Joanna Baillie Poems

DEAR Agnes, gleamed with joy and dashed with tears,
O'er us have glided almost sixty years
Since we on Bothwell's bonny braes were seen,
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FLOWER of the waste! the heath-fowl shuns
For thee the brake and tangled wood,--
To thy protecting shade she runs,
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COLD is the hand that gives thee to the flame,
Sweet source of pleasure in my early years!
But, O ye friends! to me impute no blame,
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FY , let us a' to the wedding,
For they will be lilting there;
For Jock's to be married to Maggy,
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LEARNING and fancy were combined
To stimulate his manly mind;
Open, generous and acute,
Steady of purpose, in pursuit
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HIS boat comes on the sunny tide,
And briskly moves the flashing oar,
The boatmen carol by his side,
And blythely near the welcome shore.
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WHILE clouds on high are riding,
The wintry moonshine hiding,
The raging blast abiding,
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IN tremulous vision, falsely near,
The forms of nature as phantoms appear,
With the wonted colours of earth and sky,
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SPIRIT of strength! to whom in wrath 'tis given,
To mar the earth and shake its vasty dome,
Behold the sombre robes whose gathering folds,
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UNFELT , unseen, time steals away,
So softly with our years,
The dewy gem of op'ning day
Not swifter disappears.
...