p JBRARY (BBHIH CALIFORNIA / CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. JOHN LAING, TROON. Those of honour will not grudge A fellow mortal leave to speak, Especially when he speaks the truth And truth is all that Truth dare seek. $)dnttb fox ilu CHARLES MURCHLAND, PUBLISHER, IRVINE AND TROON. LOAN STACK PRH85 PREFACE. '214 jAN Y ventures have I undertaken in the past without fear or hesitation, but this, to me, the most important venture in my career, is taken with something akin to fear and trembling. Under the impression that the following trifles carried with them sufficient merit to enable me to squeeze myself into the ranks of the minor poets of my beloved country, induced me to flatter my vanity thus far in the publication of the present selected collection of my pro- ductions ; and now that I have done so, I wait with trembling suspense the verdict of a critical jury, who, I hope, in their summing up, will take a lenient view of my case, from the fact that the enclosed are not the outpourings of one favoured with a University training, or the higher grades of education, and much of the little that I possess was gained in the quiet hours of the evening when the toil and worry of the day was gone. Truth, honesty of purpose, and a* sense of justice were my sjle guides in directing my pen in that which I have written, much of which was penned in defence of the oppressed against oppression, in the sincere belief and conviction under which I was labouring when the spirit of poesy overtook me. And now, Reader, no further sympathy I crave from you than a fair and impartial perusal, and then the verdict, be what it may, of an unbiased mind, leaning more to truth and justice than bigotry and prejudice. To my subscribers I owe a deep debt of gratitude for their support in enabling me to undertake the present venture, which, but for their aid, in all likelihood, a book of poems never would have been forthcoming from the pen of Yours truly, December, 1894. JOHN LAING. 566 PRINTED AT THE " IRVINE HERALD" OFFICE BY CHARLES MURCHLAND. CONTENTS. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Sam Leghorn's Elegy, An Address to the Young, The Auld Kirk's Lament on the Death of the Rev. James Fleming, The Scholar's Complaint, Try aDrap Water, ... A Toast, ... The Union Jack, The Entrapped Rat's Appeal, The Fallen Saint, .. The Auld Kirk, A Common Tale, or the Wails o' a Drunkard's Wife, To the Auld Year 1887, To an Unknown Correspondent, Troon's Welcome to the Duke and Duchess of Portland, ToFullarton, To Trooiij An Abstainer's Appeal to the Clergy, To the Good Templars of Troon, Lines written on the Froritispage of the Roll Book belonging to the Haven of Rest Lodge, An Address to the Bakers, ... When the Sponging is Bye, Bakers' Union, Dumfries and Glasgow Bakers, The Anti-Trade Unionist, ... An Address to County Councillor Wyllie, Troon Politicians, To a Street Loon, ... To One at Home, Awa', Wooer Lads, Awa', Troon's Lament on the Reception of Her Tax Papers, ... Row Me in Your Plaidie, Lassie, Ye Ministers lay bye Your Gowns, ... A Word for Troon, A Public Address to Troon, ... To Jealousy, To Joan Kelly, The Beadle to his New Bell, ... The Bonnie Lass in Yon Toun, The Village Baker, ... My Bonnie Bairn, Welcome My Crony, Fullart on Has Lost Her Bloom, PAGE. I Scarcely Need Try to Make You All Cheery, ... ... 86 Oh for a Blink o' the Ghaws Burn Again, ... ... ... 87 The Banks o' Irvine Water, ... ... ... ... ... 88 The Auld Folk are Awa', ... ... ... ... ... 89 On Mr Robert Shields Gone to England, ... ... ... 90 An Address to Temperance, ... ... ... ... ... 92 * My Gay Licht-Hear ted Baker, ... ... ... ... 94 To One I Love, ... ... ... ... ... ... 95 Jock's Dying Charge to Betty, ... ... .. ... 96 The Auld Kirk's Welcome to the New Beadle, ... ... 98 The Stranger, ... ... ... ... ... ... 100 Lines to " Savant," ... ... ... ... ... 102 EPISTLES. Troon Drinking Fountain, ... ... ... ... ... 104 To Mr. James Johnston, .. ... .. ... ... 107 To the Rev. Robert Smith, ... ... ... ... ... 109 The Marriage Rejoicings at Troon, ... ... ... ... 110 Epistle to Mr. Robert Shields, ... .. ... ... 112 Epistle to Captain Wm. Scott, Troon, ... ... ... 115 Epistle to Mr. Robert Shields, ... ... ... ... 117 Bakers' Agitation, ... ... ... ... ... ... 120 Comity Council Election, December, 1892, ... ... ... 122 Epistle to Mr. Robert Shields, England, ... ... ... 123 To Mr. Robert Hunter, Irvine, ... ... ... ... 126 To Mr. Charles Murchland, ... ... ... ... ... 127 TROON WATER QUESTION. The Big Reservoir, ... ... ... ... ... ... 128 The Water Scheme, ... ... ... ... ... 130 Water Again, ... ... ... ... ... ... 132 Troon Water War, ... ... ... ... ... 134 Second Epistle to Archie, ... ... ... ... ... 136 Troon Water Question, ... ... ... ... ... 138 Lines to Archie : A Brither Poet, ... ... ... ... 140 The Twa Schemes, ... ... ... ... ... 143 The Disputed Goal, ... ... ... ... ... ... 145 To My New Hat, ... ... ... ... ... ... 147 Triumphant Troon, ... ... ... ... ... 149 Qor Am Reservoir, ... ... ... ... ... ... 150 EPITAPHS. A Burgh's Epitaph, ... ... ... ... ... 152 On a Friend, ... * ... ... ... ... ... 153 A Would-be Poet's Epitaph,... ... ... ... ... 154 The Epitaph o' Troon Water Committee, ... ... ... 155 The Great Petition's Epitaph, ... ... ... ... 156 On Geordie Anson, ... ... ... ... ... ... 157 On A. M'L ii, ... ... .. ... ... ... 158 On Barney Sullivan, ... ... ... ... ... 159 On Lieutenant Thomson, ... ... ... ... ... 160 On Happy Simpson, ... ... ... ... ... 160 M ISCELLANEOUS POEMS. SAM LEGHORN'S ELEGY. Died, 22ml January, 1881. fljE Templar folk, man, maid, an' mither, %* Come hing your heids an' mourn thegither Death has ta'en your worthy brither, Sam Leghorn ; His like, ye'll never find anither To serve your turn. For years he was your water servant, That duty never did he swerve in't, But constantly put every nerve in't By word an' deed ; A monument ! he's weel deservin't, To mark his heid. Whaur will ye find in a' your race A better ane to fill his place, An' winna bring the cause disgrace By gaun astray, An' leaving on't the horrid trace O' usquebae ? He wasna ane wad slip an' fa' At every tempting cup he saw, Or tak' the huff an' rin awa' Like some ye ken, At every fresh, new f angled law That was brocht ben. He was the brither an' the friend On whom ye always could depend ; A truer scarcely stepped ben Within your lodge, An' kept his pledge e'en to the end Wit hoot a grudge. An' then again, 'mid a' your clan, Whaur had ye ane that better ran Wi' earthen jug or metal can To draw your water ; Richt weel ye ken that scarcely ane Could dune it better. 10 Likewise for mirth an' honest glee, There were nane heartier than he, When he, a' life, wad join the spree Wi' tale or sang ; His " Sodger John " aye fain to gie Baith loud an' lang. But he, alas ! nae mair ye'll hail, To cheer ye thro' this lonely vale, Or enliven ye wi' yon auld tale Aboot the meal, Whilk he aft tauld withooten fail, An' cheer'd ye weel. Ye weel may hing your heids an' moan, An' sab an' greet hi mournfu' tone, Ye'll hear nae mair o' " Sodger John," Or " Erin-go-Braugh ;" Your noblest singer's but a drone, Noo Sam's awa'. Ye villagers o' Troon may well Hing doun your heids an' mourning tell Hoo he in life did soun' his bell The village round, An' wi' stentorian lungs wad yell Things lost or found. Ye'll ne'er again get sic a chiel To bell the village hauf sae weel ; When herrin', mackerel,. skate, or eel, By fishermen, Are caught by tempting bait or creel, Hoo will ye ken ? Guid, honest Leghorn, fare-thee-well, Till the auld kirk tolls my dying knell ; If nane thee mourn, I'll mourn mysel', In boundless woe, An' will to future ages tell Thy worth below. 11 AN ADDRESS TO THE YOUNG. Delivered at the Annual Soiree of Troon Parish Church Sabbath School, February 18th, 1892. EAR SCHOLARS, I'm here, and ye brawlie ken me, I'm ane that the inaist o' ye ilka day see, Tho' maybe ye didna expect I wad be Forrit wi' ithers at this your suree ; But ye see I was kindly invited to come Wi' a speech or a sang or some ither hum-drum. I thocht for a meenit, an' just in a trice, A something said, John, gie them a' an advice ; Sae I hope you will listen as weel as ye can To the speech or the sang o' the Minister's man. In time ye may grow to be women an' men, An' takin' your places wi' ithers, an' then Unless ye hand on to richt actions in youth, Such as honour an' virtue supported by truth, Ye may find yoursel's aften as naething at best When your courage and manhood are put to the test. Remember your teachers, an' Minister too, An' their labours o' love in attending to you, In directing ye always the gate ye should gang, Keepin' aye tae the richt an' far frae the wrang ; An' kind tae yer playmates in ilka day's fun, Nor wilfully tum'le them doun on the grun ; At play an' your gambols, whatever it be, Play faithfu' an' honest, contented an' free, Nor scowl an' be vicious as gin ye wad eat Ilka wee tottie ye meet on the street ; Nor wrangle, nor quarrel, nor threaten wi' blows, An' that ye'll hit some yin a slap on the nose, For that's no the way, ony idiot micht ken, That heroes are made oot o' boys when men. Be kind an' affectionate, ane to anither, Courageous an' honest when movin' thegither, An' the worl' some day may hae cause tae rejoice O' the heroic men that aince were her boys. But gin ye be selfish, ill-natured and cross, Ye'll be sifted wi' ithers an' left wi' the dross. When at jing-ga-ring, buttons, the bat or the ba', Or American-tag at the rit o' a wa', Or Mary-ma-tanzie, or kipperdy smash, Or ringy, or stakey, ne'er threaten ye'll thrash A playmate because he plays better than you, 12 For remember that's no' a brave action to do. Be manly an' say, " Weel, I'm beat I confess, But I'll try an' play better the next time, I guess." Nor molest the wee totties that be at the schools, By playin' the robber in stealin' their bools, For remember a' villains began wi' a lift That by some folk wad scarcely be reckoned a theft. Enter a' games wi' a zeal an' to win, But never let temper or malice get in, For the cheat an' the coward only hankers to own, That by an opponent they were overthrown ; An' in their defeat hesitate not to try The smoothin' o't owre wi' an evendoun lie, An' slander the truth wi' a statement not true, What a heroic boy or girl wouldn't do. Gin ye wad that the worl' ye move in sud ken That ye lived, ape the mariners o' heroic men ; Be ye noble an' good, an' wi' evil be shy, Nor stoop to the cowardice o' hatchin' a lie, For in truth I maun tell ye no brave girl or boy Such a base cowardly practice wacl ever employ ; Nae practice like this can secure a guid friend, But sure to bring ruin an' disgrace in the end. Test ilka frien' weel, ere ye venture to say That those ye confide in will never betray ; Human nature at best is weak in the main, An' liable to yield under temptation's strain ; Aye look upwards an' onwards, an' try to excel In guid conduct an' frien'ship, an' a' will go well, Then frien's will surroun' ye mair faithful an' true Than the cauld go-be-tweens ye hae kent hitherto. To follow this maxim oot, practice in youth, An' back ilka word that ye utter wi' truth. Truth is a beauty nae artist can paint, Nor misguided anes ever its brilliancy taint ; Emblematic o' heaven, it reigns wi' sic power That tyrants and traitors in front of it cower ; But true to yoursel's, to your God, and to man, Unshaken before it courageous you'll staun'. Noo scholars, be carefu', and min' what ye dae Staun' solid by truth, come oot o't what may, For truth shall remain ever purely sublime, An' triumphantly reign thro' eternity's time, An' those wha wad honour it here wi' their heart In eternity's joys may there hae a part. Be kind tae your parents an' teachers as well, An' listen tae a' the nice stories they tell ; Dinna be thochtless, for min' it gies pain, To think a' their teaching on you has been vain. 13 Guid boys an' guid lassies are aye easy kent By their conduct, an' bad anes are just a torment, For the bad anes are ill to themselves and to ithers, Unkind to their parents, their sisters and brithers. A pest at the schule, an' a trouble at hame, Ever ready to quarrel when playin' a game ; Nae respect for themsel's, far less for anither. Disagree wi' their playmates, an' sae wi' their mither. When she's dishia' the parritch, the tatties, or kale, Their ill-natured spirit is seen withoot fail ; Discontented an' thochtless, they yaumer an' growl, Ovvre much or owre little was put in their bowl. They're never contented, an' selfishness reigns To mar their life's pleasures wi' mony black stains. The lassies are no' just as bad as the boys, Altho' wi' their tongues they can mak' as much noise ; Their nature's are softer an' kinder awee, An' less o' the mischief observed in their e'e : It's true, I admit, when pursuin' their games, Whiles they loss temper an' cry ither names, An' shoot oot the tongue, as I hae seen them dae, At the schule when I chanced to be passin' that way. Noo sic like behaviour is quite unbecomin' To the boy or the man, the girl or the woman ; An' iinless that we check evil deed in oor youth, They may work us great mischief when aulder forsooth. Sae 1100, in conclusion, whaurever ye are, Look onwards an' upwards, an' truth be your star ; Straightforward an' steady in ilka just cause, Nor stoop to a mean thing to merit applause. An' the meanest, contemptible thing ye can do, Is slander a fellow wi' statements not true. The untruthfu', 'tis known, can dae aught that is mean, An' to shelter himsel' he would tarnish a frien'; Sae I hope that naue here o' the truth will be shy, An' say No, when your conscience wad hae ye say Ay. Noo scholars, I've finished up my harangue, An' judge ye gin it be a speech or a sang. 14 THE AULD KIRK'S LAMENT ON THE DEATH OF THE REV. JAMES FLEMING. First published in the "Irvine Herald" November 10tli, 1SS8. < LEED me roun' wi' mourning graith, Symbolic o' that reaper Daith, Wha has his tens o' thousan's slain, An' legions prematurely ta'en Aff to that dreary, dark abyss, The path to woe or endless bliss. Ay, deed me roun', nor dicht my e'en For wae is me, I've tint a frien', An' pining lanely, sair I mourn For him that never shall return. My aged pastor, sire, an' friend, Has reached his timely, honour'd end, An' gane to yonder sphere above, Whaur a' is everlasting love. An' weel dae I rejoice to know That he's beyond the reach of woe ; But human nature's weak an' vain, An' mourns wi' sma' cause to complain ; An' sae I mourn, for I ken, He was the -model man o' men. The Christian's pairt he didna fail Sae lang as he was weel and hale ; Instant in an' oot o' season, He come an' gaed, nor speir'd the reason, Be't nicht or day, he aye was ready To greet the peasant, lord, or lady. To puir folk he was just as free As only mortal man could be ; Rich an' puir wi' bub a name Wi' my divine were aye the same ; He didna natter wealth to pree The pomp that poortith couldna gi'e. mourn wi' me, ye Trin folk a', The auld man eloquent's awa' ; For sixty years, an' mair beside, He was your pastor an' your guide, An' showed ye weel the gate tae gang, To mind the richt an' shun the wrang ; That noble independent figure, 15 That face o' man could never stagger. What he held richt he did maintain, Wi' lord or squire or peasant swain. His God was a' he dared to fear While sojourning wi' us here ; An' to that God he has gane thither, Pure, undefiled, withoot a s wither. Come, mourn wi' me, my every stane, His like ye'll ne'er behold again ; He saw me spring frae early youth, The monument o' Gospel truth. An' O, that day he saw me rise, My steeple towering toward the skies, I'm sure his heart then beat for glee At sic an edifice as me. An' noo to think that I nae mair Shall see him mount the pulpit stair, An' daily warn his list'ning flock To seize upon salvation's rock, Wi' sic a clear triumphant voice, That made my vera wa's rejoice, As he declared owre an' owre, The Gospel truths wi' pith an' power. Yon nicht the beadle cam' to toll My bell, announcing that the soul O' ae great man had ta'en its flight, I thocht my heart wad burst ootright. An' mourning, too, he toll'd my bell, As sad an' dowie as mysel' ; An' tears may lang weet baith his een, For, Oh ! like me, he's tint a frien', An' wi' me lang may reign to mourn The soul that's gane ne'er to return. Ye bodies, too, aroun' the Loans, Sab sair, an' greet in mournfu' tones, An' let your ilka neighbour ken That we hae lost the best o' men. Let your historian an' poet This great man's greatness widely show it ; That future ages yet unborn Shall read o' him we this day mourn. Wha shall ye get to preach an' pray Wi' ye, as he's dune in his day ? May every lesson he has cast Before ye in the days noo past, Flourish bonnilie an' rise To meet the teacher in the skies Wi' mony ithers gone before Secured an' won on this bleak shore. 16 An' while there stauns a stane o' rne That mortal witnesses can see A monument I'll aye remain In memory o' him that's gane ; An' woe be unto those wad daur Disfigure me wi' blot or scaur, While blessings rest on every croon Wad keep my wa's intact an' soun', That I may staun aye to present A faithful pastor's monument. Now, ye wha mourn his daith wi' me, Remember well ye too maun dee, An' quickly seize the Christian's cause, Fit for a Saviour's fond applause, That when daith comes to close the scene, In peaceful hope ye'll steek your een, Victorious like my aged frien'. THE SCHOLAR'S COMPLAINT. E'RE gaun tae hae nae gran' suree, Like what we've had langsyne ; There's nae big folk tae come and see Oor tea-an'-cookyshine. 'Tis just to be amang oorsel's Nae sport we'll hae at a' ; Nae stranger folk an' ither swells To come an' gie's a ca'. Jist gethered in the auld schule ha', An' crammed like lierrins' there, On sheughly seats that's like to fa' Whiles crash upon the flair. Then glaiket things may scale their tea Upon oor Sunday braws ; Then mithers, vexed the like to see, May skelp us wi' the tawse. It aye was ID the kirk before, An' we had comfort then, E'en tho' 'twas crowded to the door, Wi' women, weans, and men. Then we aye could bounce an' brag We had the best suree ; An' noo to think that we should flag, Luik's desp'rate cauld an' wee. What ha'e we dune that we sud be Luik'd down upon like this ? Fareweel oor ilka past suree Fareweel oor former bliss. An' ye, oor parents an' ilka frien', Wha 'njoyed oor annual fare, May sab an' greet till blear't your een, Ye'll dine wi' us nae mair. An' we oorsel's shall sab and greet, For O, we'll miss ye sair ; Your presence made oor joys mair sweet When congregated there. January, 1888. 18 TRY A DRAP WATER. First Published in the "Argus and Express" June 4th, 1881. IE tipplers o' cider, wine, whiskey, an' yill, Ye think ye're in freedom when drinkin' yer full ; But ye're only in slav'ry, an' winna be free, Unless ye tak' water when thirsty like me. Chorus : Then come to the water, an' drink yer full cheery, Owre a' kinds o' liquor 'twill aye hae the gree ; Or wi' nae cash in ban* yer lush tae comman', Ye'll be forced to the water rnair thirsty than me. I aince was as throuther, an' fond o' a fou As the best o' the tipplers ye hae in yer crew, Till a cauld water subject cam' to me, says he, " Man, try a drap water when thirsty like me." Chorus : Then come to the water, &c. He showed me the slav'ry o' drink an' its shame, An' boo it was hurling disgrace to my name ; " But ye'll flourish," says he, " if ye try for a wee, A drap o' cauld water when thirsty like me.''" Chorus : Then come to the water, &c. I hum'd, an' I haw'd, an' I thocbt for a while, Till at last I consented to be an exile Frae a' ardent spirits ; " That's proper," says he, " There's health in cauld water when thirsty like me." Chorus : Then come to the water, &c. I've kept to the water a twalmonth or twa, An' ne'er yet regretted my exile ava ; An' kindly wad counsel a' tipplers, d'ye see, To try a drap water when thirsty like me. Chorus : Then come to the water, &c. Let custom aye slur ye an' jeer as she may, Should ye tak' to the water, ye ken it's her play To slur ye, an' jeer ye, an' knock ye ajee, But defy her, an' stick to the water like me. Chorus : Then come to the water, &c. Throw Custom aside, she is a dangerous dame, An' aft brings her slaves to sorrow an' shame ; While the cauld water subjects are cheerful an' free, For they a' keep to water when thirsty like me. Chorus : Then come to the water, &c. 19 A TOAST. Written on the occasion of Troon Football Team winning tlte Irvine and District Cup, 189%. CERE'S to Irvine Eglinton, CT/ The Annick an' Crosshoose, Likewise the Vale of Garnock, For a' four crawed fu' crouse. But three times owre, we'll drink to Troon, The champions o' them a', Lang may she w r ear the victor's croon, An' health to kick the ba'. Then raise your glasses, drain them up, An' while the echoes roll, Pledge that Troon lang keep the cup, An' score the winning goal. 20 THE UNION JACK. <7jTHE glorious Union Jack above us, ^^ What foe or foemen need we fear? Loyalty and honour move us In the present course we steer. We honour Crown and Constitution, On which we'll never turn our back, But rally round the royal standard That bears aloft the Union Jack. That flag, the terror of the world, The pride of all the true and free, Would-be friends and traitors threaten To break its power by land and sea. Base ungenerates, can we trust them, To keep Britannia's foeman back, Who ruthlessly would tear to pieces This, our glorious Union Jack? In very truth we cannot trust them With the Union or the Crown ; They are as traitors duly banded To pull these ancient landmarks down ; But we, in mein'ry of our fathers, Shall cross them in their wild attack, Determined we'll maintain the Union, And bear aloft the Union Jack. See Hawarden coming forward With his break-up train behind ; See him throwing dust arid ashes In their eyes to keep them blind. Well he knows the power of blindness In keeping them close at his back, ,For only blindfold dupes would follow One who would rend the Union Jack. That fettish chief shall never tear it, Nor all the dupes he has behind, For we have loyal sons shall bear it Unsullied to the favouring wind. And while we dare all cowards and traitors, We'll keep the Union still intact ; And 'rieath the motto, " No Surrender," Wave aloft the Union Jack. 21 Emblematic of the Union, No traitor gang shall cut it down, For Britain's loyal sons shall rally, Supporting Union and the Crown. And to the death they shall defend it, Ne'er on it will they turn a back, For well they know that peace and freedom Reign beneath the Union Jack. Tear it up and trample on it, Split the Union and the Crown, Then farewell to boasted freedom, To all our glory and renown. We never, never shall surrender To the break-up traitor pack, And will maintain the Crown and Union Beneath the royal Union Jack. With Arthur, Wood, and Forthbridge Arrol, Staunch Ranfurly and Magill ; With Balfour, Chamberlain, and Churchill, Union w r ill be Union still. Great Salisbury at the helm, They'll board and sink the rebel pack ; And for the Union, Crown, and Realm, Victorious wave the Union Jack. 22 THE ENTRAPPED RAT'S APPEAL. To the Steward on board the Glasgow ship " City of Delhi." SPARE thy wretched prisoner, steward, Open wide my prison door, An' let me oot amang my kin, At liberty once more ! Should I again be in your trap, Nae mercy will I crave ; But 0, for this ae time let me Escape a watery grave. I saw the trap, but never thocht 'Twas set for me or mine, As roun' an' roun' I smell'd the bait, An' thocht it rich an' fine. The great temptation that was laid, I couldna weel resist ; The door was open, in I gaed, My freedom then was lost. By a' that's guid an' holy, steward, I solemnly declare, Had I my life an' liberty, I'd never fash ye niair. If pity reigns within your breast, Do show some unto me, An' Christian like do spare my life The life ye canna gie. But 0, wae's me, your countenance, Bespeaks my waefu' doom, An' plainly shows there's nocht for me But daith's eternal gloom ! For lack o' mankind's heavenly gifts, Re isoiv Thocht, an' Sense, I am to be deprived o' life what a recompense ! An' yet, even in your daily life, Hoo mony rats ye see Battling in the world's strife Wi' sad an' sick'ning e'e. 23 Thae liquor traps o' pomp an' show, In hell inonarchial state, Are 'trapping thousands daily by Their daith-destructive bait. An' a' sic dupes hae judgment clear To ken 'tween i icht an' wrang, An' yet with a' they madly steer Whaur wisdom winna gang. Your very sel' has gane the gait, A slave, but noo you're free, An' yet ye winna sympathise Wi' mortals such as me. To you nae honour can it bring In this vain world o' strife, To steep your hauns in blind o' mine, Depriving me o' life. My race, nae doot, has raised your ire, An' me amang the rest, Oaun rummaging through a' your stores For aught would suit oor taste. It's true, I've ran among your stores, A plundering wi' the lave, An' a' we took was to appease A hungry belly's crave. An' is there mortal walks the earth Wad bear a hungry kyte, If ae sma', scarce dishonest act, Wad ease them o' its blight. O, steward, if thou are flesh and bluid, A fellow creature save ; Oie me the freedom I hae lost An' little life I crave ! If thou art mortal spare my life, An' let me wander free :* If thou wad luik for mercy hence, Do show some unto me. The great creator o' mankind Was my creator too, An' formed me for some wise end, As yet unknown to you. Then hoo dare ye destroy the work 0' Heaven's eternal King, Wha never gave ye power to kill A puir defenceless thing ? 24 Alas, alas ! my pleadin's vain, To grant my life you're laith ; I see in your malignant smile My freedom lies in daith ! Then let me die, tho' but a rat, I'm ble-st compared wi' ye ; I dread nae future's lang career Nae judgment waits for me. He wha mourns the puir rat's fate, Remember thou that snares, Are scatter' d broadcast o : er the land T" entrap ye unawares. While thinkin' that dame fortune smiles Benignly on ye still, Be ever watchful, even then, Lest snared against your will. 25 THE FALLEN SAINT. JjHAT unco tale is this we hear, ** That seems to set us a' asteer, In waefu' lamentation ? Is't cause that Pious Willie has Forsook the apostolic cause, Regardless o' salvation ? Ay deed, puir man, he fell a prey To alcohol the ither day, An' left us a' lamentin', That sic a saint as he shuld fa' Sae desperate low ; an' waur than a', Nae sign o' him repentin'. We thocht he did the warl' resign, An' had become a saint divine By pure regeneration ; But ah, waes me ! we dinna ken The frailties o' the sons o' men When stared at by temptation. That sic a saint as Willie should Flee to the bad, an' lea' the good, An' a' for Satan's favour ; We thocht him just as pure a man, As under gospel colours ran, Nor gien to sic palaver. But Satan's wiles are sweet an' fair, Till aince he gets ye in his snare, Then fareweel peace an' pleasure ; He leads ye on frae bad tae worse, Till life itsel' becomes a curse, An' death fills up the measure. Oh, Willie, man, hoo could ye think To gang sae far astray wi' drink, An' you almost perfection ! Could ye no ta'en ae glass, or twa, An' flung the third ane far awa', An' kept to that restriction. Had ye din that, this day ye micht Hae stood witha' a brilliant licht Amang the ither blest anes ; But ah ! ye took the third, alas ! An', sir, the fourth ye couldna pass Like ither would-be Christians ! 26 Ye drank awa till ye got fou, An' row't and groan't just like a soo; 0, Willie, man, think shame o't ! For often I hae heard ye tell, To mony mae forbye myseP, Ye ignored the very name o't. The gang that's left shall miss ye sair To join wi' them in earnest prayer They'll no' can dae't for thinkin That ane o' them's got on the boose, An' wauchlin in a deep carouse, Debauchery an' drinkin.' Aft are they a' constrained to pray That ye'll forsake your careless way, Your drunkenness an' nonsense, An' tak' your place among them a' As saint-like, as ye gaed awa', An' just as clear a conscience. The Foundry boys ilk Sabbath morn, Are noo a' left scant an' forlorn, Deprived o' Christian knowledge, Since ye, wha led them on sae weel, Hae took to drink an' turn'd your heel Upon their youthfu' college. O Willie, man, just for their sake 'Gainst alcohol put on the brake, An' swear ye'll hae nae mair o't ! Tak' thou the pledge again, an' feed The bits o' bairns wi' gospel breid, An' tak' ye better care o't. O fallen saint ! for sake o' truth, Put alcohol far frae your mooth, An' be ance mair a Christian ; What tho' ye're something scant o' grace, Just gie's yon lang, smooth, solemn face, An' ye'll pass for a just ane. O dae gang back among the boys, That they for joy may a' rejoice, Cured o' their sad disaster, An' ye thro' time may come to be Frae a' temptation guided free, Accepted by the Master ! Oh, wad that a' the preachin' cless Were just as true as they profess, Nor drank, nor shunned their neighbours, Then love, humility, an' grace, Wad mark the lines on ilka face, An' righteousness their labours ! 27 But as it is, I'm wae to tell There's some that scarcely ken themsel' Frae unregenerate mortals, An' aft forget that they pretend They're work in' hard to gain the end That leads to heaven's portals. Some say divines are just auld wives, An' blether havers a' their lives, That scarce wad stann inspection ; While they wha rowt upon the street Are purely holy an' complete, An' every whit perfection. Hypocrisy may blin' the man, But God alone the heart shall scan, An' mark each fause vibration ; Then let a' practice what they preach, An' live oot lives beyond the reach 0' God's just condemnation. THE AULD KIRK. auld kirk is in danger noo O' bein' smashed or driven through By envy's dart, an' that fell crew 0' greedy fellows, Wha a' their deidly wark pursue, Half mad an' jealous. The dear auld kirk has dune fu' weel, An' sheltered mony a weary chiel ; An' welcomes a' within her biel, Baith rich an' puir, Wi' cash or nane, a' free to spiel The gospel stair. Oor heroic sires in ages gane, Focht, bled, an' fell on mony a plain, Yet bauldly did their cause maintain In spite o' fate, An' bound the kirk, as wi' a chain, Firm to the State. But envy an' dissentin' faithers, Hypocrisy, an' mony ithers, A' met owre mony fulsome blethers, An' swore an aith, That they wad cut her State aid tethers, An' be her daith. Then see the hordes, by Envy driven, Nae inspiration sent frae heaven, But just a greedy kind o' cravin', An' jealous hate, Their weapon o' destruction waviu* Just at the gate. See Envy and Hypocrisy, Chief commanders in the fray, Smilin' maist triumphantly, An' says the hour Has come for them to cut away The Auld Kirk's power. Will ye, her sons an' dochters a', Staun idly by an' see her fa', Nay, see your birthright ta'en awa', By sic a crew O' envious loons, wha crousely craw Owre what they'll do. 29 Think on your covenanting sires, Wha signed the cov'nant in Greyfriars, Wha braved the sword and faggot fires, An' bloody wark, To gi'e what Gospel truth requires, A state-bound Kirk. An' oh, to think that we this day Should leive to see her maist a prey To careless folk, gaun half the way O' bloody Clavers, By Envy led, prepared to slay Wark o' their faithers. What ! has the Kirk gane aff the line, Or wander'd frae a course divine, Or e'en wi' ithers failed to shine In Gospel creed, That foes should wrangle, twist, an' twine To work her deid ? There's scarce a traitor loon we ken 5 Mang a' the envy imbued men Dare say she hasna served her en', An' purpose weel, An' to the sp'ritual wants atten' Her ilka chiel. Sae gather roun' her bairns a', Determined that she winna fa', For cauld dissenters crousely craw, Baith late an' air, They'll drive her State support awa' For evermair. Thae growlin', discontented folk, This while ha'e gie'n her mony a shock, E'en tried to misdirect her flock Beyond reca', An' still she staun's as firm's a rock In spite o' a'. An' she'll remain if ye be true, An' battle wi' the envious crew As your forefaithers dared to do In ages gane, An' left her a birthright to you Withoot a stain. Then coward-like will ye forego Your great birthright to sic a foe ? Deeds o' your faithers echo *' No," An' dares proclaim, Ye cowards, unless ye strike the blow For Kirk an' hame. 30 If thae folk, plumb'd by Envy's bevel, Could just attain the Christian's level, An' work as hard to cowe the devil, I'm free to swear They'd be to Scotland's Kirk mair civil, Nor fash her mair. But then ye see they maun persue The wark that Envy has to do, For nane could do't but just a crew O' discontents, Such as the rag-tag, wranglm' few He represents. Ne'er mind the envious, jealous squad, A' clamerin' for your cash, half mad, But get thou in thy armour clad, An' save the Kirk Frae ruin an' destruction sad, An' future dark. 'Tis only envy, that base carl, Foster'd in the lower warl', Directin' foes to bite an' snarl, An' work your smash^ Expecting that they'll get a haurl O' your Kirk cash. Sons o' the Kirk, nae langer wait, But meet the hordes just at the gate, An' drive them back for Kirk an' State,. An' Scotland's pride ; Subdue the foes ye canna hate, Tho' sairly tried. 31 A COMMON TALE ; OR THE WAILS O' A DRUNKARD'S WIFE. First published in " Irvine Herald," March 10th t 1S88.. WAEFU' mortal here am I, Nae ray o' comfort seeming nigh, My hungry bairns' plaintive cry. Adds to my grief, An' bid me almost hopeless sigh Beyond relief. Oh envious days o' maidenhood, Before the cares o' life begood, Blythe as the warblers in the wood, Unknown to care ! Oh, hoo I wish that noo I could Those pleasures share I Yon happy days o' long ago, Unknown to bitter pangs o' woe, Unruffled by this deadly foe, Which slippit ben, An' did my pleasures overthrow Afore my ken. King Alcohol in a' his pride, His fang o' ruin under hide, Secured a place at oor fireside Baith firm an' sure ; Then slowly did oor comforts glide Ootside the door. The future harvest never seen, We bade him welcome as a frien', Whaur love an' peace had ever been The chief delight, Ne'er thinking he wad change the scene As black as night. My husband, ance the wail o' men, The brag o' a' within my ken, Just ignorantly brocht him ben For custom's sake ; An' I myseP, thocht even then, 'Twas nae mistake. 32 But, O my God ! I've often rued That sic a monster ever sud Within oor dwellin' been allow'd To find a place, For he has stolen a' 't was good, An' left disgrace. My husband, noo a drucken sot, His character no' worth a groat ; My starving, cladless weans forgot E'en wi' mysel' ; A' forced to share a drunkard's lot Wi' him as well. The very bed my mither gave, A marriage present wi' the lave, His alcoholic, madd'ning crave Had to appease ; The hoose forbye's mair like a cave, Or what ye please. We ance could boast a but-and-ben, An' aye in comfort did we fen, Wi' rowth o' vitals noo an' then To keep us weel ; Noo poortith in a single en' Is all we feel. " enviable earty days," When sporting lightly on the braes, Unknown to life's rough, crooked ways, 0' black despair, Nas hopeless sorrow ever pays Ye tribute there. But here, God ! my heart will break, A' for my helpless children's sake ; The marriage life's a great mistake, Especially whan Ane's tied to ony drucken rake That's scarcely man ! Behold the husband that I hae ! The fruits o' bachanalian sway, To demon drink become a prey, As if for life, An' yet a better in a day Ne'er took a wife. He was baith loyal, kind an' true, His gen'rous actions a' seen thro', Till alcohol began to brew Discord within, An'^then like chaff a' pleasures flew Afore the win'. 33 The only ray o' hope I see Wad chase the tear-drap frae my e'e, An' bring baith jo}' an' peace to me, Lies in the pledge ; would that he was only free Thus to engage ! Ye wha think ye weel can thole To trifle wi' King Alcohol, An' keep him always in control Mair frieii' than foe, Beware lest he thy peace enroll In endless woe ! 34 TO THE AULD YEAR. 1887. JAREWEEL, auld year, a lang fareweel, The fangs o' daith noo owre ye steal ; But ere ye tak' yer hin'maist wheel Gi'e some advice To that new comer, youthfu' chiel, That he be wise. That he may always aye inherit A manly, independent spirit, Nor wi' vain nonsense be miscarrit, Like some we ken ; But plan that he may gain the merit 0' a' just men. Tell him o' a' the trials ye've had, Enough tae drive a body mad ; An' yet 'mid a', ye aye were clad Wi' justice bright, An' ruled us a', an awkward squad, By legal might. Ye've had yer griefs an' pleasures too, The former great the latter few, But aye yer spirit brocht ye thro', King o' them a', A terror tae the rambling crew Wad break the law. Beneath rebellion's fatal ban, When ruin alrnaist smoor'd the Ian', To hold in check wi' eidient han' The tyrant race ; Nae lawless tyrant dared tae stauii' Before yer face. Ye ruled us a' wi' firmness, tae, The lawless gang ye held at bay, Nor wad gi'e mad injustice play Owre a' the Ian' ; Yer word was law, a' must obey Thy just comman'. 35 An' ere in daith ye steek yer een, Nae mair by mortal tae be seen, I wad advise ye, as a frien', Tae 'dvise yer heir Tae coup a' tyrants over clean, An' dinna spare. What is a tyrant but a base Degenerate being o' the race O' human kind, whaur lies nae trace 0' sympathy The heart is painted in his face Bereft o' pity. tyrant ever yet wis brave Enough tae fill a hero's grave ; His deeds at best bespeak the knave, Begrim'd wi' ill ; I'd rather be a tyrant's slave Than heir his will ! This I advise ye, don't neglec' Tae teach thy heir due self respec', Tae act as conscience wad direc' Withoot intrigue, Nor favour ill tae suit the beck 0' some big wig. Then fare-thee-weel, thou dying year, Thy closing hour is drawing near, When thou thy pathless course maun steer Beyond life's gates ; But gang yer ways, ye've nocht tae fear 0' future fates. But ye wha sab owre whit is past, Or think that life wi' thee shall last, Remember that daith's die is cast For thee an thine : Prepare tae meet the final blast Wi' grace divine ! TO AN UNKNOWN CORRESPONDENT. First published in " Irvine Herald" February lltli, 188S. A reply to an anonymous letter which I received from a sanctimonious woman of the Pharisee type anent my verses " Ye Ministers, Lay by Your Gowns." She signed herself as follows " I am a mother, and one who knows she is saved." ^t|EAR Madam, I received your note, C? Which ye aiblins thocht a just ane ; If yon's your faith, there's in't a blot That says ye're no' a Christian. The Book o' Books says ye maun rule A' wi' a tender meekness, Nor like yoursel', to act the fool Wi' Pharisaic weakness. Ye say direct that ye are saved, Perfection a'thegither ; The Pharisee like language craved, And he in truth was neither. Your patron saint of old, ye ken, Made brag o' his behav'our ; An' still the ootcast publican Drew forth the greatest favour. Whether I be a' what ye say, Shall be known at the reaping ; I might be sent the narrow way, An' you the broad ane sweeping. Religion, pure an' undefiled, Wi' a' my heart I honour Hypocrisy by Satan wiled, Is just a perfect scunner. Hypocrisy may blindfold man, An' gain his exaltation ; But God alone the heart shall scan, An : mark each fause vibration. Then, Madam, practice what ye preach, An' seek ye true salvation ; Live ye a life beyond the reach Of God's just condemnation. 37 Noo, judge me richt, condemn me fair, An' mind I'm only human, An' o' it's frailties hae a share Like ither men and women. He wha runs tae curry grace, An' be a' bodies' plaything, Maun wrang his conscience oot o' place, An' then he's but a nae thing. When next ye write me, sign your name, An' I'll reply most kindly, An' try tae picture oot your game Wi' Bible truths divinely. 38 TROON'S WELCOME TO THE DUKE AND DUCHESS OF PORTLAND. LL hail ! thou Chief o' Portlan', hail ! Hail thou an' thy sweet lady ! May love an' frienship never fail To move aroun' ye steady. WVve cam' this day to welcome ye Baith to this ancient dwellin', An' the heart o' ilka soul ye see Is in their bosom swellin' For joy this day. Right welcome baith, lang may ye reign Superiors o' this manor, An' aften come the gate again Crown'd wi' immortal honour ; An' we wad whisper to yersel', An' 't be na oot o' reason, We'd fain ye'd come again an' dwell Just for a langer season Some ither day. No but we're gratefu' that yer Grace Has kindly condescended To bring yer Duchess to this place To show hoo ye're befriended ; But then were ye to bide awee, We'd a' be better ken'd aye, An' for yersel', ye then micht see A system ye could mend aye, Or help some day. Kilmarnock folks may crousely craw Wi' a' their great palavers ; But their guffaw is moonshine a', An' naething else than havers ; What care they for oor noble Duke, Or for oor Duchess either ? Their zeal's their pocket an' their book, As shown withoot a swither Shortsyne ae day. They've got nae claim on ye at a', To mak' sic great palaver, Mair than their cash accoont to draw Ilk time they gain yer favour. But Troon, aye sterling to the heart, In a' her big narrations, Is pleased to play the loyal part In baith yer exaltations, As seen this day. An' then forbye, we are yer clan, A' marshall'd in guid order, Prepared to greet ye to a man Ilk time ye cross oor border. As thus ye see us a' this day, Assembled in oor glory, Fu' blythe to meet ye on the way, An' strew bright flooers afore ye, W glee this day. We were a luckless, wasting gang, Afore ye got the tether ; But e'er sin' that we hae been thrang, An' workin' a' thegither. An' sud there be some things to men', 0' whilk ye've had nae inklin', Thro' time ye'll aiblins come to ken, An' sort them in a twinklin', Some future day. Thrice welcome, Duke, an' fair Duchess, May neither meet wi' sorrow ; Yer lives be fraught wi' happiness, An' bright be ilka morrow. Lang may ye leeve to reign an' ken That ye're by us respected, An' that respect ne'er hae an en', Or ever be neglected By us ae day. Yon day we were thrown tae the wa', Beyond a' comprehension, It grieved us sair, baith ane an' a', Mair than we cared to mention. But neither o' ye were at faut, Nor lost oor veneration, Tho' some ane else was sair misca't, Enough to sink a nation, E'er since that day. Thrice welcome baith, the manor grace, We pray ye'll be contented, 'To find it just as braw a place As ony ye've frequented ; An' may ye ne'er regret the trip Ye've taen on this occasion, But cheerfully yer minds mak' up To mak' anither invasion Some early day. 40 Hae there's oor haim, we'll aye be true, Even tho' Kilmarnock check us ; We'll trust humane-bred folk like you An' justice aye shall back us. A snuff then for Kilmarnock snash, An' shallow water nonsense ; We'll play oor part like men, or smash Them a' an' save oor conscience Frae shame this day. Come forrit, Troon, fill up the gap, Be cautious, firm, an' steady, Tho' owre the hill folk drink the sap, We'll cheer oor Laird an' Lady. What tho' we're whiles thrown to the wa j , A day o' reckoning shall come ; Then to yer places ; gi'e the twa We fondly prize a welcome Fu' grand this day. 41 TO FULLARTON. First published in the " Irvine Herald," June 28th, 1S80. ULD Fullarton, put on yer claes, An' busk yersel' f u' braw, man ; Oor Duke will be ane o' thae days, An' occupy yer ha', man. He 11 bring his Duchess wi' him to A place she never saw, man ; An' ye maun deck yer aged broo Tae grace a wife sae braw, man. Sweet flooers, the brawest o 1 their kind, Be sure an' gather a', man, To deck yoursel', and suit the miii O' sic a honoured twa, man. Troon shall assist ye to rejoice, An' gie merriment a ca', man, That dismal sorrow's creaky voice, Shall ne'er around ye fa, man. For Troon respects the honoured pair, An' pray that fortune's ba', man, May aye row wi' them lang an' fair, An' never backward fa', man. That peace an' pleasure be their lot, An' hearts o' love croun a', man ; Wi' a' gaun richt within their cot, An' wrang be faur awa', man. An' may ye lang be fair to them, An' tempt them aft tae ca', man ; That ye thro' time may rise to fame, Thro' sic an honour J d twa, man. For years ye were a dormant nook, An' grieved us ane an' a', man ; That ne'er a Duchess nor a Duke Sud ever grace yer ha', man. But noo, thank Gudeness, sweet, Divine, Oor present Duke's nae thraw, man ; But just a chiel that's guid an' kin', An's comin' to yer ha', man. 42 Be up an' on yer metal noo, Determined ne'er to fa', man ; Wi' floral wreaths bedeck yer broo, An' stan' erect witha', man. Dinna fausely beck an' boo, Prepared to swear the craw, man, Is white, like e'en the worthless crew That's wi' a' win's that blaw, man. ' Preserve the dignity o' man " Wi' pure uplifted paw, man ; Act fair an' square on every han', An' double deeds misca', man. In this ye may create a foe, But ye'll hae frien's an' a', man, Quite strong enough to overthrow The cuif wad see ye fa', man. Aye speak yer mind, an' when the Duke Conies doun to grace yer han', man ; He an' the Duchess won't rebuke Yer policy ava, man. A' true men an' women prize The cloudless mind owre a', man ; Sae Fullarton in manhood rise, Greet Duke an Duchess braw, man. 43 TO TROON. First published in the " Irvine Herald," February 25th. 1888. When bad things were evil, and guid things were well, An' sae I wad kindly just mention to you, That on bakers' affairs ye hand a wrang view. Your leader last Friday, I'm sorry to say, Was such as wad lead ought but bakers astray ; Ye wad faut the puir men for the action they took In trying to bring a harsh inaister tae book In trying to bring him to justice an' truth, An' just what he focht for himsel' in his youth ; An' to nae man he'd toil past the hours of a day, Withoot an equivalent in some extra pay. In Ardrossan an' Glasgow, as many can tell, As a man he was Union, an' played his part well, An' fifty-five hours in a week he wad say, Was quite long enough for a baker's sma' pay. He stood for his fellows as man only can, But of course, as we ken, he was then but a man ; But O, what a change has come ower him since then, An' left him sma' pity for hardships o' men. Noo as cork he wad rather his men wouldna speak, But grinning and bearing, toil nine days a week, Nor ask extra pay for the extra few days, But submit to his dictum like ither bound slaves. Gin this be fairplay, I confess I don't ken When hardships are crowded on my fellowmen : Be't fairplay or fause play, alloo me to tell, 'Tis mair than, I reckon, ye'd care for yoursel', Let us hail them as men, tho' bakers they be, An' free-born subjects desire to be free, Nor compare them wi' blacklegs an' nobs that we ken, Mean enough to be onything ither than men. Oor bakers are human, then treat them as so, An' not as the tyrants alone only know, W^ha scorn to follow that sweet golden rule, " Love your neighbours " as taught in church an' in school. I hold that oor bakers did rightly to rise, An' kick at a system a' true men despise. God bless them, say I, in the action they've taen, An' ever thro' life may they constant remain, By the spirit that they hae at this time displayed, Till nobs and nob masters are oot o' the trade. Then Unionist bakers, like ithers we know, Wad seldom ha'e cause to contend wi' a foe, 121 An' better respect wad be shown to the trade, Which nobs and nob maisters dae much to degrade. Sir, nobs an' nob maisters are truly a pest To the trade in auld Scotland a drag to the rest O' those wha hae courage enough to progress Frae slavedom till freedom, that hardships be less. Oh, sir, could ye follow the baker a week, I think ye wad own 'twas just measures they seek,. An' nae mair than you in their station wad crave, Disdaining to rest 'neath the brand o' a slave. Noo, sir, I'll conclude, an' wind up my harangue, Lest nobs and nob maisters declare it nae sang. 122 COUNTY COUNCIL ELECTION, DECEMBER, 1892. EPISTLE TO ROBERT SHIELDS, ESQ. LINE, my frien', to let ye ken, That we hae wailed the best o' men Ance mair to represent us ; Nane o' your mim-moo'd, sleekit kind, That hereawa' we easily find ; But ach, they just torment us. Cor ain true Wyllie, ance again, Has noo consented, sir, to reign, An's got riae opposition ; We in the Parish are f u' prood, Owre gettin' ane sae truly good, In oor corrupt condition. His sterlin' worth in oor affairs Commends him nightly tae oor prayers, An' lang may heaven grant him Health an' strength an' sterlin' worth, To battle for us here on earth, An' ready when we want him. An' ye'll be prood, I hae nae doot, To ken sic things hae cam aboot, An' that we're represented Here by ae truly honest chiel, Wha in the past has served us weel, An' made us a' contended. Let's lay oor heids thegeither, an' Pray health an' strength atten' the man, An' he be lang amang us To fight a' measures guid an' true, 'Gainst ony ither selfish crew, Wha just for self wad wrang us. If we, 'mid a' oor trials an' cares, Just mind him nightly in oor prayers, I'm certain sure that heaven Shall grant the Parish lang to feel They're*representecl by a chiel To base deeds won't be driven. A wond'rous blessin' 'tis to ken That here amang the sons o' men, There's ae true man o' honour ; But, sir, iiae mair, I'm scant o' time To eke you oot a lengthy rhyme 'Boot honour or dishonour. 123 EPISTLE TO ROBERT SHIELDS, ESQ., ENGLAND. *' /jf-JP higher yet my bonnet " fling, >^ The muse aiice mair is on the wing, An' beckons me to lilt an' sing A Burgh sang, An' let ye ken hoo maiters swing Here, richt an' wrang. Great an' mighty honours soon Shall fa' upon my clear lov'd Troon, An' kirsen her a Burgh toon, Wi' guardians nine, To keep us movin' a' in tune, Line efter line. But then, before sic things are given, We maun catch an' trot oot seven Things ca'd men, be deid or livin', To mak' their claim, Then we're forced, coerced, an' driven, To Burgh fame. An' puir wark folk throughoot this place, Wi' a' my heart I mourn their case, An' heavy rates they'll ha'e to face Mair than they ken, Brocht on them just by gi'ein' space T' ambitious men. Gude guide me clear o' that odd number, For by my sang 'twill be a wonder If ane o' them shall ever slumber Souii' in their bed ; A troubled conscience, gaun asunder, May kill them dead. A troubled conscience, rackin' pains, A water scheme, an' bungled drains, Crushin' puir men, wives an' weans, Nigh daith's daurk hole, Owre much, indeed, for shallow brains 0' seven to thole. I lately heard a fellow say, The seven that dares to pave the w r ay For burgh powers an' rates to pay, Sud get a turn, An' hurled weel, for sake o' play, In the Pow Burn. 124 To own the truth, I wadna care, For sic to be my bill o' fare, For 0, dear me, 'twad drench me sair, An' blast my fame ; Scoffed an' spat at by the puir, An' spurn d my name. Great dangers, Sir, I see ahead, By av'rice and ambition led, By sleekit self, maturely fed, An' foster' d weel ; Enough to lay us 'mang the dead, Baith neck an' heel. I see ambitious men pursuin' Things for self to work oor ruin, An' ither weaklin's idly viewin' The hale affair An J winna try to put the screw 011 For vera fear. for a gang o' men o' mettle, Wha wad come forth in earnest ettle, The cruel self-seekers then we'd fettle Wi' little din ; An' their despotic powers settle For sake o' Trin ! But then, that boycott in' power Is in the air an' hoverin' ower Us, ever threateniii' aye to lower On some anes kool, Wha winna swear that three is fower To please some fool. Then there's coercion, despot chiel, That mak's us a' in terror feel, Waur than for the vera de'il That's aye at haun, Prepared to catch us in his creel, Just whaur we staun. 'Deed, hereawa, we're sair beset By mony a curious milk-fed pet ; We daurna cheap, be cauld or het, On things that be Gaun richt or wrang, but then we get Their wrath to dree. In dootfu' things the word is Mum, An' propagators sworn dumb ; Aboon their braith they daurna hum, Whaure'er they gang, Nae maiter hoo their conscience drum, An' say they're wraug. 125 AVe crawl aboot aye \vi' a.swither, An' feared to move ae fit or tither, Lest we come souce against a brither O' different light, An' ane wad smash us a' thegither For vera spite. If burgh powers we ever hae (Tho' keep us far frac such I pray), I meikle dreid corruption may Part o' oor nine commissioners sway Frae honour's rule, An' gie us needless rates to pay To please some fool. I see a weel train'd syndicate Coinin' forrit, naething blate, To sell an' buy a din estate In form o' light ; I hope defeat shall be their fate When comes the fight. Just let their plans be soiled an' riven, An' further, to the Pow Burn driven, To be weel draggled \vi' the seven, E'en tho' they droon, Wha wad that Burgh powers be given To sair tax'd Troon. An' sud we gar the seven bow To cool immersion in the Pow, Then I'll write an tell ye how We trail'd them thro', An' sae I'll finish for the now, Wi love for you. 12G TO MR. ROBERT HUNTER, IRVINE. Written on a Post Card. 5 EAR HUNTER, I've lang had a notion to write, ? An spier gin your fellows are a' keepin' tight, An' solid as rocks by the Unionist cause ; Nae traitors to merit a traitor's applause, But ilka man striving the best that he can, Discarding the nob in respect for the man. Is heroic Kirkland remaiuin' your frien', As faithfu', as we in the past hae baith seen ? Let me ken, when ye write, if Irvine's as staunch As when she cam' forrit to fight as a Branch ? An' show that the bakers, in your burgh toon, Wadna let tyrants as slaves hand them doon. Yours in Union, JOHN 127 9 ACADEMY STREET, TRCON, April 30th, 1888. To MB. CH ARISES MURCHLAND. 1 Y paper's near spent, my envelopes gone, '* Away with April twenty-three ; An' year number two has already begun, An' what o' the first ane say ye ? Gin ye reckon me worthy again o' the place I held in the year that's gane bye, Let me ken by your pen, or a glint o' your face, And the wherewithal added say I. Respectfully yours, JOHN LAING. TROON, April 25th, 1890. To MB. CHAS. MURCHLAND. DEAR, SIR, [ make amends for " The year that's awa', 5> That expired on April twenty-three, Provide for the future, and I'm at your ca', On conditions that we both agree. Respectfully yours, JOHN LAING. TROON, April 23rd, 1891. To MB, CHAS. MURCHLAND. stricken, an' still to the fore, Shun'd and detested by fully a score O' the minions wha play to the Duke ; Almost in begg'ry, o' sillar I'm scant, An article, sir, I canna weel want Pray, sen' me a leaf o' your book. Respectfully yours, JOHN LAING. TROON WATER QUESTION. THE BIG RESERVOIR. First published in the " Irvine Herald," Feby 27th, 1891. I" OME to the rescue, ye frien'ly towards Troon, -" Dinna staun back an' see ither men droon In this mighlyily big reservoir, See them, there struggling an' gasping for braith, Plunging an' battling like heroes wi' daith, In this mightily big reservoir. They're in the daith struggle ; their flag o j distress, In the shape o' a bill, cries on ye to press To their aid in this big reservoir. Come furrit, ye heroes, nor stay for a braith ; Be in time, ye micht save them yet a' f rae a daith 0' dishonour in this reservoir. They ance were as bold and courageous as you, An' cam' furrit like heroes their venom to spue In this mightily big reservoir. But lucre the frien' an' the foe o 1 mankind Is maybe at faut, an' they aiblins got blind, An' fell plump in this big reservoir. Mair courageous than they never cam' to the front, To gie an injustice a terrible dunt, Yet they fell in this big reservoir. Tae fa' intae the waiter they didna intend, When first they cam' furrit to act as your friend, In bursting this big reservoir. They, in their wisdom, gaed too near the brink, Ne'er thinking wi' us, they thro' lucre would sink Deep doon in this big reservoir ; But men are just mortal, an' liable to fa', When lucre an' self bring them fast to the wa', Surrounding a Duke's reservoir. Come fast to the rescue, an* dae what ye can, Remember a' saved is a service to man, Tho' ye burst up this big reservoir. Come wi' ladders an' ropes, an' buckets, an' pails, J3oat hooks an' grapples ; look see, their coat-tails Are still visible in this reservoir. 129 Dinna be cruel, an' laugh ye \vi' spite, Remember they a' were ance foremost to fight, An' smash up this big reservoir. Then haste ye, come furrit, wi' a that we'll need, Tae restore animation an life to the deid, We drag oot o' this big reservoir. Sma' spout-ers, come furrit, yer aid will be ta'en, Tho' they reckon'd ye wer'na weel favour'd wi' brain Power to speak on a big reservoir. Poet Laing ! Poet Laing ! come ye furrit in time, An' ye 11 get mat erials sufficient to ryhme On the victims o' this reservoir. Come, Councillor Wyllie, ye've always been true, An' we're sure to get help an' assistance frae you To bring a' oofc o' this reservoir. They may kick at your efforts, an' girning wi' spite, Eefuse to be aided, but hand on the fight, An' ye'li burst up the big reservoir. 130 THE WATER SCHEME. AN ADDRESS TO TROON. First published in the " Irvine Herald," March %0th, 1891. Y dear native Troon, yer en'mies won't droon Ye into this big water scheme ; Ye'll be true to the core, as ye've aye been before, An' the hale thing will pass like a dream. Independence will rise the height o' the skies, An' bring justice an' might to yer aid ; An' fav'rites and knaves will kneel to yer braves, Dishonour'd, cut doon, an.' dismayed. Why sud ye e'er bow to such a fell blow, As this scheme will undoubtedly give ; Rise in yer might an' demand ye the right, Like a hero determined to live. A' fair means attain, nor staun to be slain, While yet there is hope to be free ; Nor surrender to those who are something like foes Strugglin' hard to put irons on ye. Troon to the front, gi'e yer en'mies a dunt I ken ye can dae't if ye will ; But rouse ye to ire, then water nor fire, Yer truly brave spirit won't kill. My puir bleeding Troon, ye've been sairly held dooii In the past, by those in disguise, Wha cam' forth as yer friends to serve ither ends. That they on yer burdens micht rise. Come rouse ye to action, an' break up the faction That glories to revel in grease ; Then in triumph ye'll flourish, an' liberties cherish, Independent]} 7 aye, an' with ease. For why should ye kneel, or oppression's grip feel, When Britons are suppos'd to be free ? To think as their mind, or their will is inclined, Pertaining to them or to thee. Then spurn at coercion sweet freedom's perversion And act ye the part o' the man, Under the banner o' truth, right, and honour, An' burst up the big water plan. 131 The scheme maun be broken, lang e'er it can sleeken Yer wishes, yer purse, or yer thirst ; Ye maun rise up an' smash the hale project to hash, An' the mighty big reservoir burst. What a glorious spill when it comes doon. the hill Boats, fishes, an' ganders, an' all ; An' factors an' dukes, wi' grief in their looks, Gazing mournfully over the fall. An' each son an' daughter, all viewing the slaughter, Triumphantly victors o' war, Wi' a cheer that will then rebound up the glen, An' the echoes resounding afar. My Troon, ye can do it, too well this I know it, If ye come to the front with a will ; Then act ye the man, an' dae a' that ye can, This injustice to smother an' kill. O Troon, how I dread that ye'll fa' wi' the dead, If in this ye don't play a brave part, An' smash up a scheme, that to live is a theme That for all time will gnaw at yer heart. Be free not a slave, laird's vassal or knave Hae a scheme that will yet be yer ain ; An' kick ye at one, that wad hae ye outdone Wi 5 hardships, while time will remain. 132 WATER AGAIN. LINES TO ARCHIE : A BRIT HER POET. ARCHIE, man, the folks o' Troon, An' I rnysel', are like to swoon Wi' weariness to hear ye croon A verse or twa, Wi' a kind o' mixed water souu', Weel kent to a'. Till I began, sir, to enquire, I fear'd ye had got droon'd entire In this gigantic reservoir, Or water scheme, An' ne'er again to soun' yer lyre, Or muse to dream. An' noo that ye're still to the fore, Why sud ye mak' us thus deplore Yer absence in the great uproar That's rousin' a' ; Nor gie us time to sleep or snore, Or braith to draw. Come forth again an' soun' yer lay, As bauld s ye did ance in a day, When ither folk began to play, Kiss, crawl, an' pook, An' try to lead us far astray To serve a Duke. Noo, sir, that ye hae taen the gee, An' left nae ither bard but me, Hoo think ye that I'm fit to be A match for those, Wha in their wild an' selfish glee Are a' Troon foes. But come, your help, my worthy poet, An' tho' the very gods sud know it, Let s join the muses, an we'll go it For sake o" Troon, An' ilka dastard son we'll show it, An' save the toon. Guid measures succour withoot fear, Bad anes denounce baith far an' near, E'en tho' a' kirkmen rise and swear Deception's fair ; Aye keep thou thy conscience clear, Nor malice bear. 133 An' in yer ev'ry kind o' theme E'ven tho' it be a water scheme Let truth an' honour reign supreme I a' yer acts ; Nor be like those wha drive like steam Puir folk to tax. An' never stab ye in the dark, E'en tho' it be just for a lark ; Let right an' justice score yer mark, Come loss or win, Then heavenly aids will praise yer wark Thro' thick an' thin. Be truly independent, sir, An' that ye think this reservoir, As desp'rate as it was before, Come to the front, An' aid puir Troon to swamp it o'er Wi' fearfu' dunt. See oor neighbours sabbin' sair, Wi' burdens that are ill to bear, An' yet there's cuifs wad force on mair Than we can face, An' lea' us scarce a coin to spare For meat or claes. Come, Archie, lad, an' soun' yer lyre, An' set the kintra side on fire ; House dormant Troon up to aspire In ilka vein, To overthrow the selfish choir, An' haud her ain. O Troon, my dear, my native hame, It grieves me sair that men ha'e come Thro' selfish ends to brand yer name Wi' taxes great ; Bise, rise, an' dare disclaim Their selfish spate. 134 TROON WATER WAR. first published in "Irvine Herald" of April 10th, 1891. OYAL nine, loyal nine, ye play'd yer parts fine, Wi' this feudal, fossil plann'd plot, That was hatch'd in a dream, an' ca'd a guid scheme, An' reckon'd by common sense rot. Elmslie, Elmslie, we are gratfu' to thee, For the service ye render'd to Troon, Ye focht a guid fight for justice an' right, An' held oor betrayers weel doon. Langlands hoose, Langlands hoose, firm sturdy an' crouss, Ye stood by yer pledge like a rock, An' proved yersei' man, for the treacherous clan, That wad burden the puir working folk. You Davaar, you Davaar, ye gied them a scare, When ye wielded yer sword in their face ; That sword was the truth, which upset them forsooth, An' their statements ye proved to be base. An' Parkview, an' Parkview, we're indebted to you, For the part that ye play'd in the game ; Ye kent quite enough to mak' the road rough, For those who are weltering in shame. You Parkend, you Park end, a maist excellent friend, Ye proved yersei' weel to us a', An' we'll scarcely forget that we're still in your debt, Lang efter ye're deid an' a\va'. Aldersyde, Aldersyde, weel tested an' tried, We find ye are worthy o' steel, An' ane o' the kind we reckoned to find, When we gied ye a post on the field. Fernbank, Fernbank, we cheerfully thank You for the true courage display 'd ; Ye showed that yer heart was in the richt part, When ye saw we were being betray d. Portland Street, Portland Street, to thank ye 'tis meet, For the part that ye took in the fight ; Ye were" ane o' the nine wha plann'd the design, An' focht for oor freedom an' right. Poet John, Poet John, firm as adamant stone, Ye gave usyer talent an' time, An' a' ye could spare in defending the puir Yer tongue, ai>' yer pen, an' yer ryhme. 135 Traitors gang, Traitors gang, an' wi' Judas's hang, We can put little faith in ye noo. Since it's come to oor ken, that to flatter big men, To injustice an' wrang ye wad boo. Coercion, Coercion, dear Freedom's perversion, Ye cripple us much by yer power ; But gi'e us the ballot, and then we shall fell it, An' swamp the Duke's measure clean owre. Portland Duke, Portland Duke, look weel to yer book, Nor listen to aught that wad try To misrepresent a scheme that's weel kent Is but fitted tae ages gane bye. Loyal Troon, Loyal Troou, aye keep ye the croon 0' the causie in a,' that ye dae, An' feudalised schemes shall vanish like dreams, An' those wha promoted them tae. Feudal Power, Feudal Power, lang gane is the hour, When slave like we'd bend at yer knee ; The day has come rouii', when tenants in Troon, Like freemen will dare to be free. Somervell, Somervell, ye're a hero as well, As a frien' to the people o' Troon, To move an rejec this feudalised wreck 0' a scheme that wad ruin the toon. An' Troon will, an' Troon will, aye remember ye still For the comfort to her ye hae gi'en, For she's kind in the main, an' when properly ta'en, Can value the worth o' a frien'. Templehill, Templehill, ye may gang whaur ye will, Nae langer ye'll reign as oor king ; As a minor we may, in oor midst let ye stay, Gin ye promise nae treacherous thing. 136 SECOND EPISTLE TO ARCHIE. A BBITHER POET. RCHIE, sir, thanks for yer line, An' yer triumphant pith tae shine 'Mang loyal agitators, Wha scorn tae knuckle tae a duke, Or cringe beneath a factor's look, Or ither sina' dictators. Prood was I tae ken that ye Were still determined tae be free, An' like mysel' dare show it, Wi' neither sense, nor grit, nor care, As some wiseacres here declare, An' sad they are to know it. But come, my callant, gies your paw, Since noo I ken ye're no awa' To join the rebel forces, But advocating right is might, Just mair for truth than hoarded spite, An' ither double courses. Let's shun the men wha dare to play A double part in ony way, Wi' a'e thing or anither ; Or rise to advocate a cause, That weel they ken is doubly fause, An' wrangous a'thegither. For instance, this great water scheme. That would-be wise men ca' supreme, A' we dull cuifs ca' nonsense, Is just a sample o' sic men Unscrupulous like some we ken Wi' neither soul nor conscience. I'm sair disturbed in my dreams, Wi' water an' gigantic schemes, An' reservoirs for pleasure ; An' factors, Dukes, an' engineers, An' la\v:yer bodies in great fears, They'll lose their maniac measure. % But hither, lad, we'll soun ? the lyre, In sterling, true, poetic fire, An' scoff at black coercion, That has wrocht Troon folk muckle wrang; An' we'll denounce it in oor sang, An' reckon't mere diversion. 137 I'm neither fit to rhyme nor write, Nor sturdily statin up an' fight, Like ithers much my betters ; But I'm prepared to play my part, An' act the dictates o' my heart Wi' creditors or debtors. An' while my Troon has you an' I Wi' pen an' paper standing by, She winna meet dishonour, Till ane, at least, should wield his pen, Against a' base deceitfu' men, Wad bring disgrace upon her. I wadna sell my dear loved Troon, E'en though the very Duke gaed doon Upon his knees before me, An' vow to mak' me something great, E'en factor o' this braw Estate, An' sma'er dupes adore me. Tho' I remain forever puir, Towards my Troon I'll aye be fair, An' better help to rnak' it ; So, Archie, there's my creed an 1 sang, Let fools an' knaves ca't richt or wrang, I've truth itsel' to back it. Noo, Archie, I'll conclude my rhyme, As water actions scrimps my time, An' maks' it, sir, expedient That I should wauchle to an end, Content to rank you as a friend, An' I yours, most obedient, JOHN LAINGL P. S. Man, Archie, I forgat to tell Hoo we re a' getting on sae well, An' great men to befriend us ; Some o' the seventy, wha signed The feudal sheet against their mind, E'en pray success attend us. An' those wha daurna join the fray, Sincerely hope we'll win the day, An' modify coercion, An' boycotting powers that rule Triumphant, as if some great fool Led a' just for diversion. 138 TROON WATER QUESTION". To THE PEOPLE OF TBOON. First published in the "Irvine Herald" April ##A, 1S91 j^E free and independent, 7 Nor sign the feudal sheet Would bind yourselves and others To vassalage complete. Laugh ye at all factotums Who power and favour seek ; Be free and independent, And break the slavish clique. We all sing " Rule Britannia " In our triumphant hour, Then, let us act like freemen, And scorn one-man power. The power that would enslave us, And children's children, too ; The birthright heaven gave us Such power would all undo. Thou much devoted seventy Are well deserving praise For this, your wond rous loyalty, In standing by his Grace. But then, oh then, your freedom, And independence, too, You fairly sold and bartered In this ye dared to do. Troon, rally round the standard Of freedom, truth, and right ; Conform to loyal actions, Proclaiming right is might. And dare to act like freemen Defy the rebel race Would bind you soul and body As vassals of his Grace. Think upon your children, Who may, in after years, Rise up and scorn the actions Performed by their forbears ; Base actions as tyrannical To them as to us now, And wonder that true manhood Was led thus so to bow. 139 O, generous-hearted people, Think well on what ye do, Consider well your manhood, Ere yet too late to rue. Avoid all false dictators That dare would you enthral, And lead you, chain-bound vassals, To Duke or factor's call. Rise up, demanding freedom, As freemen only can ; Assert the due authority And dignity of man. Take one side or the other, And let yourselves be seen ; 'Tis scarcely reckon'd manly To play the go-between. Look not on trade or favour, Look first on honour's cause, And do your town a service, Independent of applause. Let truth and conscience lead you, Aye onward to the right ; And show all Dukes and factors That right is always might. Troon but for coercion, And boycotting's power, And plausility of language, In this your vital hour 1 know you would be solid, And your dignity of man Proclaim the whole transaction A most outrageous plan. O Troon, for once be solid, And kick ye at a cause, That conscience, truth, and honour, Know well is wholly fause. Be honest and straightforward In this famed water fight, Determined to have Justice, And right shall conquer might. 140 LINES TO ARCHIE : A BRITHER POET. THIRD. t READ yer lines wi' tentie care, L Indeed twice ower, an something mair ; Qouth I, " By Jove, he's desp'rate sair On thae puir chiels, Wha maun keep always sailin' fair At ithers' heels." But, Archie lad, it pleased me well, Far mair than I am fit to tell, Mair true sin' I began to spell I've scarcely read ; : Twas emblematic o' thy sel', An' nobly said. I raised the flagon to my mooth " In water I shall pledge the youth " Wha bauldly thus maintains the truth In face o' day, In spite o' factor's, an' forsooth, A' folPwers tae. Yon hint aboot when Adam was A boy, this gigantic cause O' Portland's wad got mair applause Than even noo, When Briton's, versed in British laws, Sees a' things thro'. But hark ! when Adam was a boy, His then career was filled wi' joy, An' nae bad measures to annoy His earthly bliss ; 'Tis since he fell vain men employ Their brains amiss, By hatching schemes to grind the puir Wi' high taxations ill to bear, An' yet come bauldly forth an' sware 'Tis jaiid for them, While truth an' conscience, in despair, Cries oot " Fie shame !" 141 In Adam's time there were few men Polluting that bright Kingdom then, Cruel an' vindictive as we ken 0' some this day, Wad force a base injustice ben To work us wae. Yon time ere Noah got afloat, Wi' a' his fam'ly in the boat, When sinfu' men sic mischief wrought, As droon'd the place, This fossil scheme micht then been got Wi' ready grace. For there were men, e'en in that day, DefiPd by sin an' lucre's sway, Wha wadna hesitate tae play The traitor's part, An' peer wi' ony that we hae, In that black art. But that wus in a far-off place, No much acquainted wi' his Grace, Or ony o' the present race Wha work by dreams, An' wauken up to pencil-trace Big water schemes. An' aiblins in that wond'rous past, Big fossils grew baith thick an' fast, A fossil scheme could then been cast- Like this ane here, An' had it grew, 'twad been the last O'ts kind, I'll swear. Had this been forced upon us folk, 'Twad been a maist gigantic joke, An' likewise fed up mony a bloke On wine and beef, An' we, puir Trin' folk, bear the shock, Beyond relief. Had we no' got some ane or twa To rise like men and kick the ba\ This maniac scheme was sure to fa' Wi' fearfu' weight, To work the ruin o' us a', An' smoor us quite. But noo, we needna sab an' greet, The reservoir's been smash'd complete, An' lies in ruins at oor feet, A perfect smash ; An' patrons, moving maist discreet, Deprived o' cash. 142 Ay, Archie lad, sin' I maun tell, Tho', keep the secret to yourseF, The scheme wad paid promoters well Had it went on ; While hardships great on Troon wad fell Wi' constant moan. But Troon was firm, nor show'd the flat,. An' I, her Poet, won a hat ; So, Archie, what think ye o' that To croon my sang ? While I remain your what ye ca't ? Your servant La'ng. 143 THE TWA SCHEMES. REJOICE, Troon, nor fash yer thoom, For haith ye'll neither sink nor soom In yon big reservoir ; Yon muckle scheme, or boating pond, That factor chiels were o' sae fond, Is gone for evermore. Fear na, it never shall return, Sae major-like as it was born When ye it firstly faced ; It's deid an' gane, aye, sure enough, E'en tho' the sheet was leather tough Whaur a' its lines were traced* Ye wielded sic a desp'rate stroke, As a' its strength an j vigour broke, An' felFd it evermore, Alang wi' yon ootrageous Bill, That nocht but common-sense wad kill, An' nonsense tak' it o'er. Ye'll noo get water to yersel', Be't got frae Irvine or the hill ; An' farther, let me say, Ye'll a' be in a different school, Beyond the reach o' one-man, rule, Or Duke or factor's sway. The Irvine folks are weel prepared, An' solemnly vow'd an' declared To gie us a' we need ; Sae then we need nae murd'rous plan To rob the honest workin' man O' 's wages an' his breid. An' wives shall fin', wi' little fash, That they'll can cook, bake, brew an' wash At ease wi' Irvine water ; An' then the cash they'll save in soap Is o' itsel' a wond'rous prop, An' maist important matter. Noo Troon (I winna guide ye wrang), To Irvine Burgh freely gang An' ye'll get water there Quite suitable for ony use That's possible aboot a hoose, An' at a mod'rate fare. 144 If possible, keep aff the hill, Unless ye've lots o' cash to spill, For haith I'll bet a preen, Ye'll get great burdens there to bear, Shall swallow a' ye ha'e to spare, An' burdens yet unseen. But gang to Irvine, whaur ye see A' burdens that are like to be, An' whaur they'll ha'e an en', Wi' lots o' water aye to spare, An' means at haun for plenty mair An' these are facks we ken. An' this Dundonald plan or scheme, That presently is but a dream, May turn oot like the drains, An' greet ye wi' a desp'rate rate, An' then like fools cry oot " Too Late," Wi' rage in a' yer veins. Then my puir musie, tired an' sad, By desp rate men maist driven mad, Wad ha'e nae heart to rhyme ; 'Twad grieve her heart to see puir Troon WT high taxation keepit doun, An' would-be frien's to blame. But lest misfortune on me ca', Just for the present 1 11 let fa' My pencil an' my pen ; An' coonsel ye to watch yersel', An' guard yer weal an' honour well Frae base designing men. 145 THE DISPUTED GOAL. lirst published in "Irvine Herald" of June 12tlt, 1891. \Et needna craw sae crouse, my frien', an' think ye've scored a goal, ^ As that ye've made last week I find's a maist ootrageous foul, An' referees an' umpires shall yer claim disqualify, But stratagise, an' challenge still, an' hae anither try. Yer anxiety and zeal to be victor o' the game, Made ye, in desperation, mak' the foul for which ye claim ; An' gin the water medal wad be yours, ye maun play fair, Sae gather up, an' screw yer team, an' try the match aince mair ; Bring a' yer sma' factotums an' minions tae yer aid, For haith, my frien', ye'll need them, I'm very much afraid. The greatest match ye ever played, I think ye will confess, Was sma', in comparison tae the wark ye had in this ; An' yet ye've made a bungle o' the job, when a' was dune, An' left Trooii team the victors, demanding still a win ; But dinna be doonhearted, an' lea' aff in disgust, Play manly or surrender, an' confess that ye hae lost. Ye say yer Laird is generous, an' impartial in the main, Then bring him cloon, as referee, an' play the match again ; An' if he is the gentleman that fowk wad hae us ken, He'll see f airplay awarded, an' declare the victors then ; An' if ye dinna care that he sud act as referee. Just bring him down to see the game played oot 'tween you an' we ; An' should he be ignorant o' the fouls for which we claim, Trooii team shall be maist willing to explain to him the same ; As they ha'e aye been staunch an' leal in a' the moves they've made, To tell yer laird the hale affair they'll no be nane afraid ; An' I'm sure that he sud ken, ye'll be anxious, sir, yerseF, Sae bring him doon amang us an' things may auger well. Just use yer influence, my frien', to get him here awhile, An', wha kens, he may work wonders, an gi'e us cause to smile. If a' is true I've heard repeated ower an' owre again, He is a genial gentleman, maist generous an' humane ; He wadna see Troon fowk an' their team in sic despair, Wi' grevious taxation and burdens ill to bear ; Na, haith, ye brawlie ken yersel', he d alter things awee, Sae gin ye want fairplay 'tween us, just mak' him referee, An' when we get him on the field we 11 play the match again, In the presence o' a gentleman sae gen'rous and humane ; An' oor worthy team, I'm certain, his expenses will defray, Sae dinna hesitate, my frien', to bring him doon this way, 146 For, haith, we wad be honoured wi' him upon the field, An' the gentleman wad rule the heart, and say what side should yield : An' I, yer humble servant, w T ad rejoice wi' a' the lave, Air join anither contest maist courageously an' brave ; I'd kick an charge wi' vigour, an' be zealous in the fray, For weel I ken yer generous Laird wad see a' get fairplay. An', sir, gin ye be gen'rous, as yer Laird is said to be, Ye'll play yer pairt an' bring him cloun to. act as referee, An' Troon will be gratefu', nor stint ye in their praise, An' their Bard immortalise ye in some ither o' his lays. But, sir, in closin' let me say, an' say it to yersel', Dae a' ye can to bring him doun an' things shall auger well ; But dinna guard him as before, an' ne'er a soul get near To shake his haim an' ca' the crack an' talk o' hardships here, For ne'er a ane amang us but wad be wond'rous fain To talk wi' sic a gentleman, sae generous an' humane. 147 TO MY NEW HAT. First published in the " Irvine Herald" June 19th, 1S9L CN triumph I behold ye, ^ An' prood am I o' that, The emblem o' a vict'ry A bonnie, bran new hat. Fit for a duke or marquis, Or kidney o' that squad, An' jist the tip-top fashion The best the hatter had. In truth, I'll fondly wear ye, An' don ye aye wi' pride, Tho' dupes, an' knaves, an' satillites, An' go-betweens deride. An' ilka time ye croon me, I'll smile wi' fervent glee, An' bless the powers aboon me For shining sae on me. 'Twas conscience, truth, an' honour, That heavenly aids impart, Within my breist defendm' The dictates o' my heart, That bade me thus tak courage, Against the mighty great, Wha'd rob Troon o' its freedom To eke their ain estate. An' while I daurcd to venture, In aid o' what was right, I wagered a'e oppressor I'd beat him in the fight. Ay, faith, I laid the wager, An he closed in wi' that, Content that either party, Wha won, sud claim the hat. An' I, but reckon'd naething, By wee things in his train ; A puir, misguided Poet, Noo claim ye as my ain. 148 Let me ance mair behold ye, For 0, I m wond rous fain, That neither fat nor pressure Can spot ye wi' a stain. On principle I won ye, An' ye on that I'll wear, Tho' a 5 the weak-kneed kidney In d'rision at me stare. A fig for a' sic weaklin's, An' their spleenatic power To only God an' conscience Is man supposed to cower. Indeed, had Troon been solid, An' conscience had its way, An' a' men acted richtly, We'd brighter been this day. But havers, hat, 'tis nonsense To blether sae on these, Wha seem to've gane the wrang gate To rub theirsel's on grease. But I'm prepared, thank gudeness, To free ye weel o' that, An' tell to future ages Ye're void o' grease, my hat. 'Tis meet that generations, Maist likely yet to rise In Troon, sud ken the fause anes Wha'd throw dust in fowk's eyes An' sae I will record them As fully as I can, Hoo certain took the wrang side, To favour the Duke's plan. 149 TRIUMPHANT TROON. 1Y conscience, Troon ! ye weel may bless The Councillor a' your days ; He's brocht ye oot o' great distress, An' perverse crooked ways. He's set your feet upon a rock, Establishing your path ; An' showed ye hoo to meet a shock O' tyranny an' wrath. His committee, composed o' men O' sterling worth an' power, They, like their leader, wadna ben', Nor to injustice cower. They saw the goal o' truth ahead, An' kept it weel in view ; By justice only were they led In claiming right for you. That they hae foucht a brilliant fight, Opponents can't deny, For every conscientious wight Their triumph weel discry. Trust ye to traitor loons nae mair, Put confidence in men Wha will for truth an' right declare, Nor to injustice ben'. Great Cooncillor Wyllie, true as steel, A maist courageous man, Made Duke an 1 dukelin's sadly reel Beneath their unjust plan. He saw destruction creepin' fast On terror-stricken Troon, An' he. to check the wither-in' blast, Brocht a' his forces doon. Brocht a' his forces doon, ye ken, An ? wrocht wi' micht an' main, To baffle strange, peculiar men, An' mak' their project vain. An' noo ye are triumphant, free, Thanks to that worthy chiel, An' sturdy little committee, Wha gained your freedom weel. 150 OOR AIN RESERVOIR. E cheers for the Counc'llor, he saved every man, An' brocht them oot dreepin', hauf droon'd to the laii 7 , The dupes o' a Duke's reservoir ; He's the frien' o' the people, true, solid an' square, An' a terror to traitors that canna swim fair When immersed in a Duke's reservoir. Some o' them, prone to be rubbin' 'gainst fat, Hae ta'en the Duke's water what think ye o' that ? To fill up oor ain reservoir ; An' what, tho' in simmer it happen to stink, We may a' be consoled that we'll hae meat an' drink Comin 1 oot o' oor ain reservoir. An' farmers an' Fullarton we'll compensate Wi' this kind o' water, increasin' the rate, Comin' a' frae oor ain reservoir. In twa-three years hence it will just be a twin Tae the burdensome drains we allo'ed to come in, Ere we thocht on oor ain reservoir. An' should the drains smell, and be needin' a swill, Manure tainted water we'll draw frae the hill, To clean them frae oor reservoir ; An' should it sae happen that there may be nane, Contented, we'll pray for a doonfa' o' rain To fill up oor ain reservoir. Tho' we're chokin' wi' drouth, we needna min' that, Sae lang as we're creishin' the wealthy wi' fat, We still hae oor ain reservoir ; An' guicl fresh manure yearly put on the hill, If it disna jist fatten, it scarcely should kill, Oozin into oor ain reservoir. Irvine wad gi'e us full plenty, we're sure, But tae please some it wadna be mixed wi' manure, Like the stuff in oor ain reservoir. 'Tis jist the pure water that Irvine has got, An' no thing that's likely to fester an' rot Like that in oor ain reservoir. If we busk us wi' turf, an' wi' shrubs, an' sic like, An' material sufficient to throw up a dyke, 'Twill strengthen oor ain reservoir ; An' brambles, an' snawdraps, an' sma' favours too, Jist fresh frae the district on which they last grew, Will beautify oor reservoir. 151 Poet Laing, he'll get naething, but laid on a rack, An' the lash o' the law comin' thump on his back We'll plunge him in oor reservoir ; An' puddocks, an' snails, an' guano forbye, We'll cram doon his throat, an' there let him lie Wi' the vermin in oor reservoir. Troon, busk yersel' bonnie, an' gang tae the hill, An' slocken yer drouth wi' a hearty guid swill 0' the mixture in this reservoir, For the day is at haun when, bchone, ye'll hae nane, Unless that the heavens gi'e torrents o' rain, To fill up oor ain reservoir. An' ye heroic heroes o' Troon Committee, We're sorry for ye, as we dread that ye'll dee Wi' the mixture o' oor reservoir. We ken that your hearts never lay to the scheme, Whaur in summer we canna get a'e rinnin' stream 0' pure water for oor reservoir. But, oh ! gin ye dee, 'tis a comfort to ken, That Troon in its day had a'e body o' men That a duke nor his clique couldna buy ; An' feelingly, too, we'll inter your remains As faur as we can frae this puddle an' drains, For near them ye couldna weel lie. Wi' turf, shrubs, an' bram'les, an' snawdraps, an' a', We'll munt yer graves weel, an' mak' them look braw, In mem'ry o' oor reservoir ; An' when strangers come cloun to visit oor touu, We'll candidly tell them that there ye lie soun', Killed oot by oor ain reservoir. EPITAPHS A BURGHS EPITAPH. t/11 HOU wonder, stranger, at what this is ^s 'Tis but the mound o' mony misses ; To be a burgh it was born, But ere matured, 'twas sadly torn By desp rate loons, an' rent in pieces, An' buried here where tumult ceases ; An' those wha tried to keep it breathin' Are cross an' pained, like weans in tetthiii' While its murderers, desperate fellows, Liugh, ho tch an' blavv, just like a b allows. Had ither past things been perfection, This had ne'er got sic dissection, Or killed to wait a resurrection ; Clear proof to a' that's under heaven, That trickery canna keep things livin', An for the soul more than the body, Fairplay sud be an edient study. 153 ON A FRJEND. KIRKLAND, true as steel, Now sleeps beneath the sod ; He served his toun an' fellows weel, An' so he served his God. He ever was the poor man's friend In strike, an' time o' need, An' aften did his service lend WT sillar, speech, an' breid. The soul that felt for human woe, An' soothed whate'er it could, Has wing'd its flight frae haunts below, An' dwells amang the good. 154 A WOULD-BE POET'S EPITAPH. Jfirst published in the " Irvine Herald ," February IStli, 1888. a would-be poet lies, In early life cut tloun ; Grim Daith, in pity, closed his eyes To rid us o' a Loon. He ne'er had fortitude enough To gie his name a soun ; An' when the world beheld his stuff, 'T was signed by "A Street Loon." A would-be poet an' a saunt, He ranted up an' doun, Till daith, disgusted wi' his cant, Completely felled the Loon. Auld Nick himsel' took meikle pride In a' he wrote an' said, An' closely stood aye by his side, An' ruled a' that he did. Noo here he lies beneath this clay, A saunt withoot a croon, For Piety could never pay Tribute to sic a Loon. But wait his royal frien', Auld Nick, May pay him some regard, An' croun him, just for pity's sake, Pharisee, Loon, or Bard. Wi' " Second Peter, three an' three," He laug an' sair had striven, An' in his blind zeal ne'er could see James first an' twenty-seven. We are indebted much to La'ng, Wha tauld us a' aroun', Hoo the cuif here tried to mak' a sang, An' made himsel' a Loon. 155 THE EPITAPH 0' TROON WATER COMMITTEE. C/-J] HOU visitor, while gazing here, ^^ Remember thou art only dust ; Nae maiter hoo in life ye steer, To follow daith thou also must. The ance bright spirits underneath Life's gay journey also trod, Till they were poison'cl unto daith, An' buried underneath this sod. A Reservoir they much ignored, (From which they ever had to drink Polluted water, still abhored For vermin, filth, an' ither stink) Was forced upon them, an' by faith, It poison'd them ilk ane complete, An' here they lie, a' done to daith By it, an' laid beneath your feet. They were a ance gay brilliant crew, . An' inony victories had won, An' would-be frien's, mair fause than true, KilPd part o' that 'twas nobly done, An' reared a scheme on yonder hill As kill'd thir few, an's workin' skaith ; That scheme remains, 'tis putrid still, An' by it comes disease an' daith. TEE GREAT PETITIONS EPITAPH. Firtt published in Ihe " Irvine Herald," Nov. 18th, 1891. LTAY, passenger, an' view this spot, ^ Whaur lies a paper gane to rot -A paper that was reared to bless The rich man, an' the poor distress A paper that nae honest man \Ycul touch, lest it should soil his hail' A paper that has gane to rot, An 1100 lies buried iii this spot. The hundred, aye, an' thirty-five, Sweet innocents that still survive The death o ! this notorious sheet, Noo buried underneath your feet, Pass bye quite unconcerned an' prood, That here it lies just \vhaur it should Wi' its muckle rentals raised fourfold Mair than the voters roil has told. But thanks to a' that's guid an' wise, It slaughter'd was, an' here it lies ; Cheer up, Troon folks, triumphant braves, Ye're noo beyond the rank o' slaves. The big petition, to fix your doom, Noo lies in a dishonour d tomb, An' its creator, waefu' man, Left to mature some ither plan. 157 ON GEORDIE ANSON. ERE lies soor Geordie. moor'd at last, I fear he'll be neglected, For during life's huig voyage that's past, He little was respected. He kept nae comp'ny but himsel', Tak' lip wi mair he widiia ; Wi' i hat he gloomy seeemed as well, As pleasant face he hadna. But sure, the deil that's aye been kind To children o ? his aiu aye, Shall faithfully aye bear in mind To let him bide his lane aye. To put him in 'inong bletherin' folk, Wi tongues gaun like a bell aye, Wad Geordie's sulky silence shock, An roast him waur than h 1 aye. 158 ON A. M'L N. lies puir Mac, deprived o' life, He had ae faut, a sma' ane ; He shun'd the takin' o' a wife, E'en tho' she was a braw ane. Weep not ! he's on the upward track, An 5 great shall be his welcome, For better men than worthy Mac To heaven seldom shall come. 159 ON BARNEY SULLIVAN. lies a discontented soul, Who ne'er content could be ; In life, he was the greatest growl That ever went tae sea. Daith, disgusted, couldna thole His like tae wander free, An' hurled him aff tae this clay hole, Whaur a' sic growls sud be. 160 ON LIEUTENANT THOMSON. Lieutenant Thomson lies ? To him life was a curse ; An' 'Daith, in pity closed his eyes, Afraid he wad i;et worse. ON HAPPY SIMPSON. R happy Simpson lies at rest, f An' Daith, ye may be cheery ; A Myther duel ye never press'd Since life began to fear ye.