CORONACH
by: Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832)
- E is gone on the mountain,
- He is lost to the forest,
- Like a summer-dried fountain,
- When our need was the sorest.
- The font reappearing
- From the raindrops shall borrow;
- But to us comes no cheering,
- To Duncan no morrow!
-
- The hand of the reaper
- Takes the ears that are hoary,
- But the voice of the weeper
- Wails manhood in glory.
- The autumn winds rushing
- Waft the leaves that are searest,
- But our flower was in flushing
- When blighting was nearest.
-
- Fleet foot on the correi,
- Sage counsel in cumber,
- Red hand in the foray,
- How sound is thy slumber!
- Like the dew on the mountain,
- Like the foam on the river,
- Like the bubble on the fountain,
- Thou art gone--and for ever!
"Coronach" is reprinted
from The Golden Treasury. Ed. Francis T. Palgrave. London:
Macmillan, 1875. |
MORE
POEMS BY SIR WALTER SCOTT |
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