To My Brother in Scotland
To that far land where now thou art,
Be many a blessing borne to thee
By guardian seraphs of the heart!
Yes—o'er the wide eternal sea
Be many a blessing born to thee!
Thy glance is gay, thy smiles are bright,
Thy every youthful word is glad,
And oh ! thy little heart is light
As if the heart may ne'er be sad;—
Thy life is sunshine, mirth and joy—
So be it, fond, beloved boy!
Ay—be it so—the days may come
When scenes may rise less bright and fair,
And thine may be a bitter doom,
And life a burden hard to bear-
Why crowd these visions o'er my mind,
While others there a home should find?
Th' uncertain future wakes the fear
I feel, but must not, dare not tell-
Yet Hope's sweet voice rings in mine ear,
And whispers—All shall yet be well!
These thoughts are strangers to thy breast
Where all is pleasure, peace, and rest.
These thoughts—but let them pass away,
And Hope shall linger here alone—
Still be thy heart, fair, light, and gay,
And gladness in thine every tone;
Nor dream thou once, far o'er the sea,
That hearts are aching here for thee.
Then, o'er the boundless, watery waste
To that far land where now thou art,
Be many a blessing borne to thee
By guardian seraphs of the heart!
Yes—o'er the blue eternal sea
Be many a blessing born to thee!
August, 1826.