Page images
PDF
EPUB
[blocks in formation]

JOHN DYER.

[1700-1758.]

GRONGAR HILL.

SILENT nymph, with curious eye!
Who, the purple eve, dost lie
On the mountain's lonely van,
Beyond the noise of busy man,
Painting fair the form of things,
While the yellow linnet sings,
Or the tuneful nightingale
Charms the forest with her tale, —
Come, with all thy various hues,
Come and aid thy sister Muse.
Now, while Phoebus, riding high,
Gives lustre to the land and sky,
Grongar Hill invites my song,-
Draw the landscape bright and strong;
Grongar, in whose mossy cells
Sweetly musing Quiet dwells;
Grongar, in whose silent shade,
For the modest Muses made,
So oft I have, the evening still,
At the fountain of a rill,
Sat upon a flowery bed,

With my hand beneath my head,
While strayed my eyes o'er Towy's
flood,

Over mead and over wood,

From house to house, from hill to hill, Till Contemplation had her fill.

About his checkered sides I wind,

Flames on the Atlantic isles, 't is And leave his brooks and meads be

[blocks in formation]

hind,

And groves and grottos where I lay,
And vistas shooting beams of day.
Wide and wider spreads the vale,
As circles on a smooth canal.
The mountains round, unhappy fate!
Sooner or later, of all height,
Withdraw their summits from the skies,
And lessen as the others rise.
Still the prospect wider spreads,
Adds a thousand woods and meads;
Still it widens, widens still,
And sinks the newly risen hill.

Now I gain the mountain's brow;
What a landscape lies below!
No clouds, no vapors intervene;
But the gay, the open scene
Does the face of Nature show,
In all the hues of heaven's bow!
And, swelling to embrace the light,
Spreads around beneath the sight.
Old castles on the cliffs arise,

JOHN DYER.

Proudly towering in the skies;
Rushing from the woods, the spires
Seem from hence ascending fires;
Half his beams Apollo sheds
On the yellow mountain-heads,
Gilds the fleeces of the flocks,
And glitters on the broken rocks.
Below me trees unnumbered rise,
Beautiful in various dyes:
The gloomy pine, the poplar blue,
The yellow beech, the sable yew,
The slender fir that taper grows,
The sturdy oak with broad-spread
boughs;

And beyond the purple grove,
Haunt of Phyllis, queen of love!
Gaudy as the opening dawn,
Lies a long and level lawn,

On which a dark hill, steep and high,
Holds and charms the wandering eye.
Deep are his feet in Towy's flood:
His sides are clothed with waving
wood,

And ancient towers crown his brow,
That cast an awful look below;
Whose ragged walls the ivy creeps,
And with her arms from falling keeps;
So both a safety from the wind
In mutual dependence find.
"T is now the raven's bleak abode;
'Tis now the apartment of the toad;
And there the fox securely feeds;
And there the poisonous adder breeds,
Concealed in ruins, moss, and weeds;
While, ever and anon, there fall
Huge heaps of hoary mouldered wall.
Yet Time has seen, - that lifts the low
And level lays the lofty brow,
Has seen this broken pile complete,
Big with the vanity of state.
But transient is the smile of Fate!
A little rule, a little sway,
A sunbeam in a winter's day,
Is all the proud and mighty have
Between the cradle and the grave.

And see the rivers how they run, Through woods and meads, in shade and

sun,

Sometimes swift, sometimes slow,
Wave succeeding wave, they go
A various journey to the deep,
Like human life to endless sleep!
Thus is Nature's vesture wrought,
To instruct our wandering thought:
Thus she dresses green and gay,
To disperse our cares away.
Ever charming, ever new,

55

When will the landscape tire the view!
The fountain's fall, the river's flow;
The woody valleys, warm and low;
The windy summit, wild and high,
Roughly rushing on the sky;
The pleasant seat, the ruined tower,
The naked rock, the shady bower;
The town and village, dome and farm, -
Each gives each a double charm,
As pearls upon an Ethiop's arm.

See on the mountain's southern side,
Where the prospect opens wide,
Where the evening gilds the tide;
How close and small the hedges lie!
What streaks of meadow cross the
eye!

A step methinks may pass the stream,
So little distant dangers seem;
So we mistake the Future's face,
Eyed through Hope's deluding glass;
As yon summits, soft and fair,
Clad in colors of the air,
Which to those who journey near,
Barren, brown, and rough appear;
Still we tread the same coarse way,
The present's still a cloudy day.

O, may I with myself agree,
And never covet what I see;
Content me with an humble shade,
My passions tamed, my wishes laid;
For while our wishes wildly roll,
We banish quiet from the soul:
"T is thus the busy beat the air,
And misers gather wealth and care.

Now, even now, my joys run high,
As on the mountain-turf I lie;
While the wanton Zephyr sings,
And in the vale perfumes his wings;
While the waters murmur deep;
While the shepherd charms his sheep;
While the birds unbounded fly,
And with music fill the sky,
Now, even now, my joys run high.
Be full, ye courts; be great who
will;

Search for Peace with all your skill:
Open wide the lofty door,

Seek her on the marble floor.

In vain you search; she is not there!
In vain you search the domes of Care!
Grass and flowers Quiet treads,
On the meads and mountain-heads,
Along with Pleasure, close allied,
Ever by each other's side;
And often, by the murmuring rill,
Hears the thrush, while all is still
Within the groves of Grongar Hill.

[blocks in formation]

'Tis he, the comely swain I slew Upon the duleful Braes of Yarrow.

Wash, O, wash his wounds, his wounds in tears,

His wounds in tears with dule and

sorrow,

And wrap his limbs in mourning weeds, And lay him on the Braes of Yarrow,

Then build, then build, ye sisters sisters sad,

Ye sisters sad, his tomb with sorrow, And weep around in waeful wise,

His helpless fate on the Braes of Yarrow.

Curse ye, curse ye his useless useless shield,

My arm that wrought the deed of sorrow, The fatal spear that pierced his breast, His comely breast, on the Braes of Yarrow.

Did I not warn thee not to lo'e,

And warn from fight, but to my sorrow; O'er rashly bauld a stronger arm

Thou met'st, and fell on the Braes of Yarrow.

Sweet smells the birk, green grows, green grows the grass,

Yellow on Yarrow bank the gowan, Fair hangs the apple frae the rock,

Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowan.

Flows Yarrow sweet? as sweet, as sweet flows Tweed,

As green its grass, its gowan as yellow, As sweet smells on its braes the birk,

The apple frae the rock as mellow.

Fair was thy love, fair fair indeed thy love,

In flowery bands thou him didst fetter; Though he was fair and weil beloved again, Than me he never lo'ed thee better.

Busk ye, then busk, my bonny bonny bride,

Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow! Busk ye, and lo'e me on the banks of Tweed,

And think nae mair on the Braes of Yarrow.

"How can I busk a bonny bonny bride,

How can I busk a winsome marrow, How lo'e him on the banks of Tweed,

That slew my love on the Braes of Yarrow?

ISAAC WATTS.

"O Yarrow fields! may never never rain Nor dew thy tender blossoms cover, For there was basely slain my love,

My love, as he had not been a lover.

"The boy put on his robes, his robes of green,

His purple vest, 't was my ain sewing; Ah! wretched me! I little little kenned He was in these to meet his ruin.

The boy took out his milk-white milkwhite steed,

Unheedful of my dule and sorrow, But e'er the to-fall of the night

He lay a corpse on the Braes of Yarrow.

[blocks in formation]

57

Take aff, take aff these bridal weeds, And crown my careful head with willow.

"Pale though thou art, yet best, yet best beloved,

O, could my warmth to life restore thee! Ye'd lie all night between my breasts, No youth lay ever there before thee.

"Pale pale, indeed, O lovely lovely youth, Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter, And lie all night between my breasts, No youth shall ever lie there after."

Return, return, O mournful mournful bride,

Return and dry thy useless sorrow: Thy lover heeds naught of thy sighs, He lies a corpse on the Braes of Yarrow.

ISAAC WATTS.

[1674-1748.]

THE HEAVENLY LAND.

THERE is a land of pure delight,

Where saints immortal reign;
Infinite day excludes the night,
And pleasures banish pain.
There everlasting spring abides,
And never-withering flowers;
Death, like a narrow sea, divides
This heavenly land from ours.
Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood
Stand dressed in living green;
So to the Jews old Canaan stood,
While Jordan rolled between.
But timorous mortals start and shrink
To cross this narrow sea,
And linger shivering on the brink,
And fear to launch away.

O, could we make our doubts remove,
These gloomy doubts that rise,
And see the Canaan that we love
With unbeclouded eyes, -

Could we but climb where Moses stood,
And view the landscape o'er,
Not Jordan's stream, nor death's cold
flood,

Should fright us from the shore.

PHILIP DODDRIDGE.

[1702-1751.]

YE GOLDEN LAMPS OF HEAVEN,
FAREWELL!

YE golden lamps of heaven, farewell,
With all your feeble light!
Farewell, thou ever-changing moon,
Pale empress of the night!

And thou, refulgent orb of day,

In brighter flames arrayed;

My soul, that springs beyond thy sphere, No more demands thy aid.

Ye stars are but the shining dust
Of my divine abode;

The pavement of those heavenly courts
Where I shall see my God.

There all the millions of his saints

Shall in one song unite;

And each the bliss of all shall view,
With infinite delight.

CHARLES WESLEY.

[1708-1788.]

JESUS, LOVER OF MY SOUL.

JESUS, lover of my soul,

Let me to thy bosom fly, While the nearer waters roll, While the tempest still is high: Hide me, O my Saviour, hide,

Till the storm of life be past; Safe into the haven guide,

O, receive my soul at last!

Other refuge have I none,

Hangs my helpless soul on thee; Leave, ah! leave me not alone, Still support and comfort me: All my trust on thee is stayed, All my help from thee I bring; Cover my defenceless head

With the shadow of thy wing.

Thou, O Christ, art all I want;

More than all in thee I find: Raise the fallen, cheer the faint,

Heal the sick, and lead the blind:

Just and holy is thy name,

I am all unrighteousness; False and full of sin I am,

Thou art full of truth and grace.

Plenteous grace with thee is found,
Grace to cover all my sin;
Let the healing streams abound,
Make and keep me pure within:
Thou of life the fountain art;
Freely let me take of thee;
Spring thou up within my heart,
Rise to all eternity.

AUGUSTUS M. TOPLADY.

[1740-1778.]

LOVE DIVINE, ALL LOVE EXCELLING.

LOVE divine, all love excelling,

Joy of heaven to earth come down; Fix in us thy humble dwelling,

All thy faithful mercies crown; Jesus, thou art all compassion! Pure, unbounded love thou art; Visit us with thy salvation,

Enter every trembling heart.

Breathe, O, breathe thy loving Spirit
Into every troubled breast;

Let us all in thee inherit,

Let us find the promised rest;
Take away the love of sinning,
Alpha and Omega be;
End of faith, as its beginning,
Set our hearts at liberty.

Come, almighty to deliver,

Let us all thy life receive; Suddenly return, and never,

Never more thy temples leave: Thee we would be always blessing, Serve thee as thy hosts above; Pray and praise thee without ceasing, Glory in thy precious love.

Finish then thy new creation,

Pure, unspotted may we be; Let us see thy great salvation

Perfectly restored by thee: Changed from glory into glory,

Till in heaven we take our place! Till we cast our crowns before thee, Lost in wonder, love, and praise.

« PreviousContinue »