Harp of the North! that mouldering long hast hung On the witch-elm that shades Saint Fillan's spring And down the fitful breeze thy numbers flung, Till envious ivy did around thee cling,...
I. The rose is fairest when 't is budding new, And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears; The rose is sweetest washed with morning dew And love is loveliest when embalmed in tears....
The sun, awakening, through the smoky air Of the dark city casts a sullen glance, Rousing each caitiff to his task of care, Of sinful man the sad inheritance;...
I. The sun, awakening, through the smoky air Of the dark city casts a sullen glance, Rousing each caitiff to his task of care, Of sinful man the sad inheritance;...
I. Fair as the earliest beam of eastern light, When first, by the bewildered pilgrim spied, It smiles upon the dreary brow of night And silvers o'er the torrent's foaming tide...
Ah, poor Louise! the livelong day She roams from cot to castle gay; And still her voice and viol say, Ah, maids, beware the woodland way, Think on Louise.
The way was long, the wind was cold, The Minstrel was infirm and old; His wither'd cheek, and tresses gray, Seem'd to have known a better day; The harp, his sole remaining joy,...
I. If thou would'st view fair Melrose aright, Go visit it by the pale moonlight; For the gay beams of lightsome day Gild, but to flout, the ruins grey. When the broken arches are black in night,...
I. And said I that my limbs were old, And said I that my blood was cold, And that my kindly fire was fled, And my poor wither'd heart was dead, And that I might not sing of love,...
I Sweet Teviot! on thy silver tide The glaring bale-fires blaze no more; No longer steel-clad warrior ride Along thy wild and willow'd shore Where'er thou wind'st, by dale or hill...
I Call it not vain; they do not err, Who say, that when the Poet dies, Mute Nature mourns her worshipper, And celebrates his obsequies: Who say, tall cliff and cavern lone...
I Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land! Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd, As home his footsteps he hath turn'd,...
Autumn departs, but still his mantle's fold Rests on the groves of noble Somerville, Beneath a shroud of russet dropp'd with gold, Tweed and his tributaries mingle still;...
I. Fill the bright goblet, spread the festive board! Summon the gay, the noble, and the fair! Through the loud hall, in joyous concert pour'd, Let mirth and music sound the dirge of Care!...
I. Hast thou not mark'd, when o'er thy startled head Sudden and deep the thunder-peal has roll'd, How when its echoes fell, a silence dead Sunk on the wood, the meadow, and the wold?...
I. Stranger! if e'er thine ardent step hath traced The northern realms of ancient Caledon, Where the proud Queen of Wilderness hath placed, By lake and cataract, her lonely throne;...
I. On fair Loch-Ranza stream'd the early day, Thin wreaths of cottage-smoke are upward curl'd From the lone hamlet, which her inland bay And circling mountains sever from the world....
I. O who, that shared them, ever shall forget The emotions of the spirit-rousing time, When breathless in the mart the couriers met, Early and late, at evening and at prime;...