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signifie "A SUIVRE", le symbols V signifie "FIN". Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent dtre filmis d des taux de reduction diffirents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour dtre reproduit en un seul ciich6, il est film6 d partir de I'angle sup6rieur gauche, de gauche A droite. et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images ndcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mdthode. arrata to pelure, in d 1 2 3 1 n 32X 6 / _„ /f :^ c -^ Po ems, Songs, and Sonnets ,,^-m 14. ^ y.r % ^' ^^^^^^^^^^^K* / '« CP r >^>n^^>, and honnets BV 1 U B E R T R E I D fROn WANLOCK^ i« »» fw "MiKiiaANo KiivMK^i' J r l,EXANi>ER GARDNKR '<^ nOSTER SQUAKfc, LONIKjN s % ■^■f/ "n.j '* < L> ^. t -i-t^v* -- ^ /\i ^-^j>-r\^^u Y .•'> . ] \ k T r Poems, Songs, and Sonnets » If BY ROBERT REID (ROM WANLOCK) AOTIIOR ,,F " .M(K>RLA.\I> RllVMES " ALEXANDER GARDNER JSubliaJjer to JUtx i«a,fBtp ti,f auern PAISLEY; and a6 PATERNOSTER SQUARE, LONDON 1894 TO Hon. Phks.oes- r ok th,: Ca,.hd.,n,an Soc, . v ,„ Mon , k,,.v,.. A REPRESENTATIVE SCOT, Whosk Love kok thk 0..„ Lasu mamkksps ,tsk,.k „u kvkkv AVAri.Alil.K OCCA^IiiN, THESE " WoODNOTKS Will)" or OVR COMMON COUMKV Are KEsi-Ecri.ui.i.v Ixscrii:!;., THK AUTHOR. ROSKHII.I., Oltkkmont, P.g., Canada, 1394. B PRE F A C E By way of Preface to this volume, it rr ■ not I'C unfit' "ig to give the following excerpts from a lecture on Modern bcoUish Poetry delivered before the Calo loiaan Society of Montreal on the cvenimi: of Fridny, 2nd February, 1894, by Mr. John MacFarlane, author of Jlcat/: r and Harebell. Speaking with some title t>i treat on the subject as the writer of such lyrics as '• The Last Lan^'syne," "The Bonnie Banks o' (.'lyde," etr., the lecturer remarked: "In the year 1874, a book was issued from the Dumfries press of John Anderson (S: Son, under the unpretentious title of Moorhxnd Rliyvies, which, more than any other that I know of, gives voice and interpretation to the underlying poetry of the Scot- tish moors. On its appearance, it was hailed as a valuable addition to native literature, and its author, Robert Wanlock (Reid), from the grace and sweetness of his numbers, took at once a front rank place among the minor singers of the day. A new and genuine note had been struck from the Scottish lyre, and lovers of the hamely Doric recognised Vlll. Preface. with a thrill of pleasure that although the age of Faery had vanished never to return, yet " the bent sae broon " was still magical with " the lilt o' the laverock and lintie," "the perfume o' brier and brume;" and the mystery of awe still potent to consecrate as by a solemn benediction the lonely beauty of the hills. One peculiarity of the verse, apart from its higher attributes, is its exquisite form — a quality in which the vernacular poet, as a rule, is not strong. The dedicatory stanzas are quite as delicately fine as anything to be found in the dainty filigree work of Andrew Lang or Austin Dobson. They instantly transport the reader (to quote the words of another dedication recently famous) to a land "where about the graves of the martyrs the whaups are crying — Scottish hearts know how." . . . Mr. Reid is a native of the little lead-mining village of Wanlockhead, perched away high up among the Lowthers, almost at the dividing line or watershed be- tween the shires of Dumfries and Lanark. It takes its name from the Wanlock burn — hence also the pen-name of Robert Wanlock. About a mile to the north on the Lanarkshire side is the twin lead-mining village of Leadhills, celebrated as being the birthplace of Allan Ramsay, and where he resided till his fifteenth year. The district is rich in native song and music, but its isolation from the outer world is all that even a Thoreau or a Carlyle in his Craigenputtoch days, could have Preface. i\'. desired. So sheer is the ascent approaching from the north, that the door-step of Leadhills parish church is said to be on a level with the top of Tinto or Tintock, only some ten miles distant, and one of the highest mountains in the South of Scotland. Of the two villages, Wanlockhead is, perhaps, the most lonely, and certainly the most " old-world " and unique. Mr. Reid describes it as : — " Far frae a' ithers, and stan'in' its lane. Like a mitherless laddie left oot in the rain." He further informs us that " There's three months o' bluister tae ilk ane o' sun, And the dour nippin' cranreuch's maist aye on the'grun." But the reader is fully conscious that, despite his playful depreciation, the poet loves it as a mother loves her child ; and to any who have visited the locality, his vivid and graphic portraiture of " W anlock " will recall with talismanic power this beau-ideal small metropolis of the moors. ... Its environment is markedly sterile, but to atone for the absence of floral and other treasures, there is always the lovely green girdle o^ hills— "the bonnie hills o' Wanlock"_of which their laureate so fondly sings. ... Sometimes, however, tragedy throws its shroud across their bosoms, and the sunshine is shadowed by some pitiful incident, such as the poet portrays in his poem c I X. Preface. of "Storm-sted." The reign of King Winter, if neither so severe nor so lasting as in Canada, is often sig- nalised by terrific snow-drifts, and it would almost seem as if, in accordance with old superstition, the storm-fiend claimed an annual human victim from among the Low- thers. . . . There is hardly anything more weird in the whole body of Scottish poetry than the lines in which the climax of this tale of a traveller lost in the snow is reached : — " But wheest ! what waefu' cry was tliat Blawn in frae yont the hill, When the wild storm had lown't a blink, And a' the glen was still ? It soundit like the eerie maen O' some half-waukent thing Shot — or the dour blude at the hert Could nerve its brain tae spring ; A wild lost yaumer tleein' far Afore the sabbin' blast, And drappin' nameless dreid like dew On ilka thing it past. Far i' the glen lichts fired at ance, And heids cam' oot tae hear, Ciin neebors heard the waefu' cry. That fill't theirsel's wi' fear." Legends of the Covenant have also, as Simpson's Traditions will testify, touched with an almost sacred awe these upland moors, — and especially the braes of Enterkin — so that our author as he " speels " to visit Katie's Well is forced to exclaim : — Preface. ^.| " What getherin's at the mirk o' nichts, When mune or sterns were smoort or dim, And a' the misty muirlan' hichts Were quiverin' wi' the martyrs' hymn ! '' In the battle for " freedoti.'s sacred cause," as Burns terms it, it has too long, perhaps, been taken for granted that the poetic spirit was and is entirely on the one side -the side of the Jacobites and the Cavaliers. This conclusion is not quite just. Mr. Reid's beautiful poem of "kirkbride" is an instance to the contrary. Only the other day, a writer in a popular Scottish miscellany referred to it as one of the finest tributes yet paid to the memory of those sturdy assertors of civil and religious I.berty-the stern Covenanters. Another poem of similar import is entitled " Enterkin." Neither of these P'eces are included in Moorland Rhymes, btit both possess m a high degree the hall-mark of individuality so characteristic of their author's genius, and in any' mure edition of his works will be assigned a high, if not the highest, place. . While to "the seeing eye and the understanding heart " the Scottish moorland is instinct with the purest poetry ■t .s yet not guite the Elysian fields. It has its bleak and barren s,de as well, iron-hued with the stern reality of f^ct But the compensations of life amid the most un- I'kely surroundings could hardly have been better or more philosophically set forth than in the poet's ■■ Hame's Xll. Preface. aye Hame : or A Lintie's Defence of the Moorland." I itmember some years ago, in the course of a summer evening walk and conversation by the banks of the Clyde, the late Robert Tennant, author of "AVee Davy Daylicht," and of the beautiful lines, " 'Tis Sweet to Roam by Allander," incorporated by William l]lack in his delightful story of " Stand Fast, Craig Royston ! " after repeating the poem, remarked, that it was one of the few things of which he had an intense desire to have been the author. Linties have not yet " hopped up " the evolution ladder so far as to be capable of articulate speech, but if ever a gifted member of the race breaks forth into words, it might very suitably be in the strain of this dialogue. Burns, in one of his letters, explains the peculiar effect upon him of the cry of the gray curlew ; and to most Scotsmen "the wheeple o' the whaup," is more moving than the songs of all the nightingales. But to Mr. Reid has been reserved the privilege of enshrining in a com- plete lyric this " Sentinel of Silence " among the hills. Verses like " The Whaup " haunt the ear with the strange pertinacity of the bird's own cry. . . . Had I not already exceeded " the time limit," I could have wished to convey a few " tit-bits " from such pieces as ''Kilmeny's Warning," "A Sprig o' Heather," "The Spirit of The Moor," " The Cairn o' the Hill "—a cairn grown gray in wind and weather — and more particularly from " Something Wrang," a moorland tragedy, or rather ■ Preface. XI 11. a catastrophe, gleaming like a dark tarn amidst the quiet beauty of pastoral life. Enough, however, has been given to show that a richer vein than that of lead exists among these lonely heights of tl -. South of Scotland. And my task has been well accomplished if for a brief space any have, been transported in spirit across the Western Ocean-have heard again "the laich seep- sabbin' o' the burn doon by," when— " The win' sae lown, Can scrimply gar the stey peat-reek play swirl, Abune the herd's auld hield." Moorland Rhymes, to which the foregoing utterance chiefly refers, has been out of print for the last ten years. To meet the demand of many inquiries for the work, both at home and in America, the present collection of Poems, Songs, and Sonnets, is offered to the public, It contains what may be considered the riper fruit of the former book, with a large addition of new matter- notably in the Sonnet form. CONTENTS KlRKBRDE,... The Auld Gray Glkn... PAdE I NATIONAL SONNETS. My BiRTHRi(;Hr, Scotland, Burns and Highland Mary, Bannockburn, ... Cameron's Gr.we in Airsmoss, On Seeing a Portrait of Clavkrhouse, . Flodden, ... Bonnie Prince Charlie, Kirk-o'- Field, Abbey Craig, ... IT 12 J.J 14 IS 16 17 18 19 20 XVI. Contents. RoiiERT Burns, (jLENCOK. James Hocc. ("The Eurick Shepherd'), "She has the Eyes of Burns," Wallace at Stirling Bridge, OrTERliOURNi:. .. Ilor.c, Bluebells, Gloaminc, ... Lanosyne, PACIF. 21 24 25 26 27 28 29 POEJMS AXD SOXGS. Bruce's Grave, Mount Royal, Canada. To Memory, Song— Come am> Woo, Dedication— To John Mathikson Keid, Wan LOCK, ... The SriRiT oi" the Moor, Kilmeny's Warning, Storm-Steu, To My Mothek, Katie's Well, ... Saint Valentine's Day, 1879, The Hinmaist Crichton, J3 3S 4' 43 46 51 56 62 67 70 74 76 f i «i- Contents. XVII. Bacchanalian Sonc. kor the New Year, Laying Rv a Ln ilk for a Rainy Day, Jean: A Lyric, Graves on the Scottish Hm.i.s, In THi. Gakijen, Outremont. The Whacis ... Sonc : The Contented Shei-herd, ... Necony, I'AGK 80 S4 85 95 97 98 THE LOST HOME. The Lost Ho.me, On NA.MING .my Son Wanlock To my Mother, To the Lowthers, The Reason Why, . . Mennock, Carsehope, Glencrieve, Auchenlone, Enter KIN, The First Break, ... On Reading of the Earl of Dalkeith's Mar- riage, OcR Mary in IIe.aven, M0T11ERLE.SS, lOI 102 103 104 'OS 106 107 loS 109 no III 112 "3 114 XVlll. Contents. Ill The Spell Uroken, Our Portion, ... A SoRROvvKui. Choice, On Wanlock Don, The Mystery, Changed Times, To A Laverock, To Rev. Mr, Bi air, Wanlockhead, The Fi.I(;ht of Time, POEMS AND SONGS. May Moril, Forgotten, Atween and Mennock-Hass, ... The Days of Old, ... The Cairn on the Hill, Retrospect, I Pu'd a Rose,... Gin Ye Lo'e Me, ... The Last Toast, My Ain Hills, The Sea, In the Forest, Carron Water, Glenkallantyne; or, my Last Look o' Hame, rA<;K ii6 117 118 119 120 12! 122 •23 127 135 137 142 M7 148 149 151 153 '55 157 >59 Contents. XIX. Aman.; tiik Bromk, The Pokt and ms Tuk.me, ... At imk (Jaroev riAii:, ... \VAI.r,A(F., ... PAIRI.\r.-Tl.\!E, The Death-Song of Time,... Ki. Dorado, Enierkin, ... The Cry of the Hh.lmev, HA.NfE's Aye Hame,... Little Things, Like ihe River, Only a Dream, The Burn's Answer, Scotland's Charm.s, Something Wrang, A Si'RiG o' Heather, Autumn, ... Unfulfilleo Renown,... Tired, A Song of Pain, Rear our Flag on High ! ... Tintoc-Tap, Eplstle to Nellie,... A GU.ST ON the Lake, ... PACE 162 •• 163 166 .. 167 169 170 ■ '75 179 181 184 186 iSS 190 192 194 202 204 205 208 210 211 213 214 217 ! '. NX. Couti'uls. MISCELLANEOUS SONNE 7\S. PORSIK, Ldvk, ... Kamk, Aprii,, ... l{AM>HKn, .. IIekoi.sm, Discontent. SiNCINC, KO.MANCE, ... Keai.itv, Lovk-Weakv, Sl'RlNC, Gifts, PLEDGKI), N ATI' RE, L'E.woi, James Moki.an, The Lasi Ene.mv, Rest, I Woo'i) MN Love, WiMKK, I.\ Love, Farewekl, ... I'AIJK 221 222 224 225 226 227 228 229 230 23 » 232 233 234 235 236 237 23« 23'i 240 241 242 243 j I Contents. XXI. APPENDIX. To Uoi! W.\M.O( K, l)y Alexander (J. Murdoch, To Ron \Vani,0( K, l,y Alexander Anderson, ... To Ron Wam.ock, by Xisbet Nol)Ie, Ensti.k to Roi! \V.\M.ocK (Reio), l.y John Arhory. T() Re. Wani.ock, l.y Walter Chisholni, To Koi. Wanlo( K, MoMRKAi., by Nellie, 249 259 261 263 I IPoem^, ^owQB, anb Sonnets, 1^ MnnR m SB ''Land of my sires! li'hat mortal hand Can e'er unite the filial band Thai knits mc to thy rugged strand/" KIRKBRIDE. [It is related of an old native of this district that the last request he made vvhde on his deathbed was. « Bury .„e in Kirkbrick fo tz:r:\ ,''"" "'"'"^' ^"^^ '-^^ ^^-« ^ " -^. ^^^ing ad. antag of he license which all rhymers are apt to arrogate to emselve, I have put the beautiful words into'the mouthtf an til-R^RJ ' '' '"''^'°''^ '° ^""'^ ^"^^'^^d the persecu- BuRv me in KirkbiJde ^ Where the Lord's redeemed anes He ; The auld kirkyaird on the grey hillside,' Under the open sky ; Under the open sky, On the briest o' the braes sae steep, And side by side wi' the banes that lie Streikt there in their hinmaist sleep : This puir dune body maun sune be dust, But it thrills wi' a stoun' o' pride, To ken it may mix wi' the great and just That slumber in thee, Kirkbride. ^SI^SS IP 1 1 I ' Kirkbridc. Little o' peace or rest Had we, that hae aften stude Wi' oor face to the foe on the mountain's crest, Sheddin' oor dear heart's blude : Sheddin' oor dear heart's blude For the richts that the Covenant claimed, And ready wi' life to mak' language gude din the King or his Kirk we blamed ; And aften I thocht in the dismal day We'd never see gloamin' tide, But melt like the cranreuch's rime that lay I' the dawin, abune Kirkbride. But gloamin' fa's at last On the dour, dreich, dinsome day. And the trouble through whilk we hae safely past Has left us weary and wae ; Has left us weary and wae, And fain to be laid, limb-free, In a dreamless dwawm to be airtit away To the shores o' the crystal sea ; Far frae the toil, and the moil, and the murk, And the tyrant's cursed ])ride, Row'd in a wreath o' the mists that lurk, Heaven-sent, aboot auld Kirkbride. Wheesht ! did the saft win' speak ? Or a yaumerin' nicht bird cry ? Did I dream that a warm haun' touch't my cheek, And a winsome face gade by ? And a winsome face gade by, •^2 ^^MSHl^Sk.^ Kirkbride. Wi' a far-aff licht in its een, A licht that bude come frae the dazzlin' sky, For it spak' o' the starnies' sheen : Age may be donart, and dazed and blin', But I'se warrant, whate'er betide, A true heart there made tryst wi' my ain. And the tryst-word seemed, Kirkbride. cheek, 1 Hark ! frae the far hill-taps, And laich frae the lanesome glen. Some sweet psalm tune like a late dew draps Its wild notes doun the win' ; Its wild notes doun the win', Wi' a kent soun' owre my min' For we sang't on the muir, a wheen huntit men, Wi' oor lives in oor haun' langsyne ; But never a voice can disturb this sang, W^ere it Claver'se in a' his pride. For it's raised by the Lord's ain ransom'd thrang Forgether'd abune Kirkbride. I hear May Moril's tongue, That I wistna to hear again, And there — 'twas the black McMichael's rung Clear in the closin' strain ; Clear in the closin' strain, Frae his big heart, bauld and true : It stirs my saul as in days bygane. When his gude braidsword he drew : I needs maun be aff to the muirs ance mair, For he'll miss me by his side : Kirkbride. V the thrang o' the battle I aye was there, And sae maun it be in Kirkbride. Rax me a staff and plaid, That in readiness I may be, And dinna forget that The Book be laid Open, across my knee ; Open, across my knee, And a text close by my thooni, And tell me true, for I scarce can see. That the words are, " Lo, I come ; " Then carry me through at the Cample ford, And up by the lang hillside, And I'll wait for the comin' o' (jod, the Lord, In a neuk o' the auld Kirki)ride ! THE AULD GRAY GLEN. O' a' the glens in Scotland, bonnie Scotland ! Is there ane amang them a', my lads, tell nic gin ye ken, That winna yield the gree at ance tae winsome muirland Wanlock, The hame o' lichtsome lasses, and o' leal gude-hearted men ? The lawland dales are bonnie, and the hieland hills arc- grand. And mony a cantie fisher toon sits smiling by the sea : But suld ye search wi' eident care frae pebbled strand tae strand Ye wadna cross anither neuk that's half sae fair tae me, A^ Wanlock, winsome Wanlock ! The pride o' a' the kintra is the Auld (iray Glen. il Fair dawms the spring on Scotland, bonnie Scotland ! While hill and loch, and muir and glen, avow its witch- ing spell ; And blithely simmer oi)es its e'e on winsome muirlnntl Wanlock. When bees begin tae bum abune the heathers burstin' bell ; ■¥■ HHS 6 The Auld Gray Glen. And oh ! the fragrant autumn hills it's rare to wander o'er, Wi' some sweet lass beside ye, when the gloamin' ha})s the glen ; And Nature's winter mantle sparkles wi' its brichtest hoar, And a' tae please the couthie folk — trig queans and canny men O' VVanlock, lanesome Wanlock, Ilk season wears its richest on the Auld Gray Glen. The men are leal in Scotland, bonnie Scotland ! Nae maitter whaur ye meet a Scot ye'll fin' him true as steel ; And lealcr men ye couldna meet than won in winsome Wanlock, 1 carena whaur ye spier for worth, nor wha ye reckon leal ; The lawland lads are sonsie, and the hieland loons are stieve. But for the chields wha care for nocht commend me tae the glen, Whaur freens can get an open loof, and faes a steekit nieve. And gin ye watna whaur it is, I'd like tae let ye ken, That's Wanlock, sturdy Wanlock ! Big are the hearts and fearless in the Auld Gray Glen. And, oh, thy lassies, Scotland, bonnie Scotland ! Weel kens my heart their glamourie has cost it mony a stoun' ; The All Id Gray Gleii. y And deeper e'en did never shine than gloued in winsome VVanlock, And redder lips were never kist, the hale wide warld aroun' : And though they niiehtna busk themsel's in silks and satins fine, The plaid gangs wi' the heather, an" they're baith sae dear tae me That I wad wiss nocht better than a year o' lite tae tyne, And haud anither tryst wi' baith, awa' across the sea,' In Wan lock, lo'csome Wanlock ! Sweet were the kisses gien me in the Auld (Iray Glen. My heart is sair for Scotland, bonnie Scotland ! it's unco sair to think that I may see her shores nae mair ; For I ha'e wander'd mony a mile awa' frae winsome Wanlock, And wha can tell if e'er again I'll roam contented there? The sea is wide atween us, and the cruel hills are high, And black cluds mar my vision, that I canna see the shore ; But though my life be doomed tae pass aneath an alien sky Aft will my st)irit flichter back tae scenes that I adore, Tae Wanlock, hamely Wanlock ! Heaven bless the kindly dwellers in the Auld Gray Glen. "Wational Sonnets II MV lURTirRICHT. Proud of niy so/is/ii/^, s^/oiyi/i^i^- in the name n c stowed hy thee, thou^^h now hy thcc forgot, Dear mother country ! shall a kindly Scot Vie7ving his fate without one fhouoht of Ida me Thoui^h disinherited renounce his claim ? Nay, surely, circumstances matter not— Thou ;^h far my wanderini:is and nhscure mv lot, Still am I heir to all thy storied fame ! For me thy sweetest bards have fun'd the lay, Thy martyrs striven : for me on Bannock's side, (Ay, and at Flodden) have thy hravest died ; And shall /fling this priceless do7vcr away, This precious birthright ? IVay ! with jealous pride n I guard the treasure till my latest day. 12 m If I til SCOTLAND. Mountain and mist, lone glen and murmuring stream, The shaggy forest, and the gray hillside — These are th} features, Scotland ! these the pride Of those that love thee, — and tuy minstrels' theme. For partial nature, that denied to thee The sun of England and the soil of France, Hath clothed thee in the garment of Romance, That dearer for that dearth thy face might be. Proud mother, whose best son with reverence turns To greet thee, — land of Wallace, Knox, and Burns — Thy rugged hills are sacred from the feet Of heroes ; and thy bards (a countless throng) With tuneful tribute make the charm complete — Each moor a memory, and each stream a song ! ■jii 13 BURNS AND HIGHLAND MARY. A ROYAL harp hung in Life's palace ha'.l ; And one by one, as in and out they strayed, The careless guests a fitful music made Striking its strings : so true the notes did fall, That whoso heard, straightway for more did call. Thus many strains the willing heart essayed, As many hands (and some unworthy !) played. Ah ! but when Love, the master player of all, Parting in tears frcm one fair visitor. Taught her deft fingers 'mong its chords to twine, - The poor dumb instrument, whose soul did stir AVith sudden transport— Ipfc on ^.?'dh to pine Yearn'd evermore fo^- the dear hands of her, Knowing their tou>Ji t' lave 'leen indeed divine ! ': I ; I •MMNiH i mmm i iii i i iniin ii w if 14 B A N N O C K B U R N . Here is the Heart of Scotland : on this plain Her cjuivering pulse stood for a moment still While in the shock of Fate she dared fulfd Her destinv, and a nation's rank maintain. C) brother Scots I O fellow countrymen ! If standing by this shrine, ye do not thrill With proud emotion — ye are bondsmen still : I'or you this battle has been fought in vain. The charging squadrons of victorious Bruce Toil'd here for you and me ; the light which crownd Their weary brows was for our common use ; I'or us the treasures that these toilers found. Then reverently approach, and take your shoes P>om off your feet, for this is holy ground. 15 CAMERON'S GRAVE IN AIRSMOSS. Like a sweet incense rising to the Lord From this lone altar on the moorland gray, The hallow'd memories of a bygone day Hang over Airsmoss ; here the tyrant's sword Made brave men martyrs, and their graves a shrine ; For here the lips of those who that day l)lcd — Staining the heather to a deei)er red- Revere them, Scotland ! cherish and revere ! Base is that son of thine who shuts his eyes To the pure merit of that sacrifice : 111 he deserves the freedom purchased here .' For to this spot our country's glance should turn As proudly as to glorious Bannockburn ! *l i6 ON SKEINC, ^ ORTRAIT OF CT.AVER- HOUSE. :l IS DuxDKE, thy calm proud face and lofty bearing Dispel some foncies that had grown in me ; In that clear index I can plainly see Love of high deeds, and dreams of mighty daring, But not one trace of cruelty appearing ; This, with the thought of thy heroic death ("losing th)- "day's darg "* with thy closing breath l""or an unworth)' King, would make me sparing Of aught like censure ; but can I forget ? Can I forget that Scotland links thy name With those old cairns upon the mountain side ? Thy hands may be blood-guiltless, yet, oh yet ! I cannot love thee if I do not blame, Better not judge at all ; let God decide. * Dundee gave as his reason for leading the clans at Killiecrankie that he wanted to do one "day's darg " for the King his master. 17 FLODDEN. «i In a ])roud sorrow does fair Scotland's heart Yearn over Flodden. Leave her with her dead : Gaze not too keenly at that stricken head, Lest once again the ready tears should start. Behold her sitting with white lips apart, And in her eyes the grief of tears unshed, Like Rachel, mourning, and not comforted ;— A sad sweet study for the sculptor's art. But though her life be emptied of all joy. Even now her bosom swells with a stern pride To see them there,— the monarch from his throne, The grayhair'd warrior, and the beardless boy,— Sleeping like brothers on the mountain side : •' Till Death ! " she sighs, and knows them for her own. i8 ■!' I , ! BONNIE PRINCE CHARLIE. Perchance 1 j I been living in thy day, O hapless Prince ! and felt the witching charm And gracf of tliv bright presence that made warm And quick olu hopes well nigh renounc'd for aye By many a loyal heart, — perchance, I say, Me too the alluring thought had help'd to arm, Nerv'd me to shield thy homeless head from harm, Or for my idol dare th' impending fray. But in the calm light of this colder day With i)itying eyes I sec thee as thou wert. Weak and unstable ; all unlit to play — In the great game of crowns — a Bruce's part : Poor changeling offshoot from that Lion heart Who struck and struck, until he cleared his way I I ii> 19 KIRK-O'-FIELD. Unhappy Darnley ! Vain, presumptuous boy ' 1 hinking to bind that siren to thy side With bonds of straw ! not thine the hands to guide • In her's thy Hfe is but a broken toy. ^Vhat of the night's delights, the amorous joy Those sweet hps promised ? where the dainty breast Un which a monarch royally might rest > Thou sleepest alone; her, other thoughts employ But hist she comes ; wake, Darnley ! laggard, wake ! Nay, by God's truth, those steps are none of hers • Not hers mdeed, but of her messengers Perchance with some sweet word for dear love's sake Ah, fatal love ! too late the slumberer stirs • For hmi again no earthly dawn shall break 20 ABBEY CRAIG. The dreams that nestled in a nation's heart For five long centuries, the myth-like lay And floating legend of that far-off day Live here in stone; here at the hand of Art Take " local habitation," and make part Of our bright present tho' of times old and gray ; And to the future from this rock will say How honor'd of thy land. Great chief ! thou art. 'Tis well, — though 'twas not needed ; while a hill In Scotland lifts its forehead to the sky — While with glad voice a stream goes singing by, — Ay, though hills fall, and every stream be still. While one free soul lives on in proud content Wallace shall never lack a monument ! 21 ROBERT BURNS. Those things alone are great that stand the test Of Time ; and only those can long endure That ceaseless struggle, whose foundations sure In some great truth or principle do rest. All else, lacking this pillar'd strength, at most Is but a nine-days' wonder, in the shock Of changeful years irrevocably lost. But if the house be builded on a rock— The law be framed in justice — or if Art Keep tune with Nature when she sings her best, That lives ; therefore, exult, O Bard ! man's heart Is beating in thy song, and while one breast- Instinct with generous chords, on earth remains, 'Twill thrill— as mine does— to thy matchless strains \ 'y? i GLENCOE. Accursed gorge ! whose thunder-riven peaks And storm-scarr'd sides look as if God's own hand Thee to a heritage of woe had bann'd : — Dread valley ! though no more the horrid shrieks Of midnight murder pierce thy startled gloom ; — Yet in the living pain of thy dead face Some memories of the awful past we trace, Its days of sorrow, and its night of doom. In thy dark precincts, where no light or mirth Of Nature comes, 'tis not for man to dwell ; Thou shouldst be peopled with the fiends of hell That wrought thy ruin ; or the outrag'd earth P'urious should rise, and in convulsive throe Hurl to the void each vestige of Glencoe. 1. 23 JAMES HOGG, (The Ettrick Shepherd). The gc-nial Shepherd ! full of boisterous glee As any schooll)oy ; dreamer of fairy dreams,— Rapt wanderer by lonely glens and streams,— More than aught else had he the making o' m'e. From earliest childhood "twas my lot to be Charm 'd with his music ; with the witching gleams He caught from Elfland ; and his speech, which teems With rustic mirthfulness, uncurb'd and free. How like his own sweet mountain lark he seems ! The homely garb, the lowly-fashioned nest, Where all night long the tender parent breast Warms to his brood ; but when the morning's beams Arouse his soul,— on pinions swift and strong Soaring, he seeks the realms of deathless song ! M 24 "SHE HAS THE EYES OF BURNS." On learning that the great-grand-daughter of Robert Burns (who is said to have the poet's eyes) refused to be put on exhibition at the World's Fair. " She has the eyes of Burns," they say ; those great Proud orbs of his that blazed with lofty scorn When meanness woke their fires ; or teardrops (born Of human pity), fiH'd to hear narrate Some tale of wretchedness : O priceless dower ! O starlike gems a queen might yearn to gain ! O noble heritage ! not given in vain To one unconscious of their pride and power. And much, dear girl, it pleases me to see That native independence in thee dwell, Which, scorning sordid gain, disdains to sell Those matchless glances for a paltry fee : This, more than accident of eyes or name, Tells me whose blood is throbbing in th}' frame ! J ! M; 25 ^f WALLACK AT STIRLING HRIDGK. Colossal shape ! half hidden in the gloom Of murky centuries, througli which we strain Pride-quicken'd eyes in keen attem[)t to gain A clearer vision of the forms that loom In that far distance ; pigmies in hosts are there Unknown, unnoted ; but thy Godlike form Towers majestic through the hurtling storm Of battle : lo ! thy terrible arm is bare, Dealing destruction on thy country's foes ; With swelling hearts we view its matchless force Sweep all before it in its glorious course : And as the tyrant reels beneath its blows — Thy visor up — almost we can descry The deathless sorrow in thy steadfast eye. 26 O T T E 11 B O U R N E . Ho ! strike the harp for thrilling deeds of weir ; Chant loud the glories of a day gone by : Praise for the vietors ! nor suppress a sigh For the brave foemen that were humbled here. Well are they worthy of both song and tear ! For never on tented field where banners fly More dauntless daring, more achievements high Crown'd the stern wielders of the sword and spear. Proud is each country of that knightly fray ! So keen for glory, that the victor's bay Scarcely will either to the other yield : But wherefore doubt the issue of the day ? Since England's chief was captive borne away, And our dead Douglas held the hard-won field. BW 27 HOGG. 1,1 IT u[) thy radiant welcome, Scotland ! here In lowly garb one of thy truest sons Is bent before thee ; love of country runs Not stronger in the peasant or the peer Than in the heart of him thy laggard pride Is slow to own. And if true love like his, And the rich welling of such music is Lost on thy parent ear— what cave will hide The unnoticed strains my feebler spirit sings For love of thee ? Insulted Coila yearns To see him seated on the throne that springs At the high footstool of his master, Burns ; Then grant the boon, and let affection see Thy ploughman and thy shepherd knee by knee I 28 11 BLUEBELLS. We note the standard of a nation's mind In England's queenly rose ; it breathes of power And beauty, pride, and all the generous dower Of lavish nature, and is meet to bind Among the tresses on a regal brow. Strange, then, that roses only bloom for me As fairest flowers ; they move me as the free And kindling glance of beauty moves me now, \\'edded to her I love, no more ; but thou, Bluebell ! scarce seen beside the rose, thou hast An influence other than the short-lived glow Of pencill'd petals, for the slumbering past Wakes at thy smile, and makes me inly pine For bonnie Scotland's hills — thy home and mine. « ...l 29 GLOAMING, The hinmaist vvhaup has quat his eerie skirl, The flichtering gorcock tae his cover flown ; Din dwines athort the muir ; the win' sae lown Can scrimply gar the stey peat-reek play swirl Abune the herd's auld bield, or halflins droon The laich seep-sabbin' o' the burn doon by, That deaves the corrie wi' its wilyart croon. I wadna niffer sic a glisk — not 1 — Here, wi' my fit on ane o' Scotland's hills, Heather attour, and the mirk lift owre a', For foreign ferly or for unco sight E'er bragg'd in sang ; mair couthie joy distills Frae this than glow'rin' on the tropic daw', Or bleezin' splendours o' the norlan' nicht. ■ k ll A, i^ 1 1 ' n n 30 LANGSYNE. ti i.,i " What means Langsync ? " oor fremit comrade spier'd, Aboot the turn o' nicht when havers fail, And some ane hinted as we raise tae skail Tae close wi' " Auld Langsyne : " sic joy appeared In ilka face, sae kindly grew ilk tongue ; And as the auld dear owrecome tirl'd atween Han' gruppit han' sae leal, and frae oor een Tears fell sae fast — the lad was donart dune;. And though a' nicht his voice amang oor ain Had gart the reekit rafters ring wi' glee In that auld bield o' his ayont the sea, — Yet when the Scottish hearts did loup fu' fain Tae raise this chorus, little wit could see. Be Scotsmen wha they micht, that he was nane. " O bairn ! " quo' I, " here in your ain dear hame Life snooves awa' sae cannily that ye Hae nocht tae grieve for, or wad wis' tae see E'er alter'd, — sae langsyne is but a name Tae you and yours ; sma' differ wad it prove Gin ye were tynin' what ye hae tae fin' What ye hae had afore ; but tae sic men As sang e'enoo — langsyne is Scotland, luve, And youth ; — the land that saw them blythe as you ; Ij Langsyne. 31 The lichtsome heart that they maun ken nae mair, The leal bauld bairntune, free o' cark and care. Sic sweets as thae, and mony mair I troo — The wale o' life's few pleasures— ye maun tyne Afore ye dree the weird o' *Auld Langsyne.'" im ■■■■i imim^r^^ i 1 ^ 35 BRUCE'S GRAVE MOUNT ROYAL, CANADA. BRUCE REID. BORX 1ST MAV — DIED 4TH MAY, 1S87. Early — bright — transient — chaste as morning dexc. He sparkled — 7i'as exhaled — and zoent to heaven. Young's Night Thouomts. Come not with stern, heroic thought, And pride of country pulsing high, Ye, whom a glorious name has caught Ai^d stirred to ardour, passing by : Banish at once the lofty dream Engender'd as that name is told ; — For brave exploits are not my theme, Nor memories of the days of old. Not here the sacred dust is laid To Scotland and her sons so dear ; The iron arm — the kingly head — The dauntless heart — are far from here : In his own land the hero lies, — That greater Bruce that made us men. Whose fame adds lustre to her skies, And wakes Romance in every glen. 36 Bruce's Grave. Well might I sing each manly deed, The furious charge — the mighty blow — That turn'd the war in time of need, And dealt destruction on the foe \ For deep in every Scottish breast The thought of these must aye abide, And where a Bruce is laid to rest Must ever thrill his soul with pride. But, with each patriot impulse check'd. And every stormful thought put by, Approach this little grave, bedeck'd With flowers, and breathe a tender sigh ; For purity of life may claim — As well as force — memorial tear ; And on the blazing scroll of fame None purer shows than ended here. 'Twas but a little waif of Time The wind blew darkling to our door, Round-wrapt with love from some sweet clime, And beauty from the Shining Shore ; But while we look'd, and long'd to keep The wondrous stranger for our own The little life had pass'd to sleep, And with it all our hopes had flown. Sleep soft, beloved ! O sweetly rest, Unvexed by any evil dream ; A little lamb on Christ's own breast, Transfigur'd in th' Eternal beam ! E •2¥«v?-:.- Bruce' s Grave. How could I, even in my grief, Begrudge thee to those circling arms That gave thy tender soul relief From life, and all its vague alarms ? Now lost alike to hands of thine Are all earth's paltry tools and toys ; Enough for them the flowers to twine, And pluck the buds of Paradise : And those wee feet, that could not climb The heather hills thy fathers' trod — Ah ! they have scal'd the cliffs sublime That tower around the throne of God. 37 ,:\ 38 TO MEMORY. '.■ I TiiE age of miracle will never end. There is a wonder-worker with nie now, Whose feats would raise no blush upon the hrow Of old-time conjurors — nay, rather lend An unclaim'd lustre to each mystic crown. JlVia/ can he do ? He cannot walk through lire Unharm'd, nor bring the lightning down Upon the altar of my soul's desire ; Nor smite the rock and bid the water flow ; Nor ever stay the sun and moon, that go Chasing each other through the boundless blue — Lover and lov'd, that never can embrace, Forever hopeless, but forever true, And she with all his [)assion on her face. \ But other powers there be : what have I done, Or seen, or felt, or for a moment thought, That I could wish another moment brought Back from the greedy, whelming streams that run Forever onward through the gloomy land Forgetfulness, into the sea of Death ? O then arise, and with thy magic wand (Spirit, or sprite, or what thou wilt, that hath f To Memory, 39 (I Thy home within mc) — witli thy iiiayic wand Ui)on the banks of Time's swift river stand, And, at my bidding, bid the rushing waves Roll back, and show me what their depths contain, liitter or sweet — whate'er my fancy craves — One moment bare it to my gaze again I What is it I desire ? What should it be — Exiled from all I love — but to behold The smile:, that I have seen so oft of old Upon the faces that are dear to me ? I will, and it is done. O wondrous {)ower ! What glamour is like thine? what fancy s[)ell In home's sweet circle for a happy hour Could on the instant take me thus to dwell ? The present fades, the city is no more ; In the dim past I tread another shore : The scent of heather from the breez)- hill, And carol of the wild bird, fills the day ; While looks of love my soul with rapture fill. And kindly words, — too soon to die awa)-. What, gone already ! Art thou gone so soon, Bright vision of the well-remember'd past That brought me pleasure all too deep to last ? How quickly was thy soul-bewitching boon Withdrawn ! — as quickly as it came it went ; But I have that within me that can lure Thee back again, therefore I am content, — Nay, not content — for thou wilt not endure. 40 To Memory. O wizard, thou art mighty, but, alas ! Thy might has limits, and thy wonders pass; And with a sigh I turn from thee to list Hope's voice soft-stealing on my charmed ear, Whose whispers hint that I shall yet be blest In seeing all I sit and dream of here. 5 .,,3 -y:Safcj£-^-iaiMffia=^^!|p-.i.-^^l^^-^ '■'^'^^'^ '""■rr'""iiffrfi 41 SOx\G— COME AND WOO A TOWMOND back, abune Bonaw, When lint was in the bell, I heard a bonnie lauchin' lassie Singin' to hersel ; Singin' to hersel sae sweet, I trow she kentna hoo ; 1 leuch to hear the kind invite She gied the lads to woo. " The laverock seeks the yird," quo' she, " When e'en in' shadows fa'. And close beside his chir^jin' dearie Dreams the nicht awa'; Dreams the nicht awa' sae sweet. They watna how it flew, Then, laddie, tak' the laverock's time, Oh come at e'en and woo ! " A towmond back, abune Bonaw, Afore the nicht was gane, I row'd her in my tartan plaidie, Ca'in' her my ain ; 42 Come and Woo. Ca'in' her my ain, sae sweet, She couldna think to rue, But aye at ilka smack she speir'd Hoo I cam' there to woo? " The laverock seeks the yird," quo' I, "When gloamin' skies are grey, For there he hears his chirpin' dearie Chidin' his delay ; Chidin' his delay, sae sweet. Just as I listen't you Amang the birks abune Bonaw, When singin' '' Come and woo ! " I '' 43 DEDICATION.- -TO JOHN MATHIESON REID. ! Short syne, in the f;ray o' the dawin', Or Wanlock had opent its een, When barely a muircock was crawin', And never a whaup tae be seen ; When even the laverock was sleepin' Abune the burn heids I gade through, And ilka bit fitroad was dreepin'- And drookit wi' dew, — I gethert a hamely wee posie O' a' the hill blossoms in prime, And buskit it trigly and cozy Wi' on a bit ravlins o' rhyme : And kennin that ocht frae that quarter Wad gledden yer heart thro' and thro', I yoked wi' the Musie and gart her Address it tae you. Some bards get their sangs dedicated Tae big folk, tae gie them a heeze, But gyte wad I be gin I waited Till big folk took notice o' these — ( 4 ' .1 ^ 44 To Jolin Mathieson Reid. Wauf glisks o' the muirlan' and mountain, Odd blinks o' the corrie and glen ; It's little on favours I'm countin' For the!-:e frae sic men. Their coach rumbles on owre the highway, And little its occupants care What ferlies may lirk in ilk byeway That leads tae the moss and the muir ; What lilts o' the laverock and linty, What perfume o' brier and broom, What wiels the wee burn popples intae — Ne'er fashes their Lhoom. But you that were bred amang heather, A bird o' the muirs like mysel' — And aften hae roved them tae gether The primrose and bonnie blue-bell : Ye ken the lane scene o' ilk ditty, (ilengaber, Necony, Glencrieve — And far in the reek-ridden city Betimes ye may grieve For a lown cannie oor in the gloamin' Tae breathe the sweet air o' the glens, And listen the mavis while roamin' Away amang fairy-like dens : And sae tae mak' short wi' your grievin', As far as sic substitute gangs, I send you this wab o' my weavin' — This posie o' sangs. i\l To John Mathieson Reid. And gin the wild ring o' their measure But wauken a thocht in your min' O' the days when we feastit on pleasure I've ne'er kent the hke o' sinsyne : Ciin Wanlock be onything dearer For ocht I hae mintit or sung, And heather and bracken he nearer Your heart and your tongue : Gin the bonnie green howms o' the IVlennock But ance in the fancy ye see, Or rest by the hnn o' Petrennock Heart-eased wi' its auld-warl' glee :-- Thir sangs o' mine bauldly may shaw them Though learned folk lichtly them sair : What care I though critics misca' them ? I ettlet nae main 45 46 : I W A N L O C K . Dm ye ever hear tell o' a lanely wee toon, Far hid amang hills o' the heather sae broon, Wi' its hooses reel-rail, keekin' oot at ilk turn, Like an ill-cuisten crap in the howe o' the burn ; Ane here and ane there, wi' a fit road atween. In the daftest construction that ever was seen ? O there the cauld winter first comes wi' his snaw, And he likes it sae weel that he's laith tae gae 'wa ; For there's three months o' bluister tae ilk ane o' sun. And the dour nippin' cranreuch's maist aye on the grun' : Ay, whyles the corn's green in the lallans, they say, Or ihe hinmaist snaw-wreath dwines awa' on the brae. Frae mornin' till nicht ye wad tentily gang, And no hear the cheep o' a hedge-sparrow's sang, Nae merle at e'enin' his melody starts Tae wauken the dream in the lassies' l)it hearts, But a corbie's maybe, or some ither as stoor. Comes by wi' a wauf o' the win' frae the muir. Then for flow'rs and sicklike, there's juist no sic a thing, Except a wheen gowans a while in the spring ; 1 ■ I 'i ; I Wan/ock. 47 And the twa-three bit busses the bodies ca' trees Hae an auld-farrant look as they bend in the breeze, And scarce want the gift o' the gab tae proclaim They reckon this solitude ocht but their hanie. But, dod, for a' that its a wonderfu' toon, There's hardly the like o't for [)arishes roon ; Though far frae a' neebors, and stannin' its lane, Like a mitherless laddie left oot in the rain. Ye'd open yer een, like a gled's tae the mune, Clin ye kent a' the uncos its offspring hae dune. For the chiels are as likely a set as ye'd meet Frae the muir and the glen tae the stjuare and the street ; Big, buirdly, and bauld, like the hills o' their hame. And no cruppen doon \vi' inherited shame ; But gaun frae the knee tae their grave in the glen, Like their faithers afore them, the walins o' men. And the lassies — preserve us ! I'm fleyt tae begin, Lest ony auld carles, \vi' prejudice blin', Should ever but hint sic anither wee place Could brag o' sic beauties in figure and face : Sae winsome and backward they were, for ye ken That a' things v.-^re backward up there — but the men. And 'deed, when I think on't, this very com[)laint W^as likely eneuch the best frien' that they kent, For in love or in war the maist likely tae speed Is the ane that first raxes for what he may need ; A laggard in poortith a lifetime may dwell. But Providence helps I.ini that's guid tae himsel'. 48 IVan/ock. i I t-i And let a' the virtues l)e.side it be theirs, 'Twas weel eneuch kent o' thir men o' the muirs, Tliat blateness or baekwardness ne'er was the thing That keei)it them quate when a ploy was in swing ; They'd face up tae onything comin' tae han', And fecht for the brag wi' the best in the Ian'. For instance, I've heard o' a parish quite near That keepit the causey at curlin' ae year, And, tired o' dcfeatin' a' comers ablow, Were braggin' o' gaun tae the munc for a foe. When some ane suggested the victors suld try A bout wi' the lads o' the muirlan' gaun by. They did, and the consequence was that they fun' They were matcht withoot gaun tae sic far-awa' grun ; For they left the heich kintra far sadder, we ken, And wiser, we howp, than they cam' tae the glen, ^\'i' their prood Suthron hearts like tae loup frae the shawp, And their fine balloon journey a' knockit tae jaup. And that's but a swatch o' the plaiks that they play — Be it curlin' or quoitin' they carena a strae : In city or kintra their marrows are few At ocht that'll bring the reid blude tae the broo ; And he that wad twine the free sauI tae his will Maun alter his thochts o' the men o' the hill. And that's no the best o't— for nae bit I've been Sic hamely, intelligent faces are seen : Sae little they ken o' the ill warl's ways I Wanlock. 49 That happiness lies like a dream on the braes ; And the lown cannie life o' the muirlan' gangs by, The bud that will blossom or lang in the sky. And better than that — if a better could be — That howa in the heather is a' things tae me ; For there I first lookt on the licht o' the day, Pree'd the first cup o' pleasure unmingled wi' wae, And slum'd through the years o' my bairntime in glee, As blithe as the linty that chirm.'d on the lea. There, tae, the first whisper o' heaven did start. When the gowd dream o' love creepit in on my heart. And there on the wild heather mountain I roved Wi' the frien' o' my choice, like a lassie beloved ; But the tane is forgotten, the tither has fled, And a licht less will glint on the muirlan' than did. f H But O ! there are plenty tae welcome me still When I follow my heart tae its hame on the hill ; Leal looks frae the auld, and kind words frae the young. And the grup o' the han', that says mair than the tongue; And mony blithe memories wauken in me Whenever the bloom on the heather I see. Ye powers that can see through the • laskins o' men. Gin this be a lee, or the contrar' ye ken, That never by mountain or valley hae I Sic glimpses o' gladness and stounins o' joy, Nae happiness ever beguiles me sae pure As I pree when the gloamin' comes doon on the muir. I \l ' so Wcinhck. Sangs tell aboot Yarrow and Doon's bonny braes, The Luggie rows saft in that measure o' Gray's ; Krae Tweed tae the Beauly there's hardly a glen But brags it has minstrels and rhymes o' its ain : Yet here's a wee toon never named in their glee, That's mair than them a' put thegither tae me. t h ' m$i SI THE SPIRIT OF THE MOOR MORTAL. Whither so fast, fair wilding of tiie mountain? 'Tis late for such as thou to wander here, Unguarded, by the lonely wizard fountain That bubbles in the moonlight cool and clear : This is no place to tryst with ardent lover, And listen vows, enraptured though they be ; A sweeter spot would thoughtful love discover To pass the mellow gloaming hour with thee. Hath night enwrapt thy maiden soul in glamour, That thou shouldst linger here beneath the moon. Where plovers' wail and curlews' ceaseless clamour Do mar the solemn midnight's soothing boon ? If so — a kindred spell hath surely won me To gaze upon thy beauteous form, that seems, With the pale moonbeam raining glory on thee, Th' inspiring muse of my poetic dreams. Were not the days of faery dead for ever I'd look for elfin vassals by thy side, For ne'er on heath or holt, by wood or river, Have I beheld such comeliness and ])ride. Bright eyes that thrill my being with their brightness, Long locks that flutter freely in the wind, 1 i i ! 52 The Spirit of the Moor. A foot whose firmest step in airy lighttu'ss, — All speak a spirit i)()iintiful and kind : Then, if as frank as thou art fair of feature, One kiss — I ask it here on bended knee — The pass-word of a kindly, common nature, A bond of mortal faith 'tween thee and me ! We meet upon the mountain wild and lonely That never met before on hill or plain, Thou fair — I fearless — grant me this, this only. One little kiss and then we part again ! SPIRIT. We meet upon the mountain wild and lonely That never met before on hill or plain ; Yet think not that we meet to part, and only This kiss shall be for aye between us twain. Beneath these stars that stud the vault of heaven Long have I sought a soul to mate with mine ; At length unto my weary search is given The bliss that makes mortality divine. Is it not writ in answer to my prayer " The first whose voice ye listen is your lord ; Shun him that fears, he is a false betrayer, But take the dauntless mortal at his word." Men come and go upon this lonely mountain, I meet them in the silence and the gloom ; But one by one they turn them from the fountain, And I am left alone to wail my doom : These eyes that strike within and heat thy being Have terrors for thy mates of lesser mould ; The Spirit of the Moor. Tlu' carl lily drags who Uini alxjul and fleeing Go back into dicir tianinicls and their gold ; Who could not nerve their courage to the stature That shrinks not in the company of gods, lUit cri])[)led froni the partial hand of nature Break into dust at death like [)arched clods. But thou in manly guise and godly s|)irit, Far other future looms ahead for thee ; A nameless dower of bliss thou shalt inherit, Shower'd down u[K)n the barren moor by me. Vet shrink not — I am little more than mortal, Press that soft hand, or kiss that softer brow ; Thy faltering soul is at Elysium's i)ortal, Say will it muster heart and enter now ? S3 MORTAf,. A spell is on me, viewless bands enthrall me. The grosser world is passing from my ken ; In the far ether fairy voices call me. Ethereal music fills the lonely glen : Sweet maid, I can but stand a[)art and wonder, I know not what to think of this or thee ; Some charm hath rent forbidden things in sunder, Or touched the iris of my sight to see. A little vvhile — and this Ijare stretch of mountain Was cold beneath the moon's unwarming ray, And, as I thought, beside the wizard founta' > Two mortals met upon a lonely way. The beauty of the one had nerved the other To crave the favour of affection's boon — 54 The Spirit of the Moor. h i ! a I! Tlie chaste kiss of a sister to a brother, Given by the sanction of the maiden moon. But now the mist that dimm'd my gaze is Hfted, I see thee in thy weirdly robes arrayed, With beauty wild and wondrous glamour gifted. The living semblance of a fairy maid. I see thee thus : I who can show no token That earthly love will evermore '^e mine ; The tie that binds me to the world is broken, I feel in s})irit I am only tiiine. I bow before the eyes that so enthrall me, I yield thee all the future I can claim ; Tell me, sweet lady, wliat my tongue may > .i thee, That on my heart it may impress thy nanie. SPIRIT. I genily pass among the whispering bracken That toss their tresses in the morning wind; I float along the curlew's call, and waken An echo of it in thy musing mind : I touch thee in the breeze that sweeps the mountain, I kiss thee in the mist that clasps the glen, I murmur to ihce in the lonely fountain That bubbles in the wild, remote from men. There is no sight or sound in all the many That long have led thee to these lonely ways, Whether thy fancy rove through hollows fenny, Or seek the sunshine of the upper braes — But doth the charm that thrills thy kindred spirit And holds its silent worship Hrm and sure, i g I f m . The Spirit of the Moor. 55 ,; In all its weird varict)- inherit From me, the spirit of the lonely moor. Long have I watched the simple fondness growing That shows the flower of love now own(;d by thee, AVhile I, unseen, the chosen seeds was sowinu, Whose blossom bourgeons out so fair to see. A'-'d never yet hath mortal maid enchanted Her chosen champion with bliss so rare, As to the heart of him is freely granted Who lives the spirit's moorland life to share. I'll still be with thee, quickening into motion The tides of song that leap in light und gice ; Enough if, answering to my warm UevotifOEL The murmur of these tides doir: breatahr of me. m lit' u id Ml mmitm 7T i f I. \n 56 KILMENY'S WARNING. I FERLIED aft that wit and will Suld smoor aneth the gruesome grave, And hoo nae crank o" mortal skill This deidly weird could save. And whiles I thocht some baulder wing Micht cleave the mirk and come again, Wi' posies o' the floors that spring Ayont the midnicht main. Sac lang this howp my heart had fill'd. That howp a demon passion grew ; And late and air I socht and thrill'd Tae pruve my fancy true. And pangt wi' fowth o' fearsome lair, I wrocht wi' cmdle, book, and bell ; Nae moil was hain'd that I could wair Tae work the faery spell. But ane by ane ilk rede was thrawn, The wab I warpit wadna weave ; And fient an icker rowthly sawn Cam' stowlins tae the sieve. I 5 Kibiienys 1 Valuing. Then tae the airts I bann't the l)ook, And oot I sten't in thrawart dule, Tae streak me in some lanesome neuk, And geek at fate, and snool. 57 Or, aiblins, doon the jinkin' burn, I'd dauner when the mune was I'u', Where halflin swankies blithely turn Tae sport wi' ihem they lo'e. And this I lo'ed and grient tae grij), Cam' never till the sun was low ; Nor or the whitely mune was up. And a' was lown ablow. Syne in the toom or dernest shaw, Through a' the eerie oors o' e'en, I'd watch until the mornin' daw Tae see the fa'"al green. Ijut never glisk o' faery face, Nor morrice dance, nor witchin" spell, Could I wi' a' my watchin' trace But this that noo I tell. k And suld the ferlie seem to some Nocht better than a dalfin' skair, it maksna, since the voice will come Amang oor glens nae main hf« 58 Kilmeny's Warning. Yestreen, when a' my darg was dune. And cankert care had loot me be, I left yon waukrife, wastlin' toon, Kilmeny's grave tae see. \\ \ Sae lown a gloamin' seldom creeps Atween the darkness and the day, Sic eldritch light but seldom steeps The warlock's eerie brae. By this I guess'd that verra nicht The morrice wad be danced again, And e'ltled weel tae see the sicht Kilmeny saw alane. The lift, a* whaur the sun had fa'n, Was reider than the burstit rose, Though east and wast thegither drawn Beuoud in murk tae close. Yon hill, athort its yethert broo. Yet woo't the glint sae wae tae lea', And doon this dowie hollow threw Its shade on burn and tree. Lane muirlan' music fillt the air — Sae sweet tae me, that seldom ht.ard But orra liltins here and there O' lamb, or bee, or bird. 'I i. Kilnienfs Warning. On ilka cairn the lintie sang, Frae spretty cleuchs the grey curlew, And wilyart muircocks birr'd alang, And clapp'd their wings, and crew. I couldna lowse the witchin' spell The time and place thegither hrung. It seem't the verra scene itsel' The shepherd poet sung. Sae there, aneth the hoary haw. And as the win' was lownin' doon, And gloamin' had begoud to draw A rowk owre sicht and soun', I lay and croon't the bonnie sang — Hoo sweet Kilmeny left her hanie, And hoo her minny grat sae lang Tae see her clear o' blame. Sma' need had I tae spell and glow'r ; It's lang sin' first it drew my min'. And aft I've rhymed it owre and owre In mony a glen sin' syne. 59 The glamour't lass — the minny's dule— The aftercome — I min't it a' ; And thocht cam' thick as drift at Yule Aneth that hoary haw ; ff 1' 1 f 1 1 - II III 6o Kilnicny's Warning. Till ant- by ane ilk sicht and soun' Turn'd unco tae my dwaumin' brain, And licht and landscape grew aroinv O' ither warlds again. ii I Here where the mawkin, houn'd wi' fear, (laed like a glouf the bracken through. Uncanny feet begoud tae steer, And cantri[) din tae brew ; An awsome wecht o' nameless dreid Cam' like a mist attour my ken, And aft I win't tae break this threid 0' craft and breathe again ; Till, pile by pile, on howm and hill. The soughin' sprett took maik and tongue. And in the gloamin' lown and shill This elfish lay was sung : — " Alake ' alake ! sair weird tae dree Has he that wons the warlock's name : The licht o' life maun quat his ee, The look o' yird his frame. " His heart maun shrivel like a threid That's held abune the ingle lowe, And warplet roon' wi' en'less dreid His donart senses row. Kiluicnys Warning. 6i " Men wat the land o' thocht is fair, And fain wad lichtly come and gang, Vet reckna o' the waefu' care Oor ilka joy maun stang. " Ne'er was a rose withoot a brier — The bonnier floo'r the faircer thorn - For ilk guffaw some waefu' tear Maun fa' afore the morn. " Then haud by what ye hae tae tyne-— Haud \v,el by it, and want nae mair ; Ve'd aiblins rue fu' soothly syne Ye meddl't warlocks' ware." «' li ■ 62 S T O R M - S T E D i ft) t IV 'TwAS twal o'clock — a gurly nicht — The shi. ■', muno radc high, I )eep-wadin' through a scoury l)rugh Wi' no a starnic by ; Atwcen and Wanlock hills the snaw Gade swirlin' by like stoure, And like a spell its glamour fell Athort the mirksome muir, A' efternune the feathery flecks Cam' flichterin' through the air, Wi' scarce a wauf o' win' tae drift 'rhe whiteness here nor there ; l]ut or the blude reid sun had fa'n Aneth (llengaber's broo, A norlan' blast begoud tae blaw Wad chill't ye thro' and thro', And as I barr't the ootmaist door. And hapt me fiel and warm, I maistlv grat that ane I lo'ed Micht still be in the storm. m : 1 But no— I kent that couldna be, The wild sea sail was by. My lang-lost lad was safe on shore, His vessel high and dry. Storin-Stcd. 63 Twa clays at maist wad join the hearts That Providence had spared Tae pree a wee sowp o" the joy That's \\i' the hchtsonie shared : Twa wee short o-'ys — sune micht they sh[) ! A' days were lang tae me That lay atween my langin' airms, 1 )avy lad, and thee. The day ne'er broke I didna miss Your fit beside the streams, And ilka nicht wi' hungry lip 1 kist ye in my dreams. But sune the weary oors wad pass That keepit us in pain, And big wi' thocht o' comin' joy My heart bude greet again. But wheesht I what waefu' cry was that Blawn in frae yont the hill, When the wild storm had lown't a blink, And a' the glen was still ? It soundit like the eerie maen O' some half-waukent thing Shot — or the dour blude at the heart Could nerve its brain tae sjjring ; A wild lost yaumer fleein' far Afore the sabbin' blast, And drappin' nameless dreid like dew On ilka thing it past. Far i' the gLn lichts fired at ance And heids cam oot tae hear i\ III ml ifi M I ! 64 Storm-Stt'd. Gin nccbors heard the wacfu' cr)- That I'lllt theirsels wi' fear ; And aiie b)' ane they ferhed there What that sad wail could be That shook their hearts wi' treniblin' As the tempest shakes the tree. Again — my (iod ! a human vc'ce III agon)- and fear — A human voice — it took nae skill The mournfu' truth tae hear. Abune the roarin' o' the blast The voice cam lood and shill, Some nichtit traveller, storm-sted. Was lairt ayont the hill. Lichts sune were got, and bauld men oot, But a' their skill was vain ; They listent laigh and gleg, and socht By hill and stream and plain ; But never mair they heard the voice Had thrillt them tae the core, And ane by ane they a' returned Forjeskit frae the muir. And then we kent the ruthless sn:^\v Had smoort him bye oor ken, And there he'd lie until the Spring Had cleart the driftit glen. The snaw lay lang that weary year. But lang afore it thow'd u ^^■■^ S/fln;i-Strd. T kent the name o' him that lay Aneth its spotless shroud : Days past and Davy camena -days O' fearsome thocht tae me, And ilka anc that broke I wist Micht be the last I'd sec : I couldna bide in hoose or hauld, But wandert far and near, And prayt \vi' a' my heart tae (;od That Spring wad but appear, That I micht see ance mair the lad That thol't sae sair for me, And lay him i' the mools where I Hae howp sae sune to be : The auld kirkyaird ayont the burn ^Vhere e'enin' shadows fa', And nicht is never rent in twain AVi' voices through the snaw. O God, that gart the tempest blaw That wrocht sae muckle wae, At the lown turnin' o' the nicht I come ance mair tae pray. Sair hast Thou strucken, hut Thy wrath VVi' patient heart I bide, And tae the chastenin' o' Thy rod I turn my waukit side. This bonnie warld o' Thine has tint The licht that made it hraw, And fain wad I relinquish it For him that's noo awa'. Ili IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) A 4f^ 1.0 If I I.I 28 i2.5 12.2 - lis IIIIIM 1.8 « 1.25 1.4 16 ^ 6" ► V] <^ /a ^l. M -'>■' ■> ^ "-M %\>:- >; # ■# '/ Photographic Sciences Corporation # *% ^^ ' sae shy, Aye l)iiskit their best when the I.aird gaed by. For ('richton o' Sancjuhar was sa\ lit three. Straucht as a sprout o' the forest tree, Huirdl) and stieve, o' a manly make, Less like the esh than the lordly aik ; Firm on his fit ?r'' free in his air, And the ijait o' his ganp;in' -.vas leesome fair. In trowth ye wad sochl frae the craigs o' Scaur 'I'ae the laichmaist biel' on the braes o' Daer Afore ye'd forgether wi' ani- like him, Sae leal in the hea'-t, sae clean in the limb , I'ew were his marrows, and fewer if e'er His betters were kent, for they badena here. Hut the bonniest day that tliu sun e'er saw May be gurly and sneli or the licht gae wa' ; And afore his day was amaist began The Laird o' the I'eel was an altcr'd man ; Dowie and da/ed wi' a sair heid-hing, ^Lair like a doyte than a mortal thing. 17 And a' folk ferlied — for nane could see The gruesome weird that he had tae dree ; Hairst ne'er failed him, craps were gude. As heich as the CrufTel the auld name stude ; 1 78 T/ie Hinmaist CricJiton. At tryst or at market he still bure the bell, And Crichton was Crichton tae a' but himsel'. P I'ut weel I wat there was one that kent Ploo the riinkles grew on a bree sae brent ; Her glamour had warplet the clear gaun brain, And wastit his life with a cureless pain. Tliis curse gang \vi' her wherever she be — May she moop ill-mated, and barren dee ! Nane o' oor Nithsdale kimmers was she That artit the laird sae far ajee ; i'or though he was kind tae them, ilka yin, And treatit them a' as he wad his kin, Vet ihocht he aye o' his ain degree, And their honour was dear in his blameless ee. But a loesome dame frae the border side He had thocht fu' fain tae hae made his bride ; Sae wily and slee her lures she laid, Sae keen wi' her noble victim play'd, 'i'hat he, wha cttlet her a' his ain. Was seldom fasht wi' the lover's pain. l)Ut oh, when he spiert her for her ban', Vowin' he'd mak' her the pride o' the Ian', Guess ye hoo siccan as him could thole, Wi' the touchy pride o' his moorlan' soul, When she leuch as merry as blithe could be, And tauld him — it wisna her ain to gie ? TJie Hinmaist Cric/itoii. '<) Frae that time forrit the laird was dune, Fey as a nateral aneth the mune ; He daunert and drave for a while, nae doot. But his cracks were snia', though he snooved aboot And a' folk kent, if they likit to speak, That Crichton's tether was ner the streik. Aweel, ae mornin' the cry got up The laird had gi'en Sanquhar and a' the slip. The wuds were trackit, the moorlan's scoor'd, The deepest wiels o' the Nith explored ; But trace o' Crichton fand they nane — And he never was seen in the kintra again. This was the hinmaist o' that bauM line That keepit the causey's croon lang syne — A line in its kintra's memory bricht En't like a knotless threid i' the nicht, And a heart nae man ever maistert yet Dwined tae its deid at a woman's fit. Ye wha hae love tae gie, look weel That ye rest your wish wi' a bosom leal ; Braw braid acres and manly pairts May dree nocht better than broken hearts, And a wearifu' blank i' the warl' he'll pruve That's malcht wi' a lady licht o' love. ill 8o ^r: BACCHANALIAN SONG NEW YEAR. FOR THE Fill the cup and let it circle Freely round the festive board : Night without may storm and darkle, Here her madness is ignored : I'or with wine that beads before us What for raving night care we ? Let us raise the sounding chorus, And be wilder yet than she. Do not nights like this one strengthen Hearts that long in tears have lain. And with links of brightness lengthen Memory's reach of rusty chain ? Life would ne'er be crown'd with pleasure If we let such moments go, When there's that in every measure Floats us from the reefs of woe. Wine was made to charm our sadness. Nights like this to own its sway ; Surely 'twould be worse than madness All its sweets to cast away : "* -_i Bacchanalian Sonc. Si Let it flow as free as ocean ! And while hand is joined in hand, \Vc will empty with emotion All our cups at Love's command. Pledge we first the souls departed In the year that now is fled ; Who so base or canker-hearted Would not bumper to the dead ? Those we loved — may heaven bless them ! They are free from every woe ; For the rest — we can but wish them Firmer friendships where they go. Pledge we now the living present With its mingled shine and shade ; May these hours we find so pleasant (Iraff'd in memory, never fade ; Pass the glass, and let it smother Petty spleen in royal glee ; Come, get up, and all together Drain it out with three times thee ! 1^1 ■ I Last, with neither roar of pleasure Nor in boding silence dumb, We will fill the brimming measure To the year that is to come ; Ah, my friends ! there is no knowing What this future may contain, But behold, the goblet's flowing — Let us drain it out like men. r-f 82 LAYING BY A LITTLE FOR A RAINY DAY. 'i ■■■ i' H Hey. bonnie lads, that are lippen-fou o' siller, Ye that trow the lift o' life has ne'er a clud for you ; But live sae pack wi' Fortune ye're as guid as bairns till her, And hing upon the dimples o' her mou'. Haud a wee, my lads, or sairly she'll beguile ye, Dinna think a' the year can be as blythe as May ; But while it's in your pow'r ne'er let your pleasures wile ye Frae layin' by a little for a rainy day. The wild hill bee that ye meet amang the heather, Though he sings awa' the simmer in its balmy bell, Has wit eneugh to guess there's an end to bonnie weather. And pangs his winter stores in mony a cell. Then when the snaw comes, and bitter winds are roarin', Little will it fash him suld the drift smoor the brae. Among his gowden kaims like a king he'll be snorin' — His honey has been hoordit for a rainy day. Far be't frae me e'er to stint the young o' pleasure, Aneath its cheery sunshine they are baith guid and fair; ■^-ii_! - • ■ ^ M mi mi wm nm Laying by a Little. 8-. But just a kennin' less in the reamin' daily measure, Wad male' but little differ here or there ; And gey puir comfort it gies to man or woman To ken they've wastit chances they ne'er again can hae, To see the simmer's pride fa', and dreary winter comin', And ken they've naething hoordit for a rainy day. p. m i! IS i I if i. II h I HI \'i ' 1 . 4 ; ii ^ II 84 JEAN : A LYRIC. Ff.w are the flowers on Wanlock braes, And wondrous tiny those that be, For nights of storm and sunless days Keep down their growth on moor and lea ; lint though the hills be stern and bare. And flowers are few and far between. One peerless blossom still is there. Rose of the wilds — its name is Jean. Nursed in this lonely glen, my heart Has borne like it few things of joy, But chiefly lived its life apart From love of man and maiden coy ; But though its golden dreams are rare. And in their glow few shapes are seen. One face forever lingers there — One queenly form — its name is Jean. And Wanlock braes, despite this dearth Of leaf and petal, scent and show, Are dear above all braes on earth Where buds of beauty thickly blow ; Nor does my heart in wailings loud Mourn o'er a happier might-have-been. But dwells apart, content and proud ; Would'st know the charm ? — its name is Jean. ss GRAVES OX TIIK SCOTTISH HILLS. Thk gloamin' fa's fu" honnily l">ae blue Canadian skies, And at my fit, composed for sleep, A queenly city lies ; Frae stey Mount Royal's rugged crest I view the winsome scene, And mark the stately river rowe Its nobl I width atvveen : niythe sicnt it is ! and weel micht be The theme o' bardie's lay. For fairer spot ye wadna see, And travel mony a day. But, lanely as I sit at rest Upon the mountain bree, I see the beauties o' the place. And yet I dinna see, For crowdin' cot the things that are, Auld Scotland fills my min' ; I see the mirk come owre the hills I kent sae weel langsyne ; Dear scenes o' youth wi' fidgin fit. And blythe heart loupin' fain, In a deep dwaum 'tween sense and sleep I spiel your hichts again. ■vm\ 86 Graves on the Scottish Hills. m O, leese me on the mountain taps, And on the grey hill sides ; And leese me on ilk wimplin' burn That doon its forkin' slides ; And lichtly may the dawin break That opens e'en tae see The lang bare muirs and dowie glens Forever dear tae me : Where, an' the whaup wad quat his cry And the wee burn be still. Ye maist wad trow the weird o' doom Hung roon ilk hauntit hill ! 11' I'l; But be they lowii as midnicht, Or blythe wi' bird and burn. What thochts they wauken up in me Whichever airt I turn ! Big thochts o' Scotland's glory, won Amang her warriors stern. By him whase banes hae fa'n tae mools Aneth yon hoary cairn ; Yon hoary cairn that like a ghaist Glow'rs owre the upland braes, And tells tae ilka wicht that speirs Its tale o' ither days. There lies the buirdly bouk o' ane Wham king could never cowe ; The heart where Freedom's genty spark Brunt wi' a cheery lowe ; .1 1 da i M Graves on the Scottish Hills. 87 The stalwart airm that redd the road When faes were thick and fell ! And the trumpet-tongue that through the storm Rang clearer than a bell ; O, Fame ! is this the gate ye pay Debts ye suld blush tae aw'? A grey stane on a mountain side, And nocht tae tell fcr wha ! But, wantin' even a stane to tell That mortal banes arc by, What disrespeckit grave is this, Bare tae the gurly sky ? O lichtly press the lancly turf ! It bauds some desperate saul Wha couldna wait till He that bound Released his life frae thrall, Sae wi' his ain impatient hand He took that life awa', And here in lanely exile bides The hinmaist trumpet's ca'. I Nae consecrated burial-place His outlaw'd dust could claim, Nae auld kirk steeple wagg'd its tongue When this puir chield wan hame ; For him nae woman's cheek was wat, Nor maiden's e'e was dim ; The very bairns wad grue wi' dreid. And hide when tauld o' him. 88 (t raves on the Scottish Hills. 14 ^ II ■i { ' t ( . ^ \ i i! ■ ': If 1 ; '; • 1 : ^1 i - - t| H -i '■ 1 2 1 1 I- ' f; ir i :>ae by the wan licht o' the mune Some twa-three men cam' here, Syne howkt a hole and hid the deid, And hurried hame in fear. It's said that at the mirk midnight, \Vhen a'thing else is still. An eerie soun' is aften heard I>y folk gawn owre the hill — An eerie soun' o' dule an' dreid Like cries o' ane in pain — And ever and aye comes in between 'Die clankin' o' a chain. I canna tell gin this be true, IJut I've heard the hill folk say That the herds wad gang five mile aboot Tae pass this lanely brae. Doon in the hollow o' the burn A cairn o' stanes ye'll see. Where, on an awsome winter nicht, A stranger lad did dee. The road was tint, the nicht was mirk, The snaw blew thick and snell, And just a kennin frae the toon The weary stranger fell, Without a freen' tae close his e'e. Or hear his pairtin' cry, God; wha tak's tent when sparrows fa' Alane was standin' by. \:~3r~i ^->^«^MJut gin ye wad learn the martyr's name, It's in the Buik abune. Fu' mony a nameless grave like this Hallows thy hills, Scotland ! I'u' mony a heart that lo'ed thee well Lies at thy heart unkenn'd ; Auld sangs and stories tell o' some, And stir our souls wi' pride, l>ut never sail we ken till doom The hoord o' the hale hillside ; For warrior bauld and coward loon, And weary wanderin' chield, \\\ mony a witness for the truth. Sleep in thy kindly beild. On the bare muir they lie at rest. Pause heart and heart as true, On the muir amang the moss, Aneth the lift sae blue, 90 Graves on the Scottish Hills. And owre their heids the linty chirms, And the wild plovers cry, And like the ferlies in a dream, The wanderin' win' gangs by. Wha kens, that hisna heard its sugh, din nocht but win' be there ? For whyles I think the hameless deid Are yaumerin' through the air. i I Tongues o' the deid — wild, waefu' souns- P'orever haunt the hill ; Or when the win' is laich and lown. Or rairin' lood and shrill. Abune the scaur or in the howe, Alang the breezes borne, The skraigh o' ilka bird conies by, 1 jke speech frae heart forlorn. And be the lawlands braw wi' trees. And prankt wi' mony a floo'r, For wilder joys than they can yield, I seek the ghaistly muir. My days gang by in exile Three thoosan' miles frae hame, And I've dune nocht for Scotland yet Tae hae on her a claim ; But suld I ever win the richt Tae beg ae boon o' her, I want nae monuments o' stane, Nor ocht tae mak' a stir ; Graves on the Scottish Hills. But far awa' amang her hills That my dune dust be laid, Wi' the mist tae settle owre my heid And hap me like a plaid ! 9' « 1 -J ';1 I ■ - ^X 9^ IX Tin: GARDKX, OaTREMOxXT. I w ALK within my garden, at the quiet evening hour, \\'hen all the air hangs heavily with scent of fruit and flower ; While here a bud and there a bloom attract me as I stroll, And Autumn's trancjuil loveliness is mirror'd in my soul : Perchance the silvery moonlighL streams athwart each branching tree, And lends its lustrous witchery to every shajK' I see. Is it not strange, in such a scene with beauty all aglow, My heart should seek the rugged hills and haunts of long ago ? Close by, my happy homestead stands, withdrawn in umbrage deep. Where, hours ago, my little ones were wrapt in balmy sleep ; My wife is singing softly as she moves from room to room, Her bright lamp casting lanes of light through all the leafy gloom : I hear her crooning to herself some old subdued refrain, As though she fear'd to wake to life those noisy imps again : — In the Garden. 93 Why should I turn me from that music weUing rich and low, To hst the far-off voices and the songs of long ago ? Up there, on steep Mount Royal, where the pine-trees darkly wave, The silent stars look down upon a little tiny grave ; The winds make music o'er it, and the spot is fair to see, And oh the dust within that grave is very dear to nir ! But though the dust were doubly dear, the spot More sweetly fair, 'Twould give me little joy to think I'll one day slumber there : Far liefer would I lay my head where Wanlock's waters flow Around our own (iod's acre, with the loved of long ago. Oh Land of misty mountain heights, of lonely glens and lakes. The tie that binds my heart to thee nor time nor distance breaks ; True to the soil that bore me, and the race from which I spring Forever backward o'er the wave to thee my thoughts take wing : Still fairest of all sights to me is morning on thy IJens, And sweetest sound, the wild bird's note at gloaming in thy glens ; And dearest of all memories, the cherish'd thoughts that flow In solitary hours like these from dreams of long ago. l! I f'i 11 1 w^mm I i^ V '- i li 94 /n the Garden. Scotland ! thou art the shrine to which my partial fancy turns, Land of the hero, seer, and bard, of Wallace, Knox, and Burns ; Land, where my infant eyes first saw the purple heather wave ; Land, where the chilly hill-wind weeps upon my father's grave : Oh ! many charms has Canada, and to my soul 'tis dear. For all the choicest gifts of time are gather'd round me here : But in my breast the ruddy stream must falter cold and slow Ere I forget dear Scotland, and the days of long ago i '■ tf j:: I ■>*iSp' D 95 THE WHAUP. I'u' sweet is the lilt o' the laverock I'^ae the rim o' the clud at morn ; The merle pipes weel in his mid-day l)icr, In the heart o' the bendin' thorn ; The blythe, bauld sang o' the mavis Rings clear in the gloamin' shaw : IJut the whaup's wild cry in the gurly sky O' the moorlan' ding;s them a'. ■I il l*"or what's in the lilt o' the laverock Tac touch ocht mair than the ear ? The merle's lown craik in the tangled brake Can start nae memories dear ; And even the sang o' the mavis But waukens a love-dream tame Tae the whaup's wild cry on the bree/e blawn by, I.ike a wanderin' word frae hame. What thochts o' the lang gray moorlan' Start up when I hear that cry ! The times we lay on the heathery brae At the well, lang syne gane dry ; I n 1 ;( : 1 i I \ 96 The Wlimip. And aye as we spak' o' the ferlies That happen'd afore-time there, The whaup's lane cry on the win' cam' by Like a wild thing tint in the air. And though I ha'e seen mair ferlies Than grew in the fancy then, And the gowden gleam o' the boyish dream Has slipp'd frae my soberer brain, Yet — even yet — if I wander Alane by the moorlan' hill, 'I'hat queer wild cry frae the gurly sky Can tirl my heart-strings still. SONG: THE CONTENTED SHEPHERD, The king has a croon, and 1 hae nane, And gin he is prood sae let him be ; But the wecht o't maun tell on his white hause-bane, For he bauds his heid nae heicher than me ; My pow ne'er yeuks to be ringed wi' gowd, But a gude blue bannet can busk it fair, And I'm blythe on the hill in my grey plaid row'd, Div ye think that the king need want ocht niair ? I come frae the hill wlien the e'enin' fa's, Gled that the darg o' the day is by ; And the wee things meet me wi' cheerisome craws, And the gudewife smiles when she sees me nigh , And a' forenicht by the ingle side We fley Daddy Care wi' a royal glee, For I rule my realms wi' a faitherly pride ; Wad ye glow'r gin the king micht swap wi' me ? In the-auld kirkyard ayont the burn The grass grows bonnie abune my kin. And I carena hoo sune it may come my turn To hae dune wi' the warld and lie therein ; I ken that the dust maun turn to dust, But never ance fear that the saul may tine ; For I trust where my forbeirs a' pat their trust ; Wad the king gie nocht for a faith like mine ? i'i m^ ii ii i if f ■?'■ ■ ' ■ ! M ' ^ ^ 1 ■' 11 1 ! t- 98 XICCOXY. Roun' by Necony the heather blumes bonnie, And sweet is the hit o' the mosscheiper's sang ; But though ye'd gang farrer and no fin ocht fairer, Yet roun' by Necony I carena tae gang : ril rove by Petrennock, Snarswater or Mennock, The stey craigs o' Carron I'll still spiel wi' glee ; But roun' by Necony there's something no canny, And he that's no fley'd for't is baulder than me ! I canna tell whether the blume o' the heather Be reider owre yonder than heather suld be, J>ut aye when I see it in blossom, tae me it Taks shape like the drecpin o' blude in the ee : The mosscheiper's liltin', at ither times meltin', Gangs thro' the daz'd heart wi' a dirl and a stoun ; In yaumers sae eerie, wi' naething else near ye, Ye grue as a warlock were raisin' the soon. liut gruin' or glowrin', nocht mair overpow'rin' Will stertle the calm on the breist o' the glen ; Nae warlock or wurricoo bides in Necony noo, Scarce can you trace its connection wi' men : ) ' though they be rotten, their memory forgotten, And naething be kent o' their deeds or their doom, IjOc •> mercy, Necony ! there's something no canny Has happent tae deed ye in glamour and gloom. I 3'! I ^'!l ■lit H ...HI 101 THE LOST HOME. H" SuMMF.R will deck thy bonnie braes again, My moorland home ; upon thy shaggy hills The purple heather — by thy wimpling rills Bluebell and bracken — will announce its reign. As bravely as of old the blackcock's note Will usher in the dawn ; and o' still nights, E'er gloaming like a mantle wraps thy heights, From some far glen the mavis' song will float. But other ears must hear, and other eyes Behold these things : for unto me they seem |jut memories of a sad yet tender dream ; And thou thyself — a haunted spot that lies Beyond this earth, in some realm of the dead Where mortal foot of mine no more may tread. !'• 102 1 , til i .1 r i% i ON NAiMIXG MV SON WAXLOCK. As if it were not always in my heart, Sleeping or waking ; in my quiet room, Or toiling in the city's busy mart, And like a sun-glint ever in the gloom Lightening my lot — the dream of childhood's home With all its lov'd ones ; all its breezy hills, Calm glens, lone uplands, myriad murmuring rills. Whereby no more my exiled feet may roam ; Out of the fulness of my love for these. And that my tongue in speaking it may share The untold joy of dreaming — I will give My boy its name : then though the heartless seas Divide me from the old I found so fair, In this new Wanlock all my hopes will live. '^mttmmmmmmmmm lo; TO MY motii]:r. (on ONi: Ol' MV lUklUDAYS. ) 'I" HERE are not many days throughout the year In which fond memory does not retrace My path of Hfe back to its starting place, — The little glen that I still hold so dear. But of all days, and of all objects there, This day my warmest thoughts should surely be In filial duty centred all on thee, — Thou object of my heart's sincerest prayer ! I )ear Mother ! may the love of all thy sons And daughters, now in thy declining years, Comfort and cheer thee as the season runs, And never deed of ours bring any tears But tears of joy ; let these thy glad eyes fill, Seeing we honour, love, and prize thee still ! I I h i I 104 TO TIII<: LOWTIIKRS. (aktkk a I.ONC ahsf.nce. ) (^ 1 1 A\ i; yc no voice to welcome my return, Nor aims to clasp me to your parent breast, O stern, cold hills ! whose every lofty crest Withdraws to leaden skies in silent scorn ? Not thus the human mother hails the son, Whose feet, from wandering on a foreign shore, Turn, tired of travel and adventure done, To prove the peace of childhood's home once more ; And ill your gloom requites his glance elate Who, leaving fairer scenes beyond the sea, (Where of His grace dod has been good to me With health and plenty, wife and children dear,^ I )ravvn by heart-hunger, seeks no better fate Than to be gather'd to h;s fathers here. ■.^iif ^ lo; THE RKASOX WHY. Not for their beauty do I love the liills Of which I sinfj — fair though the features seen >'ath'd in the si)lendour of the morning's beam, Or clad in that soft witchery that fills Kach glen at gloaming ; not for this the rills Are more to me than any classic stream That ever Poet chose him for a theme : — A sweeter reason all my being thrills ! They are my own ! the much-lov'd hills of home I Not with that earthly ownership which looks For rent and taxes ; but because the l)r()(;ks, The braes, the glens, all — all — where'er I roam Have voices sounding in the lonely wild. That call me as a mother calls her child. M ' ! '. io6 M E N N O C K. Sing on, sweet Mennock, to thy listening hills ! Far in the moorland where thy stream has birth (That dearest spot to me of all the earu.) From many glens thou drawest kindred rills To swell thy melody : into thy voice The music of those moors has pass'd ; the call Of lonely birds, the bleat of lambs, and all The happy sounds that make the wilds rejoice. Past pleasant holms — growing in beauty still, — Skirting the bases of the silent steeps, Where at the noontide listless nature sleeps ;— Through, wooded gorges that the linnets fill With answering song — till Nith's fair flood we see - Sing on, sweet Mennock, to thy hills and nie ! i k 107 11 CARS K H O P K. (inscribed to J. .M. K.) Sometimes, when vcr)- weary of my lot- Tired with the dull routine of city life- Seeing the same sights every dismal day,— Gray houses, dust)- streets ; without one spot Home-like to cheer me : all my heart at strife With its envirunments, and Hir away,— Perch'd at m>- desk with all the ledgers round, I shut my eyes, and this is what I see :— A streamlet running 'neath a '-ioudless sky Through mountain solitudes : 'u-o weary men. Tired with a long d.iy'; ramble (you aid I,) Stretch'd prone beside it, - ith no harsher soand 'lo mar their musings, thai the wandering hcc Makes, as he crosses this jnchanted iflen. ^:^- io8 U 1 G L r: N C R I E \^ E . Is this Glciicrieve? I dccni'd the spot more l\iir AVhen here we hnger'd many years ago — My love and I — and watch'd the ruddy glow Of sunset deaden on the moorlands hare. Perchance my foot some erring path hath ta'en That led astray, and I have missed Glenrcrieve Then will I back, for I am loth to leave These hills, till memor)- he stirr'd again. \'et stay ! this is the glen : yon glint so bright Smites the long upland and its summit hoar, Just as it smote them then ; but I, alone, Here in the shadow'd gorge, have lost the light Of eyes, whose lustre rob'd the scene of yore In a dim loveliness for ever flown. ;1 ^f; i: I ■flWff^J J 109 A U C H K N L O X K. In the dim gloaming, dreaming of old days, When far-off forms and half-forgotten things Take shape again before me in the gloom — No fairer vision rises to my ga/.c, Nor sight more welcome wizard Fancy brings, Than the last glimpse that in my heart finds room Of thee, lov'd mountain ; Oh ! for words to show The summer sunlight slanting from the west, And Enterkin in shadow : all thy braes aglow With heath and thyme, and high abo\e thy crest One solitary watcher of the glen below Circling and screaming, — all things else at rest : And my last look — ta'en with an en\ious thrill — The ureal bird settling on his native hill. 1 I III, r I 10 ill ^ M i j.i \ m ! yi>. m,' i' W"- '1 M 1' i i 1 E N T E R .. N Smooth rounded peaks rise up on either hand In long array ; and in between the rills, Skirting the bases of the silent hills, Join each to each as with a silver band. Morn breaks not on a fairer scene than this In beauteous Scotland ; peaceful, holy, calm : The Lowther zephyr charg'd with summer balm Steals to my forehead like a mother's kiss. Enterkin ! glen of peace ; oft have I bent My steps towards thee in a happier day : Here in thy praise have conn'd my boyish lay, My head upon thy turf in sweet content : And, when the tumult of this life is past, Here gladly would I lay my head at last. 1 III T H K F IRST 15 R E A K . SfT closer, closer, round the darken'd hearth ; Let not an eye look to'rd the vacant chair We know, alas : too well, is standing there, I. ike a dread presence chilling all our mirth :- 'I'ill now the seat of him who gave us birth. The stern grey man. the man of toil and i)ra\er. In wh(jse rich legacies 'tis ours to share— Of bright example, and of moral worth. 'I'lie first black cloud looms up our summer skv, Sad prelude of the dismal days to be, And my heart shakes within my breast to see That other lov'd one— knowing the time is nigh She Ux) will leave us, and that yearning eye Tear-bright with love will look no more on me. 8 mr^^F, ff 'i 112 Hi ;i \ ON READING OF THE EARL OF DALKEITK^S MARRIAGE. Dalkei'I'H, your wedding '^ 'lis ;"-^ rl mine ear With gladsome music ; gladsoine may you he ! Though my own heart he not from sorrow free, Yet can it thrill another's joy to hear. God bless you both ! proud Earl and Fair Ladye ! Long may you serve your country and your ()uecn ; For true to both, your race hath ever been, And, little doubt, I true 'twill ever be ! But w^hen long service leaves you old and gray May you and yours be spared the bitter pain We feel, whose sire's life-service could not gain For our dear mother, in her widow'd day. The lowly roof Buccleuch might well have given To shield her till she pass'd from earth to heaven. 113 OUR MARY IN HEAVEN amrmiiriwinnini Ah ! iny sweet sister, whose young tender feet Fail'd on Life's rugged path long years ago, — For loss of whom the bitter tears did flow, Because we deem'd not then rest was so sweet, Nor how thrice lovely was the bright retreat Thy spirit sought ; how would this day of woe Have wrung thy gentle heart, that doted so On home and all that made its charm complete ! But can we doubt that in thy new-found home Thy careful hand will have prepared a place ^Vhere we, the wayworn laggards of thy race, After this life's probation ends, may come : — That heavenly home, — illimitable — free, Oh, to be dwelling in its halls with thee ! Pi ! ii n 114 MOTHERLESS. I HAVE no mother ! O, yc ghostly winds That wander in the gorges of the hills As if ye sought and mourned for vanished friends, Let me mourn with you ! Such a sorrow fills My heart as never yet Avas known to yours ; Though well the plaintive music of your voice Accords with the sad wrecking of my joys, And stricken Love that sorrows and endures. What do you weep but smiling summers gon(! ? Sweet blossoms withered that will blow again ? But I am wounded in a vital part, Smit through the heart's affections to the heart, Which cries aloud for that beloved one, But all its calling is in vain, in vain ! ■&^i:iM^^ Il; THE SPKLL BROKEN. I'AK from my native glen my years have flown : Only at intervals, or in my dreams, ^ Have I revisited the pleasant streams That strong affection bade me call my own. Vet was I not unhappy, though the chill Of exile pain'd me ; many a happy thought— Many a message o'er the waters brought-- Told me I was a son of Wanlock still. " Now at one wrench the cherish'd tie is broken, The pleasing bondage ended ; I am free I'>om all her spells save those of Memory - (That ghost of dead things), and these give no token I hat aught is left in hill or stream or plain With power to draw me to their midst again. i ii6 OUR PORTION. ■■;■; Fathers will still toil here for those they love, Though ours be gone; mothers will watch and pray Though the beloved voice be still'd for aye That breath'd our names before the throne above. Around bright hearths, as in old happy days, Dear frierids, long parted, will be glad again ; But nevermore for us the kindly blaze Of Home will lighten Wanlock's lonely glen. Less than the meanest flower beside the burn (That dies to bloom again) is there of place Or portion here for our far-scatter'd rare ; No future Spring shall welcome our return : Naught have we 'neath these skies that bend above Save Memory — and the graves of those we love. It m j.ltvi J !■■" i;;jj-'t-"»'«^ww«HP».w.' .,'p •■)'■. -isrHliliilMBHHHIl 117 A SORROWFUL CHOICK Rai iii;r tlian sec a stranger in the seat Of 111)- dear lather, and irreverent hands Profane the things my sainted mother's touch Made sacreil (should my wandering feet l">ver return from these far distant lands 'I'o that lost home I loved and honoured much), Methinks it were a lesser i)ain to find The- house in ruins ; all its old-time grace Utterly vanished — nor a lingering trace Of '-/hat it had bee , in the wreck behind. More like my own sad heart that home would be Soulless and silent, dead to every tie ; And the old hearth bereft of all its glee, Staring through naked rafters at the sky. I i.S ON WAN LOCK DOl). (ai'ikr many VHARS.) t Ah loot is oil my natiNc hcalh ; my iiaiiw air IjIows freshly round nu' ; clear and sweci and >ir()nj The hill-bird sinys his old familiar song, And as of old the summer skies art.' fair. (ilad thoughts and proud m)' liosom ot'i have fill'd - (]a/ing ujton this scene ; but Alt ! to-day, The saddest wtjrds tiiat human lips could say Would little of the loneliness reveal That on this solitary watch I feel : For all the voic:es ilial 1 hn'd are still'd : - Gone are the dear ones that made WanUjck ilear : A stranger stands within my l-ather's door : So changed it is, I will not venture near - 'Tis not the ^^'anlock that I lov'd of yore : ■l\ llij THE M \' S T K R Y . No place for nie in Wanlock ! WuaiU chair At board or hearth await mc thee no inon : Barring my entrance, the insensate door Thai wont to welcome, opes not to ni> [)ra)er. Forth from this mystery I needs must fare, Seeking sweet solace, as I did of yore By whispering streamlet and on mountain hoar. But ah ! no longer find T vomfon there. Calmly as ever on grey Auchenlone The gloaming falls ; the dear familiar rills As sweetly in the solitude sing on : But, dead to all the magic of the hills, In me no wakening chord res[)onsive thrill.> As in my native wilds I walk— alone ! i| ! > I- 120 C H A \ G 1^: D T I M E S ( ; Si'i ■A^. Time was when I could scarce restrain my pace Upon thy mountains, AVanlock ; to and fro, l-rom sheer dehght, fleet as the bounding roe My eager feet thy winding paths would trace. Now with a sober and deliberate stride I move among them ; calmer now the eye That notes the beauties of thy evening sky, Tamer the glance that sweeps thy grey hillside. Yet is it not advancing age alone That quells my ardour ; far from thee and me All the associates in that early glee — Father and mother, sister, friend — have gone ; And musing on the forms I meet no more AVith slow sad steps I track thy mountains o'er. ^■.^,.:v A..'^«Brt-akj3>,; 121 i T C) A L A V K R O C K (sIXC-IM; !N' THI. CAI.M SllKLGIl). 1 1' thy heart were- as sad as mine, sweet bird, That sing'st in Wanlock Uke a thing inspired, -Methinks thy tender breast could ne'er be fired To pour such strains — the sweetest ever heard. Ay, sweet indeed they are : and yet there seems A note of sadness in their keenest joy ; Is thy l)liss too, then, not without alloy? Do ghosts of dear ones haunt thy songs and dreams? Ah ! 'lis the conmion lot ; some day, some day, Our heart's desire takes wings and flies away ; We cannot keep our lov'd ones, and our strains Are weak and broken when the hot tears fall ; l)Ut this poor comfort at the worst remains — 'Tis well for us that we can sing at all. !1 ,1 (1 11 i 3:: lit 'ni '•\ i '1! It 12: TO REV. MR. BLAIR, WANLOCKHKAl). Ev'n as a mist, that for a moment's space Enshrouds some mountain, and then trails away Leaving no token of that moment's stoy, — Nay, not a memory on the tranquil face, — So I and mine from out our native ])lacc Have pass'd away for ever : short our day As the light mists that lopp'd the mountain uray. And leaving in our wake so little trace. And yet perchance, some essence of that mist Trickling to earth in solitude unseen, Nourished a tiny plant and kept it green ; So would I, that remembrance of the days We liv'd in Wanlock — though he scarcely wist - Might lead some friend to love our name always. ■■-K.^.. J «-3 T 11 !•: FLIG II T () F T I M K How ([uickly do the hurrying years sweep by ! It seems but yesterday that I was straying Oer heath-clad hills with boyish comrades playing, My childhood's home and all its lov'd ones nigh. Now these are gone ; that sweet home life is shatter'd, The home itself is home to me no more ; 'Xcath many skies the friends of youth are scatter'd, And I, a wanderer on this distant shore, O'er mine own brood with care and toil am rearing A sheltering rooftree : but the same rude hand That broke my idols in the far-off land 'I'his latest refuge of my years is nearing ; A little while and that same brood will cry And shudder in the night to see me die. fe^- 1 oenis an^ Somjs. ! ^^9 '' 1 r^^^H ■ ( : i i >> ■.A^ li \ ■I ;: Iff V mi f! *fii f- '^f 'I ^1 1 ! J ; u \ ■ if I i|! 127 MAY MORI L. ^\ K H-onn d in a lanesume muirlan' glen— iMay Moril and me, And lutle ue kent o' the ways o' men- May Moril and me ; But ,f Jittie we kent, far less did we care, ^^ae couthie and vaunty can true love be ^or we ettlet nae joy in the warld sae rare ' But m,cht ha'e been match'd in the muirk^n' there, ^^ hen the glamour o' love fillt a' the air And we waded the brackens knee by kna ee. Kings and their coorts micht founder or soom On their shiftin' sea • But we wi' their fate ne'er fasht oor thoom- May Moril and me. ^Ve kent that the warld wad trintle and turn Wi' mickle o' pleasure and mair o' wae hae doon by the banks o' the wimplin' bu'rn We strayed i' the dawin' o' love's sweet morn And we nippet the blossom and jinkt the thorn As the lang saft simmer row'd awny. 9 i • ifnffr 33= 128 May Movil. The brier rose Li;re\v on the open shaw In the lown clear air, And it and the milk-white blunie o' tiie haw I twined in her hair ; And she sat on the brae like a gowd-croonl (|uecii And fliskit her sceptre o' birk wi' j)rid(- : And I — I thocht that the joys we kent As lang as we socht them ne'er wad en't, And e'en when oor hinmaist breath was spiiit We'd sleep i' the muirlan' side by side. ■ It I III ;^ H !;: vw II ?« But alas ! for the unkent weirds o' man Are kittle tae dree, And little we irow'd that oor gowden plan Sae brittle wad be. But the heaven aboon us nae doot saw Our love was niair than it ocht tae be, For we hadna been marriet a year and a day When, sair forfeuchen, my winsome May On the breist o' her dawtie dwincd away, And my heart-strings crack't when 1 saw iier dee, O hooly and wae 1 laid her doun In her hinmaist rest, And back i' the glen I lookit roun" At oor herrit nest ; And bare, bare noo were the muirlan's grey, Where the licht o' her love gart a' things shine, And I saw that nocht 1' the warld wad be The same as it was tae my joj'fu' ee, May Monl. When wc wadit the hrackcns knee hy knee, And sweet May Moril was hale and mine. 129 The brier rose l)kinit'S on the open shaw, As it did iangsyne, And the milk-white blossom hings on iIk haw r the warm sunshine. IJut blos.som and bud hae tint their charms, The)- may rot where they gether or fa' for me, And O ! gin I hadna a thocht tae rise Tae sweet May Moril ayont the skies, Where my heart baith e'enin' and mornin' lies, Hoo sad wad the lang grey muirlan' be ! ' I m IS. 'VI i ri 130 FORGOTTEN. *^; \ 1- hi ^ Uj • { ■-■-, w ; ii 1 if 1 1 i •■ 1. .- r.LESSiNGs on thy bonnie face, My winsome Mary Lee ! And lang may fickle fortune trace A flowery path for thee. May joy bring dimples roon thy mouth, Through a' the gowden years, And never drink be near his drouth That weets thy cheek wi' tears ! 1 hae been fain tae win the smile 'I'hat waukent in thine een. And wrocht wi' mony a tentie wile Tae please thee morn and e'en ; And though I didna daur to speak, My heart ne'er owned the fear That thy young love wad ever seek Anither joe to cheer. But now they say thou'rt woo'd and won, My winsome Mary Lee ! They tell me thou art woo'd and won, Withoot a thocht o' me ; 1' ;■ ?■- Forgotten. Withoot a memory o' the days My heart will never tyne, When thou and I aniang the braes Ciaed linkin' l)]ythe lang syne. Mary, could thy heart forget The kiss it yielded coy, That nicht beside the plantin' )ett, When I was gyte wi' joy ? Could it forget ? or did it ken That mine thrill'd thro" and thro' ? ■"I'hou should hae kept thy favours then, Or no' withheld them noo ! That nicht I vowed a solemn aith. My winsome Mary Lee, That nocht wad shake the smiple faith I had in love and thee : 1 pledged my soul u[K)n the spot, Whatever fate micht fa' ; Rut thou that gied, as sune forgot, And never lo'ed ava ! \\\ And still I dinna curse the day, When first thy face was seen ; Though thou hast left me wauf and wae, I'm glad that day has been. In memory's casket where each gem O' happiness is stored, Nae days will ever match wi' them When thou wert maist adored. h If ■:/ '32 Forgot ti- II. I'arewix'l ! may gladness he thy lot, Without a grief to mar ; A lanely wanderer clean forgot, I bless thee from afar : And may thy lover ne'er hue ciiiise A dule like mine tae dree — I'areweel, I canna ca' thee fause I Korgetfu' Mary Lee ! „ ill I U ^ii.. aiiP MKP! m^ JJ ATWKKN AND MKXNOCK-l I ASS. At\vi;f.\ and Mennock-hass 'I'here is a cosy bid', Whaur a bonnie lad and lass Michi baud a tryst fu' wcel ; And -in ye like, May Mori), As sune's the gloamin' fa's, Ve're free tae share my plaidie there Frae every blast that blaws. Tlic inuirlan' may be hare, And snell the norlan" bree^^e — Little shelter rises there Save what yon craicjie sies : But in my heart, May Moril, There is a blythesome glow, And tae't sae fain I'll fauld your ain. That cauld ye'll never trow. Well hear the Untie sins His sang o' love and pride, Blabbin', silly, thochtless thing, 0' joys he canna hide. m 1 4 134 Aticeeii and Mcnnock-hass. But sweeter far, May Moril, And tae nae car but thine, I'll whisper lown, hoo ye hae stown, The heart that ance was mine. I canna brag o' gear, Tae deed and keep ye fine ; Rough and raploch mountain cheer Maun please gin ye'U be mine. But pree and pruve. May Moril, And think or ye decide ; There's few sae fiel as them thai bid" Ayont a shepherds side. i 135 1 THE DAYS OF OLD. In the brave days of old, ere the falchion formed the plough, When courage steeled his sinew 'neath the banner and the brand ; When the haughty crest of chivalry was free to every brow, And prowess was the test in every land : O \ then the heart was chainless as the wind,— The mighty soul of Freedom scorned to pawn its pride for gold ; And manliness and glory were the mottoes of the mind, In the brave days of old. In that grand reign of right, never coward kept a crown, Nor cunnmg conquered valour with the supple guile of brain ; For the iron heel of honour held the wily serpent down, And majesty was master in the main : Then love and truth were foremost in the fight,— The smile of blushing beauty was the guerdon of the bold ; And the victors brow was laurell'd in his king and country's sight. In the brave days of old. 136 The Days of Old. l>ut that bright sun hath set, and the night that gathers round Is ahve with all iniquities that batten in the gloom ; And vainly does the poet seek to sanctify the ground With flowers that are but scattered o'er his tomb. We hear no more the stirring trump and drum That cheer'd the eager warrior when the strife around him roU'd : And the sweetest sounds that greet us are the memories that come From the brave days of old. O ! would that we might wake, as from a hateful dream, To wed the noble purpose that our ancestors have shown ; Our barks are ever drifting down upon a golden stream, — Wealth is the only standard that we own ; For it we pledge the dearest hopes of life,— Hrain and sinew, nay, the future of the soul is often sold : And we seek it as the warrior sought his glory in the strife In the brave days of old. 137 T H K C A I R N O N T II K HILL. Among the l.owthcr hills there is a grave, — A cairn rough-shapen on the moorland lea — And many a fond attempt I made to learn 'l"o whose remains that mound a shelter gave, And what of pride or strength might buried be, Under the guardianship of such a cairn ; But to no useful end, — it was a mystery I'meiled in traditionary lore, Passed over in the careless page of history, b'orgotten 'mong the glorious songs of yore ; \'et on the fragrant heath I've often l.iin, When the lone [)lover and the wild curlew Startled the moorland with their mournful screams Or, while the brooding gloom tb.at wrapt the plain Upon my soul its speechless glamour threw, Sat pensively, and crooned my gloaming dreams. w m I m () thou in whom death's [)eaceful slumber Hath wrought the calm earth doth not know. Round whom no mon.'. the wave shall flow. That wearies with its constant cumber All hearts that climb the climbing tide ; -i fi f u i •i' 138 T/ie Cairn on the Hill. What perfect rest is it that comes, Unsought, and all life's ache benumbs, Here where the wander'd wild-bee bums Along the mountain side. II. Not in the far heart of the city Broods such a silence as is here ; There sculptur'd towers and tombs appear, To nourish love or waken pity With memories of the dust below : Forgetfulness of life is here, The very Lethe of the bier, And all along the moorland drear The dreary sense doth grow. III. Meet resting-place it is, though lonely, For mortal dead to name and fame ; And sure thine outlaw'd bones can claim No righting at our hands, but only To lie where they have lain so long. If song or legend rung with praise Of thee, thine ashes we might raise, And honour yet ; but blame or praise Of thee is not in song. IV. The mountain peaks are bare and hoary That sentinel thy lonely grave ; ■ ►!«i ikj The Cairn on the Hill. No tree doth spring, no branches wave To catch the burden of the story The breeze brings up the slumbering glen ; And with its woful tale untold The wind goes o'er the silent wold, And all the secrets it doth hold Are lost to mortal ken. 139 Perchance if on this naked mountain Some pine had stretch'd its arms abroad, And hawk or raven made abode Within its crest, above the fountain That flows unshaded as we see, At night the harping wind had stay'd Amongst its boughs, and music made. And to some gifted bard betray'd The secrets hid with thee. VI. IJut naught is known — the purple heather Is speechless in thy blame or praise ; The mourners who of old did raise This cairn grown grey in wind and weather, Say neither thou wert base or brave, Conjecture— rumour — all are mute, Tradition — legend — know thee not, These stones that mark the lonely spot But say— it is a grave. I " I: 140 T//e Cairn on the Hill. VII. Yet do I yearn to know thy station ! Perhaps upon the scroll of fame Some kindly hand has traced thy name A warrior in the Scottish nation Whose actions show'd thee good and brave If so — 'tis meet that thou shouldst sleep, Among these mountains stern and steep That saw thy fatal broadsword sweep Tyrants to a bloody grave. I Vlll. Perhaps thy lot was but the tending Of fleecy flocks upon these hills, Where the grey heath and noisy rills Beneath a maze of mist are blending Their features in the autumn gloam Here v'lule the summer hours flew 1)\, Wrapt in thy chequered plaid to lie, And watch the clouds across the sky Float on, like flakes of foam. IX. Or — higher thought — who knows but under These bleached stones the dust may rest That once was in the van to breast The wave that dash'd itself in thunder Against the rock of Scotland's faith ? The Cairn on the Hill. A martyr falling, book in hand, When the rapacious Highland band O'erran the vext unhappy land, And doom'd the good to death. I4f X. ^Vhate'er thou wert, forgotten sleeper, Will alter not thy deep repose ; Oblivion hides thy joys and woes, And does not own a cavern deeper Than shrouds thy life from light and me Yox mists and mankind come and go, Midnight shapes flit to and fro, And, thinking not — unthought of — throw Shadows o'er thy grave and thee. This is the meed the earth doth render To all except her brightest names ; A little while their merit claims Her pride, that cherish and defend her. And then they're lost or toss'd away ; 'Tis surely lesson this to me, P>om quest of earthly fame to flee, And rest my wishes where they'll be A treasure trove for aye. 142 RETROSPECT. V t! 'li It's oh for a cot By the western main, And a lowly lot To be mine again : To feel as I felt When a dreaming boy, And my fancy dwelt In the realms of joy. When I knew no care, And I fear'd no foe, Nor had thought to spare On a coming woe. But morning and night Fresh pleasure would bring, And my face was bright As a gladsome thing : And a gladsome thing Of a truth was I In that far-off spring That will never die ! I think of it now With an eye tear-wet, Retrospect. The passionless brow And its crown of jet. I think of it now With my locks grown white, With a furrow'd brow And an eye's dim light. I think of the change, So thorough and bold ; Of the wider range In the thoughts I hold : Of a life more known To my fellow-men Than it could have grown In the narrow glen : And well do I ween That the powers I hold Would never have been In the life of old. U3 But balance the wealth Of a merchant proud Uith the rosy health Of a boy snow browed, And up from the scales Is the red dust toss'd, And its magic pales IJy the glory lost : And f.iin would I give All my manhood's gains For t'le spells that live In the bounding veins, ID !|^';-eil II 144 .^ V-: ■ill- L .ill '1 -" Retrospect. To revel once more In a region fair, With power to explore, And spirit to share. In signs that are rife In the earth and sea, The mystery life Of the things that be. What gladness it gave, In the rosy morn. Afar on the wave To be lightly borne ! Blown out from the land On the sweet spring wind, And leaving the grand Old mountains behind : Awn\- and aw.iy, Right out from the coast, Till the hills grew grey And the glens were lost; Till the full white sail Dropt empty and free In the lessening gale Of the central sea : Ar-d the trim wee bark. To the eagle's view, Was the only mark In the world of blue. Retrospect. Sweet, too, the day long, My shallop to oar. And listen the song Breathed round by the shore, Where the long blue tide Rolls in from the sea With its voice of pride And immensity: Dim-telling of things In the far-ofif climes, In music that rings Like a poet's rhymes. And I listen'd, thrilled As the music grew, Till my heart was filled With melody too ; And that of the sea Seern'd kin to my own. And stirr'd me with glee As I wander'd on — 14; Away 'mong the rocks. Where the eagle broods, And the raven croaks To the summer floods : Where the downy nest Of the eider duck I'angs high on the crest Of the sea-swept rock ; And gulls on the beach Have their lowly home, '1 I ., m 146 Retrospect. Scarce over the reach Of the climbing foam. Where never was heard Since the world began, A grovelling word From the lips of man ; For the wondrous gleam That hallows the whole Steals in like a dream On the tranquil soul. But more than the bliss Of the morn or day Was the stolen kiss When the skies were grey; And the thrill— felt yet — By the waterfall, Where the two hearts met That were all in all. Come back to my heart O days that are gone ! And bring nie a part Of the joy then known : Come back, O ye days Of gladness and mirth ! And light with your rays My desolate hearth 1 I'd barter a year (>f my after-gain To breathe in the dear Old boyhood again ! St; 4 '^jfiii 147 I PU'D A ROSE. I pu'd a rose in Mennork wuds No lang sin', on my road gaun hame, A mossy sprig wi' twa bit buds, Ye'd barely think deserved the name ; But graff'd acqueesh a sproutin' tree, And eithly tentit e'en and morn. As bonny a blossom opened e'e As ever busk't the laden thorn. I woo'd a lass on Wanlock braes, A winsome birkie, bauld and slee ; Whase life gaed by like summer days, Wi' lauch as licht and heart as free : But sune the lowe that winna hide Gart Tibby's een grow wondrous fain, And syne I saw wi' joyfu' pride Her heart was graffd acqueesh my ain. i I 148 GIN YE LO'E ME. (liN ye lo'e me, lassie, meet n^e Up the Wanlock glen at e'en, Where the winipliii' hurnic wanders Throut;h amang tlic knovves sae green ; Where the bonnie blooinin' heather Sweetly scents the muirlan' air; I will tell ye o' a secret, Lassie, gin ye meet me there. >tli 111 wad set sae snft a story Tae be tauld in oj)en day, \\'i' your thrawart minny glowrin' Owre ilk dawtie word I say ; But when e'enin' cranreuch airts her Tae her couth ie ingle-en'. Meet me, and I'll tell you something Some fowk wad be fain tae ken. In the gloamin' glen the mavis Tells his mate how le:^l he lo'es ; A' forenicht the hills o' Wanlock Hear how blythe the lintie woos ; ilka bird then nestles closely Tae some itb.er heart as kin'. But rii neve j:ree t!uir gladness Till ye come . nd comfort mine. 11 ^1 ^'■- 149 r THE LAST TOAST. O^E more cup ere we rise from the board AVhere we sit in the dayli^^ht so dim, Let the last ruddy drops of ihe vintage be noured. And bumper each bowl t^) the brim : Wc drank to our Queen and our Fatheriand Um, While corks lay undrawn on our shelves : But this is the last, and give each one his due, Let the toast be this to "Ourselves." Then, here's the last toast of tiic night, For we've drain- ' every flask on the shelves, Get up, then, and (in.;k it with meaning and might, And let the t'asc be— to " Ourselves." England's Queen— wc are [troud, are we not. Of the deeds that ennoble this name? And we pray that the dastardly coward be shot That ever speaks light of iier fame. But Queens, at tiie best, are but seen from afar- Little more of this enrth than the elves ; Their glory comes to us l:ke light from a star ; But -ve- we are facts lo Ourselves. Then, here's the last, etc. m m ' 1 i I I 150 T/ie Last Toast. Scotland's hills of the heather and thyme Are dear to the hearts of the true, And fondly we yearn in a far away clime To bring the wild peaks to our viuw ; But chiefly they're dear from the worth of their sons From the prince to the peasant that delves, And how do we know but this quality runs In a trifling degree in— Ourselves ? Then, here's the last, etc. *• lu MY AIN HILLS. The bonnie hills o' Wanlock, I've spielt them ane and a', Baith laich and heich and stey and dreich, In rain and rowk and snaw : And owre a' ither mountains Nane else e'er bure the gree ; Nae peaks that rise aneth the skies Can raise sic thochts in me. I've warslet up Ben Lomond When simmer deckt its side, And grey Goatfell, that Stan's itsel' In soUtary pride ; But frae their wildest grandeur Wi' sma' concern I'd turn Tae ae wee glen, wi' some I ken, By Wanlock's wimplin' burn. For there wi' chiels far sunder'd, I roved in glee lang syne, And never fit was hchtcr yet Amang the muirs than mine ; r ■II m 152 Jlfy A in Hills. And wi' sic shouts o' gladness We startlet hill and plain, — I'd tyne a year o' a' things here Tae raise the like again. But we are lads nae langer, And time is gowd they say ; The hills sae green are seldom seen When ance we start tae stray ; And mair than time is wantin', I'or gin we a' were there, — Wha kens? the min' micht no incline Its former soorts tae share. L O, bonnie hills o' AVanlock ! What pranks auld Time does play ? I kent nae change in a' your range When I cam' hoc tlie day : But faces that I nic' wi' Are surely altert sair ; And some I ken hae left the glen We'll never meet wi' mair. Bui though the fit may wander, The heart can aye be true, And mony a yin, I brawly ken, Wad fain be here e'enoo ; And mony a weary comrade Like me fu' aften prays, That the bonnie hills o' Wanlock May see his hinmaist days. '-'■■& D3 THE SEA. Bards sing the beauties of the deep, The ever-sliifting wondrous main Makes many a hand the harp-si rings sweej), And Hves in many a sounding strain, But I, what beauty can I see In that which parts my love and me ? I own its face may oft be fair, ^^*hen summer skies are smih"ng o'er, Or grand, when tempests gather there, And mad waves lash th' embattled shore, But cannot view these sights with glee The while it parts my love and me. No other cause have I for hate. No friend of mine bemoans its power ; No hearts I loved have met their fate Upon it in the stormy hour ; Did it not part my love and me, I too might sing the sounding sea. But with such bar as this to break, How shall I teach my song to flow ? f- '1 iii 154 The Sea. The only music I can make Dies in a dismal plaint of woe ; I cannot bid that roil in glee That rolls between my love and me. And shall I therefore curse the deep ? Nay — for a whisper in mine ear Makes all my pulses gladly leap, And tells me that the day is near When o'er this wnde mysterious sea The waves will waft my love to me. So, till that happy day shall dawn. Nor blame nor praise have I for thee. Weird waste, whose witchery has drawn Music from every bard but me ; But safely guide her bark along. And I will thank thee in a song. 155 IN THE FOREST. When the red leaves fell on every side, And the straggling houghs were nearly bare, I wander'd far through the forest wide, In the settled calm of the evening air. The strong, fierce heat of the day was gone, The light winds folded their wings in rest. And softly the streamlet murmur'd on With a childlike joy to the open west. I follow'd the stream, for my heart inclined To list its tale to the witching close ; And peace grew up in my musing mind As the gurgling melody wan'd and rose. How sweet, I thought, to be always here, Away from the garish, noisy day ; And my life to glide like the streamlet clear In the thrall of the flowery forest brae. No chafing with rocks, no surging foam ; Naught but the flowers, the buds, and me ; And the only chan-e when I sought my home. As the stream must do, in the parent sea. 156 In the Forest. And even at last my spirit would crave No boon that Nature is scant of here, For the birds might mould me a leafy grave, And whistle a dirge at my lonely bier. But lo ! as I plann'd in a blind content, With never a thought beyond the trees. To the edge of the forest my footsteps bent, Led on by the rush of the nearing seas ; And right through the struggling arms of pine The broad, red sunset smote my brow ; And I halted, abash'd, in the light divine While the old dream fell like a leaf from the bough. P'or I saw, what erst I had fail'd to see. In the depths of the forest's rayless gloom, That the stream might end in the parent sea, But not my soul in the sealike tomb. " And yonder," I cried, " is the goal for me ! The depths of the forcit may suit the stream, But I, with a future over the sea, Have more to do thu.i be here and dream." ^* t^ o/ ■ CARRON WATER, BoNNiLiE blinks the moon on Carron— ^Vimplin' awa, Boon frae the hichts sae stey and i)arren, Worn, wi' the rocks in the lang Hnns war'rin', Sleepily slidin' by hamlet and ha', Through the woodlan's free ; O, bonnilie blinks the mune owre't a' ! But never a blink that she cuist on Carron Could equal in witchery them that fa' Frae my winsome May on me. Merrily lilt the birds on Carron, Deavin' the glen ! Nae note o' the lark's wi' the linty's jarrin'— Nor^the merle the mellow-tuned mavis marrin' A' like a dream to the raptur'd ken As the lays are sung ; O, merrily lilt the birds ilk yin ! But never r. sang that they sung on Carron Was half sae sweet as the words that rin, Like hinny, frae my love's tongue. \fi I ! tJ ic8 Carron Wcxter. Sweetly the wild Howers bloom on Carron, Buskin' the brae ; Blue-bell and primiose the greenwood starrin' — Wild briar, rich as the roses o' Sharon — Violets and pinks frae ilk woodland way I'ling balm on the gale; O, sweetly they bloom through the lang summer day ! But the sweetest flow'r on the banks o' Carron Is my rose-lipp'd, hazel-eyed, lily-brow'd May, The pride o' her native vale. Dear to my heart are the links o' Carron ; But far mair dear Than the richest floweret the greenwood starrin'. Or the bonniest blink o' the mune on Carron, My May, wi' a voice as saft and clear As the wild bird's tongue ; O, what do I care ocht else to hear ! Her love is mair to my heart than Carron, And weel do I trow that voice mair dear Than the sweetest sang e'er sung ! 159 GLENBALLANTVNE ; OR, MV LOOK O' IIAMK. LAST I HAE wandcr'J far i' the wilds this day, Owre heichts bent-clad, and in howes sae green ; I hae heard weird words that I daurna say. And sichts that were not o' the yird I've seen. And sair I misdoot I hae lookit my last On bonnie green howm and on brairdit lea, For a freit, like a chirt o' the norlan' blast, Lies cauld, lies cauld at the heart o' me. O, licht is the fitstep, leisoniely fain, Tho' weary wi' raikin' and stiff wi' toil, That the gloamin' o' life brings back again To the kindly touch o' its native soil ! To spiel ance mair the stey green hills Sae lichtly esteem'd when the heart was liig And dauner again by the winiijlii H, \l)\ii\' rills That croon sae sweet o' the days gane by, joys, Cauld maun the heart be, twin'd o' if^ And weary the weird that heart maun d That comes to the scenes o' its youthfu' ploy: ree ^^ 1 never a spark o' its youthfu' glee. 1 1 i7^-i«.. /} o^ w '^t^' J^ (? ^ / # ^ Photographic Sciences Corporation m \ ^^^ [v \ <> '<.^ - ^^^>. ^^^ \^u ■^^ 4^ ^ ■% 33 WESr MAIN STRUT WEBSTER, NY. MS80 (7t6) 873-4503 %"■ Sr'.%f % :\ \ i6o Glenballantync. F(jr me — the blude i' my bosom lap Wi' a schule-bairn's joy turn'd lowse to play When I lookit again on the lane hill tap, And the glen where I spent life's early day. And never sae fair did the auld hills seem r the years langsyne as they did this day, When I cross't at the heid o' the Wanlock stream, Wi' the bird i' the lift, and the blume on the brae. I hadna been gane on the muirs a mile, A mile on the muirs, but barely twa. When the sun o' the simmer ceas'd to smile, And the sweet hill win' it was airtit awa' : And a'thing grew sae eerie and lown By Enterkin-Hass and the Lowther Brae, I made for the heichts, as I wad hae flown. For laich i' the glens I couldna stay. I hadna been oot on the heichts a mile, A mile on the heights, but only three, When a mist row'd doon on the braid Steygyle, And happit his buirdly bouk frae me. Sae wan were its faulds, sae dern and wan, 'Twas mair like a flowther o' drivin* snaw, And I neither could see where the burnie ran, Nor catch ae note o' its lilt ava'. Glenballivityne. 1 6 1 And in the glenheid, or ever I wist, Where the lang witch-bracken is stifT and still, I yokit wi' them I wad fain hae mis?;'t — The dreid white faces that haunt the hill. For, richt i' my gate, a' waesome and worn, The yirdit deid, whase name I heir. Were waitin' for me, by the muirl.in' burn — An awsome trystin' o' dule an' fear. The dear deid faces — the lips I've kiss't — The een that langsyne look't luve i' my ain — They ga])it and glowre't frne the muirlan' nii>t. And they fley'd me, and into the mist again : And up on the heichts I could bear their cries ; I can hear them yet ! I sail never tine The gruesome dreid at my heart that lies Sin' the sauls o' my kinsfolk spak' wi' mine ! Ye may busk i' yer hrawest, (ilenhallantyne burn (And o' lown sweet beauty ye hae your share) ; But a' my thochts frae your memories turn. And I'll taigle at e'en i' your neuks nae mair. Farewell, green Lowther — corne and brae ! A lang fareweel ye may tak' o' me ; I hae hauden a tryst i' your wilds this day, That'll keep me fey till the day I dee. I I 162 AMANG THE BRUME. DooN amang the brume, in yon dowie glen yestreen, I heard a saftcr melody than mavis ever sang ; And I couldna fen' but listen tho' a mist cam' in my een, And ilka word gaed through me like a sti^ng — "0 bonnie rides the boat when the simmer win' is lown, And the gowden lift abune her is nae sooner than the sea ; But when the win' is waken't, and the wave has gurly grown, What troubles maun the weary boatie dree ! " Doon amang the brume, when the eerie wail gaed by, A dwawm cam' owre my kennin', and I saw a boat gaun doon ; And I wist the warst had happen'd, for I heard a waefu' cry, And again the voice gaed through me wi' a stoun — "O! bonnie is the lift when the storm has cleart the blue, And bonnie is the water when it settles braid and fair ; But the bonnie face o' somebody will smile nae mair on you, His boat will ride the waters nevermair." 16- TH E POET AND HIS THEME Forever o'er the sea of song The poet's fairy shallop glides ; In mirth and music borne along, It lightly breasts the bounding tides. From morn till night awake, asleep, He threads the bay, or skirts the shore ; The rolling numbers of the deep Are in his heart for evermore. No stormy gust invades the calm That broods between his sea and sky ; But silent, low, and rich with balm The slumbrous zephyr wanders by. He lives in love with all around ; He changes as the seasons fill ; His heart — a lyre of sweetest sound — Is strung and swept by Nature still. The memories of the olden time Are wafted to him down the wind ;. He knows the songs of every clime. And sets them to each mood of mind. 164 The Poet and his Theme. And when the night is near at hand He cons them over one by one ; And far across the listening land The magic of his lay is blown. He sings of life, and love, and death, Of all things bright and fair to see ; And in the pauses of his breath 'J'he waves complete the melody. But, most of all, he loves the theme Of years to come when sin is dead ; Then rolls his music in a stream Impassioned, chaining heart and head. For, more than all things great or dear The ages leave us as they roll, This longing for the golden year Is centred in the poet's soul. Oh, gentle bard, that longs to greet The day when all hearts throb like thine ! How many weary years must fleet Across the land in storm and shine ? 5 I; I How many loves that now are bright Will darken into worse than scorn Before we burst this dismal night That drags us from the golden morn ? TliJ Poet and his Thane. 165 So deei^ the shade on hut and hall, So seldom glints the fitful gleam, Alas ! I fear that, after all. It lives but in the poet's dream ! i66 AT THE GARDEN GATE. " The moon, like a shepherdess, climbs the steeps Where her silent flocks of stars are straying, And lightly down through the dark blue deeps Her cloudy robes on the breeze are playing : The spell of the night is on mountain and main, Woodlands and waters are swallicd in sltep ; And fitful and faint on the night wind's wings Is wafted the dirge that the streamlet sings, As it glides through the glen to its grave in the deep. Alone by the garden gate as I stand, I think of a night — just such another — When I waited here to touch the hand Dear to me yet above all other : Just so — did the moonlight tip the trees ; Just so — the night wind rose and fell ; — Ah me! how long should I linger now. With the night-wind stealing across my brow, Ere the touch of that hand would break the spell 1 67 WALLACE Ox the page of Scottish story, Red with valour though it be, Who can lay such claim to glory As the knight of EldersHe? Wallace, first of all the warriors Ever belted blade on thigh. May the heart that slights thy greatness Droop in dungeon dark and die ! Bruce was wise, and 1 )ouglas daring ; Randolph's heart was stout and bold ; Stern Kirkpatrick's sword unsparing ; Eraser loved by young and old : But in thee alone, proud Wallace, Burn'd the quenchless patriot flame : All the rest had stooiJcd to England, Borne awhile a traitor's shame. Well their after-deeds absolved them From the stain that dimm'd their shield, And when England's king resolved him They should die or meanly yield, 1 68 Wallace. O how leapt each manly bosom, Thriird by IJruce's gathering cry, And beneath his glorious banner Took the field to do or die. But in thee no stain existed, Oath of thine no king could claim ; Evermore thy sword lesisted All that spoke in Edward's name. How could then the doom of traitor Be assigned with truth to thee, When thy soul disdained to own him For a king — in chains or free 1 But the fools who deem'd thee traitor Knew not then as we know now, That thy death has made thee greater, Wreath'd fresh laurels round thy brow For although to live a patriot 'Pries the strength of heart and will. He who dies a patriot-martyr Proves devotion deeper still. Spotless as the vault of heaven Was thy soul's untainted glow ', And to such alone is given power to check the tyrant foe : Down through all the after ages Beams that radiance full and clear, — Who shall say it doth not reach us. Seated in our freedom here ? I Go PAIRING-TIME. I HEARD the mulrhcns in the dawin', And siccan a rippct they raised ! Sac crouscly the niuircocks were crawin', I glowert as the birds had been crazed ; For I thocht tliat the hainely employment O' biggin' a nest had been cjuiet ; But gin it can yield sic enjoyment, What say ye, young lassie, to try't ? The muircock is blithe wi' his dearie, A' nicht in the howe o' the hill ; But lang were the gloamin' and eerie, If spent on the muir by himsel' : And what is a man withoot woman, But a muircock that hasna a hen ? Sae bide wi' me noo i;i the gloamin', And shorten my nicht in the glen. A cozy wee cot and a cannie. Is ready whenever ye will, Weel plcnished wi' plenishin' bonnic, And wantin' for nocht but yoursel' : Then come in the gloamin', my treasure! For troth I am weary tae ken. Gin pairin'-time brings the birds pleasure. What wonderfu' joys it gies men. 170 THE DEATH-SONG OF TIME. il^ I! : In the empty years that loom upon the world Ere the mountains shall be levell'd with the sea, Or the blackening bolt of thunder shall be hurled From the caverns of the life that is to be, Mute and haggard on the margin of his power, 'Mong the nations that are crumbling in his shade^ Robed in all *he passing splendour of the hour, Time is leaning like a warrior on his blade ; And he feels the sickly flaring of the sun, Hears the slogan of the breeze that rushes past, And marks the ebbing ages as they run Among his fingers, wearing quickly to the last ; Then, rising to the fulness of his form. He passionately clamours to the throng, And louder than the roarings of the storm Comes the music of the mighty wizard's song : — " Get ye hence and be forgotten ! Who are ye Clinging wonder-stricken round the skirts of Time ? Have ye left your homes in idleness to see The shadow that will blast ye in your prime ? The Death-Song of Time, 171 Do ye think the lion leaves his cave to die, That the meaner beasts may triumph in his pain ? Though the light l)e fadin.; surely from mine eye, It will burn ti/1 yours can n^ver glint again ! *' Mine arm hath been against ye all mv days, I have con(juer'd and will cuMnm.T to the end ; There is no mortal force that yo cii raise But the iron guard of Time wil' turn and bend. Ye are not what ye were no r i re than I, I have worn away your -^erve and s.ipp d your will ; It u not long to 'inger — surely I That have borne so long can bear a little still. *' O the tooth of dull decay hath toucht the hills, And soon their Haunted pride will be no more. And wearily the wrinkled ocean spills The weepings of his dotagi,' on the shore ; All things which were of old are waxmg grey, And if such things as these can cease to be, What hope have ye, the insects of a day. To wrestle through this weary war with me ? " It is not many days that I must wait Till the fulness of your time be come and gone, I will leave ye, drawn together, to your fate, And the spell will settle o'er ye one by one. Man and iPiatron, prince and peasant, young and old. The coward's dust shall mingle with the brave ; Many flocks are penn'd together in a fcld When the world is not a dwelling but a grave. 172 The Death-Song of Time. " And when ye walk no more upon the earth, And your feet have left no traces where they trod, When the stately halls that echoed with your mirth Are not left to tell the future your abode ; When the very name of man has been forgot, And all the fierce emotions of his prime. The longings and the labours of his lot Are like mists upon the memory of Time ; " When the mountain and the meadow shall be one, And the glamour of the glen hath ceas'd to be ; When the mystery of the midnight and the moon Cannot rouse the slumbering madness of the sea ; When the sun that shines so feebly shines no more, And the primal darkness settles o'er the deep, I will push my silen*- shallop from the shore. Glide away into Eternity — and sleep ! " / J EL DORADO. Where is the land of the sunlight and shadow, Rivers of silver and mountains of gold ; The beautiful province yclept El Dorado, Imaged erewhile by the dreamers of old? Seek it no more where the sounding Atlantic Murmurs its mystical tales in your ear ; Come, I will show you the region romantic ! Listen, the true El Dorado is here. A silent wind from a far blue sky, A bark on the lake in the clear moonshine, The first look of love in a merry blue eye, And a dear little hand in mine. Say not 'tis false that the country we live in, Old mother England, the free, may contain The peace and the plenty for which ye have striveii, Deeming them far in the oiient main ; Back from the lands of the sun to our valleys ! This is the haven to which ye should steer ; The light and the gloom of the magical palace- Treasures uncounted and countless are here ; — A silent wind from a far blue sky, A bark on the lake in the clear moonshine, The first look of love in a merry blue eye, And a d?ar little hand in mine. 174 El Dorado. Love is the " sesame " that opens our nature, Gifting our vision with power to behold The fair face of earth, with a smile on each feature, Making it truly a region of gold. Come, then, ye hearts that with longing are weary, Think not the world is faded and sere, Much that we know may be gloomy and dreary, But surely the true El Dorado is here : — A silent wind from a far blue sky, A bark on the lake in the clear moonshine, The first look of love in a merry blue eye, And a dear little hand in mine. 175 ENTERKI N. e, There's a glen, i' the far-aff hills o' my hame, I'll ne'er forget ; A glen wi' a sweet auld-farrant name That thrills me yet ; Thrills me, and fills me wi' nameless joy As the sicht o't did when a dreamin' boy, And I lay at e'en on the grey hillside, My young heart loupin' wi' stouns o" pride At thoeht o' the ferlies ye hae seen. Warrior and martyr, lover and freen — A' tint noo to the hill folk's e'en ! Oh, Enterkin ! I hae wander't far Owre land and sea ; But sweetest o' a' sweet memories are My dreams o' thee ! Then streikit at ease on the lane glenheid, Oor cracks wad be O' the dauntless word and the baulder deed That set men free ; Free to meet i' the wilds and pray To God, i' their ain sweet simple way. Peacefu' and happy is Enterkin — A lowner glen ye wad hardly fin' : 12 il i 176 Enterkin. A'body coniL's and gangs at will, Safe as the sunlicht on the hill — Never a heart taks tent o' ill. Oh, weel may the auld days fill \vi' ihocht Ilk pensive niin'. For the freedom and safety there were bocht Wi' blude, langsyne ! For there, i' the gowden youthfu' days O' love and pride. When a Sabbath calm had husht the braes At gloamin' tide ; The forms that I loe'd best to see Were wont to dauner at e'en wi' me ; The kindly auld folks led the way, But watcht that we didna jouk or play ; Sister and brither, and comrade dear. And aiblins a sweet young stranger here, Borrow'd frae Lunnon ance a year : Oh, blaw thou saft in her bonnie face, Thou westlin' win' ! For a winsomer sicht did never grace Grey Enterkin ! Though lanesome and laich be the soun's that creep Through Enterkin, Nocht waur than the bleat o' the wild hill shee[) Disturbs the glen, The sugh o' the win', the burnie's moan, Or the cry o' the whaup on Auchenlone j Enterkin. ^77 Little ye'd dream o' the fearsome day When the red-coats fiU'd yon narrow way Where the men o' the Covenant took their stand For the martyr-faith o' their native land, And stern MacMichael kd the band : Oh, s\\eet be his slumber in auld Kirkbride, That warrior grim ; For the feck o' the charm o' yon grey hillside Was wrocht by him ! Oh, bonnily there on the muirlan' heicht The sun looks doon, And bauldly up i' the warm sunlicht Ilk hauds his croon : Lowther and Steygyle, Auchcnlone — Daintiest hill that the licht looks on : (Aft hae I spiel'd its benty side Wi' freens noo sinder'd far and wide), While bonnily owre baith burn and brae The sklentin' shadows o' e'enin' play, And syne hap a' at the close o' day : Oh, surely the weird, uncanny skill O' elfin' wand Ne'er cuist mair glamour on howe and hill In fairy-land ! Oh, saftly blaw, thou win' o' the west Through Enterkin ! And shine oot, Sun, in thy splendour drest^ On Enterkin ! i i !! ■ 1 1 178 Enterkin. A' things bonnie and heartsome be Aye like a halo o' peace roon thee ; And i' the hearts o' warldly men That come to look on this lanesome glen, Peace, like the peace that slumbers there- Peace, like the peace that follows prayer. Fa', like the dewdraps, unaware ! Oh, fain wad I nilifer a towmond's joy This side the sea To feel as I felt when a dreamin' boy Lnngsyne in thee ! - \ V- V I I ill 1/9 THE CRY OF THE HILLMExN God o' the Hameless, shield Thy bairns ! Loutt laich frae oot Thy halie hauld, And i' the bield o' Thy wicht airms This remnant o' Thy flock enfauld ; Else ane by ane we'll dwine awa' Like lilts o' sang-birds frae the hill, When e'ening mirk begins to fa', And gleds and hoolits work their will. For never did ;he lintie's held Clap closer to the bien hillside While owre her swept that form o' dreid, Than God's ain folk are fain to hide ; A' day we shun the licht ; at e'en We seek the dusht and darksome glen, Weel, if the midnicht's murky screen But hap us frae oor fellow men ! Here, stowlins, amang craigs and howes, In cauld and weet, we're forced to bide ; Oor only feres the tods and yowes That raik alang the mountain side ; ^w liSo T/ie Cry of the Hillmcn. The wild bird's wheeple frae the lift The only leevin' voice we hear, Save when in some lane glen we lift Oor ain to Thee in dule and fear. Nocht ken we o' the joys of life, The ingle-neuk, the heartsome ha', Oor bonnie bairns and blithe gudewife, For Thy sake, Lord ! we've tint theni a' \ \'et wad we coont oor losses, gains, Gin Thou in mids' o' us wad be To ease us o' the skaith and pains That we maun for oor Covenant dree. It's oh that we micht bauldly stan' In Christ's ain kirk aniang oor kin, Thy halie Book in ilka han', Thy praise ilk gledsome saul within ; For this oor Covenant we mak', I'or this we thole, for this we dee ; Oor ban's are on the pleugh, and back Ae wistfu' glance we maunna gie. Hoo lang, oh Lord ! wilt Thou abide In Thy heich-hadden withoot sign, While ravenin' wolves on ilka side Herry and rive this fauld o' Thine ? The bluid o' mony a martyr'd saint Cries to Thee frae the muirlan' sod ; Oh, loutt and listen to oor plaint, Bare Thy wicht airm and bield us, God ! i8i IIAMK'S AYE HAMK. (the i.intik's defence of the moorland.) " EoxNiE wue bird \vi' the blithesoniL' c'e, Happin' aboot on the- bare hillside, Liltin' ycr sang wi' a heart as free As the breeze that scatters it far and wide. What can hae ta'en ye — if I may spier — That ye suld bide i' the muirlan' here?" " What can hae ta'en me ? Whaur wad I gang Tae look for a joy I lack e'enoo ? Is there a spot thir hills amang Wi' heather as bonnie or lift as blue? Tell me the marrow o' Arthur's Grain, This lane lown corrie I ca' my ain." " Arthur's drain is but scraggy and bare, Hardly a bracken tae bield ye here ; Mennock has wudlan's bonnie and fair Whaur ye micht shelter the leelang year, And join wi' the lave o' the teather'd thran % Deavin' the wuds wi' yer joyfu' sang." 182 Havie's Aye Hniiic. •* Mcnnock is honnic, and fair, .^iid fine, But niony a Mitlicr than mc is there : And wha wad listen tae saiigs like mine When the wuds are ringin' wi' soons sac rate? On the bleak, hare niuir, or the misty glen Ye bless the voice ye wad ne'er hear then."' •' But gleds come whiskin' athort the nuiir, Yer wee heart loups tae yer neb wi' dreid ; Ye ken thae brackens are no secure, Ilk wauf o' the win' micht shaw yer heid ; And what wad become o' yer artless glee Gin ye catcht the tail o' his ruthless e'e?"' " The glcds come roun' by the muir, as ye say, And oh, but their glance is gleg and keen ; But belter a gled in the open day Than a hoolit's skraich i' the mirksonie e'en ; When the heart's warm bluid begins tae cree[) Wi' an eerie chill, and ye daurna sleep." '* But think o' the storms ye maun endure. And the faucht ye hae for a pyke betimes. It's hard, dry fare on a barren muir, And little ye get for yer winsome rhymes ; And sangs come best frae a singer's heid That ne'er maun think on claes or breid." " Storms at the warst maun e'en blaw by, And the young ling blumes are sweet tae pree ; Halite's Aye Haiiic, And then sac fair is the simmer sky, Yc'd sing for pleasure as weel as me. Claes, I'll be thankfu', come alT haiin, And a gey wee mouthfu' keeps me gaun." " Aweel, wee bird, I hae said my say, Ye may bide i' the cauld, bare muir for me ; Ne'er think I'd be fain tae see ye away, "Fwas a' for yersel' I made sae free. The muir wad be dowic and deid I troo Clin it hadna a leevin' voice in you." 183 " Nae mair ; gin the voice o' the muir be sweet, Still let it be as it aye has been ; In simmer or winter, cauld or weet, The hills are dear to my constant een ; For wi' birds, as wi' mair things I could name, Nae maitter hoo lowly— hame's aye hame." T^ fi' ' 184 LITTLE THINGS. Long liavc I rcvclkd in the book of nature, Those wondrous pages that were penned of old,— And sought to fathom in each varying feature The mystic lore its hierogIyi)hics hold : And more convinced am I the more I ponder, 'I'hat lessons meant for us are seldom found, While we sit tranced in a grateful wonder To see the e\erlasting wheel go round. Though not with soul (juite dead to all the glory That breathes around us in the open day, 'Tis but the main points of the sounding story We catch, blown down upon our dusty way. The grand old hills that rear their crests to heaven, The stately streams that ever seek the sea, The deep ravines with echoing thunder riven, The golden glory of the harvest lea, — These all men know : but few without emotion, Alone within the mellow eventide. Could [)ace the limit of the sounding ocean, Or rest upon the silent mountain side. But though we note the lesson thrust before us Li the long biding awe such presence brings. We mostly fail to catch the joyous chorus Rung ever in our ear by lesser things. Little Thin^s^s. 1S5 The liuli' flower that Mooins Insidt thf highway, The httk- hnjok that wimples throuj^h the ylcii, The little hird that sings in every bye-way, All have their little tale for heedful men. 'I'hey are the gentlest outconiings, the feelings With which great Nature's heart doth overflow ; They loueh our sense with plaintive fond appealings At every corner, as we conn- and go. 'J'hey are the antidotes to all our fretting And i)altry little cares of every day, And in the heart, |)ast ( hance of all forgeitui'', Memory should treasure every word they say. 1 86 't. ' LIKE THE RIVER O THE glad voice of the river Flings its music round and round, And the glen is filled for ever With the waters' pleasant sound ; But by neither wood nor meadow Will the rolling river bide — Never rest in shine or shadow Till it reach the ocean wide. •I, And not surer does the fountain Send its waters to the sea, From beyond the distant mountain. Than my heart its thoughts to thee. Other eyes may catch unwitting Fitful glimi)ses here and there, But to thine alone, love-litten, Is my inmost bosom bare. M Far among the upland hollows, When the gladsome stream was young, Brighter flowers adorned the valleys, Louder mirth around it rung. l^ "i I Like the River. But through all their pride the river Lightly wandered fancy free, Till it found its home for ever In the bosom of the sea. So, in youth, I made each pleasure For a while my guiding star ; Sought it, as they seek for treasure, Late and early, near an j far ; Till the silver starlets perv^hed On the pallid m-irge of uay, And the hopes so fondly cherished, Like th^ stars had passed away. 187 Then I came, as comes the river, Leaving all the past behind ; All the toil and the endeavour Of the restless youthful mind. And with calmer voice and feeling. Here beside the peaceful sea. To thy tender heart appealing. Left my happiness with thee. 1 88 Ox\LY A DREAM I DREAMi' that the veil was drawn That screens the coming days, And all the future folded there, In the book of mystery laid bare, Before my wilder'd gaze. And methought I seized the book, And read it page by page, And I saw that life for me was still A weary climb on a pathless hill, From youth till doting age. Ill There was no poet"s wreath To ring my throbbing brow, No sacred calm when the din was by, Nor light to hallow the even' sky — All dreary then as now. m And I thought if this be truth. And th(^ end is as I see, 'Tis surely a wilful waste of time Striving to reach that radiant clime. Whose sweets are not for me. Only a Dream. Then I woke— and lo ! the dream Fell from me as the snow Falls from the branch in the early morn, When the first keen glance of the sun has worn Its hold, and it slips below. And as the branch breaks out And buds iw the open day, A nobler thought possessed ni)- soul, When the searching light of the sun did roil My snow-like dream away. For I knew that the thing I saw Was born of the restless brain, And not God-sent to bear me back, With a sense of the many gifts I lack, Ere I a goal might <,Min. 189 So I work with earnest will. And a heart that still hopes on ; And if no crowning wreath appears At least I know in the rolling vears Some faithful work is done. 190 THE BURN'S ANSWER. Bonnie burn, that rins Tae the roarin' sea, Hae ye no a word ava Frae the hills tae me ? k'' Ye row'd Ijy a shiel, In a far-aff glen, Whaur a bonnie lassie bides That we baith suld ken. mi For aft hae we roved By your bosky braes ; Ye tentit a' oor love dream, Its joys and its waes. That gowd glint o' heaven Ye never wad forget. O, tell me, bonnie burnie, Is her heart mine yet ? The bonnie burn grat. " O, bairn ! I wad fain Bring the news that ye spier for, To cheer ye again : 111 Hi The Burn's Answer. " That shiel in the glen Still Stan's by my side, And the lang and bosky howms In their simmer pride ; " But the lass — wae's me ! — She's a wife lang syne, And the gowd dream has faded In your heart and mine ; 191 " There's nocht yonder noo Brings gladness tae me. And I'm fain tae hurry by Tae the roarin' sea." 192 hi • ■ I ii' :(f SCOTLAND'S CHARMS. O LIGHTLY laughs the sailor lad That knows my pride and me, And straight he speaks of wondrous lands Beyond the sounding sea ; But never a tale I've heard him tell Could force my heart to own, There ever were hills like Scotland's hills, Where Freedom has fixed her throne. Then here's to the hills of Scotland, Where the heather is waving free, There are no hills like Scotland's hills, Nor any so dear to me i O proudly boasts the soldier bold. Who shows a victor's scars. That none can match the dauntless foes He faced in foreign wars ; But something more than a soldier's boast Should force my heart to yield. There eyer were men like Scotland's men Drawn up on a tented f'eld. Then here's to the men of Scotland, Wheresoever their footsteps stray, There are no men like Scotland's men, No nation so bold as they ! Scctland's Charms. 193 O softly sighs the gallant gay, For some dark beauty's smile, Whose charms still keep his fancy fixed On her lone flowery isle ; But say, shall an idle gallant's flame Have power to make us know There ever were maids like Scotland's maids. As far as the winds can blow ? Then here's to the maids of Scotland, With their eyes of the heaven's own blue There are no maids like Scotland's maids, ' No hearts that are half so true ! 194 I I' / SOMETHING WRANG. Saft is the note o' the roguish bird that sits in the flowery thorn, When he woos some jaud frae the neebor shaw tae lie a' nicht at his side ; Blithe is the bhnk o' his gleg wee ee when it opes in the mirk o' the morn, And sees the dear thing cuddlet sae close he canna but chirrup for pride. But never did lovesick bird on the bough e'er pipe sae sweet for a mate, Never sic joy in a feathered breast has been sin' the warld begun, As I saw unseen when my winsome wife cam' oot tae the door and flate, That Willie suld leave her a day for the waters, Willie, her favourite son. II. " Gie me your rod," quo she, "and bide ye at hame, I hae muckle tae say ; Ye come like a glouf o' the winter sun, yin hardly kens ye are here, SonietJunsr Wransr, 195 •Till the wee short fortnicht has worn tae an end, and then ye're afif and away ; And we seena the glisk o' your bonnie face maybe fur anither year ; I'orbye ye ken o' the tryst I made wi' the neebors up by in the glen, That sax in the e'enin' wad bring them your faither, and me, and yoursel' ; It never wad dae tae begunk them noo, especial, for weel ye maun ken, That the wish o' my heart and your faither's is bent on your matin' wi' Nell. I n III. " She's a trig lass Nell, and a bonnie, her marrows are no tae be fun' For parishes roun' though mony are in them bonnie and braw ! At this the rogue leuch till I thocht he wad fa'n tae the grun'. And cryin' cot, ' Mither, that's gospel,' he hirselt aboot tae gae wa' ; She, shakin' her nieve at the laddie, ance mair bade him think on the time. And then stood watchin' his buirdly make as he snoov'd in the dawin' alang, Till he cam' tae the neuk where the fitroad di[)s, and he took tae the heather tae climb. When he turnt for a moment and shouted, * I'll be, if there's naething gaes wrang.'" w 196 Somethifig IVrang. ^ ■ ml llll ' illlli ■jl ml II liil !, IV. I'ack tac the cottage she turnt her aboot, wi' the licht o' her love in her ee, And I met her fair i' the teeth and spier'd gin the tryst she made wad be held ; And she, yet warm wi' her darlin's words, in simple and mitherly glee, Gade by wi' an answer that left me wauf, like a staggerin' stirk half-fell'd ; For whether it was that the voice unkent had something o' dreid in itsel', Or whether my heart got a baud o' the words, like the owrecome o' some auld sang, I never took tent, but an avvsome chill on the heat o' my heart-strings fell, And I shook like a three days' bairn when she said, " He'll be, if there's naething gaes wrang." V. *' If there's naething gaes wrang," cjuo' I tae mysel ten times in the coorse of the day, What nonsense is this I'm wastin' my heart tae cherish sae constant and keen ? I'm certain that nocht can gae wrang wi' the lad, let him rove where he may, Aneth the blue dome o' the lift, in the howe o' the mountains sae green ; But aft as I banished the gruesome thocht that foUow'd the words like a shade, As aften the feelin' cam' till me unsocht, and wrocht on my mind like a spell, Something Wrang. 197 Till substance could heir it na langcr, and (juatin' my darg at the si)adc, And sayin', ** I'm gaun tac meet Willie," I made for the road tae the hill. VI. ish A dour black clud owre the wedderglim darkent the lift and the glen, I kent it had sha[)it for something like this for nearly a fortnicht gane by, But thocht it wad keepit a day or twa niair, else Willie wad need made a fen', Tae hide at the cottage contentit, and haud himsel' cosie and dry ; For though it be nocht for a shepherd like me to be oot in the weet or the storm, Wi' never a bield frae the angry blash, but the bouk (/ an auld grey cairn ; Thae whitefaced toon's fowk gree far best wi' the air weel tempcrt and warm, And needs maun look after their tender hides like a shilpit lass or a bairn. iim the .'d :ht VII. And wcel did it heppen for me that day I carena'd for weather or win'. For juist as I managed the Wingate brae-heid the black clud broke wi' a roar. And a' doon Daur tae the Hass o' Henuff, wi' an unco-like deafenin' din ; 1 98 Something IV rang. The claps o' the thunncr secni'd chasin' ilk ither like waves on a storm-lasht shore ; And oot o' the niids' o' the collied lift richt doon on the howe o' Petrail, The reid jagg'd bolts o' the fireflaucht flichtert and skirr'd alang, And a lownness deejjer than ocht but death had fa'n on the ni irksome dale, Afore the big draps'cam' tae the grun', and I thocht on the something gaun wrang. VIII. *' The Lord look efter my storm-sted lad, and baud him a wee in Thy care ! " My heart broke oot wi' the wilyart cry, as I saw, far doon in the glen, A something that lookt like the shape o' a man come owre frae the dazzlet muir, And crossin' Petrail at the Peden burnfit, come on tae the hill at a sten' ; I kent it was nane bul Hie laddie I socht, in pairt by his lassie-like gang, As far frae the lamp o' the muirlan' herd as the mirk is far frae tl;e luune ; And I thocht tae mysel', "Thank God for His care, he's safe, and there's naething gane wrang, And Jean'll be prood o' us baith this nicht, let oor comin' be syne or sune." Sotiiet/iin^'^ Wran^i^. I(j(j IX. But juist as tlu- [,'Icil words loupt tac luy lip a flash like a furnace gade by, And I trow'd that the lift wad l)c rivrn in l»iis by ilu- horrible crack owrchciti, And the bolt o' the levin had whiz/ed sae close ii leli nie birselt and dr) , And the din o' the thunner had dung me sae I stood for the moment deid ; And the first wild look I gat at the howm where WHlii' had ta'en tae the hill, The turf had been i)lewt wi' a fiery cou'ter deep as a drain in spring ; And oot in the safl green hollow his corpse was streekit stiffly and still, And a' that was left o' my bonnie bairn was a blackent and grues(Miie thinu. 1 1 J on . oor X. God o' the thunner ! forgie me the aith that stertled the hills o' my hame, When I saw Thy creature, the pride o' my life, sli uck doon i' that fearsome day ; I coo'r at the fit o' Thy gowden throne, and own wi" a heart o' shame, That my spirit gade u]) in a desfierate word, muk's mortal rebellious tae say : But Thou kens only — as ken Thou maun— that niair than my ain wild wae. 1i II ! 200 Sovie tiling Wrang. I tliocht on the mither that sat l)y the iiiglc wi' heid boo't forrit tae hear Tlie fit that wad nevermair Hchten hei look as she heard it dim bin' the brae, The voice that mair than a lover's vows had charms for her eager ear. XI. Thou kens, O Lord I what treasure was set on the young life nippet sae sune, Thou kens hoo bit! r a weird Thy will has laid on us baith tae dree, And Lord '. Thou kens Thy servant's heart ne'er carps that Thy will be dune, Though the daein' o't whiles brings little but wae on mine as weel as on me : And e'en as the knowledge o' a' that is can never be tint tae Thy sicht, And Thy strong richt airm that is swift tae strike is aften as swift tae save. 1 bide in the faith that ae black blot '11 fade in the bleezin' licht That gies me a look o' my bonnie bairn on the tither side o' the grave. XII. I seldom can think on the wearifu' past — I maistly leeve in a dwawm ; The ills o' the warl are little tae thole when the first sair bruilzie is bye, SoDicthing Wran cr 20 1 And the terrible sicht. that day in the glen, has left donart and calm nie rings o' Hiy Sae calm that aften I ferlie sair gin the sp passion be dry, For even when Jeanie, my winsome wife, had foUow'd her son to the grave, The never a tear-drap saftened my cheek, but aye like an auld auld sanu That weird ghaist murmur grew in my heart as dour as the sough o' the wave. And I ken that the best o' my life had en't when I grued at the "something wrantr." w «f 202 A SPRIG O' HEATHER, I. It cam' in the faulds o' a lovenote true — This sprig o' heather, Straucht doon frae the mountains whaur it grew In the warm spring weather ; Fresh, wi' the fresh wild air o' the glens, Dear, frae the dear young thing that kens Hoo fain my wearifu' heart wad be Tae bide wi' her ain on the muirland lea, Amang the heather. II. It brings me a glisk o' the hichts and howes Whaur grey mists gether, Whaur blithe birds sing and the wee burn rows In the wilds o' heather ; The scent o' the sweet thing fills my min' Like the croon o' an auld sang kent langsyne. And my heart gangs back to the joyfu' days, When its beat was licht as the breeze that strays Amang the heather. A Sprig o' Heather. 203 III. O bonniest gem o' the treeless wild ! I catena whether, As neither a flow'r nor a tree thou'rt styled, - Thou art dear as either : And lang as the linty bigs her nest In the bield c' thee on the mountain crest, Sae lang will the muirlan' heart o' me Hae a nameless joy it can only pree Amang the heather. IV. The lily sae mim or the blude-reid rose May charm anither, But a Scotsman's heart in his bosom glows At the sicht o' heather ; Whether it wave on the breezy hills. And a' the air wi' its fragrance fills, Or comes as a token that some sweet face Is missin' his ain at the trystin' place Amang the heather. And oh, tae hae baud o' that face e'e'^iOo ! Row'd close thegither, Where nocht but the sun e'er dichts the dew Frae the wavin' heather ; Row'd close thegither aneth ae plaid When lichts were gloamin' and winds were laid ; And never a tongue but the bird's abune Could speak o' the ferlies said or dune Amang the heather ! .Efi'^i \ uai H" \i8 til 204 AUTUMN Lo i me languid Summer lies Down upon her couch of pain, And the look that's in her eyes Says she will not rouse again : Tend her well, sweet love, for you Will mourn her all the Winter through. Was not this a wondrous web, Woof'd with happiness she wove, Ere her power had reach'd the ebb, And her arm with Winter strove ? But she claims the gift she gave To fold around her in the grave. We must yield, alas ! ye know. Ere the fields have lost their green, I must with the Summer go Where the wave will roll between ; But, when birds again do sing, I will come and crown the Spring. 205 U N F U L F I L L E D RENOWN The history of our island rings With praises of its great of old, And slumbering loyalty upsprings Where'er their valiant deeds are told ; With swelling heart and sparitling eye We mouth the names that cannot die. Their fight is fought, their victory won. Their meed is at the hands of fame ; They win the wreath by what is done. And wear it, and no man can blame ; Nor do we grudge the grateful praise That wafts their name to later days. I|lf But who shall say that on the roll Oblivion hides there was not one As mighty ? — nay, a mightier soul, Than these dame Fortune smiled upon ? A man whose single sword and shield Had turned the chances of a field. Who knew the weight and worth of will, And prized it as all leaders do ; il'i! ill 206 Unfulfilled Renown. Nor lacked the aids of strength and skill To place him 'mong the favour'd few ; But whose young fame and budding wreath Were blasted in the frost of death. While yet the horn was at the lip To sound his name through all the land, One fatal moment wrought a slip, The horn fell from the faltering hand, And the proud prelude's opening tone F.l'.ei in an instant and was gone. And in the flight of such a soul Our loss is greater than we know, P'or victory's tide unchecked may roll, And mighty hearts still guide its flow ; And so we hail their power with pride. Unconscious that a greater died. The bud that's nipt beneath the gale Might shape to show the fairer flower ; But whoe'er thinks of buds that fail, When seated in the Summer bower. Where those that braved the tempest stand. And hallow all the fragrant land ? So with the past ; great men enthrall The wondering gaze of after-time : But seldom are the tears that fall For those who perished ere the prime. Unfulfilled Renoiun. We own their meed might not be less, Yet yield a greater to success. But in the world beyond the grave, Their guerdon will be rightly given ; The unfought combats of the brave Shall work their recompense in heaven ; And the nipt bud at last disclose The beauties of the perfect rose 207 *f iff ■ m ri 208 TIRED. Come to me, Sleep — for I am faint and worn ; All night my brain hath dived deep For pearls of fancy to adorn These waifs of song ; until at morn, Of all its eager impulse shorn. How willingly it comes to steep Its languor in the balm of sleep. Come to me, Sleep — behold I cast away At last the book whose witching lore Hath kept thee from thy rightful sway, And made the night as rough as day With toil ; but thought no more will stay, Its wing that late could proudly soar, Droops, jaded with the strain it bore. Come to me, Sleep — I have a traitor been, But now repentant crave thy kiss ; As lover woos who once has seen His mistress wrongly slighted, lean I now upon thy love serene. That sees through negligence like this. And yields at last its balmy bliss. Tired. Come to me, Sleep-I yield th Do with it as thou wilt 209 fc up my soul, There It seems are no arms like thine ; O fold Them softly round my frame, and hold My head upon thy bosom old ; For happiness my spirit deems Nowhere but in thy world of dreams. ^if"^^^,S'^^P' I feel thy kindly glow, I feel thy balmy presence near: Already faint the noises grow That sound so fitfully below, One after one the last lights go, And I who neither see nor hear Have comfort in another sphere Hi , I 2IO A SONG Ol^ PAIN. Turn me aboot wi' my face to the wa', O mither, till I dee ! I canna look intae your een ava That wont to be dear tae me : I want to be dune wi' the licht o' day And the weariesome fauchts o' life, For little o' pleasure or promise hae they To the mither that ne'er was a wife. 1 1- n-i &' :'>'-S-,^ Gie me a kiss or a heartenin' word, O mither, or I gang ! Ye mind hoo ye ca't me your winsome bird Lang syne when I kent nae wrang : And never had I sic need o' your love In the far away time as noo : I hae nane but yoursel' and the God above, Whase mercy I'm fley'd tae sue. Comfort the bairn I'm leavin' ahin', O mither, when I'm gane ! The puir thing 'ill thole for his mither's sin As bitterly as his ain ; And dinna be hard wi' his faither, min', Suld he come when I am awa', But think on the joyfu' days lang syne, When he liket me best o' a' ! ^"alBKiaanmqMWMi 211 =n!^- REAR OUR FLAG ON HIGHf Rear our flag on high ! ^ That gift which Freedom gave, 'Twill stream above our victory, Or shroud us in the grave. There's pride of heart and strength of arm Rank'd at the guns below, And he that weens to work it harm Must be a dauntless foe. Rear our flag on high ! And when it flies unfurl'd, Mark how it stands against the sk)-, And seems to dare the world ! The light winds proudly lift its folds And toss them far and free, And forth the good ship fares^ and ' -'ds Old England on her lee. Ili mUl Pour your choicest wine. And pledge the vessel round, And pray that she may plough the bri.ic For years with timbers sound : En 14 1 P' 3f 212 ^^rt;' Our Flag on High. In peace or war, in shine or storm, Unconquered as of yore, Witli England's banner standing firm Through all the tempest's roar. Then, should Heav'n decree This flag of ours must fall, In terror men may look to see The dismal end of all ; And even in that hour 'twill seem. When sinks the vessel low, To flutter on the 'whelming stream In triumph to the foe ! 213 TIx\TOC-TAI>. AN OLD SAW, WITH A RUX.VING COMMENTARY. On Tintoc-tap there is a mist, (Gin ye misdoot ue— gang and see;) And in the mist there is a kist, (A queer place for a kist tae be !) And in the kist there is a caup, (As fine as e'er held barley-bree ;) And in the caup there is a drap ; (A wee drap screigh, it seem'd tae me.) Tak' up the caup and drink the drap, (If ye're a Scot, ye'll dae't wi' glee,) And ye'll fa' doon on Tintoc-tap (Sic dule does every drunkard dree !) iil \tf' ■i-r Ill I 214 EPISTLE TO NELLIE, IN REPLY TO HERS IN THE Friend OF i8tK AUdUST. '!!S The English mail cam' in yestreen, A welcome sicht for langin' een, Wi' news o' mony a far-aff freen', Tae touch the hearts That under weary exile grien In foreign parts. Hi: I gat some paper wi't mysel", Some business letters, sharp and fell And ane that, by the very smell And grup thegither, The toomest-heided loon could tell Was frae the heather. '-: R'l' Nane o' yer sma'lly, formal mites A warldly chield in haste indites, ■ But siclike as a mither writes A son she loes — Sax sheets, weel cross'd in black and white, And pang'd wi' news. JUST, Epistle to Nellie. And though the sheets were laiig and wide, 'J'he cover yet had room tae hide Ae scrap that gart mf; dance wi' pride, Richt fain, I tell ye — A rhymin' note, fu' bravely tried, Frae ane ca'd Nellie. She roos'd my hamely muirlan' skill In stringin' blauds o' rhyme at will ; But fear'd that lately I'd been ill, Or ceas'd tae min' O' freens at hame, wha used tae fill My thochts langsyne. " And wad I no," she'd kindly spier, " For sake o' them wha loe'd tae hear, Though far frae a' I reckon'd dear, And owre the main, Juist kittle up my harp, and cheer Their hearts again ? " I'm sure I needna blush tae tell That I thocht meikle o' mysel' When her sweet lines, sae frank and fell, I croon'd wi' care. And heard her say she likit well My rhymin' ware. H r , it_ ' And, by my word, I'll dae my best Tae grant the lass h er sma request f T.^r :: i 2i6 Epistle to Nellie. I'll court the muse, and never rest Till she be kin', And screed me aff some fancy, drest In language fine. Meantime, dear Nellie, never fear That ocht I ever see or hear Can (]uench the deathless love, I bear For Scotia's shore. Or for the freen's sae leal an' dear In days o' yore. I've seen Niagara's waters dashing In headlong fury — roaring — splashing, And Montmorency's torrent crashing Its rocks below, While high in heaven the spray was flashing, A burnished bow. But though the sichts and soun's be grand 'Hiat greet me in this noble land, I'd niffer a' for that lane strand Attour the sea ; Oh, airt me hame tac auld Scotland, \'e powers that be ! And when I sing, as I hae said, Thinkna the scene will e'er be laid Save in the kintra o' the plaid And bonnet blue, Whaur man is bauld, and wife and maid Are leal and true. H 217 A GUST ON THE LAKE, Yesterday I lay at rest In the heather upon the mountain's breast And watch'd the little lake below Unmov'd by tidal ebb or flow ; Mirror'd in which high Heaven was seen With all its flecks and bars between— A beauteous sight ; a sight to give Delight as long as one might live, For years of toil will not efface The memory of that winsome scene ; The stillness of the lonely place, The perfect peace, the calm serene. Suddenly out of the mountain ^orc^e A wandering wind its way did urge : It came from white clouds far away ; It was only a gust— and it did not stay. But it smote the face of the little lake, And the beauteous mirror shiver'd and brake. It was only a gust— and it soon pass'd on. But the glamour that fill'd the glen had gone ; And long did I linger on the hill And watch, with desire that was almost pain, Ere the troubled heart of the lake was still, And peace return'd to her home again. m 51: »$|i« i W 2l8 A Gust on the Lake. I ,■,: ! A storm surged up in my mind to-day An angry storm — but it did not stay, A slanderous whisper had swept the glen, And stirr'd the blood of the mountain men ; And mine too rose, — but I went apart And commun'd in solitude with my heart ; And I said " O heart ! wilt never learn The lessons that face thee at every turn ? Hast thou forgotten the little lake That slumber'd so sweetly yesterday, And yet how swiftly the storm did take Its fairy beauty and peace away ? " The storms and eddies that vex the world Will keep thee ever in torture whirl'd If like the little mountain lake, The impress of each wind thou dost take. But the mind of a man should meet the storm, Nor take from the blustering tempest harm ; Glassy and calm its face should show No matter how fiercely Ihe whirlwinds blow ; And only resemble the lake in this : — That in all seasons it lowly lies, At peace with itself and all that is, Reflecting the calm of its natal skies." . , ;* !v. flDi9ccUaneou6 Sonnets. : ml !t! ^ '■;f ii t; u Si , 11 •jr. ii i |l I I I 1 1!^ ) m.i If I Mil iiiii I ii'iit' ill M i ; I It 22 1 P O E S I E . Whence comes the charm that broods along thy shore O sunny land of song ? What potent thrall, Reckless of ocean's rise, or flow, or fall, Holds us about thy marge for evermore ?' Here, where the long wave breaks in measured time. And fills our being with its rhythmic moan, From far inland the glories of thy zone Burst on our view, and beckon us to climb. Shades of the mighty dead ! whose snowy towers Stud the deep gorges and the wooded braes. Is there no nook for cots so small as ours ? No tree whereof we yet might gather bays ? But to be with thee, and to hear the wave Roll music round the land, is all we crave. Ji: