When the bright crescent gleam'd o'er hill and dale We saw the poet's lowly place of birth, The Kirk, erewhile the scene of fiendish mirth, The brig that parted Maggie and her tail. We saw his bust, we saw the cenotaph, Which on the skirts of that fair garden stands, And Tam o'Shanter with his soundless laugh Over his empty cup and stony hands - All these were present, but the bard was gone, No more to tune his pipe on plain or hill, Nor multiply the moon from Willie's mill. But oh! how fondly still that crescent moon Hung with her golden horns o'er bonnie Doon, As though she look'd to be miscounted still. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...UNDER A PATCHED SAIL by MARIANNE MOORE THE CAT OF CATS by WILLIAM BRIGHTY RANDS LAURENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IRELAND: 4. BALLYTULLAGH by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM BEYOND THE ATOM by JANICE BLANCHARD GRISELDA: CHAPTER 4 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 32 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH THE WEE KNITTER by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN |