10 Best Famous Merle Poems

Here is a collection of the top 10 all-time best famous Merle poems. This is a select list of the best famous Merle poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Merle poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of merle poems.

• All Famous Merle Poems

 If we could roll back History
 A century, let's say,
And start from there, I'm sure that we
 Would find things as to-day:
In all creation's cosmic range
 No vestige of a change.

Turn back a thousand years, the same
 Unchangement we would view;
Cause and Effect their laws proclaim,
 The truest of the true,
And in life's mechanistic groove
 The Universe would move.

Grim is the grip of the Machine
 And everything we do
Designed implacably has been
 Since earth was virgin new:
We strut our parts as they were writ,--
 That's all there is to it.

Curse on such thinking! let us play
 At Free Will, though we be
The gnatlike creatures of the day,
 The dupes of Destiny . . .
The merle is merry in the may--
 Tommorow's time to pray.

 NOW Nature hangs her mantle green
 On every blooming tree,
And spreads her sheets o’ daisies white
 Out o’er the grassy lea;
Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams,
 And glads the azure skies;
But nought can glad the weary wight
 That fast in durance lies.


Now laverocks wake the merry morn
 Aloft on dewy wing;
The merle, in his noontide bow’r,
 Makes woodland echoes ring;
The mavis wild wi’ mony a note,
 Sings drowsy day to rest:
In love and freedom they rejoice,
 Wi’ care nor thrall opprest.


Now blooms the lily by the bank,
 The primrose down the brae;
The hawthorn’s budding in the glen,
 And milk-white is the slae:
The meanest hind in fair Scotland
 May rove their sweets amang;
But I, the Queen of a’ Scotland,
 Maun lie in prison strang.


I was the Queen o’ bonie France,
 Where happy I hae been;
Fu’ lightly raise I in the morn,
 As blythe lay down at e’en:
And I’m the sov’reign of Scotland,
 And mony a traitor there;
Yet here I lie in foreign bands,
 And never-ending care.


But as for thee, thou false woman,
 My sister and my fae,
Grim Vengeance yet shall whet a sword
 That thro’ thy soul shall gae;
The weeping blood in woman’s breast
 Was never known to thee;
Nor th’ balm that draps on wounds of woe
 Frae woman’s pitying e’e.


My son! my son! may kinder stars
 Upon thy fortune shine;
And may those pleasures gild thy reign,
 That ne’er wad blink on mine!
God keep thee frae thy mother’s faes,
 Or turn their hearts to thee:
And where thou meet’st thy mother’s friend,
 Remember him for me!


O! soon, to me, may Summer suns
 Nae mair light up the morn!
Nae mair to me the Autumn winds
 Wave o’er the yellow corn?
And, in the narrow house of death,
 Let Winter round me rave;
And the next flow’rs that deck the Spring,
 Bloom on my peaceful grave!