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Lai-? 9 o •--- fW o o T( Entered, according to the Act of the Provincial Legislature, in the year One Thousand Eight Hundred and Fifty-Eight, in the Office of the Register of the Province of Canada. PRINTED AT THE " REVIEW" OFFICE, STREETSTILLk. I J / ■i l>.ii »' u r>E3DICA.TIOiT in the n the TO THE REV. R. J. MACGEORGE, AS A TOKEN OF GRATITUDE, THIS WORK IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED) BY THE AUTHOR. lie who to Italy of sire JEneas suDg, And left a name whose glory never fades, Wh<> rivalled limner with a Uomau tongue, EVn he tiintd his lowly iiylTan shades Might have remained unknown, and piped unheard, Had no Mscenas lived and loved the bard.— Lucaic. i CONTENTS. ,-. M THE MINSTREL, 9 OLDHANNAH, 12 BEN LOMOND, , , 14 THE GENIUS OF CANADA, 16 GRIZEL COCHRANE, r.... 18 THE HALLS OF HOLYROOD, til BONNIE JEAN, 23 A WRECK, 23 DYING JOHN, 29, THE HARP OF CALEDON, 32 ODE ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT TANNAHIll , 34 WHIP POOR WILL,. 36 THE STAMP OF MANHOOD, 37 JEANIE SEMPEL, 39 PAST AND PRESENT, 41 ON THE DEATH OF • * • 48 THE GREAT OLD HILLS, 52 THE GLASGOW CHAP'S STORY; Or, Confpssions Over A Bottle, 54 THE ROMANCE OF EXISTENCE, 60 1. t'l M ■i ■ 1 6 WEE MARY, 61 WHAT, WHAT ARE WE? 63 WILL ELLIOT,— A Border Ballad, 65 HYMN TO THE WINTER WIND, 7» EPISTLE TO AN OLD FRIEND, 72 THE OLD RUIN GREY, 77 FAR IN THE FOREST SHADE, 79 OLD AUNT ISABEL, 81 THE HAWK AND THE DOVE,— A Tragedy, 8.5 ON SEEING A ROSE IN A CHURCHYARD, r4) TO THE SHADE OF JEANIE, 0:J TO MY MOTHER, 95 A BALtAD, '. UK) DEBT, 102 ^t)RINK, 108 ROSEBELL, 113 ON SEEING A ROSE IN A CHURCHYARD, 115 THE INDIAN SUMMER, 118 GOLD, 120 OLD SKINFLINT'S DREAM, 126 HUMANITY, 133 FAITH AND HOPE, 135 PREACHING DICK, 137 OLD UNCLE JOHN, : 142 THE VALE OF DREAMANORIE, 146 MARY BLANE, 148 THE WINDS ARISE .150 lU Lymes. THE MINSTREL. i' 'if Gentle hearts, O come and listen To the wandering minstrel's strain, Lend to him an ear that's willing, Or he sings to you in vain. He has built, by hope invited, Found her promises untrue, 'Mid the ruins of her temple Sat him down and wept like yon. Life to him was once an Eden Filled with lovely, laughing flowers. But like you he has been driven Far away from her green boweis. .; 1'' 10 In this maze of sin and sorrow Followed many a weary track. And his harp is all that's left him To bring Eden's memory back. On his heart have pride and passion Sin and sorrow left their stain. Hence the wail of melancholy Mingles in his sweetest strain. Yet within his heart he cherished Visions of the good and true, But in life to realize them Baffled he has been like you. \ And the mystery of our being Heavy on his heart hath lain. Till the heavings of his wonder Found expression in his strain. He has tried to learn from nature What our little life can mean, Caught perchance some wav'ring echoes Wand'ring from the world unseen. You and he are -chasing phantoms And the mirage of deceit, Blinded by the sands, ye hardly . Know each other when ye meet, J 11 By the darkness which surrounds you Giving and receiving wrong ; But to know and love each other Heaven in pity sent us song. » fi t I. ' 11 12 OLD HANNAH. 'Tis Sabbath mom, and a holy balra Drops down on the heart like dew, And the sunbeams gleam Like a blessed dream, Afar on the mountains blue. Old Hannah's by her cottage door In her faded widow's cap. She is sitting alone On the old grey stone With the Bible in her lap. An oak is hanging o'er her head, '■ And the bum is wimpling by. The primroses peep From their sylvan keep, And the lark is in the sky. Beneath that shade her children played, But they're all away mth. death, And she sits alone On the old grey stone To hear what the Spirit saith. ^ t '. il 13 Her yeaxs are o'er three score and ten. And her eyes are waxing dim, But the page is bright With a living light, And her heart leaps up to Him Who pours the mystic harmony Which the soul can only hear. She is not alone On the old grey stone, Though there's no one standing near. There's no one left to cheer her now, But the eye that never sleeps Looks on her in love From thg Heavens above, And with quiet joy she weeps. She feels the balm of bliss is pour'd In her worn heart's deepest rut ; And the widow lone, On the old grey stone, Has a peace the world knows not. y '-. .1 ^1 ,.^, , N ■ 14 BEN LOMOND. " A thing of beaaty Is a Joy forever." I've wand'red rugged Scotland through From Caithness to the Clyde, But of all the hills that love the blue, Ben Lomond thou'rt the pride. And oft while thinking upon thee My eyes will overflow, And still in dreams thy form I see, As I saw thee long ago, I see thee wrapt in sable shroud, While light'nings 'round thee play. And Ailsa, like a thunder cloud, Is looming far away. I ■ i To thee the storm brought forth his hosts To sweep the isles afar, While clouds led on, like sheeted ghosts. The thund'rer in his car. 15 And while he mutter'd in his wrath Old Ben thou wert not dumby And shrieking eagles fled his path At thy dread hurly hum. When Spring in gay green valleys sungi And clouds away were rolled. And o'er thy head the rainbow hung A diadem of gold. Then thou to me wert all a dreamy The joy of earth and air, And still to memory thou dost seem A glory tow'ring there. u u U I.: P I" '**! ■ h '(I i And I would give uncounted gold To see thee once again, To look, as in the days of old. On my own giant Ben. ,^,*'*<'- «;v ' ^ ,- V '''"''^ ■' * n 16 HI h! // THE GENIUS OF CANADA. When the Genius of Canada came From over the western wave, 'Neath southern skies She heard the cries Of every weeping slave. " I'll seek the northern woods," she cried, " Though bleak the skies may be, ^ The maple dells Where freedom dwells Have a special charm for me. " For moral worth and manhood there H&ve found a favouring clime. I'll rear a race To shed a grace On the mighty page of time. ,* ** And the arts shall flourish 'neath their care, And the palm of peace shall wave O'er a home of rest X- .1 17 For the oppressed. And a refuge for the slave." , Away to the northern woods she flew, And a lorely home she found, Where still she dwells 'Mong quiet dells '' With her giant brood around. « And these," she says, « are the hearts we mould In the land of lake and pine, ^ Where the Shamrock blows. And the English Rose ^ ' And the Scottish Thistle twine." :l,Ja ;. '. ■.J!q ^Jll^iU! -Ht: ,,J* ■' s fy ' '' i' IS GRIZEL COCHRANE. <* Go, saddle me the roan steed That's chanipmg in the stall," And biing to me the horseman's cloak That's hanging in the hall, For now the warrant's on the way That dooms my sire to die. But I will stop the messenger Though but a woman I. ** hagte thee, ha^e thee, Donald, haste, For I must speed away ' And get beyond the Scottish bounds ' Before the break of day." ** Thy arm is weak, the messenger A yeoman stout and tall, And failure in this wild attempt Brings ruin on us all." ' ' And shall I tamely sit and sigh — That were a deadly sin ; '< Strike for the right has ever been The motto of our kin. \ 19 Away with craven doubts and fear»— The spirit in me saith, < There's nousht but thou canst do and dare To save a sire from death.' " Her father's spirit, while she speak!^. Is mounting in her face ; Her bosom heaves with all the heart Of her heroic race — She stays no further questioning, But mounts upon her steed — The daughter of a patriot, A herome indeed. ,i The stars are twinkling in the vault, The moon looks down in love, The while a prayer leaps from her heart To Him who reigns above. To nerve her arm to do the deed, i To keep her pui-pose strong ; Then with implicit hope and trust She dashes swift along. And she is waiting in the wood Until t*he break of day, And seizes on the messenger And bears his bags away. The pursuivant looks after her, y>' Confounded at the deed. ;> 11 V- .1 1 ' 1 'm it < 1 20 I ( 1 ' And wonders if the Devil rides Upon a roan steed. f\ * 1 I The ire of the King has cooled, j ; And nobles intercede, While Scotland echoes to the fame i Of this heroic deed. \ 0, freedom's dearer purchased by A daring daughter's love. And Cochrane pours his gratitude Unto the God above. 1 1 * i i I "V,:- , If ^'' ..... ! ' '' : * j L , ' ■ ■ -A. 21 THE HALLS OF HOLYROOD. O let me sit, as evening falls In sad and solemn mood, Among the now deserted halls Of ancient Holyrood ; And think how human power and pride Must sink into decay, (kf like the bubbles on the tide. Pass, pass away. No more the joyous crowd resorts To see th© archers good Draw bow within the ringing courts Of merry Holyrood. Ah, Where's that high and haughty race That here so long held sway. And where the phantoms they would cho^ ? Passed, passed away. '.! ^ 1 1 \ 1, And where the Monks and Friars grey, That oft in jovial mood. Would revel till the break of day la merry Holyrood ? 22 The flagons deep are emptied out. The revellers all away ; They come not to renew the bout — Where, where are they ? II And where the plaided chieflains bold That 'round their monarch stood 7 And where the damsels that of old Made merry Hol}Tood ? And where that fair ill-fated Queen, And where the minstrels grey, That made those vaulted arches ring 7 Where, where are they 7 ■i-\ '11; Though mould'ring are the minstrels* bonee, Their thoughts have time withstood— They live in siiatches of old songs / Of ancient Holyrood. Vat thrones and dynasties depart And diadems decay, But these old gushings of the heart Paas not away. , ( ' *■ -- V">n B^ AutB«AUMW f MR Bgro 23 1 I BONNIE JEAN. JDay faded o'er the Highland hills. And sweetly rose the lady moon — The stars were trembling in the rills. The sheep within the fauld lain doun- i A 'it\ '. \ The weary dove had sought her nest. The lark had faulded up her wing, The linnet sang itself to rest Amang the dewy flowers o' Spring. Twas not to see the waterfa', 'T\ as not to hear the mavis' sang, Nor yet to mark the wild flowers a* I wandered Lochers' shades amang. For what was nature's bosom fair, Though dress'd in Luna's silver sheen ? O, dearer far beyond compare The bosom 0* my bonnie Jean. And what was a' this world to me — What a' its brightest, and its best ? fi 24 More rich than worldling e'er can be, 1 clasped her to* my beating breast. And what were gems and jewels rare, Though on the mantle o' a queen ? One lock of my love's yellow hair Outweigh'd them on this heart, I ween. ss Time fled on raptured wings away, All underneath that fairy beam, Until the lark proclaiming day Awoke us frae our blessed dream. \ il Who could have thought that gentle moon Which smiled so sweetly on the wave. Ere seven times the sun gaed doun Would smile as sweet on Jeannie's grave ? Who could have thought my bosom's light Would fade when nature all was gay, And leave me thus a' in sorrow's night To wander on my weary way ? Those eyes that beamed on me are dim, And mine are red with sorrow's rain, For never in this world of sin - f Shall I behold her like again It liiiliiii 85 ¥' Earth has no moro delights for mo, Tho summor'a day is fur ovvor lang, There's gloom in every ihiiir I see And sadness in ilk wee bird'n sang. Still may that bower hang by tho Btream, And nought unhallowed o'er profane. But sacred to love's blessed dream. And sorrow let it aye remain. > .'»i M J^- I ill 26 il -f I A WRECK. Andrew was erst the village pride, And oft 'neath the yew tree shade, Both old and young, With rapture hung On the wond'rous words he said. But now in the public bar he stands, With the dizzy drunken crew, A slounging sot, In a threadbare coat, And his elbows peeping through. How changed since the time he touched our hearts, As if with a magic wand. And we thought that he Would one day be A wonder in the land ; For while he spake the ages all i' Seemed open to the view Of that gibbering sot. In the threadbare coat, With the lips of livid hue. ' \ . ^ 1 1 27 And from the wreck of old belief ' ' What wond'rous forms he drew, And how he wrought Disjointed thought ' Into pictures strange and new. Who could have deemed this mournful chanjre Would ever come to pass ; A seedy sot, In a threadbare coat, Alas ! ever alas ! ^1 I :^'B Is this the man of the loving heart, Which knew no crook nor wile ? For he was free -. ;; As man can be From everything like guile. His sense of moral worth remains, Yet he'll do the thing that's mean — A sneaking sot, In a threadbare coat, He sinks to the obscene. ' ' I • He still presents the lordly brow, And the great black flashing eyes. But wan despair Is seated there With "the worm that never dies." The princely port, and the regal air, '■" % '.I m mm ;l 28 And the stately tread are gone— A palsied sot, In a threadbare coat, To the grave he staggers on. ■--f *i « Tlie £>host of his former self will com& And try to break his chain, He'll curse the cup, And he'll give it up. But he seeks it once again. •How mournful are his gibes and jeers, How sad to hear him sing — That joyless sot. In the threadbare coat, That God-forgotten thing. ' The dream of his boyhood haunts him still. It comes but to annoy, But he fills the cup, And he drains it up. And laughs like the ghost of joy. The wreck of a richly laden soul la surely a fearful thing ; Oh shun the lot Of that sinking sot Whose dying dirge we 6ing» Ijiillll m 29 !> .' /^' 0YING JOHN. Come, let us to the woods away, The joyous Spring to greet ; She comes with music on her lips And daisies at her feet. The woods are waiting for us, love, . • The flowers their incense bring, The streams are calling, come away ! The birds are on the wing ; Then haste, haste, and come with me, The golden hours are flying. Care never seeks those sunny bowers. But love and joy undying. >: n ■'• !. And see, the lark is fluttering The dew from off" his wings, And, like a weary soul set free, Away he soaring sings. The linnet's in the broom, my love. The lily's on the lea. The dawn is lingering on the mead« And beckons, love, on thee ; M ■n m III I I'll si'i'l 30 And youths and maidens in tlie vale The flow'ry chaplet's tying, . And hope sings in the ear of love Her song of joy undying. \ But who comes tottering on his staif All silent and alone ? ^ Who can it be? alas! alas! Our own dear dying John. For he would look on Heaven once more, And see the green woods wave. And look upon the flowers, that soon Will bloom upon his grave. He lingers not with vain regrets. Nor wastes the hours in sighing. But loves to look on flowers as types Of beauty never dying. He comes to hear the lark once more Upon its heavenward flight, ■ To see the daisies, ere his eyes Shall close in endless night ; He comes to see the primrose bank Where many an hour he played, For he would look on it again In all its charms arrayed ; Joy laughs around him everywhere — There's no such thing as sighing — I mi 31 And there he leans, 'midst light and life, The only thing that's dying. There's not a murmur on his lips, No tear his eyelid fills, , Although he knows he'll wither with The lovely daffodils. He knows they'll all come back again i , In gladness to the bum. But to his heart the vital Spring Shall never more return. "* But something whispers that for him The friends he lost are tying A fadeless chaplet by the fount Of love and joy undying. S A We will not to the woods to-day. Though joy invites us on, We'll rather sit upon this bank And talk with dying John. Though nature decks the verdant earth And robes the azure sky. There's still a want within our hearts She never can supply. The joyous heavings of her breast Are closely link'd with sighing. And FAITH alone can bear us up Above the fear of dying. , » I 'M i ^2 ! 33^ The mystic murmur of the rills Sweet harp of Caledon. They caught the whispers of the bowers, The murmur of the bee, They learned the language of the flowers. And taught it all to thee. The winds that wander 'mong the rocks, And ocean's eerie moan, . I hear them soughing in thy notes^ Wild harp of Caledon, Wild harp of Caledon, I hear them soughing in thy notes. Wild harp of Caledon. And though the Scot may cross the sea And wander far and wide. He hears again, old harp, in thee The murmurs of the Clyde ; For they were nature's playmates gay, Old Scotia's sons of song, That tune our spirits to thy lay. Sweet harp ot Caledon, -- Sweet harp of Caledon, That tune our spirits to thy lay. Sweet harp of Caledon. I! M v<\ !! i'l 34 ii'i' ODE ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT TANNAHILL. Lay him on the grassy pillow, All his toil and trouble's o'er ; Hang his harp upon the willow For he'll wake its soul no more. Let the hawthorn and the rowan Twine their branches o'er his head, And the bonnie little gowan Come to deck his lowly bed. \ // Let no tongue profane upbraid him, Here is nothing now but clay ; To the spirit pure that made him Sorrowing he stole away. Let the shade of gentle Jessie From the woods of old Dumblane — Innocence he clothed in beauty — Plead not for the bard in vain. Let the braes of grey Gleniffer, - ic ■ And the winding Killoch burn, .4,-. ! ^1' 36 Lofty Lomond and Balquhither, For their sweetest minstrel mourn ; And the Stanely turrets hoarj*, And the wood of Craigielee, Waft his name and mournful story Over every land and sea. Let the lily of the valley Weep her dews above his head While the Scottish muse sings waly* O'er her lover's lowly bed. Lay him on the grassy pillow, All his toil and trouble's o'er ; Hang his harp upon the willow For he'll wake its soul lio more. i* ■ I I *A beautiful •Id Scots ballad, — '• Waly, waly, up yon bank, Aud waly, waly, down yon brae.'* m 86 WHIP POOR WILL. There is a lonely spirit Which wanders through the wood, And tells its mournful story In every solitude ; ' It comes abroad at eventide And hangs beside the rill, And murmurs to the ear of night, Whip poor Will. I "' [ Oh, 'lis a hapless spirit In likeness of a bird, A grief that cannot utter Another woful word, A soul that seeks for sympathy, , _ A woe that won't be still, A wandering sorrow munnuring, • Whip poor Will. ■iT V Il!;i;ii'; 37 .^1 H I; THE STAMP OF MANHOOD. k 1i Come, let us sing to human worth, 'Tis big hearts that we cherish, For they're the glory of the earth And never wholly perish. All nature loves the good and brave, And showers her^ifts upon them ; Sho hates the tyrant and the slave For manhood's stamp's not on them. ill Thine eye shall be the infiex true Of what thy soul conceiveth ; Thy words shall utter firm and few The things thy heart believeth ; Thy voice shall have the ring of steel, The good and brave will own thee ; Where'er thou art each heart shall feel That manhood is upon thee. And if stem duties are assign'd Anu no one near to love thee, Be resolute, nor look behind. \ // . 38 The Heavens are still above thee ; And follow truth where'er she leads, Though bigots Irown upon thee, Your witnesses will be your deeds If manhood's stamp is on thee. ■w Let hope around thy heart entwine Thy loadstar's love and duty, And every word and deed of thine Will be embalmed in beauty. And goodness from her highest throne . Will blessings pour upon thee. Thee nature's soul will love to own If manhood's stamp is on thee. \ :i: ^'i^ ' ! H 39 * . ^ II JEANIE SEMPEL. No flower that in the garden grows With Jeanie Sempel can compare, Her face is sweeter than the rose And ne'er was lily half so fair. Her eyes are blue, her lips are red, Her voice it has a silver sound. And like the circle's sunbeams shed, Her hair in ringlets ripple 'round. To nature's beauties I had bent And worshipped many a lovely thing, But never knew what magic meant Until I heard my Jeanie sing. Though simple as the song of birds. Yet with the spell my heart was bound, A rapture welling from the words, And like her ringlets rippled 'round. There's grace within her airy tread, And meekness in her gentle smile. The light of beauty 'round her ■ihed And she unconscious all the while ; i r .1* iJ- 40 O happy, happy may siie be, And never care nor sorrow wound, And richer than an emperor he Whose heart her ringlets ripple 'round. // 1 \ II ri ■■■■M ii: ■'■:; .■f ■ «; u I ^ ue^ Cull it weakness, half his sorrows From that noble weakness sprung ; Yet he lost no jot of courage, t Strivin*; ajjainst wind and tide, Oh, his very heart grew bigger Fighting on the weaker side. V Where conformity was wanted Soai3 low he could not conform. He wouU clioosj his path and tread it Kren through the thunder storm. Are yi right becoufe ye never Step tram oil the beaten way ? Are all those that tempt the thicket Ever hopalessly astray ? They must try the wilds untrodden, They must tempt the stormy eea ! «,H -J I m i I 1 60 ^^ 1 Who would bring us joyous tidings '» 1 Who would make us wise and free ! ^v„ i'' Like ourselves he had some fraiUieo, J II 1 Better he had been without, ' . ' " > ' But upon his truth and honour Malice could not hatch a doubt. "^ They are linn that never falter, V They are very' wise indeed Who have ne'er pursued a phantom, /, Never leaned upon a reerf ; ' • ft Charity for human frailty Nevsr, never yet was wrong, Straight arci they that never stumble. Clemency becomes the strong. • y ■ ' ■ . t- - ''/ Oh, he bore a buoyant spirit Poverty could not destroy, ; All the leanings of his nature Ever were to light and joy. Happy smiling human faces Charity's thrice blessed words. '' F'rf] upon his heart like sunshine, Or the song of summer birds ; ' ! Then the sallies of his humour, • 1 ill Genial as the summer rain, • - No, we'll never, never listen To such gusts of soul again. 1 I 1 1 ■' 51 :i!< II Tliouj|li his heart had speckn of darkness, Thero were ijleaniH of the divltie, Memory wipen the dust all from it, Locks it ill her Hacred ishriiie ; Hanj^s it in her halls of twilight, Yeju to make the darknenrt brij^ht, Like a lovely star to twinkle. Ever on tlie vault of nij^ht ; . ■ , • / Sever it from dust and ashes, i Frees it from the dross of clay, * Death and time and love and" sorrow Wa>stiJuig all its stains away. i ! i 'r,-;i ,i*'!r 1 'Ji'st; 1 .i / i^ T ( / '9 m \ I' HiAli mm 11 r>-7 THE GREAT OLD HILLS. To the hills all hail ! The hearts of mail ; All hail to each mighty Ben ! They were seated there, On thrones of air, Lonjr ere there were living men. From the frozen north The storm comes forth And lashes the mountain rills, " 1/ But they vainly rave ' Around the brave — The great old hills. They are fair to view With their bonnets blue ; They are freedom's old grey guards, Each waving a wreath Of purple heath . To the songs of Scotia's bards. ^ The tempests come And veil the sun I \ 63 'I" While ire his rod eye 11 lis, And they rush in wrath On the lightning's path From the great old hills. Men toil at their walls And lordly halls, But their labour's all in vain, For with ruin gray , Tliey pass away But the great old hills remain. While the lightnings leap From peak to peak, And the frighted valley thrills, O'er storm and time They tower sublime, The great old hills. , -I I • i r - '■ '.hi ;w -.l-r^r.;, a. -A .'l . ii! t - .. K .: i- THE GLASGOW CHAFS STORY; OR, CONFESSIONS 0VEU A BOTTLR. I'm frae St. Mungrows, waes my heart, There still I should a been, And mony a happy day I've play'd The shinty on the green ; The Goose-dubs and the Gallowijate I'll see nae mair I fear. Oh 'twas u ])Iack mischance indeed Tliat ever brought me her©. I am, although I say't mysel', Baith sensible and civil, But gin ye stir my temper up I'm like a raging devil ; And since I was a wee bit wean I lik'd to hear big speaking, So doun I gead ae' A^'aefu' night To hear the monster meeting. I'd rather 1 hud stayed at hame. Although I got some knowledge I'll ii:| J // ■ ■■ • — . ^ And heard o' things tliey dinna tell " .-^' * • In parliament or college ; A back frae a' the trades was there And Weavers frae the Shaws, a ' ' So ane o' them gets in the chair And he lays down the laws. ^m . And then the next ane that gets ijp, , I think they cu'd hitn Rory, And in he walk'd at nae wee rate To magistrate and tory ; He made it clear what freedom is, And how we can come at it — Says he, " tak' Brown Bess in your arms For that's the way to get it." A fallow wi' a great big head Gets up an' so says he — ** It's no within tlie power o' man To make the people free ; It's fuils that gang to liyte and fecht, A want o' sense and brains — It's sma' work that, and only lit For idiots and weans." i:fl If ■}' But soon we hi.ss'd the fallow down, Tliouyh ho kick'd up a shine. So down he sat and niutter'd 'bout lli5 pearls and the swine ; No sooner had he satten down Than up got bloody Tom, And to him \vi' a tinker tongue, Oh how he sent it home. Odd man ! how nicely he set aff The guid that's in puir folk, And o' their rights and virtues lang And tenderly he spoke ; He used some great lang nehit words, I didna understaun', Agrarian — something about The rich folk's right to Ian'. He said that men were never meant To live on noclit but drumraock, Qnoth he, content and happiness Had ne'er an empty stomach ; Says he, we a' came naked here, The best get but a grave, Then why should ane be made a lonl, Anither made a slave. How ane should drive a coach and siv, While millions drive the shuttle, How ane should waste while thousands want Were questions rather kittle : And thus he argued lang to prove 1 hat thinjTs are ill divided, V 57 Then put it to a show o' hands And it was soon decided. ^' . ' >' ' ' And then he got to history next, And how he did walk through Mang bluidy heads and hagit hochs, Until he gart me giue. He spak' o' Wallace and o' Bruce, And o' a chiel ca'd Tell, And men he told some anecdotes 0' fechts he'd had hirnsel'. Au'' ■ H: he to the Bible got Av; ' jsed it like a hammer, And batter'd at the Kirk, till faith The devil couldna ken her ; He put the bishops through the whins Wish'd guid micht ne'er come near them, Says he, " their ermine's tatter'd now And why then should we fear them. " Were I as big as Samson was Or fechting Bauldy Sellers, It's to the house o' lords I'd go And get between the pillars ; Then I wad let them fen a crash Frae gallery to portal, U mk 58 And die mysel' in the fetramash And get my name immortal. " For in this holy cause," said he, I wish to die a martyr." And 80 he finished afF the whole Wi' three cheers for the charter. I cheered the loudest in the house. At that I bore the bell, ^ And e'er I keut, odd I got up To luake a speech mysel' ! But when I saw sae mony e'en A' fastened upon me, Odd, I had rather I'd been at The bottom o' the sea ! Odd, I had fifty things to say But somehow they got juinmelt, I got the length o' patriots But here my knees a' trummelt. And then ye micht hae heard my heart How 'gainst my breast it nockit, I got but one word — freedom — out. And here I fairly chockit ! The house was rinnin' roun' al)oiit, The lichts were burning blue, I tried again and gapit hard, But oh, it wadna do. 59 (i -i it i Then a' the heads began to swim, As they were in a sea, Ye never saw such cheeks and e'en And a' were upon me ; A noise was rinj^ing in ray lugs, ' Oh how I did perspire. Some cried weel doon ! some cried bravo ! But I roai'd tire ! fire ! h t And in an instant every one Was making for the door, And I got out, I ken nae how, Amid the wild uproar. Next day I thocht sae riluckle shame, And was sae jeered by a', ', ■ ■ - I bundled up and aff I cam'—' . - . Bound for America. ■• ,rH ■# 'ii 5f f M 60 // THE ROMANCE OF EXISTENCE. ft The romance of existence is gone, The glory has faded ^way, The heart's lost the magical tone Which charm'd in life's beautiful May. The woods are all sombre and sad, The mountainfe are solemn and gray. And where the sweet voices they had Long ago in life's beautiful MayJ^ And those who once danced by the stream When life was a long summer's day, They're gone like the passing sunbeam. Or the flowers of the beautiful May. i i' \ 61 WEE MARY. „ Fareweel my wee lassie, fareweel, , Ye were dear as the licht to mine e'e, And iiae ane can ken what I feel ^ In this sorrowfu' parting wi' thee. A welcome wee stranger thou wert, But ye didna bide lang wi' us here, Ye came like the Spring to my heart But ye left it all wither'd and sere. Ah Mary, I canna but weep, For my heart was sae wrapt up in thee, Pd fain think ye're gane but to sleep. And ye'll toddle again to my knee. Oh thou wert a beam of delight Wliich sae lighted my heart up wi' joy, I ne'er thought ye'd fade from my sight, Or that death would come to destroy. And the bairns are a' weepin' ior thee, For they've lost their wee playmate au' a', ' \ P '\£ ■I fO'i'l i - , li !;|1 62 And Johnnie creeps up on my knee And he asks if ye'll aye be awa*. What, though to forget thee I tr}', And the words tJiat ye lispit to me, The streams o' this heart winna dry And all nature's the memory o' thee. The sweet little birdies that sing, And the innocent lamb on the le«, The bonnie wee flowers o' the Spring Are a' but faint shadows o' thee. \ II If this weary world is all, If in gladness we'll meet not again, Let nature be wrapt in a pall, For affection and beauty are vain. ^r. ' , ■; :■' » i> ",$>' 63 WHAT, WHAT ARE WE ? Ye elements of earth and air When ye were hither brought, Did God pronounce you passing fair, And will ye tell me nought ? Are nature's great and lowly things What they appear to be ? Or live we in a world of dreams — What, what are we ? * Ye valleys with your nooks of green, Where dwell the quiet hours ? With beauty of the sweet serene, Companioning the flowers ; And you, ye rills that glide along In gladness to the sea. Oh what's the burden of your song — What, what are ye ? Ye hills that heave your jieaks on high. Ye lords of earth and air That wrap the mantle of the sky In t- '•■■ '. 64 Around your bosoms bare. And you, ye winds that hurry on, And thou old sounding sea, Oh what's your everlasting moan — What, what are ye ? Ye stars that twinkle in the blue, Why were ye hung up there ? And you, ye clouds that wander through The boundless fields of air, All silently ye keep your path ; Great night says nought to me — All silent as her brother death. What, what are ye ? I And whaljs this thinking thing within, And why were we sent here ? Compounds of virtue and of sin, Of hope, of doubt and fear. To sail the boundless deeps of thought. That awful shoreless sea, Still hailing barks which tell us nought. What, what are we ? . - •\ 66 WILL ELLIOT. A BORDER BALLAIX 1 m I 'i Tlie cot of maid Maggie Is deep in the dell, The keep of her reiver Is far on the fell ; But foemen are watching His steps to waylay, And the friend he has trusted Has 8W0i-n to betray ; Yet often he ventures To seek her green bower^ To hang on her bosom Though but for an hour. Tlie dews of the morning Are fading away. The gowan is opening Her eye to the day ; The cloud like a glory Leans high on the hill, II 66 The stivani like a gliulnoss Is waiul'riii'j; at will ; The tlovoV in the greenwood, The lark'8 in the blue, But wliy croaks the raven From out the old yew ? I !j W To that IwDwer in the Greenwood, Will comes a lov'd guest. And clasps bonnie Maggie Once more to his breast. Oh could he be richer Were kingdoms his own, Her smile he would barter No not for a throne. How poor is ambition, Earth's tinsel how dim, Oh she is all glory, A Heaven to him. Oh why should they waken From loves blessed dream, Kut was that the voice of The torrent or stream ? The voice of the torrent Is far on the gale, But why bays the beagle . \, Adown in the dale ? ■ What startles thee Maggie, i f > . \ a 07 \ What fioimds (lo3t tliou hear ?" « Oh ily 'til- tho footstops Of foes coiuiug uuiir." Upstarting, tho mivur iHofTliktJ thu wind, But tlie 8huft of tho fofinnn ComeH fle(3ter bohiiul ; He sinks on tho nrrtHHiHward But rise.s anon, And swift as a deer throiiyrh The forest is gone ; Cod help thee, Will Elliot, Thou'rt sorely beset, , -5 But make for the Yarrow, There's hope for thee yet. The green wool Hide not in the thicket, But trust to thy speed. Thou beai'st a betrayer In flow'ret and weed j Tlie bonnie wee gowan ' Sinks under thy tread. But the snaw on its bosom Is dabbled with red ; The primrose is spattered With dark pui-ple tints. And the green grass betraying Thy bloody foot prints. They're gaining upon him, ,, Oil ! what will he do ? For faithful as bloodhounds His steps they pursue ; His shoes that encumber, He leaves in his track. And treads his own footsteps A few paces back ! Tlien darts in thicket Among the long grass Unseen, recognizing His foes as they pass. " On ! on my bold huntsmen, Your quarry ye'U miss, But \engeanoe w 11 follow Wat Laidlaw for this." A clear spring is gushing Up close by his feet, And never came water More welcome and sweet, And gladly he drinks it, And fain would delay, But moments are precious, He hastens away. He makes for the Yarrow — The Yarrow is deep, teut through it he dashes And mounts up thd steep ; There loudly he whistles, His keep is in view. The warder replying, Strikes up the rescue ; The Laidlaws in anger Relinquish the chase, But vengeance will follow For Will Elliot's race. .1 • ' ii , i 1 liiiiii I! il 'Mr,: 70 HYMN TO THE WINTER WIND. Blow, blow, O'er the wastes of snow Thou wearv winter wind. Blow, blow, 'Tis a world of woe * , . Thou'it leaving fast behind. Moan, moan Through the midnight long, Oh tell me what thou art ? Moan, moan For thine eerie song Is of the broken heart. Shriek, shriek, Tlirough the forest deep — A woe transformed to wrath. Shriek, shriek, While ye madly sweep VTith ruin in your path. I 71 Rush, rush, Where the torrents gush, What tales ye tell to me. Hush, hush, Is not that the crush Of hearts in agony ? , *,,^. ^ Sweep, sweep. Where the cat'racts leap Aclown the diggie dell. Sweep, sweep, 1 c* For my heart ye heap With thoughts I ne'er can tell. I ■ lk\ m ft I m 72 EPISTLE TO AN OLD FRIEND.' Though thirty years have past, my friend, Since we were bairns at play, The kind rarm greetings which you Bend Are welcome as the May. * Your letter made the tear to start While reading't through and through. And yet your words Sfoll on my heart Like blabs o' sillur dew. - V _ A, I It waken'd thoughts o' childhood's hame, While sorrowing I sat, And Jamie why should I think shame To say I fairly grat ? , For Jamie though we're grown to men And chang'd are all our ways, Vet in thy words I hear again The voice of other days. Tlie weary years are backward roll'd, Joy leaps within my heart. And I'rn exploring as of old The bonnie banks of Cart ; I hear the lintie on the braesy The blackbird on the tree, As sweetly as in our young days They sang to you and me. The flowers a:>. J'st as fresh and f^ir, As swedtly \. 'ids the stream, As when we twa did wander there When life was all a dream ; As when we gambol'd on the braes, Or jink'd about the bum. Ah me ! the heart-light o' thae days Can never more return ! For oh, our hearts are aUer'd noo, There's something dead and gane, Which drappit on the heart like dew. And will not drap again — For wtf have learn'd the world's art And earth's nae langer fair, A hall IS silent in the heart, Thei 's something wanting there. With what a rapture of delight We saw the evening star Lead on the gentle queen of night Through azure realms afar : n \ m 74 ^ And when the lovely rainbow hung Between the earth and sky, How rapture vaulted from our tongue A etartPd wonder cry. Perchance we hae grown wiser noo, And yet I dinna ken, For I'd give ocht I've got I trou, To be a boy again. Are woe and wisdom so allied They cannot live apart, And is the head with wit supplied By robbing of the heart ? Mind ye the day we cross'd the km wes To seek the great oak tree, Whicli fsKelter'd aft within its boughs The Knight of Elderslie, And wander'd roun' the ruins bare Where once the chief abode, And thought each govvan sacred where The Scottish hero trode ? And do ye mind the day we sat Adown the hazel glen. And how we smiPd and marvel 'd at The ways o' muckle men ? Something9 we couldna see ava, ,/ 75 \' And ithers dimly hence — , , • We setll'd it utween us twa, Big folk had little sense. And, Jamie, whiles I'm like to fear That we were nearly richt, 'Tween love o' power and greed o' gear Man's heart's a sorry sicht ; With time comes selfish cares anew, That dim love's holy shrine, And are our hearts but half as tnie As in the days lang syne ? And with a grief that won't bej^one, A woe that won't depart, I love to wander thus among The ruins of the heart ; For oil ! th(3 heart will heave a sigh O'er feelings it has felt, * And love and hope will linger nigh The shrine where they have knelt- tell me, stands the yew tree yet 'Neath which we used to play, Tliere (lo«s the little robin sit And sing the lee lang day ? And is the lift as clear aboon . The Highland hills as blu- ; S'l: 80 With wild flowers all in bloom ; Far in the forest shade, Where towered the oak Riiblime, Kre man had cities made. He talk'd with infant time. Devotion's heart will rush To God in any scene, Rut oh ! that awful hush In temples archM with green. The tempest spirit speaks, And every leaPs a tongue, The pine's great bosom shrieks While million anns are swung. There's joy in culturM vales, In dewy dells of green, Peace like a spirit sails High in the blue serene ; A spirit haunts the hills, A soul the roaring sea. But awe the bosom fills, Oh, great old wood, in thee. SI OLD AUNT ISABEL. Oh there are lovely souls that liprlit This dreary world of ours, They come like sunshine in the midst Of sorrow's blinding showers ; And like the lilies of the field, They're scatterM everywhere, And though unhonour'd among men Are God's peculiar care. E'en from the grave their memory Still haunts us like a spell. Hush ! 'tis the queenly form I see Of old Aunt Isabel. Tliat presence seems to beautify, And fill the very air With lovely thoughts, and memories Of all things good and fair ; And what a sweet serenity, Clear as a summer sky, A quiet inexpressible That's lookiuij from her eve. i;i;j '' liliii >''!'■ ' 'i •• 82 With cliiltlhood's happy heart again I feel ray bosom swell, While thus I j^reet the shadowy form Of old A unt Isabel. Oh wliut a wealth of charity That poor old woman had, And how the trea.sures of her heart Were poured on good and bad. Without a thought of character. Of circumstance or place. Enough if she could soothe a pang In one of Adam's race ; And gentle as the dews of Heaven, Her soothing accents fell. The v\ Oman's heart was great indeed, In old Aunt Isabel. And hope was her companion still, And with the bad she'd bear. And thought they had the greater need Of her maternal care. / I Her soul was all a sympathy, And gazing in her face, We felt a faith, we knew not why, In all the human race ; We felt assured of better times, Though how we could not tell, 8 3 When all the world would be as pure As old Aunt Isabel. And all the village children sought The cottage where she dwelt, By sympatliy of innocence She felt but as they felt. Though no one told us, yet we knew That she was void of ait. And every word and look of hers, The image of her heart. And still amid our mirth and glee, Oh I can mind it well. We had not for a world done ought To grieve Aunt Isabel. And how through ballads old she breathed The very soul of sorrow, And how my heart beat when she woke The mournful wail of Yarrow. Oh how she sang of hapless love, Of faith that would vaiy, And what a robe of loveliness She threw 'round Highland Marv. And then the tales of other times. Oh there were none could tell. Or bring the heroes to my view Like old Aunt Isabel. i '^ M II M! 84 Embowered with birch and eglantine, How like a sabbath dream, Her quiet little cottage hung By Cartha's murmuring stream. And then her garden was so full Of lovely shrubs and flowers, That memory loves to linger still Among those sunny bowers ; The very place where quietude, With gentle thoughts might dwell, The very bowers had caught the peace Of old Aunt Isabel. a-ri!: >uch beings come like heralds of A purer, better time. Sent from the Heaven of charity To lift the world from crime. Such hearts as their's can never die, They know of no decay, But blend v ith all the beautiful And never pass away. And whh the heart of childhood ilill, I fee! my bosom swell, While thus I greet the shadowy form Of old Annt Igal)el. M ■ '•■ ■■ Ukan 85 THE HAWK AND THE DOVE. A TRAGEUT. Let us to the gay green forest Where the lovely flowers abound ; Come let us throw our cares away, For with the merry, merry May Joy's laughing all around. Morning with her golden tresses Lingers by the murmuring rill, And love her bower of bliss has made Afar within the forest shade, Uncursed with thouglits of ill. Hi Til ^W See the schoolboy's on before us, What a happy little boy, For he is free this blessed day. And to the woods he bounds away To tell them of his joy. Wlio would linger in the city Where contention ever broods, While the birds in Heaven do sing, 4 ' .■'I And every good and happy thing Is makhig for the woods ? Hail once more, beloved forebt, ' I have sought you once again, For in thy sacred solitudes No tyrant, nor no slave intrudes To mar your peaceful reign. Well, I know the welcome rustle Of yon beach tree's living leaves ; And there between me and the sky, The sunbeams 'mong the branches high A checker'd curtani weaves. Yonder lady maple's waiting In her mantle green arrayed. The tall pine with his giaceful bend, Is'ods to me as I were a friend, And welcome to the shade. Whik? yon smiling little balsam Waves upon me with her fan. Far adown in yonder hollow I'm invited bj'' the solo Singing 'mong the willows wan. And yon little branching sumac Seems as if it leaned to hear The mnrrnur of the gentle dove 87 That's percli'd on yondur branch above, And all devoid of fear. On its neck then falls u shadow, Is't a cloud that hangs ab«)ve ? A dark wing cleaves the vault of blue, And dashes the green archway tliroutrh Upon my gentle dove. Avaunt'! away ! thou thing of hate I Foul monster get thee hence ! Come to my breast, my gentle dove, For thou wert still the type of love, Emblem of innocence, (iet thee gone, thou heartless pirate, Would'st thou make thy victim sure ? Hence with thy cruel hungry beak. That pounces ever on the weak, Like tyrant on tue poor ! Come, my hapless, gontle-hearted Little trembler, come to me, I will shiola thee from yon coward- Though I'm neither saint nor Howard, Yet my bosom bleeds for thee. But tliou fliest from thy proiector. Wounded, ble(!ding as ttiou art, And with a blush and with a sigh, I'm forced, poor bird, to justify Tiie tenor of tliv lu-urt. 1/ ill 1^ mjjf i'i' ; iiji 4\'' 85 For proud man in art tyrannic, Stands unrivalled and alone, With sLiiles of love upon his face, He subjugates each meaner race, And tramples on his own. Yea the minstrel of life's forest With a heart attuned to love, How often with a bleeding breast Ih hunted from his bower of rest, i ke thee, my gentle dove. Listen,, strange mysterious nature, 'Tis in sorrow I w ould speak, Ob l...i me, hast thou made thee strong, But to outrage, oppress and wrong The helpless and the weak. Tell, oh tell me beauteous mother If upon thine ample breast, And all thine endless realms of blue. Thou hast but room enough for two — The oppressor and oppressed. Are our bright anticipations, All our aspirations vain. Must wrong and outrage, sin £.iid crime Still bellow on the shores of time. And darkness aye remain. ■;! ►, » 89 Through long years the good have laboured Life's sad waste to dress and till, Yet after all their toil and pain, Poor human nature doth remain Incorrigible still. 1 1 What, thoui^h wisdom's ever calling, " Happiness dwells with the good," Though love and charity do plan, There's that within the heart of man Which will not be subdued. All this life is but a battle : Let us wander where we may, We'll never reach the happy isle. Where love and peace together smile The live long summer's day. ■^n Would we build a blessed arbour, Sacred, aye, to peac(} and love. To all the ssvcct afTeotions dear, • Some hawk would still be hovering near. To pounse upon the dove. Tell, oh tell me, bounteous mother. If upon thine ample breast. And all thine endless realms of blue, Thou hast but room enough for two — The oppressor and oppressed ? 'S m % p lii 90 ' ■'*?■■ M ON SEEING A ROSE IN A CHURCHYARD. Upon these green forgotten graves The sunbeams sweetly fall, And morning strews Her gentle dews Upon them one and all. And this is " sorrow's sanctuary,*' The last retreat of grief ! Yon raould'ring stone With moss o'ergrown, Tells 'tis a sweet relief. And here, though mortal foes have met, The stillness is unbroken, And families dear Are gathered here. Yet not a word is spoken. The awful summons every one From death's cold hand has taken ; Each in his shroud, Waits till the loud, \ Tlie last trump shall awaken. u And lime upon his dial plate, Marks not the moments fleeting j Earth's tumults all, Unheeded fall Upon this ghastly meeting. And all the monuments around The same sad tale is telling, " We bloom and fade. And then are laid Within the silent dwellinji." f I m 1 1 But see one solitary rose. Is opening fresh and gay. Cora'st thou to grace, Or to efface The features of decay ? Some loving hand has placed thee here, A type of Ihe departed. A badge of lo\e To bloom above — The true, the gentle hearted. And oh, what were this life of ours Affection wanting thee ? A great blaok night Without a light, A trackless troubled sea. * Of all earth's ornaments the chief, lifcll II irii 92 The jewol of the heart : , Earth's gauds grow dim, But thou'rt of Him, The Immutable a part. Sweet rose ! a beauty not thine own. From this sad place you boiTow ; Thine eye doth ope', Oh, sweet as hope, Upon the breast of sorrow. Thou tellest me a tender tale Of many a dear connection, " ■ t And oh, thou saith The tyrant death Is conquered by affection. , Thou tell'st me of the beauty born From sorrows deepest gashes ; Of hope that springs, And plumes her wings From death, from dust and ashes. Thou tell'st, like Adam from the bowers Of paradise we're driven. Yet in the tomb ■ We root to bloom Immortally in Heaven. 93 i TO THE SHADE OF JEANIE. The clock has tolled the midnight hour, The busy world is sleeping, Vet memory in my weary heart. Her lonely watch is keeping. For oh the midnight of my soul Is black as that above me, For she is gone and there are none. No, not one left to love me. Ah, there thou art my buried one. My early blighted blossom, And all as beautiful as when You hung upon my bosom ; My hair is all untimely grey, My very soul is blighted, But thou art fair, my love, as when Our youthful hearts were plighted. Six summers with their flowers have come. Since thou, my rose, did wither. But oh thy memory in my heart W : 1' , f; IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) // ^ A^ .^^ 51- FA^ % % 1.0 1.1 l^m |2.5 ^ IM 12.2 US u 2.0 11.25 11.4 IIIIII.6 ^^ /'I ^ ^ ^^> ¥ ^' ''W 7 Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. M580 (716)872-4503 ^<7 '/. ^ wi um 94 Shall flourish green forever. Sad were the tears for thee I shed Upon that fatal morrow, And neither time nor change have dried The eaut spring of my sorrow. With thee, with thee, my Jeanie dear, A cot had been a palace, Thy breast had been a bower of rest From cruel fortune's malice ; And still at midnight's deepest hour, When I am sunk in sorrow. Thou comest to my weary couch To vanish with the morrow. The rose is fresh upon thy cheek, All beautiful as ever ; Say comest thou from the blissful bowers- The bowers that never wither All lovely as when last we roved The woods of Ardenteenie ? Bui when Pd clasp thee to my heart, Oh thou art not my Jeanie. \ > 95 TO MY MOTHER. Vve virander^d ea«t, IVo wandered weit, I've berue a weary lot, But in my wanderings far or near, Ve never were forgot. — Mothbrwell. Dear Mother — Since the dreary mom, When vve were forced to part, Oh mony a weary foot I've had. And mony a heavy heart ; But though I've wander'd far away, And strange stars twinkle o'er me, Oil can I, can I e'er forget The mother dear that love me ? _m ■ if - ii Though sin and sorix)W on this heart. Have left their fearful gashes. Yet when it cannot beat for thee, It will be cold as ashes. And oh, how often in the midst Of sorrow and mishap, I've wish'd that I could go and lay My head upon thy lap. ii i H J •ir. if !. v\ if s* II 96 In our sunny youthfu' days, Bright phantoms we pursue, And little, little do we ken What time and change can do. Oh then I was a joyfu' thing, Though thochtless and unsteady. But noo, I doubt ye'd hardly ken - Your once wee happy laddie. But still this heart leaps up to liear The songs my childhood cherish'd, And for a moment scarce can think , The dream of life has perish'd ; No, never, never do I hear Some old beloved strain, But instantly I'm o'er the sea, And back to thee again. Oh then I hear thy gentle voice, ,. Love's sacred ties renewing, And how my bosom beats for joy, The dear deceit pursuing ; 1 see our lowly cot again, I ken the very riggin', And in our bonnie garden, there's My auld grandfather diggin'. And there's the sunny summer seat, And there's the hawthorn tree, 97 And there's the very ingle whaur Ye nursed me on your knee ; And there the friends we lov'd so dear Within their wonted places, With what a joy I recognise « The old familiar faces." Ah there they are, the very same, The hearts that loved me well, Christina with her modest mien, And queenly Isabel ; And Andrew with his lordly brow And quick impulsive start. And bumble unassuming John, That simple honet^t heart. And Archibald with his old leijMil;^^ And brightlv beaming eve, < And pauky Robin wi' his pipe, Is standing list'niiig by. » > And looking on the lov'd, the lost, I scarce refrain from tears, For there they are the same as in • The days of other years. And gazing on them oft I think This life is all a dream ; We are the shadows — they are not. ill i'l m ■ 5< 31 iqe .*! m m 98 The phantoms that they seem. Poor wand'rers of the wilderness, Encamp'd but for a day, To-morrow's sun looks on the spot- We've vanished all away. • i .1^ I 1,1 ' Where are ye now, ye joyous ones. With whom I used to play. When life was all a loveliness — A sunny summer's day ? Come W^illie wi' the laughing lips, Who, once so gay as thee ? And Sarah with thy sunny smile, And smile again on me. And bonnie May wi' sangs sae sweet, And modest, bashfu' Jeanie, And Johnnie wi' thy towering hopes, And little laughing Minnie. Ah there ye are, ye joyous ones. Ye answer to my call, But not a smile is on your lips, And ye are silent all. ! And some are with the living still, And some are with the dead, Some slumber in their nameless graves, And some on honour's bed. •sli 99 And some have vanished^away, None knowing where they've gone, And flome have sunk while others soared, So time and change rolls on. But on the oasis of the wild, Oh it is vain to dwell. Adieu ! adieu ! ye shadows all, And mother ddar, farewell. For though we ne'er shall meet on earth, No, never, never, never, Oh, surely tliere's a home for us, Where we- 11 be aye thegether. siw m •f' i.^ I 4 j 1 Wr '" i--r '■, J:? ^- ■.Ji. ;. I ) ^^isJ*! 100 A BALLAD. Oh heavy fell the winter rain, And loud the wind was blawin', When to our door the lady came, While fast her tears were fa'in'. *' Oh let me in for hard's my fate. The night's baith dark and dreary, Oh let me in for pity's sake, ,, For I am wae and wear)'." *♦ And wha are ye on sic a night, That roams like ane forsaken ? Whae'er ye be your waefu' plight May pity weel awaken." ■ » I, " I am," the lady slowly said, " The daughter of McDonald, AtiJ yester morn with joy I wed The chieftain of Clanronald. " But long before the noontide hour, * While mirth and joy abounded. \ .^^11 101 My love lay bleeding in our bower, Which cruel men surrounded. ,', , I hate the very tone of strife. And yet the harp-strings of my life Are jarring all around. 't - r What though my aspirations soar Above the rude and real. While in my breast I carmot crush 103 The demons that do make mo bUish, Before my soul's ideal. I'd fain bo wise and virtuous, But cannot pay the price. A bankrupt poor in soul am I, With all my aspirations high, Still chafierinii with vice. m km I m It Distractedly I wander 'round With a hell-hound beset. It stares me ever in the face, And dogs me aye from place to place, And always barking — Debt. " Avaunt ! avaunt ! and quit my sight !" "What business hast thou here ? Before thy haggard, hungry look. Mow many a noble soid has shook With craven coward fear. Will nothing charm thee from thy post ? A heartless watch you keep. ' ' I hear thine everlasting bark From sunrise even unto dark. And in my troubled sleep. Friend ne'er was faithful as thou art, Nor lover half so fond, — Mir : f m '■'m '■'f- "Hi 104 TJko death thou follovvost in my trnck ; Will nothing lompt thoo to go back, Hut paytnont of my bond ? The future's all a j^loomy frown, Tho past a long regret, Nature has lost her winning grace ; On every scene and cverj- face Is written; " pay tho debt." I seek tlie company of friends, — Job's comforters are they ; ' Tliey speak of things I ought to shun. Of duties I have left undone. And end with, « pay sir, pay." /; And e'en tlie very household gods. On which my heart is set, E'en these I cannot call ray own. To-morrow may behold them gone Upon the wings of debt. Full often poverty and pain Courageously I've met ; And though they may be ill to bear, I never bent to doubt and fear, Till in the jaws of debt. # 106 Misfortune oft has come to me, In shape of friend and foe ; j)ut let me face a Russian fort, Sebastopol, methink« was sport, To this enduring woe. A battered ship may come to land, A thief escape the rope. Earthquakes may pass thee harmless by. And lightninii^s of the troubled sky. But debt's the death of hope. An^: Creatures who never knew a friend, Nor ever had the heart to spend, Would lash you even without end, For getting fou'; Your case 'gainst such I would defend — They're worse than you. H- no Oh were it but the mean and base Who wander in this dreary maze, And hating truth and honour's ways, Fiom lig-ht would fleo ; But hearts illumed by genius' rays, Ah, ^voe is me ! X. 13 How many seek a sad relief -^ M""' From son-ow and corroding grief, ■ '■ Some, who, perchance, have stood tlie chief 'Mong honour's best, Until misfortune, like a thief, -^, Ilobb'd them of rest. How many to this state are brought. Who, for the world's weal have wrought, ^V^ho would have shuddered at the thought- In better days. Are yet with all their wisdom caught Within the maze. Some driven on to ruin's brink, Upon the past they dare not think, The future, with the present, link In clouds of woe, And rush for solace to this sink. And down they go. Ill Some, who on fume their heart iiod set, And disappointed, fume and fret, And some through love, and some through debt, Rush to this sink, — And in a hapless maze they get Or e'er they think. ^' Some, at the voice of pleasure gay, ' And laughing mirth, are led astray. To joy they'd take the nearest way, — The shortest path, But soon the cunning demon's lay Is changed to wrath. And some, whom sorrow never caught, The jovial dogs devoid of thought, . . Who wilful their own ruin wrought, Yet never think : Such is your true born happy sot Who thrives on drink. But mostly 'tis your heartless creature, Who sees the worst of human nature. With scoundrel starap'd on every feature — For lack of soul. Who thrives and grows to portly stature Upon the bowl. i If 112 The thoughtful are the wretched still, Though laughingly the cup they fill, To drown the sense of present ill, " And soothe their pains : To-morrow finds them weeping still In servile chains. Boast not, ye strong, what ye can do, But still the cautious path pursue, Drink has thrown bigger men than you Upon the ground : The strongest and the brave and true, Their match have foilnd. Ye love the right, ye hate the wrong, But mind temptation's wondrous strong. And sirens sing their witching song Beside the sink, And all the cozening demons throng In smiling drink. Bethink ye what a Ihtle space Divides temptation and disgrace, And how the wisest of our race — When tempted hard. Have rush'd down at as wild a pace As your poor bard. 113 ROSEBELL. t ( ii Weep, weep, for my love's asleep Low in her grassy bed ; Weep, weep, for she slumbers deep With flowers above her head. Low, low, where the violets blow Far adown in the dell, Deep, deep, is thy dreamless sleep, My lovely Rosebell. hi i Dead, dead, while the Spring doth spread Her mantle over all ; Oh Spring, on my heart ye fling A doubly dreary pall. Why, why, while 1 sit and sigh, ' Can you sing your songs so well ? Hush, hush, while my heart doth gush In tears for Rosebell. Low, low, where the violets blow Far away from the crowd, There, there, art thou laid my fair. i'lm 114 All in thy snowy shroud. Still, still, and forever chill The heart that loved me well. Nay, nay, thou shalt live for aye In my bosom, Rosebell. ^ // .^< ...■•■«-^v. ■"; V- \ 115 'If? ■ 1 1 - » - f ON SEEING A FELLOW ABUSING AN OX. Hold thy hand, thou heartless savage, Darest thou lash that bleeding ox ? I'm sorry for thy sake we've lost The scoundrel's ancient whipping post — The treadmill and the stocks. 's m Nature meant thee for the hangman, • When she gave thee such a face, For wretch is written on thy look As plainly as if in a book. Thou libel on our race. Poor, sad, unresisting creature. Oh thy look of misery Is as a mute appeal to God, 'Gainst this unconscionable load, *And such barbarity. "H f r Oh the brute's unwilling is it ? Be it so, but answer me If you were toiled and starved to death, 116 With barely time to draw your breatbi What better would you be ? If no word of loving kindness Ever was addressed to you, If you were bondslave to a brute, Whose word you dared not to dispute, You would be lazy too. That it's stupid, that it's stubborn, I have not a doubt indeed ; To cure it, just lay down your goad. And ease the poor beast of its load, And try it with a feed. Dare you say you feed it duly. Three times daily without fail ? Cease thine unconscionable fibs, The lie is shouting from its ribs — A lie from head to tail. As you mete it out to others. Be it meted out to thee ; Oh listen to the savage shout. And hear the oaths the brute lets out, I know they are meant for me. Be off with thine impertinence, ; Nor shake thy goad at me ! , 117 TJut really what could I expect, They're not all men that walk erect, Thou old depravity. Heaven have mercy on the helpless, AVhen they're slaves to such as Iheo ; In nature's scale, oh who would put A wretch like thee above the brute, . Thou perfect old Legree ? > All around you civilization Works as with a magic wand, And yet thy head it cannot teach, Thy heart the gospel cannot reach, E'en in a christian land. *! P >i W' lis % THE INDIAN SUMMER. Who comes from yonder mountain With melancholy smile, As if beseeching winter To stuy his storms a while ? Oh 'tis the aged summer Whose children all are deati, And on their withered faces A parting gmile he'd shed. /I He treads with step unsteady, And with a faltering tongue, The fields where once he revelled The woods where once he sung. No flower comes forth to greet him, No bird on airy wing, The woods are sad and silent, The groves no welcome sing. The bee, the bird, the blossom, Oh they are all away. And vainly he is seeking 119 His old companions gay. And to tho streann lio l){ibM"s Of happy times ^( mo by, " But joy ia fair and iieetiii;j;,- ' The lonely winds njpiy. Then on the vale and river, He sheds one fitful ray, While from tho scene of sadiicsa Jle hurries liim away. He streaks the wootis with firr, The fields with tawny brown, And in his lia/y mantle He wraps the dale and down. And by the murmuring runnel Where oft he sat and sung, He hangs his harp in sorrow — His harp that's all unstrung. His cheek is pale with sadness, His eyes, with weeping, red. And in a wreath of vapour • He lays him with the dead. II m llki ^1 no .^ COLD. 'K Oh ever wonder-working sold, Revered alike by young and old, By sinner and by saint extolled, , Here at thy nod, Not only earth but Heaven is sold, For thou art God. And has man's heart and soul been aiveu For nothing underneath the heaven, But that by thee they may be driven From morn till night, And all our sweet affections riven, For thy delight? Then why should sweet poetic dreams, And beauty's ever radiant beams. Still haunt us even in our dreams. If golden vice Must ever dissipate these gleams Of Paradise ? t:m ■flil 121 Hear me, ye money ridden hacks, And throw the burdens from your backs. Your rider laughs but at the cracks Your bosoms give. And worse than that of Southern blacks The lives ye live. I'' ■ .!■ Ye gie yoursel's a deal of trouble, Pursuing still that weary bubble, Forever picking 'mong the stubble, To save an ear, Wi' a' around you in a bubble, Frae year to year. And though ye may be old and grey. The more ye get the more ye'd hae ; Ye've never ought to give away. To God or man, Wi' a', ve've aye enough to dae, ■'• More than ye can. * . 14 '- t What though your bams are filled with grain. And crops wave green upon the plain. Ye can have nought but care and pain. While oxen thrive, If ignorant ye will remain As those ye drive. i mw ■'H"^'- .' 122 Your straggles to be rich are vain, It matters not how much ye gain, If poor in soul, ye'U poor remain, Despite of gold ; Ye've but the gathering, and the pain Of keeping hold. In gathering what tricks ye try, Misca'ing everything ye'd buy, How cunningly ye twist the lie, V Ere ye express it ; It's mean, unmanly, oh fy ! fy ! > The way ye dress it. , And how ye'U twist and twine your creed, To countenance some dirty deed. And find a warrant for your creed, And heartless shaving, And gie them pretty names instead. Like thrift and savinj;. And that's the thing which ye ca' thriving, That endless straining and that striving, That gurry-worrying and driving ; ^ in a'e day, Sic fearfu' ruggin' and sic riving. Would turn me grey ! Mi 123 . Were ye by want and hunger riven, Or by misfortune madly driven, — But no, by nothing under heaven, But paltry pelf, How can ye hope to be forgiven. Vile slaves of self? Jill When thochts o' death come in your head. They maun be horrible indeed, To think that ye hae come sic speed. Yet maun gae wa' ; Oh how your very heart must bleed To leave it a' ! Were ye but born to toil and strive. To glean, to gather, drudge and drive, \ To bite, to bark, to rug and rive * About the honey. And never look beyond the hive, Save after money ? If such a life ye're born to lead. It had been better far, indeed. That God had ne'er vouchsafed a creed, To elevate. But given you four feet instead, To suit your state. ' :ri- I 124 For you loved nature's works are vain, Day dancing o'er the flow'ry plain, And thou with all thy starry train, Mysterious night ; Nor thou, old ever wond'rous main. Can yield delight. For nature in her grandest moods, — The stern old mountain solitudes, The holy stillness of the woods Is never sweet . Unto the heart that only broods On things to eat. What though your life hangs on a breath, A Heaven above, a Hell beneath. Your soul's concern is not with death ; Your hope and fear Is but in what the market saith Of cheap and dear. And what's this gold ye deem so good ? / A thing to be exchanged for food. Loved for itself, a hungry brood Of demon's start. And worry up in laughing mood The poor slave?s heart. \ 125 n It matters not what we possess, Or how we fare, or how we dress, For, be we rich or poor, unless Dark self we kill, That jinking queen ca'd happiness Will jilt us still. J creatures black as soot, VVha girnt wi' spite. Away I vainly strove to liee, While round and round they danced wi' irlec. And oh what mouths they made at me, , ,,,, , And scratched my face, While one says, " John, we've kept for thee ;*, , . The warmest place." And while that I was sitting there, The perfect picture of despair, Wha comes and in my face did stare But widow Young, And then she opened on me sair Her tinkler tongue. 130 &*>■. She talked foi- an hour or more About the things I falsely swore, And o' the character I bore For cursed "p-eed, And telt that story o'er and o'er About her deed. She spak' o' a' my acts unhallow'd, O' a' the oaths that I had swallow'd, And how in ill got gear I wallow'd ; And what, d'ye think ? Cast up the hi/zies that I followed An stov'd wi' drink. I bore it lang ; at last, thinks I, The best o' law is to deny ; It's no the first time, faith I'll try : So up I got, * But oh the very infant lie . Stuck in my throat. For then my eye fell on a sign, The vyry one which had been mine, When I was in the grocery line ; I siuv wi' shame, r.iglit weiglits, fal,>u3 measures, bogus wint\ . Stuck to my name. 131 Then the receipts which iolk hail lost, For which I sued and put to cost, Cam' round me like a mighty host ; On each my name Stood up before me like a frhost And shouted shame ! Then all'whom I had e'er browbeatcd, And all whom I had ever cheated, And those I humbugged and defeated In Brampton Court, Stepp'd forth, and each his tale repeated Is if 'twere sport. M All spoke of my infernal greed, Nae ane wad help me in my need. But tied me to a stake instead Wi' three inch cables, While boiling gold upon my head They poui'd frae Indies. I roared as loud as I was uMy, An' wi' a bound I burst oach t'Jiblo, And struck my temples on this t:ib!i', Then I awoko. Oh laiiii-h not, frieirs, nor cii't a IhIjIc, For it's luu' jok'.'. I 'Kk t^2^iJ 132 No, no, niy irien's, I wasna' fou% But sober as I am the noo ; I'll never see the mom I trou, I sweat wi' fricht. For a' thae horrors they'll renew This very nijiht. Tins nicht, tliis very nicht, I le'e, Oh how can I give up the key ! Wha'll manage things as weel as me, When I'm awa ? Oh it's an awfn' thing to dee, And leave ane'a a'. // -< ' ,: i'-tc^i, - iv s; ' t Vi-i HUMANITY. Though our homos aro tar apail, * • Thou art »till my friend ami brother, Have we not one human hoart ? Children of one " mighty mother." In a vvond'rous world we've met, Journeyinj? towards another, Why then should we e'er for^'et To assist a weary brother ? Sympathy is of no clime, Mine thy hopes, thy joys and sorrow: Travellers in the vale of time, With eternity before us ; From the tempest every one Anxiously doth seek a cover, And the ills of life to shun, Clingini; to a friend or lover. Thoush we are not of one clime, Should we therefore hate each otlier ? p.-r.;: 134 Can't I love my hill sublime, Without hating thine, my brother ? Thouuh our births were far apait. Here we'll dwell with one another. For we have one human heart. Children of one *' mighty mother." - ,lv ■*s'^ ''ii ^. \ 13.3 FAITH AND HOPE. 11!: !|:.n Dofst thou cherish in thy heait. Visions of a brighter morrow ? And would'st gladly see depart All the shades of vice and sorrow ? Yea, a world that lies in sin, Joyfully would'st thou deliver ? First then, brother, to begin, Faith and hope must go together. ' n Though thy brother lingers long In the night of sin and sorrow, Be assured he's sick of wrong, Longing for the coming morrow. He from night and doubt would flee, If he only knew but whither ; To make him what a man should be, Head and heart must go together, i| Surely it was not for strife That this heart and soul were given. m ' 18'" a' fi* w m w Mftil' ''!i 136 But to make our way of life r.ead us to the gates of Heaven. Oh to plant the tree of peace, Where corruption cannot wither, And to make war's sorrows cease. Love and hope must go together. Here upon the shoals of time, Thou;zh the murky midnights hover, Voices from that land sublime To our hearts are wafted over. But not with a single oar Can we e'er be wafted thither ; Would we reach that happy shore, Faith and works must go together. * 7 [ 137 ! I i PliEACHING DICK. •* Little better than one of the wicked." — Jon.v Falstaff. All, Dickie dear, the game is up. And thouM in tribulation. « < Oh who wculd once have thought to see So meek, so sleek a saint as thee, 111 such a situation ? Thy master's left thee in the lurch. That's aye the way with Nick. Where are thy texts of scripture now ? And what avails thy brazen brow ? Alas, alas poor Dick ! I've met with blackguards who disdained To prey upon the weak — (ireat jolly dogs who loved to light And cheat Mahoun in broad dayli