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527. v
When I have borne in memory what has tamed
Great Nations, how ennobling thoughts depart When men change swords for ledgers, and desert
The student's bower for gold, some fears unnamed I had, my Country—am I to be blamed?
Now, when I think of thee, and what thou art, Verily, in the bottom of my heart,
Of those unfilial fears I am ashamed. For dearly must we prize thee; we who find
In thee a bulwark for the cause of men; And I by my affection was beguiled: What wonder if a Poet now and then,
Among the many movements of his mind,
Felt for thee as a lover or a child!
528. 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
More welcome notes to weary bands
Of travellers in some shady haunt,
Among Arabian sands:
