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I- 
 
 THE 
 
 jiaup of ^tpatlinaver. 
 
 A LAY OF THE 
 
 Scottish Sigmlend Eyictions, 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS, 
 
 -:o:- 
 
 By (^HARLES STEWART, 
 
 r.AiT. oN'r. 
 / <^ s li 
 
—THE' 
 
 r 
 
 iFp ©f 
 
 A LAY OF THE 
 
 Scottish Highland Eyictions 
 
 AND OIPHBF^ POEMS. 
 
 By CHARLES STEWART, 
 
 GALT, ONT. 
 
?S SHS 7 
 
 72033 
 
 
 y 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 
 It is somewhat remarkable, and, I often think, much to be regret- 
 ted, that no writer of note has ever undertaken to supply through the 
 press, a full and unbiased narrative of the Scottish Highland evictions. 
 Such a work would, no doubt, be highly interesting to many on both 
 sides of the Atlantic, and likewise of importance as a historical record 
 of the cruel dispersion of an ancient, patriotic and heroic race of 
 people. It is indeed true that several authors, in severe paragraphs, 
 have given expression to their feelings on the subject. But anything like 
 an embodiment of all the interesting, though unpatriotic, and frequent- 
 ly appalling circumstances is, so far as I am aware still wanting ; nor 
 is the following poem intended to supplement the deficiency, in writing 
 which, my chief object being to deliver myself of an emotional burden, 
 and record my abhorance of the cruelty and injustice inflicted on the 
 Scottish Highland peasantry by their ejectment from the very hills and 
 glens among which, for thousands of years, their fathers had lived and 
 died, and who, in accordance with both moral and legal justice, were 
 the only real proprietors of the soil, it having descended to them through 
 many generations, from their forefatheis who had never been disin- 
 herited, neither by conquest nor by contract. And in consideration of 
 the agrarian excitement prevailing of late in the Scottish Highlands. I 
 have thought it expedient to bring my Harp before the public, hoping 
 it will find an echo m nany hearts. - 
 
 J ^ ^ THE AUTHOR. 
 
ERRATA. ^-' 
 
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ARGUMENT. 
 
 Callum Graham, Son oi a Highland Crofter on the Sutherland 
 estates, in the district of Strathnaver. shortly after being married went 
 to sea, as mate in a Trading Vessel, which, with the crew, was made 
 captive and retaine-' for a number of years by a Pirate. After a long 
 absence, and without ever having heard from home, he returns buoyant 
 with anticipations of a joyous greeting from wife and parents, but on 
 his arrival finds his father's place unoccupied and desolate, and the last 
 of its inmates, a vagrant boy, whom he discovers to be his own son ; 
 and by whom he is informed of the fate of his father's household and 
 the death of his beloved wife, the boy's mother. 
 
 Donald Gray, late proprietor of the Village Inn, now an inmate 
 of the Poor house. 
 
 Tavish, present proprietor of the Village Inn, successor to Donald 
 Gray. . . 
 
 Angus, employee at the Poor house, whose duty is to admit visitors 
 and to transmit messages to officials or inmates, as the case may be. 
 
In 
 Tl 
 O 
 Tl 
 
 W 
 
 A 
 
 H 
 
 A 
 
 Bi 
 
 *] 
 
Part First. 
 
 In days now long past, ere Evictor the First, * 
 In avarice of pride, had unpeopled the place. 
 
 The vale of Strathnaver for ages had nursed 
 A God-fearing, loyal and per.ce loving race. 
 
 One of whom, Galium Graham, young, stalwart and brave. 
 Having mated in wedlock with fair Helen Gray, 
 
 That she, his beloved, more comforts might have. 
 And more than a Cotter's wife be ; he one day 
 As mate in a trading ship sailed far away — 
 
 When enriched he'd return, was the promise he gave. 
 
 Now buoyant with hope, his soul teeming with love, 
 
 To the place of his childhood he fondly returns. 
 And in fancy beholds, lit with smiles from above, 
 
 The scenes of his youth, o'er which memory burns. 
 He recks not, alas ! of v/hat time with the years 
 
 Has entombed, he sees not the void that is there, 
 And hastes to embrace whom affection endears ; 
 But, lo ! at each step some old charm disappears. 
 
 Until hope disappointed gives place to despair. 
 
 * Duke of Sutherland. 
 
8 
 
 THE HARP OF STRATHNAVER. 
 
 Galium — *' Hail Scotia ! Hail my native land ! 
 
 Again I'm on thy hill-girt shore ! 
 And though long exiled from thy strand, 
 
 Yet absence has endeired thee more ! 
 Thy every cairn, glen, stream and lake 
 Youth -hallowed memories awake. 
 
 '* My soul thirsts for thy native lore, 
 My tongue thy accent still retains, 
 
 Each scene my eyes now travel o'er 
 The paradise of youth remains : 
 
 Of every form and every heart 
 
 I feel as if I were a part. 
 
 ' And trees there are in yonder grove, 
 O'ershadowing a primrose bed, 
 
 The sponsors to our childish love 
 
 When Helen's heart with mine was wed ! 
 
 And every cliff in yonder height 
 A record is of past delight. 
 
 ! 
 
 I 
 
 *' In far off lands *neath warmer skies. 
 Where luscious fruits and spices grow, 
 
 And lanscapes in less wildness rise. 
 
 And streams in smoother currents flow ; 
 
 Though myrtle groves perfume the air. 
 
 Yet life is ever languid there. 
 
, 
 
 THE HARP OF STRATHNAVER. 
 
 ** And I have supped the savoury meal, 
 And quaffed in turn the Virgin wine, 
 But soon to me their sweets grew stale — 
 
 Enjoyment never has been mine 
 Since last I breathed thy mountain air, 
 And dined upon my native fare." 
 
 Here from beneath his vest he took 
 A locket, small yet fair to view. 
 
 On which with fondness he did look. 
 And smiling said — ** Yes she is true ! 
 
 And ^twas the pirate's dire escort 
 
 Our mutual intercourse made short. 
 
 '* And better *tis she never knew 
 Of my long reticence the cause ; 
 How that our gallant ship and crew 
 
 Were captive made by sea-outlaws ; 
 If she has had misgivings, they, 
 When I arrive, will pass away." 
 
 Again he paused and upward gazed 
 Afar into the brightening sky, 
 
 And like one blissfully amazed, 
 Upon a speck he fixed his eye, 
 
 And thus, with new delight impressed, 
 
 The object of joy addressed. 
 
10 THE HARP OF STRATHNAVER. 
 
 '* Blithe singer ! soaring in the skies 
 And raining melody on earth, 
 To me thy song all strains outvies 
 
 That ever gave an echo birth ; 
 Yea, I could almost bend the knee 
 In my delight, and worship thee. ' ' 
 
 But while he gazed, with outspread wing 
 Descending towards whence it rose, 
 
 The wary lavrock ceased to sing. 
 
 When nearing where its brood repose ; 
 
 Still Galium, in a trance-like mood, 
 
 The thing of joy adoring, stood. 
 
 Till back to earth he glanced his eye, 
 Attr?,^.ted by the sparkling stream, 
 
 That under shade had rippled by. 
 
 Now glistening in the morning beam ; 
 
 On which a look he fondly cast. 
 
 And hailed, thus, as it murmured past. 
 
 <( 
 
 Sweet streamlet ! harper of the dell, 
 Thy numbers in my bosom start 
 
 Remembrance of my first farewell. 
 And fond outpourings of each heart ; 
 
 Which then did thoughts of bliss alloy \ 
 
 But soon shall be a theme of joy. 
 
THE HARP OF STRATHNAVER. 
 
 II 
 
 '* Here ofttimes has my bosom swelled 
 
 With rapture, whilst, ere ought did grieve, 
 With Helen I fond converse held, 
 Or mused alone at close of eve : 
 The birken bower I yet can trace, 
 That shaded our first fond embrace. 
 
 " And still to me, though long exiled, 
 
 No change appears ; each scene replete 
 With grandeur smiles as then it smiled ; 
 
 Gay dewy flowerets kiss my feet. 
 While lavrocks warble in the sky 
 Anthems of sweetest minstrelsy." 
 
 To one who has long absent been, 
 Whose soul no sad regrets annoy, 
 
 'Tis pleasing to traver':e the scene 
 That sacred is to youth and joy : 
 
 No shadow of remorse or care 
 
 Is recognized by memory there. 
 
 There's in life's chain a link of gold, 
 A work of the creative Hand, 
 
 That every where doth clasp and hold 
 The pilgrim's heart to native land ; 
 
 And which, the farther he may roam, 
 
 Endears the more his distant home. 
 
<2 THE HARP OF STRA THNA VER. 
 
 And now on rising ground afar, 
 Surrounded with embowering trees, 
 
 Attractive as the morning star 
 
 To lonely shepherd's gaze, he sees 
 
 And hails aloud, o'ercome with joy, 
 
 The hearth that knew him when a boy. 
 
 '* Ah ! yonder stands my father's cot, 
 Why starts the tear into my eye ? 
 For me there's \/elcome there, I wat. 
 
 And my return will kindle joy : 
 My mother, whom I most revere, 
 Will greet me with a smile-led tear. 
 
 ** While father gravely will inquire • 
 
 What useful knowledge I have gleaned ; 
 Nor will my tale, I wat, soon tire 
 
 Of distant lands, and things not ween'd 
 In pleasant's lore — for tedious night 
 A theme of marvel and delight. 
 
 ** O, but to hear each kindred Voice, 
 And press again the plighted hand 
 Of her, love's first and only choice ! 
 Endearments that give native land 
 Its secret charm, and soothe to rest 
 The fears that plague an absent breast. ' ' 
 
THE HARP OF STRATHNAVER. 
 
 Now suddenly he listening stands, 
 As if restrained by welcome sounds; 
 
 But something from within commands 
 And forth again away he bounds ; 
 
 While at each onward step appear 
 
 Things of delight for eye and ear. 
 
 All nature smiling greets his view, % 
 And seems to woo him for a guest ; 
 
 His path the grateful flowerets strew 
 With perfume, and to shaded rest 
 
 Inviting, arbors ope' around 
 
 Of green turf-seat with ivy crowned. 
 
 The ferny bank, the wood bine bower. 
 Mementos of youth's sinless glee, 
 
 The cove where once at midnight hour 
 V/eird sisters held strange revelrie, 
 
 He sees but scarcely deigns to heed, 
 
 For nothing now may check his speed. 
 
 n 
 
 And still his quicken' d pace seems slow, 
 For as he nears his father's place, 
 
 His heart burns with a filial glow ; 
 The foretaste of a dear embrace ; 
 
 And while his soul joy captive makes, 
 
 He with himself, thus, silence breaks. 
 
14 THE HARP OF STRA THNA VER. 
 
 '* Hope, sovereign of the human heart ! 
 
 Thou to enjoyment soon must yield 
 Thine empire; not that we shall part, 
 
 But that thou mayest be revealed — 
 Transformed to actual, present bliss, 
 Apart from all contingencies. 
 
 *' The 4venue its bosky arms 
 
 Now opens to receive — Ah, me ! 
 To mock me — something there alarms ! 
 
 Things are not as they used to be ; 
 The garden, once my father's pride, 
 Seems now his skill and care denied. 
 
 ** But he who wears the silvery crown 
 Of venerable, toil-worn age, 
 A lack of energy must own 
 
 In tasteful labor to engage ; 
 And hence the changes that deface " 
 My father's once well tended place. 
 
 ** Yet things there be in age that please : 
 There's angling in the summer brooks, 
 Or in retirement's place of ease. 
 
 The calm companionship of books : 
 Songs of the Bards, and sacred tomes, 
 The light and joy of rural homes. 
 
THE HARP OF STRATHNAVER. 
 
 ** And thus engaged I now may find, 
 With sage-like patriarchal pride, 
 
 To his less active state resigned, 
 The mentor, at his own fireside, 
 
 Of virtue, harmony and skill — 
 
 A father and instructor still. 
 
 15 
 
 ** My Helen too, perchance, is there 
 For she and mother were as one — 
 
 Methinks I see them start and stare. 
 
 And hear — 'O Galium ! Husband ! Son ! — ' 
 
 But joy is heightened by surprise : 
 
 I'll enter with sedate disguise. 
 
 JjC 3fi Jj* SjC 5|C Sp 
 
 ** What meaneth this ! where have I strayed ? 
 Can I ? indeed I must be wrong ; 
 Things have unreal impressions made. 
 
 Misleading as I passed along ; 
 Ah, no ! here mother plyed her wheel, 
 And there hung father's rod and creel ! 
 
 *' Alas ! alas lone empty walls ! 
 
 A family hearth, a stranger's home 
 Now desolate, to ruin falls. 
 
 O, Heaven ! let it be my tomb ; 
 Dear father, mother, Helen, where ? 
 Ah ! silence mocks at my despair !" 
 
1 6 THE HARP OF STRATHNAVER, 
 
 With many a lingering look and tear, 
 Disconsolate he turns to go ; 
 
 Moved by alternate hope and fear, 
 And grave anxiety to know 
 
 If they in life will meet again ; 
 
 Or has he sought his home in vain. 
 
 To stand upon one*s natal hearth 
 Alone, and look on its decay, 
 
 And there behold our place of birth — 
 The very room where mother lay, 
 
 And where the little crib was kept, 
 
 In which in infancy we slept ; 
 
 To see the little painted shelf, 
 
 Whereon the sacred word was laid, 
 
 Above where father leaned himself 
 On easy chair, or kneeling prayed. 
 
 All overlaid with fold on fold 
 
 Of loathsome spider-webs and mould. 
 
 While every token, every trace 
 Of human occupant is gone ; 
 
 No kindred voice, no fond embrace 
 Doth welcome back the absent one : 
 
 Thus Callum's joy such scenes forestall. 
 
 While silence mocks his quest withal. 
 

 I 
 
 I 
 
 r//£ HARP OF STRATHNAVER. 
 
 And with uncertainty oppress' d, ' 
 
 Upon his heart a shadow lies ; 
 Hope stricken dies within his breast ; 
 . The light of joy fades from his eyes, 
 And brooding o'er defeated aims 
 With trembling accent he exclaims : 
 
 '* My eyes grow dim and well they may, 
 To look upon my place of birth ; 
 Here solitude and grim decay 
 
 Seem revelling in silent mirth ; 
 Which sadly indicates that whom 
 I seek are tenants of the tomb ! 
 
 " Oh ! can it be that I have roamed 
 In lands of uncongenial clime, 
 And where the ocean-breakers foamed 
 
 As if in eagerness to chime 
 Their sounds of elemental strife 
 With man's last agonies of life, 
 
 17 
 
 ** That I by industry might earn 
 
 Means competent for wedded life ; 
 Which gained, I, now returned, but learn, 
 
 From seeming evidences rife, 
 That years of peril I have sped. 
 To bring an offering to the dead ! 
 
1 8 THE HARP OF STRATHNAVER. 
 
 ** Alas ! that fate should e'er dispense 
 
 Joy to evaporate in te;^'^ ., 
 Binding in anguish and ouspense 
 
 The love and hope of many years ! 
 Still, ceaseless now shall be my quest, 
 Till of this change I know the rest. 
 
 '* And yonder angling in the burn, 
 A boy who of it all may know ; 
 
 His tale will, peradventure, turn, 
 Or stay the current of my woe : 
 
 It may be father, though remote. 
 
 Now occupies a larger plot. 
 
 " My little lad, pray can you tell 
 Me aught of yonder empty cot ? 
 Where those who were its inmates dwell ? 
 
 Have they obtained a larger plot ? 
 Or what inducement made them shift, 
 And leave so much of toil and thrift ?' ' 
 
 ** Yon cot, good sir, my grandsire owned 
 Frae manhood until bent wi' age ; 
 
 But fate upon his grey hair frowned, 
 And scaith he couldna then engage. 
 
 They're now a'gane — I'm left, ah me ! 
 
 In yon kirkyard th^ir dwellings be !" 
 
 pi'- 
 
THE HARP OF STRA THNA VER. 
 
 ** And what calamity first brought 
 
 Distress upon your grandsire's hearth?" 
 ** Good sir, there came a summer's drought ; 
 And then a scarcity and dearth : 
 There came, besides, the laird's court-day, 
 When few their bygane rents could pay. 
 
 '* And they wha'd through the blight been spared, 
 Ne'er thinking warse might them betide, 
 
 Were hameless made : — it pleased the laird 
 The Crofter's claims to set aside — 
 
 He fired the cots to light, the while, 
 
 Their path to ruin and exile. 
 
 " And whare ilk blackened spot appears. 
 
 Sad tokens o' the scaith that's been, 
 
 Around their burning hearths in tears. 
 
 The hapless wives an' bairns were seen ; 
 And there our lads, brave though but few, 
 Withstood a while the heartless crew. 
 
 n 
 
 '* My uncle dear, our only aid, 
 
 Wha rowed the coble, tilled the plot, 
 And as my grandsire often said. 
 
 Was the main pillar o' the cot, 
 Last in the skirmish did remain, 
 And wi' a baton stroke was slain ! 
 
JO 
 
 THE HARP OF STRATHNAVER. 
 
 li 
 
 " O'ercome wi' grief the auld folks then 
 When him a bleeding corpse they saw, 
 Withouten whom they could na fen, 
 
 Fell sick and daily dwined awa : 
 And sair they grieved ere they could dee. 
 For what was to become o* me. 
 
 '' And 1 wha'd been to them a joy, 
 
 The blithest laddie o' the glen, 
 
 Am now an outcast, vagrant boy, 
 
 And shunned by a' the boys I ken ; 
 A lown fence neuk my only hame, 
 And nan^^d a disrespectfu' name." 
 
 '* Without a guardian or a home, 
 A waif on public mercy cast, 
 
 In aimless idleness to roam. 
 And be a vagabond at last ! 
 
 Is there none left of kin to thee ? 
 
 Your father — who, and where is he ?" 
 
 {-A 
 
 (I 
 
 My faither ! sir, he's far awa ; ^ 
 Ere I was born he gaed to sea. 
 
 To earn what gowd wad busk a ha' 
 His and my mither's hame to be; 
 
 He ne'er returned — my mither's gane, 
 
 And I am left my leefu' lane!" 
 
 
 m 
 
THE HAKF OF STRATHNAVER. 
 
 *' My son, my son, my orphan son ! 
 
 My last, my only endearing tie of life ! 
 Full soon, I trow, hast thou begun 
 
 To know the cares of want and strife : 
 Still, though thou hast been homeless left, 
 Thou'rt not of kindred all bereft. 
 
 '* Thy father lives to sooth vi thy woe ; 
 
 With thee I'll every blessing share, 
 , And thou wilt help me to forego 
 Such grief as driveth to despair: 
 The love, the wealth, I did opine 
 Would be thy mother's now are thine. 
 
 tl 
 
 
 ** Then take thy stranger-father's hand. 
 And lead me to thy mother's grave ; 
 A tribute does that grave demand. 
 
 And a fond tribute it shall have." 
 Perhaps she died of broken heart — 
 O, wherefore did we ever part ! 
 
 Alas ! that death should ever blight 
 The early blossoms of the heart ; 
 
 And change the garden of delight 
 Into a waste — from joy apart — 
 
 Where love and memory still meet. 
 
 But with a wail each other greet. 
 
22 THE HARP OF STRATHNAVER. 
 
 Ye shades of the lamented dead ! 
 
 Frequenters of the heart bereaved, 
 Whence love's last message dove is fled, 
 
 And by illusive hope deceived, 
 My present with my past endear, 
 O, be my soul's companions here ! 
 
 ** All mute, my son, let us approach 
 The silent holdings of the dead ; 
 Let no discordant sounds encroach 
 
 On the solemnity and dread 
 That by the grave are held in trust. 
 And hover o'er a parent's dust. 
 
 *' Ah ! this is where your mother lies — " 
 Dear Helen, Helen, Helen dear ! 
 O, could I raise thy death-bound eyes ! 
 
 O, could I ope' thy death-shut ear ! 
 Or clasp thee to my aching breast, 
 And sweeter make thy changeless rest ! 
 
 Alas ! the captivating glance 
 
 That sparkled from thy love-lit eyes ; 
 To fond embrace wont to entrance 
 
 Our hearts with unforbidden joys 
 Are but erdearments of tlie grave, 
 That memorize the bliss they gave. 
 
THE HARP OF STRA THNA VER. 
 
 Yet scenes in which our souls once burned, 
 Time never shall from mine efface ; 
 
 And in my widowed heart inurned 
 Shall be thy name and every grace \ 
 
 And my last throb of life shall be 
 
 A tribute to thy memory. 
 
 23 
 
 \\ 
 
 And though no monumental bust 
 
 With strange devices has been reared, 
 
 To mimic sorrow o'er thy dust, 
 
 Yet goodness has thy name endeared. 
 
 Which still a monitor may prove. 
 
 And wayward hearts to virtue move. 
 
 Though *tis an awful thing to die, 
 When guilt-begotten fears enslave, 
 
 And conscience points the inward eye 
 To things revealed beyond the grave ; 
 
 Yet calmly could I lay me down. 
 
 And make my Helen's shroud my own. 
 
 What are the terrors of the grave, 
 Save to the conscious-guilty one. 
 
 Whose crime-begotten fears enslave 
 His soul in fetters all its own ? 
 
 Here the oppressed, and seared of mind 
 From suffering an asylum find. 
 
34 THE HARP OF STRATHNAVER, 
 
 The ills of poverty and age \ 
 
 The scourge and fetters of the slave ; 
 
 All perils that mankind engage, 
 Cease to have being in the grave ; 
 
 Still dire prospective woes it brings 
 
 To whom a guilty conscience stings. 
 
 When by the foe of life pursued, 
 At bay on time's mysterious brink, 
 
 There captured, vantageless, subdued. 
 And being's dregs impelled to drink ;. 
 
 As mirrored by his hopes or fears 
 
 Futurity to man appears. 
 
 'Tis then religious hope beholds 
 The halcyon dawn of endless bliss ; 
 
 'Tis then philosophy unfolds 
 Of wealth and power the nothingness. 
 
 The sceptred despot and the slave 
 
 Have equal honors in the grave. 
 
 O, grave ! thou favored spot of earth 
 That hold'st my treasure ! let this tear 
 
 On every flower thou bring'st to birth 
 My hearts memorial appear ; 
 
 And when those flowers their blooms have shed,. 
 
 O, then, enclose it with thy dead ! 
 
THE HARP OF STRATHiYAVER. 
 
 3| 
 
 ** Come now, my son, let us go hence 
 
 That we may rest some roof beneath," 
 '* Sir I've a house ahint yon fence, 
 
 And that I made o' moss an' heath \ 
 In it ye' re welcome to a share 
 Of breckan bed and orphan's fare. 
 
 ** But ablins though ye've travelled far, 
 It may be by baith land an' sea. 
 Fate n'e'er has gi'en you sic a jar 
 
 As what she gave to mine an' me ; 
 Sae wadna like the night to pass 
 'Neath roof o' heath on bed o' grass." 
 
 << 
 
 My son your heath-built house no more 
 Will you inhabit, night nor day ; 
 
 Your reputation I'll restore. 
 
 And place you in a mansion gay ; 
 
 No more your feelings will be torn 
 
 By poverty or haughty scorn." 
 
 *' Kind sir, I'll ne'er can recompense 
 
 Your goodness, if you such bestow." 
 ''My son, it is enough that hence 
 You name me father — let us go. 
 For night with grey the welkin streaks, 
 And clouds are resting on the peaks." 
 
;!^.' 
 
 36 THE HARP OF STRATHNAVER. 
 
 " Your pardon, sir, what you now crave, 
 To name you father, is to me 
 Like stealing something frae the grave, 
 
 O' ane wha aye revered should be ; 
 But when wi' you I've made my hame 
 My tongue shan't stammer on the name. 
 
 ^* And I will ever be to you 
 
 An aydent and obedient son ; 
 Whatever daurg be mine to do, 
 
 The task I'll neither balk nor shun — 
 Please name the place of your repair, 
 And let me take your bundle there." 
 
 '* Straight to the village be our way. 
 
 Where *neath the roof of some kind host, 
 Perhaps with good old Donald Gray, 
 
 Your mother's kinsman, once the boast, 
 Of kindness to benighted guest, 
 We for the night may sup and rest. 
 
 ** And Donald's heart will glow, I ween, 
 To bid me welcome, and condole 
 
 My grief, while happy, I may glean. 
 Of those sad happenings the whole 
 
 Event ; which, when minutelv told. 
 
 May wrongs to be redressed unfold. 
 
H 
 
 THE HARP OF STRATHNAVER 
 
 *' Ah, yonder ! I once more behold — 
 Rude relic of a godly race — 
 The Chapel, venerable, old, 
 
 Come on my son, let's mend our pace : 
 Come on ! the village chimneys, too. 
 Each step are rising into view. 
 
 ** 'Tis said the present time is ours ; 
 
 But now methinks the past is mine, 
 For boyhood scenes — life's holiest hours — 
 
 Start unimpaired from memory's shrine, 
 And almost make me fondly deem, 
 That manhood has been all a dream. 
 
 " Familiar still is every spot ; 
 
 The croft, the holm, each shrub and tree. 
 The manse, the school, the mill and cot. 
 
 All seem as they were wont to be 
 When first impressed on memory's chart 
 With youthful ecstacy of heart. 
 
 *^ And there old Donald's taper burns, 
 
 To cheer the drooping hearts of those. 
 Whom fate with cold indignance spurns. 
 
 In need of shelter and repose ; 
 And little weens he — best of men — 
 Who waits his welcome phrase : '' Come Ben." 
 
 27 
 
28 THE HARP OF STRA THNA VER. 
 
 Tavish — " Good evening sir, what do you want? 
 
 ** Good sir I want to be your guest, 
 Pray give permission." 
 
 ''Sir I can't." 
 
 *' I'm weary and in need of rest ; 
 And came of purpose by this way 
 To pass the night with Donald Gray." 
 
 " You must a stranger be, I trow. 
 To look for such a person here : 
 Old Donald has his quarters now 
 
 Within the Pauper-house, and there, 
 Even Tramps sometimes get pauper cheer — 
 We never do keep vagrants here." 
 
 I > 
 
 '' No vagrants here? My God ! O save 
 From insult, whom fate has bereaved ! 
 Let not the echoes of the grave 
 
 Inform the dead of hope deceived, 
 And of the still uplifted hand 
 That with privation smites the land. 
 
 '' Surround me with the shades of night ! 
 
 And with the darkness of the tomb 
 Conceal Strathnaver from my sight, 
 
 That I may trace of poortith's doom, 
 And Ducal violence no more — 
 My dream of happiness is o'er. 
 
THE HARP OF STRATHNAVER. 
 
 ** Now has the fruit from hope's fair tree, 
 Ere tasted, withered in my hand, 
 I lately deemed no one could be 
 
 A stranger in one's native land ; 
 But like a wavelet in a stream 
 Hath vanished my illusive dream. 
 
 '* When last yon setting sun arose 
 
 And checkered all the hills with gold, 
 I wist not then that evening's close 
 
 Would unto me such scenes unfold : 
 No more I'll joy in prospects fair — 
 Hope is the handmaid of despair. 
 
 *' O Scotia ! have I lived to prove 
 Such wreck of nobleness in thee ? 
 And must I cancel from my love 
 
 The place of my nativity ? 
 Have I, indeed, to thee returned, 
 But as a vagrant to be spurned ? 
 
 29 
 
 *' This morning, in the twilight grey. 
 
 Swift as the breeze I skimmed the waves, 
 And reaching land by break of day, 
 
 Enraptured sought. Ah ! not their graves- 
 My father's cot, my mother's cheer. 
 My Helen ever, ever dear. 
 
30 THE HARP OF STRATHNAVER. 
 
 *' But most appalling is the change 
 
 That here records the lapse of time \ 
 Now prostrate homes or dwellers strange 
 Tell of oppression leagued with crime- 
 Of households driven to and fro, 
 Strewing the waysides as they go. 
 
 '* Poor shreds of one great broken heart ! 
 Of home and self-reliance shorn, 
 Doomed evermore to live apart, 
 
 And brook servility and scorn, 
 Thus reft of any prospect, save 
 Some mock asylum or the grave. 
 
 * ' Alas ! that thrift should thwarted be 
 To pamper Avarice — that man 
 The dregs and crusts of penury 
 
 Should dare administer to man. 
 With god-like potency — 'twould seem 
 On martyrs' graves that patriots dream. 
 
 '* No more the hillside and the green. 
 As used in other days to be. 
 Are hallowed by the frequent scene 
 
 Of heart-dilating gayety ; 
 The song, the pibroch and the dance 
 No more the gloamin hour enhance. 
 
THE HARP OF STRATHNAVER. 
 
 *' No more the Sabbath song of praise 
 Awakes the echoes of the glen, 
 Responsive to the sacred lays 
 
 Of faith-inspired, God-fearing men ; 
 They but report, from steep to steep, 
 The cry of grouse and bleat of sheep. 
 
 '' Whilst they who of the glen and heath 
 Had toiled to fertilize the soil, 
 That youth might ease to age bequeath, 
 
 Despite their years of anxious toil, 
 Dispersed have been, in grief to roam, 
 And seek in other lands a home. 
 
 "■ O, could I but a will infuse 
 
 Into the hearts that inly bleed, 
 They yet another course should chiise : 
 As suppliants they would not plead ; 
 But with united prowess strong 
 Would sternly combat every wrong. 
 
 3i 
 
 '* From Ducal arrogance, the while, 
 Would purge and purify the land, 
 Till power on poverty should smile 
 In kindness, proffering the hand, 
 Of help, not that of force imbrued 
 With blood and tears of the subdued." 
 
3* 
 
 THE HARP OF STRATHNAVER. 
 
 Chagrined, benighted and repulsed, 
 Resentment rankling in his breast — 
 
 His heart with grief anew convulsed — 
 Tired, and without a place to rest — 
 
 He, disappointed, finds anon 
 
 Hope's visions banished one by one. 
 
 And now their journey they retrace, 
 
 Straight to the orphan's heath-made bild, 
 
 There to repose a Little space, 
 Until returning day doth yield 
 
 Them light, and then their course will be 
 
 To find c ship and put to sea. 
 
 END OF PART FIRST. 
 
Part Second 
 
 Aurora in her robes of dawn, 
 
 Now trips the mountain summits grey, 
 To strew fresh verdure o'er the lawn ; 
 
 And of her radiant sister Day, 
 The glowing drapery to unfold, 
 Enwrought with tints of green and gold. 
 
 The lark, sweet herald of the morn. 
 Has left his couch upon the lea, 
 
 And far on dewy wings upborne 
 Into the blue ethereal sea ; 
 
 There with a heart-breathed votive lay. 
 
 Salutes the goddess on her way. 
 
 In opening flower-cups charged with dew, 
 The Zephyrs dip their airy wings. 
 
 And fragrance on her path-way strew : 
 Her anthem every streamlet sings. 
 
 While bird and bee of every name. 
 
 Her coming joyously proclaim. 
 
an THE HARP OF STRATHNAVER. 
 
 She comes ! the halo of her smile 
 Dilating brightens all below ; 
 
 But, oh ! a spirit-voice, the while, 
 Re-echoes from the depths of woe, 
 
 That living forms no eye can see, 
 
 Where human votaries should be. 
 
 No cottage chimneys yielding smoke 
 Are seen upon the landscape here : 
 
 No stir, no crowing of the cock. 
 No morning hymn arrests the ear ; 
 
 But intermingling shadows faint, 
 
 A scene of scattered ruins paint. 
 
 The ruins of once humble domes. 
 
 To frugal industry allied ; 
 Of peaceful peasantry the homes 
 
 The patrimony and the pride ; 
 Whose every prostrate, crumbling shred 
 Records the exiled and the dead. 
 
 To youth-endearing haunts — still dear — 
 After long absence to return, 
 
 Is oft as now, alas ! *tis here. 
 In bitterness of soul to mourn ; 
 
 And all prospective bliss forego 
 
 To sojourn in the vale of woe ! 
 
THE HARP OF STRA THNA VER. 
 
 The eye may revel in the charms 
 Of native landscape, and the ear 
 
 Be soothed with melody ; but forms 
 Long imaged in the soul and dear 
 
 As monitors to joy and love, 
 
 When gone the heart fails to approve. 
 
 The absent one comes but to be 
 
 A disappointed pilgrim, here ; 
 And from his native Strath to see 
 
 Revered endearment disappear : 
 He comes enamoured of the past ; 
 But from the present shrinks aghast. 
 
 Bound by the ties of love and kin, 
 To dear ones now asleep in death \ 
 
 Fond, bleeding memories within 
 Assail his heart at every breath ; 
 
 While disappointment rears its crest 
 
 Where hope lies buried — in his breast. 
 
 •n J|C •i* Jp n^ }|8 
 
 Galium — '* Again the dawn delights the view ; 
 
 But, Oh ! how changed since yestermorn. 
 The lavrock singing in the blue ; — 
 
 The linnet warbling in the thorn — 
 Again invite the infant day. 
 But hope's fair visions — ^where are they ? 
 
 35 
 
 Mi 
 
It 
 
 THE HARP OF STRATHNAVER. 
 
 O, is it but in grief to stand 
 
 And gaze upon the wrecks of home, 
 That I have sought my native land, 
 
 In foreign parts no more to roam ? 
 Was it for this I bade adieu, 
 With buoyant heart to ship and crew. 
 
 ** It is appalling thus to be 
 
 Alone, and where of late hath been 
 The stir of industry, to see 
 
 Blending their shadows with the scene. 
 Black mouldering hearths, which sire and son 
 For generations called their own. 
 
 ** My youth's fair paradise ! although 
 By lordly avarice destroyed. 
 This heart is full of thee, and woe 
 Be unto those who have enjoyed 
 Their chalice, brimming with the tears 
 Of peasantry, in recent yars. 
 
 ** When far upon a distant strand 
 
 I sojourned, oft with lingering gaze 
 I looked towards the ocean, and 
 
 With heart devotional would raise. 
 My thoughts to heaven and pray that I 
 Might here return to live and die. 
 
<< 
 
 THE HARP OF STRATHNAVER. 
 
 Meanwhile in pleasing revery 
 
 Would homeward wend, o'er fields and stiles, 
 Till by the light of memory 
 
 My soul, enrapt, beheld the smiles 
 Of friendship, and in thought did prove 
 The ecstacy of nuptial love. 
 
 m 
 
 " Now I am with thee ! not to feel 
 
 The fond hand's pressure, and receive, 
 Such welcome as alone can heal 
 
 The wounds of exile ; but to grieve 
 O'er my bereavements, and bewail 
 The ills that in the land prevail. 
 
 '* Not to fulfil by filial aid 
 
 The contract of parental love : 
 Ah ! not to be more happy made, 
 
 And conjugal enjoyments prove ; 
 But dearest memories to wed 
 With ghastly ruins and the dead. 
 
 ^' I'm with thee ! thou hast had my tears ;- 
 I love thee ! but the spirit's gone 
 Of thy endearments ; coming years 
 
 Shall greet me in another zone. 
 Where, though beneath less genial skies, 
 I'll have a home with living ties." 
 
; 
 
 ■■' ■ i 
 li 
 
 38 7Il£ HARP OF STRATHNAVER, 
 
 ** Awake, my son, arise ! 'tis morn 
 All vocal are the hills and trees. 
 The dewy blossoms of the thorn 
 
 Breathe healthful fragrance in the breeze. 
 Whilst echo blends from hill to hill, 
 The bleat of sheep and song of rill. 
 
 " And on our journey we should be — 
 
 This night the ship may anchor weigh 
 That is to bear us o'er the sea, 
 
 And I've resolved, betide what may. 
 To see old Donald ere we go 
 And hear his tale of weal or woe. 
 
 *' So let us forth — without delay 
 
 We must the Pauper-house trace out \ 
 
 But haply you can lead the way. 
 As in your wanderings about, 
 
 A place so notable, I ween 
 
 You must have heard of — may have seen. 
 
 ** O yes sir, I can lead the way, 
 
 Ana gladly will I be your guide. 
 And O, be kind to Donald Gray, 
 
 And bring him to your ain fireside ; 
 *Twad cheer his heart — I ken fu' weel 
 He doesna like the pauper's biel. 
 
 >> 
 
THE HARP OF STRATHNAVER. 
 
 ** He does not like the pauper's biel 
 I heard you say, how can you t^ll 
 What he dislikes? and that he'd feel 
 
 Relief with an old friend to dwell ? 
 Is such the gossip of the place, 
 Or has he told you face to face ?" 
 
 " When a' my kith an* kin were dead, 
 And no ane left for me to care, 
 His roof, his table an' his bed 
 
 He kindly bade me come an' share : 
 And cost on me he never spared \ 
 He clad an' schooled me like a laird. 
 
 39 
 
 '' But when the heart wi' ruth o'erflows 
 It whiles wi' sorrow floods itsel'; 
 And what were Donald's after woes 
 
 Is mair than glibbest tongue might tell \ 
 Of a' his gear the feck he gave 
 The neediest o' the poor to save. 
 
 " And when he had nae mair ta gi'e. 
 He some ane's ruin to prevent, 
 Did bind himsel' security 
 
 For sundry debts an' byegane rent ; 
 Which at the term, O, sad to tell ! 
 Brought grief an' ruin on himsel'. 
 
40 THE HARP OF STRATHNAVER. 
 
 " The bills came due — the debtor fled, 
 And Donald's things were roupit afF; 
 He couldna even save his bed, 
 
 His bible, nor his Sunday staff ; 
 So without scrip, or bed, or bield. 
 Like outlaws we were forced afield. 
 
 *' And being then owre auld for wark, 
 Owre proud to beg, yet couldna want. 
 And aye the outlook growing dark, 
 At last he took the parish grant. 
 We to the house together sped. 
 As pauper's to be lodged an' fed. 
 
 " And aye sinsyne we've been apart. 
 Forbid ilk ither's face to see, 
 And though what sorrows wring his heart 
 
 Nae tongue has e'er revealed to me ; 
 Yet what I suffered there mysel' 
 Does Donald's state owre truly tell." 
 
 ** What you there suffered ! is it then 
 
 A place of punishment for boys. 
 
 Who have not where withal to fen. 
 
 To wean them from accustomed joys? 
 Or rather do not inmates fret 
 For privilege they cannot get ?" 
 
THE HARP OF STRA THNA VER. 
 
 '* O sir think kindly o* the poor ! 
 
 They are na pauper's wi* consent, 
 And what they in the house endure . . 
 
 Is cause enough for discontent ; 
 While scant an' course their daily fare, 
 Of jibes an* frowns rowth is their share. 
 
 ** But yonder on the rising ground, 
 Its shadow stretching far below, 
 In prison fashion walled around, 
 
 You see the place where poor folk go ; 
 And haply you may learn when there 
 What inmates suffer, how they fare. 
 
 " And as a guide to show the way, 
 Nae farther ha'e ye nted o' me ; 
 Sae your return wi' Donald Gray, 
 I'll wait, an* rest beside this tree." 
 ** Come on your presence will endear 
 Our interview. Why tarry here ?' * 
 
 m^ 
 
 '* It's no that I hae aught to fear ; 
 But when frae bondage I did flee, 
 I vowed a vow wi* heart sincere, 
 
 Ne'er while I live to pass this tree, 
 My joy then triumphed o'er despair, 
 But forged a fetter unaware. 
 
42 THE HARP OF STRA THNA VER. 
 
 * 
 
 '* For fain would I to Donald rin ! 
 
 And I could cheer him up I trow, 
 But some unrestfu' thing within, 
 
 Keeps teasing me about my vow ; 
 What perjured sinners hae to dree — 
 Sae dinna seek me past the tree. * ' 
 
 w^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 
 
 Though somewhat loth to go alone, 
 
 Now Galium house ward threads his way ; 
 
 Foreplanning what may best be done 
 To make a home for Donald Gray ; 
 
 A home that neither Duke nor Knave 
 
 Shall wrest from him this side the grave 
 
 And with a competence endowed. 
 To meet his still recurring wants ; 
 
 And give him comforts not allowed 
 The aged poor in Parish grants ; 
 
 Which project kept his mind elate, 
 
 Until he reached the entrance gate. 
 
 Angus — ** Well, sir, pray what is your demand ? 
 You visit at an early hour.*' 
 ** Good sir, the business I've on hand 
 
 Requires despatch — if in your power, 
 Please let me talk with Donald G^ay. ' ' 
 ** O yes, sir, just come on this way. 
 
THE HARP OF STRATHNAVER. 
 
 * * But if a private interview 
 
 Be your desire I'll bring him forth \ 
 And what shall I report of you." 
 ** Say I'm his kinsman from the north." 
 ** Good morning Donald — how's your health ?" 
 " Guid morning sir, it's like my wealth." 
 
 43 
 
 *' No to be braggart o' atweel ; 
 
 The grips o' age wi' ither things, 
 Now gar me think and even feel 
 
 That wi' bereavements health gets wings; 
 And that I'm failing fast I deem." 
 ** Well Donald really so you seem." 
 
 " But wha are ye? if I may ask, 
 
 That in my attired mien an* size. 
 Can through a change enwoven mask 
 
 O' ruthless years still recognize 
 Him, wha was kenn'd ance in a day, 
 As Donald, sometimes Mr. Gray ?' ' 
 
 ** My venerable sire, I ween, 
 
 You know me not — I am a friend ; 
 But like yourself of altered mien \ 
 
 Change in my features seems to blend, 
 With nature, so as to conceal 
 What words and tokens must reveal. 
 
44 THE HARP OF STRA THNA VER. 
 
 *' You had a lovely niece, on whom 
 You once bestowed a parent's care, 
 And gave to her a daughter's room. 
 
 Even willed that she should be your heir, 
 Thus with a boon yourself supplied. 
 Which your unwedded state denied. 
 
 ** And father never owned a child 
 Than she less prone to disobey ; 
 Nor one more affable and mild. 
 
 Than what you owned in Helen Gray ; 
 She, kind and courteous, by all 
 Was loved alike in cot and hall. 
 
 <( 
 
 And though of humble birth, her hand 
 
 Became of love the envied prize ; 
 Even those possessing flocks and land, 
 
 Their passion breathed with smiles and sighs ; 
 Yet never did a form so fair 
 Of beauty's power seem less aware. 
 
 *' But Helen's heart in early years, 
 Had by a cotter-peasant's son, 
 
 One of her youthful school compeers, 
 In gleesome innocence been won. 
 
 That I am he you now may wot ; 
 
 But, O, in mercy chide me not ! 
 
THE HARP OF STRATHNA VER. 
 
 " Things I've already heard aud seen 
 
 That gave to Helen's grave a tonguo, 
 Which have my sad accuser been ; 
 
 And from my soul hath accents wrung 
 Of self-rebuke. Still I am free 
 From aught that means inconstancy. 
 
 45 
 
 ** But of this theme I must no more ! 
 
 The heart already pained it stings, 
 And fills anew to running o'er, 
 
 With woe drawn from a thousand springs. 
 Then Donald Gray, for Helen's sake 
 Will you from me your ransom take ? 
 
 ** Sir, sport na wi' the woes o' age, 
 
 Leat in your mirth ye quaff but shame ; 
 Nor ween my fondness to engage 
 
 By counterfeiting Galium Graham. 
 Whase presence here might mar your glee. 
 And teach you deference to me. 
 
 •li 
 
 ** Then gae an' at your ain expense 
 
 Mak' mirth ; I hae na yet gane gyte, 
 To be o'ercome wi' vile pretence; 
 And weel I ken I bear the wyte 
 O' taking notes, an' things beside 
 Distastefu' to parochial pride " 
 
46 
 
 THE HARP OF STRA THNA VER. 
 
 '* Hear me, O Donald!" 
 
 '* Sir, I've heard 
 
 Eneugh to prove what mony ween, 
 That I ani dangerous deemed — *tis feard 
 
 I ablins may unveil the scene 
 O' pauper life, an speak aloud 
 O* blistering aims an' fellon's food."* 
 
 '* Hold Donald ! fly not me, here take 
 This purse, you know its texture well, 
 *Tis Helen's workmanship — 'twill make 
 
 You spurn — not me — this seeming hell, 
 Where life to indigence allied 
 Is with fresh miseries supplied. 
 
 ** Take it there's in't what will restore 
 
 Your wonted independence, and 
 I will yet give you something more ; 
 
 But I've resolved to leave this land 
 For ever, and without delay ; 
 Then take it for I must away." 
 
 " It is ! it is ! O Galium Graham, 
 
 It is the wark o' Helen's hands ! 
 But keep it still and let me claim 
 
 Your pardon. Oh ! methinks time stands 
 And backward looks, as if to cast 
 A tear-fraught smile upon the past. 
 
 * Dr. Lyon, Medical Superintendent of Barnhill workhouse, used hot irons for 
 blistering purposes, burning the inmates of all ages on diflferent parts of their bodies, 
 for nearly all complaints. Letter to the Glasgow Sentinel. 
 
THE HARP OF STRATHNAVER. 
 
 47 
 
 *' O, could I but shake aff my years, 
 
 And recent injuries forego ; 
 And pluck frae memory what sears 
 
 Enjoyment, life might yet bestow 
 On me some o' the dregs o' bliss. 
 And hope now even points to this. 
 
 " Sae, Galium, tak' again your gold ; 
 
 I wad anither boon prefer. 
 And your great kindness makes me bold 
 
 To ask it, though perhaps I err. 
 My life now being in the wane — 
 Wi' you I'd rather cross the main. 
 
 ** I wat the boon I hae received 
 
 Wad mair than cancel poortith's ills ; 
 And frae this den to be relieved, 
 
 The very thought o't mair than fills 
 My heart wi' joy: I e'en, forsooth, 
 Feel something like returning youth. 
 
 *' But my deliverer to tyne — 
 
 Though out o' this unlo'esome den 
 And a' that wealth could gi'e were mine- 
 Life wad be wearisome ; and then 
 My heart wad never be at rest, 
 Sae, Galium, spurn na my request." 
 
 •li 
 
48 THE HARP OF STRATHNAVER. 
 
 ** Your wish, dear Donald, quite accords 
 With my own unexpressed desire ; 
 And it a gleam of hope affords 
 
 That we may yet, as son and sire, 
 Away from palaces of foes, 
 And graves of friends forget our woes. 
 
 <( 
 
 Then get in readiness apace, 
 
 That on our journey we may speed ; 
 And much I long to quit this place 
 
 Of your captivity : indeed 
 The very echo of its walls 
 With tomb-like eeriness appalls. 
 
 ** I'm ready quite ; but there is one 
 Wha yet maun o' our party be, 
 A younger Galium, Helen's son, 
 He hither came alang wi' me : 
 May I the boy's apartment seek. 
 And bring him forth wi' you to speak ? ' ' 
 
 '* He's forth ere now, I've with him been; 
 
 Beside you isolated tree 
 Upon the wayside, by the green. 
 
 He our return awaits — *twas he 
 That showed me here — he longs to know 
 How you have fared, so let us go. 
 
 j> 
 
THE HARP OF STRATHNAVER, 
 
 '* Hech man its like a second birth 
 In guise o' liberty to breathe 
 The air o' heaven, and tread the yirth 
 
 In dignity o' man ; than *neath 
 That roof, I rather far wad be 
 In poortith's lowliest hut and free. 
 
 ** Nae yirthly thing like freedom e'er 
 Can solace the desponding heart, 
 And life to living things endear, 
 
 Even when frae pinching ills apart ; 
 It io, I trow, a God-gi'en gift. 
 Bestowed wi' life frae boon the lift. 
 
 '' An' a' the ills that I hae borne, 
 
 Whilk hae been neither sma' nor few, 
 Hae, Galium, o' their sting been shorn, 
 
 This day by providence in you ; 
 And wi' your leave I fain wad learn 
 How ye forgathered wi' the bairn." 
 
 49 
 
 *^ Like the last fragment of a wreck, 
 Still floating near the fatal spot, 
 I found him strolling in neglect 
 
 Near by my father's ruined cot ; 
 And hailed him to enquire for those, 
 My kin, who now in death repose. 
 
50 THE HARP OF STRA THNA VER. 
 
 " His Story I will not rehearse, 
 
 For tales of suffering only tend 
 
 The fountains of the heart to pierce, 
 And forth its burning waters send — 
 
 Suffice that I'm of all aware, 
 
 Even your unfortunate affair." 
 
 '* Unfortunate a^seugh, I trow ; 
 
 The staff ye frae the Trossachs brought. 
 To save was mair than I could do ; 
 
 Though it was sauld amaist for nought \ 
 But since it's gane we needna make 
 A present joy past grief partake. 
 
 ** Yet how an' when he left the House; 
 
 And where he lodged, and how he fared, 
 If ye sic questions can excuse. 
 
 To ken I hae a fond regard ; 
 For youth's wha've neither guide nor hame. 
 Aft gang a gate that leads to shame." 
 
 ^* Of him you no such thing need fear- 
 But yonder, from beside the tree, 
 He starts apace — he seems to hear 
 Our voices ; so *tis meet that we 
 The topic change. His virtues will, 
 I feel assured, commend him still." 
 
THE HARP OF STRATHNAVER. 
 
 '* Ech me in claes an* person baith, 
 He's sair forjesket an' forfairn ; 
 I wat the ruthless hand o' scaith 
 
 Has na been light upon the bairn ; 
 Fu' sadly has he proved the dearth 
 O' Christian charity on earth." 
 
 ** Ah, Donald, Christians are rare ! 
 
 Where charity's the test of faith ; 
 Of God's free gifts, the poor man's share 
 
 Is stored away till after death. 
 With promises most kindly given, 
 Of justice in the Courts of heaven. 
 
 51 
 
 ii 
 
 To one paternal source of love 
 
 Though mankind every blessing owe, 
 
 And hope one common home above. 
 When ends their pilgrimage below \ 
 
 Yet pride of rank and love of gain. 
 
 Those blessings and that hope profane. 
 
 *' A few there be, and yet how few ! 
 
 Who heed the monitor within. 
 To God and nature ever true. 
 
 Self smooths the rugged paths of sin, 
 And with apologies and lies 
 The spirit of the law defies. 
 
1 
 
 ; 
 
 M 
 
 THE HARP OF STKATHNAVER. 
 
 •* But when the harbour town we reach, 
 And have ourselves refreshed, I will 
 Get suitable attire for each ; 
 
 *Tis mine such duty to fulfil ; 
 From me parental love is due 
 To him, and gratitude to you. 
 % * * * * 
 
 ** Now, when upon the ocean's swell. 
 With yet our native hills in view, 
 To Scotia bid a fond farewell — 
 
 A filial, though a last adieu. 
 And breathe a tribute to their graves 
 For whom the past a requiem craves. ' ' 
 
 THE FAREWELL. 
 
 ** Fare-thee-well my native land ! 
 I, receding from thy shore. 
 Go towards another strand 
 To revisit thee no more. 
 
 " Time hath not yet numbered days 
 Since I hailed thee, fair and bright. 
 When thou filled my hopeful gaze 
 With the visions of delight. 
 
THE HARP OF STRA THNA ' ER, 
 
 ^* On thy streamlets and thy dells, 
 On thy flowerets and thy trees 
 Nature wove her sweetest spells 
 Hope's misgivings to appease. 
 
 ** But Disappointment came 
 
 And a sab^e scroll unsealed, 
 Wherein deeds of darkest name 
 Were unto me revealed. 
 
 ** As my own dear Mother land 
 I do love thee still the best, 
 But thou with despotic hand 
 Hast the Clansmen dispossessed. 
 
 *' So I'll seek another shore 
 
 Where my future home shall be, 
 And past sorrows triumph o'er 
 'Mangst the prosperous and free. 
 
 " Yet until life's final close 
 
 Thou for me shall hold in trust 
 A memorial of those 
 
 I revere, now in the dust. 
 
 *' Those, the noble and the brave, 
 Ever loyal, ever true, 
 Who thy prestige oft did save — 
 Whom at last thy avarice :,lew. 
 
 53 
 
m 
 
 THE HARP OF STRATHNAVER. 
 
 I 
 
 ** Then for ever fare-thee-well, 
 
 Though I've drained the cup of woe 
 From a mother's hand so fell, 
 Yet I'll bless thee as I go ; 
 
 " I'll an intercessor be 
 
 And my orisons will tell 
 To the Powers above for thee 
 Still, forever fare-thee-well." 
 
 END. 
 
AULD SCOTLAND ISNA DEAD. 
 
 (On reading in the Scottish American Journal a few weeks ago a Poem by George 
 Bruce St. Andrews, entitled " Auld Scotland's Dead.") 
 
 )t 
 
 *' Auld Mither Scotland dead an' gane 1 
 Na, Sir ! I winna let you say't ; 
 Ye maun be wonderfu' mista'en, 
 
 To think her heart has ceased to beat. 
 
 On being tauld what ye had said, 
 To ken if sic mishap could be, 
 
 I wrapped my shouthers in my plaid. 
 An' dauner'd o'er the gate to see. 
 
56 
 
 AULD SCOTLAND ISNA DEAD. 
 
 But she nae symptoms has o' death ; 
 
 And though she's been dung owre fu' sair 
 And fashed at times wi' grippit breath, 
 
 She's aye been spinnin' less or mair. 
 
 For thongh she's growing somewhat auld, 
 She hasna tint her ways o' thrift ; 
 
 By honest toil through heat an' cauld, 
 She for hersel' has aye could shift. 
 
 And tentie aye o' what she earns, 
 To keep wi' care or wisely spen'. 
 
 That she may deed an' schule her bairns 
 To fit them for some usefu' en'. 
 
 Nae thriftless, randie beggar, she 
 
 For sympathy and alms won't whinge, 
 
 But work or fecht until she dee. 
 And never for an awmos cringe. 
 
 Sae drap your coronach of woe ; 
 
 Lilt up wi' glee some blyther strain 
 And briskly gar the numbers flow, 
 
 For dear auld Scotland isna eane. 
 
f 
 
 AULD SCOTLAND /SNA DEAD. 
 
 And that He lang her life may spare, 
 Ilk ane should wi' the giftie plead, 
 
 For, ane an' a', we'd miss her sair 
 For usefu' wark an' doughty deed. 
 
 57 
 
 When ony black mischief appears. 
 Menacing Britain's rights or laws 
 
 Were Scotland dead, I hae my fears, 
 Nane e'er like her wad wield the tawse. 
 
 For when there's need to skelp a fae. 
 And bluid maun e'en be freely spilt, 
 
 Aye foremost in the deadly fray 
 Are seen the bonnet and the kilt. 
 
 And wheresoe'er abroad ye gang, 
 Her bairns at honor's post ye' 11 see. 
 
 And hear encored her ilka sang 
 That breathes o* love or libertie. 
 
 Then what could put it in your head 
 In lamentation loud to rave 
 
 About auld Scotland being dead, 
 And buried in an English grave? 
 
58 
 
 AULD SCOTLAND I SNA DEAD. 
 
 Gae doff again your auld grey plaid, 
 If it as mourning weeds you wear, 
 
 And for your chanter send the maid, 
 That ye may blaw it loud an' clear. 
 
 But cease your coronach of woe, 
 An' lilt a blyther strain instead, 
 
 And gayly let the numbers flow, 
 For brave auld Scotland isna dead. 
 
 GOING IT WHILE YOUNG. 
 
 " Look not upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth its colour in the cup 
 when it moveth itself aright. At the last it bitteth Hke a serpent and stingeth like 
 ..in&iidet."—Prov. XXIJI,3i,32. 
 
 One morning at the break of dawn, 
 When larks had their first carol sung, 
 
 And sparkling dew-drops o'er the lawn 
 In iris-tinted pendents hung ; 
 
 In songful mood I wandered out ; 
 My muse to love her harp had strung. 
 
 When thus went forth a ghastly shout 
 
 *' Aha ! I'm going it while young." 
 
GOING IT WHILE YOUNG. 
 
 59 
 
 Amazed I stood and gazed all round, 
 
 From sky to earth, from earth to sky, 
 To learn whence came the fateful sound, 
 
 And soon, and sadly did espy 
 A gallant youth, of goodly mien. 
 
 Who erst had been his mother's joy. 
 Laid helpless on the common green — 
 
 A drunk — a half delirious boy. 
 
 His prostrate form I raised with care. 
 
 While to the sward he fiercely clung. 
 And with bewildered, vacant stare 
 
 Said : — "I am going it while young. 
 I yet have some wild oats to sow. 
 
 The gayeties of life among, 
 Which must be gathered as they grow. 
 
 And I will go it while I'm young." 
 
 I chid him kindly, yet severe 
 
 Was my rebuke, and seemed to win 
 From him a penitential tear. 
 
 The token of a change within \ 
 But suddenly he grinned a smile, 
 
 While from his mouth a quid he flung. 
 And with an oath, in adept style, 
 
 Exclaimed : — **I'll go it while I'm young." 
 
6o 
 
 GOING IT WHILE YOUNG. 
 
 I saw him in his mad career 
 
 His weeping mother rudely spurn \ 
 To billiards, cards, cigars and beer. 
 
 Night after night, saw him return ; 
 And still he looked the gay young man. 
 
 His more degraded chums among ; 
 Still on the downward pathway ran. 
 
 In triumph, going it while young. 
 
 Again I sought and counselled him 
 
 To quit the lurid haunts of shame ; 
 When thus he spake — '' Life's all a whim, 
 
 And older men go it the same ; 
 What serves the miser's hidden gold? 
 
 The cynic's roundelay misung? 
 Life has no carnival when old ; 
 
 Sir, I shall go it while I'm young ! " 
 
 But age comes not alone with years ; 
 
 The palsied hand the step infirm, 
 Oft in the prodigal appears, 
 
 Ere he has reached life's middle term ; 
 While youth in midnight orgies spent, 
 
 Finds manhood's nobler joys concealed- 
 Sees the soul's temple-curtain rent — 
 
 A yawning sepulchre revealed. 
 
GOING IT WHILE YOUNG. 
 
 6s 
 
 And ere to earth the vernal sun 
 
 Had twice his annual visit paid, 
 This youth, his mad careei* now run, 
 
 Was on a bed of palor laid ; 
 There tended, prayed for morn and night, 
 
 By her whom he in health had spurned ; 
 His mother's smile the only light 
 
 That m darkened soul now burned. 
 
 And though consumption's fatal dart 
 
 Transpierced his feeble, wasting form, 
 The adage nestled in each heart 
 
 A shattered bark may ride the storm — 
 A few months more and tokens rife 
 
 Were in his livid features shown, 
 That 'mongst the gayeties of life, 
 
 He disolution's seeds had sown. 
 
 Again his prostrate form I raised, 
 
 And sought to comfort him and cheer ; 
 But now he wept and fondly gazed, 
 
 And said — ** Thus ends youth's mad career; 
 The crown of folly cramps my brow. 
 
 Death o'er me has his lasso flung, 
 The grave is looming in my view, 
 
 And I must go it while I'm young." 
 
si. 
 
 i 
 
 THE DYING REQUEST 
 
 AND LAST WORDS OF AN OLD SETTLER. 
 
 ** O, transmit to my friends my last wish here on earth, 
 
 The dying, old settler said, 
 '* Bid them give me a grave in the land of my birth, 
 Beside where my parents are laid. 
 Had I the fleet pinions of light I would fly 
 
 To my native old cot in the glen, 
 And there on the couch of my boyhood would die, 
 And go to my rest where my ancestors lie, 
 And be with my kindred again. 
 
 > I 
 
THE DYING REQUEST. 
 
 63 
 
 <( 
 
 By ambition impelled, from that glen and that cot 
 
 In the hey day of youth I did roam, 
 In quest of a joy that is ever remote, 
 
 And never more near than at home. 
 Though wealth and position young fancy may lure, 
 
 And hope point abroad to the prize, 
 Yet the novice in life his fond dreams to secure, 
 In exile privation and toil must endure. 
 
 And at last but chagrin realize. 
 
 <( 
 
 There is treasure, indeed, but in exile not found ; 
 
 *Tis by sympathy coined in the heart, 
 And where the endearments of kindred abound 
 
 Doth bliss to its owners impart. 
 Where kindling affection its tendrils first twined. 
 
 Where love a response first obtained, 
 A place upon earth so endeared to the mind — 
 In memory so hallowed — one never can find, 
 
 Though ambition's last height should be gained. 
 
 Now hope with its triumphs illusive and vain, 
 
 Having ceased to have power to enslave. 
 In my audit of life the whole balance of gain 
 
 Is a drearier path to the grave. , 
 
 But if I in death still an exile must be 
 
 And my memory a blank amongst men, 
 Though sad yet resigned, I'll accept the decree 
 As an outcome of life ; but my spirit when free 
 
 Shall revisit the cot in the glen. 
 
TO A GOWAN. 
 
 On seeing one of sickly growth in a Canadian garden. 
 
 I ) 
 
 Hail to thee ** Crimson tipped flower, 
 Ah ! traiket like thou seem'st to cower, 
 And yet in thy exotic glower 
 
 A runic lore 
 Gives to fond memory a power 
 
 Unfelt before. 
 
 Sweet darling of the Poet's muse, 
 Whom nature's every lover lo'es, 
 Frae bathing in thy native dews 
 
 What brought thee here ? 
 To dwine a sicky, lone reclr.se 
 
 Throughout the year. 
 
TO A GO WAN. 
 
 On thy frail youth, wi' sky o'ercast — 
 A bleak death-boding pent-up blast 
 Brewed in the biting, cauld nor 'wast— 
 
 Did nature frown ? 
 Or had some laird an edict passed 
 
 To plough thee down ? 
 
 Alas ! how mony I could trace, 
 Sweet flowerets of the human race, 
 Endeared by beauty's every grace, 
 
 Hae dwined like thee ; 
 Thus exiled frae their native place, 
 Across the sea. 
 
 But why need 1 thus question thee ? 
 Queen floweret of the Scottish lea, 
 Ablins like mony mair, and me, 
 
 Frae thy far hame, 
 A richer, statelier flower to be 
 
 Thou hither came. 
 
 65 
 
 Or, haply, that thou might enjoy 
 A warmer sun and clearer sky. 
 And in the Zephyrs passing by, 
 
 A gentler breeze; 
 Though these without some natal tie 
 
 Soon fail to please. 
 
66 
 
 rO A GO WAN. 
 
 Or maybe by some fond exile, 
 
 His heart's sad yearnings to beguile, 
 
 Brought hither frae his native isle, 
 
 In hope that he 
 When greeted wi' thy kindred smile 
 
 Might blyther be. 
 
 ; I 
 
 But whatsoe'er the weird might be 
 That wysed thee here sic ills to dree, 
 Thou now art doomed, I weel can see. 
 
 Ere vera auld, 
 In summer's heat to dwine, and dee 
 
 In winter's cauld. 
 
 Nae mair, at morn when bees resume 
 Their luscious toil on bud and bloom, 
 And heather-bells the air perfume 
 
 Frae distant heath, 
 Wilt thou the yellow tassled broom 
 
 Awake beneath. 
 
 Rich vines may shade thee, or may fan 
 Thy drooping form, sae sickly, wan. 
 While cherished by the hand of man, 
 
 Wi' tenderest care 
 But, Oh ! restore thee naething can. 
 
 Save native air. 
 
TO A GO WAN, 
 
 67 
 
 Sweet emblem of departed bliss, 
 On thee I'll print a parting kiss ; 
 Still there's anither place than this, 
 
 Where, ablins, we 
 Again may meet, and never miss 
 
 Things *yont the sea. 
 
 A place where ilk sweet thing retires— 
 Where joy anew its spirit fires — 
 And's ne'er misled by vain desires 
 
 For higher bliss : 
 A place where beauty ne'er expires — 
 
 Now take my kiss. 
 
 MY AULD SCOTCH PLAID. 
 
 I wadna gi'e my auld Scotch plaid 
 
 For a' the dainty haps I see ; 
 Though twa score years since it was made 
 
 It's aye the same as new to me. 
 I wat it lacks the gaudy charm 
 
 That skinkles in a foppish e'e, 
 But, O, it keeps me tight an' warm, 
 
 And while I live my hap * twill be. 
 
68 
 
 MY AULD SCOTCH PLAID. 
 
 iiiil 
 
 It's been a comforter for lang, 
 
 To my auld wife as weel's to me, 
 It deftly on her shouthers hang, 
 
 And wrapped the bairns when they were wee ; 
 Now they are a' to manhood grown. 
 
 And buirdly chiels as ye may see ; 
 O, may they aye through life be known 
 
 A credit to the plaid and me. 
 
 There's something in the Scottish plaid 
 
 Mair than to fend frae weet and cauld ; 
 Bright memories that ne'er shall fade, 
 
 It still endears to young an' auld ; 
 Of worship-consecrated dells — 
 
 Of bluidy heath and martyr's urns — 
 In mystic eloquence it tells. 
 
 And of a Wallace and a Burns. 
 
 Auld Scotia to her clansmen said. 
 
 When first their ranks she did review, 
 " Let hearts that beat beneath the plaid 
 
 Be ever generous and true — 
 Your backs ne'er turn on friend or foe — 
 
 The peaceful stranger shield and aid — 
 Let despot, knave and traitor know 
 
 The law that gleams beneath the plaid* 
 
 > > 
 
MY AULD SCOTCH PLAID. 
 
 69 
 
 And wad ilk nation don the plaid, 
 
 And wear it as it should be worn, 
 Usurpers wad be feckless made, 
 
 Bairns a' be independent born ; 
 And clansmen brave, the warld o'er. 
 
 Ilk servile impulse trample doon, 
 And homage cease frae shore to shore, 
 
 Save to the Chief wha rules aboon. 
 
 O, there's a treasure in the plaid, 
 
 A tome of classic hero lore ; 
 And *twas, ere court costumes were made, 
 
 The royal garb young Freedom wore ; 
 And though it lacks the gaudy charm 
 
 That skinkles in a foppish e'e, 
 It keeps me tidy tight an' warm. 
 
 And while I live my hap 'twill be. 
 
DISCONSOLATE JEANIE. 
 
 !' 
 
 Yestreen when the scenes of the evening were closing,. 
 
 And echo had chimed the last hymn of the grove, 
 While nature in beauty was calmly reposing, 
 
 Alone by the Clutha I musing did rove. 
 The dew from each blossom rich odours distilling. 
 
 Perfumed every breeze as it passed o'er the vale, 
 The zephyr's soft voice through the woods sweetly thrilling 
 
 Did fall on my ear like some fairy love tale. 
 
 'Mongst sylvan recesses delighted I wandered, 
 
 Where kenmuire on Clutha looks down with a smile. 
 And there, on the scene as I listlessly pondered, 
 
 I spied lovely Jeanie the pride of Carmyle. 
 An angel she seemed, by the riverside straying, 
 
 As slowly she wended the wild flowers among. 
 Her loose raven locks o'er her lilly breast playing 
 
 While Clutha' s faint murmurs were lost in her song. 
 
DISCONSOLATE JEANIE. 
 
 71 
 
 Though sweetly her voice rose aloft on the Zephyr, 
 
 A heart thrilling sadness was breathed in her strain ; 
 A tear on the brink of her blue eyes did quiver, 
 
 Her fair bosom heaved as if bursting in twain. 
 In silence I gazed, till with pensive emotion 
 
 I heard her sad accents a secret unfold ; 
 She had loved, but deceit was returned for devotion, 
 
 She sighs now for one who is faithless and cold. 
 
 ** O, Jamie ! " she said, and she gazed on the river, 
 ** Oft, oft have ye vowed by the powers in the sky. 
 That your love was sincere, would be true to me ever, 
 
 Till Kenmuir should weep o'er the Clutha ru 1 dry ; 
 But Kenmuir still smiles — of your falsehood a token — 
 
 And Clutha* s clear water still flows to the sea; 
 While faithless your vows, like my fond heart are broken. 
 
 Now nothing but death can bring solace to me." 
 
 Dear Jeanie " I cried, while impended her ruin, 
 
 ** O, seek not in death thy sad loss to repair ; 
 
 Why deem that one's falsehood must be thy undoing? 
 
 Why thus shroud thy soul in the gloom of despair ? 
 Though plighted thy fond heart has been to another, 
 
 By him though forsaken, that heart do not break; 
 And if it one pang in thy bosom would smother 
 
 Ere night come again thee my bride I will make." 
 
72 
 
 DISCONSOLATE JEANIE. 
 
 II 
 
 ;ii 
 
 In amazement she fled from the brink of the river ; 
 
 1 sought, but in her lone path to pursue ; 
 She was gone, and I feared that it might be forever — 
 
 A prayer I .breathed and in sadness withdrew. 
 But morning's l v ^e' v-iwn in fresh beauty returning, 
 
 Caused Kenmu'^r a:;.! in on the Clutha to smile 
 Ai d lonely, and dowie, i comfort still spurning, 
 
 I saw her — the love blighted flower of Carmyle. * 
 
 * Clutha— the ancient name for the nver Clyde in Scotland — Kenmuir — a beautiful 
 romantic landscape where the Clyde flows through a deep ravine, which, during the 
 summer months, teems with floral beauty, and resounds with the sweet melody of 
 birds — Carmyle — a hamlet on the margin of the river, about a mile and a half below 
 Kenmuir. 
 
 % 
 
 ASPECTS OF MATRIMONY. 
 
 O, how happy is the chiel. 
 
 By his ain fireside, 
 Wha has rowth o' milk an' meal 
 
 By his ain fireside ; 
 Wi' an ingle burning clear, 
 And a wifie he lo'es dear, 
 Wha aye smiles when he is near. 
 
 By his ain fireside. 
 
 I 
 
ASPECTS OF MATRIMONY. 
 
 73 
 
 Life to him can ne*er seem lang, 
 
 By his ain fireside, 
 Such domestic sweets amang, 
 
 By his ain fireside ; 
 And mair than a king is he, 
 While his subjects a' are free, 
 Living in sweet harmonic, 
 
 By his ain fireside. 
 
 He sees a' things aye jang weel, 
 
 By his ain firesi ^, 
 And he seeks nae ither biel 
 
 Than his ain fireside ; 
 There his toils are a' repaid, 
 While he kindly gives his aid, 
 For he's loved, and he's obeyed. 
 
 By his ain fireside. 
 
 And when death does on him ca', 
 
 By his ain fireside, 
 With a summons to withdraw 
 
 Frae his ain fireside ; 
 He is soothed in his distress. 
 And feels nature's pangs grow less 
 In his family's fond caress. 
 
 By his ain fireside. 
 
74 
 
 ASPECTS OF MATRIMONY. 
 
 But oh, woes me for the chiel, 
 
 By his ain fireside, 
 Wha would fain hae a' things leal, 
 
 By his ain fireside ; 
 Yet frae e'en till dawn o* morn, 
 Still must quaff the cup of scorn. 
 And endure a bosom thorn, 
 
 By his ain fireside. 
 
 O, a dowie wight is he, 
 
 By his ain fireside. 
 For he hears nae family glee. 
 
 By his ain fireside ; 
 On his features, drooping sair. 
 Is the weary path of care, 
 And joy never ventures there, 
 
 By his ain fireside. 
 
 Wi' his cauldrife, sullen mate, 
 
 By his ain fireside. 
 He sits owrie, dull and blate, 
 
 By his ain fireside ; 
 Till his bairnies, ane an' a', 
 Wha ne'er kind example saw, 
 Gie him cause whiles to withdraw 
 
 Frae his ain fireside. 
 
ASPECTS OF MATRIMONY. 
 
 n 
 
 To some evening howff he gangs, 
 
 Frae his ain fireside, 
 Where to triumph o'er the wrangs 
 
 O* his ain fireside ; 
 He the maddening dregs doth sup 
 Of intoxication's cup, 
 Tin death winds the sorrows up 
 
 Of his ain fireside. 
 
 LILLIAN GRAY. 
 
 Cold is the wintry blast. 
 
 Snow flakes are falling fast ; 
 Weary and hungry, hatless and shoeless, 
 
 Lillian the orphan maid. 
 
 Begging the stranger's aid, 
 Longs for a home that is hopeless and viewless. 
 
 Alas ! is there no one — 
 
 P'or Lillian is human — 
 Who will deign to but give her the look of a friend ? 
 
 A kind look might strengthen, 
 
 Encourage and lengthen 
 Her efforts to be what the virtuous commend. 
 
76 LILLIAN GRA V. 
 
 Still, still she keeps pacing 
 
 The sidewalk, and facing 
 Her sisters in furs, with a tearful appeal ; 
 
 Aud still they keep passing, 
 
 While snowflake amassing, 
 All coldly, yet kindly her rags would conceal. 
 
 Lillian, poor Lillian ! 
 
 One of the million 
 Whom want of employment to misery has hurl'd. 
 
 She, whom God made beautiful — 
 
 Once holy and dutiful — 
 Is fallen and crushed ^neath the hoof of the world. 
 
 Spurned by the ** Unco Good," 
 
 Denied leave to toil for food, 
 Driven from shelter no more to get in ; 
 
 Barred from prosperity. 
 
 Too wretched for charity. 
 What can she do for a living but sin ? 
 
 Ah ! still it snowing, 
 
 While coming and going 
 Homeward from meeting, where many did pray. 
 
 Are crowds of repenters. 
 
 Churchmen and dissenters. 
 But none show compassion for poor Lillian Gray. 
 
LILLIAN GRA V. 
 
 77 
 
 Alas ! for the blindness 
 
 Of Christian kindness ! 
 The Christ not perceiving in lowly array, 
 
 Thus heaven would purchase 
 
 With gorgeous churches, 
 And leave God-built structures to ruin a prey. 
 
 Now weird is the glimmer 
 
 Of street-lights grown dimmer, 
 The comers and goers have passed and are gone ; 
 
 At crossing or corner 
 
 No proud eye to scorn her, 
 Poor Lillian is left in her misery alone. 
 
 Outworn and dejected — 
 
 Shunned — spurned — unprotected — 
 She stands on the bridge as if counting each wave. 
 
 Oh ! merciful Heaven ! 
 
 With death she has striven. 
 And found in the river a home and a grave. 
 
|!! m 
 
 THE SCENES OF GYLE; 
 
 OR, 
 
 A HOLIDAY EXCURSION. 
 
 The rising sun, with brightening ray, 
 
 ITad newly ushered in the day ; 
 
 And warblers gay, in verdant bowers, 
 
 In concert joined their minstrel powers. 
 
 When forth the fair Eliza hied, 
 
 Bound for the Highlands down the Clyde. 
 
 The Zephyrs gently moved the stream 
 To ripple in the sun's bright beam ; 
 The sea-birds soared in wild parade, 
 To hail the lovely Lowland maid ; 
 The boat impatient seemed the while, 
 To bear her to the scenes of Gyle. 
 
 ,x V" 
 
A HOLIDA V EXCURSION. 
 
 79 
 
 Her russet dress, though plain yet nealt, 
 
 Her winsome form, her artless gait, 
 
 With nameless raptures fired my soul, 
 
 And fairly did my heart enthral, 
 
 I leapt into the boat the while, 
 
 And sought with her the scenes of Gyle. 
 
 Now seated by the fair one's side. 
 O'er the waves we swiftly glide. 
 Which, dancing in the radiant beam, 
 Of their charge rejoicing seem. 
 Her looks akin to love the while, 
 Bid hope within my bosom smile. 
 
 Lone Arranteenie's lofty braes. 
 Endeared by Tannihill's sweet lays, 
 In vain did glisten to outvie 
 The sparkles of Eliza's eye ; 
 A seraph's grace was in her smile, 
 As on we glided up Lochgyle. 
 
 And as her lilly hand I prest, 
 I marked a motion in her breast, 
 That like a streamlet in a dell. 
 In secret flowed, yet seem to tell, 
 That one in love our hearts were while 
 We landed on the shore of Gyle. 
 
I ( 
 
 I I 
 
 80 
 
 A HOLIDA V EXCURSION. 
 
 Then arm in arm we sought the glen, 
 Where Ulva's chief heard Ullin's men 
 Pursue him for his bonie bride, 
 Till launched upon the fatal tide. 
 I, too, would dared the yawning lake. 
 And died for fair Eliza's sake. 
 
 But through the far embowering glade 
 With kindling hearts in peace we strayed, 
 And gayly talked, and wild flowers pu'd, 
 And deeply loved and fondly wooed, 
 Till every look and every smile 
 Endeared for aye the scenes of Gyle. 
 
 THE EDEN OF LIFE. 
 
 *Tis a joy when the face of early morn 
 
 With ethereal smiles is beaming, 
 And the fragrant breath of the flowering thorn 
 
 Through the air in currents is streaming, 
 To wander forth on the dewy plains, 
 
 Or the banks of the winding river, 
 And list to the manifold lyric strains 
 
 Of the Poet that singeth ever. 
 
THE EDEN OF LIFE. 
 
 %\ 
 
 There ah things are busy in God's employ, 
 
 Dutiful, dilligent, each apart ; 
 Whilst latent springs of a sacred joy 
 
 Are welling up in each grateful heart. 
 They are not plodding with sordid aim 
 
 For ought that tends to corrupt the soul ; 
 Theirs is not a life of guilt and shame — 
 
 They covet no wealth but nature's dole. 
 
 On this Republic of earth and sky, 
 
 With beauty and melody all aglow. 
 No creatures are worshipped in places high, 
 
 No tribe dooms the others to endless woe. 
 E ach chorister warbles its matin song. 
 
 Each flower on the altar its incense lays, 
 And nothing is whispered of right or wrong, 
 
 All hearts are devoted to love and praise. 
 
 The Zephyrs, anon, ever playful and free^ 
 
 Coming and going as if by stealth. 
 Imparting a freshness to flower and tree, 
 
 Salute as they pass, with a kiss of health. 
 Thus f way from the turmoil of human strife 
 
 Where worship and'war alternate reign. 
 There is in this world an Eden of life, 
 
 Where freedom and innocence still remain. 
 
$2 
 
 THE EDEN OF LIFE. 
 
 O, give me a home in some rural spot, 
 
 Away from the haunts of greed and sin, 
 Where palaces, hovels and slums are not, 
 
 Where class and sham have not entered in. 
 There, in the halo of nature's smiles. 
 
 Joyous and free I should walk abroad. 
 Save from the many alluring wiles. 
 
 In manhood's pride and a child of God. 
 
 ADDRESS TO FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Hail holy alliance of hearts ! 
 
 Sweet reflex of something divine-- 
 If aught a real blessing imparts, 
 
 The glory, O Friendship, is thine. 
 
 Unfettered by custom or creed, 
 UnbouT ded by climate or zone, 
 
 lii nature, by Heaven decreed^ 
 The spirit of goodness alone 
 
ADDRESS TO FRILNDSHIF, 
 
 Like a wandering angel, unseen, 
 
 T!i rough life's boundless reign thou dost 
 
 Dispensing, where sorrow has been, 
 New bliss in the smiles of a friend. 
 
 It is thine the despairing to soothe, 
 The homeless to shelter and feed, 
 
 The naked to warm and to clothe. 
 The wayward to counsel and lead. 
 
 It is thine on leal memories to trace 
 Endearments that cease not to be, 
 
 Nor distance nor time can efface 
 One record inscribed there by thee. 
 
 For soul when attracted by soul. 
 And wedded by thee whilst a-nei*r. 
 
 Though oceans between them shoni roll^ 
 They still to each other are dear. 
 
 By a name or the bou is of a hearth, 
 In each heart though encircled thou be, 
 
 Yet where is the bosom on earth 
 That beats not a^votion to thee ? 
 
 No servile sustainer of wealth — 
 The humble to thee are most dear. 
 
 To whom, or in sickness or health. 
 Bliss flows from thy smile or thy tear. 
 
 end; 
 
34 
 
 ADDRESS TO FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Have I not thine influence known ? 
 
 By thee have I never been blest ? 
 When by sickness or care overthrown, 
 
 Did' St thou never lull me to rest? 
 
 Ah, yes ! like an angel of light. 
 Relieving my heart of its throes, 
 
 Thou hast put my dark bodings to flight, 
 And soothed me to blissful repose. 
 
 As the moon woos the desolate sky 
 
 Till the earth drink the beams of her love, 
 
 So to man, when dark ruin is nigh. 
 
 Thou, Friendship, a ^aviour dost prove. 
 
 And would he the cerements but rend 
 Which thy omnipresence conceal. 
 
 Every soul thou in union wouldst blend. 
 And Heaven in nature reveal. 
 
 The wa 'lings of misery would cease ; 
 
 Ei^tortion and pride become dumb ; 
 And war yield dominion to peace ; 
 
 And bondage to freedom succumb. 
 
 And the ties that endearingly bind 
 The fond hearts of parent and child. 
 
 Be cherished by all humankind, 
 Inhabiting City or wild. 
 
 I 
 
 
ADDRESS TO FHIENDSHIP. 
 
 H 
 
 ■ 
 
 I 
 
 For though neither temple nor shrine 
 Re- echoes an anthem to :h»'e ; 
 
 Yet in man thou art something divine — 
 O Friendship ! thou art heaven to me. 
 
 ^ 
 
 THE LOVERS' MEETING. 
 
 ^e, 
 
 '^ The sun is sinking in the west, 
 
 The flowers begin to close, 
 Each warbler sings with joyful breast. 
 
 To charm his mate's repose. 
 The Zephyrs frae their dewy wings 
 
 Sweet scented odours pour. 
 And nature all a tribute brings 
 
 To bless the gloamin hour. 
 
 ** And why should we, dear Jeanie, still 
 
 In singleness repine, 
 Whilst we of bliss might drink our fill 
 
 At Hymen's love-lit shrine? 
 Why should the tenants of the grove 
 
 Live happier than we? 
 O, gie consent, dear Jeanie, love, 
 
 Come down the burn wi' me." 
 
86 
 
 THE LOVERS' MEETING. 
 
 t( 
 
 O, Tamie dinna press sae, 
 
 Ye' 11 tempt me to do wrang; 
 For while I canna say you nae 
 
 Ye ken I daurna gang. 
 My mither is a cankrie dame, 
 
 Nae liberty she'll gie; 
 I might gae seek anither hame 
 
 If down the burn wi' thee. 
 
 l> 
 
 , > 
 
 M 
 
 *' And now the kye are through the glen, 
 
 Fast wearing in her view ; 
 I wadna for the yirth she'd ken 
 
 That I hae been wi' you. 
 O, dinna think I sliglt ye, Tam, 
 
 Ye 're every thing to me ; 
 But dinna seek me down the burn — 
 
 Consent I canna gie." 
 
 *< Dear Jeanie, let the kye gang hame — 
 
 Your cankrie mither flyte — 
 If ye're the slave o' ony dame, 
 
 Your ain is a* the wyte. 
 See there's my hand, come down the burn, 
 
 Take fate alang wi' me ; 
 I pledge my heart, ere we return, 
 
 This night I'll make you free. 
 
THE LOVERS MEETING. 
 
 87 
 
 \l^ 
 
 ** I've lo'ed you, Jeanie, lang an' dear, 
 
 Wi' love that canna tyne ; 
 Gin ye lo'e me I winna spier, 
 
 I ken your heart is mine. 
 Sae let us down the burn bedeen, 
 
 And in the Lover's Cove, 
 Embowered amang the bushes green 
 
 That skirt the Cushat grove. 
 
 Our plighted vows there's nane shall hear, 
 
 Except the Powers above. 
 And what on earth can life endear 
 
 Like heaven -recorded love? 
 Ye' 11 get a hame, ane o' your ain, 
 
 Wherein ye' 11 aye be free." 
 '* Weel, Tamie, take me down the burn. 
 
 And I'll take fate wi' thee." 
 
 OUR AIN FOLK. 
 
 Addressed by a young Snob to an audience of schoolmates at a Holiday Social. 
 
 No connoiseur am I to show 
 
 How Scientists explain /oik, 
 I rise to vindicate, and throw 
 
 A halo round ** Our ain Folk." 
 
n' 
 
 88 
 
 OC//! A IN FOLK. 
 
 All races of mankind on earth, 
 
 Both savage and humane folk, 
 Prom instinct, or from pride of birth, 
 
 Have named their tribe '* Our ain Folk." 
 
 There's but one origin, some say, 
 
 For sage and for insane folk, 
 But nature inly whispers aye 
 
 There's no folk like " Our ain Folk/' 
 
 Hence we, the rising *' Upper Ten," 
 The learned — the urbane folk. 
 
 Bright progeny of noble men. 
 Assert ourselves " Our ain Folk." 
 
 We are but human, it is true, 
 
 And suckers from the main stock, 
 
 But others paddle our canoe. 
 
 Which dignifies **Our ain Folk." 
 
 Begotten with a pedigree, 
 
 None of your self-made plain folk, 
 A star in constant apogee 
 
 Is our aspiring *^ Ain Folk." 
 
 Down in the lower spheres of life, 
 There may be bigger brain folk 
 
 Born Artist and born Poet rife. 
 But still we are the main Folk. 
 
OUR AIN FOLK. 89 
 
 Because we neither spin nor toil, 
 
 Fools designate us vain folk, 
 But to be spent on loom or soil 
 
 God never meant '* Our ain Folk." 
 
 And loyal aye to church and crown, 
 
 When menaced by profane folk, 
 On high names have been written down. 
 
 Beneath those names '' Our ain Folk." 
 
 Utopians may task their skill 
 
 In commune wavs to train folk, 
 But soon the world would stand still. 
 
 If severed from *• Our ain Folk." 
 
 And whatso'er they may disclose 
 
 To please or yet to pain folk, 
 Nor man, nor friend shall e'er foreclose 
 
 God's contract with ** Our ain Folk." 
 
 And men who boldly search and think 
 
 For facts to entertain folk, 
 May find the royal missing link 
 
 Reflected in *^Our ain Folk." 
 
 Unlike the common imps of sin. 
 
 The horny-fisted plain folk ; 
 God's ornamental work is in 
 
 Our privileged, honored '* Ain Folk." * 
 
 * The last sentence brought down the house, and the speaker was carried shoulder 
 high into the Bar-room.