17.
And though some trifling share of praise,
To cheer my last declining days,
To me were doubly dear;
Whilst blessing your beloved name,
I'd waive at once a Poet's fame,
To prove a Prophet here.
I WOULD I WERE A CARELESS CHILD.[1]
1.
I would I were a careless child,
Still dwelling in my Highland cave,
Or roaming through the dusky wild,
Or bounding o'er the dark blue wave;
The cumbrous pomp of Saxon[2] pride,
Accords not with the freeborn soul,
Which loves the mountain's craggy side,
And seeks the rocks where billows roll.
- ↑ Stanzas.—[Poems O. and T.]
- ↑ Sassenach, or Saxon, a Gaelic word, signifying either Lowland or English.
school. I should hardly have thought it possible for society (or the world, as it is called) to leave a being with so little of the leaven of bad passions. I do not speak from personal experience only, but from all I have ever heard of him from others, during absence and distance."—Detached Thoughts, Nov. 5, 1821; Life, p. 540.]
