Cj'tA/5r~) P ; ^\(^ BOOKS BY THE REV. ALEXANDER B. GROSART, KINROSS. I. ORIGINAL. I. Small Sins. Third Edition, with Additions, royal i6mo, cloth antique, price is. 6d. Pp. iig. ' There is in it both genius and judgment, good writing, good learning, and good gospel.' — Dr Joh.\ Brown, author of ' Rab and his Frietids,' &^c. i^c, in the Scotsman, June 4, 1863. ' Mr Grosart's noble sermon. '—Rev. C. H. Spurgeon, appended to an extract from it in his ' I llttstrated Almanack ' for 1864. ' The theology of the book is puritanic ; the thinking, masculine and weighty ; the illus- trations picturesque, and drawn from a wide range of observation and reading ; and the appeals to the conscience are often both unexpected and very pungent. The authors bril- liancy (and there is not a little of it; is like a rifle-flash, which tells that a bullet is on its way.' — Tlie Freetnan. ' With all the writer's brilliant opulence of imagery, there is no lack of plain, direct speak- mg to the conscience.' — British and Foreign Evangelical Reviczu [Quarterly), July 1863. 2. Jesus Mighty to Save; or, Christ for all the World, and all the Worid for Christ. Third Edition, with Additions, royal i6mo, cloth antique, price 2S. yin preparation. 'Not only is the author an excellent scholar in the languages belonging to his profession, and posse.ssed of more than ordinary insight into modern literature, but he appears to have acquired .a knowledge of the old English and Scottish divinity, especially of the puritan order, which is as rare as it is rich and profitable. The p.age everywhere sparkles with diamonds gathered from these mines. And when you sit down to read his books through, you find that this knowledge is only the vesture of a thinking power, worthy of such associa- tion, and still more of a spiritual purpose, which endears the writer insensibly but steadily as you go along.' — The Spectator. 3. The Prince of Light and the Pri7ice of Darkness in Conflict ; or. The Temptation of Je.sus. Newly Translated, Explained, Illustrated, and Applied. Crown 8vo, pp. xxxiv. and 360. Price 5s. \_Nevj Edition iji preparation. ' It is exhaustive of the subject, and yet, like every book from an original mind, it is suggestive after all. . , . The whole is treated with full learning, as well as with clear native discernment.'— Thomas Aird, Esq., in the Dumfries Herald, March 4, 1864. ' It will win for itself a place, and that a permanent one.' — British and Foreign Evangelical Revie^u, April 1864. 4. The Lambs All Safe ; or. The Salvation of Children. Third Edition, with considerable Additions. i8mo, cloth antique, price is. W quaint, pithy, and godly little book, on a scriptural basis.' — Evangelical Christendom. 5. DroToned: What if it had been 7?ie ? A Sermon in Memorial of the Death by drowning in Lochleven of Mr John Douglas, precentor. Third Edition (3000), crown 8vo, price 4d. 6. The Blind Beggar by the Wayside ; or, Eaith, Assurance, and Hope. 32mo, Third edition, price ijd. For enclosure in letters. 7. Materials for a Minister's Conversations with Lnt ending Com- municants for the First Time. {Speedily. II. EDITED. 8. The Works, with Memoir, Introduction, and Notes, of Richard SiBBES, D.D., Master of Katherine Hall, Cambridge, and Preacher of Gray's Inn, London. 7 vols. 8vo, cloth antique iNichol's 'Puritan Divines';. ' We regard Mr Grosart as a prince of editors.' — The Eclectic Review October). a a BOOKS BY THE REV. A. B. GROSART. 9. Lo}-d Bacon not the Author of ' The Christian Paradoxes : Being a Reprint of 'Memorials of Godliness,' by Herbert Palmer, B.D. ; wit! Introduction, Memoir, Notes, and Appendices. Prhitcd for Private Circulation {Old English Type). 100 Copies, Large Paper, thick extra, to range with Spedding's Works of Bacon : -wit) Photographic Portrait of Palmer. Half morocco, cloth. Price los. 6d. ( Very feii remain.] 150 Copies, Small Paper, post 8vo, cloth. Price 3s. 6d. (All disposed of.) In an introduction I give account of the remarkable little discovery that it has fallen to m< to make: to wit, the non-Baconian, and actual, author.ship of ' The Paradoxes.' I describe the different editions. Thereafter will be found illustrations of the evil influence agaifis Bacon of his supposed authorship of these 'Paradoxes' as misunderstood, more especially in France and Germany ; and also of how the real authorship sweeps away the aboundinj guess-work as to their meaning and design. In a Memoir of Herbert Palmer, I have brought together, from all accessible sources, in print and manuscript, such facts anc memorials as remain. 10. Selections from the Unpublished Writings of Jotiathai Edwards, of America ; with Introduction and Fac-similes. 1. A Treatise on Grace. 3. Directions for Judging of Persons' 2. Selections of Annotations. Exi^eriences. 4. Sermons. Printed for private circulation : One Vol. royal 8vo, cloth, to range with Williams' anc American editions of the 'Works.' Price 6s. 6d. plain, 7s. 6d. toned paper. ■*»* The impression is strictly limited to 300 copies; 2.^0 plain, and 50 toned. The tonei all taken up, and few remain of tlte plain unsubscribed for. 11. The Works of Michael Bruce, with Memoir and Notes Crown 8vo. Price 3s. 6d. 12. Me7noir of Henry Airay, D.D. {prefixed to reprint of hi^ Commentary on Philippians). 410. 13. Memoir of Thomas Caj't7vright, B.D. [prefixed to reprint Oj his Commentary on Colossians). 410. 14. Memoir of John King., T>.T)., Bishop of London [prefixed tc his Commentary on Jonah). 410. 15. Memoir of John Bainolds, D.D. [prefixed to his Commen taries on Obadiah and Haggai). 4to. *** Nos. 12 to 15 in NichoVs Series of ''Puritan Coimneniaries.' Memoirs o_ Torshell, Stock, Bernard, atid Fuller to follow. 16. Unknown Book by Richard Baxter., Author of ' The Sainf. Everlasting Rest.' 'The Grand Question Resolved, — What must we do to bi Saved? Instructions for a Holy Life: By the late Reverend Divine, M Richard B.\xter. Recommended to the Bookseller a few days before hi Death, to be immediately printed for the good of souls. London : Printed for Tho Parkhurst at the Bible and Three Crowns in Cheapside. 1692.' \_I>i prepa?-ation This priceless little tractate by the great Nonconformist was unknown to Calamy, an( appears to have been overlooked by all Baxter's biographers. It has all its saintly author' best characteristics — richly scriptural, fervent to passion of entreaty, pungent, pointed and unmistakeable. Our copy was formerly in the famous collection of Dr Bliss, wh( deemed it apparently uniqtte. It is proposed to reprint it in a limited private impression The price will be 3s. 6d. Prefixed will be an Introduction, containing an annotate! Bibliographical and Anecdotical Catalogueyn>w^ actual copies of the numerous books an( tractates of Baxter, much more full than any extant, and purged from errors. *** Persons ^fishing copies of the private ly-pri>ited and unpjiblished books, viz. Kos. g 10, and 16, ivill please address Mr Grosart. 3 ?^ ^ THE WORKS MICHAEL BRUCE. * ©tor^jtsi to ret) ar HclitatiU, ©ujpposi tTiat tija It itoc^t iot fafifll. Il^an jSulD gtor^tiS t^at isutljfast tocr, anB t^a toar gain on guH matter, i^af tioutitn ytcgang tn Jftrinff* • • • ijrfjarfor 3[ toalB fane set m^ toill, (B'tf mp tott mtc^t guffiig tfiartin, Co put in tortt ane sut^fagt ;Stor^, 'SL^at it Icist ap furtf) in memory, ©a t|)at na t^nt of lentj it let, Ji3a ger it IDalp it forgtct.' John Barbour: Tlie Bms: Spalding Club Edition. FACSIMILES OF B 1 Letter Irom Gatmej Bridge. - 2 Si^n: n-*^^ In-t^ /j>r^ O'-C/ <^<^t.^,'%^ iM^ * f//^Z/ qiUcJiu/ ^ TTA^CJl^ ;e's hand writing. ,es m EdinJb-iirgli IPniYersitj Aliiim. 7-K-C-<_ r^cct^ THE WORKS MICHAEL BRUCE EDITED, WLitl ^cmoir anti Bottfi, BV THE REV. ALEXANDER B. GROSART, KINROSS. ' With gentle Bruce, flinging melodious blame On the Future for an uncompleted name.' D.wiD Gr.w, '/« i/i£ Shadcniis.' EDINBURGH: WILLIAM OLIPHANT AND CO. LONDON : HAMILTON, ADAMS, AND CO. 1865. MUKRAV AND GIBB, I'RINTEKS, EDINBURGH. Co tit 99cm orp "CJe ncij. Olltniam S^tic'ktl^ie, 2). 25., B A L G E D I E, Jfirist tlinntcator OF THE CLAIM FOR ^ic^acl OBruce, TO THE AUTHORSHIP OF THE * S)Sc to t^e (B'uc^&oo,* AND OTHER POEMS; I INSCRIBE THIS EDITION OF THE POET HE REVERED. ALEXANDER B. GROSART. Preface, CONTENTS. PAGE ix Memoir, PART I. PART II. Introduction to the Poems: Logan Controversy, 'Ode to the Cuckoo,' and Paraphrases, ...... Appendix TO Memoir: Letters, ...... "5 POEMS. Ode to the Cuckoo, HvMNS AND Paraphrases — I. The Complaint of Nature, II. The Lord God Omnipotent, III. The Call of Wisdom, . IV. Heavenly Wisdom, . V. Atoning Sacrifice, VI. Simeon Waiting, VII. Sorrow not as without Hope VIII. The Enthroned High Priest, IX. Dying in the Lord, X. Trust in Providence, . XI. Advent of the Messiah, XII. The Approaching Saviour, Revised Hymn — The Millennium, Elegy in Spring, 123 127 130 131 133 134 135 136 137 X33 139 140 144 145 149 vm CONTENTS. Miscellaneous Pieces — Weaving Spiritualized, Inscription on a Bible, The Last Day, Lochleven, .... Sir James the Ross : An Historical Ballad, Ode : To a Fountain, Danish Ode, .... Danish Ode, .... To Paoli, .... The Eagle, Crow, and Shepherd : A Fable, The INIusiad : A Minor Epic Poem, Anacreontic : To a Wasp, Alexis : A Pastoral, . Damon, Menalcas, and Meliboeus : An Eclogue, Philocles : An Elegy on the Death of Mr William Daphnis : A Monody, Verses on the Death of the Rev. Wm. M'Ewen, To John Millar, M.D., An Epigram, .... Pastoral Song, Lochleven No More, Fragments of Satires, The Poet's Petition for 'a Table,' . Eclogue : In the Manner of Ossian, The Vanity of our Desire of Immortality here Notes, ...,-• Drj'burgh, 155 is6 157 176 197 205 207 208 2og 214 215 219 220 223 227 230 234 23s 236 235 237 238 Z40 241 244 249 PREFACE. T is well-nigh an hundred years since Michael Bruce closed, in little beyond his twenty- first year, as fine an example of ' The Gentle Life' as can be found anywhere. About three years afterwards a little volume of his 'Poems' was published under the anonymous editorship of his college associate, John Logan, subsequently known as the Rev. John Logan of Leith. I tell the story of this publication in its own place, — a story than which, as there is in relation to Bruce no more pathetic, so in relation to Logan there is no more dishonourable, chapter in the history of Literature. Apart from his impudent theft of the ' Ode to the Cuckoo ' and the Hymns and Paraphrases, we have to lament the loss of Bruce's Correspondence, which, in order to carry out his after- claims, this 'friend" took all care to secure, even to single letters, as shown in our Memoir. The scanty original materials for a ' Life ' were thus in the outset made scantier ; for John Logan deliberately destroyed fevery scrap of the Bruce Letters and other mss. ' wyled ' into his possession, over and above the quarto volume -c^. ^/. Y X PREFACE. of his transcribed ' Poems,' on which the young Poet worked so yearningly when he knew that . . . * All that tender bloom about his eyes Was Death's own violets, which his utmost rite It is to scatter, when the red rose dies.' — [Hood.] Since the original edition of the Poems in 1770, there have been at least other twelve editions. The worthiest was edited by the late Dr Mackelvie in 1 837, — fully one-half of the volume consisting of a ' Life of the Author from Original Sources.' The ' Life ' won for its right-hearted and manly author the praise and gratitude of all the leading literary authorities. Long ' out of print,' a new edition of the ' Poems ' has been a desideratum, as witnessed by the enhanced price fetched by chance-occurring copies of Dr Mackelvie's edition, and by the immediate sale, so as to put it also ' out of print,' of a humble little edition published in Belfast. Had Dr Mackelvie's health not failed him, he would in all probability have re-issued his edition with revision. Now that he is gone, I have undertaken the ' labour of love ;' and while awarding the original Biographers (Drs Anderson and Mackelvie) all honour and all acknow- ledgment when quoted or in any way used, it will be found that our Memoir and handling of the Logan con- troversy concerning the ' Ode ' and Paraphrases, are based upon independent researches that have resulted in the recovery of new data, and in placing what was already known in new lights. In some passages of the Memoir I cherish an hope of having spoken w^ords of cheer to young men now battling with Bruce's diffi- culties, or sorer. PREFACE. XI In Part I. I bring together the facts of the ' Life ' of Bruce ; and in Part IL, in an Introduction to the ' Poems,' I establish his claims to the ' Ode to the Cuckoo ' and the Hymns and Paraphrases. ' Time brings the truth to light.' ' Interdum vitia prosunt hominibus Sed tempore ipso tamen apparet Veritas.' — [PiIjEDRUS.] The Notes explain local allusions and other points. I have to acknowledge the kind interest shown in our undertaking by many correspondents, who will find some of their information and suggestions used. To David Laing, Esq., LL.D., of the Signet Library, Edin- burgh ; Henry Flockhart, Esq. of Annafrech ; and Robert Arnot, Esq. of Portmoak, I return special thanks. ALEXANDER B. GROSART. First Manse, Kinross, December ■2.(>th, 1864. %* 250 copies on large paper, toned (crown 4to, cloth antique), with original photographs of the scenes of the Memoir and Poems ^ are being prepared. The price ids. 6d. ' I owe thee the far-beac ning memories Of the young dead, who, having crossed the tide Of Life where it was narrow, deep, and clear, Now cast their brightness from the further side, On the dark-flowing hours I breast in fear.' Lord Houghton. ^art ffix^U MEMOIR. ' He shall be strong to sanctify the poet's high vocation. And bow the meekest Christian down in meeker adoration ; Nor ever shall he be, in praise, by wise or good forsaken, ' Named softly as the household name of one whom God hath taken.' Mrs E. B. Browning. MEMOIR. 2^5^ CCB is a name of renown in Scotland ; and just as, over the Atlantic, all the Rogerses are ingenious in tracing their lineage to John Rogers, the proto-martyr of The Refor- mation, so every one who bears it, ' gentle and simple,' is eager to claim descent from the victor of Bannockburn. There appear to have been many branches — full of seed — from an ancient parent-trunk of Bruces. The name is met with to this day in well-nigh every county of ' the land of the mountain and the flood.' In the native shire of Michael Bruce, and its borders, from Leslie to Stir- ling, and from Perth to ' fair Edina,' it is to be found, as well in the charter-chest of the towered and moated Manor, as in ' the huts where poor men lie.' ' The Bruce ' of whom John Barbour sang in no unworthy Iliad, sleeps in the cathedral church of Dunfermline ; while down toward the Forth, among ' immemorial trees,' is the family seat of the Earls of Elgin, whose proudest memory is, that they are of ' the blue blood ' of the regal Bruges. Farther West, the Bruces of Kennet, in their contendings A a THE WORKS OF for baronage, show many a dim old roll. Within Kin- ross-shire itself, the Bruces of Arnot — on whose property stands the shattered ' Peel ' referred to by our Poet — have lately asserted their claim to represent, through Sir John Bruce Hope, Bart., a long line of the name, by disinterring from the mossed vaults in the ' Juld Kirk- yard' of the Parish, ranges of coffins in musty velvet and faded gold, and rearing over them, in the very bathos of ostentation, a ' Tomb,' that in its hideous largeness and newness — not a sprig of ivy even on its nakedness — spoils the sequestered beauty of this fairest and most tranquil of ' God's Acres.' I do not know that it were possible to connect the name of the 'sweet singer,' whose short Life-Story it is our purpose to tell in this Memoir, with any of these inheritors of royal and lordly descent. Sooth to say, I can't greatly lament this ' Miss- ing Link ; ' for Michael Bruce wears his unfading ' crown' of violets — their bits of blue, intense as heaven's own azure, and their fragrance never to be exhaled — from what he was and has left behind him, not from what his 'forbears ' gave him. Yet it is not unmeet to enroll his lowly name among The Bruges : ^ Of him I think this buk to ma. Now God gif gras that I may sa Tret it and bring it till ending That I say nocht bot suthfast thing.' ' Ennesswood, or as Sir Robert Sibbald spells it, ' IGnask- wood,'^ or as * the common people ' pronounce it now, ' John Barbour: The Brus, as on title-page, p. 4. - The History, Ancient and Modern, of the Sheriffdoms of Fife and Kinross, with a description of both, and of the Firths of Forth and Tay, etc. etc. By Sir Robert Sibbald, M.D. A new edition. Cupar-Fife, 1803. 8vo, p. 284. MICHAEL BRUCE. 3 ' Kanaskit,' is a fair-placed village in the Parish of Port- moak, a parish locally known — and therein is gathered up probably old ecclesiastical tradition — as ' The Bishop- shire.' Couched at the feet of ' The Lomonds ' — hills green to the top — it overlooks pleasantly ' Lochleven,' and shares a Landscape that is touched with a quiet beauty, in its well-cultured fields, brightened with the flash of streams ; its shy, bosky nooks, vocal with the ' singing of birds ;' its ' Walks ' in hill and dale, abiding in undesecrated primitiveness ; and its bits of antique ruralness that Gainsborough had worshipped : shares also memories of The Picts and The Culdees and St Moak, of Mary Stuart and Sir Walter Scott's ' Abbot,' of The Covenanters and of good Ebenezer Erskine/ It neighbours Scotland-well, another village, which still possesses its full-flowing ' Spring,' with its floor of silver-white sand, the ' Fans Scotia ' of ancient Charters, if not of Tacitus himself ; noticeable likewise as having been among the last places in Scotland that had the peculiar form of street with a raised footpath in the centre, which illustrates the proverb of ' keeping the croon (" crown ") o' the causey.' - Kinnesswood is lovingly sketched in ' Lochleven : ' ' Behold the village rise In rural pride, 'mong intermingled trees ! Above whose aged tops the joyful swains, At eventide descending from the hill, ' Cf. for 'Culdees' and 'St Moak,' Sibbald, as above sub noininibus, and Dr Jamieson: for Mary Stuart, any of the innumerable 'Lives:' for the 'Cove- nanters,' any of the early Histories and Biographies : and for Ebenezer Erskine, his 'Life,' by Eraser. The finest scenes of Scott's 'Abbot' are laid in and around ' Lochleven.' * On Scotland-well, cf Sibbald, as before, pp. 282 seq. Dr Mickelvie told me of the 'causey,' as above. 4 THE WORKS OF With eye enamour 'd, mark the many wreaths Of pillar 'd smoke, high curling to the clouds." Within this village, in a house that survives grey and ruinous, in one of the lanes that strike ofFfrom the main street and ascend the hill, Michael Bruce was born on March 27th, 1746,^ within less than a couple of weeks of the Battle of CuUoden, The frontage of the house presents two storeys, or, Scotice, ' flats :' the upper was tenanted by the Bruces, and, entered from behind through a small garden, it shows as only one 'storey' there, owing to the declivity of the site. It is a weather- worn, * eerie ' looking place enough at this day -, but from the accounts of the older inhabitants of the village, which again corroborate those of Lord Craig and of Dr Huie on their visits in 1779^ and 1831,'^ it must have looked sunnier and 'bonnier' even comparatively recently. The roof was thatched, and the vernal days found the ' fow ' or ' fowat ' spreading out its tropical-like leaves along the ' rigging ' and patches of moss, showing now the sheen of emerald and now in their dewiness the richer glow of the mottling on a bee's wing ; while the * window' — seen in our photograph ^ — had a honeysuckle twined around it, that no doubt gladdened the * sick heart' of the dying lad in after years with the rich odour of its pensile blossoms and hum of invited bees. The swal- ' In the 'Life' of Bruce in Chambers' 'Eminent Scotsmen,' this description is quoted with enthusiastic praise. ^ Bruce's own letters inform us of his birth-date. See onward: also 'Life,' by Dr Anderson, in his 'Works of the British Poets.' Vol. xi. p. 273. 3 Lord Craig in 'Mirror,' No. 36. 1779. '' Dr Huie in 'The Olive Branch,' a golden little book published in 1831. 5 The photographs will be given in the large paper copies of our book, being prepared. MICHAEL BRUCE. 5 lows kneaded their nests in the latticed window-corner, and the sill was visited o' winter mornings by the robin with his ruff of red. His father was Alexander Bruce ; his mother Anne Bruce, which was her maiden name as well, though not previously related, ' I would I were a weaver,' says Falstaff: *I could sing psalms."^ The mighty Knight's wish was doubly gained by Master Michael. His father was a * weaver ; ' his cradle was rocked beside the clicking loom ; and, though in far other sense than Sir John intended, ' psalms ' were sung in devout praise in his house. For over and above his possession of his full share of shrewd, •' common sense ' — most un~common of all sense — Alexander Bruce was a man of much individuality and sterling worth and weight of Christian character — of the old Scottish type : less loquacious than its modern counterfeit, but all the truer from its silent ' witnessing ' rather than fussy con- sciousness. He was a * Seceder ' and ' elder ' in his Congregation ; and as an evidence of the breadth of his opinions at a narrow period, nor less of his independence of judgment, he adhered to Thomas Mair of Orwell, when that misunderstood and holy man was ejected from the Anti-Burgher Synod for holding that ' there is a sense in which Christ died for all men.' ^ Both Mr and Mrs Bruce were connected with his Congregation, and reckoned it no burden to go Sabbath after Sabbath to Milnathort,^ — a daily journey to and fro of fully ten ' I. Henry IV. ii. 4. ^ Dr Mackelvie, as before, p. 5. 3 David Pearson {of whom more in the sequel) drew up a memoir of Alexander Bruce, which appeared in the Edinburgh ' Missionary Chronicle ' for 1797. It is well worthy perusal ^ 6 THE IfVRKS OF miles. AxNE Bruce, again, was a genuine ' mother in Israel,' vigilant, loving, fmgal, *^ent;* and having been spared long after her husband, and nearly all her chil- dren, she mellowed beautifully as she wore her crown of silver hairs, and exemplified the * hoary head found in the way of righteousness' (Prov. xvi. 31). Thus the lines of Cowper, that can no more grow trite from often quotation than can a Rose or \Tolet, express his lineage : * My boast is not that I deduce my both From loins aithroo'd, and rulers of the earth ; But higher fer my proud pretens-ions rise. The son of parents pass'd into the skies.' ' The Poet of * The Cuckoo ' was thus bom into just such a ' fireside ' as a few years later his brother-bards Robert Tannahill and Robert Nicoll, not to name others. Of course your ' gentleman ' and * fine lady,' who have nothing but compasaon for the ' poor If'eavfr,* and to whom the very thought of a * Loom ' calls up visions of wretchedness and M-ant, deem it a sad start in life. But I don't at all agree with them : I very thoroughly disagree. A ' godly' parentage weighs down mere outward splendour-, and ^ dailj bread' sweetened by honest earning is not to be scorned because of the absence of dainties and luxuries to gratify every whim of appetite. The men of Scotland who have made thdr deepest mark on their generation, have worked their way upward from just such levels ; and in my own personal knowledge of how much of love and comfort, of plea- sant laughter, of kindly helping one another, of real ' •Passing' whDe he lived: 'passed' after be bad 'gooebeftHt' MIC H.I EL BRUCE. 7 happiness, all transfigured with ' that liq;ht th.it never was on sea or land,' but comes from Above, are to be found under lowly roofs, — and how far a small sum, well-guided, and unbroken by 'strong drink' or other (k'shly indulgences, goes, — and how the 'bit' always ' comes' for each new ' mouth,' with the great Father's blessing over all, that seems still miraculously to ' in- crease ' the ' loaves and few small fishes ' and to leave ' baskets over,' — and what stores of knowledge are con- trived to be laid up, and how the fiimily ' pew ' is un- failingly paid for, and never the * penny ' wanting for the ' plate' o' Sundays, or white money for any special appeal, — I must regard the pity as misdirected, and the sentimcntalism as unmanly whimpering. The old Cove- nant-promise is, ' His bread shall be given him : his water shall be sure,' a-i our daily petition left us by The Master runs, * Give us this day our d/ii/y bread.' Let a man have these — ' Bread and Water,' — necessaries, not dainties ; and if he have a man's brain and a man's heart, and the Christian's faith and hope, he will prove stronger than his circumstances, and will conquer, un- less perchance there be taint i' the blood, as in early- ailing Mich AMI. Bruce. I make these remarks because too much has been made of the 'indigence,' etc. etc., of Bruce. Thousands are born into, and are bravely and truthfully and purely living through, the same pres- sure and ' fight •,' and they are the bone and muscle of the body politic, ay, and are ever and anon showing that God gives intellect and genius impartially. Me- thinks, instead of patronizing pity, the best tiling possible tor not a few of your gloved and jewelled ' Upper 8 THE WORKS OF Classes' (so-called), were enforced winning of ' bread,' even to the tanning of their brow by sweat, and rough- ening and enlarging of their hands by labour. We have no pedigree of the ' ICinnesswood ' Bruces, whence to trace the Christian name of ' Michael.' I have con-suited old records, and registers not a few, including the Baprism-Book of my own congregation, which goes back to the very commencement of ' The Secession,' and embraces the entire county, and far beyond -, but while there are many Bruces, there is no ' Michael ' in one of them. Neither do the present representatives of the Poet (descendants of a sister) know of any one from whom the name might be selected. It has struck me, that in all likelihood good Alexander Bruce chose the Christian name of the child from ' Michael Bruce,' the famous Covenanter-preacher, whose burning ' Sermons,' once scattered in quaint chap-books, were much read by the godly peasantry of Scotland and of the North of Ireland.^ * Michael ' was a delicate infant. He was the ' fifth ' ^ The following are the titles of a few of these : — 1. The Rattling of the Dry Bones ; or, a Sermon preached in the night-time at Chapel-yard, in the parish of Carluke, Clydsdale, May 1672. Ezek. xxxviii. 7, 8. 4to. 2. Soul-Confirmation : a Sermon preached in the parish of Cambusnethan, in Clyds-dai). [Acts xiv. 22.] 410, 1709. 3. Six dreadful alarms in order to the right improving of the Gospel ; so [mis- print for 'or'] the substance of a sermon. Matt. vii. 24. 4to. 4. The duty of Christians to live together in religious communion, recommended in a sermon preached at Belfast, January 5, 1724-5, before the sub-Synod, on Rom. XV. 7. 8vo. Belfast, 1725. 5. A sermon preached by Master Michael Bruce, in the Tolbooth of Edin- burgh, the immediate Sabbath after he received the sentence of exile for Virginia. Ps. c.xl. 12, 13. 4to. I have over and over come upon the 'Sermons' of this ' Michael Bruce ' in our County, — a circumstance that speaks of their circulation in the district, and so is confirmatory of our supposition concerning the Poet's Christian name. MICHAEL BRUCE. 9 of a family of eight. While ' Saunders ' — that is, his * father ' — plied his shuttle, and ' Annie,' his ' mother,' or as Doric lips call her, ' mither,' having put all to rights exactly as inimitably photographed by Robert Burns in ' The Cottar's Saturday Night,' sat down at the • Spinning-Wheel,' and worked away at materials for winter underclothing 'Jor a' the bairns,' ever and anon lilting some old snatch of song, or perchance a ' Psalm ' of David, — Mary Miller, an adopted orphan, took charge of the sickly little thing. All as still to be seen repeated in an hundred lowly but happy Scottish ' hames' Children were earlier sent to school long ago than now : partly because of their pair of hands being all too soon needed to add to the family purse as ' herds,' if boys ; as ' servant-maids,' if girls. ^ Alexander Bruce had taken special pains with * Michael ' himself : so much so, that when he ' toddled,' before he had reached his fourth year, to the village school, which was then taught by a Mr Dun, of whom there are still faint memories in the ' Bishopshire,' he could take with him the Bible as his first lesson-book. ' The Master,' says Dr Mackelvie, reporting the account of those who had been his playmates, ' was surprised at what he con- sidered the stupidity of his parents, in furnishing their child with the sacred volume instead of the Shorter Catechism.' ' His surprise, however, was transferred from the parents to the child, when, upon asking him to ' My worthy friend, Mr David Marshall, of the Lochlcven Fishings, Kinross, has put into my hands an old receipt, in the handwriting of Dr James Stedraan of Whinfield to his grandfather, also Mr David Marshall, by which it appears that down to 1807 even 'girls' acted as 'herds:' said receipt including I2S. 'to his daughter Mary' as ' her fee as Herd.' lo THE WORKS OF show what he could do, he commenced reading with fluency at the place pointed out to him.'^ Poor, dear little fellow, better far had he run about the hills awhile, ruddying his small cheeks on their breezy slopes ! * At the end of the first week,' the same Biographer continues, * he was considered by his instructor to have been long enough among the easy lessons of The Gos- pels ; and was therefore enjoined to bring with him, upon his return, the book read by the more advanced class.' ^ Another anecdote has been preserved, witnessing to his precocious attainments. The father and Michael, then a mere child, having visited a book-stall at one of the Market-Fairs in the village, the poems of Sir David ^..Lindsay of the Mount were inquired for. The vendor of books did not chance to have the volume ; but learn- ing that it was asked for the child before him, he was so surprised that he should wish it, that he turned up a little volume, entitled * A Key to the Gates of Heaven ' (so tradition tells, but probably it was good old Thomas Brooks' * Privy Key of Heaven •,' or perchance Scudder's 'Key of Heaven, or the Lord's Prayer Opened'), and promised to let him have it on condition that he would read a portion of it upon the spot ; which being done to his satisfaction immediately, he awarded him the prize.^ His progress through the other branches of school- learning was equally rapid. A scrap of one of his few letters that have survived the spoliation of Logan — of which in the sequel — informs us that he could ' write ' when in his sixth year. ' I could write,' he says, ' or at least scratch, my name, with the year 1 75 2 below it. In ' As before, p. 12. * /Mil. "^ Ibid. pp. 6, 7. MICHAEL BRUCE. ii that year I learnt the elements of pencraft -, and now, let me see, 1752 from 1766 leaves fourteen, — a goodly term for one to be a scholar.'^ Nay, gentle Michael, not * fourteen years ' a scholar, at least not ' fourteen years ' at School : for thy ' often infirmities ' compelled frequent absences. Very touching are the reminiscences of the apt boy. He was slender ; breast narrow, high- shouldered, neck long ; his skin v/hite, even pallid and ' glistering ; ' his cheeks flushing into red rather than ruddy ; his hair golden, and inclined to curl. These traits are gathered from various agreeing sources.^ Besides his detention by illness, there was the further abstraction of the summer months of six years, during which, according to the * use and wont ' of persons in his circumstances, he acted as a 'Herd' among the ' Lomond ' hills, that rise behind his native village. Perhaps these summers in the open air, following ' the sheep ' through strath and across ' brae,' in devious wanderings, gave him what of the brief lease of years he got. I meet with no lads so brawnily healthy, so full of gleesomeness, so ready for sport or ' trick,' as ' Herds.' I have met with some, too, who revealed, through their stammering, bashful speech, a brain at work under the shock of sunburnt hair ; eyes out of which a soul looked not altogether unvisited of speculation. If one might recall delicate * Michael,' as he went about his daily task, there should doubtless be many a ' daunder ' along the ' Glen Vale ' to be followed ; many a musing ' Letter to Mr David Pearson ; Mackelvie, as before, pp. 12, 13. ^ Mackelvie, as before, p. 13 : confirmed to myself by a grandniece from her mother. No portrait has been preserved. Pity that it should be so, while we have the wrenched and bloated face of Logan, that none cares for. la THE WORKS OF ^ . • . pause among the huge stones of ' Richard Cameron's pulpit;' interrogations of sky, and earth, and his own deepening nature, and of ' The Book.' These are not surmises merely. The Proprietor of Upper ICinneston, a small estate upon the south-west declivity of the ' Lomond Hills,' used to tell in his old age how ' Michael ' was wont to recount many a wondrous story, and put many a strange question, when he carried his little ' meal ' to him, — a service he was always forward to undertake for the sake of having a * crack ' with the ' auld-farrant ' Herd -, ^ while his ' Lochleven ' is evi- dently a reproduction of his youthful wanderings and ' visions ' transfigured with the hues of poetry — the in- effable light that streams out upon everything which genius looks on. Like the shepherd-boy David ' of old,' even thus early there was a shadow of awe upon his young spirit ; and he delighted to turn the conversation to sacred things.^ If at any time it happened that his father was absent at the usual hour for ' family worship,' — and in the godly weaver's home ' prayer was the key o' the morning and the lock o' the nicht,' as the old Scottish proverb runs, — Michael, by the common consent of the household, took his place. ' It has been stated to the present writer,' Dr Mackelvie ob- serves, ' by a person who was once present upon an occasion of this kind, and who was well qualified to judge of what was becoming in such circumstances, that he was impressed for the moment with a sense of incongruity in a child acting as the domestic " mini- ster " in a family in which there were, at the time, ' Dr Mackelvie, as before, p. 15. ^ Ibid. MICHAEL BRUCE. 13 both an adult man and a matron ; but that, before the boy had concluded the service, he was so struck with the propriety of his language, the variety of scriptural allusions, the suitableness of the petitions, and the so- lemnity of the manner, that he could hardly permit him- self to believe that the boy whom he saw before him really uttered the prayer which he heard.' ^ Spite of the hindrances from sickness and ' herding,' Michael had no difficulty in making up lost ground at school ; and indeed it was commonly seen that his class- fellows soon lagged behind him. All who were his associates at school agreed in ascribing an unaccountable * weight ' and influence to all he said and did. It was a common saying, that Michael's word was of as great authority as the Master's. The quarrelsome were alDashed by his look ; the injured fled to him for help ; he was the decider of all disputes. It is un- speakably touching to find the loving way in which Arnot, and Pearson, and Birrel, and others of his school-mates, in long after years, spoke of him. At home the same indefinable deference was paid to him. He was a pet, but not spoiled. ' He was,' finely re- marks his Biographer, already quoted, ' the Joseph of the family, without provoking the envy of his brethren.'^ Altogether, not without reason has he been regarded as one who might have sat for Beattie's * Minstrel : ' . . . ' Poor Edwin was no vulgar boy, Deep thought oft seemed to fix his infant eye ; Dainties he heeded not, nor gaud, nor toy, Save one short pipe of rudest minstrelsy. ' Dr Mackelvie, as before, p. 16. " Ilu'd. 14 THE WORKS OF Silent when glad, affectionate though shy, And now his look was most demurely sad, And now he laughed aloud, yet none knew why ; And neighbours stared, and sighed, and blessed the lad ; Some deemed him wondrous wise, and some believed him mad.' ' All this will have prepared the reader for a decision which was arrived at, not without prayer, when Michael was in his eleventh year, viz., that he should be edu- cated for the OjfHce of the holy ' ministry,' — a worthy ambition of many of the very humblest ranks in Scot- land, and which has furnished some of the sturdiest heads and most devout hearts, as well as the most efficient ' workers,' in all the Churches. Let those who wish to see how, when there is a ' will,' there opens up a ' way,' read the ' Life ' of Dr Robertson, the late inestimable Leader of the recent ' Endowment Scheme ' of the ' Kirk of Scotland,' as admirably and faith- fully written by the Rev. A. H. Charteris, now of Glasgow;^ and in reading it, they will read of just such an upward struggle as Michael Bruce had to maintain, though without the thews and vis of the peasant-son of Aberdeenshire. Again, I must protest against misdirected sentiment and pity in this matter. A lad who has manhood and Chrisdanhood is all the better of such ' hardness ' and contending. It is mere puling and unmanly weakness, to make a to-do about the self- denial, the vexations, the ' worry,' the inequalides, that have to be endured by those who go out into the world's arena from the humble hut, and wholly thrown upon their own resources. The discipline welds the ' Book I. Stanza xvi. - One vol. Svo. Blackwood. MICHJEL BRUCE. 15 character, if there be substance in it — strengthens, not weakens ; and the issue, under the divine blessing, makes success all the finer and nobler. As a rule, your ' young men ' who have had parents to do all for them, turn out inferior stuff, and in the work-a-day world go down where the poverty -inured advances buoyant to the conflict. Michael Bruce had neither less nor more to contend with than hundreds of others at the present day. Not his ' indigence,' not his ' hardships,' barbed the arrow that laid him low ; but his infirm, ' con- sumptive' constitution — a heritage that had worked to the same mournful end had he been dandled on the knee of fortune. To hear some men speak, one would suppose that there are no away-goings on ' the far journey' by Michael Bruces, whose cradles were rocked in palaces, and who through their whole days were fenced and guarded, that ' the winds of heaven might not visit their cheeks too roughly.' As with his life-start from a ' weaver's ' house, — not lowlier than that in Henley Street, Stratford-on-Avon, — so with his life-progress, by far too much has been made of Bruce's difficulties. Having decided to ' prepare ' for college, Michael, in association with the children of ' portioners ' in the parish, and a son of the village teacher, Mr Dun, who was an excellent classic, 'gave himself' to the acquisi- tion of Latin. The tradition is, that he was always ' dux ' in the class, and that Latin came to him as had his mother-tongue. One of his * fellows ' was a son of Mr David Arnot, proprietor of Portmoak. They were as twin-brothers ; but their friendship was prematurely 1 6 THE WORKS OF broken up by the death of William while at school. He is the ' Daphnis ' of an elegy written four years sub- sequently. Our photograph shows his ' grave ' in the lonely churchyard, on the margin of * Lochleven.' The removal of this youth, who seems to have been a sin- gularly interesting ' boy,' moved Bruce deeply. The father was a man of fine character, of rare sagacity, and, in Ijis circumstances, of rarer culture. To him it was Michael Bruce was indebted for his first introduc- tion to Shakespeare, Pope, Young, and other of the great names of our country. The death of William, so far from sundering Mr Arnot and the now ' student,' appears to have drawn them-closer and kindlier together. To the end they corresponded ; and many an unosten- tatious ' present ' witnessed to the thoughtfulness and tenderness of ' the laird's ' regard. All honour to the memory of the Arnots of Portmoak ! When Michael had reached his fifteenth year, the ' village class ' was broken up ; one of its members, as we have seen, being dead ; one, young Dun, had left for College ; and others were variously entered on their various avocations. The question was, to which Uni- versity he should go. It is said that his first intention was to offer himself as a candidate for a ' bursary ' or scholarship in St Andrews ; but a companion of his own having been excluded from the competition, Bruce, suspecting that his connection with ' The Secession ' Church had operated against him, resolved, rather than hazard rejection, not to apply. His thoughts were next directed to Edinburgh. In the interval he employed himself at leisure hours in transcribing large portions MICHAEL BRUCE. 17 of Mlton and of Thomson -, and he was * imping his wing for larger flight' than he had yet indulged. While he was still somewhat uncertain as to the future after leaving the village school, a letter came to his father, informing him that a relative had died, and be- queathed him 200 merks Scots (;^li, 2s. 2d.).^ It was received as a direct ' gift ' from God. It was at once ' separated ' to Michael's use ; and he proceeded to enrol himself as a student in the University of Edin- burgh. His unfailing friend, Mr Arnot of Portmoak, declared his readiness to render what assistance lay in his power ; and the monthly ' chest,' as it passed from Kinnesswood to Edinburgh, showed that he did not fail of his promise ; for there went in it now a little * kit ' of sweet butter, and now a dozen new-laid eggs, even well-nigh all the presents to David at Mahanalm — ' honey, and butter, and sheep, and cheese of kine' (2 Sam. xvii. 29). Dr Mackelvie states his inability, from the loss of his college tickets, to give the classes attended by Bruce ; but an examination of the Matriculation Album of the University has furnished us with his first entry, viz., under date 17th December 1762, in the ' Greek' class, under Professor Robert Hunter. His signature is ex- ceedingly neat and careful, and contrasts with others on the same page. Along with him there appear the names of ' John Logan ' and ' William Dryburgh.' Under date 1 763 his signature again appears, — John Stevenson, Professor 'Rationalis Philosophic,' i.e. of Logic, — and once more Logan and Dryburgh are found on ' Dr Mackelvie, as before, p. 29. B 1 8 THE WORKS OF the same page. His signature this time is larger than in 1762, but is equally neat, as our frontispiece fac-similes beneath the Letter show. The enrolment in what is now called the ' Matricula- tion Album' of the University must then have been voluntary, not, as now, compulsory ; as, while it is known that Bruce attended four years or sessions, the above two are the only occurrences of his signature. Moreover, a final search and scrutiny revealed that neither Mr George Henderson of Turf hills, afterwards the Rev. George Henderson, of what is now the United Pres- byterian congregation ' Greyfriars,' Glasgow,^ nor Mr George Lawson, afterwards Professor Lawson, of Sel- kirk, — a prodigy of learning, and a venerable man,^ — enrolled themselves. The name of Mr David Greig, afterwards the Rev. David Greig of Lochgelly, appears in 1764 in the ' Greek' class. The only other notice- able ' students ' of the period that I have come upon are 'Dugald Stewart' (1765 and 1767), afterwards the eminent Professor of ' Moral Philosophy ' in the Uni- versity ; and 'William Smellie' (1762), one of the stur- diest of Scotdsh thinkers.3 There are very few memorials of Bruce's progress and position in the University ; but the above fellow- ^ We have been favoured vv'ith the use of a copy of a privately printed vohime in memoriani of this good man. It is called, ' Discourses of the Rev. George Henderson, Minister of the Associate Congregation, Shuttle Street, Glasgow ; with a Prefatory Notice by his son, George Henderson. For private distribu- tion. Glasgow, 1859.' He died on 5th December 1784. ^ The ' Life ' of Lawson has been at last written by Dr John Macfarlane of London, i vol. crown 8vo. 1862. 3 I have to acknowledge the kindness of Mr Smith, Secretary of the University, in allowing me to go through the ' Registers' of the period, and for the permission to take our fac-similes. MICHAEL BRUCE. 19 Students, Henderson and Greig and Lawson, were wont in after years to speak of him with enthusiasm. Dr Anderson thus summarizes his course from contemporaries : — ' He applied himself to the several branches of literature and philosophy with remarkable assiduity and success. Of the Latin and Greek lan- guages he acquired a masterly knowledge ; and he made eminent progress in Metaphysics, Mathemarics, and Moral and Natural Philosophy. But the Belles Lettres was his favourite pursuit, and poetry his darling study.' "^ It is remembered that Bruce became a member of a literary society that met once a-week during the sitdng of the College. The laws of the association required each member to read an essay in turn to the meedng. But IV'Iichael preferred verse to prose ; and his poem of ' The Last Day,' — only in occasional lines successful, — is understood to have been one of his exercises. His Fable of * The Eagle, Crow, and Shepherd,' as ex- plained in the place, was another. "We catch a vanishing glimpse of his bookish tastes in another fragment of a letter to his friend Mr Arnot : — [Edinburgh, November 27, 1764.] 'I daily meet with proofs that money is a necessary evil. When in an auction, I often say to myself. How happy should I be if I had money to purchase such a book ! How well should my library be furnished ! " Nisi obstat res angusta domi." ' *' My lot forbids, nor circumscribes alone My growing virtues, but my crimes confines.'" He proceeds : ' Whether any virtues would have ac- ' As before, p. 274. ao THE WORKS OF companled me in a more elevated station, is uncertain ; but that a number of vices, of which my sphere is incapable, would have been its attendants, is unquestion- able. The Supreme Wisdom has seen this meet, and I the Supreme Wisdom cannot err." Let there be no ' whimpering ' over ' indigence,' etc. etc. etc., again, from this text. All who have them- selves been students know how ' tempting ' a book auc- tion is ; and how spendthriftly often one is led to buy and buy that which a little self-denial had enabled us to V resist with gain, not loss. That Michael Bruce had this ' weakness,' is evidenced by the singularly beautiful copies of the classics — nearly all Elzevirs — and other books which he secured ; and specially from his committing to the furtive care of Mr Arnot of Portmoak his copies of Shakespeare and of Pope, which he wished hidden from his worthy father, not because they were Shakespeare and Pope, but because he had indulged his Bibliomania in purchasing ' splendid copies ' of what were already available to him, either in his own home-shelves or at his friend's of Portmoak.^ All his books that remain are beautiful copies, of the finest editions. I have his fair vellum- bound ' Greek Testament,' in selected sections ; and the Rev. Thomas Swan of Muirton has his Lactantlus, with this inscription on the title-page : ' Michael Brusius ' As before, pp. 274, 275. ^ Dr Mackelvie, as before, pp. 5, 6, has conclusively removed the charge of ' illiberality' from Alexander Bruce, as made in the 'Penny Cyclopaedia,' in the Memoir of Bruce. ' The fear of a discover)' ' intimated, is explained above ; and the young 'Poet'sJ>enckani will not be hardly regarded by those who know the luxury of the indulgence. MICHAEL BRUCE. ai jure emptionis tenet hunc librum. Edin'' Martli lo"l° 17*^3"°' ;' ^Iso ^is Josephus, by Stoer. Like many other students in his circumstances, then, as now, at the close of each Session of College, he had to look out for employment, toward replenishing his purse, and preparing for the demands of another Winter. In the earlier Summers he resided chiefly with Mr Arnot, and Mr White of Pittendreich ; and was con- stantly engaged, spite of depression of spirits and head- ache, in wooing the Muses. Later, under date 'March 27,' dies ?mtalis I765, we find him on the outlook for a School. Writing from Edinburgh to Mr Arnot, he says : ' I am in great con- cern just now for a school. When I was over last, there was a proposal made by some people of these parts to keep one at Gairney Bridge. How it may turn out I cannot tell.'^ The ' School ' herein referred to had been commenced by Mr John Brown, afterwards Professor John Brown, of Haddington — clarum et venerabile nomen. It had gone down after his departure, on entering upon his ministry.^ But it was re-established, and Bruce entered upon its duties. Our photograph shows it as it now appears, in all probability little changed ; just such a rustic nest as William Shenstone saw at Hales Owen, and made immortal in his ' Schoolmistress.' The present Writer has the pleasure of conducting public worship once a month within it, besides a Sunday School established ; and long may the spot so hallowed by memories of the ' See Appendix A to our Memoir for another and hitherto unpublished letter of Bnice's. ^ See Life of Dr Brown ; and Dr Mackclvie, as before, p. 47. 2% THE WORKS 0^ ' Founders ' of ' The Secession,' — who held their first Presbytery in a little ' Hostelry ' here, now removed, — of John Brown of Haddington, of Michael Bruce, and of John Burt, — the last a ' man of God,' who kept a Sunday School here for many years, and the savour of whose name is as ' ointment poured ^orth ' to this day, — abide as it at present is.^ We have various interesdng glimpses of Bruce while engaged at ' Gairney Bridge ' School. First of all, there is still in the possession of the Laird of Anacroich, or Annafrech (Henry Flockhart, Esq.), a versified petition from the Poet to his ancestor. Here it is, with Dr Mac- kelvie's remarks : — * The school was kept in an old cottage which hap- pened to be previously untenanted. A few deals laid on blocks of wood sufficed for forms, and an old table served as writing-desk. This latter article of furniture Was so frail, that before the first month transpired, in which it had been so used, it was damaged beyond repair. Upon this disaster the poet addressed the following letter to Mr Flockhart, proprietor of the lands of Annafrech, who took the active management of the school : — '"Sir, — The following will inform you that we are in a tahleless condition (if you will excuse the novelty of the word), which I desire you to take into consideration. I was about to say a great many fine things on the sub- ject, but I find they are all slipt out of my head. To your wife and brother make the compliments of, — yours sincerely, Michael Bruce.'" ^ John Burt was an elder of what is now known as the First United Presby- terian congregation, Kinross. MICHAEL BRUCE. 23 THE FALL OF THE TABLE. ' Within this school a table once there stood — It was not iron — No ! 'twas rotten wood. Four generations it on earth had seen — A ship's old planks composed the huge machine. Perhaps that ship in which Columbus hurl'd Saw other stars rise on another world, — Or that which bore, along the dark profound. From pole to pole, the valiant Drake around. — Tho' miracles long since were said to cease. Three weeks — thrice seven long days — it stood in peace ; Upon the fourth, a warm debate arose. Managed by words and more emphatic blows ; The routed party to the table fled. Which seemed to offer a defensive shade. Thus, in the town, I've seen, when rains descend, Where arched porticoes their shades extend. Papists and gifted Quakers, Tories, Whigs, Forget their feuds, and join to save their wigs — Men born in India, men in Europe bred. Commence acquaintance in a mason's shed. Thus they ensconc'd beneath the table lay, — With shouts the victors rush upon the prey, — Attack'd the rampart where they shelter took. With firing battered, and with engines shook. It fell. The mighty ruins strew the ground. It fell ! The mountains tremble at the sound. But to what end (say you) this trifling tale ? Perhaps, sir, man as well as wood is frail. — Perhaps his life can little more supply, " Than just to look about us and to die." ' 'Gairnie Bridge, yune 17, 1765.' ' I have had Dr Mackelvie's version compared with the original MS. through the kindness of Mr Flockhart. A number of mistakes have been thereby cor- rected. I am much indebted to Mr Flockhart in allowing a fac-simile to be taken of the Letter prefixed to the above petition. 24 THE MVRKS OF From his gentle disposition his friends feared that Bruce lacked the necessary firmness for the discipline of a School. Accordingly his fellow-student and friend Dryburgh wrote him certain counsels, which we may read : — * Now that you have taken up a school, I beg to remind you that you are a pedagogue — neither be too gentle nor too severe. The one treatment is as bad as the other ; but if there be any difference, I think indul- gence the worse of the two. But, on the other hand, there are many who, professing to whip blockheads, ought to undergo a similar punishment for being one themselves — to whom the words of Solomon, which Dean Swift once chose for his text, may be very well applied, "Stripes are for the back of fools."' These sentiments were still further enforced in a letter sent him, about the same time, by his more experienced friend Arnot. 'The energies of the young,' says he, ' will be sure to lie dormant, if they be not roused by those to whom their training is entrusted, as most soils are barren without cultivation. But there is much need of prudence, for, as some ground requires the stronger plough, another plot may be managed by an easy hand. With some, force must be used ; forbearance must be employed towards others. You have the advantage of spurring them up by emulation, which seldom fails, but which, at the same time, does not always succeed. By this common impulse I could not be affected.'^ It appears that these excellent ' counsels ' were very ' Dr Mackelvie, as before, p. 52 ; and see Appendix B to our Memoir for the entire Letter, along with another, from the original MS. MICHAEL BRUCE. 25 much thrown away, in so far as the ' rod ' and ' taws ' were concerned, as Bruce never could be induced to use either. The school was not large. About two months after its re-establishment, there were only twenty-eight pupils. A ' Dialogue ' written by the poet-teacher has been preserved ; and while there are in it evident humorous touches, verging on caricature, it is nevertheless plain that the fees were trifling, and not very willingly paid by certain of the parents. One is gladdened to find that the cloud of melancholy which brooded over him was not without its silver lining of a quiet, ' pawky ' mirthfulness. It is pleasant to think of the worn face, ' sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,' illumined by the gentle smile that accompanies felt power of insight into cha- racter, especially pretimce. Here is the ' Dialogue : ' — ' As I was about to enter on my labours for the week, an old fellow like a Quaker came up and ad- dressed me thus : — ' Q. Peace be with you, friend. * M. Be you also safe. * Q. I have brought my son Tobias to thee, that thou mayest instruct him in the way that he should go. ' M. He is welcome. ' Q^. Our brother Jacob telleth me that thou showest thyself a faithful workman, hearing thy scholars oftener in a day than others, because thou hast few. * M. I presume I do. ' Q. Verily therein thou doest well ; thou shalt not lose thy reward ; it shall be given thee with the faithful in their day. a6 THE WORKS OF ' M. Ay, but, friend, I need somewhat in present possession. ' Q. I understand you ; thou wouldst have the prayers of the faithful. ' M. Ay, and something more substantial ; in short, my friend, I must have two shillitigs per quarter for teaching your son Tobias. ' Q. Ah ! friend, I perceive thou lovest the mammon of unrighteousness ; let me convince you of your sin. ' M. Certainly, since thou seemest to be a most right- eous man, who deemeth the servant worthy of his hire. * Q. Hearken unto my voice ; Ezekiel, who was also called Holdfast, took but sixpence in the quarter, as thou callest it. He was a good man, but he sleepeth ; the faithful mourned for him. He catechized the chil- dren seven times a-day. He was one of the righteous, yea, he was upright in his day, save in the matter of ' M. I still think that the labour you expect me to bestow upon your son Tobias is worth two shillings a quarter. ' Q. Two shillings ! verily, friend, thou art an extor- tioner ; yea, thou grindest the face of the poor, thou lovest filthy lucre. Thou hast respect unto this present world. — Catera destmtJ'^ ' Ella ' had laid up the quaint little paper in an inner place of that wizard Memory of his, and produced it, with added puns and quips, to ' set the table in a roar.' But while Bruce had apparently slender pecuniary re- compense for his ' teaching,' otherwise he was comfort- ' Dr Maokelvie, as before, pp. 54, 55. MICHAEL BRUCE. 27 ably situated. It had been agreed that, in addition to the school fees, and in place of salary, he was to reside and receive free-board with the more ' bien ' parents of the children. Accordingly, he went to Classlochie, a farm then possessed by a Mr Grieve, — a man of excellent Christian character, who was so ' taken ' by his guest, that he would not hear of his leaving him to go elsewhere during the whole period he taught at Gairney Bridge. We revisited the ' farm ' the other day, and found it to be a pleasant residence. It was conveniently near * the school,' and the roads leading to and out from it are like the English lanes of Miss Mitford's ' Our Village ' itself, — odorous hedgerows on either side, and many a fair wild-flower nestling at the roots. The * Gairney ' glints in silvery windings through the fields on its way to ' Lochleven.' Eastward was his own native I^nness- wood. Southward rises Benarty, darkened with plan- tations — pine and spruce, and sprinkling of birch, with scintillating bark and quivering leafage, tenderly green in spring, and many-dyed in autumn as a New England ' wood ' in the Indian summer. All round about were good neighbours ; and every ' farmer's ingle ' gave hospitable welcome to the shy, gentle Student-Teacher. Tradition garners memories of visits at ' The Brackleys ' and ' Cavilstone,' ' Annafrech ' and ' Turf hills.' In each of these * farms ' were to be found fine specimens of the old type of Scottish * laird -, ' some naturally ' wild,' perchance, but subdued and well-nigh reverential in the presence of Michael. But the old, old story came in to play its part also in a8 THE WORKS OF the residence at Classlochie. Mr Grieve had a daughter — Magdalene ; and the young Poet loved her fondly, but with * silent love.' She is the ' Eumelia ' of his ' Lochleven,' and the ' fair maid ' of his ' Lochleven no more.' Magdalene Grieve survived her lover, and became the wife of Mr David Low, proprietor of Cleish Mill and Wester Cleish, in the neighbourhood. She was wont to speak of Bruce with touching affection, but always declared that he had never ' asked ' her. Ex- cessive modesty, and a presentiment that his days were numbered, have been assigned as reasons for his leaving unspoken a love that seems to have been burning in its shy passionateness, and enduring to the end of his brief life. A stanza, by a well-known local character, in- tended to immortalize this love-story, is still in circula- tion in the county. It is as follows : ' In Cleish Kirk-yard lies Magdalene Grieve, A lass [sweetheart] o' Bruce the Poet ; And Tammie Walker made this verse, To let the v^orld know it.' ' While at Gairney Bridge, he contemplated the publi- cation of a volume of ' Poems ; ' but this I leave to be spoken of in the second division of our Memoir, in the Introduction to his ' Poems.' One short and hitherto unpublished letter to Mr Arnot, dated from Gairney Bridge, may fitly close our account of his connection therewith. It is as follows : — 'My Dear Sir, — I have sent the letter which you have undertaken to carry spite of disappointments. It is open, but I believe the pleasure of reading it will not pay the ' Communicated by Mr David Marshall, as before. MICHAEL BRUCE. 29 trouble of carrying it. I do not choose to send a blank cover : therefore this (as I shall endeavour to fill it up somehow) shall never be called in question as to its letter-ality, that is to say, a return shall be due in law, and that [such as] it shall pass for an identical letter. ' I have been reading Shaftesbury's Characteristics, and shall transcribe for vou what I think the best note I have J found in it ; and it's this : '"It seems to me remarkable in our learned and elegant apostle, that he accommodates himself, according to his known character, to the humour and natural turn of the Ephesians, by writing to his converts in a kind of architect-style, and almost with a perpetual allusion to building, and to that majesty, order, and beauty of which this temple was a masterpiece -, as Eph. ii. 20-22 ; and so iii. 17, 18, etc., and iv. 1 6, etc." This is not a bad remark from one whom, notwithstanding my deference for the moderns, I look upon as little better than a deist. ' I was about to entertain you with a character, not altogether unknown to you, of a talker or story-teller -, but I do not choose, merely for a little diversion, to deserve the reprehension of any person living. * I would have seen you this day (only I was troubled with a pain in the head), and perhaps I may see you as soon as this. I am yours affectionately, ' Michael Bruce. 'Gairny Bridge, May 25, 1765. ' P.S. — You may put to a date to the letter when you close it.'' ' From the original, kindly sent me with others from the present Mr Amot of Portmoak, or, as Bruce spells it invariably, 'Portmoag.' 30 THE WORKS OF Having finished his * four years ' of attendance at the University, he was now at that stage in his curriculum of study which naturally led to his passing from the University to what was then, and sdll is, designated the * Theological Hall,' entrance into which constituted him a ' student of divinity,' as distinguished from a ' student of humanity.' There was a difficulty in the way, to wit, that along with his father and mother, and other relatives and friends, he had hitherto attended the Rev. Thomas Mair, who, after his ejection from the Anti-Burgher Synod, stood alone. He had indeed applied for admission to the ' Moral Philosophy ' class of the Anti-Burgher Synod at Alloa ; but his connection with Mair was deemed an insuperable barrier. He turned next to the Burghers, or Associate Synod, with whose attitude toward what was called the ' Burgess Oath ' he sympathized, rather than with the narrower ' Antls.' He was accordingly admitted to the fellowship of the Church by the Rev. John Swanston of Enross, who had been recently appointed Professor of Theology by the Synod, and Into whose classes he was afterwards enrolled as a student. At the ' Hall,' which was held in the large room of what is now the ' Lochleven Inn ' in Kinross, and of which our photograph gives a faithful presentment, he had, as fellow-students, George Henderson of Turfhills, David Greig, George Lawson, Ar. Bennet, and An- drew Swanston, with others who in after years emi- nently filled the pulpits of the Burgher Synod. Professor Swanston was a man of no ordinary kind, full, wise, scholarly, evangelical in his opinions, but rising above mere orthodoxy, fatherly In his superintendence. MICHAEL BRUCE. 31 and above all, attractive as a Christian to the young : in his whole ' walk and conversation ' emphatically ' com- mending ' Christ, and ' adornhig the doctrine.' From the outset the Professor was drawn to Michael Bruce, who got * far ben' into his large loving heart, and was treated rather as a young brother or son than a mere Church member or student. That delicacy of constitution which he inherited, it is believed, from his father, showed itself very mournfully during his first Session at the Hall ; so much so, that good Professor Swanston advised the ailing lad to give over study altogether for a time. But he persevered, fought on, though wounded and bleeding inwardly. For he was wounded : ' He had weakened his strength in the midst of his days.' The arrangements made for the * students,' if a primi- tive, was an exceedingly agreeable one for them. In the congregation of the Professor there were a number of Proprietors of lesser or larger ' Farms,' and otherwise well-to-do. These received the young men into their several houses in the character of friends, without any remuneration further than the satisfaction of thereby rendering service to the future ministers of their beloved Church. In accord with this arrangement, Bruce resided, during his attendance at the Hall, with Mr Henderson, the * Laird ' of Turf hills, whose son George we have already had occasion to mention as his associate at the University, and who is celebrated in * Lochleven ' under the name of * Lelius.' The compact little estate of Turfhills, which is still in direct succession held by Hendersons, had come down through many generations of the name, long known in 3 a THE WORKS OF the county as freeholders, and of the old stock of Covenanters. It is told in the family, that Michael Henderson, in 17 15, came forward in Kinross to sup- port the government of George 11. ; and that thereby he excited the rage of the rebels then in the town, so much so, that he had to take refuge in the Castle of Edinburgh until Mar's rebellion was put down. Again in 1745, when the second Rebellion under Prince Charles brought a host of Highlanders to the low country, James Henderson rescued a neighbour from a savage attack of two of these Highlanders, and con- ducted them to Kinross, where they were reprimanded by their officers, and the plunder restored. In the evening, a messenger despatched from the town an- nounced that a party of Highlanders were on their way to avenge their comrades. Thus warned, ' the Laird ' fled to Stirling, where he remained until the Stuarts were finally scattered at Culloden. There are other traditions of ' hairbreadth escapes,' of Christina Arnot of Arlary, wife of James Henderson, and her infant son, afterwards the Rev. George Henderson. The Hendersons were not only loyal to the Government, not only ' honoured the King,' but at a cold ' moderate ' period 'feared God.' At the time of the noble stand for the ' true Evangel,' made by the Erskines and their compeers, as was to be expected, James Henderson adhered to them ; and at the very first meeting at ' Gairney Bridge ' was chosen as an ' elder.' All the preliminary ' meetings ' — and they were numerous — were held at Turf hills ; so much so, that one room in the mansion-house — shown in our photo- graph — was known as * the Presbytery's room.' Many MICHAEL BRUCE. 23 a heartfelt prayer, many ' wrestlings ' for the welfare of Scotland, many burning words to Christ for souls, and to souls for Christ, were spoken from one of the open ' windows,' — hundreds, even thousands, coming from ' far and near ' to hang upon the lips of such men as Ebenezer Erskine of Stirling, Ralph Erskine of Dun- fermline, Thomas Mair of Orwell, James Fisher of Kanclaven, William Wilson of Perth, and Alexander Moncrieff of Abernethy, — a noble band, to whom Scot- land owes more than ever will be known until 'the great Day.' It was into this Family — one of the old stamp of * godliness,' kingly men and mother-of-Lemuel-like women — that Michael Bruce was received. It must have had peculiar attractions to him. There were the traditions of * The Covenanters ; ' there was a heredi- tary taste for baljad-lore and the * auld manners ' of ' auld langsyne •,' there was generous hospitality ; there was a fellow-student like-minded ; and above all and about all as an atmosphere, real godliness of no austere but contrariwise joyous sort.^ Altogether, whether in the outset with Mr Arnot of Portmoak, and Mr White of Pittendreich, or while at Gairney Bridge with Mr Grieve of Classlochie, or while at the Hall with this grand old Scotchman and his no less noble wife — be- fore whom we bare instinctively the head — James Hen- derson and Christian Arnot, — Michael Bruce seems ' I have gathered the details of the text from the volume in meiuoriain of the Rev. George Henderson, already mentioned ; and from the MS. 'Records' of Pro- fessor Swanston's congregation, now in my possession, as the minister thereof, together with gleanings from the History of ' The Secession,' and the Lives of the several Leaders in that great evangelical movement. 34 THE WORKS OF to have been singularly fortunate in his circumstances. I must regard it as sheer nonsense to sentimentalize over ' pressure of indigence,' and the like. Sure we are, the student-Poet had been the first to reject such misdirected commiseration. At no time, as it appears to us, had Michael Bruce to struggle with a tithe of the difficulties which many of his contemporaries had : not to. speak of the present day, wherein brave-hearted, large-faithed young men are doing stout battle up ' the hill Difficulty,' with none to cheer save * the great Taskmaster.' It looks to us unmanly exaltation of circumstances over the man, to make such a to-do about them, even had they been very much more adverse. It seems to us to under- value the divine * discipline ' of self-denial, — the glorious necessity, through a trustful poverty that is not ignoble, of reposing on the Fatherhood of God. While at Turf hills it is traditionally remembered that Michael Bruce and George Henderson, and other fellow- students, were wont to take frequent walks along ' the Erk-gate ' to the ' Auld lirk-Yard ' of the Parish — shown in our photograph ; and to recite their Hall ' Ser- mons ' and other exercises on a small elevation near Turf hills, called ' The ICippit Knowe.' At the close of the Hall in i'j66, Bruce was again on the outlook for a * School ' — that of Gairney Bridge not being sufficiently remunerative. Besides, a sad 'back- sliding ' of his substitute while he himself was attending the prelections of Professor Swanston, distressed him ex- ceedingly, and rendered the place distasteful. One was offered him at Forrest Mill, then a lorn and ill-favoured place, about fifteen miles south-west of Kinross, and a MICHAEL BRUCE. ^^ few miles from Tillicoultry. We paid a recent pilgrim- visit to the spot ; and from inquiries made and faint memories revived, can understand that to one so predis- posed to consumpdon, and, spite of resistance, apt to be overcome with melancholy,, it was a poor exchange for Gairney Bridge and Classlochie. The ' School ' was low-ceiled, earthen-floored, chill, musty, close. Outside, dreary spaces of moor flushed with 'heather,' skirted with sombre pines, — the 'wild ' of his 'Elegy in Spring.* Society uncongenial ; children dense, stupid, backward. The only ray of sun-light was the wistful care of him by a daughter of the family with whom he lodged, whose name was Mill. Tradition has it, that Bruce, in fording the Devon on horseback on his way to Forrest Mill, was thrown, and though not hurt in limb was wet 'all through,' and arrived drenched, so that he had at once to be put a-bed. He soon rose and began his ' School ;' and it is told of IVliss Mill, that she saw that it was as well ' warmed ' as might be before the Teacher entered, and that ' boards. ' were placed on the ground where his feet rested, to keep them from the clammy floor. But all was in vain. * Disease ' was working out to the last issue ; all the more touching, that it was what the great Poet has called * Concealment,' which, ' like a worm i' the bud, feeds on the damask cheek.' And yet ' Concealment ' is scarcely either the word or thing, inasmuch as Bruce seems from the outset to have looked forward to early dying.' ' I woMld return thanks to the present Teacher at Forrest Mill, Mr Alexander Fortune, for his kind attention in the above visit, in tracing out traditional scenes connected with Bruce. 36 THE WORKS OF A few of his ' Letters ' from ' Forrest Mill ' have been preserved, and put into my hands. They are none the less pathetic from their slight out-flashings of humour. First of all : I am fortunate enough to have recovered one complete Letter that has hitherto only been given in fragments/ The opening allusion is to ' stocking- knitting,' which was then practised by males as well as females, as Geikie has immortalized : — * Dear Friend, — What has happen'd to you, that I don't hear from you ? Surely you have forgot me. No, I cannot think so, for I measure your friendship by my own ; and barely to say I love you, were poor to my soul's measuring. ' I rather think my evil genius has hindered you from wridng, or what you may have written from reaching me. Well, be it so. For once I shall consider I have more time than you. But I beseech, request, and com- mand (d' ye see ?) that you set apart a night every week for writing to me. Out of my sovereign, royal bounty, I will allow you the others, at least four of them, for seeing the l[assie1s, always providing that you carry your stocking with you to enable you to purchase candles. But, trifling apart, write as often as your situation will allow. I have not many friends, but I love them well. Scarce one enjoys the smiles of this world in every respect, and in every friend I suffer. Death has been among the few I have. Poor Dryburgh ; but he's happy. I expected to have been his companion through life, and that we should have stept into the grave together. But ^ I am indebted for it to the Rev. William M'Laren of Blairlogie, who discovered it among some family papers. MICHAEL BPJJCE. 37 Heaven has seen meet to dispose of him otherwise. And there's my dear Geordie, perhaps at this moment (for I have not heard from him of late) in the grasp of death. May " the good will of Him who dwelt in the bush " be with him ! Alas, that I can do no more than wish ! But who in this case can do more ? What think you of this world, Davie ? I think it very little worth. You and I have not a great deal to make us fond of it ; and yet I would not change my condition with the most wealthy unfeeling fool in the universe, if I were to have his dull hard heart into the bargain. But to have done. Farewell, my rival in immortal hope, my com- panion (I trust) for eternity. Though far distant, I take thee to my heart. Souls suffer no separation from the obstruction of matter or distance of place. Oceans may roll between us, and climates interpose -, in vain, the whole material creation is no bar to the winged mind. Farewell, through boundless ages, fare-thou-well. The broad hand of the Almighty cover thee. Mayst thou shine when the sun is darkened. Mayst thou live, and triumph when time expires. It is at least possible lue may meet no more in this foreign land, this dreary apart- ment of the universe of God. But there is a better world, in which may we meet to part no more. — Adieu. Remember your sincerest friend, * Michael Bruce. 'To Mr David Pearson, Easter Balgedie.' All his ' correspondence ' that remains runs in the same vein : nor is the veining superficial like the painted 38 THE f^'ORKS OF imitative marble ; rather is it interpenetrative as in the stone itself. Writing to Mr Pearson again, he says : ' The next letter you receive from me, t/" ever you re- ceive another, will be dated I'] 6']. . . . I lead a melan- choly kind of life in this place. I am not fond of com- pany. But it is not good that man be still alone ; and here I have no company but what is worse than solitude. If I had not a lively imagination, I believe I should fall into a state of stupidity and delirium. I have some evening scholars, the attending on whom, though few, so fatigues me, that the rest of the night I am quite dull and low-spirited. Yet I have some lucid intervals, in the time of which I can study pretty well.' ^ Another ' Letter,' of a somewhat earlier date, to his friend Arnot of Portmoak is tinged with even a deeper despondency :^ ' Dear Sir, — It is an observation of some of your philosophers, that it is much better for man to be ignorant of, than to know the future incidents of his life-, for, says one, if some men were beforehand acquainted with the terrible miseries that await them, they would be as miserable in fearing (and I believe more so) than in suffer- ing. Again, when we are in expectation of any good, we paint all the agreeable to ourselves, and dwell in fancy on it ; nor can we be convinced, but by experience, that everything here is of a mixed nature. When this so long expected convenience arrives, we can scarce believe it [is] what we hoped for, and, in truth, it is ' Dr Anderson, as before, p. 277. ^ The original is now before me, and it is given for the first time accurately and in its complete form. MICHAEL BRUCE. 39 very different. Many a disappointment of this kind have I met with. "What I enjoyed of anything was always in the hope of it. I expected to be happy here, but I am not ; and my sanguine hopes are the reason of my disappointment. The easiest part of my life is past, and I was never happy. I sometimes compare my condition with that of others, and imagine if I was in theirs I should be well. But is not everybody thus ? Perhaps he whom I envy thinks he would be glad to change with me, and yet neither would be better for the change. Since it is so, let us, my friend, moderate our hopes and fears, resign ourselves to the will of Him who " doth all things well," and who hath assured us that He careth for us ; and rejoice in hope of the glory that is to be revealed, and which will infinitely surpass our greatest expectations. . . . . " Hoc res est una Solaque qui facere possit et servare beatum." Things are not very well in this world, but they are pretty well. They might have been worse ; and, as they are, may please us who have but a few short days to use them. This scene of affairs, tho' a very per- plexed, is a very short one, and in a little all will be cleared up. Let us endeavour to please God, our fellow-creatures, and ourselves. In such a course of life we shall be as happy as we can be in such a world as this. Thus, you who cultivate your farm with your own hands, and I who teach a dozen blockheads for bread, may be happier than he who, having more than he can use, tortures his brain to invent new methods 40 THE WORKS OF of killing himself with the superfluitie. But whither do I ramble ? I forget that I am telling you what you know better than I do. But I must say something. I hope to hear from you an account of your journey to Edinr., &c. ' I have wrote a few lines of a descriptive poem, cut titulus est ' Lochleven.' You may remember (as Mr M r says) you hinted such a thing to me; so I have set about it, and you may expect a dedication. I hope it will soon be finished, as I every week add two lines, blot out six, and alter eight. You shall hear the plan when I know it myself. My compl*^- to the family. Farewell. — I am, yours, etc. ' Michael Bruce. ' Forrest Mill, ^tt/y zSi/i, 1766.' One leaf only of another Letter from ' Forrest Mill ' remains. The reference in the opening sentences is pro- bably to the famous or infamous treatise of De Mande- ville, ' The Fable of the Bees, or Private Vices Public Benefits.' This Letter — which is now published for the first time — is also addressed to Mr Arnot of ' Portmoag.' . . . ' I think it a most dry unentertaining oddity, wanting that which makes a number of bad books too agreeable, I mean beauty of language. Many have erred in their pictures of human nature, on the favourable side, but he on the opposite. I look on it as an attempt to prove that even God Himself, who rules in the kingdoms of the earth, cannot promote the wealth and strength of a nation, but by the means of luxury and profusion, in all their most detestable branches. MICHAEL BRUCE. 41 ' In his representations of men he differs very little from the Candidiis of Voltaire, and the too witty Dr Swift's Hughnims. But surely the contempt of the world is not a greater virtue than the contempt of our fellow-creatures is a vice. Dr Young has said it, and it is truth. * Make my compliments to your Family, and believe me yours, etc., ' Michael Bruce. ' Forrest Mill, Deer, loth, 1766. * P.5. — I design to be at Kinross, Sabbath next, from whence I will send this. I will probably fetch Rollin to Gair[ney] Br[idge], and engage J. Campbell to carry him to you. By him you will write to me.' Bruce's sickness, with its accompanying day-gloom, was not all that he had to contend with. His weakness was such that he slept but little, and his condition alto- gether was very much a reproduction of Job's : * When I say, My bed shall comfort me, my couch shall ease my complaint ; then thou scarest me with dreams, and terrifiest me through visions ' (Job vii. 1 3, 14). Perhaps ' terrify ' is not the exact word ; but one of his ' Visions ' has been preserved in a Letter to his life-long friend Pearson. Taking a stanza of his own tender and ex- quisitely-touched * Elegy in Spring ' as a motto, — the ' Elegy ' having also been composed at * Forrest Mill,' — he proceeds : * If morning dreams presage approaching fate. And morning dreams, as poets tell, are true, Led by pale ghosts, I enter death's dark gate, And bid this hfe and all the world adieu. 4a THE WORKS OF ' A few mornings ago, as I was taking a walk on an eminence which commands a view of the Forth, with the vessels sailing along, I sat down, and taking out my Latin Bible, opened by accident at a place in the book of Job, ix. 23, " Now my days are passed away as the swift ships." Shutting the book, I fell a-musing on this affecting comparison. Whether the following happened to me in a dream or waking reverie, I cannot tell ; but I fancied myself on the bank of a river or sea, the oppo- site side of which was hid from view, being involved in clouds of mist. On the shore stood a multitude, which no man could number, waiting for passage. I saw a great many ships taking in passengers, and several per- sons going about in the garb of pilots, offering their service. Being ignorant, and curious to know what all these things meant, I applied to a grave old man, who stood by, giving instructions to the departing passengers. His name, I remember, was the Genius of Human Life. " My son," said he, ** you stand on the banks of the stream of 'Time. All these people are bound for JSter- nity, that * undiscovered country from whence no tra- veller ever returns.' The country is very large, and divided into two parts : the one is called the Land of Glory, the other the Kingdom of Darkness. The names of those in the garb of pilots are Religion, Virtue, Pleasure. They who are so wise as to choose Religion for their guide, have a safe though frequently a rough passage ; they are at last landed in the happy climes where sighing and sorrow for ever flee away. They have likewise a secondary director. Virtue, but there is a spurious virtue who pretends to govern by himself; but MICHAEL BRUCE. 43 the wretches who trust to him, as well as those who have Pleasure for their pilot, are either shipwrecked, or are cast away in the Eangdom of Darkness. But the vessel in nvhichyoti must embark approaches ; you must begone. Remember what depends upon your conduct." No sooner had he left me, than I found myself surrounded by those pilots I mentioned before. Immediately I for- got all that the old man said to me, and seduced by the fair promises of Pleasure, chose him for my director. We weighed anchor with a fair gale ; the sky serene, the sea calm. Innumerable little isles lifted their green heads around us, covered with trees in full blossom ; dissolved in stupid mirth, we were carried on, regardless of the past, of the future unmindful. On a sudden the sky was darkened, the winds roared, the seas raged ; red rose the sand from the bottom of the troubled deep. The angel of the waters lifted up his voice. At that instant a strong ship passed by -, I saw Religion at the helm. " Come out from among these," he cried. I and a few others threw ourselves out into his ship. The wretches we left were now tost on the swelling deep. 'J'he waters on every side poured through the riven vessel. They cursed the Lord ; when, lo ! a fiend rose from the deep, and, in a voice like distant thunder, thus spoke : " I am Abaddon, the first-born of death ; ye are my prey ; open thou, abyss, to receive them." As he thus spoke they sunk, and the waves closed over their heads. The storm was turned into a calm, and we heard a voice saying, " Fear not, I am with you. When you pass through the waters, they shall not overflow you." Our hearts were filled with 44 THE WORKS OF joy. I wa^ engaged in discourse with one of my new companions, when one from the top of the mast cried out, " Courage, my friends, I see the fair haven, the land that is yet afar off." Looking up, I found it was a certain friend who had mounted up for the benefit of contemplating the country before him. Upon seeing you, I was so affected that I started and awaked. Fare- well, my friend, farewell." There must have been ' lucid intervals,' as he himself designates them — re-luming of life's lamp of Hope — seeing that his long poem of ' Lochleven ' was com- posed while resident in ' Forrest Mill,' as appears from the letter to Arnot of July 26th, 1766. But at last the weaker went * to the wall.' The ' lean fellow ' who ' beats all conquerors,' threw him in the wrestle. As he felt the shaft rankle, not without blood flowing, the young heart yearned for home — for a mother's hand, a mother's face, a mother's kiss, a mother's love. And giving up ' The School,' he hied him slowly eastward ' on foot.' He walked the full twenty miles, resting only for a little at Turfhills. He reached the humble dwelling, not unwilling to live, but prepared to 'die.' For a little while, through a few weeks, he was able to go out into ' the garden,' reclining on a ' bank of soft grass,' which until recently was pointed out. Having also procured a quarto volume of wridng paper, he with pathetic earnestness daily transcribed his 'Poems' therein, including his ' Ode to the Cuckoo,' 'Hymns ' and 'Para- ' Dr Anderson, as before, pp. 277, 278. I have said that the 'Elegy' was composed at Forrest Mill, and this because the letter to his friend Pearson, which contains a stanza from it, must have been written there. Pearson was resident in Kinnesswood ; there could be no occasion for letters after Bruce had returned home. MICHAEL BRUCE. 45 phrases,' and ' Elegy in Spring,' and in short all that he deemed worthy of preservation. Latterly he was alto- gether confined to bed. There his one inseparable com- panion was his little pocket Bible, from which he was wont to commit portions to memory, repeating and commenting upon them to visitors very sweetly and modestly. One day his old College and Hall friend, George Lawson — who being appointed to occupy the pulpit of the deceased Thomas Mair — hastened to Kinnesswood to see him. He found him in bed, very pale, his eyes large and lustrous, but delighted to see his unexpected visitor. Mr Lawson observed to him that he was glad to find him so cheerful. ' And why,' said he, with noble trustfulness, ' should not a man be cheerful on the verge of heaven ? ' an answer which reminds us of the Poet's picture of the Christian's death-bed : — * The chamber where the good man meets his fate Is privileged beyond the common walks Of virtuous life, quite on the 'verge of hea'ven.' ' But,' said his friend, ' you look so emaciated, I am afraid you cannot last long.' Quickly, and with a flash of the humour of his healthful days, he answered, ' You remind me of the story of the Irishman who was told that his hovel was about to fall ; and I answer with him, Let it fall, it is not mine ; ' or perhaps his words were, ' it is not me.' ' * Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed upon Thee.' He maintained this cheerfulness throughout his illness, overcast only for a moment by the sudden death of his beloved minister ' Dr Mackelvie, as before, pp. 77, 78. 46 THE WORKS OF and professor, Swanston ; lingered for a couple of months, ' wearin' awa' to the land o' the leal ;' and in the night-time, when ' deep sleep falleth upon men,' slept the deeper sleep, being found in the morning of 5th July 1767, dead, aged twenty-one years and three months. * He was not, for God took him.' * Beivildered reader ! pass nvithout a sighy In a proud sorrow ! There is life with God In other kingdoms of a sweeter air. In Eden every flower is blown. Amen.' ' It is his own request. His Bible — which is still lovingly preserved — was found upon his pillow, a corner of the leaf turned down at Jer. xxii. lo, ' Weep ye not for the dead, neither bemoan him.' His father was * chief mourner.' The world heeded not the weeping that day in the ' weaver's ' home of Ennesswood. You look in vain in the magazines and newspapers for so much as an announcement of his death. But ' devout men carried him to his grave, and made great lamentation over him' (Acts viii. 2). Our photograph shows the monument that now marks the spot in the churchyard of what was the first charge of Ebenezer Erskine. Pil- grims from ' far Lands ' sdll find their way to it. Not a Summer but some are observed reading the inscription, and mayhap plucking a few spires of grass or an early primrose from the mound. A very gentle, very modest, very pure, very holy, very beautiful, very genuine, very gifted Life had here its premature close. And a Sky-Lark that rose, with broken wing, from his grave when last we visited it, supplies us with at once an emblem of his ' David Gray, as before. MICHAEL BRUCE. 47 Life, and a guarantee of his Fame. Of his Life : for his delicate constitution was as a * broken wing ' to his heaven-aspiring spirit. Of his Fame : for it needeth not ' great things,' no Sinai thunder, but a ' still small voice,' to win an abiding place among the ' sweet singers ' who last. The ' Psalm ' outlives the Epic ; the snatch of true ' Song ' what was intended to compel immortality. We may draw near, and read the Inscription on the monument : — TO THE MEMORY OF MICHAEL BRUCE, WHO WAS BORN AT KINNESSWOOD IN 1746, AND DIED WHILE A STUDENT IN CONNECTION WITH THE SECESSION CHURCH, In the 2isi Year of his Age. MEEK AND GENTLE IN SPIRIT, SINCERE AND UNPRETENDING IN HIS CHRISTIAN DEPORTMENT, REFINED IN INTELLECT, AND ELEVATED IN CHARACTER, HE WAS GREATLY BELOVED BY HIS FRIENDS, AND WON THE ESTEEM OF ALL ; WHILE HIS GENIUS, WHOSE FIRE NEITHER POVERTY NOR SICKNESS COULD QUENCH, PRODUCED THOSE ODES UNRIVALLED FOR SIMPLICITY AND PATHOS WHICH HAVE SHED AN UNDYING LUSTRE ON HIS NAME. ' Early, bright, transient, cJuiste as morning dew. He sparkled, and exhaled, and went to heaven.' Alexander Bruce survived his son Michael for a few years only ; but Mrs Bruce, his mother, lived on until 1798. In her old age, while ' poor,' she continued ' stedfast' in her ' faith,' and received with touching gra- titude certain small annual sums which admirers of the Poet sent her. It is told that, regularly as these little 48 THE WORKS OF MICHAEL BRUCE. payments arrived, she was seen, with basket on arm, going from house to house of still lowlier neighbours ; and on being asked what she was about, said, in the largeness of her heart, * When Heaven is raining so plentifully upon me, I may let two or three drops fa' on my puir neighbours.' A fine trait of the grateful old * body ' is also remembered, which may be given in Mr Birrel's words. When acknowledging a little money sent for her, he says, ' My brother-in-law has put up a stone chimney for Ann, and a hallajid of brick, which makes her little cot much more cleanly and comfortable than it was. She insists upon having a window cut out in the south wall, in order that she may see Lochleven and Stirling ; for she says, that though she never saw either Mr Harvey or Mr Telford, yet she likes to see the airt they come frae ; and this window must be cut out, though it should be at her own expense.' ' Toward the beginning of Autumn, while the fields were mellowing to Harvest, one of her acquaintances chancing to * look in ' upon her, found the venerable Saint seated in her arm-chair, with her head leaning a little back, and her open Bible on her knee. She had tranquilly ' fallen on sleep.' Her ' spectacles ' were re- moved, and placed upon the Bible. Did she think that another help was needed to illumine ' the dark valley .'' ' ' Thou shalt come to thy grave in a full age, like as a shock of corn cometh in in his season' (Job v. 26). ' Dr Mackelvie, as before, pp. i6o, i6i. INTRODUCTION TO THE POEMS. INTRODUCTION TO THE POEMS. JOHN LOGAN — ODE TO THE CUCKOO — HYMNS OR PARAPHRASES. FEEL that it is a pity to perturb so meek and gentle a life as was that of Bruce with con- troversy. But unfortunately the first editor of his Poems so dealt with the Mss. entrusted to him, and subsequently so asserted for himself the authorship of the ' Ode to the Cuckoo,' and the well- known ' Paraphrases ' or ' Hymns,' that no choice is left. I have gone over the whole of the evidence pro and con after Dr Mackelvie, with a ' single eye ' to ascertain the truth — nothing more, nothing less, nothing else ; and the result has been a conviction of the utter untenable- ness of the claims of Logan. I use no stronger word at present. I would narrate the facts, adduce the evidence, and fortify our conclusions ; and I am mistaken egregiously if any capable of weighing * proof ' will refuse acquies- cence in the last. We have first to narrate and examine the facts — general and specific. From fragments of letters that survive, it has been ascertained, that while at Gairney Bridge, Bruce 5Z THE WORKS OF had himself intended to publish a volume of his * Poems.' With reference to the scheme, his old school-fellow and fellow-student Dun thus wrote him, under date ' Edin- burgh, January 25th, 1766:' — 'I received yours, and am surprised that you say you have nothing to write. Have the Muses forsaken you ? Have the tuneful sisters withdrawn from the banks of Lochleven ? It is impossible you can have offended them. No ! they will yet exalt your name as high as ever they did Addison's or Pope's. My dear friend, / lotig to see you appear in public. I hope I shall be freed from suspense ere long. Do not fail to do it soon.'^ Again, in a letter from his fellov/- student, subsequently Professor Lawson, dated * Bog- house, Feb. 20, 1766,' there is an incidental allusion to the extent of his materials for such a volume as was projected. 'Pray, inform me,' he says, ' when Mr Swanston proposes to begin his course of lectures, and whether you design to attend them. I would have been glad to have seen your criticism on Moir's pam- phlet, or some of your new compositions, unless so large that they cannot be conveyed.'' " Another letter from Bruce himself to his friend Pearson, in which he had enclosed his ballad of ' Sir James the Ross,' confirms the same abundance of materials : ' Let me see some of your papers,' he writes -, ' at least a little more of something new ; for really I cannot afford such cartloads of stuff as you have every day from me, if it were to my brother, at the rate you return.' ^ We have thus far two facts : ( i ) That Bruce himself contemplated the publication of a volume of Poems ; ^ Dr Mackelvie, as before, pp. 57, 58. " Ibid. p. 58. 3 Ibid. MICHJEL BRUCE. 52, (2) That even before 'Lochleven' was written — it not having been begun until fully half a year subsequently — there were ample materials. Hence, as Logan received the whole of his manuscripts, there was not the shadow of need for ' making up ' what he called, as we shall see, a ' miscellany.' Attendance at the ' Theological Hall,' his transference to ' Forrest Mills,' and his increasing illness, combined with his naturally shrinking temperament, explain the delay and ultimate non-publication of the volume under his own auspices. But that to the deep-shadowed close he ' hoped against hope,' that he might still be spared to ' make a book,' is evident from his careful revision of all his papers, and copying out of them into a large quarto volume, obtained for the express purpose, as stated in our Memoir, and of which volume more in the sequel.^ He 'died,' his year 'ending in May,' and his young purpose unfulfilled. He had not been gone many months when Logan, who was at the time a tutor in the family of Sir John Sinclair, Bart., came to Kinnesswood ; and having called upon the parents of the deceased Poet, expressed the deepest interest in his fame, and by the representations made, prevailed u^^on Alexander Bruce to furnish him with all Michael's mss., which he knew, it appeared, were prepared for the press -, as also all letters hy and to him, and particularly those which he — Logan — had himself addressed to him. Besides delivering up to him the quarto volume of carefully transcribed ' Poems,' in guileless, unsuspecting compliance with Logan's additional request, every person ' Dr Mackelvie, as before, p. 77 ; and our Memoir, pp. 44, 45. 54 7H£ fFORKS OF who had ever been known to correspond with the Poet was importuned to furnish him with his letters and poetry. I have to state that, in addition to Dr Mackelvie's testimony, based upon personal inquiries at those who had been so ' importuned,' — for various survived even up to 1837, — there are living at this day sons and grandchildren who over and over heard their several relatives repeat precisely the same statement. I have to specify representatives of the Hendersons of Turf hills, Arnots of Portmoak, Flockharts of Annafrech, Lawson of Selkirk, Grcig of Lochgelly, and many others. Before leaving the Village, Logan assured Mr and Mrs Bruce, that every paper with which they had entrusted him, or might send, should be carefully returned ; and that he had no doubt of realizing from the publication of their son's ' Poems ' such a sum as would maintain them in comfort during the remaining part of their lives. These are the exact words preserved to this day — to use a fine expression — by oral tradition ; the tradition being mostly from first to second hand. So that once more it is apparent he contemplated such a volume as the abundant materials warranted, not the small thing uld- mately published and ' made up ' by him into a ' mis- cellany.' Anxiously was the publication looked for by the household of Kinnesswood, and by the circle of admirers who cherished the lamented Poet's winsome memory. One year passed, and then another, without the slightest intimation of what was being done. Wearied and wist- ful, Alexander Bruce addressed a letter to Logan, request- ing information as to progress. No answer was returned. MICHAEL BRUCE. ss The first letter was succeeded by several others,, with the same result. At length in 1770, three years after the papers had been delivered to him under the circum- stances narrated, a slight volume appeared, containing seventeen poems [not nineteen, as Dr Mackelvie states '3 , under the title, ' Poems, on Several Occasions, by Michael Bruce.' No name of Editor was given, nor any state- ment of how the Mss. had come into his possession -, but Logan let it be known in society that he was the Editor. The following, in the form of a ' Preface,' was prefixed to the volume : — ' Michael Bruce, the Author of the following Poems, lives now no more but in the remembrance of his friends. He was born in a remote village in Kinross-shire, and descended from parents remarkable for nothing but the innocence and simplicity of their lives. They, however, had the penetration to discover in their young son a genius superior to the common, and had the merit to give him a polite and liberal education. From his earliest years he had manifested the most sanguine love of letters, and afterwards made eminent progress in many branches of literature. But poetry was his darling study ; the poets were his perpetual companions. He read their works with avidity, and with a congenial enthusiasm ; he caught their spirit as well as their man- ner ; and though he sometimes imitated their style, he was a poet from inspiration. No less amiable as a man than valuable as a writer ; endued with good nature and good sense ; humane, friendly, benevolent ; he loved ' Sec p. 95. 56 THE WORKS OF his friends, and was beloved by them, with a degree of ardour that is only experienced in the sra of youth and innocence. * It was during the summer vacations of the college that he composed the following Poems. If images of nature that are beautiful and new ; if sentiments, warm from the heart, interesting, and pathetic ; if a style, chaste with ornament, and elegant with simplicity ; if these, and many other beauties of nature and of art, are allowed to constitute true poetic merit, the following Poems will stand high in the judgment of men of taste. ' After the author had finished his course of philosophy at Edinburgh, he was seized with a consumption, of which he died, about the 2 1st year of his age. * During that disease, and in the immediate view of death, he wrote the elegy which concludes this collection ; the latter part of which is wrought up into the most passionate strains of the true pathetic, and is not perhaps inferior to any poetry in any language. ' To make up a miscellany, some poems, wrote by different authors, are inserted, all of them original, and none of them destitute of merit. The reader of taste will easily distinguish them from those of Mr Bruce, without their being particularized by any mark. ' Several of these Poems have been approved by per- sons of the first taste in the kingdom ; and the Editor publishes them to that small circle for whom they are intended, not with solicitude and anxiety, but with the pleasurable reflection that he is furnishing out a classical entertainment to every reader of refined taste.' Of this ' Preface ' as a whole, the^ Biographer of MICHAEL BRUCE. 57 Logan, in the ' Lives of the Scottish Poets ' (3 vols. l2mo, Boys, London, 1822), remarks : ' Had he [Logan] been only as scrupulously just to the literary fame, as he. has been liberal of praise to the personal character of Bruce, their names could never have been mentioned in conjunction but with undivided applause. As Editor of Brace's works, however, he has been guilty of an infidelity which, as it is of a sort which POISONS THE VERY WELL-SPRINGS OF LITERARY HISTORY, cannot be too severely condemned.' But we must return specifically upon two of the state- ments made in this ' Preface ' in their order. 1. 'To make tip a miscellany, some poems, wrote by different authors, are inserted.' The words ' make up a miscellany ' would imply, that there were not materials for even so small a volume as was thus at last issued. We have found this to be the reverse of the truth ; and further, facts will go to show why part of the Bruce Mss. was kept back. 2. ' All of them [i.e. the 'poems by different authors inserted '] [are] original, and none of them destitute of merit. The reader of taste will easily distinguish them from those of Mr Bruce, "without their being particularized by any mark.' The only other author ever specified by Logan was Sir James Foulis, Bart., to whom the ' Vernal Ode ' is ascribed by Dr Anderson. But letting this pass, could anything have been more preposterous than to assign as a reason for not putting an asterisk or other mark against the pieces not by Bruce, that ' the reader of taste ' should ' easily distinguish them from those of Mr 58 TH£ WORKS OF Bruce,' — nothing whatever of Bruce's having previously appeared in print, whereby his style might be known ? Logan's conduct in this has been called ' disingenuous ' by one, and ' dishonourable ' by another, and ' villain- ous ' by a third/ I state the fact in his own ipsissima verba ; and leave it to make its own impression. Again : In the face of this declaration, that the ' reader of taste ' should so recognise the superior merit of those of Bruce's over the others, what are we to think of the after-claim made upon what was admittedly the gem of the little collection, viz. the ' Ode to the Cuckoo,' which every ' reader of taste ' had at once singled out as placing Michael Bruce among the rare band of true Poets ? Further : There were seventeen pieces in all only ; and if Logan's own claims, and claims made for him, were to be admitted — which never for a moment can we do — fully the half of the volume, or ten separate poems, and 278 lines of ' Lochleven ' itself, must be assigned to him ; and all this in a volume issued by himself as ' Poems by Michael Bruce.'' Logan seems to have had a secret sense of the incongruity, inasmuch as he included only ONE of all the nine, and nothing of ' Lochleven ' — the one, however, being the ' Ode to the Cuckoo ' — in his own volume published in 1781, though, as we shall see, in this volume he committed other and aggravated spolia- tion upon the withheld mss. of Bruce. Some time after the volume which we have been de- scribing was published, its Editor sent six copies of it, ' The third is the Rev. Peter Mearns of Coldstream, in his Lecture on ' The Poet of Lochleven,' Kelso, 1863 ; painstaking and sympathetic. MICHJEL BRUCE. 59 ■without one word explanatory of either the delay or the ' making up ' of a ' miscellany,' to Alexander Bruce at Eannesswood. Copies had previously reached the village, and it was instantly the ' talk ' of the community, — then, as to this day, marked by no little discernment and intelligence and godliness, — that there should be next to nothing in the book indicative of the profoundly Christian character of the Poet, — what, above everything, had impressed all who had intercourse with him. Ex- cept the ' Elegy in Spring,' there was scarcely a line that breathed of ' divine things.' There was universal wonder ; and all the more that many of the Villagers could repeat verses that breathed the most seraphic de- votion, which they knew to have been his productions, but none of which were included in the volume, nor any explanation given why they were not. When the volume was put into old Bruce's hands, he went over its contents, and, bursting into tears, exclaimed, ' Where are my son's Gospel Sonnets .''' — a significant phrase, the meaning of which will appear by and by, when we come to consider the ' Hymns or Paraphrases.' Feeling indignant and injured, the good old man re- solved upon recovering his son's MSS. from Logan, and publishing them himself. Toward this he scraped together a few shillings which were due to him, and set out for Edinburgh. He found his way to the house of Sir John Sinclair, where he was informed that Logan had left the Family some time before ; but he was kindly directed to a Bailie Logan's in Leith Wynd. Thither he pro- ceeded. Logan was not there at the moment. While strolling about, in order to wait his return, the old man 6o THE WORKS OF met and recognised him in Leith Walk, told him his errand, and charged him with having kept back the larger portion and the best portion of his son's poems, — having in his eye the * Gospel Sonnets,' already named, which were his own special favourites. Logan took him to his lodgings, where he delivered to him a few loose papers, containing the first sketch of ' Lochleven,' * The Last Day,' and ' Lochleven No More,' expecting that he would be satisfied with these. But Alexander Bruce's heart was set above everything on the ' Gospel Sonnets,' — on his boy's devotional pieces, — and insisted upon having the large quarto manuscript volume, con- taining the collection of carefully transcribed and com- pleted ' Poems,' in Michael's own handwriting. Logan professed inability to place his hands upon it, but pro- mised to make a search. Ill as he was able to bear the expense, the old man remained over another night. When he returned the following day, Logan was not prepared to deliver up the book, and expressed his fears ' that the serva?its had singed fowls %vith it.' The poor old father was utterly dejected ; and when — constrained, no doubt, by his poverty — he sought some account of the profits derived from the publication, he received not one penny, nor any satisfaction. One can't but admire at the unblushing audacity which sought to make the old man believe that a ' large fully bound quarto volume ' could have been so used by ' servants,' as if it had been some loose waste paper ! Alexander Bruce returned to Kinnesswood ' cast down ' and broken in heart. The shock caused his wound from the death of his beloved Michael to bleed MICHAEL BRUCE. 61 afresh. He soon afterwards became exceedingly ' weak,' and died on July 19th, 1772. I have told the facts of the reception of the volume in the Village, and by the Poet's father, on the authority of the painstaking, conscientious, and as-on-oath Narra- tive of Dr Mackelvie. But I have had every ' jot and tittle ' of it confirmed and re-confirmed by conversadons with the sons and daughters and grandsons and grand- daughters of the Villagers, who had over and over heard every detail from old Mr Bruce himself, from Mrs Bruce, from the brother of the Poet, James, who lived until 18 14; from Mr David Pearson, Mr John Birrel, Mr David Bickerton, Mr David Arnot, and from many others who remembered and told their friends the facts. There is not a syllable of our account but rests ON THE authority OF EYE AND EAR WITNESSES OF UNCHALLENGEABLE INTEGRITY. So much for Logan's general conduct in relation to the Bruce mss. Thus far, we think, it will not be gainsaid that he acted in a singularly heartless and unworthy manner. Now we enter upon the authorship of the ' Ode to the Cuckoo,' that Ode which won the praise of Edmund Burke, and can never ' die.' Here worse remains behind what we have already told: — In 1 78 1 appeared a thin 8vo volume,' entitled * Poems. By the Rev. Mr Logan, one of the Ministers of Leith. London : Printed for T. Cadell, in the Strand. MDCCLXxxi.' It is now before us. There is no ' Pre- face,' and not a single ' Note ' or ' Explanation.' Never- theless, the very first poem in the volume is the ' Ode 62 THE WORKS OF to the Cuckoo,' which was, as we have seen, the choice jewel of that vokime which he had himself published as ' Poems on Several Occasions. By Michael Bruce.' From the date of publication of Bruce's ' Poems ' up to the publication of this volume, Logan never had hinted his own claim to the ' Ode ; ' neither in his interview with Alexander Bruce nor in any way pub- licly. But when ' every reader of taste ' had selected it as the poem of the ' Poems,' lo ! he claimed it ; and there have been found those credulous enough to admit the flagrant and impudent claim. On what autho- rity ? From what evidence ? On the simple ipse dixit of the claimant ! Which is much as though a Liar or a Thief were to be declared ' honourable ' on his own unsupported testimony. Let this fact be grasped. For Logan there is merely his publication of the ' Ode ' — with a few ' corrections ' that it won't be difficult to show were not ' improvements ' — in his volume of 178 1 ; and his brazening-out of that by subsequent necessary adherence to his claim. ^ This is the sum and substance of the evidence in his behalf, — if evidence it may be called, where the accused is at once and in one, arraigned criminal, witness, jury, and judge ; and behind all, a character even then ' blown ' upon, as shall more fully appear in the sequel. ' The earliest assertion of another's claim than Bruce's to the authorship of the ' Ode to the Cuckoo' that I have met with, is the following: In the 'Weekly Magazine or Edinburgh Amusement' — the well-known Periodical of the Ruddimans, in which Robert Fergusson first published the most of his poems — for May 5th, 1774 (vol. xxiv. p. 178), there appeared a version of it, showing verbal changes. It is signed R. D. In the next number, among answers to correspondents, there was this sharp rebuke : ' We little imagined our good friend B. M. was capable of imposition. The little Poem he sent us, under the signature R. D., inserted p. 178, proves a literary theft, and is the production of a gentleman in this MICHAEL BRUCE. 63 It never has been ventured to be affirmed, either as from Logan or by Logan's friends, e.g. his executor, Dr Thomas Robertson, of Dalmeny (of whom more anon), that the ' Ode to the Cuckoo ' was seen in his handwriting earlier than 1 7 67 ; and l']6'J luas the very year in nvhich he obtained the MSS. of Michael Bruce. Here is the cautious language of his eulogist, Dr Robertson, in his Life of Logan prefixed to his ' Sermons :' — ' The only pieces which Logan himself ever acknowledged, in his conver- sations with the compiler of this biographical sketch, were the story of Levina, the Ode to Paoli, and the Cuckoo. The last was handed about and highly extolled among his literary acquaintances in East Lothian, long before its publication, probably (though not certainly) in 1 767, as he did not reside there at all in 1 768, and very little in 1769. This fact, and his inserting it as his own in a small volume eleven years afterwards, seem pretty de- cisive of his claims.' ' Credat Judaus ! Only first seen in 1767, and yet 1 767 was the year of his reception of Bruce's MSS. ; not to say that, as a correspondent of the Poet, he might even have received and ' shown ' it earlier, though it is nowhere attempted to be proved he did this. The claim on such a miserable chance probability, ' not certainly,' is — monstrous ; and as the strength of a neighbourhood, already in print. He ought to challenge and chastise the thief ' (p. 224). Nothing more seems to have come out of it ; and of course we are unable to say who R. D. or B. M. was ; and equally are we left in the dark concerning the ' gentleman in the neighbourhood,' i.e. of Edinburgh. If it was Logan himself, — and Leith answers to the de.scription, — it is singular enough that he did not give his name. Arc we to suppose that, though Bruce was dead six years, he was only feeling his way toward his ultimate claim? Certainly he was wary enough not to act upon the irate Editor's advice ; and still other seven ■years elapsed before he gave the ' Ode ' to the public as his own. ' Quoted by Dr Mackelvie from Life prefixed to Logan's 'Poems,' pp. no, in. 64 THE WORKS OF chain is measured, not by its strongest but by its weakest part, this link failing, the after publication shares its worthlessness.^ As this is the one point that has been put for Logan, I wish to give it in every way in which it has been pre- sented. A Mrs Hutcheson, then wife of a Mr John Hutcheson, merchant, Edinburgh, and cousin to Logan, assured Dr Anderson that she saw the * Ode to the Cuckoo,' in her relative's handwriting, ^before it was pr'mted.' Very possible, nay, most probable. But then it was not printed until 1 7 70, or about three years after Bruce's mss. had come into Logan's possession. Dr Anderson has accordingly very properly remarked upon the statement : ' If the testimonies of Dr Robertson and Mrs Hutcheson went the length of establishing the existence of the ode in Logan's handwriting in Bruce's lifetime, or before the mss. came into Logan's posses- sion, they might be considered decisive of the contro- versy. The suppression of Bruce's MSS., it must he owned, is a circumstance unfavourable to the pretensions of Logan :^ No wonder that the good Doctor begins with an ' if ; ' but never has it been attempted to be shown, as it can't be too earnestly reiterated, that the ' Ode ' was in existence in Logaiis handwriting before the Bruce mss. were secured by him. In all the many Letters of Logan that are extant, not one sentence has been produced, vindicating or establishing in any way ' A friend reminds us of a pat anecdote : An old fellow got into trouble before the Sheriff about some debt he owed or did not owe. When he came home from seeing the Sheriff, a neighbour asked him how he had got on : ' How did I get on, ye fule ? It was left to my ain oath.' Anybody who knew him could have told exactly how much his oath was worth. ^ Life prefixed to Logan's ' Poems,' p. 1030. MICHAEL BRUCE. 65 his claim. Absolutely nothing has been adduced, be- yond his adherence to his claim, after publishing the Ode in his volume of 1 78 1. Most strange, that not one of all those * literary acquaintances,' of whom Dr Robertson of Dalmeny speaks, ever was or has been found to so much as turn the Doctor's ' probably ' as to 1767 into 'certainty.' I7<^7 was too damning a coincidence with the reception of the Bruce mss. to bear investigation.^ It must be stated, finally, in relation to Logan's claim, that when, in 1781— 82, a few admirers of Bruce resident in Stirling were preparing a reprint of the volume of 1770, he attempted to hinder it by procuring a 'Bill of Suspension and Interdict' against the 'printers and publishers.' The whole proceedings are given, with superabundant details, by Dr Mackelvie, whither I refer the reader.^ It is sufficient for our purpose to note these Jour things : — ' David Laing, Esq., LL.D., of the Signet Library, Edinburgh, has kindly- favoured me with a copy of the first edition of Brace's 'Poems' (1770), in which some anonymous former possessor of the volume has marked the pieces usually claimed for Logan as his ; and of course the ' Ode to the Cuckoo ' is one of them. But this is of no vahie whatever, seeing it only shows that the writer, whoever he may have been, accepted Logan's own statement. Dr Laing has also sent me copy of a letter by Dr Robertson of Dalmeny, containing nearly the same list ; but we have seen all that /le had to adduce [supra). In short, wher- ever I have come upon any attempt at evidence in favour of Logan, an examina- tion has invariably resolved it into his own publication and self-assertion. On submitting this sheet to an accomplished literary friend, he wrote me, ' Once in my life I composed a little thing of six or eight stanzas, which a college acquaintance, who wished to be thought a poet, got from me in MS., and wrote out in his own way, altering three or four words. I afterwards met it in his handwriting, and with his name at the hottotn ; and I believe it got into a news- paper or small magazine as his. I should have had difficulty in establishing a claim to my own property had it been worth while doing so. But when a man publishes a thing as his, after the real writer is in his grave, he is merely a thief, with stolen goods in his hands, declaring that he got them honestly, — knowing that the main witness against him can't be produced.' ^ Dr Mackelvie, as before, pp. 127-142. 66 THE WORKS OF (l.) Logan had the audacity to designate himself pro- prietor of the ' Poems,' and to base his right to prevent any reprint on a falsehood, viz. that Michael Bruce had * left his works to his charge ;' or as elsewhere, * Mr Logan was entrusted by Michael Bruce, previous to his death, with these very poems.' This instruction to his Law-agent he never attempted to prove, nor could he, as our Narrative must satisfy. (2.) Logan professed to be himself designing a 'new and elegant edition ' of the ' Poems ' — for his own benefit. This too when old Mrs Bruce, mother of the Poet, was in extreme penury ; and although, with the exception of six copies of the volume in 1770, neither she nor the family had ever reaped a penny of advantage from the publication. (3.) Decision was given against Logan, setting aside his alleged ' rights,' and holding his ' statements ' as disproved. Then — what escaped Dr Mackelvie — (4.) The Stirling volume, which is a verbatim reprint of that of 1770, WAS PUBLISHED. It is now before us : ' Poems on Several Occasions. By Michael Bruce. 5/w me, liber, ibis in urbem. Ovid. Edinburgh : Printed by J. Robertson for W. Anderson, bookseller, Stirling. MDCCLXXXII.' (l2mO, pp. I27).' Significant surely it is, that, notwithstanding his neces- sary disappointment with the * decision ' against him, and his anger with the Publishers, John Logan allowed this volume to go forth into the world without a single ^ Our copy has the book-plate of the amiable Lord Craig, who in ' The Mirror was the earliest to call attention to the merits of Bnice. MICHAEL BRUCE. 67 public word claiming either the 'Ode to the Cuckoo' or the other poems ascribed to him. Even in his ' pleadings ' he grounded his ' rights ' to prohibit, on his ' proprietorship,' and in so far as ' authorship ' was con- cerned was suspiciously unspecific, designating himself generally ' in a great measure the author of the collec- tion of the poems in question.' Never once did he attempt, through all the Trial, to prove that he luas himself the author of the ' Ode ;' and his own agent in the prosecution, the late venerable Alexander Young, Esq., W.S., Edin- burgh, thus wrote Dr Mackelvie : ' Logan certainly never said to me that he was the author.' ^ Turn we now to the evidence for Bruce's author- ship. If the Bible rule hold good, that ' out of the mouth of two or three witnesses shall everything be established,' then this will be so ' established,' and beyond. I, 2. David Pearson and Alexander Bruce. — In answer to inquiries addressed to him by Dr Ander- son, one of Michael Bruce's most indmate associates and friends, viz. Mr David Pearson of Easter Balgedie, thus wrote inter alia, with special reference to the ' Ode : ' — ' When I came to visit his father [Alexander Bruce] a few days after Michael's death, he went and brought forth his poem-book [i.e. the quarto volume ' Dr Mackelvie, as before, p. 140. In a letter addressed to Dr Mackelvie upon the publication of his edition of Bruce, Mr Young, though Logan's own agent, thus gave his estimate of Bruce and Logan : ' I really am at a loss to express to you my approbation of the manner in which you have executed the work, and the justice you have done to the- talents and memory of a most extraordinary youth, more es/>ecially by rescuing them from the fangs of a poisonous reptile.' Cf. ' Sermons by the late William Mackelvie, D.D. ; with Memoir of the Author by John Macfarlane, LL.D., London. 1864.' (Oliphant), pp. 31, 32. 68 THE nVRKS OF already referred to, into which the Poet had transcribed carefully all his productions deemed fit for the press], and read the " Ode to the Cuckoo" and "The Musiad," at which the good old man was greatly overcome." To the same effect he further wrote : [' Kinnesswood, August 29, 1795.'] — ' I need not inform you concerning the bad treatment that his [Bruce's] poems met with from the Rev. Mr Logan, when he received from his father the whole of his manuscripts, published only his own pleasure, and kept back those poems that his friends would most gladly have embraced, and since published many of them in his own name. The Cuckoo and THE Hymns in the end of Logan's Book are as- suredly Mr Bruce's productions.'^ Now, David Pearson, who gives this explicit ' testhnony^ — and there are many persons still alive who over and over heard him make the same unvarying statement, — was first of all an ' apprentice' with Alexander Bruce, then a 'journeyman,' and throughout the bed-fellow of Michael. Manuscripts that remain show him to have had also a taste for poetry, a taste which the elder Bruce encouraged, and which he and our Poet mutually stimulated in one another. The friendship between David and Michael was of the most intimate kind. It was their delight to read every now and then their ' new pieces ' as they came fresh from the mint, though Bruce's absence at Forrest Mill latterly prevented their seeing or showing all they produced, which, however, was supplemented ' Dr Mackelvie, as before, pp. 117, 118. The 'original letter' of Pearson was entrusted to Dr Mackelvie by the daughter of Dr Anderson. " Dr Anderson, as before, p. 274. MICHAEL BRUCE. 69 by Correspondence of the most ardent and confiding character. The Letter given by us (pp. 34—36) is one of the few spared from the spoliation of John Logan, when, as explained, he sought every possible ms. to and from Bruce. Besides all this, David Pearson was a man of shrewd and noticeable intelligence, of literary instincts, and of the same tender religious character with Michael ; and through life was regarded as of sterling integrity, unquestionable truthfulness, and rare worth. When he died, in a ' good old age,' the whole Village mourned as for a father. Dr Anderson, in his Life of Logan, describes him as ' a man of strong parts, and of a serious, contemplative, and inquisitive turn, who had improved his mind by a diligent and solitary perusal of such books as came within his reach This worthy and respectable man is now living at Easter Bal- gedie.' Such is our first twofold witness and witness- ing Alexander Bruce and David Pearson. And it may be added, that over and above his distinct and unfor- getable remembrance of old Alexander Bruce reading from the well-known quarto volume the ' Ode to the Cuckoo,' David Pearson was wont to tell with the same certainty that he kne^u the poem to be Michael's, for that he had repeatedly read and heard it in Bruce's life- time. This I have had confirmed not once or twice, but at least six times, by present representatives of the Villagers, and of county families with whom Pearson was wont to converse on the subject. He always, it must be added, in common with Mr Birrel and all others of the circle of the Bruces' relatives and acquaint- ances, adhered to the version of the ' Ode ' as first 70 THE WORKS OF given in the Poems published in 1770 (of which more by and by). 3. John Birrel. — Another 'witness,' — who died in 1837, as Dr Mackelvie's edition of Bruce was passing through the press, — viz. Mr John Birrel, gave the very same unhesitating * testimony ' from personal knowledge. He was the junior by a few years of Bruce and Pearson, but was very early in life admitted into the friendship of both. He was specially ' the friend ' trusted in every- thing by Alexander Bruce, and he learned from him again and again the facts that have been stated. The elder Bruce died on 19th July 1772, nearly ten years before Logan published his own volume, or in any public way claimed the ' Ode to the Cuckoo ;' so that he never had occasion to be interrogated as to its debated author- ship. But Mr Birrel, in common with David Pearson, recalled the tears of the old man as he would now and again take up the little volume of 1 770, and read the ' Ode to the Cuckoo,' and the ' Elegy,' and ' Lochleven,' when he was wont to recall the circumstances under which these and other pieces were composed. It was to Mr Birrel that Alexander Bruce gave over the few loose mss. that Logan had returned to him on his sad visit to Edinburgh. In ' a letter to Dr Anderson f ' Kinnesswood, Aug. 3 1 , 1 795 '] , he thus gives a narrative of the FACTS : ' Some time before the poet's father died, he delivered to me the book containing the first draught of some of Michael's poems, his sermons, and other papers, desiring I would keep them, saying, " I know of none to whom I would rather give them than you, for you * mind ' me more of my Michael than anybody," — a com- MICHAEL BRUCE. 71 pliment which I never deserved, and which in modesty I should conceal. Some years after I entered upon terms with Mr Morison of Perth to sell the mss. for the benefit of auld Annie [Mrs Bruce], who was in very destitute circumstances. But in the meantime Dr Baird wrote for them, with a view to republish Michael's poems, with any others that could be procured of his. I sent them to him gladly, hoping soon to see the whole in print, and the old woman decently provided for in consequence. The finished hook of Michael'' s poems luas given to Mr Logan, ivho never returned them. Many a time, with tears trickling down his face, has old Alex- ander told me how much he was disappointed. He came unexpectedly and got all the papers, letters, and the books away, without giving him time to take a note of the titles, or getting a receipt for the papers,' etc' There follows the reception by Logan of the father, as already fully told. In another Letter to Dr Anderson, after specially calling upon David Pearson, he informs him that he ' does not remember of seeing the Ode to the Fountain, The Vernal Ode, Ode to Paoli, Chorus of Elysian Bards, or the Danish Odes, until he saw them in print. But the rest of the publication [i.e. of 1 770] he DECIDEDLY ascribes to Michael, and in a most parti- cular manner the ' Cuckoo,' ' Salgar and Morna,' and the other * Eclogue.' The ' decidedly ' here is inter- preted to us by what David Pearson himself wrote to Dr Anderson -, and from a man so upright, so truthful, so guarded, so venerable, it was as an oath. In the course of our researches for this edition of ' Dr Anderson, as before, pp. 1029, 1030. 7 a THE WORKS OF Bruce, a number of interesting letters of Mr Birrel have been put into our hands ; and otherwise I have had fresh light shed upon his circumstances and character. All go to show that he must have been thoroughly well-educated, of literary and specially poetic tastes, and, in the fullest sense of the term — a ' god/y man.' From the outset on to his white-headed old age, Mr Birrel gave the same unvarying statement to all who introduced the subject, and to Dr Mackelvie from within the shadows of the ' Valley of Shadows ;' and such ' testimony ' from such a man in such circumstances, and speaking from his own immediate personal knowledge, and as having also read the ' Ode ' in the Poet's volume of transcribed pieces, cannot be set aside by the audacious claim of Logan himself, made without a syllable of explanation or of evidence. Thus far we have adduced three unchallengeable ' witnesses,' viz. : Alexander Bruce, father of the Poet; David Pearson and) • ^ j j 4. „ V associates and correspondents. John Birrel, j All of these had ' heard ' and ' read ' the ' Ode ' during the lifetime of Bruce, and before Logan had ever been heard of. All of them had "seen ' it in the ms. volume carefully prepared by the dying Poet ; and out of this volume, within a few days after his death, David Pearson had heard the Ode ' read ' by Bruce's father, as one of his favourite pieces. The volume which con- tained it and many other ' Poems,' was, as we have seen, guilelessly entrusted to, or rather, by false pre- tences secured by, John Logan ; and, as we have also MICHAEL BRUCE. 73 seen, he destroyed it, thus removing the one grand evidence against his claim. Fortunately, at least one other copy, not improbably two, of the ' Ode' in Bruce's handwriting had been preserved ; and we have the * testimony ' of two ' wit- nesses,' who will not be suspected, to having seen the manuscript, viz. Dr Davidson of Enross, and Principal Baird of Edinburgh. These in order : (i.) Dr Davidson of Kinross. — Dr Mackelvie hav- ing applied to the Lord Chief Commissioner Adam, of Blairadam, who had made investigations into the ques- tion, was informed by his Lordship, that Dr Davidson, Professor of Natural and Civil History, Marischal Col- lege, Aberdeen, had stated to him, that his father [Dr Davidson of ICinross] told him that he had seen a letter from Michael Bruce, in which he said, ' You will think me ill employed, for I am writing a poem about a gowk ' {Anglice, cuckoo).' On communicating with Professor Davidson, Dr Mac- kelvie received this more detailed and thoroughly satis- factory account : — ' The information you have received from the Lord Chief Commissioner is in every respect correct ; but in addition to what my father told me (as stated in his Lordship's letter), he also told me that the letter con- taining the poem was in the possession of a Mr Bickerton, residing either at ICinnesswood or Scotlandwell, but, at this distance of time, I cannot certainly recollect which. But soon after this, I was paying a visit to Colonel Douglas of Strathenry ; when passing through ICinness- ' Dr Mackelvie, as before, p. 114. 74 s THE WORKS OF wood,! met a Mr Birrel [already noticed], an acquaintance of my father's, who introduced me to Mr Bickerton, who showed me the poem written upon a very small quarto page, with a single line below it, nearly in the words as stated by the Lord Chief Commissioner, and signed Michael Bruce. The words were, as nearly as I can recall them, "You will think I might have been better employed than writing about a gowk." If I recollect right, the word Glasgow was written on one corner of the paper, but no date. The handwriting was small and cramped, and not very legible ; but as I had not seen Bruce's handwriting, I could not positively say that the handwriting was his, although Mr Bickerton assured me that it was. I cannot be perfectly certain in what year I saw the manuscript, but, from some circumstances which occurred about that period, I am inclined to believe that it was in the year 1786 or thereby. I ma}'' observe, that there were some slight differences between the manuscript which I saw and the copy published in Logan's poems. The word *' attend- ant" was used in place of "companion-," and several other variations, but of no importance. I shall be most happy if what I have stated can be of any use to you in your projected edition ; and if there are any dubious points in Bruce's life which would require to be cleared up, perhaps I might be able to give you some informa- tion, as my father and 1 had many conversations regarding hifn; and he had good opportunities of knowing him, from being his medical attendant.' ^ There are two or three points in this letter which call for remark. ' Dr Mackelvie, as before, pp. 114, 115. MICHAEL BRUCE. 75 1. I have to state that Miss Davidson, daughter of Dr Davidson of Kinross, and sister of Professor David- son, who lived and died in Kinross, is still remembered by various of the older residents in the town to have made the very same statement on the same authority, viz. her father, who never for a moment doubted that Bruce was the author of the ' Ode.' 2. In confirmation of Dr Davidson's incidental recol- lection that the paper on which the ' Ode ' was written was ' a very small quarto ' page, it is to be noted that all Bruce's letters which have been preserved are written upon half of a sheet of foolscap, folded double, which makes exactly such a page as is described. The fac-simile prefixed to our volume is also written on the same kind and size of paper. 3. The Mr Bickerton mentioned by Professor David- son is still remembered by many in the village and county, as having been a school-fellow and associate of Bruce, and afterwards a correspondent. He was a man of kindred character and worth with Pearson and Birrel ; and he gave identically the same account of Logan's visit and conduct with theirs. It is greatly to be lamented that the manuscript was lost by Mr Bickerton, who never ceased to grieve over it, in common with Mr Birrel and Mr Pearson. /;/ the very same ivay the origiftal MS. of the ^ Elegy in Spring^ has gone amis sitig from the family papers of the Hendersons of Turfhills. (2.) Principal Baird. — When Dr Anderson published the 'Poems' of Logan, in his well-known Collection of the British Poets, he assigned the ' Ode ' to him. After- 76 THE WORKS OF wards, in applying to David Pearson for information, while preparing a ' Life ' of Bruce, that worthy man cordially entered into a correspondence with the Doctor ; but in a little Memoir of Bruce, which he drew up, and which was submitted to Dr Anderson, reflected somewhat ' sfiellf on the giving of the ' Ode' to Logan. The Doctor's letter to Pearson, in reply, is given by Dr Mackelvie.^ The following extract is important : ' I have since seen your account of Bruce, which, so far as it goes, is pleasing and interesting. I hope, however, you will do me the jusdce to cancel the sentence relating to me. I do not complain of its coldness, but of its unfairness. In my narrative 1 followed Dr Baird's authority in ascrib- ing the " Ode to the Cuckoo " to Logan, who had indeed himself claimed it, and, till I saw Mr Birrel, I had no doubt of his being the indisputable author of it.' On all this Dr Mackelvie has these remarks and facts : — ' The reader will observe that Dr Anderson, accord- ing to his own account, had assigned the " Ode to the Cuckoo " to Logan, upon Dr Baird's authority. Now it is necessary to inform him that, in the year following that in which he gave Dr Anderson the sancdon of his authority for assigning this Ode to Logan, Dr Baird published a new edition of Bruce's Poems in behoof of the poet's mother, in which he inserted the " Ode to the Cuckoo " without note or comment ; thus awarding to Bruce what he had formerly claimed for his friend Logan, and what he was aware Logan had claimed for himself. The reason for this apparent inconsistency on the part of Dr Baird, in whose commendadon we have ^ Dr Mackelvie, as before, pp. ii6, 117. MICHAEL BRUCE. 77 5^et much to say, is explained in a letter to Mr John Birrel, from Mr John Hervey, merchant, Stirling, with whose character, and connection with this publication, the reader will be made acquainted in a subsequent stage of this narrative. " He " (Dr Baird) " has found the Cuckoo to be Michael Bruce's, and has the original in his own handivriting^ ' ^ In all probability, the ms. formerly in possession of Mr Bickerton was identical with that which Principal Baird had obtained, though it is not known how it reached him. It may have been another copy. It is exceedingly to he desired that the Baird family papers should yield up this prize. The Mr Hervey referred to, promoted, and indeed was the moving agent in, the publication of Dr Baird's edition of Bruce's ' Poems.' He was the bosom friend of Mr Birrel ; and two of the latter's letters to Mr Telford, banker, Stirling, which have been kindly forwarded to us, express very touchingly his grief for his death. Besides all this indubitable ' testimony,' direct and in- direct, from personal knowledge, and from those who had seen the ' Ode ' in Bruce's handwriting, there falls to be added this, that Professors Swanston and Lawson, the Rev. George Henderson of Glasgow, the Rev. David Greig of Lochgelly, and all the fellow-students of Bruce at the University, and afterwards at the ' Theological Hall ' in Kinross, over and over stated, on grounds of personal knoiuledge, that the ' Ode ' to the ' Cuckoo ' was the composition of Michael Bruce. All the re- presentatives of these persons confirmed this to Dr ' Dr Mackclvie, as before, p. 117. 78 THE HVRKS OF Mackelvie ; and I have had it repeatedly re-confirmed to myself. Further, we have the unhesitating ' testimony ' of a man greatly revered in his generation, to wit, Mr Bennet of Gairney Bridge. He was the grandson of Ebenezer Erskine's friend, the ' Laird ' of Gairney, and son of good Mr Bennet, Associate minister of St An- drews. He was a fellow-student and intimate friend of Bruce's. He received ' Licence,' but never having re- ceived a ' Call,' he settled down on ^his paternal acres, and filled most exemplarily the office of ' Elder ' in the congregation of which the present Writer is minister. He is still remembered as having often attested Bruce's authorship ; and Lord Commissioner Adam thus inci- dentally refers to his testimony, in the letter to Dr Mackelvie already quoted : ' I ought to have mentioned that Mr Bennet of Gairney Bridge, the Seceding clergy- man, told me that he believed, or rather thai he knew, that Bruce was the author of the " Cuckoo." ' ' Two additional things only remain to be added : — 1. That during Bruce's lifetime, and before the * Ode ' was published — which was not until 1770 — many of the young men of the Village who were the Poet's contem- poraries, could and did repeat it, from copies furnished by himself, as he was wont to furnish of any of his pieces that might be sought. Besides the ' witnesses ' already cited, there are those now living who perfectly remember their grandfathers and grandmothers so repeating it. 2. That it is still remembered in ICinnesswood that old Mrs Bruce, mother of the Poet, having gone along with ^ Dr Mackelvie, as before, p. 113. MICHAEL BRUCE. 79 a number of the Villagers to see a ' Cuckoo,' which had been shot by one of them, — a thing of rare occurrence from the shyness of the bird, — remarked, ' Will that be the bird our Michael made a sang about ?' the good old * body ' meaning the well-known ' Ode.' Such is our case against Logan and for Bruce. On the one hand, for Logan, there is his publication of the ' Ode,' with a few verbal changes, in his own volume of 1 78 1, but without note or explanation or subsequent proof ; ^ and without a solitary witness to its existence in his handwriting, prior to the Bruce Mss. coming into his possession. On the other hand, there are for Bruce : ( I ) The ' Ode,' known to many of the Villagers be- fore publication ; (2) read by Alexander Bruce out of the quarto MS. volume; (3) heard and read by two associates and correspondents, David Pearson and John Birrel ; (4) possessed in Bruce's manuscript by Mr Bickerton ; (5) that ms. seen by Dr Davidson ; (6) another ms. copy in Bruce's handwriting, possessed by Principal Baird ; and (7) the still well-remembered ' testimony ' of the County of Kinross, of those who per- sonally knew the Poet. Besides, as against Logan : ( i ) 'The destruction of Bruce's carefully prepared quarto volume of Poems, luhich is attested to have contained the ' Ode ;' (2) its publication by himself as Bruce's, in the volume of 1770. I gather up the whole in the emphatic verdict of another, well-fitted by genius and culture to judge, and, ' We shall see in the sequel the worth or worthiessness of Logan's claim from publication, in other relations. We shall see that he similarly ' published ' as his own, in the same volume, and on the strength of like mere slight verbal changes, what was printed before he was born, over and above his appropriation of the Bruce MSS. 8o THE WORKS OF as an Englishman, removed beyond national and local prejudices : — ' This beautiful Ode first appeared in the posthumous Poems of Michael Bruce, Edinburgh, 1770. It was, however, subsequently claimed by the editor of the volume, the Rev. John Logan, among whose poems it was afterwards printed. It is here unhesitatingly assigned to the author, under whose name it was first given to the public, on the following grounds : First, No one of Logan's unquestioned pieces makes the slightest approach to it in beautiful simplicity. Second, Were such literary frauds to be tolerated, and editors of posthumous poems allowed to claim and possess without title the best pieces in such volumes, thus taking the benefit of their own laches, no posthumous work would appear without sus- picion of being interpolated, and no author's fame resting on such works would be safe." In addition to the external evidence submitted, there has recently been discovered a singular internal confir- mation of the Bruce authorship of the ' Ode.' In a rich and racy Paper in the ' North British Review ' for February 1864, entitled 'Bibliomania,' we read as follows : — ' No 6 is a copy of the poems of the Rev. John Logan, which formerly belonged to John Miller, Esq., of Lincoln's Inn. Over against the Ode to the Cuckoo, Mr Miller has inserted a slip of paper containing the following curious piece of information : " The follow- ing note relative to the Ode to the Cuckoo was found ' The ' Poetic Wreath,' consisting of select Passages from the English Poets from Chaucer to Wordsworth. London : Chapman and Hall. 1836. 8vo. MICHAEL BRUCE. 8i among the papers of Dr Grant, one of Logan's execu- tors : — * Alas, sweet bird ! not so my fate, Dark scowling skies I see Fast gathering round, and fraught with woe And wintry years to me.' I find that, after the stanza * sweet bird,' he had written the above -, but as he did not express a wish to have it inserted, I have omitted it. And it is perhaps too solemn for the tone of the rest of the poem, but it is expressive of that predictive melancholy which was with him con- stitutional." * Now, of course, Dr Grant must have been much better qualified to judge than we are as to Logan's " pre- dictive melancholy." But it is at least remarkable that the Ode to the Cuckoo should thus be ascertained to have included a stanza so strikingly characteristic of Michael Bruce, who is on other grounds strongly suspected to have been the real author of the poem. The singularly close parallelism of the above with the well-known lines : — ** Now spring returns, but not to me returns The vernal joy my better years have known," etc., must necessarily strike every one. The stanza we have now given has never, so far as we know, been printed before ; and it is a little unaccountable that it should not have reached the hands of Dr Mackelvie, who published a carefully edited edition of Bruce's poems about thirty years ago, and who, as we remember, mentions that he had applied to Mr Miller of Lincoln's Inn for any infor- F 8i THE WORKS OF mation that might be in his possession, bearing upon the question as to the authorship of the several poems which have been variously attributed both to Bruce and Logan.' ' It is plain that Mr Miller — into whose possession the Logan and Grant mss. came — must have discovered this stanza and note subsequently to his correspondence with Dr Mackelvie. It may be well to state, that after a pro- tracted correspondence, evidencing a keen and lawyer- like penetration and sifdng of evidence, Mr Miller finally wrote : ' My own firm persuasion is, that the Ode. is Bruce's, though Logan may have changed some of the words or expressions,'^ No one will disagree with the writer of ' Bibliomania,' as to the recovered stanza being characteristic of Bruce ; and Logan's suppression of it points to a shrewd dis- cernment thereof. The touching lines reflected the very circumstances of the young ailing Poet as he felt himself struggling with a ' consumptive ' constitution. At the most, he could only live ' in weakness ' and in pain ; and was looking forward to going away prematurely. Such were his blended fears and hopes. John Logan was too ' riotous ' a ' liver ' to be visited by such * predictive melancholy,' spite of his credulous ' executor's ' observa- tion. ' Having thus vindicated the claims of Bruce to the authorship of the ' Ode to the Cuckoo,' it may not be unmeet that we give it here as originally published in 1770, and as subsequently altered by Logan in 1781. We place them opposite one another : — ' North British Review, February 1S64. - Dr Mackelvie, as before, p. 121. MICHAEL BRUCE. 83 I. 1770. As Bruce wrote it- II. 1781. As Logan amended it — Hail, beauteous Stranger of the wood ! Attendant on the spring ! Now heaVn repairs thy rural seat, And woods thy welcome sing. Hail, beauteous Stranger of the grove ! Thou Messenger of Spring ! Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat, And woods thy welcome sing. Soon as the daisy decks the green, Thy certain voice we hear: Hast thou a star to guide thy path, Or mark the rolling year ? What time the daisy decks the green, Thy certain voice we hear ; Hast thou a star to guide thy path, Or mark the rolling year? Delightful Visitant ! with thee I hail the time of flow'rs. When heav'n is fiU'd with music sweet Of birds among the bow'rs. Delightful Visitant ! with thee I hail the time of flowers, And hear the sound of music sweet From birds among the bowers. The schoolboy, wand'ring in the wood To pull the flow'rs so gay, Starts, thy curious voice to hear. And imitates thy lay. V. Soon as the pea puts on the bloom. Thou fly's! thy vocal vale, An annual guest, in other lands, Another spring to hail. VI. Sweet bird ! thy bow'r is ever green, Thy sky is ever clear ; Thou hast no sorrow in thy song. No winter in thy year ! VII. O could I fly, I'd fly with thee : We'd make, with social wing. Our annual visit o'er the globe, Companions of the Spring. The school-boy, wandering thro' the wood To pull the primrose gay. Starts, the new voice of Spring to hear, And imitates thy lay. What time the pea puts on the bloom Thou flicst thy vocal vale. An annual guest in other lands. Another Spring to hail. Sweet Bird ! thy bower is ever green, Thy sky is ever clear ; Thou hast no sorrow in thy song. No winter in thy year ! O could I fly, I'd fly with thee ! We'd make, with joyful wing. Our annual visit o'er the globe, Companions of the .Spring. For reasons that will appear in the sequel, it is neces- sary to take particular notice of the successive alterations in the text of 1781 from that of 1770. First of all, in stanza first, line first, for Bruce's ' wood,' Logan substitutes * grove,' no doubt because of 84 THE WORKS OF the occurrence of the former in line fourth. It is to be noticed that * wood ' is the local name still, for the plan- tation on the hill-sides -, and also that in * Lochleven ' ' wood ' occurs repeatedly. In line second we read — *Thou Messenger of Spring,' for Bruce's ' Attendant on the Spring.' As the Cuckoo comes with, not precedes, 'Spring,' the original ' Attendant ' is the more nicely accurate. It is noticeable also — for it is in these little things craft is shown — that Logan had a motive to make the change of ' Messenger ' for ' Attendant ' on the Spring, inasmuch as he thereby removed a suspicious parallelism with the opening of * Lochleven,' — * Beauty . . . where she treads, Attendant on her steps, the blushing Spring And Summer vi^ait.' . . . In stanza second, for Bruce's vivid ' Soon as,' Logan gives ' What time ;' in stanza third, for Bruce's ' When heav'n is filled w^ith music sweet Of birds among the bowers,' which fills up the vision of the dawning Season — first the * daisy ' and the ' cuckoo,' then the whole flush of flowers and the whole quire of ' singers ' in the wood- lands — we have Logan's * And hear the voice of music sweet From birds among the bowers ; ' the ' and ' being in contradiction to the 'hail !' addressed MICHAEL BRUCE. 85 to the advancing brlnger of flowers and birds, and trans- forming the future into the present. In stanza fourth, line first, for Bruce's ' in ' there is 'thro'-,' and for his ' To pull the flow'rs so gay,' the more definite ' To pull the primrose gay,' — Logan here giving the one improving touch that can be accepted. * In the wood ' occurs twice in * Lochleven.' In line third, Logan makes a change which no one will approve, and on which we may hear Lord Mac- kenzie : ' Will you allow me,' he wrote to Dr Mackelvie, ' to suggest that, when you republish the " Ode to the Cuckoo," you should consider whether the original read- ing of the line ought not to be restored, namely, " Starts thy curious voice to hear," instead of " Starts the new voice of Spring to hear." " Curious " may be a Scotticism, but it is felicitous. It marks the unusual resemblance of the note of the cuckoo to the human voice, the cause of the " start " and " imitation " which follow : whereas the " New voice of Spring " is not true •, for many voices in Spring precede that of the cuckoo, and it is not peculiar and striking, nor does it connect either with the start or imitation' ' In stanza fifth, line first, we have again Bruce's * Soon as' exchanged for ' What time.' Logan leaves untouched stanzas fifth and sixth, the latter the finest of the whole,- and only in stanza seventh, line second, for Bruce's 'social' reads 'joyful.' Such are the entire ' words or expressions ' (to use Mr Miller's ' Dr Mackelvie, as before, p. 240. 86 THE fi'ORKS OF phrase, ante) ' changed ' by Logan ; and I apprehend it may be safely left with every reader capable of insight, to judge whether the hand that made these alterations was the hand of a genuine ' Makkar ' — whether they do not answer to the drivellings of ' Runnymede.' Two things seem very clear : the altered copy is less truthful and is less poetical. It is the 'lesser' blessing the * greater ' — the backward way. With therefore the one exception of the specification of the ' primrose,' I know not that any one will accept Logan's alterations as im- provements. Even the * primrose ' lacks that accuracy characteristic of Bruce, inasmuch as schoolboys don't ramble 'in the woods' to 'pull' one flower in particular, be it ' primrose ' or any other, but are apt to seize upon all that offer ; and again, in the present day at least, in the county of Kinross, I have found the cuckoo pre- ceding the full yellowing of the ' primrose ' banks in the bosky glades. Logan is not the only one who has ' tinkered ' this exquisite ode. Dr M'Culloch, in the third volume of his series of school-books, imagines that he improves the original of ' Starts thy curious voice to hear,' by reading ' Stands still to hear thy two-fold shout/ an attempt to import Wordsworth into Bruce. That the version of 1770 represents the 'Ode' as it came from Bruce, will appear from these three things : — I. The Villagers had so 'learned it by heart ' pre- vious to publication. MICHAEL BRUCE. 87 2. Messrs Pearson, Birrel, Bickerton, Arnot, and all Bruce's contemporaries, so gave it. 3. Principal Baird, who had in his possession a copy in the handwridng of Bruce, so printed it, thus deli- berately refusing Logan's version. Before passing on to another flagrant illustration of Logan's appropriation of the Bruce Mss. in the ' Hymns ' or ' Paraphrases,' the Reader will no doubt be glad to have placed before him other three addresses to the * Cuckoo,' two of surpassing subtlety of thought and music of wording ; and the other interesting for com- parison, as having appeared in 1 77 7, i.e. after Bruce's volume, but prior to Logan's, and showing knowledge, especially in the penuldmate stanza, of the former. We take them in order. First of all, the anojiymous ' Ode ' of the old Magazine. ODE TO THE CUCKOO. Sein/er eadevi. See ! the vernal flow'rets bloom, Wove in Flora's silken loom, Gay linnet of the Spring ! See ! the halcyon skims the lake, And the lizard leaves the brake, "W here countless warblers sing ! Come, dear Cuckovv ! come away ! April wanes ! — 'twill soon be May ! Too short thy pleasing reign ! Come, and with iinvary'd note, Perch beside my little cot, And soothe me once again ! 88 THE WORKS OF Silver willows shed perfume. Sweeter than Arabia's gum, Along the marshy rill ; Shepherds pipe the rural lay, As their lamjjkins frisk and play Upon the pendant hill. Whisp'ring pleasure everywhere. Genial zephyrs fan the air, In mazy, mystic sport ! Insect swarms begin to live; Jocund nymphs their chaplets weave ; And Venus holds her court ! Sunshine moments dost thou prize ? Lo ! unclouded as the skies ; At work the active bees ! Nature bids thee come with speed, Revel in the laughing mead, Or wanton on the trees ! Oh ! like thee, the bird I love, I, on ev'ry new remove Fresh scenes of joy would know ; And when gath'ring storms appear (Left the baneful hemisphere). To kinder regions go. Mine this hope, when grizzly death Asks the tribute of my breath. The debt I'll freely pay ; And, unbody'd, take my flight Far beyond the staiTy height. Where beams eternal day ! ' It seems like placing a ' gowan ' beside a passion- flower, with its awful lines and stains, to follow this ' Ruddiman's 'Weekly Magazine or Edinburgh Amusement,' May 22, 1777. MICHAEL BRUCE. 89 with Wordsworth's witching and exquisitely-touched ' Ode,' to which, for perfectness of thought, of feeling, of metaphor, of word-painting, and of melody, — there is nothing of its kind that approaches it ; nevertheless the comparison is interesting, and more especially in refer- ence to Bruce's ' Ode.' For just as — to return to our symbol — we detect in the mystic passion-flower the very same tints, and spots, and ' freckles ' as are found in the lowlier blossomings of the woodland, so in his profounder strain there are self-revealing recollections of the young Scot's simpler lines. It is known that the great Poet of the Lakes admired exceedingly Bruce's ' Ode ' and ' Elegy.' Next then is Wordsworth's : — O blithe New-comer ! I have heard, I hear thee, and rejoice. O Cuckoo ! shall I call thee Bird, Or but a wandering Voice ? While I am lying on the grass, Thy two-fold shout I hear ; From hill to hill it seems to pass. At once far off, and near. Though babbling only to the Vale Of sunshine and of flowers, Thou bringest unto me a tale Of visionary hours. Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring ! Even yet thou art to me No bird, but an invisible thing, A voice, a mystery ; 90 THE WORKS OF The same whom in my schoolboy days I listen'd to ; that Cry Which made me look a thousand ways, In bush, and tree, and sky. To seek thee did I often rove Through woods and on the green ; And thou.wert still a hope, a love ; Still long'd for, never seen. And I can listen to thee yet ; Can lie upon the plain And listen, till I do beget That golden time again. blessed Bird ! the earth we pace Again appears to be An unsubstantial, faery place. That is fit home for Thee ! Lastly, there is the quaint, antique-toned ' Lines ' of Bruce-like David Gray, which remind us of those in- stantaneous photographs that give the breaking ' froarie ' curl of the wave, the soft wreathing of autumnal mist, in their fine telling of the shock of illusion, as the actual dissolved the visionary : — Last night a vision was dispell'd. Which I can never dream again ; A wonder fiom the earth has gone, A passion fi'om my bi-ain. 1 saw upon a budding ash A cuckoo, and she blithely sung To all the valleys round about, While on a branch she swung. Cuckoo, cuckoo ; I look'd around. And like a dream fulfill'd. MICHAEL BRUCE. 91 A slender bird of modest brown, My sight with wonder thrill'd. I looked again and yet again ; My eyes, thought I, do sure deceive me; But when belief made doubting vain, Alas ! the sight did grieve me. For twice to-day I heard the cry, The hollow cry of melting love ; And twice a tear bedimm'd my eye, — I sawij the singer in the grove ; I saw him pipe his eager tone. Like any other common bird. And, as I live, the sovereign cry Was not the one I always heard. O why within that lusty wood Did I the fairy sight behold ? O why within that solitude "Was I thus blindly overbold ? My heart, forgive me ! for indeed I cannot speak my thrilling pain ; The wonder vanish'd from the earth, The passion from my brain. ' Having successfully, it is believed, vindicated Bruce's claim to the ' Ode to the Cuckoo,' — having shown that Logan acted the part of Bathyllus to Virgil, or, if we may be pardoned saying it, the part of the * Cuckoo ; ' for in truth one must retort upon him the old Latin pro- verb, ' astutior coccyge,' seeing that if she steal another's nest, she at least lays her own eggs, and adheres to her own mononote, but John Logan usurped nest and eggs, and the ' sweet singing' of the bird whose little all he robbed, — we have now similarly to narrate and examine the facts ' The Luggie, and other Poems. By David Gray. With a Memoir by James Hedderwick, and a Prefatory Notice by R. M. Milnes, M.P. (Lord Houghton). (Macmillan) 1862. i2mo. Pp. 108, 109. 91 THE M'ORKS OF concerning Logan's misappropriation of the Bruce mss. in the well-known Paraphrases and Hymns. It has already been told how surprised and disap- pointed the Villagers were when the little volume of 1770 reached them, and was found to contain none of the Poet's religious pieces. "We daresay none of our readers will have forgotten the broken-hearted excla- mation of his good old father, ' Where are my son's Gospel Sonnets?' The volume of 178 1 gave an all too plain explanation of the mystery and of the sup- pression ; for at its close there appeared nine ' Hymns ' that were instantly recognised as substantially the * Gos- pel Sonnets,' or poedcal renderings of passages of Scrip- ture, of Michael Bruce — some of them revisions of already exisdng Hymns, and others wholly his own, as will immediately be shown. That the villagers and old Mr Bruce should thus in- stantly have missed the sacred poems of Bruce in 1770, and that the former — for Bruce senior was now dead — should with equal decision have recognised them in the so-called 'Poems by the Rev. Mr Logan,' in 1781, is explained by the facts which now fall to be stated. Here I would do all honour to Dr Mackelvie, by allow- ing him first of all to present these ' Short and simple annals of the poor,' merely stadng for myself, that through venerable sur- viving representatives of those whose ' forbears ' were wont to sing these very ' Hymns ' long before they ever appeared in print, and o' winter nights to recall the memory of Bruce and * auld langsyne,' I have taken no MICHAEL BRUCE. 93 small pains to re-verify every little detail. The follow- ing is Dr Mackelvie's narrative : — * The circumstance which first led our poet to write hymns has been rendered memorable in Kjnnesswood by its contributing, at the same time, to form a taste for sacred music among its inhabitants, for which they are still celebrated. About the period to which our narrative refers, a farmer of the name of Gibson settled in the village with his family, all the members of which were fond of church music ; and one of them, afterwards a preacher in connection with the Established Church, took delight in teaching this art to such of the villagers as would receive his instructions. Among the youths who benefited by his lessons was one John Buchan, who, after residing in several towns with a view to im- prove himself in his profession as a mason, returned to his native village, where he taught church music, and introduced a number of new tunes which he had learned in the places he had visited. Till then, " the old eight," — which were, " French, Dundee, Stilt or York, Newton, Elgin, London, Martyrs, Abbey," — as they are now emphatically called, were considered the only tunes which it was lawful to sing in country congregations, and, consequently, were all that it was deemed neces- sary or proper to learn ; but in town churches a few others had begun to be added to the number (among these were " St David's, St Paul's, St Thomas's, St Ann's"). In the summer of 1 764, Michael Bruce joined Buchan's class. At the time of his doing so, the fol- lowing doggerel rhymes, among others, were sung by the pupils when practising in school : — 94 THE IVORKS OF * ' O mother, dear Jerusalem, When shall I come to thee ? When shall my sorrows have an end, Thy joys when shall I see ? " • '' The Martyrs' tune, above the rest, Distinguish'd is by fame ; On their account I'll sing this In honour of their name." *' Fair London town, where dwells the King, On his imperial throne, With all his court attending him. Still waiting him upon." Buclian, knowing Bruce to be both a poet and a scholar, requested him to furnish the class with verses which might be substituted for those we have quoted, which he considered as desritute of sentiment, and calculated to produce a ludicrous effect when sung to solemn airs. With this request Bruce complied, and wrote a number of hymns, several verses of which, in consequence of being- often sung in these rehearsals, became familiar to the inhabitants of the parish. The following have been attested to the writer as among the number : — ' ' O happy is the man who hears Instruction's warning voice ; And who celestial wisdom makes His early, only choice." '* Few are thy days, and full of woe, O man of woman born ; Thy doom is written, Dust thou art. And shalt to dust return." MICHAEL BRUCE. 95 ' ' The beam that shines from Zion hill Shall lighten every land ; The King that reigns in Salem's towers Shall all the world command."" We have now to make a few remarks upon the Hymns or Paraphrases, as they belong to the two classes indicated in the outset, viz. revised hymns already existing, and hymns wholly original. I. Revised Hym;is a/ready existing. These are the first and fifth in Logan's volume of 178 1, and form the second and eighteenth of the ' Paraphrases ' of the Church of Scotland in universal use among us, and largely in the United States of America." It will startle many to be informed, that these two Hymns had been printed, substantially, in 1 745 ; and that the one — viz. ' O God of Bethel ' — belongs to the saintly Dr Doddridge of Northampton, in whose posthu- mous ' Hymns, founded on Various Texts in the Holy Scriptures,' published by Orton in 1 755, it duly ap- pears. To the proof : — Through the kindness of the Rev. Dr Johnston, of the United Presbyterian Church, Limekilns, I have now in my possession a copy of the ad interim edition of the ' Paraphrases.' Its title-page is as follows : — ' Dr Mackelvie, as before, pp. 99-102. ' Dr Laing, in his edition of Baillie, has given a most valuable account of the different editions of the metrical 'Psalms.' The same, and something more, were acceptable, concerning the ' Paraphrases.' We have before us what appears to have been a Mrd edition of the volume referred to on next page: — 'Aber- deen : Printed by F. Douglas, mdcclxv.' Three ' Hymns' are added from Dr Watts. 96 THE WORKS OF TRANSLATIONS AND PARAPHRASES OF SEVERAL PASSAGES OF SACRED SCRIPTURE, Collected and prepared By a Committee appointed by the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland. And, by the Act of last Assembly, transmitted to Presbyteries for their Consideration. EDINBURGH, Printed by Robert Fleming and Company, Printers to the Church o( Scotland. MDCCXLV. In this interesting little volume, at pages 49, 50, as the twenty-eighth, and 74, 75 as the forty-fourth re- spectively, the hymns in question are found. It may be well to give them verbatim et literatim ; and over against them Logan's versions : — 1745. I. Isaiah ii. 2-6. Logan. 1781. In latter Days, the Mount of God, His sacred House, shall rise Above the Mountains and the Hills, and strike the wond'ring Eyes. II. To this the joyful Nations round all Tribes and Tongues shall flow ; Up to the House of God, they'll say, to JacoVs God, we'll go. Behold ! the mountain of the Lord In latter days shall rise, Above the mountains and the hills, And draw the wondering eyes. To this the joyful nations round All tribes and tongues shall flow ; Up to the Hill of God, they'll say, And to His house we'll go. MICHAEL BRUCE. 97 To us He'll point the Ways of Truth ; the sacred Path we'll tread : Froin Salem and from Zion-'RWl His Lord shall then proceed. IV. Among the Nations and the Isles, as Judge supreme, He'll sit ; And, vested with unbounded pow'r, will pimish or acquit. The beam that shines on Zion Hill Shall lighten every land ; The King who reigns in Zion towers Shall all the world command. No Strife shall rage, nor angry feuds disturb these peaceful years ; To plow-shares then they'll beat their swords, to Pruning-hooks their Spears. VI. Then Nation shan't 'gainst Nation rise, and slaughter'd Hosts deplore : They'll lay the useless Trumpet by, and study War no more. No strife shall vex Messiah's reign. Or mar the peaceful years ; To ploughshares soon they beat their swords. To pruning-hooks their spears. No longer hosts encountering hosts. Their millions slain deplore ; They hang the trumpet in the hall. And study war no more. O come ye, then, of Jacob's House, our Hearts now let us join : And, walking in the Light of GoD, with holy Beauties shine. Come then — O come from every land. To worship at His shrine ; And, walking in the light of God, With holy beauties shine. 1745- IL Gen[esis] xxviii. 20, 21, 22. I. O God of BetJtel, by whose Hand thine Israel still is fed ! Who thro' this weary pilgrimage hast all our Fathers led. Logan. 1781. The Prayer of Jacob. O God of Abraham ! by whose hand Thy people still are fed ; Who through this weary pilgrimage Hast all our fathers led ! To thee our humble vows we raise ; to thee address our Pray'r : And in Thy kind and faithful Breast deposit all our care. Our vows, our prayers, we now present Before Thy throne of grace : God of our Fathers, be the God Of their succeeding race ! If Thou, through each perplexing Path, Through each perplexing path of life, wilt be our constant Guide ; Our wandering footsteps guide ; If thou wilt daily Bread supply. Give us by day our daily bread, and Raiment wilt provide ; And raiment fit provide ! 98 THE WORKS OF IV. If Thou wilt spread Thy Wings around, O spread Thy covering wings around, 'til these our wand'rings cease. Till all our wanderings cease. And at our Father's lov'd Abode And at our Father's loved abode our souls arrive in Peace ; Our feet arrive in peace ! V. To Thee, as to our CoVnant God, Now with the humble voice of prayer we'll our whole selves resign ; Thy mercy we implore ; And count that not our Faith alone, Then, with the grateful voice of praise, but all we have, is Thine. Thy goodness we'll adore ! On comparing the text of 1745 with that of Dr Doddridge (1755), the only departures are in stanza first, line first, where for ' Bethel ' we read ' Jacob ; ' and in stanza fourth, line first, where for ' wings ' we read ' shield.' Thus the Rev. John Logan published as his own, in his volume of 178 1, without a syllable of explanation, two Hymns that, as we have seen, were {substantially) printed in 1 745, when he was non-existent ; and in 1755, when, if not ' puking in the nurse's arms,' he was at most a child, having been born in 1748. The question then arises. How came Logan to have the effrontery to do this ? The answer is simple : Having Bruce's mss. beside him, he adopted the grand third stanza of the first: * The beam that shines from Zion hill Shall lighten every land ; The King who reigns in Salem tow'rs Shall all the world command j ' and also the verbal changes, which with true poetic instinct Bruce had made, and thereupon laid claim to the WHOLE.^ ' It is quite within probability that Bruce had written an entire and original paraphrase of the passage, Isaiah ii. 2-6, and that Logan took from it the one stanza which lingered in the memory of the villagers of Kinnesswood, ' The beam that shines,' etc. Be this as it may, in addition to the two paraphrases above, which Logan pub- MICHAEL BRUCE. 99 All this reflects back light upon Logan's similar audacious claim to the ' Ode to the Cuckoo.' As we found, there were slight alterations, — not improvements, save one, — on the text of 1770 in the volume of 1 781 -, and on the strength or weakness and worthlessness of these, lo, he claimed the ' Ode ' itself ! We have here all unintentionally revealed his principle or no-principle of authorship. Apart altogether from Bruce, it will be admitted that Logan had not the shadow of title to pub- lished as his own in 1781, on the strength of his verbal changes on the text of 1745, there is another — viz. the 48th of our collection of ' Paraphrases,' which also was claimed by Logan and bears his name — that nevertheless was, in like manner, (substantially) printed in the little volume of 1745. I place the two side by side. 1745. Romans viii. 31, to the end. I. Now let our souls ascend above The fears of guilt and woe : God is for us, our Friend declared ; Who then can be our foe ? 1781. 48th P.^RAPHRASE. Let Christian faith and hope dispel The fears of guilt and woe ; The Lord Almighty is our friend, And who can prove a foe ? He who his Son, most dear and lov'd, For us gave up to die. Will he withhold a lesser gift. Or ought that's good deny? He who his Son, most dear and lov'd, Gave up for us to die, Shall he not all things freely give That goodness can supply? Behold all blessings seai'd in this. The highest pledge of love ; All grace and peace on earth below. And endless life above ! Behold the best, the greatest gift. Of everlasting love ! Behold the pledge of peace below. And perfect bliss above ! Who now shall dare to charge with guilt Where is the judge who can condemn, \Vhom God hath justified ? Since God hath justified ? Or who is he that shall condemn. Who shall charge those with guilt or crime Since Christ the Saviour dy'd? For whom the Saviour dy'd? He died, — but He is risen again. Triumphant from the grave ; And pleads for us at God's right hand, Omnipotent to save. VI. Then who can e'er divide us more From Christ, and love divine? The Saviour dy'd, but rose again Triumphant from the grave ; And pleads our cause at God's right hand, Omnipotent to save. Who then can e'er divide us more From Jesus and his love. loo THE WORKS OF lish these hymns as his own ; but when it is shown, as Dr Mackelvie has done, that the stanza which is the * perfect chrysolite ' of its Hymn, was familiarly sung by the Villagers in 17154, or sevettteen years before it was printed by Logan, and that similarly the two Hymns, with the 'verbal changes' upon the text of 1745 and 1 755, were regularly used in the village-singing under the cir- cumstances recorded, it is difficult to restrain one's indigna- tion against Plagiarism so base and Audacity so supreme. We claim for Bruce, then, the stanza, the lines, and the felicitous verbal changes of these two Hymns. Had Or what dissolve the sacred band Or break the sacred chain that binds That joins our souls to him ? The earth to heav'n above ? VII. Let troubles rise, and dangers roar, Let troubles rise, and terrors frown. And days of darkness fall ; And days of darkness fall ; Through him all terrors we'll defy, Through him all dangers we'll defy. And more than conquer all. And more than conquer all. VIII. Nor death, nor life, nor heaven, nor hell. Nor death nor life, nor earth nor hell. Nor time's destroying sway, Nor time's destroying sway. Can e'er efface us from his Heart, Can e'er efface us from his heart, Or make his Love decay. Or make his love decay. IX. Each future period this will bless. Each future period that will bless. As it has bless'd the past : As it has bless'd the past ; He lov'd us from the first of time, He lov'd us from the first of time, And loves us to the last. ' He loves us to the last. Such is another example of the audacity, of Logan in claiming as his own what was, with the exception of verbal alterations, in print before his birth. It may be stated that a singularly interesting, if over-violent and controversial, series of papers on ' The Paraphrases,' appeared in the ' Free Church Magazine ' for 1847 ; which papers were fiercely assailed in Macphail's ' Edinburgh Ecclesiastical Journal ' and in ' Tail's Magazine ' of the same year. The discussion sprang out of an alleged discovery of the Robert Burns authorship of ' The Paraphrases,' which the ' Evangelicals' were disposed to push over-much against the ' Moderates.' The Manuscript turned out to be, it is understood, Logan's, and shows that he had much to do with the preparation of the ' Paraphrases,' as finally issued in 1 781. Beyond doubt, what led him to his 'Paraphrase' studies were the Bruce Mss., and above all the 'Gospel Sonnets,' so shamelessly and heartlessly sup- pressed and destroyed, as told atite. MICHAEL BRUCE. loi he himself lived to publish his Hymns, ' he would un- doubtedly have recorded that in these instances his were only improved versions of older hymns ; just as Burns acknowledged the old songs ; which were so amended by him, that no one cares to remember the original verses." So much for the revised hymns, already sub- stantially existing in 1 745 and 1755, and Logan's impu- dent publication of them as his oivn. Dr Robertson of Dalmeny earlier, and Chambers in his ' Cyclopedia of English Literature ' later, lay stress on Logan's publica- tion of the ' Ode to the Cuckoo ' as his otun in the volume of 178 1 -, but here in the very same volume he is found publishing as his own Hymns that we have seen were printed substantially before he was born. The man capable of doing the one is self-convicted as capable of doing the other ; and he did it. Surely Phsedrus may here be cited : ' Quicunque turpi fraude semel innotuit, Etiamsi verum dicit, amittit fidem.' I would thus render the couplet, ' He who is known, once, a base fraud t' have done, E'en speaking truth, believed is by none.' 2. Hymns nvholly original. These are the 2d, gd, 4th, 6th, 7th, 8th, and 9th in Logan's volume. The whole evidence for the Bruce authorship of the ' Ode to the Cuckoo ' belongs equally to them. They are the ' Gospel Sonnets ' to which old Mr Bruce referred when he gave them this name, in allusion to the people's classic, the ' Gospel Sonnets ' of Ralph Erskine, which, ' The Rev. Peter Mearns, as before, p. 19. loz THE WORKS OF — as having been composed in part while meditating in a * plantation ' on the hill-side above the Manse of Port- moak, then occupied by Ebenezer Erskine, — were lov- ingly read and sung in the ' Bishopshire ; ' they are what Bruce the elder regarded as the jewels of the quarto volume entrusted to Logan ; they are the * sacred pieces' immediately missed by the Villagers when the volume of 1770 reached ; they were personally com- mitted to memory ('learned by heart' is the expressive Scotticism) by David Pearson, John Birrel, the Bicker- tons, Arnots, Hendersons, and indeed the whole Community between 1 764 and 1767, or seventeen years before Logan published them ; or, reckoning froin 1767, fourteen years. There were extant so recently as 1837 written copies of all, and bearing these dates, as Dr Mackelvie discovered almost immediately after his edi- tion of the ' Poems ' was issued, — as over and over he assured me, and as I have since had confirmed by per- sons of indisputable integrity.' And, further, James Bruce, brother of the poet, — who lived until 18 14, and was a man of sterling worth, — declared in the most solemn manner, from his own personal knowledge, ' that all the Paraphrases published in Logan's name ^ Having had frequent conversations with the late Dr Mackelvie on the whole subject of the Poems of Bruce, I was impressed with the amount of labour be- stowed by him in verifying every minutia of his book ; and I had the promise from him, as well of above dated copies as of at least two (already published) letters, part of 'Lochleven,' and other Mss. of Bruce. " But his great infirmities latterly made attention to any such things painful, and I forbore urging him. With that kindling eye which all who knew him will remember, he said, ' Every one of the eleven paraphrases belongs to Bruce — every one ; and if I ever print the poems again, they'll all go in.' From one so judicious and conscientious this was weighty ; but independent of it, we have all the above witness-bearing to superadd to Logan's proved self-appropriation of the two Hymns printed before he was bom. MICHAEL BRUCE. 103 were written by his brother Michael ; that he had often read them, heard them often repeated, and frequently sung portions of them in Buchan's class long before the addition to the Assembly's collection was heard of,' i.e. the final Collection of the present Paraphrases, which was published in 1781.^ Finally, be it kept in mind, Logan destroyed the MS. quarto volume into ivhich Bruce had transcribed the whole, and which would no doubt have shown whatever was old in the revised Hymns, and what were Bruce's own entirely. Besides other ' sacred pieces,' Hymns and Paraphrases are known to have been included in the volume ; so that we can appeal to the emphasis of good David Pearson : 'They may as well ascribe to Logan the framing of the universe as the writing of these poems.' ^ The only reservation which it is necessary to make is, that Logan appears to have made ' verbal changes.' This seems to have been a principle with him, in order to satisfy his ' dregs of conscience ' in his claim there- upon to the entire authorship. His own procedure has put it out of our power to get at any ' improvements ' that he may have made. If we may judge from his 'improvements' in 1 78 1 of the 'Ode to the Cuckoo' of 1770, these can't have been great. One admires at the Logan-like assurance of one of his Biographers, who boasts of personal intimacy, — on the whole matter : ' Bruce might have left hymns in a more or less polished * Dr Mackelvie, as before, p. 104 ; and let any one disposed to undervalue his testimony, or that of Pearson and Birrel and the others, recall Cicero's words, ' Idoneus quidem mea sententia, prsesertim quum et ipse eum audiverit, ut scribal de mortuo ; ex quo nulla suspicio est, amicitiae causa, eum esse mentitum.' ^ Dr Mackelvie, as before, p. 105. I04 THE WORKS OF state, and these hymns might have been altered, em- bellished, and published by Logan as his own." What a supposition ! What an admission ! What a com- mentary upon his ' publishing as his oivti ' the first and fifth of the Hymns with his (stolen) ' alterations ' and ' embellishments ! ' ' O Shame, where is thy blush ?' Confirmatory of all the external evidence, we have in regard to one of the Paraphrases — viz. The Complaint of Nature, selected stanzas of which make the eighth of the Collection now in use — striking internal evidence. We have only to place three stanzas — the seventh, eighth, and ninth — in juxtaposition with a fragment in Bruce's handwriting, which has been preserved, in order to trace one mind in both : — *■ When chill the blast of winter blows, Away the summer flies ; The flowers resign their sunny robes, And all their beauty dies. ' Nipt by the year, the forest fades ; And, shaking to the wind. The leaves toss to and fro, and streak The wilderness behind. ' The wmter past, reviving flowers Anew shall paint the plain ; The woods shall hear the voice of spring. And flourish green again.' Now for the fragment in prose : — ' The hoar-frost glitters on the ground, the frequent leaf falls from the wood, and tosses to and fro driven in ' Life of Logan, prefixed to his Poems. Bell and Bradfute, 1812. MICHAEL BRUCE. 105 the wind. The summer is gone with all her flowers ; summer ! the season of the muses. ^' Yet not the more Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt, Clear Spring, or shadie grove, or sunnie hill."' ' It was on a calm morning, while yet the darkness strove with the doubtful twilight, I rose and walked out *' Under the opening eyelids of the mom."" Compare also these stanzas from Bruce's ' Elegy ' : — ' Loos'd from the bands of frost, the verdant ground Again puts on her robe of cheerful green. Again puts forth her flow'rs, and all around Smiling the cheerful face of Spring is seen. Thus have I walk'd along the dewy lawn, My frequent foot the blooming wild hath worn ; Before the lark I've sung the beauteous dawn. And gather'd health from all the gales of morn. And even when winter chilled the aged year, I wander 'd lonely o'er the hoary plain ; Tho' frosty Boreas warned me to forbear, Boreas, with all his tempests, wam'd in vain.' Internal evidence is not very much to be depended on, as the present Writer has had occasion to prove, while this is being passed through the press, in the case of ' The Paradoxes' of Herbert Palmer -,- but in combina- tion with such seven-fold external evidence as has been adduced, it is an element not to be despised. It is a misrepresentation of matter of fact in Chambers' Cyclo- paedia of English Literature — whoever may be responsible ' Dr Mackelvie failed to observe these two quotations from Milton (Paradise Lost, book iii. lines 26-28; and Lycidas, line 26). By reading 'shadow' for ' shady ' also, the sense is confused. ^ See ' Lord Bacon not the Author of "The Christian Paradoxes," being a re- print of " Memorials of Godliness " by Herbert Palmer, B.D. With Introduction, Memoir, and Notes, by the Rev. A. B. Grosart. For private circulation. 1864. io6 THE WORKS OF for it — that Dr Mackelvie rested his claim for Bruce to the authorship of this Paraphrase upon the ' resemblances ' presented. Having given irrefragable external proof, these * resemblances ' were added ; and the interweaving of the lines from Paradise Lost and Lycidas, instead of weakening, strengthens the evidence in favour of Bruce, knowing as we do how lovingly he studied Milton/ Without the shadow of hesitation, then, in retro- spect of the evidence adduced, the 'Ode to the Cuckoo,' and the hymns and paraphrases appropri- ated by Logan, together with one of the two revised hymns, are included in the Works of Michael Bruce"; from which may no sacrilegious hand ever withdraw them. Such may suffice. I wish tondere non deghibere ; and indeed it were to waste so fine a thing as righteous anger, to add much more on the literary delinquencies of John Logan. I pause not, therefore, to show — which might easily be done — how, in his no doubt ' elegant ' Sermons, he has appropriated Sherlock, and Blair, and Zollikofer, and numerous others. They were published posthumously ; and he must have the benefit of that. Neither do I enter into his astounding candidature for ' It is somewhat vexatious to find Mr Robert Chambers so very ' shifty ' in re- lation to Bruce. In his Correspondence with Dr Mackelvie he is all acquiescence ; and on the appearance of the Doctor's edition in 1837, an admirable paper appeared in his Joitrnal {'Ho. 292, September 2, 1837), unhesitatingly recognising Bruce's claims, and with cordial admiration giving the ' Ode to the Cuckoo ' as his ; and lo ! in his ' Cyclopaedia of English Literature,' without a tittle of further evidence, one way or another, it is carelessly inserted under Logan, with the extra- ordinary statement that Logan's authorship never was questioned during his life- time, whereas his most earnest defenders could only urge that he asserted his ' innocence,' — a word that involves not merely questioning but accusation, such as we know to have been over and over made during his lifetime. One regrets such slips, from the very love and gratitude cherished for this 'lealest' and truest of Scotland's sons. I don't refer to the Life in ' Eminent Scotsmen,' as it was written by a Mr Hogg. MICHAEL BRUCE. 107 one of the Chairs of the University, on the basis of a course of * Lectures ' which were afterwards shown not to have been his own, by their publication, unchallenged, during his own lifetime, by Dr William Rutherford. His ' Defence ' of Hastings, his ' Runnymede,' and other ventures, lie beneath the ' small dust ' of oblivion. We will not disturb them. Concerning the man as a man and as a minister of the gospel, it is impossible to speak without reprobation. His life was unwholesome, unclean, base and embased ; for it were to speak * smooth things ' where rough truth is de- manded, to describe the flagitious course of this clerical Champion (for he might have sat to M. About), this clerical scapegrace of mean and meagre nature and un- true to the very core, — by the euphemisms of gentle Dr Anderson, e.g. ' deviations from the modes of the world, and violations of professional decorum, which offended his parishioners, and made it eligible for him to discon- tinue the exercise of his clerical function,' though even he had to write, ' He grew burdensome to himself, and with the usual weakness of men so diseased, eagerly snatched that temporary relief which the bottle sup- plies." We spare the remainder ; for we could not quote, without reproof, apology so misplaced. ' And yet we have pity for the prematurely old and desolate wretch, ' As before, in Life of Logan. Chambers, in his ' Biographical Dictionary of Eminent Scotsmen,' under Logan (Division VL), furnishes one of a hundred illustrations of his miserable condition even early : ' An aged parishioner of Mr Logan mentioned to a friend of the editor of this work, that he was present in church one day, when the conduct of the reverend gentleman was such as to in- duce an old man to go up, and, in no very respectful language, call upon the minister to descend from the pulpit which he disgraced. Such an anecdote, if read immediately after perusing one of the elegant discourses of Logan, would io8 THE WORKS OF trembling with the trembling of fourscore within his fortieth year. If his Biographers tell true, one catches a glimpse of him in an attitude of, at the least, remorse- ful penitence. He is said, away in one of the lanes of London, whither he had skulked, to have called in the neighbours' children, and gathering one or two about his knees, to have got them to read the Bible to him. It brims one's eyes with tears to read of it. It moves to pity : it excites hope. ' God forbid ' that we should hold even of one so * fallen,' of one so false to such shy genius, and such saintly worth, as that of Michael Bruce, — not to say to trust so sacred, — there could not be divinely given 'turning' and the divine 'cry' right through the gathering dark, Christ- ward. But while 'judging not' of his soul's destiny, — in the interests of Literature and of Right, John Logan must be branded as heartlessly false to a dead young friend, and be spoiled of the lustrous-eyed fea- thers with which, at another's cost, he — as sooty a bird as ever ventured among ' sweet singers ' — decked himself. Of the other ' Poems ' published in 1770, the follow- ing have been claimed for Logan : — ' Damon, Menalcas, and Meliboeus : an Eclogue -,' ' Pastoral Song,' to the tune of 'The Yellow-hair'd Laddie ;' 'Eclogue in the manner of Ossian -,' 'Ode to a Fountain-,' the two ' Danish Odes ; ' ' Chorus, of Anacreontic to a Wasp ; ' form a singular illustration of the propinquity which sometimes exists between the pure and impure, the lofty and the degraded, in human character' (p. 492). I must add, that in the course of my literary researches I have been brought pretty near to Logan, by his own letters, by letters of contemporaries, by anecdotes, and other data ; and I know not that a more false life has ever been lived, — the worst of all falsity moreover, seeing it is a serving the devil while wear- ing Christ's livery. It may be needful, some day, to reveal all, though personally I should prefer silence, save only where Bruce's claims come in for defence. MICHAEL BRUCE. 109 the tale of ' Levina ' in ' Lochleven ;' and the ' Ode to Paoli : ' that is to say, of the entire seventeen pieces which composed the little volume, eleven are to be appro- priated to Logan ; one at least, ' the Vernal Ode,' to Sir James Foulis, Bart.; and, according to the 'Preface,' some others to ' other gentlemen.' And yet, while thus leav- ing, say FIVE short pieces to Bruce, out of the seventeen, the volume was published as POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS BY MICHAEL BRUCE.' It were no great loss though it could be shown that all the pieces named were not Bruce's. But inasmuch as ( I ) Logan did not place any of them in his volume of 1 78 1, or in any of the editions published during his life- time ; and inasmuch as (2) He nowhere publicly claimed any of them, though, as we have seen, swift to re-claim the ' Ode to the Cuckoo,' and to publish as his own the * Hymns ;' and inasmuch as (3) The fragments of Bruce's Mss. preserved after the spoiling of Logan, show the germs of ' Levina ' in * Lochleven,' and traces of various of the others, confirmed by Pearson and Birrel ; and inasmuch as (4) Dr Anderson, spite of Dr Robertson's letter, in which above list is enumerated (dated Septem- ber 19th, 1795), and for which I am indebted to Dr Laing of the Signet Library, — assigns nearly all to Bruce, ' It is a Law-maxim of Coke, ' Cum duo inter se pugnantia reperiuntur in tcsta- mento, ultimum ratum est.' The principle holds here. The volume is a 'deed,' not a 'Will,' and the 'first' statement, not the last, is binding. That first was — that Bruce was the author of all the Poems. no THE WORKS OF and excludes the whole from Logan ; and finally, inas- much as (5) Other Editors have unhesitatingly given all to Bruce, — the whole, save the ' Vernal Ode ' of Sir James Foulis, will be found in our edition. In estimating the position of Michael Bruce among the minor Poets of our Country, three things must be remem- bered. 1. That the ' Ode to the Cuckoo' and the * Hymns,' being proven to be his, we have in them a token of what, had years been given him, he might and would have done. 2. That the quarto volume into which he had trans- cribed all his Poems under the shadow of departure, was DESTROYED by Logan. It probably contained many such gems as those named. I strongly suspect that the ballad of the ' Braes of Yarrow,' and the Tale com- mencing, ' Where pastoral Tweed, renown'd in song,' were, in substance, from his Muse, not Logan's. 3. That he died only three months beyond his_,twenty- first year. This explains the immaturity of his taste, and his echoes of Milton and Thomson, Gray and Collins, and Young and other poets. But as it is, this volume of the ' Works ' of our Poet deserves a place among the genuine ' Makkars.' Even in his barest productions, as , ' Lochleven ' and ' The " Last Day,' there are bits of description not at all un- worthy of the master, Thomson. Thus, — ' Fair from his hand behold the village rise, In rural pride, 'mong intermingled trees ! Above whose aged tops the joyful swains, At even-tide descending from the hill, With eye enamoured, mark the many wreaths MICHAEL BRUCE. iii Of pillared smoke, high-curling to the clouds. The streets resound with Labour's various voice, Who whistles at his work. Gay on the green, Young blooming boys, and girls with golden hair. Trip nimble-footed, wanton in their play. The village hope. All in a reverend row. Their grey-haired grandsires, sitting in the sun. Before the gate, and leaning on the staff. The well-remembered stories of their youth Recount, and shake their aged locks with joy. How fair a prospect rises to the eye. Where Beauty vies in all her vernal forms. For ever pleasant, and for ever new ! Swells the exulting thought, expands the soul. Drowning each ruder care : a blooming train Of bright ideas rushes on the mind. Imagination rouses at the scene ; And backward, through the gloom of ages past. Beholds Arcadia, like a rural queen. Encircled with her swains and rosy nymphs. The mazy dance conducting on the green. Nor yield to old Arcadia's blissful vales Thine, gentle Leven ! Green on either hand Thy meadows spread, unbroken of the plough. With beauty all their own. Thy fields rejoice With all the riches of the golden year. Fat on the plain, and mountain's sunny side. Large droves of oxen, and the fleecy flocks. Feed undisturb'd ; and fill the echoing air With music, grateful to the master's ear. The traveller stops, and gazes round and round O'er all the scenes, that animate his heart With mirth and music. Ev'n the mendicant, Bowbent with age, that on the old grey stone. Sole sitting, suns him in the public way, Feels his heart leap, and to himself he sings.' There are, too, lines that reveal the poet's eye and the poet's ear. Thus, how exquisitely imitative is this of iij THE WORKS OF the startled ' crane,' winging its laboured flight to its hiding-place among the reeds of the Lake : — * In the dusky air The slow-winged crane mov'd heavily o'er the lee, And shrilly clamour'd as he sought his nest.' Then how delicate this is : * Twilight trembles o'er the misty hills.' Here are two fine pictures, of a village beauty and of a mountain stream : ' She reddened like the morning, under veil Of her own golden hair.' ' A rivulet pure Bursts from the ground, and through the crumbled crags Tinkles amusive.' There is grandeur in this ' spectacle ' in the ' Last Day : ' ' Heard'st thou that crash ? There fell the tow'ring Alps.' The ballad of ' Sir James the Ross ' may compare with ' Hardynute ' and ' Owen of Carron.' There are epithets also, that, though grown familiar now, were uncommon then. They lie like the gleaming dew, lucent as it, and as sparkling. One is memorable, * eyeless darkness,' which might take its place in Mac- beth. Is it a reminiscence of the ' eyeless night ' of Shakespeare (King John v. 6) that certain asinine edi- tors misread ' endless ?' Another, ' The ifiexorable doors of death,' may bear comparison with Mrs Clive's so much admired ' insuperable threshold.' But his ' unfail- ing crown ' is the ' Ode to the Cuckoo,' and his Hymns that for well-nigh a century have interpreted the praises MICHAEL BRUCE. 113 of Scotchmen to Him who has assured us that ' whoso praiseth, glorifieth Him.' Stanzas and lines of the latter are interwoven with our language. I have seen a vast Multitude in ' this England ' of ours, and also over the Atlantic, stirred as by an electric thrill of emotion — the hearts of many moved as the heart of one — by the climax of a missionary appeal being barbed with the grand Millennial stanza : — ' The beam that shines from Zion hill Shall lighten every land ; The King who reigns in Salem's tow'rs Shall all the world command.' I have found lines also of these Hymns carved on tomb- stones in far-away * God's Acres ' and in many lan- guages — if not in the very words, certainly closely ren- dering the thought. Who may number the tear-wet eyes that have been turned Upward by this — to select only another stanza ? ' A few short years of evil past, We reach the happy shore, Where death-divided friends at last Shall meet to part no more.' And then there is his ' Elegy in Spring,' so brave, so sonorous, so sunny-hearted spite of coming night, so in- stinct with unconscious pathos as the eye is introverted upon the * dim taper,' so assured and yet so tender in its hope, so dove-like mournful, and so dove-like Zion- haunting, so covetous of the green grave by ' Lochleven,' beside his boy-friend Arnot, and so lofty in its anticipa- tion, after the long rest of ' the eternal day.' It will do us all good to read the closing stanzas, and to pause upon the italicized lines : — . H 114 'J'HE WORKS OF MICHAEL BRUCE. ' Now spring returns : but not to me returns The vernal joy my better years have knovvrn ; Dim in my breast life's dying taper burns ^ And all the joys of life with health are flown. * Starting and shiv'ring in th' inconstant wind, Meagre and pale, the ghost of what I was, Beneath some blasted tree I lie reclined. And count the silent moments as they pass : *■ The winged moments, whose unstaying speed No art can stop, or in their course arrest ; Whose flight shall shortly count me 'with the deady And lay me do^wn in peace wi)ith them at rest. ^ Oft morning-dreams presage approaching fate ; And morning-dreams, as poets tell, are true. Led by pale ghosts, I enter death's dark gate. And bid the realms of light and life adieu. * I hear the helpless wail, the shriek of wo ; I see the muddy wave, the dreary shore, The sluggish streams that slowly creep below. Which mortals visit, and return no more. ' Farewell, ye blooming fields ! ye cheerful plains ! Enough for me the churchyard's lonely mound. Where melancholy with still silence reigns. And the rank grass waves o'er the cheerless ground. ' There let me wander at the shut of eve. When sleep sits deivy on the labourer s eyes : The world and all its busy follies leave. And talk with Wisdom where my Daphnis lies. ' There let me sleep forgotten in the clay^ When death shall shut these iveary, aching eyes ; Rest in the hopes of an eternal day. Till the long night is gone, and the last mom arise.' Surely, with all abatements, there is only another English ' Elegy ' to be placed beside it. Alexander B. Grosart. APPENDIX TO MEMOIR. A. — See Page 21. Letter of Michael Bruce to 'Mr David Arnott of Portmoag ^' from the family MSS. of the present Mr Amot of Portmoak. Dear Sir, — You may remember you were inquiring, the last time I had the pleasure of your company, who the Hutchin- sonians are. Perhaps you know. I then did not ; but have since learnt something of them. Mr Hutchinson, from whom they take their name, was an English gentleman, skilled in the Hebrew ; and denied that the vowels or points belonged to the language. His reason for this was thought to be a disposition to criticise on the sacred writings, in which he has been followed by some in our own Nation. When once they have discarded the vowel-points, they may give very different readings, and conse- quently significations, to many words. But what he was most famous for was, that he published a work in two volumes, called, I think, Principia Mosas, a kind of commentary on the Old Testament, but particularly the Pentateuch and Psalms. The most part of the Old Testament, but especially these afore- said, he holds [to be] symbolical, and in every sentence finds meanings which none but himself and some of his followers can see. Every part of the Psalms, he says, refers to the Messiah ; or, to use the words of an honest enthusiast of him, * he finds the Saviour in every word.' The whole work is a confused piece of absurdity (they say who have read it), filled with trifling allegories and far-fetched conceits. To give one instance: The flaming sword placed at the gate of Paradise, according to him, was ap- pointed to show the way to the tree of life, not to guard the way. It is said there are few passages of Scripture in which, ii6 THE nVRKS OF either in the translation he has not found some concealed mean- ing, or altered the translation for the sake of an allegory. You will let me know if this agrees with any hints you have met with of these people.' There is a manuscript of Longinus, lately found in the Library of the Benedictine Monks at Rome, containing a comparison of some passages of Holy Writ, with some [of] the heathen poets. I lately saw some extracts from it. Homer, says this judicious critic, ' makes the forest tremble at the approach of the Deity ; but the Jewish poet says, " The earth did melt like wax at Thy Presence;" and indeed in every respect their Jehovah is superior to our Jupiter.' And so he goes on in a great number of passages, always giving the preference to the Book of God." I saw Mrs Wallace this day, and received a letter to you. She has not yet got the escritore or glass, but is to use diligence. I design to make one last effort on R. Hill, before I give up my commission, to resume it no more. I have not got Shep. Par.3 It was sold before I came over, not above a shilling. I ask your pardon for not sending your seeds before now. They were bought two weeks ago, but neglected to be sent by a forgetful- ness in your affectionate Michael Bruce. Edinburgh, AJ>ril lo, 1765. P.S. — I remember one who shall be nameless here, in a letter to a young man, has these words, ' Si mihi, nil novi publici, etc., rescribis ; nil boni vel jucundi, etc., communicas ; vel tui fastidii vel ignavias, si non aegritudinis argumentum habebo : et tui a me nil amplius audiendi voluntas."* Pray could such an one fail in the same article ? You may believe I am not a little chagrined on being so cruelly disappointed. I have sent the seeds and Mrs W.'s letter. — 1 1 o'clock night. ^ For a list of the Writings of this singular laic Theologian, see AUibone's ' Dictionary of British and American Authors,' sub jwmine, where will also be found various authorities on Hutchinsonianism. — G. ^ Longinus quotes Moses in his famous work, De Suilimitate ; and it must be to some MS. of this work Bruce refers. — G. 3 Probably Thomas Sheppard's ' Parable of the Ten Virgins,' a well-known New England Puritan book. — G. '^ This is no doubt a quotation from one of Mr Arnott's own Latin letters. See as to these under B. — G. MICHAEL BRUCE. 117 B. — See Page 24. Two Letters from Mr David Arnott^ Portmoagj to Bruce. I. From the Latin; for Amott and Bruce were wont to inter- change Latin epistles, — a somewhat noticeable thing in rela- tion to a small Scottish ' Laird ' of the eighteenth century. The Latin is somewhat canine^ it must be conceded ; and therefore we prefer giving a translation to the rugged origi- nal. From the present Mr Arnot of Portmoak's Family mss. My Dear Sir, — I lately received your letter, in which you inquire respecting the health of our family. I have to say, in reply, that it is now as well as could be wished ; but, alas, how frail is it ! and in this dubious path of life how liable every fleet- ing moment to fail us ! I am now desirous, in my turn, to hear that you are well, and successfully advancing in your studies. I hope and trust that you are still persisting in the course and pur- suing the track which leads to the summit of learning, and con- sequently to honours. For there is no difficulty which labour may not obviate. Avail yourself of the opportunity which is now in your power. If neglected, it will never return. For as in the river wave presses upon wave, so in reference to Time does day upon day.' And as nothing is more shameful than the squander- ing away of time, so many, seriously, though too late, deplore it as a loss beyond all calculation. If in this spring-time of life you sow the seeds of learning, you have ground to expect here- after a most abundant harvest, — a harvest agreeable to your parents, and honourable to yourself. Thus is it, my dear sir, that ' he who would make the gain must take the pain.' '^ Give to your studies whatever you take from sleep or recreation. This path has been trod by all who have ever rendered themselves illustrious for their distinguished learning. Degenerate souls steal their own time and that of others. They are a dishonour to their family and their country. Avoid them as you love yourself, and keep them at a distance. But, above all, let piety have the ' 'Truditur dies die.' Horace (Car. ii. i8), ' Urget diem noxet dies noctem.' — G. ^ ' Qui c nuce nucleum esse vult frangat nucem.' Plautus. — G. ii8 THE WORKS OF ascendant in your heart and pursuits ; and modesty, without which I value as nothing, whatever may be mastered by laborious application. These are the gi-oundwork of all true learning, by which whatever is reared on them upholds and proclaims its own stability. Without piety, what are learned men but bladders inflated with wind ; whereas the humble, endued with virtue, are agreeable to themselves and useful to others. It was out of my power last week to answer your letter with regai-d to the book, and equally impossible is it for us to recall your letter. But what an abundance of books is there in the world ! In these, however, a systematic method should be ob- served, whether in consulting, reading, or purchasing, — not such books as are good, but such as are the best. Enclosed you will receive a memorandum. When you have perused the letters to R. Hill and J. Thomson, you will peruse their object and connection. These letters deliver to them sealed. Farewell, and regard me with affection. David Arnott. PORTMOAG, y««. 24, 1763. II. We give here the entire Letter of this guide and friend of our poet. It is taken fi-om a scroll-copy, also preserved among the family MSS. of the present Mr Arnot of Portmoak. It will be noticed that the opening ' Sir,' and other antique touches, recall the gracely stateliness of the correspondence of our forefathers, especially when addressing those in lower social grade, as was Bruce to this worthy ' Laird.' The present Letter was written in acknowledgment of * Daphnis : a Monody ' on the death of young Arnott. Sir, — I owe an answer to your' most elegant lines, which you must account to be delayed hitherto, and not neglected. Neither are you to impute it to my want of love to you, nor regard for you, but to the fulness of my confidence in you, and the fre- quent occasions of seeing you, which now seem to be at an end in so far. On which account I am made to inquire where you now dwell, and what you are now conversant about, and whether or not this storm has freezed your pen, your hands, and feet, that we neither see you nor hear from you. As I said, I own my MICHAEL BRUCE. 119 obligations to you for the regard you show for me and the deceast in yoiu: elegant composition, procured without any merit or good offices from me ; and I no less admire your sin- gular vein and happy turn, whereby you're pleased and able not only to play the poet, but strenuously to imitate and equal those writers of this kind, in style, numbers, phrase, etc., whose fame will never decay. Learned sir, I desire and hope you will pro- ceed with your essays, and that exercise and use may perfect him whom nature will have to be a poet. ' Sublimi feriam sidera vertice." Nothing hinders great attempts so much as delay. You now profess the study of di\inity , and is not this divinity ? None can compose a learned, a grave and instructing poem, save he that is above humanity. But I stop, knowing that they who are most deserving are the least fond of praise; and I know nothing new which I can now impart to you, either for instruc- tion or amusement. Being abroad lately, I heard (you'll readily have feared it ere now) of Mr D[ryburg]h, — his being infected seemingly with his brother's mortal disease. A pain in his leg and a loss of appetite have seized him ; he goes not out. What may hinder you from making a step down to see him ? Alas ! had we our senses about us, we would see all our earthly relations and comforts fast decaying. But, alas ! man wishes life, that ' secandam marmora Local sub ipsum funus et sepulcri immemor struit domos.'^ I know you'll be fearing the loss of him ; for it often happens that, as a whirlpool swallows up the rich ship in a surprize, so doth death such as have the better genius and learning above their years, beyond our expectation and before our desire.^ But [illegible . . .] pray impart to me something that may be in- structive in the now common calling of education or otherwise, ' Horace. — G. ' This is an inaccurate quotation or accommodation from Horace (Car. ii. i8), whose words are — ' Tu secanda marmora Locas sub ipsum funus et, sepulcri Immemor, struis domos,' etc. — G. 3 This fellow-student of Bruce died immediately after this date. See Eleg^ thereupon. — G. I20 THE WORKS OF MICHAEL BRUCE. as you have now the prize put into your hand of getting experi- ence, etc.; and wherein I can serve you, command me. I am sensible that the charge of the education of children, as it is honourable, so it is heavy. Philip, king of Macedonia, had this view of it, and understood how much it serves the interest of virtue, when, in the letters he sent with his son to Aristotle, he testified how much he was indebted to the gods, not so much for a son being born to him, as for his being bom at such a time, when he might be privileged with such a teacher. As man is the most noble creature, so much the more pains are to be employed in cultivating of him. Surely the geniuses of youth will lie dormant as to all glorious and praiseworthy actions, if they be wanting which should rub them up, as the most fruitful soils will be barren without cultivation. But here there is sinrely much need of prudence, for as some ground re- quires the stronger plough, so another plot will be manured with an easy hand ; and some think that there are none of such an evil, hard, and obstinate disposition, but they may be made tractable by serious and sedulous bringing up, if so be they understand themselves to be loved by them who educate and instruct them. The dispositions of some, when more roughly handled, or too much kept in, turn desperate, even as the ex- halations, when pent up within the clouds, turn into thunder. With some, force must be used ; forbearance will do with the most. As in disease, they are the surest and safest medicines which draw out or correct the noxious blood. By little and little you have the advantage of spurring them up by emulation, which seldom fails. This in some measure I want. But whither am I carried ? Observing my little [illegible . . .] esteem for you, I suspect [= expect ?] my boy (?) to join with you in reading. Geordie readily will ; and you'll begin with Mr Wood ' when he comes over. I am very willing to join with you as far as opportunity answers. May He who in all things gives the increase, cherish, ripen, and preserve you in your laboui's and studies. [David Arnott.] ' Probably the once celebrated Edinburgh teacher of elocution ; who was also manager of the Theatre, and the friend of Fergusson. — G. 0tit to ti^e Cucltoo, NOTE. The letters a, b, c, etc., refer to the respective Notes at close of the volume. Those throughout bearing the initials M'K, are from Dr Mac- kelvie. For all the others, in the body of the book and in these Notes, having my initial, I am responsible. G. ODE: TO THE CUCKOO. I. Hail, beauteous Stranger of the wood ! Attendant on the Spring ! Now heav'n repairs thy rural seat, And woods thy welcome sing. II. Soon as the daisy decks the green, Thy certain voice we hear : Hast thou a star to guide thy path, Or mark the rolling year ? III. Delightful visitant! with thee I hail the time of flow'rs, When heav'n is fiU'd with music sweet Of birds among the bow'rs. IV. The schoolboy wand'ring in the wood To pull the flow'rs so gay, Starts, thy curious voice to hear. And imitates thy lay. ' See Memoir, pp. 83-86, for the so-called 'improvements' of Logan; and for account of the seventh stanza, now for the first time inserted. — G. 124 THE WORKS OF MICHAEL BRUCE. V. Soon as the pea puts on the bloom, Thou fly'st thy vocal vale, An annual guest, in other lands, Another Spring to hail. VI. Sweet bird ! thy bow'r is ever green, Thy sky is ever clear; Thou hast no sorrow in thy song. No winter in thy year ! VII. Alas ! sweet bird ! not so my fate, Dark scowling skies I see Fast gathering round, and fraught with woe And wintry years to me. VIII. O could I fly, I'd fly with thee: We'd make, with social wing. Our annual visit o'er the globe. Companions of the Spring. '^^mn^ antr ^atapfjrases- THE COMPLAINT OF NATURE. Few are thy days and full of woe, O man of woman bom ! Thy doom is written, dust thou art, And shalt to dust return. Determin'd are the days that fly Successive o'er thy head ; The number'd hour is on the wing, That lays thee ^vith the dead. Alas ! the httle day of life Is shorter than a span; Yet black with thousand hidden ills To miserable man. Gay is thy morning, flattering Hope Thy sprightly step attends ; But soon the' tempest howls behind, And the dark night descends. ' The Eighth Paraphrase in the well-known 'Translations and Paraphrases,' issued by the Church of Scotland, consists of selected verses from this poem. It is hymn second in Logan's volume of 1781. See Memoir, pp. 104-106. The initial stanza was one of those preserved in the Villagers' memories long previous to publication in 1781, by Logan, the 'Complaint' having been sung in Buchan's music-class in 1764. Cf. Memoir, pp. 93, 94, loi, and 103. — G. 128 THE WORKS OF Before its splendid hour the cloud Comes o'er the beam of light ; A Pilgrim in a weary land, Man tarries but a night. Behold ! sad emblem of thy state, The flowers that paint the field; Or trees, that crown the mountain's brow, And boughs and blossoms yield. When chill the blast of Winter blows, Away the Summer flies. The flowers resign their sunny robes, And all their beauty dies. Nipt by the year the forest fades; And shaking to the wind, The leaves toss to and fro, and streak The wilderness behind. The Winter past, reviving flowers Anew shall paint the plain. The woods shall hear the voice of Spring, And flourish green again. But man departs this earthly scene. Ah ! never to return ! No second Spring shall e'er revive The ashes of the urn. Th' inexorable doors of death What hand can e'er unfold 1 Who from the cearments of the tomb Can raise the human mold ? MICHAEL BRUCE. 1x9 The mighty flood that rolls along Its torrents to the main, The waters lost can ne'er recall From that abyss again. The days, the years, the ages, dark Descending do\\Ti to night. Can never, never be redeem'd Back to the gates of light. So Man departs the living scene, To Night's perpetual gloom ; The voice of Morning ne'er shall break The slumbers of the tomb. Where are our Fathers 1 Whither gone The mighty men of old 1 ' The Patriarchs, Prophets, Princes, Kings, In sacred books inroll'd. ' Gone to the resting-place of man, The everlasting home, Where ages past have gone before, Where future ages come.' Thus Nature pour'd the wail of woe, And urged her earnest cry; Her voice in agony extreme Ascended to the sky. Th' Almighty heard: then from His throne In majesty He rose; And from the Heaven, that open'd wide, His voice in mercy flows. I I30 THE WORKS OF ' When mortal man resigns his breath, And falls a clod of clay, The soul immortal wings its flight, To never-setting day. ' Prepar'd of old for wicked men The bed of torment lies; The just shall enter into bliss Immortal in the skies." II. THE LORD GOD OMNIPOTENT.^ Who can resist th' Almighty arm That made the starry sky 1 Or who elude the certain glance Of God's all-seeing eye ? From Him no cov'ring vails our crimes ; " Hell opens to His sight ; And all Destruction's secret snares Lie full disclosed in light. Firm on the boundless void of space He poised the steady pole. And in the circle of His clouds Bade secret waters roll While nature's universal frame Its Maker's power reveals. His throne, remote from mortal eyes, An awful cloud conceals. ' See Note [a) at close of the Volume for the ' Paraphrase' from ' The Com- plaint.' — G. ^ The ninth of the 'Translations and Paraphrases,' as before: Jobxxvi. 6-14. — G. MICHAEL BRUCE. 131 From where the rising day ascends, To where it sets in night, He compasses the floods with bounds, And checks their threat'ning might. The pillars that support the sky- Tremble at His rebuke ; Through all its caverns quakes the earth. As though its centre shook. He brings the waters from their beds, Although no tempest blows, And smites the kingdom of the proud Without the hand of foes. With bright inhabitants above He fills the heav'nly land, And all the crooked serpent's breed Dismay'd before Him stand. Few of His works can we survey ; These io.^ our skill transcend : But the full thunder of His pow'r What heart can comprehend ? III. THE CALL OF WISDOM.' In streets, and op'nings of the gates, "Where pours the busy crowd. Thus heav'nly Wisdom lifts her voice. And cries to men aloud : ' The tenth of the ' Translations and Paraphrases,' as before : Prov. i. 20-31.— G. IS2 THE WORKS OF How long, ye scomers of the truth, Scornful will ye remain 1 How long shall fools their folly love, And hear my words in vain ? O turn, at last, at my reproof ! And, in that happy hour, His bless'd effusions on your heart My Spirit down shall pour. But since so long, with earnest voice, To you in vain I call, Since all my counsels and reproofs Thus ineffectual fall ; The time will come, when humbled low, In Sorrow's evil day. Your voice by anguish shall be taught, But taught too late, to pray. When, like the whirlwind, o'er the deep Comes Desolation's blast : Prayers then extorted shall be vain, The hour of mercy past. The choice you made has fix'd your doom ; For this is Heaven's decree, That with the fruits of what he sow'd The sinner fill'd shall be. MICHAEL BRUCE. 133 IV, HEAVENLY WISDOM. O HAPPY is the man who hears Instruction's warning voice, And who celestial Wisdom makes His early, only choice. For she has treasures greater far Than East or West unfold. And her reward is more secure Than is the gain of gold. In her right hand she holds to view A length of happy years ; And in her left, the prize of Fame And Honour bright appears. She guides the young, with innocence. In Pleasure's path to tread, A crown of glory she bestows Upon the hoary head. According as her labours rise. So her rewards increase. Her ways are ways of pleasantness, And all her paths are peace.^ ' This is the eleventh of the ' Translations and Paraphrases,' as before. It is Hymn fourth in Logan's volume of 1781. See Memoir, pp. 92-95, 101-104. Prov. iii. 13-17. — G. ' See Note {d) at close of the Volume for variations. — G. 134 THE WORKS OF V. ATONING sacrifice/ Thus speaks the heathen : How shall man The Power Supreme adore ! With what accepted ofPrings come His mercy to implore ? Shall clouds of incense to the skies With grateful odour speed ? Or victims from a thousand hills Upon the altar bleed ? Does justice nobler blood demand To save the sinner's life 1 Shall, trembling, in his offspring's side The father plunge the knife ? No : God rejects the bloody rites Which blindfold zeal began ; His oracles of truth proclaim The message brought to man. He what is good hath clearly shown, O favour'd race ! to thee ; And what doth God require of those Who bend to him the knee 1 Thy deeds, let sacred justice rule ; Thy heart, let mercy fill ; And, walking humbly with thy God, To Him resign thy will. ' This is the thirty-first of the ' Translations and Paraphrases,' as before : Micah vi. 6-9. See Memoir, pp. 92-95, 101-104. — G. MICHAEL BRUCE. 135 VL SIMEON WAITING.' When Jesus, by the Virgin brought, So runs the law of Heaven, Was offer'd holy to the Lord, And at the altar given ; Simeon the Just and the Devout, Who frequent in the fane Had for the Saviour waited long, But waited still in vain ; Came Heaven-directed at the hour When Mary held her son; He stretched forth his aged arms, While tears of gladness run : With holy joy upon his face The good old father smiled, While fondly in his wither'd anus He clasp'd the promis'd child. And then he lifted up to Heaven An earnest asking eye; My joy is full, my hour is come, Lord let thy servant die. At last my arms embrace my Lord, Now let their vigour cease ; At last my eyes my Saviour see. Now let them close in peace ! ' This, altered, makes the thirty-eighth Paraphrase, as before. It is Hymn eighth in Logan's volume. See Memoir, pp. 101-104. See Note (c) for the Ver- sion as it now appears. — G. 136 THE WORKS OF The star and glory of the land Hath now begun to shine; The morning that shall gild the globe Breaks on these eyes of mine ! VII. SORROW NOT AS WITHOUT HOPE.' Take comfort, Christians, when your friends In Jesus fall asleep ; Their better being never ends ; Why then dejected weep? Why inconsolable, as those To whom no hope is given ? Death is the messenger of peace, And calls the soul to heaven. As Jesus died, and rose again Victorious from the dead ; So his disciples rise, and reign With their triumphant Head. The time draws nigh, when from the clouds Christ shall with shouts descend. And the last trumpet's awful voice The heav'ns and earth shall rend. Then they who live shall changed be, And they who sleep shall wake ; The grave shall yield their ancient charge, And earth's foundations shake. ' This is the fifty-third of the ' Translations and Paraphrases,' as before : i Thess. iv. 13-28. See Memoir, pp. 101-104. — G. MICHAEL BRUCE. 137 The saints of God, from death set free, With joy shall mount on high ; The heav'nly host, with praises loud Shall meet them in the sky. Together to their Father's house With joyful hearts they go ; And dwell for ever with the Lord, Beyond the reach of woe. A few short years of evil past, We reach the happy shore. Where death-divided friends at last Shall nieet, to part no more. VIII. THE ENTHRONED HIGH PRIEST.' Where high the heavenly temple stands The house of God not made with hands, A great High Priest our Nature wears. The Patron of mankind appears. He who for men in mercy stood, And pour'd on earth His precious blood, Pursues in Heaven His plan of Grace, The Guardian God of human race. Tho' now ascended up on high, He bends on earth a brother's eye. Partaker of the human name. He knows the frailty of our frame. ' This is the fifty-eighth of the 'Translations and Paraphrases,' as before. See Memoir, pp. 101-104. — G. 138 THE WORKS OF Our fellow-sufferer yet retains A fellow-feeling of our pains ; And still remembers in the skies His tears, and agonies, and cries. In every pang that rends the heart, The Man of Sorrows had a part ; He sympathises in our grief. And to the sufferer sends relief With boldness, therefore, at the throne Let us make all our sorrows known, And ask the aids of heavenly power, To help us in the evil hour. . IX. DYING IN THE LORD.' The hour of my departure's come; I hear the voice that calls me home : At last, O Lord ! let trouble cease, And let thy servant die in peace. The race appointed I have run; The combat's o'er, the prize is won; And now my witness is on high, And now my record's in the sky. Not in mine innocence I trust ; I bow before thee in the dust; And through my Saviour's blood alone I look for mercy at Thy throne. ' This forms ' Hymn V.' of the five Hymns appended to the ' Translations and Paraphrases,' as before. See Memoir, pp. 101-104. Every one will feel how- it breathes the very spirit of our young dying Poet ; and also how incongruous it is with Logan's. — G. MICHAEL BRUCE. 139 I leave the world without a tear, Save for the friends I held so dear ; To heal their sorrows, Lord, descend, And to the friendless prove a friend. I come, I come, at Thy command, I give my spirit to Thy hand ; Stretch forth Thine everlasting arms, And shield me in the last alarms. The hour of my departure's come : I hear the voice that calls me home : ' Now, O my God ! let trouble cease ; Now let Thy servant die in peace. X. TRUST IN PROVIDENCE.' Almighty Father of mankind, On Thee my hopes remain; And when the day of trouble conies, I shall not trust in vain. Thou art our kind Preserver, from The cradle to the tomb; And I was cast upon thy care, Even from my mother's womb. In early days thou wast my guide, And of my youth the friend ; And as my days began with Thee, With Thee my days shall end. ' This is Hymn third in Logan's volume of 1781. See Memoir, pp. 101-104. — G- I40 THE WORKS OF I know the Power in whom I trust, The arm on which I lean; He will my Saviour ever be, Who has my Saviour been. In former times, when trouble came. Thou didst not stand afar; Nor didst thou prove an absent friend Amid the din of war. My God, who causedst me to hope, Wlien life began to beat. And when a stranger in the world, Didst guide my wandering feet; Thou wilt not cast me off, when age And evil days descend ; Thou wilt not leave me in despair. To mourn my latter end. Therefore in life I'll trust to Thee, In death I will adore; And after death will sing thy praise, When time shall be no more. XI. ADVENT OF THE MESSIAH.' Behold ! th' Ambassador divine, Descending from above, ' This, somewhat altered, makes the twenty-third of the ' Translations and Paraphrases,' as before. It is Hymn sixth in Logan's volume of 1781. See Memoir, pp. 101-104. — G. We give this Hymn as it appears in the final Version of the ' Paraphrases,' as MICHAEL BRUCE. 141 To publish to mankind the laAv Of everlasting love ! On Him in rich effiision pour'd The heavenly dew descends ; And truth di\ine He shall reveal, To earth's remotest ends. No trumpet-sound, at His approach. Shall strike the wondering ears ; But still and gentle breathe the voice In which the God appears. By His kind hand the shaken reed Shall raise its falling frame ; The dying embers shall revive, And kindle to a flame. The onward progress of His zeal Shall never know decline, in all probability it furnishes a specimen of Logan's ' improvements ' upon what he found in the Bruce MSS., while the text, as above, represents more nearly what Bruce wrote. The same holds of our text of what is the eighth Paraphrase, compared with 'The Complaint of Nature ' (pp. 127-130, and note a); the eleventh Paraphrase, compared with ' Heavenly Wisdom' (p. 133) ; the thirty-eighth Para- phrase, compared with 'Simeon Waiting' (pp. 135, 136); and the fifty-eighth Paraphrase, compared with 'The Enthroned High Priest' (pp. 137, 138) : — Behold my Servant ! see Him rise The feeble spark to flames He'll raise ; Exalted in my might ! The weak will not despise ; Him have I chosen, and in Him Judgment He .shall bring forth to truth, I place supreme delight. And make the fallen rise. On Him, in rich effusion pour'd. The progress of His zeal and pow'r My Spirit shall descend ; Shall never know decline, My truths and judgments He shall show Till foreign lands and distant isles To earth's remotest end. Receive the law divine. Gentle and still shall be His voice. He who erected heaven's bright arch. No threats from Him proceed ; And bade the planets roll. The smoking flax He shall not quench. Who peopled all the climes of earth, Nor break the bruised reed. And form'd the human soul. 144 7HE WORKS OF Till foreign lands and distant isles Receive the law divine. He who spread forth the arch of Heaven, And bade the planets roll, Who laid the basis of the earth, And form'd the human soul. Thus saith the Lord, ' Thee have I sent, A Prophet from the sky. Wide o'er the nations to proclaim The message from on high. ' Before thy face the shades of death ■ Shall take to sudden flight, The people who in darkness dwell Shall hail a glorious light ; Thus saith the Lord, Thee have I rais'd, And future scenes, predicted now, My Prophet thee install ; Shall be accomplish'd too. In right I've rais'd thee, and in strength I'll succour whom I call. Sing to the Lord in joyful strains ! Let earth His praise resound, I will establish with the lands Ye who upon the ocean dwell, A covenant in thee, And fill the isles around ! To give the Gentile nations light, And set the pris'ners free : O city of the Lord ! begin The universal song ; Asunder burst the gates of brass ; And let the scatter'd villages The iron fetters fall ; The cheerful notes prolong. And gladsome light and liberty Are straight restor'd to all. Let Kedar's wilderness afar Lift up its lonely voice ; I am the Lord, and by the name And let the tenants of the rock Of great JEHOVAH known ; With accents rude rejoice ; No idol shall usurp My praise, Nor mount into My throne. Till 'midst the streams of distant lands The islands sound His praise ; Lo ! former scenes, predicted once, And all combin'd, with one accord, Conspicuous rise to view ; JEHOVAH'S glories raise. MICHAEL BRUCE. ' The gates of brass shall 'sunder burst, The iron fetters fall ; The promis'd jubilee of Heaven Appointed rise o'er all. ' And lo ! presaging Thy approach, The Heathen temples shake, And trembling in forsaken fanes. The fabled idols quake. * I am Jehovah : I am One : My name shall now be known ; No Idol shall usurp my praise, Nor mount into my throne.' Lo, former scenes, predicted once, Conspicuous rise to view ; And future scenes, predicted now, Shall be accomplish'd too. Now sing a new song to the Lord ! Let earth His praise resound ; Ye who upon the ocean dwell, And fill the isles around. O city of the Lord ! begin The universal song ; And let the scattered villages The joyful notes prolong. Let Kedar's wilderness afar Lift up the lonely voice ; And let the tenants of the rock With accent rude rejoice. M3 144 THE WORKS OF O from the streams of distant lands Unto Jehovah sing ! And joyful from the mountain tops Shout to the Lord the King ! Let all combined vnth. one accord Jehovah's glories raise, Till in remotest bounds of earth The nations sound his praise. XII. THE APPROACHING SAVIOUR.' Messiah ! at Thy glad approach The howling wilds are still ; Thy praises fill the lonely waste, And breathe from every hill. The hidden fountains, at Thy call. Their sacred stores unlock ; Loud in the desert sudden streams Burst living from the rock. The incense of the Spring ascends Upon the morning gale ; Red o'er the hill the roses bloom The lilies in the vale. Renew'd, the earth a robe of light, A robe of beauty wears ; And in new heavens a brighter Sun Leads on the promised years. ' This is the seventh Hymn in Logan's volume of 1781. See Memoir, pp. 101-104. -G. MICHAEL BRUCE. 145 The kingdom of Messiah come, Appointed times disclose ; And fairer in Emmanuel's land The new Creation glows. Let Israel to the Prince of Peace The loud Hosannah sing ! With Hallelujahs and with hymns, O Zion, hail thy King ! REVISED HYMN. THE MILLENNIUM.^ Behold ! the mountain of the Lord In latter days shall rise. Above the mountains and the hills, And draw the wondering eyes. To this the joyful nations round All tribes and tongues shall flow. Up to the Hill of God they'll say. And to his house we'll go. The beam that shines on Zion hill Shall lighten every land ; The King who reigns in Zion towers Shall all the world command. ' This is the eighteenth of the ' Translations and Paraphrases,' as before. See Memoir, pp. 95-101. This revised Hymn is included among Bruce's, because the third stanza is indubitably his, and because of felicitous verbal alterations on the older Version. His part in this fine Hymn may be likened to Kirke-AVhite's sup- plement to Waller's Song. — G. K 146 rHE WORKS OF MICHAEL BRUCE. No strife shall vex Messiah's reign, Or mar the peaceful years, To ploughshares soon they beat their swords, To pruning-hooks their spears. No longer hosts encountering hosts, Their millions slain deplore ; ' They hang the trumpet in the hall. And study war no more. Come then — O come from every land, To worship at his shrine ; And, walking in the light of God, With holy beauties shine. *** We do not insert — 'O God of Bethel' — the second Paraphrase here, be- cause, as shown in our Memoir, it is taken almost bodily from Doddridge. The verbal changes are very slight. Neither do we include the twenty-fifth, twenty- seventh, nor twenty-eighth, inasmuch as, though ascribed partially to Logan, and in all likelihood derived as the others were from the Bruce MSS., these were revised and altered by Dr John Morrison of Canisbay, and it is now im- possible to distinguish their several portions. — G. eiegg in Opting. ELEGY: WRITTEN IN SPRING. 'Tis past : the iron North has spent his rage ; Stern Winter now resigns the length'ning day; The stormy howhngs of the winds asswage, And warm o'er ether western breezes play. Of genial heat and cheerful light the source, From southern climes, beneath another sky, The sun, returning, wheels his golden course ; Before his beams all noxious vapours fly. Far to the north grim Winter draws his train To his own clime, to Zembla's frozen shore; Where, thron'd on ice, he holds eternal reign ; Where whirlwinds madden, and where tempests roar. Loos'd from the bands of frost, the verdant ground Again puts on her robe of cheerful green. Again puts forth her flow'rs ; and all around. Smiling, the cheerful face of Spring is seen. Behold! the trees new-deck their wither'd boughs; Their ample leaves the hospitable plane. The taper elm, and lofty ash, disclose ; The blooming hawthorn variegates the scene. 15 o THE WORKS OF The lily of the vale, of flow'rs the Queen, Puts on the robe she neither sew'd nor spun : The birds on ground, or on the branches green, Hop to and fro, and glitter in the sun. Soon as o'er eastern hills the morning peers, From her low nest the tufted lark upsprings; And, cheerful singing, up the air she steers ; Still high she mounts, still loud and sweet she sings. On the green furze, cloth'd o'er with golden blooms That fill the air with fragrance all around. The linnet sits, and tricks his glossy plumes. While o'er the wild his broken notes resound. While the sun journeys down the western sky, Along the greensward, mark'd with Roman mound, Beneath the blithesome shepherd's watchful eye. The cheerful lambkins dance and frisk around. Now is the time for those who wisdom love, Who love to walk in Virtue's flow'ry road. Along the lovely paths of Spring to rove, And follow Nature up to Nature's God. {d) Thus Zoroaster studied Nature's laws ; Thus Socrates, the wisest of mankind ; Thus heav'n-taught Plato trac'd th' Almighty cause, And left the wond'ring multitude behind. Thus Ashley gather'd Academic bays ; Thus gentle Thomson, as the Seasons roll. Taught them to sing the great Creator's praise, And bear their poet's name from pole to pole. MICHAEL BRUCE. 151 Thus have I walk'd along the dewy lawn ; My frequent foot the blooming wild hath worn ; Before the lark I've sung the beauteous dawn, And gather'd health from all the gales of morn. And, even when Winter chill'd the aged year, I wander'd lonely o'er the hoary plain ; Tho' frosty Boreas vvarn'd me to forbear, Boreas, with all his tempests, warn'd in vain. Then, sleep my nights, and quiet bless'd my days ; I fear'd no loss, my Mind was all my store ; No anxious wishes e'er disturb'd my ease ; Heav'n gave content and health — ^I ask'd no more. Now Spring returns : but not to me returns The vernal joy my better years have known ; Dim in my breast life's dying taper burns. And all the joys of life with health are flown. Starting and shiv'ring in th' inconstant wind, Meagre and pale, the ghost of what I was. Beneath some blasted tree I lie reclin'd, And count the silent moments as they pass : The -Ranged moments, whose unstaying speed No art can stop, or in their course arrest ; Whose flight shall shortly count me with the dead, And lay me down in peace with them that rest. Oft morning-dreams presage approaching fate ; And morning-dreams, as poets tell, are true, {e) Led by pale ghosts, I enter Death's dark gate, And bid the realms of light and life adieu. 15 z THE WORKS OF MICHAEL BRUCE. I hear the helpless wail, the shriek of wo ; I see the muddy wave, the dreary shore, The sluggish streams that slowly creep below, Which mortals visit, and return no more. Farewell, ye blooming fields ! ye cheerful plains ! Enough for me the church-yard's lonely mound, Where Melancholy with still Silence reigns, And the rank grass waves o'er the cheerless ground. There let me wander at the shut of eve, When sleep sits dewy on the labourer's eyes, The world and all its busy follies leave, And talk with Wisdom where my Daphnis lies. There let me sleep forgotten in the clay. When death shall shut these weary aching eyes, Rest in the hopes of an eternal day. Till the long night's gone, and the last morn arise. fi^i^ctllamou^ ©ints* MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. WEAVING SPIRITUALIZED. (/) A WEB I hear thou hast begun, And know'st not when it may be done- So death uncertain see ye fear — For ever distant, ever near. See'st thou the shuttle quickly pass — Think mortal life is as the grass, — An empty cloud — a morning dream — A bubble rising on the stream. The knife still ready to cut off Excrescent knots that mar the stuff, To stem affliction's rod compare — 'Tis for thy good, so learn to bear. Too full a quill oft checks the speed Of shuttle flying by the reed — So riches oft keep back the soul, That else would hasten to its goal. 156 THE WORKS OF Thine eye the web runs keenly o'er For things amiss, unseen before, — Thus scan thy Hfe — mend what's amiss- Next day correct the faults of this. For when the web is at an end, 'Tis then too late a fault to mend — Let thought of this awaken dread, — Repentance dwells not with the dead. INSCRIPTION ON A BIBLE. 'Tis very vain for me to boast How small a price my Bible cost, The day of judgment will make clear 'Twas very cheap — or very dear, {g) MICHAEL BRUCE. 157 THE LAST DAY. His second coming, who at first appeared To save the world, but now to judge mankind According to their works ; — the trumpet's sound, — The dead arising, — the wide world in flames, — The mansions of the blest, and the dire pit Of Satan and of woe, O Muse ! unfold. O Thou ! whose eye the future and the past In one broad view beholdest — from the first Of days, when o'er this rude unformed mass Light, first-bom of existence {/i), smiling rose, Down to that latest moment, when thy voice Shall bid the sun be darkness, when thy hand Shall blot creation out, — assist my song ! Thou only know'st, who gav'st these orbs to roll Their destin'd circles, when their course shall set ; When ruin and destruction fierce shall ride In triumph o'er creation. This is hid, In kindness unto man. Thou giv'st to know The event certain : angels know not when.^ 'Twas on an autumn's eve, serene and calm, I walked, attendant on the funeral Of an old swain : around, the village crowd Loquacious chatted, till we reach'd the place Where, shrouded up, the sons of other years ' For occasion of this Poem, see p. 19 of Memoir. — G. - Matt. xxiv. 36.— M'K. 158 THE WORKS OF Lie silent in the grave. The sexton there Had digg'd the bed of death, the narrow house For all that live, appointed. To the dust We gave the dead. Then moralizing, home The swains return'd, to drown in copious bowls The labours of the day, and thoughts of death. The sun now trembled at the western gate ; His yellow rays stream'd in the fleecy clouds. I sat me down upon a broad flat stone ; And much I mused on the changeful state Of sublunary things. The joys of life, How frail, how short, how passing ! As the sea, Now flowing, thunders on the rocky shore ; Now lowly ebbing, leaves a tract of sand. Waste, wide, and dreary : so, in this vain world, Through every varying state of life, we toss In endless fluctuation ; till, tir'd out With sad variety of bad and worse. We reach life's period, reach the blissful port. Where change aflects not, and the weary rest. Then sure the sun which lights us to our shroud. Than that which gave us first to see the light. Is happier far. As he who, hopeless, long Hath rode th' Atlantic billow, from the mast, Skirting the blue horizon, sees the land, His native land approach; joy fills his heart, And swells each throbbing vein : so, here confin'd. We weary tread life's long long toilsome maze ; Still hoping, vainly hoping, for relief. And rest from labour. Ah ! mistaken thought : To seek in life what only death can give. But what is death ? Is it an endless sleep. Unconscious of the present and the past. And never to be waken'd 1 Sleeps the soul ; MICHAEL BRUCE. ij9 Nor wakes ev'n in a dream 1 If it is so, Happy the sons of pleasure ; they have Hv'd And made the most of Hfe ; and foohsh he, The sage, who, dreaming of hereafter, grudg'd Himself the tasting of the sweets of life. And call'd it temperance ; and hop'd for joys More durable and sweet, beyond the grave. Vain is the poet's song, the soldier's toil ! Vain is the sculptur'd marble and the bust ! How vain to hope for never-dying fame. If souls can die ! But that they never die, This thirst of glory whispers. Wherefore gave The great Creator such a strong desire He never meant to satisfy ? These stones. Memorials of the dead, with rustic art And rude inscription cut, declare the soul Immortal. Man, form'd for eternity. Abhors annihilation, and the thought Of dark oblivion. Hence, with ardent wish And vigorous effort, each would fondly raise Some lasting monument, to save his name Safe from the waste of years. Hence Csesar fought ; Hence Raphael painted ; and hence Milton sung. Thus musing, sleep oppress'd my drowsy sense. And wrapt me into rest. Before mine eyes, Fair as the mom, when up the flaming east The sun ascends, a radiant seraph stood, Crown'd with a wreath of palm : his golden hair Wav'd on his shoulders, girt with shining plumes ; From which, down to the ground, loose-floating trail'd, In graceful negligence, his heavenly robe : Upon his face, flush'd Nvith immortal youth. Unfading beauty bloom'd ; and thus he spake : ' Well hast thou judged ; the soul must be immortal ! i6o THE WORKS OF And that it is, this awful day declares ; This day, the last that e'er the sun shall gild : Arrested by Omnipotence, no more Shall he describe the year : the moon no more Shall shed her borrow'd light. This is the day Seal'd in the rolls of Fate, when o'er the dead Almighty Power shall wake and raise to life The sleeping myriads. Now shall be approv'd The ways of God to man, and all the clouds Of Providence be clear'd (?) : now shall be disclos'd Why vice in purple oft upon a throne Exalted sat, and shook her iron scourge O'er virtue, lowly seated on the ground : Now deeds committed in the sable shade Of eyeless darkness, shall be brought to light ; And every act shall meet its just reward.' As thus he spake, the morn arose ; and sure Methought ne'er rose a fairer. Not a cloud Spotted the blue expanse ; and not a gale Breath'd o'er the surface of the dewy earth. Twinkling with yellow lustre, the gay birds On every blooming spray sung their sweet lays. And prais'd their great Creator : through the fields The lowing cattle graz'd ; and all around Was beauty, happiness, and mirth, and love. — ' All these thou seest (resum'd the angelic power) No more shall give thee pleasure. Thou must leave This world ; of which now come and see the end.' This said, he touch'd me, and such strength infus'd. That as he soared up the pathless air, I lightly followed. On the awful peak Of an eternal rock, against whose base The sounding billows beat, he set me down. I heard a noise, loud as a rushing stream, MICHAEL BRUCE. i6i "When o'er the rugged precipice it roars, And foaming, thunders on the rocks below. Astonished, I gaz'd around ; when lo ! I saw an angel down from Heaven descend. His face was as the sun ; his dreadful height Such as the statue, by the Grecian plan'd, Of Philip's son, Athos, with all his rocks, Moulded into a man (/) : One foot on earth, And one upon the rolling sea, he fix'd. As when, at setting sun, the rainbow shines Refulgent, meting out the half of Heav'n — So stood he ; and, in act to speak he rais'd His shining hand. His voice was as the sound Of many waters, or the deep-mouth'd roar Of thunder, Avhen it bursts the riven cloud. And bellows through the ether. Nature stood Silent, in all her works : while thus he spake : — ' Hear, thou that roll'st above, thou radiant sun ! Ye heavens and earth, attend ! while I declare The will of the Eternal. By his name Who lives, and shall for ever live, I swear That time shall be no longer." He disappear'd. Fix'd in deep thought I stood, At what would follow. Straight another sound ; To which the Nile, o'er Ethiopia's rocks Rushing in one broad cataract, were nought. It seem'd as if the pillars that upheld The universe, had fall'n ; and all its worlds, Unhing'd, had strove together for the way, In cumbrous crashing ruin. Such the roar ! A sound that might be felt ! It pierc'd beyond The limits of creation. Chaos roar'd ; And heav'n and earth retum'd the mighty noise. — ' Rev. X. 5, 6.— M'K. L i6z THE WORKS OF ' Thou hear'st,' said then my heav'nly guide, ' the sound Of the last trumpet. See, where from the clouds Th' archangel Michael, one of the seven That minister before the throne of God, Leans forward ; and the sonorous tube inspires With breath immortal. By his side the sword Which, like a meteor, o'er the vanquish'd head Of Satan hung, when he rebellious rais'd War, and embroil'd the happy fields above.' A pause ensued. The fainting sun grew pale, And seem'd to struggle through a sky of blood ; While dim eclipse impair'd his beam : the earth Shook to her deepest centre ; Ocean rag'd. And dash'd his billows on the frighted shore. All was confusion. Heartless, helpless, wild. As flocks of timid sheep, or driven deer, Wandering, th' inhabitants of earth appear'd : Terror in every look, and pale affright Sat in each eye {k) ; amazed at the past. And for the future trembling. All call'd great. Or deem'd illustrious, by erring man, Was now no more. The hero and the prince, Their grandeur lost, now mingled with the crowd ; And all distinctions, those except from faith And virtue flowing : these upheld the soul. As ribb'd with triple steel. All else were lost ! Now, vain is greatness ! as the morning clouds, That, rising, promise rain : condens'd they stand, Till, touch'd by winds, they vanish into air. The farmer mourns : so mourns the helpless wretch, Who, cast by fortune from some envied height. Finds nought within him to support his fall. High as his hopes had rais'd him, low he sinks Below his fate, in comfortless despair. MICHAEL BRUCE. 16 Who would not laugh at an attempt to build A lasting structure on the rapid stream Of foaming Tigris (/), the foundations laid Upon the glassy surface ? Such the hopes Of him whose views are bounded to this world : Immers'd in his own labour'd work, he dreams Himself secure ; when, on a sudden down, Tom from its sandy ground, the fabric falls ! He starts, and, waking, finds himself undone.' Not so the man who on religion's base His hope and virtue founds. Firm on the Rock Of ages his foundation laid, remains, Above the frowns of fortune or her smiles ; In every varying state of life, the same. Nought fears he from the world, and nothing hopes. With unassuming courage, inward strength Endu'd, resign'd to Heaven, he leads a life Superior to the common herd of men, Whose joys, connected with the changeful flood Of fickle fortune, ebb and flow with it. Nor is religion a chimera : Sure 'Tis something real. Virtue cannot live. Divided from it. As a sever'd branch It withers, pines, and dies. Who loves not God, That made him, and preserv'd, nay more — redeem'd, Is dangerous. Can ever gratitude Bind him who spurns at these most sacred ties ? Say, can he, in the silent scenes of life. Be sociable 1 Can he be a friend 1 At best, he must but feign. The worst of brutes An atheist is ; for beasts acknowledge God. The lion, with the terrors of his mouth, ' Matt. viii. 24.— M'K. J 1 64 THE ffVRKS OF Pays homage to his Maker ; the grim wolf, At midnight, howhng, seeks his meat from God. Again th' archangel raised his dreadful voice. Earth trembled at the sound. ' Awake, ye dead ! And come to judgment.' At the mighty call, As armies issue at the trumpet's sound, So rose the dead. A shaking first I heard,' And bone together came unto his bone. Though sever'd by wide seas and distant lands. A spirit liv'd within them (m). He who made, Wound up, and set in motion, the machine, To run unhurt the length of fourscore years, Who knows the structure of each secret spring ; Can He not join again the sever'd parts. And join them with advantage? This to man Hard and impossible may seem ; to God Is easy. Now, through all the darken'd air, The living atoms flew, each to his place, And nought was missing in the great account, Down from the dust of him whom Cain first slew. To him who yesterday was laid in earth. And scarce had seen corruption ; whether in The bladed grass they cloth'd the verdant plain. Or smil'd in opening flowers ; or, in the sea, Became the food of monsters of the Deep, Or pass'd in transmigrations infinite Through ev'ry kind of being. None mistakes His kindred matter ; but, by sympathy Combining, rather by Almighty Pow'r Led on, they closely mingle and unite But chang'd : for subject to decay no more. Or dissolution, deathless as the soul, ' Ezek. xxxvii. 7.— M'K. MICH J EL BRUCE 165 The body is ; and fitted to enjoy Eternal bliss, or bear eternal pain. As when in Spring the sun's prolific beams Have wak'd to life the insect tribes, that sport And wanton in his rays at ev'ning mild. Proud of their new existence, up the air, In devious circles wheeling, they ascend, Innumerable ; the whole air is dark : So, by the trumpet rous'd, the sons of men. In countless numbers, cover'd all the ground, From frozen Greenland to the southern pole ; All who ere liv'd on earth. See Lapland's sons. Whose zenith is the pole ; a barb'rous race ! Rough as their storms, and savage as their cHme, Unpolish'd as their bears, and but in shape Distinguish'd from them : Reason's dying lamp Scarce brighter burns than instinct in their breast. With wand'ring Russians, and all those who dwelt In Scandinavia, by the Baltic Sea ; The rugged Pole, with Prussia's warlike race : Germania pours her numbers, where the Rhine And mighty Danube pour their flowing urns. Behold thy children, Britain ! hail the light : A manly race, whose business was amis. And long uncivilised ; yet, train'd to deeds Of virtue, they withstood the Roman power. And made their eagles droop. On Morven's coast, A race of heroes and of bards arise ; The mighty Fingal, and his mighty son, Who launch'd the spear, and touch'd the tuneful harp ; With Scotia's chiefs, the sons of later years. Her Kenneths and her Malcoms, warriors fam'd ; Her generous Wallace, and her gallant Bruce. See, in her pathless wilds, where the grey stones 1 66 THE WORKS OF Are raised in memory of the mighty dead. Annies arise of Enghsh, Scots, and Picts ; And giant Danes, who, from bleak Noi-way's coast, Ambitious, came to conquer her fair fields, And chain her sons : But Scotia gave them graves !— Behold the kings that fill'd the English throne ! Edwards and Henries, names of deathless fame, Start from the tomb. Immortal William ! see. Surrounding angels point him from the rest, Who saved the State from tyranny and Rome. Behold her poets ! Shakspeare, fancy's child ; Spenser, who, through his smooth and moral tale, Y-points fair virtue out ; with him who sung Of man's first disobedience.' Young lifts up His awful head, and joys to see the day. The great, th' important day, of which he sung. See where imperial Rome exalts her height ! Her senators and gowned fathers rise ; Her consuls, who, as ants without a king, Went forth to conquer kings ; and at their wheels In triumph led the chiefs of distant lands. Behold, in Cannae's field, what hostile swarms Burst from th' ensanguin'd ground, where Hannibal Shook Rome through all her legions : Italy Trembled unto the Capitol. If fate Had not withstood th' attempt, she now had bow'd Her head to Carthage. See, Pharsalia pours Her murder'd thousands ! who, in the last strife Of Rome for dying liberty, were slain. To make a man the master of the world. All Europe's sons throng forward ; numbers vast ! Imagination fails beneath the weight. ' Milton.— G. MICHAEL BRUCE. 167 What numbers yet remain ! Th' enervate race Of Asia, from where Tanais rolls O'er rocks and dreary wastes his foaming stream, To where the Eastern Ocean thunders round The spicy Java ; with the taAvny race That dwelt in Afric, from the Red Sea, north, To the Cape, south, where the rude Hottentot Sinks into brute ; mth those, who long unknown Till by Columbus found, a naked race ! And only skill'd to urge the sylvan war, That peopled the wide continent that spreads From rocky Zembla, whiten'd with the snow Of twice three thousand years, south to the Straits Nam'd from Magellan, where the ocean roars Round earth's remotest bounds. Now, had not He, The great Creator of the universe, Enlarg'd the wide foundations of the world, Room had been wanting to the mighty crowds That pour'd from every quarter. At his word. Obedient angels stretch'd an ample plain. Where dwelt his people in the Holy Land, Fit to contain the whole of human race As when the autumn, yellow on the fields, Invites the sickle, forth the farmer sends His servants to cut down and gather in The bearded grain : so, by Jehovah sent. His angels, from all corners of the world. Led on the living and awaken'd dead To judgment ; as, in th' Apocalypse, John, gather'd, saw the people of the earth. And kings, to An-nageddon. Now look round Thou whose ambitious heart for glory beats ! See all the wretched things on earth call'd great. And lifted up to gods ! How little now 1 68 THE WORKS OF Seems all their grandeur ! See the conqueror, Mad Alexander, who his victor arms Bore o'er the then known globe, then sat him down And wept, because he had no other world To give to desolation ; how he droops ! He knew not, hapless wretch ! he never leam'd The harder conquest — to subdue himself. Now is the Christian's triumph, now he lifts His head on high ; while down the dying hearts Of sinners helpless sink : black guilt distracts And wrings their tortur'd souls ; while every thought Is big with keen remorse, or dark despair. But now a nobler subject claims the song. My mind recoils at the amazing theme : For how shall finite think of infinite ? How shall a stripling, by the Muse untaught, Sing Heaven's Almighty, prostrate at whose feet Archangels fall 1, Unequal to the task, I dare the bold attempt : assist me Heaven ! From Thee begun, with Thee shall end my song ! Now, down from th' opening finnament, Seated upon a sapphire throne, high rais'd Upon an azure ground, upheld by wheels Of emblematic structure, as a wheel Had been Avithin a wheel, studded with eyes Of flaming fire, and by four cherubs led ; I saw the Judge descend. Around Him came By thousands and by millions. Heaven's bright host. About Him blaz'd insufferable light. Invisible as darkness to the eye. His car above the mount of Olives stay'd Where last with his disciples He convers'd. And left them gazing as He soar'd aloft. He darkness as a curtain drew around ; MICHAEL BRUCE. 169 On which the colour of the rainbow shone, Various and bright ; and from within was heard A voice, as deep-mouth'd thunder, speaking thus : ' Go, Raphael, and from these reprobate Divide my chosen saints ; go separate My people from among them, as the wheat Is in the harvest sever'd from the tares : Set them upon the right, and on the left Leave these ungodly. Thou, Michael, choose, From forth th' angelic host, a chosen band, And Satan with his legions hither bring To judgment, from Hell's caverns ; whither fled. They think to hide from my awaken'd wrath, Which chas'd them out of Heaven, and which they dread More than the horrors of the pit, which now Shall be redoubled sevenfold on their heads.' Swift as conception, at his bidding flew His ministers, obedient to his word. And, as a shepherd, who all day hath fed His sheep and goats promiscuous, but at eve Dividing, shuts them up in different folds : So now the good were parted from the bad ; For ever parted ; never more to join And mingle as on earth, where often past For other each ; ev'n close Hypocrisy Escapes not, but, unmask'd, alike the scorn Of vice and virtue stands. Now separate, ' Upon the right appear'd a dauntless, firm. Composed number : joyful at the thought Of immortality, they forward look'd With hope unto the future ; conscience, pleas'd. Smiling, reflects upon a well-spent life ; Heaven dawns within their breasts. The other crew. Pale and dejected, scarcely lift their heads I70 THE WORKS OF To view the hated hght : his trembling hand Each lays upon his guihy face ; and now, In gnawings of the never-dying worm, Begins a hell that never shall be quench'd. But now the enemy of God and man, Cursing his fate, comes forward, led in chains. Infrangible, of burning adamant, Hewn from the rocks of Hell ; now too the bands Of rebel angels, who long time had walk'd The world, and by their oracles deceiv'd The blinded nations, or by secret guile Wrought men to vice, came on, raging in vain, And struggling with their fetters, which, as fate, Compell'd them fast. They wait their dreadful doom. Now from his lofty throne, with eyes that blaz'd Intolerable day, th' Almighty Judge Look'd down awhile upon the subject crowd. As when a caravan of merchants, led By thirst of gain to travel the parch'd sands Of waste Arabia, hears a lion roar. The wicked trembled at his view ; upon The ground they roll'd, in pangs of wild despair, To hide their faces, which not blushes mark'd But livid horror. Conscience, who asleep Long time had lain, now lifts her snaky head, And frights them into madness ; while the list Of all their sins she offers to their view : For she had power to hurt them, and her sting Was as a scorpion's. He who never knew Its wound is happy, though a fetter'd slave, Chain'd to the oar, or to the dark damp mine Confin'd ; while he who sits upon a throne. Under her frown, is wretched. But the damn'd Alone can tell what 'tis to feel her scourge MICHAEL BRUCE. 171 In all its horrors, with her poison'd sting Fix'd in their hearts. This is the Second Death. Upon the Book of Life He laid his hand, Clos'd with the seal of Heaven ; which op'd, He read The names of the Elect. God knows His own.' ' Come (looking on the right. He mildly said). Ye of my Father blessed, ere the world Was moulded out of chaos — ere the sons Of God, exulting, sung at Nature's birth : For you I left my throne, my glory left. And, shrouded up in clay, I wear)' walk'd Your world, and many miseries endur'd : Death was the last. For you I died, that you Might live with me for ever, and in Heav'n sit On thrones, and as the sun in brightness, shine For ever in my kingdom. Faithfully Have ye approv'd yourselves. I hungry was. And thirsty, and ye gave me meat and drink ; Ye clothed me, naked ; when I fainting lay In all the sad variety of pain. Ye cheer'd me with the tenderness of friends ; In sickness and in prison, me reliev'd. Nay, marvel not that thus I speak : whene'er. Led by the dictates of fair charity, Ye help'd the man on whom keen poverty And wretchedness had laid their meagre hands, And for my sake, ye did it unto me.'^ They heard with joy, and, shouting, rais'd their voice In praise of their Redeemer ! Loos'd from earth. They soar'd triumphant, and at the right hand Of the great Judge sat down ; who on the left Now looking stern, with fury in His eyes. Blasted their spirits, while His arrows fix'd ' 2 Tim. ii. 19.— M'K. ' Matt. xxv. 41-45.— M'K. I7Z THE WORKS OF Deep in their hearts, in agonizing pain Scorched their vitals, thus their dreadful doom (More dreadful from those lips which us'd to bless) He awfully pronounc'd. Earth at His frown Convulsive trembled ; while the raging deep Hush'd in a horrid calm his waves. ' Depart,' (These, for I heard them, were his awful words !) ' Depart from me, ye cursed ! Oft have I strove. In tenderness and pity, to subdue Your rebel hearts ; as a fond parent bird, When danger threatens, flutters round her young. Nature's strong impulse beating in her breast. Thus ardent did I strive : But all in vain. Now will I laugh at your calamity. And mock your fears : as oft, in stupid mirth, Harden'd in wickedness, ye pointed out The man who labour'd up the steep ascent Of virtue, to reproach. Depart to fire Kindled in Tophet for th' arch enemy. For Satan and his angels, who, by pride, Fell into condemnation ; blown up now To sevenfold fury by th' Almighty breath. There, in that dreary mansion, where the light Is solid gloom, darkness that may be felt,' Where hope, the lenient {n) of the ills of life. For ever dies ; there shall ye seek for death. And shall not find it : for your greatest curse Is immortality. Omnipotence Eternally shall punish and preserve.' So said He ; and. His hand high lifting, hurl'd The flashing lightning, and the flaming bolt. Full on the wicked : kindling in a blaze ^ ' Stretch out thine hand toward heaven, that there may be darkness over the land of Egypt, even darkness which may be feh.' — Ex. x. 21. — M'K. MICHAEL BRUCE. 173 The scorched earth. Behind, before, around, The trembhng \\Tetches, burst the quiv'ring flames. They tum'd to fly ; but wrath divine pursu'd To where, beyond creation's utmost bound. Where never ghmpse of cheerful hght arriv'd. Where scarce e'en thought can travel, but, absorb'd. Falls headlong down th' immeasurable gulf Of Chaos — wide and wild, their prison stood Of utter darkness, as the horrid shade That clouds the brow of death. Its op'ned mouth Belch'd sheets of livid flame and pitchy smoke. Infernal thunders, with explosion dire, Roar'd through the fiery concave ; while the waves Of liquid sulphur beat the burning shore, In endless ferment. O'er the dizzy steep Suspended, wrapt in suffocating gloom, The sons of black damnation shrieking hung. Curses unutterable filled their mouths. Hideous to hear ; their eyes rain'd bitter tears Of agonizing madness, for their day Was past, and from their eye repentance hid For ever ! Round their heads their hissing brands The Furies wav'd, and o'er the whelming brink Impetuous urg'd them. In the boiling surge They headlong fell. The flashing billows roar'd ; And hell from all her caves return'd the sound. The gates of flint, and tenfold adamant. With bars of steel, impenetrably firm. Were shut for ever : The decree of fate, Immutable, made fast the pond'rous door. ' Now turn thine eyes,' my bright conductor said : ' Behold the world in flames ! so sore the bolts Of thunder, launch'd by the Almighty arm, Hath smote upon it. Up the blacken'd air 174 'niE WORKS OF Ascend the curling flames, and billowy smoke ; And hideous crackling, blot the face of day With foul eruption. From their inmost beds The hissing waters rise. Whatever drew The vital air, or in the spacious deep Wanton'd at large, expires. Heard'st thou that crash ? There fell the tow'ring Alps, and, dashing down, Lay bare their centre. See, the flaming mines Expand their treasures ! no rapacious hand To seize the precious bane. Now look around : Say, Canst thou tell where stood imperial Rome, The wonder of the world ; or where, the boast Of Europe, fair Britannia, stretch'd her plain, Encircled by the ocean 1 All is wrapt In darkness : as (if great may be compar'd With small) when, on Gomorrah's fated field, The flaming sulphur, by Jehovah rain'd. Sent up a pitchy cloud, killing to life. And tainting all the air. Another groan ! 'Twas Nature's last : and see ! th' extinguish'd sun Falls devious through the void ; and the fair face Of Nature is no more ! With sullen joy Old Chaos views the havoc, and expects To stretch his sable sceptre o'er the blank Where once Creation smil'd : o'er which, perhaps Creative energy again shall wake. And into being call a brighter sun. And fairer worlds ; which, for delightful change, The saints, descending from the happy seats Of bliss, shall visit. And, behold ! they rise. And seek their native land : around them move. In radiant files, Heaven's host. Immortal wreaths Of amaranth and roses crown their heads ; And each a branch of ever-blooming palm MICHAEL BRUCE. 1 75 Triumphant holds. In robes of dazzhng white, Fairer than that by wintry tempests shed Upon the frozen ground, array'd, they shine, Fair as the sun, when up the steep of Heav'n He rides in all the majesty of light. But who can tell, or if an angel could. Thou couldst not hear, the glories of the place For their abode prepar'd 1 Though oft on earth They struggled hard against the stormy tide Of adverse fortune, and the bitter scorn Of harden'd villany — their life a course Of warfare upon earth ; these toils, when view'd With the reward, seem nought. The Lord shall guide Their steps to living fountains, and shall wipe All tears from ev'ry eye. The wintry clouds That frown'd on life, rack up. A glorious sun. That ne'er shall set, arises in a sky Unclouded and serene. Their joy is full : And sickness, pain, and death, shall be no more. Dost thou desire to follow 1 does thy heart Beat ardent for the prize 1 Then tread the path Religion points to man. What thou hast seen, Fix'd in thy heart retain : For, be assur'd. In that last moment — in the closing act Of Nature's drama, ere the hand of fate Drop the black curtain, thou must bear thy part. And stand in thine own lot ' This said, he stretch'd His wings, and in a moment left my sight. ' Dan. xii. 13.— M'K. 176 THE WORKS OF LOCHLEVEN; The Lake described in the following Poem is situated in the county of Kinross, about twenty-seven miles north of Edinburgh, and seventeen south of Perth. In magnitude and grandeur it is inferior to Loch Lomond and Loch Katrine, and in picturesque beauty to several of the Highland lakes. It is, nevertheless, a noble expanse of waters, of about ten miles circumference, variegated with several islands, and lying in the bosom of verdant hills, and in the midst of well-cultivated fields. Portions of shore-land, gained by a partial draining of the Lake, are covered with spruce and pine, and hide within them many fair sylvan nooks, as do also the Islands. The western quarter is by much the most picturesque, and is accordingly the portion generally chosen by the artist as the proper subject for the pencil. It besides contains the Castle, from which, as once having been the prison of Mary Queen of Scots, the lake chiefly derives its celebrity. Lochleven is famed for its trout, the high flavour and the bright colour of which are said to arise chiefly from small red shell-fish, which abound in the lake, and constitute their food. Its chief celebrity, however, as already hinted, arises from its historical associations ; and this Sir Walter Scott, by his novel of The Abbot, has tended greatly to increase. Some of these associations are alluded to in the poem, and are now more amply detailed in the Notes. It is to be borne in mind, that the writer of this poem is describing the scene as it presented itself to him seventy years ago, and that, although in all its essential elements it is still the same, yet in several of its characteristics it is considerably changed, the lake itself having been reduced in size, and the adjoining lands greatly improved. This Lake is to be distinguished from another of the same name situated on the western coast of Scotland, which is an arm of the sea, in the vicinity of the far- famed Glencoe, separating the county of Argyle on the south from Inverness-shire on the north. That this latter lake has sometimes been mistaken for the former, is shown by MacCulloch, as quoted by Chambers : ' I was much amused,' says he, ' by meeting here with an antiquary and virtuoso, who asked me where he should find Lochleven Castle. He had been inquiring among the Highlanders, and was very wrathful that he could obtain no answer. I was a little at a loss myself at first, but soon guessed the nature of the blunder. He had been crazing himself with Whittaker and Tytler, and Robertson and Chalmers, like an old friend of mine, who used to sleep with the controversies under his pillow, and had come all the way from England to worship at the shrine of Mary, stumbling, by some obliquity of vision, on the wrong Lochleven.' — M'K. and G. Hail, native land ! where on the flow'ry banks Of Leven, Beauty ever-blooming dwells; MICHAEL BRUCE. 177 A wreath of roses, dropping with the dews Of Morning, circles her ambrosial locks Loose-waving o'er her shoulders ; where she treads, Attendant on her steps, the blushing Spring And Summer wait, to raise the various flow'rs Beneath her footsteps ; while the cheerful birds Carol their joy, and hail her as she comes. Inspiring vernal love and vernal joy. Attend, Agricola!' who to the noise Of public life preferr'st the calmer scenes Of solitude, and sweet domestic bliss, ' Joys all thine own ! attend thy poet's strain, Who triumphs in thy friendship, while he paints. The past'ral mountains, the poetic streams, Where raptur'd Contemplation leads thy walk, While silent Evening on the plain descends. Between two mountains, whose o'er^vhelming tops, In their swift course, arrest the bellying clouds, A pleasant valley lies. Upon the south, A narrow op'ning parts the craggy hills ; Thro' which the lake, that beautifies the vale. Pours out its ample waters. Spreading on. And wid'ning by degrees, it stretches north To the high Ochil, from whose snowy top The streams that feed the lake flow thund'ring down. The twilight trembles o'er the misty hills, Trinkling with dews ; and whilst the bird of day Tunes his etherial note, and wakes the wood, Bright from the crimson curtains of the mom. The sun appearing in his glory, throws New robes of beauty over heav'n and earth. ' Mr David Amot. See Memoir, p. i6 and elsewhere. — G. M 178 THE WORKS OF O now, while Nature smiles in all her works, Oft let me trace thy cowshp-cover'd banks, O Leven ! and the landscape measure round. From gay Kinross, whose stately tufted groves Nod o'er the lake, transported let mine eye Wander o'er all the various checquer'd scene. Of wilds, and fertile fields, and glitt'ring streams. To ruin'd Arnot ;' or ascend the height Of rocky Lomond,^ where a riv'let pure Bursts from the ground, and through the crumbled crags Tinkles amusive. From the mountain's top, Around me spread, I see the goodly scene ! Inclosures green, that promise to the swain The future harvest ; many-colour'd meads ; Irriguous vales, where cattle low, and sheep That whiten half the hills ; sweet rural farms Oft interspers'd, the seats of past'ral love And innocence ; with many a spiry dome Sacred to heav'n, around whose hallow'd walls Our fathers slumber in the narrow house. Gay, beauteous villas, bosom'd in the woods. Like constellations in the starry sky, Complete the scene. The vales, the vocal hills, The woods, the waters, and the heart of man, Send out a gen'ral song ; 'tis beauty all To poet's eye, and music to his ear. ' The ruins of a castle on the Lomond Hills, and which appears to have been at one time at the eastern extremity of the Lochleven, as Kinross is at the western. Its position in this respect has been ahered by the reduction of the lake. Kinross and Arnot are mentioned by the poet to define the limits of the scene he intends to describe. — M'K. ^ The range of hills which rises behind Kinnesswood, affording the best view of the lake. Lieutenant-Colonel Miller, of Upper Urquhart, has lately attempted to show, and with great plausibility, that the Lomond Hills are the Mens Grmnpucs of Tacitus. See TraTisactions of the Society of Antiqicaries of Scotland, Part L' vol. iv. 1830.— M'K. MICHJEL BRUCE. 179 Nor is the shepherd silent on his hill, His flocks around ; nor schoolboys, as they creep, Slow pac'd, tow'rds school ; intent, with oaten pipe They wake by turns wild music on the way. Behold the man of sorrows hail the light ! New risen from the bed of pain, where late, Toss'd to and fro upon a couch of thorns, He wak'd the long dark night, and wish'd for morn. Soon as he feels the quick'ning beam of heav'n, And balmy breath of May, among the fields And flow'rs he takes his morning walk : his heart Beats with new life ; his eye is bright and blithe ; Health strews her roses o'er his cheek ; renew'd In youth and beauty, his unbidden tongue Pours native harmony, and sings to Heav'n. In ancient times, as ancient Bards have sung. This was a forest. Here the mountain-oak Hung o'er the craggy cliff, while from its top The eagle mark'd his prey ; the stately ash Rear'd high his nervous stature, while below The twining alders darken'd all the scene.' Safe in the shade, the tenants of the wood Assembled, bird and beast. The turtle-dove Coo'd, amorous, all the livelong summer's day. Lover of men, the piteous redbreast plain'd, ' In the first draught of the poem the following lines, which we think more beauti- ful than some that have been retained, were added to this part of the description : — ' Beneath their covert slept the ruffian wolf And fox invidious, with the lesser brood That feed on life, or o'er the frighted wild Pursue the trembling prey. Here, too, unscathed By man, the graceful deer trip'd o'er the lawn. Nor heard the barking of the deep-mouth'd hound Nor sounding horn, nor fear'd the guileful net.' — M'K. i8o THE WORKS OF Sole-sitting on the bough. Blithe on the bush, The blackbird, sweetest of the woodland choir, Warbled his liquid lay; to shepherd-swain Mellifluous music, as his master's flock. With his fair mistress and his faithful dog, He tended in the vale: while leverets round, In sportive races, through the forest flew With feet of -wind; and, vent'ring from the rock, The snow-white coney sought his ev'ning meal. Here, too, the poet, as inspir'd at eve He roam'd the dusky wood, or fabled brook That piece-meal printed ruins in the rock. Beheld the blue-eyed Sisters of the stream. And heard the wild note of the fairy throng That charm'd the Queen of heav'n, as round the tree Time-hallow'd, hand in hand they led the dance, With sky-blue mantles glitt'ring in her beam. Low by the Lake, as yet without a name, Fair bosom'd in the bottom of the vale, Arose a cottage, green with ancient turf, Half hid in hoary trees, and from the north Fenc'd by a wood, but open to the sun. Here dwelt a peasant, rev'rend with the locks Of age, yet youth was ruddy on his cheek ; His farm his only care ; his sole delight To tend his daughter, beautiful and young, To watch her paths, to fill her lap with flow'rs, To see her spread into the bloom of years. The perfect picture of her mother's youth. His age's hope, the apple of his eye ; Belov'd of Heav'n, his fair Levina grew In youth and grace, the Naiad of the vale. Fresh as the flow'r amid the sunny show'rs MICHAEL BRUCE. i8i Of May, and blither than the bird of dawn, Both roses' bloom gave beauty to her cheek, Soft-temper'd with a smile. The light of heav'n. And innocence, illum'd her virgin-eye. Lucid and lovely as the morning star. Her breast was fairer than the. vernal bloom Of valley-lily, op'ning in a show'r ; Fair as the morn, and beautiful as May, The glory of the year, when first she comes Array'd, all-beauteous, with the robes of heav'n, And breathing summer breezes ; from her locks Shakes genial dews, and from her lap the flow'rs. Thus beautiful she look'd ; yet something more, And better far than beauty, in her looks Appear'd : the maiden blush of modesty ; The smile of cheerfulness, and sweet content ; Health's freshest rose, the sunshine of the soul ; Each height'ning each, efifus'd o'er all her form A nameless grace, the beauty of the mind. Thus finish'd fair above her peers, she drew The eyes of all the village, and inflam'd The rival shepherds of the neighb'ring dale. Who laid the spoils of Summer at her feet. And made the woods enamour'd of her name. But pure as buds before they blow, and still A virgin in her heart, she knew not love ; But all alone, amid her garden fair, * From mom to noon, from noon to dewy eve,'' She spent her days ; her pleasing task to tend The flow'rs ; to lave them from the water-spring ; To ope the buds with her enamour'd breath. Rank the gay tribes, and rear them in the sun. • Milton : P. L. Book i. p. 743.— G. i82 THE WORKS OF In youth the index of maturer years, Left by her school-companions at their play, She'd often wander in the wood, or roam The wilderness, in quest of curious flow'r. Or nest of bird unknown, till eve approach'd. And hemm'd her in the shade. To obvious swain. Or woodman chanting in the greenwood glen, She'd bring the beauteous spoils, and ask their names. Thus ply'd assiduous her delightful task. Day after day, till ev'ry herb she nam'd That paints the robe of Spring, and knew the voice Of every warbler in the vernal wood. Her garden stretch'd along the river-side. High up a sunny bank : on either side, A hedge forbade the vagrant foot ; above, An ancient forest screen'd the green recess. Transplanted here by her creative hand, Each herb of Nature, full of fragrant sweets. That scents the breath of summer ; every flow'r, Pride of the plain, that blooms on festal days In shepherd's garland, and adorns the year. In beauteous clusters flourish'd ; Nature's work, And order, finish'd by the hand of Art. Here gowans, natives of the village green. To daisies grew. The lilies of the field Put on the robe they neither sow'd nor spun. Sweet-smelling shrubs and cheerful spreading trees, Unfrequent scatter'd, as by Nature's hand. Shaded the flow'rs, and to her Eden drew The earliest concerts of the Spring, and all The various music of the vocal year : Retreat romantic ! Thus from early youth Her life she led ; one summer's day, serene MICHAEL BRUCE. 183 And fair, without a cloud : like poet's dream Of vernal landscapes, of Elysian vales, And islands of the blest ; where, hand in hand, Eternal Spring and Autumn rule the year, And Love and Joy lead on immortal youth. 'Twas on a summer's day, when early show'rs Had wak'd the various vegetable race To life and beauty, fair Levina stray'd. Far in the blooming wilderness she stray'd To gather herbs, and the fair race of flow'rs. That Nature's hand creative pours at \n\\, Beauty unbounded ! over Earth's green lap. Gay without number, in the day of rain. O'er valleys gay, o'er hillocks green she walk'd. Sweet as the season, and at times awak'd The echoes of the vale, with native notes Of heart-felt joy, in numbers heav'nly sweet ; Sweet as th' hosannahs of a Form of light, A sweet-tongu'd Seraph in the bow'rs of bliss. Her, as she halted on a green hill-top, A quiver'd hunter spied. Her flowing locks, In golden ringlets glitt'ring to the sun. Upon her bosom play'd : her mantle green. Like thine, O Nature ! to her rosy cheek Lent beauty new ; as from the verdant leaf The rose-bud blushes with a deeper bloom, Amid the walks of May. The stranger's eye Was caught as with etherial presence. Oft He look'd to heav'n, and oft he met her eye In all the silent eloquence of love ; Then, wak'd from wonder, with a smile began : Fair wanderer of the wood ! Wliat heav'nly Pow'r, 1 84 THE WORKS OF Or Providence, conducts thy wand'ring steps To this wild forest, from thy native seat And parents, happy in a child so fair? A shepherdess, or virgin of the vale, Thy dress bespeaks; but thy majestic mien, And eye, bright as the morning-star, confess Superior birth and beauty, born to rule : As from the stormy cloud of night, that veils Her virgin-orb, appears the Queen of heav'n, And with full beauty, gilds the face of night. Whom shall I call the fairest of her sex, And charmer of my soul 1 In yonder vale. Come, let us crop the roses of the brook. And wildings of the wood : Soft under shade. Let us recline, by mossy fountain-side. While the wood suffers in the beam of noon. I'll bring my love the choice of all the shades ; First fruits ; the apple ruddy from the rock ; And clust'ring nuts, that burnish in the beam, wilt thou bless my dwelling, and become The owner of these fields ? I'll give thee all That I possess, and all thou seest is mine.' Thus spoke the youth, with rapture in his eye. And thus the maiden, with a blush began : ' Beyond the shadow of these mountains green, Deep-bosom'd in the vale, a cottage stands, The dwelling of my sire, a peaceful swain ; Yet at his frugal board Health sits a guest, And fair Contentment crowns his hoary hairs, The patriarch of the plains : ne'er by his door The needy pass'd, or the way-faring man. His only daughter, and his only joy, 1 feed my father's flock ; and, while they rest, MICHAEL BRUCE. 185 At times retiring, lose me in the wood, Skill'd in the virtues of each secret herb That opes its virgin bosom to the Moon. No flow'r amid the garden fairer grows Than the sweet hly of the lowly vale, The Queen of flow'rs — But sooner might the weed That blooms and dies, the being of a day. Presume to match with yonder mountain oak. That stands the tempest and the bolt of heav'n, From age to age the monarch of the wood ! had you been a shepherd of the dale. To feed your flock beside me, and to rest With me at noon in these delightful shades, 1 might have list'ned to the voice of love, Nothing reluctant ; might with you have walk'd Whole summer-suns away. At even-tide. When heav'n and earth in all their glory shine With the last smiles of the departing sun ; When the sweet breath of Summer feasts the sense. And secret pleasure thrills the heart of man ; We might have walk'd alone, in converse sweet, Along the quiet vale, and woo'd the Moon To hear the music of true lovers' vows. But fate forbids, and fortune's potent frown, And honour, inmate of the noble breast. Ne'er can this hand in wedlock join with thine. Cease, beauteous stranger ! cease, beloved youth ! To vex a heart that never can be yours.' Thus spoke the maid, deceitful : but her eyes. Beyond the partial purpose of her tongue. Persuasion gain'd. The deep-enamour'd youth Stood gazing on her charms, and all his soul Was lost in love. He grasped her trembling hand, 1 86 THE WORKS OF And breath'd the softest, the sincerest vows Of love : ' O virgin ! fairest of the fair ! My one beloved ! Were the Scottish throne To me transmitted thro' a scepter'd line Of ancestors, thou, thou should'st be my Queen, And Caledonia's diadems adorn A fairer head than ever wore a crown.' She redden'd like the morning, under veil Of her own golden hair. The woods among. They wander'd up and down with fond delay. Nor mark'd the fall of ev'ning ; parted then. The happiest pair on whom the sun declin'd. Next day he found her on a flow'ry bank, Half under shade of willows, by a spring. The mirror of the swains, that o'er the meads. Slow-winding, scatter'd flow'rets in its way. Thro' many a winding walk and alley green. She led him to her garden. Wonder-struck, He gaz'd, all eye, o'er th' enchanting scene : And much he praised the walks, the groves, the flow'rs. Her beautiful creation ; much he prais'd The beautiful creatress ; and awak'd The echo in her praise. Like the first pair, Adam and Eve in Eden's blissful bow'rs. When newly come from their Creator's hand. Our lovers liv'd in joy. Here, day by day. In fond endearments, in embraces sweet, That lovers only know, they liv'd, they lov'd. And found the paradise that Adam lost. Nor did the virgin, with false modest pride. Retard the nuptial morn : she fix'd the day That bless'd the youth, and open'd to his eyes MICHAEL BRUCE. 187 An age of gold, the heav'n of happiness That lovers in their lucid moments dream. And now the Morning, like a rosy bride Adorned on her day, put on her robes, Her beauteous robes of light : the Naiad streams. Sweet as the cadence of a poet's song, Flow'd down the dale : the voices of the grove. And ev'ry winged warbler of the air. Sung over head, and there was joy in heav'n. Ris'n with the dawn, the bride and bridal-maids Stray'd thro' the woods, and o'er the vales, in quest Of flow'rs, and garlands, and sweet- smelling herbs. To strew the bridegroom's way, and deck his bed. Fair in the bosom of the level Lake Rose a green island, cover'd Avith a spring Of flow'rs perpetual, goodly to the eye, And blooming from afar. High in the midst. Between two fountains, an enchanted tree Grew ever green, and every month renew'd Its blooms and apples of Hesperian gold. Here ev'ry bride (as ancient poets sing) Two golden apples gather'd from the bough. To give the bridegroom in the bed of love. The pledge of nuptial concord and delight For many a coming year. Levina now Had reach'd the isle, with an attendant maid. And puU'd the mystic apples, pull'd the fmit ; But wish'd and long'd for the enchanted tree. Not fonder sought the first created fair The fruit forbidden of the mortal tree. The source of human woe. Two plants arose Fair by the mother's side, with fruits and flow'rs !8 THE (VORKS OF In miniature. One, with audacious hand, In evil hour she rooted from the ground. At once the island shook, and shrieks of woe At times were heard, amid the troubled air. Her whole frame shook, the blood forsook her face, Her knees knock'd, and her heart within her dy'd. Trembling and pale, and boding woes to come. They seized the boat, and hurried from the isle. And now they gain'd the middle of the lake. And saw th' approaching land : now, wild with joy. They row'd, they flew. When lo ! at once efifus'd, Sent by the angry demon of the isle, A whirlwind rose : it lash'd the furious Lake To tempest, overturn'd the boat, and sunk The fair Levina to a wat'ry tomb. Her sad companions, bending from a rock, Thrice saw her head, and supplicating hands Held up to heav'n, and heard the shriek of death : Then over-head the parting billow closed, And op'd no more. Her fate in mournful lays, The Muse relates ; and sure each tender maid For her shall heave the sympathetic sigh. And happ'ly my Eumelia,' (for her soul Is pity's self,) as, void of household cares, Her ev'ning walk she bends beside the Lake, Which yet retains her name (o), shall sadly drop A tear, in mem'ry of the hapless maid. And mourn with me the sorrows of the youth, Whom from his mistress death did not divide. Robb'd of the calm possession of his mind. All night he wander'd by the sounding shore. Long looking o'er the lake, and saw at times ' That is, Magdalene Grieve. See Memoir, pp. 27, 28. — G. MICHAEL BRUCE. 189 The dear, the dreary ghost of her he lov'd ; Till love and grief subdu'd his manly prime, And brought his youth with sorrow to the grave. I knew an aged swain, whose hoary head Was bent with years, the village-chronicle, Who much had seen, and from the former times Much had received. He, hanging o'er the hearth In winter ev'nings, to the gaping swains, And children circling round the fire, would tell Stories of old, and tales of other times. Of Lomond and Levina he would talk ; And how of old, in Britain's evil days, When brothers against brothers drew the sword Of civil rage, the hostile hand of war Ravag'd the land, gave cities to the sword, And all the country to devouring fire. Then these fair forests and Elysian scenes, In one great conflagration, flam'd to heav'n. Barren and black, by swift degrees arose A muirish fen ; and hence the lab'ring hind, Digging for fuel, meets the mould'ring trunks Of oaks, and branchy antlers of the deer. Now sober Industry, illustrious Power ! Hath rais'd the peaceful cottage, calm abode Of Innocence and Joy : now, sweating, guides The shining ploughshare ; tames the stubborn soil ; Leads the long drain along th' unfertile marsh ; Bids the bleak hill with vernal verdure bloom. The haunt of flocks: and clothes the barren heath With waving harvests, and the golden grain. Fair from his hand, behold the village rise, I90 THE WORKS OF In rural pride, 'mong intermingled trees ! Above whose aged tops, the joyful swains At even-tide, descending from the hill. With eye enamour'd, mark the many wreaths Of pillar'd smoke, high-curling to the clouds. The street resounds with Labour's various voice. Who whistles at his work. Gay on the green. Young blooming boys, and girls with golden hair, Trip nimble-footed, wanton in their play. The village hope. All in a rev'rend row, Their grey-hair'd grandsires, sitting in the sun, Before the gate, and leaning on the staff. The well-remember'd stories of their youth Recount, and shake their aged locks with joy. How fair a prospect rises to the eye, Where beauty vies in all her vernal forms. For ever pleasant, and for ever new ! Swells th' exulting thought, expands the soul, Drowning each ruder care : a blooming train Of bright ideas rushes on the mind. Imagination rouses at the scene. And backward, thro' the gloom of ages past. Beholds Arcadia, like a rural Queen, Encircled with her swains and rosy n)miphs. The mazy dance conducting on the green. Nor yield to old Arcadia's blissful vales Thine, gentle Leven ! green on either hand Thy meadows spread, unbroken of the plough, With beauty all their own. Thy fields rejoice - With all the riches of the golden year. Fat on the plain and mountain's sunny side, Large droves of oxen, and the fleecy flocks Feed undisturb'd, and fill the echoing air MICHAEL BRUCE. 191 With music, grateful to the master's ear. The trav'ller stops, and gazes round and round O'er all the scenes, that animate his heart With mirth and music. Even the mendicant, Bowbent with age, that on the old grey stone. Sole sitting, suns him in the public way. Feels his heart leap, and to himself he sings. How beautiful around the Lake outspreads Its wealth of waters, the surrounding vales Renews, and holds a mirror to the sky, Perpetual fed by many sister-streams. Haunts of the angler ! First, the gulfy Po, That thro' the quaking marsh and waving reeds Creeps slow and silent on. The rapid Queech, Whose foaming torrents o'er the broken steep Burst do\\Ti impetuous, with the placid wave Of flow'ry Leven, for the canine pike And silver eel renown'd. But chief thy stream, O Gairny ! sweetly winding, claims the song. First on thy banks the Doric reed I tun'd, Stretch'd on the verdant grass ; while twilight meek, Enrob'd in mist, slow-sailing thro' the air. Silent and still, on ev'ry closed flow'r Shed drops nectareous ; and around the fields No noise was heard, save where the whisp'ring reeds Wav'd to the breeze, or in the dusky air The slow-wing'd crane mov'd heav'ly o'er the lee, And shrilly clamour'd as he sought his nest. There would I sit, and tune some youthful lay. Or watch the motion of the living fires, That day and night their never-ceasing course 'Wlieel round th' eternal poles, and bend the knee To Him the Maker of yon starry sky, 192 THE WORKS OF Omnipotent ! who, thron'd above all heav'ns, Yet ever present through the peopl'd space Of vast Creation's infinite extent, Pours hfe, and bliss, and beauty, pours Himself, His own essential goodness, o'er the minds Of happy beings, thro' ten thousand worlds. Nor shall the Muse forget thy friendly heart, O Lelius (/) ! partner of my youthful hours ; How often, rising from the bed of peace, We would walk forth to meet the summer morn. Inhaling health and harmony of mind ; Philosophers and friends ; while science beam'd With ray divine as lovely on our minds As yonder orient sun, whose welcome light Reveal'd the vernal landscape to the view. Yet oft, unbending from more serious thought. Much of the looser follies of mankind, Hum'rous and gay, we'd talk, and much would laugh ; While, ever and anon, their foibles vain Imagination offer'd to our view. Fronting where Gairny pours his silent urn Into the Lake, an island lifts its head {q). Grassy and wild, with ancient ruin heap'd Of cells ; where from the noisy world retir'd Of old, as same reports. Religion dwelt Safe from the insults of the dark'ned crowd That bow'd the knee to Odin ; and in times Of ignorance, when Caledonia's sons (Before the triple-crowned giant fell) Exchang'd their simple faith for Rome's deceits. Here Superstition for her cloister'd sons A dwelling rear'd, with many an arched vault ; MICHAEL BRUCE. 193 Where her pale vot'ries at the midnight-hour, In many a mournful strain of melancholy, Chanted their orisons to the cold moon. It now resounds with the wild-shrieking gull, The crested lapwing, and the clamorous mew. The patient heron, and the bittern dull, Deep-sounding in the base, with all the tribe That by the water seek th' appointed meal. From hence the shepherd in the fenced fold, 'Tis said, has heard strange sounds, and music wild ; Such as in Selma (r), by the burning oak Of hero fallen, or of battle lost, Warn'd Fingal's mighty son, from trembling chords Of untouch'd harp, self-sounding in the night. Perhaps ih' afflicted Genius of the Lake, That leaves the wat'ry grot, each night to mourn The waste of time, his desolated isles And temples in the dust : his plaintive voice Is heard resounding tliro' the dreary courts Of high Lochleven Castle, famous once, Th' abode of heroes of the Bruce's line {s) ; Gothic the pile, and high the solid walls, With warlike ramparts, and the strong defence Of jutting battlements, an age's tpil ! No more its arches echo to the noise Of joy and festive mirth. No more the glance Of blazing taper thro' its windows beams, And quivers on the undulating wave : But naked stand the melancholy walls, Lash'd by the wintry tempests, cold and bleak. That whistle mournful thro' the empty halls. And piece-meal crumble down the tow'rs to dust Perhaps in some lone, dreary, desert tower, N 194 THE WORKS OF That time has spar'd, forth from the window looks, Half hid in grass, the solitary fox (/) ; While from above, the owl, musician dire ! Screams hideous, harsh, and grating to the ear. Equal in age, and sharers of its fate, A row of moss-grown trees around it stand. Scarce here and there, upon their blasted tops, A shrivell'd leaf distinguishes the year ; Emblem of hoary age, the eve of hfe, When man draws nigh his everlasting home, Within a step of the devouring grave ; When all his views and tow'ring hopes are gone, And ev'ry appetite before him dead. Bright shines the morn, while in the ruddy east The sun hangs hov'ring o'er the Atlantic wave. Apart, on yonder green hill's sunny side, Seren'd with all the music of the morn, Attentive let me sit ; while from the rock, The swains, laborious, roll the limestone huge, Bounding elastic from th' indented grass. At every fall it springs, and thund'ring shoots, O'er rocks and precipices, to the plain. And let the shepherd careful tend his flock Far from the dang'rous steep ; nor, O ye swains ! Stray heedless of its rage. Behold the tears Yon wretched widow o'er the mangled corpse Of her dead husband pours, who, hapless man ! Cheerful and strong went forth at rising morn To usual toil ; but, ere the evening hour, His sad companions bare him Hfeless home. Urg'd from the hill's high top, with progress swift, A weighty stone, resistless, rapid came, MICHAEL BRUCE. 195 Seen by the fated wretch, who stood unmov'd, Nor turn'd to fly, till flight had been in vain ; . WTien now arriv'd the instrument of death, And fell'd him to the ground. The thirsty land Drank up his blood : such was the will of Heav'n. How wide the landscape opens to the view ! Still as I mount, the less'ning hills decline, Till high above them northern Grampius lifts His hoary head, bending beneath a load Of everlasting snow. O'er southern fields I see the Cheviot hills, the ancient bounds Of two contending kingdoms. There in fight Brave Percy and the gallant Douglas bled, The house of heroes, and the death of hosts ! Wat' ring the fertile fields, majestic Forth, Full, deep, and wide, rolls placid to the sea. With many a vessel trim and oared bark In rich profusion cover'd, wafting o'er The wealth and product of far distant lands. But chief mine eye on the subjected vale Of Leven pleas'd looks down ; while o'er the trees. That shield the hamlet with the shade of years. The tow'ring smoke of early fire ascends. And the shrill cock proclaims th' advanced morn. How blest the man ! who, in these peaceful plains, Ploughs his paternal field ; far from the noise. The care, and bustle of a busy world.' All in the sacred, sweet, sequester'd vale Of Solitude, the secret primrose-path Of rural life, he dwells ; and with him dwells ' Cf. Horace, Ode 2.— G. 196 THE WORKS OF Peace and Content, twins of the sylvan shade, And all the Graces of the golden age. Such is Agricola, the wise, the good, By nature formed for the calm retreat, The silent path of life. Learn'd, but not fraught With self-importance, as the starched fool ; Wlio challenges respect by solemn face. By studied accent, and high-sounding phrase. Enamour'd of the shade, but not morose. Politeness, rais'd in courts by frigid rules, With him spontaneous grows. Not books alone, But man his study, and the better part ; To tread the ways of virtue, and to act The various scenes of life with God's applause. Deep in the bottom of the flow'ry vale. With blooming sallows' and the leafy twine Of verdant alders fenc'd, his dwelling stands Complete in rural elegance. The door, By which the poor or pilgrim never pass'd, Still open, speaks the master's bounteous heart. There, O how sweet ! amid the fragrant shrubs At ev'ning cool to sit ; while, on their boughs. The nested songsters twitter o'er their young, And the hoarse low of folded cattle breaks The silence, wafted o'er the sleeping Lake, Whose waters glow beneath the purple tinge Of western cloud ; while converse sweet deceives The stealing foot of time. Or where the ground. Mounded irregular, points out the graves Of our forefathers, and the hallow'd fane. Where swains assembling worship, let us walk. In softly-soothing melancholy thought, As Night's seraphic bard, immortal Young, ' Query — 'willows'? — G. MICHAEL BRUCE. 197 Or sweet-complaining Gray ; there see the goal Of human life, Avhere drooping, faint, and tir'd, Oft miss'd the prize, — the weary racer rests. Thus sung the youth, amid unfertile wilds And nameless deserts, unpoetic ground ! Far from his friends he stray'd, recording thus The dear remembrance of his native fields, To cheer the tedious night ; while slow disease Prey'd on his pining vitals, and the blasts Of dark December shook his humble cot.' SIR JAMES THE ROSS. AN ANCIENT HISTORICAL BALLAD. Of all the Scottish northern chiefs, Of his high warlike name, The bravest was Sir James the Ross, A knight of meikle fame. His growth was as the tufted fir That crowns the mountain's brow, And waving o'er his shoulders broad His locks of yellow flew. The chieftan of the brave clan Ross, A finn undaunted band ; Five hundred warriors drew the sword Beneath his high command. ' See Memoir, pp. 33, 34 seg'. : the 'unfertile wilds' above, are the same with the "-wild' of the Elegy in Spring, which is another confirmation that it was com- posed at Forrest Mill, not at Kinnesswood. See Memoir, p. 38. — G. 198 THE WORKS OF In bloody fight thrice had he stood Against the Enghsh keen, 'Ere two-and-twenty op'ning springs This blooming youth had seen. The fair Matilda dear he lov'd, A maid of beauty rair, Even Marg'ret on the Scottish throne Was never half so fair. Lang had he woo'd, lang she refus'd, With seeming scorn and pride ; Yet aft her eyes confess'd the love Her fearful words deny'd. At last she bless'd his well-try'd faith, Allow'd his tender claim ; She vow'd to him her virgin heart, And own'd an equal flame. Her father, Buchan's cruel lord, Their passion disapproval, And bade her wed Sir John the Graham, And leave the youth she lov'd. Ae night they met as they were wont. Deep in a shady wood, Where on the bank beside the burn, A blooming saugh-tree stood. Conceal'd among the underwood The crafty Donald lay. The brother of Sir John the Graham, To hear what they would say. MICHAEL BRUCE. 199 When thus the maid began : — My sire Your passion disapproves, And bids me wed Sir John the Graham, So here must end our loves ! My father's will must be obey'd, Nought boots me to withstand ; Some fairer maid in beauty's bloom Shall bkss thee with her hand. Matilda soon shall be forgot. And from thy mind defac'd ; But may that happiness be thine Which I can never taste. What do I hear ? Is this thy vow ? Sir James the Ross reply'd, And will Matilda wed the Graham, Tho' sworn to be my bride ? His sword shall sooner pierce my heart Than reave me of thy charms ! Then clasp'd her to his beating breast, Fast lock'd within her arms. I spake to try thy love, she said, I'll ne'er wed man but thee ; The grave shall be my bridal bed, 'Ere Graham my husband be. Take then, dear youth, this faithful kiss In witness of my troth, And every plague become my lot, That day I break my oath. 200 THE WORKS OF They parted thus ; the sun was set, Up hasty Donald flies, And turn thee, turn thee, beardless youth, He loud insulting cries. Soon turn'd about the fearless chief, And soon his sword he drew, For Donald's blade before his breast Had pierc'd his tartans through. This for my brother's slighted love, His wrongs sit on my arm : Three paces back the youth retir'd. And sav'd himself frae harm. Returning swift, his hand he rear'd Frae Donald's head above, And thro' the brains and crashing bones His sharp edg'd weapon drove. He stagg'ring reel'd, then tumbled down, A lump of breathless clay ; So fall my foes ! quoth valiant Ross, And stately strode away. Thro' the green wood he quickly hy'd Unto Lord Buchan's hall ; And at Matilda's window stood, And thus began to call : Art thou asleep, Matilda dear ! Awake, my love, awake ; Thy luckless lover calls on thee, A long farewel to take. MICHJEL BRUCE. aoi For I have slain fierce Donald Graham, His blood is on my sword ; And distant are my faithfiil men, Nor can assist their lord. To Skye I'll now direct my way. Where my two brothers bide. And raise the valiant of the Isles To combat on my side. O, do not so ! the maid replies. With me till morning stay, For dark and dreary is the night, And dangerous is the way : All night I'll watch you in the park ; My faithful page I'll send To run and raise the Ross's clan. Their master to defend. Beneath a bush he laid him down. And wrapt him in his plaid, While trembling for her lover's fate, At distance stood the maid. Swift ran the page o'er hill and dale, Till in a lowly glen He met the furious Sir John Graham, With twenty of his men. "Where go'st thou, little page 1 he said ; So late who did thee send ? I go to raise the Ross's clan Their master to defend. 302 THE WORKS OF For he has slain fierce Donald Graham, His blood is on his sword, And far, far distant are his men That should assist their lord. And has he slain my brother dear ? The furious Graham replies ; Dishonour blast my name ! but he By me 'ere morning dies ! Tell me, where is Sir James the Ross 1 I will thee well reward. He sleeps into Lord Buchan's park ; Matilda is his guard. They spurr'd their steeds in furious mood. And scour'd along the lea, They reach'd Lord Buchan's lofty tow'rs By dawning of the day. Matilda stood without the gate. To whom thus Graham did say ; Saw ye Sir James the Ross last night, Or did he pass this way ? Last day at noon, Matilda said, Sir James the Ross pass'd by. He furious prick'd his sweaty steed, And onward fast did hy. By this he is at Edinburgh cross, If horse and man hold good. — Your page then ly'd, who said he was Now sleeping in the wood. MICHAEL BRUCE. 203 She wrung her hands and tore her hair, Brave Ross ! thou art betray'd, And ruin'd by those very means From whence I hop'd thine aid. By this the vahant knight awak'd, The virgin's shriek he heard ; And up he rose and drew his sword, When the fierce band appear'd. Your sword last night my brother slew, His blood yet dims its shine, But 'ere the setting of the sun Your blood shall reek on mine. You word it well, the chief return'd, But deeds approve the man ; Set by your men, and hand to hand We'll try what valour can. Oft boasting hides a coward's heart,' My weighty sword you fear, Which shone in front of Floden field. When you kept in the rear. With dauntless step he forward strode, And dar'd him to the fight ; But Graham gave back and fear'd his arm. For well he knew its might. Four of his men, the bravest four. Sunk down beneath his sword ; But still he scom'd the poor revenge, And sought their haughty lord. ' Audendo magnus tegitur timor. — Lucan. 204 THE WORKS OF Behind him basely came the Graham, And pierc'd him in the side, Out spouting came the purple tide. And all his tartans dy'd. But yet his sword quat not the grip, Nor dropt he to the ground. Till thro' his en'my's heart his steel Had forc'd a mortal wound. Graham like a tree with wind o'erthrown, Fell breathless on the clay, And down beside him sunk the Ross, And faint and dying lay. The sad Matilda saw him fall, spare his life ! she cried, Lord Buchan's daughter begs his life, Let her not be deny'd 1 Her well known voice the hero heard, He rais'd his half-clos'd eyes, And fix'd them on the weeping maid, And weakly thus replies : In vain Matilda begs the life By death's arrest deny'd ; My race is run — 'Adieu, my love ! Then clos'd his eyes and dy'd. The sword yet warm, from his left side With frantic hand she drew ; I come, Sir James the Ross, she cried, 1 come to follow you. MICHAEL BRUCE. 205 She lean'd the hilt against the ground, And bar'd her snowy breast ; Then fell upon her lover's face, And sunk to endless rest(?^).' ODE : TO A FOUNTAIN. O Fountain of the wood ! whose glassy wave Slow-welling from the rock of years, Holds to heav'n a mirror blue, And bright as Anna's eye, With whom I've sported on the margin green : My hand with leaves, with lilies white, Gaily deck'd her golden hair, Young Naiad of the vale. Fount of my native wood ! thy murmurs greet My ear, like poets heavenly strain : Fancy pictures in a dream The golden days of youth. O state of innocence ! O paradise ! In Hope's gay garden. Fancy views Golden blossoms, golden fruits, And Eden ever green. Where now, ye dear companions of my youth ! Ye brothers of my bosom ! where Do ye tread the walks of life. Wide scatter'd o'er the world 1 ' See Note u for this Ballad as 'improved' by Logan. — G. 2o6 THE WORKS OF Thus winged larks forsake their native nest, The meriy minstrels of the morn ; Now to heav'n they mount away, And meet again no more. All things decay ; the forest like the leaf; Great kingdoms fall ; the peopled globe, Planet-struck, shall pass away ; Heav'ns with their hosts expire : But Hope's fair visions, and the beams of Joy, Shall cheer my bosom : I will sing Nature's beauty, Nature's birth. And heroes on the lyre. Ye Naiads ! blue-eyed sisters of the wood ! ' Who by old oak, or storied stream, Nightly tread your mystic maze. And charm the wand'ring Moon, Beheld by poet's eye ; inspire my dreams With visions, like the landscapes fair Of heav'n's bliss, to dying saints By guardian angels drawn. Fount of the forest ! in thy poet's lays Thy waves shall flow : this wreath of flow'rs, Gather'd by my Anna's hand, I ask to bind my brow. ' Cf. ' Lochleven,' page i8o, line 13 — ' Beheld the blue-eyed Sisters of the stream.' This, together with the evident allusion in stanza 3d to the ' Fount' called ' Scot- land IVell,' incidentally confirms the Bruce authorship of this Ode. See Memoir, p. 170. — G. MICHAEL BRUCE. 207 DANISH ODE. The great, the glorious deed is done ! The foe is fled ! the field is won ! Prepare the feast, the heroes call ; Let joy, let triumph fill the hall ! The raven claps ' his sable wings ; The Bard his chosen timbrel brings ; Six virgins round, a select choir, Sing to the music of his lyre. With mighty ale the goblet crown ; With mighty ale your sorrows drown ; To-day, to mirth and joy we yield ; To-morrow, face the bloody field. From danger's front, at battle's eve, Sweet comes the banquet to the brave ; Joy shines with genial beam on all. The joy that dwells in Odin's hall. The song bursts living from the lyre. Like dreams that guardian ghosts inspire ; When mimic shrieks the heroes hear, And whirl the visionary spear. Music's the med'cine of the mind ; The cloud of Care give to the wind ; Be ev'ry brow with garlands bound, And let the cup of Joy go round. ' Originally misprinted, and so continued, 'clasps.' — G. 2o8 THE WORKS OF The cloud comes o'er the beam of light ; We're guests that tarry but a night : In the dark house, together press'd, •" The princes and the people rest. Send round the shell," the feast prolong. And send away the night in song ; Be blest below, as those above With Odin's and the friends they love. DANISH ODE. In deeds of arms, our fathers rise. Illustrious in their offspring's eyes : They fearless rush'd through Ocean's storms, And dar'd grim Death in all its forms ; Each youth assum'd the sword and shield. And grew a hero in the field. Shall we degenerate from our race. Inglorious, in the mountain chase 1 Arm, arm in fallen Hubba's right ; Place your forefathers in your sight ; To fame, to glory fight your way. And teach the nations to obey. Assume the oars, unbind the sails ; Send, Odin ! send propitious gales. At Loda's stone, we will adore Thy name with songs, upon the shore ; And, full of thee, undaunted dare The foe, and dart the bolts of war. ' The ancient Danes and Scots drank in shells. ' To rejoice in the shell,' is a phrase used in Ossian for drinking freely. — M'K. MICHAEL BRUCE. 209 No feast of shells, no dance by night, Are glorious Odin's dear delight : He, king of men, his armies led, Where heroes strove, where battles bled ; Now reigns above the morning-star. The god of thunder and of war. Bless'd who in battle bravely fall ! They mount on wings to Odin's Hall ; To Music's sound, in cups of gold, • They drink new wine with chiefs of old ; The song of bards records their name, And future times shall speak their fame. Hark ! Odin thunders ! haste on board ; Illustrious Canute !^ give the word. On Avings of wind we pass the seas, To conquer realms, if Odin please : With Odin's spirit in our soul. We'll gain the globe from pole to pole. TO PAOLI. ' Paoli's father was one of the patriots who effected their escape from Corsica when the French reduced it to obedience. He retired to Naples, and brought up this, his youngest son, in the NeapoUtan ser\'ice. The Corsicans heard of young PaoH's abilities, and soh'cited him to come over to his native country and talce the command. He found all things in confusion : he formed a democratical govern- ment, of which he was chosen chief, and took such measures both for repressing abu.ses and moulding the rising generation, that if France had not interfered, Corsica might, at this day, have been as free and flourishing and happy a com- monwealth as any of the Grecian States in the days of their prosperity. A desperate struggle was made against the French usurpation. They offered to confirm Paoli in the supreme government, only on condition that he would hold ' Canute, sumamed the Great, King of Denmark, and upon the death of Edmund, proclaimed King of England, a.d. 1017.— M'K. O 2IO THE WORKS OF it under their government. This he refused. They then set a price upon his head. During two campaigns he kept them at bay ; they overpowered him at length ; he was driven to the shore, and having escaped on shipboard, took refuge in England.' — Southev's Life of Nelson. — M'K. What man, what hero shall the Muses sing, On classic lyre or Caledonian string ?(z') Whose name shall fill th' immortal page % Who, fir'd from heav'n with energy divine, In sun-bright glory bids his actions shine First in the annals of the age % Ceas'd are the golden times of yore \ The age of heroes is no more ; Rare, in these latter times, arise to fame The poet's strain inspir'd, or hero's heav'nly flame. What star arising in the southern sky, New to the heav'ns, attracting Europe's eye. With beams unborrow'd shines afar? Who comes, with thousands marching in his rear, Shining in arms, shaking his bloody spear, Like the red comet, sign of war % Paoli ! sent of Heav'n, to save A rising nation of the brave ; Whose firm right hand his angels arm, to bear A shield before his host, and dart the bolts of war. *-> He comes ! he comes ! the saviour of the land His drawn sword flames in his uplifted hand, Enthusiast in his country's cause ; Whose firm resolve obeys a nation's call. To rise deliverer, or a martyr fall To Liberty, to dying laws. Ye sons of Freedom ! sing his praise ; Ye poets ! bind his brows with bays ; MICHAEL BRUCE. an Ye scepter'd shadows ! cast your honours down, And bow before the head that never wore a crown. ^Vho to the hero can the palm refuse ? Great Alexander still the world subdues, The heir of everlasting praise. But when the hero's flame, the patriot's light ; When virtues human and divine unite ; When olives twine among the bays, And, mutual, both Minerva's shine ; A constellation so divine, A wond'ring world behold, admire, and love. And his best image here, th' Almighty marks above. As the lone shepherd hides him in the rocks, Whtn high heav'n thunders ; as the tim'rous flocks From the descending torrent flee : So flies a world of slaves at War's alarms. When Zeal on flame, and Liberty in anns. Leads on the fearless and the free, Resistless ; as the torrent flood, Hom'd like the moon, uproots the wood, Sweeps flocks, and herds, and harvests from their base,' And moves th' eternal hills from their appointed place. Long hast thou labour'd in the glorious strife, O land of Liberty ! profuse of life, And prodigal of priceless blood. ' ' Red, from the hills, innumerable streams Tumultuous roar ; and, high above its banks. The river left ; before whose rushing tide Herds, flocks, and harvests, cottages and swains. Roll mingled down.' Thomson's Autuiiin. — M'K. 212 THE WORKS OF Where heroes bought with blood the martyr's crown, A race arose, heirs of their high renown, Who dar'd their fate thro' fire and flood : And Gaffori^ the great arose, Whose words of pow'r, disarm'd his foes ; And where the fihal image smil'd afar. The sire turned not aside the thunders of the war. O Liberty ! to man a guardian giv'n. Thou best and brightest attribute of Heav'n ! From whom descending, thee we sing. By nature wild, or by the arts refin'd. We feel thy pow'r essential to our mind ; Each son of Freedom is a king. Thy praise the happy world proclaim, And Britain worships at thy name, Thou guardian angel of Britannia's isle ! And God and man rejoice in thy immortal smile ! Island of beauty ! lift thy head on high ; Sing a new song of triumph to the sky ! The day of thy deliv'rance springs ! ' ' Gaffori was a hero worthy of old times. His eloquence was long remembered with admiration. A band of assassins was once advancing against him. He heard of their approach, went out to meet them, and with a serene dignity which overawed them, requested them to hear 'him. He then spoke to them so forcibly of the distresses of their country, her intolerable wrongs, and the hopes and views of their brethren in arms, that the very men who had been hired to murder him fell at his feet, implored his forgiveness, and joined his banners. While he was besieging the Genoese in Corte, a part of the garrison perceiving the nurse with his eldest son, then an infant in arms, straying at a little distance from the camp, suddenly sallied, and seized them. The use they made of their persons was in conformity to their usual execrable conduct. When Gaffori advanced to batter the walls, they held up the child directly over that part of the wall at which the guns wore pointed. The Corsicans stopt ; but Gaffori stood at their head, and ordered them to continue the fire. Providentially, the child escaped, and lived to relate, with becoming feeling, a fact so honourable to his father.' — Southey's L ife of Nelson. —U ' K. MICHAEL BRUCE. ai, The day of vengeance to thy ancient foe. Thy sons shall lay the proud oppressor low, (w) And break the head of tyrant kings. Paoli ! mighty man of war ! All bright in arms, thy conqu'ring car Ascend ; thy people from the foe redeem, Thou delegate of Heav'n, and son of the Supreme ! Ruled by th' eternal laws, supreme o'er all. Kingdoms, like kings, successive rise and fall. When Caesar conquer'd half the earth. And spread his eagles in Britannia's sun, Did Caesar dream the savage huts he won Should give a far-famed kingdom birth 1 That here should Roman freedom 'light ; The western ]\Iuses wing their flight ; The Arts, the Graces find their fav'rite home ; Our armies awe the globe, and Britain rival Rome ? Thus, if th' Almighty say, ' Let Freedom be,' Thou, Corsica ! thy golden age shalt see. Rejoice with songs, rejoice with smiles ; Worlds yet unfound, and ages yet unborn. Shall hail a new Britannia in her morn. The Queen of arts, the Queen of isles : The Arts, the beauteous train of Peace, Shall rise and rival Rome and Greece ; A Newton Nature's book unfold sublime ; A Milton sing to lieav'n, and charm the ear of Time ! 214 THE WORKS OF THE EAGLE, CROW, AND SHEPHERD. A FABLE.' Beneath the horror of a rock, A shepherd careless fed his flock. Souse from its top an eagle came, And seiz'd upon a sporting lamb ; Its tender sides his talons tear, And bear it bleating thro' the air. This was discover'd by a crow, Who hopp'd upon the plain below. ' You ram,' says he, ' becomes my prey ;' And, mounting, hastens to the fray. Lights on his back — when lo, ill-luck ! He in the fleece entangled stuck ; He spreads his wings, but can't get free, Struggling in vain for liberty. The shepherd soon the captive spies, And soon he seizes on the prize. His children curious croud around, And ask what strange fowl he has found 1 ' My sons,' said he, ' warn'd by this wretch, Attempt no deed above your reach : An eagle not an hour ago, He's now content to be a crow.' ' See Memoir, p. 19. — G. MICHAEL BRUCE. 215 THE MUSIAD : A MINOR EPIC POEM. IN THE. MANNER OF HOMER. A FRAGMENT. In ancient times, ere traps were fram'd. Or cats in Britain's isle were known ; A mouse, for pow'r and valour fam'd, Possess'd in peace the regal throne. A farmer's house he nightly storm'd, (In vain were bolts, in vain were keys ; ) The milk's fair surface he deform'd, And digg'd entrenchments in the cheese. In vain the farmer watch'd by night, In vain he spread the poison'd bacon 5 The mouse was wise as well as wight, Nor could by force or fraud be taken. His subjects follow'd where he led. And dealt destruction all around ; His people, shepherd-like, he fed ; Such mice are rarely to be found ! But evil fortune had decreed, (The foe of mice as well as men,) The royal mouse at last should bleed, Should fall — ne'er to arise again. Upon a night, as authors say, A luckless scent our hero drew. Upon forbidden ground to stray. And pass a narrow cranny through. 2i6 THE WORKS OF That night a feast the farmer made, And joy unbounded fiU'd the house ; The fragments in the pantry spread Afforded bus'ness to the mouse. He ate his fill, and back again Return'd ; but access was deny'd. He search'd each corner, but in vain ; He found it close on every side. Let none our hero's fears deride ; He roar'd (ten mice of modern days. As mice are dwindl'd and decay'd. So great a voice could scarcely raise.) Rous'd at the voice, the farmer ran, And seiz'd upon his hapless prey. With entreaties the mouse began, And pray'rs, his anger to allay. ' O spare my life,' he trembling cries ; ' My subjects will a ransom give. Large as thy Avishes can devise. Soon as it shall be heard I Hve.' ' No, wretch !' the farmer says in wrath, 'Thou dy'st; no ransom I'll receive.' ' My subjects will revenge my death,' He said ; 'this dying charge I leave.' The farmer lifts his armed hand, And on the mouse inflicts an wound. What mouse could such a blow withstand 1 He fell, and dying bit the ground. AlICHAEL BRUCE. 217 Thus Lambris fell, who flourish'd long, (I half forgot to tell his name ; ) But his renown lives in the song, And future times shall speak his fame. A mouse, who walk'd about at large In safety, heard his mournful cries ; He heard him give his dying charge. And to the rest he frantic flies. Thrice he essay'd to speak, and thrice Tears, such as mice may shed, fell down. ' Revenge your monarch's death,' he cries, His voice half-stifl'd with a groan. But having re-assum'd his senses, And reason, such as mice may have, He told out all the circumstances With many a strain and broken heave. Chill'd with sad grief, th' assembly heard ; Each dropp'd a tear, and bow'd the head : But symptoms soon of rage appear'd, And vengeance for their royal dead. Long sat they mute : at last up rose The great Hypenor, blameless sage ! A hero born to many woes ; His head was silver'd o'er with age. His bulk so large, his joints so strong. Though worn with grief, and past his prime. Few rats could equal him, 'tis sung. As rats are in these dregs of time. 2i8 THE nVRKS OF Two sons, in battle brave, he had, Sprung from fair Lalage's embrace ; Short time they grac'd his nuptial bed, By dogs destroy'd in cruel chase. Their timeless fate the mother wail'd, And pined with heart-corroding grief : O'er every comfort it prevail'd, Till death advancing brought relief Now he's the last of all his race, A prey to wo : he inly pin'd ; Grief pictur'd sat upon his face ; Upon his breast his head reclin'd. And, ' O my fellow-mice !' he said, ' These eyes ne'er saw a day so dire, Save when my gallant children bled. O wretched sons ! O wretched sire ! ' But now a gen'ral cause demands Our grief, and claims our tears alone ; Our monarch, slain by wicked hands. No issue left to fill the throne. ' Yet, tho' by hostile man much wrong'd. My counsel is, from arms forbear. That so your days may be prolong'd ; For man is Heav'n's peculiar care.' MICHAEL BRUCE. 219 ANACREONTIC : TO A WASP. THE FOLLOWING IS A LUDICROUS IMITATION OF THE USUAL ANACREONTICS ; THE SPIRIT OF COMPOSING WHICH WAS RAGING, A FEW YEARS AGO, AMONG ALL THE SWEET SINGERS OF GREAT BRITAIN. / Winged wand'rer of the sky ! Inhabitant of heav'n high ! Dreadful Avith thy dragon tail, Hydra-head, and coat of mail ! Why dost thou my peace molest 1 Why dost thou disturb my rest 1 When in May the meads are seen, Sweet enamel ! white and green ; And the gardens, and the bow'rs, And the forests, and the flow'rs, Don their robes of curious dye. Fine confusion to the eye ! Did I chase thee in thy flight 1 Did I put thee in a fright ? Did I spoil thy treasure hid 1 Never — never — never — did. Envious nothing ! pray beware ; Tempt mine anger, if you dare. Trust not in thy strength of wing ; Trust not in thy length of sting. Heav'n nor earth shall thee defend ; I thy buzzing soon will end. Take my counsel, while you may ; Devil take you, if you stay. Wilt — thou — dare — my — face — to — wound ? — Thus, I fell thee to the ground. Down amongst the dead men, now Thou shalt forget thou ere wast thou. 210 THE HVRKS OF Anacreontic Bards beneath, Thus shall wail thee after death. CHORUS OF ELYSIAN BARDS. ' A Wasp, for a wonder. To paradise under Descends : See ! he wanders By Styx's meanders ! Behold, how he glows. Amidst Rhodope's snows (x) He sweats, in a trice. In the regions of ice ! Lo ! he cools, by God's ire. Amidst brimstone and fire ! He goes to our king, And he shows him his sting. (God Pluto loves satire, As women love attire ; ) Our king sets him free, Like fam'd Euridice. Thus a wasp could prevail O'er the Devil and hell, A conquest both hard and laborious ! Tho' hell had fast bound him, And the Devil did confound him. Yet his sting and his wing were victorious.' ()') ALEXIS. A PASTORAL. Upon a bank with cowslips cover'd o'er, Where Leven's waters break against the shore ; MICHAEL BRUCE. zi: What time the village sires in circles talk, And youths and maidens take their evening walk ; Among the yellow broom Alexis lay, And view'd the beauties of the setting day. Full well you might observe some inward smart. Some secret grief hung heavy at his heart. Wliile round the field his sportive lambkins play'd, He rais'd his plaintive voice, and thus he said : Begin, my pipe ! a softly mournful strain. The parting sun shines yellow on the plain ; The balmy west-wind breathes along the ground ; Their evening sweets the flow'rs dispense around ; The flocks stray bleating o'er the mountain's brow, And from the plain the answ'ring cattle low ; Sweet chant the feather'd tribes on every tree. And all things feel the joys of love, but me. Begin, my pipe ! begin the mournful strain. Eumelia meets my kindness with disdain.' Oft liave I try'd her stubborn heart to move, And in her icy bosom kindle love : But all in vain-^ere I my love declar'd, With other youths her company I shar'd ; But now she shuns me hopeless and forlorn. And pays my constant passion with her scorn. Begin, my pipe ! the sadly-soothing strain. And bring the days of innocence again. Well I remember, in the sunny scene We ran, we play'd together on the green. ' See Memoir, p. 28. — G. 22 2 THE WORKS OF Fair in our youth, and wanton in our play, We toy'd, we sported the long summer's day. For her I spoil'd the gardens of the Spring, And taught the goldfinch on her hand to sing. We sat and sung beneath the lover's tree ; One was her look, and it was fix'd on me. Begin, my pipe ! a melancholy strain. A holiday was kept on yonder plain ; The feast was spread upon the flow'ry mead. And skilful Thyrsis tun'd his vocal reed ; Each for the dance selects the nymph he loves. And every nymph with smiles her swain approves : The setting sun beheld their mirthful glee, And left all happy in their love, but me. Begin, my pipe ! a softly mournful strain. O cruel nymph ! O most unhappy swain ! To climb the steepy rock's tremendous height, And crop its herbage is the goat's delight ; The flowery thyme delights the humming bees, And blooming wilds the bleating lambkins please ; Daphnis courts Chloe under every tree : Eumelia ! you alone have joys for me ! Now cease, my pipe ! now cease the mournful strain. Lo, yonder comes Eumelia o'er the plain ! Till she approach, I'll lurk behind the shade, Then try with all my art the stubborn maid : Though to her lover cruel and unkind. Yet time may change the purpose of her mind. But vain these pleasing hopes ! already see, She hath observ'd, and now she flies from me ! MICHAEL BRUCE. zi-. Then cease, my pipe ! the unavaiUng strain. Apollo aids, the Nine inspire in vain : You, cruel maid ! refuse to lend an ear ; No more I sing, since you disdain to hear. This pipe Amyntas gave, on which he play'd : ' Be thou its second lord,' the dying shepherd said. No more I play, now silent let it be ; Nor pipe, nor song, can e'er give joy to me. DAMON, MENALCAS, AND MELIBCEUS. AN ECLOGUE. DAMON. Mild from the shower, the morning's rosy light Unfolds the beauteous season to the sight : The landscape rises verdant on the view ; The little hills uplift their heads in dew ; The sunny stream rejoices in the vale ; The woods with songs approaching summer hail : The boy comes forth among the flow'rs to play ; His fair hair glitters in the yellow ray. Shepherds, begin the song ! while, o'er the mead. Your flocks at will on dewy pastures feed. Behold fair nature, and begin the song ; The songs of nature to the swain belong, Who equals Cona's bard in sylvan strains, {z) To him his harp an equal prize remains ; His harp, which sounds on all its sacred strings The loves of hunters, and the wars of kings. MENALCAS. Now fleecy clouds in clearer skies are seen ; The air is genial, and the earth is green : 2 24 THE WORKS OF O'er hill and dale the flow'rs spontaneous spring, And blackbirds singing now invite to sing. MELIBCEUS. Now milky show'rs rejoice the springing grain ■ New-opening pea-blooms purple all the plain ; The hedges blossom white on every hand ; Already harvest seems to clothe the land. MENALCAS. AVhite o'er the hill my snowy sheep appear, Each with her lamb • their shepherd's name they bear. I love to lead them where the daisies spring, And on the sunny hill to sit and sing. MELIBCEUS. My fields are green with clover and with corn ; My flocks the hills, and herds the vales adorn. I teach the stream, I teach the vocal shore, And woods to echo that ' I want no more.' MENALCAS. To me the bees their annual nectar yield ; Peace cheers my hut, and plenty clothes my field. I fear no loss : I give to Ocekn's wind All care away, a monarch in my mind. MELIBCEUS. My mind is cheerful as the linnet's lays ; Heav'n daily hears a shepherd's simple praise. What time I shear my flock, I send a fleece To aged Mopsa, and her orphan niece. MICHAEL BRUCE. 225 MENALCAS. Lavinia, come ! here primroses upspring ; Here choirs of Hnnets, here yourself may sing ; Here meadows worthy of thy foot appear : O come, Lavinia ! let us wander here ! MELIBCEUS. Rosella, come ! here flow'rs the heath adorn ; Here ruddy roses open on the thorn ; Here willows by the brook a shadow give ; O here, Rosella ! let us love to live ! MENALCAS. Lavinia's fairer than the flow'rs of May, Or Autumn apples ruddy in the ray : For her my flow'rs are in a garland wove, And all my apples ripen for my love. MELIBCEUS. Prince of the wood, the oak majestic tow'rs ; The lily of the vale is queen of flow'rs : Above the maids Rosella's charms prevail. As oaks in woods, and lilies in the vale ! MENALCAS. Resound, ye rocks ! ye little hills ! rejoice ! Assenting woods ! to Heaven uplift your voice ! Let Spring and Summer enter hand in hand ; Lavinia comes, the glory of our Land ! MELIBCEUS. Whene'er my love appears upon the plain. To her the wond'ring shepherds tune the strain : 2 26 THE WORKS OF ' Who comes in beauty like the vernal mom, When yellow robes of light all heaven and earth adorn.' MENALCAS. Rosella's mine, by all the Pow'rs above ; Each star in heav'n is witness to our love. Among the lilies she abides all day ; Herself as lovely, and as sweet as they. MELIBCEUS. By Tweed Lavinia feeds her fleecy care, And in the sunshine combs her yellow hair. Be thine the peace of Heav'n, unknown to kings, And o'er thee angels spread their guardian wings ! MENALCAS. I followed Nature, and was fond of praise ; Thrice noble Varo has approved my lays ; If he approves, superior to my peers, I join th' immortal choir, and sing to other years. MELIBCEUS. My mistress is my Muse : the banks of Tyne Resound with Nature's music, and Avith mine ; Helen the fair, the beauty of our green. To me adjudg'd the prize when chosen queen. DAMON. Now cease your songs : the flocks to shelter fly, And the high sun has gain'd the middle sky. To both alike the poet's bays belong, Chiefs of the choir, and masters of the song. Thus let your pipes contend, with rival strife. To sing the praises of the pastoral life : MICHJEL BRUCE. 227 Sing Nature's scenes with Nature's beauties fir'd ; Where poets dream'd, where prophets lay inspir'd. Even Caledonian queens have trod the meads, And scepter'd kings assum'd the shepherd's weeds : Th' angelic choirs, that guard the throne of God, Have sat Avith shepherds on the humble sod. With us renew'd the golden times remain. And long-lost innocence is found again. PHILOCLES: AN ELEGY, ON THE DEATH OF MR WILLIAM DRYBURGH. Wailing, I sit on Leven's sandy shore. And sadly tune the reed to sounds of woe ; Once more I call Melpomene ! once more Spontaneous teach the weeping verse to flow ! The weeping verse shall flow in friendship's name, W^hich friendship asks, and friendship fain would pay ; The Aveeping verse, which worth and genius claim. Begin then. Muse ! begin thy mournful lay. Aided by thee, I'll twine a rustic wreath Of fairest flow'rs, to deck the grass-grown grave Of Philocles, cold in the bed of death. And mourn the gentle youth I could not save. Where lordly Forth divides the fertile plains. With ample sweep, a sea from side to side, A rocky bound his raging course restrains, For ever lashed by the resounding tide. ' See Memoir, pp. 17, 24, 36. — G. 22 8 THE PVORKS OF There stands his tomb upon the sea-beat shore/ Afar discerned by the rough sailor's eye, Who, passing, weeps, and stops the sounding oar, And points where piety and virtue he. Like the gay pahii on Kabbah's fair domains, Or cedar shadowing Carmel's flowery side ; Or, hke the upright ash on Britain's plains, Which waves its stately arms in youthful pride : So flourished Philocles : and as the hand Of ruthless woodman lays their honours low,^ He fell in youth's fair bloom by fate's command. 'Twas fate that struck, 'tis ours to mourn the blow. Alas ! we fondly thought that Heaven designed His bright example mankind to improve : All they should be, was pictured in his mind ; His thoughts were virtue, and his heart was love. ^ ' His remains lie on the south side, and near the top of the west burying- ground in this parish. The spot is marked by a neat and rather handsome stone, which does not, however, seem to have been erected to his memory, as the in- scription relating to his father occupies the front and principal part of the stone, while that relating to himself and a half brother, whose name was Lister, a minister of the Secession in Dundee, occupies the back, and was probably put on at a later period than the other.' — Letter from Rev. W. A. Pettigreiv, Dysart, to Dr Mackelvie. ^ 'Ac veluti summis antiquam in montibus ornum, Cum ferro accisam crebrisque bipennibus, instant Eruere agricolce certatim ; ilia usque minatur, Et tremefacta comam, concusso vertice, nutat.' Virgil, Mneid II. ' Rent like a mountain ash, which dar'd the winds, And stood the sturdy strokes of lab'ring hinds. About the roots the cruel a.\e resounds : The stumps are picrc'd with oft repeated wounds, The war is felt on high, the nodding crown Now threats a fall, and throws the leafy honours down.' Dryden's Translation. — M'K. MICHAEL BRUCE. 229 Calm as a summer's sun's unruffled face, He looked unmoved on life's precarious game, And smiled at mortals toiling in the chase Of empty phantoms — opulence and fame. Steady he followed Virtue's onward path, Inflexible to Error's devious way ; And firm at last, in hope and fixed faith, Thro' Death's dark vale he trod without dismay. The gloomy vale he trod, relentless Death ! Where waste and horrid desolation reign. The tyrant, humbled, there resigns his wrath ; The wretch, elated, there forgets his pain ; There sleep the infant, and the hoary head ; Together lie the oppressor and the oppressed ; There dwells the captive, free among the dead ; There Philocles, and there the weaiy rest. The curtains of the grave fast drawn around, 'Till the loud trumpet wakes the sleep of death, With dreadful clangour through the world resound. Shake the firm globe, and burst the vaults beneath. Then Philocles shall rise, to gloiy rise. And his Redeemer for himself shall see ; With Him in triumph mount the azure skies : For where He is, His followers shall be. Whence then these sighs 1 and whence this foiling tear 1 To sad remembrance of his merit just, Still must I mourn, for he to me was dear. And still is dear, though buried in the dust. 2^,o THE WORKS OF DAPHNIS: A MONODY. TO THE MEMORY OF MR WILLIAM ARNOT, SON OF MR DAVID ARNOT, OF PORTMOAK, NEAR KINROSS. [A Letter froni Bruce, sending this M onody to Mr Amot (or Arnott) senior, is now before us. It begins : — ' Dear Sir,- — Walking lately by the churchyard of your town, which inspires with a kind of veneration for our ancestors, I was struck with these beautiful lines of Mr Gray, in his " Elegy written ina Country Church- yard," " Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid. Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ;" and immediately I called to mind your son, whose memory will be ever dear unto me ; and, with respect to that Place [Heaven], put the supposition out of doubt. I wrote the most part of this poem the same day, which I should be very sorry if you look upon as a piece of flattery : I know you are above flattery ; and if I know anything of my own mind, I am so too. It is the language of the heart ; I think a lie in verse and prose the same. The versification is irregular, in imitation of Milton's Lycidas.' Then follows the Monody, as printed here. Comparison with previous texts will show in them departures from what Bruce wrote, that are not improvements, as well as new lines and epithets, and other lesser details. Under the title is a quotation from Horace, ' Quis desiderio sit pudor, aut modus, tam cani capitis.' After the poem he adds, ' I have sent a line from Mr Henderson to Mr Dryburgh. You may [enjclose mine in it as this seems to be largest, and de- liver them with as much ease as one. Excuse this trouble from yours sincerely, . Michael Bruce.' It is dated ' Gairny-Bridge, May 29th, 1765,' and there is a P.S. : ' This will give you an idea of George's way of writing.' — G.] No more of youthful joys, or love's fond dreams ; No more of morning fair, or ev'ning mild ; While Daphnis lies among the silent dead Unsung ; though long ago he trode the path, The dreary road to death, Which soon or late each mortal foot must tread. He trode the dark uncomfortable wild By Faith's fair light, and Truth's unsullied beams ; By Love, whose image gladdens mortal eyes, And keeps the golden key that opens all the skies. Assist ye Muses ! — and ye will assist : For Daphnis, whom I sing, to you was dear : MICHAEL BRUCE. 231 Ye loved the boy, and on his youthful head Your kindest influence shed. — So may I match his lays, who to the l}Te Wailed his lost Lycidas by wood and rill : So may the Muse my grov'ling mind inspire With high poetic fire ; As thy sad loss, dear youth, with grief do [I deplore] To sing a farewell to thy ashes blest ;' To bid fair peace be to thy gentle shade ; To scatter flowerets, cropt by Fancy's hand, In sad assemblage round thy tomb, If watered by the Muse, to latest time to bloom. Oft by the side of Leven's crystal Lake, Trembling beneath the closing lids of light. With slow short-measured steps we took our walk : Then the dear youth would talk Of argument, far, far above his years ; Or young compeers ; And high would reason : he could reason high ; Till from the east the silver Queen of Night Her journey up heaven's steep began to make. And Silence reigned attentive in the sky. O happy days ! — for evdr, ever gone ! WTien o'er the flow'ry green we ran, we play'd With blooms bedropt by youthful Summer's hand : Or, in the willow's shade, Upon the echoing banks of the fair Lake We mimic castles built among the sand. Soon by the sounding surge to be beat down. ' Lines, 'To sing,' etc., on to 'time to bloom,' not in the MS. as sent to Mr Amot senior. — G. 23 z THE WORKS OF Or sweeping wind ; when, by the sedgy marsh, Or rushy pool we wand'red in our play. And heard the heron and the wild duck harsh, Or sweeter lark tune her melodious lay, At highest noon of day. Among the antic moss-grown stones we'd roam. With ancient hieroglyphic figures wrought ; Winged hour-glasses, bones, and spades, and sculls, And obsolete inscriptions, by the hands Of other years. Ay me ! I little thought That where we play'd he soon should fill a tornb.' Where were ye. Muses ! when the leaden hand Of Death, remorseless, clos'd your Daphnis' eyes ? For sure ye heard the weeping mother's cries ; — But the dread pow'r of Fate what can withstand ? Young Daphnis smil'd at Death ; the tyrant's darts As stubble counted. What was his support ? His conscience, and firm trust in Him whose ways Are truth ; in Him who sways His potent sceptre o'er the dark domain Of death and hell ; who holds in streight'ned rein Their banded legions ; ' Thro' the darksome vale He'll guide my steps ; He will my heart sustain ; I trust His plighted word, it will not fail ;' He, smiling, said, and died! — Hail, and farewell, blest youth ! Soon hast thou left This evil world. Short was thy thread of life : And quickly by the envious Sisters shorn. Thus have I seen a rose with rising morn ^ The farm of Portmoak stands on the margin of Lochleven. The parish church formerly stood beside it, and a portion of the old burying-ground still remains in which young Amot is interred. — M'K. [See photograph. — G.] MICHAEL BRUCE. 233 Unfold its fragrant bloom, sweet to the smell, And lovely to the eye ; when a keen wind Has tore its leaves, and laid its green head low, Strip't of its sweets : ev'n so, So Daphnis fell ! long ere his prime he fell ! Nor left he on these plains his peer behind ; These plains, that mourn their loss, of him bereft, No more look gay, but desert and forlorn. No song is heard, mute is the sylvan strife. Now cease your lamentation, shepherds, cease : For Daphnis whom you weep, and whom you lov'd, A better life, and in a fairer clime, Now lives. No sorrow enters that blest place ; But songs of love and joy for ay resound : And music floats around,' By fanning zephyrs from the spicy groves, And flowers immortal wafted ; asphodel And amaranth, unfading, deck the ground, With fairer colours than, ere Adam fell, In Eden bloomed. There, haply he may hear This artless song. Ye powers of verse ! improve," And make it worthy of your darling's ear, And make it equal to the shepherd's love. Thus, in the shadow of a frowning rock. Beneath a mountain's side, shaggy and hoar, A homely swain, tending his little flock, Tun'd to the Doric reed his rural lay. Instead of what follows, the original MS. runs — 'And music floats around On aromatic gales bom ! and improv'd, There haply hears with pity my sad rhyme — Rhyme ! Ah, how inferior to my love ! ' — G. 2 34 THE ff^ORKS OF Rude and unletter'd in the Muse's lore, Till in the west sunk the descending day ; Then rising, homeward slowly held his way.i {ai7) VERSES ON THE DEATH OF THE REV. \VM. m'eWEN.^ M'EwEN gone ! and shall the mournful Muse A tear unto his memory refuse 1 Forbid it all ye powers that guard the just, Your care his actions, and his life your trust. The righteous perish ! is M'Ewen dead 1 In him Religion, Virtue's friend, is fled. Modest in strife, bold in religion's cause, He sought true honour in his God's applause. What manly beauties in his works appear, Close without straining, and concise though clear. Though short his life, not so his deathless fame. Succeeding ages shall revere his name. Hail, blest immortal, hail ! while we are tost, Thy happy soul is landed on the coast, That land of bliss, where on the peaceful shore Thou view'st with pleasure, all thy dangers o'er ; Lain in the silent grave, thy honour'd dust Expects the resurrection of the just. ' See Note {aa) at end for 'various readings.' — G. ^ Author of ' A Treatise on the Scripture Types, Figures, and Allegories,' and ' Essays on various subjects.' He died suddenly at Leith, in the twenty-eighth year of his age, and .seventh of his ministry. — M'K. MICHAEL BRUCE. 235 TO JOHN MILLAR, M. D. ON RECOVERY FROM A DANGEROUS FIT OF ILLNESS. — (WRITTEN IN THE NAME OF MR DAVID PEARSON.) A RUSTIC youth (he seeks no better name) Ahke unknown to fortune and to fame, Acknowledging a debt he ne'er can pay, For thee, O Millar ! frames the artless lay : That yet he lives, that vital warmth remains, And life's red tide bounds briskly thro' his veins ; To thee he owes. His grateful heart believe, And take his thanks sincere, 'tis all he has to give. Let traders brave the flood in thirst of gain. Kept with disquietude as got with pain ; Let heroes, tempted by a sounding name, Pursue bright honour in the fields of fame. Can wealth or fame a moment's ease command To him, who sinks beneath affliction's hand ? Upon the wither'd limbs fresh beauty shed ; Or cheer the dark, dark mansions of the dead 1 ' Dr Millar was a surgeon in Kirkaldy, Uvelve miles from Kinnesswood, whence he had come repeatedly to visit David Pearson, who had an ulcer in his leg, and whose poverty prevented him from giving this skilful physician his well-earned remuneration. Pearson applied to his friend Bruce to express his acknowledg- ments in verse, which he did. The above is only a small part of the letter of thanks taken down by Mr Birrel, according as Pearson was able to repeat it. The original was given by Pearson into Logan's own hand. It ended with the following lines : — ' For tuneful Garth is gone, and mighty Mead, Pope's Arbuthnot lies slumbering with the dead ; And when at last (far distant be the day) Remorseless Death shall mark thee for his prey. May thy free spirit mount the climes above, And join thy consort in the land of love.' — M'K. J 236 THE WORKS OF AN EPIGRAM. AViTH Celia talking, Pray, says I, . Think you, you could a husband want. Or would you rather choose to die If Heav'n the blessing should not grant 1 Awhile the beauteous maid look'd down, Then with a blush she thus began : ' Life is a precious thing I own. But what is life— without a man ? ' PASTORAL SONG. TO THE TUNE OF THE YELLOW-HAIR'd LADDIE. In May when the go wans appear on the green, And flow'rs in the field and the forest are seen ; Where lilies bloom'd bonny, and hawthorns upsprung. The Yellow-hair'd laddie oft whistled and sung. But neither the shades, nor the sweets of the flow'rs, Nor the blackbirds that warbled on blossoming bow'rs. Could pleasure his eye, or his ear entertain ; For love was his pleasure, and love was his pain. The shepherd thus sung, while his flocks all around Drew nearer and nearer, and sigh'd to the sound : Around as in chains, lay the beasts of the wood, With pity disarmed, with music subdu'd. Young Jessy is fair as the spring's early flower, And Mary sings sweet as the bird in her bower : MICHAEL BRUCE. 237 But Peggy is fairer and sweeter than they ; With looks hke the morning, with smiles like the day. In the flower of her youth, in the bloom of eighteen, Of virtue the goddess, of beauty the queen : One hour in her presence an sra excels Amid courts, where ambition with miserj^ dwells. Fair to the shepherd the new-springing flow'rs. When May and when morning lead on the gay hours : But Peggy is brighter and fairer than they ; She's fair as the morning, and lovely as May. Sweet to the shepherd the wild woodland sound. When larks sing above him, and lambs bleat around ; But Peggy far sweeter can speak and can sing, Than the notes of the warblers that welcome the Spring. When in beauty she moves by the brook of the plain, You would call her a Venus new sprung from the main : When she sings, and the woods with their echoes reply, You would think that an angel was warbling on high. Ye Pow'rs that preside over mortal estate ! Whose nod ruleth Nature, whose pleasure is fate, O grant me, O grant me the heav'n of her charms ! May I live in her presence, and die in her arms ! LOCHLEVEN NO MORE. TO THE TUNE OF 'LOCHAnER NO MORE.' Farewell to Lochleven and Gairny's fair stream, How sweet, on its banks, of my Peggy to dream ; But now I must go to a far distant shore, And I'll may-be return to I^ochleven no more. 238 THE WORKS OF No more in the Spring shall I walk with my dear, Where gowans bloom bonny, and Gairny runs clear ; Far hence must I wander, my pleasures are o'er. Since I'll see my dear maid and Lochleven no more. No more do I sing, since far from my delight. But in sighs spend the day, and in tears the long night ; By Devon's dull current stretch'd mourning I'll lie, While the hills and tlie woods to my mourning reply. But wherever I wander, by night or by day. True love to my Peggy still Avith me shall stay ; And ever and aye my loss I'll deplore, Till the woodlands re-echo Lochleven no more. Though from her far distant, to her I'll be true. And still my fond heart keep her image in view : could I obtain her, my griefs were all o'er, 1 would mourn the dear rnaid and Lochleven no more. But if Fate has decreed that it ne'er shall be so. Then grief shall attend me wherever I go ; Till from life's stormy sea I reach death's silent shore. Then I'll think upon her and Lochleven no more."^ FRAGMENTS OF SATIRES. ' There was a piece entitled " Ftmgus ;," and the writer has reason to believe that there were a number of satires ; for, on a slip of paper in his possession, there is this note in the poet's handwriting, " Add to Satire first ; " and then these lines follow.'— M'K. I. Or shall we weep, or grow into the spleen. Or shall we laugh at the fantastic scene, ' This Song appeared in a somewhat inaccurute form in ' The Weekly Maga- zine or Edinburgh Amusement,' vol. iii. p. 306, March 9, 1769. It is not deemed worth while to notice the variations. It was composed on leaving ' Gairaey Bridge' for Forrest Mill.— G. MICHAEL BRUCE. 239 To see a dull mechanic, in a fit, Throw down his plane, and strive to be a wit. Thus -wrote De Foe, a tedious length of years, And bravely lost his conscience and his ears, To see a priest eke out the great design, And tug with Latin points the halting line. Who Avould not laugh, if two such men there were 1 Such there have been— I don't say such there are. II, 'Last week I made a visit to Portmoak, the parish where I was bom, and being accidentally at the funeral of an aged rustic, I was invited to partake of the usual entertainment before the interment. We were conducted into a large bam, and placed almost in a square, When lo ! a mortal, bulky, grave, and dull. The mighty master of the sevenfold skull, Arose like Ajax. In the midst he stands — A well filled bicker loads his trembling hands. To one he comes, assumes a visage new — ' Come ask a blessing John? — 'tis put on you.' ' Bid Mungo say,' says John, with half a face. Famed for his length of beard and length of grace. Thus have I seen, beneath a hollow rock, A shepherd hunt his dogs among his flock — ' Run collie, Battie, Venture.' Not one hears. Then rising, runs himself, and running swears. In short, Sir, as I have not time to poetize, the grace is said, the drink goes round, the tobacco pipes are lighted, and, from a cloud of smoke, a hoary-headed rustic addressed the company thus: — *Weel, John {i.e. the deceased), noo when he's gone, was a good, sensible man, stout, and healthy, and hale ; and had the best 240 THE WORKS OF hand for casting peats of onybody in this kintra side. Aweel, Sirs, we maun a' dee — Here's to ye.' I was struck with the speech of this honest man, especially with his heroic application of the glass, in dispelling the gloomy thoughts of death.' THE poet's petition FOR ' A TABLE.' Within this school a table once there stood — It was not iron — No ! 'twas rotten wood. Four generations it on earth had seen — A ship's old planks composed the huge machine. Perhaps that ship in which Columbus hurl'd Saw other stars rise on another world, — Or that which bore, along the dark profound, From pole to pole, the valiant Drake around. — Tho' miracles long since were said to cease, Three weeks — thrice seven long days — it stood in peace ; Upon the fourth, a warm debate arose, Managed by words, and more emphatic blows ; The routed party to the table fled, Which seemed to offer a defensive shade. Thus, in the town, I've seen, when rains descend. Where arched porticoes their shades extend. Papists and gifted Quakers, Tories, Whigs, Forget their feuds, and join to save their wigs — Men born in India, men in Europe bred. Commence acquaintance in a mason's shed. ^ This unseemly procedure, which was once common at funerals in the country, but now happily falling into disuse, seems to have strongly impressed the mind of our poet, for he introduces it also into his 'Last Day,' with implied disapproba- tion — ' To the dust We gave the dead. Then, moralizing, home The swains returned, fc drozvii in copiozcs tenuis The labours of the day, and thoughts of death.'— M'K. MICHAEL BRUCE. 241 Thus they ensconc'd beneath the table lay, — With shouts the victors rush upon the prey, — Attack'd the rampart where they shelter took. With firing battered, and with engines shook, It fell. The mighty ruins strew the ground. It fell ! The mountains tremble at the sound. But to what end (say you) this trifling tale 1 Perhaps, sir, man as well as wood is frail ; Perhaps his life can little more supply, ' Than just to look about us and to die.' EGLOGUE. IN THE MANNER OF OSSIAN. O COME, my love ! from thy echoing hill ; thy locks on the mountain wind ! The hill-top flames with setting light ; the vale is bright with the beam of eve. Blithe on the village green the maiden milks her cows. The boy shouts in the wood, and wonders who talks from the trees. But Echo talks from the trees, repeating his notes of joy. Where art thou, O Morna ! thou fairest among women ? I hear not the bleating of thy flock, nor thy voice in the Avind of the hill. Here is the field of our loves ; now is the hour of thy promise. See, frequent from the harvest-field the reapers eye the setting sun : but thou appearest not on the plain. — Daughters of the bow ! Saw ye my love, with her little flock tripping before her ? Saw ye her, fair moving over the heath, and waving her locks behind like the yellow sun-beams of evening 1 Q i4a THE WORKS OF Come from the hill of clouds, fair dweller of woody Lmiion ! I was a boy when I went to Lumon's lovely vale. Sporting among the willows of the brook, I saw the daughters of the plain. Fair were their faces of youth ; but mine eye was fixed on Morna. Red was her cheek, and fair her hair. Her hand was white as the lily. Mild was the beam of her blue eye, and lovely as the last smile of the sun. Her eye met mine in silence. Sweet were our words together in secret. I litde knew what meant the heavings of my bosom, and the wild wish of my heart. I often looked back upon Lumon's vale, and blest the fair dwelling of Morna. Her name dwelt ever on my lip. She came to my dream by night. Thou didst come in thy beauty, O maid ! lovely as the ghost of Malvina, when, clad with the robes of heaven, she came to the vale of the Moon, to visit the aged eyes of Ossian king of harps. Come from the cloud of night, thou first of our maidens ! come The wind is down ; the sky is clear : red is the cloud of evening. In circles the bat wheels over head ; the boy pursues his flight. The farmer hails the signs of heaven, the promise of halcyon days : Joy brightens in his eyes. O Morna ! first of maidens ! thou art the joy of Salgar ! thou art his one defire ! I wait thy coming on the field. Mine eye is over all the plain. One echo spreads on every side. It is the shout of the shepherds folding their flocks. They call to their companions, each on his echoing hill. From the red cloud rises the even- ing star.— But who comes yonder in light, like the Moon the queen of heaven ? It is she I the star of stars ! the MICHAEL BRUCE. 243 lovely light of Lumon ! Welcome, fair beam of beauty, for ever to shine in our valleys ! MORNA. I come from the hill of clouds. Among the green rushes of Balva's bank, I follow the steps of my beloved. The foal in the meadow frolics round the mare : his bright mane dances on the mountain wind. The leverets play among the green ferns, fearless of the hunter's horn, and of the bounding grey-hound. The last strain is up in the wood. — Did I hear the voice of my love 1 It was the gale that sports with the whirling leaf, and sighs in the reeds of the lake. Blessed be the voice of winds that brings my Salgar to mind. O Salgar ! youth of the rolling eye ! thou art the love of maidens. Thy face is a sun to thy friends : thy words are sweet as a song : thy steps are stately on thy hill : thou art comely in the brightness of youth ; like the Moon, when she puts oft" her dun robe in the sky, and brightens the face of night. The clouds rejoice on either side : the traveller in the narrow path beholds her, round, in her beauty moving througli the midst of heaven. Thou art fair, O youth of the rolling eye ! thou wast the love of my youth. SALGAR. Fair wanderer of evening ! pleasant be thy rest on our plains. I was gathering nuts in the wood for my love, and tlie days of our youth returned to mind ; when we played together on the green, and flew over the field with feet of wind. I tamed the blackbird for my love, and taught it to sing in her hand. I climbed the ash in the cliff of the rock, and brought you the doves of the wood. 244 THE WORKS OF MORNA. It is the voice of my beloved ! Let me behold him from the wood-covered vale, as he sings of the times of old, and complains to the voice of the rock. Pleasant were the days of our youth, like the songs of other years. Often have we sat on the old grey stone, and silent marked the stars, as one by one they stole into the sky. One was our wish by day, and one our dream by night. SALGAR. I found an apple-tree in the wood. I planted it in my garden. Thine eye beheld it all in flower. For every bloom we marked, I count an apple of gold. To-morrow I pull the fruit for you. O come, my best beloved. MORNA. When the gossamer melts in air, and the furze crackle in the beam of noon, O come to Cona's sunny side, and let thy flocks wander in our valleys. The heath is in flower. One tree rises in the midst. Sweet flows the river by its side of age. The wild bee hides his honey at its root. Our words will be sweet on the sunny hill. Till grey evening shadow the plain, I will sing to my well-beloved. THE VANITY OF OUR DESIRE OF IMMORTALITY HERE : A STORY IN THE EASTERN MANNER. Child of the years to come, attend to the words of Calem ; — Calem, who hath seen fourteen kings upon the throne of China, whose days are a thousand four hundred thirty and nine years. Thou, O young man ! who rejoicest in thy vigour ; the MICHAEL BRUCE. 245 days of my strength were as thine. My possessions were large, and fair as the gardens of Paradise. • My cattle covered the vallies ; and my flocks were as the grass on Mount Tirza. Gold was brought me from the ocean, and jewels from the Valley of Serpents. Yet I was un- happy ; for I feared the sword of the angel of Death. One day, as I was walking through the woods which grew around my palace, I heard the song of the birds : but I heard it without joy. On the contrary, their cheer- fulness filled me with melancholy. I threw myself on a bank of flowers, and gave vent to my discontent in these words : ' The time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard. These trees spread their verdant branches above me, and beneath the flowers bloom fair. The whole creation rejoices in its existence. I alone am unhappy. Why am I unhappy 1 What do I want ? Nothing. But what avail my riches, when in a little I must leave them ? What is the life of man 1 His days are but a thousand years ! As the waves of the ocean ; such are the generations of man : The foremost is dashed on the shore, and another comes rolling on. As the leaves of a tree ; so are the children of men : They are scattered abroad by the wind, and other leaves lift their green heads. So, the generations before us are gone ; this shall pass away, and another race arise. How, then, can I be glad, when in a few centuries I shall be no more 1 Thou Eternal, why hast thou cut off the life of mani and why are his days so few?' I held my peace. Immediately the sky was black with the clouds of night. A tempest shook the trees of the forest : the thunder roared from the top of Tirza, and the red bolt shot through the darkness. Terror and amaze- ment seized me ; and the hand of him before whom the sun is extinguished, was upon me. ' Calem,' said he 246 THE WORKS OF (while my bones trembled), * I have heard thee accusing me. Thou desirest life ; enjoy it. I have commanded Death, that he touch thee not.' Again the clouds dispersed ; and the sun chased the shadows along the hills. The birds renewed their song, sweeter than ever before I had heard them. I cast mine eyes over my fields, while my heart exulted with joy. 'These,' said I, 'are mine for ever!' But I knew not that sorrow waited for me. As I was returning home, I met the beautiful Selima walking across the fields. The rose blushed in her cheeks ; and her eyes were as the stars of the morning. Never before had I looked with a partial eye on woman. I gazed ; I sighed ; I trembled. I led her to my house, and made her mistress of my riches. As the young plants grow up around the cedar ; so my children grew up in my hall. Now my happiness was complete. My children mar- ried ; and I saw my descendants in the third generation. I expected to see them overspread the kingdom, and that I should obtain the crown of China. I had now lived a thousand years ; and the hand of time had withered my strength. My wife, my sons, and my daughters, died ; and I was a stranger among my people. I was a burden to them ; they hated me, and drove me from my house. Naked and miserable, I wan- dered ; my tottering legs scarce supported my body. I went to the dwellings of my friends ; but they were gone, and other masters chid me from their doors. I retired to the woods ; and, in a cave, lived with the beasts of the earth. Berries and roots were my meat ; and I drank of the stream of the rock. I was scorched with the sum- mer's sun ; and shivered in the cold of Avinter. I was weary of life. MICHAEL BRUCE. 247 One day I wandered from the woods, to view the palace which was once mine. I saw it ; but it was low. Fire had consumed it : It lay as a rock cast down by an earthquake. Nettles sprung up in the court ; and from within the owl scream'd hideous. The fox looked out at the windows : the rank grass of the wall waved around his head. I was filled with grief at the remembrance of what it, and Avhat I had been. ' Cursed be the day,' I said, ' in which I desired to live for ever. And why, O Thou Supreme! didst thou grant my request? Had it not been for this, I had been at peace ; I had been asleep in the quiet grave ; I had not known the desolation of my inheritance ; I had been free from the weariness of life. I seek for death, but I find it not : my Hfe is a curse unto me.' A shining cloud descended on the trees ; and Gabriel the angel stood before me. His voice was as the roaring stream, while thus he declared his message : ' Thus saith the Highest, What shall I do unto thee, O Calem 1 What dost thou now desire ? Thou askedst life, and I gave it thee, even to live for ever. Now thou art weary of living ; and again thou hast opened thy mouth against me.' NOTES. Note (d) — P. 130. Paraphrase from Complaint of Nature.— The following is the text of this Paraphrase (Job xiv. 1-15) as it is given in the ' Translations and Paraphrases ' of the ' Kirk of Scotland : ' — Few are thy days, and full of woe, O man, of woman bom ! Thy doom is written, ' Dust thou art, And shalt to dust return.' Behold the emblem of thy state In flow'rs that bloom and die, Or in the shadow's fleeting form, That mocks the gazer's eye. Guilty and frail, how shalt thou stand Before thy sov'reign Lord ? Can troubled and polluted springs A hallow'd stream afford ? Determin'd are the days that fly Successive o'er thy head ; The number'd hour is on the wing That lays thee with the dead. Great God ! afllict not, in thy wrath. The short allotted span That bounds the few and weary days Of pilgrimage to man. Yet soon reviving plants and flow'rs Anew shall deck the plain ; The woods shall hear the voice of Spring, And flourish green again. But man forsakes this earthly scene, Ah ! never to return : Shall any foll'wing spring revive The ashes of the urn ? The mighty flood that rolls along Its torrents to the main. Can ne'er recall its waters lost From that abyss again. So days, and years, and ages past, Descending down to night. Can henceforth never more return Back to the gates of light ; And man, when laid in lonesome grave. Shall sleep in Death's dark gloom, Until th' eternal morning wake The slumbers of the tomb. All nature dies, and lives again : O may the grave become to me The flow'r that paints the field, The bed of peaceful rest. The trees that crown the mountain's brow. Whence I shall gladly rise at length, And boughs and blossoms yield, And mingle with the blest ! Resign the honours of their form At Winter's stormy blast, And leave the naked leafless plain A desolated waste. Cheer'd by this hope, with patient mind, I'll wait Heav'n's high decree, Till the appointed period come, When death shall set me free. 25 o THE WORKS OF Note (b) — P. 133. Heavenly Wisdom. — The version of this Paraphrase, as it appears in the ' Translations and Paraphrases,' presents some noticeable variations. In the second stanza, line first, for 'has,' it reads 'hath;' and line third, for 'reward,' reads 'rewards;' and for our text in line fourth, ' Than all their stores of gold.' In the second stanza, second line, for 'years,' reads 'days;' and for our text what follows : — ' Riches, with splendid honours join'd, Are what her left displays.' In the third stanza, line second, for ' path,' reads 'paths.' We have in these changes, no doubt, another illustration of Logan's course in claiming authorship. In his own volume of 1781 he had given Bruce's Hymn from Bruce's MS. volume «j his o^vn. Qualms of conscience seem in the interval to have visited him ; and so, to satisfy these, he makes the above (so-called) ' improvements ' in giving it to the volume of ' Translations and Paraphrases,' and then he felt as free to claim its authorship as after the same self-deceiving process with Doddridge's and the rest of Bruce's. See our Memoir, pp. 95-100 ; and also for the very same thing in the ' Ode to the Cuckoo,' pp. 83-86. — G. Note (r)— P. 135. Simeon Waiting. — The following is the text of this Paraphrase (Luke ii. %^-ii) as it is given in the 'Translations and Para- phrases : ' — Just and devout old Simeon liv'd ; Nor did he wait in vain ; for, lo ! To him it was reveal'd, Revolving years brought round, That Christ, the Lord, his eyes should see In season due, the happy day. Ere death his eyelids seal'd. Which all his wishes crown'd. For this consoling gift of Heav'n When Jesus, to the temple brought To Israel's fallen state, By Mary's pious care. From year to year with patient hope As Heav'n's appointed rites requir'd. The aged saint did wait. To God was offer'd there. MICHAEL BRUCE. 251 Simeon into those sacred courts Mine eyes have thy salvation seen, A heavn'ly impulse drew ; And gladness fills my heart. He saw the Virgin hold her son, And straight his Lord he knew. At length my arms embrace my Lord, Now let their vigour cease ; With holy joy upon his face At last my eyes my Saviour see. The good old father smil'd; Now let them close in peace. Then fondly in his wither'd arms He clasp'd the promis'd child : This great salvation, long prepar'd. And now disclos'd to view, And while he held the heav'n-born Babe, Hath prov'd thy love was constant still, Ordain'd to bless mankind. And promises were true. Thus spoke, with earnest look, and heart Exulting, yet resign'd : That Sun I now behold, whose light Shall heathen darkness chase ; Now, Lord ! according to thj^ word, And rays of brightest glory pour Let me in peace depart ; Around thy chosen race. Our remarks in Note b apply equally to this Paraphrase, as a comparison will show. — G. Note (<•/) — P. 150. * And follow Nature up to Nature s God.' — Pope had said : ' Slave to no sect, who takes no private road. But looks thro' Nature up to Nature's God.' Essay on Man. — G. Note {e) — P. 151. * Oft morning dreams presage approaching fate ^ — Horace tar- nishes one example : ' Atqui, ego cum Grsecos facerem, natus mare citra, Versiculos, vetuit me tali voce Quirinus Post mediam noctem visus, cum somnia vera.' Satires, x. — G. Note (/)— P. 155- Weaving Spiritualized.— This subject appears to have been suggested to Bruce by Ralph Erskine's * Smoking Spiritualized.' 252 THE WORKS OF The Lines are circulated amongst the villagers of Kinnesswood, in manuscript, with whom it is popular ; and from a copy be- longing to one of them the above is transcribed, with a few verbal alterations. — M'K. Note (g) — P. 156. Inscription on a Bible. — This was written on the fly-leaf of the Poet's own little Bible. The volume is still preserved. — G. Note Qj) — P. 157. Light first-born of existence. Milton : ' Hail holy light, offspring of Heaven first-born.' Paradise Lost, B. iii. 1. i, — G. Note (i)— P. i6o. The Ways . . . of Providence be cleared. Milton ; Pope; ' I may assert Eternal Providence, And justify the ways of God to man.' Paradise Lost, B. i. 1. 26. ' And vindicate the ways of God to man.' Essay on Man. — G. Note (y) — .P. i6i. Athos. — Dr Mackelvie adds to this reference the following quotation from good old Lempriere, under Athos, which will be sought for in vain in Dr Smith's ' Dictionary : ' — * Athos, a mountain of Macedonia, 150 miles in circumference, projecting into the j^gean Sea, like a promontory. It is so high that it overshadows the island of Lcmnos, though at the distance of 87 miles. A sculptor, called Dinocrates, offered Alexander to cut Mount Athos, and to make with it a statue of the King holding a town in his left hand, and in the right a spacious basin MICHAEL BRUCE. 253 to receive all the waters which flowed into it. Alexander greatly admired the plan, but objected to the place ; and he observed, that the neighbouring country was not sufficiently fruitful to pro- duce com and provisions for the inhabitants, which were to dwell in the city, in the hand of the statue.' Note (/•)— P- 162. Pale affright. — We have here a recollection of Milton, Paradise Lost, B. vi. 1. 856 seq. It may also be noted here that in ' Daphnis : a Monody,' we have like recollection of ' Lycidas' : ' For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime ; Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer.' Similarly elsewhere. — G. Note (/)— P. 163. The rapid stream . . . Tigris. — The river Tigris, i.e. Sagitta, is so called from its rapidity. — M'K. Note (m) — P. 164. ji spirit lived ivithin them. — Dr Mackelvie supplements the Bible allusion here by a reference to the ' Spiritus intus olit ' of Horace. Note («) — P. 172. Lenient. — Milton : * Lenient of grief,' Samson Agonistes, 1. 659.— G. Note (0) — P. 188. Which yet retains her name. — The poet here insinuates that Lochleven is an abbreviation of Lochlevina, which is about as probable as another derivation given by some of the inhabitants around the Lake, that Lochleven is an abbreviation of Loch- eleven ; and they account for this appellation by affirming that it was once fed by eleven streams, surrounded by eleven proprie- 354 THE MVRKS OF tors' lands, was eleven miles in circumference, was studded by eleven islands, seen from eleven parishes, inhabited by eleven kinds of fish, and so forth, to the number of eleven elevens, not one of which peculiarities, so far as we can learn, ever belonged to it. It is, however, a striking circumstance, that the only two hills in Scotland named Lomond, should each have a lake at its base called Leven ; for so Loch-Lomond was anciently called, as the stream by which it empties itself into the C lyde is still named, and by which name it has been celebrated by Smollett, in the famous Ode beginning — ' On Leven's banks, while free to rove, And tune the rural pipe to love.' The word Leven is held to be of Saxon origin, and by some it is understood to mean clear, by others smooth. The former interpretation seems the more probable, from the fact that this property is a characteristic of all the waters to which the name is applied ; of which in Britain, besides those already named, there is the river Leven in Westmoreland, the stream by which the lake Windermere empties itself into the sea ; and there are also the 'Black' and * White' Leven, two stream.s in Cumberland. — M'K. Note (/) — P. 192. O Lifl'ius ! — In the first draught of the poem the following verses preceded those in the text : — ■ ' And oft would join My walk the good Philologus, whose mind, Superior to the world, with scorn looks down And pity, on the low pursuits of men ; And, far above the mists which little pride And erring passions raise, his piercing eye Roves through the spacious intellectual world.' By Philologus and Laslius our poet is known to intend his early friend Mr George Henderson, son of the proprietor of Turf hills, afterwards assistant to the Rev. James Fisher, of the Secession Church, Glasgow. This gentleman was suddenly cut off in the midst of his usefulness. He preached in his usual health on Sabbath, and died on the Thursday following, in the MICHAEL BRUCE. 255 thirty-sixth year of his age, and fourteenth of his ministry. His widow survived till within the last few months. The name Philologus was changed into that of Laelius, as expressive of the friendship that subsisted between Bruce and Henderson, in allusion to the intimacy between Laslius the Roman consul and Africanus the younger, — an intimacy so great, that Cicero, in his treatise De Amicitia^ adduces it in illustration of the real nature of friendship, with its attendant pleasures. — M'K. Note {q) — P. 192. Fronting Gairny. — This island, the largest of the four which embellish Lochleven, has been increased, by the partial draining of the Lake, from thirty-two to eighty acres. It is named St Serfs Isle, as having been the site of a priory dedicated to St Serf or Servanus, who is reported to have been a pilgrim from Canaan, and in whose honour Bondeus, a Pictish king, founded the place, and gave the isle to his Culdees. David i. annexed it to the priory of St Andrews. Andrew Winton was prior of this place, and wrote in it his History of the World, beginning with the Creation, and ending with the captivity of James i., in whose reign he died. This history is still extant in the Advo- cates' Library. [Published. — G.] The island has been recently brought under the plough, and the ruins of the priory converted into a stable, which Sir James Montgomery is about to shade with some trees from his neighbouring plantations, and so remove in part the present naked appearance of the scenery in that portion of the Lake. [Done. — G.] — See Chambers' Gazet- teer^ Sibbald's Fife^ and Forsyth's Beauties of Scotland. — M'K. Note (r) — P. 193. Selma. — * Selma,' according to the expositors of Ossian, was the capital of Morven ; and Morvcn, or Mor Bean, signifies the hill country or highlands. * I beheld thy towers, O Selma, the oaks of thy shaded wall.' — See Ossian' s Poems, The fVar of Inis- thona. — M'K. 256 THE WORKS OF Note (j) — P. 193. Lochlcven Castle. — Lochleven Castle is of unknown antiquity. It is said to have been founded by Congal, son of Dongart, king of the Picts. It occurs in history as early as 1334, when an unsuccessful siege was laid to it by John de Strevelin, an English officer. It was anciently a royal castle, and occasionally the residence of the Pictish and Scottish kings. Alexander lii. lived some time in it after his return from an interview with Henry in. of England. It was granted by Robert in. to a branch of the Douglas family, but it seems to have reverted again to the Crown. Sir Robert Douglas, in 1542, received from James v. grants of the baronies of Dalkeith and Kinross, with the Lake and castle of Lochleven, which title the family still enjoys, together with that of Morton, to which earldom they afterwards succeeded. Lochleven Castle has been repeatedly used as a State prison. Patrick Graham, Archbishop of St Andrews, and grandson of King Robert iii., after an unsuccessful attempt to reform the lives of the Catholic clergy, was, through their influence at Court, arrested, confined in different monasteries, and at last died a prisoner in Lochleven Castle in 1478. After Mary Queen of Scots had parted with Bothwell at Carberry, and surrendered herself a prisoner to the Confederate Lords, she was conveyed to this Castle, and shut up, June 16, 1567, under charge of the wife of Douglas of Lochleven, the mother of Murray, after- wards Regent of Scotland. On the ensuing 24th of July she was compelled, by a party of those statesmen, to sign an instru- ment, resigning the Crown to her infant son, who was accordingly inaugurated a few days after at Stirling, under the title of James VI. Several attempts had been made to rescue her from her place of confinement, which the vigilance of her keeper rendered abortive ; but Mary had captivated the heart of George Douglas, her keeper's brother, a youth of eighteen, who, on May 2, 1568, conveyed her from the Castle in a boat to the shore, an accom- plice having found means to steal the keys and open the gates. The keys were thrown into the Lake, and were recently found by a young man belonging to Kinross, who presented them to the Earl of Morton, in whose possession they now are. The Earl of Northumberland, after his rebellion in England, was seized in MICHAEL BRUCE. 257 Scotland, and confined in Lochleven Castle from 1569 to 1572, when he was delivered up to Queen Elizabeth and executed. The square tower, and a portion of the rampart which sunounded the building, are all that now remain of this famous place, and which Sir James Montgomery is in the act of securing from further dilapidation. [Thoroughly done by the present baronet. Sir Graham Montgomery : the Castle, as our photograph shows, is now embosomed in ' plantations.' — G.] — See Noble s Genealo- gical History of the Stuarts, Chambers" s Gazetteer, Maitland's History of Scotland, and Forsyth's Beauties of Scotland. — M'K. Note (t) — P. 201. Fox. — I have seen the walls of Balclutha, but they were deso- late. The fire had resounded in the halls, and the voice of the people is heard no more. The stream of Clutha was removed from its place by the fall uf the walls. The thistle shook there its lonely head. The moss whistled to the wind. The fox looked out of the windows ; the rank grass of the wall waved round its head. Desolate is the dwelling of Moina ; silence is in the house of her fathers.' — Ossian's Poems, Carthon. — M'K. Note (u) — P. 205. Sir James the Ross. — I have given ' Sir James the Ross ' as it appears in the ' Weekly Magazine or Edinburgh Amusement,' vol. ix. Sept. 20,. 1770, pp. 3 7 1-3 73- Prefixed was the follow- ing short note : — To the Publisher of the ' Weekly Magazine.' Sir,— Some days ago I met with an old Scottish Ballad, of which the following is a copy ; which, I dare say, you will be willing to preserve from oblivion, by giving it a place in your entertaining Amusement. There are few of your Readers, I am persuaded, but will be pleased to sec at once such a specimen of ancient Scottish poetry and valour. It is deemed proper to furnish here also the Ballad as Logan published it in the volume of 1770. A comparison will reveal alterations and insertions, in all likelihood these belong to Logan ; and it is a marvel that on the strength of them he did not R 258 THE WORKS OF claim the whole as his, according to his wont. The Ballad of ' Sir James the Ross ' was enclosed in a letter by Bruce to Mr David Pearson, in which he excellently distinguishes between the Song and the Ballad.— G. SIR JAMES THE ROSS. AN HISTORICAL BALLAD. Of all the Scottish northern Chiefs Of high and mighty name, The bravest was Sir James the Ross, A knight of meikle fame. Her brother, Buchan's cruel lord, Their passion disapprov'd : He bade her wed Sir John the Grseme, And leave the youth she lov'd. His growth was like a youthful oak, That crowns the mountain's brow ; And, waving o'er his shoulders broad, His locks of yellow flew. One night they met, as they were wont, Deep in a shady wood ; Where on the bank, beside the burn, A blooming saugh-tree stood. Wide were his fields, hisherdswere large, Conceal'd among the underwood And large his flocks of sheep, The crafty Donald lay, And num'rous were his goats and deer The brother of Sir John the Graeme, Upon the mountains steep. To watch what they might say. The chieftain of the good Clan Ross, A firm and warlike band : Five hundred warriors drew the sword Beneath his high command. In bloody fight thrice had he stood Against the English keen. Ere two and twenty op'ning springs The blooming youth had seen. When thus the maid began : ' My Sire Our passion disapproves ; He bids me wed Sir John the Graeme, So here must end our loves. ' My father's will must be obey'd, Nought boots me to withstand ; Some fairer maid in beauty's bloom Shall bless thee with her hand. The fair Matilda dear he lov'd, A maid of beauty rare ; Even Marg'rct on the Scottish throne Was never half so fair. ' Soon will Matilda be forgot, And from thy mind effac'd ; But may that happiness be thine, Which I can never taste !' Long had he woo'd, long she refus'd With seeming scorn and pride ; Yet oft her eyes confess'd the love Her fearful words deny'd. At length she bless'd his well-try'd love, Allow'd his tender claim ; She vow'd to him her virgin-heart, And own'd an equal flame. ' What do I hear ? Is this thy vow ?' Sir James the Ross replied ; ' And will Matilda wed the Graeme, Tho' sworn to be my bride ? ' His sword shall sooner pierce my heart. Than reave me of thy charms ' And clasped her to his throbbing breast. Fast lock'd within her arms. MICHJEL BRUCE. 159 ' I spoke to try thy love,' she said, ' I'll near wed man but thee ; The grave shall be my bridal bed, If Graeme my husband be. ' To Skye I will direct my flight. Where my brave brothers bide. And raise the Mighty of the Isles To combat cm my side.' ' Take then, dear youth ! this faithful kiss, 'O do not so,' the maid replied, In witness of my troth ; ' With me till morning stay ; And every plague become my lot. For dark and dreary is the night. That day I break my oath.' And dang'rous is the way. They parted thus — the sun was set : ' All night I'll watch thee in the park ; Up hasty Donald flies ; My faithful page I'll send. And, ' Turn thee, turn thee, beardless In haste to raise the brave Clan Ross He loud insulting cries. [youth!' Their master to defend.' Soon turn'd about the fearless chief, And soon his sword he drew ; For Donald's blade before his breast Had pierc'd his tartans thro'. He laid him down beneath a bush. And wrap'd him in his plaid ; While, trembling for her lover's fate. At distance stood the maid. ' This for my brother's slighted love ; His wrongs sit on my arm.' — Three paces back the youth retir'd. And sav'd himself from harm. Swift ran the page o'er hill and dale. Till, in a lowly glen, He met the furious Sir John Graeme With twenty of his men. Returning swift, his sword he rear'd Fierce Donald's head above ; And thro' the brain and crashing bone The furious weapon drove. ' Where goest ? thou little page ! ' he said, ' So late who did thee send ? ' ' I go to raise the brave Clan Ross, Their master to defend. Life issued at the wound ; he fell, A lump of lifeless clay : ' So fall my foes,' quoth valiant Ross, And stately strode away. ' For he has slain fierce Donald Graeme, His blood is on his sword ; And far, far distant are his men, Nor can assist their lord.' Thro' the green wood in haste he pass'd 'And has he slain my brother dear?' Unto Lord Buchan's hall, The furious chief replies : Beneath Matilda's windows stood, ' Dishonour blast my name, but he And thus on her did call : ' By me ere morning dies. ' Art thou asleep, Matilda fair ! Awake, my love ! awake ; Behold thy lover waits without, A long farewell to take. ' Say, page ! where is Sir James the Ross? I will thee well reward.' ' He sleeps into Lord Buchan's park ; Matilda is his guard.' ' For I have slain fierce Donald Graeme, They spurr'd their steeds, and furious flew, His blood is on my sword ; Like lightning, o'er the lea : And far, far distant are my men, They reach'd Lord Buchan's lofty tow'r Nor can defend their lord. By dawning of the day. z6o THE WORKS OF Matilda stood without the gate Behind him basely came the Grseme, Upon a rising ground, And wounded in the side : And watch'd each object in the dawn, Out spouting came the purple stream. All ear to every sound. And all his tartans dy'd. 'Where sleeps the Ross?' began the But yet his hand not dropp'd the sword, ' Or has the felon fled ? [Grjeme, Nor sunk he to the ground, This hand shall lay the wretch on earth, Till thro' his en'my's heart his sword By whom my brother bled.' Had forc'd a mortal wound. And now the valiant knight awoke, Graeme, like a tree by winds o'erthrown, The virgin shrieking heard : Fell breathless on the clay ; Straight up he rose, and drew his sword, And down beside him sunk the Ross, When the fierce band appear'd. And faint and dying lay. ' Your sword last night my brother slew, Matilda saw, and fast she ran : His blood yet dims its shine ; ' O spare his life,' she cried ; And, ere the sun shall gild the mom, ' Lord Buchan's daughter begs his life, Your blood shall reek on mine.' Let her not be denied.' ' Your words are brave,' the chief re- Her well-known voice the hero heard ; ' But deeds approve the man. [turn'd ; He rais'd his death-clos'd eyes ; Set by your men, and hand to hand He fix'd them on the weeping maid. We'll try what valour can.' And weakly thus replies : With dauntless step he forward strode, ' In vain Matilda begs the life And dar'd him to the fight : By death's arrest den^d ; The Graeme gave back, and fear'd his arm. My race is run — adieu, my love !' For well he knew his might. Then clos'd his eyes, and dy'd. Four of his men, the bravest four. The sword, yet warm from his left side. Sunk down beneath his sword ; With frantic hand she drew ; But still he scorn'd the poor revenge, ' I come, Sir James the Ross,' she cry'd, And sought their haughty lord. ' I come to follow you.' The hilt she Ican'd against the ground, And bar'd her snowy breast. Then fell upon her lover's face. And sunk to endless rest. Note (f) — P. 210. ' Quem virum, aut heroa, lyra vel acri Tibia sumis celebrare, Clio.' Horace, i. xii. MICHAEL BRUCE. 261 Note (w) — P. 213. It is curious to find a whole line of Bums' ' Scots wha hae ' — save only * usurpers' substituted for ' oppressor,' — in this some- what stilted ' Ode : ' ' Lay the proud usurpers low, Tyrants fall,' etc. Our great national poet wrote with characteristic sympathy concerning Bruce, on the application of Principal Baird for aid toward his new edition of Bruce's ' Poems.' The correspondence is given in Bums' Works, and also by Dr Mackelvie from Boys' * Lives of the Scottish Poets' (3 vols. i2mo, 1822). — G. Note {x) — P. 220. RjDodopes Snoivs. — ' 2SI ow with furies surrounded. Despairing, confounded ; He trembles, he glows. Amidst Rhodope's snows.' Pope's OJe to St Cecilia's Day.—WY^. V'tctor'tous.- NOTE (_>>). — P. 220. ' Thus song could prevail O'er death and o'er hell ; A conquest how hard and how glorious ! Though Fate had fast bound her With Sty.x nine times round her, Yet Mu.sic and Love were victorious.' Pope's Ode to St Cecilia's Day.—^VY.. Note (z) — P. 223. Cona. — Ossian frequently styles himself the * Voice of Cona,' and his harp sounds little else than ' The loves of hunters and the wars of kings.' Cona, from which the Son of Fingal pro- bably took his name, is a small stream running through Glencoe in Argyleshirc. 'The streams of Cona answer to the voice of Ossian.' — M'K. 262 THE IVORKS OF Note (aa) — P. 234. As stated in the Note prefixed to the Monody, it is now given for the first time from Bruce's own ms. But it is deemed well to record the ' various readings ' presented in the text issued under the editorship of Logan. In all probability Logan took his fi-om the quarto volume of transcribed ' Poems ' mentioned in our Memoir, and thus the variations may be explained, though perhaps he also ' tinkered ' what Bruce had written. Besides those insertions noted in their places, these are noticeable : — First of all, the heading in the volume of 1770 is 'Daphnis: a Monody. To the memory of a young boy of great parts.' I. Line i is made line 2, and line 2 line i. 5 for ' to ' reads ' of.' 6 for ' mortal ' reads ' human.' 8 for ' fair ' reads ' pure ; ' and for our text, ' by Hope's heav'n-op'ning beams.' 11. Line 8, 9, of our text omitted. The ms. being torn, I have supplied the words ' I deplore.' III. Line 4 ' the dear youth ' omitted. 6 omitted. 7 for our text, simply, ' Then he would reason high.' IV. Line 4 for ' willow ' reads ' willow-shade.' 5 omitted. 8 for ' wind ' reads ' winds,' and line 9 omitted. 10 for ' and heard' reads * We heard ; ' and line 11, for ' or' reads ' And,' and for * her' reads ' his.' 14 for ' wrought ' reads 'graced;' and line 15 reads ' and skulls and spades.' 17 for 'years' reads 'ages,' and for 'ay me' reads 'ah.' 1 8 tor our much more vivid text reads ' That we then play'd o'er his untimely tomb.' V. Line 12 inserts ' trembling' before ' steps,' and instead of our text reads ' with heavenly ray I see the dawning of immortal day,' and the last words of lines 9 and 10 plural instead of singular. MICHAEL BRUCE. 263 VI. Line 2 for ' short' reads ' fair,' a poor substitute; and for * and ' in next line ' reads ' but.' 5 for ' fragrant ' reads ' glowing.' 7 for ' has tore ' reads ' hath torn,' and inserts ' blushing ' before ' leaves,' and omits ' its green head.' 8 for ' ev'n so ' reads ' ah ! so.' 13 omitted. VII. Line 2 reads ' Though Daphnis died below, he lives above.' 4 reads ' He lives,' and line 5 inserts ' ceaseless ' and omits ' for ay.' 6 for ' music ' reads ' fragrance.' VIII. Line 4 omitted, and next three lines read thus : — Rude, yet a lover of the Muse's lore, Chanted his Doric strain till close of day ; Then rose, and homeward slowly bent his way. — G. *»* I request the following corrections to be made. At page 102 it ought to have been stated that Dr Mackelvie overlooked the twelfth Hymn or Paraphrase, 'Dying in the Lord' (pp. 138, 139). At page 112, line 3d from bottom, read 'unfading' for 'unfailing.' — G. THE END. MURRAY AND GIBB, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH. T;^ IL ' v',\\'\'-'^?<'-'^\N'vV^' l'^ '^''^^""■'' 1 *(> . "x '- \ ! 1 \ >