At Inversnaid, upon Loch Lomond
SWEET Highland Girl, a very shower
Of beauty is thy earthly dower!
Twice seven consenting years have shed
Their utmost bounty on thy head;
And these gray rocks, this household lawn,
These trees,—a veil just half withdrawn,—
This fall of water that doth make
A murmur near the silent lake,
This...
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She stood breast high amid the corn,
Clasped by the golden light of morn,
Like the sweetheart of the sun,
Who many a glowing kiss had won.On her cheek an autumn flush
Deeply ripened;—such a blush
In the midst of brown was born,
Like red poppies grown with corn.Round her eyes her tresses fell,—
Which were blackest... -
The Shades of eve had crossed the glen
That frowns o’er infant Avonmore,
When, nigh Loch Dan, two weary men,
We stopped before a cottage door.“God save all here,” my comrade cries,
And rattles on the raised latch-pin;
“God save you kindly,” quick replies
A clear sweet voice, and asks us in.We enter; from the wheel...
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Don’t you remember sweet Alice, Ben Bolt,—
Sweet Alice whose hair was so brown,
Who wept with delight when you gave her a smile,
And trembled with fear at your frown?
In the old church yard in the valley, Ben Bolt,
In a corner obscure and alone,
They have fitted a slab of the granite so gray,
And Alice lies under the stone... -
How slight a thing may set one’s fancy drifting
Upon the dead sea of the Past!—A view—
Sometimes an odor—or a rooster lifting
A far-off “Ooh! ooh-ooh!”And suddenly we find ourselves astray
In some wood’s-pasture of the Long Ago,—
Or idly dream again upon a day
Of rest we used to know.I bit an apple but a moment since...
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Between two golden tufts of summer grass,
I see the world through hot air as through glass,
And by my face sweet lights and colors pass.Before me, dark against the fading sky,
I watch three mowers mowing, as I lie:
With brawny arms they sweep in harmony.Brown English faces by the sun burnt red,
Rich glowing color on bare throat and... -
This book is all that ’s left me now,—
Tears will unbidden start,—
With faltering lip and throbbing brow
I press it to my heart.
For many generations past
Here is our family tree;
My mother’s hands this Bible clasped,
She, dying, gave it me.Ah! well do I remember those
Whose names these records bear;
... -
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a flying;
And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying.The glorious lamp of Heaven, the sun,
The higher he ’s a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he ’s to setting.The age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood... -
Translated by John Addington Symonds
LAUREL-CROWNED Horatius,
True, how true thy saying!
Swift as wind flies over us
Time, devouring, slaying.
Where are, oh! those goblets full
Of wine honey-laden,
Strifes and loves and bountiful
Lips of ruddy maiden?Grows the young grape tenderly,
And the maid is... -
When all the world is young, lad,
And all the trees are green;
And every goose a swan, lad,
And every lass a queen;
Then hey for boot and horse, lad,
And round the world away;
Young blood must have its course, lad,
And every dog his day.When all the world is old, lad,
And all the trees are brown;
And...