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The Celtic Magazine, Vol I, No. IV, February 1876: A Monthly Periodical Devoted to the Literature, History, Antiquities, Folk Lore, Traditions, and the Social and Material Interest of the Celt at Home and Abroad. — John Shaqi

History

The Celtic Magazine, Vol I, No. IV, February 1876: A Monthly Periodical Devoted to the Literature, History, Antiquities, Folk Lore, Traditions, and the Social and Material Interest of the Celt at Home and Abroad.

Name: The Celtic Magazine, Vol I, No. IV, February 1876: A Monthly Periodical Devoted to the Literature, History, Antiquities, Folk Lore, Traditions, and the Social and Material Interest of the Celt at Home and Abroad.
Author: Various

Various

Clans -- Scotland -- Periodicals; Scotland -- Periodicals

I come with odour of shrub and flower
    Stolen from field and sunny bower
    From lowly cot and lordly tower.
    Borne on my wings the soul-like cloud--
    That snowy, mountain-shading shroud
          That loves to sleep
            On the sweet hill's crest,
          As still as the deep
          With its voice at rest,--
    Is wafted in dreams to its peaceful nest;
          At my command
          The glowing land
    Scorched by the beams of the burning sun,
      Listing the sounds of the drowsy bees,
    Thirsting for rain, and the dews that come
      When light has died on the surging seas,
    Awakes to life, and health, and joy;
      I pour a life on the sickening trees,
    And wake the birds to their sweet employ,
      Amidst the flowers of the lowly leas;
          From the sweet woodbine
          That loves to twine
    Its arms of love round the homes of men,
          Or laugh in the sight
          Of the sun's sweet light
    'Midst the flower gemmed scenes of the song-filled glen,
    And the full-blown rose that loves to blush
          'Midst the garden bowers
          Where the pensive hours
    Awaiting the bliss of the summer showers
    List to the songs of the warbling thrush,--
    I steal the sweets of their fragrant breath;
          From the lily pale
          That seems to wail
          With snow-like face
          And pensive grace
    O'er the bed that bends o'er the deeds of death,
          I brush the tears
            That she loves to shed
          For the early biers
            Of the lovely dead.
    When still twilight with dew-dimmed eye
    Sees the lord of light from the snow-white sky,
          Descend at the sight
          Of the coming night,
    'Midst the waves of the deathful sea to die!
          When glowing day
          Has passed away
    In peace on the tops of the dim-seen hills,
    That pour from their hearts the tinkling rills
          That dance and leap
          In youthful pride,
    To the brimming river, deep and wide,
    That bears them in rest to their distant sleep;
          And the gladsome ocean
          That ever presses
    The bridal earth in fond caresses,
    Rages no more in a wild commotion;
    When the distant hills appear to grow
    At the touch of evening bright,
    And the sunless rivers seem to go
    With a deeper music in their flow,
    Like dreams thro' the peaceful night,
          I fade away
          With the dying day,
    Like the lingering gleam of the sun's sweet ray!

                                DAVID R. WILLIAMSON.


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TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES

The spellings "ahead" and "a-head" are both used in this text.

The following amendments have been made to the text:

p. 106 "wont" changed to "won't";

p. 114 "familar" changed to "familiar";

p. 115 "buccolic" changed to "bucolic";

p. 122 "Soverign" changed to "Sovereign";

p. 124 "similiarly" changed to "similarly";

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

The Celtic Magazine, Vol I, No. IV, February 1876: A Monthly Periodical Devoted to the Literature, History, Antiquities, Folk Lore, Traditions, and the Social and Material Interest of the Celt at Home and Abroad.

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