The Poetical Works of William Motherwell/Sweet Earlsburn, Blythe Earlsbum

by William Motherwell

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,

And still thou wert the only one
That seemed to care for me;
For in whatever mood I came
To wander by thy brim,
Thy murmurs were most musical,
Soul-soothing as a hymn.

I've wandered far in other lands,
And mixed with stranger men,
But still my heart untravelled sought
Repose within thy glen.
The pictures of my memory
Were fresh as they were limned,
Nor change of scene, nor lapse of years,
Their lustre ever dimmed.