VERSES WRITTEN ON THE OCCASION OF THE MARRIAGE OF ALBERT EDWARD, PRINCE OF WALES, AND ALEXANDRA, PRINCESS OF DENMARK. I WOULD Sing a song of gladness, But the trembling chords of sadness Beauty, royalty, and splendour, Royal Bride-young, loving, beauteous, So before her mother knelt she, With her Albert by her side, She has felt all thoughts that melt thee- B Mingled tears of love and pleasure, Blessed change! no more bombarding Happy pair! high crowned with blessingBe it bliss without alloy ! Good Victoria's love possessing, While the nation sings for joy. Prince, thy father, good and gracious, Holds thy empire-nought so precious-- Princess, in thy queenly mother, Britain's daughter, Albert's wife. CENTENARY POEM. RECITED AT BURNS' CENTENARY FESTIVAL, HELD AT MAUCHLINE, OH Bard beloved! as pilgrims to thy shrine, We bring thee hearts that, while life's pulses beat, Regret that Death, not Life, gave world-wide fame. And shame that Scotia, dazzled by the blaze Should, while she sunned her in the living rays, Oh shade revered! the altar of thy fame This day we wreathe with fair immortal flowers Culled from each spot that's hallowed by thy name-By Doon, by Nith, by fair Montgomery's towers. From "Bonny Doon bring rose and woodbine twine," From "Winding Ayr the birch and hawthorn hoar," The flowers he pressed when Mary lay reclined Within his arms that clasped her nevermore. "The mountain daisy bring, the red red rose," The "yellow broom" where stealing burnie flows, And bring the "rough burr thistle, spreading wide," Oh! we have heard the Bruce at Bannockburn, When pealed his battle-hymn along the line; Felt with the Bard that "Man was made to mourn," And thrilled with memories of "Auld langsyne." Great poet-painter, these twin loves of thine, Fair Nature and fair Woman-Nature's flower, Each in her beauty, in thy soul's deep shrine Were worshipped, painted, with a master's power. Fair was the pictured scene, sweet Ballochmyle, Fair as thine own fair form, sad captive queen, The scenes portrayed in weeping Memory's eye; Thy Scotia robed in Nature's mantle green, Bestrewn with flowery gems of richest dye. The lily bank, the daisy-sheeted lea, The blossomed thorn, the primrose on the brae, No fairer sketch of Nature we may see, No sorrows sung in more pathetic lay. Burns-Nature's noblest, brightest, dearest son— Large, loving heart, and independent mind Were his-not to be bought, or warped, but won To love and sympathy for all mankind. Bright on the altar of his manly heart The holy flame of patriot ardour glowed; Love's fragrant incense, Truth undimmed by Art, And wit and humour flashing as they flowed. "A man's a man" whatever may befall Of honest poverty or lowly name— Birth, rank, and wealth, the poet lacked them all, But worth and genius gave him love and fame. And now, though "mouldering in the silent dust," The heart that dearly loved fair Scotia lies, "Still in her bosom's core" he lives, and must To Fame's bright zenith nearer, higher rise. |