Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE NABOB, by SUSANNA BLAMIRE Poet's Biography First Line: When silent time, wi' lightly foot Last Line: That minds ye o' lang syne. Alternate Author Name(s): Muse Of Cumberland; Sukey, Miss Subject(s): Homecoming; Scotland | ||||||||
WHEN silent time, wi' lightly foot, Had trod on thirty years, I sought again my native land Wi' mony hopes and fears. Wha kens gin the dear friends I left May still continue mine? Or gin I e'er again shall taste The joys I left langsyne? As I drew near my ancient pile, My heart beat a' the way; Ilk place I passed seemed yet to speak O' some dear former day: -- Those days that followed me afar, Those happy days o' mine, Whilk made me think the present joys A' naething to langsyne. The ivied tower now met my eye, Where minstrels used to blaw; Nae friend stepped forth wi' open hand. Nae weel-kenned face I saw, Till Donald tottered to the door, Wham I left in his prime, And grat to see the lad return He bore about langsyne. I ran to ilka dear friend's room, As if to find them there; I knew where ilk ane used to sit, And hung o'er mony a chair; Till soft remembrance threw a veil Across these een o' mine -- I closed the door, and sobbed aloud, To think on auld langsyne. Some pensy chiels, a new-sprung race, Wad next their welcome pay, Wha shuddered at my Gothic wa's, And wished my groves away. 'Cut, cut,' they cried, 'those aged elms, Lay low yon mournfu' pine! ' 'Na, na! our fathers' names grow there, Memorials o' langsyne.' To wean me fra these waefu' thoughts They took me to the town, But sair on ilka weel-kenned face I missed the youthfu' bloom. At balls they pointed to a nymph Wham a' declared divine: But sure her mother's blushing cheeks Were fairer far langsyne! In vain I sought in music's sound To find that magic art Which oft in Scotland's ancient lays Has thrilled through a' my heart. The sang had mony an artfu' turn: My ear confessed 'twas fine; But missed the simple melody I listened to langsyne. Ye sons to comrades o' my youth, Forgi'e an auld man's spleen, Wha midst your gayest scenes still mourns The days he ance has seen. When time has passed, and seasons fled, Your hearts will feel like mine; And aye the sang will maist delight That minds ye o' lang syne. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SCOTLAND'S WINTER by EDWIN MUIR ELEGY ASKING THAT IT BE THE LAST; FOR INGRID ERHARDT, 1951-1971 by NORMAN DUBIE FUSELAGE INSTALLATION by JUAN FELIPE HERRERA SHOOTING SEASON; IN THE NORTH OF SCOTLAND by ROBINSON JEFFERS IN JOHN UPDIKE'S ROOM by CHRISTOPHER WISEMAN THE EXECUTION OF MONTROSE by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN THE HEART OF THE BRUCE by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN ROBERT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY BEFORE BANNOCKBURN by ROBERT BURNS THE SILLER CROUN by SUSANNA BLAMIRE |
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