While for them He suffereth long, "Happier I, with loss of all, Hunted, outlawed, held in thrall, With few friends to greet me, Than when reeve and squire were seen, Riding out from Aberdeen, With bared heads to meet me. "When each goodwife, o'er and o'er, Blessed me as I passed her door; And the snooded daughter, Through her casement glancing down, Smiled on him who bore renown From red fields of slaughter. "Hard to feel the stranger's scoff, "Through this dark and stormy night Faith beholds a feeble light Up the blackness streaking; Knowing God's own time is best, In a patient hope I rest For the full day-breaking!" So the Laird of Ury said, Towards the Tolbooth prison, Where, through iron grates, he heard Will ye go, will ye go? Bonny lassie, will ye go To the birks of Aberfeldy ? Now simmer blinks on flowery braes, The little birdies blithely sing, While o'er their heads the hazels hing, Or lightly fit on wanton wing In the birks of Aberfeldy. The braes ascend, like lofty wa's, The foamy stream deep-roaring fa's, O'erhung wi' fragrant spreading shaws, The hoary cliffs are crowned wi' flowers, Let Fortune's gifts at random flee, Robert Burns. FLOW Afton Water. FLOW GENTLY, SWEET AFTON. W gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise; My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds through the glen, How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighboring hills, There daily I wander as noon rises high, How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below, Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, Ailsa Crag. 'IN THE FRITH OF CLYDE, AILSA CRAG. DURING AN ECLIPSE OF THE SUN, JULY 17. INCE risen from ocean, ocean to defy, SIN Appeared the Crag of Ailsa, ne'er did morn With gleaming lights more gracefully adorn His sides, or wreathe with mist his forehead high: Now, faintly darkening with the sun's eclipse, Towering above the sea and little ships; Though poor, yet rich, without the wealth of books, For her mute powers, fixed forms, or transient shows. William Wordsworth. TO AILSA ROCK. [EARKEN, thou craggy ocean pyramid! HEA Give answer from thy voice, the sea-fowl's screams! When were thy shoulders mantled in huge streams? When, from the sun, was thy broad forehead hid? How long is 't since the mighty power bid Thee heave to airy sleep from fathom dreams? Sleep in the lap of thunder or sunbeams, Or when gray clouds are thy cold coverlid? Thou answer'st not, for thou art dead asleep! Thy life is but two dead eternities, The last in air, the former in the deep; First with the whales, last with the eagle-skies, -- Drowned wast thou till an earthquake made thee steep; Another cannot wake thy giant size. John Keats. |