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A New and Enlarged Edition. In one vol- ume, IGmo, price 50 cunts. LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF DOMESTIC LIFE. In one volume, IGmo, price 62 cents. MOTHERWELVS POSTHUMOUS POEMS. THE American Publishers have issued this volume in uni- form style with their other editions of the Writings of Mother- well, in order that the series might be complete. The volumes already published comprise the Poetical Works with the Memoir, and the Minstrelsy, Ancient and Modern. POSTHUMOUS POEMS OF WILLIAM MOTHERWELL NOW FIRST COLLECTED. BOSTON: TICKNOR, REED, AND FIELDS. M DCCC LI. THt'RJTOX, TORKT, AXD EMERSOS, P1UXTKB3. 5 \ * PREFACE TO THE GLASGOW EDITION. WHEN the Second Edition of Motherwell's Poems was published, in 1847, it was stated in the Preface that the fragments of poetry which he had left behind him in manu- script, and which were not included in that volume, might be given to the public at some future day, should any encour- agement be offered for pursuing such a course. This the Publisher has now determined to do ; but before taking such a step, he resolved to submit the pieces in question to the critical scrutiny of Motherwell's old friend and poetical ally, Mr. William Kennedy, who chanced to be in Scotland at the time. The reader will, therefore, be good enough to understand that these Poems have been selected by Mr. Ken- nedy, and are published under his express authority. The Publisher is gratified in being able to make this statement, as it relieves him from a responsibility which he feels that it would not be becoming in him to incur. 759439 LINES Written after a Visit to the Grave of mj Friend, WILLIAM MOTHEKWELL, ' NOVMCBKH, 1847. PLACE we a stone at his head and his feet ; Sprinkle his sward with the small flowers sweet ; Piously hallow the Poet's retreat ! Ever approvingly, Ever most lovingly, Turned he to Nature, a worshipper meet. Harm not the thorn which grows at his head ; Odorous honors its blossoms will shed, Grateful to him, early summoned, who sped Hence, not unwillingly For he felt thrillingly To rest his poor heart 'mong the low-lying dead. Dearer to him than the deep Minster bell, Winds of sad cadence, at midnight, will swell, Vocal with sorrows he knoweth too well, Who, for the early day, Plaining this roundelay, Might his own fate from a brother's foretell. 8 Worldly ones treading this terrace of graves, Grudge not the minstrel the little he craves, When o'er the snow-mound the winter-blast raves Tears which devotedly, Though all unnotedly, Flow from their spring, in the soul's silent caves. Dreamers of noble thoughts, raise him a shrine, Graced with the beauty which lives in his line ; Strew with pale flow'rets, when pensive moons shine, His grassy covering, Where spirits hovering, Chaunt, for his requiem, music divine. Not as a record he lacketh a stone ! Pay a light debt to the singer we've known Proof that our love for his name hath not flown With the frame perishing That we are cherishing Feelings akin to the lost Poet's own. WILLIAM KENNEDY. CONTENTS. THAT THIS WEARY WAR OF LIFE . . .17 CHOICE OF DEATH ..... 19 / LIKE MIST ON A MOUNTAIN-TOP, BROKEN AND GRAY . 20 SONS ....... 22 TRUE WOMAN . . . . . .24 FRIENDSHIP AND LOVE ..... 26 AND HAE YE SEEN MY AIN TRUE LUVE . . .28 THE SPELL-BOUND KNIGHT .... 30 CRUXTOUN CASTLE . . . . . .32 ROLAND AND ROSABELLE .... 40 SONG ....... 43 FOR BLITHER FIELDS AND FAIRER BOWERS . . 44 HOPE AND LOVE . . . . . .46 SONGE OF THE ScHIPPE ..... 48 HE STOOD ALONE . . . . . .51 CUPID'S BANISHMENTS ..... 52 THE SHIP OF THE DESERT . . . . .54 THE POET'S WISH ..... 56 ISABELLE . . . . . . .57 WHAT is THIS WORLD TO ME ? ... 59 To A LADY'S BONNET . . . . .60 THE WANDERER ..... 62 SONG ....... 65 THE HUNTER'S WELL . . 67 10 CONTENTS. I . IT DEEPLY WOUNDS THE TRUSTING HEART . . .69 THE ETTIN O'SILLARWOOD .... 71 LIKE A GRAY-HAIRED MARINER . . . .80 THE LAY OF GEOFFROI RUDEL .... 81 ENTIE ....... 82 LOVE'S TOKENS ..... 84 / SAY EOT PURE AFFECTIONS CHANGE . . .86 THE ROSE AND THE FAIR LILYE ... 87 YOUNG LOVE . . . . . .90 To THE TEMPEST ..... 92 GOE CLEED wi' SMYLIS THE CHEEK . . . .94 THE POET'S DESTINY . . . . . 97 I MET Wl' HER I LUVED YESTREEN . . . .98 To THE LADY OF MY HEART .... 100 THE FAIKE LADYE . . . . . .101 MY Am COUNTRIE . . . . . 103 To A FRIEND AT PARTING . . . . . 105 I PLUCKED THE BERRY ..... 109 SONG . . . . . . . 110 To * * * * 112 THE KNIGHT'S REQUIEM . . . . .114 THE ROCKY ISLET . . . . . 117 THE PAST AND THE FUTURE . . . .118 0, TURN FROM ME THOSE RADIANT EYES . . 120 THINK NAE MORE o' ME, SWEET MAY . . . 121 THE LOVE-LORN KNIGHT AND THE DAMSEL PITILESS . 123 LOVE IN WORLDLYNESSE ..... 125 A NIGHT VISION ..... 128 THIS is NO SOLITUDE ..... 136 THE LONE THORN . . . . . 137 THE SLAYNE MENSTREL ..... 138 THE MERMAIDEN ..... 142 SONG . . . . . . .144 THE LEAN LOVER ..... 146 AFFECTEST THOU THE PLEASURES OF THE SHADE ? . . 1 48 Music . . 149 CONTENTS. 1 1 THE SHIPWRECKED LOVER ..... 151 HOLLO, MY FANCY ..... 154 LOVE'S POTENCIE ...... 167 LIFE ....... 169 SUPERSTITION ...... 170 YE VERNAL HOURS ..... 174 COME, THOU BRIGHT SPIRIT . . . 175 LAYS OF THE LANG BEIN HITTERS . . . 178 THE RlTTERS RIDE FORTH .... 178 LAY OF THE BROKEN-HEARTED AND HOPE-BEREAVED MEW 180 DREAM OF LIFE'S EARLY DAY, FAREWELL FOR EVER . 182 THE HITTERS RIDE HOME .... 185 POEMS. POSTHUMOUS POEMS. THAT THIS WEARY WAR OF LIFE THAT this weary war of life With me were o'er, Its eager cry of wo and strife Heard never more ! I've fronted the red battle field - Mine own dark day ; 1 fain would fling the helmet, shield, And sword away. I strive not now for victory That wish hath fled ; My prayer is now to numbered be Among the dead All that I loved, alas ! alas ! Hath perished ! 18 They tell me 'tis a glorious thing, This wearing war ; They tell me joy crowns suffering And bosom scar. Such speech might never pass the lips That could unfold How shrinketh heart when sorrow nips Affections old : When they who cleaved to us are dust, Why live to moan ? Better to meet a felon thrust Than strive alone Better than loveless palaces The churchyard stone ! CHOICE OF DEATH. MIGHT I, without offending, choose The death that I would die, I'd fall, as erst the Templar fell, Aneath a Syrian sky. Upon a glorious plain of war, The banners floating fair, My lance and fluttering pennoncel Should marshal heroes there ! Upon the solemn battle-eve, With prayer to be forgiven, I'd arm me for a righteous fight, Imploring peace of Heaven ! High o'er the thunders of the charge Should wave my sable plume, And where the day was lost or won, There should they place my tomb ! LIKE MIST ON A MOUNTAIN TOP BROKEN AND GRAY. LIKE mist on a mountain top broken and gray, The dream of my early day fleeted away : Now the evening of life, with its shadows, steals on, And memory reposes on years that are gone ! Wild youth with strange fruitage of errors and tears A midday of bliss and a midnight of fears Though chequer'd, and sad, and mistaken you've been, Still love I to muse on the hours we have seen ! With those long-vanished hours fair visions are flown, And the soul of the minstrel sinks pensive and lone ; In vain would I ask of the future to bring The verdure that gladden'd my life in its spring ! 21 I think of the glen where the hazle-nut grew The pine-covered hill where the heather-bell blew The trout -burn which soothed with its murmuring sweet, The wild flowers that gleamed on the red deer's re- treat ! I look for the mates full of ardour and truth, Whose joys, like my own, were the sunbeams of youth They passed ere the morning of hope knew its close They left me to sleep where our fathers repose ! Where is now the wide hearth with the big faggot's blaze, Where circled the legend and song of old day? ? The legend's forgotten, the hearth is grown cold, The home of my childhood to strangers is sold ! Like a pilgrim who speeds on a perilous way, I pause, ere I part, oft again to survey Those scenes ever dear to the friends I deplore, Whose feast of young smiles I may never share more ! SONG. IF to thy heart I were as near As thou art near to mine, I'd hardly care though a' the year Nae sun on earth suld shine, my dear, Nae sun on earth suld shine ! Twin starnies are thy glancin' een A warld they'd licht and mair And gin that ye be my Christine, Ae blink to me ye '11 spare, my dear, Ae blink to me ye '11 spare ! My leesome May I've wooed too lang Aneath the trystin' tree, I've sung till a' the plantins rang, Wi' lays o' love for thee, my dear, Wi' lays o' love for thee. 23 The dew-draps glisten on the green, The laverocks lilt on high, We '11 forth and doun the loan, Christine, And kiss when nane is nigh, my dear, And kiss when nane is nigh ! TRUE WOMAN. No quaint conceit of speech, No golden, minted phrase Dame Nature needs to teach To echo Woman's praise ; Pure love and truth unite To do thee, Woman, right ! She is the faithful mirror Of thoughts that brightest be ^ Of feelings without error, Of matchless constancie ; When art essays to render More glorious Heaven's bow To paint the virgin splendour Of fresh-fallen mountain snow New fancies will I find, To laud true Woman's mind. 25 No words can lovelier make Virtue's all-lovely name, No change can ever shake A woman's virtuous fame : The moon is forth anew, Though envious clouds endeavour To screen her from our view More beautiful than ever : So, through detraction's haze, True Woman shines alwaies. The many -tinted rose, Of gardens is the queen, The perfumed Violet knows No peer where she is seen The flower of woman-kind Is aye a gentle mind. FRIENDSHIP AND LOVE. OFT have I sighed for pleasure past, Oft wept for secret smarting But far the heaviest drop of all That ever on my cheek did fall The tear was at our parting. Why did our bosoms ever beat Harmonious with each other, If truest sympathies of soul Might broken be, perhaps the whole Concentred in another ? My fear it was when other scenes, With other tongues, and faces, Should greet thee, thou would'st haply be Forgetful of our amity In old frequented places. 27 'Tis even so the thrall of love, Past ties to thee seem common Well, hearts must yield to beauty rare, And proud-souled friendship hardly dare Contest the prize with woman ! Old friend,' adieu ! I blame thee not, Since fair guest fills thy bosom Thy smiling love may flattered be Our bonds to know, and feel that she Thy pow'r had to unloose them ! Since thou surrenderest all for her, May she, with faith unshaken, Place every thought on thee alone, While he who Friendship's dream hath known, Must from that dream awaken ! AND HAE YE SEEN MY AIN TRUE LUVE' ' AND hae ye seen my ain true luve As ye cam thro' the fair? Ae blink o' her's worth a' the goud And gear that glistens there ! ' ' And how suld I ken your true luve Frae ither lasses braw That trysted there, busked out like queens, Wi' pearlins knots and a' ? ' ' Ye may ken her by her snaw-white skin, And by her waist sae sma' ; Ye may ken her by her searchin' ee, And hair like glossy craw ; Ye may ken her by the hinnie mou, And by the rose-dyed cheek, But best o' a' by smiles o' licht That luve's ain language speak ! * 29 ' Ye may ken her by her fairy step As she trips up the street, The very pavement seems to shine Aneath her genty feet ! Ye may ken her by the jewell'd rings Upon her ringers sma', Yet better by the dignity That she glides through them a'. ' And ye may ken her by the voice The music o' her tongue Wha heard her speak incontinent Wad think an angel sung ! And such seems she to me, and mair, That wale o' woman's charms It's bliss to press her dear wee mou And daut her in my arms ! ' THE SPELL-BOUND KNIGHT. x LADY, dar'st them seek the shore Which ne'er woman's footstep bore ; Where beneath yon rugged steep, Restless rolls the darksome deep ? Dar'st thou, though thy blood run chill, Thither speed at midnight still And when horror rules the sky, Raise for lover lost thy cry ? Dar'st thou at that ghastiest hour Breathe the word of magic power Word that breaks the mermaid's spell, Which false lover knows too well ? When affrighted spectres rise 'Twixt pale floods and ebon skies, Dar'st thou, reft of maiden fear, Bid the Water-Witch appear ? 31 When upon the sallow tide Pearly elfin boat does glide, When the mystic oar is heard, Like the wing of baleful bird Dar'st thou with a voice of might Call upon thy spell-bound knight ? When the shallop neareth land, Dar'st thou, with thy snow-white hand, Boldly on the warrior's breast Place the Cross by Churchman blest ? When is done this work of peril, Thou hast won proud Ulster's Earl ! CRUXTOUN CASTLE. The reader will find a brief, but instructive, account of this relic of Baronial times which, at different periods, has been written Cruxtoun, Croestoun, and Crookston in a work enti- tled 'Views in Renfrewshire,' by Philip A. Ramsay, one of the .Poet's earliest and truest friends. Of the objects of antiquity remaining in Renfrewshire, Cruxtoun Castle, according to Mr. Ramsay, is, in point of interest, second only to the Abbey of Paisley. ' The ruins of this castle,' he observes, ' occupy the summit of a wooded slope, overhanging the south bank of the White Cart, about three miles south-east from Paisley, and close to the spot where that river receives the waters of a stream called the Levern. The scenery in this neighbourhood is rich and varied, and although the eminence on which the Castle stands is but gentle, it is so commanding that our great Novelist has made Queen Mary remark, that " from thence you may see a prospect wide as from the peaks of Schehallion." To Cruxtoun Castle, then the property of Darnley, Mary's husband, tradition tells us, the royal bride was conducted, soon after the celebration of their nuptials at Edinburgh.' THOU grey and antique tower, Receive a wanderer of the lonely night, Whose moodful sprite Rejoices at this witching time to brood 33 Amid thy shattered strength's dim solitude ! It is a fear-fraught hour A death-like stillness reigns around, Save the wood-skirted river's eerie sound, And the faint rustling of the trees that shower Their brown leaves on the stream, Mournfully gleaming in the moon's pale beam : O ! I could dwell for ever and for ever In such a place as this, with such a night ! When, o'er thy waters and thy waving woods, The moon-beams sympathetically quiver, And no ungentle thing on thee intrudes, And every voice is dumb, and every object bright ! Forgive, old Cruxtoun, if, with step unholy, Unwittingly a pilgrim should profane The regal quiet, the august repose, Which o'er thy desolated summit reign When the fair moon's abroad, at evening's close Or interrupt that touching melancholy Image of fallen grandeur softly thrown O'er every crumbling and moss-bedded stone, And broken arch, and pointed turret hoar, Which speak a tale of times that are no more ; Of triumphs they have seen, When Minstrel-craft, in praise of Scotland's Queen, Woke all the magic of the harp and song, 3 34 And the rich, varied, and fantastic lore Of those romantic days was carped, I ween, Amidst the pillared pomp of lofty hall, By many a jewelled throng Of smiling dames and soldier barons bold ; When the loud cheer of generous wassail rolled From the high deis to where the warder strode, Proudly, along the battlemented wall, Beneath his polished armour's ponderous load ; Who paused to hear, and carolled back again, With martial glee, the jocund vesper strain : Thou wilt forgive ! Mine is no peering eye, That seeks, with glance malign, the suffering part, Thereby, with hollow show of sympathy, To smite again the poor world- wounded heart : No thy misfortunes win from him a sigh Whose soul towers, like thyself, o'er each lewd passer-by. Relique of earlier days, Yes, dear thou art to me ! And beauteous, marvellously, The moon-light strays Where banners glorious floated on thy walls Clipping their ivied honours with its thread Of half-angelick light : 35 And though o'er thee Time's wasting dews have shed Their all consuming blight, Maternal moon-light falls On and around thee full of tenderness, Yielding thy shattered frame pure love's divine caress. Ah me ! thy joy of youthful lustyhood Is gone, old Cruxtoun ! Ever, ever gone ! Here hast thou stood In nakedness and sorrow, roofless, lone, For many a weary year and to the storm Hast bared thy wasted form Braving destruction, in the attitude Of reckless desolation. Like to one Who in this world no longer may rejoice, "Who watching by Hope's grave With stern delight, impatient is to brave The worst of coming ills So, Cruxtoun ! thou Rear'st to the tempest thy undaunted brow ; When Heaven's red coursers flash athwart the sky Startling the guilty as they thunder by Then raisest thou a wild, unearthly hymn, Like death-desiring bard whose star hath long been dim ! Neglected though thou art, Sad remnant of old Scotland's worthier days, 36 When independence had its chivalrie, There still is left one heart To mourn for thee ! And though, alas ! thy venerable form Must bide the buffet of each vagrant storm, One spirit yet is left to linger here And pay the tribute of a silent tear ; Who in his memory registers the dints That Time hath graved upon thy sorrowing brow ; Who of thy woods loves the Autumnal tints, Whose voice perforce indignant mingles now In all thy lamentations with the tone, Not of these paltry times, but of brave years long gone. Nor is't the moonshine clear, Leeming on tower, and tree, and silent stream, Nor hawthorn blossoms which in Spring appear, Most prodigal of perfume nor the sweets Of wood-flowers, peeping up at the blue sky ; Nor the mild aspect of blue hills which greet The eager vision blessed albeit they seem, Each with its charm particular To my eye, Old Cruxtoun hath an interest all its own From many a cherished, intersociate thought From feelings multitudinous well known To souls in whom the patriot fire hath wrought 37 Sublime remembrance of their country's fame : Radiant thou art in the ethereal flame The lustrous splendour which those feelings shed O'er many a scene of this my father-land ! Thou, grey magician, with thy potent wand, Evok'st the shades of the illustrious dead ! The mists dissolve, up rise the slumbering years On come the knightly riders cap-a-pie The herald calls hark, to the clash of spears ! To Beauty's Queen each hero bends the knee ; Dreams of the Past, how exquisite ye be Offspring of heavenly faith and rare antiquity ! Light feet have trod The soft, green, flowering sod That girdles thy baronial strength, and traced, All gracefully, the labyrinthine dance ; Young hearts discoursed with many a passionate glance, While rose and fell the Minstrel's thrilling strain (Who, in this iron age, might sing in vain His largesse coarse neglect, and mickle pain !) Waste are thy chambers tenantless, which long Echoed the notes of gleeful minstrelsie Notes once the prelude to a tale of wrong, Of Royalty and love. Beneath yon tree Now bare and blasted so our annals tell 38 The martyr Queen, ere that her fortunes knew A darker shade than cast her favourite yew, Loved Darnley passing well Loved him with tender woman's generous love, And bade farewell awhile to courtly state And pageantry for yon o'ershadowing grove For the lone river's banks where small birds sing Their little hearts with summer joys elate Where tall broom blossoms, flowers profusely spring ; There he, the most exalted of the land, Pressed, with the grace of youth, a Sovereign's peer- less hand. And she did die ! Die as a traitor in the brazen gaze Of her a kinswoman and enemy O well may such an act my soul amaze ! My country, at that hour, where slept thy sword ? Where was the high and chivalrous accord, To fling the avenging banner of our land, Like sheeted flame, forth to the winds of heaven ? O shame among the nations thus to brook The damning stain to thy escutcheon given ! How could thy sons upon their mothers look, Degenerate Scotland ! heedless of the wail Of thy lorn Queen, in her captivity ! 39 Unmov'd wert thou by all her bitter bale Untouch'd by thought that she had governed thee Hard was each heart and cold each powerful hand No harnessed steed rushed panting to the fight ; O listless fell the lance when Mary laid Her head upon the block and high in soul, Which lacked not then thy frugal sympathy, Died in her widowed beauty, penitent Whilst thou, by foul red-handed faction rent, Wert falsest recreant to sweet majesty ! 'T is past she rests the scaffold hath been swept, The headsman's guilty axe to rust consigned But, Cruxtoun, while thine aged towers remain, And thy green umbrage wooes the evening wind By noblest natures shall her woes be wept, Who shone the glory of thy festal day : Whilst aught is left of these thy ruins grey, They will arouse remembrance of the stain Queen Mary's doom hath left on History's page Remembrance laden with reproach and pain, To those who make, like me, this pilgrimage ! ROLAND AND ROSABELLE. A TOMB by skilful hands is raised, Close to a sainted shrine, And there is laid a stalwart Knight, The last of all his line. Beside that noble monument, A Squire doth silent stand, Leaning in pensive wise upon The cross-hilt of his brand. Around him peals the harmony Of friars at even-song, He notes them not, as passing by The hymning brothers throng : And he hath watched the monument Three weary nights and days, And ever on the marble cold Is fixed his steadfast gaze. 41 ' I pray thee, wakeful Squire, unfold ' Proud Rosabella said ' The story of the warrior bold, Who in this tomb is laid ! ' ' A champion of the Cross was he ' The Squire made low reply 1 And on the shore of Galilee, In battle did he die. ' He bound me by a solemn vow, His body to convey Where lived his love there rests it now, Until the judgment-day : And by his stone of record here, In loyalty I stand, Until I greet his leman dear The Lady of the Land ! ' ' Fair stranger, I would learn of thee The gentle warrior's name, Who fighting fell at Galilee And won a deathless name ? ' The Squire hath fixed an eye of light Full on the Lady tall ' Men called,' he said, ' that hapless Knight Sir Roland of the Hall ! 42 * His foot was foremost in the fray, And last to leave the field A braver arm in danger's day Ne'er shivered lance on shield ! ' ' In death, what said he of his love Thou faithful soldier tell ? ' ' Meekly he prayed to Him above For perjured Rosabelle.' ' Thy task is done my course is run (0 fast her tears did fall !) I am indeed a perjured one Dear Roland of the Hall ! ' Even as the marble cold and pale, Waxed Rosabella's cheek ; The faithful Squire resumed travail The Lady's heart did break ! SONG. How I envy the ring that encircles thy finger ! Dear daughter of beauty how happy were I If, by some sweet spell, like that ring, I might linger At ease in the light of thy heart-thrilling eye ! I would joy in the music thy light pulse is making, I would press the soft cheek where the rose-buds unfold I would rest on the brow where pure thought's ever waking, And lovingly glide through thy tresses of gold. On the ripe smiling lip which young Cupid is steeping In dews of love's day-dawn, I'd tenderly play And when in thy innocence, sweet, thou wert sleeping, I'd watch thee, and bless thee, and guard thee for aye ! FOR BLITHER FIELDS AND BRAVER BOWERS. FOR blither fields and braver bowers The little bird, in Spring, Quits its old tree and wintry hold, With wanton mates to sing ; And yet a while that wintry home To branch and twig may cling ; But wayward blast, or truant boy, May rend it soon away, And scatter to the heedless winds The toil of many a day And where, when Winter comes, shall then The bird its poor head lay ? The moss, the down, the twisted grass, The slender wands that bound The dear warm nest, are parted now, Or scattered far around Belike the woodman's axe hath felled The old tree to the ground ! 45 And now keen Winter's wreathing snows O'er frozen nature lie The sun forgets to warm the earth, Forgets to light the sky ; I fear me lest the wandering bird May, houseless, shivering, die ! Forgive me, Helen thou art free To keep, or quit, the nest I built for thee, and sheltered in The foliage of my breast, And fenced so well none other might Be harbour'd there as guest. Flee if thou wilt if other love Thy fickle heart enfold, Thou'rt free to rove where fancy waves Her wand of faiiy gold But Helen, ere thou canst return, This bosom will be cold ! HOPE AND LOVE. THROUGH life on journeying, by its thorny paths, Or pleasant ways its rank green hemlock wastes, Or roseate bowers in utter loneliness, Or 'mid the din of busy multitudes Two babes of beauty linger near us still Twin cherubim that leave us not until We 've passed the threshold of that crowded inn Which borders on Eternity ! One doth point, With gleaming eye and finger tremulous, To clefts in azure, where the sunbeams slumber On couch of vermeil dye and amethyst, Bordered with flowers that never know decay ; Where living fountains, cool and argentine, Trill on in measured cadence, night and morn : The other, with an eye of sweet regard, And voice the spirit of pure melody, Sheds o'er the darkest track some ray of gladness To elevate the heart, and nerve the soul, With unslacked sinews, vigorously to brave The perils of the unattempted road : 47 Love, gentle Love one fellow-pilgrim is The other Hope dear, never-dying Hope !- And they to churle, as well as key sour yield The tender ministering of faithful friends ! SONGE OF THE SCHIPPE. WHEN surly windes and grewsome cloudes Are tilting in the skye, And every little star's abed, That glimmered cheerilie O then 'tis meet for mariners To steer righte carefulie ! For mermaides sing the schippman's dirge, Where ocean weddes the skye A blessing on our gude schippe as lustilie she sailes, O what can match our gude schippe when blest with favouring gales ! Blythely to the tall top-mast, Up springs the sailor boy Could he but hail a distant port, How he would leap with joy ! By bending yard and rope he swings A fair-haired child of glee 49 But oh ! a cruel sawcie wave Hath swept him in the sea ! There's sadness in the gude schippe that breasts the waters wild, Though safe ourselves, we 'II think with tears of our poor ocean-child ! Our main-mast now is clean cut downe, The tackle torn away And thundering o'er the stout schippe's side, The seas make fearful play ! Yet cheerlie cheerlie on we go, Though fierce the tempest raves, We know the hand unseen that guides The schippe o'er stormie waves ! We'll all still stand by the old schippe as should a trusty crew, For He who rules the wasting waves may some port bring to view ! Our gude schippe is a shapely schippe A shapely and a stronge Our hearts sang to our noble schippe, As she careered along ! And fear ye not my sturdy mates Though sayles and masts be riven 4 50 We know, while drifting o'er the deep, Above there 's still a haven ! Though sorely we're benighted upon the weltering foam, The sun may rise upon the morn and guide us to a home! HE STOOD ALONE. HE stood alone in an unpitying crowd His mates fell from him, as the grub- worms drop From the green stalk that once had nourished them, But now is withered and all rottenness Because it gave such shelter. Pleasure's train The light-winged tribes that seek the sunshine only No more endeavoured from his eye to win The smile of approbation. Grief and Care Stalked forth upon the theatre of his heart, In many a gloomy and mishapen guise, Till of the glories of his earlier self The world, his base and hollow auditory, Left but a ghastly phantom. As a tree, A goodly tree that stricken is and wasted, By elemental conflicts falls at last, Even in the fulness of its branching honours, Prostrate before the storm yet majestic In its huge downfal, so, at last, fell he ! CUPID'S BANISHMENTE. WHAT recke I now of comely dame ? What care I now for fair pucelle ? Unscorchde I meet their glance of flame, Unmovede I mark their bosoms swel, For Love and I have sayde farewel ! Go, prattlynge fool ! go, wanton wilde ! Seke thy fond mother this to tel That loveliest maydes on me have smyled, And that I stoutly did rebel, And bade thee and thy arts farewel ! With me thy tyrant reigne is o'er, Thou hear'st thy latest warninge knel ; Speed, waywarde urchin, from my doore, My hert to thee gives no handsel, For thou and I have sworne farewel ! 53 So trimme thy bow, and fleche thy shafte, And peer where sillie gallants dwel, On them essaye thy archer crafte, No more on me thy bolte schal tel False Love and I have sunge farewel ! THE SHIP OF THE DESERT. ' ONWARD, my Camel ! On, though slow ; Halt not upon these fatal sands ! Onward my constant Camel go The fierce Simoom hath ceased to blow, We soon shall tread green Syria's lands ! ' Droop not my faithful Camel ! Now The hospitable well is near ! Though sick at heart, and worn in brow, I grieve the most to think that thou And I may part, kind comrade, here ! ' O'er the dull waste a swelling mound A verdant paradise I see ; The princely date-palms there abound, And springs that make it sacred ground To pilgrims like to thee and me ! ' 54 The patient Camel's filmy eye, All lustreless, is fixed in death ! Beneath the sun of Araby The desert wanderer ceased to sigh, Exhausted on its burning path. Then rose upon the Wilderness The solitary Driver's cry : Thoughts of his home upon him press, As, in his utter loneliness, He sees his burden-bearer die. Hope gives no echo to his call Ne'er from his comrade will he sever ! The red sky is his funeral pall ; A prayer a moan 'tis over, all Camel and lord now rest for ever ! A three hour's journey from the spring Loved of the panting Caravan Within a little sandy ring The Camel's bones lie whitening, With thine, old, unlamented man ! THE POET'S WISH. WOULD that in some wild and winding glen Where human footstep ne'er did penetrate, And from the haunts of base and selfish men Remote, in dreamy loneness situate, 1 had my dwelling : and within my ken Nature disporting in fantastic form Asleep in green repose, and thundering in the storm ! Then mine should be a life of deep delight, Rare undulations of ecstatic musing ; Thoughts calm, yet ever-varying, stream bedight With flowers immortal of quick Fancy's choosing And like unto the ray of tremulous light, Blent by the pale moon with the entranced water, I'd wed thee, Solitude, dear Nature's first-born daughter ! ISABELLE. A SERENADE. HARK ! sweet Isabelle, hark to my lute, As softly it plaineth o'er The story of one to whose lowly suit Thy heart shall beat no more ! List to its tender plaints, my love, Sad as the accents of saints, my love, Who mortal sin deplore ! Awake from your slumber, Isabelle, wake, 'T is sorrow that tunes these strings ; A last farewell would the minstrel take Of her whose beauty he sings : The moon seems to weep on her way, my love, And, shrouded in clouds, seems to say, my love, No hope with the morning springs ! 58 Deep on the breeze peals the hollow sound Of the dreary convent bell ; Its walls, ere a few short hours wheel round, Will girdle my Isabelle ! They'll take thee away from these arms, love, And bury thy blossoming charms, love, Where midnight requiems swell. At the high altar I see thee kneel, With pallid and awe-struck face ; I see the veil those looks conceal That shone with surpassing grace The shade will prey on thy bloom, my love, While I shall wend to the tomb, my love, And leave of my name no trace. We lov'd and we grew, we grew and we lov'd, Twin flowers in a dewy vale ; The churchman's cold hand hath one remov'd, The other will soon wax pale : O fast will be its decline, my love, As this dying note of mine, my love, Lost in the evening gale ! WHAT IS THIS WORLD TO ME? WHAT is this world to me ? A harp sans melodie ; A dream of vain idlesse, A thought of bitterness, That grieves the aching brain, And gnaws the heart in twain ! My spirit pines alwaie, Like captive shut from day ; Or like a sillie flower, Estranged from sun and shower Which, withering, soon must die, In love-lorne privacie. No joye my hearte doth finde, With those they calle my kinde ; O dull it is and sad, To see how men waxe bad : As Autumn leaves decay, So verteue fades away ! TO A LADY'S BONNET. INVIDIOUS shade ! why thus presume, O'er face so fair to cast thy gloom ; And hide from the enamoured sight, Those lips so sweet and eyes so bright ? Why veil those blushes of the cheek, Which purity of soul bespeak ? Why shroud that brow in hermit cell, On which high thoughts serenely dwell ? Why chain severe the clustering hair, That whilome shed a radiance rare A golden mist o'er neck and brow, Like sunset over drifted snow ? O kindly shade, for ever be Between me and love's witchery ! For ever be to Ellen's eyes, Like grateful cloud in summer skies, 61 Mellowing the fervour of the day : For should they dart another ray Of their enchanting light on me, Farewell the proud boast I am free ! THE WANDERER. No face I look upon doth greet me With smile that generous welcome lends ; No ready hand, with cheerful glow, Is now stretched out, all glad, to meet me A chill distrust on every brow, Assures me I have here no friends ! I miss the music of home voices, The rushing of the mountain flood, My country's birds that blithely sung In woodlands where green May rejoices, Discoursing love when life was young, And mirthful ever was my mood. The breezes soft that fan my cheek, The bower that shades the sun from me, The sky that spans this Southern shore, Do all a different language speak From breeze and bower I loved of yore, And sky that spans my own countree. 63 They bring not health to exiled men They light not up the home-bent eye ; No, piece-meal wastes the way-worn frame That longs to tread its native glen That trembles when it hears the name Of that land where its fathers lie ! The sun which shines seems not the sun That rose upon my native fields ; Majestic rolls he on his way, A cloudless course hath he to run But beams he with the kindly ray He to our Northern landscape yields ? The moon that trembles in these skies, Like to an argent mirror sheen Ruling with mistless splendour here Does she above the mountains rise, And smile upon the waters clear, As in my days of youth I 've seen ? O beautiful and peerless light, That thou should'st seem unlovely now, That thou should'st fail to wake anew Those looks of heartfelt pure delight, Which youthful Fancy upward threw, While gazing on thy cold, pale brow ! 64 But this is not a kindred land, Nor this the old familiar stream ; And these are not the friends of youth O heartless, loveless, seems this strand Its people lack the kindly ruth, The soother of life's turbid dream ! Away regret ! Here must I die, Remote from all my soul held dear My grave, upon an alien shore, Will ne'er attract the passer-by The lonely sleeper to deplore No flower will grace the stranger's bier ! Winds of the melancholy night, Begin your solemn dirge and bland ! The giant clouds are gathering fast, The fearful moon withdraws her light In mournful visions of the past, Again I '11 seek my native land ! SONG. I LOOK on thee once more, I gaze on thee and sigh, To think how soon some hearts run o'er With love, and then run dry. I need not marvel long That love in thee expires, For shallowest streams have loudest song, Most smoke the weakest fires. I deemed thee once sincere, Once thought thy breast must be A fountain gushing through the year With living love for me ! For so it was with mine, The well-springs of my soul Were opened up, and streamed to thine. As their appointed goal. 5 66 And now they wander on, O'er barren sands unblest, Since falsehood placed its seal upon Thy fair, but frozen, breast ! THE HUNTER'S WELL. LIFE of this wilderness, Pure gushing stream, Dear to the Summer Is thy murmuring ! Note of the song-bird, Warbling on high, Ne'er with my spirit made Such harmony As do thy deep waters, O'er rock, leaf, and flower, Bubbling and babbling The long sunny hour ! Tongue of this desert spot, Spelling sweet tones, To the mute listeners Old mossy stones ; 68 Who ranged these stones near Thy silver rim, Guarding the temple Where rises thy hymn ? Some thirst-stricken Hunter Swarth priest of the wood, Around thee hath strewn them, In fond gratitude. Orb of the green waste, Open and clear, friend of the Hunter, Loved of the deer ; Brilliantly breaking Beneath the blue sky, Gladdening the leaflets That tremulous sigh ; Star of my wandering, Symbol of love, Lead me to dream of The Fountain above ! IT DEEPLY WOUNDS THE TRUSTING HEART. IT deeply wounds the trusting heart That ever throbs to good, To know that by a perverse art It still is misconstrued : And thus the beauties of the field, The glories of the sky, To lofty natures often yield Sole solace ere they die. The things that harmless couch on earth, Or pierce the blue of heaven, Have mystic reasons in their birth Why they should be sin-shriven. The secrets of the human breast No human eye may scan ; With Him alone those secrets rest Who made and judgeth man. 70 Nor lightly should we estimate The Hand which rules it so, Nor idly seek to penetrate What angels may not know. Enough that with a righteous will, In this disjointed scene, The upright one, through good and ill, Will be as he hath been. And should a ribald multitude Repay with hate his love, He still can smile : man's ways are viewed By Him who rules above. THE ETTJN 0' SILLARW001). ' O, SILLARWOOD ! sweet Sillarwood, Gin Sillarwood were mine, I 'd big a bouir in Sillarwood And theik it ower wi' thyme ; At ilka door, and ilka bore, The red, red rose, wud shine ! ' It's up and sang the bonnie bird, Upon her milk-white hand c I wudna lig in Sillarwood, For all a gude Earl's land ; I wadna sing in Sillarwood, Tho' gowden glist ilk wand ! ' The wild boar rakes in Sillarwood, The buck drives thro' the shaw, And simmer woos the Southern wind Thro' Sillarwood to blaw. 72 ' Thro' Sillarwood, sweet Sillarwood, The deer hounds run so free ; But the hunter stark of Sillarwood An Ettin lang is he ! ' ' 0, Sillarwood ! sweet Sillarwood,' Fair Marjorie did sing, ' On the tallest tree in Sillarwood, That Ettin lang will hing ! ' The Southern wind it blaws fu' saft, And Sillarwood is near ; Fair Marjorie's sang in Sillarwood, The stark hunter did hear. He band his deer hounds in their leash, Set his bow against a tree, And three blasts on his horn has brocht The wood elf to his knee. 4 Gae bring to me a shapely weed, Of silver and of gold, Gae bring to me as stark a steed, As ever stepped on mold ; For I maun ride frae Sillarwood This fair maid to behold ! ' 73 The wood elf twisted sun-beams red Into a shapely weed, And the tallest birk in Sillarwood He hewed into a steed ; And shod it wi' the burning gold To glance like ony glede. The Ettin shook his bridle reins And merrily they rung, For four and twenty sillar bells On ilka side were hung. The Ettin rade, and better rade, Some thretty miles and three, A bugle horn hung at his breast, A lang sword at his knee ; ' I wud I met,' said the Ettin lang, ' The maiden Marjorie ! ' The Ettin rade, and better rade, Till he has reached her bouir, And there he saw fair Marjorie As bricht as lily flouir. 1 Sillarwood ! Sweet Sillarwood ! - Gin Sillarwood were mine, The sleuthest hawk o' Sillarwood On dainty flesh wud dine ! ' 74 ' Weel met, weel met,' the Ettin said, ' For ae kiss o' that hand, I wud na grudge my kist o' gold And forty fees o' land ! ' Weel met, weel met,' the Ettin said, ' For ae kiss o' that cheek, I'll big a bower wi' precious stanes, The red gold sal it theik : ' Weel met, weel met,' the Ettin said, ' For ae kiss o' thy chin, I'll welcome thee to Sillarwood And a' that grows therein ! ' ' If ye may leese me Sillarwood Wi' a' that grows therein, Ye 're free to kiss my cheek,' she said, ' Ye 're free to kiss my chin The Knicht that hechts me Sillarwood My maiden thocht sal win ! ' My luve I've laid on Sillarwood Its bonnie aiken tree And gin that I hae Sillarwood I '11 link alang wi' thee ! ' 75 Then on she put her green mantel Weel furred wi' minivere : Then on she put her velvet shoon, The silver shining clear. She proudly vaulted on the black He bounded on the bay The stateliest pair that ever took To Sillarwood their way ! It 's up and sang the gentil bird On Marjorie's fair hand ' I wudna wend to Sillarwood For a' its timbered land Nor wud I lig in Sillarwood Tho' gowden glist ilk wand ! ' The Hunters chace thro' Sillarwood The playfu' herte and rae ; Nae maiden that socht Sillarwood E'er back was seen to gae ! ' The Ettin leuch, the Ettin sang, He whistled merrilie, ' If sic a bird,' he said, ' were mine, I'd hing it on a tree.' 76 ' Were I the Lady Marjorie, Thou hunter fair but free, My horse's head I'd turn about, And think nae mair o' thee ! ' It's on they rade, and better rade, They shimmered in the sun 'Twas sick and sair grew Marjorie Lang ere that ride was done ! Yet on they rade, and better rade, They neared the Cross o' stane The tall Knicht when he passed it by Felt cauld in every bane. But on they rade, and better rade, It evir grew mair mirk, O loud, loud nichered the bay steed As they passed Mary's Kirk ! ' I 'm wearie o' this eerie road,' Maid Marjorie did say ' We canna weel greet Sillarwood Afore the set o' day ! ' ' It's no Jhe sinkin' o' the sun That gloamins sae the ground, 77 The heicht it is o' Sillarwood That shadows a' around.' 4 Methocht, Sir Knicht, broad Sillarwood A pleasant bield wud be, With nuts on ilka hazel bush, And birds on ilka tree But oh ! the dimness o' this wood Is terrible to me ! ' 1 The trees, ye see, seem wondrous big, The branches wondrous braid, Then marvel nae if sad suld be The path we hae to tread ! ' Thick grew the air, thick grew the trees, Thick hung the leaves around, And deeper did the Ettin's voice In the dread dimness sound ' I think,' said Maiden Marjorie, ' I hear a horn and hound ! ' ' Ye weel may hear the hound,' he said, ' Ye weel may hear the horn, For I can hear the wild halloo That freichts the face o' Morn ! 78 ' The Hunters fell o' Sillarwood Hae packs full fifty-three : They hunt all day, they hunt all nicht, They never bow an ee : ' The Hunters fell o' Sillarwood Hae steeds but blude or bane : They bear fiert maidens to a weird Where mercy there is nane ! 4 And I the Laird o' Sillarwood Hae beds baith deep and wide, (Of clay-cauld earth) whereon to streik A proud and dainty bride ! ' Ho ! look beside yon bonny birk The latest blink of day Is gleamin' on a comely heap Of freshly dug red clay ; ' Richt cunning hands they were that digged Forenent the birken tree Where every leaf that draps, frore maid, Will piece a shroud for thee It 's they can lie on lily breist As they can lie on lea ! 79 ' And they will hap thy lily breist Till flesh fa's aff the bane Nor tell thy freres how Marjorie To Sillarwood hath gane ! ' The bed is strewed, Maid Marjorie, Wi' bracken and wi' brier, And ne'er will gray cock clarion wind For ane that slumbers here Ye wedded have the Ettin stark He rules the Realms of Fear ! ' LIKE A WORN GRAY-HAIRED MARINER. LIKE a worn gray-haired mariner whom the sea Hath wrecked, then flung in mockery ashore, To clamber some gaunt cliff, and list the roar Of wave pursuing wave unceasingly ; His native land, dear home, and toil-won store Inexorably severed from his sight ; His sole companions Hopelessness and Grief Who feels his day will soon be mirkest night Who from its close alone expects relief Praying life's sands, in pity, to descend And rid him of life's burden, So do I Gaze on the world, and time fast surging by, Drifting away each hope with each tried friend Leaving behind a waste where desolate I may die. THE LAY OF GEOFFROI RUDEL. WITH faltering step would I depart, From home and friend that claimed my heart And the big tear would dim mine eye, Fixed on the scenes of early years, (Each spot some pleasure past endears) And I would mingle with a sigh The accents of the farewell lay But for my love that's far away ! Friends and dear native land, adieu ! In hope we part no tears bedew My cheek no dark regrets alloy The buoyant feelings of the hour That leads me to my ladye's bower My breast throbs with a wondrous joy, While every life-pulse seems to say ' Haste to thy love that's far away ! ' ENVTE. ANE plante there is of the deidliest pouir Quhilk flourischis deeply in the hert ; Its lang rutis creip and fald outoure Ilka vive and breathen part : Lustilie bourgenis the weid anon Till hert hath rottit and lyf hath flown. Blak is the sap of its baleful stem, Lyk funeral blicht its leavis do fal ; In its moistoure is quenchit luve's pure flame, It drappis rust on inmost saul : Lustilie bourgenis the weid anon, Till hert hath rottit and lyf hath flown. Evir it flourischis meikel and hie, Nae stay, nae hindraunce will it bruik ; In ae nicht sprynging up, a burdlie tree, Schedding its bale at ae single luik : Lustilie bourgenis the weid anon, Till hert hath rottit and lyf hath flown. 83 It canna be kythit to the gudely sun, It pynyth sae at his nobil sicht ; It shrinkyth quyte like a thing undone Quhan luikit on by the blessit licht : In hert whence heevinlie luve hath gone Thilke evil weid aye bourgenis on. Fell Envie's th' plant of mortal pouir Quhilk flourischis grenelye in the hert Raining the slawe and poisonous shouir Quhilk cankereth the vertuous part : Black Envie wherever its seed is sawin, Fashion is a hert like the foul Fiend's awin ! LOVE'S TOKENS. LOVE'S herald is not speech His fear-fraught tongue is mute His presence is bewrayed By blushes deep that shoot Athwart the conscious brow, And mantle on the cheek, Then fleet for tints of snow Which soft confusion speak ; Thus red and white have place By turns on true love's face. Love vaunteth not his worth In gaudy, glozing phrase, His home is not in breast Where thought of worldling stays ; In modest loyaltie His fountain doth abide ; In bosom greatly good The lucid pulses tide That ebb and flow there ever, Till soul and body sever. 85 Trust not the ready lip Whence flows the fulsome song True love aye gently hymns, False love chaunts loud and long. Young Beauty, cherish well The bashful, anxious eye, The lip that may not move, The breast that stills the sigh A recreant to thee Their lord will never be ! O SAY NOT PURE AFFECTIONS CHANGE! SAY not pure affections change When fixed they once have been, Or that between two noble hearts Hate e'er can intervene ! Though coldness for a while may freeze The love-springs of the soul, Though angry pride its sympathies May for a time control, Yet such estrangement cannot last A tone, a touch, a look, Dissolves at once the icyness That crisp'd affection's brook : Again they feel the genial glow Within the bosom burn, And all their pent-up tenderness With tenfold force return ! THE ROSE AND THE FAIR LILYE. THE Earlsburn Glen is gay and green, The Earlsburn water cleir, And blythely blume on Earlsburn bank The broom and eke the brier ! Twa Sisters gaed up Earlsburn glen Twa maidens bricht o' blee The tane she was the Rose sae red, The tither the Fair Lilye ! ' Ye mauna droop and dwyne, Sister' Said Rose to fair Lilye ' Yer heart ye mauna brek, Sister For ane that's ower the sea: ' The vows we sillie maidens hear Frae wild and wilfu' man, Are as the words the waves wash out When traced upon the san' !' 88 ' I mauna think yer speech is sooth,' Saft answered the Lilye ' I winna dout mine ain gude Knicht Tho' he 's ayont the sea ! ' Then scornfully the Rose sae red Spake to the pure Lilye ' The vows he feigned at thy bouir door, He plicht in mine to me ! ' ' I'll hame and spread the sheets, Sister, And deck my bed sae hie The bed sae wide made for a bride, For I think I sune sal die ! ' Your wierd I sal na be, Sister, As mine I fear ye' ve bin Your luve I wil na cross, Sister, It were a mortal sin ! ' Earlsburn Glen is green to see, Earlsburn water cleir Of the siller birk in Earlsburn Wood They framit the Maiden's bier ! 89 There 's a lonely dame in a gudely bouir, She nevir lifts an ee That dame was ance the Rose sae red, She is now a pale Lilye. A Knicht aft looks frae his turret tall, Where the kirk-yaird grass grows green ; He wonne the weed and lost the flouir, And grief aye dims his een : At noon of nicht, in the moonshine bricht, The warrior kneels in prayer He prays wi' his face to the auld kirk-yaird, And wishes he were there ! YOUNG LOVE. IT seems a dream the infant love That tamed my truant will, But 'twas a dream of happiness, And I regret it still ! Its images are part of me, A very part of mind Feelings and fancies beautiful In purity combined ! Time's sunset lends a tenderer tinge To what those feelings were, Like the cloud-mellow'd radiance Which evening landscapes bear : They wedded are unto my soul, As light is blent with heat, Or as the hallowed confluence Of air with odours sweet. 91 Though she, the spirit of that dream, Lacks of the loveliness Young fancy robed her in, yet I May hardly love her less : Even when as in my boyish time I nestled by her side, Her ever gentle impulses Thorrow my being glide ! TO THE TEMPEST. CHAUNT on, ye stormy voices, loud and shrill Your wild tumultuous melody strip The forest of its clothing leave it bare, As a deserted and world-trampled foundling ! Lash on, ye rains, and pour your tide of might Unceasingly and strong, and blench the Earth's Green mantle with your floods : Suddenly swell The brawling torrent in the sleep-locked night, That it may deluge the subjacent plain, And spread destruction where security Had fondly built its faith, and knelt before The altar of its refuge Sweep ye down Palace and mansion, hall and lofty tower, And creeping shed, into one common grave ! Ye lightnings that are flashing fitfully (Heaven's messengers) askant the lurid sky, Burst forth in one vast sheet of whelming fire Pass through the furnace the base lords of earth, 93 With subtile fury inextinguishable That, purified, they may again appear As erst they were, free of soul-searing sin And worldly-mindedness ! For mailed they be, Obdurate all, in selfish adamant, So rivetted, that it would need a fire Potential as the ever-burning pit, To overcome and melt it, so that hearts Might beat and spirits move to chords sublime, Tuned by the hand of the Omnipotent, As when man, from His Hands, in His beauty came ! GOE CLEED WT SMYLIS THE CHEEK! GOE cleed wi' smylis the cheek, Goe fill wi' licht the eye O vain when sorrows seek The fontis of bliss to drie ! Quhan Hope hath pyned away, Quhan carke and care haif sprung, Quhan hert hath faun a prey To grief that hed nae tongue ; O then it is nae tyme To feinzie quhat we fele, Or wi' ane merrie chime, To droun the solemne peal Quhilk ringis dreir and dul, Quhan hert and eyne ar ful. Nae joy is thair for me In lyf againe to knowe Nae plesuir can I see In its fals and fleetinge schew ! 95 Lyk wyld and fearful waste Of wavis and bollen sand, Apperis the path I've tracit Inwith my natif land : Fra it I must depairt, And fra al quhilk hed mie hert. Farewell to kith and kin, Farewell to luve untrew, Farewell to burn and lin, Farewell to lift sua blew Farewell to banck and brae, Farewell to sang and glee Farewell to pastyme gay, Quhilk ance delytit me Fareweil thou sunny strand, Farewell ance kinde Scotland ! Fresch flouirs beare mie frend, Unto mie earlie graive, Thair bid them nevir dwyne, But ower mie headstane waive ; Perchance to sume they'll wake Remembrance o' mie dome 96 And though fading, they maye make Less lonesum-lyk mie tombe Sins they will emblems be Of thy luvinge sympathye. Now fareweil day's dear licht Now fareweil frend and fae Hail to the starrie nicht, Whair travailit saul maun gae ! THE POET'S DESTINY. DARK is the soul of the Minstrel Wayward the flash of his eye ; The voice of the proud is against him, The rude sons of earth pass him by. Low is the grave of the Minstrel Ungraced by the chissel of art ; Yet his name will be blazoned for ever On the best of all 'scutcheons the heart ! Strong is the soul of the Minstrel He rules in a realm of his own ; His world is peopled by fancies The noblest that ever were known. Light is the rest of the Minstrel, Though heavy his lot upon earth ; From the sward that lies over his ashes Spring plants of a heavenly birth ! 7 I MET WF HER I LUVED YESTREEN. I MET wi' her I luved yestreen, I met her wi' a look o' sorrow ; My leave I took o' her for aye, A weddit bride she '11 be the morrow ! She durst na gie ae smile to me, Nor drap ae word o' kindly feelin', Yet down her cheeks the bitter tears, In monie a pearly bead, were stealin'. I could na my lost luve upbraid, Altho' my dearest hopes were blighted, I could na say ' ye 're fause to me ! ' Tho' to anither she was plighted. Like suthfast friens whom death divides, In Heaven to meet, we silent parted ; Nae voice had we our griefs to speak, We felt sae lone and broken-hearted. 99 I'll hie me frae my native Ian', Far frae thy blythesome banks o' Yarrow ! Wae's me, I canna bide to see My winsume luve anither's marrow ! I '11 hie me to a distant Ian', Wi' down-cast ee and life-sick bosom, A weary waste the warld's to me, Sin' I hae lost that bonnie blossom ! TO THE LADY OF MY HEART. THEY oft have told me that deceit Lies hid in dimpled smiles, But eyes so chaste and lips so sweet Conceal not wanton wiles ! I'll trust thee, lady ! To deceive, Or guileful tale to speak, Was never fashioned I believe The beauty of thy cheek ! Yes, I will trust the azure eye That thrilled me with delight, The loving load-star of a sky Which erst was darkest night. Ever, dear maid, in weal or wo, In gladness and in sorrow, Hand clasped in hand, we'll forward go, Both eventide and morrow ! THE FAUSE LADYE. ' THE water weets my toe,' she said, ' The water weets my knee ; Haud up, Sir Knicht, my horse's head, If you a true luve be ! ' ' I luved ye weel, and luved ye lang, Yet grace I failed to win ; Nae trust put I in ladye's troth Till water weets her chin ! ' ' Then water weets my waist, proud lord, The water weets my chin ; My achin' head spins round about, The burn maks sik a din Now, help thou me, thou fearsome Knicht, If grace ye hope to win ! ' ' I mercy hope to win, high dame, Yet hand I 've nane to gie The trinklin' o' a gallant's blude Sae sair hath blindit me ! ' 102 ' Oh ! help ! Oh ! help ! If man ye be Have on a woman ruth The waters gather round my head And gurgle in my mouth ! ' ' Turn round and round, fell Margaret, Turn round and look on me The pity that ye schawed yestreen I '11 fairly schaw to thee ! ' Thy girdle-knife was keen and bricht The ribbons wondrous fine 'Tween every knot o' them ye knit Of kisses I had nine ! ' Fond Margaret ! Pause Margaret ! You kissed me cheek and chin Yet, when I slept, that girdle-knife You sheathed my heart's blude in ! ' Pause Margaret ! Lewde Margaret ! The nicht ye bide wi' me The body, under trust, you slew, My spirit weds wi' thee ! ' MY AIN COUNTRIE. YE bonnie haughs and heather braes Whair I hae daft youth's gladsome days, A dream o' by-gane bliss ye be That gars me sigh for my ain countrie ! Lang dwinin' in a fremit land Doth feckless mak' baith heart and hand, And starts the tear-drap to the ee That aye was bricht in the auld countrie Tho' Carron Brig be gray and worn, Where I and my forebears were born, Yet dearer is its time-touched stone Than the halls of pride I now look on. As music to the lingerin' ear Were Carron's waters croonin' clear ; They call to me, where'er I roam, The voices o' my long-lost home ! 104 And gin I were a wee wee bird, Adown to licht at Handle Ford, In Kirk O' Muir I'd close mine ee, And fald my wings in mine ain countrie ! TO A FRIEND AT PARTING.* FAREWELL, my friend ! Perchance again I '11 clasp thee to a faithful heart Farewell my friend ! We part in pain, Yet we must part ! Were this memento to declare All that the inward moods portray, Dark boding grief were pictured there, And wild dismay ! For thee, my fancy paints a scene Of peace on life's remoter shore Thy wishes long fulfilled have been, Or even more : * The ' Friend at Parting ' was Mr. Robert Peacock, at present (July, 1848) resident, I believe, in Germany. K. 106 And when success hath crowned thy toil, And hope hath raised thy heart to Heaven - Thou well mayst love the generous soil Where love was given. For me, my friend, I fear there 's nought, In dim futurity, of gladness ; There ever rises on my thought A dream of sadness : Yet gazing upon guileless faces, Sunned by the light of laughing eyes, I recreant were to own no traces Of social ties. Even I may borrow from another The smile I fain would call my own, Striving, with childish art, to smother The care unknown. Farewell ! Farewell ! All good attend thce At home, abroad on land, or sea That Heaven may evermore befriend thee, My prayer shall be ! 107 Should a dark thought of him arise Whose parting hand thou must resign, Let it go forth to stormy skies, Not tarnish thine : Never may Melancholy's brood Disturb the fountain of thy joy, Nor dusky Passion's fitful mood Thy peace alloy ! ' Up, anchor ! up ! ' The mariner Thus hymns to the inconstant wind Heave not one sigh, where'er you steer, For me behind ! I PLUCKED THE BERRY. I VE plucked the berry from the bush, the brown nut from the tree, But heart of happy little bird ne'er broken was by me; I saw them in their curious nests, close couching, slyly peer With their wild eyes, like glittering beads, to note if harm were near : I passed them by, and blessed them all ; I felt that it was good To leave unmoved the creatures small whose home is in the wood. And here, even now, above my head, a lusty rogue doth sing, He pecks his swelling breast and neck, and trims his little wing. 109 He will not fly ; he knows full well, while chirping on that spray, I would not harm him for a world, or interrupt his lay: Sing on, swig on, blythe bird ! and fill my heart with summer gladness, It has been aching many a day with measures full of sadness ! SONG. LICHT, licht was maid Ellen's fit It left nae print behind, Until a belted Knicht she saw Adown the valley wind ! And winsome was maid Ellen's cheek, As is the rose on brier, Till halted at her father's yett A lordly cavalier. And merrie, merrie was her sang, Till he knelj at her bouir As lark's rejoicin' in the sun, Her princely paramour. But dull, dull now is Ellen's eye, And wan, wan is her cheek, And slow an' heavy is her fit That lonesome paths would seek : Ill And never sang does Ellen sing Amang the flowers sae bricht, Since last she saw the dancin' plume Of that foresworne Knicht ! TO I NEVER dreamed that lips so sweet, That eyes of such a heavenly hue, Were framed for falsehood and deceit, Would prove, as they have proved untrue. Methought if love on earth e'er shone, 'Twas in the temple of thine eyes, And if truth's accents e'er were known, 'Twas in the music of thy sighs. Has then thy love been all a show, Thy plighted truth an acted part Did no affection ever glow In the chill region of that heart ? And could'st thou seem to me to cling Like tendril of the clasping vine, Yet all prove vain imagining, Thy soul yield no response to mine ? 113 It has been so so let it be Rejoice, thou false one, in thy guile, Others, perhaps, may censure thee, I would not dim thy fickle smile. Farewell ! In kindness I would part, As once I deemed in love we met Farewell ! This wrong'd and bleeding heart Can thee Forgive, but not Forget ! THE KNIGHT'S REQUIEM. THEY have waked the knight so meikle of might, They have cased his corpse in oak ; There was not an eye that then was dry, There was not a tongue that spoke. The stout and the true lay stretched in view, Pale and cold as the marble stone ; And the voice was still that like trumpet shrill, Had to glory led them on ; And the deadly hand whose battle brand Mowed down the reeling foe, Was laid at rest on the manly breast, That never mote mought glow. With book, and bell, and waxen light, The mass for the dead is sung ; Thorough the night in the turret's height, The great church-bells are rung. 115 Oh wo ! oh wo ! for those that go From light of life away, Whose limbs may rest with worms unblest, In the damp and silent clay ! With a heavy cheer they upraised his bier, Naker and drum did roll ; The trumpets blew a last adieu To the good knight's martial soul. With measured tread thro' the aisle they sped, Bearing the dead knight on, And before the shrine of St. James the divine, They covered his corpse with stone : 'Twas fearful to see the strong agony Of men who had seldom wept, And to hear the deep groan of each mail-clad one, As the lid on the coffin swept. With many a groan, they placed that stone O'er the heart of the good and brave, And many a look the tall knights took Of their brother soldier's grave. Where banners stream and corslets gleam In fields besprent with gore, That brother's hand and shearing brand In the van should wave no more : 116 The clarions call on one and all To arm and fight amain, Would never see, in chivalry, Their brother's make again ! With book, and bell, and waxen light, The mass for the dead is sung, And thorough the night in the turret's height, The great church-bells are rung. Oh wo ! oh wo ! for those that go From the light of life away, Whose limbs must rest with worms unblest, In the damp and silent clay ! THE ROCKY ISLET. PERCHANCE, far out at sea, thou may'st have found Some lean, bald cliff a lonely patch of ground, Alien amidst the waters : some poor Isle Where summer blooms were never known to smile, Or trees to yield their verdure yet, around That barren spot, the dimpling surges throng, Cheering it with their low and plaintive song, And clasping the deserted cast-away In a most strict embrace and all along Its margin, rendering freely its array Of treasured shell and coral. Thus we may Note love in faithful woman ; oft among The rudest shocks of life's wide sea she shares Man's lot, and more than half his burden bears Around whose path are flowers, strewn by her tender cares. THE PAST A.ND THE FUTURE. I'VE looked, and trusted, sighed, and loved my last ! The dream hath vanished, the hot fever's past That parched my youth ! Though cheerless was the matin of my years, And dim life's dawning through a vale of tears, Yet Hope, in ruth, With smile persuasive, evermore would say ' Live on, live on ! Expect Joy's summer day ' Vain counsel, void of truth ! Yes, to the world I 've clung with fond embrace, And each succeeding day did more efface Its hollow joys, And friends died out around me every where, And I was left to be the idle stare Of vagrant boys A land-mark on the ever-shifting tide Of fashion, folly, impudence and pride, And ribald noise. 119 Yes, I have lived, and lived until I knew The world ne'er alters its ungrateful hue, And glance malign ; And though, at times, some chance-sown noble spirit Its wilderness a season may inherit, In want and pine, Yet these be weeded soon, and pass away, All unbefriended, to their funeral clay ! Array thyself for flight, my soul, nor tarry Thou bird of glory ne'er wert doomed to marry A sphere so rude But to be mated with some hermit star, O'er heaven's soft azure keeping watch afar, In pulchritude : Uplift thy pinions, seek thy resting-place, Where kindred spirits long for thy embrace Dear brotherhood. OH, TURN FROM ME THOSE RADIANT EYES! OH, turn from me those radiant eyes, With love's dark lightning beaming, Or veil the power that in them lies To set the young heart dreaming ! Oh, dim their fire, or look no more, For sure 'tis wayward folly To make a spirit, gay before, To droop with melancholy ! Ungen'rous victor ! not in vain Thy wild wish to subdue me To woo once more thy glance I 'm fain, Even should that glance undo me : What pity that thy lips of rose So fitted for heart healing, Should not, with tenderest kisses, close The wounds thine eyes are dealing ! THINK NAE MAIR O' ME, SWEET MAY! O THINK nae mair o' me, sweet May ! O think nae mair o' me ! I'm but a wearied ghaist, sweet May, That hath a wierd to dree ; That langs to leave a warld, sweet May, O' eerie dull and pain, And pines to gang the gate, sweet May, That its first luve hath gane ! Although the form is here, sweet May, The spirit is na sae ; It wanders to anither land A far and lonely way. My bower is near a ruined kirk, Hard by a grass-green grave, Where, fed wi' tears, the gilliflowers Above a true heart wave ! 122 Then think nae mair o' me, sweet May, If I had luve to gie, It suk] na need a glance but ane To bind me, dear, to thee. But blossoms twa o' life's best flower This heart it canna bear It cast its leaves on Mary's grave, And it can bloom nae mair ! THE LOVE-LORN KNIGHT AND THE DAMSEL PITILESS. ' UPLIFT the Gonfanons of war exalt the ruddy Rood Arise ye winds and bear me on against the Paynim brood ! Farewell to forest-cinctured halls, farewell to song and glee, For toilsome march and clash of swords in glorious Galilee ! And grace to thee, haught damoisel I ask no part- ing tear Another love may greet thee when I 'm laid upon my bier ! ' My bark upon the foaming flood shall bound before the gale, Like arrow in its flight, until the Holy Land we hail ; 124 Then firmly shall our anchors grasp the belt of East- ern land, For planks will shrink and cordage rot ere we regain this strand ; And welcome be the trumpet's sound, the war-steed's tramp and neigh, And death, for Palestina's cause, in the battle's hot mellay ! ' O never for that love-lorn youth did vessel cleave the seas! The hand of death was on the lips that wooed the ocean breeze ; They bare him to the damoisel, they laid him at her knee, Though knight and pilgrim wept aloud no tear dropt that ladye Three times she kissed the clay-cold brow of her un- bidden guest, Then took the vows at Mary's shrine, and there her ashes rest. LOVE IN WORLDLYNESSE. THE gentle heart, the truthful love, Have flemed this earth and fled to Heaven The noblest spirits earliest prove Not Here below, but There above, Is Hope no shadow Bliss no sweven ! There was a time, old Poets say, When the crazed world was in its nonage, That they who loved were loved alwaye, With faith transparent as the day, But this, meseems, was fiction's coinage. We cannot mate here as we ought, With laws opposed to simple feeling ; Professions are, like lutestring, bought, And worldly ties soon breed distraught, To end in cold congealing ! 126 Forms we have worshipped oft become, If haply they affect our passion, Though faultless, icy cold and dumb, Because we are not rich, like some, Or proud Such is this strange world's fashion ! Rapt Fancy lends to unchaste eyes Ideal beauty, and on faces Where red rose blent with lily tries For mastery, in wanton wise, Bestows enchanting graces : Yet, as we gaze, the charms decay That promised long with these to linger ; Of love's delight we 're forced to say, It melts like dreamer's wealth away, Which cheers the eye but mocks the finger ! And, therefore, move I calmly by The siren bosom softly heaving, And mark, untouched, the tempter's sigh, Or make response with tranquil eye ' Kind damsel, I am past deceiving ! ' Long sued I as a man should do, With cheek high flushed by deep emotion 127 My lady's love had no such hue, Hard selfishness would still break through The glowing mask of her devotion ! No land had I but I had health No store was mine of costly raiment My lady glided off by stealth To wed a lozel for his wealth And this was Loyalty's repayment ! The language of the trusting heart, The soothfast fondness firm, but tender Are now to most a studied part, A tongue assumed, a trick of art, Whereof no meaning can I render. And hence I say that loyal love Hath flemed the Earth and fled to Heaven ; And that not Here, but There above, Souls may love rightfully, and prove Hope is no shadow Bliss no sweven ! A NIGHT VISION. Lucina shyning in silence of the nicht ; The hevin being all full of starris bricht ; To bed I went, bot there I tuke no rest, With hevy thocht I was so sair oppressed, That sair I langit after dayis licht. Of fortoun I complainit hevely, That echo to me stude so contrarously j And at the last, quhen I had turnyt oft For werines, on me ane sluinmer soft Came, with ane dreming and a fantesy. Dunbar. I HAD a vision in the depth of night A dream of glory one long thrill of gladness A thing of strangest meaning and delight ; And yet upon my heart there came such sadness, And dim forebodings of my after years, That I awoke in sorrow and in tears ! There stood revealed before me a bright maid, Clad in a white silk tunic, which displayed The beautiful proportions of her frame ; And she did call upon me by my name 129 And I did marvel at her voice, and shook With terror, but right soon the smiling look Of gentleness, that radiant maiden threw From her large sparkling eyes of deepest blue, Did reassure me. Breathless, I did gaze Upon that lovely one, in fond amaze, And marked her long white hair as it did flow, With wanton dalliance, o'er the pillared snow Of her swan-like neck ; and then my eye grew dim With an exceeding lustre, for the slim And gauze-wove raiment of her bosom fair, Was somewhat ruffled by the midnight air ; And as it gently heaved, there sprung to view Such glories underneath such sisters two Of rival loveliness! Oh, 'twere most vain For fond conceit to fancy such again. The robe she wore was broidered fetouslye With flour and leaf of richest imagerye ; And threads of gold therein were entertwined With quaintest needlecraft ; and to my mind It seemed, the waist of this most lovely one Was clipped within a broad and azure zone, Studded with strange devices One small hand Waved gracefully a slender ivory wand, And with the other, ever and anon, She shook a harp, which, as the winds sighed past, 9 130 Gave a right pleasant and bewitching tone To each wild vagrant blast. Meseems, After this wondrous guise, that maiden sweet Stood visible before me, while the beams Of Dian pale, laughed round her little feet With icy lustre, through the narrow pane ; And this discourse she held in merry vein ; Although methought 'twas counterfeited, and The matter strange, that none might understand. She told me, that the moon was in her wane And life was tiding on, and that the world Was waxen old that nature grew unkind, And men grew selfish quite, and sore bechurled- That Honour was a bubble of the mind And Virtue was a nothing undefined And as for Woman, She, indeed, could claim A title all her own She had a name And place in Time's long chronicles, DECEIT And Glory was a phantom Death a cheat ! She said I might remember her, for she Had trifled with me in mine infancy ; And in those days, that now are long agone, Had tended me, as if I were her own 131 And only offspring. When a very child, She said, her soothing whispers oft beguiled The achings of my heart that in my youth, She, too, had given me dreams of Honour, Truth, Of Glory and of Greatness and of Fame And the bright vision of a deathless name ! And she had turned my eye, with upward look, To read the bravely star-enamelled book Of the blue skies and in the rolling spheres To con strange lessons, penned in characters Of most mysterious import she had made Life's thorny path to be all sown with flowers Of diverse form and fragrance, of each shade Of loveliness that glitters in the bowers Of princely damoisels, Nay, more, her hand Had plucked the bright flowers of another land, Belike of Faerye, and had woven them Like to a chaplet, or gay diadem, For me to wear in triumph But that she Had fostered me so long, she feared, I'd spoil With very tenderness, nor ever be Fit for this world's coarse drudgery and moil : Did she not even now take leave of me, And her protecting, loving arms uncoil For ever and for ever, and though late, Now leave me to self-guidance, and to fate. 132 Then passed that glorious spirit, and the smile She whilome wore fled from her beauteous cheek : And paleness, and a troubled grief the while Subdued her voice. Methought I strove to speak Some words of tender sympathy, and caught Her small white trembling hand, but, she, distraught, Turned her fair form away, and nearer drew To where the clustering ivy leaves thick grew, And shaded half the casement There she stood, Like a tall crystal column, in the flood Of the fair moonshine, and right thoughtful-wise She seemed to scan the aspect of the skies ; Sudden a tremulous tear filled either eye, Yet fell not on her cheek, but dubiously, Like dew gems upon a flower, hung quivering there ; And, like a love-crazed maiden, she half sang, Half uttered mournful fancies in despair ; And indistinctly in my ear there rung Something of years to be, of dark, dark years, Laden with sorrow, madness, fury, tears Of days that had no sunshine and of nights Estranged from slumber of harsh worldly slights Of cruel disappointments of a hell That gloweth in the bosom, fierce and fell, Which may not be extinguished of the pains Of journeying through lone and trackless plains 133 Which have no limits and of savage faces, That showed no trait of pity ! Then that maid Stretched her long arms to heaven, and wept for shame ; And as upon her soul dim bodements came, Once more, in veriest sadness, thus she said : ' I may not cheer him more ! I may not breathe Life in his wasting limbs, nor healthy fire In his grief-sunken eye I may not wreathe Fresh flowers for him to gaze on, nor inspire Delicious dreamings, when the paly host Of cares and troubles weigh his spirit down, And hopes delayed, in worse despair are lost ; Unaided, he may sink upon the path, No hand of succour near, nor melting eye To yield its pittance poor of sympathy ; Already, too successful have I weaved My tiny web of folly ; undeceived, At length, he'll view its baseless fabrick pass, Like fleeting shadows o'er the brittle glass, Leaving no substance there ; and he may curse, With bitter malison, his too partial nurse, And charge her with his sufferings ! ' 134 So wept That maid, in seeming sorrow, till there fell From her lips Grief's volume-word Farewell ! And then, methought, she softly passed away, As a thin mist of glory on a ray Of purest moonshine ; or like starlet bright Sailed onward through the ocean of the night ! And then, meseems, I heard the wailing sound Of a wind-harp afar, and voice of one Who sung thereto a plaintive melody ; And some words reached me, but the rest were drowned In dimest distance, and the hollow moan Of the night-breezes fitful sweeping by ; Yet these stray words, erewhile on earth they fell, Told Hope had pitying smiled before her last farewell. Then all grew dark and loveless, and afar I saw the falling down of many a star, As the moon paled in sorrow And the roar Of darkly tumbling floods I heard, that dashed Through the deep fissures of the rifted rock While phantoms flitted by with ghastly mock, And jeers malign and demons on me glar'd 135 Looks of infernal meaning ; then in silence Troop'd onwards to their doom ! Starting, I broke Sleep's leaden bonds of sorrow, and awoke, Wondering to find my eye-balls red with tears ! And my breast heaving with sepulchral fears. THIS TS NO SOLITUDE. THIS is no Solitude ; these brown woods speak In tones most musical this limpid river Chaunts a low song, to be forgotten never ! These my beloved companions are so meek, So soul-sustaining, I were crazed to seek Again the tumult, the o'erpowering hum, Which of the ever busy hiving city come Parting us from ourselves. Still let us breathe The heavenly air of contemplation here ; And with old trees, grey stones, and runnels clear, Claim kindred and hold converse. He that seeth Upon this vesper spot no loveliness, Nor hears therein a voice of tenderness, Calling him friend, Nature in vain would bless ! THE LONE THORN. BENEATH the scant shade of an aged thorn, Silvered with age, and mossy with decay, I stood, and there bethought me of its morn Of verdant lustyhood, long passed away ; Of its meridian vigour, now outworn By cankering years, and by the tempest's sway Bared to the pitying glebe. Companionless, Stands the gray thorn complaining to the wind Of all the old wood's leafy loveliness The sole memorial that lags behind ; Its compeers perished in their youthfulness, Though round the earth their roots seem'd firmly twined : How sad it is to be so anchored here As to outlive one's mates, and die without a tear ! THE SLAYNE MENSTREL. ANE harper there was ane harper gude Cam' harpin 1 at the gloamin' fa' And he has won to the bonnie bield Quhilk callit is the Newtoun Ha'. ' Brume, brume on hil' the harper sang ' And rose on brier are blythe to see I would I saw the brume sae lang, Quhilk cleidis the braes o' my ain countree ! ' ' Out on ye, out, ye prydefu' loun, Wi' me ye winna lig the nicht Hie to some bordel in borrowe toun : Of harpand craft I haud but licht ! 4 Out on ye, out, ye menstrel lewde ' Sayd the crewel Laird o' the Newtoun Ha' ' Ye '11 nae bide here, by blessit Rude, Gif harpe or lyf ye reck ava' ! ' 139 ' I care na for mie lyf ane plack ' Quoth that auld harper sturdilie ' But this gude harpe upon mie back Sal ne'er be fylit by ane lyk thee ! ' ' Thou liest there, thou menstrel wicht ! ' Outspak the Laird o' the Newtoun Ha' ' For ye to death bedene are dicht, Haif at thee here and mend thy saw ! ' Alace, Alace, the harper gude Was borne back aganis the wa', And wi' the best o' his auld hertis blude, They weetit hae the Newtoun Ha' ! Yet did he die wi' harpe in han', Maist lyk ane menstrel o' degree There was na ane in a' the land Might matche wi' him o' the North countree ! Erie Douglas chauncit to ryde therebye Ane gallant gentleman was he Wi' four score o' weel harnessit men, To harrie in the South cpuntree. 140 He haltit at the Newtoun Ha' * Quhat novellas now, bauld Laird, hae ye ? ' ' It 's I haif slayne a worthlesse wicht, Ane menstrel lewde, as you may see ! ' 4 Now schaw to me the harper's held, And schaw to me the harper' hand, For sair I fear you've causeless spilt As gentil blude as in a' Scotland ! ' ' Kep then his held, thou black Douglas ' Sayd boastfullie fase Newtoun Ha' ' And kep his hand, thou black Douglas, His fingers slim his craft may schaw ! ' The stout Erie vysit first the heid, Then neist he lukit on the hand ' It's foul befa' ye, Newtoun Ha', Ye 've slayne the pryde o' gude Scotland ! ' Now stir ye, stir, my merrie men, The faggot licht, and bete the flame, A fire sal rise o'er this buirdly bield, And its saulless Laird in the lowe we '11 tame ! ' 141 The bleeze blew up, the bleeze clipt roun' The bonny towers o' the Newtoun Ha\ And evir as armit men ran out, Black Douglas slewe them ane and a'. The bleeze it roarit and wantonit roun' The weel-pilet wawis o' the Newtoun Ha', And ruif and rafter, bauk and beam, Aneath the bauld fyris doun did fa' ! Now waly for the crewel Laird As he cam loupin' through the lowe, Erie Douglas swappit aff his heid And swung it at his saddil bowe ! THE MERMAIDEN. ' THE nicht is mirk, and the wind blaws schill, And the white faem weets my bree, And my mind misgi'es me, gay maiden, That the land we sail never see ! ' Then up and spak' the mermaiden, And she spak' blythe and free, ' I never said to my bonnie bridegroom, That on land we sud weddit be. ' Oh ! I never said that ane erthlie priest Our bridal blessing should gi'e, And I never said that a landwart bouir Should hauld my love and me.' ' And whare is that priest, my bonnie maiden, If ane erthlie wicht is na he ? ' ' Oh ! the wind will sough, and the sea will rair, When weddit we twa sail be.' 143 ' And whare is that bouir, my bonnie maiden, If on land it sud na be ? ' ' Oh ! my blythe bouir is low,' said the mermaiden, ' In the bonnie green howes of the sea : My gay bouir is biggit o' the gude ships' keels, And the banes o' the drowned at sea ; The fisch are the deer that fill my parks, And the water waste my dourie. ' And my bouir is sklaitit wi' the big blue waves, And paved wi' the yellow sand, And in my chaumers grow bonnie white flowers That never grew on land. And have ye e'er seen, my bonnie bridegroom, A leman on earth that wud gi'e Aiker for aiker o' the red plough'd land, As I '11 gi'e to thee o' the sea ? ' The mune will rise in half ane hour, And the wee bright starns will schine ; Then we '11 sink to my bouir, 'neath the wan water Full fifty fathom and nine ! ' A wild, wild skreich gi'ed the fey bridegroom, And a loud, loud lauch, the bride ; For the mune raise up, and the twa sank down Under the silver'd tide. SONG. HE courted me in parlour, and he courted me in ha', He courted me by Bothwell banks, amang the flowers sae sma', He courted me wi' pearlins, wi' ribbons, and wi' rings, He courted me wi' laces, and wi' mony mair braw things ; But O he courted best o' a' wi' his black blythesome ee, Whilk wi' a gleam o' witcherie cuist glaumour over me. We hied thegither to the Fair I rade ahint my joe, I fand his heart leap up and doun, while mine beat faint and low ; He turn'd his rosy cheek about, and then, ere I could trow, The widdifu' o' wickedness took arles o' my mou ! Syne, when I feigned to be sair fleyed, sae pawkily as he Bann'd the auld mare for missing fit, and thrawin him ajee. 145 And aye he waled the leanings lang, till we drew near the town, When I could hear the kimmers say ' There rides a comely loun ! ' I turned wi' pride and keeked at him, but no as to be seen, And thought how dowie I wad feel, gin he made love to Jean ! 'But soon the manly chiel, aff-hand, thus frankly said to me, ' Meg, either tak me to yoursel, or set me fairly free ! ' To Glasgow Green I link'd wi' him, to see the ferlies there, He birled his penny wi' the best what noble could do mair ? But ere ae fit he'd tak me hame, he cries ' Meg, tell me noo : Gin ye will hae me, there's my lufe, I'll aye be leal an' true.' On sic an honest, loving heart how could I draw a bar? What could I do but tak Rab's hand, for better or for 10 THE LEAN LOVER. I PACED, an easy rambler, Along the surf-washed shore And watched the noble freightage The swelling ocean bore. I met a moody fellow Who thus discoursed his wo ' Across the inconstant waters, Deceitful woman, go ! ' I loved that beauteous lady More truly wight ne'er loved I loved that high-born lady, My faith she long had proved : Her troth to me she plighted With passion's amorous show Go o'er the inconstant waters, Ungrateful worldling, go ! 147 ' Be mine yon cliff-perched chapel Which beetles o'er the deep ; There, like some way-worn palmer, I'll sit me down and weep. I'll note upon the billows Her lessening sail of snow, And waft across the waters Go, fleeting fair one, go ! ' He clambered to the chapel That toppled o'er the deep There, like a way-worn palmer, He laid him down to weep : And still I heard his wailing Upon the strand below ' Go o'er the inconstant waters, Go, faithless woman, go ! ' AFFECTEST THOU THE PLEASURES OF THE SHADE? AFFECTEST thou the pleasures of the shade, And pastoral customs of the olden time, When gentle shepherd piped to gentle maid On oaten reed, his quaint and antique rhyme ? Then welcome to the green and mossy nook, The forest dark and silver poppling brook And flowers in fragrant indolence that blossom On the sequestered valley's sloping bosom Where in the leafy halls glad strains are pealing, The woodland songsters' amorous thoughts revealing Look how the morning's eager kisses wake The clouds that guard the Orient, blushing red Behold heaven's phantom-chasing Sovereign shake The golden honours of his graceful head Above that earth his day-dawn saw so fair ! Now damsels lithe trip lightsomely away, To bathe their clustered brows and bosoms bare In virgin dews of budding, balmy May ! MUSIC. STRANGE how the mystically mingled sound Of voices rising from these rifted rocks And unseen valleys whence no organ ever Thundered harmonious its stupendous notes, Nor pointed arch, nor low-browed darksome aisle, Rolled back their mighty music seems to me An ocean vast, divinely undulating, Where, bathed in beauty, floats the enraptured soul Now borne on the translucent deep, it skirts Some dazzling bank of amaranthine flowers, Now on a couch of odours cast supine, It pants beneath o'erpowering redolence : Buoyant anon on a rejoicing surge, It heaves, on tides tumultuous, far aloft, Until it verges on the cope of heaven, Whence issued, in their unity of joy, The anthems of the earth-creating Morn : Yielding again to an entrancing slumber, In sweet abandonment, it glidcth on 150 To amber caves and emerald palaces, Where the lost Seraphs welcomed by the main- Their lyres suspended in their time of sorrow, Amid the deepening glories of the flood ; There the rude revels of the boisterous winds The tranquillous waves afflict not, nor dispart The passionate clasping of their azure arms ! THE SHIP-WRECKED LOVER. THE Port-Reeve's maid has laid her down Upon a restless pillow, But wakeful thought is wandering Ayont the ocean billow. Her love 's away he 's far away A world of waves asunder Around him now the storm may burst With fearful peals of thunder ! But yet the night-wind's breath is faint, The night-beam entereth meekly ; But when the moon's fair face is free, Strange she should shine so weakly ! Yet guided by her waning beam His ship must swim securely Beneath so fair a sky as this He '11 strike his haven surely ! 152 There came a knocking to the door, That hour so lone and stilly ; And something to the maiden said ' Arise for true love Willie ! ' Another knock ! another still Three knocks were given clearly Then quickly rose the Port-Reeve's maid Her seaman she loved dearly ! And first she saw a streak of light, Like moonshine cold and paly ; And then she heard a well-known step The maiden's pulse beat gaily ! She saw a light, she heard a step, She marked a figure slender Across the threshold pass like thought, And stand in her lone chamber. It paced the chamber once and twice, It crossed it three times slowly But when she to her Maker prayed, It fled like sprite unholy. The form the vanished shadow wore Was of her true love Willie O not a breath escaped the lips That pallid looked and chilly ! 153 Long motionless the maiden stood, In wonder, fear, and sorrow A tale of wreck, a tale of wo Was told her on the morrow ! The ship of her returning hopes Had sunk beneath the billow The ocean-shell, the ocean-weed Were now her lover's pillow ! HOLLO, MY FANCY! HOLLO, my Fancy ! Thou art free - Nor bolt nor shackle fetters thee ! Thy prison door is cleft in twain, And Nature claims her child again ; Doff the base weeds of toil and strife, And hail the world's returning life ! Up and away ! 'T is Nature's voice Bids thee hie fieldward and rejoice ; She calls thee from unhallowed mirth To walk with beauty o'er the earth ; Proudly she calls thee forth, and now Prints blandest kisses on thy brow ; On lip, on cheek, on bosom bare, She pours the balmy morning air : The fulness of a mother's breast Swells for thee in this gracious hour ; Up, Sluggard, up ! from dreams unblest, And let thy heart its love outpour ! 155 Up, Sluggard, up ! all is awake With song and smile to welcome thee ; The flower its timid buds would break Wert thou but once abroad to see ! Teeming with love, earth, ocean, air Are musical with grateful prayer ! Each measured sound, each glorious sight, Personifies intense delight ! The breeze that crisps the summer seas, Or softly plains through leafy trees, Or, on the hill-side, stoops to chase The wild kid in its giddy race The breeze that, like a lover's sigh, Of mingled fear and ecstasy, Plays amorous over brow and cheek, Methinks it has a voice to speak The joys of the awakening morn When, on exulting pinion borne, The lark, sole monarch of the sky, Pours from his throat rich melody. Hollo, my Fancy ! Fast a-field, Aurora's face is just revealed : Night's shadows yet have scantly sped Midway up yonder mountain's head While in the valley far below, The misty billows, ebbing, show Where fairy isles in beauty glow ; Delicious spots of elfin green, Emerging from a world unseen, Of dreams and quaintest phantasies Spots that would the Faerye Queen To a very tittle please ! Away the shadowy phantoms roll, Up-borne by the rising breeze, Fluttering like some banner scroll ; While, peering o'er the silent seas Of yon far shore, thou may'st descry The red glance of the Day-Star's eye ! Hollo, my Fancy ! Let us trace The breaking of the vestal dawn ! Through dappled clouds, with stealthy pace, It travels over mount and lawn. Lacings of crimson and of gold, Threaded and twined an hundred-fold, Bar the far Orient, while the sea Of molten brass appears to be. And lo ! upon that glancing tide Vessels of snowy whiteness glide : Some portward, self-impelled are steering, Some in the distance disappearing ; 157 And some, through mingled light and shade, Like visions gleam like visions fade. Strange are these ocean mysteries ! No helmsman on the poop one sees, No sailor nestled in the shrouds, Singing to the passing clouds, But let us leave old Neptune's show, And to the dewy uplands go ! Now skyward, in a chequered crowd, Rolls each rosy-edged cloud, Flaunting in the upper air Many a tabard rich and rare ; And mantling, as they onward rush, Every hill top with a blush, To dissolve, streak after streak, Like rose tints on a maiden's cheek, When, in wanton waggish folly, The chord of love's sweet melancholy Is rudely smitten, and the cheek Tells tales the lip might never speak. Hollo, my Fancy ! It is good To seek soul-soothing solitude ; To leave the city, and the mean, Cold, abject things that crawl therein ; Flee crowded street and painted hall, 158 Where sin rules rampant over all ; To roam where greenwoods thickest grow, Where meadows spread and rivers flow, Where mountains loom in mist, or lie Clad in a sunshine livery ; Wander through dingle and through dell, Which the sweet primrose loveth well ; And where, in every ivied cranny Of mouldering crag, unseen by any, Clouds of busy birds are dinning Anthems that welcome day's beginning : Or, like lusty shepherd groom, Wade through seas of yellow broom ; And, with foot elastic tread On the shrinking floweret's head, As it droops with dew-drops laden, Like some tear-surcharged maiden : Skip it, trip it deftly, till Every flower-cup liquor spill, And green earth grows bacchanal, Freed from night's o'ershadowing pall ; Or let us climb the steep, and know How the mountain breezes blow. Hither, brave Fancy ! Speed we on, Like Judah's bard to Lebanon ! 159 Every step we take, more nigh Mounts the spirit to the sky. Sounds of life are waxing low As we high and higher go, And a deeper silence given For choice communing with heaven ; On this eminence awhile Rest we from our vigorous toil : Forth our eyes, mind's scouts that be, Cull fresh food for fantasy ! Like a map, beneath these skies, Fair the summer landscape lies Sea, and sand, and brook, and tree, Meadow broad, and sheltered lea, Shade and sunshine intermarried, All deliciously varied : Goodly fields of bladed corn, Pastures green, where neatherd's horn Bloweth through the livelong day, Many a rudely jocund lay : There be rows of waving trees, Hymning saintliest homilies To the weary passer by, Till his heart mount to his eye, And his tingling feelings glow With deep love for all below, 160 While his soul, in rapturous prayer, Finds a temple everywhere. See, each headland hath its tower, Every nook its own love bower While, from every sheltered glen, Peep the homes of rustic men ; And apart, on hillock green, Is the hamlet's chapel seen : Mingled elms and yews surround Its most peaceful burial ground ; Like sentinels the old trees stand, Guarding death's sleep-silent land. Adown the dell a brawling burn, With wimple manifold, doth spurn The shining pebbles in its course, Foaming like spur-fretted horse A mighty voice in puny form, Miniature of blustering storm, It rates each shelving crag and tree That would abridge its liberty, And roundly swears it will be free ! 'T is even so, for now along The plain it sweeps with softened song ; And there, in summer, morn and noon, And eve, the village children wade, Oft wondej-ing if the streamlet's tune Be by wave or pebble made ; 161 But, unresolved of doubt, they say Thus it tunes its pipe alvvay. Wood- ward, brave Fancy ! Over-head The Sun is waxing fiery red ; No cloud is floating on the sky To interrupt his brilliancy, Or mar the glory of his ray While journeying on his lucid way. But here, within this forest chase, We '11 wander for a fleeting space, 'Mid walks beneath whose clustering leaves Bright noontides wane to sober eves ; And where, 'mong roots of timbers old, Pale flowers are seen like virgins cold (Virgins fearful of the Sun, Most beautiful to look upon) In some soft and mossy nook, Where dwells the wanderer's eager look. Until the Sun hath sunken down Over the folly-haunting town, And curious Stars are forth to peer With frost-like brilliance, silvery clear, From the silent firmament Here be our walk of sweet content. 11 162 Around is many a sturdy oak Never scaithed by woodman's stroke ; Many a stalwart green-wood tree, Loved of Waithman bold and free, When the arrow at his side, And the bow he bent with pride, Gave the right to range at will, And lift whate'er broad shaft might kill. Here, belike famed Robin Hood, Or other noble of the wood, Clym of the Cleuch, or Adam Bell, Young Gandelyn that shot full well, Will Cloudeslie, and Little John, Or Bertram, wight of blood and bone, Plied their woodcraft, maugre law : Raking through the green-wood shaw, Bow in hand, and sword at knee, They lived true thieves, and Waithmen free. In the twilight of this wood And, awe-breathing solitude Heathens of majestic mind, Might a fitting temple find Underneath some far-spread oak, Nature blindly to invoke. What is groined arch to this Mass of moveless leanness ? 163 What are clustered pillars to The gnarled trunk of silvery hue, That, Titan-like, heaves its huge form Through centuries of change and storm, And stands as it were planted there, Alike for shelter and for prayer ? Hither, my jocund Fancy ! Turn, And note how Heaven's pure watchfires burn In yonder fields of deepest blue, Investing space with glories new ! And hark how in the bosky dell Warbles mate-robbed Philomel ! Every sound from that glade stealing . Sadness woos with kindred feeling The notes of a love-broken heart Surpass the dull appeal of art ; Here rest awhile, for every where, On lake, lawn, tower, and forest tree, Falleth in floods the moonshine fair ' How beautiful night's glories be ! No stir is heard upon the land, . No murmur from the sea ; The pulse of life seems at a stand As nature quaffeth, rapturously, From yonder ambient worlds of light, Deep draughts of passionate delight. 164 Hollo, my Fancy ! It is well To ponder on the spheres above To bid each fount of feeling swell Responsive to the glance of love. See ! trooping in a gladsome row, How steadfastly these tapers glow ; And light up hill and darksome glen To cheer the path of wand'ring men, And eke of frolic elf and fay That haunt the hollow hill, or play By crystal brook, or gleaming lake, Or dance until the green wood shake To fits of choicest minstrelsie, Under the cope of the witch elm-tree. When all is hush around and above, Then is the hour to carpe of love ; When not an eye but ours is waking, Nor even the lightest leaflet shaking When, like a newly-cap'tured bird, The fluttering of the heart is heard ; When tears come to the eye unbidden, And blushing cheeks are in bosom hidden ! While hand seeks softer hand, and there Seems spell-bound by the amorous air When love, in very silence, finds The tone that pleads, the pledge that binds. 165 Hollo, my Fancy ! Whither bounding ? Go where rolling orbs are sounding, This dull nether world astounding With celestial symphonies ; Inhale no more the soft replies Which gurgling rills and fountains make, Nor feed upon the fervid sighs Of winds that fan the reedy lake ; Leave all terrestrial harmonies That flow for pining minstrel's sake. Skyward, adventurous Fancy ! Dare To cleave the ocean of the air ; Soaring on thy vane-like wings Rise o'er earth and clod-like things. Smite the rolling clouds that bar Thy progress to those realms afar ; Career it with the Sisters seven, Pace it through the star-paved heaven ; Snatch Orion's baldrick, then, Astride, upon the Dragon, dare To hunt the lazy-footed Bear Around the pole and back again ; Scourge him tightly, scourge him faster, Let the savage know his master ! 166 And, to close the mighty feat, Light thy lamp of brave conceit With some grim, red-bearded star, (Sign of Famine, Fire, and War,) And hang it on the young moon's horn To show how poet thought is born. LOVE'S POTENCIE. IF men were fashioned of the stone, Then might they never yield to love But fashioned as they are, they owne (On earth, as in the realme above,) That Beauty, in perfection, stil Controls the thoughts, impels the wil. And sure 'twere vaine to stemme the tide Of passion surging in the breast Since fierce ambition, stubborn pryde Have each the sovereigne power confest ; Which rolleth on, despite all staie, Sweeping ilk prudent shifte awaye. What though the mayden that we love May fail to meet the troth we bear Nor once its generous warmth approve, Nor bate one jot of our despaire Doth not the blind dictator say * Thou foolish wichte pyne on alwaie ! ' 168 We cannot read the wondrous lawes That knit the soul to lovelinesse ; We feel their influence, but their cause Remains a theme of mysticknesse We only know Love may not be O'ermastered by Wil's energie. Nor would I wish to break the dream Of troubled joy ; that still is mine Albeit that the cheering gleam Of hope hath almost ceased to shine - So long as Beauty light doth give, My heart must feel, its love must live ! LIFE. O LIFE ! what is thy quest ? What owns this world Of stalking shadows, fleeting phantasies, Enjoyments substanceless to wed the mind To its still querulous, ever-faltering mate Or crib the pinion of the aspiring soul (Upborne ever by the mystical) To a poor nook of this sin-stricken earth, Or sterile point of time ? The Universe, My spirit, is thy birth-right and thy term Of occupance, thou river, limitless Eternity ! SUPERSTITION. DIM power ! by very indistinctness made More potent, as the twilight's shade Gives magnitude to objects mean ; Thou power, though deeply felt, unseen, That with thy mystic, undefined, And boundless presence, fills my mind With unimaginable fears, and chills My aching heart, and all its pulses stills Into a silence deeper than the grave, That erst throbbed quick and brave ! Wherefore, at dead of night, by some lone stream, Dost thou, embodying its very sound In thy own substance, seem To speak of some lorn maiden, who hath found Her bridal pillow deftly spread Upon the tall reeds' rustling head, And the long green sedges graceful sweep, Where the otter and the wild drake sleep ? 171 And wherefore, in the moonshine clear, Doth her wan form appear For ever gliding on the water's breast As shadowy mist that hath no rest, But wanders idly to and fro Whithersoe'er the wavering winds may blow ? Thou mystic spirit, tell, Why in the hollow murmurs of that bell Which load the passing wind, Each deep full tone but echoes to my mind The footfall of the dead The almost voiceless, nameless tread, And restless stirring to and fro of those To whom the grave itself can never yield repose, But whose dark, guilty sprites Wander and wail with glowworm lights Within the circle of the yew-tree's shade, Until the gray cock flaps his wings, And the dubious light of morn upsprings O'er yonder hoar hill's dewy head ? And say, while seated under this gray arch W T here old Time oft in sooth Hath whet his pitiless tooth, 172 And gnawed clean through Its ivy and moss-velvet coat of greenest hue, I watch the moon's swift march Through paths of heavenly blue : Methinks that there are eyes which gaze on me, And jealous spirits breathing near, who be Floating around me, or in pensive mood Throned on some shatter'd column's ivied head, Hymning a warning lay in solitude, Making the silent loneness of the place More chilly, deep, and dead, And more befitting haunt for their aerial race ? Terribly lovely power ! I ask of thee, Wherefore so lord it o'er my phantasye, That in the forest's moaning sound, And in the cascade's far-off muttered noise, And in the breeze of midnight, and the bound And leap of ocean billows heard afar, I still do deem these are The whispering melodies of things that be Immortal, viewless, formless not of earth, But heaven descended, and thus softly At midnight mingling their wild mirth : Or, when pale Dian loves to shroud 173 Her fair and glittering form, beneath the veil Of watery mist or dusky fire-edged cloud, And giant shadows sail With stately march athwart the heaven's calm face ; Say then, why unto me is given A clearer vision, so that I do see Between the limits of the earth and heaven A bright and marvellous race A goodly shining company Flaunting in garments of unsullied snow, That ever and anon do come and go From star to hill-top, or green hollow glen, And so back again ? Those visions strange, and portents dark and wild, That in fond childhood had a painful pleasure, Have not, by reason's voice, been quite exiled, But still possess their relish in full measure ; And by a secret and consummate art At certain times benumb my awe-struck heart Making it quail, but not with dastard fear, But strange presentiment and awe severe, With curious impertinence to pry Behind the veil of dim futurity, And that undying hope that we may still Grasp at the purpose of the Eternal Will. YE VERNAL HOURS! YE vernal hours, glad days that once have been ! When life was young, and hopes were budding seen ! When hearts were blythe, and eyes were glistening bright, And each new morn awoke to new delight ; Ye happy days that softly passed away In boyish frolic and fantastic play ! Why have ye fled ? why left no more behind, Ye sunbright relics of my earlier years, Than that faint music which, the viewless wind At midnight, to the lonely wanderer bears From sighing woods, to melt him into tears ? The bridled stream by art may backwards flow, Youth's fires, once spent, again shall never glow ; The flower-stalk broke, each blossom must decay, And youth, once past, for aye hath past away ! COME, THOU BRIGHT. SPIRIT! COME, thou bright spirit of the skies, With witching harp or potent lyre, And bid those magic notes arise That kindle souls, and tip with fire The prophet's lips. Begin the strain, That like the trumpet's stirring sound Makes the lone heart to bound From death-like lethargy to life again, Bracing the slackened nerve and limb, And calling from the 'eye, all sunk and dim, Unwonted fire and noble daring ; Or wake that soothing melody That stills the tumults of the heart despairing, With all its many murmurings small, Of soft and liquid sounds that be Like to the music of a water- fall, Heard from the farthest depths of some green wood, In quiet moon-lit night, that stills the mood 176 Of painful thought, and fills the soul With pleasant musings, such as childhood knows When basking on some green-wood shady knoll, And weaving garlands with the drooping boughs. Or dost thou sing of woman of the eye That pierces through the heart, and wrays Its own fond secrets by a sympathy That scorns slow words and idle phrase ? Or of the lips that utter wondrous love, And yet do scarcely move Their ruby portals to emit a sound, Or syllable a name, but round and round Irradiate themselves with pensive smiles ? Or of the bosom, stranger to the wiles And thoughts of worthless worldlings, which doth swell With soft emotion underneath its cover, And speaks unto the keen-eyed conscious lover Thoughts, feelings, sympathies, tongue ne'er could tell ? Sing'st thou of arms of glory in the field Where patriots meet in death's embrace, To reap high honours where the clanging shield And gleaming spear the swayful ponderous mace, And the shrill trumpet rings aloud its peal 177 Of martial music furious and strong ; Where ardent souls together throng And struggle in the press of griding steel, And fearful shout and battle cry, Herald the quivering spirit's sigh, That leaves the strife in agony, And as it fleets away, still throws Its stern defiance on its conquering foes, Shrieking in wrath, not fear ? 12 LAYS OF THE LANG BEIN HITTERS. AMON& the ungarnered Poems left by the late Mr. Mother- well, I have found certain wild, romantic, and melancholy measures, fittingly enshrined in a story of Teutonic spirit and colouring, entitled ' The Doomed Nine, or the Lang Bein Hitters.' To publish the prose narrative lies not within the purpose of this selection but the songs, which conveyed to us a very singular pleasure in days endeared to memory by the delights of friendship, may not inaptly form the concluding strains of a volume whose general aspect accords well (too well) with the Poet's cast of thought and premature depar- ture. K. THE RITTERS RIDE FORTH. ' On the eastern bank of the noble Rhine stood a lofty tower, named the Ritterberg ; and, in the pleasant simple days of which we speak, it was held by nine tall knights, men of huge stature and prodigious strength, whose principal amusement was knocking off the heads of the unfortunate serfs who in- habited the fruitful valleys circumjacent to their stronghold. They madly galloped over meadow and mountain, through firth and forest, blowing their large crooked hunting horns, and ever and anon uplifting their stormy voices in song.' MOTHERWELL. O BEAUTIFUL valley, We scar not thy bosom ; O bright gleaming lake, we Disturb not thy slumber ; 179 O tall hill, whose gray head Is weeping in heaven, We come not to pierce thro' Thy dim holy chambers We see thee and love thee, And never will mar thee : O beautiful valley, Bright lake, and tall mountain, The Ritters ride forth ! Churls scratch, with the base share, The flower-girdled valley ; And sheer, with the sharp keel, The dream-loving billow ; They pierce to the heart of The grand giant mountain, And fling on the fierce flame His pale yellow life-strings. We come to avenge thee, To slay the destroyer. O beautiful valley, Bright lake, and tall mountain, The Ritters ride forth ! LAY OF THE BROKEN-HEARTED AND HOPE-BEREAVED MEN. ' Some of those who had been bereaved by these merciless marauders, and would not be comforted, then paced towards the hills, and looked back on the scenes of their youth. They sang with melancholy scorn and embittered passion, this que- rulous ditty, which later generations have remembered as the " Lay of the Broken-hearted and Hope-bereaved men," who went up to the hollowed mountain, where they shut themselves up in a cavern, building up its mouth strongly with huge stones ; and there, in sunlessness and unavailing sorrow, these broken-hearted ones died.' MOTHER WELL. THE rude and the reckless wind, ruthlessly strips The leaf that last lingered on old forest tree ; The widowed branch wails for the love it has lost ; The parted leaf pines for its glories foregone. Now sereing, in sadness, and quite broken-hearted, 181 It mutters mild music, and swan-like on-fleeteth A burden of melody, musing of death, To some desert spot where, unknown and unnoted, Its woes and its wanderings may both find a tomb, Far, far from the land where it grew in its gladness, And hung from its brave branch, freshly and green, Bathed in blythe dews and soft shimmering in sunshine, From morn until even-tide, a beautiful joy ! DREAM OF LIFE'S EARLY DAY, FAREWELL FOR EVER. ' Others of the " Broken-hearted and Hope-bereaved men," as they went on their way, poured forth these melancholy measures.' MOTHERWELL. BRIGHT mornings ! of beauty and bloom, that, in boy- hood, Gleamed gay with the visionings glorious of glad hope ; Dear days ! that discoursed of delights never-dying, And painted each pastime with tints of pure pleasure ; Bright days, when the heart leapt like kid o'er the mountain, And gazed on the fair fields one full fount of feel- ing When wood and when water, flower, blossom, and small leaf, Were robed in a sunshine that seemed everlasting ; Ye were but a dream, and like dream have departed ! Oh ! Dream of Life's early day, farewell for ever. 183 As the pale cloud that circled in morning the hill top, Flitteth, in fleecy wreaths, fast in the sun-blaze ; Or, as the slim shadows steal silently over The gray walls at noon-tide, so ghost-like on-gliding, And leave not a line for remembrance to linger on ; So soon and so sadly have terribly perished The joys we did muse of in youth's mildest morn ; Time spreads o'er the brow soon his pale sheaf of sorrow, And freezes each heart-fount that whilome gushed freely ; Oh ! Dream of Life's early day, farewell for ever. The woods and the waters, the great winds of heaven, Sound on and for ever their grand solemn symphonies ; The moon gleams with gladness, the wakeful stars wander, With bright eyes of beauty, that ever beam pleasure ; The sun scatters golden fire bright rays of glory Till proud glows the earth, graithed in harness from heaven ; The fields flourish fragrant with summer flower blos- soms ; Time robs not the earth of its brightness and braveries, But he strips the lorn heart of the loves that it lived by. Oh ! Dream of Life's early day, farewell for ever. 184 We have sought for the smiles that shed sunshine around us, For the voices that mingled mind-music with ours ; For hearts whose roots grew where the roots of our own grew, While pulse sang to pulse the same lay of love-longing. In the fair forest firth, on the wide waste of waters, By brooks that gleam brightest, and banks that blush bravest, On hill and in hollow, green holm, and broad meadow, We have sought for these loved things, but never could find them, We have shouted their names, and sad echoes made answer. Oh ! Dream of Life's early day, farewell for ever. THE RITTERS RIDE HOME. As eagles return to their eyrie, Gorged with the flesh of the young kid, Even so we return from the battle The banquet of noble blood. We are drunk with that ruddy wine ; We are stained with its droppings all over ; We have drunk till our full veins are bursting, Till the vessel was drained to its dregs Till the tall flaggons fell from our hands, That were wearied with ever uplifting them : We have drank till we no longer could find The liquor divine of heroes. The Ritters ride home ! Ask where great glory is won ? Enquire of the desolate land ; Of the city that hath no life, Of the bay that hath no white sail, The land that is trenched with mad feet, 13 186 Which turned up the soil in despair ; The city is silent and fireless, And each threshold is crowded with dry bones ; The bay glitters sheenly in sunlight, No oar shivers now its clear mirror ; The mast of the bark is not there, Nor the shout of the mariner bold. But the sea-maidens know of strange men, Beclasped in strong plaits of iron : They know of the pale-faced and silent, Who sleep underneath the waves, And never shall waken again To stride o'er the beautiful dales, The green and the flower-studded land. The Hitters ride home ! We have come from the strife of shields ; From the bristling of mighty spears ; From the smith-shop, where brynies were anvils, And the hammers were long swords and axes. We have come from the mounds of the dead, Where hero forms lay like hewn forests ; Where rivers run red in the sun, And the ravens of heaven were made glad ! The Hitters ride home ! 187 The small ones of earth pass away, As chaff they have drifted and gone. When the angry winds rush from the North, And sound their great trumpets of wrath, The tempest-steeds rush forth to battle, They plough up the earth in their course, They hollow a grave for the dead, As the share scoops a bed for the seed. The Ritters ride home ! Beautiful ! beautiful ! beautiful ! Is the home-coming of the War-faring ; Of them who have swam on the ocean ; Of fountains that spring from great hearts. The sunshine of glory's around them ; Their names are the burthen of songs ; Their armour and banners become The richest adornments of halls. The Ritters ride home ! Beautiful ! beautiful ! beautiful ! Sounds the home coming of the War-faring ; And their triumph-song echoes for ever 'Mid the vastness of gloomy Valhalla. The Ritters' last home ! UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. MAY 1 8 RECEIVED MAY 3 11986 Form L9-100m-9,'52(A3105)444 THE LIBRARY UTffVERSJTY O LOS ANGELES UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000381 144 5 PR 5101 M3A17 1851