Robert Louis Stevenson

IN the highlands, in the country places,

And the young fair maidensQuiet eyes;Where essential silence cheers and blesses,And for ever in the hill-recessesHer more lovely musicBroods and dies–O to mount again where erst I haunted;Where the old red hills are bird-enchanted,And the low green meadowsBright with sward;And when even dies, the million-tinted,And the night has come, and planets glinted,Lo, the valley hollowLamp-bestarr’d!O…

Bring the comb and play upon it!

Willie cocks his highland bonnet,Johnnie beats the drum.Mary Jane commands the party,Peter leads the rear;Feet in time, alert and hearty,Each a Grenadier!All in the most martial mannerMarching double-quick;While the napkin, like a banner,Waves upon the stick!Here’s enough of fame and pillage,Great commander Jane!Now that we’ve been round the village,Let’s go home again.

Birds all the summer day

Here in the arbour-likeTent of the laurel.Here in the forkThe brown nest is seated;For little blue eggsThe mother keeps heated.While we stand watching herStaring like gabies,Safe in each egg are theBird’s little babies.Soon the frail eggs they shallChip, and upspringingMake all the April woodsMerry with singing.Younger than we are,O children, and frailer,Soon in the blue…

FOR some abiding central source of power,

And, flowing, carry virtue. Far below,The vain tumultuous passions of the hourFleet fast and disappear; and as the sunShines on the wake of tempests, there is castO’er all the shattered ruins of my pastA strong contentment as of battles won.And yet I cry in anguish, as I hearThe long drawn pageant of your passage rollMagnificently…