Song for a Highland Drover Returning from England
Now fare-thee-well, England; no further I'll roam;But follow my shadow that points the way home;Your gay southern Shores shall not tempt me to stay;For my Maggy's at Home, and my Children at play!Tis this makes my Bonnet set light on my brow,Gives my sinews their strength and my bosom its glow.
Farewell, Mountaineers! my companions, adieu;Soon, many long miles when I'm severed from you,I shall miss your white Horns on the brink of the Bourne,And o'er the rough Heaths, where you'll never return:But in brave English pastures you cannot complain,While your Drover speeds back to his Maggy again.
O Tweed! gentle Tweed, as I pass your green vales,More than life, more than Love, my tir'd Spirit inhales;There Scotland, my darling, lies full in my view,With her bare-footed Lasses and Mountains so blue:To the Mountains away; my heart bounds like the Hind;For home is so sweet, and my Maggy so kind.
As day after day I still follow my course,And in fancy trace back every Stream to its source,Hope cheers me up hills, where the road lies beforeO'er hills just as high, and o'er tracks of wild Moor;The keen polar Star nightly rising to view;But Maggy's my Star, just as steady and true.
O Ghosts of my Fathers! O heroes, look down!Fix my wandering thoughts on your deeds of renown,For the glory of Scotland reigns warm in my breast,And fortitude grows both from toil and from rest;May your deeds and your worth be for ever in view,And may Maggy bear sons not unworthy of you.
Love, why do you urge me, so weary and poor?I cannot step faster, I cannot do more;I've pass'd silver Tweed; e'en the Tay flows behind:Yet fatigue I'll disdain;--my reward I shall find:Thou, sweet smile of innocence, thou art my prize;And the joy that will sparkle in Maggy's blue eyes.
She'll watch to the southward;--perhaps she will sigh,That the way is so long, and the Mountains so high;Perhaps some huge Rock in the dusk she may see,And will say in her fondness, 'That surely is he!'Good Wife, you're deceiv'd; I'm still far from my home;Go, sleep, my dear Maggy,--to-morrow I'll come.
Words in this poem
- shall v. i.
- To owe; to be under obligation for. [OE. shal, schal, imp. sholde, scholde, AS. scal, sceal, I am obliged, imp. scolde, sceolde, inf. sculan; akin to OS. skulan, pres. skal, imp. skolda, D. zullen,]
- brink n.
- The edge, margin, or border of a steep place, as of a precipice; a bank or edge, as of a river or pit; a verge; a border; as, the brink of a chasm. Also Fig. [Dan. brink edge, verge; akin to Sw. brink declivity, hill, Icel. brekka; cf. LG. brink a grassy hill, W. bryn hill, bryncyn hillock.]
- bourne n.
- A stream or rivulet; a burn. [OE. burne, borne, AS. burna; akin to OS. brunno spring, G. born, brunnen, OHG. prunno, Goth. brunna, Icel. brunnr, and perh. to Gr. burn, v., because the source]
- drover n.
- One who drives cattle or sheep to market; one who makes it his business to purchase cattle, and drive them to market.
- tweed n.
- A soft and flexible fabric for men's wear, made wholly of wool except in some inferior kinds, the wool being dyed, usually in two colors, before weaving. [Probably a corruption of twills. See Twill.]
- nightly a.
- Of or pertaining to the night, or to every night; happening or done by night, or every night; as, nightly shades; he kept nightly vigils.
- fortitude n.
- Power to resist attack; strength; firmness. [L. fortitudo, fr. fortis strong. See Fort.]
- fondness n.
- The quality or state of being fond; foolishness.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Song for a Highland Drover Returning from England is in the public domain. This text is taken from Rural Tales, Ballads, and Songs, Project Gutenberg ebook #9093; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Robert Bloomfield, Song for a Highland Drover Returning from England, in Rural Tales, Ballads and Songs (1802), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #9093, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/bloomfield-tales/song-for-a-highland-drover-returning-from-england.html, id L09704.
Form and metre
Song for a Highland Drover Returning from England is 42 lines in 7 stanzas of 6 lines each. It is in rhyming couplets, 81% of the lines. The metre is anapaestic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 91%). 85% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 11.2 syllables.
See other poems in rhyming couplets, other poems in anapaestic tetrameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 AABB-- roamA · homeA · stayB · playB · brow · glow
- 2 AA--BB adieuA · youA · bourne · return · complainB · againB
- 3 AABBCC valesA · inhalesA · viewB · blueB · hindC · kindC
- 4 AA--BB courseA · sourceA · before · moor · viewB · trueB
- 5 AABBCC downA · renownA · breastB · restB · viewC · youC
- 6 --AABB poor · more · behindA · findA · prizeB · eyesB
- 7 AABBCC sighA · highA · seeB · heB · homeC · comeC
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against anapaestic tetrameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| Now fare-thee-well, England; no further I'll roam; | 11 | ····/˘·/˘·· |
| But follow my shadow that points the way home; | 11 | ·/˘·/······ |
| Your gay southern Shores shall not tempt me to stay; | 11 | ··/˘······· |
| For my Maggy's at Home, and my Children at play! | 12 | ········/˘·· |
| Tis this makes my Bonnet set light on my brow, | 11 | ····/˘····· |
| Gives my sinews their strength and my bosom its glow. | 12 | ········/˘·· |
| Farewell, Mountaineers! my companions, adieu; | 11 | ·//˘··˘/˘˘/ |
| Soon, many long miles when I'm severed from you, | 10 | ·/····/˘·· |
| I shall miss your white Horns on the brink of the Bourne, | 12 | ············ |
| And o'er the rough Heaths, where you'll never return: | 10 | ·······/˘/ |
| But in brave English pastures you cannot complain, | 12 | ···/˘/˘·˘/˘/ |
| While your Drover speeds back to his Maggy again. | 12 | ··/˘······˘/ |
| O Tweed! gentle Tweed, as I pass your green vales, | 11 | ··/˘······· |
| More than life, more than Love, my tir'd Spirit inhales; | 11 | ·······//˘/ |
| There Scotland, my darling, lies full in my view, | 11 | ·/˘·/˘····· |
| With her bare-footed Lasses and Mountains so blue: | 12 | ···/˘/˘·/˘·· |
| To the Mountains away; my heart bounds like the Hind; | 12 | ··/˘˘/······ |
| For home is so sweet, and my Maggy so kind. | 11 | ··········· |
| As day after day I still follow my course, | 11 | ·······/˘·· |
| And in fancy trace back every Stream to its source, | 12 | ··/˘··/˘···· |
| Hope cheers me up hills, where the road lies before | 11 | ··········· |
| O'er hills just as high, and o'er tracks of wild Moor; | 11 | ··········· |
| The keen polar Star nightly rising to view; | 11 | ··/˘·/˘/˘·· |
| But Maggy's my Star, just as steady and true. | 11 | ·······/˘·· |
| O Ghosts of my Fathers! O heroes, look down! | 11 | ····/˘·/˘·· |
| Fix my wandering thoughts on your deeds of renown, | 11 | ··/˘·····˘/ |
| For the glory of Scotland reigns warm in my breast, | 12 | ··/˘·/˘····· |
| And fortitude grows both from toil and from rest; | 11 | ·/˘········ |
| May your deeds and your worth be for ever in view, | 11 | ········/·· |
| And may Maggy bear sons not unworthy of you. | 12 | ·······˘/˘·· |
| Love, why do you urge me, so weary and poor? | 11 | ·······/˘·· |
| I cannot step faster, I cannot do more; | 11 | ·/˘·/˘·/˘·· |
| I've pass'd silver Tweed; e'en the Tay flows behind: | 11 | ··/˘······· |
| Yet fatigue I'll disdain;--my reward I shall find: | 12 | ·˘/·˘/·˘/··· |
| Thou, sweet smile of innocence, thou art my prize; | 10 | ····/˘···· |
| And the joy that will sparkle in Maggy's blue eyes. | 12 | ·····/˘····· |
| She'll watch to the southward;--perhaps she will sigh, | 10 | ····/˘/··· |
| That the way is so long, and the Mountains so high; | 12 | ········/˘·· |
| Perhaps some huge Rock in the dusk she may see, | 11 | ˘/········· |
| And will say in her fondness, 'That surely is he!' | 12 | ·····/˘·/˘·· |
| Good Wife, you're deceiv'd; I'm still far from my home; | 11 | ···˘/······ |
| Go, sleep, my dear Maggy,--to-morrow I'll come. | 11 | ·······/˘·· |
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