Part 1
Transcriber's Notes:
Obvious punctuation errors and misprints have been corrected.
The blank pages of the printed original have been deleted in the e-text version.
Text in italics and boldface is indicated between _underscores_ and =double hyphens=, respectively.
Text in small capitals has been replaced by regular uppercase text.
A large curly bracket present in the poem "Mount Horeb" of the printed original is indicated with three small curly brackets in the e-text version.
* * * * *
POEMS.
POEMS.
BY
WILLIAM ANDERSON.
Now First Collected.
EDINBURGH: J. MENZIES, 61, PRINCES STREET. 1845.
EDINBURGH:
AW. MURRAY, PRINTER, MILNE SQUARE.
TO
HENRY EDWARDS, D.D., PH.D.,
AUTHOR OF
"PIETY AND INTELLECT RELATIVELY ESTIMATED," "CHRISTIAN HUMILITY," AND SEVERAL OTHER WORKS OF MERIT.
THIS VOLUME
IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED
BY
HIS SINCERE FRIEND,
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS.
LANDSCAPE LYRICS.
I. Sunrise, 7
II. Morning farther advanced, 10
III. Noonday, 13
IV. The Sunbeam, 16
V. To a Wild Flower, 19
VI. Summer, 22
VII. Midsummer, 25
VIII. The Sunshine of Poetry, 28
IX. Autumn, in its First Aspect, 31
X. Autumn, in its Second Aspect, 34
XI. Sunset, 37
XII. Twilight, 40
XIII. Moonlight on Land, 43
XIV. Moonlight at Sea, 46
XV. Home Scenes, 49
POETICAL ASPIRATIONS.
The Alpine Horn, 55
Reflections on Death, 58
Through the Wood.--Modern Ballad, 62
Song of the Exile, 64
To Fame, 66
To a Bee, 68
The Storm, 71
"Lazarus, Come Forth," 73
Sonnet. On the Approach of Summer, 74
Beauty, 75
To M. J. R., 76
Sonnet. A Contrast, 77
Sonnet. Roslin, 78
On the Birth of a Niece, 79
On her death, 80
Sonnet. To Happiness, 81
Thoughts, 82
Loch Awe, 85
The Wolf, 87
The April Cloud, 94
Spring, 95
Poesy, 97
Sonnet. To a Friend of the Author, 100
The Gipsy's Lullaby, 101
Woodland Song, 102
Sonnet. The Ocean, 104
Mount Horeb, 105
Written beneath an Elm, 111
The Wells o' Weary, 115
Dryburgh Abbey, 116
POEMS HERE FIRST COLLECTED.
Grace, 119
Matin, 121
Immortality, 122
Lines. On the Death of John Sinclair, Esq., Edinburgh, 125
Weep not for the Dead, 127
Idols, 129
Truth, 132
Sabbath Morn, 133
Sabbath Eve, 134
Dreams of the Living, 135
Lines, 139
Sonnets Written on Viewing Danby's Picture of the Deluge, 140
Thought, 142
Lines Written on the Attempted Assassination of the Queen, July 1840, 143
Song.--"I'm Naebody Noo," 147
Song. "There's Plenty Come to Woo me," 149
The Stout Old British Ship, 151
Lines on the Infant Son and Daughter of Hon. Col. Montague, 154
The Martyrs, 156
Caledonia, My Country, 158
Song. "I Canna Sleep," 160
Song. "Yonder Sunny Brae," 162
THE EAGLE'S NEST, AND OTHER POEMS, HERE FIRST PRINTED.
The Eagle's Nest, 167
The Advent of Truth, 179
Lines Suggested by a Walk in a Garden, 182
Sonnet. Sunshine, 187
Song. "At E'ening when the Kye war in," 188
Stanzas on a Bust of Marshal Ney, 191
Winter, 194
Human Conduct, 197
Courtship Lines, 210
Love-Weakness, 211
Lines to the Rev. Henry Dudley Ryder, on reading his "Angelicon," 213
The Poet, 216
Light and Shadow, 223
The Early Dead, 226
A Dirge, 229
A Benediction, 231
Health, 233
The Game of Life, 235
Consumption, 237
Change, 238
Virtue, 241
Vain Hopes, 243
The Valley of Life, 245
After Thought, 251
NOTES, 255
LANDSCAPE LYRICS.
(SECOND EDITION.)
TO
THE REV. HENRY DUDLEY RYDER,
CANON RESIDENTIARY OF LICHFIELD CATHEDRAL,
THIS VOLUME OF LANDSCAPE LYRICS,
AS
A MARK OF RESPECT FOR HIS VIRTUES,
OF ADMIRATION OF HIS GENIUS,
AND IN REMEMBRANCE OF THE PLEASANT HOURS PASSED IN HIS SOCIETY,
IS INSCRIBED,
BY HIS FRIEND,
THE AUTHOR.
PREFACE
TO THE
FIRST EDITION OF LANDSCAPE LYRICS.
THE poems contained in the following pages must be taken as parts of a whole, being intended to be distinct only in their subjects. This will account for the same measure being used throughout.
Of these pieces, the only one which has been previously published is that addressed "To a Wild Flower." My reason for inserting it here is, that it harmonizes with the other poems; and, having been already favourably spoken of by competent judges, I must confess it is one which I should "not willingly let die."
In the first poem on "Autumn," I have introduced what has always appeared to me a beautiful incident in nature; namely, the singing of the missel-thrush during a thunder-storm. The louder the thunder roars, the shriller and sweeter becomes its voice. This interesting little bird is popularly known by the name of the storm-cock, because he is supposed to sing boldest immediately previous to a storm; but that he also sends forth his "native wood notes wild," during its continuance, is a fact which has been satisfactorily ascertained. Undismayed by the tempest's fury, or, rather rejoicing in its violence, the small but spirited songster warbles on unceasingly, as if desirous of emulating the loudness of the thunder-tone, or of making his song be heard above the noise of the raging elements.
The poetry of nature, particularly at this joyous season, is in its landscapes; and if these unpretending "Lyrics" should lead any one to a healthy contemplation of natural objects, or impart, to refined minds, any pleasure in the perusal, the time which has been bestowed upon them will not have been idly or unprofitably employed.
LONDON, 1st June, 1838.
POEMS.
LANDSCAPE LYRICS.
No. I.--SUNRISE.
SPREAD are dawn's radiant wings, Its dazzling feet pursue their silent way, Leaving no shadow, for each coming ray A general brightness brings.
The vapour from the brow Of the old mountain crests, begins to part, Like care from off the forehead, and the heart-- And all is cloudless now!
The universal air, The smiling sky, and the far-stretching mead-- All nature, in its varied forms agreed, Mingle their beauties there!
The ripple of the wave, Beachward returning to the distant shore, Like a lone pilgrim to the cottage door, That once a welcome gave:
The new-waked laureat bee, On the flower-blossom, breathing in its mirth, Its conch-like matin song, to greet the earth, With ever grateful glee!
The landscape's free expanse, And all the harmonies that, spread around, Combine the joys of hearing, sight, and sound, Are gathered at a glance;
And powerfully they tell, With deeper eloquence than notes divine, Of many things that round our heart-strings twine, And in our fancies dwell;
Of boyhood's sportive days, The thymy glade, the daisy blooming there, The vale remote, or lake secluded, where The smiling sunbeam plays;
The gay flowers on the plain, Gemming the mead, perfuming all the wood; As if each Summer morn was Spring renew'd, Or May-day come again!
The music of the birds, Telling all sleepers of the birth of day, And, with reviving Nature, haste to pay Their homage, not in words!
The dreamy waterfall, Babbling and bubbling from the upland spring; The soaring crag where eaglets rest their wing, Listening the eagle's call:
The minstrel streamlet near, The zephyr's breath, too languid for a breeze, That stirs, yet scarcely moves, the gentle trees, Touching the waters clear.
The sunrays, as they pass Into broad sunshine, throw their light on all, With bloom and blossom, whereso'er they fall; On mount, or meadow-grass.
And something more than light Sleeps on the verdant hill-side; dreams of love, And glimpses of the happier state above, Burst on the mental sight.
No. II.--MORNING FURTHER ADVANCED.
MEET 'tis to watch and spy, The laughing Orient, like a chubby child, Bringing new joyousness to wood and wild, To ocean, earth, and sky.
The groups of early flowers To th' enamoured sun their bosoms ope,-- Apt emblems of the welcome birth of Hope, In life's oft darkened bowers.
Pass to the green hill-side, And let us wander where the wild flowers grow, Gaze on the sedgy stream's calm depths below, Where gentle minnows glide.
The sheltered cuckoo's notes, In the young sunshine, echo on the ear-- A moving voice, from all around, is here!-- Hymns from a thousand throats:--
The spirit grows the more Refined and holy, as we stand and gaze Upon the landscape, brightening in the blaze That gilds both land and shore.
All objects, far and near, The light of morn illumines; it is now That man can walk erect with glowing brow, And heart devoid of fear.
And, lo! there is a stir In yonder village, bosomed in the dell, Like a meek babe, loved by its mother well, And loving nought but her!
Where claims the eye to rest? Earth has a balmy look, and so has Heaven; And thoughts, like mazy clouds through ether driven, Float in th' enraptured breast.
The sylvan haunts, where youth Roams, fancy led, all glorious in their hue; The quaint sequestered spots and paths we view, Where Age consorts with Truth.
Read we of aught that wakes High inspiration in the soul, in scenes like these? The tufted trees' fantastic tapestries-- Romantic knolls and brakes;
The hill-enskirted glen, Where bound the wild deer; and the huntsman's horn Sounds from afar, a welcome to the morn, Till Echo sounds again!
And more than all, the old And pyramidal mountains, that with time Have stood, defying change, and storm, and clime, As none else of earth's mould
Hath done: the sun embrowns, But does not scorch them; rain, and wind, and snow, Renew them, not destroy; no waste they know, But lasting glory crowns.
Still to the heart endeared Are sights like this we gaze on. Do we deem That they are other than a privileged dream?-- One that the mind has reared!
No. III.--NOONDAY.
LO! like an eastern king, Forth marches Sunshine gorgeously through earth, By health attended, and life-giving mirth, And heralded by Spring.
Light through the untrack'd air, Pursues its course authentic; hill and dale Rejoice, and Nature cries, "All hail!" As if a king were there.
The elevated lawns, Where first the day comes, and where last retires, Rejoicing seem; their light the mind inspires, And thought, like morning, dawns.
The wild, yet artless breeze, Now, in the ear of Nature, sings its song, Wandering green fields and flowery banks among, And over shadowy seas.
Soft falls the sunlight down On the old castle that, above the dell, Stands in its glory, lone, as if to tell Some tale of past renown.
The hamlet in the vale, The church beside the stream that winds remote Among the hills--the smoothly-going boat, That midway hoists its sail.
A scene like this is rife With pleasurable feelings, as with grace; Perhaps we here, instructively, may trace Some simile of life!
The grey and steadfast hills Tell of the old immortals of past time: And, looking downward, beauty, in its prime, The heart with rapture fills.
The care-escaping deer Descend together from the uplands, while The sprouting grass puts forth a pleasant smile, As if to tempt them near.
The sinless flowers, away In the far inward forest paths bestrown, Are yet not solitary, though alone; None are so glad as they.
The comely violets Their leaf-buds open, and the sunshine seek; The pastures fresh their grateful homage speak, Untinctured with regrets.
The virgin rose assumes A bridal bearing, as if noonday came, With brighter countenance, its love to claim, And revel 'midst its blooms:
The prattle of the brook, The lazy clouds that, hung in middle sky, Exulting in the balm, float listless by, Reflecting back their look:
The buds, the herbs, the leaves, Each, and all things that blossom, bless the rays Of the bright sun, and, as they bless, they praise The bounteous Hand that gives!
No. IV.--THE SUNBEAM.
NOW glory walks abroad, And on the quiet unassuming stream, And on the rock-ribbed hills, gently its beam All lovely is bestowed.
The daizy-footed day, O'er the far mead, in virgin radiance comes, While the bee, jubilant, its welcome hums, And passes on its way.
The lily, in its bloom, Of the lone valley, where the breezes sing Of love, beside the violet-crested spring, And heather-bell's perfume:
And beauty, without guile, It pictures dreams of in the bounding breast, And love-breathed vows, and unions that are blest, And childhood's fairy smile:
The mountain's verdant side, Where visioned poesy delights to show The sights of Heaven to gentle minds below: The heath-bank in its pride:
The broken branch, grass-hid, On which the goat-herd leans, while, far aloof, His bounding charge rest th' adventurous hoof Where man's foot dare not tread:
The cushat in the wood, Where the laburnum and the lilac grow; The placid rill, wandering away below, As one for earth too good:
The dim-seen paths remote, That lead to lone retreats and leafy cells, Where, like a bashful fay, the fancy dwells, And many-imaged thought:
The vintage and its cheer, The peasant, sun-embrown'd, and flow'r-deck'd maid, The festooned village, music in the shade, To charm th' expectant ear:
The flow'ret in the wild, The mossy resting place, 'neath oaks antique: The half-grassed foot-track worldlings do not seek, Where poets are beguiled:
The foam-bell on the wave; The full-sailed vessel on its homeward track; The smile that lights the sorrowing sinner back: The primrose on a grave!
The berry's purple shine, Grape-like and lustrous, scattered 'mid the waste: The sprinkled heath-flower, healthful, golden-paced: The patriarchal pine:
The memories of all Telling of pleasures rare, and jocund ease, In deep-toned joyousness, yea, more than these, The sunbeam does recall:
The hope of life above; Rich buds of promise springing everywhere; The grace-blest gifts that come without our care, From all-providing Love!
No. V.--TO A WILD FLOWER.
IN what delightful land, Sweet-scented flower, didst thou attain thy birth? Thou art no offspring of the common earth, By common breezes fanned!
Full oft my gladdened eye, In pleasant glade, on river's marge has traced, (As if there planted by the hand of Taste), Sweet flowers of every dye:
But never did I see, In mead or mountain, or domestic bower, 'Mong many a lovely and delicious flower, One half so fair as thee!
Thy beauty makes rejoice My inmost heart.--I know not how 'tis so,-- Quick-coming fancies thou dost make me know, For fragrance is thy voice:
And still it comes to me, In quiet night, and turmoil of the day, Like memory of friends gone far away, Or, haply, ceased to be.
Together we'll commune, As lovers do, when, standing all apart, No one o'erhears the whispers of their heart, Save the all-silent moon.
Thy thoughts I can divine, Although not uttered in vernac'lar words: Thou me remind'st of songs of forest birds; Of venerable wine;
Of Earth's fresh shrubs and roots; Of Summer days, when men their thirsting slake In the cool fountain, or the cooler lake, While eating wood-grown fruits:
Thy leaves my memory tell Of sights, and scents, and sounds, that come again, Like ocean's murmurs, when the balmy strain Is echoed in its shell.
The meadows in their green, Smooth-running waters in the far-off ways, The deep-voiced forest where the hermit prays, In thy fair face are seen.
Thy home is in the wild, 'Mong sylvan shades, near music-haunted springs, Where peace dwells all apart from earthly things, Like some secluded child.
The beauty of the sky, The music of the woods, the love that stirs Wherever Nature charms her worshippers, Are all by thee brought nigh.
I shall not soon forget What thou hast taught me in my solitude: My feelings have acquired a taste of good, Sweet flower! since first we met.
Thou bring'st unto the soul A blessing and a peace, inspiring thought! And dost the goodness and the power denote Of Him who formed the whole.
No. VI.--SUMMER.
IS vision-land so near, And we not know of it? Oh! dull and dead Must be the heart, the passions cold as lead, That find no beauty here!
Fresh o'er th' awakened earth, Now all the glories of the Summer shine; And Nature, as if drunk with olden wine, Is laughing in its mirth!
And melodies are heard From far and near, and sounds that stir the heart, Sweeter than fancy dreams of, when slow Art To rival them has erred.
All things become more pure And hallowed to the view: the very flowers Seem smiling in a world more rich than ours-- A birth-place more secure!
The berry of the wood Blooms with new lustre, 'neath the golden ray Of the warm sunshine, resting by the way, Where the green forests brood.
The old and reverend trees, And clustering thickets, now are gladly sought By him who from the heat would stray remote, And rest his limbs at ease.
The smell of new-mown hay Revives the heart, like as at evening time We love to listen to the tinkling chime Of sheep-bells far away.
And, lo! the rustic cot, On the smooth margin of the quiet lake, Where wedded Love and pleased Content partake Their enviable lot:
Where, daylong, may be seen Two sister swans, disporting in their joy; The happy parents, with their baby-boy, Reclining on the green.
Decay should seem unknown-- But spiteful Time its certain change prepares: Light has its shade, and pleasure has its cares; Music its saddened tone:
Summer its springing weeds, And trodden flowers that tell of bygone joys, And thoughts long since forgotten, 'mid the noise That from man's haunts proceeds.
How beautiful the sight! Why should we think of change for scenes like this? Fair as a poet's thought, when thought is bliss, And all he sees is light!
Let but th' enraptured eye Once look upon the landscape's gorgeous train And, like a kiss upon the brow of pain, That brings a solace nigh,
In after years 'twill rest Within the memory, with bloom and balm, Refreshing to the soul, like a sweet calm On ocean's troubled breast.
No. VII.--MIDSUMMER.
A BLAZE is in mine eyes Of rich and balmy light; and on mine ear A sound of melody is ringing clear, Like carols in the skies:
And on my heart the while There rests, like Love, when Hope is bright as this, A charm to soothe, a thrill of good to bless; A universal smile!
Is it a picture limned By some high intellect where genius throngs? Are these the echoes of celestial songs, By angel-voices hymned?
Am I on earth, in air, In heaven, or on the sea,--with ocean's sights, And ocean's sounds,--that I partake delights, And visions see so fair?
Ah, me! a shadow steals From out the mountains, like a lurking grief; As on our happy home, the silent thief His hateful eye reveals;
Bringing me down from heaven To this dull earth, whereon my footsteps tread-- The sky, so calm and pure above my head, Health to my soul has given!
And now, before me placed, What is there to rejoice the eye or ear? All that the heart deems fair is surely here, By God's own fingers traced:
And bounteously his gifts HE has bestowed upon the growing land; Her paths are teeming from his lib'ral Hand, That knows no grudging thrifts.
Up looks the toiling hind, And wipes his brow, and rests upon his spade; The idle herdsman, in the hawthorn shade, A-weary lies reclined.
The village church is seen, Light streaming through its windows, soft and fair, Like rays of mercy, answering the prayer Of penitence serene.