Page images
PDF
EPUB

Go round, my wheel, go round
With ceaseless thrumming sound,

He for whom the badge I twine,
Of a 'kerchief pure and fine,
Loves a heart in virtue drest,
Better than the gaudiest breast.

CCLXXV.

THE MINSTREL'S LAY OF DEATH;

OR,

FAREWELL TO HIS HARP.

O Harp that cheer'd my trembling limbs,

O'er many a pathless, rugged wild ;

O Muse! that erst so fondly smil'd
On fancy's lov'd poetic child,

tion or of triumph he incidentally awakens our abhorrence or our admiration, and in what glowing letters he could write villanous or praiseworthy on such characters or actions as he thought fit to contemplate. His instances of these qualities, too, like our German author, are commonly selected from humble life; and there is no reader of poetry in this country whose heart has not beat with a livelier pulse in favour of honest and undisguised conduct, when he reads such verses as occur throughout the whole of the song,

"Is there for honest poverty,"

I have only to re

and in many other productions of this powerful author. gret that I have not been able to give them, in my poor version, the thousandth part of the heart-awakening energy which it breathes in the immortal verse of the original author."

Farewell for aye: a salt tear dims
The eye that never wept before;
Our mortal pilgrimage is o'er,

And now we part to meet no more!

Our lay of joy is past and gone, That once in vaulted halls we sung; Alas! our final peal hath rung

Of mirth, high dames and lords among : And now we gaze with sadness on The narrow home where song must end; There no merry lays ascend

Where my feeble footsteps wend.

Here on this oak that bourgeons fair, I'll hang thy wires of witching tone ; The passing breeze will cause them moan, And swell my requiem when I'm gone.

The traveller faint will list'ning stare, And marvel whence thy sounds proceed, The fairy king in buxom weed,

Will leave his dance to hear thy rede.

But chief of all, the love-lorn maid, When dusky twilight clouds the sky, Eluding watchful guardian's eye

Towards this sacred spot will hie.

Beneath thy oaks' embow'ring shade She'll muse, and count each straggling ray The moon sheds on its lovely way, Along thy frame of silvery grey.

She'll hear thee woo'd by wandering gale,

Rise sweetly in thy midnight song,

Now, rapid roll, full ton'd, and strong,

Now, low and dying, weep along.

Oh! she will hear thee oft bewail

The fate of lovers true, and tell,
How many an evil tide befell

Maids, who have lov'd but all too well.

The steel-clad knight as home he wends, From battle toils, and sieges dire,

Will

pause, and check his courser's fire, And under thy old oak retire :

For, lo! thy song of triumph blends Its warlike notes with rustling breeze; And falling, rising, through the trees, Mimes his old hall's festivities.

O Harp! be still a little while,
Nor wake thy dirge of melting numbers,
Stay till thy master calmly slumbers,
Where no bale his bliss encumbers.

Now, take with thee his last faint smile,
And benison, in death's arms given,
Oh now begin thy mournful steven,
And waft my soul on it to heaven!

FINIS.

[blocks in formation]

All white hang the bushes o'er Elaw's sweet stream,

Joanna Baillie, 157

[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]

Blow on, ye wild winds, o'er his hallowed

note

grave,

Blythely I hae screwed my pipes,

W. M'Laren, 332
Hogg,

135

By the side of a mountain, o'ershadowed with trees,

300

Can a crown give content,

note

218

Claudine lived contented, and peace was her lot, .

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]
[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]

Fair dream of my slumber, sad thoughts of my waking,
Far lone amang the highland hills,

[blocks in formation]

Farewell! if ever fondest prayer,

Byron,

142

Farewell, oh sweet hope! I have wept thee in sadness,
For many a wistful hour to pity dear,

[blocks in formation]

note

[merged small][ocr errors]

From his booth on the hill, the sad shepherd retires, .
From my slumber I woke at the dead hour of
night,

Robt. Glassford, 175

note

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

How eerily, how drearily, how wearily to pine,

280

How green the fields, the flowers how fair,

note

Patie Birnie,

289

How still is the night, and how death-like the gloom,

[merged small][merged small][ocr errors]
[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small]

I have known what it was to be happy and gay,

Sir W. Raleigh, 415
James Yool, 109

[blocks in formation]
« PreviousContinue »