James Thomson
Hymn on Solitude
Hail, mildly pleasing solitude, Companion of the wise and good; But, from whose holy, piercing eye, The herd of fools, and villains fly. Oh! how I love with thee to walk, And listen to
Farewell to Ravelrig
Sweet Ravelrig, I ne’er could part From thee, but wi’ a dowie heart. When I think on the happy days I spent in youth about your braes, When innocence my steps did guide, Where
Sunday up the River
MY love o’er the water bends dreaming; It glideth and glideth away: She sees there her own beauty, gleaming Through shadow and ripple and spray. O tell her, thou murmuring river, As past her
The Vine
THE wine of Love is music, And the feast of Love is song: And when Love sits down to the banquet, Love sits long: Sits long and arises drunken, But not with the feast
In the Train
AS we rush, as we rush in the Train, The trees and the houses go wheeling back, But the starry heavens above the plain Come flying on our track. All the beautiful stars of
Gifts
GIVE a man a horse he can ride, Give a man a boat he can sail; And his rank and wealth, his strength and health, On sea nor shore shall fail. Give a man
Fareweel, ye bughts
1. Fareweel, ye bughts, an’ all your ewes, An’ fields whare bIoomin’ heather grows; Nae mair the sportin’ lambs I’ll see Since my true love’s forsaken me. CHORUS. Nae mair I’ll hear wi’ pleasure
Rule Britannia
When Britain first, at Heaven’s command, Arose from out the azure main; This was the charter of the land, And guardian angels sung this strain: “Rule, Britannia, rule the waves; Britons never will be
The Seasons: Winter
See! Winter comes, to rule the varied Year, Sullen, and sad; with all his rising Train, Vapours, and Clouds, and Storms: Be these my Theme, These, that exalt the Soul to solemn Thought, And
A Poem Sacred to the Memory of Sir Isaac Newton
Shall the great soul of Newton quit this earth, To mingle with his stars; and every muse, Astonish’d into silence, shun the weight Of honours due to his illustrious name? But what can man?