He was only half Scotch, and not at all
metaphysical:-
THE WASTER'S PRESENTIMENT
I shall be spun. There is a voice within
Which tells me plainly I am all undone;
For though I toil not, neither do I spin,
I shall be spun.
April approaches. I have not begun
Schwegler or Mackintosh, nor will begin
Those lucid works till April 21.
So my degree I do not hope to win,
For not by ways like mine degrees are won;
And though, to please my uncle, I go in,
I shall be spun.
Here we must quote, from The Scarlet Gown, one of his most tender
pieces of affectionate praise bestowed on his favourite city:-
A DECEMBER DAY
Blue, blue is the sea to-day,
Warmly the light
Sleeps on St. Andrews Bay -
Blue, fringed with white.
That's no December sky!
Surely `tis June
Holds now her state on high,
Queen of the noon.
Only the tree-tops bare
Crowning the hill,
Clear-cut in perfect air,
Warn us that still
Winter, the aged chief,
Mighty in power,
Exiles the tender leaf,
Exiles the flower.
Is there a heart to-day,
A heart that grieves
For flowers that fade away,
For fallen leaves?
Oh, not in leaves or flowers
Endures the charm
That clothes those naked towers
With love-light warm.
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