POEMS.
111
THE OLD COVENANTER
Frail crumbling monument! existing yet
'Mid nature's ruins. Grey-grown in the strife
Of thy stern fortune's elements, and, it may be,
The last enduring pillar of a time-razed house,
Thou yet upstandest, by thy scars, to tell
Tales of unholy warfare! There are lines,
Deeper far traced by sorrow's searing hand,
Than can the advent of old age bring on;
And these were won thee, soldier, in thy fight,
For home, thy children, freedom, and thy faith!
Life's fire is quenched, yet there is left a spark
In the sunk eye once strained to watch o'er these.
There is a ling'ring vision of a spot,
Passed o'er and blighted by war's fiery course;
Once the fair home of gladness, now marked out alone
By the wild weeds of ruin! Whilst thou dream'st
Oppression, tyranny, but names unknown,
Unheard, as once, 'neath roofs that sheltered worth,
And in sweet fancy look'st on vanished joys,
Feeling their sunshine melt thy sorrow's snow,
There is reality's stern hand upraised
To wake thee from thy slumber. Sleep no more!
'Mid nature's ruins. Grey-grown in the strife
Of thy stern fortune's elements, and, it may be,
The last enduring pillar of a time-razed house,
Thou yet upstandest, by thy scars, to tell
Tales of unholy warfare! There are lines,
Deeper far traced by sorrow's searing hand,
Than can the advent of old age bring on;
And these were won thee, soldier, in thy fight,
For home, thy children, freedom, and thy faith!
Life's fire is quenched, yet there is left a spark
In the sunk eye once strained to watch o'er these.
There is a ling'ring vision of a spot,
Passed o'er and blighted by war's fiery course;
Once the fair home of gladness, now marked out alone
By the wild weeds of ruin! Whilst thou dream'st
Oppression, tyranny, but names unknown,
Unheard, as once, 'neath roofs that sheltered worth,
And in sweet fancy look'st on vanished joys,
Feeling their sunshine melt thy sorrow's snow,
There is reality's stern hand upraised
To wake thee from thy slumber. Sleep no more!
