There are three bonnie Scottish melodies, So native to the music of my soul, That of its humours they seem prophecies. The ravishment of Chaucer was less whole, Less perfect, when the April nightingale Let itself in upon him. Surely, Lord! Before whom psaltery and clarichord, Concentual with saintly song, prevail, There lurks some subtle sorcery, to Thee And heaven akin, in each woe-burning air! @3Land of the Leal,@1 and @3Bonnie Bessie Lee,@1 And @3Home, Sweet Home,@1 the lilt of love's despair. Now, in remembrance even, the feeling speak, For lo! a shower of grace is on my cheek. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN EXPOSTULATION by ISAAC BICKERSTAFFE THIRD BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 12 by THOMAS CAMPION A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 28. THE WELSH MARCHES by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN TO A COMMON PROSTITUTE by WALT WHITMAN SHE PASSED THIS WAY by ANNA M. ACKERMANN |