Robert F. Murray: His Poems with a Memoir Part 17

FOR SCOTLAND

Beyond the Cheviots and the Tweed, Beyond the Firth of Forth, My memory returns at speed To Scotland and the North.

For still I keep, and ever shall, A warm place in my heart for Scotland, Scotland, Scotland, A warm place in my heart for Scotland.

Oh, cruel off St. Andrew's Bay The winds are wont to blow!

They either rest or gently play, When there in dreams I go.

 

And there I wander, young again, With limbs that do not tire, Along the coast to Kittock's Den, With whinbloom all afire.

I climb the Spindle Rock, and lie And take my doubtful ease, Between the ocean and the sky, Derided by the breeze.

Where coloured mushrooms thickly grow, Like flowers of brittle stalk, To haunted Magus Muir I go, By Lady Catherine's Walk.

In dreams the year I linger through, In that familiar town, Where all the youth I ever knew, Burned up and flickered down.

There's not a rock that fronts the sea, There's not an inland grove, But has a tale to tell to me Of friends.h.i.+p or of love.

And so I keep, and ever shall, The best place in my heart for Scotland, Scotland, Scotland, The best place in my heart for Scotland!

THE HAUNTED CHAMBER

Life is a house where many chambers be, And all the doors will yield to him who tries, Save one, whereof men say, behind it lies The haunting secret. He who keeps the key,

Keeps it securely, smiles perchance to see The eager hands stretched out to clutch the prize, Or looks with pity in the yearning eyes, And is half moved to let the secret free.

And truly some at every hour pa.s.s through, Pa.s.s through, and tread upon that solemn floor, Yet come not back to tell what they have found.

We will not importune, as others do, With tears and cries, the keeper of the door, But wait till our appointed hour comes round.

NIGHTFALL

Let me sleep. The day is past, And the folded shadows keep Weary mortals safe and fast.

Let me sleep.

I am all too tired to weep For the sunlight of the Past Sunk within the drowning deep.

Treasured vanities I cast In an unregarded heap.

Time has given rest at last.

Let me sleep.

IN TIME OF SICKNESS

Lost Youth, come back again!

Laugh at weariness and pain.

Come not in dreams, but come in truth, Lost Youth.

Sweetheart of long ago, Why do you haunt me so?

Were you not glad to part, Sweetheart?

Still Death, that draws so near, Is it hope you bring, or fear?

Is it only ease of breath, Still Death?

Footnotes:

{1} Mr. Butler lectures on Physics, or, as it is called in Scotland, Natural Philosophy.