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 LIBRARY 
 
 of Catifomt* 
 
 IRVINE
 
 POEMS AND SONGS: 
 
 WITH 
 
 LECTURES 
 
 ON THE GENIUS AND WORKS OF BURNS, 
 
 AND 
 
 THE REV. GEORGE GILFILLAN ; 
 
 AND 
 
 LETTERS ON DR DICK, 
 
 THE CHEISTIAN PHILOSOPHER, 
 
 AND 
 
 ty Joint <J[ranMin and ilu 
 
 PETER X^YIN 
 
 DUNDEE. 
 
 " A wish I mind its power, 
 A wish that to my latest hour, 
 
 Shall strongly heave my breast ; 
 That I for poor auld Scotland's sake, 
 Some useful plan or book could make, 
 
 Or sing a sang ut least." 
 
 Tenth Edition. 
 
 EDINBURGH : 
 
 PRINTED BY MOULD i TOD, ST JAMES' SQUARE. 
 1878.
 
 V's
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Notice of the Author ... ... ... vii 
 
 Letter on Sir J. Franklin and the Arctic Regions 13 
 
 Lecture on Burns ... ... ... 24 
 
 George Gilfillan and his writings ... 37 
 
 Letter on Dr Dick the Christian Philosopher 46 
 POEMS 
 
 Sabbath in a Scottish Cottage ... 51 
 
 The Auld Kirk-Yard ... ... 60 
 
 My Father's Ha' ... ... ... 64 
 
 A Hame beyond the Skies ... ... 67 
 
 Verses to my Aunt ... ... 70 
 
 The Trysting Tree ... ... 74 
 
 Man to Peace was Born ... ... 80 
 
 Martha Palmer ... ... ... 85 
 
 Welcome to Queen Victoria and Prince Albert 89 
 
 The Kirk ... ... ... 93 
 
 Stobb'sFair ... ... ... 98 
 
 The Miseries of War ... ... 103 
 
 Lines on Visiting the Graves of Alexander 
 
 and John Bethune ... ... 107 
 
 The Wind ... ... ... Ill 
 
 Prologue ... ... ... 113
 
 SONGS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Where are a' the Friends'? ... ... 116 
 
 ! Here lies low the Bonnie Lass ... 117 
 When thinking upon my sad fate ... 119 
 Hill and Dell are Decked in Green ... 120 
 
 1 now maun leave my Lady Fair ... 122 
 Come to yonder Bower, my Lassie ... 123 
 Winter nights are cauld, Lassie ... 124 
 A Quid new year to ane and a' ... 126 
 Bonnie, bonnie, was the Morn ... 127 
 The Blooming Heather ... ... 128 
 
 The Cares o' Life ... ... 129 
 
 Winter is Come ... ... ... 130 
 
 March of Mesmerism ... ... 131 
 
 Creep before you gae ... ... 134 
 
 Juke, and let the Jaw gang by ... 136 
 
 Time and Tide will wait on nae man... 138 
 
 My Grannie's Clock ... ... 140 
 
 My Master ... ... ... 142 
 
 Little Children, ... ... ... 144
 
 TO 
 
 GEO. DUNCAN, ESQ., M.P. FOR DUNDEE. 
 
 DUNDEE, 20tJi January, 1852. 
 Honoured Sir, 
 
 dedicating to you the Eighth Edition of the 
 Poems and Songs of my Son, Peter Livingston, 
 and also his Lecture on the Genius and Works 
 of Burns, as well as his Oration on the Rev. George 
 Gilfillan, his genius and his criticism, I mentioned to 
 you that one of my reasons for the publication was, in 
 consequence of having to relinquish an extensive busi- 
 ness in the book trade, occasioned by seve.ro personal 
 affliction during a period of more than ten years ; and 
 also to do justice .to my own feelings, as well as to fulfil 
 a wish of the Author, your honour having formerly 
 become his first subscriber for the original edition, the 
 sale of which was considerable ; the Seven Editions 
 extending to upwards of 6000 copies. 
 
 These are some of the reasons which have induced 
 me to solicit your indulgence ; and I shall never forget 
 the kind and generous manner in which you not only 
 permitted the dedication, but feelingly expressed, that 
 if your consent could be of any service in forwarding 
 my design, it would afford you the utmost pleasure.
 
 VI 
 
 Allow me, dear Sir, simply to say, that I sincerely 
 thank you for the expression of your kindness. And I 
 beg leave to add, that so long as Dundee is screened from 
 the northern blast by the beautiful hill behind it so 
 long as the grass grows on the Magdalen Green so long 
 as the border of that Green is adorned by the Vine!* so 
 long as your school shall exist for the instruction of 
 poor children so long shall the name of George Duncan 
 be held in grateful remembrance, and that you may 
 live long to enjoy that popularity and esteem which you 
 have so honourably earned, is 
 
 HONOURED SIB, 
 
 The earnest wish of your faithful and obedient Servant, 
 WILLIAM LIVINGSTON. 
 
 * The beautiful Villa of the Honourable Member for Dundee.
 
 NOTICE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 JHE Author of the following Poems, Songs, 
 Lectures, &c., was born in Dundee on 20th 
 January 1823. His father, after residing twenty years 
 in Perth, had removed at the previous Martinmas, and 
 was for many years a bookseller and stationer in Dundee. 
 His grandfather was James Livingstone who, at the 
 end of the last and beginning of the present century, 
 possessed a farm on the Laigh Fields of Hayston, in 
 the parish of Glammis, on the princely estate of the 
 noble family of Strathmore who expired three hours 
 after the death of his second wife in 1826, and both 
 were buried in one grave in Glammis Churchyard. 
 His maternal grandfather was Charles Laing, a wright 
 in Perth a man eminent for Christian piety. He 
 died in 1805 ; the poet's mother is his eldest daughter.* 
 
 * Mr (afterwards Sir Walter) Scott, when about to publish one 
 of his earliest works, was anxious to obtain some information 
 about the classic grounds of Lyndoch, its mansion house, the 
 grave of Bessy Bell and Mary Gray, all of which are so roman- 
 tically situated on the banks of the Almond and for that pur- 
 pose waited on the amiable and aged Major Barry, then residing 
 at Perth, but formerly proprietor, and (with his equally amiable 
 lady) improver of that beautiful estate. Having obtained from 
 the Major ample information particularly about the means he 
 used to ascertain the exact spot where the bones of the beauties 
 lay the Major's servant (afterwards the poet's mother) w.is
 
 Vlll 
 
 During his infancy and childhood he exhibited an 
 affectionate and kindly disposition, and a contemplative 
 turn of mind manifested itself as his years increased. 
 When a mere boy he greatly admired the preaching 
 of the Reverend Mr Roxburgh of the Cross Church, 
 and always spoke of him with the greatest enthusiasm. 
 By a spark kindled at this flame, or some other cause, 
 he, about this time, expressed an earnest desire to be- 
 come a preacher; and in proof thereof, early in the 
 mornings would rise from his bed, place himself with 
 a table and a Bible before him, inducing a younger 
 brother to rise and sit in front of the table to act as 
 precentor. Service was begun in right earnest;" but 
 sometimes the singing, and often the sermon, would be 
 interrupted by the visit of a pillow coming in contact 
 with the person of the orator, and making him bow to 
 his audience, to the no small astonishment of the baby 
 precentor, this addition to the congregation being 
 ejected from the bed of an elder brother ; the preacher 
 having disturbed the carpenter's repose. 
 
 Afterwards, the far-famed sermon, by the Reverend 
 George Gilfillan, entitled " Hades, or the Unseen," 
 made its appearance, and the Poet took fire at what 
 he considered severe criticism upon that production, 
 and published a pamphlet in reply, entitled " Hades, 
 
 desired to place some refreshments on the table, when Mr Scott 
 made some remarks on her beautifully fair hair ; and he after- 
 wards mentioned to one in the establishment of his publishers 
 that that, and her otherwise prepossessing and unassuming ap- 
 pearance suggested to him the title of his novel, " The Fair Maid 
 of Perth," and added, tradition has it, that Catherine Glover, 
 though well favoured and of ruddy countenance, was not fair, but 
 possessed of coal black hair.
 
 IX 
 
 or what has its Opponents proved?" in which, young 
 as he was, he defended some of the sentiments con- 
 tained in the sermon, and opposed the ideas expressed 
 by the critics, with considerable ability, ingenuity, and 
 skill. Ere this, some of his earliest verses appeared 
 in a few of the periodicals with which the locality was 
 then teeming ; and they were generally well received, 
 which no doubt induced him to collect and publish 
 them in a small volume, consisting of eight hundred 
 copies, which were all subscribed for in a very short 
 time. Thus encouraged, he composed some additional 
 pieces, which appeared in subsequent editions, and in 
 visiting the neighbouring towns, he was well patronised, 
 and the press reviewed the work very favourably. At 
 Brechin, Lord Panmure patronised it very handsomely ; 
 on going further north, several hundred copies were sold 
 and the Earls of Airlie and Kintore became subscrib- 
 ers. Afterwards, his progress in Perth and Fife was 
 very successful, and the Professors of St Andrew's Col- 
 lege nearly all subscribed ; on visiting Edinburgh, Lords 
 Jeffrey and Robertson, with several of the other Lords 
 of Session, and a number of the Professors, were among 
 his patrons ; on going to Glasgow, two editions of the 
 work were called for, and the Earl of Eglinton became 
 its efficient patron. It may be here remarked, that 
 during the author's progress, as above stated, the minis- 
 ters of the Gospel of all denominations subscribed for 
 the work in great numbers, and their kindly sentiments 
 often expressed towards him, appeared to have left a 
 deep feeling of gratitude on his mind. He now went 
 to a celebrated college in England, where he studied 
 with success ; afterwards preached with acceptance ; de-
 
 livered many orations on theology and other popular 
 subjects, among which was his lecture on Burns, and 
 his feeling letter on Dr Dick, the Christian Philosopher. 
 His oration on the Rev. George Gilfillan, his genius 
 and criticism ; likewise his letter on Sir John Franklin 
 and the Arctic Regions, with lectures and addresses to 
 various literary societies in and about the metropolis, 
 form part of his' present efforts.
 
 THE FOLLOWING LETTER WAS 
 
 ADDRESSED TO THE AUTHOK BY THE 
 
 tat* larfc 
 
 24 MORAY PLACE, 30th December 1846. 
 
 EAR SIR, I have now read through your little 
 volume, and with very considerable satisfac- 
 tion; but have scarcely any thing to add to what I said to 
 you personally after I had perused but a part of it. The 
 marked superiority of what I understand to be your later 
 compositions, gives good reason to look for still greater 
 improvement in those you may produce in future; you 
 are still young enough to contemplate great advances, 
 and become a pleasing verifier, and express amiable 
 sentiments and domestic affections in a natural and 
 touching way. 
 
 The thoughtful and tender parts are decidedly the 
 best, and some of the songs are not without merit. 
 
 You ask my SINCERE opinion of your work. The 
 expression of it is, the talent you possess, if rightly esti- 
 mated, may always afford you an innocent and elegant 
 amusement, and obtain for you the notice and regard of
 
 Xll 
 
 many who may be of use to you, and with these advan- 
 tages I trust you have sense enough to be satisfied. 
 In the meantime, believe me, with all good wishes, 
 Your faithful and obedient servant, 
 
 F. JEFFREY. 
 
 To Mr Peter Livingston, Dundee. 
 
 [The above Letter was highly appreciated by the 
 Author, as a valuable gift from that prince of critics, 
 and highly gifted and great man.]
 
 SECOND EDITION 
 
 OF 
 
 ADDRESSED TO THE QUEEN 
 
 ON 
 
 SIR JOHN FEAIKLII 
 
 AND THE 
 
 ARCTIC REGIONS. 
 
 MAY IT PLEASE YOUR MAJESTY, 
 
 tHE theme upon which I take the liberty to 
 address you is invested with a deep and dis- 
 tressing interest. There are concerned in it the lives 
 and deaths of many individuals, the hopes and fears 
 of many hearts. Your Majesty will pardon me being 
 somewhat minute I shall not be lengthy as on this 
 subject I address not your Majesty alone, but also the 
 public, in whom there exists an ardent desire to know 
 all that can be known on this important subject. It 
 may be of importance briefly to enquire into the causes 
 that have led to our earnest exertions on the subject, 
 Wherefore is it that man has sacrificed life left friends, 
 home, and country 1 Why has Government spent so 
 much money and been so unwearied in its exertions to 
 explore the unknown regions of the North, where is
 
 u 
 
 nothing but eternal ice and snow? This question is 
 answered to a certain extent by our knowledge of man's 
 nature ; it is man's nature to enquire, to know, and 
 to understand all that is round and about him. Man 
 has got the earth for an inheritance, and he wishes to 
 understand it. We do not like to live in a house with- 
 out knowing its apartments. Such is the cause, found 
 in man's nature, of all his intrepidity and daring. It 
 is this that has led man forth with brave heart, to en- 
 counter all the danger and difficulties which he is sure 
 to meet with in his journeys over flood and field. It 
 was this that led forth the great Columbus to find out 
 the new world of the west, and has made him immortal 
 for his enterprise and daring. This led forth the fear- 
 less Cook over the wide waste of waters which .covered 
 our earth like a shroud, in the midst of which he lighted 
 on the Owyhee, where he fell a victim to the fury of 
 the natives of a country into which he went, intending 
 to bequeath the blessings of civilization. This led Bruce 
 to the mysterious Nile, and Park to the undiscovered 
 Mger, where he, too, fell in the midst of those desert 
 regions which have well been called the white man's 
 grave. It was this desire to know that has made man 
 , to ascend the everlasting hills, penetrate the unknown 
 deserts, and plant his foot on spots of the earth where 
 the foot of man had never been before. And this desire 
 it is, coupled with a love of gold (perhaps a commend- 
 able love of gold), which had led forth our daring 
 mariners to explore these unknown regions of the 
 north, where is nothing but everlasting ice and snow 
 holding sway in the dismal wilderness. 
 
 It was doubtless a love of gold, in conjunction with
 
 15 
 
 our thirst for knowledge, that has led to all our exer- 
 tions to discover a North-West Passage. The British 
 Isles are situated on the globe so as to be far from many 
 commercial ports of great importance in the world. On 
 the west, we have the continents of North and South 
 America between ourselves and the western shores of 
 these continents. On the east, we have the continents 
 of Europe and Africa between us and China and Hin- 
 dostan. These facts were seen and known by our com- 
 mercial men, and their desire to find a speedy passage 
 to the western shores of America, and the golden land 
 of the east, found a ready response in the minds of our 
 navigators, in whom their existed a desire to know if 
 there was a way in the north by which they could sail 
 round the world. The propriety, however, of any exer- 
 tions on our part, and, indeed, at any time, may with 
 some show of reason be questioned. In a commercial 
 point of view, the passage, although discovered, could 
 never be rendered available for any practical or useful 
 purpose. In these regions the ice closes in upon us, 
 and thus seems to present a lasting barrier to man's 
 progress in that direction. 
 
 Thus, although the passage were at once discovered, 
 those who come after the original explorers must have 
 the same difficulties to encounter, the same natural im- 
 pediments in their way that the original explorers had 
 to contend with. Till the sun himself shall melt the 
 everlasting hills of snow, man may never be permitted 
 to approach these regions. Be this as it may, the ne- 
 cessity for further exertions on our part to discover a 
 North- West Passage is now done away with, from the 
 fact that the railway by the Isthmus of Panama and
 
 16 
 
 the Canal by Lake Nicaragua, as also the proposed 
 railway across the continent of Europe and direct from 
 England to India, will give us the desired end without 
 having to encounter any of those physical difficulties 
 which impede our progress in the Northern Seas.* 
 This, however, is incidental ; we have to deal with 
 
 * The passages to which I have referred will entirely do away 
 with the necessity, in a commercial point of view, for our prose- 
 cuting the discovery of a North-West Passage further. Those 
 by the Isthmus of Panama and Lake Nicaragua will open up a 
 floodgate of commercial prosperity to the world which we have 
 never known before ; they will bring within a short distance to 
 our shores the western coasts of North and South America ; 
 they will also open up a direct passage to the vast Pacific Ocean, 
 and to the many islands which stud that ocean, which are too 
 numerous for me to name or to number. The railway across 
 the continent of Europe from England to India is one of the 
 most gigantic ideas ever conceived by the mind of man. When 
 this railway is completed which in the course of time it doubt- 
 less will be the golden land of the east will be brought within 
 a distance of seven days' journey from England. Thus do we 
 stand in the prospect of seeing realized a fact so great and so 
 gigantic that had it been told to our forefathers they must have 
 deemed it little else than an Arabian tale. Many parties tell us 
 that such a project can never be carried out. Doubtless, to the 
 minds of many it may seem an impossibility ; but there is more 
 in heaven and earth than is dreamt of in their philosophy. In 
 the vocabulary of some men there is no such word as Fail ; and 
 such men necessity will find to carry out this great undertaking. 
 Not only will a railway be laid down from England to the East, 
 but we may not err iu prognosticating that an electric telegraph 
 will soon be laid down also. Then the pilgrim by the banks of 
 the river Indus, and the hero of Hindostan, may converse with his 
 friends in fatherland ; then will the daring fancy of our immortal 
 Shakspeare be reduced to a vulgar reality, that of putting a girdle 
 round the earth in forty minutes.
 
 17 
 
 what has been done. The conclusions to which I have 
 referred being come to, expeditions have from time to 
 time been fitted out, only a passing allusion to several 
 of which I can give before coming to that of Sir John 
 Franklin ; the voyages of Mackenzie, Davy, Beechy, 
 the Rosses, Back, Dease, Simpson, and others, may be 
 named as connected with our present subject. Captain 
 Parry discovered many lands, bays, and large islands, 
 the principal of which he named. Captain Ross dis- 
 covered the large island of Boothia, which is thinly 
 inhabited by Esquimaux. These various expeditions 
 and their successes led to the expedition under the 
 command of Sir John Franklin. That expedition left 
 this country in the month of May 1845 ; there were 
 composing it in all, two ships, the Erebus and Terror, 
 and 138 men; they took with them provisions calcu- 
 lated, with economy, to last four years and a-half. Sir 
 John Franklin's instructions were to proceed up by 
 Davis' Straits to Baffin's Bay, so on the Lancaster 
 Sound, Barrow Straits, and thus by Cape Walker, then 
 to use his own discretion. The expedition was last seen 
 in Baffin's Bay bound on to an iceberg, waiting for a 
 passage through the ice. Traces of Sir John Frank- 
 lin's expedition have, however, since been found on 
 Beechy Island, which is situated at the entrance to 
 Wellington Channel. Here were found three graves 
 of men who had been buried, there where the white 
 sea foam shall lash them daily ; here also were found a 
 carpenter's shop, a forge, a post, and several other 
 sad memorials of the missing men. 
 
 This fact has led many to conclude we think justly 
 that Franklin must have penetrated in by Welling-
 
 18 
 
 ton Channel and Victoria Channel, which is a continua- 
 tion of the former, and so on to the north pole on the 
 earth. It seems very reasonable to come to this con- 
 clusion from the fact that it was Franklin's own impres- 
 sion that the most likely way to discover a North-west 
 Passage, if defeated in his course by Cape Walker, was 
 to proceed up Wellington Channel, and so on through 
 the Arctic Ocean, if possible, to Behring's Straits. 
 
 Such are the simple facts connected with Franklin's 
 expedition into the Polar Seas, and the conclusions to 
 which we come regarding these facts lead us to believe 
 that he yet may be found in these regions, and may yet 
 return from them. 
 
 We find that it is now upwards of six years since he 
 left this country, and he took with him provisions, cal- 
 culated with economy to last four years and a-half. 
 The question then presents itself to the mind, how can 
 Franklin and his companions have existed during the 
 year and a-half beyond which his provisions were cal- 
 culated to last 1 This question is answered to a certain 
 extent by our knowledge of the fact that in these regions 
 he may have been able to procure reindeer, white foxes, 
 seals, birds, and indeed various other animals which 
 abound in these northern regions. This supposition is 
 strongly confirmed, if not reduced to a certainty, by 
 our knowledge that in the regions to which we suppose 
 Sir John Franklin must have gone, namely, Wellington 
 Channel and Victoria Channel, have been seen many 
 specimens of animal life, all of which could support Sir 
 John Franklin and his brave companions. That which 
 makes us urge this view of the question with the more 
 earnestness is, if Sir John Franklin has penetrated
 
 19 
 
 through Victoria Channel, it is possible that he may 
 now be in the Polar Sea, where he knew full well it is 
 not so cold, and where animal life is much more plenti- 
 ful than it is at what is called the magnetic pole of the 
 earth. That Franklin did penetrate into Wellington 
 Channel aud Victoria Channel, we think there can be 
 now no reasonable doubt. 
 
 We have before remarked that it was Sir John 
 Franklin's intention to proceed by Wellington Channel 
 if defeated on his way by Cape Walker. This, coupled 
 with the fact that remains of the expedition have been 
 found on and beyond to the north of Beechy Island, 
 seems to leave no reasonable doubt on the mind that he 
 must have penetrated up that Channel. Upon Beechy 
 Island were found several sad and melancholy remains 
 of the missing men. Here Franklin wintered in 1 845-46, 
 there also were found three graves sublime in their lone- 
 liness of men belonging to the expedition who had died. 
 Here also were discovered a garden, a carpenter's shop, 
 a forge, a post, and several other sad remains of the 
 Northern Voyagers. Beechy Island is situated a little 
 to the north of Cape Hotham, and therefore seems to be 
 a favourable starting-point for Wellington Channel and 
 the Polar Sea. The facts, then, coupled with Franklin's 
 wish before he left this country to proceed in that direc- 
 tion, seem to warrant us in coming to the conclusion that 
 he did penetrate into the Polar Sea, and having done 
 so, we have more than one reason for believing that he 
 may be there still. 
 
 The objections brought against this conclusion do 
 not seem to carry with them much weight. Your Ma- 
 jesty is aware that there has been going the round of
 
 20 
 
 the press a story to the effect that Sir John Franklin 
 and his companions have long since been murdered by a 
 hostile tribe of Esquimaux. This melancholy tale is 
 given to the world upon the authority of the veritable 
 Adam Beck, an Esquimaiix, who, by virtue of the fact 
 that he can read and write well, was at once initiated 
 into the solemnity of an oath and all the paraphernalia 
 of English justice. This absurb report has been charac- 
 terised by an able writer on the subject as a crude and 
 heartless tale. We can scarce doubt the propriety of 
 this conclusion. If such a report be true, did no one 
 see the murder but Adam Beck. If so, who were they 
 that saAv it are they living or are they dead I Where 
 did it take place, and when did it take place ] Did Sir 
 John Franklin leave no vestige behind] By whom was 
 he killed, and where was he buried? Let those questions, 
 and questions like them, be ansAvered, till we see if this 
 tale be true. But I shall no longer weary the patience 
 of your Majesty with further allusion to this idle story. 
 I look upon it as a mockery and an insult to the judg- 
 ment of the British people. We are also told that his 
 ammunition may not have lasted ; that the intense and 
 biting cold of these northern regions, so long continued, 
 may ere this time have destroyed him, or that he may 
 have sunk a total wreck within the raging sea. All 
 these conclusions to this whole matter are doubtless pos- 
 sible, and cause conflicting feelings to cross the mind 
 when we contemplate the fate of these brave mariners. 
 Speculation regarding them seems to a certain extent 
 out on a shoreless sea. But so long as there remains 
 the bare possibility of their existence, to that possi- 
 bility it is right for us to cling in hope, even though
 
 21 
 
 that hope be so long deferred that it make the heart sick. 
 This conclusion come to, then our duty in the matter 
 seems palpable and plain. That duty seems to me to be 
 to send out another expedition in search of the missing 
 men. Let that expedition be well fitted out ; let it also 
 be done speedily, so that in the spring time of the year 
 it may reach the Northern Seas. We have had several 
 reasons for coming to the conclusion that it is our duty 
 to send out further expeditions in search of the missing 
 men. In the first place, Sir John Franklin and his brave 
 associates left their country, their friends and their home, 
 in the service of the government of the country to which 
 they belong; Sir John Franklin and his companions have 
 been tried and trusty friends of the State ; they had done 
 the State some service, and we know it. Such being the 
 case, we conceive them to be fit and becoming objects of 
 the State's care and protection. As a matter of justice 
 alone, it is our duty to do what we can for the safety of 
 the missing men. This is our duty on the ground of 
 justice alone ; what shall we say when we come to those 
 of charity and mercy] Shall we stand idly looking on? 
 Shall we live at home at ease 1 Shall we sit under our 
 own vine and fig tree while our brethren, brave in heart 
 and strong in arm, may still be living in the dark and 
 dismal regions of the North, bound by eternal ice and 
 snow. 
 
 Your Majesty, let it not be said that England can be 
 guilty of this crime ; let not the sin of ingratitude be laid 
 to our charge. I have before given proofs of the means 
 by which it is possible our countrymen may still be in 
 existence. I spoke of the provisions, of the means of liv-* 
 ing they might get in the North reindeer, foxes, seals,
 
 22 
 
 birds, or indeed many other animals. I also referred to 
 the fact that the climate towards the pole of the earth is 
 more congenial than it is towards the magnetic. All 
 these things, I repeat, taken into consideration, give us 
 proof that hope should not yet be dead within us ; so long 
 as there exists a single chance of their safety, we are 
 bound to try to save them ; thus our duty seems palpable 
 and plain. We may rest upon our oars perhaps in sad- 
 ness and in sorrow, till the dark days of winter have 
 passed away, then when the spring time shall have come 
 upon us, when the sun shall gild again the hills of 
 everlasting snow, then let us heart and hand send out 
 further help and aid to our countrymen, so that, if still 
 in existence, they may be saved from a watery grave. 
 
 It is true that our efforts may not be crowned with 
 success ; we may search and seek for that which we 
 cannot find. So let it be, if Providence will have it so ; 
 we cannot change it, but our duty done, we have gained 
 for ourselves that self-satisfaction and peace which pas- 
 seth all understanding. If our daring mariners are in 
 the deep, we can only say it was the will of God, and 
 may not be grieved nor mourned over. 
 
 If they are dead, they have fallen blessed martyrs ; 
 after life's fitful fever they sleep well, with the sea for 
 an everlasting mourner. But for the sake of the living, 
 if not for the dead, by the blighted hopes and bleeding 
 hearts of the mournful survivors ; by the widow's tears, 
 the orphan's cries, and the mother's crucified affections ; 
 by the honour of that great nation of which you are 
 the head, do I call upon your Majesty, respectfully but 
 earnestly, to use your royal prerogative and send out 
 another expedition in search of the Northern explorers,
 
 23 
 
 so that our minds may be set at rest and kept no longer 
 on the rack, but that we may know the best or worst 
 of this perplexing business. As we would, in conclusion, 
 humbly suggest to your Majesty the propriety that if it 
 is to be done, it were well that it were done quickly ; 
 there is no time to be lost, for every day may bring 
 with it death. So long as a lingering hope remains 
 behind so long as there is a shadow of belief that our 
 countrymen may still be in life it is our duty to try- 
 to save them.* Our duty done, we may safely leave 
 the rest with that Providence, who in His mercy ever 
 tempers the wind to the shorn lamb. 
 
 I have the honour to be, 
 
 Your Majesty's 
 Most humble obedient Servant, 
 
 ' PETER LIVINGSTON. 
 
 * Farther traces of the missing expedition have been found ; 
 hips are being again sent out by the Government, under thej 
 command of Sir Edward Belcher, and Dr Rae, overland, in 
 search of Sir John Franklin and his companions.
 
 LECTURE ON ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 OBEET BURNS Scotland's best and greatest 
 poet was born on the 25th of January 1759, 
 in a small cottage about two miles from the 
 town of Ayr. He was ushered into this world amid storm 
 and darkness. Part of the house in which he was born, 
 just as he saw the light, was blown in by the tempest. 
 The new made mother, with her baby-boy, sought and 
 received shelter from a neighbour. His father, William 
 Burns, had been a farmer ; but worldly adversity com- 
 pelled him to betake himself to the field as a labourer. 
 Robert, at the age of six, was sent to school, where, under 
 Mr John Murdoch, a man of whom the poet makes 
 honourable mention, he remained two years. Here he 
 acquired reading, grammar, and some knowledge of the 
 French language. Beyond this, he had not much of what 
 is called school education ; but, as we shall hereafter 
 see, he was " quick to learn, and wise to know." 
 
 He was at an early age somewhat fortunate in the 
 books he read, having a few of Shakspeare's plays, 
 Locke on the understanding, Eamsay's Poems, along 
 with other books of value. 
 
 It was between the fifteenth and sixteenth years of 
 his age that Burns first wrote poetry. Love was the 
 mother of his muse. He was early blest with what was 
 early blighted his love for Highland Mary. This was a 
 *sacred affection, almost too pure for earth. She died, 
 alas! too early died, as all the good die, loving, hoping.
 
 25 
 
 Burns, when a young man, engaged in partnership 
 with a flaxdresser ; but in a hapless hour the premises 
 took fire, and left the poet penniless. He now took the 
 farm of Mossgiel, in conjunction with his brother Gil- 
 bert, a man of sound understanding. Here Burns first 
 met Jean Armour, afterwards his wife, and their first 
 intimacy ended in misfortune. Our poet now looked to 
 a foreign land for that peace and prosperity which his 
 own denied him. He resolved to go to Jamaica, and 
 published his poems to provide him with the necessaries 
 for the voyage. These wild irregular utterings came upon 
 the world to make it wonder and admire. He was at 
 once exalted from the condition of a ploughman to that 
 of the first poet of his country. He changed his plans ; 
 was advised to go to Edinburgh, did so, as we shall 
 hereafter see, to his sorrow. He became a lion among 
 the literary men of the great city. The Ayrshire Plough- 
 man sat at the tables of the nobility drank wine they 
 taught him to drink deep ere he departed he here car- 
 ried a Duchess off her feet with the brilliancy of liis con- 
 versation fell in love with the charming Clarinda and 
 indulged too often in wild potations. This could not 
 last long ; he sought peace and something permanent. 
 He left the gay city and took the farm of Ellisland ; 
 spent too much time in preparing for his wife ; and the 
 habits he had contracted in Edinburgh sometimes 
 assailed him. He was now appointed to the excise. A 
 ludicrous mistake. Burns was seen sounding the depth 
 of whisky casks when he should have been holding the 
 plough. This man's days and pleasures on earth were 
 . brief but not delightful. The earthly tabernacle gave way 
 under the fiery spirit. His body was racked with pain ;
 
 26 
 
 there was malady in his soul. He tried all things ; all 
 would not do. Death was upon him. The strong man 
 was bowed down the daughters of music were "brought 
 low desire had failed, and all was darkness. In the 
 thirty-eighth year of his age this great man, after severe 
 bodily and mental suffering, yielded up his spirit into 
 the hands of Him who gave it. 
 
 Such is a brief account of the career of Robert Burns. 
 Gentlemen, this man's life was a tragedy in one act. 
 Like all other great tragedies, there was much glory, 
 much sublimity, much beauty, and much truth in it. 
 There were besides, interspersed throughout, a few comic 
 scenes, and good. Burns, when a young man, was a 
 happy man ; and during the whole of his life he had 
 seasons of exalted, yea, delirious joy. This we are glad 
 to know and say ; but taking it all in all, it were diffi- 
 cult to point out a story of more woe than that of 
 Eobert Burns. 
 
 Born amid poverty, this were nothing bred to the 
 plough, would he had never left it touched by the em- 
 pyrean fire of genius, honourable ambition seized his soul ; 
 it was first fed, then foully abused ; he was exalted to a 
 giddy height of glory, placed at length upon a pinnacle 
 of fame, from which he did not fall, but which fell under 
 him; and when he did come down he fell like Lucifer, 
 but, so far as the world is concerned, never to rise again. 
 
 Gentlemen, I do not mourn over the life of Burns as 
 many do. I do not mourn over it for the world's sake ; 
 but I mourn over it for his own. Even then we need 
 not become very pathetic. What was the world to him 1 ? 
 He seems to have been born not so much to live as to 
 fly across life " like a fierce comet of tremendous size, 
 bidding the nations wonder as he passed."
 
 27 
 
 Many point to him, and say, " You see what he was,, 
 what might he have beenl" We venture into no such 
 dangerous speculations. We are thankful for him as he 
 was; and as for the world, why he was more to the world 
 than the world was to him. 
 
 It is my impression that the most unfortunate, not to 
 say the most fatal, step in the life of Burns was his visit 
 to Edinburgh. 
 
 I know that at the time this step was necessary ; we 
 nevertheless regret the effects which flowed from it. 
 Burns went among the great folks there as a world's 
 wonder. They kept him such during his stay. He left 
 them, and was forgotten by them. It was a natural re- 
 sult. He said he knew it would be so. He said he 
 would bear it like a man. Doubtless he thought he 
 would and could do so. It turned out to be easier to 
 say this than to do it. He was forgotten, but could not 
 in his turn forget. When the trumpet of fame ceased 
 to sound at his coming, the remembrance of what he 
 once was rose up before him, to heat his very brains, to 
 crucify his soul, and to send him, or to do much to send 
 him, to an untimely grave. Edinburgh did more ill 
 to Burns than all this. It did not rob him of his inde- 
 pendence this was past the power of man ; but it rob- 
 bed him to a great extent of his self-dependence, which 
 was a gigantic evil He was a great poet, and as such 
 could little brook the idea of again becoming a plough- 
 man. I blame no one for this ; I pity all concerned, 
 and speak for the future. In this matter the world 
 has yet to learn a lesson. We must not neglect genius ; 
 but we must not abuse it ; we must not kill it with kind- 
 ness. We must not deprive it of purpose and aim in.
 
 28 
 
 life. We must teach it that it has to work and live in 
 this world, as well as to tell the world truths. Burns 
 was treated in much the same way as a few well-meaning 
 men lately treated William Thorn. They took him to 
 London, gave him dinners, drove him about in carriages, 
 took him through the great city to see and be seen he 
 left them at last, and died a beggar broken-hearted. 
 
 Far better would we treat genius were we to put a 
 spade in its hands, and say, " Go now and till the soil; 
 bring forth good fruit feel great truths and tell them 
 be a blessing to thyself and mankind ; shew to the world 
 that you are a God-sent man." 
 
 Thus do we leave the life of Burns ; we come now to 
 his character. The tongue of slander slaked over it 
 too ; the venom of vile thought has been busy with this 
 man's memory. Far be it from me to say he was in- 
 fallible. We are not blind to his errors. We think he 
 sinned not a little, and suffered much. .But we are 
 strong in the belief that we shall be able to repel many 
 of the charges that have been brought against him. We 
 humbly think that we shall be able to prove that since 
 his death he has been more sinned against than he ever 
 sinned, by men to whom (as it has been well said) he 
 was as superior in virtue as he was in genius. 
 
 First of all, he has been called an uneducated man. 
 Secondly, he has been called an irreligious man. 
 Thirdly, he has been called an immoral man. 
 
 I shall notice these charges in the order in which 
 they are here set down. First of all, he has been called 
 an uneducated man. This charge is true only to a certain 
 extent. He had not what is caHed a classical education. 
 He did not know Hebrew, he did not know Greek. He
 
 29 
 
 did not read so many books as we in this age of wondrous 
 wisdom are supposed to read ; but therein he was wise, 
 and it was well. If ho did not read so much as we do, 
 perhaps he thought more. He was not an educated man 
 in the high sense of the term, but he cannot with truth 
 be called an unlearned man ; he read his Bible, he read 
 Milton, he read Shakspeare ; and -who will tell me that 
 the man who reads and understands these books as Burns 
 did, can remain uneducated ] But above and beyond all 
 this, Burns was learned, deeply learned, in the mysteries 
 of the human soid he was a philosopher by inspiration. 
 But farther still, Burns was taught, and taught pro- 
 foundly too, by the book of nature, which was his 
 favourite book ; he gazed upon the stars, which were to 
 him then what they are to us now the poetry of heaven; 
 the wind when it blew high, rocking castles, telling the 
 wretch to tremble, and letting the world know that the 
 Lord was abroad, was to him a source of deep inspiration. 
 The trees bending beneath the blast, as if in adoration 
 of their God, taught him a lesson of devotion. The 
 morning star as it lingered between daylight and dark- 
 ness, wafted his soul to heaven as it died away. He saw 
 the moonbeams sleeping in the waters, and said it 
 was no purer than the love of a true woman's soul. A 
 summer cloud floating in the blue heaven, like the last 
 vestige of the breath of God, could not pass over him 
 without his special wonder. Spring with her beauty 
 Autumn with her bounty Summerwith her golden sun- 
 shine and Winter with her sheet of snow to him were- 
 teachers all. The flowers of earth were dear to him 
 the rosebud blushing in the morning dew the lily pale 
 as the cheek of a dying child the daisy, modest as the
 
 30 
 
 blush of a young maiden he loved them all. The birds, 
 too, earth's sweetest choristers, were his delight. The 
 lark's loud song at heaven's gate the cuckoo, welcome 
 with the spring the robin's sweet domestic chirp the 
 lapwing, lamenting the loss of her love all, all, were 
 very dear to him. Nature in all her phases was to him 
 an exceeding joy. The solitary cottage on the desert 
 moor, with its reek curlingto the clouds the lonely cairn 
 on the mountain side touched his soul with reverence for 
 the glory of the past. The shepherd in the grey plaid 
 under his old oak tree the milkmaid's song the loud 
 laugh of playful children cattle grazing in the field 
 sheep at the fell all were very dear to him. His book, 
 we say, was the book of nature, and by it he was taught 
 profoundly. We but shew our want of education when 
 we say Burns was an uneducated man. 
 
 It has also been said that Burns was an irreligious 
 man. I do not believe it, but I deny it. This slander 
 was first sent abroad by those among whom Burns min- 
 gled, and it was sent abroad because he differed in opinion 
 from the time in which he lived, and the men among 
 whom he mingled ; but to call him irreligious because he 
 did this is to take him up before he has fallen. For a 
 man to differ from the religion of his time is, I maintain, 
 no proof that that man is irreligious. After this fashion 
 Socrates was irreligious. According to the fashion which 
 they call heresy, Paul worshipped the God of his fathers. 
 Because Burns after this fashion differed from his fellow- 
 men he has been called irreligious. We stay not here 
 to inquire what was the religious belief of the times in 
 which Burns lived ; our business now simply is, to prove 
 that Burns was no irreligious man. To that do we now
 
 31 
 
 address ourselves. Let us first of all take a broad view 
 of the man. Burns believed in God. He believed in 
 Christ, and loved and admired the beauty of his charac- 
 ter. He believed in immortality, and while here longed 
 much for another and a better world. If these state- 
 ments be true, we think it would be hard to prove that 
 the man who held such opinions could be irreligious. 
 But above and beyond all this, we believe that Burns 
 was not an irreligious man, because of the general tenor 
 of his writings. As proof of this witness his many 
 letters in which he speaks of religion. Witness also his 
 many poems wherein he refers to the subject. His 
 " Cottar's Saturday Night," a strain which, without 
 profanity be it spoken, angels might admire. I would 
 direct attention to several written to Mrs Dunlop, and 
 one to his friend Cunningham. His " Address to Mary 
 in Heaven," wherein " he holds communion with the 
 sainted spirit of his first affection, each word sealed with 
 a tear and a sigh, the purest that ever flowed on earth, 
 and the sincerest that was ever uplifted to heaven." 
 Above all, remember his own declaration that an irreligi- 
 ous poet was a monster. This we conceive to be perfect- 
 ly true, but we go beyond it, we say that an irreligious 
 poet was not only a monster, but an irreligious poet is 
 an impossibility. There can be no such thing no such 
 being ever walked God's earth. Shelly said there was 
 no God, but he did not believe it. Byron, for all his 
 waywardness, said what we believe to be true, that he 
 was readier to die than the world supposed him to be. 
 So was it with Burns. We look in vain in the world 
 for an irreligious poet. What is a poet ? He is the 
 very man above all others who cannot be irreligious ;
 
 32 
 
 he is a being who feels great truths and tells them ; 
 whose soul is attuned to the harmonies of nature. He 
 cannot, even if he would, turn against the giver of his 
 gift ; he must be true to his mission, true to God such 
 was Burns, both in word and deed scorning and giving 
 the lie to much of the world's morality, and also its re- 
 ligion ; he was, nevertheless, not an irreligious man. His 
 soul was deeply imbued with the spirit of nature, open to 
 the grace of God. He reverenced all that was divine 
 and holy, and admired with a devout admiration, beauty, 
 and truth. 
 
 Burns has been called an immoral man. In answer- 
 ing this charge we must take a broad view of the man 
 and a liberal view of human nature. Man is a com- 
 bination, shall I not say, of good and evil ; he has a 
 body which is of the earth, earthly a soul which is of 
 heaven, heavenly ; he is a compound of sense and soul 
 the quintessence of dust and deity, he has two natures 
 what the Scriptures expressively call the carnal and 
 the spiritual the one leads to what we call good, the 
 other to what we call evil. To take this view of human 
 nature is, I think, the best, perhaps the only way in 
 which we can account for the actions of our great men ; 
 while at the same time it leads us to have but little sym- 
 pathy for the erring philosophy which has been pro- 
 pounded by the living sitting in stupid wonder over the 
 sepulchres of the dead, bespattering the departed spirits 
 of the mighty great with condemnation making them 
 out to be demons only. Equally vain is that philosophy 
 which in opposition to this has made out our great men 
 to be angels. The truth is wholly with neither of these 
 parties ; those among men who have had the hoof of
 
 the fiend have also had the tongue of an angel. Giant 
 sons of God, great in good and great in evil, but ever 
 great ; now grovelling in earth, now aspiring to heaven. 
 Thus do we account for the lewdness of Voltaire, the 
 vulgarity of Paine, the misanthropy of Byron, the 
 atheism of Shelley, the debauchery of Burns, the am- 
 bition of Bonaparte. 
 
 Looking then, at human nature in this light, we can- 
 not and do not deny that Burns had strong passions ; 
 sometimes they laid him low, and stained his name. 
 But because of this, for his fellowmen to bring against 
 him the general charge of immorality, is to sin against 
 the living, and -slander the dead. If Burns had the 
 vices of mankind he also had their virtues if he siimnl 
 he suffered ; and we hope that he was made pure through 
 suffering. He was a dutiful son, a loving husband, an 
 affectionate father what more can mortal be ] These 
 general charges, damning to the memory of man, are 
 brought against Burns, and such as he, by men wh<> 
 have neither his power to do good, nor his power to do- 
 evil ; by men whose chief delight it is eternally to rake 
 up the ashes of the dead, and rail on the Ixml's anointed. 
 Thus do we hurl back those strictures, and forever con- 
 sign them to the " tomb of all the capulets," that from 
 it there may be no after resurrection. 
 
 We come now to the writings of Burns,, before which, 
 however, we have one other charge to refer to, one other 
 murmur to chastise and rebuke. He has been accused 
 of writing no long poem. Now when will this (as it 
 would seem everlasting) murmuring cease ? Had the 
 man not liberty to write what he pleased. Who has a 
 right to accuse him for what he has not done 1 Burns
 
 34 
 
 was, like all the truly great, too great for writing books. 
 The truly great among men write no books they have 
 too much faith for this ; they do with their thoughts 
 what we are told to do with our bread cast them on 
 the waters, believing that, after many days, they will 
 find them safe. Socrates wrote no books he just 
 uttered his thoughts, and once uttered they were for 
 ever immortal. So it was with our own Shakspeare ; 
 he while living Avrote no books he wrote a few irregu- 
 lar poems, which modern admiration and art hath 
 collected into a book ; but the thoughts expressed of 
 such men live long after books have crumbled into the 
 dust from whence they came. 
 
 So it was with Burns, he wrote no long book ; he 
 could not be for ever inspired. The wind bloweth where 
 it listeth he wrote when the spirit moved him. He 
 wrote no great epic, but his poems when collected to- 
 gether may be said to be one great and glorious lyric ; 
 abrupt, irregular, lofty, sublime, soft and tender, ravish- 
 ing the soul. He was great " either for tragedy, comedy, 
 history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, pastoral-historical, 
 tragical-historical, tragical-comical, historical-pastoral, 
 scene individual, or poem unlimited." Now moving 
 you to tears, now convulsing you with laughter ; now 
 lifting you to heaven on the wings of the wind ; anon 
 chaining you with love's willing fetters, as he mourns 
 the loss of his ]VIary. Now singing a song to rouse up 
 the patriotic love of a people against oppression. Now 
 inditing his verses to the mouse, wherein he shews us 
 that the humblest thing in God's creation is the earth- 
 born companion and fellow-mortal of man. 
 
 In his Cottar's Saturday Night he has lit the lamp of
 
 35 
 
 love, and poured a gleam of glory round the family altar. 
 In his Man was made to Mourn he has given us a gloomy 
 view of Man, and told us some truths which the world 
 will not willingly let die. In his Tam o' Shanter lie 
 draws a picture of pleasure, and sums up the whole in 
 words not soon to be forgotten. In his Epistle to a 
 Young Friend, he has shown that he was both poet and 
 philosopher. In his Address to the De'il he gives us a 
 proof of the charity that was in his soul, for he tells us 
 that even he may have a stake in heaven. In his song 
 of a Man's a Man for a' That, he shows us that a true 
 sold can beat under a tattered garment as well as 
 beneath a Roman toga. 
 
 It was the mission of Burns to bind man to man to 
 teach us love and kindness to soothe the sorrows to 
 sing the joys to lighten the labour of the poor to 
 vindicate the dignity of the mind to speak trumpet- 
 tongued against oppression and make us in love with 
 liberty to tell the world great truths which the world 
 must one day believe. All this he has done, and in 
 doing this he made life more delightful by the rich 
 feast of poetry and music which he hath provided for 
 his fellow-men. 
 
 Burns was a remarkable writer in prose as well as 
 poetry, though his poetry has eclipsed his prose. Lake 
 Milton, he has been remembered chiefly hitherto as a 
 poet. Still the letters of Burns are remarkable produc- 
 tions. I grant that in them we behold him too often on 
 stilts. But all things considered, we cannot but wonder 
 that in his letters there is so much that is noble, good, 
 and true. Had it been a peer instead of a ploughman 
 that wrote them, and had he, the peer, died young, men
 
 36 
 
 would have said that he was a wild and wondrous genius 
 and but Avanted years to amaze mankind. I know few 
 books of the same dimensions from which so many beau- 
 ties could be culled as from the letters of Burns. 
 
 " The poetic genius of my country found me, as the 
 prophetic bard Elijah did Elisha, at the plough, and 
 threw her inspiring mantle over me." Such is the 
 language of the poet. We do not wonder at the fact, 
 we only name it. Heaven and earth are full of poetry, 
 and nature, when she wished a voice wherewith to 
 speak, had as good a right to chose her man from the- 
 plough as from the professor's desk. Ferguson the 
 astronomer was a shepherd boy ; Bloomfield the poet 
 was a shoemaker ; Burns was bred to the plough. God 
 is with his children everywhere to bless them and to 
 do them good. 
 
 Such was Burns, such is the legacy he has left to man. 
 His place as a poet we do not and cannot fix ; but he 
 has well been called one of the brightest stars shining 
 round the sun Shakspeare. 
 
 Thus let him be thus let him shine. So long as 
 the thistle bends to the blast so long as the heather 
 grows in the sun, and gilds the mountain top so long 
 as honest men and bonnie lasses people the town of 
 Ayr so long as birds sing from the bush and flowers- 
 are beautiful so long as grass waves green on the 
 banks o' bonnie Doune so long as man loves woman, 
 and woman trusts to man -so long shall Burns be re- 
 membered. I bid farewell to his memory with gratitude 
 and joy. I rejoice at the opportunity I now have had 
 of strewing this frail garland of love and admiration on 
 his glorious grave.
 
 GEORGE GILFILLAN, 
 
 AND HIS WRITINGS. 
 
 EORGE GILFILLAN is a remarkable man. 
 He is the critic of the present age, as Byron 
 was the poet thereof some years ago. Gilfillan the 
 critic, like Byron the poet, has not had to climb up 
 the hill of fame ; but from the natural height on which 
 he found himself exalted, he has lighted' down upon its 
 top, whereon he now sits enthroned in the garb of im- 
 mortality. The critic, like the poet, has by one giant 
 stride outstripped all his contemporaries. What it took 
 them years of labour to accomplish, he has by one great 
 effort achieved. Gilfillan as a critic has the power and 
 eloquence of Macaulay ; the sparkling brilliancy of Jef- 
 frey ; the wildness if not the wit of Sidney Smith ; is 
 just and imerring in his judgment as Hazlitt. Above 
 and beyond this, he has an eloquence belonging to liini- 
 <elf, peculiarly his own. He has, among other things, 
 written a book, called "A Gallery of Literary Portraits," 
 which has given him, who six years ago was not known, 
 a fame which if not as yet European, is at least British 
 and American. GiMllan is a painter, and has drawn 
 the mental characteristics of the most eminent literary 
 men of the present and past generations. 
 
 Jeffrey alas ! we can no longer say as Byron said, 
 health to him ; but we can at least, and do say, peace to 
 the memory of the great immortal ; Christopher North 
 among the mountains ; Chalmers, fit follower of the
 
 38 
 
 Apostle Paul ; Emerson, the transcendentalist, deeply 
 embued with the spirit of nature ; Wordsworth, king of 
 rocky Skiddaw, now no more (the stars are falling from 
 us, the firmament is all but left in darkness ! Even the 
 harp of Erin is broken among the mountains, it is noAV 
 for ever silent, and no longer vibrates to the passing 
 breeze) ; Carlyle, the thinker deep and strong ; Byron, 
 a weed thrown upon the water ; Shelley, the enthusiast : 
 Coleridge, the dreamer ; and many more are treated of 
 in this delightful book. 
 
 Gilfillan is not only a clever man, but he is a man of 
 the highest talents, of the most exalted genius. This 
 gift from God, genius, quivers on his tremulous lips, 
 extends his keen nostril, and flashes in his fiery eye. 
 His intellect is piercing ; what other men see as through 
 a glass darkly, is, to his keen vision as the bright and 
 broad noon day. He is guided not by the light of clever- 
 ness or talent only, but of genius ; and thus gifted, he 
 leaps as if by instinct, to a conclusion regarding the men- 
 tal qualities of an author, in a way which almost invari- 
 ably insures success and certainty. In his analysis of an 
 author, Gilfillan takes hold of him frankly and freely; he 
 looks at him from top to toe, turns him round about and 
 round about, lifts him up and down, and scrutinizes him 
 in every possible way. He surveys him from all points 
 and is monarch of all he surveys. Thus the very shades 
 of his author's meaning are caught, every phase of his 
 mind are laid hold of, and put down palpably upon the 
 printed page. It is aa eloquent and glowing book, full 
 at once of love, benevolence, and stern truth. It awakes 
 the finest feelings of the soul ; while you read it your 
 blood runs cold and warm at once. In a language which
 
 39 
 
 is now withering and now wild in its attire, the author 
 does much to make us love with a still fonder affection 
 the truly great nature's nobles, those who have left be- 
 hind them a legacy for the good of man. We are trans- 
 ported with the author, wander where he will ; and 
 where has he not wandered] He is a divine with Irving, 
 an historian with Macaulay, an astronomer with Xichol, 
 and a poet with Keats. When he reviews " Chalmers' 
 Astronomical Sermons," you fancy yourself seated on a 
 golden cloud and fuel in a tit humour for Festus to bo 
 by your side. In his notice of " Carlyle's French Ke- 
 volution," he hurries you through that scene of blood, 
 and makes you for the time being, sup full of horrors. 
 He has elevated many of his heroes to heaven, and is 
 wonderfully eloquent when speaking of death. When 
 he relates the sad fate of Shelley, who perished in the 
 waters, the soul is moved with thoughts that are too deep 
 for tears. In his article on Wordsworth, how beauti- 
 fully he shows that the mission of the true poet is high 
 and holy, God-like and great. He, too, has exalted the 
 lowly, lifted up the fallen ; and one must ever regret 
 that Keats had not Giltillan instead of Gifford for his 
 reviewer. He has in a few instances dragged from ob- 
 scurity men who, but for him, might long have blushed 
 unseen. It may be unlike the law of nature, nevertheless 
 so it is the stars are made brilliant in the glory and 
 light of the sun. Embalmed in his eloquence, they now 
 bid fair for immortality ; they shall now be known and 
 remembered so long as truth and beauty are loved among 
 men. With all his benevolence and kindness, which we 
 so much admire, he is always truthful and stern, some- 
 tunes sarcastic and severe. One thing that will strike the
 
 40 
 
 reader of Gilfillan, is his wonderful power of concentra- 
 tion, giving us much thought in a few words. Thus we 
 have a history of the literature of America in a few pages ; 
 and taking it as a whole, we cannot doubt its correctness. 
 "We have also an account of the various kinds of preach- 
 ing graphically given in a page or two. We lately read 
 to a learned German friend a single passage from this 
 hook, that in reference to the learned German writers, in 
 the review of Carlyle ; our friend was astonished, and 
 said that although he had read ere now volumes on the 
 same authors, he had not before so succinct and clear an 
 idea of their various merits. The book before us is cal- 
 culated to cultivate the affections, to elevate the soul, 
 to lift it from the grovelling things of earth to the better 
 things of heaven. It does much to bind us in a bond 
 of eternal union to the mighty living and the mighty 
 dead ; and more than all does it bind us in a love 
 which language is poor to express to God, from 
 whom the gifted among men receive their power and 
 greatness. 
 
 About Gilfillan's style we know not what to say. He 
 is master of all kinds of style, and in his book are all 
 kinds. The plain, the neat, the elegant, the florid, are 
 familiar to him. He can turn a period with his pen as 
 easy as a sugar plum in his mouth. He does not think 
 much, if at all, of style ; he is out of his " Blair's Bhe- 
 toric " long ago. As a general rule, however, there is 
 about his style a reckless revelry, a wild savageiy, pro- 
 found, and deep, and strong. There is, moreoA r er, the 
 glow of poetry ever hanging over it, which renders it 
 mellow and beautiful pleasing to the soul. 
 
 Gilfillan has faults, he is too great to be perfect. He
 
 41 
 
 < quotes by far too many pretty bits from the poets, which 
 along with other beauties make his pages run over with 
 sweets. 
 
 Besides the volume to which we have referred, our 
 author has published several other things, all of them 
 more or less characteristic. Sermons and lectures havt; 
 at intervals come from his pen. He also writes, among 
 other things, in " Hogg's Instructor," a series of papers 
 called a " Bundle of Books." In one of those he lately 
 smote our humble selves in a way which, though tick- 
 lish at the time, we now thank him for, and hope it 
 improved us.* 
 
 * The late respected and favourite Provost Burness of Montrose, 
 when showing the writer of this note several relics of his cousin 
 the poet, pointed out the letter sent by Robert on the death of his 
 father, in which were the words, " I have lost one of the best of 
 fathers." On finishing the sentence, Burns' tears had evidently 
 begun to flow, for their indentation was visible on the paper 
 below the line ; the sight of which led to some conversation on 
 the sensitiveness of authors. The Provost remarked, " I can give 
 an instance of this in Robert's own case. When Will Nicoll and 
 the poet were returning from their northern tour, my father and 
 myself went out as far as Marykirk to meet them ; among the first 
 words Robert said, after kindly embracing us, was, ' I have been at 
 our paternal farm in the Mearns, and showing our old cousin some 
 things I have wrote by the way, which I mean to publish, but 
 the farmer streekit himself up, gave a knap with his stick on the 
 floor, and said, fie, fie, man, are you gaen to affront your respectable 
 friends, by ptinting godless nonsense ? na, na, gie me them, and 
 I'll put them in the fire.' The incident was again alluded to with 
 evident chagrin, before the poet left Montrose and his old cousin 
 was no great favourite with Robert as long as he lived." [This 
 note is inserted with the view to shew the extreme sensibility of 
 most authors.
 
 42 
 
 Mr Gilfillan has also just published a second " Gallery 
 of Literary Portraits," a work somewhat like the first. 
 To it in the meantime we cannot particularly refer. He 
 says it is written in a tone more subdued than his for- 
 mer book. For some reasons we like this, for others we 
 do not. Gilfillan should take care how he subdues him- 
 self. For ourselves we are willing to tolerate a good 
 deal of extravagance when we have his fire and truth. 
 He will understand us when we say that the lion 
 wanting his mane is no longer the king of the forest. 
 The sun in a mist is no such glorious thing as when 
 he goes through the heavens with his locks of golden 
 fire. 
 
 Our aruthor is also about to publish a work on the 
 " Hebrew Bards." We do not, as a wretched critic 
 lately said in the Athenaeum a journal which is day by 
 day sinking in the estimation of honest men a journal 
 which, unless it changes its course, will sink and sink 
 speedily till it can sink no more a journal which of late 
 has been as remarkable for its false philosophy, as for its 
 bad grammar ; for a recent specimen of both of which 
 witness its review of the noble genius David Scott a 
 journal notorious for its vile and heartless attacks on the 
 three men of the present generation, the trinity of talent 
 Carlyle, Gilfillan, and Emerson, to whom no parallel, 
 not the most distant comparison, can in those days of 
 ours be found. We do not, like this journal, look forward 
 to the appearance of Gilfillan's book with " awe and ap- 
 prehension;" but we look forward to its coming with im- 
 patient expectation, hopes and joy. We fancy that here 
 Gilfillan will rise to the height of his "great argument 
 and soar away into regions which even he has never
 
 43 
 
 reached before.* Indeed, Gilfillan has not done yet nearly 
 all that he can do ; the world has reason to expect great 
 things from him in time to come ; he has hitherto been 
 to a certain extent by the high- ways and by-ways of the 
 world, a gatherer of weeds and wild flowers that grow 
 rank upon the mountain side, many of which, wanting 
 his fostering aid, would have wasted their sweetness in 
 the desert air. We have hope that he will one day give 
 us a full-length portrait of Jesus ; his picture of a pro- 
 phet, in the notice of Shelley, shows his ability for the 
 task. We know no pen of the present age more fit for 
 the theme than GiMllan's. We can fancy how great 
 would be his picture of Christ he who was God among 
 men. Deep into time, and through the dim vista of far 
 distant years, he had an eye to pierce he sounded the 
 depths of eternity he lived in the future and liveth 
 now. The mantle of the Everlasting fell upon him 
 while he slept in a manger ; and he rose from the river 
 Jordan embalmed in the spirit of God. 
 
 We must now say a word respecting the personal 
 history and personal appearance of our author. He was 
 born at Comrie in Perthshire, where we have heard him 
 say that his cradle was rocked by the earthquake. There 
 is poetry in everything he says. He studied at Glasgow 
 University for the ministry. At College he was a great 
 devourer of books, the fruits of which are now seen in 
 his writings. He panted not for college honours, the 
 
 * Since the above was written, " The Bards of the Bible" has 
 appeared ; we hesitate not to pronounce it one of the most sub- 
 lime creations of genius that was ever laid at the feet of Him who 
 bore the cross the production and fruit of undying inspiration.
 
 44 
 
 greatest honour to him evidently being to get enshrined 
 in the hearts of the people. He is now, and has been 
 for several years, pastor of a large and flourishing con- 
 gregation in Dundee, connected -with the United Pres- 
 byterian Church; here he labours, beloving and beloved. 
 Some persons who know nothing of him, and little of 
 anything else, have shaken their heads and shrugged 
 their shoulders, and wondered much if he could pay 
 attention to his clerical duties and write so many books. 
 There is more in heaven and earth than is dreamt of in 
 their philosopy. Do they imagine for a moment that 
 they can repress the out-pourings of a soul bursting with 
 the beautiful in nature and man ? Gilfillan is only now 
 .spreading abroad that which years of reading and reflec- 
 tion in former days enabled him to store up in his mind. 
 He is thirty-nine years of age, tall, but not stout, accord- 
 ing to the fashion of Old Joe in " Barnaby Eudge ; " he 
 is, however, what connoisseurs in these matters which 
 we are not would call a muscular man. His hair is 
 dark brown, inclining to curl ; his brow broad and high. 
 As if his far-seeing mind took away from him the power 
 of his natural vision, he wears spectacles. In his walk 
 on the street there is something very odd, and it has 
 often struck us that there is something remarkable in 
 the walk of many great men. That of Emerson is a 
 calm and holy soliloquy ; that of Professor Wilson the 
 unfinished fragment of a great epic ; that of Gilfillan a 
 fiery ode. You see at once he is a son of the mountains. 
 In the pulpit or on the platform there can be no mis- 
 take about him. Whether sitting or standing, he seems 
 somewhat fidgetty, and you see at once that he is some- 
 thing to look upon. In speaking he is dreadfully in
 
 45 
 
 earnest. Elocution is an art he has never studied ;: 
 nevertheless he is, as Dr Chalmers was, and as all earnest 
 men must ever be, an elocutionist. When wishing to 
 impress some great truth upon his hearers, there is a 
 vude grandeur about his manner that is truly sublime. 
 He holds you with his "glittering eye," and gives out 
 his words in a voice now loud and long, as thunder 
 among the mountains ; anon, deep and low, like the 
 dying cadence of a powerful gong, sounded to summon 
 the loitering idlers of a baron's hall to a Christmas feast. 
 As he utters the last word he seems to get relieved of a 
 burden that pressed hard upon him, and he rises, like a 
 giant renewed in his strength, fresh for another effort. 
 For the present, our brief labour of love is ended. 
 Farewell, thou great and gifted spirit, thine is a soul 
 prophetic, burning with true fire. Thou hast made 
 us more and still more in love with the beautiful in 
 nature and the noble in man ; and in doing this thou 
 art working at once for an earthly immortality and an 
 inheritance in heaven.
 
 LETTER ON DR DICK, 
 
 THE CHRISTIAN PHILOSOPHER. 
 
 IE,* Can we stand idly on, can man, can 
 humanity stand idly on ? Is the old tragedy 
 once again to be enacted? Do the voices of the 
 dead call to us in vain. From the graves of Burns, 
 Chatterton, and Thorn, do we learn nothing 1 If so, 
 then let the dead past "bury the dead ? How fares the 
 living ? Alas ! there are at the present moment pro- 
 phets being neglected among us. There is a popular 
 authoress, a woman, and an ornament to womankind 
 she is in poverty ; the Christian philosopher, Dr Dick, 
 is overlooked. Can such things be, and overcome us 
 like a summer cloud, without our special wonder. Here 
 is a man over whose eloquent pages millions in this 
 country, in Europe, and America, have hung with rap- 
 ture and pondered with profit. Here is the man who 
 has done more than any other man we know, to popu- 
 larise science among the people. 
 
 The man who has written the " Christian Philoso- 
 pher," in which he speaks of the works of God, and 
 shows that in wisdom he hath made them all, the 
 man who has written the philosophy of a future state, 
 in which he has built up our hope ; confirmed our faith* 
 in another and better world, the man who has written 
 
 * This letter was written for the Cardiff and Merthyr 
 Giuirdian.
 
 47 
 
 the " Sidereal heavens," in which he holds communion 
 with the stars, and talks to the sun as to a play-fellow, 
 the man who has done all this, and much more than 
 this ; he who has given the world so much bread, has 
 received in return for his gift a stone. 
 
 The British Parliament, as we think, is in many 
 pects, a good parliament. It is in many respects a 
 good parliament ; but in one thing we think it is very 
 deficient, that is in the patronage of good and great 
 men. All parliaments are, and ever have been, deficient 
 in this. We, however, offer this complaint more in 
 sorrow than in anger. Parliament cannot do every- 
 thing. We very often ought to be doing ourselves 
 when we are babbling about the duties of parliament. 
 Let it be so now ; let us have home reformation let 
 us assist ourselves and our fellow-men who have done 
 us good. With this feeling I call upon Scotchmen ; 
 I call upon Englishmen and Irishmen ; I call upon 
 Britain not to let this man, of whom I have been 
 speaking, die neglected. He will die some day ; in 
 the course of nature that day cannot be far distant, 
 and when he dies we shall all then make a universal 
 rush to erect a monument over his grave. But should 
 we before doing this let the living object, whom when 
 dead we should thus honour, die without showing him 
 our gratitude ; then I say, and I say it without senti- 
 mentality, that the very stone we use shall rise up in 
 mutiny against us. I have not written without a know- 
 ledge of the facts that call forth my remarks. I know 
 that Dr Dick has lived a long and laborious life, writing 
 books which have done much good to man. Should 
 man, therefore, not show him good in return ? I know,
 
 48 
 
 too, that throughout his life he has lived with the 
 moderation and meekness of a saint, as he has written 
 with the wisdom of a sage ; and knowing these things, 
 I would fain save the country the shame of his he- 
 coming a martyr. 
 
 I call, then, on the puhlic to protect this man. Why 
 does not a hody of literary men with George Gilfillan 
 at their head without delay, set ahout this labour of 
 love. We hope, and have faith that it will at once be 
 done, and be the means of saving the feelings of the 
 friends of this great and good man. 
 
 P. L.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS.
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 SABBATH IN A SCOTTISH COTTAGE. 
 
 From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs, 
 That makes her loved at home, revered abroad. 
 
 BURNS. 
 
 :AIL ! Sabbath morn ; welcome, sweet day of 
 
 rest ; 
 
 Hail to that peaceful joy that comes with thee ; 
 I love this holy feeling in my breast, 
 Which now is caused by all I hear and see. 
 Hushed is the din of labour, mute' and still 
 Is the loud voice of reapers 'mong the corn ; 
 No more is heard the ploughman whistling shrill 
 The milkmaid's song has ceased, the hunter's horn 
 Is silent and hung by all hail to Sabbath morn ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Soon as the bright sun beams across the lawn 
 The humble cottar leaves his lowly bed 
 With grateful heart he welcomes in the dawn, 
 And thanks the God who watches o'er his head ;
 
 52 
 
 The youngsters soon assemble ; and all kneel 
 Before the Almighty's throne ; The Father prays ;: 
 His words go from the heart to heaven, all feel 
 Comfort and peace, and soon their voices raise 
 In humble notes of joy, thankfulness and praise- 
 
 Ill. 
 
 And now he takes the Bible blessed book, 
 And reads a portion from the Holy Word ; 
 He reads of Joseph's story, and all look 
 Amazed, whilst listening to the strange record ; 
 He reads of Jesus God's beloved Son, 
 Who came on earth to wash our sins away ; 
 He reads of what he did of what was done 
 Of what he bore for us by night, by day ; 
 His feeling heart is touched, and thus the sire doth say. 
 
 TV. 
 
 Lo ! Christ our Lord was in a stable born 
 And the young babe was in a manger laid ; 
 No pomp, no grandeur, did his birth adorn, 
 The humble shepherds o'er his body prayed ; 
 He was a man of sorrows and became 
 Acquainted with our weakness and our woe ; 
 He knew our frailties, and he bore the same 
 With patience ; our rebellious state below 
 Caused tears of sorrow o'er his sinless cheeks to flow.
 
 53 
 V. 
 
 While on this earth he cured the deaf and dumb, 
 He healed the sick and made the blind to see ; 
 At his command the silent dead did come 
 From their dark graves, the captives were set free ; 
 He stilled the raging waters with a word : 
 He cast out devils ; walked upon the sea ; 
 He came to teach mankind to sheath the sword, 
 To live in peace, and brothers all to be ; 
 Yet man received him not, but pierced him on a tree ; 
 
 VI. 
 
 They planted on his head a crown of thorns, 
 And led him forth to Calv'ry, there to die ; 
 He bore the cross, and meekly bore the scorns 
 Of jeering soldiers, and was heard to cry 
 " My God ! My God ! " and then he closed his eyes 
 In death. The Temple's veil in twain was riven ; 
 The sun is darkened lo, the dead arise 
 Huge rocks are rent men to despair are driven 
 And earth affrighted shakes beneath the frown of heaven. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Oh ! think on Jesus, think on what he bore, 
 Obey his word, the sinner's way despise, 
 Oh ! strive to enter in at the strait door 
 Which leads to peace for aye beyond the skies. 
 Eemember thy Creator, and in prayer 
 Implore his aid, then nought hast thou to fear.
 
 54 
 
 Make God your staff and comfort then tho' care 
 Oppress you, when your days are ended here 
 A bright beloved saint with Christ you will appear. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And thus with them the pleasant moments flow, 
 The dainties soon are on the table spread, 
 Of which they all partake, and then they go 
 To where there father's fathers have been laid 
 To the church-yard and the church. Hark, the 
 
 loud bell 
 
 Is pealing through the wood and o'er the lea ; 
 Now groups are seen on distant hill and dale, 
 Wending their way with joy to where we see 
 The spire that points to heaven, in which they hope 
 to be. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The guidman and guidwife hae each put on 
 Their Sunday claes, and seen the bairnies drest ;. 
 Their eldest daughter Jessie, peered by none, 
 She too is buskit in her very best ; 
 And John, their worthy, guid, respected son 
 Wha toils wi' pleasure for them day by day, 
 He wearies not, but still he labours on, 
 And ne'er an angry word is heard to say 
 He's ready for the kirk his heart is glad and gay. 
 
 They reach the lone sequestered house of God, 
 Where friends are loitering in the auld kirk-yard,.
 
 55 
 
 Speaking of those who lie beneath the sod, 
 And heaving sighs o'er friends langsyne interred. 
 Lo ! here the widow weeps her husband lost ; 
 Here the forsaken lonely maid may mourn 
 And tell her hapless tale to midnight ghost ; 
 Here wild flowers and the green yew tree adorn 
 The graves of those who sleep till life's eternal morn. 
 
 XI. 
 
 The bell has ceased, all enter church, and now 
 Service begins a psalm is read and sung 
 Their pastor prays and see, on every brow 
 Sits holy thought at his instructive tongue 
 He reads a chapter, then the text -is given 
 He knows what erring mortals need and want ; 
 He acts and speaks as should a guide to heaven ; 
 With him there is no hypocritic cant, 
 No nauseous statements made, no rhapsody, no rant. 
 
 XII. 
 
 He bids them first honour and serve their God, 
 Love and adore Him, and you will do well ; 
 He bids them strive to gain that blest abode 
 Beyond the skies, where saints forever dwell. 
 He bids them all respect their fellow men, 
 And oh ! be kind, and feel for others woes ; 
 Be just, from all dishonest acts refrain, 
 And the reward is yours. Peace and repose 
 Attend the good man still, where'er on earth he goes
 
 56 
 XIII. 
 
 And thus times passes. Service soon is ended, 
 The congregation slowly wears away ; 
 Pleasure and joy on every face are blended, 
 Oh, they have cause to bliss the Sabbath day. 
 And soon our humble family reach their home, 
 A lonely cot by whimplin' burnie seen ; 
 Meg gie's them hearty welcome as they come, 
 Spreads a repast before them a', I ween, 
 Which her ain hands prepared, sae wholesome, guid, 
 and clean. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 A blessing's asked, and then they all partake 
 That food which God thus gives them day by day- 
 Again they thank Him for His mercy's sake, 
 And thus the time glides pleasantly away ; 
 The aged father now selects a book 
 Frae aff his shelves, on which are many seen 
 Hail to these treasures, hail ! But let me look 
 What are they ? Ah ! the best of books, I ween 
 O'er which the earnest student ponders morn and e'en. 
 
 XV. 
 
 There's first the big Ha' Bible, and upon 
 It the good father ponders morn and night 
 Then Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress honest John 
 Is read by king and cottar with delight, 
 The Fourfold State by Boston Watt and Blair,
 
 57 
 
 Stackhouse and Harvey's Meditations too, 
 Paley and Watson's noble works are there. 
 Which make the doubting sceptic turn, I trow, 
 And too his broken reed bid a long last adieu. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 There is no blind selection ; here are seen 
 Books on all subjects, art and science too, 
 Histories of men and nations ; and I ween 
 Of great and gifted poets not a few 
 Shakspeare and Milton, Thomson, Blair, and Burns 
 Are kept with care within his humble bield, 
 And all are read with rapture read by turns, 
 While round the blazing fire or in the field, 
 Those great and gifted minds unmingled pleasure yield. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 But now the sun is sinking in the west, 
 The day's declining evening winds grow cool, 
 The younger cottars now again get dressed, 
 For they maun a' gang to the Sabbath School, 
 The auld guid wife gets a' her young sons near 
 To say their tasks to her before they gae ; 
 The guid man gets his daughters, he does speer 
 Their questions at them, ranged around his knee j 
 He strokes their heads and bids them say your task 
 to me.
 
 58 
 XVIII. 
 
 And now they leave their humble home, and go 
 With willing hearts to school, at which are seen 
 Young groups, all free from sorrow, care, and woe, 
 With patience loitering on the village green ; 
 And soon they enter, soon their tasks are said, 
 Here all are told and taught to sing and pray ; 
 An exhortation's given, a chapter's read, 
 The young mind's made familiar with the way 
 Of Him who shall appear at the great Judgment Day. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 But time flies on, the twilight bell is pealing, 
 The sun has sunk beyond yon heath-clad hill ; 
 Darkness on wood and dell is quickly stealing, 
 Night comes apace, and all is hushed and still 
 Homeward in haste our humble group returning 
 Enter their cot dispelled is every dread ; 
 The door is barred, the lamp is dimly burning, 
 The bible's opened^passages are read 
 Which, thanks be to our God, console the heart and head 
 
 XX. 
 
 Hark ! once again the voice of praise ascends ; 
 How the heart melts at melody so sweet ! 
 The contrite bosom in devotion bends, 
 And yields its grateful homage at the feet 
 Of Him who made the world in which we live. 
 Who gives us all our comforts day by day,
 
 59 
 
 And sent his Son, who taught us to forgive 
 Our earthly foes, and pointed out the way 
 To gain his love who is our comfort, staff, and stay. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Hail ! to this humble family, peace and rest 
 Be ever with them in this world below, 
 All hail to him that hath a feeling breast, 
 Who sees and fain would share a brother's woe ; 
 Peace to the just, the generous, and the good ; 
 Hasten that time, Lord, when we shall see 
 The holy precepts practised understood 
 then, and not till then, will mankind be 
 The good and God-like beings meant and made by Thee.
 
 60 
 
 THE AULD KIRK YARD, 
 
 'Tis but a night, a long and moonless night, 
 We make the grave our bed, and then are gone. 
 
 BLAIR. 
 
 I. 
 
 WEEL I like to wander 
 
 When the e'ening sun is set 
 When the raven on the castle croaks, 
 
 And the grass \vi' dew is wet 
 When the birds hae ceased their singing, 
 
 And to their hames repaired, 
 Then, then, I like to wander. 
 
 In the auld kirk-yard.* 
 
 * The small city of the dead that suggested to the author the 
 writing of these lines is as perfect a ruin as its citizens within ; 
 no kind of fence defends it from the raid of the ruthless intruder 
 yet would the poet reverently linger among its stones till the 
 eleventh hour had proclaimed the approach of summer's midnight. 
 About the time it appeared, a friend, remarked to the author, 
 "that Auld Kirk Yard seems just an imitation of ' there grows 
 a Bonnie Brier Bush in our Kail Yard : ' " the youth stood some 
 minutes in a state of apparent stupefaction, his face becoming 
 whiter than the paper on which the poem was printed, but at 
 length said, " You do not know how much you hurt me ; I declare 
 I never saw nor heard of the piece of which you speak." That 
 friend has sometimes since regretted the occurrence, and would 
 say to others similarly situated Do nothing rashly, remember 
 the fate of poor Tannahill.
 
 61 
 II. 
 
 In the auld kirk-yard I've pleasures 
 
 That the gay can never hae, 
 Though whiles I may be gloomy, 
 
 And my heart wi' trouble wae. 
 0, its there that I see justice ; 
 
 There the cottar and the laird 
 Lie side by side in slumber, 
 
 In the auld kirk-yard. 
 
 III. 
 
 Grim death comes fast upon us, 
 
 And tak's baith ane an a', 
 He Hies about on fiery wing 
 
 And tears our friends awa' ; 
 The father and the mother dies, 
 
 And the bairnie its no spared 
 Folk are freed frae a' their sorrows 
 
 In the auld kirk-yard. 
 
 IV. 
 
 I like to see the charnel house, 
 
 Where lie decaying banes 
 I like to read the epitaphs 
 
 Engraven on the stanes 
 I like to lean upon the tombs, 
 
 And tread the lang green sward 
 That waves o'er friends departed, 
 
 In the auld kirk-yard.
 
 62 
 V. 
 
 Here's a nook wi' nae memorial, 
 
 Where the village strangers* sleep, 
 At whose dying hour no bosom friend 
 
 Was heard to wail or weep. 
 Here they're laid to rest ; nae marbles tell 
 
 The toils on earth they shared ; 
 But their griefs and woes are ended 
 
 In the auld kirk-yard. 
 
 VI. 
 
 How oft hae I sat lonely here 
 
 Nae living mortal wi's 
 When a' was dark and dreary, 
 
 And the loud wind 'mang the trees ; 
 I thought on grim ghost stories, 
 
 But e'en then I wasna feard, 
 For I kenn'd that God was wi' me 
 
 In the auld kirk-yard. 
 
 VII. 
 
 0, wae's me what a strange strange place, 
 
 Is this wee spot o' ground 
 Sma though it be, there's mony a true 
 
 And loving heart that's bound 
 
 * Mr Robert Chambers, in a beautiful essay, speaks thus of 
 the Stranger's Nook: " In country church-yards in Scotland, 
 and perhaps in other countries also, there is always a corner near 
 the gateway, which is devoted to the reception of strangers, and 
 is distinguished from the rest of the area, by its total want of 
 monuments.
 
 63 
 
 To wander here and shed sad tears 
 O'er Friends langsyne interred : 
 
 There's something that's enticing 
 In the auld kirk-yard. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Still and silent are they sleeping, 
 
 But the day will dawn on graves 
 Their inmates will be roused from death 
 
 And ne'er again be slaves, 
 The great last day is coming, 
 
 When their God, eternal guard, 
 Will wake them from their slumbers 
 
 In the auld kirk-yard.
 
 64 
 
 MY FATHER'S HA'. 
 
 I. 
 
 Y Father's Ha' ! my Father's Ha' t 
 
 ! I've been happy there, 
 When sitting round the blazing lire, 
 
 Our hearts sae free frae care. 
 Despite o' a' the ills that came 
 
 To tak' our peace awa' 
 We were unco blythe and happy aye 
 Around my Father's Ha' 
 
 II. 
 
 I've wandered east, I've wandered west r 
 
 I've wandered mang the hills 
 And flowery glens and rocky dens, 
 
 And I kae felt the ills 
 That man is subject to, 
 
 But I hae felt that a' 
 The cares o' life were banished, 
 
 When round my Father's Ha' 
 
 III. 
 
 ! weel I mind the winter nights, 
 When Boreas blew sae bauld,
 
 65 
 
 When round the ingle cheek we sat 
 An' smiled baith young and auld. 
 
 We naething had to trouble's then, 
 But we heard the loud winds blaw, 
 
 And wished the homeless wanderer wi's 
 Around my Father's Ha.' 
 
 IV. 
 
 It's there that I first learned 
 
 To read guid and holy books 
 It's there that I first saw wi' joy 
 
 A mither's anxious looks 
 It's there that I first heard the prayer 
 
 Sent up for ane an' a* ; 
 It's the sweetest, dearest spot on earth 
 
 To me my Father's Ha'. 
 
 V. 
 
 My Father's Ha', my Father's Ha', 
 
 To me 'twill aye be dear ; 
 And those wha round it used to sit 
 
 Alas ! how few are here. 
 They're scattered noo, and some are to 
 
 A better world awa', 
 And left us here to think on them 
 
 Around my Father's Ha'.
 
 66 
 VI. 
 
 But we'll a' yet be happy 
 
 When life's journey here is o'er 
 We'll meet beyond yon sunny skies 
 
 We'll meet to part no more. 
 Our bliss will be eternal there, 
 
 It will never flee awa' ; 
 We'll be happier than we've ever been 
 
 Around my Father's Ha'.
 
 67 
 
 HAME BEYOND THE SKIES, 
 
 I. 
 
 HEN the heart's oppressed wi' sorrow, 
 And the head bowed down wi' care ; 
 When we labour wi' a heavy load 
 
 0' grief and dark despair ; 
 When a' before seems mirky, 
 
 And black clouds around us rise 
 It's a blessed thing to think we hae 
 A hame beyond the skies. 
 
 II. 
 
 When friends wha dearly lo'ed us 
 
 Wha by us were aye held dear ; 
 When we're lowly laid by fell disease, 
 
 And stretched upon the bier ; 
 When we kiss the cheek so lately warm, 
 
 And close the glistening eyes 
 It's a blessed thing to think we hae 
 
 A hame beyond the skies. 
 
 III. 
 
 When our earthly friends forsake us. 
 And upon us shut their door
 
 68 
 
 When left by a' like some lone tree 
 
 Upon a blasted moor, 
 There's a friend that never leaves us, 
 
 If we're just, and good, and wise, 
 It's a blessed thing to think we hae 
 
 A hame beyond the skies. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ah me ! I often wonder 
 
 What this weary world would be, 
 If ye kenn'd nae o' anither 
 
 When in death we closed our e'e ; 
 When we're laid into the lonesome grave 
 
 From which we a' maun rise 
 It's a blessed thing to think we hae 
 
 A hame beyond the skies. 
 
 V. 
 
 A' kinds, a' colours, and a' creeds 
 
 Are blest wi' hope in heaven ; 
 To Saint and Savage, Turk and Jew, 
 
 This balm of life is given. 
 The Catholic and the Calvinist, 
 
 Wha other creeds despise, 
 Think its a blessed thing to hae 
 
 A hame beyond the skies. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The burdened slave who lives on earth 
 A life of care and wee ;
 
 69 
 
 The Greenlander, who climbs o'er hills 
 
 Of everlasting snow ; 
 The poor untutored Indian, 
 
 Who for lack of knowledge dies, 
 Is taught by nature that he has 
 
 A hame beyond the skies. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Let us thank our God the giver 
 
 Of this cheering hope below, 
 Which dispels the darkest cloud of fate, 
 
 And sets us free from woe. 
 There's a land of bliss, where He will wipe 
 
 All tears from weeping eyes 
 It's a blessed thing to think we liae 
 
 A hame beyond the skies.
 
 70 
 
 VERSES TO MY AUNT, 
 
 * This is one of my earliest efforts ; it will explain itself. The 
 person to whom it was written Mrs Warden of the Plans of 
 Thornton is one of the kindest and best of women. She is one 
 of " Nature's Nobles, " dearly beloved by all who know her, Would 
 that the world were composed of her like. 
 
 I. 
 
 EAREST Aunt, when thinking on your 
 
 Kindness to us day by day, 
 I see that we are among your 
 Debtors wha can never pay. 
 
 II. 
 
 When I think upon the ruin 
 
 That comes ower baith ane and a' 
 
 When a father wha's well doing 
 Fra his family wears awa. 
 
 III. 
 
 When I think, and thinking shiver 
 On the havoc it wad make, 
 
 Had my father, been forever 
 Laid within his narrow bed.
 
 71 
 
 IV. 
 
 When I think upon your kindness 
 To him, Aunt, baith air and late, 
 
 If my beating heart were mindless 
 Only when it stops to beat. 
 
 V. 
 
 A' the toil that you had wi' him, 
 Save yoursel' there's few did see'd ; 
 
 Still wi' pleasure did you gie him 
 Ilk thing he could wish or need. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Pale and wan he came out to you 
 Wild disease made dismal strife, 
 
 But wi' grace that God did gie you 
 You e'en saved his very life. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Aft you gaed to pu' at mid day, 
 A' the best fruit you could see, 
 
 Though he aft to stop did bid you, 
 Still you kindly bade him pree. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 When the sun has ceased his vigour, 
 And the warmth did shine nae mair, 
 
 Then when e'en was calm you placed him 
 At the door wi' meikle care.
 
 I'l 
 
 IX. 
 
 Then he aften saw descending 
 In the west the setting sun ; 
 
 Balmy breezes him were mending 
 Thus wi' joy the e'en did run, 
 
 X. 
 
 At the hour of midnight when you 
 Heard the lonely owlet cry, 
 
 You had need of rest, but then you, 
 Even then you couldna lie. 
 
 XL 
 
 Then you quietly gaed to see him, 
 And to speer if aught was wrong ; 
 
 Milk in plenty did you gie him, 
 Cooled the almost parched tongue. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Dearest Aunt, can I ever 
 Kindness such as that forget ! 
 
 No ! I'm sure that I can never, 
 Till this heart hath ceased to beat. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 I, 'tis true can ne'er reward ye, 
 Which does fill my heart wi' care !
 
 73 
 
 But accept from humble bardie 
 A' he has an earnest prayer. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Peace and pleasure to your cot aye, 
 Comfort to the ruling twa ; 
 
 0, may bliss attend your lot aye 
 Peace to ane and peace to a'. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Comfort to you a 1 the day time ; 
 
 Peace when laid upon your bed 
 God forsakes the guid at nae time 
 
 Then he hovers round your head. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 When your days on earth are ended, 
 When you're o'er life's ocean driven, 
 
 Cares on earth will a' be mended, 
 When we reap the promise given. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Dearest Aunt I canna gie you 
 Words to tell you what I feel ; 
 
 I maun soon be oot to see you 
 God aye bless you Fare-you-weel.
 
 74 
 
 THE TRY8TING TREE, 
 
 trystin' tree ! the trystin' tree 
 I'll mind it a' my days ; 
 It weel deserves a sang frae me, 
 
 Or something in its praise. 
 So sit ye down beside me, love, 
 
 And I will sing to thee, 
 The pure delights that we enjoyed 
 Beneath the trystin' tree. 
 
 II. 
 
 D'ye mind when first we met there 
 
 I was reading at some book, 
 When you passed ae summer mornin' 
 
 An' you gied me sic a look ; 
 Weel I mind you gaed by slowly, 
 
 And you seemed to smile to me 
 So I bade you come and rest awhile 
 
 Beneath the trysting tree.
 
 75 
 III. 
 
 Ye consented, and cam near me, 
 
 And, Jessie, that ae look 
 Gard me loe ye ever after 
 
 I loot fa' the very book, 
 And I pressed ye to my bosom, 
 
 While the tear stood in my e'e, 
 0, sacred are the joys o' love, 
 
 Beneath the trysting tree. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Beneath the trysting tree began 
 
 A true love that will last 
 Till this fair earth be burned up 
 
 And all its glories past 
 Yon sun may be extinguished, 
 
 But I'll live and think on thee, 
 And remember a' the joys we've haen, 
 
 Beneath the trysting tree. 
 
 V. 
 
 Yes, the time will come, dear Jessie 
 
 When e'en you and I maun part, 
 O' ye needna look amazed nor let 
 
 This touch your tender heart ; 
 For ye ken tho' death divide us, 
 
 I will meet again with thee , 
 And hae bliss beyond with joys we've haen 
 
 Beneath the trysting tree.
 
 76 
 VI. 
 
 We ha'e met here ilka e'enin' 
 
 When the eerie bat flew hame, 
 And we've seen the pale moon gane 
 
 To the land I canna name ; 
 We ha'e met here ilka mornin' 
 
 Ere the sun cam o'er the sea, 
 And constant was our happiness 
 
 Beneath the trysting tree. 
 
 VII. 
 
 When wearied nature sank to rest, 
 
 And a' was hushed and still, 
 Wi' lightsome heart I crossed the muir, 
 
 And passed the Haunted Mill.* , 
 The feint a ghaist or bogle 
 
 Ere tried to hinder me 
 I guess they kenii'd they couldna 
 
 When I sought the trysting tree. 
 
 * 1741 was a disastrous year for Scotland bad seed and a 
 backward spring, followed by a wet summer and a late harvest, 
 brought on the country the evils of famine. At that time (and 
 not far from the trysting tree) there stood, and yet stands a 
 meal-mill romantically situated on the banks of an ever-running 
 brook. In a hut, on the farm attached to the mill, there lived a 
 labourer, having a numerous family, and out of work ; he asked
 
 77 
 VIII. 
 
 0, its here I vowed to. loe you 
 
 While my life was spared below ; 
 Here I vowed to shield and guard you 
 
 Frae this world's care and woe ; 
 It's here at times we baith hae prayed 
 
 Upon the bended knee 
 We've tasted bliss beyond compare 
 
 Beneath the trysting tree. 
 
 from the- miller (on credit) a small quantity of meal ; the favour 
 was refused ; the family was starving ; and driven to desperation 
 by their cries for 1 bread, in the course of the night he went to the 
 mill, and getting in at a wide aperture in the wall, through which 
 passed the axle of the wheel, was in the act of filling a bag with 
 meal, when, unfortunately for him, the miller entered with a 
 light in his hand, for the purpose of setting on the mill. Being 
 thus detected, the miller took him to his house, where a fire was 
 already blazing on the hearth, upon which was a heated girdle, 
 for the purpose of firing the bread which the servants were bak- 
 ing for the family's \\se. Either from infatuation or frolic it was 
 agreed that as his feet had brought him to the mill, and his 
 hands had stolen the meal to place all four on the red-hot girdle, 
 which they accordingly did with great violence, his agony and 
 cries for mercy being of none avail. A female relative of the 
 miller's cried out " dinna let him go till I put in anither cowe 
 yet." Getting at last released, he crawled out on his elbows and 
 knees until he reached the cart shed, where death ere long put 
 an end to his sufferings. The man being poor, the miller's influ- 
 ence prevailed, and the affair was therefore hushed over, the mill 
 was ever after said to be haunted. The miller's family is now 
 extinct, their affairs having previously gone to ruin, and not a 
 few of them suffered violent deaths. To this time, if the neigh- 
 bours have to go that way at night, they generally feel timorous 
 as they pass the haunted mill.
 
 78 
 IX. 
 
 Here I rowed you in my plaidie 
 
 Frae the cauld and biting blast, 
 Though the trysting tree can shield us 
 
 Frae the north wind or the wast ; 
 I bound a wreath around your brow 
 
 A token true to thee, 
 That we were bound in bands of love 
 
 Beneath the trysting tree. 
 
 X 
 
 When I think on thae days, Jessie, 
 
 My fond heart is like to break ; 
 But I stop the tears, for weel I ken 
 
 That her for wha's dear sake 
 I sigh still loes me fondly 
 
 Still is fondly loed by me, 
 And our first affection was begun 
 
 Beneath the trysting tree. 
 
 XL 
 
 Dy'e mind that time, dear lassie, 
 
 When I left ye to yoursel' 
 I'm sure we baith had sorrows which 
 
 Nae tongue can ever tell, 
 I came and waited though I kenn'd 
 
 I wadna meet wi' thee ; 
 O, I thought my very heart would break 
 
 Beneath the trysting tree.
 
 79 
 XII. 
 
 When winter comes, our trysting tree 
 
 Grows naked, brown, and bare ; 
 Like mother nature round about 
 
 It hangs its head wi' care. 
 But spring returns and it revives, 
 
 As ye may plainly see 
 There's no a tree about the burn 
 
 Like our ain trysting tree.
 
 80 
 
 MAN TO PEACE WAS BORN, 
 
 An Imitation of "MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN." 
 
 I. 
 
 HEN gentle spring's ethereal bloom, 
 
 Made fields and forests gay, 
 One morning as I wandered forth 
 
 Along the banks of Tay, 
 I spied a man whose back was bent, 
 
 But cankering grief and care 
 Seemed utter strangers to his heart, 
 Though hoary was his hair. 
 
 II. 
 
 Young stranger, whither wanderest thou 
 
 Began the reverend sage, 
 Does love of nature call thee forth, 
 
 Before bowed down with age 1 
 Or haply wilt thou talk with me 
 
 Of Providence's plan, 
 And vindicate the ways of God 
 
 To noble-minded man.
 
 81 
 III. 
 
 Yon sun that sheds a golden flood 
 
 Of light on tower and tree, 
 And tells us there's a God above 
 
 Delights and pleases me. 
 I've seen yon glorious summer sun 
 
 Twice forty times return, 
 And every time has added proof, 
 
 That man to peace was born. 
 
 rv. 
 
 My son, when young, be wise be not 
 
 Too prodigal of time ; 
 Do not mispend thy precious hours, 
 
 Thy glorious youthful prime. 
 ! let not follies take their sway, 
 
 Do not let passions burn 
 Curb and contemn them, e'en to day, 
 
 And then thou wilt not mourn. 
 
 V. 
 
 'Tis true that tyrants while in power, 
 Oppress man here below ; 
 
 But why from this should it be said 
 That man was doomed to woe. 
 
 'Tis madness for the rich and gre;vt 
 To treat the poor with scorn ;
 
 Oh, why has man the will and power 
 To make his fellow mourn. 
 
 Were mankind wise, we all might be 
 
 In pleasure's lap caressed 
 There's plenty here for high and low, 
 
 To make us truly blest ; 
 But sordid, sinful, selfish men 
 
 Hoard up all that they can, 
 And while they only serve themselves, 
 
 Oppress their fellow men. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Many and sharp the numerous ills 
 
 Inwoven with our frame 
 And oft we cause remorse and grief 
 
 By bringing on the same. 
 Oh, were mankind when young all taught 
 
 The wicked's path to scorn, 
 Then blest experience soon would show 
 
 That man to peace was bom. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 See yonder ploughman on the field, 
 He whistles as he goes ;
 
 83 
 
 He knows not grief nor care his heart 
 Is ne'er oppressed with woes ; 
 
 And when at e'en his toil is o'er 
 He homeward doth return, 
 
 Lo, there he meets a cheerful wife, 
 And babes to bless him born. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Proud man to be a slave was ne'er 
 
 By nature's law designed, 
 Then why should weak and puny man 
 
 To earth his brother bind ? 
 Oh ! shake the fetters from the feet 
 
 Of slaves ; wipe off this scorn 
 And just reproach from nature ; show 
 
 To freedom man was born. 
 
 X. 
 
 Yet, let not this too much, my son 
 
 Engage thy youthful breast ; 
 Think not this world's a paradise 
 
 Perhaps indeed 'twere best 
 To think and to believe that we 
 
 Are happy here below ; 
 But only if we're just and good 
 
 If not we dwell in woe.
 
 84 
 XI. 
 
 Death is the good man's greatest friend,. 
 
 The kindest and the best ; 
 For then his toils are at an end 
 
 He's taken to his rest. 
 The vile and wicked fears its blow, 
 
 From sin to sorrow torn ; 
 But the just and good ne'er fear to go 
 
 Who know for what they're born.
 
 85 
 
 MARTHA PALMER. 
 
 I. 
 
 DEAR, dear Martha Palmer, 
 
 A' the grief you've gien to me, 
 It's far beyond my humble power 
 
 In words to tell to thee ; 
 But my heart's sae f u' o' sorrow 
 
 At the change I've lately seen, 
 That I canna do but tell you o't ; 
 And ask what ye could mean. 
 
 II. 
 
 I little thought that slanders, love, 
 
 Of heartless envious men, 
 Coifld e'er hae poisoned your high mind, 
 
 Or made you false ; but then 
 I find the love of woman 
 
 Is a frail and quivering reed, 
 And the heart that doats too fondly 
 
 Is the heart that doats to bleed.
 
 86 
 III. 
 
 D'ye mind the scenes that we twa had 
 
 Since first we met thegither ; 
 D'ye mind the vows we made, to live 
 
 In love wi' ane anither ; 
 D'ye mind the tears we aften shed, 
 
 For very bliss and joy 
 Did you think then, Martha, did you mean 
 
 Our rapture to destroy. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Oh ; how aften did we wander, 
 
 When the sun sunk o'er the hill, 
 Down the saugh road, across the burn, 
 
 And by the haunted mill. 
 Up to the kirk and auld 7 kirk yard, 
 
 Which ye would hardly leave, 
 For weel you lo'ed to linger 
 
 By the murdered martyr's grave. 
 
 V. 
 
 Whiles, when we stood frae wind or rain,. 
 
 Beside the auld grey tower, 
 An' saw the pale moon glimmering 
 
 At the solemn midnight hour ; 
 I told you warlock stories, 
 
 And I've felt you cling to me,
 
 87 
 
 As if I were your salvation 
 Which indeed I weel could be. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And ah, we often sat, my dear 
 
 Beneath the trysting tree, 
 Where I made love to you, iny dear 
 
 And you made love to me. 
 And when we baith were left alane, 
 
 And nae intruder near, 
 We spoke the poems and sung the sangs, 
 
 That true hearts like to hear, 
 
 VII. 
 
 Ah, then, dear Martha, then this earth 
 
 Was paradise to me ! 
 This heart, sae heavy now, was light 
 
 When I was lo'ed by thee. 
 The flowers were bonnie, fields were green 
 
 Frae ilka bush and tree ; 
 The birds sang sweetly, very sweet, 
 
 When Martha smiled on me. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 But now that you hae left me, 
 Now that we by fate are parted, 
 
 Now that ye hae sought to live alane 
 And I am broken hearted
 
 88 
 
 I see not nature as it was 
 The earth, the sun, the sea, 
 
 The trees, the birds, the bonnie flowers, 
 Are naething now to me. 
 
 IX. 
 
 At midnight like a ghaist I gang, 
 
 An' love 'tween you and me, 
 I've fearfu* thoughts o' something 
 
 Which I darena tell to thee. 
 I weep whiles like a very child, 
 
 For a' my hopes are hurled 
 To fell destruction, and I'm left 
 
 Alane in this dark world. 
 
 X. 
 
 You, dearest have the triumph 
 
 Of disdaining, slighting, me 
 But I would not boast or glory 
 
 Had I done the same to thee. 
 True love should not be scorned 
 
 It is sent to earth from heaven, 
 As the purest and rarest gift 
 
 That God to man hath given. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Fareweel, dear Martha, you may ne'er 
 Forget me a' th'gither.
 
 89 
 
 And I ken you'll keep your aith to God, 
 That you'll ne'er wed another ; 
 
 If it be sae, I know that when 
 Frae earth we gang awa', 
 
 I'll meet you in a better world 
 As pure as winter snaw. 
 
 A WELCOME TO QUEEN VICTORIA & PRINCE ALBERT 
 
 ON THEIR VISIT TO DUNDEE. 
 
 The following verses were sent to the Queen during her resi- 
 dence at Blair Castle, through her Foreign Secretary, the Earl of 
 Aberdeen. His Lordship was kind enough to send me a note 
 acknowledging the receipt of the Poem by her Majesty. 
 
 " Stir the beal file wave the banner- 
 Bid the thundering cannon sound, 
 
 Rend the skies with acclamation, 
 Stun the woods and waters round, 
 
 Till the echoes of onr gathering 
 Turn the world's admiring gaze, 
 
 To this act of duteous homage 
 Scotland to VICTORIA pays." 
 
 DELTA. 
 
 I. 
 
 UNDEE welcomes with kind greeting, 
 
 Fair Victoria to our shore ; 
 And we hail the Queen of nations 
 Whom we honour and adore.
 
 90 
 
 And we hail her joyful Consort, 
 
 Worthy of her fondest love 
 May their days on earth be happy 
 
 Till they reach the land above. 
 
 II. 
 
 Thou bright sun ! shine forth in splendour, 
 
 Shine out on the royal pair 
 Raise our beating hearts, and let us 
 
 Bid a long adieu to care. 
 For, this the day and this the hour 
 
 With heartfelt joy we see, 
 Britain's great and peerless Queen, 
 
 In our native home, Dundee. 
 
 III. 
 
 Lo ! the lofty arch triumphal 
 
 Rears its columns to the skies 
 Widely opened be its portals 
 
 To our Queen's admiring eyes. 
 The cannons sound the banners wave 
 
 The fairest flowers are seen 
 All bound in wreaths right royally 
 
 To welcome Albion's Queen. 
 
 IV. 
 
 We would wish that this their visit 
 
 In auld loyal Scotland, be 
 Marked by all that kindly feeling 
 
 Which is ever with the free !
 
 91 
 
 We would wish them to be happy 
 While ill Scotia they remain ; . 
 
 And may every joy attend them 
 To the " merry " land again. 
 
 V. 
 
 May their sports among the heather 
 
 Be what bounding hearts desire ; 
 May the hills, and glens, and fountains, 
 
 Them with health and mirth inspire. 
 Let us welcome Queen Victoria 
 
 To her Highland home with glee, 
 Where the heath cock's screaming loudly ,. 
 
 And the wild deer bounding free. 
 
 VI. 
 
 May the reign of Queen Victoria 
 
 Be a reign of rest and peace, 
 Prompted by her bright example, 
 
 May all strife and discord cease ; 
 May her ministers act wisely, 
 
 And may all her subjects be 
 Ever loving ever loyal, 
 
 Ever fearless, bold, and free. 
 
 VII. 
 
 May the royal babes be happy 
 Till their parents home return, 
 
 In their own loved land, 0, may they, 
 Ne'er have cause to grieve or mourn ;
 
 92 
 
 May they grow in grace and beauty, 
 May they ever, ever prove 
 
 Choicest "blessings to their parents, 
 Who reward them with their love. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 So we welcome here Prince Albert, 
 
 Consort to our Eoyal Queen 
 May his days on earth be happy 
 
 As his days gone by have been, 
 And we welcome with kind greeting, 
 
 Fair Victoria to our shore, 
 And we hail the Queen of nations 
 
 Whom we honour and adore.
 
 93 
 
 T H E K I R K, 
 
 JWAS Sabbath e'en ; the setting sun 
 Out o'er the Law* was glowering ; 
 The day o' rest was nearly done, 
 
 And night's dark clouds were lowering. 
 
 The golden west I gladly saw 
 Was by the sun's rays riven 1 
 
 At length he calmly sunk away, 
 Like saint who soars to heaven. 
 
 As I stood, and wi' pleasure gazed 
 Upon the face of nature, 
 
 I saw what made me much amazed- 
 A maid wha's every feature 
 
 Betokened that she had not been 
 A dweller 'mong the rest o's, 
 
 For baith her manner and her mein 
 Were better than the best' o's. 
 
 *The Law, a notable hill behind Dundee, containing on iu 
 summit the remains of a Roman fortress.
 
 94 
 
 Wi' smiling face she took my hand, 
 And pointing up to heaven, 
 
 Said, " Sir that is the happy land, 
 There bliss to all is given." 
 
 She smiled again, " dear Sir," said she 
 " My name is guide to glory ; 
 
 come wi' me, I'll let you see 
 A scene at which I'm sorry." 
 
 1 bowed and kissed her bonny hand, 
 Then on wi' joy she led me, 
 
 An' aft to seek the happy land, 
 Wi' smiling face she bade me. 
 
 She led me to the kirk, where I 
 
 Hae aften heard a sermon ; 
 But, guid forgie me when I say 
 
 We landed 'mong a vermin. 
 
 " Now Sir, I've brought you here you see, 
 
 'Mang mony lads and lasses ; 
 Sit down and tell the world an' me 
 
 The scenes that 'mong them passes. 
 
 " And oh," said she her hand up high, 
 " Do a' as I would hae ye ;" 
 
 Then round my brow a wreath did tie 
 " May that and God be wi' you."
 
 95 
 
 Soon as these kind words she said, 
 She frae my sight was hidden, 
 
 1 prayed to God to bless the maid, 
 Then strove to do her biddin.' 
 
 His reverence soon came up the stair, 
 And vow but there's a reaching 
 
 O' heads and caps its a' the care 
 0' some to see wha's preaching. 
 
 For mony a ane I ween is there 
 
 Wha to the text will listen ; 
 When this is got they dinna care 
 
 For sermon or for blessing. 
 
 I kenna what the kimmer means 
 She's no doing ought but looking 
 
 The trifling brat's but in her teens, 
 And watch her how she's poking. 
 
 Her neighbour's ribs, saying, " Cast your e'e 
 
 Out ower amang the fellows, 
 And if a wise-like chield you see 
 
 You'll no forget to tell us." 
 
 Should some late comer want a seat, 
 And scarce ken whar to find ane ; 
 
 Some bonnie queen will no be blate 
 To crush, and prove a kind one :
 
 96 
 
 And a' the pay for favour shewn, 
 Or fee that she seeks frae him, 
 
 Is just to get his arm when done, 
 And take a dander wi' him. 
 
 I cast my e'e across the kirk, 
 
 Whar folk should aye sit douse 
 
 A rotten seat come down wi' jerk, 
 And this creates a noise. 
 
 It put the maist o' folk on edge ; 
 And yonder's three chields brisk aye, 
 
 See, Tarn's now in an awfu' rage, 
 For Bob's drunk a' the whisky. 
 
 A modest matron sitting douse 
 Was for some minutes pested, 
 
 She thought that 'mang her feet a mouse 
 Was jumping, but to test it. 
 
 She soon resolved in spite o' a' 
 She would be at the meaning 
 
 Sae looking down I ween she saw 
 A fellow busy preening 
 
 Her petticoats ; but weel I wat 
 The kind chield got a token 
 
 The matron rose to stand, wi' that 
 The gallant's joke was broken.
 
 97 
 
 Look ye up yonder, there's three chields. 
 
 At " catch the ten " they're playing, 
 An hear yon gallant how he bans 
 
 At what his neighbour's saying. 
 
 And round and round are maids and men. 
 
 Quite the reverse o' civil ; 
 They make the house of God a den 
 
 In which to do a' evil. 
 
 Where is the genius of those rules, 
 Those precepts that would ease us 
 
 Where are the teachers of those schools 
 Begun on earth by Jesus.
 
 98 
 
 STOBB'S FAIR. 
 
 i. 
 
 /,. OME, Pate, gie't ower man, work nae mair, 
 
 ' ' Let's baith gae out and see the fair, 
 Ilk lightsome body's fleeing ; 
 The road, I see, is thickly clad, 
 Wi' mony a bonnie lass and lad, 
 
 They'll a' be worth the seeing ;" 
 So said my friend, and quickly then 
 
 I rose and took the road, 
 On which were droves o' merry men, 
 
 And lasses neat and snod 
 And a' that I saw 
 
 As I here and there was driven. 
 Just proved that ilk ane loved 
 
 To be lightsome as weel's livin'. 
 
 II. 
 
 And mony a ploughman chield was seen 
 Wha that night got rowin' e'en, 
 And some could scarcely stand.
 
 99 
 
 I ike a chield right glad to be 
 Whene'er he meets wi' twa or three, 
 
 To grip warm friendship's hand. 
 I aften ower a hearty stoup 
 
 Hae spent a happy night, 
 But it's far the best and wisest plan 
 
 To keep ane's sell near right ; 
 It's beastly I maistly 
 
 Could ca' the fellow down 
 "\Vha sits till his wit's 
 
 Wi' the warld's rinnin' round. 
 
 III. 
 
 There's mony a puir thing on the road 
 This day has left their sad abode, 
 
 And waes me they maun beg 
 Wives, wed to poortith, wi' a bairn, 
 And mony a man without the arm, 
 
 And some without a leg ; 
 I like to see a generous chiel, 
 
 Wi' open liberal hand, 
 It shows, I ween, his heart can feel 
 
 For this neglected band, 
 To gie what he'll see that 
 
 To him will ne'er be missing ; 
 IJlike to hear with listening ear 
 
 The poor auld beggar's blessing. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Hark to those sounds from yonder tent, 
 I'm sure there's some ane discontent
 
 100 
 
 Although I wadna wish't, 
 " Alas my friend, what can it be 1 " 
 The lads wi' scarlet coats you see, 
 
 Are wanting Will to list. 
 " Man, Will, how can you gang awa' 
 
 Frae hame and friends sae far 1 
 Said Eoger " can you leave us a' 
 
 To face the ways o' war ; 
 Man, Willy, be nae silly, 
 
 Dinna plunge to sic a fate 
 I'll no deceive, but me believe, 
 
 You'll rue't when far ower late." 
 
 V. 
 
 Says Will, " my friend, I ken you Aveel, 
 I ken that much for me you feel ; 
 
 But here, believe me Eoger ; 
 I'm gaun to do't yes, here I'm willing, 
 The minute that I get the shilling, 
 
 To gae and be a sodger. 
 And as for her that saucy fair 
 
 My mind is on the rack 
 She slighted me, but here I swear 
 
 To pay the false ane back ; 
 So, Eoger, here I vow and swear 
 
 To leave ilk social chiel' 
 To ilka brae and ilka burn 
 
 To ane and a' fareweel." 
 
 71, 
 
 Poor senseless Will the shilling got, 
 The sergeant called the tither pot,
 
 101 
 
 And cried, " Our friend will pay't," 
 The beer was brought, round went the drink, 
 Will's spirits soon begun to sink, 
 
 They wi' his shilling gaed, 
 " Come, do not let your spirits down," 
 
 The winning soldier said ; 
 " Cheer up my lad, and do not fear, 
 
 A man you'll soon be made." 
 He cried then and dried then 
 
 The tears that down did fa' 
 The daft ane, the saft ane, 
 
 Was easily won awa. 
 
 VII. 
 
 And list again to that loud noise 
 
 Of drums, and fifes, and men, and boys ; 
 
 Observe ye, these are players 
 They surely lead an awfu' life 
 Of toil and trouble, strut and strife, 
 
 Of crosses and of cares. 
 They're pinched, I wat, by poverty, 
 
 And naked maist for claes ; 
 Thus strolling through the world they gae 
 
 And spend their weary days. 
 Nae harue can they claim 
 
 And nae comfort can they have ; 
 They're hurled through the world, 
 
 Till they sink into their grave. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And niony a kittle case was seen, 
 Wi 1 hearty Jock and rosy Jean
 
 102 
 
 I wat he gat her reel ; 
 And kindness came at ilka hand, 
 He treated her at tent and stand. 
 
 And pleased the lassie weel. 
 And mony a chapman chield was there, 
 
 Wi' rantin' roarin' voice, 
 Some selling saf t, and some hard ware, 
 
 A penny for your choice. 
 And a' that I saw, 
 
 As I here and there was driven, 
 Just proved that ilk ane loved 
 
 To be lightsome as weel as livin'.
 
 103 
 
 THE MISERIES OF WAR. 
 
 I. 
 
 MONG the many visitants since first the world 
 
 began, 
 That have come on earth to murder and destroy the 
 
 peace of man, 
 
 I stand alone and go beyond all other ills as far 
 As the brilliant sun of summer goes beyond the morn- 
 ing star. 
 
 II. 
 
 I have fatted all the fields of earth with the bodies of 
 
 the dead ; 
 I have made your crystal streamlets and your rivers all 
 
 run red; 
 And the bravest and the best of men I've buried in the 
 
 deep, 
 Whose dying groans wore heard in heaven, and made 
 
 the angels weep*
 
 104 
 III. 
 
 I have brought destruction on the world, where gorgeous 
 
 cities stood, 
 Their temples, towers, and palaces I've mingled with 
 
 the blood 
 Of fallen men, I've marred earth's joys, and with my 
 
 fiery rod 
 I've made this world a charnel house for the erring sons 
 
 of God. 
 
 I have dragged from many a happy home the parents' 
 
 joy and pride, 
 And I've torn the loving husband from the new-made 
 
 mother's side, 
 
 With fiendish joy I led them to the bloody battle plain, 
 Where the music of my madness was the wailing o'er 
 
 the slain. 
 
 V. 
 
 My food hath been the flesh of men, my drink hath 
 
 been their blood, 
 Give me murdered men or murderers, whether by field 
 
 or flood ; 
 The thundering cannon, glancing steel, and carnage 
 
 covered field, 
 Murder and death to me a Joy, unspeakable did yield.
 
 105 
 VI. 
 
 L coine from hell ! the deepest hell ; this world that 
 
 world be fair, 
 Were it not for me, I've filled with dismal bowlings of 
 
 despair. 
 If one had " been the hero of an hundred fights " or 
 
 more, 
 I'm the hero of ten million miseries counted o'er and o'er. 
 
 VII. 
 
 I've had friends on earth, and my most favoured son of 
 
 modern times, 
 Whose deeds heroic erring poets have sung in lofty 
 
 rhymes, 
 
 He was banished on a lonely rock in solitude to dwell, 
 And the men who wanted peace on earth in doing this 
 
 did well. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Ye nations of the earth give ear, think on the deeds 
 
 I've done, 
 Think on the rendings of the heart, the woes by battle 
 
 won, 
 Think on the pangs of dying men, whose sufferings now 
 
 are o'er ; 
 Ye may think of this, but ye who suffer not can do no 
 
 more.
 
 106 
 IX. 
 
 Ho, England, France, America ! shake hands and live 
 
 in peace, 
 Put up your swords, ye sons of men, let strife and 
 
 discord cease ; 
 Thou boasted Briton, sun-burnt Moor, ye great on 
 
 earth and small, 
 Love while you live, be brethren, as God meant and 
 
 made you all. 
 
 X. 
 
 I'm getting old and wrinkled now, my hair is turning 
 
 grey, 
 The world begins to like me less; there dawns a brighter 
 
 day, 
 I've done my work I'm wishing that my reign on 
 
 earth was o'er 
 For I'm wearied with the deeds I've done, and wish to 
 
 do no more.
 
 107 
 
 LINES WRITTEN ON VISITING THE GRAVES OF 
 ALEXANDER AND JOHN BETHUNE. 
 
 Alexander and John Bethune were brothers. They were born at 
 Upper Rankeillour, in the parish of Letham and county of Fife. 
 Being the sons of poor parents, they were trained from their 
 earliest days to win their bread by labour. Through life they 
 had to struggle with poverty ; during the day they laboured, and 
 at night and other limited leisure hours, they wrote poems and 
 stories, which attracted the attention of very eminent literary 
 characters ; Mr Murray and Mr R. Chambers being among their 
 patrons. From "Woodmill in the parish of Abdie, they ultimately 
 removed to Mount Pleasant, where Alexander and John had built 
 a house, which will long remain a monument of their industry 
 and perseverance. It stands on a lofty hill, and is the highest 
 house at the back of the beautiful town of Newburgh. Here the 
 family lived for some time, but death cam* upon them, and his 
 shafts flew quick. The father died first, then John, then the 
 mother, and Alexander, who was left alone in this, to him bleak 
 world, soon followed them to the grave, and now they all rest in 
 the Abdie Churchyard, where a chaste and beautiful monument 
 tells who lie below. 
 
 la the spring of 1845 I spent a few days at Newburgh. During 
 my stay, I was favoured by a friend with Mr Crombie's deeply 
 interesting memoirs of Alexander. I had heard much of the 
 Bethunes before this, but being in the locality where they had 
 lived and died, and reading this ably compiled work, my interest 
 in them was excited, and I had an earnest desire to see the burial 
 place of the brothers. Accordingly I set out on Sabbath evening 
 to Abdie Churchyard, and it was to me a delightful evening. I 
 was enchanted by all I heard and saw. The scenery agreeably 
 surprised me. It was unlocked for. I did not think there was so 
 much beauty in the locality so little talked of. Around me lay 
 the hills, reposing in quiet grandeur, and before me lay the T/och
 
 108 
 
 of Lindores, bounded on the north by the beautiful seat of Captain 
 (afterwards Admiral) Maitland, to whom Napoleon Bonaparte sur- 
 rendered, off Rochfort after the battle of Waterloo, "which in 
 the calm twilight of a summer's evening, appears like the eye of 
 nature looking up to its Maker in the spirit of meek and quiet 
 devotion." I arrived at Abdie Churchyard, and standing over the 
 grave of departed genius, the following verses were written. 
 
 I. 
 
 EST iii peace, beloved brothers 
 
 Rest in peace, oppressed no more ; 
 Fame is yours which was no others, 
 Now that all life's toils are o'er. 
 
 II. 
 
 Bred 'mid hardship, shame upon her, 
 Tho' she strove to keep you down, 
 
 You have gained a name of honour 
 Brighter far than monarch's crown. 
 
 III. 
 
 Toiled from morning's sun till setting 
 Students pale o'er glimmering lamp, 
 
 Still harrassed by fortune fretting 
 Murdered in a cottage damp. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Told in your affecting stories, 
 
 What was right and what was wrong ;
 
 109 
 
 When inspired by nature's glories, 
 Then your souls burst forth in song. 
 
 V. 
 
 Both were peasants proud yet humble 
 
 To their lowly lot resigned ; 
 Neither at their fate did grumble 
 
 Gifted each with Noble mind. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Both were one in fond affection 
 One in feeling one in faith 
 
 One, too, in their name's erection 
 One in life, and one in death. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Standing here, I am not weeping 
 O'er their graves, now free from ill 
 
 Buried here serenely sleeping 
 'Mid auld Scotia quiet hills. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Standing here I do not mourn 
 O'er this lowly bed of thine 
 
 Oh, till death's eternal morn, 
 May such bed of rest be mine.
 
 110 
 
 IX. 
 
 Here all lie, the father, mother, 
 Silently are sleeping here ; 
 
 Here the younger, elder brother, 
 Both lie stretched upon the bier. 
 
 X. 
 
 Be it so they all resided 
 In one cot on earth in love ; 
 
 And they were not long divided 
 From the better land above. 
 
 XL 
 
 Pilgrims here with bosom swelling 
 Yet may come and tears may fall 
 
 O'er the dark and narrow dwelling 
 Of two brothers one in all. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Rest in peace, beloved brothers 
 Rest in peace, oppressed no more ; 
 
 Fame is yours which was no others, 
 Novf that all life's toils are o'er.
 
 Ill 
 
 THE WIND, 
 
 I. 
 
 like that dreary wind, 
 It makes me dull and wae ; 
 It gares me think upon the grave 
 
 To which we 'a man gae. 
 It brings me to the gates of death, 
 
 Whaur a is dark and drear 
 There's something in the howling wind 
 I dinna like to hear. 
 
 II. 
 
 It brings to mind the tales I've read 
 
 0' mountain, moor, and glen, 
 Where solitary wanderer found 
 
 Remains of murdered men. 
 I think upon the houseless poor 
 
 Wha wander wet and cauld 
 And sigh for a' the sufferings 
 
 0' the helpless young and auld. 
 
 III. 
 
 Hark ! how that gust is howling, 
 0, it makes my blood run chill ; 
 
 What a dreary sound gangs through the trees- 
 Its moaning o'er the hill.
 
 112 
 
 Grim sprites arise, and lo, methinks 
 
 Eight merrily behind 
 The charnel-house they're dancing, 
 
 To the music of the wind. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ye howling winds, oh, spare the hark 
 
 On restless billows tossed ; 
 And spare the worthy father, 
 
 Deemed by friends for ever lost. 
 And spare me a' the gloomy thoughts 
 
 That make me shake wi' fear 
 There's something in the howling wind. 
 
 I dinna like to hear.
 
 113 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 Written on the occasion of an Amateur Performance- 
 at Dr Beard's Academy. 
 
 "ELCOME to Stony Knolls ! a hearty greeting 
 We give to one and all at this our joyful 
 
 meeting, 
 
 Not, it is true, the first, for there have been 
 Such bright assemblies here before I ween, 
 And, judging from the glories of the past, 
 I know not, friends, that this should be our last. 
 Shakespeare has said that " all the world's a stage ;" 
 Tis said this is the saying of a sage 
 Full well we know 'tis true, but in this mart 
 Of learning we have mostly played one part. 
 " The school-boy with his shining morning face " 
 Plays here his part to him a serious case. 
 Here day by day, and week by week, 
 Are dull brains cudgelled over puzzling Greek ; 
 Eutopius teases here, and Virgil vexes, 
 Horace is horrible Euclid perplexes ; 
 Here British commerce, textile manufactures, 
 Are themes on which we show ourselves the actors ; 
 While sums and numbers added to the sum, 
 Are themes on which our actors oft prove dumb ; 
 
 And this truth is told in many a serious look, 
 H
 
 114 
 
 That " Latin made easy " is no easy book. 
 
 Change is the law of nature ; change has been 
 
 Since first Creation's dawn beheld the queen 
 
 Of earth and women pardon ladies all, 
 
 I speak of Eve anterior to her fall. 
 
 Since then the great and everlasting sea 
 
 Has sung its wild and endless melody. 
 
 The beauteous flowers of summer yearly blow 
 
 Anon comes surly winter with its snow. 
 
 Change rules the varied year the life of man, 
 
 And woman too, though bounded by a span. 
 
 So from the ills with which we have to fight, 
 
 We wished to have a change, and so " quite right " 
 
 Exclaimed our actors all, and thus the ending 
 
 Of this shrewd thought is what just now is pending, 
 
 Thus have we left the gods of Greek and Roman, 
 
 And for one night at least become the showman. 
 
 Well, for our own amusement and yours, we 
 
 Have chosen the Critic which you soon will see ; 
 
 The Spoiled Child by the way, offence to none, 
 
 We hope that in our temple there's but one ; 
 
 And Monsieur Tonson, with his tricks and fun, 
 
 With which the night's amusement will be done. 
 
 Here great Macready will not tread the stage, 
 
 ^Tor Vandenhoff the grand your time engage. 
 
 Here G. V. Brooke, 'tis true, will not be seen, 
 
 Nor Helen Faucit, tragedy's fair queen, 
 
 But here's Miss Bread, of whom the Greeks would say, 
 
 Her the gods love to honour and obey, 
 
 Here's Kriens to treat us to a German song 
 
 He cannot chant too often or too long. 
 
 Moses, with all his learning too, is here,
 
 115 
 
 To show his talent in another sphere ; 
 Here's David Slater-, playing the greatest part. 
 I It-cause most like to steal a lady's heart. 
 Here's Edwin Smith, alias Socrates, 
 Having at once the will and power to please. 
 Here's Blaeket, too, with all his fun and tricks, 
 To act, as he himself would say, " like bricks." 
 These will be seen and many more besides ; 
 So, laughter, now prepare to hold your sides. 
 We'll try our best if high we cannot soar 
 Mac ready or Vandenhoff could do no more.
 
 116 - 
 
 SONGS. 
 
 WHAR ARE A' THE FRIENDS? 
 
 AIR Oh, why left I my hame ?' 
 
 I. 
 
 H ! whar are a' the friends 
 
 I had in early days 1 
 Wha used to sport about 
 
 The burnies and the braes ; 
 Wha used to rin about 
 
 Wi' meikle mirth and glee 
 I ween they a' hae fled 
 Frae their ain countrie. 
 
 II. 
 
 The sangs they used to sing 
 
 Are never heard ava ; 
 The village ne'er does ring 
 
 Wi' the fife or bugle's blaw. 
 It's true that some are laid 
 
 Beneath yon auld yew tree , 
 But maist o' them are fled 
 
 Frae their ain countrie.
 
 117 
 III. 
 
 At kirk or market noo, 
 
 We never meet them there 
 1 1 makes me Avae to think 
 
 I ne'er may see them mair. 
 We ne'er assemble noo 
 
 Our village sports to see 
 A's dull and lonely now 
 
 In our ain countrie. 
 
 IV. 
 
 My friends are far awa' 
 
 They're scattered here and there, 
 l!ut 0, for aiie and a' 
 
 I breathe this earnest prayer 
 May God still be their guide, 
 
 Wherever they may be, 
 May peace and rest be their's 
 
 In anither countrie. 
 
 HERE LIES LOW THE BONNIE LASS, 
 
 AIR O Where, and O Where. 
 
 H, here lies low the bonnie lass, 
 
 The maiden that I lo'e ; 
 She lies within this narrow bed. 
 Where I maun soon lie too.
 
 118 
 
 Death's clay cauld hands has stilled the heart 
 
 That aye was kind and true ; 
 The form o'er which I fondly hung 
 
 Is sheltered by the yew. 
 
 II. 
 
 The flowers bloom bonnie ower the bed 
 
 0' her that I held dear : 
 And dark, dark is the envious grave 
 
 That keeps me mourning here. 
 I've naebody noo to live for, 
 
 And the warld's nought to me ; 
 Oh, life's a weary pilgrimage, 
 
 My Mary, wanting thec. 
 
 III. 
 
 Pale, pale for ever are those lips 
 
 That I hae aften kissed ; 
 And cauld for ever are those cheeks 
 
 That I hae aften pressed ; 
 And still for ever is that voice, 
 
 Once music to my ear ; 
 Those beaming eyes that shone so bright 
 
 Are closed for ever here. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Oh, may I know the blissful home 
 In which my love doth dwell
 
 119 
 
 In yon bright land where happy i>ii"> 
 Their holy anthems swell ; 
 
 Where saints for ever sing their songs 
 To God who reigns on high, 
 
 Where sorrow never more is known 
 Nor tears bedim the eye. 
 
 V. 
 
 But I am left alone on earth, 
 
 My grief I cannot hide, 
 And I will ne'er find peace or rest, 
 
 Till slumbering by her side, 
 Till then, my beating heart be still, 
 
 Which now in sorrow lies 
 Oh, I maun soon be blest wi' her 
 
 Beyond yon sunny skies. 
 
 WHEN THINKING UPON MY SAD FATE. 
 
 AIR My Lass's Black e'e. 
 
 WHEN thinking upon ray sad fate, wi' my Annie, 
 This bosom o' mine it is burdened wi' care ; 
 There's something within tells me plain I mauna 
 Think I can get peace to my soul ony mair.
 
 120 
 II. 
 
 I think that there's nane o' her kind half sae bonnie, 
 There's nane o' her kind half sae bonnie can be, 
 
 Her face it is fairer, far fairer than ony, 
 Her form it seems like an angel's to me. 
 
 III. 
 
 Sometimes in my fondness, when on her I'm thinking, 
 I stand and look down wi' the tear in my e'e 
 
 I find my wae heart in my bosom aye sinking, 
 Then start quite regardless wherever I gae. 
 
 IV. 
 
 1 start, but the wound in my bosom is biding 
 Ah ; meikle I fear it will ne'er gang awa ; 
 
 And though a' my grief frae my friends I am hiding, 
 The cauld hand o' death will devour and tell a'. 
 
 HILL AND DELL ARE DECKED IN GREEN. 
 
 AIR Gloomy Winter. 
 
 I. 
 
 and dell are decked in green- 
 Nature's a' in beauty seen ; 
 Ilka thing delights my gazing een, 
 And so does lovely Annie, 0.
 
 121 
 
 II. 
 
 By yon burn the daisies spring, 
 Oil yon bower the birdies sing, 
 They joy to every bosom bring, 
 And sae does lovely Annie, 0. 
 
 III. 
 
 Wha could now be sad or wae, 
 When nature a' is blythe and gay ? 
 Tis I, because I dinna hae 
 The heart o' lovely Annie, O. 
 
 IV. 
 
 I maun wander here and mourn, 
 She has slighted me wi' scorn, 
 And left me here alane forlorn, 
 My ain, my lovely Annie, 0. 
 
 V. 
 
 What are nature's joys to me ! 
 What are pleasures wanting thee ? 
 Happy I can never be, 
 
 Unless wi 1 lovely Annie, 0. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Will ye, bonnie lass, be true 1 
 Will ye listen to my vow 1 
 And I will ne'er be false to you, 
 My ain, my lovely Annie, 0.
 
 122 
 
 NOW MAUN LEAVE MY LADY FAIR. 
 
 I. 
 
 maun leave my lady fair, 
 The wind blows high the boat is ready. 
 The boat that fills my heart wi' care, 
 And bears me frae my winsome lady. 
 
 sair, sair, is this waeFu' heart, 
 
 And fain, fain, would I longer tarry ; 
 But fate has said that we maun part, 
 And I maun leave my bonnie Mary. 
 
 II. 
 
 1 needna say her heart is true, 
 
 I needna say she's fair and bonnie ; 
 For maist folk think her matched by few-j- 
 
 To me she's far fairer than ony. 
 I needna say our love will last 
 
 Till baith our een are closed for ever, 
 But, ah ! I fear the joys now past 
 
 Will never come again oh, never. 
 
 III. 
 
 It's no her'een sae bonnie blue 
 It's no her cheek sae red and rosy, 
 
 That gars me greet to say adieu 
 It's no her fond embrace sae cosy.
 
 123 
 
 It's no that I regret to leave 
 
 The humble cot in which she's dwelling- 
 It's no for fear that she'll deceive 
 
 It's no for this iny bosom's swelling. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But it's to leave her all alone, 
 
 A lonely maiden unprotected 
 Oh, who will guard her when I'm gone, 
 
 By me she ne'er wad be neglected 
 The power aboon keeps watch and care 
 
 0' worth and merit He'll reward her ; 
 This aye will be my earnest prayer 
 
 May a' that's guid for ever guard her. 
 
 COME TO YONDER BOWER. 
 
 1. 
 
 OME to yonder bower, my lassie, 
 Come to yonder bower wi' me. 
 Come to yonder bower, my lassie, 
 There I'll tell my love to thee. 
 
 II. 
 
 Down by yonder wood, my lassie, 
 
 Blithly a' the birdies sing, 
 And upon the burnie's bunk- 
 
 Roses fair and lilies spring.
 
 124 
 III. 
 
 O'er the eastern hill, my lassie, 
 Blythly blinks the setting sun ; 
 
 Hark ! the birds aboon our heads, 
 Morning's joys are just begun. 
 
 IV. 
 
 What are a' the joys, my lassie, 
 That the smiling morn can gie 
 
 What are a' the joys, my lassie, 
 bought believe me wanting thee. 
 
 WINTER NIGHTS ARE CAULD, LASSIE, 
 
 I. 
 
 WINTER nights are cauld, lassie, 
 Winter nights are cauld, lassie, 
 Come, my love, come wi' me ! 
 While Boreas' blast is bauld, lassie. 
 
 II. 
 
 I've a couthie hame, laddie, 
 I've a couthie hame, laddie 
 
 I've my father's humble roof, 
 Except me he has nane, laddie.
 
 125 
 III. 
 
 I'll keep him trig an' braw lassie, 
 I'll keep him trig an' braw lassie,. 
 
 About your parents dinna fear, 
 But wi' me come awa, lassie, 
 
 IV. 
 
 Gin summer time were here, laddie, 
 Gin summer time were here, laddie, 
 
 Then, then, I'll come wi' thee 
 Just gie me time to speer, laddie.. 
 
 V. 
 
 I canna bide my lane, lassie, 
 I canna bide my lane, lassie, 
 
 I'll speer, if ye'll but come wi' me, 
 And ease my heart o' pain, lassie. 
 
 VI. 
 
 My pleadings a' in vain, laddie, 
 My pleadings a' in vain, laddie, 
 
 Gae get the guid auld folks consent, 
 And then ca' me your ain, laddie.
 
 126 
 
 A GUID NEW YEAR. 
 
 AIR. When Silent Time. 
 
 GUI!) new year to ane an' a', 
 
 0' niony may you see, 
 And during a' the years that come, 
 
 0' happy may you be ! 
 And may you ne'er hae cause to mourn, 
 
 To sigh or shed a tear 
 To ane an' a' baith great an' sma' 
 A hearty guid JS"ew Year. 
 
 II. 
 
 0' time flies fast, he \vinna wait, 
 
 My friend for you or me, 
 He works his wonders day by day, 
 
 And onward still doth flee. 
 O ! wha can tell gin ilka ane 
 
 I see sae happy there, 
 Will meet again and happy be, 
 
 Anither guid New Year 1 
 
 III. 
 
 We twa hae baith been happy lang, 
 
 We ran about the braes 
 In ae wee cot, beneath a tree, 
 
 We spent our early days ;
 
 127 
 
 We ran about the burnie's side, 
 The spot will aye be dear, 
 
 And those wha used to meet us there 
 We'll think 011 mouy a year. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Xow let us hope our years may be 
 
 As guid as they hae been ; 
 And let us hope we ne'er may see 
 
 The sorrows we hae seen ; 
 And let us hope that ane an' a' 
 
 Our friends baith far and near 
 May aye enjoy for time to come, 
 
 A hearty guid New Year. 
 
 BONNIE, BONNIE, WAS THE MORN. 
 
 AIR. Blythe, blythe, and merry was she. 
 
 i. 
 
 [5) ONNIE, bonnie was the morn 
 
 When we rose to rin awa ; 
 Phcebus did the hills adorn, 
 
 Scarce a breeze o' wind did blaw. 
 Anna rose and slipit near me 
 
 "Johnny, Johnny, come," she crii-d. 
 " 0, I'm fearM the auld folk hear me ; 
 If they do, they'll gar us bide."
 
 128 
 II. 
 
 I gat ready, kissed my dearie, 
 
 We each ither's fears did feel, 
 Bundled up our claes and eerie, 
 
 Bade the gude auld folk fareweel, 
 I had wrought and kept them canny, 
 
 Wrought I ween for mony a year ; 
 For my hire I wanted Annie, 
 
 But o' this they wadna hear. 
 
 III. 
 
 Soon we left them reached the hallan 
 ' I a week before had ta'en, 
 God sin'syne hae blessed our toilin' 
 
 We sin'syne has baith been ane. 
 Soon the auld folk ceased to scorn, 
 
 When our well doin' ways they saw ; 
 Aye sin'syne we blessed the morn 
 
 When we rose to rin awa. 
 
 THE BLOOMING HEATHER. 
 
 I. 
 
 [5) ONNIE is the blooming heather, 
 Bonnie is the blooming heather, 
 But its bonnier still I ween, 
 
 When mang't twa lovers meet thegither.
 
 129 
 
 O, then it blooms sae fresh and fair, 
 Then ilka thirg around is bonnie, 
 
 When the lovely lass is there 
 That we lo'u uiair dear than ony. 
 
 IT. 
 
 Then the bleating lambs that cry 
 
 Mak' ilka thing seem blythe and cheery,. 
 When upon the breast we lie, 
 
 0' her that we can ca' our dearie. 
 Bonnie is the blooming heather, 
 
 Bonnie is the blooming heather, 
 But dearest to the youthfu' heart 
 
 When 'uiang't twa lovers meet thegither. 
 
 THE CARES 0' LIFE, 
 
 I. 
 
 WHY should mankind not be merry 
 ' As lang as he's todlin here 1 ? 
 Life is at best a terrible worry 
 But yet there's nae reason to fear. 
 
 II. 
 
 Man meets wi' mony a hardship, 
 
 As life's weary vale he gangs through 
 
 But I've aye found a gate to get out at, 
 And I hope that I ever will do.
 
 130 
 III. 
 
 It's true that we a' hae our sorrows, 
 At least for mysel' I've my share ; 
 
 But the truth is to look round about me, 
 There's mony a mortal has mair. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Sad poverty presses the poor man, 
 The rich winna look to their state ; 
 
 But there's happiness whiles in the cottage, 
 Unken'd to the wealthy and great. 
 
 V. 
 
 When this life's done there's a prospect, 
 A hope which all honest men have, 
 
 A glorious land we may live in 
 
 When laid lowly down in the grave. 
 
 WINTER 18 COME. 
 
 AIR. Auld Rob Morris. 
 
 I. 
 
 H, winter is come, and the cauld blasts noo blaw, 
 The hills o' auld Scotland are covered wi' snaw ; 
 My ain fate resembles ilk bush and ilk tree, 
 For Anna, fair Anna, ne'er smiles upon me.
 
 131 
 II. 
 
 The spring may return, and deck a' in green, 
 The hills and the vales may in beauty be seen ; 
 
 But pleasure or peace they to me cauna gie, 
 For Anna, fair Anna, ne'er smiles upon me. 
 
 III. 
 
 weel may my head aye be stoundin' and sair, 
 An' weel may my heart aye be beating wi' care, 
 
 An' weel may the tear trickle down frae my e'e 
 For Anna, fair Anna, ne'er smiles upon me. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But 0, when I think that she may yet be mine 
 When a ray of this hope in my bosom doth shin?, 
 
 1 ask not on earth mair pleasure to hae, 
 
 Than Anna, fair Anna, to smile upon me. 
 
 MARCH OF MESMERISM. 
 
 AIR The Spinning o't. 
 
 I. 
 
 WOULD the wide world beware o' the loons 
 
 Wha practice sae aften the gulling o't, 
 Wha come frae Auld Reekie and ither big towns, 
 Their pockets they look to the filling o't.
 
 132 
 
 Those mountebank callants, wha hastily flee 
 Frae city to city frae Perth and Dundee 
 And swear that you'll something astonishing see, 
 If ye'll only put faith in the telling o't. 
 
 II. 
 
 There's constantly something to take up our time 
 Though a hody has ever sae little o't 
 
 Some blundering scribblers pest us wi' rhyme, 
 But o' sense they seldom show meikle o't ; 
 
 The flying machine late engaged a' our care, 
 
 Which promised to bear us awa through the air ; 
 
 But now the concern has blown up I fear 
 High pressure has bursted the metal o't. 
 
 III. 
 
 Mesmeric Phrenology now is the go, - 
 
 A" body's begun to be trying o't. 
 If the science progresses in the same ratio, 
 
 We'll no daur e'en think for the spying o't. 
 Its advocates tell us their patients can see 
 The folk in the moon at their toddy and tea, 
 Or what's to tak place next year in Dundee 
 There's ferlies, I wat in the doing o't. 
 
 IV. 
 
 If ony poor wight frae his hame gangs awa, 
 And offers to shew them the folly o't.
 
 133 
 
 The place that's no yucky he'll get it to claw, 
 As payment and thanks for the telling o't ; 
 
 They'll stand up and swear they'll hear him no more, 
 
 They'll howl and they'll hiss, and they'll rant and they'll 
 roar, 
 
 Till the poor silly fellow is dragged to the door 
 Right glad to escape frae the melling o't.* 
 
 V. 
 
 I wonder in nature what will we hae next 
 Now folk can be done by the willing o't ; 
 Teeth and legs can be drawn by the mesmeric touch, 
 
 E'en a heart may be had for the stealing o't ; 
 For the Mesmerists tell us their patients cau see, 
 The man o' the moon at his toddy and tea, 
 Or what will take place nxt year in Dundee 
 There's ferlies, I wat in the doing o't. 
 
 * About this time, considerable excitement was occasioned by 
 the visits of itinerant lecturers on mesmerism. The poet was 
 then rather sceptical on the subject ; but the fact of stiff arms 
 and stiffer legs made him appear unsuccessful in the debates. 
 Nothing daunted, he resolved to try a lecture in an adjoining 
 town, situated on the braes of Angus ; and for this purpose a 
 meeting was called, and the novelty of the lecture drew together 
 a large assemblage. The lecture was begun, and a goodly number 
 of the disciples of mesmer were present. When they saw that 
 the orator was on the negative, a noisy warfare ensued ; which 
 resulted in the lecturer having to beat a speedy retreat. It may 
 here be remarked, that a relative of the author is preaching and 
 lecturing in the same place, with greater success, on higher 
 subjects, to an intelligent Christian congregation.
 
 134 
 
 CREEP BEFORE YOU GAE. 
 
 I. 
 
 J AK time, my bonnie bairnie, dinna flee awa sae fast. 
 Never mind though 'mong your playmates you 
 
 sometimes are the last ; 
 
 Its not the hardest rinner that always gains the day, 
 Tak time, my bonnie bairn, and aye creep before you gae. 
 The wee bairn todlin round about its niither's knee, 
 Frisking aye sae fondly wi' its heart sae fu' o' glee, 
 When it runs ower far and fast, look, it stumbles in 
 
 the way, 
 Tak time, my bonnie bairn, and aye creep before you gae. 
 
 II. 
 
 In the world's broad field of battle, when fechtin wi' 
 
 the strife. 
 And struggling hard for happiness and comfort in this 
 
 life. 
 
 You'll find it aye the best way, when pulling up the brae, 
 Tak time, my bonnie bairn, and aye creep before you gae. 
 The world's woes and sorrows are brought on us by 
 
 oursel' 
 
 Because we'll no tak tent to what the aulder folk will tell; 
 We've had muckle grief and sorrow, the heart has aft 
 
 been wae 
 Because we'll no tak time, my bairn, and creep before 
 
 we gae.
 
 135 
 
 III. 
 
 The wisest man hath said, and what he says is never 
 
 wrong, 
 
 The race is seldom to the swift, the battle to the strong : 
 The willing back has aft to bear the burthen o' the day, 
 Tak time, my bonnie bairn, and aye creep before ye gae. 
 We have need to use, whilst here, all the caution that 
 
 we can, 
 
 In playing at this game o' life wi' wily-hearted man ; 
 The lion's heart the eagle's eye the fox's cunning way 
 Are wanted here, tak time, my bairn, creep before you 
 
 gae. 
 
 rv. 
 
 You've known the mighty warrior, rushing fast into the 
 
 fight, 
 Lose baith his crown and kingdom ere the falling of 
 
 the night ; 
 
 You've seen the darling projects of wise men melt away, 
 Tak time, my bonnie bairn, and aye creep before you gae. 
 You'll ne'er hae cause to rue, from the cradle to the 
 
 grave, 
 
 But many a pang o' sorrow in the heart it you will save, 
 [f before each earthly project you remember what I say, 
 Tak time, my bonnie bairii, and aye creep before you 
 
 gae.
 
 136 
 
 JUKE, AND LET THE JAW GANG BY. 
 
 ) HE rock may stand the stormy sea, 
 
 The mountain a' the winds that blaw, 
 And what Avas late the gowden lea, 
 
 May thole the drift o' winter snaw. 
 The war horse on the field of blood, 
 
 Wi' fury on the foe may fly, 
 But would it not be just as guid, 
 To juke, and let the jaw gang by. 
 
 II. 
 
 The strong oak bends beneath the blast, 
 
 When Boreas rages through the air, 
 But when the storm is spent and past, 
 
 He lifts his head defies despair, 
 So man, when pressed with care and woe, 
 
 When sorrows come, should ever try 
 To bend a wee and let them flee, 
 
 Just juke, and let the jaw gang by. 
 
 III. 
 
 The gallant barque, when tempest tossed, 
 Will yield to ocean's mad career ; 
 
 The sailor on the quivering mast, 
 Will closer cling when danger's near.
 
 137 
 
 So man, while on the voyage of life, 
 He's struggling here should ever try 
 
 To bend a wee and let them flee, 
 Just juke, and let the jaw gang by. 
 
 rv. 
 
 The darkness yields to dawning day, 
 
 When bright Aurora climbs the sky, 
 The moon must still the earth obey, 
 
 The branch bends as the stream runs by ; 
 The rosebud ope's to morning dew, 
 
 The swallow wi' the wind will fly, 
 So man in life, while struggling through, 
 
 Should juke, and let the jaw gang by. 
 
 V. 
 
 The friend you trust should ne'er prove false, 
 
 Though fortune change his course wi' thee, 
 There arc ups and downs in nature's laws, 
 
 What once you were you yet may be ; 
 The powers above will ne'er forsake, 
 
 And woman's love should .never die, 
 And beating heart should never break, 
 
 Just juke, and let the jaw gang by.
 
 138 
 
 TIME AND TIDE WILL WAIT ON NAE MAN. 
 
 I. 
 
 fHE sun that sinks on yonder west, 
 Sails on across the broad Atlantic, 
 Then rides along in glory dressed, 
 
 O'er forests wild and hills gigantic ; 
 The sea that laves the shore at hame, 
 
 Has come frae lands right far away, man, 
 When nature stood we canna name, 
 Time and tide will wait on nae man. 
 
 II. 
 
 The spring time decks the earth with flowers, 
 
 The summer comes in burning glory, 
 Then sober autumn's fruitful bowers, 
 
 Must yield to winter aged and hoary ; 
 The village bell brings in the dawn, 
 
 Then bids farewell to dying day, man, 
 The wheels o' nature never stand, 
 
 Time and tide will wait on nae man. 
 
 III. 
 
 Whate'er your hands may find to do, 
 Let it be done, trust not the morrow, 
 
 The present time's the time for you, 
 Next day will bring its share of sorrow.
 
 139 
 
 Your house can ne'er be built too soon, 
 The corn must be cut down to-day, man, 
 
 The earth moves, and the sun runs round, 
 Time and tide will wait on nae man. 
 
 IV. 
 
 We lately ran about the braes, 
 
 An' pu'd the flowers sae fresh- and bonnie, 
 Ah, these were then the happy days, 
 
 Too bright to last ower lang wi' ony ; 
 We now may boast of manhood's health, 
 
 But time will turn a young head grey, man, 
 0, days and months and years are wealth, 
 
 Time and tide will wait on nae man. 
 
 V. 
 
 The friends we loved in early days 
 
 Are scattered noo, they're a' departed, 
 Pursuing life in various ways, 
 
 And left us here thus lonely hearted ; 
 They're scattered noo, and some are gone, 
 
 E'en to a better world away, man, 
 They're waiting there till we too come, 
 
 But time and tide will wait on nae man.
 
 140 
 
 MY GRANNIE'S CLOCK, 
 
 I. 
 
 grannie's clock's a queer auld clock, 
 It's frichted a' the kintra folk ; 
 It's been the cause of many a joke, 
 
 An' awfu' story, 
 It tauld the death of Andrew Gloag, 
 
 An' daft Meg !Norrie. 
 
 II. 
 
 O, mony a weary winter night, 
 'When round the ingle, burning bricht, 
 Wi' it I ha'e got mony a fricht, 
 
 I'll gie my aith, 
 I cou'dna look, nor left, nor richt, 
 
 But sat like death. 
 
 III. 
 
 I winna say the clock hersel' 
 Can speak, or fearsome stories tell, 
 And strange it is, she'll gang as well 
 
 As clock can gae 
 Should man be killed, or kill himsel', 
 
 She'll warning gi'e. 
 
 IV. 
 
 My grannie tells me vows 'tis true 
 "Whene'er death comes be't man, or cow
 
 141 
 
 O' dreams her head is always fu', 
 
 Until the morning. 
 And a' about the auld cuckoo, 
 
 The wa' adorner. 
 
 V. 
 
 Ae morning early, when they rose, 
 And a' were busy at their brose, 
 My grannie to them did disclose 
 
 An awf u' tale, 
 At which they leugh, and did suppose 
 
 That it wad fail. 
 
 VI. 
 
 But what a sight socJn met their e'e, 
 When once they a" went out to see 
 A dead man hanging frae a tree 
 
 Which stopt their scorning. 
 My grannie said the clock did gie 
 
 Her ample warning. 
 
 VII. 
 
 This story seems maist strange o' a' ; 
 Ae winter nicht, the cauld winds blaw, 
 A corpse was found among the snaw ; 
 
 And, strange to tell, 
 The clock rang 'bout the hour o' twa, 
 
 His funeral knell ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 My grannie dreamed the clock was mending, 
 And said somebody's days wore ending ;
 
 142 
 
 A miser loon, on days depending, 
 
 Was seized wi' fever, 
 While o'er his glist'ning Geordies bending ; 
 
 He cross'd the river. 
 
 IX. 
 
 And mony mair sic tales, I trow, 
 Which gart the hair stand on my pow, 
 When them I heard ; though truly now 
 
 I scarce believe them; 
 I've seen the sweat break on their brow 
 
 Wha did receive them. 
 
 MY MASTER. 
 
 HEN first I to the school did gae, 
 
 Whiles greeting sair, whiles unco wae, 
 He learned me the A, B, C, 
 
 My Master. 
 
 II. 
 
 He put me through the spelling book, 
 Till I on it could scarcely look ; 
 Me to a higher class he took 
 
 My Master.
 
 143 
 
 III. 
 
 He made me read the Holy Word, 
 In which we learn of Christ our Lord ; 
 Wi' him I've knelt and Heaven adored ; 
 
 My Master. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And ilka year I got a prize, 
 Some bonny book me to entice ; 
 He smiled, and said that I would rise 
 
 My Master. 
 
 V. 
 
 0, weel I mind he let me see, 
 How I a learned man might be, 
 Saving, " Take the counsel that I gi'e "- 
 
 My Master. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Thanks to my Master ; but I'm wae 
 To see his head now turning grey ; 
 I'll mind him till my dying day 
 
 My Master.
 
 144 
 
 LITTLE CHILDREN. 
 
 J 
 
 _ 
 
 T/^ITTLE children make me glad 
 :|~Y Though my very soul be sad 
 Laughing in their sport and glee, 
 Climbing up upon my knee, 
 Eunning round about my chair, 
 With their hearts sae free frae care, 
 Playing wi' joy at hide and seek 
 Out and in they merrily keek, 
 And their half pronounced names 
 Tend to cheer our humble hames ; 
 While we soothe them wi' a sang 
 Winter nights are never lang ; 
 While they prattle by our side, 
 Cheerful is our clean fireside ; 
 They to bless mankind were given 
 Home wi' them's a little heaven.
 
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