LIBRARY UNIVERSITY Of U 7 SHINGLE AND SAND cmfe BY JAMES MABON, Author of "Rose and Thorn.' GALASHIELS: A. WALKER & SON, PUBLISHERS. STACK jfrienb A. N. CONTENTS. Page. My Secret, i An Idyll of the Broom, - 2 Interrogatus, 9 A Summer Song, - 10 A Wish, 12 The Time of Day, 14 A Heart's Soliloquy, 18 Gloaming at Brora, - 20 The Muse of Norman Gale, 23 Stirrup and Steel, 25 The Lost Meadow-Land, 27 Charlie Eraser, - 29 " Life were not Life," 32 Northward, - 34 Life's Guest Divine, 38 Without and Within, - 39 Songs of a Sorrow, 41 Remembrance, - 44 A May Duet, 46 By Dornoch Firth, - - 48 " As the Roses Light the Garden," 51 CONTENTS Continued. Page. Constancy, 52 A House of God, - 53 By Sea and Shore, - 55 " Alone we walked from the Village," 59 A Heart in the Highlands, - - 61 Summer Dawn, 64 " Do not hide me in the Shadow," - - 65 Ups an' Doons, - 66 Change 69 A Lowland Lay, - 70 Reverie, - 73 A Song of the Sea, 75 A Memory, - 77 PRELUDE. Where azure, amber, gold and grey Weave wonders on the changeful way There ever swings from shore to shore The brimming sea of metaphor. A nd, tremulous and hope becrowned, Hearts chant the glories they have found- The floating woods where feathers stream, The tinted shells that glint and gleam, The coral palaces that hold The legend-laden dreams of old, The priceless pearls that gift the worth To every art that sets them forth, With drifted treasure-trove to speak The joyous ocean of the Greek ; And wandering on the voice-swept strand One gathers simple things at hand Stray pebbles mixed with shining sand. SHINGLE AND SAND. MY SECRET. I MAY not tell my secret no, Love taught it to me long ago ; He came to me with wondrous eyes Illumined with that deep surprise That still on dawning childhood lies. Unheeding of the world he set His lips to speech. Can I forget ? Nay ! Never while the heart can beat And pulse and breath its song repeat To joy and sorrow as they meet. SHINGLE AND SAND AN IDYLL OF THE BROOM. "I remember another time when we were going out he plucked two sprigs from the flower- ing broom. Our little girl said, ' Oh, father, that is not enough, let me get something to go with it.'. 'No,' said he, 'anything else would spoil it.' " Extract from a letter. IT is a far cry from Gala Water to the Southern seas, but when the full years of a long past lie over the life, and another gloaming, that has both east and west in its shadows, gathers on the hill tops, one dreams, with heart-throbs as deep perhaps as any the rosy time of youth ever knew and then time and tide are as nothing. It was told to me by another, one whose thoughts I am certain were as I have written, and the more I think of the story, simple as it is, the sweeter it seems. He told it to me but the other day, when the first spring flowers had come, when the clouds were softer and the sky more blue, and the slanting sunbeams played with a new charm among the trees SHINGLE AND SAND 3 on Gala Hill. Were it only a story as one reads in books, then I might follow as fancy leads and tell of hopes and doubts, of loves and fears, garnishing a tale as some might wish ; but then it is all true all as it was all as it is, and there are some memories too sacred for the pen of any writer. But if I give at least one name it will be, I think, as those friends still "to the fore" might desire those old companions, young hearted, with lively recollections o the Archie Dickson who loved the dear land of his birth with a devotion rarely equalled. To him the Borderland was everything 1 the Braes o' Yarrow, and hills and heights beyond, Tweed, Yair and Fernie- lea, with Abbotsford and Melrose, the triple Eildons and grey Ercildoun, the matchless charms of Bemersyde, and deeper maybe in his heart than any, redolent with all the sweets of youth that never die the banks o' Gala Water. It was a calm warm day in early autumn 4 SHINGLE AND SAND when some friends wandered away by Tweedside and the yet untinted woods of Abbotsford. The light softened by a haze lay on the hill slopes, brightening with ruddy hue the fields of barley. Tweed sang softly at first, slipping now and again beneath some overhanging bank of bramble and fern, and anon gurgling through the channel to dream in the quiet pools below. A day it was of beauty, richness and fragrance, a day on which life seems one romance, when our hearts, forgetting time's rude events, cling only to the sweeter things we know. So at least it seemed with one who, 'mid the pauses of the talk, slipped aside and plucked the seed-pods from the broom. Though he smiled, yet, if you cared to watch you could see his thoughts were far away, and his face wore a look " Like one that sings and does not know, But in a dream hears voices calling Of those that died long years ago, And sings although the tears be falling." SHINGLE AND SAND 5 As we said before it is a far cry from Gala Water to the Southern seas, but the broom seed, gathered at Abbotsford that autumn day long years ago, found its way and a kindly bed in genial Southern soil, and didn't the heart of the old Galalean fill when the yellow tassels shone in the sun, brightening with their Border bloom the garden plot in far off Yarraville ! Neighbours smiled at the first green shoots, and wondered at his watchful care, and some perhaps were disappointed with it all but then they were not "braw, braw lads." What was all the wealth of native blossom, all the glory and the rich col- ouring to the broom from Abbotsford ? What memories it recalled friends faces stories ! At times he shut his eyes and heard the voices and the songs, and the blackbirds piping to the dawn in the land he knew so well smiled through his longing and told to his little ones another tale of boyhood's days. 6 SHINGLE AND SAND Time passed on, a few years, each with its lesson of joy and pain, till there came an hour when fell sorrow passed that way. How it all came about is no part of my story, but how strange and sad it was to lie there in the cool sweet ward, dreaming of home, learning of pain, and schooling his heart to "bide its time." Ah ! the burden and heat of the day were well nigh over, with the victory of life, as some men count victory, still un- won. Dreams of the past crowded in upon him, blotting out the thoughts of the grim misfortune that had dogged his steps, dreams bitter and yet sweet through the mists of " Auld lang syne." Here it was meeting and there it was parting, and' through all the mazes of thought, ere the dark wings brushed the rugged Scottish face, smoothing its wrinkles into peace, there beamed on him the faces of wife and children more beautiful than ever in the light of his fading day, w r ith the sanctity of chastened human love. Archie Dickson lies for ever at rest far SHINGLE AND SAND 7 far from the Borderland, yet sleeps he as soundly as if brotherly hands had laid him within hearing of his native stream, and over his grave planted by loving hands and tended with that care that she alone can know, there waves in the breeze and glints in the sun the broom from Abbotsford. That is all ; but when I heard the story and looked in the face of him who told it my thoughts flew to the " teller of stories" sleeping far away beside the surge of Samoan seas. And as he sang so thought I for in spite of hope and the light of the future we live not a little in the hallowed past. " It's an owercome sooth for age an' youth, And it brooks wi' nae denial, That the dearest friends are the auldest friends, And the young are just on trial. There's a rival bauld wi' young an* auld, And it's him that has bereft me ; For the surest friends are the auldest friends, And the maist o' mine's hae left me. 8 SHINGLE AND SAND There are kind hearts still, for friends to fill, And fools to take and break them ; But the nearest friends are the auldest friends, And the grave's the place to seek them." SHINGLE AND SAND INTERROGATUS. THIS is Ego ! So you say. Ego be it ! While the strings Vibrate through life's silences Does it matter how one sings ? When we venture to the street Singing joy or sorrow, each With the message mood has lent, Does it matter which is which ? This is mask and that is face; This is Ego that disguise; Is it in the singer, pray, Where the light or lesson lies ? This is mask, and that is face, So the world agrees to guess ; But which is mask, and which is face You may I will not confess. io SHINGLE AND SAND A SUMMER SONG. A SINKING sun, a western wind, And clouds that bar the blue, And in the east the Eildons three Set in a purple hue. A blackbird mad with love's delight Sings hope and heart begun, Where lilac tassels swing across The last glimpse of the sun. Come near, come near, your eyes are wet ; That bird song weaves the tune Of other woodlands dim at dusk And other nights of June, Of scented clover in the fields, And green boughs overhead, Of other hands and other lips And lanes with roses red. Come near, come near, joy is not dead Though some sweet voice grows dumb ; The blackbird sings with ardent heart The after bliss to come. SHINGLE AND SAND 1 1 Smile as your wont is smile and list, And watch the white clouds fade To tender tints about the nest The silver moon has made. The grey night on the Eildons three Its fleecy fold has flung ; The river sings the softer song The blackbird left unsung. And in the wood, the fragrant wood, The wandering west wind dies Where blossoms lean among the grass And close their dew-kissed eyes. Come near, come near, life's song is sweet, No sweeter song could be, When to the years the fleeting years Love gives the golden key. 12 SHINGLE AND SAND A WISH. THOUGHT brings to-night a wondrous song, But will not give me words to wing it I sit me down where shadows throng And hear the heart within me sing it, But all I can and dare repeat Is "Life be long and love be sweet." I turn from every other grace To catch in dreams a greeting tender ; I conjure up the boyish face That woo'd me into mild surrender Till every footstep in the street Strikes "Life be long and love be sweet.'* Some stranger guest of calm delight Throughout the soul within is straying; I look out to the falling night Where hills beneath the stars are praying To hear again the echo meet Of "Life be long and love be sweet." SHINGLE AND SAND 13 But ah ! Unsung is all my song, A pensive spirit cannot give it ; I sit me down where shadows throng And fondly hope that you may live it, For all I can and dare repeat Is "Life be long and love be sweet." 14 SHINGLE AND SAND THE TIME OF DAY. COME weal, come woe, I sing the song, And trust ne'er to regret it, The muse may witless work a wrong, If so you can forget it. The other day one took a text, Deducing from it wonders, And dealt his logic unperplexed In metaphoric thunders. He said the poor were always dear, That none to God were dearer, And made his subject crystal clear To every sinful hearer. With artful skill he calmly set Life's social codes in order, Until complete perfection met From border unto border. The poor, he said, were kith and kin To One who was his Master, And as he bravely cantered in, The adjectives flew faster. SHINGLE AND SAND 15 Grave sin, he said, it was to slight The poor, or scorn them coldly, For all were brothers, black and white, His formula said boldly. I asked the poor man yesternight From daily toil returning, If such had made his spirit light, And set his ardour burning. He gazed my hope had known eclipse Had he kept looking longer The muttered " fudge" grew on his lips, To something sounding stronger. "God's poor indeed ! That quantum kind Symbolic is unending ; The practical limps far behind, A laggard in attending." " Now look," said he, his open hand In gesture stretched emphatic, " This fee, faw, fum we understand Convention's deal dramatic." " A common craze that knows no stint, To its persuasive clatter, How much is mood, how much is meant, Is quite another matter. 16 SHINGLE AND SAND I'd rather see that text he took, Writ forth in deed and duty, Than hear the lesson lipped by book In strained pathetic beauty." " The Master long ago, when here, Had other ways of dealing ; But then He lived on less a year And set Himself to healing The broken hearts that knew no praise From soft suave saint or sinner Unloosed Himself the bonds, to raise And make the weak man winner." " The vast unthinking poor, forsooth ! His silver tones subsiding, Slipped glibly on from truth to truth In confidence confiding. Unthinking poor! They kept His word, And they it was who knew Him, And they it was who hailed Him Lord ; The priest it was who slew Him." The song is sung, whose e'er it be Then they can stoop and take it, The error in it lies with me I cannot now r unmake it. SHINGLE AND SAND 17 Time runs apace, and death is nigh, Beyond our realising ; But certes there is time, say I, For more than temporising. 1 8 SHINGLE AND SAND A HEART'S SOLILOQUY I HAVE no promise now to make I need no promise ; time will keep A holy savour of your sake Along the pathway, till I sleep. To-day it seems so far to go, To-morrow maybe it is near, And birds will sing and blossom blow And I will pause again, and hear Your voice, for it is always there The same low sweetness that is less Of word than look, and everywhere I turn me to its tenderness, Among the firs, and by the hills, And where the wise wan waters flow Full of the secrets, singing rills, Born 'mong the moorland mosses, know. SHINGLE AND SAND 19 I have no need of promise, dear, 'Twas seeking then, 'tis waiting now ; And all the music of the year Is but the spirit of a vow That smiles at words, and ever keeps The brimming' dream of love for me ; While in my heart a twilight sleeps, Calm with the thought of love to be. 20 SHINGLE AND SAND GLOAMING AT BRORA. A RANGE of low-lying hills outposts of Morven and Ben Clibrick, set in masses of birch and scented fir and crowned with a matchless glow of blooming heather. Waving cornfields to the right, behind us dull purpled slopes against a dappled sunset sky eastward the white surf lacing fringes to the North Sea on a yellow beach, and away to the south, cutting inland like a silver blade, the shimmering waters of Dornoch Firth. Such a peace around as poet could not speak, and yet a song in the air that is all the sweeter lacking words the warmth of an August eve, the hum of bees, shadows chasing shadows, and our hearts beating in tune to the softened voice of the far-off chiming waves. A dun deer, startled, crosses the open, and for a moment lends new life to the brown patched glade that lies beyond. Away in the distance a blue smoke rises slowly from the village set straggling in SHINGLE AND SAND 21 its quaint bareness on the shore, and kin to a gloaming that seems full of memories, guests dreamt though all unseen some- body sings among the heather a sweet old- fashioned lay. The last note dies and we wander home- ward, the sun sinks lower and the shadows cease their play ; the white cotton plants stand out on the marshy flat below ; a pheasant calls from the wood and a soft wind steals whispering through the bent, and while the darkness gathers and the crescent moon shows through a bank of tangled cloud we smell the honeysuckle in the garden lane. The tide goes out and the tide comes in, All over the sand of the grey North Sea ; And ever it sings the same old song That the years have sung to my love and me. Ever and on though the years may change, On and ever through shade and shine ; The voice of the heart is the voice of a sea, Singing a song that is ever divine. 22 SHINGLE AND SAND I look in your eyes again to-day, Living the bliss that has never a name, And your smile is more than all wealth could be, And your love out-rivals the dream of fame. Tender and true is the life of love, And true is the heart that has leaned to me ; And the tide goes out and the tide comes in, And I pledge you again by the grey North Sea. SHINGLE AND SAND 23 THE MUSE OF NORMAN GALE. As sweet as love that fondly looks As love that looks and longs ; As sweet as woodland water brooks That sing their summer songs ; As sweet as orchard blossoms set In wreaths of emerald hue ; As sweet as meadow clovers wet With kisses of the dew ; As sweet as blackbird notes that greet The dawning of the morn ; As sweet as hayfield winds that meet Where young rose-buds are born. Sing, singer, sing ! Thy song to-day Gifts life w r ith new heart-ease ; Our keenest care we give away To humming of the bees. Anew we love the hills where peace Sleeps to the blue-bells' chime ; We love the steadfast stars that keep Their tender troth with time. 24 SHINGLE AND SAND We love the clouds, the shady trees, That gift us twilight dreams ; We love the shimmer on the seas, The bliss on Border streams. Sing, singer, sing ! (I know not how) The songs ye oft have sung, And brush the sorrow from the brow And give to silence tongue, To lay our hate, and curb our frowns, And call us back again, From fever haste and crazy towns To wood and country lane. SHINGLE AND SAND 25 STIRRUP AND STEEL. " IT'S up" and " It's up" said Elliot, And " It's up " and " It's up," said we; And it's over the broom and the young green wheat, And down by the Solway Sea. It was there we rode in the morning, And there we rode at noon; And there we fought, when the red sun set, By the wan light of the moon. " It's up " and " It's on" said Elliot, And " It's up " and " It's on," said we; For it's five we rode, but two lay still On the sand by the Solway Sea. It's alack ! for the good steed Bonnie, And alack ! for the dapple grey, And alack ! for the lads who were blithe as the larks As they lightly rode that day. 26 SHINGLE AND SAND " It's up " and " It's on " cried Elliot; And " It's up " and " It's on " cried we; For the steel must drink of the dearest wine This night by the Solway Sea. And there we strained on the shingle, And there we crossed and met, And thrice we backed in the racing tide Till the saddle girths were wet. And there we fought in the moonlight Jock Armstrong, Elliot, and me Till three had fallen and two had fled, That night by the Solway Sea. And "It's up" and " It's home" cried Elliot, And It's up " and " It's home " cried we, For hearts must bleed, and the mass be sung For this night by the Solway Sea. SHINGLE AND SAND 27 THE LOST MEADOW-LAND. THERE'S a lost meadow-land far away Where wild birds sing all the live-long day; Where blossoms gem the greenest grass, And poppies bow as the shadows pass. I think you know where the sweet land lay, But alas ! we'll never come back that way I saw that land in a dream last night, With its wavy woods and its brooklets bright; I heard your song that had never a care To banish its rapture anywhere. But O ! you know where the sweet land lay, And alas ! we'll never come back that way. There's a lost meadow-land, heart of mine, Love's own summer-land, shade and shine; But grey miles lie, behind, before, Hiding that meadow-land evermore. 28 SHINGLE AND SAND You know, you know where the sweet land lay ; But alas ! we'll never come back that way. Alas ! we'll never come back that way. SHINGLE AND SAND 29 CHARLIE FRASER. 'TWAS springtide on Culloden When the White Cockade was doomed, And the heather wore the purple Long" months before it bloomed. Where Macgillivray mowed his harvest, And alone bold Keppoch fell, And the Butcher proved the warrant Of his regency for hell. A wounded hero resting On his elbow, gazed away O'er the smoking field of carnage To the Beauly waters grey. Did his eagle eye grow misty ? Was his pale cheek pale with pain? 'Twas the sorrow of his homeland Filled his gallant heart again. Alas ! for all his beauty That never blanched with fear, The Butcher roamed Culloden With his hell-hounds in the rear. 3 o SHINGLE AND SAND " Now are you for us, fellow ? " " For the Prince ! " the youth replies With the pride of brave devotion Shining brightly in his eyes. 11 For the Prince ! by all that's sacred Shoot the scoundrel, Wolfe !" said he; But the Major made refusal In grim words of irony. " Nay ! nay ! " said all his comrades, " Twere a shame beyond remede " All the better nature starting Into horror at the deed. Did the royal Butcher falter ? Was his soul one moment free ? Did he pause for once to ponder One sweet thought of chivalry? Has the tiger in the jungle Tender pity for its prey ? Such the pity that the Butcher Gave the true and brave that day. For the common trooper, nameless Thank God, at his chiefs behest With a half-raised musket fired Laid the hero with the rest. SHINGLE AND SAND And it's softly lies young Eraser Where the muirland mists are grey, And it's softly lies the Butcher In his royal tomb far away. But, to-day, while o'er Culloden Summer gloaming gently creeps, Lays one heart, in love, its tribute, Where brave Charlie Fraser sleeps. 32 SHINGLE AND SAND " LIFE WERE NOT LIFE." LIFE were not life without the troth that's true The grace of grace, the soul-refreshing dew Heaven's gift divine, whose fragrant unction brings New strength and glory to earth's common things. Though long miles stretch between, and days divide, Still speed my thoughts from wimpling Tweed to Clyde; Still clings my heart with fondest hopes to thee, And faith supplies what love now fails to see. Take then my love, for why should I retain What now to give is scattering but to gain; SHINGLE AND SAND 33 'Tis love buys love, aught else it needs must spurn: I rest in peace since thou dost love in turn. 34 SHINGLE AND SAND NORTHWARD. OH, the dun dreary flats of Caithness, stretching away to the left, inarticulate loneness losing itself in the grey mist of the gloaming ! Usually so gay, we have all become so silent, glad perhaps for the lull and the weird stillness in which to dream our dreams. Life runs at such a rate; but behind us lie the haste and the hoyden wilfulness, and time for the nonce seems pausing to rest. The beat of the horses' feet weaves a rhythmic dreaminess, while the sharp staccato of the driver's voice marks inter- ludes between. Now the roadway dips into the hollows, then rises again in its persistent same- ness, but giving us beyond the cliffs that frown between, glimpses of the tumbling masses of the wild North Sea. SHINGLE AND SAND 35 Now the shadows creep closer and something of the stillness goes, and with the shadows come a cold dreich rain and a wind that smell of the Pentland Firth. We speak in whispers and begin to wish. Suggested comforts sound so cruel and the man who makes them is sent to sit alone. Now there's a halt and a bustle as they change horses, some of us casting envious looks as, smoking and tired, they are led into warmth and shelter. Now there's a comparing of watches, a cheerful word or two, a cracking of whips, and the same firm voice, and we break away with renewed speed once more into the wind and the rain. Here and there a crofter's cottage looms out of the shadows a dog barks and the lights gleam through the little windows. Bit by bit our spirits rise. We shake off our dreaminess and discontent, and, laughing as we look each other in the face, make believe we sight, stretching away 36 SHINGLE AND SAND before us bold warden of the North tide-beaten Duncansby Head. There are cold miles still, but every turn of the wheels brings us nearer our "desired haven" and we shut our eyes and picture to ourselves as only men in such circumstances can the joys at John O' Groats ! Now we skirt marsh and moor, and stalks of peat set like so many ramparts guarding the paths, till over the flats before us we see, set against the clouds that scud above the Firth, " The flag that braved a thousand years The battle and the breeze/ 7 Now we are all alert as we sweep past the cottages and the open doorway of the blacksmith's shop and draw up at the welcoming porch at Huna's. The light streams out on the falling night, plays on the sweating horses, and the heathery patch beyond shows the smile on every face and the sea-foam breaking on the beach. SHINGLE AND SAND 37 " Bravo, Nansen ! " cries one as he descends from his perch and flings his arms around the flag-staff on the beach, " Bravo, Nansen ! the North Pole at last;" and Nansen had no more satisfaction when he sighted again the land he loves than we had when we sat within the weather- beaten walls telling our stories and sing- ing our songs while the ocean and the wind rolled choruses without. It was after supper when three men clambered shoreward, startling the sea- birds where the white spray flew o'er the shingle, and sang to their neighbour Stroma, to the north wind and the reckless tide, "Braw braw lads o' Gala Water." 38 SHINGLE AND SAND LIFE'S GUEST DIVINE. HEED not though all the world forget If love be with you ; love has set The golden tune, that heart to heart May sing its perfect counterpart, Oblivious in the mutual grace To discords of the market place. And love is with you, charming care To nobler issues everywhere ; And wooing with a fond surprise Time's sorrow from your dewy eyes; Transforming doubt to hope divine And life's wan waters into wine. So let the world without go past While love victorious, first and last, Through all the chamber, purple spread, To dignify his kingly tread, Moves, monarch of the hearts that make Him welcome for each other's sake. SHINGLE AND SAND 39 WITHOUT AND WITHIN. As one, who roving in the street, Dreams, and in dreaming seems to hear, In accents sweetly incomplete, His own name uttered in his ear. So move I, in the crowd alone, With that deep spell that seems to grow About the voice whose gleeful tone Went down to silence long ago, And passing out beyond the strife That fills the chambers of the day, Thought touches being with the life Whose dim horizons stretch away, Where heavenly heights in calm sublime, Above the valley mists have drawn Benignant brows, that hold for Time The hidden birthplace of the dawn; 40 SHINGLE AND SAND Till wild conjecture's witless throng Brawl in their haste, and to the street Life calls me backward with the song Of tones that question, hearts that beat Their memories out in words that wear But echoes, hollow in their din, Of all the hopes and fears that bear Brief sway imperiously within. SHINGLE AND SAND 41 SONGS OF A SORROW. Now in mine ears a cry as of the sea, Complaining softly to the summer night A cry forlorn, that through the waning light Dies in a sob upon the fading lea. So still it is, this tide-born phantasy Is louder than the song the summer sings, Full flooded dreams that wander wistfully Among the movings of a thousand wings; Old days are in it, echoing days before In solemn whispers where the shadows lie; Old griefs again yearn to the silent shore, Old sorrows brood beneath the star-lit sky Thus in mine ears a cry as of the sea, Fraught with the memories of Eternity. 42 SHINGLE AND SAND n. Sad, life's sea-dream; but sadder unto me The care that wafts it through the summer eve. Poor stricken soul at peace, and yet I grieve In wordless kinship with the moaning sea. So many seas, so many perils past, And England held thee while we smiled and said, " When northward hies he on his way at last Our mountain brows with heather will be red, And we will sing our songs and smile away All thought of sorrow in the summer bliss, Time shall be sweet we said and crown each day With satisfying thoughts of tenderness." Now in mine ears a cry as of the sea, Fraught with the memories of Eternity. SHINGLE AND SAND 43 in. Wearied and weak from battling with the main, At last soft rest and kindliness to shed Love's gentle sunshine God-like overhead With peaceful words to soothe the heart in pain. And then hope smiled, and failed and smiled once more, Hope bringing hope. Alas! Life's tran- quil time, Whose coming no man knows, leaned from that shore Unseen by us, and to that sacred clime Beyond the bar where chafes our curious care Love led thee Home. We never met yet part ! Those sprigs of Scottish heather white and fair Kind hands laid, for me, on thy tideless heart. But in mine ears a cry as of the sea Throbs with the memories of Eternity. 44 SHINGLE AND SAND REMEMBRANCE. OFT 'mid the dreams that tide-like ebb and flow, Thine eyes look into mine with tender glow, Restful as dying daylight on home hills. No time for vague regret, no time for pain, Though lips may falter o'er old words again, Born of the longing love's own self instils. The reaper sings about the field to-day Where ruddy sheaves stand listening to his lay That, breaking into tuneful fragments, thrills The clear crisp silence, while a new delight Chimes echo to his song with fervour bright As waking morn responsive joy that fills SHINGLE AND SAND 45 The heart, when 'mid the dreams that ebb and flow Thine eyes look into mine with tender glow. 46 SHINGLE AND SAND A MAY DUET. TWEED blithely sings her sea-ward song Where Neidpath woods grow fair, With mosses sweet about their feet And hawthorn in their hair. But valour casts a tender glance Where love's own voice grows low, And knightly songs of knightly wrongs Gift Yarrow's silver flow. Too sad, too soft your Yarrow glides Beside each still green brae; The singer hears the fall of tears In all her pensive lay. But sweetly sings the Shepherd's bird Above each fragrant mead ! Ah ! you should hear the blackbird's clear Fond piping on the Tweed, SHINGLE AND SAND 47 Where sun and shadow fleck the fields And blooms nod in the grass, Your hills but lie calm 'neath the sky, To watch the white clouds pass. Nay ! Silence, Sorrow's sister, here Weaves peace both noon and night; Such peace as lays for other days Love's dead face in our sight ! I'll sing my Yarrow, thou thy Tweed So love to love shall draw, While sun shafts gay gild Newark grey And shades drape Bowerhope Law. Sing thou thy Yarrow, gentle soul, Tweed still must be my care, While summer beams, with golden dreams, Slant o'er the hills of Yair. 48 SHINGLE AND SAND BY DORNOCH FIRTH. WE leave the golfer behind us; his cry of " Fore" grows fainter, and we pass along the links with their bent and blos- som to gaze at the surf and sea and the climbing slopes of Tain beyond. Along the downs lie stretches of short scrubby grass, with tufts of heather here and there, and tiny yellow blossoms that smile about our feet. Overhead is the blue sky and a brilliant sun and in our faces, like a scented douceur, the cool breath of the shining sea the sea tranquil and in a lonely mood, with but the far off " surgy murmur" telling how its great heart beats. The gulls flash through the heated noon, and double and turn and dip their white wings warily; and along the shore, where graceful furrows rise and fall, little lost pools gleam in their idleness, gemming the tawny sand. SHINGLE AND SAND 49 Over the bent and the pebbles, and through the tangled weeds, bleached and dry, borrowed of some old tide that raved of wintry weather ; on, step by step we venture through the soft sands that ooze and bend, and tempt our hearts to doubt their welcome. From the silver streak the seals gaze at us curiously, more eager to know the louder we call, as we move along, dreaming of Arnold's lay: " She steals to the window, and looks at the sand; And over the sand at the sea; And her eyes are set in a stare; And anon there breaks a sigh, And anon there drops a tear From a sorrow-clouded eye, And a heart sorrow-laden, A long, long sigh For the cold strange eyes of a little Mermaiden And the gleam of her golden hair." The shells lie at our feet, all along the margin of the narrow bay, some half buried, some glistening with their gifts of briny dew; spiked, and flat, and pointed c 50 SHINGLE AND SAND they are, white, and pink, and soft grey pearl; and some there are that make us play the child once more listening at the tinted lips to the secrets of their ocean home. Away landward the old town looks down over the long sandy stretch, where our footprints show up like distinct dese- crations on the rippling flat. To the left a narrow ridge, where rank grasses wave and where only sea storms ever stretch a a greedy hand; but behind us a flowing tide and little waves that hurry on hiding behind a mingling fringe of creamy foam, whispering us to dally but a little till they play about our feet, and such a mournful pleading voice they have and such a calling is there in the chastened tone, that we linger longer than wise men would do, till breathless and half doubting still we reach the tinkling shingles on the friendly ridge. Then its homeward we turn to the old house at Proncy where the yellow corn waves, and a welcome waits, warm as the Highland hearts that give it. SHINGLE AND SAND 51 "AS THE ROSES LIGHT THE GARDEN." As the roses light the garden In its darkened shade of green, Burning brightly on the branches, Gleaming here and there between; So you bring the blessed sweetness Where the sombre thought-land lies, With the blossom of the smiling That is all about your eyes. 52 SHINGLE AND SAND CONSTANCY. GOLD on the grain, and dew on the lawn, And a blush divine on the gay hill- heather; And love, akin to the rose and the dawn, Crowning heart's hope 'mid the autumn weather. Ever a song in the woodland free, And ever a song in the silver river, And ever your voice, and your eyes o'er me, Living, and dreaming it ever and ever. SHINGLE AND SAND A HOUSE OF GOD. IT has no walls, the hazel boughs Are all about its porch, And down the aisles of softened gloom The chestnut lights its torch. Our footsteps on the tinted moss No wondering echoes wake, Where white, and red, and purple blooms A quaint mosaic make; While to the lacing roofs of green The sweetest voices rise In songs that stir within the heart New dreams of Paradise. Yestreen, a time-tongue garrulous Set in a doleful key; To-day, a tender peace of God Full of broad charity. 54 SHINGLE AND SAND The whispering wind, the shining stream, The bloom, the wild bird's song, A holy calm that soothes away Remembrances of wrong. No tongue to babble caste or creed And banish peace away. Fair House of God, the longing heart Finds prayer and praise to-day. SHINGLE AND SAND 55 BY SEA AND SHORE. THE roses seemed listening, and the corn, not yet sickle-ripe, bowed and nodded in the croft as if it knew what we were saying. There is such a passion about a summer eve, such a fullheartedness, such a throb- bing of love, living out its divine beneath the calm untroubled heavens; the sensitive soul claims kinship and wonders if the flowers have pain the pain one feels when the lilacs bloom and the first blackbird thrills the silence of the budding earth with the rapture of a song. "Ah," you say, " only the Poet's fancy, beautiful enough maybe, a mixture of madness and ideal; but the wind blows the indifferent, the cold, the real, and it is gossamer, only gossamer." Gentle cynic, I know you, of ancient birth, but bear a little, oblivion will follow 56 SHINGLE AND SAND curfew soon enough; but when the hills flush with the sunset, and the meadows, where the ox-eyed daisies stare, sleep while the river rhymes, and that heart melody breaks through the moist and fra- grant woods, you'll allow, won't you, that there's u method in his madness" after all? We have a busy-day world, where the heart is often caged like the thrush 'mid the city smoke, where the wheels grate and men shout and bargain and fashion plumes itself and cons anew the decalogue that rules its courts, a busy- day world indeed, shams sounding often their hollowness to some uninitiated touch. But when the roses bloom and the hills blush with the heather and the corn nods, and crowded streets are far away, we forget the jarring and the doubt, and learn, in the sunny silence or the softer grey of the gloaming, the secrets that slip from the soul of summer. Softly sank the August sun. The grasses whispered where the river glided home. Yellow, yellow were the sands, SHINGLE AND SAND 57 and far as the eye could reach the sea lay stretched from sky to sky a dazzling- vision of changeful glory. The path sloped shoreward, embroidered in purple and yellow, and beyond the fields a soft light, fast passing into shadow, lingered for a little on the heights by the simple Kirk o' Clyne. A brown brook half-hidden among the grasses babbled and sang to the butterfly waltzing on its banks. A white sail stood out for a moment against the gleam of sunset sky. Beyond the trees a little bird flew in loops across the clover, and, beside us, another startled into utterance, soared away and sang, while a sweet mingling of quaint Highland accents reached us from the lane below. Long we sat on Mount Pleasant among the heather, musing and talking by turns. Now it was of yesterday we spoke, and now of to-morrow, with all the varied hopes and fears that lie between, coming ever back to the inner kinships of life, and the things we 58 SHINGLE AND SAND but partly understand, dreaming, as many a mystic has done before, dreams we could not, if we wanted, gather into words. The night fell and the stars came out; the cottage windows gleamed. A gentle face looked from the open doorway and a voice called through the gathered shadows; and while the ocean song grew fainter and the moon glimmered over the far off hills, rest and peace crept in upon the heart with that deep sense that is more than words can make it, the sense born of life's experience disappointment, trial, hope, endeavour; that sense, call it what you may, which, having found a sweet sanctity in the come and go of common things, feels that, though externals pass, love and thought remain life evolving step by step till perhaps existences are perfected in spirit. SHINGLE AND SAND 59 "ALONE WE WALKED FROM THE VILLAGE." ALONE we walked from the village Away to the gleaming shore, When the full tide rocked in the hollows And the wild wave rush was o'er. A grey-winged bird sat dreaming On the breast of the sleepy sea, And the wandered wave was silent As a lonely heart should be. The golden sunshine wavered, And a soft wind hastened down Over the ridge and the meadows And the quaint, old, red-tiled town ; And a song was in it, bringing New thought for life's changeful day, That passed from our wayward fancy With the brown-sailed boat in the bay. With the marshalled tide we listened To the muffled moan forlorn, From the distant-hearted ocean Where eternal thoughts are born: -6o SHINGLE AND SAND We ne'er had a shade of sorrow That day by the dreamy deep, But only the nameless longing That will not lie down and sleep. Love comes to one in the springtime With the apple-bloom on the tree, When the smoke hangs over the village And the birds are full of glee; Love came to one in the summer In the touch of a tender hand, When the laughing children gathered To play in the shingle and sand. SHINGLE AND SAND 61 A HEART IN THE HIGHLANDS. LAST nicht I dreamed the pipers Cam' playin' through the toon, * An' I, a barefit laddie, Went mairchin' up an' doon. I saw the toon folk rinnin' An' my wee heart lap wi' glee; But aye the foremost piper Kept lookin' roon' at me. I saw my mither stannin* On the low rung o' the cross, Her richt han' on her e'ebroos, As she lookit ower the Moss. An' as she sat doon greetin* When I clam' beside her knee, I look'd, an* saw the neibors Lookin' waesomely at me. 62 SHINGLE AND SAND I saw na' what was comin', An' I kent na' what had been, But I grat beside my mither An' the neibors on the green. I saw the wavin' tartan, An' I kent the bonnie air, The soughin' an' the sabbin' O' " Lochaber nae main" I mindit o' my faither Wi' the bonnet on his broo A plaidit man wha kissed me But I couldna see him noo; An' when I speired my mither, It just made her greet the mair, Where she sat, an' lookin', looking Ran her fingers through my hair. When I waukened in the mornin', The lads were stannin' roon': But aye the buirdly pipers Gang playin' through the toon. SHINGLE AND SAND 63 An' aye I see the neibors Come rinnin' to the green Where my mither's stannin' lookin' Wi' her richt han' on her een. The glens are fu' o' simmer; An' the siller birks are braw; An' the purple heather blossoms On the hill-taps, far awa', But the pipes that played Lochaber Spak' o' gloamin', saft an' sune, When we'll hear nae mair o' greetin' An' oor dreamin' '11 be dune. 64 SHINGLE AND SAND SUMMER DAWN. To greener banks Tweed tells romance Of sunshine and of shade; Life's langour dies where brighter skies Cast glamour on each glade. Birds greet the morn, the flowers awake, The buds burst on the tree, The old oak dons its tints of bronze For all the world to see. Oh soft west wind, Oh wet west wind, Blow all our cares away ! The skylarks sing upon the wing And hearts grow young to-day. SHINGLE AND SAND 65 "DO NOT HIDE ME IN THE SHADOW." Do not hide me in the shadow, Let me feel the summer sun, Where the road runs through the meadow Ere the hill path is begun. Let me see the swinging blossoms And the green upon the grass, And the flashing gleam and gladness Of the swallows as they pass. In the shadow love is silent ; Faces fade, and pass from sight; In the shadow time is songless, And the day is as the night. There's no shadow where the Light is, Sorrow's self was slain by Me. You are blind, My child ; to-morrow In My shadow you shall see. 66 SHINGLE AND SAND UPS AN' DOONS. O SOME maun gang, An' some maun bide, An' some maun slip To the other side, An' ane may stan' When another maun boo, It may be me, An' it may be you, But, somehow or other, We'll a' pu' through. It mak's but a dreich An' a dreary day To gather an' grab Till the hair growes grey, But some maun hae'd, An' they glunch an' gloom, An' others maun wait At the cock o' their thoomb,- But, somehow or other, We'll a' hae room. SHINGLE AND SAND 67 It's a gey bit speel, An* a stiff bit brae; But a lichtsome heart Gangs a lang, lang way; We canna gang back On the fit-path mair, An' it's better to look To the hill-tap fair, An,' somehow or other, We'll a' won there. There's some o' us bairns, An' some o' us men, But the langest day Is but short ye ken; An' the lark has sung, An' the nicht maun fa', An' the Maister says " Ye maun clim' awa', For, somehow or other, There's hame for ye a'." So some o' us gang, An' some o' us bide, 68 SHINGLE AND SAND An' some o j us slip To the other side; But the rough o' the road, Is never sae bad To the weary feet O' the heartless lad, If ye, neibor-like, gie him A hand to haud. SHINGLE AND SAND 69 CHANGE. OH, roses bloom, and wild birds sing, When dew-drops gem the grass; But roses fade and birds take wing When summer glories pass. What said your heart to me yestreen ? What says your heart to-day ? Heavy and sad the shade between Since Love has gone away. 70 SHINGLE AND SAND A LOWLAND LAY. O WHAT can I sing when the heart is full ? And what can I sing if it be not sorrow ? For love that is late is love that is lost, And that is the song on the braes of Yarrow. But Yarrow may sing to the summer sun, And chant to the hills of its old-time treasure; For love that is late is never my lot But love that is more than our words can measure. But what can I sing in the Lowland land, Pensive and sweet in its sacred sadness? Shall it be love in a lightsome lay Or mirth that is mad from a fount of gladness ? SHINGLE AND SAND 71 There's nothing in life like the leal, leal heart, There's nothing in time can equal its singing; And closely we lean, though we wander apart, And list to the message its music is bringing. So while I wander the bright summer through, Dreaming my dream in the golden weather, Love sings the song that is sweeter than words Glamour and grace of the fair white heather. Blithe be your rest in your Northern home Now through our woodlands that echo is ringing, Welcome you back again this is the song Yarrow and Tweed with the Gala are singing. 72 SHINGLE AND SAND O mountain, and river, and moorland mist Where sunshine and shadow sleep softly together ! It's away to the North is the heart to the North, And there's never a dream like the dream of the heather. SHINGLE AND SAND 73 REVERIE. LEANING awhile by the borderland Where the spirit-dreams of old days I see Sun and shade To a twilight made, And tender eyes that look at me. Silence breathes where the river sleeps, And life has a grace like the dawn of day When bright wings pass O'er the haunted grass Brushing the dews of night away. Yet lonely all, and alone as noon When the blue haze shrouds the languid chime, When hill slopes lie 'Neath a summer sky, Drowsily dreaming a pause in time. D 74 SHINGLE AND SAND But love, dear love in the stillness makes The heart a throne with Its purple state, And stars will shine With a light divine, And songs be sung where the shadows wait. SHINGLE AND SAND 75 A SONG OF THE SEA. WOOING, ever wooing Solemnly chanting sea. But the land lies still In its gay green garb, With a brown cheek turned to thee. Wooing, ever wooing With voices that rise and die From wavelets kissed By the summer sun, Where the shimmering pebbles lie. Wooing, ever wooing With surges deep and strong; Flashing the hues Of a thousand dreams In the pauses of wild song. Wooing, ever wooing With a mystical heart-throb, When the full tide turns From the listening land Back with a lonely sob. 76 SHINGLE AND SAND Wooing, ever wooing, Wooing in blue and grey ; Under the moon And the glimmering stars And the watchful eyes of day. Wooing, ever wooing, Solemnly chanting sea. The pain of the ages Set in thy heart Waiting the last decree. SHINGLE AND SAND 77 A MEMORY. * ' Tis a league and a league to the Lena Falls where the crop and the upland meet, But I can smell the warm wet wind that whispers through the wheat." SOME things we read we never forget. At times they flash in upon our shaded silence with such a searching light that we feel face to face with the unseen reality. The ideal becomes the actual and our hearts beat with a new-born fervour. I was dreaming to-day of the sunshine and shadow in the glades I know so well dreaming of friends and kindly faces, and of voices that seem the sweeter now that they are silent. A soft wind moved among the branches without, the fragrance of roses and honey- suckle stole through the open window, while the gloaming, fading into that blue- 78 SHINGLE AND SAND grey one feels but cannot speak, touched all the uplands into a quiet peace. It was then I thought or did the thought come unsought to me ? in the spirit of "Henry Esmond" "but only true love lives after you, follows your memory with secret blessing or precedes you and intercedes for you. Non omnis moriar if dying, I yet live in a tender heart or two; nor am lost and hopeless living if a sainted and departed soul still loves and prays for me." We always think the old days were the best, and that these times are not as the times we once knew. I know not, but this I know, that some memories seem to take a deeper impression as our years roll on. Some little part that was vague stands out distinctly, and, at such an hour, we have only to shut our eyes to hold renewed communion with that which we are pleased to call the Past. We need not be at war with the world to do so. Nay ! the dispeace, God knows, is largely of our own making. Ah ! we SHINGLE AND SAND 79 are fools, are we not, to invite our foes to make their " household jar within " ? There is a quaint pathway winding down a hillside to a bosky glen beneath, where God's acre lies around the ruined Church and the river sings to sleepers who never wake. There the blossoms nod all the summer and the birds sing among the clumps of hazel; where the veils of matchless greenery fringe the red rocks, glowing ruddy and warm in the sun. Nooks and crannies are there, and caves that have each a story, and burns that, they say, ran red in Border strife, and we know that beyond, on the hill-top, in times more distant still, proud warriors held court, and mused, too, perhaps, between the night watches, on the memories of their dead past. There's an old well in that glen where we drank, and our fathers before us, and where (Jet me whisper it) once a singer sat and sang his heart's care into words till there was a mist before his eyes and a strange twilight over his spirit. Great 8o SHINGLE AND SAND trees are there, chestnut, and elm, and oak, whispering their mysteries what do they say? and scented limes that lace their arms along the path, a reredos and screen in this temple and retreat of God. On the ruined walls the ivy creeps and clings, the birds build without and within, and the grass grows green where once we sat looking in the furrowed face with the silver hair above a braided brow wonder- ing at the tremor in the voice that sang to the plaintive tune, with that old-world sweetness that haunts us still, the simple tender psalms of the Shepherd King. We sought to step it the other day, that neglected Bethel, from the doorway, past the window, and away to the left. Here it was we sat. I heard again the rustle in the stillness, the voice of the grey- haired preacher and the wailing minor strain, the hum of the bees in the sunshine without, and the bleat of the sheep in the fields beyond then all faded, and about us again were the flowers, and the ivy, and the grasses, with stray speedwells SHINGLE AND SAND 81 smiling* at our feet. It was down that hill-path he came. For long months I had not seen him and I thought he looked braver, with his Norse-blue eyes, than ever. An old school friend he was, one who never failed you, who, in spite of many a sorrow, took his boyish heart to manhood with him and laughed sunshine into you, till there was no room for darkness at all. We wandered in that glen among its kindred surroundings, with a ripened feeling in our hearts, that, full and glowing" though it was, somehow did not wed to words. Perhaps words were not needed to emphasise what we could look and feel, but there grew a hunger and a long-ing in his eyes that for a time seemed to over- shadow hope, then, with undue reserve in full retreat, a joyous past unveiled itself and for the hour we lived over again all that was best of that yfesterday. tl I sail on Friday," he said, as we stood hand clasping hand. I glanced back as I 82 SHINGLE AND SAND leaned on the stile at the hill-top and he had not moved. We looked our last, and waved our good-bye. I have not seen him since. Alas ! no one knows where he is. Has he gone under in the surge of life ? No sea can be more kind or cruel! It is whispered that he too is dead. I know not, but this I know a sweetness ever comes into sorrow, even as men dream, and aside alike from cant and creed we hold that " Knowledge by suffering entereth And life is perfected by death ! " A. Walker & Son, Printers, Galashiels. BY THE SAME AUTHOR, ROSE AND THORN, POEMS AND SONGS. Demy 12^0. 180 pages. 3 With Portrait of Author. Manchester Guardian. " Plenty of healthy sen- timent, and facile and at times graceful verse." Glasgow Herald. " The tone is uniformly pure and manly, and his writings exhibit signs of breadth and courage which in the process of time may bear rich poetic fruit. Many of his pieces show fine feeling and fancy." The Border Magazine. " Collection of one hun- dred poems and songs, many of which rise to great poetic excellence." Coulson Kernahan. " Many of the poems are musical, and tender, and graceful."