Volume Iii Part 20 (1/2)
And the lambs on the lea Are in playfulness bounding, And the voice of the sea Is in harmony sounding; And the streamlet on high In the morning beam dances, For all Nature is joy As sweet summer advances.
Then, my Mary, let 's stray Where the wild-flowers are glowing, By the banks of the Tay In its melody flowing; Thou shalt bathe in May-dew, Like a sweet mountain blossom, For 'tis bright like thy brow, And 'tis pure as thy bosom!
SONG OF THE SCOTTISH EXILE.
Oh! the sunny peaches glow, And the grapes in cl.u.s.ters blush; And the cooling silver streams From their sylvan fountains rush; There is music in the grove, And there 's fragrance on the gale; But there 's nought so dear to me As my own Highland vale.
Oh! the queen-like virgin rose, Of the dew and sunlight born, And the azure violet, Spread their beauties to the morn; So does the hyacinth, And the lily pure and pale; But I love the daisy best In my own Highland vale.
Hark! hark! those thrilling notes!
'Tis the nightingale complains; Oh! the soul of music breathes In those more than plaintive strains; But they 're not so dear to me As the murmur of the rill, And the bleating of the lambs On my own Highland hill.
Oh! the flow'rets fair may glow, And the juicy fruits may blush, And the beauteous birds may sing, And the crystal streamlets rush; And the verdant meads may smile, And the cloudless sun may beam, But there 's nought beneath the skies Like my own Highland home.
THE TEMPEST IS RAGING.
AIR--_”He 's dear to me, though far frae me.”_
The tempest is raging And rending the shrouds; The ocean is waging A war with the clouds; The cordage is breaking, The canvas is torn, The timbers are creaking-- The seamen forlorn.
The water is gus.h.i.+ng Through hatches and seams; 'Tis roaring and rus.h.i.+ng O'er keelson and beams; And nought save the lightning On mainmast or boom, At intervals brightening The palpable gloom.
Though horrors beset me, And hurricanes howl, I may not forget thee, Beloved of my soul!
Though soon I must perish In ocean beneath, Thine image I 'll cherish, Adored one! in death.
THE TEMPLE OF NATURE.[40]
Talk not of temples--there is one Built without hands, to mankind given; Its lamps are the meridian sun, And all the stars of heaven; Its walls are the cerulean sky, Its floor the earth so green and fair; The dome is vast immensity-- All nature wors.h.i.+ps there!
The Alps array'd in stainless snow, The Andean ranges yet untrod, At sunrise and at sunset glow Like altar-fires to G.o.d.
A thousand fierce volcanoes blaze, As if with hallow'd victims rare; And thunder lifts its voice in praise-- All nature wors.h.i.+ps there!
The ocean heaves resistlessly, And pours his glittering treasure forth; His waves--the priesthood of the sea-- Kneel on the sh.e.l.l-gemm'd earth, And there emit a hollow sound, As if they murmur'd praise and prayer; On every side 'tis holy ground-- All nature wors.h.i.+ps there!
The grateful earth her odours yield In homage, Mighty One! to thee; From herbs and flowers in every field, From fruit on every tree, The balmy dew at morn and even Seems like the penitential tear, Shed only in the sight of heaven-- All nature wors.h.i.+ps there!
The cedar and the mountain pine, The willow on the fountain's brim, The tulip and the eglantine, In reverence bend to Him; The song-birds pour their sweetest lays, From tower, and tree, and middle air; The rus.h.i.+ng river murmurs praise-- All nature wors.h.i.+ps there!