Blair Collection > Poems and songs
(43)
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THE LONE MAIDEX. 31
THE LONE MAIDEX.
Your liistoiy, oh, transient flowers of earth !
Is beautiful and brief;
Oft whilst your buds are in their early birth
Pale death assails the leaf.
Even so has passed away my joyous dream ;
There is nought remaining now
But the shaded light tliat its golden gleam
Has left upon my brow.
And the sore pain that, like a wearied steed,
Would fain lie down to sleep.
Whilst memory maddens it anew to speed,
Planting her rowels deep.
Speed on, mad pain, and beat thou down the heart —
The brow can still be calm ;
Though memory often acts a cruel part,
She gives me soothing balm.
For all that she to my soul recalls
Of those dear bygone hours
Is pure as the taintless dew that f:ills
Upon the silent flowers.
It is not conscience gives the aching wound
That crimsons thus my vest ;
I'd rather treadmg on the thorns be found.
Than plant them in my breast.
O'er tliem I followed duty's cheerless iace
With feet that sorely bled,
Whilst love w^as beckoning with a winning grace,
To where her flowers were spread.
"Tis hard the gift that gold could not have bought
Was lavished in vain,
Tis bliss to know my soul without a blot,
My hand without a stain.
THE LONE MAIDEX.
Your liistoiy, oh, transient flowers of earth !
Is beautiful and brief;
Oft whilst your buds are in their early birth
Pale death assails the leaf.
Even so has passed away my joyous dream ;
There is nought remaining now
But the shaded light tliat its golden gleam
Has left upon my brow.
And the sore pain that, like a wearied steed,
Would fain lie down to sleep.
Whilst memory maddens it anew to speed,
Planting her rowels deep.
Speed on, mad pain, and beat thou down the heart —
The brow can still be calm ;
Though memory often acts a cruel part,
She gives me soothing balm.
For all that she to my soul recalls
Of those dear bygone hours
Is pure as the taintless dew that f:ills
Upon the silent flowers.
It is not conscience gives the aching wound
That crimsons thus my vest ;
I'd rather treadmg on the thorns be found.
Than plant them in my breast.
O'er tliem I followed duty's cheerless iace
With feet that sorely bled,
Whilst love w^as beckoning with a winning grace,
To where her flowers were spread.
"Tis hard the gift that gold could not have bought
Was lavished in vain,
Tis bliss to know my soul without a blot,
My hand without a stain.
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Early Gaelic Book Collections > Blair Collection > Poems and songs > (43) |
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Permanent URL | https://digital.nls.uk/76082500 |
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Description | Gaelic and English. |
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Shelfmark | Blair.83 |
Additional NLS resources: | |
Attribution and copyright: |
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More information |
Description | A selection of books from a collection of more than 500 titles, mostly on religious and literary topics. Also includes some material dealing with other Celtic languages and societies. Collection created towards the end of the 19th century by Lady Evelyn Stewart Murray. |
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Description | Selected items from five 'Special and Named Printed Collections'. Includes books in Gaelic and other Celtic languages, works about the Gaels, their languages, literature, culture and history. |
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