6035 Country THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES SONGS OF THE GREY COUNTRY THE OKEY COUNTRY. GHEY MARE'S TAIL. THE SILENT LOCH. SONGS OF THE GREY COUNTRY BY JOAN RUNDALL. LONDON : THE YEAR BOOK PRESS, 31, MUSEUM STREET. 1916. COPYRIGHT, 1916 BY THE YEAR BOOK PRESS All rights reserved For Musical Rights apply to the Publishers CONTENTS. Dedication Covenanter Songs The Song of the Brownie of Bodesbeck n The Garden of the Dead . . . . 14 Tinker Songs The Tinker's Marriage Song . . . . 18 The Place where Tears are Born . . 20 Farewell, Moragh . . . . . . 23 Songs of the Moffat Woods The Beechwood . . . . . . 26 The Gallows Wood . . . . . . 28 The Larch Wood 30 Songs of the Wayside On Windy Way 32 Homeward . . . . . . . . 33 Gold of the King's Highway . . 34 The Echo Towers of the Border . . 35 Shepherd Songs The Red Lover . . . . . . 38 Michael Comes Home No More . . 40 The Old Shepherd 42 vi. Contents PAGE Songs of the North Sea The Grave by the Sea A Broken Branch The Bells 44 . . 46 .. .. 48 Grey Stones . . 50 One Last Song .. .- 58 L' Envoi 60 DEDICATION TT^ROM the Land you left behind, you, f- Where the mountains gird our home Stray my errant songs to find you Will you read them where you roam ? Songs of how we fared together O'er the hills and far away, Through the glory of the heather Many a golden Autumn day. Will you read, with eyes a-dreaming Of the windy woods we knew, And the grassy uplands gleaming In the twilight starred with dew, Till you hear the brown burns brawling O'er the grey rocks, and the scream Of the peewit and the calling Of the hill-wind, through your dream > Till the half -for gotten faces And the voices that are gone Call you o'er the desert places Where you dwell afar, alone Will my stray songs set the ember Of your dying dreams aglow, Help you sometimes to remember Dreams that faded long ago ? COVENANTER SONGS Songs of the Grey Country n THE SONG OF THE BROWNIE OF BODESBECK STILL are the woods and silent all the vale, The wan stars fade, the grey hills dream beneath Where far faint moon-beams glimmer cold and pale Athwart the dark cave where I wait for death - Death that is on the dawn-winds' icy breath. Morn is not yet, and all the Lowland plain Dreams to the sky a silent soul asleep. I wake, with eyes that look beyond their pain Into the stars a last long watch to keep A last long watch above a world asleep. How long, how long I watched this Moffat- dale By foaming Grey Mare's Tail and Blacks- hope Glen, While Clavers' soldiers rode by hill and vale, Seeking with bloody sword the weary men Who worshipped God in yonder hidden glen. 12 Songs of the Grey Country How long we trod, as Scotland's men should tread, By glen and gully through the starless night, Onward to Thee, by faith for ever led, Onward to Thee, O God, through well- fought fight, Bearing Thy Covenant toward the light. So long, so long ! and purer blood has flowed And braver hearts than mine will throb no more Stilled for the cause wherein my head was bowed. And these poor features stained with their own gore Were burnt and tortured till they smiled no more. Changeless the valley lies and o'er the hill The red dawn wakens, day by day the same As when it shone o'er bloodstained fields and still, Dead men who died for God when Clavers' came, " God's Covenant " to-day is but a name. Unchanged, unchanged the wild white orchids blow, Starring the crimson mosses. As of yore The blue hills dream, the Moffat waters flow Songs of the Grey Country 13 Where once we prayed beside their reedy shore. Do they forget the sorrows gone before ? Not so, not so, o'er yonder purple heath, Where other men shall pass through peace- ful years, Will linger dreams of those who sleep be- neath Song in the sunshine, in the raincloud tears, And, over all, the triumph of their death. Still shine the stars, the Eastern clouds grow pale, The wan light wakens over all the sky, A far faint dawnlight glimmers o'er the vale. I am content content at last to die, Where God's dim hills are watching with the sky. See Note Page 62. 14 Songs of the Grey Country THE GARDEN OF THE DEAD I TROD the Lowland hills when twilight grew To that wan spirit hour of faded sky, Of dreaming wind and slowly falling dew And sweet faint scent where broken blossoms die. Dim Hartfell, whence the brown burns fling their spray, Dark Swatfell, watching o'er the Lowland plains, And haunted Gallows Wood where storm- winds play Remorseless havoc ere the Winter wanes. Dim hills and haunted woods at Eventide, I followed where you called through brake and fern, But shadows wandered, voiceless, at my side, And shadows met me by the rushy burn. What shades are these who pass me slowly by And draw me on o'er pathways old and dim ? The shades of those who sought the hills to die For Covenanting psalm and honoured hymn. Songs of the Grey Country 15 Is Heaven dreamless and the grave a goal, Which, having won, its victors reck no more Of all the loved Earth thought that stirred their soul And raised their heart to ecstasy before ? Is Heaven dreamless, that the strong, proud men, Who fled Dundee, yet fleeing, still defied, In death should dream not of the misty glen Which echoed to their psalm and bred their pride ? Nay, Bodesbeck's Brownie sleeps and Erne's love Kept tragic tryst in De'il's Tub long ago ; O'er nameless graves men tread the heath above, Where greater men lie sleeping far below. They sleep, but still they gaze with yearning eyes, Across the gateless bars that bound their shore, Toward the purple hills and faded skies, And misty woodlands that they loved of yore. 16 Songs of the Grey Country X Still in the twilit hour, through brake and fern, They stray where once they prayed and loved and bled, Dim, voiceless shadows by the rushy burn, Pale blossoms in the Garden of the Dead. See Note page 62. TINKER SONGS i8 Songs of the Grey Country THE TINKER'S MARRIAGE SONG IN the crimson fire of dawnlight I have seen thy dark eyes shine With laughter of the morning, I have seen those hands of thine Stretched up toward the sunrise, adoring Gods unknown, In the red fire of the morning I have claimed thee for my own. Moragh my Tinker Lass. In the glory of the mountains I have seen thee tramping by With thy pack upon thy shoulder and thy proud head held so high, I heard thee sing of faery folk and Gods of old who rise To bless thee by the pathway for the laughter in thine eyes. Moragh my Tinker Lass. In the grey dusk of the gloaming, alone I saw thee stray By crag and torrent mourning for the passing of the day, Songs of the Grey Country 19 Till shadows from the twilight stole and called thee by thy name, And the laughter of thine eyes, lass, flashed a greeting when they came. Moragh my Tinker Lass. In the crimson fire of morning thy hands have sought my own No more, no more to wander or worship Gods unknown. The dawn of Love is rising, Moragh, within thine eyes, The dawn that shines, for ever, beyond the farthest skies. Moragh, my Tinker Lass. 20 THE PLACE WHERE TEARS ARE BORN. (A Song by the Road). COME, lass of mine, the dewy dusk is falling, The peat-smoke heavenward -curls in wreathing spires ; Homeward, again, our hearts the hills are calling, Who ask no hearthlight but the clear star fires, Only the clear star fires. Come, Moragh lass, the long road lies before us The rugged pathway by our footsteps worn Tramping along with God's clear starlight o'er us, To rest beside the pool where tears are born, The place where tears are born. Who but a tinker ever came to love them ? The still dark waters whence, at close of day, Songs of the Grey Country 21 The tears of earth are born and, far above them, Blow on the breezes o'er the world away, So far, so far away. There bloom no star-white flowers, no purple heather, Only the reeds beside the marshy brim, Unresting, rustle in the wind together Through dreamless years by waters old and dim, By waters old and dim. On whirring wings above the silent water The wild bird hastens in the winter's morn, For there no echoing gun-shot ever sought her Who hunts beside the pool where tears are born ? The place where tears are born. Only the tinker seeks that place of sorrows, And dreams beside the waters dark and still Of sunlit yesterdays and dark tomorrows, And winter days that creep across the hill, Of snow upon the hill. Rest, lass, awhile the weary stars are dying, Too soon they fade amid the mists of morn 22 Songs of the Grey Country Dream on, Moragh, where winds of sleep are sighing Around the pool where tears of Earth are born, The place where tears are born. Some day, lass, in the silence of the heather, We two must meet the night that knows no morn ; Ah ! Moragh, might we tread that road together ! Here by the silent pool where tears are born, The place where tears are born. Songs of the Grey Country 23 FAREWELL, MORAGH YOU are dying, will you leave behind you All the memories of the vanished years, All the laughter and the foolish tears, The joy that charmed, the pain that came to blind you ? When I lay your body in the heather By the sheepfold, will you never hear My footstep on the roadway far or near Tramping alone where once we tramped together ? You who loved, in June as in December, The windy upland and the silent vale, The ragged pine-wood where the hill winds wail, O ! can it be that you will not remember ? You always slept with God's clear stars above you, Dim hills about you and your hand in mine. Yet you will sleep tonight where no stars shine And only darkness gathers round to love you. 24 Songs of the Grey Country And I shall listen vainly for your laughter, Or vainly seek the softness of your hair. O ! Can it be that you will never share My night of pain and hopeless dawnlight after ? Heart of the hills in June as in December ! O, carry with you to the Silent Land Dreams of the road we followed hand in hand That when I join you we may both remember. Moragh, I lay your body in the heather And tramp my lone trail, dreaming of your eyes. Oh, draw me homeward when the long day dies That we may tramp the hills of God together. SONGS OF THE MOFFAT WOODS 26 Songs of the Grey Country THE BEECH WOOD (A Sacrifice to War.) TOO sad for sighs, and far too proud for tears You fell, great grove, upon the silent hill, When Red War laid your splendour low and still Claiming your service in your evening years. Dim dreams of childhood woke beneath your sway, Laughter of lovers whispered through your leaves, And gracious sorrow when the old year grieves At Autumntide was yours until- today. Far, far away, you heard the song of strife, Of mighty tumult e'er your dead leaves fell, Through winter days each folded in the shell Your young buds dreamed of War and shattered life. Songs of the Grey Country 27 Pale Spring awoke, with sorrow in her eyes, To bring you death before your leaves were born. No more you heard the bird-songs in the morn, But ringing axes and the woodmen's cries. Too sad for sighs and far too proud for tears, Great grove, you yielded all your splendid life To serve your country in her hour of strife And find fulfilment in your evening years. M off at. 1915. 28 Songs of the Grey Country THE GALLOWS WOOD DARK wood, dim wood where shadowy pathways wind Through dusky brackens up the windy hill, In summer days thy trees are never still And winter gales to thee are never kind, But all day long they murmur as they blow Of how they laid thy woody summit bare, Of how they wreaked remorseless havoc there With shattered tree and many a broken bough. And all day long they whisper thy grim name The name a felon left thee long ago, Who trod his weary path of sin and woe And died upon thy Gallows-tree of shame. Still haunts his last prayer on thine errant breeze With old, dead smiles and half-forgotten tears And deathless echoes of the dying years Under the twilight of thy windy trees. Songs of the Grey Country 29 Who dreams of faeryland below thy shade Hath surely seen some faery faces shine Amid thy golden fern and ragged pine In twilit hours that all too swiftly fade. And who has heard the restless winds that blow Thy boughs for ever hears them in his sleep, Blended with voices of the trees that weep Their sister trees that fell so long ago. Today, new boughs of green are spreading forth On thy lone summit. O'er that place of death New life awakes O storm wind, guard thy breath Nor blow too fiercely from the bitter North ! That o'er the woodland old, in distant years, On yonder windy summit as a crown The younger wood may stand and smiling down Bless the old wood and its grim name of tears. See Note page 62. 3O Songs of the Grey Country THE LARCHWOOD LITTLE green larchwood, where bird-song and wind song Carol their joy in the dew of the morn, What would I give for a sight of your beauty, The flush of your green on the gold of the corn ! Far, far below you a brown burn is singing Over the rocks in the heart of the glen, The hills* and the heather are shining above you Blessing the field they have yielded to men. Golden the dawnlight breaks o'er you and pierces The gloom of your shadow with shimmer- ing bars. Golden the last rays of dying day linger Over your boughs that are seeking the stars. Little green larchwood where wild flowers are blowing, Where bird-song and wind-song are sweet in the morn, What would I give for a sight of your beauty, The flush of your green on the gold of the corn ! SONGS OF THE WAYSIDE 32 Songs of the Grey Country ON WINDY WAY ON Windy Way when morning breaks Across the dreaming sky, A little drifting wind awakes To kiss the stars goodbye. On shining wing the sunbeams pass Across a world of grey To steal the jewels from the grass On Windy Way, on Windy Way. On Windy Way your heart will sing Through sunlight and through shade, Where harebells through the heather spring And fallen brackens fade. But where the winds of weary years Through broken branches stray, Perchance your heart will dream of tears On Windy Way, on Windy Way. On Windy Way when daylight dies And shadows fall too soon, Though tears are shining in your eyes Yet seek the rising moon. On silver wing her beam will pass Across a world of grey To scatter jewels o'er the grass On Windy Way, on Windy Way. Songs of the Grey Country 33 HOMEWARD WILL you come homeward to the Silent Valley ? Home to the Borderland you used to love, When winds of Autumn fill the glen with weeping And grey mist veils the mountain tops above. Come home, with springing footstep on the pathway That skirts the shaggy wood and broken wall. You used to love the pine trees' ragged beauty, The plaintive sorrow of the curlew's call. Come home, and tell the story of your wander- , in g. Smile in our eyes and charm away our tears, Sing us the songs we cannot sing without you, Waken the echoes of the vanished years. Will you come homeward to the Silent Valley Home to the Borderland of clouded skies ? You used to love our purple hills of sorrow Have they no charm now for your Southern eyes ? 34 Songs of the Grey Country GOLD OF THE KING'S HIGHWAY WHEN the young moon wakes on the water, Where lake reeds rustle and sway, Come seek, come seek for the treasure The Gold of the King's Highway. When heather-winds blow on the hillside Come, gather the gold of the plain. Though you rifle the travellers' treasure 'Twill bloom by the lake again. Does it fade away in your fingers And die in the dim dawnlight ? What matter ! 'Twas gold in the moon-hour And you were a King for a night. When the King-cups blow by the water Where lake-reeds rustle and sway, Come gather them in the moonlight, They are Gold of the King's Highway. See Note page 63. Songs of the Grey Country 35 THE ECHO TOWERS OF THE BORDER O'ER windy plains of the Lowland By heathery hill they rise, The old grey towers of the Border, The grim grey towers of the Border, The beacon towers of the Border Under the windy skies. They stand by the long white roadway, In fields of daisied grass, And over the plains they echo Echo the traveller's greeting, The greeting cried from the roadway By travelling men who pass. And still in the twilit gloaming They dream of the raider bands, Of marching feet on the roadway Of flashing spears on the roadway, Carrying Death by the roadway Into the Borderlands. The blood-red blaze of the beacons Burns for a dreaming hour, While the clash of mortal combat, 36 Songs of the Grey Country The clash of a long-dead combat Echoes across the silence Over the Border Tower. Song that is blent with sorrow, Laughter and battle cry, Voices born of the Border From old grey Towers of the Border Echo across the Border Under the windy sky. SHEPHERD SONGS 38 Songs of the Grey Country THE RED LOVER CAN I forget thee, Red Lover of mine, When the peat fire burns no more On the empty hearth and the sheeling door Stands wide and dark, when the dawn-stars shine, And the grief of a lonely heart is thine ? Red Lover, Ohone ! Ohone ! Thy love is born of the silent fog And the burning birth of the day, Of the restless sea far, far away And the dark still pools of the reedy bog, The voiceless love in the eyes of a dog, This is thy love for me. When the cold grey mist comes out of the West And the wan stars fade in the sky, Tramping the dark hills thou and I, We gather the strayed sheep home to rest, A dew-drenched lamb in the warmth of my breast. Red Lover, Horo ! Horo ! Songs of the Grey Country 39 Far have we followed the path of the wind Over the purple heather, Over the hills together. Under the sun when skies are kind Into the storm when snow-clouds blind Red Lover, Horo ! Horo ! The love and the laughter have seen their day And the joys of my youth are o'er, Death stands in the dusk at the sheeling door Waving the dreams of youth away, Only thy love lives on for aye, Red Lover, Ohone ! Ohone ! Can I forget thee, Red Lover, of mine? Nay, to the distant shore Thy love will follow me ever more, Afar, afar, when the dawn stars shine And the grief of a lonely heart is thine, Red Lover, Ohone ! Ohone ! See Note page 63. 4o Songs of the Grey Country LEAN down, O Mother, to the glowing coal, The red flames light your dim eyes for a space, But they will light no more your darkened soul That yearns in vain for Michael's absent face. He will not come. Watch not the fast shut door With longing eyes. Oh, whisper not his name With eager lips, for Michael comes no more Home from the mountains as of old he came. Mother, the winter moon was newly born When Michael's life-blood stained the virgin snow. Wrapped in his plaid he fell and, e'er the morn, The hand of Death had stanched the crimson flow. Now wanes the moon and Michael comes no more. I dug his grave. Another herds his sheep. Songs of the Grey Country 41 Yet still you watch for him and, by the door, His old dog mourns with eyes that cannot weep. Ah ! Michael sleeps below the snow to-night Gaze not, O Mother, through the frozen pane. The morn will bring him not to thee. The white Still stars he loved will shine for him in vain. The clock ticks on. The dying embers fall. Lean down, O Mother, to the glowing bars. Michael will never hear you when you call, His love is hidden in the cold white stars. 42 Songs of the Grey Country THE OLD SHEPHERD BESIDE the grey stone dyke he stands so still- He seems a statue on the mountainside ; Hewn from the dark rocks scattered o'er the hill. Weary he bends above his staff. His wide Eyes roam the purple heath, the golden fern, The faded tree that whispers by the burn. The dead leaves rustle down like fallen tears, A wan light glimmers in the Western skies. Into the growing dusk the old man peers Visions of vanished ages in his eyes- Dreams of dead youth and words of love that died By yonder burn some distant eventide. Far in the vale his cottage window gleams, A wan star wakens where the twilight dies Amid the faded clouds. His gathered dreams Fall from the lonely sorrow of his eyes. Homeward he turns. The dead, sweet days he knew Still wand'ring by him through the starry dew. SONGS OF THE NORTH SEA 44 Songs of the Grey Country THE GRAVE BY THE SEA THERE is a grave where I have knelt in prayer In the North land upon the wild sea shore, Oft have I wept for those who slumber there, But now I know that I shall weep no more. For hearts are light beneath your Southern sky And little joys will swiftly banish pain, Yet, pray for me that once before I die I may stand weeping by that grave again That lonely grave where lies the hope of years, That silent grave beside the great North Sea. There are no blossoms in that place of sleep, Only the brown weed yielded by the tide, Only the tall green sand-bents vigil keep And wailing sea birds wheel their courses wide. Here, in your Southern garden roses glow, A thousand birds make music in the trees, Yet, ah, for one breath of the winds which blow Songs of the Grey Country 45 About that grave beside the great North Seas. That lonely grave where lies the hope of years, That silent grave beside the great North Sea. 46 Songs of the Grey Country A BROKEN BRANCH WIND on the sand and white, wind-driven foam, Blanching the black rocks in the wan dawn- light. And still the curling waves draw home, draw home That which the storm-wind gave them in the night A broken branch. Upon the wide wet sand it lay at noon, Torn from the pine-wood on the steep hillside, Stripped of its sweet green beauty, soon, too soon, Tossed on the gale and yielded to the tide A broken branch. Never again to rise ! Ah! broken bough- Cast by the fierce gale to the hungry main- Pride of the woodland once, and now, and now Bird-song and wind-song call to you in vain ! A broken branch. Songs of the Grey Country 47 Golden the young day when the storm-winds fell, Black, sodden drift-logs float upon the tide Commingling with the waves, they call, they call ' Little dark pinewood on the far hillside, Farewell, Farewell." 48 Songs of the Grey Country THE BELL AH ! cold grey sea that sweeps the lonely shore, And fills the hollows of the rocks with foam, What bells are those I hear amid the roar Of thy great voice ; as sailors, drawing home, Hear o'er the water from some steepled tower Sweet, distant bells ? In this wan twilit hour, No land bells ring. The storm has spent its wrath. Yet still thy grey waves thunder, and the swell Sweeps up and turns to that which sent it forth. Lo, as it turns, there tolls a mighty bell Amid the hollows of thy watery caves Where pale immortals dwell beneath the waves Kings of the sea below the blinding spray They weep the ships that steer for home no more ; And o'er the crested wave for ever sway The bells of ocean to the lonely shore- Tolling a knell across the flying foam For drowning men who dream in vain of home. See Note page 63. GREY STONES GREY STONES REAM-HAUNTED memories of an out- worn world, Dim tears that fall, unseen, in twilit hours And far, faint voices from the vanished years Of old, dead loves that wake at eventide. Such memories bravely builded still endure When shrines of youth are falling to decay, No hand can crush or seize them they remain Changeless through changing years as grey stones stand Deathless, in dying woods by waters old. Some souls there be that suffer instantly The agony of Life's chastising blow Upon their heart suffer with blinding tears, With hot remorse and anguish of regret Which, passing swiftly, leave no scar behind, No kinder tears to fall by lonely fires, No mellowed grief to haunt an old, sweet dream. Such spirits weep and soon forget their pain. Not so the Wanderer Grief seared his soul. No sudden pain was his, no swift return To lighter joy. He strayed across the World, Songs of the Grey Country 51 Seeking a balm to heal his heart too full Of woe to find relief in tears a balm To soothe his soul and bring forgetfulness Of all the dead life he would know no more. He came by long white roadways from the sea, Through purple mountains in the twilit hour, With weary feet, to his forgotten home The Silent Valley of the Borderland High on the hillside e'er the darkness fell He stood alone amid the fading world. Far, far below the Silent Valley lay Locked in the hills serene and sorrowful His old loved home, forgotten in glad years, Now grown most precious to his empty heart. ' There, surely, I shall find, at last," he cried, ' The balm I seek erstwhile in vain, in vain " Goodnight, dark hills, the Silent Valley calls " And I would follow through the growing gloom ' Because the mountains are too sad at night " For any restless soul to share their sleep. ' Deep in the Valley tears are shed, unseen, " And shadows fall Blest veil for weary eyes ' Which yearn, in vain, toward the troublous sky ' Where high above the clouds white stars are born ' To sing the songs that I have longed to learn 52 Songs of the Grey Country " World-gladdening music I can never hear " Save in a broken lilt too far away " For any star-born note to fill my soul " Or still the voice of memory that I dread. " Deep in the Valley by the silent loch " Come weary hearts to pray and there at last " I too shall rest upon the reedy shore, ' Pouring my pent-up sorrow in the ground, ' The ground that bore my boyhood's eager dream." So mused he stepping homeward through the gloom O'er rugged pathways down the mountainside. Fast-falling shadows drew him on apace, Southward the drifting mist arose and fell- Wraith like and joyless on the loch's green shore Where ripples brimming to the rushy strand Died with the dying wind amid the reeds. Sudden across the sky the full moon gleamed, The clouds rolled back. The Valley filled with light Lay radiant and Danae to the hills. With dim home-yearning eyes the Wanderer sought The dark bird-haunted woods he knew of old, The long green pathway through the dewy fern, 53 The old familiar landmarks on the road. ' How changed," he murmured, ' by the passing years, " Old trees cut down and young plantations grown ' To early beauty. Houses built anew " And old, loved homesteads fallen to decay. ' New fields are claimed from out the heather waste " And new built dykes about new sheepfolds stand. " Only the grey stones by the loch remain ' Unchanged, unchanging sentinels of Time ' The Watchers of the World, remembering all " And building memory to a structure fair, ' Not fleeing from it as I seek to flee, ' Nor seeking dumb forgetfulness and void " Far peace that knows no thought of pain. " Grey stones ! ' he cried, '" you hold the balm I seek, " Now are my wanderings ended, now I know 'Tis memory not oblivion I need. ' This balm I seek deep in my heart it dwells ' Where grievous memories to glorious dreams ' Would turn, could I but face them as these stones ' Have faced each memory for a thousand years " And woven visions by the waters old. 54 Songs of the Grey Country " Deep in the Silent Valley, far away " From all the outworn world where young dreams die, " They stand when Spring irradiates the Earth, " And watch each day pass by on shining wings. " The summer blossoms round them. They alone " Bloom not nor die. They have no tears to shed " When flowers fade and swallows fly away " And winter falls. Unchanging still they stand. " Are they too sad to weep, too old to smile ? " Or does death hold them ever in his grasp ? " Nay, dead men of times seem to breathe a sigh ' Through pallid lips These are too still for death. " Theirs is the quietude of memory, " The knowledge that all things on Earth are old, " That each new day which breaks across the world " Is but the counterpart of long-dead days " Born of dead centuries and dying time. " That every day men love and women bear ' With agony new men into the world " To work, to wonder and to pass away Songs of the Grey Country 55 " Leaving no trace behind, no thought, no word " Except a name to linger with a smile " On lips that smile at nought but memory. ' Perpetual memory, perpetual stones " Deep in the Silent Valley still they stand, " Keeping their watch where strong men come to pray " Above the green grave of some dead desire, " Or women, weeping, learn to smile again " And then, courageous, grasp at Life anew " Defiant of the sweeping scythe of Time ' Which, having broken, wounds no more the heart ' Whose great hours pass away to come no more " Save in the guise of deathless memory ' Which stands unchanging as th' unchanging stones " A monument beside a broken road, " Engraven ' I have touched the heights of bliss ' And heard the white stars sing I too have known " ' One great adventure in a little life '." Then came the Wanderer down the mountain- side 56 Songs of the Grey Country And paused where moon-winds o'er the water strayed He saw his broken dreams pass bravely by, Listened in vain for one beloved voice, One step that came no more across the grass. Then built a strange new dream within his heart Where sorrow dwelt admitted as a friend- Where joy and peace were reconciled at last To share their little sovereignty with pain. He dared to resurrect that memory W T hich he had feared and striven to forget. He found her not the sad-eyed ghost of old But radiant, fair, yet deathless as the stones Which stand for ever by the misty loch- Unmoved, unchanging, all consolidate Symbols of memory, of days that died Within his arms yet will not pass away From out his heart which holds them 'gainst the world His memory, his stone, his monument, His fragment of the songs the white stars sing, The great adventure of his little life. The moon rode high the dark rocks darker grew. Far, far away one friendly window glowed Calling him home to warmth of fire and friend, Songs of the Grey Country 57 To well-spread board and laughter of bright eyes. ' To-night," he cried, " I face my life anew ' With shining eyes and swift steps o'er the grass. " For I have realized my inmost soul " And I have grasped my own heart's deepest wound, " Oh, I have dared to look on memory " And, having dared, shall look and look again ' Till all that was will rise within my heart ' Dear, glad-eyed ghost ! Dear voice, ah dear, dear eyes ' That weep no more but ever watch with me ' Through passing years unchanging and unmoved " As these grey stones that watch the world grow old ' Yet still remember her first maidenhood. " Oh ! I could sleep to-night amid the hills ' No more, no more are they too sad for me. " Nay, I should hear each song the white stars sing " And join with them in perfect unison ' Till dawn-wind whispered to the breaking day. ' My crown of sorrow is my crown of life ' Drawn from the shadow to the light I pass ' Toward my home." 58 Songs of the Grey Country ONE LAST SONG. ONE last song when day is dying, One last tale by twilight told, See, the leaves are turning gold ! Down the glen the wind is sighing, Ah ! the year is growing old, Come away, the light is dying. Come, your footsteps on the heather, Crush the brackens where they lie, Heed no more the yearning cry, Wind and water blend together In your heart " Goodbye, goodbye ! ' Darkness hides the dying heather. Come away, the songs are ended, All the dreams we wove are flown, All the flowers we plucked are blown, Purple hills in grey mist blended Wait the Winter's icy gown. Come away, the dreams are ended. Who will gather o'er the heather Ragged robin, scented fern, Who will cross the foaming burn By stepping stones we laid together. When we dream with hearts that yearn Far away from hills and heather ? Songs of the Grey Country 59 Come away, the day is dying, Fades the last song with the gold Of the West. The tale is told, Down the glen the winds are sighing, See, the year is growing old, Close the book, the light is dying. 6o Songs of the Grey Country L'ENVOI T^AREWELL, farewell, J? All I faery dream of faery hour, Ah! dim Grey Land where faeries dwell Still in the heart of every flower, Still in the windy grasses swell. Though gathered sorrows dim the West And veils of dusk the hills enfold, Grey Land where dreams come home to rest Thy woof of tears is warped with gold. Farewell, Grey Land, farewell. NOTES. THE BROWNIE OF BODESBECK (p. n). In the days of his youth the Brownie was a handsome man well-known and famous in the Lowland Valleys. Claverhonse's men twisted and distorted him with rack and fire, but denied him the death he craved. He sought refuge in the hills that surround the Moffat Valley and hid in a cave whence he emerged under cover of darkness to render services to the farmers in return for food left on the doorstep. For a long while people feared him, taking him for one of the faery folk of the glens, and supposing him to possess evil powers. Slowly he won his way to their hearts till the children would come to his cave and listen to his stories, though they never lost their belief in his super- normal powers. Perhaps they were right. To-day he sleeps in the shadow of the dark hill which bears his name. This is the story as I have gathered it from the people of his own Valley. THE GARDEN OF THE DEAD (p. 14). De'il's Tub, or The Devil's Beef Tub, was surely designed by God as a stage setting for tragedy. The miniature valley lies black and sunless under the dark hills, where here and there grey boulders and stunted trees break the steep slopes. Here, by night, came the men of the Covenant, singing their psalms under the friendly stars. Effie, a farm lassie, made a tryst to meet there her lover, whom the Dundee's men were harrying through the glens ; but her secret was betrayed, and she kept her tryst only to see her man shot down before her eyes in De'il's Tub. In those lonely places the shadows of the men who gave their life for their faith have been very real to me. THE GALLOWS WOOD (p 28). The Gallows Wood at Moffat and the hill on which it stands take their name from the Gallows Tree which was once upon its summit. The tree was blown down in a great storm, and little now remains save the grim name and a shadowy tradition of one felon who climbed the hill to his death, and who now, some say, comes to stand by the gate in the darkness and tread the fatal path he trod long since. I have called him a felon, but I would do him justice. He was only a sheep-stealer probably a thief hanged by a rascal. GOLD OF THE KING'S HIGHWAY (p. 34). This is a very old legend which I had from my Highland nurse. King Cups or Marsh Marigolds turn to gold in the light of the young moon. " Many a beggar," she told me, " knows this and pulls the flowers. Then he is rich as the king himself all night. But in the morning the gold is gone." THE RED LOVER (p. 38), A sable collie has brown eyes that flash garnet-red in the light. His brown coat is red against the darker brown of the moors when he drives the sheep homeward at set of sun. It was for this reason that Red Lover came by his name and because of the love which he bore his master passing the love of any man. When the Shepherd died in the sheeling, the Red Lover did not tarry long before he went away to seek his master on those hills which are beyond our sight. THE BELLS (p. 48). The idea of the Bell should not be taken in any mystical sense. It is an actual fact. Others with whom I have spoken have heard the same sound of bells in the rolling of great waters as the waves draw back from the shore particularly at night when the Earth sounds are still. It seems as though the waves tolled a knell for the lives they had claimed. J. R. Crown 8vo. Cloth, gilt top. 3s. 6d. net; post free, 3s. lOd. SONGS OF THE DEAD END. A Volume of Poems by PATRICK MxcGiLL. Author of " Gleanings from a Navvy's Scrap Book," " Songs of a Navvy " and " Children of the Dead End." " When in the terse vernacular of his calling, he gives voice to the sorrows and impatience, the humour and the resignation, of his workmen com- rades, and lets his songs find their own natural bent, then at length he attains real lyrical strength and sincerity. Sunday Times. The traits of an ardent, fearless personality, expressed in words of fire. Daily Chronicle. The poems have a natural vigour that gives them an interest of their own as reflecting phases of working men's life that are often less knowingly celebrated by sentimental and sensational singers." Scotsman. It is a life which has been an Odyssey, the picturesque life a tone poet can weather through as Mr. MacGill has done." Book Monthly. OZLIT fc .. FUKTKSa TO EH KAJMTT TKK KBTO. WISDJOR. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 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