Page:Marmion - Walter Scott (ed. Bayne, 1889).pdf/36

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MARMION.
Sallow his brow, and russet bareAre now the sister-heights of Yair.The sheep, before the pinching heaven,To sheltered dale and down are driven,Where yet some faded herbage pines, 25And yet a watery sunbeam shines:In meek despondency they eyeThe withered sward and wintry sky,And far beneath their summer hill,Stray sadly by Glenkinnon's rill: 30The shepherd shifts his mantle's fold,And wraps him closer from the cold;His dogs no merry circles wheel,But, shivering, follow at his heel;A cowering glance they often cast, 35As deeper moans the gathering blast.
My imps, though hardy, bold, and wild,As best befits the mountain child,Feel the sad influence of the hour,And wail the daisy's vanish'd flower; 40Their summer gambols tell, and mourn,And anxious ask,—Will spring return,And birds and lambs again be gay,And blossoms clothe the hawthorn spray?
Yes, prattlers, yes. The daisy's flower 45Again shall paint your summer bower;Again the hawthorn shall supplyThe garlands you delight to tie;The lambs upon the lea shall bound,The wild birds carol to the round, 50And while you frolic light as they,Too short shall seem the summer day.
To mute and to material thingsNew life revolving summer brings;The genial call dead Nature hears, 55And in her glory reappears.
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