Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, TO BIRTHLAND, by JOHN TAYLOR (1837-)


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

TO BIRTHLAND, by                    
First Line: In sunny boyhood's golden time - but yesterday it seems
Last Line: From the far sun of glory on thy hills and heather red.
Subject(s): Aging


IN sunny boyhood's golden time -- but yesterday it seems --
My life was radiant with the light of bright and happy dreams;
And then, O bonnie Scotia! my own dear land of birth,
I held thee as the fairest and the freest land on earth.
Thy mountains and thy valleys all, so fair and dear to me,
Were fairer still and dearer in the light of liberty;
And joy went thrilling through me as, with buoyant, bounding tread,
I wandered o'er thy bonnie braes among the heather red.

O, happy, happy, happy time! so nearly linked to heaven,
That not to man through all his years on earth below is given
Another time of joy so pure -- so like the joys above --
However bless'd his life may be in wealth, or fame, or love.
Through every varied season then there shines a glow sublime,
A sweet soul-filling peacefulness, not of the earth and time;
And, light of heart and full of glee, with buoyant, bounding tread,
Youth wanders o'er the bonnie braes among the heather red.

O, happy, happy, happy time! but yesterday it seems --
And yet how dim and distant now its bright and joyous dreams.
'Tis almost as if one awoke on some strange, eerie shore --
Awoke and wondered where had fled the "tender grace" of yore;
As if the forms once known and loved he found, with sad surprise,
Become like masks whence alien souls looked out with callous eyes;
And all the mystic glory gone that once so sweetly spread
Its wondrous beauty o'er the dear old hills and heather red.

O, sunny boyhood's golden time! O, native land so dear!
O, lov'd companions who made both so bright and fair appear!
There is a grief, a desolate and dull entranced woe,
That they have had a blessed boon who ne'er had cause to know, --
A strange, sad loneliness that owns no spot of earth as best;
The heart seems to have lost the trick of north, south, east, or west.
All aimless, then, the steps that once, with buoyant, bounding tread,
Went wand'ring o'er the bonnie braes among the heather red.

O, native land! the pride that glowed at thy dear name is cold;
No more with love and light art thou enhaloed as of old;
From boyhood's patriotic dream the gleam of glamour fades,
And seeming true men stand revealed as simulacral shades.
Ay, many once deemed fair and free are leagued in craft and guile,
And cunningly veil Cain-like hearts with hypocritic smile,
While o'er their gentler fellow-men with cruel feet they tread; --
No wonder on thy bonnie braes the heather grows so red.

And yet, O Scotia! thou hast had some noble sons and true,
Who went not with the many when the right was with the few;
Who thought but of the freedom that for others they might win,
And, single-handed, held the breach when foes came thronging in.
What though they fell, and, falling, filled -- when flesh could do no more --

The gap through which the enemy his mighty force did pour;
The one last gift they had to give they gave that we might tread
As freemen o'er thy bonnie braes among the heather red.

Thy peasants, too, and preachers, have been men who dared be free --
Who dared to live, and think, and speak, as conscience gave decree;
Who every worldly hope resigned in Freedom's holy cause,
To stand, though but a feeble band, against tyrannic laws;
And oft expecting nought from earth beyond a mossy shroud
In some lone spot among the hills, "far from the madding crowd."
With these thy truest, noblest sons, thou knowest how it sped; --
No wonder on thy bonnie braes the heather grows so red.

A freeman standeth by the right, though one against the world,
With honest word, or pen, or sword, and banner fair unfurled;
Forth like the knights of long ago adventuring his way
Against the social reptiles who make human kind their prey.
True freedom owneth all on earth as one wide family,
And lives already in the time "when all shall brothers be."
"Of old sat Freedom on the heights," -- O! that it might be said
She dwelleth still in thee, dear land of hills and heather red.

But of the eternal soul of truth thou art not yet bereft,
And of the faithful none may say that he alone is left;
Ten thousand, thousand there may be who have not bowed to Baal,
And there is One who will not let His own true people fail.
While gentle, kindly mothers are in hall or humble cot,
And sons are born within whose breast there is one manly spot,
There still will be a hope for thee, still some sweet radiance shed
From the far sun of glory on thy hills and heather red.





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net