Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, TEVIOTDALE, by JOHN LEYDEN


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

TEVIOTDALE, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Land of my fathers! - though no mangrove here
Last Line: Pour'd to the harp and solemn organ's peal.
Subject(s): Home; Teviotdale, Scotland


LAND of my fathers! -- though no mangrove here
O'er thy blue streams her flexile branches rear,
Nor scaly palm her finger'd scions shoot,
Nor luscious guava wave her yellow fruit,
Nor golden apples glimmer from the tree --
Land of dark heaths and mountains! thou art free.
Untainted yet, thy stream, fair Teviot! runs,
With unatoned blood of Gambia's sons:
No drooping slave, with spirit bow'd to toil,
Grows, like the weed, self-rooted to the soil,
Nor cringing vassal on these pansied meads
Is bought and barter'd, as the flock he feeds.
Free, as the lark that carols o'er his head,
At dawn the healthy ploughman leaves his bed,
Binds to the yoke his sturdy steers with care,
And whistling loud directs the mining share;
Free, as his lord, the peasant treads the plain,
And heaps his harvest on the groaning wain;
Proud of his laws, tenacious of his right,
And vain of Scotia's old unconquer'd might.
Dear native valleys! may ye long retain
The charter'd freedom of the mountain swain!
Long mid your sounding glades in union sweet
May rural innocence and beauty meet!
And still be duly heard at twilight calm
From every cot the peasant's chanted psalm!
Then, Jedworth! though thy ancient choirs shall fade,
And time lay bare each lofty colonnade,
From the damp roof the massy sculptures die,
And in their vaults thy rifted arches lie,
Still in these vales shall angel harps prolong
By Jed's pure stream a sweeter even song,
Than long processions once, with mystic zeal,
Pour'd to the harp and solemn organ's peal.





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