'T IS sweet in midnight solitude, When the voice of man lies hushed, subdued, To hear thy mountain voice so rude, Break silence, Glashen-Glora! I love to see thy foaming stream Dashed sparkling in the bright moonbeam; For then of happier days I dream, Spent near thee, Glashen-Glora! I see the holly and the yew Still shading thee, as then they grew; But there's a form meets not my view, As once, near Glashen-Glora. Thou gayly, brightly, sparklest on, Wreathing thy dimples round each stone; But the bright eye that on thee shone Lies quenched, wild Glashen-Glora! Still rush thee on, thou brawling brook; Though on broad rivers I may look In other lands, thy lonesome nook, -- I'll think on Glashen-Glora! When I am low, laid in the grave, Thou still wilt sparkle, dash, and rave Seaward, till thou becom'st a wave Of ocean, Glashen-Glora! Thy course and mine alike have been Both restless, rocky, seldom green, -- There rolls for me, beyond this scene, An ocean, Glashen-Glora! And when my span of life's gone by, O, if past spirits back can fly, I'll often ride the night-wind's sigh, That's breathed o'er Glashen-Glora! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPITAPHS OF THE WAR, 1914-18: A DRIFTER OFF TARENTUM by RUDYARD KIPLING THE MOWER'S SONG by ANDREW MARVELL THE ANGEL IN THE HOUSE: BOOK 2. CANTO 8. PRELUDE: THE KISS by COVENTRY KERSEY DIGHTON PATMORE UPON THE IMAGE OF DEATH by ROBERT SOUTHWELL |