^1X9
9^oef{f and 9^cefn/
WintithgovOifhire
ALEX. M. BISSET
THE LIBRARY
OF
THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA
LOS ANGELES
.,■>,; ■■■' - tjj;.--,
,••3
■ 1 'V -
I
•'*^.
M
u
THE
POETS AND POETHT
T
OF
LINLITHGOWSHIRE
Hii Hntboloov? Of tbe Gountv?.
BY
ALEX. M. BISSET.
Tiirplii.-hrii I'ri-cfi.tujv
,J. AM) i;. I'Ai.'l.AXK. i'AlSLKV.
.Kilix Mr.N/.ii;s AM) CO., i:i)iNiiri;<;ii ami (ii.ASoow,
lluCI.STnN AND .SONS. I.ONDON.
is!tr>.
THK RIGHT HONOURABLE
THE EHRL OF ROSEBERY, K.G,. Sc,
EX-l>RniK MIXISTKR OF THKSE REALMS,
AM)
LORD-LIEUTEXAXT OF LIXLITHOOW8HIRE,
fins -^ntboloqn of tbc Coinitji
IS, BY HIS
PERMISSION, RESPECTFULLY
ScDicatcD.
S07:[o7
PKEFATOKV NOTE.
In this volume a long cherished project takes practical
shape. While the work might have been undertaken l)y
one whose literary ability would have done it more justice,
the Editor will say for himself that it could scarcely have
fallen into hands more willing to treat it with the loving
care which it merits. No endeavoui' has been spared to
make it as completely representative of the |joetry of the
county as possible, and it is hoped that it may win the
appreciation of all who are interested in tlie poetic
literature of Linlithgowshire.
To all who in various ways have assisted him in the
compilation of this antholog3\ and to the living authors
themselves, whose invariable kindness and courtesy made
the work a \ery pleasant one, the Editor cheerfully
acknowledges his indebtedne.ss and tenders his cordial
thanks.
A. .M. I!.
Mid Strkkt, Batik ;atk,
.Imik;, iS'Mi.
CONTEXTS
Linlithgow Palack .
Dedication
Prefatory Note
Introduction .
James V.
The Gaberlunzie Man
The JoUj- Beggar
Mary Queen of Scots
Verses on the Death of her Husbarul,
Farewell to France
Sonnet to the Earl of Both well
Sonnet wnitten during her Imprisonment
Verses written at Fotheringay .
Meditations
William Hamilton of Banoouk
Soliloiiny ....
The Braes of Yarrow
Rev. William Wilkie, D.l).
The Hare and the Partan
The Muse and the Shepherd
The Crow and tlie other Birds .
Mrs Dccald Stewart
The Tears I shed must ever fall
Returning Spring with gladsome ray
John Watt
The Drunkaid
Ardent Spirits
William Bium k
Frost in the Mornin"
WiLr-iAM Cameron
Sweet Jessie o" the Dell
F,
inci-
II.
PACK
1
13
17
•20
23
34
34, 36
36
3S
3S
4(>
4t>
52
57
()2
63
66
6H
7t^
71
73
74
7">
7!>
su
<)
Co.\Ti:.\rs.
\\ ii.i.iAM ("amkkon lonl'niiKil
My Willio an' M.<
Will ye iiiiii";- to (lie Haii<;'ybui'n '/
{) <linna cross tlie Huiii, Willie
Moray's Faery (ileii
Meet nie on tlie (iownn Lea
Siu -Iamks Y(Hn<; Simtsox .
Sto|) and tliink of anotlier life .
Only a Drop in a Bucket
EUENK/.KR OurilANT .
To a Brither Curlei-
Lines under a Photoji'iapli
Verses to Thomas Hamilton, Ks(|.
A Sober Doctor .
• loUN CaMI I'.KIJ. Smairj'
The Moor of Rannoch
The Bush aboon Tiaciuair
Tiie Hairst Rig .
Bannockburn
Clearance Son<i-
Tlie Hacramental Sabbath
•Iames Forrkst
The River.
The I'uir Wife's Brae
To my Mother-Lodge
Among the Haws
The Death and Burial of the Thrush
Thomas Lkarmoxtii Chapman
Come awa', Lassie braw .
A Tribute to the late Dr Kirk, Bathgate
A Prayer ....
My Ain .
Bonnie Jessie (jray
For a Lsvdy's Scrai)-book
< 'iiKl-iToi-iii;i; MiKHAV Dawson, F. K.LS
A Teal ....
Man's Birthright .
I'.\(JE
81
82
83
S3
84
86
93
94
95
96
97
98
100
101
106
109
no
111
112
113
I I!)
1-21
122
123
125
126
128
129
130
l.'io
130
131
132
133
137
138
CoyTESTS.
7
PAGE
CJtRiSTOPHER Murray Dawsox, F.E.I.S. — roH/iHi<erf
The Rose . . . . . . . i;«)
Captain Strachan .
140
Reply to Marriage Cards
141
The Auld Kirkyard — Abercorn .
143
Walter Watt
145
My Fiddle
146
Curling Song
147
Song of the Dying Maiden
150
John Freeland
. 151
My Mither sent me to the Well
15-J
A Cup o' Tea
].-)S
Thomas Orrock
154
They're a' leavin'
155
There 's niair whaur it cam' frae
156
The Laddie'n Stock
158
Time — a Fragment
15!l
Henry Shanks
l()i
To Stark ie
1U5
Song of the War Fiend .
His
The old Irish Reaper
171
The Hebridean Exile's Dream .
173
The Star of Remembrance
174
The Re-enli.stment
175
Birth and Death of the Bathgate Hooi
el
17(i
.James (Iardner
177
King Fiost
I7S
Bonnie .Jean
17!»
The Bonnie Wee Blossom
IStl
Life and Death ....
ISl
Alexander Hamilton
1,S4
.\ First of May at .Moimtecrie .
IS5
Nellie Braid ....
IS7
(Jallender's Throm-
ISS
A Dream .....
IS!)
Simmer's Awa" ....
10(1
J^ ('(i.\TK\TS.
I'AnR
Fkvncis |{\k\.\i;|) ...... 191
Tlie Voices i" the iilen .
192
Honeymoon Soncr.
194
Oor Wee Fian"
19,->
(tone Before
19(>
Sonnet : an Eveninj;- in Sprinjf .
197
Tlie Liulflies Noo-a-daAs .
197
The Auld Craicr Mill " .
201
•Iames Brunton StEI'HENS .
203
My other Cliinee Cook .
204
The Southern Cross
20ft
To a Black (iin .
209
Droujrht and Doctrine
211
Spirit and Star .
214
Andkew Moiiurs
217
Tlie Miner's Address to his Fiddle
218
Zaekaree ....
220
Address to my Bed
222
Song ....
22.->
AI.EX.A.NUEH WaKDKOI-
220
Beaconslield— 1879
228
My Annie an' Me at Hame
229
Sweet Killindean ....
229
He's an M.P. noo
230
Unco lang aboot it
232
Uj) on Daddy's Knee
233
We "11 awa" to Torbaneiiiil
234
We a' hae mickle need .
234
\'ictory .....
235
.JoH.V Al.l.AN .....
237
Oor Ain Fireside ....
238
Rojal Robin ....
239
The Auld E.U. Kirk, Bathgate
240
Tlic Bf)nnie, Bonnie Bairns
241
-Mks .Ja.m-; Waddeu, Dalziel
242
The Passing Spring
242
Lines to Braeheatl
243
COXTEXTS.
Mrs Jask ^VADIlELL Dalziel — coittinm<l
The Wreck of the "Indian Chief
To a Skylark ....
John MAcr.rRi. ....
Scotland's Martjrs
The Old Year and the New
In the Dnsk Piny Shade
O, Woman Fair ....
The Dignity of Labour .
My Land, My Native Land, Farewell .
Robert Flemi.m; ....
Linlithgow I'alacc
The Burgh of Linlitligow".* Qnin-Centenary Ode
Robert Burn.s ....
Wee Curl\- Pow ....
The Brooniv Brae.< o" Hame
In Memory of Jeanie Dow
Queen Maiy's Tree
Joii.N White .....
Lines on Sir David Wilkies Picture. '-The Cut Finger
The Dawn. ....
The Yellow-Haired Lassie
Andrew Barnakk ....
The Sparrows that Hide i" the Luiii
My Love anil 1 .
Oh, haste awa'. Winter .
In Memoriam ....
.Iamks Bai.i.antvnk ....
The Muckle May Flee .
Bonnie Birkenshaw
To a Blackljird ....
The r.^ind I Winna Lea'
To a Snowdrop ....
KiiIJERT CONIIIK Hi NTKI:
Of Death : .\ \\i.«h
An April D.iy ....
How 111 do ....
PAGE
244
245
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
256
258
26a
262
264
265
266
268
269
27(t
270
271
272
274
274
275
277
27H
279
2S( I
280
282
283
284
285
28(i
10
('().\rH.\ rs.
l\OllKKT C'<INI>IK HlNIKIl iiiill ill III <l
III Bouilnjif
A Sail},' oi a Wliistle
Tlio Old Wall
The True Course of Love
<;kok(;k F. S. Shanks
Tlie Lanj; i'lantin Hmii
Hriulit Days of (Jold
My Lad sae Biaw
Love from Heart to Heart
Mrs Ai.K.XANDKK Dkans
The Stirkie's Sta'
Three Little Kittens
Our Baby (iirl .
To an old School Friend '
My Ain Laddie
Love and Summer
The Terrible Mearns Folk
Miis Allan M'Donald
A Sunnner Dream
The Thunderstorm
Autumn
Lullaby .
The Streandet
Little White Dove
The Queen of Lakes
Al.KX. M. BlSSET
Hame s aye Hame
The Auld Folk .
The Curlin' ot .
yiy Ain Love Lo'es me Dearly
"The Spirit of the Lord"
Sonnets of "The Fairest Fair"
'Mang the Hills an' the Heather
-James Samuel.
Fancy's Forms
Warble, ve Wild Birds .
I'AIJK
•287
•288
•28S
•2Si»
291
•292
•293
•294
294
296
297
299
300
301
302
302
303
3or>
307
3(tS
310
311
311
312
313
314
314
315
317
317
318
319
3-20
322
323
324
CoXTEXTf:.
.Iames S.viirKL — coiifiuuefl
Snow ....
A S.ibbath Moinini;- in Oc-toher
Xi-ht ....
Heart of Youth
Richard Aitken <ii..Ass
The Twa Roses .
Memorj' ....
Cockleroy ....
Marion of the Mill
Luna ....
Jessie B. T. Weik .
Reflection.? in the (iloaniing
Moonlight ....
A Life's Story . .
In Loving Meniorv of Janet Thomson
At the Dawning .
MiscELi>.\NEors Songs and Ba]j,.\ds
The Rock and the Wee Pickle '!'.
Lithgow's March
A Speech at the King's Entry into
Linlitligow
The Lass o' Livingston .
Legend of the Hound Point of Barnlit
Nancy Dawson
Barbauchlaw Btnri
Cnnibber (Ucn
Martin
)W : o
•. !-.
the T(
ugle
II
I'.XGK
325
32i>
3-26
32(>
328
328
329
331
332
333
334
33.>
33()
337
338
339
340
340
342
342
344
34(5
3J0
3.31
IXTRODUCTIOX.
npHE gift of song is, fortunately, not confined to any one
district of Scotland although in many instances a
school of poetry seems to be indigenous to certain districts.
The ballad, often the poetic outcome of some fierce foray,
has its birth on the Borders and in the region of the
Grampian range ; the hills of the West Highlands are the
home of the lament and the sighing "Songs of Selma:"
while the Lowlands, with their shady glens and undulating
expanse of cultivated fields, more particularl}' breathe the
lay of love and the lyric of the domestic affections.
The poetry of Linlithgowshire has no striking character-
i-stic, but is such as marks the poetic literature of the
Lowlands generally. Li a country which is incomparably
the land of song it would be strange indeed if any portion
of it should be left unvisited by the tuneful impulse, and
in this respect the county of West Lothian has no reason
to humble herself before her more gifted sisters.
Historically the county can look with pride through
"the postern of time long elapsed" on the stirring
incidents that have been enacted within her Ijorders, and
on the many relics of past greatness which are inseparably
associated with the history of Scotland.
1-1 I\Tiioi>i<'rj<>.\.
The Jiiu'iciit I'alacc of Liiilithi^ow, around which so many
memorios of bygone ii;loiy liiiorer ; the old Castle of
Hath^jate, where Walter the High Steward of Scotland
brought his fair young bride Marjory Bruce and so became
tlie pi'ogenitor of a long race of Scottish kings ; the
Preceptory of Torphichen, to which the war-worn Knights
of St. .lohn of Jerusalem repaired for rest from the
Crusades: Niddry Castle, the home of the loyal Setons,
where Queen Mary passed the night after her escape from
Lochleven Castle : these, and many more memorials of
'• the days of other years," invest Linlithgowshire with an
interest that grows stronger with the lapse of time.
With such environments and such associations it is
somewhat surprising that the county has such a dearth of
ballad literature, and that so few of her poets have struck
tlieir harps to these themes.
" Many who are not al)le to reach the Parnassian heights
may yet approach so near as to be bettered ])y the air of
the climate," says the Man of Feeling, and doubtless some
of these will be found in this volume ; but a perusal of the
following pages will satisfy the most critical that high
excellence is the prevailing quality in the poetry of the
county.
The selections have been made with the object of having
each author represented by his best work ; but in some
cases this was foiuid im])0ssible owing to the limitations of
space, and extracts from a poem, however judiciou.sly
J srn<n>rcri()S. 15
made, arc iiivarial)ly \eiv uiisatisfactoiy. Emerson tells
us how he listened with raj)ture to a l>ii'd
" Siufriiif); at dawn cm t ln' aiildci- 1)0iil:1i :
I brouj^lit liini Immc in his iit-st at evi-ii.
Hf siiitis till- sun;^-. but it pk-asvs not now ;
For I (lid not brin^i lioino tlio li vor and slcy ;
III- saii;^' to iny car -tlicy san;^' to my cyt',"
and in like manner i|notations dissociated from their
original setting lose much of theii' lieauty : so that,
wherever possible, an eiidcaNoui' has been made to
represent each poet by his shorter yet complete poems.
'I'hc chronological order of arrangement has been
adopted as the most commendable one for the imrposc of
imparting some degree of consecution to the various
writers and theii' works, 'j'he chai'tn of vai'iety has also
been kept in view as much to give the hook an additional
interest to the reader as to |)resent each autiioi' in his
various vein.s of thought : and it is hoped that this feature
will render its jjernsal a matter of better appreciation to all
who may .scan its pages.
THE POETS AXD POETKY OF
LIIS^LITHGOWSHIRE.
■ ? —■■ < ■
JAMES V.
1512-1542.
THE title of James the F'iftb to the authorship of Tin-
Guberhmzie Mem and The Jolly Beggar is not indisput-
able ; but, as they are ascribed to him by some of the most
competent Scottish anthologists and have never been attri-
buted to any other, we do not hesitate to include them in
this work.
James \'. was born in the Palace of Linlithgow on I'ith
April, 15lL'.
He was Imt a babe of eighteen months old when
'• The stern .strife and carnage dreai-
Of Flodden's fatal field "
niiulc him t.ilhcrless, and left Scotland in a disastrous
plight.
The young king was fortunate, howeAcr, in having for
his preceptoi' the learned ecclesia.stic, Gawin DunJjar ; but
in all probability he owed more to the kindly care and
tuition of Sir l)avid Lindsay than to the instructions of the
divine. Lirid.s'iy was gentleman usher to the prince from
'■■^ PoHTS OF 1.1 M.ITIIiloWsil I HI-:.
the tlay of liis ii.-itivity : a man capalile of entering into the
i-ihihrs eveiy amusement, and blending instruction with
recreation. Through Lindsay's high poetical attainments
the youthful monarch had an early o{)portunity of becoming
aci|uainted with all that was noblest and best in literature.
Lindsay's art seems to have been to please his royal pupil
•'with many a fable," and season his stories with such
simple counsel as he thought necessary for the improvement
of his character and conduct in the future. These etibrts
were not without impression on the boy, who gave promise
of fulfilling to the utmost the expectations of his wise and
affectionate tutor. Such high hopes were rudely dispelled
by the action of the queen-mother, who, to gratify her own
^imbition and love of poAver, had James taken
"Fni the schools
Where he, under obedience,
Was learning virtue and science,"
and nominally placed at the head of the Government while
he was yet in his thirteenth year. For the next four years
he was simply a puppet in the hands of his unscrupulous
mother and the Douglas faction, who maintained a restraint
over his actions that amounted to imprisonment. From
this galling bondage he escaped at the age of sixteen and
took the reins of sovereignty into his own hands. Historians
agree that thus early he was every inch a king, and
administered equal justice to rich and poor, the peasantry
receiving as much attention to their complaints as the
most powerful noble. One of his first exercises of regal
authority was to restore his early monitors to court favour,
and they were ever afterwards treated with marks (jf
esteem and honour.
Jame^ V. 19
There is little doubt that the four years he remained in
the hands of the Douglasses had a baneful effect on his
character. Encouraged by A-icioiis schemers in every
profligate adventure, and surrounded by flatterers who
tried to secure their own aggrandisement at the expense of
his folly, there is little wonder if the precepts of his
earlier monitors were often disregarded. Possessed of an
amiable disposition, with a mind naturally acute and
vigorous, he was much loved by the peasantry, and became
popularly known as the " King of the Commons," of which
title, we are told, he was very proud.
In various disguises he was wont to travel far and near,
and many humorous anecdotes of these itinerancies are still
current. In this adventurous manner he was enal)led to
judge of the peasantry for himself, and his strong enforce-
ment of the law made him a terror to evil doers. Robbers
seem to have been his pet aversion, and all through his
career he took every opportunity of punishing them "with
the utmost rigour of the law.'
It is much to his credit that, while many evil influences
were brought to bear on his character, he retained a real
love for literature, and greatly encouraged the poets and
historians of the country by his countenance and generosity,
in which GaAvin Douglas, I^indsay, Bellenden and Buchanan
were all participants.
Music he delighted in, and, if one may judge from the
fre(|uency with which the item of "lute-strings" occurs
in the Treasurer's accounts, the lute was his favourite
instrument. Like his ancestor, James I., he was an ai'dent
wooer of the Muses, and l»oth Lindsay and Bellenden speak
of his effusions with high praise, while, fully a century
later, Drummond of Hawthornden also bears testimony to
•JO /'oirrs or Li .\ i./rin.dWsiiinE.
\u> jtoetical gifts, "as," he says, "many of his works yet
extant testify." It is somewhat unfortunate, tliei'efore,
that s(i little trustworthy information has descended to us
on this sct)re. The two pieces which we give are evidently
some of his own escapades "done into rhyme"; Imt they
have l)ecomc modernised in the course of transmission from
one generation to anothei'. They are regarded by com-
petent critics as being among the best specimens of early
Scottish humour preserved to us. The unfortunate Rout
of Solway ]\Ioss, of which the elevation of the king's
])lebeian favourites to the first places of influence and
power was a contributing cause, had a despondent eflcct on
his nuud. Wounded to the quick by what he considered
the defection of his nobles, he retired to the Palace of
Falkland, where he died of grief on 13th December, 1542,
while yet in his thirty -first year.
TiiK (I.UiKKi-rNZiK Max.
The pawky aiikl carle cam' o'er the lea,
\N'i' iiioiiy f^ukl e'ens an' guid days to me ;
Haj'in", (iuidwife, for your coirtesie,
Will ye lodge a .sill\ piiii- man ?
The nicht was cauld, the carle was wat,
An' (loon ayont the ingle he sat.
My dochter's shouthers he 'gan to clap,
An' cadgily ranted an" sang.
Oil wow I (|ii(>' he, were I as free
As first wlien 1 saw tliis (;onntrie,
How blythe an" merry Mad 1 be !
An' I wad never think lang.
He grew cant}% an' .she grew fain ;
Hut little did her aul<l niinny ken
What tliir slee twa thegither were say'n'
When wooing they were .sac tlnung.
James /'. 21
An' oh, quo' he, an ye were as bhick
As e'er the croun o' my daddy's hat,
It 's I wad lay thee by my back,
An' awa' wi" me thou should {jang.
An' oh, quo' she, an I were as white
As e'er the snaw lay on the dyke,
I 'd deed me braw an' lady-like,
An' awa' wi' thee I wad "ansr.
Between the twa was made a plot ;
Thej- rase a wee before the cock.
An' wilily the\- shot the lock.
An' fast to the bent are they gane.
Up in the morn the auld wife rase,
An' at her leisure pat on her claes ;
Syne to the servant's bed she gaes
To spier for tlie silly puir man.
She gaed to the bed where the beggar lay ;
The strae was cauld, an' he was away ;
She clapt her hands, an' ci-ied, Waladay,
For some o' our gear will be gane 1
Some ran to cott'ei', an' some to kist,
But nought was stown that coidd be miss"d ;
She danced her lane, an' cried, Praise be Ijlest,
I ha'e lodged a leal puir man !
Since nacthinii's iiwa", as we can Icaui.
The kirn 's to kirn, an' milk to eain ;
Oae but the house, lass, an' wauken my Iciiiii,
An' bid her come (|uickly ben.
The servant (;aed wlieie the dochter lav.
The sheets were cauld, an" slie was away,
An' fast to the guidwife slic 'gan sa^',
She's all wi' the <j-ahcrluM/.ie man.
Posts or Lixlithgowshirk.
Oil, fyo ^'fir ride, an' fye gar riii.
An" Imste yo lind tliese traitors again ;
For she'.s be burnt, ,in' he's be .slain,
'V\w wearifu" galierlunzie man.
Soni*^ ra(U' uim' lioise, some run a-tit,
The wife was wiul an" out o' lii-r wit,
She couldna gang, nor yet could she sit,
l^ut a\e she cursed an" she banned.
Meantime far 'hind out o'er the lea,
Fu" snug in a glen, where nane could see.
The twa, wi" kindly sport an" glee,
( kit f rae a new cheese a whang.
The priving was guid, it ])leased them baith,.
To lo'e her for aye he ga'e her his aith ;
Quo' .she. To leave thee I will be laith,
Mv winsome gaberlunzie man.
Oh, kend my minny I were wi' you,
lU-faui'dly wad slie crook her mou',
Sic a puir man she 'd never trow,
After the gaberlunzie man.
My dear, quo' he, ye 're yet owre young,
An' ha'e na learned the beggar's tongue,
To follow me fiae toun to toun,
An' carry the gaberlunzie on.
Wi' e;iuk an' keel I 11 wni your bread,
An' S})indles an' whorles for them \\h:\ need,
Whilk is a gentle trade indeed.
To carry the gaberlunzie on.
I "11 bow my leg, an' crook my knee,
.\n" flraw a black (;lout o'er my e'e ;
A cripple or blind they will ca' me.
While we shall be meri-y an" sing.
James V. 23
The Jolly Beggar.
There was a jolly beggar
And a begging he was bonn'.
And he took up his quarters
Into a landwart town ;
He wadna lie into the barn,
Nor wad lie in the byre —
But in ahint the ha' door
Or else afore the fire.
And we '11 gang nae niair a roving,
A roving in the night,
And we '11 gang nae mair a roving.
Let the moon shine e'er sae bright.
The beggar's bed was made at e'en
Wi' guid clean straw and hay.
And in ahint the ha' door —
'Twas there the beggar lay.
Up gat the guidman's dochter,
And a" to bar the door,
And there .she saw the beggar man
Was standing on the Hoor.
And we '11 gang nae mair a roving,
A roving in the night,
Though maids be e'er .sae loving,
And the moon shine e'er sae briglit.
He took the hissie in his ariii>
And to the neuk he ran—
O hoolic, hoolie wi' me, sir.
Veil waiiki^n our guidniaii.
The beggar was a cunning loim.
And ne'er a word he spak" —
Hut, lang afore the cock liad crawn,
Tlius he l)egan to crack :
J'ohTS OF Ll M.irili.nwsill i;K.
\\ V II j^iui^i' iiiic iimir :i roving,
A roving in the night,
Save when the moon is moving.
And tlie stars are sliiriinu briuhl.
He took a wee horn frae his side.
And blew baith loud and shrill,
And four-and-twenty Vjclted knights
( ',ime ski))|»ing o'er the hill.
And we '11 gang nae mair a roving,
A roving in the night ;
Nor sit a sweet maid lovinff
By coal or candle light.
And he took out his little knife,
Loot a' his duddies fa',
And he was the brawest gentleman
That was amang them a' !
The beggar was a clever loon,
And he lap shoulder height ;
O aye for siccan (juarters
As I got yesternight !
And we "11 aye gang a roving,
A roving in the night,
For then the maids are loving.
And stars are shining bright.
Mary Queex of Scots. 25
MAEY QUEEN OF SCOTS.
1542-1588.
MARY, daughter of James V. and jNIary of Guise, was
born in Linlithgow Palace in December, 1542.^
The lamentable death of James \'. under such sad
circumstances made the accession to the Scottish throne of
the newly-born infant a singularly pathetic spectacle. No
sooner had their late monarch been consigned to his
last resting-place than the nobles, whom he had held in
check so successfully, broke out into open feud for the;
possession of this tiny hope of their country — not so much
from a desire to ensure her safety as for personal
aggrandisement. The turbulence of the times and the
'The exact date of ]Marj''.s l>irth is keenlj' ilisputed. Almost all
historians and biographers assume it to have been on the Sth of
December ; and ^lary herself always named it as such. But a recently
discovered document — communicated to Miss Strickland by John
liiddell, Esq., of the Faculty of Advocates — shows that, at Stirling,
her mothers confinement was, on the 9th of that month, only matter of
expectation ; and it is clear, that if the event had occurred on the
previous day intelligence of it would have reached Stirling. All
accounts, too, repre.sent the King as having died on the loth, a few-
hours [Pitscottie says a few minutes) after the arrival of the news of his
daughters birth : and, as an express had been employed, it is incredible
that five days should have elapsed between the event and its report to
the dying monarch. It is reasonably conjectured by Miss Stricklaml
that, as the Sth of Decemlier is one of the four great Romish festivals in
honour of the Virgin Mary, the birth of the young queen may
afterwards have been celebrated on that day instead of on the real one,
which was most i)robal)ly the 11th or 12th of the month. -Miss
Strickland's Liren uj Ike Srnttiuli QiitriiK, vol. 'A, ]>. 7.
■JG Poirrs OF Li s i.rnn;n\\ sn i m:.
war with Knj^laiul consequent on "tlie rough wooing" of
Henry \ III., who sought hy an alliance of Mary with his
son Eflward, then but five years of age, to assert supremacy
over Scotland, induced the Scottish iio1)les to remove the
young (|ueen from Linlithgow to Stirling, and thereafter to
the Priory of Inchmahonie for further security. A
()roposal to send Maiy to the court of Henry 11. of France
for her education met with the general approval of all
parties concerned, and in her sixth year the queen,
attended by the Four Maries ' and a noble escort, was
received with becoming honour at the palace of St. Germain.
Together with the king's own daughters she was soon
afterwards sent to one of the most celebrated monasteries
in France to receive such an education as became a
queen. She made rapid progress in the various branches
of education in which she was instructed, and attained in
all a proficiency that excited universal admiration.
Caressed and admired by all, and sui-rounded by every
enjoyment, the earlier part of Mary's life glided rapidly
away, while she herself, in her person gradually advanced
towards that perfection of beauty which is to this day
matter of interesting speculation, and which she seems to
have possessed in the highest degree of which perhaps the
human form is susceptible. But remarkable as was the
beauty of Marj^'s person, it was not more worthy of
admiiation than hej' intellectual superiority.
' 'riiese young ladies, celebrated in tradition and son^' as the Queen's
Maries, were Mary I^ivingston, Mary Fleming, Mary Seton, and Mary
Beaton, all of the highest families in Scotland. The Mary Hamilton
and Mary Carmifhael of the exmiisite ballail of the Qiiea/'ti Marie —
which purports to commemorate the melancholy fate of the former lady
— were evidently later additions to this famous corps.
j\lAny QuEBs of Scots. 27
On the 24th of April, 1558, in her sixteenth 3'ear, she
was united in marriage to Francis, the Dauphin of France.
A year later her husband succeeded to the French throne,
and Mary, as Queen of Scotland, heir-presumptive of
England, and queen-consort of France, thus combined in
herself probably a greater concentration of dignities than
ever before occurred in one person. In 1560, after two brief
years of happy union, Francis died, and her beautiful and
passionate lament on this occasion bears witness to the
deep grief of the young widowed queen. In a letter to-
Philip II. at this time she describes herself as " the most
afflicted poor woman iinder heaven."
In the following year Mary returned to Scotland where^
she was received with every demonstration of affection.
Several years of almost uneventful peace followed, but her
marriage with Lord Darnley in 1565 brought a series
of miseries in its train which attended her throughout
her checkered career, each incident of which is darkly
silhouetted against the misty curtains of time. Darnley's
nuirder, the rash and inexplicaljle marriage with the villain
Bothwell, Carberry Hill, Lochlcven Castle and the romantic
escape from its dreary isolation, the Battle of Langside, the
Hight to Dundrennan, and the weary eighteen years of
imprisonment in the castles of P^ngland : these are all
invested with a romance and sad interest that never grows-
les.s. "Last scene of all, that ends this strange, eventful
history," is the grim block within the hall of Fotheringay
Castle, where, after a mock trial at which no means of
defence was allowed her, Mary was sacrificed to the
jealousy and capricious fear of a r<jyal rival whom she
excelled in every g:-aceful accomplishment. So perished
"the noblest of the Stuart race, the fairest earth has seen,"
•_'S PohTS iiF l./M.ITIKioWSIlllih:.
on the stij of Felnuary, I088, while she was yet in her
forty-sixth year.
Till within rooont years no attempt was made to gather
together tlie scattered remnants of Mary's poems, and the
simple statement that the Cjueen of Scots exercised herself
in poetical composition provoked little curiosity or in((uiry.
A few years ago, however, there appeared a limited edition
of T/ie Poems of Mar// Stuart, Queen of Scots, edited, with an
introductory notice, by .Julian Sharman. These are all in
Frt'nch, with a few of the sonnets duplicated in Italian,
and it is to this little volume that we are indebted for the
following i)oems, with one exception. It is doubtful
whether at any time Mary applied herself to the study or
composition of English poetry. A distich scrawled on a
window at Fotheringay is the only English fragment that
can be attributed to her : —
From the top of all my tiut<t
Mishap has laid me in the dust.
In Bishop Montague's preface to the works of James the
First allusion is made to a book of French verses by Mary
on the Institution of a Prince ; but this production is now
irrecoverably lost. A later writer, Saunderson, mentions
having seen this volume in 165G.
The Bothwell Sonnets, of which there are other ten
besides those given here, a sonnet to Elizabeth, and some
verses to the French poet Ronsard, together with the poems
appended, are all that can be now definitely ascribed to her.
Of the sonnets to the Earl of Bothwell a clerical author
asserts that " these sonnets are as wretched, bombastic stuff
as it is possible to imagine " ^ ; but the undignified
' HUtori/ of Scotland, by the Rev, James Mackenzie, 1894 : p. .198.
Mary Queks of Scots. ■29'
invective which he hurls at the hapless head of IMarv in
any but clerical language excuses our utter disbelief in
his ability to criticise poetry, for he seems to be of the
same inclination as the dog in Goethe's Fausf, which, we are
told,
" At what he understands not, snails."
That the passion with which these sonnets burn was an
unhallowed one we do not disavow ; but that fact does not
detract from their poetic merit, which is very considerable.
The verses on her bereavement, so very sweet and touching,
breathe the true spirit of poetry : and in her later sonnets
as also in the Meditations, composed at a time when the
head was sick and the whole heart faint with the dreary,
hopeless round of prison life, there are several passages of
fine beauty and pathos which give evidence of a highly
cultured intellect and imagination.
The following poems have been translated for this work
by D. F. Lowe, Esq., M.A., Head-Master of George Heriot's
Hospital School, Edinburgh, and formerly Rector of the
Bathirate Academv, to whom our heartiest thanks are due
for the kindness with which he undertook and fulfilled this
labour of love. At his suggestion we have, with the
exception of the Meditations, converted his translations into
English verse, in which it will be found the original has
been adhered to as faithfully as possible ; and we trust that
this endeavour — the first that has yet been made — to render
the poems of the " illustrat Lady " more popular will meet
with general approval. For the benefit of the classical
reader the original French, the orthography of which it has
not been deemed judicious to modernise, is given for
comparison.
30 PojiTS or LlSLITliaoWsill ItE.
N'krsk.s n\ iiiK I)i;vrii of mkk ITt'sii.wn, Fkamis 11.
1.
Va\ 111(111 t riste et doux chant
D'uii ton fort laineiitiible,
Je jette un leil traiicliant
De peite incompaiablc ;
Et en soixpirs cuisans,
Passe mes meillcurs ans.
2.
Flit il un tel malheur
De (lure destinee,
Ny si triste douleur
, De Dame fortunee,
Qui moil comr et men n-il
Vols en bierre et cerciieil.
3.
Qui en mon doux jirintemps
Et fleur de ma jeunesse,
Toutes les peines sens
D'une extreme tristesse,
Et en rien n'ay j)laisir
Qu'en refjret et desir.
4.
Ce (jui m'estoit plaisant
Ores m'est peine dure,
Le jour le plus luisant
M'est nuit noire et obscure,
Et n'est rien si ex<|uis
Qui de moy soit iccpiis.
J'ay au c(eur et a I'a-il
Un portrait et image.
Qui figure mon deiiil
Et mon pasle visage,
De violettes teint,
Qui est ramoureux teint.
Mary Qveex of Scots. 31
Verses ox tiie Death ok her Husband, Francis TI.
1.
In this my sad sweet song
In lamentable strain
I ponder, but no tongue
Can tell my loss or jjain ;
And with sad sighs and tears
I pass mj' brightest years.
2.
Was e'er there such ill-chance
Of hard relentless fate.
Or such sad sufferance
For Uame, so bless'd of late,
Who see my heart and eye
In bier and coffin lie 'i
In the sweet budding spring
And flower of youthfulness,
I feel the sharpest sting
Of sorrow's deep excess,
And can no pleasure prove
Save in regret and love.
4.
What once was keen delight
Has now become sharp pain.
The day though e'er so bright
Is dark as night of rain.
And happiness there's not
For which I have one thought.
o.
Within my heart and eye
A portrait has chief place,
Which is the cause of my
Deep grief and my pale face.
Tinged with the violet's hue, —
Which is love's colour true.
J'dirrs (I/- Li M.iriKidwsiiiiiK
(>.
I'our 1111)11 uial ostriin^er
Je ne m'jirreste en place,
Mais j'eii ay hi^'iii cliiing'er
Si ma (loiik'nr ctlacf ;
Car 111011 |)is et num iiiiciix
Sont iiies |)liis (luseits lieux.
7.
Si en quel()uu sejour,
Soit en Bois on t;ii I'rce,
Soit pour Taube clu jour,
Ou soit pour la vespree.
Sans cesse mon C(i'ur sent
Le regret d'un absent.
8.
Si jiaifois ver.s ce^s lieux
^'iens a dresser ma veiie,
Le doux trait de ses yeux
Je vois en une nue,
Soudain je vois en I'eau
Comnie dans un Tombeau.
9.
Si je suis en rejjos,
Sommeillant sur nia couche,
J'oj' qu'il me teint propos,
Je le sens qu'il me touche ;
En labeur en recoj-
Tousjours est prest de moy.
10.
Je ne vois autre objet
Pour beau (pi'il se presente,
A qui c|ue soit sujet
Oiicfjues mon c<i'ur consente ;
Exempt (le perfection
A cette artiiction.
Mart Quees of Scots. 33
(5.
By reason of my giief
I find no resting-place.
In change is no relief
My sorrow to efface ;
Where'er my footsteps press
Is filled with loneliness.
7.
Wherever I abide,
Whether in mead or wood.
Whether at morning-tide,
Or evening's quietude.
My heart incessant mourns
For one who ne'er retuiiis.
If to some scene of jo\-
My sight attracted he,
The sweet glance of his eye
As in a cloud I see.
Reflected in the wave
As it were in the gra\-e.
9.
If on my couch I rest,
And slumbers o'er me steal,
I heai- that voice loved best,
His tender touch I feel ;
Whether at work or sleep
Still doth he near me keep.
10.
No other do I see,
TliDiigli fair and young and gav.
To whom all lovingly
My heart will homage pay ;
But this attiicticjn will
Hf-main uiisiil.-u-rd still.
;54 PoKTs or Lis utiigowsiuhe.
II.
Mots Cliiinsuu icy tin
A si triste complainte,
Dont sera le refrein
Amour vraye et nioii fainte :
Pour la sei)a ration
N'aura diminution.
Fareweli. to Fr.\N(;k.i
Adieu, plaisant pays de France !
O ma patrie !
La plus cherie !
Qui as nourri ma jeune enfance 1
Adieu, France ! adieu, mes beaux jours ;
La nef (jui di.sjoint nos amours
N'a c'y de moi que la moitit- :
Une parte te reste, elle est tienne ;
Je la fie a ton amitie
Pourcjue de I'autre il te souvienne.
Sonnet to thk Eakl f)K Bothwell.
(Number 2 of the Botliwell Sonnets.)
Entre ses mains et en son plein pouvoir
Je metz mon filz, mon honneur, et ma vie.
Mon pais, mes subjects, mon ame assubjectie
Est tout ;'i luy, et n'ay autre vouUoir
Pour mon object que sans le decevoir
Suivre je veux malgcrti toute I'envie
Qu'issir en peult : Car je n'ay autre envie
Que de ma foi luy faire appercevoir
Que pour tempeste ou bonnace (jui face
Jamais ne veux clianger demeure ou place.
1 These beautiful lines, said to have been written by Mary <>u leaving
France, are taken from Specimens of the British Poetesses, by Rev.
Alexander Dyce, A.B., 1825. The Chanson may also be foen in the
Mary Queex of Scots. 35
11.
Here let me end the strain
Of a sad heart, sore pained,
Of which the true refrain
Will be my love unfeigned :
The loss which wrecks my peace
Will nevermore decrease.
Farewell to France.
Thou charming land of France, adieu !
O homeland fair !
Most dear, most rare,
Who nursed me all my childhood thiough !
Farewell, France ! faie\\ ell, mj' happy days ;
The ship which parts our loves conveys
Only the half of me from thee :
One part remains with thee, 'tis thine ;
It to thy keeping I consign,
That still thou mav'st remember me.
SOXXET TO THE EaRL OF BOTHWELL.
(Xumber 2 of the Bothwell Sonnets.)
Into his liands and his power full and free
I place my son, life, honour — dearer still ;
My country, subjects, and the citadel
Of m\' .stormed heart are all his, and for me
I have no other wish than faithfully
To follow him in spite of all of ill
That may spring fi-om it : for I have no will
Than by my faith to make him clesirly see
That, whether calm or tempest we must face,
I never wi.sh to change my home or place.
Anthologie Fran(;ois, torn 1, No. 10; Taylor's Pictorial Historu of
Scotland, vol. 1, p. i'CA).
/'(iHTs or Li s t.i riiiidwsii I ni:.
Brief, je ferny do lua foy telle preuve
iiw'W coyiioistrii, sanis fainte, ma eoiistanct^
Ndii |i.u inc.-- |ilcurs, (111 fainte obeyssance,
Ciiimiif aiit res out fait, iiuiis par divers espreiives..
SONNKT TO TllK E.\RL OK BoTlIWKM,.
(Number 8 of the Botlnvcll Soniit'ts.)
Moll amour croist. et pluf en plus eroi.stra
Taut (pie je \ i\ ray, et tiendray a grandheiir
Tanl. .seiilement d'avoir part en ce vavwv
Vei'S qui en tin nion amour paroi.'^tra
Sy tres a clair (pie jamais n'en doutra.
I'oiir ln_\ je \eux recercher la grandeui'.
Et feraj- tant ([u'en vray eoijjnoistra
<i)ue je n"ay bienheur ne eontentment
yi\\ a r obej'ir et servir loyaument.
Pour luy j'attendz toute bonne fortune,
Povir luy je veux garder .sante et vie,
Pour lu}- tout vertu de suivre j'ay envie,
Et sans changer me troiivera tout' une.
Sonnet \vi;i'i"ri;N dikinc hkh Imprison mi:\t.
L'ire de Dieu par le sang ne s'appaise
I)e bouf.s, ny boucs, espandu .sur I'autel :
Ny par encens ou Sacrifice tel
Le Souverain ne re(,-oit aucun aise.
Qui veult, Seigneur, faire (Kuvre qui te plaise-
II faut (pi'il ayt sa foy en I'lmmortel,
Avec espoir charitt' an niortel,
Et bien faisant que ton loz il ne taise.
L'oblation qui t'est .seule agreable
C'est un esprit, en orai.«on constant.
Humble et devot, et un corps chaste estant
O Tout -puissant, sols luoy si favorable
Que |)Our tousjours ces graces dans nion C(eiii-
Puissent rester a ta gloire et honneur.
■ Mauv QcEEy OF Scots. 37
In brief, I .shall my confidence piove so
That he will know my faith without pretence,
Not b}" m}- tears oi' feigned obedience,
As some have done, but different proofs I '11 show.
Sonnet to the Earl of Bothwell.
(Number S of the Bothwell Sonnets.)
My love grows, and its growing sway I '11 own
While I shall live, and 1 11 for greatness care
Onlj' so much as in that heart I share,
To which at last my true love will be showni
When, clearer still, all doubt shall be o'erthrown.
For him I will all paths to greatness dare,
And shall so act that to him 'twill be known
That joj- and peace of mind in naught I see
Save to obey and serve him lojall}-.
For his sake all good fortune is my aim.
For him I would my health and life renew,
Foi- him desiie each virtue to puisne.
An<l, all unchanged, lu- "11 tind uit> still the same.
SoNNKT WKITTKN IXKIM: IIKK I \1 I'lilSoN.M KNT.
The wrath of God we never can ap])ease
By blood of bulls or goats on altars spilled ;
Nor .sacrifice nor incense sweet distilled
The Sovereign Power with any i)leasure sees.
Whoe'er desires, O Lord, thine eye to please
On the Immortal he his f;iitli must build,
Witli lio|)e and charity to mankind filled,
.And by good deeds extol thy wise decrees.
The offring which alone is dear to thee
Is a true spirit, constant unto jirayei',
Devout and humble, in a virtuous frame.
.Mmiglity <'n<\ '. sudi favour have for me
That ill my licart iiwiy dwrll the.se graces rare
Tn til" lioiioiir ;iiiil I III' 'jiiirv of Tli\' niimi'.
."^S PoKTs OF Li\f.rrin;<nysnii;f:.
VKliSKS W lilTTKN A 1' FoTII KRl Nd A V.
<^>ue suis-je, helas ! ct do (juoi sert hi vie?
J'en suis fors (luuii corps priv(5 de cueur r
Un ombre vayn, un objeb de malheur,
()\n n'n plus lien (pie do iiioiirir en vie.
Plus ne nie portez, O eneniys, d'envie
Qui ii'a plus Tt'spiit a la gmndeur,
J'ai eonsomnn' d'excessive douleur ;
Voltie ire en bref de voir assouvie,
Et vous amys, qui m'avez tenu chere,
Souvenez-vous que sans cueur et sans santey
Je ne s^aurois aucpin bon <i'uvre faire ;
Et que sus bas estant assez punie
J'aie ma ])aifc on la joie infinie.
Mkditations.
Written on tlit- Kect'ipt of a Keligious Work of tht; Bishop of Ross."
Lors qu'il convient k chacun reposer,
Et pour un temps tout soucy deposer,
Une souvenir de nion amere vie
Me vient ostei' <le tout dormir I'envie,
Rejjresentant a mes yeux vivement
De bien en mal uu soudain changement,
Qui distiller me fait lors sur la face
La triste liumeur, (|ui tout plaisir efface.
Dent tost apres, cherchant de m'alleger,
.J'entre en disoours, non frivole ou legier,
Considerant du monde I'inconstance
Et des mortels le trop peu d'asseurance ;
.Tugeant par la rien n'estre permanent,
Ny bien ny mal, dessous le firmament.
'The work referred to is Afflicti Animi Consolationes et Tranqui/H
Aniiiii Co'it ser ratio : Paris, 1574. Its author, John Leslie, Bishop of
ISoss (1.52G-15!l<;), was distinguished for the indefatigable exertions whicli
he made in behalf of Queen Mary. He interceded for her at the court
of Queen Elizabeth ; but finding this of no avail, he contrived means for
hiT escape. The plot was discovered, and Leslie was committed to the
Mary Queex of Scots. 39
Verses written at Fotheringay.
Of %\ hat use is my life '! and what am I '!
Naugrht but a casket robbed of all its treasure ;
A shadow vain, the sport of fortune's leisure,
With nothing more in life except to die.
enemies ! laj' your resentment by
For I in greatness now lia\e no more pleasuie ;
I am consumed with grief bejond all measure :
Your hate will shortly have satiet\-.
And you, my friends, who still liave held me dear
Remember — without healtli and without strength
1 could accomplish no good work, I fear ;
And, being punished in suthcience here.
In joy perpetual I shall share at length.
Meditations
Written on the Receipt of a Kelisious Work of the Bisliop of Koss.
When every one should be at rest,
And for a time should lay aside all care,
A memory of my bitter life
Oft comes to take away the wish for sleei) ;
Depicting vividlj' before my eyes
My sudden change from good to evil fortune,
Which forces down my cheeks a flow
Of mournful tears, effacing every pleasure.
Tlien, seeking to relieve myself of this my grief,
I enter into discour.se, not light or frivolous,
Concerning the inconstancy of the world
And the too little .security of mortals ;
.] udging nothing to be lasting.
Either good or ill, under heaven.
Tower of London. He was releaKed in a few years, but was banished to
the (Continent, where )ie made futile efforts to interest the continental
princes in Mary's belialf. He puljlished a JJt/mcc of the Honour „f
Mary, Queen of Scotland, at Lie;,'e, in 1.571.— See Chambers's Dictionary
of Eminent Scotsmen.
40 J'oKTs or LiM.iTiiaowsniuE.
IV line soutlaiii me iiiuL on soiivuiiancc
Des siiges diets du Roy plein de prudence.
.I'.iy, ce dit-il, cerche tons les plaisirs
Qui peuvent plus assouvir mes desirs,
Mais je n'nv veu en ceste masse ronde
Que vanit('^ ; dcme fol est (jui s'y fonde
De t]uoy mes yeux experience ont eu
Durant noz jours ; car j'ay souvent veu
Ceux (|ui touchoient les haults cienx de la teste
Soudainement renverses pai- tempeste.
Les plus {jjrands Roys, Monanpies, Empereurs,
De leur estats et vies ne sont seurs.
Bastir jjalais et amasser ehevanee
Retourne en brief en perte et decadence.
Estre venu des parens genereux
N'empesche j)oint ((u'cn ne soit niallicureiix.
Les beaux habits, le jeu, les ris, la danse
Ne laissent d'eux que dueil et repentance,
Et la beaute, t;uit agreable aux yeux,
Se part de nous quand no\i.s devenons vieux
Boire et manger et vivre tout a I'aise
Revient aussi a douleur ot malaise :
Beaucoup d'amis rieliesse ny s<^'avoir
De eontenter (jui les a n'ont pouvoir.
Brief, tout le bien de ceste vie humaine
Se gai'de ))eu et s'ac(iuiert a grand'peine.
Que nous sert done icy nous amuser
Aux vanitez qui ne font (prabuserV
II fault chercher en bien plus Iwudte place
Le vray lepos, le plaisir. et la j;race
Qui promise est a ceux ipii de bon cieur
Retourneront i I'unique Saveur :
Car an ciel est nostre eternel ])artage,
Lii ordonne pour nous en heiita</e.
Mais (pii pourra, o pere tres liumaiii.
Avoir cest lieur si tu n'y im^ts la main
D'abandonncr son pecrht' et f>H'ense,
En ayant fait condigne {)enitenee ?
AfAHV QUEEX OF ScOTS. 41
Tliis suddenly biino^s me into remembrance
Of the sayings of the wise king.
*'I have," said he, " sought every pleasure
Which might satisfy my desires.
But I have seen nothing in this round world
But vanity. A fool tlien is he who trusts to it
By what my eyes have seen during my days.
For I have often seen those who touched
The high heavens with their head
Suddenly overthrown by temiiest."
The greatest Kings, Monarchs, Emperors
Are not sure either of their states or their lives.
To build palaces and to amass wealth
Soon returns to destruction and decay.
To liave sprung from noble parents
Does not jirevent one becoming unfortunate.
Fine raiment, gaming, laughter, and the dance
Leave only mouining and repentance.
And beauty, so agreeable to the eyes,
Depaits from us when we become old :
To drink and to eat and to fare comfortably
Turns also to grief and weariness :
Many fri(;nds, riches, knowledge —
None of these have power to content their possessors.
In a word, all the good things of this life
Aie held but for a .short time and acquired with great labour.
Of what use is it then to amuse our.selves here
With vanities which only lead to abuse?
We mu.st seek in a far higher j)lace
True rest, |)leasuie, and the grace
Which is promised to tho.se who sinceiely
Sliall return to the only Saviour :
For our eternal jwrtion is in heaven.
Ordained for us as our hciitage.
Hut who .shall be able, O Father most loving,
To have this ha])piness if thftu assist him not
To abandon his sin and oHences,
Having madi- sincr-ic irpcntaiici' for tlicniV
42 J'oKTs OF LjyLiriiaowsiiinE.
On <iui pouna ce moncle despriser
Pour soul t'uimer, honorer, et piiser ?
Nul poui' certain, si ta douce clemence
Le prevenant a tel bien ue I'avance ;
Purquoy, Seigneur et Pore So\ivcrain,
Rcjrarde nioy de visage serain,
Dont regardas la feninie pecliercsse
Qui a tes pieds pleuroit ses maux sans cesse,
Dont regardas Pierre iiareillenient
Qui jii t'avoit nic ])ar jurement ;
Et comme a eux donne nioy ceste grace
Que ta mercy tous mes pechez efface.
En retirant de le monde nion canir
Fay ras])irei- a I'Eternel bonheur.
Donne, Seigneur, donne nioy patience,
Amour, et foy, et en toj' esperance ;
L'humilite, avec devotion,
De te servir de pure affection.
Envoye moy ta divine prudence
Pour empescher (jue j)echi' ne m'offence.
Jamais de mo}- n'esloigne verite.
Simple douceur avecques charity :
La chastite et la perseverance
Demure en moy avec obeissance.
De tous erreurs, Seigneur, preserve moy,
Et tous les jours, Christ, augmente la foy
Que j'ay receu de ma mere TEglise,
Oil j'ay recours pour mon lieu de franchise
Contre pech^, ignorance, et orgueil,
Qui font aller au perdurabk^ diicil.
Permets, Seigneur, que tousjours mon bon Ange
Soit pres de moy, et t'offrc ma louange,
Mes oraisons, mes larmes, et soupirs,
Et de mon cceur tous les j ustes desirs.
Ton sainct Espiit sur moy face demeure
Tant ijue voudras qu"en ce monde je dure :
Et quand, Seigneur, ta clemence et bont^
Mary Queek of Scots. 43-
Or who is able to despise this world
In order to love, honour, and value thee alone ?
No one indeed, if thy sweet clemency,
Assisting him, do not lead him to such happiness :
Wherefore, Sovereign Lord and Father,
Regard me favourably,
As thou didst look upon the sinful woman
^^^lo wept unceasingly at thy feet for her faults :
As likewise thou didst look on Peter
Who had aheady denied thee wnth an oath ;
And as thou gav'st to them, so give to me that grace
That thy mercy may blot out all my sins.
In withdrawing my heart from this world
Do thou make it seek after eternal bliss.
Give, O Lord, give me patience.
Love, and faith and hope in thee :
Give me hmnility, \vith devotion,
To serve thee with pure love.
Send me thj- divine prudence
To hinder sin from leading me astray.
Let not truth ever depart from me
Nor gentle sweetness and charity :
Let chastity and diligence in well-doing
And obedience remain in me.
Preserve me fiom all errors, O Lord,
And let Christ increase every day
The faith which I received from Mother Church,
To which I have recourse for freedom
From sin, ignorance, and pride,
Which lead to consuming grief.
Permit, O Lord, that my good Angel
May alway.s be near me, and that I may oiW-v thee my jnaise.
My prayers, my tears, my sighs.
And all the just desires of my heart.
Let thy holy Spirit remain near me
So long as it is thy wish that I remain in tlio world :
And when, O Lord, thy chinency and tliy goodness
"^•^ I'oKTs or LiM.iriKiowsiii in:.
iM"oster voiulia do l.i cjiptivite
On mon esprit reside eii cette vie,
Pleiiie de muux, de tourmens, et d'envie,
Me souvenir donnc luov le j>ouv()ir
De tes inerces, ct Hanue y" avoir,
Ayant au Cd'ur ta passion escrite.
Que j' offriray au lieu de mon mci it^^
Donques, mon Uieu, no m" abandonne point,
Et mesniement en cette extienie poinct.
A celle fin (jue tes voyes je tienne
Et (|ue viivn toy ;i la tin je parvienne.
La Verty M'attire.
Marie Stuakte.
Mary Qvees of Scots. 45-
May decree to take me from the ca])tivit_v
In which my soul remains in this life,
Full of e^•ils, of torments, and of regret,
Give me the ])Ower to remember
Thy mercies, and to put mj- trust in them,
Having thy love written in my heart.
Which I shall offer instead of any merit of my own.
Do not then, O my (iod, abandon me,
And especially in my extremity.
Let me hold to thy ways unto the end
So that at tlie last I may reach unto thee.
\'irtue draws me to thee.
M.vKV Stu.vkt.
Poets of Lixlituqowsiiire.
WILLIAM HAMILTON OF BANGOUR.
1704 1704.
WILLIAM HAMILTON was born at Bangour in the
parish of Uphall in 1704. His ancestors were an
ancient and intiuential family in Ayrshire, and as there is
also a Bangour in that county some dubiety has been
expressed as to the place of the poet's nativity. Eecent
research, however, has proved that Bangour in West
Lothian was in possession of his family for four generations
l)efore the poet's birth, so that tlie local claim is placed
l)eyond question. It is more than probable that Bangour
in Linlithgowshire was so named after the ancestral estate
in Ayrshire, which would account for the confusion that
has arisen from the similarity of name.
AVith regard to Hamilton's early life very little is
known. This much is certain, that such education as the
times demanded of one who, by his social position, could
gain entrance to the highest circles in the country, was
freely extended to the promising and brilliant young poet.
His j)ublished works prove him to have ]>een well versed
in ancient and contemporary literature, and evince a
refinement of taste that was by no means a characteristic
of the age in which he lived, or of the poetry of his time
which too frequently had affectation and gross indelicacy
as its principal components. The pithy Scottish phraseology
of Dunbar and tl.o earlier "makars"Avas giving ])lace to
the inflated verbosity and strained conceits of the English
baids.
William Hamiltos of Basgouh. 47
Druramond of Hawthornderi had laid aside the Doric
with some success, with the result that the rising Scottish
poets attempted to follow his example without possessing
either his erudition or his genius. Accordingly it came
to pass that the poetry north of the Tweed abounded in
mutilated metaphors and fanciful phrases which only
■escaped the charge of being vague by being totally
incomprehensible.
Of course it was almost impossible that young Hamilton
should escape the general perversion and contamination,
and we are not surprised to find some of his productions
interspersed with the requisite liberal proportion of
Strephons and Delias : Damons and Chloes : piping
love-sick shepherds and inaccessibly obdurate shepherdesses.
This fanciful Arcadia, however, was eclipsed b}^ the
publication, in 1724, of Allan Ramsay's Tea-table
Miscelknuj, in which the Doric successfully re-asserted
itself and maintained its power over Scottish hearts by
becoming the popular literary language of the day. In
this work Ramsay was ably assisted by several " ingenious
young gentlemen," as he names them in the preface, of
whom William Hamilton, although only in his twentieth
year, was one of the most prominent contributors.
Associated in this work with Ramsay was another
William Hamilton, of Gilbertfield, who by the similarity
•of name is often confounded with our poet. It is matter
for much regret that Ramsay did not incorporate an index
of authors with his Miscellunij instead of the hieroglyphical
X Y Z by which the reader can only ascertain that one
song is ancient, that another is modern, or that yet another
is ancient with modern alterations and additions.
Hamilton now became recognised as a poet of repute,
4S J'oKTS or LiM.iriicowsiiini:.
ami livi'd tin* gay lite ot a man aUoiit town. W'c are told
that "he possessed the social virtues in an eminent degree,"
ami his talent would doubtless make him a welcome guest
in the higher circles of Edinburgh society.
1m 1745 Scotland became convulsed by the horrors of
civil war. when the Bonnie Prince Charlie of Scottish
hearts and Scottish song Hung to the breeze the standard
of an ancient line of kings, and amid the fastnesses of a
lonely Highland glen called on the loyal clansmen to do
battle for the exiled Stuarts. His march to the Lowlands
m and triumphant entry into Edinburgh ; the victory of
Prestonpans ; the subsequent festivities at Holyrood ; the
l^rilliant and daring march into the heart of P^ngland : the
masterly and orderly retreat, cheered by a victory o\er
the government troops at Falkirk ; and the last act of this
Komance of the White Cockade on the fatal field of
Culloden are all matters of history.
Among those who threw in their lot wath the gallant
young Prince in his foolhardy and "reckless undertaking
was William Hamilton, who became the laureate of
the expedition. The Battle of Prestonpans he celebrated
in a beautifid jioera beginning. As over Glads7niiir's
hlood->if (lined Jicid, which M'as set to music by William
Macgibbon who publi.shed three well-known volumes of
Scottish tunes, and to his air it afterw^ards appeared in
Johnson's Scots Musical Museum. After the dispersion
of the Highlanders, consequent on their defeat at Culloden,
Hamilton, like many other adherents of the ruined cause,
was compelled, in the emphatic words of Scripture, to
wander "in deserts and mountains, and in dens and caves
of the earth." It was during this period of hardship and
suttering, when ostracised from all the luxuries and
irjLL/A.V HaMILTOS OF BASGOrii. 41>
refinements of the fashionable societ}- to whiih he had been
accustomerl that he composed the following beautiful
Soliloqinj which breathes a spirit of hope and resignation
that reflects credit alike on the head and heart of the
author. It is dated June, 174G.
Mysterious inmate of this breast,
Enkindled by thy flame ;
By thee my being's best exprest,
For what thou art I am.
With thee I claim celestial birth,
A spaik of heaven's own raj- ;
Without thee sink to vilest earth
Inanimated clay.
Now, in this sad and dismal lioui-
Of multiplied distress,
Has any former thought the power
To make th\- soirows less ?
When all around thee cruel snares
Threaten thy destined bieath,
And everj- sharp reflection bears
Want, exile, chains or death ;
Can aught that passed in youth's fond reign
Thy pleasing vein re.store ;
Lives beaut}''s ga\- and festive train
In memoi-y's soft store ?
Or does the muse — 'tis said her art
Can fiercest pangs appease —
Can she to thy poor trembling heaif
Now speak the wonls of peace?
Yet she was wcjnt at early <la\\ n
To whisj>er ths repose.
Nor was her friendly aid withdiav n
At grateful evening's close.
r>0 I'OKTS or LlM.iriK.OW.sillHK.
FiitMidsliip, 'tis true, its sacred might
May mitijiiitc thy doom.
As lijrhtning shot across tlie night
A iiuimrnt <::il(ls tlir i^looiii.
O God ! thy providence alone
Can work a wonder liere,
Can change to gladness every moan,
And banish all my fear.
Thy arm, :dl powerful to save,
Alay every doubt destroy,
And from the hon-ors of the grave
New raise to life and joy.
From this, as from a co{)ious spring,
Pure consolation flows ;
Makes the faint heait 'nii<lst sufiei-ing sing,
And 'midst despair rej)ose.
Yet from its creature gracious Heaven,
Most merciful and just.
Asks but for life and safety given,
Our faith and hmnble trust.
After encountering many dangers and enduring nuiuy
hardships Hamilton eventually escaped to France, and
found refuge there with others of the expatriated adherents
of the Stuarts. Here he remained for three yeai's, when,
the first bitterness of the rebellion having been extracted
from the oovernment mouth, the intercession of his many
powerful friends secured his pardon, and he returned to
Scotland in 1749. In the following year, on the death of
his elder brother, he succeeded to the paternal estate, and
settled down to the quiet life of a country gentleman.
But signs of ill-health began to betray themselves. H(! had
never been of a i-obust nature, and the fatigues and rigoni's
William Hamiltos of BAXaoru. 51
■which had been his lot while under attaint had wrought
serious inroads on a constitution naturally delicate. The
benefits of the continental climate were tried ; but death had
set his seal un the bard's brow, and he died at Lj'ons on
the 25th of March, 1754, in the oOth year of his age. His
remains were brought home to Scotland and interred in
the Abbey Church of Holyrood.
He was married twice. By his first ^vife, a daughter of
Sir James Hall, Bart., he had a son who succeeded him in
the estate.
Several editions of his works have been published. The
first collection appeared in 1748 at Glasgow, while the
author was in France. This edition appeared without the
author's name, and \\'ithout his consent or even knowledge.
It was afterwards reprinted. On his return from banish-
ment he made some corrections on the Glasgow cop3% with
the probable intention of issuing a complete and correct
edition of his works ; but the intention, if it was ever
entertained, was never fulfilled. A more complete edition,
though it does not contain some of his best eftbrts, was
posthumously published under the supervision of his
friends in 17G0. A copy of this edition lies before us, and
is prefixed by a wood-cut engraving of the poet, which
images a fine face with a Greek cast of features, and long
ciulinj; hair falling on the neck and shoulders. The latest
edition of his poems was published in 1S50.
Hamilton's efforts were chiefly confined to translations
of the Pindaric Odes, and to imitations of the Odes of
Horace, some of which are particularly good. Like many
other Scottish poets he evidently contem])lated an epic on
the War of Independence, but it goes no further than a
sjicech of liaridolph, in which he gives Bruce an account of
fii J'oJiTs OF Lisi.i rinniw siiini-:.
his liiicaiio. Some of his songs ai-e very fine productions ;
Imt it is to The Braes of Yarroir that he is indebted for
the pi'rpotiuitioM of his fame. It purports to be "in
imit.-ition of the ancient .Scottish manner," and its success-
as ;i halhid has probably been eipial to the poet's most
sans^iiine desire. Wordsworth's three poems on the
Yarrow arc all reflections of this }>eautiful and simple-
ett'ort of William Hamilton. Professor Aytoun terms it
"a very beautiful poem.''
Till-; Bkai'.s (iK Vakkow.
Bfldti/rooiii —
" Bu.'sk 3'e, busk ye, my bonny, bonny biido,
Busk ye, bu.sk ye, my win.some niariow I
Busk ye. busk ye, my bonny, boiuiy bride.
And think luu- mair oi\ the bi'aes of Yairow .'"
Sfraiii/i-r —
" \\'hei'e sat ve that bonn\'. l)onii\ hridr.
Where gat ye tliat winsome marrow ''"
Bride(jvoom —
" I gat her where I dare n.-i weel be .seen —
Pu"ing tlie bilks on the l)i'aes of YaiTow .
Weeji not, weeji not, my bonny, bonny bride,
Weep not, weep not, my winsome marrow ;
Xof let thy lieait Lament to leave
Pu'ing the biiks on tiie braes of Yarrow ! ■
Sffaiii/er —
'• Wliy does .she weep, thy Ijonny, bonny bride?
Wliy does she weep, thy winsome mai row ?
And why dare ye nae mair weel be .seen
Pu'inir tilt- Ijirks on the braes of YairoM-v"
IT/ /J.I AM Hamiltox of BAMiorii. 53
Bridegroom —
■ Lanf^ maun she weep, lang maun ,«he, niaim she weep,
Lang maun .she weep with dule and ssonow ;
And lang maj' I nae niair weel be seen
Pu'ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow :
For she has tint her lover, lover dear —
Her lover dear, the cause of sorrow ;
And I have slain the comeliest swain
That e'er pu'd birks on the braes of Yarrow !
Why runs thy stream, O Harrow, Yarrow, reid?
Why on thy braes heard the voice of sorrow V
And why yon melancholious weeds
Hung on the bonny birks of Yari-ow ?
What 's yonder floats on the rueful, rueful flood ?
^^'hat 's yonder floats ? dule and sorrow !
"Tis he, the comeh' swain I slew
Ujion the duleful braes of Yarrow.
W'asii, O wash his wounds, liis wounds in tears,
His wounds in tears of dule and soriow ;
And wrap his limbs in mourning weerls
And lay him on the Vjraes of ^'ai'row.
Then build, then build, ye sisters, sisters sad,
Ye sisters sad, his tomb with sorrow ;
Anrl weep around in waeful wise
His hapless fate on the braes of Yai row !
•Curse ye, curse ye, his useless, useless shield.
My arm that wrought the deed of soriow,
Tlie fatal s|)eai- that jiierced his breast —
His comely breast on the braes of Yarrow !
l>id 1 not warn thee not to, not to love,
And warn from fight? btit, to my soirow,
Too rashlj' bold, a stronger arm
Thou met'st — and f(;ll on tin; braes of Yarrow I"
54 /'(iHTs III' LiM.iTiK^owsiniu:.
"Swort Miiflls the bilk, yicfii grows, i;t('fu <^r(i\\s tlu- '■j:v:\t
Yellow oil Yarrow's braes the gOMaii ;
Fair hangs the a])))le frae the rock,
Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowin'."
firiihfiroom —
" Flows Yarrow sweet? as sweet, as sweet flows Tweed.
As green its grass, its gowan as yellow ;
As sweet smells on its biaes the birk,
The a|i|>k' frae tiu' rock as im-llow.
Fair was thy love, fair, fair iiulcccl thy love ;
In flowery bands thou didst him fetter :
Tho' he was fair, and well-beloved again.
Than nic he never lovc^d thee better.
Busk ye tiien, busk, my bonny, bonny bride.
Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow ;
Busk ye and lo'e me on the banks of Tweed,
And think nae mair on the braes of Y'arrow."'
'• How can I busk, a bonny, bonny bride,
How can I busk, a winsome marrow ;
How lo'e him on the banks of Tweed
That slew my love on the braes of Yarrow ?
O Y'arrow fields, may never, never rain
Nor dew thy tender blossoms cover !
For there was basely .slain my love —
My love as he had not been a lover !
The boy put on his robes, liis robes of green,
His purple vest — 'twas my ain sewin' :
Ah, wretched me ! I little, little knew
He was in these to meet his ruin.
The boy took out his milk-white, milk-wliite st.ed..
Unheedful of my dule and sorrow ;
But ere the to-fall of the night
He lay a corpse on the biaes of Yarrow.
William Hamjltox of Bakgoub. 65
Much I rejoiced that waefiil, waeful day ;
I sang — my voice the woods returning ; — -
But hing ere night the spear was flown
That slew my love and left me mourning.
What can my barbarous, barbarous father do
But with his cruel rage pursue me ?
My lovers blood is on thy spear ;
How canst thou, barbarous man, then woo me ':
My happy sisters maj^ be, may be proud ;
With cruel and ungentle scoffin',
May bid me seek on Yai'row's braes
My lover nailed in his coffin :
My brother Douglas may upbraid.
And strive with threatening words to move me :
My lover's blood is on th\^ spear,
How canst thou ever bid me love thee ?
Yes, \-es, prepare the bed, the bed of love ;
Witli biidal sheets my body cover ;
L'nbar, ye bridal maids, the door,
Let in the exj)ected husband lover.
But who the expected husband, husbanci is ?
His hands, methinks, are bathed in slaughter, —
Ah me ! what ghastly spectre 's yon
Comes, in his pale shroud, bleeding after?
Pale an he is, here lay him, lay him (low n ;
O lay Ills cold head on my |)ill()w :
'I'ake aff, take nil these bridal weeds.
And crown my careful head with w iliow.
I'alc tho tliuu art, yet best, yet best beloved,
(), could my waiinth to life restore thee,
^■< (I lie all niglit between my brie.sts, —
.\() voiith lav ever tlicic before thee !
-"'G /'oHTS nr Li S l.irili;<i\\ sii I i;e.
I'lilc, [Kile iiuleud I () lovuly, lovL-ly youth,
Foijjive, forgive so foul a slauj^liter ;
Aiul lie all iiiglit between my briests, —
No \(iutli shall evci' lie there aftei'."
liriilti/room —
•■ lietiirii. rt'tuiii, O inoni-iifiil, inouniful bride
Retvirii and (by thy iij^eless sorrow :
Tliy lover heeds nought of thy sighs, —
He lies a corpse on the braes of Yarrow."
Bev. William IVilkie, D.D. 57
REV. WILLIAM WILKIE, D.D.
"THE SCOTTISH HOMKR."
1721 1 ::•_'.
THE name of William Wilkie does not raise those feel-
ings of patriotic pride and ardour in the breasts of
the present generation which one would naturally expect
when mentioning a poet who in his day was enthusiastically
hailed by press and public as " The Scottish Homer."' The
name of Wilkie is indeed highly honoured by Scotsmen,
not, however, in the realm of poesy, but in the sister-land
of art, where the matchless brush of Sir David Wilkie has
for ever secured him a place in that glorious Scottish trium-
virate — Burns, Scott, and Wilkie.
William Wilkie was born at Echline,' in the parish of
Dalmeny, on the 5th of October, 1721. His father, a man
of intelligence and sterling integrity, was the proprietor of
a small farm ; l>ut adverse circumstances clouded his latei-
years, and, in the forcible phrase of Burns, "hungry ruin
had him in the wind." William received the rudiments of
his education at the parish school of Dalmeny, then kept
by a Mr Riddell, a teacher of some ability. Thus early the
budding genius was admired for his poetic fancy, and ere
he was ten years old had written poems of considerablt-
merit.
I It ha.1 been nhrewilly 8ut,';,'este<l that Kchline is a corruption of
Atheling. Port Kiljjar ami (^iieensferry derive their uaiues from the
lioyal Saxon refugees ; and the sujjjiested derivation of E jhline is liij^hly
l»robalile.
58 Potrrs or LiM.iriKiiiwsiiiin-:.
At the !iir»> of tliirteou ho was taken from school and
sent to the University of Edinburiih, where his literary
ac«iuirements and brilliant talents obtained for him immedi-
ate distinction. He was also characterised by a l)luntness
of maimer which amounted to boorishness, but despite this,
he gained and retained the friendship of such men of note
as Dr. Robertson, David Hume, Adam Smith, and -lohii
Home. In his life of TTonie, Mackenzie says that Wilkie
was regarded by his friends as '■'■superior in genius fa ami
mnn of his lime, hnt rough and unpolished in his manners,
and still less accommodating to the decorum of society in
the ordinary habits of his life." This rude address clung
to him all through life, and l)ecame intensified with
advancing years. Charles Townsend, the famous English
politician, who was introduced to Wilkie and spent the
day with him at the house of Dr. Carlyle of Inveresk, was
greatly impressed with the poet's abilit}' ; but afterwards
made the caustic oljservation that he " never met with a
man who approached so near to the two extremes of a god
and a brute as Dr. Wilkie."
While prosecuting his theological studies at EdinJjurgh
his father died in somewhat poor circumstances, leaving his
son the stock and lease of the farm of Fisher's Tryst,
near Edinliurgh, to Avhich he had remo\ed a year or two
previously. To this was added the charge of maintaining
three unmarried sisters for whom no other provision had
been made.
" Ah ! who can tell how many a .soul .sublime
Hji.s felt the influence of malignant star,
And waged witli Fortune an eternal war ;
Check'd by the scoff of Pride, by Envy's frown,
And Povert3''s uncon(|Uerable b;ir,
In life'.s low vale remote ha.-* pined alonr."
Rev. JFilliam JFilkie, IkD. 5^
Whether or not such thouiihts as Beattie has here so
feelingly portrayed surged through the heart of Wilkie
at this crisis we know not ; but he accej)ted the inevitable,
and devoted himself to agricultural pursuits. However,
while yielding himself to the labours of farming he did not
neglect his studies in divinit}^ and eventuallj' became
licensed as a minister of the gospel, although he did not
obtain a charge till several years later. In the meantime
he set himself assiduously to his farm duties. He was
a hard-woi'king and skilful farmer, and so successful was
he in the cultivation of the potato, which had been but
lately introduced, that he was facetiously known in the
district by the nickname of " the tautie minister."
During this period of toil and persevering industry he
found leisure to cultivate his classical attainments, and it
was amid the care and worry of farm life that he conceived,
and for the most part composed, his Upigoaiad, the epic
poem which brought him celebrity.
In 1753 Ire was ordained assistant and successor to
Mr Guthrie, minister of the parish of Ratho ; the duties
of which he fulfilled for three years, when the death of the
senior minister gave him full charge. While acting as
as.sistant he did not relinquish his farm ; 1)Ut divided his
time and attention with impartiality between the [)ulpit
and the plough.
T/ie Ejdtjdiiiad was published at Edinburgh in 1757, and
was immediately hailed by scholars and critics as a master-
piece. The poem is in nine books and is founded on the
story of the sack of Thebes, in the fourth book of Homer's
Iliad. Two years later a second edition was issued with
the addition of ./ Drcmn, in the manner of Spenxer. He was
frequently comjjured by the critics to the blind baid of
<50 I'oKTf! or I.I M.irnnowsii I HE.
ancient (iroece, whose lliail was un(iuestioiial)ly the model
on wliich his epic was composed, and he aojuired the name
of "the Scottish Homer" — an appellation which must be
alloweil to he distinctly in advance of "the tautie minister."
A contemporary critic says, — " The Epigoniad will prob-
ably ahvays be admired. Without speaking of the hai)py
choice of the subject, and of the merit of many of the
characters of that e\)\c ])oem, it may l)e enough to say that
the episode of Hercules, taken by itself, is sufficient to
entitle the poet to perpetual fame." Mackenzie remarks
that " perhaps it sutlers from its author having the Homeric
imitation constantly in view, in which, however, he must
be allowed to have been very successful — so successful that
a person ignorant of Greek will bettei' conceive what
Homer is in the original by perusing the Kpigoaiad than by
reading even the excellent translation of Pope." Succeeding
generations have not confirmed the judgment of his
contemporaries in this matter, and the great epic so hailed
and heralded at its birth now sleeps " the sleep that knows
no waking." Sic transit gloria mundi.
In 1759 Wilkie succeeded David Young in the Chair of
Natural Philoso])hy at St. Andrews University, which
ijhortly afterwards acknowledged his ability by conferring
on him the degree of D.D. At St. Andrews he resumed
his agricultural hobby, and in this way he amassed an
independence of <£."W00, a decided proof of his skill and
economy in this line.
In 1768 he published his Fables, consisting of sixteen
moral fables and a dialogue in verse, which did not enhance
his reputation as a poet.
Of his characteristics and peculiarities some interesting
reminiscences have been preserved. His early struggles
Rev. JFilliam JFilkik, D.D. 61
had engendered a parsimonious disposition, which probabh'
did not proceed so much from any love of lucre as from a
desire to be independent. Latterly he was in the habit of
dispensing £20 annually to charitable objects. He used to
remark, "I have shaken hands with poverty up to the very
elbow, and I wish never to see her face again." He had a
great abhorrence to having clean sheets on his bed, which
he dreaded as the source of damp and its attendant evils,
and it was his custom when necessity compelled him to stay
o\'er-night from home, to drag the clean linen from the bed
ere he entered it. We are told that on one occasion, being
pressed by Lady Lauderdale to sleep at Hatton, he reluct-
antly agreed, but only on condition that he should be
indulged with the luxury of a pair of soiled sheets !
In conversation he Avas often very abstracted, subject
to an extraordinary degree of absent-mindedness, which
failing sometimes placed him in the most awkward and
embarrassing situations. Among his other amusing eccen-
tricities was the love he entertained for being "weel-happit,"
as a precaution against ague — the fear of which perpetually
haunted him — and he was known to sleep wrapped in no
less than twenty-four pairs of blankets in order that he
might perspire freely. His presence of mind on this
subject never forsook him, however it might stray on others
of more moment.
By the men of his own time he was highly esteemed for
his brilliant mental faculties which, despite the rudeness of
his manner and his many eccentric ways, procured for him
the regard and friendshij) of many of the most distinguished
men of the period.
After a protracted indisposition he died at St. Andrews
'on 10th Octol>er, 177:.', in his fifty -second year.
()2 J'uKTs (>/•• Lisi.i riKsowsiiiiiE.
Through the kindness of Mr .1. 'V. Clark, of tlio
Advocivtes' Library, we are enabled to give the following
selections from Wilkie's Fnhles.
TuK Hark anh tiik I'aktan.'
A c.uiny man w ill scarce provoke
Ae cre.itiue livin\ for a joke ;
For be they weak or be tliey Strang
A jibe leaves after it a stang
To mak' them think on 't ; and a lain!
May find a beggai- sae ))repared
\Vi' jjawks-'and wiles, whaur pith is wantin",
As soon will niak" him rue his taunt in".
Ve hae my moral — if I 'm able
1 "11 tit it nicelj' wi' a fable.
A Hare, ae mornin', chanced to see
A Partan creepin" on a lee :
A fishwife wha was early oot
Had drai)t the creature thereaboot.
Mawkin ^ bumbased ■• and frichted sair
To see a thing but •' hide and hair
Which, if it stii'red not, micht be ta'en
For naething ither than a stane.
A squnt wife, wamblin",'' sair beset
Wi' gerse and raslies like a net.
First thocht to rin for't ; (for by kind
A Haie's nae fechter ye maun mind)
But seein' that wi' a' its strength
It scarce could ci-eep a tether length
The Hare grew baulder and cam' near,
Turned playsome, and forgat her feai-.
<iluotli Mawkin, " Was there e'er in nature
8ae feckless and sae i)uir a creature ?
' The Crab. -Stratagems. -'Cant name for a hare.
^Astonished. "'Without, '■ A s(|iiint-eyed, wobbling wife.
Rev. William JVilkie, D.I). 03
It scarcely kens, or 1 "m mistiren,
The Avay to gano- or stand its lane.
See how it steitters i : I '11 be bund
To rin a mile o" uphill giund
Before it gets a rig-braid frae
The jjlace it "s in, though doon the brae."
Mawkin wi" this began to frisk,
And, thinkin" there was little ri.sk,
Clapt baith her feet on Partan's back,
And turned him awald - in a crack.
To see the creature sprawl, her sport
(irew twice as good, yet proved but short,
For, pattin' wi' her feet in play
Just whaur the Partan's nippers lay.
He grijjt it fast, which made her sfpieal
And think she bourded ■' wi' the deil.
She strave to rin and made a fissle * ;
The tither catched a tough burr thris.sle
Which held them baith, till o'er a dyke
A herd cam" .stendin'^ wi' his tyke ^
And felled puir Mawkin, sairly ruein'
When forced to drink o' her ain brewin'.
Ttik Muse .\xd the Shepherd.
Let every bard who seeks applause
Be true to virtue and her cause,
Nor ever try to rai.se his fame
By praising that which merits blame ;
The vain attempt he needs must rue.
For disappointment will ensue.
Virtue with her superior charms
Exalts the jjoet's .soul and warms.
" \V:ilk« in a weak, stnTiildiiit,' way. '- TopKy-turvy,
3 Played rouKhly. ^ Noiay struggle. ''Leaping, "Dog
64 J'oHTS nr Li s i.iriKidwsii ini:.
His tiisti' irliiics, Ills yciiius liiL-s,
Like I'liii-bus and the Nine inspiies ;
\\ liilf Nice, tlio' .seeinin<;l\ ,i|ii)ni\i(l,
In coldly fiatti'ied, nt'xrr lnvrd.
l*al(Mii()ii once a stoi-y told
W'hicli \)\ conjectiiif nnist be old :
1 have a kind ot' half (ronviction
That at the best 'tis but a fiction ;
Kut taken right and understood,
The moral certainly is <^t)od.
A she[)her(l swain was ^\ ont to siuf
The infant I)eauties of the spiinji'.
The bloom of summei-, winter hoar.
The autunui rich in various store ;
And praised in numbers strong and cltar
The Ruler of the changeful year.
To human themes he "d next descend,
The shepherd'.s harmless life commend.
And prove him happier than the great
^^'ith all their pageantry and state :
Who oft for pleasure and for wealth
Exchange their innocence and health :
The ISIuses listened to his lays
And cro\\ ned him as he sung with ))a>s.
Euterpe, goddess of the lyre
A harp best owed with golden wire :
And oft would teach him how to sinf.
Or touch with art the tremblin"- string
His fame o'er all the niountain.s Hew,
And to his cot the shepherds drew;
They heard his music with deli'dit
Whole summer days from morn till night
Nor did they ever think him long,
Such was the magic of his song :
Some rural present each prepared
Hi.s skill to honour and reward —
A flute, a sheep-hook, oi' a lamb,
Or kidling followed b^- its tlam :
Rev. JVilliam JTilkie, DAK 6r>
For bards, it seems, in eai'lier days
(iot somethincT more than empty praise.
All this continued for a while,
But soon our songster changed his style.
Infected with the common itch,
His gains to double and grow rich :
Or fondly seeking new aijplause.
Or this or t'other was the cause.
One thing is certain, that his I'hymes
(4rew more obsequious to the times,
Le.ss stiff and formal, altered (juite
To what a courtier calls polite.
Whoe'er grew rich by right or wrong
Became the hero of a song.
Astonished at a change so great
No more the shepherds sought his seat.
But in their place a horned crowd
Of Satyrs flocked from every wood.
Drawn by the magic of his laj'
To dance, to frolic, sport and play.
The goddess of the lyre disdained
To see her sacred gift profaned.
And, gliding swiftly to the place
With indignation in her face,
The trembling .shepherd thus aildre.s.sed.
In awful majestj' confessed : —
" Thou wretched fool, that harp resign.
For know it is no longer thine.
It v\as not given you to insj)ii'e
A herd like this with loose desire,
Nor to assi.st that venal ])raise
Which vice may purchase if it l)ays :
Such offices my lyre disgrace.
Here, take this bagpijje in its place,
"Tis fitter far, believe it true,
Botli for these miscreants and \ou."
Tiie swain, dismayed, without a word
Submitted, and tlir harp restored.
66 PoKTs <ir Li.M.i I iiaowsinnE.
'I'liK Ckdw \m> thk oTiiKi; Birds.
Containing a useful hint ti> tin- Clitics.
Ill ■iiiciciit liiufs, tradition say.«i,
When lairds like iiu-ii would strive for prai.se,
The buUtiticli, iiightiii^alt', and tliriish,
With all that chant from tree or bush,
Would often meet in ssong to vie, —
Thf kinds that .«ing not sittiuf; by.
A knaxish Crow, it .seems, had got
The knack to criticise by rote.
He understood each learned phra.se
As well as Critics now-a-days :
Some say he learned them from an owl
By list'ning where he taught a school.
"Tis strange to tell this subtle creature,
Thougli nothing musical by nature.
Had learned so well to j)lay his part
With non.sense couched in terms of art
As to be owned by all at last
Director of the public taste.
Then, ])uf}cd with insolence and pride
And sure of numbers on his side,
Each song he freely criticised —
What he appioved not was despised ;
But one false step in evil hour
For ever .stript him of his power.
Once, when the Birds assembled sat
All list'ning to his formal chat,
By instinct nice he chanced to find
A cloud approaching in the wind.
And — Ravens hardly can refrain
From croaking when they think of rain —
His wonted song he sung : the blunder
Amazed and -scared them worse than thunder.
For no one thought so harsh a note
Could ever sound from any throat.
liEV. fF/LLIA.M JFlLKIE, D.D, 67
They all at first with mute surprise
Each on his neighbour turned his ej'es ;
But scorn succeeding soon took ])lace,
And might be read in every face :
All this the Raven saw with pain
And strove his credit to regain.
Quoth he, " The solo which ye heard
In public should not have appeared—
The trifle of an idle horn-
To please my mistress once when sour :
-My voice, that's somewhat rough and strong,
Might chance the melody to wiong ;
But, tried by rules, 30U "11 find the grounds
Most perfect and harmonious sounds."'
He reasoned thus ; but to his trouble
At every word the laugh grew double ;
At last, o'ercome with shame and spite.
He flew awaj- quite out of sight.
GS /'OKTS OF LiM.I riKlOW^IllHK.
Mi;S 1)1 (J A 1.1) STEWART.
176.')-I8;is.
nKLEN D'ARCA' CKANSTOUN was the third daughter
of the Hon. George Cranstouii, youngest son of
William, fifth Lord Cranstoun (Douglas's Peerage by
\\oi)d). She was born in the year ITGT), and on the 26th
.Inly, 1790, became the wife of Dugald Stewart, the
celelirated I'rofessor of Moral Philosophy in the University
of Edinburgh. They resided at Catiine, Ayrshire, for
many years, and became the friends of Robert Burns, who,
in a letter to Dr Mackenzie of Mauchline, thus gives his
impressions of the Professor: — "I never spent an afternoon
among great folks with half that pleasure as when, in
company with you, I had the honour of paying my devoirs
to that plain, honest, worthy man, the Professor. I would
be dehghted to see him perform acts of kindness and
friendship, though I were not the object; he does it with
.such a grace. I think his character, divided into tei>
parts, stands thus,— -four parts Socrates, four parts Nathaniel,
and two parts Shakespeare's Brutus.''
In 1809 Stewart relinquished the active duties of the
professorial chair, and removed to Kinneil House, near
Bo'ness. Here the remainder of their married life was
spent, and Mrs Stewart continued to live at Kinneil with
her daughter after her husband's decease in 1828. Shortly
before her death, which took place on 28th July, 1838, she
removed her residence to Warristoun House, near Edin-
burgh, where she died at the age of 73. She was a lady
Mrs Dugald Stewart. 69
celebrated for her beauty and accomplishments, and was
a brilliant figure in the society of Edinburgh, which at
that particular period was the centre of the intellectual
and fashionable world. Professor Thomas Brown, the
distinguished successor of her husband in the Moral
Philosopliy chair, has some verses addressed to her of
which we may quote two stanzas —
"Thou nameless loveliness, whose mind,
With everj- grace to soothe, to warm.
Has lavish Nature blessed, and 'shrined
The sweetness in as soft a form.
" Thy smile so soft, thy heart so kind,
Thy voice for pity's tones so fit,
All speak thee woman ; but thy mind
Lifts thee where Bards and Sages sit."
The song by which Mrs Stewart is known to fame —
Tlie tears I sited — was first published in the fourth
volume of Johnson's Scots Musical Museum in 1792. It
is there adapted to the air " lanthe the lovely,' the
composition of John Barret, an old English musician.
Burns acquaints us that the song wanted four lines to
suit the music, and that for this purpose he added the
fii-st four lines of the last verse. In the index to the Museum
he terms it "This song of genius," and though we are
aware that he was sometimes a[)t to be lavishly extravagant
in his praise of songs that pleased him, this, at least, is not
unworthy of the encomium he bestowed on it. The second
s])ecimen of her talents which we give appears in Laing's
Additii)iial Illmtralions nf the Lyrk Poetrii and Music of
Srotlaiul, and breathes, in graceful language, the same strain
of tender feeling which rharacterises her more famous
70 PoHTs or LiM.rnniowsiniu:.
production. 80 far as we can ascertain Mrs Stewart's
poetical efforts were confined to these two son^s, which are
siithciently chaste and tender in expression to give her a
place amongst that sweet sisterhood of song to which
Scotland is indelited for some of her finest lyrics.
TiiK Tkaiis I SiiKii MIST i;\ Kii Fai.i..
The tears 1 slied must ever fall :
I mourn not for an absent swain ;
For tliought.s may ])ast delights recall,
And parted lovers meet again.
1 weep not for the silent dead :
Their toils are past, their soriows o'er ;
And those they loved theii- steps shall tread,
And death shall join to jiait no more.
Though boundl(!ss oceans roll between,
If certain that his heart is near,
A conscious transport glads each scene,
Soft is the sigh, and sweet the tear,
pyen when by death's cold hand removed,
We mourn the tenant of the tomb :
To think that e'en in death he loved
Can gild the horrors of tlie tomb.
But bitter, bitter are the tears
Of her who slighted lo\e bewails ;
No hope her dreary prospect cheers,
No pleasing melancholy hails.
Hers are the pangs of wounded pride.
Of bbisted ho]ie, of withered joy ;
The flatt'ring veil is rent aside,
The flame of love burns to destroy.
In vain does memory renew
The hours once tinged in transport's dye ;
The sad reverse soon starts to view,
And turns the pa.st to agony.
Mas DvGALD Stewart. 71
E'en time itself despairs to cure
Those pangs to every feeling clue :
Ungenerous youth I thy boast how poor 1
To win a heart, — and break it too.
Xo cold approach, no altered mien,
Just \\ hat would make suspicion start ;
Xo pause the dire extremes between.
He made me blest — and broke mj' heart.
From hope, the wretched"s anchor, turn ;
Xeglected and neglecting all ;
Friendless, forsaken, and forlorn ;
The tears I shed must ever fall.
Retcrxisg Sprin(; with (Ji^'vnsoME Ray.
Retiuning Spring, with gladsome ray.
Adorns the eaith and smooths the deep ;
All Xature smiles serene and gay.
It smiles, and yet, alas I I weep.
Hut why, « liy tlows the sudden tear,
Since Heaven such precious boons has lent.
The lives of tho.se who life endear.
And though scarce comjjetence — content?
Sure wlieii no otliei' bliss was mine
Than tliat whicli still kind Heaven be.stows.
^'et then could pe;ice and hope combine
To piomise joy and give repose.
Then have 1 wandered o'er the plain,
And blessed each flower that met my view ;
Tlioiight Fancy's power would evei- reign,
And Xatnre's chai-jns be ever new.
I fon<lly thouglit whi-rc \'iitn<- dwell
That happy besom knew no ill,
That those who .scorned me tinu; would null.
.Aiifl those I loved lie f.udtlt-ss still.
I'oHTs or Li s i.iriHiiiwsiii in:.
l]iuli;iiilm<; ilrcjinis, kind Wiis \,o\w art-
Tlnif bliss bestowed without jdlov ;
Or if soft sadness claimed a part,
'Twas siidness sweetor still tlinn joy.
Oh ! wlu'iice the change that now alarms,
Fills this sad heai-t and tearful vyv -.
And conciuers the once powerful charms
Of ^'outh, of Hope, of Novelty?
'Tis sad Experience, fatal power,
That clouds the once illumined sky.
That darkens life's meridian hotn,
And l)i(ls each fairy vision fly.
8he paints the scene, how difjierent far
From that which youthful fancy drew ;
Shows joy and prudence oft at war,
Oui- woes increased, our comforts few.
And when, peihajjs, on some loved friend
Our treasured fondness we bestow,
Oh ! can she not, with luthless hand.
Change even that friend into a foe?
See in her train cojd Foresijiht move,
Shunning the rose to 'scape the thorn,
And Prudence eveiy fear approve.
And Pity liaiden into seorn.
The glowing tints of Fancy fade.
Life's distant prospects ehai'Ui n<> iiioie ;
Alas I aie all my hopes betrayed '.'
(Jan nought my liap|)iness restore?
Relentless power, at length be just,
Thy Vtetter skill alone impai-t ;
Crive caution, but witlihold distr'ust,
And guard, but haiden not my heart.
JoHS Watt.
JOHN WATT.
1770(r)-1844.
JOHN WATT, schoolmaster of the parish of Livingston
for a long number of years, was born about the year
1770, and died in ISl-l. In 1834 he published Poems in
the Scotch and English Dialect : a duodecimo volume of 1 20
pages. With three or four exceptions the poems treat of
the Reform Bill and the stirring incidents that made the
election preceding the passing of that measure so memor-
able. Watt appears to have been an ardent reformer,
and, in consequence, his little book is "Dedicated to the
Honourable AVorthies that have stood firmly forward in
the cause of freedom " : the county champions of which
were
•A Rosebery, (iillon, Daliiieii}, Hope Veie."'
His verse consists chiefly of political lampoons, which,
however well they may serve the purpose of the hour, have
generally little to recommend them to posterity. Like
(Goldsmiths Parish Schoolmaster, " many a joke had he," and
humorous anecdotes of his career are still current among
the older generation : but, like that same worthy,
'• I'a.st is all his fame : the very spot
Where many a time he trium|)liefl is foifrot."
To .lames Crowe, Esq., Livingston, who treasures a copy
of his old schoolmaster's poems — probably the only one in
existence — we are indebted for a perusal of the work, from
which we ar<:- enabled to give thosf two specimens of
7 1 FOKTS OF LlMirilGOWSUIRE.
Watt's powers outside of tlie politic;il arena wliere, like
Ehoiiezer Klliott, his muse found her native element in the
seething sea of reform, and amid the whirlwind of party
strife.
TllK DiaNKAKl).
He wha (lail_\ o'er liis bottle
Tipples till he's beiistly fou
Murders wit, ciubez/.lcs i-eason.
Cash an' credit <ralIo]>s throuijh.
Strength an" breeding t\ ne theii' niainspiing.
Truth, fine feelings, erijjpled sair,
Social friendshi|) tynes its balance,
Swees, or yields to black des])air.
Conscience an' religion tlrouket.
Common sense the leins does (|uit,
Love an" kindness are bambousel'd.
Knowledge, huffed, betakes to Might.
Friends an' kindied, w ives an" sweethesirts,
Driven from the fond embrace ;
Home, that garden fraught with pleasui-e.
Charmless, turns a loathsome place.
Every feeling "s drowned or da vert,
Virtue's fortress strippet bare,
A' its towers an" bulwarks level'd.
Not one sentry planted there.
Lust, rage, malice, — Satan's minions-
Unrestrained, usurp the power;
Plant their standards, frame theii- counsels,
Faith an' grace's troojjs devour :
Self-will acts as chief ('(niiiiiander,
Loo.se tongue's master o" tiic mess.
Impudence the burgomaster,
(Quarrelsome lifter o" the ce.ss.
Jobs Watt. "•">
Infamy '.« made standard-bearer.
Insolence the gates does guard.
Unsound reason is made chaplain :
Is such a wretch for death prepared '.
Ardext Spirits.
Yae gill "s enough, be "t cheap or dear,
To brace the nerves, set wit asteer,
Arouse the sense, the judgment clear
Full length jx)urtray ;
Man's love or hate, friendship or fear,
Real worth display.
Twa maks the tongue an' wit inair fleet,
Mair sly wi' gum])tion guid to meet.
Love's tlame may burke, or heedless beat
Discretion blin' ;
(ii'es slander wings, an' falsehood feet.
To flee an' rin.
A third, .sen.<e, wit, an' worth devours.
Discord exalts, rea.son o'erpowers.
Presumption like great giant lowers,
Oi- heio brave ;
The finest feeling hirklin cowers
Like traitor knave.
A fourth distorts the senses a',
Beg-unks the wit, lets breedin" fa'.
Discretion 's hunted clean awa".
The brain wheels roun',
The legs at logger-heids soon fa',
Dins ither doun.
Then man grows fleet, wise, unco Strang,
Far, fai 'yond fear, or ought that's wrang,
Tlie best advice can ne'er belan<r
To ane like him :
Ca" him but fou, he'll swear yc're wrang,
Tho' to the brim.
76 POKTS OF LiSl.lTIlGOWSniRE.
I'lofter a bod or a lift haine
His fuiy rises like a flaim-,
" Am I that foil Y" wildly- exclaim
How ijueer to see 't ;
Tho' as unfit as horse deid-lame
To keei)his feet.
Joints grow sae Hlch, slim, poweiless a',
Tiiey winna play their ))art ava :
For ilk step on aside stoits twa.
Or aiblins back.
Till wi' a souce o'er he gaes a',
On face or back.
Tho" tliere laid i)"er like ane half dcid.
Mayhap feet higher than his heid.
E'en yet will neither drive nor lead,
Advice tak' na ;
Xor will he e'en tak' wi' the deed
That he difl fa'.
An tile ncist morn, tho" een be ruddy,
(Juid claes frae ta{) to tail soiled muddy,
He'll i)l)(lurate as ony cuddy
Deny it a',
Attirming, tho' the mind be muddy,
It 's falsehood a'.
William Brock.
WILLIA:\1 BPiOCK.
1798-1855.
WILLIAM BROCK is one of those "'one-song" bards
who, without claiming to be poets, have nevertheless
:in abiding place in the lyric literature of Scotland through
the merit of a single eftusion which found its birth in the
glowing heat of an hour's enthusiasm or inspiration.
He was born at Eastertoun, near Armadale, in the year
1793. On attaining to manhood he became tenant of the
farm of BarbauchlaAv Mains, where he resided till his
death on 19th June, 1855. He was an intelligent farmer
of the old school, of a genial disposition, and upright.
sterling integrity. By his wife, Marion Gardner, he had a
large family, several of whom still survive, though all have
removed from the district. For the preservation of the
whole of this i)awky bit of lyric humour we are indebted
to Mrs Orr of Sjning Grove, to whose rctenti\e memory
we had successful recourse after a search in which we could
only recover the first and last verses. This song was a
great favourite with the late Thomas Whitelaw, fioni
whose singing Mrs Orr learned it. We have pleasure in
giving it as a memorial of "the black hairst" of 1817 ; all
the more so that it here makes its appearance "in guid,
Idack prent "' for the first time.
78 Poets <>y Lis i.iTiiaowsiiiHH.
Fkost in Tin: Miikmn".
I "in siire ye "11 lia'e lieard o' the year seventeen,
W'lion the frost o' October set in veij' keen ;
Tlif niaist o' oor niuirlancl craps then bein' green
Were ruined by three o' thae mornin's.
An' after the frost an' tiie snaw gaed awa',
Tlie rain it cam' on like to ruin us a' ;
It lasted sae lang that it shortened oor straw,
Whicli added inair dule to oor mornin'.
But besides a' this a scheme I had laid ;
I had promised to wed wi' a beautiful maid,
T<1 share o' the owercome when a'thing was paid,
But was baffled wi' fiost in the mornin'.
Noo since my wee crap is a' snug in the yaird,
An ' still for the lassie I ha'e a regaird,
I think I will wed her an' no pay the laird —
Let him ken it was frost in the mornin' I
William Cameros.
WILLIAM CAMERON.
18U1-1877.
WILLIAM CAMEROX, to Avhom we are indebted for so
many fine lyrics, was born at Dunipace, Stirlingshire,
on the 3rd of December, 1801, and there his early years
were sjjent. It was originally intended to educate him for
the ministry, and towards this end he had made considerable
progress in his studies in divinit}'^ ; but the death of his
father, while William was but seventeen years of age,
interfered materially with his prospects. He ultimately
abandoned all thoughts of entering the church, and betook
himself to the less lucrative but none the less honourable
profession of teaching. In 1826 he received the appoint-
ment of teacher at Armadale, where he remained for over
ten years. What his success as a teacher was Ave cannot
tell at this distance of time : but he certainly impressed his
scholars and others who knew him with the gentleness and
kindness of his disposition. The ever lessening number of
the members of that circle who came under his influence still
love and honour his name, and speak of "gentle Willie
Cameron " in terms of glowing admiration and praise.
Amid the beauties of Birkenshaw and the surroundings of
"that sweet rural spot" the inspiration of the poet came
upon him, and he sang of "Jessie o' the Dell" and ".Sweet
Birken.shaw' in songs that will never die.
In 183G he quitted his situation in Armadale and
removed to Glasgow, where he did business in various
kinds of merchandise till his death in 1877.
80 Poets of Ianlitiigowsuirk.
Some of his Hnest songs, I'.ij., Jessie o /he Dell, Moi'ag's
Foeni Glen, Meet me on the (rowan Lea, Ac, were set to
music l\y Mattliew Wilson, wliile his Bofhwell Castle has
been wedded to uii ('(lually beautiful air by Nathaniel (low,
the youngest son of "famous Neil.'' '
Cameron's songs arc all characterised by a felicity and a
tenderness of poetic expression that i)lace him very high on
the list of Scotland's famous song- writers, and of him it
may be a})propriately said that
" While Sonir is loved, and Nature's beauties all
Have a respcmsive homage from the heart,
So shall the beautj' of his winningr Mwse
Be loved, and so admired."
Sweet Jessie o' thk I)i;i,i..
bright the beaming (|ueen o" night
Shines in yon tiowery vale,
And softly sheds her silvei- light
O'er mountain-path and dale :
Short is the way when light s the lieart
That 's bound in love's soft s| lell ;
Sae I '11 awa' to Armadale
To Jessie o' the Dell.
To Jessie o' the Dell,
Sweet Jessie o' the Dell,
The bonnie lass o' Armadale,
Sweet Jessie o" the Dell.
We've pu'd the jHimrose on the braes
Beside my Je.ssie's cot ;
We've gathered nuts, we've gathered slaes
In that sweet ruial spot.
1 Vide Baptie's Musical Scotland, p. 68.
William Camerox. 81
The M ee short liours danced merrily.
Like lambkins on the fell.
As if they join'd in jo\' wi" me
And Jessie o' the Dell.
Sweet Jessie o" the Dell, &c.
There s nane to me wi" her can vie,
I '11 love her till I dee ;
For she "s sae sweet and bonnie aye,
And kind as kind can be.
This night in mutual kind embrace,
O wha our joys can tell !
Then I "11 awa' to Armadale
To Jessie o' the Dell.
Sweet Jessie o' the Dell, &c.
Mv Wii.i.ii: an" Me.
As wand"riii<r my lane doon l)y sweet Birkcnsluiw ,
An' thinkin" on days that are noo gane awa",
I noticed twa couthie wee birds on a tree,
Thinks I, Noo that's unco like Willie an" me.
They lilted about, an' sae blithely they sang.
They fluttered an' courted, I kenna hoo lang :
.My lieait was as hai)|n- an" fu' as could be.
They minded me sae o' my Willie an' me.
1 wondcrcfl if a" the wee biids o" the dell
As kindly an' fcmdly their love-tales could tell ;
I wondered if ony twa mortals could be
As happy an" leal as my Willie an' me.
They a' may be happy, what for should tlicy no?
An' hisses fn' meikle may think o" their jo ;
But naething on earth, in the air, or- the sea,
Can be half sae happy as Willie an' me.
82 J'OKTS or l.lSl.lTIKiOWSIllHH.
My Willif is \i\\'n\, an" my Willie's sjxe kin'.
An' then, O thank Heaven, dear Willie is mine !
In the joy o' my heai't the tear draps fra« my e"e
To think we're sae happy, my Willie an' me.
The hero may si<fh for mair laui'cls — the loon I
The tyrant may grasp at a kingdom or croon ;
Contented an' happy I 'd live till I dee,
Tho' they tak' a' the warld but my Willie frae me.
WUJ. YK <;AN(i TO THE BAU(iYBUKN ?
Will ye gang to the Baugyburn,
Mary, Mary ?
O gang wi' me to Baugyburn,
My ain dear dawtie Mary.
The bnrnie aye still jumps an' jouks,
Whaur 'mang its flow'ry, shady nooks
O mony a fair wee flow'rie dooks
It.s .sweet face in the streamie.
The woodland warbler still is there,
Health floating in the balmy air.
An' a' is fresh, an' a' is fair.
As there when first I woo'd thee.
It 's no for a' its beauties rare.
But just because we courted there ;
An' noo for twenty j'ears an' mair
You 've been my ain dear dawtie.
We 11 twine a wreath o' bonnie flowei-.s.
We '11 talk o' auld langsyne for hours,
While high aboon the laverock pours
Its sang o' love an' Maiv.
JFlLLIAM Camerox. 83
O DIXNA CROSS THE BCRX, WiLLIE.
O dinna cross the burn, Willie,
Willie, dinna cross the burn ;
For big 's the spate, and loud it roars,
dinna cross the burn !
Your folks a' ken you 're here the nicht,
And sair they would me blame ;
Sae bide wi' me till mornin" licht —
Indeed ye 're no gaun hame.
O bide, dear Willie, here the nicht —
O bide till mornin' here :
Your faither he '11 see a' things richt,
And you '11 hae nocht to fear.
Sae dark the lift, nae moon is there,
The ram in torrents pours —
All ! see the lightnin's dreadfu' glare !
Hear how the thunder roars I
Awa' he rode, nae kindness could
His wild resolve o"erturn,
He plunged into the foaming flood,
But nevei- cross'd the bmn :
And noo, tho' ten lang years hae passed
Since that wild storm blew by,
Ah ! still the maniac hears the blast,
And still the crazy cry :
dinna cross the burn, Willie,
Willie, dinna cross the burn ;
For big 's the spate and loud it roars,
O dinna cross the burn !
Morag's Faery f Ji.en.
D'ye ken whaur yon wee burnie, love,
Kins roarin' to the sea,
And tumbles o'er its rocky bed
Like sjjirit wild and free ?
84 I'oKTs OF LiM.rriniOH'siirnh'.
TIu> mt'lli>\v minis times liis l.-iy,
The bliiekbiid swells his note,
And little robin sweetly sinfjs
Abdve the woody grot.
Then meet me, love, by a' unseen,
Beside yon mossy dtni ;
Oil, meet me, love, at^ dewy eve.
In Moiaji's Faery (ilen.
Come when the sun in lobes of gold
Sinks o'er yon hills to rest,
And fragrance floating in the breeze
Comes frae the dewy west ;
And I will ])u' a garland gay
To deck thy brow sae fair.
For many a woodbine covered glade
And sweet wild flower is there.
There's nnisic in the wild cascade,
Theie 's love among the trees,
There 's beauty in ilk bank and brae.
And balm upon the breeze ;
There 's a' of nature and of art
That maistly weel could be,
Aufl, oh ! my love, when thou art there
There "s bliss in store for me.
Meet mk on thi'; (Jowan Lea.
Meet me on the gowan lea,
Bonnie Mary, sweetest Maiy ;
Meet me on the gowan lea.
My ain, my artless Mary.
Before the sun sink in the west
And nature a" has gane to rest.
There to my fond, my faithfu' breast,
O let me clasp my Mary.
William Camerox. 35
The gladsome lark o'er mooi- and fell,
The Untie in the bosky dell,
Nae blither than your bonnie sel",
My ain, my artless Marj-.
We '11 jom our love-notes to the breeze
That sighs in whispers through the trees.
And -.y that twa fond hearts can please
Will be oui- sang, my Mary.
There ye shall sing the sun to rest,
Wliile to my faithfu' bosom })ressed,
Then wlia sae hapjiy, wha sae blest
As nie and my dear Mary ':
86 PoKTs or JjisLiriiaowsmiiH.
Sli; JAMES YOUNG SIMPSON.
181] KS70.
TA.>rp:S YOUNG SIMPSON wus born at Bathgate oit
'J the 7th of .hme, 1811. His father followed the trade
of a baker there, and James was the youngest of a fann'ly
of eight— seven boys and a girl. At the time of his birth
the little baking business was not in a very Nourishing
condition : his father was of an easy-going disposition,
which was, however, more than compensated for l)y the
energy and industry of the mother. Mrs Simpson appears
to have been a pious woman with a liberal endowment of
shrewd common-sense and business capacity, yet withal a
kind and fond woman of the home. The world is more
indebted to such mothers than it can ever repay or even
know. While her boy was only nine years of age she
died : but her memory and influence were sacredly
treasured in the l)oy's heart, and they continued to l)e a
power for good throughout his whole life. Dr Duns in his
admirable memoir relates an interesting incident on this-
subject : — " When in the height of his fame I heard a lady
tell him of an industrial school for gii'ls which she had set
up in a little village near Bathgate. 'And what does youi*
schoolmistress teach the girls ? ' he asked. ' Some fancy
work,' was the answer, 'and plenty of plain sewing and
darning.' Shortly after, he said to me, 'Do you know,
the mention of darning a little while ago recalls a very,
very old and precious memory 1 One day, when a child, I
came into the house with a big hole in the heel of my
Sin James Youxg Simpsox. !SI
stocking, and my mother set me on her knee, darned the
stocking, and, as she drew it on, said, "My Jamie, wheiL
your mother "s away, you will mind that she was a grand
darner." I remember the words as if they had been
spoken yesterday. I would like to give a prize to the best
darner in the school/ "
His only sister Mary was now the manager of the
home and filled up the blank in the boy's life as well as
she possibly could. These two were warmly attached to
each other. Before and after school hours the baker's
laddie went his rounds with the "brod" dispensing scones
and " baps " to his father's customers. At school he wa&
of a " steerin' " disposition — qualified to hold his own alike
in the playground and the class-room. He was remarkable
for the possession of a very tenacious memory, and won for
himself the golden opinions of his dominie, who discerned
in young Simpson the promise of future greatness. His
own brothers and sister were equally proud of his talent
and, nuich to their credit, clubbed together for the purpose
of paying his expenses at Edinburgh University. There,
in his third session, he secured a bui'sary by which he was
enabled to complete his medical course without further
encroachment on the family generosity. During the first
two sessions he kept an exact account of his expenses,
which, at the end of each term, he submitted to the family
council. Some of these entries are very amusing in tlieii-
associations. For instance we find "vegetables'" and
" Byron's ' Beauties ' '' tabulated together : " Finnan
Haddies, 2d., and 'Bones f)f the Leg,' £1 Is." look well
together; while "siuifi", Ud.," is sandwiched between
"Duncan's 'Therapeutics,' 9d.," and '"Early Ifising,' iUd."—
with the evident pnipose of imparting relish and seasoning
^8 PoKTs OF LiM.irimowsiiini:.
to otherwise (]iy subjects. His attic cost him three
shillini,'s per week, and we loam that after pi-oscciitiiig his
.stiulies till far into the morning he was accustomed to
prepare for enjoying shimber by writing a few verses of
comic poetry ! {purely seldom has the comic muse been
invoked under more inauspicious circumstances, and it is
matter for some regret that none of these ultra-midniirht
<'tfusions has survived the subsequent wear and tear of a
busy life. In 1832 he graduated M.D., his thesis on
Death from InHammation receiving the special notice of
Thomson, Professor of Pathology, to whom during 1837-38
he acted as assistant. Professor Thomson employed him
in the preparation of his course of lectures on General
Pathology, and during the professor's illness Dr Simpson
supplied his place in the lecture-room with unusual ability.
In 1835 he visited London and the Continent, and on his
return journey north halted at Liverpool, where he fell in
love with Miss Grindlay, the daughter of his host, who
afterwards became his help-meet in the truest sense of the
word. The most of his love-letters are dated at one, two,
iind three o'clock in the morning, so that there is every
reason to believe that he was very much in love indeed.
He had always had a special inclination towards Obstet-
rics, and as an extra-mural lecturer on this subject his
thoughtful and ingenious lectures were attended with
distinguished success. The Chair of Midwifery becoming
vacant in 1840, he succeeded Professor Hamilton in this
onerous position, and entered on its responsibilities with
characteristic energy. His reputation was such that
patients crowded to his consulting room from all parts of
the country. Fortunately he was blessed with a sj)lendi(l
constitution and a genuine love foi' his ])rofe.ssion, else he
Sir James Yorsa Si.vi'soy. 89
must inevitably have given way under the strain of his
arduous duties.
'• His heart was in the %\ork. and the heart
Lendeth grace to every art."
And truly the branch of his profession to which he had
devoted himself with his whole soul, required all thf
ameliorating influences of his science which skill and
research could procuie.
Mr Moody, the American evangelist, once remarked that
the energetic business men of Chicago were the men who
seemed to find opportunities of doing most religious and
charitable work : the reason being that their business
capacity enabled them to take advantage of the spare
moments of life. This observation is very applicable to
Professor Simpson. When the Disruption took place in
18-t.> he was one of the many able men who "came out,"
as it was termed, and formed the Free Church of Scotland.
Like Hugh Miller he championed the infant church with
pen and voice, and remained to the day of his death an
enthusiast in all that pertained to its welfare.
But it is as the discoverer of chloroform that Profe.ssor
Simjjson's name will be for ever recorded in the annals of
fame. This substance, which is chemically known as
<JH<1.„ is compo.sed of 12 parts of carbon, 1 ])art of
hydrogen, and 106^ parts of chlorine. Some sort i)f
<lecoction for producing insensibility to pain must have
l>e<;ri in existence in ancient times, for it contiiuially ciops
up in ancient records and traditions. Hemp appears to
liave l)een employed in many instances for this ])urpose ;
)>\it
" Not popin, nor mandratrora,
Nor all the drowsy syrups of tlie world "
90 I'OKTS OF LiNLITIlGOWSIlIRK.
h;i\ c secured for sull'oiing humanity the power to defy pain
in its most torturing aspects so eHectually as the aiiiesthetic
suhstance known as chloroform. For many years before
its discovery Professor Simpson experimented almost
contiiHially. Some discoveries are made (piite accidently :
but those to which the world owes most have not been
"attained by sudden tli<fht'" or the whirligig of a lucky
chance, but by years of patient toil and tireless persever-
ance. Moreover, the experiments were of a dangerous
nature necessarily, and on some occasions alarmed the
htAisehold by their consequences. Once the Professor was
unconscious for several hours, and at another time carried
the obnoxious smell of coal-gas about with him for several
days. But the miiid of Simpson was not one to be easily
deterred from the prosecution of his researches by such
uncomfortable incidents, and the successful use of sulphuric
ether by a dentist in America named Morton acted as an
additional stimulus ; if, indeed, any such incitement were
needed where the whole forces of a giant intellect were
bent on this one subject. At last, in the summer of 1847,
the zeal and dangers of years Avere fully compensated for
in the fruition of research and experiment the great
discovery was made. On this particular occasion several
doctors, who had all along aided and encouraged him in
his investigations, were assembled at his house — Mrs
Simp.son and another lady being also present. The
Professor poured a dark fluid into each glass which they
heated over boiling water. The experimenters began to
talk in a brilliant manner, enchanting the hearers ; then
dropped down on the floor. Success had come at last, and
life had been extracted from the very jaws of death.
Throughout the world, but more especially in scientific
Sir James Yocxg Simpsok. 91
circles, the result was greeted witli enthusiasm, and the
adoption of the discovery was almost universal in a short
time, — Her Majesty being among the first to use it at her
confinement. There was some professional jealousy as
well as clerical rancour aroused by narrow-minded people
on the subject ; but the Professor's pen was a match for
them all, and the fit of prejudice soon subsided. Honours
were now practically showered on the famous Professor. The
French Academy of Sciences awarded him a prize of 'J, 000
francs "for a most important benefit done to humanity":
the French Academy of Medicine elected him a Foreign
Associate : the King of Sweden conferred the royal order
of Knighthood of St. Olaf on him ; and honours ad infinitum
were poured on him from all quarters of the globe. He
was appointed one of Her Majesty's Physicians for Scotland
in 1S47; in 1854 he was knighted, and he was made a
Baronet in 1866, when he took for his motto, "Victo
Dolore" (Pain Overcome). Though he had thus early
reached the pinnacle of fame, this did not induce him to
cease the prosecution of those researches which had brought
him so much success. He continued to work as hard as
ever, and the fruits of his indefatigable and ingenious
investigations are embodied in Ohsfetric 3Iemoir!< which
were edited by Drs Priestly and Storrer, and published in
two volumes in 1856. Of antiquarian lore he was an
interested student and unHagging enthusiast, and he was
a member of the Society of Scottish Antiquarians, of which
he eventually became president. In archa'ology he was
also deeply versed. His researches in this direction arc
contained in his posthumous Arr/iaological Ensci/s (187"J);
and h(; wrote with authority on many subjects of anti-
quarian interest. The establishment of Cottage Hospitals
02 PoKTs or Li M.iriiaowsiiiiih:.
thniu!j;hout Scotland was duo in large measure to his
<;ariiost advocacy, and kindly yet energetic interest. His
voice and pen seemed ever at the call of any good and
I'harituhle object, and such was his zeal and fervour that
the appeal was never made in vain. Like many others of
our great-minded, great-hearted men, he was kindliness and
gentleness itself, with a touch of that child-hke simplicity
in his nature that seems to be inseparably associated with
nobility of mind. To wee -lamio, his delicate, lame son,
he was passionatel}' attached. For his amusement many
an hour was s|)ent by the Professor in devising anything
that might l)righten his life. The heart of the father
seemed to cling to the puny, pale child with more than
human affection, and when the Keaper came for the bairn
the heart of the father was changed. VV^riting of this sad
event to a friend, he says — " Jamie became a changed boy
for many months before he died, and perhaps he was one
■of the great means why my whole household has seemed
■changed to me." From that time "forward the Baronet
consecrated himself more and more to deeds of benevolence
and words of love. In this manner were spent the
•concluding years of a noble life,
" Till, like a clock worn out \s ith beating time,
The weary wheels of life at last stood still. "
Sir James died on the 6th of May, 1 870, in his fifty-nintli
year. An admirable Memoir of him Avas publi.shed in 1.S73
by Dr Duns, and in 1877 a bronze statue was erected to
his memory in .Edinljurgh. Pioud of his coujitry, and
proud of his humble liirth, a benefactor of the whole human
race, his name will ever be esteemed and him.self revered
AS one of Scotland's noblest and greatest sons.
Sir James Youxg Simpsos. ^'^
In the various memoirs references are made with regard
to his occasional indulgence in Aersification ; but his little
poem Stop and think of another Life, which was written at
Geneva in 1866, is all that can be definitely assigned to
him. The second specimen which we give was found
amongst letters from Sir James to a friend, and though
his friends have frequentl}- heard him quote from it, still
it cannot be claimed for him with any degree of certainty.
Stop and Think of another Life.
Oft "mid this woiklr; ceaseless strife,
When flesh and spirit fail me,
I stop, and think of another life
^^'here ills can ne'er assail me :
Where my wearied arm shall cease its fi<fht,
My heart shall cease its sorrow.
And this dark night change for the light
Of an everlasting morrow.
On earth below there 's nouglit but \\oe.
E'en mirth is gilded sadness ;
But in heaven above there 's nought but love.
With all its raptured gladness :
There, till I come, waits me a home
All human dreams excelling.
In which, at last, when life is past,
I 11 find a recral flwelling.
Then shall be mine, tlirough grace divine,
A rest that knows no ending,
Which my soul's eye would fain descry
Though still with clay "tis blending :
And, Saviour dear, while I tarry here
Wliere a Fathers love hath found me.
Oh ! let me feel, through woe and weal.
Tliy guardian arm .iround me.
S4 PoKTS- or Li M.i riiaowmiiiii:.
Only a Dhoc is \ Bickkt.
Only a diop in ii biic.k<>t,
But overy diop will tell ;
The bucket would soou In- cuiiity
Without the i hoi is in tin- well.
Only a poor little penny,
It was all I had to give ;
But as pennies make the shilline;s
It may hel{) some work to live.
A few little bits of ribbon.
Ami some toys — they were not new,
But they made the sick child happy.
Which made me happy too.
Only some out-grown garments,
They were all I had to spare ;
But they '11 help to clothe the needy—
And the poor are everywhere.
A word now and then of comfort
That costs me little to say ;
But the poor old man died liappy,
And it helped him on the way.
<4od loveth the cheerful giver
Though the gift be poor and small :
What doth He think of His children
When they never give at all ?
Ebexezeh Oliphast. 95
EBENEZER OLIPHANT.
1813-1893.
EBENEZER OLIPHANT was the third son of Ebenezer
Oliphant, schoolmaster at Torphichen, where he was
born on the 15th of September, 1813. His father was a
native of Comrie, Perthshire, and claimed kinship with
that staunch old Jacobite, Oliphant of Gask, the father of
Lady Nairne. Ebenezer was educated at his father's school
and acted as assistant teacher till he was twenty years of
age, when he served his apprenticeship to the mason trade,
which occupation he followed for twenty years in his
native village.
His brother had for many years carried on business as a
baker in Linlithgow, and on his removal to another part
of the town our poet succeeded him. This business he
successfully conducted for forty yeai's, and it is now in the
hand.s of his son and namesake.
He was of a genial and kindly disposition and was
very highly respected in the wide circle of his friends
and acquaintances. He was always in request at social
gatherings where the latest jeu d'esjmt of his muse was a
welcome addition to the evening's enjoyment. Curling
contained for him the very essence of life and pleasure,
and on this subject he has written some of his best songs,
generally composed on the ice during intervals of play.
John PVost was his patron saint, and no .saint in the
calendar had ever such a devoted worshipi)er. To the last
he retained a keen interest in Scotland's aiii game, and the
96 I'oKTS or Li.\i./Tii(;(iusii/i!h:
tirst tixjljJiiiil (if St. Joliii on tlic hills was a signal fof him
to si't his c'haiincl-stanes in oider.
SuhouiuIimI by his family he passed peacefully away on
the Jiid of May, 1893, in his ei-^ditieth ygar. Very few of
liis poems have been published as lie was always xcvy
ditlident in the mattei' of press publication, and it is
throui,di the kindness of his son already mentioned that we
are enabled to give these specimens of his poetic abilitj .
To A BkITHKR ChlilJCK.
I like weel to hear o' tlic keen game o' curlin'
Though gre\- is my hair noo an' craz'd are my banes.
For I min' sin' I cried like the Irislmian's starlin',
•• Will ye no let nie oot wi" my besom and stanesV
Whan aiild .lohii sat doun at the wast neiik o" Cockle,
An' his banner display'd a' the lads wi' their biooms,
If the game was for fun or the medal was local
Oor teeth never chittered at auld .focey Hume's.
.\rr whan we crap sdiith to the tap u' auld Tory,
Near the Cairnaple heid stootl a wee mossy dam —
Nae clud thanadays cuist a gum ower oor glory,
For warm was oor welcome fae Charley an" Tam.
Oor curlin'-stanti ban's, there weie some o' them wud than,
Wi' grey pockey faces, auld battle-scaured hides,
But oor sennans were screw'd up tiirn" Anakim blude than.
An' loud groan'd the Witch-eraig wi" soun's fae their sides.
We faught till the sun sank fai- south fae Ben Lomon',
An' slow was the slaughter foi- dour was the yoke.
An' whane'er the tirst star stiaek its lamp i' the "-loamin"
We campit a' nicht wi' a frien' at the Knock.
A pie i' the ase-hole was bakit there foi' us ;
The chuckie.s we picket were naebody's kain.
An' the dews o' Mounteerie they hoistit the chorus
Till the seven hills cried " that s the real auld Jock Bane."
Ebenezer iilji'iiaxt. 97
By yon grey moukrri!!' Fane some clear cronies are sleepin',
An" .some far adiift fae tlieii- dear native hame,
An" though some lemembiance to us may be creepin",
They nae mair can mix in aiild Scotland's ain game.
We micht hail some aiice mair iin" be happy theo'ithei-,
An' roar roun" the tee by t'a"-hnv meadow burn,
But will they come back through auld time's stormy weather r
Tlie days of oiu- youth they (.-an never return.
An" whiles 1 sigh sair ower tlie sad retrospection,
As lanely I sit a half-stifled recluse.
For maist a' the frien's o' mj' curlin' affection
Are photographed only in memory's views.
Wi" tliem never mair will I slide on tlie ditches.
Or skid doun the (.Jreen on auld three-fitted stools,
Hut they'll aye keep a stance in my heart's deepest niches,.
Till time haps me u]) wi' oblivion's mods.
Ll.NKS UNDER \ PirOTOfiK.\I>ir.
We've often seen the partin' screen
Draj> wi" a sudden fa' ;
An' frien's weel kent, we 've seen them sent
By slow degrees awa".
But whan the dart may strike this heart
Remains with the Un.seen -
Yet tak' this caid wi' my regard,
To shew we 've Brithers been.
(iie it, deal- sir, in fiien'ship's beuk,
Some vacant spat, I crave.
That some kind e"e on it may leuk,
W'lian 1 rust in my grave.
For three score years an' something mair.
.\Ij' photograph bespeaks
("auld winter's cranreiich's on my liair,
.An' time lias j)leugh'd my cheeks.
98 /'oKTs ni- Lisi.rnniowsiiiuE.
An' lhiou>.>-li my f^Miiiit windows noo,
Lifi'"s laiu-ly ^rli)aniin' steals ;
But by tliat twilight 1 can view
My sairworn cistern wheels.
For oh ! my shouthei's bendin' fast,
My sta|) has lost its pace.
An' weel I ken death sune maun cast
Its shadow ower my ^'«;e.
But though my dust to dust be given.
An' cold my silent heart —
We meet again, I hojie, in heaven,
Wham- dear Men's never i)art.
Whan auld frien's gather roun' my bier-
My much loved chosen few,
Some ane perchance may drap a tear,
An' breathe a saft Adieu !
An' whan ower me the mools descend —
Though them I winna hear,
They 11 tell ye to keep near the Friend
That keeps the course a' clear.
An' if ye rin a heavenward race,
You '11 reach a happy goal —
That everlasting dwelling place,
"The Palace of the Soul."
Vek.ses to Thomas Hamilton, Esq.,
Latu of Cathlaw, now in Australia.
Whan memory taks a flicht
In the silence o' the nicht.
On the tap of Cairneypapple whiles I licht ;
But I canna see the fules
Wi' their besoms, stanes, an' shules.
Nor the jilts that shule on stules wi' can'le licht.
EbEXEZKR OlI I'll AST. 99
I hae seen the silent moon
On the curlers glow'rin' doun,
Whan the chaiinel-stanes were runnin" keen an" clear ;
But, oh I how few are left
To tak' them h\ the heft,
They are miisterin" ilka year roun' the Queer.'
An' I '11 sune be sleepin' soun"
Whaur ra^- Brithers are laid doun,
Wi' the bonnie grassy divots on my breast,
Till the mighty trumpet's sound
Shall tear up my little mound,
An" I '11 soar awa' to glory 'mang the blest.
Noo a lang an' last adieu
To my Mother Club an' you ;
Maj- ye ne'er hae ony cause to mak' ye weep :
Though ye 've left auld Scotia's shore
To return nevermore
Vou micht ca' at Grey Torphichen through your sleep.
There within the silent grave
Lie the noble, young an' brave.
An' their nairow hames are scattered here an' theie ;
^'ou may read upon their tombs
They hae a' laid doun their brooms.
An' we '11 tak" them in oor oxters nevermair.
But the brume will grow as green.
An' the ice will be as keen.
An' Scotland's ain auld game will gang on :
An' though rotten are oor banes
Ither ban's will play oor stanes
Whan we baith shall be alike forgot an' gone.
' Torphichen Preceptory or <iueer, an illustration of which adorns the
title page of this vohnne, was the seat of the Kni^jhts of St. John of
.Jerusalem and wa« completed in the rei^ of Alexander II. Mr
<)lil<hant here follows the 8i)elling of Grose in his Pertgrinationx:
Wyiitown Bpells it Qurre, while Quhair is adopted by some— all of
•which are variations of Choir.
100 J'oKTS OF Lj.\ijrih,ttMsiiii!i:.
A SOBKK DocTdlt.
A sober Doctor, hing since deid,
W'lien visitin' his tender tlock,
Had tu'en some trouble in liis lieid —
His frien's ca'd it a stumblin -Idock.
The day was dark \vi' rain an" hail,
The wind it blew a perfect 8i|uall,
The Doctor, noo baith auld an' frail,
Had stachered into the canal.
A servant wi' a lang muck-liaw k,
Whene'er he heard the dolefii" plunge.
Took little time to think or jiiuk.
But haurled ashore the dreepin' sponge.
He took him to his cosy hame.
An' theie a rousin' tii-e was bleezin",
An" (juickly cam' the kind auld dame
Wi' her warm ban's his cauld anes squeezin'.
" Oh ! bring some whisky heie," she cries,
" An' mix 't wi' water," quo' the leddy ;
The Doctor roared thro' groans an' sigh.«,
" I"ve rowth o" water here alreatly ! "
■Toiix Ca.ui'Ukll SifAiR/: 101
JOHN CAMPBELL SHAIRP.
1819 1885.
JOHN CAMPBELL SHAIRP was born at Houstoun
*' House, in the parish of Uphall, on the 30th day of
July, 1819. He was the third son of Major Norman
Shairp who, as an officer in the Indian army, saw much
hard service, and took part in thirteen pitched battles ; but
retiring early from the service he settled down as a country
gentleman at Houstoun — a property which has been in the
possession of the Shairp family since the reign of Mary
<-^ueen of Scots. Young Shairp received the elements of
his education at home under the tutorship of Mr Bell, of
whom in after life he often spoke in terms of praise. He
remained under the ancestral roof till at ten years of age
he was sent with his brothers to the Edinbui-gh Academj'-
Avhere he spent the next four years in assiduous study,
varied occasionally with pleasant vacations at home.
Writing to his father from Oxford many years later he
uttril)uted his thoroughness to the Academy " where," he
said, " the basis of any scholarship I have was laid." The
succeeding winter was passed at Houstoun, and thereaftei'.
in 1836, he j)roceeded to Glasgow University, which he
attended for three sessions. It is to this period of his life
that the fir.<t impulses of the poetic faculty are traceable,
and here also he came uridei' the influence of Wordsworth,
at a time when to profess appreciation of the Lake poet in
Scotland was tantamount to being considered a ninny :
^n<h influence did the Edinburgh reviewers possess ovei-
102 PoKTS or LiSLiriiaowsiiiKK.
tlie literatuir of the time. On leaving (llasgow Shairp
j)assed another winter in Kdinl)urgh from whence, in 1840,
he jirocecded as a Sncll Exhibitioner to Balliol C'ollege^
Oxford. Two years later he gained the Newdigate Prize
for a poem on "Charles the Twelfth.'
At Oxford he formed many distinguished friendshi])s,
the most notable of which was ])robably the Ijrotherly
regard of Arthur Hugh Clough— a poet of whom it has
been said that he died w^ith greater promise unfulfilled than
any other Englishman since Keats. Cardinal Newman
also exercised a beneficent infiuence over the young
>Scotsman, and afterwards became his firm friend.
At the age of twenty-seven Shairp was invited to become
an assistant master in Kugby School, of which his friend
Dr Tait was head-master. This he accepted, and there the
next eleven years of his life were spent. He was a very
successful master, and took a deep interest in the welfare
of the boys under his charge — an interest not merely
confined to the class-room ; but by reason of
" That best portion of ii good man's life —
His little, nameless, unremembered acts
Of kindness and of love"
he is still honoured and loved by old Rugby scholars.
Despite the success with which he laboured g-t Kugby
we can trace in his letters a longing for some post in the
schools or universities of his own native land.
Inten.sely imbued with the spiiit of patriotism he loved
the hills and tjlens of Scotland with all the devotion of an
exile. " If I did not see the heather once a year I believe
I should die," said Scott to Washington Irving ; and Shairp
considered a year wasted of which no part was spent
Jous Campbell Sijaiju: 103
in rambling through the Highlands, among the Border
hills, or in the more peaceful beauty of his native county.
In Professor Knight's ideal hiogra,\)\iy -^Frtncipal Shairp and
his Friends — we ha\e many bright sketches of these tours,
which were generally made in compan}' Avith kindred
spirits, and all evince the deep reverence and interest with
which he regarded the scenery of his country and its
historical associations. Is he on the Borders 1 then must
he take the freshness of the morning and walk over the
hills to visit Crawford's evergreen Bush ahoon Traquair, and
make it bloom Ijonnier yet in his own exquisite verses : or
he is toiling up Dobb's Linn to view "the dark Loch Skene'"
and the dreary morass of the Long Grain, where, under the
shadow of the AVhite Coomb and in the wild ravines of the
Midlaw Burn, the martyred llenwick and the devoted
"remnant" of the children of the Covenant found their
last refuge from the dragoons of Claverhouse. In the
Highlands he seeks the haunts of the .Jacobites and
wanders wide amon^ the gloomy "lens
" Tliat .sheltered Scothind's heir,"
and which by such associations are rendered doubly dear
to him. Such is the man— a Scot of the Scots, consumed
\vith the perferviduin ingeninm Scotorum, and a worshipper
of all that is romantic, beautiful and noble in the scenes
and history of his country. In this connection Professor
Veitch remarks : " It was tho.se scenes met face to face,
acting on a poetic soul, and strong historical and patriotic
sympathies, which, by their own features and theii- power
to such a mind of an ever-thrilling suggestion, made Shaiip
what he truly was, as poet or even prose writer."
In Shairp's .h'uriKiJ foi- I S 11» we find the following
104 POKTS OF Ll S I.ITlKiOWSII I lu:.
ch;ir;ioteiistic entry, mailc at lloustouii after listoniiit,' to a
senuoii by the Rev. .1. Smith of Kcclesniachaii : — "Many
things haunt me, in the calmness antl unbroken How of my
life here. I often wonder whetlicr or not it would be
better to give u[) some of the pleasures— hunting for
instance ; not that I think it wrong, but 1 have scruples
about it. Pcrha{)s it l>reaks in on any dawniugs of
spirituality ; on the other hand it is freshening, exhilarating,
strengthening for body and mind. And it does not do to
encourage moibid or womanly feelings, nor to begin a life
of self-denial fioni which one may afterwards recede.
Better to be slow in beginning than too fjuick and rash.
Still let me try to be honest." This (|uestioning of his
soul as to anything that might retard its upward flight l)Ut
instances that earnestness of purpose whi(Oi evei' animated
liis life, and won the love of his friends. Hunting and
curling appear to have been the only two recreations foi-
which he had any relish : the former he has celebrated in
The Run, and the lattei* in The /Jon spiel.
On 23rd June, 1853, he married Eliza Douglas, a sister
of his college fiiend Henry Douglas, afterwards Bishoj) of
Bombay.
In October, 1857, Shairp was ai)pointed deputy-professor
of Latin in St. Andrews, and four years later oti the death
of Dr Pyper he obtained the professorship. This post he
filled for seven years with honoui- alike to himself and the
University, and on the decease of Principal Forbes, son-in-
law of the illustrious "Christopher North,'' in 1868, he
was elected Principal of the United College of St. Salvador
and St. Leonard, which office he held till his death.
In 1864 he publi.shed Kilmalioe mul other Poems, wliicli
contains some of his finest efforts. Of The Bush nlxmii
Jouy Campbell Siia/iu: 105
Traquair Dr PJrown, the gifted author of Bab and his
Friends, writes thus : — " I like this more and more. It has
an unspeakable charm, — the true pastoral melanchol)^ of
the region — and these lono; satisfvinc; lines, like the stride
of a shepherd over the crown of Minchmoor. I would
rather be the man to write this exquisite song than
Gladstone with all his goodness and greatness."
In June, 1877, Shairp was appointed Professor of Poetry
in the I'niversity of Oxford, which post he was enabled to
hold in conjunction with the St. Andrews principalship.
From 1880 his health had been indiflferent, and in the
early summer of 1885 he visited the Kiviera where he
stayed for two months without much appreciable improve-
ment. Returning to Scotland the bracing air of his native
land seemed to revive him : but while on a visit to
Ormsary, Argyll, he took ill, and getting gradually weaker
died on the 18th of September, 1885.
His body was interred in the family vault within Uphall
Parish Church. In the following year St. Andrews
commemorated his worth by placing a memorial window in
the College Church there.
His principal works are : —
• Kilmalioe Jind other I'oems," 1S()4.
••Studies in Poetry and Philosophy,' 1868.
••(,*ultiire and Relifi'ion," 187<».
•'Tlie Poetic Interpretation of Nature," 1877.
•' Burns"' (for Morleys series of Men of Letters), 1879.
•' AH|)ects of Poetry," 1881.
"(ilen Desseray," 188r>.
"Sketclies in History and Poetry," 18H7.
The last two were published jjosthuniously, though the
last named had a])peared in ISS^J in Fra-.rr'.^ Muf/adue.
106 I'ovrs or LiMJTuaowsiuin:.
The poetry of Sliairp is always fresh and redoknit of
nature, and all unconsciously he mirrors his own character
in his veisc. \\'c have a tine word-picture of his personality
from the pen of l'n>fessor Veitch, who first met him at
Tibbie Shiels' in the summer of 185(>, and describes him as
'•a fair-haired, ruddy-faced, and manly man — with open
light grey-blue eyes — frank and affable, with ready recog-
nition." He adds. "I marked him inwardly as a congenial
and lovable man."
Few men ha\e made more oi- warmer friends than
Principal Shairp, or lived more in thoir love and esteem.
Among his friends he counted Norman Macleod, Clough,
]\latthew Arnold, Lord Coleridge, Archbishop Benson,
Professor \'eitch, Dr John Brown and Dean Stanley, all of
whom he impressed by his lovable and transparent nature.
Thk Moor of Rannoch.
O'er the dreary mooi- of Rannoch
Calm these hours of Snbbatli shine ;
But no kirk-bell here dividetii
Week-day toil from re.st divine.
Ages pa.ss, but .save the temjiest,
Nothing heie makes toil or haste ;
Busy weeks nor restful Sabbath
Visit this abandoned waste.
Long ere piow of earlie.st .savage
Orated on blank Albyn's .shore
Lay these drifts of granite boulders.
Weather-bleached and lichened o'er.
Beuchailie Etive's furrowed visage
To Schihallion looked sublime,
O'er a wide and wasted de.sert,
Old and unreclaimed iis time.
Jons Campbell Siiaiui: lOT
Yea ! a desert wide and wasted.
Washed by rain-floods to the bones ;
League on league of heather blasted,
Storm -gashed moss, grey boulder-stones ;
And along these di-earj' levels,
As bj' some stern destiny placed.
Yon sad lochs of black moss water
Grimly gleaming on the m aste ;
East and west and northward sweeping.
Limitless the mountain plain.
Like a vast low-heaving ocean
Girdled by its mountain chain :
Plain, o'er which the kingliest eagle
Ever screamed by dark Lochowe,
Fain would droop a laggard pinion
Ere he touched Ben-Aulder"s brow :
Mountain-girdled,— there Bendoran
To Schihallion calls aloud.
Beckons he to lone Ben-Auldcr,
He to Nevis crowned with cloud.
Cradled here old Highland rivers,
Etive, Cona, regal Tay,
Like the shout of clans to battle,
Down the goiges break away.
And the Atlantic sends his pipers
Uj) yon thunder-throated glen,
O'er the moor at midnight sounding
Pibrochs never heard by men.
(Jlouds, and mists, and rains before them
Crowding to the wild wind tune.
Here to wage theii- all-night battle,
UnbeheUl bv star and moon.
10^ POKTS OF Ll S l.iriKioWSIIIltK.
LdikI the while down all liis hollows.
Fliishincr with n liuiidied streams,
Conie-bah from out t he darkness
To tlio desert ro;us and j^leams.
Sterner still, mcirc drrarly driven,
There o' nij^hts the north wind i-aves
His long homeless lamentation.
As from Arctic seamen's graves.
Till his mighty snow-sieve shaken
Down hath blinded all the lift,
Hid the mountains, plunged the moorland
Fathom-deep in mounded diift.
Such a time, while yells of slaughter
Burst at midnight on Glencoe,
Hither fl3'ing babes and mothers
Perished 'mid tlie waste of snow.
rountless storms have scrawled unheeded
Characters o'er these houseless moors ;
Hut that night engraven forever
In all human hearts endures.
Vet the heaven denies not healing
To the darkest human things,
And to-day some kindliei- feeling
Sunshine o'er the desert flings.
Though the long deer-grass is moveless,
And the corrie-burns are drv,
Music comes in gleams and shadows
Woven beneath the dreaming eye.
Desert not deserted wholly !
Wheie such calms as these can come,—
Never tempest more majestic
Than this boundless silence diind).
JoHs Campbell Shaiiu: 109-
TllK BrsH AKOON TltAi.HAlK.
Will ye gang wi" me ami fare
To the bush aboon Traquair ?
Owre the high Minchmuir we 11 up and awa".
This bonny simmer noon.
While the sun shines fair aboon.
And the licht sklents saftly doun on hohn and lia*.
And what would ye do there,
At the bush aboon Traquair '!
A lang dreich road, ye had better let it be ;
Save some auld skiunts o' birk
r the hill-side lirk,
There's nocht i" the waild for man to see.
But the blithe lilt o' that air,
" The Bush aboon Traquair,"
I need nae mair, it 's eneuch for me ;
Owre my cradle its SMeet chime
Cam' sughin' frae auld time,
Sae tide what may, I 11 awa" and see.
And what saw ye there
At the bush aboon Tracjuair ?
Or what did ye hear that was worth your heed ?
I heard the cushies croon
Through the gowden afternoon.
And the Quair burn singing doun to the Vale o" Tweed.
And birks saw I three or four,
WV giey moss beardc<l owru,
Tlie last that are left o' tlie birken .'(haw,
Wliar mony a simmer e'en
Fond lovers did convene.
Thai- liuiMiy, bontiy gloamins that ai-e lang awa".
110 POKTS OF Ll S l.irili;()\VSII I HE,
Frac luony a biiL and buii,
By inuirland, holm, and glen,
TIr'v fain' ane hoiii- to spen' on the greenwood sward :
But lang hae lad and lass
Been lying "netli thu grass —
The green, green grass o' Tra(]uair kirkyard.
They were blest beyond compare
When they held their trysting there,
Amang thae greenest hills shone on by the si in ;
And then they wan a rest,
The lownest and the best,
r Tia(]\iair kirkyai'd when a' was dune.
Now the birks to dust may rot,
Names o' lovers be forgot,
Nae lads and lasses there ony mair convene ;
But the blithe lilt o' j'on aii'
Keeps the bush aboon Tratjuair,
And the love that ance was there, aye fresh and green.
The Hairst Rio.
O how my heart lap to her
Ui)on the blithe hairst rig !
Ilk morning comin' owre the fur
Sae gracefu', tall, and trig.
Chorus — the blithe hairst rig !
The blithe hairst rig ;
Fair fa' the lads and lasses met
On the blithe hairst lig !
At twal" hours aft we sat aloof,
Aneth the bidding stook.
And tentl}' frae her bonny loof
The thistle thorns I took.
John Campbell Shairi'. Ill
When hairst was dune and neebors met
To baud the canty kirn,
Sae fain we twa to steal awa'
And daunder up the burn.
The lammies white as new fa"en drift
Lay quiet on the hill,
The clouds aboon i" the deep blue lift
Lay whiter, purer still.
Ay, pearly wliite, the clouds that night
Shone marled to the moon,
But nought like you, my bonnie doo I
All earth or heaven aboon.
The burnie whimpering .siller clear.
It made a pleasant tune ;
But O ! there murmured in my ear
A sweeter, holier soun'.
Lang, lang we cracked, and went and came,
And daundered, laith to part ; .
But the ae thing I daured na name
Was that lay neist my heart.
Fareweel cam' owre and owre again,
And yet we could na sever,
Till words were spake in that dear glen
That made u.s ane forever.
Bannockburn.
Softly the West blew, and the May -morn shone,
When from an ancient beautiful abode
My father letl nie, all his field-gear on,
And o'er tlie plain of Bannockburn we rode
To meet the hounds, and the blithe hunter train.
Upon tlie moory liills beneath Dunblane,
And take the season's latest benison.
112 Po ETSi O / • LlSI.ITIIGO WSll 1 11 K.
() tliat lirst look atliwait tlif fjunoiis Field I
Tlint vision of the Castled Rock sublime !
Tlirou<;ii all my beinj^ liow it <iflovved and tlirillrd
Pidsations of tlio unforjjotten time :
Then with the music of the bayini^ paek,
All the old chivalries came floating back.
And mingled with the chevy and the chime.
And as the diase went crashing all day long
O'er Sherirt'muir, and down tliiougli Ki])|)en glen.
My heart, unweeting of tlie luinter throng,
Was busy with tlie Bruce and his brave men ;
Then at dajfall, the moon on oui- leturn,
Serene as on the eve of Bannockbuin,
Looked from Demayet douii \\\{\\ (cloudless ken.
Clearance Son(;.
(From Krltiinltne.)
From Lochourn to (ilentinnan tiie giey mountains ranging.
Naught falls on the eye but tlu; clianged and the clianging.
From the hut by the lochside, the farm by the river,
Macdonalds and Camerons pass — and for ever.
The flocks of one stranger the long glens are roaming,
WTiere a hundred bien homesteads smoked bonnj' at gloaming,.
Our wee crofts run \\ild wi" tlie bracken and heather,
Anfl our gables stand ruinous, bare to tlie weather.
To the green mountain shealings went up in old summers
From farm-toun and clachan how mony blithe comei's !
Though green the hill pastures lie, cloudless the heaven.
No milker is singing there, morning or even.
\\'here high Mara-clach-ard by the ballach is breasted,
Ye may see the grey cairns wheie old funerals rested,
Tliey who built them have long in their green graves been sleei)ing.
And their .sons gone to e.xile, oi- willing or weeping.
Joiix Campdkll Sua I HI'. 11. "t
The Chiefs, whom for ages our claymores defended,
Whom landless and exiled o»ir fathers befriended,
From their homes drive their clansmen when famine is sorest.
Cast out to make room for the deer of the forest.
Vet on far fields of fame, when the red i anks were reeling,
^^'ho [)rest to the van like the men from the shealing ?
^\• were fain in your need Highland broadswords to borrow.
Where, where are they now, should the foe come to-morrow ".'
Alas for the day of the mournful CuUoden !
Tlie clans from that hour down to dust have been trodden ;
Tliey were leal to their Prince, Mhen red wrath Mas [jursuing.
And have reaped in return but oppression and luin.
It "s plaintive in harvest, when lambs are a-spaining.
To liear the hills loud with ewe-mothers complaining —
Ah I sadder that cry comes from mainland and islands.
The sons of the (iael have no lionie in the Hi<rlilands.
Thk Sacramental Saiu'.ath.
'Mid the folding mountains.
Old Kilcieran's lone kirkyard
Hound its ruined chapel gathers,
Age by age, the gray hill-fathers
Underneath the heathery sward.
Centuries gone the saint from Erin
Hitlier came on Christ's behest.
Taught and toiled, and when was ended
Life's long labour, here found rest ;
And all ages since have followed
To the giound his grave halh blessed.
Up the long glen narrowing
Inhind from the eastern dee[),
In the kiikyard o'er the river.
Whore dead generations sleej).
Living men on summer Habbaths
Worshi[) long have loved to keep.
1 I 1 J'oi-rr.s OF j.iM.iriK.onsiiiin:.
Tliere o'er graves lean licliened crosseK,
I'lact'd loii^- silicic hv hands unknown,
Sleeps the aneient wairior under
The blue claymore-scnlj)tured stone,
And the holy well still trickles
From roc-k basin, i:;iass o'ergrown.
T.ulled tlic sea tliis Sal)balh morning,
Calm the golden misted glens,
And the white clouds upward passing
Leave unveiled the azure Bens,
Altars pure to lift to heaven
Human hearts' unheard aniens.
And tlie folk are flowing
Both fi'om near and far, enticed
By old wont and i-everent feeling
Here to keep the hallowed tryst.
This calm sacramental Sabbath,
Far among the hills, with Christ.
Dwellers on this side the country
Take the shore road, near their doors,
Poor blue-coated fishers, plaided
Crofters from the glens and moors,
Fathers, mothers, sons, and daughters,
Hither tiooping, threes and fours.
Plaids were there that only Sabbath
Saw, and wives' best tartan hoods,
Orannies' white coifs, and bareheaded
Maidens with their silken snoods ;
Many-hued, home-woven tartans.
Brightening these grave solitudes.
You might see on old white horses
Aged farmers slowly ride,
With their wives behind th(;m seated.
And the collie by their side ;
While the young folk follow after,
Son and daughter, groom and bride.
JoHX Campbell Shairp, \\h
There a boat or two is coming
From lone isle or headland o'er,
Many more, each following other,
Slowly pull along the shore.
Fore and aft to gunwale freighted
With the old, the weak, the poor.
The bowed down, the lame, the palsied.
Those with panting breath opprest,
Widows poor, in mutch and tartan
Cloak, for one day lent them, drest.
And the young and ruddy mother
With the bairnie at hei- breast.
And the western shores Atlantic,
All the rough side of Kintyre,
Send small bands since morn, far-travelled
O'er hill, river, moss, and mire,
Down the mountain slioulders moving
Toward this haven of their desire.
Sends each glen and liiddeii corrie,
As they pass, its little train.
To increase the throng that thickens
Kirkward, like the growing gain
From hill burns, which some vale-river
Broadening beareth to the main.
While the kirkyard, thiong and throngei-
(iroweth, some their kindred greet ;
Others in lone nooks and corners
To some grass-grown grave retreat,
Tliere heed not the living, busy
With the dead beneatli their feet.
Here on green mound sits a \\ idow ,
Rocking crooningU' to and fio,
Over him with whom so gladly
T(j (ilod's house she used to go ;
Tliere the tears of wife and husband
Blend o'er a small grave below.
llf) PoKTS or I.is i.rntaowsitini:.
TlitMO you nii<^lit o'erlicnr some old m;m,
['jiLsied, s|)Ciiking to liis son,
" See thou underneath this heiidstoiu^
Make my bed wlien all is dont'.
There lonj; since I laid my father,
Thei'e his forheais lie, each one."
They too, all a kindly household
From morn-gladdened Kilmahoe,
Steek their door, and maid and mistress
Toward the Sabbath gathering go,
Lady lone, and four fair ilaiighters.
By th(j lulled sea murnuiring low.
Upward from the shingly sea-beach,
By the long glen's grassy load.
First the white-haired lady mother.
Then the elder sisters, trode,
Last came Moira fair, and Marion,
All their spirits overawed.
Meek and very lowly
Souls, bowed down with leverent fear.
This their Hrst eonimuniou day !
To the awful Presence holy
Dread it is to draw so near,
Pain it were to turn aMay.
So of old the Hebrew maiden,
'Mid the (Jalilean mountains
Leaving all her childhood time.
With her kinsfolk, incense-laden,
By Kechon's brook, Siloani's fountains,
Zion's hill awe-struck would climb.
As they pass within the kirkyard,
Some old eyes long used to stoop
Hose and brightened on these maidens,
Youngest of the family group,
Marion's flaxen ringlets, Moira's
Large soft eyes with downward droop.
JoHS Campbell Shairp. 117
Loved ones of the country [)eople,
They had dandled them on their knees,
Watched them witli their bairnies ranging
The sliore coves and mountain leas ;
Year by year beheld their beauty
Like a summer dawn increase :
Now on this their first communion
Those old eyes look blessing and peace.
Sweet the chime from ruined belfry
Stealeth ; at its peaceful call
Round the knoll whereon the pieacher
Takes his stand, they gather all :
In whole families seated, o'er them
Hallowed stillness seems to fall.
There they sit, the men bareheaded
By their wives ; in reverence meek
Many an ej-e to heaven is lifted,
Man}' lips, not heard to speak,
Mutely moving, on their worship
From on high a blessing seek.
Some on graj'-mossed headstones seated,
Some on mounds of wild thyme balm,
<i rave-browed men and tai'taned matrons
Swell the mighty Celtic psalm.
On from glen to peak repeated.
Far into the mountain calm.
Then the aged pastor rose,
White with many a winter's snows
Fallen o'er his ample biows ;
Ami his voice of pleading prayer,
<Jleaving slow the still blue air,
.Ml his peo|)le'H need laid bare.
IS Poets of Lixlitiigowsiiiuk.
L:i( It'll with o'eitlowin^ feeling
Then streamed on his fei'vid chant,
In the old Hi<:hland tonfjuc appealing
To each souT.s most hidden want,
With the life and deep soul-healing
He who died now lives to grant.
Slow the people round the table
Outspread, white as mountain sleet,
(iather, the blue heaven above them.
And their dead beneath their feet ;
There in perfect reconcilement
Death and life immortal meet.
Noiseless round that fair white table
'Mid theii- fathers' tombstones spread^
Hoary-headed elders moving,
Bear the hallowed wine and bread,
While devoutly still the people
Low in prayer bow the head.
And no sound was heard — save only
DLstance-lulled the Atlantic roar.
Over the calm mountains coming
From far Mnchrahanish shore,
Like an audible eternity
Brooding the hushed people o'er.
Soon they go — but ere anothei-
Day of hallowed bread and wine.
Some now here shall have ii.scended
To communion more divine.
Some have changed their old hill-dwellings,.
Some have swept the tropic line.
James Forrest. W^
JAMES FORREST.
Born LS-21.
JAMES FORREST was born at Bathgate in the year
1821. He received his education at the old Parochial
School and latterly at the Bathgate Academy. He was an
apt pupil and carried off the prizes for Latin and English
in the latter institution at a period when these were
awarded only to the first scholar in each class, and it is
needless to say that these volumes are the most cherished
in his little library. On leaving school he was apprenticed
to the watchmaking, but he .soon relinquished this business
and at the age of twenty went to the United States. After
spending a few years in New York he removed to
Milwaukee, then a mere collection of wooden houses, where
he engaged for some years in trade which consisted mostly
of a system of barter. Thereafter he migrated to Bufialo,
thence to New .Jersey, and eventually resumed his residence
in New York. AYhile there a gradual loss of hearing set
in, and, being advised to try the effects of his native air
and the more skilled treatment obtainable there for the
restoration of that sense — which, hoAvever, proved unavail-
ing — he wound up his business and returned to Scotland
in 1860, settling in his native town where he has since
resided. Most of that time he has been engaged in the oil
tnule — first at the Bathgate Chemical \Y(trk.s and, since the
decay of that industrial centre, at Uphall. Mr Foirest has
always taken a keen interest in all that pertains to the
welfare of Bathgate, and with ready pen and voice has
120 Poets "/•• LiM.iriiaowsjiiiih:.
done yeoman service when iiocessity required, yet witliout
the spirit of rancour wliich is altogether foreign to his
<lis{)osition. In 18(51 he, in conjunction with the Lite
Tlionias G. Ferguson, started the first weekly newspaj)er
puhlislied in the town— The Bathgate Times — but an unfor-
tunate lawsuit prematurely closed its somewhat adventurous
career. When "Under the Beeches Literary Society "
was formed some twenty-two years ago Mr Forrest was
.ippointed Secretaiy at its first meeting — a position which
he has since continued to hold ; and for his services in this
capacity he has frequently been the recipient of valuable
presents from the members : indeed it is admitted that the
lirilliant minutes of the meeting are fre(juently the most
appreciated item in the monthly sederunt. His prose
contributions to the periodical press during half-a-century
woidd require a large catalogue to enumerate. Of these,
however, mention may be made of Bird Notes, in which
the habits and peculiarities of our feathered friends are
sketched with a loving knowledge that might give them a
place with White's Natural History of Selborne. He is
also a recognised authority on the fairy mythology,
traditions, and antiipiitics of the district, on which subjects
he has made many valuable contril)utions to the local jjress.
In poetry he has not been so prolific; but what he has
written is marked by a simplicity and occasional pith which
betoken that his comparatively few flights in this flowery
realm are not so much for lack of talent as want of
inclination. In disposition he is genial and kindly and
still bears in his breast the heart of youth and the warm
enthusiasm of boyhood. Viiw men enjoy so much of the
regard and esteem of their fellows as the amiable and
generous-hearted "Frien' Forrest."
James Forrest. 121
The Rrter.
From a fount amid the hills,
Fed by many sparkling rills,
Singing on in merry trills.
Flows the river.
Trembling o'er a rocky linn,
Sending forth a brattling din,
Rurtled by the balmy win',
Flows the river.
'Mid the heather's purple flowers,
Where the muircock hidden cowers
From man's stern and savage powers,
Flows the river.
Through the forest's verdant glade.
Near the bi'idge where children wade,
'Neath the S3-Ivan leafy sliade
Flows the river.
(iliding by the village green.
Sparkling in the summer sheen.
Lovely as a Naiad Queen
Flows the river.
Round the old mill's dripping wheel
Wheie the waters s[)lash and reel,
Where the swallows dip and wheel
Flows the river.
By the hamlet (juaint and old,
By the outlaw's rocky hold,
B}' liistoric scenes oft told
Flows the river.
Past yon castellated towers.
Past the banks, gay decked with flowers.
Dimpled o'er with falling showers
Flows the river.
['2.1 Poets of LiM.rnrGowsnini:.
Sweeping throiij^li tin- liindsrape Ixild
As if tinged \\itli l)iirnisli<'d <^"\(\.
A\'lirii tlic willy's of gloaiiiin" fold,
Flows the river.
W'lu'ie the <ira('t'ful \\inows wave
O'fi- the youtliful liero's grave,
Hinging praises to the brave,
Flows the rivei'.
S[)eeding onwards to the sea
By green mead and flow'ry lea.
Making niusie a^e to nie.
Flows the river.
Emblem of the strong and free.
Of life's changing, restless sea,
Onward to Eternity
Flows the river.
Thk Puir Wife's Brae.i
Dear I'liir \Vife"s Brae, dear Puir Wife's Brae
Within thj' shelt'ring shade
How many youthful plans were formed.
And airy castles made
Wlien youth and hope lit up the scene —
\A'hen earth seemed rainbow-hued ; —
Sweet mem'ries haunt thy shaded walks
Of love and vows renewed.
Ill festoons, o'er thy moss-clad walls,
Hung honeysuckle flowers,
Whose fiagrance filled the evening air,
\\'hen wet with summer showers.
' A belt of woodland a mile to the eastward of Bathjjate has Ijeen hi>
calleil from time iiuuiemorial.
James Fork est. 123-
As rosy morn, with tinted light,
Shone o'er thy leaf-strewn ground,
The feathered songsters' tuneful throats
Woke echoes all around.
The plaintive cushat's croodlin" notes
Fell on the evening breeze,
As balmy winds, on downy wings,
Stole through thy stately trees :
As Sol sank slowly to his rest
Here gloamin' softlj' fell :
\A'hen music from thy quiv'ring leaves
Came o'er us like a spell.
Life's silent eve comes slowly on,
And stills its restless sea ;
Time's fleeting pinions onward move
To dim eternity :
And when lifes battle has been fought,
And ofif my armour cast.
Ma}- I Hnd rest, dear haunt of youth,
Within thv shade at last.
To Mv Mother-Lodge.
Bathgate Toi-phicheii Kllwinnius, No. 13— Aiilil Thirteen.
Air—" Scotland yet."
Beneath Kilwinning's auld roof-tree
Assembled are we a',
To spend the hours in social glee,
And drive dull care awa' ;
For round about this board to-night
True Masons all are we.
Dear Auld Thirteen, dear Auld ThirtLtn,
Our Mother-Lodge is she :
May Fortune smile upon her .«oiis
Wherevei' thev iiiav \n-.
124 J'oKTs OF LiM.riiii.owsiiiiih:.
Within this Mystic Temple, then,
Let Faitli and Hope entwine,
Miiy Charity's ctruli^cnt robe
( "lothe all with Love divine,
And Wisdom wait upon the Sons
Of Liglit and Harmony.
Dear Auld Thirtc.-n, kc.
Amid the changing scene of life,
"Mid worldly strife and care.
Let all youi- actions fashioned be
By the Compass and the Square ;
And, mindful of Life's Colden Rule,
.loin Love and Unit\'.
Dear Aidd Tliirtecn, kc.
Of ortlers kings and nobles boast,
Of stars and royal blood ;
Antiifuity is stamped on ours,—
It dates from near the flood :
O'er all the world our Order 's known
By deeds of Charity.
Dear Auld Tiiii teen, &c.
Then to the Craft let "s pledge a toast.
With honours three-times-three,
Auld Thirteen's sons in every land
True Masons may they be :
They '11 find aci'oss Life's troublous .scene
A bles.s'd eternity.
Dear Aidd Thirteen, dear Auld Thirteen,
Our Mother-Lodge is she :
May Fortune smile upon her sons
Wherever they may be.
James Forrest. 1--'>^
Amoxg the Haws.
The hairst had a' been gathered in,
Broon were the leafy shaws,
When, loosed frae schule, a merry band
Set aff to gather haws.
Oh, weel I mind that gleesome day.
Set free frae spells an' tawse ;
Octobers sun shone brightly doon
Ui)on the clustering haws.
The auld manse hedge, aye milky white
\Mien simmer win' saft blaws,
Stood then in its autumnal pride
Deep laden wi' the haws :
Fond mem'ry yet recalls the cheers,
The happy, loud Imzzas,
That went out from each boyish throat
As we surveyed the haws.
A dash — a rush — the heights were climbed.
Thro' thorns like tigers' claws,
Then shout an' cry rang thro" the air
When swinging "mong the haws.
Nae carking cares held us in toils,
Nae thochts o' wealth or braws,
Nae dreams o" honour fashed oor pows
High up among the haws.
Oh : happy time, when routh o" wealth
Shone in oor bools an' ba's.
When a' the world seemed in oor grasp
That day among the haws :
An" looking back thro" mem'ry's vale
A silent tear aft fas
For those who fifty years ago
<;aed aff to gather haws.
Poets of Li.\i.irn<io»'siiniK.
W'lion \viuul"riii<:; winds in autumn roam
Tlno" dolls an" gi'eenwuod sluiws,
Then boyish voices seem to stir
Thi- hedge where we pu'd haws.
The last of all that joyous band,
Crowned with time's whitening snaws,
W'itli him remains, aye fresh an' green,
That day among the haws.
The Dkath and Bukiai, ok tmk Thkusii.
Soft and low as zephyrs sighing
Comes the south wind thro" the trees,
Fragrant with the hawthorn blossoms.
Filled with hum of droning bees.
Saunt'ring thro' the monkisli ruin,
Thinking o'er the slumb'ring dead.
Where the Laird of Boghead, ^ mouined,
Sleepeth in his narrow bed.
To the turf that lightly covers
Tliat true friend of feathered kind
Came the thrush, life ebbing quickly
To the sobbing of the wind.
Close by where the quivering ivy
Mantles o'er the ruined walls,
(.'old in death now lies the throstle,
Heedless of the parent calls.
Sweetly as the bells were chiming
Thro" the summer Sabbatli air
Wend we to the uplands, grieving
For the thrush's parent jjair.
'The late Thomas Durham Weir, Esq. of Boghead, a noted omitholo^^i.st.
James Forrest. 127
'Midst the wild flowers' sweetest incense
Cut the grave thro' richest mould ;
In a shroud of silk}- texture
Tenderly our thrush enfold.
Out from 'midst the golden blossoms.
As we laj' the dead to rest,
Chant the requiem, thrush and linnet,
When the sun sinks in the west.
Wlien the dawn comes slowly creeping
As from out the ocean wave.
There its light, like silver gleaming.
First shall kiss the thrush's grave.
l-'"^ VoKTs or Lisi.iriiaowsiiini:.
THOiMA.S LEAKMONTH CHAPMAN.
Boiii 1S-J4.
rrilOMAS T.EAKMOxXTH CHAPMAN was born at the
J- little village of Beancross in the parish of Falkirk
about the year 1824. He attended Polmont Parish School
till the age of eight when, his parents having removed to a
small farm in the parish of Bothkeiniar, he attended school
there for other two years, being employed herding in the
mornings and evenings. Thereafter he entered country
service which employment he followed till 1852 when he
succeeded his father in the farm of Bridgehouse, then a
small farm on the estate of Craigengall, Torphichen, to
which his parents had removed eleven years i)reviously.
In 1868 he entered into tenancy of the farm of Wester
Hillhouse on the same property where he has since resided.
For many years Mr Chapman has taken an intelligent
interest in public affairs with which he has always been
prominently identified. He is President of the Woodend
Burns Club, and has for long been associated with the
educational life of the parish as a member of the
Torphichen School Board. He possesses a fine fund of
dry, pawky Scottish humour Avhich generally enriches
his public appearances, and enlivens the social hours
in the circle of friendship. He has contributed a good
many prose sketches to the local press of recent years
oil topical subjects under the veil of anonymity. Such
diffidence in a prose ^vriter does not specially call for
comment, but to find the same failing more intensified in a
Thomas Learmoxth CiiArMAS. 129
poet of merit is very rare. His poetry, which for the above
reason has not previoiisly appeared in print, generally takes
the form of the lyric in which he shows to decided advan-
tage, and we would commend these specimens of his power
in that direction to the notice of our composers. Come
mva', lassie hrav: is a gem which might adorn any
collection of Scottish song, and would have reflected no
discredit on the lyrical genius of Hew Ainslie, of whose
breeziness it is reminiscent.
CoMK AW.v", Lassie bkaw.
Can ye lo'e, \\\\ dear lassie, j'on wild mossy fells
A' blooming in pride wi" the sweet heatherbells 'i
Or the green-tufted heath whaur the crawberries grow '
Then come awa', lassie braw, dinna say No.
Can ye lo'e the burn, las.«ie, that fa's o'er the linn ?
Or the craig a' bedecked wi' the bright yellow wliin '
Or the deej) wootly dell whaur the primroses blow '!
Then come awa', lassie braw, dinna say No.
Can ye lo'e, my dear lassie, yon green plantin' side ?
Or the coo o' the cushat when wooing his bride?
Or the .sang o' the lintie a-courting Iiis joe'
Then come awa', lassie braw, dinna mxy No.
Can ye lo'e the flocks, lassie, that graze on the lea ?
Or the wee blu.shing flow'rets whaur sporteth the bee ?
Or a walk in the gloam when the sun it fa's low ?
Then come awa', hissie biaw, dinna say No.
Can ye lo'e, my dear lassie, my hame on the brae.
That the smile o' my Jessie wad aye mak' .sae gay ;
Wi' a bonnie wee yairdie whaur simmer flowers blow ?
Then come awa', lassie braw, dinna say No.
Can ye lo'e tlic lad, lassie, that lo'es nane but thee,
Whu lives on the light o' your saft rolling e'eV
Or break a fond heart should your answer be No V
Then come awa', lassie braw, come, let us go.
9
130 Poets or Lisi.i tiihowsiiikk.
A Ti;UU TK TO TllK l.ATK Dli Kli;K, liAl'lKJATE.
While B.itlijrate wce])s and sable nunirniu}:; wears
For him wliose faee tiiey now will see no more,
A {Tiateful country wij)es the falling tejirs,
And mourns a friend that time can ne'er restore
A friend whose aid was still at mercy's call,
Whose skill to rich and poor was freely given ;
To soothe distress it was his all in all —
A Doctor loved on earth, revered in Heaven.
A Prayer.
O Thou that dwell'.st in Heaven high,
And rulest all things here below,
Do Thou direct the perfect way —
The humble way that we should go.
Tliou formed us in the mother's womb,
Thou watched us in our cradle bed ;
In early youth and manhood's bloom
By Thee our steps were safely led.
And now when our meridian 's past
And night of age dotli on us fall.
Thou wert our first, be Thou our last.
Our life, our liojie, our all in all.
My Ain.
O were I the lord o' yon gay gilded mansion.
Yon fine flow'ry terrace although it were mine.
Compared wi' my Lizzie I 'd count them but little.
And freely wad lose them to ca' her my ain.
How dear to me now is yon seat in the wild wood.
And fondly I lo'e the sweet walk in the glen ;
But dearer by far is the smile o' my lassie.
And welcome the hour when I meet her again.
Thomas Learmoxth Chapman. 131
How sweet is the green o' the wild mountain foxgloves
Wi' their cin)-shaped blossoms a" glist'ning wi' dew,
And saft is the \Ay o' the amorous ringdoves
As they meet in the gloamin' then- loves to renew ;
But faii-er than a" the wild flowers o' the forest,
Mair true than the wild buds that mate in the glen,
And dearer to me is the voice o' my dearest
Wi' her saft-fain" whispers that speak her my ain.
BoxxiE Jessie Gray.
Some love to roam the banks o' Clyde
Wi' a' its haughs sae fair,
While ithers like to wander on
The bonnie banks o' Ayr ;
But dear to me 's yon shady walk
When at the close o' day
I wander up the Briggie-side
Wi' bonnie Jessie Gray.
How gailj' green yon leafy beech
Whaur hums the toiling bee.
And sweet "s the laverock's ev-'ning sang
On Martins flow'ry lea ;
But dearer to this beating heart,
And sweeter far than they,
Is the music frae the honied lips
O" bijiinie Jessie (^ray.
Tlic noble in his lofty ha'
May woo his gentle bride.
Or lord it ower his vassals a'
In a' his stately pride ;
I 'm happier in my russet plaid.
And blyther far than they,
When roaming on the Briggie-side
Wi' bonnie Jessie Gray.
l;V_* I'oHTs OF Ijisi.iTiicowsiiini:.
Now 1 iiiaiin lea' my native land
For yonder foreign shore,
And bid iidieu to Scotia's strand
To crosjs the ocean o'ei- :
I '11 ne'er forget, whate'er betide,
Thougli I am far away,
Tlie happy liours on Briggie-side
Wi' bonnie Jessie CJrav.
FoK A Lady's Scrap r.ooK.
As parched land wait.s the gentle showei'
As drooping plants the dew,
So long I for the happy hour —
The hour I meet with you.
CllHISTOPlIEH McRF.Ar IJawsos, F.E.I.S. 133
CHRISTOPHER MURRAY DAWSON, F.E.I.S.
Born 1826.
pHRlSTOPHER MURRAY DAWSON was born at
^ Cupar-Fife in 1826. His parents were both of a
literary inclination, and given to poetical composition.
They were only resident some two months in Cupar
altogether when they removed to the Borders and finally
settled about 1830
•' la Coldstream toon wi' Coldstream folk."
Here, on the banks of the classic Tweed, the boy received
his education — the teaching of the school happily blending
with that education which nature freely gives to her lovers.
After finishing his course he served his apprenticeship as a
private pupil teacher, and in 1844 returned to his native
town of Cuj>ar as assistant English master in the Madras
Academy. That his work in the Academy was onerous
may be gleaned from the fact that the daily average
attendance at his classes was 350 : but he gave himself
•devotedly to his duties, and taught with remarkable success
for one so young in years. On accepting the position of
master of Abercorn Parish School in 184G, the Tiustees of
Madras Academy testified their ajjpreciation of his alnlities
by requesting him to nominate his successoi- — his nominee
being accepted and amply justifying Mr Dawson's good
ojjinion of him.
At Abercorn, \\'here as a teacher he was eminently
.sMcces-sful, he remained for the long period of forty-three
131 Poets of Lisi.iriKiowsiinii:.
years ; so that the county may well claim hiiu as an
atloi)ted son. While resident in that locality of peaceful
beauty he had many inducements of greater woildly
ambition and gain held out to him. He was oftei-ed
positions in two of the Oxford Colleges, and other posts
which might well have tempted a more ambitious mind ;
but the pleasures of country life, and the ever-varying
charms of the wave-washed shore were to his nature the
very essence of l)eing, and wove a spell round his hcai-t
that no visions of preferment could ever break.
" Many theie aie among the crowd of men
Wlu) (lisrepjid what lies beneath their feet,"
says Pindar ; but certainly Mr Dawson was never one of
these. Shortly after his settlement in Abercorn he began
exploiting the rocks in the parish, and soon got deeply
interested in their stratification. Ere long he had fully
satisfied himself that we had around us traces of three
extinct volcanoes, forming no insignificant part of the chain
of small volcanoes which stretched between Edinburgh and
Bo'ness. His observations, and the deductions made
therefrom, have since l)een amply verified hy independent
observers, and the sites of these volcanoes are now noted
in the Government Geological Survey Maps of Scotland.
In the cotirse of his rambles in the ])arish he also found
traces of the later ice-age, of aii old British fort, and of a
sea-beach 88 feet above the present sea-level. He was
fortunate enough to discover in the last two large bones,
evidently the vertebr* of a whale, em1)edded in a layer of
shells. Specimens of the shells and portions of the bones
he preserved and they are now in his private museum of
relics and curios — a repository which is being continually
Christopher Murray Dawsox, F.E.I.S. 135
augmented by the contributions of friends and former
pupils from all parts of the world. His discoveries in the
fields of geological and antiquarian research are embodied
in several interesting papers contril)uted by him to the
Traiisactions of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland.
When, in the Fifties, the demand for Popular Lectures
became strong Mr Dawson, seeing in the movement an
opportunity for imparting instruction in a pleasant form
and arousing interest in subjects often too far removed
fiom common life, entered into it heartily, and having a
facility with pencil and brush found no difficulty in sketch-
ing large illustrations for his lectures ; although latterly he
used a magic lantern — -painting his own slides. The
suljjects of these lectures were very varied : — Astronomy,
Physiology, Geology, The Heritage of Toil, The Poet's
Place and Power, Characteristics of the Human Mind,
Immortality of the Soul, Redemption in Creation, Garilialdi,
iVc. and were delivered in the towns and villages of
Linlithgowshire, in i^dinburgh, and elsewhere. This employ-
ment of his leisure hours, together with his duties as
Session Clerk, Registrar, and Treasurer of the School
Board, left him little time to devote to literary work ; l)ut,
possessing
" Still tlie Roman will
To find a way or make it,'
his achievements in this capacity are all the more worthy of
praise. Keturning from his professional duties wearied in
body and exhausted in mind, with the further disadvantage
of indifterent health, the task of weaving webs of words he
often gladly suspended or postponed for the pleasures of
Itoating, gardening or geologising, where, in the open air,
in sweet communion with dear old mother nature, he could
l.'^fi I'oHTS or LlM.ITUGOWSniHK.
<liiiik at lu'i' life-giving fountain and biace his frame for
♦another day's earnest, loving toil. He has, therefore,
published comparatively little : occasional articles for the
<laily and weekly press, and one or two brochures, all
given to the pul)lic anonymously, summing up his minor
literary puV>lieations. In 1865 Mr Dawson was elected a
Fellow of the (ieological Society of Edinburgh, and he is
also a Fellow of the Educational Institute of Scotland. On
the attainment of his jubilee as a teacher in 1889 he retired
from active service when his many friends and former
pu])ils took occasion to mark their appreciation and regard
by presenting him, through the Earl of Hopetoun, with a
•complete silver tea service and a purse of sovereigns.
Since then Mr Dawson has resided in Edinburgh.
In 1891 he published a selection from his poetical pieces
luider the title of Avonmore and other poems. Avonmore,
Avhich gives the book its title, is the most ambitious of
these, and is of decided merit. It paints in powerful and
Avell-sustained imagery the life-picture of a young mati
grappling with the forms of unbelief and who, for the time
being, is overborne by them. F^inally the mist and the
darkness of doubt are dispelled by the beams of the
uprising Sun of Righteousness, and he sees God as He is —
loving and merciful.
We regret that the exigencies of space must so limit our
selections from this noble poem : indeed, it is all so finely
Avritten that extracts fail to serve the purpose desired, and
only whet the appetite.
Of Mr Dawson a critic has said : — " He looks upon life
as a glorious heritage, dark though often our surroundings
be. But as our cold, unfriendly climate has developed in
our national character patience, per.severance, industry, and
Christopher Murray Dawsos, F.E.I.S. 137
almost a sublime earnestness of purpose, so tiials, difficulties,
iidversc social position rightly met and fought, stiffen every
fibre of our being, and bring out the better and nobler
parts of our nature, in short, make us twice a man. Belief
in a Father near, peace through the cross, living for others
and seeking to leave the world better than he found it,
•sums up his creed."
Mr Dawson's work was, without exception, cordially
welcomed by the press, — -a fact which will occasion little
surprise to those who know his muse best. Mr Dawson
finds an honoured place in Edwards' Modern Scottish Poets
and in Rev. W. S. Crockett's Minstrelsj/ of the Merse.
A Tear.
O piecious luxury — a teai- !
Mute language of our woe,
Fir.st herald of a nobler life,
Where heavenward love may grow ;
The pinking .soul, nigh in despair.
Seeks heaven thro' thee, — each drop a prayer.
O token of a kindred soul,
That makes our griefs her own !
And sheds this Sivcred dew wherein
Love's mystery is shown ;
And thro' those pearls of tenderness,
Our cup of .<(iiiow holds the less.
O silent voice of ransomed soul !
O Kf>eech of grateful love !
Moie reaching than the Sera])h's voice, —
The envy known above
As angels', as o'er harps they sweep,
Oft sinless wish the gift to weep.
-A ronmori'.
^'^^ Poets of Lisi.nii<;<t\\ sm hi-:.
Man's liiuriiKiKii r.
Mail liiir.s a biithii^^lit from tlic sk\. " Subdue
It ■■ stands his charter still. Eartli owns him lord
And worslii|>s at liis fret. The lij^litiiing' waits
Mis hand, outspeeds tlic hurrvino- day, and time
And space are dead. Tlir cliatini^ storm receives
His yoke. Its clouded brow frowns all in vain.
Tlie elements toil ;is his .slaves to bless
His .store. He works his will, nor fears nor o\\ ns
A thwartin<r power. Eternal law lie claims
As liis right hand and bulwark of his throne.
In this he lives and moves,— a dei)ute (iod
To work a higher will behind his own.
Deeds are his thoughts made vi.sible for hands
To handle, —tangible, eternal they.
For them there is no death. They mock tiie grave.
And walk triumpli.int tlirough the rolling years.
Man builds for time unborn. Eternities
Far oti' have their beginnings now, and man's
Poor life,— so full of blots and stains and sin-eds
Of purpose,— sped with stumbling feet, faint heart,
And weary hands, still cleaves the watching heavens-
As one long p.salm to (Jod. Does (iod then ble.ss
But to destroy ? God, the All-Builder, moves
The soul-expanding force, touching the .soul
Of frail humanity, and man becomes
Co-worker with his (iod, till very dust
.Stands glorified in garments of the skies.
'i'lie Father .sees man's toil with loving gaze,
And counts the roar of work an angel's sono-.
He hints, He speaks, He points to nobler plans ;
Some few He sets as foi-emen o'er the throng, —
The few that whispers hear behind the veil.
And catcli the higher breaths of very (Jod :
Yet each man's hone.st toil earns Heaven's " Well done,"
And stah\art angel wins no highei- ])raise.
The law which metes (iod's happiness metes mine ;
Christopher Murray Dawsos, F.E.I.S. 139"
The pulse that joyous throbs the children's breast
Finds answering pulses in the Eternal Love.
Make circumstance
Your slave, and win your right to be a man.
The unit's groMth fathers a nation's rise :
This, the proud fruit of triumphs won by that.
Tlie kingdoms of to-day o'ertop their sires,
Though oft a pause, a stop, may intervene.
As swallows, wearied in their ocean-flight,
Rest on the passing ship, but jaded strength
Restoied. they bid their ark farewell, and dare
Their unreached aim ; so nations pause and breathe.
Then forward press, and carve a higher name
\j\K>n the groM ing pyramid of time.
Fair stands man's realm, though scarred in many a pait :
But wlience the marring hand ? Disease and crime
Point to oui- slums, our waifs, our herded poor.
Intemperance and Vice, and cry, " Behold
Our place of birth !" We sow in selfishness,
And nature hurls us back her stern award —
" Eye for an eye,"— a discii)line of tears.
Calling on man to sweep the curse away.
— Afonmore.
The Rose.
I gave a rose unto my love.
Bright dreams my bosom swelled ;
I yearned it might an angel prove,—
It was my all she held.
Leaf after leaf she tore away,
Tlie winds some sighing bore ;
While others scattered round lier lay,-
It was my hoj)es she tore.
1-iO POKTS OF LiXLITHGOWSHIRE.
Hit (Ininty feet toyed witli them tliere,
Then pressed them in tlie sod ;
1 watched her in a wild des|)aii-, —
It was my love slie tiod.
She bent the stem, it snn|>|>ed in twain,
A hell witliiii me woke ;
I shuddered 'neatli its buinintj pain, —
It was mj' heart she broke.
Captain Strachan.
The ship lay on her beams,
The storm-gods battled there.
And death howled "mid the roar.
And mocked mans wild despair.
The gallant captain stood
Amid the pelting spray,
And near him, in his woe,
A little stowaway.
He turned and kindly said,
" You swim, my little man?"
" No, sir ! "~" Then here's my belt.
'Twill save you, boy, — I can."
The ship goes down ! they leap
Into the maddened wave ;
The land-waif wins the shore.
That noble heart, — a grave I
Weep for the glorious dead !
Men, rouse jour souls to share
The brother-love that fired
That godlike death to dare 1
Such deeds sublime the race
Mid all life's selfish chains ;
Britons ! heir his soul.
His blood runs in vour veins.
CuiusTOPHER Murray Dahsos, F.E.I.S. 141
Reply to Marriage Cards.
You 're married now I Well, 1 ni no ilear
To gi'e a smile or drap a tear
At your leg-tethered state :
It maj- be bliss, it may be wae,
Frae this unto your djing day, —
An awfu' time to wait !
Yet dark and snell 's the bach'lors lot,
In self his saul is buried ;
I dinna ken a state mair drear.
Unless it be the married.
Just make the best o 't, play the man ;
Keep up the game old Ad' began,
For this is Heavens decree ;
And glad " we wills" the ages prove.
For mankind fa' as glib to love
As burns rin to the sea ;
For ere the beard creeps ower our chin
The stounds o' love mak' sic a din
As thrill us to the core ;
And for a while we hardh' ken
We're f^till amang the strife o' men,
Or some bliss-haunted shore ;
Till Ses.sion fees and Sunday " cries,"
And " startin' house" expenses.
And is she ether or an eel,
Bring back our wandering senses.
May heaven's saft dews fa' on your head,
And friendships gem the path you tread,
Frae want and worry free ;
Your wife be mair than wealth untold.
Her smile mair dear tlian earths tine gold.
Her life's proud joy in thee,
And be tlie magnet o' your soul,
The sunshine o' vour sky,
1-^- POKTS OF LiSl.irilGOWSHIRE.
Your dealer self in liner mould,
Vour treiisure from on high.
Bnt O the brightest summer morn,
In dewy spangles dressed,
At eve may lower, be tempest-torn,
And dark clouds drape the west,
While ruthless o'er the mourning scene
The maddened storm careers,
As if the angry heavens enjoyed
All Nature wet with tears.
Yet every wave that beats our bark.
In sailing life's rough main,
Is driven bj' the breath of love,
For our eternal gain.
And should a wee bit angry word
Drap frae that blythesome, bonnie bird
Wha shares your cosie nest,
E'en dinna think your lot severe.
It's just the way wi' women dear,
As married lives attest ;
They're bubblin' ower wi' routh o' talk,
They tease witliout a thought.
Like some light shower on summer days,
And then it "s a' forgot.
'Tis half the bliss o' married life,
A wee bit wordie spree ;
It stirs the blood and sly breaks up
Love's sweet monotony ;
For contrasts add a zest to joy,
And shew it in new light ;
The shades relieve it, as the day
Is brighter for the night.
And when your wee bit battle 's bye,
The first .sharp word, the first low sigh.
That wounds like poisoned spears.
You '11 press her closer to your breast.
Christopher Murray Bam'sos, F.E.I.S. 143
And look in love on heaven's beijviest,
And kiss awaj- her tears.
And mair than a', — this angiy cloud
Is rich wi' showers o' blessing ;
For as you win her back to smiles,
Your courtship's still progressing ;
Forbearing wi' each ither's faults,
As doubtna they will come,
Peace will be thine, and love will make
An Eden o' your home.
And should kind Providence confer
A bairn oi- twa to mak' a stu'.
And toddle round jour knee,
May blessings mingle wi" the care,
Young holy love vour heart to cheer,
Wi' a' its sinless glee.
The wear}- years will fail to mar
Your brow sae brent, wi' fretfu" scar, —
There 's bliss the bairns among,
For in their joy you age beguile.
And battle wrinkles wi' a smile,
Wi' heart aye fresh and young.
Your joys lie round your ingle neuk.
Its .smiles maun smooth life's care :
ITiere gather strength and brace your soul
For a" you "re called to be;ir.
Thk Ai"i,n Kjkkvaki) — Abercorn.
There's a spot we hand dear in the anld kirkyard,
It aye claims a tear in the anld kirkyard ;
It's 'neath an a.shen tree, aii' it's dear, dear to me,
That wee bit o' sod in the auld kirkyard.
The wind lieaves a sigh in the aidd kirkyard,
Ah it glides gently by in the auld kirkyard.
As if it missed a flower frae some shady bower,
An' fejired that it lay in the auld kirkyard.
Ill POKTS or LlM.ITIKioWsllinh:.
O sail if our troud in Llio iuiUl Uiikyanl,
As we draw near our dead in the auld kirkyard ;
A half-whi.si)ered word or a look o' legard
Aye tells a' our tale in the auld kirkyard.
Our thoughts rise above in the aidd kirkyard
By strange links o' love in the aidd kirkyard ;
The spirit land is near while we drap the silent tear
On the wild tangled grass in tlic auld kiikyard.
It's dark 'mid tht^ ligiit in the auld kirkyard,
For the heart bends in night in the auld kii-kyard ;
We canna see His hand, we silent weeping stand.
An' lang for the day in the auld kirkyard ;
But faith whispers low in the auld kirkyaid,
'Twas love sent the blow in the auld kirkyaid.
An' frae that vacant chair has s[>ed a spirit fair,
Whose garments mouldering lie in the auld kirkyard.
Sweet spring wakes the flowers in the auld kirkyaid,
An' bright sunny hours in the auld kirkyard ;
An' th' dead 'neath the sod, at the voice o' our God,
Will rise a' refreshed frae tlie aul<! kirkyard.
Walter Watt. 145
WALTER WATT.
Born 1826.
WALTER WATT was born at Edinburgh in September,
1826. On leaving school he was apprenticed to the
tobacco trade in his native city, and afterwards resided in
Fife for a short time.
About the year 1852 he came to Bathgate as a tobacco-
spinner, and here he flung himself heart and soul into the
life of the town. Blessed with a ready pen and a fluent
tongue, he was conspicuous in the columns of the local
papers — then in a transition stage — agitating for the
redress of po})ular grievances, or on the platform advocating
the rights of the people. We have before us a copy of the
Bi'fhgafe Star, in which an account is detailed of a
demonstration on the Bathgate Muir, the privileges and
amenities of which were at that time threatened by the
action of the Town Council in letting portions of it for
cultivation. Mr Watt delivered an oration on that occasion
which, backed by the voice of the town's people, efl'ectuallj'
deterred the council from prosecuting their project. An
attempt on the part of the trustees to veto the annual
Bathgate Academy Procession again Ijrought him to tlic
front to champion the people's cause, and here he was
once more victorious.
Me also took an active part in the institution and welfare
of the i>athgate .Mutual Improvement Society, which
testified it.s appreciation of his worth and abilities by
presenting him with a life-size portrait of himself in oil.
l<)
NT) Poets of I.isiJTHaowsiiint:.
Though not a native of the county, Mr Watt acknow-
ledges that in it ho had his lit(M-arv birth.
In 18()3 ho removed to (ilasgow, and fi-oni thence to
Higli Klantyre, where he carries on the business of a wine
and spirit moichant.
In ISSl lu' |)ul)lished a collection of his fugitive pieces
under the title of Sketches in Prose and Poetry. As a poet
he does not affect to rank very high — indeed he modestly
disclaims the title — but he has nevertheless written some
poems of considerable mei-it, although, as James Russell
Lowell says of another, "his song is too largely ballasted
with prose."
Mr Watt is well known throughout F5ritain, and even
beyond her borders, as a maker of violins. In this
capacity he has taken prizes at many of our International
Exhiliitions, and is generally recognised among the fiddling
fraternity as an authority on that sweetest of all instru-
ments. In connection with this subject he published in
1892 The Art of Violin Maldng — a brochure containing the
fruits of his ripe experience, and which was cordially
welcomed and praised by the press and violin lovers
generally.
A notice of him as a violin maker is given in Baptie's
Musical Scotland.
Mv Fiddle.
My Fiddle I sweet mysterious thinjr I
O'er thee my muse may plume 1h r wing,
Rut how thy gloiy can slie sing,
My Fiddle?
Concuntiate art I what master's hand
Coidd fashion out each tiny band,
And |)Oiir thy soul out from each strand,
.Mv Fi<ldle?
IVa l tej! JFa rr. 1 4 '
Thy graceful form with am'rous waist,
Thy taper'd neck, and head so chaste,
I grasp thee with a lover's haste,
My Fiddle.
A^'ithin thy swelling bosom lies
Apollo's heavenly mysteries.
Whose stream perennial never dries —
My Fiddle.
When toil and tioubles bring me pain,
What soothes my weary soul again ?
The magic of thy seia[)h's strain,
" My Fiddle.
What di-aws the band of friendship tight?
What makes my care and sorrow light?
What makes the gloom of life look bright ':
My Fiddle !
When friends prove false and j)ass me by
With sneaking look and jaundiced eye.
Thy cheering voice is ever nigh.
My Fiddle.
Sweet companion ! little treasure I
Fountain of my joy and pleasure I
With thee I '11 tread life's weary measure —
My Fiddle.
Curling Song.
Air— "Hurra for the Tliistle."
Hurra for the curlers I
Oor keen, gallant curler.s !
Hurra for the curlei's
O' Bathgate for me ;
For there '.s nane far or near
Can senfl njt a cheer
Like the brave Bathgate curler-
When met rnmid the tee.
148 PoKTS or LiM.ITIKidWSIIIRl-:.
W'lici* tlic cliill hrcatli o' wiiitor
lias tVozfii tlic rills.
All' crodiid \vi' liis snaw -\\ rc^atiis
Tlie taps o' oor hills ;
'riiun there's nane in the parish
Sue happy or free
As a ffatirrin" o" curlers
When iiKt roiiiid the tnc.
Thoiigh fortune and tame
They may ne'er be oor lot,
An" though whiles in oor i)ouch
We may scarce ha'e a groat ;
\'et wi' rank, wealth, an' title
We tak' oor degree,
For we'i-e a' nature'.s bairns
When met round the tee.
Sic roarin' an" thumpin',
Sic rinnin" an" jumpin',
As the stane ower the rink
It comes T'owin' sae free ;
While each frien' staunin' by
Waves his be.som on high.
An" hails us the victors —
We 're first at the tee.
Should the proud fiag o" France
On oor shore be unfurl'd ;
Should the hatred o' tyrants
"(iainst our freedom be hurl'd ;
We "11 show that like cowards
We never can dee.
For there's nane that can match
The brave sons o' the tee.
IFalter Watt. U9
^^'^hile as patriots an' curlers
We can love ane anither,
Let us aye keep in mind
That each man is a brither,
An' though race an' distinction
May never agree.
We 're aye frien's on the ice
When we meet round the tee.
Then awa' \vi' your musters
0' brave volunteers ;
Awa' wi' your rifles,
Your .swords an' your spears ;
For " Peace " is oor motto
Wherever we be,
Esijecialh" o' curlers
When met round the tee.
Then till up a bumper,
An' pledge wi' a cheer
To the health o' oor gallant
An' bi-ave Durham Weir ;
For though some folks may differ,
True curlers agree
To croon the auld vet'ran
As "Kingo' the Tee."
An' when curlin' his stanes
On the great rink o' life,
May he aye clear the hogg-.score
O' sorrow an' strife ;
An' when the cauld han' o' death
Comes to darken iiis e'e,
May we find him close up
To his mark at the tee.
ir>0 PoKTs or Lisi.iriicowsiiniK.
SdNc 111- Till'; l)^l^(; Maiden.
Noo the simmer lias (((inc w i' its gay flowery treasure.
The wee birds sing blytlily hiw ilka green tree ;
But their music an' l)eautv to me bi-ings nae [jleasure.
For Jamie's proved faitliless, an' cares na for nu-.
O, it's lang sinoe he vowed to jiiovc constant an' taiihtn'.
It's lang siiuH' he promised to me to prove true ;
But his vows are a' bi-oken, his heart is ungi'atefu',
An' naething but dejith can yield peace to me noo.
By the green mo.ss}' bank.s o' the far-winding Avon
I '11 wander at e'ening wi' Jamie nae mair,
Nor in its clear waters my feet I '11 sit lavin'
While he pu's scented wildHowers to garland my hair.
Frae the broo o' the Knock Hill nae langer thegither
We '11 watch the white sail float o'er yon sounding tide,
Nor by the Bucht Knowes e'er forgether wi' ither
To sjieak o' the time when he 'd mnk' me his bride.
My breast's like to burst, an' my heart-sti'ings are breakin .
My brain 's in a whirl, while the tears blind my e'e :
The wor.st draught o' sorrow 's to ken I 'm forsaken,
An', like a nipt blossom, left to wither and dee.
But mj- dirge will be sung by the saft winds o' simmer,
In auld Bathgate Kiikyaird I '11 be fiee frae a' care.
An' while thro' its grey ruins the pale moonbeams glimmer.
My spirit will rest an' feel sadness nae mair.
Fareweel. then, fair world, to lli\ beauty and grandeur.
The star o' ni}' hope shines frae yondei' blue sphere ;
An' fareweel to life, wi' its joys an' its splendoui-.
An' fareweel, ye scenes to niy mem'ry sae dear :
An' fareweel, my Jamie, thougli my heait ye ha'e broken.
Though ye may love anither ye w ill yet think on me ;
My last gift will be, like a true lover's token.
To clip my love locks in affeetioii for tliee.
JOHX FliEELASD. ITll
JOHN FREELAND.
182G-1888.
JOHN FKEELAND was born at Edinburgh in 1826 ;
but while a mere infant the family removed to
Bathgate, where his father went into business as a chemist
and druggist. He was educated at the Bathgate Academy
irnder the celebrated masters, Messrs Fairbairn and
Dawson. On leaving school he learned the drug trade
with his father, and thereafter proceeded to Glasgow,
where, with the Apothecaries' Company, he gained a
thorough knowledge of his vocation. He left this service
to commence business for himself in Barrhead, and resided
there for some twenty years : but on the death of his
father in 1869 he returned to Bathgate and succeeded to
the business of chemist and druggist there, following it
successfully till his death on 26th September, 1888.
His talent in versification was almost entirely devoted to
themes of purely local interest, and as a writer of parodies
he was probably une.xcelled by any in the county. He
was one of the original members of " Under the Beeches "
l^iterar}' Society, at the meetings of which his \ erses, set to
[(Opular airs and treating of any subject which for the
moment was full of engrossing interest, were productive of
much amusement. "As a writer of verse he had a great
fund of hunioui', play of fancy, and a keen sense of the
lidiculous,' writes one who knew him well : liut, withal, he
was never one of those
I.")!' Poets of LiSLiTimowsiiiRE.
" Who, for tlic pom- loiiowii of being sniai't.
Would IcMVo ;i still";' within ii lnotluir's lieai't."
A volume in which he retained copies of his effusions has,
nnfortiuiately, been irrecoverably lost ; and although the
two specimens of his muse here given are not very repre-
sentative of his i)oetic ability, they must needs serve under
die cii-cumstances.
MV MnUKR SIONT MV. I'O TllK WkLL.
Written on reading the report of the medical officer of the Local Authority,
•w-liich stated that the Batlijiate water was contaminated with from Is to 24
^'raiiis of organic matter per gallon.
Air •' llohiii 'ranisoii's Siiiiddy."
My mither sent nie to tlie well,
The water it was muddy ;
She sent me wi' n sumjjkr o't
To oor aidd doctor's study.
The doctor was a learnod clerk,
And weel ac^iuaint wi' Bnohan ;
Yet noo I ne'er gang by his door
But aye I fa' a-lauchin'.
He ".s fairly scunnered a' the folk
Wha drink the Bathgate water,
For he "s declared there 's .something in 't
Tiiey ca' "Organic Matter !"
But when he telt me twenty grains
Ilk gallon had suspended,
I leuch sae lang the doctor thocht
I never wad hae ended.
The doctor gii-ned and shook his mell,
l^uo" he, " .My man, ye 're merry ;
But hand till my Report's in jjrent,
Ye "11 see a hurry-hurry."
JoHX Frkelasd. 153
He claught his pow and stared sae wise
As we stood baith thegither,
And aye I nichered in his face,
And said I "d tell my mither.
My niitlier met me at the door,
Quo' she, ' ' What "s in the water ? "
" A beast," (juo" I, " will kill lis a",
They ca" ' Organic Matter ! ' ''
" Xae mair shall watei; cross my (;raig,
I "11 gie 't up a' thegither ;
There's table beer in Prestonpans, —
I'll stick tiirt," ([uo" my mither.
MdKAL.
Guid whisky and the water, still
I '11 mix the twa thegither.
And tak' a drap to creesli my hawse ;
I 'm no fleyed like my mither.
But, simple Burghers, dinna lieecl
Hoo ither folk may bletlier ;
Tak" my advice, and follow aye
The footsteps o' my mither.
A Vrv o Tka.
\\ i-ittuii ou hearing Kev. A. .M. Wilson lecture on this su>>j<^''-t-
Yon may lecture on Shakespeare, gi'e readin's on V,nr\\>
Discoorse on Sam Johnson and Buddha by turns :
They 're fushionless subjecks ; they 're naetliing to me ;
The subjeck that " draws" is a guid " Cuji o" Tea.'
The Prince o' Wales' trip, and yon lantern views
May plea.se tlie iMilite, and the young folks amuse :
They 're no to my taste— I wad far rather be
Wi' auld Auntie Jean at a lecture on " Tea.""
And Marriage and Cooitship may tickle the ears
O" young lads and la.s.ses — I'm noo U|i in years
The subjeck that tak's best, a.« ony may se<-,
Ih a roosin" di.scoorse on a gui<l "Cup n' T'-a.""
154 PoKTS or I.iM.rriKKuvsiniu:.
THOMAS OHKOCK.
Bom IS'JT.
rj^HOMAS OKKOCK, the only child of poor yet respect-
-*- able parents, was born at South Queensferry on the
20th day of February, 1827. He was grounded in his
education at Dalmeny Parish School under the tuition of
the late Mr Robert Burton ; but at the early age of ten he
had to leaA-e his boyhood behind him and face the realities
of life. When fifteen years of age he went to learn shoe-
making, to which he served his apprenticeship ; but on its
completion he journeyed to Edinburgh and there served
two years as a mason, on the expiry of which time he
returned to the stool of St. Crispin. By his first wife,
whom he married in 1849, Mr Orrock had a large family.
The partner of his early struggles foi- independence died in
1891, and the ])oet again entered into "the bands and bliss
of mutual love " some three years aiio.
To the local press Mr Orrock contributed many of the
poems which, in 1880, he issued in \olume form under the
title of Foriha's Lyrics and other Poems. The volume is
prefixed by an account of South Queensferry and its
surroundings which is brimful of anecdotes and racy
reminiscences of life in the ancient burgh.
In his poetic career Mr Orrock has benefited by the
kindly patronage of Lord Kosebery and Lord Hopetoun,
from whom on several occasions he has received tangible
testimony of their interest in his productions.
Thomas Orrock. 155-
For many years Mr Orrock has resided in Edinburgh,
where he carries on business as a boot and shoe maker.
His muse may not soar " fancy's flight beyond the ])ole " ;
but he can sing us into a happier mood and make us forget
the cares of life in his exuberant society. He can be
pathetic too on occasion, and his nursery songs have that
felicitous toucli which can only spring from a lover of all
that pertains to innocence and childhood.
TiiEV Hi: .\' i.kavin'.
I "ni lookin' baok to ither day.s, the days o' lonj;- as^o,
When the bloom o' youth was on yer cheek, my ain kind jo :
When a" oor baiins roond the lire sang their sangs wi' glee,
Toddled roond aboot the chairs, or climbed upon oor knee.
But they're a" leavin", leave, leave, leavin".
They 're a' leavin' the auld folks at hame.
Tliae were tlie happy day.s then, when ae door at nicht
Shut them a' in frae harm till the niorniii' licht ;
Nae fear then the world's snares would lead their feet astiay,
But, oh : tis altered days noo since they hae gane away.
An' a' leavin', leave, leave, leavin",
They 're a' lea^in" the auld folks at liame.
The bonnie flowers that deck the earth an' u.sed to mak' m<' glafi.
Seem dowie noo an' hang their heids whenever I am .sad ;
A' nature noo seems gettin' auld, like me gaun doon the luae.
An' ilka jingle on the sneck to me aye seems to .say, —
They 're a' leavin', leave, leave, leavin',
Tliey're a" leavin' the auld folks at hainc.
The empty wee chair by the tire, the luggies 'mang the delf.
The auld slate ufKin the nail, the schule-books on the shelf.
The very tinnies on the wa' wiicn parritcli time comes roond
Are ever ringin' in my ears wi' nae uncertain .soorul —
They re a' leavin", leave, leave, leavin'.
Thev re a' leavin" the auld folks at iiame.
I"t6 /'OKTS OF LlSLirnuOWSIllHE.
I (linnii siiy ! (1 like to fecht the battle ower afjjaiii,
But, oil I I like the smile aiid lunch o' a wee bit wean,
Ay, even tlie skclp u|io!i the face, the fuuldle, an" the kiss,
Tiiat ni.ik" the toils o' matrimony a paradise o' bliss;
Hut tiiey *re a" leaviii', leave, leavi', leavin',
They "le a" leavin' the auld folks at hame.
But hlessiii's on the penny })OSt, 1 lo'e tiie postman's till,
For, oil ! the sweet soond o' his voice mak's a' my heart-stiings diil ;
Tlio' some there be wha hae forgot there's sic a thing as ink
An' carena for the auld folk that scarce can sleep a wink :
For they 're ii' leavin', leave, lejive, leavin',
Tiiev re a' leavin' the auld folks at hame.
There's mair whaur it i'am' krae.
The bairns are a' in bed, guidwife.
An' ilk yin 's sleepin' soond ;
The loaf will get a rest, guidwife.
Till mornin' it comes roond.
Ye 11 dae the same the morn, guidwife,
As ye hae dune the day ;
Jist whittle doon the loaf, guidwife,
There's mair whaur it cam' frae.
There 's mair whaur it cam' frae, guidwife,
There 's mair whaur it cam' frae ;
•Jist whittle doon the loaf, guidwife.
There's mair whaur it cam' frae.
There's a mystery in it a', guidwife.
We canna easih' trace ;
As sune as ae loaf 's dune, guidwife,
Anither tak's its })lace.
Sae, as ilk morn it comes, guidwife,
^'e'll t.ak' the loaf an' say, —
Hae, bairns, ye 're welcome to a slice.
There's mair wliaui- it cam' frae.
Thomas Or rock. 1')'
Nae matter lioo mony weans, guidwife.
We hae to fill wV meat,
Tlie Unseen Hand brings in, guidwife,
Enough for a' to eat.
He gi'es us health an' strength, guidwife,
To tight life's stormy fray :
His promise He will keep, guidwife, —
There 's mair wliaur it cam' frae. *
'Tis like the Warren Well, guidwife.
That never yet ran Avy ;
Waste not, but look abune, guidwife,
There 's manna in the sky.
He sent us lots o' weans, guidwife,
Wi' bite an' brattle tae —
I 'm prood their jaws can gang, guidwife.
There 's mair whaur it cam' frae.
He sends the breath o' spring, guidwife.
Winter's ic}' hand to thaw ;
Sends dew an' genial rain, guidwife,
Mak's flowers an' buds to blaw.
Bright summer comes, an' hairst, guidwife,
Wi' fruits in tine array.
An' grain to let us see, guidwife.
There's mair whaur it cam' frae.
The sparrow canna fa*, guidwife,
Withoot oor Faither's leave.
He nevei' sends an arm, guidwife,
\\'ithoot sendin' a sleeve.
'Tis onlj- we oor.«ers, guidwife,
Oor |)airt oft contrar play ;
Unbelief blinds thu eyes, guidwife,
Thei'C '» mair wliain' it cam' frae.
l''^8 I'oKTf^ OF LiyLiTimowaiunt:.
For laziness an' pride, j;iii(lwife,
Brin<;- ave tlicir ain icwaid.
An" to nor station here. <j;ui(l«ife,
We should hae due rejTard.
Buckle oor armour on, <ruidwife,
An' discontentment slay.
An' sing alood this sang, guidwife,
There's niaii' whaur it cam" frae.
The mornin' it has come, guidwife,
Xoo jist tak' ye the knife,
An' gi'e them a' a wee bit piece
Jist to keep in the life
Until the parritch time, guidwife,
When each their spune maun hae
To sup them U]) as if, guidwife,
There's mair whaur they cam' frae.
There 's mair whaur they cam' frae, guidwife,
There's inair whaur they (.-am' frae ;
To sup them up as if, guidwife,
There '.s mair whaur they cam' frae.
Thk Laddie's Stock.
See yonder sprightly little chap))ie
Standin' at his daddie's knee,
Nae earthly monarch half sae happy.
His stock in lian' a broon bawbee.
O'er his prize he seems to chuckle.
His face lit up wi' joyfu' glee.
The wee fat han' scarce shows a knuckle
As he grasps the broon bawbee.
Nae doot the laddie has a notion
\ae millionaire sae rich as he-
Could buy ilk ship that sails the ocean
Wi' his bonnie broon bawbee;
Thomas Orrock. 159
A braw new coatie for his daddie ;
A kite higli in the air to flee ;
His mammy dress, too, like a leddie,
Atf his bonnie broon bawbee.
The laddie is nae idle dreamer,
He 's in earnest we can see ;
Want o' knowledge mak's the schemer
Sae muckle dae wi' his bawbee.
In ae sense he 's but a sample
O' much aulder folk there be
Biggin' churches, gran' an' ample,
A' wi' ither folks' bawbee.
Yet he hurts nane wi' his schemin',
Nae manager o' bank is he ;
He i-uins nae orphans wi' his dreamin',
Nor tak's the widow's last bawbee.
He keeps nae carriage nor a flunkie :
Altho' his kite it flees fu' hie
Its doon-come widna hurt a donkey,
Nor rob the world o' ae bawbee.
Time — A Fragment.
Old Time, the thief who steals our years,
Steals all our joys beside.
And leaves us nought but bitter teais.
And humbled selfish pride.
Ah ! did I say a thief is Time 'i
No, Time is honest ever ;
In every form and every clime
Old Time he changeth never.
'Tis we who steal from Time, and say
We only came to borrow ;
Spend wliat we took on loan to-day,
And steal again to-morrow.
160 Poets of I.ixLiriiGowsiiint:.
•• old " 1 « itlidijiw : 1 fiiul tio triicu
t)f a^e u|H)ii liis hi'ow ;
He \\a.^ as old wliuii uartli in s|)!ice
First rolled us he is now.
And wiu'ii tliis uaith lias rolled away
Time will be young as ever ;
He had no bii-tli, knows no decay
Forever and forever.
Hesry Shaxks. 161
HENRY SHANKS.
Born 1829.
HENKY SHANKS, "the Blind Poet of the Deans," was
born on the 30th of December, 1829, at Meadowhcad
on Boghead estate, near Bathgate, where his father followed
the combined occupations of a farmer, grazier and grain
dealer. Six years later the family removed to the farm of
Deans on the estate of Boghall, three miles to the east of
Bathgate. At an early age he attended the Parish School,
and after a short term there was transferred to the Bathsate
Academy, where he received that education which this
noted institution was, and continues to be, famed for. On
attaining the age of sixteen he was apprenticed to the oil,
paint, colour and drysaltery trade in Leith, which occupa-
tion he followed for eleven years when he returned to the
parental roof. In the following year (1858) his father
died, and this, the poet tells us, was the first occasion on
which he made any sustained attempt in poetic composition,
although he had been in the habit of rhyming from his
school-days. The labours of the farm were relieved during
his leisure hours by the recreations of reading, music and
(hawing ; and to his proficiency as an artist some specimens
of his work which adorn his ])resent abode still bear ready
testimony. Al>out this time he began contributing to the
I'oet's Corner of the Airdrie Advertiser, and soon acciuired
some degree of fame as a poet. Towards the end of 1862
a slight defect began to make itself a])parent in the sight
of his left eye: a cloud came before the sun, and wilhin a
II
162 J'OKTS OF Ll.SLlTUGOWSUIRB.
\ far the curtains of ni_i;ht were drawn around his vision.
Oi this sad calamity ho afVectingly tells us in his Memoir : —
*' 1 had now to face, with whatever fortitude I could
nuister. the melancholy certainty that in a few months at
furthest I would be for ever shut out from the glorious
light of heaven : that the fair face of Nature and all forms
of grace and beauty would be to me henceforth only a
memory, aiid that I nnist grope for the remainder of my
existence in total darkness. This fate was too surely mine,
for Ijefore the close of 1863 I was totally, hopelessly, and
heli)lessly blind." From the depths of his dejection he
composed his "Ode to Despondency," which concludes
with the prayer, —
Oh ! would I could die !
Oh ! my (;;od !
And change for the sky
My abode :
By the wild .sea wave
I will earnestly crave
Relief through the grave
From my load.
But though thus voicing liis despair in being excluded
from the beauty of the world, he did not allow despondency
to settle or set its seal ujwn his soul, and like the
imprisoned lark he began to sing sweetly in his ca])tivity —
brightening his own lot and giving songs of cheer to the
hearts of his fellowmen. By the aid of his "Stick" he
was soon enabled to " wander by the lone roadside," and in
this manner managed to extract some degree of pleasure
from his surroundings. He now also began to cultivate
assiduously his faculty for poetry, and so successful was he
in his wooing of the Muses that a volume of poetry was
Hesry Shaxks. 163
issued towards the close of 1868— James Ballantine, the
author of Ilka Blade o' Grass and many other lyric
gems, kindly undertaking the labour of piloting it through
the press. The favourable reception of this little work
encouraged the author to further Mights of fancy, and in
1872 these were issued from the press of Messrs Baird A:
Hamilton, Airdrie. The success of this second volume
exceeded all expectation, for in a few weeks it had to be
followed by a second edition which was also readily
disposed of — affording the author the satisfaction of
kno^Wng that his efforts were appreciated by the critics
and the public at large. In 1874 "Under the Beeches"
Literary Society was formed in Bathgate with Mr Shanks
as president — a position which he held with honour till his
retirement at the end of last session. The Society, which
takes its name from the poet's musing ground, was the
means of bringing out his literary abilities in a new
direction, viz., as a prose composer and public speaker —
duties incumbent upon him in his presidential capacity.
He found his memory become wonderfully retentive in the
deliveiy of the several lectures which he contributed from
time to time, and this encouraged him to seek a wider
sphere. In 1877 he considerably extended the lectures on
"Burns, as a Man and a Poet," and on "The Life,
Character, and Literary Career of James Hogg, the
Ettrick Shepherd," and publicly delivered them in
Bathgate and Airdrie to large audiences. In both towns
the lectures were received with enthusiasm, and thoujrh
each occupied two hours in delivery the memory of the
poet never once failed him. Regarded as a literary work
they are of very high merit, and show a critical acumen
and keen estimate of each j)oet's place and power. It i.s
101 Poets of Lislitugowsuihe.
safe to say that no 1 tetter appreciation of the Ettrick
Shei)her(i has yet a|)pearcd. These lectures naturally
created a tlesire for their preservation, and to satisfy this
demand The Pmsanf Poets of Smfland, wifh MvdiKjs
Under the Beeches was published in 1881. The volume,
which includes a Memoir and portrait of the author,
contjuns, ])esides the two lectures named, essays on Minor
Peasant Poets and his selected poems. His poems are
marked by manly and vigorous expression, and, when one
considers the disadvantages attached to their long retention
on the mind ere being committed to paper, they possess
a finish and harmony that is indeed remarkable.
The selections Avhich we give render any ci'iticisms or
0])inions of oui- own entirely unnecessary. Two of
these— 7'Ae Hehridean Exile's Dream and The Star of
llememhrance — have been recast by the author since their
first appearance and set to music by himself. It is
sufficient to say that they have won the appreciation of
Alan Keid, F.E.I.S., editor of the National Choir, in which
musical miscellany several other lyrics of the poet have
appeared.
In 1880 Mr Shanks removed from the Deans farm to
Kirkton Lodge a ])retty little embowered cottage about
a mile east of Bathgate, where, under the kindly care of
Mrs Orr, the widow of an old Deans servant, who resides
over the way and acts as his amanuensis, he contrives in.
various ways to enjoy many of the felicities of life.
As the poet is possessed of a genial disposition and an;
extensive knoAvledge of tiie literatm-e of his country,.
Kirkton Lodge has long been the place of pilgrimage for
the rhyming brotherhood of the district. Lengthy
appreciative notices of the author and his works have
Hexry Suasks. 165
appeared in the People's Friend and in Modern Scottish
Poets. In the preparation of the ])resent work the editor
has been greatly indebted to Mr Shanks both for informa-
tion and for access to his vahiable scrap-books, from which
we are able to reproduce much that otherwise would have
been lost. We take this opportunity of acknoAvledging
these kindnesses, and of recording our cordial thanks for
the same.
To Starkie.'
A.s uj) High Bathgate Street you ^piel,
And 'fore a wee snug theekit biel',
You .spy a queer auld farrant chiel,
Stript to the sarkie,
Boring a pump wi' cautious .skeel —
That 's him — that "s Starkie.
It wad indeed be .something queer,
If wha is Starkie j^ou need .spier ;
For ilka wife, baith far and near,
That owns a wheel,
And some wlia are na wives, I fear,
Ken Starkie weel.
A heels-ower-heid, kind-hearted birkie
Is worthy, decent, honest Starkie ;
And dwails a patriotic sparkie
Within his breast ;
For Rantin" Robin's rhymin' wark aye
An enthusiast.
' .J'lhn Stark, a Bums enthusiast; known among the older generation
si» a manufacturer of Hpinning-wheels, &c., and to uh boys as the he.'-t
maker of "peerien"' that ever lived! He died .'50th Dec, 1881, a','eil
7'> yearn.
1C6 Ports of IjiSLiTHGOwsninK.
W'lii'ii .luiiier Tiiin ' and liu fori^atliur,
A kindred spirit — sic anither —
They '11 sit far on for days thegither
O'er frliips liobnobbin' ;
Their tongues it wad be vain to tether
Whin loosed on Robin.
Those twin enthusiasts agree
Tliat Robin fairly taps the tree ;
A' ither bards maun bow the knee
When Robin sings ;
He is, and evermore shall be,
The king o' kings.
Some say they gang ayont the score
In praise o" him they baith adore.
And stretch frae days to \veeks the splore ;
I dinna ken !
They 're Scotsmen to the very core —
Tlie wale o' men.
And gif it should, as chance it may,
Be Januar's five-an'-twentieth day —
The poet's anniversary —
You '11 find his biggin' •
Deck'd out in flag and holly gay,
Frae base to riggin'.
And Starkie, dress'd wi' conscious pride,
His workin' tools a' thrown aside ;
Frae early morn till eventide
Men, wives, and laddies
Thrang thro' his door, thrown open ^^■ide.
To pree his haggis.
'Thomas Anderson, died 13th May, 1896, aged 75. He was chiefly
noteworthy as an inordinate Burns enthusiast, and it is in keeping with
this phase of his character that he has left the bulk of his property,
amounting to about £1000, as a contribution to the fund which is being
raiseil for the erection of Orphan Cottage Homes in Mauchline, as a
.Memorial to the National Bard.
Hexry Shanks. 16T
Before the door set out to view,
In hodden gvey and bonnet blue,
Stands Scotia's Bardie at the plough, —
And Starkie made it ;
A bit o' wark a' maun allow
Does him great credit.
Within his wee snug bifrifin" hinir
Fu' mon3' a queer nick-nacket thing :
Auld Mother Eve's first weddin' ring.
As guid as new ;
The very stane — the very sling
Goliath slew.
Auld-fashion'd guns, and swurds, and bows —
A buss o' broom frae Cowdenknowes ;
The cloot o' ane o' Robin's cows ;
The hempen tether
That strangled ^lailie, ewe o' ewes !
And Mailie's blether.
Some auld thack frae the fioet's house ;
The fud o' puir A\'ee wounded puss ;
The daisy, and the cowerin' mouse
O' Robin's sonnet ;
And guid preserve 's ! the very louse
O' Missy's bonnet.
There 's Doctor Hornbook's lang kail gully ;
Tam Sampson's gun, the poachin' billy ;
A prayer-book that to Hol}^ AVillie
Did aince belang ;
The mantle o' the Muse o" Coila,
Sae rich and lang.
There's sticks frae Nith and stanes frae Doon ;
A cowl that hapt the Souter's croon ;
Bauld Tam o' Slianter's male's hint sliooii,
And Meg's grey tail ;
Wee Davock's cariitchos and sjjoon,
And Kah's aiii flail.
108 PoKTS OF LlX/JTIIOOHSIiniE.
There's Ciusar's collar, — Luath'a lugs :
That j)air o' niuist sa<;acMous dugs —
Wi' aiie o' crecsliie Hannel luj^s
Clad witch's doup ;
VVi' twa o' Poosie Nancie's jugs,
■ And mutchkin stoup,
"Twad need a catalogue to mention
The items o' his rare collection :
In truth, I 'ni open to connection
If lee I 'm tellin' ;
But there they are, free to inspection.
In Starkie's dwellin'.
Come then, ye bards, and tune your laj-s
In Starkie's honour, Staikie's [iraise,
Till Avon's banks and Avon's braes
Ring wi' the din :
There 's few in these degenerate days
Like him you'll fin'.
Fill high a bumper to the brim.
And diink wi' me lang life to liim ;
We lo'e him and his every whim,
The worthy birkie ;
May ne'er dull care or sorrow dim
The e'e o' Stark ie.
SoN(i (IK THE \\'ar Fiend.
Last night in my dreams I was wafted away
To Alsace and fair Lorraine,
And I saw by the pale wan light of the moon
The mangled heajis of the slain
Tliat lay without shroud, neath the drifting cloufl.
On the ghastly battle plain.
Hesrv Shasks. 169
It seemed as if ovei' a harvest tiold
Had swept the hurricane blast,
And had dashed to the earth the bound shocks of grain,
Infuriate as it jtassed.
The vale of the Rhine made a Moloch shrine,
And her sons the Holocaust.
And there lay the rider, and there the steed,
Side by side 'neath the midnight skies ;
But their hearts were now still, and the light had tied
From their fixed and glassy eyes ;
And there came a sound from the blood-stained giound,
The moan of the sacrifice.
A cold shudder ran thro' my veins, and the sweat
Stood in huge dro|)s on my brow,
As I looked on that reeking altar of death,
Of deep, heart-rending woe :
Where, where are the bands? where the helping hands
Of the red-cross army now ?
But hark ! yet another more terrible sound ! —
The sound of hilarious glee
Rises high o'er the field and jars on the sense :
Say, whence this wild revelry ?
'Tis the grim high priest— at his bloody feast
He holdeth high jubilee !
Now the groans of the dying and wounded's shrieks
To the heedless winds were flung ;
But they caught up the strain of the war-fiend's song.
And the hills their echoes rung
With the savage glee of his minstrelsy.
And this was the song he sung : —
" Oh, I am the king of the passions wild ;
1 reign in the breast of Hate ;
I stir up the strife of war to the knife
In the envious and irate ;
And I play out my gamt- in .Jehovah's name
Kioiii thf iiioutli of tlif I'otudtate.
170 POHTS OF LlM.iriKiOWSIIIIlK.
'• 1 sit mc (Mtliroiit'd on tlie cannon's breech, —
My sceptre the Hjuninf;^ sword ;
Anil ticinhlo proud nations when T apjiioarli ;
ThfV (mai<c at my lightest word ;
And I dash me the crown of the tyrant do\\ n
W'lio i-efnscth to own me loi'd.
" I revel in carnage, revel in blood,
And bear in my maih'-d hand
'I'iie title, the sword, and the bayonet.
The lance and the blazing brand ;
W'liile close at my heel come my cannon of steel.
With a stern and deteiniined band.
•■ Like the rush of a great anfl mighty wind
I sweep o'er tiie battle plain ;
And thousands of warriors bite the dust,
Struck down by my leaden i-ain ;
And I crush 'neath the feet of my chargers fleet
The wounded, the dying an<l slain.
' ' I scream with delight when the peasants fly
From their village all in flames ;
I laugh at the widows' and orphans' tears.
At the fears of courtly dames ;
While I reap at a breath my harvest of death
Of the pioudest and noblest names.
" Not alone on the .shore I show my power, —
I ride on the wide blue sea ;
And I sweep from the deep the peaceful fleet
Of commerce and industrj' :
I'eace and pity I .s))urn for mercy I've none —
Oh I who is a king like to me'
" Then sing ho 1 sing ho ! for the field of strife !
Sing ho ! for the crim.son flood !
Sing ho I merry ho I for the carnival, —
Foi- the gloi'ious feast of blood I
And sing ho, ho-ho-ho I for a nation's woe,
For dj'nasties nipi)ed in the bud I
Hexhy Shaxks. 171
" To the front ! to the front !" screamed the fierce war fiend.
When ended his savage \a\ ;
" To the front ! to the front ! for I scent afar
The blood of the battle fray :
'Tis a kingly draught— ha, ha ! " and he laughed—
" Ha, ha ! to the front — away !
" I will drain to the dregs the o'erflowing cup !"
He cried « ith delight supreme,
As he spread his huge wings on the blast, and fled
With a hideous yell and scieam.
A horror cry woke, and thankfully broke
The agony of my dream.
The old Irish Reaper.
When the hills and the valleys bright Autumn arrays
In rich glowing mantles of puiple and gold,
I heave a deep sigh for those halcj'on days
When bould Paddy went trotting along the highway.s
Light, joyous and free to the harvest of old.
He had left his own home in the land of the west
To bear us a hand, and his friendship to |)rove ;
Oh, who would not gladly give welcome and rest
To the soldier of peace on an errand so blest,
And bid him (iod-sjieed on his journey of love?
Why leaves not tlie reaper his own native slioreV
Oh, why doth he linger on banks of the Foyle?
Is the Scotland to-day not the Scotland of yore ? —
Our harvests less fruitful ? or love we no more
The light-hearted sons of tlie Emerald Isle ".'
I gaze on tlie road, but I gaze now in vain,-
Not a trace of the oUl Iiish reaper I .see ;
Hut high o'er tlie fields of tlie ripe, rustling grain
(.'omes the clatter of reaping machines from the plain ;
But bould Tat with his hook was tin- d.irliiig for me.
\l'2 Poets of Lisi.iTiuiuwsninE.
As he came fioin tlir slmres of oulcl Erin's green isle,
His hook \vr;i|)t ii> straw ucntly iniihT his arm ;
Mis fat'e ever wi'eatlieil in a good-naturL'd smile,
His rollicking ^^ it, and the illigint style
Of the garments he m ore, had a ne'er-failing charm.
His j>iftures(]ue figure how can I forget?
Still unclouded and clear my remembrance of him ;
His cheery " (Jood mornin' ! " to all wlioni he met ;
His ould battered beaver, so jauntily set,
Tliat was graced wid a pipe, but Mid never a Inim.
His coat, gaily mended with patches a score.
And colours as many as Joseph's ov ould.
Was a study complete : " By St. Patrick ! "' he swoi-e,
"" This idintical coat my great-grandfather wore,
And my childer will, afther I 'm buried and could !"
And thin for the brogues and the breeches ov Pat :
His toes through the rints did the fresh air enjoy ;
Till- wind whistled free in the place where he sat,
And moighty convaynient intoirel}' was that :
Oil ! a picture all over was Paddy, the boy !
Anil see him in Brynies,^ how earnest he'd look
On the big-bellied pot as the praties did boil ;
But diggin", ;uid eatin', and handlin' the hook, —
Ay, and fightin', — were tricks that from Nature he took
Wid the first breath he di-ew on the banks of the Foyle.
He is gone ! he is past ! like a sound on the blast, —
Like a shore-broken wave, like a tale that is told ;
Tlie broom of Dame Progress hath caught him at last
And swejit him away ; but a gem of tlic past
Was the stout Irish reajjcr — the reajier of old.
Around his loved form like a garland entwine
The bright sunny raem'ries of life's early morn,
Wlien the old harvest band, like a regiment in line
\\"ith their bright gleaming blades, in a chorus would join
And the song of the reaper was heard from the corn.
' Irish term for both}'.
Eexry Shanks. 173
Theie was life, there was heart, there was soul in the scene,
And, lest of our progress too freely we boast,
Ere we count up the gains of unfeeling machine
Let us feelingh- value the old that hath been.
And bear in remembrance the good we have lost.
My love for the reaper will never grow chill,
And as pensive I wander b}- meadow and brook
When the deep-purple heather waves high on the hill.
And golden helds gladden the plain, I will still
Think kindly of Pat and the old reaping hook.
The Hebridean Exile".s Dream.
In my log cabin in Canadian wildwood.
When through the pine trees moans the eerie wind,
-My thoughts fly back unto mj' days of childhood.
To home and friends for ever left behind.
Where Scuir-na-Gillean braves the wintry weather,
And round Ben Moie tlie howling tempest raves,
And where in glory blooms the pui^le heather,
There sleep my fathers in their island graves.
Chorun — Land of the clansmen I true and loyal-heaited :
Land of the brave, the noble, and the free !
Land of my childhood ! though for ever parted.
The exile's heart still fondly clings to thee.
Oft in my dream.s I roam my native island,
Dearer to me than all the woild beside.
For still my heart is true, my heart is Highland,
Anfl glows my bieast with all a clansman's pride :
Fondly I linger by the lonely shieling
Around whose walls ray early footsteps strayed.
Then up the silent glen at gloaniin' stealing
I clasp once more my own dear Highland maid.
Land of tlie clansmen, &c.
74 Poets of LiyuTiioowsninK.
1 see tlu' billows fioni tho wild Atlantic
Diishi'd into foam upon the rock-bound shore,
Or wittch the eagle scared from cliffs gigantic,
And, screaming wildly, to the zenith soar.
Hound the turf lire I list to song and story
Of dauntless chiefs of old Clanranald's line,
Or hear from aged sires the vanished glory
That c-lustered round lona's sacred shi'lne.
Land of the clansmen, &c.
High "mong the rocks the sheep and gouts are bleating ;
Cattle are browsing by the mountain stream ;
Old friends and neighbours give me kindly greeting.
And I am liai>])y, hai)py in my dream !
But with the waking conies the thought that never
My feet shall tread the Hebridean strand,
For I have left my native hills for ever,
And dwell an exile from my fathers' land.
Land of the clansmen ! true and loyal-hearted ;
Land of the brave, the noble and the free !
Land of my childhood ! though for ever jiaited,
The exile's heart still fondly clings to thee.
The Star of Rkmembrance.
On the night that we parted, my Maiy,
When the salt tears bedimmed your bright eye,
Do you mind how you pointed, my Mary,
To a bright little star in the sky ?
How we promised each night in the year, love,
When the shades of the evening drew nigh,
To steal out and to gaze for a while, love.
On that briglit little star in the sky ':
That gem in the robe of the sky,
That shrine set aloft in the sky.
It reminds me of love and my Mai'y,
That mentor aloft in the sky.
Eexry Suaxks. 175
And as ever upon it I gaze, love,
Do I fancj' the glance of your eye
Is reflected to me from the lift, love,
By that bright little star in the sky ;
And it seems still to say to my heart, love,
Thouo^h dark clouds now around vou mav flv.
Fear you not ! for I 'm still keeping watch, love,
From my turret aloft in the sky.
That mirror ^doft in the sky,
That warder aloft in the sky, —
'Tis the star of remembrance, my Mary,
That mentor aloft in the sky.
The Re-enlistment,
Oh, where are you going, dear Patrick,
That you 're packing your bundle up so ?
Would you leave your ould mother in Ireland ?
No, Patrick, my darlin', don't go.
I know you 've been talking with Murphy,
That Yankee deceiver and spy ;
But don't you believe him, dear Patrick,
Every truth that he spakes is a lie.
'Tis nothing but bouncin' and blainey,
Their talk about rations and pay ;
Sure their gould 's just a durty bit [)aper
That won't pay an ounce of green tay :
'Tis only for tightin' they want yez.
And in troth that's an Irishman's right ;
But it is for repcalin' the Union,
Not to patcli u]) a Union, they fight.
Not a hap'ortli the better, belave me,
Will you theie be than where you are now ;
Sure there's praties enough in ould Ireland,
Witl butter-milk fresh from the cow ;
POKTS OF Lis IJTIKIOWSII IKK.
And Katlili't'ii, \ imr sweL-t littlt; cliaiiner,
Wla-ii .-lie ho:ii-.s lier dear I'atiick's avvsi^'.
Will iniiriA some jintleniaii t'aiinei-
W'id seiisr in ould Iieland to stav.
Then Piitiick, dear, listen to reii.son,
(Jet tlietn notions (luick out of your liead,-
Suie, you 're better a iiooi- boy in Ireland
Than a captain out there, if you 're dead !
But if you 're for tightin', you spalpeen,
There's sticks in the county Kildare,
Tlien give that ouhl villain a beatin'
W^id your blackthorn at Donnybrook Fair.
Hooray, boys ! you 're safe by that token,—
For I know well that glance in your eye
Meant mischief wid your father before yez,
And wiiy not wid his son now, say I ?
But 1 'm wastin' good time now in talkin'.
And Kathleen will share in my joj- ;
So get her consint to the weddin',
And my blessin' be wid you, my boy.
Birth and Death ok the Bathoate Hooi.kt..
(A paper whose first sheet proved also its winding-sheet).
Last night I had a curious dream :
Methought I heard a Hoottt scream ;
And as the fledgling biid flew past
It gasping sobbed >ipon the blast,
Pray, Bathgate folks, attend I—
This is my first — this is mv last —
Beginning and my end !
Epitaph.
Here lies tiie Hoolet, tattered, torn :
A bird that vainly tried
To raise a screech when it was born,,
And with the effort died.
James Gaudxeh. 177
JAMES GARDNER.
JAMES GARDNER, the author of the following verses,
is a native of Bathgate, where he is a solicitor and
Procurator Fiscal. He began to rhyme w^hen about twelve
years of age and has been a frequent contributor of verse
to newspapers and journals for a great number of years ;
but has not yet seen fit to issue these in book form.
During election times his satirical pen has often been a
thorn in the flesh of the party opposed to him in the
political arena, and, indeed, though offering but little
criterion of his ability as a poet, it is by these effusions
that he is most widely known. He has always been a
keen and successful curler and bowler and is recognised as
the laureate of the Bathgate Curling and Bowling Clubs,
and of the Torphichen Kilwinning Lodge No. 13, in which
he has held the position of Right Worshipful Master seven
or eight times. He is at present the President of " Under
the Beeches " Literary Society of which he has been a
member since its inception. He has the happy gift of
rhyming extemporaneously, and seldom a convivial
meeting at which he is present breaks up without a "verse
all round " on the company. It is to be ho])ed that
Mr Gardner will, .some day soon, collect and publish his
poetical effusions and his reminiscences of iJuthgate.
IlDuaie Jean and The Bonnie JVee Blassom are exquisite little
songs, and both have been finely sot to music by his friend
Henry Shanks, the gifted poet of the Deans.
ITS /'oHTS OF LiM.ITIliioWSII lUE.
KiNii Frost.
Now cliariniiiji- Flora's jrune to I'est
And closed Irt lovely e'e,
And dieams aboot her lovers a'
Assembled round the tee ;
While Boreas snuf? has rowed her in
His plaid o' driven snaw,
And tents the lassie as she sleeps
Cavdd winter houi's awa'.
Chortci — Then let us ])ledfje oor Norland ]\\n\i
Wi' Caledonian glee,
Whase sceptre is the waving cowe,
Whase throne is on the tee.
His castles bright, on land and sea,
In nameless beauty sta7id.
Their glacier-turrets pierce the lift
Be-mockin' human hand ;
Created in a winter night,
Sae wonderfully fair.
Yet swift as he adjourns his courts
They vanish into iur.
What king but he can live and dee
And wake to life again, —
Can hush the breeze and still the seas,
And bind the fretful main ?
The birds and flowers in glens and bowers
His concju'ring power can tell ;
Whene'er he lowers all nature cowers
Beneath his magic spell.
Attendant now, wi' a' his knights.
He 's on the icy plain ;
His voice is warbling loud and sweet
In every channel-stane ;
James Gardxer. 179
And straggling wild his hoary locks
To fan the less'ning day, —
His one delisrht, to Scotland dear,
The curlers' roarin' play !
Give cheer for Scotia's darling game ;
The willing welkin ring :
The broom, the ice, the curling stane
Forever let her sing !
May ilka j'ear oor manl}^ sports
Hold on to merry spring.
And be the o'ercome o' oor lay —
Lonjf live oor Norland King: !
Bonnie Jeax.
The wee hai-ebell ayont the fell.
The lily by the sparkling well,
Aye borrow diamonds frae the sky
To busk themsel's when she trips by, —
In love wi' bonnie Jean.
The violet blooming in her e'e
Has aften 'witched the ling"ring bee.
And am'rous winds maun halt a wee
Her temptsome, mellow mou' to \ >ree, —
In love wi' bonnie Jean.
The spell-bound mavis lies in wait
To hear her chant my future fate.
Syne sweet within yon .spreading tree
Love's thrilling tale repeats to me —
In love wi' bonnie Jean.
Ye'd think the dnnnlie sun gaed doon
.\8 jealous o' tlie wa\ikrife moon ;
The warld .sae fond, wi' joy awake.
Rowed nicht and day foi' liei' ain sake,
In love wi' bonnie Jean.
ISO POHTS OF IjMJrucowsinuh:.
But noo they 've a' a s])ite at me —
The rtoweis, tlie birds, the wind, tlie bee.
Sun, moon, and waild, w i" wicked speed,
Are wisliiii" a' that I was deid,
Wiia stole tlicii- l)oimio .lean.
Tui; HoNMi; Wkk Blossom.
'Tis thine, lioncst winter, o'er valleys and mountains
To spread upon a" things cauld mantles o' snaw,
To vex a' the trees and to seal the clear fountains,
Untune the blythc l)irdies, the flooei-s chase awa".
But spare, oh ! proud winter, the bonnie wee blossom
That's burstin' in beauty, the pride o' yon vale ;
Thy breath dinna steer it, oh ! dinna f^ang near it
To blind it wi' snawdrift or dash it wi' hail I
I love thee, grand winter, in i)eace or commotion,
When hushing the rose or the waters asleep,
Or hounding the levin thro' star-frichtit heaven,
When riding the blind-winds or coursing the deep.
Oh ! spare, then, dread winter, the bonnie wee blos.'iom
That's purity's ainsel', tho' rigid thy law ;
Or let but ae snawflake alicht on her bosom
When thou art comparing the white o' thy snaw !
How^ weel thou lov'st Lily I marked by thy tokens
Bespangling her garden, festooning her cot ;
How .safely thou led'st her across the deep river
That nicht she consented to fa' to my lot.
When next thou'rt presenting chaste flowers at her window
Oh : stay till she m aukens and hear my love sing ;
Thou 'It cast thy cauld i)laidie and a' thy bright jewels,
And kneel dow n lieside her bedewed into spring !
James Gardner. 181
LiFK AND DkATJI.
When the tender babe and helpless
Breathes of life the vital breath,
Twins the mother then gives birth to,
And their names are Life and Death.
Life pursues its course erratic,
Fleeting fleeter than the wind ;
Death swift -chasing gluts the minutes
Thoughtless life doth fling behind.
Death still follows like a shadow,
"Tis no matter where we roam ;
Closely pressing while in battle,
Dimly distant while at liomc.
Day and night, unwearied, steady,
Watching, lurking everywhere, —
On the felon's gibbet jierching,
Nestling on the bosom fair.
O'er the ancient furrowed forehead
You will find him curling there ;
Bridging o'er the curving shoulders,
Peejiing through the snowy hair.
Wliile o'nv love, in beauty's garden,
Spin the giddy, golden liour.-i,
Thriftily he kee|)s transplanting
To his endless bed of flowers.
At his beck the conscious flow'ret
Droojw amid the radiant liost ;
'Tis the tendei', s|)(itlcss Ix-autj'
He dotli love and worshiji most.
I8il J'ohTs or J,i\Lirii(U)\vsiiinK.
Few till' lionies in cut ur |i:ilact'
But his footjiiiiits li.ivc ht'cn there,
I^eaviiijr s.ul boieavenieiit — [Kiinting
To tlie lonelv vacant cliair.
Fatlici's, iiu)thcf.«, wives and cliildieu.
Till the harvest-time is done,
Fall beneath liis hissing sickle,
(ireen or mellow- -everyone.
Man in vain erects his bulwark
Death's swift stream to set aside ;
Every rampait overleaping,
Nought withstands the hungry tide.
Doubly though our li\es be guai'ded
And our paths with flowers be strewn,.
Ne'er a moment past the present
Can frail inoitul count his own.
Life's a kite whose measured string maj'
Mount it to the ether blue :
Silently Death sits beneatli it,
Winding up the fatal clew.
Nor is man his only victim :
Dwellers all beneath the sun,
Movino- breathintr. vetfetatinff.
Death doth reckon all as one.
When the bursting clouds with lightning
Rake the boundless fields of air ;
Carve the brows of giant mountains ;
Laj' the face of nature bare :
James Gardner. 183
He, astride the flashincr coursers.
Rides M'ith tremulous delight.
Spreading doleful desolation
In his momentary flight.
Not in units but in billions ,
Hourly he devours his prey ;
Satiate never, craving ever —
On-\\ard to the latest day.
Death will then, by Life o'ermastered.
Peri.<h in earth's final .scene,
And depart with the creation
As if lie had never been.
184 PoKTS OF I^lSLiriKlOWSIlIIiK.
ALEXANDER HAMILTON.
1832-189r>.
ALEXANDER HAMILTON was born at the farm of
Kirkton Mains, near Bathgate, on 20th August, 1832.
He received his education at the Bathgate Academy, and
theieafter settled down to the labours of the farm. On
rctiiing from Kirkton Mains about twenty years ago, he,
with his sister, who is also imbued with his love for poetry,
took i)ossession of Kirkroads Cottage, where, in the
cultivation of his well-tended garden, he found the work
most congenial to his tastes. One of the interesting traits
of his character was his love and care for birds and cats,
among the succeeding generations of which he had many
pets, and for which on their departure from life there was
a little plot of ground reserved in the front garden which
he quaintly designated "The Graves of a Household."
From liis mother he inherited a love for the ballad
literature of Scotland, and with this rude region of romance
he was probably better acquainted than any other in the
county. In this respect he could re-echo the sentiment
expressed by Sir Philip Sidney : — " Certainly, I must
confess mine own barbarousness ; I never heard the old
song of Percy and Douglas, that I found not my heart
moved more than with a trum})et." ^ Possessed of a very
retentive memory, he had a wonderful store of ballads and
legendary lore, to the beauties of which the rising
^ An Apologie for Poetrie : 15»1.
Alexasder Hamiltos. 185
generation is, to a great extent, sublimely ignorant. AVith
Dunbar, Lindsay and Douglas he was as familiar as with
tiamsay, Fergusson and Burns. Indeed all his literary
inclinations lay with the poets and poetry of the past, and
his own productions are naturally marked by the force and
quaintness of expression which characterise the eai'ly
" makars." For many years he contributed largely to the
IFest Lothian Coxriir in the form of "Sonsjsand Ballads,"
" A Rhyming History of Bathgate," " Bathgate Characters,"
and miscellaneous poems. These possess a certain rugged-
iiess of rhythm that may not satisfy the cultured fastidious
ear ; but in them the discerning reader will be able to
appreciate their own peculiar charm, and own that
" Though his artless strains he rudely sings,
And throws his hand uncouthi}' o'er the strings,
He glows with all the spirit of the bard."'
In the autumn of 1895 he caught a chill while working
in his garden, and to its eff'ects he ultimately succumbed
on 24th October. He was laid to rest in Livingston
Churchyard, where many generations of his ancestors
repose in "the sweet seducing pause of Death's long
dream."
A FlKST OK MaV at MolNTKKKIE. '
Xae witch nor wai'lo(,-k iioo is fn-t-n
On Beltane's dewy morn.
Nae tether stown by eantrip aiit.
Nor .scow thcr'd V)anks o' corn.
' On the morning of the first of May and the evening preceding; it,
known a« lieltan or Beltane, the fairies were supiwsed to iwssess the
jmwer of inflicting evil on those who lja<l treated or wpoken of tlicni
'liHrespectfully.
186 Pours or Lisi.iriinowsiiiKh:.
It w.isiia sjio ill (lays yanu l)v.
Ami tlmt the farmers kent,
W'licii witclies on their ra<;-weed steeds
Cain' scoiiriii" ower the bent.
1 've heard tlie auld folk often say
A Durbar aince was hekl,
To sit in session on a \\ iti li
Wlia had Vaiiist Nick rebelled.
Tile rendezvous and nieetin«r place,
The howe below Mounteeiie.
The northmost point o' Sauters' Road,
A place baith dull and dreary.
The Deil and Major Weir were there,
Dalyell and (irannie (iiuntin,
Peace-Morning frae the Ochil hills,
And Warlock Tarn frae Brunton. '
Auld Hornie frae his wallet drew
His Black-Book's horrid scroll,
And read her sentence there aloud
Wi" fiendish jrrin and scowl.
The Major elauj^ht liei- by the lug,
And ower the hill he 's gane,
And rowed her doun owei- Witchcraig brae,
And felled her wi' a stane.
And what a tempest tliere arose
O' Hie and wind and hail,
W'hilk stripped the forest o' its trees,
And shook baith hill and dale.
I 'nil iiawkie trembled at tlie stake
In terror and in dread ;
The auld brood-soo brak' doun the crue
And lap into the latle.
' Celebrated warlocks and witches in ballad lore.
Alkxasder Hamiltox. 181
The doors flew open wi' a bang
And couped the cream, I ween,
While kirns and chesswells high in air
Abune the lioose were seen.
Auld Saunders ran for Ranter's shoe,
And Meg for rowan tree ;
They olapt them in the parritch pat,
And hung it on the swee ;
And poured in wine and puddock's bluid,
But a' things wadna dae ;
They lost Ijaith coo, and soo, and kirn
Upon that first o' May.
Nellie Braid.
A daint} bit body was auld Nellie Braid,
A canty bit body was auld Nellie Braid,
Muckle thocht o' and likit wherever she gaed,
A sociable body was auld Nellie Braid.
Aye eident and birrin" a" day at her wheel,
And when gloamin" cam' roun' her dozen she'd reel ;
Though sma' were the winnings wi' spinning she made
Contented and happy was auld Nellie Braid.
Her hoosie sae tidy, .sae cosy and clean,
Wi' a' thing in order, and aumi-ie fu' bien,
Wliaur humplocks o" bannocks and farls were laiil,
And snell was the kebbuck o' auld Nellie Braid.
A neuk fu' o" tatties fu' mealy and dry,
WV a ham on the cleek to frizzle or fry,
An«l a soo in the crue was the hale stock in-h-ade,
Nae ither possession had auld Nellie Braid.
Sae free wi' her bannocks to weans at the schuK-,
Wi' a daud o' her cheese and a drink o' wheep-yill,
Aye spierin' the (juestions and psalms that were said.
For a guid-liviri' woiium \\,i> ;inl<l Nellie Bi'aid.
188 I'ot:i\s OF Lisi.iTiKidwsninK.
V>\\{ woo to tlie iinj) that ineddled her sjHJOt,
Or stapt n\> its niooth \\\ a divot or cloot,
Or daimnil up the burn for a paiddle or wade —
My certies I he catch'd it frae auld Nellie Braid.
Thouirli hamely hei- claithin' — yet what aboot that '/
Slio lookit aye do.ss in her slioitgoon and biat ;
And allow me to tell ye, baith matron and maid,
^'t• should i\o\\\ the fasliions o" auld Nellie Biaid.
C ALLEN DKK's ThROXE.
On Kirkton hills there stands a throne,
In rural grandeur Nature's own,
Wi' its cano))\' o' fir and broom,
And biiar and woodbine's sweet perfume ;
Its sloping banks wi' thyme o'erhung.
And speckled gowan.s twined among,
The bracken and forget-me-not.
The clover's bloom and raven's-foot :
Wi' silver shekels bright and gay,
A' dancing to the (Jod of day.
And vocal every bush and tree
Wi' song of bird and hum of bee.
And what a prospect here, I trow,
Of ten fair counties a' in view —
A bonnier landscape ne'er was seen
Of hill and dale and woodland green.
Fai- to the left the ("alstane slap,
The Leadhills and blue Tinto's tap ;
The Ochils towering to the right,
Wi' Wallace Tower and Snawdoun's height
Far in the north the (!i-ainpiaus hie,
Ben Lomond bold and Hen Ledi ;
The Cobblers in Argyle are seen,
Wi" hill o' Dum stretched out between.
Alexasder Eamiltox. l^i>'
I 've heard it said by folk that 's gone
Kino- James the Fifth sat on this throne,
And hurley-hackit doon its brae
Wi" Geordie Binks and (iibbie tae.
A Dream.
I dreamed I stood on Warlock's Hill,
And drank of fancy there my fill,
And free to roam the fields out o'er
As I was wont in days of yoi-e.
I saw the cot, my home of birth,
The sweetest spot to me on earth,
Wi" its woodbine and its ivied wa'.
And the milk-white rose that sweet did blaw.
Its flowery plot before the door
Wi' southernwood and hawthorn hoar.
The scented balm and rosemarie.
And sunflowers spreading wide and hie.
Methought the light of other days
Was shining still ui^on thy braes.
And friends and kindred, long, long dead.
Were flitting round tlie old homestead.
The cadence of a parent's word
In loving rajtture there I lieard ;
The gaberlunzie, too, was theie
Wi' lieartfelt tlianks and fervent jn-ayei'.
Nae Eden bower was e'er sae sweet
Tliongh laved wi' Pison's waveless weet ;
But some fell spirit me awoke—
The dream was past, the s|)ell was broke.
100 PoKTS Oh' LisLiTiKiowsnini:.
SiMMKK 's Aw a'.
Alas ! the simmer days are pine,
Nae niair the roses blaw,
The violet by the moss-grey stane
Has hid its heid an' a'.
The gowan 's withered on the lea,
The meadow's sere and broon,
And leaves are whirling fine (In- trees
In eddies a' ai'ooii'.
Noo mute's the blackbird's mellow sang
In wood, or glen, or shaw,
And dumb's tlie craik the fields aniang
When dews o' evening fa'.
The swallow, too, begins to steer
His course to Afric's shore,
And naething's left our heaits to cheer
But robin at the door.
Some lo'e the s])ringtime o" the year,
Sweet type o' youthful j)rime,
And some the autumn, faded, sere.
And some the wintertime :
But gie to me the simmer days,
The bonnie month o' June,
When daisies deck the banks and braes,
And birds are a' in tune.
Fraxcis Bahxahd. 191
FRANCIS BARXAKD.
Born 1834.
FKANXIS BARXAKD was born at the hamlet of Devon
S(]uare in the parish and county of Clackmannan on
7th May, 1834. Shortly after this event his parents
removed to Airdrie, but after a residence of four years
there they returned to Clackmaniianshire and settled for
some time at Forrest Mill. Here the embryo poet was
sent to school — the same school in which Michael Bruce,
the poet, taught during the last summer of his brief life,
and where he wrote his exquisite Eleg;/ : To SjJving.
At school Francis proved himself an apt pupil, and it
became the aim of his parents to educate him for the
ministry ; but the necessity of removing fi^om place to
place in consequence of depressed trade militated sadly
against this cherished project, and we find him beginning
the business of life as a herd, and ultimately as a miiier.
A few years were spent in Bo'ness and Grangemouth,
where Mr Barnard married.
Some thirty-four years ago he took up his residence in
Woodend, Armadale, where, Avith the exception of an
interval of two years, he has lived since. Shortly after his
settlement in Woodend he began contributing verse to the
local press and other Scottish newspapers. In 1875 he
published these in a collected form under the title of
SjMirks from a Miners Liuap, and in 1889 hi; further
enhanced his poetical i-eputation by the publication of
192 Poets or Lisuriinowsiiinh:.
Chirps fmc the Enci'tne Lmn. These volumes, though they
do not include all the inspirations of his nnise worthy of
preservation, give a fair impression of the poet's abilities.
As one of Scotland's collier poets he ranks second only to
David Winajate, to whom his first volume is dedicated.
Mr Barnard's poems are marked by a delicate perception of
the beauties of Nature, as an interpreter- of which he is
always sensitively realistic : his descriptions of her various
moods revealing the keen student and faithful lover.
A perusal of his verse impresses one with the deep
sincerity and high moral worth of the man ; being, indeed,
a reflex of his own character. He is also the possessor of
a certain nimbleness of diction and rhythm which lends an
additional charm to his themes. He is an ardent lover of
the old Scottish " makars," and a few years ago contributed
an able appreciation of Dunbar to the Bathgate Burns Club
— an essay that showed how truly he was in touch with
this "neglected Burns," as he is sometimes called. Of a
quiet, unassuming disposition, Mr Barnard is universally
respected in the district. The death of his faithful and
loving life-partner a few years ago was a heavy blow to the
poet ; but he still sings sweetly, though the deeper chords
have a touch of sadness. Lengthy notices of him have
appeared in Modern Scottish Poets and in the Poet's Album
of the Weekly News, edited by Robert Ford.
TiiK Voices i' tiii; (Ii.kx.
A\'hen the bud upon tlie hiuvthoiii bush piochiinis tlie iiew-boiii
spring,
An' the merrj- lark far into heaven ascends on spiral wing,
I wander awa' doon the biae when mony dinna ken,
A" to listen to the music o" tlie voices i' the ylen.
Fii.i.\r/s Bah.xau/). }9:\
Wee robin iiuo has fled the doors, an' wlia will only gang
An' listen to him i' the glen, he sings a cheerier sang ;
An' sweetly on the hawthorn spray the dunnock pii)es his strain :
Oh I theie 's naething melancholy in the voices i' tlie glen.
The blackbii'd his sweet lay o" love cliants in niair solemn tunc.
An" the lichter-hearted thrnsli you M tliinU the merle's sang wad
droon :
An" tlie merry little sliilfa lattles own' an" owi'e again
Kis thowles.s sang — a"s love an' joy that "s lu^ard doon i" the glen.
( ) come vvi' me a' ye whose high an' lioly aim thro" life
Is battling in your brithers' weal, an" in the weary strife
^■oul• guid 's requited aye wi' ill — O come awa', an' then
N'e'll soon forget your sorrows 'maiig tin- \(iices i' the glen.
Ingratefu' soond \\as never iieard or kent to live doon there ;
Am', oh I it's aye a blest retreat frae dull an' carkin' care ;
Slidulil a" the warld look glum an" sour. ho\\- sweet it is to ken
'I'hat ye get a kindly greetin" frae tlie voices i' the glen.
F.ut yesterday, nae far'er gane, delightfu' 'twas to hear
A still wee sang up frae the eaith stole sweetly on my ear :
I listened : 'twas the inimrose singing, "Here I come again
To waken up the beauty that is sleepin' i' the glen.
• 'I'he buttei-ciip an' daisy soon in legion w ill be here,
An" the gaudy little heartsea.se that ne'er fails the heart to cheer,
.Vn" a tliou.sand ither beauties whicii to sing I maun refrain,
A" coming yet to bless you wi" their music i" the glen.
An' aftci I am .sleepin", when the merle forgets to sing,
.\u" the mavis downa dac aught but -alute you wi' his wing,
Veil get tlie bonnie harebell an" tiic stately foxglove, when
Thev w ill sinj:- a iiii-ny welconu- as ye come into tlic iilen."
.Slie cea.sed to sing ; but oh, she smihil all blusliing loveliness,
Like sweet young maiden half-attired, there in tlie ciumplcd dies.*
She had thrown in haste around her in her eagerness just tiien
To hurry forth an' rouse the beauty sleepin' i' the glen.
13
l;)l I'oKTs OF LiM.rnKioMsiiiiii:.
Mail iiiiglit. 1 siiij:, but now tlic trees nn' hiislies are a tlirang
Kejoiciii" in tlieir sweet birth-time ; but 1 maun close my sang
On the wimplin" little burnie I may something sing again
An" its music tinkle, tinklin" on its way doon thro' the glen.
A' \e wlia wad hae freedom frae tin- warld's dcccitt'u' snares,
In busy, bustlin", tainted life yet strive to dioon your cares.
An" think to find your peace o' mind in haunts o' sinfu' men,
•C) seek tlie holy pleasures tliat aie found doo!i in a gltMi.
Honeymoon Sonc.
care will gar a man look wae,
An' care will mak' him glad,
E'en care will heave his heart owre hie.
An' care Mill drive him mad :
But trow mc, man is blessed by cares
The fewer that they be.
For a' my caie is for my Nell,
An' Nell "s a' for me.
Nae warld's gear e'er gae me fear.
Or care to cross my rest, —
But wliat has love to do wi' gear?
For wi 't he 's seklom blest :
1 daily toil for Nellie's smile,
An' the sweet blink o' her e'e,
An' I've nae ciire but for my Nell,
An' Nell nane but me.
Ve wha hae lived in Hymen's band
Twa-thirds o' a' your life.
An' watched your little offspring .sweet
<iiow up to man an' wife.
The sweetest time o' a' your lives
Was (sure ye '11 a' agree)
When ye'd nane to care for hni your Nell.
.\n' Xell nane but ve.
FnAxris Bai;sahi>. 19;")
< ;ae mix ye wi' the babblin' crowd
Whase peace is wrecked at hame,
An' seek your joys in princely ha's,
Wanrestfu" lord an" daniu ;
In the wide desert I could dwell.
An' joyfu' there wad be,
Wi' nought to caie for but my Xell,
An' Nell nought but me.
OoK Wee Fran'.
Up again, ye waukrife loon,
Xae time sin' I laid ye doon ;
Mammie"s bairnies whiles sleep soun',-
Cuddle doon, my bairnie.
Mammie has a heap to dae,
Something makin' for you tae —
Na : ye '11 hae youi' waukrife way,
Restless, thrawart bairnie.
There's your ba', then, an' youi- coo,
Baith frae England sent to you ;
\\'liistle tae ! there, whee[)le noo,
Blaw awa", my bairnie.
There 's your drum tae, i)lay awa'.
]Mam will sing to ye ana'
While she mak's a frockie biaw
To her bonnie bairnie.
Eh ! there's dey ' up frae the raw.
Come to tak' my bairn awa" ;
Noo ye '11 stend, an' jump, an' craw —
Wait awee, my bairnie.
Wait : I '11 dicht your facie clean.
Syne ye 're aff to Auntie Jean,
An' she'll luring ye bsxck at e'en,
( ;iii da comes to bairnie.
' Grandfather.
196 Poets or l.i si.iriKiowsuiuic.
Il.ippv l),iitli to >;;iiij;' .■iwa'.
Life's i'xtreii)(!s — tlic s|iriii]L( iui" fii',
Tlaiid ill itlu'r"s liaiid, tlu' twa -
I )i'\ s tuiul o" tliu l)aii'iiie.
Aft tlif iiiist> hfdiin my eve,
When 1 asli futurity
\\ liat I w isli, vet cimna see —
Hiaxcii L;ui(lc \\\\ hainiie.
(!oNK Bkfokk.
UN MK-M(M;T ol' MV WII'K.
Yes, g'one aw ay from the sinful strife ;
Not dead, but alive now evci-more ;
In garments of slieeii in tlic liij^licr life.
Singing the song on tlie fartlier shore ;
And a golden crown she weareth now,
A harp she bears in her snow-white hand,
The victor's wreath is around hei- brow,
And beside her a little child doth stand.
Beautiful, oh but a wistful eye
She casteth afar o'er the troubled wave ;
No sorrow there, but a longing — a sigh
For one whom beside her she now would have.
Her sufiferings are all in the swelling past,
Bravely she breasted the siu'ging tide ;
She fought and she struggled, conquer'd at last,
And landed safe on the other side.
Bildads and others then came my way.
Came with false Mords to comfort me ;
My mother went lionie on the self-same day^ —
I had surely sinned in a great degree.
God knoweth best, He alone dotli Unnw .
But dailj- my cry unto Him is gone
From mine Kbenezer of lon<f ajro
Help me as hitherto Thou hast done.
FnAXCTf; Baksard. 197
My soul is weary, I too would yo !
Only a year, but a wearisome time
Ot waiting and watching. Ah ! time moves slow
When the heart is afar in another clime.
To take me hence some day He will come.
I '11 live in the thought soon His time may be :
Oh, happy the meeting when I go home,
Foi- there she is waiting to welcome me.
SoyxET : AX EvEMNc; IN Si'Rixi;.
How sweet, how beautiful, liow mild and still,
Now that young Spring has shown her infant face :
Tlie sun ha? set behind the western hill.
And gold-tinged clouds swim through the vaulted space
Like golden fishes in a crystal vase.
Pleasant the murmur of the jnirling rill.
Mixed with the little song.sters of the grove,
All sweetly carolling their lajs of love.
'Tis t\vilight, and the thrush now sings alone :
The smaller birds erewhile has'e one by one
i>ropt ofl— his song confused, but sweeter grown,
The last tones sweetest, till, now hush ! 'tis done.
O ! I could dwell among tlie w oods \\ ith tliee
To listen to thy strains of lichest melody !
TiiK Laddies Noo-a-davs.
Las^t week our tailyour sent owre-bye
Tliree suits, ane for ilk lad,
Yet our guidwife ne'er said 'twas wrang,
Or richt, or guid, or bad ;
But sud the lasso(;k mint a dress
She drees a week o' wacs —
'Twere better gin the la«ses a'
Were laddies no<j-a-davs.
lys Fonts or Ij.m.itik.owshiiiI':.
'I'lif ()iil\ lass \\c ever liad.
All", (lootless, my tae e"e.
An' am- Mud tliiiik tlie initlu-i- wad
liidulji'L' the lass a wee ;
l'.ut iia, gin but the hids are lieht
She disiia cai'e tw a straes :
All I inithers iiiak' owie murkle o'
Their laddies iioo-a-days.
Yestreen a ueebors sons had coft
Their sister a new hat ;
Our lass Imt said, " Lang- ere our lads
Wad buy ntc ane like that.'"
■' Dress, dress I the laide o' lassies noo ! ""
Our guidwife gravely says,
■' "Twill ruin ye ! "" but ne'er a word
'liout liiddies iioo-a-days.
" Haud theie I" (|iii>' I, ye'ie far eneuch.
My douce, my dainty dame,
1 'ill doobtfu' gin tht- lassies be
Sae sair 's ye think to blame ;
An" gin ye '11 listen for awee
I "11 cure ye o' your craze —
The lassies arena hauf sae bad "s
The laddies noo-a-<lays.
'• They'll barely hae their scluilin" dune,
An' start a job o' wark.
Whan they come hame they "re trickit out
111 (lickie or wliite sark ;
A" cutt'd an" collar'd round the neck.
They '11 traik the glens an' braes,
Ye'd think they earl's sons were born,
The laddies noo-a-daj'S.
" It wisna sae when I was young —
Ye needna lau<;h or smirk —
A gravat thro' the week, a scaif
On Sabbath to the kirk ;
Fraxcis BAnyAiii). ^99
Ae suit, that kept out winter's cauld,
An' simmer's warmer rays,
Ser'd a' the year ; in pom^h nae watch
Like laddies noo-a-days.
" An' oh, they're wise I sae soberly
They '11 tell ye, an' discreet.
The suit that haps frae winters cauld
Is no for simmer's heat,
An' twa they "11 hae, an' ane forbye
When at their games and plays :
The deil has got possession o"
The laddies noo-a-days.
" To try an' reason wi' tlie loons
Is sure a losin" game.
The laddies are the people noo,
An' wit will dee wi" them :
Their grammar isna Lennie's noo.
Their coont-book isna Gray's —
The faithers clearly a' are fools
To laddies noo-a-days.
" But hark, guidwife, I'll tell ye what's
Gat settled in my jww,
An' a" \our .skill to drive it oot
Maun feckless prove, I trow, —
A' this fraca' 'bout lassie.s' pride
Redounds na to your piaise ;
The wyte lies a' on mitiiers wi'
Their laddies noo-a-days.
" Ve'll Tnind yon tale I read ye .lince,
Hoo that a chiel Ijegaii
.\n' wrocht, an' focht, an" toiled, an" sw.it
Until he made a man ? '
• Mr8 Shelley'x FriinkvnMrii,.
-^0 I'oi-yrs OF LiMj riiaiiwsiiinE.
Hoo ho jrot frir-htit at his wark.
All' Hod fi-)io"t in ania/.o?
^■t•■ve raised the jiliaist tliat Hoys ye thro'
N <iur laddies il()0-a-(hiys.
" Lnno-syne when Adam i' tiie yaiid
( iae<l xvand'iiir a' ahine,
Aye lookin" looud him foi- a mate,
An' wondeied lie had iiaiie,
The aiie he jjat his e<[iial was
III a"thin<;- weel as claes :
All' is't no meet the jaiuls sud match
Onr huldies noo-a-(hiysV
" \e'll miud yon time when 1 catn" vont
To spend an hour at e'en ?
I aye was sure to jjet ye dicht.
An' tosh, an' snod. an' clean ;
For pi-udence tauld ye love an' dirt
Thegither aye were faes, —
Nae dirty drab foi- me— the same
Wi' laddies noo-a-days.
*'An' when on Sabbath V tiie kirk
Ye ghinced owre frae your pew,
Ye smiled sae sweetly in \(inr dress
"S'on fioek o' boniiie blue ;
An' trippin' lianie in "lossy shoon,
Wi' buckles "boon the taes,
Ye charmed my soul as lassies dae
The laddi(;s iioo-a-davs.
■•1 winna hear the jauds abused,
(I likit them niysel')
E'en tho' they be a little \ain,
(Ye 're proof o "t, wa<l ye tell)
An' whiles gang owre the score awee—
A stoi-m ye needna raise
The faut lies a' wV mithers an'
Their laddies noo-a-davs.
FmAXCIS BAKyAHD. 201
" ' My son 's my son,' my mitliei- said,
' Until he gets a wife ;
My dochter aye my dochter is
As land's we're baith in life.'
But noo the ^ye 's completely turned, —
I carena wha gainsays —
The mithers lavish a' their love
On laddie.s noo-a-days.
"To trip or fair wish they to gang.
Their wish is ne'er denied.
Or ball, or concert, aj'e to them
The needfu' is supjjlied.
An' when frae wark on Saturday
They come hame wi' their pays,
The mithers line aye weel the pouch
0' hwldies noo-a-days.
" An' noo I "ve tauld ye what 1 thocht.
My dainty, guid auld dame,
Tliat mithers for thoir dochters' pride _
Themsel's are maist to blame :
An' aye the langer, waui' 'twill get
Unless they mend their ways,
An' no' jist mak' sae muokle o'
Their laddies noo-a-davs. "
Thk Ai r.i) Ck All: MiM..
Air-'Oor Kailyanl."
To Scotland owre the sea. an' the auld Va-.iv^ Mill,
My he;»rt floes aften flee — to the anld Craig Mill,
W'lianr- to my heart's coiitt-nl ,
Kr<; the warld's cares I k<!nt.
^'(iMtli's liappx days I spent in the aidd Craig .Mill.
?0l' I'liins or Li s i.iTiicowsii ini:.
\ Imriiic i;m snc clcni by the aiild Ciaiji' Mill,
Tliat is aye a mciiini y dear w i' tin- ailld (Jraij;' Mill.
All' tiiro" its j^Ieiis an" hiaes
We M ould jrntlier nits an" slaes,
() 1 happy, happy days in the auld Craig Mill.
Tliere gi'evv an Jishen tiec in the auld Craig Mill,
An' a mavis biytlie an" free, at tin; auld Craig Mill,
Wad on the tapnio.st Ixiuii'h
(O 1 thiid< I hear him nool
Sing a' the simmcf thru" af the auld (.'laig Mill.
O how the inmates strove, o" tlie auld (!nug Mill,
Wha wad hest ilk ithfr love in the auld (Ji'aig Mill.
Hut the auld folk noo are gane,
To tlirir hamc aliune they 're ta'en,
An' we're far aw a', alanc, frae the auld Craig Mill.
Vet th(j' we're here but twa fiae the aidd Craig Mill,
In a foreign land awa' frae the auld Craig Mill,
We naither ehide noi- blame,
For oor hearls are aye the same
A.s when Wf were at hamc in the auld Craig Mill.
But the\ tell me it's iiae mair noo, the auld Craiti' Mill,
A' roofle.s.s noo an' bare is the auld Craig Mill,
For Time w ha ruth has nane,
.\n' will naething let alauf.
Is tundjlin' stane an' stane o' the auld Crai" Mill.
Though here we ne'er shall see at the auld Craig Mill.
A' them wha met wi' glee at the auld ( ^raig Mill,
Net we'll meet again, i trow,
In a hoose that's cvei' ni-w,
Time never doon can pu' liki- th<- .luld Craig Mill.
James hRuyros Stephens. 20^
J
JAME8 BRUNTON STEPHENS. •
Born is:!.').
AMES BRUNTON STEPHENS, of whom it has been
said that he " enjoys the highest reputation of any
poet living in Australia,"^ was horn at Bo'ness in 1835.
Havinjr received the customary education of the schools in
hi.< native town he proceeded to Edinburgh University
where he was successful in obtaining Honours. On
completing his studies he became tutor to the son of a
wealthy gentleman, and travelled for three years with his
pupil through France, Italy, Turkey, Egypt and Palestine.
Thereafter he was appointed assistant master in one of the
Greenock academies where he taught for six years. In
1866 he emigrated to Queensland where he engaged in
private tuition for some time, and eventually entered the
service of the Education Department as head-master of
Ashgrove School.
His contributions to the AustmUmian and the Qneenslander
soon brought him into fame, and as a recognition of his
genius he was tran.sferred to the Colonial Secretary's Office
at Brisbane — a position which he still retains.
The poetry of Stephens is distinctly Austialian in theme
and treatment: indeed it is haid to imagine ficni a jjciusal
of his poenis tiiat he is a native of Scotland, so character-
istically colonial has he become. In 1873 he published
^ Aiistraliun Jin/loi/s, edited l>y DcniKlan V: W. Sludcii, li.A., Oxmi. ;
B.A., LT-.l'.., MelhMuni.-.
-04 J'ohTs OF Li s i.iriiiiowsiniii-:.
T/ic Black (riji and other PoemK. This was followed by
The GodnlpJiin Andnou, and in ISS") he issued Cunrirf Oiire
iiiui other Pacini all of which have jjained him the jioldeii
opinions of the eiities at home and in Australi:i. With
probably the exce])tion of the luckless-stairod (lordori
there is no poet in Au.sti'alia more cjuoted, or who lends
himself so appropriately to ada})t:d)ility. Flis humour is
brimful of (juaint allusions and t!.\'(|uisitcly turned phrases
which lay hold of the reader and coniixd him to leave the
beaten track of ])oesy and revel with the poet in his
"warlock-brief" of extravagant light-heartedness. "Subtle
shades of new delight," to quote the ])oet"s own words, are
continually laughing out from his cuiniingly contrived yet
ever facetious phraseology and subtlety of metre. Among
the humorous poets of Australia Ste])hcns is farik piincepif :
but, like Hood, he can be serious on occasion, and in this
vein he is e(|ually successful. Convict Once — "the
ex(|uisitely-finished, highly-cidtured, rich, ]mssionate, poetic
Convict Once'' — -is a poem full of strong dramatic incident
and fine feeling, and probably shows the poet at his best;
while in Tlie Midnight Axe, published a few years ago in
the Queenshmder, the weird, the i)athetic, and the dramatic
are skilfully blended in what must needs l)e regarded as a
great and powerful ])oem.
•lames Brunton Stephens is certaiidy not the least
brilliant of Liidithgowshire's many famous sons.
Mv .iTiiKU CiiixKi; Cook.
Yes, I got anothei- Jolimiy ; hut lie was to Nninbei' One
A.s a Satyr to H^'perion, as a nishliylit to the sun ;
He wa.s lazy, he was cheeky, he was (Hrty, lie wa.s sly,
But he haxl a .single virtue, and its iianio was " labhit -|ii('."
James Brustos Stephess. 20 ">
Now those who say the bush is dull are not so far astray,
For the neutral tints of station life are anything but gay :
But, with all its uneventfulness, I solemnly deny
That the bush is unenfluiable along with rabbit-pie.
We had fixed one day to sack him, and agreed to moot the j)oint
When my lafl should bring oui- usual regale of cindered joint.
But instead of cindered joint we saw and smelt, m\- wife and I,
Such a lovely, such a beautiful, oh I such a rabbit-pie I
There was quite a new expression on his lemon-coloured face
And the unexpected odour won him temporar\- grace.
For we tacitly postjioned the sacking point till by-and-bye.
And we tacitly said nothing save the one word. " rabbit -pie."
I had learned that [ileasant mystery sliould simply be endured,
Anfl foreboie to ask of Johnny where the rabbits were procured I
I had learned from NumVjer One to stand aloof from how and whv.
And I thre\\ myself u])on the simj)le fact of rabbit-pie.
And when the pie was opened, \\liat a picture did we see I
'■ They la\' in beautj' .side by side, they filled our home with glee ! "
How excellent, how suc-culent, back, neck, and leg and thigh ;
What a noble gift is manlioorl I what a trust is rabbit-pie I
For a week the thing continued, labbit-pie from day to day ;
Thougli where he got the rabbits Jolm would ne'er voucli.safe to .say ;
But we never seemed to tire of them, and daily could de.scry
Subtle .shades of new delight in each .succe.s.sive labbit-pie.
Sunday came ; by rabbit reckoning, the .seventh day of the week ;
We had dined ; we sat in silence, both our hearts (?) toqfull to speak :
When in walks Cousin (ieorge, and, witli a snift", says he, " Oh my I
What a .savoury suggestion I what a smell of rabbit-pie ! "
•'Oh, why so hite, (ileorge?" .says my wife, the rabbil-pie is gone ;
But you mnxt have one for tea, though. Ring the bell, my dear,
for John."
So I rang the bell for John, to wliom my wife did signify,
" Let us have an early tea, Jolin. and another rabbit-pie."
*206 Poets of /jmjtik.owsiiihi-:.
But John seemed taken 4uitc iibaek, and sliook hin funny head.
And uttered words I eonipiehended no mote than the dead ;
" (Jo, do as you aie bid,"" I cried, " we wail for no reply ;
<Jo I U't u-i have tea early, and another rahhit -pie !"
Oh. tiiat 1 had stopped his answer ! But it fame out witli a lun :
■' Last-a week-a plenty pupjiy ; this-a week-a puppy done I"'
-lust then my wife, my love, my life, the apple of mine eye.
Was seized with what seemed " )nal-dc-nier,"' — "sick transit"
rabbit-] )ie !
And fleorge I By George, he laughed, and then he howled like
any beai' !
The while my wife contorted like a mad convulsioimaire ;
.\nd I — I rushed on Johnny, and I smote him hip and thigh,
And I never saw him more, nor tasted more of rabbit-pie.
.\nd the childless mothers met me, as I ki<'ked him from the door.
With loud maternal wailings, anrl anathemas galore ;
I nmst part with pretty Tiny. I must part with little Fly,
For I'm sure they know the story of the so-called " rabbit-pie."
The Southern Ckoss :
A NOCTURNE, WITH MOSQUITO ACfiiMl'ANniKNT.
Four stars on nights brow, or niglit's bosom
^^'hichever the reader prefers.
Or night witliout either may do some —
Each one to his taste or to hers.
Four stars ! to continue inditing,
So long ii.s I feel in the vein —
Hullo I wliat the deuce is that biting ?
Mos(]uitos again !
Oh, glories not gihled but golden,
Oh, daughters of night unexcelled.
By the sons of the North un beholden,
By our sons (if we have them) beheld I
James Brvxtos STEfiiExs. 207
Oh, jewels the midnight enriching,
Oh, four which are double of twain,
Oil, m\-stical Bother the itching !
Mostjuitos again I
^'ou alone I can anchor my eye on.
Of 3'ou and \ou only I 'd write ;
And I now look awry on Orion,
That once was my chiefest delight.
Ye exalt me high over the petty
Conditions of pleasure and pain —
Oh, Heaven ! here are these maladetti !
Mosijuitos again I
The poet should ever be placid,
Oh, vex not his soul or his skin I
•Shall I stink them with carbolic acid ?
It is done, and afresh I begin.
Lucid orbs I — That last sting very sore is —
I am fain to leave otf — I am fain ;
It has given me uncommon dolorea —
The Latin for jjain.
Not quite what the shape of a cross is,
A little lop-sided, I own —
Confound your infernal jjroboscis,
In.serted well-nigh to the bone !
Queen-lights of the heights of high heaven,
En.sconced in the crystal inane —
Oil me, here are seventy times seven
Mosquitos again I
Oh, horns of a mighty trapezium,
(Quadrilateral aiea, hail !
Oh, bright is the light of magnesium —
Oh, hang them all male and female I
At tlie end of an hour of tlieir stinging
What shall rest of mc f lien — what remain ?
J sliull die as tlie swan dietli, singing
Moscjuitos again !
.'OS lUiF.Ts or I.I s i.iriitiow sii I UK.
SliDiU keen as tlic sliock ot the levin !
Tlicy stinif, and I cIimii^c in a tlasli
From tlic peace and tlic poppies of lieaven
To llie llaine and tlie liicwood of — dash !
Oh, Cross of the South I I forijob you ;
These (heinous lia\'(> aihlled my hfaiu ;
Om-e more I look upward Od lot you,
\'()U rr al it a<;ain !
There I stick iu your [)itiless hrad-awl,
And do youf malevolent worst —
Dine on nie, and \\\\c\\ you have had all.
Let others <i'o in for a '• burst."
Oh, silent and pure <'onstellation !
Can you pardon my frtitful I'efi'ain "/
Formve, oh I for<iMve mv vexation —
The\' "re at it au'ain.
Oli, im|)s tliat proNdke to niatl lauj^hter,
Wincr'd fiends that are fed from my brow,
Bite li:ird ! let yotu- neiojhbours come after,
And stin<i- m here you stunt,' me just now.
Red braiids on it smitten and bitten.
Round blotclies 1 iiib at in vain
Oh, Crux 1 whatsoever I've written
I 've written in pain.
Ye chrysolite crystalline cieatures,
\^'an watchers, the fairest afield !
Stars — and garteis ! are these my own features
In the merciless mirror revealed ?
They are mine, even mine, and none othei',
And my hands, iiow they slacken and strain !
Oh, my sister, my .spouse, and ni\ motlier !
I 'm going insane !
James Brustox Stephexs. 209
To A Black (ii.v.
Daugliter of Eve, draw near — I would behulci thee.
( lood Heavens I Could ever arm of man enfold thee ?
I)id the same Xature that made Phryne mould thee 'i
Come thou to leeward ; for th\- balmy presence
Savonretli not a whit of mille-fleiirtscenrc ,• —
Mj- nose is no insentient excrescence.
Thou art not beautiful, I tell thee plainlj'.
Oh ! thou ungainliest of things ungainly ;
Who thinks thee less tlian hideous doats insanely.
Most unaiSthetical of things terrestrial,
Hadst thou indeed an origin celestial V
Thy lineaments are positively bestial !
Vet thou my sister art, the clergy tell me ;
Tliough, trutli to state, thy brutisli looks comi)el me
To hope these par.sons merely want to ^dl me.
A liundred times and more I 've luaid ,ind lead it ;
But if Saint Paul himself came down and snid it.
C])oti my soul I would not give it credit.
•' (iod's image cut in ebony," saj'S some one ;
Tis to be hoped some da\- thou may"st become one :
Tliy present image is a very rum one.
77/// " face the human face divine?" . . . O, Mo.ses I
Whatever trait divine thy face discloses
Some vile Olympian cro.ss-plaj' pre-supj)oses.
Thy nose a|)peareth but a transver.«e section :
Tliy mouth liath no particular direction, —
A Habby-riTumed abyss of impei'fection.
Tliy skull development mine eye displeases ;
'I'hou wilt not sutl'ei' murtli from briiiii diseases ;
Tliy facial ;iu\r\i- forty-five degict-s is.
I I
-10 PoKTS or Li M.iriKniw siiiiu:.
Tlie coai'scnrss of tliy ti'csses is (listi'fssiiij;-.
With <ireast' ami racldlu linnly coaluscinjj, ;
I cannot laud thy system of "top-dressing."
Thy dress is somewhat scant tnr prDpci' tV-cling ;
As is thy tlesh too, — scarce thy l)()u<'s concealiiif^ ;
Tliy calves unquestionably want n nfi/l)ii/.
Tliy ruijiit'd skin is hideous with lattooinji-.
And legible with hieroglyphic wooing —
Sweet things in art of some Heice Iovim's doing.
For thou some lover hast, I bet a guinea, —
Some partner in thy fetid ignominj-,
The iuison d'etre of this piccaninny.
What must he be whose eye thou hast delighted ?
His sense of beauty ho{)elessly V)enighted !
The canons of his taste how liadly sighted I
What must his gauge be, if thy features pleased liiin '/
If lordship of such limbs as thine appeased him,
It was not "calflove" certainly that seized him.
And is he amorously sympathetic ?
And doth he kiss thee ''.... Oh my soul prophetic !
The very notion is a stiong emetic !
And doth he smooth thine hours with oily talking ':
And take thee conjugall3' out a-walking?
And crown thy transjwrts with a tomahawking?
I guess his love and anger are combined so ;
His passions on thy shoulders aie defined .so ;
■■ His passages of love"' aie underlined so.
Tell me thj' name. What? Helen? (Oh (Enone
That name bequeathed to one so foiil and bony,
As'engeth well thj' ruptured matrimonj' !)
Eve's daughter ! with that skull and that comi>lexion '
What princi[)le of " natural selection"
<jlave thee with Eve the most remote connection ?
James BRr.\TO.\ SxEruEys. I'll
Sister of L. E. L , of Mrs Stowe, too I
Of E. B. Browning I Hari'iet Martineau, too.
Do theologians know where fibbeis go to "r
Of dear <4eorge Elliot, whom I worsliij) daily I
Of Charlotte Bronte 1 and Joanna Baillie ! —
Methinks that theory is rather "scaly."
Thy primal parents came a period later —
The handiwork of some vile imitator ;
1 fear they had the deviTs imjjrimnfirr.
This in the retrospect. — Now, what's before tliee?
The white mans heaven, I fear, would sim])ly bore thee ;
Ten minutes of doxologj' would fiooi- thee.
Thy Paradise should be some land of (ioshen,
Where appetite should be thy sole devotion,
And surfeit be the climax of emotion ; —
A land of Bunya-bunyas towering splendid, —
Of honey-bags on every tree suspended, —
A Paradise of sleep and riot blendetl ; —
Of tons of "baccy, and tons more to follow, —
Of wallaby as much as thou coiddst swallow, —
Of hollow trees, with "(wssuras in the hollow ;
There, undismayed by frost or flood, or thunder,
As joyous as the skies thou roamest under,
There shouldst thou . . . Cooey . . . Stop! she s off . . . Xo wondei-.
Drought am> Dm i kink.
Come, take the tenner, doctor. . . . ^■es, 1 kru.w the bill says
"five,"
l-tnt it ain't as if you il merely kep' tiie little un alive ;
.Man, you saved tli(; mother's reason wlieii yon saved that baliy's
life,
.\n" it's thanks to voii I havnt a ravin' idiot for a wile.
'2 [-J. I'oKTs OF LiM.iruGOwsiimi:.
Lft im- toll you all the story, an' if tlu-n you tliiuk it .strHn<;;e
That 1 ■<! like to fee you extiy wiiy, I "11 take the blooiiiin' chanj^e.
If ver 1)111 had said a hundred. . . . 1 "ni a poor man, doi; , an" yet
I 'd 'a sla\i(l till I had s(|uarcd it ; ay, still licfu in yer debt.
Well, lyou see, the wife's got notions on a heap o' things that ain't
To he handled by a man as don't pietend to be a saint ;
.So I minds "the cultivation," smokes my pipe, an' makes mi stir,
An' religion, an' such p'ints, 1 lays entirely on to her.
Now she got it fixed within iiei' that if children die afore
The}' 've lieen sprinkled by tlu' paison. they've no show foi' ever-
more ;
An" though they're sjiaied tlie |)itchfoiks, an' the brimstun an" the
smoke.
They ain't allowed to mix up there w ith other little folk.
So, when our last began to pine, an' lost his pi-etty smile,
An' not a parson to be had Avithin a hunder mile —
(For though there is a chapel down at Hluegia.ss Creek, you kiurw.
The clergy's there on dooty onl^- thrice a year or so) —
Well, when our yet unchristened mite grew limp an' thin an' [>ale,
It would 'a cut you to the heait to hear the mother wail
About her " unregenerate babe," an' how, if it should go,
'Twould have no chance w itli them as had their register.s to .show.
Then awful quiet she grew an" hadn't spoken for a week.
When in came brother Bill one day with news from Bluegra.s.-v
Creek.
"I .seen," says he, "a notice on the chapel railin' tied.
They '11 have seiviee theie this evenin' — can the youngster stand
the ride ':
For we can't have par.son here, if it be tru(; as I 've heard say
There 's a dyin' man a.s wants him more "n twenty mile awaj- ;
So — '"' he hadn't time to finish ere the child was out of bed
With a shawl about its body, an' a hood about its head.
"Saddle up," the missus said. I did her ))i(l(lin" like a l)ird.
Perhaps I thought it foolish, but I never said a word ;
For though I have a vote in what kids eat, diink, or wear.
Tiieir spiritual recpiirements are entiiely her afiaii-.
We started on our two houis' ride beneath a Ijiniiing sun.
With Aunt Sal an' Bill for sureties to lenounce the KvW One ;
Jamks Bjiiwroy Sthi'ih-^xs. 213
An" a bottle in Sal's basket that was labelled •' Fine Old Tom "
Held the water that regeneration was to follow from.
For Bluegrass Creek was dry, as Bill that very day liad fouiid.
An' not a suj) o" water to be had foi- miles around :
Ho, to make salvation sartin for the babby"s little soul
We had rilled a dead marine, sir, at the family water-hole.
Which every forty rods or so Sal raised it to her head,
An' took a snifter, ''Just enough to wet her lijjs," .«he said ;
Whereby it came to pass that when we reached the chapel door
There was only what would serve the jolj. an" deuce a dribble more.
The service had begun — we didn"t like to carry in
A vessel with so evident a carritur for gin.
So we left it in the porch, an", havin" done our level best.
Went an' owned to bein" " miserable offenders" with the re.«t.
An' nigh ujjon the finish, wlicn the parson had been told
That a lamb was waitin" theie to be admitted to the fold,
Rememberin' the needful, I gets up and quietlj' slips
To the jiorch to .see a swag.sman — with our bottle to his \\])s.
Such a faintness came all over me, you might have then an" there
Knocked me dov\n, sii', with a feather, or tied me with a hair.
Doc, I couldn't speak or move ; and tliou<jli I caught the V)eggar's
eye,
With a wink he turned tlie b(jltlc bottom up an' drauk it dry.
An' then he flung it from him, bein' suddenly aware
That the label on 't was merely a deloosion an' a snare ;
An" the crash cut short the jx'ople in the middle of A-men.
An' all the congregation hc;ird him holler, "Sold again ! ""
So that christ'nin' was a failuie ; every watei' flask was diained,
Even the monkey in the vestry not a blessed drop contained ;
An' the i)ar8on in a huriy cantered oti" upon his mare,
iMiiviu baby unregenerate an" missus in dc^spaii-.
That night the child giew wor.se, but my care was for the wife,
I fearefl more for her reason than for fliat wee sjiarU <i' life
Hut you know the itst how I'rovifh-ncc contrived that very nigiit
That a do<;toi- should (;omc cadirin' at our slianly for a light.
2U POKTS OF LiXLITIlGOtt'SllllRK.
Baby? Oh I hc'.^ oiurpy, tliaiik ye been baptized— his name is
Bill.
It 's weeks an' weeks since parson came an' pnt him thio' the mill ;
An' his mother's mitrhty vain u|)on the subject of his weigfht,
An' a reg'lar cock-a-hoop about his spiritual state.
So now you '11 take the tennei- : oh, (confound the bloomin' chanye '.
Lord, had Billy died !— but, doctor, don't you think it summut
stran<;e
Tiiat them a.s keeps the gate should have lefused to let him in
Because a fool mistook a drop of Adam's ale for "jin V
SPliiri' AM) Stau.
Thro' the bleak cold voids, thro" tin; wilds of space,
Trackless and starless, forgotten of grace ;
Thro' the dusk that is neither day nor night.
Thro' the grev that is neither' daik nor litrht ;
Thro' thin chill etheis where dieth speech,
Where the pulse of the music of heaven cannot reach,
Unwai-mod by the breath of living thing,
And forever unswept of angel's wing ;
Thro' the cold, thro' the void, thro' the \\ ilds of space.
With never a home or a resting-place
How far must I wander? Oh, (iod ! how far?
I have lost my star 1 I iiave lost my stai' !
Once on a time unto me was given
The fairest star in the .starry heaven —
.A little stai' to tend and to guide,
To nourish and cherish and love as a biide.
Far from all great bright orbs alone,
Even to few of the angels known.
It moved ; but a sweet })ale light on its face
From the sapphire foot of tin; Tliioiic of (Jrace
That was better than glory and more than might
Made it a wonder of cpiiet delight.
Still mu.st I wander? Oh, (iod 1 how far?
I have lost my star ! I have lost mj' star !
James BurxTox Stephexs. ' 21^
On the starry brow was the peace of the blest,
And bounteous peace on the starry breast :
All beautiful things were blossoniino- there,
Siu-hiiic)' their loves to the delicate air.
No creature of (4od such fragrance breathed,
Wliite lose-girdled and white rose-enwreathed,
And its motion was music — an undeitone
With a strange sad sweetness all its own,
Dealer to me than the louder hymn
Of the God-enra])tured seraphim. —
How far must I wander? Ah, Heaven I liow fai ?
I have lost my star I I have lost my star !
In a round of joy. remote and alone,
Vet ever in sight of the Great White Tlirone,
Together we moved — for a love divine
Had blent the life of the stai with mine ;
And had all the angels of all tlie spheres
Forecast my fate and foretold my tears,
The weary wandering, the gruesome gloom.
And bruited them forth thro' the trump of doom-
Hidinf a smile in my soul, I had moved
Only the nearer to wliat I loved.
Yet I must wander — Oh, God ! how far ?
I have lost my stai- 1 T have lost my star !
Ah : woe the delusive demon-light
That beckoiiM mo, beckon'd me, day and night !
The untwining of heart-stiings, the backward glance.
Tin- ti-ucc with faith and the severance.
All : woe the unfolding of wayward wing.s
Tliat bore me away from all joyous things
To realms of space, wlieiice tlie |>ale, sweet gleam
Looked dim as a dindy-remembered dream :
To farther realms, wheic; the faint light spent
Vanished at length from my firmament !
.\nd I seek it in vain ah, (iod ! how far?
1 have lost mv star ! 1 liave lost my star !
'J\i't , Poets of Lisi.iriKiowsiii iu-:.
On sleepless wing I have followed it
'riironj,'!! the star-sown tic^Ids of t.jie Inlinitc,
And wlicre foot of anj^t;l liatli nevci' trod
I have threaded the golden mazes of (iod.
I have idcrced where the fir<^fonnt of heing runs,
I liave dasiied myself madly on horning suns,
Then downward have swept, with shuddering Incath,
Thro' the place of the shadows and shapes of death,
Till siek with sorrow, and spent with i)ain,
1 lloat and faint in tiie dim inaiie 1
Must 1 yet wander? Oh, (iod ! liow far?
1 have lost my star ! I have lost my star !
Oh, eould 1 lind in utteiiuost space
A place foi- hope, and for prayer a place,
Mine were no suit for a glittering prize
In the chosen seats of the ujjper skies —
No grand ministration on tinoned lieight
In the midmost intense of uns|jeakable light :
What sun-god sphere, witli all-dazzling beam,
Could be unto me as that sweet, sad gleam ?
Let me roam thiough the ages all alone
If He give me not back my own, my own !
How far must I wander? Oh, (iod I how far?
I have lost my star I I have lost my star !
In the whispers that tremble fioui spliere to sphere,
Which the (;ar of a spiiit alone can iiear,
I have heard it bieatlied that tliere cometh a day
When tears fiom all ej'es shall be wiped away ;
When faintness of heart and di'ooping of wings
Siiall be told as a tale of olden tilings ;
When toil and trouble, and all distress
Shall be lost in the round of blessedness :
In tliat day. when division of loves shall cease.
And ;ill tilings diaw near to the centre of peace.
In the fulness of time, in the ages afar,
<;od : oh Cod : shall I find mv star?
AxhiiEw MoHii/s. . 217
ani)rp:w morris.
Born 1842.
ANDREW MORRIS, who is better known to the
-'-*- readers of the JFest Lothian Courier hy his iwm-de-plmne
of "Amos," was born in 1842 at Shotts — a parish of which
it has been said that it is "famous for guid leeks, late
hairsts, and keen curlers." His parents were of that
respectable, intelligent working class that looks with more
pride on an honest name than on any worldly distinction.
I^ncouraged by our suljject's earl}- predilection for literary
work they strove to procure for him a good education to
fit him for a higher walk of life ; but a train of misfortunes
prevented them from having their hopes in this respect
fully realised. With the exception of a few years spent in
Armadale Mi* Morris has all his life resided just over the
borders of the county ; liut as his effusions have always
appeared in the Courier and his connections with the
county otherwise are of an indissoluble nature we consider
his inclusion among her bards amply justified. While in
Armadale Mr Morris won the friendship of Mr F. Barnard
— a connection which is still firndy preserved in the hearts
of both, and occasionally refreshed with nuitual rhyming
epistles. For many years Mr Morris has carried on
business as a draper and grocer in Haithill wheie he is
universally respected for his probity and intelligence. He
is |)Ossessed of a large fund of sly, pawky humour which
renders his share of a debate tjr a social meeting eminently
successful.
1>18 /'OA.7N Ol' IjM.rriK'OWSlllliK.
Ili> poetry is permeated 1)} homely touches of Hue
feeliiiiT mul kindly observations of human nature, while his
humour is of that quaint, canny sort that is not so much
mirth as a suggestion of laughter.
Tlie subject of tlu; fine poem, T/w Miner's Address fo his
Fiddle, was the author's father, who, as he laid his fiddle
aside shortly l)efore his death, remarked, "I ha'e noo
played my last tune."
A brief notice of Mr Morris appears in the twelfth series
of Edwards' Modern. Sroffis/i Poets.
Till. MiNKKs Address to his Ftddi.k.
I hear the .sough of death'.s dark stream,
And now stand waiting on the pier
From M'hich all mortals must om))aik
From this earth to another si)hcrc :
My pains to-day are less severe.
Still weary feels my fainting heart,
So with my friend, my riddle dear,
Home tunes 1 "11 play l>efore we jiart :
Then let my feeble fingers press
Tiiy trembling strings to .some sweet lay
Full oft thou mad'st my soirows less
When tempest-tossed on lifes highway.
Companion clo.se, .-it merry dance
On thee I played sucli stilling airs,
That lioaiy-hcaded men would spring
With nimble steps from off theii' chairs ;
Young maids and men in loving i)airs
Swept lound the hall in <-li(;erful glee ;
For hours thou p(jurefl'st w itliiii their eais
One constant .stream ni melody.
AXDREM- MoRlilS. 219
Come then, my fiddle, let me feel
Thee closer, eloser to my heart ;
On thee I '11 play one merry reel,
My bosom friend, before we part.
Wlien tyrants hard me sore oppressed,
(And miners' tyrants are not few —
Those who have suffered at their hands
Can only tell what thej' will do. )
As flowers are oft revived by dew.
Or weary eyes refreshed by sleep.
So did a tune on thee renew
Mj- strength when worn by tyrants deep.
No cursing tyrant's bitter scoff,
( )r labour robbed by them from me.
Or haughty look, deprived me of
The pleasure that I found in thee.
When death's unfeeling hand removed
My coy J'oung bud of promise fair.
In dust upon my kitchen wall
Tliou hung'st untouched for many a year :
Anfl when I dropped a silent tear.
Again rejihu^ed thy broken strings.
Tiiy tones seemed moui-nful to my eai-,
Tliou .seeni'st to share my suffei-ings :
In soft .seraphic measures roll
Tliy music sweet to me once moie.
Such as may cheer a weeping soid
\\ hen death's last weary .struggle's o'er.
In grief I "ve held the parting hands
Of friends ere they would cross the sea.
In grief 1 've had a last long look
Of friends ere they wouhl buried be ;
But greater grief it is to me, —
Pilcst souice of joy tlno' life's sad v:ilr.
To pait, dear liddic, now with thee-
.N'ow !<•( nic lay thee on tliy nail.
2'JO J'oKTs OF Lisi.iTiniowsiiiRh:.
Zmkakkk.
TluTo was a inaii i-allid Zat'kaice
\\'\m taught in an acacleinie
The (TlasgOM^ youth with sudi success
That all aduiirc^d liis cleverness.
Oh, this strange man called Zackarec
Could not one evening take his tea —
He scratched a match, the gas he lit.
He tried to read, but could not sit :
He tried to smoke, he tried to think.
He tried to sleep, hut not a wink
Of either sleep or rest cjould got —
His fevered brow was wet with sweat.
Oh, this droll man called Zackaree
Had caught a fearful maladie ;
What mattered him he could not tell.
But one thing sure he was not well.
He walked around his fuinished room.
His brow <juite shaded o'er with glomii
He looked a moment at his books
With heavy eyes and mournful looks :
Nothing he saw could ease his pain,
At last he seized his hat and (;ane,
And, marching o'er the lobb^' Hoor,
Went madly through the open door.
At once he reached the f)pen street :
L'pon his face tlie wintry sleet
Beat hard, and then the gusty wind
Would raise his cloak with hood btliind
He walked along in nervous mood,
And in the (Jentral Station stood ;
Shook from his cloak the snowy spots,
And took the triiin at once for Shotts.
AsDREw Morris. 221
The doors were slammed, the whistle shrieked,
The carriage jerked, the windows creaked :
Out flew the train with lightning speed —
The poles were scarcely seen indeeil —
It went along at such a rate
That Zackie had not long to wait
Before he reached tlie station, Shotts,
A place once famed for iron yiots.
Out from the train at once he goes,
And passed in haste the fiat-roofed rows :
The road that now before him lay
AA'as dark, which made him far from gay.
Tlie moor around was black and wide,
Still on he marched with rapid stride
Till, through this mossy \\ilderness
To make his weary journey less.
He struck round by a hedge of thorn,
And got lost 'mong some greenish corn.
This stately man called Zackaree
Looked kjuikI about mo.st mournfullie ;
He raised his eyes and from afar
A light shone like an evening star :
A grateful piayer escaped his lips
As near Mosshead he turned his steps ;
Straight to the door he did advance,
And was invited in at once.
The maid then handed him a chair.
Most kindly asked foi' his welfare,
Poked ui) the tire and made it briglit ,
And said, '"Tis very dark to-night ;"
Then on a cushion down she sat.
Looked in his face — and stroked the cat.
He took the maid ujiou liis knee,
An<l told to her his salarie.
And said, thougli good, "twouhl yi-t In' iiMirt^
Ere very many in'intli.-. were o'er;
'22'2 I'oHTs or Lixi.iriicuwsiii i;e.
Ami, taUiii;^ liotli Iut hands in his,
Mr ilnis addressed his lovely miss : —
'• Thou jjentle lamb, thou y^iin\ of heaven,
For thy dt^ar heart for years I "ve striven :
No sei'aph ever woi'e a wiiiLT,
That lifted harp, or touched a sti'injr.
On earth below, or heaven above,
Could be coni[)ared with thee, my dove.
My dearest dear, my heart's delight,
Tiiou thin<r of sweetness, joy, and light.
Thy pi'esenee fills my mind with joy —
Tiiou treasure \mr>i without alloy.
Should sonow's shadow o'er thee ci'eep.
Or briny tears bedim thj' cheek,
By me shall all thy griefs be ((uelled.
As mist is by the sun dis))elled."
The dark maid raiseil her ej'es and smiled,
Around his neck her arms she coiled.
And said, " Dear Zack, I'll marry j-ou
When onre ytm get a better screw."
His feelings he could scai-cely hide
W'hen back he went to Kelvinside.
Sad news soon readied his ears, alas !
A son of Esculapius
Fi-om Airdiie came along at e'en
\\'ith smart cockade and neat machine.
Stole Zackie's flower and darling pet,
And left poor Zackie mouining yet.
Addrkss to mv Bkd.
While bards like B;irnard search for themes
"Mong hooses, glens, and running streams.
And daily gather fame's bright beams
Around their head.
My jnuse <a humbler subject (claims -
It is my bed.
Ax DREW Monnis. 223
Thou place where life's first iiioi-ning breaks
'Midst feai's, and hopes, and smothered shrieks I
Here little man in mighty scpieaks
Begins life's race,
And ever after nightly seeks
On thee a ]>lace.
Thou Lethean bower by Morpheus blest,
I sing thy praise, dear place of rest,
Fiom all the ills that life infest
And make man weeji,
In thee no trouble can molest
When sound asleep.
On Fon-estburn's beloved bank
On bed of flowers I 've often sank.
And from tliis shrine of Nature drank
My heart's dear rill ;
But, for i)ure joy, my bed I'll rank
Yiw higher still.
Thou soft domestic harbour, where
Man casts anclior to repaii-
His toil-worn bark — the daily wear
Of arm and biain.
And from sleep's gentle influence there
fiets strengtli again.
When racking jiains our limbs invade,
Or fever's burning hand is laid
On our pool-, weary, helpless head.
To thee we go,
And seek within the blankets' shade
Help foi' oui' woe.
When sable night bids labour cease,
And silence wi-aps our homes in peace.
Then wearied limbs in thankfulness
Seek thee, blest spot.
And in thee rind for wearines.s
An antiflote.
-24 I'ot-jT.s or Lis I.I riiiidwsiii HI':.
Wlu'ii i-oariii" win's ;uc raisin' waps
\Vi" nittlin' sliites and cliimncy taps,
And s()iio-liin' trees and tlmndcr clajis
'riii'eiitcii inr liarin,
TlitMi safe in tlicc, the blanket liaps
Me snny and warm.
On tliy soft snowy sheets in jov
All nioht in <,doiioiis pfaoe 1 lie,
\\ ithoiit a sori-ow, gi'ief or si<fh,
Till i'i<,rht he struck ;
Then in \\\\ ear a voiee will eiy,
" Time ye were ui). "
\\ hen licarts feel sair throu<^h want o' cash.
Or Cupid's darts oor bosoms smash,
Or neighbours' spite, or silly clash
Pits us aboot,
A niclit"s soon' sleep on thee will wash
The waist o "t oot.
Thou place of dreams, here mortals soar
Th)ouj?h realms of bliss unknown before,
Till joy's delicious cup runs o'er
Within his hand,
L'ntil s(jiiu' stii|)id, senseless snore
Breaks fancy's wand.
Thou place of dieams, here fancy .sails
On hoiror's wings through stormy gales,
And there sees sights and hears such tales
That dreadful seem,
Till breaking morn in joy reveals
'Twas but a dream.
With taltering .stej) the bed is .soiiglit
\\hen moitals feel their labours wrought.
And life and all the past seems nought
But worthless stiife ;
'Tis then in thee the .struggle's fought
That closes life.
AxuHEw Morris. 225
Stretched out on thee, when life has fled,
In hallowed, curtained gloom, the dead
Here rest till borne to that last bed
By mourning friends,
And there the grassy blanket's spread,
And tlien all ends.
Song,
Bv the clear Forrestburn 1 will %\ander once more ;
The skylark is heard and the young flowers are seen :
There are spots that I love, but this i)lace I adore,
The trees bud sae bonnie, thy banks look sae green.
Ower roond mossy .stanes, "neath the beecli and the rowan.
Thou glidest away 'midst the sweetest perfume
Tliat springs frae the wild thyme, the primro.se and gowan.
The sweet scented brier and the braw yellow broom.
The bonnie hare-bells hang tlieir heads in profusion.
And steep tlieir blue lips in thy clear crystal breast ;
Here aft, aft at nicht on a gi-een gras.sj^ cushion
The sweet sounds of nature invite me to rest.
When the green lobe of spring is laid on thy bo.«om.
And blackbiid and mavis sing hapi>j- and free
Frae the dark Scottish flr or thorn's dewy blos.som,
A walk b\ th\ hanks brings pure pleasure to me.
Here the bird seeks a hame to rear her young broodie ;
Tlie wild flowers a shade And in cold stormy days :
My soul swells with joy as I ga/.e on thy beauty
When evening's giey shadows creep over thy braes.
Tlioiigli Ijirds cea.se to sing, and tlu; autumn leaves wither.
And thy voice by the storm is changed to a war.
And snaw fills thy glen, yet at nicht I'll come hitlier
And view Forrestburn till my lieart beats no more.
1.-)
'2'2ij I'oKT.^ or Li.M.iTiwuwsiiiut:.
alexani)p:h waiidrop.
Born ISoO.
ALKXANDKK WAKDKOP was born in the village of
Whitburn on 8th March, 1850 — the same being
Cauther Fail- morning, and it was quite in the fitness of
events that he should make Mid Cauther Fair his most
ambitious poetical effort. One who knew him in his boy-
hood remarked recently, '" He was a steerin' laddie in thae
days : whiles wild as a March hai-e, but a kindlier callan to
his playmates wasna to be fund in a' the toon."
He received his education at Whitedalehead School
where the late Mr Robert Leggat was then master, and
the poet has often dwelt with affection on the atti'ibutes of
his old dominie whom he regarded as one of the ablest
teachers in the Lothians. On leaving school at the early
age of nine, he was ap))renticed to the tailoring trade, and
in the quiet, uneventful round of village life attained to
manhood. In his twentieth year he was united to "Annie"
— the theme of some of his sweetest songs — and three
months later the newly wedded pair took up their residence
in "the Pittsburg of Scotland" — Coatbridge — where
"A new liouseliold found its place
Among the myriud home.s of earth."
With the exception of seven years spent at AVest Calder,
where the poet acted in the capacity of cutter to the firm
of Mungle and Sons, and also went into business on his
own account — with this exception the rest of their married
Alexaxder IVardrop. 227
life has been passed in the rising and prosperons town of
Coatbridge. There Mr Wardrop for a numl)er of years
held the situation of cutter to the local Co-operative Society
with credit alike to himself and to the members ; but of
late years he has been in business for himself as a tailor
And clothier. Prior to this he had tried the United States,
but not finding the prospect of labour there inviting he
returned to Scotland. The experience thus gained, hoAv-
/•ever, Avas not altogether lost, for in two of his prose
sketches — "Oor Bob's New Doctrine" and "Jenny Greer's
Adventures " — he has introduced transatlantic scenes with
considerable effect. Mr A\'ardrop is one who has had to
face the battle of life in all its sterii reality ; but he has
faced it with success, a fact which he ascribes in great
measure to his wife, Avhose qualities of head and heart have
<3ver been a comfort and stimulating cheer to him.
A writer of verse since boyhood it was not till li^71 that
he began sending his lucubrations to the Weekly Mail and
thereafter to the Airdrie Advertiser. For the latter he
wrote the most of his prose sketches, and a demand having
arisen for their preservation in a permanent form they
were published in 1881 -vvith the title of Jolmnie Mathison's
Courtship (tnd Marriage, with Songs and Poems. The volume
was cordially received by the press and established the
author's reputation as a pithy exponent of the Scottish
Doric — "the sweetest, richest, subtlest, most musical of all
the living dialects of Europe." ' This was followed in
1887 by Mid Caulker Fair: Poems, Songs and Skclches — a
volume which shows the versatility of Mr Waixlrop's
'Letter from John Rimkin to an Eilinbiirijh Ihiivcrsity .student
Whit Tuemlay, 1)5.^7.
2'28 Poets or LixLiriiaowsninK.
t>
genius. In dramatic, didactic and lyric jjoetry he is
equally successful, while his prose sketches, of which there
are sixteen, are pawky, witty or boisterously humorous as
the author is in the vein. "Michael 0'(Torman on Home
Kule" is probably the best of these, and never fails to
carry an audience.
In recent years Mr Wardidp has contril)uted to the
Coafhridge Expi-ess a series of racy articles on passing
subjects of interest under the |)scudonyni of "Robin
Tamson," some of wdiich — notal)ly Drummond's Evolution
Theory, Gladstone and Home J^ule, and The Great
Co-operative System — arc in his most exuberant humour.
The sonnet on Beaconsjield — 1<S7!' appeared in the Edinhurgli.
Covrant, from whence it went the round of the press at
home and in the colonies. The illustrious statesman
gracefully acknowledged the compliment by sending a
letter of thanks to the author, who holds it as one of his
greatest treasures. As a rule the poet's muse does not
wander
" far tViie hame,
Or scour a' airths to hound for fame,"
but finds its sweetest inspiration in the felicities of the
home circle. His verse is very musical, and in " the warm
lay of love and the light note of gladness " he is singularly
happy in the choice of his phrases. A notice of Mr
Wardrop appears in an early volume of Modern ScottisJi
Poets.
Beaiiinsiiki.d— 1.S79.
An emperor may raise a man to rank,
And kinffs and queen.'^ jilace subjects near the thione ;
Hut neither jiower a genius lias to tliank
Who soars aloft through merits of his own.
Alexaxder Wardrop. 229
His haughty compeers laughed — they listen now :
The ' ' Jew " has topp'd the high cliff of the realm ;
Still bitter envj- looks up, wondering how
He reached the goal, and steers the British helm.
iSteer on, triumphant in th^' honoured height I
An envious crew has never made thee yield ;
A nation's love is centred in its might —
Thou art its centre, dauntless Beaconsfield I
Long may the sons of Britain tread thy ways,
Long may her daughters seek to sing thy i)raise.
My Annie an' Me at Hame.
I "11 sing to my dearie wi" heart licht an' cheerie,
An' sit doon aince mair 'neath the hawthorn tree ;
"Twas there I first met her, an' love's golden fetter
Tied heaven's ain knot roun' my Annie an' me.
Hei- heart wi' love's lowein' — she 's fair as the gowan
That spring brings to licht on the bonnie green lea :
Nae wonder I lo'e her — there ne'er was a truer —
We "re happy thegither my Annie an' me.
I'll ever protect her, an" mair than respect her.
An" sing to lier praise till tlie day that I dee ;
An" where "there's no night there," eternally light there.
We mean to be right there, my Annie an' me.
Sweet Kii-i.indean.
Sweet Killindean, sweet Rillindean,
Enraptured is my heart I ween,
A "sheltering shiule," a "leafy screen,"
Are always nigli,
As wimpling through a woodland scene
\o\i onward hie.
]:\0 roKTs or LiM.iTiiuowsninh:.
A maiden loves thee, so do I.
As on thy soft <:;re(.'n hanks 1 lio.
And heal- thy waters <,'Uiglin<,^ by
Her humble cot :
Iiis|)irin<f sound that draws me nig:h
Forsakes thee not.
Tliy living, luic, limpid sonj;',
Tliy mystic- music soft or strong,
Ne'er fails to keep me musinj,'- lonj;
As in a dream ;
'Tis heaven to hear the feathered thronjj
Beside thy stream.
The little minstrels love to hear
Thy tempting brooklet sweet and clear :
Oh ! would that all our course could steer
Both morn and e"en,
Uninterrupted, like that dear
Sweet Killindean.
Hk's an M. 1*. M'O.
I "11 ne'er forget wee Jamie, tho' I leeve Methuselah's age-
He 's an M.P. noo :
A callan' at the schule I mind Hew afm in a rage.
An' swore he was the hoolet frae his grannie's wooden cage ;
But Jamie passed in silence, an' nae word.\ w ar wad wage-
He's an M.r. noo.
He shied frae a' companions, an' sat stride-legs on a spar-
He 's an M. P. noo :
He sat thiimpin' at the thinkin' like a philosoi)hic star,
But was first to play "Sir Colin" when weaped the "Crimean War,'
An' could tak' the "heichts o' Alma" without either wound or scar -
He's an M.P. noo.
Alexasder JVARDiKir. 231
He never cared a button then for ony ither game —
He 's an M. P. noo :
Oor ba's, an" bats, an' dragons he wad scoff them a' to shame,
But whaeer mentioned " Bannockburn," or '"Waterloo" should
name,
Ye 'd see his brilliant black een licht wi' glorious martial flame —
He's an M.P. uoo.
I mind when Jamie left the schule aff to the darksome pit —
He's an M.P. noo :
^\'i' lamp, an* flask, an' ragged duds, I think I see him yet,
An' won'eied if the puir wee chiel for "drawin' " half was fit ;
But Providence has ither wark the faithfu's bound to get —
He's an M.P. noo.
1 glory in the callan ' an' here seek to sing his praise —
He 's an M.P. noo :
He's had mony ups an' doons in life, an' mony knacky ways.
But aft fleclared " I carena, chaps, what onybody says
As lang 's I 'm on the richt line lichted wi' ite golden rays "—
He's an M.P. noo.
He lo'e<l his dear auld grannie weel, an' mourned beside her bier-
He 's an M. P. noo :
His heart is kindness to tlie puii-, an' serves them twice a year ;
He's an honour to oor country, an' maj- rank wi" prince or peer,
An' this [)erseverin' callan 's ever welcomed wi' a cheer-
He 's an M.P. noo.
I won'er next what hoi»efu" youtli like Jamie '11 get on—
He "s an M.P. noo :
Tho' an orjihan, let him sing this lilt, he'll find lie's iin alone.
An' there's mony grand e\aInl)lt^s that are langsyne deid an' goiu;,
But oor g.dlant Jamie's Iccvin', an' still shines wiiere it hers .slione-
He's an M.P. noo.
•J.'ll' PoKTS of IjI Sl.l rili,(>\\ sHIIiK.
TNCd I.AM: AI'.iHiT II'.'
.liist listen to Mil ;iiil(l iiL.-iiil's siyli
TIi.it U'('\es lior lane siic fi-rie.
An' tliinks fliat ii" tlic lads art; sliy
'Ciiuse iiaiie will he \\vv tlcarie.
I wish that .lohii would nmrry nie,
Fu' aft his bi-t-cks I 'vo clootit ;
Hut, oh I I (loot it's tio to he -
He's unco lanji' aboot it.
Clinnix— ^'()u ic 11111(1 l.uiii' aiioot it. .loliii :
Oh I hoo 1 sit an" weary.
An" wish you "d put your plaidir on.
An conif ;iir be my dearie.
Oh 1 (lae ye min' when first we met
\\'i' hearts as licht 's a feather,
An' hoo ye said you "d ne'er forget
M\' wee cot 'niang- the heather''
Oh, come awa' ! you 've nocht to fear,
But come an' never moot it ;
Alane I 'm sittin' sigliin' here-
Yon 're unco lang aboot it.
You ken there "s nane here but mysel',
The nichts are dark an" dreary,
An' Boreas whistlin" doon tlie dell —
O John, but I am eerie I
The ingle-side fu' snod I keep,
Sae come an' dinna doot it ;
Then fareweel sigliin" through my sleej) —
N'oii "re unco laiig aboot it.
Sae .John threw on his tartan jilaid —
Nae langer wad he tarry,
But crossed the mooi-, an' in he gaed
An' made the match wi' Mary.
'This and the two following songs are taken from the author's
tlomestic cantata, ycer-dn>i Nirht.
Alexasder JVardrop. 233
Tho' .promised lang he kept his word,
Tho' moil}' years 'twas dootit ;
But noo the wee cot has its lord,
An" bairnies play aboot it.
Let promises aye come to pass,
Deceivers a' uprootit ;
If e'er ye promise, tak' the lass,
Tho' unco lang aboot it.
Up on Daddy's Knee.
Bonnie Jessie, sweet wee Jessie,
^Yi■ the sparklin' e'e ;
Ever cooin'. ever wooin'
Up on daddy's knee :
Hoo I lo'e 3'our een sae blue.
Plump roon' face an' sweet wee mou" :
Look again, my lamb, an' coo
Up on daddy's knee.
My smilin' wean, bt-guilin' wean,
Loupin' fu' o' glee,
I ne'er can weary wi' my dearie
Up on daddy's knee.
JLst as clean 's a siller jjreen,
O thae gleg bewitchin' een —
Dearest wean that e'er was seen
Up on daddy's knee.
Heaven bless ye, let me kiss ye
After that wt-e prayer :
Jessie 's sleei)ie— wliaiir 's her creepie ?
There 's her cradle there.
Sleepin' noo's my ain wee doo —
Far aboon the lift .sac blue
May kind angels watdi ye tlirough—
Better guide- tli.iii me.
I'Oh'TS ttr Li SIJTIKiOWSllI UE.
W'k'i.I. aw \' TO 'rdlil'.ANKIllM..
We '11 nwii' to Toibanehill
Wlicre tlif hlaebei-iii's j;ro\\- :
Oil, 1 lo'o tlio plantin' still
W'i" its heatliery kiiowe :
\ (uitlifu" scenes — aye eherislied dear-
Fain \\\\ iii'art iiiiitin wad steer
'Cross tilt' Ahuoiid water clear
To auld Torbaiiehill.
We'll awa' to Torliauehill
Where tlie wee Unties sin<:',
An" the mavis by the rill
Mak's the clear woodlands ring.
Oh 1 the thoeht o' yon auld knowe
Kinnles love into a lowe,
That I fain ajiain wad rowe
Ower at Torbant^hill.
\^'e '11 awa' to Toi'l)aneliiIl,
Where my Annie an' me
Hue irane linkin' b\' the mill
To yon hawthorn tree ;
Where the laverock soared above
Chantin' strains that wooers love,
While in iOden we wad rove
Owff at Torbanehill.
Wi-; a' mai; mukm; nkkd.
As M-e ponder o'er the rustle, an' the bustle, an' the strife
To ffain an independence in the humble walks o' life,
Hoo aft we cajole selfishness an' smile on graspin' greed
When we should lo'e ilk ither as we a' hae mickle need.
Tliere's strife in every circle o' oor great commeieial world :
Aliint tlie counters o' oor shojis the battlnflag's unfurled ;
There's war amang oor kirk folk wi" their government an' need
O" universal brotherhood we a" hae mickle need.
Alexaxder IFardrop. 235
We wonder as we hear o' war mang folk wha prattle peace
WTiat is there in creation that wad gar sic warfare cease 't
We canna fin' the antidote in a' we think or read
Unless we loe ilk ither as we a' hae mickle need.
It 's sau- an' sad reflection as we think on what should he :
It's heartless contemplation when we canna a" agree :
Oh : that the Great Omnipotent wad come wi' lichtfu' speed,
An' mak" us lo'e ilk ither as we a' hae mickle need.
Victory.
Brightest and best of the battles we"ve fought yet.
Dauntless and bloodless the foe we '11 subdue ;
Mvriad souls will be rescued and taught yet
There ne'er was a conflict so noble and true.
Let ever}- honest man
Rally around our van,
Down with the demon drink, scatter tlie foe ;
He 's a coward would flag on
The rear of M'Lagan,
Who sweeps to avenge Caledonia's woe.
" Drink," cried the greatest voice Britain has list to,
" Direr than pestilence, famine and war : "
Haste every .statesman, then, buckle your best to,
Aiid con(|uer this scourge every nation would .«car.
l^ally then, rally then.
Strike every damning den—
Never a halt till the battle he o'er :
(Jod and His miglit with us.
Courage and right witli us.
Thus every foe hath been vanqui.«hed before !
(ilorious banners of love come to greet us,
Clewing heart.s up from the dee|)est despair ;
L'.IG Poets of Limjtiigowshjkk.
("liildnMi. thoujjh ra<;<;e(l, enraptmed to meet us,
And will) for tlifir sakos would not auvthinj; dare?
1 tally then, rally then.
Strike every damning diii
Never a halt till the battle he oVr :
(Jod and His might with us,
Courage and riglit w ith us,
'Plius every foe hath l)fi-n \,ni(|\iislu'd before !
Hark to those glad acchimations from Heaven,
Down through tlie peerless blue vault of the sky,
Cheering the vietors who nobly had striven
To concjuer the foul lit^nd or manfully die.
Rally then, rally then.
Strike every damning den —
Never a halt till the battle be o"er :
(iod and His might with us,
Courage and right with us,
Thus everj- foe hath been vanipiished before !
JoHX All AX. 237
JOHN ALLAN.
Born 1850.
JOHN ALLAN was born at Bathgate on the 14th of
April, 1850, and received his education at the
Bathgate Academy.
After leaving school he served his apprenticeship to the
engineering trade at the Bathgate Chemical Works, and
some eighteen years ago went in this capacity to the
Chemical Works at Addiewell, where he has since resided.
Mr Allan has been an occasional contributor of verse to
the irest LotJncm Courier for manj- years ; but owing to the
variety of signatures Avhich in his modesty he persists in
attixing to his productions he is not so well known as he
deserves to be.
Naturally of a quiet disposition, he is only seen at his
best in the company of his friends, or in the congenial
society of a brother bard.
Some years ago the poetical contributors of the Courier
were wont to hold high holiday on the banks of the Avon
" when simmer days were lang," and on such occasions in
the company of his friends, Messrs Orrock, P'leming and
Black, he was generally the soul of geniality and glee.
Mr Allan has long been prominently identified with the
\ulunteer movement in the county, and is generally found
in the list of prize-winners of his company.
On the tragic death of the Prince Imperial in ZiUuland
he wrote a poem entitled T/ie Last Fareivell, which the
'2'.\S Poets of LiM.iTiKiowsiinn:.
Empress Kuifcnic acknowledged by sending the author a
letter in which she expressed herself as "much touched by
the beautiful verses sent her in her great sorrow."
OOR AlN FlKKSIDK.
Blithe an' cosy are we a' loim' ooi- ain tiicside,
For there's naither frost nor snaw roun' oor aiii fireside,
Whaiir we strike tlie liaiiiely key,
Rich in love an' fn' o' f^lee,
Warms the lieart o' big an' wee roun' oor ain fireside.
See yon stream o' kindly li(;ht roun' oor ain fireside,
Shinin' thro' the darkest niciit loim' oor ain fireside,
Like the lani)) that sheds its ray
Pointing to that joyful way,
Ave to guide us nicht an' day roun' oor ain fireside.
There 's a smile o' sweet content roun' oor ain fireside,
For we're canty M-haur we're kent roun' oor ain fireside.
An' the bliss we seem to ken
Springs within that cosy den
Whaur we rin baith but an' ben roun' oor ain fireside.
See the bairns we like to share roun' oor ain fireside.
Let us mak' them happy there, roun' oor ain fireside,
Like the merrj' humming bee
Sportin' ower the floo'ry lea
Never idle they maun be roun' oor ain fireside.
Let us guide their little feet, roun' oor ain fireside.
In the path whaur a' can meet roun' oor ain fireside,
Whaur there 's naither grief noi- pain,
In that hame we '11 meet again,
'Tis the promise He has gi'en roun' oor ain fireside.
Like the stream o' kindly licht roun' oor ain fireside.
We maun gather there at nicht roun' oor ain fireside ;
When the sun sinks in the west,
Leaves behind liis golden crest,
We can trust an' gang to rest roun' oor ain fireside.
JoHX Alias. 239
Royal Robix.
O, Robin Oib, I '11 sing to thee,
A name weel kent in ooi- countrie,
A blyther ehiel ye wadna see
Amang the lads, than Robin.
For Robin (xib a king was he.
Royal Robin, royal Robin ;
For Robin Gib a king was he,
Robin, vo\a\. Robin.
Noo, Robin got the king to say
That he wad let him reign a d&y.
Upon the throne the king portray.
And I shall be 3-our Robin.
King Robin's reign was short and sweet.
But justice mak's the law complete,
And Robin tak's a castle seat
That bears the name o' Robin.
The king saw through his jester's plot.
And tried to stop him ere he got
The lands sign'd ower, but Rab m;h1 nut
" For I am king," cried Robin.
" Xoo, what I did ye '11 no den^-
"Twas just the king, sae pass it by,
And tak' j'er throne. King James, and tr^-
And mak' a king like Robin.""
The king took Robin ower to France
To see his iiueen, and get a dance ;
But neither king nor tpieen wad chance
To .shak' a fit wi' Robin.
For Robin (lib a king was he,
Royal Robin, royal Robin ;
For Robin <;ib a king was he.
Robin, royal liobin.
•_>.J() I'OKTS OF l.lSLITIlCOWSUint:.
TiiK Aii.n !•'. I . KiKK, H\rii<:ATK.
The founder's awa' and tlie auld Uiik nuist follow,
Tlie voice o' the preaehei' is silent toi' aye,
And the happy connexion will raise up anitlier
Whaur oor forefathers worshipi)e(l in day after day.
There "s no uiony left noo that saM- the beginning
And followed the Morisons on to the end ;
They ha'i' planted the seed, and we'll see to the liarvest
And gather the sheaves they ha'e left us to tend.
What niem'ries belang to the auld hainely structure !
The sermons there preached h\ tlie l)ravest o' merr !
\Vi' a message o' love and a lamp to the people,
Bringin' lieht oot o' darkness to mony we ken.
They cam' far and near like the auld Covenanters
To join in life's psalm in the morning o' grace,
Wi" a happy desire in their hearts to gang forward
And life everhisting their jjortion and place.
The auld family ties are a living connection—
What friendshiiis we've formed in the kirk that's awa' !
But the auld and the young ha'e shook ban's wi' the pastor.
And a Kirk ' in the pulpit's the best kirk o' a'.
He's a link in the chain tliat is joining the circle,
A piece o' the auld kitk built into the new.
To preach the glad tidings that lead to the Saviour,
For He is the door that we ha'e to pass through.
And like the foundation twill stand firm for ever
Whaur Morison i^reached and the auld kii-k aince stood ;
And the fruits o' thy labouis be blessed like the ithers,
They've shown by their works they ha'e laboured for good.
Tis a labour o" love we ha'e joined in the Union
To comfort the weary and soothe the oppressed,
Wi' a friendship that spiings frae the ane to the ither ;
We can a' share that love if we lean on His breast.
'The Kev. William Kirk, M.A., the present minister.
J any All Ay. 241
The auld kirk "s awa' whaur we a' sat thegither
Fu' cosy and snug in the auld-fashioned pew,
\\Tiaur we joined in the praise wi' oor faither and mither ;
But bmken "s the cord and we cauna join noo.
The Bonnie, Bonnie Bairns.
The bonnie, bonnie bairns at nicht are gathered roun' the hre,
Fu' happj- in their mother's love — the father can admire ;
'Tis like the chickens that the hen aj'e haps aneath her wings :
We canna hide 'tis roun' the young the same affection springs
That draws oor hearts thegither here like magnets to the pole.
And tho' it may be dark at times the best way is to thole :
There's aye a silver lining when the storm-clouds blaw awa\
And a balm for everj' trouble in the daj' we never saw.
Tho' puir oor lot yet strong in faith, and ricli in love beside.
And loved by a' the bairns we ha'e aroun' oor ain fireside :
That mak's a heaven in the breast that riches canna gi'e —
The bonnie bairns mak' love at hame to mony a ane like me.
I think it is a gey queer hoose that hasna a bit cat,
And niair than that, it 's jist as bad that keeps nae parritch pat ;
But O, it's waur ten thoosand times the hoose withoot a bairn I
There 's nae sweet cuddle doon at nicht, nae mother's kiss to eai ii.
They 're only at the garden gate to stand and look within,
And see the bonnie Hoo'rs in bloom tliat neitiier toil nor spin ;
Nae doot they feel an unco want that hae nae bairns ava —
O, woman, if ye had yer say, ye wad hae ane or twa !
For it mak's a wife a mother, and a mother mak's a hame.
And what is hame withoot her but a hame witliout a name 'i
For it looks a sad forgotten place — a liame it canna be--
Unless there is a bonnie bairn to crown that mother's knee.
There's aye a cuddle and a kiss befoie tliey gang to sleep ;
The mother says the bairnie's jiiayer, to watch the lambs and sheep.
To Him whu guides us safely hame across life's stormy .sea-
A heaven on earth is love at liame among the bairns sae wee.
Mi
I'll' I'oHTs or Ijsi.iTiitiowsiiint:.
Mils .TANK WADDKLL DALZIHL.
^PHK following poems are taken from Jihi/mef; frciii
J- Doisi/land : a booklet of vei'ses issued in 1895 by
Mrs Dalziel of Stoncyburn Farm, near Addiewell, which
she published for the benefit of Longridge United Presby-
terian Church. Mrs Dalziel is ])ossessed of a sensitive and
kindly sympathetic nature, which makes itself manifest in
lier life as in her poetry.
Her residence is on the borders of the wide moorland
district, in one of the quiet places of the earth, and it is
only natural that many of her poems should breathe the
restfulness Avhich ever pervades the "meditative moors."
TnK Passinc 8rRING.
Thou art come, sweet si)ring-time of the year,
With all thy lovely train ;
The tuneful bii-d upon the tree,
The honeyed flower sipped by the bee,
Once more revive ajj^ain.
The cuckoo's well-known voice is heard
With joy 'midst woodland bower's,
Anrl the thoughts turn back to childhood's day.
In fancy we seem again to i)lay
Amongst the bright spring flowers.
The swallow has come from distant lands
To hail tlie passing spring,
And busy he keejjs constiucting a nest
In the window corner, where he loves best
To place that curious thing.
Mrs Jaxe Waddell Dalzikl. 248
Glad spring, thou hast a pleasant reign
Of love and beauty rare ;
I cannot yet bid thee adieu
Although thou 'rt fading from mj- view,
And summer be more fair.
But alas ! I must bid thee farewell,
For thou N\ilt soon depart ;
Still tlioughts of spring in memory will
Be retained with pleasing remembrance still
In recesses of the heart.
Yes, lovely spring, we know thou wilt
The flowers again restore ;
But can'st thou restore the broken heart ?
Or cause it to have in life's joys a part?
Ah, no, no, neveriiioie !
Links to Braehead.
Home of my fathers, thou art fading fast away.
Now thy walls look old ;ind worn, and tliy roof goes to decay.
nnme of my father, whore his childhood's years were spent.
To tliee my eager footstejis stray, on thee my thoughts are bent.
Home of my fathers, ah ! another claims thy lands.
Another calls thee now liis own — thou 'i-t in a strangers liands.
C)li I could I see thee as thou wert in day.s gone by.
When sorrow had not crossed thee, nor made thy inmates sigh.
Metliinks I see thee as thou wert in days of yoie,
And hear the voice of children lound thy lios])itable dooi'.
Tilt- |)Oor were always welcomed, and so kindly pressed to stay,
And never coldly treated, nor were hungry sent away.
Home of my fatliers, like them thou 'It soon be gone,
And mingled with forgotten things as years pass swiftly on.
•J n Pnirrs OF Lisi.rniaowsiiiiiH.
M\ ilfiir .iiici'str;!! hoiiic. I will j;(> to thec once more,
I "II look u|>(iii thy well-known roof, nnd lin<;(M' hy tliy dnoi'.
Hoinr (it my t'jit licis, tlio' sjhI thoughts within mt- wake,
\\-{ 1 w ill \ isit thee again fof that (leaf fatliei-'8 sake.
Thk Wkkck of Till'; " Imhan Cieikk"
OFF TlIK KSSEX COAST.
.laiiuiiry (itli, 1881.
The sea was (|uiet on the Essex coiist,
Its waters were rippling bright,
Anil light o'er the waves sped the "Indian Chief,"
But a storm arose ere night.
The waves began to surge, and the w ind
Had a sound like a mournful tale,
.\nd a lurid light loomed in the sky,
Fnicboding a dreadful gale.
On board the men were hard at work
For an awful storm to be,
.\nd bravely they toiled, for the goal was life.
And the home they might never see.
The captain shouted along to the mate,
" Let down the mizzen mast.
Both fore and aft must all be clear
Before we may call avast."
No signal can be heard to-night
For the tem[)est's direful noise :
Sine the storm-king in wrath his hand has raised.
And in anger has raised his voice.
No signal-gun can be heard — no .sound
Save the sea's tremendous roar ;
But rockets flashing amid the gloom
May bring succour from the shore.
Mas Jase J Tad dell JJalziel. 245
Now thii-ty long and weary hours
Had seen them strugrorlincr on ;
To their lights there came no response fiom land,
And hope seemed almost gone.
Full many a pang would rend their hearts,
And prayers ascend on high,
As the water-mountains rose and fell
Like a meeting of eaith and sky.
Tliere many a hardy seaman bold
(xot a grave in the ocean vast.
And few, ah ! so few of that gallant band
Escaped with life at last.
Now soriow reigns in tlie mariner's home,
Grief and anguish their bosoms swell ;
And bright hopes are forever blasted
In that sudden, sad farewell.
Tn A Skvi.akk.
Thou 'rt soaring above me
In yonder blue dome.
Is earth but thy footstool
And cloudland thy home Y
Thou 'rt ever rejoicing,
Nor knowest thou sadness.
Thy brea.st swells with mirth
And thy song trills witli gl:i<hiess.
Tho' clouds shadow o'ei- n)e
Thy sunshine "s still fair,
Foi' thou art exulting
'Midst bright pleasures rare.
Tliou surely art pei'fect
In love and in joy,
And thy happine.ss pure
Without ba.se alloy.
Pohrrs or Lisi.iriiaowsitiny..
lint iinw t liou art iiuickly
Dosceiulin^' to em tli.
And hushed is thy waiblinj,',
And silent thy mirth.
Thy weary, tired form there
Thou surely wilt rest,
And sleep softly steal o'er
That wild throbbing breast.
Ri-st there now, sweet bii-d,
On thy soft grassy bed,
The daisy's fair bosom
Sliall pillow thy head ;
And when thou awakest
From slumber again,
Anew thou mayest warble
Thy glad trillinir strain.
Jons Macu'iie. 247
JOHN MACLURE.
JOHN MACLURE was born in the purish of Colmonell,
South Ayrshire, Avhere his father had an extensive
sheep farm. Shorth' after this event the family removed
to the farm of Barvennan in the neiarhhourinj; shire of
A\'igto\vn. The subject of our sketch received his edncation
partly from tutors in the family, and partly at Barrhill
village school, subsequently attending Glasgow University.
Some twenty-three years ago Mr Maclure came on business
to Bathgate, where the charms of the lady who ultimately
became his wife constrained him to remain, and so become
an adopted son of our county. He is engaged in the seed
trade, which he has successfully prosecuted for over twenty
years, and is a memlier of the firm of ^. Maclure iV Co.,
seedsmen, Edinburgh and Bathgate.
In 1874 he published a poem in five cantos, entitled
Echoes from Sv/iity-laiid .• and this \olume, from which all
our selections are taken, comprises nearly all his contribu-
tions to poetry. It owes its origin to thn loss of his
beloved sister, Mary, who died in the flower of her youth.
She was of a singularly amiable and sweet disposition,
happy and vivacious, and was highly gifted with intellectual
endowments which she had diligently cultivated. Hei-
death was very keeidy felt by the author, and he longed
for .some remini.scence of one so dear to him. This took
the form of a few paragraphs in verse ; but, as he wrote,
incidents, both real and ideal, multiplied to such an extent
that he resolved to issue the work in Ixiok form. The
*J48 PoHTs or l.isi.iriiiidwsiiiut:.
wont, has proved the wisdom of such a comse. The poem,
which is wi'll sustained tluougliout, treats of the joys and
sorrows of the humlile shepherd and cottar, and depicts
Nature in all her ever-varying moods. Days of sunshine
and nights of storm ; the budding spring, dressed in "the
living garment of (lod " ; the full-blown beauty of the rose-
crowned summer ; the bountiful autumn, and the uttei-
desolation of winter on the upland wildernesses : it is from
these that he draws his inspiration. There are a few lyrics
interwoven with the general theme, and these lend an
additional chaiin and variety to the poem. In 1887
Mr Machu'c, under the pseudonym of "M. N. Herbert,"
published a novel. By tlie Clijr-'< Brow; l)esides which he
has been an occasional contributor of Scottish sketches to
Srofdsli Nvjhh and other ])eriodicals. In the busy life
which he leads he has few opportunities for poetic or prose
«;oniposition, and that he has done so much can only V)e
attributed to his wise utilisation of the spare minutes of
life. There is a sketch of him, with poetic selections, in
Modern Scottish Poets.
Sco'l'I.AMiS MaKTVRS.
Scotland, tliou lioldest in thy trust
Much of thy martyred children's dust :
Thj' glens, thy hills, and moorlands drear
To them how oft luive given a bier !
Their ashes, s(;attered far around,
Have made thee consecrated ground.
Thence Ph<i'nix-liko arose, benign.
The sprite of Liberty flivine
To bless our soil, and from tliy shoie
Waft kindred weal the nations o'er.
What though no stoi'ied maibh; titll
Where now they rest or how they tell,
JoHS Macll're. 249
Be honoured who their lives did give
That we in freedom's lap might live :
Be, too, revered each nook and glen
Where sleep those sacrificial men.
Thk Ou) Year and thi; Xkw.
Now scowling winter comes apace
With scarred and weather-beaten face.
His beard is icicled and grey ;
He flings the snows around his w-Ay :
His breath dull vapour dense distils,
Which fold in gloom the upland hills.
He bids cold shiverings on us seize,
And howls among the leafless trees.
No singing birds await his tread,
And flowers lie frozen in their bed.
Now holds the sun a fitful sway,
Oft banished from his realm all day :
Vet is not winter always drear —
There 's beauty in the circling year.
And now that noted day is near
Which ever marks the circled year.
When hoary Time, of youthful feet ,
Re-yokes his car with coursers fleet
Before earth's giddy children, who
With Bacchic songs come forth to view
While th' .solemn-visaged charioteer
Now posts him forth on his career
To the Eternal : whither we
All wend in motley company,
Oft heedless, spuiiiing sober thought
For |>assing joys unw isel}' bought.
'Tis pH«t, 'tis gone, the olden year.
And o'er it falls full Mi;my a tear.
250 POKTS or Ll.SLITUGOWSIUKE.
As those retrace its vanished day
Whore loves and hopes entombed decay.
And the New-Yeai- liatli come this morn,
On car of grey -beard Winter borne ;
And Ho|)e"s sweet tones oin' shnnbei's stay
Ki-e from tlie skies desc'ends young day ;
And kindling joys impatient bear
Us forth that others these may share.
For Joy is not a miser sordid
Tliat loves to see his treasui'es hoarded ;
Hilt longs to fling her gifts around,
Wliciicc. iniiltiplicd, lier stores abound.
In tuk Disk Piny Shadk.
In tlic dusk piny shade
That embraces the glade
'Tis m\' joy to stiay
When the noontide ray
Shooteth fiery down,
The green plain scathing brown.
Then I love to lean
'Neath the leaf-twined screen
On the soft, soft bank.
Clad w itii mosses rank ;
Where in twilight I seem.
And pursue my day-dream.
Oil, my Mary ! how sweet
At high iioiiii iiui' retreat
In the dew-gleaming gi-ot
Where the feath"r\' ferns float,
And cool airs the lirows lave
Thro' the woodbines that wave.
JoHX Maclcbe. 251
Oh I how grateful to lave
Mj' young feet in the wave
Of the pine-shadowed spring,
\\'here the wliite pebbles ring
As it tinkles its waj'
In a sylvan lay.
And mine eye hath delight
From its wavelets so bright,
Which like faery gems burn
In their moss-wreathen urn
As they shimmer and phiy
To the })ert i)rying ray.
Oh I "tis joyous to me
From the fierce heats to flee
Where the foxglove's bell
In the shade loves to dwell ;
There to gather the flowers
In their leaf}- bowers.
And there let me stray
Till hies westward the day,
When the cool breezes sigh
In the liiny boughs high,
And I hear the loud swell
Of tlie curfew's knell.
0, Woman Faiu !
O, wfiiiian fair l-the fairest sight
That may the eye of man delight-
More soft thy mould, more fair thy check.
Impulsive, loving, trustful, meek ;
Conscious of weakne.«s, seeking stay,
As th' vine on prop its hold doth lay :
Man's lot, hen(;e, meetly formed to sliare.
Solace and softener of his care.
I'dets <ir L/.\ I.I rin.du sii I i;h.
As brentli of Sprinji uimiii tlif llowcr,
Thy i^it'iitlc prosence owns a |)ONvef
Wliicli loidly in:m must ever own ;
By whicli lies lilost or overthiowii.
Use wise that power, a power wliicli may
The sage's breast, tlie monarch's sway ;
And if mayliap tliy concinering charms
Beckon to thee a h)ver's arms.
His love with a meet love rc-<|uite
if thou tiiciein dost take delight.
But woo not by one look his ihvme
Who may not, dare not, e'er thee claim,
Else may'st thou vex another's rest,
And winir an arrow to tliv bi-east.
The Dkjm'I'v ok Lauouk.
Ve husbandmen, 'tis yours to bear
A portion of th' allotted care ;
Vet in 3'our simple, frugal life,
Removed from frets of urban strife,
Methinks 'tis youis to know content
More than is to the maiiy .sent.
Haply ye toil for spare leward,
And th' ends to meet may find it hard ;
But what yonr simple wants demand
Each day provides with friendly hand.
Employment youis by Heaven ordained,
Ere guilt on eaith a lodge had gained,
And still the least by avarice stained.
The first in point of time, nor less
Th' exalted rank its claims possess,
.Since none its generous aid may spare
Though he earth's fairest scejitre bear.'
lie honoured, then, the hushandni.in
With liorny liands and face of tan.
Joux Macluhf.. 2r):>
My Land, My Native Land, Fakkwkij.I
Mj- land, my native land, farewell I
It is my last adieu ;
Aye shall thy mem'ries with me dw til
Though sunnier shores I view.
Dear Scotia, how my bosom "s knit
To thy sky-soaring fells.
Where I in childhood's days did sit
And |)kick the heatherbells.
Thou sanctuary of Freedom Iilest,
And seat of patriots free ;
Thou land of hallowed Sabbath rest,
I, grieving, turn from thee.
Farewell, jioor cot with rushes spread.
Hid 'mong yon heather braes :
Earth's dearest home, thou lonely shed.
The seat of ray young days.
Farewell, thou rustic house of prayer,
Where, on the sacred day,
I bent the knee with reverent air,
And taught mj- lips to pray.
Once more, farewell ! each stream and glen
With teeming niem"ries deai' ;
Ye mountain birds, them tlmish and wrt-n,
All claim my parting tear.
-54 J'oKi's OF LisuriKiowsniiih:.
ItOBEKT FLEMING.
Born lS.-)fi.
pOBKlJT FLEMING was the youngest of a family of
-Lti ten, and was born at Bathgate on the 3rd of June,
IS'iG. His father was a blaoksnn'th in the town, Imt died
while the subject of this sketch was a mere child. His
mother, like many another noble-hearted Avoman, broke
<lown in the struggle to make ends meet, and the lad was
relegated to the care of an elder brother with whom he
resided for several years. Having received a rudimentary
<jducation at the Bathgate Academy, he, at the early age of
eleven, entered the service of ex-Provost Johnston, printer
and stationtjr, as a message boy and thereafter as an
apprentice printer. Here he remained for some time, when
he transferred his services to ]\Ir Watson, bookseller, who,
a year or two later, began the publication of the West
LotJiian Courier, and to Mr Fleming fell the duty of setting
up the first stickful of type for the new venture.
Just l>efore the completion of his apprenticeshij) he
crossed the Border in order to perfect his experience as a
compositor, and for some time was employed on a morning
newspaper at Bradford.
On returning to Scotland he re-entered the Courier office,
where he remained but a short time, and for the next year
or two we find him working in various parts of Scotland.
In 1880, while in Aberdeen, he doubled his joys and
halved his cares by marrying one who, as a true help-meet.
Robert Flemixg. 255
has done not a little to stimulate and cheer him in the
uphill struggle.
About this time Mr Fleming discarded the compositor's
<;ase for the reporter's pencil, and in this capacitj^ went to
LinlithiTow in 1883 in the interests of the Falkirk Herald —
a newspaper which attains its jubilee this year. So
assiduously did he throw himself into his new duties that
the proprietors appointed him local editor of the Linlithgow-
shire Gazette, which position he still retains. In an
interesting article entitled "Ink Portraits of Scottish
Editors," which aj^peared lately in the Scottish Pulpit, his
journalistic abilities are thus referred to: — "Mr Robert
Fleming is the editor of the Gazette, and stands pretty near
the head of country reporters in Scotland. He has done
•rood work for the Herald, and also for the Gazette. A
more sociable and large-hearted man than the editor of the
Gazette does not exist. He lives quietly in Linlithgow,
although he has ability that would carry him to the top-
most rung of the ladder that leads to journalistic success."
The high pressure at which newspaper work is conducted
in our days precludes, to a great extent, the quiet reflective
hour so essential to poetical composition ; but, notwith-
sUmding this, Mr Fleming has written some of our l)est
local poems, and it is probably only the lack of leisure that
has prevented him hitherto from issuing these in a collected
foini. His effusions have appeared in the People's Frieiid,
and other miscellanies and newspapers, and biographical
notices of him are given in Edwards' Modern Scottish Poets
and in the Harp of Stirlingshire, edited by Willi:im Harvey,
to which latter gentleman we are indebted for much of the
preceding information.
/'<)i:ts of LiM.rniaowsiiiiiK.
l.IM.ll'IICdW r\l,At'K.
" Of hU the pnliiCL's so fair
Built for tlu" Itovjil ilwclliiij;
III Si'otlMiul. far lii'ydiul loinpiire
[,iiilitlij;o\v is fxcelliiij;." MARMION.
Tliou lioary pile, rooHt'ss and bare,
\'i(;tiin to Time's rc)ii<;li blast,
How nobly still thou standest there
A relic of the |iast :
For aijus lony tli\ sheltcrM form,
W'itli vcMierabk' pride.
Hath biavfd destruction's wasting storm.
And desolation's chide.
Ah ! hadst thou power of utterance,
What tales thou couldst unfold
Of hideous deeds perform'd, perchance
By those called brave and bold —
Of scenes of love and chivalry
In days when harp and song
Echo'd the name of bravery
'Midst many a glitt'ring throng.
Within those old deep-furrow'd walls.
Long since of beauty shorn,
Amid the pomj) of gilded halls
A beauteous Stuart was bt)rn :
And there, again, in yon dark lOom
Where pilgrims oft have hied.
Amid a scene of [jain and gloom
The Regent Moray died.
Yes, here fair Scotland's martyr-Queen
First view'd the light of day.
And there, beneath yon branches green.
Her kin would ofttimes stray,
Oi' linger by the placid lake
As twilight shaflows fell,
When care nor pain had daied to break
The brief, but tranquil .spell.
Robert FLEHixa. 257
Tho' all was not quite sunshine then
Yet few, indeed, could dream
That Maiy's trusted countrymen
Would 'gainst her plot and scheme :
Ah ! little recked the infant Queen
That her eventful reign
Should close at last with one dark scene
Which history's page doth stain.
But other monarchs, too, have dwelt
Within those ancient walls,
And at theii' feet proud knights have knelt,
Obedient to their calls.
Queen Margaret here was wont to mourn
In yonder tower concealed,
And pray for Scotland's king's return
From bloody Flodden's Field.
In yon old hall affairs of State,
In times of woe and weal.
Were oft discussed by nobles great
With patriotic zeal ;
But hushed are now those voices all,
Whose accents used to ring
With fervour through the gilded hall
For countrv and for king.
But what though foot of monarcli now
Treads not these ancient halls ?
Pilgrims shall linger 'neath thy binw,
And muse beside thy walls ;
And while the sands of Time shall run,
TVio' thou neglected be,
Thou 'It still stand tlnre an image dun
Of rare anti(iuit \ .
17
•jns Poets of Lislitugowsiiiuk.
TiiK Hrucii 111- LiM.rriicow's (^)riN-('i':NTHN.\UY Oni:.
Written an tin- oci'asioii <if tlie I'ok'liiatidii l)y tlio limf,'li <>f Linlithgow of tlie
nilOtli Anniversary of tlie Cranting iif a Charter to the IJnigli liy King Kohert II.
in 13S0.
To-day Liiilitliijmv rears Iier head
Amid her turrets old and gre\',
And, as with magic touch, opes wide
Tlie ])ortals of Aiititiuity.
Down tlirough a vista dark and dim
Slie treads with footstep soft and slow.
And, aided by Time's flickering glim.
Looks back Five Hundred years a<;o.
The curtain rises slowly on
A dark dominion, mighty, A-ast,
And in the gloom she feasts upon
The musty records of the past ;
'Mid archives of foigotten lore.
Round which Time's with'ring temi)ests blow,
She muses on the things of jore.
And days Five Hundred years ago.
And as she ponders o'er the scene
Of ages long since passed away,
She sees that which hath might}' been
Lie raould'ring "midst a rude decay —
As stately forms of monarchs, who
The sceptre swayed through weal and woe.
Pass slowly on, she seems to view
Strange acts Five Hundred years ago.
And as she peers a host of knights.
The young and bold, the old and bent,
fio trooping past in anxious plight
To where meets Scotland's Parliament :
And lo ! there sits a man — a King,
Careworn and pale — 'midst pomp and show ;
His look s])eaks pain and suffering
Endured Five Hundred years ago.
Robert Flemish. 259
Slie hears Contention's angn- voice
Ring loudly through the gilded hall ;
Again she sees the weak rejoice
As wrong and tyrannj- down fall.
She harks the shouts of feudal strife,
And sees the life's blood freely flow,
As man 'o-ainst man warr'd to the knife
In davs Five Hundred vears ago.
And as she stands with drooping head
She marvels at the work of Fate ;
She sees her town in ruin laid.
And kith and kin made desolate :
Her Palace and the House of God
'Neath fiery vengeance crumble low-
One more sad, direful episode
Of times Five Hundred years ago.
Th' assassin's hand she sees at work,
Where none are near to save or shield,
While treach'rous hands and cowards lurk
By castle wall and homely bield :
She sees cold-blooded acts portrayed
By those whose eyes with pleasure glow-
What wonder, then, she feels dismayed
At deeds Five Hundred years ago.
But while she sits within the pale
Of that dim and unhappy past
The scene revolves, and slie b«'hold.«i
A bri'diter future dawning fast :
The stirring times of strife and feud
Begin to vanish sure, if slow.
And Ho|)e, who sigh'd in solitude.
Now trims her lamp to brighter glow.
260 POKTS OF Ll .\ IJTIK^dWSIIIIll-:.
Reform and Progress lead ihc van,
And Tiiitli .-(lid Lijjht. in divers ways,
By l)i-eakin<i- (k)\\ II tln' I^i^ot haii,
Dispel the jji-ejudieial liaze :
And Right, and Justice, Mith tali- (Jiace,
Now hatid-in-haiul together go,
And seek in union to ellace
Wrongs of Five Humhed yeais ago.
Yea, happier times are ours to-day
When soft-ej-ed Peace joins hands with Mirtli,
And sweet Content holds kindly swa}-
By each beloved home and hearth ;
Prosperity a halo sheds
O'er pi'ecincts once th' abode of gloom,
And Hajjpiness her soft wing spreads
0"er cold Adversitv's bleak tomb.
And now Linlitligow reai-s her head.
And smiles amid her quaint abodes ;
Her destin\- she now hath laid
On shoulders of her " Fifteen Gods : "
Her fate she leaves to those wi.se men,
And well she knows by day and night
Their elocpience b\' tongue or pen
Shall strike the Wrong and sliield the Right.
Robert Burns.
Written for the 129th anniversary of the Poet.
Again return the natal day o' Scotland's Ploughman Bard ,
Whose name the sons o' Scotia aye shall reverently regard ;
And as aroon' the board we meet his mem'ry to enslnine,
Our toast shall be — "The Prince o' Sang and Days o' Auld Lang^
Syne."
Robert Flemisg. 261
O' minstrels Scotland 8 had yalore, and aft her vales amang
The rustic reeds o' peasant bards hae Scotia's beauties sang ;
But far above those warblings sweet, wliich grieve and cheer by
turns,
Are heard the rapturous, melting strains o' glorious Robbie Burns.
On Ettrick Braes auld Jamie Hogg wove manj- a deathless lav,
When " the kye were comiii' hame" at e'en, and the "Lark " had
ceased to straj' ;
He sang o" faithfu' Flora, wha for puir Prince Charlie mourns,
But the Sheplierd pip'd na half sae clear as did the plooman, Burns.
Whaur " midges dance aboon the burn " by '* Bonnie Craigielea,"
The couthie Robin Tannahill sang " London's Woods" wi' glee ;
When '-(iloomy Winter" was awa' he mus'd wi' heart fu' fain
On the -'Braes o' auld (ileniffer " wi' young "Jessie o' Dunblane."
The chivalrous note o' Wattie Scott resounds both near and far,
As he sings o' "Jock o' Hazeldean " and gallant " Lochinvar ; "
Yet tho' auld Caledonia's harp those bards did sweetly tune,
They lack'd tliat magic ]iooer o' liim wha sang by " Bonnie Doon."
The story o' " The Auld Hoose," as tauld by Lady Nairne,
May mak' us wac — nay, mak' us greet like oiiy guileless bairn ;
Hut what lament frae human heart mair sympathj^ has riven
Tliau t)ie wail o' liim whase soul was wrung for "Mary dear in
Heaven ? "
^iiltillan, too, lias woefu' sung, "0 why left I my luime?"
A .sang wliich aye 'mang lyric gems a foremost place shall claim ;
And on the banks o' " Kelvingrove " Lyle's dulcet notes .shall ring
Till Scotia's suns and maids fory.-t "The Aiild Sc'otch Sangs " to
sing.
And NicoU— gifted Nicoll — auld Scotland's second Burns,
In his wings 'bout hame and kinsfolk still by Orde Braes sojourns,
Whaur he watched the [ilayfu' pranks o' her wha Hll'd his heart wi'
glee,
riie dafiin', guileless las.sockie — his " Bonnie Bessie Lee."
1*62 /'otrrs or Lim.itiiuiiwsiiiue.
Tlie " Batth' o' tliu Otterbouriie " ami tiilc o' " Nariow's Den,"
Slinll play a part in ballad lore wliile the heather decks the glen,
And the " Bonnie Hroom o' tlie ( 'o\\<lcnkno\\es " an(i the " Birks o'
Inveiniay "
Will king be crooned by Scotland's maids by the buf^hts at gloamin'
grey.
But tlio' those bards whose names adorn our Scottish loll of fame
Shall aye be dear to Scotsmen, and their admii'ation claim ;
Yet he whom Cienius hail'd \vi' piide Doon's banks and braes amongv
Still stands our nation's jieciless Bard — tlie Prince of Scottish sonj^.
While rollin<jc years shall onward s])eed, Scotsmen in every clime
Shall worshij) at the shrine of Burns until the end of time ;
His songs, those gems of love and truth, w itli fervour shall be sung
Until auld Scotland's sons aiul maids fot^jet their niither tongue.
^^' K V. (' I K I. \ I'll w .
(A STEKKIN' I.AI>IiIH.)
Whaur "s he gaun, the creej)in' fei'lie?
Wee Ciuly Pow ;
Od, he tries mj' patience saiily.
Wee Curly Pow ;
In the neuk ayont the hallan,
'Mong the pats and pans he 's sprawlin',
Was there e'er sic fashions callan ?
W^ee Cuily Pow.
In his airms the cat he's cuddlin",
Wee Curly I'ow ;
Noo he 's to the coal-bunk toddlin",
Wee Curly Pow ;
In the ase-hole ne.xt he's rakin'.
Raisin' stour, and mither bakin',
Lo.sh I the brat juist keejis me shakin',
\\ ee ( url V I'ow.
Robert Flemixg. 263
Was e'er mither sae provokit ?
Wee Curly Pow :
To the water cran he 's yokit,
Wee Curly Pow ;
Oil I ye mischief-makin' kelpie,
Sorry tak' ye for a ^\■helpie —
Doon this meenit or I '11 skelp ye,
Wee Curlv Pow.
'Mong the dishes i' the dresser.
Wee Curly Pow ;
Sure to break a cup or saucer.
Wee Curly Pow ;
There it 's noo — ye dinsome craikin".
Sugar-bowl in twa ye've braken,
Od, I 11 gie je sic a whackin",
Wee Curlv Pow.
Come then — come to mamuiie's bosie,
Wee Curly Pow ;
See the cradle 's warm and cosy,
Wee Curly Pow ;
Wheesht '. losh there's the boo-man speakin'.
See, he's at the window keekin',
Oreetin' weans the gangrel 's seekin",
Wee Curly Pow.
Shut your een and sleep fu' honnie,
Wfc Curly Pow ;
Faith he winna get my sonnie,
Wee Curly Pow ;
Hame ye gang, ye feckless foggie,
Wha cares noo for hunkled bogie?
Sleepin' soun 's oor ain sweet rogie —
Wee Curlv Pow.
-6-t Poets (if Lislitikiowsiuuk.
TiiK Broomy Bkaks (»' Hamk.
WluMi t;n- tVae kinsfolks, and tVac liame,
N'outli wanders wide at will,
In far of!' lands where oi'ani^t; groves
With sweetest music thrill ;
The" fair ;ind beauteous be those climes,
To liini tliey seem but tame
Whase heai-t aye dwells "mantr childliood scenes-
The Broomy Braes o' Hanie.
There may be lands on whilk the sun
Mair bi-ichtly fai- hath shone ;
There may be birds on ither shores
That sing with sweeter tone ;
But naucjht to me sae sweet could be
As hear tlie thrush proclaim
His rousing- morning sang upon
The Broomy Braes o' Hame.
The daisy and the buttercuj)
Lie hidden 'mang the dew ;
The heather aye is bloomin' whaur
The sweet blaeberries grew :
And aye the burnie wimples on,
And ilka thing's the same
To me as when I romped about
The Broomy Braes o" Hame.
Dear haunts o' youtli the biaes o' Hame,
Wliat mem'ries linger theie !
The merry laiich — the hearty shout —
O' bairnies free frae care ;
They rise still yet uijon my ear —
I hear ilk cronie's name, —
O woidd that I aince mair could meet
Them (m tlie Br-aes o' Hanif.
Robert Fleming. 265
Ix Mejiory of Jeanie Dow.
Oh, I 'm sad and weary noo
Sin' my Jeanie gaed awa',
And mj' briesfc o' grief is fu'
Sin' my Jeanie gaed awa' :
Dull 's oor wee tire-en' at nicht,
Whaur she watch'd the dancin' lowe,
Wi' her een aye glancin' bricht,
Oor ain wee Jeanie Dow.
We '11 miss her lang and sair
\\'i" her prattle and her glee,
And the smile that aye garr'd care
Frae her verj' presence flee :
Wi" a' her steer and dattin',
Wi' her pawky beck and bow —
Ah ! we'll miss the heart}' laughin'
()' onr ain Jeanie Dow.
Tak' doon that baggie frae the wa',
Her spellin' book lay past,
For oh I my heart maist braks in twa
When on't my e'e I cast.
Ended are a' her schule days here,
For aye the book 's closed now,
And never mair the voice we'll hear
O' blythsome Jeanie Dow.
Oh, I canna think it true
That my lassie's lying low,
And tliat a' oor cheer has noo
Turned to bitter jiain and woe ;
But they tell me that ower there,
Wi' a wieatli iijion her brow,
"Mong the angels a" siia fair
I '11 yet meet my Jeanie Dow.
•J 6 6 PoKTS Of LiM.rniGOWsiiiiti:.
QvKv.s M AKv's Trkk.
Verses sugjri-sted liy tin' i'lantiiit; of ii Seedling of Queen Mary's Tree in the
Palace Groumls, Linlitligow, hy LoH!> Uosiohkkv, on the oocasiiin of his f.ordship
l)eing Presented liy the I'rovost and Majtistiates witli tile Kreedom of the P.iirgh
on Stth Septeinher, 188C.
O hallow 'd ground o'ei- wliicli of olil nuin.irclis li;i\e ofttiiiieH trod ;
O sacred s])ot, o'ershadou'd by tliat oner favoia'd abode ;
What soil more fitly coidd re(xn\c a rt^lie .sucli as thee,
The offspi'iiii:' of a famous plant our own t^tiuH-n Mary's Tree.
In olil t'laiiiiiiillar's fair domain, w itli cxcry <^ia(^e and mien,
Thy parent was implanted by the hand of Scotland's Queen,
And now by 'Lithgow's Palace old scene of her infancy—
We jilant a tender seedling of that sarnie (^liieen Mary's Tree.J
And who more enual to that task than Scotland's favourite Peer?
Who better could relate the tale of Mary's sad career?
What eloquence more rich than his, what words more kind could
be.
While speaking- of her mem'rj- and tiiat little sacred Tree?
From the summit of yon ruin grey old Time with j)lacid eye
Looks down upon the little shrulj, relic of days gone bye,
And as he peers he seems to say — " When men have ceased to be
I '11 tend the growtli and blossoming of ill-starred lVIarj''s Tree."
While standing by that hoarj- pile what thoughts flash o'er the min'
As one in silence muses on the dark days o' langsyne.
When plot and passion held the sway, and ^\iien the cruel decree
Reft her of life, the beauteous Queen — a form so fair to see.
' 'I'radition points to an ancient sycamore or jijane tree in tlie rilla^je
of Little France, at the foot of Craigniiilar Hill, where the French
servants of Her Majesty resided, as liavin^' been ijlanted V)y her. 'I'he
seed or seedlinf,' must have been hrou^dit from the Continent, for accord-
ing to Turner's HerJial, this tree was first cultivated in }5ritain about the
time of Queen Mary's return from France. In her time it was the
general belief that the ])lane tree was the sycamore mentioned in
Scripture on which Zacchaeus climlied to get a glimpse of Christ.
Bo BERT Flemisg. 267
As jears roll on the pilgrim will delight to linger here,
And homage pay that mem'iy which to many still is dear ;
And many, when remembering the pangs she had to dree,
\\'ill drop the tear of sympathy beneath Queen Mark's Tree.
And those who love to visit yonder old historic pile,
Or worship at St. Michael's shrine from some far distant isle,
Will now in their sojournings to this spot attracted be
To view that dear memento — ijl-starred Mary's famous Tree.
And even good St. Michael's sons who near the spot reside
Will ofttimes jjensively recline beneath its blanches wide,
And mayhap many yet will tell when far beyond the sea
HoM the}- in "Lithgow's Peel have sat beneath Queen Mary"sJTree.
In winter when King Boreas rules. mav thv tinv form
C -111
Be spared the deadlj' onslaught of the wild tempestuous storm ;
And when the budding spring returns may genial Nature be
Exceeding lavish to the wants of fair Queen Mary's Tree.
-^'^ I'ohrrs OF Lisi.i iiiaowsiiinE.
.lOHN wuri'E.
Bdiii is.-)ti.
TN JOHN \\'HITE we have an example of the intelligent
J- Scottish villager, strong in patriotic pride and sturdy
independence, whose life, ))assed innid
" The lowl}- train of Iife".s sequester'd scene,"
alwavs carries with it something of the redolence of nature.
He was l)orn at Whitburn in the year 1859, and received
at Wilson's School the education usually afforded to a poor
man's son.
After all, the education of the schools is not the most
■essential introduction to success or happiness in life, and he
who, pitched ever so early or unprepared into the
scrimmage of life, yet, with all the manhood that God has
^iven him,
" Does the best his circumstance allows.
Does well — acts nobly — an<jels could no more."
He was early apprenticed t(j the tailoring trade in his
native town, which calling he has ever since followed, and
now does business on his own account.
Mr White is a devoted lover of the violin, and in his
rendition of the old masters — for whom he entertains a
feeling akin to adoration — he has acquired more than a
local reputation. In this capacity he is in request for the
occasional "At Homes" of the neighbouring gentry.
JoHX White. 26^
But it is as an exponent of comedy that he has attained
most popularity, and has made himself a favourite in all
parts of the county. His comic songs are all his own
composition, and many of them have lieen sung with
success throuii;hout Scotland. We remember readinsr in
the columns of a local paper of a concert at Fauldhouse,
where Mr White, in his inimitable representation of " Aunt
Sally," was so effective and life-like in his " get-up " that
the chairman, taken by surprise, courteously offered the old
lady a chair !
He has wooed more of the Nine than Thalia, however,
and we give a few specimens of his effusions apart from the
Muse of Comedy.
Lines ox Sir David Wii.kie's Picture, "The Cut Finger."
Wee dumpy, stumpy, toddlin' bint I
Wliat mi.schief noo hae ye been at?
Ve are a plague, an' yet foi' a'
Ye 're grannj-'s pet an' buttei-ba".
W'hee.sht ! noo, till granny get.s a cloot —
It '.s naething for to wheenge aboot,
Or else ye '11 dee ! look, see the bluid
Rinnin' doon yer peenie red !
• Come yer wa'.s an' dinna lingei-.
An' I will buckle yer bit finger :
Yer pleadin' een .'sae bonnie blue-
Aye gar yer granny's Iic;n t fill fu".
Noo that'll dae : ye 're hale an' Strang,
An' after this ne'er dae the wrang.
Or aiblin.s ye '11 get cut in life
W'i liantle waiir "blades" than a knife.
Poets or LisLiriiaowsniRE.
The Dawn.
How sweet the overture of life—
Tlif joy of cliiklliood's li.ipiiy time —
Tlie golden gleams that come and go
Upon the pniple peaks sublime.
Love's ardent tires that inward burn,
And give our dreams a richer tone,
Alas ! too soon they pass away,
The crimson twiliglit comes anon.
Our youth is full of happy dreams.
The {H-ime of idle follj'.
Old age of anxious thoughts oppi-essed.
And days of melancholy ;
Hut still I hold in everj' stage
There 's something that we can enjoy ;
But, O ! give me the happy days
When I was a boy.
The Yelluw-H.\ired Lassik.
Air:— "The yellow-haired laddie."
When spring has returned wi' her msmtle o' green,
An' deckVl the bleak plain wi' a da/.zlin' sheen.
An' the grey hills are tinged wi' [)urple an' gold.
Then the yellow-haired lassie drives her ewes frae the fold.
Wi' her plaid owre her shoulders an' crook in hei- han'
She trips like a fairy oot owre the green lawn ;
Her cheeks are like roses, an' her twa pawky een
They sparkle far brichter than starnies at e'en, ,
Wi' saft golden tresses glancin' bricht to the sun
Ye'd think that an angel had come frae abune :
Nae goddess Diana, though ever sae fair,
Wi' the yellow-haired lassie I e'er wad compare.
She 's the toast o' the swains roon' the hale country-side,
An' mon\' ha'e socht her to mak' her their bride ;
An' though it be willed that she winna tak' me
I '11 lo'e the sweet lass to the day that I dee.
Andrew Barxard. 271
ANDREW BAHNAKI).
Born 1860.
ANDREW BARNARD— eldest son of the author of
Sparks from a Miner's Lamp and Chhp^ frae the Engine
Lum, ah-eady referred to — was l)orn at Grangemouth on
the 8th of January, 1860; but while he was an infant in
arms the family removed to Woodend, Ai'madale. At the
aire of tw'elve he was taken from school and became a
message boy ; but soon left this for the more remunerative
occupation of a coal-miner. He had scarcely been a year
at this work, however, when he sustained an injury to his
knee which incapacitated him for work of any kind. Four
years elapsed ere he was able to be removed from bed, and
other three years were si)ent in the slow and painful
progression from perambulator to crutches, and thence to
the more satisfactory support of his own legs. While
thus thrown aside from the recognised ranks of labour he
became a proficient violinist, and alleviated the weary days
of pain by knitting, lace-making, tailoring, and latterly as
an amateur photographer in which art he has accpiiied
consideraljle success and attained to more than ordinary
-skill. On regaining his strength he became ;ui engine-
keeper, and is at present employed as an engineer with
.Messrs W. Muir A- Co.. Bathville, where his inventive
faculty has been the means of introducing some labour-
saving machinery which he has patented. When the kite
-Tames Ballantyne met with the accident which ultimately
'212 PoKTS (IF Lis i.i I iiuow siiiiii:.
carried him away, our fiicnd did not fail to fulfil his duties
as a comforter to his "brother in tin; Muses" and "l)r()ther
in misfortune," and they coiitiinied firm friends till
Ballantyne's death. Four years ago Mr Jiarnard married
and built a cottaiJ;e between Woodend and Armadale,
where he resides with his wife and young family — the
eldest of whom is the "Wee Fran. " mentioned on p. 19").
Thougli his poems lack the finish and touch of his father's
productions, they {)0ssess sufficient evidence to show that
he has inherited a large .share of his paient's facility and
'felicity of expression in verse. He has not written
voluminously : he prefers rather to be the clear little spring
than the less pure river, however great.
Mr Barnard finds a place in the Poetri/ of fhe Veil and in
Edwards' Modern Scoltish Poets, and has contributed some
very sweet verse to the local press for a number of years.
TUK Si'AKKOWS THAT BiDK l' TllK L^^f.l
I"in coiiiin", iniir l)irdies, I ne\ei- liiid miii'
O' the wee bits o' breid that ye get,
An' though ither things aften rin i' my heid,
That '.« ae thing I maunna forget.
Oh ! whiit wad I dae in this dull, dreary place
If it werena the cheeiy bit hum,
An' the visits I get ilka mornin' an' nicht
Frae the sparrows that bide i' the lum.
' The sparrows were life-renters ol The Eiiyiut Lum where his father
wrought. The above was written on seeing his father give the sparrow.s
their customary share of his " piece." The sparrows reciprocated the
kinthiesB I'y furnishing Mr Barnard, sen., witli a title for his second
volume, viz., Chirpufrae the Engine Lum.
AXDREW BaRSARI). '11%
The wen, gutsj' gourmands, they tumble an' fecJit
For their meat like a hungry wee wean ;
But we maun forgie them — they 're only wee birds,
An' hae scarce a bit mind o' their ain.
Sae thankfu' are they when their crapies are fu',
They carena the reek nor the coom ;
But dicht their wee nebs, an' awa' they will tlee
To their neebours that bide i' the lum.
The laverock on high, wi" his music sae tine,
Comes doon aft to gi'e me a ca' ;
The robin in winter, the blackie in summer.
The shilfa, the Untie an' a' ;
But nane tills the want in this lane heart o" mine,
Nae maitter hoo aften they come,
Like the wee, tousy fellows that bide the hale 5ear
I' the cracks o" the big, reeky lum.
The big, greedy craws that are juist fleein" by —
Oh, the scoundrels ! I watched them yestreen
Flee roond the lum back (oh, the mean, hungry pack I)
When they thocht that they wadna be seen.
An' chase the bit birdies an' friclit them sae Siiir
To get eatin" tlieir meat — every crumb ;
But then thej' 've the richt — they live high i' the warl'.
But the speugs — i' the dirty, black Imn.
But ne'er mind, my birdies, I'll come back the morn.
If the gufle Lord abune gi'e me healtli,
An' I '11 gi'e ye a share o' my ain liamely faie,
For I haena a great store o' wealth :
An' altho' ilka birdie gaes by ye like stour, —
Ye ken ilka bee has its bum —
Nae pride ever enters the wee, honest hearts
O' my frien's that bide up i' tin- Iniii.
18
L»74 rOKTS OF LiM.ITIK.OWSIIIUK.
My Lovk and 1.
M\ Uive and I sat uiulor a boiitrli
Wlu'u our daih' work was done,
While the smilinp^ flowers ainund us closed
In the setting suinmcr sun.
We talked of the hills and valleys fair,
And lands that are far iiway,
As we sat in our swet't and Howery dell
Jn the |)ea('L' of tin; closinii' day.
The moon with her |iale and silver beams
Shone out in the eleai' blue sky,
The myriad stars were twinkling bright
In the spangled heaven on high ;
The nuinnui'ing stream rolled gaily on
Through the rocky, bushy glen,
The clock of the distant village church
Was striking the hour of ten :
But still we sat in the soft moonlight
While the fleeting moments flew.
And we saw the soft, green, mossy bank
All wet with the sparkling dew ;
But little we thought of the hills or vales,
Or the twinkling stars above,
Of the fields or flowers, or the dewy grass,
For our thoughts were all of love.
Oh, hastk awa', Winter.
I sigh for the summer wi' a' its bricht beauty,
I sigh for the birdies to sing on the trees ;
The shoit winter day is sae cheerless an' cauld aye,
I sigh owre again for the saft summer breeze.
How heartsome to rise on a gay sunnaer niuiiiing,
The Sim 'boon the hill in a deejj rosy hue.
An' cull the sweet flow'rets that erow in jjrofusion
Awa' in the meadows a' covered wi' dew.
Andrew Barsard. 275
I lo'e weel the summer, but lo'e nae the winter,
Wi' a' its tierce cauld blasts o' snaw, sleet, an' rain ;
The summer brings pleasures, the bee wi' its tre^xsures.
But cauld winter nocht brings but sorrow an" pain.
I'm wae for the bairnies, the wee things are gnarled,
An' shiver wi' cauld 'mang the frost an' the snaw ;
Their wee hearties tremble, an' aft nip wi' hunger.
But what care the pitiless cauld blasts that blaw.
Oh, guid-hearted mammies, be kind to the bairnies
That seek their bit bitie at ilka ane's door ;
For need drives them oot frae their hovels, puir lammies,
An' dool to their hearts wadna pity the poor.
Be kind to the birdies that seek our protection —
The robin, the shilfa, an' wee cutty wren —
A}-e feed them in winter, an' then in the summer
They 11 pay us weel back wi' their sangs in the glen.
Oh, haste awa', winter, an' come ye back, summer.
An' come back, ye birdies, noo far, far awa',
An' sing in the gloamin' your blythe lays to cheer us.
For lanely an' sad are our hearts 'mang the snaw.
Ix Mkmukia.m.
Come blaw, ye simmer breezes, blaw,
An' waft your sweet perfume
Frae affthe tinj' briar bush,
An' scented yellow broom ;
An' bow your lieads, ye gaudy flowers
That bloom by castle wa',
For deatli lias ta'en unto himsel'
The dower amang us a'.
Xae mair on simmer nights at e'en
We'll see his slender form,
Nae mair ujKjn the lonely paths
That skirt the yellow corn ;
I'oKTS OF Lis uriicowsiuHK.
Nae iiiair he'll Wiiiulcr tliniUL;li tlif "i'k'ii
O' boiiiiif Bii'Ut'iisliiiw ,
For oh, irriiii (U-ntli lias coiiie iin" taeii
The flowoi' amaiij; us a'.
Nae niair we '11 hear his merry sang.
Or see his cheery face, —
The face the lassies lo'ed sae weel,
He had sic ways an' grace ;
Nae niair he'll lead the sportive dance
Oct Ijy the auld seinde wa',
For Duncan 's gane, fell death has ta'en
The flower amang us a'.
Vet tiiougli he's left this weary warl',
This warl' o' cares an' toil,
Where men doon in the dark, damp eaith
Like emmets ever moil,
We know liis spirit's gone to heaven
Where loud Hosannahs ring,
An' angels shout continually
The praises of our King.
James Ballaxti'se. 277
JAMES BALLANTYXE.
1860-1887.
JAMES BALLANTYNE was born at Crindledyke, in the
parish of Cambusnethan, on the 13th of May, 1860.
His father can-ied on business as a shoemaker there ; but
■o^nng to business losses he became a miner. At an early
age James was apprenticed to the watch-making trade, but
he relincjuished this in a short time and also entered the
pit. About the year 1880 the family came to reside at the
little village of Woodend, near Armadale. So assiduously
•did James apply himself to his vocation that he rapidly
rose from the humble position of a trapper to that of
oversraan, and he was studying diligently for a manager's
•certificate when, in the beginning of 1883, his legs were
jwralysed by an accident which left him a confirmed
invalid.
Throuiih the kindness of the Coltness Iron Company
and some of his friends a tricycle was procured for him
and by this means he was enal)led during the gentler
seasons of the year to enjoy some measure of outdoor life
and exercise. During his illness, which lasted for four
years, he began to cultivate a taste for poetic com))osition,
and the efiusicjus of his muse served to beguile many a
weary hour. In the company of the poets Harnard —
father and son — he found congenial and sympathetic tastes
which fostered and encouraged him in his flights of fancy
in which he gave promise of higher things. l)Ut the se^l
278 Poets of l.jsLtTiiGowsniRE.
of death was alieady on his brow, and on the morning of
iUli September, 1887, he died —
"Died, while the first swoot rniisciousness of inimliootl
And inaidfii tlioiii^lit eloctritied liis soid,
Faint beatincjs in the cnlyx of the rose."
In the autumn of that year a booklet entitled The Poetri/ of
the IkU, which his brother l)ards in Woodend published foi'
his benefit, was issued from the office of the West Lot/dan
Courier ; but ere it emerged from the press he had passed
away. The principal contributors to the little volume
were the Messrs Barnard, but it also coiitains six of
Ballantyne's poems and a biogra])hical notice of him. He
is also noticed in Modern Srotihh Porta.
The MrcKLE May Flee.
(ANOI.EH'S SOXn.')
I '11 ui) in the morning' an' vi<^ myfuA' oot
Wi' my stockings, an' basket, an' taokle sae stoot,
An' aft" to the burnie whaur trooties sae slee
Are jmnpinrr to nab up the nmokle May flee.
An' 1 for the fun 'nianjr the sweet singinj,' rills,
An' the boulder stanes biff like to wee frowninji hills,
Whaur lies the sleek trootie wi' .sharjj greedy e'e.
Aye ready to rise at the muckle May flee.
Then O ! for the breeze that can dress in a frill
The lang glas.sy flats wi' their surfaces still,
Whaur lies the big trootie sae bonnie to see
That 's plumjn- been made by the muckle May flee.
' This song has been set to music by the late T. S. Gleadhill. It is
liubli-^hed by Mr Joseph Ferrie, 202 Hope Street, Glas^'ow, who possesses
the copyright, and by whose kind permission it is here inserted.
James B.iLLAXTyyE. 279
An" () I foi- my basket, my rod, an* my reel.
An' O ! for the trootie, the pike, an' the eel,
An' wee sj)eckled par, aye sae sportive an' free.
That jum])s a' its ])ith at the muckle May flee.
An' O ! for the 'oor when back to my hame
I tak' my big basket weel stowed i' the wame,
An' O ! for the wiiie that 's happy to see
A tak' that 's been got wi' the muckle May flee.
Bonnie Birkenshaw.
Sweet Birkensliaw, thou lovely spot,
To me thy name is dear.
To gaze on thee it thrills my heart
And brings my spirits cheer :
Oft have I strolled thy scenes among
When summer made things braw,
In thy romantic fei'iiie glen —
Sweet, bonnie Birkensliaw.
Dear Birkenshaw, a name thou hast
In written verse, I know ;
Of thee the poet Cameron sang
In days of long ago,
When in thy glen he used to pass
The evening hours awa'
Wi' her, the jewel of his heart-
Sweet, bonnie Birkensliaw.
And in thy glen, sweet Birkensliaw,
I 've mused on Nature fair,
And pulled the roses that perfumed
The suimiier's balmy air ;
And oft I 've heard the mavis sing
His song at gloamin' fa'
Among the gioves which grace tliy gliin.
Sweet, bonnie Birkensliaw.
-280 POKTS (IF LiM.ITIKiOUSIIlHi:.
And I Imve loved to sit, and he.ii'
The burnie's \viiii])liii^ ••^JUiij,
As on its bod it rippli.-d tliro'
Tbc boidders f?ray aniun^
Before it gained the Wlicalock turn,
Near by the " Tree-well " braw,
Where ])assing lovei-s oft hae drank—
Sweet, Ixiiniie Birkensliaw.
To A Hl.ACKl'.IKD.
Sinj;, blaekbird, sin<,' tliy mellow sonif !
Heed not the gloainin's dusky wing
That, hov'ring, beckons night to come
And o'er the v.xle her garment fling.
Sing on ! thy mate sits in her nest
In yoiidei- chnn]> of bu<lding trees,
And listens to thy numbers sweet
That wafted are ujjon the breeze.
No one shall here thy peace distuib.
Sweet songster of this drowsy hour.
When all thy mates in rest are mute
In woodbind, glen, and fragrant bower.
Thy song, aye sweet, is sweetei- now
When not a tuneful voice is heard
Save lone Barbauchlaw's tinkling stream,
And thv own mellow voice, sweet bird.
Tl!K La.ND 1 WiNNA Lka".
Men talk o' lands beyond the sea
AVhose skies are ever cleai'.
Where orange groves and roses sweet
Their scenerv make dear ;
James Ballastyse. 281
But ah ! for them I dinna care —
I seek not distant bowers —
I 'm quite content \vi' Scotland's hills,
And bonnie Scotland's flowers.
Auld Scotland's bonnie woods and dells
Aye help to charm my e'e,
And than her glens and streamlets deep
Nae bonnier I see :
The music o' her siller brooks
Aye cheei'S my Scottish heart, —
Na, na ! for me thexe 's nane sic-like,
Frae them I canna part.
I love her purple moorlands wild,
And tufts o' waving broom
That aje in sunny summer time
Are clad in gowden bloom ;
I love the land where jfrows the slae
And stately birchen tree:
The scenery o' Scotland dear
I canna, canna lea'.
I canna lea' my native land
Where a' my faithers rest
Deep, deep below the verdant sod
Wi' modest gowans drest :
Their graves and battle-fields o' fame
Are ever dear to me —
My Scotland I land o' liberty !
T u iiina, w inna lea'.
I like to roam at freedom 'inong
The thistles and tlie feins,
And view ui)on the mooilands (juiet
'PIk; venerated cairns
Where sleep the noble men of old
Who bravely fought to free
Auld Scotlan*! — lanrl o' liberty I
The lam! I \\iniia Ic;i'.
282 Poets or LisLiriiaowsiiinK.
To A Sn(i\s i>it(ir.
Child of thi> Sininii- I tlioii sii(i\v(lr(i|) sweet
With cheerful heart we welcome thee,
And thy wee mate, the gowan white,
That dorks the lea.
The [jrimrose soon shall liuiint the bowers.
The streamlet sides, and venhmt braes.
And crocus, too, above the soil
Its lirml sli.-dl laise :
And other flowerets in their time.
When thou art faded, shall come forth
To bloom in warmer brec/.e than blows
From the cold north.
But ah ! we love tliee, modest flower :
Thy pi'esence here doth comfort bring-
To cheer the poets and their friends
Who love the Spring.
And in thj' slender foi-m we see
(iod's spirit, power, and love to man.
So for His gifts sing praises sweet.
All ve who can.
Robeut Cosdie Huxter. 28S'
KOBEKT COXDIE HUNTER.
Boin IS'il.
1 )OBEKT COXDIE HUXTEK was born at Bathgate oit
J-t 1st April, 1861. Six years later, on his father's
appointment to the managership of Wemyss Colliery, the
family removed to West Wemyss, where our poet recei^■ed
the primary part of his education under old Paid Burns, a
local bone doctor of some repute. On the completion of
the usual course he served five years as a pupil teacher,
and at the age of eighteen proceeded to P^dinburgh
University with a view to entering the ministry. Having
completed his divinity studies he was duly licensed as a
minister of the Established Church in 1890. In the
following year he spent some time in connection with a
mission in JSutherlandshire, but in the same year he was
appointed to the charge of Glenboig mission, Xew Monk-
land. During the two years in which he laboured there he
succeeded in raising funds for a beautiful little chapel
which was opened free of debt.
On leaving Glenboig he had charge of Oldham St.
Church, Liverpool, and thereafter otticiated for the better
part of a year at Coldstream. Foi* the last two } ears he
has devoted himself more to literature than t(j the pulpit,
and in this sphere Xw has found a congenial clement,
although he still preaches occasionally.
He has been an extensive contributor of delightful tirtion
to the People's Friend, Srotfis/i Nirjhis, and \arious English
maga/.ine.s, and in this walk of literature has achieved
"284 PoKTS OF LiSLiriKiowsiiini:.
coiisidcniblo success. Poetry with him has been decidedly
a recreation ; but his poems, nevertheless, are of very hisj;h
merit and jilaee him among the most gifted of our county
bards. They are marked by pmity of conception and
chaste expression, and in his more reflective ])oems he
attains to the truest poetic elevation, while his amorous
effusions are permeated and l)uiii with all the ardour and
intensity of ar lover's devdtion.
Of Death : A Wish.
A lilni of air, a veil invisible,
Is all that lies between us and the Lij^ht ;
"Tis but a step incomprehensible.
And we would stand within the Inlinite ;
And yet we stumble on as in the nif>;ht,
And fondle our pet vice without a fear,
Till Light Divine reveals the sin we cherish here.
There is no change in any outward tiiiiii^
That Death shall bring us in that houi- we die.
There is no change that any power can bring
To earth or sea or blue ethereal sky.
But then we shall not see with mortal eye ;
We see all things as God has always seen.
And lowly bow our heads to see what we have been.
Had I a wish, I would not die at morn,
When birds are singing welcome to the day ;
When far up in the heavens with song new-born
The lark invites my timid soul away.
I would not die where all is bright and gay —
Twould only bring me double shame and pain
To see my sin laid V)are where peace and joy doth reign.
Robert Cosdie HrsTEii. 285-
I would not die when winter clasps the ground
And biings to Nature's face the pinch of woe ;
And trees in sullen silence spiead around
Reluctant arms to meet the feathery snow,
While in the heavens the flakes sport to and fro.
I could not bear the grief, the misery,
To bring my sin before that cold, hard puiity.
But when the changing shadows sport ami play
And lengthen out beneath the pale moonlight.
And fleeting clouds flit sliadows all the wa\-
Along the jiathway of eternal light,
Then would I step into the Infinite,
And in the soft quiet shadows find a place,
Where I would biing my sin and meet it face to face.
An April Day.
Ae morn, when April was but sweet seventeen.
And lithesome.
She wi[)ed the shades o' nicht frae aff her een
Fu' blithesome.
And looking o'er the world aneath her feet.
She saw nicht fauldin' west her murk}- sheet.
And Sol ]»ursMing hard the drizzly weet.
And April smiled.
Then up wliaur sulky clouds in cantrips whirl,
And vapour,
Slie ro.^c wi' mony a gleefu' skip and skill
And caper,
And ie.«iting breathless frae her wanton mood,
She liovered o'ei- a bleak and eerie wood.
And spied a jirimrose droop in solitude.
And Aj)ril sighed.
•JSd PoKTs or LisLiTiicowsiniit:.
Ami in licr featlieiy ('loud, her choicest bower,
Maist weary
Slie sat her clown to brood o'er this piiir llower
Sae eerie ;
Till Hoatinj^, iinbeknow ii, abvuie a hill,
W liaiir grew a solitarj^ daffodil,
She longed, as did the flower, for some sweet rill ;
And April sobbed.
She gathered tip tin; skirts o' her frail bower
Maist blintlly ;
And sighed and cried in bitter tears — a shower
Maist kindly ;
Till peepin' o'er the brink wi' tearfu' eyes,
She saw them lift their heads and bow and rise
As flowers will do in sunny, weeping skies ;
And Api-il smiled.
When sorrows fa' like lain-draps frae the clouds
Abune us.
And wrinkles in the heart are dreich as sliiouds
Within us ;
'Twould ease the hungry heart a little while,
And rain and pain and wrinkles a' beguile,
To min" that after rain tliere 's aye a smile
In A))ril days.
How I'lJ. DO.
Some women gang gyte 1' the askin'.
And some canna open their mou's.
Though every ane kens what 's been maskin'
The pretty wee innocent doos !
1 think when the (piestion is |)()|)pit
I '11 no hing my heid like a coo,
Nor will I creep up to his gravit.
And cheep like a halfdiookit doo.
Robert Coxdje Euster. 287
I "11 tell him as plain as a rocket
He maunna ganjr oot and get fou,
He maun keep up supplies for the doocot
If he wants to keep in wV the doo.
Some women are aye in the wallow,
They 're kept in the mire like a .«oo,
Ye see what "s the end, wi' a fallow,
0' a cheepin' submissive wee doo.
I intend to begin as I "11 end wit,
And no hae a thing o't to rue ;
My lad maun keep straucht and weel-fendit
Or he "11 hear mair than chee[)s frae his doo.
In B<inda<;e.
How can 1 work when a" the day
My heart gangs thumpin' sairly ?
When every glint o' Jenny's e'e
Mak's me a' .shake wi' ecsta.sy?
For Jen II \' has me fairly.
I canna settle at my wark,
I canna mak' a sentence ;
No that my learnin 's far ahint.
For I ha'e often been in print,
But .Jenny ! Sad acquaintance !
My een are dizzj- wantin' sleep.
My brain gangs niciit and morn ;
She has the very soul o' me
Fast gripjiit by her bonnie e'e ;
I "m feckless antl forlorn.
Twa years and mair she's had me fast,
I think she doesna ken o't ;
But wae is me ! 1 "m fair possessed,
The thocht o' her wont let me rest,
I'd gi"e a king the Itn' ""(.
liSS I'OKTS (ir LlSI.ITIKiDWSIIIHK.
How (MM 1 woik wlioii ii' tlie (lay
My lu-;iit ,u';in<;;s t)inin|iin' s;iirly V
If .leniiy liiuliia sic an v'v.
Or luidna glinted it on nu;,
1 "(1 work baith late and carh.
A Sanc or a WiiisTiJO.
When a lad, j^in I thocht that the road was ower lang,
I tiled to beguile it day-dreainin" ;
But when a bit aulder I saw it was w'rang
To waste the biicht clay only seeniin',
I opened my ears to the laverock and throstle,
And joined in their joy wi" a sang or a whistle.
( ;in a place o' bad omen lay straucht in my way,
And my heart no sae bold as it should be.
And nicht comin' doon w-i' its mantle o' grey,
And uij' een seein' mair than they should dae ;
Each hair o' my held niicht lise stiff as a bristle,
But my feelin's got vent in a sang or a whistle.
Cauld care is a lang-standin' freend we maun mind.
And gi'es me a ca' in the bj'e-gaun ;
But I bid him come ben, if he 's that way inclined,
And I coddle him up till the daj'-dawn ;
And sometimes he 's [)rickly and sharp as a thistle.
But meet a' his scowls wi' a sang or a whistle.
Thk Old W'am..
One never knows what is the key
To open out life's mj'stery.
To some a rose, to s(jme a look.
To otliers 'tis a cheiished book,
To others still, a (juiet nook
Contains their heart's true history.
Robert Coxdie Hcxter. 289
To me a low and lowly wall
Contains the secret of it all :
It told my inward eje and ear
Some secrets of another spheie,
Wliere streams and streams of joy appear :
It was the gladdest mysterj-.
'Twas little that the eye could see —
A lowly wall and shelt'ring tree ;
But by the inward eye was seen
A continent of joy serene.
I gazed and gazed and entered in :
It gladdened nie and saddened me.
'Twas little that the ear could hear —
Only the leaves were rustlincr near :
But on the inward ear there comes
Sweet harmony of love-lit hj-mns,
And sounds of dreamy distant chimes :
I revelled in lo\o's mystery.
And after all that lowly wall
Revealed the secret of it all ;
For there her soft caressing hand
^A^•^s but the gentlest magic wand
To lead me to this fairj'-land
That held ni}' heart's glad historj'.
The True Coukse ok Love.
1 lo\'ed a lass,
Her name — well 'tis no matter ;
Her eyes resembled diamonds, rich in hue,
Her waist was just the waist that one would woo.
Her dewy moutli made my mouth dewy too ;
Enough just to look at her
To love the lass.
19
J!)0 POKTS OF LlMJTIItiOWsniRE.
I loved another :
Ten years had on nie settled,
And as the morning's blush so she was fair;
Her charming smile and sympathetic air
Invited me to lay my sorrows bare ;
In her my heart now nestled—
I loved that other.
I loved again :
Another ten had wested
The third time : 'twas tlie first, my widowed flame,
Though old love kindled up is not the same ;
But then my feelings now are (juiet and tame,
And in her I feel rested,
And love again.
George F. S. Shaxks. 291
G
GEORGE F. S. SHANKS.
Boin lS(5-2.
EORGE FERGUSSOX SMELLIE SHANKS was born
in the village of Whitburn on the 31st of March,
1862. In the following year the family removed to
Bathgate, where his father carries on business as a black-
smith. George was educated at the Academy there, and
afterwards served his apprenticeship to the patternmaking
in Bathgate Foundry. In 1888 he removed to Glasgow,
where he has since resided. At present he is President of
the Glasgow Branch of the Patternmakers' Society, which
enjoys the distinction of being the largest branch of that
S«jciety in the United Kingdom. As he lives in the
suburbs he has many opportunities of making short
e.xcursions into the surrounding country.
Mr Shanks has contributed largely to the poetical
columns of the JFest Lothian Courier, Weekhi Mail, and
other newspapers for a number of years, and these fugitive
pieces, we understand, he intends shortly to issue in a
collected form, together with his humorous Scottish
readings, of which he has published a goodly number
serially. He is in much request as a reader at literary and
other meetings, and occasionally supplies the evening's
entertainment entirely from his own productions. Mr
Shanks is also the author of the operettas, A Name at Last,
and The IHmrd of the North.
292 Poets of Lishtugowshiuk.
Tm: Lanc Ti.antin" Hikn.
TlitMcs a bonnie wee burn wimples doou thro' yon howe,
Neath the ciuick-sloj)in' bank an' the flooer-covered knowe,
A\'liaui- aft in oor youth wi" ooi' (hittin' an' glee
We made days birl nioiid — tliae cronies iin' me.
There the tiny wee violet an' primrose sae sweet
Shone oot frac the green moss sae saft to oor feet,
When we had been paidlin' the water among
"Neath the shade o' the trees whaur the wee birdies sung.
An" sic glorious fun as it aft used to be
To see wha could jump the far'est ower thee,
An' the echoes wad soond wi" uproarious din
If ane o" oor number by chance tumbled in.
Oh ! whaur are they noo, a' thae cronies sae gay,
Wha aft on thy bank spent the lang simmer day ?
Wide scattered we ken, but whaurever they be
They aften return in their fanc\- to tliee.
An' there it still wimples an' purls alang,
Ower the very same stanes to the same sweet auld sang.
To a new crood o' laddies licht-heai'ted as we,
Wha maun a' be wide scattered as we noo maj' be.
Oh ! bonnie wee burn, as ye wimple alang,
There 's a lesson sae true in the notes o' yer sang ;
Ye tell us sae plain that though simple je be
Yer end is the same as great rivers — the sea.
An' man, like thy waters, thou bonnie wee burn,
To the source whence he sprung in truth maun return ;
An' the mightiest monarch, with marvellous fame.
An' the peasant he rules, maun some day be the same.
Tho' far, far awa' we maun wander frae thee,
An' dentilies tried bj- the warld we be,
It 's aye a relief when we musing return
To the days that we've spent by the Lang Plantin' Burn.
Georke F. >'. Shaxks. 298
Bright Days of Gold.
There came to me a vision bright
Of dajs long, long ago,
Tlno' weary years of anxious care,
Thro' many a pain and woe ;
But as on golden wings I rose
And flew into the past.
Those anxious cares were all forgot,
And griefs aside were cast.
Then as in days of old.
Free from all grief and pain,
Happy in dreams of love,
I lived those days again.
I felt the breezes fresh and free
Blow thro" my MaWng hair,
I saw the brook, so sweet and cool.
With flowerets sparkling fair ;
And one beside me tripped along,
A pretty little maid.
Whose face was sweet as any flower
Within that pleasant glade.
Then as in days of old.
Free from all grief and pain,
Happy in dreams of youth,
I lived those days again.
The vision 's gone, but I am still
Beside that little maid,
.And, tho' we may be change<l since then,
And far from that cool shade,
We still can be as fond a.s then,
In those blight daj's of gold,
For love will grow thio' lengtli of years,
.\nd never can be old.
Then as in days of old,
Free from all grief and pain,
Happy in dreams of youth,
I lived those days again.
J94 I'OKT^ OF LiM.lTIKiOWSHIIiK.
Mv I. AH sAK Bkaw.
When wintry winds ftang soughin' bj'
An" snaw conies diiftin' o'er the lea.
When rinds are scuddin" o'er the sky,
An" eerie stan's the birken tree,
I mind me o' my lad sae braw —
His stalwart form I oft reca'.
The snaw lay deej) on ilka brae,
The burns were big in ilka glen.
That day they marched him far awa'
To join the gallant Hielan'men ;
An" oil I he looked sae big an' braw —
His stalwart fonii I oft reca'.
I j)ray, if he "s no 'mang the deid.
That he is weel whaure'er he be,
An" if he's hale I ken lies true
To native hanie, to love, an' me ;
An' aye he '11 be to me sae braw —
His stalwart form I oft reca".
LovK FROM Heart to Heart.
Love's dream has vanished now.
Love's happy hour is o'er.
We must for ever part —
Part to meet no more ;
And tho' our j)arting be
Fraught with the deeiiest pain,
We must for ever part,
No more to meet again.
Oh ! so happy were we,
Happy for one brief hour ;
Little we thought of grief
\Mieii first we knew love's power
George F. S. Sbaxks. 295
Little we thought that we,
Who loved from heart to heart,
Wei-e destined but to meet.
And, meeting, but to part.
StUI in our fancy we
Live in each other's eyes.
And never think upon
The gulf which "twixt us lies ;
But loving we shall be
Tho' e'er so far apart, —
Lovers till death at last
Shall join us heart to heart.
-06 POKTS OF LlSI.ITUGOWSHlRE.
MRS ALEXANDEi; DEANS
{nee c. k. petti (jrkw).
Born lS(i±
AMID the multifarious duties of a farmer's wife Mrs
Alexander Deans has found leisure enough to write
some poems of sterling merit. Among her earliest
recollections are Bathgate and its Academy, to which
institution she is proud to owe the better part of her
education : and to Mr D. F. Lowe, then Kector of the
Academy and now Head-Master of George Heriot's Hos-
pital, Edinburgh, she attributes any literary inclinations
she may possess. After completing her j)upil-teachership
in the Academy she entered the Church of Scotland
Training College, P^dinburgh, and it was during this time
that she first committed herself in ''the divine art of
poesy" by writing verses for the amusement of her
classmates. Having married a Kincardineshire farmer,
Mrs Deans now resides near Fordoun in that county.
Since 1888, in which year she obtained a handsome prize
from the Peoples Journal for an essay on the Training of
Children, Mrs Deans has contributed to various magazines
and periodicals. Articles on Health and kindred domestic
subjects and short stories and poems from her pen have
gained for her many prizes in these competitions which
have conduced so largely in recent years to the development
of young literary talent.
The verse of Mrs Deans is fresh and natural, with no
straining after effect, conveying to the reader the impression
Mrs Alexasder Deaxs. 297
that it is the spontaneous expression of the poet's own
experience, with whom
" Feeling is a something to be felt,
Not fancied, as is frequently the case.''
Hei- poems of childhood are pervaded by that subtle
simplicity of diction, which, while it is the only appropriate
medium of expression, is b}'^ reason of its simplicity very
difficult of attainment— if indeed that can be called an
attainment which wells forth like a pellucid spring from a
heart charmed with all that is innocently beautiful in
bairnhood.
Mrs Deans has many pleasant recollections of Bathgate,
and one of her greatest pleasures is to revisit the home of
her youth and spend a few days among the friends and
scenes of those
' ' Lichtsonie days and lang.
When hinnied hopes around our hearts,
Like simmer blossoms, sjirang ! "
Thk Stirkik's Sta'.i
What ails my bonnie laddie noo ?
What's brocht that froon ontil his broo ?
His wee bit heart seems unco fou —
Is 't him ava
Staunin' wi' waesomc, droopin' mou'
Ower at the \\;i '.'
' To he put ill Iht xtirkit'K >itu\ a plirase applied to a child who receives
lenK attention than foniierly from the uiotlinr, in cc)n»e<iueiicc of being
htipplanted by a later arrival. --.lamieHon'M ScoUisk Dictwiiavii.
298 PoKTs or Li.\ijrii(:(>» sinHK.
Stve bricht an' <;!iy lie wjis yestreen,
As lilitlu" a l)airni(i's could he seen,
Wi' (liinplin' clieoks an' laucliin' een ;
But that 's a' fjane :
Nae cantrips noo, nae bairn-wit keen —
What ails tlu; wean ?
" Come ye awa' inbye to ino,"'
His faither says, "an' we will see
Gin we can redd this up a wee :
What is't that's wrang'/
I never thocht that ye eould be
Sulky sac laii<r. "'
Slowl}- he shook his ciiily heitl,
An' glancin' at the door in dreid
Ae hmg-drawn smothered sigh he gied,
An' yields a wee ;
Tlien sobs a waefu" tale indeed
On dada's knee.
' ' I dinna like yon greetin' wean ;
I wish ye 'd send it hame again ;
I like faui' best to be my lane :
Pit it awa'."
Puir, little chiel ! he feels the chain
O' stirkie's sta'.
" Hoot toots I but this will never do,"
Says da, "ye '11 spoil your bonnie mou'.
An' waste your een wi' lookin' thro'
Sae mony tears :
Ye ken ye are a big man noo,
A'maist four years !
" Yon little lass has come to bide,
To learn to walk an' rin iin' slide ;
She '11 sune be fit to sit an' ride
On Tibbie's back :
Ye '11 teach her hoo the reins to guide —
The whup to craek."
ilffl.? Alexaxder Deans. 299
Quickly he slid doon to the floor.
An anxious look his wee face wore ;
By faither's word he set great stoie :
" An' will my niither
Like me as weel 's she did afore
She got this ither ? "
" Ay, laddie, that she surely will,
Nae ither bairn your place can till,
You 're niither's bonnie laddie still
Tho' sair ye 've missed her ;
Sae 3'e maun e'en be kindly till
Your ain \vee sister."
"I'll like the lassie brawly noo" —
Smiles 'mid the tear-stains breaking through —
He thocht because the baii'n was new
She 'd like it best ;
Noo that he kens her love holds two
His heart 's at rest.
Thkke Little Kittkns :
a story for childrkn.
Pretty Piiss}- ^^'hitepaws had tliree little kittens,
And every one, just like herself, had dainty, snow-white mittens r
Those pretty kits, so sleek and cjuiet. so soft, so fat and furry,
They difl not look as if they 'd give their mother cause for worry ;
But kittens, just like girls and boys, are sometimes rather naughty,.
And no exception to this rule were Spunky, Sam, and Spotty I
"My dears," their mother said one day, "I'll take you for an airing,.
But you must ail walk by my side, and not be ru<lc and staring ;
Be sure you keef) your dresses clean, and do not soil your mittens.
And not in Pussydom will be found three jHcttier little kittens."
Across the loft and througli the byres, and riglit along the stable,.
This well-trained little family marched a.« fast as they were able :
• lust at tin; barn do(jr Sam forgot to do as lie'd been bidden
For he had H[)ied a little mouse 'mong barley nearly hidden.
.'500 Poets of J^i.\litugowshjhe.
He made a s|)iin}» — alas ! poor Sam, — and sprung into a rat-trap !
Kie he could give a single mew the horrid tiling went snap-snap !
The farmer passing at the time and heariiig all the noise
Thought it must surely be the rats at their unlawful ploys ;
He (piietly peeped into the barn, and soon released poor Sammie,
Then gently bound liis broken leg, and left him to his mammie.
Poor Mrs Puss she scolded well, she laughed, and cried for joy —
Just think how nearly she had lost her pretty baby boy !
Spunky and Spotty, ([uite subdued, gazed sadly at their brother.
And then they set to work to hel}) their anxious worried mother.
They cheered the invalid along (how his poor leg was swelling !)
They pushed and dragged, and mewed and howled, until thej'
reached their dwelling :
There Sammie lay nursed by mamma and his two sisters prettj'.
And let us hope he rose again a sadder, wiser kitty.
Our Baby (iiRi..
Laughing eyes of bonnie blue,
Brow of lily whiteness.
Dimples playing peek-a-boo,
Cheeks of carmine brightness,
Rosy lips through which we see
Oft a gleam of pearl.
Just a tottie nearly three —
That 's our baby girl.
Dancing here and tumbling there,
Never still a minute.
If there's mischief anywhere
Certain she is in it ;
Keeps the house — once trim nnd neat-
In a perfect whiil
With her hurrying little feet —
That 's our baby girl.
Mrs Alexander Deans. 301
Frock all torn, gone one shoe,
Socks with mvid bespattered,
Pinafore iiist soakinjc tlirougrh.
Dainty toj-s all scattered :
Peeping 'neath a cap awry
Many a tangled curl —
What a charming little guy !
That 's our babj' girl.
Tired eyes winking hard to keep
Slumber at a distance,
Gold head nodding into sleep,
Fails in its resistance :
Watching her we breathe a prayer,—
Guide her past all peril ;
Let shame not blight nor sin ensnare
Our winsome baby girl.
To AX OLD School Friend.
Too swiftly, all too swiftly, the years are fl\ing nov ,
Leaving behind the trace of care on many a furrowed brow :
But happy youth and precious health are gifts that still are thine,^
(iifts tliat the world cannot give — gifts fiom a Hand divine.
The wild Maich wind has come again, dashing the rain like spray,
(.'ome with the dawn to usher in thy twenty-tirst birthday,—
A day we oft looked forward to as .school -girls in tlie past, —
A day oft thought and spoken of and now — lias come at last.
I wi.sh thee ever}- ha[jpiness that Love and Peace can give ;
.May Fortime sliine atliwart thy patli as long as thou slialt live,
-Arifl earnestly I hope and trust that Fritndsliip'.s golduM tic
Will bind us in the years to come as in the years gone by
302 POKTS or LlSLlTlUiOWSlllUE.
MV AlN l.ADDIK.
oil I lichtsomo wiis my licai I at the trystin' 'oor yesti'een
When I met my ain dcur hvddie \vi' the love-liclit in his ecu :
1 "(I laither hae the hearty iLfiip o' his honest, toil-woin lian'
Than bask in a' the sunny smiles o' the liigliest in the Ian'.
Wliat tho" he gangs ahent the ])loo fine mornin's sun till e'en ?
What tho" he be na juist sae prood as some that maj' be seen V
An honest farm lad ne'er need be ashamed to own the ploo
Sae lang's he taks the richt fiae wrang, and gi'es ilk ane his due.
Whiles in the deepenin' gloamin' grey, when ca'in' hame the kye,
I listen for tlie weel-kent step I ken '11 sime come by :
" Love lichtens labour," I hae heard — Oli ! but thae words are tiue,
For glad an" lichtsome is \ny heait till milkin' time is through.
Tiien I wad steal oot frae the lave an" meet him at the stile,
There to be welcomed wi' a kiss an' Love's ain tender smile ;
An' there I 'd hear the auld, auld tale to ilka maid sae new,
An' weel I ken his love for me is honest, warm an' true.
Ay, an' I lo'e him weel altho' he be na worth a plack —
I tint my heart to liini langsyne — I winna seek it back ;
An' when life's crownin' bliss is oors I '11 dae my best to be
A loyal, loving wife to him wha 's a' the warl' to me.
Love and Summkk.
Sweet summer has come back again
Dressed in her loveliest green,
Blight traces of her sunny smiles
May everywhere be seen :
The carolling lark, the frisking lamb.
The wild bee's busy hum,
All seem to join in one glad song, —
" Sweet summer now lias come."
Mrs Alexasder Deass. 303
Ah ! what made summer dear to me ?
Was 't only the skylark's sons ?
Was 't only the smiling landscape fair
That I had watched for long ?
Was 't the shadj- woods with their lovely flowers
Set in tender, emerald hue ?
Wa-i it but the return of the summer-time
That gaye me life anew ?
Ah ! it was something nobler still
That changed this heart of mine,
As it learned to cling to another heart,
And closelj- round it twine :
Something that came to share my life.
Constant and true to proye —
The sweetest blessing earth can \-ield —
That gem of all gems — Loye,
The Tkrrible Mearxs Folk.
[The people of Kincardinesliire have a knack of applying the word "terrible'
to circumstances of all kimls, whicli sounds extremely funny to a stranger
indeed, so frequently is the word used that it loses its real meaning.]
There 's a canty wee coonty that lies to the sea,
An' its foukies are couthie an' blithe as can be.
But they 've ae droll bit notion, an' 'tween you an' me
It's "terrible."
If the simmer is bonnie, an' heart.some, an' bricht,
They '11 hae 't that the heat 's at a " teriible " heicht,
Should the cauld snaw be driyin' some wild winter nicht,
Sal, it's "tc-rriblo.''
If the Schule Biofl elections are piaitfu' an' quate,
Nae carousiii' nor canyass, nae noisy del»ate,
Then lest ye assured that as certain lus Fate
It is "terrible."
304 Poets vf LiMATiiGowf^itinK.
If the roin craps are heavy, an' early, an' good,
\Vi' piospocts o' plenty in money an' food.
Then the farmer's comment niicht lie misunderstood
For it's "terrible."
(!in the hairst month go by an' the grain isna in,
If corn ears be scanty an' corn sheaves be thin,
Tlien the farmer laments \\\ his neighbours an" kin
That it's "terrible."
When word cam' oor auld Premier was gaun to resign.
The Tories grinned broadly, " That's ' teirible' fine,"
An' the Liberals groaned, " Tliis is no a guid sign,
Fac', it's 'terrible.'"
When they kent 'twas a Scot wi' the brains o' his race
That was gaun to step into the Premier's i)lace,
Baith parties shook hauns, an' wi' much tact an' grace
Agreed it was "terrible."
For ae thing an' a' thing the term is the same.
Serenely they reason, " Hoot ! what's in a name'^'
Yet I 'd fain tak' their pairt for it isna their blame
A'thing's "terrible."
They've picket it up when but toddlin' bairns,
" As the auld cock craws the young ane learns,"
An' mony a great lad has sprung f rae the Mearns
Spite o' "terrible."
Mas All AX M'Dosald. SOS-
MRS ALLAN M'DONALD
{nM NELLIE J. ACtNEW).
Born 1868.
NELLIE JOHNSON AGNEW Avas bom in Glasgow on
17th October, 1868, and resided there till the death
of her mother, whom she lost Avhen a girl of ten. The
family then removed to Torphichen, where Nellie attended
the village school, and in her ramblings amid the delightful
scenery of the neighbourhood developed that deep devotion
to Nature which is such a prominent feature of all her
writings in verse or prose. At the age of sixteen she
returned to the city where, under the guidance and tuition
of her father who is himself an artist, she acquired con-
siderable skill in painting, and devoted herself to the
cultivation and development of her literary tastes. As is
usually the case, poetry had the precedence of prose in her
first literary efforts, and she became a frequent contril)utor
of verse to the columns of the Herald, Scotsman, Moil,
People's Jmirnal, and other newspapers. One of her first
prose sketches, on "Angling in the Highlands," in which
her talent for scenic delineation revelled amid the grandeur
and beauty of West Perthshire, gained the first prize in a
magazine devoted to the gentle art of old Izaak Walton.
Thus encouraged her pen was freely used on this and other
subjects. Five years ago Miss Agnew contributed a serial
to the columns of the U'ci^t Lnlhian Couru'V v\\\\\\vi\ " K'ob
20
306 Poets of Limjtiioowsiiiiu:.
Oib's Castle: a Komance of Avoiisidc," the scenes and
iiiridents of which were laid in tiic county, and dealt with
the events immediately preceding the fatal field of Flodden.
The romance was very popular in the district and proved
the author to be possessed of an intimate knowledge of the
history and customs of that eventful time, as well as the
irift of siving to her incidents that imaginative touch which
is the highest art of the novelist. In 1889 Miss Agnew
was married to Mr Allan M'Donald of Westfield, Tor-
phichen. Her husband, on receiving an engineering
appointment, went to India, where Mrs M'Donald also
spent a year or two ; but her health giving Avay she
returned to Scotland and now resides with her two little
girls at Westfield. Mrs M'Donald is a poet who has lain
and been nurtured on the breast of Mother Nature from
whom she drinks her sweetest inspiration, and whose heart
she understands as one who has listened sympathetically to
its eveiy throb. "Mountain height and solitude, the
•driven and tearing rack of heaven, the far-stretching
expanse of hill and moorland under the grey of the sun-
streaked cloud " 1 are her soul's delight ; and such themes
she invests in her verse Avith all their awe-inspiring
loftiness and grandeur, adding just that touch of womanly
sympathy fitted to give them an additional charm. Mrs
M'Donald is worthily included among Edwards' Modern
Scottish Poets.
^ The Feelinij fur Nuturcin Scottish Poctrn : Professor Veitch— vol. ii.,
p. 295.
Mas All AX M'Doxald. 307
A Summer Dkkam.
I.
With thee, I thought, I wandered on a lonelj' shore.
And at thy feet I dreamed one sweet June day
That earth was Paradise, and sadness mine no more.
For thou wert near — in thee my Heaven lay.
Sublime the mountains tower into the azure skj-
Their lofty peaks — proud pinnacles of gold —
And slumbering at their base the gleaming waters lie,
Sacred and blue as Galilee of old.
Soft murm'iing o'er that sunlit sea came dreamy strains.
As if from mystic harps by angels plaj-ed,
And from the ambient woodlands floated bird refrains.
With river songs among the flowers that strayed ;
But, sweeter still, within my soul thy tender tone
Lingers to thrill me more than music's stream.
And Nature's notes, on Fancy's wing to distance flown,
Fade like the mem'ry of a lovely dream.
II.
Oh ! vain, sweet dream : alas ! m}' fairy vision flies :
Blue heaven is mantled with a frowning cloud :
In woods that skirt fair (Galilee the music dies ;
The harj>'s soft, dreamy strains swell wild and loud
Through sylvan bower and fairy glen ; a dirge-wind sobs
A melancholy music to the sea,
Whose solitarj- bosom 'neath a dark sk}- throbs, —
W'oful thy change, oh, lonely (Jalilee !
The lightnings shoot their lurid tongues from |)eak to peak ;
Tlie thunder's voice reverberates o'er tlie plain,
.\nd, moaning bitterly, the dark blue sea wnvts speak.
Waking sad spirit echoes in the rain.
My golden dream is gone, and terrors o'er me sweep ;
Tliy face is sad, thine eyes on heaven rest ;
Thy voice is moiiriifid now : ah, me ! well may I weep
Big tears of anguish on the tempest's breast.
:i08 I'OKTfl OF J.IMJTIlaoWSlHlil-:.
III.
Oh : Pm-adiso, tliou<ili temiiest-toi^sod, tliou art so errand
When .sorrow dic^ and i)ea«^e return.* to thee,
When .*?uncrleams smile, on glist'nin<j tears, from oloudyland.
And mountain mists, like ni<rlitly visions, flei-.
Oh : birdies, sinf?, 'mid ^deamincj bowers, a hainiony,
Vox- (Jalilee, my dark blue sea 's at rest,
And nuMinurs softly to my soul a symphony :
Storm brings a sweeter calm into my breast.
Hark ! o'er the .sea comes wandering, tender and low.
A music .strain, a spirit song of love,
Blending its tone with silvery streams that tinkling How
"Neath pearly, flow'ry gems that droop above.
Oh ! Galilee, fair dream, dear love, fade not away.
For at thy feet I 'd linger evermore ;
With thee behold the moinings first, the night's last ray.
And watch the wild waves breaking on the shore.
THK TurNKKRSTORM.
BEFORE.
Quiet, oh ! so cjuiet ; in death'.s own sleep
Nature appears entombed ;
No sound pervades the solemn air,
Heaven's brilliancy seems doomed.
Clouds, motionles.s, like curtains drawn,
Obscure the azure dome ;
The noontide sun no gleam imjjarts
From his celestial home.
No zephyr stirs the woodland leaves,
Or frets the frowning sea ;
The soft, gray mist, like gauzy veil,
Drapes mountain, glen, and lea.
'Mid sheltering bowers, whose glossy leaves
Drooi) sad and wearily.
The plumaged warblers of the wood
. Cower mute and eerily.
J/fi.sr Alias M'Doxald. 309
THE STOKM.
O night ! O mighty tempest ! glorious in your M'rath !
Ablaze ^vith \-ivid lightning mountain, sea, and strath ;
Lo I the curtained vault of heaven, like a fiery ])lain,
Flashing, glowing, waning, then darkened all again.
Darker, blacker, grows the skj-, fearful silence reigns ;
Hark I upon the curtained air, from its mystic chains.
Rolls ihe awful thunder through the deepening gloom
Like the earthquake's shudder, or the crash of doom !
Behold ! the dull clouds sever ; down a deluge pours.
Blending with its fury mountain torrent-roars :
Woful, rustling, sighing winds, troubled, moaning sea.
Mingle with the thunder's loud roar of revelry.
AFTER.
Bright, oh ! so bright : the storm is past,
And Nature smiles once more ;
Rich nmsic tills the fragrant air, —
The tempest's strife is o'er.
Float now o'er the blue sky"s bosom
Clouds like silvery i.sles ;
From that radiant pavilion
The golden sunbeam smiles.
Soft breezes stir the leafy bowers
Begemmed with raindrops still ;
Rip|)led, the dimpled liumming sea
Sings with tlie turbid lill.
The misty shrond of the mountain
Melts like a (beam away.
While woodland minstrels loudly chant
On every gleaming spiny.
310 Poets or Li.m.itiioowsiihh-:.
Autumn.
Come with me in my light-built boat,
Down the streiim let us slowl}- float,
Steeriiifr oui- r-oiirse with jj;cntle hand,
Eyeiu}^ with rai)turc the beauteous strand.
The rustling trees entwined o'erheud,
Flower and liraeken and foliage dead,
Young nestlings fledged, and upward flown,.
All mourn for sunuucr dead and gone.
(lolden the grain this autumn day
Gleams in its ripened majest} ,
(ilittering the tints of hill and vale.
Changing in hue as on we sail.
Palg yellow leaves, .sere, red, and brown,
Withered and dead, fall softly down ;
The [)urple lieath, and wildflowers gay.
Have sunk 'neath death's imperious sway.
Swallow and swift have fled away
To southern climes of brighter day, —
Grieving to gaze on faded flowers.
The}' sought the haunts of fresher bowers.
Saw they no beauty in yellow corn ?
In scarlet hip, or crimsoned thorn ?
Could hazel nut or forest sere
Not tempt these birds to linger here ?
Nature forbade that they sliouUl pine
O'er waning autumn's sad decline,
Or face the winds of winter drear —
The .saddest time of all the year.
But soon the gladsome spring will smile,
And back once more the wanderers wile, —
Back to haunt their natal clime,
And revel in mifl-sunimer's prime.
Mii.-i All AX M'Doxald. 311
Lullaby.
(From " Rob Gib's Castle.")
Oh, Marion, sleep !
Night shades are falling.
And jmle stars peep
From a moonless sky ;
From yonder keep
The owl is calling,
Where ivies creep
Round turrets high.
^^*hat tho' the night
Of gloom is spreading,
Happ\- and bright
Is thy castle hall,
Like dreamland flight
FairN- feet treading.
And soft and light
Sweet vespers fall.
Oh, Marion, rest !
Fair dawns thy morning,
Radiant and blest
Is th\- flow'r\- way :
O'er the gold crest
Thy brow adorning
Softh' caressed
Shines cloudless day.
TlIK STKK.WII.hr.
Sparkle, little streamlet, in the morning snii,
Through the bright green valleys from the hills you run.
Singing with the laverock soaring in the sky,
Trickling past the dewy flowers, o'er the stones you hie.
^12 I'oKTS OF LlSl.lTllUOWsniUE.
Flow (111. little streamlet, through the sunny noon,
Hy tlu' shiuhtwy woodlands to your own swetit tune;
Diusjiing i|uit.'kly all tlic way (ill the sea you reach,
Flashing; on the golden sands of the shining beach.
Shine on, little streamlet, afternoon is here.
Twilight shadows soft and deep now are drawing near ;
(ileam a little longer in the farewell rays,
To tlie glorious setting sun chanting golden lays.
Little VV^iute Dovk.
to jessie leonora.
Little white dove, on my bosom rest,
Where couldst thou find so sweet a nest,
Beloved babe, as on this fond breast.
Glowing with love for thee ?
Little white dove, in thy cradle sleep,
Thou hast no need to sigh and weep ;
Over thy slumber I vigil keep,
Singing with love to thee.
Little white dove, thou dost smile— 'twould seem
Angels are flitting through thy dream ;
Or hast thou of Paradise a gleam.
Opening in love to thee ?
Little white dove, thou art fair and bright
As star of Heaven on a moonless night,
And thy soul is jjure as ( iod's own light
Shining in love o'er thee.
Little white dove, would my heart repine
If thou flit hence- -no longer mine?
Or would I to Heaven my dove resign
All in my love for thee?
Mrs Allas M'Jjoxald. 313
Thk Qdeex of Lakes.
Come, Donald, launch your swiftest boat,
On Lomond's lake I love to float ;
My flies are here, my rod and reel,
And ready, too, my emptj' creel.
Her bosom calm reflects the sky,
Inverted pine-woods, mountains high :
Paddle our skifi" 'tween fairy isles
Where witching, vernal beauty smiles.
Cloudy the sky, the breeze is soft.
The cliffs sublimely frown aloft ;
Moaning, the ripjiling waters clear —
Surely the silvery trout lie here?
Troll with phantom by Marrin's edge
Where roams the wild deer, grows the sedge :
Listen ! the torrents noisj- pour
Down dark ravines where eagles soar.
Hark ! mountain echoes far resound.
Grouse from the moorlands whirr around :
Haste to yon ba}' witli charming view -
Height, glen and lake of varied hue.
Row while I cast mj' tinselled fly.
And shadows deepen across the sky.
For ere we leave this fairy scene
I 'd bank a salmon's glittering slieeii.
;U4 Poets or LiMJi'iiuawsiiini:.
ALEX. M. BISSKT.
Born 18()!).
ALEXANDER MACDONALD BISSKT, the editor of
the present work, was born in "the Fair City" of
Perth on 5th January, 1869. The family removed to
Bathgate in 187G, where, with the exception of a few years
spent in Canada, Dunfermline, and Stirling, he has since
lived, following the occupation of an insurance agent. In
1890 he published Siyring Blossoms.- Poems and Songs which
was well received and had a ready sale. For a number of
years he has contributed to the Peoples Friend, West Lothian
Courier, Stirling Obserm; »Vc., while a number of his songs
have been set to music in the National Choir. Biographical
notices of him have api)eared in PMwards' Modern Scottish
Poets, Scottish Nights, and Baptie's Musical Scotland.
Hamk"s avk Ha.mk.'
The sea-born breezes gailj- rove
Alang the floo'iy i)liiia.s,
An' frae the fragrant cedar grove
The bhdies Hit their strains ;
But no for me the zephyrs blaw.
The birdies' sangs are tame,
An' aince, aince mair I 'm far awa'
Amang the braes o' hame.
' Music by Alex, A. Beveridge : National Choir, No. 106.
^ Alex. M. Btsset. 31.'>
Chorm — For hame 's aye hame,
Wi' a' its tender ties,
An' roond that halloAved name
A gowden glamour lies ;
An' tho' oor feet may wander far
Across the saiit sea-faem,
We 're Scotland's bairns whaure'er we are,
For hamis 's aj'e hame.
I see the laverock soar to greet
The rosy-tinted cluds ;
I hear the mavis singin' sweet
At gloamin' in the wuds ;
My een aye seek the hanieward airt,
Far ower the weary faem,
An' there 's a langin' at my he'rt
Aince mair to see mj- liame.
For hame 's aje hame, &c.
There "s mon^- a bonnie spot on earth
Wi' fondness I leca' ;
But thou — the land that gae me birth —
Art fairer than them a' ;
An' aye 'mid distant scenes my he'rt
Still beats to thee the same,
Foi' naething e'er my love can pairt
Frae thee, mj' native hame.
For hame 's aye hame, &c.
TlIK AlM) Fui.K.'
While love-lorn swains in raptured straitis
Are singin' o' their dearies,
A nobler fire shall tune my lyre, —
A thenuj that never wearies :
Music liy A. Stewart: People's Frk ml.
.■>1G POBTS OF Lj.\LlTJJGO\y:SllIHE.
Tliey 're puir, disloyal sons o' men,
An' surely unco cjiuld folk,
Thiit winna len' baitli voice an' pen
In praises o' the auld folk.
The auld folk, the auld folk,
The canty, couthie auld folk ;
The}' ever will be dearest still,
Oor ain true-hearted auld folk.
Tlie dearest mem'ries o' the heart
(Jlinf^ roond oor faither's ingle,
Whaur voices, noo sae far apart.
Did then sae sweetly mingle.
Wlien far awa' frae Scotland's shore
There's naetliing e'ei' entliralled folk
Like sangs they heard in days o' yore
At hame beside the auld folk.
The auld folk, the auld folk,
O leeze me on the auld folk ;
Though ither ties I dearly prize
There 's imne sae dear 's the auld folk.
The neebors jeer, an', bantrin', spier,
" Nae words aboot the wife yet?"
T liaud my liberty ower dear
To change my mode o' life yet :
I hue a tosh an' tidy hame,
An' aften hae I tauld folk,
Nae lass for me need change her name--
I 'm mairried to the auld folk !
The auld folk, the auld folk,
O weel I lo'e the auld folk ;
It 's a' my prayer, an' a' my care
To leeve an' bless the auld folk.
Alex. M. Bisset. 317
The Curlix' o't.i
When Boreas keen draws tears to the een
We carena a preen for the srurrlin' o't ;
But join in the ploj's an' king o' a' joys
That 's faund 'mang the noise at the curlin" o't.
The dirlin' o't, the whirlin' o't,
The ringin', singin', curlin' o't ;
It niak's me aye fain, an" music there 's nane
Like the sang o' the stane at the curlin' o't.
The craft o' the creel, the rod an' the reel,
Is a' very weel in the twirlin' o't ;
But fishin' is tame, an' whaur is its fame
Compared wi' a game at the curlin' o't ?
The dirlin' o't, the whirlin' o't, &c.
The gowfers may blaw o' pleasures they draw
Frae their bonnie wee ba' an' the birlin' o't ;
They're welcome, I trow, but gi'e me mj' "cowe"
As mj- " channel-stanes " row at the curlin" o't.
The dirlin' o't, the whirlin' o't, &c.
Nae dowiesome tid e'er fashes oor bluid.
But blythesome an' guid is the purlin' o't ;
As, happj- an' free, wi' daffin' an' glee.
We play to the " tee" at the curlin' o't.
The dirlin' o't, the whirlin' o't, &c.
Mv AiN Lo\ K Loi;s mk l)i;Aiii.v.
The laveiock in the simmer skv is liltin' loud an" lauij :
Sweet is the breatli o' the scented lirier :
Tiie mavis mak's sweet melody the biiken booers amang
Whaur draps o' dew, like siller bells, in trembling beauty hang
The w.irlfl is fu' o' ha]>piness, my lio'rt is fn' o' sang,
For my ain love lo'os me deaily.
' Muwic by .1. ( '. < 'ruij,' : Piojilis Fritnd.
•U8 VoKTs OF LiMjiiiiioivsiini/-:.
A kindlier smile o' lichtsome love noo beamss on Nature's face —
Sweet is tlie breath o' the sc(>nte(l brief -
Within the ylowin' e'e o' iiieht niair teiideniess I trace,
Tlie bonnie blinkin' starnies noo shine wi' a gentler grace,
An" a' because a lassie's love within my he'it has place,
For my ain love lo'es me dearly.
There 's mirth an' music in the air, an' gladness dancin' free :
Sweet is the breath o' the scented brier :
High on tlie hillsides, in the dells, an' on the dewy lea,
A bridal bed o' flooers is spread, an' ane can plainly see
The prints o' sweet wee angel feet upon the harebell wee.
For my ain love lo'es me dearly.
Oh 1 love is sweet an' bonnie when twa he'rts are fond an' true-
Sweet is the breath o' the scented brier —
Ilk dooer hands up its little cup to kep the simmer dew.
An' pledges, Avi' a nod an' smile, lang happiness to you !
The birdies sing, the burnies lauch, the warld o' sunshine 's fu'.
When your ain love lo'es ye dearh'.
"The Spirit of the Lord."
Micah ii. 7.
The Spirit of Beauty spreads His wings
Out o'er the weary, waiting earth ;
Where'er He speeds the verdure springs.
And grace and loveliness have birth :
For winter's wild and drearj' dearth
The bridal blush of spring He brings,
And in His smile with songs of mirth
Em(;1i shad}' grove and valley rings.
The dewdrop on the daisy's breast,
That shinnners in the eye of day ;
The splendour of the glowing west.
When day in glory melts away ;
Alex. M. Bisset. 319
The rainbow's semi-lucent ray ;
The blissful cjuietude and rest
Tliat till the soul at twilight grej',
His presence and His power attest.
Throughout the night's reflective hours
His iridescent love-light gleams,
And from heav'n's battlemented towers
His radiant, starry standard streams :
The moon in scintillating beams
On earth His benediction showers,
And bears the longing soul in dreams
To all the joys of Eden's bowers.
The lark, light-sjjringing from the sod :
The waves that, murmuring, kiss the beach ;
The fairy flowers that bloom and nod,
His omnijn-esent beauty {ireach :
In varied tongues and manners, each
Of all His works proclaims abroad
In sweet, adoring, living speech
The Spirit Beautiful of Ood.
SoxsKTS OF "The Fairest Faik."
I.— MOTHER.
Mother— symbolical of all that's good,
Than which God only is a holier word —
At thy sweet name what an infinitude
Of tender memories in me is stirred.
The music of a voice in childhood heard
Falls on my ravi.shed ear soft and subdued,
As at the eventide some distant bii<l
Sings sweetly in the shadow of the wood.
O loving heart that, through these tliroiiging yearn,
Hast been the angel of our humble home.
320 Poets or LisLiriiGOWSiiinE.
To thee O never may tlie eye of tears
Or the full lieait of biooiliuj^- sorrow come ;
But may each kindly season that appears
A foretaste be of (iod's Elysium.
II.— BEAUTY.
There is n beauty in the silent night
\Vhen earth beneath the moon's enchantment lies.
And all the glist'ring diamonds of the skies
To mystic music revel in delight ;
There is a beauty in the floweret bright
That spreads its petals to the sun and sighs
Its soul away in odorous ecstasies,
Lovely in form, but lovelier in sjjrite ;
There is a beauty of the mind that is —
When o'er the soul the spell of music steals
In whisperings of lieav'n till the heart feels
A pain in waking from the dream of bliss :
Yea, everywhere — within us and abroad —
Lingers the Soul of Beauty, which is God.
'Man*; rnv. Hills an" tiik Hkathek.
Awa' 'mang the hills an' the heather,
Awa' frae the dinsome toon,
Whaur the lark sings high in the simmer sky
An' the burn comes dancin' doon :
The burn comes dancin' doon,
An' the dai.sy blinks frae the sod,
An' the breeze that plays ower the broomj' braes
Is the very breath o' God.
Some wander wide through the woodlands,
An' some by the side o' the sea ;
But the mountains grand o' my native land-
The hills, the hills for me.
Alex. M. Bisset. 3-21
There 's joy 'mang the hills an* the heather,
An' a beautj' that ne'er can tire ;
There are stories stern in eacli rugged cairn
That set the he"rt on tire —
They set the he'rt on fire
Wi' thochts that ai'e 'maist divine,
An' oor bosoms swell "neath the magic spell
O' the mem'ries o' langsyne.
Oh ! the vallejs are bricht an' bonnie.
An' s\\eet is the gowany lea :
But the mountains grand o' my native land—
The hills, the hills for me.
Awa' 'mang the hills an' the heather,
Whaur the t\'rant's foot ne'er trod,
An' the men that bide on the mountain side
Ne'er bent the knee but to God —
Ne'er bent the knee but to God,
For the flag o' the free floats there,
Wi' its lion bold on the shield o' gold.
An' its motto, " Touch wha dare ! "
I lo'e na the southern zephyrs.
But the grish o' the nor' wind free ;
An' the mountains grand o' my native land —
The hills, the hills for me.
;i2'2 POKTS OF J.lXLlTHGOW.SIIIliE.
JAMI':S SAMUKL.
Born 18(JJ).
JAMES SAMUEL Avas l)orn at Bathgate on the 1st of
June, 1869. He received his education at the
Bathgate Academy, after which he served his apprentice-
ship to the tailoring trade. Proceeding to London he
ijualified himself for a cutter, and spent a few months at
Bonnyrigg in this capacity, when he transferred liis services
to the Co-operative Society of his native town, where he
has since resided. He has been a frequent contributor of
verse to the JFesl Lothian Courier, Christicm News, and
elsewhere during the last ten years, and locally is held in
high regard as a poet. The sublime and beautiful in
nature have been the themes on which he has chieHy
exercised his poetic talent, and these he treats very
sympathetically. His poems are all marked by finely
conceived and lofty thought expressed in graceful language,
though the too frerpient use of
" A])t alliteration's artful aid "
is occasionally a redundant harmony to the sensitive ear,
and, by inducing it to follow rather the sound of the words
than the sense of the poem, detracts somewhat from the
otherwise Avell-sustained and finished eftbrts of his
reflective muse. These have not yet been issued in a
collected form ; but should the author do so they will,
\mquestionably, be no mean contribution to the poetic
literature of the county.
James Samuel.
Fancy's Forms.
In the days when superstitions
Reigned with universal power,
Men believed in apparitions
Walking at the midnight hour.
And although the ■" king of reason "
Has secured the crown since then,
Secret forms of ancient treason
Linger in the hearts of men.
There are instincts, still unbroken,
Rampant in the human heart,
Cra\nng for substantial token
Of the spirit's hidden part.
And responsive to their pleading
For the pleasures whicli they love,
Under wand'ring Fancy's leading
Sober minds are charmed to rove.
While, to poets idly dreaming,
Thoughts like these are ready themes ;
For the air with spirits teeming
To unfettered Fancy seems.
At the silent hour of midnight
Forth come airy, pliantom hosts,
From the sliadows of the moonlight.
From the i)alaces of ghosts :
From broad rivers, slowly gliding
From their distant ocean home ;
From the fleet-winged breezes, riding
On tlie billows crowned with foam :
From the dark wooil's deep recesses,
From tlie parted lips of flowere ;
From the cornfield'H waving tresses,
From the mountain's lofty towers :
.'V2 I I'oirrs or Lisuriicowsiiini:.
From llir luciry siinlifaius liiding
III the wliitf clouds snowy oaves,
Wlu'i-f the upiiei- currents, gliding,
Fondly vest their gentle waves.
Oil I lliuu subtle, .self-eluding.
Ever-seeking soul of man.
Striving still — with hope deluding —
Tliine essential form to scan.
Tiiou 'rt a spirit, and beholding
Nature's mirror, thou dost view
Ever}' grace and flaw luifolding
To thy inmost image true.
And the tliought that earth rejoices
From thy depths of joy has sprung ;
Nature's strange, mystei'ious voices
Echo from thy mystic tongue :
And their tale is full of .sadness
^\'llen thy heart recounts its woes,
And their song is filled with gladness
When thy heart with mirth o'erflows.
Wakbi.k, vk Wri.i) Hikds.'
\\'arble, ye wild birds that dwell where the shadows
Sleep while the sunbeams are lighting the land ;
Sacred your temple above the green meadows.
Shrine of deep silence, majestic and grand.
Th' pine trees its pillars, whose broad boughs are bearing
Banners tliat gleam in the glory of day :
Triumphs of summer each leaf is declaring
To sweet-.scented zephyrs that glide on their way.
Music by J. S. Cairns : National Choir, No. H9.
James Sami'kl. ?,-2^
Eloquent priests of the voiceless creation,
Praising and pleading with fervent desire ;
Morn, noon, and evening, in rapt adoration,
Burn thy sweet offring on love's glowing fire.
Oh I for a home in the heart of thy dwelling,
Safety from sorrow my soul would implore ;
Then the rude passions within mv breast swellino-.
Sobbing, might slumber to wake nevermore.
Sxow.
The snow hath wreathed the mountain side.
And draped the silent wood ;
And o'er the river, long and wide,
\^'lle^c' sunny sails in summer glide,
Hath whispered solitude.
Sown seed, soft showers, and summer sun,
The eager earth instilled ;
And now — her loving labours done.
And stores of golden treasure won —
With holy peace is filled.
Over her .sleeping form is spread
A white robe from the sky :
"Tis not a shroud that wraj)S the dead,
But sjwtless draping, on the bed
Of viigin purit)'.
A Sabbath MoRXiNf; in 0(T<)1ieu.
Before the blast the gloomj- clouds are sailing,
And o'er the land descends their drenching spray
O'er yonder hill the mist's grey robes are trailing.
While nature's tears obscure the eye of day.
The wayside beech, before the tempest bending.
Resigns lier autumn robe of richest brown ;
Her whirling leaves to flesolution lending
A woe unfelt beneath his daikcst frown.
326 I'oKTs OF List.niicowsiiiiiv:.
The sombre His, with dark {jreen banners swingin<j;,
Uiidmintecl stand in soldierly array ;
While tln-ouj^h their boutrhs tiu; liyinj;- <^ale is siiij^inti'
A chorus cauijht from wild seas far away.
liiil hark ! the bells— the storm's dark omens spurninfr
I'roclaiminy joy for every soid to-day ;
So, from the cloutled light of nature turning.
We'll u'rcct tliat Light of pure celestial ray.
Nl(iIlT.
The weary day, witli all its tears,
Now nestles 'neatli the wings of night,
And all its preying cares and fears
Have vanished with the light.
Over the sad, world-weary so\d
The deep, sweet peace of heav'n has pass'd.
As when a calm succeeds the howl
Of siiniiiier's fitful lilast.
With silent steps the faithful stars
Their watchful stations reassumc,
And holy thoughts break through the bars
Of soul-pervading gloom :
While flickering faith, with heav'n-drawn strength.
Sways her .sweet sceptre o'er the soul,
Until in glory's fields at length
Tiie notes of triumph i-oll.
Hk.vkt ok Vol Til.
Heart of youth, with life abounding,
Throbbing full in conscious strength.
Purest deptlis of pleasuie .sounding,
Leajiing laughter's utmost length ;
James Samuel. 327
Swift through every vein and tissue
Sweeps the vital, teeming tide ;
Streams of song, o'erflowing, issue
From the tiood-gates, opened wide.
Be/rain. — Ever beat in unison
With the ever-loving One ;
With earth's great fraternit}-
Ever throb in harnionv.
Heart of youth, in hope deligliting,
Fearless still of Fortune's frown ;
Gloomy paths of future lighting,
Treading Doubt's dark turrets down
Pressing on, nor asking, Wliither
Is the end and liigh rewaid ? —
Sure, the Hand that helped us hither
Shall our future journeys guard.
Heart of youth, with love o'erflowing,
Mushing ftdl in honest pride ;
Witli the tire of fervour glowing.
Beaming joy on every side ;
Till beneath its kindly billow
Sink the swords of shameful strife.
And o'er friendship's mutual pillow
Sheds the sweet rejiose of life.
Heart of youth, to manhood marfhing.
Dazzled by the deeds of old ;
Fancy's Howery wieaths o'erarcliing
Plea.iant [laths of gleaming gold :
Paths that lead to lieights of glory.
Temples of eternal fame,
Wliere the gods, enshrined in storv,
Si'ulpturcd .111 imiiioi l.il name.
:?28 J'oETS or Li.\i.rniii()\\sii/i!ic.
KICHARI) AITKKN GLASS.
Born 1.S74.
RICHARD AITKEN GLASS, better known hy his
iium-de-pliune oi "Roderick," was born in Linlithifow
on the 14th of January, 1874. On leaving school at the
ajie of thirteen he was apprenticed to the painting trade,
which occupation he has since followed. He is at present
residing at Grangemouth where he has been employed
since the spring of last year. During the last few years he
has been a frequent contributor to the poetical columns of
the People's Journal, JJimdee JVeekUj News, and the various
local newspapers. Though quite a young man yet Mr
Glass has written some XQvy meritoi'ious productions, and
as one of the rising county poets he will, in the near future,
doubtless, essay highei' themes of song than he has hitherto
attempted. His verse is free and melodious, and has the
evident stamp of sincerity which, if conjoined Avith poetical
merit, never fails to secure an appreciative circle of readers.
Mr Glass has always taken a warm practical interest in
temperance and other social reforms, and is highly respected
for his genial and kindly disposition.
Thk Twa Rosks.
Twa roses grew by the burnie's side,
An' oh, they weie fair to see,
As tliej' nodded in their .simmer prick-
To the burnie as it fast did glide
\Vi' a lichtsom<; sang o" glee.
EicuARD AiTKES Glass. 329
The ane was a flooer o' brichtest hue,
The ither was white as snaw,
An' aye the closer at nicht they drew
To kep thegither the sparklin' dew
As the gloamin' shades wad fa'.
Tlie roses are faded noo an' gane
That bloomed sae bonnie an' fair ;
The burnie, that roon' ilk mossy stane
Oaed singin' a blythe an' lichtsome strain,
Is drumlie an' sings nae mair.
But its sang is re-echoed in my heart/
An' the incense o' )jeace is given.
When the settin' sunrajs cease to dart,
An' the stars in the lift their blinkin' stai-t.
As I seek the blessin' o' heaven.
Memory.
What cherished idol fair to view.
Thus ever changing, ever new.
Is to my heart more dear
Than thee, my mirror of the [last.
Where oft the image hath been cast
Of scenes I still revere V
Where I can view each merry i)loy
I fain would live again.
When I, a free unfettered boy,
Would ramble through the glen.
And sporting, re.sorting
To many a shady nook.
To wander and |)onder
O'er Natures open V)0ok.
Oil, Memory ! to thee I ('ling
When Hope on higli exultant wing
Doth f;alm and smuotldy glidr :
When clouds of dull despair look l>lt;ak
To thee I turn on<;e more to seek
The solace ye provide.
•i.'iO /'OKT.S OF LlSl.iriKiOWSIllHK.
( 'oiii|iaiiii)ii (if iii\ leisure Imiir I
When lKiUi;-llt. (listllll).s, llioii art
The u\\ iier lit a mystic ])0\\er
That iiileth ill my heart ;
Wliere reigning, constraining
Tlie emotions of the soul,
Tlie sol)bing and throbbing
Are under thy controh
What lessons can from tliee be got,
For sad experience, deaily bought,
Is graven deep on thee,
And scenes I view witii sad regret,
And vainlv wish I could forget
And nevermoi-e sliould see :
But thou art stern and wilt not move
Those sad scenes from my view,--
AU shattered hopes and blighted love
Can still be found with yon ;
You keep them and heap them
Where th(;y are plainly seen.
Then hasten to chasten
And show what might have been.
Oh, Memoiy ! I would not hide
The visions that witii thee abide.
Nor cast into tlii^ shade
The sadder poitions of thy scene.
For all the briglitness of thy mien
Would quick and surely fade.
Stern Fate may rob me of my all,
Or take my dearest friend.
Yet still I can from thee I'ecall
Their memories to attend,
To cheer me and steer me
AloniT Life's rujjired road :
To brighten and lighten
My heavy cumbrous load.
BiciiARD AiTKEs Glass. 331
COCKLEROY.
Bold Cockleroy, thy loicUy brow
Looks o'er the beauteou.s vale beneatli :
Thy swarthy shoulders are, I trow,
Clothed with the ruby-tinted heath,
And in the leafy woods around,
Where oft I wandered when a boy,
There Nature's emeralds abound
To deck thy robes, fair Cockleroy.
Oft would our childish voices break
The stillness of thy solitude ;
Our merry laughter oft would wake
The echoes of each rock and wood
Echoes that in the days of yore
Resounded with a peal of joy
When the royal hunter's bugle o'er
Thy hills did sound, fair Cockleroy.
I loved in boyhood's hapiiy dajs
Up to thy summit high to climb.
And there to rest awhile and gaze
On Nature's face, fair and sublime.
Until my youthful heart would swell
With rapture that scaice knew alloy.
And with a thoughtful mind 1 "d dwell
Upon thy scenes, fair Cockleroy.
And wlien a liappy country swain
I yielded first to Cupid's power.
And tasted love devoid of pain
With Annie in tliy sylvan bower :
The fairest gems of Nature'.'* art
To twine a wreath I did employ,
And crowned her .soveieign of my heart
In thy sechision, Cockleroy.
•>32 J'OETS OF LlSLiriiaOWSUIRE.
Hut, farewell, monarch of the vale,
Stern duty's call must be obeyed ;
Tho' up thy sides no moie I scale
Thy memory shall never fade,
Vox- in my heart there still shall be
Remembrance of each merry ploy
That I with loved ones jjlayed near thee,-
So, fare-thee-well, fair Cockleroy.
Makion ok tiik Muj,.
1 w andered forth at gloaming grey
Where Avon's waters swiftly glide,
Around, the leaves all dying lay-
Last relics of the smnmer's pride :
And all around was calm and still
Save for the crashing of the mill.
When, stealing through the twilight air,
A gentle voice came sweet and clear,
Awaking echoes everywhere, —
1 listened anxiously to hear
The music sweet that made me thrill
W'ith love for Mai ion of the Mill.
A girlish form, yet full of grace,
Her honeyed lips of cherry red,
A smooth white l)r()W and fair sweet face,
With snowy neck and stately head :
Fit subject for an artist's skill
Is charming Marion of the Mill.
Her (lark brown locks of silken sheen,
Her glistening eye of hazel hue.
Soft dimpled cheek and modest mien, —
Such was the form that met my view
That night when wandering at will
I met fair Marion of the Mill.
BiCHARD AiTKEX Glass. 333
oil, brighter than the .sparkHn<>- pearl
The dewdrop shines on daisj- fair,
And sweet the song of beauteous merle
That chai-ms the dewy twilight air :
Yet sweeter, brighter, fairer still
Is charming Marion of the Mill.
Ye angels in your high domain,
Guards of the innocent and pure.
Watch her, and keep her free from stain
When tierce temptation's storms endure,
And lead her safely through all ill.
My charming Marion of the Mill.
LlN.A.
The moon beams o'er the solitude
Of mountain, glen and plain.
And o'er the dark and sombre wood
Where leaves the silver rays exclude,
And hallowed peace doth reign.
It shines across the tossing deep.
And on the white wave's crest,
And o'er the town a watch doth keep
Where honest sons of labour sleep
In sweet and tranquil rest.
When Nature dons the robes of night,
And daylight fades away,
When tlie ])ule vigil's pensive light
To soothing sleej) and rest invite
The toilers of tlie day :
Then to this weary heart of mine
A gleam of hope is given ;
Fear is dispelled wlicrc it. dotli >liiMi- :
It tills !ny soul with love (hvini',
And draws me nearer heaven.
:V.]l Poets or I.isi.itucowshire.
JESSIE ?>. T. WEIR.
Morn I SSI.
APKKUSAL of the following poems from the pen of one
•so young in years will, we are assured, amply justif}^
her inclusion among the poets of the county, and render any
apologetic introduction unnecessary. Jessie Barr Thomson
Weir was born at Longridge on October 11th, 1881, and
attended the village school before she was four years old.
To Mr Stevenson of Longridge Public School, who took a
deep interest in aiding and directing the studies of his apt
pupil, Miss Weir attributes much of the success which has
attended her various examinations. In 1893 she obtained
a £-4 bursary tenal)le for three years, and in the following
year was the successful competitor for a bursary of £15
tenable for the same period. This induced her to enter
the Free Church Normal School at Moray House, Edin-
burgh, where she is at present pursuing her studies under
the direction of Mr Dawson. Last year (1895) she gained
Lower Grade Leaving Certificates in English, French and
Mathematics. The sudden death of her mother in February
1893 was a very severe loss. Miss Weir has been a
contributor to the Poet's Corner of the West Lnthian Courier
for three yeais, so that it may well be said of her that she
"lisped in numbers for the numbers came." Her poems
evince the true poet's worshipful love for all the emotions
Avhich make themselves visible on the fair face of Nature ;
and reveal a thoughtful, reflective mind. They are
remarkaljly free from the ciudities and imperfections
Jessie B. T. JFeir. 335
which one naturally expects to find in the verses of a girl
of fourteen, and give reason to hope that the beauty of the
bud will yet be excelled by the fragrant loveliness of the
flower.
Reflections in the Gloaming.
Far in the west the sun has set,
And over all the sky
A t^lorious radiance lingers yet,
Delightful to the e^'e.
Wistfully on the scene I gaze,
Witliin, my heart is sad
As I think of the merry, livelong days
When evei-ything was glad.
These now' ai-e past, and never will
To me return again :
My eyes with tears begin to lill
To muse on childhood then.
My thoughts stray back to haunts I love,
And think how they will look
When those gorgeous tints stream from above.
And light up every nook.
In fancy again those scenes I see,
And the peewit's lonely cry
To-night in my dream comes back to me
As if lie were darting by.
But nf)w the .xjiadows grey and deep
Come slowly ci'eeping dm ;
The stars begin their watcli to keep,
The last faint rays are gone.
No silence here — no liuslied repose
Leads in tlie wtjlconn; night,
Foi- tlie lium of city lif<' ■''till (lows
'Mid every varying light.
.■?.")(» Poets of LiMJiiicowsirrni-:.
Hut list I ;i voice I loved lo iiear
Sounds faint Iv in t lir air,
And bids nie hope and never fear
But try to join her there.
And now new eourage eonius to nm
To battle till that dawn,
And this my watchword aye shall be,
" Look upwai'ds-ahvavs on,"
Moonlight.
Shine, bonnie moon, give forth thy silver lifjlit.
And brighten np the daikness of the night :
The sun has fled,
And thou dost shed
Thy glistening rays o'er land anil sea —
Those raj^s so clear, and full, and free.
The twinkling stars come out in glittering sheen.
And light the |)athway for their gentle queen,
And in the west
The clouds are dre.s,sed
In tinges of pink and amber hue
Which, fading fast, melt into blue.
Now \\ rapped in mystic light are vale and hill :
While the sweet waters of the tinkling rill
In plaintive song
Their notes prolong,
And nature lends a listening eai-
To hear the music soft and clear.
The birds have sung their evening song, and all
Are now at rest among the green trees tall
Or lowly grass,
Where, as I pass.
The light makes shadows on the ground,
And silence reigns on all around.
Ji:ssii-: /!. T. il'iin:. ?u^
>•)/
As Heetiii<i- .is tliose slmdows are my dieani?
And imisiiiu's and rertectioiis, for it seems
That in tlie ligiit
The dreams of night.
[.ike passing of the summer w ind.
N'anish and leave no ttai-c behind.
.-V Likk's Stokv.
I saw a litth' hoy one (\ii\
I'ini here and tliere in ehihlisli |)iay ;
L'nto myself tlien did I .say,
" Tins surely is the Spring
Of childhood. eoin|)assed round with love,
I'anued l»y soft hree/.es from ;d)ove,
Happier than a spicy grove
When^ sweete.st eehoes ring."
As he grew u]) in him I saw
.\ m;in to whom (iod's word was l.iw.
In \\hipm "twas hard to find a ll.-iw :
In nuising mood, thoiiglil 1.
■ Tliis nuist he gladsome Sununer. fraught
Willi fragrance Ijy .soft hree/.es hronght
From flowers moic fair lli.iii eiiuld he got
Beneath a Soiiihc iii sky. "
I .saw again an aged man
For whom this life's predestined span
Swift to .1 h,ip|)\ ending ran ;
■• He to maturity
Is \ery nigh, " thought I. "and soon,
Xeath th(.' eleai- I'ays of the h;ir\est moon.
He'll welidlile ihi' sjeUle uf |)ialh .IS a hoiiU
To reveal tut uril \ ."
Once more round a hushed and silent hed
'I'l/ars of sorrow were vainly shi-d
For him whose noble spirit had Hed
'I'll Iji' wit h ( 'hri-l foi evei' ;
■)•}
.■l.'?S /'nirrs III- I.I M.I I'liiiitw sii I i;f..
Yet still tilis thoii^lil coMsolfd llicii- ;j;ricf.
And tlii-v it'jdifctl in tiiis lu'licf
'i'liMt tlif\ il iiH'ct iiLlJiili hcyolid |)c;itli's rci-
.1 list .-MTdSs I lie li\ cr.
I\ Lii\i\i; Mi;\inm m' .1 \\i:'f 'PiKiMstix M \ktin.
U ll.i ilicd Isl Ili'.i'iiiliiT, 1MM.
'I'lic yoiir is dead : a sioldii^' wind
Ani()H<i' the tict's is niuaiiiny; ;
Tiif I Handles bare and leaHess
At ixcrv <iiist arc n'loaiiiii'i'.
Tlic dark and dicaiy landsfapi' wow
111 inoiinifnl <^l<t(iiii is \\i-a|))ifd :
r.nl liiisli ! t-(ir wiih I lie dyiii'^ year
A life's shnll llili-ad lias siia| i| led.
"I'was <inr wliiisf spotless jiinily
Was wliitcr tliaii tlie snow.
Whose stainless sonl could e(|Ual
The iiiarlile ot' hei Innw .
That tVaeile llowcr was nc\er meant
To hiave life's storm and hlast,
And. at'tei' blooniintr here a while,
She was taken home at last.
()h. inoaii I ye si<i;hiiie winds.
But ye cannot liiiiiy her hack :
\v cainiot l)rin<j; to us aeain
'i'hc treasuie now we lack.
Oh, ^roan 1 ye ereakintr Ijiaiiches.
Hut 110 — she cannot hear,
l-'oi' lifeless is the cold clay iio\\ .
And deaf and dull her ear.
Hlowly and sadly with the year
She .-^ank into the yrave.
No iiiiiriimriiiL; |>laiiil n|ioii her li[is.
For she was caiin ami hrave.
Jessie B. T. TFeu:. ;^:^9
A nd with fleeting breath she whispered,
" Take me, Jesus, I am Thine ; "
For well she kneAv tliat after death
Her soul Mould in glory shine.
At thk Dawmnc.
'Tis earl}- morn — the grass is wet
With drops of dew that glitter yet
On blades and leaves of em" raid green ;
Now in the east the dawning breaks,
And lights the sky with silver streaks.
And everything in glimm'ring sheen.
The silver daisy from its bed
Begins to raise its dewy head,
And birds upon the treetops high
Commence to warble forth their praise,
And carol all their sweetest lays,
That rise like incense to the sky.
Now steal the sun's rays o'er the lea
To Avaken up brigTit songsters free.
And raise the lily's drooping head ;
Then o'er the moorland wastes tliey go
Where noisj', bounding .streamlets flow,
And sweetly kiss the heather red.
High up the rocks, the tow'ring height.-^.
^^'ith rosy hues each sunbeam lights.
Till lowly vale and snowcap|»L'd hiil
Are bathed in sunlight, bright and free,
Which streams on every flower and tree.
And glances in each tinkling rill.
Ah, tlow'rets I my companions .sweet,
I woiiM not trample "neath my feet
Your s[>otIess beauty in the glen :
But now, farewell ! I must «« ay ;
Re»*t comes with night, l>ut toil « itii day.
Farewell ! fair floweis -I '11 come again.
o<} o
MISC^ELLANEOUS SONGS AND BALLADS.
THE ROCK AND THE WEE PKJKLE TOW.;
OR, LORD LITH(;OW'S MARCH.
This tune is, and has been for several centuries, the march
of Linlithgow Burgh.
=ig -h>— g::
g^^^^fsi
^S
-iT T- ^Z
:J5=t:
=*=S:
If^ ^^-g ^^
Alexander Koss (1699-1784) Avrote a humorous song
to this air which he appended to his pastoral, Ilekiwre ; or
the Forlunate Shepherdess, published in 1768; but, as it
extends to nineteen verses of eight lines each, it is too
lengthy for insertion.
Another song to the same air appears anonymously in
Whitelaw'.s Jjook of Scottish Song, p. 29.3.
The following abridged version of Ross's song, it is
belieA^ed by himself, is taken from Herd's Collection, 1776.
Tin; Rock and tiik Wee Pickle Tow.
There was an auld wife had a wee pickle tow,
And she M-ad gae try the spinnin' o't ;
She louted her doun and her rocli took a-lowe,
And that was a bad bejrinnin' o't.
Mjscellaxeous Soyas asd Ballads. :U1
She sat and she fri'at, and she Hat and she flanir,
And she threw and she blew, and slie wriggled and wrang,
And she chokit and boakit, and cried like to niang,
Alas, for the drear\' beginnin' o't !
I 've wantit a sark for these aught years and ten,
And this was to be the beginnin' o't ;
But I vow I shall want it for as lang again
Or ever I try the spinnin' o't :
For never since ever they ca'd as they ca' me.
Did sic a mishap and mischanter befa' me.
But ye shall hae leave baith to hang and to draw me
The neist time I try the spinnin' ot.
I hae keepit my house now these threescore years,
And aye I kept frae the spinnin' o't ;
But how I was sarkit, foul fa' them that spiers,
For it minds me upo' the beginnin' o't.
But our women are now-a-days a' grown sae braw
That ilk ane maun hae a sark, and some hae twa—
The warlds were better where ne'er ane iiva
Had a rag, but ane at the beginnin' o't.
But we maun hae linen, and that maun hae we,
And how get we that but by spinnin' o't ?
How can we hae face for to seek a great fee
Except we can help at the winnin' o't ?
And we maun hae pearlins, and mabbies, and cloaks.
And some other things that the ladies ca' smocks,
And how get we that gin we tak' na our rocks.
And IK)W what we can at tlic spinnin' o't?
Tis needless for us to mak' our remarks,
Frae our mither's miscookin' the spinnin' o't ;
She never kenn'd ocht o' the gueed o' the sjirks,
Frae this aback to the beginnin' o't.
Twa-tliree ell o' plaiden was a' tliat was sociit
By our auld-warld bodies, and that bude be bocht ;
For in ilka toon siccaii things wasrui wroclit,
Sae little they k.nnM ..' ih.- si.innin' o't.
:)Il* I'okts or L/.\ i.iriK.dw siiiiii:.
A Sl'HECll AT I'lIK KIX(;s KNTRV INTO TlIK
TOWN OF LIXIJTIICOW.
rronouiiicil l>y Mr .liinu's \VisiMiiiiii, si-lidoliiiastiT tliove, enclo8e<l in ;i plaster
iiiailc ill the llguiv (if a l.ioii.
Wll.l.lA.M DKIMMONI) ok HaWTHOUn'dEN (1685-1G49).
Thrice royal sir, licrt^ 1 do you beseech,
Who art u lion, to hear a lion's speech ;
A n\iracU' ; for since tVie da^s of .-Esop,
No lion till those times his voice dar'd raise up
To such a majesty. Then, kin|r of men.
The king of beasts speaks to thee from his den ;
Who, though he now enclosed be in plaster.
When he was free was Lithgow's ivise schoolmaster.
THE LASS O' LIVINGSTON.
The air of this name is inserted in the MS. music-book of
Mrs Crockat which bears the date 1709; bnt, in all
in-obaljilit}', it is fully a century older ; for Kamsay,
Avho Avas born in 1G84, gives it as an ancient tune.
Kamsay wrote new verses to it which were published in
his Tea-Tahle 3Iiscellani/ in 1724, and afterwards appeared
with the music in the Orjiheus Caledouius in 172.'i.
Ramsay's version begins, —
Pained with her slighting Jamie's love.
Bell drojit a tear — Bell dropt a tear ;
The gods descended from above.
Well pleased to hear — well pleased to heai-.
Altogether it is a very strained, unnatural production with
little to recommend it. Of the original song Burns, in his
Remarks on Scottish Songs, says, " The old song, in three
eight-line stanzas, is well known, and has merit as to wit
and humour, but is rather unfit for insertion." It begins
thus —
MiSCELLAXEOCS SoSdS AM) Ballads. 343
The bonnie lass o' Livi'ston,
Her name ye ken, her name ye ken :
And she has written in her contract
To lie her lane, to lie her lane.
&c. , &.C., &(•.
Lady Xairne has a very fine Jacobite song under this
title Avhich is well worth reprofhiction.
The L.\ss of Livinostaxe.
< )li I w lia will dry the dreepin" tear
She sheds her lane, she sheds her lane ':
Or wha the bonnie lass will cheer
Of Livingstane, of Livingstane?
The croun was half on Charlie's head
Ae gladsome day, ae gladsome day ;
The lads that shouted joy to him
Aie in the clay, an- in the cla}\
Her waddin' goun was w^ I'd and won.
It ne'er was on, it ne'er was on :
Culloden held, his lowly bed,
She thought upon, she thought u[k)ii.
The bloom lias faded frae her cheek
In youthfu' i)rime, in youthfu" |)rime ;
And sorrow's with'ring has done
The deed o' time, the dee<l o' time.
It was to this air that Burns wrote his e.x<iuisite song,
O vjerf Hunt ill iJie r(tnld Jihixt, which has since heen wedded
to the e<iually heautiful composition of Mendelssohn.
The following version of THp Bonnie Luss of Livintfsfonc is
by James Jaap (1792-1^60). aiulioi- uf '/'/// Womls nf
Ihiiimm'e, and many other chaiming lyrics. He afterwards
substituted " Haddington " for " Tiivingstone."
1 1 PoKl's OF L/.\Lirii<;(i\\:siiii;F.
A Ixiiiiiiei- liiss tliore never was,
The sun ne'er shcine the like upon ;
She's fair iinfl sweet, neat and complete
'I'lic lioiinic lass ipf l,i\ iiii^sldnc.
Anil in her face there shines sic grace,
Her smile 's sue sweet to look upon ;
Sae fair's the lass nane can sni|)ass
The bonnie lass of Livin<j;stone.
When night comes neai-, and all is drear.
My fancy roams on her alone ;
She is the light that cheeis the night —
The bonnie lass of Livingstone.
My every [iiayer, my every (;are,
My eveiy thought I think upon,
'Tis, v,'eve she mine, this maid divine —
The bonnie lass of Livingstone.
LEGEND OF THE HOUND I'OLXT OF BARNB0U(4LE.
This fine ballad, by the late William Wallace Fyfe,
for a mimbei- of years editor of the North Britisli
Agrimiturist, appears in his Life on Land and Water at
South Queensferry, where the author ingeniously tells us " a
legend of the house of Barn or Baron-bugle represents that
whenever the death of any of its lords is about to occur,
the apparition of a black man, accompanied by a hound,
appears upon the point, and winds from his bugle the
death-note of the baron." In The Abbot, chap, xx., Scott
makes reference to " the Gothic towers of Barnbougle,
rising from the sea-beaten rock, and overlooking one of thi?
most glorious landscapes in Scotland."
Miscellaneous Songs and Ballads. 345
Sir Roger is gone to the wars I trow,
To fight for the Holy Tree—
A Red-Cross Knight in a garb of white,
And mail of the metal free.
And he has sworn by the Temple Arch,
And the mystic fingers five,
To whet his blade on the Soldan's head
Or ne'er return alive.
He left no loving dame behind
When he sailed for the Paynini stian<l :
And he built his keej) by the waters deep.
But not for lack of land.
He kissed his crosier-hilted sword,
And he kneeled in Dalmeny fane.
And prayed for the good of the brotherhood
Till he came back again.
Sir Roger he thought no loving eye
Would drop him a parting tear :
To the i^oint he strode where his shallop lode.
And his wistful hound stood near.
The dog looked up in his master's face
And uttered a di.'^mal howl —
A [)iteous crj' that rent the sky.
But softened the Templar's soul.
"My faithful brach !" tp;oth tlie Red-Cro.«s Knight.
" We never shall part, I sweai-,
Wliile the Mowbray s liand can lift a brand.
It boots not when or wlierc"
The twain leapt lightly to the (U-<k
The Templar and the hound :
The cord was cast, ami the shallop passed
The welkin's farthest bound.
Long, lon>r had thi- mail-clad Templar fought
Heneath the bh)od-red ciosh,
W liei-c many a knight was .-lain in )i'j-lit
With ii'irii- til mourn liis loss :
•"Mt) I^OKTS OF Li.\i.lTii(;<n\siiii;h:
At ItMj^tli llin>\iLil) tlic keep by tin- wiiterf? deep
'I'liert' tliiillcd a biii^lc soimd
A deatli wail passed on tlic iiiidiii^lit l)last
Whei-e Sir Roger iiid I lie lionnd.
And a darUsuiuc I'ayiiiin t'oiiii ,i|ipraitMl
\\'iii(liii<i' tliat soleiiiM \\ail
In tlie ebbing- tide, a lioiind by bis side,
But neither sliallop nor sail :
And v\cv wlien Bainbougle'.s Lords
Are ])aiting tliis seene l)elo\v
Come liound and gliost to tiial liaunted coast,
And death-notes Minding slow.
NANCY DAWSON.
This humorous ballad we took dowu from the recitation of
an old lady in Slamannan some seven years ago. She had
learned it from the singing of her old master fifty years
])reviously, while a herd lassie in the parish of Torphichen.
Whether or not the scene of the ballad is laid in
Linlithgowshire we cannot decide ; but the fact that it has
ii(»t hitherto appeared in any collection, so far as we can
ascertain, is a sufficient plea for its preservation here.
Occasionally the reciter's memory failed her, and we have
been compelled to supply these omissions in order to
preserve the continuity of the narrative. Our own lines
are placed within brackets; but, if such can be had, we
should be glad to obtain a complete copy. The ballad
♦■vidently belongs to the earlier half of last century, and in
all likelihood is a faithful description of an incident of that
time.
We have in our possession an old song-sheet with an
operatic version of Xaiiri/ Ddn-.-nm : a Furoit/ritc Song, with
MlSCELLAXEOUS SoXGS A.\D BaLLADS. 347
Harpsichord Accompaniment, which, as it contains a thinly-
veiled reference to Garrick as "little Davy," is evidently of
date about 1760. It is there set to rather a taking air,
and has four stanzas of which the first and best, presumably
referring to some operatic star of the period, is as follows:- -
Of all the Gills ia our Town,
The Black, the Fair, the Red, the Brown,
That Prance and Dance it up and down,
There 's none like Nancy Dawson.
Her easy Mfi/n, her Shape so neat,
Slie Foots, she trips, she looks so sweet,
Her very motions are comp/ea<,
I die for Nancy Dawson.
When the late Alexander Hamilton publisheil his series
of Songs and Ballads in the Courier during the winter of
1888-89 we published this as an appendix to tht' number.
The old lady sang it to the air of The Caiddrifc Jr<mi:
There was a lass leeved in yon ylon
Baith auld an' young did brawly ken,
She crackit the he'rts o' a" the men.
Her name was Nancy Dawson ;
But her auld daddie ne'er could l)ear
That ony ane her price should .spier,
Except the laird o' miicklc gear.
Blvthe wliusUin" Bauldy Lawsou.
But Kab was young an' l^ih was briiw,
He had a tongue ayont them a"
(V)idd wile the egg frae 'neath the craw,
lie was the hufHie'H fancy ;
But Kal) had iicithei- gear nor bin".
Sac CDuldna phase the aidd guidman,
It gar't th(r carlt! to rage an* ban,
• Til"' I'KPM 'II ne'er gut N'am-v."
348 I'oirrs or LisuTiuiowsniiii:.
'V\w faitlRT llucclu-(l, till' niitlicr fl.itf,
Tliey Ijjuitlu'rcd tin; lass haitli cii' an' late
To we'll tlir l.iiid fi)i- iiis hraw estate
Or she \\a(l get iiai; toclici' ;
Hut she in (ilesfui toun did ca',
An' wiu'? advised by the limb o' the law
To please hersel' afore tliciii a',
As she was an only dorhtcr.
The match was settled, banns were ca'd,
The braws were bocht wi' i^reat parad',
Tlien Bavddy lie fu' eroo.sely crawed
Ower a' the lads victorious.
At lengrth the lii'idal day cam' roun',
The f^ossips met wi' gleesome soun",
Hut hope turned disappointment sune —
Hech ! we see na far afore us.
Wi' poother'd wig airived the priest,
The brewer an' his lade cam' neist,
The baker brang a special feast
O' roast pies, buns, an' gravy.
The crj- gat u{), " The bridegroom 's comin'
Baith auld an' young did oot get runnin',
An" there thej- heard the fiddle buminin'.
An' liltin' Dainti/ Darii .
The bride's noo left i' the spenci; lier lane,
An' oot at the back door she has gane,
An" thro' the yaird, an' doon the glen
Amang the birks an' hazels :
She ran straueht to the trystin' tree
An' met wi' Rab wi' muckle glee.
An' tliey hae fled across the lea
A.S licht as hares or weasels.
[The bridegroom lie was buskt fu' gran"
Wi' poother'd wig an' linen ban'
An' at his side the blytlie best man
WV oweila\' white as snaw.]
Miscellaneous Soxgs axb Ballads. 349
They were welcomed ben wi' miickle mense
To see the biide within the spence,
But they were bereft o" a' their sense
When they saw she was awa" 1
They socht her oot, they socht her in,
But on the track they ne'er could win.
Some hintit leukin' ronn' the linn, —
Hysterics seized the anld oarline.
But Tam the herd's come doon the dale,
Blythe heiald o' a dolefu' tale.
Quo' he, " I saw her blythe an" hale
Scourin' aft' wi' Rab Macfarlane."
[Thinkin" in vain the lass he'd wooed,
Puir Bauldy ran as hard 's he could,]
Put on his specs, the hill he viewed
An' saw them turn the cairn ;
He cried to the best man, " Roger, rin :
As }-et we 're no that far ahin',
For thou to me a wife may win
An" save the laird's dear liuirn.""
The tiddler, neither stiff nor .-lack,
Ran till his legs were like to ciack ;
He fell (in liis broo an' his bow he brak",
An" cam' liame wi' a bluidin" nose !
[The i)nii- bridegioom was wae to .«ec,
For spairged a'ower wi' glaur was ho,
Fiae taj) to tae, frae white e'e-bree
Doon to his silken hose.
But ttiougii a' ran wi' micht an' main
Tlieir pith an' pooer were spent in vain.
The soople lovers ne'er were ta'en,
But had escaped th<-in clean ;
Syne Roger, seein't a hopeless case,
A' oot o" win' ga'e up the chase.)
For ilka ane b(!liev<-d tlie rtu-r
Wild ciifl at firctna Cn en.
'^•''0 Poets of LiM.rrnaowsiiijik'.
l^iit wlia "s to eat tlie feast sue fat?
An' wlia 's to tiviatl' tlie brews o' niaut ?
For Bauldy has nae taste for that
Sin' Nanoj'\s inoved na sterlin'.
Tliey a' slade afl' like knotles.s threids
To lay aside their bridal vvtjeds,
Sayiti', " The morn we'll rise wi' braw hale heids,
An' be thankin' Rab Maefarlane."
Ye \v]\a hae dochters a' tak' tent,
An' pi-iidenoe learn frae this event,
Ne'er baigain them gainst their consent
Although it be the fashion,
Lest on their blythesome bridal day *
They oot the back dooi' chance to stray,
An' lichtly skij) across the lea
Like fliarining Nancy Dawson.
BARBAUCHLAVV BURN.
The following poem is from the pen of Thomas Sharp,
Westport, New Zeahuid, a native of Armadale. It appeared
.some ten years ago in the Courier, and afterwards in the
Foeiri/ of the Dell.
Far away, but not uiiniiiidful of tlie dear familiar place
Where I passed my days of childhood, mem'ry lingers .still to trace
Every nook with fond exactness, and my heait-felt longings turn
In affectionate remembrance unto thee, Barbauchlaw Bnin.
Though we're parted now by oceans, I can think of haj)py hours
Passed upon thy banks, deal- streandet, among sweetly-scented
flowers,
< Mowing in such chaste luxiuiance, fi-inging thy waters' side,
III flowery innocence resembling Eden in its pride.
Theie the laverock carolled welcome to the bursting forth of day,
From the wild-rose bush the linnet sang his mellifluous lay ;
The liurn ran on in gladness, all Nature seemed so proud,
III flic glen fresh choristers awoke and joined the singing crowd.
MlSCELLAXEOrS SOXGS AM) B A I. LADS. 351
The mavis, so enchanting, trilled his sweetest niinsti-elsy.
And the blackbird"s freshest waiblings joined the ever-swelling
glee ;
The song still echoes in my ear, the music in its flow
Seems just as fresh and sweet as when I heard it long ago.
All the summer charms of Nature could not woo thee from thv way.
All the sweetest lilts of songbirds were in vain — you would not stay ;
As you passed them cowslips nodded in the jojous smiling sun :
But you would not pause a moment, but kept ever hurrying on.
And when surly ^\•inter■s floods were loosed and madly swelled thy
force
Into a muddj- torrent, carrying all things in thy course,
You passed the bridge above the mill as if in flendish glee -
How changed since summer — on you sweiit until you reached the
.sea.
The Thames, the Tyne and Mer.'^ey, the Humber, Tees and \\ ear.
The Clyde and Tweed, the Tay and Don, and Robbie Burns's Ayr.
Have all been sung in stately song, but this my theme shall In-,
Barbauchlaw Burn, in a' the world the bonniest place to me.
CARRIBBKH CLKN.
This poem on Cuiribber or Kab Gil/.s (tIcii, oim of the
most charming bit.s of scenery in the county, apjteared in
the Courier two years ago over the signatiu'e of " Ivan."
We understand that its author is John Slkkjh, a tailor in
Linlitligow, wlio has been an occasional contribut<tr of
very pleasing verse to the Dundee U'ceklij Aeics and the
local press for a numboi- of years.
The flooer.s are bloomiM' brirht and fair
Doon liy tin- Axon side.
Sweet mu.xjc lills tlie balmy ail
O' simmer in itw pride ;
^■^'2 Poets or Lf.\L/Tiii;o\\'siiii:i:.
Till' mavis sweetly pipi's his lay
Within yon leafy dfii,
Whik', iaj)t in druamy joy, I stiay
In dear ("arribhei- (Hon.
Hoo aften dae I wander there
When simmer days are bricht,
To gaze upon its beauties rare, —
Knrapturud at the sieht !
Oh ! happy wad I be to bide
Deep in its floo'ry den,
And see at midnicht faii'ies glide
Thro' auld Carribber Glen.
Wlien weary and o])pressed wi' care
"Tis guid to wander here,
For Nature, when the he'rt is sair,
Aj'e has the charm to cheer ;
When wark is ower I lo'e to steal
Far frae the haunts o' men ;
Sweet joys are found, I ken fu' weel,
In sweet Carribber Glen.
Lang may the birdies sing fu' sweet
A' thro' the sunny 'oors,
And bairnies wi' tlieir wee bit feet
Riu "mang th}' bonnie flooers :
Whene'er I wander niang thy braes
God seems far nearer then,
And aften sliall I tread thy ways.
Dear auld Carribber (Jlen.
THK KM).
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