IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) V // // ,X ^«feP ///// ^0 ~ /,, ^^^ V /Ja A 1.0 I.I 1.25 Ira tllllO T iiii|2,2 i^ IIIIIM It 1^ I: 1^ mil 2.0 1.8 U 11 1.6 pm V. o (^ ^ r^ Am e:m ^> >^ (9' V/0, '7 y ^.^^^ % ^ % '^^L^'^^" '^^^ n.^^ CIHM/ICMH Microfiche Series. CIHM/ICMH Collection de microfiches. Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques 1980 Technical Notes / Notes techniques The Instit.'Jte has attempted to obtain the best original copy available for filming. Physical features of this copy which may alter any of the images in the reproduction are checked below. L'Institut a microfilm^ le meilleur exemplaire qu'il lui a 6t6 possible de se procurer. 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The last recorded frame on each microfiche shall contain the symbol -^- imeaning CONTINUED"), or the symbol V (meaning "END"), whichever applies. The original copy was borrowed from, and filmed with, the kind consent of the following institution: National Library of Canada Le*? images suivantes ont 6t6 reproduites avec le plus grand soin, compte tenu de la condition et de la nettet6 de I'exemplaiie film6, et en conformity avec les conditions du con'^at de filmage. Un des symboles suivants apparaitra sur ia der- nidre image de cheque microfiche, selon le cas: le sy.nbole — ^ signifie "A SUIVRE", le symbole V signifie "FIN". L'exemplaire film* fut reproduit grSce d la g*n6rosit* de I'dtablissement prdteur suivant : BibiJothdque nationale du Canada Mt ps or plates too large to be entirely included in one exposure are filmed beginning in the upper l«ft hand corner, left to right and top to bottom, as many frames as> required. The following diagrams illustrate the method: Les cartes ou les planches trop grandes pour §t'e reproduites en un seul clich6 sont filmdes ^ partir de Tangle supdrieure gauche, de gauche d droite et de haut en has, en prenant le nombre d'images n^cossaire. Le diagramme suivant illustre la mdthode : 1 2 3 4 5 6 S60TTISH GANADIAN PO§TS. I I 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 „,.rf, Simpson, Jofin .. Smith, Rev. William Wve Steele, John ,. Telford, William Tytler, Agnes VVanless. Andrew 9 134 279 '75 141 '05 9 134 279 '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 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 hf 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. 12 SCO T Tisir c. \ X. in/ A . v pok ts. U 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 i^ 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. fi , 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. >5 t^lcaiiiing, 'K 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 i6 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. '7 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. '■% w n. i8 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, U^ am 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 20 SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS. '\> I : I iln W '■ THE ECHOES OE SIXTY YEARS. I. 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. 21 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. 22 scorns H Canadian poets. 1 i > i 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\. ^3 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. ' '!^ V. 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'^ if ! r 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 ''°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 i6 'I I ■ 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 naf 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, i89iis 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.. 31 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. i *wn, cCoij, /':r.l.V Mac COLL. 33 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. d, troke A' J 'J A' Mm COLL. 35 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. 37 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 P 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. 39 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- m. 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 oe 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. F or ye could '^" Dvorak's heel ji.sl "er wrai ^s earn yer mJat uniin sa nj-s. an meal ler Tl ji.sl »^' S lliDiiV mad I't, joek. e o poets in oor I; ^'ommon h'm yc V, ui ^' an" sail" By ■\u si Ji-s( the metal dn, g'n'ti iX-ime \ lappit weel i\vn F ^itiM-s honest h 'ae head to heel m . 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. i \W ( l'.1 i ^1 • • ir' '|i..,. lOllX IMRIE. 43 " It's swiH'tly il.'ii* \'f j^'.ir it (.'rmk, \Vi" pt 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. 4 n 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 ! " iH II '^»' 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:. 45 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. k^ .ki 46 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. 47 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 ! 48 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. IS % m^ 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. m 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. S3 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. D. 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. 54 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. 55 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. 56 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. 57 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. 5^ 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, 3\ 59 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 ; 6o 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. I i 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 J J! ROBERT BOYD. 6i 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. 1 62 SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS. I 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. 4 i 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. Il 64 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. i 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. 66 scorns// canad/an poets. :f 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. i «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. 67 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. It I I 68 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. II ^1 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. m^ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) o Sty M 1.0 l.i ill 1.25 '-la — it I4g 1.4 1.6 7^ "c-1 <^ % > •»^ # .*V' <^ % &? r ,-™<» ■ 72 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. I 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. 73 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 ! BB 74 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. I A LEX A XDEK McLA CIILA V. /5 $ 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^! 76 SCOTTISH CAN A. IAN POETS. w \ \\ h II' li! i!^ 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. .1 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. 79 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. 8o SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS. i:! h\ > i ]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. 4 ALEX. \ XDEk' McLA CIIL. 1 \\ 8i %^ 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' Hi 82 SCOTT IS I / CAXAD/AN POETS. REV. G. BRUCE, D.D. ft 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. born near IS brought 1 Toronto, ee of B.A. tliers, was Dr, Bruce of the late College of Idron He charge of ■■ m H|^^^A ^M ^. 3- M "^'^Mfl^B 1 ' iJKSk^UGt^^^^ s ^Mt^^l^^^K ^.^j^B d^^^l M BJ^^^H K^Kr ^^^^^1 ^k1 ' , ' ^^^|b ■BSUHHI ^^jBg .i^^^^K hKmRH if* REV. G. BRUCE, D.I). i / KEV. G. BRUCE, D.D. 85 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 : 86 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. h V -f. 4 I M 1. MRS. MARY A. MAITLAXH. MRS. MARV A. ArAlTLANn. So 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. )o SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS. it 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 ! i 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. 9» llcy, m. taiti, 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 92 SCOTTISH CAXADIAN P0E7S. I 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 « 94 M 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. 95 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. 96 SCOTTISH c:t.\:in/.ix rn/rrs. WlbloiAM MURRAY. 1/ 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. !■• i;l' A. thai as a oine. i'A- ines, His •ular not St. lelic ps of Hii ■i \^ -a 11 WILLIAM MURRA Y. 99 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 n^ 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' t>> M 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, I il' I 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. i l! I' ll 1^. 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." |i' ill •Mi Ls an hed IS com Scot- te of vh ere IVillg' diiii;-. imeiit Y met ami ted ra )tito ; and , '.w.d ours th he IVaii- ;s ol and llaiig the [omy llaiid Ihere >ngs x\m:)ri<:\v wanlkss. 1} !/ •1 ' *5' ^^1 ';1 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. t 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 I 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. no .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. L ^kl ils so to he nt in rs » . ^^hr ' . ■ A .^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) IM 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. i1 w I ) I 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. Hi 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. W' : 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. «(rf I r ^ .i ' 1 ' 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. Mt 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, 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 I 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. I r 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. fn ■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. ' 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 M5 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^ *£:?'' ''^* ^^ '"^* n si 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 k 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, ■ 11 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. >i 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. \\ m IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) m. w y >% '^i J^ % J m O 7 1.0 I.I ,25 t 1^ IIM 1 2.0 U 111.6 HH & . - mu«- { i •: ^^ ^*^ K 1^^^^^^ ^ ■^'.«,''9 ^ ^H Vl HH 1 ' fy^ T<~^.»i*5jj^T^^!ri^^^,. ' DR. DANIEL CLARK. 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. i 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. J 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. w '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. f % !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. i 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. I .-.^ 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 ¥■'■ 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. a WILLIAM TELFORD. fi k 1) w, ; I u 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 S f ^1^ 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. ■^i^^ .*^'f ' • 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. ^;^i €^i •^^Tz^^' ^ i8o SCOTTISH CANADIAN POKTS. DONALD MCCAIG. i ! !i.:» i I 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. It 1 i 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. 1^ fi > !, I 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, i 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. I ^1 I' 3(1 ^\\ ' ' IE ■ 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 IQO .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. Pi t 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 i 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. I n 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. I 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. 9: 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; '■ i' 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, I 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. TH 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. H ii i^ 1 j 1 I i t ■f 1 i ', If ii ■yt 1 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." t( 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 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'; m I "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. i 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 « r in 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 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 \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. u 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 e; 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. 11 224 SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS. \n 1 M \ 1' i *p 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. "5 EDWIN G. NEIbSON. |i 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 ! ;: ■ j: : ir , ; : I In 226 SCOTTISH CANAD/AX POETS. m ii t, 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. 'i l[ m II 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. k % »N. ivor, :d ? 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. I P 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. r" 236 SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS. ^ i rt- , t 1 i 1' .- 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. I i 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. i il 240 SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS. n- ■i^" 1-^ m 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. i '-iSj m ^ i ^ 1? ^•^^ ^ i ^ ^CiT m 242 SCOTTISH CAXADfAN POETS. W. IVi. MacKERAGHEF^. m "t 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 ! it \V. INI. MacKERACHER. •' » f 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. i i 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. r 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. m 250 SCOTTISH CANADIAN P0E7S. I m \n j ii 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? m, 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 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. ^K 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 Hi I 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 I m 258 SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS. FRASER'S DRINKING SONG. (The Fraser Clan Motto "/^ -S'w/j Prcst" :—*' I Am Ready.") I. 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 ? t 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 ? V. 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. .1 ill • ' ! 5:-i M ^ 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. ^{^i^'^y^^^^ A^ v«f, t*. m IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 4 V // .// ^ m 1.0 I.I 1.25 ■^ IM 1112 2 H: ii£ 1 2.0 JA III 1.6 VI /. VI c^; % > ,%'# ^ , ^ ^^>:/ # /; /w r w^^ ^ 4^ ■!# \\ 't^^k '^^' itwrnraa 262 SCOTTISH CANADIAN POETS. If I It u " t Ml 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 ! M 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