LIBRARY) ; .:RSITY OF . CALIFORNIA I SA.N 1 DIEGO j Co-/^Z*t y- - IN CLOYER AND HEATHEE IN CLOVER AND HEATHER BY WALLACE BRUCE AUTHOR OF LAND OF BURNS, THE HUDSON, THE YOSEMITE, AND OLD HOMESTEAD POEMS SECOND EDITION WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS EDINBURGH AND LONDON MDCCCXCI All Rights reserved TO THE ABIDING FRIENDSHIP OF WALTER SCOTT AND WASHINGTON IRVING, WHICH HAS WIDENED INTO NATIONAL AFFECTION, THESE POEMS ARE CORDIALLY DEDICATED. CONTENTS. PAGE PROEM IX BLOOM, ...... 1 IN CLOVER AXD HEATHER, .... 3 I. OXE WORD, 7 II. THE STRAXGER, 9 III. THE SXOW AXGEL, ...... 12 iv. TO QUEEX MARY S PICTURE ix HOLYROOD, . 15 v. SCOTT S GREETIXG TO BURNS, . . . . 17 VI. THE HUDSOX 24 VII. THE YOSEMITE, 35 VIII. THE LAND OF BURXS .40 IX. THE OLD HOMESTEAD, ..... 47 X. THE ROCK WHERE MY MOTHER PLAYED, . 52 XI. ALPIXE SPRIXG, ...... 55 XII. A HAXD-SHAKE, . . . . . . 58 XIII. A NOOXING, 62 XIV. THE NUPTIALS, . . . . . . 71 viii CONTENTS. xv. "INASMUCH," 73 xvi. THE PRINTER-BOY S DREAM, . . . 81 xvii. THE SLAVE S PRAYER, .... 85 XVIII. WENDELL PHILLIPS, 90 XIX. KINDNESS, 92 - XX. REPENTANCE, 96 XXI. LONGFELLOW, 98 XXII. DECORATION-DAY, 100 XXIII. THE CANDLE PARADE, .... 103 XXIV. THE SILENT SOLDIER 116 XXV. ON GUARD, . . . . . .119 XXVI. OUR NATION FOR EVER, . . . .123 XXVII. THE TRIP OF THE BELL, .... 125 XXVIII. THE MUSIC OF LIGHT, . . . .129 XXIX. THE FOREST BALLOT, .... 131 XXX. NOBBY ISLAND, RIVER ST LAWRENCE, . 134 XXXI. THE CLUB OF TAHAWAS 137 XXXII. AN ISLAND FANCY, ..... 140 XXXIII. JULIET TO ROMEO, 145 XXXIV. FERDINAND TO MIRANDA, . . . 147 XXXV. ANTONY TO CLEOPATRA, .... 149 XXXVI. PARIS TO HELEN, 151 xxxvu. TO A LADIES ART CLUB, . . . . 153 XXXVIII. A STAR-EYED DAISY, . . . .159 XXXIX. A RALLY, 161 XL. THE PIONEERS, . . . . .163 XLI. THE HARP OF TOM MOORE, . . . 168 CONTENTS. ix XLII. A HOLLAND BRICK, 172 XLIII. ANNIE, 174 XLIV. SMILE AND WAIT, . . . . .176 , XLV. OF AGE, 178 XLVI. MY CASTLE, 180 XLVII. DESTINY, 183 XLVIII. QUESTIONS, 185 XLIX. THE INFINITE, 190 L. GOD S HEARTHSTONE, ..... 192 LI. A WANDERER 195 -_LII. TO MY WIFE, 198 LIII. INCH-CA1LLIACH, LOCH LOMOND, . . .199 LIV. ANNIVERSARY OF BURNS AND HOGG, . . 203 LV. TO PROFESSOR JOHN STUART BLACKIE, . 207 LVI. TO JUDGE CADMAN, . . . . .211 LVII. THE OLD ORGAN (1754), . . . .215 LVIII. LIFE S PAUSES, 220 A FACSIMILE OF THE MS. OF BURNS S "BLUE-EYED LASSIE," 223 PROEM IN BLOOM. There are greetings the wide world over, And blossoms icherever we roam, But none like the heather and clover To welcome the icanderer home. Warm-hearted loith kindred devotion, Twin sisters in sympathy true, They whisper across the wide ocean, Love-laden icith memory s dew. In purple tints icoven together The Hudson shakes hands with the Tweed, Commingling with Abbotsford s heather The clover of Sunny side 8 mead. PROEM IN BLOOM. A token of friendship immortal With Washington Irving returns : Scott s ivy entwined o er his portal By the Blue-eyed Lassie of Burns. Their names by heather-bells wedded With fondness Columbia retains ; In freedom s foundation imbedded The lay of the minstrel remains. Ay, this their commission and glory, In redolent bloom to prolong Love, libei ty, legend, and story, That blossom in ballad and song. So here s to the clover and heather Of river-side, mountain, and glen, As I stand wi doffed bonnet and feather At the yetts of my forebears again! IN CLOYER AND HEATHER, ABOUT fifty years ago a cutting of Walter Scott s favourite ivy at Melrose Abbey was transported across the Atlantic, and trained over the porch of Washington Irving s " Sunnyside," on the Hudson, by the hand of Mrs Renwick, daughter of Rev. Andrew Jeffrey of Lochmaben, known in girlhood as the " Bonnie Jessie " of Annandale, or the " Blue- eyed Lassie " of Eobert Burns : a simple and grace ful tribute, from the shrine of Waverley to the home of Knickerbocker, befitting the heroine of two songs of the Ayrshire poet. How far that little ivy now twines its tendrils ! It not only binds together two rivers and clasps two continents, but also affectionately symbolises 4 7.V CLOVER AND HEATHER. the enduring friendship of two golden-hearted men. More than this, it associates in poetic fancy three writers, poet, novelist, and essayist, who might appropriately be considered the living links of a century from the bleak January wind of 1759, which "blew hansel in on Robin," to the quiet November Indian - summer day of 1856, in the peaceful valley of Sleepy Hollow ; for Robert Burns looked in the face of young Walter in Edinburgh, and Scott took the hand of Irving at Abbotsford. That cordial greeting reached farther than Scott or Irving dreamed. It was during a critical period of the young author s literary career, and the kind ness of the Great Magician, in directing early atten tion to his genius, is still cherished by every reader of the Sketch Book from Manhattan to San Fran cisco. The hearty grasp of the Minstrel at the gateway of Abbotsford was in reality a warm hand shake to a wider brotherhood beyond the sea. No wonder that Irving, in loving reminiscence, recalled the days there spent as among the happiest of his life "as if I were admitted," he says, "to a social communion with Shakespeare, for it was IN CLOVER AND HEATHER. 5 with one of a kindred if not equal genius. Every turn brought to mind some household air, some almost forgotten song of the nursery, by which I had been lulled to sleep in my childhood, and with them the looks and voices of those who had sung them and were now no more." In that realm of romance nature had indeed spread a bountiful table, and the Tweed and the Trosachs in the genius of Scott were entertaining the Hudson and the Catskills in the genius of Irving. Twenty years ago, with his cheery essays for a guide-book, I wandered in gentle companionship along the banks of the Tweed ; and, in memory of those August days, which have not yet lost their purple, I have ventured to blend with the clover of "The Hudson" and "The Old Homestead" the heather of "Scott s Greeting" and "The Land of Burns." EDINBURGH, November 1890. The forests are not all felled, Nor the flowers all swept from the sod ; And the words are not all spelled That declare the glory of God. I. ONE WOKD. me an epic," the warrior said " Victory, valour, and glory wed." " Prithee, a ballad," exclaimed the knight- " Prowess, adventure, and faith unite." "An ode to freedom," the patriot cried " Liberty won and wrong defied." " Give me a drama," the scholar asked " The inner world in the outer masked." ONE WORD. "Frame me a sonnet," the artist prayed "Power and passion in harmony played." " Sing me a lyric," the maiden sighed " A lark-note waking the morning wide." " Xay, all too long," said the busy age, " AVrite me a line instead of a page." The swift years spoke, the poet heard, "Your poem write in a single word." He looked in the maiden s glowing eyes, A moment glanced at the starlit skies ; From the lights below to the lights above, And wrote the one-word poem Love. II. THE STEANGEE. AN EASTERN LEGEND. AN aged man came late to Abraham s tent. The sky was dark, and all the plain was bare. He asked for bread; his strength was wellnigh spent, His haggard look implored the tenderest care. The food was brought. He sat with thankful eyes, But spake no grace, nor bowed he towards the east. Safe sheltered here from dark and angry skies, The bounteous table seemed a royal feast. 10 THE STRANGER. But ere his hand had touched the tempting fare, The Patriarch rose, and leaning on his rod " Stranger," he said, "dost thou not bow in prayer 1 Dost thou not fear, dost thou not worship God 1 " He answered, "Nay." The Patriarch sadly said : " Thou hast my pity. Go ! eat not my bread." Another came that wild and fearful night. The fierce winds raged, and darker grew the sky; But all the tent was filled with wondrous light, And Abraham knew the Lord his God was nigh. " "Where is that aged. man ?" the Presence said, " That asked for shelter from the driving blast 1 Who made thee master of thy Master s bread 1 What right hadst thou the wanderer forth to cast ? " THE STRANGER. 11 " Forgive me, Lord," the Patriarch answer made, With downcast look, with bowed and trembling knee. " Ah me ! the stranger might with me have stayed, But, my God, he would not worship Thee." "I ve borne him long," God said, "and still I wait ; Couldst thou not lodge him one night in thy gate ? " 12 III. THE SNOW ANGEL. THE sleigh-bells danced that winter night ; Old Brattleboro rang with glee ; The windows overflowed with light ; Joy ruled each hearth and Christmas-tree. But to one the bells and mirth were naught : His soul with deeper joy was fraught. He waited until the guests were gone ; He waited to dream his dream alone ; And the night wore on. THE SNOW ANGEL. 13 Alone he stands in the silent night ; He piles the snow in the village square ; With spade for chisel, a statue white From the crystal quarry rises fair. No light save the stars to guide his hand, But the image oheys his soul s command. The sky is draped with fleecy lawn, The stars grow pale in the early dawn, But the lad toils on. And lo ! in the morn the people came To gaze at the wondrous vision there ; And they called it " The Angel," divining its name, For it came in silence and unaAvare. It seemed no mortal hand had wrought The uplifted face of prayerful thought ; But its features wasted beneath the sun ; Its life went out ere the day was done ; And the lad dreamed on. 14 THE SNOW ANGEL. And his dream was this : "In the years to be I will carve the Angel in lasting stone ; In another land beyond the sea I will toil in darkness, will dream alone. While others sleep I will find a way Up through the night to the light of day. There s nothing desired beneath star or sun Which patient genius has not won." And the boy toiled on. The years go by. He has wrought with might ; He has gained renown in the land of art ; But the thought inspired that Christmas night Still kept its place in the sculptor s heart ; And the dream of the boy, that melted away In the light of the sun that winter day, Is embodied at last in enduring stone, Snow Angel in marble his purpose won ; And the man toils on. 15 IV. TO QUEEN MAEY S PICTUEE IN HOLYEOOD. WHEN I do note the beauty of thine eyes, And think that they have long been sightless dust ; When I observe the warrior s envied prize Helmet and corselet thick with yellow rust ; When scutcheoned doors lie prone in castle halls, And turrets totter, razed by ruthless Time ; When panelled brass from stately column falls, Well-graved with praises writ in lofty rhyme 16 TO QUEEN MARY S PICTURE 7JV HOLYROOD. Then I perceive how all things here decay ; That this wide world is but a shifting stage, Where faith and love, fierce pride and passion, play, And narrow lines divide the fool and sage ; "Where fame s brief candle flickers to its death, And beauty s reign is measured by a breath. 17 V. SCOTT S GREETING TO BTJEXS. [Scott s statue introducing Burns s statue to Shakespeare s, in Central Park, New York, the night after the unveiling of Burns s statue in 1880 : the three statues being within easy speaking- distance of each other.] WE greet you, Eobbie, here to-night, Beneath these stars so pure and bright ; "We greet you, poet, come at last With "Will" and me your lot to cast. We ve talked aboot you mony a day, And wondered when you d be this way. Reach out your hand, and gie s a shake Just ance, for auld acquaintance sake. 18 SCOTT S GREETING TO BURNS. We welcome you from Scotia s land, And reach to you a britlier s hand ; A kindred soul to greet you turns Will Shakespeare, this is Eobbie Burns. We ve sung your songs here mony a night Till that dear star is lost in light, And Willie says the lines you wrote Will even do for him to quote. He likes your verses wondrous weel, And says you are a glorious chiel ; In fact, the only one that knows The space twixt poetry and prose. Eobbie, if we had a plaid, We d quite convert yon Stratford lad. He said, in truth, but yester-morn, " I m Scotch in wit, though English born ; SCOTT S GREETING TO BURNS. 19 "And, Walter, it may yet appear That Scotland takes in Warwickshire. Let Avon be the border line, Blot out the Tweed, or draAV it fine." So, Willie, brew your peck o maut, And set the board wi Attic saut, For Rob has come at last, you see We were a pair, but now we re three. We need nae ither comrade now, No modern bard o classic brow ; Tis lang before anither man Will be admitted to our clan. In stormy nights twas lonesome here When " Will " recited half o " Lear " ; But now he quotes your eerie tale In thunder, lightning, and in hail ; 20 SCOTT S GREETING TO BURNS. And says his witches can t compare Wi those that chased Tarn s " guid grey mare. He s even learned your " Deil Address," To quote some night for good Queen Bess ; For, Eobbie, this is haunted ground, Where spirits keep their nightly round, And when the witchin hour is near You ll see strange beings gather here. I saw Queen Bess the other night Beside him, clad in vesture bright, While kings and queens, a noble throng, In dim procession passed along ; And walls seemed rising from the earth Like Leicester s tower at Kenilworth ; And all the pageant that was there Seemed floating in the moonlit air. SCOTT S GREETING TO BURNS. 21 Ay, beauty, jealousy, and pride, In Dudley s halls walked side by side, While Amy Eobsart seemed to stand With fair Ophelia, hand in hand. And, Eobbie, what a vision came As Willie whispered Ariel s name ! The towers dissolved, and round him drew The stately, gentle, fair, and true Miranda, Juliet, Imogen, Hermione, and Katharine, While Rosalind among them stood The sunlight of sweet Arden s wood. Twere long to pass them in review, For still the circle wider grew, Until the airy vision bright Was lost at last in liquid light. 22 SCOTT S GREETING TO So let me whisper in your ear, Never to tell what passes here. There ll be a grand reception soon To greet the lad frae Bonnie Doon. "We ll gather up the j oiliest crew Falstaff, Prince Hal, and Eoderick Dhu ; And " a the rantin brither Scots Frae Maiden Kirk tae John o Groats." So, Robbie, mak yoursel at home, Mang friends and brithers you have come, And here s a land that s quite as fair As that between the Doon and Ayr. A land that glories in its youth, That owns nae creed but living truth, Where " pith o sense and pride o worth " A refuge find frae rank and birth ; SCOTT S GREETING TO BURNS. 23 A land that s made your verses real, Whose guinea-stamp is honour s seal ; Ay, Robbie, here they ve quite forgot To write the " Sir "just Walter Scott. And here your songs will ever ring Through a the years the centuries bring, Till all are free, and every sea Shall know nae shore but liberty. 24 VI. THE HUDSON. GREY streaks of dawn are faintly seen ; The stars of half their light are shorn ; The Hudson, with its banks of green, Lies tranquil in the early morn. The earth and sky breathe sacred rest A holy peace too sweet to break A spell like that Divine behest Which stilled the Galilean lake. THE HUDSON. 25 The circling hills, with foreheads fair. Await with joy the crowning rays ; All nature bows in grateful prayer ; The templed groves respond with praise. Ye trembling shafts of glorious light, Dart from the east with golden gleam ; Cleave the dark shield of fleeing Night, And slay her with your arrowy beam. Cities and hamlets, up and down This level highway to the sea, Along the banks sit grey and brown, Dim shadows musing dreamily. Adown the river sloops and ships Float slowly with the lazy tide ; And round the bluff a paddle dips "Where once the storm-ship used to ride. 26 THE HUDSON. The vision widens as the morn Sweeps through the portals of the day ; Purple and rosy mists adorn Mountain and hill-top far away. n. The Catskills to the northward rise With massive swell and towering crest- The old-time "mountains of the skies," The threshold of eternal rest ; Where Manitou once lived and reigned, Great Spirit of a race gone by ; And Ontiora lies enchained, With face uplifted to the sky. The dream-land, too, of later days, Where Rip Van Winkle slept in peace, Wrapped up in deep poetic haze A twenty years of sweet release. THE HUDSON. 27 Ay, burning years ! a nation s forge ! To wake to freedom grown to more To find another painted " George " Above the old familiar door. Through summer heat and winter snow, Beside that rushing mountain-stream, Just how he slept we cannot know ; Perhaps twas all a pleasant dream. Mayhap in many a wintry squall, Or howling blast, or blinding storm, He thought he heard Dame Gretchen call, And that sufficed to keep him warm ; Or else that flagon s wondrous draught, Distilled in some weird elfin-land, Drawn from the keg old Hendrick quaffed, And shared by all his silent band. 28 THE HUDSON. legends full of life and health, That live when records fail and die, Ye are the Hudson s richest wealth, The frondage of her history ! in. And musing here this quiet morn, I call up pictures far away, Of fountains where thy wave is born, Of rills that in deep shadows play ; Of forest trail, and lake and stream, Rich poems bound in green and gold, Whose leaves reflect the autumn gleam Ere summer months are growing old ; Of camp-fires bright with dancing fiame, Where dreams and visions floated free, And Eosalind, with Annie s name, Interpreted the dreams to me : THE HUDSON. 29 Like Avalanche with rocky wall, And Henderson s dark-wooded shore, Your echoes linger still, and call Unto my soul for evermore. Tahawas, rising stern and grand, " Cloud-sunderer," lift thy forehead high ; Guard well thy sun-kissed mountain land, "Whose lakes seem borrowed from the sky. Hudson ! mountain-born and free, Thy youth a deep impression takes ; For, mountain-guarded to the sea, Thy course is but a chain of lakes. And not alone thy features fair, And legend lore and matchless grace, But noble deeds of courage rare Illume, as with a soul, thy face. 30 THE HUDSON. The Highlands and the Palisades Mirror their beauty in the tide ; The history of whose forest shades A nation reads Avith conscious pride. On either side these mountain glens Lie open like a massive book, Whose words were graved with iron pens, And lead into the eternal rock ; Which evermore shall here retain The annals time cannot erase ; And while these granite leaves remain, This crystal ribbon marks the place. The spot where Kosciusko dreamed Fort Putnam s grey and ruined wall ; West Point, where patriot bayonets gleamed- This open page reveals them all. THE HUDSON. 31 From Stony Point to Bends Height, From Saratoga to the sea, "We trace the lines, now dark, now bright, From seventy-six to eighty-three. We celebrate our hundredth year With thankful hearts and words of praise, And learn a lasting lesson here Of trust and hope for coming days. v. And sweet to me this other thought, And more than fancy to my mind : These grand divisions, plainly wrought, In human life a semblance find. The Adirondacks, childhood s glee ; The Catskills, youth with dreams o ercast ; The Highlands, manhood bold and free ; The Tappan Zee, age come at last. 32 THE HUDSON. Tappan Zee ! with peaceful hills, And slumbrous sky and drowsy air, Thy calm and restful spirit stills The heart weighed down with weary care. Pocantico s hushed waters glide Through Sleepy Hollow s haunted ground, And whisper to the listening tide The name carved o er one lowly mound. Fair mansions rise on every hill, With turrets crowned, and stately towers, Which men can buy and sell at will ; But old Van Tassel s home is ours : A quiet, cosy little nest, Enshrined and loved for evermore ; "Where Geoffrey Crayon came to rest, When all his wanderings were o er. THE HUDSON. 33 Thrice blest and happy Tappan Zee, Whose banks along thy glistening tide Have legend, truth, and poetry Sweetly expressed in Sunnyside. VI. The twilight falls, the picture fades ; My soul has drifted down the stream ; And now, beneath the Palisades, I wonder, " Is it all a dream 1 " Below the cliffs Manhattan s spires Glint back the sunset s latest beam ; The bay is flecked with twinkling fires ; Or is it but " Van Ivortlandt s dream 1 " Hark ! Freedom s arms ring far and wide ; Again these forts with beacons gleam ; Loud cannon roar on every side I start, I wake ; I did but dream. 34 THE HUDSON. Deep silence mid these glorious hills ; Dark shadows on the silver stream ; My very soul with rapture thrills : " Is t heaven, or earth, or but a dream?" Nay ! true as life, and deep as love, And real amid the things that seem ; For Earth below and Heaven above Proclaim "truth stranger than a dream." 35 VII. THE YOSEMITE. WAITING to-night for the moon to rise O er the cliffs that narrow Yosemite s skies Waiting for darkness to melt away In the silver light of a midnight day ; Waiting, like one in a waking dream, I stand alone by the rushing stream. Alone, in a temple vast and grand, With spire and turret on every hand ; A world s cathedral, with walls sublime, Chiselled and carved by the hand of Time ; And over all heaven s crowning dome, Whence gleam the beacon-lights of home. 36 THE YOSEMITE. The spectral shadows dissolve ; and now The moonlight halos El Capitan s brow ; And the lesser stars grow pale and dim Along the sheer-cut mountain rim ; Till, touched with magic, the grey walls stand Like phantom mountains on either hand. Yet I know they are real, for I see the spray Of Yosemite Fall in the moonlight play, Swaying and trembling, a radiant glow From the sky above to the vale below ; Like the ladder of old to Jacob given A line of light from earth to heaven. And there comes to my soul a vision dear, As of shining spirits hovering near ; And I feel the sweet and wondrous power Of a presence that fills the midnight hour ; And I know that Bethel is everywhere, For prayer is the foot of the angel stair. THE YOSEMITE. 37 A light divine, a holy rest, Floods all the valley and fills my breast ; The very mountains are hushed in sleep From Eagle Point to Sentinel Keep ; And a lifelong lesson is taught me to-night, When shrouded in shadow, to wait for the light. Waiting at dawn for the morn to break I>y the crystal waters of Mirror Lake ; Waiting to see the mountains grey Clearly defined in the light of day ; Reflected and throned in glory here, A lakelet that seems but the valley s tear. Waiting ; but look ! the South Dome bright Is floating now in a sea of light ; And Cloud s Eest, glistening with caps of snow, Inverted stands in the vale below, With tow ring peaks and cliffs on high, Hanging to meet another sky. 38 THE YOSEM1TE. crystal gem in setting rare ! soul-like mirror in middle air ! forest heart of eternal love ! Earth-born, but pure as heaven above, This Sabbath morn we find in thee The poet s dream of purity. The hours pass by ; I am waiting now On Glacier Point s o erhanging brow ; Waiting to see the picture pass, Like the fleeting show of a wizard-glass ; Waiting ; and still the vision seems Woven of light and coloured with dreams. But the cloud-capped towers, and pillars grey, Securely stand in the light of day ; The Temple wall is firm and sure ; The worshippers pass, but it shall endure, And will, while loud Yosemite calls To bright Nevada and Vernal Falls. THE YOSEMITE. 39 grand and majestic organ choir, With deep-toned voices that never tire ! anthem written in notes that glow On the rainbow bars of Po-ho-no ! sweet " Te Deum " for ever sung, With spray, like incense, heavenward swung ! Thy music my soul with rapture thrills, And there comes to my lips " The templed hills ; Thy rocks and rills," a nation s song, From valley to mountain borne along ; My country s temple, built for thee, Crowned with the Cap of Liberty ! country reaching from shore to shore ! fairest land the wide world o er ! Columbia dear, whose mountains rise From fertile valleys to sunny skies, Stand firm and sure, and bold and free, As thy granite-walled Yosemite. D 40 VIII. THE LAND OF BURNS. ONCE more upon the Firth of Clyde, Once more upon the dancing sea ; From out the land-locked harbour wide Our Anglia sails right merrily. Old Arran rises on our right, Her mountains bathed in sunset light ; While toward the coast the vision turns, And rests upon the Land of Burns. The western sky is all aglow ; The headlands bold are touched with light; THE LAND OF BURNS. 41 Eeflected beauty sleeps below, Upon the waters pure and bright. It seems indeed a fitting eve Of Scotia dear to take our leave, And in a sunset hour so fair To bid " good-night " to Bonnie Ayr. Eut now the mountains lose their gold, And to the leeward sink from view ; The distant coast can scarce be told A line upon the ocean blue ; On Ailsa Craig and Eathlin Isle A single cloud attempts to smile ; And toward the coast the vision turns In vain, to find the Land of Burns. Ruins and shrines where memories sleep We leave behind on every side ; Dumbarton s walls and frowning keep, Which shield the beauty of the Clyde ; 42 THE LAND OF BURNS. Dunedin, darling of the N"orth, "Whose castle guards the winding Forth, And countless others, old and grey, Between the silver Tweed and Tay; Sweet Ellen s Isle in beauty framed, lona s shrine and dark Glencoe, Fair Melrose, and that valley famed Where Ettrick, Tweed, and Yarrow flow- They all come back this summer eve, As we of Scotia take our leave ; But more than all fond memory turns And rests on Ayr, the home of Burns. For there the " Daisy " was uptorn, To blossom on a wider field ; And there the "Mousie," kindred born, Was first to poesie revealed. The land of u Auld Lang Syne " is there, The cotter s home, the evening prayer : THE LAND OF BURNS. 43 To these, in truth, the memory turns To these, which make the Land of Burns. And there his genius, Coila s maid, In middle furrow stayed his plough, And left her lustrous mantle plaid, And bound the holly round his brow ; And there love met the ploughman bard, Ere life to him seemed " luckless starred " ; And there most glorious hopes were born, Ere " Mary " from his heart was torn. He felt "misfortune s cauld nor -west," And saw that " man was made to mourn " ; The " Scarlet Letter " on his breast "Was never in concealment worn. With all his failings he was free From shadow of hypocrisy ; In grief he always felt the thorn, But boldly answered scorn with scorn. 44 THE LAND OF BURNS. It seemed his mission to bestow On humble things the highest worth ; The streams that by his " shieling " flow Ripple in song o er all the earth. The little Kirk of Alloway Shines forth immortal in his lay, And, filled with witches, takes its stand, The ruin of his storied land. He hears the " Twa Dogs " at his door Discuss the ways of human life ; He meets with " Death " upon the moor, With whom old " Hornbook " was at strife ; He talks familiar with the " Deil," As if he were a friendly chiel ; And " Holy Fair " upon the green Becomes a Sunday " Halloween." He dared to use the pointed quill, While others bowed the knee to power ; THE LAND OF BURNS. 45 And Scotland owes a guerdon still To Burns, who left her fairest dower. It was his wish, " for Scotland s sake, Some useful plan or book to make ; " And evermore the pilgrim turns To Scotia dear, the Land of Burns. The land of heath and shaggy wood To him was bathed in roseate light ; He knew each spot where heroes stood, And dared to battle for the right. True heroes of the olden time, Whose names still ring in freedom s chime, And make e en strangers fondly turn Unto the field of Bannockburn. His " Scots wha hae " rings out more clear Than any song in field or camp ; And others rise more true and dear " The rank is but the guinea-stamp." 46 THE LAND OF BURNS. For there are grander fields to fight, Where man proclaims his brother s right ; And Burns of poets leads the van In simple truth that man is man. That little " cottage " thatched with straw Still speaks the truth he loved to sing : A glorious manhood free to a , Which titles could not take or bring. Mansions of rank are poor indeed Beside this cotter s lowly shed, And pride is humbled as it turns To cross the porch of Robert Burns. 47 IX. THE OLD HOMESTEAD. WELCOME, ye pleasant dales and hills, Where, dreamlike, passed my early days ! Ye cliffs and glens and laughing rills That sing unconscious hymns of praise ! Welcome, ye woods, with tranquil bowers Embathed in autumn s mellow sheen, Where careless childhood gathered flowers, And slept on mossy carpets green ! The same bright sunlight gently plays About the porch and orchard-trees ; 48 THE OLD HOMESTEAD. The garden sleeps in noontide haze, Lulled by the murmuring of the bees ; The sloping meadows stretch away To upland field and wooded hill ; The soft blue sky of peaceful day Looks down upon the homestead still. I hear the humming of the wheel Strange music of the days gone by ; I hear the clicking of the reel ; Once more I see the spindle fly. How, then, I wondered at the thread That narrowed from the snowy wool, Much more to see the pieces wed, And wind upon the whirling spool ! I see the garret once again, With rafter, beam, and oaken floor ; I hear the pattering of the rain As summer clouds go drifting o er. THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 49 The little window towards the west Still keeps its webs and buzzing flies, And from this cosy childhood nest Jack s bean-stalk reaches to the skies. I see the circle gathered round The open fireplace glowing bright, While birchen sticks with crackling sound Send forth a rich and ruddy light. The window-sill is piled with sleet, The well-sweep creaks before the blast, But warm hearts make the contrast sweet, Sheltered from storm, secure and fast. loved ones of the long ago, Whose memories hang in golden frames, Eesting beneath the maple s glow, Where few e er read your chiselled names, Come back, as in that Christmas night, And fill the vacant chairs of mirth ! 50 THE OLD HOMESTEAD. Ah me ! the dream is all too bright, And ashes lie upon the hearth. Below the wood, beside the spring, Two little children are at play, And Hope, that bird of viewless wing, Sings in their hearts the livelong day. The acorn patters at their feet, The squirrel chatters neath the trees, And life and love are all complete They hold Aladdin s lamp and keys. And, sister, now my children come To find the water just as cool, To play about our grandsire s home, To see our pictures in the pool ; Their laughter fills the shady glen, The fountain gurgles o er with joy That, after years full three times ten, It finds its little girl and boy. THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 51 No other spring in all the world Is half so clear and cool and bright, No other leaves by autumn curled Reflect for me such golden light. Of childhood s faith this is the shrine ; I kneel beside it now as then, And though the spring s no longer mine, I kiss its cooling lips again. Unchanged it greets the changeful years ; Its life is one unending dream ; No record here of grief or tears, But, like the limpid meadow-stream, It seems to sympathise with youth, Just as the river does with age, And ever whispers sweetest truth Is written on life s title-page. 52 X. THE ROCK WHERE MY MOTHER PLAYED. I HEAR the notes of the Whip-poor-will As of old in the gathering shade ; I sit by the rock on the quiet hill Where in girlhood my mother played. With cheeks out-blooming the morning flowers, And with heart as light as May, It was here that she came in the golden hours, By the lichened rock to play: THE ROCK WHERE MY MOTHER PLAYED. 53 A granite Avaif, by glacier borne From a far-away northern sea ; It seemed so lonely, from kindred torn, That she kept it company. Till all in fancy or witching dream It shone with a glimmering light, "While fairies trooped in the moon s pale beam, To dance through the summer night. And such was her tender grace to me, As we wandered the forest wild, That ever the fairies seemed to be Her playmates when a child. And she, a queen of the Sylphid race, On her silvery throne held sway; But alas ! I dream of her girlish face, And the rock is cold and grey. 54 THE ROCK WHERE MY MOTHER PLAYED. For the fairies went when my mother died, And my years were scarcely ten ; I come to-night from wandering wide, But they never will come again. I love the garden and orchard old, The meadows her footsteps pressed, And the stately oaks that shook their gold In the lap of their gentle guest. I love the spring and the rippling rill, Where in evening she often strayed ; But dearer to me the quiet hill And the rock where my mother played. 55 ALPINE SPEING. To my mother. Mary Ann Mac Alpine Bruce. Dedicated at DC Funiak Springs, Florida. I KNOW the mountain brooklets in the pass of wild Glencoe, "Where waved the MacAlpine standard a thousand years ago. I have heard the pibroch sounding by stream and wooded fell, And lingered in the gloaming beside St Ronan sWell. I know the homestead fountain, where the waters bubble bright, Beneath the oak and maple, aglow with golden light ; E 56 ALPINE SPRING. I listen to the music of the gurgling sylvan rill, And the gentle mellow cadence of the wondering Whip-poor-will. I wander down the footpath, in memory here to-day, With my mother to that springside in the hills so far away ; I hear the old-time stories, kneel again beside her knee, And the woodland s murmuring music through the twilight speaks to me ; With a love that knows no distance, though deep shadows intervene, Leading back the weary wanderer through the meadows fair and green, With a love that lifts her rainbow though the skies be dark above Sunshine from a sphere immortal, born of heaven a mother s love. ALPINE SPRING. 57 In the glory of this sunshine we have come in glad ness now, In the light that veils her presence, reverend with uncovered brow ; Here beside the gentle music of fair waters flowing free Alpine Spring, my sainted mother, consecrates its heart to thee. Come, then, children, free and happy, for her laugh was light as yours ; Come, fair youth, Avith golden promise that abideth and endures \ Come, fond age, that now is waiting for the bliss that she has won ; Welcome to the Alpine fountain while its waters greet the sun. 58 XII. A HAND-SHAKE. TO A CLASSMATE, AFTER FIFTEEX YEARS. WHAT ! fifteen years 1 No, not that long The record, David, must be wrong. Dear Mother Yale, correct your sight, It s only sixty-seven to-night. There s some mistake no jesting here We re hardly out of senior year. Dear mother, look again, I pray ! Last June was our Commencement-day. A HAND-SHAKE. 59 The elms on old Xew Haven green Have scarcely lost their russet sheen ; It only seems an evening since "We sat upon the college fence. But tell me, now, whose bairns are these Bright boys and girls, about your knees ] Somehow they seem to look like you. Old Yale is right tis eighty-two. Ay, facts are chiels which winna ding, And bairns are facts the decades bring. Come home with me, I ll introduce Another flock that looks like Bruce. I think we ll have another pair To take our seats in college there Ah, David, how old Yale will shine When she receives your boys and mine ! 60 A H AND- SHAKE. They ll never sleep in Chapel ! no ! Like bricks tipped sideways in a row ; They ll never help each other through Old Euclid, like some lads we knew. It s our good-luck and dearest joy To find more gold in each alloy; For in each bright and childish face We both can read their mother s grace. Let others boast their gear and wealth, These are our treasures, rich with health ; The living gold that s coined above, Fresh from the mint, and stamped with love. Upon this truth we take our stand, Two brothers of a scattered band. Give us your hand, for words are lame, I find you, David, just the same ; A HAND-SHAKE. 61 "With cheery voice, with generous heart, With will to do the manly part ; A noble leader now as then Twas then of boys, but now of men. 62 XIII. A NOOSING. YALE UNIVERSITY, 1887. (Read at the Phi Beta Kappa Meeting of tlic Twentieth Anniversary of the Class 0/1867.) HANG up the scythe ! Yale s dinner-horn Wakes hill and plain with echoes sweet ; Again, as in the early morn, The boys around one table meet, To ask each other where and how The sloping field or garden lies ; To wipe the sweat-drops from the brow, To brush the moisture from the eyes ; A NOONING. 63 To lay aside the coil of care, To sit beneath the templed trees, A quiet hour of rest to share, And bare the forehead to the breeze ; To speak, till eyes and words grow dim, Of those who by the wayside fell Fond memory floods the bucket s brim "Which, rises from the homestead well ; To sing in brief and simple strain The swelling music of the heart, A melody with sweet refrain That sweeps beyond the bounds of art; To note the lines upon the face, Where sunshine plays though wrinkles delve ; Their pointers mark meridian-place : The college clock is striking twelve. 64 A NOONING. For us the forenoon s work is done, We celebrate our twentieth year, The elms shut out the blazing sun, The drowsy " nooning hour " is here. We started forth when glittering dew Aladdin s tales did well repeat ; The skies have lost their roseate hue, The stubble crackles neath our feet. We started when the fields were bright, And shadows all behind us lay; From noontide now till fading light The shadows fall the other way. We went with many a ringing shout, With merry boast and lusty cheer ; We come with love that conquers doubt, With hope that triumphs over fear. A NOONING. 65 We ve earned at least an idle hour To talk together in the shade The boy who drew the diamond bower, Or he who held the poorest spade ; The boy who toiled with brawny arm, The youth with fortune s spoon of gold, Or lad, like "David," born to charm "With plumed nights of genius bold. "We see each individual man Portrayed as in a magic glass, When sixty-seven led the van A royal, independent class, Which kept its course through sun and shade With grit that never knew defeat, And wrote upon each ringing blade " Macte Virtute ! " Hard to beat. 66 A NOONING. We had no leaders, so to speak, Xo towering genius of control, A new republic every week A grand committee of the whole, Which went its way, yes, different ways, In that cosine and tangent year, Twin Euclid-babes in solemn baize, Borne on the old biennial bier. We marched full front in battle line, We never drilled in squad or file, No colonel decked in sashes fine High privates all in general style. We read of Arthur s matchless sword, And each one thought to try a hand ; But visions fled when monthly board Dispersed the brave and knightly band. A NOONIXG. 67 "We traced the bright inscription fair " Who pulls this blade from out the stone ; " But, ah ! no Merlin s skill was there, And none might draw the sword alone. And then we dreamed of Portia dear, With towers and castles ready made ; But no Antonio was near To start us in the casket trade. Till dawned the meaning of the tales By Mallory and Shakespeare told He must attempt who wins or fails, And " all that glistens is not gold " ; That there are other knights of fame Than Galahad or brave Gawaine, And other maids of sweeter name Than Portia fair or dear Elaine ; 68 A NOONING. That patience does not always win, Or genius dream its way to power, But both united enter in To take the sword and princely dower ; That neither wins the race alone, That patience pulls while genius steers ; Talent is muscle, brawn, and bone, Genius the master of the gears. Ay, such the lesson of old Yale, The crowning glory of her blue That pluck and patience never fail "With genius cockswain of the crew. darling mother, loved, revered By loyal sons in every land, Proud of the temples you have reared, We come to take you by the hand ; A NOONING. 69 To look into your loving face, And see the roses on your cheeks, To note the glow and matchless grace, The living eloquence that speaks Of native mettle in the man, That sends him forth to do and dare, "With " menu " spelled American Our Alma Mater s " bill of fare." And so we come from many a field, From town and city far and near, To trace again your storied shield, And read once more our title clear ; To hail the fair and crowning arch, The widening portal of your fame, To note the ever onward march Of steadfast Yale with newer name ; 70 A NOOXIXG. A University, in truth, That meets the people s high demand, A fountain of eternal youth, The pride and glory of the land. So may we come for many a year, Through smiles and tears with spirits blithe, A loyal band of classmates dear, Till Time for us hangs up his scythe. 71 XIV. THE NUPTIALS. NEW YORK AND BROOKLYN BRIDGE, 1883. THE nuptial-knot at last is firmly tied ; A hundred bells ring out a merry chime, A hundred wires proclaim to every clime Manhattan takes fair Brooklyn for his bride. In strength and beauty growing side by side, Cities betrothed, you waited vigorous prime, Like steadfast lovers of the olden time, Ere greed and gain our early faith defied. F 72 THE NUPTIALS. We wish you joy. N"o longer twain, but one, For ever bound in links of triple steel ; You need no marriage ritual to rehearse, Which Venice chanted to bright Adria won ; No golden ring ; the service now is real " Each other take for better or for worse." 73 XV. " INASMUCH." A CHRISTMAS STORY. You say that you want a Meetin -house for the boys in the gulch up there, And a Sunday-school with pictur -books ? Well, put me down for a share. I believe in little children ; it s as nice to hear em read As to wander round the ranch at noon and see the cattle feed. 74 "INASMUCH." And I believe in preachin too by men for preach- in born, Who let alone the husks of creed and measure out the corn. The pulpit s but a manger where the pews are Gos pel-fed ; And they say twas to a manger that the Star of Glory led. So I ll subscribe a dollar toward the manger and the stalls ; I always give the best I ve got whenever my part ner calls. And, stranger, let me tell you : I m beginning to suspect That all the world are partners, whatever their creed or sect ; That life is a kind of pilgrimage a sort of Jericho road, And kindness to one s fellows the sweetest law in the code. "INASMUCH." 75 Xo matter about the nitials from a farmer, you understand, Who s generally had to play it alone from rather an or nary hand. I ve never struck it rich, for farming, you see, is slow ; And whenever the crops are fairly good the prices are always low. A dollar isn t very much, but it helps to count the same ; The lowest trump supports the ace, and sometimes wins the game. It assists a fellow s praying when he s down upon his knees Inasmuch as ye have done it to one of the least of these." I know the verses, stranger, so you needn t stop to quote ; It s a different thing to know them or to say them off by rote. 76 "INASMUCH." I ll tell you where I learned them, if you ll step in from the rain : Twas down in Frisco, years ago had been there hauling grain ; It was just across the ferry, on the Sacramento pike, Where stores and sheds are rather mixed, and shan ties scatterin like Not the likeliest place to he in. I remember the saloon, With grocery, market, baker-shop, and bar-room all in one. And this made up the picture my hair Avas not then grey, But everything still seems as real as if twere yester day. A little girl with haggard face stood at the counter there Not more than ten or twelve at most, but worn with grief and care ; "INASMUCH." 77 And her voice was kind of raspy, like a sort of chronic cold Just the tone you find in children who are prema turely old. She said : " Two bits for bread and tea, ma hasn t much to eat ; She hopes next week to work again, and buy us all some meat. We ve been half-starved all winter, but spring will soon be here, And she tells us, Keep up courage, for God is always near. " Just then a dozen men came in ; the boy was called aAvay To shake the spotted cubes for drinks, as Forty- niners say. I never heard from human lips such oaths and curses loud As rose above the glasses of that crazed and reckless crowd. 78 "INASMUCH." But the poor tired girl sat waiting, lost at last to revels deep, On a keg beside a barrel in the corner, fast asleep. Well, I stood there, sort of waiting, until some one at the bar Said, " Hello ! I say, stranger, what have you over thai?" The boy then told her story ; and that crew, so fierce and wild, Grew intent, and seemed to listen to the breathing of the child. The glasses all were lowered. Said the leader : " Boys, see here ; All day we ve been pouring whisky, drinking deep our Christmas cheer. Here s two dollars. I ve got feelings, which are not entirely dead, For this little girl and mother suffering for the want of bread." "INASMUCH." 79 " Here s a dollar." " Here s another ; " and they all chipped in their share, And they planked the ringing metal down upon the counter there. Then the spokesman took a golden double-eagle from his "belt, Softly stepped from bar to counter, and beside the sleeper knelt ; Took the " two bits " from her fingers, changed her silver piece for gold. " See there, boys ! the girl is dreaming." Down her cheeks the tear-drops rolled. One by one the swarthy miners passed in silence to the street. Gently we awoke the sleeper, but she started to her feet "\Vith a dazed and strange expression, saying : " Oh, I thought twas true ! Ma was well, and we were happy ; round our door- stone roses grew. 80 "INASMUCH." We had everything we wanted, food enough, and clothes to wear ; And my hand burns where an angel touched it soft with fingers fair." As she looked and saw the money in her fingers glistening bright "Well, now, ma has long been praying, but she won t believe me quite, How you ve sent way up to heaven, where the golden treasures are, And have also got an angel clerking at your grocery bar." That s a Christmas story, stranger, which I thought you d like to hear ; True to fact and human nature, pointing out one s duty clear. Hence, to matters of subscription you will see that I m alive Just mark off that dollar, stranger ; I think I ll make it five. 81 XVI. THE PEINTEE -BOY S DEEAM. ON a rickety stool by a rickety door Of the editor s room on the upper floor, In the inner sanctum of pen and shears, Sat a printer s boy of uncertain years Waiting for copy ; and all was still Save the rasping scratch of a rapid quill. The Carrier s Address was being born In the old-time verse for the ~New Year s morn ; 82 THE PRINTER- BOTS DREAM. And the editor wrote like a man inspired, But the hour was late, and the boy was tired. Congressional Eecords, in binding grim, And Patent Reports looked down on him Plump volumes revealing the nation s health, And of books the editor s only wealth. Large files of papers, dusty and old, In unswept corners quietly told That his paper was somehow a thing of dates, While the plums were reserved for happier fates. But the books, and the files, and the editor grey, To the drowsy boy were fading away ; And the narrow room seemed a gallery grand, "With rich wrought carvings on every hand. THE PRINTER- BOY S DREAM. 83 Beautiful volumes quaint and old, Yellow vellums with clasps of gold, Arranged in ebony cases rare, Greeted his vision everywhere ; And he noted the books in tens were placed, And a hundred volumes each alcove graced. Eighteen were closed with a brazen bar, But the Nineteenth alcove was still ajar. No parchment here ; the books were new, And the last was registered Eighty-two ; "VYhile a boy in feature resembling him, Not ragged and soiled, but neat and trim, Near the lower shelf, he seemed to see Placing another marked Eighty-three ; 84 THE PRINTER- BOY S DREAM. And an angel sat in a golden chair, Writing in characters bright and fair With a noiseless pen ; and the volume bore On the clear white margin Eighty-four. But the vision vanished with, " Johnny, come ! This to the foreman, and then go home. " Wait, one line more a merry cheer ! To each and all a blithe New Year ! " Gone were the alcoves with carving old, And volumes rich with clasps of gold ; The Patent Reports came back again, The whitewashed wall, the dingy den ; And the angel that sat in glory there Was the editor grey in his old arm-chair. 85 XVII. THE SLAVE S PEAYER WE had tramped through field and forest, the long and dreary way ! With the stars alone to guide us, Eor we dared not move by day Jack and I, two Union soldiers, Just escaped from prison-shed, Squalid, ghastly, shoeless, starving, And no place to ask for bread ; 86 THE SLAVE S PRAYER. Swimming rivers deep and swollen, Crossing mountains grim and dark, Wading marshes, crouched in thickets, Trembling at the bloodhound s bark. the chill nights marched in silence, As the weeks crept slowly past ; Leagues away the Union army, Where we dreamed of rest at last. But our strength was wellnigh broken, When, one night, the Lord be praised ! Eight before us, through the pine-trees, Suddenly a camp-fire blazed. Straight we turned, but stayed our footsteps, As upon the evening air Came the gentle, broken accents Of a heartfelt, earnest prayer. THE SLAVE S PRAYER. 87 Drawing nearer through the shadows, Creeping close from, tree to tree, There a white-haired slave was kneeling, Asking God for liberty. And his words were sweet and touching As the first prayer of a child, And it seemed that God s own presence Filled the forest vast and wild. And the " Amen " that he uttered Seemed to echo through the trees ; But it might have been our voices, For he started from his knees, And he glanced in fear about him, And his look was wild with fright. " Save us ! we are Union soldiers ; We implore your help to-night. G THE SLAVE S PRAYER. " Tell us, where s the Union army 1 " And we stood before him there, Wan and ghost-like, hardly human, Haggard phantoms of despair. Then we sat and told our story While he served his simple food, And the moaning pines above us Whispered low in plaintive mood. And the midnight stars were shining Ere we rose to take our way, And we knelt we all were brothers- As he bowed again to pray. From that heart by bondage broken, From that son of toil and pain, Rose a prayer more true and tender Than I e er shall hear again. THE SLAVE S PRAYER. 89 And throughout the weary marches, Through long nights of care and fear, Those sweet words were ever with us, Filling both our hearts with cheer. And we reached the Union army, And we told our story there, And the " boys " were hushed and breathless As we gave that old slave s prayer. 90 XVIII. WENDELL PHILLIPS. HE raised his voice the scornful smiled, A jeering rabble came to hear ; The statesman mocked, the mob reviled, Pulpit and press gave little cheer. He raised his voice the scoffer frowned, Disciples gathered day by day ; In him the living "Word was found, The light, the life, the truth, the way. WENDELL PHILLIPS. 91 He raised his voice the crowded hall Answered to eloquence and right ; And statesmen heard at last the call Of freemen rising in their might. He raised his voice the shackles fell, And all beneath the stars were free. King out ! ring out, centennial bell, The living fact of liberty ! 92 XIX. KINDNESS. DEDICATED TO MRS JAMES A. GARFIELD. (Head at Hiram College, Ohio, 1885.) THE fountain gives birth to the stream, The stream glides on to the sea ; The sun looks down, and its beam Lifts moisture to gladden the lea ; The hills and the mountains rejoice, The valleys with deep verdure lined ; One chorus the elements voice With love every law is entwined. KINDNESS. 93 The rose leans over the brook, And blushes its beauty to trace ; The waters, entranced in a nook, Delight in the glow of its face. Then onward through grasses and ferns The rill laughs at stones in its way ; New charm to the woodland returns, The mosses are jewelled with spray. There is nothing that lives to itself, Be it ever so near or so far, From the weed on the sea s coral shelf To the fleck of the farthermost star ; No atom removed or estranged, No minute divorced from the hours, Blind force is to sympathy changed, And each link is enwoven with flowers. No life is so strong and complete But it yearns for the smile of a friend ; 94 KIXUXESS. A remembrance is always more sweet When love and kind wishes attend. Your red-lipped roses still speak, Your blossoms, carnation and white But alas ! my tribute is weak ; I bring but a pansy to-night To fade ; but your garlands remain, Unwithered your chaplet survives ; No deed can be idle or vain That strengthens or sweetens our lives ; And richer the token to me From the dear alma mater of one Revered from the lakes to the sea, Your lover and brother and son. His life has flowed down to the deep, His record enriches the earth, And memory s roses shall keep Their bloom where the stream had its birth. KIJFDITESS. 95 The voice of our Garfield is still, Eut the word of the man cannot die ; His courage our pulses enthrill, Our dreams to his manhood reply. 96 XX. KEPENTAffCE. A CURSE was hurled into the air : That God a brother s soul might blast. The hot tears fell. Then rose a prayer, That God might guard and keep it fast. Swift sped the curse, but swifter far The white-winged prayer on mercy s breath ; While angels o er Heaven s crystal bar Beheld the race of life and death. The bat-like curse in dazzling light Uncertain now its journey keeps, AVhile up through heavenly radiance bright The victor prayer in triumph sweeps. REPENTANCE. 97 The crystal bar wide open flies, The prayer is safe in Paradise ; It closes at the angel s nod, The curse ne er reached the throne of God. 98 XXI. LONGFELLOW. AGAIN I see him on the sunlit lawn, As in the May-day of that final year, With brow as radiant as the early dawn, And eye transparent as the heavens clear. With cloak o er shoulder thrown in careless grace He stands enframed in budding flowers and trees, A genial Orpheus, with Olympian face For ever fanned by pure Arcadian breeze. LONGFELLOW. 99 Ah, more to me than Prospero s magic isle The paths and greensward where the poet dreamed ! The opening blossoms wooed his kindly smile, The expectant flowers with richer colours gleamed. My soul still clasps the warm and generous hand Which wields the sceptre of a kingless land. 100 XXII DECOKATIO:N T -DAY. WE deck to-day each soldier s grave, We come with offerings pure and white To strew the mounds of those who gave Their all to keep our honour bright. We cannot pay the debt we owe ; They gave their lives that we might live Our warmest words fall far below The worship that we fain would give. DECORATION -DAY. 101 country ! fairest of the free ; Columbia ! name for ever blest ; lost " Atlantis " of the sea ! Securely anchored in the "West ; Unfold the flag their hands have borne ! The shreds of many a well-fought field ; The stripes alone are rent and torn, The stars are there, our sacred shield. Those stars are ours because they died, The blue is dearer for their sake, "Who sleep on many a green hillside, In ranks that never more will break. For Avell they wore the colour true That holds our constellation fair, And evermore the " Boys in Blue " Shall have a day of rest and prayer. 102 DECORA TION - DA Y. Yes, martyred heroes of the free ! We kneel beside your mounds and pray That God our nation s guard may be, And comrade s hope from day to day. day baptised in blood and tears ! The blood was theirs, the tears are ours ; And children s children through the years Shall strew their graves with sweetest flowers. And May-day garlands all in bloom Will quicken other verse than mine, And decorate the soldier s tomb From Southern palm to Northern pine. 103 XXIII. THE CANDLE PAEADE. (Read at the Eighteenth Reunion of the Society of the Army of the Potomac at Saratoga Springs, 1887.) [One night, after the Army of the Potomac had returned from the capture of Eichmond to its old camp on the hills of Alex andria, a company, each man carrying a lighted candle in his gun, began to march in sportive procession. Eegiments and brigades caught the spirit, and the accumulated supplies of caudle rations were soon utilised by dancing columns wheeling and winding in every direction as far as the eye could reach.] ONCE again Potomac s Army answers to the muster- roll ; Once again the old-time music thrills the soldier s heart and soul. H 104 THE CANDLE PARADE. Eank on rank, with cheer and gladness, rally at the bugle-call On the field of Saratoga, underneath its mountain- wall, "Where M Gregor s evening shadows fall upon the crystal tide, At the gateway of the cottage where the nation s hero died ; Where the streams in gentle music still our father s requiem chant, And the pine, the oak, the maple, and the laurel echo Grant. Xame revered, that clasps great rivers evermore in loving thrall : Queenly Hudson, fair Potomac, Mississippi king of all; Eivers three, that bind one nation from the Gulf to Northern lakes, From the Eockies to Virginia, where the loud At lantic breaks ; THE CANDLE PARADE. 105 Arms entwined and interlocking, holding in their wide embrace Sweeping hills and lordly mountains of the Appa lachian race ; Fertile fields and rolling prairies with their wealth of floral bloom, Plucked and borne by loving fingers to the loyal Logan s tomb. Fruit of gold in silver pictures waving fields by rivers framed ; States discordant reunited, love and land and flag reclaimed : Fruit of gold a century s harvest, in war s reaping rudely shorn Garnered heroes, named and nameless, swift on fiery chariots borne. Rest in peace by stately rivers, martyred soldiers of the free ! Eest, brave captain, at our threshold, where the Hudson meets the sea ! 106 THE CANDLE PARADE. While Mount Vernon s sacred portal sentinels Poto mac s waves, Mississippi sends her greetings to the streams that guard their graves. Fair Potomac ! dear Potomac ! at thy name what memories throng ! Deeds of heroism blazoned in a nation s art and song. Onward sweeps the steady column to the sound of fife and drum ; Solid phalanx, proud battalion see the sun-browned veterans come. Forward, to the touch of elbow, as of old in long review : Missing comrades take their places in the ranks that wear the blue. " On to Richmond ! " " On to Richmond ! " swells the old familiar cry. " On this line " you know the context comes the soldier s brief reply. THE CANDLE PARADE. 107 Southward now, with ranks concentring, reads the order of the day, "Wilderness and Spottsylvania marking halts along the way, Where the trees are mowed with bullets brothers battling hand to hand Blue and grey, with kindred courage worthy of one fatherland ; Both alike in silent trenches guarding now the peaceful scene, Waiting till the morn s reveille wakes the camps of waving green. Southward still across Xorth Anna, thirty miles from Eapidan ; Southward, by the left flank marching, gallant Han cock in the van. How each message, fraught with glory, taught a listening land the names Of the Old Dominion rivers, from Potomac to the James ! 108 THE CANDLE PARADE. How you kept the "Dailies" busy with their topo graphic maps One eye on the Shenandoah, one on Sherman s shoulder-straps ! Sheridan in rapid orbit, like a genuine son of Mars, Sherman on the outer circle, Saturn-like among the stars ; Here and there a warlike comet dauntless Custer, dashing " Kil " ; But they had to " get up Early " to compete with "Little Phil." Who can paint that panorama, clear and perfect in detail ] Who can trace the telling bullets in that storm of leaden hail 1 Who can twine a fitting garland for each dear heroic name, Or untwist the strands of glory in the cable of our fame 1 THE CANDLE PARADE. 109 This sufficeth and abideth every thread is firm and true ; Homespun texture, double woven, colours fast red, white, and blue ; Knotted well at Appomattox, tied to keep the threads in place, Never more to be unravelled in the nation s onward race. Homeward now with flaunting banners, every heart with triumph thrills ; Homeward to the old-time quarters on the Alex andria hills. Once again a thousand camp-fires on the wide horizon glow ; Once again the canvas city spreads its tents of drifted snow ; All the long, fierce conflict over, day of Jubilee is here ; No more longing, no more waiting give us, boys, a sons; of cheer. 110 THE CANDLE PARADE. Hail the bright-illumined city, with its crowning dome of white ! Hail Columbia ! hail Potomac ! All the land is free to-night ! What is that along the hillside? See a hundred twinkling points Starting up and gliding slowly, serpent-like, with glittering joints. Mark the sweeping curves of beauty as in waving lines it breaks, Holding all the wide encampment in its folds of fiery flakes Solid squares and ranks of twinkle putting phantasy to shame ; Phosphorous billows in the darkness gemmed with drifting dots of flame ; Ghostly folds of sable serge-cloth trimmed with glit tering golden braid ; Spirit-lights of weird battalions dancing all in mas querade. THE CANDLE PARADE. Ill You remember well the sombre silence of that vision vast; As a background for the pageant, all the sky was overcast. Then upon the stillness breaking came the old familiar airs, Choral links of home and camp-fire treasured in a nation s prayers "Home, sweet home" and "John Brown s body," "Dixie-land" and "Old Camp-ground," Swinging symphonies commingled in one bright bouquet of sound. Then from out the ruddy petals " Forward ! " came the order shrill, And the visioned scene was mortal twas the fa mous candle- drill. Xo one knew just how it started, how that strange parade began, Emblem of the nation s genius and the individual 112 THE CANDLE PARADE. Waiting not lieutenant s order, epaulette, or crimson sash, Blending in the ready impulse Saxon grit and Gaelic dash. Here, perhaps, a lighted candle in a musket, just for Then a score, platoon, battalion all the scene is under way, And the chorus, proudly swelling, stirs the heart of every corps, " We are coming, Father Abram, fifty thousand candles more." We are coming, we are coming, as of old the army came " Wide Awakes " and " Little Giants," in one lava- stream of flame, Knowing but one common duty when the banner was defied, Stirred in every nerve and fibre when the gallant Ellsworth died. THE CANDLE PARADE. 113 Steadfast Lincoln, Douglas greets you with his fol lowers tried and true : " Keep for aye the nation s honour, all the stars within the blue." ISToble hero ! generous rival ! both, alas ! too soon to fall. Lincoln ! still the Douglas greets you, "Dinna ye hear the sloan call 1 " more quickly sprang that pageant from the silence of the night Than the army of the people panoplied in freedom s might ; ~Sot more swiftly Concord s message flashed from Boston s Old ISTorth spire ; Xot more speedily the answer to Clan Alpine s Cross of Fire ; !Not more ready Eoderick s followers springing at the whistle shrill, Than the loyal yeoman soldiers starting up from plain and hill. 114 THE CANDLE PARADE. Not more quickly Highland claymores sank in copse and heathered glen Than the grand old army veterans back into the land again. " One from many," reads our motto, wider, deeper than before jSTot of states, but individuals "We, the people," evermore ! Tell me not of servile soldiers who for king or sovereign died, Here a million kings and sovereigns marched to victory side by side ; Brothers all in sacred compact, file and captain equal born ; Comrade answering to comrade, waiting for the promised morn. Far and wide each gleaming taper, " like a good deed," shines abroad, Till the naming heights of freedom manifest the will of God. THE CANDLE PARADE. 115 But the hillside s fading beauty tells us the parade is o er, Like the embers of the camp-fire dying out for ever more. Only now in distant windows gleams the candle through the night, And the camp-fires change to firesides, with their cheery visions bright Streaming out into the darkness past the lane and wicket-gate, Where the mother, wife, and sister, all the loved and loving, wait. Glorious land to live or die for ! Let Columbia bend her knee As she grants her proudest honours to the soldiers of the free. 116 XXIV. THE SILEXT SOLDIER [When Grant was dying, a ray of sunlight through the half- closed shutters of his room fell upon Lincoln s picture, leaving the General s portrait, which hung beside it, in deep shadow. After lingering for a moment upon the brow of the martyred President, it passed, at the instant of death, and played upon the portrait of the great General.] FROM gulf to lake, from sea to sea, The land is draped a nation weeps ; And o er the bier bows reverently, "Whereon the silent soldier sleeps. THE SILENT SOLDIER. 117 The mountain-top is bathed in light ; And eastern cliff with outlook wide Its name shall live in memory bright The Mount MacGregor, where he died. A monument to stand for aye, In summer s bloom, in winter s snows ; A shrine where men shall come to pray, While at its base the Hudson flows. A humble room, the light burns low ; The morning breaks on distant hill ; The failing pulse is beating slow ; The group is motionless and still. Two portraits hang upon the wall, Two kindred pictures side by side Statesman and soldier, loved by all Lincoln and Grant, Columbia s pride. 118 THE SILENT SOLDIER. A single ray through lattice streams, And breaks in rainbow colours there ; On Lincoln s brow a glory gleams As wife and children kneel in prayer. A halo round the martyr s head, It lights the sad and solemn room ; Above the living and the dead The soldier s portrait hangs in gloom In shadow one, and one in light : But look ! the pencil-ray has passed, And on the hero s picture bright The golden sunlight rests at last. And so, throughout the coming years, On both the morning beam shall play, When the long night of bitter tears Has melted in the light away. 119 XXV. ON GUARD. THE 150TH REGIMENT AT GETTYSBURG. WE cannot consecrate this field, Or hallow ground where heroes stood ; Thus spoke the man whose words have sealed Our lips in Freedom s Holyrood, We cannot dedicate. Too well Our Lincoln knew the Temple s cost, He heard the nation s anthem swell : Your deeds survive, our words are lost. I 120 OA T GUARD. The brave men, living and the dead, Who wrought the epic of the free, Have consecrated here, he said, The land, the world, to liberty. And now amid the whirling years, That punctuate the swift decades, You come with blended joy and tears, In peace beneath the gathering shades, To contemplate from hill to hill The line you held those bitter days, Again to feel your pulses thrill, Once more to take your meed of praise ; With noble monument to mark The spot where Duchess tried and true Stood by the faith when skies were dark, And stars were blotted from the blue ; OX GUARD. 121 A picket outpost here for aye With watchword of the Hudson born, To note the moonlight shadows play, To greet with joy the early morn ; A silent sentinel to keep Its post along the quiet line ; A Bannockhurn, where brothers sleep A Waterloo, where roses twine. Ay, Gettysburg, thy name at last Proclaims the triumph of the race ; Tis here the future greets the past, And faith asserts her crowning grace. Xo other battle-field like thine, Where love joins hands across the way, One flag, one land, a sacred shrine Alike unto the Blue and Grey. 122 ON GUARD. Then rear the graven stone with pride Along the line where freedom s van Shall speak to generations wide The final victory of man : That love and law shall reign supreme "Where er the starry banner waves When stones that now in sunlight gleam Shall lie in dust above their graves. 123 XXVI. OUR XATIOX FOR EVER (Sung ~by six thousand voices at the dose of a Union Concert of Northern and Southern Songs in the Chautauqua Amphitheatre, 1883.) RIXG out to the stars the glad chorus ! Let bells in sweet melody chime ; Ring out to the sky bending o er us The chant of a nation sublime : One land with a history glorious ! One God and one faith all victorious ! The songs of the camp-fires are blended, The Xorth and the South are no more ; 124 OUR NATION FOR EVER. The conflict for ever is ended, From the lakes to the palm-girded shore. One people united for ever In hope greets the promising years ; No discord again can dissever A Union cemented by tears. The past shall retain but one story A record of courage and love ; The future shall cherish one glory, While the stars shine responsive above. With emotions of pride and of sorrow, Bring roses and lilies to-day ; In the dawn of the nation s to-morrow We garland the Blue and the Grey. One land with a history glorious ! One God and one faith all victorious ! 125 XXVII. THE TRIP OF THE BELL. FROM Northern tide To bayou wide, With homage meet The old bell greet ! Uncovered stand Through all the land While chimes peal out Its royal route ! 126 THE TRIP OF THE BELL. King, Baltimore ! Thy Ches peake shore By nobler guest Was never pressed. With loyal pride Swell free and wide Thy chorus grand, " My Maryland ! Ring, Washington ! The bell that won Triumphant fame In freedom s name Waits at thy gate In sovereign state. With anthem sweet Columbia greet ! Ring, Richmond, ring ! Warm tribute bring, THE TRIP OF THE BELL. 127 Dominion old, "Where patriots bold Oppression spurned, "With words that burned From Sumter s strand To Plymouth s sand. Atlanta, ring ! Proud steeples swing With welcome note From brazen throat ! The bell salute "Whose lips, now mute, Eade tyrants cower To freedom s power. Eing, New Orleans ! Fair queen of queens, The centuries share Thy reverend prayer. 128 THE TRIP OF THE BELL. God guard the bell Which rang so well Our nation s birth And manhood s worth ! XXVIII. THE MUSIC OF LIGHT. THE joyous song of the morning stars The poet caught in the dawn of time ; He read the notes of the heavenly bars, His soul was thrilled with the choral chime. Through mystic years the Egyptian heard From Memnon s statue a harp-like tone. And marvelled at the elusive word From raylit lips of lifeless stone. 130 THE MUSIC OF LIGHT. In Orphic and Homeric days The god of music was god of light, And strung Aurora s rhythmic rays Across the vibrant lyre of night. And savants now in the world s high noon The visions of olden times rehearse ; For rhythm of music and light are one, And science reflects the poet s verse. 131 XXIX. THE FOEEST BALLOT. WHEN the trees their ballots cast, And the forests all are polled, Which will win the suffrage vast Crimson leaves or leaves of gold 1 In the radiant autumn days, Silently on hill and wold, Through the amber-tinted haze, Fall the leaves of red and sold 132 THE FOREST BALLOT. Leaves that keep the cruel stain Of the blood of brothers dead, Symbols of a nation s pain : Count them sadly leaves of red ; Leaves that hold the mellow light Of the stars on banner-fold, Symbols of enduring right : Count them gladly leaves of gold ; Emblems those of dire defeat, Emblems these of courage bold ; Which will triumph, which is meet Crimson leaves or leaves of gold ? By the record of the past, By that story proudly told, By fair freedom won at last, Crimson yields to leaves of gold. THE FOREST BALLOT. 133 By the faith that conqxiers doubt, Right will triumph as of old. See ! The red is fading out, Clearer glow the tints of gold. So, when all the leaves are cast, And the forest vote is polled, With a suffrage wide and vast Victory crowns the leaves of gold. 134 XXX. NOBBY ISLAND, EIVER ST LAWREXCE. You tell me you want a poem to-night, A yard and a half of visions bright, A Highland plaid for the Thousand Isles, A rainbow scarf of forty miles Something worthy the fairy dream Of this rural Venice and sainted stream, A modest request, when every morn Your Thousand Island poem is born. NOBBY ISLAND, RIVER ST LAWRENCE. 135 I sit by the rock where the waters laugh, But the Muse refuses her autograph ; I mount to the summit of Pullman s tower, But the picture transcends the poet s power ; In Carleton s hammock I fondly swing, But fail to find his magic ring ; And all, perhaps, because the real, Just here is greater than the ideal. The same is true of the Hudson stream, Illumed with the light of fancy s dream ; But that is straightforward compared with this Kaleidoscope of enchanted bliss ; "With her I have taken my poems straight, And never before have tempted fate, For rash is the poet who has the cheek With these islands to play at hide-and-seek. So let these wanderers lose their way Mid sunny islands where echoes play ; 136 NOBBY ISLAND, RIVER ST LAWRENCE. Our words are whispers, the purest gold Is that which hearts of love enfold. The simplest lines hold richest truth ; The sweetest lives enduring youth ; Let these abide and sunlight smile For evermore on l^obby Isle. 137 XXXI. THE CLUB OF TAHAWAS. ONCE more on the shore of the Upper Ausable We gather to-night the " Knights of the Table," With purple-peaked mountains above and below us, To drink to the " health " of the Club of TahaAvas. Unloosen the knapsack, and ring out a chorus To brothers and friends who have been here before us ; With greeting to streamlet and cascade that know us, We mingle our song with the voice of Tahawas. 138 THE CLUB OF T AHA WAS. The clan-word is sounded, the camp-fires are burn ing; Tahawas ! Tahawas ! your sons are returning. Hark ! hear the response ! ay, the Gothics hurrah us, And welcome their children, the Club of Tahawas. It was here we were reared in our earliest childhood, In Panther-Gorge Lodge darkest glen of the wild- wood, In deep forest shadows, ere " Mountain Phelps " saw us : A pledge, boys, to Sky-light, high-priest of Tahawas. Three cheers and a tiger ! Hurrah for the moun tains ! For Golden and Feldspar the Hudson s clear foun tains ! Love s lodestone magnetic for ever shall draw us To bow in thy worship, wide-ruling Tahawas ! THE CLUB OF TAHAWAS. 139 There is drouth in our canteens, ye knights of blue flannel ; Dip full to the brim from the pebble- white channel ; Then up with the cup, and " May catamounts claw ITS The day we forget thee, dear Club of Tahawas ! " 140 XXXII. AN ISLAND FANCY. WHICH is the fairest of Shakespeare s girls The brightest, the dearest of all his train, That shook to the breeze their dancing curls In the sweetness and spring -tide of beauty s reign? Shall I answer you? Portia, in Behnont s bower] Or fair Imogen in her Warwick tower 1 Dear Jessica, Rosalind, Isabel 1 Nay, answer yourself ; I cannot tell. AN ISLAND FANCY. 141 But which would you name for your wedded choice 1 ? Pray, which would you marry ] tell me that : Cordelia true, with her gentle voice 1 Sweet Anne Page, in her Stratford hat ? Fond Juliet, gazing at trembling stars From balcony, casement, and lattice bars ? Would you rather be her Eomeo, Or somebody s else 1 I hardly know. For I like the moonlight on Belmont s bowers, And the Annies that wander by Avon-stream, And the maiden of Warwick s cloud-capped towers, And the Capulet gardens where lovers dream. But which would I marry 1 Which would you ? First tell me the rainbow s loveliest hue. Ah ! life would be of heaven a lease With Viola, Celia, or Beatrice. But answer me truly ! Well, dearer than all, Than Perdita, Hero, or Hermione, 142 AX ISLAND FANCY. Is lovely Miranda in Prospero s hall, In bright sunny island far out in the sea: Miranda the peerless, the sweetest, the best, In magical island far out in the west, Where waves break in beauty on sun-tinted strand If I am mistaken, then ask Ferdinand. Which is the fairest of all who came At the word of the conjurer, Walter Scott 1 Princess and lady of titled name, Lassie and maiden of lowly lot 1 Edith Plantagenet, royal by birth 1 Catherine Glover, the fair maid of Perth 1 Brave Jeanie Deans, with her eloquent prayer ? Eveline Berenger, Constance or Clare 1 Which would I marry 1 Edith of Lorn 1 Rose of Bradwardine, gentle and mild ? AN ISLAND FANCY. 143 Brave Alice Bridgenorth, Puritan born ? Or bright Alice Lee, the Cavalier s child 1 Eebecca, Eowena, or Julia the fair ] Edith Bellenden, with King Charles s chair 1 ? Saxon or Xorruan or Jewess 1 Ah me ! Thrice happy to win any one of the three. But is there no choice 1 Well, dearer to me Than Flora Maclvor of lineage high, Than Bertha, who sailed over many a sea To find her bold Hereward neath sunnier sky ; Than Eobert s Brenhilda of Xormandy s soil, Or the radiant daughters of bluff Magnus Troil Fair Brenda and Minna who dwelt by the sea, There is one of the " Galaxy " dearer to me. Ay, dearer than all who have passed in review, Than heart-broken Amy or sweet Eveline, Than hoyden Die Vernon, with eyes grey or blue, Is true Ellen Douglas of bonnie Katrine ; 144 AN ISLAND FANCY. And sunlight and moonlight in transport shall smile For years, ay, for ever, on fair Ellen s Isle. Ah, happy that island to bear her sweet name ! If I am mistaken, then ask Malcolm Graeme. 145 XXXIII. - JULIET TO EOMEO. OXE more fond kiss, my Romeo, and away ! The eastern hills are touched with rosy light. Ah love, with thee dun night is brightest day, And brightest day, when thou art gone, is night. How blest the hours swift-borne on starry wheels ! How heavy waiting on the laggard sun ! A weary void till day her eyelids seals, And Heaven s high warders guard love s fortress won. 146 JULIET TO ROMEO. Dear Eomeo, go ! Yet I would have thee stay. pilfering morn, that robs the jewelled skies ! Purloining gems within thy mantle grey, Take all, but leave the one dear star I prize. Alas ! that love from love should ever part ; Yon sunrise brings wan sunset to my heart. 147 XXXIV. FERDINAND TO MIRANDA. MIRANDA mine, thy beauty is more rare Than May -day flowers that deck the meadows green ; Thy lips are sweeter than the lily fair Plucked fresh at dawn from out the glittering- sheen ; The mantling colour of thy cheek s bright hue Makes pale and shames the blood of damask- rose ; Thine eye preserves the violet s pensive blue, Which, born of light, with heaven s own colour glows 148 FERDINAND TO MIRANDA. Thy neck, full sweet, seems like a flowery lane, Or garden pathway, to thy gentle breast, "Where love, that knows not passion s earthly stain, Has dwelt alone and wished no other guest. Here Eden s flowers retain the morning dew, And sweeter seem united all in you. 149 XXXV. ANTONY TO CLEOPATEA. MY Cleopatra, queen, alas the day Thy lustrous eyes proclaimed such bitter doom ! That shame and Antony should live for aye, An epitaph on Time s enduring tomb ! Soft-coiling serpent ! Thy enticing wiles Hold heroes captive in strong toils of grace ; For power is lost in passion, as fond smiles Light up the matchless beauty of thy face. 150 ANTONY TO CLEOPATRA. Cold duty summons ; but, enchantress fair, My courage melts beneath thy glowing eyes ; And in thine arms I neither reck nor care If Roman honour lives or basely dies. Let Fame s rich pearl dissolve in nectar bright ! Farewell to valour day is lost in night. 151 XXXVI. PAEIS TO HELEN. IMPERIAL beauty, born for Ilium s blight ; Sweet, winsome Helen, paragon of earth ; Would that our flocks were still on Ida s height, And princely halls unemptied of their mirth ! Alas ! proud Troy is tottering to her fall ; Our promised joys are steeped in bitter pain ; Kinsmen and Greek in deep derision call, And every eye speaks loathing and disdain. L 152 PARIS TO HELEN. Dear bribe of Venus ! why were we beguiled By Cyprian words to walk in devious ways, And leave our names as synonyms reviled For evermore through unforgiving days 1 fruitless passion, won at honour s cost ! Faith, courage, glory all for ever lost. 153 XXXVII. TO A LADIES AET CLUB. Accepting Invitation to Lecture on " Womanhood in Shakespeare." SOME pleasant day In blooming May, Though rather late, "Will suit for date. The classic song, That " art is long," Applies to this Protracted bliss. 154 TO A LADIES ART CLUB. But Time, alas ! Just turns his glass, And months go by, As swallows fly. The sands run swift. And gently sift Our locks with grey Ere close of day. Tis surely right, And fitting quite, That Art should wait At Nature s gate. When summer showers Bring out the flowers, She then will greet Her sister sweet. TO A LADIES ART CLUB. 155 But " Womanhood," As woman should, In dear Shakespeare Blooms all the year. Each flower that grows His garden knows, Immortal there In summer air. In every zone Their names are known ; Their love and worth Enrich the earth. The Arden grove Breathes Eos lind s love ; The pansy lives Ophelia gives. 156 TO A LADIES ART CLUB. Miranda s isle Will ever smile, And roses bloom On Juliet s tomb. The woman-queen, Fair Imogen, Preserves his dream By Avon s stream. The sweetest flower In Belmont s bower Still speaks of thee, Dear Jessica, And Portia fair, Whose caskets rare Still tell the truth To heedless youth. TO A LADIES ART CLUB. 157 Cordelia, too, So fond and true, Thy gentle word, Through centuries heard, Still stirs each heart To do its part, And bravely lead In word and deed. But song of ours Don t match the flowers. Ah, that the words Were humming-birds ! The lines are short To write this sort, So I will say " Good-bye " tiU May. 158 TO A LADIES ART CLUB. But, when you read This Shakespeare screed, Include, I pray, Ann Hathaway. 159 XXXVIII. A STAE-EYED DAISY. SAN MARCO, ST AUGUSTINE. (Tricentennial Anniversary, 1886.) ENSIGNS of empires flaunt thy flanking wall, Grim ancient warders guard thy storied gate, Loud Babeled centuries at thy bastions wait On Spanish, French, and English seneschal. Eich yellow folds of Castile s haughty state, Fair Fleur de Lys from proud Parisian hall, St George s Cross triumphant o er them all, 160 A STAR- EYED DAISY. Eecall long years of fierce and bloody hate. But now the star-eyed daisy lifts its form From crevice, chink, and crumbling parapet, Without one stain of battle s crimson storm On snowy leaf with golden petal set : Bright banneret which Xature kindly rears, To deck with light the mould of bitter years. 161 XXXIX. A E A L L Y. (For the Scottish Games at Lyndonville, Caledonia County, Vermont, July 4, 1884.) THE Highlanders come in their gay plaided tartan, The music of Scotia floats free on the air ; Come over, brave lads, from Barnet and Barton, From M Indoe s Falls and St Johnsbury fair. Come over and witness the games of a nation Whose prowess is noted in story and song ; "We ll furnish you all a fine " muscle " collation Come over, and bring your fair cousins along. 162 A RALLY. Our fathers who came here were fresh from the heather, Our county still bears the old name of the Gael ; So up wi the bonnet and bonnie blue feather, Sit down by our table and eat of our kail. Welcome, ay welcome, dear clansmen and brithers ! Hark to the bagpipe, and answer the ca ; Come wi your wives, your sisters, and mithers, We ll meet you and greet you, and welcome you a ! Come from the valleys, the hills, and the mountains ; Gather as gathered your fathers of old From clear northern lakes and bright crystal foun tains, The half of whose beauty has never been told. Rally, like true, loyal Scottish descendants, Over the Border, and answer the ca ! And twine round this day of Supreme Independence The bluebell, the heather, the thistle and a ! 163 XL. THE PIO:N T EEKS. (Read at the One Hundredth Anniversary of the Scotch Settlers at De FuniaJc Springs, Florida, 1886.) FROM lands of sunrise far away, From Ural cliffs, from Caspian shore, From Scythian deserts waste and grey, From rose-decked Persia s floral floor, One race has kept the western trail The bonnie, braw, warm-hearted Gael : The sturdy Gael who came from far, Led onward by the morning-star. 164 THE PIONEERS. By many a stream their footsteps strayed, From Indus to the Elbe and Rhine, Before their ruddy children played By bonnie Doon or crystal Tyne. The music of Arabian rills Finds echo in old Scotia s hills ; The oriental thread remains In warp and woof of Gaelic strains. Onward and onward year by year, By Thracian fields, by Bosporus Straits, Through stormy seas their barks they steer Beyond Gibraltar s frowning gates : Impelled to seek the farthest shore Before their wanderings are o er ; Still onward, till before them lie The Orkneys and the Isles of Skye. They came the pioneers of truth To bleak lona s pebbled strand, THE PIONEERS. 165 Bright guardians of fair Albion s youth, The founders of a noble band ; From out whose loins sprang martyrs brave, Who gave their all their faith to save The men who faced a living lie, And for God s glory dared to die. They came the pioneers of song, Of courtly grace and minstrel art, With lyric fire that slumbers long, Then bursts like Etna s liquid heart, And overflows the human bounds Of thought with sweet seraphic sounds : Like notes that stray from realms above Electric sparks of heavenly love. They came fair freedom s pioneers, Xor cared for king nor tyrant s frown ; Xo nobler record through the years Since Gideon s sword was handed down. 166 THE PIONEERS. They saw the individual man In Celtic sept, in Highland clan, And from their hill-tops floated free The thistle-down of liberty. The " bairn," beside whom Hagar wept, Ordained a hardy race to rear, Uncradled, but by angels kept A motherhood for ever near ; The archer lad of deserts wild Anticipates the Gaelic child, And leads our souls on fancy s wing From Paran s fount to Fillan s spring. Gaelic fathers, yours and mine, AVho came from lands beyond the sea, Eejoicing still in Auld Lang Syne, We bow to thee with reverend knee ! Proud of thy faith and lofty fame, Proud of each bright and honoured name, THE PIONEERS. 167 Our hearts respond with rapturous thrill " Hail to the chief ! " Clan Alpine still 1 And here s a hand by Funiak Spring, To Macs and Campbells all in line, And all that Gaelic love can bring Unto this bright and crystal shrine ! While Katrine s lapsing Avaters smile, And kiss the sands of Ellen s Isle, So long will loyal hearts beat true Beside De Funiak s waters blue. 168 XLI. THE HAEP OF TOM MOORE. AT THE SCOTCH-IRISH CONGRESS, MAY 1889, COLUMBIA, TENNESSEE. THE top of the morning to Ireland And the Scotch-Irish Congress to-day ! All hearts respond at the banquet When the Harp of Tom Moore leads the way. The bells of the Shandon are ringing Their music from over the sea, But sweeter the Harp of her poet In the mountains of old Tennessee. THE HARP OF TOM MOORE. 169 The sons of the Shamrock and Thistle Still cherish the visions of yore, And the Harp of old Tara awakens Again to the voice of Tom Moore ; Each string, with memories sacred, Is tuned to Liberty s key ; And the songs that float down the ages Are always the songs of the free. It sings of the "Exile of Erin," But her exiles are exiles no more, For the Isle of old Erin has drifted Close under Columbia s shore. " Where liberty is, is my country " Has guided her over the way, And Columbia holds in her borders The heart of old Ireland to-day. Manhattan and Plymouth and Jamestown Can boast of their heritage true, 170 THE HARP OF TOM MOORE. But Mecklenburg s fame is immortal "When we number the stars in the blue ; The Scotch-Irish-Puritan-Fathers First drafted the words of the free, And the speech of Virginia s Henry Is the crown of Our Liberty s plea. The sons and the grandsons of heroes Who fought for freedom and right With joy hail the dawn of the morning, " Mavourneen ! " Awake to the light ! The maidens of Lome and Killarney Are swelling the chorus to-day, For the castles of Oban and Blarney Are only just over the way. Then welcome, a thrice hearty welcome To legendry, lyric and lore, With a pledge and " Guid Hielan welcome " To the voice and the Harp of Tom Moore ; THE HARP OF TOM MOORE. A toast to the Shamrock and Thistle, And sunshine both sides of the sea, As Erin clasps hands o er the ocean With Columbia in fair Tennessee. 172 XLIL A HOLLAND BEICK. FROM THE OLD VAN RENSSELAER HOUSE, GREENBUSH, NEW YORK. JOLLY brick, with kindly wrinkled face, With ruddy cheek and hospitable look, By Knickerbocker you shall have a place, And on my mantle stand, my quaintest book. Epitome of hearty, happy days, When even bricks were honest, good, and true ; A gentle humour o er your visage plays With heart and hand I gladly welcome you. A HOLLAND BRICK. 173 For, truth to tell, I like old Holland well, As did my sires en route to Plymouth Rock ; Ay, Dutch Reformed pealed out the wedding-bell My better half s from good old Holland stock. Her thanks with mine for cherished antique gift ; It comes fire-proof, to Holland lovers pat ; I m glad it s heavier than my wife can lift, And just too big to fit my Sunday hat. 174 XLIII. A Is T N I E. 1849. WHEN all the hills were rich with gold, And beauty bloomed on every tree, One darling more was in the fold, One treasure more upon the knee. 1866, When all the fields were white with snow, And seventeen Autumns passed away, By Merry Christmas fireside glow We met that winter holiday. ANNIE. 175 1870. When all the fields were fresh and fair, And bird and brook were all in tune, Two hearts and hands were given there, That quiet, lovely day in June. 1889. And so the seasons are but three, For Spring and Summer now are one ; And Winter only comes to me To mark the time of love begun. 176 XLIV. SMILE AND WAIT. WOULD to-day were now to-morrow, and to-morrow yesterday Three days folded up together, in Time s basket laid away ; For there s one that waits my coming under fair and sunny skies, And I m yearning for the sunlight of her sweet and loving eyes. Change the hour-glass into minutes ! Let the white sands swiftly glide, Till our hands are clasped together, and our hearts beat side by side. SMILE AND WAIT. 177 Let bright birds convey the message to the blossoms of the South, And love s light -winged gentle breezes waft my kisses to her mouth. Haste sweet dreams on rays of moonlight, whisper gently smile and wait, Till the hours and days are counted when I ll meet her at the gate. 178 XLY. OF AGE. 18661887. THE stars are fading in the grey, Faint rosy light proclaims the morn. Awake, my love, for love to-day Recalls the hour our love was born. It scarcely seems a summer-day Since winsome lips were fondly kissed, So swift the seasons glide away When loving hearts keep faithful tryst. OF AGE. 179 And yet the figures on life s page, From Sixty-six to Eighty-seven, Declare our love is now of age Just twenty-one since Home and Heaven Were twinned within those loving eyes Which led my soul to Paradise. 180 XL VI. MY CASTLE. THE hill-tops are fair in the bright, cloudless day, The valleys are sweet with the blossoms of May; I gaze from the cliff where my Castle shall stand The grandest and proudest of all in the land ; With turrets and columns of Parian white, Blocks seamless and clear as if quarried from light ; With portal wide open to high arching hall, And threshold emblazoning welcome to all. MY CASTLE. 181 No outlook so varied, no structure so fair ; Neither Norman nor Moorish with mine can compare : The dreams of all artists from over the sea Unite in one vision of beauty for me. The richest wood-carvings from many a land, The rarest of pictures are mine to command : Ah, dreamer, whose vessels have voyaged in vain, Come, visit my Castle from Castles in Spain ! ii. The glow on the hill-tops is fading away, The valleys, all garnered, are russet and grey; I gaze from the cliff where I stood the fair morn When the rose-tinted dream of my Castle was born. 182 MY CASTLE. The turrets, the columns, the tapestries rare Have faded and melted like mist in the air Impalpable, vain, mortised beams of moonshine ! The sun never shone on that Castle of mine. Ah, well, but the ground-plot and title are clear For others their Castles and mansions to rear ; While I keep in framework of old tarnished gilt The Castle of mine that never was built. The fireside is bright in a dear cottage home, One chimney sufficing for turret and dome ; And, dreamer, your voyage has not been in vain If you find at some hearthstone your Castle in Spain. 183 XLVII. DESTINY. I WANDERED down a brooklet bubbling bright, Which slowly widened gliding toward the sea ; A leaf aglow with Autumn s golden light From restful bough was nodding dreamily : Midway it hung, but, as my lifted hand Would pluck its beauty from the listless bough, A laughing breeze, so light it scarcely fanned The unkempt silver of the poplar s brow, 184 DESTIXY. Bore it across. I followed in my quest, And down the bank upon the farther side I journeyed on into the purpling west, The brooklet now a river deep and wide ; J^o more to be recrossed, it might not be ;- A drifting leaf and yet my soul was free. 185 XLVIII. QUESTIONS. WHEXCE, and whither, and what are we, Tossed on the billows of ceaseless strife 1 Where is the shore beyond the sea ? Where is the fountain of human life ? Whence and whither ? Ah ! all in vain ! We wait and listen. No tidings come ; Darkness and shadows still remain, The stars are silent, the earth is dumb. 186 QUESTIONS. We question the years ; they answer naught Save this from the void we also came. The circle widens of human thought, But life s horizon remains the same. "We pick with lenses the flecks of light, We sift from nebulae sun by sun, "We mark and measure the comet s flight, We weigh the planets one by one : From lowest germ to highest form We trace the links of Nature s chain ; But what is life this essence warm 1 ? The same deep mysteries still remain. Like children who rap on an empty vault, And listen to hollow echoes there, Material science is still at fault The tomb of Nature is cold and bare. QUESTIONS. 187 Like travellers lost in forest vast, Returning and crossing their paths again, It reasons in circles, to find at last That it reaches the point where the quest began. Ah, fruitless search ! We learn no more ; The wisest sage no knowledge brings ; Xo step returns from the silent shore ; " Rounded with sleep " the poet sings ; "A narrow cape betwixt two seas," " A swallow darting through the room," A leaf that flutters in the breeze, A moment s light, a rayless tomb ; Phantasmagoria, thing of a day, Born of the night, into darkness hurled, Cunning compound of breath and clay, Ashes and dust of a worn-out world : * 188 QUESTIONS. Flitting shadows on cosmic screens ! Silhouettes thrown from a juggler s hand ! Phantom players in spectral scenes ! Is this the enigma to understand ? Or is there a breeze from the open sky That wakens the harp of a thousand strings 1 A firm-built hope that a human sigh Is borne through ether on angels wings 1 An inspiration that One is just, "Who keeps the sparrow in His care ? That this spark from Him, in a shell of dust, His love and goodness shall also share 1 A final rest for faltering feet, "Weary and pierced with cruel wounds, Climbing to reach the golden street Up ladders made of brittle rounds 1 QUESTIONS. 189 Questions answered by Faith alone, Not to be settled by words of strife ; To be learned at last, to be fully known, When the key of death fits the wards of life. 190 XLIX. THE INFINITE. WITH measuring lines we reach from star to star, On pinion bold we seek creation s rim, The vast horizon mocks us from afar With sphere on sphere beyond our vision dim ; On weary wing our thought, from voyage vain, Like that lone dove, with neither leaf nor bud, Returns to find the windowed ark again A floating refuge on a shoreless flood. THE INFINITE. 191 mystery vast which veils the sovereign brow ! vergeless silence, depths by light untrod ! Space without centre ! Time, eternal now ! star-gemmed vesture ! Seamless robe of God ! What word doth this vast Universe inthral ! Bounded by nothing, yet embracing all. 192 L. GOD S HEARTHSTONE. THE evening fires are burning dim Along Chautauqua s western rim ; The embers of a dying day Are sinking in the ashes grey. We lay aside our toil and care, We bow to Thee in thankful prayer, That round Thy hearthstone, wide and free, The world is all one family. GOD S HEARTHSTONE. 193 Tis not in temples built by hands, Or written scrolls from far-off lands, But at the altars reared by Thee, We learn the truest liturgy. Thy voice was heard on Sinai s height, On Horeb s mountain veiled in night ; Thy voice is heard in every rill, Thy glory glows on every hill. Xight speaks to night, day speaks to day ; Their world-wide language lives for aye ; Their lines have gone through all the earth The heavens declare Thy matchless worth. So may Thy Word of Love more dear To every age and race appear, Until Time s narrow, restless sea Is hushed in Thy eternity. 194 GOD S HEARTHSTONE. And oh, may faith still deeper grow, Till peace from heart to heart shall flow ! Till all the world, each even-tide, Shall gather round Thy hearthstone wide ! 195 LI. A WANDERER. I HAVE wandered the wide world o er, I have sailed over many a sea, But the land that I love more and more Is Columbia, the land of the free. From the east to the western shore, From the north to the southern sea Columbia for me ! I have lingered in ivy-grown bowers, In minsters and palaces vast, 196 A WANDERER. Amid castles and crumbling towers Whose shadows backward are cast ; But the longed-for Atlantis is ours, And freedom interprets at last The dream of the past. The rivers of story and song, The Danube, the Elbe, and the Rhine, Entrance for a day, but I long For the dear old Hudson of mine ; The Hudson, where memories throng, Where love s fondest tendrils entwine, Of beauty the shrine. Like music entranced in a dream Glide the Afton, the Boon, and the Ayr ; But the Jansen the clear Jansen stream, In one heart shall their melody share ; And my soul still reflects its bright gleam, For I played in my childhood there, When visions were fair. A WANDERER. 197 I have heard the sweet chiming of bells, From the Seine to the Avon and Dee, But sweeter the anthem that swells From the pine-clad Sierras to me ; And the Sabbath-like stillness that dwells In these mountains far up from the sea, Lake Tahoe with thee. I have gathered sweet flowers in the west, Where the streams are embroidered with gold ; But the blossoms that I love the best Are those which I gathered of old. The same that my mother s lips pressed, The petals their sweetness still hold, Her heart they enfold. 198 LIT. TO MY WIFE. I HAVE in life but wishes three : The first is realised in thee ; The second you can surely guess Sweet presents sent from Heaven to bless ; The third some sweet and quiet nook, To read the leaves of jSTature s book. I could not make my wishes four Love, children, home Earth has no more. 199 LIII. LNCH-CAILLIACH, LOCH LOMOND. (The island burial-place of Clan- Alpine, resembling, from Eossdhu, a reclining body with folded arms. ) Xo more Clan- Alpine s pibroch wakes Loch Lomond s hills and waters blue ; " Hail to the Chief " no longer breaks The quiet sleep of Roderick Dhu : Enwrapped in peace the islands gleam Like emerald gems in sapphire set, And, far away, as in a dream, Float purple fields where heroes met. o 200 INCH-CAILLIACH, LOCH LOMOND. Inch-Cailliach island of the blest ! Columba s daughter, passing fair, With folded arms upon her breast, Rests soft in sunset radiance there ; A vision sweet of fond Elaine, And floating barge of Camelot, Upon her brow no trace of pain, And on her heart " Forget me not." Forget thee, saintly guardian 1 ^Tay, From distant lands across the sea To this lone isle I fondly stray With song and garland fresh for thee ; I trace the old inscriptions dear, Fast fading now from mortal ken, And through the silvered lichens peer To read MacAlpine s name again. My mother s name, a sacred link Which binds me to the storied past ; INCH-CAILLIACH, LOCH LOMOND. 201 A rainbow bridge from brink to brink. Which spans with light the centuries vast. Two hundred years ! Clan-Alpine s pine Has struck its roots in other lands ; My pulses thrill to trace the sign And touch the cross with reverent hands. All ruin here ! the shrine is dust, The chapel wall a shapeless mound ; But nature guards with loving trust, And ivy twines her tendrils round The humble slab, more fitting far Than gilded dome for Scotia s line ; The open sky and northern star Become the chieftains of the pine. The light streams out from fair Eossdhu Across the golden-tinted wave ; That crumbling keep, that ancient yew, Still mark a worthy foeman s grave ; 202 INCII-CAILLIACH, LOCH LOMOND. But warm the hearts that now await Our coming at the open door, With love and friendship at the gate, And beacon-lights along the shore. Dear Scotia ! evermore more dear To loyal sons in every land ; Strong in a race that knew not fear, And for man s freedom dared to stand Ay, dearer for thy songs that float Like thistle-down o er land and sea, And strike the universal note Of love, and faith, and liberty. 203 LIV. ANNIVERSARY OF BURNS AND HOGG, AT CANOXGATE KILWINNIXG, JANUARY 25, 1890. AGAIN Kilwinning s hearth, grows wide, The tesselated floor is bright ; A mother s heart with loving pride Salutes her honoured Sons of Light. They gather from the banks of Ayr, From Ettrick, Yarrow, and the Tay, A golden hour of love to share, To crown with joy the natal day 204 ANNIVERSARY OF BURNS AND HOGG. Of bard and poet lowly born To teach the brotherhood of man, With skylark lilt of early morn, And notes that thrill the patriot s van ; With swelling song and living truth, From hearts of fire and tongues of flame, Fast binding in eternal youth Fair Scotia s Pleiades of Fame. They come a galaxy of cheer In answer to the festal call, Loved Willie Hay to memory clear, And Lockhart of the Minstrel Hall ; Aytoun and Stewart, Boswell, Blair, Kit J^orth the master of the feast, The Shepherd and the Lad from Ayr Whose songs unite the west and east ; ANNIVERSARY OF BURNS AND JfOGG. 205 And girdle all the Avorld to-night With chords that make the nations one, A mystic grip of matchless might, A cable-tow by genius spun. genius ! Oracle of God ! "We bow in wonder at thy shrine, Through whom the daisy-sprinkled sod Is rendered human and divine. Through whom each form of life appears To wear a brighter, holier grace, His pity soothes the mousie s fears, And halos dying Maillie s face. He sees his love in dewy flower, He hears her in the tuneful bird ; He deifies the raptured hour, And seals it with an an^el word. 206 ANNIVERSARY OF BURNS AND HOGG. He saw in man s uplifted face The promise of a grander time ; He sang the freedom of the race, He boldly rang the century s chime. The night was cold, he could not wait, He left his message at the door ; Ere morning came he took the gate, We worship, we can do no more. Ay, Eobbie Burns, not poor but brave, Neglected long but loved at last ; The laurel-wreath Kilwinning gave "Was foretaste of the fame thou hast. 207 LV. TO PKOFESSOB JOHN STUAET BLACKIE. COMMEMORATING HIS EIGHTIETH YEAR. (Read at the Hellenic Society, Edinburgh, 1890.) DAME XATURE, communing with Coila one day, Eemarked, in a social, neighbourly way, That she had been kept rather busy of late Attending to poets and matters of state ; That Eobbie had closed up the century well, And Byron and Scott would hold out for a spell : She was therefore inclined to take a vacation, And, on her return, to startle the nation ; 208 TO PROFESSOR JOHN STUART BLACKIE. Would visit, forsooth, Asia Minor and Greece, And lay out a plan for her great masterpiece. So she wandered unseen for a time among men, Returning about eighteen hundred and ten. Then straightway to Coila her way she betook, And found her ensconced in a bright cosy nook. "With swift-winged words her tale she began I ve found the essentials for making a man ; The proper proportion of genius and art, Love, humour and pathos, mind, body and heart, With habiliments, too, that are fit for a king, Or better, for genuine princes that sing. I met the nine muses, who gave me a piece A delicate web of the old Golden Fleece, Which they bade me to take far over the wave To bright sunny lands where magnolias wave ; TO PROFESSOR JOHN STUART BLACKIE. 209 To a fountain of youth, Ponce de Leon by name, And I wandered for months without finding the same ; The woes of Ulysses were nothing to mine, But I stayed by the Fleece as I promised the nine. Till there in a wilderness, silent and vast, In a clear sparkling pool the token was cast ; And lo, as I gazed, the Fleece took the form Of a mantle well woven for sunshine or storm. Be it Jason or Stuart, " Midlothian " still Is the brand of this Greek-Scotch-American twill ; And, Coila, the laddie will never grow old Whose heart is enwrapped in this wondrous fold. From the east to the west, from the old to the new, From Helicon dry to Columbia s dew I have wandered at will ; this staff in my hand "Was found in the groves of fair Florida s land ; 210 TO PROFESSOR JOHN STUART BLACKIE. Aniid pines that embosom de Funiak Spring, Where poplar and laurel the poets outsing, Where children of Scotia in happiness dwell, By a fountain as sacred as St Ronan s well ; In gardens of lotus, with sunshine so clear That the centuries glide without noting the year So, Coila, adieu ! I go with the morn, Guard plaidie and staff for the genius unborn ; It may be a month, or it may be a day, Look well to the infant that s coming this way ; And, also remember, this mantle of joy Will keep its possessor forever a boy. 211 LVI. TO JUDGE CABMAN, A BRITHER CHIEL BEYOND THE SEA. FOR thirty days I ve been your debtor, Since I received your honour s letter ; Henceforth I promise to do better, Excuse delay ; I ha e been bound as wi a fetter This mony a day. Not in the folds of fond caresses, Fair auburn locks and golden tresses, Or " withs " the consulate confesses Of stately cares ; But, on the knowledge he possesses, Eespondent swears 212 TO JUDGE CABMAN. And prays for grace and absolution, With full and ample restitution, The case admits of quick solution When Cadman learns The facts without circumlocution I ve been wi Burns. I think your honour gets my meaning, The Court has always had a leaning To kindred spirit-souls convening, Their hearts to share : In brief, I ve had a blithe careening Ayont the Ayr, Where stands the cottage of his birth, A sacred shrine for all the earth, The humble room, the narrow hearth, With lesson wide, That love and faith and honest worth Shall aye abide. TO JUDGE CADMAN. 213 I saw auld Alloway s roofless kirk, Where ling ring " ghaists and houlets " lurk, Wi ISTannie glintin through the mirk, Queen of the ball, And Satan sitting like a Turk Arnang them all. I traced the love-lit winding stream, Sweet monogram of passion s dream ; I seemed to hear the moonlight gleam In loving croon, So gently fell its fondling beam On bonnie Doon. Ay, more, I " lectured " down in " Killie," Where Fame still " canters like a filly," And cracked wi lads that were na chilly, Till hours were sma , And time was measured by the gillie, Or no ava. 214 TO JUDGE CADMAX. And then the last, but not the least, I wrote some lines for Robin s feast, Where " raising " isna done by yeast, But in a style Which Brothers brought frae " way down east," Fu mony a mile. Kilwinning Canongate they ca it, Lodge Number Two, lang love befa it, By genius tyled, time canna thraw it, Till Nature sleeps, For Robbie there was wreathed the Laureate With crown that keeps. I therefore trust the Court s decision Waiving the forms of strict precision Will grant reprieve for Love s omission, And draw it mild ; Wi Burns and business in collision We re both beguiled. 215 LVII. THE OLD OEGAN (1754). LODGE CAXONGATE KILWINJfING, EDINBURGH. TUNE "Scotland Yet." GAE sit beside the organ there, And touch the guid auld keys ; "NVe want a dear familiar air, And " Scotland Yet " will please : A noble song our hearts to greet From out the hallowed years, An offering meet with music sweet That fills the eyes with tears ; For love is strong though time is fleet, And love alone endears. p 216 THE OLD ORGAN (1754). Ay, fond and full the swelling notes, The pipes with rapture glow, As vague and shadowy memory floats From out the long ago : The golden reeds can ne er forget The nights sae fair and free, When brothers met and " Scotland Yet " Eang out with hearty glee ; For love alone has no regret, And love is throned in thee. The pictured walls bend low to hear The tender anthem rise ; A gentle moisture like a tear Bedews that Worthy s eyes ; Old " Scotland Yet "the only air To wake the silent fold ; Our chief St Clair and Drummond there Seem nearer than of old ; THE OLD ORGAN (1754). 217 For love is still the only prayer That warms the lips when cold. Ah, brothers, who have gone before Across the silent sea, Remembered still for evermore, We raise our song to thee ; And, in some lull of harmony When pearly gates swing wide, " My Ain Countrie," still dear to thee, And " Scotland Yet " beside, Will lead in sacred psalmody Where love shall aye abide. Then once again a ringing cheer And pledge from every heart To Canongate Kilwinning dear, Ere friends and brothers part ; A health to all on shore or sea Who love the sacred fount, 218 THE OLD ORGAN (1754}. Where er they be, from Ettrick free To Shasta s silver mount Old " Scotland Yet," with honours three, Up all ! coiint, wardens, count ! Hark to the echo of the strain ; The cable-tow is strong ; Alaska answers the refrain Which India s skies prolong : To brothers near and brothers far The hailing-sign is cast, And sceptre-bar or jewel-spar Cannot that Avord outlast ; From Southern Cross to Northern star The bond of love is fast. So sit beside the organ there And touch the guid auld keys ; A golden hour we ll blithely share And " Scotland Yet " will please. THE OLD ORGAN (1754). 219 Sing of her lakes and quiet dells Close-fondled by the sea ; Each hill that swells with glory tells The story of the free ; While broom and whin and heather-bells Respond with three times three. 220 LVIII. LIFE S PAUSES. A CURIOUS stranger environed in doubt, An interrogation-point toddling about, A bundle of questions, nothing more, Cooing and creeping upon the floor. A comma of sunshine, a playtime to see The flower, the bird, the brook, and the tree ; A vision of childhood, count one for the pause, - A ripple of laughter, a golden clause. LIFE S PAUSES. 221 A stile in the pathway, a summer Jay, A blissful moment too sweet to stay ; Swift semicolon of youth divine, Count two in tracing the raptured line. An exclamation " You ! You ! " The same old story, forever new, An arrow s flight to a soul new-found, A volume of love in a vowel-sound. A song, a prayer, a marriage vow, A compound-word in the chapter now, Only a hyphen, but angels wait And hush their anthem in heaven s gate. A gleam of light in the gliding years, A colon of joy in the font appears, A point of hope in the fleeting text : Our line continued in the next. 222 LIFE S PAUSES. The sentence finished, a gentle mound By waving grass encircled round ; A period here, but not complete, Merely a rest for weary feet. A rest for the night till the morning wakes, Till the purpling east in glory breaks ; Faith writes a dash for the great To-Be Beyond Time s bracket Eternity. 223 FA C SIMILE OF "THE BLUE-EYED LASSIE." BY ROBERT BURNS. SINCE the publication of first edition In Clover and Heather, October 1889, it has been my good fortune to secure the original manuscript of Burns s " Blue- eyed Lassie," alluded to in my preface as a poetic link between Scott, Burns, and Washington Irving. I take pleasure in furnishing the following facsimile for the second edition. WALLACE BRUCE. EDINBURGH, November 1890. On the back of manuscript appears in writing the following endorsement : Burns s Ms. Song by Burns, Original Manuscript. The Blue-eyed lassie, with address. From Miss Attken, 1819. EXTRACTS FROM PRESS NOTICES OF FIRST EDITION OF IX CLOVER AND HEATHER. "Wallace Bruce celebrates his country s heroes in his own name, his country s soil in the name of his book, and his coun try s virtues in every page." Academy. " In Clover and Heather is a volume of lyrics that shows considerable freshness and power. The title symbolises a pretty sentiment, and not a few of the author s songs suggest very agreeably the clover of the Hudson and the Scottish heather by their spontaneous and natural grace, and a certain open-air flavour that is at no time common to writers of verse." Satur day Review. "There is genuine pleasure in turning over the leaves of Mr Wallace Brace s Clover and Heather. He has prepared a fragrant little posy of song which should be as welcome in the land of his forebears as in the laud of his birth He touches smoothly and sweetly chords that have an echo on both sides of the Atlantic." The Scotsman. " The contents of his book amply show that Mr Bruce is a genuine poet. His verse thrills with fine, free-flowing, vigorous spirit, which imparts to it that feeling of reality and freshness that gives to the poetry of Burns its permanent attraction." Glasymo Herald. " In Clover and Heather contains many fine poems and lyrics, full of freshness and brightness, informed by ardent patriotism, gentle sentiment, and domestic love." Graphic. "His verses are musical, his rhythm is correct, and he has always a pleasant rhyme ready at command. There is thought, feeling, and an occasional touch of pathos in his lines, 2 and he seems equally at home on the banks of the Tweed, amid the romantic scenery of the Trosachs, by the broad waters of the Hudson, or in the distant Yosemite valley." Glasgow Citizen. " Keenly alive to the beautiful, whether in art or in nature or home-life, and draws his inspiration equally from one and all. Full of delicate humour and nice discernment." Birming ham Gazette. " A dainty little volume both in form and substance. The author possesses a genuine poetic inspiration and a happy simple way of expressing his ideas." Northern Chronicle. " A very refined volume of poetry, embracing in its sym pathies the Old World and the New, much mature thought and essential beauty, full of tender feeling delicately ex pressed, humour, too, is not absent A truly welcome volume of verse." Bristol Times. " He is an ardent admirer of Burns and of Scott, and pays his tribute of reverent praise to each of them. His power as a writer of vivid descriptive poetry is shown in The Yosemite and The Hudson, two poems not unworthy of the magnificent scenes which form their subjects. The author already enjoys a high reputation in the realms of poetry, and he is likely to increase his transatlantic renown in this country." Dundee Advertiser. "At one time he stirs the soul like the sound of a trumpet by a powerful patriotic appeal, at another he touches the tenderer chords of the heart by an engaging picture of happy homely affection, or the tale of a kindly and generous deed, and anon he trips away on light and airy strain. He has an accent for all moods." Perthshire Journal. Whether Mr Bruce sings to us of our own purple hillsides and rippling burns, or pictures for us the mirror lake and lofty mountains of his own country, we are charmed alike by his glowing patriotism and his faithfulness to nature. With all his heart he strives to cement the brotherhood of the two great English-speaking nations. When he sings of nature his touch is light and effective ; when he speaks of his own country his heart breathes in every line ; when he touches on things unseen and eternal, it is with reverence and simplicity." Liverpool Mercury. TRIBUTES TO MR BRUCE S POEMS, LONGFELLOW, WHITTIER, HOLMES, BEECHER, COLLYER, AND DR M COSH. "I have read your Land of Burns, The Hudson, and The Yosemite with much interest and pleasure I think you have very successfully carried out your idea of the Cathedral." HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. "Hearty thanks for thy excellent poem, printed in style worthy of its fine and fitting verses Everything about Burns interests me. I have never heard him too highly estimated, and, as a true poet, I do not see how he can be." JOHN G. WHITTIER. " I have read your verses with great pleasure. They are very easy, fluent, lively, and well compacted I thank you most cordially for your pretty book, and wish you as many returns of the New Year as may be welcome visitors." OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. "I congratulate you on issuing such a charming volume. It will be thankfully received by every lover of Burns. I thank you as one The Hudson River is worthy of being celebrated in verse, and you have touched the strings with melodious results The Yosemite by its merit and beauty made its way to all eyes, ears, and hearts ; there will be many, I take it, who will carry your lines with them as they seek out these places and adopt them as their own." HENRY WARD BEECHER. " Your lovely little book came duly from the publishers, and was read, as all things are that come to me from your hand and heart, with great pleasure The Old Homestead is lovely as a dream, and good as gold ; better, it will stay among the household treasures safe and sure, and be treasured by the children s children, who will say the poet was my grandpa s friend." ROBERT COLLYER. " I take it very kind that you have sent me a copy of The Land of Burns. The poem and illustrations are to me full of the fondest memories. I was born and brought up on the banks and braes o bonnie Doon, and I am familiar with all the scenes yon describe and delineate so well. You can conceive how much I value the little volume." JAMES M CosH. "OLD HOMESTEAD" POEMS. Mr Wallace Bruce, whose appointment to the consulate at Edinburgh, Scotland, has been received with such marked satisfaction by the best elements of all parties, is a literary man of whom it may be said that personal association with him is as great a privilege as his poems are a delight No American poet, not even Whittier, has set to sweeter music the tender memories of home. His Old Homestead poems have that delicacy of fancy, sincerity of expression and depth of feeling which give fitting utterance to the sanctity with which we hal low the past The same truthfulness of motive is character istic of all his verses, even when his abounding humour ripples into song. This nobility of purpose and excellence of execu tion are the qualities which make those familiar with his work enthusiastic admirers His shorter lyrics, published in the magazines, have always been widely praised and copied ; and the fervent patriotism that pulsates through his poems has caused his selection as a poet on many distinguished occasions notably at the Newburgh Centennial in 1883, and at the Reunion of the Army of the Potomac at Saratoga Springs in 1887. Happiest of all these efforts, perhaps, was his masterly production in 1880 of Scott s Greeting to Burns in Central Park, New York, at the dedication of the statue of Robert Burns The sincerity and music of Mr Bruce s utterance cannot fail at any time to excite appreciation. His popularity will increase with the years, for his poems have the grace of the scholar, the heart of the toiler, and the soul of the dreamer." Magazine of Poetry : a Quarterly Review, October 1889.