Awaken on all my dear moorlands the wind in its glory and pride! O call me from highlands To walk by the hillriver's side! It is swelled with the first snowy weather The rocks are icy and hoar And darker waves around the long heather And the fernleaves are sunny no more. There are no yellow stars on the mountain, The bluebells have all died away From the brink of the moss-bedded fountain, From the side of the wint'ry brae But lovelier than cornfields all waving In emerald and scarlet and gold Are the slopes where the northwind is raving And the glens where I wandered of old. For the moors, For the moors, where the short grass like velvet beneath us should lie! For the moors, For the moors, where each high pass rose sunny against the clear sky! For the moors, where the linnet was trilling its song on the old granite stone; For the moors, where the lark, the wild skylark was filling every breast with delight What language can utter the feeling That rose when in exile afar, On the brow of a lonely hill kneeling I saw the brown heath growing there.
- by Emily Brontë (1818 - 1848) [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)
- by John Mitchell (b. 1941), "For the Moors", op. 24 no. 1 (1977), from The Earth, the Wind, and the Sky, no. 1. [text verified 1 time]
Researcher for this text: Victoria Brago
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 25
Word count: 197