Glen Collection of printed music > Printed text > Harp of Renfrewshire

269
Ah, the patriarch well might sing
Would my foe had done this thing !
If the doer poured his soul
Only — only for my Wliole.
"Well ! — I prize it not myself ; —
Carry it back to its coffin-sheLf !
Lay it up in its ancient dust !
Bind its clasps with the rivet rust !-
I forbid not, o'er my First
Though my Second work its worst.
Let it vex no more my soul !
It hath made that soul aware.
Like my Second, so my Whole
May feed on sorry fare.
His heart was sad, and his foot was sore.
When a stranger knocked at a cottager's door ;
With travel faint, as the night fell down.
He had missed his way to the nearest town, —
And he prayed for water to quench his thirst,
And he showed his purse as he asked for my First.
The cottar was moved by the stranger's tale,
He spread the board, and he poured the ale : —
" The river," he said, flows darkly down
Betwixt your path and the lighted town,
And far from hence its stream is cross'd
By the bridge on the road that you have lost :
Gold may not buy, till your weary feet
Have traversed the river and reached the street.
The thing you ask : — but the wandering moon
Will be out in the sky, with her lantern, soon,
Then, cross o'er the meadow, and look to the right,
And you'll find my Second by her light."