Farewell To A Singer. On Her Marriage

As those who hear a sweet bird sing,
    And love each song it sings the best,
Grieve when they see it taking wing
    And flying to another nest:

We, who have heard your voice so oft,
    And loved it more than we can tell,
Our hearts grow sad, our voices soft,
    Our eyes grow dim, to say farewell.

It is not kind to leave us thus;
    Yet we forgive you and combine,
Although you now bring grief to us,
    To wish you joy, for auld lang syne.

Robert Fuller Murray

Robert Fuller Murray was a Scottish poet known for his lyrical and expressive poetry. Born on December 26, 1863, in Roxbury, Massachusetts, he moved to Scotland at a young age. Despite a short life, ending on April 15, 1894, Murray left a significant mark with his works, which often reflected themes of nature and human emotion. His poetry is characterized by its elegance and depth of feeling. Murray's influence remained through posthumous publications and collections of his poetry.

Robert Fuller Murray

The Poet's Hat

Robert Fuller Murray, Simple Poetry

The M.A. Degree. After Wordsworth

Robert Fuller Murray, Simple Poetry

The Haunted Chamber

Robert Fuller Murray, Simple Poetry

For A Present Of Roses

Robert Fuller Murray, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The Farewell.

Tune - "It was a' for our rightfu' king."


I.

    It was a' for our rightfu' king,
        We left fair Scotland's strand;
    It was a' for our rightfu' king
        We e'er saw Irish land,
        My dear;
        We e'er saw Irish land.

II.

    Now a' is done that men can do,
        And a' is done in vain;
    My love and native land farewell,
        For I maun cross the main,
        My dear;
        For I maun cross the main.

III.

    He turn'd him right, and round about
        Upon the Irish shore;
    And gae his bridle-reins a shake,
        With adieu for evermore,
        My dear;
        With adieu for evermore.

IV.

    The sodger from the wars returns,...

Robert Burns

The Outcast's Farewell

The sun is banished,
The daylight vanished,
No rosy traces
    Are left behind.
Here in the meadow
I watch the shadow
Of forms and faces
    Upon your blind.

Through swift transitions,
In new positions,
My eyes still follow
    One shape most fair.
My heart delaying
Awhile, is playing
With pleasures hollow,
    Which mock despair.

I feel so lonely,
I long once only
To pass an hour
    With you, O sweet!
To touch your fingers,
Where fragrance lingers
From some rare flower,
    And kiss your feet.

But not this even
To me is given.
Of all sad mortals
    Most sad am I,
Never to meet you,
Never to greet you,
Nor pass your portals
    Before I die.

All men scorn ...

Robert Fuller Murray

The Voice That Sings

The voice that sings across the night
    Of long forgotten days and things,
Is there an ear to hear aright
    The voice that sings?

It is as when a curfew rings
    Melodious in the dying light,
A sound that flies on pulsing wings.

And faded eyes that once were bright
    Brim over, as to life it brings
The echo of a dead delight,
    The voice that sings.

Robert Fuller Murray

The Farewell.

    "The valiant, in himself, what can he suffer?
    Or what does he regard his single woes?
    But when, alas! he multiplies himself,
    To dearer selves, to the lov'd tender fair,
    The those whose bliss, whose beings hang upon him,
    To helpless children! then, O then! he feels
    The point of misery fest'ring in his heart,
    And weakly weeps his fortune like a coward.
    Such, such am I! undone."

Thomson.


I.

    Farewell, old Scotia's bleak domains,
    Far dearer than the torrid plains
        Where rich ananas blow!
    Farewell, a mother's blessing dear!
    A brother's sigh! a sister's tear!
        My Jean's heart-rending throe!
    Farewell, my Bess! tho' thou'rt bereft
        Of my parental care,
  ...

Robert Burns

A Presentiment

It seems a little word to say--
    _Farewell_--but may it not, when said,
    Be like the kiss we give the dead,
Before they pass the doors for aye?

Who knows if, on some after day,
    Your lips shall utter in its stead
    A welcome, and the broken thread
Be joined again, the selfsame way?

The word is said, I turn to go,
    But on the threshold seem to hear
            A sound as of a passing bell,
Tolling monotonous and slow,
    Which strikes despair upon my ear,
            And says it is a last farewell.

Robert Fuller Murray

The Joyful Widower.

Tune - "Maggy Lauder."


I.

    I married with a scolding wife
        The fourteenth of November;
    She made me weary of my life,
        By one unruly member.
    Long did I bear the heavy yoke,
        And many griefs attended;
    But to my comfort be it spoke,
        Now, now her life is ended.

II.

    We liv'd full one-and-twenty years
        A man and wife together;
    At length from me her course she steer'd,
        And gone I know not whither:
    Would I could guess, I do profess,
        I speak, and do not flatter,
    Of all the woman in the world,
        I never could come at her.

III.

    Her body is bestowed well,
        A handsome grave does hide her;
    But ...

Robert Burns