She rose, she clasped her truant boy, The hermit gazed in doubt and joy And, lo! with sudden warmth and light New-born, the world-lost anchorite "O, sister of El Zara's race, Behold me!-had we not one mother?" She gazed into the stranger's face ;- "O, kin of blood!-Thy life of use "For, taught of him whom God hath sent, Even as his foot the threshold crossed, BURNS. ON RECEIVING A SPRIG OF HEATHER IN BLOSSOM. No more these simple flowers belong In smiles and tears, in sun and showers, Wild heather-bells and Robert Burns! The gray sky wears again its gold The dews that washed the dust and soil I call to mind the summer day, I hear the blackbird in the corn, How oft that day, with fond delay, Bees hummed, birds twittered, over head I heard the squirrels leaping, The good dog listened while I read, And wagged his tail in keeping. I watched him while in sportive mood Sweet day, sweet songs! - The golden hours New light on home-seen Nature beamed, I woke to find the simple truth That Nature gives her handmaid, Art, The tender idyls of the heart In every tongue rehearsing. Why dream of lands of gold and pearl I saw through all familiar things I saw the same blithe day return, I matched with Scotland's heathery hills O'er rank and pomp, as he had seen, With clearer eyes I saw the worth And, if at times an evil strain, It died upon the eye and ear, Let those who never erred forget Lament who will the ribald line But think, while falls that shade between That he who loved like Magdalen, Not his the song whose thunderous chime Eternal echoes render The mournful Tuscan's haunted rhyme, But who his human heart has laid Through all his tuneful art, how strong Is warm with smiles and blushes! Give lettered pomp to teeth of Time, WILLIAM FORSTER.21 THE years are many since his hand Yet, often now the good man's look |