SAMPLES OF COMMON SENSE En Ferse BY A FORFARSHIRE FARMER fU***^ -*Mt mi V*l*JK*v*^ jjr OTsi^f ^ru^is . . . .94 farewell to lochlee 95 song 97 the marled mittens 98 whistlin' tam . ' 99 young montrose on oratory ioi bess o' fettercairn io5 on the death of george wishart .... i08 the guidwife o' glenley i io epistle to a disabled young soldier . . .112 rural and town life contrasted . . . . ii4 how the 'world is going in 1875 . . . . 117 the ladies' reply to the lament " why don't the girls propose?" 127 Contents. verses LINES SENT TO A LADY WITH A MOSS-ROSE . TO THE BLACKBIRD THE OLD LOYALIST i RIGHT AND WRONG EPISTLE TO A BROTHER RHYMER . HAME JOYS BLIND JOCK . . . LINES WRITTEN BELOW A PHOTOGRAPH OF AN PASTOR KEEP UP A GOOD HEART, AND A HUSBAND YOU'LL GET EPISTLE TO A BLACKSMITH .... VERSES ON MICAH vii. l8 . . . . VERSES ON EZEKIEL xxxiv. 25 ... LINES LEFT IN A FRIEND'S HOUSE IMPROMPTU THE CHRISTENING OF THE HILL . AGED PAGE 130 132 133 134 135 I36 I4O 142 144 145 147 I50 152 i53 154 POEMS. THE BONNIE BIRK-TREE.\ In a nook o' the valley a tree stands alane, Wi' its roots 'neath the dyke, an' its tap budding green ; Its wavy-leafed branches sae pleasant to see, 'Tis a beautiful object, the bonnie birk-tree. There aince stood a cottage upon the brae-side, An' canty bit garden wi' flowers in their pride, Weel watered an' tended, baith lily an' pea, How lovely they looked by the bonnie birk-tree. Here aft, when a laddie, I've played round the place ; My Jessie was there wi' her sweet smiling face, Her love-speakin' e'en an' her laugh fu' o' glee, When daffin we ran round the bonnie birk-tree. Its bole, straucht an' taper, bore mony a mark, Deep carved were our names on its white sheenin' bark ; We drew out the wine, that was gratefu' to pree, In crystalline blobs frae the bonnie birk-tree. B io The Bonnie Birk-Tree. Even yet a few letters may faintly be traced, By time, wi' the growth of the wood, not effaced, Memorials dear of my Jessie an' me, When posies we hung on the bonnie birk-tree. The landscape is altered since life's early day, The weather-bent willow-tree's dead an' away, Where list'ning aloft to the humming wild bee, We swung till its boughs brushed the bonnie birk-tree. The woodland then rang wi' the mavis' clear notes, An' Unties were trillin' sweet sangs through their throats ; Now harsh-scraichin' pyots an' corbies mak' free To perch on the arms of the bonnie birk-tree. The clear trinklin' burnie rins now underground, On the ridge of the brae not a trace of the mound, Where the blooms of the sloe an' the broom took the e'e ; A' objects are changed save the bonnie birk-tree. Alas for my Jessie ! so sprightly an' fair, To think on her grave mak's my stricken heart sair ; Laid low near Lake Erie, across the wide sea, She ne'er can revisit the bonnie birk-tree. Though days of our childhood return not again, Its scenes will for life on my mem'ry remain ; For buskit wi' flowers, as she aince used to be, I see her in dreams by the bonnie birk-tree. II THE PLAID. Hail ! emblem of old Scottish costume and manners, Ere silk manufactures our island o'erspread ; When our ancestors gathered each clan to its banners, In the kilt, tartan hose, feathered bonnet, and plaid. Then the hearts which it wrapt, and the forms which it covered, Were true to their country when foes did invade ; From their homes and from friendship by tyranny severed, Yet their love and devotion were true to the plaid. Though purple and ermine now garnish our patrons, And broader and broader phylacteries be made ; I still love to see our old grandsires and matrons, Frequenting the kirk in the fold of the plaid. Though tippets and muffs have enlarged their dominions, And ribbons and lace in the mountain breeze played ; I strive not with modes, let them change with opinions, Yet dear to my heart and my eye is the plaid. Hail ! emblem of true Scottish freedom and glory, When Liberty erst her broad banner displayed ; When our saints and our heroes, who figure in story, Stood firm to their cause in the garb of the plaid. 1 2 The Plaid. When hot persecution, by famine and torture, To banish religion and freedom essayed, Caledonia's sons showed their breeding and nurture, And conquered and died in the kilt and the plaid. In more modern days, too, the pride of our nation, The brave Forty-second, who ne'er were dismayed, On the hot sands of Egypt repelled French invasion, And showed them the might of the sons of the plaid. Even now should the foes of fair freedom assemble, Or dare on that emblem of glory to tread, That host of corruption in terror may tremble, If once she gird on the claymore and the plaid. Then rouse ye, ye sons of our gallant forefathers, Whose sires on kail-brose of auld Scotland were fed ; Lo ! see ! when the standard of Liberty gathers, Its motto is "Freedom or Death" on the plaid. * * November 1831. The Reform Bill was in dependence before Parliament at this time, and the public miud was in a state of great excitement. i3 TWA SCORE AN' TWAL. The nicht's wearin' owre, an' the Auld Year's awa, We'll haud a blythe meetin' until the cock craw The New Year to welcome we're a' met thegither, Wi' kindest regards lat us greet ane anither : The steeple-clock bell has resounded the call, That we've a' passed the threshold o' twa score an' twal. 'Twas a scrimp-measure time when the cent'ry began : The parritch were thin, an' the countenance wan ; The cleidin' was bare, an' the aumry was scant, An' mony puir things had a strussil wi' want ; But the chaps at the fact'ry, the pleuch, an' the awl, Will fend an' fare better in twa score an' twal. The warld wagged as weel when there wasna sic flairin' When preachers an' teachers made less fuss an' rairin' An' fowk were as gude, though they didna busk braw, An' less was ado to the limbs o' the law : Men's words were as gude as a stamp-paper scrawl, But the case is quite altered in twa score an' TWAL. 14 Twa Score art Twal. Our farmers rode naigs when to market they cam', An' dined frae their wallets on haddock or ham, That lang i' the chimla had hung i' the smeek, Washed down wi' a quaich o' Glenlivet peat-reek : They were carls that could warsle or broose in a brawl, Far starker than men o' the twa score an' twal. Nae whirligig waggons then ran upon rails The birds had their flaffers, the ships had their sails ; Though travellers gaed forrat wi' rather less speed, There was mair hearty kindness an' less grippin' greed, An' fowk werna coupit in mosses reel-rail, To smore by the score, as in twa score an' tw^al. Noo callants flash forth i' the mornin' o' life, As wha but themsel's could get choice o' a wife An' young sonsie hissies, fu' blythe i' their teens, Are tossin' their heads up, as gin they were queens Propose but to court them, they'll sing fal-de-ral ; But they'll sing an' look laigher gin twa SCORE an' twal. We've palaces noo that are biggit wi' glass, An' there's nae ony difference atween lad an' lass Their caps are the same, an' they baith wear the trews, An' baith, gin the spring, may hae beards round their mou's, Syne feathers may grow, like the birds frae the shal They'll a' pass for game i' the twa score an' twal. Twa Score art Twal. 15 Aince signals were made by the tout o' a horn, An' answer might come on the day or the morn : But noo they mak' signs by a lang streekit wire, An' words are conveyed by invisible fire, Through water, like lichtnin', or shot cannon-ball, The news whinner a' gate in twa score an' twal. Our camstairy neebours across the saut dub, Are aye yarkin' up like the barm in a tub Wi' fechtin' an' slayin' they're aye in a flurry, An' wadin' knee-deep amang bluid in a hurry They've played the auld tune of the " Garb of Old Gaul," An' they'll hae a new emperor in twa score an' twal. Noo friends an' gude neebours, afore that we part, Come join in a bumper to science an' art Lat's live an' be thankfu' as lang's we hae health, The favour o' Heaven can supply us wi' wealth At hame, in contentment an' peace let us dwal, An' mind our ain business in TWA SCORE an' twal. January i, 1S32. i6 MATRIMONY: PROSPECTIVE AND RETROSPECTIVE, It makes a great commotion in the mind, The idea of matrimony , when we're sure On Friday next the parson will us bind, And give to love its crowning bliss or cure ; Even when each action, word, and look is kind, And future happiness seems quite secure, When all the thoughts and feelings are in tune To spend in mirth and joy the honeymoon. To wedding wooers I would recommend To make a trial of the tastes and temper ; And if the first beyond your views extend, Now is the time to try them with a damper ; And if the last will rather break than bend, 'Tis time to bid good night, and homeward scamper For first to wed, and then assume command, You will be wise, like Scotchmen, behind-hand. For after marriage comes the tug and toil, When minds are not in unison ; for then The one pulls this, the other that way ; while The yoke sways doubtful ; chances one to ten Matrimony : Prospective and Retrospective. 1 7 If either yields ; the scowl supplants the smile Upon the face ; affection, on the wane, Beclouded sinks ; and where good sense is wanting, To bitter words succeed reproach and taunting. Far happier they who exercise reflection, And scan each other's minds before they wed ; Resolved that both shall pull in one direction, And render one another needful aid : 'Tis arrant folly counting on perfection In any loved one, whether man or maid ; If in one channel thoughts and judgments run, It makes a pleasant course beneath the sun. Ye ladies blest with lands, kind hearts, and looks, Pray look alive, and not be catched like minnows By crafty anglers with their tinsel hooks, Who fish for cash to save their thews and sinews ; Beware of dangling after cawing rooks, You'll find them not so very harmless ninnies ; They court for cake and pudding for the day, The next they'll take their wings and flee away. Ye blooming belles, in beauty's early prime, Treat not with scornful pride a modest wooer ; Remember there will shortly come a time When flattering fops and danglers will be fewer ; 1 8 Matrimony : Prospective and Retrospective. The sere and yellow comes in every clime, And age of charms has been a mighty hewer ; Yet on life's wave, though rocked in boist'rous sort, With proper pilot only, enter port. Ye bachelors, becoming old and chary, Who keep your castles, hermit-like, alone ; Ifs all my eye advising you to marry, Because so tabby-cattish you have grown ; You still keep snoozing, hoping youth will tarry ; When its last tint has from your features flown, Yet hug the hope you ladies' hearts could capture ; More likely far, the gout will end the chapter. Widows and widowers, do not take offence When you are asked to speak a word in season ; Your past experience and your sobered sense Must make you judges of both rhyme and reason " We give," you say, '' to wedlock preference, And to embark again would think no treason. Love and esteem compose the milk and honey That sweeten all the joys of matrimony." February 24, 1S49. 19 AGRICULTURAL REPORT. DECEMBER 1847. Farming reporters monthly take the pen, To chronicle the state of crops or weather, Tillage and market prices, beasts and men, And trim of agriculture altogether. The winds have sung the requiem of the year, The sable pall o'er Forty-seven is spread, And all the actions of his past career On history's page in future will be read. The learned in ages yet to come will boast That Forty-seven sent forth a race of teachers To teach the nation, at the nation's cost, And let the people please themselves with preachers. Ploughmen and navvies wielding pick and spade, With wages high, waxed very wild and frisky They might saved cash, been better clothed and fed, Had they spent less on smoking and on whisky. But many a labouring man, both stout and strong, Though he tobacco and the dram-shop shunned, Yet to maintain a family large and young Has fairly drained his sustentation fund. 2 o Agricultural JRefiort. December 1847. 'Twas said last year, when scarcity prevailed, Free trade would cheapen corn, bread, beef, and mutton ; But Cobden's demonstration fairly failed To prove mill-spinners could exist on cotton. On chloroform and ether folks can't live, But British statesmen grant not airy diet ; To Ireland more substantial things they give, Than soporifics to keep people quiet. The price of meat has ruled most plaguey dear, For many beasts have died and not been eaten And many horses, too, throughout the year, Have met their fate on railways in Great Britain. These may be matters but of small account, Since beasts for draught will soon be superseded ; New modes of transit losses will surmount, And beasts of burden seldom will be needed. Soon ploughs propelled by steam may cleave the glebes, And scientific ploughmen superintend them ; And oxen may have carpets in their cribs, And lacqueys dressed in livery to attend them. Then let Sir Pagan, to his dogmas true, Tax every horse from Orkney to the border ; 'Twill need himself, and all the asses too, To keep the paths in easy-going order. Agricultural Report. December 184J. 2 1 The Highland glens may cost him many a sigh, To clear their passes in a drifting storm ; To Athol's Duke his friends had best apply, To sanction Pagan's plan of Road Reform. Then hunting horses, hounds, stags, hinds, and roes, Might be amerced each one pound ten of money ; It were as just to charge black cocks and crows, As charge poor glensmen for a horse or pony. No doubt Sir P. intends to smooth the roads, Clearing toll-bars, removing blocks and boulders ; Chiefly of debt- perchance to lift its loads, Off Dukes and Lairds, on to their tenants' shoulders. But agriculture, long in leading-strings, Must now come forth to walk on its own toeing ; While hares and rabbits, and such thieving things, Upon the road to ruin must be going. Judges may laugh, and senators may smile, To hear how plundering beasts were lately frightened,* While many an honest man in Britain's isle Has felt his purse, but not oppression, lightened. * Alluding to a remarkable game case, when a farmer was fined for shooting blunt-shot, or, as Lord Jeffrey said, " roaring through the barrel of a gun," to frighten the wild animals which were destroying his crops. 22 Agricultural Report. December 1847. If statesmen mean that farmers e'er should thrive, And that the people should have food to fill them, They must decide which they shall keep alive, The people or the vermin ? doom and kill them. It boots not though the hills, with heath o'erspread, Show purple blossoms yielding sweet perfume, If not a human foot dares on it tread, Such airs despotic modern Dukes assume. Man has the right brute-breeding to restrain, For o'er the brutes at first he got dominion, Whether they roam the fields or haunt the glen, Or wing their flight aloft on feathered pinion. Then let our legislators take advice, And shield the farmer in his honest calling ; Fair play's a jewel worth a heavy price, A stay to save the nation's credit falling. We wish our farmers still to go ahead, They've done far more for Scotland than their betters ; On their success depends the people's bread, More than on statesmen or on men of letters. Bread prices started wholly out of joint When rotten tubers threatened great privation ; Cloth goods and words were nothing to the point, With hungry mouths in state of salivation. Agricultural Report. December 1847. 2 3 Cash freely spreads at times, as most men know, Till gold is drained for foreign products' prices ; Then bankers turn the screw, and bills won't go, And many ills combined produce a crisis. Britain has had her Arkwright and her Watt, Applying power whence wealth to millions centres ; And, while she coal and iron can come at, Will share in most of all the world's adventures. Her enterprise and vigour may do much, With stores of knowledge and her flags unfurled ; Yet her position, soil, and clime are such, 'Tis vain to try to rule the trading world. So let our traders, freighting vessels vast, Look to their bottoms, leads, and strength of cables ; For other nations are improving fast, And on their teachers soon may turn the tables. If farmers don't take farms with prudent care, Though some may fail, it will not be surprising, When grain comes down, and cattle lowered are, While rents, road-money, and poor-rates are rising. Ne'er mind though dividends on railway shares, Bear no proportion to the price of stocks ; When folks are whirled so quick at lowered fares, Let capital be thrown to Hudson's cocks. 2 4 Agricultural Report. December 1847. What though our bankers' safes no gold contain, And firms may fail through over-speculation ; While back and belly clothed and fed remain, Of gentlemen we still will be a nation. Yet better less of worldly pride and gain, Than men to such disgraceful shifts were driven ; Better to live like honest Christian men, Than spurned as rogues, invoking wrath from heaven. January 3> 1848. 25 EPITHALAMIUM. " The Rose and the Thistle in wedlock joined." On Capel Mount up rose the sun, The banners streamed on Caitherdun ; While chariots came rolling on 'Mid sounds of mirth and melody. The Naiads danced by fountain's sheen The Dryads piped in bowers unseen The Fays, in robes of brightest green, Tript light to magic minstrelsy. That morn, begemmed with crystal dew, The lily by the brooklet grew, Pre-pledged ere Night her curtain drew To leave its dear nativity. Fair Clio, of the Sisters Nine, Brought offerings sweet to Hymen's shrine ; Old Bacchus brought his choicest wine To heighten the festivity ! The rose and lily, lovely pair, The myrtle, with its odour rare, With purple heath-bells sweet and fair, Encircling love and union : c t>> 26 Epithalamium. Glad paeans woke each hill and glen, From Berrycairn to Clochnabane ; High Wirran echoed back the strain " Hail, Caledon and Albion ! " The zephyrs bore the notes along, Till Arthur's knights took up the song And hearts of oak the words prolong, Expressive of felicity ! The Thames's tide more placid ran, And wild birds warbled " Mary Ann," And cheerful chaunted shepherd Pan, With pastoral simplicity. The peaks of Dover's chalky height Far, far to seaward glistened bright, Like radiance of the bonfire's light From hills of Caledonia ! Young Cupid swift, on silken wing, . From Venus' court did tidings bring, Which served to make the welkin ring With shouts connubial gloria / 27 THE CORANICH. " 111 fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, When wealth accumulates and men decay." Lament ye sportive fishers a', Gae cleed yoursels as black's a craw ; The lichtsome times are noo awa . That ye hae seen, When " Live an' lat Live " gae the law To anglers keen. Wastwater trouts may loup wi' glee, Frae Cornabirn down to the sea, Atween Dalladies an' Lochlee, In stream or brook, Nae fisher lad daur cast a flee, Or baitit hook. Auld Isaac,* father o' the craft Wha wield the line an' anglin' shaft, Wad thocht that modern lairds were daft To mak sic rules As weel micht place them i' the laft That hauds the fools. * Isaac Walton. 28 The Coranich. Erewhile, in gude Laird Willie's time. To tak' burn-trouts was thocht nae crime, Tho' chiels wha marred baith sense an rhyme By grabbin' game, Were banished to anither clime Nane pitied them. Sma' loss had he in sober truth, Although he gae the lieges scouth ; O' poor fowks' blessin's he gat rowth, Better than gowd ; On him wha fills the fastin' mouth, Wealth's weel bestowed. Ance Highland air was reckoned free Ower Scotland braid, frae sea to sea, Like mountain-dew and barley- bree To weet the wizzen ; But noo, a gloff fowk daurna pree, ; Tis countit treason. An' even the bees that gather honey Aff purple heather-bells sae bonnie, An' cheer the hillside hames o' mony Wi' gratefu' hum, For fear o' fright'nin J deer or doney, They daurna bum. The Co rank h. 29 Auld Scotland's nobles ance were fain To keep a tail a vassal train ; They kent the value o' their men When times were kittle ; O' faes they cleared the laird's domain, Wi' sword an' whittle. Gin Peter Russ draw out his lance, Or Lewie's birds come owre frae France, Some lairds may lead themselves a dance " By vexin' Sawny ; Scotsmen wi' rifles i' their haun's Are far frae canny. The present use o' ilka swain Seems just to toil, raise neeps and grain, To fatten stock that's no his ain Vermin Nick speet them ! That gentles, for their sport or gain, May shoot an' eat them. However high farms may be rentit, An' dues and duties are augmentit, Though bairns should live on taties taintit, The furry nations Maun never o' their meat be stintit, But get full rations. 30 The Coranich. The breedin' bucks, moorhens, an' cocks, Instead o' families an' flocks The nursin' up o' tods and brocks, Will in a clatter Extirpate men, sheep, cow, an' ox, ArTa' the Water, Poor dwinin' chiels frae toons an' brochs, Wha used to fish in burns and lochs, An' there shook aff consumption coughs, An' gathered pith, May in despair streek out their houghs, An' dee forthwith. The bonnie lasses o' the glen, That cheered the hearts o' honest men, May dowie sit, and mak' their maen To their auld mithers, Or else tak' ship an' cross the main, After their brithers. Ye gentle dames in jimmy dresses, That used to come frae southern places, An' show your happy smilin' faces V the birken shaw, Whaur will ye get sic sweet, sweet kisses As here awa ? The Coranich. 31 What sailin' on the loch yeVe seen, With bouts 0* daffin' on the green While tears o' pleasure filled your een Wi' sweethearts funnin' ! The Glen was grander then, I ween, Than streets o' Lon'on. But will-a-wins ! alack-a-day ! To come up here's nae bairns' play ; A set o' bulkies by the way Will stop and seize ye Black coat nor petticoat spare they, Kail-runt or daisy. Then blaw, ye Highland pipers, blaw Out " ower the hills an' far awa," For fishin', liberty, an* law, The tenant's richt ; And skirl up " Willie waur'd them a'," Wi' a' your micht. 32 THE SIEGE OF SEBASTOPOL. Sebastopol ! Sebastopol I Thou art a bloody place, Where smashing shot and rending shell Leave many a bloody trace. And still they play, both night and day, From battery, fort, and tower ; And still, from off the heights above, The deadly bullets shower. From British bastion, Gallic trench, The smiting hail descends ; Till groans are heard, and life is reft, And sheeted flame ascends. Around thy bay dead bodies float, Thy streets are dyed with gore ; And wrecks of many nations' ships Bestrew the Euxine shore. But still death's messengers swift fly, And Christian men and brave, By war's unhallowed agency Are hurried to the grave ! The Siege of SebastopoL 33 The scourging plagues of Egypt's land Their many thousands slew ; But thou hast been as great a scourge As ever Europe knew. The fatal pestilence has spread, And laid its victims low ; Turks, Russians, Britons, Gauls, lie dead, Struck by its mortal blow. O Inkermann ! dire Inkermann ! Thou wert a bloody day ! When free-born Britons, Russian serfs, Met in the deadly fray. With stab for stab, and rifle's storm, True Britons made them yield ; And death in every horrid form Was witnessed on thy field. Gallia's brave soldiers of renown Dealt death along thy slopes, And mowed the Russian squadrons down As reapers cut the crops. Sebastopol ! Sebastopol ! Thou art a bloody place ! Would God that tyranny were quelled, And freedom blessed our race ! 34 [The following two pieces of rhyme were written for a public purpose viz., to promote the erection of a monument to the memory of Alexander Ross, the poet of Lochlee. The idea of it did not originate with the wealthy and great. Mr Michie and the writer of this note were the first who made the pro- posal public by several writings in the newspapers in 1841, and afterwards subscriptions were set on foot, in which the public joined heartily. A number of the subscribers are alive at this date (1875), some of them in the Lochlee district, and most in Brechin, Montrose, and their neighbourhood. The money collected was supplemented by a donation from the late peer (William Ramsay Maule) Lord Panmure, and the monument was brought to the glen in September 1843. It was furnished by the firm of M'Donald & Co., Aberdeen, and cost upwards of '2\. It is an obelisk of granite, and stood for thirteen years in front of the present church, but the late Earl of Dalhousie had it transferred to the poet's grave in the old churchyard near the lake, where it now stands.] COMPLAINT OF LOCHLEE. Written by one of her Sons.* Ye sons and daughters of Lochlee, Ye surely winna scrup'lous be To join, an' gie your mite wi' me, To raise a stone In tribute to his memorie Your bard that's gone, * Mr Duncan Michie, Tarfside. Mr Michie has kindly allowed me to publish his poem of " Lochlee' s Complaint," and as it bears on a subject which was of general interest at the time it came forth, may not yet be thought unimportant, especially as a good deal has of late been written about the monument without throwing much light upon the ways and means used for its erection. Mr M. has long been an accredited manager for the Complaint of Lochlee. 35 The Loch's hoarse murmur seems to cry (Whose foaming surge he slumbers nigh) : " My ain dear bard obscurely lie ! Ochon ! Ochon ! Not o'er his grave now's heaved a sigh, For a' he's done. " Oh ! fye upon ye ! sons o' mine ; Ye surely ha'ena feelings fine, And in your breasts nae genius shine, Or ye would raise A stane, wi' smooth poetic line, My bard to praise. " It was his pride, an' fond desire, To tune his saft melodious lyre To cheer your sires around the fire In winter night ; O' his sweet sang some wouldna tire Till 'maist daylight. " My hills an' dales ilk birken bush My rocks that rang wi' sang o' thrush Are dowie-like sin' death did hush My poet's lays ; Ilk burnie's din and cascade's rush Now harsher brays. proprietors of Lochlee First, for the Right Honourable (William Ramsay Maule) Lord Panmure ; secondly, for his son and successor, the Earl of Dalhousie ; and is stiil in the employ of the present Earl, who has recently obtained an additional title, viz., Baron Ramsay of Glenmark. 36 Co7nplaint of Lochlee. " Your would-be bards are sae refined, They canna touch the hamely mind ; For out o' joint they've nearly twined A' common sense ; Confuse their lines wi' a' kin-kind O' high pretence. " But my sweet bard, for whom I wail (Aye when I'm favoured wi' a gale), Wi' wae or humour ne'er did fail In's rhymin' art, Be't canty sang or tender tale, To touch the heart. " Wha can read his Helenore, And view his grave and not be sorry ? Whan not a stane to tell his story ( Oh ! what a shame !) Was ever raised to's fame and glory, Nor yet his name. " The wale o' hearty cocks' he was, And yet observed his Maker's laws ; His name was free frae taints an' flaws - His heart was soun' : A ' brother true,' e J en Bums him ca's A great renown. Complaint of Lochlee. 37 %% His mind auld Nature framed aright His heart was true, his brain was bright ; And when the Muse did on him light, He caught her smile ; And, aye's she whispered, he did write, Nor thought it toil. " How finely nature aye he paintit ! O' sense in rhyme he ne'er was stintit, An' to the heart he always sent it 'Wi' might an' main,' An' no ae line he e'er inventit - Need ane offen'. M Mony a callan' comes to view My hills, my glens, and rocks sae blue, Yet never paid that tribute due To his remains, Whase notes, sae saft an' swelling, flew Thro' a' thir glens. t5 J " Ye * shepherd lads on sunny knowes,' Wha meet your joes to plight your vows, Your purses' mou's ye'll frankly lowse To raise his fame ; Should ye refuse, 'twould be nae mowse 'T would stain your name. 3 8 Complaint of Lochlee. " And oh ! how fainly I would crave The sportsman frank, the gen'rous brave, Wha come to see my wailing wave, To gi'e their aid To place a pillar o'er his grave Wi' letters braid. " My gen'rous master, ever kind, To hear my plaint will be inclined, Wi' open hand an' willin' mind Will help (I know it) To raise a stane, wi' words weel joined, To my dear poet. " And you, my sons, ance mair I name ye, Oh ! dinna let me langer blame ye \ But if ye do, I will disclaim ye As sons o' mine ; An' this to say will not defame ye ' A sordid line.' " Lochlee, May 8, 1841. 39 craig muskeldy\s reply to "lochle&s complaints Auld Lochie ! ye're bauld wi' your vauntin' Sure ye're for future honours panting Else ye had ne'er begun to tauntin' Our nymphs an' swains, As they o' feelings fine were wantin', An' lackit brains. Nae doubt but ye would like the praise O' makin' a' the poet's lays ; But few are the inspirin' rays Shed forth by you, Where Phoebus seldom shaws his face The lang year through. It sets you weel to jibe an' jeer, Whase breast's ice cauld near half the year ; Save you, were nae attractions here, Poor, cauldrife poolie, Few gentles for ye e'er would speir, Wan doolie moolie ! 40 Craig Muskeldys Reply to " Lochlcis Complaint" My Bard, forsooth ! what made him yours ? The poet Ross was truly ours ; Where to the sky the mountain towers, His muse took flight There he enjoyed poetic hours In visions bright. There's Wirran, Mudlach. an' Tampee, Mounts Keen, an' Battack, Cairn o' Lee, The Cateran Cairn, Craig Buck, an' me, Where aft, fu' lang, The poet coost his rovin' e'e, An' wove his sang. Then, Lochie, dinna be sae fain As claim the bard as a' your ain : Ilk mountain cairn, ilk hill an' glen, Maun share his fame, Frae Unich's Fa's down past Millden- Ilk bush an' stream. Yet, certes, it wad be weel wared To raise a pillar on the swaird, To mark the consecrated yird Where Sandy's laid, An' lat his merits be declared In letters braid. Craig Muskeldy's Reply to " Lochleis Complaint" 41 Our honoured Laird,* whase feeling heart Kythed kindly on the tunefu' art To Gow,t who nobly did his part In joy or gloom Will yet mak' mauchts a stane to start O'er Ross's tomb. An' ilka lad an' lass's groat Wad cheerfu' come, I'm certain o't ; An' gentle fowks their gowd, I wot, Wad dossy down, Afore the poet's memory rot, Without renown. Fareweel auld Loch, ye puffy neipor ; Though I've been lang your guard an' keeper, Ye're but a laich, poor dowie dreeper Compared wi' me ; When winds career, an' storms wax deeper, Pray, what are ye ? 'Twad put ye in an eerie swither, Gin I an' stern Craig Buck, my brither, Resolved to lay our heads thegither Craigour afore ye ; Were we to shak' our pows o' pouther, 'Twad fairly smore ye. Craig Muskeldy. * Lord Panmure. t Nathaniel Gow, son of " Famous Niel." D 4? THE DYING MOTHER. Oh ! bring me my infant, and let me caress him Once more, ere this bosom's pulsation shall cease ; My husband and son, that my arms may embrace them, Then my eyes shall be closed and my heart be at peace. These ties still enchain me to life and to sorrow, But soon shall my soul from its fetters be free ; My motherless infant may wail on the morrow My husband may weep but, oh ! weep not for me. My Saviour the wings of an angel will give me, To soar from this world to the mansions above ; The arms of His mercy are stretched to receive me His mercy is great, and enduring His love. Farewell, dearest friends ! this life is fast fleeting, But Jesus, my Lord, is my strength and my might ; He only can save me, who died to redeem me The blood has atoned, and my robes shall be white. The Dying Mother. 43 Though parted, we'll meet in the mansions of glory, Where angels to anthems celestial aspire ; Thy mother will go, my dear infant, before thee, To join in the hymns of the heavenly choir. No more, my sweet babe, shall thy mother embrace thee, For soon this fond bosom's pulsation shall cease ; My husband and son, God of Righteousness bless ye ! Thus said, and her spirit departed in peace. 44 VERSES ON HOSE A x. 12. Sow to yourselves in righteousness, Break up your fallow-ground ; In sovereign mercy you shall reap, And fruits of love abound. 'Tis time, 'tis time, to seek the Lord, While health and strength remain : On those who pray to God, His grace Shall fall like summer rain. Those who have ploughed, as sinners plough, Shall eat the fruit of lies ; Those who have slighted mercy's call, Even mercy will despise. Th' Eternal Judge will sentence pass On every wicked one ; Who suddenly shall be cast down, Where mercy there is none. 45 ELEGIAC LAMENT FOR MY LITTLE WHITE DOGGIE "TOPY." Accidentally Killed, October 22, 1855. Lament wi' me, in mournm' strain ; My bonnie doggie's dead an' gane, Of which the bairns were a' sae fain, An' cried, "Top, Top \ n Gien't bread-pieces o' their ain, For standin' up. Nae ling 'rin', pinin' death it got ; It hunted to the very spot, Where, by an accidental shot (I grieve to tell), That near the heart poor Topy smote Down dead it fell. A rabbit splattered frae a bush, An' through the whins did quickly brush ; The dog unseen the beast did push Abune the whins ; The sportsman's shot, wi' deadly rush, Fell'd baith at aince. 46 Elegiac Lament. It grieved my heart fu' sair to see My bonnie Topy's death-glazed e'e, Bereft o' life sae suddenlie, Just in a stound. But ae shrill wheek it gae, waes me ! Sae dire the wound. When wi' the gun the braes I spiel'd, It mickle sport to me did yield ; It lap an' ran till rabbits squeel'd Wi' piercin' cries ; Now yirdet in the huntin' field, Stiff cauld it lies ! A score o' dollars I wad gien That Topy's life preserv'd had been ; It gaed wi' me frae morn to e'en, A' kinds o' weather. Now its wee grave will soon grow green Amang the heather. Thus aften fa' baith beasts an' men, In huntin' field or battle slain ; Powder and pellets prove a bane In human hands, An' lives are sacrificed in vain In mony lands. Elegiac Lament, 47 E'en men that we think acting richt, Drap suddenlie before our sicht ; Life's lamp this minute burnin' bricht Wi' kindly blink, The niest the scene is dark as nicht, An' life's extinct. Alack, alack ! my bonnie creature, Sae brisk yet gentle in its nature ; The wee thing's love for me was greater Than mony a friend's. The thought that I might guarded better My heart still rends. A kindlier beastie ne'er drew breath, It was sae wice and funny baith ; Had I but kend, I wad been laith To hurt a hair o't. But as it sleeps the sleep o' death, I'll sing nae mair o't. To earthly things we should sit loose ; This warld is not our hame or house ; Life's accidents should us arouse, Ere life be dune, To seek for pure unfading joys In Heaven abune. 48 THE MARRIAGE-DAY. An Ode. 11 Without the smile from partial beauty won, Oh, what were man ? a world without a sun ! " The bride has donn'd her wedding-dress, The bridesmaids all are ready ; The bridegoom shows a smiling face His nerves are wond'rous steady. Like ancient castle on a steep, The bridecake crowns the table, Like towers which children see in sleep, Or hear of in a fable : Shining so sprightly, Touch it but lightly : Spells there are in it for loved ones and dear ones, Maidens' hearts warming, Lovers' sighs charming, Jibes for the witty, and crackers for queer ones. Love's silken cord is drawn and tied, With knot that bindeth fast ; Its sacred vows are ratified, The die for life is cast. The Marriage-Day. 49 As eye meets eye, and hand clasps hand, Their hearts approve the affiance ; Husband and wife in wedlock's band, They form a dear alliance. Speak not too movingly, Look to her lovingly. Her heart like a bird flutters round its encasement ; What though a melting sigh Bring the drop from her eye Kiss it away, 'tis a happy releasement. The parson, ere he ends his prayer, A benison doth render ; While gladsome friends salute the pair, And warmest wishes tender. Parental hearts feel thrills of joy, As they youthful days remember, While guileless breasts as girl and boy, Made June in cold December. No sky seemed dreary Every day cheery ; Youth has a charm that no aftertime brings us Gay, lively, free from care, Glad may the happy pair Be, like the song which the woodland thrush sings us. When flowers are strewn, and slippers thrown, The marriage -jaunt commences 50 The Marriage-Day. To Leamington or Arrant Isle Regardless of expenses. Whether by rail-coach rattling fast, Or steamer o'er the ocean, To home, sweet home, they come at last, The shrine of their devotion ! Now for the tug of life, Meetly, as man and wife, Doff every folly, and don wisdom's armour ; If there come cloudy days, Still keep a heart of grace, Love will shine out all the brighter and warmer. August i860. 5i THE BATTLE OF BALACLAVA. The Muscovites cam' down the glens, Their feathers burr'd like clockin' hens, Wi' British cocks to hae a fence, An' lick the Turkies awfu'; * But e're they to the batteries wan, The habble-jocks took fleg an' ran, They hadna pluck the stoor to stan', That day at Balaclava. Sir Colin Campbell gave the word ; 'Twas " Steady, steady, Ninety-third ! " While Cossack horsemen scoured the yird, Like drift when flakes o' snaw fa' : A rattlin' volley gard them reel, A second volley made them wheel ; They didna like the British steel, That day at Balaclava. The Scottish Greys did next advance, The Eniskillens joined the dance, Chasseurs d'Afrique, the sons of France, Cam' on wi' mony a brava ! * At the time the Turks were much blamed for not defending their guns, but afterwards it was found that they fought bravely until overpowered by numbers ; on the other hand, the body of Turks ranged up in aid of the Ninety-third fled precipitately before the approach of the Russian cavalry. 52 The Battle of Balaclava. Their sabres whistled right and left, An* Russian pows by scores they cleft ; Russ lancers tint baith blade and heft, That day at Balaclava. But woe betide the Light Dragoons, Who fell among the Russian loons ; They shot their horses, cloored their croons, The carnage was most awfu\ Yet on they sped through smoke and flame, Though showers of bullets on them came, And many fell : but deathless fame ' They earned at Balaclava.* Lord Cardigan rode to the guns, An' fley'd the gunners for the nonce, But dark as pitch it grew at once, Ane wadna seen a craw fa' ; Sae dense the fire frae flanks an' rear, Hale-skinn'd dragoons tried frae't to steer, An' faucht like mad their way to clear Backward to Balaclava. * It is well known that in consequence of some blunder, not accounted for, either in the orders of the general, or from their being misunderstood, the Light Cavalry, with unexampled bravery, precipitated themselves into the very vortex of the Russian artillery's and infantry's fire, or, as Tenny- son renders it " Into the mouth of hell, into the jaws of death, Rode the six hundred." Of which not more than two hundred returned. The Battle of Balaclava. 53 Anon the Russian troops drew back, While British boys did them attack, By Minie bullets, crack for crack Lang grey-coats fast they saw fa' ; They skulkit in amang the rocks An' woody dells, like tods an'' brocks, An* cam'na back to fight the cocks That craw'd at Balaclava. 54 VERSES Sent to a Friend with Currie's " Life of Burns," the Poet. Here you may read the life of one, With lesson of instruction fraught, Who, human -like, sometimes was known To slight the sentiments he taught. Although his aim was to be wise, And walk erect in wisdom's way, Yet down the baleful path of vice Strong passions led him oft astray. The traits his intellect presents Show what by nature was designed, To picture forth the lineaments And structure of a poet's mind. He tasted joy without control, Grief often rent his feeling breast ; And each emotion of his soul He has in powerful strains exprest. His virtues here are brought to view, That all may worth and merit prize ; His vices are recorded too, That men may shun them, and be wise. Verses. 5 5 Born in a lowly rustic bower, And nursed in poverty's dark shade, He rose by intellectual power, And art and genius great displayed. VERSES Written on Seeing a Young Lady with a Sprig of Thyme in her Breast. Fair is the lily in its prime, And rich the rose's blossom ; But lovelier is the sprig of thyme That blooms on Ellen's bosom. Let luxury from Indian clime On bed of down repose 'im ; But let me rest upon the thyme That blooms on Ellen's bosom. Fearn, 1822. 56 EVENING MEDITATION, 'Tis pleasant to walk in a fine summer morning, When nature breathes balm from each dew-glistening flower ; And grateful at noon, when the bright sun is burning, To recline by the fountain in cool shady bower : But sweeter to roam 'neath the autumn's still sky, And indulge meditation when evening draws nigh. Pursue your gay phantoms, ye votaries of pleasure, Which still, as ye near them, like shadows will fly ; Ye worldlings, rejoice o'er your close-hoarded treasure, Regardless though tears drop from poverty's eye : I love not enjoyments which make the good sigh, Or disturb meditation when evening draws nigh. The culprit whose doom is the block or the gibbet, When justice of mercy has stifled the cry ; His horror of vision what pen could exhibit, When the hour is approaching he knows he must die : Condemned in a dungeon in durance to lie, How dismal his thoughts when life's evening draws nigh ! Evening Meditation. 5 7 Oh ! still may my thoughts be serene as the evening, And placid my breast as the calm sheeny lake ; Religion the pathway of duty enlivening, And ever my heart to its precepts awake : In peace let me live, and in hope let me die, And firm be my faith when life's evening draws nigh ! ;8 STANZAS ON THE SAME SUBJECT AS A HYMN BY DR WATTS. There is a land of pure delight, Where heavenly joys appear ; Where sainted spirits, clad in white, Their crowns of glory wear. There everlasting summer reigns, The sky is ever fair ; No troubles, sorrows, death, or pains, No darkness e'er comes there ! While toss'd on life's tempestuous sea, Where waves of passion roll, May Christ the Lord forever be The anchor of my soul. Death's narrow sea pass o'er we must, Ere we this land discover ; But if in Christ we put our trust, By faith we'll walk it over. 59 THE FARMER ND THE HORNED DEIL. A Tale. " Gie the Deil his due." Scotch Proverb. PART I. Langsyne, aught score o' years a-back, In our forefathers' days, There was a farmer held a tack In Angus' bonnie braes. He was a frugal honest man, Weel kent for industrie ; An' for the Earl o' Airlie's lands, He wadna telFd a lie. His biggin' stood backed round wi' whins, Near Cruock water-side ; Where speckled trouts aft spread their fins, An' lap aboon its tide. Nae far awa', wi' constant ca', Was heard the mill's loud clapper ; As sack by sack, click-clack, click-clack, The corn slade down the happer. 60 The Farmer and the Horned DeiL Here i' the spring did linties sing, An' gowans deck'd the braes ; While lassies gay, in hodden grey, Bleach'd webs o' claith an' claes. His nearest neibour, Westerha', Was wealthier by far ; But neibours wi' him couldna gree, 'Twas constant strife an' war. Wasty wad tak' their sheep and kye, Gin they by chance gaed wrang, An' mony ither pranks wad try, His neibours' peace to dwang. The duds that winds blew o'er the dyke ? Were seldom seen again ; Strayed chuckies, deuks, an' a' sic like, He claimed an' ca'd his ain. Though Easterley was never kent To do him ony harm, Some folk believed that Wasty meant To oust him frae his farm. But Easty was a steady carle, His courage didna flinch ; He kept his grund thro' mony a quarrel, An' never lost an inch. The Fanner and the Ho7-ned Deil. 6 1 When Wasty saw that he sma' feck By thrawart measures gained, He changed his tune, grew neibour like, An' fairer play maintained. Sae visits back an' fore were aft Made by the farmers twa, Till Easty's heart was thaw'd an* saft, As summer's sun melts snaw. Time's silent wheel its threads had twined, For towmonds twa or three, An' Easty's neibour was as kind As ony friend could be. But wha kens what a day may bring, Sic pliskies fate will play us, For happiness will aft tak' wing, An' peace an' pleasure lea' us. Sae sad mischanters, thick an' thrang, Bore hard on Easty's peace, An' made him fear that he ere lang Perforce boot leave the place. In thae auld days the people a' Believed in ghaists an' witches, An' willie-wisps an' bogles saw In moors, peat-hags, an' ditches. 62 The Farmer and the Homed DeiL While fairies danced on mountain sides, In frocks o' brichtest green ; An' water-kelpies splash' d in tides, 'Neath waning moon's dim sheen. 'Bout Halloween, when frosts bite keen, An' nichts grow murk an' lang, An' Easty's ha' erst cheered had been Wi' merry tale and sang, His servants a', baith young an' auld, Gaed gyte wi' perfect fricht ; An' baith the tim'rous an' the bauld To leave him were outricht. For things were done about the toon That made the folks a' feared ; Strange lichts were seen to blink an' sheen, An' eldrich sounds were heard. The looms wad rattle i' the bink, An' waukin' them frae sleep ; The restless crook wad wag an' clink, An' chairs wad loup and wheep. At times like thunder cam' a birr, . That gar'd the house a' dinnle ; Anon there cam' a whirly-whirr, As frae an oo-wheel's spinnle. The Farmer and the Horned Deil. 63 The cocks at dead o' nicht wad craw, Roused by some goblin's flail ; An' oft the mornin' licht wad shaw Twa cattle in ae seal. Ilk crummie's milk gaed a' to faem, 'Twas past a' human skill ; An' aft o' nichts a dowie scream Cam' frae the Sandy Hill. Sometimes a beast, like shaggy dog, Gaed prowlin' 'bout the mill ; Whether like tod, or brock, or hog, It aye foreboded ill. The mill wad roarin' rin a' nicht, Broondin' like pitch-fed fires ; Syne after that a luckless wight Is drowned in Craigie's myres. The country-side was in a fricht, Wi' sic a reirdy-rairdy ; Naebody wad gang out at nicht, 'Tween Deuchar and Bogairdy. An' a' east throw an' wast the howe, Frae Battledykes to Brechin, Nae crack gaed round, but o' the sound O' ghaists and witches screechin'. 64 The Farmer and the Horned Deil. By turns the blame was laid upon The ghaist o' Fernsdale ; * Jock Barefoot come frae Careston f For butter, cream, an' kail. The ghaist o' Dun,J frae bondage dreich, Was blamed as i' the ploy ; The grisly goblin o' Glenquich, An' Clippie frae Glenmoy. * This ghost or brownie was indiscriminately called of Fernsdale, of Brandyden, or Fernden ; his doings were many times friendly to the natives, such as going for a midwife on needful occasions, and performing menial offices according to an old ballad " The muckle ghaist, the fearfu' ghaist, The ghaist o' Fernden, He wud hae wrought as muckle wark As four-an'-twenty men." f Jock Barefoot, the familiar of Careston, was, according to tradition, both a hungry and a drouthie customer, but it is likely he was made the scapegoat for the delinquencies of the servants, and had to bear the blame of consuming all the meat and drink which disappeared mysteriously from the castle. % The ghaist o' Dun was said to be the ghost of a miller named Coulie, who, for his evil deeds, was sent to roll a millstone round the world, and went away lamenting, " Oh, an' it had been but bored !" These two goblins were the terror of the glen shepherds, particularly Clippie Redshanks of Glenmoy, who often helped himself to their milk and meal, substituting water and peat-dross in their stead. With him probably originated the common saying of " Sowen's brose made in Glenmoy without either meal or saut." The ghaist of Fern and that of Glenquich had a conflict at the Steps of Noran by moonlight, when the latter, having the worst of the battle, asked help of a passer-by, who said, u I have no weapon to fight with." The ghost replied, " There's the twa hint-leg banes of a dead horse in that bush ; tak' ye the ane an' I'll tak' the ither, an' we'll pelt him hame across the Noran Water ;" which tradition says they did. The Fanner and the Homed DeiL 65 The ministers declined the lists (For a' their education), To battle wi' sic gruesome ghaists, An' peril their salvation. Bairns dived in beds, an' closed the lids ; Young coofs and cummers grat ; Even folk wi' stronger hearts and heads Trembling wi' terror swat ! PART IL " Your brunstane devilship I see Has got him there afore ye, But halt your nine-tail'd cat awee, Till I've tell'd out my story." Burns. The farmer, thus disturb'd an' vext Beyond what tongue could tell, Resolved, by help o' sacred text, To watch ae nicht himsel'. The family a' retired to bed Afore the nicht grew late ; The Bible on the board was placed, Wi' saut upon a plate. Twa rowan shoots wi' scarlet threads Aboon the door were swung \ A pussy's tail and pullets' heads Were owre the crooktree hung. 66 The Farmer and the Homed Deil. His guid claymore, wi' hilt o' brass, Was leant against the hallan ; An' a' was stilly quietness Within the hamely dwallin'. The guidman musing in his mind, Sat by the ingle lowe, Defying a' the spectre kind, Deil, ghaist, and worricow. 'Twas near the " keystane " o' the nicht. And naething had appeared ; The mossy log still lent a licht, An' Easty wasna feared. The inner door was on the latch The outer stood unbarred The collie dog had ceased to watch, The sleepers' snores were heard. As forky lightning frae a cloud Men's senses doth astound, When followed quick by thunder loud, Which shakes the earth around ; Sae reikabeemus owre a skeel, In fell the hallan door, An' presently the horned deil Cam' croonin' in the floor. The Farmer and the Homed DeiL 6 7 His vasty head an' hairy form Were horrible to view ; For on the point o' ilka horn The sulphur sparkled blue. Thro' fiery holes, like furnace coals, His e'en did blink and glare ; A hardy ane he wad hae been, Could tholed the monster's stare. The farmer's hair wi' fricht upreared, His flesh crap aff ilk bane ; Backlins, he gapin' wide retired Ayont the backet- stane. But onward cam' the goblin grim, Wi' fricht some snort an' blaw, As gin it meant, without a feint, To nail him to the wa\ The dog, that first aneath the dais Crouch'd down wi' wheengin' wail, Noo bang'd frae out his hidden place, An' snuff'd at Clootie's tail. The farmer, thus embolden'd by The courage o' the tyke, Determined instantly to try Gin Hornie's hide was thick. 68 The Farmer and the Homed DeiL The axe he took frae out the nook, An' 'tween the horns sae dread, He lent Auld Nick sae snell a lick, He ca'd him heels o'erhead. Auld Hornie grain'd maist fearfully, But Easty, nae ways fley'd, Row'd out his neibour farmer frae A horn'd heifer's hide ! He warsled up and shook himsel', Wi' bloody mou' an' nose ; What mair pass'd there we canna tell Our tale draws to a close. It shows that covetous vile men Can act witch, deil, an' ghaist Maist o' them phantoms o' the brain, By superstition drest. May chiels wha deal in doolie's tricks Severe chastisement feel ; And may he soundly get his licks Wha personates the Deil. 6 9 THE NEW YEAR'S GIFT, Sent to the Editor of the " Fifeshire Advertiser, " with a Whisk or Besom, January i, 1859. Frae Grampian Hills, far i' the north, To you wha live near Firth o' Forth, A broom is sent to prove its worth, By way o' friend's new-year's gift. Sae whether ye be slack or thrang, Ye'll to the Railway Station gang, Where if ye find a parcel lang, Tak' that, it's your new-year's gift. An' as a besom new sweeps clean, Mak' Council floors, an' kirks bedeen, As polished as a marble stane, By help o' your new-year's gift ; Frae end to end o' the Lang Toun, Brush ettercaps an' gollochs doun, An' sweep the causey to the crown Haud gaun wi' your new-year's gift. A* grocers' stores an' drapers' bales That lang hae lain awaitin' sales, In shops pang'd fu' o' pigs an' nails, Gie a' cobwebs a clear lift. 70 The New Year's Gift. Gin writers' pigeon-holes be dusty, Or lawyers' deeds an' papers fusty, Or gin the printer's shelves be musty, Whisk hard wi' your new-year's gift. Gie bakers' tubs a thorough dreel, As weel's the shops that sell the meal, An' sweetie men in afa^Tthat deal, To mony bairns a dear shift. To ilka clorty house in Fife, Especially where there's no a wife, Tak' rakin' clatt an scrapin' knife, An' syne ply your new-year's gift. Sweep Dysart, Crail, an' Pittenweem, An' ither towns where need may seem, Till there's nae dirt, nor noxious steam, Nor clippins frae the shears left. Lochgelly, too, may need a scour, An' Coaltown, where there's coomy stour, Unless there's been a washin' shower, Gang there wi' your new-year's gift. A lot o' chiels aft mak' a din, An' brag an' blaw because they've tin ; To rinse their heads an' hearts within Wad put ye to a queer shift. 17ie New Year's Gift. 7 1 Yet ye right fectfully in prose Can dight the fool's -drap frae their nose ; A few remarks in tone jocose Will rub like your new-year's gift. Gin ye should meet wi' crusty cocks, Or gabblin' geese, or bubbly-jocks, Yell turn the tither end an' box : Prog at them wi' the deer's heft. But O deal kindly in your sport Wi' birdies o' the singin' sort, An' doubtless they'll reward ye for't, An' gie ye a new-year's gift ! P.S. Hoolie, lat be (ye will exclaim), Baith fowk an' bruchs o' Fife, for shame ! An' yoke to reddin' up at hame Wi' a your might ; Auckmithie, Ferryden by name, Sair needs a dight. An' even your county town itsei' Has aft an uninvitin' smell ; Auld Kirrie, too, the truth to tell, Is 'neath the mark ; In laigh Dundee there is a spell O' cleaning wark. 7 2 The New Year's Gift. But hark ye, sir, the work's begun In several towns a hantle's done ; Through them a stream is made to run Frae morn to e'en, An' ere year Fifty-nine be gone, Most will be clean. Shins d the Grampians, end d ^8. 73 THE PASTOR'S FUNERAL* Slow moves yon group, in sable weeds arrayed, Pale is the hue of every tear-stained cheek ; Their looks, where poignant sorrow sits portray'd, The painful feelings of their hearts bespeak ; O'ercome by grief, the aged and the young, In silence bear their pastor's corpse along. And great the cause the feeling breast to rend, And well may every virtuous mind deplore ; The pious pastor and the poor man's friend United were in him that is no more ; ^For while his counsel smoothed the bed of care, His charity accompanied his prayer. Of all the various ills that blight our joys, Of all the cruel pangs that pierce the heart, There's nought so sorely rends our bosom's ties As with our kind and dearest friends to part ; In every rank and station, still we find This human feeling, common to our kind. * Written in 1824 on the death of the Rev. John Waugh, minister of Menmuir. F 74 The Pastor's Funeral. As when, amidst the battle's fiercest strife, Some veteran chief receives a fatal wound, And groaning out a last adieu to life, Lies lifeless stretched upon the gory ground ; The grief-drawn tear fills each beholder's eye, And every breast, responsive, heaves a sigh. As when the father of a rising race Untimely drops into the silent grave ; The briny droplets moisten every face, And grief o'erwhelms his offspring like a wave,- So deep and painful at their pastor's fall Is the bemoaning of his people all. His was the soul that pity still did show, And his the heart that sympathy did feel, Who still delighted counsel to bestow, And with the Balm of Gilead to heal; And now, his sins and frailties all forgiven, His soul, we trust, has its reward in heaven. 75 A CHARADE OR RIDDLE, In Imitation of one by Lord Byron,* Written before 1823. There's a small certain something which haply you've seen, It dwells in the desert where pastures are green ; 'Tis crooked in figure, hard-featured and bare, Yet stands with much pride in support of the fair. In the bright month of April I saw it last year, But in May, June, and July it ceased to appear ; It grovels in darkness, but shuns the daylight ; It is heard in the morning, but not in the night ; It attends on misfortune with prudence and care, And where mirth and prosperity reign it is there : In wonder, in wonder, where will it be found ? Deep covered in secret, or hid in the ground ; Or aloft in the air at its uttermost bound, Or sunk in the entrance of grotto profound. With a girl if you stray in the grove, you'll be near it ; Cry hark in the wood, and perhaps you may hear ; You'll spy it, no doubt, if you're active and clever, And cautiously pry in the source of a river. * The enigma referred to was attributed to Lord Byron when I first read it. At a later date a Miss Catharine Fanshaw was said to be the writer of it. J. W. 76 A Charade or Riddle. But, oh ! do not steal it for gold from your friend, For its loss would transform him at once to a fiend ! 'Tis past count or weight, and 'tis scarce within mea- sure, Yet when 'tis once seen 'twill be part of your pleasure, Which will make your heart throb with your very last breath, And along with your mourners and friends after death ; On your green, grassy grave it will be last to linger, Yet I've placed it oft on the point of my finger ! 77 ROBIE THE BANKER. Far, far i' the north, where the moss-crap an' heather Sprout up i' the hags an' the houms 'mang the hills, Where the rude rolling waves o' the ocean lash ither, Wi' wailing wheesh-awe round the voes o' the isles, Adown by the shore where the roving ships anchor, In the auld town o' Lerwick, dwalls Robie the Banker. Sae potent an' thrifty, he lives by himsel', Nae byke o' hired servants to harrie an' vex him, Just ae guidly 'oman to answer his bell ; The warld an' its troubles are foiled to perplex him, Sae cheery an' hearty, without care or canker, A richt couthy crony is Robie the Banker. His Maidy is famous for cookin' beef-steak, And very expert at the branksin' o' snippie,* Fu' brawly a guid Scottish bannock can bake, Or dish buttered brochan in bowl or in caupie ; To work or rin errands a notable shanker, Sae nicely appointed is Robie the Banker. * An Angus phrase for putting the tea-kettle on the fire. 78 Robie the Banker. Though sage an' douce -lookin', he's never demure ; While workin' maist pairt 'mang the gowd an' the treasure, He's kind, warm-hearted, an' feels for the puir He disna hain pelf like a saul-swapin' miser He gi'es to the needy without e'er a hanker, Sae kind an' guidwillie is Robie the Banker. He's friendly to honest an' weel-doin' fowks, He'll keep up their credit tho' means be but scanty, But fleechers an' wasters may shak' their toom pocks, He sees through them fine, tho' their speeches be vaunty Wi' their smiles an' their wiles getting franker an' franker, In hopes o' the test'ment o' Robie the Banker. He can measure the starns in the lift far awa', Count lang strings o ? figures frae noth to a million, Can guage, tho' the mountains were covered wi' snaw, The height o' Ben Nevis, Mount Keen, or Schechallion; That th' earth, like a peerie or twenty-pint anker, Is whirlin' in space aye shows Robie the Banker. His arch'd Roman nose is the stile o' his face, A blithe time o' day on its dial is seen j The simplest micht read truth, sincerity, grace, There's aye sunny licht in the glance o' his een ; To sport wi' fowks' feelings he ne'er was a pranker, Though jokey an' cracky be Robie the Banker. Robie the Banker. 79 Gin Maidy were chancin 1 to whittle her stick, The lasses for aince wad be a 1 on their mettle ; They roses an' feathers for bonnets wad pick, An 7 set their caps at him wi' evident ettle ; Even Baby the bloomer, an' Nelly the spanker, Wad jump at a berry like Robie the Banker. There's nae man mair vokie to meet wi' his friends ; Be they young, be they auld, he is kind as a brither Or callants, or cummers, in heyday or teens, He'll treat or be treated without ony swither ;' Nae teetotal whimsies gar him spurn a tanker Yet -douce, wise, an' warldlike is Robie the Banker. Lang, lang may he live to befriend a poor man, An' lang nod about wi' his friends to be hearty ; Pursuing his pleasant an' provident plan, To soothe sorrow's sigh, or put life in a party ; His pow may get lyrat, his chin-stibble ranker, But aye bricht as gas-licht be Robie the Banker. So FAREWELL TO GLENMORE. Farewell to Duncaither, with ring round its top Many years I've looked up to its grey cairny cope ; Farewell to the poplars I planted for screen, Though tall as ships' masts, they are still budding green To roses and fuschias that bloom at the door, As the white-blossomed snowball that grows at Glen- more. When spring-time came round, with my sheet on my arm, I've thirty-eight times helped with seeding the farm ; At reaping and leading I aye took a share, 'Twas cheery to work when 'twas pleasant and fair, But dreary when storms from the Grampians came o'er, And blasted the crops on the lands of Glenmore. On mild summer days, when the weather was bright, The farmer might quaff the pure air with delight ; The wild birds and bees would be chanting and humming, And the flower-scented breeze 'long the braes would be coming. Though labour might make him perspire at each pore, Yet health and contentment would visit Glenmore. Farewell to Glenmore. 81 But oft ere the day to its shortest drew near, The snow on Mount Battock's high crown would appear ; Then Boreas, fierce as a tiger, would come, And worry and tear in the throat of his lum ; 'Twas time to shut window and close hole and bore, For the storm-fiends were scouring the banks of Glen- more. The snow-drift, careering, comes down from the hills ; His stackyard, his courtyard, all places it fills ; His cattle may starve, and his bleaters be smothered, No beasts in such storms can be tended or foddered ; He may or may not have provisions in store, But a battle he'll have with the blast at Glenmore. The roads are blockaded to kirk, mill, and town ; He must stay where he is, for he cannot get down ; Like " patience on monument " there he must sit, And whistle bareheaded, confined to the bit. No joke thus to bide the wild hurricane's roar I've lost twenty hats by the storms at Glenmore. Let those who come there near the mountains to dwell, Where the summer is short and the winter's cold snell, Bring well-furnished fiddle-sticks, spare fiddle-strings, For they'll have to play up to the real Highland flings ; Bring bagpipes and flutes, to make music galore There are four-footed dancers not far from Glenmore. 82 Farewell to Glenmore. Though not the grim witches on broomsticks that ride, These whiskered wild elves in mischief take a pride ; They eat, scream, and caper by night and by day, And the bother is this, that no reckoning they pay. Whoever lives there over years half a score Will learn about treating such guests at Glenmore. Farewell, farmer chums, in the Strath and the Braes ! Long may ye be spared to get crowdy and claes ; The fortunes ye'll make will be scanty, I ween, Though gold grown on stalks for the gathering were seen ; For the lairds with big rents will be picking you clean. In the main, ye're a kindly, industrious core I was aye glad to see ye call in at Glenmore. 'Tis a very good thing when, like birds of a feather, The landlord and tenants live happy together, In kindness and peace, as should brother with brother ; But friendship is one thing and money another. That money 'twixt friends is a cankerous sore A maxim quite apt to the folks ; bout Glenmore. If kites catch their prey when their talons are grown, Then happy the birds from the branch that have flown ; But woe to the flutterers unable to flee, Their doom will be death in the nest on the tree ; Mayhap the scared dove for its safety may soar On fleet wings away from the steeps of Glenmore. Farewell to Glenmore. 83 The lords of the soil in our forefathers' days Befriended their vassals in many kind ways ; But now they care little for farmers or peasants, Their worth is not more than the moorfowls or pheasants ; Belike they'd pop-gun them to make a bit splore, As wild callants pepper'd the rats at Glenmore. Perhaps in the future some morning may come, When riflemen march to the trumpet and drum, To engage with their foes in the battle's fierce shock, Some leaders may get their pea-soup through the smoke- 1 - A dish which they may not have tasted before, Such cookery not being in vogue in Glenmore : While chieftains whose bosoms contain not a stone, In front of their squadrons to vict'ry march on, Well knowing their men to their flag will stick fast, And fight for their country and friends to the last, Though sabres should gleam and artillery roar Such heroes at one time were bred in Glenmore. Men's hearts are least selfish in youth's hopeful days ; But gold is the spark which enkindles the blaze That seldom is quenched, till in dust we lie low The nearer the grave we the greedier grow ; Whatever we gain there's a craving for more Most men are akin to the folks 'bout Glenmore. 84 Farewell to Glenmore. My mind may at times (leaving wealth out of view) Have built airy castles and towers not a few, Which showed that it longed, all unfettered and free, From earth and its cares disentangled to be, Not groping below seeking mines of gold ore A discov'ry not hitherto made at Glenmore. Whate'er be my fate in the future, if spared, I'm grateful for friendship and joy I have shared, Though my bones should be laid in a strange churchyard, Where monks or Culdees raised their altars of yore, And ocean's wild waves lash a desolate shore, Where echo ne'er whispered the name heretofore, And nobody knew or had heard of Glenmore. A hearty good-bye to the people and lands, Where gaining my living kept busy my hands. Howe'er short or long be life's lease that we run, We'll witness vicissitude under the sun ; But true-hearted ones never whine or deplore, So cheer, boys, cheer ! here's adieu to Glenmore ! S5 VERSES ADDRESSED TO A WOODCOCK. Hail ! wandering bird frae Norway's coast, Or haply fled frae Lapland's frost ; What instinct gars thee hither post In winter-time, Sith thou might'st couth an' canty roost In warmer clime ? While here, companion o' the snipe, Ye puddle in some cauld well-stripe, Or pluck the girse frae boggy sype, Cauld, cauld as ice, The grape, sae juicy and sae ripe, Might be thy choice. Gin I had wings, an' were as free To tak' a flight abroad as thee, Ere Beltan tide, I'll wad I'd be Across the ocean, An' pick the plum an' cherry tree In land o J Goshen. On nimble wing I'd wend awa' To where there's neither frost nor snaw 86 Verses Addressed to a Woodcock. To Otaheite's island braw, Where grows breadfruit, And where gunpowder wadna blaw My harns aboot.* While here ye rise frae 'mang the broom, Or owre the copeswood thicket soom, Some chiel wi' life-destroying lume f Tak's aim at thee ; Crack gaes the shot wi' rushing boom, An' down fa' ye. Nae doubt, puir bird, to 'scape ye try, But ither cocks, an' men forbye, Wi' as lang heads as you or I, Hae been mista'en, An' lost their balance in the sky, When flights they've ta'en. Some luckie fowls flee where they like, Get aye the lythe side o' the dyke ; Wi' gaudy wings they couthy byke In fortune's sun, While ither birds their meat maun pyke In frozen zone. * When Captain Cooke visited the island, the use of gunpowder was un- known to the natives. f Lume is here used in the sense of implement. In the olden time, kitchen implements were called htmes ; and to some other articles also the term lume was applied, yet mostly in the restricted sense that the article was capable of bearing or containing something. Verses Addressed to a Woodcock. 87 We've mony birds o' passage here, That flit like woodcocks ilka year, But they maist feckly try to steer To warmer skies ; * Yet aftener meet their deaths, I fear, Than wealth or joys. Thus humankind, as well as cocks, Got mony a cheat an' serious hoax ; Pleasure our expectation mocks, Wi' flitting wing ; An' heavy on us are the strokes Our follies bring. * This was written in 1822, when emigration to the West India Islands was much in vogue, and deaths frequent from fever. 88 MY GUIDING STAR. Had not fair Ellen been my love, I would have lost my way j And, like a lone and mateless dove, Have wander' d far astray. But she has been my star and guide When dark'ning shadows fell ; And proving true, and loving too, Has bound my heart in spell. And now each morning rises bright, And cheery goes the day j I walk all in the sunny light Of purest friendship's ray. So while the stream of life flows on, Through clear or cloudy weather, We two, united, Will as one Walk arm-in-arm together. August i8y i. 8 9 WHOM TO CHOOSE. What wooer wants to wed a tinsel miss, In finery decked to make her person shine ? If gold and jewels constitute his bliss, Send him to Mammon's, not to Hymen's shrine. He has no chance for wedded happiness, For vanity and virtue ne'er combine ; Howe'er disguised may be his smooth proposal, From Jessie he would meet a flat refusal. Whoever wants a kind and loving heart, A modest mien, where truth and frankness meet, Let him with wisdom act the lover's part ; He may succeed, if honest and discreet. Let not deception mar the courting art - } For if there were a spark of falsehood in it, Young Jessie's eye would spy it in a minute. If any lady want a proper mate, She need not slight one though his means be small ; Nor yet reject one having an estate The merit of the man should rule withal. G 90 Whom to Choose. Buy not experience at too dear a rate ; The higher up, oft greater proves the fall. Put little faith in those who loudly boast, For those who promise least perform the most. There often may be danger in delay, And sometimes there is safety in it too, To keep a forward, fawning fop at bay, And read his character and nature through. The skilful angler gives the line away To land the fish : when that is wise to do Requires a prudent head and steady hand, Both which fair Jessie keeps at her command. September i8ji. 9* A BIRTHDAY ACQUAINTANCE. The fourteenth October, when morning light rose, I consciously woke from a night's good repose : Reflecting on time as I lay on my bed, A solemn acquaintance that morn I had made. With small demonstration the fact was made clear, I had just shaken hands with my eightieth year. I trusted or doubted through seven decades, To see him, when deemed far away in the shades ; While steadily stepping, aye nearer he came Fourscore ! there is something quite grave in the name. Few mortals on earth have so long a career. Or live to shake hands with their eightieth year. Six brothers, once healthy, lie mouldering in dust, Their souls, it is hoped, are in heaven with the just ; My early companions are gone to decay, And left me a pilgrim alone by the way \ Of loving relations and friends I held dear, Not one has come on to the eightieth year. 92 A Birthday Acquaintance. Both joy and affliction in life I have known, But the mild beam of mercy has over me shone ; Unworthy to share Heaven's favour and love, My soul strove to walk in the light from above, Which showed by repentance the pathway was clear, Whilst journeying on to my eightieth year. Though age and grey hairs may betoken life's end, I'm blest with contentment, I trust a true Friend The Saviour of man, who will guide by His grace All those who are His, and prepare them a place ; So, whether I die, or remain longer here, I bide the Lord's will in my eightieth year. October 1873. 93 SONG. Air " The Legacy." 'Twas up in yon glen where the clear burnie wimples, Where wide-spreading willows entwine with the slaes ; Where the kid and the lambkin are sporting together, By Navar's soft streamlet and green gowany braes 'Twas there that I first wi' my Annie forgathered, Attending her lambkins as white as the snaw ; She joined her sweet voice to the notes o' the mavis, Whose melody rung through the green birken shaw. Her countenance beamed like the fair azure welkin, Illumed by the rays of the bright setting sun ; Her eye was as bright as the eye of the morning, When Phcebus first rises o'er high Catterthun ; Her voice was as clear as the lark's vernal carol, When soaring he sings o'er the green flow'ry vale ; Her breath was as sweet as the scent of the moorland, When fragrant heath blossoms impregnate the gale. The evening pass'd by, but I canna describe it ; The night wore awa', but I canna tell how ; Aurora was peeping before we got sundered, And morning bore witness to love's fervent glow. And mony a morning has since beamed upon us, And happy, and happier still, are our days : We aye bless the evening when first we forgathered By Navar's clear burnie and green flow'ry braes. 94 A GOOD WISH. Let worldly-minded men pursue The toilsome trade of getting gain ; And let the avaricious woo Those dames whose dowries make them fain. But Heaven direct me in my choice, A virtuous, feeling fair to find, To share my sorrows, hopes, or joys, With magnanimity of mind. 95 FAREWELL TO LOCHLEE. By a Visitor. Farewell to the Glen, with its mountains so high ! Their summits seem pillars supporting the sky ; Mount Keen and Mount Battock, so airy and free ; And frowning Muscaldy, o'erlooking Lochlee ; Broad Wirran ; high Cochly, with white misty caul ; And the Hill * where aloft to the memory of Maule The monument soars, in the glack of the Glen, To him who was loved as a leader of men Whose prowess was proved in the battles afar, When the Muscovites sounded the trumpet of war. Goodbye to the brooks and the birch- covered braes To the slopes where the heath its rich blossom displays, Diffusing rich fragrance o'er moorland and lea ; Each angler is charmed by the hum of the bee, As the Esk rolls its waters along to the sea. Here Albion's sons with their Mantons are found ; Their rousing reports make the echoes resound ; While health-giving breezes around them blow free, They strengthen their frames on the wilds of Lochlee. * The Rowanhill, where a monument to the memory of the late Right Hon. Lauderdale Maule, Colonel of the 79th Regiment, is being erected by his brother officers. 96 Farewell to Lochlee. Adieu to the natives, so kindly and frank, Where the rich and the poor, irrespective of rank, The peer and the peasant, in friendship oft meet, Like brethren, convened at the Lodge or Retreat ; While England's fair daughters, the flowers of her land, Come smiling to bless with a gift in each hand. Whoever good health and enjoyment would see, Must visit the Glen and sojourn in Lochlee. 97 SONG. Air " Bonnie Laddie, Highland Laddie." Johnny whistled in the shaw, Merry Johnny, funny Johnny ; Till Nancy heard him in the ha', And steaPd away to Johnny. Johnny woo'd her in the wood, Merry Johnny, funny Johnny ; Till Nancy's heart gaed thud for thud, Sae closely press'd by Johnny. Johnny telFd a sleekit tale, Merry Johnny, funny Johnny ; An' Nannie's heart did heave an' swell Wi' lealest love for Johnny. Johnny ae day left his wark, Cheery Johnny, loving Johnny ; An' led his Nancy to the kirk, An' buckled her to Johnny. Now they live on yonder brae, John an' Nannie, Nan an' Johnny ; An' Nannie blythely hears ilk day The whistling o' her Johnny. 9 8 THE MARLED MITTENS. My Aunty Kate raucht down her wheel, That on the bauks had lien fu' lang ; Sought out her whorles an' her reel, An' fell to wark wi' merry bang. She took her cairds an' cairdin' skin, Her walgie fu' o' creeshie woo', An' rave awa' wi' scrivin' din, An' mixed it wi' a hair o' blue. Bedeen, the spokes she eident tirled, Wi' birr the rim an' spinnle span ; An' sune the rows to threads were whirled, As back an' fore the floor she ran. Wi' baith my e'en I stood an' glowr'd, An' ferlied what she niest wad do, As lichtsome ower the floor she scour'd, An' blythely lilted " Tarry Oo." Syne frae the wheel, an' eke the reel, The aefauld yarn was ta'en awa', To th' yarnits niest, to lay an' twist Ilk clew was bigger than a ba'. Then in twa e'enin's, after dark, Her knittin' wires she ply'd wi' glee ; An' what was a' my aunty's wark ? Just marled mittens wrought for me. 99 WHISTLIN' TAM. Kend ye little Tammy wha lived on the knowe, 'Mang the woods o' Drumcuthlie, where blaeberries grow? His bonnet was aye cockit heigh on his brow, A queer-lookin' carlie was Tammy, I trow. He was ca'd Whistlin' Tarn, 'cause he had sic a gait o't, An' nae muckle ferlie, his mou' had the set o't ; An' gang whare he likit, he ne'er missed a bit o't, Aye whoo-ye, whoo, whoo-ye, sowth'd Whistlin' Tarn. An' Meg, his guidwife, wi' her twa-handit wheel, Span mony braw wabs o' baith plainen an' tweel ; Baith bodies toiled sair to mak' gowd in a lump, But Maggie was counted the stang o' the trump. A sma' shop they keepit, twa kye and a mare, For the peats were to lead an' the land was to ear ; An' hame frae the Bruch, wi' the gudes an' the gear, Hipp, Mally ! whoo, whoo-ye, cam' Whistlin' Tarn. Their ae dautit laddie, their hope an' their care, I' the Bruch at the schoolin' was drill'd lang an' sair ; While three sonsie cummers at hame had, I ween, Mony trysts wi' their lads i' the plantin' at e'en. Young Meg an' the miller were buckled wi' ither, Soon after the cobbler an' Kate gaed thegither ; But Nell miss'd that luck, to the grief o' her mither,. While whoo-ye, whoo, whoo-ye, sowth'd Whistlin' Tam. ioo Whistlirt Tarn, Some neibours wad threap but 'twas maybe no true That Tarn i' the kirk gied a whoo-ye, whoo, whoo ! When the lettergae, tryin' new tunes, wad gae wrang, Or the parson was prosy an' keepit them lang. Young Jamie took on wi' the redcoated train, An' fell in the front of the tulzie in Spain ; His poor dowie mither made nae little mane, But whoo-ye, whoo, whoo-ye, sowth'd Whistlin' Tarn. Ae blawin' spring rnornin' Tarn's biggin' took fire, An' the lowe spread around to the barn an' the byre ; The neibours cam' rinnin' to help wi' guidwill, But the blaze gaed aboon a' their maughts an' their skill. Alack ! for the sufferers there was nae remeid ; Nicht cam', an' they hadna a roof ower their head, Nor blanket to hap them, nor bannock o' bread Yet whoo-ye, whoo, whoo-ye, sowth'd Whistlin' Tarn. 101 YOUNG MONTROSE ON ORATORY, The people of Montrose and its vicinity Including fathers, mothers, daughters, sons On points of taste, decorum, and divinity, Have long been famed as very knowing ones Deep read in Greek, in Hebrew, and Latinity, They sport opinions freely for the nonce ; So quite expert at judging now they be, The true from false they in a moment see. Though in the heavens no luminary shine, Nor moon, nor stars in galaxy appear, Yet will they photograph a picture fine Of any form, from plebeian to peer, Both mind and body, curvature and line ; Making each lineament and feature clear, From smallest wrinkle of a sound divine, To amplitude of ladies' crinoline. It will not do with them to rise in wrath, And froth with bathos like a foaming churn- Raising a vapour like a Turkish bath, Making the hearers swelter in their turn ; 102 Young Montrose on Oratory. Nor steaming on some high aerial path, Attempting " thoughts that breathe and words that burn : " Speakers must keep the road of common sense, Nor from it swerve on any false pretence. It just may pass to fire, at times, a trope, Or simile, to help an illustration ; But if such come upon them, pop, pop, pop, They will exclaim, " What nonsense! botheration ! Of understanding this there is no hope ; It beats for blarney all the Yankee nation ; And it professes to outdo the globe At talking big or gulling of a mob. n Ye orators who do in public speak, Be, we beseech you, on your P's and Q's, And not for flowery phrase or language seek Not baldly brief, nor drawling and diffuse : Let not your diction be too strong or weak ; Remember there are critics in the pews, Who, on the watch, to faults are all alive, And will not at the smallest ones connive. A rhapsody, if executed well, May for a moment catch their itching ears ; But if they be not bound as with a spell, They'll turn upon the speaker fierce as bears ; Young Montrose on Oratory. 10: And then the consequences who can tell, When young Montrose, enraged, his bristle rears : Youths will not feel compunction or be sorry After a doctor or divine they worry. Yet, if it come in their sagacious heads, That ye are men quite worthy of deserts, They will drop praise, as Catholics tell beads, Out of the very fountain of their hearts. He that speaks well and musically reads, Forthwith is dubbed a man of famous parts, And will of praise get an o'erwhelming dose Ad nauseam quantum suff. as Latin goes. The public mind has got enlighten'd views Of elocution, lecturing, and preaching ; And he who would instruct it, or amuse, Up fancy's tree for peaches must be reaching, To bring the sweets which modern palates choose- Pine-apples, cherries, to give zest to teaching ; It may with gusto clear a plate of fritters, But turns its nose up at a glass of bitters. Unlike the stomachs of our stalwart sires, Which could digest large lumps of solid matter, Our appetites, our longings, and desires, Are after sausage, puffs, and pudding-batter : 104 Young Montrose on Oratory. Scarce in our bosoms " live their wonted fires ; " No smouldering flame bursts upward from the crater Of our dull minds. We smoke, not blaze as they did. And yet our morbid craving must be sated. 'Tis to be hoped the prudent Literati, Though knowing well that they are men of might, Will yet remember mercy, and have pity, And not smite hip and thigh for errors slight ; But, for the credit of the learned city, While keeping still their falchions keen and bright, Will not in battle with weak enemies close, But only strike their proud and potent foes. I0 5 BESS 0> FETTERCAIRN. Ae summer morn, abune the corn While midges thick were dancing An' sunny rays aslant the braes Amang the trees were glancing Young Hugh, the laird o' Dillyvaird, Came out to get an airin', An' wha was weedin' in the yaird, But Bess o' Fettercairn. The laird gaed round, an' up an' down, An' throw an' throw the garden, While Bessie 'mang the sybows sang, Without the least regardin' ; But aye he nearer came the place, An' at the lass was starin', At last he rudely rubbit claes Wi' Bess o' Fettercairn. While she stood still, he showed the will To tease her most unfairly ; But wi' the leeks she whisk'd his cheeks And gard him stand at parley. He lookit like a pawky tyke To mouth a mouse preparing But fleet as roe she sprang the dyke, An' fled to Fettercairn. H 106 Bess o y Fetter cairn. In gaed the laird wi' bluthert face, The servants kent the hail o't ; His mam was in an unco case, His sisters spak' a deal o't ; In angry words they threaten' d Bess, To gie her leeks her sairin', But soon the laird rode wast the braes, An' ca'd at Fettercairn. Her dad an' mammy couldna guess What Hugh the laird was wantin', But Bessie showed a smilin' face, An' looked most enchantin'. Right soon a weddin' came atweel, At which nae lassie bairn Could dance sae weel the lichtsome reel, " The Braes o' Fettercairn." When seated at the laird's board-end, She managed sae discreetly, His mither sune became her friend She gained her love completely. An' by guid luck came frae the north Glenbucket an' Glencairn, An' took awa' the sisters twa, To dwell ayont the Cairn. * * The Cairn o' Mount. Bess d Fetter cairn. 107 Sae lasses a', hamespun or braw, When gentles make pretences, A lash o' leeks, brought round their cheeks, Will bring them to their senses, An' lat you see, with hauf an e'e, Gin they for you be carin' ; If love be true, they'll follow you As far's to Fettercairn. io8 ON THE DEATH OF GEORGE WISH ART, One of the Scottish Martyrs, who was Burnt at the Stake at St Andrew's, March 28, 1545-46. The towers of St Andrew's stood over the wave, As the morning sun beamed on their battlements high ; And sad was the sound which the warning-bell gave That day faithful Wishart was fated to die. By prejudiced judges unjustly condemned, In open defiance of justice and right, He freely forgave them, nor privilege claimed He looked to a crown in the mansions of light. The faggots are piled, and the flame blazes high, And the onlookers' faces are pale with despair ; But look at the martyr, behold his bright eye, No trace of compunction or sorrow is there. See Beaton arrayed in the trappings of pride, Athirst for revenge, and exulting in power ; Though wealth and distinction are both on his side. They cannot redeem him from destiny's hour. On the Death of George Wishart. 109 The seer and the martyr, enshrouded in flame, The fate of his fierce persecutor foretold ; The sword of avenging wrath certainly came, For soon did his corse in a dungeon lie cold.* The promptings of pride and the passions of men May urge them to actions unholy and vile ; Still the true friends of Zion her cause will maintain, Though the meek and the peaceful may suffer the while. So Wishart the Martyr was true to the cause Of Scotland, his creed, and a gospel Church pure ; Like Stephen, his eyes looked in faith to the skies, His trust through the Saviour's atonement was sure. Though strife and division may trouble the land, And error, unblushing, with rancour assail, Yet the Church of our fathers unshaken shall stand, And truth, sacred truth, in the end will prevail ! * The body of Cardinal Beaton was thrown by his assassins into the dun- geon of the sea-tower. no THE GUIDWIFE O f GLEN LEY. She's nane o' your braw-buskit Borrowtown ladies, Wha loll on a saft-cushioned seat a 5 their days, An' haud up cheekwind to their mammies and daddies. Wi' gnapin' fine English an* quotin' French plays : She's crisp, clean, an' genty, without behV gay She's hearty an' kind, the Guidwife o' Glenley. She's handy an' quick wi' her weirs an' her needles, She'll make ye a sark or a cravat fu' braw ; But caresna a rash about fike fiddle-diddles, Fall-lalls o' silk-nettin', an' croshy an' a' : Castin' cantrips wi' loops, as 'twere witches to fley, She mak's usefu' things, the Guidwife o' Glenley. Her husband may safely the house till her lippin ; She'll help wi' the washin' or makin' the kail ; Or gin there be need, she'll attend the sheep-clippin', Or milkin' the kye, for she's guid at the pail : She locks up the aumry, an' carries the key, But the servants a' like the Guidwife o' Glenley. The Guidwife d Glenley, 1 1 1 The little herd callants, when suppin* their parritch, She treated wi' milk newly drawn frae the cow; Wad kindly encourage them gettin' their carritch, An' mak' them say grace, whether hungry or fou : Devotional habits she teaches them aye, An' holy things too, the Guidwife o' Glenley. Forbye, she has tales about brownies an fairies, To pass winter nichts when the storm mak's a raid ; Or, clearin' her pipe, she can lilt the " Blaeberries," " The Flowers o' the Forest," or " Johnny's Grey Plaid ;" Or gi'e them a reel, or a Highland strathspey, To cheer up their hearts, the Guidwife o' Glenley. She winna brook cairts, for they're aye breedin' brulzies, But tholes Jocky blindy, or yet seek-an'-hod ; An' keeps a sharp e'e o'er their fun an' their tulzies, To check indiscretion an' vice i' the bud : E'en though they should differ, she'll soon squash a pley Wi' her peacemakin' powers, the Guidwife o' Glenley. She disna put neibours an' friends half dementit, Gaun clashin' an' clav'rin the hale country through, But sticks to her hame an' her husband contentit, An' hauds the yoke straught wi' a fair siccar pu' : Ye may ca' south an' north, frae the Forth to the Spey, Yet maybe no match the Guidwife o' Glenley. 112 EPISTLE TO A DISABLED YOUNG SOLDIER, Returned from the War in the Crimea. Guid luck an' comfort to ye, Charlie ; Hale be your heart, baith late air* early ; May fell misfortune never tirle ye Down sorrow's howe, Till of a happy, wise, auld carlie Ye straik the pow. 'Tis true that dreary days hae come Sin ye marched to the fife and drum ; Yet thro' the gloom there would brak' some Clear blinks o' joys, Defying care to move ye from Your equipoise. Granting that man's a sinm' creature, An' sair deformed in every feature ; But yet by grace his pristine nature Can be restored, To fit him for a life that's better, With Christ the Lord. Epistle to a Disabled Young Soldier. 113 Then let us strive content to be, Whatever grief or pain we dree ; Our souls, like Lazarus, set free, May soar on high, While wicked men, by Heaven's decree, In torments lie. So if we trust in heavenly grace, Sweet mercy, like the dove of peace, Will soothe our hearts, our faith increase, And lead us on, Until made meet to sing God's praise Before His throne. ii4 RURAL AND TOWN LIFE CONTRASTED. I've now settled down, in my quarters in town, And my manner of life is much altered, I own : I sit in my parlour in peace and in quiet No rude servants squalling and raising a riot. Less business, less trouble, less care on my mind, My daily enjoyment I count more refined ; My berth, if not airy, requires little warming Cold blasts do not touch me, since quitting the farming. The winds from the mountains may blow as they like, The rain fall in torrents, and snow fill the dyke ; The lightning may flash, the loud thunder may roar, And the waves wildly dash on the sea's rocky shore : I list the rough warfare, though long it may last ; No bleaters or bovines have I in the blast ; No crops have to blight, or be eaten by vermin My slumbers are sound, since I've quitted the farmin\ Of nights, it is true, heavy iron-shod feet Go tramp, tramp, along on the pavement or street ; The watchman loud bawling, " Half-past one o'clock," Gives the nerves of the sleeper a rather rude shock ; Rural and Town Life Contrasted, 1 1 5 While oaths and bad words strike the list'ner's ear, Who lists, like Macbeth,* tho' there's little to fear ; For, saving such sounds, there is nothing alarming, Though tods prowl for lambs, as they do at the farming. A lot of keen farmers there's now in the land, With gold in their coffers and more at command ; For doctors, and drapers, and bankers all try it Ev'n butchers, and blacksmiths, and bakers don't shy it ; But wait till bad crops, and the pinch of low prices, Once give them a taste of the pickles and ices They then may find out, though perhaps to their harming, Any trade, fairly paid, may be better than farming. Six days of the week I enjoy lettered ease : I can read, write, or think, or make rhymes if I please ; Walk out to the Links to enjoy the sea-breeze (Not wading, as erst, in foul mud to the knees) ; Get the news of the day from the merchants and traders; Look after the leeries who climb up the ladders ; Or call at the baker's, where batches are harming - . Made of tapioca that's raised at the farming. i &> * "There's one did laugh in's sleep, and one cry'd Murder ! They wak'd each other ; and I stood and heard them : One cry'd Heaven bless us ! and Amen the other ; As they had seen me with these hangman's hands Listening their fear." Shakespeare. 1 1 6 Rural and Town Life Contrasted. There's wealth of good living, if money be plenty, Folks need not be straiten'd to get ev'ry dainty ; All things can be got which good money can buy, For eating, or smoking ; nor need they be dry Ox-heads and sheep's trotters ; beef, biscuits and tea ; Wine, walnuts, and whisky, cigars and rappee ; Rich dresses, grand jewels, that make ladies charming ; With lots that were never dreamed of at the farming. When Sabbath comes round, in a calm, sober mood I go to the kirk, where the preaching is good, To join in devotion along with the flock, Who drink of pure water drawn out of the Rock ; For the gospel is preached to the rich and the poor, And all are invited to enter the door. I hear with attention a lecture or sermon, Quite tranquil in mind, since I quitted the farmm'. So, whether in town or in country we dwell, We happy may be, if contented and well, Nor fret and repine at the changes that come, Though fortune bring favours and riches to some, To others, a scantier portion may give ; A great deal depends on the way people live. Let prudence be guide, and let reason determine, To stick to a trade, or to fag at the farmin\ Montrose, Deceniber 9, 1862. ii7 HOW THE WORLD IS GOING IN 1875, Of old the sages seemed to think This earth stood as a stane, Like cliff upon the ocean's brink, Or rock of Clochnabane. It whiles might gi'e a bump or shog, When stars or planets neared it ; But for the most stood like a post, When they passed on an' cleared it. They thought the sun sailed round the globe In compass of a year, And shed a light, both day and night, Upon this lower sphere. Plain folks thought if the earth whirled round, Like big mill's outer wheels, Men would be tumbling on their heads, And kicking up their heels. 1 1 8 How the World is Going in 1875. Astronomers by tubes then traced The globe, and saw it moving Around the sun where it was placed, Earth's daily motion proving. So weighty arguments they got, They showed it certain fact is, The sun in heaven's arch moveth not, Unless round its own axis. But still the old ones answered tough, Such motion could not be ; For if the earth rolled round, its trough Would spill out all the sea. They did not seem well versed and trained In knowledge of attraction ; And so such points were not explained To their full satisfaction. They pled that spying chinks and holes r the sun, the moon, and starns, Was apt to doitryfie men's skulls, And ravel all their harns. But scattered wits or jumbled brain, Whiche'er the case may be, 'Tis fact that on a point two men Can seldom now agree. Hoiu the World is Going in iS/j. 119 One says the moon is luminous, Its heart is full of light ; A second cries, " 'Tis no such thing, 'Tis ebon-dark as night." A third asserts they both are wrong To talk of light or shade ; " The moon was shown, when I was young, To be of green cheese made." Some statesmen are for making rules To keep in check the masses ; While they, self- wise, account them fools, And call them arrant asses. Our workmen's clubs are powerful clubs, They beat down opposition ; Masters, they say, are silly snobs, Doomed shortly to perdition. Their chief men, talky delegates, Are famous for palavers ; The only wisdom of their pates Is pocketing cash favours. They gull the lieges right and left, Persuade them they are nobles ; While all their speeches, woof and weft, Are foam and air-blown bubbles. 120 How the World is Going in 1875. Advising strikes, promoting strife, They much mischief are brewing ; Instead of bettering your life, Your interest they're undoing. But how in future they will fend, When workmen cease to pay them ; 'Twere only justice in the end, Stern want should strike and slay them. For now a set of roughs we find, With hearts so full of evil, They would not care though half mankind Were drifting to the devil. The collier lads, who toil in squads In mines below the ground, Rise up like fiends 'gainst foes or friends, Demanding many a pound. Though extra pay they get per day, To make them work in quiet, It mostly goes to strikes and rows, Coarse revelry and riot. Coalmasters rich may prices raise, And many poor folks harm But money spent on discontent Thousands of homes would warm. How the World is Going in 1875. 121 J Tis very clear, when coals get dear, Both parties are to blame; Though both deny, they share the lie The guiltier take most shame. If money were not gained by trade, None would be public traders ; Our land would then a prize be made By barbarous invaders. Our working men full soon would feel The pangs of gnawing hunger ; Then foreign foes would whet the steel, And prove themselves the stronger. Society was healthier far When folks their Bibles read, When class with class avoided war, And peaceful neighbours prayed. No rancour was within their hearts, Their tongues sent forth no spite, But, brother-like in arms and arts, United with delight. Now, gain or no gain on the price Of manufactured goods, Fools say the lion's share is yours, When in their fiercest moods. 1 122 How the World is Going in 1S75. If born to labour, ? tis your right That pay for it be gotten ; But its amount, by tale or weight, Gold's owners have a vote in. Without their help wheels will not move, Nor hands nor skill availing ; Take counsel sound, and cherish love, You'll find. it safest sailing. Live and let live should be the law Between the differing parties ; Shake hands, make bargains, ne'er withdraw, But still work on, dear hearties. If music's charms can soothe and tame Quite savage breasts or vipers, Our times should be a match for them, We've got so many pipers. Their pipes are not like Highland pipes, Used in the time of wars ; They've puffing pipes of other types, White clay and leafed cigars. They cost the nation many pounds A year, there is no doubt ; Query, how many fiery rounds Would burn a man's heart out ? How the World is Going in z$75. 123 If smoking be a practice bad, Gross snuffing is no better ; Both hurt the young and growing lad, And soil the aged creature. But chiefly spirits prove the bane Amongst our lower orders, And will prevail till temperance gain Firm sway on British borders. Our middle-class most 'scape this curse ; The high show less carousing ; But meaner souls wax worse and worse, No finish has their bousing. For if they groggy be at night, They start again next morning ; No pain, no grief, nor counsel right, Will serve them as a warning. Though friends at present fail to see A cure for this great folly, 'Tis more than likely this will be Heaven's grace and counsel holy. The clergy are a powerful lot, As all the world may see ; Yet their beliefs and practice not Well suited to agree. 124 How the World is Going in 18/5. Some sects of late, with zeal elate, Chanted most sacred notes ; But soon anon they changed their tone, Threat'ning each other's throats. Others with broader, sounder views, More bountiful of mind, Spread wide abroad their love profuse, Embracing all mankind. While good men, vexed by forms and rites, In devious paths are roaming, Many look up in faith and hope, To hail a good time coming. Our public schools are fenced with rules Great is the preparation But will young men more wisdom gain, And make a happier nation ? This age advantages may claim, If scholars don't abuse them ; But all the value of the same Depends on how they use them. Will modern damsels, taught and trained Apart from friends and brothers, Have purer minds, or still be stained As young unmarried mothers ? How the World is Going in 1875. 125 To queries such 'tis worth the while To find a truthful answer ; Or will new modes good breeding spoil, And prove a moral cancer ? * They may or may not better be, As teachers do their duties, After they handle larger fee For teaching girlish beauties. True knowledge is a precious thing, When properly applied ; Much profit, pleasure it will bring, Though wealth may be denied. Steam vessels, locomotives ply, Most swiftly to and fro ; While moderns think that formerly Most things moved mighty slow. Full many bridges, aqueducts, Span hollows, lakes, and rivers ; Collisions cause such dreadful shocks, All things are smashed to shivers. * In some countries, such as Turkey, the practice of secluding females from their equals in life of the male sex, is not thought by Protestant divines and statesmen to be favourable to virtue, but the contrary. In many of the largest seminaries of the American States the sexes are taught together face to face, and it is believed to be the best way of training them for their duties in after-life. i26 How the World is Going in 1875. 'Tis patent now to all, I trow, That ladies can be doctors, And take degrees, and gather fees, Like lawyers, priests, and proctors. We wish them joy, without alloy, In this new occupation, To soothe the life of man and wife, And youngsters of the nation. Rememb'ring this, whatever come, Whate'er they may adventure, That charity begins at home, Home-work must be its centre. To go where grief or want may lurk, 111 health in friend or neighbour ; This will be woman's special work, This woman's blessed labour. 127 THE LADIES' REPLY TO THE LAMENT- " WHY DON'T THE GIRLS PROPOSE?" Ye gentlemen, ungallant ones, Who are so sore lamenting, We've read your blarney and your bounce, And are you really fainting ? You must be in a woful case, And doleful your condition, When no one with a smiling face Will act as your physician. With every lady's dress and mind You seem to have contention ; But we with gentlemen could find Faults that we shall not mention. It shows a want of common sense To meddle with our matters \ You would not care, if saving pence, Though we wore rags and tatters. No marriage business can be done With such a set of beaux, Who care for none but number one ; 'Tis useless to propose. 128 The Ladies' Reply, 'Tis pitiful, beyond a joke, To see them walk in rows ; Smelling far more of cheroot-smoke Than of a fragrant rose, . Of modesty they talk a deal, But none of it disclose ; We question if they ever feel, Or else they would propose. They make low bows, then curl their brows, And pat upon each nose ; Do anything but buy a ring, Or earnestly propose. And when leap-year, as now, comes round, We could not, though we chose ; When they in tavern haunts are found, How could the girls propose ? 'Tis quite insulting to our sex To ask us to propose, When, with effrontery, they vex And aggravate our woes. Even at a ball, in dancing hall, Such gents look quite morose If we, by any signal small, Hint that they might propose. The Ladies' Reply. 129 We "Bachelors of laws " ? no, no j They are so shocking bad, That, as a warning, long ago They should have been outlaw'd. We warn them, though they dose and sleep, In spite of their neglecting, Whoe'er the asking has, we'll keep Owe free right of rejecting. So we will go to other towns, Where we will all have beaux, And leave them with their hairless crowns, Mope, moping in Montrose ! Montrose, August 18, 1868. 13 VERSES. Isaiah xxxv. 8 ; li. II. Amidst life's tangled wilderness There is a pathway fair 'Tis called the way of holiness, But sinners walk not there. Believers, meek wayfaring men, The privilege enjoy ; The Lord's redeemed walk there with songs Of everlasting joy. To him whose heart is full of sin No footing there is found ; Before him broad destruction's road Leads to the gulf profound. But those who trust in God are strong, His service their employ ; The Lord's redeemed take up their song Of everlasting joy. il I am the way," Messiah says, " The life, the truth to all ; n Who trusts in Him, by fervent faith From grace will never fall. Verses. 131 He guards from enemies and wrongs None can His lambs destroy ; The Lord's redeemed sing sacred songs Of everlasting joy. With joy and gladness as a crown, To Zion they shall come ; No grief or sorrow shall be known Within their blissful home. Glad praises flow from heavenly tongues, Their bliss has no alloy ; The Lord's redeemed above chant songs Of everlasting joy. 132 LINES SENT TO A LADY WITH. A MOSS-ROSE. Behold this emblem, Ellen fair, The lovely, blooming rose Thy image, placed within my breast, Is balm to all my woes. But Heaven forbid, my Ellen dear, This fading flower should prove An emblem of thy faithfulness And constancy in love. May virtue still thy heart sustain, To ward each guileful stroke ; And to its plighted faith remain Firm as the rooted oak. Then, though the waves of passion roll O'er life's tempestuous seas, Within thy bosom's quay my soul Shall anchor safe at ease. *33 TO THE BLACKBIRD. Hail ! thou sweet warbler of the wood ! Who hast thy vocal song renewed, Now, when the late-returning spring Invites thee, sprightly bird, to sing. How oft have I with pleasure heard Thy vesper carol, tuneful bird ! Sweet songster, thy clear-sounding song Delights me as I walk along. When plant-reviving dews in May Make every herb look green and gay, How oft adown the daisied vale, Where hawthorn blossoms scent the gale, At eventide I've roamed to hear Thy melody and music clear ! And if my Phillis chanced to stray And met me on the gowany brae, 'Twas but her song and voice divine Could equal or compare with thine. O cheerful bird ! thy strains prolong, And let the woods repeat thy song ; And zephyrs waft it to the bower Where Phillis spends the evening hour ; And while she happy lists to thee, Perhaps she'll think on love and me. J 34 THE OLD LOYALIST. I lived in the reign o' King Geordie, When war was the crack o' the day ; An' eke when his son an' successors Had cronies and placemen in pay. I lived thro' the time o' King William, When loud for reform was the ca' ; An' now I'm Victoria's subject I think she's the best o' them a'. They feasted wi' gentles and nobles, Yet seldom were out o' some strife ; But our sovereign the Queen an' her Consort Live like a douce husband and wife. Awa' frae the din o' Republics, An' out o' the worry o' war, She breathes the free air o' the Highlands, And kirks wi' the folk o' Braemar. I'm glad that she likes the blue mountains, Her Consort an' youngsters an' a' ; Long may she be spared to her people, An' mony guid things be their fa'. Right and Wrong, 135 For threescore o' years I've been delvin', An' aye to get bread made a shift, In sight o' the Round Tower o' Brechin, Whose summit looks up to the lift. Tho' crazy an' auld, I was aince young and bauld, In the days o' King Geordie the Third May the Queen o' her people be strong as our steeple Long after I'm laid i' the yird. September 23, 1848. RIGHT AND WRONG. It is a covetous device To sell forgiveness at a price ; No doom or pardon can be given, Unless by God who rules in heaven. It therefore must be vain pretence To trust for life in Peter's pence, For Jesus Christ declares that He Gives men salvation bounty free : Believe in Him by faith, and live The Godhead only can forgive. 136 EPISTLE TO A BROTHER RHYMER. j My Winsome Callant, When I your couthy rhymes did see, Your style sae easy, frank, an' free, They did a gust o' pleasure gi'e ; My heart sprang light, An', like a busy hummin' bee, My muse took flight. But when my raptures aince gat vent, I settled some, an' took mair tent ; Yet aft your lines sic lustre lent, Sic heat did raise, My feelings flashed like fire frae flint, An' gaed ablaze. * Ye paint your humble labours fine, Warm sentiments glow in each line ; How weel your tender thoughts wi J mine Join an' agree. But, ah ! how aft does merit pine, An' misery dree. Epistle to a Brother Rhymer, 137 While coofs, which Nature meant an' made To rank in lowest human grade, In gilded carriages parade, An' cast a dash, Poor honest worth for daily bread 'Mang dubs maun plash. But truce be reconciled to fate, Let's be contented wi' our state ; We canna a' be rich an' great, An' men o' wealth ; We needna murmur, grudge, or fret, While we hae health. Heaven's blessings are not a ? bestowed Upon the wealthy and the proud ; The peasant in his raploch rowed May be as blest As he that glints in coat o' gowd, An's gaudy drest. Besides, it is not fit that man The ways of Providence should scan ; He canna see its ample plan, Nor know its ways. God's doings, since the world began, Proclaim His praise. K 138 Epistle to a Brother Rhymer. Then let us to His goodness trust, An' not for earthly grandeur lust, But learn, though humbled in the dust, Not to repine 5 The ways of Providence are just, Its laws divine. Next, when you tune your reed and sing The blooming beauties of the spring, Sae sweetly ye touch ilka string To rural notes, Your fancy on swift waving wing, Thro' ether floats. Richt comely are Auld Scotland's dames, While near her mountains are their hames, Her crystal springs, her caller streams, An' healsome air ; While virtue's charms exalt the names Of Scotia's fair. Thus while ye sing your Annie's charms, My very inmost life-blood warms. How sweet is love on virtuous terms, How passing sweet ! A modest virgin in one's arms Seems bliss complete. Epistle to a Brother Rhymer. 139 Lang may ye sing your sang wi' glee, The subject of some lovely she ; An' may ye mony simmers see Untouched by woe ; Wi' routh o' blessings Heaven may gi'e, Or earth bestow. But here this balderdash to end, Which I in random haste hae penned : Lang may ye gie the whistle wind, An' play fu' bonnie ; Meanwhile your crambo-jingle friend Is ploughman Johnny. September 1, 1818. 140 HAME JOYS. A Sonnet. As on this weary warld I stray, And sail across life's stormy sea, Where disappointments block my way, And dangers thick encompass me, I cherish the fond thought within my breast That I at last will find a hame of rest. If I to plenty's dwelling gae, Where cups o' pleasure overflow ; Or saunter by the flower-strewn way, Where zephyrs fan me as I go ; Or if I've wandered far thro' scenes o 1 pain, My heart is glad when I come hame again. Though mean and humble be my lot, And cauldrife want sair frowns on me, Yet sweet content endears my cot, For hame is hame though poor it be. The honest man, though low be his degree, Feels deep the pleasure that his hame can gi'e. Hame Joys, 141 When kindred visit kindred dear, And gladness reigns in every breast, There's still a thought that strays elsewhere Amid the pleasure of the feast : Domestic scenes recur, and notice claim, For true delight is only found at hame. The sailor toils with sturdy arms To brave the dangers of the main ; His dearest blood within him warms At thoughts of winning hame again. The distant, dying soldiers do the same Their feeling breasts have something dear at hame. When man his mortal race has run, And life's oft painful journey thro' ; When down descends his setting sun, Life's stagnant pulse has ceased to flow ; The body turns to earth, whence Adam came, The spirit finds an everlasting hame. 142 BLIND JOCK. Do ye ken blind Jock Elshender, Wha fiddles at our fairs ? Wha hasna heard Jock Elshender Play lively Scottish airs ? For John has been a fiddler keen, As e'er o'er thairms drew hair \ An' his bow-haun' sweet notes has drawn For thirty year an' mair. Johnny ere while made mony a tune To fowks o' high degree \ An' frae gowd guineas to a crown, His due reward gat he. When he was in his prime an' pride, The gentry took about him ; But now his friends their faces hide, An' fortune sair does flout him. His lyart locks an' sunken cheek Mak' John look nae sae cheery ; But he can wield a merry stick While th' warld's gane tapsalteerie. Blind Jock. 143 His gude strathspeys our beaux despise, Sae do our beauties dashing Waesucks for puir blind Elshender Sin' waltzes cam' in fashion ! Thae gallopades an* cramp quadrilles Hae ta'en his bread frae 'fore him : They want the life o' twasome reels Danced clean to Tullochgorum. John lang has dwalt in this auld Bruch, Where deacons thrive fu' lusty ; But his bread-basket's turned richt boss, An's throat is, maybe, dusty. A laddie leads him by a string* While he the lanes traverses, Playin' a brisk or plaintive spring, Or sellin' sangs or verses. Ye belles an' beaux o' Forfar town, Wha gowden favours scatter, Slip i' the fiddler's hand a crown, Your hearts will a! feel better. * Street musicians are held to be a nuisance at present, but about 1842 and previously they were rather liked and encouraged by the public, at least in many parts of Angus and Mearns. 144 L INE S Written below a Photograph of an Aged Pastor, August 3, i860. The faithful shepherd guardeth well the flock Knowing his voice, the sheep obey command ; From noontide heat to shelter of the rock The tender lambs are gathered by his hand. Like the Good Shepherd, so the pastor guides The Christian flock to pastures green and fair, And from the Rock, like Moses, drink provides Heaven's kind response to many an ardent prayer. Full fifty years this faithful pastor's voice Has lifted been unto the throne on high ; To do his Master's work has been his choice, Preaching the Word of life most earnestly. So may he while on earth be earnest still, Warning all men to shun the ways of sin ; The Gospel message urgent to fulfil, Till he the Messiah's kingdom enter in. The Montrose Review, April 21, 187 1. M5 KEEP UP A GOOD HEART, AND A HUSBAND YOU'LL GET. I lived in the country till past twenty- one, And never repined or complained of my fate ; While living alone, and of wooers came none, I hoped that in time I a husband would get. I went to the city, to dwell with rich friends, Where suitors came flocking with words sweet as honey But soon they withdrew, and discovered their ends, When told that my dowry was love, and not money. I did not sit down and indulge discontent, And vilify men in the gross in a pet, But kept up my spirits wherever I went, Convinced that at last I a husband would get. I practised no airs, like a proud city belle ; I talked to the men-folks with frankness and ease ; Nor nursed grief and envy, whatever befell, But showed a true heart by endeav'ring to please. 146 Keep up a Good Heart. My bark floated onward for seven years more, And oft by the wild rolling waves it was met ; Yet still I was hopeful of reaching the shore, And trusted that I a good husband would get. And so it came round that a kind-hearted one, Both steady and virtuous, asked me to wed ; My heart was all for him, love's lamp brightly shone, A quite willing bride to the altar he led. So, ladies, be hopeful, nor yield to despair \ You'll doubtless succeed if you patiently wait : Judge well of your partner before that ye pair ; Better wait, better want, than an ill husband get. April i8ji. 147 EPISTLE TO A BLACKSMITH, APRIL 24, 1819. When Nature now flings aff her cowl, In which derf Winter lang did scowl Wi' visage darkly grim ; When Spring, wi' sweet attractive mien, Puts on her robe of fairy green, And looks baith bricht an' trim, Your humble servant o'er the plain Is scuddin' at the plough, Or spreadin' on the soil the grain, Wi' weary houghs, I trow ; Whiles hechin' an' pechin', He warsles wi' the win' ; Whiles plashin' an' splashin', He gets a drookit skin. But yet, for a' the blasts that blaw, An' a' the show'rs that rattlin' fa', I envy not the lot Of you or ony ither blade That ever tracheld at a trade, Or wore a leather brott. 148 Epistle to a Blacksmith. I wou'dna change my healthfu' gloff O* sweet refreshin' air For ony artificial fuff Your bellows-pipe could spare. While toastin' an' roasting Ye melt your pith away, I'm gliskin' an' baskin' In Sol's reviving ray. Yet thinkna I the trades despise, Or deem their lives devoid of joys Wha toil in ither stations : No ; I aver bliss aften rests In other minds, in humble breasts, In lowly situations. The soul aft soars, sublime her flight, An' leaves the tardy body ; Sae ye may taste supreme delight While thumpin' at your studdy ; When chappin' an' knappin', Ye hammer out the shoon, In vision most pleasin' Your soul may soar abune. Since toil we must with sweaty brow, Or at the anvil or the plough, We'll pass the day fu' cheerie ; Epistle to a Blacksmith. 149 And when the vernal gloamin' comes, We'll saunter thro' the verdant houmes, Each lad to meet his dearie. There, where the wild-thyme thickest grows, An' violets are springing Where down the glen the burnie flows, Through birks where birds are singing, We'll press them, caress them, Wi' rapture to each breast, An' taste then a feast then Of joys sincere and chaste. How healing is the balm of love, Heaven's choicest blessing from above, Poured on the careworn soul ! It soothes the pain of sorrow's smart, And doth a gleam of hope impart Where clouds of darkness roll. Amid the tempest's loudest roar, Should boist'rous waves assail, May love within my bosom's core Be ever found to dwell. It cheers up, an' bears up, The mind abune its woe ; It raises, or gi'es us, A glimpse of heaven below. IS VERSES ON MIC AH vii. 18. Written February 1838. Who is like God, the great I AM ? Who pardons man's transgression, And who on Adam's fallen race In mercy takes compassion ? His wrath, though just, He hath restrained, In pity healed our pains ; And in the fountain of His love Washed out our guilty stains. His word to Abraham steadfast was, His truth to Jacob sure ; And to the faithful evermore His promises endure. i5i VERSES ON EZEKIEL xxxiv. 25. The Lord hath with His people made A covenant of peace They in the promised land shall dwell, Their enemies shall cease. Around my holy hill, saith He, I'll heavenly blessings shower j Like rain upon the parched plain My freshening grace shall pour. I'll raise a healing Tree of life, A Plant on earth renowned ; No want or famine shall be known, But peace and joy abound. I am the Lord ! I will them save From every heathen snare ; And I, their Shepherd, will them guide To pastures green and fair. Then shall they know that I, their God, Sin's fetters did unlock ; And to the penitent will prove, The Shepherd of my flock. 152 LINES LEFT IN A FRIEND'S HOUSE, JUNE 1823. Saint James the Apostle doth declare, The righteous man is such, That his effectual fervent prayer Availeth very much. To no superior sanctity Can I pretension make ; But would I were a righteous man, Even for this family's sake. Then would my prayer to heaven ascend, In earnest supplication, That God to each of them would send The comforts of creation. For sure as Deity's behest From justice never swerves, As sure this family will be blest, If worth reward deserves. *53 IMPROMPTU, JUNE 22, 181 7* As down in Airly's den I stood, And eyed the Isla's passing flood, The flowers and birches on the braes Did in my breast such feelings raise, My soul, enraptured, seemed to rise In adoration to the skies ; For beauties such were surely given To draw the soul of man to heaven. * Two youths, who believed they were capable of writing verses on the spur of the moment, undertook to produce not less than four lines in twenty minutes. An umpire was appointed to call time both retired and came back within fifteen minutes, the one with four and the other with eight lines as above. *54 THE CHRISTENING OF THE HILL. A Song. Air "The Sprig of Shillelagh." Assemble, ye shepherds, assemble, ye swains, Come up from the lowlands, come south frae the glens, Wi' your bonnie blue bonnets an' tartans sae green ; For St Arlin is planted, St Arlin sae high, Whose summit sae lofty ascends to the sky ; His breast was baptiz'd by our fathers of yore, But must bear the rude name of Whangleather no more Now Conlar for ever, the Conlar sae green. Come a' to Glen Ogil, good liquor to swill, Come a' to St Arlin to christen the hill The hill of the green wood, the Conlar sae green. Drink health to your landlord, who planted the wood ; Long life to his lady, so gen'rous and good ; Good luck to the sportsmen who shoot o'er the heather. Henceforth let the name be the Conlar forever The Conlar sae woody, the Conlar sae green. May the hill of the green wood be seen from afar, Its trees like the masts of a fleet trimmed for war, With wide-spreading spruces and larches sae green, To wave on the brow of St Arlin so steep, The Christening of the HilL 155 A covert for game, and a shelter for sheep,* A broad-spreading forest, encircling the plain, Protecting the fields of the ripe yellow grain, Bisected by meadows and orchards sae green. May the Conlar be famous for roebuck an' deer, As noted for fishes is Noran sae clear The wood-skirted Noran, with bushes sae green. And yearly may nobles resort to this place, Enjoying the sweets of the angle and chase. While its moors are the haunt of the heathcock and plover, May the Lyons be lords of Glen Ogil for ever Glen Ogil sae bonnie, Glen Ogil sae green. * The youthful rhymer seems to have taken for granted what the old bards claimed, viz., having the second sight, for he deals in the prophetic. Some of his foreshadowings have proved true almost to the letter, others not ; while in some points the reality has in 1875 exceeded his imaginings in 1823. People who are old enough to remember will agree to the truth of the last- made statement, which refers to the adornment of the landscape and the increase of wild animals. GLOSSARY. Most of the Scotticisms used in the foregoing verses are explained in this glossary; at least, as many of them as may be thought needful for understanding the text by most readers. "When a word or phrase has more than one signification, the sense or senses in which it is used are only given, though it may have other meanings. Words which do not vary much in structure from English, but only some of the terminal letters are wanting, or altered, seem obvious enough without explanation : such as, delvirf for delving, farmin i for farming, taintit for tainted, sud- denlie for suddenly, &c. The greater part of the words used have been current coin in Forfarshire during the last fifty years. Ae, one. Ain, own. Aince, once. 4^; off, Aft^ oft, often. An\ and. Atweel, I wot well. Aucht, eight. Atimry, a press, provision closet. Awa, away. Backlins, going back. Baitet, baited. Baith, both. Bedeen, by-and-by. Belike, likely. Bink, a plate-rack. Birkenshaw, a piece of ground cover- ed with short scraggy birches. Birr, a rumbling sound. Blaw, to boast. Blobs, drops as of dew. Bluid, blood. Bluthert, in a besmeared state. Bodies, persons. Bogles, apparitions. Bonnie, beautiful. Braes, sloping ground. Bratv, finely dressed. Brither, brother. i58 Glossary. Brochan, gruel. Brocks, badgers. Broose, a match, or competition. Brtlkies, sheriff's officers. Burred, set upright. Buskit, arrayed, dressed. Byke, nest of wild bees. Ca' ', call, to call, to visit. Cairts, cards. Cauldrife, chilly, apt to be cold. Canny, cautious. Caup, a wooden bowl. Cheekwind, idle talk. C him la, chimney. Claes, clothes, for the person, other cloths. ClashitH, gossiping. Clatter, a short time. Claymore, a broadsword. Clockin' hens, hens when hatching. Clooty, the evil one. Clorty, dirty. Cloured, broken inward, indented. Coofs, simpletons. Coomy, culmy, like coal-dust. Coranich, a kind of dirge or lament. Corbie, a carrion crow. Core party, company, clan. Coupit, upset, overturned. Couthy, warm, kindly. Cracky, talkative. Crambo-jingle, a rude kind of metre. Craw, crow. Crisp, smart. Crony, a favourite companion. Crowdy, meal mixed with milk or water. D a ff> whiting used to adulterate sweets. Daffiu, foolish playfulness. Daft, unwise, light-headed. Daurna, durst not. Dementit, insane. Didna, did not. Dinnle, a tremulous motion. Doolie, a bogle, apparition. Dooly-mooly, doleful, very sad. Dossy down, throw down, to pay money. Dowie, mournful. Dree I, drill. Driech, slow, tedious. Drift, dust or snow driven by wind. Duds, rags, body clothes. Dwall, dwell. Dwang, to overpower, to master, to harass by ill-humour. Eldrich, ghostly. Ettercaps, spiders. Faes, foes. Falalls, superfluous ornaments of little value. F aught, fought. Feared, afraid. Feck, the greater part ; sma feck, of little effect to any end or purpose. Fend, live, exist, to get food. Flairin\ dashing speech. Flee, fly. Fleg, fright. Fowk, persons, people in general. Funnin' , making fun. Fike fiddle-diddles, useless trinkets. Gae, gave. Galore, plenty, abundance. Gard, compelled. Genty, graceful, genteel. Ghaists, ghosts. Glojf, a breath of air. Gnapin, mouthing words affectedly. Gollochs, beetles. Glossary. 159 Gowans, field daisies. Gowd s gold. Grabbin', catching unlawfully. Gree, agree. Groat, fourpence. Gruesome, awful, apt to cause fainting. Hags, morasses where peats have been dug. Hain, to save, lay past. Hal/an, partition wall. Hantle, a good deal. Happer, hopper. Hand, hold. Heft, handle. Hod, to hide. Hoddin-grey, cloth which has the natural colour of the wool. Hoolie, be cautious, be moderate. Ilka, each, every. Jimmy, neat, fashionable. Kend, or kent, known, understood. Kittle, difficult, ticklish. Kythed, showed, manifested. Laft, loft, an upper room. Laith, loth. Leeries, lamplighters. Lettergae, precentor. Lichtsojne, lively. Linties, linnets. Looms, dishes, utensils. Loons, boys. Lowse, to untie. Lum, vent, chimney-top. Lyrat, grey. Mauchts, exertions. Maun, must. Mavis, thrush. Mous, mouths. Mows, nae mows, no jest. Niest, next. Ne?tk, nook, corner where fuel was kept. Noth, nothing, decimal o. Ockon, alas. O't, of it. Outricht, outright. Peerie, a peg-top. Pliskies, bad tricks or pranks. Ploy, a frolicsome performance. Poolie, a small pool. Pows, heads, skulls. Prog, to stab. Pyots, magpies. Rairin, making noise. Raploch, coarse woollen cloth. Rash, a rush. Reel-rail, in a confused way. Reikabemus, a sudden fall or stroke. Reirdy-rairdy, a tumult, an uproar. Rentit, rented. Routh, plenty. Runt, the stalk of colewort. Sair, sore. Scouth, full liberty, ample room. Screichin, screeching. Scoured, rode furiously. Sculkit, hid themselves. Seal, an iron band. Sheenin, shining. Siccar, steady, cautious. Skeel, a tub. Snaw, snow. Snell, sharp, severe. Speet, a spit. Spelled, climbed. i6o Glossary. Sfieir, to ask. Sfiinnle, spindle. Splattered, rushed out. Sfilore, frolic. Stang o' the trtimfi, the chief part, best member of a. family. Stound, instantly. Stibble, stubble. Swat, did sweat. Swither, to waver, to doubt. Sybows, onions. Sype, a small spring. Taties, potatoes. Tholed, suffered. Thrawart, cross-grained. Tint, lost. Tods, foxes. Tots, small boys. Tout, sound as of a horn. Towmonts, twelvemonths. Vexin, vexing. Virr, force, impetuosity. Voe, a long narrow bay. Vokie, cheerful, happy. Wad, would. Wae's me, woe is me. Waird, expended. Wan, came to, arrived at. Warld, world. Warsle, wrestle. Waurd, outran. Wee, very small. Weel, well. Ween, guess, think. Wheek, shrill cry. Whingen, whining. Whinner, to go swiftly. Whins, furze. Whirly-whirr, such a sound as is made by the wheels of machinery in motion. Whishawe, a rushing sound made by a rolling tide. Whittle, a knife or dagger. Wice, wise, knowing. Wizzen, the throat. Yarkin, from Yark, to be in a state of fermentation, like beer. Yird, ground, earth. FINIS. PRINTKO BV BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY EDINBURGH AND LONDON J