The Dying Harper Poem by Robert Anderson

The mavis sweet began to sing,
And Corbye woods were turning green;
When auld Grey Graeme grew sick at heart,
Now fourscore Winters he had seen;
And rest gat nane,
A' strength was gane;
Pale was his cheek, and sunk his een.

Quo' he, ``Life's sand is weel nigh run,
And last of a' the flock am I;
But here's a leel, an honest heart,
The stings o' conscience can defy:
Life's but a day;
We slip away;
A' nature tells the reason why.

``In vain we seegh and greet at death,
When time has shorn an achin' pow;
'Tis painfu' to be ling'rin' here,
When to the earth age maks us bow:
I've had my share
O' warldly care,
And death comes wi' nae terrors now.

``When first I sa' yon castle wa',
A blithesome sight it was to me;
When last I sa' yon castle wa'
The saut tear blinded aft my e'e:
God's will be duin!
Hope points abuin;
And ay her smiles can comfort gie.

``Hoarse--murm'ring Eden, sweet thy sounds
Are borne on ilka passing gale;
Aft I hae stray'd thy thick--wov'n woods,
When Luna lighted hill and dale;
O' days by--gane,
In lightly strain,
Ay fain to pour the true--tauld tale.

``Dear windin' stream! thy soughin' flood
Like friendship's voice, to me was sweet;--
Nae mair thy murmurs maun I hear!
Nae mair my friens on earth I'll meet!
A fev'rish dream,
A bubbling stream,
Life proves at best a daily cheat!

Jeannet, my wife! blest saint abuin!
The twentieth spring now decks the tree,
Sin' thou tuik leave o' this warl's care,
And laith was I to part wi' thee:
I pin'd me lang,
But that was wrang;
We shou'dna weep at fate's decree!

``Wi' thee, dear partner o' youth's joys,
In realms o' bliss I lang to meet;
And my five sons, slain by the Dane,
O may they suin this spirit greet!
The noon's braid light
Fades frae my sight,
And weak life's pulse begins to beat.

``Come hither, Coll!--Auld faithfu' dog!
To lea' thee, O it maks me grieve!
Thou monie a lesson gie'st proud man,
For thou wilt serve, but ne'er deceive!
When I am gane,
There still is ane,
Will ilka day thy wants relieve.

``Yes, ane there is will send thee food,
That angel fair wha plac'd me here;
And ane there is will her reward,
The virtuous mind hath nought to fear:
Puir and distrest,
She made me blest--
Flow on! flow on, thou gratefu' tear.

``Fareweel, dumb frien! grown grey wi' years,
Painfu' the thought that we maun part;
May'st thou be buried by my side,
This wish clings to my achin' heart:
Thy paw gie me;
Tears quat my ee;
Thy moan e'en maks anither start!

``Hand o'er my harp!guid Margery!
And let me ance mair touch the string;
To it, I sang o' former days,
But nane of auld Grey Graeme will sing!
Sweet harp! nae mair
Thou'lt sooth ilk care!
For me, there is nae second spring!

``O when I'm in my narrow bed,
This harp hang high in Corbye Ha'!
There monie a Winter we beguil'd,
Nae snell blast heedin, sleet or snaw;
And there, blest hour!
When cauld, and puir,
Fair Ellinor my een first saw!

``Yes, Sol had westward driv'n his team,
Some ither country to delight;
And Boreas, wi' a thousand blasts,
Bade welcome to the wintry night:
The roarin' flood,
The moanin wood,
Might weel a timid mind affright!

``But when the Empress o' the sky
Rose stately o'er ilk murky cloud,
An angel smile bade plenty chear
The carle, by cauld and hunger bow'd:
I thank kind heav'n!
To me 'tis giv'n,
To pay her yet wi' gratitude!

``Blest be the aged poor man's friend,
Who owns a heart to feeling true!
May happiness grow wi' her years,
Nor sorrow ever cloud her brow!
O were she near!
O could she hear
The Dying Harper's last adieu!

``To soothe distress, wherever seen,
What joy so pure beneath the sky?
Heav'n has, for such, a gift in store,
That this warl's wealth can never buy.
Peace to their days,
With each one's praise,
Who wipe the tear frae misery's eye!

``Fareweel, ye sheep upo' the hill!
Nae mair ye'll hear the Harper's voice;
Nae mair ye'll greet him wi' a bleet;
Nae mair he'll pat ye, and rejoice!
Wi' ye to stray,
At closin' day,
Was ay the leel auld Harper's choice!

``Fareweel, ye buddin' wavin' woods!
Ne'er, ne'er again ye'll shelter me;
I watch'd ye grow, I've seen ye fa',
And sa' a frien in ilka tree:
Cropp'd in your prime,
Or bow'd by time,
Just sae, weak man's cut down, like ye!

``Fareweel, my bonnie siller birks,
Where monie an e'enin' hour I play'd!
It is a leel auld Harper's wish,
To rest his banes aneath your shade!--
Weak grows my breath--
Come, welcome death!
To quat this warl, I'm not afraid!

``The wicked ne'er fan me a frien!
The virtuous ne'er fan me a fae!
A shamefu' deed ne'er flush'd my cheek,
Ne'er caus'd within my bosom wae!--
Receive me, God!
Be my abode
The mansion of eternal day!''

Without a moan, without a seegh,
The leel auld Harper clos'd his een;
And near his weel--lo'ed siller birks,
There is a grave by monie seen:
And on the hill,
Close by the rill,
The spot where Grey Graeme's but has been.

Fair Ellinor, the peerless dame,
Had carv'd his virtues on a stane,
At which the learn'd aft pore and seegh,
And fancy words, where words are nane.
Time a' destroys!
Let us be wise!
Anither day, perchance we're gane!