Literary Gazette, 12th July 1823, Page 443
ORIGINAL POETRY.
GLENCOE.[1]
Lay by the harp, sing not that song,
Though very sweet it be;
It is a song of other years,
Unfit for thee and me.
Thy head is pillowed on my arm,
Thy heart beats close to mine;
Methinks it were unjust to heaven,
If we should now repine.
I must not weep, you must not sing
That thrilling song again,—
I dare not think upon the time
When last I heard that strain.
It was a silent summer eve:
We stood by the hill side,
And we could see my ship afar
Breasting the ocean tide.
Around us grew the graceful larch,
A calm blue sky above,
Beneath were little cottages,
The homes of peace and love.
Thy harp was by thee then, as now,
One hand in mine was laid;
The other, wandering 'mid the chords,
A soothing music made;
Just two or three sweet chords, that seemed
An echo of thy tone,—
The cushat's song was on the wind
And mingled with thine own.
I looked upon the vale beneath,
I looked on thy sweet face,
I thought how dear, this voyage o'er,
Would be my resting place.
We parted; but I kept thy kiss,—
Thy last one,—and its sigh—
As safely as the stars are kept
In yonder azure sky.
Again I stood by that hill side,
And scarce I knew the place,
For fire, and blood, and death, had left
On every thing their trace.
- ↑ This appears later in The Vow of the Peacock and Other Poems (1835) The first verse here reads:
Lay by the harp, sing not that song,
Although so very sweet;
It is a song of other years,
For thee and me unmeet.
