Janet Hamilton Poems

I speak to my brothers-to men who have given
A pledge unto man-a pledge unto heaven,
That in deed and in truth they will temperance maintain:
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It's the way o' the Warl' when yer troubles are sair,
An' yer doon i' the dirt, aye tae tramp ye the mair;
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A minstrel old, in feudal hall,
When wassail bowls were brimm'd and flowing,
Responsive to his chieftain's call,
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In the valley, on the mountain,
From the swamp, the lake, the fountain,
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The early lost I mourn,
Ah, not the early dead;
The early lost return,
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'Twas ancient Macedon that gave to time
The hero, world-renown'd-his sire sublime
Olympian Jove: so said the royal dame
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Deadlier balls than North or South
Throw from cannon's blazing mouth,
Everywhere appal my sight-
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The still repose, the holy calm
Of this blest morn, a sacred balm
Sheds on my world-worn weary heart;
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Now range up the carriages, feed up the fires!
To the rail, to the rail, now the pent up desires
Of the pale toiling million find gracious reply.
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Sweet minstrel of the summer dawn,
Bard of the sky, o'er lea and lawn
Thy rapturous anthem, clear and loud,
Rings from the dim and dewy cloud
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