Author: Algernon Charles Swinburne

---

    1746
    The weary day rins down and dies,
    The weary night wears through:
    And never an hour is fair wi' flower,
    And never a flower wi' dew.
    I would the day were night for me,
    I would the night were day:
    For then would I stand in my ain fair land,
    As now in dreams I may.
    O lordly flow the Loire and Seine,
    And loud the dark Durance:
    But bonnier shine the braes of Tyne
    Than a' the fields of France;
    And the waves of Till that speak sae still
    Gleam goodlier where they glance.
    O weel were they that fell fighting
    On dark Drumossie's day:
    They keep their hame ayont the faem,
    And we die far away.
    O sound they sleep, and saft, and deep,
    But night and day wake we;
    And ever between the sea-banks green
    Sounds loud the sundering sea.
    And ill we sleep, sae sair we weep,
    But sweet and fast sleep they;
    And the mool that haps them roun' and laps them
    Is e'en their country's clay;
    But the land we tread that are not dead
    Is strange as night by day.
    Strange as night in a strange man's sight,
    Though fair as dawn it be:
    For what is here that a stranger's cheer
    Should yet wax blithe to see?
    The hills stand steep, the dells lie deep,
    The fields are green and gold:
    The hill-streams sing, and the hill-sides ring,
    As ours at home of old.
    But hills and flowers are nane of ours,
    And ours are oversea:
    And the kind strange land whereon we stand,
    It wotsna what were we
    Or ever we came, wi' scathe and shame,
    To try what end might be.
    Scathe, and shame, and a waefu' name,
    And a weary time and strange,
    Have they that seeing a weird for dreeing
    Can die, and cannot change.
    Shame and scorn may we thole that mourn,
    Though sair be they to dree:
    But ill may we bide the thoughts we hide,
    Mair keen than wind and sea.
    Ill may we thole the night's watches,
    And ill the weary day:
    And the dreams that keep the gates of sleep,
    A waefu' gift gie they;
    For the sangs they sing us, the sights they bring us,
    The morn blaws all away.
    On Aikenshaw the sun blinks braw,
    The burn rins blithe and fain:
    There's nought wi' me I wadna gie
    To look thereon again.
    On Keilder-side the wind blaws wide;
    There sounds nae hunting-horn
    That rings sae sweet as the winds that beat
    Round banks where Tyne is born.
    The Wansbeck sings with all her springs,
    The bents and braes give ear;
    But the wood that rings wi' the sang she sings
    I may not see nor hear;
    For far and far thae blithe burns are,
    And strange is a' thing near.
    The light there lightens, the day there brightens,
    The loud wind there lives free:
    Nae light comes nigh me or wind blaws by me
    That I wad hear or see.
    But O gin I were there again,
    Afar ayont the faem,
    Cauld and dead in the sweet saft bed
    That haps my sires at hame!
    We'll see nae mair the sea-banks fair,
    And the sweet grey gleaming sky,
    And the lordly strand of Northumberland,
    And the goodly towers thereby:
    And none shall know but the winds that blow
    The graves wherein we lie.

---

Type of Poem: Elegy

Date Written:

Date Published:

Language: English

Keywords: Public Domain

Source: Public Domain Collection

Publisher:

Rights/Permissions: Public Domain

Comments/Notes: This poem is a profound exploration of longing, displacement, and the power of the homeland's memory. The speaker expresses a profound sense of homesickness and a deep longing for the familiar landscapes of their homeland, symbolized by vivid and emotive descriptions of the local rivers and landscapes such as Loire, Seine, Tyne, and Till. This longing is intensified by the contrast between the fond memories of home and the alienation experienced in the current, foreign land.

The poem also employs a recurring theme of death, portraying it as a return to the homeland. The poet uses the image of the fallen soldiers who "keep their hame ayont the faem" as a stark contrast to the living who "die far away." This perhaps reflects a sense of envy towards those who rest in their homeland's soil. The poet’s use of dialect and authentic regional references imbues a sense of nostalgia and personal identification, grounding the poem in a specific cultural context and making the reader feel the speaker's longing more intensely.

In terms of structure, the poem uses an A-B-A-B rhyme scheme, which gives it a lyrical quality, reinforcing the emotional resonance of the poem. The repetition of phrases, such as "I would the day were night for me, I would the night were day," further underscores the speaker's persistent yearning and internal conflict. Overall, the poem effectively conveys the pain of displacement and the deep-rooted longing for the homeland, making it a poignant exploration of human emotion and the ties that bind us to our native soil.