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Sweet Earlsburn, Blythe Earlsburn.
Sweet Earlsburn, blythe Earlsburn,
Mine own, my native stream,
My heart grows young again, while thus
On thy green banks I dream.
Yes, dream! in sooth I can no more,
For as thy murmurs roll,
They wake the ancient melodies
That stirred my infant soul.
I've told thee, one by one, the thoughts;
Strange shapeless forms were they,
That hung around me fearfuHy
In childhood's dreamy day.
And still thy mystic music spake
Dimly articulate,
Yielding meet answer to the dreams
That shadowed forth my fate.
I've wept by thee a sorrowing child;
I've sported, mad with glee,
