Page:Poems Cook.djvu/276

Old Songs, Old Songs,—what heaps I knew,
From "Chevy Chase" to "Black-eyed Sue;"
From "Flow, thou regal purple Stream,"
To "Rousseau's" melancholy "Dream!"
I loved the pensive "Cabin Boy"
With earnest truth and real joy.
My warmest feelings wander back
To greet "Tom Bowling" and "Poor Jack;"
And, oh "Will Watch," the "Smuggler" bold,
My plighted troth thou'lt ever hold!

I doted on the "auld Scot's sounet,"
As though I'd worn the plaid and bonnet;
I went abroad with "Sandy's Ghost;
I stood with Bannockburn's brave host;
And proudly toss'd my curly head
With "Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled."
I shouted "Comin' through the Rye"
With restless step and sparkling eye;
And chased away the passing frown
With "Bonnie ran the Burnie down."

The tiny "Warbler" from the stall—
The fluttering "Ballad" on the wall—
The gipsy's glee—the beggar's catch—
The old wife's lay—the idiot's snatch—
The schoolboy's chorus, rude and witty—
The harvest strain—the carol ditty—
I tax'd ye all—I stole from each;
I spurn'd no tutor that could teach:
Though long my list-though great my store,
I ever sought to add one more.

Old Songs, Old Songs,—ye fed, no doubt,
The flame that since has broken out;
For I would wander far and lone,
And sit upon the moss-wrapt stone,
Conning "old songs," till some strange power
Breathed a wild magic on the hour;

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