Poems In Two Volumes, vol 2 | Page 2

the shortest way."

And thus among these rocks he liv'd,
Through summer's heat and
winter's snow:
The Eagle, he was Lord above,
And Rob was Lord
below. 60
So was it--would, at least, have been
But through untowardness of
fate:
For Polity was then too strong;
He came an age too late,
Or shall we say an age too soon?
For, were the bold Man living now,

How might he flourish in his pride,
With buds on every bough!
Then rents and Factors, rights of chace,
Sheriffs, and Lairds and their
domains 70 Would all have seem'd but paltry things,
Not worth a
moment's pains.
Rob Roy had never linger'd here,
To these few meagre Vales confin'd;

But thought how wide the world, the times
How fairly to his mind!
And to his Sword he would have said,
"Do Thou my sovereign will
enact
From land to land through half the earth!
Judge thou of law
and fact!" 80
"Tis fit that we should do our part;
Becoming, that mankind should
learn
That we are not to be surpass'd
In fatherly concern."
"Of old things all are over old,
Of good things none are good
enough:--
We'll shew that we can help to frame
A world of other
stuff."
"I, too, will have my Kings that take
From me the sign of life and
death: 90 Kingdoms shall shift about, like clouds,
Obedient to my
breath."
And, if the word had been fulfill'd,
As might have been, then, thought
of joy!
France would have had her present Boast;
And we our brave
Rob Roy!

Oh! say not so; compare them not;
I would not wrong thee,
Champion brave!
Would wrong thee no where; least of all
Here
standing by thy Grave. 100
For Thou, although with some wild thoughts,
Wild Chieftain of a
Savage Clan!
Hadst this to boast of; thou didst love
The liberty of
Man.
And, had it been thy lot to live
With us who now behold the light,

Thou would'st have nobly stirr'd thyself,
And battled for the Right.
For Robin was the poor Man's stay
The poor man's heart, the poor
man's hand; 110 And all the oppress'd, who wanted strength,
Had
Robin's to command.
Bear witness many a pensive sigh
Of thoughtful Herdsman when he
strays
Alone upon Loch Veol's Heights,
And by Loch Lomond's
Braes!
And, far and near, through vale and hill,
Are faces that attest the same;

And kindle, like a fire new stirr'd,
At sound of ROB ROY's name.
120
2. THE SOLITARY REAPER.
Behold her, single in the field,
Yon solitary Highland Lass!

Reaping and singing by herself;
Stop here, or gently pass!
Alone
she cuts, and binds the grain,
And sings a melancholy strain;
O
listen! for the Vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.
No Nightingale did ever chaunt
So sweetly to reposing bands 10 Of
Travellers in some shady haunt,
Among Arabian Sands:
No sweeter
voice was ever heard
In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird,

Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.
Will no one tell me what she sings?
Perhaps the plaintive numbers

flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago: 20 Or
is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of today?
Some natural
sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been, and may be again!
Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sung
As if her song could have no
ending;
I saw her singing at her work,
And o'er the sickle bending;

I listen'd till I had my fill;
And, as I mounted up the hill, 30 The
music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.
3. STEPPING WESTWARD.
While my Fellow-traveller and I were walking by the side of Loch
Ketterine, one fine evening after sun-set, in our
road to a Hut where
in the course of our Tour we had
been hospitably entertained some
weeks before, we met,
in one of the loneliest parts of that solitary
region,
two well dressed Women, one of whom said to us, by
way
of greeting, "What you are stepping westward?"
"What you are stepping westward?"--"Yea."
--'Twould be a wildish
destiny,
If we, who thus together roam
In a strange Land, and far
from home,
Were in this place the guests of Chance:
Yet who
would stop, or fear to advance,
Though home or shelter he had none,

With such a Sky to lead him on?
The dewy ground was dark and cold;
Behind, all gloomy to behold;
10 And stepping westward seem'd to be
A kind of heavenly destiny;

I liked the greeting; 'twas a sound
Of something without place or
bound;
And seem'd to give me spiritual right
To travel through that
region bright.
The voice was soft, and she who spake
Was walking by her native
Lake:
The salutation had to me
The very sound of courtesy: 20 It's
power was felt; and while my eye
Was fixed upon the glowing sky,

The echo of the voice enwrought
A human sweetness with the
thought

Of travelling through the world that lay
Before me in my

endless way.
4. GLEN-ALMAIN,
or the NARROW GLEN
In this still place, remote from men,
Sleeps Ossian, in the NARROW
GLEN;
In this still place, where murmurs on
But one meek
Streamlet, only one:
He sang of battles, and the breath
Of stormy
war, and violent death;
And should, methinks, when all was past,

Have rightfully been