Page:Poems Proctor.djvu/222

With his head upon her bosom
 In the firelight's ruddy glow,
Plaintive songs his mother sang him,—
 Airs of Scotland long ago;
And he thrilled at tales of heroes,
 Or of ghosts and warlocks grim,
Till he felt a chilly horror
 Creeping over every limb,
And he shuddered as the tempest
 Shook the window with its moan,
Lest the sobbing and the sighing
 Were a murdered victim's groan;—
Now his name is linked with story;
 Now his life is set to song;
All that Scotland has of glory
 Floats with Robert Burns along!

So the boy grew older, loving
 Every wild and winsome thing
From the rush of stormy waters
 To the lark upon the wing;
He a lark, too, warbling upward
 From the heather's purple guise,
Finding sweetest inspiration
 In the light of woman's eyes.
Dante shrined his Beatrice,
 Laura lives in Petrarch's rhyme,—
Tenderer praise have Scottish maidens
 Down through all the coming time!