Poems (Campbell)/To Miss B. Ogilvy, Zetland
TO MISS B. OGILVY; ZETLAND.
Dost thou remember, gentle maid, The hours that we have spent together;When by the Watchwell hill we stray'd, Regardless of the frowning weather?
Hast thou forgot each artless prank, When friendship's flow'ry fetters bound usWhen on the Knabb's projecting bank The misty morning oft has found us?
Or when the summer-sun glow'd high, And winds and waves were seen in motion,To Twagoe's pebbled shore we'd hie, And lave, like sea-nymphs, in the ocean?
Or, when our school-day task was o'er, As through the garden's sweets we'd ramble,The butterfly, from flow'r to flow'r, Pursue with many a sportive gambol?
Oh! these are scenes of infancy Which mem'ry ever loves to treasure;The happy hours of thoughtless glee, Of short-liv'd pain, and purest pleasure:
The hours when mirth's tumultuous sway Dries up the new-fall'n tears of sorrow;Enjoys the pleasures of to-day, Nor dreads to meet the coming morrow,
As farther on life's rugged way, With anxious footstep quickly pressing,The more from childhood's haunts we stray, The dearer seems each faded blessing,
Say, if, untainted still, thy mind Each gentle virtue makes its dwelling;And if thy heart, still true and kind, With sympathy's warm throb is swelling?
When sorrow's mournful tale is told, Are tear-drops from thine eye-lids stealing;Or has thine heart, grown hard and cold, Turn'd callous to each tender feeling?
But, ah! my friend, forgive the fear Which thus in friendship's warmth arises;For yet, as in each earlier year, My heart that friendship fondly prizes.
The school-boy, from its verdant tree The op'ning rose-bud rudely sweeping,Its guardian thorn soon checks his glee, And leaves the thoughtless urchin weeping;
And smarting from the recent pain, Though near its fragrant sweets he'll linger,He dreads to pluck it, lest again The jealous thorn should wound his finger.
Thus when the heart is wrung with pain By faithless friends, we're ever dreadingTo trust to friendship, lest again It leaves the wounded bosom bleeding.
But our's was friendship's purest flame, Nor time its flow'ry bands shall sever;Oh! let me think thee still the same, Oh! let me love and trust thee ever!