conquest; war, thy game.
Shield, that would be foeman's terror,
Still should gleam the morning's mirror.
Poor hire repays the rustic's pain;
More paltry still the sportsman's gain.
Vainest of all the student's theme
Ends in some metaphysic dream:
Yet each is up, and each has toil'd
Since first the peep of dawn has smiled;
And each is eagerer in his aim
Than he who barters life for fame.
Up, up, and arm thee, son of terror!
Be thy bright shield the morning's mirror
WOMAN'S faith, and woman's trust-
Write the characters in dust;
Stamp them on the running stream,
Print them on the moon's pale beam,
And each evanescent letter
Shall be clearer, firmer, better,
And more permanent, I ween,
Than the thing those letters mean.
I have strain'd the spider's thread
'Gainst the promise of a maid;
I have weigh'd a grain of sand
'Gainst her plight of heart and hand;
I told my true love of the token,
How her faith proved light, and her
word was broken :
Again her word and truth she plight,
And I believed them again ere night.
AN HOUR WITH THEE. An hour with thee!-When earliest day Dapples with gold the eastern grey, Oh, what can frame my mind to bear The toil and turmoil, cark and care, New griefs, which coming hours unfold, And sad remembrance of the old?
One hour with thee. One hour with thee!-When burning June Waves his red flag at pitch of noon; What shall repay the faithful swain, His labour on the sultry plain; And more than cave or sheltering bough, Cool feverish blood, and throbbing brow ?
One hour with thee.
The woodland walk was cool and nigh, Where birds with chiming streamlets vie To cheer Louise.
Ah, poor Louise! The savage bear Made ne'er that lovely grove his lair ; The wolves molest not paths so fairBut better far had such been there
Ah, poor Louise! In woody wold
She met a huntsman fair and bold;
His baldric was of silk and gold,
And many a witching tale he told
To poor Louise.
Ah, poor Louise! Small cause to pine
Hadst thou for treasures of the mine;
For peace of mind, that gift divine,
And spotless innocence, were thine,
Ah, poor Louise!
Ah, poor Louise! Thy treasure's reft!
I know not if by force or theft,
Or part by violence, part by gift;
But misery is all that's left
From the Doom of Devorgoil. THE SUN UPON THE LAKE. THE sun upon the lake is low,
The wild birds hush their song,
The hills have evening's deepest glow,
Yet Leonard tarries long.
Now all whom varied toil and care
From home and love divide,
In the calm sunset may repair
Each to the loved one's side.
The noble dame, on turret high,
Who waits her gallant knight,
Looks to the western beam to spy
The flash of armour bright.
The village maid, with hand on brow,
The level ray to shade,
Upon the footpath watches now
For Colin's darkening plaid.
Now to their mates the wild swans row,
By day they swam apart,
And to the thicket wanders slow
The hind beside the hart.
The woodlark at his partner's side,
Twitters his closing song-
All meet whom day and care divide,
But Leonard tarries long.
ADMIRE NOT THAT I GAIN'D.
ADMIRE not that I gain'd the prize
From all the village crew;
How could I fail with hand or eyes,
When heart and faith were true?
And when in floods of rosy wine
My comrades drown'd their cares,
I thought but that thy heart was mine,
My own leapt light as theirs.
My brief delay then do not blame,
Nor deem your swain untrue; My form but linger'd at the game, My soul was still with you.
WHEN the tempest's at the loudest,
On its gale the eagle rides;
When the ocean rolls the proudest,
Through the foam the sea-bird glides-
All the rage of wind and sea
Is subdued by constancy.
Gnawing want and sickness pining,
All the ills that men endure;
Each their various pangs combining,
Constancy can find a cure-
Pain, and Fear, and Poverty,
Are subdued by constancy.
Bar me from each wonted pleasure,
Make me abject, mean, and poor;
Heap on insults without measure,
Chain me to a dungeon floor-
I'll be happy, rich, and free,
If endow'd with constancy.
AIR-" The Bonnets of Bonny Dundee."
To the Lords of Convention 'twas Claver'se who spoke, "Ere the King's crown shall fall there are crowns to be broke; So let each Cavalier who loves honour and me,
Come follow the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.
"Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can,
Come saddle your horses, and call up your men ;
Come open the West Port, and let me gang free,
And it's room for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee !"
Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street,
The bells are rung backward, the drums they are beat;
But the Provost, douce man, said, "Just e'en let him be,
The Gude Town is weel quit of that Deil of Dundee."
Come fill up my cup, &c.
As he rode down the sanctified bends of the Bow,
Ilk carline was flyting and shaking her pow;
But the young plants of grace they look'd couthie and slee,
Thinking, luck to thy bonnet, thou Bonny Dundee !
Come fill up my cup, &c.
With sour-featured Whigs the Grassmarket was cramm'd
As if half the West had set tryst to be hang'd;
There was spite in each look, there was fear in each e'e,
As they watch'd for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee.
Come fill up my cup, &c.
These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits and had spears,
And lang-hafted gullies to kill Cavaliers;
But they shrunk to close-heads, and the causeway was free,
At the toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.
Come fill up my cup, &c.
He spurr'd to the foot of the proud Castle rock,
And with the gay Gordon he gallantly spoke;
"Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak twa words or three,
For the love of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee."
Come fill up my cup, &c.
The Gordon demands of him which way he goes-
"Where'er shall direct me the shade of Montrose!
Your Grace in short space shall hear tidings of me,
Or that low lies the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.
"There are hills beyond Pentland, and lands beyond Forth, If there's lords in the Lowlands, there's chiefs in the North; There are wild Duniewassals three thousand times three, Will cry hoigh! for the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.
"There's brass on the target of barken'd bull-hide;
There's steel in the scabbard that dangles beside;
The brass shall be burnish'd, the steel shall flash free,
At a toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.
"Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks-
Ere I own an usurper, I'll couch with the fox;
And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of your glee,
You have not seen the last of my bonnet and me!"
Come fill up my cup, &c.
He waved his proud hand, and the trumpets were blown,
The kettle-drums clash'd, and the horsemen rode on,
Till on Ravelston's cliffs and on Clermiston's lee,
Died away the wild war-notes of Bonny Dundee.
Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can,
Come saddle the horses and call up the men,
Come open your gates, and let me gae free,
For it's up with the bonnets of Bonny Dundee !
|