Classic Poem

Well I remember the days when I wandered a whiteheaded urchin,
Careless, unlessoned and wild, on a farm remote in the veld;
Companioned by Xhosa herdboys, I hunted through valley and woodland
Slaying with shameless delight, animal, serpent and bird:
Then on my infant mind, crashing like midsummer sunlight,
Blazed the wizard's enchantment as sudden sight to the blind;
Straightway the farm was invaded by knights in glittering armour,
Grim and gory moss-troopers, Highlanders whirling to war;
When on my shaggy-tailed pony I charged the light-footed ostrich
Marmion was I, Fitz-James, Deloraine ready at need!
Waked by the wand of the wizard I tasted of manifold beakers,
Brooded with bitter Childe Harold, sailed with the Mariner old,
Sought for Endymion's Moon, for Chorasmian shores with Alastor,
Lingered near Dove with Lucy, sighed at the sorrows of Ruth.


Then when my years numbered ten, again the wizard enthralled me,
Dazzled me with Diana, made me forever her slave:
Ah, that ethereal eve, when she of all huntresses fairest
Winning a second Francis, cantered into my ken;
Clear and far in the stillness Elysian trumpets were pealing,
Time raised his hand to Earth's traffics; a rose-moon stood in the sky…
Dazed, I returned to my home, where I read by a flickering candle,
Chuckled at caustic Andrew, joyed over Jarvie the shrewd;
Long after dream-tranced midnight by wakeful parent discovered,
Candle and book were withdrawn—Diana rode through my dreams!
Thus did I strike my Golconda, the fabulous wealth of the Waverleys,
Found fresh joy in each gem, conned them again and again:
Oft since, on beds of sickness, those treasures have quickened and cheered me;
Often when vexed with smart slime, I return to their beauty serene.


Summers a hundred have fled since the stately column' was broken,
Stilled that silver-toned trumpet, extinguished the ‘beacon-light’:
Though ‘he is gone on the mountain’, though ‘he is lost to the forest’,
Rock-like his fame shall withstand assaulting surges of time.
Not of the bards supreme, but closely akin was the wizard,
Singer of Flodden's stark fight, poet of Maisie the proud,
Not of the bards supreme, but foremost of all our singers
To waken in careless youth, the quenchless passion of song.
Hail, to the Shakespeare of Scotland! Sire of Oldbuck and Edie,
Dominie, Dandie and Meg; Jeanie and douce Davie Deans:
Sire whose manifold offspring stir us to tears and to laughter,
Bringer of gladdening gifts, we hail him with tears of delight.


Now on this day for his glory may sunlight crown the proud Eildons,
And Tweed in silvery splendour mirror its minions of gold;
Tweed that loves and forgets not shall chant a psalm of remembrance,
Hymning the great-hearted singer whose bones lie close to its shore;
And as years crumble and fade, like the scattering gold of those woodlands,
His fame, like that tireless stream, shall sing, and shine, and endure.