POEMS AND j3oNQ$. HOME AND OTHER POEMS AND SONGS BY GILBERT CLARK, M.A. WITH INTRODUCTION BY D. H. EDWARDS, Editor of "Modern Scottish Poets," &c. D. H. EDWARDS, ADVERTISER OFFICE. EDINBURGH : JAMES GEMMELL, GEORGE IV. BRIDGE LANARK : J. D. MORRISON. LOAN STACK TO MY MOTHER. 526 CONTENTS. PAOR. Introductory Note, . . . . . xi. Home A Poem, 17 Auld Buittle Kirk, 33 The Brook, 37 Winter Aspect of Nature, 39 The Burnie A Song, 41 Pictures, 44 Voices of the Wind, 49 The Pic-nic, 51 Two Tiny Burnies, 53 Spring Again, 56 Evening in Spring, 57 Ode, 58 To a Daisy, 61 To a Wild Rose Eglantine, .... 63 Inspiration, ... ... 65 " Ilk Ane Maun Dree His Weird/' ... 67 Jubilee Ballad, ...... 69 A Vision of War, ...... 72 The Porch of Heaven, 74 vi. CONTENTS. PAGE. The Poet's Reasonings, 77 Sweet Voices Calling, 80 Rondeau To a Friend, 81 The Guid Auld Days, 82 Dying Mother to Daughter, .... 85 The Brooklet, 89 I Know a Brook, 91 To the Moon, 93 To the Same, 94 Ode on Christmas Day, ..... 95 Somebody's Funeral, 97 An Evening Walk, 99 To Joy, 103 The Mitherless Bairns, 110 Shall We Seek a Home? 113 I'd Rather, 115 The Loch o' Dee, 117 To the Robin, 119 Evening in Winter, ...... 121 April, 122 Ode to the Lark, 125 Mary A Ballad, 128 SONNETS AND SHORT POEMS. Speak Softly, 135 A Summer Sabbath Eve, ..... 136 Morning, . . . . . . . .137 Evening, 138 Address to Screel, . f , , , ,139 CONTENTS. vii. PAGK. To the Same on Leaving Galloway, . . 140 Address to Spring, 141 Spring, 142 Summer, ........ 143 Autumn, 144 Sunset, 145 A Sunset, 146 Yarrow, 147 Cora Linn, 148 To a Bla ckbird in a Churchyard, . . . 149 SONGS. The Peasant Bachelor's Song, . . . .153 Love, Young Love, ...... 155 Squire Johnny Cocket, ..... 156 Oh, Tarn's Gane Awa', ..... 158 My Jamie's Awa' Ower the Sea, . . . .160 My Nannie, 0, 162 There is a Lass, 164 My Love is Like a Blue Flower, . . . 166 Some Hae Rank and Riches, .... 168 Dear Jenny, 170 MISCELLANEOUS. The Snowstorm, . . . . . . .175 An Infant's Grave, 188 The Hedge-Sparrow's Song, , 190 Vlll. CONTENTS. Auld Hoolie, .... The Pilgrim, . The Burnie's Song, . Across the Waters Deep I Glide, The Thrush, .... Again I Walked, . . Nature's Influence, . Autumn Again, . In Memoriam J. K. B., . A Mountebank, . Roll on, Sea, To Dickie, The Village, . . . PAGE. 192 , 193 194 . 195 197 , 198 201 . 203 205 . 208 209 . 211 212 MY MUSE. . HOULD not my spirit sing As well as e'er it can, From the heart each echo ring Of joy or woe in man ? The bird sings in the bough And warbles till the night : Its note or plain or low, It asks not, wrong or right ? The robin tunes his lay, Nor mocks the trilling lark, Nor imitates the jay, But keeps his own true mark. Why should it fear me much To tune my swelling heart, That Tennyson and such Have sung a higher part ? I'll sing, while I have life, What deep I know or feel : The burthen and the strife, Of souls the woe or weal, INTRODUCTION. T\ N American writer the other day asserted that C^ the human mind will not much longer exhibit a purely literary activity. The enthusiasm or glowing feelings, which have hitherto given birth to poetry, will still continue to be felt, but it will not pour itself in verse, but " voice itself in some other form." The novel, too, he held to be "on its last legs. Actual life, with the means of swift locomotion through all the zones at the command of almost everybody, and with the means of luxurious living equally common, as they soon will be, will, ere long, make the literature of mere amusement of no interest. Let us suppose ' air travel ' to have become a reality, as it sooner or later will be. In that case mere journeying to and fro through the atmosphere would furnish more aesthetic enjoyment than any poet or novelist's dream or imagi- native delineation could." Well, in the case of poets, it will, in a sense, be no new experience for them to soar Xll. INTRODUCTION. in the air ; and if ordinary mortals are to give up reading poetry for the agreeable sensation of mid-air feeling, we cannot but have a friendly interest in the fruits of our later bards. And it would appear that the old country has not altogether a monopoly of the minor poets, for we lately observed that the competi- tion for the prize cantata to be sung at the opening of the Melbourne Exhibition brought nearly two hundred and fifty candidates into the field. This, however, is not quite so good as the record of the town of Paisley, which, with a population of about 50,000 souls, boasts of producing a poet for every day in the year. A great deal is naturally to be expected from a town which, as its traditions are said to assert, possesses so promising and fine-grown a suburb as Glasgow. The Australians, however, consider that there need be no feeling of humiliation in the fact that their whole con- tinent has not been able to supply as many poets as one North British town, but rather one of proud self- congratulation that the followers of the Muse are as numerous with them as they are. Whatever changes the near future may bring, we know that the period of long-winded and elaborate prefaces is past, and iiow-a-days the public judge of a work by its own merits, rather than from the colour- ing the author or his friends may offer at the outset. We do not require to say here that Scotland is proud of L her large company of really gifted modern bards and versifiers, as she is of her rich galaxy of honoured names of the past. We all believe that there were in Scotland in ancient times a class of men called minstrels. They have left much to attest their exis- INTRODUCTION. xiii. tence, although, for a very cogent reason, their songs and ballads were never committed to writing. Writ- ing was little practised amongst them, and the art of printing was almost unknown. But is it not just possible that though they had lived in other times, they would perhaps* not have committed their com- positions either to manuscript or print ? This would not only have put their craft in danger, but destroyed it altogether, as it ultimately did. They could not, however, prevent their utterances from finding a place in the hearts and memories of old women and maidens, and thus have many of them been handed down to us by diligent and painstaking editors and collectors. A national literature is said to be the collective mind of a given nation in its highest manifestations of reflec- tive thought and imagination. Each nation or race has a collective or peculiar mind, which is easily dis- tinguishable from that of another nation. And is it too much to say that the sentiment of song, and the pathos of music have done more for the cohesion of Scotland as a nation, in the most trying times, than any other incident or event that the historian can trace ? How frequently do we read, in touching language, of the yearning of the wanderer's heart for the motherland ? "... See the Scottish exile, tanned By many a far and foreign clime, Bend o'er his home-born verse, and weep In memory of his native land With love that Scorns the lapse of time, And ties that stretch beyond the deep." XIV. INTRODUCTION. Robert Chambers has said that " poetry and music, till the early part of the last century, lived a vagrant life in Scotland, but they flourished in the hearts and the souls of the people, for the people of Scotland were susceptible of the strongest impressions from poetry and music." Is it not the case that, commingled with blood and tears, the Scottish Muse mourned the demise of good king Alexander III. in 1286, and chaunted paeans over the victories of Bruce and Edward. A constellation of illustrious names illu- mined the lyrical firmament of Scotland, until the land was flooded with light by the great luminary whose lyre still resounds over the globe, and is still echoed by almost countless bards that have since sprung up in these later times to enrich our poetical literature with utterances replete with pathos and tenderness, humour and simplicity rough vigour and polished sweetness noble scorn of whatever is mean and vile, deep sympathy with humble worth, and with sweetest images of domestic love and fireside joy. Even in these days of the most prosaic economic and mechanical devisings, when men are universally busied in converting days, hours, and minutes into pounds, shillings, and pence, the soul of poesy seems to gain strength in our midst. All varieties of lyrics, poems, and dramas are warbled forth by all classes of the people. Diverse they certainly are some of them stirring the heart like the war-trumpet urging to battle, others soothing the soul like soft summer winds. ** Our benison upon the beautiful birds," says a recent popu- lar writer, " that are singing like young-eyed cheru- bim to cheer and better mau's estate." Truly they sing INTRODUCTION. XV. iii this age of iron their " wood-notes wild," to be heard above the rush of business and the din of machinery ; they sing, in an age of gross calculation and earthly tendency, to man the immortal, quickening the diviner impulses of his soul, and wooing him to rise up in the greatness of his lofty future destiny. But it is necessary for us now to refer more par- ticularly to our author and his book. From the Eleventh Series of "Modern Scottish Poets" we learn that he is a young minister of the Church of Scotland, who from his early boyhood was possessed of the am- bition that one day he would * ' wag his head in a poopit. " After years of honest and faithful work his wish was gratified, and his labours have been crowned with at least some measure of success. A native of Ayr- shire, he was reared on poetic ground. His father was tenant 011 a farm famous in Covenanting times, situated in the near neighbourhood of Aird's Moss, the scene of Richard Cameron's last struggle. Shortly after his father's death the family removed to Catrine. in sight of the " Braes o' Ballochmyle," and subsequently they settled in the village of Sorn, on the banks of the Ayr, where his mother held a small property. An apt scholar arid a diligent student of Shakespeare, Tenny- son, Wordsworth, Goldsmith, and Gray, he was also an ardent lover of Nature, roving after school hours in the woods and fields, or "guddling" in the Ayr. He first expressed his thoughts in rhyme about the age of sixteen, but there was even before then an inex- pressible hunger in his soul for the pure, the loving, and the beautiful. He studied for some time at the Madras College, St Andrews a town so rich in sacred XVI. INTRODUCTION. memories, where lie spent his leisure hours amongst its hoary ruins, or by the sea, which, we understand, always appeals to his feelings in a mysterious way, and which he addresses in this volume : " Roll on, O sea ! Best mirror of heaven's bright sky ; Roll on, O sea ! And bear thou my music on high." On completing the usual course at Glasgow Univer- sity, where our poet took his degree of Master of Arts, he went to Edinburgh to study divinity. After the first session, he pled the cause of the Edinburgh University Missionary Association, which enabled him, in the summer months, to see more of the beauties of the country. But by far the greatest event of his divinity course, however, was the spend- ing of two summers in Germany. His first season was at Heidelberg, and having made some acquaintance with Schiller and Goethe through Carlyle, he longed to make friends with them in the vernacular. Having no one to speak to but foreigners, he for a time felt homesick, longing for his native land, and realising how much he loved dear old Scotland. But he soon made many friends, studied hard under Professor Otto, and visited a number of enchanting and romantic places. Next summer he proceeded to Leipsic Uni- versity, attending the lectures of Luthardt and Delitzsch, and visiting Dresden and its art galleries, the Hartz Mountains and Thuringian Forest, and doing homage at the shrines of Luther, Goethe, and Schiller. In December, 1878, Mr Clark was licensed, and sue- INTRODUCTION. XV11. cessively assisted for a short time the ministers of Portobello, Penninghame, Newton -Stewart, and for longer periods the ministers of Prestonpans, and Buittle. It was while.at Prestonpans that he began to pen some lines'fof religious verse. The beauties of Nature in this picturesque and historic part of Scot- land were duly appreciated by him ; and when he removed to Buittle a quiet pastoral district, with lovely combination of hill and sea and wood, he found many fitting subjects for his Muse. In 1884 Mr Clark was called to the charge of Hay- wood Chapel, parish of Carnwath. Here, although the surroundings are somewhat bleak, the Pentlands and the Lowthers stand picturesquely around, redolent with the name of Ramsay ; to the south are the Tweed and Clyde the one with its classic memories of Scott and the Ettrick Shepherd, the other with its romantic and beautiful falls, and the name of Wallace, as it were, blended in their roar. As a minister, we need only say that he has, de- servedly, the love and esteem of his people. We farther learn that his wealth of imagination and poetic nature is manifested in his vigorous, earnest, and devout discourses the result of careful preparation, minute observation, extensive reading, and of sound thinking. We have, however, more to do with him as a poet, and his most marked characteristics might be summed up thus : Warm human sympathy, keen and tender susceptibilities, and an ardent feeling for Nature, not only in its quiet moods, but also in its more sublime and awe-inspiring aspects. All his utterances evince a pleasing sincerity, like the artless Xviii. INTRODUCTION. notes of the bird that sings because it cannot help it. As he says of his own Muse "Should not my spirit sing As well as e'er it can, From the heart each echo ring Of joy or woe in man ? " The author makes no pretentions to grand ideas or sublime originalities. We do not assign him a place amongst the divine songsters of the earth, or regard him as a Koh-i-noor that must needs attract all eyes in admiration. He does not claim poetic inspiration or high poetic honour, but merely gives us the fruits of his leisure moments clothed in simple, natural utterances. His subjects are generally of universal interest, and they are treated in a homely, familiar way. Occasional glimpses of his metaphysical powers, how- ever, are discernible in his longer poems, but the abstract thought, and what is called the "mystico- matter " frequently met with in modern poetry are awanting. Yet, to be candid, we at times find com- monplace embellishments, and loose rhythm and rhyme in the midst of passages of remarkable power and fervour. This may, doubtless, be the result of haste or want of careful "polish." In these days there is much hasty writing, and authors do not, perhaps, strive or seek to secure the artistic arrangement and studied quaintness of simplicity the seemingly art- less, yet, in their estimation, the perfection of culti- vated elegance that characterised the verse of an earlier period, the dream-life of the past, in which INTRODUCTION. XIX. one seems to feel the influence of cloister shades and college groves, faded velvet and tarnished lace. Opinions, however, differ as to what constitutes "false," "loose," or "imperfect" rhyming. A recent writer, referring to a criticism by Leigh Hunt of some verses by Fletcher draws attention to the rhyming of sight and sweet, in which he supposes a harmony more discernible by the " fine ears of our ancestors than by our modern power of appreciating sound. This might well be, for we have fallen into a mechanical, engine-turned method of versification, alternately with loose habits of rhythm and rhyme. Caution is, however, necessary in drawing inferences of pronuncia- tion from the rhymes of any period, inasmuch as it was not always a custom of poets to hold themselves bound by rules such as we find in modern ' rhyming dictionaries.' The hesitation of modern hearers to accept good, though not instantly apparent rhymes, has impoverished the effect of much excellent verse. There is at present a constrained affectation of exact- ness a too conscious ingenuity. There is nothing to be said against neatness and finish, but some of our modern poetry is so painfully precise as to leave no room for the least turn of pronunciation. " There may be a certain amount of truth in this, for uniformity deprived of all variety becomes monoto- nous and unnatural ; and perhaps this .may also be the feeling ',of our poet. His sonnets, however, are concise, comprehensive, and neatly turned. Some of them evince deep insight and a powerful inward reading of truth as well as affluent imagery, a store of solid wisdom, and an abundant^ perception of XX. INTRODUCTION. the beautiful both in the natural and the spiritual universe. He not only describes Nature with truth and grace, but, he also recognises its moral significance. To interpret the sights and sounds of Nature aright the mind must be pure. As Coleridge says " And from the soul itself must there be sent A sweet and potent voice of its own birth, Of all sweet sounds the life and element." And he (Coleridge) goes on to bear testimony to the fact of Nature's dependence on the soul itself for inter- pretation and spiritual beauty, without which reception and irradiated transfiguration Nature would be what it is to the mere materialist a complicated machine. A dead faith beholds unlovingly what is communicated from on high, and without love in the recipient no good gift can be actually accepted. An old writer says "only the thankful heart receives the fragrance of the flower." If the good be not assimilated with ourselves in this, the prescribed way, it is a mere delusion to say that we have made it ours by the action of our senses. In the impressive illustration of Carlyle, " The eye only sees that which it possesses capacity for seeing." We have left ourselves little space for speaking at any length on the subject of Mr Clark's neat songs and short poems. These are his most happy and successful efforts. They are truth in the liquid form, flowing from the heart and mind of the author to the mind and heart of the reader. In many moods, [ they touch effectively the proper chord whether jin^the grave and solemn moments of his Muse, or when he is INTRODUCTION. XXI. led to lighter and brighter fancies. In proof of this numerous pretty bits might be picked out, but they are now before the reader. Let us merely refer to " Somebody's Funeral," " The Dying Mother," " Shall we seek a Home," and " Love, Young Love." There are three or four songs on brooks and burnies charmingly picturesque and admirably felicitous pic- tures, welling and rippling with the cheerful, refresh- ing purity of the wayside brook, made the more inviting by the sweet fragrance of the flowers that it kisses on its way to the ocean " O how I love the burnie. That sinars by cot and hall, That lights the load of men, Be it great or small : That smiles in every face And mirrors heaven's blue The glorious king of day And the twinkling starnies too. Wimplin' thro' the bracken, Wimplin' thro' the glen, My bonnie wee burnie Thou art the friend of men ! "O how I love the burnie, For it emblems all my life, The sunshine and the gladness, And the weary strife : In summer it doth tinkle, But in winter spate doth roar, Yet ever sings to me of Hope Upon a better shore." And the " Two Tiny Burnies " tinkling down the hill, and frisking like the lambkins in their glee, till they Xxii. INTRODUCTION. " Unite in their ardour To form a bigger stream, And sing a fuller song, Like music in a dream. And their wrdded currents Glance and gleam along, Happier and sweeter, For their union strong." The pages of the little volume before us gleam with ennobling thought and injunctions to noble endeavour. It is full of unassuming sincerity. It appeals strongly to the universal feelings of our common humanity. It breathes throughout the spirit of reverence for God, loyalty to country, and warm regard for the delights of home, love, and friendship. In this respect it has a mission, and will be read by the quiet fireside, and minister pleasure and solace to many homes where more elaborate and finished productions, with less heart, would fail. May it "accomplish that where- unto it is sent. " BBECHIN, April 1888. POEMS AND SONGS. 3)0me- Jl JJoem. ^3 EAR HOME ! what spell is cast around thy C!^ name For all that's best within the human soul ; Thou need'st no bard to waft abroad thy fame, To make thee sweet to men while centuries roll: The child, that sits upon his mother's knee, Hath learned to lisp thy charms for years to come; The father, who from work returns in Smiles on his wife and child, nor cares to roam: The love of all that's dear dwells in thy walls, home ! POEMS AND SONGS. II. The patriot, who far away doth sing In lowly cabin in some western vale, Makes sweet moan in old ballads, that do bring The tears to rugged cheek by simple tale Of hills, and streams, and heroes, that of old Gave glory to the dear land of his birth : Again he smells the primrose on the wold, And sees the faces round his father's hearth ; Deep longings move his heart which find no rest on earth. in. And at his daily toil by wood or lea, Sweet thoughts do mingle of long years gone by, When in his boyish sport he chased the bee, Yet quickly stayed to list the cuckoo nigh Glad messenger of spring now heard no more : Ah, where is now the tender sister dear ? (An angel pure upon a heavenly shore,) The father kind, the mother whose deep fear Of God hath taught him all that's good and holy here. HOME. 19 IV. Where can the loved ones be who played with him, Who wandered through the woods and by the rills And gathered flowers and fruit till shadows dim Crept up the vale and o'er the purple hills 1 When, hand in hand, or running on with glee, They soon returned to shelter of their home, Then mothers smiled their rosy cheeks to see, And smiled yet more when fathers tired would come Oh, where are all ? Some, far ; some in the earth's deep loam. v. Oh, where is she, the tender and the fair, Who first did move the passion of his heart, Whose very form would straight divide from care, And bid all fears and ills of life depart ? An angel form had she, an angel face, Quick eyes of love, and tongue of ready wit, A kindly grasp of hand, a tender grace, With ev'ry virtue of a woman knit : Alas ! fond mem'ry, like a dove, doth brooding sit. $6 POEMS AND SONGS. VI. Ah, now she's gone a fairer land to see, A brighter home beyond the azure sky A husband young hath left with children three In helpless grief to wail her memory In this dark world of change, where friends are few, And faithful love in wife and mother dear Cannot be bought with wealth nor aught renew. Ah, well ! they may lament with many a tear That dear one from their home, who ev'ry grief could cheer ! VII. But wherefore long for that which comes no more ? Howe'er we wish, friends will not come again Back to this world from the Eternal Shore. So thinks he as he quits the field with pain Of heart, yet cheerful bends his steps for home A log-hut by the lake or river broad Where wife and little ones watch till he come, To welcome him from toil : then all his load Of care and thought departs at sight of his abode. HOME. 21 VIII. And quietly by the fire he takes his place, His wife rejoicing in his presence near, A little one with childish winning ways Climbs on his knee a Scottish tale to hear Of Wallace, or of Bruce at Bannockburn, And how they made their English foes to turn Full swiftly o'er the Border, whence they came, Home to their dames, who might, to hide their shame : A tale like this he tells that raises Scottish fame. IX. But comes full soon the frugal supper, spread On snowy cloth that sharpens appetite The wholesome porridge and some fruit and bread : Then, satisfied and cheerful for the night, He takes him to his book and reads aloud To wife and child and servants round the fire : Mayhap the theme, God's glory in the cloud, Which led His people forth from Pharaoh's ire, Or David's matchless lays that all true hearts inspire. 22 POEMS AND SONGS. Or be may choose a portion from the sage, Isaiah, son of Amoz, who foresaw Thro' suffrings of the Son of Man an age Of peace to earth and man 'neath gospel law : Or it may be of Daniel and his fear Of God above the fear of man he reads, When pleased, or well nigh trembling, they may hear Of wise men baffled, and of wicked deeds Rewarding wicked men by helping lions' needs. XI. And then to bed the children hie away To quiet sleep, in dreams of joy held fast : They seem to play with flow'rs on sunny day, While merry brooklet gurgling hurries past ; They pick the pebbles from its silver marge, And sing a glee that matches with its song ; The flow'rs and stones they set afloat on barge Of fragrant bark, which bounding light, ere long Is wrecked, and from their sight borne on by current strong. HOME. 23 XII. Meanwhile the father and the mother dear Sit by the fire and talk in sweet commune Of household things, of neighbours far and near, Who claim with them fair friendship's dearest boon ; But chiefly olden times, and the dear shore They left some years ago to strive with fate ; Alas ! some friends they ne'er can meet with more, Whose feet walk safe within the golden gate : For them they sigh, yet muse they have not long to wait ! XIII. And musing, like the Psalmist, the fire burns Within their breasts, and stirs to purpose new They now resolve, if Fortune give good turns, To spend the evening of their days in view Of their own native hills and in the glen, Where oft to school they ran in merry glee ; And though their cottage be a " but and ben," Contented they will live and "bide a wee," Till comes the trumpet call for all eternity. 24 POEMS AND SONGS. XIV. The student in the city garret pent, With yearning heart longs for his rural home, Where, forth into the fields his steps were bent Tn careless ease, or through the woods would roam To list the lark, or muse amid the flow'rs, Nor heed the flight of time, nor college bell, That summons to the dull and Greekish hours, But gaze into the sky or sparkling well, While fragrant on the breeze the apple blossoms smell. xv. He sees his cottage home 'mong roses set, And plot of garden by a murm'ring stream But, though with Fancy's eyes his eyes are wet, And all his senses lost in sweetest dream, Within he sees a brightly burning fire;, He hears his mother's voice call soft his name, And at that voice stirs all his heart's desire, To live for good and be to her for fame : Oh, may it never be that it should be for blame. HOME. 25 . XVI. Then looking round he scans his lonely room With bed and table, chairs infirm and old, With scanty fire like that of curfew doom, The sight of which doth almost chill with cold : But nigh, his books on shelf do warm his heart, And reconcile him to his weary lot : For by them in the world he'll do his part, And haply make the palace hail the cot : But all by virtue's law and peace the world knows not. XVII. But more is in his mind when home is breathed On lip, or wafted in his thought like myrrh, A tender name comes with it sweet enwreathed, Like fragrance on the breeze when south winds stir : A gentle form and features fair to see Come, up before his fancy, and recall The days and nights of fondest memory, When by the wood and stream they walked, and all Seemed as enchanted dream, which nought on earth could pall. 26 POEMS AND SONGS. XVIII. Into the future his thought flits and stays In some choice home of beauty and of peace, Where with her he may spend the halcyon days Of wedded love that dreams of no release ; Beside a wood, beside a wimpling burn, In sight of hills and distant sounding sea, Where lark and throstle sing at spring's return, Where flit the butterfly and bumble bee, And scarce will come a care for an eternity. XIX. The soldier in the camp on distant shore Dreams of the dear home he hath left behind, Of parents loved, and love he fears no more May wait at even to bless with kisses kind ; Yet bravely he will hope above all fear, That heaven will send prosperity and peace, But mem'ry sweet must drop a passing tear, If but to give his surcharged bosom ease, Though from such hallowed thoughts he would not have release. HOME. 27 XX. When at the evening hour he walks his round As sentry guard, and stars blaze out on high Like silver lamps hung from heav'n's azure ground, His thoughts arise on eagle wings to fly : He sees his father's cot in moonlight pale, Beside the sea that murmurs softly by, The distant hills look ghostly down the dale, And shrilly sounds afar the sea-mew's cry, While through the leaves the winds come like a prayerful sigh. XXI. But more at other times his thoughts are led To scenes of childhood and the loved of home, When in the camp fire glow the ashes red, Like blood to flow upon the morn to come : The tale is told, and silently the tear. When falling on the cheek, is brushed aside, Lest it be thought that he can have a fear, When fear was never known in him to hide, But on the loved of earth his loving thoughts abide. 28 POEMS AND SONGS. XXII. Then when the morn is tinged with fiery red, And muffled drums are beat to wake from sleep, He starts from off his weary troubled bed, Ah, God ! he knows, an awful field to reap ! But quick his soul is lifted up in pray'r For loved ones far to Him who all doth keep ; Then, ready for his country all to dare, He presseth to the front adown the steep, First with his gallant comrades on the foe to leap. XXIII. Ah, me ! when battle's o'er is seen a corse Stretched out like hundreds more upon the sand, Laid low upon his face by fatal force Of ball, while grasping bayonet in hand : And raising him up gently, see how calm His countenance in death, like peaceful sleep, His lips as if he'd sung a parting psalm, To bid his loved ones for him not to \\eep, Since Home he'd gone in peace to Him who all doth keep ! fiOMEl. 2 XXIV. The widow by the fire who sits alone, With spectacles and Bible on her knee, Doth muse on byegone days, when she was won By the young peasant near the deep blue sea : Her youthful home blooms fresh within her mind, When careless hours of love seemed sweet as balm, But friends of youth are long, long left behind, And sleep within the churchyard's holy calm ; Yet on the breeze doth come her father's evening psalm. xxv. Then the next mem'ry which her soul doth move Is the small cot where bride and wife she came, Where first she drank the depth of earthly love, And from the girl grew to the wiser dame ; When little ones came toddling to her knee, And asked for wisdom she had not to give, She bent in lowly pray'r the light to see, That she might teach the Higher Life to live, And never of the best of blessings them deprive. 30 POEMS AND SONGS. XXVI. But fuller joy dwells in her mem'ry too, When they had grown to youth and maiden- hood. Then life was bright to them, to her more new Than in the days of early solitude : Though one by one they left the shelt'ring cot, To seek their fortune and their part in life, Ne'er would she or their dear home be forgot, But there would turn their thoughts in weary strife, As haven of peace on earth, which wild waves thither drive. XXVII. Yet not to them alone her thoughts are sent, As silently she sits upon her hearth ; The hush around tells of affection rent And set on mansions far above the earth : The saintly face of her dear husband dead Comes up before her in life glorified, And on the future now her hope is fed Hope that she knows can never be denied, Since He who gave His word doth evermore abide. HOME. 31 XXVIII. And she hath newly read that word this morn, Where out of pain of heart thfe Lord spoke peace To them who felt all weary and forlorn : " Let all your anxious troublings straightway cease," " In God ye all believe, believe in Me? "My Father's house hath mansions manifold," " (Death is not night, nor is eternity) " " Had there been none I sooner would have told," " But now I go that ye by faith may be more bold." XXIX. So comfort flows within her soul like balm, When, spectacles in hand, she shuts her eyes, And breathes with tears a prayer that brings a calm, That lifts her up as if in Paradise : No more she seems within her narrow room, But borne aloft on golden wings afar ; Her form is changed, it hath immortal bloom, That will outlast the brightest sun or star ; And Home she comes at length by power of fervent prayer ! 33 $ uittle $irk. i. /2\ULD Buittle Kirk! Auld Buittle Kirk! C5 how comely art thou now ; The ivy hings sae fresh and green aboot thy bonnie brow ; Thy wa's are frail and tottering fast wi' lang years that are gane, But still thou seem'st the " House of God "a poem left in stane. 11. A roof-tree thou hast luiiie, but yet thou hast a roof abune The vaulting arch o' heaven's blue and the stars that peep adoon : The eye of God yet rests on thee wi' kindness on thy place, For many here had socht His love, and found His glorious grace, c 34 POEMS AND SONGS. III. 0, could'st them tell thy history what sermon would it preach A lesson higher than sages or what the poets teach : " That life is like a floo'r that blavvs, which Death shall pluck fu' sune ; That joy is like to misery till ance the day be dune." IV. Within thy courts were seated ance the grave, the gay, the sad, The rev'rent form wi' ageing step grey haffets on his head ; Here came the maiden first to pray, the bride- groom and the bride, They socht the Lord wi' earnest heart, and they were not denied. AULD BUITTLE KlRK. 35 V. Nae langer noo thae worshippers assemble in thy wa's, To lift the heart to God in prayer, to sing a song of praise ; For they are gane and a' o' theirs that pilgrim aged to thee, Their tents are struck, they're fled awa' for all eternity. VI. And who are they that now are left within thy holy bed 1 The dead in Christ their bodies rest for they are not the dead : And all around 'tis holy ground, where many in Him do sleep To wake that resurrection morn, when nane the grave shall keep. 36 POEMS AND SONGS. VII. Auld Buittle Kirk ! auld Buittle Kirk ! thou art a symbol fair 0' death in life, o' life in death, that soothes my heart in care : Thy wa's are fast decaying, but the ivy aye is green ; Our bodies die to live again in House o' glorious sheen. 37 3C BUBBLE, bubble from the rock ^ To see the blessed sun ; I trouble, trouble at the shock As o'er the fall I fun. I prattle, prattle as I go, I sing and never stay : I battle, battle onward to The ocean far away. I tinkle, tinkle o'er the stones, As by the lea I flow ; I twinkle, twinkle round the thrones Of fairy folk I know. I glitter, glitter in the light, As through the glen I glide ; I fritter, fritter in my fright And o'er the mill-wheel ride, 38 POEMS AND SONGS. I tremble, tremble at the gate Of mill-maid fair and kind ; I grumble, grumble all too late, When she is left behind. I tumble, tumble to the sea And lose myself therein ; I stumble, stumble all the way, But would again begin. 39 SEintet JUpect of JJature. C/-JT HE lark now hath ceased his singing at morn, The wee birds sit pensive on the bare spray, No longer the thrush pipes from the green thorn, And Robin alone sings out his sweet lay. The swallows that flitted in spring's balmy gale, Are seen now no more but are far, far away ; The cuckoo's lute voice late heard in the vale On balmier breeze is borne thro' the day. The leaves that had greened the hardy old oak Lie lifeless and crumble on the cold ground : And roses that bloomed when summer awoke Have shed their fair petals o'er the green mound, 40 POEMS AND SONGS. For summer hath gone and autumn hath blown, And winter winds howl through skeleton trees, And soon will the snow all over be strewn To clothe earth in white like a saint at peace. Yet beauty doth live and never may die, It blooms on the plain and sleeps on the hill, It shines in the snow, it smiles in the sky, It gleams on the lake and laughs in the rill. But summer and winter and all must depart, Their beauty and bloom doth soon fade and die; A beauty there is that dwells in the heart, That never can fade through eternity. gtarnie Jt HOW i I love the burnie That wimples thro' the dell, It lightens all my care Far more than heart can tell, It glimmers in the sunlight, It murmurs in the ear A pure and heavenly music, Aye so sweet and clear. Chorus. Wimplin' thro' the bracken, Wirnplin' thro' the glen, My bonnie wee burnie Thou art the friend of men ! how I love the burnie, Where saplings wave overhead, And where in summer bloomed The flow'rs that now are dead : On whose branches sings the robin, And is heard the blackbird's note, When the spring-time comes again To swell each tiny throat. Chorus, Wimplin' thro' the bracken, &c, 42 POEMS AND SONGS. how I love the burnie, As it prattles by the lea, Where it sings of sweet content, Nor dreams of fall or sea : Where is heard the lapwing's call, Or plover's wailing cry, And the plough-boy croons a song To its waters purling by. Chorus. Wimplin' thro' the bracken, &c. how I love the burnie, That sings by cot and hall, That lights the load of men, Be it great or small : That smiles in every face And mirrors heaven's blue The glorious king o' day And the twinkling starnies too. Chorm. Wimplin' thro' the bracken, OEMS AtfD SONG& Yet soon as e'er his Cupids glance, Upon thee in thy love-lorn trance, Thou op'st at once thine arms to him, With love's delight thy head doth swim. Whene'er at eve he takes his way, Thou part'st from him with tears alway, And there they glisten in thine eye Till once again he shines on high. a SKilb Ha0e (Eglantine. EOSE of the forest, flower of the wild ! Nature's sweet nursling, Nature's sweet child ! Thou art fairer to me than all garden's fine gems, That queen it so stately on bold jaunty stems. Thou hold'st thee so meekly no thought of display And wav'st in the wind as it keeps holiday ; Thou art alway in earnest, and simple as true. And kissest the zephyr tho' fragrant with rue. Thou laugh'st in the morning when sprinkled with dew, And sheddest forth balm tho' inhaled by the few ; Thou art coy as a maiden when kissed for the first, When the tear's in her eye and her soul all athirst. 64 POEMS AND SONGS. Thou art dear to the milk-maid, and pluck'd by the child, Adorning the bosom and matching lip mild ; Thou art loved by the lover, by him fondly pressed, As he bears thee a token to loved one addressed. Thou art sought by the bride who blooms fair in June, To deck for the bridegroom in sweet honeymoon ; Thou art hailed by the aged who scent thee in tears, And heave a deep sigh for the thought of the years. Thou art loved by the mourner, and placed in the bier Of "wee Doddie " or "Rosie," to bursting hearts dear, Who bloomed but a morning, fled to Christ as a gem, Thou art sweet as an emblem of meeting with them. 65 Inspiration. JRlGH hold the banner, CT/ Bear it on and on, Let it ne'er be drooping, Though your heart be lone ; Stand to it truly, Like a soldier brave, See its motto golden, " Brother men to save ! " Hold it ever upward, Higher and yet higher, Till in the sunshine bright, It seem to blaze on fire ; Though faint with the conflict, Yet o'er the mountains go, o J Strength grows in climbing Alpine steeps of snow ! 66 PO^MS AND Look ever heavenward, Never down below, Far into the blue sky, Let your glances go ; Wave the banner nobly In the fresh'ning breeze, Shout the cry of victory ! Never let it cease ! Courage ! brother, courage ! Do the right, the good ! Never be disheartened In doing what you should ; Live in the present, Act with all your might, Fear riot the future ; Do, for God and right ! "ilk JUe Jttatw $m His Old Scotch Proverb. I, this warld is f u' o' care, 0' warstlin' weary strife, And ilk ane maun his burthen bear, To keep this death in life ; But yet there's something no' a' dark, To cheer oor he'rt the while, The song of robin or of lark, Or love's sweet witchin' smile. Cares oppress us in the day, And fears the nicht may chase, But sune doth come the mornin' gay To brichten a' oor face, We see the glorious morn in' sun, Fresh frae his dewy bed, Again we hear the brooklets run An' sing the birds o'erhead. POEMS AND SONGS. Wi' the he'rt that feels nae joy, There's surely something wrang, For the greatest grief of man or boy Should yet rejoice ere lang. Dark clouds may turn the day to nicht, And make the glad earth mourn, But at " even-tide it may be licht," Again may joy return. Oh ! this warld is fu' o' strife, 0' mickle dool and care, Wi' tossings to an' fro 'tis rife, Wi' mony a sin an' snare ; Yet nature sings o' joy an' hope, Providence sae kind ; She bids men wi' their darkness cope, An' peace an' gladness find. 69 ROBIN came late in the autumn, I ween, And piped me a sang o' oor guid, noble Queen ; Sae trim did he look and sae clear blinked his e'e, Ye couldna but ken 'twas the year o' Jubilee ! The mornin' was fine and fair, on a tree tap He sang it oot clear o' a' things that did hap In the last fifty year o' oor country and Queen, Sin' they were the brichtest that e'er wad be seen. He sang o' her youth, o' her innocent mirth Aroon' the bricht fire o' a guid father's hearth, Beside the loved knee o' a mother in pray'r, Wha in earnest besocht that God wad take care, 70 POEMS AND SONGS. He sang o' her love in her early Queenhood, 0' the dear, noble Prince whase he'rt she had woo'd, 0' lang happy days, fair daughters and sons, Though the highest of earth, taught as Christ's little ones. And then, ah ! methought that a sadder note came For a sudden dark cloud o'er the dear Royal hame, That fell to wake up a hale nation in tears, And make a Queen-widow the rest o' the years. But a mellower lilt seemed poured frae his throat As he stretched his bit neck and showed his red coat, When he sang later days on a peacefu' throne, That maist feck made up for the years that were gone. JUBILEE BALLAD. 71 Then tint he the strain and he winged his flicht high, Aw a' in the blue o' the bricht peerless sky ; And I knew that a spirit had visited earth, To sing in the praise o' high honour and worth. His sang was a triumph o'er sorrow and care By oor beloved Queen wha oor griefs a' doth share ; 'Twas a sang o' Queenhood o'er conflict and tears, Whase echo will last thro' the numberless years ! 72 Jt ^i*i0tt 0f SHar. '. ! a vision of war that hath crossed my brain, Hath shown me the curse that all nations doth stain, Hath filled me with hate as to demons of hell, To the passions of men that in bloodshed doth swell. In a dream of the night I was driven afar Where heard was the roar of all-ravenous war, Where gaped the red jaws of the monsters of death ; And on mortals dealt ruin with each fiery breath. In a lower abyss of hell's cave it seemed, Air filled was with darkness, save forth when it gleamed Fire's flash, that so lurid and ghostly did glare On the eye-balls of men that were fixed in despair. A VISION OP WAR. 73 And the groans of the dying were heard all around, Gushed forth as a stream their life-blood on the ground ; The shriek of the foemen was borne on the gale, As it pierced the loud thunder of carnage and wail. There the young and the strong lay senseless and pale, Who late were in bloom in their own native dale, Who kissed their fond children and long-clinging wife At the call of fell duty to fall in the strife. Oh ! a curse on the land whose ambition doth stir The kindling hate only, fiends do admire ! Oh God ! that fair earth should be deluged in blood In a reign of " Peace among men to them that will good ! " * * St Luke, ii. 14, 74 $orch of CJTHERE stands a cottage by a stream, that ^ winds down to the sea, Beneath the shadow of a bridge, which spans its silver tide, Like death that forms a passage 'tween time and eternity, And brings the souls of holy men to that fairer, brighter side. Its walls are old and gray with age, yet ivy crowns the roof, Its floor of clay and rubble stones, its rafters bare and worn, But from its door is heard the sighing winds aloof In forest trees that wave in the freshening breeze of morn, THE PORCH OP HEAVEN. 75 And the gurgling of the river falls softly on the ear Like music from a far-off clime, it haunts as in a dream, In which, with fond intentness, we list an aiigel- song to hear, And far from sorrow of the earth we bask in Glory's beam. Within upon a pallet lay Nature's strong son low, In beauty fading fast away like flowers in autumn day : In sweet content he wasted, would at God's will stay or go, And ne'er a murmur cross'd his lips to either yea or nay. And what the trial he did bear to see his children run About his bed in nakedness, with scanty daily bread ! But yet he trusted all to God, as the shield of every one Who trusts in Him, like ravens which from day to day are fed, 76 POEMS AND SONGS. So thus each day he waited, till the last sad trial came, It was the early morning when the birds begin to sing, That an angel stooped and whispered, "Come now in Jesus' name," Then his spirit sighed but once and went forth on seraph wing. passer by, bend lowly before this humble cot ! Whether it be at early morn, or in the hush of even ; Men bow before the lordly and the rich man's happy lot : Bend thou in rev'rence at this hut, it is the " Porch of Heaven ! " 77 M I thinking of myself, how to gain a little pelf, To raise a name and fame like the sound of a drum? Would I sing my songs of health for the sake of mammon wealth, And droop my wing in dust at the rich man's fee and f um ? Is there gold and gain up there, where the eagle soars in air, Where the lark sings and wings in the grey dawn of morn ? Are there carriages and pairs at the top of angel stairs, On that way 'tween earth and heaven, which the pure alone adorn ! 78 FOEMS AND SONGS. Would a title mend the ill which the poet's soul doth thrill, To see the wrong and strong lord it o'er the dumb ! Would the praise of nations loud wrap Injustice in her shroud, Or quench the fire that burns within, so glaring and glum ? Would a conquest of the earth redeem from bread the dearth, Or take by name and fame the burthen from the worn? Would a crown of gold secure greater patience to endure " The whips and scorns of time" to the weary and forlorn ? Would all honour from all men beard the lion in his den, And take the prey away from the tyrant's ravenous maw ? Would a name thro' centuries down restore the world its crown Of Righteousness and Peace to men 'neath Heaven's perfect law ? POET'S REASONINGS. Oh, no, no, the poet's soul must seek a higher goal, And, free to fly on high, must pierce the Orient beam; He must battle for the right, put hell's legions all to flight, And herald Heaven's dawning as earth's grandest far-off dream. 80 ./(tROM day to day I hear sweet voices calling C~xl From gloom of earth to light beyond the sky: Their accents low and soft, like music falling On evening's balmy breath when sleep is nigh. And as I list to catch their echoes clearer, Methinks I see bright spirits beck'ning me To crystal spheres beyond the sun, and nearer To God, who makes the pure breathe purity. But if by vanity my life be tainted, No more I hear these angel-voices call Their message, silver-tongued, comes but to the sainted, Whose robes are light, and like the snow in all. Then, my God, vouchsafe to me Thy Spirit, To keep rne pure, and lift my thoughts on high; That while I walk this earth I may inherit The peace of souls departed, yet so nigh. 81 a Jfrieob. of my heart ! I love thee well, Deeper than thought or tongue may tell ; The more I know, the more I love, And this true friendship e'er doth prove, From friendship bare to marriage bell. Had I the rarest gems to sell From Afric's sand or Indian dell, To keep thy love with them I'd part : Friend of my heart ! When far from thee by wood or fell, My love's fount distance cannot quell But like Artesian well doth dart Forth into space to where thou art ; And there by thee my thoughts impel, Friend of my heart ! (ixttb JVulb /t^H ! for the guid auld days, the days that will be nae mair, When we played at " hide-and-seek " aboot oor mither's chair ; When we ran aboot the braes, and heard the birdies sing, And listened to the lark as he carolled on the wing : When we gaed to the schule, and played at " hounds and hare," And thochtna o' oor tasks, but were free frae ilka care ; When we ran to the mill to see the water- wheel, And heard its music sweet as it ground the corn to meal : THE GUID AULD DAYS. 83 When we " paiddled in the burn and pu'd the gowans fine/' And fished wi' crookit preens and lang line o' hempen twine ; When we roamed the woods for nests and climbed ilk branchy tree ; For, e'en in spite o' breeks, we wad hae oor liberty : When in Autumn time we ranged, and gathered hips and slaes, And socht for hazel nits in the jolly holidays; When we roamed the moor oot ower and guddled in the burn, And never thocht o' life as a way wi' crookit turn : And then cam' Hallowe'en, wi' its turnip can'le boats, Wi' its sooty faces and its auld turned hats and coats : When we burned oor nits in pairs and dookit for the apples, And warily tried oor luck wi' the saipy supples : 84 POEMS AND SONGS. When in winter time we row'd ainang the frost and snaw, And peppered ilk ither up wi' aye anither ba', When we slid upon the ice wi' roarin' glee and fun, And wi' jolly irony ca'd ilka fa' "a bun!" Oh ! time were the guid auld days, the seed-time o' oor year, That fill oor he'rts wi' love and oor e'en wi' mony a tear, As we mind the lessons noo aroon' oor mither's chair, And listen ower again to her fervent sigh and pray'r. 85 Jttother to HAPPY place lies yonder, dear, beyond the bright blue skies, In splendour greater than the sun, when he at morn doth rise, And death is but the darkened door, that opes to let us in, That frees us from our load of care, and shuts out all our sin. And there the mountains stand around in awful majesty, Enrobed in dazzling whiteness seen as thrones of the Most High, While far around lies glimmering the sea of glassy sheen, That sings eternal harmonies, 'mid bowers of fadeless green. 86 POEMS AND SONGS. And thousands of bright angels there do flit on golden wing, As through the balmy atmosphere they hie with love, and sing Of Him who dwells in rainbow light, and smiles on them with love, Who sent His Son to die for men that they might reign above. And thither I am going, dear, if God will take me in, For His dear sake Who died on earth, our golden crown to win. And oh ! I pray our Father that He may bring thee too, That He may keep thee from all sin and give thee life anew. Oh ! keep in mind, my darling, the place of happy bliss, Where never entereth anyone with stain from world like this ; And if you're tempted to do wrong, ask for the snow-white robe ; That you may walk the golden streets with them who never sob, DYING MOTHER TO DAUGHTER. 87 Kneel down beside me, darling, and I will pray for thee, Ere yet I go with angels, who are calling now for me, And I will bless thee from my heart, and ask the Lord to keep The lamb within His bosom who cares for all His sheep. (She prays.) Our Father in the heavens, we cry, our portion, Lord, art Thou, When in the needs of life and death we low before Thee bow Look down in mercy on my child, to Thee I her commend, And when no mother is anear, Thy guardian angels send. The streets of gold, our Father, the streets of gold are Thine, And Thine the peaceful river that radiantly doth shine ; Thine too the golden city thro' which it e'er doth flow, And Thine the pearly walls and gates that sainted ones do know. 88 POEMS AND SONGS. And if Thy mercy take me in to walk with Thee in white, I pray Thee round my darling shed an aureole of light, That o'er the desert path of earth she may in safety go, And stand at last before Thy throne in robes as white as snow. I lift her on my heart to thee. Oh ! keep from sin and shame, That from this day she may be Thine in word and deed and name ; I weep for her, but rest in Thee, let me depart in peace : Again the angels call on me ; let all my troublings cease ! 89 f wokhi. 3E TOOK my way across the moor, ^ And what did I there see 1 I saw a brooklet merrily dance Away through bog and lea. I said " Your prospect is not good, What madness can it be That makes you leap like that with mirth On to the dark, dark sea ? " And what is this I hear you sing And prattle in your glee, Like child amid the flowers in spring, So happy and so free ? " How can you sing amid the wild, So desolate and lone ? How can you dance with lightsome heart, From senseless stone to stone ? 90 POEMS AND SONGS. " How can you shine with radiant gleam, Like bright pearls in a row, And rival heaven's resplendent light Where you cannot hope to show 1 " I'm weary with ray darkened lot, And hushed is all my song ; Life is too drear a moor for me : Can'st tell me of my wrong ? " Can'st tell me of thy secret power 'Mid moors so dark and cold 1 Can'st give me of thy secret joy A joy that was of old ? " The brooklet murmured on in glee, And gladly sang at even : " Look up ! look up ! as I do now, Look up ! into the heaven ! " 91 3E iittoto a Jirock. KNOW a brook 'mid moorlands wild, That prattles as a little child In first step of its way : And there it glances in the sun, Past bog and heather, black and dun, And skips the live-long day. For there the lark doth tune his lay, When Nature all seems glad and gay, And sorrow's not at hand. And little lambkins frisk and play By brook and bog, as lively fay Skips o'er her willow wand ; 92 POEMS AND SONGS. Where all men with their doubts and fears, And women with their pearly tears, Come ne'er within the view. But heaven with its smiling face Its every lineament can trace The brook with mirror true. the JE0xrn. MOON ! that brav'st the skies in winter storms, And sailest like a saint in snowy white ! Lady ! chaste and meek, grant thy sweet power ; Shed down thy peace as thou dost shed thy light ! Queen of heaven ! so gentle and so mild, That show'st thy beauty in the starry skies ! look around thee and give us reply, Is there a sphere where beauty never dies ? Luna ! bright and calm in placid night, And red like maiden's blush on autumn eve, Is there a region far beyond thy light, Where mortals wake to love and not to grieve ? 94 the MOON ! that mount'st into the sky, Arid show'st a beauty ne'er can die ! 1 love thee for thy shining face, I love thee for thy silent grace, That nightly, like a lady bright, Floods heaven and earth with gentle light ; I love thee as thou light'st the way O'er moorland waste and billowy bay, And sav'st the sailor or the wight, Whose life would else descend in night ; I love thee as thou tell'st a tale Of skipping fairies in the dale, Or witches riding through the air, Or gentle youth or maiden fair, Who walk in secret converse meet, Or whisper love on rustic seat ; I love thee as thou lift'st the eye To fairer worlds up in the sky, And mak'st Imagination wing Her flight on high, and poets sing Of regions where thy placid peace Will reign o'er all and never cease ! 95 ie on Christmas /JA THIS is the morn, ^^ That Christ our King was born, Ye winds, that sigh and wail, Change now your doleful tale ! Ye waves, that beat and roar With anger on the shore, Make still your dreadful noise, And speak with murm'ring voice ! Ye streams, that from the hills Trip down in gladsome rills, Sing on, sing on, in joy The sweet babe's lullaby ! Ye hills, the heavens that kiss, Enwrapt in robes of bliss, Chant with the angel choir, Touched with celestial fire, Heaven's grandest symphony And sweetest harmony ! Ye spheres, that roll in space, Rejoice and yield your praise ! 96 POEMS AND SONGS. Your Maker came to grace This world as central place ; Henceforth ye will combine To let your light so shine, That it may fall on earth Which gave your Author birth ! Ye things that creep and fly Lift up your voice on high ! Ye warblers on the bough, Give all your triumph now ! But chiefly thou, man ! Lead on the choir and van Of praise that swells on high To thy Saviour in the sky ; Twas for thee He came to die, Raise, raise aloft life's melody ! 97 's Jfunecal. I EAR the tramping of marching feet, Echoing hollow along the street, While heedless passers hurry and meet Somebody's funeral ! How slowy, slowly they move away To the churchyard, in the twilight grey Of a dark and dull December day, Like a natural pall ! Is it the babe from its mother's breast, Away from its soft and downy nest, Away to take its long, long rest ? Somebody's funeral ! Or is it a maiden in her prime, Nipped like the bud before her time, To bloom in a calm and softer clime ? And was it a sudden call ? 98 POEMS AND SONGS. Or haply the mother is silent there Those fervent lips oft moved in prayer For her loved ones in motherly care 1 Ah, somebody's funeral ! Or 'chance it may be a father strong, Or the little lad who would ere long Have sought to fight with evil and wrong Pays the common debt of all. Whoe'er it be, there are hearts that grieve, Who sob and cry on this winter eve, Who bear a sorrow with no reprieve For somebody's funeral ! 99 Jin (Evening 3C TOOK my walk at eventide, A gentle boy was by my side ; We climbed the hill in sweet commune Like sun and stars that keep in tune ; Our converse was of many things, As youth will talk as if on wings ; He made me feel that I knew nought Of problems that a child hath sought To know, and that to higher height His purer imagings had flight, Than ever man's care-loaded mind Round airy pinnacles could wind. 'Like silv'ry gossamers as light, Like dewdrop pearls our talk as bright, Of school and friends and dogs and sheep, Of horned moon and stars that peep, Of snow and ice, and moss and hills, Of winding roads and tinkling rills ; And when at length the setting sun Had run his race at morn begun, 100 POEMS AND SONGS. He tinged the clouds and hills with gold, Our speech of higher things grew bold : Of sunsets in their ev'ry hue, Of rainbow 'gainst the azure blue, Of western parts where stars 'gan shine Like silver from Peruvian mine ; Of clouds that in their myriad forms Are moulded by the calms and storms To likenesses of earth and heaven ; As hills or rills, or waves or graves, As golden hair, or angel stair, As rugged rocks in mountain blocks, As ship in sail, or North Sea whale, As winged steed, or tiger dread, As Polar bear, or eagle rare, As maiden mild, or little child, As giant grim, or angel dim. Then "" once," the youth recorded too, " He watched the clouds in sea of blue Part upward into wondrous shape, The one side like a mighty cape Into the ocean far it went The other like a monument Built for a giant warrior bold, But soon it faded in the gold Of sunset as it ne'er had been, Save that by him it had been seen ! " AN EVENING WALK. 101 wondrous youth of heavenly mould, That looketh for the port of gold Through which ye lately came to earth, A fresh young spirit at your birth ! What wondrous things ye can reveal, That nought on earth else can unseal, For heaven lies open to your gaze By simple faith and sweet amaze ! Ye see the cherubs fly as wind, The great white Throne, the radiant Mind Who sits thereon in glory bright, And clothes the heavens and earth with light ! Alas ! that years should blind our eyes, And break from us those heavenly ties That lift us from a world of care, And make us see those visions fair. " Heaven lies about us in our infancy " * Hath well been sung, for heaven is near, And youth doubts not, but sees it clear, In sunshine bright, in sky of blue, In stars that let the glory through ; While men, who drive their weary round, See nought of wonder in the bound Of earth or sky : life seems a breath, A struggling up the steep of Death ! * Wordsworth's " Ode to Immortality." 102 POEMS AND SONGS. Earth is a star each star a world, By mighty force through chaos hurled ! By law the floods sweep to the sea : "Is life not electricity ?" Wonder hath passed ; the heavens are fled ; The loving God of youth is dead. Thus Science false leads man to gloom, To darkness deeper than the tomb, When all his wisdom can but show How poor is all that he may know. Only a little child may come Within the courts of heaven's bright home ; And here on earth 'tis he may learn The most that man with toil may earn : In Nature's pure and open book He reads with ease a Father's look ! 103 Jag. /JA JOY ! fair nymph of the world, ^^ With sweet face and hair uncurled, With kindling eye and restless mien. With glancing gems and robe of green, Maiden coy and fancy free, Named of old Euphrosyne : Daughter of the gods above, Offspring of eternal Jove ; Born with sister graces three Born of fair Eurynome ! Let me follow thy light trip, As o'er the mountains thou dost skip To highest peak of Alpine throne, Where thou reignest queen alone, To view the sun-god from his car Shoot out with gold the eastern star, To watch the summits rosy red, Like blood-red shields with silver wed, To see the fair and silent land Stretch away to ocean sand, 104 POEMS AND SONGS. With rivers in their courses long, Catching up the brooklet's song, And smooth lakes in silver sheen Reposing in their beds of green. Then with thee descend I will To the rustic peasant mill, Where the stream goes purling by, And sweet singing birds do fly Here and there from tree to tree, Making mildest melody : Where the daughter of the place Leads out the cows and goats to graze, Singing, dreaming all the while Of her lover by the stile, Who last night had vowed that he True to her would ever be. Then onward with thee I would go Down the river soft and slow, Through the forest's pleasant shade, Through the glen and gleaming glade, To the meadow's wid'ning plain, Green and soft with dew and rain, Where the sun shines warm each day, And sweet smells the new-mown hay, Which the peasants gladly pile, Singing songs of love the while ; Where the children run and play, TO JOY. 105 Gath'ring flow'rs the livelong day Buttercups and daisies bright, Emblems of their pure delight ; And at noon retire we will To the grove beneath the hill, Where the sunshine softly plays On green leaves on summer days ; There sweet maidens in a trance Love to skim in giddy dance, With their lovers on the green, On whose arms they gently lean, While the music softly floats, Vieing with the liquid notes Of the song-birds on the trees, Swaying in the zephyr breeze. Then, when ev'ning spreads her veil, And a glory fills the dale, With thee I'd seek the lowly cot, That the gay world knoweth not, Standing sweetly by a stream Like a place within a dream Eoses round its arching door, Mirrored in the glassy floor Of the brooklet as it glides Singing round two other sides There, within, a happy pair, Altogether free from care, 106 POEMS AND SONGS. Teach their little one to run, While two others watch the fun, And the baby laughs and crows, As he from one to th' other goes. Then when moonlight all doth charm, With thee I'd climb up to the farm 'Mid the tall elm trees that sway In the wind near ruins gray Where of old the monks did dine, And sipped the best Castalian wine, While at eve their " aves " said As they tumbled into bed There to-night the ingle's bright, And each room is all alight ; For the bridegroom comes to claim His bride, the eldest of the name, Sprung from that hale thrifty pair, Who sit in each corner chair, By the fire on parlour hearth, With sweet and grave thoughts taking birth, As they muse on bygone years, Through a rising mist of tears : While the bride is now arrayed In her chamber with her maid, Who admires her modest grace, And the sweetness of her face ; Till she hear the bridegroom's voice TO JOY. 107 To make her trembling heart rejoice ; When her father comes to set His pearl in its seat of jet, Sparkling as the dewy morn (East or west she would adorn !) Forth she sails like ship on sea, Away into infinity Of a love that must be tried By long years while side by side, Both with joy and sorrow fraught, With many a care and vexing thought; But gladly doth she give her trust (Until death dissolve to dust All that's mortal of her here) To him she loves and loves so dear : So at last they're made as one, And the pearly tear hath shone On her cheek as bride and wife When she sealed her fate for life, Whisp'ring faint her troth " I do : " Ah, may it never be to rue ! Then come feasting and the dance, When Love shoots his ev'ry lance Into hearts of tender mould That have never known the cold Of the world or falsehood's wiles, That meek innocence beguiles ; 108 POEMS AND SONGS. No, but all are happy there, As they lightly skip in air, Like the lambkins on the wild, In the balmy spring-time mild, Their hearts are light as light can be At the joyous minstrelsy. Then with thee I'd homeward go To the cottage sweet and low, By the river's gushing brim, By the side of forest dim ; Where sweet song-birds sing and 'light From rosy morn till dewy night : There the garden's trim and nice, With apple-blossom for sweet spice, And flowers in their every hue, Bending down with pearly dew. Then within is chief delight When the ingle's blazing bright, And a loving one is near, That can smile and that can bear With the foible, with the fear, And rejoices all to hear. There the lamp is trimly lit And for hours we snugly sit, Reading 'loud or talking long Of the great who loved a song Milton sublime or Robert Burns, TO JOY. 109 Shakespeare and many more by turns. And haply when the couch is near, Thy sister Grace may draw a tear From the fount of David's spring, And brush it off upon thy wing ; Or, soaring higher, yet may find Some better thing e'en to thy mind. Such, Joy, is thine to give To all who chaste and rightly live ! 110 Jftttherless JJairn*. /1ft H, waes me, the nicbt I sit doon and greet For the mitherless bairns in the cot by the moor, Sae mouy that scarce ken their han's frae their feet, Wha rumble and tumble in play on the floor ! Ah ! the wee things they kenna the loss they've had, They think that their mither may come back again ; The shadow hath passed why should they be sad? Is not the sky blue after dark, drenching rain ? I met a wee maid as I went on my way, And she smiled a sad smile as she looked in my face ; Then said she sae simply, " My mother is dead !'' And turned down her eyes in a watery haze. THE MITHERLESS BAIRNS. Ill I strok'd her fair cheek, and spoke out my grief, And told how I pitied ; that God would take care Of the mitherless bairns : but I had to be brief, As a lump in my throat choked my utterance there. Then at the doorstep I met a wee lad, Wha used to be roguish and full of fine glee, With a serious face that kenned to be sad Said he " Mother's dead " in tones of mystery. Ah ! little he kenned, the puir little man, The frien' he had lost he never would find The frien' that nursed him when his small life began, Had left him and all for ever behind. The faither in anguish knows not what to do, When he looks on his helpless bit bairns by the fire, But silent tears start like a fountain anew, That tell a sad tale of the heart's strong desire. 112 POBMS AND SONGS. Oh, waes me the nicht, I sit doon and greet, For the mitherless bairns in the cot by the moor ; And on my soul rises a prayer to God's feet, That He would protect the mitherless poor. 113 toe we seek a home on earth's fair glade, 'Mid bowers of green that bloom and fade, Where waters murmur to the sea, And sing the sweetest lullaby ? Shall we seek a home on island fair, Where scarce may come a breath of care, Where is no voice of weeping heard To mock the thrill of singing bird 1 Shall we seek a home on yon bright land Across the sea on golden strand, Where summer never comes nor goes, Where is no frost nor winter snows ? Shall we seek a home 'neath Southern skies, Where groves of palm and citron rise ; Arid balrny spices on the breeze Are wafted far o'er summer seas ? H 114 POEMS AND SONGS. Or shall we seek a home more near, Deep in the glen where mountains rear Their lofty heads 'mid wreathing clouds, Like giant forms in snowy shrouds ? love, it matters not where'er We make our home, for there will care Our footsteps track, and grief will come, Though love should ever dwell at home. But, far above these realms of light, There is a land where is no night, Where never comes a grief nor care : love we'll make our home up there ! 115 I'b lather. 3T'D RATHER be a lark and sing ^ Far up upon the wing, Than man, who crawls upon the sod, And never praises God. I'd rather be a butterfly And fall when night is nigh, Than be a giddy son of time To reel at midnight chime. I'd rather be a dog, and bay The moon at shut of day, Than creeping unchaste subtle thief, Who steals out virtue's leaf. I'd rather be a mole and scrape 'Neath earth for grub or tape, Than miser 'mid his heaps of gold, With heart all frozen cold. 116 POEMS AND SONGS. I'd rather be a cuckoo bird To be by lovers heard, Than he who never keeps his word To man or to his Lord. 117 C/lTHERE is a loch among the hills ^ Not far remote from silv'ry Cree ; It sparkles in an emerald cup, The bonnie, bonnie Loch o' Dee. How grand the mountains lift on high Their cloud-capped heads in giant glee ; While at their feet in dreamland sleeps The bonnie, bonnie Loch o' Dee. And when the sun doth tinge the east, And wake the humming of the bee ; He glows on every wavelet's rim On bonnie, bonnie Loch o' Dee. Then all the rills down from the hills In silver sheen trip glad and free, And come to kiss in laughing bliss The bonnie, bonnie Loch o 7 Dee, 118 POEMS AND SONGS. The angler in his happiest mood Doth wade the water to the knee ; Or from a boat beguiles fair trout In bonnie, bonnie Loch o' Dee. And nigh doth stand a lowly cot Within dwell wife and bairnies three ; While love doth reign in humble hearts By bonnie, bonnie Loch o' Dee. welcome is the traveller there, By worrying toil and folk let be, To eat and drink, and spend the night On bonnie, bonnie Loch o' Dee. Away flee thought and black, black care, Like Gadarean herd to sea, When he roams or angles on the shore J bonnie, bonnie Loch o' Dee. 119 the DAINTY little robin, Singing on the spray, Wak'ning all the echoes Of joy the live-long day ; When the morn is bright and fair, Robin, thou art glad ; But if 'tis wet and drear, Then, birdie, thou art sad. When thou sing'st a cheery note, 'Tis a song of heaven, Of joy above, peace on earth Peace of a soul forgiven. Thou seem'st to me an angel Of humanity, Pensive in thy sorrow, Bearing us sympathy. 120 POEMS AND SONGS. 0, dainty little robin, Sing thy simple lay, Thou teachest man to sing- Praise for an endless day. 121 (Stoening tu oBinter. CrJTHE curtain folds around us now ^^ As softly as the falling snow, But yet 'tis tinged with sunset glow, And kisseth gently earth's fair brow. As softly falls the downy sleep, Upon our eyelids on our bed, That sleep and death seem almost wed ; It is so calm ; it is so deep ! As softly folds our Father's arm Around his child from morn till eve ; We feel it not, yet it doth weave Its length around to keep from harm ! 122 (FOR A YOUNG FRIEND.) PHIL makes the birds to sing, Some in wood and some on wing ; Little lark mounts up on high To the gates of heaven's blue sky ; Little robin in the grove Sings a pensive song of love ; Little sparrow on the wall Chirps as if he ne'er would fall ; * Little shelfa on a tree Twirls his roundelay in glee ; And the blackbird in the bush Rivals the sweet singing thrush. * Matthew x., i APRIL. 123 April makes the flowers to bloom As if winter had no tomb, Little primrose in the dell Smiles and gives a fragrant smell ; Little daisy on the lea Droops her head in modesty ; Roses round the cottage door Bud with hedge and hawthorn hoar ; Buttercups in meadows gay Spring to greet the morning ray ; And the rain and sunshine come To make earth a flowery home. April makes the lambs to bleat, While they run with nimble feet Some on hillside far from fold, Some on meadow green and gold : Some the little orphan lambs, That have known no other dams Than the maid and wife at farm, Who securely keep from harm, Give the needed milk from pail, While they wag their curly tail Yard and field and hill are rife With such signs of joyous life, 124 POEMS AND SONGS. April makes the children play In the woods and meadows gay ; Gather flowers and chase the bee, Or recline on grassy lea ; Makes the boys to hunt in zest For each little birdie's nest, Or to fish in burnie clear With what fish have nought to fear ; Then the sower casts the seed For the rich and poor man's need, And the life of all the earth Joins in songs of praise and mirth ! . 125 be to the LARK, that gaily sing'st aloft, Far up within the bright blue sky, That soarest ever at the gate Of heaven to rival its sweet minstrelsy ! What spirit is within thy breast, As upward from the earth thou mount'st 1 Upward from out thy dewy nest, Thou pourest forth that flood of song, Like mountain torrent pure and strong, Unending in its rushing down From rock to rock, from pool to pool, To ocean of infinity ! What air of heav'n is in thy strain, As far from sorrow thou dost fly, Each note the sweeter, as from stain Of earth thou mount'st into the sky, Singing and soaring, soaring and singing, " With all the heavens about thee ringing ! " What heart may listen to thy lay From out the cloud of rainbow hue, 126 POEMS AND SONGS. And not be purer and more gay, Like dust-stained flow'rs refreshed with dew \ What soul that's crusted round with care Or darkened with ingratitude, May longer live in dread despair, Or fail to praise the God he should, When shamed with thy mad-thankful mood ? thou joyful praising creature ! Shall I name thee bird or spirit 1 Thou hast so divine a nature Like no other thing on earth A spirit of immortal birth Longing to embrace the heaven ; And, so like man's fretting soul, Which would seek an endless goal ! But alas, in vain ! Thou dost descend again, When wearied with thy song to weary men ; To earth thou must return, Tho' with fire thy bosom burn ; Too weak thy strength, too short thy strain, That thou the pearly gate should'st gain, To join the heavenly choristers, Who hymn immortal praise. But thou must rest within thy nest Again a little while, Once more undaunted to beguile ODE TO THE LARK. 127 Men's hearts from earthly cares and fears, With thy soaring and thy singing, To win from his soul's fount the tears, To teach him that his doom is not to die, But with thee to live, to sing for ever in the sky. 128 THE PEASANT S LAMENT. smells the clover on the lea. And sweet the new-mown hay, And blythe the larks sing in the cloud, All bringing back a day, When love's fire leapt within my breast, And made me sing for joy, Subdued by fear, lest it might prove A pleasure that would cloy. Down by the river's gentle sweep, A mill stood in the sun, And there one ev'ning passing by, I saw a maiden run Across the courtyard to a cot, Bright mirrored in the wave, And as she ran she glanced at me : What was that look she gave 1 MARY A BALLAD. 129 Like arrow from young Cupid's bow, Her look shot through my heart, The ev'ning seemed to redden, And fog-clouds all depart ; The clover smelt yet sweeter, And roses blushed anew, I wandered on in Dreamland, On eagle wings I flew. My dream of life had opened all Like rose-bud full in June All Nature sang in harmony, As chords in sweetest tune ; I knew then what I longed for once With deep yet senseless pain, Though felt howe'er so vaguely Was not meant to be in vain. Ere long I saw my sweet Mary, And she shyly welcomed me, And though no word of love she spoke, It was no mystery. Then months of happiness flew by, As if on angel wing, But, haply, it was far too sweet For it to have no sting. I 130 POEMS AND SONGS. For, days of darkness came full soon That brought an awful woe : Oh, why should man be left to mourn If Love inflict the blow 1 Why doth the blue sky dip in sea That dark and leaden flood 1 And why the bloom of love be checked, And nipped while in the bud ? Her parents and a sister dear, And brother, one by one, Were borne away by early death, And she was left alone. But though her faith was firm and true, And hope was anchored sure, She pined in heart and outward health, While nothing seemed to cure. She pined because the blow was great, Far greater than she knew ; She sickened like a tender flower, Though brave, and warm, and true : And though I cheered her with my love, It seemed to be in vain : Her spirit drooped as doth a flower Beneath a drenching rain : MARY A BALLAD. 131 And with the sorrow of her soul, The rose upon her cheek Had faded and become like snow Upon an Alpine peak : And then anon a hectic flush Did burn hot like live coal, As if the body would become The window of her soul, And speak of love too strong to live In tenement of clay, That, looking out from prison bars, Doth break to heaven away : And waiting there the treasure here, With God content to rest, Till mortal take immortal bloom, And fold him to her breast. Ah ! now within the grave she lies : She hath left me here to weep, And though the clover smelleth sweet, I long with her to sleep ; 132 POEMS AND SONGS. Tho' larks do wing their flight to heaven, And thrill with joy divine, I fain would fly, beyond the sky My song with hers combine. JSONNETS A|ND jShORT SONNETS AND SHORT POEMS. softly to me, for the day is done, And silence fits the restful hour of night ; Speak calmly to me, for the fight is won, Though much he lost in trying to do right. And when the weight of armour is laid past, And the tired body racked with pain or fret, I need the softly-spoken word at last, To take away vain worry or regret, Speak softly to me, and bring angels near, From out the blue heaven wafted silently, And let our converse be 'tween souls so dear, As fitting beings of eternity. Speak softly, then, for heaven is in the air, And I would breathe the atmosphere of pray'r. 136 Jt gntnmer <8abbaih (Efce. HIS eve was peaceful as an angel's dream, While softly fanned our brow a zephyr breeze ; The earth and flowers were bathed in golden gleam, And birds sang praise on wing and on the trees; The faintest sound from far as music sweet Was heard upon the balmy air, and all Was still, as if departed souls would meet Their risen bodies at the trumpet's call. Such peace of Nature speaks of peace within, When storm and tempest are for ever past, When we have triumphed o'er our doubt and sin, And anchored in the love of God at last. Oh, could we enter into this sweet peace, Heaven would be here, and we would find release ! 137 Jftorning. springs the morn from out the saffron east, And blushes, like a maiden in her prime, Chasing away the vapour and the rime, That night doth spread as banquet cloth at feast Of star-gods, and spirit-nymphs of yore, Who start to life in ancient Grecian lore ; And sparkles on each blade of grass the dew, As countless pearls upon the youthful breast Of fairest lady on a couch at rest, While flow'rs awake to greet the morn anew ; And hark ! within the grove are heard the notes Of myriad choristers whose liquid throats Pour forth a flood of song. The peasant hears, When fresh from sleep for labour he appears. 138 (Stoning. CrjJHE ev'ning calm comes stealing o'er me now, ^^ And musing deep I feel its soothing breath, As balm upon the soul, or flowery wreath That lightly sits upon the victor's brow ; And o'er the west is shed a glorious light. As if to herald the goddess of the night : The labourer quits his toil, and hastens home With weary step, but pleasant beaming face ; His task is done and soon he will embrace The little ones, who watch till father come : Within the house the tidy mother sits Expectant in the fire-light's ruddy glow, While through the casement moon and stars do show Their silv'ry light on this sweet scene as well befits. 139 A MOUNTAIN IN GALLOWAY. SCREEL ! that lift'st thy head up to the sky, And look'st abroad upon a lovely world, Save when thy rugged peak around is curled With mist or cloud ; how do I long that 1 Might dwell in region of thy sov'reign air Within the blue, all free from wordly care ! Through endless ages thou hast stood the same And looked across the ocean's ceaseless tide, And heard its roar and murmur 'neath thy side Before that puny man possessed a name ; And yet thou stand'st, unshaken to remain In purple robes, till he be nought again : Emblem of thine Almighty Maker thou, Who is a Rock before whom all must bow ! 140 the (Same on GLORIOUS mountain ! I must leave thee now, No more to gaze upon thy rocky brow, No more to watch the fleecy clouds float o'er Thy craggy steeps, nor see the eagle soar Above thy top up to the pearly gate Of heaven, where bright winged angels wait To kiss away the tears of those who leave With saddened face the friends on earth who grieve. No more I'll hear the lark trill forth his lay Beneath thy side, nor throstle wake the day, The curlew wail in swooping circles driven, Nor ocean swell around thy rocks once riven By ceaseless tide : I leave thee far behind, But never will I leave thee out of mind ! 141 to ffl\ COME now, gentle Spring, come agair, And soothe me with thy softly patt'ring rain ! Come with the lambkin's merry frisk and bleat, The blackbird's song piped from his thorn-tree seat, The waking thrush at morn with mellow notes, As e'er were poured through tiny feathered throats. Come with the crocus and the daisy bright, The spreading leaves from winter's dreary night, The purling brook that hurries to the sea, The sprouting grass, the lark that sings in glee, The humming bee, the butterfly in gold, And ev'ry secret influence in the mould, That from dark death to life doth work anew, And show that God doth keep His promise true. 142 '7TTHE breath of Spring blows sweet again like ^ balm, A stirring of the birds is in the trees, A motion of the mould by flowers agrees With that above, to sing a joyful psalm Of wak'ning life, that springs from Winter's calm; In babbling joy the brook runs to the seas, And almost in my ear I hear the bees, That sip the sweets all day without a qualm. Life, how strange that comes from out the night Of death, to move to joy that lasts an hour ! How may we know the secret of thy light And love, that bloom like amaranthine flower? Art thou like spring that fadeth while yet bright, Or something that reveals eternal Power ? 143 fl\ SUMMER ! with thy garish day and flowers, ^^ Thy leafy trees and many honied bowers, I welcome thee from winter of my heart ; Thou bid'st each care and fear from me depart. For back the days of youth again return With thee, and we no tuore in sadness mourn : Again we wander in the meadows gay, With tiny feet to pluck the flowers in May ; And from the grass the lark mounts up on high To sing his carol in the bright blue sky ; The hours fly past, like to an angel's dream, Or flitting butterfly, or murm'ring stream : Nor care, nor fear doth o'er the spirit rise, Summer, in thy realm of paradise ! 114 JUtumn. AUTUMN ! with thy golden sheaves and heath Of brown and purple on the mountain side ; Thou shedd'st thy g'lory with each passing breath In fruit and flowers and leaves o'er landscape wide ; With plenty thou dost fill thy horn, to pour It forth into the lap of mother earth ; And silently thou stealest through the door Of Time, like child that knows not of his birth : How full of gladness dost thou fill the heart Of man, as he thy bounty well receives ! And pensive sadness, too, thou giv'st in part Through token of life's changes in the leaves That rustle on the ground. may we bear The fruits of Autumn, when our leaves are sear ! 145 Thou hast deigned to let Thy glory thro' At even upon this death-doomed earth of ours ; Betwixt the bars of thunder cloud each hue, Each colour in the rainbow gem, like flow'rs Besprinkled on the coffin of a saint, Glowed out upon the western sky so bright, That it would baffle all faint words to paint, What seemed to be like heaven and heaven's light. The glory brought back mern'ry of a day, When tidings dark had wrapt my soul in night, Bat in desponding mood upon my way The clouds of eve were gilded in my sight : 1 blessed Thee, Lord; my heart gave praise anew, That in the night of death Thou lettVt Thy glory through. ISlh October, 1885, 116 Jt WAY from whir of man and buzz of brain I fled up to the hill in evening light : And the glory that did flood my sight The glory of the sunshine after rain, To which no word nor brush could e'er attain To give conception of the radiance bright, The sun cast backward in his wheeling flight, Though bard or painter should be e'er so fain. The moon was green, and clouds were red and chrome, The purple in their heavier forms did change To grey in fading light; each breath I drew Transformed, kaleidoscope-like, heaven's vast dome, As if the Heavenly Limner did arrange It all on purpose, to show old things new. In April, 1887. 147 Barrxrto. THOU green vale, that wind'st thro' purple hills, I greet thee from afar with yearning heart, I wait with hope the day I'll see thy rills, That echo music soft in ev'ry part The music of a bygone age of song, That thrills to ecstacy or wakes to weep Adown thy steeps the fairies trooped along, And plunged into thy thickets dark and deep, Here piped " The Shepherd " soft his rustic lay, And k< The Last Minstrel" sang in Newark tower The deeds of chivalry at shut of day To ladies gay, and Duchess in her bower. Thy charms of song, thy charms of rustic scene? I'd paint for ever in eternal green. us Cora |Cinn. (FALLS OF CLYDE. ) Sf WEET scene of peace ! but what a thund'rous C^/ voice Doth echo from thy fall, Cora Linn ! As if Dame Nature, bent on making noise, Would please by contrast peace and deaf ning din! Spell-bound we stand in wonder and in awe, Enchanted as with magic of a dream ; We feel the grandeur of resistless law, We feel the beauty of the woods and stream. Oh, could we dwell within the shelt'ring shade Of thy fair woods ! oh, could we hear thy voice For ever in our ears, all that God made, Which we call "I," would ne'er cease to rejoice! Oh, may thy pow'r be cast around our life, And free us from its weary care and strife ! 149 a jfHackbirb in a Chitrchgarb. BIRD, with yellow bill, that singest sweet! Who wak'nest echoes of the bygone years, And mov'st the soul to start the gentle tears, As mem'ry hurries back with flying feet : How can'st thou carol on the tree so gay Above the dead, who sleep beneath the sod ? How can'st thou break the stillness of the clay, That fain would rest till waked by trump of God? But yet, methinks, there's sadness in thy lay, From tone subdued and soft in ev'ry note, As if thy song would mourn the luckless day Which 'reft the earth of youth and budding thought : Thy song, or sad or glad, doth tell to me The joy of Being, in time or in eternity ! SONGS. ^peasant Bachelor's <8 3TLK morn I rise I'm dreary, 0, Ilk eve I'm weary, weary, ; Oh, this dreary life ! I'll tak' a wife, And sail ayont the sea. When I am wae and weary, 0, There's nane to mak' me cheerie, ; This bachelor life ! I'll tak' a wife, An' think nae mair to dee, 154 POEMS AND SONGS. There's Kate sae guid and gearie, 0, There's Jean sae blithe and cheerie, ; Guid save my life ! I'll tak' a wife If I could tak' the twa. And yet there's Min sae queenly, 0, And Tib sae neat and cleanly, ; "Deil tak' my life ! ' 1 * I'd tak' a wife, But I lo'e them ane and a'. But still there's ae wee leddy, 0, Wi' a he'rt o' love fu' ready, ; She's a' my life, I'll mak' my wife, Wi' her gang far awa' ! * This expression is not thought profane, hut only a strong colloquial exclamation among the peasantry of Scotland. This is seen in an anecdote told of Watty Dunlop, the Dissenting minister of Dumfries. On one occasion Watty visited a village that consisted of a single street, at one end of which a woman was trying to turn "grumphie" out of a field of potatoes. She was well nigh baffled, arid exclaimed "Deil choke ye!" He went on without remark. At the other end of the village another woman was trying to chase hens out of a cornfield, and was altogether beaten and exhausted. As a last resource she exclaimed "Deil tak' ye ! " The minister stood up and said "Ma wumman, he'll be here enoo. He's jist at the ither end o' the toon thrang chokin' swine | " 155 VE, young love, is warm and true, Clothed with dawn and bathed in dew, Ardent with each burning thought, Singing aye a passionate note. Love, young love, hath curly hair, Wings of gold and limbs all bare, Face of hope and high emprise, Mouth a rose, and bright blue eyes. Love, young love, is ill to bind, Flits upon the scouring wind, Enters in thro' prison bars Tender hearts he wounds and scars. Love, young love, will ne'er turn round, Once a gateway he hath found, Clasps his darling fast and tight, Will not leave by day or night \ 1.56 Jxrhnnp (Socket, RETIRED TANNER. Johnny Cocket Has cash in his pocket, A carriage, a footman, and a' ; He hunts 'mang the heather, But ne'er talks o' leather, That noo he's the laird o' the ha'. A bachelor he, But nae pedigree, Yet fain would he wed Leddy Jean ; He talked o' fine weather, But never o' leather, When wooin' wi' micht sic a queen, SQUIRE JOHNNY COCKET. 157 Leddy Jean she was shy, But puir, by the bye ; Would gladly hae wed a rich lord : She liked na the leather, But took the gold tether, When the offer was well nigh four-scored ! Squire John he was crouse, Wi' Leddy Jean douce, His fancy on wings fled awa' ; " I have nae pedigree ', But wait, let me see, I sune may hae bairns at the ha'." A year passed awa', An' syne he had twa, A twin little lassie and lad ; The Squire he did blether : " There's naething like leather, For whilk a' things can be had ! " 158 h, Yarn's (ganc Jttoa' ! ff\ H, Tarn's gane awa', and left me to dree, To sab and weep sairly ; In the green kirkyaird I could lay me to dee, For my he'rt is broken fairly ! He vowed to be true and aye to be mine, And kissed me so fondly ; He stole my he'rt, my affections to tine, When a few months had gane sae fleetly. He pluck't me a rose to put in my breast, And for my hair a lily ; For he said I blushed like the sun in the west, And at him did look sae shyly. He ca'd me his dear, and pressed sae close, How could I think him wily? And would he come back I'd forget, God knows, For love, like a dove, is silly. OH, TAM'S GANE AWA'. 159 Oh, Tarn's gane awa', and left me to dree, To sab and weep sairly ; In the green kirkyaird I could lay me to dee, For my he'rt is broken fairly. 160 Jamie's Jltoa' Otoer the Jamie's awa' ower the sea ! My Jamie's a\N a' ower the sea ! His fortune to seek and a bride me to make, For sae he wad hae me to be. My Jamie's aw a' ower the sea ! My Jamie's awa' ower the sea ! The robin doth pipe and the merlin doth sing, But oh, it is sadness to me ! My Jamie's awa' ower the sea ! My Jamie's awa' ower the sea ! The autumn winds sigh aroon' oor bit cot, And the saut tears they blin' a' my e'e. My Jamie's awa' ower the sea ! My Jamie's awa' ower the sea ! Ilk morn and ilk eve is the wail o' rny he'rt, For death is appointed to me. MY JAMIE'S AW A' OWER THE SEA. 161 My Jamie's awa' ower the sea ! My Jamie's awa' ower the sea ! And ne'er while on earth shall I meet him again, But we'll meet whaur nae pairtin' shall be ! 162 JJannte, be i0 pfee a jUae Jlotoer. MY love is like a blue flower, My love is light and gay, my love is like a violet my love is like the sky in June, As calm and sweetly bright, my love is like the pearly dew Sparkling in the light. my love is like a fairy fay, That trips upon the green, Her form encased in diamonds rare, That shine like ocean-sheen. my love is like an angel pure, Upon the rainbow rim ; Her smile lit up with hope and love, Her eyes with sweet tears dim. MY LOVE IS LIKE A BLUE FLOWER. 167 my love is bright and fair to see, And Lucy is her name ; while I love my Lucy dear, I'll spread abroad her fame. 168 hae glank ani hae rank and riches, Some hae naething ava ; I wad hae a wee cot hoose, Nor envy great nor sma' ! The laird, wha has a big hoose, A carriage and pair and a', Wha has lumps o' Ian' and servants, An's fit ahint the ba', Can peace o' min' not purchase, When thoosan' cares annoy, While beauty and wealth's aroond him, He cannot them enjoy. An* sae wi' kings and lordlings, Tost and teasled by a', They draw lang faces an' groan At ilka courtier's ca', SOME HAE RANK AND RICHES. 169 The Queen, wha has rich dresses, Bedeckt and jewelled and a' ; Wha holds stiff neck to ladies May dearly wish awa' To a wee cot by a burnside, Where rank is naething ava, And weary starchy faces Are ne'er seen in the ha'. There's Robin wi' his cot hoose, Wi' hens and grumphies twa, " Wi' scarce a plack upon his back,' Is the happiest e'er I saw. Some hae rank and riches, Some hae naething ava; I wad hae a wee cot hoose, Nor envy great nor snia' ! 170 Jlear Jenng. iLJEAR Jenny, I lo'e thee, but I maun awa' C^ To the toon, where the gay lark ne'er sings, And at e'enin' nae meetin' in the green birken shaw Wi' thee to whom my heart clings. The sweet winding river will gurgle its lane, And the wee bird be silently sad, Sin' love is departed and summer is gane Frae the glen, where all was sae glad. The flow'rs that did bloom like the flow'r o' thy cheek Will wither and nae mair be seen ; The dog-rose, the pansy, and daisy sae meek, Will smile nae mair where we hae been, DEAR JENNY. 171 But though smoky the toon, and smutty the street, Wi' rapture I'll mind the hour weel, When, at e'enin', I hastened, my Jenny to meet, A heaven in her presence to feel. And time cannot sever my love from me ever, Again I'll come back to my dear ; Though winter winds howl, and be frozen the river, My love will be warm never fear ! MISCELLANEOUS. OR EKE, snugly by my cottage fire, CT/ In spite of cold, and whistling ire Of wind thro 7 keyhole, and round eaves In swift pursuit of dust, or leaves, I sit me down to tell a tale, Somewhat that hap't within the dale A few years now agone, and I Remember it, and heave a sigh. It was a night like this, and snow Fell from the heaven to earth below, Veiling the air with darkness dense, And well-nigh stifling sound and sense, 176 POEMS AND SONGS. Save that the wind did howl and moan, Wreathing the snow on moorland lone, And making one feel drear and sad, In spite of all to make him glad. In whirling gusts down from the sky, If sky there were none could descry A tinge of blue, or glance of star, Throughout the elemental war. From morn the snow-flakes flitted down, O'er moor, and sea, and hill, and town, And yet they flitted in the night, And, driven fierce and far in flight, They filled the roads and hedges hoar, Nor any trace of footstep bore : For, blocked the ways were, and none dare To go forth in such subtle snare, That lures to sleep, and sleep to Death, Stealing away the gentle breath. Alas ! the wight who hath to go Out in the wilderness of snow : It chills the limbs and chokes the breath As on he plods from wreath to wreath : And well he knows the awful strife He wars with it for very life : No light of moon nor star is seen, No trembling of Aurora-sheen ; The feet do miss the wonted way, THE SNOWSTORM. 177 And ah ! how quickly they may stray Away from home, tho' home be near, Ere yet may be a thought of fear. In such a night the shepherd knows The danger from the blinding snows : He wraps him round in tartan plaid, By his own wife's hand deftly made, Around the head and o'er the back, Like Esquimaux in blanket sack. One look bestowed on wife and child, He dares not trust affection mild Lest he might fail in duty brave, Nor seek the master's flock to save : A whistle to his faithful dog He gives, and then, o'er lea and bog, Thro' choking drift he onward plods, To strive with Fate 'gainst fearful odds. 'Twas thus a shepherd in the dale Went forth to breast the stormy gale ; The night was falling fast I ween, Tinto and Culter were not seen ; The Pentlands did not heave in sight Their rounded form as in the light ; The brooklet did not hurry on Past cot and farm thro 1 moorland lone ; 178 POEMS AND SONGS. But all was clothed in thickening mist, The heaven and earth had more than kissed, In rough and angry drifting storm Of snow, the earth had hid her form : The ice did hold the stream in thrall, The ear did lack the murm'rous fall, But yet on such a night as this The heart would long for other bliss The bliss of being safe at home With wife and child no more to roam. Yet moorlands have their heroes brave, Who from the snow their flocks must save, With heart as stout as soldier wight, Who for his country wrong or right Must die afar from home and friend, And suffer thus a violent end. The shepherd left his shelt'ring home, Far o'er the moor he had to roam, To seek the safety of his flock, And shield them from the tempest's shock : He battled hard thro' wreath and blast, And oft upon his face was cast ; But up he bravely got, and on He trudged, till he the task had done. He found the flock and safe them put THE SNOWSTORM. 179 Within the shelter of a hut : Then, satisfied, he backward turned To his own home, where brightly burned The fire on hearth, the fire in heart .Of wife from whom he late did part. His collie, faithful at his heel, Kept close, as if he liked to feel Near to his master in the strife Of elements that warred with life. Thus on they went for one good mile, By this they should have reached the stile That was not distant from his door Two hundred yards, or little more. But not one landmark could he see, The wind blew with ferocity, Far greater than when first he'd gone Across the moorland dread and lone. At length he saw he'd lost the way, His brave heart shuddered with dismay When he thought of his wife and child, And pictured her distraction wild, When long hours told her utmost fears, And sent her forth with streaming tears, To ask the help of others nigh, To seek fur him ere that he die. 180 POEMS AND SONGS. But bravely, bravely he fought on 'Gainst wind and drift till Hope had gone, For, he had trudged, it seemed for hours, Amid that waste of frozen flow'rs ; And though he knew, if he lay down To sleep, too soon would Death it crown ; Yet, as, when Chinese smoke the ball Of opium, they straightway fall Where'er they sit in senseless doze, So cold and weakness limbs had froze, And helpless he fell down in snow, As falls a helpless smitten roe. Wrapt in his plaid with one short pray'r For wife and child, that God would care For them if he would ne'er again Meet them on earth then breathes, Amen ! Amen, in life ! Amen, in death ! And so we yield our fleeting breath God-giv'n and tak'n how He will, And surely meaning us no ill. As flow'rs, that bloom in frosty air, Bask in the sun, and fall a snare To biting wind at eventide, So life by circumstance doth glide Forth on the balmy breath of heaven THE SNOWSTORM. 181 By kindly death most gently riven ; And though we may lament the end Of him who was a loving friend, To Death we shall a debtor be, When joy shall fill eternity. Meanwhile the mother by the fire Is full of longing, deep desire To hear his feet within the door, And cheery voice as heretofore. 'Tween ev'ry gust of wind that beats, She harks, till Hope again retreats, And ebbs like sea upon the shore As if it would return no more. As when the small bird from her nest Hath absent been, of food in quest, Returning, finds it robbed and torn By ruthless hands : sad and forlorn She sits upon a twig near by, A sea of sorrow in her eye, Her little heart throbs slow and dull, Nor wakes her song the evening lull So sits the mother on the hearth, Her song is hushed, and baby-mirth Is quieted by face of fear, And more unwonted pearly tear. 182 POEMS AND SONGS. Hark ! what a sound falls on her ear ! A low quick bark of " Yarrow " near ! joy, he comes ! She opes the doorj Yet nothing but the storm's loud roar Appears in all that chaos dark : what ? what ? Another bark Is heard not far she rusheth out When baby's laid, and gives a shout : No human voice doth give reply ; But there is Yarrow standing by The house side, shivering with cold, With drooping tail not as of old, When, with his master by his side, He in a joyous way would glide Up to his mistress on the hearth, And manifest a cheerful mirth By wag of tail and lick of hand, And, joyfully at her command, Watch calmly o'er the sleeping child : Now his distress hath made her wild ; She frantic lifts her hand in air Arid shrieks for pain, then breathes a pray'r, When calmness comes, and forth she goes En wrapt in plaid thro' drifting snows, To ask the help of " master ' near To seek for him she loves so dear. Tho' well-nigh stifled, yet to door THE SNOWSTORM. 183 Of farm she comes, but scarce for roar Of tempest can her knock be heard, And feebly can they hear her word When once 'twas oped, yet her sharp pain Was quickly seen, and not in vain, Through kindness shown by man and wife ; Three stalwart sons will seek the life, That lies imperilled in the snow : With dogs and lanterns forth they go, They walked the fields, both near and far, But all seemed changed, tho' moon and star Shone out at length no object seen Could tell them where he might have been. Each hedge and bush was buried deep, As if they did repose in sleep Beneath the fair white cover spread ; Alas ! that it should shroud the dead, Who late were full of health and life, And love for home, and child, and wife ! Hour after hour they walked, but nought Could they get sight of him they sought ; Then, sadly to their home return, To tell their tale to all who mourn. Rest they must have, and wait the light Of morn, when better strength and sight 184 POEMS AND SONGS. Might aid them in the saddened quest ; But ah ! the waiting ; oh ! what test To her who wrings her hands and prays To God, " Out of the snowy maze To save her husband buried deep From the insensate fatal sleep." How slow that hour to dawn of day Did seem with her to pass away : At length the faintest streak of light Shone in, and told them that the night Had gone ; so forth again they go Into the 'wildering waste of snow To search as they had done before. Now, scarce a stone-cast from the door, Something was seen, and as they near, Yarrow, his dog, it did appear. But something more was at his feet, That made their pulses quickly beat : Was it his master he had sought, All night with wind and snow had fought, To watch o'er him 1 or scrape away The drifting snow from where he lay ? Alas ! alas ! too soon they found The shepherd lying on the ground ; His breast all covered o'er with snow, His feet extending down below, Where Yarrow had it cleared away ; THE SNOWSTORM. 185 His face gazed vacant on the day, The features and the limbs were stiff (And oh, what pathos hangs on if !) If they had been in time last night, Those eyes might yet have looked on light, Those hands have clasped a tender one, And many gracious deeds have done ; Those lips have kissed the infant child, And taught the way that's undefiled The way to heaven thro' weary earth, Where sorrow dulls our song and mirth. Ah, me ! that what doth give delight Should fill us with amaze and fright : The body noble house of soul, Would seem to have heaven for its goal, But when Death hath it in his hold We shudder at the touch of cold, And well-nigh tremble at the sight Of what we loved in life's sweet light ! Full soon they bore him on that morn To her, whose heart and life were torn, And left to struggle with dark Fate One little darling for her mate ; Yet bravely she her grief did bear A heroine like the hero there. A few more days, they buried him ? 186 POEMS AND SONGS. And many eyes with tears were dim ; For friends had come from far and near, To place a laurel on his bier. And show their sympathy with her Whose grief their inmost heart did stir. Not least among the mourners there Was Yarrow lying 'neath a chair, Curled up, nigh where the coffin lay, With jealous eye that seemed to say : " Touch not my master ! " yet a howl Did alternate with stifled growl ; And when told to "be quiet," and they Drew near to take the corse away, To his deep grief he gave sure sign, And uttered long a low sad whine ! Slow o'er the moor the funeral went, To Carnwath churchyard steps were bent ; And all the earth was robed in white, Like vesture of an angel bright ; The sun shone down on Tinto fair, Keen was the crisp Italian air ; And farmers, in their canny ways, Altho' their late friend they did praise, Talked of their prospect for the year, That this was cheap, and that was dear ; For, life to them a serious fight, Left little room for hero bright. THE SNOWSTORM 187 And they, themselves, would do the same As he had done, nor think of fame. Dark is the grave, and cold, and deep, But 'tis not dark to them who sleep, And darker, when the white snow lies Around the edge, and blue the skies Bend o'er in pity for our woe ! Oh, darker would I say 1 Ah, no ! Far brighter, brighter far, for then The soul thinks of a Home for men Beyond this vale of tears, and where, Within the pure, celestial air Their robes are snow, and heaven's own light The Light of God doth banish Night. 188 Jin Infant'* Oitab*. a little grave, In the quiet churchyard ; 'Neath a marble cross, In the quiet churchyard. 'Twas a little mound, In the green churchyard ; 'Neath flowers and moss, In the green churchyard. There the robin sang, In the still churchyard ; Pensive sorrow sweet, In the still churchyard. There a mother lay, In the cold churchyard ; Her babe at her feet, In the cold churchyard, AN INFANT'S GRAVE. 189 There sweet children played, In the calm churchyard ; By the little mound, In the calm churchyard. And there angels bent In God's garden bed, Keeping watch around O'er the u blessed dead." 190 -Sang. LITTLE hedge-sparrow sat on a tree, And sang as blythe as blythe could be From my heart I thanked her for her lay That cheered me on my lonesome way. I was ashamed to feel so sad, When she could be so bright and glad, Without the shelter of a home, Save that of heaven's spacious dome ; Without the knowledge of a meal, She sang whate'er her heart did feel Of thanks and praise for mercies past, Nor feared that these would be her last. She sang because the day was bright The sun shed down his gladsome light ; And in her heart there was no night She sang as it was meet and right. THE HEDGE-SPARROW'S SONG. 191 How could I mourn, and fret, and fume, As if on earth there was no room For mortals such as T, when heaven To birds both place and joy had given 1 And so I tried to sing a song To chase away the shadows long Of care and fear ; to hope I tried ; Then tranquil peace came to abide ! 192 JUtlb ULD Hoolie ! ye're hoo-oo-ootin', Hoo oo-ootin' aw a' ; Why don't ye come by day An' croak, like an auld black craw 1 Auld Hoolie ! ye're hoo-oo-ootin', When ye hae naught in your maw ; Why don't you come by day An' pick, like an auld black craw ? Auld Hoolie ! your hoo-oo-ootin' Mak's lassies eerie a' ; They quake mair at your hootin' Than at croak o' an auld black daw. Auld Hoolie ! your hoo-oo-ootin' Mak's auld wives clatter a', 0' ghosts that roam in the woodland, Whilk by a bluid-red knife did fa'. 193 the steep he climbed with haste, Pressing often weary ; For the day was hastening on, And the night came dreary. Up the hollow of the glen, Far from mansion cosy ; O'er the stones that bled his feet, While Mars, his star, shone rosy. O'er the crags, and o'er the stones, Fighting nor despairing, For in rifts the flowers did bloom, Smiling on his daring. Never halting, never resting, Onward, upward ever; Bat alas ! when morning broke, He slept in Death's cold river. M 194 jtirne0 I RIPPLE on, and never am lone Through the shining live-long day ; And I prattle too, for I'm alway new, Like golden fresh floweret in May. The wee bird doth come and dip in his bill, Then sings me a cheery song, And I list with a will as I haste to the mill, For I'm useful as well as strong. And I sing in return, for tho' cool I burn With the fire of the poet's soul : I tinkle and treble o'er each sunny pebble That kisseth me as I roll. Then I leap far up, to kiss the king-cup, As I flutter down the mill-race ; And I joy above all, when near the fall I look on the mill-maid's face. 195 the oUaters f eep I SUGGESTED BY THE DRIFTING OF THE "COLUMBINE," WITH ELIZABETH MO WAT ON BOARD, MARCH 1886. CROSS the waters deep I glide, Across the ocean's flowing tide ; I know not where I drift, but Thou Can'st tell, Lord ; in faith I bow. 'Twas dark the night and wind blew high, And ne'er a star in all the sky ; Nought could I do, but call on Thee Throughout my nameless agony. But thro' the weary nights and days, My heart doth chant an endless praise ; Reposing on Thine arm I lie, I fear no danger ; Thou art nigh ! 196 POEMS AND SONGS. And is this the land I see A little isle with emerald lea, Where on the golden sand doth lave In murmuring peace the blue-flecked wave ? And angels white do flit and come, To bring the weary pilgrim home To mansions with the marble halls, Where ne'er a glistening tear-drop falls. Peace ! my throbbing heart, from thee Is wrung thy last dread agony ; Thy barque hath landed in the lee The Haven of Eternity ! 197 thrush. THRUSH ! that sing'st at morn with golden breast Reflected from the glory in the East ; What joy subdued awakes thee from thy nest, To pour thy liquid notes with sweetest zest. I've heard the nightingale attune his lay A bolder, not a sweeter ere the ray Of morn came stealing o'er a southern clime, Where music softly flows in easy rhyme : From out my dreams thou seem'st an angel bright, Come down to earth with song to greet the light, To brace man's courage new for glorious fight With all the enemies of darkest night. I greet thee, bird, with thanks and highest praise : Thou teachest me to sing with heart my lays. 198 GAIN I walked by the murmuring stream, Where in days of yore I played, And heard its music in a dream When a spirit softly said : " The days of the past are fled away With their careless dream and joy ; Thou'rt not the same as in April day When thou wert a laughing boy. " The stream flows on with its joyous song, And the bird sings in the bough ; The sun shines on through the seasons long, But not the same art thou. " Old Time hath wrought on thy form and face, Thy thoughts show marvellous change : A manly form and altered pace Betoken wider range AGAIX I WALKED. 199 " Of empire o'er all human things, And e'en of higher heaven, As thought flies a\\ay on soaring wings To eager conquest given. " A change hath come o'er the friends of youth, They are not the same or gone ; Here all things fade but the Truth of truth, And that is found in One, " Who makes the murmuring stream flow on, And clothes the lily fair, Who wakes the zephyr to blow on These vales and beauties rare, " Who stands throughout the course of time, And never knows decay, Whose dwelling is the heavenly clime, And courts, Eternal Day." The spirit ceased and passed away With the gentle morning breath ; It calmly went on the wings of day, And I knew his name was "Death"! 200 POEMS AND SONGS. But the music of the bye-gone years Did gently soothe my soul, And filling all mine eyes with tears, I knew my appointed goal. 201 Influence. |H ! how is it, that when I stoop, To list the music of the brook, No longer do my senses droop, And mirrored face takes answering look How comes it, when beside the fall, T hear the waters roaring down, My soul is held in pleasing thrall, And thoughts on eagle wing have flown ? Ah ! how is it at sunset hour, When glory gilds the golden west, I feel within the secret pow'r Of perfect and eternal rest 1 what is it, when evening steals Upon me, and bright Vesper shines, Doth quell all that vague passion feels, And with it what black care combines ? 202 POEMS AND SONGS. And Oh ! what power is this that spells Beneath the midnight starry vast, When all my Being's fountain wells In wonder infinite to last 1 203 Jltttumn ND now 'tis Autumn once again, And all abroad is poured A golden light on land, and main, And moor, where larks have soared In op'ning Spring and Summer-time, And built their nest for young : But all are fled, and a pensive chime, Like vesper-bell is rung. The golden sheaves stand reaped in ranks, And the reaper sings his song, And a mellow tinge on river banks Leaps in gilded waves along. The earth stands dressed in her very best, While burthened with richest gold, In robes of light she sets a feast For the hungry and the cold. 204 POEMS AND SONGS. The weary see with brightened face, And the poor with thankful heart ; In ev'ry life some joy hath place, And the big tears downward start. Life, how strange, how sad in cheer Of Autumn's mellow light ! Grieve we for years gone by, or hear We voices of the night ? 205 In Jttenurciam THREE SONNETS. Adonis ! loved Adonis is dead, And all his glory shed within the tomb ; The raven locks, the noble brow, the head, The sparkling eye are laid low in deep gloom ; But more than all the spirit of fine mould, The intellect so keen and nice are gone Away to wander in the sunset gold Of other worlds, where he doth wait his own. No more thy voice, sweet Adonis, is heard Singing a song of praise in ev'ning hour, Or soothing with a gently spoken word The fretting soul, or life, when dark clouds low'r. Ah, Adonis ! I weep that we must part A little while from sight tho' in my heart. 206 POEMS AJCD SONGS. n. Weep, weep with me, iny Adonis is dead ! Awhile he sojourned in this world of care, And to another soul was sweetly wed A soul as pure as breathes the heavenly air ; And four bright children grew within their door, Like rosy cherubs 'scaped from out the heaven : All was content ; what could he wish for more With business done, and music played at even? Yet his high soul would wander forth in thought, To climb Imagination's height, or paint The beauteous scene around, that Nature brought Before his eye, like some fair virgin saint. Alas ! these high and noble powers are shed In that I weep loved Adonis now dead. in. Yet, Adonis ! thy glory is not shed But for this world ; above these realms of night Thou'rt fairer, nobler far than tongue hath said, As thou dost flit in love, in golden light, Before the throne of God, whom thou did'st love, And served'st here with quick and ready will : iN MEMORIAM J.K.B. 207 Arising up from earth, like snowy dove, Thy spirit sped in haste, where is no ill ! Here but awakes the life-breath of our powers, Here dawns the morn of everlasting day, Here buds do burst to bloom in fadeless bowers, For these our nobler part must shed the clay. Adonis ! in glory full art thou, While we in tents of earth with frailty bow ! 208 31 Jttountebank. MOUNTEBANK sat on a plank, And see sawed up and doon, : Quoth he, 'tis hoo the world doth shoo Its bairnies 'neath the moon, 0. Then on his heid he stood unhid, His big toe to the sun, : Saith he, I'm no' the only show 0' a fule turned upside doon, 0. Next balanced fair, wi' art so rare, On edge o' plank so thin, : Exclaimed he then to wond'ring men : " Rogues cry out skin for skin, 0.' " Yet on his thumb he whirled his him A thoosan' times aroon', 0, And queerly laughed at folk sae daft, Wha birled on their croon, 0. 209 on, OLL on, sea ! Thou art laughing, and laughing to me : Koll on, sea ! And take thou my trouble to thee. Roll on, sea ! Thou art dancing, and dancing so gay : Boll on, sea ! And fill me with gladness to-day. Boll on, sea ! Thy wavelets are rippling so blue : Boll on, sea ! And be my soul imaged in you ! Boll on, sea ! Bound continent, island, and earth ! Boll on, sea ! And be my soul like to thy girth ! 210 POEMS AND SONGS. Koll on, sea ! Best mirror of heaven's bright sky : Roll on, sea ! And bear thou my music on high ! 211 pckie. Jjj/ttJ HAT joy is thine, my little bird, ^^^ When pour'st thy music gladly heard By him, thy master, waked from sleep, To see the silver sunbeams peep ! Like mist upon the mountain brow, Departing slowly, wreathed like snow, Before the glorious king of day, The night's despair doth flee away At thy glad joy in song of praise : 'Tis not in vain we sing our lays ! 212 f$\ SACRED spot ! where oft in youthful days, I ran and played about thy bonnie braes ; And thought not then that thou wert like a flower That blooms unseen in some fair heav'nly bower ! Then thy new bridge was no new bridge at all By steps we crossed above the waterfall ; The u auld brig " near the kirkyard told of time, That 'chance had seen the prophet* in his prime ; The silv'ry Ayr did wander down in glee, More sweetly murm'ring than in days to be : Thy row of cottages, so white and clean, Seemed like as in Arcadia it had been ; No " board " was o'er the school, but the blue heaven Looked down on boys that got their "palmies* seven, * Alexander Peden, THE VILLAGE. 213 When catechism or grammar was not got, For the three R's had not yet made it hot To budding youth, who love in glade to stray, To pluck the primrose, or for hours to play Like sportive lamb, or cony on the lea, And never think to be like busy bee. No longer now our teacher bears the rule, Like us he's gone into a higher school ; And tho' we thought not of his power for good When from his face we caught his passing mood, Yet when we look thro' rising mist of years, We pay him back with tribute of our tears. Above the school there was the village clock That ne'er could boast of fickle weather-cock Upon its tower, but like a finger up It calmly pointed into heaven's blue cup, As if to say " Thy home is there above, If ye will but your Heavenly Father love ! " The kirk, within its holy ground of graves Of loved ones, over whom the green grass waves, Had yet the narrow pew and table long, That spoke so well of sacramental song, Raised from the lips of many an aged one, Or daughter fair or stalwart ruddy son, Who came from far and near, by glen and rill, And glad to go " up to God's holy hill ! " The minister, with rev 'rent form and face, 214 POEMS AND SONGS. With thin white locks, and air of humble grace, Spoke fluently of holiness and faith Of Him who, for mankind, did stoop to death. He too is gone, and sleeps within the mould, No more doth see the primrose on the wold, Nor hear the hum of bee in the glad spring, Nor list the lark far up on soaring wing ; The sick no more are his peculiar care, Who patiently their griefs did hear and bear ; But now he's entered into that sweet rest, In which, he said, the faithful would be blest. Thy bonnie woods yet wave as in the past Around the mill, and castle built to last Upon a rock, above the rippling Ayr A fairy scene my soul would ever wear Within the inmost shrine of mem'ry dear, Till autumn ripen me for lowly bier. And Clench ! thy murrn'ring waters heard the sound Of Peden's psalm within thy leafy bound ; The holy man, in persecution dire, Took refuge in thy cave from the hot fire : Here he had peace to kneel, and worship God With conscience free, 'neath sky on verdant sod ! Sing on, rivulet, thy clear sweet song, As in my youth when summer days were long ! And ye small birds that warble in the grove THE VILLAGE. 215 Chant out your lay in throbbing notes of love ! Well doth your music Mend, and bear away On wing of fancy to a brighter day, When all the good will lift adoring song 'Mid bow'rs unfading in the ages long ; When all the strife and grief of earth are o'er, And Death no more doth visit that blest shore. Fair hamlet ! yet I greet thee ere I go Away from thee, and changing scene below ; Endeared art thou by ev'ry mortal tie, And in my heart I'll bear thee till I die ; Next to the street of gold, that shines above, Thou wert the paradise of earthly love, Where in my youth the cares of life unknown I drank thy peace, in innocence now gone ; In thee I played with other children near The gate of heav'n, and heard its music clear, When fret or jar of earth ne'er came to mar The shining of the bright and morning star ; But all was joy as when the angels sing, While in a vale of heav'n like thine they wing Their flight along in companies to do The will of God, and earth, or man renew. Wave on, ye pines, that sigh above the way Whereon my feet in youthful glee did play ! And sing, ye waters, of soft flowing Ayr, The song ye sang, ere death or time did tear 216 POEMS AND SONGS. Me from the loved of youth " the lost awhile" Who in my memory do ever smile ! And 0, ye children of another day ! Make glad the hamlet with your voices gay ; And, while the day of youth doth last, adorn Its street with laughing faces, eve and morn, Till Time doth come, to take you far from home, And bear its mem'ry sacred where ye roam ! 9827