Immured in Bothwell’s Towers, at times the Brave
(So beautiful is the Clyde) forgot to mourn
The liberty they lost at Bannockburn.
Once on those steeps
roamed at large, and have
In mind the landscape, as if still in sight;
The river glides, the woods before me wave;
But, by occasion tempted, now I crave
Needless renewal of an old delight.
Better to thank a dear and long-past day
For joy its sunny hours were free to give
Than blame the present, that our wish hath crost.
Memory, like Sleep, hath powers which dreams obey,
Dreams, vivid dreams, that are not fugitive;
How little that she cherishes is lost!
You May Also Like:
- The Morning Of The Day Appointed For A General Thanksgiving. January 18, 1816
- Composed After A Journey Across The Hambleton Hills, Yorkshire
- The White Doe Of Rylstone, Or, The Fate Of The Nortons – Dedication
- Tribute To The Memory Of The Same Dog
- The Martial Courage Of A Day Is Vain
- To The Same (John Dyer)
- Sonnet: It is not to be thought of that the Flood
Leave a Reply