Transcriber's Notes:

Obvious punctuation errors and misprints have been corrected.

The blank pages of the printed original have been deleted in the e-text version.

A large curly bracket present in the poem "Mount Horeb" of the printed original is indicated with three small curly brackets in the e-text version.

The cover image has been created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

POEMS.

POEMS.

BY

WILLIAM ANDERSON.

Now First Collected.

EDINBURGH:
J. MENZIES, 61, PRINCES STREET.
1845.

EDINBURGH:

Aw. Murray, Printer, Milne Square.

TO

HENRY EDWARDS, D.D., Ph.D.,

AUTHOR OF

"PIETY AND INTELLECT RELATIVELY ESTIMATED," "CHRISTIAN HUMILITY," AND SEVERAL OTHER WORKS OF MERIT.

THIS VOLUME

IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED

BY

HIS SINCERE FRIEND,

THE AUTHOR.

CONTENTS.

LANDSCAPE LYRICS.

(SECOND EDITION.)

TO

THE REV. HENRY DUDLEY RYDER,

CANON RESIDENTIARY OF LICHFIELD CATHEDRAL,

THIS VOLUME OF LANDSCAPE LYRICS,

AS

A MARK OF RESPECT FOR HIS VIRTUES,

OF ADMIRATION OF HIS GENIUS,

AND IN REMEMBRANCE OF THE PLEASANT HOURS PASSED IN HIS SOCIETY,

IS INSCRIBED,

BY HIS FRIEND,

THE AUTHOR.

PREFACE
TO THE
FIRST EDITION OF LANDSCAPE LYRICS.

The poems contained in the following pages must be taken as parts of a whole, being intended to be distinct only in their subjects. This will account for the same measure being used throughout.

Of these pieces, the only one which has been previously published is that addressed "To a Wild Flower." My reason for inserting it here is, that it harmonizes with the other poems; and, having been already favourably spoken of by competent judges, I must confess it is one which I should "not willingly let die."

In the first poem on "Autumn," I have introduced what has always appeared to me a beautiful incident in nature; namely, the singing of the missel-thrush during a thunder-storm. The louder the thunder roars, the shriller and sweeter becomes its voice. This interesting little bird is popularly known by the name of the storm-cock, because he is supposed to sing boldest immediately previous to a storm; but that he also sends forth his "native wood notes wild," during its continuance, is a fact which has been satisfactorily ascertained. Undismayed by the tempest's fury, or, rather rejoicing in its violence, the small but spirited songster warbles on unceasingly, as if desirous of emulating the loudness of the thunder-tone, or of making his song be heard above the noise of the raging elements.

The poetry of nature, particularly at this joyous season, is in its landscapes; and if these unpretending "Lyrics" should lead any one to a healthy contemplation of natural objects, or impart, to refined minds, any pleasure in the perusal, the time which has been bestowed upon them will not have been idly or unprofitably employed.

London, 1st June, 1838.

POEMS.

LANDSCAPE LYRICS.

No. I.—SUNRISE.

Spread are dawn's radiant wings,

Its dazzling feet pursue their silent way,

Leaving no shadow, for each coming ray

A general brightness brings.

The vapour from the brow

Of the old mountain crests, begins to part,

Like care from off the forehead, and the heart—

And all is cloudless now!

The universal air,

The smiling sky, and the far-stretching mead—

All nature, in its varied forms agreed,

Mingle their beauties there!

The ripple of the wave,

Beachward returning to the distant shore,

Like a lone pilgrim to the cottage door,

That once a welcome gave:

The new-waked laureat bee,

On the flower-blossom, breathing in its mirth,

Its conch-like matin song, to greet the earth,

With ever grateful glee!

The landscape's free expanse,

And all the harmonies that, spread around,

Combine the joys of hearing, sight, and sound,

Are gathered at a glance;

And powerfully they tell,

With deeper eloquence than notes divine,

Of many things that round our heart-strings twine,

And in our fancies dwell;

Of boyhood's sportive days,

The thymy glade, the daisy blooming there,

The vale remote, or lake secluded, where

The smiling sunbeam plays;

The gay flowers on the plain,

Gemming the mead, perfuming all the wood;

As if each Summer morn was Spring renew'd,

Or May-day come again!

The music of the birds,

Telling all sleepers of the birth of day,

And, with reviving Nature, haste to pay

Their homage, not in words!

The dreamy waterfall,

Babbling and bubbling from the upland spring;

The soaring crag where eaglets rest their wing,

Listening the eagle's call:

The minstrel streamlet near,

The zephyr's breath, too languid for a breeze,

That stirs, yet scarcely moves, the gentle trees,

Touching the waters clear.

The sunrays, as they pass

Into broad sunshine, throw their light on all,

With bloom and blossom, whereso'er they fall;

On mount, or meadow-grass.

And something more than light

Sleeps on the verdant hill-side; dreams of love,

And glimpses of the happier state above,

Burst on the mental sight.

No. II.—MORNING FURTHER ADVANCED.

Meet 'tis to watch and spy,

The laughing Orient, like a chubby child,

Bringing new joyousness to wood and wild,

To ocean, earth, and sky.

The groups of early flowers

To th' enamoured sun their bosoms ope,—

Apt emblems of the welcome birth of Hope,

In life's oft darkened bowers.

Pass to the green hill-side,

And let us wander where the wild flowers grow,

Gaze on the sedgy stream's calm depths below,

Where gentle minnows glide.

The sheltered cuckoo's notes,

In the young sunshine, echo on the ear—

A moving voice, from all around, is here!—

Hymns from a thousand throats:—

The spirit grows the more

Refined and holy, as we stand and gaze

Upon the landscape, brightening in the blaze

That gilds both land and shore.

All objects, far and near,

The light of morn illumines; it is now

That man can walk erect with glowing brow,

And heart devoid of fear.

And, lo! there is a stir

In yonder village, bosomed in the dell,

Like a meek babe, loved by its mother well,

And loving nought but her!

Where claims the eye to rest?

Earth has a balmy look, and so has Heaven;

And thoughts, like mazy clouds through ether driven,

Float in th' enraptured breast.

The sylvan haunts, where youth

Roams, fancy led, all glorious in their hue;

The quaint sequestered spots and paths we view,

Where Age consorts with Truth.

Read we of aught that wakes

High inspiration in the soul, in scenes like these?

The tufted trees' fantastic tapestries—

Romantic knolls and brakes;

The hill-enskirted glen,

Where bound the wild deer; and the huntsman's horn

Sounds from afar, a welcome to the morn,

Till Echo sounds again!

And more than all, the old

And pyramidal mountains, that with time

Have stood, defying change, and storm, and clime,

As none else of earth's mould

Hath done: the sun embrowns,

But does not scorch them; rain, and wind, and snow,

Renew them, not destroy; no waste they know,

But lasting glory crowns.

Still to the heart endeared

Are sights like this we gaze on. Do we deem

That they are other than a privileged dream?—

One that the mind has reared!

No. III.—NOONDAY.

Lo! like an eastern king,

Forth marches Sunshine gorgeously through earth,

By health attended, and life-giving mirth,

And heralded by Spring.

Light through the untrack'd air,

Pursues its course authentic; hill and dale

Rejoice, and Nature cries, "All hail!"

As if a king were there.

The elevated lawns,

Where first the day comes, and where last retires,

Rejoicing seem; their light the mind inspires,

And thought, like morning, dawns.

The wild, yet artless breeze,

Now, in the ear of Nature, sings its song,

Wandering green fields and flowery banks among,

And over shadowy seas.

Soft falls the sunlight down

On the old castle that, above the dell,

Stands in its glory, lone, as if to tell

Some tale of past renown.

The hamlet in the vale,

The church beside the stream that winds remote

Among the hills—the smoothly-going boat,

That midway hoists its sail.

A scene like this is rife

With pleasurable feelings, as with grace;

Perhaps we here, instructively, may trace

Some simile of life!

The grey and steadfast hills

Tell of the old immortals of past time:

And, looking downward, beauty, in its prime,

The heart with rapture fills.

The care-escaping deer

Descend together from the uplands, while

The sprouting grass puts forth a pleasant smile,

As if to tempt them near.

The sinless flowers, away

In the far inward forest paths bestrown,

Are yet not solitary, though alone;

None are so glad as they.

The comely violets

Their leaf-buds open, and the sunshine seek;

The pastures fresh their grateful homage speak,

Untinctured with regrets.

The virgin rose assumes

A bridal bearing, as if noonday came,

With brighter countenance, its love to claim,

And revel 'midst its blooms:

The prattle of the brook,

The lazy clouds that, hung in middle sky,

Exulting in the balm, float listless by,

Reflecting back their look:

The buds, the herbs, the leaves,

Each, and all things that blossom, bless the rays

Of the bright sun, and, as they bless, they praise

The bounteous Hand that gives!

No. IV.—THE SUNBEAM.

Now glory walks abroad,

And on the quiet unassuming stream,

And on the rock-ribbed hills, gently its beam

All lovely is bestowed.

The daizy-footed day,

O'er the far mead, in virgin radiance comes,

While the bee, jubilant, its welcome hums,

And passes on its way.

The lily, in its bloom,

Of the lone valley, where the breezes sing

Of love, beside the violet-crested spring,

And heather-bell's perfume:

And beauty, without guile,

It pictures dreams of in the bounding breast,

And love-breathed vows, and unions that are blest,

And childhood's fairy smile:

The mountain's verdant side,

Where visioned poesy delights to show

The sights of Heaven to gentle minds below:

The heath-bank in its pride:

The broken branch, grass-hid,

On which the goat-herd leans, while, far aloof,

His bounding charge rest th' adventurous hoof

Where man's foot dare not tread:

The cushat in the wood,

Where the laburnum and the lilac grow;

The placid rill, wandering away below,

As one for earth too good:

The dim-seen paths remote,

That lead to lone retreats and leafy cells,

Where, like a bashful fay, the fancy dwells,

And many-imaged thought:

The vintage and its cheer,

The peasant, sun-embrown'd, and flow'r-deck'd maid,

The festooned village, music in the shade,

To charm th' expectant ear:

The flow'ret in the wild,

The mossy resting place, 'neath oaks antique:

The half-grassed foot-track worldlings do not seek,

Where poets are beguiled:

The foam-bell on the wave;

The full-sailed vessel on its homeward track;

The smile that lights the sorrowing sinner back:

The primrose on a grave!

The berry's purple shine,

Grape-like and lustrous, scattered 'mid the waste:

The sprinkled heath-flower, healthful, golden-paced:

The patriarchal pine:

The memories of all

Telling of pleasures rare, and jocund ease,

In deep-toned joyousness, yea, more than these,

The sunbeam does recall:

The hope of life above;

Rich buds of promise springing everywhere;

The grace-blest gifts that come without our care,

From all-providing Love!

No. V.—TO A WILD FLOWER.

In what delightful land,

Sweet-scented flower, didst thou attain thy birth?

Thou art no offspring of the common earth,