ROBERT WILLIAMS BUCHANAN (1841 - 1901) |
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{Idyls and Legends of Inverburn 1865}
Idyls and Legends of Inverburn - The Second Edition (continued)
193
THE RIVER.
How merry a life the little river leads, Run seaward, for I follow! 194 The rain has crawled from yonder mountain-side, Those little falls are lurid with the rain But all is calm again, the little river But yonder cottage where the woodbine grows, Again I follow where the river wanders. I wander on and gain a little bridge, Fluttering around me and before me, Across the skies and o’er the plain I crouch beneath the crag and watch the mist A fallen sunbeam trembles at my feet,
202 IN THE MOUNTAINS.
THE little River is the fittest singer Now suddenly, mine eyes perceive At yonder falls, the trembling mountain lady 203 The landscape darkens slowly The air is hotter here. The bee booms by 204 The sunlight fades on mossy rocks, Along this rock I’ll lie,
207 SNOW.
I WANDER forth this chill December dawn: There is a hush of music on the air— But now the clouds are winnowèd away: The sun is hanging in a purple globe, I gain the shoulder of a plantain now, I loiter down the road, and feel the ground 211 Through gloomy dimbles, clad with new-fall’n snow,
[Notes:
I. DOWN THE RIVER.
HOW merry a life the little River leads, Run seaward, for I follow! The rain has crawled from yonder mountain-side, Those little falls are lurid with the rain But all is calm again, the little River But yonder cottage where the woodbine grows, Again I follow where the river wanders. I wander on and gain a mossy bridge, The moist soft wind has died and fallen now, Fluttering around me and before me, Across the skies and o’er the plain A fallen sunbeam trembles at my feet,
THE SUMMER POOL.
THERE is a singing in the summer air, Aimlessly wandering with weary feet, The wind dies—not a leaf stirs—on the Pool While thus I pause, it seems that I have gained Into a nook,
UP THE RIVER.
BEHIND the purple mountains lies a lake, To-day I’ll bid farewell to books, The grassy banks are wet with dew that flashes Here freckled cowslips bloom unsought, The little River is the fittest singer At yonder falls, the trembling mountain Lady Thus wandering onward, ankle deep in grass, Let me lie down upon the bank, and drink! Sing, little River, while I rest, The landscape darkens slowly The air is hotter here. The bee booms by Sing, little River, in your mirth, Along this rock I’ll lie,
SNOW.
I WANDER forth this chill December dawn: There is a hush of music on the air— But now the clouds are winnowëd away: The sun is hanging in a purple globe, I gain the shoulder of the woodland now, I loiter down the road, and feel the ground _____
Since the earliest published version of ‘Snow’ (All The Year Round (29 December, 1860)) contains some additional lines, I have transcribed it below. Scans of the original pages are available at Dickens Journals Online.
SNOW.
I WANDER forth this chill December dawn: There is a hush of music on the air— But now, the clouds are winnowèd away; Judge not King Winter as the easy do, Nature is always lovely, ever kind, The sun is hanging in a purple globe, I gain the shoulder of a plantain now, I loiter down the road, and feel the ground Through gloomy dimbles, clad with new-fall’n snow, Down the cold darkness of the whistling dell, The yellow moonlight steams on snowy mountains, _____
The Second Edition of Idyls and Legends of Inverburn concludes with the following advert, which I thought was worth adding here since the final item seems to refer to Buchanan’s first collection of essays, David Gray and other Essays, chiefly on poetry, which was eventually published (by Sampson Low, Son, and Marston) in 1868.] |
Back to Idyls and Legends of Inverburn - Contents or Poetry
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