Festival of song: a series of evenings with the poets . he 21st of September,1832, Sir Walter breathed his last. Not long before he died, he said : • I have been, perhaps, themost voluminous author of the day, and it is a comfort to me tothink that I have tried to unsettle no mans faith, to corrupt nomans principles, and that I have written nothing which, on mydeath-bed, I should wish blotted. Me/rose he has consecrated by his genius, Abbotsford by his livingpresence, and Dryburgh is made sacred by his sleeping dust : whileNature herself may be said, in his own beautiful lines, to do homageto
Festival of song: a series of evenings with the poets . he 21st of September,1832, Sir Walter breathed his last. Not long before he died, he said : • I have been, perhaps, themost voluminous author of the day, and it is a comfort to me tothink that I have tried to unsettle no mans faith, to corrupt nomans principles, and that I have written nothing which, on mydeath-bed, I should wish blotted. Me/rose he has consecrated by his genius, Abbotsford by his livingpresence, and Dryburgh is made sacred by his sleeping dust : whileNature herself may be said, in his own beautiful lines, to do homageto the memory of his muse :— Call it not vain -, they do not err. Who say that when the poet dies,Mute Nature mourns her worshipper, And celebrates his obsequies :Who say,—tall cliff and cavern lone,For the departed bard make moan :That mountains weep in crystal rill,—That flowers in tears of balm distil,—Through his loved groves that breezes sigh,And oaks in deeper groan reply ;And rivers teach the rushing waveTo murmur dirges round his In his Rokeby we have this fine song :- Allen-a-Dale has no fagot for burning,AUen-a-Dale has no furrow for turning,Allen-a-Dale has no fleece for the Allen-a-Dale has red gold for the , read me my riddle ; come, hearken my tale !And tell me the craft of bold Allen-a-Dale. i86 The Baron of Ravcnsworth prances in pride,And he views his domains upon Arkindale mere for his net, and the land for his game,The chase for the wild, and the park for the tame ;Yet the fish of the lake, and the deer of the less free to Lord Dacre than AlIen-a-Dale. Allen-a-Dale was neer belted a knight. Though his spur be as sharp, and his blade be as bright ; Allen-a-Dale is no baron or lord, Yet twenty tall yeomen will draw at his word ; And the best of our nobles his bonnet will vail. Who at Rere-cross on Stanmore meets Allen-a-Dale. Allen-a-Dale to his wooing is come ; The mother, she asked of his household and
Size: 1339px × 1865px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1860, booksu, booksubjectenglishpoetry
