UC-NRLF B E flEfl T3b New SoN6 e 0] T. NNOPFNPf JAM€T L06I€ PsOBeRTS- LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA j£ P^L^^ sZtS-^t^ -£ZL^ *~t £Z^z_-^ ING the bells in every steeple ! Fire the cannons great and small ! Shout with all your hearts, good people — Then come listen one and all Till I tell you what they mean — 'Tis the birthday of a queen ! Ring the bells and fire the cannon ! Cry hurrah ! with all your power. On the banks of Thames or Shannon Never bloomed a fairer flower Than this Lady of the North Born beside the silver Forth ! Yes, this Lady— who may she be ? Scornfully I hear you say. Well, her foremost title 's Lithe, And her second name is May. Love and Summer we Ve within, Independent of your din ! AN INDIAN IDOL 83 AN INDIAN IDOL. \ ES, Willie, this is an idol From a land that the sun is near, But where lurid hazes hide all The heaven we look to here. Where rice-fields are defended By bands of green bamboo ; Where palaces are splendid And temples golden too. There life seems gay and easy, In brilliant colours drest, Unbroken by the breezy Impatience of the West. O'er woods of tangled wonder The gaudy blossoms climb — With monstrous creatures under, Asleep among the slime ! By the light of reason's taper Their learned pundits go, Where all above is vapour, And horror all below. 84 AN INDIAN IDOL And those who cannot reason, The untaught poor, down-trod, What marvel though they seize on A nearer hope than God ? Full many a mother, kneeling At this thing's shrine, has prayed For heartening or for healing, For comfort or for aid. And though her cry she uttered, Wild as a helpless bird Whose nest a snake has fluttered, I think our Father heard ! THE WANING MOON THE WANING MOON. b T 'S a cold clear winter morning, The sky is frosty blue, The round red sun is scorning The world he looks into. Like a haughty Turk he rises, Aroused from his rest too soon, And in revelry surprises His prisoner, the moon ! Behold her, shrinking pallid Before his angry gaze, Sense nor assurance rallied To justify her ways ! And how can she escape there ? That sky, so frosty blue, If it would only gape there And let the lady through ! Alas, the helpless lady ! My boys, what will you dare For poor Scheherazade, Who greets you, smiling fair, With pleasant stories nightly ? Or must she perish so ? Perhaps if you ask rightly The sun will let her go ! 86 ON THE CANAL ON THE CANAL. fHE slow canal is surging Like a river tempest-rolled ; To-day she needs no urging, That mare forlorn and old. Like a kite the gust has caught her — The barge glides on behind Like a wedge driven through the water By the hammer of the wind. Those two old men on board there Go daily up and down — I muse what thoughts are stored there Beneath each hoary crown. What are the joys that brighten Their orbit fixed and grey ? Is there a hope to lighten Their shortly closing day ? They talk at times together, Or smoke the pipe of peace ; Of course there is the weather Whose changes hardly cease To keep them still awake there, And cheerful, more or less — My Willie's heart would break there For very weariness ! RAGNAROK 87 RAGNAROK. ' LL night it has blown and blustered ; yA\|| And, now it is day once more, See you the armies mustered On heaven's wind-swept shore? The serried lines are guarded By scouts of flying rack ; The sun himself is warded By sentinels in black. So wildly the clouds are wedded In conflict fiercely dumb, It seems that the hour long dreaded Of Ragnarok is come ! The gods are fighting yonder, The evil with the good — Ah, Willie, watch and ponder — Will the evil be withstood ? There 's a Ragnarok, my Willie, For many a human heart : The winds of doubt blow chilly, The hopes of spring depart. RAGNAROK From Thor the strength is riven, And Baldur the loved is dead, And Odin grows old in heaven And hangs his heavy head. That hour, in conflict blending Impartial good and ill, Fear not ! the strife has ending, In death, or victory still. Choose you, and hold it strongly, Your faction in the fight ; Rather than triumph wrongly, Fall bravely in the right ! 7 HE RIVAL QUEENS 89 THE RIVAL QTJEENS. [ AIDIE at the window lingers Looking out into the night That the moon with fairy fingers Paints so exquisitely white — Clearer far than many a grey day — It is wonderful to Maidie ! Leaf and branch she watches graven Duly on the dewy sky ; While within a cloudy haven Moon and stars at anchor lie. In this world so cool and shady She could always dwell, thinks Maidie. Cheek and brow, the moonbeams greet her ; In her eyes they find eclipse ! Sweet the young moon's curve — but sweeter Is the curve of Maidie's lips. I am anxious and afraid aye When the moon shines full on Maidie. ao THE RIVAL QUEENS Brighter grow the rival glances Of the sky's queen and my own ; Mine to victory advances — Be my arms about her thrown Lest the moon, the jealous lady, Stoop to run away with Maidie ! THE OLD ALBUM 91 THE OLD ALBUM. |ES, boys ; we '11 open it to-night, — This meeting-house of silent friends In fading finery bedight, — And talk of them, to make amends For our unmannerly neglect. Stand one of you on either side ; We '11 stay no longer to reflect, But straight the album open wide. You smile to see their ancient dress That was so modish in its time ; The ladies' hoops, and helplessness, The men-folk's attitudes sublime. That boy to be a soldier grew — In the Crimean war he fell ; This other wore a jacket blue, And many a famous yarn could tell. Ah ! now we come to later days ; And yet, how different from now Their looks, their costume, and their ways ! To Fashion all indeed must bow. 92 THE OLD ALBUM Here Willie spies a pictured pair That takes his fancy for the night : 1 Who is the sweet-faced lady there Beside the little girl in white ? ' You know the little girl in white ; She stays with you, now she is grown. c Mamma ! ' cries Jamie, in delight ; ' The lips and eyes are all your own.* ' Ejut w ho 's the stranger lady then ? ' Asks Willie ; ' do we know her ? ' No ; She died when I was only ten, My Willie, many years ago. < Tell us about her.' Well, I will— The little that I have to tell. Her grave sweet smile, it haunts me still— My father's sister Isabel. Brief glimpses of her, memory gives*; Within the bower that was her room 'Mid faded needlework she lives, With music tinkling through the gloom. She loved an honest man and true, And waited for him many a year ; And when at last their sky was blue And all their future golden- clear — THE OLD ALBUM 93 When one short year of wedded life Had brought a higher title still And crowned a mother in the wife — She died, by God's most holy will. She died— and left her baby-boy, And left the lover of her youth ; So short a dream of earthly joy, Such strangely-ordered life, in sooth, Was hers ! Ah, Willie, close the book ; God's ways we will not wonder o'er ; She '11 meet us with that grave sweet look, And tell us all, on yonder shore ! 94 OUR CHAMPION OUR CHAMPION. jjHE mist drops from his shoulders Down on the kneeling lands, And, clear to all beholders, A snow-clad giant stands. Upon his armour hoary The wintry sunbeams glance With the glamour and the glory Of chivalrous romance. Well, Willie, do you know him ? So cold and strangely gleam Those winter rays, they show him Like the mountain of a dream. How many a summer morning We watched for him in vain, The moody giant — scorning The people of the plain ! His robe of peace was green then, His crest the soft winds kissed, But, careless to be seen then, He cloaked himself in mist. And now, when blows defiant The ice-blast of the North, The stern, stout-hearted giant To succour us comes forth ! AT THE WORLD'S PLAY AT THE WORLD'S PLAY. j[ROM marking the times and the seasons In our watch-tower next the sky — The rains, and their cloudy reasons, The winds that weir dl ess fly, The years that bloom and are buried, And yet return again, Till our hopes o'er Styx are ferried — We turn to the world of men. We look from our box, my children, On the ever-busy stage — Its footlights false, bewildering, Its precepts smooth and sage. So snugly and easily uttered By the actors, one and all — Never a breast seems fluttered Save at the prompter's call. Fashion, the prompter, sits there In semblance of a queen ; She robes unruly wits there In garbs uncouth and mean. 96 AT THE WORLD'S PLAY But they that ape her gestures, And watch her every way, She gives them lordly vestures, And pleasant parts to play. What is the play? you ask me — I 'm sure I cannot tell ! To give its plot would task me And weary you as well. Intrigues without an ending And never a point at all — The moral needs amending Before the curtain fall ! But Willie, I see you watching The stage with eager eyes — That its liveliness is catching There 's nobody denies. The changes and the chances Of the uncertain strife ; The mist o'er death that dances, That worldly men call life ! You would never be happy yonder Amid yon idle crowd. They rush to the latest wonder With joy not deep, but loud, Like dogs to a bone that's flung them— But I need not speak, I see You would rather be down among them Than up in the clouds with me ! THE MOONLIT WORLD 97 THE MOONLIT WORLD. £HERE are six trees against the wall — Three true, and three of shadow ; The moonlight throws our gables tall Again upon the meadow. A strange, cool world we dwell in here, Removed from daily trouble, Where all above is sapphire clear, ' And all below is double ! Yes, here with pleasure could we stay, In beauty thus benighted, Although the glaring lamp of day Should never more be lighted. What say you, boys ? shall it be done ? Shall we all night be waking, And go to sleep whene'er the sun Comes o'er our borders breaking? ' We will ! ' says Willie, kindling bold, W'ith moonlit fancies dawning ; But Jamie says, ' It would be cold ! ' And scarce can keep from yawning. Be off then, both of you, to bed, Like kind and loving brothers — The moon may haunt one's dreaming head, The sun still hold the other's ! 98 AT THE PANTOMIME AT THE PANTOMIME. fUR Jamie with his round blue eyes And earnest wondering look, Whose life is one serene surprise, Unwittingly we took, By way of treat one Christmas-time, To see a merry Pantomime. He saw the clown — the clever thief — Go stealing with applause ; He saw the honest come to grief By pantomimic laws. He quite enjoyed the curious clime And manners of the Pantomime. And since we brought him home again He cannot yet believe It 's different in the world of men From that gay Christmas eve ; He thinks it 's always Christmas-time, And all the world 's a Pantomime ! A WINTER SUNRISE 99 A WINTER SUNRISE. fPEED on, ye light-winged carriers Of hope and heartening new ! Throw down the night's black barriers And let Apollo through ! Apollo waits without there, Curbing his steeds of flame ; The stars of morning shout there The mighty sun-god's name. He waits, his radiant tresses Athwart the blackness blown ; Against the gates he presses That guard Night's ancient throne. The ebon gates are burning ! His chariot rushes through, The throne of Night o'erturning, And fires the heavens anew. < Ye children, sing Apollo ! ' Ye boys with golden hair, On earth his footsteps follow, And make a sunshine there. A WINTER SUNRISE Be yours a summer glory Of glad and hopeful smiles, To warm the winter hoary Of these cold northern isles ! A WINTER MOONRISE 101 A WINTER MOONRISE. ^HE dream of day is ageing ; His faded flag is furled ; In terror cold and caging Night stoops upon the world. The world in darkness waking, It trembles, praying low ; When, through the blackness breaking Shines forth Diana's bow ! Behind its light the heaven Regains its heavenly blue ; The mists afar are driven ; The stars come peeping through. The mighty maid they greet now, And follow in her train To chase the clouds they meet now Across the shining plain. Ye maidens, sing Diana ! Queen of the silver bow — Of whose divine arcana Your lot is cast to know. Rise on earth's hour of sorrow In pure and lovely light, Till seems the wished-for morrow Scarce so serenely white ! 102 SCOTTISH SONG SCOTTISH SONG. WILLIE, when your voice I hear So high and sweet, so true and clear, The wildly varied notes prolong Of some neglected Scottish song, My heart responsive swells, and fills With memories of heather hills, And lonely glens, and winds that wail Down through the years their wordless tale. And clearer yet the vision grows — I see the feuds of ancient foes ; In ' clouds o' reek ' that reach the skies, The bonnie House o' Airlie lies. Then, melting to a minor key, The wandering Prince's woes I see, As ' sweet and clearly' as of yore The wee bird sings at my ha' door. Shall these, our children's heritage, Be yet denied our children's age ? In Memory's museum classed As relics of a barbarous Past ? Nay, let us at their vocal shrine Our hearts in human touch combine, And glad our sordid cares forget To feel their pity potent yet ! AT MIDNIGHT 103 AT MIDNIGHT. &N the darkness as I lie Dreaming, with my children by, Watchful even in my dreams As a mother's care beseems, Comes a wailing wild and sore, Pleading at my chamber-door ; Opening in haste, I find No one but the homeless wind ! As I lay me on my bed, Free again from drowsy dread, Comes a knocking on the pane— - No one but the restless rain ! What would wind and rain with me That they cannot let me be In my chamber warm and still That sweet children's breathings fill ? 1 Sister, leave thy house of clay ; Come with wind and rain away. Taste the freedom of a soul Glad released from earth's control. 1 Nay, my brothers ; patience yet ! Think not I your claims forget ; Meanwhile, be your fears dispelled — I 'm in happy bondage held ! 104 IN THE MOONLIGHT IN THE MOONLIGHT. &NTO the moonlight as we gaze — That silvers all the miry ways ; That makes our neighbours' chim- neys brown The towers of an Italian town, And round the naked branches weaves A glory brighter than of leaves — My maiden quits my clasp outright, And stands alone there in the night. So beautiful, so strange she seems, Most like a creature of my dreams, With parted lips and shining eyes Uplifted to the lustrous skies — No maid of mortal mould is she, But some fair spirit, roaming free From miry earth to mystic heaven, Of matter by the moonlight shriven ! O maiden, in the moonlight there, Of face and form unearthly fair, Back to our empty home return — Back to the hearts that mortal burn IN THE MOONLIGHT 105 With mortal love to thee, and pain That thou wouldst go, while they remain ! Life's duties first, before we try The freedom of the moonlit sky ! io6 GOING TO SCHOOL GOING TO SCHOOL. [ OOD-BYE, then, Willie ! He is gone With shining eyes of April blue ; The little ones look wondering on — ' Why, what is brother going to do ? ' * I '11 not be long behind,' says Jim, Straightening his back, and looking bold ; ' I soon shall be a man like him — ' — Dear little man of six years old ! Willie, with your April eyes That brought the Spring of all my joy, Even beneath these summer skies, I cannot spare my gentle boy ! 1 know the world must claim its part ; And you from bonds must journey free ; But keep a corner of your heart Still sacred to your home and me ! My hopes go with you— here at home Amid the others' thoughtless play, Towards your opening work they roam And linger with you all the day. GOING TO SCHOOL 107 Good-bye ! God bless and prosper you, And fill me with His comfort full — This day, I think, for lessons new Both you and I have gone to school ! io8 A THANKSGIVING A THANKSGIVING. jITHIN the house of prayer I stand In praise uplifting heart and voice- There is no mother in the land Has more of reason to rejoice. For two fair sons Thou gavest me, And one sweet daughter, no less dear, As David sang, I sing to Thee In grateful joy, devoid of fear. For what have I to fear from Thee Who art my being and my end ? Within Thy presence I am free With the glad freedom of a friend. There is no deed I may not dare Wilt Thou but sanction it, and smile ; There is no grief I cannot bear Wilt Thou but hold my hand the while. These three fair children Thou hast given To compass me with holy mirth, I hold in trust for Thee and heaven, So little is the hope of earth. And, be 't before Thy face to stand, Or in the world to walk alone, If Thou shouldst take them from my hand, I leave them safer in Thine own. A THANKSGIVING 109 Father in heaven, to Thee I owe My life, my love, the thoughts I tell, The dreams that with prophetic glow, Untold, illume my heart as well. Thy wisdom is my spirit's air, Thy love the light of all my days, Others may come to Thee with prayer, But I can only utter praise ! JYfO T mine to soar on eagle-wings And view the world from east to west, To track the moorland's hidden springs, Or pierce the sea's mysterious breast. For me to sit at home is best With common thoughts on common things — A cushat, brooding o'er her nest, Her tribute to the summer brings. Nor is the cushafs crooning call Unwelcome in the summer wood ; It tells amid the pinetrees tall That silence is not solitude. It murmurs of the joys that brood Within the sheltering forest-wall ; It breathes the bliss of motherhood, And thousands mute have felt it all ! Printed by T. and A. Constable, Printers to Her Majesty, a t the Edinburgh University Press.