Classic Poem

OR,AN ANSWER TO " LOGAN BRAES. "

" Thou maid, that sing'st by Logan stream,
" Wi' plaintive note, an' pensive mien,
" While true affection tunes thy lays,
" For thy ain lad on Logan braes.
" As yon sweet linnet, in the spring,
" Teaches her chirpin' young to sing,
" So thou, wi' thine, may'st con thy waes —
" He'll ne'er see thee, nor Logan braes.

" For, oh! what bosom, without pain,
" Can tell our sad mishaps in Spain? —
" He's faun, wi' Moore, o' deathless praise,
" Far, far frae thee, an' Logan braes.
" Wi' sleepless nights, an' famine, faint,
" Fell numbers urg'd him frae his tent;
" Yet aft he, wheelin', fac'd his faes,
" And thought on thee, an' Logan braes.

" But ere the fatal die was cast,
" I saw him nobly breathe his last. —
" Gae, tak' that ring, he faintly says,
" An' bear't to Kate, on Logan braes.
" The deadly tale her heart will stound — —
" But ebbin' life gush'd frae ilk wound:
" His latest accents spoke thy praise,
" And blest his babes on Logan braes. "

Ha'e ye no' seen the autumn flower
Bow down its head wi' e'enin' shower,
Till chillin' frost its form bewrays,
And lays it low on Logan braes?
She beat her breast — her han's she wrung;
Her hapless younglin's round her clung;
What pen, alas! cou'd paint her waes?
She's, faintin', fa'en on Logan braes.

But lo! the sodger doft his arms;
Like lightnin', clasp'd her fleetin' charms —
Says, " ope thine eyes, of kindest rays,
" On thy ain lad, on Logan braes. "

These accents kind her spirits cheer;
She views her lad wi' joyfu' tear;
Wi joy they press, — wi' joy they gaze,
An' kiss their babes on Logan braes.

" O, dearest Kate, can ye forgi'e
" The absent years I've been frae thee? "
Then in her lap a purse he lays,
That he'd brought hame to Logan braes. —
Says — " this shall help for what is gane,
" And I'll ne'er leave thee mair thy lane;
" While life-blood in my bosom plays
" I'll stay wi' thee on Logan braes.

" Ilk flutterin' bird mair sweet shall sing;
" Ilk blushin' flower mair sweet shall spring;
" Our bairns shall herd, an' gather slaes.
" Aroun' our cot, on Logan braes.
" To each fond haunt we will repair,
" Where I'll tell o'er my deeds o' war;
" While the blythe lambkin round us plays,
" And pipes sound shrill on Logan braes. "