Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
To The Memory Of Bro. John Wilson, The Vocalist. .
TO THE MEMORY OF BRO . JOHN WILSON , THE VOCALIST . .
BY BRO . ROBERT G 1 LPILLAN . FAR on a foreign shore the Minstrel sleeps , His harp on willow branches all unstrung , Save when the breeze across it trembling sweeps , Faint echoes ' wak ' ning of the strains he sung !
Not on the banks of Tweed ' s fair silver stream , Nor in some nook he rests on Fortha ' s shore , His " narrow house" ' mid strangers—soft his dream ! His dirge the Niagara ' s troubled roar ! Who now shall swell thy songs , old Scotia dear ? The " Ewe-bughts Marion , " " Gowans in the Glen , " " FarewellLochaber ! " or the " Parting Tear "
, , " Up , gallants , up ! we'll a' be Charlie ' s men !" A wee bird chirping cam' to our ha' door , Across the wide and wild Atlantic main , Sad was its song— " The voice is heard no more , " That , dying , hath not left its like again !" The Bruce ' s charge— "Scots who with Wallace bled , "
Or , " Bonny Tibby , I ha ' e seen the day , " " My love is like the rose all blushing reel , " Or " Forest flowers a' weded are away !" If kindred spirits meet in better lands , A Ramsay , Ferguson , and Burns are there , To give him welcome with outstretched hands , Who of their fame divided half the share !
And thou , great Minstrel , of the mighty North , Thy laurels spreading as wide-spread thy song , Wilt bid a yocal brother thus come forth , Who poured thy lays our woods and wilds among ! And like the fabled bird that dying sings , In sweetest melody that singing dies , So WILSON , ere he spread his up-borne wings , Gave out his sweetest strains ' neath foreign skies !
The broom shall wave on Cowden ' s hills antl plains , The heather bloom on uplands far and free , The song-birds wake again their mellow strains , What time that bud and blossom crown the tree . The mountains shall give forth their torrents strong , These to the sea shall fall in many a river , But WILSON , chieftain famed in Scottish song , Thy voice is hushed—to wake again , oh , never ! East Hermitage , November 20 , 1849 .
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
To The Memory Of Bro. John Wilson, The Vocalist. .
TO THE MEMORY OF BRO . JOHN WILSON , THE VOCALIST . .
BY BRO . ROBERT G 1 LPILLAN . FAR on a foreign shore the Minstrel sleeps , His harp on willow branches all unstrung , Save when the breeze across it trembling sweeps , Faint echoes ' wak ' ning of the strains he sung !
Not on the banks of Tweed ' s fair silver stream , Nor in some nook he rests on Fortha ' s shore , His " narrow house" ' mid strangers—soft his dream ! His dirge the Niagara ' s troubled roar ! Who now shall swell thy songs , old Scotia dear ? The " Ewe-bughts Marion , " " Gowans in the Glen , " " FarewellLochaber ! " or the " Parting Tear "
, , " Up , gallants , up ! we'll a' be Charlie ' s men !" A wee bird chirping cam' to our ha' door , Across the wide and wild Atlantic main , Sad was its song— " The voice is heard no more , " That , dying , hath not left its like again !" The Bruce ' s charge— "Scots who with Wallace bled , "
Or , " Bonny Tibby , I ha ' e seen the day , " " My love is like the rose all blushing reel , " Or " Forest flowers a' weded are away !" If kindred spirits meet in better lands , A Ramsay , Ferguson , and Burns are there , To give him welcome with outstretched hands , Who of their fame divided half the share !
And thou , great Minstrel , of the mighty North , Thy laurels spreading as wide-spread thy song , Wilt bid a yocal brother thus come forth , Who poured thy lays our woods and wilds among ! And like the fabled bird that dying sings , In sweetest melody that singing dies , So WILSON , ere he spread his up-borne wings , Gave out his sweetest strains ' neath foreign skies !
The broom shall wave on Cowden ' s hills antl plains , The heather bloom on uplands far and free , The song-birds wake again their mellow strains , What time that bud and blossom crown the tree . The mountains shall give forth their torrents strong , These to the sea shall fall in many a river , But WILSON , chieftain famed in Scottish song , Thy voice is hushed—to wake again , oh , never ! East Hermitage , November 20 , 1849 .