16.07.2007, 09:54
A Wayside Adventure
He was a native of the North countrie,
But left it early, - an adventurous lad;
His look I know not if severe or sad,
Shrewd surely and with even a latent glee;
And a broad deeply-furrowed brow had he.
Albeit no Scot, the accent made me glad,
Awaking love and kindly memory.
“With song and friendship we are wisely mad,”
Methought; “and this shall be a merry hour.
Of this man’s soul I hold the secret key:
Grave, silent, strong, yet shall he feel my power,
And that of the heart-linker, Sympathy.
One word shall bring the land for which he yearns,
One magic word. – I spoke it, - it was Burns.
He was a native of the North countrie,
But left it early, - an adventurous lad;
His look I know not if severe or sad,
Shrewd surely and with even a latent glee;
And a broad deeply-furrowed brow had he.
Albeit no Scot, the accent made me glad,
Awaking love and kindly memory.
“With song and friendship we are wisely mad,”
Methought; “and this shall be a merry hour.
Of this man’s soul I hold the secret key:
Grave, silent, strong, yet shall he feel my power,
And that of the heart-linker, Sympathy.
One word shall bring the land for which he yearns,
One magic word. – I spoke it, - it was Burns.