To A Lock Of Hair
By Walter Scott (Sir)
Thy hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright
As in that well-rememberd night
When first thy mystic braid was wove,
And first my Agnes whisperd love.
Since then how often hast thou prest
The torrid zone of this wild breast,
Whose wrath and hate have sworn to dwell
With the first sin that peopled hell;
A breast whose bloods a troubled ocean,
Each throb the earthquakes wild commotion!
O if such clime thou canst endure
Yet keep thy hue unstaind and pure,
What conquest oer each erring thought
Of that fierce realm had Agnes wrought!
I had not wanderd far and wide
With such an angel for my guide;
Nor heaven nor earth could then reprove me
If she had lived and lived to love me.
Not then this worlds wild joys had been
To me one savage hunting scene,
My sole delight the headlong race
And frantic hurry of the chase;
To start, pursue, and bring to bay,
Rush in, drag down, and rend my prey,
Then, from the carcass turn away!
Mine ireful mood had sweetness tamed,
And soothed each wound which pride inflamed:
Yes, God and man might now approve me
If thou hadst lived and lived to love me!