Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/207
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THE MEADOW GOWAN.
189
The pines that uprear themselves dark and tall,
Black knights of the forest so stately and old,
They must bow their heads when they hear thy call;
Ay, bow like the lily, those Norsemen bold:
And every tree of the field, or the bower,
Or single in strength, or many in power,
Quiver and thrill from the leaf to the stem,
For the unseen wind is the master of them.
Black knights of the forest so stately and old,
They must bow their heads when they hear thy call;
Ay, bow like the lily, those Norsemen bold:
And every tree of the field, or the bower,
Or single in strength, or many in power,
Quiver and thrill from the leaf to the stem,
For the unseen wind is the master of them.
It is gallant play; for the sun is bright,
And the rivulet sings a merrier song;
The corn in the meadow waves dark and light
As the trees fling shade, or the breeze is strong.
And over the hills, whether rocky or green,
Troops of the noonday ghosts are seen;
The lovely shadows of lovelier clouds,
With the gleam of the mountains amongst their crowds.
And the rivulet sings a merrier song;
The corn in the meadow waves dark and light
As the trees fling shade, or the breeze is strong.
And over the hills, whether rocky or green,
Troops of the noonday ghosts are seen;
The lovely shadows of lovelier clouds,
With the gleam of the mountains amongst their crowds.
The birds as they fly scarce use their wings,
They are borne upon those of the wind to-day;
Their plumes are ruffled, like all green things,
And flowers, and streams, by his noisy play.
One hour—and valley, and wood, and hill,
May be sleeping and shining all bright and still;
Not a wave, not a leaf, not a spray in motion,
Of all which now looks like a vernal ocean;—
Beautiful that;—yet I love to see
Thy strength, O wind, on the forest tree!
They are borne upon those of the wind to-day;
Their plumes are ruffled, like all green things,
And flowers, and streams, by his noisy play.
One hour—and valley, and wood, and hill,
May be sleeping and shining all bright and still;
Not a wave, not a leaf, not a spray in motion,
Of all which now looks like a vernal ocean;—
Beautiful that;—yet I love to see
Thy strength, O wind, on the forest tree!
The Meadow Gowan.
"O lintie, blythe-voiced lintie,"
Sang the happy-heartit wren,
To its neebour on the auld aik tree
That grows i' the Hazelglen;
"O lintie, gleefu' lintie,
I' yer ain clear accents tell
Whilk o' the blossoms ye like the best,
In field or flower-gemmed fell?"
Sang the happy-heartit wren,
To its neebour on the auld aik tree
That grows i' the Hazelglen;
"O lintie, gleefu' lintie,
I' yer ain clear accents tell
Whilk o' the blossoms ye like the best,
In field or flower-gemmed fell?"
"O sunshine-lovin' birdie,"
Sang the siller-toned lintie gay,
"I lo'e the flowers o' the green-gilt bowers,
An' I lo'e my ain sweet May;
An' noo that she busks the meadows,
In vestures o' fairy green,
Fu' mony braw buds i' the lanely woods
Bloom rosily serene.
Sang the siller-toned lintie gay,
"I lo'e the flowers o' the green-gilt bowers,
An' I lo'e my ain sweet May;
An' noo that she busks the meadows,
In vestures o' fairy green,
Fu' mony braw buds i' the lanely woods
Bloom rosily serene.