Joanna Baillie Poems

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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TIME sooth, since Time has been, has still sustain'd
The varied murmurs of each wayward mood,
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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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SIR MAURICE was a wealthy lord,
He liv'd in the north countrie,
Well would he cope with foe-man's sword,
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NOT love, nor war, nor the tumultuous swell
Of civil conflicts, nor the wrecks of change,
And duty struggling with afflictions strange,
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A VOLANT tribe of bards on earth are found,
Who, while the flatt'ring zephyrs round them play,
On 'coignes of vantage' hang their nests of clay,
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