William Bell Scott Poems

I.

It seems but yesterday, and yet
I was then but two years from school,
...

Oisin, son of great Fingal,
Of Fenian race the last of all,
Longed to see his native land
With longing nothing could withstand.
...

An art grows up from year to year:
The critic weighs the utmost gains,
The last result, the perfect sphere,
Not the steps, but what remains;
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Thy mother, Calliope, gave thee power
Over the heart of man, above the laws
Of savage nature: in the perilous hour
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Prayerless from the sacred well,
From Castaly and Hippocrene,
He drank, and on the verge of hell
Slept, and forgot where he had been,
...

‘Mistress, here is Phemie Blayne
Selling mushrooms once again;
Annie Logie came before
You had passed your chamber door,
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LITTLE dear! we often say
To bright young eyes and dainty ears:
The two words oft together go,
Would I could know
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‘Go,’ said the Cardinal Bellay,
‘See how my doctor fares to-day.’
The page skipped off from house to house,
But entered like a noiseless mouse,
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Listless the silent ladies sit
About the room so gaily lit;
Madame Ions likes the cups or tray,
But thinks it scarce enough to say:
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I.

From home did then the infant come
When it came here
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