654 ROBERT SOUTHEY'S MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Brightened his large blne eyes, and kindled | Have they their home, where central in now With that same passion that inflamed his check; Yet in his cheek there was the sickliness Which thought and feeling leave, wearing away The hue of youth. Inclining on his harp, And yet like unintelligible sounds maintain Perpetual summer, where one emerald lig Through the green element for ever flow Twice have the sons of Britain left her she The son of Owen, the beloved Prince. Became his ministers, Where are the sons of Gavran? where his Who mounts the vessel for the world tribe, The faithful? Following their beloved Chief, They the Green Islands of the Ocean sought; Nor human tongue hath told, nor human ear, Since from the silver shores they went their way, Hath heard their fortunes. In his crystal Ark, Whither sailed Merlin with his band of Bards, Old Merlin, master of the mystic lore? Which o'er Flathinnis breathe eternal spring, There, with the Chiefs of other days, feel mours The songs that stir the sea, or make the winds Hush, and the waves be still? In fields of joy JAMES HOGG. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. INTRODUCTION. Now burst, ye winter-clouds that lower, Your blights, your chilling influence shed, Come to my heart, my only stay! A maiden's youthful smiles had wove Weened not my heart, when youth had flown, riendship would fade, or fortune frown; Vhen pleasure, love, and mirth were past, That thou shouldst prove my all at last! eered by conceit and lordly pride, flung my soothing harp aside; With wayward fortune strove a while; Vrecked in a world of self and guile. Again I sought the braken hill; gain sat musing by the rill; Ay wild sensations all were gone, and only thou wert left alone. ong hast thou in the moorland lain, Now welcome to my heart again! The russet weed of mountain gray No more shall round thy border play; No more the brake-flowers, o'er thee piled, Of minstrel-honours, now no more; Of bards who sung in days of yore; Of gallant chiefs, in courtly guise; Of ladies' smiles, of ladies' eyes; Of royal feast and obsequies; When Caledon, with look severe, Saw Beauty's hand her sceptre bear,By cliff and haunted wild I'll sing, Responsive to thy dulcet string. When wanes the circling year away, When scarcely smiles the doubtful day, Fair daughter of Dunedin, say, Hast thou not heard, at midnight deep, Soft music on thy slumbers creep? At such a time, if careless thrown Thy slender form on couch of down, Hast thou not felt, to nature true, The tear steal from thine eye so blue? If then thy guiltless bosom strove In blissful dreams of conscious love, Of lover's visionary hand, And even shrunk from proffer bland On such ecstatic dream when brake Hast thou not weened thyself on high, The music of the midnight Wake, List'ning to angels' melody, 'Scaped from a world of cares away, To dream of love and bliss for aye? The dream dispelled, the music gone, Hast thou not, sighing, all alone, Proffered thy vows to Heaven, and then Blest the sweet Wake, and slept again? Then list, ye maidens, to my lay, Though old the tale, and past the day; Those Wakes, now played by minstrels poor, At midnight's darkest, chillest hour, Those humble Wakes, now scorned by all, Scotland, involved in factious broils, O'er many a moor and Highland hill, Each bard attuned the loyal lay, Each harp was strung in woodland-bower, After a youth, by woes o'ercast, After a thousand sorrows past, The lovely Mary once again Set foot upon her native plain; Kneeled on the pier with modest grace, And turned to heaven her beauteous face. 'Twas then the caps in air were blended, A thousand thousand shouts ascended; Shivered the breeze around the throng; Gray barrier-cliff's the peals prolong; And every tongue gave thanks to Heaven, That Mary to their hopes was given. Her comely form and graceful mien, Bespoke the Lady and the Queen; The woes of one so fair and young, Moved every heart and every tongue. Driven from her home, a helpless child, To brave the winds and billows wild; An exile bred in realms afar, Amid commotion, broil, and war: In one short year her hopes all crossed,— A parent, husband, kingdom lost! And all ere eighteen years had shed Their honours o'er her royal head. For such a Queen, the Stuarts' heir, A Queen so courteous, young, and fair, Who would not every foe defy! Light on her airy steed she sprung To fan her cheeks of rosy hue! When Mary turned her wondering On rocks that seemed to prop the skis On palace, park, and battled pile; On lake, on river, sea, and isle; O'er woods and meadows bathed in dev To distant mountains wild and blue; She thought the isle, that gave her b The sweetest, wildest land on earth. Slowly she ambled on her way Amid her lords and ladies gay. Priest, abbot, layman, all were there. And presbyter with look severe: There rode the lords of France and Sp Of England, Flanders, and Lorraine, While serried thousands round them From shore of Leith to Holyrood. Though Mary's heart was light as a To find a home so wild and fair; To see a gathered nation by, And rays of joy from every eye; Though frequent shouts the wellin Though courtiers bowed and ladies An absent look they oft could trace Deep settled on her comely face. Was it the thought that all alone She must support a rocking throne! That Caledonia's rugged land Might scorn a Lady's weak comman And the Red Lion's haughty eye Scowl at a maiden's feet to lie? No; 'twas the notes of Scottish Soft pealing from the countless thr So mellowed came the distant swell, That on her ravished ear it fell Like dew of heaven, at evening-clo On forest-flower or woodland-rose For Mary's heart, to nature true. The powers of song and music knew But all the choral measures bland. Of anthems sung in southern land, Appeared an useless pile of art, Unfit to sway or melt the heart, Compared with that which floated' Her simple native melody. As she drew nigh the Abbey-st Who would not stand! who would not die! She halted, reined, and bent the wi She heard the Caledonian lyre O! Lady dear, fair is thy noon, Thy time, dear Lady, 's a passing shower; What ails my Queen? said good Argyle, Why fades upon her cheek the smile? Say, rears your steed too fierce and high? Or sits your golden seat awry? Ah! no, my Lord! this noble steed, Of Rouen's calm and generous breed, Has borne me over hill and plain, Swift as the dun-deer of the Seine. But such a wild and simple lay, Poured from the harp of minstrel gray, My every sense away it stole, And swayed a while my raptured soul. O! say, my Lord, (for you must know What strains along your valleys flow And all the hoards of Highland lore) Vas ever song so sweet before?— Replied the Earl, as round he flung,eeble the strain that minstrel sung! 1y royal Dame, if once you heard he Scottish lay from Highland bard, hen might you say, in raptures meet, o song was ever half so sweet! - nerves the arm of warrior wight o deeds of more than mortal might; will make the maid, in all her charms, all weeping in her lover's arms; will charm the mermaid from the deep; ake mountain-oaks to bend and weep; hrill every heart with horrors dire, nd shape the breeze to forms of fire. hen poured from green-wood-bower at Yet, though at table all were seen And much she wished to prove, ere long, When next to ride the Queen was bound, To view the city's ample round, On high amid the gathered crowd, A herald thus proclaimed aloud :— "Peace, peace to Scotland's wasted vales, Still higher shall his honour soar. "Each Caledonian bard must seek He then before the court must stand, At home no minstrel dare to tarry: High the behest.-God save Queen Mary!" |