■Jj, .\c.i'r!nADV/->, "I X 5 (5 ;% ]ii EVENING HOURS: POEMS AND SONGS. BY ROBERT ALLAN, KILBARCHAN. GLASGOW: DAVID ROBERTSON. OLIVER AND BOYD, EDINBURGH; AND SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, AND CO. LONDON. MDCCCXXXVI. PATERSON, PRINTER, AKGYLE STREET, CLASOOW. TO ^ ROBERT BURNS HARDY, ESQ. IN TESTIMONY OF REGARD FOR HIS DISINTERESTED BENEVOLENCE AND "^FRIENDSHIP, AND OF ADMIRATION FOR HIS INTELLECTUAL POWERS AND LITERARY ATTAINMENTS, THIS WORK IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, BY HIS SINCERE FRIEND, THE AUTHOR. sievo-'i PREFACE. The reader, who may have been glancing over popular collections of Scottish songs, will recognise a number of pieces in the present volume that lie has often seen before. Indeed, some of the songs that appear in this book have long been familiar to the public ; and, seeing that this is the case, it would be affectation to deny, that the author has a sort of pride in gathering them together in a book, which is the first, and in all likelihood may be the last, that shall come into the world under his care. He deems it a duty that he owes to himself — seeing that he has got the length of publishing a volume — to adopt those pieces of his which had been floating about unacknowledged ; and if they deserve either praise or blame, the one or the other may be awarded, without tlie fear of mistaking the author, or perhaps the perpetrator. Others, again, may observe a similarity of feeling, sen- timent, and idea, jiervading many of the pieces. To offer a 2 VI PREFACE. an apology for this would be to insult the reader ; for if the good and the beautiful in Nature, and in everything, deserve to be spoken of in the very best of terms, a repe- tition of the spirit of humanity that would speak well of all good things can scarcely be deemed offensive. But, if apology were required, the fact that the volume em- braces the little poetical productions of a long series of years, spent in a country village, and in the retirements from a laborious occupation — that of the loom — would perhaps be sufficient to excuse, with those who make literature a profession, anythinglike a repetition of thought or expression that may show itself in the book. CONTENTS. PAGE Life, ....... 1 Jenny Whisky, ..... 5 To the Robin, ...... 13 The Blackbird's Petition to Sporters on New-year's-day ]\Iorning, . . • • . .17 Lord Ronald— Ballad, .... 20 Fairy Wights, ...... 23 A lassie cam to our gate — Ballad, ... 25 The Twa Martyrs' Widows, . . . .27 To the Nightingale, ..... 29 Written for Burns' Anniversary, . . . .30 Dream, ...... 32 Ellen Grey, . . . . . . .')4 Ane mayden sits at my lady's head, ... 36 The First of July, . . . . .37 Clavers' Visit, ..... 39 Twin Roses, . . . . . .41 Fairy Sports, ...... 42 There grew in bonnie Scotland, . . . .44 On seeing a Robin's Nest in an old Ruin, . . 46 To Erin, . . . • . . .47 VIU CONTENTS. PAGE The Hawthorn, ..... 48 The Wish, 50 On Revisiting my Native Shade, ... 31 Remembrance of Home, . . . . .52 Woman's wark will ne'er be dune, ... 54 Fair Ellen, . . . . . .55 The Covenanter's last Morning Hymn, . . 57 Morning Scene, . . . . . .38 The Weird Sisters, ..... 60 May Morning, . . . . . .61 Queen Mary's Escape from Lochleven Castle — Song, , 63 That life's a faught, . . . . .64 Merrily, merrily, ..... 65 On Freeing a Linnet from a Cage, . . .67 May Scotia's Isle aye sweetly smile — Song, . . 68 The Covenanter's Lament — Song, . . .69 The Bonnie Built When-y — Song, ... 71 When Charlie to the Highlands came — Song, . . 72 O cam ye east — Song, .... 73 Heard ye the bagpipe — Song, . . . .75 Hand awa frae me, Donald — Song, ... 76 O whare dost thou gae, . . . . . 77 Charlie — Song, ..... 79 I'll pou the rosebud — Song, ... . .80 To look but in my mither's face, ... 81 I'll drink to thee — Song, . . . . .82 When truth and humanity, .... 83 Charlie's come — Song, . . . . .84 O wat ye wha I met yestreen— Song, . . 85 CONTENTS. IX PAGE Go, court the rich palace, .... 86 My bark is now upon the wave — Song, . . .88 The moon's o'er the mountain — Song, . . 89 The seamew was screaming — Song, . . .90 The close o' a simmer day, .... 91 This prayer was thine, . . . , .93 Love's like a little playful boy — Song, . . 94 The bonnie lass o' Woodhouselie — Song, . . ' 95 AVhen thy heart with youth is glowing, . . 96 O, why did I leave thee — Song, . . . .97 Whare yon Highland heather grows — Song, . . 99 Clan-Albin, . . . . . .100 I hae lo'ed but you alane — Song, . . . 102 O lassie, will ye meet— Song, . . . .103 O where is the rosebud, .... 104 O weel I like yon birken bush— Song, . . .105 The wind is up, . . . . . 107 Neptune, . . . , , . ,108 Waken, waken, thou gentle breeze, . . . 109 meikle thought the laddie o' me— Song, . .111 1 love the smile, . . . . .112 The Rock an' Reel, . . . . .113 O wha wadna drink — Song, . . . , 114 O wake, ye breezes — Song, . . . .115 The Bonnie Bush o' Broom — Song, . . . 117 Bonnie lassie — Song, . . . . .118 Lovely maid — Song, ..... 120 Our guidman, ...... 121 AVheii the green leaf's on the timmer — Song, . . 12.3 X CONTENTS. O laddie, cam ye owre the craft — Song, Down i' yon glen — Song, The Amulet — Song, will ye brave the wind and wave — Song, There's joy in ilka maiden's ee — Song, In this lone vale, Once more farewell — Song, On seeing a Beautiful little Girl pulling Wild Roses, Spirit of love — Song, Thou art my ain — Song, Blink bonnilie, thou eenin' star — Song, The lass o' Kilbogie— Song, . The boat of spray — Song, Sweet crimsoned rose, . There's a hurricane blast, . The Ribbon, sae bonnie blue — Song, . Awa, awa, thou poortith cauld. Lovely maid, it is sweet May-day, 1 like to hear the bagpipe's note, . The maid of Ormadale — Song, Maid of the Western Isle— Song, . O I hae twined, wi' meikle love. The Exiles : or, O'Hara's last Good-night, Kenmure and Derwentwater, My love ! 'tis not day, When the harebell an' gowan — Song, . Let us gather the flowers. My ain fireside — Song, Owre yon muir — Song, PAGE 124 125 127 128 129 131 132 133 134 135 137 138 139 141 142 143 , 144 145 . 147 148 . 150 151 . 152 153 . 155 156 . 157 158 . 159 CONTENTS. XI Arran Maid — Song, The ringlets that played, . Mariners, haste and trim the bark, The Mermaid, Whan winter comes, The youth she loved. She twined a wreath, , They made her grave, Cooper Davie, The Maiden's Dream, The Maiden of Skye— Song, The Liberty Tree, Cruikstone Castle, The Pirate — Song, Aucliinames, . The Minstrel, And art thou false — Song, Mary, Queen of Scots, On a Desert Flower, . Autumn — a Dirge, Glencoe, . . O sad is my heart, Morna, Adieu, adieu, ye Scotian hills, To a Wild Rose, The Village Maid, O stay, my love, Sing, bird of eve, Adieu, my love, PAGE 161 163 164 165 166 167 169 172 173 175 177 178 181 184 185 186 188 189 190 191 192 194 195 196 198 199 203 204 205 XII CONTENTS. PAGE I left my sweet, my native home, 206 The Warrior, .... . 208 The sweet dew of heaven, 210 On thee, Eliza, dwell my thoughts, . 211 Ye're bonnie an' young, lassie. 212 The hand of sorrow. . 213 The Traveller of St. Gothard, 215 O whare wad bonnie Annie lie. . 216 On Nature, .... 217 On Socrates, .... . 218 On Newton, .... 219 Lines, ..... . 220 On Earth, .... 221 Lines, ..... . 222 On the Grave, 223 On Night, .... . 224 225 . 226 On Life, ..... Farewell, my harp, . . . 227 POEMS AND SONGS. LIFE. Life is a strange, a varied scene, Of grief, of mirth, and folly ; While some may quaff of pleasure's cup, Some drink of melancholy : Some try to mak its burden light, While ithers are the slave o't ; The lordling and the weary drudge, They baith get but a grave o't. The chequered scene 'tis fair to scan, Although we mayna crack o't, Nor brag, nor blaw, for weel I trow We can but little mak o't. The world's a stage, the players we; An' what part we may have o't, Its but an entrance and exit, A cradle and a grave o't. A LIFE. But mankind are an unco squad, So saith a charming poet, An' mony a picture has been drawn, The glaring truth to show it. Life's something like the gamester's pack; Some ane maun be the knave o't, Some ane the king, some ane tlie queen. Come what may o' the lave o't. Ane maist wad think that folk were daft, Or in a mad brain fever, Or had at least of human life A lease wad last for ever ; For money — money is their god, An' conscience is the slave o't; It maks a man a vera beast, An' gies him but a grave o't. Wi' some it's like the tug o' war, For interest or devotion; Ilk ane maintains Jiis creed's the best, An' ilk ane has his notion : Philosophy calls out in vain. An' would a parley crave o't ; But faith, an' pride, an' holy zeal, Maun end but wi' a grave o't. LIFE. Ambition stalks wi' stately pride, Nought but its interest viewin', An' presses onward to the mark, Nor minds a world's ruin : The prize when gained, he hopes to rule O'er those he made the slave o't; But conscience comes wi' sic a twanar. He lief wad hae a grave o't. Popes, kings, an' priests, hae ruled the roast, An' richly they hae feasted. An' wi' a conscience aye at will 'Twas readily digested : They weel may chant their hymn o' praise. An' riot owre the lave o't, But, wi' the beggar an' the clown, They only get a grave o't. The big-wig'd judge upon the bench Sits, judging fellow-mortals. An* sends some weltering — hapless souls I To hell or heaven's portals ; But law is law, an' right or wran"-. He'll be the willing slave o't, Culprit and judge, when a' is dune, They baith get but a grave o't. 4 LIFE. The debauchee, wha lang hath run The errands of the devil, Worn out, and spavied, saints't at last, As having seen the evil : Devout, he paces on to church, A gin-horse — quite the slave o't, An' whines, an' mutters holy things, An' syne he gets a grave o't. The poet, madly bent on fame, Wi' stringing rhymes an' blether, Aye crazed wi' care, or crossed in love. Ill-fated a'thegither. Still, still he twines his wreath of hope. An' is the vera slave o't, — But what's to him a deathless name. When he gets but a grave o't ? As thus the world's knaves an' fools Are fechtin' a' through-ither, The wise hae only to look on, An' laugh at a'thegither : While those are tossed on life's wide sea, These never fin' a wave o't, But calmly on its bosom rest, Until they get a grave o't. JENNY WHISKY. I COURTED ance a bonnie lass, They ca'd her Jenny Whisky ; She was the fairest i' the street, An' aye was blythe an' frisky. But some folk said she wasna guid. An' never wad be better; At best she was an ill-bred jade, A curse to wha might get her. At first when I wi' Jenny gaed, 1 had some conscience thriliings, Lest some might spy me unawares, An' mark my fauts an' failings. I slylie kiss'd her by hersel' — Mang neibours I was shyer, But whiles amaist forgat mysel', Sae fondly I would eye her. A 2 JENNY WHISKT. 'Twas maistly under clud o' night. When I staw out to see her; But aft it was the braid daylight. Before that I could lea' her. I blushed that ony ane could say I sic a hizzie fallow't: Or a' was done, I caredna wha Might see me or hear tell o't. She had sic a bewitching gait — Ilk time that I gaed to her, She cheered my heart, she warmed my bluid, I aye grew fonder o' her. Now, will ye be my dearest wife ? Quo' I, ae day, to Jenny : I'll Stan' by you, she laughing said, As lang's ye hae a penny. We had a rantin' merry night. When first we gaed thegither ; 1 took the bedhead for the fit, In trouth I caredna whether. JENNY WHISKY. Aweel, we lived for twa-three years, As ye may trow, fu' happy ; When ought gaed wrang about the house, 'Twas aye the ither cappie. Sae, mony a blythesome day we had. It out an' in was sportin' ; Quo' she, we'll hae a merry life, Though it should be a short ane. But Jenny, she grew waur an' waur, She couldna bide in measure; To rant an' gossip here an' there, It was her only pleasure. An' sae it hap'd, when she an' I \Vi' neibours roun' forgathered. In faith, she wadna baud her tongue. But loud an' lang she blethered. Religion was her favourite theme ; For it she fought and wrangled : To speak the truth, the holy beuk Most desperately she mangled. JENNY WHISKY. But as she used it for a cloak, It never cured the evil ; For aye the mair she played the saunt, The mair she played the devil. Though she had ranted a' the week, Beginning upon Monday, She ne'er neglected to put on A lang face upon Sunday. But whether guid or ill cam o't. It was a' ane to Jenny — Neist morning she was till't again, If she had but a penny. When Tammock's wife wad flyte, an' ca' Her man a spendthrift sinner, Jen laughed then in my face, and said, Tak ye anither pinner. An' whether at the dawn o' day, Or at the eenin' close o't. An empty stomach, or a fu', 'Twas just anither dose o't. JENNY WHISKY. Jenny, quo' I, I do protest That I do like you dearly: To prove the truth, quo' she, we'll steep Anither peck o' barley. She brought the graybeard frae the neuk ; The pint stoup clattered rarely; O'ercome wi' perfect joy, I grat, For I was vanquished fairly. She liltet up her blythest strain ; I joined the happy chorus; An' sae we drank, an' boused about, Till a' gaed blue before us. For this I aften had remorse, An' bitter was the sentence ; But aye it was a new set-to, An' aye a new repentance. But what I warst could bear ava, Mang ither grievous evils. Aft in her wicked, wanton sport, She plagued me wi' blue devils. 10 JENNY WHISKY. Quo' I, ye maun be lioolie, las8; Ye'll ruin soul an' body: Hout man, quo' she, ye're but an ass- Come, push about the toddy. Jenny, quo' I, I'll end my life ; I canna bear the faught o't: Quo' she, before ye gang that gate, Tak ve anither w;iua;ht o't. But aye the mair that I resolved, An' spak o' reformation, She said she kentna what I meant, For she was my salvation. Quo' I, it's time at least I should Anither lesson study; The weans they scarcely hae a sark, Tiieir breeks are bare and dudiiy. There's surely some ill spirit here, That we maun try to banish, For ilka thing about the house. It seems like smoke to vanish. JENNY WHISKY. 11 The pats an' pans are gaun to wreck ; The stools an' chairs are broken ; The vera bed is tum'ling down, An' a' is dismal leukin'. As for mysel', I'm gaun to rags; My hat, the crown is out o't; My shoon are past the souter's ban', They can nae mair be cloutit. An' neibours say aye, when they hear Me tak a fit o' cougbin', Ilk time I kiss your lips, it puts A nail into my coffin. Curse on their bletherin' tongues, quo' she, To say I'm your undoing; But should it add anitber nail. We'll hae anitber brewing. Faith, she now proved a stubborn jade, For, whate'er I might say o't, Tiiougb it had been to break my neck, Slie aye took her ain way o't. 12 JENNY WHISKY. Sae, she an' I got in the dumps, An' fauly I forsook her; But scarce twa weeks ran owre my head Till hame again I took her. Guidraan, quo' she, ye were to blame, For weel ye kent my spirit; Gin e'er ye do the like again, I'll say that ye're deleerit. But now we couldna gree ava, For I grew bleert an' doited; My legs could scarcely bear me up, My knees on ither knoited. Quo' I, I'm past redemption now ; There's naetliing can prevent it; When I took you to be a wife, I surely was deraentit. But there's nae help for't — we maun part, Whate'er ye think or say o't: I'll gang to an untimely grave. Without anither way o't. TO THE ROBIN. 13 Aweel, quo' she, dee n'han ye like, We'll push roun' the decanter, An' ye may tak my word upon't, ril no be lanof a wanter. ^o Jenny, quo' I, I fin' the han' O' death now coming owre me; I'm gaun the way o' a' the earth, Without ane to deplore me. I now held out my trembling han', An' fondly at her leukit; Jenny, quo' I, I'll kiss you yet, Before I kick the bucket. TO THE ROBIN. When winter wind is blawin' cauld Upon the upland moor. An' 'gainst its keen an' noisy sough The farmer steeks his door ; 1-* TO THE ROBIN. When frae the deepening wreatlis o' snaw The sheep their lair maun shift, An' wee birds kenna whare to gang To shun the whirliu' drift ; Weel then I like to see you, Rob, Come happin to the door, An' jinken 'bout the hallan wa', Syne ben upon the floor. An' picking at the aumrie board O' what may chance to be, An' glintin' round on a' about Wi' sic a pauky ee. Sae bena feared, nor hap about, As gin that ye were laith To come an' taste our humble cheer, Or frightet were for skaith : The bairns they kindly welcome ye. An' their best offerings bring; An' baudrons there, she daurna touch A feather o' your wing. Whan eenin' comes, we'll mak your bauk Aboon the hallan wa' ; There safe an' soundly ye may sleep, Nor fear the drifting snaw : TO THE ROBIN. 15 An' wlian the langsome night is gane, An' (lay has oped his ee, Ye wiuna fail to charm us wi' Your native minstrelsy. Rob, it has cheered my heart to see Ye sit in birken bovver, An' sing your sang, whan a' were mute, Late i' the gloamin hour : An' e'en though cam the scowling blast, It mightna mar your sang, But higher seemed your note to rise, Though loud it drave alang. An' whan at morn the blabs o' dew Clear as the siller hang. An' sparkled on the blushing rose An' opening buds amang, I've seen ye come, in sportive mood. An' brush the gems awa — Rob, then I could hae pouk't your wing, To see sic pearlings fa'. Weel do I mind the days o' yore Sic ne'er again I'll see ! I've read o' ye until the tear Stood glistening in my ee. 16 TO THE ROBIN. How that ye Iiap'd the bonnle babes Wi' leaves frae head to feet; — Rob, for your sake, as I did then, I could sit down an' greet. Rob, thae days to think on yet, It maks me wae to tell ! 1 sported round about the bush, As happy as yoursel' : I thoughtna, when the lyart leaves Fell in the autumn blast, Mysel' wad wear a lyart head — That sic was comin' fast. But, Rob, it is your fate an' mine. An' yield to it Ave must ; Eild comes upon us, an' at last Death lays us in the dust : But happier ye! — care never breaks The slumber o' your ee. Nor mars your mirth as it doth mine, For meikle care I dree. THE BLACKBIRD'S PETITION TO SPORTERS ON NEW-YEAR'S-DAY MORNING. [It is the custom for men and boys in the author's neighbourhood, to turn out, on the morning of New-year's-day, with guns and fowling- pieces, and make deadly havoc among the feathered creation. The origin of this cruel and unmanly sport is unknown ; but the fact of its existence is sufficient to make us blush for the heartlessness of human nature as it shows itself sometimes even in villages — the dwell- ing-places, as it is supposed, of innocence, happiness, and virtue. Poor, unoffending minstrels ! will no prayers pierce your thought* less, callous persecutors ? It was thus that one or two sweet singers and " babblers among green fields " were hunted down, some years ago, in wicked sport. But the unfeeling spirit which persecuted John Keats to the death, has given place, among all classes of public writers, to a generous humanity j and when mankind shall have learned to appreciate all that is good and beautiful around them, the blackbird — as well as the poor poet — will be spared for the sake of his " wood notes wild."] In name o' a' that wing the air, I here present our Iiumble prayer, In hope that ye our lives wad spare To wing our way, An' unmolested let us share This holiday. b2 J8 THE blackbird's PETITION. It is wi' you a merry morn ; It is a day weVe cause to mourn ; Gin near your dwelling or your barn We chance to light, We're sure to hae our plumage torn, Or killed outright. Ye thinkna, in your merry glee, What hapless wounded birds maun dree, Courin aneath some blasted tree The langsome night, Happy if death wad close their ee Ere mornin' light. He surely has a heart o' lead. To every moral feeling dead, Can mak puir helpless creatures bleed By a fell shot, Nor curse the han' an' wicked speed That made him do't. It is a duty that ye owe To bird an' beast on earth below. Still to be kind an' mercy show Unto the weak, An' your best benison bestow For Heaven's sake. THE blackbird's PETITION. 19 Our mitlier, Nature, isna vaunty, But aye is lavish o' her bounty, An' aftentimes a pick that's daiuty To us lets fa' ; Frae her large store, I trow, there's plenty For ane an' a'. O wad ye listen to our prayer. An' war wi' us an' ours nae mair. But aye in friendship let us share The world wi' you, When simmer comes, 'twill be our care A sang to gie you. I've seen you i' the gloamin hour. When sweetly bloomed the hawthorn flower, Wi' dear lo'ed lasses seek the bower, An' list our strains An' warblings wild, that echoed owre Fair Scotia's plains: An' as they died upon the breeze. Or seem'd to sleep amang the trees. Sic strains, ye'd say, not only please. But melt the lieart: Wae's me, that ye should act for these The tyrant's part I 20 LORD RONALD. It is nae wonder that we fret. When sic is a' the thanks we get: But grievances I'll no repeat, Nor mair complain, In hope that ye, henceforth, will let Puir birds alane. Gin mankind wad just learn to do As they wad aye be done unto, The past an' future they might view Wi' pure delight, An' every day life's pathway strew Wi' blossoms bright. LORD RONALD. BALLAD. Am — Lord Ronald. Lord IIonald cam to his lady's bower, When the moon was in lier wane ; Lord Ronald cam at a late, late hour, An' to her bovver is gane. LORD RONALD. 21 He saftly stept in his sandal shoon, An' saftly laid him down : It's late, it's late, quoth Ellenoie — Syne ye maun wauken soon ! Lord Ronald, stay till the early cock Sail flap his siller wing I An' saftly ye maun ope the gate, An' loose the silken string. O Ellenore, my fairest fair I O Ellenore, my bride I How can ye fear, when my merry men a' Are on the mountain side? The moon was Ijid, the night was gane, But Ellenore's heart was wae: She heard the cock flap his siller wing, An' she watched the morning ray. Rise up, rise up, Lord RonaW, dear I The morning opes its ee; O speed thee to thy father's tower, An' safe, safe may thou be ! But there was a page, a little fause page, Lord Ronald did espy. An' he has told his baron all Where the hind and hart did lye. 22 LORD RONALD. It isna for thee, but thine, Lord Ronald — Thy father's deeds o' wen- 1 But since the hind has come to my fauld, His blood shall dim my spear. Lord Ronald kissed fair Ellenore, An' pressed her lily hand; Sic a stately knight an' comely dame Ne'er met in wedlock's band : But the baron watched as he raised the latch An' kissed again his bride, An' with his spear, in deadly ire, He pierced Lord Ronald's side. The life-blood fled frae fair Ellenore's cheek; She looked all wan an' ghast; She leaned her down by Lord Ronald's side, An' the blood was rinnin' fast: She clasped his hand an' she kissed his lip, As she sighed her last adieu; For never, O never did lady love Her lord with a heart so true I FAIRY WIGHTS. WAE uuto you, faiiy wights ! My bairn awa yeVe taen, An' ye Iiae left but in its stead A thing o' skin an' bane. jNIy bairn, it was the sweetest ane E'er sat upon a knee; 1 might hae gane a simmer's day, An' no its like might see. My bairn, it was baith flesh an' bluid ; Its waist I mightna span ; An' soon I thought to see my bairn Grow up to be a man. My bonnie bairn nae marrow had ; Its skin was like the silk ; Frae tap to tae, its body was White as the reamy milk. 24 FAIRY WIGHTS. O wae unto you, fairy wights ! Whare'er ye ride or gae ; This is a waist your queen might span, Its like the winnlestrae. When will my bairnie dree his weird? Whare will my bairnie dee ? An' will my bairnie ne'er come hame, To glad his mither's ee ? Awa, awa, thou wrinkled thing ! Thy like on earth there's nane ; Although a beard were on thy chin, Thou couldna stan' thy lane. Thy voice it is nae yirthly voice, It's no a yirthly greet ; Thou's ne'er be laid in burial-grun, Nor yet in winding-sheet. A LASSIE CAM TO OUR GATE. BALLAD. A LASSIE cam to our gate, yestreen, An' low she curtsied down; She was lovelier far an' fairer to see Than a' our ladies roun'. whare do ye wend, my sweet winsome doo? An' whare may your dwelling be? But her heart, I trow, was liken to break, An' the tear-drap dim'd her ee. 1 haena a hame, quo the bonnie lassie — I haena a hame nor ha' ; Fain here wad I rest my weary feet, For the night begins to fa'. I took her into our tapestry ha', An' we drank the ruddy wine; An' aye I strave, but fand my heart Fast bound wi' love's silken twine. c 26 A LASSIE CAM TO OUR GATE. 1 ween'd she might be the fairies' queen, She was sae jimp aiul sma'; An' the tear that dlm'd her bonnie blue ee Fell owre twa heaps o' snaw. whare do ye wend, my sweet vpinsome doo: An' whare may your dwelling be? Can the winter's rain an' the winter's wind Blaw cauld on sic as ye ? 1 haena a hame, quo the bonnie lassie— I haena a ha' nor hame ; My father was ane o' " Charlie's" men. An' him I daurna name. Whate'er be your kith, whate'er be your kin, Frae this ye mauna gae ; An' gin ye'U consent to be my ain, Nae marrow ye shall hae. Sweet maiden, tak the siller cup, Sae fu' o' the damask wine, An' press it to your cherrie lip. For ye shall aye be mine. 5 THE TWA martyrs' WIDOWS. 27 An' drink, sweet doo, young Charlie's health, An' a' your kin sae dear ; Culloden has dim'd mony an ee Wi' mony a saut, saut tear. THE TWA MARTYRS' WIDOWS. Sit doun, sit doun by thy martyr's side, An' I'll sit doun by mine; An' I will speak o' him to my God, An' thou will speak o' thine. It's wae to thee, an' it's wae wi' me, For our day o' peace is gane; An' we maun sit wi' a tearfu' ee In our bouroch ha' alane. O Scotland I Scotland! it's wae to thee, When thy lights are ta'en awa; An' it's wae, it's wae to a sinfu' Ian', When the righteous sae maun fa'! 28 THE TWA martyrs' WIDOWS. It was a halle covenant alth We made wi' our God to keep; An' it's for tlie halie covenant vow That now we maun sit an' weep. O wha will gang to yon green hill-side, To sing the psalm at een? An' wha will speak o' the love o' our God ? For the covenant reft hath been. The grass may grow on yon bonnie hill-tap, An' the heather sweetly bloom. But there nae mair we will sit at een, For our hearts are in the tomb. The hectic blush is upon my cheek, An' the lily hue on thine ; Thou sune will sleep by thy martyr's side, An' sae will I by mine. TO THE NIGHTINGALE. Sweetest minstrel, who at even, Sheltered in thy leafy bower, As the zephyrs sleep around thee, Charm'st the balmy tranquil hour ; But when morning's beam is breaking, And its lights around thee play. Songster, then I list with sorrow Thy last warblings die away. From thy shade of fragrant blossoms On night's ear thou pour'st thy strain, While fond lovers, loth to leave thee. Sigh to hear those strains again, And when autumn's blast, despoiling All the sweets that deck thy spray. Songster, then I list with sorrow Thy last warblings die away. Cease not yet thy song, sweet warbler. Nor thy rosy bower forsake ; Lull the night to balmy slumbers, Till the morning herald wake» c 2 30 WRITTEN FOR BURNs' ANNIVERSARY. Slowly from the wild departing, Slowly wending home my way, Songster, then I list with sorrow Thy last warblings die away. WRITTEN FOR BURNS' ANNIVERSARY When Januarys winds sae fiercely blaw, An' drive alang the drifting snaw, It's roun' the ingle then we ca' The merry tales o' Robin. We vow he was a man o' worth, The pride an' honour o' the north ; An' though he's cauld now i' the earth, We think aye weel o' Robin. We canna turn a page or twa, But on a line or verse we'll fa' That's dear to Caledonia, An' worthy aye o' Robin. His vera name, it is a charm That a' our hearts at ance can warm : The deil be on them that wad harm The memory o' Robin ! WRITTEN FOR BURNs' ANNIVERSARY, 31 The ploughman whistling at his plough, The mountain daisy wat wi' dew, The blythe birds sporting on the bough, Inspired the heart o' Robin. Fond lovers 'neath the milk-white thorn, The farmer by his waving corn, The dewy eve, the dawning morn. Aye cheered the heart o' Robin. Sae ready wi' his jokes an' rhymes. Lord help them that were read in crimes I The vera priests themsel's betimes Wad Stan' in awe o' Robin : An' mair for token, let me tell. He didna spare the deil himsel', But tauld him a' his fauts pell-mell, — He ne'er met ane like Robin. What he has dune in prose an' verse We are na fit here to rehearse ; Sam Johnson wad o' words be scarce To sing the praise o' Robin. O' poets Scotland has her share, An' some o' pith an' spirit rare, But whare's the ane that can compare Wi' our immortal Robin ? 32 DREAM. Let monuments, by men o' art, An' pillars up like mushrooms start, There's nae mausoleum like the heart That thinks aye weel o' Robin : Sae let us a' in merry tune, Wi' hearts life's ills an' cares aboon, Here drink ance mair, as aft we've dune, The memory o' Robin. DREAM. I DREAMED a dream of an olden day, When youth led me on in its flowery way ; I bask'd in the sun, I sat in the shade. And in fancied realms of delight I stray'd : The lovely things that stole on mine eye Were the lights that were born of a summer's sky. I woke from my dream, and these visions bright Flitted away in the gloom of night. I dreamed a dream of another morn And a brighter sun — for I was borne On the smiles of love to a land of bliss. That dazzled mine eve with its loveliness; DREAM. 83 And the flowers that bloomed so beautiful there Were only worthy of angels' care. I woke from my dream, and they withered away, And sorrow o'erclouded my sunshine day. I dreamed a dream : I saw the heaven, With clouds o'ercast, to tempest given: Beneath the shade of a poplar tree I sat, and said, this will shelter me : But 'twas not so, for the tree was riven. And I was then as an outcast driven. I woke from my dream, and heavily sighed, And wished 'neath the poplar I had died. I dreamed a dream : I stood by the grave, And around me I saw the rank grass wave : Earth fell on me then as a heavy load ; 1 bowed, T knelt on the hallowed sod : I thought of my children there tliat slept ; I thought of their mother, and I wept. I woke from my dream, and wondered why In my strangled sleep I could not die. ELLEN GREY. Whae'er has sung o' winsome dames In ball or woodland bower — Whae'er has sung o' beauty's sel', An' a' its witching power — I ween they ne'er liae tuned their reed, Nor sung in mellow lay, To lady half sae sweet an' fair As the bonnie Ellen Grey. Her locks were o' the auburn hue, Her neck was like the swan, Her jimpy waist, it was sae sma', That ane aniaist could span : Whether she roamed by murmuring brook, Or trod the flowery way, Nae opening blossom was mair pure Than the bonnie Ellen Grey. Her ee outshone the eenin' star — A' but itsel' were dim ; Her cheek it was the red rose leaf, When dew hangs on its brim : ELLEN GREY. 35 An' mony hearts, I trow, were smit, An', sighing deep, would say, Ah ! wha may won that lady's love, The bonnie Ellen Grev. But scarcely twenty simmer suns Had blessed the beauteous maid ; The rose scarce bloomed in all its charms Till it began to fade : The hectic flush played on her cheek, An' stole its sweets away. An' dim'd the ee, that beamed so bright, O' the bonnie Ellen Grey. An' mony a gentle heart grew sad, To mark fair Ellen's form, Like some sweet flower nipt in the bud An' wasted by the storm : They marked the maiden's heart grow sick, An' every charm decay, Till death's cold finger touched the lip O' the bonnie Ellen Grey. ANE MAYDEN SITS AT MY LADY'S HEAD. Ane mayden sits at my lady's head, An' ane sits at her feet ; An' these raaydens' tears do wash the hem O' Ktiy lady's winding-sheet. Ane taper burns at my lady's head, An' ane burns at her feet; Ane rosary lyes oil her breast, Whare pearls hung sae meet. An' but thae tapers twa that burn, It a' is dark an' drear ; ' There's nae light in the chapel bower, But in my lady's quier. The bell tolls in St. Michael's tower. It rocks the cradled dead, — Ane yirthly voice, that ca's the quick To prayers that hae need. THE FIRST OF JULY. 37 The bell tolls in St. MichaeVs tower ; It warns ray lady hame : In holy aisle she maun be laid Down by hersel' alane. Nae worms maun kiss my lady's lip, An' nane maun touch her een ; Nae yirthly thing maun sate itsel' Whare heaven's light has been. My lady's grave wi' spade an' shool Is dug by cloistered wa' : My lady sleeps, an' raayna wauk Till angels on her ca'. THE FIRST OF JULY. 'Tis an liour of love, 'tis an hour of delight, AH is so lovely, all is so bright: With joy we wait till thy morn draws nigh. With thy fleecy clouds and thy deep blue sky, And deem, as we look o'er the scene so bland, That we live — that we move in a fairy land. D 38 THE FIRST OF JULY. 'Tis sweet to feel the wakening breeze, As it fans the flowers and leafy trees, Breaking the silence of the glade In whisperings through th' embowering shade, While we deem, as we look o'er the scene so bland. That we live — that we move in a fairy land. The swallow is dipping its wing in the lake ; The water-fowl starts from its reedy brake ; The lark on high is saluting the day, And birds are sporting on every spray. While we deem, as we look o'er the scene so bland, That we live — that we move in a fairy land. The roses wave o'er the crystal stream, And sparkle and shine in the morning beam ; Each spreading leaf hath its silvery hem. Each opening bud wears its diadem. While we deem, as we look o'er the scene so bland, That we live — that we move in a fairy land. But the day will pass, and the eve will come, And soft on our ear steal the beetle's hum ; The sun's setting rays will mingle and meet With the shadows of night, so calm and sweet, While we deem, as we look o'er the scene so bland. That we live — that we move in a fairy land. CLAVERS' VISIT. 'TwAS on a cauld, cauld wintry morn, When heaps o' drifting snaw Lay roun' our bouroch, an' raise up Against our hallan wa'. My father sat wi' a thoughtfu' ee — His years fourscore an' twa — But he had sworn to the covenant, The solemn league an' a'. Lassie, quo' he, your brethren three Are in the camp, whare nane But wha for the halie covenant Their solemn aith hae ta'en. Lassie, quo' he, their travail's sair. While we sit lown an' calm : Bring down, bring down the halie beuk, An' we'll sing the morning psalm. 40 CLAVERS' VISIT. We sang the morning psalm until The tears drapt frae our ee : My father prayed for the camp o' God, I for my brethren three. My father raise wi' a vvistfu' ee, An' leuk't owre dale an' down; Lassie, quo' lie, the cruel gled Into our nest hath flown. The wicked Clavers an' his men To our bouroch prancing came; In wrath they spak o' the covenant, An' blasphemed God's holy name. They slew my father upo' the bent. An' burnt our bonnie ha' : O wae was the morn, for his winding-sheet Was a wreath o' the drifting snaw ! TWIN ROSES. Night's tears fell on a lovely rose, Fresh opening to the view, That soft reclined upon it's twin Of rich and damask hue. Blooming amidst the sheltering bower, They twined with artless tie; But, severed by the morn's rude blast. One drooped and sunk to die. The rose upon its slender stem, As if with sorrow pressed, Waved o'er its twin bud lowly laid. No more by smiles caressed. Thus Love and Beauty, twin buds they, Awhile may sweetly bloom, But blighted by Fate's chilling blast, Weep o'er each other's doom. D 2 FAIRY SPORTS. O COME, ye lords and ladies gay, This is our Summer's holiday. Here, dressed in robes of dazzling sheen, Our dance is on the emerald green; The grasshoppers our minstrels be. And merry in the dance are we. A fairy dance ! — there's nought so neat, So gay of heart, so light of feet; 'Tis merrily, merrily round we go. And love and mirth are all we know! Each lovely scene in wild we meet Gives life unto our nimble feet; When high the rainbow's arch is seen. We follow all our fairy queen ; And let its base be brake or tree. It is a lovely sight to see Around it fairies all advance To join the music and the dance: 'Tis merrily, merrily round we go, And love and mirth are all we know ! FAIRY SPORTS. 43 Upon the gossamer's soft thread Our fairy queen the dance will lead ; It is the tapestry withal We hang around our airy hall; But when a cloud bedims the sun, We to our crystal caverns run, To light our fires more pure and bright Than ever shone the glowworm's light : 'Tis merrily, merrily round we go. And love and mirth are all we know ! Right meny are our minstrels all Until the dews begin to fall; 'Tis then they, wearied, go to sleep, While we beneath the hawthorn creep; Nor sleepless hours, I trow, have we, Till, waked again by hum of bee, We bathe us in the springs of dew That flow from fount of harebell blue: Then merrily, merrily round we go. And love and mirth are all we know! Thus, Summer is our holiday; But when the sun looks dim and grey. When Autumn's robed in russet brown, Our chariot's then the thistle's down : 44 THERE GREW IN BONNIE SCOTLAND. We wheel, and form our fairjr ring, While Summer's dirge around we sing, Then to our hurriislied halls repair From mortal ken and mortal air, Where merrily, merrily round we go, And love and mirth are all we know ! THERE GREW IN BONNIE SCOTLAND. There grew in bonnie Scotland A thistle and a brier, And aye they twined and clasped, Like sisters kind and dear: The rose it was sae bonnie. It could ilk bosom charm ; The thistle spread its thorny leaves To keep the rose frae harm. A bonnie laddie tended The rose baith air an' late; He watered it, and fanned it. And wove it with his fate ; THERE GREW IN BONNIE SCOTLAND. 45 And the leal hearts of Scotland Prayed it might never fa', The thistle was sae bonnie green, The rose sae like the snaw. But the weird sisters sat Where Hope's fair emblems grew; They drapt a drap upon the rose O' bitter, blasting dew; And aye they twined the mystic thread, — But ere their task was done, The snaw-white shade it disappeared — It withered in the sun ! A bonnie laddie tended The rose baith air an' late ; He watered it, and fanned it. And wove it with his fate; But the thistle tap it withered, — Winds bore it far awa, — And Scotland's heart was broken For the rose sae like the snawl ON SEEING A ROBIN'S NEST IN AN OLD RUIN. Ah, Robin, little do ye think Ye've built your nest on ruin's brink, The corner o' an auld clay biggin, Without a rafter or a riggin, — That were a scowling norlan' blast To break upo' the roofless waste, Your nestlings an' your moss-clad ha' Wad soon be laid in ruins a'. But cour ye still — it's sweet May-day, An' saft the westlin breezes play ; An' lang or winter's blast will blaw, Your wee things will hae flown awa': Syne pick an' deck your bonnie breastie — Fu' laith I wad be to molest ye; Nor will I rob you o' your charge, To mak them tenants o' a cage ; I trow, 'twad do my heart mair guid To see your bonnie speckled brood TO ERIN. 47 Gaun sporting up an' down the howe, An' fluttering on the hazle bough, Than in an aviary bred, An' on the nicest dainties fed ; For liberty to ilka thing That walks, or creeps, or soars on wing, Is, o' a truth, the sweetest gift That is enjoyed beneath the lift. While finest dainties that may be, Mixt wi' the draught o' slavery, Imbitters a' that heaven or earth can crie. TO ERIN. Erin! the moments I fondly recall. When tiiou in thy childhood wert happy and free. And thy harp in its youth and its sweetness awoke. To sing of the isle — the green isle of the sea ! 1 call to remembrance the minstrels of old, Who cherished the harp 'mid oppression and wrong, And taught thy fair daughters — thy sons while they wept- They still were the children of light and of song. 48 THE HAWTHORN. Tliou ever-loved harp of my dear native land, I turn with fond heart and devotion to thee, For still, in my wandering and childhood of song, Thy strains bade my bosom beat lightly and free. And while the green isle of my ancestors holds Her seat ia the ocean and's washed by the wave, Thy strains will re-echo, and rise o'er the storm. To tell of the deeds and the worth of the brave. O weep not, my country, though deep are thy wrongs ! Hope comes, as a sunbeam, around thee to shed A lustre and glory, dispelling the gloom And the night of despair that hath pillowed thy head: Thine altar shall rise in its splendour, as when The heart's purest offerings were wafted on high ; And fame shall encircle thy brow with its wreaths. While tlie name of thy spoilers in ruin shall lie. THE HAWTHORN. Sweet is thy bloom, thou hawthorn tree, That scents the simmer's gale, Nane forms a bonnie bower like thee For lovers in the dale ; THE HAWTHORN. 49 Sae white, sae pure thy blossoms a', Sae balmy their perfume, O why should they e'er withering fa'? Why should aught blight their bloom? When thou art wi' thy mantle clad, Sae bonnie an' sae braw, An' every charm around thee spread In glen an' leafy shaw, Thy shade's mair dear than a' the lave That skirt the dingle's side, It's aye sae sweet to see thee wave An' flaunting in thy pride. On sunny morn, wi' garlands gay, Thou deck'st the sylvan scene; In every nook thy milky spray Twines wi' the hazles green. It's sweet to see thee cross the path. Or bending o'er the stream. That gently murmurs underneath To soothe the lovers' dream. , THE WISH. Mine be the cot upon the muir, A burnie wimpling by ; A crystal well to quench my thirst When simmer streams rin dry ; A clump o' trees, wi' spreading boughs, Whare birds may sit an' sing. An' wi' their sweet an' artless notes Mak a' the valleys ring. Near-han', a bonnie broomy knowe, A glen wi' hazles green ; Beside the burn a hawthorn bower, To sit an' rest at een ; An' wild flowers spread on bank an' brae That skirt my dwelling roun', To mak a posie whan I like. The idle afternoon. An' frae the winter's wind an' rain. The sleet, an' drifting snaw. My cot weel happit owre wi' thack. An' door to steek out a' ; ON REVISITING MY NATIVE SHADE. 51 My but an' ben an' aumrie clad Wi' fouth o' halsome cheer, — I'd little hae to wish or want, An' naething hae to fear. ON REVISITING MY NATIVE SHADE. I KNEW the loved spot — I remembered it well, For the ash tree yet grew by the wall. And the ivy twig clasped the grey stones as they hung, A ruin, and ready to fall. The lattice was gone, where the jessamine twined And sported its beautiful bough ; And lovely it was when it waved in the breeze, And its fragrance around us it threw. I thought how the sunbeam, so lovely at eve. Looked in with its radiance so bright, And played on the casement its shadows of gold, And dazzled our eyes with its light. 52 REMEMBRANCE OF HOME. I Stood on the hearth, now witli nettles o'ergrown, Where tlie faggots once hriglitly had blazed; I remembered the song, and the gossiping tales, And the hymn that to heaven was raised. All was changed! but the brook it still murmured along, And leapt o'er its pebbles as clear As when in my youth — but, I could not tell how. It sung not so sweet in mine ear. I sighed o'er the wreck that ambition had made, And compelled me far distant to roam ; I wept — and I said, in my sadness of heart, O would this again were my home! REMEMBRANCE OF HOME. O TELL me not of a bright summer sun. If he smile not on my home; And tell me not of evergreen bowers, If a stranger thus I roam. REMEMBRANCE OF HOME. 53 What is to me the tamarind's shade, And the orange's glossy green, If there's no balmy breeze of morn. Nor gloamin's calm serene? What is to me the foliage and bloom, A wide-spreading valley's store? No landmark tells of ray youthful haunts, And fields I have traversed o'er ! Fond memory flies to its home again, And listens, at closing day, The song of the thrush and beetle's hum Wending its drowsy way.- I dream of the wild and red-blooming heath. The hill, and gowany lea, The birk, the broom, the purling stream, And shade of the hawthorn tree : These are the sweets of my dear native land, And aye will be dear to my heart; Though a lonely exile, they still can delight. Still a charm to my bosom impart. e2 WOMAN'S WARK WILL NE'ER BE DUNE. Woman's wark will ne'er be duno, Although the day were ne'er sae lang; Sae meikle but, sae meikle ben, — But for her care a' wad gae wrang : And aiblins a poor thriftless wight To spend the gear sae ill to won, Aft gars an eydant thrifty wife Say "woman's wark will ne'er be dune." We little think, in youthfu' prime, When wooing, what our weird may be ; But aye we dream, and aye we hope, That blythe and merry days we'll see: And blythe and merry might we be But when is heard the weary tune, " The morn it comes, the morn it gaes. But woman's wark will ne'er be dune." I've been at bridals and at feasts, When care was in the nappy drowned. The world might sink, or it might swim, Man, wife and weans were a' aboon't : FAIR ELLEN. 55 But — -wae's my heart to tliink upon'tl — The neist day brought the waefu' croon, ' Come bridals, or come merry feasts. Woman's wark will ne'er be dune." Twa bairnies toddlin at the fit, An' aiblins ane upon the knee. Gar life appear an unco faught. An' mony hae the like to dree; But cherub lips an' kisses sweet Keep aye a mither's heart aboon, Although the owrecome o' the sang Is " woman's wark will ne'er be dune." FAIR ELLEN. Fair Ellen was the pride of her knight, And the flower of Aldermay ; Love beamed in her eye, and joy and hope Smiled on her youthful day; But sorrow, alas! too soon it came. And bade sweet hope depart ; Now she wanders the wild alone and sad, The maid with the broken heart. 56 FAIR ELLEN. Young Edwin loved — but lie hurried away To a far and foreign land ; Nor beauty's smile caught his wandering eye, Nor clasped he a kindred hand ; But he clenched his sword and rode his steed, And the tear-drop still would start When he thought of home and his fair Ellen, The maid with the broken heart. But long ere the warrior's task was done His brow was furrowed with care, His lip was parched, his cheek was wan. And his look — it spoke despair! And weary and sad he sought his home. But hope could not impart One cheering ray to the eye that wept For the maid with the broken heart. But there's a sacred spot on earth. Where the broken heart now sleeps ; And he for whom that heart was broke Now wanders there and weeps : And oft, as the sun's last setting ray Seems lingering to depart. Is heard the sigh for fair Ellen, The maid with the broken heart. THE COVENANTER'S LAST MORNING HYMN. I'm gaun awa to a far kintrie, To live in the light o' angel's ee: This waiki's a weary wailcl o' care, But it's light, an' love, an' aye gladness there. The sangs they sing in that far kintrie Are no of earth nor its melodie : Earth never heard strains sae saft an' sweet As are sung when angels and martyrs meet. The sun never sets in that far kintrie, Nor looks he up wi' a watery ee : It's a cloudless day, it's aye bright an' fair, For nane but the pure an' the blest are there. It's here upon earth that our dool we dree ; But it's peace an' rest in that far kintrie: It's here upon earth we mak our lair; But death never comes to the dwallers there. 58 MORNING SCENE. O wha wadna gang to that far kintrie, To live in the light o' angel's ee? This waild's a weary warld o' care, But it's light, an' love, an' aye gladness there. MORNING SCENE. The owl hath quit her ivy bough. To slunnber in the ruined ha' ; The stars sleep in the welkin blue, An' morning light begins to daw. The heather-bleat hath cour'd its wing Beside the reed and rushy fen ; The skylark mounts aloft to sing. And echo waukens in the glen. The cock repeats his early craw ; The fox wends to his sheltering rock ; The shepherd taks the Mistylaw, To gather in his fleecy flock. MORNING SCENE. 59 And now awakes the slumbering breeze ; All nature moves in glistening sbeen; Soft whisperings mingle in the trees, Like spirits of the morn unseen. As up the lift the sun has epeel'd, The daisy opes its watery ee ; The violet 'neath its thorny bield Sweet scents the air that fans the lea. Now starts the teeming insect race, To catch the sun's enlivening beam, An' join in dance or sportive chase Above the pool or limpid stream. The mavis tunes his mellow note, Hid in the shade of towering tree ; "While round the peasant's humble cot Is heard the hum of thrifty bee. Afar is heard the wild-fowl's wail, Lone tenants of the muir and rock ; The rooks and jays the ear assail With clamorous and unceasing croak. 60 THE WEIRD SISTERS. And now the swallow's twittering wing Disturbs the bosom of the lake, Till oft the wide-extending ring Is lost amid the reedy brake. Such are the joys of summer's morn, — Such are the joys the heart may prove, That life's dull, weary cares may scorn For smiles of heaven, of peace, and love ! THE WEIRD SISTERS. Their distaff the weird sisters took, A shroud for my love to spin it; They span it of an unearthly thread. And unearthly woof was in it. And they have'wove an unearthly shroud. And unearthly woof was in it, But angels' tears had moistened the hesp Ere they sat down to begin it. MAY MORNING. 61 The sprites of the night, they sung her dirge As sweet as of angels' sighing, When they leave their place of bliss to look On a holy martyr dying. It was not the solemn vesper hymn That wakes the ear of even ; It came not from hall of earthly mound — It came from the vault of heaven. My lover's shroud is a robe of light ; Unspotted gems are on it ; It is only meet for an angel bright, And but angel worth dare own it. MAY MORNING. Thus let the varied season pass, Each day its pleasures bringing, From winter's silent, leafless shade, Till summer bowers are ringing. F 62 MAY MORNING. Thus let me woo each lovely scene Of Nature's own adorning; But still, of all that she can give, Be mine a sweet May morning. Sweetest of months I that now unlocks The summer's balmy treasures. And gives a never-ending charm To life and all its pleasures, I greet thee with delighted heart. All other pleasures scorning; And still, of all that earth can give. Be mine a sweet May morning. Now sweetly sings upon the ear The murmurs of the fountain ; The lambkins sport upon the lea, The fawns upon the mountain; Nature throws from the beechen tree Her robe of latest moui'ning. And all is mirth and merry glee Upon a sweet May morning. QUEEN MARY'S ESCAPE FROM LOCHLEVEN CASTLE. SONG. Highland Boat Air. Put off, put off! and row with speed, For now is the time and the hour of need! To oars, to oars ! and trim the bark. Nor Scotland's queen be a warder's mark ! Yon light that plays 'round the castle's moat Is only the warder's random shot: Put off, put off! and row with speed, For now is the time and the hour of need ! These ponderous keys shall the kelpies keep, And lodge in their caverns dark and deep ; Nor shall Lochleven's towers or hall Bind thee, our lovely lady, in thrall : Where be the traitors that would thee hold, While Scotland has hands and hearts so bold? Then, steersman, steersman! on with speed, For now is the time and the hour of need! 64 THAT life's a FAUGHT. Hark I the alarum bell hath rung, And the warder's voice hath " treason " sung; The echoes to the falconet's roar Chime sweetly to the dashing oar. Let tower, and hall, and battlements gleam ! We steer by the light of the taper's beam : For Scotland and Mary, on with speed, Now, now is the time and the hour of need ! THAT LIFE'S A FAUGHT. That life's a faught there is nae doubt — A steep an' slippery brae; An' wisdom's sel', wi' a' its rules, Will aften find it sae. The best o' hearts that e'er was made May hae a deadly fae, An' faithless frien's an' falsehood's tongue Aft breed us meikle wae. Sae mony are the ups an' downs, Sae mony are the crosses, Ane scarce at times daur think upon Their grievous ills an' losses. MERRILY, MERRILY. 65 In trowtb, it is an unco strive, Do as a body may, To keep their head aboon the brae, An' mak out day an' way. But there's ae thing, wi' a' the faught, That keeps tlie heart in tune. An' but for this, the spleen wad vex An' plague us late an' sune — A bonnie, blythsome, thrifty wife; For sic is Nature's law. Without that charmer o' our lives, There's scarce a charm ava. MERRILY, MERRILY. Merrily, merrily let the bells Toll to our roundelay; Merrily, merrily let the bells Chime to our holiday. F 2 66 MERRILY, MERRILY. INIenlly, rnenily, round we quaff The o'erflowlng wassail bowl ; Merry oar hearts, and merry our laugh. When we drink to Old King Cowl. Our hearts were made for love and delight, So here's to the maidens all Who may not shun the blaze of the light That lightens our ancient hall. In the blue-roofed vault, a galaxy bright Of beauteous gems appear, But the eyes around are the loves and light That illumine our hemisphere. Then here's to the heart of truth — love's dower- A heaven-delighting boon; And here's to the maiden and tell-tale hour, And here's to the lovely moon. Merrily, merrily let the bells Toll to our roundelay ; Merrily, merrily let the bells Chime to our holiday. ON FREEING A LINNET FROM A CAGE. Curse on the cunning hand that twined The wicker folds that now surround thee, And with untaught, unfeeling heart, In iron fetters thus hath bound thee ! Go, go 1 thou little warbler, go ! And wing the mid-way air of heaven; That bright celestial sphere is thine, By God himself and Nature given ! Go! once more greet thy native home, And sport among yon tufts of roses, And charm me with thine artless song When morning all its sweets discloses. Go, go I thou little warbler, go I And wing the mid-way air of heaven ; That bright celestial sphere is thine. By God himself and Nature given I MAY SCOTIA'S ISLE AYE SWEETLY SMILE. SONG. Air — KiLLIECR ANKIE. May Scotia's isle aye sweetly smile, An' fame her wliistle blaw, man — To ilka shore, the world o'er, Her worth and spirit shaw, man. Sae frank and free, sae fair to see, There isna ane ava, man, That e'er may dare, or can compare Wi' Caledonia, man. Though winter snell, ilk hill and dell, May hap them o'er wi' snaw, man, And clouds o'ercast the dreary waste, Where daisies sweet did blaw, man ; — Though winds may rave where thistles wave^ There Freedom smiles sae braw, man. She charms the swains and happy plains O' Caledonia, man. THE covenanter's LAMENT. 69 How blessed the time, in simmer's prime, When saft the eenin's fa', man, When lovers meet by hawthorn sweet An' bonnie birken shaw, man I Sae dear, I trow, the tender vow — Sic love, ne'er may it fa', man ! But bloom aye pure, the fairest flower O' Caledonia, man. THE COVENANTER'S LAMENT. SONG. Air — The Martyr's Grave. There's nae covenant now, lassie ! There's nae covenant now ! The solemn league and covenant Are a' broken through ! There's nae Renwick now, lassie. There's nae gude Cargill, Nor holy sabbath preaching Upon the Martyr's Hill ! 70 THE covenanter's LAMENT. It's naething but a sword, lassie I A bluidy, bluidy ane ! Waving owre poor Scotland For her rebellious sin. Scotland's a' wrang, lassie, Scotland's a' wrang — It's neither to the hill nor glen, Lassie, we daur gang. The Martyr's Hill's forsaken, In simmer's dusk, sae calm ; There's nae gathering now, lassie. To sing the eenin' psalm I But the martyr's grave will rise, lassie, Aboon the warrior's cairn ; An' the martyr soun' will sleep, lassie, Aneath the waving fern ! THE BONNIE BUILT WHERRY. SONG. Original Air. Now, row thee weel, my bonnie built wherry ; I've rowed thee lang and wi' thee been merry ; IVe rowed thee late and I've rowed thee early; I've rowed o'er the firth ' Lochiel' and ' Prince Charlie;' Then row thee, my bonnie built wherry. My wherry was built for the gallant and brave ; Nane dances sae light on the bonnie white wave : She dances sae light through the cloud and the haze, And steers by the light of the watch-fire blaze : Then row thee, ray bonnie built wherry. But a' that I lo'ed on earth is gane. And I and my wherry are left alane ; The blast is blawn that bore them awa— But there is a day, it's coming for a' I Then row thee, my bonnie built wherry. 72 WHEN CHARLIE TO THE HIGHLANDS CAME. As the eagle's flight my wherry will be On the white, white faem — on the deep, deep sea- When it's hame, hame, hame to their ain kintrie, The laddies that are sae gallant and free : Then row thee, my bonnie built wherry. WHEN CHARLIE TO THE HIGHLANDS CAME. SONG. When Charlie to the Highlands came. Our hearts were light and cheery; We trow'dna that our glens sae soon Wad silent be and dreary. O why did Heaven sae on us frown, An' break our hearts wi' sorrow ? O will it never smile again, An' bring a gladsome morrow ? Our dwellings an' our outlay gear Lie smoking an' in ruin ; Our bravest youths, like mountain deer, The foe is aft pursuing. \ O CAM YE EAST. Our hame's the muir and mountain side, As if by Heaven forsaken ; Our shelter — it is only noiv The heather an' the braken. Oh ! we maun wander far awa, An' foreign lands maun hide in ; Our bonnie glens we lo'ed sae dear We daurna langer bide in. O CAM YE EAST. SONG. CAM ye east, or cam ye west, Or cam ye down the strath o* Boggie? 1 doubt gin ye're the lad for me, Ye are sae trig an' unco vogie. I camna east, I camna west, But I cam down the strath o' Boggie; It's a' for you, my bonnie lass, That I cam here sae trig an' vogie. o 74 O CAM YE EAST. There's maidens east, there's maidens west, There's maidens ilka airt fu' vogie, But, lassie, gin ye'll gang wi' me, I trow ye'll be the pride o' Boggie. I hae a rowthy but an' ben. An' aye at meals a weel-fiU'd coggie, An' there are maidens mony ane Wad like to hae the laird o' Boggie. ?vly sheep are wandering on the hill. An' owre the banks an' braes sae scroggie; I've ploughmen whistling owre the lea, When morning looks sae grey an' foggie: Sae, lassie, dirma lightly me. For I will mak ye trig an' vogie; Ye'll be lady an' I'll be laird. The best in a' the strath o' Boggie. laddie, ye see a' my wealth. My humble cot, my sheep an' dogie; Ye may be laird, but I'll ne'er be The lady o' the strath o' Boggie. 1 hae a bonnie, dear-lo'ed lad. He saved me frae the flood o' Loggie, An' that dear ane I wadna gie For a' that's in the strath o' Boggie. HEARD YE THE BAGPIPE. SONG. Air — NiD noddin. Heard ye the bagpipe? heard ye the drum? Heard ye the news — that Charlie is come, Aa' the whigs a' rinriin, rin, rin riiinin, An' the vvhigs a' rinnin fast awa hame, — An' the whigs a' rinnin, rin, rin rinnin, An' the whigs a' rinnin fast awa hame ? Were ye at Holyrood? saw ye him there? Saw ye him sittin' in his ain meikle chair. An' the whigs a' rinnin, &c. Haith I Donald, I saw him at Holyrood House, \Vi' mony braw lads, fu' keen an' fu' crouse, An' the whigs a' rinnin, &c. It's meikle they will tliink, it's meikle they will say^ But Scotland will get it now a' her ain way; For they're a' rinnin, &c. 76 HAUD AWA FRAE ME, DONALD. We'll delve our ain yard, an' we'll pou our ain kail ; We'll brew our ain maut, an' we'll drink our ain yill ; For the whigs are rinnin, &c. The rose it is white an' the heather is red, — The tane they'll ne'er pou nor the tither e'er tread ; For they're afFan' rinnin, &c. HAUD AWA FRAE ME, DONALD SONG. Air — Haud Awa. Haud awa, bide awa, Haud awa frae me, Donald ; What care I for a' your wealth, An' a' that ye can gie, Donald ? I wadna lea' my Lowland lad For a' your gowd an' gear, Donald ; Sae tak your plaid an' owre the hill. An' stay nae langer here, Donald. Haud awa, &c. ; O WHARE DOST THOU GAE. 77 My Jamie is a gallant youth ; 1 lo'e but him alane, Donald ; An' in bonnie Scotland's isle Like him there is nane, Donald ! Haud awa, bide awa, Hand awa frae me, Donald; What care I for a' your wealth, An' a' that ye can gie, Donald ? He wears nae plaid, nor tartan hose, Nor garters at his knee, Donald ; But O he wears a faithfu' heart, An' love blinks in his ee, Donald I Sae haud awa, bide awa. Come nae mair at een, Donald ; I wadiia break my Jamie's heart. To be a Highland queen, Donald ! O WHAKE DOST THOU GAE. O WHARE doat thou gae, thou bonnie sweet bird? Seek'st thou thy native bower, r the sheltering howe o' the moss-grey stane, O'erhung vvi' the violet flower? g2 78 O WHARE DOST THOU GAE. Fleena awa, thou bonnie sweet bird! Fleeiia, O fleena awa I But sport thee a while on the hawthorn bough That waves owre thy bonnie ha'. That bower o' thine is sweeter, I trow, Clad wi' the mossy weed, Than tapestry ha' wi' the tassel'd gowd Bedecking the princely head. An' thy minstrelsy is a sweeter note, That greeteth the morning leem, Than weary, worn-out minstrel's chime, By the dying taper's gleam. The bonnie harebell, that's fan'd by the breeze. An' flaunts by thy bouroch gate, It wooes thee mair than the bended knee That waiteth on lordly state. Now flee thee awa, thou bonnie sweet bird I Flee thee, now flee thee awa ! An' soun' be thy sleep till the mornuig sun Glint in thy bonnie ha' I CHARLIE. SONG. Air — Whistle owre the lave o't. I've heard the muircock's early craw, ' I've seen the morning's rosy daw, But this is blythest o' thenn a', To march awa wi' Charlie. Our Scottish flags like streamers wave; It's Charlie's sel' that leads the brave, Wha winna flinch nor fear a grave, But Stan' or fa' wi' Charlie ! There's no a traitor in his clan ; There's no a heart, there's no a han', But, when the note o' weir is blawii. Will start, and on wi' Charlie! It's wha daur now on Charlie frown, Or tread our northern thistle down ? For Scotland's rights an' Scotland's crown, We'll owre the hills wi' Charlie I I'LL POU THE ROSEBUD. SONG. I'll pou the rosebud wat wi' dew, Sweet emblem, love, o' thee ; I'll pou the rosebud wi' its thorn, Though sharp the thorn may be. Thy smile was like the blushing rose ; Its wounds at first were sweet; But ah I how little did I trow, That smiles and tears were meet ! The cheering ray of morn will sip Night's tears that brightly glow, Nor like that look of thine, my love, That only bids them flow. O take, my love, that dew-clad rose, — It in thy bosom wear ; The flower is thine — the thorn is mine, To bathe wi' mony a tear ! TO LOOK BUT IN MY MITHER'S FACE. To look but in my mither's face, The tear comes in my ee; My heart will break to think upon Her grief an' misery. My heart will break to think on him That lies down i' yon lea: My mither prayed for my dear father, But mercy nane might be. The wicked sair oppress the Ian', An' sae aroun' they spread, That wha wad keep the covenant Maun count themsel's but dead. To glint but on the halie beuk, Or mak to Heaven our maen, There's nane maun hear, an' nane maun see, But Heaven an' us alane. 82 i'll drink to thee. We seek the rock, we seek the glen, The dark an' dreeping cave ; O, there's nae resting-place for us, But in the silent gravel I'LL DRINK TO TPIEE. SONG. I'll drink to thee o' this siller cup ; I'll drink to thee o' this lassie ; Pledge to my troth wi' thy sweetest smile, And drink to me, my lassie. The cup is bright — there's witcherie in't — A charm around it glowing; And while I quaff it to thee, my love. Bliss from its brim is flowing. The cup is bright — there's witcherie in't, As if angel's smile had blessed it ; O! who would not quaff with love and delight, When lips like thine have pressed it ? WHEN TRUTH AND HUMANITY. When truth and humanity hang on the lip, To give and to take — what a treasure ! As the bee on the flower, there I ever could sip, And bask in the sunshine of pleasure. 'Tia ever a sunshine with virtue and love, Giving life and delight to the bosom ; These are banquets iiere spread by the spirits above,- Fair flowerets, for ever in blossom. Yes, life is a sunshine — a world of flowers, If mortals would please so to make it ; From her horn Nature freely her benison pours, And gives all a welcome to take it. Away, then I ye fools and ye bigots, away ! And drink of your gall and your bitters : If Reason's bright mandate you will not obey, Leave tlie world alone to your betters. CHARLIE'S COME. SONG. CHORUS. Charlie's come, an' a'a ready; Charlie's come, an' a's ready; Donald, ye maun up an' till't, — Charlie's come, an' a's ready. There now is up ilk gallant man; The brave Locheil an' a' his clan: It's up, it's up, brave D«)nald Bain I — Charlie's come, an' a's ready. Scotland has been sair put down; The whigs hae stown her very crown : They're up — they're up in bnigh an' town I- Charlie's come, an' a's ready. Scotland will ance mair be free; I wat she ne'er will cruck her knee: It's up, brave Donald I gar them flee I — Ciiarlie's come, an' a's ready. O WAT YE WHA I MET YESTREEK. 85 I hae seen my ninety-twa; My head is like the mountain snaw ; But, haith I I'll up, au' ance mair draw ! — Sin' Charlie's come, Donald's ready. I've been in strife wi' twa to ane, But never turned my heel to rin; Now, faith ! I winna be ahin ! — Charlie's come, an' Donald's ready. O WAT YE WHA I MET YESTREEN. SONG. Air — My Boy Tammy. O WAT ye wha I met yestreen Amang yon broom, sae bonnie ? O wat ye wha 1 met yestreen Amang yon broom, sae bonnie ? O wat ye wha I met yestreen Amang yon broom an' hazles green? A lassie, whase sweet smile, I ween, Could steal the heart of ony. H 86 GO COURT THE RICH PALACE. I rowed her in my tartan plaid Amang the broom, sae bonnie; I rowed her in my tartan plaid Amang the broom, sae bonnie ; I rowed her in my tartan plaid, An' aye I swoor, an' aye I said, I ne'er wad break the vow I made. But lo'e her best of ony. The sun was setting owi"e the knowe Cled wi' the broom, sae bonnie ; The sun was setting owre the knowe Cled wi' the broom, sae bonnie ; The sun was setting owre the knowe, While, i' the glade an' down the howe, Ilk bird was singing on its bough The sweetest sang of ony. GO COURT THE RICH PALACE. Go court the rich palace for wealth and renown ; Go kneel to the mitre and bow to the crown; Let levees and festivals ring in your ears — The playthings and pastime of princes and peers! GO COURT THE RICH PALACE. 87 With heart all elated, and bosom on flame, Go start for the prize of a glorious name : I envy them not that ambitious may roam, I have such a sweet little world at home. Each day and each night new affections entwine, And ties that with life we can only resign : The innocent look and the innocent smile Of the cherubs around that our moments beguile, Are pleasures and joys that our bosom can bless, Nor though every day ours do we love them the less : Then I envy them not that for pleasure may roam, I have such a sweet little world at home. So many our pastimes, so many our sports, Amid the gay haunts and the rural resorts, That fancy, still playful, in dreams or awake, Can see little fairies in bush and in brake ! Whate'er has been told of their sports on the green, Our own tiny elves are the fairies, I ween : Then away with ambition, afar let it roam. While I've such a sweet little world at home. MY BARK IS NOW UPON THE WAVE. SONG. Air — O May, thy morn. My bark is now upon the wave That bears me from thy dwelling : I reckless hear the loud winds rave And see the white foam swelling. Though fate has forced me from thine arms, My truth shall never vary ; ril think on thee and a' the charms O' bonnie, green Glengary. Let Lowland maids, in silken sheen. Outshine the blooming Flora; Gie me, in tartan plaid, at een. My bonnie Highland Nora ! For thee I've climbed the mountain's height, And roamed their summits airy, For aye thy smile could cheer the night In bonnie, green Glengary. THE MOON'S O'ER THE MOUNTAIN. SONG. Air — Ho ro Mhairi Dhu. The moon's o'er the mountain, the watch-fires arebuiiiintr, Brightly beaming on tower and tree ; The white foam is heaving, the tide is returning, Drearily howls the storm o'er the lea ; The voice of despair is heard from the rock, Where Conner is tossed, where the foam it is broke : Mora listens the wail, as she sighs to the gale — O ! Conner, loved Conner, return to me ! But ne'er shall young Conner return on the billow, — Lovely maiden I he's in the sea ; He ne'er shall awake from his green sea-weed pillow, Fairest Mora 1 to come to thee. From the dark hill of Ullin she views from afar His fleeting form vanish with morning's bright star, And, in sad'ning despair, gives her sighs to the air — O ! Conner, loved Conner, return to me I h2 90 THE SEAMEW WAS SCREAMING. The liall of thy Conner is dark now and dreary — Sad it echoes to minstrelsy ; The tempest is hushed, and the morning is cheery — Lovely Mora! it smiles to thee. But ne'er to the eye of the maid comes delight ; She hails not the morning, but flies from its light; O'er the wide watery waste still a lingering look casts, And sighs — O ! my Conner, return to me ! THE SEAMEW WAS SCREAMING. SONG. Air — Creag Ghuanach. The seamew was screaming, it skim'd the rude billow, While Mora sat sighing, the moss-stone her pillow. The hall of Glenullin is silent for ever, — Young Ronald the brave shall return to it never: The stag on the mountain, he lightly is bounding, — The hawk and the eagle the dark cliffs surrounding : In the pride of their triumph the clans are returning. For Ronald the brave there is weeping and mourning. THE CLOSE O' A SIMMER DAY. 91 Tlie war-cry and strife of the battle are over, But ne'er shall I welcome the smile of my lover: From the field of his glory in sadness they bore him, And the green-tufted braken — it soon shall wave o'er him. When night's scowling tempests the echoes are swelling, And ghosts of the heroes revisit their dwelling, In the moon's fleeting shadow, his burnish'd sword, waving. Will gleam in its brightness, the foeraen still braving. She gazed on her arm — the gold bracelet around it, 'Twas Ronald's last token, and there he had bound it : With eye bright as morning one moment she viewed it, Then, dim as the twilight, with tears she bedewed it. Illumed by the sunbeam, a bright gem appearing, 'Twas the star of young Ronald, true valour its bearing : Sad, sighing, she pressed it unto her cold bosom. While her cheek wore the lily, death's last fading blossom I THE CLOSE O' A SIMMER DAY. I LIKE to see the morning sun Look up wi' blythesome ee, — I like to see him wearing down Ayont the western lea, 92 THE CLOSE O' A SIMMER DAY. An' the gowden saughs an' Imzles green Beside the waters play: O, the sweetest time on earth, 1 ween, Is the close o' a simmer day ! When larks drap frae their airy height Upon the daisied lea. An' bonnie birds their latest note Chirp in the leafy tree, It is a dear, delighting hour, O'er hill an' dale to stray: O, the sweetest time on earth, I ween, Is the close o' a simmer day! It's sweet to wander by the burn "When flowers are in their prime. An' breathe the saft an' balmy air Frae aff the mountain thyme, An' mark upon the distant hill The sun's last setting ray : O, the sweetest time on earth, I ween, Is the close o' a simmer day. THIS PRAYER WAS THINE. This prayer was thine when we parted — Return to my bosom again! Tliough o'er ocean and earth thou should'st wander. INIy heart with thee still will remain I To thy prayer my faith then I plighted, And still has my heart been with thee ; And still, for thy sake, my dear Annie I This token's been sacred to me. O, never from love and from beauty, A stranger and wanderer, I'll roam ; I'll never forget that sweet prayer That wooed me to thee and to home I And thus, for thy prayer's devotion. The ills and the woes I have known Are forgot in the sigh of that bosom, Tliat tells me thou'rt ever my own ! LOVE'S LIKE A LITTLE PLAYFUL BOY. SONG. Original Air. Love's like a little playful boy, Gambolling on the rosy cheek: Love wounds the heart like a cruel elf, And looks and smiles as an angel meek. Love wantons around the dimpled chin, And sportive laughs in the rolling eye; He steals along on his snowy wing, And plays in the breathing of a sigh. Love lurks unseen in the bosom of snow ; His tyrant sway soft blushes own; He sips the dew on the moistened cheek, Where once the rose had sweetly blown. The lily neck he trips around. And sports where the auburn tresses play ; While, smiling on the honied lip, He steals the artless heart away. THE BONNIE LASS O' WOODHOUSELIE. SONG. Air — Hey the Rantin Murray's Ha'. The sun blinks sweetly on yon shaw, But sweeter far on Woodhouselie; An' dear I like his setting beam, For sake o' ane sae dear to me. It wasna simmers fairy scenes, In a' their charming luxury, But Beauty's sel' that won my heart, — The bonnie lass o' Woodhouselie. The bonnie knowes, sae yellow a', Whare aft is heard the humming bee — The meadow green, an' breezy hill, Whare lambkins sport sae merrilie — May charm the weary, wandering swain, When eenin' sun dips in the sea, But a' my heart, baith een an' morn, Is wi' the lass o' Woodhouselie. 06 WHEN THY HEART WITH YOUTH IS GLOWING. The flowers that kiss the wimpling burn, The dew-clad gowans on the lea, An' water-lily on the lake, Are but sweet emblems a' o' thee : An' while in simmer's smiles they bloom, Sae lovely an' sae fair to see, I'll woo their sweets e'en for thy sake, — The bonnie lass o' Woodhouselie. WHEN THY HEART WITH YOUTH IS GLOWING. When thy heart with youth is glowing, Go where lovely flowers are growing By the woodland tree : On the daisied sod reposing. When the day is sweetly closing, List Nature's melody. Nature's pathway would'st thou wander, — - Go where summer's streams meander Through wild and solitude; There, forgetting mirth and folly, To virtue and lone melancholy Let thy heart be wooed. O WHY DID I LEAVE THEE. 97 Tlie harp's soft strains would'st thou awaken Of maidens loved — of these forsaken, — Go seek the moonlight eve: There, to fond hopes fair garlands wreatiiing, O'er broken hearts, their sorrows breathing, The lonely cypress weave. But if to other themes aspiruig, And deeds of fame thy bosom firing, — Go to the patriot's grave: O'er him, who 'gainst the foe contending, His country and its rights defending, Let blooming laurels wave. O WHY DID I LEAVE THEE. SONG. O WHY did I leave thee ! O wliy did I grieve thee ! I couldna forget sic a lassie as thee I For still in my sadness, for still in my gladness. Thou alone wert the love and the light o' my oe I I 98 O WHY DID I LEAVE THEE. Ill my day's weary wandering, in my night's silent pon- dering, It soothed a' my sorrow, it soothed a' my care, — The hope to caress thee, the hope thus to press thee Unto my fond bosom, and grieve thee nae mair ! Though beauty sweet smiling, and pleasure beguiling — Though long rolled between us the dark-heaving sea. With love's true devotion, with tender emotion, Delighted, I turned to this hour, love, with thee : No! never forgetting our fond vows repeating Beneath the green birk, — for my heart it was there, Again to caress thee, again thus to press thee Unto my fond bosom, and grieve thee nae mair ! I love sae sincerely, I love thee sae dearly. No pleasure nor wealth shall e'er tempt me to roam ; Away, then, with sorrow ! joy beams on the morrow I find in thy love and thy bosom a home. O, never I no, never ! shall fate e'er us sever; No more shall my heart feel the throb of despair. Thus, love, to caress thee, thus, love, still to press thee Unto my fond bosom, and grieve thee nae mair ! IVHARE YON HIGHLAND HEATHER GROWS. SONG. Whare yon Highland heather grows, An' waters rin sae clearly, I like to wander for the sake O' ane I lo'e fu' dearly: It is for thee, thou dearest maid — Thy artless heart to win it — That I would wear the tartan plaid, The white rose an' the bonnet. When winter winds rave through the woods, An' dark the cloud is lowering, An' owre the linn the swelling flood Its fleecy foam is pouring, I'd fearless stray hy mountain path An' glen, sae wild an' brierj', To fauld thee in my arms at een, My young, my artless dearie ! 100 CLAN-ALBIN. IIow blest were I to tend the flock Wi' thee I like eae dearly, An' hear the bonnie grey muircock Craw i' the morning early ! I wad forget my native home An a' my kin thegither, To dwall wi' thee, my bonnie ane ! Amang the Highland heather. CLAN-ALBIN. Guard ye the passes, defend your high mountains, These barriers that Roman invaders withstood: llemember your sires, call their shades from their slumber. The heroes who over these valleys have trode. Awake thee. Clan- Albin ! thou pride of the Highlands ! And start from thy lair as the light-bounding roe; Draw, draw from thy scabbard thy broad sword, and let it Fall heavy and sure on the head of the foe! CLAN-ALBIN. 101 The Southerns they gather, around thee they hover, Despoiling thy landmarks, foretelling thy doom ; Awake thee, Clan-Albinl the reavers they know not That these are thy mountains, these valleys thy homo. Away then, thou reaver ! the word it is given — The thunder is heard on the mountains afar; It rolls through the valleys, it wakens the hamlets, It calls forth the brave and the dauntless to war. They come! and their swords they have whetted in ven- geance; Their hearts they have steeled, and there's wrath in their eye; They reck not thy numbers, they scorn thy proud phalanx; They come, for their country to conquer or die ! Now, now the proud eagle hatli left his bright region — His sunbeam, to perch on the field of the slain : Clan-Albin returns tq her mountains in triumph, And dares to the combat her foemen again. i2 I HAE LO'ED BUT YOU ALAI^TE. SONG. AiB — Ca' Hawkie. CHORUS. Rare lassie, fair lassie, Wha is't can lo'e ye better! I hae crossed the langsome muir — I hae swam the Allan water. I hae lo'ed but you alane, — Dear lass, I winna flatter ; I'll see ye, be it wind or rain, — Though hie should rin the Allan water. When the moon glints owre the knowe. In my plaid I'll owre the heather : Ye maun meet me i' the howe, By the banks of Allan water. O LASSIE WILL YE MEET. 103 When the smiling simmer's come — When the mountain's red wi' heather, I'll woo ye whare the roses bloom On the banks of Allan water. O LASSIE WILL YE MEET. SONG. O LASSIE, will ye meet wi' me Beside the bonnie birken tree. Or mang the gowans on the lea, By a' the lave unseen, O? CHORUS. " An' ye sail be my dearie, My ain dearest dearie, — An' ye sail be my dearie, Gin ye meet me at een, O." 104 O WHERE IS THE ROSEBUD. When birds their wings at eenin' cour, To slumber in their leafy bower, O lassie, ye maun watch the hour, By a' the lave unseen, O. An' though the night be cauld an' wat, An', as may chance, a wee thing late, Ye mauna fear to tak the gate. By a' the lave unseen, O. An' when I tirl at the pin, O lassie, ye maun let me in, — A canny hour, it is nae sin, By a' the lave unseen, O. O WHERE IS THE ROSEBUD. O WHERE is the rosebud that blossomed so sweet, And the dew-drop that sparkled so pure on its breast? And where is the smile of that beautiful morn When these were by sunshine and zephyrs caressed ? O WEEL I LIKE YON BIRKEN BUSH. 105 The rosebud hath withered — it droops in the shade ; And the dew-drop that sparkled with dawning of day Will ne'er deck that beautiful blossom again, — 'Tis lost in the shower that hath washed it away. Return, thou pure gem I to thy bright morn again, — And live, thou fair blossom ! I said, with a sigh ; Why should such a gem disappear from the earth, And a blossom so lovely thus wither and die ? The morn hath returned, with its zephyrs so bland, And all its delights, to enliven the plain ; But that beautiful blossom and bright-beaming gem Returns not to earth nor its sunshine again. O WEEL I LIKE YON BIKKEN BUSH. SONG. O WEEL I like yon birken bush An' brier upon the brae, An' weel I like by yon burn-side Wi' my true love to gae : 106 O WEEL I LIKE YON BIRKEN BUSH. Boneath the bonnie birken bush An' brier upon the brae, 1 could sit wi' my true love The lee-lang simmer day ! It raaksna whare my love may stray, I like aye to be there ; 1 seena ane, whare'er I gang, That's half sae sweet an' fair: 1 like to meet her by the burn On sunny afternoon. But wae upon the parting liour, For it aye comes sae soon ! The leaf is on the birken bush, The rose is on the brier, An' 'neath the waving hazles green The water wimples clear : O weel I like by yon burn-side The tale o' love to hear, But wae upon the parting hour That steals awa my dear ! THE WIND IS UP. The wind is up and the anchor weighed — From our much-loved home we steer; What perils may hap of battles and wreck, Ere that home again we near ! To these scenes of youth, of love, and joy, A lingering look I cast ; And now, I deem it a fairy land, As I look from the giddy mast. 'Tis gone ! but, in fancy's wistful eye, What glowing scenes appear, Of roses, and smiles, and blissful hours, And sunshine bright and clear ! Now broke is the charm of my idle dream— I list the waves' dashing roar; But memory turns, as we plough the deep. To our much-loved native shore. NEPTUNE. O WHAT is it comes in fiiglitful form, Frowning amid the angry storm, And raising the waves' white bree? 'Tis the whirlwind rolling the dark cloud up, And filling brimful old Neptune's cup, As he drinks to the maids of the sea. His trident fathoms the ocean deep, When he bids the whirlwind wake from sleep And raise the waves' white bree ! He rides in his glory amid the storm. And rears on the wave his giant form, And drinks to the maids of the sea. Away let the mariner's bark now sweep. And shun the whirlpool's yawning deep,— To the wind, boys, let her fiee I Neptune heaves his cup from the main. And calls on Jove to fill it again. And drinks to the maids of the sea. WAKEN, WAKEN, THOU GENTLE BREEZE. Waken, waken, thou gentle breeze, And bear our bark along ; The tapers are lighted within the hall That echoes with minstrel's song. Waken, waken, thou gentle breeze, From thy dark, deep, hollow cave. And break the spell that hath ocean bound. And raise the white, white wave ! Thou com'st I thou com 'at ! but a warning voice In the gathering blast hath sung, — 'Tis the deep death-bell from the kelpie's rock The ominous maid hath rung I They are merry of heart, they are merry in hall, Where the blazing tapers burn ; They are merry who welcome the blue-eyed maid, And wait the bark's return. K 1 10 WAKEN, WAKEN, THOU GENTLE BREEZE. In vain the minstrels awake the hymn, And chaunt it light and long; In vain they welcome to bridal bower The maid with lute and with song. No more the tapers blaze in the hall, Nor minstrels and merry guests meet ; No more the harp and the lute shall breathe For bridal maiden so sweet. The song hath ceased, it is silence all, For a voice is on the sea, — Maiden ! vour bed is the coral rock, And your bridal maidens are we ! Thou com'st I thou com'st ! thou terrible blast Unmeet for a maiden's ear ; And never I O, never I hath kelpie rung The dirge of maiden so dear ! O MEIKLE THOUGHT THE LADDIE O' ME. SONG. METKLE thought the laddie o' me That cam ovvie the craft yestreen : He camna for siller, he camna for gowd, But the blink o' my bonnie blue een. Sic beauty, he said, aye lurked in my smile, An' glanced in my bonnie blue een, — 1 couldna but lo'e the laddie fu' weel That cam owre the craft yestreen. The yellow broom waved upon bank and brae, An' the dew' fell on gowany green, But the purest drap didna compare, he said, To the light o' my bonnie blue een : Sae winning his look, sae winning his tale, Sae winning his gentle mien, — I couldna but lo'e the laddie fu' weel That cam owre the craft yestreen. I LOVE THE SMILE. I LOVE the smile of beauteous maid, Whose eye bespeaks the mind's emotion ; For every charm on earth will fade, All but the heart of true devotion. I love to mark in beauty's eye, Not wanton smiles, but pleasure glowing ; 'Tis like the brimful goblet nigh, With every charm of life o'erflowing. I love the smile of beauteous maid, "When in that smile the heart is given ; E'en when in balmy slumbers laid. That smile is love — that smile is heaven ! THE ROCK AN' REEL. O LEEZE me on the housewife's thrift, That maks a cheerfu' ha', An' ilka thing, baith but an' ben, To leak sae bien an' braw. O happy he, wha's dame is she That spins upon her wheel, And has nae thought, nor care, but what Comes o' the rock an' reel ! O weel I like to hear at een The birring o' the pirn. An' see the wiieel gaun roun' an' roun' To beet the hesp o* yarn : Sae, leeze me on the winsome dame That turns her spinning-wheel, An' has nae tliought, nor care, but what Comes o' the rock an' reel. Gie me the blythesome ingle-side, An' aye a clean hearthstane, An something i' the biiik to cheer The heart o' wife an' wean : k2 114 O WHA WADNA DRINK. Wha langs for mair, I think them daft- Their senses in a creel, That has a thouglit, or care, but what Comes o' the rock an' reel. O WHA WADNA DRINK. SONG. O WHA wadna drink to our worthy auld sires, Wha through the lang heather hae waded On, on to the battle field — on to tbe strife. When the foemen their country invaded, Nor shunned the dire combat, nor deemed themselves free, While the foot of a stranger was on it. But taught them to bow to the thistle that waved As a plume in the bonnie blue bonnet ! And many's the mountain, and many's the plain, That lay then all crimsoned and gory ; And many's the moss-covered cairnies that tell. Of the heroes that sleep in their glory. O WAKE, YE BREEZES. 115 And where is the hero that owns such a grave, As he with the thistle upon it ? A plant of the scion — a bud from the stem That waved in the bonnie blue bonnet ! Thou Scotian thistle, rear proudly thy head, And bloom in thy beauty and grandeur, — A gem of the mountain, a flower of the vale, Where the children of liberty wander. The thistle! the thistle! the thistle sae green I — The blessing of Heaven be on it! And long may it flourish, an emblem of worth, And wave in the bonnie blue bonnet ! O WAKE, YE BREEZES. SONG. O WAKE, ye breezes, around our bark I Again like the tempest sweep ! When nearing my home and my Mary's arms, Why in your rude caverns sleep ? 116 O WAKE, YE BREEZES, I dream not of rocks nor of perils past, But I think, my love, on thee ! I think on the tear and the farewell sigh 'Neath the shade of the woodland tree ! The breezes come ! — they waken the deep. And play with the fleecy foam ; And there is joy in the mariner's eye As he thinks of his much-loved home. The waves are heaving, the sails are unfurled, Again the fresh winds blow ; The cape is cleared, and the helmsman sings — Steady, boys ! steady we go ! We swig the can, and toss it about With merry hearts and free ; And, but for the lovely maid I adore, My home were the boundless sea. We heave the lead 'mid the shelvy rocks ; The pilot sings — helm's-alee 1 Whilst still, my love, in our yo ! heave ho ! My heart — it is with thee ! THE BONNIE BUSH O' BROOM. SONG. O DINNA pou the broom, lassie, Though gane may be its bloom ; The simmer yet will come to deck The bonnie bush o' broom. Sae dinna pou the broom, lassie, Though gane may be its bloom; For we may sit, dear lassie, yet. Beneath the bush o' broom. O wat ye na the bud sae fresh An' green upon the stem Will sweetly wave upon the brae A bonnie gowden gem ! Sae dinna pou the broom, lassie. Though gane may be its bloom; For we may sit, dear lassie, yet, Beneath the bush o' broom. lis BONNIE LASSIE. When simmer's sun gaes down at een, Wi' blight an' dazzling lowe, O whaie's a bovver sae sweet as on The bonnie broomy knowe I Sae dinna pou the broom, lassie, Though gane may be its bloom; For we may sit, dear lassie, yet, Beneath the bush o' broom. BONNIE LASSIE. SONG. Air— Cease Your Funning. Bonnie lassie, blythesome lassie, Sweet's the sparkling o' your ee ; Aye sae wyling, aye beguiling, Ye hae stown my heart frae me. BONNIE LASSIE. 119 Fondly wooing, fondly suing, Let me love, nor love in vain ; Fate shall never fond hearts sever — Hearts still bound by true love's chain. Fancy dreaming, hope bright beaming, Shall each day life's feast renew ; Ours the treasure, ours the pleasure, Still to live and love more true. Mirth and folly, joys unholy, Never shall our thoughts employ, — Smiles inviting, hope uniting. Love and bliss without alloy. Bonnie lassie, blythesome lassie. Sweet's the sparkling o' your ee ; Aye sae wyling, aye beguiling, Ye hae stown my heart frae me. LOVELY MAID. SONG. Lovely maid ! can I forswear All the bliss that smiles can give I Can I languish while thou'rt near ! Ask me, can I cease to live I Beauty reared thee for her own, Blessed thee with an angel guise, Gave to love thy circling zone, Set bright cupids in thine eyes. On that downy breast of snow, Where fond love delights to dwell, All earth's bliss 1 could forego All my transports there to tell. Lovely maid ! 'twas for thy sake Beauty reared lier fairest gem — To adorn thy dimpled cheek. Robbed her gayest diadem ! OUR GUIDMAN. Haith ! our guidman's a braw guidrnan ! He liauds the pleugh himsel' ; An' aye amang the thrifty wives He says I bear the bell : An' sae, I wat, we do contrive, Although our haudin's sma', To live as happy as we may, An' ding life's cares awa. Haith ! our guidman's a braw guidman ! When he gaes to the fair, He brings me hame a bigonet An' pearlings nice an' rare: Ar»' gin the drap be in his ee. As it may chance to fa', We're aye sae canty but an' ben, We ding life's cares awa. Haith I our guidman's a braw guidman! An' O he likes me weel — He sings to me sae cantilie When at my spinning-wheel : L 122 OUR GUIDMAN. The ingle bleezes bonnilie — Ilk thing it leuks sae bravv, We seem to hae nae want nor wish, But ding life's cares awa. Haith I our guidman's a braw guidman I He winna say me nay; An' aye I baud it right an' guid What he may do or say: To ilka wish I do comply ; His word to me is law ; An' we hae but ae thought on eartli — To ding life's cares awa. Haith! our guidman's a braw guidman I Whan he comes hame at een, I welcome him wi' smiles, as when He wooed me on the green. The year that brings the simmer's smile, Or winter's frost an' snaw, Is nought to us, while sae that we Can ding life's cares awa! WHEN THE GREEN LEAPS ON THE TIMMER. SONG. When the green leaf's on the timmer, An' scented flowers o' simmer Are waving on bank an' brae, Then down yon bonnie howe, In the eenin's sunny lowe, Dear lassie, wi' you I'll gae. There by the burn's meander, Wi' hearts sae fond we'll wander, List'ning the blythe bird's sang. An' at the gloamin hour Recline in briery bower, The sweet buds an' blossoms amang. An' whan the breeze is sleeping, An' dew the sweet flowers steeping, We'll pledge then our sacred vows ; An' love tales to repeat. Dear lassie, aye we'll meet, Down yon glen whare the burnie rows. O LADDIE, CAM YE OWRE THE CRAFT. SONG. O Laddie, cam ye owre the craft ? Or cam ye down the warlock knowe ? Saw ye the spunkie that sae aft Gaes jinkin down the Lintwhite howe? Heard ye the wind, as down the glen It sung wi' loud an' eerie din, Whare Gryfe pours down its deepest flood, An', whirling, swells the foaming linn? O what care I for warlock wights, Or bogles i' the glen at een ! Nae hauntit knowes nor spunkie lights Can keep me frae my bonnie Jean ! Wi' lightsome heart the loan I past ; I heard the linn's unceasing fa' ; It raise aboon the loudest blast That rock't Glenduntin's hazlo shaw ! DOWN l' YON GLEN'. 125 Let ithers watch wi' tentie ee The witching hour an' witching sj>ell, — Their cantrip arts are nought to me, Whan 'tis to meet thy bonnie sel'. Dear lassie ! wat ye what's the light That evermair bewitches me ? It's no the spunkies o' the night — It is the witchcraft o' thine ee ! DOWN t' YON GLEN. SONG. Down i' yon glen, where waters fa' An' sing wi' din sae eerie — Down i' yon bonnie birken shaw I wad never weary : I wat there blooms a bonnie flower, Whase smile can ever cheer me ; She's like yon red rose in its bower 1 ca' her aye my dearie. L 2 1*26 DOWN l' YON GLEN. Yon red, red rose will fade an' fa' When comes the hlast sae dreary, An' winter hang its drap o' snaw Upon its stem sae briery ; But she, the fairest o' them a', Whase smile can ever cheer me, I'll shield frae ilka blast may blaw, An' ca' her aye my dearie. On Locher bank the hazle grows ; Tlie birds sing blythe an' cheerie ; The broom blooms bonnie on the knowes, An' down the glen sae briery; But Marion's smile an' witching ee, They evermair can cheer me ; I'll lo'e her till the day I dee, An' ca' her aye my dearie. THE AMULET. SONG. O I SMILE thou, my lassie — smile thou yet ; That smile of thine is my amulet ! When my heart was light, when my hours were gay, It gave to my sun a brighter ray ; It gave to my night a sylvan dream ; It dawned on me still as a morning beam : O ! smile, then, my lassie — smile thou yet ; That smile of thine is my amulet! O ! look again, with that look of love, — A look that an anchorite's heart could move, And make him forswear his sainted cell, To live in its ligfit — to be bound with its spell ! In that look of thine is a witchery That wooes and that binds my heart to thee : O ! smile, then, my lassie — smile thou yet ; That smile of thine is my amulet! O WILL YE BRAVE THE WIND AND WAVE. SONG. O WILL ye brave the wind and wave — O will ye cross the Clyde, lassie ! An' roam wi' me the Lomonds through, An' be my Highland bride, lassie ? The Lowland lads an' lasses, they May live in stately biel, lassie, But leeze me on the Highland hills, The muirland an' the shiel, lassie. When winter's snaw gaes aflF the bent. An' simmer comes, sae fine, lassie, Sae lightly as our skiff will dance On Gilphead an' Lochfine, lassie I Sae light an' cheerfu' we will be Upon the heather braes, lassie! An' there, frae ilka grief an' care We'll spend our youthfu' days, lassie ! there's joy in ilka maiden's ee. 129 O I will brave the wind an' wave, An' I will cross the Clyde, laddie. An' roam wi' you the Lomonds through, An' be your Highland bride, laddie. I'll wear the tartan for your sake, An' row me in your plaid, laddie : For you, wha wear the kilt an' hose, I lo'e — an nane beside, laddie ! THERE'S JOY IN ILKA MAIDEN'S EE. SONG. There's joy in ilka maiden's ee To meet her love at eenin', When sets the sun out-owre the lea, Mang clouds sae brightly beaming ; But joy ne'er comes unto my ee, For ilka thing is dreary ; There is nae smile o' love for me, To mak my bosom cheery. 130 there's jov in ilka maiden's ee. Sweet is the linnet's melodie Amang the furze an' braken ; It aye may blythe an' merry be, It's no like me forsaken. I now maun wander a' alane, Wi' heart nae langer cheery, — The laddie that I lo'ed is gane, An' I'm nae mair his dearie. I lo'ed but ane, I lo'ed him weal, An' I'll forget him never ; He could the heart of ony steal, An' mine he wan for ever. I lo'ed sae weel, I lo'ed sae lang, — O I could a' forgie him, An' never mair think on the wratig, But fondly yet gang wi' him ! IN THIS LONE VALE. In this lone vale our cottage stood, And a blissful home we found it ; We cheerily roamed the pathless wood That sweetly shaded and bound it. Here the jessamine flowers were seen Around the lattice twining, And roses peeping from arbours green, Or on dewy leaves reclining. Gladness each day smiled on our cot, And the faggot blazed at even ; And still we blest our humble lot, For all was serene as heaven. No toil-worn care annoyed our days, Nor brought us nights of sorrow ; Ours was the sun's last setting rays Ours was his brightest morrow. ONCE MORE FAREWELL. SONG. Once more farewell, Eliza, and I'm gone ! Thus, in soft dalliance and in beauty's arms, My throbbing heart tells all the bliss I feel, But cannot tell my bosom's wild alarms. Oh ! would the breeze that fans the early morn But slumber with yon twinkling star of night, And give one hour — one short-lived hour of bliss, In those bright eyes that mock the morning light! Adieu, my love ! the minstrels wake the grove. And beauty blushes on its thorny tree ; The morning smiles — it shows thee sweeter far — But robb'st my peace that robs me thus of thee ! Then set, thou star ! nor longer lend thy beam, But hide thee in the blushes of the morn. While, with fond heart, I watch till thou again Shalt with Eliza and the night return ! ON SEEING A BEAUTIFUL LITTLE GIRL PULLING WILD ROSES. Ah I thou little playful sylpli, Sporting thus thy time away, Culling emblems of thyself, But to wither and decay. Beauty wooes thee to its bower, Wantons round thy snowy arms ; Still thou pluck'st the lovely flower — Still, unconscious of its charms. Youth — that bids the blushing rose Blossom on that cheek of thine — Plucked too soon, 'twill fade like those Roses round thy breast that twine. Fly, thou little cherub, fly I Rob no more the beauteous year; 'Midst those sweets thou yet niay'st sigh, Like them wear the dewy tear. M SPIRIT OF LOVE. SONG. Spirit of love ! that wanderest on Tlie rosy cheek and the ruby lip, And in the folds of the silken zone O'er the fair bosom lov'st to trip, O I be thy bed, at morn and even, The cheek of my lovely, blooming maid, And sweetly smile as the spirits above, — Spirits of love, in light arrayed ! Spirit of love 1 whose radiant sphere Is the liquid blue of the cherub's eye. Basking in realms more bright, and clear, And lovelier than the rainbow's dye, O ! let the eye of the maid I love Be at morn and even thy resting-place, And sweetly smile as the spirits above, — Spirits of light, of life, and grace I THOU ART MY AIN. 135 Spirit of love ! whose smiles divine , And witchery fond hearts ensnare — Hearts pure as the twin rosebuds that twine When fan'd by the breath of morning air — O ! let the heart of the maid I love Be thy abode at morn and even, And sweetly smile as the spirits above, — Spirits that live in the light of heaven ! THOU ART MY AIN. SONG. Thou art my ain, my faithfu' ane. An' dearly do I love thee; An' aye I see in that sweet ee What mayna e'er deceive me. The blythest swain on russet plain Might envy my dear treasure, An' sigh the while e'en for the smile That fills my heart wi' pleasure. 136 THOU ART MY AIN. Wi' thee amang the hroom, sae lang. Whan waving a' sae yellow, As on the spray its eenin' lay The mavis chants fu' mellow, I bless the hour an' hallowed bower. Its fragrant sweets bestowing, While every joy, without alloy, Aroun' my heart is glowing. The autumn grey may strew our way Wi' flowerets, quickly fading, — The wind may blaw, the leaf may fa'. Our bower sae sweetly shading, — The flowery May, the wintry day, They a' alike can cheer me, — My bosom's blest, my care's at rest, My lassie, when thou'rt near me. BLINK BONNILIE, THOU EENIN' STAR. SONG. Original Am. Blink bonnilie, thou eenin' star! Thou tell'st me o' my tryst yestreen ; But sweeter were the blinks o' love That sparkled in twa smiling een. Beside the wildly-wimpling burn, Reflecting back thy gowden beam, I won my faithful Annie's heart, — Hope long had nursed the flattering dream. Blink bonnilie, thou eenin' star ! Thou tell'st me o' my tryst yestreen, — The witness o' our faithful vows Upon the sedgy banks sae green. Love aye will twine its bonnie bower — A fragrant bower forever green — And days o' love and soft delight Will tell me o' my tryst yestreen. m2 THE LASS O' KILBOGIE. SONG. I've wandered owre mountain, IVe wandered owre muir, By the banks o' yon burn an' its green shady bower, But, O ! I hae never yet seen sic a flower As the bonnie young lass o' Kilbogie. She's lovely an' fair as the flowerets in May; She's the queen o' the meadows when summer is gay; Her cheek is the rosebud at dawning o' day, — The bonnie young lass o' Kilbogie. To get frae the lassie a smile or a glint, — Her ee ! — there's sic craft an' sic witchery in't. That mony a heart has been wandered an' tint Wi' the bonnie young lass o' Kilbogie. When the sun is gaun down owre yon mountain sae hie, An' the dew-droukit gowan is closing its ee, O blythe is my heart then to meet on the lea The bonnie young lass o' Kilbogie. THE BOAT OF SPRAY. 139 O wat ye what maks her my darling to be ? 'Tis the smile of affection that beams in her ee ! Her love an' her truth are a dowery to me, An' worth a' the wealth o' Kilbogie ! THE BOAT OF SPRAY. SONG. O HURRY, hurry, haste away! The mermaid's in her boat of spray : Afar is seen her fleeting form ; Afar she wooes the gathering storm : Then hurry, hurry, haste away ! The mermaid's in her boat of spray. The storm is up I 'tis loud and hoarse ; The vessel speeds her pathless course ; But swifter is the mermaid's boat. That in the wind's eye is afloat : Then hurry, hurry, haste away ! The mermaid's in her boat of spray. 140 THE BOAT OF SPRAY. She steers it light, she steers it well ; It rises o'er the billow's swell ; It flies before the angry wind, And leaves the watery waste behind : Then hurry, hurry, haste away ! The mernaaid's in her boat of spray. She comes ! she speeds our vessel near ! She sings into our troubled ear ! She sings her deep-toned lullaby To drowned men's spirits of the sea I Then hurry, hurry, haste away ! The mermaid's in her boat of spray. The vessel founders in the blast I The mariner's death-throes are past ! The mermaid combs her dripping locks, As on the wreck of death she looks ! She bids their spirits come away, .And steers along her boat of spray! SWEET CRIMSONED ROSE. Sweet crimsoned rose ! first of the year, Thou com'st to deck thy sunny bower,- Thou com'st, with lovely blushing smile, To charm again the lover's hour ! Thou com'st, as love and beauty's self, To spread thy fragrance all around ! — Thou'rt Flora's brightest diadem. In her fair flowing tresses bound ! Bright honnied gem ! with bosom bathed In pearly drops — companions meet — Thou tell'st me of a lovelier far, — As pure as thee, as thee as sweet ! Still sweetly bloom, and still remind Me of Lavinia, artless maid ! And oft as comes the balmy eve I'll woo her in thy scented shade. THERE'S A HURRICANE BLAST. There's a hurricane blast, — it comes witli the night, And hid is the moonlight beam ; Hid is the ray of the polar star, And the meteor's fiery gleam. But there is a light, — it flickers around, — It strikes the mariner's eye; 'Tis the glimmering light of St. Peter's lamp, And it dooms them all to die. The whirlpool yawns, — it infuriate foams, And heaves the distant wave ; And the dark cloud hangs o'er its fretful brim, Like a shroud o'er their watery grave. THE RIBBON, SAE BONNIE BLUE. SONG. The ribbon he gied rae was bonnie blue, And he stole a kiss frae my cherry raou: He said my lip was sweet as the rose When wat wi' dew at eenin's close. I mayna forget that bonnie een We met by the broom and hawthorn green. When he gied me the ribbon, sae bonnie blue, And stole a kiss frae my cherry mou. There's aye been love in our hearts sinsyne, — Sic love as I trow we'll never tine ! He has hecht me a bonnet on sweet May-day, When ilka flower in the field is gay: He has hecht me mair, — he has promised to gie His heart for ever and aye to me ! He tint it a' wi' the ribbon sae blue, When he stole a kiss frae my cherry mou. 144 AWA, AW A, THOU POORTITH CAULD. The ribbon he gied me, sae bonnie blue, ril wear for his sake — it'll ever be new; The bonnet he hecht me on sweet May-day, I'll deck it wi' wreaths when flowers are gay ; An' the heart, aboon a' to me sae dear, I'll treasure up in my bosom here, An' think on the ribbon, sae bonnie blue, Wlien he stole a kiss frae my cherry mou. AWA, AWA, THOU POORTITH CAULD. AwA, awa, thou poortith cauld! dinna come to trouble me; I dinna like thy haggard mein, — 1 dinna like thy thoughtfu' ee. Gae hide thee in some lonesome cave. Or mak yon ruined ha' thy hame, But comena to our ingle-side. To quench its bright and bonnie flame. I weel could bear thy haggard mien, I weel could bear thy thoughtfu' ee, I weel could bear thy furrowed brow. An' live in hermitage wi' thee ; LOVELY MAID, IT IS SWEET MAY-DAY. 145 But there's a sweet, a lovely smile, That's marred by thy unhallowed name, — Sae, coraena to our ingle-side, To dim its bright an' bonnie flame. I tell thee, poortith ! comena here ; Thou'lt tumble down our bonnie ha'; An' love, that's been our inmate lang. Thine ill-ee'd skaitli will fley awa. An' a' will gae to dool an' wreck: I'll bann the day thou hither came, To sit down by our ingle-side An' dim its bright an' bonnie flame. LOVELY MAID, IT IS SWEET MAY-DAY. Lovely maid ! it is sweet May-day I O let us now to yon green wood go, — We'll pull the flowers and the leafy spray, And bask in the morning's ruddy glow. N J'lG LOVELY MAID, IT IS SWEET MAY-DAY. The lark is greeting the early morn ; He hath brushed from his wing the dew away ; 'Tis sparkling bright on the bladed corn ;. Come, lovely maid! 'tis the first of May I Let us not lose the charms of Spring ; Let us not lose an hour so sweet; Hark ! the woods and the vallies ring, — 'Tis the carols of love that morning meet! Hope and youth nurse many a flower, — Flowers that charm life's thorny way; And whatever we owe to love's blissful hour We'll pay to the lovely morn of May! And whether in summer or winter we roam, We'll seek not a bright nor a purer ray Than the smile of love to enlighten our home, — Pure as this of the sweet May-day ! Then let us not lose the charms of Spring ; Let us not lose an hour so sweet; Hark! and again the valleys ring, — 'Tis the carols of love that morning meet ! I LIKE TO HEAR THE BAGPIPE'S NOTE. I LIKE to hear the bagpipe's note, it sounds sae loud and shrill, — It echoes down the frith and glen, it winds around the hill; But when it welcomes Charlie hame, it lights up every ee, An' there's no ane in Christendom sae happy now as we ! This is a day in Scotland the like we've never seen; The sun is blinkin bonnilie, the dance is on the green ; An' every heart is fu' o' love, for Charlie's owre the sea, An' there is nane in Christendom sae happy now as we I Our maidens a', wi' hearts sae leal and light o' fit they tread. They scarcely touch the gowan leaf or heather bell] sae red; The rosy blush is on their cheek, an' love is in their ee, An' there is nane in Christendom sae happy now as we ! 148 THE MAID OF ORMADALE. To look upon the laddies a', sae stout o' heart an' hand, The Teia prop o' chivalrie an' pride o' fair Scotland, I watna how the tears o' joy thus start an' blind my ee, For there's nae ane in Christendom sae happy now as me ! Heaven prosper Charlie, an' save him aye frae wreck I He lang has banished been, I trow, an' a' for Scotland's sake; Through toil an' peril, at the last to see his ain kiutrie ! — 1 wat there's nane in Christendom sae happy now as we ! THE MAID OF ORMADALE. SONG. Air — The Highland Lassie. When sets the sun o'er Lomond's height, And blazing on the western wave — When silence reigns throughout the grove, And echo sleeps within her cave — THE MAID OF ORMADALE. 149 Led by love's soft endearing cliarms, I stray the pathless, winding vale, To hail the hour that gives to me The lovely maid of Ormadale. Her eyes outshine the star of night, Her cheek the morning's rosy hue, And pure as flower in summer shade Lovsr bending in the pearly dew: Nor gem so bright and fair, I ween. Shall fate's dark wintry winds assail ; As love's sweet blossom, aye she'll be Dear to the bowers of Ormadale. Let fortune soothe the heart of care, And wealth to all its votaries give; Mine be the soul of love to share. And in its blissful arms to live ! 1 would resign fair India's wealth, And sweet Arabia's spicy gale, For balmy eve and Scotian bower With the loved maid of Ormadale ! N '1 MAID OF THE WESTERN ISLE. SONG. Maid of my heart! it is for thee, When the big waves beat the shore, I loose my bark from its mooring clifl'. To meet the whirlwind's roar I And whether the moon or lingering star May keep their watch the while, I bear away, my love, to thee, The maid of the western isle. Maid of my heart! it is for thee I look from yon mountain's brow ; And straying the wild, or beating the wave, To Heaven and thee is my vow ! Nor Fingal's cave of the blue-eyed maids Could my faithful heart beguile; Devoted, I still would fly to thee, The maid of the western isle. O I HAE TWINED W? MEIKLE LOVE. O I HAE twined wi' meikle love A garland for your brow ; But withered are its sweetest flowers, All' broken is your vow, — Syne I will tak the cypress wreath, An' weave it wi' the yew. The gladsome hours o' love are gane — I wistna ere they fled ; The lily pale has stained my cheek — Tint is the damask red ; The cypress shall my chaplet be, To bind around my head. O why does love sae sweetly smile, An' gayest flowerets strew ? O why does love the fairest flower Still twine about with rue ? The rue was thine — but aye is mine The cypress an' the yew ! THE EXILES: OR, O'HARA'S LAST (GOOD- NIGHT. My native land, again good-night ! We now are on our pathless track ; Our little bark — it holds a freight Who ne'er turned on the foe their hack. A patriot band of brothers, we Undaunted stood through war and toi! ; Our country now the homeless sea, Each looks on each — a poor exile. Thus tossed far from our native land, Our little bark may lie a wreck, — A fragment on a foreign strand, The white waves washing o'er her deck. And we may to the tempest yield, And hapless find a watery grave. Denied the fame of glory's field — To fall or conquer with the brave. KENMURE AND DEJRWENTWATER. 153 We loved our country and its laws, And spurned the tyrant's galling yoke ; And now we beat the wave — because The chain we would in twain have broke. Then come, my little patriot band ! Hold up, while yet our hands are free, And swear by Heaven, on sea or land. No sordid tyrant's slaves are we ! 'Tis done ! and now we fearless sweep, Our guide yon gleaming northern light. And sing, still as our watch we keep. Our native land, again good-night ! KENMURE AND DERWENT WATER. Alas I alas ! they've Kenmure slain ! His head they've frae his body ta'en ! But, 01 I thought my heart wad break, To look upon the snawy neck O' bonnie Derwentwater ! 154 KENMURE AND DERWENTVVATER. Curse on the hearts that wrought their wae I I can but sigh — I can but pray, — But there was ne'er sic wae as mine, As now the bluidy locks I twine O' bonnie Derwentwater ! Though tyrants sae upon us frown, That we daur scarce our kindred own, Their threats — their prisons a' I'll dare, An' think an' speak for evermair O' bonnie Derwentwater ! Their wrangs, their waes — they now are past ! An' calmly in the grave they rest ! Stern ruin's blast around may blaw. It can nae mair on Kenmure fa'. Nor bonnie Derwentwater I But I alane will sit an' weep, An' sairly mourn while ithers sleep, An' speak o' nane but o' the brave, — For few can fill a Kenmure 's grave. Or thine, sweet Derwentwater ! MY LOVE! 'TIS NOT BAY. My love ! 'tis not day nor the moon's pale ray- That breaks on our balmy hour ; Tis the glowworm's light that illumines the night, And sparkles within our bower. While our watch we keep, though the moon may sleep, And, forgotten, her lamp be not lit, I long not for day nor its dawning ray. But with thee in love's bower to sit. We'll borrow the light of the elfin knight That walks by the hedge-rows green, And o'er the gay mead by its ray I'll lead My beauteous fairy queen. WHEN THE HAREBELL AN' GO WAN. SONG. When the harebell an' gowan liae withered awa, An' the mountain is covered wi' the deep-drifting snaw, Though the cauld, cauld blast o' winter may blaw, O lassie, 1 like to be near thee. When the owlet loud screams from its green ivy bower, An' the sable cloud rests upon turret an' tower, Though dark be the night, an' late be the hour, O lassie, I like to be near thee. But when the bright summer its beauties disclose, An' the day's merry minstrels at eenin' repose, It's down by yon meadow where blossoms the rose, O lassie, I like to be near thee. LET US GATHER THE FLOWERS. Let us gather the flowers that are strewed in life's way, And taste of their sweets ere they droop and decay ; Let us gather them fresh from the fountain that flows — Dispensing its blessings, and soothing our woes. 'Tis Nature that twines the gay wreathes that we love, And paints the bright rainbow of hope that's above : Then call not this world all darkness and night- -- To me 'tis a world of beauty and light I The fanatic's path I forever would shun ; It never is warmed by a bright summer sun ; No roses there blossom to charm us along, Nor ever is heard the sweet carol or song ; E'en the rainbow of hope is obscured in the gloom; Around, all is dreary and dark as the tomb : To him 'tis a world of darkness and niglit--- To me 'tis a world of beauty and light I 'Tis loveliness all, from the sun to the shade— From spring till the autumn's sweet blossomings fade ; E'en winter is only a shifting the scene. To show earth's fair flowerets more lovely again ; o 158 MY AIN FIRESIDE. Each day and each niglit, still new pleasures arise, Giving life to the scene, giving joy to our eyes : Then call not this world all darkness and night— To me 'tis a world of beauty and light ! MY AIN FIRESIDE. SONG. CHORUS. My ain fireside, my ain fireside, Sae dear to me is my ain fireside! I carena the world, its follies and pride, Sae dear to me is my ain fireside ! There's a charm, I trow, in the winter night, When the ingle is bleezing bonnie and bright: Wi' the smile o' content — Heaven's sweetest boon!- < In the glowhig faces that circle round, I carena the world our poortith deride, Sae dear to me is my ain fireside ! OWRE YON MUIR. 159 I mark through the grating the embers glow, Diffusing its light to the urchin row, That joyfully sport in their innocent mirth, Ere sleep, downy sleep, lay them down on the hearth ! Thus summer and winter on cheerily glide, Sae dear to me is my ain fireside! O life wad be sweet, gin folk kent but the gaet To tak its load easy, nor frown at their fate: There's meikle in life might be wooed and be won, To sweeten its cup and to brighten its sun: Contentment is a' — 'tis our solace and guide — An' beets aye the flame o' our ain fireside I OWRE YON MUIR. SONG. OwRE yon muir an' owre yon moss, Whan the reapers' hearts were merry, There I met a bonnie lass l^ouin o' the hawthorn berry. 160 OWRE YON MUIR. Dearest lassie ! will ye gang, Owre the muir and owre the mountain, Whaie the red, ripe berries hang, Waving owre the crystal fountain ? For you, my love, I'll climb the tree — Frae its boughs the wild fruits gather ; Come, ray lassie, fair and free. Trip it owre the mountain heather. Sweet she blushed and gied consent, — Hand in hand we roamed thegither; I watna how, but ere I kent, I tint my heart amang the heatlier. A' around was still and lown ; The bush aud brake were scarcely moving ; By her side I sat me down, — She sae lovely, I sae loving. Sweeter hours, I trow, are nane, Than when reapers' hearts are merry ; Sweet's the time, unseen, alane, Pouiu o' the hawthorn berry. ARRAN MAID. SONG. O SPEED, O speed, thou bonnie bark ! Au' blaw thou gentle gale! An' waft me to my native shore An' sweet Glen-Rosa vale! Glen-Rosa! thou art dear to me, An' dear to me the shade Where I hae wooed — where I hae won My lovely Arran maid! When hung the mist upon the brae, An' thunder loud would swell In echoes from the rugged clitf An' down the hollow dell,' E'en then, amid Glen-Rosa's wilds, I hae, delighted, strayed. To win the smile of that dear ane, My lovely Arran maid ! o2 152 ARRAN MAID. When flowers were waving owre tlie stream, An' blooming in their prime, An' owre the sloping Goatfell hung The harebell and the thyme, 'Twas sweet to climb the airy height, Or roam the dusky glade, Wi' thee my heart sae fondly wooed, My lovely Arran maid I O were I chief of Arran 's isle. Its hills an' glens sae steep, Nae niair my bark would beat the wave, Nae mair would plough the deep ; Glen-Rosa! I would haunt thy bowers, Nor seek a sweeter shade Than thine, with Rosie in my arms — My lovely Arran maid ! THE RINGLETS THAT PLAYED, The ringlets that played round her brow Were cupids that shot at a venture ; The little shafts every way flew, But where — it was all peradventure. But such were the little god's wiles — Ofttimes on the bosom he lighted ; And then he would live amid smiles, And every day more be delighted. He basked in the lovely sunbeam, And breathed amid garlands and posies ; No elfin disturbed his sweet dream, For he slumbered on couches of roses. And every day lovelier flowers Were springing and blooming around him ; Nor time, with its sand-running hours, In sorrow or sadness e'er found him. MARINERS, HASTE AND TRIM THE RARK. Mariners, haste and trim the bark ! The night is coming drear and dark ; The big waves meet the ebon cloud ; The blast — it comes more deep and loud ; Floating icebergs, peaked with snow, Frown upon the deep below ; Water-spirits flit you by. Singing their wild lullaby ! Clouds in wild terrific form Ride upon the angry storm ; Monsters plunge the wide sea through ; Blood-shot eyes your track pursue ; The wayward fates have sung a wreck ; The hurried waves wash o'er the deck ; While the spirits flit you by. Singing their wild lullaby ! THE MERMAID. O ! HEARD you the maiden of the sea, When the ship by the rock was sinking ? Saw you the maid, with her coral cup, A health to the sea-nymphs drinking? The morning was fair and the ocean calm, Not a breath awoke the billow ; The foam that played in the clifted rock Was the mermaid's resting pillow. As round the cave where the breezes slept The vessel light was sailing, A voice was heard in the gathering storm Of mariners deeply wailing ! And loud came the deepening thunder peal ; The white waves around were dashing ; And the light that illumined the pathless way Was the gleam of lightning flashing The sails are torn— the ship a wreck ! The mermaid sweet is singing; And the crystal halls where the sea-nymphs bathe Are merrily, merrily ringing I 166 WHAN WINTER COMES. And many a tear for these mariners lost From maidens' eyes are streaming ; While reckless they sleep in their watery grave, Nor of aught that is earthly dreaming ! WHAN WINTER COMES. Whan winter comes wi' howling blast, An' sings within the ha', An' fragrant flowers, that bloomed sae fair, Are gane an' withered a', — Whan bounie birds that sang sae sweet Sit courin on the tree, O weel I like the ingle then, It blinks sae bonnilie. Whan flees the cock up to his bauk, An' night begins to fa'. The sheep an' kye an' a' at hame. An' safe within the sta', — THE YOUTH SHE LOVED. 167 The cheerfu' sang, the blythesome lilt, Gaun roun' wi' merry glee, — O weel I like the ingle then, It blinks sae bonnilie. Whan loud an' louder grows the blast That shakes the hallan wa', While down the glen we hear its thud An' soughin far awa, To look out on the starnless night, Nor frith nor fauld to see, O weel I like the ingle then, It blinks sae bonnilie. THE YOUTH SHE LOVED. The youth she loved forsook her, And she was broken-hearted ; And life could charm no more, For all its joys departed. 168 THE YOUTH SHE LOVED. Yet Still she lingered on, And dreamed her dream of madness ; She gave the night to tears, The day to wo and sadness. Her wild and wayward thoughts. As wizard spell they hound her ; And airy visions still Would flit and play around her. When hope's bright heamings came, To chase her dream of sorrow. It lived but with the night, — It vanished with the morrow. She heard the death-watch beat,— She heard it all unheeding;- And dropt as that sweet gem. The flower of " love lies bleeding." SHE TWINED A WREATH. She twined a wreath of the willow wand And leaves of the aspen tree ; She bound her brow with the meadow flowers And tangling weeds of the sea : She called tlie northern star her lamp, As she wooed its smile at even; She bade it rise, and she bade it set, For she was the queen of heaven ; She bade it rise, and she bade it set. And, though clouds oft dim'd its ray, It shone with a pure and halo-light On the eve of All-Saints' day : « Then well she remembered her youthful prayer. And the vesper hymn she sung ; She waked, and watched, and saiu'd herself, When the matin bell it rung. p 170 SHE TWINED A WREATH. The cross and virgin's image — they were The amulets that she wore ; For oft, in her dark and phrensied mood, The wreath from her brow she tore: Then she would talk to the winds as they sung Through the boughs of the forest tree ; She would call the waves faithless — because they held Her love in a cave of the sea : And still, as she wandered the lonely wild, She would turn to each fairy nook ; She would smile — she would speak to the voiceless flower, And sigh to the murmuring brook. The days and nights she remembered not, As they past and hurried away ; She heard not the voice that whispered soft — Why is thy heart not gay? They bade her come to her lovely hall, And listen the lute's soft tone ; But she wooed it not — for her day of light; Of love, and of joy, was gone ! SHE TWINED A WREATH. 171 Her form — it faded and withered away, And her eye looked wild withal ; Her fingers would trace the antic forms That hung on the castle wall. And now came mourners with solemn pace, Bearing a dark and stately bier ; And white-robed maidens with downcast look, Their eyes bedim'd with many a tear. They wept for a lady who long had sighed For one who lay 'neath the stormy sea, And wooed not life's day, but its latest hour, When she would sleep 'neath the sycamore tree. Tliey laid her down in her lowly bed, And the maidens their solemn death-dirge sung ; And the winds of heaven fell soft on the bough That as a shroud o'er the maiden hung. THEY MADE HER GRAVE. They made her grave by the alder tree ; For she said, in her phrensied dream, She would lie where tlie spirits of love would sing — She would sleep in the moonlight beam. She loved ! and where the lone alder grew Her lover was lowly laid ; And she dreamed the spirits of love would sing As she sat iu its hallowed shade. She wooed the shade till the sere leaves dropped And the sweets of the year were gone, — She watched her love till the snow-wreath came And shrouded his turf and stone. 'J'hen her heart grew sick, and her brain was wrung, And she said, iu her phrensied dream, She would lie where the spirits of love would sing — She would sleep in the moonlight beam ! COOPER DAVIE. Cooper Davie gat a wife To be the comfort o' his life, But soon there was an unco strife An' din wi' Cooper Davie. Davie bure what patience would ; Davie tried what anger could ; Foul or fair, she gaed clean wud — The wife o' Cooper Davie. She ranted but, she ranted ben ; She keckled like a clockia' hen ; While she could use her fingers ten,. Waes me for Cooper Davie ! She ruggit Cooper Davie's hair-, She peeled his shins, and made tlipm bare ; His vera snout, she made it sair — The wife o' Cooper Davie. p2 174 COOPER DAVIE. Cooper Davie made a noose ; He wad be master o' the house ; Wi' Midget there was ne'er a truce — The wife o' Cooper Davie. An' wi' the noose he ban' her fast; He ban' her to a post at last; But, ere the sentence it was past, She parley'd wi' poor Davie. Soon as he set her elbows free. She brak his face, she blin't his ee, An' wi' the tangs she made him flee ! Alack for Cooper Davie I Davie prayed baith but an' ben ; He prayed that Death wad for her sen', To ease him o' her fingers ten — The wife o' Cooper Davie. An' Death, in pity, cam at last; He ban' her hard, he ban' her fast ! I trow, a firmer knot he cast Than happened wi' poor Davie. THE MAIDEN S DREAM. 175 He feartna Midget's scaulding wrath ; He nipt her wizen — stapt her breath ; She play'dna the auld trick wi' Death She played wi' Cooper Davie ! THE MAIDEN'S DREAM. O, I HAE dreamed a waefu' dream ! I think my heart will break, — I saw the foaming billows rise, An' mak the ship a wreck ! I saw it sinking in the wave, An' a' its lights gae out ; An' then cam sic a calm, as gin The ocean's caves were mute ! An' O, sae mirk as grew the night ! — Nae heavenly light I paw ; The cluds aye black and blacker grew,- On me they seemed to fa' ! 176 THE maiden's dream. An' now 1 lioaid the tliundei's crasli ; An' still the lightning came ; It played and gleamed upon the wave, To light the dead men hame ! I saw them, in my fiightfu' dream, Aye by me weary pass : They travelled mid the tangling weed An' owre the slimy grass : They wrapt them in their watery shroud, An' laid them down to sleep, — Some in the oozy serpent's track, Some in their caverns deep. Aye, in ray troubled dream, I thought To see them rise again ; But nae light cam to break their rest, — Their pearl lamp was gane. I, waukening, thought I heard a voice- It was the breaking wave ; But nae voice bids my true love rise Out o' his clifted grave ! THE MAIDEN OF SKYE, SONG. The Lord of the Isles hath gathered his clan ; Their lair is the ravine and pine-skirted glen ; He waits for a maiden he ne'er can possess, Who only the heart of another can bless : While he sleeps in his cover, O do not then tarry, But rov? my sweet maiden of Skye o'er the ferry I Come not by day, for in ambush they lie ; Come in the dark, when no danger is nigh ; Come when the moonbeam is hid in the cloud, And the blast from the mountain peals heavy and loud When high swells the billow, O do not then tarry, But row my sweet maiden of Skye o'er the ferry ! The taper will gleam as a beautiful star ; Through the haze of the night it will glimmer afar ; Ere its beaming shall fade on the brow of the wave — Ere the dawning of morn give its light to the cave, Kemember tlie signal I — O do not then tarry. But row my sweet maiden of Skye o'er the ferry I 178 THE LIBERTY TREE. Hymn softly the song, and your oars be as light As the breeze when it wakens the slumber of night ; The sandy beach nearing, dash — dash them on high, With scorn of the reavers in ambush that lie I And joy to the hearts, so true and so merry, That rowed my sweet maiden of Skye o'er the ferry ! THE LIBERTY TREE. When the goddess of freedom awoke from her trance, That long had been counted as dead, And back to its den, in dismay and aflPright, The spirit of tyranny fled. There was not a speck on the horizon's brow. All around was so lovely and fair ; Earth bloomed as an Eden with beautiful flowers, For Heaven had planted them there. THE LIBERTY TREE. 179 The goddess from these chose a beautiful plant ; She called it the liberty tree ; And said — here's an emblem of hope to the world; Its soil is the home of the free : I bequeath it to man, — it is his at his birth ; And while he the relic shall guard, The ne'er-fading laurels of honour and fame His love and his truth shall reward. It budded, it bloomed, — so luxuriant it grew, And so rich were the fruits that it bore, Mankind were delighted to taste of the sweets, — 'Twas pleasure untasted before. In these there were wisdom and knowledge conveyed, Before to the senses denied ; Man stole not through earth as a slave to his kind. But walked in his glory and pride. There was love, there was peace, — all rancour had ceased; No wild jarring elements rose ; And man hailed his brother in friendship and truth, And wondered they e'er had been foes. Unmasked, they now saw where grim tyranny lurked; Desolation had marked all its path ; Around it lay heaped up the bones of the slain; It seemed as the valley of death. 180 THE LIBERTY TREE. Tliough now it sliould start, in its death-pang, to strike And extirpate what liberty won, As soon shall the demon ascend the blue vault And extinguish the bright-beaming sun, As eradicate aught freedom's hand hath achieved, And holds as a treasure so dear, — To the place of its birth it must quickly retire, Never more upon earth to appear. My countrymen, shrink not I nor scorn the fair prize Your sires once so gloriously won : 'Tis liberty calls you again to be men, For tyranny's race is now run 1 Who would be a slave — let him herd with the base, Nor encumber the arm of the free; Let him sneak to his den, and ne'er taste of the fruits That drop from the liberty tree I CRUIKSTONE CASTLE. By Cruikstone Castle's mouldering heap, When weary hinds are lulled asleep, Where hangs the tottering rude carved stone- Frail emblem of the times now gone — The minstrel's wildest measures flow, And whisper of a tale of wo. Here sweetly breathed the ancient lyre That woke the patriot's glowing ire, Or nerved the warrior's steel-girt arm, Or gave to beauty's smile a charm ; Nor then was heard, in cadence low, A deep and sickening tale of woe. As if by some fell wizard spoke. It feels by time its measures broke ; No more is heard the magic sound From vaulted roof that echoed round; At eve or morning's ruddy glow. It wakes but to a tale of wo. Q 182 CRUIKSTONE CASTLE. The beacon's blazing light is gone — The taper's beam, in hall that slione, When youthful warrior led the dance, And caught new fire at beauty's glance Nor deemed, I ween, in murmurs low Would ere be heard the tale of wo. The moon that beamed in lady bower, And cheered the warder's watchful hour, Now chequers with its spectral gloom The fragments of the ruined dome, And bids the harp's wild measures flowj And breathe a deeper strain of wo. No banner flutters on the wall ; No more is heard the bugle's call, To gather round the marshalled train. To guard the pass or sweep the plain: These and the foemen slumber low, Nor list the minstrel's tale of wo. And, as in mockery of the past, Through vault and crevice howls the blast, And whispers to each moss-clad stone, Of splendour, pride, and beauty gone : The deepening tones unmeasured flow, And echo back the tale of wo. CRUIKSTONE CASTLE. 183 That aged yew, whose branches green Oft shaded Scotia's beauteous queen, Now sapless, withered, branches gone, And falling as the fallen throne — A wreck, a rain, mouldering low, Unsung but in the tale of wo. Hushed be the harp's wild, broken jar. Nor tell of strife and feudal war — How these arose, how these were quelled, And royalty its home expelled — Nor more in saddening accents flow A spirit-moving tale of wo. 'Tis done ! the minstrel's task is o'er ; The harp now sleeps to wake no more ; Softly its breathings die away. As summer breeze at close of day ; Nor more is heard, in murmurs low. The minstrel's saddening tale of wo. THE PIRATE. SONG. Come, maiden, come ! the danger's o'er, And twilight steals along the shore : The far green sea is waxing dim, — The sun has sunk beneath its brim : Come, maiden, come ! and sail with me, My home is on the dark green sea. My bark is tight — a pirate she ; Her men are brave ; they cannot be The slaves of a tyrannic hand That sways the sceptre of the land : Come, maiden, come I and sail with me. My home is on the dark green sea. Fear not — the pirate's heart is good ; He is not one of sullen mood ; He scorns the land — he scorns the slave — He glories to command the brave 1 Come, maiden, come I and sail with me, My home is on the dark green sea. AUCHINAMES. 185 Come, haw], my boys ! — away, away ! We must be off the land ere day ; Fair wind and sea-room — lovely eyes — Are all that dauntless seamen prize : Slaves of the land we cannot be — Our home is on the dark green sea I AUCHINAMES. [Tlie barony of Aucliinames lies on the south side of the village of Kilbarchan in the county of Renfrew. The Crawford family, some of whom are well known in the history of Scotland, still hold the superiority. The old castle,, the walls of which were about nine feet in thickness, stood for many years a fine ruin ; but it has lately been demolished for the purpose of building fences, and a farm-house which now stands upon its site. " Call you this improvement?" It was on one of the inmates— Nelly— that Robert Scrapie, of Belltrees, wrote the beautiful song, " She rose and let me in. "] When gloamin spreads her mantle grey, An' saft the dews o' eenin' fa', I wend my solitary way By Auchinanies' auld castle wa'. «2 186 THE MINSTREL. 'Twas there I spent life's early day; But, ah 1 how soon that day has past ! — Like flowers that bloom but to decay And wither in the chilling blast. O happy hours ! what joy was mine While straying o'er the beauteous wild, As day in sweetness would decline, Or when it dawned serenely mild ! The charm has fled — fond fancy's dream. And youthful hopes and loves are o'er — Shot like the meteor's transient gleam, That just appears, and is no more ! THE MINSTREL. Silent and sad the minstrel sat, And thought on the days of yore : He was old — yet he loved his native land, Though liis harp could charm no more. THE MIKSTREL. 187 The winds of heaven died away, And the moon in the valley slept ; The minstrel leaned on his olden harp, And o'er its strains he wept. In youth he had stood by a Wallace' side, And sung in King Robert's hall, When Edward vowed, with his English host, Scotland to hold in thrall. But the Wallace wight was dead and gone, And Robert was on his death-bed, And dark was the hall where the minstrel sung Of chiefs who for Scotia bled : But oft, as twilight stole o'er the steep And the woods of his native vale. Would the minstrel wake his harp, to weep And sigh to the mountain gale. AND ART THOU FALSE. SONG. And art thou false, and yet so fair? And can thine eye beam bright as ever, Ere thou did'st give me to despair, Or said the word that we should sever ? I love thee still, false as thou art. And think on thee in hours of sadness : I love thee with, a broken heart. As when in days and hours of gladness. The silken thread affection spun, It was thy smile that bade me twine it ; The too fond task I cannot shun, Nor to another's hand resign it. Ah I what can my lost peace restore. Since thou the word of wo hast spoken ? False as thou art, thou canst no more, — For thou a faithful heart hast bioken I MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. Hark, I hear the cricket's chirp; Hark, I hear the dead-watch beat ; Still a voice calls — sleep no more ! Mary, wake, and meet thy fate ! The morning star looks dull and red ; Thickening mists obscure its ray ; Unlike my weary, waning life. It sets to meet a brighter day. No more for me its lovely light Will beam across the dungeon gloom ; My star is now the taper dim, That only lights me to the tomb. Hark, I hear the hum of men Stealing on my grated door ; 'Tis the last sad voice that calls — Mary, wake — thou sleep 'st no more ! ON A DESERT FLOWER. Sweet floweret 1 can 1 love thee less, Though blooming in a wilderness ? The pure and pearly drop of heaven Is thy bright star at morn and even. Thou charm'st the weary wanderer's way ; Nor can thy smile the heart betray, As she that bids me weary roam The wild, far from my native home. The dew-drop, trembling on thy breast , When morning sun looks from the east, Salutes him with its lucid ray. Pure as that on the budding spray. Thou blossom'st in the dreary wild, With bosom lovely and unsoiled As her, ere yet she bade me roam The wild, far from my native home. AUTUMN— A DIRGE. The withering wind shook Ceres' locks, An' bared the thistle's downy tap ; An' yellow leaves, by cranreuch nipt, Fell, rustling, into autumn's lap. The birds — wee, feckless things ! — began, la flocks, to tak the stibble lea. Or, courin by themsel's, to peck The hawthorn berry frae the tree. Clouds hovered roun' the streaks o' light, An' dim'd the sky o' heavenly blue, — An' owre the wood an' mountain's brow They wore a deep an' gumly hue. The winding stream, that murmured on Sae sweetly 'neath the hazle'^shade. Began to toss its foamy plume, Or dance in wiel by pebbles made. 192 GLENCOE. 'Twas sad to list the rustling groves, As simmer's solemn dirge they sung, Ere winter's voice to wildness woke — Ere yet aloud its tempests rung. The hoar-frost, as in sportive mood, Alang the bank and streamlet's tide Now wove its antic tapestry, As if in scorn o' simmer's pride. Thus wending down the Eswal vale. Sad fancy her lone picture drew. An' wept to see a cheerless waste, As winter roun' its mantle threw. GLENCOE. Thus looked thou, pale moon, when the signal was given That made me an outcast, in sadness to roam ; And still as thou light'st the lone valley at even, I sigh o'er my kindred — I sigh for my home ! GLENCOE. 193 Go ! go in thy waning, nor more palely beaming, Recall to sad memory that night-scene ot wo: Our slumber was broke by the foemen's swords gleaming, Despoiling the beautiful vale of Glencoe. Alas ! that I woke to escape the foul doing, And list the death-cry at the dead hour of night, But slept with my fathers in one common ruin. Nor wake still to sorrow with dawning of light. Yet sweetly the valley in beauty will blossom. And sweetly the heath in the autumn will blow, While lonely I wander, grief wringing my bosom, Far, far from my home and the vale of Glencoe. No more the shrill pipe shall be heard on the mountain, Nor light airy dance in the valley be seen. Nor village maids chaunting their loves at the fountain, Nor winding their way o'er the heath and the green : No more on the hill shall the beacon be lighted, To bid the Macdonalds beware of the foe, — As a blast from the desert, the demons hath blighted The hamlet and once-smiling vale of Glencoe. O SAD IS MY HEART. O SAD is my heart when I think on my Nannie ! Her cheek was the rose an' her bosom the snavv ; Her love was a treasure, an' sweet was the pleasure, But she has been faithless an' wandered awa. Amid the green bowers o' Glentyen I wander. To me ance sae lovely an' dearest of a' ; Now the red roses blooming, the breezes perfuming, Can gie nae delight since my Nannie's awa. We wandered the glen an' the banks o' the Eswal ; The birds they sung sweet in the birken green shaw ; Now loud winds are blawin', the leaves they are fa 'in'. An' Nannie, dear Nannie, has wandered awa. O Nannie ! hadst thou to my bosom been faithfu', Nae sorrow — nae care had e'er come to my ha' ; Now hame it is weary, an' ilka place dreary, And hope — it is tint since my Nannie's awa I MORN^. When evening sun beamed from the west, And weary warriors sunk to rest, Dim was the eye of Morna: Now beauty wept the hero's fall ; Now lone and dark was Fingal's hall ; Sad was the lovely Morna. They raised the song, — each lovely maid Sung peace unto the warrior's shade, But none so sad as Morna : Her hallowed tears bedewed the brake That waved beside dark Orma's lake, Where wandered lovely Morna. Sad was the hoary minstrel's song, That died the rustling heath among, Where sat the lovely Morna : It slumbered on the placid wave, — It echoed through the warrior's cave, And sighed again to Morna. 196 ADIEU, ADIEU, YE SCOTIAN HILLS. The hero's plumes were lowly laid In Fingal's hall, — each blue-eyed maid Now gave their tears to Morna : The harp's wild strain was past and gone,- No more it whispered to the moan Of lovely, dying Morna! ADIEU, ADIEU, YE SCOTIAN HILLS. Adieu, adieu, ye Scotian hills And valleys, still to memory dear ! Adieu, ye murmuring summer rills, That sung so sweetly in mine ear ! The woodland scene, the flowery plain, My pleasant home, and humble shade, — I mourn, alas I too late and vain. These and my lovely Highland maid ! Ah, me 1 I feel, too finely feel, The loss of all I held so dear! Far more than words can e'er reveal. Far more than now my heart can bear! ADIEU, ADIEU, YE SCOTIAN HILLS. , 197 Life's brightest hours, its brightest day, Even now as twilight visions fade. These may from memory die away, But never thou, my Highland maid I A wanderer on a lonely shore. Where all is desolate and drear, The loud wind's howl, the waves' deep roar, Are all that now salutes mine ear ! Even these my heart could woo the while, And all my cares at rest be laid. To share again the heavenly smile Of thee, my lovely Highland maid ! But could'st thou, even when hope shall die, My better angel then appear, While yet I looked with wistful eye. Ere clouded by its latest tear. Ah ! how my throbbing heart would swell. As when, with faultering tongue, I bade A long and lingering last farewell To thee, my lovely Highland maid ! R -1 TO A WILD ROSE. Go, lovely flower, I said, Thou firstling of the year ; Why is the wild thy home? Why dost thou blossom here ? Go, deck a sweeter bower. And mingle with the fair; Greet there the kindred smile Of those as rich and rare. The voiceless floweret seemed To say, in modest pride, Where is a sweeter home Than on the mountain-side ? I live for love alone ; The gay leafed shade I shun ; 1 breathe the morning air ; I bask in noonday's sun. THE VILLAGE MAID. 109 Live on, eweet flower, I said, And blossom in thy pride; I'll make my home with thee Upon the mountain-side. Love now sought our abode, — He blest the smile of day ; The summer sun was ours, And time stole sweet away. THE VILLAGE MAID. They proffered wealth and many things They proffered jewels — gay gold rings, To deck a lovely bride withal. If I that bride my own would call. They said that she was sweet and fair, And worthy of a monarch's care : I weened it so, but still I said, I would not leave my village maid. 200 THE VILLAGE MAID. Then kindred frowns they fell severe, But ties asunder could not tear, — Ties that alone the hand of love Around each other's heart had wove. She wept to see my soul opprest, And strove to soothe its woes to rest: Such sweet — such witching things she said, I loved the raore my village maid. Though beauty's self, she knew it not ; Nor envious she of others' lot ; She only loved and lived for one, And I that one for her alone ; No other thought her heart could move. But that we evermore should love; She would grow sick and die, she said, If I forsook my village maid. But oft the tear — she could not tell How trembling o'er her cheek it fell ; She said it was a foolish thought ; But somehow in her mind it wrought, That fate would frown, and foes betray, And lead the heart of love astray : It could not be, I, smiling, said, I ne'er would leave my village maid. THE VILLAGE MAID. 201 And thus the hours they onward sped, And thus our days of love we led : We thought and said we loved so well, Even more than words or vows could tell, That fate might frown, or wealth deride, But hearts like ours could not divide ; For all that earth could give, I said, I would not leave my village maid. There lurked a demon in fair guise. With poisonous breath and envious eyes. Who whispered of my village maid What she ne'er wist — what she ne'er said : The slanderer's tongue, as syren's lute, 1 listened till my own was mute ; She seemed in angel form arrayed. And guileless as my village maid. That she is false, so fair a one, Then, thought I, there is truth in none, And said — for I was sick at heart — Fate now may whet its keenest dart, For I no heavier bale may bear : 'Tis not on earth my heart can cheer : I have no more a home, I said, — I have no more a village maid. ^02 THE VILLAGE MAID. I sought, in wild and restless mood, The battle-field — the swelling flood ; I could not there forget her name, For still her lovely image came : She wandered with me in my dream, And still would as an angel seem. In all her innocence arrayed — My sweet, my lovely village maid. And such she was ! truth came at last ; But I no more of joy could taste : Too late from thraldom I awoke, — Too late the demon's spell was broke : I saw, and marked with wild surprise, The death-film stealing o'er her eyes ; I found, too late, I was betrayed, — How true had been my village maid I Despair was mine : I strove in vain To check my wild — my wandering brain : A phrensied madness o'er me came: My faultering tongue pronounced her name,- A name that bade the tear to start, But could not soothe my burning heart ; She clasped my hand, — she wept, and said, I am thy faithful village maid ! • O STAY, MY LOVE. O STAY, my love, — again farewell! What anguish fills my throbbing heart ! 'Tis like the solemn, deadly knell. That bids the trembling soul depart. Still could I gaze upon thy charms, An angel's beauty there to trace, — Still press thee, blushing, to my arms, And live within thy fond embrace. But where, my love, thus torn from thee — Where find a shelter from despair ? Whether the land or boundless sea, Thine image still would haunt me there. SING, BIRD OF EVE. Sing, bird of eve, thy warblings wild, And charm my listening ear ; O sing the weary night away, And soothe my soul of care ! Within thy sheltering hawthorn tree Thou pour'st thy native strain, And with the whispering zephyr's breatli 'Tis borne along the plain. And when the rosy morning breaks Thy slumber's sweet repose, It calls thee to thy song again, — It wakes afresh my woes. My Mary had a heart as light, — A voice more sweet than thine : 'Tis silent now, and all is sad, And sorrow's tears are mine. ADIEU, MY LOVE. Adieu, my love, my Adelay, Fate bids us now to part! That I should leave thee thus to roam. The thought — it breaks my heart. My bark is resting on the wave That bears me far away; But I'll return to thee again. My love, my Adelay ! Another clime, a warmer sun, May charm me for a while ; But I can never witness there Thy sweet, thy rosy smile. I'll see thee in my dreams of night, I'll think of thee by day, And I'll return to thee again, My love, my Adelay! Though fortune smile not on my path, Nor I her favour share. The thought of home, the thought of thee, Will banish every care, s 206 I LEFT MY SWEET, MY NATIVE HOME. Though winter winds around me rave, I will not brook delay; I will return to thee again, My love, my Adelay! I LEFT MY SWEET, MY NATIVE HOME. I LEFT my sweet, my native home, A little orphan boy, to roam; Nor wealth, nor kindred smile I bore, — My youthful harp was all my store : I touched its chords, — it seemed to be Not for the slave, but for the free : It breathed of love, it spoke of joy, And I became a minstrel boy. In court, in hall, and lady's bower, I whiled away the festive hour : They loved my strain, their hearts were glad, — I knew not how — but mine was sad : I LEFT MY SWEET, MY NATIVE HOME. 207 They chid me when they saw mine eye Dim'd with a tear — for theirs was dry : They said — what could my peace annoy, I was a happy minstrel boy. But love could not be still the theme, — The war-cry and the trumpet came: They bade me go and join the brave, And seek for glory or a grave. I wished no more, — I could not be The nursling of their charity; I took my harp with giddy joy — A warrior and a minstrel boy. But fate compelled the brave to yield ; They fought and fell in glory's field : My harp could live but in its youth ; It could but live for love and truth ; It would not own a foreign yoke ; Its chords in wild despair I broke ; It could no more awake to joy The broken-hearted minstrel boy! THE WARRIOR. No ! tell me not of the splendid dome, Where the mighty warriors lie, But lead to the grave of the men of peace. O'er these I will heave a sigh, — But not for the warrior, — no, not 1 1 For he was a man of blood ; He loved the war-cry and the shout of death. When it swept as a fiery flood. His hand was against his fellow-men ; His sword was the scorpion's sting ; W^ith a fiendish lieart his brand he threw. For the smile of a thing called King. No word — no will — no law of his own, — 'Twas all in the royal breath ; And the word of praise for carnage and wreck Was deemed an immortal wreath. In the 'scutcheoned hall and cathedral Let fools their requiem sing, And o'er the trophies that war hath won Shout loudly " long live the king!" THE WARRIOR. 209 I will not listen the maddened shout Of the base-born willing slaves That bow the knee, and the fetters wear That are forged by royal knaves. Where is the honour, and where is the fame, When a king may give command To prowl and plunder — to scatter dismay And death in a foreign land ? Shame on the honour and glittering stars That are won by a nation's spoil ! 'Tis baseness all! — 'tis only for slaves To follow a work so vile. The patriot, who knows but his country's good, And his sword for liberty draws, If he fall, he falls a glorious name, And worthy a glorious cause : His heart I would lay on his country's shrine. And offer it up to Heaven ; I would embalm it within my own ; To it would my tears be given. s 2 THE SWEET DEW OF HEAVEN. The sweet dew of heaven is on thy lip, And its balmy air thou'rt breathing ; The spirits that hover around thy couch Are thy garland of roses wreathing. Thy bosom is pure as the icy drop That hangs on the weeping willow, And calm as the bright moonbeam that sleeps At eve on the gentle billow. o^ O ! I have gazed on that azure eye. And bliss from its beams could borrow : It shone as a ray of the morning light Ere it clouded to set in sorrow. But when thou art laid in thy hallowed bed, And fate our twin hearts shall sever, The withering rose that dies on thy cheek Will bloom in my heart, love, ever ! ON THEE, ELIZii, DWELL MY THOUGHTS. On thee, Eliza, dwell my thoughts While straying 'neath the moon's pale beam : At midnight, in my wandering sleep, I see thy form in fancy's dream : I see thee, in thy rosy morn. Approach as loose-robed beauty's queen: The morning smiles, but thou art lost, Too soon is fled the sylvan scene. Still fancy fondly dwells on thee, And add'st another day of care : What bliss were mine could fancy paint Thee true as she can paint thee fair ! O fly, ye dear, deceitful dreams, — Ye silken cords that bind the heart ! Canst thou, Eliza, these entwine. And smile and triumph in the smart ? YE'RE BONNIE AN' YOUNG, LASSIE. Ye're bonnie an' young, lassie, ye're bonnie an' young, An' ye little ken how the heart is wrung For them that's awa, whom we lo'ed sae dear, An' think on whan nane may see nor hear, Sitting the lang day, wi' the tear in our ee, Makin' our plaint sae mournfully. But the dead, my lassie, fu' soun' they sleep. Whan the living sit by their grave an' weep: The heavenly heart that is right an' pure, It's meikle, meikle it maun endure : O, lassie, it's aft, wi' the tear in our ee, We're makin' our plaint sae mournfully. Ye see, my dear lassie, yon grave sae green, Whare the sun looks on sae bonnie at een ; Your father, a martyr, lies there at rest ; They slew him when a baby ye were at my breast ; An' aft I sit, wi' the tear in my ee, Makin' my plaint sae mournfully. THE HAND OF SORROW. 213 When your father was laid 'neath the bluidy sod, I had nana behin' but you an' my God : There was nane to write his name or to read ; But I set the bonnie harebell at his head ; An' the flower it is blooming bonnilie, While I'm makin' my plaint sae mournfully. But the harebell, like me, will wither an' fa', For the martyr's voice on the living ca' : The simmer again will the flower renew, To water his grave wi' its drap o' dew : But ye maun think, lassie, on him an' me. An' the flower that blooms owre us sae bonnilie I THE HAND OF SORROW. The hand of sorrow hath touched thy lip, And stolen the sweets of thy cheek away. And blanched forever the roseate hue, Where the loves and graces were wont to play. 214 THE HAND OF SORROW. Dark is that tearful eye and dim, That shone as the lovely star of niglit, That erst had set in the western heaven, And seemed but to mock morn's rosy light. And soft has hung the dew on thy locks, When thou didst watch the evening star, And told'st thy beads, and thy prayers said, For him that fell mid the din of war. Well thou didst love, and thy heart was truth, But clouds o'erhung hope's dying ray ; And the spell was broke that bound in twain Spirits of love that could never stray. Thy lover's bed is the sea-girt rock, — Thine, lady, will be the flowery lea : His spirit that walks in the angry blast Will sigh to thine 'neath the aspen tree. THE TRAVELLER OF ST. GOTHARD. Stay, stay, thou weary traveller, stay, And rest thy weary feet to-night ; Thou must not tempt the treacherous way, — Rest, rest thee, till the morning light. See'st thou yon threatening avalanche That overhangs the frightful steep? Thy tread will shake its slippery base, And thou wilt 'neath its ruins sleep. The spirit of the wind awakes, And whispers of the gathering storm : The clouds — they circle round the moon, And come in wild terrific form. The dogs are snoring on the hearth, — Their weary task is done to-day ; The bell— it chimes the hour of prayer, — Stay, stay, thou weary traveller, stay. 216 O WHARE WAD BONNIE ANNIE LIE, The traveller chid the slumbering night ; He chid the lingering dawn of morn ; He thought of home, of children, wife, And kindred waiting his return : He dared the frightful avalanche That overhung the vale below : Wife, children, kindred, weep in vain,— He sleeps beneath his mount of snow O WHARE WAD BONNIE ANNIE LIE. O WHARE wad bonnie Annie lie ? She's pure as drap o' winter snaw ; An' wha wad be sae blest as I, Gin she into my arms wad fa' ? Gin Annie in my arms wad lie, The costly doun wad be her bed ; Ne'er wad she weep, ne'er wad she sigh. Ne'er ane wad lie in Annie's stead. ON NATURE. 217 She is sae lovely, fair and young, My bosom's flame she aye will beet; Whae'er has yet o' beauty sung, I ween, ne'er dwalt on lips sae sweet. Saft is the bed whare she wad lie, An' white as snaw on mountain steep ; An' O how blest, I trow, were I, Gin Annie in my arms wad sleep! ON NATURE. I LIVE, I move, — 'tis strange I know not how ; Nor can I tell how these sweet flowerets grow ; Nor how they blossom in such loveliness. To form a paradise, to adorn a wilderness ; Nor how these birds do wing the midway air — These insects floating, dancing everywhere. From whence these atoms — whence the distant spheres. Whirling their long eternity of years ? What is the power — what is it that presides O'er these — o'er all directing? where resides? The mind may soar, and Nature's course traverse — Unknown's the Spirit of the Universe I T ON SOCRATES. O, HAD I walked, great Socrates ! with thee In thy uprightness, and thy laws had kept, My heart as guileless and of passion free, What a rich harvest I this day had reaped I — An harvest of content, and fearless viewed The past — the future — all alike to thee : For that stern virtue which thy soul pursued Was thy reward — thy wealth — security! 'Twas thine to walk in wisdom's sacred way: At virtue's shrine thy holy lamp was lit : Thy soul illumined by the heavenly ray, Unmoved, thou saw'st life's sun, declining, set, Giving thy country and thy foes to shame. But to thyself a great and glorious name ! ON NEWTON. O, Newton ! could I walk the spheres with thee, And trace the circuit of these moving orbs, And in the circle of their dazzling light Forget the little things that earth absorbs, It were a journey to the enraptured eye Fraught with delight, to view th' unnumbered hosts Dancing and wheeling their eternal round, And in th' expanse of boundless vision lost ! Newton ! 'twas thine to walk the mighty round, And grasp what seemed beyond all mortal ken. And bring these bright celestial worlds to light, And strike with wonder untaught, erring men ! Ah I there are few who thus have scan'd with thee This bright, this boundless, vast immensity ! LINES. Mine be the wild or shaggy mountain-side, At eve or morn, when dews fall light and mute, Darkened in shade or sparkling in the sun ; And gentle winds, as the soft lute, Whispering along the vale or opening glade, — Now breathing louder, now in slumbers laid, — Now fanning the dark green leaves Of elm, or pine, or brake, or roseate bower, Sweetly perfumed by many a damask flower ; Or when the autumn, with its ruder breath, Bears swift along the thistle's snowy down, Or leaves of yellow hue, that formed fair summer's wreath, Twittering along the bank or russet plain, Never to deck their native bower again. ON EARTH. O, EARTH ! thou'rt beautiful to me ! Thy crj'stal streams, thy dark green sea, Thy towering trees in forest wide, Thy bramble on the mountain-side, Thy sun-burnt moor, thy valleys green, Thy fragrant flowers that deck the scene, Thy morning sun so brightly beaming, Thy evening clouds so sweetly gleaming. Thy summer showers so lightly falling, The languid flowers to life recalling, — These, each to all their beauties lending, And each their sweets together blending, Where is the heart that would not be, O, earth ! idolater to thee ? T 2 LINES. O LET me list the whispering breeze of morn, And scan on upland hill the welkin blue, And breathe the fragrance, that around is borne, Of flowerets glittering in the silvery dew, And join the hymn of early humming bee. And tuneful choir, that from their slumbers start To greet the morning with their merry glee. Here, undisturbed and tranquil, do I look On heaven above and on the earth below, And learn from Nature's unsoiled, faithful book. All that is good — all that is worth to know. Thrice blessed book ! to reasoning mortals spread, Where all may of its mighty Author read. ON THE GRAVE. When in the wind the rank grass waves And whispers over dead men's graves, It wooes the heart from mirth and folly, To feel the charms of melancholy. 'Tis sad to list the lullaby O'er those in death that lowly lie — The nightly hymns for those that sleep, No more to wake nor more to weep ; But when by trembling footsteps led To look — to touch the hallowed bed Of all we loved, forever gone, By all forgot, by all unknown. Fond memory broods o'er many a hopeful day. Like morning's idle dream — forever past away ! ON NIGHT. I LOVE to liear the midnight hlast And the liail on the casement beating ; I love to hear the dead-watch beat, And the cricket its chirp repeating ; I love to see the cloud pass on, And the moon from its dark edge peeping, And the stars from their bed of azure blue In the mist their eyelids steeping; But when again in her loveliness The moon walks her cloudless way, And sports her shadows 'mong aspen bovvers Where the gentle breezes play, O then how I love the woodland scene, And her chequered light 'mid these bowers so green ! LINES ON Though thy grave, my love, be damp and deep, Set a few suns, and with thee I'll sleep: Mine eyes are dull and weary of day. Then why should 1 here thus lingering stay From my home of rest? — for that is my home ; And there is none like the silent tomb. 'Tis such a calm, such a peaceful slumber, We reck not the years nor the days we number : 'Tis a stilly night — there's no sigh of sorrow, Nor a dream of the dawn of distant morrow. O well I may envy thee thy sleep. In thy grave so cold, so damp and deep : Mine only are days and nights of care, While thou art sleeping so calmly there I ON LIFE. O, life! thou hast been unto me A restless and a troubled sea Of many doubts, of many fears, Increasing with my lengthening years : For ills on ills came pressing on, Till I was left as one alone, — A stranger who had lost his way, Who could not go, who could not stay, But wander 'mid the doubtful maze. And dream of past and future days. O, fate ! since thou hast made it so. That mine is but a tale of wo, The weary scene I fain would leave, And seek the quiet of the grave. FAREWELL, MY HARP. Farewell, my harp ! in silence rest, For I have waked thy voice too long ; Thou canst not soothe my troubled breast, Though thou thy wild notes shouldst prolong. Go, sleep thee in some woodland wild, Nor waken with the breeze of morn ; The chords that bound my heart to thee, They all are reft — they all are torn. What now avails thy soothing voice ! What now avails thy magic art ! Thou canst not charm one hour away, — Thou canst not soothe a burning heart I Farewell, farewell, — a long farewell ! Life's every charm now fast decay ; Its mora, with all its pleasant dreams. Have as a vision past away I FATERSON, PRINTER, GLASGOW. T7IE LIBn.A.PY ■i\ 1 ^^- . ^^ ,. -, , .»r. . .r^ , ^ J. *k "3 c ,m-m '^-^mi'mm^^' L 007 387 629 4 UC SOUTHERN REGIOMAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 369 353 )J0^ ■r>