No More Learning

III.

Thou strik'st the dull peasant--he sinks in the dark,
Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name;
Thou strik'st the young hero--a glorious mark!
He falls in the blaze of his fame!

IV.

In the field of proud honour--our swords in our hands,
Our king and our country to save--
While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands,
Oh! who would not die with the brave!

* * * * *




CXLI.

FLOW GENTLY, SWEET AFTON.

Tune--"_Afton Water. _"

[The scenes on Afton Water are beautiful, and the poet felt them, as
well as the generous kindness of his earliest patroness, Mrs. General
Stewart, of Afton-lodge, when he wrote this sweet pastoral. ]


I.

Flow gently, sweet Afton! among thy green braes,
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream--
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

II.
Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds thro' the glen;
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den;
Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear--
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.

III.

How lofty, sweet Afton! thy neighbouring hills,
Far mark'd with the courses of clear, winding rills;
There daily I wander as noon rises high,
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.

IV.

How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow!
There, oft as mild evening weeps over the lea,
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.

V.

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides;
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
As gathering sweet flow'rets she stems thy clear wave.

VI.

Flow gently, sweet Afton! among thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays!
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream--
Flow gently, sweet Afton! disturb not her dream.

* * * * *




CXLII.

THE SMILING SPRING.