A row of bearded fellows … four …
In hand-cuffs … chained to an iron bar …
Their bare feet straining to the slimy floor …
Stripped to their ragged underwear …
Their bruises not yet hardened to a scar …
Four bearded chins upon four breasts in prayer.

The twilight made by one high oblong's dim
On him … and him … and him … and him.

Perhaps no matter … there's not much to see …
No blanket on the cold and clammy bricks …
No bread … no pitcher … bowl … or pail …
But once in twenty-four or thirty-six

What sound of midnight music
Comes stealing on my ear?
How sweet, and oh! how holy,
The solemn strain I hear!

How sweet, and oh! how holy,
It echoes far and near,
As if an angel warbled
The solemn strain I hear.

As if an angel warbled
From out the highest sphere:
Sure mortal could not utter
The solemn strain I hear.

Sure mortal could not utter
A song so soft and clear:
O, might it ever linger,
The solemn strain I hear!

O, might it ever linger,
Thus breathing in my ear,

O wha's the loun can clout the claes?
Canty Davie, dainty Davie;
Wha the lassock's hearts can raise
Like little tailor Davie?

Though callants ca' him Whup-the-Cat,
And men-folk ban his gabbin' chat,
The lassies they find nae sic faut
Wi' kindly little Davie.

O blythe is ilka bodie's house,
Whaur Davie sits and cracks fou crouse,
Nae post-bag's half sae cramm'd wi' news
As glib-mou'd tailor Davie.

The weanies round him in a raw,
He raises sic a loud guffaw,
You'll hear the din a mile awa'

The gay green leaves are dancing
A merry merry round,
The milk-white lambs are prancing
Wi' merry merry bound.
The sun is shining brichtly
On mountain, tree, and tower,
And my fond heart leaps lichtly,
I've named my bridal hour.

Yet wherefore should I marry,
When I'm wi' joy sae fu',
My wee breast canna carry
Mair than it feels enow?
My Willie, fond and pressing,
Keeps by me a' the day,
An' whaten higher blessing
Could ony lassie hae?

We're to be cried neist Sunday,
Losh! how the folk will stare;

The golden bells of fairyland, that ring
Perpetual chime for childhood's flower-sweet spring,
Sang soft memorial music in his ear
Whose answering music shines about us here.
Soft laughter as of light that stirs the sea
With darkling sense of dawn ere dawn may be,
Kind sorrow, pity touched with gentler scorn,
Keen wit whose shafts were sunshafts of the morn,
Love winged with fancy, fancy thrilled with love,
An eagle's aim and ardour in a dove,
A man's delight and passion in a child,
Inform it as when first they wept and smiled.

When Fate trod madly on my garden bed
And took her from me in the early May,
Just as she tucked the living seeds away
With those deft fingers, kneeling near the shed,
'Twas not enough that I should see her dead
And my house shattered; not enough—but they
Who hate my sort found villain things to say
And mantled me with slander where I bled.

But my defense, who saw and judged the whole,
Because she loved my passionate sad soul
And deeper purport of my larger aim,
Spoke from those Places that the world denies—

“Whither away, in thy swift-winged bark,
Over the waters blue?”
“The way is long, and the night is dark,
And before the song of the matin lark
My voyage must be through.

“On Clutha's rock a castle tall
Frowns over the waters blue.
My lord, within that castle tall,
In deadly peril holds his all;
And my life to my lord is due.

“I have twenty stout and stalwart men,
As ever tugged at yew.
You may search the land, nor find again
Twenty such stout and stalwart men,
Nor twenty hearts so true.

Long years have seen me roaming
A sad and weary way,
Like traveller tired at gloaming,
A sultry summer's day;
No lamp of love before me,
No twinkling parlor fire,
But clouds and darkness o'er me,
My only friend my lyre.
A welcome shed now greets me,
Though low its portal be,
And ready kindness meets me,
And peace that will not flee:
So here my heart reposes,
And finds at last its home;
Its day of wandering closes;
It rests, no more to roam.
So when, by tempest battered,
The seaman, bent ashore,

The feeding shower comes brattlin' doun,
The south wind sughs wi' kindly soun',
The auld trees shake their leafy pows,
Young glossy locks dance round their brows,
And leaf and blade, and weed and flower,
A' joyous drink the feeding shower.

The misty clud creeps ower the hill,
And mak's each rut a gurglin' rill,
And tips wi' gowd each auld whin cowe,
And gaurs the heath wi' purple glow,
And sterile rocks, grey, bleak, and dour,
Grow verdant wi' the feeding shower.

The ewes and lambs a' bleat and brouse,

Grey-bearded Day nods drowsily,
Cauld hazy cluds hang ower the plain,
And Nature looks wi' pensive ee
On rich ripe fields o' gowden grain;
A' droukit heavy louting low,
Like mourners shedding tears o' woe.

The craws in conclave crowd the dyke,
The sparrows cluster round the barn,
Aneath the cart-shed cowers the tyke,
Ahint the stooks the poultry dern;
Nor leaf, nor stem, nor bough is stirr'd,
Nor sound is heard o' beast or bird.

Thick vapours gather ower the glens,
The shaggy hills are veil'd in grey,