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CIHM/ICMH

Microfiche

Series.

CIHM/ICMH
Collection de
microfiches.

Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques

1980

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S60TTISH GANADIAN PO§TS.

SBLB6TI0NS FROM

Sgottish Canadian Poets

BKING

i^^^

^(O

A COLLFCTION OF Tllf BHST POETRY WRITTEN BY

Scotsmen and their Descendants in the
Dominion or Canada

WITH AN INTROni'CTION BY

DR. DANIEIc) GbARK

Including Nuimi <ols Biograpiikai. Ski: tches and Tortkaits

ov WW. ArriioRs

;^^

PUBLISIIKO I'NDKR TIIK Al'SPICES OF

THE CALEDONIAN SOCIETY OF TORONTO

Entered according to the Act of the Parliament of Canada, In the year igoo by
William Cami-bell, Toronto, at the Department o/ Agriculture,

tToronto :

Printed bv Imrie, Graham & Company, 31 CiU'Rcn Strkkt,

1900

70u-{ti

CONTENTS.

Preface

Introdl'ction . .

Anderson, Rev. R S. G.

Boyd, Robert

Brack, Mrs. Jessie Wanless ..

Bruce, Rev. G, D.D.

Burgess, Mrs. Margaret Beatrice

Clark, Dr. Daniel

Graham, Miss H. Isabel ..

Harper, Dr. John Murdoch

Imrie, John

Laidlaw, Thomas

Lockhart, Rev. A. J

McCaig, Donald

McLachlan, Alexander ..

MacColl, Evan

MacCormack, Malcolm ..

Macfarlane, John

Mackav, Mrs. Isabelle Ecclestone

MacKeracher. W. M

Macnab, Rev. Andrew ..

Maitland, Mrs. Mary a

Marshall, Mrs. J. R

Mortimer, John

MuiR, Alexander

Murdoch, William ..

111

• •

287

5'
296

268

169

123

21 .;
40

'49
246

180
7'

2.33
236
221
242
302
89
no

'94
294

»'7

CONTENTS— Coniinued,

MruRAY, William ..

Nki.son, Kdvvin Ci

Nkwiiai.l, Mrs. Gkoki;i.\a Fkasi;i<

PiRIE, Gk<m<(Je

Rkid, Rohkrt

Ross, Allan

Simpson, John

Smith, Rev. William Wye ..

Steele, John

Telford, William

Tytler, Agnes

Wanless, Andrew
WiNGFiELD, Alexander H.

96
225

2.S7
129

189
II

•35

278

'74
140

104

262

96
257

129

i5«
189

1 1

'35

278

'74
140

262

bIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

FRONTISPIKC'K

HOYI), RonKRT .

Bricr, Rkv. G., 1). n

Clark, Dr. Daniki

(iRAiiAM, Miss H. IsAm;i

Harpkr, Or. John Murdoch

Imrik, ]ous

I-Aioi.AW, Thomas

McCaic, Donald ..

McLachlain, Alkxandkii

MacColl, Kvan

MacCormack, Malcolm
Macfarlane, ions

Mackay, Mrs. Isabi-lle Ecclestone

MacKeraciier, W. M

Macnab, Ri:v. Andrew
Maitland, Mrs. Mary A.
Marsh 'LL, Mrs. J. R.
MoRTLMER, John . .

Murdock, VVilllam

Murray, Willl\m

Nevvhall, Mrs. Georgina Fraser

PiRiE, George

Reid, Robert

Ross, Allan

y
«3

i()S

122

Jt4

4'
148
181

-'9
232

237
220

243

303

1 1 1

«Q5
116

97
256

128

'59
188

r^IST OF n,LUSTRATIONS.-C.«/;>„,.rf,

Simpson, Jofin ..
Smith, Rev. William Wve
Steele, John ,.
Telford, William
Tytler, Agnes
VVanless. Andrew

134
279

'75
141

'05

134
279

'75
141

'o5

PREFACE.

'X'HE idea of collecting and publishing a book of Scottish-
^ Canadian poetry originated with Dr. Daniel Clark,
and was undertaken by the Caledonian Society of Toronto
at a meeting held on May 14th, 1895. A strong feeling
existed that, besides what had already been published, there
was much meritorious poetry scattered throughout the
country, which had never passed through a printer's hands ;
and a desire was expressed that all the richer specimens be
collected and printed in book form, and thus preserved to
posterity. The work of collection began in the fall of 1896,
and has proceeded with more or less activity ever since.
The task — if it can be so-called — has proved a veiy pleasant
one. 1 he project has met with universal sympathy and
countenance, and those with whom letters have been
exchanged seem to have vied with each other in an effort to
help on the good work. Not only have the authors lent
ready aid by forwarding specimens of their writings, but they
have in numerous instances given timely hints that have led
to the discovery of many fine productions which, but for
their intervention, would, in all probability, have remained in
oblivion to the end of time. To those friends warm thanks
are due and are hereby cordially tendered. Special thanks
are due to Mr. Charles C. James, Deputy Minister of
Agriculture for the Province of Ontario, for the use of
several volumes of Scottish-Canadian poetry.

IV.

PREFACE.

In most instances the consent of authors has been
obtained to make selections from their writings, and in no
instance has this permission been refused ; on the contrary
every facihty has been afforded in the direction of making
the collection as representative as possible. Should it be
found, however, that poems have been included in this
volume without the consent of the author, an apology is
hereby tendered, which, it is hoped, may mollify any one
who considers that a liberty has been taken.

Gratifying features of the work of collection have been
the many friendships formed, the interesting correspondence
elicited, and the general interest aroused throughout the
Dominion on the subject of Scottish-Canadian poetry ; an
interest which, it is felt, will be greatly intensified as soon as
the volume gets into the hands of the public.

Wm. CAMrBE[-I.,
Secretary Toronto Caledonian Society.

i<Hi

INTRODUCTION.

By Daniel Clark, M.D, Toronto.

HTHE Greek root for the word " Poet " means a composer,
* a maker, a creator. The true poet has a creative
individuality as distinctive in its pecuHarities and outlines as is
the human face. The mere copyist of style, whose modes of
thought and verbal utterances ape some glowing apocalypse
of song, which, like a gem,

*' On the out-stretched finger of all time sparkles forever,"

is only an imitator of the great children of transcendent
song. Jingling rhymes may be pleasant to the ear, and
smooth versification may command attention, but if a poetic
soul has not been breathed into the nostrils of all such
creations they are not legitimate children of genius and of
immortality. The true poet clothes everything he descants
upon with pathos, beauty or sublimity. The varied workings
of the human mind in its aspirations, emotions, affections,
and desires, — the beautiful flowers, the rippling brooks, the
roaring cataracts, the vast resounding sea, the hoary
mountains and the spangled heavens, are all the richest
heritage of the Muse. It matters not if it be the tragic Muse,
dehneating human passion in its deepest earnestness ; the
comedy, full of glee and gladness ; the epic, in its rolling
measures of Runic rhyme of deeds and daring in the ages of

INTRODUCTION.

chivalry ; or lyric song, fit for harp or lady's bower,— all are
full of inspiration to sage or unlearned, and to child or hoary-
headed At the same time mechanical rhymsters cannot
climb to this height nor fathom these depths. They are for
the few whose minds are saturated with poetic frenzy, and
whose names and productions have been left as legacies
throughout the ages to humanity.

Of all the forms of poetry, the songs of a country wield
the greatest influence on the mind-life of a people. They
are the simplest forms of poetic expression, and were usually
sung with instrumental accompaniments. 1 he ancient
mural paintings of the Egyptians show beyond a doubt that
they used musical instruments and songs in their religious
ceremonies and social entertainments. They were a gay
people and were fond of cheerful social life. Their instru-
ments of music were prototypes of modern structures of
melody. A short time ago there was found in a mausoleum
in Thebes a harp, with cat-gut strings, that had lain silent
for thiee thousand years. The moment a human hand
swept the strings they gave forth the old delightful melody
and harmony. In their hieroglyphics the Egyptians also
preserved their songs. One in paricular has been translated
and is found to be the song of the threshers who beat out
the wheat. Two Babylonian songs have been recently dis-
covered, which plowmen sang in their fields. So at the
same time that Hebrews sang the songs of Sion on the hills
of Judea or in captivity, swarthy Egyptians and cultured
Babylonians were singing their lyrics on the banks of the
Nile or the Euphrates.

The gay Troubadours for 250 years sang war and love
songs, which in structure and rhyme have never been sur-

INTRODUCTION.

vii

passed. The ideal sentiment of devotion to women found
expression in songs of rare excellency.

The soni^ is human nature finding expression in impas-
sioned words, set to music. Milton called music and words
combined a marriage relation and a unity. The true lyrist
is not a machine poet but sings out of the fulness of an
overflowing heart. Is he sad? — He composes a dirge.
Does he mourn the loss of a friend? — He writes an elegy ;
poems flow from tongue and pen. Is he in love ? — Sapphic
verse is spun from his throbbing brain. Is he patriotic ? —
Burning heroic stanzas set pulsations of martial ardor beating
in hut or hall, in peasant or monarch. 'J'he true poet sets
free an electric spark of intense glow, which touches into
flame the finer and nobler feelings of our nature.

The lyric in ode, elegy and song, in its highest flights, has
a subtle charm, — an inspiration, a lovely harmony, and a
melody, which rouse the human heart to doing and daring
beyond any other influence known to humanity. This
statement refers to sacred as well as to secular songs. We
see it in the songs of Shakespeare— in the epithalamium of
Spencer— in the love-warblings of Herrick — in the cultivated
lays of Collins and Gray — in the ethereal music of Shelley
and in the undying, impassioned, pathetic and thrilling songs
of Burns and Moore. Such as these cling to the generations.

The select songs of the sweet singer of Israel in his
waitings at the tragedy of Gilboa, in his terrific descriptions
of a quaking earth, vibrating mountains and utter darkness
— the water-spouts and mirky skies are intense verbal pic-
tures, when arrows, coals of fire, hailstones and lightnings were
looked upon as the instruments of vengeance of offended
Majesty.

• • •

Vlll

INTRODUCTION.

It is interesting to note that the song-writers who have
filled best the popular heart are and were usually self made
men. They sang their best in their younger days and often
in want and misery. The irresistible impulse to warble
immortal lyrics defied external circumstances and conditions.
They needed not culture nor education to evoke the poetic
fire. With them invention, inspiration, and genius were the
ruling forces. )Ve see this intuitive instinct in the odes of
Sappho, Anacreon, and Pindar, who were the song-writers of
ancient Greece ; in the verse composing of Lucretius in the
palmy days of Rome ; in the Petrarch of modern Italy, and
in the Beranger of France. Ncne of these, however, can com-
pare with James Hogg, Allan Ramsay, Burns, Tannahill, •Fal-
coner, Motherwell, Cunningham or Wilson. You may apply
any test you like to estimate their comparative merits. Judge
of them by the effect they produce on your own mind ; weigh
them by the influence they have on a people ; analyze them
as i)roducts of the imagination ; measure them by the
experiences of our own lives \ test them as word-i)ictures of
the pulsations of our inner nature in its many-sided manifes-
tations, and Scottish songs have had no equals in the
recorded history of the world. I speak not of the sacred
songs of to day, which seem to be an out-crop of modern
religious belief. These have had a great influence for good
in using music, rhyme and religious sentiment to stimulate
devotion. Hymnology has had its thousands of composers,
but a small trunk would hold all the genuine ind inspired
sacred songs which have been written within the last
hundred years. Our hymn books, our religious and secular
periodicals, and our newspapers are full of the veriest trash
in jingling rhymes, or stately measures, but seeing they con-

INTRODUCTION.

tain religious sentiments we do not challenge the mechanical
and commonplace performances of those who flood our
religious literature with outlines of the mere skeleton of
poetry, but who have not been endowed with the native
gifts and graces to clothe it with beauty and breathe into it
the Divine life. There are many grand hymns, but the
writers are few. It has often been a question with me if
education has not made so-called poets of many who never
would have been heard of, because devoid of inherent poetic
inspiration. Take away from Pope and Dryden education,
taste and wit, and it is possible they never would have been
heard of as rhymsters. Strip Wordsworth and Tennyson of
culture and there is reason to believe their versification would
have been very commonplace in form and idea. Natural
poets are better with education, but they do not depend on
its advantages. The sublime Milton is a good illustration of
this class. He was born a son of the Muse, but his well-
stored mind enabled him to give a classic bent and polish lo
his transcendent imaginings.

The cynics say the Scottish people are of a cold nature,
are unsympathetic, and too much self-contained tc make
good citizens in the social and national relations. This
charge is not in accordance with historic fact. The Scot is
of a reticent and retiring disposition. He does not wear his
heart upon his sleeve. A thread or two of healthy melan-
choly runs through the warp and woof of his being. The
undercurrent of his life-stream is tinged with pathos. These
traits make him an earnest and intense man. He is not full
of impulses and ebullition, but is a slow, steady, persistent
plodder, and with a purpose. Even his grim humor has a
streak of feeling and sentiment in it. It does not sparkle

INTRODUCTION.

and scintillate like wit, nor does it p;o out like a rocket in the
darkness. His humor is philosophic, sarcastic, biting, but
full of an inward chuckle of enjoyment. The fact is, pathos
and humor are not the ill-matched nair that some would
assert, — they are twin sisters in the same nat.ire. /

These are the salient points in Scottish national character.
The proof is seen in the ballads of many centuries which
caught the popular fancy, fired the national heart, and were
perpetuated from sire to son, even echoing down the ages
out of the thick mists of the pre-historic times. The history
of the world can be challenged to produce such a galaxy of
popular song writers as little Scotland has called into exis-
tence. These rhymes are sung by other nationalities as
well as by the sons of Auld Scotia, wherever the English
tongue is spoken, and simply because they touch the inner
chords of all natures and voice the many sided emotions,
affections and desires of a common humanity.

** For doth not song"
To the whole world belong^ ?
Is it not given wherever tears can fall,
Or mirth and sadness mingle as they flow —
A heritage to all ? "

The land of Burns is said to have produced over three
thousand poets of greater or less degree. This may seem a
poetic exaggeration of a patriotic arithmetician. The state-
ment is possibly within the mark, when we consider that
history gives us a list of them from the days of Thomas ti\e
Rhymer (the day-star of Scottish sonfr) down to John
Campbell (known to us as the Marquis of Lome). Between
these two periods we have an interval of 700 years in the
annals of Scotland. No other known nation in the world's
history has produced so many bards as Scotland, and this

INTRODUCTION.

without regard to population. Its hills and valleys ins[)ired
them ; its streams, glens and mountains filled their souls
with enthusiasms ; its birds, flowers, dancing streamlets and
deep blue lochs were the music of Nature whose score was
full of harmonies. Monarchs and rustics, chiefs and vassals ;
hardy mountaineers and sturdy Lowlanders ; plaided
shepherds and village rustics, brown faced sailors ; lady in
her bower and lord on the battlement, all sang of this rugged
land in undying lays, which have come down through the
centuries in immortal measures, and fill the hearts of Scottish
people and their descendants in all climes with sympathetic
and patriotic ardor. They are a nation of song-writers and
sturdy thinkers. The Muse may not be cultured and classic.
It is the heart-throbbing, loving, genial intuitions of nature
finding even untaught expression in gentle emotion ; divine
passion, spirit-flooding impulses and ennobling affections,
which must saturate — as with a sweet perfume — every gifted
daughter and son of the Muse, who wishes to reach after true
nobility and immortal remembrance. Such belong to the
ages. No impediment can check the ardor, instincts, and
outpourings of a native-born poet. Penury, misfortune,
chilling neglect and cold disdain can no more impede the
scintillations of genius than could human effort arrest or stop
the mad and headlong flow of Niagara. To such the sonj'/
giving is life, and it is as spontaneous as is the morning song
of the lark, or the murmur of the mountain stream. It is
not, however, our purpose to discuss at present the philosophy
of song, nor is it our province to seek for the causes which
operated to make Scotland possess these characteristics
more than nations which had far greater advantages in cul
ture, climate, riches, rural beauty and domestic environments.

Xtl

INTRODUCTION,

We need no evidence beyond what we know of in modern
limes to prove the potency of song Operas, oratorios and
anthems can never move the masses of humanity hke the
simple lays of the peasant poets who tune their measures to
the sym[)honies of Nature. The verse may be rugged and
the words may be rough to the cultured and fastidious ear,
but the pathos, the intensity, the affection, the tenderness,
and the touches of soul asiiiralions reach the nooks and
crannies of the great human heart.

There is not a Scot or even Anglo Saxon who does not
conjure up by association pleasant or sad memories in even
hearing the titles of Scottish songs. The old grey crags
and beetled precipices against which have beaten the giant
waves of ocean throughout the centuries ; the mountain
torrent and the peaceful burn as they leap and dance and
sing through the purple heather on their meand(,'ring way to
the sea ; the cozy dell or yawning chasm where silence reig'.is
supreme ; the bosky woods or gowan covered meadows, or
humble but cozy "biggins" where youth and love and
beauty had a dwelling [)lace ; the valleys and glens and
mountain-passes wliich have become historic in legend,
chronicle and song ; the batilefield where doing and daring
crowned victory or honorable defeat ; the witch and
wizard, ghost and goblin, haunted nooks and crannies of
every country-side; the trysting spots of guileless and sym-
pathetic youth in Nature's bowers on some braeside " 'tween
the gloamin' and the mirk," all are stamped on our mind
more deeply because of our matchless songs in which these
national beauties and characteristics have been powerfully
portrayed.

Poetry, it has been well said, teaches the enormous force

INTKODUCriON.

of a few words, ami in j)r(^i)ortioii to tlie inspiration cliccks
redundancy. It ret^uires that s[)lendor of expression which
carries witli it the [)roof of gr<;at tlioughts. Tliese in poetic
minds insure nuisical Uiodes of si)eech. Every word sliould
be the right word in the right place. The true i)oets - not tlie
mere rhymsters — are tliey who seetliat tlie s[jiritual is greater
than any material force, — in short that thought rules the world.
The great poets are judged by the frame of mind they in-
duce ; and to them of all men the severest criticism is due.
They must he tested by the raiblime heights they may
reach in grandeur, pathos and beauty.

The direct and clenr utterances of our song writers are
refreshing after reading the vague and often meaningless
lyrics of so many poets, so-cilled, of to-day. It is now thought
to beprofundity to write in ^uch a strain of ambiguity that even
clubs are formed to try and fathom the writer's meaning, and
extract interpretations out of what is evidently mere meta-
physical subtlety, or dreamy vaporings partially expressed,
instead of the outpouring of born poets in simple Doric or
robust Anglo Saxon.

Because of these attributes the song life of a nation is very
tenacious. The creations of a Homer, a Sophocles, a \'ir-
gil, a Shakespeai3, a Milton, a Tasso, and even the scintil-
lating fragments of a burning Sappho come shining adown
the ages bright as when these torches of genius were first
lighted.

Thus heroic deeds — love's heart-throbs — yearning lyric
aspirations, and subhme tragedy, have become immortal ;

" Sag'es and chiefs lon^ since hiid birlli,
Ere CiEsar was or ?<ewton named ;
Tiiose raised new empires o'er the earth

And these new heavens and systems framed ;

XIV

INTRODUCTION,

Vain was the cliiefs, the sag'e's pride,

They had no poet, and they died ;
In vain ihey schemed, in vain they bled,

They had no poet, and are dead ! "

The emotions, affections, and desires of laimanity reach a
depth and climb a heiglu far beyond the capacity of any
other menial activity, excellent and practical as many of
these may be. The sensitive touch of poetic genius feels
the wild beatings of a heart which no philosophy can explain,
and no austere conditions can ever quench. It is, however,
true in a generic and noble sense, that

•* All are architects of fate,

Working in these walls of time ;

Some with massive deeds and great,

Some with ornaments of rhyme."

The foregoing remarks are suggested to the writer because
it will be seen that many of the songs in this volume are
constructed somewhat on the model of the Scottish lyrics.
The Scots who have made Canada their home, and that of
their children after them to several generations, were and
are so permeated with the literature of Scotland, especially
the poetry of Burns and Scott, that they are almost intuitively
led to adopt to some extent the form and prominent con
structive features of these song-writers.

Any one who is acquainted with the Scoto-Canadian
people must notice this characteristic, based, as it is, on
intense love for Auld Scotia, and for those immortals who in
song and story nave justly magnified its namo, glorified its
heroes and are proud of its sturdy peasantry. Many of the
latter, by thrift, honesty of purpose, pertinacity and devotion,
have become inhabitants) of all lands on the face of the globe,

INTRODUCTIO.W.

and carry with them that integrity which makes them wel-
come in all climes and among all peoples.

The songs in the v/ithin volume are only a few of hundreds
which might have been selected as worthy of an abiding
place in such a collection. They do not aspire to be
perfect in form and sentiment, yet many of them, if fairly
judged, are equal to anything which has been published for
many a year. In some the metrical arrangement may be
somewhat defective, in others the best words may not have
been used to indicate the meaning, in a few the v/riters
may be forgiven in running to excess where descriptive
features are prominent. These slight blemishes are excusable,
for the great poets themselves write commonplace lyrics,
and many of them show the poetic inspiration in only a
small part of their outpourings. These, however, disclose to
js in*part the spiritual power of the transcendent children of
song

Were it not that it might look invidious the writer could
select many examples from this volume which would com-
pare favorably with any of the productions of our Scottish
bards. There is no doubt that many readers will agree with
this statement after a study of the within productions.

We are not asked to go into raptures over mediocrity even
when displayed in fellow-countrymen, but it is unpatriotic to
neglect and fail to appreciate the heart- outpourings in verse
of our sons and daughters when their work is of such an
excellent standard that any country should be proud of it.
Many have longed after a knowledge of what Goethe calls
the *' open secret " that is, Nature's mysterious book, the
title page of which is seldom read by the myriads of
humanity. This divine reaching after what Fichte calls

XVI

INTRODUCTION,

" the profound deep," belongs to the gifted few who are
endowed with second sight to look into the beautiful, the
good and the true, in universal nature, subjective and objec-
tive. Many such explorers fret for moro knowledge of the un-
seen and are urgently seeking for some key to unlock the
arcanum of the: great mystery of life in all its relations and
manifestations.

Some poems hrve been inserted because of their historical
importance, sonie for their weight of sense, some for single
verses of rare excellence, some for the magic of style ; and,
although some betray defects in minor respects, yet such
have a wealth of truth which ought to have created ryth-
mical expression. 'J'he didactic mutilates poetry as a rule,
but much prose may be more poetic than verbal diction set
in musical measures. Carlyle truly says that Jean Paul was a
poet, and among the highest of his time, though he vvrote no
verses. Many prose writings are so cliaste, elegant and ap-
propriately worded that they could, with few verbal changes,
be put into blank verse.

It would be affectation not to acknowledge that a number
of the selections are not far removed from the commonplace,
when measured from a poetic standpoint. They are, how-
ever, retained because the ideation may be original, and have
a robustness of expression which commends them apart
from uncouth versification and an unhappy selection of
words. The writers of a {Q\y may shew a lack of that
instinct or intuition which chooses the best words and
rythmical selection to produce verbal harmony. Even the
ear of the author does not correct this defect which is so
harsh to a poetically constructed mind. At the same time,
in the writer's uncouth ness, there is a ring of genuine ideal-

JNTRODUCTIOX.

XVII

le
c-

II-

ity which lifts the work above the mere prosaic and common
place. The words which are the vehicles of thought are
unhappily selected to exjiress that which is worthy of com-
mendation and preservation. Some of the best have the
ideality badly clothed, and thereby ungainly. These defects
might be expected to exist in a miscellaneous collection, yet
such are not unworthily selected because of their intrinsic
value apart from their halting lines. On the other hand
many of the poems in construction and thought are of
intrinsic merit. At least two or three dozen are far above
the jingle and rhyme of the mere versifier. In fact they are
equal to any such productions in the English language and
are worthy of perpetual i)reservation. Had the authors been
writers in the centres of intellectual activity where the
national heart i)eats most vigorously their work would not be
allowed to die from neglect. Their production in this
volume is worthy of all conmiendation, as many vvill survive
that oblivion which is die fate of much that is worthy of
immortality. It is astonishing how much of merit survives
simply because of adventitious circumstances and environ-
ment that otherwise would have perished.

In closely examining the within poems it will be seen how
many of them have a general similitude to the standard
Scottish lyrics. It dues not follow that the writers were
mere imitators of the songs of their forefathers, but rather
that the national traits, characteristics, and bent of mind
were likely to conjure up in the imagination of the son or
daughter of the same race ideas based upon physiological
and mental heredity.

The ideality is woven along the lines of greater aptitude
through die strands of the mental warp and woof of the same

XVIII

INTRODUCTION.

kindred. Here are a people of a practical nature,
sturdy, proud, and intensely national. They are fond of
vigorous thinking, hence their excellency in mental phil
osophy and their robustness in religious beliefs and fond
ness for the abstruse and recondite in metaphysics and
theology.

These features have been reproduced in their offspring on
this continent, hence the natural likelihood of a family re-
semblance in many of the songs. The originality is evident,
but the natural trend often crops up.

The historical, the weight of common sense, the appreci-
ation of the integrity of purpose, the intensity of affection
emotion and legitimate desire are stamped everywhere in
a generic sense. The love of nature in all its moods and
variety, and the word picturing seem at first thought to be
what could not be expected in the productions of such a
hard-headed, reticent, and cool-blooded people. The one
condition seems to be in antithesis to the other, although
they are really complements of one another. Were it not in-
vidious, examples might be given, but the discriminating
reader can select them for himself. He will notice that these
poets might be divided into three classes, i. Those whose
poetry is subjective. They revel in singing about mind mani-
festations and all their wonderful grouf)ings as revealed to
each ir:'iividual in the study of introspection. 2. Those who
write generally and principally of what they perceive in
nature around them. The beautie.s of this world of ours
are seen with the poetic sense in all its varied and perpetual
panoramic changes. 3. Those who blend in an eminent
degree the mental bent of both, and in the phenomena of
mind and matter conceive a rounded whole of transcendent

INTRODUCTION.

XIX

ature,
nd of

phi J
fond

and

igon
y re-
lent,

•eci-
ion
■ '\n
md
be
\ a
'He

gfi
in-

ig
se

knowledge in which is great delight to the poet of this
mental makeup.

This volume contains good examples of all. and it is
interesting to discern how tenaciously the diverse minds
adhere to the natural leanings and idiosyncracies of each

The Caledonian Society of Toronto has done well in
pubhshmg this volume, and it is to be hoped that the effort
will be appreciated to such an extent that encouragement
will be given to issue a second volume equally meritorious.

f Daniel Clark, M.I)., Chairman,
Editors - Rev. William Clark, LL.D.
.George Kennedy, LLD.

i^Kl^^iB^

^A ™i^

JOHN SIMPSON.

I I

: 1-

J:'

SGOTTISH CANADIAN POKT$.

JOHN SIMPSON.

Mk. John Simpson was horn in ICKua c^nt.. mi jvilv .muI,

i<\S5-

Both of

Ills

riMits, wlu") ail' II.)

w il

iH'oasiHt, wrti' honi m

AberdetMishire, Scotlaml, his latiu'i's iiatiu' In'in^ I\Mim" SinipsiHi,
antl his mother's inaicloii name JauiM Calaiiaeh. Oi\ tlir pattiiiHl
siilo his aiieostiMs were f'aiinei's Air t;iMUMMt ions ; en his mothi'r's
siiie his progenitors. weri> o\ :i lieeitletlly hlerai'v turn of nruul.
His mother's fatlier was (Hslins4iiis}ie(.l in malliematies, anil was a
sehool-master in aetivt- si'rv iee lor lifty \ears. His mother's
eldest brother, William Catanaeh, eai'rii-il o\X the highest honors
in elassies ami mathematies at Kind's CoUeni", Abeiileen, in iS/,i,
and obtained not only the first bursarv, but a higher standini;" than

ad been obtamed by any otiier student liuring' tiie thn-ly pre\ious
years. Other membi>rs ot" the Catanaeh fa'uily were also noted
lor their scholarly attainments ami love of literature.

Mr. Simpson obtainiHJ his education at the Klora Publii- antl
Ilig'h Schools, and at Torcnito I'niversity. I'lom the latter insti-
tution he obtained the ile^ree oi i^ai'helor o\' Arts in 18S4, and tlu;
decree of Master of Arts in 18S7. Hefore v>btainin^ his ck\nree he
taught in several schools in the neinhborhooil of Klora. Since
j4"raduating' most of his time has been spi-nt in teachinj^ in several
Hij4h Schools of Ontario. At diHerent times he acteil as assist-
ant in the \'ienna and C'ayuij;a Hitjh Schools, and as principal of
the -Markham and Port Dover lli^h ScluniN. Durinj^" paiM of
1896 and i8()7 he was on the editorial stall of the San I'lancisco
Afirofiau/, which is the leatlinti- liU'iary pajier vif tiie Pacific C'oast.
He also lived for a year in X'ictoria. H.L"., beinyf on the staff of
X'iclori.i College, and afterwards on that of the Victoria Colleg'iate
Institute. While in X'ictoria he liati an attack of illness, which
led him to .^ive up school wvMk for some time and move to
Calfornia. Me is a.^-ain back in his native lami, however, and is
at present a resident of Cascade City, B.C.

SCO T Tisir c. \ X. in/ A . v pok ts.

I ;

I^HOU COD OF NATIONS, OUARD OUR LAND!

Thou (lod of nations ! guard our land,
Thy l)lL'ssings on our country pour !
Our sliicld and succor evcmore

\W. 'I'hinc Ahnighty hand !
Thou high and mighty King of kings,
Thou Maker of all earthly things.
Support us with thy leading-strings.

Alone we cannot stand !

The mighty emi)ires of the past

Have fallen, and in ruins lie ;

Their walls, that towered once on high,

U})on the earth are cast :
Great Babylon is lying low,
Proud C'arthage is a scene of woe,
In Rome corroding lichens grow

On ruins that are vast.

No human hand can shackle time :
Though Petra from the rocks was hewn,
In heaps its fragments now are strewn

Within a desert clime :
O Lord, lest such a direful fate
Our land and nation should await,
To Thee we fain would consecrate

Our lives with faith sublime.

Our nation ever shall be free.
No dweller in our broad domain
Shall ever guiltless wear a chain,

Or pine in slavery :
In praising Thee each shall alone
The guidance of his conscience own ;
Our land sliall never hear the groan

Of dying liberty.

JOHN S/MPSOX

LAND!

Dark hcallieii lands upon us call ;
Our aim shall Ikj to sow the seeds
Of truth within them, that their deeds

No longer may ai)[)al.
If we should leave the path, O (lod,
That by Thy children should be trod,
Recall us with Thy scourging rod,

Ere ruin on us fall.

A thousand years are as a day

With Thee, and human life, a breath ;

All mortals journey straight to death,

Nor lag upon the way :
If vSatan smite the earth with jars
Of earth(iuakes famines, plagues, and wars,
And darkness hide the sun and stars,

Be Thou our guide and stay.

— John Simpson.

THE BANKS OF THE IR\ INE.

'Hie banks of the Irvine ! the home of my childhood 1
What feelings of joy from my heart ever well.

When rambling again as of yore in the wildwood.
And culling the fern and the fairy bluebell !

In years that have vanished, the Indian, pursuing
His course by the river, was wont on his way

To gaze with delight on the rocks that were wooing
The waters, as if they would lure them to stay.

I'erchance the fell war-whoop, the signal of battle,
Rose thrilling and loud by the beautiful stream :

Methinks I can still hear the swift arrows rattle,
And see in the forest the tomahawks gleam.

, 1 I

«4

SCOTJISJI CAXADIAX POETS.

I'lic waters move onward, now peaceful, now (lashioL,^
The p;ean tliey sini; is the son^ of tlie free :

What melody eijuals tiie sound of their plashing.
While s[)eeding their course to the far-away sea ?

At night, when the inooti through the ("loud rack is gleaming,
And shedding lier beams on the river below,

It glads me to statu! on the bridge fondly dreaming
Of |)ieasures that charnied in the sweet long ago.

Ofllimes at the even-song, i)ensively kneeling.

Beneath the green trees on the bank of the stream,

I dreamily list to the bells that are i)ealing.
And memory glamors my eyes as I dream.

'I'he face of a child that is beaming with laughter.

I,ooks smilingly up as in days that are past ;
No knowledge of life's dreary way to come after

Is seen in the image the clear waters cast.

My pi

easure is

fleet

inu, tlie imaue must vanish

My mind must return to the burdens of life ;
Though but for a mometit, tis joyous to banish
All thoughts of the days that with troubles are rife.

The brave ))ioneers of the forest are slee[)ing

Beneath the white stones on die brow of the hill ;

They peacefully rest where the willows are weeping,
Their labors are over, their voices are still.

The Irvine Hows onward as blythely as ever,
Adown the ravine s[)eed its waters with glee :

What recks it though mortals their presence must sever?
The cliffs everlasting ct)m[)ani()ns will be.

l!^nthroned on its banks are Klora's fair bowers,
O'erlooking the spot where the clear waters meet ;

The cedars, the waters, the cliffs, and the flowers
Becharm every eye with their harmony sweet.

— John Simpson.

JOHX SIM/'SOX.

t^lcaiiiing,

111,

■cr

SON.

NOliODV'S CHILD.

Alone in the cold, 'mid the wildcritiLj snow,

With shiverini; franiL' she is staggering on ;
Her eyes aie hedininied by the deepest of woe,

Her last feehle hope is nigh shattered and gone ;
Bewildered she roams through the city so drear.

And shrinks from the force of the tempest so wild ;
No mother to cherish, no father to ("heer,

Neglected and spurned, she is nobody's child.

O'erborne by tlvj breath of the withering blast,

Hire agony dwells in her piteous sigh.
And scanty the rags that around her are cast,

While craving her life from those passing her by;
The shadows of death seem around her to cree[),

She [)leads for her life but is only reviled,
And coarse are the jests and the curses are deep,

That chill the poor waif who is nobody's child.

Still fiercer and deadlier groweth the storm,

And slower the tread of her numb weary feet,
And dragging along her weak weary form,

She walks through the length of the chill, dreary street ;
And mothers look on with scorn in their air,

\nd pass her as something that's vile and defiled ;
Lone, fatherless, motherless, filled with tlespair,

Oh ! who will have pity on nobody's child ?

She struggles along though her strength is so frail,

She pauses — she reels — she is tottering down ;
Her life passes forth with a desolate waii,

She dies on the street of the pitiless town ;
I'he sheltering snow on her face ever i'"alls,

The face on whose beauty no mother lias suiiled.
And covers from view with the fairest of [)alls

The rags of the waif who is nobody's child.

' 'i i

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

in f

iB r

ji:

At daybreak, thougli silent and peaceful she lies,

In(iuisitive hands are disturbing her rest ;
No light glimmers forth from her sad dreary eyes,

No throbl)ing of life doth a[)i)ear in her breait.
Away to the gloom of the morgue she is borne,

Those seeking for missing ones slowly have filed
In dread by her side and have left her forlorn, —

They came not to sorrow for nobody's child.

They bear her away to the pitying tomb,

No mourner doth follow with (juivering eye,
No longer the streets in the hours of the gloom

Are startled at hearing her wavering cry ;
But hidden at last from the world's cold jeer.

She lies as the damp earth is over her piled.
The equal in death of the prince and the peer.

Is she, the poor waif who was nobody's child.

— John Simpson.

GOD BLESS THE MAPLE LEAF.

Where stately ships at anchor ride

Upon the. blue Atlantic's tide.

And swelling billows beat with pride

On many a wave-worn reef,
The banner of our country flies,
And upward to the smiling skies,
From countless lips the words arise :

" God bless the Maple Leaf ! "

Where brave Montcalm unflinching bled.
And Wolfe his blood for Britain shed,
Their monument uprears its head

In token of our grief;
The men who scaled the frowning rock,
Met foemen of a noble stock ;
Their sons shall arms in friendship lock

Beneath the Maple Leaf.

JOIIX SIMPSOX.

Lid

Simpson.

Where fair Ontario's breakers foam,
The Indian erst was fain to roam ;
Hut forest glades, that were the home

Of many a famous chief,
Have vanished long, and given {)lace
To dwellings of Britannia's race,
Whose actions never shall debase

Our noble Maple Leaf.

The prairies of our land extend
A thousand miles from end to end,
Their varied hues in beauty blend.

Their emblem is the sheaf ;
The freeborn dwellers on the [)lains,
Whose harvests fill unnumbered wains,
Shall make the burden of their strains,

" God bless the Maple Leaf

I ")

Upon the broad Pacific's strand,
Whose rivers teem with golden sand,
Columbia's mountains, stern and grand,

Stand forth in bold relief;
Her sentinels are giant hills,
That guard her valleys, decked with rills ;
One sentiment her people fdls,

" God bless the Maple Leaf ! "

God guides our country's destiny.
Our nation spreads from sea to sea ;
Our Canada some day may be

Of all earth's lands the chief;
Upon the grand historic race,
From which our proud descent we trace.
May no Canadian bring disgrace,

And stain the Maple Leaf.

— John Simpson.

'■%

SCOTTlS/f CAXADI.W POETS.

THE FLAG OK OUR COUNTRY.

The flag of our country, tlie en]l)lem of glory,
Uplifts in the sunlight its folds to the breeze ;

The heart beats with pride at the thought of its story,
The symbol of freedom, the (jueen of the seas I

The cross of Saint George, when fair Zion was dreary
AVith groans of the |)ilgrims who knelt on her crest,

Was l>orne by Crusaders who succored the weary,
And gave them on Zion a haven of rest.

The cross of Saint Andrew has weathered for ages
The fierce shocks of war and the storms of the main ;

The cross of Saint Patrick on history's pages
Has never been linked with dishonor or stain.

The triple-cross banner, the banner of freemen,
As stars gem the heavens, begems the blue sea ;

From Albion's vales to the Isle of Van Diemen,

May none dwell beneath it, Init those who are free !

When Nelson, the hero, lay wounded and dying,
Sweet feelings of joy brought the tear to his eye ;

The flags of his foemen in tatters were lying,
But Britain's old banner still floated on high.

The marshals of France their bright trophies were wearing,
Napoleon rode onward with pride in his mien ;

The flags of all Iilurope his soldiers were bearing,
The proud l^ritish banner alone was unseen.

A captive stood hopeless, no succor appearing,
His ca]:)tors had taken their deadliest aim ;

The Consul drew near with his gentle words cheering.
And draped with a mantle his quivering frame.

Oh ! why did their leader's heart sudden grow warmer,
And why did their rifles drop at his behest ?

A far stronger shield than the thickest of armor,
The flag of our country hung over his breast.

JOIIX S'/.I/PSOX.

I<)

•y»

What Briton can see without signs of emotion

The l)anner that proud in the bree/e ever streams ?

Can see without joy in all i)arts of the ocean
The flag on whose glory the sun ever hean^s ?

— -John Simpson.

st,

veanng,

;■

THE SCOTTISH EAHCRANT'S I.A.\H^:NT.

My own native land ! tluni art dear to my heart,
The thought of thee fills me with deei)est emotion ;

Stern F(;rtune condemned me from thee to de{)art,
To cross the rude waves of the deeji-rolling ocean.

Ah ! well I remember the day that 1 left

My home by the side of the clear Annan Water ;

Since then I, as if of a moUier bereft,

Have mourned like a motherless son or a daughter.

Afar from thy shore in this land of the West

I've patiently struggled and reared me a dwelling ;

But still in my mind doth my memory rest,

And deepen the love from my hcait ever welling.

Though fair is the landsca[)e that greeteth my eye,
I pine for the sight of thy dark, rugged mountains ;

No beauteous heather, no gowans are nigh.

No more can I bask by the clearest of fouiUains.

When lone in the gloaming I sit by my door,

And list to the wmd through the forest trees sighing,

I wander in thought to thy far-away shore,

And long for the spot where my fathers are lying.

Till Death lay me low with his withering hand,

The image of thee from my sight shall ne'er vanish

Thy mem'ry shall linger, thou far distant land,

And naught for a moment the love of thee banish.

— John Si.mi'son

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

'\>

I :

iln

W '■

THE ECHOES OE SIXTY YEARS.

From heaven's dome the sunhglit softly streams,
And gilds Westminster Abbey with its beams ;
On columns, statues, altars, tombs, and walls.
The mellow radiance beautifying falls.
A vast assembly throngs the storied fane

To see a noble and historic crown
Adorn a brow, that in unbroken chain

The line of royal Alfred bringeth down
To grace the present day.

In state in royal Edward's chair the Queen
Majestic sits and views the brilliant scene ;
Beneath the chair the stone of fate doth rest,
From Scotland borne at regal Edward's 'hest ;
Around her in their tombs quiescent lie

The heroes who the arms of England led
At Agincourt and Crecy, when the cry,

** Saint George and England,'* to the heavens sped
Its proud triumphant way.

With measured step and calmly solemn air
The honored primate seeks the royal chair ;
With stately grace the Queen is duly crowned,
The welkin doth with loud acclaims resound ;
In notes of praise a thousand voices rise,

The blare of trumpets soundeth loud "nd clear ;
The cannon's boom doth pierce the smiling skies,

The very sun rejoicing doth appear
To shed a brighter ray.

II.

The glad bells of England are merrily pealing,

A season of joy is at hand ;
Sweet feelings of happiness r-oftly are stealing

O'er all in the ocean-girt land.

JOHN SIMPSON.

A prince, true and knightly, whose eye beameth brightly.

Has won the true heart of the Queen ;
His scutcheon untarnished willi honor is garnished,

And stately and noble his mien.
Like Bayard of yore, no shade passeth o'er

His bright and unsullied fame ,
His deeds ever grace his kingly old race,

His proud and historic name.
A true troubadour, sweet music doth lure

His heart with its wonderful charm ;
And every emprise, benignant and wise,

In him has a champion warm.
The merry bells peal,
Sweet music doth steal

Through the chapelry of St. James ;
And ladeth the air
With melody where

Courtly lieges and high-born dames
Are assembled to see their beloved young Queen
Wed a prince of such noble and chivalrous mien.

HI.

A wondrous palace, beautiful and grand.

Doth sparkle in the sunlight's lucent stream ;

So fair, it seems the vision of a dream,
A structure fashioned by some magic hand.
Here countless treasures sent from every land

Arrest the eye, where'er it chance to stray ;

Here pleasure-seekers while the time away,
Admiring wonders brought from every strand.
That courts the dashing spray.

The sympathetic sun doth kindly smile

With radiant beams upon the varied scene,
And gild the palace vvith a beauty sheen,

That lighteth up the fair palatial pile.

scorns H Canadian poets.

i >

i I

Clreen {)alms are waving over every aisle ;
Syninietric statues of tlie purest while
Are intersj)ersed with flowers sweet and bright :

The sound of })lashing fountains doth beguile
The sunny first of May.

Amid ihe splendor doth the (^)ueen j^roceed,
Her princely consort at her side has place ;
A look of gladness lights his noble face

At seeing on all sides the wondrous meed

Of efforts he has made to spread the creed,
'J'hat one benignant Fathei' rules above,
\\'hose children should permit the star of love

The nations to millenial peace to lead
With its celestial ray.

On eveiy side the eye with joy surveys

Fair aisles adorned with flowers, flags, and palms ;

The air is laden with the scent of balms,
'Hie organ loud its pedaling notes doth raise,
Melotlious voices utter sounds of praise,

The meeting of all nations has begun,

And every land beneath the smiling sun
Doth hopeful on the bright assemblage gaze,
And hail the natal day.

IV.

('ool fragrant bree/es make their way

\\\\.h gentle murmurs through ('rimean vales ;
Benignant Peace doth hold her happy sway,

Unruffled in the calm secluded dales ;
The radiant sun doth speed his course on high,

And gild the summits of the wooded hills ;
Fair olive groves and vineyards charm the eye.

And songsters warble sweetly by the rills.
But hark ! a boding sound the air i)ervades,

The soldiers' heavy tread, the beat of drums ;
The peaceful dwellers in the sylvan shades

In terror hasten from the scourge that comes:

joux s/j/rso\.

is;

'I'he fleeing peasants know those sounds afar,
They herald the approac:!) of gruesome war.

Tlie bugle's piercing note

Doth through the valleys float,
Anon is heard the (^annon's sullen boom ;

A thousand echoes wake,

The mountains groan and (piake.
And nature wears a cloak of (lee|)est gloom.

'I'he musketry doth rattle.

And from tiie field of battle
'I'he roars of bursting bombs incessant rise.
And send their dreadful echoes to the skies ;
Anon are heard the sad, despairing cries
Of wounded men, whose dim and d)ing eyes

Shall nevermore l)ehold

With happiness untold
The loving friends who wait them far away,
Where limpid streams through verdant valleys strav

The foe doth flee in fear

The smoky air doth clear ;
The sun in horror hides his visage bright,
Unwilling to behold so dread a sight.

The warblers' hapi)y notes
Have given place to moans ;

Upon the breeze there floats
^rhe sound of dying groans ;
All beauty from the earth has taken flight. '

'!^

The night is dark and drear, the witid doth moan

Unceasing round old Windsor's hoary towers ;
The ancient walls re-echo sorrow's groan,

A cloud of gloom within the castle lowers,
Pal(,' Death doth stalk with unrelenting tread,

A visitor in castle and in shieling ;
Upon a pillow lies a stricken head.

While mourners stand around with looks aiijiealing.

i i

lil'^

i^:^^^r.,.v.,z>/.,.v ,>o,,rs.

(li! I

.,, And beckon'w,: •' ,t ^«'; f " '^e ,oo,n, ^'

Hie l.lissful sound of C'x. " ■'"'' '"•'«!«
^, J" lii.s enraptured eir ,\ ^''^^'■

Who long has h^.M I • "^"'"^e on one
■'■';•-; 'iKlu <h,?:!:'^^:^J^^^ ^-^ - keeping,.

His children ronn, , ^'"'"^t "i",

^^i/j' fervent faiU, H^vr:'' "r -"^'v "-l-in,.

i^roni every sei in.? "-"^^^"^ ;

"'ft'^ and low m every I-mr/
W.hdeep :dr'"■^?',■^"^^«-<-■"'
J''e bann':r:"o'r r;';,"^ :r' "^^' "^•"•^ -^ '°"-.'

And tears are shed for V .^ co'idoling •

The seeds of pea^e ^^^T' "'^' "-^"o".^ sever ;

Tis hard to so just «-hen ' ' ''' ''*''^" ^»»i"g.
He -s not gone/his spiri , '^t T '''"'''"^ '^
i"e thouf^hts of m^^n i ° " leaver,

"!,--e#that1,;'r::,X-;-;;hen, nearer Heaven ;
»''li yet in brotherhood, """^ ^-'''I'er

jh^ dis„,a, s;S\;;r"°"-^ ^"^"--

And t >''°SKHH upward mar

JOIIX S/MPSOX.

-.■>

Tlic fierce unlettered savage
Will Ixnttle still and ravage,
I>ut Christian men should rise above liis plane ;
'I'he rifle and the arrow
Alike the angels harrow,
Of Christian l)rotherho(jd each is the bane,
P^ach brings upon the earth the curse of (Jain.
Can gorgeous trappings sanctify the art

The i)ainted savage makes his primal care ?
Can virtue dwell within the steely heart

'I'hat scorns the love that seeks to harbor there ?
Is he a murderer, who in his ire

Assails a single life with deadly blow ?
A hero he, who thoughts of fame inspire

'I'o fill a hundred thousand homes with woe ?
Can martial musi(" check the widow's groan.

And dry the tear that fills the orphan's eye ?
(]an shouts of triumph still the mother's moan,

Whose youthful sons before her slaughtered lie?
All hail the advent o{ the hap[)y day,

When war shall be a relic of the past ;
When universal peace its blessed ray

O'-^r one united brotherhood shall cast !

m ;

VI.

Five decades have eventful passed away
Since gray Westminster saw the bright array

Within her ancient walls,
Assembled to behold the diadem
Of England, bright with fleur-de-lis and gem,

Placed on youthful l>row.
Again a brilliant cortege threads the street
Again the air with plaudits is replete ;

The sound of cheering fails
Upon the ear in one unceasing wave ;
The King of kings is called upon to save,

And with His grace endow

I ■

scorns,; cAXAnux h>ets.

He.- ';l t;,::;;:;;;:r "^^ '"'-« ■

-n,,, „„., U^::^-^^^ --., she „„..,,,
"'esl"Oof Hisnani,.. "

HII sixly y,,„,s |,avc. (l..c|

.,,, "''•' Kl"n <.r lur lime
1 iroiiL'i ill ji.., • '

!'-^^\'>n(lrou.s to heboid '^•

J lie characters of oold

^ari banish mental pains
H- name .ndehbly has .irit;;:^, there •

yc^eibnandthoughtAdsa," '
^^ '^o readeth nature's na<re ,

foiLy s/.upsox.

- /

leeds,

ut :

The i()l)c of iiiiiuDrlalily dolh wear ;

Nor is his glory dim,

Whose magic skill doth limn
The canvas till it s{)eaketh loud and clear ;

And every lofty art

Has nobly done its part,
Sent names that in the golden list appear.

'I'hough those that lowly moil,

Whose lives are full of toil,
Are ne'er rewarded with the gifts of Fame,

There is a higher goal.

A more enduring scroll,
On which the humblest may inscribe his name.

All hail the jubilee !

May War forever flee,
May hallowed Peace in every country reign ;

May Friendship's welcome band

Extend from every land
To Queen X'ictoria o'er the smiling main.

— John Simi'son.

.s( o ri'isii ( : 1 A . ] /;/. \ \ / -on rs.

I '

EVAN MacGOLL

Tine outstaiKHiiic lacts of the quiet aiul unostentatious life K^'i
I'^van MacCoIl, the " Hard of Loihtyne," aie quiekly tokl. \^o\\\
at Kenniore, F.oehfyne-siile, on thi' 2ist September, iJSos, he
received the eihieation ami tlid the work onhnarily falling" to the
lot of a Hii'hlaiul lad in moderate eireumstances ; and heiiii^
observant and i|uielv-\vitted, besides havintf llie rieli stoi"es of old
leg'etul and sonj^ at his eommanil tlu'ou^li his talenteil mother, he,
from his youth, beeame impressed with the eharaoteristics of the
Ciaelie peasantry, with the grandeur i>f the tjlorious bens whieh
shut in his horizon, anil with the heroic aiul noble in tiie traditions
of the people. His poetic lon^-ing-s found vent in lumibers when
he was still ^'ount;-, and tlu' Muse refused not to \ield to his touch
until in his ninetieth year he passed away to join the choir above.
In 1H39 he was appointed to a clerkship in H.M. Customs at
Liverpool. In 1850 he visited his father's family, who had st?ttled
in Canada, and was prevailed upon to transt'er his eng-aj^enient
from the British to the Canadian service. He was stationed at
Kingston and remained there until superannuated in iSSo. His
later years were spent in Toronto, where he died o\\ the 24tli of
July, i89<S, beloved by his friends and esteemed by all who knew
him. His remains rest in Cataraqui Cemetery, Kintfston.

His first edition of poems was published in 183b, and quite a
number ot editions o'i his Ciaelic and English poems have since
been called for. His work elii"ited high praise from Hugh Miller,
Norman MacL«;oil, Robert Carruthers, Robert Cliambers. and
many other leading iiteraiv men. His best efforts have been in
his native Gaelic tongui', and he will live as a Gaelic poet. He
stands in the van cti the Celtic Renaissance. His genius is
entirely lyrical and in this class he is an imdoubted master. Hugh
Miller says that " in point, glitter, and polish, he is the Moore ot

ilimis lifo of
told. Horn
f", i<So5, he
illiiii,'' to tlie
; ami hoinj;-
toivs of old
motlior, ho,
istics of (he
hens which
u- traditii>iis
ml)ors when
o his touch
lioir aI>ove.
L'lisloms at
lad si'ltlod
ii^a>^eiiuMit
ationed at
iSSo. His
1h^ 241 h of
[wlio knew
111.

d quite a
ave since
1 Miller,
HM-s, and
' been in
Oct. He
enius is
I". Hug-h
^loore ot

FA'AX MacCOLL

U '1

^lll'

EVAN MAC cor J..

Ilii^hland soii^," a verdict ijenerally acceptLnl by thoso iiualified
to jiulj^i' his Ciaeru' productions. He left some poems on political
anil other topics, ami a mass of interesting' correspomlenci' in the
hands of Mr. Alexander I'Vaser, Toronto, part o\' which mav see
the li^''^ '" conjunction with a l)ii\i;raphical sketch, which is in
course of preparation.

-..••,

SNOWF.M.L IN .\ IIir.HI.ANI) GLKN.

Offspring fair of cloud and cold,
(iiorifying wood and wold,
Who could, nuile, thy grace behold ?
Welcome, welcome, snow !

Painter matchless ! nought to me
(lives more gladness than to see
Earth thus beautified by thee :
Welcome, welcome, snow !

Unlike Flora's offerings fair.
Partial spread — thy kindly care
Beautifies her everywhere :

Welcome, welcome, snow !

At thy touch, behold, to-day
The dark holly looks as gay
As the hawthorn does in May :
W^elcome, welcome, snow !

See how 'neath thy gentle tread.
Bright as bride to altar led,
Bends the lady-birch her head :
Welcome welcome, snow !

Yonder cascade, in its glee,
Down the hillside dashing free,
Looks like darkness matched with thee :
Welcome, welcome, snow !

"'■■''-■"""-^•"■e''-on,e..s„o;v!

Mantled " th7 k,*- '■" '•■«'' «'-'en
u,„, "'> ' lia.sttT sheen :

»^l<''n.e, welcome, .sno,v!

inenrV'''r.^""-'-'>-«"i«'>

"ons the v„j,„i livery " ^'

Oftl,efolh„K,sn„«.!

f.ood-,„«lu, gentle .sno« !

— E\AN MacCoi.1.

TO THK MORNINC; STAR,
{•airesl and rarest sen,

The dawn-lovln. lark „„,,

The ri.r/ "'>' «''o»-ing

^ucK Ills harem awakes.

*wn,

cCoij,

/':r.l.V Mac COLL.

The elfin knights prnncing,

The elfin maids dancing,
The witch at her cantri[)s, thou fill'st with dismay ;

(ihosts from thy presence fly,

Owlets no longer cry,--
Wand'rer benighted, now smile on thy way !

Star of the golden gleams,
\Vhere dost thou hide thy beams

When the young ^b)rn her fair eyelids unclose?
Charms such as hers to see
A\'ell worth thy while might be

Exit less hasty thus from us to choose.

Lo, in the twilight grey

Vanish thy sisters gay ;
Soon must thou also be lost to my view !

Harbinger dutiful

Of the Dawn l)eautiful,
Now, till thy next glad returning, adieu !

— Eva:n MacOoll

THE LAKE OE THE THOUSAND ISLES.

Though Missouri's tide may majestic glide.

'Jliere's a curse on the soil it laves ;
'J'he Ohio, too, may be fair, but who

Would sojourn in a land of slaves ?
Be my prouder lot a Canadian cot

And the bread of a freeman's toils;
Then hurrah for the land of the forests grand,

And the Lake of the 'I'liousand Isles !

I would seek no wealth, at the cost of health,

'Mid the city's din and strife ;
More I love the grace of fair nature's face,

And the calm of a woodland life ;

II • ]

I I

I r

' lif^" •'Hirral, for i e '' f 'f^^ defiles ;
'S •?hXV-"W «'ad,y stray '

,, And the Uo'u :;,-,-" ;ea„s the «o,de„ „a,„
J'^f" 'u,rrah, f„,. „ " J, « f fan, beguiles ; ^ ""'
^^"^•'-''^^eonh;^.,-^t^O'-.pnd

-Evan MacColl.

On Tk ^^^^ ^^^ roses

' ''"'' "lon.ing's gone.
She died- lij.

She died- Lf °''' "''^''^d ;

•^ fc"-^""W showers effaced
She died— h'kf' fl^i

O" the shoret ^5 'W"^'-" '■'■"'?

^''egrou„d-brghtSl'rr«
o. ,. '•" '''■°'^'^ on thee.

She dted-as dies the dorv
Of „,us,c's .sweetest s^e I
She died— ns a;,, ,, ^" •

"hen the best is still,/,

VVhHii ,1, I "'e story

'^hen the best is still to tell.

troke

A' J 'J A' Mm COLL.

She died — as dies iiiuoti l>camiiin

When scowls the rayless wave :
She died — like sweetest dreaming,

That hastens to its ^rave.

She died — as died she early :

Heaven wearied for its own.
As the dipping sun, my Mary,

Thy morning lay went down !

— Evan MacC.'oi-l

::CoLL

late Rev.

THE HH.LS OF THE HEATHER.

Give the swains of Italia 'mong myrtles to rove.

Give the proud, sullen Si)aniard his bright orange grove,

(live gold-sanded streams to the sons of Chili,

But O, give the hills of the heather to me !

Chorus —
Then, drink we a health to the old Highland l:5ens
Whose heads cleave the welkin, whose feet press the glens:
What Scot worth the name would not toast them with glee?
The red heather hills of the Highlands for me !

The hills whose wild echoes delight to i)rolong
The soul-stirring pibroch, the stream's gushing song —
Storm-vexed and mist-mantled though often they be,
Still dear are the hills of the heather to me.

Chorus —
1'hen, drink we a health to the old Highland Bens
That fondly look down on the clan -peopled glens :
What Scot worth the Jiame would not toast them with glee ?
The red heather hills of the Highlands for me !

Your carses may boast of their own fertile farms,
Yet give me the glens, shielding well ii their arms
Blue lakes, grandly glassing crag, cliff, tower and tiee :
The red heather hills of the Highlands for me !

I '^

.16

:^^-i^:'^w/v.M- .^^,,

Chom-s '""- '^'K'''l^>mls for ,„e ,

'''"-■ii, drink we , I,,..,.,,

;/iat Scot u-orth tie mm , ? '"'^^ '^^^'^ ^^ns •

___ —Evan MacCo/ j

Jil'JX M.mCOI.I..

~)t.

MS.

1 u ilh glcc ?

leal—
1:

with glee ?
fHRICH

" A dhuthaich mo ruin."

Arsa *n (liiilaiiacli (luaichnidh,
" Co air iiach hiodh smuaircan

A' gluasad bho dlhaobli ?
Droch dheircadli do'n gliraisg

Tha '^ad fliasachadh 'ii uair so !
'S e 'ii drochbheairt thuu; bhuani-sa

(ilcann uaine mo ghaoil.
Mo chrcacli ! bho nacli buan

Ar sean uachdaireaii trciinail,
'S am fomi blia 'n an sealbh

Nis aig i)algairean l)rLMn:iil,
Tha (laidhcil 's^ am foL^radh

Mar chc() bharr do shh'iblitean,
'S ma lean riut cinn-fheadhn',

'S ann air caoirich a 's f<''idh !

O Albiiinn ! 'n Iww tlusgadh

'I'hoirt su;iiirsa(lh do d' naimhdean
Co' eil' acii an Caidheal

Na (iaidheil 's u"ach criias !
An cuimhn' leat gacli cruaidh-chath

'S an d'fhuair iad buaidh-laraich,
'S a nis bhi 'g am fogradh

Bho d' chorsa, 'n e 'n duais ? —
W am fogradh air sgath

Barrachd mail ann am poca
Nan triath air bheag nair'

Dh' fhag 'n a fasaich tir ni' oige !
B' e 'cur eadar mathair

'S a eeud leanabh boidheach,
B' e 'n rusg thoirt l)ho 'n chraoibh

Bhi an eiginn dol iiait !

'Thir steallaireach, alltach,

Ard choillteach, th.iugh-spri'ighcach
'Thir airidheaeh, fhraix:h-shliosaeh,

Cfhorm-lochach, ard ;

! f

M '

' '°^ "'"- W>inn „„„ d,, ,,,, ,
/^h' ^' ''^'^ d'^igh SO cur cnl

O, n„nch na truaigh, '

■D rnean- an un'nrh i

" uaigh leani na thu '

Anonnagudshuas,
N'sdom-shCifeanchaloir!

EVAX Mac COLL.

A lochraiia aoibhinii !

'S anil ruibhse tha m' fharniad, — •
(led ruaigeas an la sibh

A lath'ir tir nan garbhrhrioch,
(ill 'm [)ill sibh gu gaircacli

'Chur failt' oirr 'gach ananioch ;
Mo thruaigh ! cha bu shearbh

Ach bhi 'falbh uaip' a chaoidh !

A Bhan-righ nan ciian,

Beannachd buan luat ! acli cuinilinich
An ath uair a dh'aomas

Luchdstreu[)a 'n a d' dhail,
Bi 'dh d' ionndrain, gun statli,

Air na h-armuinn a sgaoniadh,
Do naimhdean mar sgaomas

Gaoth eitidh an cath !
Uair eile, 's gu brath,

Beannachd bhlalh leat, mo dliiithaich !
Ged robh gu Lath' luain

Falach cuain ort bho m' shuil-sa,
Gu deireadh mo chuairt,

Gearr no buan, bi 'dh mi 'g urnuigli,
O ! Ard-righ nan diil,

Beannaich duthaicli mo ghraidh !

— Evan MacColi-

4«

■^■'■'^ '■'■«// r./.,,/,,,.- ,,,,.,,^

' pit

JOHN /MfdE.

' !;"";-"'"-"K .Mr. ,„„,., , Ko ""■ '""""^ •" '<•■■ ,lol,n ,„„ .
^""""-" l/.a„ is ,„.. sul,;..,, ' ' ''"•'«"""■",,,,„„,„ ,|H. ,.,-,..„

merK will ..Kv ' ""■ '■""™' "I- Ihis is .,, '• ■'"'"'

""l.ihi,-,ys,-o„„„ I "^ '■- '11 i>iicv obvious-

-"■' "- is i,„ln,..., „,,„ ,|,o s ,s'; '"" ■•';■'' ""• ""-Poun,; f
/ ''^T aaM'"^.^ iMldlo.c,u■/^ '■■''''"'''■'■ '■'••■lin^^s or fno,

'" " Kreat ,u„„lH.,- ofi^, ! ,' '""T'^' I'""'--'-. a,ul si.'cj 1' '" '

;•"■■ ". .'■ """■■■ • ..n,;;.;:'

All'. F"4, ...... III-... • cS

tiibiit

^^'•- Honakl F

^" to Mr. [

Smith

P^t-^t of „o Orel

verses ;--

'"•"'^^ in ail add
•"^i'"v calibi-e.

<^' t'amlat-liio, Q

'!(.. h

'■^^^'^, which s(,
J-

■is

P-'Hl a las(

IMl

ollcnviiii

imps (he writ

ari>

Iht

th.r

John I

mne, ve'n

t^f as a
^^peniiii.-

^''- t'Hnkin'

I Miftod ohiol.

^' "oodtia hvod (I

I'l^-s I lo'e II

HMll WocJ.

or ye could

'^" Dvorak's heel

ji.sl

"er wrai ^s
earn yer mJat

uniin sa

nj-s.

an meal

ler

ji.sl

»^' S lliDiiV

mad
I't, joek.

e o

poets in oor I;

^'ommon h'm

yc V,

ui
^' an" sail"

■\u si

Ji-s( the metal dn,

g'n'ti iX-ime \

lappit weel

i\vn

^itiM-s honest h

'ae head to heel

. piiblished
*^. tltnotes
folin Imrii".
uliari pools

I 111

t.* i4»i'at

Mr. John
obv

lOllS

' a poiM of
iirin.^- of a

poet,
and,

of a

:cvc

i thoug^hts
^ are wo 1 1

"iillv

lis

«^*asy and
antruag-e

a last ins

i(or

as a

opening

JOHN IMRIE.

(

l'.1

^1 • •

ir'

'|i..,.

lOllX IMRIE.

" It's swiH'tly il.'ii* \'f j^'.ir it (.'rmk,
\Vi" p<itht)s yoUocl tae ilk;i link ;
Lanj^ nuiy yer i-aiity mus*.' ayi* blink

Sao l)l}tlie aiKJ cloar,
Till ye'ff oot o i*r Paiiiassus' brink,
\\'itlio<.>t a poor."

Mr. Imrio is a native oi Glasgow, Scotland, and caino to
Canada in 1S71. Heat once settled in Toronto, and in Toronto
ho has continiiod to reside. He is eng-ajfoil in the printijij^ busi-
ness, and the Hrni in which lie is a partner — Iinrie, Graham cV
Co.- is well known.

Mr. Iinrie has just pviblisheil a foin-th edition of his poems, the
total number o^ volumes issued in the four oilititins being" seven
thousand. lie has also issueil " .\ Mouquet of Sonnets," besides
a number of son^-s in sheet music form.

CA' MK ".SCO'rrV!"

Yes ! ca' me " Scotty " if ye will,
For sic' a name can mean nae ill ;
O' a' nick-names just tak' yer fill, —
I'm ([iiite content \vi' " Scotty !"

To he a Scot is nae disgface.
Maist folk can trust a gtiid Scotch face !
He's never lang oot o' a place, —
The honest, faithful, " Scotty ! "

A Scotchman has the knack to plod,
Through thick an' thin he'll bear his load ;
His trust is aye in richt an' God, —
The perse verin' " Scotty ! "

He's 'tentive baith to kirk an' mart,
To frccns he's true an' hard to part ;
In life's great race he needs nae start, —
" ril win or dee," says " Scotty ! "

'^»' if he meets wi' n ~~^

Should Scofl-iM' .

A^^,n^ , ' '''^':'"'^"'^ a skein ^'
^^" niak them r ,i III... r • i ' '

I'llsliakeye ,L ;•'■?'•'" "-ortnae ill.

. —John Jmuie.

"'HUSTLE AS VK 00!

Wien troubles rise III- , ,

""■■■I.".,!. """;;'"'■• "Wf,

Chorus.-

-Justwhu.stletoyourspl-

«■ Cheer;::!-;; -;;;^;l>espe,,.

joiix iMKn:.

K/E.

Should i,()vc beguile, jiisl wait awhile,

There's guici fish in the sea,
'I'lie fickle jaucl may get nae lad,

She's no' the lass fur thee;
'I ak' time to tliink, an' in a blink,

The richt lass ye will see, —
Just whustle some, an' she will come,

\Vi' love-lieht in her e'e ! — C'no.

Some married men, as ye may ken,

Hae sometimes cause to dree —
A scoldin' wife may vex his life.

An' oot the hoose he'll flee !
But don't dae that, like frichted cat.

Just tak' advice frae me : —
Be unca fain, an' baud the wean,

An' syne she'll mask the tea !

Chorus.— She canna whustle like you, guid man,
An' that ye brawly ken ;
But she can sing, an' comfort bring
To cheery, whustlin' men !

— John Imuie.

SCOTCH DAINTIES.

Gie a Scotchman a guid cog o' brose,
Wi* milk just new-drawn frae the coo',

Feth, ye il no see him turn up his nose,
But tak' them, an' then smack his moo' !

Cho. — Brose, parritch, kail, haggis, an' bannocks,
Are dainties abune a' compare !
Nae English, French, Yankees, or Canucks,
Could mak' such a gran' bill o' f^ire !

Guid parritch for weans is sae healthy,
It mak's them grow strong, fat, an' weel ;

Dyspeptics are aye 'mang the wealthy, —
They eat what wad sicken an eel ! — Cho.

.ki

SCOTTISH (AXADIAX POETS.

Noo, what is sae guid as Scotch kail,
Wi' carrots, an' turnips, an' Iccks ;

Hielan'nicn are hraw, hearty, an' hale —
Yet gang a' the year without breeks !

— Cho.

But the haggis is king o' the table, —
A Scotch niai 's maist toothfu' delight.

By dining on that he is able

To match ony twa in a fight ! — Cho.

When spying for game in (jlen Sannox,
Ahint a wheen stanes on my knees.

What's sweeter than crum])in' oat bannocks,
An eating a' whang o' guid cheese ?— Cho.

Brose, parritch, kail, haggis an' bannocks
Wad niak' lean consumptives grow fat ;

Though they'd sleep oot at nicht in hammocks,
They'd ne"er be a bit waur o' that ! — Cho.

Then, gie us oor dainty Scotch farin',
We'll honour the auld muckle pat !

For pastry an' [)ies we're no carin',
Scotch laddies are no built wi' that !

Cho.
— John Lmrik

THE TOUCH OF THE DIVINE.

Each grain of sand by sounding sea,
Each trembling leaf on quivering tree,
Each blade of grass on dewy lea,

Speaks volumes of Cod s love to me !

The pearls that deep in ocean lie,
The twinkling stars that gem the sky,
The sunbeam, caught from noontide's eye.
Direct my thoughts, O God, to Thee 1

JOHN IMRIE.

The flowers that deck the fragrant dell,
And o'er me cast their beauty-spell,
I love them — for they seem to tell
The story of God's love to me I

No matter where I wander free,
By river, lake, or boundless sea,
The touch of God's dear hand I see,
And know by these He loveth me !

Oh, God ! Thou doest ah things well,
Earth, sea, and sky Thy wisdom tell,
In heaven what must it be to dwell
Forever, O my God, with Thee !

— John Imrie.

GORDON HIGHLANDERS AT DARGAI.

" Gordon Highlanders 1 Charge ! " — The pipers play'd,

Not a soul drew back — not a man afraid !

" The Cock o' the North 1 " crow'd loud in their ears.

As they answer'd back with three British cheers !

Up the Dargai Heights the Gordons flew, —

It was *' Death or Victory " well they knew ;

Yet, as long as they heard the pipers play,

Foot-by-foot they climb'd for the bloody fray !

While the enemy rain'd down deadly shot,

And the ranks were thinn'd where the fire was hot,

Still, the pipers play'd on with might and main.

As the Gordons charged for the heights again !

With a rush and a bound they scal'd the height, —

Hark ! — " Bayonets, Charge ! " — how the Gordons fight !

While, 'mid carnage and blood, the pipers fell,

On stumps play'd they " Cock o' the North " right well !

SCOTT/SJl CANADIAN POETS.

'Ere the bugle soutided at set of sun,

Tlie heights were taken !— the battle was won !

'Mid the groans of dying and wounded men,

Findlater was heard ''at his pipes '' again !

It cheer'd the dying in their last despair, —

Such music and " Victory ! " rent the air : —

Through *' the valley of Death " then march'd they forth,

To the martial strains of " Cock o' the North ! "

Oh ! mothers at home ! mourn not for your sons,
Though they bravely fell 'neath the rebel guns ;
Their deeds shall be told till the end of time, —
To fall like a hero is death sublime !
In the battle of life this lesson teach, —
We all have " Our Dargai Heights " to reach ;
And, gain we the summit, or, fighting, fall,
God crowns His heroes at Death's roll-call !

— John Imrie.

ROBERT BOVD.

ROBERT BOYD.

S»

ROBERT BOYD.

Mr. Robert Boyd was a pioneer as well as a poet. He came
to Canada in 1830, from Ayrshire, and he died in Giielph in Feb-
ruary, 1880, aged eighty -three years. His whole life in this
country, witli the exception of four years spent in Guelph, was
i'ved at Paisley Block, Mr. Boyd was possessed of more than
ordinary intelligence, and being a great reader he kept himself
well-infornietl at all times on the leading questions of his day. He
was a prime favorite with young and old alike, and his death called
forth expressions of deep regret from a very large circle of friends
and acquaintances.

SONG FOR THE BACKWOODSMAN.

Mark to the sound of the woodman's axe

Through the tangled forest pealing ;
See the proud oak how it totters and shakes,

Then straight to the ground is reeHng.

Chorus : — Then chop away, my merry good lads,
Let each be a friendly neighbor,
There's health and wealth in the falling woods,
A sure reward for our labor.

There nature reign'd a despotic Queen,
Yet her sway was none of the sorest ;

But when man appeared she left the scene,
And crown'd him King of the forest.

Chorus — Then chop away, «S:c.

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

We proudly can boast tlie land is our own,
By strength of our arms we've won it ;

And it sliali descend from father to son,
With kind heaven's blessings on it.

Chorus — Then chop away, &c.

Yon blazing pile is a beacon of light

To exiles, laden with sorrow,
And here they'll rest, their wrongs made right.

And awake to a joyous morrow.

Chorus — Then chop away, &:c.

Soon shall our fields be waving with grain.

And o'er them cattle be roaming,
And if we toil hard 'twill not be in vain,

For a brighter day is coming.

Chorus — Then chop nway, &c.

Then cease not to wield the gleaming axe,

And pile up the logs for burning,
For time well spent to the farmer makes

A bright and happy morning.

Chorus — Then chop away, »S:c.

— Robert Boyd.

STANZAS.

The dark e'e o' e'ening's beginning to drap
The tears o' its kindness in Nature's green lap ;
Ilk wee modest gowan has faulded its blossom
'iV) sleep a' the night wi' a tear in its bosom.

The lauch o' the shearers gaun hame frae their wark,
'J'he howlet's wild cry, the dog's warning bark ;
The sang o' the burnie sae soothing and clear
A* tell me in kindness the trysting day's near.

«
s

ROBERT no YD.

And the sweet siller moon is abroad in the sky
To light my dear lassie whose comin' is nigh,
To the haunt of our love by yon moss grey stane,
Where we love aye to meet when the daylight is gane.

What though I work sair frae mornin' till e'en,
I never feel weary when gaun to meet Jean ;
A sweet loving kiss and a witching smile
Weel repays me for a' my travel and toil.

And yonder she comes the green meadow through !
O sweet is the meeting when lovers are true !
And she ne'er will hae ony cause to complain
'J'hat she met me at e'en by the moss-grey stane,

— Robert Boyd.

THE HERD LADDIE.

When I was a wee boy and herded the cows,

And row'd in my plaid on the bonny green knowes,

Listening the laverock's sang mang the cluds,

And the sweet gush o' music that rang through the woods.

Whiles catching trouts, bauldly harrying bikes,

And seeking birds' nests 'mang the whins and the dykes,

Amidst all my sports light-hearted and glad aye.

And few were the cares o' the wee herd laddie.

Biggin' wee houses and theekin' them bien

Wi' the lady-fern and the rashes green,

And in aneath them at times I would cower

To keep mysel' dry frae the weeting shower ;

Reading auld ballads contented I'd sit.

My faithful auld collie asleep at my fit ;

Their sweet melting lays made my heart loup wi' joy,

And the tear dim the e'e o' the wee herd boy.

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

AVhiles pu'ing flowers that grew at my feet.
The red heather bell and the fringed gowan sweet,
The yellow primrose that grew 'neath the shade,
As if to be seen was halflin afraid ;
The stately foxglove wi' its cups a' fu'
Wi' the drappin rain and the pearly dew;
Then to arrange them my art I'd employ,
For nae lame florist was the wee herd boy.

Saugh whistles I made and blew on them loud,

Till each echo was charm'd from his nap in the wood ;

And kites, too, I made, tied to a lang string,

And loupit wi' joy when I saw them take wing ;

Then wished I had wings with them I might soar.

Far up aboon amang the cloudlets hoar,

To hear the stars sing their anthems of joy.

And make the heart glac o' the wee herd boy.

Away, away, through the welkin to glide,

The lark, my mate, singing sweet by my side,

To traverse secure in bright vapour glens.

Where no foot has trod and naebody kens ;

Where silence reigns and in solitude broods —

Save when the thunder rolls deep through the cloods ;

When wearied to rest on the painted brow

Surveying the landscape spread far out below.

Such were the pastimes of life's early morn
Which never again to me will return,
In the march of life, I'm far on the way,
And soon must recline in the wee house o' clay ;
But not without hope that again I'll rise
To a fairer clime above in the skies,
The mind illumined with heavenly truth.
Like the eagles, ever renewing my youth.

— Robert Boyd.

nOiiKRT BOYD.

SONO.

Air : *' Gude-nicht^ and Joy be wP yc ^/'."

Though now far frau our native hame

That on our youth sac sweetly smil'd,
Auld Scotia ! dear rcnicml)cr'd name,

Wi' a' your heathy mountains wild ;
Though now we're far frae thee exil'd,

Thy hills, thy dales, thy streams and a',
Still memory speaks in accents mild —

Dear is the land that's far awa'.

Though Nature here has used her skill,

And great and grand her work has been,
To stretch the lawn and raise the hill,

Wi' mony fiow'ry spots between ;
Extending forests waving green,

And streams and lochs that might be twa ;
Yet, still, dear Scotia, still, I ween,

They're no' like thine that's far awa'.

Nae minstrel yet o' note or fame

Has ever blessed our woody shores,
To gie her streams and hills a name

And make them famous, too, like yours ;
To sing her bonnie woods and bowers,

Where lovers meet at e'ening's fa',
And make mair ken'd her birds and flow'rs

Like thine, dear land, that's far awa'.

O, would some minstrel sweet arise

To sing as thy ain Robin sang.
To paint the fears, the hopes, the joys,

Of those that live our woods amang.
Or Watty Scott, unken'd sae lang,

But now the brightest name of a' ;
A' would be right that now is wrang

With this dear land of Canada.

SCOTTISff CANADIAN POETS.

To tell the glorious deeds here wrought,

By Wolfe and a' his heroes bright ;
Or gallant Brock who boldly fought

And nobly died on Queenston height.
And we in ony cause that's right,

Ready still our swords to draw ;
Our dads could for auld Scotland fight,

And we will fight for Canada.

In hopes a bard will yet appear

An' make to ring our forests green ;
We'll give another rousing cheer

For Britain and our much lov'd Queen ;
And our ain land where freedom's wing

Will never cower to tyrant's law ;
Then let us all rejoice and sing

For that dear land is Canada.

— Robert Boyd.

:\x

|) !

THE RIVER ST LAWRENCE.

St. Lawrence ! greatest chief of streams !

Long is thy course, thy channel wide,
Surpassing far the poet's dreams.

Where countless ships in triumph ride.

Before the Indian's footsteps trod

Thy fiow'ry banks and meadows green,

Thou murmur'dst paeans sweet to God,
To human ken unheard, unseen.

E'en then thy waters madly sped

O'er Niagara's dizzy height.
And foaming in their rocky bed,

Mirror'd rainbows pure and bright.

ROBERT BOYD.

To si.'e thy mighty torrents leap

Tremhlinjj; and struck with awe we stand ;
Yet He wlio dotli us guide and keep

Holds thee in the hollow of His hand.

When on thy pure transparent breast
The red man launched his frail canoe,

Thou bore him to his home of rest

O'er which the trees their shelter threw.

And now in every creek and bay

Bold Commerce doth adventurous roam,

And thousands oi" thy borders stray
To find a cozy, sheltered home.

rn.

And still thy waters proudly bear
Vessels fraught and brimming o'er

With treasures rich we well can si)are
To those on a far distant shore.

Many long years have glided by

Since thou didst start upon thy course,

And yet thy channel ne'er runs dry
And still exhaustless is thy source.

And still incessant thou shalt run,

Till time itself shall cease to be,
To where thy waters all have gone —

Thy rest sublime — the wide, saut sea.

• — Robert Boyd.

SCOTTJSH CANADIAN POETS.

{

A CURLING SONG.
Air : " Green Gro7vs the Rashes O."

Now bleak and caiild the north winds l)law
And fleecy snaw is whirlin', O,

IJut what care we for frost and snaw
When at the game o' curlin', O.

Chorus — Fair fa' the curlin', O,
Fair fa' the curlin', O,
There's no a game amang them a'
Can be compar'd wi' curlin', O.

Some feckless loons may glunch and gloom,
And roun' the fire sit snarlin', O,

While we wi' channel stane and broom
Are joyous at the curlin', O. — Cho.

The weaver he has left his loom
Altiiough the wife is quarrelin', O,

But wife and bairns may sink oi soom — •
They canna' stop his curlin', O. — Cho.

The suter he has left his last.

The wooer left his darlin', O,
And han' in han' away they've past

And at the rink are curlin', O. — Cho.

The tailor though wi' wark is thrang,
And folk's auld duds are tirlin', O,

For him they a' may naked gang

But he maun hae his curlin', O. — Cho.

The merchant, busy, keen, and hard
To catch the gowd that's sterlin', O,

Has leap'd the counter like a bird

And 'mang the lave is curlin', O. — Cho.

ROBERT BOYD,

The priest, the laird and ilka ane

VVha scorn the name o' warlin', O,
In bick rin haste awa' are gane,

And a' arc glorious curlin', O. — Cho.

And when the gloamin' clouds the west

Our groat we will be birlin', C),
And beef and greens wi' Allan's best

Will close the day o' curlin', O.

Chorus — Fair fa' the curlin', C),
Fair fa' the curlin', O,
Your glasses tooni to stane and broom,
And the royal game o' curlin', O.

— RoiJERT Boyd.

A WELCOME TO SPRING.

My bonnie maiden, you're welcome again
To our land of lakes and fam'd maple tree ;

And welcome the minstrels that come in your train,
Whistling a chorus of gladness round thee.

We thought your fair face we never would see.

Why have you tarried so long by the way ?
No flowers yet are seen on meadow or lea

To deck the fair bosom of dear iov'd May.

But now since you're come and winter is fled,
And you to Nature still kindly and true.

We'll raise up our fair ones again from the dead
To bask in the sun and bathe in the dew.

Then on with your work and do not delay,
Again let beauty and gladness be seen ;

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

Flowers starring the mead, the hank and the brae,
And the brown fields cloth'd with carpets of green.

Again let the trees with mantles he clad.

Waving with joy in the soft balmy gale ;
The streamlet burst forth in murmurings glad,

Proclaiming you've come as it winds through the vale.

The lambkins again will sport on the green ;

The pigeon with bright wing dart through the air ;
Around the May pole shall dance a fair queen,

With light-hearted ones that never know care,

The bee releas'd from his dark, gloomy cell,
Again round the flow'rs will joyously sing ;

The wee humming bird in whispers will tell

The sunshine and warmth your presence doth bring.

The aged again their youth will renew.

While grateful they look on Nature abroad,

With thoughts raided to Heaven, the good and the true,
The source of themselves— the ever-wise God.

The weak and the weary that long have lain

On beds of sickness through lone, dreary hours.

Will rise to new life and vigor again

When viewing the fields and sweet-blor .^"".ng flow'rs.

Though winters be long, yet let us not fret

While He who reigns is our God and our King ;

Blythe Summer and bounteous Autumn we'll get
With leal, kind-hearted, beautiful Spring.

— Robert Boyd.

■.^^L

ROBERT BOYD.

ale.

THE BACHELOR IN HIS SHANTY.

'Tis something strange a chiel like mo
Should fiae his native country flee,
And leave his freens o' social glee—

i\nd loves sae dear,
And cross the braid Atlantic sea

In quest o' gear.

To come to this strange land o' trees,
The vile abode o' frogs and fleas,
Wi' no ane near to sympatheese,

Or yet to hate us ;
Devour'd alive by slow degrees

By curs'd niosquitoi s.

To tremble 'nealh the ague's po\ 'Tj
Cauld and het hour after hour ;
Driniiin' vile Peruvian stour

And ironwood sass,
Wi' mony ither auld wife's cure —

Would kill an ass.

Roasted by the summer's heat —

Till life's weak pulse can scarcely beat.

Half drown'd in streams o' creeshy sw(.;at

That gem my beard,
As thick as morning's dewy weet,

On flow'ry sward.

Followed by Winter's biting breeze,
That tears the mantle off the trees,
Nips a' the flow'rs, kills a' the bees

Wi' savage sway ;
And ilka birdie frightened flees,

To the south away.

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

And oh, I dread the coming scaith,
O' surly Boreas' cauldrife breath,
And smooring snaws whirlin' in wrath,

Wi' mony a' flourish ;
And scarce o' blankets too, in faith

rni sure to perish.

When storms are o'er we look for calms.

And sae did I 'midst a' my dwams,

Yet e'en last nicht while Hope's sweet balms

Cur'd every sore,
The wolves commenc'd their eldrich usalms

At my very door.

1 1^

Their music I was doom'd to hear,
Though far frae pleasant to the ear ;
But waur than that, twa lambs sae dear,

And baith their mithers.
Were aff next morn, I ne'er ken'd where,

Tail, head, and shouthers !

I i

l! t^

i!'

A grumphy, too, I fed with care,

Till he might weigh twal' stane ormair;

And wheki about to scrape his hair,

Though no' that able,
A muckle black and ugly bear

Saved me the trouble.

Hens, ducks and geese, a motley group,
Were carried off at ae fell swoop ;
Nae wonder that my spirits droop,

And heart turns sair.
And sunk ayont a' earthly hope

In fell despair.

ROBERT BOYD.

A farmer too I'm called by name,

Nay — even a Laird — so much for fame,

Which makes me blush wi' burnin' shamu

The truth to tell,
For a' my craps scarce fill my wamy

And nane to sell.

&:i

Twa-three bits o' potato hills.

For stumps are sworn foes ^o drills

Some pumpkins big as cadger's creels,

Is a' my crop ;
For aught I raise, markets and mills

Might a' gie up.

I hear o' farmers bien and braw,

Who're proud their horse and kye to shaw,

And servants ready at their ca',

And this and that ;
As for my stock I've only twa — ■

A dog and cat.

But if there's breed my collie has 't —
My cat's the real Muskovy cast j
But if the future's like the past,

I fear and dread
We'll soon a' sleep in quiet rest

Among the dead.

Immur'd in this low dismal dwallin',

Wi' no' a neighbor I can (\all in,

Frae morn to e'en with bull frogs Ijrawlin'

I'm deav'd and fretted ;
I'm sure while life contains this saul in

I'll ne'er forget it.

SCOTTISH CAXADIAIV POETS.

\Vi' my bit shanty, too, I'm hurt,
It's a' o'ergane wi' fleas and dirt ;
For me to clean 't I want the art

Although right willing ;
Reduc'd too to my hindmost shirt,

And hindmost shilling]:.

And not a morsel yet I've cooket

But what's been either burnt or smoket ;

My last teacup yestreen I broke it,

Oh ! what a ruin ;
Wi' no' a farthing in my pocket

To buy a new ane.

And oh ! the mice are sic a pest.
They eat my meat and spoil my rest ;
Whatever suits their palate best,

They're sure to win it ;
Blast their snouts, they e'en build their nest

In my auld bonnet !

The crickets squeak like sucking pigs,
And dance about my fire their jigs,
Syne eat my stockings, feet and legs,

The hungry deevils ;
Sure Egypt e'en wi' a' her plagues

Plad ne'er sic evils.

Oh ! had I but some sonsy quean,
To keep me warm and keep me clean,
i would not care the frosts a preen,

Nor heats nor agues ;
But then to court ane beats me clean

And that the plague is.

A'OIiEA'2' BOYD.

(\S

Last week my liumhle suit 1 \)A\i\
To bontiie, smirking Maggie Shade ;
She seem'd to Hst to what I said,

But mark, ye fates,
Straiglitway ivi' guessing Sam she lied

Aff to the States.

Anither lass wi' witch in' e'e,

I tauld my love fortli frank and free,

She pointed to my shanty wee

And bauld and crouse,
Said, " Ere ye get the Hke o' me,

Get a new house."

To me it seems there's nae rehef
Frae ills that bring me muckle grief,
A sma' respite, however brief,

Would raise my si)irit ;
But mischief following mi.-schief— -

'Tis hard to hear it.

Oh ! were I on my native hills,

*Mong speaking rocks and prattling rills,

Where sweet remembrance, painting, fills

The mind and eye
With early scenes that touching thrills

The heart with joy.

To hear again the lav'rock sing
While soaring high on fliutt'ring wing,
And list the blackbird caroling

Adown the glade ;
And mark the primrose, child of Spring,

Peep 'neath the shade.

scorns// canad/an poets.

I J;

\ 'i

To see again the heather wave

Above the lonely martyrs' grave.

Who died their country's rights to save,

Her stay and shield ;
And sit on cairn where died the brave

On battle-field.

To see my native streamlet play,
By hazel copse and flow'ry brae,
Where oft I've run in life's young day

With buoyant will ;
And now when far frae thee away

Thou'rt dearer still.

«M

With feelings warm again to join
The early friends o dear langsyne,
To clasp again their hands in mine,

What joy and bliss ;
Instead of living here to pine

In wretchedness.

There 'mang those scenes where maids are rife,
I'd choose myself a virtuous wife,
And live contented, foes to strife,

Aye crouse and canty ;
But ne'er again would trust my life

In any shanty.

But oh ! I fear sic hopes are vain ;
Auld Kyle I'll never see again ;
Weel, since it's sae, I'll here remain

Anither year yet,
I may be blessed, for a' that's gane,

Wi' routh o' gear yet.

— Robert Boyd.

Kl A:.

ROBERT BOYD.

ADDITIONAL VERSES TO THE SHANTY.

And here in death may close my een,
Unknown, unpitied, and unseen,
With nae kind, sympathising freen'

To heave a sigh ;
And days and weeks and months I ween

Unnoticed He.

The very claes that's on my body

Are noo sair worn and getting diiddy, — ■

They were at first the worst o' shoddy,

Yet dear they cost me ;
And to get new anes makes me wud aye,

For nane will trust me.

Unless, like Adam, our auld dad,
And Eve, his partner, winsome maid,
I could wi' forest leaves be clad

At a sma' cost ;
But then I fear I'd run stark mad

When comes the frost.

I fear unless come better times,

Or mair o' the plugu'd tilings ca'd dimes,

I'll hae to flee to warmer climes

If I could mak' it ;
There 'mang the cane-brakes and the limes

Rin halflins naket.

But, O 1 iosh me ! what a strange figure
I'd mak' alang-side o* a nigger,
Brewing rum and making sugar

And driving asses,
In wi' wams ]ow, hugar mugar,

'Mang nigger lasses.

SCO TTISII C\ I XA DIA N POE TS.

Na, na ; though previous here's my lot
Mair schemes I'll try ere I try that ;
For though I'm scarcely worth a groat

I'm still a freeman ;
And ne'er could think in dirt to squat

'Mang sic like women.

— Ror.ERT Boyd.

PER CONTRA.

Now, my good frien's, these tidings hear :
Of all my ills I'm maistly clear ;
I've got a wife whom I lo'e dear —

A thrifty quean.
She mends my claes, and guides the gear,

And keeps me clean.

Now, I haud up my head fu' crouse,
My shanty down, I've got a house ;
I lead a happy life and douce

And weel respecit,
And hae nae fear o' thievin' mouse

Or yelpin' cricket.

I've sheep and oxen, horse and kye,
And fat pigs gruntin' in the stye,
And mony ither things forbye.

That lighten cares ;
Nae langer noo the wolves come nigh,

Or hungry bears.

All you in this Dominion wide
With puirtith's ills are sorely tried,
Haud up your heads in manfu' pride

And dream o' plenty ;
And think on me, your freen', Rab Boyd,

And his wee shanty.

— RoiiERT Boyd.

I i'

ALEXANDER McLACHLAN.

A L EX A XDKK Ml LA CllL. 1 X.

7«

AbBXANDER McLAGHLAN.

Mr. Alrxandkr McLachlan was boni in Johnston, Ren-
frewshire, Scotland, in the year 1820. Lony;- belore coming' to
Canada, indeed while in his teens, young McLachlan courted the
Muses, and wrote many pieces that were well worthy of preserva-
tion. By-and-bye, when through commendable ef.brt he had
supplemented the somewhat scanty education he received when a
boy, his ambition took a higher and a nobler llight, and he soon
took a foremost position among those Scottish bards who found a
home in the New World. Rev. Dr. Dewart, in commenting on
Mr. McLachlan's powers as a poet, said : — *' As long ago as 1864,
in my ' Selections from Canadian Poets,' I said of Mr. McLachlan :
* It is no empty laudation to call him the Burns of Canada. In
lacy humor, in natural pathos, in graphic portraiture of character,
he will compiire favorably with the g-reat peasant bard ; while in
moral grandeur and beauty he frequently strikes higher notes than
ever echoed from the harp of Burns. After nearly a cjuarior of a
century I am prepared to stand by this estimate still." And Dr.
Daniel Clark says : " His ' Britannia ' and ' Garibaldi,' stir us as
would the clarion notes of a bugle Ciill on a battle-field. His
' Lang-Heided Laddie ' shows his quiet humour, versatility, and
good-intended sarcasm. His ' Balaclava ' does not lose by com-
parison with Macaulay's ' Lays of iVncient Rome,' or Aytoun's
' Historic Ballads of Scottish Chivalry.' "

In 1855 Mr. McLachlan published a small collection of his
poems ; in 1858 another book entitled " Lyrics ;" in 1S61 appeared
his " Emigrant and Other Poems ; " and in 1874 " Poems and
Songs," a large volume containing nearly all his writing j up to
that date. Since the poet's death on March 20th, 1896, his
daug"hter had been preparing his works for publication in a two-
volume form, but death has since claimed her also ; however, the
work is at present in the hands of literary adiiiirers, and will yet
be published.

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SCOTTISH CAXAD/AN PORTS.

i 9"

ROBERT BURNS.

Hail to thee, King of Scottish song,

With all thy faults we love thee ;
Nor would we set up modern saints,

With all their cant, above thee.
There hangs a grandeur and a gloom

Around thy wondrous story,
As of the sun eclipsed at noon,

'Mid all his beams of glory.

A marvel, and a mystery !

A king set on a throne.
To guide the people's steps aright,

Yet cannot guide his own.
A marvel, and a mystery !

A strange, a wondrous birth ;
Since Israel's King there has not been

Thy likeness upon earth.

Because thou wert ordain'd of Heaven,

Thy mission's high and holy ;
To thee the nobler work was given.

To lift the poor and lowly.
Thy words are living vocal things.

Around the world they're ringing ;
Hope's smiles they bear, and everywhere

Set weary hearts a-singing.

Untutor'd child of Nature wild.

Whose instinct's always true ;
O, when I'm weary of the saints,

I turn with joy to you.
The bigot and the blockhead still

Are at thy memory railing,
Because thou wert a son of Eve,

And had a human failing.

J-i

I LEX A ADER Ml LA CJILA X.

A benefactor of our race,

Yet on the face they strike thee ;
And, like the Pharisee of old,

Thank God they are not like thee.
Well, let tht.'m rave above thy grave,

Thou canst not hear their railinjj;s ;
We take thee to our heart of hearts.

With all thy faults and failings.

F'or they ivere human at the worst —

True hearts can but deplore them ;
The faults from which great virtues spring,

O, throw a mantle o'er them !
And loving souls in every place

Still hail thee as a brother ;
Like thee, thou glory of our race.

Where shall we find another ?

— Ai.Kx. McLachlan.

rll

UP ! AND BE A HERO 1

Up ! my friend, be bold and true,
There is noble work to do,
Hear the voice which calls on you —
" Up ! and be a hero !"

What tho' fnte has fixed thy lot
To the lowly russet cot ;
'I'ho' thou art not worth a groat,
Thou may'st be a hero !

High, heroic d jeds are done.
Many a battle's lost or vvon
Without either sword or gun —
Up ! and be a hero !

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

Not to gain a worldly height,
Nor for sensual delight,
But for very love of right.

Up ! and be a hero !

Follow not the worldling's creed,
Be an honest man indeed,
Clod will help thee in thy need —
Only be a hero !

There is seed which must be sown,
Mighty truths to be made known,
Tyrannies to be o'erthrown —
Up ! and be a hero !

There are hatreds and suspicions,
There are social inquisitions,
Worse than ancient superstitions —
Strike tliem like a hero !

In the mighty fclds of thought
There are battles to be fought,
Revolutions to be wrought —
Up ! and be a hero !

Bloodless battles to be gain'd,
Si)irits to be disenchained.
Holy heights to be attained —
Up ! and be a hero !

To the noble soul alone
Nature's mystic art is shown,
(lod will make His secrets known
Only to the hero !

If thou only art but true,
AVhat may not thy s[)irit do ?
All is possible to you —

Only be a hero !

— Alex. McLacht,an.

A LEX A XDEK McLA CIILA V.

THE MAPLE TREE.

O, Maple tree ! O, Maple tree !

O, thou'rt a pride and joy to me ;

Of all trees of the forest green

There's none compares with thee, I ween ;

Long may you stand, so green and grand.

Pride and joy of our happy land —

O, Maple tree !

And all the birds they love thee best,
And sing the sweetest in thy breast ;
And there's no shade, nor spreading tree,
The free-foot rovers love like thee ;
Long may you stand, so green and grand,
Pride and joy of our happy land —

O, Maple tree !

And in the merry month of Spring,
Ere yet the birds begin to sing,
O, how the school-boy shouts to see
The drops of nectar fall from thee !
Long may you stand, so green and grand,
Pride and joy of our happy land —

O, Maple tree !

And maidens, on their bridal morn,
With boughs the festal halls adorn —
And children clap their hands to see —
How old men love the Maple tree ;
Long may you stand, so green and grand,
Pride and joy of our happy land —

O, Maple tree !

And all our sons, where'er they roam.

Still twine thy name with thoughts of home ;

Tho' far away from thee, I ween.

Yet memory keeps thy branches green 1

se^!

SCOTTISH CAN A. IAN POETS.

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Long may you stand, so green and grand,
Pride and joy of our hai)|)y land —

O, lNlai)le tree !

— Alex. McLachlan.

THE RAIN IT FALLS.

The rain it falls and the wind it blows,
And the restless ocean ebbs and flows,
But the why and the wherefore no one knows.

The races come and the races go,
But alas ! alas ! what do th.ey knoA' ?
They but repeat the old tale of woe.

The years they come and they hurry on,
Ah, just as they did in the days agone !
And bear us back to the vast unknown.

We can't resist the decrees of Fate,
And there's nothing for us but to w^ait
Till Death shall open or shut the gate.

For the rain may fall, and the wind may blow.

And the generations come and go,

But the why and the wherefore none may know.

— Alkx. McLachlan.

ALEXANDER McLACHLAX.

WHERE'ER WE MAY WANDER.

Where'er we may wander,

Whate'er be our lot,
The heart's first affections

Still cling to the spot
Where first a fond mother

With rapture has prest.
Or sung us to slumber,

In peace on her breast.

Where love first allured us,

And fondly we hung
On the magical music

Which fell from her tongue !
Tho' wise ones may tell us

'Twas foolish and vain.
Yet, when shall we drink of

Such glory again ?

Where hope first beguiled us,

And spells o'er us cast,
And told us her visions

Of beauty would last ;
That earth was an Eden,

Untainted with guile,
And men were not destined

To sorrow and toil.

Where friendship first found us,

And gave us her hand,
And linked us for aye to

That beautiful l:and.
Oh, still r^hall this heart be,

And cold as the clay,
Ere one of their features

Shall from it decay.

O fortune, thy favors

Are empty and vain ;
Restore me th? friends of

My boyhood again ;
The hearts that are scattered,

Or cold in the tomb,
O give me again, in

Their beauty and bloom.

Away with ambition,

It brought me but pain ;
O give me the big heart

Of boyhood again ;
The faith, and the friendship,

The rapture of yore,
O shall they re-visit

This bosom no more ?

— Alex. McLachlan.

(

HURRAH FOR THE NEW DOMINION.

Let others raise the song in praise

Of lands lenowned in story ;
The land for nie, of the maple tree,

And the pine, in all his glory 1

Hurrah ! for the grand old forest land,
Where Freedom spreads her pinion ;

Hurrah ! with me, for the maple tree,
Hurrah ! for the New Dominion !

Be hers the light, and hers the might,

Which Liberty engenders ;
Sons of the free, come join with me —

Hurrah ! for her defenders.

A LEXANDER McLA CI If A X.

And be their fame in loud acclaim —
In grateful songs ascending —

The fame of those who met her foes,
And died, her soil defending.

li^

Hurrah ! for the grand old forest land
Where Freedom spreads her pitiion J

Hurrah ! with me, for the maple tree,
Hurrah ! for the New Dominion !

— Ai.KX. McLachlan.

GOD.

Ood of the great old solemn woods,
(lod of the desert solitudes,

And trackless sea ;
(lod of the crowded city vast,
God of the present and the past,

Can man know Thee ?

God of the blue sky overhead.

Of the green earth on which we tread.

Of time and si)ace ;
God of the worlds which Time conceals,
God of the worlds which Death reveals

To all our race.

From out Thy wrath the earthquakes leap,
And shake the world's foundations deep,

Till Nature groans.
In agony the mountains call,
And ocean bellows thrcnighoul all

Her frightened zones.

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

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]h\t where Thy smile its glory sheds,
The lilies lift their lovely heads,

And the primrose rare ;
And the daisy, decked with pearls
Richer than the proudest earls

On their mantles wear.

These Thy preachers of the wild-wood,
Keep they not the heart of childhood

Fresh within us still ?
Spite of all our life's sad story,
There are gleams of Thee and glory

In the daffodil.

And old Nature's heart re" Dices,
And the rivers lift their voices,

And the sounding ^'^a ;
And the mountains old and hoary,
With their diadems of glory,

Shout, Lord, to Thee !

— Alex. McLachlan.

MYSTERY

Mystery ! Mystery I

All is a mystery I
Mountain and valley, and woodland and stream ;

Man's troubled history,

Man's mortal destiny,
Are but a phase of the soul's troubled dream.

Mystery I Mystery !

All is a mystery !
Heart-throbs of anguish and joy's gentle dew —

Fall from a fountain

Beyond the great mountain.
Whose summits forever are lost in the blue.

ALEX. \ XDEk' McLA CIIL. 1 \\

Mystery ! Mystery !

All is a mystery !
The sigh of the night-winds, the song of the waves ;

The visions that borrow

Their brightness from sorrow,
The tales which flowers tell us, the voices of graves.

Mystery ! Mystery !

All is a mystery !
Ah, there is nothing we wholly see through !

We are all weary,

The night's long and dreary —
Without hope of morning, O, what would we do?

— Alex. McLachlan.

I'i

'r'

SCOTT IS I / CAXAD/AN POETS.

REV. G. BRUCE, D.D.

Rkv. G. Brick is of Scottish birth, having been born near
Aberdeen. He came to Canada very early in hfc, and was broiigiit
up near Toronto. He attended the Normal School in Toronto,
and the Grammar School in Wliitby. He took his degree of B.A.
at Toronto University in 1868, and he, along" with six others, was
made a D.D. on the occasion of Knox College Jubilee. Dr. Bruce
married Miss Emily Dickson, of Kingston, daughter of the late
Mr. John Dickson, founder and president of the Royal College of
Physicians and Surgeons, by whom he has h?,d five children He
was ordainetl at St. Catharines, Out., and is now in charge of
Si. Andrews College for Boys, Toronto.

MAY SONG.

Wild flowers in the meadow,

Grass upon the lea !
Little streamlet flashing,

Sunlight in its glee !

Babbling o'er its pebbles,

Murmuring in its bed,
As it steals so slyly

Where the shadows spread.

Shadows of the branches
Of the grand old trees,

With their thousand leaf-tongues
Laughing in the breeze.

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KEV. G. BRUCE, D.D.

Here and there the fleece-douds

Floating up on higli,
Here and there through fleece-clouds

Flecks of azure sky.

Over all, the sunlight

In a golden flood,
Deluging with life-[)0\ver

Field and flower and wood.

While the joy of nature

Fills the glorious dav,
With the voice of gladness

Singing " It is May ! "

—Rev. G. Bruce, D D.

LIFE.

To Miss K-

Like a dewdrop on a flower,
Sparkling brightly for an hour
In the new-born morning power
Of the sun :

Like a little mountnin stream,
With a murmur, like a dream,
Silvered in the stronger gleam
Of the day :

Like a current deep and wide,
Sweeping on in stronger tide
As it leaves the mountain side
For the vale :

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

Like a river calm, amain
Making glad the thirsty plain,
And the fields of golden grain
Far and wide :

Till with an unbroken sheen
In the distance it is seen
To mingle with the green
Rolling tide :

Such is life, from morn to close,
In its turmoil or repose.
Till the moment when it flows
Back to (lod.

May your life thus dee[)ly filled,

Strongly urged, or calmly stilled,

Reach the ocean that is thrilled

By His love.

—Rev. G. Bruce, D.D.

-f. 4

MRS. MARY A. MAITLAXH.

MRS. MARV A. ArAlTLANn.

MRS. MARY A. MAITLAND.

Mrs. M.mtlam) is a iintivo oi VAys^'m, Si-otlaml. She is a
ilau^'^htcr oi Mr. l")avidsoii, the firsl teaciier in llie Infant Si.-hoi>l
i)f Klji^iii, and a maternal ifrand-tlaii^hter of the late Provost Wil-
son oi fhat town. Mrs. Maitland came to Canada with her falluM-
in 1H57, when she was eit^hteen years of a^e. She luid, befiMc
leaving' Scotland, written some creditable verses, but it was not
until she came to this country that her merits as a poetess wimc
fully acknowledged. In a short time her contributions found their
wav into the S.S. Times, New Vork Observer, Christian at Work,
(lodey's Mag.'izine, Gems of Poetry, Woman's Magazine, and
other Standard American periodicals. Mis. Maitland's own esti-
mate of her poems is : "I am well aware th;it they contain no liigii
poetic flight, or lofty imagery ; perhaps their only merit is the'r
tenderness." As might be anticijxited, her modesty has Uiide her
fall far short of a proper estimate of her work. A writer in
" Daughters of America." who was familiar with Mrs. ?tlaitl.ind
and her writings, said of her that she is " one of the sweetest
singers of the day,"' and the " Iilea " says in a sketch of her :
" Mrs. Maitland is by nature a poet — one in whom the most
natural form of expression is in rhyme and rhythm "

Mrs. Maitland was married in Hamilton, Ont., to Mr.
M. A, Maitland, photographer, but she now resides with her
husband in Stratford, Ont. By the death of a son a number oi
years ago Mrs. Maitland sustained a crushing blow, which not
only affected her health but her pen-work as well, many o\' her
poems, after the sad event, being tinged with sadness. A number
of hymns, written by Mrs. Maitland, have been set to music. Her
poems have been collected and p'"epared for publication, and it is
her intention to have them launched upon the world in book-form
some day ; it is to be hoped in the near future.

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

AWAKE, AND AWAY !

Awake ! my dull soul, from thy dreams in the valley,
And plume thy long indolent i)inions for flight ;

No more at the shrine of thy broken gods dally.
No longer abide where the ruin lieth white.

Away ! break away from the flesh and its thraldom,

An era of loftier purpose begin ;
Arise in the might of thy God-given freedom

And cleave every fetter without and within !

Who walketh with God treadeth not in the vnlley,
'Mid trophies of battle and bones of the slain ;

'Mid ruins of glory and relics of folly,

And echoes of footsteps that come not again.

Who walketh with God hath his feet on the mountain,
His eye on the lode-star that pointeth the way ;

His hand on the chalice that hangs at the fountain.
His heart on the treasures that cannot decay.

Away to the uplands ! Perchance on thu morrow
Some mountain may there prove a Nebo to thee,

On whose sacred summit thy vision may borrow
A glimpse of the bliss and the glory to be.

A glance at the country where summer supernal,
Folds valley and hill to her evergreen breast ;

Where billov/s are hushed to a slumber eternal,

Where tempests break not the sweet •' rapture of rest ! "

— Mrs. M. a. Maitland.

MRS. MARY A MAI TLA ND.

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TRUI?: vicroRY.

He stood with a foot on the tiircshokl,
And a cloud on his boyish face,

While his ciiy comrade urged him
'I\) enter the gorgeous [)lace.

" There's nothing to fear, old fellow !
It isn't a lion s den !
Here waits you a royal welcome
From the lips of the bravest men."

Twas the old, old voice of the tem|)ter,
That sought in the old, old way,

To lure with a lying promise
'J'he iimocent feet astray.

"You'd think it was l^lue Beard's closet,
To see how you S(|uirm and shrink 1
I tell you there s naught to harm you —
It's only a game and a drink ! "

He heard the words with a shudder —
'' It's only a game an.d a drink ! "

And his li[)s made bold to answer
*' Hut what would my mother think ? "

rest ! "

ND.

The name that his heart held dearest
Had started a secret spring,

And forth from the wily tem[)ter,
He fied like a hunted thing.

Away till the glare of the city,
And its gilded halls of sin,

Are shut frcm his sense and vision,
The shadows of night within.

•i "r

SCOTTISH CAXADIAN P0E7S.

Away ! till his feet have bouiidt^d

O'er fields where his childhood trod ;
Away ! in the name of virtue,

And the strength of his mother's (lod !

Whnt though he was branded '* coward I "

In the blazoiicd halls of vice,
And banned by his baffled temi)ter,

Who sullenly tossed the dice ;

On the page where the angel kee[)eth

The record of deeds well done,
That night was the story written

Of a glorious battle won.

And he stood by his home in the starlight —

All guiltless of sword and shield —
A i)raver and nobler victor

Than the hero of bloodiest field!

— Mrs. M. A. Maitland.

THE HOME-MAKER.

Is it wealth that makes a home ?

Is it pillar, tower, or dome, —
Costly tapestries of silk and frescoed walls ;

Mossy floors your steps that hush,

Gorgeous furnishings of plush,
And attendants who obey your slightest calls ?

If these make the home, you say,
I will quickly tell you '"Nay!"

And am ready my assertion bold to prove ;
For I know a blissful cot
Where these luxuries are not —

Where the only precious garnishing is Love /

MJ^S. MAKY A. M Air LAND.

0.1

You may rear a lofty pile,

You may furnish it with style,
If you will, call virtuoso to your aid ;

But if yet there is a dearth

Of love's glow upon its hearth,
'Tis a house and not a home that you have made.

Love doth home's foundations lay !

Love can hallow huts of clay !
It can smooth life's rugged i)ath and rocky steep j

It can make the bitter sweet.

It can wing the leaden feet,
It can light the cypress vale where mortals weep !

When these homes that we have known.

Shall at last be overthrown^
When the sun and moon and stars are (Quenched above ;

Still with radiance divine.

Will this star immortal shine,
For eternity's Home-maker will be Love !

— Mrs. M. a. Maitland.

HEY-A-DAY! HO-A-l)AY !

Hey-a-day ! Ho-a-day ! What shall I sing ?

Baby is weary of everything ;

Weary of " Black Sheep " and " Little Boy Blue,"

Weary of " Little Jack Horner," too.

Weary of" Ding-Dong" and " Caper and Crow,"

Weary of " Pretty ALaids all in a Row " ;

Though I have sung to her ditties a score,

Little blue eyes are as wide as before !

If «

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS

Heya day ! Ho a-day ! What shall I sing,
Sleep to the eyes of my !)al)y to bring ?
Sing her a song of her own little self,
Mystical, whimsical, comical e!f .'
Sing of the hands that imdo with their might
More in a day than my own can set right ;
Sing of the feet ever ready to go
Into the places no baby should know.

Hey-aday ! Ho-a day ! Thus will I sing,

\\'hile in her cradle my bal)y I swing ;

Sing of her tresses that toss to-and-fro,

Shading pink cheeks on a pillow of snow ;

Sing of the cherry lips guarding for me

Treasures as rare as the pearls of the sea ;

Sing of the wonder and marvellous light

Hid in the blue eyes now blinking " Good->n,i:;hi f "

Hey-a-day ! Ho-a-day ! Joy makes me sing,
Who would have thought that a baby could bring
Into my bosom a love so divine,
Into my heart all this music of mine,
Into my home such a halo of light,
Unto my hands such a magical might.
Unto my feet all the fleetness of wings,
Into my being such wonderful things !

— Mrs. M. a. Maitland.

AULD GRANNY GRAHAM.

Auld grandmilher sits in her son's ingle-neuk.

As couthie as couthie can be ;
And love lichts her een as she reads the Guid Beuk,

Or dandles the bairn on her knee.

Af/aS. J/J/.M' //. UA/rrAXD.

She hears na the sang o' the lass in lier teens,

The sang tliat she sings o' Iut jo,
Yet kens it's the same that — tlie gayest o' queans —

She sang in the lang, lang ago !

She hears na a soun' frae the hps o' her ain,
Wha's first spoken word was her name ;

Their si)eech is a' lost, be it ever so fain,
On the dull ear o' auld Granny (Iraham.

Yet cheery she sits in her neuk by the fire,

Aye patient and eidant is she ;
Her hairt never faints and her hands never tire,

Though lanely sae aft she maun l)e.

She kens that the waitin' can nae be for lang,
Nor far noo her cross maun she hear ;

That sune wi' the ransomed she'll sing the new sang.
In yon golden city ower there.

She kens that the day is close by when her ear

Will thrill wi' the tones o' langryne ;
When Jesus Himsel' she will joyfully hear

Say, " Come unto Me, thou art mine ! "

Auld grandmither sits at her son's ingle side,

The mists o' fourscore in her ^'e ;
Her feet are fast nearin' the incomin' tide.

And sune ower the breakers she'll be.

But sure is the Hand that will guide her acros?,
And strong are the airms that will bear ;

And she will forget ilka sorrow and loss
When hame wi' her Lord evermair.

— Mro. M. a. Maitland.

SCOTTISH c:t.\:in/.ix rn/rrs.

WlbloiAM MURRAY.

Mr. Wim.iam Mi'[:ray is of Scottish hiiili, having Ihhmi I)oiii
on May 25th, 1H34, at l-'iiilarij.', Hieadalbanc, Poitlisliiio, a spot
faiiunis alike tor its pic'turesqu-; situation, ami for many stitrinj^
events in the history of the Hrea lalbaiie family which have there
been enacted. Tlie old Castle of I'Mnlari^-, the str<)nj4hi>ld of
Black Duncan, heail of the house of Breadalhane, overshailowcd
the old-fashioned house in which the pvu't was born, his fatlier
having' held the pt^sition of head g-ardener on the Breadalhane
estates for over thirty- five years. Mr. Murray got as gooil an
education as couUl be procured in the Highlands at the time.
Shortly after completing his studies he emigrated to Canada. He
first took a position in Toronto, being then in his t went) -first
year ; but he afterwards removed to Hamilton where he has had
a very successful business career. He was connected for a great
many years with the well-known dry goods house of W. A.
Murray & Co. For some time past he has lived in retirement — that
is retirement from business ; but his snug home, Athole Hank, has a
wide-open door for his many friends, who are always welcome.
Mr. Murray is well-to-do, having, by his industry and careful at-
tention to business, amassed quite a fortune.

Mr. Murray has written poetry suflficient to make two volumes,
but he has never ventured on the publication of his w 5rks. His
poems include many religious pieces in addition to his secular
work, and many of his poems have appeared in print although not
in book form.

For tw-enty-six years Mr, Murray has been Bard of the St.
Andrew's Society of Hamilton, and of tiie Caledonian and Gaelic
Societies as well, and his bardic addresses at the annivei saries of
these societie»i have been greatly admired.

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WILLIAM MURRA Y.

MY BIRTHPLACE.

When first my eyes awoke to liglit,
The Grampian hills were full in sight ;
The Dochart and the Lochy joined,
Repose in deep I.och Tay to find.

Two rows of cots, a churcli and inn,
Combined to form what's now Killin ;
There, girt by huge memorial stones.
Repose the mighty Fingal's bones ;
There in their old sepulchral nest.
Black Duncan * and his family re:;t, —
Duncan, whose still existing tower
Attests what once was feudal power, —
That Duncan, whose twelve giant sons
(For so the old tradition runs)
Fighting for what they deemed their rights.
Perished together on yon heights.

And yonder, in the Dochart stream,
Scarce open to a sunlight beam,
A huge, dark mass of rock and heath.
The weird, romantic *' Isle of Death, *
Guarded all round by ancient trees
Which seem to wail with every breeze,
And join in chorus with the river.
Which dashes foaming past forever.
There, each below his own rudt; slab,
Rei)Ose the chieftains of McNab ;
"Sons of the Abbot," hence the name,
When Abbots liked fair maids for game ;
Long ere the stern and sturdy Knox
Appeared the papists' ears to box —
Before Fitz James fought Roderick Dhu,
Or Lowland laird the Highlands knew.

* The founder of the Breadalbane branch of the Clan Campbell—" Doni achn dubh
nan Caisteal."

1 i

lOO

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

Here, high above a rocky ledge,
Spanning the torrent, is the bridge
Where, riding reckless, frenzy-filled,
Lord Robert and his horse were killed ;
Careless of rein, or si)ur, or danger,
To fear or fate alike a stranger.
With foaming mouth and eyes aglare,
The liorse rose wildly in the air.
And quick as lightning's sudden blow,
Dashed horse and rider dead i)elow !

Not far beyond lies l'\)rtingall.
The scene of many a bloody brawl ;
lUit chiefly, here tlie Roman shield
Was driven shattered from the field ;
Here Ciesar's chivalry first felt
The nit tal of the Highland C'elt,
And with his fmiier in his mouth
EiKjuired the shortest passage south !

Now, rise with me to yonder hill,

\V'atered by many a crystal rill,

Covered by Scotia's darling heather.

With here and there a hill-bird's feather,

And foxglove's mazy tangled knots,

Holding its own until it rots ;

And — to the sportsman ever dear —

The grouse and blackcock crouching near ;

The lark rejoicing up on high,

'J'he eagle swooping through the sky ;

])Ut best of all to grazier's eye,

The hardy black sheep passing by.

Nibbling away with siiarp white teeth

Their {)erfumed provender, the heath,

And never deem their journey high

'Till hidden in the misty sky ;

Nor must we ever overlook

4l.

WILLIAM MCh'hW V

lOI

The tliLMiic of faiincr, bulclicr, cook,
The cause of many a feud and l)altle —
The wild and shai^ify Highland cattle,
Famous from John O'droal's to Selkirk,
Adored at Amulree and Falkirk ;
Nor for a moment deem it folly,
I'o east a glance at useful collie,
^rhe ever faithful shepherd's dog,
Faithful through fr(jst, and snow, and fog.

Hut worse than blameful would I he,
Were human friends forgot by me, —
Those friends who cheer'd my early years,
Increased my joys and soothed my fears ;
Who nursed me, taught me. and caressed me,
And when I left them, sighed, and blessed me !
Howe\er [>rimitive their talk.
Unstudied and untrained their walk —
AIiIkV they wore the sim[)le plaid
W^iich their own thrifty hands had made,
And were content with Highland bonnets,
Highland whiskey, Highland sonnets, —
They were a noble race of men
Whose like we ne'er shall see again, —
'I'heir faults I hardly wish to hide,
Their virtues I admire with pride.

How can I evermore forget
When with old Donald Roy I met ;
To teach me (my best schoolboy wish)
\V''ith rod and fly the streams to fish, —
And when upon the mossy banks
My speckled captives lay in ranks,
1 tried to think of some good plan
'J'o recompense the dear old man.

Yet, while I here, far from these scenes,
A[)[)reciate all that money means,

I02

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

A something says, with thrilhng tones,
" In Scotland you must lay your bones ! "

— William Murray

I i'

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THE SCOTTISH PLAID.

The plaid amang our auld forbears
Was lo'ed ower a' their precious wares,
Their dearest joys wad be but cares
Without the plaid.

And, when the auld guidman was deid,
'Twas aye, by a' the hoose agreed,
That to his auldest son was fee'd
His faithers plaid.

Ah ! gin auld plaids could speak or sing.
Our heids and hearts wad reel and ring,
To hear the thrillin' tales that cling
To Scotia's plaid.

To hear hoo Scottish men and maids,
'Mang Scotland's hills and glens and glades,
Baith wrocht and fouLifht wi' brains and blades
In thae auld plaids.

The star o' Scotland ne'er will set,
If we will only ne'er forget
The virtues in our sires that met
Aneath the plaid.

Amang the Scottish sichts I've seen,
Was ane that touched baith heart and een, —
A shepherd comin' ower the green
Wi' crook and plaid,

il'

WILLIAM MURRAY

103

And i' the plaid a limi)in' lamb,
That on the hill had lost its dam.
And, like some trustfu' hairiiic, cam'
Row'd i' the plaid.

Anither sight I think I see —
The saddest o' them a' to me —
The Scottish martyrs gaun to dee
r their auld plaids.

But let's rejoice, the times are changed,
The martyrs hae been a' avenged —
An English princess has arra!iged
To wear the plaid

— William Murray.

I04

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

ANDREW WANbBSS.

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Mk. Andrkw Wanless has been before the public as an
author for over forty years, and during- that time he nas published
two volumes of poems, the second of which reached a second
edition.

Mr. Wanless was born in Latigformachus, Berwickshire, Scot-
land, on May 25th, 1824. His father, who was a graduate of
Kdinburg'h University, was parochial teacher in the parish, where
he lived for more than fift»' years. Young Wanless, after leaving-
school, was sent to Diuise, where he learned the book-binding.
He was afterwards foreman in a large book-binding- establishment
in Edinburg-h ; and during his residence there he frequently met
and conversed with Pri>f. Wilson (Christopher North) Hugh
Miller, Robert Chambers, Francis JetTrey, Lord Cockburn and
other literary men of that day. In 1851 Mr. W^anless emigrated
to Canada and opened a book-binding establishment in Toronto ;
but his enterprise met with tlisaster, as his shop was burned, and
he was left without a penny. In 1861 he removed to Detroit, atid
he died there on December 22nd, 1898, full of years and honours
He built up a good business as a bookseller, and at his death he
had an extensive and valuable collection of old books. Mr. Wan-
less' Muse has been used, as he informs us, " To recall the scenes of
our early years, to bring- up in imagination the braw lads and
boiniie lasses that we forgathered with in the days of the lang-
syne, and attempt to describe, on this side of the Atlantic, the
wimpling burns, the gowatiy braes, the bonny glens, the broomy
dells, and the heather clad mountains of our native land : the land
where Wallace ami Kruce wielded the patriotic sword, and where
Ramsay, Burns, Scott, Tannahill, and many more sang the songs
of love and libeity."

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A NDRE W \VA NLESS.

107

OUR MITHER TONGUE.

It's mony a day since first we left

AiiUl Scotland's ru<;iied hills —
Her heath'ry braes and gow'ny glens,

Her bonnie winding rills ;
We lo'ed her in the bygane time,

^V'hen life and ho[)e were young ;
We lo'e her still, wi' right guid-will,

And glory in her tongue !

Can we forget the summer days

Whan we got leave frae schule,
How we gaed birrin' down the braes

To daidle in the i)ool ?
Or to the glen we'd slij) awa'

Where hazel clusters hung,
And wake the echoes o' the hills

Wi' our auld mither tongue.

Can we forget the lonesome kirk

Where gloomy ivies creep ?
Can we forget the auld kirkyard

Where our forefiithers sleej) ?
We'll ne'er forget that glorious land,

Where Scott and Burns sung ;
Their sangs are printed on our hearts

In our auld mither tongue

Auld Scotland 1 land o' muckle fame !

The land where Wallace trod.
The land whose heartfelt praise ascends

Up to the throne of God ;
Land where the martyrs sleep in peace,

Where infant freedom sprung,
Where Knox in tones of thunder spoke

In our auld mither tongue.

io8

SCO TTISll C : I XA niA X I'OE ts.

Now, Scotland, diniia yc l)c Ijlate

'Mang nations crousely craw :
Your callants arc nae donncrt suniplis,

Vour lasses bang them a' ;
The glisks o' heaven will never fade

i'hat were around us (lung,
When first we breathed the tale o' love

In our auld niither tongue.

O ! let us ne'er forget our hame,

Auld Scotland's hills and cairns,
And let us a', where'er we be.

Aye strive "to be guid bairns."
And when we meet wi' want or age

A-hirpling owre a rung,
We'll tak' their part and cheer their heart

Wi' our auld niither tongue.

— Andrew Wani^ess.

WHA DAUR MKDDT.E AFE?

Scotland ! how glorious is the theme,

That in the days by-gone,
Vour patriot sons undaunti;d stood

And battled for their own.
Time after time the foe advanced,

Your rights to trample down.
To blot your name forever out.

And grasp your royal crown.

Your sons could n»ever bow the knee,
Nor brook the tyrants' chains ;

Nature had written on your hills —
" Here freedom ever reigns ! "

AXDRKW WAX LESS.

109

Sons of the bravo ! your hearts were one,

That Scotland must be free ;
Now far and near the cry is heard —
" Wha daiirs to meddle me ? "

Forward ! see Scotland's gallant sons

Dash on to meet the foe,
Their strong right hand grasps I'Veedom's sword

A!id Freedom guides the blow ;
Their hows are bent, their swords are keen.

And with their matchless might,
Strcjiigly they stand to (Tush the wrong,

And battle for the right.

The battle rages fierce and fell,

Till o'er the deadly fray
The welkin rings — " The victory's won I "

Scotland has won the day !
While iieather blooms on Scotland's hills,

And while her thistles wave,
Freedom will flourish on her soil.

And guard the warriors' grave !

— Andrew Wanless.

.SY •() TTISII ( VI \. I /)/.l \ nOE TS.

MRS. J. R. MARSHALob.

" Sandy Grant."

Mrs. Agnes Marsiiai.i. ("Saiuly Grant"), daujj^htcr of Mr.
James Iloiulerson, who now resides in Si. C'atharinos, Ont., was
born at Selkirk, Scothmd, in 1S48. and came to Canada witli her
parents when only seven years of ay;-e. setilini^ first in Blenheim
Township. Although fond of innocent mirth, and able to hold her
own with the joy fullest of the joyful, Mrs. Marshall seldom let
pleasure interfere with study. Her favorite readinjj was poetry,
chiefly of the ballad order, but in prose literature, too, she is very
well read. The most eventful day of her life was the 27th of
February, 1S89, for on that day she was married at Chesterfield
to Mr. John R. Marshall ; aiul on the same day the train in which
she and her husband were traveliinj;- to Hamilton left the rails
•.vhen Hearing St. Cieorj;'e"s bridge, bet ween Paris and Harrisbur^,
and plunj^ed into (he abyss. Mr. and Mrs. Marshall were so
badly hurt that they had to remain in the hospital for ten weeks.
As soon as they were able to liavel aii^'ain they proceeded to
Rej^ina, N.W.T., where they are both now living. Although
Mrs. Marshall's literary elTorts have chiefly been in poetry, she
has written no inconsiderabU; amount of prose, nmstly in the
Scottisii dialect, and under the now de plume of " Sandy Grant."
Possessed as she is of a retentive memory, and being- a brilliant
conversationalist, Mrs. Marshall's society is much sought after,
and her friends have foimd her a safe and a willing adviser in
matters literary or otherwise. Mrs. Alarshall has two brothers
living, both of them teachers. John Henderson., M.A. , the elder,
is now Principal of the Collegiate Institute at St. Catharines.

The above sketch of ** Sandy Grant'" has been supplied by
one who has the pleasure of a personal acquaintance with her.

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INIRS. |. 1^ MARSHALI.

MRS. J. A\ MARSHALL.

ST. ANDREW'S DAY, 1896.

St. Andrew's I)ay comes aince a year,

And in oor minds we tak' a peep
At oor auld mither that we left

Across the saut and stormy deep.
We loe oor mither ane and a',

And each year as it i)asses brings
A closer tie, a stronger love,

As memory tae her fondly clings.

We're bairns again ; tlie heather hills

We climb wi' never weary feet ;
The bonnie gowan gems we pu',

An' wreath oor brows wi' garlands sweet
I]y Yarrow's stream we've often strayed,

Where the list minstrel sang his lays
Of different times and changed friends,

Whom he had known in ha[)[)ier days.

Scott mak's oor land a holy ground,

A Mecca tae the pilgrim's feet ;
Where, if he listens, he will hear

The Land and Water Spirit meet ;
They dinna speak tae every ane,

For cares and sorrows clog the ear ;
But he that hath a poet's soul

Their wee sma' voice can often hear.

They soothe us wi' their magic spell —

The world aroond us is forgot ;
And men wi' care the whole warld ower

Revere and bless the name of Scott.
We canna tae oor mither cling,

Although we loe her still sae dear ;
Fair Canada demands oor theme —

The land of our ado{)tion here.

114

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

11 »

Like aulder lands we canna boast

Of fairy glen and haunted tower,
Where spirits tell their eerie tale

At midnight's most unhallowed hour ;
But Nature, wi' a lavish hand,

Has furnished us wi' grander themes,
Of mighty lakes and mountains high.

And torrents wild, and woodland streams.

We boast of Nature's master[)iece —

Niagara thundering ower the steep,
Where long ago the flower- crown'd maid

The Indian gave wi' reverence deep;
And we on the majestic scene

Gaze, too, wi' awe that ceases not ;
Adoring (iod in the clear faith

Of later days and happier lot.

We boast of forest-wealth and mine—

Of shores by distant oceans bound,
Of fertile plains and prairies wide,

And fields wi' richest harvest crowned ;
In this fair land we ca' oor hame,

We've Scottish faith and Scottish pride ;
We trust in (iod and dwell content :
" A man's a man " whate'er betide.

— Mrs. J. R. Marshall, {'^Sanely Grants)

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WILLIAM MURDOCH.

WIIJ./AM ]/rA-/)()C//.

WILLIAM MURDOCH.

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W.M. MrROOcil was horn in I'.iisloy, Scotlaiul, on tb.o ::4lli
February, 1823, aiul came to St. John, \.H, aloiii;- with his
parents in 1S54, wliere he was eni^a^ecl in various occupations,
the last twelve \ears of his lite beinyf clevoteil to journalistic work.
He niaiiiecl, on Sept. 6th 1S44, IMari^aret Sinitii, a nati\e oi tilas-
i^'ow, who survived hini ten years. Mr. Murtloch ihed on May 4th,
1S77. In his youthful davs .Mr. .Murdoch was intimately accjuaint-
etl witli Walter Watson, wlio wrote the well-known soni^ " Sit ye
tiiHin, my ciony, ami i^ie us vour crack, ' anil before Mr. Murdi^ch
departed for Canada Mr. Watson walked all the way from Kil-
marnock to bid tiirewell to his brither-poet, and wish him Ciod-
speed in the land of his adoption.

A PRAYER.

Almighty Jeliovah ! l)i'f()rc Tlicc wc fall.
Occitor, stistaiiier, aiul Loril over all,

(ireat .source of all pleasure and pain ;
At whose nod from on high the wild tenii)ests are driven,
At who.se word streanieth forth the fierce lightning of heaven,
By whose will the dark moiuitains asunder are riven, —

Oh, let not our {)rayers be in vain !

Great essence of goodness, of justice, and love.
From eternity throned in thy ccelum above —

Immutable, infinite God ;
By whose power the vast ocean is chained to its bed,
By whose power in their circles the planets are led.
By whose power heaven's dome was with stars overspread,

Oh, guide us from sin's fatal road !

i *

ii8

SCOTTISH CAXADIAX POETS.

From the deptlis of the ocean to earth's utmost bound,
In ravine and valley, O God, Thou art found,

By all who would seek Thee aright ;
Could we penetrate earth to its innermost cave,
Or were mountains on mountains laid over our grave.
Were the floods of the ocean above us to rave,

We could not be hid from Thy sight.

Thou source of all being, of measureless worth,

At whose breath yonder ball of effulgence had birth,

To Thee we in suppliance cry !
The universe, Father, is filled with Thy grace,
From the throne of bright heaven to uttermost space !
\i\'u for us, a rei)ellious, iniq'jitous race —

Thou gavest the Saviour to die.

Oh, Father of worlds — omnipotent (lod !
Su[)port us, thy creatures, who groan 'neath a load

Of transgressions by nature our own ;
When Tliy thunders shall over this universe boom.
And awake all who are, or have been, from the tomb.
May we number with those who in glory shall bloom

Eternally around Thy white throne.

— William Murdoch

OF A* THE LADS E'ER SCOTLAND SAW.

Of a' the lads e'er Scotland saw
Since first her hills were clad wi' snaw,
Nane e'er Apollo's pipe could blaw

Like canty ploughman Robin.
His master-mind was aye at hame,
Whate'er the spirit o' his theme,
Bet gentle love, or war's red flame,

A' cam' alike to Robin,

WILLIAM MURDOCH.

119

Chorus — 'F'heii let us cheer his honoured name,
Sae dear to Scotland and to fame,
And on our feet, wi' loud acclaim,
Cry, " Hip, hurrah for Robin 1 "

He gar'd ilk Scot his bonnet raise,
Sae loud he sang iii Scotland's i)raise —
Rocks, dingles, glens and heath-clad braes

Rang wi' the strains o' Robin.
Ilk hill that cocks its neb on high,
He viewed wi' true poetic eye,
And sang till echo, in reply,

Rebounded back to Robin.

Chorus — Then let us cheer, kc.

He loved, when gloamin' on wad steal.
To muse on Scotland's wae and weal ;
But ! her lassocks, fair and leal,

Entranced the heart o' Robin !
He sang in strains that warmed the saul,
O' langsyne heroes, stout and baul',
Wha sternly strove, frae foreign thrall,

To save the land o' Robin.

Chorus — Then let us cheer, &c.

Earth couldna bind his Muse's micht,
Sae, through the cluds he took a flicht,
And revelled 'mang the stars o' nicht —

A comet muse had Robin ;
And while aboon he shone sae clear,
That a' the planets o' our sphere
Stood still, and kentna how to steer, —

A second sun seemed Robin.

Chorus. — Then let us cheer, &c.

120

SCOTTISH CANADIAN PORTS.

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He dived to ocean's deepest cave,

And rode upon its wildest wave ;

Nae power could mar him, till the grave

Received the banes o' Robin ;
And noo our thistle hings its heid,
Dark gloom o'erspreads baith hill and mead,
lor silence grasps the Scottish reed

Sae aften tuned by Robin.

Chorus. — But still we'll cheer his honoured name,
Sae dear to Scotland and to fame.
And on our feet, wi' loud acclaim,
Cry, " Hip, hurrah for Robin ! "

^William Murdoch.

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MISS H. ISABEL GRAHAM.

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'23

MISS H. ISABRb GRAHAM.

Miss II. Is.\hi:l Gr.vham was born in Ilaipnrlu'v, a villag-e
on the outskirts of the town of Seatoitli. IK-r t"atlu*r, tlu* Kov.
Wni. Graham, was a native oi' Conuie, Perthshire, SeotlantI, and
one of the pioneerniinisters o( the Presbyterian Cliureh in Western
Canada. Her mother, Elhzabeth Goiiinloek, is a native of Kox-
burj>^hshiie, Scotland, and is, herself, of a poetic turn of mind.

Miss Graham has produced many contributions to Canadian
literature, amoiii^ them an interesting- pamphlet entitled " Fifty
Vears of Presbyterianism in Hg-mondville,'' commemorative of the
Jubilee of the church over which her father was for thirty years
pastor. A short poetn of hers, " Mistress Aberileen," which ap-
peared in the Toronto Globe, was sugg-ested by hearing- some
one s{)eak of Her Excellency as Mrs. Aberdeen. The Countess
wrote Miss Gr.'diam expressing- her iippreciation of the sentiment
contained in the verses. Of late years Miss Graham's att»,'ntion
has been turned more in the direciion of song-writing, and she
has recently published a sacred song in collaboration with
Mr. E. A. llcmpliries, which has obtained much popularity.

ili)

THERE'S AYE A SOMETHINCi.

Ye think the warld's turned upside doon,
And scunner at yer ain auld toon,
But gin ye tramp the country roon
There's aye a something.

Ye hae a freen wha's guid and great,
But syne ye thocht him unco blate,
And sae ye wander desolate.
Because o' something.

124

scorns// CANAD/AN /'OETS.

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Vc'rc vena ai)t tae think yc ken
A hantle mair tlian ithcr men,
But gin ye get the farther ben
Ye'll aye fin' sometiiing.

Ye meditate and wonder wliy
Ilk pot o' ointment has its IJy ;
If in the liappy by and-bye

There maun be something.

There's aye a thorn wi' every rose,
And wee bit grits amang the brose ;
And ne'er a ehiel but sadly knows
There's aye a something.

Sae dinna fash yer heid, ye fool.
But tak' a seat in Wisdom's school,
And learn this guid, auld-fashioned rule —
There's aye a something.

Be weel content wi' what ye hae,
An' dinna look sae sad and wae ;
Dae what ye like, gang whaur ye may,
There's aye a something.

— H. Isabel Graham.

DOES MEMORY LIVE?

Thine eyes behold the jasper walls,
Thy feet have touched the golden street.
The seraph's song of rapture falls
Upon thine ears in accents sweet ;
Say, dearest, does there come to thee,
'Midst all that bliss, a dream of me ?

H
ll

M/SS //. ISA/iFJ. GRAHAM.

'^S

Does Memory live in realms above?
In fancy dost thou sometimes rove
Like dove from out the ark of love,
To seek a cool and shady grove,
Perchance to leave a spirit-kiss
As everywhere thy form I miss ?

It matters not ; I know that thou
Art free from every earthly pain ;
A crown of glory wreathes thy brow —
I would not have thee come again ;
My plaint is but a child's low cry
O'er treasured toys that, broken lie.

— H. IsAHKL Graham.

NO COUNTRY'S LIKE OUR OWN DEAR LAND.

(Written by request for the International Convention of the
Christian Endeavor Society held in Washington, D.C., July, 1896.)

No country's like our own dear land,

Where mighty torrents flow,
Her fair form covered from the blast

By jewelled shield of snow.

Where can you find such happy homeSj

Such calm sweet eventides ;
Such rugged beauty as adorns

Her lofty mountain-sides?

No country's like our own dear land,

For quiet Sabbath rest ;
No spot on earth more loved of heaven,

And none so richly blest.

Fair, virgin land of Canada I
Long may thy banners wave

'.I

126

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

Above a free and loyal race
That vice can ne'er enslave.

May temperance, truth, and righteousness

CiO forward hand in hand,
And Christ, the King, be glorified

liy our Endeavor band.

No country's like our own dear land ;

(jod grant her sons may be
Worthy the broad and great domain,

That rolls from sea to ,ea.

i:i. Isabel Graham.

: i

1 \

THE PRODIGAL CHILD.

Far from the light and the comfort of home.
Out where the feet of the desolate roam,
Wanders a son from his parent astray.
Bruised by the thorns of life's rough, weary way ;
Father, have mercy, the night's dark and wild,
Save in his weakness Thy prodigal child.

Fall'n like a star from the firmament bright.
Hiding in darkness, away from 'J'hy sight ;
Gone are the false, fleeting pleasures of earth.
Dim are the marks of his right royal birth ;
Yet Thou dost love him where'er he may stray,
Bidding him come to Thy bosom to day.

See ! how the heart of the great Father yearns
Through the long years till the wanderer retun 3,
Waiting to welcome the son of His love
Back from the sin to a mansion above ;
Father, what love can compare unto Thine,
Patient, forgiving, amazing, divine !

H. Isabel Graham.

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GEOKGK IMRIK.

CEOA'GK PIRIE

129

GFoORGB PIRIE.

Mr. Georc.k i^iKii; was horn in Aborcleeii, Scotl.uid, on Feb.
28th 1799, and died in Cnieli)li, Onl.^ on July J_'rd, 1870. He wjis
twice manied and had a lari^e family h}- both wives. Jane Pirie,
his second wife, died in Dundas on Oct. 24th, 1S95, having- sur-
vived him a quarter o'i a century. There are three children by
the first wife liviiiiif, and seven by the seiond. Mr Pirie published
tlic Guelph Herald lor twenty-two \ears, and was Secretary of
the St. Andrew's Society of Guelph for twenty-one years. 0\\ his
retiring" from the Secretaryship of St. Andrew's Society he was
presented with a service of silver plate. \Vni. Lyon Mackenzie, a
Scotsman like himself, although opp>osed to him in politics, said of
him that he was one of the ablest m riters in Canada. Mr. Alex.
F. I'irie, proprietor and editor of the Dundas Banner, is a son
of the late Mr. Pirie.

THE MURDER OF THOMAS SCOTT.

Mr. Mair, who was a prisoner with Sct>tt, niurderetl by the
miscreant I\.iel and hi^ "ellow-traitors at Fort Garry, says : " Sco t
was murdiMcd in coUl blood. He was placeil in a knei-ling posi-
tion and shot, three balls entering his btnly, and he fell to the
gfround but not dead. Seeing that he still lived, owe Parisen, a
relative of the murderer of Sutherlanil, ran up and fired a revolver
into his ear. The ball glanceil between the scalp ami skull. He
was then transferred to his coffin, where he lay for over an hour,
still quivering and alive."

In Memoriam.

He fell not in breach nor in baltle-field,

In the rally, the rout, or the raid ;
They bore him not back on his batterVl shield,

By the meteor flag overspread.

7 '"

1 30

SCOTTISH CAXADIAN POETS.

They dooi ' d liim to death, that rebel band,

Defiance in speech and eye —
A loyal son of the dear old land,

For the brave old flag to die.

F3y traitors beset, not a comrade nigh,
He knelt on the snow-clad gr und ;

And they murdered him there for his loyalty,
As they'd slaughtered a mangy hound.

A voice has gone out from that blood-siain'd pile,
A shout like an eagle's scream,
"Shall Britons be butcliered on British soil.
For their fealty to Britain's Queen ? "

Let our bugles resi)ond with a thrilling knell
That will startle the wolves in their lair ;

The muster, the march — and the passing bell,
'I'hat will tell the avenger is there.

— George Pirie.

THE TEMPERANCE CAUSE.
Air : " The Boaiie Roivs!'

A noble band, we fill the land,

A noble cause we plead ;
The fair and true the wide world through

Are wishing us good speed.

Chorus — The plea goes on, the day's our own,
The good cause must succeed ;
A noble band, with heart and hand,
Are aiding it to speed.

GEORGE PIRIE.

The potion foul, tlie drunkard's bowl,

We pledge to mix no more ;
The drunkard's name, the drunkard's shame,

We'd banish from our shore.

Chorus — The plea goes on, »!v:c.

The cause of youth, the cause of truth,

The cause of man we plead ;
The cause that dries the mother's eyes,

And gives the children bread.

Chorus — The plea goes on, cVc.

From Labrador to Erie's shore,

The cause goes cheerily on ;
The shouts that rise 'neath eastern skies,

We echo from Huron.

Chorus — The plea goes on, <Jv:c.

On ev'ry sea our navies be,

On ev'ry shore an host ;
There ne'er was plan devised by man,

A league so large might boast.

Chorus — The plea goes on, «S:c.

With such array, who dreads the fray ?

Press onward to the goal ;
By night or day, by deed or say,

No truce with Alcohol !

Chorus— The plea goes on, &c.

— (iEORGE PiRIE.

132

SCOTTISH CANADIAN I 'GETS.

THE FO R (1 ET-M EN OT.

This little flower with azure -"ye,
You love it, lady, tell me why ;
It seems to me nor rich nor rare,
Tt breathes no fragrance on the air,
Nor splendid form nor colors bright,
May give it value in thy sight.
If not for perfume nor for show,
Pray tell me why you prize it so.

It is not rich, it is not rare,

This little flower — yet, ah, how fair.

Though it no merit else may claim

lUit this, "the mngicofa name,"

Each tiny leaf into my ear

Is breathing names to memory dear ;

The dead, the absent, the forgot,

Are whisp'ring here, " Forget-me-not."

— George Pirie.

#^(F#

REV. WILLIAM WYE SMITH.

A'EW WILLIAM WYI-: SMI LII.

•35

REV. WILLIAM WYE SMITH.

Ri:v. Wii.i.iA.M WvK S.Mirii, ^.^'i Sf. C;ifliariiu«s, is u oil known
as ;i wiiti'i- of' portrv, ami his fanu» is not conriiuHl tti Canada.
His poems have called forth inistinted praise from the best Judj;-es
in the New WorkI as well as in theOlil. liis puhlislunl collection
o^ poetry was warmly welcomeil wIumi it apptviretl, ami a i-eviewer
in a New ^'ol•k weekl\', in speakiniL;; of the hook, saiii : " Many
o'( the Scotch poems are markeil by pure patriotism, loft)- senti-
ment and pretty fancies."'

Mr. Smith was Iniin in Jeilburi^h, ami tame to .Aineriia with
his pariMits when lu> w;is only thrive years o^ 'ij;*^'- His father
carrietl on business in New ^'o^k for somi' \ears, but subsei|uently
en.s4ai4ed in farmintf near (lalt. The facilities for i>bt.iinin^ an
education were sadly missed by youui;- Smith, but what with the
smatterini^ o'( tuition obtained in .\t'W ^'ork, and his untiritig'
dilij^em'e in the eveninu;', after his ila\'s work was done, he fitteil
himself to " pass " as a school-teacher, ami with the nuMiey earned
by teachiiiif he was able to proceed to New York and there take
two terms in the classical depart nu'iit oi the I'niversity Grammar
School. Mr. Smith mairietl in 1S31 and bei;an life as a }j;"cneral
store-keeper in St. (icorg'e. About this time he took a prize of
$iooofTered by the Sons o'i Temperance for the best essay advo-
cating a Prohibitory Liquor Law in Canada, thus provitii^ himself
a master in prose as well as in piu'try. In 1S55 Mr. Smith remov-
ed to Ov.en Sound, but havini>; obtained a clerkship in one of the
Courts he g-ave up business. Hesiiles courting- the Muse he edited
the Sunday School Dialy the first illustrated Sunday School paper
published in Upper Canada ; in 1862 he visited Scotland; in 1863
he boug-ht out the Owen Sound Times ; in 1865 he became pastor
of the Coni^reg-ational church in Listowel, and afterwards of the
cong-regation of Pine Grove near Toronto. For three years he
ministered in a Congregational church in an Eastern township of

f :

536

Si n T TISII C \'\ XA DJA A' POE TS.

Quebec ; but he is now a rosidotit of St. Catharines, his time bein^
for the most part devoted to editoiiul work in connection with the
C(t undid n In dcpcn den t.

Mr. Smith lias, of late years, become famous as a translator
of the Scriptures into " braid Scots," his hast and perhaps his
crowning' effort bein^ the rendering- of the Gospel of St. Maiii.c.v
into the Doric. Mr. Smith is still hale and hearty, and his Muse
is not allowed to slumber for long.

LOUIE CAMPJiKT.L.

The purple mist liangs on the brow of Ben Criiacban,

And s[)arkles at morn in the dews of the vale ;
But purer and brighter is she of 13al moral,

That chooses her lot in the land of the (nael !
There are Campbells in council, and Campbells in battle,

And Campbells as fair and as bright as the morn, —
But the fairest and brightest that e'er wore the tartan,

Is sweet Louie Campbell, the Lady of Lorn !

Let the sun shine in beauty on high Ijedan-amran,

And waters m music descend from Loch Awe ;
The winds be a pibroch of triumph and glory

To hail the best day that the Highlands e'er saw !
She has left her proud home in the old royal towers, —

And the side of the throne, in whose shade she was born.
And wrapt her within the green plaid of the Highlands,

The sweet Louie Campbell, the Lady of Lorn !

No more shall the Cael, on her own Loch Etive,

Look sadly away to a grave o'er the deep ;
But nourished at home like his own mountain-heather,

Take root in the soil where his forefathers sleep.
No more shall the moorcock and grouse take the place

Of the cot of the clansman, sublime in his scorn ;
But gentle and l)rave in the shade of his mountains.

He'll bless Louie Campbell, the Lady of Lorn.

REV. WIU.IAM WVK SMITH.

«37

Tlierc's glory to win iti tlic wide world before liini,

And Ainie to the clansman is calling afar ;
lUit gladly he'd leave all bis fiinie and his glory,

To please the blue eyes of the Lass from Braeniar !
Who thinks that the Highlander e'er is unfaithful

Or the love of the (iael not a gem to be worn —
Let him go where the sceptic is silen.ced forever,

And ask Louie Campbell, the Lady of Lorn !

— William Wyk Smith.

Wr THE LAVEROCK V 'VWV. \.\V'\\

\\\ the laverock i' the lift, pii)ing music i' tlie skies,

AVhen the shepherd lea's his cot, and the dew on gowan

lies —
Up, ui), let me awa' frae the dreams the night has seen
And ask what is the matter wi' my heart sin' yesteie'en ?

The laverock i' the lift, i' the wildest o' his flight.
Sees whaur his love abides, wi' throbbings o' delight, —
But I behold her cot, and awaken to my pain —
It canna sure be love, or Ed sune be weel again !

Adown the sunny glade, there's a bower thac cottage nigh,
Whaur the flowers aye are sweetest, and the burn gangs

singii'i' by, —
'Twas there we partit late, wi' a kiss or twa between, —
But what can be the matter wi' my heart sin' yestere'en ?

I'll to yon garden hie, ere the gloaming close its e'e,

I'll tell her o' my pain, and ask what it can be ;

It may be she can cure wha gar't me first compleen.

For ah ! there's something wrans wi' mv heart sin' yester-

een

— William Wye Smith.

■38

scorns/I caxad/ax poets.

O, rHK WOODS!

O, the woods I the woods ! ihc leafy woods,

And the lau^liiii^ face of Spring !
W'lu'ii llic birds return from tlieir far sojourn,

'riieir latest new songs to sing !
Then let me hie to the leat'y woods,

And banish iwv woe and care-
O, I'll never rei)ent of the day I went

To learn a sweet lesson there !

O, the woods ! the woods ! the Summer woods,

And the coolness of their shade !
Where in wildwood dell all the (Iraces dwell,

There to wait on a sylvan maid !
I'll seek for flowers to deck her bowers,

And twine in her golden hair;
And I wonder much if she thinks of such

As I, when the Winter's there.

O, the woods ! the woods ! the Autumn woods,

And the chestnuts ripe and brown !
When the leaves hang bright in the changing light.

Like the banners of old renown !
And south-winds rip[)le across the lake,

Like chiming of marriage bells ; —
O, I wouldn't much grieve, if I d never leave

These wildest of woodland dells !

O, the woods ! the woods ! Canada's woods.

And the sweet flowers nourished there !
O, the beechen shade, and the sylvan maid

That garlands her golden hair !
Her name may change with the magic ring —

Her heart is the same for aye ! —
In mv little canoe there is room for two,

And sweetly we glide away !

— William Wye Smith.

REV. IVirjJAM W'VE SMITH.

'39

WIUTE HEATHER.

It's ill to 1)0 i)uir aiul leal !

And it's ill to keep lint frae the lowe !
And it's ill to liae bauehles sae doon at the heel

'I'hat the weary lit wanders throwe !

lUit whether ihis poorlith will flee,

While the leal and the true shall remain ?

And whether my Jeanie will smile upon nie ?
Is a " Read-me-my Riddle ! " again.

She tell't me "she riches desj)ised,"

Hut she didna ken I was so puir !
And a sprit; o' white heather — a gift that 1 [)ri/,ed —

She plucked as we gaed ower the muir.

I wad that I wasna sae puir !

And I wad that I aye might he leal !
r>ut I wad, aboon a', to be certain and sure

O' what bonnie Jeanie may feel ?

We gang to the sun for its shine —

And we gang to the wuds for their shade —

And I'll e'en to my luve, in my dool and my pine,
And speir what that " Wiiite Heather " said !

— William Wve Smith.

' <l

140

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

AGNES lYTIoER.

■

A(".Nr:s TvTi.KR, the subject of this brief sketch, was of ^ood
Scottish stock, hei' father being- from Aberdeenshire and her
mother from Banff. She was born in the Township of Nichol,
County of WelHngton, Ontario, in 1837. Her school-Hfe was very
brief as she was required, at the age often, to help with home-
duties, she being the eklest of tlie family. Fortunately she was
enabled to gratify a taste for reading-, ha\ mj^ free access to a
good library. In due time her mind got well stored with useful
information, and being intelligent antl thoughtful she was enabled
to make a gootl use of the intbrmation so obtained.

TIIEKK Tlir: WEARY ARE AT REST.

'I'hcrc is [)lenty room in heaven
Eor the weary and o[)[)rest,

Wha here are sairly driven,
An' ran never get a rest,

Sae I'll aye be look in' forrit,

An' the days will stine be dune ;

Syne I'll hear the welcome signal,
To lay tny burden doon.

An' oh but I'll be willin',
An' I'll gladly tak' the Han'

That will help me thro' the valley,
Up to the better Ian'.

He'll lead me to the portal,

An' free frae a'

my sin

Clad only wi' His righteousness,
They'll surely lat me in.

AGNES TYTLHR.

ft :

I :

ill

AGNES TYTLER.

«43

He spok' o' makin' mansions,

An' dootless He kens best
But in some lowly biggin

I'd gladly tak' ma rest.

For I've ne'er been used to riches,

E'en comforts hae been sma' ;
An' I (heed in costly palaces,

I'd get nae rest ava.

An' I'm sair, sair tired an' weary,
For the fecht's been unco lang :

Sac whan the Maister's willin',
I'll be richt glad to gang.

— Ac'.NE'J TVTI.KR.

11
ill

THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH.

Even in youngest baby-days

The dark shade hovers nigh,
As oft we are reminded

'I'here is none too young to die.

And still it broods above us,

While we wander through the vale,
Where oft our footsteps falter,

As we hear the mourners' wail.

Then the Shepherd kindly leads us.

Where the pleasant waters flow,
Till we forget the shadow —

Forget the pain and woe.

But soon, alas ! it lowereth.

That shade so dark and drear ;
In bitter ca»-e and sorrow,

Weils out tlie falling tear.

144

SC07TISH CANADIAN POETS.

I i

Yet all along we're sheltered

]]y His protecting rod,
Till the valley joins the mountain,

And we climb up to our God.

The world was fair and beautiful,

When I was young and gay ;
I find much that is sorrowful,

When I am turning gray.

I did not think of growing old,

Nor thought of death's chill gloom ;

I've looked my last on faces loved,
And laid them in the tomb.

I (lid not think that friends could change,

Or lovers prove untrue ;
]>iit I have seen them pass away,

Swift as the mornintj; dew.

I dreamed full many a joyotrs dream

Of deeds ot noble worth ;
Realities of direful wrong

Are rampant on the earth

Tired, from this weary, weary world

I turn my thoughts on high,
Where dwelleth holy peace and love.

And naught can fade or die.

We need not wealth or power

To reach the heavenly shore ;
Freely God gives us, day by day,

And bids us ask for more.

We need not wisdom rare

To search out all His will ;
But seek in simple faith to know

He'll guard and guide us still.

AGNES TYTLER.

But not with slothful hands,
To sit and wait for heaven ;

The time is short, we needs nuisi do
The work that (iod lialii given.

5'3

It may l)Ut be to work for bread

Or weary watch and wait,
O guide some erring soul to Him

Ere yet it be too late.

— AONES TVTLER.

AGAIN WE MEET.

Again we meet with saddened hearts.
Again must farewell words be spoken ;

And from the cl^dn that binds our band
The strongest link must now be broken.

And yet we would not be too sad.
But trust the ever faithful Word,

That all together work for good

To those who trust and fear the Lord.

We know we'll miss the ready hand.

The heart and head that wisely [)lanned;

Aye ready at the duty call.

Obedient to the Lord's command.

That heathen nations sunk in vice
And shrouded in the darkest night,

Might hear the joyous Gospel call
And wake to see its glorious light.

146

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

May He, we trust, surround your path,
With many loving friends to cheer ;

While yet you keep the meni'ry green
Of those that you have walked with here.

And trusting thus we say good s[)eed,

And (iod be with you all the way
That, sometimes rough and sometimes smooth,

Leads upward to the eternnl day.

— Agnes Tvtler.

•<:?^ J^ *£:?'' ''^* ^^ '"^*

1:fl

THOMAS LAIDLAW.

THOMAS /.A ID LA \V.

149

i
^

THOMAS lAIDLAW.

No man in or around Guolpli is bettor or more favorably
known tban Mr. Tliomas Laidlaw, and tow, if any, liave done as
much to encourag-o everytliing- Scotch — somotimos in proso but
oftoner in poetry — than has tliis veteran Scot. He was born in
182:5, and came to Canada with his parents when he was only six
years of ag'c. He entered into possession oi the soil when the
Royal City was only four years old, and he and Cniolpli have maile
history together. In the summer of 1854 Mr. Laidlaw visited his
native lanil; and, having" g'ot married, on his return he settled down
on a farm of his own ; near the old homestead, and tiuMo ho livi'il
until 1884, when he sold out to his brother ami moved inloGuelph,
where he is now living', his dauglitor his sole companii>n, his
wife having' died about seven years ago. Mr. Laidlaw has been
for years bard of the St. Andrew's Society in Cniolph, and he was
president in 1896. In the days when there was a Caloilonian
Society in duolph he was the bard o( that organization also, and
wrote, on two occasions, an invitation iji verse to the aimu.il
games of the Society. Mr. Laidlaw's efforts of late years have
been more in the direction of proso writing', as the cohnnns oi the
Mercury show.

THE OLD SCOTTISH SONGS.

0, sing us to-night from the old Scottish songs —

The songs which our mothers would hear
In the old cottage homes, that were covered with 1 hatch,

In a Land that will ever be dear.

To the true Scottish heart they feeUngly speak,

As they waft us in spirit away
To the great moon-lit glens, with their deej) hazel den.s,

And the " bens " that are prouder than they;

'50

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

To the green-margined burn, wini[)ling far up the strath,
To the moors with their red heather bells,

Where the lone curlews cry till the echoes reply —
Where Nature in solitude dwells.

.%.

And out from the stream, and beyond the thatched roofs,

The kirk of our fathers a])j)ears;
'Tis the auld parish kirk, looking grey through the mirk.

And embalmed with the memories of years.

And we stroll up the glen, past the quaint water mill,

And round by the old castle tower.
Enshrouded with mystery, of ghost troubled history.

And lonely at night's witching hour,

W^ith the sweet-scented gowan the meadows are gemmed,
And the lark sings its song from the sky ;

All nature rejoices, and the liills have the voices
Of freedom that never will die.

In the days of unrest, when the land was in gloom.

And the godly their Zion bewailed ;
When the hunters of men searched the soul-stricken glen,

And the heart of the truest had quailed.

To the hills then they looked for the spirit and power

To strike from oppression the rod ;
Nor were they denied, and they fought as they died

For the kirk and their covenant God.

Yes, the spirit that stemmed the invasion that sought
To wrest from the kingdom its crown;

That spirit untamed down the ages has flamed
With untarnished, unsullied renown.

Dear land of the wild rugged mountain and glen,
With a spirit that dares to be free,

THOMAS rAfDLAW.

'5»

VVc rejoice in the fame that ciilustrcs your name,
And the world that is centred in thee.

Then sing us to-night from tlie old Scottish songs —
The songs which our mothers would hear

In the old cottage homes, that were covered with thatch,
In a land that will ever be dear.

— Thomas Laidlaw.

KENNEDY, THE

IN MExMORY OF DAVID

DISriN(;UISHED SCO'I'TISH
\X)CALIST.-

'1\) night we lift the minstrel harp,

With tears of sorrow wet,
And strike with reverent hand its chords

To wailings of regret ;
VVe strike in numbers sad and low,

And dirgeful notes prolong ;
We mourn to-night for one who reigned

A prince of Scottish song.

His songs were fragrant with the breath

Of broom and heather bells ;
They echoed to the murmuring streams

And music of the dells ;
He brought auld Scottish scenes to view.

As if by magic wand ;
We loved him ! O, '' A Nicht at Hame "

With Kennedy was grand.

The sighs and vows that lovers breathe

Were sacred in his hands ;
He wove them into garlands rare,

Entwined with vestal bands ;

* David Kennedy died at Stratford, Ont., October 13th, 1S86.

•54

SCOTTISH CAJVAD/AX POETS.

And honest worth more noble seemed,

As with exultant swell
He sang hmv independent minds

All other minds excel.

With all the hearing of a prince

To front with battle brougiit,
He grandly sang of honored fields

l^y Scottish valor fought.
He held us, as he seemed to rend

Tyrannic chains with scorn,
And led us with him as he soared

On wing of Freedom borne.

He sketched the lore of Scottish sono;

With true perce[)tive art ;
His stories^ with a wondrous power.

Revealed the human heart.
Now tender, pawky, shrewd, and wise,

Anon with humor rife,
As told by him with unction rare.

Were true to Scottish life.

His voice hnd stjrn'd the flagging sou!,

And rapturous plaudits won
In every clime, in wintry zones,

Or 'neath the tropic's sun.
And in our land, whose shores again

His welcome foot had pressed.
Expectance reigned in every heart—

The heart to 'oy confessed.

Alas, for hope ! within yon room

The Scottish minstrel lies,
Where weeping friends close round his bed

And breathe their burdened sighs.

TIIOMAH LAID/ AW.

»53

Hand clasps with IkuuI, in kind farewell,

Lips tender words convey,
Wliile soul-lit eyes with touching glance

Say more than words can say.

i 'I

He breathes a wish to hear that hynui,

" The Rock of Ages cleft ; "
Friends in that deeply solemn hour

'I'heir trembling voices lift.
The dying minstrel feebly joins,

Vet sings in faith and love.
Yet while he sings, his s[)irit soars

'I'o sing the song above.

Yet though on earth his voice was hushed,

And on a foreign strand,
His dust is in the auld kirkyard

And in his native land ;
Amid the scenes of which he sang,

Of which he was a part,
Where on his grave the lark doth rain

The music of its heart.

Ye autumn winds that drilt the lea

With heavily burdened sigh,
Ye limpid streams that gently flow

Beneath a leaden sky, —
In concert sing with muffled voice,

And join, ye woodland throng.
In liquid notes, for one who reigned

A Prince of Scottish sonii.

— Thomas Lmpi-aw,

■BT

>54

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS,

■

I'M

SCOTIA'S THISTLE.

Scotia's Thistle, honored gem,
To-night we round your rugged stem

A wreath of laurel bind ;
V'our fame would date, as legends say.
brom time remote, now diui and gray,
And down the years through feud and fray ;

In loyal hearts enshrined.
And we awhile to-night would scan
The scene whereon your fame began.

The mists of years rest thick between
The present and the distant scene ;
Yet fancy sheds a ray of light
Across that legendary night.
As camped upon the heath there lay
The Scots at rest awaiting day ;
Nor had a thought foreboding ill,
All nature seemed serene and still,
Save when in gusts the wind would pass
To shake the waste and withered grass ;
Or from the bleak, adjacent hill,
The bark of fox, heard sharp and shrill ;
Yet neither wakeful eye nor ear
\Vould say a foe was lurking near.

Yet foe there was — Danes, stout and bold,

Sea-rovt ' in the days of old —

Lurked u\ the gloom, their scouts ahead

With ear intent and stealthy tread,

otiot through the night an eagle eye

A point of vantage to espy —

Some place less guarded to assail,

To strike and by surprise prevail.

With bated breath they grope their way,

Barefooted lest their Si*^ps betray ;

THOMAS LAIDLAW.

^SS

With crouching form, till in arrest

A foot is on the Thistle prest ;

Its cruel jags the wrongs resent —

A shriek throughout the darkness went —

A shriek, — the imprecating yell

At once on the encampment fell !

Each Scot shook off his slumber light,

And in an instant stood upright —

An instant held the scene in view,

Then grn' ')ed his blade with courage true,

And out beneath the star-lit sky

He rushc(l with yell and battle-cry ;

Wild as the torrent's maddened leap

Adown the rugged mountain steep,

So rushed the Scots, the Danes opposed,

And Scot with Dane in combat closed.

Their reeking blades life's current drank,

Down to the dust the victims sank ;

Until beneath the potent sway

Of Sct-Jtish swords the Danes gave way,

And, routed on the field, in flight

They sought the darkness of the night.

With vigor on the trampled heath
Tlie Scots did win the victor's wreath,
And as the pale-raved level sun
Lit up the field their valor won,
In justice to ascribe a meed
Of honor to a timely deed,

They hailed the Thistle then
In fealty and with honor due,
While ages roll, the emblem true,

Of Scotland hill and glen.

Fit choice and meet, so full replete

With rugged stem and jag ;
We in our emblem do rejoice
And shout with an united voice.

Long may the Thistle wag.

— Thomas IvAidlaw.

156

SCOTTISH CANADIAN P0E7S.

"QUIT VE IJKE MEN."

Brothers — men God's image bearinc^,
Nobly walking, brow erect —

Men, Clod's loving-kindness sharing,

' Should ye fail in self-respect?

Men endowed with gift of reason —
Men of conscience, mind and will,

Time is an important season,
In it you've a place to fill —

" Quit ye like men ! "

:|1

Be not slaves to sinful passion,

Cleanse your skirts and keep f»-om stain ;
Be nor lured by empty fashion,

Unsubstantial, light and vain ;
Rise to manhood's truer bearing,

vSinful habits blight and sere ;
In the conflict be ye daring,

Let the i)roudling taunt and sneer —
" Quit ye like men ! "

IJve and act that in an audit

You may court the clearest light,
Pleased if ye may win the plaudit
Of a conscience just and right ;
Mean and base is he that reckons

On the gain that wrong may buy ;
Follow ye where honor beckons,
Listen to her clarion cry —

" Quit ye like men ! "

Never lose the pure and holy

Lessons that we learned in youth ;

Leave the sceptic with his folly
Rather than com[)romise truth ;

THOMAS LAIDLAW.

Seek the truth in all its beauty,
Cling to all that's good and pure,

Never swerve nor slirink from duty,
Never ye your faith abjure —

'* Q)uit ye like men ! "

Yes, be men — be true and uprii-ht,

Quit the fogs that lead astray.
Rising to the purer sunlight

Of a clearer, better day ;
Rising to com})leter union

With diviner, holier things,
It is yours to seek communion

Even with the King of kings —

" Quit ye like men 1 "

— Thomas Laidlaw.

.V::^. • -^-^ .^Ci^ ^-^. ^xi^' .i5^«

•<5^ '<^^^ ''=^' ^^* ""=^*

'5«

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

ROBERT RBID.

Mr. Komkkt 1\i:iI), or as he froqueiitly lovod lo style himself
l;i his youni^er days " Rob Waiilock,"' was boni at Waiilock,
Duinfriesshire, Scotland, on June 8th, 1850, When iifteeii years
ol" aj^-e he went to (ilasgow, where he entered the counting'-hovise
of the weil-known manufacturing firm of Stewart iSi Miicdonald.
Four years afterwards he wejit to Belfast, Ireland, but he soon
returned to Ghisgow, and eniered the employment of the late
Mr. Win. Cross, himself a prominent song-writer and the author
of the " Disruption," etc. In 1S77 he came to Canada, and he has
ever since occupied a prominent position in the wholesale dry-
goods warehouse of Messrs. Henry Morgan & Co., Montreal.

The New York Ifotnc Journal o\' July iSth, 1894, contains a
lengthy and interesting sketch, of Mr. Reid fiom the pen of Mr.
John D. Ross. In his introductory remarks Mr. Ross said of
Mr. Reid : " At the age of twenty-four he appeared before the
public with a vi>lume ot poems and songs entilled 'Moorland
Rhymes.' Although he was for many years previous to this a
welcome contributor to the poet's corner in many of the local
newspapers and nuigazines, he was comj)?iratively unknown to the
literary world, but the superior tone and the general ixcellence of
his musings, as displayed in this little volume, at once attracted
attention everyw^here. He was hailed by the press as a new poet
of a high order ; his book was eagcily bought up, and his reputa-
tion thus established has increased with each succeeding- year,
until he is now classed among the finest of the Scottish poets at
present domiciled abroad."

In 1894 Mr. Reid published an enlarged edition of his works
with the title " Poems, Songs and Sonnets." It contains what
may be considered the riper fruit of his former book " Moorland
Rhymes," with a large addition of new matter, notably in the
sonnet form.

ROBERT KKID.

!■ m ■'

ROBE/rr REID.

161

Since 1894 Mr. Reid lias not sd troquetilly rcsponclccl to the
Muse's call as of yore, yet his harp has not been altogether silent,
and many fine pieces have come into notice, amonj;- them " Ken
ye (he Land," ami " A Song- of Canada,'' the one a tribute to his
native laiul, aiul the other a song' in praisi* o{ the land ot his
adoption.

THE WIIAUP.

Fii' sweet is the lilt o' the laverock

Frae the rim o' the clud at morn ;
The merle [)i[)es weel in his mid-day biel',

In the heart o' the bendiii' thorn ;
The blythe, bauld sang o' the mavis

Rings clear in the gloamin' show ;
But the whaui)'s wild cry, in the gurly sky

O' the moorlan', dings them a'.

For what's in the lilt o' the laverock

Tae touch ocht mair than the ear ?
The merle's lown craik in the tangled brake

Can start nae memorie-s dear ;
And even the sang o' the mavis

But waukens a love dream tame,
Tae the whaup's wild cry on the breeze blawn by

Like a wanderin' word frae hame.

What thochts o' the king gray moorlan'

Start up when I hear that cry !
The times we lay on the heathery brae

At the well, lang syne gane dry ;
And aye as we spak' o' the ferlies

That happened afore-time there,
The whau[)'s lane cry on the win' cam' by

Like a wild thing tint in the air.

(62

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

And though I ha'e seen mair ferlies

Than grew in ihc fancy then,
And tlie gowden gleam o' the l)oyish dream

Has sH[)|)ed tVae rny soberer brain ;
Vet — even yet — if 1 wander

Alane by the moorlan' hill,
That (jueer wild cry frae the gurly sky

Can tirl my heart strings still.

— Robert Rp:id.

THE CRY OF THE HH.LMEN.

Ciod o' the hameless^ shield Thy bairns !

Lout laich frae oot Thy halie hauld,
And i' the bield o' Thy richt airms

This remnant o' Thy flock entauld ;
Else ane by ane we'll dwine awa'

Like lilts o' sang-birds fr' o the hill,
When e'ening mirk begins to fa',

And gleds and hoolits work their will.

For never did the lintie's heid

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 ;

ROBERT REID.

163

The wild bird's whccpic frac the hit
'J'lic only leeviii' voice we hear,

Save when in some lane glen we lift
Oor ain to Thee in diile aiid fear.

Nocht ken we o' the joys of life,

The ingle-neuk, the heartsome ha' ;
Oor bonnie bairns and blithe gudewife,

For Thy sake, l.ord ! we've tint them a' ;
Yet wad we coont oor losses gains,

Gin Thou in mids' o' us wad be
To ease us o' the skaith and pains

'i'hat we maun for oor Covenant dree.

It's oh I that we micht bauldly stan'

In Christ's ain kirk amang oor kin,
Thy halie Book in ilka han',

'Thy praise ilk gledsome saul within ;
For this oor Covenant we mak',

For this we thole, for this we dee ;
Oor ban's are on the pleugli, and back

Ae wistfu' glance we maunna gie.

Hog king, O 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 ;
O lout and listen to oor plaint,

Bare Thy richt airm and bield us, God !

— Robert Reid.

.64

SCO 'IT I SI I C VI XA PI A N POE 1 S.

THE DAYS OF OLD.

In the brave clays of old, ere the falchion formed the plouL^h,
When courage steeled his sinew 'nealh the banner and
the brand ;
When tlie haughty crest of chivalry was free to every brow,

Atid prowess was the test in every land :
O ! then the heart was chainless as the wind, —

'I'he migiUy 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 riglit, never coward kept a crown,
Nor cunning contjuered 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 victor's brow was laurell'd in his king and country's
sight,

In the brave days of old.

But that bright sun hath set, and the niglit that gathers
round
Is alive with all inicjuities 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
roll'd :
And the sweetest sounds that greet us are the memories
that come

From the brave days of old.

Ro/iF.RT Ri:in,

165

O 1 would tliat we miglit wake, as from a hateful dream,

To wed the noble purpose that our ancestors have shown ;
Our i)arks are ever drifting down uiion a golden stream,—

Wealth is the only standard that we own ;
For if we j>ledgc the dearest ho[)es of life, —

Ikain and sinew, nay, the future of the soul is often sold :
And we seek it as the warrior souglit his glory in the strife
In the hrave days of old.

— RoiU'LRT Reid.

'riliC BURN'S ANSWER.

Bonnie burn, that rins

'I'ae the roarin sea,
Ilae ye no word ava

Krae the hills tae me ?

Ye row'd by a sheil,

In a far-aff glen,
Whaur a bonnie lassie bides

That we baith suld ken.

I )

For aft hae we roved

liy 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 hum grat,
*' O, bairn ! I wad fain

Bring the news that y(i spier for,
To cheer ye again.

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SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

"That sliiel i!i the glen
Still Stan's by my side,
And the lan<j; and bosky howms
In their simmer pride;

" Eut the lass— wae's mc ! —
She's a wife lang syne,
And the govvd dream has faded
In your heart and mine;

"There's nocht yonder noo
Brings gladness tae me,
And I'm fain tae harry by
Tae the roarin' sea."

-RonERT Reid.

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DR. DANIEL CLARK.

169

DR. DANIEb CleARK.

Dr, Daniel Clark wis born at Grantown, Inverness-shire,
Scotland, and came to Canada when a boy with his parents, who
settled near Port Dover. In 1851 he went to California where he
spent about two years. It took him nearly four months to cross
the continent, and the journey was only accomplished after j^reat
hardships and quite a number of adventure* . On his return from
the Golden West young- Clark attended a grammar school near
his old home, after which he came to Toronto to attend the Uni-
versity. Peiiig- a bright, diligent and capable student, he carried
off a number of bursaries. He graduated in Medicine in 1858, at
the University of V'ictoria, and the University of Toronto also
bestowed en him the ad eundeni degree of M.D. Dr. Clark has
been twice elected a member of the Medical Council ; he has been
thrice elected President of the Medical Council and College of
Physicians and Surgeons ; he has been president of a number of
medical associations, and is at present President of the Associa-
tion of Medical Superintendents of American Institutions for the
Insane, having been elected at Washington, D.C., in May, 1891.
fr. 1890-91 he was president of the St. Andrew's Society of
Toronto, and he has also been president of the Caledonian Society.
He is likevvise an honorary member of the Canadian Press Associ-
ation.

Dr. Clark, after completing his studies, visited Europe. He
spent two years in the University of Edinburgh, and he visited the
hospitals of London and Paris.

In 1885 Dr. Clark published ** Pen Photographs," It consist,
ed of sketches of noted men and historic places seen and noted by
the author. Dr. Clark is also the author of numerous pamphlets,
monographs and reviews.

In 1875 Dr. Clark was appointed medical superintendent of
the Asylum for the Insane at Toronto, which responsible position
he still holds. His has been a remarkably busy life, divided

s^ir

170

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

between the duties of his responsible office and his literary
labours, yet amid his multifarious engagements he has for some
time been Professor of P,.sychology and Mental Diseases in the
Medical Fiunilty of Toronto University.

It sliould also be mentioned that Dr. Clark has *' smelt pow-
der" in his day in connection with the American Civil War. He
acted as surgeon with the Union Armies in Virginia during the
closing year of the war, and his experiences then would form in-
teresting reading were they ever to appear in print.

STRENGTH IN UNION.

Snow-balls gather as they go,
Strength for every frosty pile ;

Singing streamlets as they flow,
Vibrate waves on every isle.

Crystal sands make granite rocks,
High as Alpine rugged towers ;

Lightning's nervous scathing shocks
Reel before cohesive powers.

Silkworm's glittering fragile strands
Brepk before the passing breeze ;

Spin the threads with gentle hands,
Silken ropes defy the seas.

Warriors on the battle plain,

Rend the opposing ranks, together ;
Courage ebbs not 'mid the slain,

Whs,n feather ever toucheth feather.

Nations untarnished ever stand
Defiant, knowing no decay ;

Ne'er can ruthless vandal hands
Disintegrate them all away.

f\^-

DR. DAXIEL CLARK'.

Fraclions of the unit great —
Segments of tlie circle wide ;

Celt and Saxon cannot hate
Britain true, and Britain tried.

Send the patriotic blood

Bounding through the distant parts,
Then, a never-ceasing flood

Back to Albion's heart of hearts.

'71

Let the recreant and the knave,

Who would sink his country's name

In Oblivion's darkest cave,
Hide his head for very shame.

Ours the nation built by men

Who scorned disunion ever !
Ours the empire held by them

Who shieldeth it forever.

— Daniel Clark

p»

A LONE GRAVE.

On seeing a solitary grave in a glen far up the Sierra Nevada Mountains in
Calilornia.

This simple monument of death,
Far, far away from haunts of men,

Proclaims that mortals' fleeting breath
Exhales on mountain, lake, or plain.

Can no one tell who thou hast been ?

Nor miss thee on a distant hearth ?
Have wild-flowers clothed thy grave so green,

Yet none remember thee on earth ?

172

scorns I I Canadian poets.

% !i

Perhaps thr tcarltss stranger stood
To see the last convulsive throe ;

And then with hand and heart as rude,
Consigned him to the dust below.

Or Indian fierce with fiendish smile,
Up-raised his hand, and laid him low ;

Then, savage-like, he seized the spoil,
And heeded not the tale of woe.

Conflicting warriors may stain

With gore the green sod o'er his head ;

Exulting yells may fill the plain —
Insatiate rapine rob the dead.

Rude storms may shake Nevada's top,
And lightnings flash in vales below ;

Earthquakes may rend the granite rock.
Hid far beneath eternal snow.

But 'tis no matter — he will lie
As quietly in that mountain bed,

Where sturdy pines a requiem sigh,
As if among his kindred dead.

— Daniel Clark.

TRIALS.

The clouds may hide, but cannot reach.

The stars afar ;
The waves may spend their noisy strength

On rock or scar.

Vengeful winds may sway the bending fronds

Of forest trees ;
The lightning's flash may strike in vain

The rolling seas.

DR. DANIEL CLARK.

•73

The quivering earth may shuddering feel

The earthquake's throe ;
Mountain torrents may remorseless sweep

In downward flow.

The soul has storm-clouds in its dire distress,

But Heaven above ;
The waves of anguish sweep against it guarded by

A Father's love.

The howling tempests of malignant power

Beat it in vain ;
The lurid chain strikes with vengeful hiss

At heart and brain.

The spirit quivers and passion's floods may flo\/

In angry quest ;
But God commands and says, " Be still, —

Give rest."

- ^"iNiEL Clark.

.-.^

174

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

WlbklAM TBbFORD.

Mr. William Tklford was known as the bard of Smith.
He came to Canada iVon the villag-e of Leithohii, Berwicksliire,
Scotland, in 1850, and died at Smith on April 13th, 1895, ag-ed 67
years. The Peterborough Examiner ixiihe time of Mr. Telford's
death had the following to say about him : "In the death of Mr.
Telford a prominent and estimable gentleman is removed from the
arena of life. Besides his many noble qualities as a man and a
citizen Mr. Telford had not a few sparks of poetic genius in his
nature. He has been the honored bard of the St. Andrew's
Society since its organization, and has been present at every
annual gathering for 3-^ years. He was a broad-minded man,
with great integrity of cliaracte»*, enjoyed universal esteem among
his personal friends, arid was recognized on two continents as a
worthy member of the guild of Scottish National Poets."

Deceased's remains were interred in Little Lake Cemetery,
and the following gentlemen officiated as pall-baarers, vi;: : Dr.
Carmichael, Dr. Cauldwell, Charles Cameron, John Fowler, Alex-
ander Gibson and VVm. Menzies.

ST. ANDREW'S SOCIETY PIC-NIC.

ii'-.'i

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It's nineteen years, an' sax months mair,
Sin' I left Scotia's hills sae fair ;
An' aft I've lang'd wi' heart fu' s:iir

For sic a day,
When Scots could throw aside their care,

To sport an' play.

WILLIAM TELFORD.

1) w, ; I

ssmtsisssssssi

WirJJAXr TELFORD.

'77

I'orsoolh, I in dooiiriclit glad tae sec
]?aith auld an' young, in mirth an' glee;
It gars nia heart sic big thuds gie

Again' nia breast ;
It brings auld Scotia fresh to me

In thochts, at least.

This scene reminds us o' the days
Whan, callants on auld Scotia's braes,
We joined in a' the harmless plays ;

Ilk ajie in turn
Wad fauld his breeks up legs half ways,

To wade the burn.

Or dim' the hilJs wi' yer bare feet,
Pu'in' cowslips, an' the primrose sweet,
lUit whiles a pain that gar'd ye greet,

Nae easy borne ;
The bluid wad rin frae yer bit feet

Jagg'd wi' a thorn.

But, brither Scots I maun tell you,
This day gies me anilher view :
Aft yer forefaithers quietly drew

To sic-like places ;
Their persecutors aften slew

Them for their guid graces.

To worship God, tliat martyr band
Did spurn the tyrant's dread command;
Upon the hill ae guard wad stand

To warn his brother —
He held the Bible in ae hand,

Sword in the other.

17^

SCOTTISH CAXADIAN POETS.

II 1

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Auld Scotia's glens could tell the tale,
Her rugged crags sic scenes bewail ;
Or should her bluid-stained heather fail,

The faggot, stake,
The rack, the bolt, screw, sharpened nail,

Wad witness make.

Through bluid tney gained religion's cause,
Their next desire for ficedom was ;
Their lawfu' richts they gained by sma's.

Dear were they bocht ;
Weel may we lo'e auk^ Scotia's laws,

For years they focht.

When foes tried Scotia to subdue,
The giant McNabs to battle flew ;
The Campbells, Camerons, quickly drew

Their wee bit steel ;
A Bruce, Douglas, Wallace true

Sune gar'd them wheel.

Freedom they gained ; we claim it still ;
There's nae dragoons upon that lull,
Nae Clavei'i<;(.se to slay or kill

For faita or creeds, —
This day ye can do what ye will

O' lawfu' deeds.

Nae sword this day ye need to take,
Unless to slice up your big cake,
Sit, eat an' sup for stomach's suke,

There's r.ane will stop ye ;
Rin, put, an' jump, some guid springs make,

Let nane ootstrip ye.

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W/LLLi,V TELFORD.

VVhisht ! there's a sound 1 ken richt weel,—
1 hats just the bagpipe's vera squeel ;
How queer they niak' a Scotchman feel,

And gars him spring
Up in a raw for some Scotch reel

Or Heilan' fling.

'79

Freend Scots, I've naelhing mair to say ;
Gae, join your cronies in their play,
But a wha's hair is getting gray,

Can stop wi' me.
V/ishin' that sic anither day

We a' may tee.

—William Telford.

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SCOTTISH CANADIAN POKTS.

DONALD MCCAIG.

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In the Canadian Magazine soriu* time ag'o there appeared a re-
view of" Mr. Donald McCain's published poems "Milestone Mooas
and Memories," by Mr. Daviil I^oyle. From that review we borrow
the foUowinjj;' particulars : " Mr. Donaki McCait^ was born in the
island of Cape Breton on May 15th, 1832. It is almost needless to
state that bis parents were vScottish — his father of Hij^^hland, and
his mother of Lowland (Ayrshire) linea^t^-e. When four years of
.ii^e McCaig" removed with his parents to L^pper Canada, and the
family ultimately settleil in the southern portion of the County of
Wellington. Wiieii in his nineteenth year young- MeCaiif attended
the Normal School in Toronto during- the summer session ami
three years afterwards, in 1H58, he again attended the Normal
School, and succeeded in obtaining the highest grade certifica'v.-.
He taught in the County of Wellington until 1864, and for seven
years subsequent to that date he, in conjunction with Mr. Mc-
Millan, mana_g"ed Rockwood Academy, an educational institution
of more than local celebrity. After severing- his connection with
the Academy Mr. McCaig- acted as principal in Berlin, Gait and
Ottawa public schools. In 1866 he was appointed Public School
Inspector for the District of Algoma, and that position he still
holds. Before publishing- his book Mr. McCaig- contributed many
pieces to local papers, and in 1885 he wrote the prize poem
* Moods of Burns ' for the Toronto Caledonian Society,"

EASTERN TWILIGHT.

By (ianges' stream the shadov;s fall,
O'er tON^er and tomb of ancient day ;

O'er nioss-growii portal, broken wall,
O'er crumbling arch and temple giey.

m I •

DONALD McCAIG.

DOXALD MCCAIG

'83

There light rol)ed, dusky limbed and strong,
Fair priestess, daughter of the sun,

Has watched her shrines and waited long
For dawn of l>rahnia's reign begun.

With solemn swish the stream goes by,
The creeping shadows sinking low,

Bring now a laugh and now a sigh,
F>om hearts that suffered long ago 1

And Brahma, heedless laugh or cry,

Beholds the waters bear along,
With cold unsympathetic eye,

Their freight of sorrow or of song !

So ever on the waters roll,

No change can waiting priestess see ;
As now a leaf, and now a soul.

Goes outward, onward to the sea !

O Soul ! like shimmer on the tide,

That comes from whence, and passes where ?
Though Brahma, ever by your side.

Flears not your cry, nor heeds your prayer.

Gautama's lamp is burning low,
The incense lost, the perfume siied

From censers idly swinging now.

Where soul of Brahma's life lies dead !

O sages ! waiting, watching still,
For Him whom prophets saw afar,

Behold a light breaks o'er the hill,
Behold a newly-lighted star !

O priestess ! looking to the skies,

For coming tokens of the morn,
For you this brighter star shall rise,

For you this nobler Prince be born !

1 84

SCOTTISH CAN AD/ AX POETS.

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Of Him the herald angels siiiL,',

" He knows His ciiiklren, feels like them,
A Sun with healing in His wing,

A Star, the Star' of Bethlehem ! "

— I)()NAi-D McCaig.

MY ISLAND H().\nC.

O sing not to me of your tropical glories,

Of the land of the orange, the fig, or the vine ;
Though unclouded the sun may unsparingly pour his

Warm rays o'er its bosom, still dearer is mine ;
Still dearer the land which the moss-circled daisy

And wild mountain heather bedeck with their bloom,
Where the hero still dreams by the l.MOok winding mazy

Among the green vales of his own island home !

Among the green vales, where careless his childhood,

Untrammell'd by fashion, delighted to stray,
And twine on the hill, 'neath the shade of its wildwood,

A wreath to be worn but in life's opening day ;
Ere the fast-rising waves of life's stormy ocean

Should leave him no more thus unheedi.ic; to roam,
Or the dark daring struggle of war's wild commotion

Divide him by death from his dear island home !

Where love's waking joys early taught him to ponder

On visions of greatness seen beaming afar,
And hopefully led him, e'en erring, to wander

And gather a name 'mid the glories of war ;
Yet sing not to me of rich streams from your mountains.

Of your valleys of diamonds or pearl gilded foam,
For dearer to me are the rills from the Fountains >

That flow 'mong the hills of my own island home.

DOXA/.n McCAIG.

'^5

'Mong the bills of my home, the land of my fathers,

'I'he birthplaee of heroes, untrodden by slave,
Where Liberty gems for its coronet gathers,

'Mong names of the mighty, from r(j!ls of the l)rave ;
Where the rude minstrel's song in its wild, mystic numl)ers,

Though to pale, [)edant lore and to science unknown,
Awakes in each bosom the soldier that slumbers —

The glory to guard of his dear island home !

Of the land where the ashes (;f patriots sleeping,

I Je pillarless, left on the fields where they fell ;
Yet safe rest the names from oblivion in kee[)ing.

That sacred to freedom in memory dwell !
And kindle a warm and undying devotion

In the breasts of her children wlicrever they roam.
Till the "green vales of Scotland " means one with emotion

To each wandering son of that dear island home !

Where still from her valleys to melody rising,

Sounds far u|) the mountain the bard's melting strain ;
Where fearless her children, oppression despising,

The terror of tyrants unchanging remain.
Then sing not to me of rich streams from your fountains.

Of your valleys of diamonds or pearl-gilded foam,
When dearer to me are the rills from the mountains

That flow through the vales of my own island home.

— Donald McCau;,

EVENING,

Standing by the broken wall,
Where the evening shadows fall,
And the drowsy night-birds call,
Far, far away !

i86

StOrnsiI CAXADIAN rOETS,

ill

Wilhci'd fUnvLi wilh Ijrokcii stem,
Summer murniiij^'s dewy gem,
Old and feeling, I, like them,
Have had my day !

Leafless grove and silent bower,
Heauty's charm and music's [)ower,
Come to bless one fleeting hour,
Then dark decay !

Youth vv(juld laugh and maiden sing,
If 'twere always love and Si)ring,
But they vanish, all take wing,
Youth, love and May !

Dear ones slumber in the mould.
All the living grim and cold,
done togethtr, gilt and gold.
Why should I stay !

Time brings Summer to a close,
Autumn into Winter grows.
Cold beneath the silent snows,
1 )eath holds his sway.

Otie last thought to valleys green,
To sylvan lake in silver sheen,
'J'he love and glory that have been,
Tiien whence away ?

— Donald McCaig.

3(1

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■

ALLAN KOSS.

A/J.AX A'OSS.

I So

ALLAN ROSS.

y\n. Allan Rtiss, tin* subjei-t ol' this very hv'tci sketch, was
boni lU'.ir l-Aliiiburj;^!!, Scotland, on March Jist, 1S33. In July,
1S35, he caiue to Canada with liis parents who settletl at (laU ; in
July, 1H44, he moved to Owen Sound, and in July, 1888, he went
to Winnijiej;^, Man. At present he resides at Treherne. The
reader must look tii the photo, ami to the specimens of his poetry
here produced for .any further iiisii^-ht they m.ay tiesire as to the
character and the ability of Mr. Ross ; he is a very modest man,
and not jijiven to talkinj^ about himself,

HAG(US.

The haggis lliat my niither made,

I canna tell ye hoo,
'Twas something far ahune the things

They ca' a haggis noo.

'Twas nannie's maw and nannie's pluck,

Forbye the spice and meal.
Was everything that she put in 't.

An' haith she did it ueel.

The maist fastidious couldna help

But relish sic a dinner.
Be he a beggar, king or duke,

A humble saint or sinner.

Whan faither wi' the guUey cut
The stitches made wi' cotton,

Each e'e he focused on the sight-
The grace was clean forgotten.

^IF

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.SY Y; 7 TISH ( \i XA DIA X POE VS.

John Hull out ovver his piukhii' smiles,
Jcaii Haplistc ower his puddocks ;

Gie Uncle Sam his pork an' beans,
Newfoundland, cod and haddocks ;

The Dutchman relishes his khrout,

The Italian macaroni ;
'I'lie ' ane gloats ower his beef an' fish,

Ciie rice to Chinese Johnnie ;

Gie blubber tae the Esquimaux,

The Spaniard marmalade ;
Restore tae me, abune them a',

A haggis like my mither made.

— Allan Ross.

A SONG.

The sun i' the west had gane doon to rest,

The face o' auld Nature blinked bonnie an' still ;

The birds 'mang the boughs had a' gane to repose,
But the robin alane sang clearly and shrill.

Still the core i' my breast was ill at rest,

For love has cares, let ane dae what ane will ;

My cares soon a' flew when my e'en got a view
O' her ain braw cot on the tap o' Hunthill.

An' doon i' the glen was my lassie her lane, —
My thochts when I saw her, nae mortal can tell ;

Her voice was sae sweet as she then did me greet,
•' Yer welcome, dear Johnnie, aye back tae Hunthill."

The rcse in its pride micht hae blushed at her side,
An' so micht the lilie that grows i' the dell ;

Ca' them thegither, they'll no mak' anither

Like Maggie, sweet Maggie, the pride o' Hunthill.

— Allan Ross.

■ILLA.W ROSS.

IQI

ON THE DKA'PH OF WIMJAM BROWN.

Arouse, auld 1:lt|), frac thy lang slumber,
An' let us sing aiiither number
In memory o' a frien' that's gane.
Within the vast unkeiuied domain ;
An' pit ye on the best ye hae
An' we will climb Parnassus brae,
All' gie the best we hae tae gie,
For wcnthy o' a sang is he.
(lien in his ain lo'ed native lays,
Moo he did spend his earthly days,
Nae ither tongue can tell't sae weel,
Can touch the heart an' mak' it feel
'I he [)angs o' grief an' joys that roll
In transi)ort o'er the inmaist soul.
He was imperfect like us a',
The heritage o' Adam's fa' :
But what was left o' nian divine,
Frae I'aradise's gowden mine
O' pure unsullied, sinless ware,
His was indeed an ample share ;
To mourn for him wad be a sin —
'Tis for his loved anes left behin'.
He's better far where nae tears fa' —
" In yon (Irand Lodge that's far awa'."
Should we revisit auld Lake Shore,
His welcome grasp we'd feel no more,
Nor hear him tell o' youthfu* days
He'd spent 'mang Scotland's heathery braes ;
His shepherd's i)laid, and emi)ty chair,
Could only tell ?.ha aince was there.
'Neath the first grund he e'er possessed.
His weary iimbs are laid at rest ;
P)Ut far abune the milky way,
His spirit basks in endless day.

192

SCOTTISH C AX AD I AN POETS.

He was a man o' Nature's inakin',

An' got his Icarnin' for the takin',

An' drank frae Nature, pure an" simple,

And frae resources vast an' ample.

'Mang nien an' things that did surround him,

An' on nis clue o' memory wound 'em,

He'd gaither threeds the hale day lang, —

At nicht he'd weave them in a sang ;

It micht be some pathetic lay,

On a dear fricn' that passed away ;

His theme micht be a timid mr ise,

Or Robie Barrie's auld log house ;

Or mony mair that micht be hinted —

But likely they will a' be printed.

The squirrel couldna pass his feet

Unnoticed, wi' a heid o' wheat,

But frae his pen a sermon brocht,

Designed to teach mankind forethocht :

Though no sae rich in punds an' pence,

A millionaire in common sense,

Near five decades their course hae run

Sin' oor acquaintance first begun.

Through a' these years o" life's brief span,

Somehoo I aye did like the man ;

It seemed tae gie him muckle joy

Tae joke an' prattle wi' a boy ;

Sae, auld an' young, an' a' aroon',

Did aye speak weel o' Wullie Broon.

He spoke to us in sic a way

As we were made o' kindred clay.

An' seemed ta see in life's brief race

The comin' man tae tak' his place.

An' frae his lips nocht ever fell

Wad dae ane's morals ony ill.

O ! could we a' dae as he did,

An' keep oor evil passions hid

On Christ the Rock-o'-Ages by,

ALLA^V J^OSS.

»93

The Rock on which he did rely,
Then calmly lay earth's harness doon
For tae tak' up a heavenly croon.

— Allan Ross.

THE OLD MOSS BACK.

High perched upon his rural train,

Upon the topmost sack,
He's off to market with his grain —

The old moss-hack.

Who smiles out o'er the whiskey jug
While landlord draws the stopper,

And deftly lifts his rustic plug —
'Tis the old clodhopper.

Who sellc his grain by sample pock,
That is very good indeed,

And lies or blows about the joke —
'Tis the old hayseed.

Who washes every Sunday morn,
And off to church does pack,

And falls to sleep because outworn—
'Tis the old moss back.

W'ho works the hardest of his kind,
And gets the smallest copper,

And commonly is left behiiid —
'Tis the old clodhopper.

But better days are drawing near.

The tide is ebbing back.
United efforts soon will cheer

And guide the old moss-back.

Ar,r>AN Ross.

194

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

JOHN MORTIMER.

Mr. John Mortimkr's parents emigrated to Canada from
Aberdeenshire in tlie fall o^ '857, and he was born in I*'ebruary of
the followinj^ year. The family had sctlleil on land in the town-
ship of Woolwich., County of Waterloo, and in the primitive
dwelling erected thereon the subject oi' this sketch first saw the
light. At the end of the lirst year Mi*. Mortimer, senior, bought
antl settletl on a farm, panly cleai-ed, in the township of I^ilkington,
Wellington County, noai the village ot Elora, and here the family
have continued to resitle, and there Mr. John Mortimer lives {o
the present day. Young Moitimer got his education first at
Middlebrook Public School, under Mr. David Boyle, and latterly
at the Elora High School.

Al'TKR A HUNDRED YEARS.

Sweet hard of Ayr, whose honest hand
On " MossgiLl " held the humhle plough !

Loved bard of Ayr, all Scotland wide

With throbbing breast doth own thee now !

Twas grief that led thy faithful Jean
At yon sad hour to doubl thy fame —

The hundred years are passed, and now
The earth is girdled with thy name !

A name that's loved in every land,

Whose magic all true hearts doth thrill !

The "gold," and not the "guinea's stamp,'
Preserves that name unfading still.

JOHN MORTIMl-.K.

JOIIX MORllMKR.

'97

Sweet are thy songs " for Scotland's sake, '
Brave heart, tlio' sung 'midst want and care 1

Time or riiisfortune ne'er shall blight
Nor their unfading charms impair.

" To Mary " and " Sweet Afton " still,
After a hundred summers, wave,
And yield their fragrance pure and sweet
As ilowcTS fresh-i)lanted o'er thy grave.

To-day we heave a sigh, great heart,

That thy stout hark was tempest-tossed,

And mourn the darkness of thy days —
Yet we have gained where thou hast lost.

For many a soul-ennol)ling thought,
And many a maxim deep and sage,

'I'hou in the furnace of thy grief

Hast coined to bless each future age.

And they shall bless thee in return.
And hold thine honored mem'ry dear,

For thy great human heart, and all
That claims the tiibute and the tear !

Then vainly do I laud thy name !

Forgive, great minstrel, one whose [)rido
In thee did prom[)t this artless strain,

And I will lay my harj) aside.

If"'*
1^'

For many an abler l)ard thy praise

In nobler strains hath sung before.
Yet none who i)ri/ed thy honest wordi

And manly inde[)endence more.

— John Mortimku.

iqS

SCOTTISH CAXAD/AN /'OK VS.

'VWK I'VAAAW, i)V 'VWV: I'OREST.

1 I

If;

1; '■

Yc woods of ( an.'ichi ! once forests vast !

To me sweet relies of a vanished [)ast !

1 love to linger 'iieath your shades to day,

And muse o'er scenes and friends long passed away,

\'et unforifotten still ; as soldiers tried,

A\'ho fought in many a battle, side by side.

And camped on many a field in stranger lands-

J'"ormed l"rien(lshii)s that the gay world understa' Js

JUit dimly, nor hath further wish t(j know ;

So we who in thick forests, years ago,

Toiled side by side, formed friendships just as true

That mem'ry loves to dwell on and renew

For us who still remain. Wc backward ga/e

And fondly dwell on those loved forest days

AVith joy the present cannot give nor take ;

T'or age and mem'ry f;')nd companions make,

]>y i)resent joys untemi)ted-"-this is Uicet.

Here in this (juiet shade, this still retreat,

While joyous youth and sturdy manhood share

'J'he present's mirth and gladness, toil and care,

Come back to me the scenes of long ago,

^\'hen youth was mine, and all tiie world aglow

^\'ith hoj)e and promise — friends long dear to me

Do throng the world of fancy ; I can see

Each honest fiicc and grasp v.ach friendly hnnd ;

I dwell enchanted in this forest land

Revealed to mem'ry 's gaze'. Once more I swing

'I'he glittering axe, and hear its echoes ring

Through tlie deep solitude ; with toil once more

Is reared tlie rude hut by the river's shore,

On soil whose claim with honest pride we hold.

And thus with those around us, brave and bold

And full of life are they, as needs must be —

('ame they not here from o'er the boundless sea,

Knowing what toils and hardshi[)s lay before,

i /

ISST'iM''

JOHN MOR rmr.R.

UK)

With sorrowing friends behind tiicin ? Never more
I'o meet on this side Meaven mi^ht he their lot !
All this they knew lull well, and yielded not.
lUit there came loved ones with us, and to rear
Homes for those brave, those hopeful ones and dear
Was a beloved ambition ; thus inspired
We labored on, undaunted and untiretl,
Save for that weariness which night's repose
(phased with her magic wand, and we arose
Refreshed and glad, the fragrant morn to greet,
Alive with U!icaged music, wild and sweet.

Hut slowly did the work advance ; to tell
How, llirown with skill, the forest monarchs fell,
To me were pleasant — prone and parallel ;
'I'his way and that, their huge boughs interlaced,
Tier over tier, for giant Ixjnfires placed.
With terrible descent ; but fearless all
We laitl them low and climbed each swaying wall
To cut the higher trunks and boughs, and lay
Compact for burning, at some (uture day. —
And listening now 1 hear those bonfires roar.
And see great sheets of flame that skyward soar,
Triumphant beacons of thy future great,
Oh, Canada ! our dearly loved estate !

Now do those raging bonfires fade and die.

And half-burnt trunks and lilackened fragments lie

Thickly along the clearing. Once again

Assembled there are grouiis of stalwart men.

With grimy faces, blackened arms and bare.

Toiling like Trojans in the heated air.

Loud echoes round a boisterous mirth and din ;

Strong oxen drag the coal-black timl>ers in,

WMth many a loud "Vo-heave" high piled once more;

Again tlie hissing firefiends round them roar !

And ever as the flames sink faint and low.

Inward the smoking brands the toilers throw,

200

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

'lill at thti dawn of morn there* lie revealed

(ireat beds of ashes on a stumpy field,

Witli some few ))iles still burning into day,

That lit those laborers on their homeward wny ;

For oft was heard the gray owl's midnight call

Ere sought their several homes those jovial woodmen all.

Thus fared the noblest; of our forest trees,
Whose branches mingled, bending in the l)reeze
For broad, unmeasured leagues on every side,
All green and glorious in their summer pride !
The home of rustling wings and nimble feet,
The Red Man's shelter, and the deer's retreat.

— John Moktimer.

A .

i HI

l-t

SOMEBODY'S CHILD.

How swiftly for her do the years glide away !
And light is the heart in her bosom that swells,

As she sports with young friends in the gardens so gay,
Of those time-honored mansions where luxury dwells.

In high, massive halls she is shielded from harm,
And laughs at the storm when his raging is wild.

With never a feeling of doubt or alarm-
Protected, and loved, she is somebody's child.

When through the gay streets of the city she rides,

A fairy-like creature in splendid attire.
Poor motherless waifs, as before them she glides,

Forgetting to envy can only admire ;
Till her snowy-white raiment they sadly compare

With their own wretched garments, so tattered and .soiled,
So free from all trace of a fend mother's care —

Ah ! well do they know she is somebody's child !

JOHN MORTIMER.

201

They must licrd willi the vulgar, the vile, and profane,

While the dark things of earth have not entered her mind
There is science to aid her in sickness or pain \

There are soft, downy pillows, and nurses most kind,
With soothing, sweet music ; !)Ut, better than this

Is a fond mother's voice, ever gentle and mild ;
Her soft, loving touch and affectionate kiss

More precious than grandeur to s()melK)dy's child.

She may read in rich volumes the " story of old,"

The words of the wise and the lives of the brave ;
Where earth doth its beauties most grandly unfold.

She may roam for her i)leasure o'er mountain and wave ;
As the beauties of nature unfold to her ?ight,

On whose path al) the blessings of freedom have smiled
She dreams that this world is a i)lace of delight,

And its fountains are flowing for somel)ody's child.

Apart from the turmoil, the toil, and the strife

Of those who must live by the sweat of their brow,
More graceful she grows, every pulse of her life.

As kindred and friends ever fondly avow.
But the day hurries by her, and eve cometh on —

The evening of age, from yon wilderness wild ;
And youth hath departed and beauty is gone —

They wait not forever on somebody's child.

Oh ! beauty that fades not, and youth that abides 1

Ye gladden this earth with its frailty and care !
Companions of faith o'er the darkest of tides

To those beckoning shores that are sinless and fair.
For the ransomed of earth, be they high, be they low,

From the green shores of Eden shall not be exiled ;
How blest those who labor that earth's waifs may know

And share Heaven's welcome with somebody's child !

— John Moriimkr.

202

SCO TTISII CA NA D/A .V /^OA' 7'S.

j
1 I

■f 1

■yt

NEIJ.V AND MARY.

" Why, Nelly Jones ! (]onic in, my dear I
Sit down and let us talk together !
It seems an age since you've been here !
We'll waste no words upon the weather !

" How are they all at home tonight?
How is your father since he fell?
Was it his left arm or his right ?
And, tell me, is it getting well ? "

" Why, Mary ! you've; so nuich to say — •
So much to ask me to exi)lain,
And I've so little time to stay,
I think I'll have to call again I "

*' To call again ? Yes, certainly I

A hundred times, and welcome, too I
But here you are, and here you'll be
Till morning, if my word be true I

I })

In language of less sense than sound.
Awhile they gaily chattered on,

Until they brought the subject round
That girls most love to dwell ujion.

" And were you at the ball last night?"
Said Mary with expectant air.

" Say, who was dressed in fashion's height ?
And tell me whom you fancied there ? "

" Those hateful balls ! oh dear ! oh dear I
So tedious with their heat and din !
I think the absent ones must fear
Far more the torture thati the sin !

JOHN MORTIMEK.

203

" Yes, I was tliL'ic ! Well you ina\ smile,
Hut who such asking would refuse ?

* Come, only for a little w hile,

Vou needn't stay unless you choose!'

"And tell you whom I fancied there?
Well, really, Miss Impertinence!
You seem disposed, I must declare,
'l\) try my friendly confidence !

" lUit there was one young traveller there,
l)enr Mary, whom they all did view
Admiringly, and 'lis hut fair

To own that 1 admired him too.

" The finest girls within the room.

The gay, the wealthy, and the grand,
Their sweetest airs did then assume.
His kind attentions to command.

" And yet he came and sat with me
Awhile, and tried to entertain j
'i'he reason why I cannot see —
I looked so homely and so plain."

Ah, Nelly, dear ! it may be true

You were not then just grandly dressed ;
And yet this youth may think of you

More kindly than of all the rest."

•' Me ! Think of me ! when half the town
Besieged him, like some [)()rt of war?
He think of me ? Why. Mary Hrown !
I wonder what you take me for ? "

I do not take you for a cjueen !

You were not meant o'er realms to reign !
But just a lass, that once they've seen.

The lads will wish to see again.

ao4

SCO/TIsn (AAAD/AX POETS.

Irl';

"Those (..'\(iuisitcs, devoid of brains,

Who strut our streets in fo[)pisli i)ride,
And proof of what the head eontains—
Do wear tlie hat set on one side.

**Who hy such antics day-hy day

To all the wise themselves condeiiiti,
It i^ives hut small regret to say

My Nelly has no charms for tlu-m.

"The man of sense, who lives above
Such follies is the man for me ;
Who knows the worth of woman's love
And iiel[), and hope, and sympathy.

*' And 'tis for such you were designed ;

And such your worth full soon discern.
He wants a helpmate, true and kind.
Who would life's lessons wisely learn ! "

The stream of words has now begun
To slacken, and more gravely flow,

And Nelly's thoughts revert to one
From whom she parted long ago.

" Ah ! Mary ! 'tis so sweet a task

To sit and talk with one another !
I almost had forgot to ask —

When did you hear last from your brother ?

" Why, Nelly ! he was at this ball

Last night, the only stranger there !
And one young maid amongst them all
He liked the best, he did declare.

*'- And then the picture which he drew
Of her, I am compelled to say,
So very much resembled you —

Why ! what's the matter now, I pray ? "

JOUX MORTIMER

205

For Nelly's clieeks were rosy red ;

Hut liere their chattering found a stO[) ;
And as the swift-winged mo;iients fled

You might have heard a needle drop.

When, hark ! he conies ! this wondrous youth !

His distant footstep Nelly hears ;
And in his eyes are mirth and truth,

And wintry winds are in his ears.

And Nelly's eyes are sparkling o'er —
Shall he prove her long-absent 15ol)?

]Uit now his foot is at the door,
And now his hand is on the knob.

Thinks Mary : " I shall watch and sec,"
And their first glance e.vplained it all.

But see ! they meet ! they .Seems to me

Tis time to let the cm tain fall !

* — John Mortimer.

A DREAM.

Through the shades of mem'ry stealing,

Oft to me returns the sight
Which I once beheld with terror,

In a vipi/jn of the night !

On that eve I had been reading
In the wondrous Book Divine —

Reading of the judgment meted
Unto those of Adam's line.

Who for many years had traversed

All sin's dark unholy ways,
Heedless of their great Creator,

In this green earth's early days 1

H I*

206

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

I .

:!lH

I beheld outstretched beneath me

All earth's hills, and vales, and plains;

Years have passed and yet that vision
Fixed in mem'ry still remains !

For the scene was wild and dismal :
Leaden clouds and pouring rain —

Torrents down the mountains dashing,
Rivers i oaring to the main !

Niglit and day the rain descended,

'I'iil I saw, with rising fear,
All the lower vales o'erflooded.

And their tree-tops disappear !

Saw the drenched and awe-struck people

From the rising waves retire ;
All their voiceless fears increasing

As their tents were shifted higher !

Night and day the rain descended,

From those clouds that would not break ;

Every hill a sinking island —
Every vale a rising lake !

Up the slopes I saw the people

From the rising waves retire ;
All their voiceless fears increasing

As their tents were shifted higher !

Scattered flocks around them bleated.
Wild beasts in the forests roared ;

From those leaden clouds unbroken
Down the rain in torrents poured !

One by one I saw the hilltops

Sink into the awful deep —
Heard the cries of drowning creatures.

With a heart too full to weep !

^mmi^mtmm^mK^

JOHN MC R Tl MKR.

207

Night and day the rain descended,

Slowly did the waters rise
Towards the last hii^h mountain's summit-

I could ne'er withdraw mine eyes.

Till into the depths it vanished,
Vanished as the rest had done :

Earth a li([uid ball was sailinsj;
On its journey round the sun !

Then the thick clouds broke and scattered,

And I saw a lonely bark
In the sunlight calmly floating

On a boundless ocean dark.

And I thought of those within it,
And their fate I did deplore —

Hel[)lessly alone and sailing
On a sea without a shore !

Till a voice of angel sweetness
Softly whispered in my ear :
•' For yon ark and for its inmates.

Anxious one, thou needst not fear 1

HiJ

" That same earth, by ocean covered,
Their inheritance shall be ;
And through them be thickly peopled-
^ilorious is their destiny !

" Death their vessel ne'er sliall enter,
Billows shall not overwhelm ;
Lo ! the Omnipotent is with them,
And His hand is on the helm ! "

— John Mortimer.

2o8

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

i\ m

A WOODLAND VISION.

Oh ! glad, sweet days departed !

How fair the vision lies 1
Returned with fourfold beauty

Unto my aged eyes !

A little spot of clearing,

Green walled on every side ;
A barn and humble dwelling,

A river's winding tide.

Oh ! dear secluded homestead

Where kind hearts simply dwell !
And down the wooded hillside

I hear a tinkling bell ;

Where peaceful kine are feeding

'Midst fragrant flower and leek ;
Where strawberries grow, and the children

Their red, ripe clusters seek.

The fields, rough-fenced and stumpy,

Are green with springing grain,
Thriving amidst the sunshine

And early summer rain —

Oh ! brick and stone and turmoil !

Oh ! wealth and pomp and pride 1
Give me my little kingdom

By yon calm river's side !

Give me that little kingdom

Where long-loved voices call.
And place and name and wealth and fame,

Oh ! ye may take them all !

— John Mortimer.

JOHN MORTIMER.

209

A SENTIMENT.

Be richer for thy thoughts ; think not in vain
For fleeting honor nor fur golden gain ;

Not fame nor wealth alone can truly bless,
The soul ennobled is the best success.

—John iMouTiMi-ii.

A TRIBUTE TO THE TOADS.
(A Spring Poem.)

The S[)ring has reached our northern clime;

Crows in the air abound ;
The snow is melting, and the time

For toads will soon be round.

I'm glad the s[)ring will turn them out ;

I love so much to see
Those sober creatures hop about

Upon the grassy lea.

Around our door they watch for flies,

In coats of wrinkled brown ;
They sit and wink their bulging eyes ;

Their throats move up and down.

They are so lowly in their ways;

With warts all dotted o'er ;
I'll write these lines to sound their praise

Though I should write no more I

Oh 1 may their sober faces long

Be in our gardens seen !
And may they still be hale and strong

While fields and grubs are green !

— John Mortimer.

210

SC07TJSJ/ CAXAD/Ay lOETS.

SONC.

1^:'

»l

Some seem to tliiiik our mission here

Is only to l)c \i}m\ :
And the way to bless the sf)ns of men

Is hid them ne'er he sad.
1 claim n'>t mirth should rule tlu- earth, —

No prejudice ha\c I,
Nor reckon those hut friends or foes

\VI)o make me lauL;h or cry :
lie who would share my joy or care

Is slill the friend for me,
I''or the heart, you know, where'er you go

Is won by sym{)athy.

Is won by sympathy,
Is won by sympathy;
The heart, you know, where'er you ^o
Is won by sympathy.

\\'hen sounds of mirth and gladness fall

In vain on Sorrow's ear,
Then strive to comfort those who weep

And L^ive them cause for cheer ;
We may im[)art to every heart

Some sunshine if we try ;
'Twill hasten on the joyous dawn

W'c hope for bye-and-bye,
Till comes to stay that happy day

When all shall Itrcjthers be,
I'or the heart, you know, where'er you go

Is w<jn by sympathy,

Is won by sym[)athy,
Is won l)y sympathy,
Tlu; heart, you know, where'er you go
Is won by sympathy.

— John Mortimkr.

JOHN MOK TIMER.

21 I

QUKKN MORNINC;.

Far down tlu.- W't'slcrn slopes glides Ni.u;ht away,

And drowsy eyes at his approach find rest ;
Now, modest 'midst lier Ueauty, sweet and t^My,

Stands hhishing Morn upon yon ICnstern <rest.
'I'he dew doth si)arkle on the fresh j^reen sward ;

I'^ach si)ray hath crystal gems without a stain,
And all the featliered ciioir in sweet accord

Sing heartfelt |)raises to lur maidi-n reign.
The fields are grateful for the sun's warm rays ;

The air is moist and fragrant -it is bliss
To walk and breathe, and with a full heart praise

Our kind Creator on a morn like; this —
How l)lest to dwell with 'I'hee, oh, gracious King,

Whose Heaven is fairer than a morn in Spring !

— John Moriimer.

vrOTHER.

Farewell, dear modier, kindest friend and best !

Thou hast but gone to thine eternal rest.

Thy sj)irit's home, — why should we grit-ve for thee ?

W'hate'er our future earthly lot may l)e.

We know that thou art blest, that naught shall e'er

Fill thy fond heart again with grief or care !

No sor-ow hid beneath a smiling face

Shall e'er disturb thee in that sacred place !

O I s\ve(.;t reflection ! howsoe'er we mourn,

Joys shared with thee that never shall return.

More blisslul far thy portion is to day -

'I'hose heavenly joys that ne'er shall fade away !

And yet we miss thee sadly, and we will ;

212

SCOTTISH C \XAD/AX POETS.

i: Hi

Thy vacant chair shall seem hut vacant still,
Whoe'er may sit therein ; l)Ut we will dwell,
Not on the parting scene, the sad farewell ;
Not on our loneliness, for well we know,
Dearest of friends, thou wouldst not have it so ;
But we will linger o'er the happy past ;
O'er childhood years that flew away so fast,
When all was artless mirth and thoughtless glee
And love of play, dear mother, and of thee ;
Whilst all th*e gladsome years that intervene
Shall laden come with many a pleasant scene
And fond remembrance of thy counsels wise,
And bright example which we e'er shall prize.
It was not thine to leave a deathless name
To be remembered on the scroll of fame.
Thou didst but act within thy sacred si)here
A mother's part, yet there's no nobler here !
And those who knew thee best will ever bless
Thy tender love and sweet unselfishness ;
Thy patient, cheerful spirit that could see
Through every cloud that hid the sun from thee ;
And they shall ne'er forget thee ! may they tread
That homeward path that hath thy footsteps led
Unto the heavenly shores ! may they while here
All sacred things delight in and revere !
And strive to be through every changeful scene
As happy and as good as thou hast been.

—John Mortimlr.

■Tl^^-

■ 'i

JOHN MrRDOCH HARPKR.

) ?.■

■'i

JOHN MURDOCH HARPER.

215

DR. JOHN MURDOCH HARPER.

John Murdoch Harper, M.A., Ph D., G.E.I.S., was born
oti the 10th of February, 1845, at Johnstone, in Renfrewshir*',
Scotland, his father bein^ Robert M. Harper, bookseller and
publisher, of that place. Dr. Harper received his early education
at the parish school, afterwards j^oin^ to Glasj;o\v E. C. Training"
College, where he took the highest certificates granted by that
institution. Coming to Canada as a young man, he taught with
marked success in Nova Scotia and New Brunswick, so much so
that in 1877 he was offered the position of Superintendent of Edu-
cation by the Government of Prince Edward Island, and shortly
afterwards was appointed Principal of ihe Normal School at
Charlottetown. In 1880 he accepted the rectorship of the Quel ec
Hi}4-h School, which position he held until his appointment as
Inspector of Superior Schools for the Province o{ Quebec, his
present office. He is a graduate of Queen's College, King-ston,
received the degree of Ph.D. from Illinois University in 1881,
and was elected a Fellow of the Educational Institute of Scotland
in the same year. Besides being an educationist of prominence,
Dr. Harper has devoted himself to literature, in which connection
he has been no less successful. His Scottish verse is remarkable
for its purity and has gained for him a recognized place among
Scottish Poets in America. He was for years editor of the
Educational Record^ and has contributed many valuable articles
and papers to the literature of his day. His " History of the
Maritime Provinces " is a standard text-book ; while, in fiction,
his latest work, "Ourjeames," in the '* Chronicles of Kartdale,"
has passed through several editions, being very warmly received
by the reading' public Among other honorary positions held by
Dr. Harper has been that of President of St. Andrew's Society,
Quebec.

2l6

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

w »

TO A SPRIG OK HEATIIKR.

My bonnie spray o' [)ink and green,

That breathes the bloom o' Scotia's braes,
Your tiny blossoms blink their e'en,

To gie me glimi)se o' ither clays —
'I'hc days when youth o'er ran the iiills,

Adaftin' wi' the life that's free,
'Mid muirland music, and the rills

That sing their psalm o' liberty.

Your wee bit threads o' crimpit fringe

Aince shed their fragrance in the glen,
Whaur silence hears tlie burnie bringe,

And o'er the scaur its prattle sen' :
And now your bonnie flow'rets blink,

'I'o mind me o' the burnie's sang,
To move my heart perchance to think

O' mirth that thro' the bygane rang.

Erewhile the hillside breezes kiss'd

The dew-drops frae your coronet,
Or made you smile as thro' the mist

The peep o' day dispelled the wet :
And now your bloom's the token sweet

O' freenship in a brither's heart,
That smiles to see our cares retreat.

When freenship acts a brither's part.

—John M. Harper.

THE OLD CxRAVEYARD.

The summer's day is sinkmg fast,

The gloaming weaves its pall,
As shadows weird the willows cast

Beyond the broken wall,
And the tombstones gray like sentinels rise,
To guard the dust that 'neath them lies.

ill

JOHN MURDOCH HARPER.

2\-l

The whispeiiiiL; l)r(.'c'zes soliMiin l)(j;ir

A reciuicm, kncll-intoned,
As the stec[)lc's throhs alarm the air,

And tliroiigh the valley soiiticl,
To bid the weary seek repose,
When dies the day at twilight's close.

Then silken silence murimirs rest,
And the peace thai reigns supreme

Seems but awaiting (lod's behest,
To wake it from its dream,

While yet it soothes the hearts that weep,

Laments for those that lie asleep.

The moon, deciphering virtue's claims

To deeds of duty done.
Illumes a?iew the graven names,

That Time hath not o'ergrown,
Though the deeds of all are in the IJoolc
Where Time hath never dared to look.

Five generations slumber here,
Beneath these crowding mounds,

And still their spirits hover near,
As memory makes its rounds —

When widowed love here fmds retreat,

And sympathetic echoes meet.

The first to find their rest were those

Who saw the hamlet's birth,
When hum of industry arose,

To blend with rural mirth —
When progress first beheld its dawn,
Near by the river's virgin lawn,

2l8

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

But now the glebe a surfeit knows,

Though scarce a century old,
And undisturbed ♦' ^ank grass grows

Above the tear i ,ed mould,
While men in thousands claim it theirs.
Where lie their kindred and their tears.

And oft 'tis here we learn to die.

As sorrow sifts the soul,
When love's sweet longings seem to sigh

And with our grief condole —
To make us feel what joy it is
To know that death makes all things his.

For if tradition reads its lore

In lines of dism- ight,
Our higher hopes ints restore

I'o dissipate the night —
To courage us to think of death,
A change beatified by faith.

- ^ HN M. Harper

PER.

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MRS. ISABELLE ECCLESTONE MACKAV.

M/^S. ISARELLE RCCLESTONE MAC KAY.

'.21

MRS. ISABELLE EGGkEgTONB MA6KAY.

n i

IsABELLE ECCLESTONE Mackay is oue of the younjjfcr mem-
bers of tL » bright little band of Canadian sing^ers that is doing so
much to Wi.. for Canada a name in Ihe world of literature Though
asyetshecan scarcely be said to have come before, even the
Canadian public, she has already done gootl work. Her verses,
sketches, and short stories, have appeared in many of the Cana-
dian and American newspapers iind magazines, but save for a
modest little booklet which she prepared for her intimate friends
kist Christmas, she has not yet attempted any collection of her
writings. That she is producing and will produce work worthy
to endure, those who have followed her have no doubt. She has
the true gift of song. Her expression is free and graceful ami
her melody spontaneous. There is not the slightest trace in any
of her verses of straining or striving after effect. Natur.'ilness,
sweetness and spontaneity are the characteristics of her pen.
Her note is true and clear, and with experience and development
will grow in strength and variety. She comes o't good Scotch
stock and has the music of the hills and the witchery of the lochs
by right of direct inheritance. Her father, Donald MacLeod
MacPherson, besides heirg one of Woodstock's best known
citizens, is one of the mo/t persistent, leal, and eiithusiastic of
Scotchmen.

For a time Mrs. Macl> \y was a staff contributor of the Wood-
stock Daily E.xpresSy and over the pen-name " Heather," which
she had also used elsewhere, did excellent work.

J, ■=,

222

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

HALLOWE'EN.

Close to the ruddy hearth I draw my chair,

The blazing logs are heaped and trimmed with care ;

The short and dark October day is o'er,

And heavy night sits gloomy at the door.

Hark I how the lonely wind makes whisper round,

With half a menace in its mournful sound !

Close to the hearth I draw. The fire, I ween,

Doth burn with brighter glow on Hallowe'en.

Another chair I place beside my right,

For I expect a visitor to night, —

A visitor who comes a long, lone way

O'er many a shadowed path, and cannot stay

Save to bestow a smile and word of cheer,

And bid me courage for another year.

How the fieet time is passing ! Time, I ween,

With lighter wings doth fly on Hallowe'en.

I know her coming, tho' her quiet tread
Be noiseless as the footfall of the dead ;
Her voice is clear, altho' she speaks so low
' Twould seem an echo from the long ago ;
In her calm eyes my vanished life is glassed —
The guest I wait for is my happy past.
Alone 1 wait my fair one, for I ween
The past, — the present, — is on Hallowe'en.

On every Hallowe'en she comes to me,
And in the mirror of her eyes I see
Old friends whose comradeship my age has missed,
Dear faces whom death's cruel lips have kissed ;
One long-lost love whose face for weary years
I have not seen save through a mist of tears —
I see them all so plain. Ah, yes, I ween
I need no other guests on Hallowe'en.

MRS. IS A BELLE ECCLESTONE MACK AY.

223

Ah ! Slie has fled and left an empty chair ;
Yet something sweet and precious lingers there —
A subtle perfume through the lonely room,
A sudden lightening of the gathering gloom.
No future can affright my heart and me
While life still holds the sweets of memory ;
The happy past will always come, I ween.
To make me young again on Hallowe'en.

ISADEM.E r^CCr.KSTONL: MaCKAY.

DRliAMS.

" Beyond the waste, lieyoiid the hills,

I look far out ami dream of life "— I^amj'MAN.

O dreams ! so dear you are and sweet,

So deep within my heart ye hide,
That all the pageant of the real

Seems but a little thing outside.

I wonder if, all dreaming done,

Our tired, aching heartr: may see
One little dream of all they dreamed

Become a great reality ?

Or shall we still dream on, and dream

With far-off eyes that always see
Some wond'rous joy, some crowning good,

Some trium[)h in the f.ir " to be ? "

And seeing are content to wait

And hope and serve ? Perhaps 'tis planned
That we should seek the peace of life

And find it in the shadow-land.

Come then and go with vagrant will,

Ye joys and sorrows of the seen !
Ye move me not while I may hold

Within my silent heart — a dream.

— TSAHEI.LE EcCLESTONE MaCKAV.

224

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

1 M

\ 1'

iiiE AlM^LIvPARIN' BEE.

My gals is struck on parties, tiie kind that's known as

'Myalls,'
They spend their lives in dancin' an' returnin' dooty calls ;
They never seem to get much fun, in fact it 'pears to me
We were a sight more jolly at an apple-parin' hee.

The gals don't think it's stylish to hanker with regret
For them old days upon the farm, hut (iee ! I can't forget ;
My dim old eyes go follerin' back the same old road to see
The friends wo used to welcome to our apple-parin' hee.

Them was the days when nature weren't all fixed up with art :
To think of them sends happy thrills a-stirrin' thro' my heart ;
The days we got up with the sun and went to bed at nine
C'ept when we held a rousin' bee at apple-parin' time.

V ■"

I a:.ked the gals one mornin' " Look here, I'd like to know
Jes' what you think you're getting from this everlastin' show ?
We didn't wake with faded eyes and headaches — no, siree !
The days our greatest frolic was an apple-parin' bee ! '

But then, the gals don't like it, to hear me talk this way ;
They don't say nothin', but I know what they would like

to say :
They think it isn't stylish and no more it ain't, but then
I'd give up bein' styhsh for an apple bee again.

And I can't help a-thinkin' these hazy Autumn days
About the home that used to be and all the dear old ways ;
Why, bless their hearts ! The gals forget their mother

promised me
A walkin' liome by moonlight from an apple-parin' bee !

— ISABELLK EcCLESTONP: MaCKAY.

BDH'I.V C. XE/.SO.V.

EDWIN G. NEIbSON.

Mr. P^DWIN ti. Xki.son, of St. John, .\.B., is the soti of
Mr. v. H. Nelson, of that pL'iee. His mother was a daug'hter of
Mr. WilHam Rodi^er, Writer to the Sig-net, in Edinburgh. He com-
menced liis literary career as a contributor to Stuart's Ouarferly^
and his poems and short stories then published, earned for him
quite a reputation as a writer. His patriotic pieces, especially,
have been greatly atlmired ; .ind by many his poem entitleil
"My Own Canadian Home," has been considered the fittest of
anything that has yet been written, to be called Canada's
National Anthem. There have been three musical settings to the
piece, but the favorite seems to be tliat of Mr. Morley Mcl-augh-
lan, of St. John, N. B.

Mr, Nelson is thoroughly British-Canadian in sentiment, and
a zealous supporter of Imperial i'^ederation, the one object of his
song^-writing being to foster a loyal and patriotic spirit among
the people, and especially the young- people, of the Dominion.

MY OWN CANADIAN HOME.

Though other skies may be as bright,

And other lands as fair ;
Though charms of other climes invite

My wandering footsteps there ;
Yet there is one, the peer of all

Beneath bright Heaven's dome ;
Of thee I sing, O happy land,

My own Canadian hoine !

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j: :

, ; :
I

226

SCOTTISH CANAD/AX POETS.

I'hy lakes and rivers, as the " voice

Of many waters," raise
To Him who planned their vast extent,

A sym[)hony of praise;
Thy mountain j)eaks o'erlook the clouds-

They pierce the azure skies ;
They bid thy sons he strong and true —

To great achievements rise.

A noble heritage is thine,

So grand, and fair and free ;
A fertile land, where he who toils

Shall well rewarded be ;
And he who joys in nature's charms

Exulting here may roam,
'Mid scenes of grandeur which adorn

My own Canadian home.

Shall not the race that treads thy plains

Spurn all that would enslave?
Or they who battle with thy tides.

Shall not that race be brave ?
Shall not Niagara's mighty voice

Inspire to actions high ?
' Twere easy su :h a land to love,

Or for htr glory die.

And doubt not should a foeman's hand

Be armed to strike at thee.
Thy trumpet call throughout the land

Need scarce repeated be !
As bravely as on Queenston's Heights,

Or as in lAmdv's Lane,
Thy sons will battle for thy rights.

And Freedom's cause maintain.

EDWrX a. NELSON.

22;

Did kindly heaven afford lo me

The choice where I would dwell,
Fair Canada ! that choice should be,

The land I love so well.
I love thy hills and valleys wide,

'Ihy waters' Hash and foam ;
May God in love o'er thee preside,

My own Canadian home !

— E. G. Nelson.

RAISE THE FLAG.

Raise the flag, our glorious banner,

O'er this fair Canadian land,
From the stern Atlantic Ocean

To th.e far Pacific strand.

Chorus. — Raise the flag with shouts of gladness,
'Tis the banner of tlie free !
Brightlv gleaming, proudly streaming,
'Tis the flag of liberty !

Raise the flag o'er hill and valley,

Let it wave from sea to sea ;
Flag of Canada and Britain,

Flag of right and liberty ! — Cho.

Raise the flag, and with the banner

Shouts of triumph let us raise ;
Sons of Canada will guard it.

And her daughters sing its praise. — -Cho.

Raise the flag of the Dominion,

That the world may understand.
This will be our ensign ever

In our broad Canadian land. — Cho.

228

scornsn caxadiax poets.

Raise the flag ! who ckire assail it,

(iiiarded by the Km{)ir(.''s might?
Raise the flag of our Dominion,—

Stand for country, God, and right ! — Cho.

— E. (i. Nelson.

CANADA, LAND OF 'I'llI': FREE!

There's a land in tiie North wliere the rivers are flowing

In beauty and majesty on to tiie sea ;
And the bright sun of heaven its glory is showing—

The land that is dearest of all lands to me.

Chorus. — Then here's to the land of the mountain and river,
Stretching in glory from sea unto sea ;
(iod save our heritage, now and forever,
Canat^n, Canada, land of the free !

When our sires, brave and true, in the wilderness ])lanted

The standard of liberty, trusting in (Iod,
Though it was but a home on free soil that they wanted.

'j'hey founded our country, a continent broad — Cho.

Let us tell to the world, both in song and in story,
How bravely our fathers fought, free men to be ;

And tho' thousands have fallen on battle fields gory,
Defending their birthright, the land still is free. — Cho.

— E. G. Nelson.

»N.

ivor,

MALCOLM ^LxtCORMACK.

MA I.COTM MACCORM^ \ ( "A'.

ii:^

MAbCOIoM MacCORMACK.

There need be no doubt in any one's mind .is to the oriiyin of
the name Malcohn MacCorniack. Mr. MaeCormack, speakinijof
himself, says: " I am of purely Craelic parentav^o, lH>th my par-
ents having" been born in that sliire o\' ' Bonnie Scotland ' n.'imeil
Argyle, and in that partiiular district named Car.tyre. *' The
little villag-e of Crieff", in the Coimty of \V''ellint4;ton, Ontario, was
the place of the poet's birth, anil tcachini; has been his profcssitm
since the day he w.as declarcil qualified lor the woik. \\c. has
taught in Belleville, Ont. ; Stanstead, Ouebec ; I\ju ^hkeepsie,
N.Y. ; Guelph, Ont., and he is at present located in (lalt, Ont.
Karly in life Mr. MaeCormack made the acquaintance o\' the
venerable " Bard of Lochfyne," and in later years he enjoved
the fellowship of Ramsay, Laidlaw and McCaig. In such com-
pany his love of poetry was powerfully stimulated ; and, having in
his youthful days become familiar witi) Burns' works, Milton's
" Paradise Lost," Cowper's " Task " and Longfellow's
** Evangeline/' it is not to be wondered at that his Muse was
cultivated to good purpose. His poems appear to have been
largely the result of inward impulse, or inspiration received from
the contemplation of some beautiful or sublime scene in nature,
some moral beauty in character, or some striking part in the

grea

t drama of life.

THE GAEL'S HERITAGE.

Sons of the Gael ! 'tis yours, with proud elation,
To guard the fanie of the un( oiiquered brave

Who stood erect, disdaining subjugation.

And scorned to own the hateful name of slave.

•34

SCOTTISH CAXADFAN POETS.

'Tis yours to claim tlie heritage of splendour,
That gilds with light the old historic page,

Whereon your fathers' deeds remain to render
'I'heir fame undying to the latest age.

'Tis yours with grateful homage to remember
Their glorious deeds in those heroic days,

When Fingal fought his foemen without number,
And tuneful Ossian sang immortal lays.

Oh, valiant Fingal ! thine it was to tender

A bulwark strong to freedom's mountain home ;

To chase in flight, by Carron winding slender,
The mail-clad legions of imperial Rome.

Oh, peerless Ossian ' 'mid the leafy bowers

And sunlit banks of Cona's murmuring streams,

What glorious voices woke thy tuneful powers !

What gorgeous drapery fringed thy pensive dreams!

Sons of the Gael ! 'tis yours with fond affection,
To speak the tongue our Gaelic Homer sang ;

Whose thrilling tones inspired to scorn subjection
When with his songs the halls of Selma rang.

'Tis yours to feel where'er the rolling thunder
Of Britain's host hath rent the cloud of war,

Where deeds were done that bade the nations wonder,
Your fathers foremost marched 'neath glory's star !

Sons of the Gael ! Oh, then, with proud elation,
Still guard the fame of the unyielding brave,

V/ho stood erect, disdaining subjugation,

And scorned to own the hateful name of slave !

— Malcolm MacCormack.

A/A LCOIM AfA CCORAfA Ck'.

^35

THK RIVER.

Softly yoii silent moon

Looks from the midnight sky ;
('aim as at summer noon,
Cloudlets float by.

O'er me the fragrant firs

Darkly their shadows throw ;
Gently the /.e[)hyr stirs

Boughs drooping low.

See the swift curretit pour,

Sheer from the diz/y height ;
Rises its sullen roar,

I.oud on the night.

Sleeping like airy dream,

Bathed in the silver light,
Far up the waters gleam,

Sparkling and bright.

Down then beyond the falls.

Rushing with foamy glee,
Speed they 'tween rocky walls,

Down to the sea.

Clasped in its cold embrace,

Lulled on its heaving breast,
Sadly with yielding grace,

Sink they to re t.

Emblem of human life.

Gliding so swift away,
Passing from peace to strife.

Sinking for aye.

Picture of human life. .

Proving its destiny,
Gaining through toil and strife

Eternity.

— Malcolm MacCormack.

236

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

^ i

rt-

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JOHN MACFARLANE.

" John Arbory."

In the neig-hborhood of Abing'ton, a romantic villag'e situated
on the borders of Lanarkshire and Dumfriesshire, are to be found
Arbory Hill, Arbory Glen, and otlier similar iiames. In Abington
Mr. Jolin Macfarlane was born, and from the place-names already
mentioned he took the nam de phime "John Arbory." In his
boyish rambles Macfarlane became familiar with scenes hallowed
by the persecutions of Covenanting days, and in many of his
poems he sings the praises and paints the sufferings of the martyrs
of those trying" times. A work entitled " The Harp of the
Scottish Covenant," published by Mr. Alex. Gardner, of Paisley,
and which has obtained a wide circulation among Scotsmen at
home and ab.oad, was edited by Mr. Macfarlane. This well-
known poet has long agfo made Canada his home, and he at
present resides in Montreal. His pen is not idle, as the colunms
of the Scoitish American and other publications show.

WHEN THE HEATHER SCENTS THE AIR.

Canadian woods are bonny,

And Canadian waters blue,
When the simmer airts the map:e,

And the clover drains the dew;
But a longing comes at mornin',

And at e'en the heart is sair,
For the hills o' bonnie Scotland,

When the heather scents the air.
O ! hills sae broon arid bonnie,
When the heather scents the air I

JOHN iM AC FA R LAX E.

ii(

JOHN MACFARLANE.

239

St. Lawrence rolls in grandeur,

And Ottawa's dark tide,
'Twixt banks o' bloom an' verdure,

Sweeps onward sunny wide ;
But a something here is wantin'.

And a licht that's gane is there, —
By the Clyde, the Tweed, the Annan,
When the heather scents the air.
O ! hame's my heart in Scotland,
When the heather scents the air 1

— John Macfarlane.

IN WESTERN WOODS.

In western woods an exile

In dreamy musing stands,
The gleaming axe uplifted.

And stayed with steady hands ;
He hears again the murmur

As bees the heather sip,
And Scottish accents tremble
To break upon his lip :
Ah ! memory flies — r. sunbeam — where gleaming waters

glide.
And *' gowden lichts " are dancing on bonny Elwanside !

Again beyond the sunset

That gilds each Scottish height,
An exile waits, in darkness

And pain, the coming night ;
From scenes of sense fast turning,

His eyes but dimly see
'1 he distant hills of childhood,

The kirk — the glen — the tree 1
Ah ! spirit, wild and wilful, that crossed the ocean-tide,
Two aged hearts will weep thee on bonny Elwanside !

— John Macfarlane.

240

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

■i^"

1-^

OOR BALDY, THE LOON.

He's aye in a' mischief frae mornin' till nicht,
\\\' his breeks a' in tatters, his heid in a fricht ;
Tliere ne'er was his marrow in kintra nor toon,
That ne'er- dae-weel callant— oor Baldy, the loon.

He speels on the yett, or he climbs on the dyke,
Whyles cuttin' his hands and belyve in a fyke ;
Syne thumpin' a pan for a drum he gangs roun',
Till I'm perfectly deav'd wi't — oor Bauldy, the loon.

Yestreen in the gloamin', an nae faurer gane,

He focht wi' anither doon by in the lane,

Till a neebor gaed stappin', brocht oot by the soun',

AVhen flifein' like stour was — oor Bauldy, the loon.

He struts an' he strides, an' he mak's sic a din
When phraisin' for ocht that I'm gled to gie in,
As wi' kindly bit grup then he tugs at my goon —
The wee sleekit rascal — oor Bauldy, the loon.

But soHietimes I gather — in dreams it maun be, —
A glimpse o' the future owre life's rowin' sea ;
When nae mair a laddie, but bearded and broon.
He'll comfort his mither — oor Bauldy, the loon.

— John Macfarlane.

THE LOST LANGSYNE.

The lost langsyne ! O, the lost langsyne 1
Wi' the daylicht sae sweet, an' the gloamin' sae fine ;
The heart yirms aye, and the thocht winna tyne,
For the years far awa' i' the lost langsyne.

JOHN MA CFA RLA NE.

241

We trysted at e'en— an' courtin' gc^ed we
When the 'oors sped sae swift 'neath the auld thorn tree,
Sae blythe an sae blate— dae yt min'; dae ye min' ;
In the years far awa' i' the lost langsyne.

Or, the hairst was afit, and the Hltin' was free,
An' the sangs that were sung were sae pawky an' slee,—
For the luve-Hght was glintin' an' young hearts were kin',
In the years far awa' i' the lost langsyne.

The lost langsyne ! O, the lost langsyne !
The hopes that were yours an' the loves that were mine,
Hae shed a' their bloom like a flow'r i' the dwine,
Far, far awa' i' the lost langsyne.

—John Macfarl..ne.

'-iSj

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^CiT

242

SCOTTISH CAXADfAN POETS.

W. IVi. MacKERAGHEF^.

Mr. W. iM. MacKkuacmkr is the son of the late Rev. C. M.
MacKeracher, of Ilowitk, C;}ue., and his fatlier was a native of
AI)tMfelcly, I'erlhsliiro, and the son, ahhoui;-h boiii in Canada, in-
herited an appreciation of thing's Scottish. His first poem
written when he was twelve years of at^-e, was entitled "The
Thistle." Mr MacKeracher was educated in the Hij^h School of
Montreal and in McGill University, where he took his bachelors
deg^ree in 1S94, representing his class as valedictorian. He v. as
one of the founilers and the second editor-in-chief of the AfcGill
Forlniglith'y to which he still contributes huinorons ci^lU'ge poetry
over the jiseudonyni of " Cap'n (.ioini.'" Ho has jniblishetl
" Verses of I-'eelini;- and Fancy," " Vacation X'erse," anti ' Songs
of a Sophomore. ''

TO A COPY OF HURNS' POEMS.
(Found in the house of an Ontario farmer).

Large book, with heavy covers worn and old,
Bearing clear proof of usage and of years,

Thine edges yellow with their faded gold,

Thy leaves with fingers stained— perchance with tears t

How oft thy venerable page hast felt

The hardened hands of honorable toil !
How oft thy simple song had power to nielt

The hearts of the rude tillers of the soil !

How oft has memory borne them back to see
The Scottish peasant at his work, and thou

Hast made them feel the grandeur of the free
And independent follower of the plough !

\V. INI. MacKERACHER.

•' »

W. M. M ACKER ACHER.

245

What careth he that his proud name hath peal'd
From shore to shore since his new race began, —

In humble cot and " histie stibble field,"
Who doth " preserve the dignity of man ? "

With reverent hands I lay aside the tome,
And to my longing heart content returns,

And in the stranger's house I am at home,

For thou dost make us brothers, Robert Burns.

True Bard, that upward of a hundred years

Hast waked these sacred passions in the breast.

Who doth accuse thee ? — Thou art with thy peers :
God hath exalted thee, for He knows best.

And Thou, old Book, go down from sire to son ;

Repeat the pathos of the poet's life ;
Sing the sweet song of him who fought and won

The outward struggle and the inward strife.

Go down, grand Book ! from hoary sire to son,
Keep by the Book of books thy wonted place ;

Tell what the human man hath felt and done,
And make of us and ours a noble race :

A race to scorn the sordid greed of gold,
To spurn the spurious virtue as the base,

Despise the shams that may be bought and sold, —
A race of brothers and of men, — a race

To usher in the long-expected time

Good men have sought and poets have foretold,
When this bright world shall be the happy clime

Of brotherhood and peace, when men shall mould

Their lives like His who walked in Palestine;

The truly human manhood thou dost show.
Leading them upward to the pure divine

Nature of God made manifest below.

— W. M. MacKeraciier.

246

SCOTT IS If CANADIAN POETS.

REV. A. J. bOGKHART.

f'i

:.t

Arthur John Lockhart was born on May sth, 1850, in llic
village of LockliarLville, N. S. His father and mother were both
of Scottish origin. In his early days Mr. Lockhart was employed
as a printer, but in later life he took to the ministry, and has for
many years been an acceptable preacher in the Methodist
Episcopal Church of Maine, U. S. His writings have attracted
no little share of attention, and his essays, apart from his poetry^
have earned for him widespread popularity. It has been said of
his poems that " they yield more fragrance the closer they are
pressed."

CANAD.V

Listen, O Land !

To thine augury of fame :
What atigiist eye hath scanned^
Thy bfoaostaVes, nobly ^nned !

What hps have spoken thy name, —

Canada !

Lion-Hke, rise,

Shake thy limbs, and be free !
Behold, where shadows appear
Of a race in high career !

See thine unwrought destiny, —

Cariada !

Listen I O shores I

O mountain and plain and sea !
Ye peoples who here abide !
What marvels are prophesied —

What hopes are cherish'd for thee,-—

Canada !

i %^

REV. A. J. LOCKIIART.

247

Listen, O Land !

Speak, and the word fulfil !
Let destiny strike the hour,
Thy life-tree shall flame and flower

To the height of thy noblest will, —

Canada !

•RkV. a J. LOCKHART.

ST. ANDREW'S BY THE SEA.

Again returns that autumn night

With smiles of one long dear to me ;
Again we wander by n.oonlight

In old St. Andrew's by the sea :
What charm, once more, on wave and shore f

What romance in each quiet street !
Were all the hours we knew before

One half so rare, one half so sweet ?

How bright the evening star look'd out,

And trembled, like a drop of gold,
Where ripples, in their sheeny rout.

Were to the red sands heedless roll'd ;
What faerie hush was on the air !

How clear the far-off tide was heard !
And, rapt in soft enchantment, there,

'Twould break the spell — Love's faintest word !

Your hand in mine, — what falling star

Down-melting in the vault obscure, —
What waves, on yon portentous bar.

Could make our hearts seem insecure 1
And if your fond eyes answered mine,

With thoughts that must unspoken be,
Ah ! earth and air were all divine.

In old St. Andrew's bv the sea.

248

i 1

I I

SCOTTISH CAN AD/ AN POETS.

The dog's shrill barking we could hear

Sound from the hill, in that soft hour ;
And we could see upon the pier

The light flash in its friendly tower :
A rill rolled down the wave to greet,

The wave rush'd in with silvery glee ;
And sight and sound with thee were sweet

In old St. Andrew's by the sea.

Ah ! change and chance since then have been,

And many a joy has flown away ;
But still the moonlit sea serene

Smiles 'neath the mild September ray :
And still the scene is just as fair,

And just as fair will ever be ;
For, darling, once we wandered there,

In old St. Andrew's by the sea !

— RkV. a. J. LOCKHART.

THE AULD HAME. V

O think ye o' the auld hame,
Brither dear ?

think ye of the auld hame,
When nicht is near ?

The sun frae the lift is sinkin',

Let fa' a tear
For the auld time, an* the auld hame,

Brither dear !

1 wearie for the auld hame

Brither dear !
The auld folk i' the auld hame,

They hae nae cheer :
The West an' my heart are burnin', —

Down draps the tear
For the auld time, an' the auld hame,

Brither dear !

KEV, A. y. LOCKIIART.

249

I'm gaein' tac tlie aiild hame,

lirithcr dcnr,
An' of a' i' the auld liaiiie

I'll warmly s[)icr ; —
I'm gaciii' lac the aukl hame,

Wi' the fadiii' year ;
For there's iiae folk like the auld folk,

Brither dear !

— Rev. a. J. LocKHART,

ACADIE.

Like mists that round a mountain gray
Hang for an hour, then melt away,
So I, and nearly all my race,
Have vanished from my native place.

Each haunt of boyhood's loves and dreams
More beautiful in fancy seems ;
Yet if I to those scenes repair
I find I am a stranger there.

O Acadie ! fair Acadie !
Where is thy world of charm for me?
Dull are the skies 'neath which I range.
And all the summer hills are strange.

Yet sometimes I discern thy gleam
In sparkles of the chiming stream ;
And sometimes speaks thy haunted lore
The foam-wreathed sibyl of the shore.

Still fondly will my eyes incline

To hill or stream that seems like thine ;

If but the robin pipeth clear.

It is thy vernal note I hear.

250

SCOTTISH CANADIAN P0E7S.

m
\n j

And olt my blood will start in flame
To think I hear thee speak my name,
Or see thy face with gladness shine
To find the joy that once was mine.

— Rev. a. J. LocKHART.

GHAISTS.

Sunk is the dowie day, the e'enin' shadows fa',
The glancin' ingle lemesan' leughs alang the wa' ;
The lanely gentle hours lead in a broodin' train, —
Ve faded forms return, ye spirits come again I

List ! is it lily maid that greeteth fitful, sair,
That steeks her faither's yett, and sinks in her despair ?
Is it a daemon scorn'd that flouts the streamin' pane,
With dolor of the win' an' anguish o' the rain ?

Whase ye, wi' smilin' mien — na waesome wan, ava' !

spirit o' my youtli, ye hae been lang awa' !

An' wha, ye clust'rin' ghaists, as rare as moonie beam,
Do 1 na ken ye weei — each bonnie simir.er dream?

In peety hae ye c%jme ta' cheer my wearie way ?
In beauty hae ye come? — We canna come to stay :
Yet blink on us again, ye leughin' ingle clear.
An' leuk on us ance mair, O ye wha held us dear !

Alas ! they're soon awa — like flittin' lichts they're gane I

1 watch the shadowy wa's, an' list the sabbin' rain ;
What is there in oor eild for joy to feed upon ?

W^hat good is on the earth when youthful dreams are gee?

The grun' lies winter-bleaked, — nae tinge o' green is yet,
Nae tender buddin' thorn, nae first faint violet ;
The soulless, list'nin' trees baud up the mufiled sky,
An' o' the starnie's dance nae glimmer they espy.

Uiill

REV. A. /. LOCKHART,

25 •

^RT.

But list ! the win' is whisht, the rain it sabs no more,
Frae highest peak o' heaven the munelicht tints my floor !
An' there o'er a' the Hft the starnies twinklin' free,
Are quicken in' hopes and loves that beam on weary me.

Then while the flamies leap shall I be dull a!i' dour ?
And shall a warl' seem sad, so soon to spring in flower?
And shall I still repine, while heart and hope I hae ?
Awa', nicht-broodin' thochts ! bring in the welcome day !

— Rev. a. J. LocKHART.

tir?

lane I

Ire gc..e'
s yet,

A BOAT SONG.

O lassie, I am comin', I am comin',
O lassie, I am comin' in the e'enin' ;

Stay, lassie, stay

On the shores sae gray,
p'or rough rolls the sea between ;

An' I'll be there,

Wi' my Kate sae fair,
Who sae lang I haena seen.
Sae lassie, I am comin', I am comin'.
Yes, lassie, I am comin' in the e'enin'.

O lassie, will ye meet me, will ye meet me,
O lassie, will ye meet me in the e'enin' ?

Faem-wet, the sail.

An' low the rail.
Where the wave rins yea sty -green ;

The seas go smack

When I trim and tack,
An' my boatie will careen.
Then, lassie, I'll be wi' ve. 111 be wi' ye,
Yes, lassie, I'll be wi' ye in tlie e'enin' !

^Rev. a J. Lock ri ART.

V, «>-v

'^i -

i : '1

i
I

252

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

h»

THE UNSPOKEN.

Be not of tlioiight too eager,

Be not of speech too bold,
For Love — dear Love — that mystic thing

Can never all be told.

It ebbs from our expression,

It flies Time's vocal shore ;
But o'er the secret brooding soul

It floweth evermore.

O come upon her gently !

Break not the spell she wove :
She'll vanish like a vestal white

Out of a sacred grove.

When she, our angel, riseth

To minister, her feet
Hallow the floor; her holy hands,

Breaking, make bread more sweet.

When Love, the chosen, cometh,

Her light is a speaking eye :
Her word sounds half a seraph's song,

And half a mortal sigh.

— Rev. a. J. LocKHART.

THE GREENWOOD.

O bid me to the greenwood,
With the butterfly and bee.

With the flower to smile up to me,
And the brook to welcome me !

l^£l\ A. J. LOCK/I ART.

253

Give me a child's sweet cradle

Under the purring pines ;
Then wake nie with a carol

When the lyric morning shines.

A bath in the goiden sunset

Down in the misted vale ;
A dream 'mid the haunted mountains,

By the shores where the cloud-ships sail.

O drench rny brain with the dew-fall,

Let my spirit be new-born ;
Then shall I banish the megrims

With a whiff of homely scorn !

— Rev. a. J. LocKHART.

OCKHART.

JEANIE.

O come an' walk wi' me, Jeanie,

The lift is saft an' blue ;
An' as the ray o' simmer day
My love is warm an' true,
O come again ! ye ance were fain,

And ever sae am I ;
O come an' walk wi' me, Jeanie,
An' dinna pass me ity !

Come, Jeanie, come !
As in the dear auld day, lassie,
And dinna pass me by.

Winna ye loe me noo, Jeanie ?

Your cauldness I maun rue ;
In oor auld day, 'twas not the way

That ye A^ere wont to do; —

«S4

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

Nae simmer win' sae sweetly kin*,

Your light locks tossin' wi' ;
Nae saft consentin star, Jeanie,

Beamed like thy lovin' e'e.
Come, Jeanie, come ! etc.

Ye shade the warl' for me, Jeanie !

Wi' your broo's cloudie gray ;
Ah, is it kin' to change your min',

An' cauldly turn away ?
Maun loe's and frien's grace simmer scenes,

Yet fail when red leaves fly ?
O tak' my arm again, Jeanie,

An' dinna pass me by !

Come, Jeanie, come ! etc.

O come, an' walk wi' me, Jeanie !

Bleak winter cometh nigh,
When lovers rue, and frien's are few,

And we grow sad an' sigh, —
When, shrill, with snaw, the nicht-win's blaw,

An' mony a hope maun die ;
Walk doon the lane the noo, Jeanie,

An' dinna pass me by.

Come, Jeanie, come! etc,

— Rev. a. J. LocKHART.

THE ANCIENT BARDS.

Like thunderstorms o'er rivers broad

Their mighty course they hold ;
The sounds of wind? and ocean waves
Are in their harps of gold ;
Like sunset sheen
Each dazzling mien ;
Their speech is strong and bold.

— Rev. a. J. LocKiiART.

aw,

EIART.

HART.

- f / hs^^: ,-^:-

■I I

Tin

MRS. GKORGINA FRASER NEWHALL

it'

1 i

MRS GEORGINA FRASER NEW HALL.

257

MRS. GEORGINA FRASER NEWHALb.

Among- the many daughters of Albyn whose wooing of the
immortal Nine has been limned by winsomeness and grace, none
surpasses in charm of touch and style, the subject of this brief
sketch. The poetic qualities she r'.isplays come to ler through a
distinguished ancestry, her forebears numbering statesmen,
soldiers, and poets. Born in the early sixties at Gait, Ont., where
her father, the late Mr. James George Fraser, was a highly-
esteemed citizen, she received her education at the public and high
schools there. In early years she turned to journalism and in
that exacting vocation speedily made her mark. She was the
first woman in Canada to adopt stenography as a profession, and
introduced it to classes in Toronto and the neighboring towns,
while still a young girl. In 1884 she married Mr. E. P. Newhall,
now assistant superintendent of the Pacific Express Co., and
divides her time between ler home at Canton, O., and Scar-
borough, Ont., where she owns a beautifuily-situated fruit farm.
She has been successful as a writer of short stories, of magazine
articles and of verse, which have made her name widely-known.
She is bardess to the Clan Fraser Society of Canada, and at its
annual gatherings she has shown herself to be possessed of a
felicitous eloquence as well as of the gift of song. Her themes
are general in character, although naturally Scottish subjects
come nearer her heart, as beseems one through whose veins flows
thvi bluest blood of the Mackenzie, MacLeod, Munro, and Fraser
Clans. ** Eraser's Drinking Song " from her pen has been
adopted as the *' Failte " of the *' Clan Fraser Society of Canada,
and is sung to a stirring martial tune at the annual gatherings.

i I

258

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

FRASER'S DRINKING SONG.

(The Fraser Clan Motto "/^ -S'w/j Prcst" :—*' I Am Ready.")

All ready ?

Let us drink to the woman who rules us to-night,
To her lands, to her laws, 'neath her flag we wi.U smite
Ev'ry foe,
Hip and thigh,
Eye for eye,
Blow for blow —

Are you ready ?

II.

All ready ?

Then here's to the mothers who bore us, my men ;
To the shelling that sleeps in the breast of the glen,
Where the stag
Drinks its fill
From the rill
By the crag —

Are you ready ?

III.

All ready ?

Fill youi glass to the maid you adore, my boys ;
Wish her health, wish her wealth, long life, and all joys ?
Full measure
(May it swim
To the brim)
Of pleasure —

Are you ready ?

l! I

Afl^S. GEORGINA FRASER NEWHALL.

259

IV.

All ready ?

And here's to the country we live in, my lads •
It IS here we have struggled and thriven, my lads I
God bless it,
May Beauty
And Duty
Possess it —

Are you ready ?

All ready ?

A Fraser ! A Fraser forever, my friends •
While he lives how he hates, how he loves' till life ends
He is first, '

Here's my hand,
Into grand
Hurrah burst —

Are you ready ?

All ready !

All ready ! !
All ready ! ! I

— Georgina Fraser Newhall.

SONGS I SING.

In my arms,
Wand'ring locks o' chestnut hair,
O'er a brow beyond compare,

Purest white ;
Rose-red cheek upon my breast,
Dimpled limbs composed to rest-
Baby lies.

ill

• ' !

5:-i

^ I I

260

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

And I sing,
Softly rocking to and fro,
All the Scottish songs I know,

Bonnie songs :
Songs my mother sang to me,
As 1 cuddled on her knee,

Long ago.

Tender songs !
Loyal, royal, mirthful, sad,
Songs that for their burden had —

Love or war —
Drinking, dancing, wooing, sped
Some whose words were tears unshed,

Deepest woe.

To and fro.
To my list'ning bairn I croon
" Banks and Braes o' Bonnie Doon "

Soft and low ;
•' Allister McAllister "—
All my Scottish blood astir —
Loud and gay.

Soon I hear
Laughter sweet, brown peeping eyes
Open roundly in surprise,

Half dismay ;
Till I murmur Gaelic dirges,
With the moaning of the surges,

In their tones.

Do you think
While he lies my heart abune.
Feels it throb with ev'ry tune,

Vengeful gay.
While he sees me smile or weep.
My sweet lad will ever sleep ?

Bless you, nay !

.)/A'S. GEORGINA FAWSlt:/^ NEW HALL

36t

So I turn,
Slowly rocking to and fro,
To some other songs I know,

Soft and low ;
Words that sterner tongues would spu»":i,
Melodies that do not turn

Into wails.

And he sinks,
Slowly, closer to my breast,
Drifting, dreaming, to his rest

While I clasp ;
Singing idle songs I know,
Slowly rocking to and fro,

To and fro.

— Georgina Fraser Newhall.

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SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

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AloBXANDBR H. WINGFlBbD.

Mr. Alexander H, Wingfield j.nves the keynote to his poetry
in the following words from his own pen, written some years ago,
He said, speaking of his poems : " If there be poetry in them, it
is such as comes from homely, natural inspiration, unaided either
by varied reading or literary leisure. As I have really felt, or
believed, or imagined, so have I wriUen ; and wiiatever fault of
expression there may be in my efforts, there is no failure in honesty
of intention. Having neither read much, nor travelled far, nor
been able to put ihe world o^ nature and of history under contri>»
bution, 1 have found my subjects chiefly among the familiar scenes
and every-day experiences of my own humble walk in life ; taking
such color and expression of them as residence in a busy city like
Hamilton could not fail to present." Mr. Wingfield was for
eighteen years a mechanic on the Great We itern Railway, and it
was amid "the noisy rattle of the loom, the birr of wheels, the
clang of hammers, the screaming of whistles, and the thundering
rush of the locomotive," that most of his poems were composed.
Mr. Wingfield was equally at home in the humorous and the
pathetic, and his sentiments were always expressed in clear ard
chaste language. The Hamilton Post said of his writings : " That
he has penned nothing that can lower or vulgarize life in any of
its relations, nor ever pandered to irreligion or sensuality, is
something to feel honestly proud of."

Alexander H. Wingfield was born in 1818, at Blantyre,
Lanarkshire, Scotland, within a stone-throw of the house in wiiich
David Livingstone, the great African missionary, and explorer
first saw the light. Mr. Wingfield received very little education,
as he was sent to work in a cotton factory in Glasgow, at the
early age of ten. In respect of education, therefore, and indeed
in other respects as well, he was a self-niade man. He came to
America in 1847, and settled in Auburn, N. Y., but in 1850 he

ALEXANDER H, WINGFIELD.

263

poetry
IS ago-
hem, it
i either
felt, or
fault of
tionesty
far, nor
r contri-
r scenes
; taking
city like
was for
, and it
els, the
ndering
nposed.
and the
ear ard
" That
1 any ot
ality, is

lantyre,
n which
explorer
ucation,
^, at the
d indeed
came to
1850 he

removed to Hamilton, Ont., and there he resided until his death,
which took place on August 8th, 1896. During the closing years
of his life, Mr. Wingfield filled a responsible position in connection
with H. M. Customs. Mr. Wingfield published his poems in
book-form, and so great was the demand for the work that the
whole edition of fifteen hundred copies was disposed of inside of
two months.

CRAPE ON THE DOOR.

There's a little white cottage that Stan's 'mang the trees,
Whaur the liumming bird comes to sip sweets wi' the bees,
Whaur the bright morning-glories grow up o'er the eaves,
And the wee birdies nestle amang the green leaves ;
But there's som.ething around it to-day that seems snd,
It hasna' that look o' contentment it had,
There is gloom whaur there used to be sunshine before,
Its windows are darkened — there's crape on the door.

There is crape on the door — all is silent within,
There are nae merry children there making a din ;
For the ane that was merriest aye o' them a'
Is laid out in robes) that look white as the sna' ;
But yesterday morn, when the sun shone sae bright,
Nae step bounded freer — nae heart was mair light,
When fne gloamin' cam' round, a' his playing was o'er.
He was drowned in the burn — sae there's crape on the door.

Nae mair will he skip like a lamb o'er the lea,

Or pu' the wild flowers, or gang chasin' the bee ;

He'll be miss'd by the bairns when they come hame frae

schule,
For he met them ilk day comin' down o'er the hill.
Beside his wee coffin his lone mother kneels.
And she breathes forth a prayer for the sorrow she feels ;
Her puir widowed heart has been seared to the core,
For not lang sinsyne there was crape on the door.

264

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

Her sobs choke her utt'rance, though she strives, but in vain,

To stifle her grief, or her tears to restrain ;

Yet she lovingly murmurs, " I winna repine,

Thy will be done, Father ; Thy will and not mine ;

Though my trials are great, yet I winna complain.

For I ken that the Lord has but ta'en back His ain.

To dwell wi' the angels above, evermore,

Whaur tiiere's nae sin nor sorrow, nor crape on the door."

— Alexander H. Wingfield.

A SHHJ.IN' OR TWA.

%%:•.

Friendship has charms for the leal an' the true,
There's but few things can beat it the hale warl thro',
But ye'll gey aften find that the best friend ava.
Is that white-headed callan — a shillin' or twa !
Eh, man, it's a fine thing, a shillin' or twa,
Hech, man, it's a gran' thing, a shillin' or twa ;
It keeps up your spirits, it adds to your merits,
If ye but inherit a shillin' or twa !

It's surprisin' how much you'll be thocht o' by men.
You'll get credit foi wisdom altho' ye ha^j nane ;
You may be but a dunce, ye'll be honored by a\
When they ken that ye hae a bit shillin' or twa !
Eh, man, it's a fine thing, a shillin' or twa,
Hech, man, it's a gran' thing, a shillin' or twa ;
Ye'll ne'er ken what it means to want plenty of frien's,
Gin ye glamour their e'en wi' a shillin' or twa !

But it alters the case when your siller's a' dune.
An' your credit's a' gane, an' nae wab in the loom ;
Be sure, then, ye'll get the cauld shoulder frae a'
If ye ask for the lend o' a shillin' or twa !

ALEXANDER II. WIXG FIELD.

26:

Eh, man, it's a fine thing, a shillin' or tvva,

Hech, man, it's a gran' thing, a shilHn' or twa ;

But there's no mony than that will haud out their han',

An' say, " Tak' this, my man, here's a shillin' or twa ! "

There are some that for siller wud swap their auld shin,
There are some that wud cheat for't and ne'er ca't a sin,
An' there are some sae devoid o' morality's law,
Wud shake hands wi' the deil for a shillin' 01 twa 1
Eh, man, it's a fine thing, a shillin' or tvva,
Hech, man, it's a gran' thing, a shillin' or twa;
To become rich an' great, an' hae flunkeys to wait,
When ye drive out in state aff your shillin' or twa !

But we scorn the faus<i loon that for vain worldly pelf

Wad wrang ither folks to get riches himself ;

Aye live an' let live, an' do justice by a'.

An' may you ne'er want for a shillin' or twa !

Eh, man, it's a hne thing, a shillin' or twa,

Hech, man, it's a grati' thing, a shillin' or twa;

I've aften been scant o*t, and weel ken't the want o't.

But now, Gude be thank't for't, I've a shillin' or twa' !

— Alexander H. Wincfield.

THE LAND THAT'S TRULY FREE.

Auld Scotia's bards in praises sing

O' hills and heather bell,
O' linns gaun loupin' doon their glens

Whaur bonnie lassies dwell ;
And weel I loe that land myse!',

Wi' a' its ancient fame.
For whaur's the Scot whose heart ne'er warms

Whene'er he thinks o' hame ?
But there's anither land I trow

That's just as dear to .ne —
'Tis Canada, the only land

Whose sons are truly free.

266

^4^.

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

The Saxon minstrels proudly sing

O' deeds their sons hae done,
And vaunt of a' their works of art,

And battle-fields they've won ;
But can they boast a land like ours,

Whaur peace and plenty smile,
And labor sheds its blessings aye

On a' our sons o' toil ?
Na, na, though Englishmen are great,

They're no sae blest as we
In Canada, the only land

On earth that's truly free.

Auld Erin's harp has aft been struck

In wailin' tones o' grief,
But here her sons are prosperin'

Beneath the Maple Leaf ;
And tho' nae doot they think at timcj

On glories passed awa' ;
The sun shines bright in Canada

Alike on ane and a' ;
And as they hae been in the past,

Sae will their future be
In Canada, the only land

Whose sons are truly free.

Let English, Irish, Scotch and French,

Thegither here combine.
To emulate the deeds their sires

Hae done in auld lang syne ;
We'll lay their failin's a' aside,

Their virtues we'll retain,
And in our new Dominion they

Will bring forth fruit again ;
And if our fathers loved their land

As dearly, so will we
Love Canada, the only land

On earth that's truly free.

I '^

ALEXANDER H, WINGEIELD.

267

Though young yet in the warld's affairs,

And maybe kind o' blate,
We may excel our mither yet

In a' that's gude and great ;
When speakin* o' her dawtit bairn

She'll say o' us wi' pride,
There's no a land like Canada

In a' creation wide.
Then swell the anthem loud and lang,

And let your pseans be
To Canada, dear Canada,

The glorious and the free.

— A. H. WiNGFIELD,

-m X

268

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

: : i

')^i

-%\

MRS. MARGARET BEATRICE BURGESS.

Margaret Beatrice Burgess was born on the 20th of August,
1841, at Portsoy, Banffshire, Scotland, She came to Toronto in
July, 1873, and on the 8th of that month was married to Mr. A. M.
Burgess, a native of Slriithsj^ey, Scotland, at that time on the
Parliamentary staff of the Globe. In the following year Mr, Bur-
gess w.as appointed I^eputy Minister of the Interior, a position
which he occupied until the day of his death. Mrs. Burgess is the
youngest daughter of the late Mr. Thomas Anderson, a journalist
of half a century's standing, and for many years editor and pro-
prietor of the Banffshire Reporter. Mr. Anderson was also the
author of a volume of poems and songs published more than fifty
years ago. He came to Canada in 1884, p "ied in Ottawa four
years later, Mr. T. Anderson, Jr. , also a jou lalist, and who died
in Guelph in 1866, was a brother of Mrs jrgess. Like his
fatiier and sister, he had strong literary proclivities.

FAR AWAY.

It'?.

Far away to the dear old land

O'er the ocean's watery track ;
Far away to the dear old home

My heart has wandered back :
And I long for the gowaned fields,

The sweet-voiced rippling rills,
And the heather bell that proudly waves

On Scotia's misty hills.

I see beneath my father's roof

Another vacant chair ;
And my heart is sick with bitter grief

For loved ones lonely there.

MRS. MARGARET BEATRICE BURGESS. 269

The rider pale whom none gainsay

Rode past with withering breath :
He has wrapped my brother's youthful form

In the cold embrace of death.

Together in our childhood days

We roamed the rocky shore
To watch the seagulls' circling flight,

And hear the breakers' roar ;
We've seen the herring fleet glide out

Across tlie harbor bar ;
And listening, heard the sailors' chant

Come sweetly from afar.

We've gazed with awe on setting suns

Whose glory had revealed
The distant peaks of Caithness hills,

T.ike serried ranks in field ;
When all the sea and all the land

Was flushed with rosy light ;
Till in a violet sky o'erhead

The evening star hung bright.

I shall not see his face again.

My comrade true and dear ;
I may not pay to his lone grave

The tribute of a tear ;
Yet, putting off this mortal guise,

He nearer seems to me
Than wiien, on earth, he severed was

By leagues of land and sea.

— Margaret Beatrice Burgess.

\ i

2-JO

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

! I

'y-i'^

MY AULD SCOTTISH HAME.

dear, bonnie Scotland, the hame o' my childliood,
Fu'fain would I hie nie again to your shores ;

To roam o'er your braes, an' your green flowery valleys,
An' view your grim rocks where the cataract roars.

Awa' through your glens I would wander fu' early —
They nestle sae snugly atween the brown hills ;

Or pu' the blue hare-bells that I lo'ed sae dearly.
That grow by the banks o' your ir.urmurin' rills.

It's lang since my feet on the heather hae trodden.
It's lang since I smelled o' the svveet-scented broom ;

Yet aft through the far-awa' past I gang stealin'
While quietly I sat in the gatherin' gloom.

1 see yet ance mair, wi' green trees a' encircled,
A wee thackit hoose wi' its yard fu' o' kail ;

The scene o' my birth is by memory hallowed, —
Blaw gently aroond it, ye cauld wintry gale.

An' there, o'er the road, are the hawthorn hedges,

Where birds blythely warbled their love-sangs in Spring ;

An' here Cappie's Hillock, where I've aften restit,
When wearied wi' runnin', an' gowans would string.

In the birk's fragrant branches fu' aften I've hidden
When twilight stealt o'er a' the dew spangled leas,

An' stretched oot my airms to the hames o' the birdies
That couth ily rocked wi' the saft summer breeze.

An' noo in the wee door I maistly can fancy
The form o' my mither sae neat and sae trim ;

O mony a lang day is't since I've heard her croonin'
Her auld-farrant sangs when the evenin's grew dim.

MRS. MARGARET BEATRICE BURGESS.

271

O sune was she left, when the leaves were a' fa'in',
To fight life's stern battle when death took awa'

The love o' her young days, tiie husband and father,
An* left her unaided to care for us a'.

But leal was her brave heart, and strong was she minded,
Wi' richt kind o' pride that the Scotch surely ken ;

An' nobly she strove frae the door to keep poortith,
An' brought up her bairnies to be honest men.

But vain is regret, for it's years mair than fifty
Since death saftly closed her bonnie black e'en,

An' bore her awa', though it left us sae cheerless,

To dwell in that land where the flowers are aye green.

An' mair than the half o' her dearly lo'ed bairnies

Sleep peaceful beside her — their graves near the sea —

Close by, where the swift-rolling Spey joins its waters
To i'.e salt spray that washes the low-lyin' lea.

It's lang since I left a' my kindred an' neebors,
An' years hae gane o'er my head thirty-an'-nine ;

But I hae been weel in the Ian' I've adopted,
An' fortune has smiled on us blythely an' kin'.

For I noo hae three sons an* twa winsome daughters,
An' they a' hae plenty — are happy an' free ;

An' though they have ne'er seen the mist-veiled mountains.
They lo'e the dear Mither-land far o'er the sea.

An' aft when the nicht's wi' her sable wings creepin*
Athwart oor neat hame do they gather aroon'.

To hear some auld legend o' days that are vanished.
Till high in the lift is the young silvery moon.

O when will I taste o' the clear rinnin' waters,
Or when will I hear the brown mavis' sweet sang,

That rings through the woodlands frae dawn to the gloamin'
When Spring has ccme back an' the days are grown lang ?

27a

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

O dear bonnie Scotlan' ! the Ian' o' the heather,

Where Bruce bravely fought for his people an' croon,

Fu' fain would I hie me awa' o'er the ocean

To my auld sheltered hame, an' in peace lay me doon.

— Margaret Beatrice Burgess.

ROBERT BURNS.

Immortal bard, your virtues ha'e been sung
By brither bards in mony a tongue an' clime ;

Nae thocht ha'e I o' addin' mair renown

Though I put forth a simple strain in rhyme ;

But aiblins that my Scottish heart maun choose
To follow feebly your mair favored Muse.

A gangrel callant at the carlin's heels,

Her ballad lore first stirred the smouldrin' fire

O' your poetic genius, soon to flow

In burnin' measure frae your matchless lyre ;

But tho' she was the first to fan the flame
A poet ye were born ye well may claim.

The bonnie banks o' Doon whaur lovers roam't
Ye did enshrine in mony a cantie sang ;

The auld enchanted brig that kelpies banned,

Had they daured cross it, fast the clamourin' thrang

Had clutched puir drouthy Tarn ; Meg nor himsel'
E'er saw the licht o' day, the tale to tell.

The laverock liltin' i' the lift aboon,

The modest flow'rets on the gowaned lea,

The wounded hare that, limpin', crossed your gait,
Ne'er passed unnoticed your keen, kindly e'e.

In sweetest verse ye ga'e them a' their due,
Your leal warm hairt wi' love aye lippin' fou.

MRS. MARGARET BEATRICE BURGESS. 273

The humble lives o' simple cottar folks

Richt weel ye could pourtray — their hopes an' fears ;
Their joys, mair sacred that they seldom cam',

Their childlike faith in God throughout the years,
Than lords an' ladies, mair sweet pleasure had

Puir tremblin' Jenny an' her shepherd lad.

Ye worshipped nae the guinea stamp o' rank
Unless the owner proved a brither man ;

Your patriot hairt spak oot through "Scots wha hae,"
O' Bannockburn whaur victory led the van ;

VVi' pawky humor gar't ye Willie brew

The peck o' maut on vhilk his freens gat fou.

((

But best an' sweetest o' your tender lays
Ane Stan's unrivalled far aboon the rest,

The mourfu' plaint to your lost Highland maid

Melts ilka hairt that is vvi' feelin' blest.
Oh ! Mary, dear departed shade ! " ye rise

Immortal through your )nvcr's tears an' sighs.

Oh, ploughman Robbie ! had it no been for
The wondrous gift that lichten't a' your care,

Auld Scotia's sons, far scattered as they be,
Had barely heard o' the auld toon o' Ayr,

Whilk, as ye say, "a' ither toons surpasses"
For sterling " honest men an' bonnie lasses."

O bleak misfortune, drear an' hard to bide,
Jean an' yoursel' had each your ain sad share j

Your fervid soul alane sae lang had borne
The brunt o* hopes delayed, an' carkin' care,

Fain wad we pass your fauts — can fellow men
Thorns i' the flesh o' such as you condemn ?

?74

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

But, chequered as your course had surely been,
An' early as the lamp o' life burned doon,

Your fame will live lang as your ain lo'ed hills
The purple heather shall wi' beauty croon —

Your country's idol ! Caledonia wild,
Can ne'er forget her gifted peasant child.

— Margaret Beatrice Burgess.

•*!

IN MEMORIAM,

Battle of Cut Knife Cr^ek, 2nd May, 1885. Private John
Rog^erj, Ottawa SharpshooterSj born in the island of Barba-
badoes, West Indies, 6th May, 1858; killed in batiie 2nd of May,
1885 ; aged 27 years less 4 days.

From a sun-kissed isle in a southern sea

To this northern land of ours
A stranger there came, not long ago,
Whose youthful cljeek wore the olive glow

Of that land of fruits and flowers.

Possessed of a spirit that could not brook

The languid life of the south,
He sailed from his sea-girt home away,
At the dawn of manhood's glorious day.

In the flush and bloom of youth.

And when through our loved Dominion rang

The tocsin of war's alarm.
To the front he went at the bugle's sound.
With those who hastened to rally around

Their colors when called to arm.

Brave souls were they, though the way was rough,

And the days and nights were cold ;
O'er the weary gaps,* through the hail and sleet.
With snow-biind eyes and blistered feet,

They marched like heroes bold.

♦ The C.P.R. was not then completed.

MRS. MARGARET BEATRICE BURGESS.

275

For their hearts were aflame with patriot zeal,

And they burned with just desire
To crush the treacherous rebel horde,
Who law and truth alike ignored.
Whose creed was death and lire.

In the hush of the night, three hundred strong,

Brave Otter led his men
O'er the winding trail to face a foe.
Whose roll did twice that number show,

When morning lit the plain.

From dawn till noon that valiant band

Kept up their steady hail
Of shot and shell, while with the clang
Of musketry the war-whoop rang, —

A hundred red men fell.

O woe is me ! that the virgin soil

Of this free glorious land
Should be stained with else than bison's blood.
Or what might be shed in a tribal feud.

By some mau.auding band.

No more shall tht^ stranger's dark eyes rest

On the Antilles' varied green ;
Where the noble Saskatchewan grandly sweeps.
* With the heroes who fought and bled he sleeps

Far away from that fairy scene.

O sad that rebellion foul

Should raise its hydra head
Through our great North land, for to many a home
The shadow of woe has already come.

And bereaved ones mourn their dead.

* Since the above was written the remains of Private Rogers were removed and
now rest in Beechwood Cemetery, Ottawa.

Vi ''3

"ff

I iff ':

276

SCOTTISH CAXADJAN POETS.

But their names shall live in history's page

When this guerilla strife
Witii a crafty foe shall have ceased to thrill
Our hearts with its horrors, and England still
Shall claim, as of old, for her sons the will
To do and to dare, with Trojan skill

For liberty and life.

— Margaret Beatrice Burgess.

MEMORIES OF GUELPH.

Low in the west the great day orb descends

While I, with eyes enraptured, gaze upon

A scene of passing beauty, — sky and cloud

Lit with a thousand rays that flash

And quiver in the evening atmosphere.

Well worthy of the royal name it bears,

The city lies before me, stretching out

To east and west its lusty, youthful arms ;

Like ancient Athens, resting on the hills.

On every side its schools of learning stand;

The spires of many churches pierce the sky ;

Fair villas nestle in the leafy shade

Of feathery elm and stately, sheltering oak,

Of straight-limbed poplar and the maple grand,

Which sways alike elastic through the storm.

Or glows with beauty in the autumn moon, —

Its leaves blend, emblematic, with the rose

Of England fnir, theyf^//r de Ir of France,

The bearded thistle from stern Scotland's shores,

And shanrock green, to fitly represent

A diver; e people, yet united — one

In courage, wealth and strength — destined to be

A solid, vigorous nation in themselves.

'S.

.1/i^5. MARGARET BEATRICE BURGESS.

Burgess.

Like vein of steadfast friendship, through the vale

The quiet Speed meanders on its way,

Serene and peaceful, like the honest lives

Of those who find their homes upon its banks.

Fair Guelph, fair scene, reflected through the years

hy memory's magic mirror to my view.

Thy beauty back shall come to feast my soul ;

My pulses stir with gratitude to those

Dear friends and kind who made my summer stay

Within thy borders more than pleasure rare —

A picture that shall fade not with the flowers

Of seasons yet to come.

^Margaret Beatrice Burgess.

»e

278

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

JOHN STEBLoE.

Mr. John Steele, of St. John, N. B., w.is born i»i nuintriesshire,
Scollancl, in 181 1. In senc'inj^ along- some ot his poems Mr. Steele
said : " I am a very old man and most of these trifles have been
produced since I passed my eightieth year." He is now eighty-
eight, and his Muse is still active.

AULD SCOTLAND.

I'm now an auld and feckless man,

Yet weel I mind when young,
How oft I heard the gladsome lilt

Of my Auld mither-tongue.

It haunts me yet in mony a sang,

And mony a tragic story,
How Scotsmen, in the days gane by.

Upheld Auld Scotland's glory.

The noble tale has oft been told

In ages long ago,
How our forefathers never bent

The knee to foreign foe :

But oft with broadswords in their hands
Should King or Country need 'em.

That brave, unflinching, trusty band
Have bled for Scotia's; freedom.

Auld Scotland still can baud her ain,

In spite o' a' opposers ;
Wha play wi' her at games o' war

Are sure to be the losers,

hire,
teele
been

JOHN STEELE.

i I

A, i

r'i

JOHI^ STEELE.

281

She needna hide her weel-faurt face,

She still may crousely craw ;
Wi' pen or sword, she stands for richt,

Amang the nations a'.

— John Steele.

OATMEAL.

My blessing on the happy man
Who first could ride his carriage :

And double blessing on the man
Who first invented porridge.

I'd build him up a monument,

As high as any steeple ;
His praise in future should be sung

By all the honest people.

Look round and tell me where's the Ian'

That flourishes sae weel,
As where they daily fill their mouth

With Scotia's fragrant meal.

Whatever shape it may assume,

In scone or havercake.
Or haggis, it is welcome aye.

For dear Auld Scotland's sake.

It nerves the heart, it nerves the arm,

For deeds of noble darin' ;
When Boney met the kilted lads

'Twas then he got his farin'.

— John Steele.

282

SCOITJSH CANADIAN POETS.

ROBERT BURNS.

9 The child of untamed passion, wild and strong,
With native grandeur poured his soul in song ;
At inspiration's purest altar knelt,

•^•* He sang of all he saw and all he felt ;

Nor cold neglect, nor penury's suffering hard
Could bend the free-born spirit of the bard.
Baptised in poverty, the prince of song,
Auld Scotia's pride, shall be remembered long;
Till latest times the trumpet breath of fame
Shall link the poet with his country's name.

— John Steele.

AUTUMN AND AGE.

i^l

Tho' music's scattered round my path
From Nature's boundless store,

Yet all the fairy charms of life
Entrance my eyes no more.

The falling leaf, the withered flower.

On every hand I see ;
The bounding pulse, the fevered brow,

Now come no more to me.

I court no more the joys of time
Fast fading to the view ;

But, onward look to fairer scenes
Than Eden ever knew.

— John Steele.

1^ I

JOHN STEELE.

28.1

CARLO.

Our Carlo is a faithful dog,

By night as well as day ;
He guards the house, and often drives

The thievish tramps away.

And, when by chance the open gate

Invites the wandering steer,
He says, as plain as dogs can speak,

"There's no admittance here."

Our Carlo is an honest dog,

He ne'er deceived a friend,
As some dishonest rascals do

To gain some selfish end.

When Carlo's numbered with the dead.

We'll write upon the stone
That marks his head, '* Here lies a dog

That never stole a bone."

— John Steele.

Steele.

RAMBLING THOUGHTS.
To A Friend.

O' twa things I am unco proud.
And proudly own before ye a',

I boast of loyal Scottish blood,
And love my Queen Victoria.

Wha wadna say, *' God save the Queen,"
Though things gang tapsalteerie, a',

For Britain's guid kt him be sent
Right off to cauld Siberia.

284

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

In that dear land where laverocks sing,

And blue-bells bloom saebonnie, a',
'Twas there I first drew vital air,

In dear auld Caledonia.

And nov I have a peaceful lot

In Canada sae canny a',
Thankful for such a pleasant spot,

Close linked to old Britannia.

Though now I'm getting auld and frail,

My heart is gay and cheerie, O,
Even when we're toddlin' doun the brae,

There's naething there to fear ye, O.

P.S. — This hand seems paralysed with age,

Its movements faint and few ;

It cannot skim across the page.

As once it used to do.

--John Steele.

DUST TO DUST.

The body sinks to earth away,

From whence it came ;
The soul ascends the shining way,

A living flame.

The body slumbers in the dust,

For years untold ;
The soul, companion of the just.

Within the fold.

That heavenly fold, from whence no more

We careless stray ;

For earth and all its trials sore

Have passed away.

— John Steele,

JOHN STEELE.

285

Steele*

Steele,

SCOTLAND- A LONG TIME AGO.

Sweet freedom's dear to every Scot,
For liberty their fathers fought,
And with their blood that boon they bought

A long time ago.

And when the battle was begun,
Though oft beset with two to one,
Yet would they rather die than run,

A long time ago.

They knelt to heaven, but not to man,
Trusting to that and their right han',
Their independence thus they wan

A long time ago.

When Roman legions ventured forth
To meet the warriors of the north,
They halted, then recrossed the Forth

A long time ago.

When plundering Scandinavia's boar
Poured heathen hordes upon our shore,
They fell beneath the old claymore,

A long time ago.

The conquering William came, but here
He met a race devoid of fear,
Who stayed ambition's bold career,

A long time ago.

And in the glorious days of old,
When Wallace wight, and Bruce the bold,
The Southern forces backward rolled,

A long time ago ;

Though haughty Edward looked in scorn
Upon the field of Bannockburn,
In terror thence he fled forlorn,

A long time ago.

U 1

i86

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

They met the invaders felon band
With trusty broadswords in their hand,
Then freedom smiled o'er all the land,

A long time ago.

And ever since, dear freedom dwells
Among her lovely hills and dells,
Her native home, as history tells,

A long time ago.

— John Steele.

TO A FRIEND.

Dear Sir,

My head has gane useless, an' sae has my haun,

They are guid for just naelhing ava ;
But what can ye look for frc^e sic an auld man,

An auld man o' eichty-an'-twa ?

His memory's gane gyte, he scarcely can tell

O' the ferlies he yesterday saw ;
Yet in spite of it a' he feels pretty well

For an auld man o' eichty-an'-twa

Ninety-three is now gane wi' the rest o' his race,

VVi' his joys an' his sorrows an' a' ;
Ninety-four is now hurrying into his place, —

Thus the auld folks are wearin' awa'.

Tha* you may be prospered a' through the new year,

In store and in basket an' a',
Wi' plenty o' friens, an' lots o' guid cheer,

Prays the auld man o' eichty-andtwa.

— John Steele.

RHV. R. S. G. AXDERSOy.

287

REV. R. S. G. ANDERSON.

lear,

EELF"

Rev. R. S. G. Anderson, is a son of the late Rev. Dr. Ander-
son, of Glasj>^ow, Scotland. Mr. Anderson was born in the quaint
old villagt? of Ceres in Fifeshire. Wlien young he removed to
Milnathort, close to the shores of Loch Leven, and within sight of
the castle where Queen Mary was imprisoned. After leaving the
Public School young Anderson attended the famous Dollar
Academy. From there he went to Glasgow University and
graduated M.A. in 1884. He afterwards attended the U. 1'.
Theological Hall in Edinburgh. In J887 he took the F.D. dep"ree
at Glasgow University. He was appointed assistant Minister in
the North U.P. Church, Auchtermuchty, in 1887. In the following
year he emigrated to Canada. In May, 1889, he was ordained
Minister of the Presbyterian Church, in St. Helta's, Huron
County. He was called to Wroxeter, his present charge, in
November, 1894. Mr. Anderson was one of those included in
Edward's " Minor Scottish Poets," Vol. XI.

THE YOUNG MINISTER.

He's just a bit callan' o' twenty,

And bran' new oot frae the collidge ;
But they tell me wha ken, that he's gleg wi' the pen,
An' his held s fu' o' buik-lear an' knowledge.
An' O, but he's graun', graun',
An' O, but he's deep, deep,
Though I canna complain for I never knew ano
That cud send me sae sune to sleep.

He's the nattiest man i' the pairish,

There's no anither sic bra',
Wi' his bonnie surtou' o' the bluey- black hue,

An' his roond-aboot collar and a'.

288

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

An' O, but he's spry, spry,
An' O, but he's sweet, sweet,
Wi'his "how-d' yedo?"and "Good-morning-to-you"j
When he passes ye oot i' the street.

'i: f i

He's a wise-luikin' chiel i' the poopit,
For he's no sic an ill-faur't loon ;
An' the specs on his nose gie a luik o' repof^e, *
When they've riggit him up in the goon.
An' O, but he's graun', graun',
An' O, but he's bra*, bra',
He has sicna a'po'er, he can daud oot the stour,
Owre buik-board and choir an' a'.

He's the gleggest bit laddie at preachin',

Wi' his stars and the rummelin' spheres ;
There's no ane cud hear it and ever grow wearit,
We're aften a' meltit to tears.
An' O, but he's glib, glib,
An' O, but he's canty, canty,
If ca'd on to speak either Latin or Greek,

He'd jist spiel owre yer Shakespir and Danty.

He's maybe a wee bit conceitit,

Though I winna jist say that's a failin',

An' he's apt to forget we've oor dinners to het ; —

Eh ? What ! Is the ither kirk scalin' ?

O ! O ! but he's driech, driech,

! 1 but he's lang, lang.

If he's nae thocht o' quittin' I'll sune iok to flytin',

1 wish he'd gae aff the fang.

— R. S, G. Anderson.

REV. R, S. G. AADEKSO.Y.

289

»»

THE PRECENTOR.

We're fairly Heaved on Sawbaths noo,

Oor vera lugs are sair ;
They've got the kist o' whistles in,

Wi' some new-fangled player,
Whaur Tammas Lowry set the tune

For fifty years and mair.

A dour and thrawn-like man was Tarn,

Wi' lungs o' brass and airn ;
A massy pow wi' lyart locks

Like some aul' chieftain's cairn ;
An' somewhaur ben though snecki't up

The hert o' a wee bairn.

A wilfu' man maun hae his w'y

Tarn never cared a hpet —
He picked his tunes and sang them thro*

At his ain shachlin' gait ; *

" With a spirit," cried the meenister,

But Tammas took " Retreat ! '*

Noo sicna pride has aye its fa',

As Tam fand till his cost ;
An' frae that waefu' day o' shame,

Ye'd never hear him boast ;
Ae Savvbath morn he took the desk

Sair trachled wi' a hoast.

He ettled first the '' Martyrs " tune,
When something took the gee,

An' aff he gaed to^clim' '' Coleshill,"
But brocht up i' " Dundee ; "

An' when he made for " Newington **
'Twas '* Martyrdom " to me.

!i.

l-fS

'I!

290

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

■f I,

(

A michty man o' sang he was

Afore he 'gan to dwine ;
Time played ihe mischief wi' his voice,

But left the ^villin' min' ;
An' aye we kept him i' the desk,

For days o' aul' lang syne.

Death cam for ithers ; lang we thocht
He'd never come for Tarn ;

O, why, man, did ye try high G,
An' brin^ on sic a dwalm ?

Or ever we cud fetch a *'

nip,

Death fund it out and cam.'

— R. S. Cr. Anderson.

THE CROFTER'S SONG.

It's bonnie in the gloaming

To watch the purple light
Of the sunset on the waters

Go sinking out of sight ;
Bu-t it's nothing half sae bonnie,

And nothing half sae grand,
As the sunlight on the wheatficlds

In the bonnie prairie-land.

.it

It was waesome at the parting

And it's lanesome far awa',
But I think na lang for Scotland

Noo I hae tint it a';
Its ha's were fair and stately,

But they hadna half the charm
Of the little wooden shanty

On my Manitoban farm.

REV. R, S. G. AXDERSON.

291

It's merry in the morning

To hear the laverock sing,
And cheery is the mavis

Tiiat whistles on the wing ;
But there's something far mair touching,

I canna understand,
In the silence o' the starlight.

In the open prairie-land.

O, my native land is bonnie,

An' will aye be dear to me ;
And I'll wake at nights and listen

For the sounding o' the sea.
But a freer land's about me,

And a richer sea's at hand —
The yellow rustling wheatfields

O' the bonnie prairie-land.

— R. S. G. Anderson.

SUGAR-MAKING.

When nights are clear, and frosts are keen,

And the day is warm in the sun,
The snow wreathes vanish like a breath,

The sap begins to run.
And through the bush with shout and song,

The merry toilers go ;
For the boys are out for work and fun

When the sap begins to flow.

When trees are tapped and the pail^ are hung

For the nectar of the Spring,
Then over the blazing maple-logs

The giant kettles swing ;

■ II

■

■ i

'1 i

'I ■■
f

1:1 -^

292

scorns// canad/AiV poets.

And the dipper that stirs the bubbling sap

From lip to lip doth go ;
For there's nothing so sweet as the syrup that's made

When the sap begins to flow.

But it's best at dusk by the light of the flame,

In the bonfire's smoky breath,
Where shadows weird by the caldron crouch

Like the witches in *' Macbeth ; "
Shadows that gibber and clutch and writhe,

With laughter echoing full ;
For it's work to carry the amber juice,

But it's fun at the taff'y-puU.

When night is clear, and the frost is keen,

And the sap has ceased to run,
When the sugar is caking clear and crisp,

The work of the day is done.
And through the bush with shout and song

The weary toilers go ;
But they'll play it again on the morrow morn

When the sap begina to flow.

— R S. G. Anderson.

CANADA.

Hail to the Northland that cradles a nation

Lusty and ^rong as the masts of her pines !
Queen of her own she reigns in her station,
Mother of freemen she sits in her lines,
God save the land we love ;
Make her fore ver prove
Mother of men, and a home of the free.
Let every patriot son
Sing, while the ages run, —
" Canada ! Motherland ! Our hearts heat for thee."

REV. A\ S. G. ANDERSON,

293

Honour the land where the kni^hthest races

Battled as foemen to win her as prize !
Sons of these bold men we sit in their places,
Brothers forever by surest of ties,
(jod guard the land we hold
Firm as our sires of old,
Jealous of honor and fearless and free ;
Standing with arms at rest,
Call we from East to West,
" Canada ! Motherland ! Our hearts beat for thee."

Blest be our land that has written in story

Names that are worthy, and deeds that inspire 1
Long may her place in the roll-call of glory
Wake a true pride with the patriot's fire.
God ring the Empire round ;
But let our sons be found
Marching, breast forward, the first of the free.
True to the larger house
Still shall we give the rouse, —
*' Canada ! Motherland I Our hearts beat for thee."

— R: S. G. Anders'jn.

SON.

^^^^■

294

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

AbEXANDBR MUIR.

\^ \

i?<

\) P

Mr. Alexanokr Miik was born in Lanarkshire Scotland, in
1834, and came to Canada while very young'. His "ather taug-ht
school at Scarboro", Ont., and thi!re young Muir received his
rudimentary education. He afterwards attended Queen's Uni-
versity, Kingston, where he took the degree of B.A. in 1851.
Mr. Muir's life-work has been leaching-. He first taught in Scar-
boro', and subsequently in Newmarket, Beaverton, and other
places. He came to Toronto in 1880, and is at present Principal
of Gladstone Avenue Public Scliool. Mr. Muir is best known to
fame as the author of " The Maple Leaf Forever," which he
composed at Leslieville in 1866. The song was set to music by
the author.

THE MAPLE LEAF FOREVER.

In days of yore, from Britain's sliore,

Wolfe, the dauntless hero, came,
And planted firm Britannia's flag

On Canada's fair domain.
Here may it wave, our boast and pride,

And, joined in love together,
The Thistle, Shamrock, Rose entwine

The Maple Leaf forever !

Chorus —

The Maple Leaf, our emblem dear,

The Maple Leaf for ever ;
God save our Queen, and Heaven bless

The Maple Leaf for ever !

A L RXA NDER M UIR.

205

At Queenston's Heights and Lundy's Lane,

Our brave fathers, side by side,
For freedom, homes, and loved ones dear,

Firmly stood and nobly died.
And those dear rights which they maintained,

We swear to yield them never !
Our watchword evermore shall be,

I'he Maple Leaf forever!

Chorus— The Maple Leaf, &:c.

Our fair Dominion now extends

From Cape Race to Nootka Sound ;
May peace forever be our lot.

And plenteous store abound ;
And may those t^es of love be ours

Which discord cannot sever.
And flourish green o'er freedom's home,

The Maple Leaf forever 1
Chorus— The Maple Leaf, &c.

On merry England's far-famed land,

May kind Heaven sweetly smile,
God bless old Scotland evermore,

And Ireland's emerald Isle !
Then swell the song both loud and long

Till rocks and forests quiver,
C^od save our Queen, and Heaven bless

The Maple Leaf forever !

Chorus— The Maple Leaf, &c.

— Alexander Muir.

296

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

' I

MRS. JESSIE WANbBSS BRA6K.

-'4

% II

it; ,

i' fti

Mrs. Jkssik Wanless Brack is c-i sister of the late Mr. Andrew
Wanless, the well known poet, of Detroit, Mieh., and of Mr. John
Wanless^ jeweller, Toronto. Mrs Brack was born in the School
House, Lon^forniacus, Berwickshire, Scotland, on September 30th,
1826. On the death of her father in 1867, Mrs. Brack came to
Canada, and she now lives with her husband, Georj>^e Brack, in
contented retirement, at Fisherville, Vaughan Township, Ontario

BONNIE SCOTLAND.

Though faraway frac bonnie Scotland,

Far, far away frae my ain couiitrie,
Yet my heart still clings to bonnie Scotland,

To bonnie Scotland ayont the sea.

Where I gathered primroses by the burnie,
And inountain daisies on yonder lea ;

Where heart speaks to heart wi' words sae bonnie.
In the glens o' Scotland ayont the sea.

Its hills and valleys, its woods and waters,
And heathery braes ever dear to me,

In the halls o' memory it shines sae bonnie, —
Hame o' our fathers ayont the sea.

I think if I were a bird of passage,

I would spread out my wings and away I'd flee ;
I would soar away to bonnie Scotland —

Land o' the true hairts ayont the sea.

I would mak' my hame by the water courses,
And sing my songs in yon bonnie dell,

I would build my nest 'mang leafy branches,
That overshadow the auld kirk bell.

— Jessie Wanless Brack,

AmS. JESSIE WANLESS BRACK.

297

drew
John
cliool
30th,
ne to
:k, 111
tario

THE AULI) HAME.

I dream of a house far away in auld Scotland,
Nestling sae sweetly beside the pine trees.

Spreading their branches sae cool and inviting,

And waving so graceful when fanned by the breeze.

'Tis the hame of my youth — how I long to behold it !

And walk on the path I so oflen have trod,
The one of all others I aye thought so lovely,

That led by the bridge to the house of our God.

There in the kirkyard sc quiet and peaceful,
Are resting the parents I think of in love ;

Their dust it is mixed with the clods of the valley,
But their spirits are yonder in Heaven above.

Home of my love, how I'm longing to see thee !

And see the dear faces and places once more ;
And wander again by the home of my childhood,

And rest on the old oaken seat at the door.

Hut time hastens on and in voice to me whispers :

" Scotland again you will never see more."
Yet often my waking dreams fly with me homeward,
To see the auld place and to sit at the door.

— Jessie Wanless Brack.

CK.

TAM FROTH ER'S LAMENT.
Air : — " A-wbody's Like to be Marrit but Me."

I hae crossed the saut seas and mysel' I've to blame,
It's a lang lanesome year since I left the auld hame ;
My faither was greetin' and mother and a',
When I packed up my trappin's and e'en cam' awe'.

2C)8

SCOTTJSH CANADIAN POETS.

Chorus : —

But I'm gaun away hame, ^Villie, I'm gaiin away hamC;
My hairt it is sair, and I'm gaun away hame.

When I cam' to this country 'twas a' new to me,
I wandered about hut nae kenn(>d face could see;
I was like to ane lost a' my ain leefu' lane,
And sair I did rue for no' bidin' at hame.

CnoKUs : —

But I'm gaun away hame, \Villie, I'm gaun away hame,
My hairt it is sair, and I'm gaun away hame.

Auld Ritchie sent word I might be a big man
If I'd come oot and conform to his plan ;
But his plan is sae queer I dinna like it ava,
Sae my bundle is tied up, and 1 am gaun awa'.

Chorus : —

Yes, I'm gaun away hame, Willie, I'm gaun away hame,
I rue sair my raid, and I'm gaun away hame.

When I first saw auld Ritchie my countenance fell,
For he was a miser, 'twas easy to tell ;
And stinginess reigns in his kitchen and ha'
Which mak's me mair sorry for comin' awa'.

Chorus :—

But I'm gaun away hame, Willie, I'm gaun away hame,
My bundle's tied up, and I'm gaun away hame.

He e'en grudges the morsel I put in my mooth,
But hisainsel's sair fashed wi' a wonderfu' drouth ;
An as for my cleedin', I get nane ava,
Sae I'll take far less hame than what I brought awa*.

y hamC;

MJRS. JESS/E WANLESS BRACK.

290

Chorus : —

But I'm gaiin away hame. Willie, I'm gaun away hame,
I hae tied up what's left and I'm gaun away hame.

He thinks the Scotch callant sliould ne'er sleep ava.
But rest a wee while on a packie o' straw,
And syne up and at it juist the very same, —
Sae I'm dune wi' the hale o't an' gaun away hame.

ly hame,

ay hame.

^1,

ay hame,

Kva'.

Cfiokus : —

Sae fare ye weel, Willie, I'm off away hame.

Then hurrah for my Jean, for auld Scotland and hame.

Think twice, neighbor Tammas, or ye gang awa' —
There's no' muckle siller in Scotland ava —
They hae taen it to Lonnon, although it's no' fair,
And they've sunk it in stocks an' we'll ne'er see't main

Chorus : —

Sae dinna gang hame, Tammas, dinna gang hame;
Send for your Jean, man, but dinna gang hame,

Sae I've sent for my Jean, and my heart's no' sae wae,
She'll help me sae brawly to climb up the brae ;
When we get to the top o't and dune wi' a' care.
We'll gang away hame to see Scotland ance mair.

Chorus : —

Yes, we'll gang away hame when we're dune wi' oor care,
To see a' oor freen's and auld Scotland ance mair.

— Jessie Wanless Brack

300

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

II:

P;«

A SONG.

Air : — " When the Swallows Come Agnin.'^

The cuckoo is nae langer heard among the leafy trees,
Nor sound of lark's melodious sang borne on the balmy

breeze ;
The corn-craik's discordant note has followed in their train,
But they'll a' come back in springtime when the swallows

come again.

Chorus : —

When the swallows come again, when the swallows come

again,
They will come back in the springtime when the swallows

come again.

I wander 'mang the brackens wi' the sweet tear in my e'e.
For the lad that I loe best o' a' has crost the deep blue sea ;
But faith and hope are shining bright, though now I sigh

alane,
For he is coming back to Jeanie when the swallows come

again.

Chorus : — When the swallows come again, &c.

For time that's ever on the wing will soon bring round the

day
When flowers will bloom and birds will sing on ilka bank

and brae ;
Then I and he that I loe best so happy will remain,
For our home will be in Beulah when the swallows come

aga^n.

Chorus : —

When the swallows come again, when the swallows corne

again.
Our home will be in Beulah when the swallows come again.

— JESSIE Wanless Brack.

3 balmy

;ir train,
swallows

ws come
swallows

my ee,
blue sea ;
)w 1 sigh

ows come

round the
Ika bank

ows come

ows corne

mie again.
ss Brack.

M^S. JESSIE WAN LESS BRACK.

301

LANG SYNE.

Lang syne ! that is a bonnie word,

It's sweet baith said and sung,
It breathes sae grand the dulcet tone

O' oor auld mother-tongue.

Lang syne recalls to memory dear

The friends that were sae true,
Gliding before reflection's eye

In panoramic view.

Hearts' treasures of yon bonnie days,

That can nae mair return,
When gathering wild flowers on the brae,

Or wading in the burn.

T^angsyne we climbed the Dirrington

Where fed the fleecy flock ;
To quench our thirst frae hallow'd spring

That gushes from the rock.

And glorious on summer days,

To climb yon mountain side,
When heather blooms and sweet blue bells

Were scattered far and wide.

To see the wondrous heap o' stanes

On the hill head abune.
That auld herd bodies whispering tell

Cam' tumblin' frae the mune.

There often oor forefathers met

To hear the words divine
Flov; frae the sainted Peden's lips,

In days of auld lang syne.

Alas I Alas ! to abler hands

This task I maun resign ;
Only in thought can I pourtray

The beauty o' lang syne.

— Jessie Wanless Brack.

mmm

302

SCOTT/5B CANADIAN POETS.

RFcV. ANDREW MACNAB.

'-H

Rev. Andrew Macnab, M.A., late of Whitechurch, and at
present residingr at Lucknow, Ont., was born in the village of
Bonbill. Dumbartonshire, Scotland, on June 8th, 1S60. His edu-
cational career commenced at Renton, but it was sadly interrupted
as he was obliged to engage in various occi;pations in his boy-
hood. However, he took advantage largely of night schools,
and made good progress. In August, 1880, he came to Canada,
and settled down in Toronto for a few months ; but he gravitated
between Canada and his native land for a year or two and ulti-
mately entered the literary classes of Knox College and Toronto
University. He got on so well here that he deculed to take a
degree in a Scottish University^ that he might the better equip
himself for the work of the ministry of the Presbjterian Church,
to which he had decided to give his life. In 1889 he took the
degree of M.A. in Glasgow University, and in the same year
entered the Glasgow Free Church College. In 1893 he was
licensed as a preacher of the Gospel by the Free Church Presby-
tery of Glasgow. In 1894 he was ordained to the ministry of the
Presbyterian Church in Canada at Whitechurch, Ont., where he
has been settled for the last five years. Before this time Mr.
Macnab had been engaged in missionary work, both in Scotland
and in Canad:>.

Mr. Macnr.b very seldom cultivates poetry now, most of his
verses having been written before he entered college. His con-
ception of poetry has so changed since then thai, as he himself
puts it, "despairs of ever being able to write anything worth
anyone's while to read." After a perusal of what Mr. Macnab
has already writt(;n the general reader will scarcely fall in with
the author's view of the ^ase,

REV. ANDREW MACNAB.

V I

4'^:

REV. ANDREW MACNAB.

305

WRITTEN IN A BIRCH-BARK ALBUM.

My heart goes out with every word I write
Upon this page, stripped from the living tree,

A r .T""*"' ''^^''^^^^'^^"- ^^«tfi l>y day and night

A linkless chain binds it to thine and thee.

May God's best sunshine on thy pathway h'e ;

May sin and sorrow with their deadly blight

l^ar from thy heart and dwelling ever flee

buch IS the wish of him thou knowest thine —

A worse shall ne'er find harbourage in heart of mine.

— A. Macnab.

FAREWEEL TAE SCOTIA'S HILLS AND VALES

Ve hills an' valleys a' aroon',

Bedecked in a' yer vernal splendour,
An burns that through the ravines croon,

An birds that chant yer lays sae tender •
My constant freens lang hae ye been,

bome hchtsome days I've spent amang ye,
An m the sultry simmer's e'en •

In joyous strains I've aften sang ye.

But noo I bid ye a' fareweel,

Ayont the sea a hame I'm' seekin' •

Adoon my cheeks the saut tears steal'
Fu hurriedly while thus I'm speakin' •

My hertis loupin' tne my mou'.
My feelins a' are in commotion

Tae think that I maun bid adieu
Tae ye, an' cross th' Atlantic ocean

3o6

SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS.

I'll min' yea' when I'm awa',

I'll see ye aften in my dreamin',
Ilk nicht I'll roam through dell an' shaw,

An' see the corries thickly gleamin' ;
But should I ever prosperous be,

Tae be ance mair amang ye roamin',
I'll dare the dangers o' the sea,

Wi' a' its billows wildly foamin'.

— A. Magna B.

THE FIRST-BORN.

A soul new veiled in a human form

To our home came down last night,
When the darkness was at the blackest,

From the land of radiant light.
He came as a blessed message

From the King on the throne above,
A message of joy and gladness

A message of peace and love.

He came not alone, for an angel

Came with him to shew him the way,
Through the sp.^.ces of mirk and darkness

To the land of the night and the day.
When weary, the angel bore him

As he came like a blaze of light
Till he landed his precious burden.

And brought joy to our home last night.

Thou servant of Him who is highest,

Thou brightest of angels above.
Speed back to " Our Father " thy Master,

Who has lent us this bundle of love ;
Let Him know that our hearts are brighter,

That our gratitude cannot be told.
That we praise Him and prize our darling

Far more than a world of gold.

— A. Macnab

REV. ANDREW MACXAB.

307

THE BIRTH OF THE BAY.

Oh, thou beauteous bay, with thy waters of blue

So calmly reflecting the sun's brilliant sheen,
Like a glittering mirror, all flawless and true.

Pray tell me how long in thy bed thou hast been ?
How long hast thou worn thy fair girdle of green ?

How long have thy lime cliffs looked down as in scorn ?
Canst thou tell if thou art as thou always hast been

Since the earliest hour of earth's earliest morn ?
Ah [ no, thy white cliffs are a book of the past

In which we may read of a time that is gone
When thou wert not yet, but a sea deep and vast —

A life-teeming sea — rolled their waters upon
The place where thou art. For a myriad years

They abode where they were till the earth as in pain
With the weight of her burden, and crushed too with fcnrs

Quaked, and heaved her vast breast and gave birth to a
plain
That stretched far and wide where the sea rolled before.

Then the earth became calm, when relieved of her load,
And the sun coursed the heavens and the stars as of yore,

Till plants, birds and beasts made the plain their abode.

There was peace on the sea ; there was peace on the earth

While ages rolled on. Then again came a day,
The day to be known as the day of thy birth.

Thou beauteous, blue-shining, green-girdled bay.
Mother earth by wild forces, deep-hidden within.

Was tortured and torn, till she racked and she rent,
And a loud rumbling roar like the terrible din

Of a myriad thunders to high heaven she sent.
Then the plain became hollow, the waters rushed in

And blue they became as they are at this day ;
And the cliffs like gaunt spectres all envy within

Looked with scorn on thy beauty, thou grcen-girdlcd bay.

ACNAB

308

SCOTT IS IJ CANADIAN POETS.

Now we look on thy beauty ; we look and adore
As thy mirror-like bosom reflects the sun's sheen,

While we think of the sen, and tlie plain now no more.
We rejoice that better is now where they've been.

— A. Macnac.

K I

TRUE FRIENDSHIP.

Friendship is a band that binds
Two kindred souls together

A band no earthly power can shake —
A sympathetic tie, that finds

Most strength in foulest weather,
And death alone its links can break.

■A. Macnab.

IN MEMORIAM.

Living she breathed a fragrance sweet around,
Which, wafted by the winds of holy speech
And holier deeds, to many a heart did reach,

And perfumed ever wlxere it lodgement found.

Dead ? nay, asleep, yet more than e'er awake
Her actions pure, sweet essence of the soul,
Will still, though she has reached the blissful goal,

Breathe perfume till the morning dawn shall break.

— A. Macnab.

Dre,

Mac NAD.

AlsPHABBTIGAb INDEX.

Macnab.

"ul goal,
break.

Macnab.

• . I.ockhart z^i)
... .Boyd (yy
. . Mortiiner kj^^

Tyth'r 1 45

• Lo(khart 2:^4

. Mac Kay j^^.

Matt land 94

Lock hart 2^8

• • . . linuk Zi)-]

Steele 278

. . Steele 2S2

Acadie

Additional \'er.so.s to (he .Shantv

After a Hundred \'ears

Aj^ain We Meet

Ancient Bards, The.

Apple Parin' Bee, The

Auld Granny Graham

Auld Hame, The

Auld Scotland

Autumn and Ag-e ....

Awake, and Away !

Mctitland qo

Bachelor in his Shanty, The

rj, , ^ , , Boyd 61

Hanks of the Irvine, The .... «:• '

Beannachd Dheirea„„ach a„ Eil.hinch Chaelich.' . .' : ^ZZ is
I^irth of the Hay, The

boat Song-, A '' '

R^ . c> , . Lockhart 2:: 1

Honnie Scotland '

. . Brack 206

Burn s Answer, The

' " Reid 165

Ca' Me "Scottv •"

Canada ^''"''' 43

Canada ""."■ f^ockhart 2^^

/-<„ J r . Anderson 20 '

Canada, Land of the Free

Nelson 228

.I'O

A L PHA BK T/C VI A INDEX.

f I

Car'.j Steele 283

Child of Promise, The MacColl 34

Crape on the Door. Winir field 263

Crofter's Song", The Anderson 290

Cry of the Hilhiieii, The Reid 162

Curling Song, A Boyd 58

Days of Old, The Reid 164

Does Memory Live ? Graham 1 24

Dream, A Mortimer 205

Dreams Mac Kay 22^

Dust to Dust Steele 284

Eastern Twilight AfrCaijr 180

Echoes of Sixty Years, The Simpson 20

Evening" McCaig 185

Far Away Buriress 268

Fareweel tae Scotia's Hills and Vales Mai Nab 305

Felling of the Forest, The Mortimer 198

First-Born, The Mac Nab 306

Flag of Our Country, The . Simpson 1 8

Forget- ?tle-Not, The Pirie 1 32

Eraser's Drinking Song Neivhall 258

Gael's Heritage, The MacCormack 21^^

Ghaists . Lockhart 250

God . McLachlan 79

God Bless the Maple Leaf Simpson 16

Gordon Highlanders at Dargai Imrie 47

Greenwood, The Lockhart 252

Haggis Ross iSg

^•'''VV'^'P^^'

ALPHABETICAL ISDEX.

Fiallowe'en MacKny 222

Herd Laddie, The lioyd 53

Hey-a-day ! Ho-a-day ! Maifland 93

Hills of the Heather, The MacColl 35

Home-Maker, The Maifland 92

Hurrah for the New Dominion McLach/an 78

In Mem(>riam Buri^i'ss 274

In Memoriam Mat Xab 308

In Memory of David Kennedy Laidlaw 1 5 1

In Western Woods Macjarlane j^g

Jeanie,

l.ockhart 253

Lake of I he Tiiousand Isles, The MacColl

Land that's Truly Free, The IVingfield

Lang- Syne Brack

33
30 '

Life Bruce 8

Lone Grave, A Clark

Lost Langsyne, The Mac/a rlone

Louie Campbell Smilh

Maple Leaf Forever, The Mnir

Maple Tree, The McLachlan

May Song- Bruce

Memories of Guelph Bur^^ess

Mother Mortimer

Murder of Thomas Scott, The Pirie

My Auld Scottish Hame Burircss

My Birthplace Murray

My Island Home McL aiif

My Own Canadian Home \ehon

Mystery McLachlan

.->

171

240
•36

294

75
82
276
21 1
1 29
270

99
184

225
80

3'2

A L PHA HE TIC A L JNDItX,

'i'r iii _

Nelly aiKJ Mary Mortimer 202

No Country's like Our Own Dear Land. Graham 125

Nobody's Child Simpson 1 5

Oatmeal Steele 281

Of a' the Lads e'er Scotland saw Miirdoih 1 18

Olil Graveyard, The harper 216

Old Moss Back, The k\fss 193

Old Scottish Soiijtfs, The Laidlaiv 149

On the Death of William Brown Ross 191

Oor BaUly, the Loon Macfarlane 240

O, the Woods ! Smitli 1 38

Our Mither Tong-ue Wan/ess 107

Per Contra Boyd 68

Prayer, A Murdoch 1 1 7

Precentor, The > Anderson 289

Prodigal Child, The Graham 1 26

Queen Morning- Mortimer 2 \ i

•' ^\\\\~ ye Like Men." Laidlaiv 156

Rain it Falls, Tlie McLachlan 76

Raise t he F"lag A-elson 227

Rambling Thoughts Steele 283

River St. Lawrence. The Boyd 56

River, The MacCormack 235

Robert Burns McLachlan 72

Robert Burns . . Burgess 272

Robert Burns Steele 282

St. Andrew's by the Sea Lockhart 2\i

St. Andrew's Day, 1 896 Marshall \ 1 3

A LP HA BETICA L INDEX.

202

281
118
216

»49
191

240

•38
107

21 1
'56

227

56
^35

72
272
282

247
•13

St. Andrew's Soi-iety Pic-nic Telford 174

Scotch Dainties . .Imrie 45

Scotia's Thistle Laidlaw i ^4

Scotland A Long- Time Ajjo Steele 285

Scottish Emigrant's Lament, The Simpson ig

Scottish Plaid, The Murray 102

Sentiment, A Mortimer 209

Shillin' or Twa, A Wingjield 264

Snowfall in a Highland Cilen . . MacColl 31

Somebody's Child Mortimer 200

Song — Though now far frae our native hame Boyd 55

Song — Some seem to think our mission here Mortimer 210

Song — The sun i' the west had gane dcon to rest .Ross 190

Song — The cuckoo is nae langer heard Brack 300

Song for the Backwoodsman Boyd 5 1

Songs I Sing Neivhali 259

St anzas Boyd 52

Strength in Union Clark 170

Sugar-Making Anderson 291

Tarn Frother's Lament Brack 297

Temperance Cause, The Pirie 130

There's aye a Something Graham 1 2^

There the Weary are at Rest Tytler 140

Thou God o{ Nations, Guard Our Land ! Simpson 12

To a Copy of Burns' Poems MacKeracher 242

To a Friend Steele 286

To a Sprig of Heather .... . .Harper 216

To the Morning Star MacColl 32

Touch of the Divine, The Imrie 46

Trials Clark 172

iff

314 ALPHABETICAL INDEX.

Tribute to the Toads, A Mortimer 209

True Friendship Mac Nab 308

True Victory Maitland 91

Unspoken, The Lockhart 252

Up ! and Be a Hero ! McLachlan 73

Valley of the Shadow of Death, The lytlet 143

Welcome to Spring-, A , . Boyd 59

Wha Daur Meddle Me ? Wanlesa 1 08

Whaup, The . . . Reid \ 6 1

When the Heather Scents the Air Macfarlane 236

Where'er We May W^ander McLachlan Tj

White Heather. Smith 139

Whustle as Ye Go ! Ivirie 44

Wi' the Laverock i' the Lift Smith 137

Woodland V^ision, A Mortimer 208

Written in a Birch-Bark Album MacNab 305

Younjf Minister, The Anderson 287

r 209
h 308
/ 91

f 252

' '43

i 59
' 108

I 161

236

139

•37
' 208

' 305
\ 287