THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 THE 
 
 MEMY BRIDAL 0' FIRTHMAINS, 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 BT 
 
 JAMES SMITH. 
 
 EDINBURGH: 
 WILLIAM P. NIMMO. 
 
 1866.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The following efforts are, for the most part, children 
 of impulse — verses prompted by the immediate 
 influence of whatever feeling happened to predo- 
 minate at the -time, and having little or no preten- 
 sion to elaborate study, — that being rendered well- 
 nigh impossible by the exigencies of a life of inces- 
 sant toil, and by the anxieties that harass, more or 
 less, every man struggling for those dependent on 
 him. The author would not have the reader to infer 
 that he craves his indulgence on this ground, or that 
 he advances it as a plea for mollifying the impartial 
 verdict of criticism. He only mentions it as a fact 
 which it is but fair any one who peruses these 
 pages should know. 
 
 It may be stated that many of the pieces in- 
 
 870419
 
 IV PREFACE. 
 
 eluded in this volume have appeared from time to 
 time in several of the Edinburgh Journals — chiefly 
 in the Scotsman, — and have become popular not 
 only here but in America. 
 
 J. S. 
 
 Edinburgh, 3{ay 1866.
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 The edition of the poems, alluded to below, consisted 
 only of a few copies, and was set up and pulled at the 
 press during the author's spare hours. 
 
 " Since the palmy days of Scott and Byron, few poets have 
 had the glory of jesuing their earliest editions in quarto ; the 
 Poet-Laureate himself is content with small octavo. Yet the 
 book now before us is a quarto volume of two hundred and fifty 
 pages, and is privately printed. What wealthy and ambitious 
 versifier is this — it may be asked — who indulges in such imusual 
 luxury of large paper and print, regardless of expense ? No rich 
 or noble author at all — simply a working-man. Mr James Smith 
 is, in fact, a journeyman printer, and he has set up and printed 
 off his poems in his leisure haul's, as he had previously written 
 them. ' There is,' says Cowper, " a pleasure in poetic pains 
 which only poets know;' and only printers, we presume, can 
 experience the joy of setting up ' copy' of their own composi- 
 tion. Mr Smith ha.s thus both the poet's and the compositor's 
 pains and pleasures ; and he has the pride of print without the 
 peril of publication ; without, however, its public honours, and 
 to such honours he is, we are bound to say, well entitled. Pos- 
 eibly some enterprising publisher may be induced to look at one 
 of his quarto copies — glad to test a book in actual print, large 
 and clear, instead of a mass of crabbed manuscript — and, look- 
 ing, to approve ; and, approving, offer to reprint the volume in 
 more practicable shape. To do so would be, we are confident, 
 a much safer and better speculation than the issue of nineteen- 
 twentieths of the neat volumes of verse which we receive for 
 review. For our printer-poet is no mere versifier ; he has the 
 true fire and spirit of poetry in him ; it glows in his verses 
 
 a
 
 sometimes only too fiercely ; but excess of the faculty is a much 
 preferable fault to deficiency. Culture will correct exuberance ; 
 but no cultui-e will cause poesy to blossom on an utterly arid 
 and barren soil. Some .slight sins against good taste may be 
 forgiven to Mr Smith in consideration of the real merits and 
 good qualities — the vigorous thought, the fine fancies, the 
 delicate touches of feeling — that abound in his pages. He is 
 not much of a descriptive or contemplative poet ; his forte is 
 more in action and emotion. He feels keenly for the oppressed 
 and suffering, and his feelings find ready and appropriate utter- 
 ance in glowing and well-knit words. The patriot Poles, the 
 gallant Danes, the regenerated Italians, lie hails as brethren ; 
 and for all who suffer wrong and sorrow he is full of compas- 
 sionate sympathy — full, too, of indignation and contempt for the 
 wrong-doer and oppressor. His humorous are, we think, his 
 least happy efforts ; but even in them a rough vigour, manly 
 and self-asserting, reconciles one to a certain want of polish or 
 refinement. It is to pieces in which humour is open, predomin- 
 ant, and, so to speak, rampant, that our remark applies ; where 
 it is subordinate, as in ' Wee Joukydaidles,' he is often peculiarly 
 felicitous. This already very popular song originally appeared 
 only a few months ago in our columns, through which many of 
 Mr Smith's best productions, of the briefer kind, have seen the 
 light. Among these have been such sweet, mild, dreamy, tender, 
 and delicate imitations of the old ballad style, as ' The Lint- 
 white,' ' Burd Ailie,' &c., and also several pieces of more imme- 
 diately human interest and pathos, such as the very touching 
 verses, 'Thou'rt lyin' i' the lanelyyird,' &c. In all these purely 
 lyrical pieces, the music of the verse is excellent; the smooth, 
 yet varied, rhythm shows the true poetical ear ; the lines flow 
 melodiously, and prove themselves well fitted to be sung and ac- 
 companied. Indeed, Mr Smith's verses are often sought after 
 
 by two or three competing composers as soon as they appear. 
 * * * * * * *• 
 
 If Mr Smith is an honour to his craft by the diligent cultiva- 
 tion of his talent, he is not less so by his manliness and inde- 
 pendence of spirit. Speaking of his poetical efforts, he says : — 
 
 'They are, for the most part, children of impulse — verses 
 prompted by the immediate influence of whatever feeling 
 happened to predominate at the time, and having little or no 
 pretension to elaborate study, — that being rendered well-nigh 
 impossible by the exigencies of a life of incessant toil, and by 
 the anxieties that harass, more or less, every man struggling 
 for those dependent on him. The author would not have the 
 reader to infer that he craves his indulgence on this ground, or
 
 that he advances it as a plea for mollifjnng the impartial verdict 
 of criticism. He only mentions it as a fact which it is but lair 
 any one who peruses these pages should know.' 
 
 In the same spirit in which he speaks of his lines he speaks of 
 his life; he does not fall into the common heresy to the effect that 
 the possession of some amount, more or less, of the poetic faculty 
 exempts a man from the responsibilities of common life, or 
 entitles him to pine listlessly over its sorrows, or to whine in 
 mendicant mood over its privations. He accepts his lot with 
 manly fortitude, and cheers 'his j^ained steps over the burning 
 marie ' with song and story. Fain, he says, he would taste the 
 sweets of fortune — and who would not ? — but 
 
 ' Lord forefend I'd whinge and greet 
 Wbile health and strength are mine ! ' 
 
 Would that all bards had the same sentiments, and acted as well 
 up to them ! " — Scotsman, 21st January 1865. 
 
 " Mr James Smith, from whose privately printed volume we 
 extract two beautiful songs, is a journeyman printer in Edin- 
 burgh, well known to many who have been connected with the 
 metropolitan press. For beauty, delicacy, and depth of pathos, 
 some of his lyrical pieces are equal to anything that may be 
 found out of Burns. In imitation of the old ballads — such as 
 ' Burd Ailie ' — he is unequalled, and nothing can be finer than 
 the dreamy tenderness of his best productions. Mr Smith is 
 also gifted with a rich vein of humour, although in this depart- 
 ment he is occasionally apt to overstep the bounds of decorum. 
 One of the best of his humorous poems, printed in this volume, 
 is entitled 'The Merry Bridal of Firthmams.' Years ago we had 
 the pleasure of reading it in manuscript, and the rich humour of 
 several verses was irresistible. The poem is written in a difficult 
 kind of verse, but its intricacies are managed with gi-eat clever- 
 ness. We have little doubt that this volume will attain such 
 popularity, even by means of private circulation, that the modest 
 author will speedily have the good fortune to fall into the hands 
 of a sagacious and generous publisher. Men of Mr Smith's 
 stamp are not so numerous that one can be afforded to remain 
 much longer in obscurity." — Orkney Herald, ^Id January 1865.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 THE MERET BRIDAL O FIRTHMAINS, 
 •VreE JOUKTDAIDLES, 
 CLAP, CLAP, HANDIES, 
 BURD AILIE, 
 
 THOU 'rt ltin' i' the LANELT TIRD, 
 
 A LIFE-SCREED AT,RANDOM, 
 
 ODE TO A LITTLE CHILD, . 
 
 THO' SAFT an' GREEN THE HEAVY SOD, 
 
 THE LINTWHITE, . 
 
 BALOO, MY BAIRNIE, Fa' ASLEEP, 
 
 the ghaist l' the greyfriars' kirkyard, 
 
 totty's grave, 
 
 the wee pair o' shoon, . 
 
 •wearin' HAME, 
 
 LILLY LORN, 
 
 JEMMY SLANNIGAN's ODD, 
 
 ailsa's partin' word, 
 
 masonic anthem, 
 
 jemmy slannigan's appale to the finnian boys, 
 
 WHEN HEATHER BELLS ARE SAFTLY BLAWIN', 
 
 THE LAMENT o' ST GILES'S BELLS, 
 
 WHAT MAKS THIS HEART SAE WAE ? 
 
 ADLD HORNIE'S FLIGHT, . 
 
 THE RAVEN LIES BLEEDING, 
 
 ARCHIE AN' LIZZIE O' WUDDI3LEE, 
 
 PAGE 
 1 
 
 23 
 26 
 28 
 80 
 32 
 44 
 46 
 48 
 50 
 52 
 69 
 71 
 73 
 76 
 78 
 82 
 85 
 87 
 92 
 94 
 96 
 98 
 104 
 107
 
 VI 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 HELPLESS PHEMIE, 
 MY AULD TRUE LOVE, 
 MARY IN THE VALLEY, 
 ACHORA MACHREE, 
 
 I 'll sing, my love, of thee, 
 
 THE BOGLE o' THE EERIE LOANIN', 
 
 france, to the rhine ! . 
 
 the sunlight hair o' luie, 
 
 the heriot march, 
 
 awake ! ye gallant poles, awake ! 
 
 Rosalie's wraith, 
 
 the paip o' the presbytrie, 
 
 GRINDER grab-all's SOLILOQUY, . 
 AULD AGE IS NOO A CRIME, 
 
 FAIR Rosamond's bower, 
 
 WHAT AILS YE AT THE ORGAN, GRANNY, 
 I 'll sing my SANG WHATE'eR BETIDE, 
 
 Connor's vow, 
 
 A father's counsel, 
 
 THE BONNIE MORNIN' AFTER THE RAIN, 
 
 THE LASS O' MOREDUN, 
 
 ANNIE an' jean, . 
 
 THE LAST O' THE LAVE, 
 
 ELEANORA, 
 
 THE EIGHT o'cLOCK BELL, 
 
 DEAREST MAIDEN ! 
 
 THE FACTOR AND THE WIDOW, 
 
 THY ROSY CHEEKS ARE PAST COMPARE, 
 
 THREE FLOW'rETS BLOOM'd i' MY GARDEN 
 
 THE ROCK ON THE HILL, . 
 
 THE VOICE IN THE RUINS, . 
 
 A HAPPY NEW YEAR T'yE, PEGGY, 
 
 glenormiston, 
 'sixty-two — 'sixty-three, 
 
 BRIGHT ARE YOUNG LIFE's GOLDEN TREASURES,
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 VII 
 
 AROUND THE WINTER EIRE SO BRIGHT, 
 
 WHILE GLADNESS HAILS THE PARTING YEAR, 
 
 A BRIDAL ODE, .... 
 
 REST, SON OF TOIL, 
 
 THE soldier's PARDON, . 
 
 ODE TO AGNES, .... 
 
 STANZAS ON A PORTRAIT, . 
 
 THE BATTLE OF BULL RUN, 
 
 THE FLIGHT OF KING FRANCIS OF NAPLES, 
 
 SOBISKI'S BATTLE CRY, 
 
 HARK ! THE HORN OF ALBION SOUNDING ! 
 
 BRASILVERN, .... 
 
 ■21-2 
 •2U 
 •21t) 
 ■219 
 221 
 225 
 228 
 230 
 234 
 236 
 238 
 240 
 
 TRADE, AND OTHER PIECES. 
 
 THE PETITION OF A^ EDINBURGH PRINTER, 
 THE FEMALE PRINTER'S LAMENTATION, 
 THE TRAMP IN HIS GLORY, 
 BAREBONES' FIRST DAT IN THE DESK, 
 THE ROVERS OF DERRY, 
 THE STANE FEVER, 
 
 263 
 271 
 
 275 
 279 
 288 
 295
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 THE MERRY BRIDAL O' FIRTHMAINS.- 
 f first Jlocijt. 
 
 THE GATHERIN' O' THE FOLK AT THE BRIDAL. 
 
 Celestial rosy nymphs dmne, 
 Wha brichtly on Parnassus shine, 
 Descend, ye winsome Titties Nine, 
 
 Wi' a' yer thrillin' fire. 
 An' thou, wi' gowden lyre sac rare, 
 O' classic gods abune compare — 
 Apollo, king o' a' the quair, 
 
 My fervent muse inspire; 
 
 * The scene of this imaginary bridal is a barn on the farm- 
 steading of Firth, a beautiful estate adjoining Woodhouselee. 
 eight miles to the south of Edinburgh, and lying midway be- 
 tween the villages of lloslin and Pennicuik. 
 
 A
 
 2 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 While I, a rattlin' scant-o'-grace, 
 
 Rehearse in hamely rhyme, 
 Hoo twa o' Faither Adie's race 
 
 Gat buckl'd i' their prime. 
 Yer gift, then, fu' swift, then, 
 
 I humbly noo implore, 
 That lichtly an' sprichtly 
 
 My Pegasus may soar. 
 
 The wind blew snell, wi' blust'rin' micht, 
 Ae cauld an' bitter frosty nicht, 
 
 At back-end o' the year. 
 High owre the braes o' Wuddislee, 
 Shone radiant Luna's siller e'e — 
 
 The starnies shimmer'd clear. 
 On warlock knowe, an' fairy haugh. 
 
 Dark scenes o' gruesome story, 
 In divots lay the frozen snaw, 
 
 While high on ruins hoary, 
 Fu' lang aye, there rang aye 
 
 The houlet's eerie cry; 
 Sair wonderin', as thunderin', 
 
 The Esk ran roarin' by. 
 
 Hie to the barn o' auld Firthmains, 
 Whaur claverin' wives, an' yelpin' weans. 
 
 Hae rais'd an unco splore ; — 
 Whaur swankin' birkies, daft wi' glee, 
 An' hizzies braw — a sicht to see — 
 
 Hae met in mony a score;
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 To wish the bride an' bridegroom weel, 
 
 An' pree the waddin' cheer; 
 An' sing a sang, an' dance a reel 
 
 Wi' neibours far an' near. 
 Wi' yatterin', an' clatterin', 
 
 They made an unco din, 
 As wearily, yet cheerily, 
 
 The folk cam' drappin' in. 
 
 Lang Geordie Broun frae Cellardyke, 
 Auld Sandy Messer frae the Pike, 
 
 Wee Jock frae Craigentinny ; 
 Tam Johnston frae St Leonard's Hill, 
 Fat Lowrie frae Dalswinton Mill, 
 
 An*" Stein frae Auchendiuny ; 
 An' snacky Rab, an' pawky Hab, 
 
 An' slaverin' Jamie Gow; 
 An' fechtin' Pate, sae ill to bate. 
 
 An' couthy Sandy Low; 
 An' Swanston, an' Cranstoun, 
 
 An' dumpy Jock DalyeU ; 
 An' Hesselrig, frae Restlerigg, 
 
 Whase tongue gied like a bell; — 
 
 Will Dobson, yin o' the queerest deils. 
 Cam a' the gate frae Galashiels, 
 Wi' Stenton, king o' Hawick chiels, 
 
 An' Maggy Jack frae Leith; 
 Blithe Bauldy Gooch, an' Adam Gray, 
 Frae Gowklymoss an' Harper's Brae ; 
 
 o 
 O
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Droll Danny Sharp, Miss Nanny Kae, 
 
 Auld Hornie frae Inclikeitli ; 
 Blithe Davie Bertram, Huie Dod, 
 
 Pate Hay, Jock Bell, sae canty; 
 Bricht Watty Kirkwood, Tammy Tod, 
 
 Wi' girnin' Meg, Ms aunty ; 
 Pate Fenwick, Kate Een"wick, 
 
 An' glowerin' Archie Swan; 
 Moll Liddle, Poll Riddle, 
 
 An' claverin' Jess M'Cann. 
 
 Noo faster in frae Reekie's toun, 
 Come thrangin' mony a canty loon ; 
 The foremost three held ilk the croon 
 
 O' story-tellin' craft : 
 Auld Saunders Smith an' Watty Dunn, 
 Droll sires o' mony a matchless pun, 
 Wi' Archy Ritchie, prince o' fun, 
 
 Whase whuppers set them daft. 
 Grim Peeryweery o' the Bog, 
 
 Fat Pate, o' portly presence; 
 Black Joe, wee Benjie, stechin' rogue, 
 
 Will Maxwell frae the Pleasance; 
 An' Tarn Craik, a deil's rake 
 
 For poachin' hares an' muirfowl ; 
 Wi' Rabbie Scott, an' Babbie Stott, 
 
 An' buirdly Archy Fairfowl ; — 
 
 Will Forbes, lord o' Danderhaugh, 
 Charley Makscreich frae Wubbleshaw,
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Hallickit Meg frae Fisherraw, 
 
 An' shauchlin' Cockle Bess; 
 Caulcl-parritch Gibbie frae Inchmaclian, 
 Whase jokes set a' the folk a-lauchin', 
 Pate o' the Stabs, fair Nanny Strachan, 
 
 Shaw Downs frae auld Bo'ness; 
 Wee Tinderbox frae Gorgie Mains, 
 
 As proud's a parish priest 
 Wi' Mawsey an' her fourteen weans, 
 
 Whase skirlin' never ceast; 
 Jock Panton frae Granton, 
 
 Bob Hutcheon frae Kirkcaddy; 
 
 Carroty Jean frae Aberdeen, 
 
 An' rickety Davie Waddie ; — 
 f 
 
 Frae Glasco' toun, beyond compare 
 For kindly chields, an' lassies fair, 
 Cam' Sawny Bayne, an' Jock Adair, 
 
 Wi' Bell, his wife, forbye; 
 Dougal M'Turk frae Inverness — 
 A blade that fish'd, wi' great success, 
 For kippert baddies in Loch Ness — 
 
 M'Star frae Isle o' Skyc; 
 Syne Johnie Babbie, canty wicht, 
 
 Cam' linkin' wi' his spouse, 
 Wi' droll M' Dander, unco bricht, 
 
 Frae fragrant Cairnytows; 
 Frae Libberton cam' Smibbcrton, 
 
 Wi' sonsy Nancy Dawson; 
 Frae Pennicuik cam' Jenny Cook, 
 
 Wi' gabblin' Johnie Lawson; —
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Meg Hutchison, a sweet giiidwife, 
 Frae Spittalmill, owerby in Fife, 
 Wi' rattlin' Jamie, fu' o' life, 
 
 An' winsome Lucy Shaw; 
 Young Mysie Tod, an' Tibbie Black, 
 Fair Nelly Swan, an' Kirsty Jack, 
 Wi' sneevlin' Shusy, Bell M'CIack, 
 
 An' slaverin' Miss M'Craw; 
 Daft Kate Cargill frae Cocklebrose, 
 
 Wha scrimpit Geordie's bickar; 
 Sour Polly wi' the Roman nose, 
 
 An' glowerin' Jean M'Vicar; 
 An' chatty auld Mattie, 
 
 The wife o' Geordie More; 
 Wi' Lizzies, an' Grizzles, 
 
 An' hizzies by the score. 
 
 Syne in, wi' honest, manly pride, 
 
 The bridegroom cam' wi' sturdy stride; 
 
 Nae chield in a' the kintra-side 
 
 Mair lookit like his crowdie : 
 Frae Land's End, on to Wuddislee 
 (A denty spang, 'tween you an' me,) 
 A brawer blade ye wadna see 
 
 Than strappin' Geordie Gowdie. 
 Nae dwarf was he — nae skrauky loon. 
 
 Nor shilpit sma' abortion. 
 But sax feet three without his shoon, 
 
 An' buirdly in proportion 
 Was Geordie : mv wordie.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 His match was hard to fin' ; 
 For callant mair gallant 
 Ne'er cam' o' Scottish kin. 
 
 [His minnie, in her hafflin days, 
 Had met his faither's ardent gaze, 
 When at the burnie strampin' claes, 
 
 Wi' coaties toshly kiltit : 
 Tarn Gowdie, struck by Cupid's dart, 
 Dumfoundert, reel'd beneath the smart, 
 The stound gied duntin' thro' his heart. 
 
 An' unco sair he felt it. 
 Her image fann'd the ragin' flame, 
 
 She look'd sae plump an' rosy, 
 Till daft he took the lassie hame 
 
 To cuddle in his bosie : 
 Weel tether'd, weel gether'd. 
 
 They 'gree'd like yowe an' lamb, 
 Wi' meal- cogs an' kail-cogs 
 
 For stumpies when they cam'. 
 
 Nine months flew by, wi' blessin's rife, 
 When Death, aye greedy for a life. 
 Struck doun his bonnic winsome wife, 
 
 The nicht her wean was born. 
 For lang the chield did nocht but rave, 
 An' greet for days at Nelly's grave. 
 Till, borne at last owre sorrow's wave. 
 
 He sang yince mair at morn; 
 An' liv'd to see, wi' muckle care,
 
 8 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 A son that giecl him jjride; 
 Wha laid him doun, wi' fervent praj'er, 
 
 At last by Nelly's side; — 
 Wha wrocht sair, an' focht sair, 
 
 For a' the mercies sent him; 
 Aye merry — aye cheery, 
 
 An' lik'd by a' that kent him.] 
 
 His coat an' breeks, o' stylish pattern, 
 Were made by modern Greeks — (nae fiat- 
 
 terin' !)— 
 His waiskit flam'd like fiery Saturn, 
 
 Or Cairnytows canary; 
 Around his neck a denty tie 
 O' flashy sky-blue-scarlet dye. 
 That frichtit baith the horse an' kye, 
 
 An' turn'd them clean camstairy. 
 His breist was deck'd wi' favours nine, 
 
 Steek'd by the bride's ain hand; 
 His slioon were brush'd to mak' them shine, 
 
 An' 'od he lookit grand. 
 Advancin', his glancin' 
 
 Blue e'e shone like a starn. 
 As tichtly, an' sprichtly 
 
 He stappit yont the barn. 
 
 Licht on his arm cam' Teeny Lang, 
 Best maid; syne canty Watty Strang, 
 Best man, led in the Bride — my sang,
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 But she was "worth the seein' ! 
 A bonnier jo than Jenny Gray, 
 Ye wadna seen for mony a day, 
 Wi' a' her falderals sae gay, 
 
 An' rory ribbons fleein'. 
 Her locks were o' the glossiest jet, 
 
 Her glances were devourin' ; 
 Her rosy cheeks were burnin' het, 
 
 For ilka chield was glowerin' ; 
 Ne'er tirin' admirin', 
 
 Wi' sair beglaumert een, 
 Aniiaz'd aye, they gaz'd aye, 
 
 She look'd sae like a qneen. 
 
 f 
 Syne joggit canny i' the rear, 
 
 Her faither an' her mither dear; 
 
 A well-kent cocky, far an' near. 
 
 Was Bauldy Gray the miller : 
 A better carl, I '11 tak' my aith. 
 Than honest Bauldy, ne'er drew breath ; 
 He 'd thriven in auld Da'keith, for feth 
 
 He 'd sav'd a pickle siller. 
 But Peggy seem'd in dowie case, 
 
 At sic a merry meetin' ; 
 For aye she keek'd in Jenny's face. 
 
 An' aye she fell a-grcetin' ! 
 Hk wae look — ilk blae look 
 
 Micht meltit heart o' aim : 
 Nae wonder ; what stunn'd her, 
 
 She was an only bairn !
 
 10 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Last cam', Avi' stately, reverend air, 
 That sonsy shepherd, Duncan Blair, 
 ^\^lase heart for jjoortith's lot sae sair. 
 
 Held aye a canny place ; — 
 Wha thocht nae sin to crack a joke, 
 An' sing a sang like ither folk : 
 Weel was he lo'ed by a' his flock — 
 
 Fair fa' his guid auld face ! 
 Nae wily carle was he to smear 
 
 The rich wi' praise on Sunday; 
 Syne ca' the puir his brethren dear, 
 
 But jink them on the Monday ! 
 Ah blamefu' — ah shamefu', 
 
 Yon vile discrimination. 
 That breeds aye the taid's e'e 
 
 In mony a congregation ! 
 
 In sooth it was a cheery sicht 
 
 To see on sic a wintry nicht, — 
 
 Ilk form sae braw, ilk e'e sae bricht, 
 
 While blithe wagg'd ilka tongue. 
 Regardless o' the bitter blast 
 That roar'd, an' howl'd, an' whistl'd past; 
 While frae the rafters, hard an' fast, 
 
 The icy tangles hung. 
 Aroun' the wa's, sae cauld an' bare. 
 
 Dark evergreens were twinin' ; 
 An' frae the cruisies, here an' there, 
 
 A bleeze o' licht was shinin', — 
 Noo sparklin' — noo darklin'. 
 
 As whyles in wrathfu' scorn
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 1 1 
 
 Rampagin' — wild ragin', 
 
 Bauld Boreas blew liis liorn ! 
 
 Haith, neibour birkies, I did ettle 
 To try my beastie's farther mettle ; 
 But od be 's unco dour to settle, 
 
 An' dizzy i' the croon : 
 His wame it's toom — his speerit's sunk — 
 He 's taen the gee — I 'm clean begunk — 
 Haud still, ye deevil ; dinna funk ! 
 
 But set me canny doon. 
 An' when a cosy nap I 've ta'en, 
 
 An' a' thy wrangs made richt, 
 Wi' joy I '11 seize thy bridal-rein, 
 
 An' tak' my Second Flycht, 
 Fu' cantily — fu' jantily, 
 
 In spite o' wind an' weather, 
 Richt merrily — richt cheerily. 
 
 We'll soar on liicrh thearither. 
 
 O O 
 
 Scronti J^Iudjt. 
 
 THE FAMOUS BRIDAL. 
 
 Gee hup ! my spunky beast, yince mair, 
 While I in rattlin' rhyme declare 
 Hoo Geordie an' his bride sae fair,
 
 12 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 In a' their youthfu' pride, 
 Receiv'd a peppery exhortation, 
 That inaist brocht on the palpitation ; 
 Till, joinin' hands, wi' sweet sensation. 
 
 The bridal-knot was tied. 
 Syne owre the rosy nuptial bands, 
 
 Auld Mess John gied his blessin' ; 
 Then sic a grip o' horny hands, 
 
 An' sic an unco kissin' ! 
 Sic rivin' ! sic drivin' 
 
 Around her, fore an' aft ! 
 Sic huggin' ! sic ruggin' 
 
 Frae beardies rough an' saft ! 
 
 Then helter-skelter flew ilk wicht, 
 
 Wi' lassie by his side fu' bricht. 
 
 To rest their banes whaur best they micht, 
 
 On stules an' hard fir dales; 
 An' some gat heezy chairs — nae boon, 
 For fient the haet o' them were soun' — 
 While ithers clank'd their hurdles doun 
 
 On whomilt tubs an' pails. 
 Then sune on tables broad an' lang, 
 
 Braw dishes rich an' rare 
 Were thrang set doun; an' by my sang, 
 
 Sic fumes gied through the air ! — 
 Sic flavour — sic savour. 
 
 Whene'er the nose did scent it. 
 Teeth chatter'd — mouths water'd, 
 
 An' five auld grannies fentit !
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. If 
 
 A haggis prime to cheer their hearts, 
 Beef, mutton, dumplins, pies, an tarts, 
 
 Wi' mony a tasty fry; 
 Jouks, bubblyjocks, an' grumphies roastit. 
 Prime tattie-puddins brawly toastit, 
 
 Hotch-potch, an' flukes forbye ; 
 Pea-soup, tripe, partans, nowt-feet jeel, 
 
 Stew'd rabbits, cockyleekie, 
 Wi' rizzart baddies butter'd weel, 
 
 To spout in ilka cheek aye ; 
 Boilt buckies, roast chuckies, 
 
 In dizzens frae the cavie; 
 
 A' steamin', an' swiminin' 
 
 In seas o' glorious gravy ! 
 r 
 
 Wi' greedy e'e no ill to trace, 
 
 Ilk chield put on his Sunday's face, 
 
 As Johnie Babbie said the grace, 
 
 Nae denty mile in length; 
 Then swift as lichtnin's rapid flash. 
 The plates, an' knives, an' forks play'd clash. 
 As auld an' young, wi' hearty dash, 
 
 Begoud to try their strength. 
 An' weel, I trow, they did their best 
 
 To honour Geordie's bridal ; 
 For twa lang hours, without a rest, 
 
 My sang they werena idle. 
 Sic munchin' — sic runchin' — 
 
 Sic slaver, an' sic chatter : 
 Sic stechin' — sic pechin' — 
 
 Sic claver, an' sic clatter. 
 
 o
 
 14 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Loud cries some gormandizin' cliiel, 
 " Come, wha 's for mutton, beef, or veal- 
 Cod, sheep-heid kail, or guid coo-heel ? 
 
 Hand owre yer plate, my dawtie ! 
 I ken for a' yer dooncast e'e, 
 Ye like yer meat as weel as me ! 
 Here 's pigeon-pie ye weel miclit pree : 
 
 It 's famous wi' a tattle ! " 
 The lassie 's in a bashfu' plicht, 
 
 Tho' a' her teeth they water ; 
 She fain wad gie the pie a fricht, 
 
 But aye they 're lookin' at her ! 
 While fearless, tho' cheerless. 
 
 Keen hunger speaks its mind ; 
 She simpers, an' whimpers, 
 
 " I 'm no the least inclined." 
 
 Here, foremost at the festive board, 
 The Bridegroom sits like ony lord, 
 Wi' kindly, blithe, an' cheery word 
 
 For a' on ilka side; 
 While there, in a' her maiden grace, 
 Braw busk'd in muslin, silk, an' lace, 
 Wi' blushes on her sonsy face, 
 
 Appears his bonnie Bride. 
 The best man carves, wi' mirthfa' glee, 
 
 A denty roastit chuckle, 
 Syne keekin' pawky in her e'e, 
 
 Says, " Hae, my darhn' duckie ! 
 Eat hearty ! my certy.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 1 5 
 
 If no, yersel 's to blame : 
 Ye 've guid riclit, this guid niclit, 
 To mak' yersel' at hame ! " 
 
 \Vi' shy, reserv'd, an' dowie air, 
 A comely lassie 's sittin' there — 
 Puir Phemie Bell, sae young an' fair, 
 
 Aye thinkin' on' her dearie, 
 A sailor chield, far owre the sea; 
 An' tears are getherin' in her e'e, 
 As thocht says, " Whaur '11 Jamie be, 
 
 An' a' aroun' sae cheery !" 
 Her heart's owre fu' — she canna speak — 
 
 A smi^e she fain maun borrow : 
 She dichts the traitor frae her cheek, 
 
 Syne lauchs to hide her sorrow ! 
 Ah vainly ! for plainly 
 
 The tears aye tricklin' fa'. 
 As heart fills, when heart thrills 
 
 For him that 's far awa ! 
 
 But hence wi' dule this waddin' nicht : 
 While a' the lave are blithe an' bricht, 
 Clear afi" the board wi' a' yer micht : 
 
 Fye haste ye, young an' auld ! 
 Bring yont wi' pith ilk cog an' cappie ; 
 The whisky bring, an' yill sae nappy ; 
 An' let us hae a rousin' drappie, 
 
 To keep awa the cauld.
 
 16 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 The yow-milk kebbucks bring, \vi' cakes, 
 
 An' scones o' barley-meal ; 
 An' mind the cookies, snaps, an' bakes. 
 
 That young folk like sae weel. 
 Time 's fleein' — nicht 's deein' — 
 
 Bang up, ye claverin' wives ! 
 An' speed ye, an' redd ye. 
 
 For yae nicht i' yer lives ! 
 
 Fu' sune the hamely cheer 's brocht in, 
 The rafters ring wi' roarin' din. 
 When Watty coughs, an' rubs his chin, 
 
 Syne yellochs far an' wide : — 
 " Rise, cockybendies ! gabblin' luckies ! 
 Rise, swankies gay, wi' a' yer duckies ! 
 For here 's a toast, ye canty buckles — 
 
 The Bridegroom an'' the Bride ! 
 Here 's may they lang be hale an' weel — 
 
 Ne'er fash'd wi' corny pains ; 
 God send them rowth o' milk an' meal, 
 
 Braw luck an' sonsy weans ! 
 Noo join me — for min' me, 
 
 Blythe honours they maun hae : 
 Yince, twice, then ; an' thrice, then — 
 
 Hip, hip, hip, hip, hooray!" 
 
 The cheer gangs rendin' through the cluds, 
 An' minglin' wi' the norland thuds. 
 Re-echoes through the dreary wuds :
 
 POEMS AND SOXGS. 17 
 
 The cannons loudly fire : 
 Contagion spreads wi' ilka brout — 
 The Bull rins wild amang the nowte, 
 An funkiu' daft wi' merry rout, 
 
 Looks wistfu' at the byre. 
 The Crummie bellochs back, an' fain 
 
 Wad break her tether Strang; 
 Auld Bassy hears the deaf nin' strain, 
 
 An' uichers loud an' lang. 
 Brave Collie, richt jolly. 
 
 Keeps barkin' like the deil; 
 While sumphy dour gTumphy 
 
 Gies aye the ither squeel ! 
 
 The bagpipes blaw a loud amen — 
 The pibroch sounds owre hiU an' plain ; 
 "While Joy, wi' Gladness in her train, 
 
 Daurs Grief to gie a whine : — 
 " Hence, gloomy sister, frae my sicht ! 
 There 's nae place for ye here the nicht : 
 Gae wa', gae wa', ye dowie fricht — 
 
 This nicht o' nichts is mine ! 
 Avaunt ilk thocht that brings a tear, 
 
 An' pits my sway in danger ; 
 Be blithe, ye mortals, while I 'm here — 
 
 Think muckle o' a stranger ! " 
 Sweet smilin' — beguUin', 
 
 She waves her wand around, 
 Victorious — uproarious 
 
 Her silver horns resound ! 
 
 B 
 
 7
 
 18 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Noo fain the sangsters try their skill 
 At " Tarry Woo," an' " Muirland Will," 
 The sonsy " Lass o' Patio's Mill," 
 
 "Lord Gregory," " Gee wo, Neddy;" 
 " The Gaberlunzie," " Johnie Fa'," 
 " Nid Noddin," " Up an' war'd them a'," 
 " Whase at the Wundie — wha, wha," 
 
 " The Deuks dang owre my Deddy ;" 
 Young Annie chants, wi' nameless grace, 
 
 " The Waukin' o' the Fauld;" 
 An' Watty gies a bonnie bass. 
 
 If 'twerena for the cauld : 
 His yowlin' — his howlin' 
 
 Gar folk rin to the door ; 
 Nae wonder, sic thunder 
 
 Was never heard before ! 
 
 Noo " Bess the Gawky," " Bonnie May," 
 
 " Jenny Nettles," " Jeanie Gray," 
 
 " Corn Eigs," an' " Clean Pease Strae," 
 
 Wi' joy cheer up the folk : 
 An' faster birr, wi' heartsome life, 
 " Maggie Lauder," " Ptoy's Wife," 
 ''Logan Braes," " East Neuk o' Fife," 
 
 " Hie, Jenny, come doun to Jock;" 
 " Tibbie Fowler o' the Glen," 
 
 " Aye waukin' O," 
 " Blythe was she but an' ben," 
 
 " John Anderson my jo;" 
 Syne " Robin Gray," sae sad an' wae.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 19 
 
 Maks dadness fauld lier wincr; 
 ^YlliIe " Shirramuir," an' " Glasco' Fair," 
 Gar a' the biggin' ring. 
 
 Wee Benjie, stridelius owre a keg, 
 
 Struck up "The Hen wi' the Happity Leg," 
 
 While blithely lilted gaucy Meg, 
 
 " Come rise an' let me in, jo ; " 
 Tarn Cockiebendie, fu' o' glee. 
 Sat aff " The Piper o' Dundee," 
 Fat Pate begoud, -wi' reelin' e'e, 
 
 " The Laird o' Tullyben, jo ; " 
 Across the chair he cuist his legs, 
 
 To gie ^he auld mare's gallop : 
 The chair cam' tumblin' doun', an' fegs 
 
 He heels-owre-heid play'd wallop 
 On Grizzle, sour hizzie, 
 
 Wha skreech'd wi' pain an' passion ; 
 An' yeUoch'd, an' belloch'd. 
 
 Like roarin' Bull o' Bashan ! 
 
 Noo loudly swell'd, wi' cheery soun', 
 " Ye banks an' braes o' bonnie Doon," 
 When Watty, daiz'd, said, lookin' roun', 
 
 " We're a' as fou as puggies ! " 
 Syne Jamie Gould, an Embro' chiel', 
 Grew fidgin' fain at ilka heel — 
 " Up wi' a dance ! — a reel ! — a reel ! 
 
 A reel, yc ruggj'-duggies !"
 
 20 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Pate Bayley, king o' a' liis craft, 
 
 Begoud to draw the bow ; 
 An' sune the couples, loupin' daft, 
 
 Were aff like bleezin' tow. 
 They linkit— they blinkit, 
 
 Richt am'rously an' lang : 
 They ruggit — they tuggit, 
 
 They jumjjit, an' they flang. 
 
 Up sprang the Bridegroom to his feet — 
 " Come set to me, my ducky sweet!" 
 An' Jenny, in a glow o' heat, 
 
 Gied through the reel wi' Geordie : 
 He bobbit up, he bobbit doun — 
 He pranc'd like ony braw dragoon — 
 He whirl'd the lassie roun' an' roun', 
 
 Like ony duke-ma-lordie : 
 Ned kiss'd a gawky on the cheek, 
 
 Wha nipp'd like ony labster ; 
 Syne Patie gart his fiddle squeak, 
 
 " The deil's dang owre Jock ^yabster 
 Sic stampin' — sic rampiu" — 
 
 Sic friskin' on the floor — 
 Sic shufHin' — sic scufflin', 
 
 Was never seen before ! 
 
 " Come, kilt yer coats, my wallygowdie ! 
 My honey-doo! my auld howtowdie!" 
 Cried Rory to a canker'd howdie,
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 21 
 
 A wife micht been his mitlier. 
 He whisk'd the carline frae her chair. 
 An' gript her rouii' the waist sae spare : 
 She skreech'd, an' tore at Rory's hair, 
 
 Till owre they row'd thegither. 
 Her bounie mutch she thocht sae trig, 
 
 To spite baith auld an' young, 
 Flew aff in comp'ny wi' a vng — 
 
 [Whisht, Jamie ! hand yer tongue .'] 
 1 )istrackit — heart-wrackit — 
 
 Wi' rage an' shame dementit, 
 She stniggl'd, an' guggl'd, 
 
 Syne gied a groan, an' fentit ! 
 
 Swift fie^' the time wi' jig, stratlispey, 
 And foursome reel, till break o' day : 
 The frosty moruin', cauld an' gray, 
 
 Proclaim'd they noo maun sunder: 
 Fain, yin an' a', wi' sic a booze, 
 To lay them doun, an' tak' a snooze, 
 We' een like collops, thrabbin' broos, 
 
 An' sair heids by the huiider. 
 Yince mair the drap they a' did pree, 
 
 Wi' wauchts o' cauler Crawley ; 
 Sync Patie windit up tiie spree 
 
 Wi' Babbity Bowster Brawley. 
 Tlion joinin', an' twinin' 
 
 Ilk hand in bonds divine, 
 Enchantit, they rantit 
 
 " The iJays o' Auld Lang Sync !"
 
 !Z2 POEMS AND SOXGS. 
 
 The ijartin' sang was at its biclit, 
 When Jenny slippit oot o' sicht; 
 )Syne Geordie aff wi' a' his micht 
 
 Owerby, an' sneck'd the door. 
 The callants flew through thick an' thin, 
 Aji' yell'd an' mell'd wi' lounderin' din: 
 But fient-the-haet could they get in, 
 
 For a' their deavin' roar. 
 Fu' snug they left the twa alane 
 
 To hae a pleasant nappy ; 
 8ae noo they 're bound in wedlock's chain, 
 
 Contentit, proud, an' happy. 
 They 're weddit — they 're beddit — 
 
 The warld may sink or swim : 
 1 )eil miss them — God bless them 
 
 Wi' mony a rosy dream !
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 2 '5 
 
 _>> 
 
 WEE JOrivYDAIDLES.* 
 
 Wee Joukydaidles, 
 
 Toddlin' out an' in : 
 Oh but she 's a cuttie, 
 
 ^lakin' sic a din ! 
 Aye sae fou' o' mischief, 
 
 An' minds na what I say : 
 My very heart gangs lowp, lowp, 
 
 Fifty times a-day ! 
 
 Wee Joukydaidles — 
 
 Where 's the stumpie noo ? 
 She 's tumlin' i' the cruivie, 
 
 An' lauchiu' to tlie soo ! 
 Noo she sees my angry e'e, 
 
 An' aff she 's like a hare ! 
 Lassie, when I get ye, 
 
 I 'U scud ye till I 'm sair ! 
 
 Wee Joukydaidles — 
 
 Noo she 's breakin' dishes — 
 Noo she 's soakit i' the burn, 
 
 Catchin' little fishes — 
 
 * Music by R. S. Riddell.
 
 24 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Noo she 's i' the barn-yard, 
 Playin' wi' the fouls ; 
 
 Feedin' them wi' butter-bakes, 
 Snaps, an' sugar-bools. 
 
 Wee Joukydaidles — 
 
 Oh my heart it 's broke ! 
 She 's torn my braw new wincey, 
 
 To mak' a dolly's frock — 
 There 's the goblet owre the fire ! 
 
 The jaud ! she weel may rin ! 
 No a tattie ready yet, 
 
 An' faith er comin' in ! 
 
 Wee Joukydaidles — 
 
 Wha 's sae tried as me ! 
 See ! the kettle 's doun at last ! 
 
 Waes me for my tea ! 
 Oh its angersome, atweel, 
 
 An' sune 11 mak' me gray : 
 My very heart gangs lowp, lowp, 
 
 Fifty times a-day ! 
 
 Wee Joukydaidles — 
 
 Where 's the smoukie noo ? 
 She 's hidin' i' the coal-hole, 
 
 Cryin' " Keekybo ! " — 
 Noo she's at the fireside, 
 
 Pu'in' pussy's tail —
 
 POEMS A^B SONGS. 25 
 
 Noo she 's at tlie broun bowl, 
 Suppiii' a' the kail ! 
 
 Wee Joukyclaidles, 
 
 Paidlin' i' the shower — 
 There she 's at the wundy ! 
 
 Haud her, or she 's owre ! 
 Noo she 's slippit frae my sicht : 
 
 Where 's the wean at last 1 
 In the byre amang the kye, 
 
 Sleepin' soun' an' fast ! 
 
 Wee Joukydaidles — 
 
 For a' ye gie me pain, 
 Ye 're aye my darlin' tottie yet — 
 
 My aiu wee wean ! 
 An' gin I 'm spared to ither days — 
 
 Oh may they come to pass ! — 
 I '11 see my bonnie bairnie 
 
 A braw, braw lass !
 
 26 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 CLAP, CLAP, HANDIES.* 
 
 Clap, clap, handles ! 
 
 Clap hands again : 
 Mammy's sonsy tot-tot, 
 
 Mammy's bonnie wean ! 
 I '11 buy ye a fishie, 
 In a little dishie : 
 Clap, clap, handles, 
 
 ]\Iy wee wean ! 
 
 Clap, clap, handles ! 
 
 Deddy 's comin' ben, 
 Wi' siller bells, an' coral shells. 
 
 Three score an' ten ; 
 A' to gie his laddie — 
 His bonnie wee bit laddie — 
 Clap, clap, handles, 
 
 Deddy 's comin' ben ! 
 
 Clap, clap, handles ! 
 
 Craw, cocky, craw, 
 Blithely to my wee bird, 
 
 Cockyleerielaw ! 
 
 * Music by F. W. Bridgman.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 27 
 
 Craw awa sae cheery 
 To mammy's bomiie dearie — 
 Clap, clap, handles ! 
 Cockyleerielaw ! 
 
 Clap, clap, handles, 
 
 My muckle man : 
 I '11 buy ye a coachy 
 
 To ride thro' a' the Ian' ! 
 Wi' a mappic, an' a puggie, 
 An' a bonnie barkin' dimaie : 
 Clap, clap, handles, 
 
 My muckle man! 
 
 Clap, clap, handles ! 
 
 Kissy mammy noo ! 
 Eh ! where 's my sugar-ploom ! 
 
 Eh ! where 's my doo ! 
 Cuddle in, my troutie — 
 Mammy's tootie-lootie ! 
 Clap, clajj, handles ! 
 
 Kissy mammy noo ! 
 
 Clap, clap, bandies ! 
 
 Lammie dear to me ! 
 May ye never grieve my heart, 
 
 Or dim yer deddy's c' e ! 
 Lauch awa, my petty — 
 Mammy's pretty-pretty — 
 Clap, clap, handles ! 
 
 Lammie dear to nie !
 
 28 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 BUED AILIE.* 
 
 BuRD AiLiE sat doun by tlie wimplin' burn, 
 
 Wi' the red, red rose in her hair; 
 A.n' bricht was the glance o' her bonnie black e'e. 
 
 As her heart throbb'd fast an' sair. 
 An' aye as she look'd on ilk c^ear wee wave, 
 
 She murmur'd her true luve's name. 
 An' sigh'd when she thocht on the distant sea. 
 
 An' the ship sae far frae hame ! 
 
 The robin flew hie owre the gowden broom, 
 
 An' he warbl'd fu' cheerilie. 
 " Oh tell me — oh tell me, thou bonnie wee bird, 
 
 Will I ever my true luve see 1 " 
 Then saftly an' sweetly the robin sang — 
 
 " Puir Ailie ! I 'm laith to tell ; 
 For the ship 's i' the howe o' a roarin' wave. 
 
 An' thy luve 's i' the merlin's ceil ! " 
 
 " Oh tell me — oh tell me, thou bonnie wee bird, 
 Did he mind on the nicht langsyne, 
 
 * 1st music by the late Dr John Gray, composer of the " Good 
 Rheiu wine." 2d music by C. H. Morine.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 29 
 
 When we pliclited our troth by the trystin' tree ? 
 
 Was his heart aye true to mine V 
 " Oh fond an' true," the sweet robin sang, 
 
 " But the merlin he noo maun wed ; 
 For the sea-weed 's twin'd in his yellow hair, 
 
 An' the coral 's his bridal bed ! " 
 
 Burd Ailie lay low by the wimplin' burn, 
 
 WT the red, red rose in her hair; 
 But gane was the glance o' her bonnie black e'e, 
 
 An' the robin sang nae mair. 
 For an angel cam' doun at the fa' o" the nicht, 
 
 As she murmur'd her true luve's name, 
 An' took her awa frae a broken heart, 
 
 An' the ship that wad ne'er come hame !
 
 30 rOEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 THOURT LYIN' I' THE LANELY YIKD. 
 
 The moriiin' daws wi' gowden ray — 
 
 I carena for its liclit : 
 The lee-laiig day drags weary by, 
 
 An' cheerless fa's the nicht • — 
 Oh cheerless fa's the dowie nicht, 
 
 For a' the stars that shine, 
 kSin' thou art i' the lanely yird. 
 
 Thou bonnie wife o' mine ! 
 
 The bairns sit cowerin' roun' the fire, 
 
 Sae feckless, an' sae sma' ; 
 An' carefu' looks ilk puir wee face 
 
 Sin' thou wert ta'en awa ! 
 An' aft they name, wi' mournfu' tone, 
 
 The name that yince was thine ; 
 For oh ! thou 'rt i' the lanely yird. 
 
 Thou bonnie wife o' mine ! 
 
 The rosy cheek nae mair will bloom — 
 
 The sparklin' hazel e'e 
 That made this heart wi' rapture thrill. 
 
 Will licht nae mair on me !
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. ol 
 
 Au' cauld 's the lips I aft hae kiss'd 
 
 In joyfu', sweet Jangsyne, 
 Noo lyin' i' the lanely yird, 
 
 Thou bonnie wife o' mine ! 
 
 But saft thy spirit whispers " Peace ! 
 
 An' (linna grieve sae sair : 
 My hame 's where endless glory dwells, 
 
 Sae vex thy heart nae mair ! "' 
 Oh aft at midnicht's eerie hour, 
 
 I hear thae words divine ; 
 Yet oh ! thou 'rt i' the hxnely yiid, 
 
 Thou bonnie wife o' mine !
 
 32 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 A LIFE-SCREED AT RANDOM. 
 [in an epistolary rhyme to an auld freen'.] 
 Dear Geordie, 
 
 -"J 
 
 I 've ta'en up my quill, 
 While wife and weans are lyin' still, 
 
 To say a wee bit wordie. 
 There 's nocht but Dickie plagues my muse, 
 Wi' skirl eneuch to deave the house. 
 
 My sweet canary birdie; 
 For Phoebus rises owre the hills, 
 
 Wi' brichtness in his e'e ; 
 An' aye the thrabbin' breistie thrills, 
 
 His sonsy face to see. 
 Baith loudly, an' proudly. 
 
 Blithe cockieleerie 's crawin'-; 
 Thrang tellin' ilk dwellin' 
 
 Anither mornin's dawin' ; — 
 
 Anither bonnie simmer day. 
 
 To cheer puir bodies on their way, 
 
 Alang life's weary plain — 
 To mak' the heavy heart yince mair 
 Forget its sorrow an' its care, 
 
 An' licht a wee its pain.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS, 33 
 
 An' noo I humbly look abune, 
 
 An' breathe the earnest j^rayer, 
 That He, whase watchfu' e'e looks doun 
 
 Alike on rich an' puir, 
 May feed weel, an' deed weel, 
 
 Affection's ties divine ; 
 An' grant, aye, nae want, aye, 
 
 To this sweet hame o' mine. 
 
 I whyles tak' mony an unco thocht 
 Owre a' the changes time has wrocht 
 
 Sin' first I was a bairn ; — 
 When sittin' by the chimla-lug, 
 A shilpit wee auld-farrant dowg, 
 
 But dull an' dreich to learn ; 
 Till Willie Craig's lang-nebbit tawse 
 
 Cam' owre me pipin' het, 
 An' brocht me finely out the thraws — 
 
 I feel his pawmies yet. 
 Sic bare yerks — sic sair yerks 
 
 Got I, that soon fu' swift 
 I battled through, an' rattled through 
 
 The Tipp'ny Book like drift ! 
 
 When fear'd for lessons mony a nicht, 
 My faither saw my unco plicht, 
 
 An' sune made a'thing plain. 
 Through Lennie's dolefu' grammar drear, 
 He kindly showed me hoo to steer, 
 
 An' hoo to haud the pen. 
 
 c
 
 34 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 In geography an' history, 
 
 He cheer' d my sad condition; 
 An' clear'd up a' the mystery 
 
 O' short an' lang division ; 
 But wonnert aye what scunnert me 
 
 At savoury Shorter Carritch, 
 That vext me, perplext me, 
 
 An' put me past my parritch ! 
 
 The auldest 's whyles the hopefu' bird, 
 An' my dear mither — kindly word ! — 
 
 Was aft en heard to say, 
 Wi" a' a guid fond mither's pride, 
 She trowed the laddie at her side 
 
 Wad live to see the day. 
 An' ae auld granny up the toun 
 
 Declared, ae Christmas morn, 
 I 'd either help to mak' a spoon 
 
 Or aiblins spoil a horn ! 
 
 Ah, gladd'nin' — yet sadd'nin', 
 
 The thochts o' sweet lang syne ! — 
 The cheery days — the merry days, 
 
 Wi' lovin' freens o' mine ! 
 
 Wi' billies bauld, an' titties shy. 
 The time flew helter-skelter by, 
 
 Nae thocht hoo fast it sped : 
 A barefit birkie fond o' play, 
 I ca'd my girr frae break o' day,. 
 
 An' blithe the life I led.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Whyles herrjdn' nests, an' feclitin' cocks — 
 
 Whyles bickerin' cats wi' chuckies — 
 Whyles doun at Leith upo' the rocks, 
 
 'Mang mussels, crabs, an' buckles ! 
 Thrang stridin', an' widin', 
 
 Wi' breaks abune the knee, 
 Till nicht cam', when f richt cam' ; 
 
 Sj-ne glad was- 1 to flee. 
 
 Whyles dosin' tap, or playin' ba' — 
 Whyles lowpin' mony a garden-wa', 
 
 For apples, ploums, an' pears ; — 
 Whyles fleein' high, wi' pridefu' skill, 
 !My bawbee dragon on the Hill, 
 
 Mid Entry's gibes an' jeers ; — 
 Whyles sprauchlin' through the Hunter's Bog 
 
 For puddock, taid, or mennin, 
 Till Peeryweery an' his dowg 
 
 Sune set me fast a-runnin' ! — 
 Whyles ramblin', an' scramblin' 
 
 Owre hedges, 'spite the laws, 
 Wi' bare feet, an' sair feet, 
 
 For brummels, hyps, an' haws. 
 
 Ah ! gowden days o' youthfu' prime. 
 When a' my only thocht o' time 
 
 Was boo to mak' it flee. 
 An' blithe it flew on sunny wing 
 Wi' paips, an' bools, an' jingo-ring,. 
 
 An' " Through the ncedle-e'e ! " 
 
 o .■ 
 
 00
 
 36 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 An' oh the slides that I hae seen 
 
 On auld Lochend sae glorious ! 
 An' oh the sangs at New Year's E'en, 
 
 Wi' Guysers' cheery chorus ; 
 When tichtly, an' sprichtly, 
 
 We jumpit mony a stair, 
 An' chantit, an' rantit, 
 
 While Grannies tore their hair ! 
 
 But ah ! where 's noo yon sturdy band, 
 The terror o' Auld Eeekie's land, 
 That made the Cowlies* flee ? — 
 
 * The Cowlies was a term of contempt, applied, in byp;one 
 days, to the juvenile bands of the Southern Districts of Edin- 
 burgh by the sprightly barefoot Gutterhluids, or denizens of the 
 High Street, Canongate, and Abbeyhill, who invariably taunted 
 their adversaries with being Hens, or Coidies, in the numerous 
 bickers that then took place. These bickers commonly occurred 
 in the long summer evenings, at the gloaming ; the scene of the 
 encounters was generally the King's Park, and Salisbury Crags ; 
 — the former being occupied, in battle array, by the Gutterhluids, 
 led by some youth of higher stature than the rest, who was 
 further distinguished from his compatriots by a cocked hat 
 and sash, generally armed with a stout cudgel, and his coun- 
 tenance smeared all over with yellow ochre or black paint; 
 while the latter was held by the " Southside Cowlies," their 
 antagonists, whose leader was equipped and armed in similar 
 fashion. The hostile armies were generally supplied in abund- 
 ance with stones, brickbats, and other missiles, which, at the 
 word of command, were hurled at each other with sometimes a 
 too unfortunate precision. When the melee was at its height, 
 some kind friend usually communicated the intelligence to the 
 police authorities, who rushed to the scene, amid derisive howls 
 and hooting. Instantly the cry, " Hallah ! Hallah ! Hallah ! " 
 resounded on both sides. This was the signal for an immediate
 
 POE.^rS AND SONGS. 37 
 
 Wha cleared the Craigs wi' miclit an' main 
 In ilka hand a thumpin' stane, 
 
 An' rage in ilka e'e 1 — 
 An' where 's the chields that lik'd sae fine 
 
 To hae a press-gang row, 
 As blithe they linkit down Leith W^aa', 
 
 Awa to Piory's show ; * 
 
 junction of the contending factions, who received the hereditary 
 foe with a shower of stones. Then the great majority of the 
 spectators swelled the ranks of the bickerers, and the guardians 
 of the peace were compelled to retreat ; for in those palmy days 
 the mob was something, but policemen were nowhere. It may 
 be added that the bickers here spoken of are but of yesterday 
 in comparison with those of an earlier period, when fire-arms 
 were actually used, and sometimes with deadly effect. They 
 were but a feeble reflex of the sturdier juvenile battles of a 
 bygone age, though, as already hinted, many severe blows were 
 given and received, as I have special good cause to remember ; 
 for while doing duty on one occasion with the Gutterbluids, I 
 was taken prisoner by the Cowlies, carried shoulder-high, in 
 savage triumph, to Granny's Green, a stagnant marsh at the 
 Dumbiedykes (then used as a bleaching-ground, and now oc- 
 cupied by a Washing-House), and, after brief consultation, and 
 without benefit of clergy, was violently beaten with a cudgel, 
 and thereafter mercilessly ducked in " Maggie's Hole," an ad- 
 joining little brawling stream, which has long since vanished 
 for evermore. 
 
 • This booth, which was exceedingly popular among the 
 working clas.se8 of Edinburgh, was situated in the Old Physic 
 Gardens, on the site now occupied by the North British Rail- 
 way Station. Rory was a famous Merry-Andrew, who played 
 his antics on the outside platform for the purpose of inducing 
 visitors to the inside, aided by the inspiring sounds of a drum, 
 clarionet, and Pan-pipes; and the exertions of the inimitable 
 Rory were generally well rewarded.
 
 38 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 A' routin', an' slioutin' 
 
 Roun' mony a luckless wicht — 
 Stravaguin', an' plaguin' 
 
 Douce, canny folk at nicht 1 
 
 Ah ! mony a buirdly blade sin' syne, 
 Whase hand was aften lock'd in mine. 
 
 Lies cauld beneath the ocean ! 
 An' still 's the fearless heart an' brave, 
 An' green 's the sod that haps the grave 
 
 O' mony a Cannygoshan ! * 
 Far owre yon wild an' roarin' main, 
 
 Where frowns the Crimean shore. 
 On Balaklava's battle-plain. 
 
 They welter'd in their gore. 
 O sairly, an' dearly 
 
 The Russian foe could teU, 
 Richt gravely, hoo bravely 
 
 An' gallantly they feJl ! 
 
 At length, 'mid mony hopes an' fears, 
 Ticht bund was I for seven lang years,t 
 
 * Canny c/oshan — an old familiar term, applied to residenters 
 in the Canougate of Edinburgh. 
 
 f In a small printing-office, situated in one of the principal 
 thoroughfares of Edinburgh, I became a devil, and served the 
 long term of apprenticeship with anything but happiness or 
 comfort. The master was an object of terror, and the wages 
 were by no means magnificent. The principal employment con- 
 sisted in the printing of works translated from the Classics, Law 
 Reports, and ambrosial Gaelic. I have a vivid recollection of the 
 old composing-room, with its dark, begrimed windows, and its
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 39 
 
 An' dentily I fared, 
 Wi' glorious wages ilka week 
 For deftly nicklin Latin, Greek, 
 
 An' Gaelic by the yard ! 
 
 walls blackened with the smoke of generations. I see, even 
 now, the ancients of the craft (arrayed in habiliments whose 
 venerable grandeur set all fashion at defiance), poring dis- 
 tractedly over barely-decipherable Hebrew, Greek, and Latin, 
 and seeking consolation, occasionally, in a public-house that 
 stood invitingly open in the neighbourhood. I can yet hear the 
 monotonous click, click, click of the types, and the snappish 
 growls of the master over some confident, fiery -faced apprentice, 
 who has given further evidence of decided ability by the perpetra- 
 tion of another typographical atrocity. A doleful first-proof of a 
 catalogue is held close to his eyes, and he is asked if he sees any- 
 thing. He says, " Yes, he sees something." He is next asked 
 " what he thinks ot it ? " He blandly replies, " Nothing." A 
 shout, a rush, and a struggle, and master and boy are roUiug 
 on the floor in mortal combat. No one interferes. At last the 
 master rises, radiant with triumph, for the delinquent has had the 
 worst of it ; and the precocious youth prepares to substitute Lee's 
 Chemical Diagrams for Lee's Chemical Drarjoons, under a hazy 
 impression that he is quite right notwithstanding, but boys are 
 always taken advantage of ! These battles-royal were of fre- 
 quent occurrence, for the temper of the ma.ster was violent in 
 the extreme, and, though a kind-hearted man in many respects, 
 the least contradiction was nevertheless certain of receiving a 
 summary retaliation. 
 
 No early closing hour, or Saturday half-holiday, gladdened 
 the down-trodden hearts of young or old in that dismal shade of 
 darkness. Men and boys hovered about like spectres on the 
 long Saturday evenings, intensely meditating on the wages that 
 seemed never to come; and fearful that their miserable earnings 
 might be rendered still more miserable by the incomprehensible 
 di.scovery that they had been overcharging. Then, at the event- 
 ful hour, the money was doled out, and a rush was made to the
 
 40. .. POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 An' whyles a murder for a change, 
 
 To ease my groans an' sighs ; 
 Wi' noo an' then a breezy range 
 
 'Mang Hebrew hooks-an'-eyes ! 
 Sic dreich wark — sic skreich wark, 
 
 For lang I tholed an' fendit, 
 Till merrily, an' cheerily, 
 
 I cried, " Thank God ! it 's endit ! " 
 
 But scarce had Freedom's sweets been mine, 
 Than Poortith's sun begoud to shine 
 
 In grander hues than ever ; 
 For ae nicht doun at Niddry Lea, 
 I met a lassie fair to see, — 
 
 A bonnie queen, an' clever. 
 Haith, mony a tryst I 've seen us hae. 
 
 An' mony a hinnied blether ; 
 An' mony a walk by burn an' brae, 
 
 For hours an' hours thegither ; 
 
 street, — the apprentices, to join in the Babel of Confusion that 
 everywhere prevailed outside, their voices joyously intermingling 
 with " Shoe-ties ! Shoe-ties ! " " Here's yer fine Lucifer matches, 
 only a bawbee the box ! " " Ripe berries, the big pint a ha'p'ny 
 
 the big pint a ha'p'ny — sell them oSl" "Wulks an' buckles ! " 
 
 " Curds an' whey ! " " Here's yer fine peeryories, come awa ! " 
 — all blending vociferously with the yells of carters and omnibus- 
 drivers, accompanied by organs, violins, bagpipes, ballad-singers, 
 and street-preachers ;— and the journeymen, to express their dis- 
 gust and discharge their mental sky-rockets at somebody over 
 whisky and strong ale till morning, in the respectable shop of 
 a godly, orthodox elder, who conjoined with his lucrative pro- 
 fession of a publican, that of a pharisee of the first water.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 41 
 
 Far roamin', till gloamin', 
 
 Wlien Luna's radiant e'e 
 Shone lichtly, an' brichtly 
 
 Owre bonnie Wuddislee. 
 
 Syne cam' the cares o' married life 
 
 To young gudeman, an' young gudewife, 
 
 An' syne cam' totties wee ; 
 But ah ! amid my happiest hours, 
 The blicht cam' owre three bonnie flowers, 
 
 An' sorrow dimm'd my e'e. 
 The blossoms o' my fond regard. 
 
 That filled me aye wi' pride, 
 Low doun yon lanesome, eerie yird, 
 
 Lie sleef in' side by side ! 
 The lang grass waves owre ilk wee held, 
 
 That aft hung owre my chair ; 
 An' sad 's the thocht that noo they 're deid. 
 
 To cheer my heart nae mair ! 
 
 Sae whyles, to help awa the time, 
 I struck my lyre, an' clinkit rhyme — 
 
 (Sweet ease to him that 's sorry) — 
 An' aft, in Eeekie's crowded ha's, 
 I won the glories o' applause 
 
 Wi' mony a sang an' story. 
 Wi' canty stride, an' blithesome face, 
 
 '^Lang birkies, wives, an' weans, 
 I 've lilted to the matchless grace 
 
 0' Lawrie's royal strains,
 
 42 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Victorious. — Ah ! glorious 
 Yon deaf nin' thunder roar 
 
 O' gladness, when sadness 
 Gied slinkin' to the door ! 
 
 But though this warld nae mortal spares 
 Frae pains an' sorrows, griefs an' cares. 
 
 An' unco sair vexations ; 
 Yet, as the blink ahint the shower 
 Proclaims anither sunny hour, 
 
 Life has its consolations. 
 Braw Leddy Fortune, dreich an' dour, 
 
 An' unco sweert to sowther 
 Wi' him that chances to be puir, 
 
 Will whyles keek owre her shouther, 
 Fu' shyly — fu' slyly — 
 
 Snell caprice in her e'e ; 
 To please him, yet tease him, 
 
 Wi' joys she 's laith to gie. 
 
 Fain wad I pree her mou' sae sweet, 
 Yet Lord forfend I'd wheenge an' greet. 
 
 While health an' strength are mine. 
 As lang 's I 've pith, I '11 aye be hearty : 
 Nae cringin' dowg am I, my certy, 
 
 To wheedle, fawn, an' whine. 
 An' when, at times, athwart Life's sky, 
 
 Dark clouds foreshadow ill, 
 I '11 jouk until the jaw gangs bye. 
 
 Syne fearless face the hill !
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 43 
 
 Adieu, Dod ; an' noo, Dod, 
 Frae ilka morn till e'en, 
 
 Sincerely, an' dearly, 
 
 Believe me aye yer freen
 
 44 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 ODE TO A LITTLE CHILD. 
 
 Lovely little laughing child ! 
 Blooming like a floVret wild ! 
 Ever prattling — ever smiling — 
 Fond the sunny hours beguiling ; 
 Poring o'er thy tiny treasures, 
 Source of all thy guileless pleasures ; 
 Shrill resounds thy jocund glee, 
 Sweet emblem of simplicity ! 
 Artful, yet unknown to art — 
 Core of thy fond mother's heart ! 
 Sunbeam of thy father's dwelling. 
 Oft thy starry glance dispelling 
 From his clouded brow of sorrow 
 Many a thought of stern to-morrow. 
 ISIerry little elfin creature. 
 Beautiful in form and feature ; 
 Full of grace thy airy tread 
 O'er the daisy-spangled mead — 
 Floating o'er the breezy hiUs, 
 Sylvan groves, and gushing rills, 
 While the dew-besprinkled ground 
 Wafts its fragrance all around.
 
 POOIS AND SONGS. 45 
 
 Fond the lilies thou dost gather 
 For thy tender, doting father, 
 While thy rosy cheeks outvie 
 The ruddiest cloudlet in the sky. 
 Soft the zephyr's wings unfold 
 Thy silken locks of gleaming gold, 
 Flowing, in thy summer gladness, 
 O'er the breast that kjiows no sadness ! 
 Pouting lips of ruby brightness — 
 Pearly gems of snowy whiteness- — 
 Sparkling azure eyes, revealing 
 All thy bosom's tender feeling. 
 Flower of England's fairest daughters, 
 Sweet as music o'er the waters 
 Clear thy 'silvery notes are ringing, 
 While the birds are gaily singing 
 From each waving, leafy tree, 
 Joyous songs to welcome thee !
 
 46 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 THO' SAFT AN' GREEN THE HEAVY SOD. 
 
 Tho' saft an' green the heavy sod that haps thy honei 
 
 held, 
 Yet waes-rae on the thocht, Jamie ! I canna think the 
 
 deid! 
 For aye thy face an' form sac dear are ever in my e'e, 
 To mind me o' the happy days, lang past an' gane w 
 
 thee! 
 
 Oh sad I think on a' thy ways, sae gentle an' sae kind 
 For tender was thy manly breast, an' noble was th 
 
 mind; 
 Thy haun' was aye the helpin' haun' — thy heart wa 
 
 ever free ; 
 An' aft the tear o' sympathy stood glist'nin' in thine e'« 
 
 Nae mair, wi' hardy sailor pride, thou 'It stem the ragii 
 
 wave — 
 Nae mair the bitter, stormy blast '11 heedless owre the 
 
 rave — 
 Nae mair thy wife '11 greet thee back, wi' vvelcome i 
 
 her e'e — 
 Nae mair thy rosy, lauchin' weans '11 rin aboot thy knee
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 47 
 
 S'areweel to mouy a merry lauch, that licliten'd mony a 
 
 care, 
 for tliou art gane — for ever gane, to cheer our hearts 
 
 nae mair ; 
 '^Xi noo, aboon thy cauld, dark hame, the fiow'rets 
 
 gently wave ; 
 kn' birds are singin' on the tree that beilds thy lanely 
 
 grave !
 
 48 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 THE LINTWHITE.* 
 
 A LINTWHITE sat ill her mossy nest, 
 
 Ae eerie morn in spring ; 
 An' lang she look'd at the cauld gray lift, 
 
 Wi' the wee birds under her wing. 
 An' aye as she lookit, wi' shiverin' breist, 
 
 Sae waesomely she sang : 
 " tell me true, ye winds that blaw, 
 
 Why tarries my luve sae lang ? 
 
 " I 've socht him doun i' the fairy glen, 
 
 An' far owre the lanely lea — 
 I 've socht him doun i' yon saft green yird, 
 
 An' high on the birken tree ; — 
 I 've socht till the wee things cried me hame, 
 
 Wi' mony a heavy pang ; 
 tell me true^ ye winds that blaw, 
 
 Why tarries my luve sae lang 1 " 
 
 " waly !" the norlan' breezes moan'd, 
 " Sae weel may thy heart be sair ; 
 
 For the hawk's awa wi' thy ain true luve, 
 An' he '11 sing thee a sang nae mair ! 
 * Music by T. W. Naumann.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 49 
 
 Fu' wae was his fate on yon aukl aik tree, 
 
 That aft wi' his warblin' rang ! 
 Nog speir nae mair, wee shiverin' bird, 
 
 Why tarries thy luve sae lang ! " 
 
 The lintwhitc flew frae her mossy nest, 
 
 For she couldna thole the sting ; 
 An' she flichter'd east, an' she flichter'd west, 
 
 Till she droukit her downy wing ; 
 An' aye as she flutter'd the lee-lang day, 
 
 Sae wild an' sae shrill she sang : 
 " O tell me — tell me true, ye winds, 
 
 Why tarries my luve sae langl"'
 
 50 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 BALOO, MY BAIRNIE, FA' ASLEEP!* 
 
 Mv bonnie wean ! my darliii' bairn ! 
 
 My sweet wee smilin' lammie ! 
 Sae cosy in yer beddy-ba', 
 
 Crawin' to yer mammy ! 
 Blessin's on yer clieekies red, 
 
 An' wee bit laucliin' e'e, 
 Sparklin' like the gowden lift, 
 
 Wi' gladsome, sunny glee ! 
 Baloo, my bairnie, fa' asleep, 
 O hiishy, hushy ba' ! 
 
 My ain pet ! my honey doo ! 
 
 My troutie o' the burn ! 
 Sair, sair ye keep yer mammy back 
 
 Frae daein' mony a turn ! 
 O fond 's the look yer deddy tak's, 
 
 As guileless ye lie there, 
 Chasin' frae his honest broo 
 
 Mony a dowie care ! 
 
 Baloo, my bairnie, fa' asleej), 
 hushy, hushy ba' ! 
 
 * Music by Alfred Stella.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 51 
 
 Yer eenie saftly close at last, 
 
 For oh ! ye 're tired an' weary : 
 O fa' asleep, my boniiie lamb ! — 
 
 O fa' asleep, my cTearie ! 
 An' as yer vree thocht tak's its fliclit 
 
 Where joys immortal blossom, 
 May angels sing yer lullaby, 
 
 An' fauld ye in their bosom ! 
 Baloo, my bairnie, fa' asleep ! 
 O hushy, hushy ba' !
 
 52 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 THE GHAIST I' THE GREYFRIAES' KIRKYARD. 
 
 "Eed-Cowl ! Eed-Cowl !* come if ye daur ! 
 Lift the sueck, and draw the bar ! " 
 
 — Old Edinburgh Rhyme. 
 
 'TwAS on a stormy nicht in cauld December, 
 (O lang that stormy nicht will I remember !) 
 When joggin' hameward thro' the wind an' weet, 
 Wi' unco wearied legs, an' plashin' feet, 
 I heard what fiU'd my heart wi' gruesome fears — 
 A waefu' groan frae oot the auld Greyfreers. 
 
 Roused for a moment by the frichtfu' soun', 
 I speil'd the iron yett, an' lookin' roun', 
 There ! — doun yon howe, fast by a new-dug grave, 
 Where lie in mournfu' heaps the martyr'd brave — 
 Reckless o' roarin' wind, an' drenchin' rain, 
 A Ghaist sat jabberin' on an auld heid-stane ! 
 High was its stature — gloomy, grim, an' stark, — 
 Its w^ild-cat's een bricht glimmer'd i' the dark, — 
 A lang white sheet hung clappit to its banes, 
 A' sair bedabbl'd owre wi' bluidy stains, 
 
 * Red-Cowl was the name given to a wandering ghost, said 
 to have haunted the Greyfriars' Churchyard in the olden time.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 53 
 
 Doun wliilk the muddy rain aye drappit — drappit, 
 While owre its pow a fiery red-cowl fiappit. 
 Richt lang I gaz'd, wi' inouy a freezin' chatter, 
 An' aye, vd' ilka eldritch groan, its banes they a' gied 
 clatter ! 
 
 Wi' unco fecht, I drew my breath at last, 
 An' tried to rin, but feth my feet stuck fast ! 
 Sae there I stood dementit — clean dumfounder'd, 
 An' as I look'd, yet niair an' mair I wonder'd ; 
 For Tvi' a gowl that made me roar outricht, 
 It gibber'd out, " Hoo 's a' Avi' ye the nicht 1 " 
 
 f 
 Cauld horror seiz'd me, when I heard the deid : 
 
 Doun fell the bannit owre my toozy held : 
 
 " Red-Cowl !" I stammer'd, pechin' fast an' sair, 
 
 " Ye auld sneck-drawer ! — are ye really there ? 
 
 Terror o' auld an' young, in days o' yore, 
 
 I never saw yer ill-fa ur'd face before 
 
 This ourie nicht ; an' let me tell ye plain. 
 
 Lord grant I never mair may see 't again ! 
 
 If mercy dwells within thae mouldy banes, 
 
 Tak' pity on a chield wi' wife an' weans ; 
 
 Or gin ye 've nane for me, think on yersel' — 
 
 Ye're aiblins miss'd doun yonder, wha can teU ; 
 
 An' feth gin some folk mak' ye vanish quicker. 
 
 There '11 be a bonnie sowp taen out yer bicker ! 
 
 Slip cannily aAva — I '11 ne'er let on ! " 
 
 " Na, na !" replied the ghaist, wi' dolefu' groan.
 
 o4 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 " Fear noclit frae yin a flauclit o' wind can sliogle — 
 Sit doun, ye frichtit gowk ! — I 'm but a bogle ! 
 Fine did I ken yer faither's great-great-granny, 
 An' she aye thocht me unco kind an' canny. 
 Aft hae I preed her yill-browst, sweet as gundy, 
 In days lang gane — sic transit gloria mundi ! 
 
 " But hark ! St Giles's bell strikes loud an' lang, 
 An' ye maun bear me oot, before ye gang ; 
 Sae Jamie, sit ye doun on yon auld stane. 
 There 's nocht to tout ye but a wee drap rain ! " 
 
 "A' riclit !" quo I, in terror-stricken tone, 
 
 For fear thrill'd ilka nerve. The Ghaist went on : — 
 
 When whiles the weary thocht comes in my heid. 
 To tak' the air amang the friendly deid, 
 Or dander thro' yon eerie auld-kirk pews, 
 The houlets gie me a' the latest news. 
 An' wae the day that e'er I got sic stories 
 O' dowfy-hearted Whigs, an' thowless Tories, 
 That heard puir Poland's cry across the main 
 For dear-lo'ed liberty yince mair in vain ; 
 An' cauldly saw brave Denmark torn an' riven, 
 While groans o' horror shook the gates o' Heaven ! 
 Shame on the German wolves that did the deed, 
 Impell'd by hate, an' never-endin' greed — 
 Shame on auld England, for her mournfu' blindness 
 Shame on her water'd milk o' human kindness !
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 55 
 
 Where 's a' lier succour for the sair ojiprest — 
 
 That bouuiest feather in her "lorious crest ? — 
 
 \\^here 's a' her fiery, martial ardour noo, 
 
 That won the Nile, Trafalgar, Waterloo ? 
 
 Gane frae my ghostly gaze — past comprehension — 
 
 Quench'd in that dreary gulf, !N"on-intervention ! 
 
 When Albion's Lion couches, Justice sleeps : 
 
 Strife sounds the muffled drum, and Freedom weeps ! 
 
 But noo yon tykes are in a joyfu' swither — 
 The Kaiser's* scowlin' at his royal brither — t 
 The Lord's Anointed mocks his indignation, 
 Laughs at his sword, an' whistles " Annexation ! " 
 An' gloats owr^ robbery's ruthless acquisition — 
 The helpless puppet o' a snake's J ambition ; 
 While prone owre emperor an' dotard king, 
 
 Dark Retribution waves her sable wing. 
 
 E'en let them fecht, wi' a' their micht an' main — 
 When thieves cast oot, the honest get their ain ; 
 E'en let them 'gree yince mair, an' count the gains, 
 While owre their land a treach'rous silence reigns. 
 Some bonnie mornin', as they 're hatchin' evil — 
 (xViblins ardther slice frae some puir deevil — 
 Thrang thinkin' owre some fine projectile puzzle, 
 ( )r new-invented gun, wi' monstrous muzzle) — 
 Wi' stormy splendour i' tlie lurid skies. 
 Stern Revolution's blood-red sun shall rise 
 
 * Emperor of Austria. + King of Prussia. 
 
 1 Count Bisniark.
 
 56 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Owre cannon-tliunder, shrieks, an' deadly groans — 
 
 Ovvre crownless potentates, an' sLatter'd thrones — 
 
 Owre carnage red — owre desolation vast, 
 
 While monarchs quail at manhood's trumpet blast : 
 
 Till Liberty — bright Liberty — has dawn'd 
 
 In a' her glory owre the Fatherland ! 
 
 Noo, as I 'm in the mood, an' gin ye 've patience, 
 Let 's hae a crack anent some ither nations. 
 
 Hear ye the Gallic Cock, hoo blithe he craws, 
 An' shakes his glancin' wings in France's cause 1 — 
 (Nae doot they 're clippit a bit thocht or twa ; 
 But still — they 're no bad flaffers after a') — 
 
 Lately he took his flight, wi' haughty crest, 
 An' perch'd in Mexico's hard, thorny nest ; 
 Broke a' the eggs he laid his claws upon, 
 Then set a jouk* on Montezuma's throne. 
 This jouk assumed high state, in low dejection, 
 Syne quacked an' cackled loudly for protection — 
 Thocht on his Austrian glory, sadly shorn. 
 An' wish'd, wi' a' his heart, he 'd ne'er been born. 
 
 Fu' high the Chanticleer Imperial soars, 
 While peace an' plenty crown his sunny shores. 
 Nae hostile neibour daurs him on the sea — 
 The Lion lo'es him wi' a friendly e'e — 
 
 * Duke Maximilian of Austria, now Emperor of Mexico.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 0/ 
 
 Mali's kind inquiry if he 's keepin' fine — 
 Imports his hitest fashions — drinks his wine — 
 An' sae the twa that yince were mortal foes, 
 Are suppin' oot the same guid cog o' brose. 
 O may they aye in brither-bonds be seen ! 
 Lang may their laurels flourish fair an' green ! 
 Blest be the flag that braved a despot's might ! — 
 Blest be the friendship sworn on Alma's height ! 
 Britannia hails fair Gallia's high renown, 
 And tyi-ants dread Napoleon's iron frown ! 
 
 Spain mak's me groan, whene'er I think upon her : 
 
 Her grand blue bluid 's departed wi' her honour. 
 
 wad she look ^n tittle's* cleaner face. 
 
 Syne wash her ain, she yet micht come to grace. 
 
 But liberal principles she canna see, 
 
 For superstition dims her pridefu' e'e. 
 
 Monastic gloom broods owre a land o' sleepers, 
 
 Where Freedom wears her hingin'-crape an' weepers. 
 
 An' yet she 's daured to jjree — the shameless randy — 
 
 Anither stick o' Chilian sugar-candy ! 
 
 She 's tasted something else, I 'm proud to learn — 
 
 A crashin' broadside on her batter'd stern ! 
 
 Wad ye believe me ? when the news was brocht. 
 
 My banes gaed rattlin' wi' the joyfu' thocht ! 
 
 Stout, strong, an' healthy, fair Italia stands, 
 While progress blossoms in her gowdcn lands. 
 
 * Portugal.
 
 58 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 All hail the hero-king — her dauntless lord ! 
 All hail the might o' Garibaldi's sword ! — 
 All hail the day that saw the Austrian yield 
 To Valour s sons on Solferino's field ! 
 
 Yet oft she sighs an' greets, puir honest woman ! 
 Her mither* an' her sister 'st lang a-comin' ! 
 Patience, ye brave ! the day shall dawn at last : 
 They '11 see ye soon — they 're makin' ready fast ! 
 
 Hence, Pio Nono, wi' thy Aunty Nelly ; 
 Thy hame 's Humiliation's lowly valley. 
 If priceless peace o' mind wad fain be thine, 
 Thy sovereign temporalities resign ; 
 A brawer, richer Prince thou 'It be wi' nane — 
 A greater Pontiff wi' thy greatness gane. 
 
 Hence, Hapsburg, frae the City o' the Sea — 
 Thy day 's gane by — tak' afi" thy greedy e'e. 
 Wadst thou be thocht sincere in thy reforms, 
 Begin wi' Hungary, and calm her storms. 
 There 's plenty mair to keep thee workin' thrang 
 Leave her alane — she kens best where to gang ! 
 
 Puir feckless Greece, renown'd in ancient story. 
 Looks unco dreich, wi' a' her classic glory ; 
 Fain wad she hail yince mair, wi' radiant joy. 
 Her brave Achilles on the walls o' Troy. 
 Alas ! the tears are tricklin' doun her cheeks — 
 Her sons are Helots — wither' d, sapless Greeks. 
 
 * Eome. + Venice.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 59 
 
 Contending factions lang in strife hae kept lier — 
 Her Danish monarch rules wi' pasteboard sceptre — 
 His crown 's a thorn — he 's but a king in name — 
 He 's sick at heart, an' wearyin' to gang hame — 
 His chiefs are nae great mighty ^len o' Moab — 
 Puir wishy-washy comforters o' Job. 
 Feth, had the A{)ostle Paul kent sic a vermin, 
 He 'd roused their noddles wi' a bonnie sermon ! 
 
 See on his icy throne, wi' wrathfu' glare 
 At Turkey's fated land, the Eussian Bear. 
 There 's nocht can satisfy his ravenous maw — 
 Circassians, Poles, he gobbles yin an' a' ; 
 Syne licks his lips, in fond anticipation, 
 
 To hae a worry at some ither nation. 
 
 Hark to him growlin' owre the Euxine sea : 
 " Heaven, be kind ! when ^vill that sick man* dee ? 
 He's but a bite ; but oh ! the bite 's delicious !" 
 () Heaven, be kind ! for hunger mak's me vicious." 
 
 Some hapless day, v;i' horrid thunder-roar, 
 He '11 spring wi' fury at this sick man's door — 
 Stiike wi' the ruthless paws that never fail. 
 Till first his held gets in, an' syne his tail ! 
 
 Yince mair the Banner o' the Union waves 
 Owre yon fair land — nae mair a land o' slaves. 
 The wearied Sisters meet 'neath peacefu' skies — 
 Ane smiles fu' bonnily — the ither sighs; 
 
 * A covert allusion to Turkey, made by the late Emperor 
 Nicholas of Russia.
 
 60 POEMS AND SONGS, 
 
 An' thinks, wi' burstin' heart, an' anguish keen. 
 On what she 's noo, an' what she micht hae been ; 
 While burning tears o' sorrow fill her e'e, 
 As memory dwells on Jackson, and on Lee ! 
 
 Courage, brave South ! fling aff thy dark despair : 
 Thou did thy best — the best could dae nae mair ! 
 
 All bail thy valiant foes o' honour'd worth — 
 Sherman an' Grant — the Trojans o' the North ! 
 Nae fell vindictive rage disgraced their power, 
 Or stained their shield in triumph 's golden hour ; — 
 But victor look'd on vanquish'd like a brither — 
 Heart warm'd to heart, and hands joined hands the- 
 gither ! 
 
 But ah ! sweet joy brought sorrow in her train : 
 Lincoln — the noble-minded Lincoln 's gane ! 
 Vile was the murd'rous arm that laid him low, 
 Wi' glory's laurel on his dauntless brow. 
 Lang shall the Union mourn his honour'd name, 
 And twine her garlands round his deathless fame ! 
 
 Star-spangled Banner ! ever may thou wave 
 In radiant beauty o'er the gallant brave ! 
 Lang may thy presence shield a land sae fair. 
 Where God's dark image drags the chain nae mair ! 
 Far frae thy sons be fierce intestine hate — 
 Far be the Fenian traitor frae thy gate —
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 61 
 
 Never may discord dire thy bark o'erwhelm, 
 'WTiile trusty Johnson boldly steers the helm ! 
 Shine on, triumphantly, frae year to year ! — 
 
 Shine on ! — thy mother hails thy bright career. 
 She ne'er forgets that thou wert yince her ain — 
 She lo'es thee yet, for a' that 's past an' gane. 
 Oh ! if a wee bit spark yet fires thy breast, 
 Gie nae loon peace, that daurs disturb her rest : 
 Owre a' her bonnie hame — by land an' sea — 
 Nae firebrand e'er was shelter'd, false to thee! 
 
 Hail, England, hail ! wi' golden glory crown'd ! — 
 Hail, England, hail ! owre a' the world renown'd I 
 White-robed Pijosjierity wi' gladness smiles 
 Owre a' thy distant shores, and sunny isles. 
 Science an' Art arc maidens fond o' thine — 
 Justice and Truth thy radiant form entwine — 
 In Learning's wide domain, thy men o' lore 
 Will proudly match the brightest names o' yore ; 
 While high in Poesy's immortal bowers. 
 
 Lordly supreme, thy Swan o' Avon towers ! 
 
 To thee brave bosoms swell wi' warm devotion — 
 Thy flag waves cheerily on every ocean — 
 Tliy star o' honour shines serenely fair — 
 The smell o' freedom 's in thy caller air — 
 While owre thy purple hills, an' meadows green, 
 The breezes murmur sweet, " God save the Queen ! 
 
 Alas for puir auld Ireland's dowie case. 
 
 The tears are seldom frae her wccl-faur'd fiice.
 
 62 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Scarce does a cheery gowden blink arise, 
 Than darklin' clouds bedim her rosy skies. 
 An' noo, when Fortune's star was beamin' bricht, 
 Yon Fenian meteor shed its balefu' licht. 
 Perish the traitor knaves in dungeons dire, 
 Wha 'd sink their country deeper in the mire — 
 Perish the rutliless hearts wha 'd blast her fame 
 Wi' bloody massacre, an' surgin' flame ; 
 An' raise, owre horrid Paiin's deep prostration, 
 The Red Republic o' a day's duration ! 
 
 Arise, sweet Peace! arise owre Erin's Isle! — 
 Shed owre her emerald groves thy sunny smile. 
 Wave, shamrock ! wave owre a' her hills an' plains- 
 Strike, silver harp ! thy joyous, happy strains ! 
 
 To thee, dear land, remembrance fond returns — 
 Sweet hame o' Wallace, Scott, and Robbie Burns ! 
 Twa hunder year, an mair, has fled apace, 
 Since first I saw Auld Reekie's sonsy face. 
 When manhood's crystal streams my hafiits laved, 
 The auld blue banner owre my shouther waved. 
 For Kirk and Covenant I focht an' barkit. 
 An' shed, at last, my bluid in yon Grassmarket. 
 
 What changes, Scotia, hast thou seen sin' syne ! — 
 Braw wealth an' peace are noo fast friens o' thine. 
 As time rolls on to dark oblivion's river, 
 Thy thistle proudly waves, as bauld as ever ;
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 63 
 
 An" far an' wide, owre a' creation's bounds, 
 The silver clarion o' thy glory sounds. 
 
 Noo, Caledonia, hear me oot an' oot : 
 I '11 tell thee something mair, without a doot. 
 Thou'rt no to tak' it ill, an' cry, " Bad taste !" 
 Besides, thou 'It no be angry wi' a ghaist. 
 Sae hearken canny, in nae canker'd mood — 
 A hamely word or twa may dae thee gude. 
 
 Thou hast a wacfu' want I aft deplore — 
 
 Thy honest roughness o' the days o' yore ; 
 
 An' yon sincerity, sae frank an' free. 
 
 That aye took wprd for deed, I never see. 
 
 Sae graspin' art thou in thy generation — 
 
 Sae sair mistrustfu', wi' thy calculation — 
 
 That tippence isna lent by word o' mouth. 
 
 But pen an' ink maun stand for sterlin' truth ! 
 
 It 's true as I 'm a ghaist — deny 't wha can ! 
 
 Yet mair than that I '11 say — man worships man ! — 
 
 Nocht can I see but servile adulation ; 
 
 Flunkies are swarmin' in this freeborn nation. 
 
 That 's bad enough ; but yet there 's waur, I fear — 
 
 Black-Coat idolatry reigns rampant here. 
 
 See hoc they '11 wag their jjows in earnest chat. 
 An' gloat owre Reverend This, and Doctor That ; 
 An' crouch, as every day's experience tells. 
 To helpless worms, nae better than themsels. 
 (For as the auld cock craws, the young yin learns ; 
 An' tak' my word, they 're a' John Tamson's bairns.)
 
 64f POEMS AND SOKGS. 
 
 The shepherds ken their power, as I 've been tauld, 
 An' keep their flocks submissive i' the fauld — 
 Mix fine sectarian clover wi' their fare — 
 Shear a' the fleece they can, syne look for mair ; 
 An' move their hearts in sic a pawky way, 
 
 That nae puir sheep has courage to cry, " Baa ! " 
 
 An' yet they '11 ban yon Kirk in Komish fetter. 
 An' say they 're idol-free 1 — but I ken better ! 
 The Pope 's no bound to yae denomination — 
 There 's mony a Pope in mony a congregation ! 
 
 In stately ha's I see proud Dives dwell; 
 
 But where puir Lazarus lives, I 'm laith to tell. 
 
 God help yon dark, damp, dismal habitation, 
 
 Wi' gapin' wa's for healthy ventilation! 
 
 Yet for this dungeon, let the truth be kent, 
 
 He pays that curse o' poverty — a rent ! 
 
 A rent! great Heaven ! it mak's my auld banes shiver ! 
 
 I '11 think mair kindly o' my grave than ever ! 
 
 Oh, velvet-slipper'd times ! when stylish fashion, 
 An' love o' siller, form the ruling passion ; — 
 When high-starch'd selfishness steeks fast the pocket, 
 An' hands the grip, till human nature 's chokit ; — 
 When mony a sham displays his only gumption 
 In fine habiliments, an' rank presumption \ — 
 WTien bigotry, hypocrisy, an' greed, 
 
 Gang hand-in-hand — a bonnie three, indeed ! 
 
 Wadst thou be weel-respeckit ? Bow thee low: 
 Say no for yes, an' yes when yes means no.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 65 
 
 Wadst thou be tlioclit a sage ? Look circumspect ; 
 
 Haud still thy tongue, an' never contradict. 
 
 Wadst thou be ca'd sincerity's pure grain? 
 
 Hate a' denominations but thine aiu. 
 
 Wadst thou be freed frae mony a queer transgression 1 
 
 Gang to the kirk, an' mak' a braw profession. 
 
 When Sunday comes — that brightest, best o' days — 
 
 An' earth 's resoundin' Avi' Jehovah's praise, 
 
 Draw doun the blinds, wi' visage dark an' sour, 
 
 An' see thy breakfast 's taen the nicht before ; — 
 
 Groan owre the wickedness o' this great nation, 
 
 Then boil thy tatties in imagination ; 
 
 An' as thy mouth a' waters — hunger riven — 
 
 Tell me if thou art ony nearer Heaven ! 
 
 Oh for a sweep o' Homer's gowden lyre, 
 To scourge the hypocrite wi' verse o' fire ! 
 He dings the days o' Moses heels-owre-heid. 
 An' mak's me often cry, " I 'm glad I 'm deid !" 
 
 Let India glory in her pride o' caste : 
 
 She 's no alane — we 've match'd her there at last. 
 
 Here class-exclusiveness keeps solemn state, 
 
 An' Scottish Brahmins Scottish Pariahs hate. 
 
 At kirk, or market — cot, or palace-ha' — 
 
 The wealthy Nabob reigns supreme owre a'. 
 
 Riches an' poverty are laith to meet. 
 
 Man shuns his brither man on ilka street. 
 
 What 's honest worth, in thir religious days, 
 Without a fine braw house, and dandy claes] 
 
 £
 
 66 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 See ye, while Sunday bells jow loud an' lang, 
 Yon careworn Arab 'mid the godly thrang. 
 Lanesome he feels 't, for a' that pass aroun', 
 A dreary desert in a croodit toon ! 
 (Sic gorgeous silks an' satins rustle past, 
 Ye 'd think Millennium had arrived at last.) 
 Wi' douncast e'e, some frienly stair he seeks, 
 To hide his threadbare coat, and shabby breeks. 
 Onward he moves, 'mid mony a heartless stare. 
 While scented Bibles saft perfume the air — 
 The Book that teaches love 'mang high and low, 
 Carried, in mony a hand, for pompous show. 
 Sidelins he meets the cauld averted gaze 
 O' them that kent him in his better days; 
 Slinks doun an entry — sees there 's nae yin near ; 
 Then wipes frae fiery e'e the burnin' tear! 
 
 Oh, wad that puir but honest chield daur enter 
 Yer stately kirks, where braw folk freely venture ; 
 Or lift his held amid sic glarin' grandeur, 
 
 He'd dae a greater deed than Alexander! 
 
 Yet courage ! sunUcht 's comin' ! bide yer time ! 
 Cheer up, puir duggie ! poverty 's nae crime ! 
 
 Anither word, and then my story's tauld; 
 Syne, Jamie, ye may gang — I ken ye 're cauld. 
 
 What unco deavin' news is this I hear, 
 That's fillin' mony a heart wi' doot an' fear? —
 
 POEJIS AND SONGS. 07 
 
 What collyshangy 's this that mak's me grewl — 
 What wildfire 's danciii' i' the Auld Kirk noo 1 
 Sad wad I be, wer 't true what some folk say, 
 That Granny's totteriu' doun a slippery brae. 
 
 Oh for the stalwart strength that yince was mine ! — 
 The trusty metal o' the days lang syne ! 
 I 'd dae my best to save ker frae the snare, 
 And freely gie for her my bluid yince mair ! 
 
 Richt Venerable Mither — ever dear! — 
 
 May son o' thine ne'er mak' thee shed a tear! 
 
 Thy honour'd wa's dissensions dire hae seen, 
 
 And tears enough hae fiil'd thy auld gray een. 
 
 The bairns tbat left thee swell the scornfu' cr}' — 
 
 " She 's frail an' fushionless — her day 's gane by." 
 
 15ut wlia wad daur to say thy sun has set, 
 
 While health, an' strength, an' vigour's in thee yet ! 
 
 Up wi' the bright blue banner, famed o' yore, 
 That never waved in vain on Scotia's shore. 
 Wi' Sinai's thunder in thy voice, proclaim 
 To a' the world that thou art still the same I — 
 The same true bulwark — Caledonia's pride — 
 For whilk a Cameron and a Renwick died. 
 
 Hence the new-fangled gowk, that gibes an' jeers 
 At men wha shed for thee their bluid an' tears ! — 
 Hence wi' the callous heart, wha'd daur defame 
 Auld Scotland's glory— Knox's honour'd name. 
 
 While round thy Zion flames celestial fire, 
 May boundless charity thy sons inspire.
 
 68 POEMS AND SONGS, 
 
 Believing, fondly, nae faith like thine ain, 
 Spurn thou nae ither creed wi' sour disdain. 
 Hate nae man's kirk wi' scornfu' indignation; 
 But thank thy God for joyfu' toleration. 
 Look kind on them whase backs are at the wa', 
 An' hae a canny word to say for a'. 
 
 Keep aye, wi' fearless front, the guid auld road — 
 
 The path thy martyr'd warriors nobly trod. 
 
 And while, stern battling on the hallow'd ground, 
 
 Thy gospel trump gies nae uncertain sound, 
 
 Where'er yon glorious thistle waves serene, 
 
 Bright be the motto on thy banner seen 
 
 By those that fain wad see thee crush'd an' doom'd — 
 
 " Burning w€ fire, hut never yet consumed!'" 
 
 The spirit ceas'd, an' aye the rain fell fast; 
 
 Loud moan'd the houlets 'mid the roarin' blast ; 
 
 High owre the reekit lums, an' watery tUes, 
 
 Rung out the midnicht hour frae auld St Giles. 
 
 Deep groans were minglin' wi' the eerie chime : 
 
 A voice howl'd " Red Cowl ! ye hae stay'd yer time ! " 
 
 Slowly a darkhn' cloud the ghaist surrounded — 
 
 Far frae the silent land a wailing horn resounded. 
 
 A weary cry rang through the murky air. 
 
 "Red Cowl ! ye've stay'd yer time!" was heard yince 
 
 mair. 
 " Comin' ! " the spectre cried, 'mid lichtnin's flash, 
 
 Then swiftly vanish'd in a thunder-crash ! 
 
 Horror-inspired, I gied an eldritch roar— • 
 
 Flew owre the gate — ran hame — an' barr'd the door !
 
 POEMS AND SOXGS. 69 
 
 TOTTY'S GRAVE. 
 
 Wae was the iiicht that took thee hame, 
 Saut were the tears that climm'd my e'e ; 
 
 For oh y thou darlin' o' my heart ! 
 Thy sweet wee face was dear to me ! 
 
 Sair was the grief that fiU'd my breist — 
 A grief thy puir fond faither shared, 
 
 As wae he took thee frae my arms, 
 To lay thee in the cauld kirkyard ! 
 
 Oh, the bitter, bitter thocht — 
 The weaiy, weary thocht to me. 
 
 That thou, the flower o' a' my flock, 
 Should hing thy bonnie heid an' dee ! 
 
 When bairnies play amang the grass, 
 An' pu' the gowans at their feet, 
 
 I look in vain for thy wee face, 
 
 An' lang I '11 sit me doun an' greet !
 
 70 POFMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Yet oh ! I canna think thee deid, 
 My bairnie ! will I ne'er see mair 
 
 Thae rosy lips I 've kiss'd sae fond — 
 Thy sweet blue e'e, an' gowden hair? 
 
 An' is thy voice for ever still — 
 Thy merry laugh o' guileless glee, 
 
 That rang sae sweetly through the wudds, 
 An' broomy braes o' Wuddislee !
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 THE WEE PAIR 0' SHOOX. 
 
 Oh, lay them canny doon, Jamie, 
 
 An' tak' them frae my sicht! 
 They mind me o' her sweet wee face, 
 
 An' sparklin' e'e sae bricht. 
 Oh, lay them saftly doon beside 
 
 The Iffck o' silken hair; 
 For the darlin' o' thy heart an' mine 
 
 Will never wear them mair ! 
 
 But oh ! the silvery voice, Jamie, 
 
 That fondly lisped yer name, 
 An' the wee bit hands sae aft held oot 
 
 Wi' joy when ye cam' hame ! 
 An' oh, the smile — the angel smile. 
 
 That shone like simmer morn ; 
 An' the rosy mou' that socht a kiss 
 
 When ye were weary worn ! 
 
 The eastlin' wind blaws cauld, Jamie — 
 The snaw 's on hill an' plain — ■ 
 
 The flowers that deckt my lammie's grave 
 Are faded noo, an' gane !
 
 72 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Ob, dinna speak! I ken she dwells 
 
 In yon fair land aboon ; 
 But sair 's the sicht that blin's my e'e — 
 
 That wee, wee pair o' shoon !
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 73 
 
 WEARIN' HAME. 
 
 Heavy an' sad, i' the clieerless ward, 
 
 Auld Elspet laid her doun 
 Mid the feeble wail, an' the fretfii' moan, 
 
 0' the sleepless hearts aroun'. 
 
 The gloamin' o' her life was spent — 
 
 Her sorrows maist were past; 
 An' lang she wearied thro' the nicht 
 
 That death wad come at last ! 
 
 An' whyles she thocht on sweet langsyne, 
 
 An' saw wi' joy again 
 The wee bit cosy but-an'-ben 
 
 She aince could ca' her ain ; — 
 
 An Willie, blest wi' every grace 
 
 That woman could desire; 
 An' the press, weel fill'd wi' milk an' meal; 
 
 An' the bairns a' roun' the fire !
 
 74 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 An' the blithe tick-tack o' the eicht-day clock, 
 An' the heartsome, cheery sang; 
 
 An' the gruesome tale o' the Bogle-Bo, 
 When winter nichts were lang; 
 
 An' the cushet's croon i' the simmer morn, 
 Owre the waving yellow broom ; 
 
 An' the warblin' birds i' the dewy dells, 
 When the roses were in bloom. 
 
 Oh, the dowie day that brocht her here. 
 Where age may mourn in vain; 
 
 Wi' life's sma' comforts, aince sae sweet. 
 For ever past an' gane! 
 
 Oh, the harsh decree o' an iron law, 
 That forced her guid auld marrow 
 
 To languish an' pine in anither ward 
 0' the same dark house o' sorrow! 
 
 Oh, sad to tear twa lovin' hearts 
 
 Awa frae yin anither; 
 Bound in affection's dearest ties 
 
 For forty years thegither ! 
 
 The dews o' death were on ilka ftice — 
 
 They felt the end was near; 
 An' lang they cried ilk ither's name, 
 
 Wi' mony a burnin' tear.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 7o 
 
 Then saft an' low, twa voices faint 
 
 A fervent prayer let fa', 
 That He, the Freen o' helpless age, 
 
 Wad tak' them baith awa I 
 
 An' sair they sigh'd thro' the dreary nicht, 
 
 Wi' a shiverin', weary frame, 
 Till the Shepherd cam' i' the cauld grey morn. 
 
 An' kindly took them hame I
 
 76 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 LILLY LORN.* 
 
 Lilly Lorn gaed doun the shaw, 
 
 Far f rae her minnie's dwellin' ; 
 An' lang she stray'd wi' restless e'e, 
 
 Till curfew bells were knellin'. 
 An' aye the warblers blithely sang, 
 
 In notes baith sweet an' mony ; 
 For Lilly Lorn was young an' fair, 
 
 An' Lilly Lorn was bonnie ! 
 
 She socht her lordly lover's ha', 
 
 An' moan'd in vain her sorrow; 
 Till dew lay on her silken hair. 
 
 An' cheerless dawn'd the morrow ; 
 Then twinin' sad a rowan wreath, 
 
 She sabbit '' Fause Glenlyon!" 
 Syne wander'd thro' the gowden mist, 
 
 As westlin' winds were sighin' ! 
 
 " Gae hame, gae hame, sweet Lilly Lorn !" 
 She heard the cushet wailin' ; 
 
 " Ye 're cauld an' lanely i' the shaw, 
 Far frae yer minnie's dwellin' !" 
 * Music by Maurice Cobham.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 77 
 
 The tears ran doun her bonnie face, 
 
 To hear the cushet cryin' ; 
 But aye she twined the rowan wreath, 
 
 An' sabbit " Fause Glenlyon ! " 
 
 She laid her doun beneath a birk, 
 
 Wi' cauld an' deidly shiver; 
 An' sigh'd ance mair Glenlyon's name, 
 
 Syne closed her een for ever! 
 An' saft an' wae the warblers sang, 
 
 In notes baith sweet an' mony ; 
 For Lilly Lorn was young an' fair, 
 
 An' Lilly Lorn was bonnie !
 
 78 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 JEMMY SLANNIGAN'S ODD, 
 
 AT THE OPENING OF THE DUBLIN EXHIBITION, 9tH MAY 1865. 
 
 (Sthrike, swate harp av the land av the shamrock! 
 
 Pale, all ye bells, wid a great acclimayshin, 
 Whack at the guns, ye undaunted arthillery boys, 
 
 TiU Dublin shakes down to the very foundayshin. 
 
 ('ome, bright sun, from the rowlin' imminsities. 
 Laugh like a fine m'aly pratie this day, 
 
 Suutf out the rain wid yer goolden exthinguisher, 
 Or the city will soon be as bad as the say. 
 
 Bring forth the car, wid the baste that 's to dhraw id ; 
 
 Coax him wid gingerbread cakes in his mouth; 
 See how he 's prancin', an' caperin', an' whiskin', 
 
 Like the lively he-goats on the owld Hill o' Howth. 
 
 Judy, acushla! sit down wid yer Jemmy; 
 
 Molly, aroon, saize a howld av yer mother ; 
 Phadrick, an' Phelim, an' Teddy asthore, 
 
 Howld fast, like grim death, by the coat av yer father.
 
 POEMS AXD SO^'GS. 79 
 
 Hip, hurroo ! off we go to the Great Exhibition, 
 
 Minglin' wicl duchesses, dukes, drums, and bugle- 
 horns ; 
 
 See how the brute wags his tail wid amazement 
 At the siiiht av the beautiful lions an' unicorns! 
 
 Whew ! millia murther ! sich crowds av gay faces I 
 Sich wavin' av flags — sich an illigant view ! 
 
 Sich fine faymale ladies were never beheld, sure. 
 
 Since the charmin' goold days av bowld Brian Boroo. 
 
 Gramachree ! there 's the Prince rowlin' past in his 
 chariot ; 
 
 I can't see his face, but I '11 spake to the dhriver ; 
 "Ceade millefailteagh! yer Highness, abouchal! 
 
 May yer praties an' butther-milk flow like a river ! 
 
 " An'ab, why have ye been sich a sthranger entirely ? 
 
 An' Where's yer colleen, the fair PrincLss, swate jewel? 
 Sure her face ud be welkiin to Ireland, my honey ! 
 
 ( )h, why could yer bountiful heart be so cruel ? 
 
 "How's yer royal Queen-mother? m.ay God save her 
 kindly ! 
 
 Right joyful she once kiss'd the sod av our shore : 
 But the Star av her gladness wint down in its beauty, 
 
 An' the light av its glory will cheer her no more ! 
 
 But you 're young an' happy, wid sunshine around yez, 
 An' a bright little, tight little Prince av yer own ,
 
 80 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Then don't be so shy wid yer own princely prisince, 
 But show yerself bowldly to them that have none ! 
 
 " Sure ye needn't belave what the rapparree Finnians 
 May howl at Clontarf, for id 's all a big lie ; 
 
 Their sivin long cmthries av Saxon opprission, 
 An' their chains an' their slavery 's all in me eye. 
 
 " But this I will spake : bid our landlords stay wid us ; 
 
 Tell their rascally agents to pack up an' run ; 
 Then away wid the Church, that 's a cowld-hearted 
 sthranger, 
 
 An' there won't be a happier oisle undher the sun. 
 
 " We're not discontinted, yer Highness, abouchal; 
 
 But fair-play's a jewel, the world all o'er; 
 Then give us that same, an' ye 11 find that the chUdre 
 
 Av Erin, mavourneen, are thrue to the core. 
 
 " Fare-ye-well, an' good luck!" There he enters the 
 gateway ; 
 
 The thrumpets are soundin' a blast loud and high : 
 They 're black in the face makin' beauthiful spaches, 
 
 An' they 're gettin' a beauthiful spache in ref)ly. 
 
 Now grandly we enter the Great Exhibition: 
 
 PhUiloo! what a sight! howld me head! am I 
 dhramin' 1 
 
 Sich images, picthers, an' wonders so rare, 
 
 That wid fond admirayshin the ladies are scramin'.
 
 POEMS AND SOXGS. 81 
 
 There 's ever}i:limg here to asthonish the boys, 
 
 From the Wellington boots av King Julius Cayzer, 
 
 That he used whin his sandals were out at the clanin', 
 To the red knickerbokers av Nebuchaduayzer ! 
 
 Oh sthrike the harp gaily — success to this day ! 
 
 Britannia 's all ringin' wid loud acclimayshins ; 
 Ould Ireland shows proudly the fruits av her land, 
 
 An' her trophies av art are the pride av the nayshins. 
 
 Now God bless the flowers in swate friendship en- 
 twined — 
 The ever-dea^ Shamrock, the Thistle, an' Rose ; 
 Wid success to the Queen, an' good luck to the Pope, 
 From the roots av his hair tu the tip av his toes ! 
 
 J. S., 
 
 his X mark.
 
 82 POEMS AI^D SONGS. 
 
 AILSA'S PAIRTIN' WORD. 
 
 Darkly, darkly liung the lift 
 Owre lanely hill, an' dreary ha' ; 
 
 Waefu' moaned the norlan' blast, 
 An' cheerless fell the driftin' snaw. 
 
 Eerie rang the houlet's wail, 
 
 An' high the corby ta'en his flicht, 
 
 As wearily he socht afar 
 
 Some hoary howfif to pass the nicht. 
 
 Lang on the lea puir Coley yowled, 
 For heavy dule he seem'd to see ; — 
 
 Sair i' their beds the bairnies grat, 
 For sleep had fled frae ilka ee. 
 
 Dowie an' wae auld Granny sat, 
 Fu' listless owre her vacant wheel ; 
 
 As Ailsa kiss'd puir Sandy's cheek, 
 Syne took her lang an' last fareweel.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 83 
 
 Her pale, pale face was sair begrat, 
 Her fadin' lips were caiild an' blae ; 
 
 Her bonnie hazel ee was dim, 
 
 Her voice was trummlin', sad, an' wae. 
 
 An' lang she look'd in Sandy's face — 
 Oh sune that face nae mair to see ! 
 
 An' aye the thocht cam' o-\vre her heart, 
 An' aye the tear feU frae her ee. 
 
 " Oh tak me in yer arms !" she cried, 
 "An' press yer lips ance mair to mine ; 
 
 For sair's the pain that racks my breist, 
 An' cauld 's the haun' that lies in thine ! 
 
 " Oh bring the bairnies to my side — 
 
 Puir things ! sae helpless, an' sae wee ! — 
 
 Oh biing the bairnies to my side, 
 An' let me kiss them ere I dee ! 
 
 " Oh sair, sair heart — oh breakin' heart ! 
 
 It maks me wae to leave ye a' ! 
 Xae tender mither, fond an' kind, 
 
 Will kiss ye noo, when I 'm awa ! 
 
 " But oh ! there 's Ane abune, Sandy, 
 Wha'U never hear yer prayer in vain ; 
 
 Sae greet nae mair for me, my dear ! — 
 Oh dinna greet ! — we '11 meet again !
 
 84 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 " Ye '11 lay me where wee Teenie lies, 
 Beside the burn where willows wave ; 
 
 All' where the birds '11 sing sae sweet 
 Their boiinie sangs abune my grave ! 
 
 " An' on the simmer nichts, Sandy, 
 When daisies bloom 'neath rosy skies ; 
 
 Ye '11 tak' the bairnies i' yer haun', 
 
 An' lead them where their mither lies!"
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 85 
 
 MASONIC ANTHEM. 
 
 HAIL, FRATERNAL POWER DIV^INE.* 
 
 Awake the echoes of the night, 
 
 With joyous, heart-inspiring strain — 
 
 All hail, thou radiant mystic Light, 
 That^awn'd in royal Wisdom's reign. 
 
 Hail, fraternal power divine ! 
 
 Star of love, for ever shine ! 
 
 O'er all this boundless, rolling sphere, 
 The symbols of thy might are found ; 
 
 And brothers cherish brothers dear, 
 In Friendship's rosy fetters bound ! 
 
 Hail, fraternal power divine ! 
 
 Star of love, for ever shine ! 
 
 Beneath thy beaming silver skies, 
 No tear of sorrow pleads in vain ; 
 
 But faithful, gen'rous sons arise. 
 And fondly soothe affliction's pain. 
 
 Hail, fraternal power divine ! 
 
 Star of love, for ever shine ! 
 
 * Music by Alfred Stella.
 
 8G POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 All hail, the splendour of thy rays ! 
 
 Oh may their beauty never die ! — 
 All hail, the mighty King of Days ! 
 
 The glorious Architect on high ! 
 Hail, fraternal jjower divine ! 
 Star of love, for ever shine !
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. SI 
 
 JEMMY SLANXIGAN'S APPALE TO THE 
 FINXIAN BOYS. 
 
 By all the blest saints that are dead or alive, or to come 
 yet, what is it ye mane, now 1 
 Howlin' the curse av the year '48, like a parcel av 
 sUly owld codgers. 
 Thundher and furf ! but I 'ni thinkin' intirely ye 'ro all 
 turnin' mad or insane, now : 
 Shouldrin' shillelahs at midnight, like devil'.s own 
 childre, an' playin' at sodgers. 
 
 Is 't an up-an'-down bloody rebellion right out, that yev 
 atther at this time av day, boys ? 
 Cursin', wid black-hearted venomous hathred, the ow ]tl 
 mother counthry so swately I 
 Wid spectacles over yer stony blind eyes, are yez lookin' 
 acrass the salt say, boys. 
 For the ships av Owld Andy, so stately an' trim, 
 that '11 do all the business complately 1 
 
 There ! behowld thini at last! see the Finnian King in 
 a funk, wid his green banners flyin' ! 
 See his rowdies all guashin' their teeth — bowie knives, 
 pikes, revolvers as thick as snow dhrift :
 
 88 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 See the rockets are flamin' o'erhead, an' it's " Death to 
 the Saxon Devourer ! " they 're cryin' ; 
 An the drums, an' the cymbals, an' thrumpets are 
 soundin' right joyfully — over the lift ! 
 
 Only see how Britannia — the moighty Britannia — grows 
 pale at the crash av their thundher — 
 Only see — Pathrick's bones ! — how her sodgers an' 
 sailors an' "Wimbledon sharpshoothers flee — 
 Only see — bless the Pope an' his purty big toe ! — how 
 the grim roarin' Lion knocks undher — 
 Crouched at the back av the wall in despair, wid his 
 taU in his mouth — only see ! 
 
 Xow it's phililoo ! hubbaboo ! ditheroo whack ! — for the 
 joys av RepubKcan glory ! — 
 Swate Fraternity pie, an' American hash, wid fried 
 praties twelve toimes in the day ; 
 Double " X," Bass's bitther, rum-punch, whisky prime, 
 Cogniac, an' Owld Tommy before yez ; 
 Wid the milk an' the honey all flowdn' around, amid 
 lashins av sugar an' tay. 
 
 Hurrah ! there 's no beggary now to be sefen ! see the 
 guaneys piled high as the mountains — 
 See the ladies all sliinin' in bright goolden robes, as 
 they wander wid dandy dressed boys, 
 Discoorsin' swate love, in a languishin' way, by the beau- 
 thiful butther-milk fountains ! — 
 See the pigs on their hind-legs, all sick wid roast mate, 
 ;m' the drakes softly warblin' their joys!
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 89 
 
 O wurra ! olione ! may the Lord open quickly yer eyes 
 in his marciful lanience ! 
 Ye blinded gommogues ! splatt'rin' head-over-heels in 
 the fathomless Gulf av Delusion ; 
 May the Fiend that begun it right swiftly rephit, an' fly 
 off at his soonest convanience 
 Wid the truculent savages over the way — born 
 fonienthors of sthrife an' confusion. 
 
 Why were yez so foolishly moighty an' bowld, in the 
 hoith av yer pride an' consait, boys, 
 Wid yer " Eight shouldher forward ! quick march ! stand 
 at aise, now!" jist under the Lion's own eyes 1 
 Sure yez never weje dhramin' that, sooner or lather, some 
 " thrue sworn brother" would prate, boys : 
 Wirresthrue ! there was never a cause, good or bad, 
 but had always its white-livered spies ! 
 
 An' now this same Lion 's beginnin' to growl : see ! he 's 
 scenting the " Circles " and " Centhrcs ;" 
 Look ahead ! there 's a black thundher-cloud in his 
 eye : oh, be warned ere the lightnin' comes down ! 
 When it bursts in its fury, then woe to the boasts av his 
 impotent, puny tormenthors. 
 As they scatther in terror, like chaff in a gale, at the 
 roar av his dreaded renown ! 
 
 Oh, was it for this that Prosperity's sun was beginnin' 
 to dawn wid sich splindour — 
 When Erin was smilin' wid gladness once more; 
 though her locks wid owld sorrows were hoary —
 
 90 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 That her sons from afar, whom she nursed at her breast, 
 doubly sworn to protect an' defind her, 
 Should widher her bloom by a treacherous stab at the 
 heart av her bright dawnin' glory ! 
 
 What 's the good, now, av prachin' av fine happy toimes, 
 an' the thriumphs av civilizayshin ? — 
 What 's the good av proclaimin' to all the wide world 
 an Industhrial Art Exhibition 1 — 
 What 's the good av just laws, let me ax, the results av 
 an honest an' wise legislayshin. 
 When everything 's blighted an' cursed, root an' 
 branch, by the Devil's owld trick av sedition ? 
 
 Will the howlin's av thraitors bring back any sooner the 
 crame av the landed propriethors 1 
 Will the owld Mother Church, like an aigle convulsed 
 wid delight, clap her wings an' soar higher 1 
 Will her Anglican Sisther the sooner shut shop at the 
 bidding av rapparee riothers ? 
 By the poker that whistled ! ye 're all goin' out av the 
 frying-pan into the fire ! 
 
 Oh, in God's name, eyes front ! to the right about whale ! 
 quick march for yer lives, an' go home, boys ! 
 Dispel the dark Finniau fog av rank death — let the 
 sun av pace shine o'er the nayshin. 
 Sure the best men av Ireland stand cowldly aloof, an' 
 there 's no warm wishes from Eome, boys ; 
 For yer dhrivin' express, in the devil's own tram, wid 
 the grim gallows-tree for the stayshin.
 
 POhMS AND SONGS. 91 
 
 Queen av Erin ! come forth from yer fair Scottish glens 
 — sure we know ye won't hear us in vain, ma'am ; 
 For the birds softly sing that yer desolate days are, 
 thank God, very near at an ind. 
 Oh it 's happy we '11 be, when the dark mantle falls, jist 
 to see yer swate face once again, ma'am ; 
 For it 's bowldly ye '11 prove, wid the spirit av owld, 
 a thrue Irishman's motherly frind. 
 
 J. S., 
 Septimber the 29, '65. bis + mark.
 
 92 POEMS AND SONGS, 
 
 WHEN HEATHER BELLS ARE SAFTLY 
 BLAWIN'. 
 
 Wi' noiseless step, puir Nelly stray'd, 
 
 Fu' weary by the moanin' sea : 
 Her hair was deckt wi' purple shells, 
 
 An' vacant shone her dark blue ee. 
 A faded rose she fondly prest, 
 
 As sweet she sang, while leaves were fa'in' 
 " I '11 meet my luve abune yon lift, 
 
 When heather bells are saftly blawin' ! 
 
 " A lock o' hair, an' ring o' gowd — 
 
 A ring o' rosy gowd sae fine — 
 He gied me doun yon fairy dell ; 
 
 But, wae 's my heart, it 's lang sin syne ! 
 His wraith gaed by, ae wintry nicht, 
 
 The weary way that I was ga'in' ; 
 It sigh'd, I '11 meet ye, Nelly dear, 
 
 When heather bells are saftly blawin' ! 
 
 " Yestreen a ship, Avi' silken sails. 
 
 Lay rowin' on a silver sea ; 
 An' my true luve was at the helm, 
 
 An' fond my true luve sang to me.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 93 
 
 He prest bis lips, sae caiild, to mine, 
 Frae <rloamin' till the sileut dawin' : 
 
 I said, I '11 meet ye, Jamie dear, 
 
 When heather bells are saftly blawin' ! " 
 
 Sweet simmer shed, wi' fragrant breath, 
 
 Her emerald glory owtc the dell, 
 When faintly wail'd a bonnie sang 
 
 Frae distant lands where angels dwell. 
 Wi' tremblin' step, puir Nelly socht 
 
 The dear-lo'ed tryst, as tears were fa' in' ; 
 An' met her luve abunc yon lift 
 
 When heather bells were saftly blawin' !
 
 94 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 THE LAMENT 0' ST GILES'S BELLS. 
 
 Cling, clang, cling, clang, 
 
 Greet, an' hing yer held : 
 Clinkura, clankum, cling, clang. 
 
 The toun 's maist deid ! 
 Shame fa' the Presbyters, 
 
 An' shame fa' the Chaumer, 
 An' shame fa' the siller-grips 
 
 That stay'd our blythesome clamour ! 
 
 Cling, clang, cling, clang. 
 
 Wow the canty times. 
 When clinkum, clankum, cling, clang, 
 
 We rung the merry chimes ; 
 An' cheer'd the hearts o' rich an' puir, 
 
 Frae king to raggit caddie, 
 Wi' "■ Denty Davie's curly pow," 
 
 "Sweet Hame," an " Tooraladdy!" 
 
 Cling, clang, cling, clang, 
 
 We 've birr'd the " Lass o' Gowrie," 
 " The last time I cam owre the muir," 
 
 Wi' " Bonnie Geordie Lowrie ! "
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 95 
 
 "The auld man's mare's deid," 
 
 " An' wasna he a rogny 1 " 
 " There 's cauld kail in Aberdeen, 
 
 An' sinners in Strathbogie ! " 
 
 Cling, clang, cKng, clang, 
 
 " Up I the mornin' early ;" 
 " The auld wife ayont the fire," 
 
 An' " Wha 'U be kmg but Charlie." 
 *' The ewie wi' the crookit horn," 
 
 An' Robbie's " Bonnie Jean ; " 
 Wi' " Muirland Willie," " Roy's Wife," 
 
 An' " Jock o' Hazeldean ! " 
 f 
 Cling, clang, cling, clang, 
 
 Thae guid auld days are past — 
 Clinkum, clankum, cling, clang, 
 
 We 're a' deein' fast ! 
 There 's naething noo but monuments, 
 
 An' mournfu' celebrations ; 
 An' pride an' greed are a' that 's left 
 
 To cheer the deevil's patience ! 
 
 Cling, clang, cling, clang, 
 
 Fareweel to public spirit ! 
 Clinkum, clankum, cling, clang, 
 
 Fareweel to ancient merit ! 
 Yet, Deddy Giles, before we dee 
 
 Come, dicht yer auld gray e'en ; 
 Here 's " Hard times come again nae mair," 
 
 An' " God save the Queen !"
 
 96 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 WHAT MAKS THIS HEART SAE WAE ? 
 
 [The following is a, feeble tribute of respect to the memory of Miss 
 Elizabeth Hay, of Edinburgh, a young lady whose womanly qualities 
 endeared her to all who knew her.] 
 
 What maks this heart sae wae, Bessie ? 
 
 What gies this bosom pain ? 
 ' What mean sic words o' sorrowin' dale, 
 
 That tell me thou art gane 1 
 Oh, what is this that fills my een 
 
 Wi' tears o' sad despair — 
 That I shall see thy winsome form 
 
 An' bonnie face nae mair ! 
 
 For aye the smile sae sweet, Bessie, 
 
 That cheered thy faither's ha', 
 An' aye the nameless graces rare, 
 
 That made thee lo'ed by a' — 
 The kindly look, the tender heart, 
 
 Sae guileless, an' sae free. 
 Are beamin' bricht, like stars o' gowd, 
 
 In memory's sleepless e'e !
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 97 
 
 Thou 'rt lanely, an' thou 'rt cauld, Bessie— 
 
 The bleak ^vin(ls owre thee rave ; 
 The murky lift, wi' darksome gloom, 
 
 Hings dreary owre thy grave. 
 The mournfu' truth I canna thole, 
 
 For this puir heart o' mine 
 Aye sees thee in thy comeliness, 
 
 T the simmer days langsyne ! 
 
 Oh ! are the dearest ties, Bessie, 
 
 0' fond affection riven ? 
 An' art thou wanderin' ever mair 
 
 'Mang the rosy dells o' heaven ? 
 Yes, thou art there ! — but weary fa' 
 
 The cheerless wintry morn. 
 That left within thy mither's breast 
 
 A sair an' bitter thorn ! 
 
 G
 
 98 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 AULD HORNIE'S FLIGHT. 
 
 A LAY OF EDI^'BUEGH. 
 
 Ae nicht doim by there was a queer mishanter, 
 An' puir Auld Hornie couldna blaw his chanter ; 
 For rumour strange frae regions far abune, 
 Had put baith king an' subjects oot o' tune ; — 
 Some purpose vile to drain a morbid river, 
 An' free the land frae pestilence an' fever, — 
 An act o' kindness unco hard to bide, 
 That sairly mortified his deevlish pride ; 
 Sae filled wi' rank disgust at human kind, 
 He thocht he 'd gang an' fish, to ease his mind ; 
 An' takin' up his rod, wi' wrathfu' glare, 
 Upward he mounted through the dark] in' air. 
 Far in his rear, 'mid boundless regions dire, 
 Ran heavy swelterin' seas o' roarin' fire. 
 High owre his horns thick murky vapours hung, 
 While howls an' yells, wi' eldritch clamour, rung. 
 Upward, yet upward, through the eerie void, 
 Ghaists, gowls, an' goblins girnin' at his side ; — 
 Owre groanin' hills, wi' wailin' gulfs between, 
 The fire-flauchts fleein' frae his glancin' een ; —
 
 POEMS A^^D SOXGS. 99 
 
 Througli dreary, rock-ribb'd caverns, noclit appall'd, 
 Where gusty blasts blew keen, an' bitter cauld ; — 
 Upward, yet upward, till a sullen roar 
 Proclaim'd the horrors o' the Stygian shore ; — 
 At last, wi' shiverin' tail, an' chatterin' teeth, 
 He landed safely at the Water o' Leith ! 
 
 Dim were its classic banks, o' beauty rare, 
 Saft dreggy fragrance fill'd the midnicht air. 
 The stagnant water giimmer'd i' the moon 
 That shone serenely frae the lift abune, 
 Refiectin' cats lang syne defunct, deid dowgs, an' 
 ancient ^oon ! 
 
 The salmon sported, free frae molestation, 
 Wi' here an' there a trout for variation ; 
 An' whyles, at times, appear'd the caperin' tail 
 0' some blithe haddie — very like a whale ! 
 
 Noo bonnie smells their charms did fost disclose. 
 For ilka bogle snuff'd, tlien held his nose ; 
 Syne leavin' them wha liked to pree the same, 
 They shook their fireproof wings, an' skelpit hame ! 
 
 Three times Auld Hornie groan'd, an' pech'd, an' 
 
 boakit ; 
 Syne, gaspin', held his sides, an' cried, " I 'm chokit!" 
 But shamed to show sic fear o' fragrance odd, 
 He gulp'd it doun, syne heaved his fishin'-rod, —
 
 100 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 A drain-pipe, baited \vi' destruction dire, 
 That scarce descended 'mang tlie oozy mire, 
 Than to the surface rose sic noisome clags, 
 Bunches o' sparrow-grass, an' hame-made rags, 
 Mountains o' draff an' dregg, whase vapoury breath 
 Diffused, insensibly, the seeds o' death; 
 Wi' ither rank an' vile abominations, 
 That fill'd the air wi' noxious exhalations. 
 
 Then loud resounded Poortith's wails an' moans. 
 While Wealth gied twa-three sympathetic groans ; — 
 Till, wi' a din that made e'en Hornie wonder, 
 Arose the Corporation's civic thunder. 
 
 Says Charity, " What means sic heartless strife? 
 What 's <£ aS*. D. compared to human life 1 
 Flinch frae this sacred cause I never will : 
 ' The Bill— the Bill— an' naething hut the Bill ! '" * 
 
 Then Bailie Whinstane, fill'd wi' burstin' spleen. 
 An' greedy grip, ca'd dirty water clean , 
 Sayin', wi' a' a Christian's best intention, 
 " This crack o' ' nuisance' is pure invention ; 
 An' though 'twere true, yer wishy-washy Bill, 
 Yet siller 's scarce, an' puir folk 's hard to kill. 
 Therefore let dams abound, an' slink remain, 
 I '11 keep the bawbees i' my pouch. Amen ! " 
 
 * The Water of Leith Sewerage Bill, that raised much angry 
 feeUug in the Town Council, and elsewhere, — several of its most 
 strenuous opposers possessing property in the districts proposed 
 to be assessed for carrying out its provisions.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 101 
 
 Loud laucli'd Auld Homie owre their wide dissension : 
 
 It eased his fiery heart, sic snell contention. 
 
 Wi' joy he clear'd his wizzen in a crack, 
 
 An' thus to giruin' Bailie Whinstane spak : — 
 
 " Essence o' factious spite ! dear son o' mhie ! 
 What loyal sentiments, my bairn, are thine ! 
 Thy honey'd nectar cheers me to the core. 
 An' minds me o' the glorious days o' yore. 
 When, 'mid the clash an' clang o' deavin' yaumer. 
 Fair Discord reign'd triumphant i' the Chaumer ; — 
 When yon fine tax,* that held the Kirk thegither, 
 Was aft the cause o' mony a canty blether ; — 
 When profFer'd settlements o' high profession 
 Redeem'd the sin o' Adam's t first transgression ; — 
 When, in his pride, he vow'd to bear the bell, 
 
 The Commons ruled the roast, an' Adam fell ! j 
 
 I heard doun by o' Jamie's § famous measure, 
 But proud am I it 's nae great gowden treasure. 
 Still shall it prove, for a' that 's yet been tried, 
 An ever-ranklin' thorn in Ileekie's side. 
 
 * The old Edinburgh Annuity-Tax. 
 
 t Adam Black, Esi^., formerly M.P. for Edinburgh. His vote 
 on the Maynooth Grant is here alluded to. 
 
 X The Bill introduced into the House of Commons in IS.'l? by 
 this veteran lleformer, which provided for the gradual abolition 
 of the Annuity Tax in fifteen years, was thrown out on the thurd 
 reading; and another Bill, sanctioned by many of the inhabi- 
 tants, was brought in by Lord Advocate Moncreitf in 18G0, and 
 subsequently passed into law. 
 
 § Right Hon. James Moncreiff, M.P., Lord Advocate.
 
 102 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 " Hoo aft, my son, I 've seen thy cheery smirk, 
 An' heard thy thunders owre the College Kirk : 
 Thy staunch espousal o' thy faither's part 
 Aft won the thanks o' this saft, tender heart ! 
 Rut grieved was I, yon sad an' luckless day, 
 When sweet Sectarian Rancour fell astray — 
 Ay, far astray atweel — (although, my dear, 
 We canna look for true perfection here !) — 
 When Justice,* in frcieKcntia Dominoinim, 
 Wi' a' the big-wigs o' the law before him, 
 Spak words that gied this fiery breist a stoun' ; 
 But, praise be blest ! I 'm never lang cast doun !- 
 Yon English lordie,t kennin' what was wanted, 
 Has raised mair bitter strife, an' I 'm enchanted.- 
 Sagacious Duncan, wi' his powers sae fine, 
 Was never ony sonsy bairn o' mine ! 
 
 " An' noo they 've ta'en the water-brash, I fear, 
 
 An' raised a denty collieshangie here. 
 
 Fain wad they rob me o' my dearest pleasures, 
 
 Wi' trashy ' Bills,' an' ' saiiitary measures,' 
 
 Tryin', wi' a' their vile mechanic art, 
 
 To foster cleanliness, an' break my heart ! — 
 
 But, by my troth, for a' the sturt that 's ragin'. 
 
 An' a' their babblement o' vile contagion, 
 
 * Right Hon. Duncan M'Neill of Colonsay, Lord President of 
 the Court of Session. 
 
 t Lord Chancellor Westbury, who, in the House of Lords, 
 reversed the decision of the Court of Session anent Trinity Col- 
 lege Church.
 
 P0E1\[S AND SONGS. 103 
 
 As lang as guid Self-Iut'rest bears tlie gree, 
 An' Mammon reigns supreme, nae fear o' me ! " 
 
 Auld Hornie ended, wi' a lion's roar. 
 That far resounded through the Lethean shore, 
 The stagnant river heaved, wi' shiverin' dread, — 
 The dreamy moon, in silent horror, fled, — 
 Sulphureous flames illumed the dark profound, — 
 Eocked, in its agony, the trembling ground, — 
 The time-gun burst wi' terrible explosion. 
 An' a' the mill-wheels were in instant motion. 
 
 Then wi' a \5feirdly glower o' dark afi^ection 
 At him wha'd heard this excellent prelection. 
 He seized the Bailie in his greedy maw, 
 Syne flapt his red-hot wings, an' flew awa' !
 
 104 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 THE KAVEN LIES BLEEDING. 
 
 [written in 1S64.] 
 
 Weep, weary world, and arouse thee from slumber : 
 Weep o'er the graves of the heroes departed : 
 Weep, weary world, for the Eaven* hath fallen, 
 And the Eagles t are gather'd together. 
 
 Hark to the groans of her widows defenceless ! 
 Hark to her fatherless, moaning in anguish ! 
 Hark to the shout of her ruthless invader : — 
 " Hurrah ! for the Raven lies bleeding !" 
 
 Hee ye the smoke and the flames of her cities ! 
 Hear ye the roar of the dread cannon thunder ? 
 See ye the far-flashing rifles relentless? 
 
 Lo, the Eaven — the Eaven lies bleeding ! 
 
 Hear ye the voice of the tyrant oppressor, 
 'Mid the blare of the bugles, " I thank thee, Jehovah ! " 
 God of Denmark ! a merciless Eacrle invokes thee, 
 While the Eaven — the Eaven lies bleeding ! 
 
 * Deumark. -t- Austria and Prussia.
 
 POEMS AXD SONGS. 105 
 
 The slaves of the Fatherland hover around her, 
 Couhtless and vast as the waves of Lofoden, 
 Wavino; the war-flap; of fetters and thraldom 
 
 O'er the land where the Raven lies bleeding ! 
 
 « 
 
 Spirits of warriors wlio fought for her glor}^ 
 Roused from their death-sleep of silence eternal, 
 Cry, as the muftled drums roll o'er their graves. 
 And the trumpets are wailing in sorrow : — 
 
 " Oh for the falchion and buckler of Lodbrok ! — 
 Oh for the fierce rushing hordes of the mighty ; 
 And the battle-steeds foaming 'mid death's volley'd 
 thundef ! 
 For the Raven — the Raven lies bleeding ! 
 
 " Oh for the Flaming Shield— Sea-King of Terror, 
 That shook the wild ocean, and laugh'd at its fury ; 
 While the Goth fled appall'd from the flash of his 
 banner ! 
 For the Raven — the Raven lies bleeding ! " 
 
 See ye afar^ 'mid the red lurid lightnings, 
 The giant upheavings of manacled nations 1 
 Hear ye the burning words soaring to heaven : — 
 " Our countiy — our country lies bleeding ! " 
 
 O Thou great Paraclete, mighty and glorious ! 
 Send forth a ray from the Throne of Thy Majesty ! 
 Scatter the despots that mock Thy fierce anger, 
 And goad Thine own image to madness !
 
 106 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Schamyl ! awake ! 'tis the liorn of Circassia ! 
 Kossuth ! the war -trump of Hungary's sounditig ! 
 Bossak ! all hail thy bright standard of glory ! 
 For Poland — thy Poland lies bleeding ! 
 
 Sons of the Star-Spangled Banner of Slavery ! 
 Drench'd with the blood of descendants of heroes : 
 See ye your mightiness shatter'd in twain, 
 
 And the hopes of your fathers lie bleeding ! 
 
 Eouse thee, Victoria ! fair Mother of Freedom ! 
 Slumbers the pibroch amid thy blue mountains 1 
 Hark ! 'tis the Lion of Albion roaring ! 
 
 For the Raven — the Raven lies bleeding ! 
 
 Rouse thee, ISTapoleon ! the stern and the fearless ! 
 The Avrath of whose frown makes the proud nations 
 
 tremble : 
 Glory of France ! call thy chariots and horsemen ! 
 
 For the Raven — the Raven lies bleeding ! 
 
 Rouse thee, Immanuel ! bright Star of Italia ! 
 Laurel-crown'd monarch ! the bugles are sounding ! 
 Rome and Venetia in fetters are sighing ; 
 
 And the Raven — the Raven lies bleeding ! 
 
 Warriors of Liberty ! hear ye her death-shriek 
 Sounding afar 'mid the carnage of battle 1 
 Lion of lonely Caprera, arise ! 
 
 Garibaldi ! the Raven lies bleeding !
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 107 
 
 ARCHY AN' LIZZIE 0' WUDDISLEE. 
 
 A LAY OF THE RUSSIAN WAR. 
 PART I, 
 
 " EiSE, woman, Lizzie ! ye lazy young Lizzie ! 
 
 Happit up there, like an aulcl pettit doo ! 
 Get up — mak' the parritch — hear Doddle his carritch : 
 
 Syne hie to the loanin', and milk the broun coo ! 
 
 " Hoo aft maun I teU yc ? Od, lassie, I 'U fell ye ! " 
 
 L"p Lizzie junipit, as brisk as a bee ; 
 For she'd dreamt that her lover, blithe Archy the drover, 
 
 Had met her, an' kiss'd her, doun sweet Wuddislee. 
 
 Lizzy was pretty, an' sac was her tittie, 
 But Lizzie by far was the best o' the twa ; 
 
 'Twasna lang ere her lover wi' joy did discover, 
 That his ain comely jo was the queen o' them a'. 
 
 Sae she sune made the parritch, heard Doddic his car- 
 ritch, 
 When Archy cam' yont, wi' a blink in his ee, 
 Ashe cough'd, an' said, "Lizzie!" wi' a sly look at 
 Grizzle, 
 " There 's a slcht doun yon plantln I 'd like ye to see !
 
 108 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 " It 's a bonnie young lammie, that moans to its 
 mammy, 
 For its wee bit leg 's broken, an' muckle 's its pain ; 
 An' the puir feckless yowie gangs restless an' dowie : 
 Od her bleat wad maist melt the hard heart o' a 
 stane !" 
 
 But Grizzle, a' pan tin', skreech'd, " What is 't ye 're 
 wantin' 
 
 At this time o' day, ye lang-shankit disgrace 1 
 Tak her out if ye daur ! Lassie, ye 'II fare the waur ! 
 
 Hech ! but I wus an' she 'd ne'er seen yer face ! 
 
 "Ye fell clooty raker! ye vile halanshaker! 
 
 My certy ! nae doot but ye think yersel' fine, 
 Wi' yer proud, empty vapours — yer cuts, an' yer 
 capers, 
 
 Hoc daur ye draw up wi' a dochter o' mine ? 
 
 " "What's that ye 're sayin'? What hae I been daein' ?" 
 Cried Archy, wi' anger as wUd as a bear ; 
 
 " I 've courtit yer dochter, an' lang hae I socht her ; 
 For I've cam' back an' forrit this sax year an' 
 mair. 
 
 " But never — oh never, auld wife, hae I ever. 
 Till this weary hour got sic usage before. 
 
 Let me tell ye my mind : — I' the days o' langsyne, 
 I hae seen when ye wadna sent me to yer door !
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 109 
 
 " When my ain folk were livin', an' ye werena thrivin', 
 They help'd ye ^i' mair than a word o' the mou' ; 
 
 For when auld Tammas dee'd, they brocht baith meal 
 an' breid ; 
 An' ye aye got a denty fat bit o' their soo, 
 
 " But they 're a' noo awa' Weel, gude day to ye a' ! 
 
 God bless ye, dear Lizzie!" but Lizz couldna speak; 
 Syne he gied her a glower, as he draw'd tae the door, 
 
 An' the lassie sat doun, wi' her heart like to break ! 
 
 PART n. 
 
 Wee Davie Waddie, a white-headit laddie, 
 Cam' rinnin' a' pechin', an' loud did he roar: 
 
 " Open the door, will ye % then I "11 tell'd a' till ye ! 
 Hie ! Lizzie Lowrieston ! open the door ! " 
 
 Lizzie flew to the door, when she heard the wild roar, 
 Cryin', "What's brocht ye here, ye ill-deedie wee 
 viper ? " 
 
 Quo' he, " Archy Rodger 's aff wi' the sodgcrs, 
 
 An' the auld sergeant 's fill'd him as fou' as a piper!" 
 
 But scarce was he dune, when she heard a fell soun' 
 O' tootin' an' rowtin' owre plantin' an' lee ; 
 
 An' sair her heart thrabbit, an' waefu' she sabbit, 
 When Archy cam' by, wi' a drap in his ee.
 
 110 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Oil proud did lie swagger, an' stoiter an' stagger, 
 
 Till he saw the tears fa' doun her cheeks like the rain ; 
 
 Then his manly heart fillin', he show'd her the shillin', 
 Sayin', " Lizzie, my lass ! ye '11 no see me again ! 
 
 " Sae muckle, auld carline, ye 've made o' yer quarrellin, 
 But I bear ye nae ill for yer canker an' spleen. 
 
 An' " he tried to say mair, but the effort was sair, 
 
 Sae he shouther'd his bundle, an' dichtit his e'en. 
 
 'Spite her mither's command, Lizzie gied him her hand, 
 An' she bade him fareweel, wi' a look o' despair ; 
 
 Then fondly an' dearly he kiss'd her sincerely ; 
 
 An' for mony a lang day Lizzie saw him nae mair ! 
 
 PART III. 
 
 Swift flew the time in a far-distant clime. 
 
 An' Archy had glower'd upon mony a queer sicht, 
 
 Amang kettle-faced neegurs, where puggies an' teegurs, 
 An' grim alligators keep folk in a fricht. 
 
 Till his regiment o' fame got the route to gang hame, 
 An' joy sparkled bricht i' the puir sodger's ee ; 
 
 For she 'd said in a letter, her health ne'er was better, 
 An' her heart was as true as a true heart could be. 
 
 But alas ! ere they landit, the Queen countermandit 
 Their orders, an' mony a puir cliield was cast doun ;
 
 POEMS AND SOXGS. Ill 
 
 For the Muscovite Czar had provoked her to war, 
 An' she ca'd out her sodgers to kittle his croun. 
 
 Then oh ! sic a bummin' o' fifin' an' drummin', 
 
 As thousands inarch'd on at the word o' command ; 
 
 Sic din an' commotion owre yirth an' owre ocean, 
 Had hardly been kent o' before i' the land. 
 
 For the Northern Birkie had thocht to tak Turkey, 
 An' aiblins a sneesh frae our Indian mull ; 
 
 Sae to end a' his thinkin', sly Nappy gaed linkin' 
 Wi' Sandy, an' Paddy, an' bauld Johnnie Bull. 
 
 'Twas ae nicht in- September — if weel I remember — 
 'Mid lichtnin'. an' rain, an' 'mid thunder's loud roar, 
 
 That a brave, gallant band, an' the flower o' the land, 
 Lay cauld under arms on an enemy's shore. 
 
 Yet they lookit f u' cheery, though famish'd an' weary ; 
 
 Oh soun' was their sleep on the bare, freenless yirth ! 
 Frae faither an' mither — frae sister an' brither — 
 
 An' far frae the sea-girdled land o' their birth. 
 
 Frae puir wifies lookin' — oh ! unco heart-broken, 
 
 Wha grat for the chields some wad never mair see ! — 
 
 Frae the wee bairnies, bless them ! that aft used to kiss 
 them ! 
 The core o' their bosom, an' pride o' their ee ! 
 
 But the morn dawns at last, when the bugle's shrill blast 
 Sees them churgiu' for honour, an' glory, an' fame ;
 
 1 1 2 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Crasli bullet an' shell, rings the wild Russian yell 
 Frae the Hichts o' the Alma, 'mid thunder an' 
 flame ! 
 
 Noo far owre the field glares the bricht flamin' steel, 
 While the deadly guns roar 'mang the ranks o' the 
 brave ; 
 
 An' rifles are flashin' an' begnets are clashin', 
 As thousands rush on to a cauld bluidy grave. 
 
 'Mid the Muscovite cannon, a braw kiltie 's stannin', 
 Whase valour strikes dread 'mang the serfs i' the van ; 
 
 For he f echts, an' he thunders, till ilka ane wonders, 
 An' think him a deevil instead o' a man. 
 
 Sair pechs ilka loon, as he peppers them doun, 
 
 Till a sword 's through his side ; an' a tear fills his ee, 
 
 As, fentin' an' dizzy, he thinks on dear Lizzie, 
 
 An' the bonnie green plantins o' sweet Wuddislee ! 
 
 The foemen are fleein' — he thinks himsel' deein', 
 As, cover'd wi' bluid, an' sair rackit wi' pain, 
 
 He cries, wi' a shiver : " Sir Colin for ever !" 
 
 Then fa's wi' a groan 'mang the woundit an' slain. 
 
 PART IV. 
 
 Dowie an' eerie — sad, listless, an' weary, 
 
 Puir Lizzie lived on, thinkin' aye on the past ;
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 113 
 
 Till Hope's gowden blossom droop'd low in her bosom, 
 An' her saft bloomin' roses were witherin' fast. 
 
 For a month sin' the day o' that stern, bluidy fray, 
 She had heard that her lover had fa'en on the fiel' ; 
 
 An' she grat unco sair owre a lock o' his hair, 
 For the bonnie bit lassie had likit him weel. 
 
 An' to mak' the thing waur, word cam' frae afar, 
 That an uncle o' Archy's, an auld batchyleer, 
 
 Had dee'd at St Martin's wi' eatin' sour partans, 
 An' left him a guid twa-three hunder a-year. 
 
 r 
 
 Syne the pawky auld mither changed her tune a'the- 
 gither, 
 
 An' spak o' the chield she ance liked to misca', 
 Wi' a moan, an' a groan, an' an unco " Ohon ! 
 
 Puir duggie ! he wasna sae iU after a' ! " 
 
 Sae the time slipt awa', till the frost an' the snaw 
 Gart a' comely nature look cheerless an' drear ; 
 
 An' cauld sough'd the blast owre the bleak, lanely waste, 
 As heavily dwined the last nicht o' the year. 
 
 Owre the plantins sae eerie flew the robin fu' weary, 
 As his wee mate sat cauld on the snaw-cover'd tree. 
 
 Far doun i' the loanin' ; while houlets were moanin' 
 'Maug the dark, dreary ruins o' auld Wuddislee.
 
 114 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Bonnie Lizzie lay dreamin', the tears saftly streamin' 
 Doun her cheeks, like twa lilies a' drouket wi' dew ; 
 
 For the puir lassie's mind was awa' wi' langsyne, 
 
 When the callant had ta'en the last kiss o' her mou'. 
 
 But her mother lay girnin', an' fidgin' an' turnin', 
 For sleep wadna bless the dour body ava ; 
 
 Sae she raise in great anger — she couldna thole't langer, 
 An' lichtin' her cutty, sat doun for a blaw. 
 
 As Grizzle sat smokin' — thrang knittin' a stockin' 
 By the licht o' the ingle, for caunel was dear — 
 
 Haith the cat gied a yowl, an' the dowg gied a growl, 
 As Broun Danny, the clock, rung the end o' the year. 
 
 Then a bang at the door made her start to the floor, 
 An' unco dementit, she socht for a licht, 
 
 As she stammer' d, a' shaken : "Else, ne'er-do-weels ! 
 
 waken ! 
 
 Hie ! wha 's that at our door at this time o' 
 
 nicht!" 
 
 " It 's me ! '' cried a voice. Up got Lizz in a trice, 
 A' gaspin', syne on wi' her goun in a jiffie ; 
 
 Then awa' to the glass for a keek at her face, 
 
 While to thraw roun' the key gied the donnert auld 
 wifie. 
 
 Happit up to the chin, a braw chield steppit in, 
 Wi' a sonsy, fair face, as the licht on him fell ;
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 115 
 
 Soon the lassie was press'd wi' a kiss to his breast, 
 Cryin', " O niither ! mither ! it 's Archy himseri" 
 
 " A Happy New Year, my ain Lizzie dear ! 
 
 An' mony a jin here may we a' see thegither ! " 
 He cheerily said, as he threw aff his phiid, 
 
 Syne kiss'd her again — deil-may-care for her mither ! 
 
 " My warst days are past, for I 'm wi' ye at last : 
 Oh ne'er will I leave yo, while life gies me breath. 
 
 I '11 keep ye fu' cheery, my ain darlin' dearie, 
 An' naething '11 part us, my dawtie, but death ! 
 
 " When bullets, were fleein', an' thousands were deein', 
 An' battle raged wild on the red bluidy plain ; 
 
 Frae the sword o' the foe a fell thrust laid me low, 
 An' I ne'er thocht to see my sweet lassie again. 
 
 " But the bricht doctor chicls, wi' their plaisters an' pUls, 
 An' their dreich pouther nostrums sae frichtfu' to 
 name, 
 Wi' the skill o' their trade brocht me sune owre the 
 bed ; 
 Then fondly I thocht on my Lizzie at hame. 
 
 " Syne I 'd scarcely got better, when in cam' a letter. 
 That an auld freen had dee'd, an' had made me his 
 heir ; 
 
 Sae wi' heart fu' o' glee, an' bricht joy i' my ee, 
 I got up my discharge — I 'm a sodger nae mair.
 
 116 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 " I 'm hale, an' I 'm healthy ; an' thank God, I 'm 
 wealthy : 
 
 I '11 mak' ye, dear Lizzie, my bonnie wee wife : 
 The gowden ring 's ready : ye '11 soon be a leddy, 
 
 An' cosy an' braw a' the days o' yer life !" 
 
 Pair Lizzie sat smilin' — wi' joy her heart fillin' — 
 >She blush'd, syne look'd doun, kennin' nocht what to 
 dae ; 
 An' aye as he press'd her, an' dawtit an' kiss'd her, 
 " Toots ! gie owre wi' yer nonsense ! " was a' she 
 could say. 
 
 Surprised an' dumfounder'd, the auld body wonder'd, 
 As her bottle sae mensefu', an' bannocks sae denty, 
 
 tShe brocht out to pree, wi' an unco " Losh me ! 
 
 Od, laddie, I 'm sure I wad hardly hae kent ye!" 
 
 Puddins are toastin' — baddies are roastin' — 
 Ham-an'-egg 's fryin', richt pleasant to see : 
 
 Archy, fu' cheery, sits doun wi' his dearie. 
 
 An' auld Lucky Lowrieston pours out the tea ! 
 
 Ere the daft days were past, cam' the waddin at last : 
 Oh, grand was the bridegroom, an' gay was the bride ; 
 
 An' proud was her mitherto see gaun thegither 
 The happiest twa i' the hale kintra-side. 
 
 Sic feastin' an' stechin' — sic drinkin' an' pechin' — 
 Sic singin' an' dancin' — sic rollickin' glee —
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 1 1 7 
 
 Sic jokin' an' daffin' — sic roarin' an' laughin' — 
 Was ne'er before kent o' in auld Wuddislee. 
 
 Oh lang be they happy, an' fu' be their cappy; 
 
 An' soon come the time when the laird's sonsy leddy 
 Shall add to his pleasure a bonnie wee treasure, 
 
 The very drawn picture an' pride o' its deddy !
 
 118 POEMS AND SONGS. , 
 
 HELPLESS PHEMIR 
 
 Helpless Phemie ! puir wee orphan ! 
 
 Freenless, feckless, bonnie wean ! 
 Blae her cheekies, caulcl her feetie, 
 
 Hirplin' through the streets her lane ! 
 
 Canna see a sty me, puir lassie ! 
 
 Wee bit leggie unco lame ! 
 Oh tak' pity on an orphan, 
 
 Ye wha hae a cosy hame ! 
 
 Faither — cruel, cruel faither, 
 
 Ean awa ae wintry morn : 
 Mither — broken-heartit mither, 
 
 Dee'd the nicht that she was born! 
 
 Oh the bitter thocht o' pairtin' 
 Frae her helpless bairn sae wee. 
 
 Ere she sunk in death's cauld slumber — 
 Ere she closed a mither's ee ! 
 
 Mony a mile puir Phemie wanders : 
 
 Bare an' scanty is her store. 
 Sad the freenless, feckless orphan, 
 
 Noo maun beg frae door to door !
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 119 
 
 Canna see a styme, puir lassie ! 
 
 Wee bit leggie unco lame ! 
 Oh. tak pity on an orphan, 
 
 Ye wha hae a cosy hame !
 
 ] 20 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 MY AULD TRUE LOVE. 
 
 I 'm thinkin' on thy face, love, 
 
 Sae comely, an' sae fair ; 
 I 'm thinkin' on the cherry lips 
 
 That I maun kiss nae mair ! 
 I 'm thinkin' on yon last fond tryst, 
 
 When sad we baith sat doun 
 By bonnie Loudon's crystal burn 
 
 I' the flowery month o' June, 
 
 Sae fond thou look'd on me, love. 
 
 But couldna — couldna speak : 
 The bitter tear was in thine ee, 
 
 Thy heart was like to break. 
 I never blamed the thocht, love, 
 
 That gied thy bosom pain ; 
 For weel I kent, my bonnie quean, 
 
 Thy heart was a' my ain ! 
 
 'Twas thy ain faither dear, love, 
 That made thee weep for me ; 
 
 For sichtless was the puir auld man. 
 An' a' he had was thee.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 121 
 
 Oh a' he had was thee, love, 
 
 His lanely hame to share ; 
 An' oh ! it wasna in thy heart 
 
 To grieve his auld gray hair ! 
 
 We left the burnie side, love, 
 
 My hauu' was clasp'd in thine : 
 A heavy thocht lay in thy breast — 
 
 A heavy thocht itt mine ! 
 I couldna say fareweel, love ; 
 
 For oh ! my heart was sair 
 To think I 'd see thy ain dear face — 
 
 Thy!<!omely face nae mair !
 
 122 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 MARY IN THE VALLEY. 
 
 She linger'd at the door o' her auld faither's hame — 
 Green grows the aik on the braes o' Craigmaillie ; 
 
 An' the ingle burn'd bricht wi' a bonnie, bonnie flame, 
 But the wind blaws keen i' the lanely valley ! 
 
 " O mither, tak' me in ; for I 'm wearied, an I 'm cauld ! " 
 Green grows the aik on the braes o' Craigmaillie ; 
 
 But she heard nae gentle voice, save the yowies i' the 
 fauld, 
 An' the wind blaws keen i' the lanely valley ! 
 
 " Lie still, lie still, my wee thing ! oh lie thee still an' 
 rest!" 
 
 Green grows the aik on the braes o' Craigmaillie — 
 Sad she gied awa', wi' her bairnie at her breast ; 
 
 An' the wind blaws keen i' the lanely vaUey ! 
 
 Sweet sang a voice frae the bonnie siller moon — 
 Green grows the aik on the braes o' Craigmaillie — 
 
 " There 's a cosy ingle-side for the weary heart abune !"' 
 An' the wind blaws keen i' the lanely valley !
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 123 
 
 Kindly an' briciit shone the starnies as she past — 
 Green grows the aik on the braes o' Craigmaillie — 
 
 Wi' her lammie in her bosom, her heart breakin' fast ; 
 An' the wind blaws keen i' the lanely valley ! 
 
 Oh saft swells the mournfu' dirge owre dewy hill an' 
 plain — 
 
 Green grows the aik on the braes o' Craigmaillie — 
 Low the burnie murmurs a bonnie, bonnie strain, 
 
 As peacefu' she sleeps i' the lanely valley !
 
 124 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 ACHORA MACHREE.* 
 
 Erin, fair emerald gem of the ocean ! 
 
 I lave ye wid sorrow, my counthry asthore. 
 Fill'd is this breast wid an honest emotion, 
 
 For the land that I love I will never see more. 
 Slowly the vessel goes down the swate river : 
 
 The sails are unfurl' d, and the wind 's blowing free : 
 Core of my weeping heart ! bless thee for ever ! 
 
 Dear home of my fathers, achora machree ! 
 
 Oh for the voice that I ever hear sighing ! 
 
 Oh for the grave where the willows entwine ! 
 Lonely the snowy white bosom that 's lying, 
 
 And cowld the dear heart that throbb'd fondly to 
 mine ! 
 Wherever I wander, her golden hair's sthraming! 
 
 And she smiles wid the owld sunny smile upon me ! 
 Oh harp of my counthry ! strike soft while she 's 
 dhraming ; 
 
 And sing to her kindly, achora machree ! 
 
 Erin, alanna ! the dark mists are falling : 
 Loudly the foammg wave bids me depart : 
 
 * Music by J. S. Geikie.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 125 
 
 Yet ever fondly thy beauty recalling, 
 Wildly the billows roll over my heart ! 
 
 Farewell to the trusty boys, fearless of danger — 
 Farewell to the cabin I '11 never more see ! 
 
 Cowld is the far-distant land of the sthranger ! 
 Erin mavourneeine ! achora machree !
 
 126 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 I'LL SING, MY LOVE, OF THEE.* 
 
 SERENADE, 
 
 While silver radiance crowns the silent vale, 
 And flocks on distant liills in stillness lie — 
 While waters murmur in the moonlight pale. 
 
 And through the waving elms soft zephyrs sigh- 
 Oh hear, sweet maiden ! hear ! 
 
 'Tis the warbling bird of love, 
 Whose notes of gushing melody 
 
 Awake the purple grove ; 
 With rapture fond adoring 
 His mate on leafy tree ; 
 And so, like sweetest nightingale, 
 I '11 sing, my love, of thee ! 
 
 Faint voices trembling in the balmy air 
 
 With joyous harmony, his praise prolong ; 
 And blooming flow'rets waft, with fragrance rare. 
 Ambrosial odours to the prince of song. 
 Oh hear, sweet maiden ! hear ! 
 Soft swell the glorious strains 
 
 ^ Music by Alfred Stella.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 127 
 
 O'er crystal streamlets, sylvan bowers, 
 
 And rosy blossom'd plains. 
 'Tis Philomel adoring 
 
 His bride on waving tree ; 
 And so, like sweetest nightingale, 
 
 I '11 sing, my love, of thee !
 
 1 28 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 THE BOGLE 0' THE EEEIE LOANIN'. 
 
 A LEGEND. 
 
 Once upon a time, says an old tradition, there resided in the 
 vicinity of Borrowstounness — a sea-port town in Linlithgow- 
 shire — a beautiful lady of rank, named Lilias Lilburn, who 
 had unfortunately formed an attachment to a domestic of her 
 father's household— an attachment which had been attended 
 with disastrous consequences. The favoured swain was said to 
 be a youth of comely exterior, and great personal prowess; and 
 frequently expostulated with his mistress on the desirability of 
 hallowing their union by a secret marriage. But pride of birth, 
 and the fear of degradation, rendered her averse to this step ; 
 and she buried herself, for a time, in the strictest seclusion. 
 One evening, in a state of great mental disquietude, she 
 wandered a short distance to a favourite tree in the woods of 
 Kinneil, to keep tryst with her menial lover, who again up- 
 braided her for her obstinacy. A violent altercation ensued, 
 and in an ungovernable excess of passion, he stabbed her to the 
 heart with a poniard. Her lifeless remains were afterwards dis- 
 covered in a sequestered dell, or " loanin'," in Bo'ness, whither 
 the murderer had conveyed the body, in order, it was said, to 
 elude suspicion. It was averred by the inhabitants that her 
 phantom haunted the spot for many a year afterwards, and 
 would not be propitiated, or " laid," unless the murderer were 
 discovered, and brought to justice. But the wish of the aveng- 
 ing ghost was destined never to be realised on this side of time ; 
 and, indeed, the tradition itself has now almost faded from re- 
 membrance. But at that period, when faith in witches and ap-
 
 POEMS AND SONGS, 129 
 
 paritions constituted a fundamental article of popular belief, woe 
 betide the luckless mariner or daring smuggler, especially on 
 evenings when the sea was rough and the wind tempestuous, 
 should they encounter, in their nocturnal rambles, " Leddy Lil- 
 burn's Ghaist," or, as she was more commonly called, " The 
 Bogle o' the Eerie Loanin ! " for if on the eve of a voyage, it was 
 reckoned an omen of fatal portent; and the only means by 
 which the ill-starred skipper could avert the impending catas- 
 trophe was in delaying the hour of embarkation. In no less 
 grievous plight was the matron or maiden whose doom it might 
 be to hear the wail of this restless spirit : the death of husband 
 or lover was considered certain to follow. This relation may- 
 serve to account, in some measure, for the superstitious terror 
 manifested by the heroine of the following legend : — 
 
 PART I. 
 
 Cauld in liis dreary shroud o' snaw, 
 Dark Winter closed his icy ee, 
 
 An' Spring, in a' her vernal bloom, 
 Cam' saftly smilin' owre the lea, 
 
 A' shinin' in her robes sae green, 
 
 Enwreath'd wi' mony a flow'ret fair ; 
 
 While cushets moaned in lanely dells, 
 An' balmy fragrance filled the air, 
 
 Amang the shaws o' auld Kinneil, 
 The blackbird sang fu' bonnilie, 
 
 As young guidnian an' young guidwife 
 Sat doun by Leddy Lilburn's tree.
 
 180 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 A winsome lass was Katie Glen, 
 A strappin' chield was Jamie Gray : 
 
 Their marrows twa ye wadna seen 
 In mony a lee-lang simmer's day. 
 
 But twa short weeks had they been wed — 
 Oh hinnied bliss beyond compare ! — 
 
 But twa short weeks had they been wed, 
 An' Katie's heart was unco sair ; 
 
 For Jamie was a sailor lad. 
 
 An' Jamie's breid lay on the sea ; 
 
 An' dowie was the honest chield 
 To see the tear in Katie's ee ! 
 
 " Oh dinna greet, sweet wife o' mine ! — 
 Frae snawy Greenland's roarin' main 
 
 I '11 soon be back, my bonnie quean, 
 To tak ye i' my arms again ; 
 
 " Wi' yellow gowd in ilka haun'. 
 To buy ye silks an' satins rare. 
 
 An' corals for yer lily neck, 
 
 An' pearly gems to deck yer hair." 
 
 " Oh tell me na, my Jamie dear, 
 
 Ye 're boun' for Greenland's roarin' main ; 
 I An' tell me na that ye '11 come back ; 
 For oh ! I '11 see ye ne'er again !
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 131 
 
 " Far doun the dreary Bog * yestreen, 
 
 I heard the lanely houlet moanin', 
 An' loudly -wail'd abune the blast 
 
 The Bogle o' the Eerie Loanin' ; 
 
 " An' aye, wi' ilka moumfu' sough, 
 
 I heard the ghaist o' Lillie say — 
 ' Fareweel to him that won thy heart ! — 
 
 Alack for winsome Jamie Gray !' " 
 
 t PART II. 
 
 Amang the shaws o' auld Kinneil 
 The blackbird sang fu' bonnilie, 
 
 As young guidman an' young guidiivife 
 Shook haun's at Leddy LUburn's tree. 
 
 The queen o' nicht gaed owre the hills — 
 The sun rose bonnie owre the sea — 
 
 The whaler spread her snaw-white sails — 
 The sea-maw scream'd in noisy glee. 
 
 He 's ta'en her in his arms sae fond — 
 He 's klss'd her owre an' owre again — 
 
 He 's gane — an' noo he 's i' the shrouds ; 
 But duty canna ease his pain ! 
 
 * An old favourite walk in Bo'ness.
 
 132 POEMS AND so>;gs. 
 
 The ship gaed bravely frae the shore, 
 Though loudly roar'd the foamin' sea — 
 
 The ship gaed cheery frae the shore, 
 But Katie stood wi' tearfu' ee ; 
 
 Till a' was dim but ae wee speck, 
 Then eerie fell the words sae wae — 
 
 " Fareweel to him that won thy heart ! — 
 Alack for wmsome Jamie Gray ! " 
 
 Dowie sped the time sae lanely. 
 Till a year had gane, an' mair : 
 
 Jamie's wife was noo a mither — 
 Bonnie was the bairn, an' fair. 
 
 Lang she sat, baith late an' early, 
 
 Wi' a weary, fadin' frame, 
 Gazin' wistfu' owi-e the water, 
 
 For the ship sae far frae hame. 
 
 'Twas on a dark an' sultry nicht, 
 
 As Katie sat, wi' heavy ee, 
 List'nin' to the awsome blast 
 
 That howl'd alang the surgin' sea. 
 
 " Oh sleep, my bairn !" she fondly cried — 
 " Oh sleep, my puir wee waukrife wean ! 
 
 For dowie is thy mither's heart, 
 
 Wi' thinkin' aye on him that 's gane !
 
 POEMS AND SONGS, 133 
 
 " Far doun yon dreary Bog yestreen, 
 
 I heard the lanely houlet moanin' ; 
 An' loudly waii'd abune the blast 
 
 The Bogle o' the Eerie Loanin'. 
 
 " An' aye, wi' ilka mournfu' sough, 
 
 I heard the ghaist o' LiUie say — 
 ' Fareweel to him that won thy heart ! — 
 
 Alack for winsome Jamie Gray ! ' 
 
 " Oh sleep, my puir wee croodlin' doo ! 
 
 Oh sleep, my troutie o' the burn ! 
 Thy bonnie face but maks me wae — 
 
 Thy cheery smile but maks me mourn ! 
 
 " This weary web maun I tambour,* 
 An' sair 's thae feckless hauns o' mine ; 
 
 Sae sleep thee soun', my darlin' pet, 
 Or sma' will be my iare an' thine ! " 
 
 Scarce had she spak, when sudden soun' 
 O' something weirdly rustled near ; 
 
 An' lookin' roun', wi' startled ee. 
 
 She swarf 'd amaist, wi' sick'nin' fear. 
 
 * The art of tambouring, or embroidering cloth, was for many 
 years the principal occupation of women and girls in seaport 
 towns. It has been long since almost entirely superseded by 
 machinery.
 
 134 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 A shrouded form, wi' haggard face, 
 Cam' saftly where her bairnie lay ; 
 
 Then disappear'd, wi' wail o' woe — 
 " Fareweel to winsome Jamie Gray!" 
 
 But hark ! the roar o' signal gun ! 
 
 An' lo ! the flash owre foamin' wave ! 
 Alack the ship in sic a storm, 
 
 Wi' a' her hardy hearts sae brave ! 
 
 Doun gaed Katie, wildly screamin', 
 Lang she look'd wi' wistfu' ee : 
 
 High she held her bouet* gleamin' — 
 Nocht, alas ! could Katie see ! 
 
 Till the lichtnin's flame o' terror 
 
 Show'd the ship sae near at hame — 
 
 Jamie's ship — the brave auld whaler — 
 Eowin' mid the saixt sea faem ! 
 
 " Oh wha will daur the blast that 's roarin'- 
 Oh wha will stem the gurly sea — 
 
 Oh wha '11 bring in yon brave auld whaler, 
 Wi' snaw-white breakers on her lee !" 
 
 Out spak sturdy Huie Campbell, 
 Stalwart, buirdly Pilot Hugh — 
 
 Nane sae brave in time o' danger, 
 Nane sae honest, kind, an' true — 
 
 * Bouet — a lantei-n.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 1 35 
 
 " Hy! Geordie Sorlie ! Jamie Maxwell! 
 
 Hy ! Sandy Cowie ! Robbie Gless ! 
 Fill in — fill in, my hearts sae joUy, 
 
 An' j)ull an oar for auld Bo'ness ! 
 
 " For we will daur tbe blast that 's roarin', 
 
 An' we will stem the gurly sea ; 
 An' we 'II bring in yon brave auld whaler, 
 
 Wi' snaw-white breakers on her lee ! 
 
 " Pall on — yo ho ! — my boys sae merry ! — 
 Pull on, my hardy hearts o' corn ! — 
 
 Pull on— ryo ho ! — my boys sae cheery ; 
 An' stout 's the can ye 'U pree the morn ! 
 
 " Hurrah I we've daur'd the blast that 's roariu' ! — 
 Hurrah ! we 've stemm 'd the gurly sea ! — 
 
 Hurrah ! we 've saved the brave auld whaler .' 
 Nae mair the rocks are on her lee !" 
 
 An' there she staun's, in wild despair, 
 
 A' droukit wi' the blindin' spray : 
 Her puir wee laddie 's greetin' sair— 
 
 She canna tear hersel' away ! 
 
 Her ee 's upon the brave wee boat, 
 
 Till lost amid the snawy faem — 
 Her heart 's upon the auld " Bo'ness,'' — 
 
 Her Jamie's ship, sae near at hame !
 
 136 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 An' aye she sees the dreary Bog, 
 
 Where sits the lanely hoiilet nioanin' ; 
 
 An' aye she hears, wi' shiverin' groan, 
 The Bogle o' the Eerie Loanin' ! 
 
 Till loud their rings a wild " Hurrah ! " 
 Abune the tempest's gruesome roar : 
 
 " He 's safe ! — my Jamie's safe ! " she cries, 
 Then helpless sinks upon the shore ! 
 
 PART III. 
 
 Amang the shaws o' auld Kinneil, 
 The blackbird sang fu' bonnilie, 
 
 As young gudeman an' young gudewife 
 Sat doun by Leddy Lilburn's tree. 
 
 Sweet smell' d the rose, an' thorny brier — 
 Blossom'd the cowslip, bathed wi' dew — 
 
 Saft was the cushet's am'rous sang, 
 As fondly to his mate he flew. 
 
 Bricht rose the sun owre sweet Kinneil — 
 Blithe sang the lintie on the thorn — 
 
 Hush'd was the soun' o' roarin' sea, 
 
 An' licht the breeze frae auld Kinghorn.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. ISl 
 
 The tod gaed slinkin' by the burn, 
 
 Nae ferlie that he didiia flee — 
 The paitrick whirr d alang the sward — 
 
 The hare gaed limpin' owre the lea. 
 
 The hawkit cruramie chew'd her cude, 
 
 Fu' cosy i' the haw^thorn shade — 
 The yowie gied a tender bleat, 
 
 Syne socht her lammie doun the glade. 
 
 Contentment reign'd in Jamie's breast, 
 
 The te^r o' joy was in his ee ; 
 His arm'was roun' his Katie's waist — 
 
 A rosy wean was on his knee. 
 
 An' she 's got gowd in ilka haun, 
 
 An' she 's got silks an' satins rare ; 
 Wi' corals roun' her lily neck, 
 
 An' pearly gems amang her hair. 
 
 " An' wilt thou say, my winsome Kate, 
 That thou nae mair will grieve for me, 
 
 When I 'm upon the stormy ocean. — 
 Mony a weary mUe f rae thee 1 " 
 
 " Jamie ! hard 's the word to say ; 
 
 But say 't I will, to cheer thy heart : 
 Yet oh ! the sorrow 's sair to thole, 
 
 When twa sae fond again maun part !
 
 138 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 " But I will kiss my bonnie bairn, 
 An' I will dry my tearfu' ee ; 
 
 For God will guard bis faither dear, 
 An' send bim safely back to me !" 
 
 I\Iony a year went by fu' bappy, — 
 
 Katie was a canty dame : 
 Aft tbe wbaler sail'd tbe ocean, — 
 
 Jamie aye cam cbeery bame. ' 
 
 Jamie's noo a wealtby skipper, — 
 
 Sails a sloopie o' bis ain : 
 Katie's noo a sonsy leddy, — 
 
 Blest wi' mony a bonnie wean ! 
 
 Nae mair she wanders doun tbe Bog, 
 Wbere sits tbe lanely boulet moanin'- 
 
 Nae mair sbe bears, wi' sbiverin' groan, 
 Tbe Bogle o' tbe Eerie Loanin' !
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 139 
 
 FRAXCE, TO THE RHINE ! 
 
 Lo ! the cries of the nations in terror are blending ! 
 L(3 ! the red God of War in his triumph 's descending ! 
 Hear ye the Eagles o'er Germany screaming 1 — 
 See ye the eyarof the Dane brightly beaming ? 
 
 To the Rhine ! to the Rhine ! to the Rhine ! 
 
 Advance, sons of France, to the Rhine ! 
 
 Afar Retribution's dark banners are fljdng — 
 King frowns on Kaiser, relentless — defying. 
 Strike, Justice ! strike the proud robbers asunder ! 
 All haU to the roar of the deep cannon-thunder ! 
 
 To the Rhine ! to the Rhine ! to the Rhine ! 
 
 Advance, sons of France, to the Rhine ! 
 
 Hark to the trumpet of Italy sounding ! 
 
 Far o'er the fields of her glory resounding. 
 
 Loud rolls the drum while the standards are waving ! 
 
 Fierce bounds the battle-steed, death ever braving ! 
 
 To the Rhine ! to the Rhine ! to the Rhine ! 
 
 Advance, sons of France, to the Rhine !
 
 140 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Lo! Freedom shouts, while her flag's ever soaring — 
 " Vengeance for Denmark ! " her sorrows deploring. 
 " Vengeance for Poland's brave sons and fair daughters ! 
 Vengeance for Rome, and the Queen of the Waters ! " 
 
 To the Rhine ! to the Rhine ! to the Rhine ! 
 
 Advance, sons of France, to the Rhine ! 
 
 (1866.)
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 1-il 
 
 THE SUNLIGHT HAIR 0' LUIE. 
 
 Oh white as snaw-drap is her broo, 
 An' sparklin' are her starry eeii ; 
 
 An' sweeter mou' o' coral dye, 
 
 An' i)onnier face, were never seen ; 
 But oh ! lier locks o' dazzlin' sheen— 
 The sunlicht hair o' Luie ! 
 
 Like radiant beam o' gowden hue. 
 It thrills wi' joy this heart o' mine ; 
 
 An' aye the langer I admire 
 A sicht sae lovely — sae divine. 
 Yet fairer shines, sae silken fine. 
 The sunlicht hair o' Luie ! 
 
 Wi' noiseless tread o' lily feet, 
 
 She floats amid the fragrant bowers, 
 
 Or by the moaning wave she sleeps 
 Sae guileless through the silent hours ; 
 While angels twine, wi' wreaths o' flowers, 
 The sunlicht hair o' Luie !
 
 142 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 At siclit o' Luie's sunlicht hair, 
 
 The bird sings bonnier on the tree ; 
 
 Wi' balmier breath the zephyr sighs ; 
 The lamb bleats safter on the lea ; 
 For oh ! they joy fu' sweet to see 
 The sunlicht hair o' Luie ! 
 
 Sae kindly thrabs her flutterin' heart, 
 Nae sadfu' plaint she ever hears, 
 
 But aye the wee hand 's oot to help. 
 As doonward fa' the crystal tears ; 
 While like a glory biicht appears 
 The sunlicht hair o' Luie ! 
 
 My bonnie quean, sae young an' fair, 
 Far frae thy breast be dule an' pain : 
 
 May He that bless'd the pure on earth, 
 
 Aye guard thee through life's thorny plain ; 
 Syne waft, where joys eternal reign. 
 The guileless soul o' Luie !
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 143 
 
 THE HERIOT MARCH. 
 
 AS SUNG BY THE CHILDREN OF THE OUT-DOOR HERIOT 
 
 SCHOOLS. 
 
 While gratitude fills every breast, and liappy faces 
 shine, — 
 
 WTiile Mem' r/ twines her laurel wreath round Heriot's 
 hallow'd shrine, 
 
 Come swell the gladd'ning strain, 
 Again, and yet again ! 
 
 Awake the cheerful song of praise ! — let j'^outhful rap- 
 ture reign ! 
 
 For loving was his noble heart, and bountiful his hand, 
 
 Whose honour'd name shall long adorn the annals of our 
 land! 
 
 'Mid honest Labour's humble homes, his Temples, wide- 
 
 reno\vn'd. 
 Like oaks amid the forest grove, tower gracefully 
 around ; 
 
 While Learning's golden smUe 
 Beams o'er the cultured soil. 
 To foster, with her gentle light, the lowly flowers of 
 toil!
 
 144 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Oh sweetly mcay they blossom fair in Virtue's kindly 
 shade, 
 
 And may the star of Wisdom shine, ere all their beau- 
 ties fade ! , 
 
 Now while our Founder's cherish'd worth each youthful 
 
 breast inspires, 
 March on, with steady step and true, like sons of hardy 
 
 sires ! 
 
 A cheer ! — a joyful cheer, 
 For Heriot's name so dear ! 
 Oh fondly, in our grateful hearts, that name we will 
 
 revere ! 
 For while old Scotia rears her crest, majestic and serene, 
 His fame, immortal as her own, shall flourish ever green !
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 14." 
 
 AWAKE ! YE GALLANT POLES, AWAKE ! 
 
 AVRITTEN IN 1863. 
 
 " Awake ! ye gallant Poles, awake !" the sacred words 
 are spoken 
 By myriad voices loud and deep, where'er your wrongs 
 are known. 
 Awake ! ye. gallant Poles, awake ! your hearts are yet 
 unbroken, 
 Despite the power of rutldess Czar to claim ye for his 
 own. 
 
 Lo ! the heroes of the world 
 Hail your flag again unfurl'd ; 
 And their prayers are swift ascending to the great Je- 
 hovah's Throne ! 
 
 Awake ! ye gallant Poles, awake ! heed not the tyrant's 
 thunder, 
 That perishes before the blast of Freedom's trumpet- 
 call ; 
 A mightier King hath fiU'd his soul with panic, fear, and 
 wonder, 
 As the red right arm of Langiewicz redeems ye from 
 his thrall. 
 
 K
 
 146 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Awake o'er all the land ! 
 See the smoke of flaming brand ! 
 Hark ! the shriek of martyr'd thousands, as they mer- 
 cilessly fall ! 
 
 Awake ! ye gallant Poles, awake ! though Prussia's 
 despot hoary 
 Hath aided, in his dastard pride, Sarmatia's haughty 
 lord ; 
 Stern justice frowns on all his golden dreams of 
 kingly glory, 
 And the scorn of mighty nations greets his lofty 
 sounding word. 
 
 Oh pause thee, royal sire, 
 Ere vengeance swift and dire 
 O'ertakes thy boasted Pdght Divine with terror, fire, 
 and sword! 
 
 Awake ! ye gallant Poles, awake ! while Austrian drums 
 are sounding, 
 To still the Kaiser's throbbing breast, as, trembling 
 and aghast, 
 He knows at every charging cheer Hungarian hearts 
 are bounding. 
 As memories of deadly wrongs come crowding thick 
 and fast. 
 
 Lo ! Italia's sons of fame 
 Hail your might with loud acclaim ; 
 For the rosy morn of liberty is smiling fair at last !
 
 POEMS AND SONGS, 147 
 
 Awake ! ye gallant Poles, awake ! wliile hostile cannon 's 
 roaring, 
 Strike home ! — strike home ! — Sobiski calls ! — with 
 sabre, scythe, and lance ; — 
 High o'er the rolling western main, see Gallia's eagle 
 soaring ! 
 Her brave and warlike nation bids your dauntless 
 bands advance ; 
 
 From each valiant son and sire, 
 
 Breathing words of sacred fire ; 
 
 To the Iron Man of Mystery who rules the hearts of 
 
 France ! 
 
 t 
 
 Awake ! ye gallant Poles, awake ! while iUbion's cliffs 
 are rending 
 With shouts for Albert-Edward, and his royal Danish 
 bride ; 
 'Mid piercing peals of nuptial bells, a cry for Poland 's 
 blending, 
 And the thunder of that British cheer's resoundinsj 
 far and wide. 
 
 Then rouse thee, injured land ! 
 
 Take courage, heart and hand ! 
 
 And crush the tyrant Despot in the zenith of his pride !
 
 48 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 ROSALIE'S WRAITH. 
 
 Fv' saft the dewy gloamin' fell, 
 
 For dayliclit fast was dwinin', 
 An' sune owre broomy hill an' haugh, 
 
 The star o' nicht was shinin' ; 
 When doun a darksome, weirdly glen, 
 
 Fast by a lanely sheilin', 
 The wraith o' bonnie Rosalie 
 
 Gaed sad an' mournfu' wailin'. 
 
 It moan'd fu' lang to the glimmerin' moon, 
 
 " Oh waes my heart, I 'm weary ; 
 For doun yon linn, wi' Percie's scorn, 
 
 I 'm lyin' cauld an' dreary ! 
 He vowed at Mary's holy shrine, 
 
 I ne'er wad be forsaken ; 
 But dowie waves the heather bell, 
 
 An' cheerless sighs the braiken !" 
 
 Tt moan'd fu' lang to the glimmerin' moon, 
 " Oh waes my heart, I 'm weary ; 
 
 For doun yon linn, in silken shroud, 
 I 'm lyin' cauld an' dreary !
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 140 
 
 Oh reiithless was the perjured knight, 
 
 That left me for anither ; 
 An' cruel was my faith er's hate, 
 
 An' heartless was my mither ! " 
 
 A mist cam' owre the starry lift — 
 
 The abbey bell jowed eerie : 
 But aye the wanderin' spirit cried, 
 
 " Oh waes my heart, I 'm weary !" 
 An' as it faded through the glen, 
 
 It saftly wail'd, " Forsaken ! " 
 An' dowie waved the heather bell, 
 
 AiK* cheerless sigh'd the braiken !
 
 150 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 THE PAIP O' THE PRESBYTRIE. 
 
 The Paip * sat enthroned i' the Presbytrie, 
 
 In ane high an' exalted place ; 
 An' a stern wee man was this siccar auld Paip, 
 
 Wi' ane fractions, girnin' face. 
 Owre his held dark Bigotrie's scutcheon hung, 
 
 In scornfu', bauld defiance ; 
 While around him stood rank'd, in sectarian pride. 
 
 The monks o' the Black Alliance. 
 
 He glower'd on the tups, an' fanatical yews, 
 
 Wi' a shepherd's greedy ee ; 
 An' he said, wi' a saft Sabbatarian sigh, 
 
 " Oh, wha was e'er blest like me ! 
 For they're gentle an' meek, an' they're tame, tame, 
 tame. 
 
 As befits their fine condition ; 
 An' they daurna dispute my sovereign will, 
 
 Like the rams o' the Opposition ! "t 
 
 '' Wha Tl bring me giiid news 1 " ask'd the Paip wi' a 
 groan — 
 
 " Wha '11 bring me the news I lo'e best?" 
 " Braw news frae the East," cried a monk, wi' a howl 
 
 That was follow'd by a' the rest — 
 
 * The principle of intolerance is here personified. 
 
 + Established Churchmen are here supposed to be meant.
 
 POEMS AKD SONGS, 151 
 
 " Tke Sceptical goats are rampagin' wild 
 
 As the waves i' the Bay o' Fundy, 
 To nibble the ferns o' Inverleith, 
 
 An' mak' it a liowfF for Sunday !'' * 
 
 But the Paip said, " N"a ! this never sail be : 
 
 Haste, haste ye wi' this Petition, 
 An' mak' the flocks sign, for they 're tame, tame, tame, 
 
 As befits their fine condition ! " 
 Sae they sign'd, an' they sign'd, some twice an' some 
 thrice. 
 
 By command o' sic great authority ; 
 An' the monks scaur'd awa' the wild goats i' the East, 
 
 Wi' a bonnie hech-how majority. 
 
 " Wha '11 bring me guid news 1 " ask'd the Paip wi' a 
 groan — 
 
 " Wha '11 bring me the news I lo'e best 1 " 
 *' Mair news frae the East," cried a monk, wi' a howl 
 
 That was follow'd by a' the rest — 
 " Doun i' yon sea, where the wild waves row, 
 
 Braw stately ships + are liggin', 
 Wi' ungodly skippers, ungodly crews, 
 
 And ungodly masts an' riggin' ! 
 
 * A memorial, praying for the opening of the Royal Botanical 
 (lardens at Inverleith Row on Sundays, was presented to the 
 House of Commons in 1863, signed by many thousands of the 
 adult male population of Edinburgh. This was met by a 
 petition against the opening, got up under the auspices of the 
 Evangelical Alliance. 
 
 t The Channel Fleet, that anchored in Leith Roads for a 
 few days in the summer of 1863.
 
 152 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 " An' they 've gien to tliis godly, chaste, sober land, 
 
 A deevlish profane invitation, 
 To mak' the best day for yer faithfu' slaves 
 
 A day o' abhorr'd recreation. 
 Oh please yer Sanctity, warn in time 
 
 The careless and slnggardly sleepers ; 
 Or the faulds '11 be empty, wi' nocht for us a' 
 
 But poverty, crape, an' weepers ! " 
 
 Then the Paip turn'd blue i' the face, wi' a roar 
 
 That micht hae been heard at Ratho — 
 " Let them wha daur to gang there that day 
 
 Be Anathema Maranatha ! 
 " Grow black, sun ! descend, rain ! 
 
 Flash, lichtnin' ! thunder, roar ! 
 Blaw, Boreas ! blaw wi' yer deadliest force, 
 
 As never ye blew before ! " 
 
 But the wind blew saft, an' the sun shone bricht 
 
 I' the cloudless simmer sky ; 
 An' the goats gaed awa' wi' the shepherdless tups, 
 
 An' the bonnie braw yows forbye ; 
 An' they saw, wi' a thrill o' affectionate pride, 
 
 The bulwarks o' Britain's fame, 
 Well mann'd by the micht o' the warrior hearts 
 
 That focht for her glorious name. 
 
 An' they heard nae blasphemous oath or jest. 
 As the monks had foretauld in their bKndness ; 
 
 But the sermon imprinted on ilka true heart 
 Was the beauty o' britherly kindness.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 153 
 
 An' the wisdom an' skill o' the Great Supreme, 
 
 As displayed in His works o' creation, 
 Impress'd them wi' fervour mair deeply, I ween, 
 
 Than a dreary twa-hours' oration. 
 
 " Wha '11 bring me guid news ? " ask'd the Paip wi' a 
 groan — 
 
 " Wha '11 bring me the news I lo'e best 1" 
 " Braw news frae the West," cried a monk, wi' a howl 
 
 That was follow'd by a' the rest — 
 " The birkies are pantin' for fine fresh air 
 
 By the Train or the Boat on Sunday." 
 " Na !" yelloch'd the Paip, " by the mass an' the rood, 
 
 Let them tak fresh air on Monday ! 
 
 " Bid the puir man trudge to the puir man's kirk. 
 
 When the sacred hour approaches ; 
 But aye for the guid o' the righteous cause, 
 
 Gie the rich their cabs an' coaches. 
 An' mind ye compel yer servants a' — 
 
 Ilk vile and ungodly sinner — 
 To gang to the fauld three times that day, 
 
 Save the cook for the Sunday's denner !" 
 
 " Wha '11 bring me guid news ? " ask'd the Paip wi' a 
 groan — 
 
 " Wha '11 bring me the news I lo'e best ? " 
 " Braw news frae the North," cried a monk, wi' a howl 
 
 That was follow'd by a' the rest —
 
 154) POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 " There 's a sonsy braw cairn 'mang the gi-een Hielant 
 hills, 
 
 Wi' soniethinor that 's no orthodox — * 
 Eneuch to bring doun ony star wi' a tail, 
 
 An' wauken the ghost o' John Knox ! " 
 
 " Miserere mei ! " his Holiness yell'd, 
 
 Wi' a look that was frichtsome to see ; 
 " I '11 punish the cauld- water, heretic dowgs, 
 
 Wi' their morals sae pawky an' slee. 
 I '11 bring in the fine auld screws an' racks, 
 
 An' the faggots for a' sic gentry : 
 Wi' the jougs for snools, an' the braw cutty-stools. 
 
 That ance were the pride o' the kintry ! " 
 
 " Wha '11 bring me guid news % " ask'd the Paip wi' a 
 groan — 
 
 " Wha '11 bring me the news I lo'e best 1 " 
 " Braw news frae the South," cried a monk, wi' a howl 
 
 That was follow'd by a' the rest — 
 " They say that the bitter sectarian strife 
 
 O' yer tribe 's an abomination ; 
 That ye 're bringin' disgrace on aidd Scotland's name, 
 
 Wi' yer gabble o' ' Desecration ! ' " 
 
 Then the Paip stood up i' the Presbytrie, 
 
 An' he cried, wi' a scowl, " Confusion 
 To the backslidin' monks o' the Southron fauld — 
 
 Believers in rank delusion ! 
 
 * The inscriiDtion on the cairn near Balmoral, in memory of 
 the Prince Consort, was strongly denounced in the Free Church 
 Assembly as savouring of heresy.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 155 
 
 I 'II gie them a claught mair siccar an' stour, 
 When a brave, sturdy flock i' the nation 
 
 Sail be a' swallow'd up i' my ain braw pen, 
 In a joyfu' amalgamation. 
 
 '• Then woe to the tether'd Erastian rams, 
 
 Wi' their godless dragoons at their back ! 
 An' woe to the nowtc o' the deil's ain byre, 
 
 Wha pleasure on Sundays tak' ! 
 For pulpit terror an' pulpit lash 
 
 .Sail fail or desert us never ; 
 An' the banners o' Bigotrie, Cant, an' Greed 
 
 Sail wave in our front for ever ! "
 
 156 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 GRINDER GRAB-ALL'S SOLILOQUY. 
 
 How languidly, this Sabbath eve, 
 
 On bed of down I lie, 
 While softly, through my garden bowers, 
 
 Sweet balmy zephyrs sigh ! 
 How oft, with tossing fretfulness, 
 
 I strive to sleep at will, 
 While white-robed angels whisper low, 
 
 " Peace, gentle heart, be still !" 
 
 Oh hear my cry, dear Providence ! 
 
 For aU Thy blessings given. 
 Accept my thanks ; but grant me sleep, 
 
 For love of gentle Heaven ! — 
 Alas ! in vain are all my prayers — 
 
 In vain my earnest cry ! 
 Oh ! was there ever in this world 
 
 More hapless saint than I ! 
 
 Away ! away ! thou Still Small Voice, 
 
 That doth me so annoy ; 
 Thou poisoner of my golden sweets. 
 
 Thou curse of all my joy !
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. lo' 
 
 Away ! away ! tliou Still Small Voice, 
 That cries througli live-long nights — 
 
 " Thou murderer of the poor man's hearth ! 
 Thou trampler on his rights ! 
 
 " Thou grim Slave-Driver, dark and false ! — 
 
 Thou Wind-Bag of deception ! — 
 With all thy grand hypocrisies, 
 
 That mock mere word-description ;■ — 
 WTiile men of just and upright mind, 
 
 Who scorn thy lust for gold, 
 By thy sheer knavish villainy, 
 
 Are jindermined and sold. 
 
 " Thou hast a mansion, rich with all 
 
 That dear-bought wealth can give; 
 And oft thou whisp'rest, in thy pride, 
 
 Soul, take thine ease, and live ! 
 But say with all thy luxuries. 
 
 Poor wretch ! if thou canst sleep, 
 With load upon thy heart enough 
 
 To make a devil weep ! " 
 
 Away, thou Still Small Voice ! — away 
 
 Thy vile exaggeration — 
 Thy frenzied, hollow mumurings 
 
 Of vengeful accusation. 
 I 've only done what others do — 
 
 A daily, hourly fact ; 
 And won sweet fortune's eminence 
 
 By cleverness and tact !
 
 ] 58 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 O Heaven, grant sleep, that I miglit dream 
 
 Of missions among savages ; — 
 Of ponderous, long subscription-lists, 
 
 To aid tliem in their ravages ; 
 Or some congenial project fine, 
 
 For winning souls from Rome ; 
 But crush and quell all harrovk^ing thoughts 
 
 Of brothers nearer home !
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 159 
 
 AULD AGE IS NOO A CRIME. 
 
 " AxiTHER day, my puir auld man ! 
 
 Auither langsome day ; 
 AVi' nocht to cheer twa dowie hearts, 
 
 Whate'er the warld may say. 
 Yet aibljns, ere the sun gaes doun, 
 
 Noo bearain' bricht an' fair ; 
 Some sma' bit mercy may be sent; 
 
 Sae hope, an' ne'er despair I" 
 
 " I canna thole its blithesome smile, 
 
 For oh ! I 'm tired o' life ! 
 Its sliinin' on a cauld hearthstane, 
 
 My helpless, sufferin' wife ! 
 ilicht fain I 'd work fcjr a' thy wants, 
 
 Frae morn till midnicht's chime ; 
 But sad 's the truth that I maun tell, 
 
 Auld age is noo a crime !" 
 
 " Oh speak na sae; I canna bide 
 Thae waefu' words o' thine ; 
 
 Oh grieve nae mair, wi' sairer thocht, 
 Yer auld gray hair an' mine !
 
 160 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 A wee saft glimmer, ere life's close, 
 May cheer our hearts yince mair ; 
 
 The langest road has aye an' end ; 
 Sac hope, an' ne'er despair !" 
 
 " I focht an' toil'd, wi' sturdy pride, 
 
 For sons an' dochters braw, 
 I' the gowden time when I was young ; 
 
 But noo they 're a' awa ! 
 Oh for the pith o' the iron arm, 
 
 When I was in my prime ! 
 For sad 's the truth that I maun tell, 
 
 Auld a2;e is noo a crime ! 
 
 o 
 
 " It 's true they 're gane lang syne ; an' noo 
 
 There 's nane but you an' me ; 
 Their breid lay on a distant shore, 
 
 Owre mony a stormy sea ! 
 We '11 meet them yet, my puir auld man, 
 
 I' the Land o' Promise fair, 
 Where poortith canna dim the ee ; 
 
 Sae hope, an' ne'er despair ! " 
 
 "The maist I can, I 'd gladly dae. 
 
 For want 's a ranklin' thorn ; 
 But scornfu' pride, an' cauld contempt, 
 
 Aye greet me ilka morn. 
 Oh for the day to tak me hame 
 
 To yon sweet, bonnie clime ; 
 For sad 's the truth that I maun tell, 
 
 Auld age is noo a crime ! "
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 161 
 
 FAIR ROSAMOND'S BOWER. 
 
 \Trum2)et March of the Heralds to he played, previous 
 to the following recitative Chant.] 
 
 In the year one thousand one hundred and eighty -two, 
 When things in general kiok'd cadaverously blue ; — 
 When nothing was heard of but vengeance and strife 
 All over the world, and a considerable portion of Fife ; — 
 When princa rose against prince, and brother against 
 
 brother, 
 And all mankind piay'd the very deuce with each 
 
 other ; — 
 When no monarch did his subjects thus lovingly greet : 
 " Poverty-stricken sons of true British thunder ! ' how 's 
 
 your poor feet 1 ' " — 
 When pride ran very high, and morals were far below 
 
 zero ; 
 And to do a benevolent action was unworthy of any true 
 
 hero ; — 
 When all the world abounded with savage monstrosities, 
 And philanthropists were preserved in rum-punch, as 
 
 natural curiosities ! — 
 Please let no snarling critic say, " Surely that was a 
 
 joke you meant ;" 
 For I have it here all pat, from an ancient historical 
 
 * 
 
 document. 
 
 L
 
 162 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 The following tragedy occurr'd at the date which I 
 
 have formerly reckon'd, 
 Tn the reign of that most illustrious sovereign, King 
 
 Henry the Second, 
 Abridged, corrected, and revised, with the utmost care 
 
 and perspicacity, 
 Dedicated to the Awkward Squad, and suited to the 
 
 meanest cajjacity ; 
 Subject, here and there, to a little necessary alteration, 
 To answer the various pressing necessities of the rising 
 
 generation. 
 
 \_The fox he went out on a cold winter'' s night.^ 
 
 King Henry the Second, one night after dark, 
 
 Went out to Fair Rosamond's Bower for a lark, 
 
 All muffled and disguised, for the Queen was a shark, 
 
 And he didn't want to cause any bother. 
 Onward he bounded, as merry as a cricket. 
 When right before his nose, in the middle of a thicket. 
 Appeared the tall ghost of grim Thomas a Beckett, 
 
 Crying, " How 's your serene old mother !" 
 
 ['7'is viy delight on a shiny night.] 
 
 At first the king was completely done brown. 
 For he got a most terrible fright, 
 
 As the spectre's eyes flash'd up and down, 
 Like padelle all flaming so bright ;
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 16 
 
 But he swallow'd a boxful of Holloway's Pills. 
 
 Then he answer' cl quite frisky and free : 
 " I 'ni a young man from the coun-ta-ry, 
 
 But you don't come over me ! " 
 
 [// u n tsman's Chorus. ] 
 
 Then away through the forest he wended, 
 And left the poor ghost mightily offended ; 
 Following the path, as it trended 
 
 Through brier and fragrant flower. 
 The wind rosp high, the rain pour'd down 
 On poor old Henry's royal crown ; 
 He roar'd for a cab, but it was no go. 
 For coaches in those days were rather slow ; 
 And Tertullian remarks, in a foot-note below, 
 That "the train wasn't due for a fortnisrht — or so ! ' 
 But I rather suspect he was joking, 
 Though, no doubt, it was very provoking ; 
 So after a considerable soaking, 
 
 He arrived at Fair Rosamond's Bower. 
 He. Maiden true ! She. How d'ye do 1 
 
 He. Wet and weary ! She. Poor old dearj' ! 
 
 How nicely you look when you 're out in a shower ! 
 
 \Sonna la Tromha.'\ 
 
 Thus he exclaim'd with admiration 
 " Sweetest of crinoline creation ! 
 
 o
 
 164 t'OEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Pray accept of a ' small sensation,' 
 In the shape of this lovely tract, 
 
 Containing some choice information 
 
 On the working of the Public Houses Act ! " 
 
 [Chevy Chase.^ 
 
 Thus rang the lady's lovely voice, 
 With words of the nicest propriety; 
 
 In tones so charming, sweet and nice. 
 
 They 'd have honour'd any Choral Society ! 
 
 [" The old house at home" in an affected female tone.] 
 
 " You Ve been out at the club, or you 'd never talk 
 
 thuth ; 
 Clean yer bootth, you old Guy ! then get home with the 
 
 buth: 
 Ath you wend your way down, of garotterth beware, 
 For the polith, when wanted, are extheedingly rare ; 
 And thould you e'er thee one, to thield you from thtrife, 
 You'll thee more than I've theen all the days of my life !" 
 
 [Becitative Cha7it.] 
 
 At this the king was in a dreadful passion : 
 He rent his armour, and kick'd his hat, as was then the 
 fasliion ;
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 165 
 
 Then drawing out his trumpet, he blew a wonderful 
 blast, 
 
 [Here the trumpet shall sound.] 
 
 And immediately a melancholy page was seen running 
 
 most remarkably fast ; 
 Holding by the bridle a coal-black steed, in a frantic 
 
 state of exhilaration, 
 One of the most incorrigible and ungovernable funkers 
 
 in all creation ! 
 
 [Here the king shall inount his charger.] 
 
 t 
 
 * 
 
 [Trumpet March of the Heralds.j 
 
 Then he fiercely rode away, to this very fine tune : 
 "Gramercy! you'll repent this, some day soon ! 
 Though I never have before had the fortitude to spout it, 
 Now beshrew me if I don't tell the queen all abt)ut it ! " 
 
 [Here the king shall gallop away with a great noise.) 
 
 To the castle he went: cried the queen, " What 's the 
 
 matter?" 
 As he roard, " Ho ! a goblet of brandy and water, 
 My spirits for to cheer ; and likewise, my dear, 
 
 Bring a bottle of the best Prestonpans table-beer !" 
 
 80 he told lier ; then went with his brave knights so 
 
 tall, 
 And his gay troubadours, to the banqueting hall ;
 
 ] QG POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 But Josephus, further on, states that " ere the feed was 
 
 done, 
 They were holding on like bricks by the side of the 
 
 wall!" 
 
 [Hecitative Chant.^ 
 
 A fiend upon the secret track is bounding ! 
 
 On the howling wind a hollow shriek's resounding ! 
 
 Who hath found out the clue at the midnight hour, 
 And enter'd the precincts of Rosamond's Bower 1 
 'Tis the vengeful Eleanor, fiU'd with murderous spite, 
 With a bowl of Prussic acid in her left hand, and a 
 
 dagger in her right ; — - 
 This bowl containing, at the most moderate computa- 
 tion, < 
 Enough, Homoeopathically, to have taken in and done 
 
 for the whole British population, 
 Including all the flourishing Colonies that then only 
 
 existed in the imadnation ! 
 
 Hark to the hag as she serves, without any thought of 
 
 the reckoning, 
 On an " unprotected female,'" this fearful summons of 
 
 Wakening : 
 •' Wretch! drain this bowl, or the dagger shall do it!" 
 Oil the vile, wicked, wizzen-faced, vinegar-cruet I 
 
 Hormr and fear thus operating on a peculiarly sensitive 
 
 organisation, 
 Combined to induce a state of absolute terrification.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 167 
 
 She only exclaim'd — 
 
 [Last part of Tanpe&t of the Heart, from II 
 Trovatore.^ 
 
 " Help ! help ! help ! merciless woman ! 
 Save me ! save me, thou monster inhuman ! 
 Sadly I fall in thy murderous power : 
 No one to succour me in my lone bower ! " 
 
 [^Derry Dotvn.'\ 
 
 She drank, afid she drank, amid thunder's loud roar ; 
 She drank, and she drank, tiU she could drink no more ; 
 Then she fell with a bump on the green grassy floor, 
 And she died at precisely a quarter- past four ! 
 
 Down ! down ! down ! derry down ! 
 
 [Dodgers Zameyit.^ 
 
 Xow when Henry heard the latest news, 
 
 He telegraph' d an order tyrannical, 
 Banishing the queen, for her natural life. 
 
 To a certain Bay Botanical ; 
 There to be nourish'd on water-gruel. 
 
 In the interests of penal science ; 
 And never on Sundays to touch the plants. 
 
 More especially the dandelions ! 
 But alas ! on that forbidden day. 
 
 She pluck'd an overgrown carrot ;
 
 168 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 And for a warning to this land, 
 
 She was turned into a parrot ! 
 But the wide-awake barons cried, " Over the left !" 
 
 With exception of Sir Simon Pure ; 
 While the monks all danced on the crown of their heads, 
 
 To the tune of " The Perfect Cure !" 
 
 [Here " The Perfect Cure" shall be played with great vehemence, 
 to which the monks are supposed to be still dancing.]
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. ] 69 
 
 WHAT AILS YE AT THE ORGAN, GRANNY."' 
 
 JAMIE, 
 
 What 's wrang wi' ye again, Granny ? 
 What gies yer bosom pain, Granny? 
 What gars ye lift yer tremblin' voice 
 In sic a dowie strain, Granny ? 
 
 t 
 
 '. GRANNY. 
 
 I 'm no sae weel the day, Jamie ; 
 I 'm angry, an' I 'm wae, Jamie ; 
 That organ 's bummin' i' my lug, 
 An' what am I to dac, Jamie ? 
 
 JAMIE. 
 
 Oh tak a bairn's advice, Granny, 
 The organ ne'er despise. Granny ; 
 The reign o' Bigotry 's gane bye, 
 Consent if ye 'd be wise, Granny. 
 
 GRANNY. 
 
 Sic " innovations " rash, Jamie, 
 Sic hurdy-gurdy trash, Jamie, 
 
 Adapted to the melody of Huntingtower. Published by 
 John lilockley, Regent Street, London ; of whom most of the 
 songs in this volume may be had.
 
 70 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Sail ne'er get my guidwiU, my man, 
 An' sae ye neeclna fash, Jamie. 
 
 JAMIE. 
 
 Look owre yer wa's yince mair, Grannj', 
 See Progress spreadin' rare, Granny, 
 Nae freezin' cauldness checks her growth 
 She blooms without compare, Granny, 
 
 GRANNY. 
 
 In days o' auld langsyne, Jamie, 
 When I was in my prime, Jamie, 
 Nae grindin' whirlgigs were praised 
 By ony bairn o' mine, Jamie. 
 
 JAMIE. 
 
 Dinna hing yer broo, Granny, 
 Auld langsyne 's no noo. Granny ; 
 Better far the organ's swell. 
 Than rowtin' like a coo. Granny ! 
 
 GEANNY. 
 
 Troth that 's the truth ye say, Jamie ; 
 Oh what am I to dae, Jamie ! 
 I 'm switherin' noo, for sense proclaims 
 I canna say ye nay, Jamie. 
 
 JAMIE. 
 
 Nae drones, wi' dismal twang. Granny, 
 Were heard when David sang, Granny !
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 171 
 
 But timbrel, sackbut, harp, an' iiorn, 
 Resounded loud an" lang, Granny ! 
 
 GRAN.VY. 
 
 Ye 've stown my heart awa, Jamie ; 
 Hae ! there 's my hand an' a, Jamie : 
 Sour Prejudice may tak' the road — 
 E'en let the organ blaw, Jamie !
 
 172 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 I'LL SING MY SANG WHATE'ER BETIDE. 
 
 Oh what reck I, tho' Poortitli's blast 
 Blaws owre my biggin', cauld an' keen ? 
 
 An' what tho' kind an' generous hearts 
 Are no sae rife as they hae been ? 
 The' selfish Greed an' crabbit Spleen 
 
 Stand gloomy glowerin' side by side ; 
 Yet cantily I '11 jjlay a spring, 
 
 An' sing my sang whate'er betide ! 
 
 This world 's nae weary bed o' thorns, 
 For a' the dolefu' moan that 's made ; 
 
 Yon sun that shines on silken braws, 
 Blinks cheery on my auld gray plaid ! 
 Sour Discontent shrinks back dismay' d, 
 
 When heart loups high wi" sturdy pride ; 
 Sae cantily I '11 play a spring, 
 
 An' sing my sang w hate'er betide ! 
 
 My housie 's nae great boast, I trow — 
 A wee wee but — a wee wee ben ; 
 
 Yet lauchin' face maks denty ha'. 
 An' that 's what lordies seldom ken. 
 Wi' wife an' weans I blithely fen',
 
 POEMS AND SOKGS. 173 
 
 As doun Life's stream we saftly glide ; 
 Sae cantily I '11 play a spring, 
 
 An' sing my sang whate'er betide ! 
 
 Despondency 's a beggar born — 
 (Lang may his back be at the wa' !) 
 
 Yet gin he daur to show his pow, 
 My chanter I '11 the louder blaw ! — 
 The darkest nicht brings aye the daw : 
 
 The thistle 's aye its downy side ; 
 Sae cantily I '11 play a spring, 
 
 An' sing my sang whate'er betide ! 
 e 
 
 Puir dowie cliield, that's skhi an' bane 
 Wi' nocht but borrow'd misery — 
 
 Wha canna pree the gowden joys 
 That bloom 'neath Freedom's rosy sky ; 
 Greet out yer fill ; I carena by, 
 
 Tho' fools may sneer, an' gowks deride ; 
 1 '11 play wi' pith a canty spring, 
 
 An' sing my sang whate'er betide !
 
 174 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 CONNOE'S VOW. 
 
 " I 'm going, Mora, darling ! " 
 The brave Connor cried : 
 
 " Fare ye well, Mora, darling, 
 My joy, and my pride. 
 
 Sure the vow I 've sworn on high, 
 
 For my country's cause to die ; 
 
 And I '11 never turn and fly, 
 
 While this sword 's by my side ! " 
 
 " Oh stay, Connor, dearest I 
 
 Sweet husband adored ; 
 Oh take back, acushla, 
 
 Thy last plighted word. 
 Oh my bravest, and my best ! 
 Would this heart were now at rest, 
 With the baby at my breast ! " 
 
 Weeping Mora implored. 
 
 The bugles they are sounding 
 
 A wild martial strain ; 
 The hollow drum 's resounding 
 
 O'er mountain and plain.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 1 7-^ 
 
 From ber anguish and dismay, 
 He has torn himself away, 
 At the dawning of the day, 
 For the field of the slain. 
 
 Soft the summer winds are siohin" 
 
 O'er the true hearts that died. 
 Sore the Avidow'd Mora's crying, 
 
 For low Kes her pride. 
 In a soldiers lonely grave, ' 
 
 By yon wildly roaring wave, 
 Sleeps the bravest of the brave, 
 
 Wi*h his sword by his side I
 
 176 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 A FATHER'S COUNSEL. 
 
 The close of life's brief day has come at last : 
 The dews of death, my son, are falling fast ; 
 Yet, ere the flick' ring, fitful flame expires, 
 To thee, the pride of all my fond desires, 
 And brightest earthly hopes, I thus bequeath 
 A father's counsel with my dying breath. 
 
 No riches, as thou know'st, have I to give : 
 
 My hardest toil thro' life has been to live, — 
 
 To struggle on in poverty obscure, 
 
 With heart right royal, tho' my lot was poor. 
 
 No crawling reptile I, to lick the dust, 
 
 And place my faith in crawling reptile's trust ; 
 
 Or beg from golden wealth a feeble ray, 
 
 To light the darkness of life's cheerless way ; 
 
 But, ever striving for the just and right. 
 
 Bold self-reliance nerved my arm with might. 
 
 Never to frail corruption bow the head, 
 And barter honour for a crust of bread. - 
 True independence is a priceless gem, 
 
 The brightest star in manhood's diadem.-
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 177 
 
 An honest heart, tho' steep'd in penury, 
 
 Hath boundless wealth, that worlds can never buy. 
 
 Plunge freely forth on life's tempestuous wave : 
 Strike boldly out, with fearless arm and brave ; 
 And, loving Him who wore the crown of thorn, 
 Unshrinking face the world's relentless scorn. 
 Bleak ^^■inds, and angry storms, are on thy path ; 
 And clouds surcharged with evil's lurid wrath 
 Are ever bursting on the struggling heart 
 That strives to act the better, nobler part. 
 
 'Mid all the ills with which the world abounds, 
 Deceit andTmalice walk their busy rounds ; 
 While, blasted foul by envy's withering cry. 
 Poor merit dwells in dark obscurity. 
 Glib mediocrity, with gilded card, 
 Presumptuous, clutches at the fair reward ; 
 Erects its crest as venal pand'rers laud, 
 While verdant, soft credulities applaud. 
 
 Avoid, my son, the shams tliat walk life's stage. 
 
 And 'gainst their ranks a righteous warfare wage. 
 
 Of all the spurious brotherhood accurst. 
 
 Genteel hypocrisy abhor the worst ; 
 
 That whines o'er all that wretchedness reveals. 
 
 And feigns a sympathy it never feels ; 
 
 That kisses poverty by cloud of night, 
 
 Then gives the mortal stab in broad daylight; 
 
 That hates the sturdy truth proclaiin'd of old, 
 
 All men are brothers of one common mould ;
 
 178 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 That stifles nature's dictates, proudly wise, 
 
 Enslaved by vile conventionalities ; 
 
 That enters largely in the house of prayer, 
 
 With haughty brow, and patronising air ; 
 
 Then makes its exit with a sweeping train, 
 
 Regarding each poor brother with disdain. 
 
 Brothel^ ! ah no ! that title it denies : 
 
 The clay 's too coarse for marble sympathies ; 
 
 Yet, hardest trial to its swelling pride, 
 
 For this poor clay Christ suffer'd, bled, and died. 
 
 Oh, fruitful source of never-ending strife, 
 
 Thou iron chain of artificial life ! 
 
 When wilt thou cease to crush each warm emotioii 
 
 That honest nature prompts with true devotion % 
 
 Never, alas ! till that far-distant day, 
 
 When dawns on earth the bright millennial ray ; 
 
 But hope not noiv to see the end of caste, 
 
 My son, the age of miracles is past ! 
 
 Avoid, too, if thou 'rt wise, the canting knave, 
 Who deems this glorious world a yawning grave ; 
 Who basks 'mid groans and melancholy cries. 
 Lugubrious whines, and heart-despairing sighs ; 
 Who loves the darkness, but abhors the light, — 
 A moaning owl amid the shades of night ; 
 Who feasts on all that Charity appals, 
 And think'st a godsend when a brother falls. 
 For then th' occasion fitly he '11 improve 
 With thunderblasts of anything but love ;
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. ] 79 
 
 Yv'ho metes out fire and brimstone by the yard, 
 Then looks to Heav'n, "with howls, for his reward ; — 
 Who, had he power to equal his endeavour, 
 Would bid all cheerfulness be hush'd for ever ; 
 And, with a scowl of wild exulting scorn, 
 Clothe in sepulchral black the Sabbath morn. 
 
 Oh Thou great glorious Comforter divine, 
 That sends o'er all Thy generous light to shine ; 
 Waking, vdih songs of birds. Thy day of rest^ 
 To gladden all the wearied and ojjprest, 
 Whose souls expand as brightness fills the skies. 
 And heartfelt prayers, in grateful incense, rise ; 
 Watching o'er frailty from Thy throne above, 
 "With tear-gem'd eye of everlasting love ; 
 Grant to the son the wishes of the sire : 
 Oh fill his breast with honour's sacred fire ; 
 Show him the path of virtue, trod by few : 
 Teach, him to hate the False, and love the True ; 
 Then, tho' his lot be heavy to endure. 
 An upright heart will make him rich, tho' poor.
 
 180 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 THE BONNIE MORNIN' AFTER THE RAIX.* 
 
 The niclit had been rainy, but fair was the mornin' ; 
 Briclit shone the sun, comely nature adornin'; 
 Sweet bloom'd the daisy, yon bonnie simmer mornin', 
 
 An' fragrant the green dewy plain. 
 Saft to tlieir minnies the young lambs were moanin' ; 
 Fond 'mid the flow' rets the wild-bee was dronin'; 
 As Katie sat milkin' her kye i' the loanin', 
 
 Yon bonnie mornin' after the rain ! 
 
 High frae the clover the laverock was springin' ; 
 Loudly the lift wi' his warble was ringin'; 
 Sweetly the Untie an' mavis were singin,' 
 
 Adoun by the auld Lover's Lane. 
 I lookit in her face, an' I ca'ed her my dearie, 
 Her smiles were sae blithsome, my heart felt sae 
 
 cheery ; — 
 Oh I lookit in her face, an' I ca'ed her my dearie. 
 
 Yon bonnie mornin' after the rain ! 
 
 Dark waved her locks owre her fair neck sae slender; 
 Bricht beam'd her e'e, like the sun in its splendour; 
 Snawy her bosom, sae comely an' tender, 
 
 * First Music by the late Alexander Hume.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 181 
 
 An' pure as the lily o' the plain. 
 Saftly my arms were my sweet jo entwinin', 
 Ilk thocht o' that bosom my fancy divinin' ; — 
 Saftly my arms were my ain jo entwinin', 
 
 Yon bonnie mornin' after the rain ! 
 
 Oh fair are yon meadows, where aft I 've gaen roamin' 
 For mony a blest hour wi' my lass at the gloamin' ; 
 But fairer — oh fairer, the bonnie green loanin' ; 
 
 Where she whisper'd her heart was my ain. 
 Sweetly she blush'd like the rose wi' emotion : 
 Fondly I seal'd wi' a kiss my devotion; — 
 Sweetly she blush'd like the rose wi' emotion, 
 
 Yon bonnie mornin' after the rain ! 
 
 Tho' Fortune to me has been scant wi' her measure, 
 
 Yet ne'er will I envy her care-laden treasure ; 
 
 Sae lang as the queen o" my hame gies me pleasure, 
 
 O' nocht will I ever complain ; 
 For aye when I 'm dowie, dounheartit, an' weary, 
 Her sweet sunny smile mak's me lichtsome an' cheery : 
 Sae weel 1 11 remember the tryst wi' my dearie. 
 
 Yon boiniie mornin' after the rain I
 
 182 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 THE LASS O' MOEEDUN.* 
 
 When simmer comes srailin' owre mountain an' lea, 
 The green haughs o' Moredun are bonnie to see ; 
 An' pleasant 's the hum o' the merry "wdld bee, 
 
 When the rose an' the lity are blawin' ; 
 An' blithely the mavis salutes the gay morn. 
 As sweetly he sings on yon snawy-white thorn ; 
 While the lav'rock soars high owre the lang yellow corn, 
 
 An' the moor-cocks are cheerily crawin' ! 
 
 But fairer yon calm, stilly gloamin', I ween, 
 When fondly I roved wi' my ain comely queen, 
 While the saft zephyr sigh'd 'mang the breckans sae 
 green, 
 
 An' the dew lay on ilka sweet blossom. 
 I pu'd the wild flow'rets sae balmy an' fair. 
 An' I twined me a wreath for her dark raven hair, 
 Wi' a bonnie wee rosebud, o' fragrance sae rare, 
 
 For a gem to her lily-white bosom. 
 
 * Music by the late Alexander Hume.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 183 
 
 We sat by the streamlet that wimpled sae clear, 
 An' fond did I gaze on my lassie sae dear, 
 Till the wail o' the cushet fell low on the ear, 
 
 An' the moon thro' the blue lift was roamin'. 
 Oh wae was my heart when she parted frae me ; 
 An' saft fell the tear frae her dark hazel e'e. 
 As cheerless an' sad, by yon auld rowan tree, 
 
 We whisper'd fareweel at the gloamin' !
 
 184< POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 ANNIE AN' JEAN. 
 
 Oh weel dae I mind 'twas a sweet simmer mornin' : 
 
 The hills were arrayed in their braw purple bloom ; 
 An' the bonnie wild-rose, the gay green-wood adornin', 
 
 Fill'd the saft sonthlan' breezes wi' balmy perfume. 
 An' the young cushy-doo frae the plantin' was springin', 
 
 As her fond mate was cooin' sae sweetly an' coy ; 
 An' the blackbird an' mavis were cheerily singin', 
 
 While the blue lift resounded wi' gladness an' joy. 
 
 * 
 In a sylvan green haugh, where bricht Phoebus was 
 shinin', 
 An' siller birks wavin' in beauty an' pride ; 
 Twa lassies, sair wearied wi' daffin' an' rinnin',' 
 
 Sat doun 'mang the gowans by Esk water side. 
 The taen lookit bonnie, an' sae did the tither, — 
 
 Their cheeks were aye bloomin', an' bricht were their 
 een ; 
 Sae fondly an' kindly they aye gaed thegither ! 
 Twa rare lovin' maidens were Annie an' Jean !
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 185 
 
 Their dark hair was buskit wi' sweet-smellin' blossoms, — 
 
 Emblems o' innocence, rosy an' fair ; 
 Happiness dwelt i' their saft snawy bosoms, 
 
 An' far frae their fond hearts were sorrow an' care. 
 ( )h sweet are the blue-bells that deck the green valle}-. 
 
 An' fair the wild lilies that bloom on the lea ; 
 But sweeter an' fairer than blue-bell or lily, 
 
 Yon flow'rets sae bonnie that dazzled my e'e !
 
 186 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 THE LAST O' THE LAVE. 
 
 " Oh, tak' thae curtains doon, mither, 
 That turn the day to nicht ; 
 
 An' let me see yon gowden sun, 
 Sae cheery an' sae bricht ; 
 
 " An' help me on wi' a' my class. 
 
 For I 'm gaun out a wee, 
 To hear the wimplin' burnie's sang 
 
 Ance mair before I dee !" 
 
 " Lie still — lie still — my dochter dear ; 
 
 Ye 're no sae Aveel the day : 
 Ye '11 break yer puir auld mither's heart- 
 
 Ye kenna what ye say ! 
 
 " Nae curtain keps the cheerless licht, 
 
 For I hae nane, waes me ! 
 Its your twa bonnie een that 's dim. 
 
 My bairn — ye canna see ! " 
 
 " Oh bring me frae my kist, mither, 
 
 The lock o' Willie's hair ; 
 That I may lay 't abune my heart. 
 
 For my dear Willie's there !
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 187 
 
 " An' when I 'm in my lanely grave, 
 
 An' a' my griefs are past, 
 Ye '11 tell him, Avhen the Reg'ment's hame, 
 
 I lo'ed him till the last ! 
 
 " I 'm wae to leave ye here, mither, 
 
 Sae feckless an' sae aiild ; 
 Xae son nor clochter 's left ye noo, 
 
 For oh ! I 'm turnin' cauld ! 
 
 " But God 's the helj^less widoVs freen, 
 
 An' kind's His watchfu' e'e; 
 Sae dry yer cheek, my mither dear, 
 
 An' diniia greet for me ! " 
 
 She took the lassie in her arms, 
 
 An' kiss'd her snawy broo : 
 Her lips were blae ; her hazel een 
 
 Were dark an' sichtless noo ! 
 
 A blicht cam' owre her comely face — 
 
 Saft sigh'd life's ebbing wave ; 
 An' silent lay, for e verm air, 
 
 The last o' a' the lave 1
 
 188 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 ELEANORA. 
 
 I 'M tliitikin' on the days, Ellie, 
 
 When, free frae thocht an' care. 
 Ye pu'd the cowslip by the burn, 
 
 A lassie young an' fair. 
 Sae blithe ye roam'd afar, Ellie, 
 
 Owre mony a flowery lea, 
 Wi' nocht to pain yer snawy breist, 
 
 ( )r dim yer bonnie ee. 
 
 The daisies were in bloom, Ellie, 
 
 The lintwhite warbled sweet ; 
 An' saftly frae the hills sae green, 
 
 Ye heard the yowie bleat. 
 Ye took nae thocht o' time, Ellie, 
 
 As doun in Cairny Dell, 
 Ye wiled awa the simmer hours. 
 
 Till dreamy gloamin' fell. 
 
 But years hae flown sinsyne, Ellie, — 
 Lang, weary years sinsyne ; 
 
 An' cauld 's the mither's kindly heart 
 That aft was press'd to thine.
 
 POEMS A]S"D SONGS, 189 
 
 She left ye wi' a sigh, Ellie, — 
 
 The tear was in her e'e ; 
 For tlio' her Faither took her hame, 
 
 'Twas hard to part frae thee. 
 
 Yer wedded days were blest, Ellie, 
 
 Wi' a' that life can cheer. 
 Till sickness bent the manly form 
 
 O' Mm ye lo'ed sae dear. 
 His heart was a' on thee, Ellie, 
 
 His comfort an' his pride ; 
 An' trouble lost its sairest pang, 
 
 When ye were by his side. 
 
 Life's sorrows arena few, Ellie, — 
 
 Its joys are unco rare : 
 We needna seek to linger here. 
 
 Amid a warld o' care. 
 Abune yon sunny skies, Ellie, 
 
 A hame 's amang the blest. 
 Where lovin' hearts '11 grieve nac mair, 
 
 But meet in endless rest !
 
 190 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 THE EIGHT O'CLOCK BELL. 
 
 Oh Lear ye the Bell, wi' its gallant cling-clang ; 
 An' see ye the toun, a' sae steery an' thrang 1 — 
 Oh hear ye the Bell, wi' its gallant cling-clang ? 
 
 'Tis the voice o' the charmer, that breaks the lang 
 spell ! 
 Noo the puir workin' body gangs hame, tired an' weary, 
 An' the swankie 's awa owre the hill wi' his dearie ; 
 An' the laddies are lowpin' an' liltin' fu' cheery, 
 
 For dear to ilk heart is the Eicht o'Clock Bell ! 
 
 Ring on, blithesome Bell, wi' thy canty auld strain : 
 Ye remind me o' days that are lang past an' gane, 
 When a wee barefit callant, I wander'd my lane, 
 
 Afar 'mang the breckans, till saft gloamin' fell. 
 Sae blest then was I wi' baith sister an' brither ! — 
 Sae happy the nichts when we a' were thegither ! — 
 Sae proud was the heart o' my couthy auld mither. 
 
 When my faither cam' hame at the Eicht o'Clock Bell : 
 
 Ring on, dreamy Bell, through the saft simmer air, 
 While the thochts o' langsyne mak' me youthfu' ance 
 
 mair, 
 When I stray'd wi' my lassie, sae bloomin' an' fait^
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 191 
 
 An' pu'd the wild rose doun you shady green dell. 
 Ah ! sweet were the pleasures that wealth couldna 
 
 borrow ! 
 An' blithe was my heart on ilk braw sunny morrow ; 
 But years hae flown by me o' sadness an" sorrow, 
 
 Sin' I met wi' my jo at the Eicht o'Clock Bell I 
 
 Ring on, merry Bell, tho' the kindly an' brave 
 That lo'ed me sae dearly, lie cauld in the grave ! 
 Thy jowin' aye sooth'd them on Life's stormy wave, 
 
 When strugglin' Avi' toils, nocht but death could dispel. 
 Then weel may we comfort and bear wi' ilk ither, 
 For weary 's thefroad we maun a' gang tliegither : 
 An' lang may it cheer me, an' ilka puir britber, 
 
 To hear the sweet chime o' the Eicht o'Clock Bell '
 
 ]92 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 DEAREST MAIDEN ! 
 
 Dearest maiden ! fairest maiden ! 
 
 Fairest, dearest aye to me ! 
 Saft 's her dimpled cheeks sae rosy— 
 
 Bricht 's her bonnie sparklin' ee ! 
 
 Handsome maiden ! winsome maiden ! 
 
 Winsome, handsome, past compare : 
 Waist sae sma', an' neck sae slender, 
 
 Snawy broo, an' raven hair. 
 
 Merry maiden ! cheery maiden ! 
 
 Wow but she 's a hearty quean ! 
 Trippin' like a blithesome fairy, 
 
 Doun yon dewy dell at e'en. 
 
 Genty maiden ! denty maiden ! 
 
 Oh that bonnie face o' thine ! 
 Say the word, my dearest lassie — 
 
 Only say that ye '11 be mine !
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 193 
 
 THE FACTOR AND THE WIDOW. 
 
 The day was cauld an' stormy, an' the snaw fell thick 
 an' fast — 
 Fu' heavy, an' fu' ceaseless, as 'twad never, never 
 tire ; 
 An' through the mirky garret sough'd the bitter norland 
 
 blast, ' 
 As frail, an' unco dowie — sadly thinkin' on the past, 
 The widow sat f u' weary at the fire. 
 
 An' the factor stood before her, wi' his scornfu' greedy 
 
 e'e; 
 An' the bluidhounds o' the Roupin-Cross were stan- 
 
 nin' i' the stair ; 
 An' he ask'd for what he kent fu' weel the widow couldna 
 
 Sae he harl'd her bits o' things awa — a waefu' sicht to 
 see ; 
 An' she wrung her wither'd hands in despair. 
 
 An' the robin' on the sky-licht chirpit lichtsoniely an' 
 lang, 
 For his wee, wee heart was thrabbin' for the puir auld 
 wific there : 
 
 N
 
 194 POEMS AND SONGS, 
 
 As she lookit roun' her empty wa's wi' mony a bitter 
 
 pang, 
 Yet cheerier an' cheerier that kindly robin sang — 
 " There 's a bonnie hanie abune for the jDuir ! " 
 
 An' the factor gied command to his minions o' the law, 
 An' they selt, wi' mirth and mockery, to mony a 
 smirkin' dame, 
 Her creepie an' her spinnin'-wheel, her plenishin' an' a' ; 
 An' they crack'd their dull an' heartless jokes wi' mony 
 a loud guffaw ; 
 But they thochtna on the widow's lanely hame ! 
 
 Yet tremble, cruel Pharisee ! thy fortune 's at the tide : 
 
 The burnin' tears o' poverty are mingled wi' thy wine : 
 
 A day shall see thee terror-struck, for a' thy lordly 
 
 pride. 
 When the faitherless an' mitherless shall meet thee side 
 by side ; 
 An' the darkness an' the sorrow shall be thine ! 
 
 The eerie hame was cauld, but the weary heart was still, 
 For the widow's best an' only Frien' had heard her 
 earnest prayer ; 
 An' bitter sough' d the wintry blast owre mony a snawy 
 
 hill. 
 As the robin sang its partin' notes fu' cheery an' fu' 
 shrill — 
 " There 's a bonnie hame abune for the puir ! "
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 195 
 
 THY ROSY CHEEKS ARE PAST COMPARE. 
 
 Thy rosy cheeks are past compare, 
 
 Thy lips wad shame the rowan ; 
 An' like twa glintin' stars thine een, 
 
 Wi' beams celestial glowin'. 
 The bonniest flower that scents the brae, 
 
 Or blossoms on the lea, 
 Tho' deck'd in nature's best attire, 
 
 Blooms nae sae fair as thee, dearie ; — 
 The sweetest flower in sylvan bower 
 
 Blooms nae sae fair as thee. 
 
 What tho' thy glossy locks outvie 
 
 The darkness o' the raven ? — 
 Tho' bricht the radiance o' thy smile, 
 
 Like sunlicht out o' heaven ? — 
 Tho' queenly fair thy winsome form, 
 
 Sae stately, an' sae braw ? — 
 The beauties o' thy guileless heart 
 
 By far outshine them a', dearie ; — 
 The beauties o' thy faithfu' heart 
 
 By far outshine them a'.
 
 1 9G POEMS AND SOXGS. 
 
 When Phcebus kiss'd the rosy west, 
 
 In a' his gowden splendour ; 
 An' cushets filled the lanely shaws 
 
 Wi' cooin' saft an' tender ; 
 Adoun the braes o' Wuddislee, 
 
 Where lovers aft gang roaniin', 
 Fu' mony a pleasant hour we 've spent. 
 
 When trystin' at the gloamin', dearie ;- 
 Fu' mony a canny, pleasant hour, 
 
 When trystin' at the gloamin'. 
 
 Oh may the rose an' thorny brier, 
 
 For fragrance nought excellin', — 
 ' The sweet-pea an' the jessamine, 
 
 A' flourish roun' thy dwellin'. 
 An' may the mavis sweetly sing, 
 
 Wi' gladness in its e'e, 
 A bonnie, blithe, an' thrillin' sang 
 
 To thy true love an' thee, dearie ; — 
 A cheery, blithe, an' canty sang 
 
 To thy true love an' thee.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 197 
 
 THREE FLOW'llETS BLOO:\rD V MY GARDEN 
 
 HA'. 
 
 Three flow' rets bloom'd i' my garden ha', 
 I' the blithe sweet days o' langsyne ; 
 
 An' bonnie an' fair were the three wee flowers 
 That ance were Jamie's an' mine. 
 
 Ijut a bKcht cam' owre my j)uir wee flowers, 
 r the time o' the frost an' the snaw ; 
 
 For they nestled their heids i' my sorrowin' breist, 
 Syne they droopit an' diiw'd awa. 
 
 Oh waly the day for the lauchin' blue oen, 
 
 An' the hair sae silken an' fine ; 
 An' the bonnie sweet face, an' the lippies sae red. 
 
 That aften were prest to mine ! 
 
 I see them a' there, i' the deid o' the nicht, 
 
 An' 1 hear the wee patterin' feet ; 
 An' my true love sighs in his gowden dreams, 
 
 An' wearifu' sair I greet ! 
 
 For its no the sweet faces that meet my e'e. 
 
 An' its no the wee patterin' feet ; 
 Jkit the glints o' the wanderin' lady moon, 
 
 An' the roar o' the wind an' Aveet !
 
 198 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 All' I lay me doun, an I close my een, 
 But alack ! I can sleep nae mair ; 
 
 An' fain wad I wauken my ain true love, 
 For aye the wee flowers are there ! 
 
 Oh leeze me lang on the bonnie blithe birds ; 
 
 An' the milk-white kye on the lea ; 
 An' the gowans that blaw on the emerald hills, 
 
 An' the moan o' the silvery sea. 
 
 An' leeze me lang on the core o' my heart, 
 Whase fondness may I never tyne ; 
 
 But its low, low doun i' yon saft green yird 
 Lie the three wee flowers o' mine !
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 199 
 
 THE ROCK ON THE HILL. 
 
 A SONG OF THE COVENANT. 
 
 The kye were i' the byre, an' the yews were i' the pen, 
 An' the moon glimmer'd bricht 'mang the breckans i' 
 
 the gien, 
 When I met fny winsome Willie dear, the wale o' gallant 
 men, 
 By the auld mossy rock on yon bonnie green hill. 
 
 I lookit in his face, an' the tear Avas in my e'e, 
 
 For the weary hour had cam', when my Willie had to 
 
 flee ; — 
 Oh I lookit in his face, an' the tear was in my e'e. 
 By the auld mossy rock on yon bonnie green hill. 
 
 An' he press'd his haun' in mine, as he kiss'd my paly 
 
 cheek, 
 An' he ca'd me aye his lassie, but I tliocht my heart 
 
 wad break ; 
 An' he tried to say fareweel, but the word he couldna 
 
 speak, 
 By the auld mossy rock on yon bonnie green hill.
 
 200 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 But the troopers spied my Willie ere the breakin' o' 
 
 the day, — 
 My bonnie gallant laddie dear, wha never fear'd a fae ; 
 An' they slew my winsome Willie ere the breakin' u 
 
 the day, 
 By the auld mossy rock on yon bonnie green hill. 
 
 Oh what made the sun glint sae cheery owre the shaw, 
 When my gowden locks were gray, an' my heart had 
 
 dow'd awa ! — 
 When the lips I kiss'd sae fondly were white as driven 
 
 snaw, 
 By the auld mossy rock on yon bonnie green hill. 
 
 Oh cheerless, cauld, an' weary, I wander by my lane, 
 For there's naething left me noo, sin' my winsome 
 
 Willie 's gane ; 
 But the tryst shall he my grave, whaur nae mair I '11 
 
 greet an' mane, 
 By the auld mossy rock on yon bonnie green hill.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 201 
 
 THE VOICE IN THE RUINS. 
 
 Ae sorrowfu' nicht, when a' was still, 
 
 Save the roar o' the westlin' gale, 
 Frae the mournfu' wreck o' a weary land, 
 
 Rung a fed au' a heavy wail. 
 An' aye, while the spirit o' graspin' Greed 
 
 Soars high on her raven wing, 
 By nicht an' day thro' the guid auld toun 
 
 This sorrowfu' wail shall ring : — 
 
 Alas for the day when the piiir maun live 
 
 I' the totterin' biggins sae high, 
 That rock like a ship in a stormy sea 
 
 When the howlin' blast sweeps by. 
 Alas for the factor's tearless e'e, 
 
 As he gloats owre his heartless gains ! — 
 Alas for the rottenness, damp, an' death, 
 
 That lurk i' the crumblin' stanes !
 
 202 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Oh wlien will Wealth be deaf nae mair 
 
 To Poverty's weary cries ; 
 An' God's ain likeness cease to dwell 
 
 In hovels like gruesome styes 1 
 For oh that the sordid lust o' gowd 
 
 Should steel men's hearts sae sair, 
 Wha revel an' fatten in lordly ha's, 
 
 On the darksome dens o' the puir ! 
 
 An' aye, while the spirit o' graspin' Greed 
 
 Soars high on her raven wing, 
 By nicht an' day thro' the guid auld toun 
 
 This sorrowfu' wail shall ring. 
 For the land cam' doun i' the deid o' the nicht, 
 
 Wi' the frail an' the feckless auld ; 
 An' alas for the puir young blithesome hearts 
 
 That noo lie wither' d an' cauld.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 203 
 
 A HAPPY NEW YEAR T'YE, PEGGY ! 
 
 A Happy, Guid New Year, Peggy, 
 
 Thou sonsy queen o' mine ! 
 Fair fa' thy comely, lauchin' face, 
 
 Sae rosy, sae divine. 
 May a' the sweetest joys o' life 
 
 Be thine, my winsome dear. 
 As fond I wish thee frae my heart 
 
 A Happy, Guid New Year ! 
 f 
 Now here 's to thee, my ain Peggy, 
 
 Sae stately, trig, an' braw ; 
 An' here 's to mony a weel-kent frien', 
 
 Baith here an' far awa ; 
 An' here's to them whase cauldrife hearts 
 
 Can find nae pleasure here : 
 For pity's sake we 11 wish them a' 
 
 A Happy, Guid New Year ! 
 
 C3n wi' a roarin' fire, Peggy : 
 
 Mak haste, my gaucy hen ! 
 A cheery laugh 's the balm o' life : 
 
 Brinsr a' the neibours ben :
 
 204 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Fetch doun the bairdie frae the press, 
 
 Wi' rowth o' hamely cheer ; 
 An' blithe we '11 wish them, roun' an' roun' 
 
 A Happy, Guid New Year ! 
 
 This day ilk weary thocht, Peggy, 
 
 Shall rise an' tak the fling ; 
 An' puir but honest hearts, yince mair, 
 
 Like Unties bravely sing. 
 Gin cankert Care should mak a ca', 
 
 Wi' )Sorrow in his rear, 
 Steek fast the door, for we maun hae 
 
 A Happy, Guid New Year ! 
 
 Yince mair a Guid New Year, Peggy, 
 
 Thou sonsy queen o' mine : 
 Fair fa' thy comely, lauchin' face, 
 
 Sae rosy, sae divine. 
 Wi' three times three, I '11 drink to thee, 
 
 As, faithfu' an' sincere, 
 I Avish thee frae my heart o' hearts, 
 
 A Happy, Guid New Year !
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 20." 
 
 GLENORMISTON. 
 
 While rosy sweets j)erfume tlie air, 
 An' Simmer twines her garlands fair 
 
 In Flora's gay attire ; — 
 While mavis pipes on leafy tree, 
 An' laverocks warble owre the lea, 
 
 Awake, my hamely lyre ! 
 Strike high, wi' fervid, rattlin' rhyme, 
 
 Owre Scotia's hills an' plains : 
 An honour to her breezy clime 
 
 Demands nae dowie strains. 
 Richt merrily — richt cheerily, 
 
 Wi' pith o' aulden days, 
 Sing loudly — sing proudly, 
 
 A lilt in Willie's praise ! 
 
 In yon wee tounie i' the south, 
 He spent the sunny prime o' youth, 
 
 Wi' joyous, lichtsome glee, 
 An' aft, alang the Tweed's green banks, 
 The callant play'd his mirthfu' jtranks. 
 
 An' skelpit blithe an' free.
 
 206 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 His faither was an honest carle — 
 
 Kind was liis mensefu' mither ; 
 An' lang they joggit thro' the warl', 
 
 Richt couthily thegither ; 
 Wi' plenty, aye canty, 
 
 Till sad times cauld an' drear 
 Brocht puir hearts an' sair hearts, 
 
 Wi' troubles ill to bear. 
 
 But sense was i' the laddie's pow, 
 For nocht could e'er his courage cowe, 
 
 As, fired wi' noble pride, 
 He bravely enter'd Nature's college, 
 An' quaff'd the crystal streams o' knowledge, 
 
 Where'er they chanced to glide. 
 Belyve frae Poortith's gloomy deeps, 
 
 He made a famous clearance ; 
 An' conquer'd a' her slipp'ry steeps 
 
 By manly perseverance. 
 Still wrocht he — still focht he. 
 
 Till high in Fame' ascendant 
 Victorious, richt glorious, 
 
 He shone a star resplendent. 
 
 But what needs I proclaim the truth ? 
 Through east an' west — through north an' south 
 
 Thy name 's frae shore to shore : 
 A stalwart Trojan i' the van 
 Wert thou to raise thy brither man,* 
 
 Wi' rowth o' healthy lore.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 207 
 
 Thou maks the horny-handed wicht 
 
 True lord o' the creation, 
 As fond he prees, wi' ardour bricht, 
 
 Thy gowden Information. 
 That cheers him — that bears him 
 
 Owre mony a famous clime, 
 Wide-soaring, exploring 
 
 Fair Nature's works subUme. 
 
 When Fortune, blinkin' thro' the mirk, 
 Bestow'd on thee a sunny smirk, 
 
 Wi' denty reamin' measure 
 0' guid red gowd ; yet weel I trow, 
 Nae sordid Siller-grip wert thou,- — 
 
 Nae hoarder o' thy treasure. 
 On nobler aim thy saul was bent : 
 
 Upon thy native toun 
 Thou lavish'd free the mercies sent. 
 
 An' generous was the boon. 
 Wi' true heart — wi' fu' heart. 
 
 She prized thy raensefu' gift, — 
 Yon braw pile — nae sma' pile, 
 
 That soars amid the lift. 
 
 Free swankin' blades, where'er ye dwell, — 
 Cheery an' hamely like mysel'. 
 
 Come drink a health wi' me ! 
 Auld Reekie's chosen son o' fame — 
 Lord Provost — worthy o' the name — 
 
 Glenormiston, here 's t' ye !
 
 208 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Lang may tlunx tiourisli fair an" green, 
 
 Fresh as a norland lily ; 
 An' here 's to thy sweet wifie queen, 
 
 An' Kob, thy famous billie ! 
 Noo readily — noo steadily, 
 
 The honours blithely gie, 
 Wi' rare dands : yince mair, lads ! 
 
 Anither three-times-three !
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 200 
 
 'SIXTY-TWO— SIXTY-THREE.* 
 
 Solemn and sad, with trembling step and slow, 
 
 'Mid tlie wild moaning of the winter wind, 
 The dying year, in weeds of deepest woe, 
 
 Approach'd the portals of the Unconfined. 
 
 Yet many a mournful glance he cast behind, 
 And seem'd, 'mid all his grief, yet loath to go, 
 His dying murmur sounding soft and low ; 
 While round his hoary brow of care the cyjiress-wreath 
 
 entwined. 
 
 And thus he sigh'd, wliile muffled drums roll'd deep. 
 And Penury's dark banner o'er him hung 
 
 In sable folds, " Welcome the last long sleep 
 To this lone heart, with bitter anguish wrung ; 
 Softly and sweetly be my requiem sung. 
 
 For me no more shall Want her vigil keep — 
 
 For me no more shall eyes with sadness weep : 
 Yet o'er my gloomy bier let no unjust reproach be flung. 
 
 " For summer smiles when winter's frowns are past. 
 And suffering fortifies the downtrod slave ; 
 
 * The end of the year 1862 was almost unparalleled for the 
 distress that prevailed throughout the country, and particularly 
 among the operatives of Lancashire. 
 
 O
 
 210 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 And Hope's fair sun, tho' now with clouds o'ercast, 
 Shall yet shine brightly o'er dark Sorrow's wave. 
 Honour to all the noble and the brave 
 
 Who bore, unshrinking. Poverty's cold blast. 
 
 May peace and plenty crown their board at last ; 
 While I, who caused them many a tear, lie silent in the 
 grave." 
 
 Slow waned his icy breath, and soon there fell 
 
 Upon the midnight air, in echoes grand. 
 The dying burden of his last farewell, 
 
 As, beckoning on, with wavering, outstretched 
 hand, 
 
 He cross'd the borders of the Shadowy Land. 
 Then rose an infant's cry, with feeble swell. 
 As, sounding loud and clear. Time's warning bell 
 Proclaim'd to all the wond'ring world another year had 
 
 dawn'd.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 211 
 
 BRIGHT ARE YOUNG LIFE'S GOLDEN 
 TREASURES.* 
 
 ADAPTED TO AN AIR OF XAGELl. 
 
 Bright are young life's golden treasures, 
 Charming its fairy-like pleasures : 
 Softly they flow like a sweet summer song, 
 Shining — shining— radiantly all the day long. 
 
 Starlets-of beauty are glowing, 
 
 Roses and lilies are blowing ; 
 
 Oh love the fair blooming joys while ye may. 
 
 Fondly — fondly — soon they 'U all wither away. 
 
 Angels around thee are sighing — 
 
 Life's sweetest pleasures are dying — 
 
 Fond rosy dreamer, oh wouldst thou be wise ? 
 
 Treasure — treasure — virtue that leads to the skies ! 
 
 * This, and the two following songs, appear in Oliver and 
 Boyd's " School Songs for Advanced Classes," by T. M. Hunter; 
 by whom also " The Heriot March" (p. HS) has been adai)ted 
 to a German air.
 
 212 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 AROUND THE WINTER FIRE SO BRIGHT. 
 
 ADAPTED TO AN AIR OF EGLI. 
 
 When warblers cease their melodies, 
 'Mid drenching rain and cloudy skies, — 
 When piercing frost and driving hail, 
 And stormy howling blasts prevail ; 
 How beams each face with sweet delight, 
 Around the winter fire so bright ! 
 
 When angry ravens mock the breeze 
 That moans 'mid hoary, leafless trees, — 
 When streamlets rise with sullen roar, 
 And flow'rets fade, to bloom no more ; 
 How beams each face with fond delight, 
 Around the winter fire so bright I 
 
 When wand'rers haunt the lonely wold, 
 With houseless children, pale and cold, — 
 \Mien hoary age glides feebly past, 
 And craves a shelter from the blast ; 
 We '11 soothe their sorrows of the nisht. 
 Around the winter fire so bright !
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 21 3 
 
 When dying Nature, wild and drear, 
 Sheds with a sigh her icy tear ; 
 While o'er her shroud of dazzling snow 
 The redbreast chants her requiem low, 
 How thoughts of Spring give sweet delight 
 Around the winter fire so bright !
 
 214 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 WHILE GLADNESS HAILS THE PAETING 
 
 YEAE. 
 
 ADAPTED TO AN AIR OF CALCOTT. 
 
 While gladness hails the parting year, 
 
 And ushers in the new, — 
 While kind and loving friends are here. 
 
 Whose hearts beat warm and true ; 
 Come sing again, while pleasures reign, 
 A cheerful and a joyous strain. 
 
 May plenty crown Britannia's shores, 
 
 And may her flag unfurl'd, 
 Wave ever where bold freedom soars. 
 
 The glory of the world. 
 Triumphant may her star on high 
 Beam brighter as the ages fly. 
 
 Her ramparts are her Eifles brave, 
 
 Wliom foe need never dare. 
 The fetters burst from every slave 
 
 That breathes her native air : 
 For liberty, sweet liberty, 
 Blooms fairest 'neath old England's sky.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 215 
 
 There 's freedom in her flowery glens, 
 
 And huighhig silver rills : 
 There 's freedom in her verdant plains, 
 
 And grand old hoary hills ; 
 Where huntsman's horn, on echoes borne, 
 
 Proclaims the joys of breezy morn. 
 
 Now ere the gladsome day departs, 
 
 Come sing with radiant smiles, 
 God save the Queen of British Hearts, 
 
 The glory of our isles ! 
 Through ages down, her fair renown 
 Shall flourish bright as England's crown !
 
 -16 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 A BRIDAL ODE. 
 
 Awake, my muse, and sing, 
 
 While hills and valleys ring 
 With hymns of joy on this gay bridal morn. 
 
 Aurora bids thee rise : 
 
 Soft bloom the radiant skies ; 
 And zephyrs sigh, on balmy pinions borne. 
 
 High o'er the daisied lawn, 
 
 Warbles the bird of dawn ; 
 And smiling Flora, in her robe of flowers, 
 
 O'er purple-crested mountain. 
 
 And diamond-flashing fountain, 
 Breathes rosy fragrance from lier emerald bowers. 
 
 Forth to the chamber stealing, 
 
 While Hymen's bells are pealing, 
 The Bridegroom softly strikes the silver lyre : 
 
 Throned on his forehead hi2;h, 
 
 Reign grace and majesty. 
 And eyes that flash Love's golden-gleaming fire.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. '2Vi 
 
 " Arise, my Bride, arise, 
 
 While glory tills the skies. 
 And doves are moaning at thy ling'ring stay : 
 
 Soft chimes the nuptial bell 
 
 With sweet melodious swell ; 
 Arise, my lovely fair, and come away ! 
 
 " From purple groves upspriugiiig, 
 
 The tiny birds are singing : 
 Oh why, my bosom's core, thy long delay ? 
 
 The bowery elms are sighing. 
 
 The summer hours are dying. 
 Arise, my lovely fair, and come away ! " 
 
 Lo ! brightly she appears, 
 
 All beautiful in tears, 
 But sorrow claims them not — e'en let them tlow : 
 
 Her eyes like sapphires gleaming, 
 
 Her golden tresses streaming 
 Adown her stately neck of dazzling snow. 
 
 Fair as a goddess-queen. 
 
 Her comely face serene, 
 Beams with a crimson radiance all her own : 
 
 Her lips, where love reposes, 
 
 (3utrivalling the roses 
 That gem her milk-white robe, and starry zone. 
 
 Slow wends the bridal train 
 To God's all-hallow'd fane :
 
 218 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Adoringly they bless the glorious Giver : 
 'Mid silence all unbroken, 
 The sacred words are spoken, 
 
 That join two loving hearts in one for ever. 
 
 Peal loud, ye dreamy bells, 
 
 O'er hills and dewy dells. 
 While guardian angels hear him softly say : 
 
 " Be ours the golden pleasure 
 
 To tread life's joyous measure : 
 My fairest and my dearest, come away ! "
 
 POEMS AMD SONGS. 210 
 
 REST, SON OF TOIL. 
 
 IiEST, son of toil, in thy slumbers unbroken : 
 The warfare is ended — the battle is o'er, 
 
 High from the Father an angel hath spoken, — 
 Life's weary sorrows shall grieve thee no more ! 
 
 Rest, son of k>il, with the brave and true-hearted — 
 The bold and the fearless of Truth's valiant band ; 
 
 Sad fell the tear when thy spirit departed, 
 Far on its flight to the Shadowy Land ! 
 
 Rest, son of toil, on the field of thy duty, 
 
 In Freedom's march onward, the first in the van : 
 
 Bright was thy honour, and spotless its beauty — 
 Shrined in thy breast was the soul of a man ! 
 
 Rest, son of toil — ah ! no longer adorning 
 
 The home that looks dreary and desolate now ! 
 
 Gone from them all in thy youth's sunny morning ! — 
 Gone with the laurel still green on thy brow !
 
 -20 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Rest, son of toil, while thy loved one is weeping, 
 Mourning and wailing in sadness and gloom ; 
 
 Whisper, bright spirit, thou only art sleeping — 
 Soon shall the Day-Star arise o'er the tomb ! 
 
 Rest, son of toil, in thy radiance adoring 
 One that is glorious, and mighty to save. 
 
 Soft sighs the wind, while the warblers are soaring 
 High o'er the willow that weeps on thy grave !
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 221 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S PARDON. 
 
 Wild blew the gale in Gibraltar one night, 
 
 As a soldier lay stretch'd in his cell ; 
 And anon, 'mid the darkness, the moon's silver light 
 
 On his countenance dreamily fell. 
 Nought could she reveal but a man, true as steel, 
 
 That oft for his country had bled ; 
 And the glance of his eye might the grim king defy, 
 
 For despair, fear, and trembling had fled. 
 
 But in rage he had struck a well-merited blow 
 
 At a tyrant who held him in scorn ; 
 And his fate soon was seal'd, for alas ! honest Joe 
 
 "Was to die on the following morn. 
 (Jh sad was the thought to a man that had fought 
 
 'Jklid the ranks of the gallant and brave, — 
 To be shot through the breast at a coward's behest, 
 
 And laid low in a criminal's grave ! 
 
 The night-call had sounded, when Joe was aroused 
 
 By a step at the door of his cell : 
 "Tvvas a comrade with whom he had often caroused, 
 
 That now enter'd to bid him farewell.
 
 222 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 " All, Tt)in ! is it you come to bid me adieu ? 
 
 'Tis kind, my lad ! give me your hand ! 
 Nay — nay — don't get wild man, and make me a child ! — 
 
 I '11 be soon in a happier land ! " 
 
 With hands clasp'd in silence, Tom mournfully said, 
 
 " Have you any request, Joe, to make 1 — 
 Remember by me 'twill be fully obey'd : 
 
 Can I anything do for your sake ? " 
 " When it's over to-morrow !" he said, fiU'd with sor- 
 row, 
 
 " Send this token to her whom I 've sworn 
 All my fond love to share !" — 'twas a lock of his hair, 
 
 And a prayer-book, all faded and worn. 
 
 " Here 's this watch for my mother ; and when you 
 write home — " 
 
 And he dash'd a bright tear from his eye ; 
 " Say I died with my heart in old Devonshire, Tom, 
 
 Like a man, and a soldier ! Good bye !" 
 
 Then the sergeant on guard, at the grating appear'd, 
 
 And poor Tom had to leave the cold cell. 
 By the moon's waning light, with a husky " Good 
 night ! — ■ 
 
 God be with you, dear comrade ! — farewell ! " 
 
 Gray dawn'd the morn in a dull, cloudy sky. 
 
 When the blast of a bugle resounded ; 
 And Joe, ever fearless, went forward to die, 
 
 By the hearts of true heroes surrounded.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 22o 
 
 " Shoulder arms ! " was the cry, as the prisoner pass'd 
 
 by: 
 " To the right about — inarch !" was the word ; 
 And their pale faces proved howtheir comrade was loved, 
 And by all his brave regiment adored. 
 
 ilight onward they march'd to the dread field of doom : 
 
 Sternly silent, they cover'd the ground ; 
 Then they formed into line amid sadness and gloom, 
 
 While the prisoner look'd calmly around. 
 Then soft on the air rose the accents of prayer, 
 
 And faint toll'd the solemn death-bell, 
 As he knelt on the sand, and with uplifted hand. 
 
 Waved the long and the lasting farewell. 
 
 " Make ready !" exclaim'd an imperious voice : 
 
 " Quick ! — '— Present !" struck a chill on each 
 
 mind ; 
 Ere the last word was spoke, Joe had cause to rejoice. 
 
 For " Hold ! Hold !" cried a voice from behind. 
 
 Then wild was the joy of them all, man and boy, 
 
 As a horseman cried, " ^lercy ! Forbear !" 
 
 With a thrilling " Hurrah ! a free pardon ! 
 
 huzzah ! " 
 
 And the muskets rung loud in the air ! 
 
 Soon the comrades were lock'd in each other's embrace : 
 No more stood the brave soldiers dumb : 
 
 With a loud cheer, they wheel'd to the right-about-face 
 Then away at the sound of the drum I
 
 224 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 And a brighter day dawn'd in sweet Devon's fair land, 
 
 Where the lovers met, never to part ; 
 And he gave her a token — true, warm, and unbroken— 
 
 The gift of his own gallant heart !
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 225 
 
 ODE TO AGNES, 
 
 Hail to thy dulcet strains, whose siren power 
 
 Doth soothe the soul with happiness and love ; 
 Painting fair nature in her sunniest hour, 
 
 By gurgling crystal stream, and flowery grove, — 
 By shady dell, 
 Where roses kiss the silver dew, and balmy zephyrs 
 dwell ; — 
 
 By verdant bowers that bloom 'neath summer skies, 
 
 "Wiiere purpfe cloudlets float 'mid dazzling splendour; 
 Av 1 shining angels waft Elysian sighs, 
 
 Thrilling thy breast with feelings fond and tender : 
 While o'er thy dwelling, 
 The soaring lark salutes the morn, his joyous anthem 
 swelling. 
 
 •o* 
 
 When kine are lowing in the distant glade, 
 
 And lambs are bleating on the emerald plain, — 
 When doves are waiUng in tlie myrtle shade, 
 And floating echoes waft the mournful strain — 
 Then art thou found 
 'Mid waving pines that murmur sighs, with weirdly, 
 solemn sound. 
 
 r
 
 226 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Wlien dismal thunders roll 'neath dark'ning skies, 
 
 And foaming billows lasli the rock-bound shore : 
 While o'er the surge the stormy petrel flies, 
 
 Her shriek resounding 'mid the tempest's roar, — 
 And mortals quail, 
 'Neath lurid lightning's wrathful glare, and wildly 
 howling gale, — 
 
 Then roves thy muse where scaly Neptune dwells 
 
 Afar 'mid coral grots, and crystal caves, 
 Where pale-green Naiads sigh in pearly cells, 
 And warble dirges to the roaring w'aves, 
 Like maids lovelorn; 
 While rosy shells re-echo sweet the Triton's sounding 
 horn. 
 
 To thee the slumbering Past reveals her story : — 
 
 The weeping willow by the mouldering tower, — 
 The hallow'd scenes of Scotia's ancient glory, — 
 The silent shades of Mary's hawthorn bower, — 
 Where manhood's duty 
 Inspired the theme of Rizzio's lay — the splendour of 
 her beauty. 
 
 Thou 'st sung of Holyrood's emblazon'd halls, 
 
 When royal standard waved o'er sword and shield ; 
 And startling trumpet shook her ancient walls. 
 As ardent monarchs sought the tented field ; 
 While steel-clad breast 
 Was throbbing high, and proudly waved the warrior's 
 lofty crest.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS, 227 
 
 The Future hath inspired thy beauteous song, 
 
 " The spirit's home, it is not here on earth ; '' 
 Oh may thy spirit join that radiant throng — 
 That bright seraphic throng, of heavenly birth, 
 Whose voices rise 
 In joyous, loud hosannas, 'mid the boundless, starry 
 skies !
 
 228 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 STANZAS ON A PORTRAIT. 
 
 Sweet face so beautiful, now smiling there 
 Serene, unsliadow'd by a cloud of sadness. 
 
 Soft snowy breast, and marble brow so fair : 
 
 Bright eyes, that ever beam with joy and gladness : 
 I muse with pain 
 
 On all those lovely glowing charms, I may not see again. 
 
 Methinks I view thee in thy bridal sj^lendour — 
 The floral wreath thy fairy form entwining — 
 The ruby sparkling on thy bosom tender — 
 
 Bright gems among thy dark-brown tresses shining, 
 With light divine ; 
 While softly throbb'd 'neath purple zone that guileless 
 heart of thine. 
 
 And as I muse, sad memories of the past 
 
 Recall the joyless hour when hearts were swelling, 
 And eyes were dim, and brows were overcast, 
 
 And grief and sorrow fill'd thy father's dwelling ; 
 While trembling fell 
 On all around, 'mid tears and sighs, the mournful word 
 " Farewell I"
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 229 
 
 Oh may long years of gladness crown thy lover, 
 
 For whose dear sake thou stemm'd the dark-blue 
 billow, 
 May guardian angels o'er thee gently hover, 
 And rosy dreams of home attend thy pillow ; 
 While zephyrs mild 
 Waft from on high an angeFs kiss to thy dear lovely 
 child !
 
 230 POEMS AND «()X(tS, 
 
 THE BATTLE OF BULL RUN. 
 
 [Fought in Virginiii, U.S., on July 21, 1861.] 
 
 The Day of Ke.st was breaking o'er a land of beauty 
 rare, 
 And the brightness of Aurora's smile shone faintly in 
 the sky, 
 As the sullen sound of war's alarms was borne upon the 
 air, 
 With the trumpet's warning blast, that told of battle 
 swift and nigh. 
 
 Yet nought was there of sadness, 
 For all around was gladness, 
 As brothers march'd, with cheerful step, to conquer 
 or to die ! 
 
 Hark ! onward now they come ! death and all its terrors 
 braving ! 
 This day shall be a day of deeds, and glory shall be 
 won ! 
 Hark ! onward now they come, with their banners 
 proudly waving ; 
 And serried ranks of bayonets are flashing in the sun.
 
 POEMS AND SOKGS. 231 
 
 Oh be Thou ever near them, 
 Thou God of battles ! cheer them 
 "With victory and honour; but Thy holy A\ill be 
 done ! 
 
 Awake, ye dreamy woodlands ! — hark ! the trampling 
 and the cheerhig. 
 As backward reels the Southern host, in all their 
 vengeful ire. 
 See Slavery's ruthless angel, on her battle-steed career- 
 ing, 
 As she flashes through the rifle-ranks her thunder- 
 bolts of fire, 
 
 "Wildly rushing on her path ; 
 Yet in vain her volley'd wrath. 
 While valour fills the gallant breasts of Northern son 
 and sire ! 
 
 Red radiant in her gory robes, malignant and defying, 
 Full loud amid the combat sounds her startling 
 bugle- horn : 
 See through the rolling cannon-smoke, her swarthy sons 
 are flying ! 
 Her standard 's shatter'd in the dust I — her boasted 
 Stripes are torn ! 
 
 While from earth to rosy sky. 
 There arises, loud and high, 
 A deaf'ning roar of " Victory ! " on this all-hallow'd 
 morn !
 
 232 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Awake, ye dreamy woodlands ! — liark ! the hollow 
 drums are sounding ! 
 Alas ! 'twas but a frenzied dream, yon Northern 
 shout of might. 
 Grim terror strides their wavering ranks — the Southern 
 horse are boundino: — 
 " Retreat ! Retreat ! " re-echoes 'mid the thunders of 
 the fio;ht. 
 
 And they rush, in frantic dread, 
 O'er the dying and the dead ; 
 And the brightness of their glorious morn is turn'd 
 to blackest night ! 
 
 Oh Freedom's cry of anguish pierced her starry throne 
 on high. 
 When the sons that bore her banner fled inglorious 
 from the foe ; 
 And Africa, in sorrow, shook her fetters with a sigh, 
 As thoughts of darker horror made the tear of pity 
 flow. 
 
 While mothers fond were weeping 
 For the gallant heroes sleeping ; 
 And on the midnight wind arose one wailing shriek 
 of woe ! 
 
 Rut loudly rang the voice of Hope, in accents sweet and 
 cheerinsf : 
 Oh mourn ye not in sadness o'er the Future's gloomy 
 wave.
 
 rOEMS AND SONGS. 233 
 
 Defeat shall nerve the Northern arm to deeds of nobler 
 daring, 
 For the hapless sons of Africa he '11 succour yet, and 
 save. 
 
 Then with triumph wide resounding, 
 And with drum and trumpet sounding. 
 The Northern flag shall proudly soar, with '' Frpedom 
 to the Slave ! "
 
 284 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 THE FLIGHT OF KING FRANCIS OF NAPLES. 
 
 Onward he flies, amid grief and dismay, 
 With terror his craven heart bounding ; — 
 
 Onward he flies from the dawning of day, 
 
 Scorch'd Vjy the lightning of Liberty's ray ; 
 
 For darkness and dungeons have vanish'd away, 
 And the horns of bright Freedom are sounding ! 
 
 Onward he flies, and aloud in his ear 
 
 The ghosts of Palermo are crying, 
 " Traitor to all that is sacred and dear ! — 
 Tremble, false king ! — Garibaldi is here f" 
 And the coward grows pale with the madness of fear, 
 
 As afar, in wild frenzy, he 's flying. 
 
 Onward, yet on — ever rack'd with distrust — 
 
 No longer his destiny braving : 
 At the throne of the Despot he kneels for a crust, 
 With his sword in the scabbai'd, his crown in the dust ; 
 For the fierce Lazzaroni's stilettos are rust, 
 
 And Emmanuel's banners are waving !
 
 POEMS AND SONGS, '2o') 
 
 Hark ! " Viva l' Italia/" now riiiiis on her shore ' — 
 Will the tyrant return to her ? Never ! 
 
 Lo ! the flash of her cannon — the deep thunder- roar 
 
 Of her millions, proclaim that oppression is o'er ; 
 
 For the Bourbon of Naples will triumph no more, 
 And the cry is " King Victor for ever ! "
 
 -'^H POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 SOBISKI'S BATTLE CRY. 
 
 March and triumph, patriot band, 
 Warriors of the Bleedinsr Land ! 
 Lo ! 'mid rolling clouds on high. 
 The shade of loyal majesty, 
 Proudly on his war-steed bounding ; 
 Loud his silver clarion soundins: — 
 " Swell the battle-cry, ye brave ! 
 Freedom, or a glorious grave ! 
 
 " Wake the bugle's shrill alarums ! — 
 Wake ! tSobiski calls to arms ! 
 8ee, 'mid smoke and surging flame, 
 Martyrs crown'd for Poland's name !— 
 Vengeance for the dead and dying ! 
 Vengeance for the widows sighing ! 
 Swell the battle-cry, ye brave ! 
 Freedom, or a glorious grave ! 
 
 " Strike the tyrant's banner down ! 
 Strike for Poland's old renown ! 
 Guide, O God ! the rushing swords — 
 King of kings, and Lord of lords !
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 237 
 
 Hail the sabre wildly clashing ! 
 Hail the deadly rifle flashing ! — 
 (Swell the battle-cry, ye brave ! 
 Freedom, or a glorious grave ! 
 
 " Let the war-flag proudly soar : 
 Bid the cannon's thunder roar : 
 Stay the Russian's fell advance : 
 Tartar spear, and Cossack lance : 
 See the ranks of Slavery quiver ! — 
 Poland and the Poles for ever ! — 
 Swell the battle-cry, ye brave ! 
 Freedom, or a glorious grave ! "
 
 238 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 HARK ! THE HORN OF ALBION SOUNDING ! 
 
 Hark ! the horn of Albion sounding ! 
 Lion hearts licr flag surrounding : 
 Gallant son, and valiant sire, 
 Fill'd with Freedom's glorious fire : 
 Death, and every danger braving, 
 Foeman's mercy never craving : 
 Swift on rolling echoes borne, 
 Hark ! the sound of Albion's horn ! 
 
 Let no braggart host assail her : 
 England's might shall never fail her : 
 Proudly in her starry isles, 
 Victory triumphant smiles : 
 High o'er earth and boundless ocean, 
 Burns the flame of fierce devotion : 
 Swift on rolling echoes borne. 
 Hark ! the sound of Albion's horn ! 
 
 Battle-fields renown'd in story 
 Yet may yield to brighter glory : 
 Laurel-wreaths of deathless fame, 
 Still shall crown Britannia's name :
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 239 
 
 Guns are flashing! hearts are bounding ! 
 Shrill the trumpet's wide resounding ! 
 Swift on rolling echoes borne, 
 Hark ! the sound of Albion's horn ! 
 
 Koyal Mother ! best and dearest ! 
 Hallow'd be the grief thou bearest ! — 
 While the tears of Britons brave 
 Still bedew thy Albert's grave, 
 Woe to him who dare enthral thee ! 
 Woe to hina who dare appal thee ! 
 Swift on rolling echoes borne, 
 Hark ! the sound of Albion's horn !
 
 240 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 BRASILVERN. 
 
 A SCANDINAVIAN LEGEND. 
 
 [Strange and wild are the legendary fragments of the Icelan- 
 dic chroniclers, and numerous are the instances of high-souled 
 chivalry and fearless daring with which they abound. It was 
 these qualities, in their highest state of development, that ren- 
 dered the Northern tribes so invincible in war, and ultimately 
 made them the subverters of the Roman Empire, and the 
 scourge and terror of Europe. Their deeds of matchless 
 prowess and unconquerable valour have been celebrated in song 
 by many a hoary bard ; while the warlike assemblage of bygone 
 days has thrilled with joyous pleasure at the recital of deeds, 
 the very nature of which, man, in hia present state of civilisa 
 tion, now shudders to contemplate. 
 
 The following legend relates to that memorable era ir. the 
 heroic age of Scandinavian history, when the Banner of the 
 Cross was but recently planted on the rugged shores of the 
 North, then slowly emerging from the darkness of heathen 
 superstition. 
 
 Gralthwin, surnamed The EecUess, was a pagan knight of 
 herculean proportions, and vast muscular strength, whose fre- 
 quent predatory incursions and savage cruelty had rendered him 
 the terror of Norway. A Norman by birth, and of noble ex- 
 traction, his wild and ungovernable excesses compelled him, even 
 in that barbarous age, to flee his native country, and he became 
 a Norse pirate. Accumulating immense plunder, during a san- 
 guinary career on the ocean, he eventually retired with his ill
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 241 
 
 gotten wealth to a remote castle in Norway, the lord of which, 
 with all his retainers, he surprised by night, and mercilessly put 
 to the sword. 
 
 Conceiving an unbridled passion for a noble virgin, who was 
 betrothed to Brasilvern, a valiant Danish knight in the service 
 of Olaf the Saint, the reigning monarch of Norway, and finding 
 his proposals received with scorn and iodiguatiou, he formed the 
 design of carrying her off by stratagem, and for that purpose 
 entered into a solemn compact with the Fire Fiend Hrasvelg, 
 for the accomplishment of his enterprise — an enterprise the 
 ultimate success of which was the heroic death of his victim, 
 and the acceleration of his own miserable doom.] 
 
 jjgttc tljE first. 
 
 THK INVOCATION OF THE RECKLESS KNIGHT. 
 
 The thunder roar'd, the lightning flash'd, 
 The rushing hail, by fury driven, 
 
 O'er rocks and mountains wildly dash'd — 
 The god of day had fled from heaven ; 
 
 No vestige of his light remain'd, 
 
 But dread Cimerian darkness reign'd. 
 
 High on a lofty rock appear'd 
 
 A being of gigantic form, 
 Whose loud, demoniac voice was heard 
 
 Exulting 'mid the angry storm. 
 'Twas Gralthwin, Norway's deadliest hound, 
 The scourge of all the counhy round. 
 
 " Scorch, lightning, with thy fiery breath, 
 Man, woman, child, and crawling worm ! 
 
 Q
 
 242 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Eoar, thunder ! — roar o'er hill and heath, 
 
 And crash amid the raging storm ! 
 If mortal voice can reach thine ear, 
 Demon of Fire and Death, appear ! 
 
 " By yawning cave's appalling gloom, 
 Where spectres \^ail in endless doom — 
 By lonely mere, and tangled shade. 
 Where bleach the bones of murder'd maid- 
 By the scorpion shield of Odin — 
 By the waves of drear Loffoden, 
 Foaming wild o'er many a grave 
 Of mail-clad jarl, and viking brave — 
 By the maelstroem's shriek of death 
 O'er the raging gulf beneath — 
 By the angry Storm Fiend's roar, 
 Sounding loud from shore to shore — 
 By blasted pine on haunted knoll, 
 Where lurks the ghost of savage Troll — 
 By the whirlwinds fierce that blow 
 Thro' realms of everlasting snow — 
 By the frowning, dread abode 
 Of Thor, the mighty thunder-god — 
 By ice-clad mount of roaring flame- 
 By all that trembles at thy name 
 In forest wild, and desert drear. 
 Demon of Fire and Death, appear ! " 
 
 The norland blast howl'd dismally : 
 In angry gusts it moan'd and sigh'd.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 243 
 
 " Appear ! " was tlie exulting cry : 
 " Appear ! " a mocking voice replied. 
 
 Then, tow'ring vast amid the storm, 
 Was seen a wild, unearthly form. 
 
 Swift on raven wing it came, 
 
 Cleaving hills and rocks asunder : 
 
 Fiercely glared its eyes of flame, 
 Flashing 'mid the roaring thunder : 
 
 Horror in its fiery breath — 
 
 Desolation, woe, and death. 
 
 Loud the hideous demon cried, 
 In tones resounding far and ^ndc : — 
 " Who art thou that brav'st my ire, 
 And from the realms of quenchless fire 
 And endless wrath, hath, void of fear, 
 Invoked my sovereign presence here?" 
 
 " Thine aid, Hrasvelg, in mercy deign," 
 The reckless Norman thus replied : 
 
 " A Christian vile, of Olaf's train, 
 Hath all my lordly vows defied. 
 
 If thou, great king, canst make her mine, 
 
 I swear to be for ever thine ! 
 
 " Dark Brasilvern — oh hated word ! — 
 Hath gain'd proud Zaroldwina's love ; 
 
 And thousands of his race abhorr'd. 
 My deadlier enemies may prove,
 
 244 . POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 If I but dare to wield my power, 
 And seize the minion in her bower. 
 For tliis, Hrasvelg, I tliee invoke." 
 
 In hollow strain the demon spoke : — 
 " Of nought avails thy vengeful arm, 
 Unless impell'd by potent charm. 
 Take thou the loved one's earthly form, 
 
 And then the Christian 's in thy power. 
 Methinks a banquet for the worm 
 
 Lies hid in Zaroldwina's bower. 
 But thou ! — beware of deadly blow 
 From Brasilvern, thy mortal foe ! " 
 
 Thus spake the fiend, and with a cry 
 
 That echo'd thro' the darken'd sky, 
 
 It whisper'd in the Norman's ear 
 
 A word that made him quake with fear. 
 
 High a dagger bright was gleaming — 
 
 Socm the gory flood was streaming 
 
 Oer the fatal fiery scroll 
 
 That doom'd to endless death his soul. 
 
 The solemn compact now was seal'd : 
 The angry tempest fiercer roar'd : 
 
 Bright flames the demon's form reveal'd : 
 " Lost ! " was the awful word. 
 
 Then with a yell of import dread, 
 
 It spread its sable wings, and fled.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 2-io 
 
 " Lost ! " was on his brow engraven. 
 
 Sullen croak'd the midnight raven, 
 
 Wheeling o'er and o'er his head — 
 
 " Perish'd ! lost ! for ever dead ! " 
 
 Onward, thro' the lonely wood, 
 
 Piush'd the bear in frantic mood, 
 
 Horror in his glaring eyes, 
 
 Horror in his savage cries : 
 
 Fiercely roar'd the foaming river, 
 
 " Lost for ever! lost for ever ! " 
 
 Prowling wolf and wild-boar dread, 
 
 With dismal growls, in terror fled ; 
 
 Fiercely roar'd the foaming river, 
 
 " Lost for ever ! lost for ever ! " 
 
 High 'mid clouds of blackest night, 
 
 Vultures scream'd, in wild affright : 
 Goblins howl'd, amid the gloom, 
 " Wretched mortal ! wretched doom ! " 
 Nature, trembling, reel'd and groan'd : 
 Loud the angry whirlwind moan'd ; 
 ^Yhile fiercer roar'd the foaming river, 
 " Perish'd, doom'd, and lost for ever!" 
 
 JFgttc tlj£ Sccanti. 
 
 ZAEOLDWINA AXD THE KECKLESS KNIGHT. 
 
 'Twas mom — the golden orb shone bright, 
 O'er grassy vale and crystal fountain :
 
 246 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 With sj^lendour shone his dazzling light 
 
 O'er pine-crown'd hill and lofty mountain ; 
 While waving tree and fragrant flower 
 Blossom'd in many a bosky bower. 
 
 In sleep profound, 'neath sylvan shade, 
 A maiden lay in tranquil peace, 
 
 Unconscious of the dangers laid 
 To blast her happiness. 
 
 Fair Zaroldwdna soon awoke, 
 
 And thus the dawning stillness broke : — 
 
 " Lovely flowers of beauty rare. 
 With balmy odours fill the air : 
 Bright Aurora of the morn. 
 In all her charms hath smiled again. 
 Hark ! the fearless huntsman's horn, 
 Winding o'er the distant plain ! — 
 Softly chimes the matin bell. 
 Slow the monks approach their cell. 
 Sweet the warblers of the grove 
 Chant their dulcet songs of love ! " 
 
 A gentle sound fell on her ear ; 
 And now, with mingled joy and fear. 
 The maiden listened, and again 
 
 She heard a thrilling, manly voice 
 Carolling a well-known strain 
 
 That made her heart rejoice.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 24-7 
 
 She gazed around, and fleet as thought 
 Her bright bhie eye with rapture caught 
 The glancing crest, and princely smile 
 Of Brasilvern — oh semblance vile ! 
 No more by waving pines conceal'd, 
 The ardent trembler stood reveal'd ; 
 And awed fair Zaroldwina felt, 
 As at her feet he humbly knelt. 
 
 " Arise," she said, " why dost thou kneel 
 
 To Zaroldwina in this guise ? 
 Hast braced thine armour of bright steel 
 
 To charm my wond'ring eyes ? 
 Oh tell me why thy look so stern, 
 My valiant, peerless Brasilvern ? " 
 f 
 
 The knight said nought, but wildly clasp'd 
 The startled maiden to his breast : 
 
 Her silken locks were rudely grasp'd — 
 A shriek told all the rest. 
 
 Then swiftly, on his bounding steed, 
 
 He bore her off with lightning speed. 
 
 O'er rugged crag — o'er hill and dale — 
 
 The fiery panting charger flew, 
 Till, frowning o'er a lonely vale, 
 
 A castle met the view : 
 They enter'd, and the deaf'ning clang 
 Of bolts and chains now loudly rang.
 
 248 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Faint the taper's flickering glare 
 
 On Zaroldwina, all alone : 
 No kind and gentle friend was there 
 
 To soothe her wild, despairing moan. 
 Oh dim was now her beauteous eye 
 With burning tears of agony. 
 
 But lo ! an armed tread was heard 
 Approaching where the damsel lay : 
 
 Soon by her side a form appear'd 
 Of sullen, dark malignity : 
 
 His visage now no charm conceal'd — 
 
 Gralthwin the Keckless stood reveal'd ! 
 
 Appall'd with dread, the injured fair 
 Fell prone before the Pteckless Knight. 
 
 (She look'd the image of Despair, — 
 So sad and awful was her pUght.) 
 
 " Oh why am I," she feebly said, 
 
 " By dastard Norman foul betray'd ? " 
 
 " Dastard Norman, ladye fair ! " 
 
 Cried the knight, in taunting scorn — 
 
 (Fierce his eyes with vengeance glare : 
 Better had she ne'er been born, 
 
 Than thus, with word of import dire, 
 
 Aroused the ruthless Norman's ire.) 
 
 " A dastard took thee from thy bower 
 To fill his arms, or feed a worm :
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 249 
 
 A dastard, fair one, bad the power 
 
 To take a crawling reptile's form ; 
 And by Yalhalla's halls above, 
 Thou 'rt now a dastard's ladye-love ! " 
 
 " Oh never, while the sun doth shine, 
 
 Will I become thy willing slave : 
 O blessed Mary ! mother mine ! 
 
 Eeceive me, while I seek my grave ! " 
 Then fervently, with bursting sigh. 
 She kiss'd her golden rosary. 
 
 Aghast the boastful Norman gazed, 
 As now with stem resolve possess'd, 
 
 The poniard keen she swiftly raised, 
 
 And^ fearless, pierced her snowy breast ! 
 
 " Thus, broken heart, thy griefs are o'er ! " 
 
 She faintly moan'd, and was no more. 
 
 BKASILVERN IN SOEEOW. 
 
 Weary and lone, in anguish keen, 
 
 With visage frowning, dark, and stern, 
 
 A warrior by his steed was seen — 
 'Twas fearless, noble Brasilvem : 
 
 Deep were the pangs that fiU'd his breast ; 
 
 And drooping was his raven crest.
 
 250 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 " Blessed spirits, bright and fair ! " 
 (Thus the lover made his moan,) 
 
 " Mock me not in my despair — 
 Tell me, whither has she gone ? 
 
 List ! — oh list ye to my cry, 
 
 And soothe me in mine agony ! " 
 
 Scarce spake had he, 'mid blinding tear, — 
 Dejected, sad, and sore forlorn, 
 
 When lo ! there fell upon his ear 
 The piercing blast of bugle horn ; 
 
 And soon appear'd, on foaming steed, 
 
 A vassal brave, at headlong speed. 
 
 " Haste thee, master mine ! " he cried ; 
 
 " Call thy horsemen stout and bold : 
 Wave thy banner far and wide, 
 
 And hie thee to the Norman's hold ; 
 For in the tyrant Gralthwin's lair, 
 Full lowly lies thy ladye fair ! " 
 
 " While scouring o'er the lonely wold, 
 A minion vile, of Gralthwin's brood, 
 
 To me the dismal tidings told 
 
 In fiery tone, and taunting mood : 
 
 Enraged, my sword leapt from its sheath, 
 And stretch'd him lifeless on the heath ! 
 
 " Oh haste thee, haste ! " again he cried, 
 " Call thy horsemen stout and bold :
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 251 
 
 Wave thy banner far and vn.de, 
 
 And hie thee to the Norman's hold ; 
 For in the tyrant Gralthwin's hxir, 
 Full lowly lies thy ladye fair ! " 
 
 Thus spake he to his dauntless chief, 
 
 And now fuU well did he discern, 
 With kindling glance, the piercing grief 
 
 That fill'd the soul of Brasilvern, 
 As every gesture of his form 
 Betray'd the inward raging storm. 
 
 Fiercely on his steed he sprang, 
 Vengeance flashing from his eye — 
 
 Loud the brazen trumpet rang — 
 Swell'd afar his battle-cry ! — 
 
 On he dash'd, all danger braving ! — 
 
 Thousands round his banner wavintr ! — 
 
 ■'o 
 
 Onward — onward — swift advancing — 
 Clarions sounding — chargers prancing — 
 Buckler, spear, and falchion gleaming : 
 Bright the eye with ardour beaming ; — 
 On by Hertha's snow-clad mountain — 
 On by Freya's sacred fountain — 
 On by ruin'd temple rare 
 Of Balder, beauteous, bright and fair — 
 On by brake, and gloomy mound, 
 I'owers with ancient ivies crown'd, 
 Silent tarns, and dark ravines, 
 'Mid rushing winds, and moaning pines,
 
 252 P0EM3 AND SONGS. 
 
 Blending with Behemoth's roar ; 
 Shaggy wolf and bristling boar 
 Darting fierce, on son and sire, 
 Angry gleams of living fire. — 
 Onward — onward — swift advancing — 
 Clarions sounding — chargers prancing- 
 Gaily waves each lofty crest — 
 Proudly throbs each steel-clad breast, 
 As in hopes to meet their foe, 
 Onward — onward — still they go ! 
 
 Swift the radiant Prince of Day, 
 Descending, kiss'd the virgin West : 
 
 Brightly shone each dazzling ray, 
 As smilingly he sunk to rest ; 
 
 Fondly in her arms retiring. 
 
 All the starry spheres admiring. 
 
 Now before their longing eyes 
 The towers of haughty Gralthwin rise 
 Faintly in the dusky light, 
 Looming vast in giant might ; 
 Till eve's tempest-laden paU 
 Spreads huge darkness over all. 
 Now the cloud-rack bursts in twain, 
 Downward falls the drenching rain ; 
 Sudden, from Valhalla's shore. 
 Flash the thunderbolts of Thor — 
 Oaks and elms full prostrate lie — 
 Hoarse the angry raven's cry —
 
 POEMS AND SOXGS. '2oo 
 
 Sullen flits the bat o'erhead — 
 Moans the owl in terror dread — 
 As 'mid glare of burning brand, 
 Onward march the dauntless band. 
 
 iFgttc t^e jjrourt]^. 
 
 BRASILVERN IN TRIUMPH. 
 
 Darkly scowl'd the Eeckless Knight, 
 
 As wrathfuUy he gazed around, 
 And by the blazing fagot's light 
 
 That flash'd amid the gloom profound, 
 Beheld advancing, grim and stern. 
 The rushing horde of Brasilvern. 
 
 Hoary Scalds their deeds were singing : 
 
 Loud the mountain-path was ringing 
 
 With roundelays of love and war, 
 
 And chant of Eric's Battle-Car ; 
 
 And as the Storm Fiend howl'd on high, 
 
 Yet louder rang their revelry ; 
 
 While oft with fitful, sudden clang, 
 
 Hauberk, shield, and gorget rang. 
 
 As, roused by many a warlike strain, 
 
 They charged, and wheel'd, and charged again. 
 
 Hoarsely fell upon liis ear 
 
 The mocking laugh, the taunting jeer
 
 254 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Of proud contempt and bitter scorn ; 
 Till, high on howling night-wind borne, 
 A shout rose upward from the crowd 
 Of deadly vengeance, long and loud. 
 
 The Norman heard, and fiercely gleam'd 
 His dark-gray eye with hatred dire : 
 
 Aloft his blood-red pennon stream'd 
 O'er battlement and turret-spire ; 
 
 While 'mid the belfry's shrill alarums, 
 
 Arose the startling cry — " To arms ! " 
 
 " Wave high the flaming brand ! " he said ; 
 
 " For by this trusty arm and true, 
 That oft hath wielded trenchant blade. 
 
 Yon haughty Dane this night shall rue!" 
 And as he spake, the flaming brand 
 Waved high in many a daring hand. 
 
 Hark ! amid the din surrounding, 
 Loud the Norman trumpet 's sounding : 
 " 'Tis the craven's dying knell!" 
 Gralthwin cries, mth frantic yell. 
 " Dungeon, dagger, rack, and sorrow. 
 
 Hunger, raging thirst, and woe, 
 Be the doom of him to-morrow, 
 
 Who with flinching meets the foe ! " 
 
 Now from many a turret high, 
 Clouds of deadly arrows fly :
 
 POEMS AND SOX^^S. 2oo 
 
 Brightly gleam the castle walls — 
 Down the massive draw-bridge falls — 
 On, with loud defiant shout, 
 
 Wild and daring — madly brave — 
 Rush the savage Norman rout. 
 
 Fearless of a bloody grave ! 
 
 Now by lightning's lurid flash, 
 
 And fiery signal's dusky glare, 
 Ranks on ranks with fury dash, 
 
 And battle rages everywhere. 
 Falchion, spear, and buckler clashing — 
 Flaming sword on helmet crashing — 
 Groan the wounded — shriek the dying — 
 Fleet the foaming war-steed flying, 
 Snorting fiercely in his wrath, 
 Trampling all who cross his path. 
 
 Tow'ring high, 'mid hostile spears, 
 Gralthwin's stalwart form appears : 
 Soon his piercing eyes discern 
 The waving plumes of Brasilvern : 
 Swift as thought he spurs his steed, 
 And, panting, strives for mighty deed. 
 
 Now on casque and shinmg mail, 
 
 Blows are falling thick as hail : 
 
 "Yield thee! — yield!" the Norman cries — 
 
 Stern his dauntless foe replies : — 
 
 " When thou art high as mountain hoar — 
 
 When thou art brave as mighty Thor —
 
 256 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 When tliou art fierce as raging sea — 
 
 Then, Graltliwin, will I yield to thee! 
 
 But thou ! — proud reptile of a day ! — 
 
 Dark blot on fair humanity ! — 
 
 Fell ravisher, and ruffian vile, 
 
 With coward heart of fraud and guile, 
 
 My soul abhors with deadly hate, 
 
 And nerves the blow that seals thy fate!" 
 
 And as he spake, with kindling eye 
 
 He raised his battle-axe on high; — 
 
 A moment ceas'd the war-cry dread — 
 
 A moment slack'd the carnage red — 
 
 A moment paled the faggot's gleam — 
 
 A moment hush'd the vulture's scream — 
 
 As down the flashing weapon flew, 
 
 And pierced the glist'ning corslet through ! 
 
 Now in saddle blindly reeling, 
 
 Bathed in gore, the Reckless Knight 
 
 Swift his gallant charger wheeling, 
 Safety seeks in instant flight ; 
 
 While around him rises high 
 
 The deaf'ning shouts of victory ! 
 
 f gttc ti)e jFift^. 
 
 THE DOOM OF THE RECKLESS KNIGHT. 
 
 Onward to his lofty dwelling 
 Flies he o'er the battle-ground :
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 257 
 
 Now -with rage his heart is swelling — 
 
 Furtively he looks around. 
 Lo ! 'mid gleaming spears and lances, 
 Swift his conqu'ring foe advances ! 
 
 On — still on — at headlong speed, 
 Quivering arrows round him flying : 
 
 Down — ah ! down at last his steed — 
 Plunging, foaming, gasping, dying. 
 
 Fiercely now at bay he stood, 
 
 Faint and pale with loss of blood. 
 
 Higher rose the foemen's cheer, 
 
 As Gralthwin cried, in accents stern, 
 
 "Strike ! — trembling lance and shrinking spear ! — 
 Strike ! — lordly, gracious Brasilvern ! 
 
 Strike ! — while Odin's thunder calls 
 
 Gralthwin to ValhaUa's halls ! " 
 
 Fierce the wrathful knight replied, 
 
 " Robber ! ere I seal thy doom, 
 Tell me of my beauteous bride, 
 
 Consign'd through tliee to early tomb ; 
 And by thy vile demoniac art, 
 For ever lost to this poor heart." 
 
 Tauntingly dark Gralthwin cried :— 
 " Com'st thou, then, to seek tliy bride ? 
 Would'st thou see those hated charms. 
 Never more to fill thine arms 1 " 
 And as he spake, in haughty pride. 
 He led the way with reeling stride, 
 
 K
 
 258 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Till, pausing ^at a dreary cell, 
 
 He stagger'd, groan'd, and gasping fell. 
 
 Now by the taper's trembling light, 
 A scene appalling met the knight ; 
 For there — oh mournful sight so dread — 
 Lay Zaroldwina — cold and dead ! 
 
 Frantic stood the lover there, 
 
 Gazing on that comely form, 
 Once so beautiful and fair, 
 
 But now, alas ! to feed a worm. 
 Sore he wept, as oft he press'd 
 The lifeless maiden to his breast. 
 
 Plunged in grief, he paced the cell, 
 Giving vent to dismal moan : ' • 
 
 Sullen toU'd the midnight bell — 
 Faint the Norman's dying groan. 
 
 As, with glassy, sunken eye. 
 
 He writhed in mortal agony. 
 
 Then suddenly a voice was heard 
 ]\Iumbling Zaroldwina's name ; 
 
 And lo ! a hoary monk appear'd. 
 
 With stooping gait, and trembling frame ; 
 
 Sad he waved his hands on high. 
 
 And murmur'd '■'■ Benedicite f' 
 
 But soon he saw — oh hideous sight — 
 The fatal brand on Gralthwin's arm.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 25 9 
 
 And shrinking back in ghastly fright, 
 
 Appall'd, he cried in wild alarm, 
 " Maria, mater gratioe / 
 miserere Dominef" 
 
 He knelt, but ere he breathed a prayer, 
 
 Dismay upon his visage fell : 
 The lightning flash'd with startling glare, 
 
 And peals of thunder shook the cell ; 
 Then swiftly on his gleaming path, 
 Appear'd the fiend in sullen wrath, 
 
 " Avuunt ! avaunt ! Satanas dread ! 
 
 Fly to thy den of darkness ! — fly !" 
 The holy father, trembling, said, 
 
 Wifh sacred symbol raised on high. 
 Then brighter was the lightning's flash, 
 And louder was the thunder's crash. 
 As, bending o'er the Norman vile. 
 
 And waving fierce the fiery scroll, 
 The fiend exclaim'd, with weirdly smile, 
 
 " Die, Gralthwin ! — die, and yield thy soul !" 
 
 With piercing shriek of. woe he died ; 
 
 The demon grimly laugh'd and jeer'd : 
 " For ever lost and dooni'd f" it cried, 
 
 As 'mid the flames they disappear'd, 
 With many a groan and savage yell. 
 To regions dire where none can tell.
 
 2G0 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Beneath yon fair and lofty pine, 
 
 Whose spreading branches sadly wave 
 Where weeping cypress boughs entwine, 
 
 Is Zaroldwina's lonely grave, 
 All oer with flowers of beauty rare, 
 Her faithful lover planted there.
 
 TRADE, AND OTHEE PIECES.
 
 STfjirli Di'tn'sion. 
 
 September 7, 1861. 
 
 PETITIOX, 
 AX EDINBURGH PRINTER, 
 
 FOR 
 
 Justice, Mercy, and Fair Play. 
 
 Party, Agent. 
 
 Mr Queer, Clerk. 
 
 UNTO THE RIGHT HONOUEABIE 
 
 r 
 
 THE LORDS OF COUNCIL AND SESSION, 
 
 THE 
 
 PETITIO]^ 
 
 OF 
 
 AN EDINBUKGH PRINTER, 
 
 Hmnhly sheiveth, 
 
 THAT of this date, in this sweet year of grace, S 
 Your poor Petitioner 's in great dejection ; 
 For months he 's stood before an empty case,^ 
 
 * The lower wooden "case," before which the compositor 
 stands, is divided into large and small compartments, or boxes,
 
 264 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 And how to set 's beyond his recollection. 
 
 The Doctor says he '11 do for live dissection. 
 So shrunk is he, so haggard, and so lean, 
 That all his bones may easily be seen. 
 
 That goods and gear have underwent the hammer — 
 Not e'en the value of a mite remaining : 
 
 That children cry for bread with deaf ning clamour : 
 While his poor wife, a joyful heart yet feigning. 
 To cheer him, smiles, while bitter tears are raining 
 
 Adown her pale, worn cheek, that looks so sad. 
 
 In spite of all her efforts to be glad. 
 
 That goodly numbers of the well-deserving, 
 
 Who served their term of seven long years' duration, 
 
 By night and day, to learn the Art of Starving, 
 Are reaping now the fruits of their probation ; 
 Subject to every wave of fluctuation, 
 
 And sighing for the joys of boyhood's revel, 
 
 ^Vllen care and want were strangers to the Devil. ^ 
 
 That when, at times, a little does drop in 
 
 At close of day, when Nature seeks repose, - 
 With failing strength he boldly strives to win, 
 
 into which the small letters of the alphabet are placed, and 
 from which he lifts, or sets iqy, the types. Placed in an inclined 
 position above the lower, is the upper case, containing the capital 
 letters. 
 
 ' The youngest apprentice in a printing-office.
 
 POEMS AND SOXGS. 265 
 
 Thro' the long night, a respite from his woes — 
 
 Quaffing the milk and honey as it flows 
 In pagey driblets, till the stream runs dry, 
 And larks are singing in the morning sky, — 
 
 What marvel if, on homeward destination, 
 (A tempting snug retreat right in his way,) 
 
 He seeks the comfort of a small sensation, 
 To cheer his heart against the weary day ? — 
 My Lords, don't blame him. Let the Purist say 
 
 His mocking gibe with many an unctuous groan, 
 
 And as he is no sinner — cast the stone. 
 
 That MS. like Chinese, besides abounding 
 In interlineation, transposition, 
 
 And punctuation common sense confounding. 
 Oft places Typo in a sad condition. 
 In vain he tries, with endless repetition, 
 
 To scan the sense — alas ! — his senses fag, 
 
 And when the proof appears, there tvaves a flag !* 
 
 That, inter alia, for aU his trouble. 
 
 His pay 's too small — and that 's a true confession — 
 
 For, at the very least, it should be double. 
 
 (Printers, you know, are Artists by profession !) 
 I pray your Lordships, pardon this digression — 
 
 * When the compositor leaves out any words of his copy- 
 that is, the manuscript or print from which he is composing — it 
 is called an out, a cow, or a jla'j. Such errors he is of course 
 bound to rectify at his own expense.
 
 2GG POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 But banish to the shadowy realms of Fate, 
 Your Interlocutor of ancient date ! * 
 
 That Brethren of the Bar-\- stand by their horses,X 
 Footsore and weary, spirits crush'd and broken : 
 
 Their stomachs fiU'd with oft-repeated courses 
 Of balmy air, and many a verdant docken ! 
 The fli/ing-frisket,^ and the heavj/ toke7i,\\ 
 
 Are seen no more — poor souls ! 'twould be no sin 
 
 To mesmerise them till October 's in ! H 
 
 That, worse and worse — if worse can be transcended — 
 
 Fair maids are coming in their crinolines, 
 Wlao never in creation were intended, 
 
 * The Interlocutor here referred to was pronounced by Lord 
 Islay Campbell in the Court of Session on 22d December 1804, 
 by which the scale of prices of the Journeymen Compositors of 
 Edinburgh was legally fixed and guaranteed. 
 
 + Pressmen, called Brethren of the Bar, from their using the 
 bar, or lever of the press, while taking an impression. 
 
 t Horses — inclined wooden frames on which the paper i.^ 
 placed previous to being printed. 
 
 § The frisket is a slender iron frame attached to the printing 
 press. Its chief use is to preserve clean the paper while in 
 course of being printed. When the press is in full operation, 
 the rapid evolutions of the frisket, especially if seen from a dis- 
 tance, bear no inapt resemblance to the flight of a bird. 
 
 II A token of paper is 250 sheets. 
 
 H This refers to the Eepeal of the Paper Duty in October 
 1861, a measure which printers fondly expected would result in 
 a considerable extension of their trade. It cannot be said, how- 
 ever, that their anticipations were realised to any appreciable 
 extent.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 2G7 
 
 (Despite the platitudes of rash divines) 
 To loclc up forms* nor yet make even linesi — 
 Whose proper calling is (smile not, my Emily !);}: 
 To scour the pots and pans, and mind the family I 
 
 That such bright scenes — " Kiss me, my dear Amelia, 
 Then go on chargeahles,^ all time defying ! " 
 
 * When the types are set up and arranged into pages, they 
 are tied up and placed on a smooth surface, termed an iinxjosinr/ 
 stone. They are then enclosed in an iron frame or chess, the 
 pages being secured on all sides by pieces of wood, called furni- 
 ture, each piece having its own appropriate name. The cords 
 are then taken off, and little slips of wood called quoins are 
 wedged in between the furniture and the chess. The surface of 
 the type is then planed over by the application of a mallet on a 
 smooth piece of wood termed a planer. The quoins are then 
 driven up tightly by the mallet and shootinr/sticl; or wooden 
 chisel ; the result of which is, that the whole mass lifts from 
 the imposing-stone like a solid block or form ; and the latter 
 operation, by which this is effected, is termed lochin(j up the form. 
 
 t This technicality requires, like the preceding, some little 
 explanation. For example : a long speech comes into a News- 
 paper Office from the Reporter at, perhaps, the midnight hour, 
 for the morning publication, without a paragraph from beginning 
 to end. A few lines are given to each Compositor, who must 
 space the words out in such a manner that the last word of his 
 copy shall fall at the end of a line. This operation is termed 
 making even lines ; and almost invariably demands considerable 
 calculation and scheming on the part of the compositor. 
 
 * 3Iiss Emily Faithfull of London, a celebrated employer of 
 female labour. 
 
 § When a proof is returned from an Author, with, perhaps, 
 extensive alterations, the compositor who rectifies them is en- 
 titled to charge so much per hour. While thus engaged, he is 
 said to be on charyeaUes, on time, or on corrections.
 
 268 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 "■ Empty, and cast instanter* sweet Oplielica !" 
 
 Alas ! lier lovely lines wunt jtistift/ing ! 
 
 She shrieks ! the ■pye. 's in all directions flying !— — 
 
 That such bright scenes, my Lords, (avaunt all malice,) 
 Will never do for Session-work or Dailies ! 
 
 That they, the angels of this mundane sphere, 
 
 Should not with Printing spoil their fair complexions. 
 
 Between ourselves, my Lords, it does sound queer — 
 A, lovely rosy virgin on corrections ! 
 Better to see her vending sweet confections. 
 
 With smiling glances from her dark blue eye, 
 
 Than hunkering for sorts,f or clearing pye /^ 
 
 [Here follows the prayer.] 
 
 Therefore your Lordships may it htimhly j^lectse, 
 When cdl the labours of this Long Vacation 
 
 * When the composing-stick, in which the types are set up, 
 is filled with as many lines as it will contain, it is emptied, 
 and its contents placed on a galley - -a smooth-surfaced frame- 
 work, on which the compositor places each successive stickful. 
 Empty and cast instanter, is more of a Newspaper-office phrase ; 
 denoting, " Empty the stick on the galley, and get a proof im- 
 mediately." If, throiigh carelessness, the lines are not properly 
 spaced out and compactly adjusted, or justified, the sticlcful is 
 transferred with difficulty ; and if persisted in, the result may 
 be a general wreck of letters, points, and spaces, in one confused 
 heap ; and this is termed pye. 
 
 f A compositor on a long and harassing search for some par- 
 ticular type or sort, during which he is often compelled to lift 
 and unlock large forms of heavy weight, is said to be bunlering 
 J or sorts. 
 
 J The task of separating the difiPerent kinds ov founts of type
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 269 
 
 In shooting Rahhits, Turkeys, Hares, and Geese, 
 Ajiirroach at last their painful termination, 
 To hear this Case, the first in Boll rotation 
 On the Probabilis Causa Litigandi.* 
 [That pretty phrase just now came very handy /] 
 
 Hear it not fractiously, nor yet at random-^— 
 Nor hedge it round with solemn legal fetter ; 
 
 Nor yet on any cause maJce avizandum ; t 
 
 The sooner His despatched ^ my Lords, the better. 
 There 's many a heart will own itself your debtor. 
 
 Decide quam primum — give your wigs no rest ! 
 
 Delays are dangerous — probatum est ! 
 
 Primo, My Lords, that ye this day ordain, 
 
 And grai^t due warrant, with the usual povm^s. 
 
 That henceforth those who pnnt shall ivrite more plain, 
 And send their work at reasonable hours, — 
 For oft the Devil on his midnight tours 
 
 Up doleful stairs — in mortal dread of robbers — 
 
 Has broke his little neck when out for Jobbers ! % 
 
 Secundo, That this day ye do ordain 
 
 (^Although 'twill cause some little consternation,) 
 
 That labour taxing heavily the brain, 
 Deserves far tvo7-thier remuneration. 
 Tertio that ere ye taste the next Vacation, 
 
 that have become mixed together — generally allotted to the 
 Devil, and often against his inclination — is termed clearing pye. 
 
 * The Poor's Roll. f Delayed for consideration. 
 
 X Compositors or Pressmen not regularly employed.
 
 270 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Ye from your purse shall aid the Printers store, 
 A nd you 'II enjoy the breezes all the more ! 
 
 A 7ul, Quarto, That this day ye do ordain, 
 
 Tluxt Eves fair daughters keep their proper place, 
 
 Nor longer henceforth tread in Marts domain. 
 And sink his craft in ruin and disgrace. 
 There 's many an opening for a blooming face 
 
 'Mid toys and baby-linens, where sweet madam 
 
 Will do far better than the sons of Adam ! 
 
 Now, if some mystic phrase is left unsaid — 
 Some tortuosity past comprehension 
 
 {Born in the womb of Chaos, I 'm afraid, — 
 At all events, of doubtful, dark invention), 
 'Tis better out, in my poor apprehension. 
 
 So dont on that account give counter writ. 
 
 But do as to your Lor dshi2ys shall seem fit. 
 
 According to Justice, kc. 
 
 (Signed) J S .
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 271 
 
 THE FEMALE PRINTER'S LAMENTATION. 
 
 To the air of The Wayworn Traveller. 
 
 Tender-hearted Christians of all denominations, 
 
 Listen to the sorrows of a female tramp : 
 Far from my friends and respectable relations ; 
 
 Shiv'ring with the cold, and benumb'd with cramp. 
 Every one annoys me ; 
 No one employs me ; 
 Pigs\ndi asses* sneer aU ; 
 Little devils jeer all. 
 Tender-hearted Christians of all denominations, 
 Listen to the sorrows of a female tramp ! 
 
 I once was with a poult'rer of delectable urbanity, 
 
 And happy were my days among the hares and snipes ; 
 
 But a red-nosed philanthropist imposed upon my vanity, 
 
 And wiled me from the cocks and hens, to set up types. 
 
 Says he, " 'Tis nice enjoyment, 
 
 Such delicate employment ! 
 
 You '11 make such charming wages, 
 
 A-setting up the pages ! 
 
 * Familiar terms for Pressmen and Compositors. Devils — the 
 youngest apprentices.
 
 272 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Tender-liearted Christians of all denominations, 
 Listen to the sorrows of a female tramp ! 
 
 I paid a heavy sum to learn a trade of such gentility ; 
 But when my time was out, in vain were all my 
 prayers, 
 For they told me I must trudge ; so in a state of high 
 tranquillity, 
 I girdled on my crinoline, and walk'd down stairs ! 
 All my precious money gone — 
 Nothing left but skin and bone : 
 Sobbing, " Drat the ems and ens ! 
 Wish I saw the cocks and hens ! " 
 Tender-hearted Christians of all denominations, 
 Listen to the sorrows of a female tramp ! 
 
 I went into a Dcdly* in a state of desperation. 
 
 With a stich upon my shoulder and agalley by my knee ; 
 
 When the villains gave me copy that defied all penetra- 
 tion ; 
 While they roar'd, " Pay your entry ! " to a poor girl 
 
 like me ! 
 
 Then I tried a Boolery,\ 
 
 And turn' d for sorts t on cookery ; 
 
 * A Newspaper Office. For stick, galley, and copy, see notes 
 
 at pp. 265, 268. 
 
 + An office where books, &c., are printed. 
 
 + When a compositor is in want of any particular type, and is 
 obliged, after a fruitless search, to substitute something else 
 until the type or sort can be procured— generally a very morti- 
 fying occupation, as it takes up time without payment— he is 
 said to be turning for sorts.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 273 
 
 Next I did some Sessional, '"' 
 But — wasn't quite professional. 
 Tender-hearted Christians of all denominations, 
 Listen to the sorrows of a female tramp ! 
 
 Oh what ever tempted me to be a female donkej' ! 
 I'd rather learn'd an art with more transcendent 
 scope — 
 Burnishing a frying-pan, and chatting with a flunkey, 
 Or warbling " Next for shaving ! " in a barber's shop. 
 Vending French and German toys, 
 Balls and hoops for girls and boys ; 
 Or selling snuff to parish nuns, 
 Far from j9roq/is like currant huns/f 
 Tender-hearted Christians of all denominations, 
 Listen to ^he sorrows of a female tramp ! 
 
 A brother artist woo'd me with addresses most effectual. 
 
 For my typographic buzzom did his sweet fonn X 
 
 adore ; 
 
 But I could neither wash nor darn, I was so intellectual ; 
 
 So he took to drink and 'listed, and I never saw him 
 
 more. 
 
 His last sweet words to me were these : — 
 " You jade ! you 've pillaged all my E's ; 
 Broken my heart with I O U's ; 
 And knock'd me off my P's and Q's ! " 
 
 * Court of Session papers — law printing. 
 t A proof covered with blunders is ironically termed a cur- 
 rant bun. i See first note on p. 207. 
 
 s
 
 274 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Teiidef-li carted Christians of all denominations, 
 Listen to the sorrows of a female tramp ! 
 
 I 've a pair of small compositors, the image of their father : 
 They wander daily by my side, with elongated faces : 
 The pretty twinnies bring me all their little hands can 
 gather ; 
 For their mother's lines have fallen, alas ! in most un- 
 pleasant places ! 
 
 One day I took them on my back. 
 And ask'd a job from sour M'Snack : 
 " My stick, sir, 's very just" '^ said I; 
 " Then cut it quick ! " was his reply. 
 Tender-hearted Christians of all denominations, 
 Listen to the sorrows of a female tramp ! 
 
 Oh all ye blooming maidens gay, whate'er your rank or 
 station. 
 Take warning from a sister who was once as fair : 
 Never cope presumptuously with lords of the creation, 
 Or, like myself, you'll come to — plenty nice fresh air ! 
 Besides, a comj). with crotchets rife. 
 Can never make a proper wife : 
 Her typograjihic whims and dorts 
 Will put the best man out of sorts. 
 Tender-hearted Christians of all denominations, 
 Now you 've heard the sorrows of a female tramp ! 
 
 * It is necessary that the sides of the composing-stick be per- 
 fectly squai-e, or jmt, otherwise the lines that it contains will 
 not be of uniform breadth.
 
 POEMS AND SOXGS. 27-5 
 
 THE TRAMP IX HIS GLORY.* 
 
 The pipe 's out at last, and the quart measure 's dry : 
 
 I 'm going — I 'm going — who follows ? 
 To the road — to the road, boys, and never say die ! 
 
 Hurrah for the hills and the hoUows ! 
 Avaunt the vile drug of monotonous slavery ! 
 Freedom 's a banquet refreshing and savoury. 
 
 All the better when season'd by Tramps, 
 
 And other respectable scamps, 
 With the hfgh-pepper'd spice of intelligent knavery. 
 
 Let grim grabbing Avarice turn up his eyes 
 
 In scorn at my breezy vocation : 
 May the hopeful old Sobersides toil till he dies, 
 
 With the prospect of canonisation. 
 This truth I '11 proclaim — let all earthworms know it : 
 My card 's the true charmer wherever I show it ; 
 
 For to all my necessities heedful. 
 
 It opens the way to the needful ; 
 And enables me — oh how serenely ! — to go it ! 
 
 * The subject of these verses is a type of that class of 
 thoroughly practical roadsters, who eke out a miserable subsist- 
 ence by travelling from town to town with a relief card, having 
 generally abandoned all thought of employment.
 
 276 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 What tliougli through the country I walk amid frowns, 
 
 With my coat out at elbows, and trowsers in danger ; 
 When I enter the gates of the flourishing towns, 
 
 How very politely they welcome a stranger ! 
 As I doff my old hat with a bow and a smile, 
 And whistle the tune of " One Penny 2^^^' Mile;" 
 
 Then with soapy, mellifluous pother, 
 
 I tickle the one and the other. 
 By coming it strong in the snivelling style : — 
 
 " Dear Gents, here 's my card, and this heart overflows 
 
 To present it ; but what can I do ? 
 I haven't been working since — Lord only knows — 
 
 (And this, on my conscience, is true.) 
 And now, what with 'prentices, fierce competition, 
 And machinery vile, the trade 's gone to perdition. 
 
 Oh cursed be the day I e'er saw it ! " 
 
 Thus gently and mildly I draw it ; 
 With " Hunger's a Thorn" by the way of addition. 
 
 Then they give me relief, and a tear fills my eye (?) 
 
 As I think on the pockets I 've bled ; 
 And I totter downstairs with " God bless you ! — good 
 bye ! " 
 
 And a weariful shake of the head. 
 But quickly ignoring the sorrowful line. 
 With a thrill of delight, I bolt under the sign — 
 
 " ^Ze and Porter consumed on the Premises: 
 
 Old Tommy as ancient as Nemesis:" 
 Then I shout for a quart of Brown Nancy divine.
 
 POEirS AND SONGS. 277 
 
 'Tis brouglit me ; and Pan gets a hymn in his praise, 
 
 (I don't mean that satyr of old ; 
 But his worthier namesake of modern days, 
 
 That takes off the chill when its cold !) 
 Then with 'backy clouds flying in beauteous gyration, 
 I feel I 'm the happiest cock in the nation ; 
 
 Till I 'm more than half-seas over. 
 
 And, generally speaking, in clover ; 
 Then I tumble to bed in bright mystification. 
 
 I 'm up like the lark, with no throb in my brow, 
 
 Again on the long road to travel ; 
 Then with one glass of grog, and my pipe all agloAv, 
 
 Right boldly I dash o'er the gravel. 
 And when, once again, the day's journey is o'er, 
 I repeat the same dose of the evening before, 
 
 With, perhaps, for a slight variation. 
 
 Some ginger for qualification, 
 That flavours Brown Nance, and I love her the more. 
 
 If a job should be offer' d — oh heart-killing thought ! — 
 
 I complain of my body's debility — 
 Of cramp in the joints, blister'd feet, and what not ; 
 
 Then shy off with the greatest agility. 
 For confinement 's no part of my airy vocation, 
 And I love to survey the sweet works of creation ; 
 
 Besides, I 'm a Sensitive Daisy, 
 
 That 's subject to fits of the lazy ; 
 And my delicate health requires pure ventilation.
 
 278 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Now what 's life at best, but a stage short and brief, 
 From the Tramp to the Monarch, all round ; 
 
 Till Death takes the card, and we get our relief 
 In the long. heavy sleep underground. 
 
 Then away with your horribly wearisome labour : 
 
 Three cheers for the road, boys! strike up, fife and 
 tabour ! 
 For wliile this old hulk holds together, 
 I '11 trudge it through fair and foul weather ; 
 
 And when I 'm at rest 1 'm as good as my neigh- 
 bour.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 279 
 
 BAREBOXES' FIRST DAY IN THE DESK. 
 (common measure.) 
 
 One stormy Sabbath morn in spring, 
 
 'Mid drenching rain and sleet, 
 I journey'd on with quick'ning stride 
 
 By Arthur's famous Seat.* 
 
 The founts of Heaven were open'd wide, 
 
 To let Creation drink ; 
 The wind was blowing thunder guns, 
 
 The sky look'd black as ink. 
 
 Alas ! alas ! no friendly smile 
 Of Sol's bright face was there : 
 
 Nought but a sad Cimerian gloom — 
 Dread darkness everywhere. 
 
 So on I trudged, with high resolve ; 
 
 Despite rain's downward flow, 
 Stern duty's call must be obey'd — 
 
 This journey I must go. 
 
 For I was then a candidate. 
 Along Avith many others, 
 
 * A well-known hill in the vicinity of Edinburgli.
 
 280 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 (All chosen vessels like myself — 
 A verdant band of brothers ; 
 
 Bright pupils of the great Herr Dreich, 
 
 Born naturals each one) 
 For th' office of Precentor in 
 
 The parish kirk of Drone. 
 
 Now I had got, three -days before, 
 
 A grand official letter, 
 Stating " the sooner I came out, 
 
 And took my turn, the better ; " 
 
 That " all my TESTIMONIALS, 
 One hundred and thirty-four, 
 
 Had been received with gratitude : 
 Please would I send some more." 
 
 Adding, " that all who had been there 
 Were shaky and disjointed ; 
 
 And, if I proved a plucky boy, 
 I 'd shortly be appointed." 
 
 So off an answer thus I sent : 
 " Dear Sir, — I got your letter, 
 
 Stating the sooner I came out. 
 And took my turn, the better — 
 
 " You say that all who have been there 
 Were shaky and disjointed ;
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 281 
 
 And, if I proved a plucky boy, 
 I 'd shortly be appointed. 
 
 " Though in a desk I Ve never been, 
 
 Sir, such is my ability. 
 That to a common measure I 
 
 Can sing with ease Tranqioillity. 
 
 " And if, perchance, a hitch occurs, 
 
 To some faint hearts so crushing, 
 My glorious bold effrontery 
 
 Prevents my cheek from blushing. 
 
 " For, right or wrong, I still go on. 
 
 And neither shake nor wince ; 
 And should I to a dead-lock come, 
 
 I trast to Providence. 
 
 " Therefore, in spite of fire and storm — 
 
 Of hunger, and of thirst, 
 I '11 come and show you how to sing, 
 
 Dear Sir, on Sunday first." 
 
 So on I went, 'mid pelting rain, 
 
 And bitter, howling wind, 
 Till Arthur Seat and Duddingstone 
 
 Were many a rood behind ; 
 
 And on by Forth's tempestuous shore. 
 
 With self-conceit A 1, 
 T' electrify, with splendid pipe. 
 
 The parish kirk of Drone,
 
 282 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 But oh ! the nerves — the horrid nerves, 
 
 That took a hold of me : 
 They seized my courage by the throat, 
 
 And cast it in the sea. 
 
 With sudden, instantaneous force. 
 They threw me in the shakers ; 
 
 And all my glorious bravery 
 Was floating in the breakers. 
 
 The waves, as stranded sailors sing, 
 Were rolling mountains high ; 
 
 And round and round, with noisy screams, 
 The sea-birds they did fly — 
 
 Oh round and round, with noisy screams, 
 
 The sea-birds they did fly; 
 Yet there was not, among them all, 
 
 A greater gull than I, 
 
 As, thinking on the flats and sharps, 
 And how the tunes would go, 
 
 I exercised my precious voice 
 With /a, sol, la, si, do! 
 
 When suddenly an angry gust 
 
 Descended full on me, 
 And soon the hat that once was mine 
 
 Lay floating in the sea !
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 283 
 
 Then, in an agony of grief, 
 
 My loss I thus bewail'd : — 
 " Come back, come back, mine ancient friend ! " 
 
 But farther out it sail'd. 
 
 Bound for Inchkeith, by Satan driven, 
 
 "With cakes and cheese inside ; 
 Then fiercely round my dripping head 
 
 My handkerchief I tied, 
 
 Fast flying like a scare-crow Turk 
 
 In turban Oriental, 
 With painful thoughts of key-notes vile, 
 
 And this last accidental, 
 
 f 
 Kight onward through the miry slough, 
 
 With many a heaving groan, 
 
 Till sullen stood before my view 
 
 The parish kirk of Drone. 
 
 Loud toll'd the bell with deaf 'ning clang, 
 
 As onward still I dash'd ; 
 With rain and sleet soak'd through and through — 
 
 With mud all sore besplash'd ; 
 
 Until at length, with panting heart, 
 
 I reach'd the vestry-door ; 
 Then enter'd like a beggar's ghost, 
 
 And fainted on the floor !
 
 284 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 And when unto myself I came, 
 
 I saw, with perturbation, 
 The godly elders in a row, 
 
 All shouting " Botheration I " 
 
 " What 's to be done ? the bell 's rung in !" 
 
 "All right!" I feebly moan'd; 
 Then slowly struggling to my feet, 
 
 I look'd around, and groan' d. 
 
 As, smoothing down my draggled tie, 
 
 With dreadful nervous qualms, 
 I said, "I'm — Mr — Barebones — and — 
 
 I'll — thank — you — for — the — psalms ! " 
 
 " The psalms !" an elder stammer'd forth. 
 
 All bathed in perspiration ; 
 " The psalms ! " another mocking said, 
 
 In fiery indigoiation. 
 
 " The psalms ! Oh yes I" his KeVrence cried, 
 
 With anger purple-tinted ; 
 " You certainly look like a man 
 
 That 's sure to be appointed ! 
 
 " See, here are proclamations ten,* 
 Which you '11 read firm and steady ; 
 
 * It may be almost superfluous to state that the reading of 
 the proclamations, or marriage-bans, is a duty entrusted in 
 Scottish parish churches to the precentor — a duty often pecu- 
 liarly trying to an ambitious aspirant.
 
 POEMS AND SOXGS. 285 
 
 And there 's the paper with the psalms — 
 So now, my man — get ready /" 
 
 Quick from my haggard countenance 
 
 The mud-stains were effaced, 
 And on my fragile, fairy form. 
 
 The gown was duly placed. 
 
 Forth like a martyr then I went — 
 
 Quench'd were hope's smould'ring embers — 
 And walk'd into a lofty church, 
 
 Well fill'd with country members. 
 
 With fear I saw each icy glance 
 
 That like a serpent stings ; 
 Then mounted quickly to the desk, 
 
 An(J seem'd to mount on wings. 
 
 The marriage-banns I stammer'd o'er, 
 
 In headlong, trembling haste : 
 The first was last, the last was first. 
 
 No time had I to waste. 
 
 And when I came to savage names 
 
 That held my tongue in thrall, 
 I took the best and safest plan, 
 
 By reading none at all ! 
 
 Then, while the psalm was given out, 
 
 I raised my fork on high 
 With energy of fierce despair, 
 
 And felt inclined to ciy.
 
 286 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 A a;ain the line was thunder'd o'er — 
 Cold drops ran down my face — . 
 
 A burning throb rush'd through my brain- 
 For I had lost the place ! 
 
 I seized the first that came to hand, 
 And sang, with deadly shudder : 
 
 " Blessed is he that wisely doth 
 The poor man's case consider." 
 
 With knocking knees, I slew Motitrose, 
 And tlieu, 'mid sore surprises, 
 
 I call'd at York and Manchester, 
 Then landed at Devizes ! 
 
 At length St Lawrence glided by, 
 'Mid stillness most unpleasant, 
 
 When suddenly a voice exclaim'd — 
 " 8toiy ! that HI do at present /" 
 
 I started, ceased, and, looking round, 
 
 Beheld the congregation 
 Wild staring, with distended jaws, 
 
 In speechless consternation. 
 
 First one began to shake his head — 
 
 Another — and another ; 
 Then, blinded with despair, I cried, 
 
 " My mother ! oh, my mother ! "
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 287 
 
 Down from the desk I swiftly sprung, 
 
 And reach'd the vestry-door ; 
 Then rent the sable gown in twain, 
 
 And cast it ou the floor. 
 
 Pride, scomful pride, came to my aid — 
 Fear bade my heart farewell ; 
 
 And courage rose on golden wing. 
 And conquer'd as I fell. 
 
 And thus I cried, in frenzied rage. 
 
 And rolling thunder-tone : 
 " Awake, ye brutish clods of earth .' — 
 
 Ye swinish clowns of Drone ! 
 
 f 
 " Awake, awake, ye poor blind bats ! — 
 
 Ye timber-toned society, 
 
 Who can't admire, in one short verse, 
 
 The beauty of variety ! 
 
 " Here do I shake, with heart and soul, 
 The dust from oS" your floor : 
 
 Send back my TESTIMONIALS, 
 One hundred and thirty-four ! 
 
 " Shall I, with such transcendant powers. 
 
 Thus vilify my station 1 
 Never ! while Barebones is my name, 
 
 And Scotland is my nation ! "
 
 288 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 THE ROVEES OF DERRY. 
 
 A PATANIC EXTRAVAGANZA. 
 
 The stars were all bamin' so purty and bright, 
 And the moon was jist five quarthers owld, 
 
 When a band of bowld Derry boys, jolly and tight, 
 
 Went in quest of a cabin to pass the night, 
 For the wind it blew bitther and cowld ; 
 
 And they look'd to the left, and they look'd to the 
 right — 
 
 Up and down, here and there, but the devil of a light 
 Could they spy out — at laste so I 'm towld. 
 
 When high from a hay-rick, whose summit was bending. 
 
 They saw something slowly, yet surely descending, 
 Till crash down it fell, 
 Wid a loud piercing yell, — 
 
 The earth to the firmament rending ! 
 
 " Who 's there 1" cried a boy, in wild wonder, 
 
 As quickly they scatter'd asunder : 
 
 " By the powers ! I '11 go bail. 
 
 It 's Himself ivid the tail ! " 
 
 So off ran the Paddies like thunder !
 
 POEMS AND SONGS, 289 
 
 They came to an inn, and the)^ knock'd in haste ; 
 
 On the signboard was " Lodging for man and for baste ! " 
 
 Loudly they cried, — 
 
 " Paddy Macbride ! 
 A dhrop of the crathur our mouths to taste. 
 
 For sure the owld devil 
 
 Is very onci\Tl, 
 To bother poor boys wid his snort and his snivel." 
 " The saints," cried the innkeeper, " keep us from evil !" 
 So they sat round the table ivid lashins of whisky, 
 And laugh'd at Owld Nick, who had play'd them 
 plisky. 
 
 There was Tim Brogan, and Teddy O'Toole, 
 Euffus Magruffus, and Dermot Macgrule, 
 Dennis O'SFaney, and Phadrick O'Doole, 
 Ranty O'Ryan, and Murphy the fool ; 
 
 And rollicking Rody, 
 
 A sturdy owld body, 
 Drank " Success to sw-ate Ireland," in prime whisky 
 
 toddy : 
 And his head was beginning to go niddy-noddy, 
 When Magruftus bawled out that he didn't care much 
 Tho' Rody were caught in the devil's ow^n clutch. 
 
 ■' Blessed Virgin protect us !" cried Murphy, dismay'd : 
 " Out, spalpeen ! " roar'd Rody, " w^ho says I 'm afraid ? " 
 He was, well they knew it, as bowld an owld blade 
 As e'er grasp'd the shillelah, or handled the spade. 
 
 T
 
 290 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Just when they were speaking, 
 
 They heard the door creaking, 
 And then a loud yell, and a terrible squeaking ; 
 In bounced the innkeeper, pale, wildly shrieking ; 
 And oh ! how they thrimbled — how Kody did stare, 
 When Satan stood right at the back of his chair. 
 
 " Get out of my sight, ye devouring owld baste, 
 
 Or by this and by that, 1 11 sind out for the praist ! " 
 
 " Whisht, ye gossoon ! " cries Nick, " arrah don't be in 
 
 haste : 
 Ye may do as ye plase, but this potteeine I '11 taste !" 
 
 Then the noggin he raised, 
 
 And wid horror they gazed, 
 As they saw it go down, how it hiss'd — how it blazed ! 
 " Phililoo !" cried the boys, as they jump'd up, amazed 
 To see his black kingship so merry and free, 
 As he lilted " Moll Kelly," and " Cushla-ma-chree." 
 
 " And how 's all yer bountiful fathers and mothers, 
 
 And yer faymale relations likewise 1 
 And how 's all yer rowdydow raparee brothers, 
 The joy and delight of me eyes. 
 
 Troth they 're managing matters so nately, 
 That they 're doing my business complately ; 
 For oh but they love their owld father so swately, 
 Wid their riotings, murders, and arsons so beautiful : 
 Sure were ever there subjects more lovingly dutiful f 
 
 Grim Pluto was now getting furiously merry : 
 He shouted for claret, hock, brandy, and sherry,
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 291 
 
 Dublin stout, the owld rogue, sparkling cider, and 
 
 perry ; 
 " Hurroo ! Ha, ha, ha ! my swate darlints so cheery!" 
 Sure the like ne'er was seen in the owld town of Derry. 
 
 He danced and suna; 
 
 TUl the rafters rung ; 
 
 And the innkeeper trembling. 
 
 His anger dissembling, 
 
 In much consternation. 
 
 And great tribulation. 
 Got delightfully dhrunk for the good of the nation ; 
 But hopeless of quelling the bacchanal riot, he 
 
 In a fit of abstraction, 
 
 And elane stupefaction, 
 Went out and address'd the Bogtrotter's Society ! 
 f 
 
 Ranting and rollickino-, 
 
 Frisking and froUicking, 
 Louder dark Pluto's wild uproar grew, 
 AVid many a shrill " Whack !" and a " Hubbubaboo!" 
 When thrusting his long horny paw in his wallet, he 
 
 Threw down, wid a roar, 
 
 Yellow boys in galore, 
 Like a squire of the shire, or a pink of the qualithy ! 
 
 And deeper and deeper the Owld Boy drank, 
 TUl the table he quickly did mount for 
 To give an oration 
 On Dodgification ;
 
 292 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 When Eody bawl'cl out, 
 
 Wid a roar and a rout, 
 
 " Arrah ! where, my black honey, 
 
 Did ye get all the money t " 
 
 " From Scotland," says Nick, " I purloin'd it : 
 
 Troth they 'II look long enough ere they foind it ! 
 To tell yez the truth, boys, for once I '11 be frank — 
 Thims the browns that belong to the Westhera Bank, 
 
 That the blessed babes couldn't account for !'" 
 
 " And what brings ye here, where the weather 's so 
 
 cowld. 
 Unless it's to do bodies harm?" 
 Says Rody, " for faix it 's meself that 's been towld 
 
 Yer country 's right purty and warm." 
 Says he, "Rody, avic, I 'm jist on my way 
 To fetch home a Major, that's been on half-pay 
 Since the time he became a young lady's desaiver : 
 Oh the villain ! — to court her, and marry her — then 
 
 lave her ! 
 He 's a heartless gommogue, wid estates in his eye. 
 And the name of this spalpeen begins wid a Y ! 
 Bnt atwixt you and me — tho' ye needn't be spakin' — 
 When he 's down, by the piper ! he '11 get such a 
 
 shakin'. 
 
 That the A n e gintry '11 cry, for a wager, 
 
 ' Oh be kind to the sowl of the beautiful Major ! ' 
 Be kind to the Major! I 'd wallop him rather ! — 
 Sure I blush that the scoundrel should call me his 
 
 father V
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 293 
 
 They had sat for a moment to swallow some gin, 
 When a praist passing by, heard the terrible din : 
 To be an inthruder he thought it no sin, 
 So widout hesitayshin he bowldly walk'd in. 
 
 But he roar'd in affright, 
 
 " By the Pope, what a sight ! 
 Boys dhrinking wid Barny at this time of night ! 
 Avoid thee, Sathanas, wid all thy might ! 
 
 Mia Carissima ! 
 
 Mater Purissiina ! 
 Hoximo poximo snipflipopotamus ! 
 Get home to yer Haddies, ye owld Hippopotamus ! 
 Hurroo ! wirresthrue ! hubbaboo ! Belzeborum ! 
 Pig's-eyes ! Pratie-pies ! hey cockalorum ! 
 By the powers, I 'd say more, but I can't get it quick 
 
 enough." 
 Says Nick, " Howld yer tongue — of yer blarney I ni 
 sick enough ! 
 
 But when ye come down. Father M y, my charmer, 
 
 To a place where the weather's delightfully warmer, 
 I '11 be bound but ye '11 find that yer stir-about 's thick 
 enough ! " 
 
 Then the thunder it bellow'd — the lightning it flash'd — 
 The wind it blew high, and the chimney pots crash'd ; 
 And everything seem'd on the way to get smash'd, 
 Unless such proceedings were instantly quash'd ; 
 "When, whisking his tail like a cat wid a mouse, 
 He spread out his Avings wid a terrible roar, 
 Look'd once at the Paddies, then twice at the door ;
 
 294 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 But finding it bolted, lie cried in wild glee, 
 " To the deuce wid expinses ! — it 's all one to me !" 
 Then he splatter'd slap-bang through the roof of the 
 house. 
 
 " PhUiloo ! " roar'd the boys, as the fiend disappear'd : 
 
 " PhUiloo !" wid a yell, was by all plainly heard. 
 
 " We may thank yer swate Riv'rence we're not in the 
 
 Downs ! " 
 So the praist thank'd the Virgin, then look'd for the 
 
 browns : 
 But he scratch'd his bald pate wid a howl of surprise, 
 Then he turn'd up the whites of his beautiful eyes ; 
 For down through the floor they went chinking and 
 
 clinking, 
 And the Paddies stood horror-struck, shrinking and 
 
 blinking. 
 Till in wild desperation, the praist took to dhrinking. 
 There ! — down through the ground, 
 For miles around, — 
 Down — down went the yellow boys, steadily sinking. 
 Says the praist, '' By the bones of that owld hay then 
 
 Hecthor, 
 They've gone back to the fob of the arch-fiend Directhor !"
 
 POEMS AND SOXGS. 295 
 
 THE STANE FEVER 
 
 (Suggested by the ^yallace Monument at Stirling.) 
 
 Say, neibour birkies, clae ye understand 
 
 Tlie spread o' this stane-fever i' the land 1 
 
 The cause, I trow, I cauna comprehend : 
 
 It looks as if the world were near an end 
 
 When folk raise collieshangies, greet an' grane, 
 
 For glorious heroes lang forever gane ; — 
 
 As if stark dead were manhood's noblest parts, 
 
 An' noclit were left but graves, an' wither'd hearts. 
 
 What record needs yon king o' famous f;xllows, 
 Freedom's bricht star — immortal Willie Wallace !- 
 Whasc deeds shall flourish fair thro' future time, 
 An' far outlive yer crumblin' stane an' lime ; — 
 Whase name 's a magic spell in ilka Ian' — 
 His truest monument — (he Heart o' Man ! 
 
 What needs perpetuate, wi' lofty pile, 
 The bluidy days o' yore — remembrance vile ! — 
 What needs the Scot to taunt his English brither, 
 When hand-in-hand they've gien sae lang thegither 
 Fought, bled, an' conquer'd on the battle-plain — 
 Triumphant victors on the roarin' main —
 
 296 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Borne, far an' near, their matchless flag unfurl' d, 
 An' made their name the glory o' the world ! 
 
 For ever hence yer ancient bluidy tales. 
 
 While peace an' plenty crown our hills an' dales : — 
 
 For ever hence the hate o' days langsyne, 
 
 While friendship dwells within this heart o' mine. 
 
 Gang hame, thou cauld stane-fever, to thy grave : 
 The gowk that fosters thee 's a morbid slave. 
 The Past 's lang dead an' gane — the Present 's ours — 
 But oh ! how gloomily the Future low'rs ! — 
 
 For pregnant years before my sicht arise, 
 When War shall strike red terror thro' the skies — 
 When Britain, roused at last to righteous rage, 
 Shall hurl, wi' fiery wrath, her battle-gage — 
 Strong in her ironclads that mount the wave — 
 Strong in her rifle-ranks o' freemen brave — 
 Sternly advancin' in her glorious micht, 
 Shall launch her thunderbolts in Freedom's richt, 
 Clash her bricht steel, blaw loud her bugle-horn, 
 An' humble low yon tyrants vile, that mak' puir nations 
 
 mourn 
 
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 THE HISTORY OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 FROM THE ACCESSION OF ALEXANDER III. TO THE UNION. 
 
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 •,* Mr Tytler's "History of Scotland" has been universally 
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 History of Scotland has yet appeared in which the subject is treated 
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 We venture to predict tliat this bonk will soon become, and long remain, the 
 etandard History of Scotland." — Quarterly Review. 
 
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 the specimen which the volume before us gives of the author's talents and 
 capacity for the task ho has undertaken, it may be re-osonably inferred th;it 
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 DETAILED CATALOGUE OF BOOK!?. 
 
 NEW PRESENTATIOM SERIES OF STANDARD mUS-Continued. 
 
 WALLACE. THE HEEO OF SCOTLAND : 
 
 A BIOGRAPHY. 
 By JAMES PATERSON. 
 
 EPOCH MEN. AND THE EESULTS OF THEIR 
 
 LIVES. 
 
 ' By SAMUEL NEIL. 
 
 Charlemagne. 
 Gretfory V 1 1. 
 Roger Bacun. 
 
 CONTENTS, 
 
 Dante. 
 
 Chaucer. 
 
 Copernicus. 
 
 Lord CHva. 
 James Watt 
 
 A BOOK OF CHARACTERS. 
 
 SELECTED FROM THE WRITINGS OP 
 
 OVERBURY, EARLE, AND BUTLEB. 
 
 Thia Volume contains nearly Two Hundred Pen Portraits of 
 Human Character, carefully chosen from three of the most eminent 
 Writers in this now neglected branch of Literature. 
 
 CLASSICAL BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 SELECTED FROM 
 PLUTARCH'S LIVES. 
 
 Theiniatocles. 
 Pericles. 
 Ah;ibiades. 
 Doiuustbeues. 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Alexander. 
 Fabius Maximus. 
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