1 
 
 J
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 ( 
 
 •
 
 POETICAL REMAINS.
 
 POETICAL REMAINS 
 
 OF TIIE LATE 
 
 ROBERT FRASER, 
 
 EDITOR OF THE FIFE UERALD. 
 
 WITU 
 
 A MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR, 
 
 BY 
 
 DAVID VEDDER. 
 
 CUPAR: G. S. TULLIS. 
 
 EDINBURGH: WILLIAM TAIT. 
 
 LONDON: SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, & CO. 
 
 MDCCCXXXIX.
 
 PRINTED BY G. S. TULLIS, CUPAR.
 
 \ 
 
 ?R 
 
 TO 
 
 ROBERT FERGUSON, Esq. 
 
 OP RAITH, M.P. 
 LORD LIEUTENANT OF THE COUNTY OF FIFE, 
 
 THIS VOLUME 
 
 IS MOST RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, 
 
 BY 
 
 HIS OBEDIENT SERVANT, 
 THE EDITOR. 

 
 *** The profits arising from the sale of this work 
 ivill he exclusively devoted to the benefit of the 
 Author's widow and family.

 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 «, Paglf 
 
 The Authou, Memoir of, by D. Veddcr, i 
 
 „ „ Dinner and Testimonial to, . . ix 
 
 jj „ Character of, by Dr Thos. Murray, . xx 
 
 » n Critique of the Poetry of, by D. Vedder, xxii 
 
 Summer. Air, L'Ete, 3 
 
 To the Moon, 5 
 
 Fable, from the Italian of Di Rossi, .... 9 
 
 Schir Andro Wood of Largo, Knt.,' — a Ballad, . . 11 
 
 Lament for Jephtha's Daughter, - 23 
 
 Day, from the Spanish of Iglesias, .... 25 
 Song, " Yestreen at grey o" gloamin," . . . .28 
 
 Sonnet, from Petrarch, 30 
 
 For whom I Sing, from the German of Lessing, . . 33 
 
 Musings on New Year's Morn, 1831, ... 36 
 Song, " Be mine, be mine, the bright-hair 'd maid," from 
 
 the German of Fouque, 40 
 
 Elegy, from Ariosto, ....... 42 
 
 Hebrew Melody, — The Finding of Moses, ... 46 
 
 Lines, from the Spanish of Di Berceo, .... 48 
 
 Ode to Immortality, from the French of Delillc, . 51 
 Parody on " : Tis rapture to wander at closing of day," 
 
 by D. Vedder, 63 
 
 Song, Kind Robin, 65
 
 11 
 
 Page. 
 Song, " Come, my lads, to our posts let us gaily betake 
 
 U9," from the Dutch of A. Veder 07 
 
 Penelope's Web, from the Spanish of Iglesias, . • 69 
 
 Hebrew Melody,— The Death of Eli 72 
 
 Wooed and Married an' a', from Goethe, ... 75 
 
 Hebrew Melody, — Samson's Revenge, .... 77 
 
 To Lord Byron, from Goethe 80 
 
 Fable, from the Spanish of Samaniego, ... 81 
 
 Four Years' Reign, from Berangcr, .... 86 
 
 Paul Jones, — a Ballad, 90 
 
 The Idol Sacrifice, from the German of Fouque, . 96 
 
 The Wolf and Shepherd,— a Fable, .... 99 
 
 Retrospective Musings, from Zechariah, . . . 101 
 
 Like to Like, from Goethe, 104 
 
 A Voice from the Grave, a Ballad, from Fouque, . 105 
 
 Vashti's Disgrace, Ill 
 
 To the Ocean, from the Spanish of Quintana, . . 115 
 
 Parody on " I ne'er could any beauty see," by Sheridan, 119 
 
 Nansie Bell, — a Ballad, 121 
 
 Abram's Vision, 136 
 
 Vanitas, Vanitatum Vanitas ! from Goethe, 
 
 To the Departed, 
 
 140 
 143 
 145 
 
 Song, " Oh ! I lo'ed my lassie vveel," 
 The Bees, a Fable, from the Spanish of De Jerica, adapted 
 
 to the Reform Bill Agitation, . . . . 147 
 
 The Willing Captive, from Fouque 151 
 
 On the Death of his Father, from the Spanish of Manrique, 152 
 
 The Greatest Man, from the German of Lessing, . . 157 
 
 Esau's Lamentation, ...... 159 
 
 Sonnet to Dante, from the German of Schlegel, . • 160 
 
 Wordsworth's Excursion to Arthur's Seat, — an imitation, 161
 
 Ill 
 
 Page. 
 Vain Precaution, from tbe Spanish of Cervantes, . . 165 
 
 Sonnet, from Petrarch 168 
 
 Sonnet, from the Spanish of Argensola, . . . 169 
 
 Daniel's Triumph 170 
 
 Of Myself, from the Spanish of Villegas, . . .172 
 
 Sonnet, — Morning and Twilight, .... 174 
 
 Sonnet to Sir Walter Scott, from the Italian, . . 175 
 
 The Poet's Fate, from the German of Fouque, . 176 
 
 To the Gentle Reader, from Goethe, . . . .178 
 
 El Melancholico, from the Spanish of De Borga, . 179 
 
 Lizardo's Song, from the same, 182 
 
 Hymn, " All, all, my God 1 yon waving woods," . 184 
 
 Detraction, from the Spanish of Montalban, . . 187 
 
 Lines, from Catullus, ...... 191 
 
 The Awakening of the People, from Berangcr, . . 192 
 
 Song, " To the winds with your woes," from the Spanish 
 
 of Melendez Valdes, 195 
 
 Experience, 200 
 
 A Vision, — Rev. xx. 11, . 201 
 
 The Prude, from Goethe, 204 
 
 The Siege of Jericho, 205 
 
 A Lucid Interval, — The Convalescent, . . . 208
 
 MEMOIR 
 
 OF 
 
 ROBERT ERASER, 
 
 He kept his honesty and truth. 
 His independent tongue nnd pen, 
 
 And moved, in manhood nnd in youth, 
 Pride of his fellow men. 
 
 Haileck. 
 
 Robert Fraser was born on the 24th of June 1798, 
 in the village of Pathhead, parish of Dysai't, and 
 county of Fife. His father, who yet lives, was a sea- 
 faring man, and was accounted superior to the gene- 
 rality of that class of men for activity and intelligence ; 
 his mother was an unobtrusive woman, of an amiable 
 temper, and much respected by her neighbours. Mov- 
 ing in the humbler walks of society, and pressed by 
 the cares and expenses of a rising family, they, never- 
 theless, by dint of exertion, contrived to give their 
 children an education equal, if not superior, to those 
 of their richer neighbours. In the summer of 1802, 
 Robert was sent to a school in his native village, 
 
 a
 
 ll 
 
 which he attended for a period of nearly eighteen 
 months, without much improvement ; the reins of dis- 
 cipline were held with a weak hand, and to play the 
 truant was the order of the day, or rather that of the 
 year. In 1804, he was sent to a school kept by a Mr 
 Laverock, which he attended for about four years, and 
 soon began to distinguish himself among his tiny com- 
 peers in the various branches of education taught by 
 that gentleman. He was afterwards removed to the 
 town's school of Pathhead, and, early in 1809, com- 
 menced the study of the Latin language, which he pro- 
 secuted with much success, in the afternoons. In the 
 earlier part of the day, he attended to the higher 
 branches of arithmetic, and, before he left this semi- 
 nary, he went through the greater part of Ewing's and 
 Macgregor's practical mathematics. He also read 
 Sallust and Virgil with fluency. In 1812, he was 
 apprenticed to an eminent wine and spirit merchant in 
 Kirkaldy, with whom he remained four years, and to 
 whom he gave much satisfaction by his unremitting 
 activity and integrity. In the summer of 1813, he 
 was afflicted with an abscess in his right arm, which 
 gave him much pain, and which confined him to his 
 chamber for several months ; but his active mind 
 could ill brook the monotony of a sick-room, and, as 
 he had no taste for the frivolities and amusements 
 in which youth in general are accustomed to indulge,
 
 Ill 
 
 he studied the Latin language more closely than ever, 
 and during the intervals of pain wrote a great number 
 of exercises. After he was able to resume his duty in 
 his master's warehouse, he continued this practice in 
 the evenings, after the labour of the day was over, to 
 which he added the study of Greek ; he likewise dug 
 deep in the mine of general literature — history, geo- 
 graphy, voyages and travels, and, above all, philology, 
 poetry, and prose fiction. Every shilling he could 
 spare was laid out in the purchase of books, and, be- 
 fore he numbered seventeen years, he was master of a 
 respectable though small library ; to this he continued 
 to add until about eighteen months previous to his 
 decease. 
 
 Early in 1815, he commenced the study of the 
 French language, under the tuition of a gentleman 
 who had been for many years a prisoner of war in 
 France. 
 
 Having no spare time during the day, and being 
 exceedingly anxious to acquire the mastery over this 
 fine branch of humanity, he pursued the study of it 
 with great avidity, seldom retiring to rest until two 
 o'clock in the morning ; by such exertions he was 
 considerably reduced in weight, and by no means im- 
 proved in health ; but, nevertheless, he continued 
 working like a galley-slave in this manner for a period 
 of nine or ten months.
 
 IV 
 
 After lie was considerably advanced in the French 
 language, he commenced the study of Italian, and 
 easily mastered its difficulties. He had no assistance 
 at first, except a little in the pronunciation, but he 
 afterwards took lessons from some of the Edinburgh 
 masters. In 1817, his apprenticeship having expired, 
 he went to a respectable ironmonger in Kirkaldy to 
 act as his book-keeper or clerk ; here his evenings 
 and leisure hours were occupied in the acquisition of 
 knowledge as formerly. He attended a geographical 
 class, and began the study of Algebra. In the course 
 of six months he went through Bonnycastle's Algebra 
 without assistance ; he also studied Euclid's Elements, 
 and, in order to perfect himself in the French lan- 
 guage, he purchased a copy of Legendre in the original, 
 carefully comparing the different text books on the 
 subject. " I had myself," writes a friend, " paid 
 some attention to these subjects, and seldom felt great 
 difficulty in attaining a moderate knowledge of them, 
 but the rapidity with which he mastered all difficulties, 
 surmounted all obstacles, perfectly astonished me." 
 
 In the spring of 1819, he was bent upon trying his 
 fortune in the great metropolis, but having changed 
 his views, he commenced business as an ironmonger 
 in Kirkaldy, in partnership with Mr James Robert- 
 son, with whom he lived in perfect commercial amity 
 for more than fourteen years.
 
 Ill the month of March 1820, he was united in 
 marriage to Miss Ann Camming, who, together with 
 eight surviving children, bewail their irremediable 
 loss. 
 
 About this period, and for several years afterwards, 
 the whole of his spare time was devoted to literary 
 pursuits, and the study of languages. Of politics he 
 knew nothing, having never given it a passing 
 thought, and it would have, perhaps, been much in 
 his favour had he remained in happy ignorance on 
 this somewhat ticklish subject. But returning from 
 Glasgow in a coach, the passengers chanced to enter 
 into a political discussion. " I felt perfectly ashamed 
 of myself," he said to a near relation, " when I found 
 I could take no part in the conversation, and I deter- 
 mined within myself to pay some attention to the sub- 
 ject, as I consider it disgraceful to any person of 
 common attainments on other points, to be so igno- 
 rant as I was on this one.'' From that hour he 
 studied politics and political economy, and ultimately 
 became an inflexible advocate of what is termed libe- 
 ral politics — a Whig, and " something more." 
 
 In September 1825, he resolved to add German to 
 his stock of living languages, and for this purpose 
 procured the necessary elementary books, and was 
 getting on with his usual rapidity, when an adverse 
 circumstance took place, which interrupted his studies
 
 VI 
 
 for a considerable time. His shop was broken into 
 during the night, and jewellery to the value of £200 
 abstracted from it. Every exertion was made to dis- 
 cover the miscreants, but all without success. 
 
 This was a severe blow for two young men, having 
 only recently commenced business, without friends or 
 patronage, and very little capital. Yet, nevertheless, 
 the firm surmounted the calamity, and went on in its 
 ordinary way ; until something worse occurred than 
 even the depredation of the midnight robber. From his 
 facile disposition, and mistaken generosity, he not only 
 became security for various individuals, by whom he 
 lost several sums of money, but he actually took the 
 debts of a near relative on his own shoulders, and paid 
 them more than once ! Meanwhile, his leisure time 
 was devoted to the acquisition not only of the Ger- 
 man but also of the Spanish language, from both of 
 which languages, he translated various pieces of 
 poetry, and had them afterwards printed in the period- 
 icals of the day. The Edinburgh Literary Gazette, 
 the Edinburgh Literary Journal, and sundry news- 
 papers, both metropolitan and provincial, teemed with 
 his productions, both original and translated. Yet 
 notwithstanding his love of literature and philology, 
 he was as regular in his attendance at his place of 
 business, at his desk, on his commercial journies, and 
 at the various markets where goods in his line were to
 
 vii 
 
 be purchased, as the most plodding and money-making 
 merchant who never knew the contents of a volume, 
 save that of his day-book and ledger, nor of languages, 
 save that of Cocker. The time which he spent with 
 his books in the closet, or with the muses in the beau- 
 tiful grounds of Raith on a calm summer gloaming, 
 was not abstracted from the hours which should have 
 been devoted to business, but from those hours sacred 
 to bodily rest or mental recreation. His anxiety to 
 succeed in business proceeded not only from an ho- 
 nourable wish to meet his commercial engagements 
 with rigid punctuality, but also from the still more 
 sacred motive of bringing up his family, whom he 
 ardently and tenderly loved, in comfort and respecta- 
 bility. 
 
 So high did his character stand in the estimation of 
 his fellow-townsmen, that, on the passing of the Scot- 
 tish Burgh Act, he was immediately elected to a seat 
 at the Town Council board, where he ably discharged 
 the duties of his office for a period of three years, and 
 was afterwards re-elected. In August 1833, his co- 
 partnership with Mr Robertson was dissolved, and he 
 commenced business on his own account, and pro- 
 secuted it for some years with apparent success ; but, 
 in 1836, the sudden death of a much valued friend, in 
 whose pecuniary affairs he was deeply involved, bore 
 heavy on his mind, and shortly afterwards his health
 
 VI II 
 
 began to decline. Up suffered severely from rheu- 
 matism, lowness of spirits, and general debility, and 
 the cares of his family, together with the idea of in- 
 volving his friends in his difficulties, preyed heavily $ 
 on his sensitive mind, and reduced him to a state en- 
 tirely incompatible with mercantile pursuits. In 1837, 
 his affairs came to a crisis, and he was under the. 
 necessity of compounding with his creditors. It is 
 very pleasant to add, that several of the most respect- 
 able inhabitants of Kirkaldy came forward in this 
 hour of difficulty and offered to become security for 
 the composition. 
 
 In March 1838, he was offered the editorship of the 
 Fife Herald, a weekly print of considerable circula- 
 tion. He gladly accepted the situation, and entered 
 on the duties of his new office with alacrity, employ- 
 ing two or three days of each week in winding up his 
 mercantile affairs in Kirkaldy. 
 
 In May, he removed his family to Tarvit Mill, in 
 the neighbourhood of Cupar, but consequent on leav- 
 ing Kirkaldy, a testimonial of regard and esteem from 
 his fellow-townsmen was tendered to him, such as 
 the noblest in the land might have been proud to re- 
 ceive. 
 
 I have copied the newspaper account of the trans- 
 action, and certainly a more glowing eulogium has 
 never met my eye.
 
 IX 
 
 It is an encomium not more distinguished for the 
 beauty of its composition than for its rigid truth. 
 
 DINNER AND TESTIMONIAL OF RESPECT TO 
 MR R. FRASER. 
 
 On the 31st August 1838, a numerous and respect- 
 able party of gentlemen entertained at dinner, in the Vic- 
 toria Hotel, Kirkaldy, their late fellow-townsman Mr 
 Robert Fraser, Editor of the Fife Herald, and presented 
 him with a handsomely clone-up copy of the Ency- 
 clopaedia Britannica, seventh edition, bearing an in- 
 scription expressive of their respect for his talents 
 and private character. Mr James Wotherspoon, mer- 
 chant, presided, and Bailie Duncan acted as croupier. 
 After the usual routine toasts had been gone through, 
 
 The Chairman said, Gentlemen, the duty imposed 
 on me this evening should be one of the easiest, when 
 I know that my deficiencies will be amply supplied 
 by your feelings. Still, I fear that my manner and 
 my words will but coldly express what is felt by us 
 all. I believe, Mr F., that the friendship and respect 
 which all of us have for you has almost simultaneously 
 brought us together to do honour to your worth on 
 leaving us. And I cannot help observing, that when 
 we are doing so, we are also honouring ourselves, for 
 we are identifying ourselves with you. (Cheers.) I 
 think I can truly say, Gentlemen that the friendship 
 
 b
 
 we have for our guest is something else than a selfisu 
 bandying of civilities and commonplace conventional- 
 isms, in which there is neither mutual esteem nor con- 
 fidence. It is a friendship based on something more 
 than the dry intercourse of business or social con- 
 vivialities, or any of those many every-day circum- 
 stances in which there is involved neither heart nor 
 soul. (Great cheering.) Ours is a friendship founded 
 on the excellence of his character, on his free and 
 open sincerity, his warm, unflinching, and well-di- 
 rected efforts for local and public weal, his enlightened 
 intelligence, his true feeling, and his unaffected man- 
 ners — a friendship in which there has been between us 
 and him a communion of sentiment, a congeniality of 
 effort, and an interchange of good feeling, which, I be- 
 lieve, to many of us, has been more than the mere en- 
 joyment of a passing hour, but has been the means of 
 improving both our heads and our hearts, and of pro- 
 ducing for us much positive true happiness. (Cheers.) 
 I am sure that all of us must highly esteem our friend 
 for the intellectual progress he has made since he bade 
 farewell to the dog-eared Beauties of Scot and Lindley 
 Murray, and escaped from the mental stimulus of the 
 cat-o'-ninc-tails. Those fragments of time which 
 now and then lie in every one's path, from even the 
 busiest avocations, and which are so often ungathered 
 or misemployed, were with him industriously devoted
 
 XI 
 
 to the enrichment of his intellect, and the emancipation 
 of his mind from the thralls of ignorance. Our friend 
 has been earnest and single-minded in the pursuit of 
 knowledge, and still continues the pursuit with a con- 
 stancy and zeal which only grow the stronger the more 
 they are exercised. (Cheers.) He has not lived as 
 too many of those who are engrossed with business, 
 without their own soul in the world, allowing its lamp 
 of life to go out before they have lived half their days. 
 His acquisition of several of the ancient and modern 
 languages presents a contrast to many of us, who 
 probably, with as many or more opportunities than he 
 ever had, are even but poorly acquainted with our 
 mother tongue. (Cheers.} The study of languages 
 may be sometimes undertaken from a wish to be ac- 
 quainted with their construction, but I imagine our 
 friend studied them from a higher motive, and was 
 impelled by a strong literary fervour, that he might 
 obtain access to worlds of intellectual treasure, from 
 which he would otherwise be excluded. A great man 
 used to say, that in learning a new language he seemed 
 to have gained a new sense, so fresh and original were 
 the views which it opened up to him. If such is our 
 friend's experience, it is a reward which I am sure he 
 values more than wealth or station or any worldly cir- 
 cumstances whatever can confer. There are many 
 who seem to acquire knowledge only that they may
 
 XII 
 
 hoard it, and others seek it that they may dazzle and 
 confound the less knowing, but we all know that our 
 friend is no literary miser, for he seems to hold his 
 intelligence and talent as much for the public good as 
 his own. (Cheers.) The knowledge he has acquired 
 of many of the sciences, his extensive and minute ac- 
 quaintance with literature, and his perception of and 
 relish for the beauties of art, have not had the effect, 
 as it too often has, of inducing conceit or literary hau- 
 teur, but seems rather to have produced a becoming 
 modesty, akin to that which made the great Newton 
 observe in regard to his extensive acquisitions in know- 
 ledge, " that he considered himself as a child gathering 
 pebbles on the seashore." Indeed, as far as I know 
 our friend's mind, he deems the knowledge he has 
 gathered so trifling, that the depth of his own igno- 
 rance is perhaps more astounding to him than the most 
 marvellous revelations of science. When he was our 
 townsman, lie was ever ready to communicate what he 
 knew, or to assist by his judgment ; and whoever were 
 the applicants, whether rich or poor, he showed equal 
 courtesy to all. There was no righteous cause of the 
 people, no scheme which had for its object the promo- 
 tion of social good, which he did not warmly espouse, 
 and in which he was not foremost with his intelligence 
 and inflexible principle ; and although his time and 
 his talents were often severely taxed, still he was al-
 
 XIII 
 
 ways willing to sacrifice them for the good of huma- 
 nity. (Cheers.) All of us know that if there was a 
 local or national grievance to remove, a plan to pro- 
 mote the wider diffusion of knowledge, or any object 
 contemplated or undertaken which would in any mea- 
 sure tend to advance society, he was always a willing 
 and powerful auxiliary, and the management was 
 seldom complete without his co-operation, and the in- 
 fusion of some of his own spirit into the dry bones of 
 many of his co-workers. His public usefulness may 
 be generally known, but 'tis only his intimate friends 
 who had the opportunity of knowing his motives, 
 and who knew his unobtrusiveness, his sincerity 
 and humanity, who can truly estimate the worth of 
 that usefulness. (Great cheering.) I feel that 
 I Mould not be just to the friends of our guest 
 here assembled, if I were to pass over his ardent 
 and sincere attachment to liberty, that often misused 
 word which is blazoned on the standard of every 
 party. For whatever be a man's political views, he 
 always professes a regard to liberty, in the same man- 
 ner, that whatever be a man's opinion of moral good, 
 he always professes an attachment to truth. With 
 our friend the love of liberty is not profession with- 
 out principle, but the result of conviction sincerely 
 held. The truth of various political opinions may 
 perhaps be questioned, but if they are held in since-
 
 XIV 
 
 rity no one ought to be the objeet of blame. (Cheers.) 
 The liberty our friend cherishes is no localized prin- 
 ciple — it is not merely that which would protect man's 
 outward rights, but that which would also desire the 
 removal of whatever would fetter man's moral and 
 intellectual powers, and secure to every one that 
 breathes unlimited liberty of judgment and freedom of 
 thought. (Cheers.) The virtue of sincerity is a 
 striking feature in our friend's character, and is appa- 
 rent to every one who has the slightest acquaintance 
 with him. While among us he never assumed more 
 than he ought, he never endeavoured to make a false 
 impression, or paraded his knowledge in order to pro- 
 duce an exaggerated notion of his talents and acquire- 
 ments. He has none of the trickeries of little souls, 
 or of those who have a false notion of greatness. 
 (Cheers.) If his character at any time suffered under 
 calumny — if his services to the public were ever 
 thanklessly received or misrepresented — if his opinions 
 were ever denounced — all who know him know that 
 these were not only groundless and vexatious, but had 
 their source cither directly or indirectly in the since- 
 rity which characterised all he said and did. (Cheers.) 
 There are few who know him better than I do, and I 
 believe, that if he had enemies, notwithstanding his 
 amiable manners, there is scarcely any other part of 
 his character, but the virtue of sincerity, which could
 
 XV 
 
 create them. (Great cheering.) There are persons 
 who have no enemies, those good sort of folks who 
 merely vegetate through life. But our friend does 
 not belong to such a class, for knowledge has had the 
 wholesome effect of enlarging the domain of his feel- 
 ings, and stimulating his mental being to an indepen- 
 dence of thought and action which cannot always be 
 confined within the narrow rules of party, or the 
 routine of custom, and the common highway of 
 thought. (Great cheering.) I could still speak with 
 pleasure on the sincerity and independence, or what 
 I would call the truthfulness of our guest's character. 
 I could say much on his inflexibility of principle, which 
 is neither a reed shaken by the wind, nor a chance 
 production, which any passing foot may trample in 
 the dust. But I forbear, lest I have failed, and 
 should still fail, in doing justice to all your feelings. 
 In Mr F. removing from Kirkaldy, all of us feel that 
 Ave have met with no ordinary loss. To many of us 
 a blank is left in our life, which can never be supplied. 
 The loss sustained is two-fold — it is a private and a 
 public loss. Many of us are now busy recalling the 
 hours so profitably and so happily passed in his com- 
 pany, during which the reach of his mind so often out- 
 went our own, and carried us into unknown regions 
 of thought, while every sentiment was transfused with 
 a sincerity and charity of feeling, which opened up
 
 xvi 
 
 amongst us a flow of soul transparent and free as air. 
 But, Mr F., we are happy to say, that the regret we 
 feci, on account of your leaving us, is somewhat les- 
 sened by the thought, that your present occupation is 
 perhaps more congenial to your mind, and that the 
 field of your usefulness is so widened, that it not only 
 still enables you to reach us with your head and your 
 heart, but to reach other heads and other hearts, how- 
 ever distant. When 3^011 was among us you could 
 only reach the minds of hundreds, now your advocacy 
 of truth and freedom will reach those of thousands. 
 (Cheers.) When we think of the press being now the 
 noblest instrument in the onward march of humanity, 
 we cannot but rejoice that jon have entered so fair a 
 field for the employment of your energies. Although 
 the gift we present to you this evening is dictated by 
 our feelings, you are not to measure by it our friend- 
 ship and our esteem, but to consider it only as a token 
 which may serve to recal these to your memory. In 
 selecting the gift, we considered that a useful one, 
 such as this, would be much more acceptable to you 
 than any glittering bauble. While we, therefore, beg 
 your acceptance of it, all of us hope, that in widening 
 the circle of your interests, your efforts, and your 
 sympathies, there will be a continued and a greater 
 flow of happiness from the circumference of your phi- 
 lanthropy and patriotism to yourself and family.
 
 xvu 
 
 (Loud and continued cheering.) After the cheering 
 had subsided — 
 
 Mr Fraser said, he never stood before either friends 
 or foes under feelings of equal embarrassment. The 
 eulogy of his partial friend Mr Wotherspoon, and the 
 response it had called forth from the meeting, disqua- 
 lified him from properly acknowledging the honour 
 conferred upon him. He could not analyze the tu- 
 mult of emotions which this manifestation of their 
 friendship had awakened. To say that he was grati- 
 fied, that he was proud of this testimony of their re- 
 spect, would be to use very feeble commonplace 
 expressions with reference to no ordinary feelings, 
 and to a very extraordinary compliment. (Cheers.) 
 He would not therefore attempt to thank them in 
 adequate terms, but they might feel assured he would 
 recal the doings of that evening with undiminished 
 pride and pleasure as long as he lived. (Cheers.) 
 He could not help saying that he felt unconscious of 
 having deserved this high honour — that, in reviewing 
 his past history and intercourse with them, he was 
 bound to consider it altogether disproportioned to 
 any merits to which a humble individual like himself 
 could lay claim ; but it was enough that they had 
 thought otherwise, and he accepted this proof of their 
 friendship and esteem in the same kindly spirit in 
 which he knew it was tendered. (Cheers.) If he
 
 XVlll 
 
 might speak of the magnificent gift itself, he would 
 say, it was to him a thousand times more acceptable 
 than any trinket of gold or silver they could have 
 bestowed. They had furnished him with a foun- 
 tain of knowledge which he would feel it his duty 
 to unlock for the benefit of others, knowing he would 
 best maintain their good opinion by making himself 
 instrumental to the utmost of his ability in advancing 
 the mental improvement of his fellow creatures. 
 (Cheers.) The gift was also greatly enhanced in his 
 estimation by finding among the givers individuals 
 with whom he differed both on matters connected 
 with politics and religion — subjects which of all others 
 most divide society, and alienate men from each other. 
 He was delighted to find that, notwithstanding of 
 such differences of opinion, there was yet a common 
 ground of sympathy and good feeling on which they 
 could meet as they now met. (Cheers.) He would 
 only add, that however far short his deserts came of 
 the encomium that had been pronounced upon him 
 from the chair, the proceedings of this evening would, 
 he trusted, unceasingly stimulate him to endeavour to 
 realize the qualities for which they had been pleased 
 to give him credit. (Cheers.) He concluded with 
 again thanking them from the bottom of his heart, 
 and said, if he had been requested to select the men 
 from whom it would have been his wish to receive a
 
 XIX 
 
 meed of approbation, they should have been no other 
 than those he now saw around him. (Cheering.) 
 
 As the winter set in, the state of his health became 
 more and more alarming. Reduced to an extreme 
 state of emaciation and the weakness of a child, he 
 was under the painful necessity of delegating the du- 
 ties of his editorial office to a friend, and betaking 
 himself to his bed. Yet, during several months of 
 severe suffering, his equanimity of temper and gentle- 
 ness of disposition never forsook him : he was se- 
 renely cheerful, and even playful, although stretched 
 upon that couch from whence he was never to rise. 
 In the intervals of acute pain, he busied himself ar- 
 ranging his poetical pieces with a view to publicatiou ; 
 and, I believe, among the last acts of his life was the 
 dictation of some Norwegian or Danish translation. 
 
 His friends for a while " hoped against hope," that 
 the genial breath of spring, and the warmth of summer, 
 might operate favourably on his constitution. But, 
 alas ! such hopes proved fallacious — the hand of Death 
 was upon him, and, on the 22d of May, he breathed 
 his last ! His mortal remains were conveyed to Kirk- 
 aldy, and interred in the parish cemetery, whilst his 
 premature death was unfeignedly lamented by the 
 assembled mourners, and, indeed, by the public at 
 large.
 
 XX 
 
 " Farewell! and ne'er may envy dare 
 To wring one baleful poison-drop 
 From the crush'd laurels of thy bust : 
 Rut, while the lark sings sweet in air, 
 Still may the grateful pilgrim stop 
 To bless the spot that holds thy dust." 
 
 In attempting to draw Mr Fraser's character, I 
 have been somewhat afraid lest the partiality result- 
 ing from seventeen years of uninterrupted friendship 
 should induce me to colour the picture too highly, and 
 thus produce exaggeration, when verisimilitude was 
 my object. To obviate any suspicions of this nature, 
 I have been fortunate enough to receive a letter on 
 this subject from a literary friend,* whose acute dis- 
 crimination of character is only equalled by his exten- 
 sive erudition : — 
 
 " Edinburgh, 9th Sept. 1839. 
 
 " Mv dear Sin, 
 
 " I am glad to know that the biography of our 
 lamented friend, Mr Robert Fraser, has fallen into such excel- 
 lent and congenial hands as yours. I knew him well, I admired 
 his character much, and cannot resist wishing you God-speed 
 in the performance of your sacred task. 
 
 " I never, perhaps, knew any person, certainly never one so 
 long engaged in business as he was, whose whole soul vva3 
 more deeply imbued with a love of letters, or whose tastes and 
 thoughts were more of a literary kind, than those of our dear 
 friend. Though he was the most simple and unpretending of 
 all human beings, both in conversation and otherwise, you could 
 
 • Thomas Murray, LL.D., Author of the Literary History of 
 Galloway, &c.
 
 XXI 
 
 not be long in his company without perceiving that he was a 
 man of delicate taste, and of an elegant mind, or without hear- 
 ing some modest but appropriate literary allusion, or a quota- 
 tion from some of our standard poets. He was feelingly alive 
 to the beauty and dignity of the ' divine art of poetry,' himself 
 no ordinary votary of the Muses. He knew experimentally 
 what it was to be ' rapt, inspired,' and all those strong emo- 
 tions and vivid thoughts which necessarily accompany, or ra- 
 ther constitute, poetic inspiration. Nor is this all : the bland- 
 ness of his manners and the modesty of his conversation ac- 
 corded well with the fineness of his genius ; so that nobody 
 could leave his company without equally admiring and loving 
 him. His heart glowed with loving-kindness, and threw a fresh 
 lustre over his intellectual and literary endowments ; and we 
 know not if ever he had a personal enemy. He had political 
 opponents ; but these individuals did not and could not fail, 
 amid all their party strife, to do honour to his generosity of 
 character in controversy, and to the unblemished excellence of 
 his private worth. The truth is, he had as little acrimony in 
 public as he had in private life. In political matters he took 
 his own ground, firmly but modestly, as a friend to the freest 
 discussion and to the most liberal views both in church and 
 state ; but he honoured the conscientious opinions of others, 
 and was ready to allow to them, as a birthright common to all 
 in a free country, the same freedom of opinion which he claimed 
 for himself. Hi3 manners and personal appearance were pre- 
 possessing, and in no slight degree emblematic of his character. 
 His figure (which was slender, and rather above the middle 
 size) and face were good, indeed elegant in his better days, 
 yet indicative of modesty ; his voice was mild, yet sweet, well 
 defined, and musical; his manners retiring, yet manly and self- 
 collected. 
 
 " I shall not refer to him as a family man — as a husband and 
 a parent. The subject is too sacred to be approached so soon 
 after his decease : the wounds of his interesting widow and 
 family must be yet bleeding. But if I durst venture on the
 
 XXU 
 
 subject, I could speak of him as favourably, at least, in his do- 
 mestic relations as in any other capacity. But I must forbear. 
 " I beg to subscribe myself, with much esteem, 
 " My dear Sir, 
 
 " Yours very truly, 
 
 " Thomas Murray. 
 " Mr David Vedder." 
 
 It would be a work of supererogation on my part, 
 to add any thing of my own to this elegant encomium, 
 emanating as it does, from such high authorit}', and 
 written as it is, with such characteristic vigour. I 
 shall therefore close this brief sketch, in the words of 
 the transatlantic poet Halleck, as peculiarly appli- 
 cable to the subject of this Memoir : — 
 
 " Strong sense, deep feeling, passions strong, 
 A hate of tyrant and of knave, 
 A love of right, a scorn of wrong, 
 Of coward, and of slave — 
 
 " A kind true heart, a spirit high, 
 
 That could not fear, and would not bow, 
 Were written in his manly eye 
 And on his manly brow." 
 
 It now only remains, that I should say a few words 
 in reference to Mr Fraser as a poet, and in doing so, I 
 6hall endeavour to divest myself, as far as possible, of 
 my partialities for him as a friend. 
 
 Much, however, of what has been already said of
 
 1 1 • 
 
 XX111 
 
 his character, his habits, and pursuits, will be found 
 reflected in his works. 
 
 No one can peruse them without feeling that they 
 are, at least, the emanations of a pure and cultivated 
 mind, and a gentle and kindly disposition. 
 
 His spirit was formed in the tenderest mould, and 
 delighted in the soft and beautiful, whether in outward 
 nature or in the moral world. 
 
 Throughout his effusions, there is a perpetual re- 
 currence to images of tenderness, and purity, and in- 
 nocence. 
 
 His temperament was eminently poetical, and this 
 feeling pervaded even his philological pursuits. He 
 did not wander into other lands, to gather musty relics 
 of the past, amid their mouldering ruins ; he cared not 
 to ransack their ancient archives, or bury his intellect 
 under the folios of scholastics and divines ; but he di- 
 rected his steps where their skies shone brightest and 
 their flowers bloomed fairest, in order that he might 
 cull the sweetest of the latter and transfer them to his 
 native soil. 
 
 Accordingly, we find that a considerable propor- 
 tion of the volume consists of translations, and bear 
 evidence, not only of his talent as a poet, but also of 
 his acquirements as a linguist. 
 
 His extraordinary facility in the acquisition of lan- 
 guages opened up to him fresh and inexhaustible
 
 XXIV 
 
 stores of literature, and the number of his translations 
 6how how well he has profited by the shafts thus sunk 
 into the poetic mines of other countries. 
 
 It is not, however, from his translations, but from 
 his strictly original pieces, that his merits as a poet 
 must be estimated, and in these the reader will find 
 much to admire. He is perhaps deficient in the higher 
 quality of poetry — invention ; and hence we find little 
 in his writings to startle us by its novelty. There is 
 nothing of the grandeur and power of Byron or Shelley, 
 the profound philosophy of Wordsworth, the dreamy 
 mysticism of Coleridge, or the exquisite imaginative- 
 ness of Keats ; but there is much of that sweetness 
 and delicacy which characterize the poetry of Mother- 
 well, and of that enthusiastic love of the beauties of 
 external nature, and that grateful feeling towards the 
 Deity, which pervade some of the best writings of 
 Addison. Witness the following stanzas : — 
 
 " All, all, my God 1 yon waving woods, 
 
 Blue hills, and vallies green, 
 Ocean and earth, and all that live 
 
 Rejoicing therein — 
 The o'erflowings of a father's love 
 
 Harmoniously proclaim, 
 And oh ! shall I refuse to join 
 
 The universal theme ? 
 
 " It may not be, though silence sat 
 Unbroken on my tongue,
 
 XXV 
 
 And I were all unskill'd to list 
 
 The anthem Nature sung ; 
 Yet in the secret of my soul 
 
 Some welling springs would be, 
 Whose silent waters gratefully 
 
 Would upward rise to thee. 
 
 " This being was thy gift — and oh I 
 
 To me how full of love, 
 Though no kind whisper e'er had told 
 
 Of happier realms above ; 
 Since here I'm privileged to see 
 
 So fair a scene unfurled, 
 And trace the prints of Deity 
 
 O'er all this gorgeous world. 
 
 " 'Tis not that thou hast fashion 'd me 
 
 In mercy's kindliest mould, 
 And tuned my soul to secret joys 
 
 No minstrel tongue hath told — 
 Pour'd balmy health through all my frame, 
 
 Kept sorrow from my brow, 
 Or, if a cloud should dim my path, 
 
 Then set thy blessed bow. 
 
 " Not all this bliss (though ah! to man 
 
 How bounteous such an heaven), 
 May sum His goodness, who, to these, 
 
 Has love and friendship given, 
 Girded my board with kindly souls, 
 
 With pleasure-beaming eyes, 
 And twined around my happy hearth 
 
 Affection's changeless ties," &c. 
 
 We have occasional touches of beauty and tender- 
 ness interspersed throughout the volume, more es- 
 pecially in those pieces which are more strictly 
 
 d
 
 xxvr 
 
 jyrical, which almost lead to a desire that the atlthoi 
 had directed his mind exclusively to this species of 
 composition. 
 
 The first piece in the volume, entitled " Summer," 
 is exceedingly airy and graceful ; and the " Address 
 to the Moon," albeit a very hackneyed subject, will 
 be found replete with fine feeling, chastely and beau- 
 tifully expressed. Similar praise might be as justly 
 awarded to many pieces throughout the volume, but 
 their merits or demerits must be decided on by a 
 higher tribunal. 
 
 It is not to be presumed that all who read these 
 pages will acknowledge the author's title to that high 
 rank as a poet which the writer of this Memoir would 
 assign to him ; but no one will -question the poetic 
 grace, accuracy, and refinement by which his effusions 
 are characterized, There are no solecisms of diction, 
 Ho broken metaphors, or turgid commonplaces— all is 
 smooth, elegant, and tasteful ; and if he seldom so 
 into the higher heavens of poesy, ho nevet descends 
 $j regions of medioci
 
 MOTTO. 
 
 23tcf)tev lieben nidjt ?u scTjtoctgcu, 
 fflJHoUcn etc!) fcer itlenoc jicgen. 
 Hob un'S Cafcel tousf ja ecjjn ! 
 
 ffioctljc.
 
 BALLADS, POEMS, 
 
 AND 
 
 SONGS. 
 
 TRANSLATION. 
 
 Silence suits not with the Poet, 
 All he does he needs must shew it — 
 Thus to praise and blame a prey.
 
 BALLADS, POEMS, AND SONGS. 
 
 SUMMER.— ^h>, " L'Ete." 
 
 Hakk ! it is her mellow lay — 
 Warbling Summer plumes her pinions ; 
 Field and flow'ret seem to say, 
 " Lovely lingerer, come away — 
 Jubilee through Love's dominions 
 Now begins her gladsome reign ; 
 Sorrow, pain, Winter's train, 
 Fly, nor e'er return again ! " 
 
 O'er the balmy breast of heaven 
 Soft the filmy cloudlet stealing, 
 Shows as when the fair hath striven 
 Charms to veil, by nature given 
 More to dazzle for concealing.
 
 All above, below, around, 
 Lightly bound, to merry sound, 
 Beings of enchanted ground. 
 
 All is love and all is song, 
 Rapture every bosom thrilling ; 
 Babbling Echo, to prolong 
 The murmurs of the happy throng, 
 To every hill her tale is telling. 
 Come, then, Jessie, through the grove 
 Let us rove, where the dove 
 Tells her ceaseless tale of love !
 
 TO THE MOON. 
 
 All pale and lovely Wanderer ! 
 
 Thy story who shall tell ? 
 
 What pencil paint the lovely land 
 
 Where thou wert wont to dwell, 
 
 Ere yet, through boundless space afar, 
 
 Thy pilgrimage began, 
 
 Or thine eye of love was kindly set 
 
 Upon the home of man ? 
 
 Fair Spirit ! if to mortal muse 
 The privilege be given 
 The deeper mysteries to scan 
 Of thy far native heaven, 
 Methinks before my tranced eye 
 The happy hosts appear,
 
 Whose harp-strings wak'd to love and joy 
 Alone when thou wert near. 
 
 Methinks I see the clouded brows 
 That ne'er were dimm'd before — 
 The desolation dire that told 
 Thy smile for them no more — 
 The sigh that rose in concert full 
 Still murmurs on the gale, 
 And memory still is brooding o'er 
 Thy tender, parting tale. 
 
 But seemlier far, fair moon ! may I 
 
 Essay to sing the night. 
 
 When infant nature wantoned first 
 
 In thine unwonted light, 
 
 And myriad dewy drops were fain 
 
 To drink thy balmy ray, 
 
 And happy birds awoke to hail 
 
 The softer, sweeter day.
 
 Soon as tliy kindly smile outbeamed 
 From yon unclouded blue, 
 Earth's startled slumberers turned to gaze, 
 And deemed they dream'd anew ; 
 Stedfast each eye upon thee set, 
 Fondly besought thy stay, 
 Fearful that loveliness like thine 
 Too soon would pass away. 
 
 Joyous as when the light of truth, 
 Long sought and long concealed, 
 Bursts on the mind, the sage beheld 
 Thy wondrous charms revealed — 
 The sickly lamp, the musty page, 
 Incontinent forsook, 
 And lit by thee went forth to gaze 
 On nature's glorious book. 
 
 Then, too, the quickening bosom 
 With more wondrous tumult heaved,
 
 And answering eyes to eyes confessed 
 The tale that ne'er deceived ; 
 Then young affection revelled in 
 A joy before unknown, 
 And the lover, lovely queen of heaven, 
 Thy radiance claimed his own. 
 
 And bless thee, " bonnie Lady Moon !" 
 
 To me thou still hast been 
 
 A beam of joy — a beacon light 
 
 'Mid life's beclouded scene ; 
 
 Oh ! ever smile as thou wert wont 
 
 In boyhood's happy day, 
 
 For wisdom, love, and friendship, all 
 
 Are ripened by thy ray.
 
 FABLE. 
 
 FROM THE ITALIAN OF DI ROSSI. 
 
 A Butterfly on airy wing 
 
 Roam'd wanton thro' the sweets of Spring, 
 
 Now high with rapid flight it sped, 
 
 Anon it kissed the flowery mead. 
 
 Smit by its richly-varied hues 
 
 A boy with eager haste pursues ; 
 
 And soon before his ravished eyes 
 
 Alights the captivating prize. 
 
 Silent, on tip-toe he advances, 
 
 'Twixt hope and fear his bosom dances, 
 
 His cheek assumes a deeper red, 
 
 His trembling limbs scarce lend their aid ; 
 
 With eager hand he clasps the spoil, 
 
 And eke the flower it sips the while.
 
 10 
 
 Oh ! -who in such an hour as this 
 Asks not a friend to share his bliss ? 
 With hasty summons from their play- 
 He calls his marvelling mates away ; 
 All, all must know — all, all must see — 
 No boy was ere so blest as he. 
 But ere the trophy he unfold, 
 Its dazzling hues must all be told ; 
 Its purple stole, its golden vest, 
 Its helmed head and mailed breast — 
 This done, with art of youthful poet, 
 He slowly opes his hand to show it. 
 Ah, well-a-day! 
 
 What meets his eye, what mocks his trust? 
 A worm, and elie a little dust. 
 And thus the giddy youth was taught 
 That butterflies are worms when caught.
 
 11 
 
 BALLAD. 
 SCHIR ANDRO WOOD OF LARGO, KNT. 
 
 ANE RICHT TRUTHFULLE DITTAYE. 
 
 King Harrie hes woxen wonder wrathe— 
 " Bye Him wha herryit helle ! 
 Is there nevir ane manne o' my captanes a', 
 Mot y l Scots reaver quelle ? 
 
 " Is there nevir in Englische bouns ane manne, 
 Nowther be londe ne see, 
 Dow harle y e limmer-loun Andro Wood, 
 Bee hee quicke or deid to mee ? 
 
 " Swith ! hye ye Heraulds everilkone, 
 And thorowe y e loude proclame ; 
 A thousande braide pieces a-yeere sal be his, 
 And Englonde's fayrest dame :
 
 12 
 
 Whasae sal saille to Scotloude's coste, 
 And wasche out Englonde's schame." 
 
 The Heraulds they hye them thorowe y e lond, 
 
 And the Kinge's wordis they proclame : 
 
 But cauld draps stoode on ilk Southron's bree, 
 
 Whanne they namit Schir Andro's name — 
 
 Thoch ane thousande braide pieces a-yeere be the fee, 
 
 And Englonde's fayrest dame. 
 
 At lengthe an' lange ane Captaue of Warre — 
 Ane bousteons, braggavte wicht ; 
 Bauldlee him stappit the King a-befoir, 
 Hee Stephen Bulle him hight. 
 
 " And please my Sovrane Lorde," quodde hee, 
 As hee drappit on his richt knee — 
 " Give mee three schippes weil garnischit 
 Wid menne ande artillerye,
 
 13 
 
 And gif that Andro Wood lenger crawe croose, 
 Mot I nevir more saille y e salte see ! 
 
 " Bye Marie brichte !" quodde King Harrie, 
 Rejoycit greatumlie ; 
 " Of alle y l in this realm doe wonne, 
 Thou Captane Bulle for mee ! 
 
 " Hye ! hye, my marineres goe trimme, 
 
 Of galliarde Galleons three ; 
 
 And bee they garnischit richt weile 
 
 Wid menne and artillerye ; 
 
 And al for him quha profferes to bringe 
 
 That felloune Scotte to mee." 
 
 The marineres they deftly trimme 
 
 Of galliarde Galleons three ; 
 
 And them they have garnischit richt wele, 
 
 With menne and artillerye ;
 
 14 
 
 And like birds they have flownc with their doughtie 
 
 Captane 
 Whare the Forth meets y e Germane see — 
 
 'Tis lang quhile the daye, bot y e firie Inch Maye 
 Is lemande over the deepe — 
 " Beare uppe, beare uppe, mine helmsmanne gude, 
 The lighte a-leewarde keepe. 
 
 " Beare uppe, bear uppe, mine helmsmanne gude, 
 And steaddy ! thou briske Sud- Waste ; 
 Wee sune mon see, gin y e daye bot dawne, 
 The sichte wee sulde like beste. 
 
 " Hoe ! topsmanne, speake, what cheere, what cheere ? 
 
 Nowther leevin ne deid dost spye?" 
 
 " Suth, Captane, ane quarter league a-head 
 
 Bee lyande some small-frye, 
 
 I trow they be fischyne-yawls frae y e coste 
 
 Come .out their handlins to plye."
 
 15 
 
 u On, on, my braif barke, like ye proud eagle 
 That smellethe his preye a-farre — 
 On, on, my braif barke, gif they spede not our searche, 
 I wot their fisching we'll marre. 
 
 " Ahoa ! my laddes, what schippes ? and whence ? 
 Come quickly tell to mee ; 
 Gif ye speke not suthe richt sune, youre bedde 
 With the greene mermaydes sal be. 
 
 " What are ye, lurdons, and whence doe ye cum, 
 And what ploye bringis yee here ? 
 Depone on yeer lyfFe gif Andro Wood, 
 The reiver rude, bee neere." 
 
 Thanne up and spak ane stalwart fiscfter, 
 Nevir daunton'd ane whit wals he — 
 " Wha devil 's crawin' sae croose on this coaste 
 And kensna oure cobles thre —
 
 16 
 
 The Rude o' Sainct Monans, y° Capon o' Crayle, 
 Ancle the Blue Belle o' Drummochie ?" 
 
 " Frien', wad ye ken oughte mair of y 1 ye hac soughte, 
 
 Oure daylie hand-darg ye see ; 
 
 Wee fcchtna wi' frien', wee flee ne frae fae, 
 
 Bot for lat-a-bee aye lat-a-bee. 
 
 Bot, saul ! let Mm scudde quham Captane Wood 
 
 Hauds his couutra's ennemye 1" 
 
 Bye this the first leim o' the gowde summer sun 
 
 Ovir farre Largo's Law-tappe was caste, 
 
 And ye thinne whyte mistes that travellit y e deepe 
 
 Waur vanischin' farre and faste ; 
 
 Quhan furth frae the landwarte o' the greye Bass 
 
 Twa gaysome barkes hae paste. 
 
 " What crafte be yond, bauld fisch-dame's brat ?" 
 " Goth ! speik o' the deil, he'll appeare —
 
 17 
 
 Lat the puir sillie whitin' tak to the deep pool 
 Whan the doug comes soomin' neere : 
 Scud Southron ! yon twasome 's y e Yellow Carvelle 
 And y* Flowre — in a whiffe they'll be here." 
 
 The Southron, sune as evir he wist 
 Yon twasome his ennemye, 
 He haughtile turnit y e stoure fischer frae, 
 And fenzeit richt gladde for till bee. 
 
 His skippers and overmenne al he gard cal, 
 
 And round him gadderit bee — 
 
 " I pledge ye, my lads, in the ruddye red wyne, 
 
 Come, fill up, three times three ; 
 
 And courage, braif hearts, yond fellownes vyle 
 
 Richt sune your spulzie mon bee." 
 
 Wi' that his schippes in feir of warre 
 Hee ordourit an one, 
 
 c
 
 18 
 
 And everilk maister and marinere 
 To his awne rowme hath gone ; 
 And grit guns twayne hee causit fire 
 At y e Scots as they're comminge on. 
 
 But on for the breeze Sir Andro sweepes, 
 
 Nevir face o' mannc feared hee ; 
 
 And he tilts ane tonne o' the red berrye's juyce, 
 
 " Here 's t'ye, my braif companye." 
 
 " And here's grcit luck to ye Captain deer, 
 
 Wha neer foughte 'thoutin victorie." 
 
 On, like the sea flude, comes the Flowre and Carvelle — 
 
 What boots them yon boastfu' blaste ? 
 
 Swith ! e'er you coulde saye Jack Robison, 
 
 They've grapplit y e Southron faste ; 
 
 " Gude fallows !" Schir Andro cries, " Scotland e's weil 
 
 And your honoure hings on the caste.
 
 19 
 
 " What neid I saye moir, caste ane glance to y e shore, 
 
 And see what yee mot see ; 
 
 Your sweethertes and bairns' anthers rankit in rawe, 
 
 To witness this daye's melee ; 
 
 Ance mair pruve your mettle, and, will the great God, 
 
 Ye sal na plenzie o' me !" 
 
 Now it 's schippe to schippe, and manne to manne, 
 And hande to hande they bee ! 
 There 's clashinge o' swerdes, an' whizzin' o' dertes, 
 And the raire o' gunnerie. 
 
 And they fecht and fecht, baith Southron and Scot, 
 
 Full stowre and stalwartlie, 
 
 There 's nane to spare, there 's nane to yielde, 
 
 And nane to cry mercie, 
 
 Thoch red rows the tyde wi' het herte's bludc, 
 
 Richt awesome for till see.
 
 20 
 
 And they foucht and they felle, and al day lang 
 
 Nevir slackit y e butcherie, 
 
 Nor wist they till nichtfa', skippers ne menne, 
 
 What place their schippes mot be ; 
 
 For they driftit on with wynde and with tyde, 
 
 Till now at the Tay's mouth they be. 
 
 When Captane Wood lukit, he ferliet moche 
 
 To beholde the Angus shore, 
 
 And hee waved rownde his head his twa-handit blade, 
 
 And he waxed more fierce than befoir ; 
 
 And he sprange like ane tigere the Southron towarde, 
 
 And cried, " Yielde, or thou'lt never fecht more !" 
 
 " I yielde me, Scot," quod Stephen Bulle, 
 " On my braif menne I tak pitie ; 
 With wynde and tyde and God on your syde, 
 What boots mair striving with thee.
 
 21 
 
 Our best we haif done, wee coulde no more, 
 And the fourtoun of warre inon drie." 
 
 And they hae yieldit them, maister and manne, 
 
 And quenchit the butcherie, 
 
 And deftly Schir Andro he bears them inne 
 
 To the haiven of Bonnie Dundee. 
 
 Ah, waesucks ! King Harrie, and wals it for this 
 
 Ye garnischt your Galleons three ! 
 
 Now furth to the presence of Scotlande's Kinge 
 The Captanes twaine they fare, 
 And greatumlie gladde I trowe wals his Grace 
 For to behalde them thare. 
 
 " Welcume, thrice welcume, noble Wood, 
 Sole sovrane of the see, 
 Thy hardiment and manheid grete 
 Sail weel rewairdit bee !
 
 22 
 
 " And welcume, Captane Stephen Bulk', 
 
 Sythe ane wordie foemannc ye bee — 
 
 Let it never bee sayde ane Scottisehe James 
 
 Was blynde to trew braverie. 
 
 Goe tend your sick, goo bury your deid, 
 
 Syne schippes and all goe frie. 
 
 " But swith to our royal cousin Hal, 
 And tell him — by the Rode ! 
 Whasae wad again thae costes perturb 
 Loups na hame sae dry-schod !"
 
 23 
 
 LAMENT FOR JEPHTHA'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 And it was a custom in Israel tbat tbe daughters of Israel 
 went yearly to lament the daughter of Jephtha, &c Judges. 
 
 . Softly, softly, sisters, hither ! 
 Where the sod the brightest is blooming, 
 And the palm and the cypress are twining together, 
 And the olive the new-born breeze is perfuming ; 
 Where paler the hues of Lebanon's pride, 
 Where the lowly lily is lowlier bending, 
 And the turtle and nightingale, side by side, 
 The song of sorrow and triumph are blending. 
 
 'Tis here she is sleeping, alas ! too soon ! 
 
 A lovelier blossom on Gilead never 
 
 Its bosom unfolded to beam of noon, 
 
 Or drank the night-dews by yon hallowed river ; 
 
 And woe to the day when the blight o'er it passed ! 
 
 And woe to the hour when the rash word was spoken !
 
 24 
 
 And woe and alas ! that at duty's behest 
 
 The cords of affection e'er rudely were broken ! 
 
 And oh ! to a daughter so sinless, so pure 
 
 To the heart of a father with fondness o'erflowing ; 
 
 Why stoop'd not His mercy that still doth endure 
 
 A victim more meet for the slaughter bestowing ? 
 
 No more is He gracious, who once from on high 
 
 To Abraham called at Moriah's dread altar — 
 
 " Stay, stay now thy hand, for the lad shalt not die, 
 
 My mercy relents, though thy faith may not faulter." 
 
 Yet blest is her slumber, still o'er her green grave 
 Ye flowrets, in beauty perennial, be springing, 
 And o'er it ye boughs with the morning's breath wave, 
 Your fragrance afar o'er the pilgrim's path flinging ! 
 And hither each year, 'neath these balmy blue skies, 
 Come daughters of Israel, the lowliest, the dearest, 
 And ponder while pity's dews fill your bright eyes, 
 That the full blossomed flower to decay is the nearest !
 
 25 
 
 DAY. 
 
 FROM THE SPANISH OF IGLESIAS. 
 I. 
 
 Oh ! 'tis a sweet, a soothing sight 
 To see, in robe of rosy light, 
 The new-born Day appear, 
 Chasing the chilly damps of Night, 
 And all its visions drear ! 
 
 n. 
 
 With charm invisible and bland, 
 He passes on from land to land ; 
 The gloomy clouds on high 
 Evanish swift at his command, 
 Rejoicing earth and sky. 
 
 D
 
 26 
 
 in. 
 
 In soft and silent showers he sheds 
 His pearly seed on Ocean's beds, 
 Down through the limpid air — 
 The shell its silvery bosom spreads, 
 And gems are gendered there. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Forth darts the Sun with radiant glow — 
 Transformed is all the deep below ; 
 The billows, dark erewhilc, 
 As onward to the shore they flow, 
 In dazzling glory smile. 
 
 v. 
 
 With growing splendour falls his beam 
 More potent now on wood and stream ; 
 The subject vallies fair 
 With light salubrious vapours teem, 
 And kindled is the air.
 
 27 
 
 VI. 
 
 The rugged mountains, to the sight, 
 Seem bathed in floods of golden light ; 
 The trooping songsters gay 
 Pour forth their rapturous delight 
 From every blooming spray. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Anon the new-blown flowers are seen 
 Enamelling the meadows green — 
 While in the glassy deep, 
 Which back reflects the landscape's sheen, 
 The little fishes leap. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Yet nought are all those charms to me, 
 In other eyes though fair they be, 
 If, when the heavens are bright, 
 That better Sun I may not see — 
 The Maid that glads my sight !
 
 28 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Yestreen at grey o' gloamin', 
 
 The sweetest hour o' a' to me, 
 
 Wat ye whaur I was roamin' ? 
 
 Wat ye wha I forgather'd wi' ? 
 
 Oh ! lassie, lassie, gin ye ne'er 
 
 Wi' some kind winsome laddie met, 
 
 'Neath the star o' een, 'mang the birks sae green, 
 
 Ye ken na ye've been born yet ! 
 
 Ilk wee bird ceased its sweet sang, 
 
 The daisy shut its drowsy e'e — 
 
 But his words their warblings a' dang, 
 
 His bloom was what nae flowers might be. 
 
 Oh ! luckless lassie, gin ye ne'er 
 
 Wi' some kind winsome laddie met,
 
 29 
 
 'Neath the star o' e'en, 'mang the birks sae green, 
 Ye ken na ye've been born yet ! 
 
 Let wha will seek the gay town 
 
 Wi' a' its flauntin' show an' glee, 
 
 Let wha will dance the night down 
 
 'Mong fops that fancy a' they see. 
 
 But loving lassie, gin ye ne'er 
 
 A lane wi' ae leal laddie met, 
 
 'Neath the star o' e'en, 'mang the birks sae green, 
 
 "ie ken na ye've been born yet !
 
 30 
 
 SONNET FROM PETRARCH PARAPHRASED. 
 
 I. 
 
 Oh never-sated grave ! in whose erabi'ace 
 
 Is hid for ever from my joyous sight, 
 
 That peerless form and love-illumined face, 
 
 Whose witchery charmed each demon-woe to flight ; 
 
 And in adversity's most starless night 
 
 Streamed morning radiance o'er my cherished soul, 
 
 Nerving its powers with more than mortal might, 
 
 Swaying its movements all with mild control — 
 
 My paradise her arms — her heart my spirit's goal ! 
 
 ii. 
 
 Thy spoil I grudge thee, grave ! thee thine, oh, heaven ! 
 Who, to add splendour to yon bright array, 
 From form divine divinest spirit hast riven, 
 And greedily borne it to thy bowers away.
 
 31 
 
 Alas ! full bliss is sorrow's earliest prey, 
 
 Surpassing glory but foretells decline ; 
 
 Night's sackloth soon enshrouds the brightest day, 
 
 And fields and flowers their summer pomp resign — 
 
 Changeis the doom of all, save this fixed heart of mine. 
 
 in. 
 
 And oh ! I envy you, ye spirits pure ! 
 
 Who, in the blaze of joy's eternal noon, 
 
 Where passion-mists no darkling soul obscure, 
 
 Know all the sweets of intellectual boon, 
 
 And to love's mellow themes your souls attune. 
 
 I envy you the luxury refined, 
 
 The nectar of her converse — why, so soon 
 
 To me this balm denied ? oh fates unkind ! 
 
 Was this too much to grant — too much for man to find ? 
 
 IV. 
 
 And why, remorseless tyrant ! all abhorred, 
 Whose breath blows mildew o'er creation's bloom,
 
 32 
 
 Blasting alike the adorer and the adored. 
 
 And quenching beauty's light in envious gloom, 
 
 Why must I writhe beneath thy heaviest doom ? 
 
 Thy fellest destiny ? relentless death ! 
 
 Why sepulchre my life in Laura's tomb, 
 
 And leave me sense enough and vital breath 
 
 To know thy skinny arms her matchless form enwreathe.
 
 33 
 
 FOR WHOM I SING. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF LESSING. 
 
 My song is not for beardless youths, 
 Who schoolward hie with book in hand, 
 
 And proudly ween to learn the truths 
 Their master ne'er could understand. 
 
 My song is not for judges wise, 
 Whose solemn, sullen, gravity, 
 
 Like nightmare on the poet lies ; 
 A law unto themselves are they. 
 
 I sing not for those sp'rits sublime, 
 O'er Homer still or Milton poring ; 
 
 Whose laurels brave the frosts of time, 
 Nor ask the care of man's restoring.
 
 34 
 
 Puff'd up with patriotic pride, 
 My native land ! I sing not thee ; 
 
 For malice would the song deride, 
 From land to land, from sea to sea. 
 
 For foreign kingdoms sing I not, 
 (Could such a fancy e'er elate me?) 
 
 'Twere all vain author-craft I wot, 
 For no one ever would translate me. 
 
 For you I chant not, pious dames, 
 Who love's endearments never knew, 
 
 Who blame our lays and blast our names, 
 Because we are not cheats like you. 
 
 Alone, alone for you, my friends, 
 
 Who toss like me the wine cup high ; 
 
 Alone for you my strain ascends — 
 For you I sing, for you I sigh.
 
 35 
 
 Alone for you, my lovely dears ; 
 
 Oh ! charming Bess, alone for thee ; 
 For thee, for thee, I shake the spheres ; 
 
 Come, kiss me, then, thou all to me !
 
 36 
 
 MUSINGS ON NEW YEAR'S MORN 1831. 
 
 I. 
 
 'Tis past — and ah ! methinks its parting knoll, 
 Slow pealing from yon hoary church-yard tower, 
 More sadly solemn on my spirit fell 
 Than that of other years e'er fell before ! 
 Alas ! I feel those fond day-dreams are o'er, 
 That wont, in hues more glorious, to array 
 Each coming season, than the past ere wore, 
 And ever pictured Life's untrodden way — 
 A star-sown path of bliss where angel feet might stray. 
 
 ii. 
 
 As toils the eager traveller still to gain 
 Each height successive that may bar his view, 
 And fancies that attained, some fairy scene, 
 Gay as glad Nature's pencil ever drew,
 
 37 
 
 Shall wake his soul to raptures wild and new. 
 Thus buoyant has my youth erewhile pursued 
 The upward path of Time — aye deeming true 
 The honied tale Hope told of future good — 
 But breaks the spell apace, no more to be renewed ! 
 
 in. 
 
 Thus far on Life's ascent, 'tis meet to know 
 The same that still hath been, again shall be ; 
 Sunshine and shower, and blended joy and woe, 
 Sum of three score and ten the history. 
 To-morrow's good or ill is not for thee, 
 Frail anxious being ! turn thee to the past 
 And con its fruitful page — or present, see 
 What lesson suits thee most— for fleeting fast 
 And faster seems each hour than did the last. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But selfish dreams and musings chill apart ! 
 What glories, Time, ma/st thou not yet reveal
 
 38 
 
 To mortal sense ! and who that owns a heart 
 Its feeblest pulse a throb for human weal, 
 May read thy last year's record, and not feel 
 A prouder lot awaits degraded man ? 
 That, prone no longer 'neath the despot's heel, 
 Godlike erect, he'll prove what freeman can, 
 And scorn his banded foes, in field or full divan ? 
 
 v. 
 
 And France ! thrice blessed France ! the meed be 
 
 thine, 
 If justice, truth, and mercy yet shall wave 
 O'er the wide world their Tricolor benign, 
 And all be man that sickened to be slave, 
 And each enjoy what God and Nature gave. 
 Yes, land of promise ! the glad bow of Hope 
 First spanned thy plains to cheer earth's trampled 
 
 brave, 
 And twice thou, like the fabled bird, didst ope 
 Thy bosom's veins, that right with ruffian rule might cope.
 
 39 
 
 VI. 
 
 Fair Belgium, too, to story not unknown, 
 And chivalrous eraprize in ancient clays, 
 How brighter now the halo round thee thrown ! 
 How fondlier fixed on thee the patriot's gaze ! 
 Oh, may the olive with thy hard-earned bays 
 Be evermore entwined ! and ne'er again 
 Let stranger lance or lip audacious raise 
 Its arbitration insolent, to rein 
 Thy firm self-guiding will, that brooks not ai hain. 
 
 VII. 
 
 What else of prowess or of promise yet 
 Greets the reverted eye, afar or near ? 
 Thee, O Sarmatia ! can the muse forget ? 
 High-souled, unfriended land ! her briniest tear 
 Has flowed for thee. Just Heaven, her prayer hear ! 
 Now that, unquelled, thine ancient spirit wakes, 
 To man — to God — be thy deliverance clear ! 
 Thine be the fight each Freeman's blade partakes, 
 Till brute barbarian might in nerveless panic quakes.
 
 40 
 
 SONG. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF FOUQUE. 
 
 " Mir gefallt ein blondes Haar." 
 
 Be mine, be mine the bright-haired maid, 
 Whose brow beams white through ringlet-shade, 
 Whose sparkling eyes of azure seem 
 Twin stars, from crystal spheres that beam, 
 Whose teeth of pearly purity 
 'Twixt reefs of living coral lie, 
 And voice whose magic tone to me 
 Is more than mortal minstrelsy ! 
 
 Be mine, be mine the airy sprite 
 In gossamer and gold bedight, 
 Small twinkling feet, the gaze of all, 
 While tripping o'er the festal hall.
 
 41 
 
 Mine be the maiden, kind and true, 
 Deceitful wile that never knew. 
 Oh, bright-haired maid, be mine, be mine, 
 Since heaven itself is — being thine !
 
 42 
 
 ELEGY FROM ARIOSTO. 
 
 O qual tu sia nel Cielo, a cui concesso 
 A la pieta infinta, chc rilievi 
 Qualunque vedi ingiustamente oppresso. 
 
 On ! thou, whate'er thy name in Heaven, to whom 
 
 Infinite love the ministry assigns 
 
 Of solacing the guiltless sufferer's doom ! 
 
 If, gracious to my prayer, thine ear inclines : 
 
 Oh ! suffer not this fever fierce to bear 
 
 From earth away its all that loveliest shines ! 
 
 Alas ! already since Madonna dear 
 
 The sick couch pressed, twice hath the peaceful moon 
 
 Paled and again renewed her radiance fair. 
 
 While fades that hue so delicate (the boon 
 
 Of her — the Goddess born of ocean's foam) 
 
 Upon its ivory pale — while dim at noon
 
 43 
 
 Grow those bright eyes where Love, as he did come 
 
 To gaze, his plumes so scorched— his wings curtailed, 
 
 That thence again he never more could roam. 
 
 The sight so moves my soul, I've oft bewailed, 
 
 And marvelled Heaven its mercy should withhold. 
 
 Why should she suffer ? where hath e'er prevailed 
 
 The usage, human or divine, that told 
 
 The innocent to suffering doomed shall be ? 
 
 And innocent Madonna dear I hold 
 
 Of fault, save one — her ever shunning me 
 
 More than was meet, nor yielding to my love. 
 
 But if / blame not, others have no plea ; 
 
 If I, the offended, pardon nor reprove, 
 
 Unjust is he who would avenge my wrong. 
 
 As much as I her creditor behove 
 
 To be, for faithful service rendered long, 
 
 So much do I now cheerfully forego, 
 
 Nor for my many sufferings shall my tongue 
 
 Ask aught of recompense, save that each throe 
 
 For her endured, I might endure again
 
 44 
 
 A thousand fold. And, oh ! if here below, 
 Man ere, that he another's life might save, 
 Gladly his own laid down — as Curtius, he 
 Who mid the blazing flames did leap amain, 
 Or they who Rome from terror once set free— 
 Decius, the son and sire of the same name, 
 On their own shoulders bore its penalty. 
 Oh ! grant, eternal sire ! the boon I claim ! 
 Mine be't to wither — let my loved one bloom, 
 Gay be her hours, and mine her aching frame ! 
 And (vain tho' augury) were death the doom, 
 I raise my hands to Heaven, and thee implore, 
 That I for her now sink into the tomb. 
 Albeit the choice, to Thessaly's king of yore, 
 And to a Gracchus given, may ne'er be mine, 
 Yet well I feel within my bosom's core, 
 How — such my lot — my spirit would incline. 
 Alike should be my fate to his who sought 
 His life for fair Cornelia's to resign. 
 But, cruel Admetus, I loathe the thought
 
 45 
 
 Of thy far different dealing, that would give 
 Consent, a blooming faithful spouse were brought 
 To suffer death, that thou shouldst meanly live !
 
 \h 
 
 HEBREW MELODY. 
 THE FINDING OF MOSES. 
 
 The far-stretching Nile a pure chrysolite seems, 
 And bright is the Heaven from his bosom that beams, 
 But ne'er hath his billows reflected before 
 A form so divine as approaches his shore. 
 
 Like the star that first gems the still brow of the night, 
 She comes, and her maidens are lost in her light — 
 Like that star gliding down to the slumbering wave, 
 She hastens her pearly-pure bosom to lave. 
 
 But, daughter of Pharaoh ! the pride of the land ! 
 What spell now arrests thy fleet foot in the sand ? 
 Why bends thy keen eye on the flags spreading yonder ? 
 Why cluster, ye damsels, in silence around her ? 
 
 Chills the Crocodile-God thy pure bosom with fear ? 
 Or is crocodile-man with his wiles lurking near ?
 
 47 
 
 No — staid is thy footstep, and staid is thine eye, 
 But of danger ye dream not — no danger is nigh. 
 
 'Tis yon garlanded skiff, by the brink of the stream, 
 Like the cloud-built armada of day's dying beam, 
 Like the fairy-fraught car o'er the moonbeam that 
 
 strays, 
 Has fluttered her bosom and fettered her gaze. 
 
 And her maidens have sped with the fleetness of thought, 
 And the trophy, triumphant, before her have brought ; 
 'Tis of bulrushes built, and betokens an art 
 That nature inspires in the fond mother's heart. 
 
 So goodly the casket ! oh ! who may divine 
 
 The price of the jewel that's treasured within ? 
 
 'Tis display'd — a sweet babe, while she looks, looks 
 
 again, 
 And the innocent wept, and he wept not in vain.
 
 48 
 
 LINES 
 
 FROM THE SPANISH OF GONZALE DI BERCEO. 
 
 It felle upon ane tyme as I, Gonzale di Berceo hight, 
 Wals wendynge on my wearye wayes in pilgrimme 
 
 guyse ydight, 
 Y' I espyde ane fayne grene meid with lustye flowrs 
 
 ycladde, 
 Ane sicht, I trow, y l wele mot make ane heavye hert 
 
 richt gladde. 
 
 Y e littell flouries everichone of parfum redolente, 
 Yieldit grit pleasannce to y e sicht, an' to y e herte content ; 
 On everich syde clere chrystal fountes, in streams were 
 
 welland out, 
 Quhois waters mylde in winter wer, an cule in symmer's 
 
 droughte.
 
 49 
 
 Y e meid enamelit sae fayre an than y e odoure swete, 
 An' y e shadowes of grit trees y l made ane shelter mylde 
 
 and meet ; 
 Solacit me y l I forgat my grieffes an' travaille sore — 
 Och! mid soche balmy fragrancie mot ane manne live 
 evermor. 
 
 Ane haunte off soche delyte to se 'twas ne'er my lot I 
 
 wis, 
 With odours saft an savorie, and shades sua cule as this. 
 My cloke I cast asyde, intente to loll luxouriuslie 
 Upon y e grassie velvet, neath ane goodlie spredand tree. 
 
 An' there, as I wals lyinge, my cares did al forleit, 
 For dy vers birddes wer carolynge in armonie most swete ; 
 No instromente of manne's engyne mot mate that me- 
 
 lodie — 
 Soche dulce concorde no never wals y e werke o' hu- 
 
 manitye.
 
 50 
 
 And men an' birddes, als manie as hither chauncit straye, 
 Toke of y e flours als manie als they mot take away ; 
 Bot never off that meid coulde they spulzie y e glore or 
 
 sheen, 
 For evir anone sprange thre or four for one y* pluckit 
 
 had bene.
 
 51 
 
 ODE TO IMMORTALITY. 
 
 FROM THE FRENCH OF DELILLE. 
 
 From whence the tumult of this anxious breast ? 
 
 Vain the transition ever 
 From dalliance to travail, toil to rest, 
 Shadows of ills to be, my path molest, 
 And mortal loathings cease to haunt me never. 
 
 Come, Pleasure ! in thy gladsome gay attire, 
 Garland my brow and string anew. my lyre ! 
 Loves ! Graces ! all your laughing train be here ! 
 
 Breathe balmy odours round 
 
 This consecrated ground, 
 And let the golden goblet's purple beam appear ! 
 
 But hold ! the rose's hue is gone, 
 
 The incense on the breeze no more —
 
 52 
 
 My lyre forgets its lofty tone, 
 And on my vitals feed the brood that fed before J 
 
 Away to Glory's field 
 Undaunted next I go — 
 The Laurel on the brow 
 My heart may solace yield. 
 On, on, the charge is sounding, 
 Helms are glancing, coursers bounding, 
 Lances shivering, thunders muttering, 
 Groans and shouts commingled uttering, 
 Seas of gore and hills of slain — 
 Ah ! my heart revolts again, 
 And Pity's plaintive wail subdues my maddened brain. 
 
 Of calmer mein and accent soft, 
 Now, nobly daring, cruel oft, 
 
 Ambition points the way — 
 Great Lord of earth and ocean grown. 
 A subject world I claim my own, 
 
 Myself I cannot sway —
 
 53 
 
 Still panting after coming good, 
 
 Still loathing that once most pursued— 
 
 Still onward, onward bent, 
 Ne'er stoops the immortal spirit's wing 
 To level of created thing, 
 Nor swerves its stedfast eye, on Heaven's far goal intent. 
 
 When falls the dying sage 
 
 Beneath the eternal fiat all obey, 
 
 He hears the Everlasting say — 
 'Tis mine Eternity's anterior age — 
 Eternity to come, for thee, unrolls her page- 
 Eternity divisible ! begone 
 The thought profane — 'tis an unbroken One, 
 And by Omnipotence combined in thee — 
 
 Thee in himself the Lord most high 
 
 Did from unfathom'd time descry, 
 And all the floating forms of things about to be. 
 
 Stain not the glory then 
 Of thv celestial birth — ■
 
 54 
 
 It bids thee spurn the grosser chain 
 That binds thee down to earth. 
 
 How dwindled to the eye of Him 
 Who downward looks from heaven 
 
 This boasted world of ours would seem- 
 A clod to reptiles given ! 
 
 Sublime Ambition, what were she ? 
 
 Her strivings thus beheld, 
 What but the noteless rivalry 
 
 Of insects of the field ? 
 The winged bustler of an hour, 
 
 The conqueror of a blade of grass, 
 Or fast-decaying flower ? 
 
 All, Ignorance colossal deemed, 
 All, Vanity most fair esteemed — 
 What are they to His eye,
 
 55 
 
 Who scans them from the awful heights 
 
 Of immortality ? 
 'Tis this — the source of lofty thought — 
 
 The hope to live again— 
 (Than all the schemes dull pride hath wrought, 
 
 Earth's balance to maintain, 
 Efficient more) — 'tis this plucks sorrow's sting, 
 
 Robs pleasure of her witching wiles — 
 
 Our passing tears — our passing smiles — 
 Our claims all equalling— 
 This to man's soul a wing hath given 
 To dart from earth below, to heaven. 
 
 Sees he, or will he deign again 
 
 To note if earth or ocean be ? 
 If sunbeam gild the smiling plain, 
 
 Or thunder rend heaven's canopy ? 
 If hero, noble, potentate, be found ? 
 If peace solace, or war's red faulchion wound ? 
 If fortune gives or takes, in her capricious round ?
 
 56 
 
 Ah ! who from mountain's lofty brow 
 
 Beholds the Nile majestic sweep 
 
 His m 'lderness of waters deep, 
 Will turn his eye to mark below 
 The murmuring brooklet's feeble flow ? 
 
 Mortal ! be still ! vain grandeur, boast no more ! 
 Power, powerlessness, obscurity, renown, 
 The scholar vain, the vacant clown — 
 
 Distinctions all, save reverence to the righteous power, 
 Save crime and innocence, are o'er — 
 
 A dread hereafter to frail man displayed, 
 
 Shows the false forms of things in truth arrayed, 
 And levels with the herd the high-aspiring head ? 
 
 Thus, hill and dale a level plain, 
 
 And continents a speck, become 
 To him who views the subject seen 
 From the Appenines' eternal cloud-capt dome !
 
 57 
 
 Ah ! could we deem the quenchless flame 
 
 That fired Promethean Homer's soul, 
 And bade the Scipios seek a name 
 
 Renowned to glory's farthest goal, 
 A wild chimera of the brain — 
 
 The fiction of a feverish pride : 
 Why back recoils the spirit, fain 
 To shun the dreary shore of blank Oblivion's tide ? 
 
 Why in this tenement of clay 
 Dares it to dream of bowers whose bloom 
 
 Shall never know decay ? 
 
 'Tis no delusive scheme ! 
 
 This sentiment sublime — 
 
 The antidote of crime — 
 The nurse of virtue and her theme 
 Is graven on the soul by her Supreme ! 
 
 Friend of the righteous one — 
 The evil-doer's bane — 
 
 H
 
 58 
 
 Destined unshaken to remain 
 For ever on her throne — 
 Benignant Immortality 
 Defends the good gainst blasting Time, 
 And mocks the fearful hope of crime- 
 Death everlastingly. 
 
 Oppressors vile ! 
 
 Usurp Olympus' thunder ! never 
 Your vengeance slack, but know the while 
 
 And tremble — ye shall live for ever ! 
 
 But you, sojourners in this vale of tears, 
 
 Ye passing pilgrims to a better land, 
 Mourn not ! subdue your fears, 
 Your God, your father, all your groanings hears — 
 Ye, too, shall live eternally — 
 Shall live at his right hand.
 
 59 
 
 What heart this anxious longing never knew ? 
 
 Alike by hope and terror driven ; 
 Man fondly dreams to live anew 
 
 In death's dark chambers even — 
 A yawning grave is at his feet, 
 
 He hides his head in heaven ! 
 The pyramid that props the sky 
 Bears to the Eternal's throne on high 
 The corse's swollen ambition. 
 
 His name's consigned to faithless brass, 
 
 But all these bootless aims, alas ! 
 Proclaim his inanition, 
 Yet tell of mortal aims to rise 
 
 To realms immortal in the skies. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Alone beloved, alone admired, 
 'Tis yours, my rivals, to prepare 
 Immortal monuments, and wear 
 The wreath to which your virtuous muse aspired.
 
 60 
 
 Thus doubly privileged, your brow receives 
 
 The crown divine yourselves have weaved — 
 So Homer, while his altars dim the skies, 
 Partakes the honour of the sacrifice. 
 
 If haply, in a thoughtless hour, 
 
 Your muse hath deigned to bow to power, 
 
 How oft, how oft again, 
 Her voice sublime — for law inspired 
 Becoming awe — the patriot fired 
 
 To burst th' oppressor's chain — 
 From rank to rank the martial minstrel flew, 
 
 Goading the youth to glory on — 
 Tyrtaeus woke fires wild and new, 
 
 Till then to Mars' rough soid unknown ; 
 And Alceus' thunders yet pursue 
 The tyrant on his throne ! 
 Tyrants ! oh, how I loathe th' inglorious name ! 
 My curse pursued their car from childhood's hour- 
 My veriest infancy bt mocked their power — 
 Where Caesar sat in state, Cato had been mv theme !
 
 Gl 
 
 And wherefore fear 
 
 A lawless ruler's rage ? 
 Another country 's near, 
 
 Another and a better age ! 
 When prostrate lay the world, 
 
 Great Cato stood alone, 
 And heard, unmoved, the tempest hurl'd, 
 
 Fearing, heeding none ! 
 A poniard here— there Plato's page— 
 These flout the chain, the tyrant's will, 
 And leave him free and fearless still : 
 That tells him death shall crown his vow, 
 This life which ne'er shall limit know. 
 To Tyber's lord bend every knee ! 
 
 Yon soul triumphant enters Heaven's portal 
 Know, Tyrant ! he is free — 
 Know, Death ! he is immortal. 
 
 Hence, bear that honoured clay 
 To the sepulchral urn,
 
 62 
 
 Where all his fathers point the way — 
 Pharsalia's conqueror's conqueror, 
 
 'Tis he by you is borne ! 
 Great Caesar all in vain 
 Leads onward his triumphant train ; 
 The people, yet one moment free, 
 Gather around that fatal tomb, 
 Weeping the hallowed memory 
 Of him, the noblest son of Rome ; 
 And Victory's car grows jealous of the bier — 
 Cato must triumph now, and Caasar disappear ! 
 
 Oh ye, round whom my spirit fondly clings, 
 
 Shall we, shall we part for ever ? 
 No ! — Life's doubtful dawning brings 
 A glorious day, declining never ; 
 And we shall meet again — shall meet, no more to sever !
 
 63 
 
 PARODY 
 
 ON LINES BY VEDDER — " 'TIS RAPTURE TO WANDER AT 
 CLOSING OF DAY." 
 
 'Tis rapture to hit on an excellent rhyme, 
 When the streamlet of fancy is flowing and free, 
 Making thought and expression in harmony chime, 
 While happy in choosing a subject you be ! 
 
 When stanza on stanza successively comes, 
 And an embryo thought is grown up to a song, 
 'Tis rapture to meet with a crony who hums 
 The heart-soothing strain as you wander along ! 
 
 When revised and corrected, it modestly beams 
 From post, virgin pure, and begilded around — 
 'Tis rapture to meet with a critic who deems 
 It worthy to live, and unites it with sound !
 
 64 
 
 But the rapture akin to celestial feeling — 
 
 The last that is left us of unalloyed bliss — 
 
 Is when harp, flute, and voice, to its sweet numbers 
 
 pealing, 
 You answer, if asked " Is it yours, sir ?" — " Oh yes !"
 
 65 
 
 KIND ROBIN. 
 
 I. 
 Kind to a' was my Robin, an' kind kind to me, 
 And weel was he thought o', an' weel he mot be ; 
 And tho* it be lang sin' he gaed to his rest, 
 Yet his image is bright, an' will be, in this breast. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Oh ! could I e'er forget him — forget the blythe night 
 He cam' first to my father's, sae trig and sae tight ; 
 How he jokit wi' a', but just lookit at me — 
 An' oh ! sic a look — sic a love-fraughtit e'e ! 
 
 in. 
 
 Aye, an' that blest day when he made me his ain, 
 Or to laugh or to greet whilk I didna weel ken, 
 I faund I was happy as happy mot be, 
 
 But my heart bodit ay it had something to dree. 
 
 i
 
 66 
 
 IV. 
 
 An' whan we were kirkit, my Robin an' me, 
 The neighbours a' said " nae sic pair mot ye see.* 
 Oh ! I was o'er proudfu', my cup was o'er fu, 
 And that maks the dregs o't sae bitter enow. 
 
 Yet how daur I repine at the deed o' the Best, 
 Sin' my Robin nae doubt is the blest o' the blest — 
 Let me bear wi' the lot that's appointed me here, 
 Till I meet wi' my Robin to sinder nae mair.
 
 67 
 
 SONG. 
 
 FROM THE DUTCH OF ALBREOHT VEDER. 
 
 Come, my lads, to our posts let us gaily betake us — 
 
 'Tis fathers, and mothers, and children we guard ! 
 
 Let the Brabanters come — they shall need not to 
 
 wake us — 
 Our pride and our joy is to meet them prepared. 
 Still a-joking, a-laughing, a-drinking, a-singing, 
 We welcome the morning with mirth and good cheer ; 
 To the cause of our country and king ever clinging, 
 With swords on our thighs, men, what have we to fear ? 
 
 How joyous the thought, once again to be reaping 
 The harvest of valour oft proved in the fight ; 
 Again to our arms wives and sweethearts a-leaping, 
 With flattering, and fondling, and fluttering delight I
 
 68 
 
 How sweet to behold, o'er our fatherland flowing, 
 The bounteous blessings on peace that attend — 
 To witness her weal and contentment, well knowing 
 That all by our travels and toils have been gained !
 
 69 
 
 PENELOPE'S WEB. 
 
 FROM THE SPANISH OF IGLESIA8. 
 
 Look here and you'll see how the world moves on, 
 Still doing and doing, while nothing is done. 
 
 Elect of the People ! 
 Grave Senators ! who, 
 With the patriot zeal 
 Of a German Jew, 
 Toil for your country's good, 
 Say, by what means 
 Sage legislation 
 On turnip and beans 
 Will lighten our burdens ? 
 And why you go on 
 Still doing and doing, 
 While nothing is done ?
 
 70 
 
 Long-winded Lawyers, 
 Accustomed to weave 
 Speeches like traps set 
 Old rats to deceive, 
 Why do ye scribble still 
 Paper on paper, 
 Making your own quill 
 Damn you the deeper ? 
 Why should you ever more 
 Spin what is spun — 
 Doing and doing, 
 While nothing is done ? 
 
 Sages who figure 
 In school or in college, 
 Like bladders blown bigger 
 With wisdom and knowledge, 
 Your senseless debating 
 Why ceaseless urge, 
 Fresh murmurs creating 
 
 Like oar on the surge ?
 
 71 
 
 Why is your ending 
 Just where you begun — 
 
 Doing and doing, 
 While nothing is done ? 
 
 Rhymers satirical ! 
 Vain Poetasters ! 
 That fasten like flies to 
 The sores of your masters ; 
 W T hy do you still indite 
 Sonnets so silly, 
 With no brains in your pate 
 And no bread in your belly ? 
 Why do you fancy thus 
 Fame may be won — 
 Doing and doing, 
 While nothing is done ?
 
 72 
 
 HEBREW MELODY. 
 THE DEATH OF ELI. 
 
 Sad and alone, by Shiloh's gate, 
 
 The time-worn priest is sitting, 
 The dark and the ominous shadows of fate 
 
 O'er his quivering features flitting. 
 
 Loosely o'er him the ephod is spread, 
 
 Dim is his breastplate gleaming, 
 And the snowy fleece of his mitreless head 
 
 On the evening wind is streaming. 
 
 The last hope of Israel — the Ark of the Lord — 
 To a struggling remnant they bear it ; 
 
 His step may not follow — 'twere bootless his sword— 
 But his spirit is hovering near it.
 
 73 
 
 'Tis hovering over the busy field, 
 Where the doubtful die is turning — 
 
 If Abraham's seed to the heathen shall yield, 
 Jehovah his chosen spurning ! 
 
 Now sickens his soul at the mortal thought, 
 Their God may have ceased to deliver ! — 
 
 Now fondly he ponders the mercies wrought 
 At Jericho — Jordan's river. 
 
 Sudden he starts — an appalling hum, 
 Like the earthquake's voice far rolling, 
 
 From Shiloh's homes to his ear hath come, 
 The knell of ruin tolling ; 
 
 And a breathless messenger, bloody and pale, 
 In sackcloth and dust is before him : 
 
 'Tis enough — enough is the half-uttered tal 
 Young Samuel's vision comes o'er him.
 
 74 
 
 His children— ah, too well beloved ! — they lie low ! 
 
 Yet mute to the stroke hath he bended ; 
 But he hears that the Ark is the spoil of the foe, 
 
 And his corse on the sod is extended !
 
 75 
 
 WOOED AND MARRIED AN" A'. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE. 
 
 I have loved — but I now shall love on till the grave — 
 I once was the servant, now am I the slave ; 
 
 I once was the servant of all — 
 In the chains of a charmer, now fettered yet free, 
 Who serves me in all things, for favour, for fee, 
 
 None other my heart may enthral. 
 
 I had faith — but my faith is now steadfast and sound — 
 And be it more simple, or darkly profound, 
 
 I stand by the orthodox creed ; 
 All gloomy and dread as it wont to appear, 
 With its numberless needs, and its dangers so near, 
 
 'Tis now greatly clearer indeed. 
 
 I've feasted — but now is my appetite good, 
 To sweetest solace, and with mirthfullest mood 
 I turn from the table unheeding.
 
 76 
 
 Let younkers go glut them, then riot and rove, 
 My delight is to loll at the banquet of Love, 
 To sip and to smack is my feeding. 
 
 I've caroused — now with relish unwonted I drink — 
 Wine wakes us and makes us all kings while we wink — 
 
 E'en the tongue of the slave it sets free. 
 Then round in a life-stirring stream let it flow, 
 While the oldest and best in the butt 's ebbing low 
 
 The new growing older must be ! 
 
 Then fill up amain — to repining good night ! 
 None e'er plucked the rose, though all blooming and 
 bright, 
 
 That got not the thorn for his gain ; 
 As by night so by day do the stars twinkle on, 
 Each dull drowsy sot from our presence begone ! 
 
 Let us live, and live life o'er again !
 
 77 
 
 HEBREW MELODY. 
 SAMSON'S REVENGE. 
 
 The vaunting Philistine, 
 
 Delivered from his foe, 
 At Dagon's godless shrine 
 
 Bids the libation flow. 
 
 No noble-born to-night 
 
 Forbears the brimming cup — 
 By eyes of beauty bright 
 
 The banquet 's lighted up. 
 
 All wanton in their glee, 
 
 " Where is the chief," they cry, 
 " The eyeless one, that he 
 
 May merriment supply ?"
 
 78 
 
 The shaven hero came, 
 
 Led on at their command — 
 
 His blood by slavery tame, 
 And impotent his hand. 
 
 Oh, lamentable sight ! 
 
 He — Israel's succour born — 
 The predicted Nazarite, 
 
 A Heathen rabble's scorn ! 
 
 With a column in each hand, 
 That props the lofty pile, 
 
 See the writhing victim stand, 
 Recruiting him the while ! 
 
 What feat, embruted crew ! 
 
 Shall next awake the shout ? 
 Ah ! they of Lehi knew 
 
 How that arm was stretched out.
 
 79 
 
 And ye shall know again — 
 He bends his bulky form, 
 
 And the massive pillars twain 
 Seem like osiers in the storm. 
 
 Down like a bursting flood 
 The headlong lumber rushed ! 
 
 The groan of death is loud — 
 Their revelry is hushed !
 
 so 
 
 TO LORD BYRON. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE. 
 I. 
 
 Some kindly greeting ever and anon 
 From the far south falls grateful on mine ear, 
 And calls me hence to " Haroldc," wandering lone, 
 Nor calls in vain, though fixed my footstep here. 
 
 ii. 
 
 And how shall I to him, with whom so long 
 I've journeyed, now some cheering truth impart — 
 To him who, with himself in warfare strong, 
 Has striven to still a deeply- wounded heart ? 
 
 in. 
 
 Oh, that he but himself could comprehend ! 
 No vulgar bliss his bosom then would own — 
 Oh, that the muse her soothing power would lend, 
 And he himself should know, as he to me is known !
 
 81 
 
 FABLE. 
 
 FROM THE SPANISH OF SAMANIF.GO. 
 
 Once on a time a plague befel 
 
 The beasts on mountain, hill, and vale, 
 
 And raged and ravaged in such shape 
 
 That few the fatal scourge might scape ; 
 
 Meanwhile the Lion held his Court, 
 
 Beholding, for his royal sport, 
 
 The course — the combat — feat gymnastic — 
 
 Of savage brute and beast domestic, 
 
 Till far and wide the fields are lying 
 
 Strewed with the blended dead and dying. 
 
 The Monarch then to sorrow moved, 
 Cries, oh, my courtiers, friends beloved ! 
 Since Heaven this fearful plague has sent 
 No doubt in righteous chastisement,
 
 82 
 
 For mercy let us plead, as we 
 
 Are bound, in all humility — 
 
 And haply shall our prayers be heard, 
 
 The guilty doomed — the guiltless spared — 
 
 If he in sacrifice shall bleed 
 
 Whose crimes the crimes of all exceed ; 
 
 So then, my comrades in transgression, 
 
 Let each emit a full confession. 
 
 For me, bloodsucker that I am, 
 Fve preyed on cow, sheep, harmless lamb ; 
 And such my fierce and furious mood, 
 Fve been the dread of wild and wood. 
 
 Poh ! quoth the Fox, all this may be, 
 But, may it please your majesty ! 
 There's nought in all such seeming rudeness 
 But excess of your sovereign goodness, 
 That deigns to dip a sacred tooth, 
 Or royal claw, in blood, forsooth.
 
 83 
 
 Which scarcely would seem worth the while 
 Of even the vulgar horned canaille. 
 
 The Court in Reynard's views concurred, 
 And vowed their gracious sovereign erred, 
 Through tenderness of conscience, in 
 Regarding venial faults as sin. 
 
 The Tiger next, the Ounce and Bear, 
 Their several foul misdeeds declare, 
 But murders manifold confest 
 For nought but monkish scruples past. 
 
 Now came the Donkey's turn to own 
 The damning evils he had done, 
 And conscience-smitten doubtless, he, 
 Shamefaced as any ass might be, 
 Began in brayings hoarse to say — 
 " I must confess — one summer day 
 It chanced I through the fields did stray,
 
 84 
 
 The barley crops were fresh and fair, 
 And I was hungry — no one near — 
 Tempted I fell — I plucked an ear 1" 
 
 " An ear of barley !" with a yell, 
 Cries Reynard, " daring deed of hell ! 
 Barley ! and he a beast of burden !" 
 Enough, the indignant Court accord in 
 The faithful Fox's righteous wrath, 
 And shout nem. con. — " This monster's death 
 Alone may stay Heaven's vengeful ire, 
 Pronounce, pronounce his doom, oh Sire, 
 And be our faithful lovite here 
 The Wolf, his executioner." 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 The wretch whose drink is penny swipes, 
 If haply he shall die of gripes 
 The victim of debauch is counted, 
 A sinner justly judgment haunted ;
 
 85 
 
 But he whose ample means can bear it 
 To guzzle brandy, port, or claret, 
 No matter how deep or how often 
 He swills, the brass upon his coffin 
 Will vouch the virtuous life he led, 
 And how serenely calm he died !
 
 86 
 
 FOUR YEARS' REIGN. 
 
 FROM THE FRENCH OF BERANGER. 
 I. 
 
 The thunder to monarchs dismaying 
 
 Was muttering still overhead, 
 And a new-blazon'd shield was displaying 
 
 By a throne that in ashes was laid : 
 When forth comes a man, and they grant him 
 
 A Crown, for fair proffers and free — 
 Oh, these Kings ! for the people won't want 'em, 
 
 Though all of a kidney they be ! 
 
 ii. 
 
 " He'll follow the wonted routine, sure," 
 Quoth a Patriarch, heavy in heart — 
 
 " No, no — in misfortune he's been, sure, 
 And bore of our evils his part :
 
 87 
 
 An outlaw — yet ne'er hath he bent him 
 By the throne on a suppliant knee" — 
 
 Oh, these Kings ! for the people won't want 'em, 
 Though all of a kidney they be ! 
 
 in. 
 
 Then, silently smiling, the old man 
 
 Retired — and all over at once, 
 A tumult of transport untold ran 
 
 Through brilliant and beautiful France. 
 By the title of King as they chant him 
 
 'Twere a bedlamite banquet to see — 
 Oh, these Kings ! for the people won't want 'em, 
 
 Though all of a kidney they be I 
 
 IV. 
 
 For four little years had he sway'd 'em, 
 When stern came the old man one day — 
 
 " Well ! what makes he her now that made him ? 
 And whence your devotedness, pray ?
 
 88 
 
 The nation that cannot content 'em 
 
 Unyoked — a Lord's humour must dree — ■ 
 
 Oh, these Kings ! for the people won't want 'em, 
 Though all of a kidney they be !" 
 
 " The good old banner grows pale now, 
 
 And Liberty, weeping, hath fled, 
 Nor friend to the throne may avail now, 
 
 To flattery or fawning unbred, 
 From the hand that wrings out our last quantum 
 
 Of coin, death and dungeons get we — 
 Oh, these Kings ! for the people won't want 'em, 
 
 Though all of a kidney they be !" 
 
 VI. 
 
 " Full fleetly the fated round winds he 
 Of all that hath been, and is gone ; 
 
 And nought of the Three Days finds he, — 
 Of the people that set him up, — none.
 
 89 
 
 So the spurs in a courser they plant 'em, 
 And he speeds though a corse carries he — 
 
 Oh, these Kings ! for the people won't want 'em, 
 Though all of a kidney they be !"
 
 90 
 
 PAUL JONES. 
 
 A BALLAD. 
 
 " Crowd sail, every rag, tho' the mast, my boys, 
 
 Should bend like a Cherokee's bow ; 
 Let her bound o'er the breast of the bonnie blue Forth 
 
 As bark never bounded till now ! 
 
 " There — there — in the glare of the broad setting sun, 
 
 The laughing Lothians you see ; ' 
 And yonder the bloomy blithe fields of Fife 
 
 Are stretching far a-lee. 
 
 " Oh ! many's the gay and the goodly dome 
 
 Would lure us to either shore, 
 And many's the ruby-red lip we might sip 
 
 That ne'er had been tasted before.
 
 91 
 
 " But handsomely ! comrades ! — we hold not our course 
 
 Athwart the Atlantic wide, 
 To play off the pranks of our dastardly foe, 
 
 And to harry the happy fireside ! 
 
 " A nation's avengers ! we come but to show 
 
 That the laud of the brave and the free 
 Shall brook not oppressor — shall strike not to foe, 
 But lustily deal for each buffet a blow, 
 
 While the Bon Richard rides the salt sea !" 
 
 Thus vauntingly spake the proud Paul Jones, 
 
 As his squadron was shooting a-head, 
 O'ercrowing the scornful billows that erst 
 
 Had rolled o'er Roman dead. 
 
 And now, by the breath of a brisk south-east, 
 
 They have neared the Inch of Keith ; 
 And, like owl for her prey, thro' the twilight gray, 
 They gaze on the night-fires gleaming gay 
 
 From the shores and the shipping of Leith.
 
 92 
 
 " Huzzah ! my brave hearts," quoth the vaunty chief, 
 
 " The port and the prize are won ; 
 Yet here shall we ride ere floods the tide, 
 
 And the first gay glance of the sun 
 King Arthur bold to your sight shall unfold, 
 In his mantle of green and his circlet of gold. 
 
 " Our first hour's work be then, my boys, 
 
 Yon scurvy craft to seize, 
 That, lumbering there, may weakly ween 
 
 We may not scour these seas. 
 
 " That done, a goodly ransom remains 
 
 For yon proud port to pay ; 
 Or swyth ! amid its forest of masts 
 
 Our forked fires shall play, 
 And its well-crammed stores, and its lordly towers, 
 
 In smoking ashes we'll lay." 
 
 Thus vauntingly spake the fierce Paul Jones, 
 And his Yankee crew grew vain,
 
 93 
 
 And thought of the spoil and the spunk they should brag, 
 When snug by their firesides again. 
 
 But tidings have come to the ancient good town, 
 
 That the Yankee foe is at hand, 
 And mariner, merchant, and craftsman stern 
 
 Are mustering thick on the strand, 
 And batteries are bristled for ready salute, 
 
 Should the rash riever dare but to land. 
 
 Yet bootless their bustle, their batteries fell, 
 
 Though foe might face them none ; 
 For in engine of death, nor in arm of flesh, 
 
 Was resting their succour alone. 
 
 But there wonned on the coast of Fife, a man, 
 
 Ane holy man, I ween ; 
 From youth to eld had he " fought the good fight, ' 
 
 With spiritual weapons keen, 
 And though long he had looked for the better countrie } 
 
 Aye dear had his native land been.
 
 94 
 
 With aching heart and an anxious eye 
 He had marked the Pirates' career ; 
 
 While matron's, and maiden's, and baby's cry 
 Fell wildly on his ear. 
 
 Stout hearts he saw smote with sad dismay, 
 
 And hieing in haste to the hills away. 
 
 But long ere the sun had left the deep, 
 
 This reverend patriarch hoar, 
 Like Him whose right hand the Red Sea cleft, 
 
 Stood calm on his native shore ; 
 And his faith in his King and his country's stay 
 
 Waxed stedfast more and more. 
 
 And soon as he spied the Yankees bold 
 
 Their anchors 'gin to weigh, 
 He kneel'd him down upon the sands, 
 And he stretched to high heaven his clasped hands, 
 
 And the prayer of faith did he pray.
 
 95 
 
 And meikle avail, as holy books tell, 
 
 The righteous' prayer, I trow ; 
 For about wheel'd the wind in the Rovers' teeth, 
 
 And boisterously it blew ; 
 And about wheel'd the craft of the crouse Paul Jones 
 
 Like the thistle's beard on the breeze ; 
 And away they rush, as destruction's brush 
 
 Were sweeping them from the seas. 
 
 Bon Richard and Pallas, Revenge and the rest, 
 
 They are by the Bass in a twink ; 
 And may every foe this ditty con 
 
 Who to trouble these shores may think,
 
 96 
 
 THE IDOL SACRIFICE. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF DE LA MOTTE FOUQUE. 
 I. 
 
 The moon like blood, 
 
 And the welkin dun — 
 
 'Tis an hour right good, 
 
 So away we run 
 
 To the altar adown the dell ! 
 
 The victim struggles, 
 
 The blood-god oggles, 
 
 Loud, loud, let the chorus swell ! 
 
 ii. 
 
 What darkly dwells 
 In its throne of shade, 
 And ofttimes thrills 
 Our souls with dread ?
 
 97 
 
 though to name it we may not know- 
 Of it are we thralls, 
 For it the steer falls, 
 And our altar-fires fiercely glow. 
 
 in. 
 
 'Tis blood that atones, 
 While it gushes a-main ! 
 And these are the tones 
 That ring through our brain, 
 'Mid our dreams of mystery deep 1 
 " Flow, victim-gore ! 
 Heave, heart, once more, 
 Then cease so proudly to leap ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 In charms deep read, 
 'Mid our darksome haunt, 
 Now wan with dread 
 We hoarsely chaunt,
 
 98 
 
 And hallow our mystic feasts ; 
 
 The moon alone 
 
 May dare look on, 
 
 And the owl and his night-black guests. 
 
 v. 
 
 In the east up shoot 
 
 The streamers of day, 
 
 Now be the song mute, 
 
 And hie ye away ; 
 
 For, if ancient tales be true, 
 
 The nightly deed 
 
 Will laggingly speed, 
 
 When the day-beam bursts in view.
 
 99 
 
 FABLE. 
 THE WOLF AND THE SHEPHERD. 
 
 FROM THE SPANISH OF DE IRIARTE. 
 
 " How friend," demands a certain Wolf, one day 
 In confab with a Shepherd — " how is't, pray, 
 That me you've always dreaded and abhorred ; 
 You think me bad — I am not, 'pon my word ! 
 
 « Witness the shield from winter's drizzling showers 
 My skin affords — the thousand ails it cures ; 
 Besides, you're well aware, its wearer ne'er 
 Or flea or other insect-fang need fear. 
 
 " My claws beyond the badger's much I prize, 
 That sovereign remedy for tender eyes ; 
 My tusks — you know how very useful these ; 
 And eke the healing virtues of my grease I"
 
 loo 
 
 H Avoid thee," quoth the Shepherd ; " brute accurst I 
 Heaven's vengeance on your shameless carcase burst ! 
 Since countless wrongs your tusks and claws have 
 
 wrought, 
 Your virtues at small cost were dearly bought."
 
 101 
 
 RETROSPECTIVE MUSINGS. 
 
 " Our Fathers, where are they ? and the Prophets, do they 
 live for ever?" — Zechariah. 
 
 Where are they ? where the ardent anxious race 
 Who blindly, as we now, in days of yore, 
 Spurred to its speed Life's brief and bootless chase, 
 Unweening all how soon the sport were o'er ? 
 Where he whom song or science taught to soar 
 In thought afar beyond ignoble ken ? 
 The plumed warrior where ? and .he who bore 
 The palm for wit or worth 'mong humbler men — 
 Where, where are all that were, that ne'er shall be again ? 
 
 Where is the guileless, gleesome boy, with whom 
 We gaily sported in life's morning beam, 
 And deck'd our bonnets in the daisy's bloom, 
 Or lured the minnow from its silvery stream,
 
 102 
 
 Or blent the generous tear o'er sorrow's theme, 
 While yet no sorrows of our own we knew, 
 Or feared to know ? Alas, his boyhood's dream 
 Was bright, but transient as yon rainbow's hue ; 
 And few can now recal such blossom ever grew. 
 
 Where is our youth's — our manhood's stedfast friend ? 
 He who beheld unmask'd our inmost soul, 
 And own'd in weal or woe congenial mind, 
 With whom, in sweet communion, oft we stole 
 From vulgar stir away, nor deemed the roll 
 Of seasons — of eternity could chill 
 Our bosom's deep devotion, or control 
 The equal current of our mutual will — 
 Where is he ? gone — sad word ! forgotten — sadder 
 still ! 
 
 Where is the blessed group whose love-fraught eyes 
 Were wont to light the dear domestic hearth —
 
 103 
 
 That hallow'd centre of Life's holiest ties — 
 The heaven that sheds its balmiest dews on earth — 
 Where are ye, sister ? brother ? whence the dearth 
 Of kindly words ye never lacked before ? 
 Where art thou, mother ? thou who gav'st me birth 
 And blest my being. Ah, 'twere vain t' implore 
 The blessing oft bestow'd — to be bestow'd no more. 
 
 What else can Fate ? Of more than life bereft, 
 At home a stranger, and 'mid crowds alone — 
 Ah, me ! are there of earth-born joys yet left 
 To guide, to gladden, or to cheer me on 
 My brief, reluctant, joyless journey — none ! 
 No, earth has nought to salve my spirit's ail, 
 Yet here, all friendless, let me lean on one — 
 The Friend on high who hears the mourners wail, 
 And wooes him to the land where woes no more 
 assail.
 
 104 
 
 LIKE TO LIKE. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE. 
 
 A little Bluobell 
 Peep'd up from the ground, 
 And soon spread its blossoms 
 Of beauty around. 
 
 A little Bee came 
 And rcvell'd therein — 
 The two for each other 
 Were fashion'd, I ween.
 
 105 
 
 BALLAD. 
 THE VOICE FROM THE GRAVE. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF FOUQUE. 
 
 'Twas the dead hour of night, and the pale moonlight 
 Was gleaming by fits through the gloom, 
 Far 'mid the lone hills, two young sentinels 
 Kept watch o'er their father's tomb. 
 
 Dumb, moveless they stood, in pensive mood, 
 As they leant on their lofty spears, 
 Till the deep silence broke, and thus they spoke, 
 Yet spoke in no mortal ears : — 
 
 " Say, brother true, what think'st thou now ? 
 Can sooth be the herdsman's word — 
 That the voice of mirth from the cold damp earth 
 Of our father's grave was heard ?
 
 106 
 
 " Methinks but ill may clamour dwell 
 In the chambers of the dead ; 
 Or the unblest sound of joy be found 
 In the cold and narrow bed." 
 
 " Well, brother, well, your words do tett 
 My bosom's thoughts the while ; 
 Ne'er mortal tongue might waken song 
 Where the day-beam may not smile. 
 
 " Nor fitting seem the torches' gleam 
 Where dead men slumbering lie ; 
 'Tis said the light to the death-set sight 
 Is fearful agony." 
 
 " Right, brother, I trow, right speakest thou, 
 How bright was the course he ran ! 
 So gladsome, so good, ne'er happier mood 
 Ennobled the being of man !
 
 107 
 
 " And sad, sad be the Fates' decree, 
 That none his doom may waive, 
 But good and bad, without remead, 
 Alike must go down to the grave I" 
 
 Scarce fell from his lips the murmuring word, 
 When lo ! the other cries, 
 
 " See, see, there is stir, 'neath the cold turf there, 
 On the mansion's deep where he lies." 
 
 And up shoots the head of the Royal one, 
 And gaily he gazes around and around, 
 Of a merrier mien or a fairer, none 
 'Mong living men e'er was found. 
 
 He sat in the grave — for a table his shield, 
 
 On each corner a flambeau was bright ; 
 
 And away flew the clouds from the labouring moon, 
 
 And broadly she shone on the Knight.
 
 108 
 
 And there was he seen, 'mid the glimmering sheen, 
 As he carolled so blythe and so gay, 
 For never before in mortal life 
 He chaunted so joyous a lay. 
 
 His battle-brand he waved in his hand, 
 
 And still he sung and he said, 
 
 " A father there was, who, in honour's bright cause, 
 
 For his children — his country, bled ; 
 
 And melody swells and light still dwells 
 
 Where he lives, in the land of shade." 
 
 And still he said and still he sung, 
 
 " Woe, woe to the wight who fears — 
 
 Woe, woe to the wight, who thinks of flight, 
 
 In his saddle grows pale when the mustering fight 
 
 On the field of glory appears." 
 
 Again all was silent and still as before, 
 Ag^in he sunk down in the tomb,
 
 109 
 
 Again was the blaze of the flambeaux no more, 
 And the Moon took her mantle of gloom. 
 
 In thoughts of wonder deep entranced 
 Long stood the brethren twain, 
 Then, breaking silence, both began 
 Thus to renew their strain : — 
 
 " O, brother dear, 'tis ours to hear, 
 And the warning vision obey, 
 Since valour's blade above was made 
 Through legions to furrow its way. 
 
 " Bright, bright be its flame, as the light of fame 
 In the stripling warrior's heart, 
 Then death at last, when his toils are past, 
 Shall nameless joys impart." 
 
 Now homeward hie the youthful pair, 
 Of feats of glory dreaming —
 
 110 
 
 Aloud they sing, aloft they fling 
 Their shields and spearstaffs gleaming. 
 
 And they've journey'd afar to a foreign shore, 
 And their brows with the laurel are bound, 
 Since they heard from the dusky land of shade 
 The merry song resound.
 
 Ill 
 
 VASHTI'S DISGRACE. 
 
 Th Imperial Persian — 'neath whose nod, 
 
 From Ethiop's to India's river, 
 Full many a nerveless nation bow'd, 
 
 Nor from them sought his yoke to sever— 
 
 Hath said — and, at his high behest, 
 For son and sire in Shushan dwelling, 
 
 A thousand hands prepare the feast, 
 
 The hum of gathering thousands swelling. 
 
 Within the royal garden fair, 
 
 In dazzling sheen, the wide pavilion, 
 
 Like rainbow, spans the lofty air ; 
 Whilst gleaming azure, jet, vermilion,
 
 112 
 
 Marble the variegated floor, 
 
 With gold and silver couches studded ; 
 And Satrap soft and Eunuch hoar 
 
 Are 'neath the gay festoonings crowded. 
 
 And there in all the pomp of power 
 
 Great Ahasuerus high is seated ; 
 And still, from morn to midnight hour, 
 
 The jest, the joyous draught 's repeated. 
 
 In song and shout, and madness all, 
 
 Sovereign and slave their ravings blending— 
 
 Nor royal eye may now appal, 
 
 Nor supple knees, as wont, are bending. 
 
 " But, hark ye, chamberlains, away ! 
 
 Swift to your royal mistress tender 
 His sovereign will, whom all obey, 
 
 Here blaze full-orb'd her beauty's splendour !
 
 113 
 
 " For not in all these boasted bow'rs 
 
 The zephyr-breath of Heaven perfuming- 
 
 Not in this bright-eyed land of ours 
 Is asphodel like Vashti blooming. 
 
 " 'Tis yours, my lords ! the boon to-night 
 To sun ye in her glance ethereal ; 
 
 'Tis yours to own — ne'er gem so bright 
 Its halo lent to crown imperial." 
 
 Ah, woman ! seemly mate for him 
 But little less than angel reckon'd, 
 
 How sullied oft thy beauty's beam, 
 
 Too rashly bright, when folly beckon'd S 
 
 But Persia's Queen transcends the praise 
 That despot lip may ever utter ; 
 
 And shall she brook their idle gaze ? 
 Or list while bacchanalians flatter ?
 
 114 
 
 Shall female loveliness and grace — 
 The hallow'd shrine to virtue given — 
 
 Become the unholy altar-place 
 
 Where lust's foul incense darkens Heaven ? 
 
 Perish the thought ! — though Persia's Lord 
 
 With Arimanes dark united 
 T' enjoin observance of his word, 
 
 Vashti should slight it as she 's slighted. 
 
 But who th' all-potent Despot's power, 
 His high behests shall dare gainsay ? 
 
 Vashti hath dared — but from that hour 
 She ceases to bear regal sway.
 
 115 
 
 TO THE OCEAN 
 
 FROM THE SPANISH OF QUINTANA. 
 
 A moment thy proud billows hush to rest, 
 
 Eternal Ocean ! and to my appeal 
 
 With troublous murmur from thy bosom's depths 
 
 Respond not. Oh ! be still, and let mine eye 
 
 Wander at will athwart thy smooth expanse, 
 
 For I in fancy heard thy awful voice, 
 
 And hied me from Manzanare's poor stream 
 
 To western shores remote, that I might gaze 
 
 Upon thy glory, and meanwhile adore 
 
 Thee also, Ocean's God ! How oft my soul, 
 
 With thirst of admiration fired, disdaining 
 
 The dark, the narrow bound that hemm'd her in, 
 
 Hath thither wing'd her way where soars to heaven 
 
 Th' eternal pyramid, or climb'd anon, 
 
 Fearless, the bellowing Etna, and look'd down 
 
 Into its boiling gulfs, whence furious rush
 
 116 
 
 The lava-floods that course his snowy sides, 
 While quakes Trinacria at the fearful thunder ; — 
 But ne'er, oh sacred Ocean ! ne'er before 
 Such longing seized ray heart, as now I feel, 
 To solace me upon thine ample breast ! 
 
 And here am I at length upon thy shore, 
 While ceaselessly the boiling foam bewhitens 
 The lofty rock whereon I stand entranced 
 In fear and wonder, as the evening sun, 
 In kingly pomp attired, seeks the far west, 
 Gleaming with broken splendour from thy bosom. 
 Where is thy farthest limit ! where ! mine eyes, 
 When shall ye find it ! Thou, witli fleetest foot, 
 Still holdcst onward, while my breathless spirit, 
 Upcaught as on the north wind's rustling pinions, 
 Pursues thee to th' Equator, and from thence 
 Back to the Pole, and there exhausted sinks, 
 O'erwhelmed and lost in thine immensity ! 
 Say, wherefore wert thou made ? did Fate: ordain
 
 117 
 
 That as a zone thou shouldst embrace the earth, 
 And bid her dwell in safety ? or dost thou 
 Against her ever urge invasive war ? 
 
 Oh ! how that dread rebound my spirit awes ! 
 In summer months I've seen the tempest seize 
 The fragile grain, and bear it rudely hence ; 
 I've seen the whirlwind wheel, and in the woods 
 Beheld the lofty pines, in conflict dire, 
 Quiver and creak, — but ne'er till now 'twas mine 
 To gaze upon such headlong-heaving mass 
 Of animation — to behold these waves 
 That come and go, and wheel in ceaseless round. 
 The shore now trembles with thy bufferings, 
 And frantic, thou returnest yet again, 
 Again to lash it, while at thy hoarse murmur 
 Echo grows deaf, and reel the loftiest crags ! 
 
 Be still, oh Sea ! be still — in pity spare 
 The feeble prop whereon I lifeless lean !
 
 118 
 
 Regard'st thou not ? — No, furious already, 
 
 More fierce thou ravest, and the hurricane 
 
 Unloos'd now, joins his fearful note with thine. 
 
 What wall or bulwark may suffice against thee ? 
 
 Like dark sierras piled, thy billows rise, 
 
 And by their hollow gulfs and rabid foam 
 
 Announce thy wrath, and whelm my heart with dread. 
 
 Amid thine endless warfare hath there been 
 A time when thou didst plant thy conquering foot 
 Upon this earth, and with blind fury wrapt 
 Kingdoms and nations in one fell abyss ? 
 What time th' Atlantic thy wild eddies whirled, 
 Earth on her firm-knit zones all vainly thought 
 To brave thine anger, for impetuous shock 
 On shock redoubled made her pond'rous axle 
 To quiver like a reed, and tossed her from 
 Her well-poised rest ; — then wave with warring wave 
 In conflict strove, the reeling globe was rent, 
 And horrid uproar reigned !
 
 119 
 
 PARODY OF SHERIDAN'S SONG, 
 
 " I ne'er could any beauty Bee 
 In eyes that did not look on me." 
 
 I ne'er could any merit see 
 
 In lines that were not penn'd by me ; 
 
 I ne'er saw excellence in book 
 
 But where from mine its tone it took. 
 
 Has the scribe, to touch my heart, 
 Fired all nature, ransack'd art ? — 
 I will own him great to be 
 If he oft has quoted me. 
 
 Is his genius bold and high ? 
 Did he praise me to the sky ?— -= 
 Still I am not certain then 
 Till I know he'll praise again.
 
 120 
 
 Must I with attention due 
 Wait the birth of each Review ?- 
 I will do so when I see 
 They are all in all with me.
 
 121 
 
 NANSIE BELL. 
 
 A BALLAD. 
 
 Wons there in Fife, or maid or wife, 
 
 Or man or mither's son, 
 Wha ne'er heard tell o' Nansie Bell, 
 
 The Witch o' the Gallowton ? 
 
 It downa be written, it downa be read, 
 
 The deed o' that Hallowmass e'en, 
 When at midnight mirk, in Dysart Kirk, 
 
 She first wi' the fiend did convene. 
 
 'T would scunner the corpse that lies cauld in the mools 
 
 To speak o' the banquetin' foul, 
 O' the flesh an* the bluid on the table that stood, 
 
 Where she paWnit her sinfu' soul.
 
 122 
 
 An' awsome to hear, as the words o' despite 
 
 That are rung frae the rafters o' hell, 
 Were the murtherous vows, an' the blasphemies black, 
 
 Frae her graceless tongue that fell. 
 
 An' mony sinsyne is the bonnie blythe inaye, 
 
 An' mony the gay gallant wight, 
 An' mony the glad, glad mither's heart 
 
 Had cause to rue that night ! 
 
 O'er land an' sea would this earlin flee, 
 
 Like the south-west's deadly breath ; 
 Aye gurly grew the glad Forth at her glance, 
 
 An' the green Lomonds black as death ; 
 An' senil micht mast-shoe keep the brave ship, 
 
 Or elf-cup the stable frae skaith. 
 
 Nor gentle nor semple, nor graceless nor gude, 
 O'er a' the country side,
 
 123 
 
 But erf d at her ee's unsonsie glow'r, 
 
 An' " Jesu sain us !" cried. 
 E'en glib Mess John, wi' the words on his lips, 
 
 Wad stammer like ane tongue-tied. 
 
 An' aft as she cam' to the cot or the ha', 
 To the market, the manse, or the mill, 
 
 Nae daintis, I wis, was deemit o'er nice 
 Her gab or her wallets to fill ; 
 
 'Twas wha will be foremost, wi' grit an' wi' sma', 
 To aumous Nansie Bell. 
 
 Thus lang, lang and weel had her service leal 
 
 O' the foul fiend blithely past ; 
 But wha doesna ken that Sathan's coin 
 
 Is but sklate stanes at last ? 
 
 An' wha doesna ken how bitter the weird 
 His imps in the upshot maun dree,
 
 124 
 
 Tho' they nowther be brodit nor birslit to death, 
 
 Nor hang on the gallows tree ! 
 Sae anent what befell this sam' Nansie Bell 
 
 Now lithe an' listen to me. 
 
 Right aft, I trow, had the kimmer's broom cow, 
 
 At hours baith air an* late, 
 Set down its load o' sin an' shame 
 
 At my Lord o' Wemyss's gate ; 
 An* fear'd was my lady, an' bonnie maids a', 
 
 To gar guid Nansie wait. 
 
 The best o' the pantry, in lovishfu' doles, 
 
 Fu' soon was at her will ; 
 An' sair strave they a' to look blithe o' the ca', 
 
 An' wi' fenzied words flatter'd her still, 
 While bluff brewer John shook wi' dread in his shoon 
 
 Gif she drank na deep o' his yill.
 
 125 
 
 But a stout-hearted wight was Geordie Syme, 
 
 My lord's am piper was he, 
 As connynge ane blade as ere tunit reed 
 
 In lawland or north countrie ; 
 Wi' his bags 'neath his arm he reckit na harm 
 
 Frae cantraip or glamourie. 
 
 An' sae weel as himsel' he likit the yill, 
 
 Sae laith was he to see 
 That browst after browst, like snaw aff the dyke, 
 
 Gaed to slocken the foul enemie ; 
 An' he swore by his drone, an' the best bluid o' Wemyss, 
 
 Nae langer sic waistrie sud be. 
 
 An' faithfu', I trow, to his haly vow, 
 
 He watchit baith late and air, 
 An' whaure'er roun' the place the crone set her face 
 
 As surelie was Geordie there ;
 
 126 
 
 Before her he stood whate'er way she gaed, 
 Cam' she frae the east or the wast, 
 
 An' laugh'd at the mou's an' the antics she made, 
 An' backward he huntit her fast ; 
 
 An' aye as she ettlit to speak, down her throat 
 He pourit his drone's thunder blast. 
 
 An' dourlie for mony lang day did they strive 
 
 In sic fashion ere either wad yield ; 
 An' mony black spell the beldame tried, 
 Invokin' His favour, afore ne'er denied, 
 To daunton the daurin' chield. 
 
 But at length saw she clear that her maister dear 
 
 Ane thankless caitiff maun be, 
 That wad let her be howndit and deavit to death, 
 
 Nor think on her proven fealtie ; 
 Sae she cursed the piper an' him in ae breath, 
 
 An' aff like the fire-flaucht did flee.
 
 127 
 
 'Twas the dead hour o' night when she took her flight, 
 
 An' lang heard was her parting yell ; 
 But up or down, or whaure'er she had flown, 
 
 No even the piper could tell — 
 Whether to the coat-tails o' the moon she was boun', 
 
 Or straight to some howff o' hell. 
 
 But a' spak lowne o' what Geordie had done, 
 
 An' on him lang lukit wi' drede, 
 An' deemit some awfu' unheard-o' ill 
 
 Wad be seen on him yet e'er he dee'd ! 
 
 Yet aye his wit an' his wind keepit gude, 
 
 Nor joke nor spring lost its glee, 
 Till the gossips at length began to ween 
 
 A charm'd life had he ; 
 An' feck o' them said his drone was made 
 
 O' the haly rowan-tree.
 
 128 
 
 But it chanc'il on a time, as he dan'erit hame, 
 At the darksomest hour 'fore the dawn, 
 
 Frae a braw penny weddin' in Kennoway town, 
 That he clean tint the gait he was gaun. 
 
 Sae he squattit him down, no sax fathoms aff 
 
 Frae the eerie Stan'in' Stane, 
 An' gruesome fears o' his auld kittle fae 
 
 Cam' cauld o'er his heart an' his brain. 
 
 Nor lang lay he there, ere he heard i' the air 
 
 A heavie soughin' soun', 
 As if ten thousand black hoodie-craws 
 
 Waur near him lichtin' doun — 
 An' swith ! in a crack, he 's on Largo Law tap, 
 
 Where the deil an' his dames hem him roun\ 
 
 Sair swat he wi' fright, as weel he might, 
 Y the mids o' sic companie,
 
 129 
 
 An' raair atour, because ane raicht be there 
 
 He cared nae meikle to see. 
 But " Carle, tak' heart," quo' Auld Nick, 
 
 " Ye've naething to fear frae me ; 
 Wheeze up your drone, an' gie us a tune, 
 
 We ha'e heard o' your melodie." 
 
 Wi' that grew Geordie wonderfu' glad, 
 
 An' puffit an' hodgit fu' fain ; 
 An' licht lap the kimmers a' roun' their liege lord, 
 
 Till they scarce could stand their lane. 
 
 Sae blythlie 's they trippit it o'er the green sward, 
 An' sae winsome an' sweet seemit they, 
 
 Sma' differ, thought Geordie, was there between them 
 An' the kimmers o' Kennoway. 
 
 " Oh, gude prince Beelzebub," cried he, 
 Micht / tak a jig, and you play ?
 
 130 
 
 But first, I pray, micht your Hieness say 
 Gif the hale o' your sweethearts be here ?" 
 
 " Hout awa'," quo' the Deil, " I ken fu' weel 
 What gars you the question speer ; 
 
 But truth to tell, o' Nansie Bell 
 Nae kittle cast need ye fear : 
 
 She's ne'er been wi' me sin' yon night, I trow, 
 
 An' wae to her saul when she next meets wi' you." 
 
 " Rax me your bags," quo' the prince o' the hags, 
 
 " An', piper bauld, tak' heed, 
 Gif ye tent my word, an' will learn this tune, 
 
 'Twill stand you in good stead." 
 Wi' that he playit sae sweet an' sae Strang, 
 As 't had been his auld harp in heaven that rang. 
 
 But feathers pu'd out o' the mornin's wing 
 'Gan the lift o'er the lone isle o' May to stain j
 
 131 
 
 An' awa', as fleet as they cam', flew the crew, 
 
 An' Geordie was lyin' again, 
 Wi' his pipes aside him, where first he lay down, 
 When waddling hame'art frae Kennoway town. 
 
 But deep did the word, and the music he heard, 
 
 Tak' root in his memorie ; 
 An' a' the way hame, aye o'er and again, 
 
 He croonit the Deil's melodie — 
 Ne'er ceasing but only to ponder a gliff 
 
 What his meeting wi' Nansie micht be. 
 
 But proud was the piper, as piper weel micht, 
 
 O' his bren'-new ravishin' strain ; 
 An', aft as he chantit it o'er to my Lord, 
 
 'Twas " Geordie, man, play that again." 
 An' it thrillit my lady's heart-strings till her cheek 
 
 Grew like ane poukit hen ; 
 An', though meikle the ferlie how Geordie cam' by't, 
 
 Yet nane micht its historie ken.
 
 132 
 
 Sae lang wi' its twang the castle rang, 
 It amaist was growin' threadbare, 
 
 Sae aff set the piper ae day to try- 
 Its luck at Pathhead fair ; 
 
 An' little was done, I trow, through that town, 
 But listenin' the witching air. 
 
 An' mony a coin ere night cam' down, 
 
 An' mony a lip own'd his skill •; 
 Sae at length to the sign o' the half-moon he hied 
 
 Wi' some queans for a bicker o' yill. 
 
 But room in the haill house they tauld him was nane 
 
 But what was as fu' as would pack, 
 Savin' ae wee place, whar a deem' wife lay 
 
 That couldna be dunn'd wi' their crack. 
 " Tuts, just lat us in, an we'll mak nae din," 
 
 Quo' Geordie, fu' sweer to gae back.
 
 133 
 
 An' in they a' gat, an' down they sat, 
 
 An' the yill sae gratefu' grew, 
 That langer they fand it was out o' man's power 
 
 The promise they made to keep true ; 
 The wife an' her ails gaed clean out o' head, 
 
 An' up his chanter he blew. 
 
 Nae doubt 'twas the best o' his pack he struck up, 
 
 Auld Clootie's ain magical air ; 
 An* swith to their feet like mawkins a' sprang 
 
 The hizzies baith hale an' fair ; 
 
 An' up flew the wifie's bed-lids wi* a bang, 
 
 An' out cutty-sarkit lap she — 
 A braw strappin' quean, o' bloomin' fifteen, 
 
 Like ocht but a crone gaun to dee j 
 
 An' baulder still grew Geordie's drone, 
 An' soupiler still he flang,
 
 134 
 
 An' lichtlier loupit the stranger lass, 
 Till a' the ithers she dang. 
 
 But the wark was sair, an' Geordie grew fain 
 
 Her mou' an* the bickers to pree ; 
 He flang down his pipes, gae a claught at her neck, 
 
 But down like a shadow sank she. 
 
 Dumfounder'd he glowr'd on the deals o' the floor, 
 
 But hole or bore saw he nane — 
 Nought lay at his feet but a handfu' o' rags, 
 
 An' some banes o' a new-born wean. 
 
 Then flashit like lichtnin' on Geordie's mind 
 The rede frae the Deil's mouth that fell ; 
 
 An' ne'er sin' that night did earthlie wight 
 See ocht o' Nansie Bell. 
 
 Now, damosels a', be warn'd by her fa' 
 Wi' nae wanwordie caitiff' to raell ;
 
 135 
 
 He never, I trow, can be faithfu' to you 
 
 Wha isna guid himsel' ; 
 For eidenter servant Auld Clooty had none 
 Than the Witch that wonn'd in the Gallowton.
 
 13G 
 
 ABRAM'S VISION. 
 
 On Mamrc's plain the lengthening shadows lie, 
 And Evening, in her chamber of the west, 
 
 Unfolds the glowing tap'stry of the sky, 
 Wooing day's king to rest ; 
 
 And pilgrim Twilight from afar 
 
 Is journeying on with the vesper star. 
 
 Abram ! thou knowest it well, the hour is nigh 
 Thy holy bosom wont the bliss to prove 
 
 Of sweet communion with thy Friend on high, 
 
 And well its coming mayst love — 
 
 For seldom, alas ! since Misery's birth, 
 
 I 
 Comes visitor like thine to earth.
 
 137 
 
 And, Abram, still art thou lingering near, 
 Where the blessing is lingering too ; 
 
 For the promise is made, and the promise is dear, 
 And the Promiser faithful and true — 
 
 Nor vainly now is thine altar stain'd 
 
 With the victims unblemish'd by heaven ordain'd. 
 
 But now o'er Mamre broods the night, 
 With wing of such appalling gloom, 
 
 As if Earth's minister of light 
 Had sunk into his tomb ; 
 
 Nor linger'd one surviving ray 
 
 To speak the splendour pqss'd away. 
 
 No marvel, holy man, a gloom 
 
 Of kindred horror haunts thy slumber — 
 
 May mortal hear unmoved his doom ? 
 Unawed his days appointed number ? 
 
 Ah ! flesh and blood, though prone to pry, 
 
 Shrinks from the glance of destiny ! 
 
 s
 
 138 
 
 Yet fear not thou, beloved of Heaven ! 
 
 For thus the Eternal counsel runs — 
 " This garden of the Lord is given 
 
 To Abram and his future sons ; 
 They, from Euphrates to Egyptia's river, 
 As the stars numberless, shall dwell for ever. 
 
 " True, they shall dree for many a weary day 
 Th' inglorious bondage of a foreign yoke — 
 
 Moiling beneath a despot's iron sway : 
 But woe to such as shall abide the stroke 
 
 Jehovah's vengeance, in the clay of wrath, 
 
 For his own people's foes prepared hath. 
 
 " Four hundred tedious circuits of the sun 
 
 Shall bring at length that fatal, favour^ day — 
 
 Pharaoh ! in vain its terrors would'st thou shun — 
 Israel ! in vain thou art not wont to pray : 
 
 Behold ! the smiter smote, the spoiler spoil' d — 
 
 Behold ! the Lord redeems his chosen child.
 
 139 
 
 " Shall I from Abraham conceal the rest ? 
 
 No — he shall find me a consoling friend. 
 Know, then, beloved ! with peace unbroken blest 
 
 Shall be thy life, and blest thy latter end — 
 Far shall thy light prevail, and warmly shine, 
 And soft and silent be its late decline."
 
 MO 
 
 VANITAS, VANITATUM VANITAS ! 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE. 
 
 t 
 
 My heart I have set upon nothing at all, 
 
 Hurra ! 
 Then well is it with me, whatever befal, 
 
 Hurra ! 
 And who is he would my comrade be ? 
 Let him hob-a-nob on, and chime in with me, 
 Till drunk to the dregs this wine shall be. 
 
 I set my heart upon gold and gear, 
 
 Hurra ! 
 And got for my gain only sorrow and care, 
 
 Heigh-hey ! 
 The money ran round, but it never would stay, 
 It was here to-morrow and yonder to-day, 
 But seek where I might it was always away.
 
 141 
 
 The next upon woman my heart I set, 
 
 Hurra ! 
 She bred me deep and bitter regret, 
 
 Heigh-hey ! 
 The false soon fancied a different mate, 
 'Twas a wearisome task on the true to wait — 
 Of the best there were none at a buyable rate. 
 
 It then was my bent to rove and roam, 
 
 Hurra ! 
 And I bade an adieu to my country and home, 
 
 Heigh-hey ! 
 But all was naught wherever I strayed, 
 My board was outlandlish and wretched my bed, 
 And no one about me could tell what I said. 
 
 Then set I my heart upon rank and renown, 
 
 Hurra ! 
 And lo ! the like has before been done, 
 
 Heigh-hey !
 
 142 
 
 As soon as my merits had reach'd their height, 
 The crowd beheld me with squint-eyed spite, 
 And nought I had done was in any way right. 
 
 My heart was now set upon battles and spoils, 
 
 Hurra ! 
 And many a triumph rewarded our toils, 
 
 Hurra ! 
 But away to the land of the foe we must wend, 
 What better for me were't the land of the friend, 
 When I left on the field a leg lying behind. 
 
 So my heart I now set upon nothing at all, 
 
 Hurra ! 
 And yet the wide world my kingdom I call, 
 
 Hurra ! 
 But supper and song are now come to a close, 
 So, off with your bottoms ! for, while a drop flows, 
 It must, as its fellows, go under our nose !
 
 143 
 
 TO THE DEPARTED. 
 
 " Vuol una volta amor nei cuori nostri 
 Mostrar' quant, egli vale."— Guarini. 
 
 My tears for thee are dry, mother, 
 My wounded spirit's calm — 
 Yet think, oh ! think not I, mother, 
 Of thee unmindful am ! 
 
 The world that knew thee not, mother, 
 Yet owned thy honest fame,- 
 Has haply now forgot, mother, 
 To syllable thy name. 
 
 The sod that wraps thy clay, mother, 
 May freshen or may fade, 
 And few may point and say, mother, 
 " There humble worth is laid I"
 
 144 
 
 Yet lost was not thy love, mother, 
 Thy counsel not in vain — 
 The stream may cease to move, mother, 
 Yet green its banks remain. 
 
 And while the lrn>tide flows, mother, 
 Whose fountain was in thee, 
 One heart a tribute owes, mother, 
 That fondly paid shall be !
 
 145 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Oh, I lo'ed my lassie weel, 
 How weel I canna tell — 
 Lang, lang ere ithers trow'd, 
 Lang ere I wist mysel'. 
 At the school amang the lave, 
 If I wrestled or I ran, 
 I cared na' for the prize 
 If she saw me when I wan. 
 
 Oh, I loe'd my lassie weel 
 
 When thae gleesome days were gane* 
 
 'Mang a' the bonnie an' the gude 
 
 To match her saw I nane ; 
 
 Tho' the cauld warl' o'er me cam' 
 
 Wi' its cumber an' its toil,
 
 146 
 
 My day-tide dool was a* forgot 
 In her blythe e'enin' smile. 
 
 Oh, I lo'ed, nor lo'ed in vain, 
 
 An' tho' mony cam' to woo, 
 
 Wlia to won her wad been fain, 
 
 Yet to me she aye was true ; 
 
 She grat wi' very joy 
 
 When our waddin' day was set, 
 
 An' tho' twal' gude years sinsyne ha'e fled? 
 
 She's my darling lassie yet.
 
 147 
 
 THE BEES— A FABLE. 
 
 FROM THE SPANISH OF D. PABLO DE JERICA, 
 
 With Slight Adaptations to the Reform Bill Agitation. 
 
 Lords of Creation, if you please, 
 
 Pray take a lesson from the humble bees ! 
 
 Once on a time that frugal nation, 
 Perceiving with extreme vexation, 
 That, spite of all their pains unceasing, 
 The drones were day by day increasing, 
 Met, and, pro bono publico, 
 In senate sought their overthrow. 
 
 Up rose a very prudent bee, 
 None more sententious than he,
 
 148 
 
 Or firm and fluent in debate — 
 
 " Sir, with your leave I'll briefly state 
 
 What course I'd have the hive pursue, 
 
 The best to gain the end in view. 
 
 (Oh, oh ! from a right reverend few.) 
 
 The method I would recommend, 
 
 Though not direct, I apprehend 
 
 Ere long would prove quite efficacious 
 
 To rid us of these rogues rapacious." 
 
 (Laughter, and shouts of — Oh, good gracious.) 
 
 " 'Tis clear, sir, something must be tried 
 To stem corruption's flooding tide ; 
 For still abuse more rampant grows 
 Each hour we fail to interpose 
 A salutary check." (Loud noes.) 
 " Oh ! sirs, I understand those sounds, 
 But know endurance has its bounds, 
 So to the point. Is it not shocking, 
 Preposterous, and most provoking,
 
 149 
 
 That lazy Drones who share no toil 
 
 Should fatten on our hard-earn'd spoil." — 
 
 (An universal buzz for a long while.) 
 
 " Well, then, I move be 't your high will 
 
 T' approve forthwith this sweeping Bill — 
 
 Whereas," &c. — (Here his Beeship read 
 
 A countless train of ills the Drones had bred ; 
 
 And ended) — " Hence 'tis just meet 
 
 That he who works not shall not eat." 
 
 (Amid a deafening hum the Bee resumed his seat.) 
 
 I hope, good reader, 'tis your pleasure 
 To know the fate of this great measure 
 Without delay. So unreported 
 Shall pass who seconded, supported, 
 Or who against it loud and long 
 Most impudently wagg'd their tongue ; 
 Enough, I'm warranted to tell 
 It law became, and work'd right well ;
 
 150 
 
 For on the statute-book scarce had it been 
 When not a Drone in all the hive was seen. 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 People ! if e'er it comes to pass 
 That any noxious, noisome class 
 Of vermin whatsoe'er molest ye, 
 Withhold their rations, say " Go fast ye !" 
 And soon, I promise you, you'll find 
 Their lodgings are not to their mind.
 
 151 
 THE WILLING CAPTIVE. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF DE LA MOTTE FOUQUE, 
 
 A little songster revell'd in 
 
 The blithe sunshine, 
 And sang till every echo told, 
 " The wold — the wold — 
 
 The green wold all is mine.'' 
 
 A cunning fowler heard awhile, 
 
 He plied his wile — 
 Then bore the merry one mute and cold 
 Afar from the wold, 
 
 As if his lawful spoil. 
 
 Now of a maid, tender and fair, 
 
 It owns the care ; 
 And, gazing on her charms untold, 
 Forgets the wold, 
 
 The welkin, and sunshine dear,
 
 152 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF HIS FATHER. 
 
 FROM THE SPANISH OF DON JORGE MANRIQUE. 
 
 Rouse, slumbering soul ! thy every sense 
 
 To contemplation wake, and see 
 How swiftly life is gliding hence, 
 
 Death stealing on, how silently ! 
 How fugitive are pleasure's dreams, 
 
 By anguish followM fast ! 
 How every passing moment seems 
 
 Less lovely than the past ! 
 
 And since the scene that meets our eyes 
 Fades while we gaze, and disappears, 
 
 To count each coming hour 'twere wise, 
 As our already number d years.
 
 153 
 
 Away ! away ! the fond deceit 
 
 That Hope shall faithless prove no more, 
 For other fate they may not meet 
 
 Than they have met before. 
 
 Our lives are rivers tending still 
 
 To death — the all-engulfing sea ; 
 The stream majestic and the rill 
 
 There mingle, and no more they be. 
 There meet the noble and the vile, 
 
 And he a middle sphere who claim'd, 
 The wight o'erworn with daily toil, 
 
 The wealthy and the famed. 
 
 This world 's the path to our abode 
 
 In that which sorrow ne'er may blight ; 
 
 And wise is he who tracks the road 
 And guides his steps aright. 
 
 With life our journey we begin, 
 Move on at every breath ;
 
 154 
 
 At sere old age the goal we win, 
 And then repose in death. 
 
 Mark, all how valueless and vain 
 
 The objects that engage us here, 
 To grasp them every nerve we strain, 
 
 And lo ! they disappear. 
 Disastrous chances on them wait, 
 
 Time wasteth them away ; 
 Their nature such, their best estate 
 
 But hastens their decay. 
 
 Those famous kings of whom we read, 
 
 Who lived in ages past, 
 What dire mishaps, by fate decreed, 
 
 Their brightest schemes o'ercast ! 
 Popes, Emperors, and Prelates all, 
 
 The lordliest of their race, 
 (As sheep obey the shepherd's call,) 
 
 At death's command give place.
 
 155 
 
 The mighty many of our day, 
 
 Counts, Barons, Dukes, illustrious too, 
 Say, Death, whence hast thou borne away 
 
 And shrouded from the view ? 
 Their deeds of glory and renown, 
 
 In camp or council wrought, 
 Thou, tyrant, blastest with thy frown, 
 
 And bringest them to nought. 
 
 He, too, alas ! now owns thy might, 
 
 Don Roderick, the far renown'd, 
 The fearless champion of the right, 
 
 The guardian, Virtue sought and found. 
 Of every friendly soul the friend, 
 
 To foes a fearful foe indeed, 
 A master courteous and kind, 
 
 A hero in his country's need. 
 
 How shone his wisdom 'mongst the wise, 
 His courtesy amid the gay !
 
 156 
 
 How would his glance the base chastise — 
 The braggart's hollowness betray ! 
 
 But why should filial love rehearse 
 
 The glorious deeds that gild his name ? 
 
 Vain is the tribute of my verse — 
 The voice of nations sounds his fame.
 
 157 
 
 THE GREATEST MAN. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF LESSING. 
 
 The greatest man, who is he, pray ? 
 
 Let's question Glum the priest ; 
 With lofty mien anon he'll say, 
 
 'Tis he who makes himself the least. 
 
 Of poet Jangle next inquire 
 
 Who is the greatest man ? 
 In good round numbers he will swear, 
 
 'Tis he whose rhymes aye ready ran, 
 
 Ask Sycophant the courtier, who 
 The greatest man may be ? 
 
 He answers with a smirk and bow, 
 Who bows and smirks is surely he-
 
 158 
 
 Would'st learn of your philosopher 
 Whom he the greatest weens ? 
 
 From sayings dark he bids infer, 
 Whoe'er can fathom what he means. 
 
 Whom, need I ask of every Fool, 
 The greatest man counts he ? 
 
 You're sure they'll answer one and all, 
 'Tis he who ranks the next to me.
 
 159 
 
 ESAU'S LAMENTATION. 
 
 Me, too, oh, my father ! thy son — 
 Thy first-born, thy faithful, undone ; 
 Oh, bless ! father, bless ! if it be 
 A blesssing remains yet with thee. 
 
 Tis enough that his hard-hearted guile 
 Wrung from me my birthright erewhile- 
 Oh ! still to his treachery true, 
 Shall he pilfer my sire's blessing too ? 
 
 Of birthright, of blessing bereft, 
 What for time — for eternity's left ? 
 Not in vain this last boon let me crave, 
 Or welcome the gloom of the grave.
 
 1(30 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF A. W. SCHLEGEL. 
 TO DANTE. 
 
 Whose is the song — the fervent, hallowed strain, 
 The heights and deeps of Nature all revealing, 
 Now slowly through the abyss of darkness wheeling, 
 Now borne on toiling pinions thence again — 
 Heavenward with new-born might it soars amain, 
 The blended tones of Praise and Poesy pealing 
 With more than cherub bosom's ravished feeling 
 When mounting in the spheres' harmonious train ? 
 Himself at once the worshipper and shrine. 
 This living monument of love unchanging 
 In memory of blest Beatrice did plant he, 
 Who, here an exile, now in realms divine, 
 On strong undrooping wing, is ever ranging 
 Full in the Godhead's beam, the mighty Dante !
 
 161 
 
 WORDSWORTH'S EXCURSION TO ARTHUR'S SEAT. 
 
 One morning — 'twas in April, and might be 
 
 Ten minutes or a quarter less than nine, 
 
 That welcome hour when brawny sunburnt wight, 
 
 Ditcher or mason, lays aside his spade 
 
 Or pondrous wooden mall, and in the shade, 
 
 Tended by tidy wife or curly wean, 
 
 Plies hard the cutty-spoon — it chanced that I, 
 
 Homeward returning from a glorious ramble 
 
 On Arthur's royal Seat of meditation, 
 
 Did choose to thread that long deserted lane, 
 
 Which winds along the rocky western base 
 
 Of beetling Calton, by Athenians 'clept 
 
 The North Back of the Canongate. 
 
 Entranced I onward walk'd — 
 If walking may be called motion mechanical 
 Of limb that owns no conscious impulse
 
 162 
 
 Of the prompting will — for still my soul 
 
 Was on the mountain top, communing high 
 
 With bright ethereal forms — immortal essences 
 
 Of thought, with whom anointed bard alone 
 
 May hold discourse — 
 
 Thus drifting on, as if untenanted 
 
 My outward man, like bark o'er ocean wide 
 
 That holds its course, yet bears no living freight, 
 
 I had approach'd that arch's concave vast, 
 
 Which men in pride of martial triumph call 
 
 Waterloo Bridge — a goodly pile in sooth — 
 
 When suddenly I started from my dream 
 
 Of deep abstraction, smartly 'gainst the tip 
 
 Of my right knee something metallic struck, 
 
 And forthwith shrieked a voice that seemed 
 
 The voice of womankind. On looking down 
 
 I saw before me stand a little girl 
 
 Of seven years old, or haply some months less, 
 
 With empty pitcher in her little hand, 
 
 And shaking from her chequcr'd pinafore
 
 163 
 
 The milky fluid that had filled the void. 
 
 " How's this, my dear ?" said I. " Oh, sir," cried she, 
 
 " You need not ask ; 'twas you, and none but you, 
 
 And willingly you did it, for you have 
 
 Pursued me all the way from Lochend's Closs, 
 
 And when I stood, you stood, and ran, you ran, 
 
 Until you see at length what you have done." 
 
 And still the burden of her woeful tale 
 
 Was, " Father needs must sup his porritch dry, 
 
 And mother will half kill me." 
 
 " Sweet babe !" said I, " it grieves me much to hear 
 
 You deem me capable of wilful harm 
 
 To such as you — mayhap the time may come 
 
 When you shall understand that oft the eye 
 
 Doth fix its stony gaze on things externe, 
 
 And the unconscious body strangely gambol, 
 
 While being and perception, all absorbed, 
 
 Range amid worlds unseen. 
 
 Meantime, my love, here's half-a-crown for you 
 
 To cure you of your ails and your suspicion."
 
 164 
 
 The damsel dried her tears and ran to meet 
 Her sire with sunny face — 
 Then forthwith off I to my lodgings hied 
 To change my spatter'd small-clothes.
 
 165 
 
 VAIN PRECAUTION. 
 
 FROM THE SPANISH OF CERVANTES, 
 
 In vain, oh dear mother, 
 You watch me and ward me, 
 If I myself guard not, 
 You never can guard me ! 
 
 'Tis settled and sealed 
 By authority sage, 
 That pleasure withheld 
 Gives appetite edge, 
 And Love aye rebelled 
 When immured in a cage. 
 Then why, oh dear mother, 
 So watch me and ward me ? 
 For if I myself guard not, 
 You never can guard me !
 
 166 
 
 Of fear or respect 
 The Will it has none, 
 If haply unchecked 
 By a check of its own, 
 And boldly 'twill break 
 Through barriers of stone. 
 Then surely unwise 
 Is the fate you award me, 
 For if I myself guard not, 
 You never can guard me ! 
 
 Let Love the young heart 
 With its fervours inspire, 
 Like a moth it will dart 
 Undaunted through fire, 
 And baffle all art 
 By an art that is higher. 
 Then why, mother, why 
 More keepers award me ?
 
 167 
 
 If I myself guard not, 
 They never will guard me ! 
 
 So potent the Spell 
 Of this Amorous power, 
 That Beauty before it 
 Will fade like the flower — 
 Brain, bosom, and spirit 
 Wild passion devour. 
 Then cease, mother, cease 
 So to watch me and ward me, 
 If I myself guard not, 
 You never can guard me!
 
 108 
 
 SONNET FROM PETRARCH. 
 
 From impious Babylon,* where nought of good 
 
 Abides, whence even shame itself hath fled — 
 
 The haunt of sorrow — dam of Error's brood — 
 
 I too, as if for life, afar have sped ; 
 
 And here f alone, where Love my footsteps led, 
 
 I cull the flowers of Nature and of rhyme, 
 
 While oft my soul, with grateful musings fed, 
 
 Recals the visions of a happier time. 
 
 I run not with the croAvd at Fortune's heels — 
 
 Of self or aught ignoble reck I not — 
 
 My frame nor outward qualm nor inward feels : 
 
 I only would two beings shared my cot — 
 
 The one to gaze on me with gentle mien,J 
 
 The other stanch to aid as he hath ever been.|| 
 
 * The Pope's Court. f Valclusa. % Laura. 
 || Signor Stephano Colonna, who was banished from 
 Rome by the Orsini.
 
 169 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 FROM THE SPANISH OF ARGENSOLA. 
 
 Father of all ! since thou art just, declare 
 
 Why should thy righteous providence permit 
 
 That Villany on high tribunal sit, 
 
 While Innocence his galling chain must wear ? 
 
 Who nerves with power the arm that boldly dare 
 
 Defy the dictates of thy holiest laws ? 
 
 And makes the zeal that would espouse thy cause 
 
 A footstool — Guilt's unholy foot to bear ? 
 
 Do we not see the palm triumphant wave 
 
 In hands unclean, while Virtue mourning lies 
 
 That ere such triumph should reproach the skies ? 
 
 Thus had I spoke, when lo ! a heavenly maid 
 
 Smiling appeared, and, gently whispering, said, 
 
 " Blind fool ! is there no land beyond the grave ?"
 
 170 
 
 DANIEL'S TRIUMPH. 
 
 As passes night's shade from the face of the world 
 When the streamers of day in the east are unfurl'd— 
 As Winter's deep gloom flies the footsteps of Spring, 
 So vanish the clouds from the brow of the King. 
 
 And with transports of gladness his bosom is fraught — 
 And the youth from the den to the palace is brought : 
 Oh ! swerve not, ye just ! though all fearful your road — 
 This Daniel was true, to himself — to his God ! 
 
 And though many and mighty the foes that have striven 
 
 To peril his life, yet his trust was in Heaven ; 
 
 While they in the toils they have weaved are now 
 
 caught — 
 No mercy shall find they, though mercy they sought.
 
 171 
 
 And published abroad is the sov'reign decree, 
 To the ends of the earth and the isles of the sea, 
 That henceforth be fear'd the Eternal alone, 
 For beside Him in heaven or earth there is none.
 
 172 
 
 OF MYSELF. 
 
 FROM THE SPANISH OF DON ESTEVAN MANUEL DE VILLEGAS. 
 
 " Pray, tell us, good Don Estevan," 
 
 The pretty maidens cry, 
 " Why ever thrum the strain of love, 
 
 Nor war's wild numbers try ?" 
 
 I answer them, " My witching elves, 
 
 Man 's an ignoble theme ; 
 On earth alone your lovely selves 
 
 The Muse's gifts beseem. 
 
 " Why should I wake the trumpet-tones 
 
 That summon to the field ? 
 Why should I sing while others sigh 
 
 Beneath the pond'rous shield ?
 
 173 
 
 " Why should I love to gaze upon 
 
 A goodly spreading tree, 
 Deck'd in ten thousand dancing leaves, 
 
 If blooming fruitlessly ? 
 
 " Who loves the clamour of the drum 
 
 Be 't his to lend an ear ; 
 Who loves the shield upon his arm 
 
 Be 't his the shield to bear. 
 
 " But I in war or warrior's might 
 
 Do no enchantment see ; 
 The battles of bright beaming eyes — 
 
 These are the wars for me."
 
 174 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 I've stood alone upon the mountain's brow, 
 And gazed, enamour'd of the infant morn, 
 Ere yet celestial Day had from his urn 
 Pour'd forth a golden flood on Earth below — 
 And I have joy'd as Phoebus forth did go, 
 
 Like racer strong, to win the crown of Heaven ; 
 And when again his trophied car was driven 
 Adown the western steep, and he did throw 
 His last paternal glance o'er the loved scene 
 His bounty had beatified, I've stood 
 Idolatrous. But, oh, ye wise and good ! 
 How were these transports vacant all and vain, 
 Compared with those when Twilight's holiest mood 
 Steals o'er the tranced soul mid Nature's solitude.
 
 175 
 
 SONNET TO SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 FROM THE ITALIAN. 
 
 Well, tuneful Scott, it well becomes thy brow 
 The fairest trophy of the Muse to wear — 
 'Tis meet that Fame afar thy praise declare 
 
 Who green again biclst Scotia's chaplet grow. 
 
 On thee th' immortal maids their wreaths bestow 
 Gold-woven, and a-top their sacred mount 
 Woo thee to steep thy lip in yonder fount, 
 
 And swell the stream from choirs- elect that flow. 
 
 Yon pinnacle whereon the laurel waves, 
 Mark thou it well — the victory is thine — 
 
 Stay not thy speed — ev'n now his song which saves 
 From drear oblivion Fingal and his line, 
 
 Less gloriously the tide of ages braves 
 
 Than that which bids fresh blooms around the thistle 
 twine.
 
 176 
 THE POET'S FATE. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF FOUQUE. 
 
 Ye worldly wise and witty, 
 Lords, dames, and damsels pretty, 
 Your scandal or your pity 
 
 Shall never break my rest. 
 Trees, robe ye still in blossom — 
 Dreams, ever haunt this bosom — 
 Streams, flow ye on unfrozen — 
 
 And I shall aye be blest. 
 
 My airy visions give me, 
 My tuneful numbers leave me, 
 And gratefully, believe me, 
 
 I'll glad you when in gloom. 
 In Poet guise before ye 
 I'll bow me and adore ye, 
 Till death's chill damps come o'er ye, 
 
 Yea, in the hollow tomb !
 
 177 
 
 This wish — my wish most truly — 
 Not comprehended duly, 
 Mayhap to wrath unruly 
 
 Your hatred will inflame. 
 The noble poet race all, 
 Like eagles lost in space all, 
 Have had such ills to face all — 
 
 So be my fate the same. 
 
 All hail, thou mighty Dante ! 
 Such outlaws ne'er be scanty ! 
 Thou, Tasso, too, the taunt aye 
 
 Of loveless souls, all hail ! 
 Anon, heaven's mazy dances 
 We'll tread mid angel-glances, 
 And smile when it shall chance us 
 
 Our mortal ails to tell.
 
 i?y 
 
 TO THE GENTLE READER 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE. 
 
 Silence suits not with the poet, 
 All he does he needs must show it — 
 
 Thus to praise and blame a prey. 
 Frankly none in prose confesses ; 
 Mid the muses calm recesses 
 
 Truth betimes reveal we may. 
 
 What my failings, what my struggles, 
 What my loves, and what my troubles, 
 
 Here are in a garland strung ; 
 Youth in blossom — age decrepid — 
 Frailty, virtue, calm, intrepid, 
 
 All look very well in song.
 
 179 
 
 EL MELANCHOLICO. 
 
 ?ROM THE SPANISH OF FRANCISCO DE BORGA, PRINCE ESQUILACHE. 
 
 O'ershadow'd by two beetling steeps, 
 
 On either side that rise, 
 Where searching sunbeam never burst, 
 
 A lonely valley lies ; 
 A silent solitary stream 
 
 Its green expanse divides, 
 That may not share with other brook 
 
 The course wherein it glides. 
 
 So deep and gloomy are the shades 
 
 Upon the spot that lie, 
 So swiftly and so silently 
 
 The little birds flit by, 
 That one might deem its rugged crags, 
 
 So fearful to behold,
 
 180 
 
 The haunt where Night and ghastly Fear 
 Had nurtured been of old. 
 
 Nor timid fowl nor bird of prey 
 
 Is seen to nestle there, 
 Nor gladsome troll nor harsher scream 
 
 Is wafted through the air. 
 So in the sad abodes of Grief 
 
 No living may be found 
 To give himself to merriment, 
 
 Or song of sweetest sound. 
 
 No change is felt when o'er the sky 
 
 The burning stars are spread, 
 Save the deeper murmur of the stream 
 
 Along its pebbled bed. 
 The dark boughs from the mountain tops 
 
 And from the vale below 
 Together twine, and wilder far 
 
 Confusion seems to grow.
 
 181 
 
 This chaos of rank foliage, where 
 
 So dread a silence reigns, 
 Nor ruddy streak of dawn illumines, 
 
 Nor twilight deeper stains ; 
 Yet, sad and lonely as it is, 
 
 I'd act no erring part 
 To barter for its grief and gloom 
 
 Those preying on my heart. 
 
 A sympathy it seems to feel 
 
 What time I weep my woes, 
 But if it only seems, my grief 
 
 From other sources flows. 
 Yet may I not from time to time 
 
 To visit it refrain, 
 Since to the woe-begone 'tis meet 
 
 The woe-begone complain.
 
 182 
 
 LIZARDO'S SONG. 
 
 FROM THE SAME. 
 
 Slumbering Tagus stole along, 
 Verdant poplar shades among, 
 Unheard by shrub or tree his flow, 
 Unfelt by sands that slept below. 
 Mid his silence and repose 
 Merry nightingales arose, 
 And in tumult seem'd to say, 
 Wake ! the sun is on his way. 
 Onward his glad waters glide, 
 While the groves on either side, 
 Though he slumber, serve to show 
 Onward ever is his flow. 
 Till it reach Toledo, never 
 May you tell how runs the river —
 
 133 
 
 All so still and calm before — 
 When rude rocks awake its roar. 
 By a cliff whose shadows brood 
 At sunrise on the darken'd flood, 
 But backward fall upon the plain 
 When day dies in the west again, 
 Sat shepherd Lizard mid his sheep, 
 That feed not, drink not, frisk nor leap, 
 When first the sun salutes the sky, 
 And thus his sweet rebeck 'gan ply : — 
 
 " Tagus ! the balmy breeze whispering around 
 Thy billows of crystal in slumber hath bound ; 
 Yet wake thee, dear river — the summons obey 
 Of the sweet singing birds and the bright orb of day. 
 
 " Ye streamlets from Cuenca's sierras that flow, 
 To glad with your waters the valleys below, 
 Though ye heed not my strain, yet the summons obey 
 Of the sweet singing birds and the bright orb of day."
 
 184 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 All, all, my God ! yon waving woods, 
 
 Blue hills, and vallies green, 
 Ocean and earth, and all that live 
 
 Rejoicing therein — 
 The o'erflowings of a father's love 
 
 Harmoniously proclaim, 
 And oh ! shall I refuse to join 
 
 The universal theme ? 
 
 It may not be, though silence sat 
 
 Unbroken on my tongue, 
 And I were all unskill'd to list 
 
 The anthem Nature sung ; 
 Yet in the secret of my soul 
 
 Some welling springs would be,
 
 185 
 
 Whose silent waters gratefully 
 Would upward rise to thee. 
 
 This being was thy gift — and oh ! 
 
 To me how full of love, 
 Though no kind whispers e'er had told 
 
 Of happier realms above ; 
 Since here I'm privileged to see 
 
 So fair a scene unfurled, 
 And trace the prints of Deity 
 
 O'er all this gorgeous world. 
 
 'Tis not that thou hast fashion'd me 
 
 In mercy's kindliest mould, 
 And tuned my soul to secret joys 
 
 No minstrel tongue hath told — 
 Pour'd balmy health through all my frame, 
 
 Kept sorrow from my brow, 
 
 Or, if a cloud should dim my path, 
 
 There set thy blessed bow. 
 
 2 a
 
 186 
 
 Not all this grace (though ah ! to man, 
 
 How bounteous such a heaven), 
 May sum his goodness, who with these 
 
 Has love and friendship given, 
 Girded my board with kindly souls, 
 
 With pleasure-beaming eyes, 
 And twined around my happy hearth 
 
 Affection's changeless ties. 
 
 Enough — enough — my cup o'erflows — 
 
 Yet ah ! fond man, beware ! 
 Of earth thou art, and all that blooms 
 
 Shall also perish there — 
 Sad doom ! but yet, but yet, my soul ! 
 
 Renew thy joyful strain, 
 Thy God is just — thy God is good — 
 
 All, all shall live again !
 
 187 
 
 DETRACTION. 
 
 FKOM THE SPANISH OF MONTALBAN. 
 
 Though much caressed a man may be, 
 
 Yet will he find it true, 
 Whate'er he does, and eke whate'er 
 
 He may not choose to do — 
 No matter whether by this rule 
 
 Or that he chance to steer — 
 Censorious sumphs will dog his heels, 
 
 Denouncing his career. 
 If he, perchance, is very rich, 
 
 They'll hint 'tis their belief, 
 Such treasures never had been his 
 
 Unless he'd been a thief ; 
 If he is poor, they call him, then, 
 
 A good-for-nothing wight,
 
 188 
 
 Who wanted 6ense to use his means, 
 
 And guide his gains aright ; 
 If he shall wed, a reckless fool 
 
 At once they set him down, 
 Who plunges fearlessly into 
 
 A world of ills unknown ; 
 If haply he long on the list 
 
 Of bachelors remain, 
 Oh ! then, some hidden vices, sure, 
 
 His character must stain ; 
 If quite well-bred, 'tis flattery all 
 
 His every word and deed — 
 If not, 'tis upstart insolence 
 
 That rudely rears its head ; 
 If to economy inclined, 
 
 He's nothing but a scrub — 
 If generous, they scruple not 
 
 Him prodigal to dub ; 
 He's counted quite a silly boy 
 
 If he should fall in love —
 
 189 
 
 A moody monk, if womankind 
 
 His bosom may not move ; 
 They call him hog, if in his looks 
 
 No comeliness is seen— 
 A mess effeminate, if fair 
 
 And beautiful his mien ; 
 If free in speech, a prating fool — 
 
 If taciturn, a clown ; 
 A dwarf, if small in size — 
 
 If tall, a monster overgrown ; 
 If fair, a friz — an Indian, 
 
 If tawny be his hue ; 
 A ruffian rude, if he shall prove 
 
 A man of valour true ; 
 If he is prudent, they'll aver 
 
 He counsell'd well has been ; 
 If mirthful in his mood, he's styled 
 
 A vulgar harlequin ; 
 If he should life enjoy, he's held 
 Devoid of feeling wholly ;
 
 190 
 
 He dies a fool's death, if God will 
 
 He die of melancholy ; 
 He's hypocrite, if to the priest 
 
 Incessant he repair ; 
 A heretic accursed, if he 
 
 Confess not for a year. 
 In sooth, nor high nor low there are — 
 
 To ill inclined or good ; 
 Black, white, of stature short or tall, 
 
 Of blithe or sombre mood j 
 Chaste or impure, with riches stored, 
 
 Or wretched begging bread ; 
 Or grey-hair'd sire, or stripling green, 
 
 The living or the dead — 
 Who may escape the scourge that still 
 
 Humanity attends— 
 The busy meddling tongues of male 
 
 Or kindly female friends.
 
 191 
 
 LINES FROM CATULLUS. 
 
 Fabullus, thou shalt sup with me in style 
 
 A few nights hence, if thee the gods regard 
 
 Propitious, and if thou shalt with thee bring 
 
 A somewhat dainty and abundant supper, 
 
 Adding thereto a damsel snowy pure, 
 
 And wine, and salt, and ready rounds of laughter — 
 
 Bring thou these things, I say, my jolly chum, 
 
 And thou shalt sup in style : for, be it known, 
 
 Of thy Catullus' purse the spiders hold 
 
 Sole and entire possession. Yet shall I 
 
 Assure thee of affections warm and pure — 
 
 Aye, and of that than which nought to the sense 
 
 Is goodly more and grateful ; for I'll give thee 
 
 The unguent Venuses and Cupids given 
 
 To my Beloved, which thou whene'er thou smell'st 
 
 Shalt pray the gods to make thee nose all o'er !
 
 192 
 
 THE AWAKENING OF THE PEOPLE. 
 A SONG, 
 
 FROM THE FRENCH OF BERANGER, 
 
 Forty thousand copies of which are said to have been 
 circulated in the French Army. 
 
 Air — " Liberte sainte, apres trente ars d'absence. 
 
 " Peace ! — poh ! 'tis nothing but a hope," said they ; 
 " Sleep on, and softly dream of coming days !" 
 And we have slept, and left them France a prey, 
 And of the past her glorious memories. 
 Let us awake at length — their idol crush ! 
 No more of odious oaths that acts belie ! 
 Awake ! again 'neath Areola's banner rush ! 
 Th' avenging Eagle hovers in the sky ! 
 
 One day, my friends, a day of frenzy dire, 
 Within the temple of the laws there came
 
 193 
 
 A man — France yet all lovely in her ire — 
 Who Citizen in Royal robes did claim 
 To be regarded. Where's all this to-day ? 
 'Neath strangers he in vassalage doth lie. 
 Ah ! let us Areola's flag again display — 
 Th* avenging Eagle hovers in the sky ! 
 
 Let us awake ! — the Emperor's very shade 
 Shall dance to hear our songs of victory, 
 And history shall record the feats displayed, 
 Frenchmen ! when " Country, Honour," is the cry ; 
 Re-ope the Capitol to our martyrs brave, 
 And o'er their tombs the sun, with radiant eye, 
 Shall witness Areola's sacred banner wave — 
 Th' avenging Eagle hovers in the sky ! 
 
 From free Helvetia's mountains, at our call, 
 Shall speed the Chief we prayed that heaven might 
 send ; 
 
 2b
 
 194 
 
 His youthful brow reflects the fulness all 
 Of lofty genius — pride of Fatherland ; 
 In him — a living symbol — is pourtrayed 
 The people's rights, and times of glory high. 
 He '11 come when Areola's banner is displayed — 
 Th' avenging Eagle hovers in the sky ! 
 
 The drum is beating ! — hark ! the cannon's roar ! — 
 Rise, citizens and soldiers, one and all — 
 Give to the world one great example more ! 
 This strife 's your last — 'tis God doth on you call ! 
 Girt in her triple halo, Liberty, 
 O'ershadowing our battallions, shall be nigh. 
 Once more 'neath Areola's banner rally we— 
 Th' avenging Eagle hovers in the sky !
 
 195 
 
 SONG. 
 
 FROM THE SPANISH OF MELENDEZ VALDES. 
 
 Sung at a Meeting of Expatriated Friends. 
 
 My much-loved companions ! 
 
 In agony keen, 
 With pitiless Fortune 
 
 Long battling we've been ; 
 But oh ! ne'er ignobly- 
 Submissive shall bow 
 Our heaven-erect heads 
 At the feet of the foe ! 
 
 To the winds with your woes, 
 
 Your glasses fill high, 
 Let friendship and wine 
 Their solace supply !
 
 196 
 
 On honour unsullied, 
 
 On virtue most bright, 
 To trample contemptuous 
 
 Was aye her delight ; 
 But bootless her aim, 
 
 For with aspect serene 
 Shall the just brave her vengeance, 
 
 And smile at her spleen. 
 
 To the winds, &c. &c. 
 
 The bark seaward borne 
 
 By the hurricane's sweep, 
 May wander forlorn 
 
 On the limitless deep, 
 But then when most fearful 
 
 Her peril appears, 
 Day dawns as it dawned but 
 
 To banish her fears. 
 
 To the winds, &c. &c.
 
 197 
 
 A fig for the murmurs 
 
 Of calumny vile ! 
 Her arts are insidious, 
 
 But harmless the while ; 
 Let the rabble rout rave, 
 
 Let blind error brawl, 
 And bigot zeal ban, 
 
 We can laugh at them all ! 
 
 To the winds, &c. &c. 
 
 They'll say we have turned 
 
 Our backs on sweet Spain : 
 We fled as we ought . 
 
 From her fury insane — 
 Her poignards unsheathed 
 
 We beheld, and, in woe, 
 Like a kind mother she 
 
 Bade us bide not the blow. 
 
 To the winds, &c. &c=
 
 198 
 
 Not the less to that land 
 
 Do our mournful eyes turn, 
 Which again to revisit 
 
 Our fond bosoms burn ; 
 The affectionate sigh, 
 
 If it utterance claim, 
 Oh dear honour'd country, 
 
 Still whispers thy name. 
 
 To the winds, &c. &c. 
 
 Yes, comrades, again, 
 
 Unencumber'd with care, 
 To your own happy hearths 
 
 Ye at length shall repair ; 
 And they who your worth 
 
 Shall devoutly attest, 
 To calumny's shame, are 
 
 God and your own breast. 
 
 To the winds, &c. &c.
 
 199 
 
 In brotherhood holy 
 
 Your bosoms unite — 
 Let the bands of affection 
 
 Draw hourly more tight ; 
 And if Bacchus look blithe 
 
 On enjoyment like this, 
 Let one bumper more 
 
 Go to heighten his bliss. 
 
 To the winds, &c. &c. 
 
 Come, then, dearest friends, 
 
 To this bosom of mine, 
 In cordial embrace 
 
 Each to each let us join — 
 Hand in hand kindly clench'd, 
 
 Though fair or foul weather, 
 Swear friendship eternal, 
 
 And drink all together. 
 
 To the winds, &c. &c
 
 200 
 
 EXPERIENCE. 
 
 Cease, my doating bosom, cease 
 
 Treach'rous thoughts to cherish— 
 Flowers of earthly joy and peace 
 
 Only bloom to perish. 
 Hast thou not already known 
 
 What it is to sever 
 Souls that seem together grown, 
 
 To be parted never ? 
 
 Has not Hope, from day to day, 
 
 Mock'd thy fond confiding ? 
 And winged Happiness away 
 
 Flown, when deem'd abiding ? 
 Oh ! dream not, then, of coming bliss, 
 
 Hope not from to-morrow : 
 Learn, my doating bosom, this — 
 
 Life is only sorrow !
 
 201 
 
 A VISION. 
 Rev. chap. xx. verse 11. 
 
 Based on viewless space, 
 
 And robed in light that never stray'd 
 
 From its stainless dwelling-place, 
 
 A lofty throne 
 
 I saw displayM, 
 
 And One was seated thereon ! 
 
 And this Imperial One 
 
 Look'd to the Heav'ns, and to the Earth— 
 
 They fly — they 're gone ! 
 
 Nor wreck remains 
 
 To tell they ever had birth— 
 
 A thrilling silence reigns ! 
 
 2c
 
 202 
 
 Time's records, unrolled, 
 
 Before him lie ; and the volume of Life, 
 
 Whose mysteries ne'er were told 
 
 To mortal car, 
 
 With deep interest rife, 
 
 Must now at length appear ! 
 
 But what do I see ? 
 
 Are these the living that crowd around ? 
 Like shroudless dead they be- 
 So ghastly — so pale ! 
 Can the dread sound 
 Have roused them all to bale ? 
 
 The great, the small are there- 
 Earth returns her long-hoarded spoil, 
 And Ocean's gousty caves their share, 
 Long treasured too, 
 Give back the while — 
 Both arc trusty and true !
 
 203 
 
 Son of man ! thy doom 
 
 (Whate'er thou wert, whate'er 
 
 The halo that shines around thy tomb, 
 
 Thy might or wisdom's fame) 
 
 Now shalt thou hear — 
 
 Thy works, thy praise, or blame. 
 
 Woe! woe! woe! 
 
 The sad second death to the hapless wight, 
 
 Who to God and his goodness a foe — 
 
 Knows no place 
 
 'Mong the sons of light, 
 
 In the chronicle of grace. 
 
 With death and hell — 
 
 Foul company ! in the Fury-pool, 
 
 Such for ever and ever shall dwell. 
 
 Not a drop 
 
 His blaspheming tongue to cool — 
 
 Not a glimmer of hope.
 
 204 
 THE PRUDE. 
 
 FROM GOETHE. 
 
 A shepherdess, handsome and young, 
 One beautiful morning in spring, 
 So charmingly caroll'd and sung, 
 That the fields all around her did ring 
 With la, la, le, ra, la, la, la. 
 
 Says Thyrsis to her with a smile, 
 
 " One kiss, and I'll give thee lambs four," 
 
 She roguishly eyed him a while, 
 
 Then laugh'd and sung on as before, 
 
 Her la, la, le, ra, la, la, la. 
 
 " This ribbon I'll give," says another — 
 " My heart," cries a third, " be your thrall"- 
 But she jeered at the one and the t'other, 
 At ribbon, heart, lambkins, and all, 
 "With la, la, le, ra, la, la, la.
 
 205 
 
 THE SIEGE OF JERICHO. 
 
 Oh ! Jericho ! thy lofty towers 
 
 Proclaim thy might afar, 
 And many are thy valiant men, 
 
 And terrible in war. 
 Thy daughters fair and fruitful as 
 
 The green palms on thy plain, 
 And the boasted balm of Gilead's hills 
 
 In thee is found again. 
 
 But Jericho ! thy doom is sealed— 
 
 A deadly host is near, 
 The fatal trump anon shall peal 
 
 Its death-note in thine ear. 
 They who erewhile, through rifted floods 
 
 Unscath'd, pursued their route
 
 206 
 
 Before whose coming Jordan fled, 
 Have girded thee about. 
 
 Six days its daily round ordained, 
 
 The sacred ark is borne- 
 Six days its daily peal prescribed, 
 
 Has brayed the Levites' horn— 
 The seventh dawns — the son of Nun 
 
 Awakes his faithful band — 
 Ah, Jericho ! proud Jericho ! 
 
 The fated hour's at hand. 
 
 Six times to-day as wont, they've passed 
 
 The doomed wall around — 
 Again they move — hush ! hark ! that crash- 
 
 'Tis level with the ground ; 
 The breath of Heaven from the land, 
 
 Accursed of the Lord, 
 Hath swept her battlements away, 
 
 And bared her to the sword.
 
 207 
 
 King, warrior, priest — babe, mother, sire, 
 Their destiny is one ; 
 
 The fire, the sword hath done its work- 
 Here living thing is none ! 
 
 'Tis past — and cursed be the man 
 Who dares restore her state — 
 
 His first-born her foundation be, 
 His youngest pave her gate.
 
 208 
 
 A LUCID INTERVAL. 
 
 To one that hath been couched and closeted 
 For many a 6ickly hour, when haply he 
 Again doth walk abroad, how blandly smiles 
 The face of Nature, even in Winter's garb 1 
 The blue sky lovelier and bluer looks 
 Than e'er it wont before, nor seems the sod 
 To lack .in depth of tint j while o'er the hill 
 The yellow fulgence of the sinking sun, 
 Thrown in a level stream, appears to vie 
 With all that pen and pencil best have told 
 Of bright Italian sunshine. Even the breeze, 
 If such the Muse may name December's breath, 
 Sweeps grateful o'er the convalescent's brow, 
 Nor would he interrupt the playful sport 
 It zephyr-like holds 'mid his straggling locks. 
 
 CUPAR : PRINTED BY 0. S. TCLLIS.

 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
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