Графични страници
PDF файл
ePub
[ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]

To see him maisthan' drave us wud,
We ill could haud oorsels.

It's a' your wite; I tauld ye sae;

Ye're a' wrang to the last:
What gart ye burn thae deevilich weyds
Whan the win' blew frae the wast?
Ye're a' wrang, and a' wrang,

And a'thegither a' wrang;
There's no a man in a' the warl'

But's a'thegither a' wrang.

TIME AND TIDE.

As I was walkin' on the strand,

I spied ane auld man sit

On ane auld black rock; and aye the waves
Cam washin' up its fit;

His lips they gaed as gin they wad lilt,
But his sang he cud only say;

An' it was but an owercome, waesome and
dreigh-

O' the words he had nae mae:
Robbie and Jeannie war twa bonnie bairns;
They played thegither i' the gloamin's hush:
Up cam the tide and the mune and the sterns,
And pairtit the twa wi' a glint an' a gush.”

"What can the auld man mean," quo' I,
"Sittin' o' the auld black rock?
The tide creeps up wi' a moan an' a cry,
And a hiss 'maist like a mock.
The words he mutters maun be the en'
O' some weary dreary sang-

A deid thing floatin' aboot in his brain, 'At the tide will no lat gang." "Robbie and Jeannie war twa bonnie bairns: They played thegither i' the gloamin's hush: Up cam the tide and the mune and the sterns, And pairtit the twa wi' a glint an' a gush.'

"Hoo pairtit it them, auld man?" I said;
"Was't the sea cam up ower strang?
But gin thegither the twa' o' them gaed,
Their pairtin' wasna lang.

Or was ane ta'en, and the ither left—
Ane to sing, ane to greit?

It's unco sair to be sae bereft

But there's ither tides at yer feet.” "Robbie and Jeannie war twa bonnie bairns, And they played thegither i' the gloamin's hush:

Up cam the tide and the mune and the sterns, And pairtit the twa wi' a glint an' a gush.”

"Was't the sea o' space wi' its tide o' time? Sic droonin''s waur to bide;

[blocks in formation]

"May be, auld man, 'twas the tide o' change
That crap atween the twa?
Hech! that's a droonin' awfu' strange,
And waur than ane an' a!"
He said nae mair. I luikit, and saw
The lips nae mair cud gang;
Ane o' the tides had ta'en him awa'-

An' ower him I croont his ain sang: "Robbie and Jeannie war twa bonnie bairns, And they played thegither upo' the shore: Up cam the tide and the mune and the sterns, And souft them awa' throu a mirksome door!"

[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small]

"And what comes next?"-"A lonely moor, Without one beaten way;

And slow clouds drifting dull before
A wind that will not stay."

"And then?"-"Dark rocks and yellow sand, Blue sea and a moaning tide."

And then?"-"More sea, more sea, more land, With rivers deep and wide."

"And then?"-"Oh-rock and mountain and

vale,

Ocean and shores and men,
Over and over-a weary tale-
And round to your home again!"

"And is that all? From day to day-
As with a long chain bound—
Oh! never to get right away,

But go round and round and round?"

"No, no; I have not told the best-
Neither the best nor the end:
On summer eves, away in the west,
You may see a stair ascend,

"Built of all colours of lovely stones-
A stair up into the sky,

Where no one is weary, and no one moans,

Or wants to be laid by.”

"Is it far away?" "I do not know.
You must fix your eyes thereon,
And travel, travel, through thunder and snow,
Till the weary way is gone.

"All day, though you never see it shine,
You must travel, nor turn aside,
Through blinding sunlight and moonbeams
fine,

And mist and darkness wide." "When I am older." "Nay, not so."

"I have hardly opened my eyes!" "He who to the old sunset would go, Starts best with the young sunrise."

"But the stair-is it very very steep?" "Too steep for you to climb;

You must lie at the foot of the glorious heap, And patient wait your time.'

"How long?" "Nay, that I cannot tell."
"In wind, and rain, and frost?"
"It may be." "Ah!-ah!" "It is well
That you should count the cost.

"Yea, travellers many on you will stand."
"That will be hard to bear."
"But One with wounded foot and hand
Will carry you up the stair."

ANDREW J. SYMINGTON.

literature and antiquities, he visited Iceland, and afterwards published the results of his travels in " Pen and Pencil Sketches of Farõe and Iceland, with an appendix containing translations from the Icelandic, and fifty-one illustrations by Linton, from drawings by the author." In 1862 a second edition of Harebell Chimes appeared, containing many additional poems; and in 1870 his latest volume was

ANDREW JAMES SYMINGTON was born in Paisley, July 27, 1825. His father, Robert Brown Symington, was a merchant, and three of his father's brothers were clergymen. His mother's name was Margaret Macalaster, a woman of sterling worth and refined taste. On leaving the grammar school where he was educated Andrew joined the firm of his father, which business he and an elder brother conducted in Glasgow until recently, when he re-issued, entitled "The Reasonableness of Faith: tired from the firm.

with an Appendix containing Hymns and Verses of Consolation and Hope."

In 1851 Mr. Symington travelled in France, Germany, Switzerland, and the north of Italy. He also spent some time in the United States during the years 1874-75, when he contri

From an early period Mr. Symington has been devoted to literary and artistic studies, and during leisure hours has enjoyed the personal intercourse and correspondence of many eminent scientific men, artists, and men of letters. In 1848 he published a volume of poems en-buted to some of the leading magazines and titled Harebell Chimes, or Summer Memories and Musings. In 1855 a volume entitled Geneviere and other Poems was printed for private circulation. This was followed in 1857 by two volumes entitled The Beautiful in Nature, Art, and Life, on which the author was engaged for the greater part of ten years. In 1859, induced by an ardent love of northern

journals. In 1863 he was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society of Northern Antiquaries, Copenhagen. His poetry has found many admirers. Harebell Chimes, when first published, was highly praised by Samuel Rogers; and another eminent critic has said, “Every line in the volume is in fullest sympathy with what is lovely and honest, and of good report."

ON HEARING JESSICA PLAY SWEET MUSIC.

Shapes of loveliness, like angel-dreams,

Float before my all-entranced sense:
List'ning to sweet melody that streams,
With a deep and soul-like influence,
From thy fingers; as they, o'er the keys,
Run thro' mazes intricate and wild;
Now, evolving mystic harmonies-
Now, a simple air for laughing child.

Every passion o'er the heart doth sweep,
Calling forth, as from a spirit lyre,
Sympathetic tones of meaning deep,

Love-Hope-Fear-or Patriotic fire.

Hark! Beethoven wields his potent wand-
Floods of wild unearthly melody
Roll, in mighty waves-majestic-grand,—
Now, in ripples, o'er a moonlit sea!

Sweet andante! passionate and low,

Wail of saddest, plaintive loveliness:
Hearts are melted, tears of pity flow

For a gentle love-lorn maid's distress.

Now, a dazzling wild chromatic run
Modulates into a dulcet air,
Starry minors melting every one
In a murmuring cadence, rich and rare!
Cheerful scenes before the fancy spread;
Weary pilgrim-sun-changed sailor boy-
Home returneth, long given up as dead;
Sorrow merging into tears of joy.

Lowering, gathers fast the thunder cloud-
Murky vapours on the tempest flee-
Peal on peal reverberating loud;

Lightnings glimmer on the darkling sea.

Now, in lonely depth of forest drear,
Branches creak-oak trees uprooted lie:
Dirge-like wailings fall upon the ear,
Storm-blasts winging thro' a troubled sky.

Weird-like-horrible-witch, kobold, sprite;
Goblin, fiend, and imp of every kind
Whirlwind-mingled-changing in moonlight,
Troop, fantasque, before my wondering mind!
Strange sonata! with thy varied tone,

Dream-like riseth many a changeful scene--
Boundless waste of sand, in desert lone,
With an island-like oásis green.

Now, I hear brave Körner's prayer rise,
'Mid the cannon's roar, from thickest fray:
Wafted, like sweet incense, to the skies,
In th' empyrian blue, it fades away!
Harmonies! how gorgeous-massive--bold!
Falling worlds, like hail, are tempest driven--
Wonders thicken-giant strains unfold-
Panting-are we now in earth or heaven?

Weary sun sinks slowly in the west;
Through the boles shoot gleams of crimson light:
Glowing all, with gold and amethyst,

Like a minster-window stainèd bright:

Seemeth all, like old cathedral pile

Shook by sound of mighty instrument Pealing hallelujahs: through each aisle Rolls the murmuring accompaniment.

Dying now, in wild Eolian swells,

Gently floating, on the fitful breeze,
Like a faery chime of blue harebells,
Heard in dreams, beneath the forest trees.

When, in robe of sheeny gossamer,

Cometh forth the gentle faery Queen: Rainbow of sweet sounds o'er-arching her: Dapper elves light tripping o'er the green.

Sparkling notes, a brilliant starry shower!
Now, a gentle fall of golden rain-
Dewy fragrance breathes from every flower-
Joyous birds are carolling again!

Child-like, here, the laughing dancing brook
Gurgles, flowing clear and musical:
There, o'er shelving rock in shady nook,
Leaps a silvery tinkling waterfall.

Music! how the witching spell doth sweep

O'er my soul with more than magic sway: Waking thoughts, long hid in memory deep, Urging now towards the far away! Lost in deep "abyssmal agonies:" Yearning ever-ah! it is not given Here to fathom soul-like harmonies

Music's power shall be revealed in Heaven!

THE DREAM HARP.

Methought I was alone, and feelings strange
Of utter dreariness weighed on my spirit.
The stars were sparkling clear, but they on me
Shed no sweet influence. Nature's secrets all
Were locked from me, and sealed as with seven
seals;

Nor inner light was there whereby to read
Her mysteries. I sadly wandered on
In silence, questioning the universe
And my own soul: impenetrable clouds,
Heavy and dark, seemed resting upon both,
Which even the stars-the beauteous friendly
stars

Now quivering in the brook which crossed my path

Could no-wise dissipate.

Now, dreamy sounds, As from Eolian harp, faint, sweet and low, From the far distance, trembled into being, Aye waxing nearer, clearer, in the air, Swelling in dulcet, breezy, murmuring chords.

Angels, descending, bore with them a harpThe waving of their pinions pulsing waves Of sound in ripples through the summer airAnd, to my trancèd ear its heavenly tones Were tones of peace. The nearing harp itself Was of rare beauty-the device was this:On either side, an alabaster cross

Of snowy whiteness twined with dew-sprent

flowers,

Roses of Sharon-Lilics of the vale:

Above a rainbow spanned from cross to cross,
From whose seven colours, seven golden chords
Stretched downwards to a circle, embleming
Eternity each chord from its own colour--
And through the circle, in the azure sky,
A white dove with an olive branch was seen
Descending. Through the golden chords there
shone,

As if through furnace bars, a dull blood-red
Apocalyptic sun, shorn of its rays.

Above the rainbow, in the deep serene-
As 'twere the key-note of the whole device-
The morning-star shed lambent peaceful light.
The dream I felt to be symbolical
Of the great universal harmonies,
(For in the music these expressed themselves)
All cent'ring in pure Christianity;
And of that time, when Love's great tidal wave
Shall sweep the world, and bring its Sabbath rest.
Melodious strains of penetrating sweetness
Now waxed louder, richer, till-o'erpowered,
Dissolving in luxurious pain, delight
Ineffable-I should have died, had they
Not then, all but insensibly, become
Softer and fainter; angels and the harp
In distance dimming gradually away;

Its tones all fading in ethereal beauty, Till lost in dreamy moriendos.

Rapt,

I there stood gazing upward, after it

Had long ceased to be heard: The heavy cloud Was lifted from my spirit; all shone clear,

For, through the chords and colours Seven, had streamed

Into my tranced soul one ray of light

And, sister, spirits may,

For aught we know, surround us everywhere, In heavenly sheen;

Sphere-music-like, with presence pure and rare, Aye watching though unseen.

Yon dream-like moon becomes,

Upsailing in the blue, more bright and clear; And mark the wake

From the Seventh Heavens: and therein vibrate Left by that little boat, whose oar we hear, still

The echoes of that heavenly harmony,

Even though the dream has long since passed away!

SUMMER EVENING.

How sweet this summer eve, '

To sit amidst the golden furze and broom, Sister, with thee!

To hear at once the insects' drowsy hum, And murmur of the sea!

Shore-like those purple hills

Seem to that boundless flood of golden light
Which fires the west:

Yon roseate clouds, so pure, so peaceful, might
Be islands of the blest.

The butterfly and the bee

Still light upon the flowers; that mellow note

Is sweet to hear,

Which floateth warbled from the mavis' throat In tones wild, rich, and clear.

The sun-glare falling on

The sea, then streams along this fragrant bank Where tufted stems

Of spiry sorrel-sced, translucent, rank,

Show bright as ruby gems.

Wild Goatfell's rocky peaks Rise clear-defined against the glowing sky, Though dim and gray:

A vapour, floating from its summits high, De-films, and melts away!

On Kelburne's woody heights, The sunbeams slant their parting golden rays Of mellow light:

Around, now falls a thin empurpled hazeThe spirit veil of night

Through which one star alone,

O'er Bute's fair isle, is trembling on the deep

The star of love;—

All nature seemeth lulled in balmy sleep, While spirits watch above!

As in a placid lake.

[blocks in formation]
« ПредишнаНапред »