ISABELLA ; oi» THE ROBBERS; AN© OTHER POEMS. BY WILLIAM M'LAREN; AVTHOR OF " THE LIFE OF TANNAUILL;' ^c. LONDON: 1828. ISABELIiA; OR, THE ROBBERS. '' O FATHER ! shut not thus your door, *' Unkindly, on the houseless poor ; " No blood-stained angry ruffian I, " To bid your wife and children die, " But phrenzied sorrow's sickly child, " A wanderer 'midst the pathless wild." The generous glow of pity pressed The hermit to receive his guest. But when the crackling faggots' aid The virgin bloom of youth displayed, The anchorite, with averted eyes, Suspicious, to the maid replies : ** Unhappy daughter of the gloom, " Why seek 'mong alpine snows a tomb ; " Has slighted love or cold disdain " In phrenzy, fixed thy tortured brain ; " Or what untimely withering woe " Disturbs thy breast of virgin snow ?" 824067 The mourner turned her weeping eyes To where the fount of mercy lies — And thanked the saints — and blessed the hour That led her to the hermit's bower, Unconscious of its holy rest — Then thus the wondering sire addressed :— " O father! hear a tale that might " Appal the callous ear of night ; *' But, shuddering, turn not thus aside—- " Not mine the blood this garment dyed, " Nor mine the hand that struck the hloWy " And bade the crimson current flow. " Where rolls Lochlomond's crystal flood « My murdered father's cottage stood ; *' No hoarded wealth was his to lure " The midnight ruffians to the door ; *' But I, his all of fortune given, " The relic of a saint in heaven. " The glimm'ring moon-beam's light impress'd- «' Her shadows on the mountain's breast; " And all throughout the peaceful gloom <' Was tranquil as an infant's tomb, *' When louder than the torrent's roar, " Tjie wolves of night assailed our door. 6 " The unbolted latch resistless driven, " Admits the foes of cartli and heaven, " Who round their ruffian leader crowd, " A wretch — who'd spill an infant's blood, " And stare upon the mangled corse, *' Nor dread revenge — nor feel remorse. <' Form'd in creative Nature's wrath, " To smile at sacrilege or death, ** His eyes, with bushy eye-brows bound, " Cast a malignant glance around, *' That heaven, and earth, and hell defied, *• Then thus deliberately cried : " * Father! we revellers of the niglit ** ' Dread nothing but the morning's light ; ** ' The clock has told the midnight hour, ** * The all thou hast is in our power, " ' Wilt thou resign thy treasured store, " * Or see the light of heaven no more? " * The cock that bids the peasant rise, " * Seals softly our nocturnal eyes; *' * We minister the will of fate, " * Nor dally in a long debate — *' * Dost see this crusted scymitar — *' 'Tis seldom seen io bloodless war.' " Whene'er the ruthless villain spoke, " His voice upon the silence broke, " So hoarse, discordant, full of dread, ** That hope and heavenly mercy fled, " And bade the victinis of his power " Anticipate a dreadful hour. " We give our all, and hope to prove, " B_y tears and smiles, the miscreant's love ; " But what a partial father's fears, " Or what a frantic maiden's tears, " Wlien lawless rage, without control, " Raves madly in the savage soul? " Unawed by heaven — unchecked by power, " The ruffians, at the midnight hour, " Their eager search for wealth pursue, " (For wealth we never wished nor knew,) " While imprecations, wild and dread, " Are thundered on my father's head. " The search is o'er — the table spread — " Their thirst allayed — their hunger fed — " The generous liquor set apart " To cheer the lonely wanderer's heart, " The ebbing tide of rage supplied, " WMien thus again their leader cried : " * Wliy, father, say no wealth is thine ? " * This wench is worth Potosi's mine ; *' ' Her lovely eyes, angelic fair, " ' Might tempt a hermit from his prayer, *' ' And bid him in some merrier mood, Renounce his beads and solitude. « ( " * What pity that so sweet a flower, " * Should wither in this lonely bower! " * Those eyes, though bathed in sorrow's wave, " ' Might light an exiled robber's cave ; " * Come to my arms, my pretty dove, " ' And feel the warm delights of love. " ' What ! does the colour leave thy cheek— • ** ' Thy eye no amorous passion speak? " ' A brighter bloom will flush thy face *' ' When locked within my fond embrace :** "Then stretched his hands, with murders dyed, " And dragged me fainting to his side. " Repulsive horror o'er me creeps, " The life-blood in my bosom sleeps, " I feci the chilly hand of death, ** And struggle for expiring breath, " While all that yet of life remains, " The ruffian's rude embrace sustains. o u ^* My fathei's brow is knit in frowns, *■ His licart a noble impulse owns ; " His frantic arm is raised on bigh ; ** Tbe work of deatb is in bis eye ; *' Tben quick descends tbe gleaming dart, " Tbat pierced tbe groaning villain's beart. *• Anotber band tbe blow returned, '•' My fatber fell — unwept — unmourned — " Save by tbe tears tbese eyes impressed, " Witb anguisb on tbe bleeding breast, " Tbat fondly witb affection sigbed " A prayer to Heaven for me — and died. " ' Revenge !' tbe expiring leader cried — -\ " ' Revenge !' tbe savage band replied ; " Around tbe blazing brands are driven, " By bands tbat mock tbe wratb of beaven, " And ere tbe sunbeams warm tbe skies, " A ruined mass our cottage bes. " I, while revengeful rage repressed " The meaner passions of the breast, •' Sought from tbe friendly shades of night, " A shelter from tbe ruffians' sight, " And guided by some heavenly power " Have gained this lone sequestered bower. ** But now the houseless child of woe^ " Nor friendship's tear nor love I know, *' But like a bark upon the wave, ** When angry winds tempestuous rave, ** Must wander where the fates incline — ** Nor hope, nor home, nor friends are mine/' The frantic tale of sorrow done— The hermit's heart by pity won— His bosom heaves unwonted sighs. Unwonted tears start from his eyes j But ere he checked the friendly tide^ He kindly to the maid replied : — *' Then ne'er again unhappy stray *' The gloomy heath's untrodden way, *' Nor ever feel, unsullied flower ! " The chilling blast's malignant power,. " But rest within this lone retreat, " Impervious to the wanderer's feet. ** When morn her ruddy light has shed,- *' Along the snowy mountain's head, *< I'll hasten down the craggy steep — " Nay, injured maiden, do not weep ; " No hostile footsteps e'er intrude *^' Upon this lonely solitude. 10 " The human heart, by cares oppressed, *' Oft sees the worst — ne<;Iects the best — " Through the dark medium of her tears, " Anticipates a thousand fears, " Neglects the good which H:aven bestows, " And magnifies imagined woes. ** Hope, brilHant gem of heavenly birth, " Celestial friend of man on earth, " Whispers that Mercy's kind decree, ** (In pity to the world and thee,) *' Has marred the malice of the dart, *' That sought thy honoured father's heart. " If dead, his spirit yet demands ** The friendly aid of human hands, " Nor must his honoured dust remain *' Unburied on the ensanguined plain, " But holy rites and prayers be given " To mitigate the wrath of Heaven. " Thy weary feet and wasting vvoes, " Require refresliment and repose, " Then, maiden, take this potent draught, " Its virtues, (from experience taught,) " A soothing influence will impart " To lull misfortune's galling smart." 11 There is a lioly charm in truth, That wins the hearts of age and youth, The mourner's eyes its power confessed — She takes the draught — inclines to rest, Upon the hermit's rushy bed, Her wearied limbs and aching head. And now secure from foes she sleeps, Nor sorrow sighs, nor pity weeps, Her thoughts are fixed on former bliss ; Her father's smile — her lover's kiss — And every range that fancy takes Some kindred scene of feeling wakes. The holy hermit's evening prayer Commends to heaven the sleeping fair, An added faggot warms the floor — A secret latch secures the door. And bright the moon-beams serve to guide His footsteps down the mountain's sid?. He speeds along — a distant light Gleams faintly through the gloom of night; He stops — the fading light withdrew; He moves again — it brighter grew ; And fancy guides the flitting ray To where the ruined cottage lay. 12 He counts his beads — his fears subside— He journeys on — and gaily cried, 'Tis but some flitting meteor light The midnight wanderer to affright- It moves along — it cannot be The ruined cot of charity. But see — what youth with hasty tread. Has scared the sky -lark from his bed? He seeks the lonely path that leads To where the hermit tells his beads, When morning o'er the mountain bends, Or night in dusky shade descends. The hermit knows the virtuous youth, (An emblem of unshaken truth) Surprise lends vigour to their feet, With hastier steps they closer meet. And " Hail, my son," the hermit cried, " Hail, reverend sire," the youth replied. To whom the hermit thus again. Disturbed to see the youth in pain, *' What furrowing clouds of wild despair, " Have marked thy morning face with care, " Or why distempered hast thou fled " Thy home, thy kindred, and thy bed ?" 13 With bashful looks the youth began. And thus addressed the holy man:— ** O father! though the snows of age " Be wrcatlied upon thy head, ** And all the flattering dreams of youth ** Be now for ever fled ; " Yet if thy heart, in life's gay hour, *' E'er felt the pangs of love, *' Indulgent hear a youth complain, " Nor frowning disapprove. ** Adorned with every witching charm, *' By silver Lomond grew " The loveliest flower that e'er imbibed " The shining morning dew. " Hast thou the budding rose surveyed, *' At orient morning's break? ** Then thou hast seen the crimson hue " That bloomed upon her cheek. ♦* Or hast thou seen the lily's leaf, " With dewy tears oppressed ? " Then thou hast seen the snowy white *' Of Isabella's breast. B 14 '' Well might the hoary hermit sage " Forget his evening prayer, '* The radiant glances of her eyes *' In solitude to share. " 'Though cold and callous was his heart, " As Winter's midnight hour, " His frequent unavailing sighs " Would own their magic power. " For Isabel was like the morn, " Whose bright reviving ray, *' Bids the gay flowerets lift their heads, " To decorate the day. " Long, long I loved the beauteous maid, " And long in secret sighed, " And oft I wished to press my suit " But feared to be denied. *' Till bolder by indulgence grown, " r told my amorous tale ; *' And found the honest words of truth " O'er Isabel prevail. >'■ Then soon was fixed the happy day, " Our guileless hearts should prove, 15 '* y\ ffectionatc — the entrancing joys " Of hyracceal love. " But rriglitfal dark prophetic dreams, " The harbingers of care, " Have checked my hopcF, and chilled my blood, " And filled me with despair. " Last night, when all were wrapt in sleep, " Tlie warning vision came, " And twice I dreamed it o'er again, *' And twice it was the same. " Mcthought upon a bank I lay, " With summer flowers o'erspread, " And Isabel upon my breast " Reclined her drooping head. '* The yellow tints of parting day, " Still lingered in the west, " And soft the balmy air reclined " Upon the violet's breast. " The day retired — the Queen of Night " Rode through the cloudless skies, " Bright as affection's glistening tears, " In parting lover's eyes. 16 " 'Twas boundless bliss — 'twas ecstasy,, " Bejond description's power, " To clasp an angel to my heart, " In this luxurious hour! " But, ah 1 'twas transient as the bow, " That decks the verge of heaven, '• When watery clouds and sunny showers, " By warring winds are driven. " The night grew cold — the winds blew lourl " The changeful sky o'ercast, " And sounds, terrific as the grave, " Came groaning on the blast. " My Isabel, with sudden dread, " Sprung, screaming, from my side, " And, quick as thought, the frightful gloom •' Our parting forms divide. " O'ercorae by fear, and sick with wee, " The ice-cold ground I pressed ; " When suddenly a spirit came, " And thus my ear addressed : « ' Rise, rise, sluggard youth ! why stay loitering alone, " * When destruction raves wild at thy Isabel's home ?, It " ' The demons of night, now exulting in power, " ' Have entered her house, and have crowded her Hoor, " ' And the maid to tlie arms of their cliicf has been pressed, " ' With a tear in her e3'e, and a sigli at her breast. " * Tlie hand of her father is brandished on higli, *' * He has love at his heart — he has death in his eye ; " * One glance to his angelic daughter he gave, " * One prayer to the power who in mercy can save, " * Then quickly descending the edge of his dart, " ' Has furrowed a path to the miscreant's heart. " ' But the hand that has opened the life-gusliing wound, " * Is cold as the grave, and is stretched on the ground, " * And the maid it has often caressed with delight, " ' Now wanders forlorn like a shade of the night, *' * Then rise, sluggard youth ! nor stay loitering here, " * Till the earth be her bed, and the snow be her bier : " ' But cross not the floor, where her father lies cold, " * Till your tale to the hermit of Banoch you've told, " ' He is gifted with wisdom, and favoured by Heaven, " * And will give you the counsel that I would have given, ** ' Had the cock's early clarion not ushered tHe day, " * And called me in speed to my prison of clay— '* * 'Tis the shade of her mother that warns thee away.' 18 " Disturbed by the warning voice, " I started from my sleep, " And wondered how a phantasy " Could injure me so deep. " I slept — again the vision came, *' More frightful than before j " I waked — and found it still the same, " But triply coloured o'er. " Large balls of sweet bedew my head, " I feel the chill of age, " And trembling with prophetic dread, " Have sought thy hermitage. " Now, father, as the spirit said, «' The gifts of heaven are thine, <' The meaning of my frightful dream, <* In charity divine." *' Hush, impious youth," the hermit cried, •' Let time the will of heaven decide, «< It fits not hoary age to hear, I fand him on the lee, Mary, Milky white his manly cheek, And death was in his e'e, Mary. I raised him kindly in my arms, I propt him wi' my knee, Mary, Short and few the words he spak', But they were a' 'bout thee, Mary. I dug his grave wi' friendly care, I sought nae helping han', Mary, Now sound he sleeps within his plaid, Upon a foreign Ian'; Mary. 53 This ring I fand upon his breast, A gift he gat frae thee, Mary, Now mak' the bonny gouden ring, A pledge o' love to me, Mary. I ha'ena muckle wealtli to gie, But a' I hae *11 be thine, Mary, The lowin' love that's at my heart, I'm sure I'll never tine, Mary. I'll be a father to your bairn, I'll aye be kind to thee, INIary, Cankered Care, nor scrimped Want, You'll never, never see, Mary." " O baud awa', bide awa', Speak na sae to me, Donald, For I'll never wed again, Till the day I die, Donald. Fickle love may quickly change, But nae sic love is mine, Donald Colin gat my virgin heart, An' it can ne'er be thine, Donald. Weel I ken your manly worth. Your kind intent to me, Donald,' 6i But a ban' without a hearty Is no a gift for thee, Donald. Love is like the mountain stream, That rushes to the sea, Donald, Ever giving aye the same, While it has ought to gie, Donald." HOWL ON, YE WILD WINDS. Sungdt the celebration of the Birth of Burns, January 1819. Howl on, ye wild winds, o'er his hallowed grave. Thy music is sweet to the ear ; And lovely thy mountains, though mantled in snow, As the fragrant smile of the year. Yes, Winter, though icicles hang on thy brow. And nature disconsolate mourns ; Yet Scotia will ever exult in thy reign, For she owes thee the birth of a Burns. When your bellowing tempests, incessant and deep, Terrificly howl through the sky, Do you visit a spot where his fame is unknown, A spot where 'twill wither and die. Yes, yes, the bright fame of the bard will decay, For nature itself will expire ; But the last lover's song, ere the wreck of mankind, Will echo his heavenly lyre. 6 r o ! I'LL TELL YOU THE HOUR. Tune^Meeling cfthe Waters. O ! I'll tell you the hour tliat is dearest to me, 'Tis the hour when the sun dips his head in the sep, 'Tis the hour when the linnet retires to his rest, And burnished with gold are the clouds of the west, Aud burnished with gold are the clouds of the west. O ! this hallowed grove I will ever revere. As the loveliest spot on creation's wide sphere. For 'twas here that I first felt my bosom impressed, With a passion as warm as the turtle-dove's nest. With a passion as warm as the turtle-dove's nest. Not friendship's soft tear gushing warm from the eye, Is so dear to my heart as her languishing sigh — Will I tell you the cause that I love her so well ? No, no, 'tis a cause that no mortal can tell, No, no, 'tis a cause that no mortal can tell. It is not her eye, mild, expressive, and blue, It is not her cheek of vcrmillion hue, 66 It is not her breath sweet and fragrant as May ; No, no, it is something far other than they, No, no, it is something far other than they. She is lovely as light — she is guileless as truth — Has the wisdom of age, and the fondness of youth, Her thoughts are as pure, and her virtue as fair, As a chronicled saint at his evening prayer, As a chronicled saint at his evening prayer. She's the spring of my pleasure — the source of my woe, Like my shadow she haunts me wherever I go, When 1 kneel to my god (may the fault be forgiven,) I implore her for bliss, and mistake her for heaven, I implore her for bliss, and mistake her for heaven. Cease, cease, throbbing heart, till the day-lights decline, She is true to her faith, and she then will be thine ; Then let fortune her frowns and her favour divide. When an angel is mine I need nothing beside. When an angel is mine I need nothing beside. /t 1 I'M WITHERING LIKE A SICKLY FLOWER. Tunt-^OUl me in Mi ae night* I'm withering like a sickly flower, That bends beneath the Winter's power, When angry winds tempestuous lour, An* ye're the cause o't a', jo. Then, Jessy, hear my ardent prayer, As guileless as affection's tear, O wilt thou ever be my dear, And I'll be thine for aye, jo. Lang, lang I've now been doomed to prove, The pangs of unrequited love ; Let pity now thy bosom move, And tak' me for thy ain, jo. Then, Jessy, hear my ardent prayer, &€. My heart has never known to stray, For thou hast been its guiding ray, Its dreams by night — its thoughts by day — Then tak' me for thy ain, jo. Then, Jessy, hear my ardent prayer, &c. 68 Though doomed in cruel Fortune's spite, To toil frae morn till dreary night, Thy smile will a' my ills requite, Gin ye were but my ain, jo. Then, Jessy, hear my ardent prayer, &c. Would Fortune spread her treasured store, Give wealth and power — and promise more, I'd spurn it all, though tripled o'er, Without thy witching smile, jo. Then, Jessy, hear my ardent prayer, &2. WHEN ANCIENT BRITONS RUDELY TROD. Sung at the celebration 0/ the Birth of Burns, When ancient Britons rudely trod Throughout our favourite isle, Nor knew the worth, nor felt the force, Of Beauty's magic smile ; War's rugged face alone had charms, To warm the patriot breast. But every foe, from every land. Proud Scotia's worth confessed. 69 *' Then this the charter — the charter of the land, " And guardian angels sung the strain," Hail, honoured Scotia ! blessed land, for ever be The sacred seat of Liberty. Then came the honoured minstrel bard, In ages more refined, And bade the generous warmth of love, Possess the pliant mind ; The song that first in lordly halls. The captive passions led, Spread o'er the land, and found a home Within the peasant's shed. " Then this the charter — the charter of the land, " And guardian angels sung the strain,'' Hail, honoured Scotia ! blessed land, for ever be The sacred seat of Minstrelsy. When in his low parental cot. The infant Burns reclined, The fretful clamours of his heart, Hushed by the wint'ry wind ; The minstrel muse, to Scotia dear. Hung o'er the babe and smiled, 'H.\'\ , .',) { ii '.;:;{ /t/fi / r.f)^» 60 Imbued his heart with heavenly fire, And nursed the darling child. " Then this the charter — the charter of the land, *' And guardian angels sung the strain," Hail, honoured Scotia ! blessed land, for ever be The sacred seat of Poetry. Hail Scotia ! dear romantic land, Though cold thy climate b€, And turbulent the angry winds That lash thy northern sea ; Yet still, beneath thy hallowed clime. The minstrel muse is found, And every stream and every dale Is sacred classic ground. Sing loud the minstrel's fame, His be an honoured name, To latest time : His be the bright reward, A wondering world's regard, Dear to the patriot bard, In every clime. /. Neilson, Printer. THE LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFOnNIA PR iificLaren - 14971 Isabella; or, ^i352i the robbers UCSOUTHEHriHEGlO'.AL LIBHAR mill AA 000 586 524 ii971 M352i