Poems in Two Volumes, vol 1 | Page 7

rocky ground
Strikes a solitary sound.

Vainly glitters
hill and plain,
And the air is calm in vain;
Vainly Morning spreads
the lure
Of a sky serene and pure;
Creature none can she decoy

Into open sign of joy: 90 Is it that they have a fear
Of the dreary
season near?
Or that other pleasures be
Sweeter even than gaiety?
Yet, whate'er enjoyments dwell
In the impenetrable cell
Of the
silent heart which Nature
Furnishes to every Creature,
Whatsoe'er
we feel and know
Too sedate for outward show, 100 Such a light of
gladness breaks,
Pretty Kitten! from thy freaks,
Spreads with such a
living grace
O'er my little Laura's face;
Yes, the sight so stirs and

charms
Thee, Baby, laughing in my arms,
That almost I could
repine
That your transports are not mine,
That I do not wholly fare

Even as ye do, thoughtless Pair! 110 And I will have my careless
season
Spite of melancholy reason,
Will walk through life in such a
way
That, when time brings on decay,
Now and then I may possess

Hours of perfect gladsomeness.
--Pleas'd by any random toy;
By
a Kitten's busy joy,
Or an infant's laughing eye
Sharing in the
extacy; 120 I would fare like that or this,
Find my wisdom in my bliss;

Keep the sprightly soul awake,
And have faculties to take
Even
from things by sorrow wrought
Matter for a jocund thought;
Spite
of care, and spite of grief,
To gambol with Life's falling Leaf.
THE SEVEN SISTERS,
OR THE SOLITUDE OF BINNORIE.

Seven Daughters had Lord Archibald,
All Children of one Mother:

I could not say in one short day
What love they bore each other,
A
Garland of seven Lilies wrought!
Seven Sisters that together dwell;

But he, bold Knight as ever fought,
Their Father, took of them no
thought,
He loved the Wars so well.
Sing, mournfully, oh!
mournfully, 10 The Solitude of Binnorie!
Fresh blows the wind, a western wind,
And from the shores of Erin,

Across the wave, a Rover brave
To Binnorie is steering:
Right
onward to the Scottish strand
The gallant ship is borne;
The
Warriors leap upon the land,
And hark! the Leader of the Band

Hath blown his bugle horn. 20 Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,
The
Solitude of Binnorie.
Beside a Grotto of their own,

With boughs above them closing,
The
Seven are laid, and in the shade
They lie like Fawns reposing.
But
now, upstarting with affright
At noise of Man and Steed,
Away
they fly to left to right--
Of your fair household, Father Knight, 30
Methinks you take small heed!
Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,


The Solitude of Binnorie.
Away the seven fair Campbells fly,
And, over Hill and Hollow,

With menace proud, and insult loud,
The youthful Rovers follow.

Cried they, "Your Father loves to roam:
Enough for him to find
The
empty House when he comes home; 40 For us your yellow ringlets
comb,
For us be fair and kind!"
Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,

The Solitude of Binnorie.
Some close behind, some side by side,
Like clouds in stormy weather,

They run, and cry, "Nay let us die,
And let us die together."
A
Lake was near; the shore was steep;
There never Foot had been; 50
They ran, and with a desperate leap
Together plung'd into the deep,

Nor ever more were seen.
Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,
The
Solitude of Binnorie.
The Stream that flows out of the Lake,
As through the glen it rambles,

Repeats a moan o'er moss and stone,
For those seven lovely
Campbells.
Seven little Islands, green and bare, 60 Have risen from
out the deep:
The Fishers say, those Sisters fair
By Faeries are all
buried there,
And there together sleep.
Sing, mournfully, oh!
mournfully
The Solitude of Binnorie.
To H. C.,
SIX YEARS OLD.

O Thou! whose fancies from afar are brought;
Who of thy words dost
make a mock apparel,
And fittest to unutterable thought
The
breeze-like motion and the self-born carol;
Thou Faery Voyager! that
dost float
In such clear water, that thy Boat
May rather seem
To
brood on air than on an earthly stream;
Suspended in a stream as clear
as sky,
Where earth and heaven do make one imagery; 10 O blessed

Vision! happy Child!
That art so exquisitely wild,
I think of thee
with, many fears
For what may be thy lot in future years.
I thought of times when Pain might be thy guest,
Lord of thy house
and hospitality;
And grief, uneasy Lover! never rest
But when she
sate within the touch of thee.
Oh! too industrious folly!
Oh! vain and causeless melancholy! 20
Nature will either end thee quite;
Or, lengthening out thy season of
delight,
Preserve for thee, by individual right,
A young Lamb's
heart among the full-grown flocks.
What hast Thou to do with sorrow,

Or the injuries of tomorrow?
Thou art a Dew-drop, which, the morn brings forth,
Not doom'd to
jostle with unkindly shocks;
Or to be trail'd along the soiling earth;

A Gem that glitters while it lives, 30 And no forewarning gives;
But,
at the touch of wrong, without a strife
Slips in a moment out of life.
Among all lovely things my Love had been

Among all lovely things my Love had been;
Had noted well the stars,
all flowers that grew
About her home; but she had never seen
A
Glow-worm, never one, and this I knew.
While riding near her home one stormy night
A single Glow-worm
did I chance