THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES iOlAi 11 • L> u tvc • ur • run 1 L/\i\ •KG- i JS MEMORIAL VOLUME OF JOHN HYSLOP, ^l7G Posfman Poei Edited by WILLIAM JOHNSTON. KILMARNOCK : J. C. MOTSON, "HERALD" OFFICE, DUKE STREET. 1895. ERRATUM (Page GS). From the Poem — " Some Boyhood Memories " — the First Line of the Second Verse has beeu omitted — Though forty years I've left that spot, CONTENTS PR PAGE. Preface ... ... ... ... ... .. ... ... vi. Biographical Sketch of John Hyslop ... ... ... ... viii. Biographical Sketch of Mrs Hyslop .. .,, ... ... xv. POEMS BY JOHN HYSLOP. The Burden of My Song 1 The Artist and the Skull 3 Pity Me 6 Drifting Whither 7 The Lone Rider 10 The Waves Are Rising 12 One Year Ago 13 Cheer Up ! Cheer Up ! 14 Whither 16 Among the Shadows ... ... ... ... ... ... 18 A Plain Man s Creed 20 My Winsome Nell 23 Through Storm to Calm ... . . ... ... ... ... 25 Ncaring the Thunder 27 Oh, Tempora ! Oh, Mores ! 29 A Waiting Soul 31 Sunset ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 33 Only a Beggar ... ... ... ... ... ... .. 34 In Dreams and Visions ... ... .. ... ... ... 36 The Golden Calf 38 Going Back — An Alphabetical Acrostic ... ... ... ... 40 Brave Flora .. 41 I Cannot Make My Mind Sit Down 43 The Lanely Auld Wife 45 Our Lady Bountiful ... ... .. ... ... ... ... 47 John Stuart Bhickie ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 48 Manipur 49 What the Savage Saw ... ... ... ... ... ... 51 The Nodding Lillies 53 Daddy's Wee Boy 55 Dreaming Alone ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 56 To a Friend 57 y423G7 IV. PAGE. Wee Beenie ... ... ... .. ••• ••• 60 A Glasgow Accident 63 The Emling Year 64 Sweet Weddmg Bells 66 Some Boyhood Memories 68 That's My Bairn's Faither Noo 72 What The Daisies Said 74 Sae Weary . ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 76 On a Wedding 79 Guid Bless the Bairns ... ... ... ... 81 A Handful of Leaves ... ... ... ... ... ... 84 Dolores ... ... ... ... ••• ... ... ... 86 To a Lady on Her Wedding Day 87 The King Has Called Me 88 Peace on Earth, to Men Goodwill .'.. ... ... . . 90 The Dream of a Masque 91 Fever-Stricken ... ... ... ... ... ••• ... 96 The Weary Weird 99 SONGS. My Faither's Gun 104 Keep Booing ... ... ... ,.. ... ... ... ... 107 Willies Waddin' 109 We Wandered by the Dean ... ... ... ... ... Ill On March with "Pilgrim" 113 Scotland Ower the Sea ... .. ... ... ■... ... 115 Bigging a Nest ... ... 117 Charlie Chapman ... ... ... ... ... .. ... 119 The Postman 0' ! 121 Oor Cookie Shine 124 The Sang o' Hope 126 BALLADS. Lady Maude's Tryste 128 The Doleful Lady au.i the Boding Bird 132 The Weary Wuds o' Gloom 134 Forsaken ... .. ... ... ... ... ... .. 138 The Gruesome Burd .. ... ... ... ... .. ... 141 HUMOROUS PIECES. Supping Kail Wi' the Deil 143 A Sumph an' a Fule ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 145 V. PAGE. The Basket of Greens 147 Macphersons' Kye 148 Laird Ralston's Wooing 150 Tiglath— Pileser 152 The Kangaroo .. 156 Potiphar's Wife 157 Leddy Evergreen ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 159 IN MEMORIAM. Gone Home ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 163 The Rev. Robert Kerr 165 Sad Bereavements ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 167 On Seeing the Military Funeral of Sergeant Major J. Flynn 168 Lines to the Memory of Eliza Cook ... ... ... ... 169 " Rue for Remembrance " ... ... ... ... .. ... 171 To Lord Rosebery 172 Drowned ... ... .. ... ... ... .. ... 173 She Has Gone Like the Snows 175 Anchored 177 STORIES. The Morning Star 18.*^ Hoo I Had a Crack Wi' Pharaoh's Son 199 POEMS AND STORIES BY MRS HYSLOP. POEMS. Burns 209 The Heart of Bruce 214 Marion Neville 218 Count Tarset's Trust 224 The Sunny Side 228 Carlina 230 I'mFarAwa' 233 Oor Hoose At E'en 235 A Hamely Lilt 237 I Canna Gang Wi' Thee 239 Christabel 241 To the Memory of Rev. Robert Kerr 244 STORIES. The Face at the Window 246 In Foul and Fair Weather ... 263 TheFateof Nelly M 'Neil 280 preface. "When the postman poet, Jolm Hyslop, was on his death- bed, and realised that the end was drawing near, he requested me to take charge of his literary remains. He had for some time entertained the desire of publishing a second volume of poems, but illness intervened and pre- vented its fulfilment, so he was specially anxious that, aftei' he was gone, a selection should be made from his fugitive poems — of which there were hundreds, written since the publication of his volume in 1882 — and published in volume form. I have endeavoured to carry out the dying wish in the best possible way, and believing that, as he incorporated in his volume several poems written by Mrs Hyslop, it would be only fitting and appropriate that in the memorial volume other poems and stories of hers should aj^pear. From the mass of manuscript, which was written on all sorts and scraps of paper, I have taken what I believed was best calculated to reveal the mind of the author, and most likely to be appreciated by all who knew him either as man or poet. In the work of selection I was willingly aided by Inspector Chalmers, Kilmarnock, himself a writer of pleas- ing verse. Among the poems in this volume will be found a few that appeared in the volume published in 1882, but with that exception the poems have never hitherto appeared in book form, indeed, some of them till now never were in print. For information as to the life of John and Mrs Hyslop I am indebted to several appreciative articles that appeared in the Cumnock Express, Evening Gazette, Modern Scottish Poets, etc. That John Hyslop was not oidy a sweet singer, but a prose writer of considerable VI 1. power, the stories in this volume will prove. While know- ing that the work of editing might have been more ably done, I am certain that none could have undertaken it with keener zeal or with a kindlier wish to do lasting honour to the memory of the postman-poet. As there is a wide- spread desire to raise a fitting monument over the tomb of John Hyslop, I hope that this volume will meet with a ready sale — the proceeds of which will be entirely devoted to that object. WM. JOHNSTON. 52 John Finnie Street, Kilmarnock. JSioorapbical SMetcb of 3obn IfD^slop. The following sketch of the life of John Hyslop is mainly based on autobiographical notes written in 1881, apparently at the request of Mr Murdoch. Our subject was born in a sweetly rural district, in an auld thack biggin', in the little hamlet of Kirkland, in the parish of Glencairn, Dumfries- shire, on the 19th February, 1837. His father then, and for nine years after, was employed by Sir Robert Lawrie of Maxwelton, whose fair ancestress, " Annie Lawrie," will fill a niche for ever in our sweet songs. Hundreds of times in boyhood's merry days John Hyslop gathered bramble berries and poo'd the nuts and slaes, and waded waist-deep amang the brackens and the broom on the bonnie braes of Maxwelton. His father wrought on the home farm and received his own food there, with eight or ten shillings per week as wages. This was not a very magnificent sum with which to keep a house, pay rent, and support a wife and four of a family, of which John was the second. Regarding his mother and the family struggles, John wrote : — " Thank God, she was a true specimen of the sturdy spirit of independence, and when she saw the need buckled tae wi' micht and main to help to keep the family pat a-bilin'." There were no School Boards in those days, and every tot in a man's house had to turn out to work as soon as any sort of job could be found which it was capable of performing. Consequently John Hyslop's education was of tlie slightest — one year and eight months being all the school education he ever received. At the age of eleven he was put to work in real earnest, and never stopped from that until a few months prior to his death, when he retired IX. on the Post Office pension list. His first employment was that of a walking craw-bogle, herding the birds off the seeds in a nursery during the Spring months — rattling a pair of huge clappers and halooing at them whenever he saw them alight. This sort of work extended from the schreech o' day till the gloamin' fa', yet John Hyslop was happy. Writing of this time he says : — " My spirit was singing its sang wi' the bees and the birds, and dreaming all sorts of impossible dreams of what I would be when I grew to be a man, and went out into the wide, wide world to seek my fortune. These were the times ! Happy the man must be who can keep the boy's heart beating in his bosom to the end of his days. Never did conqueror returning from some well-won victory with a nation's honours showering thick around him march with a prouder heart than did I that sunny Saturday afternoon in Spring when I walked home with the first half-crown I ever earned, and, laying it in my mither's lap, got a kiss frae her and a penny to mysel'." Two years before the time alluded to here, his father had left the employment of Sir Robert Lawrie owing to failing health, and had removed from Kirkland to the village of Thornhill. The family remained there for five years, removing to Kilmarnock at the May term in 1851, and there he ever after resided till his death in 1892. He was a little over fourteen years of age when they arrived in Kilmarnock, and he drifted about at odd jobs — message-boy in a grocer's shop for a year or two, boy with James M'Kie of Burnsiana fame, and " devil " in the printing office there filled up about five years. His parents wished him to learn the engineering trade, and he was therefore duly apprenticed to the firm of Blair & Sons, machine makers and engineers, and there he remained for the space of five years. But not agreeing with the lay and vice, or, perhaps, if the truth must be told, his restless spirit was beating its wings against the four walls of the workshop with an intense yearning to be out once more under the blue canopy of Heaven, away from the noise of the grinding, ceaseless whirling of the wheels, and in hearing once more of the sweet songs o' the laverocks and the Unties, so with the far- off billings of their music still echoing in dreams, and the love for rambling among the country lanes he had brought with him into the town, as one of the dearest memories of his boyhood, just as his apprenticeship was finished, hear- ing of a vacancy in the Post Office, he applied, and was successful, being nominated to the situation of messenger on the 16th March, 1860. This duty he performed for six years, being promoted into the office as stamper at that time. This being a night and day shift alternately, he did not like it, so after working at it for three years, secured a position as letter carrier. He was upwards of thirty years in the employment of the Post Office. Allud- ing to a dismal time in his family history, John wrote : " My father died in September, 1860, of spotted and putrid fever. A few weeks after his death I was laid down with the same disease, and for many weeks my life was despaired of, but ultimately getting a little better, and just as I was beginning to hirple through the house with a stick, both my mother and my sister were confined to bed with the same trouble. My eldest brother had emigrated in 1854 to Sydney, New South Wales, and my youngest sister having died in 1855, when these two were now laid prostrate with the deadly fever, it comprised our entire household, and there was I, a puir, weak, tottery, rickle o' banes, wandering through the fever-stricken house, and tried as best I could to do the turns of the place, for the neighbours were all afraid to venture in for fear of infection." The circumstances of this XI. severe trial John Hyslop has given in detail in his poem, " The Weary Weird," which he composed in 1870, ten years after the event, and the thoughts which surged through his own brain in the delirium of fever he photographed in " Fever Stricken," which obtained one of the People's Journal Christmas competition prizes twenty years after. John was twice married. The first marriage took place in the summer of 1863, when he was in receipt of lis 6d per week, but odds and ends brought in a shilling or two more. Six children were born to them, three girls and three boys ; of whom two girls and one boy died before their mother left his side to join them in the Better Land. After fourteen years of wedded life filled with sunshine and shadow ; with smiles and tears ; with many struggles and many triumphs? she who had been a loving mother and a good and loyal wife, died in the summer of 1877. Feeling his household getting into disorder, he married again in December of the same year, Sarah Jane Stewart, who had been spoken of to him by his first wife weeks before she died as the one she would like as her successor. Alluding to her, John wrote : "Clever, warm-hearted, and impulsive, widely read, with a magnifi- cent memory, in many things our tastes and feelings are identical, and she, like myself, has been for years a maker of verses, some of which have appeared in various journals. Some of her lines are inscribed along with Surfaceman's, and others in the Poet's Album in Kilmarnock Burns' Monu- ment." John could scarcely tell when he began to write verses, but he was at it for about forty years. Their composition was the solace and comfort of many a leisure hour. Most of his verses were the utterances of his own spirit, as the mood seized him, without straining after effect. Indeed, as he said : " With little care where the winds of heaven might blow the rude, uncultured notes with which XIL I made a little music to my own soul." He was fond of dramatic performances from his boyhood, and in liis earlier days ventured on several occasions upon the boards of local houses, and that with success. All his days he was an omnivorous reader, and latterly might have been described as a bookworm. He collected a library, numbering some 700 or 800 volumes of miscellaneous literature, comprising a few rare old curios. His volume of published poems in 1882 met with considerable success, and gained him the approbation of competent critics in the Press and in other literary paths. He had a wide circle of remarkable ac- quaintances, and knew intimately Alexander Smith, Gerald Massey, Nicolson, Bob Wanlock, Robert Ford, " The Surfaceman," who often visited and corresponded with him ; William Shelley of Aberdeen, and many others. At the celebration of Burns' Centenary of 1859, John Hyslop took the prize offered by the comljined literary associations of Kilmarnock for the best poem on Burns. On several occasions he was a prize-taker in the annual Christmas competitions of the People's Journal, and an occasional contributor for more than twenty years to the local journals and other periodicals. It was only when physically weak and feeble that he retired from the postal service ; but, contrary to his own expectations, he lived but a short time to enjoy his pension, and after a short illness he quietly passed away on Saturday, IGth April, 1892. On August 14th, 1891, a few months after retiring from the Post Office service, the comrades of the postman-poet in the Kilmarnock Post Office met with him in a social capacity in the Rainbow Restaurant, and presented him with a token of their esteem, which consisted of a purse of money. It will be interesting to many of his friends to have his speech delivered on that occasion given a permar Xlll. nent place in tlie Memorial Volume. He said — There are hours which become epochs in our life's history — hours which all the weal or woe the dim future holds can never erase from the pages of memory's magazine volume. This to me is one of these hours. I can only thank you most heartily for this tangible mark of your esteem. I am positively not aware of anything I have done during my thirty-one years' service among you that rendered me at all deserving of it. Thirty -one years ! — that represents a good bit of a man's life-time, and many changes have I seen in the staflf since I first entered it. I have served under four postmasters during that time —Mr Rankin, Mr Dickie, Mr Bryson, and our present chief, Mr John Ballantyne. There were only three deliveries by letter-carriers when I began, and now we have five. Post-cards, half-penny stamps, and the parcels post were then things undreamt of. Wages have been nearly doubled during that time. When I began, and for six years after, I was in receipt of the mag- nificent sum of 10s per week without holidays, and I was thirteen years in the Kilmarnock Post Ofiice ere I received £1 a week. Things have altered considerably for the better during that period, as you are aware, and what with the advance in wages and other advantages lately granted you, perhaps the Post Office staff will have reached the end of their grievances before the beginning of the next century. What a crowd of faces I have seen coming and going among the staflT during my long service! All the letter- carriers who wrought side by side with me when I first began have gone over to the majority, and in some auld kirkyard or other lie sleeping their last sound sleep. W. Thomson, John Wyllie, John Auld, John Johnston, W. Templeton, A. Hamilton, and many others I could name are all away, and none know who among us may be called on to follow next. I have seen some of the boys who came in amongst us grow up to honourable manhood and settle down in homes of their own, and many more take flight in search of fortune to larger towns or foreign lands. I remember with great pleasure the many happy annual meetings, more especially in the earlier years of my service, when not only the Post Office staff", but the young men em- XIT. ployed in the front grocery stores of W. Rankin & Sons, sat down to supper in " Dannie " M'Dougall's, with our post- master, INIr David Rankin, as chairman, while Mr James Blair officiated as croupier. A favourite song of Mr Rankin's was "The Fine Old English Gentleman," while Mr Blair would favour us with a scene from Macklin's " ;^^an of the World." But these reminiscences are running away with me. T rose to thank you for y(jur sensible and most welcome testimonial. I shall never forget that con- siderably more than one-half the years of my life were spent in Kilmarnock Post Office, and that I received many kindnesses from one and all. Though I have now left the service on pension, it does not follow that our friendship for each other should grow less, and I hope to have many happy meetings among you j'et. I thank you most heartily for your kindness to me to night. His desire of " many happy meetings " was destined to be disappointed, for in eight months he had crossed " the bourne." 'We give the following sonnet by iSIr John Fullerton, who was a highly-esteemed friend and cori-espondent of John Hyslop : — With Spring's first blossom and the song of lark Tlic tlow'r was shed, and husli'd the song so sweet ; Lov'd forms and faces seemed .so strangely dark ; The kindly, tender heart had ceas'd to beat : The soul set free to rise on pinions ileet Above " death's dark vale " and " life's prisoning bars," Beyond the sun, beyond the farthest stars. Towards the city with the gold-pavetl street. Where, clad in raiment white, the ransom'd meet " The King upon His Throne." Oh, brother mine. There thou shalt joy to hear a song of thine That here had healed, perchance, ".some liidden scars," And golden liarp in hand for ever raise The voice in hallelujahs to Christ's praise. The Cottage, Pitfour, May, 1S92. XV. I have followed John Hyslop's example as given in his volume of 1882^ when he published a few of his wife's poems along with his own. Besides poems, in this volume will be found stories, which serve to show that, even as a novelist, she is possessed of undoubted ability and talent. Mrs Hyslop was born at Saint Fillans, in Perthshire, beautifully situated at the foot of Loch Earn. Her father, John Stewart, was a soldier in his youth, and served in ^hat capacity for twenty-four years, the greater part of that time being spent abroad. He was in St. Helena during the whole time of Napoleon's captivity. He married before leaving the army, but Sarah Jane was not born until after his discharge, and after he had returned to Loch Earn. She was born about the autumn of 1845. Related to the Stewarts of Advorlick, its then proprietor, unsolicited, pro- cured for her father a police inspectorship at Loch Earn Head, which situation he held until within a few months of his death. With his salary as inspector and a sergeant's pension the father was able to bring up his family of eleven children without the struggle experienced by many parents with large families. Sarah Jane received her early educa- tion at Loch Earn Head, and resided there until she had reached the age of twelve years, when she was sent to the Normal School, Glasgow, having early displayed special apti- tude for learning. Before she had reached her seventh year she could repeat several old Scotch ballads, and at the age of nine could repeat the Psalms from the 1st on to the 24 th without a mistake, and also every line of the 119th. Not long after entering the Normal her mother died, and in a little more than a year afterwards her father was laid in the grave. Writing of this period, she says — " All joy seemed blotted out of my life. I had then to be taken XVI. from the Normal School, to -which I had been sent after my mother's death, ajid nothing remained for all of us who were able but to turn out to service. My eldest brother had gone to sea as admiral's clerk, and within a year or two after these sad events, the home we loved so well was for ever closed against the boys and girls who romped and played around its blythesome hearth. After serving in diifei-ent capacities in sevei-al well-to-do families, I was married to John Hyslop in the winter of 1877." As early as her fourteenth year she commenced writing verses, and throughout her life poetiy has been the solace and refuge of spare hours. She has said : — " My verses are not like those written by long-headed men, for I just make a dash at them, and scarcely ever give them a second thought or look." Mrs Hyslop sometime after the decease of her husband got a situation with a family in Stirling, and there she is now, feeling comfortable and at home. Like John, Mrs Hyslop was a frequent contributor for years to various journals, and was successful in different competitions. The Peopk^s Friend, the People's Journal, Dundee Weekly News, and the Kilmarnock papers from time to time pub- lished poems and stories from her gifted pen. POEMS, &c. Lbc 3Biu-^cu ot /IDvt Sony. IS hai"]) has but three twanglmg sti-ings, Tliis Avould-be Poet of our times, ^Vho will jiersist in verse to sing, And pestei-s us with endless rhymes. 'Tis true, sir Critic, what you've heard, I come to cheer the blind who grope. Through darken'd wavs and sunless davs, And whisper to them woi"ds of Hope. He sings to us no tales of war, He sings of things about our dotir ; No story tells of lust and greed. Done in the gi-uesome davs of vore. True, I ueer sung of '' gloi-ious A\"ar," It's horroi"s I can only sum ; I hear the groans of murder'd men. Above the rolling of the diniiu. And know there fell some mother's son, And that each gurgling shriek and moan Cries ever through the listening space, For justice at the Great AVliite Tlirone. I cannot speak high sounding words. In praise of feai-ful crime and sin ; No braggard words of mine shall stir, My brother's blood against his kin. I see mv neifrhlx)urs staggering on, Bow'd down with care, for comfort grope, And so to cheer them in their grief, I sing to them a song of Hope. "VNTien sunrise tints the rosy east, I see, beside mv wandering wav, The daisies and the buttercups Are opening up their lips to pray. And when the choral anthem sw^ells — From wren's chirp to lark's song above, I know the burden of their song Is Love, and so I sing of Love. And so while life and reason lasts. And till my heart to beat shall cease, The burden of my songs will be Of Hope, and Love, and Peace. Zbc Brtist an^ tbe SluUl. Time — Evening. A rosy sunset tlootletb the Artist's room. Weeks liefore be had purchased for purposes of his art a dainty female skull. By a strange chatn of evidence the knowledge has just dawned on him, it is none other than that of the long-mourued ■wife of his early manhood. Gazing on it •with awe and fear, he thus talks to his own soul : — H, take and hide that thing of fear full lifty fathoms deep, y Its griiuiing leer is in my dreams and haunts me in my sleep ; Thou'i'h I have kiss'd a thousand times these lines of bleaching bone, "When witching smiles and rosy lips were clothed thereupon — But now this ghastly horror comes to taunt and jibe me there, And from beneath the daisy roots creeps to the upper air ; Yet this white, weird, and mocking thing, this fragmentaiy dole, Flung from Deaths hand to mine, once held a pure and spotless soul — Whose presence in life's darkened ways made sunshine all around, The very spots her footsteps press'd grew consecrated ground, That even yet I strive to trace across time's desert sand — As pilgrims track the feet of Christ o'er all the Holy Land. Oh, did'st thou dream for one short hour that I could e'er forget thee 1 In mem'ry's hall I built your shrine and there my .saint did set thee ; "Wliere tuniinj,' from t!io strife and dust found on life's winding; road, I felt in drawing near to thee that I drew nearer (Jod. My darling, when you pass'd frimi lue ; for n)any a weary day My feet were in the thorny jiaths and on a miry way ; Our children that we loved so well have long since gone from me, And wander'd down the ways of death till they have come to thee. Now, I have won the wealth and fame for which I toil'd so long ; My name is in the mouths of men familiar as a song ; But I would ghidly give twice-told tin's pomp of wealth and pride For these old days when we were young, and you were by my side. Poor remnant of the broken cage from which the bird hath flown, That for a few l)rief months and years I dai'ed to call mine own ; I will not hide thee ; thou shalt watch my goings out and in ; Sweet thoughts of thee will go with me to guide my feet from sin ; And when in liours of quiet calm I bend my knees to pray, Thy presence here will bear my words to Heaven all the way.-' So thus for hours the artist rav'd and babbled on the same, Till at the solemn noun of idglit God's muflled angel came 5 And seal'd his lips and whisper'd — " Come, to those you love so well ;" Then swiftly as a swooj^ing hawk the shuddering silence fell — And ere the horn of chanticleer proclaim'd a new-born dav, Ice-cold he sat in grand rej)ose, and on his face there lay The light from that bright land beyond, where she had gone before, And he had the Shekinah seen, and learned the angels' lore. Wlien all the land woke up from sleep, so lusty and so strong, And birds on every quivering bough were bursting into song, Some roist'ring friends, who wish'd still more their revels to prolong, Swept laughing in to know the cause why he had stay'd so long. The light jest died upon their lijis ; before that awful thing They stood aghast, and bared their heads as they would to a king ; And long and sad in maze of thou2:rit awe-struck did wond'ring stand. And saw a bleach'd and crumbling skull clutch'd in the dead man's hand. 6 IP i t \: /ID e ! ATHER, tlironed among Thy angels, Wlio doth all things hear and see, Hear my piteous prayer for pardon — Pitying Father, pity me ! See, I cling to Thee for succour ; All things earthly fade and flee ; Let me touch Christ's healing garment — Pitying Father, pity me 1 Dreams of hope like mists have vanished : Gifts of mercy, full and free. Long by me have been rejected — Pitying Father, pity me ! Cankering chains of sin have bound nie ; Make me of Thy freedom free ; Let me drink Thy healing waters — Pitying Father, pity me ! Clouds of frowning wi'ath seem low'ring ; Clasp nie till the shadows flee, And they melt to floods of sunshine — Pitying Father, pity me ! Worn and weary, sad and lonely, Let me lose myself in Thee ; Glory, glory, down from Heaven — God lias stooped to rescue me ! 1. s 7 Briftfn(5-MF)itber? N dreams and visions of the night, Wlien sleep folds down the weary eyes, A voice, clear as a trumpet's blast. Cried to my list'ning soul — " Arise, Gird up your loins ; come forth and see The sadly dark and tangled maze That men have wrapt about their deeds In these degenei'ate latter days !" Then swift metliought we twain did stand On some cloud-cleaving peak ; and there. Far as my awe-struck eyes coidd reach. Thick clouds roU'd round us everywhere, Amid whose folds the thunder growl'd ; Like darting snakes the lightning ran : It seem'd a weird and fearful place — Accurs'd of God since time began. Then slow the curtain of the clouds Was parted : silence deep did brood A little while, then sounds of earth Came floating upwards where we stood. " Pale watcher on this rugged height, Wliat see you in the lands below 1" " I hear and see war's fearsome din, And armies marching to and fro. With shrieks of hate and vengeful yells Dense tribes of varied hues and creeds Rush on till the sad heart of peace Dotli shrink axad shudder at their deeds ; 8 Grim ghosts of nuirder'd men sweep past, Whose bones rot in tlie plains below ; Through roar of guns I hear the neigh Of steeds that into battle go. I see the mangled corpse of one AVho nol)ly won the martyr's crown, Whose deeds, writ in the hearts of men, V^ie with the knights of old renown ; There, thick as locusts' treach'rous swarms. With glib, smooth speeches learned by rote. Come fawning with their kiss of peace To clutch their neighbours by the throat. Yon vet'ran, who, tlux)Ugli per'lous re(>fs, Would steer the State-ship, Connnonweal, Is niarr'd and hiuder'd, bit and stung. By wasps that buzz about the wheel ; Loud wrangling statesmen fill the air With frothing words and vain debates, Till, lo ! the cannon of their foes I>elch out and thunder at thciir gates. Dut, like a rock amidst the storm — - By tempests gnaw'd, by lightning riven — Gray Albion rears her dauntless front, As deep as hell, as high as heaven. Yet still more dark the prospect grows ; Seai'ch east, west, north — look where I may- There comes no bright'ning streak of light To tell the dawning of the d.ay." 9 Like feathers in a whirlwind toss'cl, Awliile my seething senses reel'd, Then, trembling, woke, and marvel'd much The meaning of those scenes reveal'd. At length, far off fi-om out the depths A voice, firm as relentless fate, While melting into silence, said — " (rod holds the issues — watch and wait !' ^0^^ ^^=^^ 10 XT be %onc IRtDcr. Just before the great wave of destruction passed over the town of Johnston, in the terrible Hoods in America, an unknown liorscnian galloped through the streets, crying—" Run for your lives !" " Run to the hills !" Some thought a madman had broken loose, but those who heeded his warning were saved. Soon the great wave was upon himself, and he was whirled to his doom witli those he had tried in vain to save. No one seomed to know him ; he came and vanished with his warning cry — truly " a voice crying in the wilderness." Here was a brave man. SHUDDERING wail of liorror creeps through all our land to-day, I ^M^: ^ Our souls have gi'own so dumb with fear we doubt and cannot pray ; Let otheivs paint these woeful scenes — be mine the task to tell The grand act of a daring man who did a brave deed well. The wheels of labour buzz'd and droned, the children were at play, And all went well and merrily on in Johnston town that day, "When hark ! what awful cry was that? what rush of hurrying feet ? — An unknown horseman rides in haste down through the bustling street. " Run for your lives !" " Run to the hills !" so ran his warning cry, Then like a whirlwind down the vale swept horse and rider by ; " Run for your lives !" " Run to the hills I" rang all along his track, While close behind the toworin;; wave came thnnderinff at liis buck ; 11 And awe-struck watchers on the heights soon saw their tumbling town, And horse and rider in its path in the great floods swept down ; But thougli his name may ne'er be known to men on earth below, God writ it in His Book of Life, and all His angels know. J have no power with tongue or pen or pencil to portray That crash of doom, the crumbling town, the thousands swept away, I only feebly strive to sketch one brave and Christ-like man, Who rushing to his open grave rode boldly in the van. " Run for your lives !" " Run to the hills !" rang out his warning cry. And thus to save his neighboui's' li\es did a bi-ave hero die ; No deed more daring e'er was done by saint of old renown, And he has won his laurel wreath, and wears his martyr crown. " Run to the hills !" his warning cry rolls on from clime to clime, And through the centuries will roll on through all the years of time ; Wherever hearts respond like harps when tale of bravery thrills Will men repeat his tale who warn'd the people to the hills. 12 *' Zbc Maves are IRisino.' A IIIIVMH OF I'ROURK.SS. j7'< )\\' wliat seek ye here, ye lean curs, with your I snarling ; If-^j^JJ] Slink back to your kennels, ye vassals and thralls." So sneereth " My Lords," yet despite of their sneering Our yelpings are heard in St. Stephen's proud halls." " My Lord.s," see ye not that the waves now are rising 1 And those who defiant would stand in their path The great floods will o'erwhelni, and will suck them below The whirlpools that seethe from a people's wrath. Then mount, my good sii's, and ride home to your hunting, And loll (»n your Sybarite couches of ease ; liut never n.ore strive with the will of a nation, To tamper or twist with its laws as you please. The tocsin of doom for your exit has sounded ; So pack up your l)aubles and take to the road, And learn that the strong earnest voice of the people Ts truly and surely the language of God. See where now " Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin," His finger most plainly doth write on the wall ; Your House that was built upon quicksands of evil Most surely begins now to totter and fall. O'er liilltops of wrong sweeps the sunburst of Freedom — At sight of it's dawning we cannot be dumb , Then onward, iny lirothers ! the deeds we are doing Shall l>e told by the nations in ages to come. 13 ®ne J])ear Boo, [HEN Spring's crocus month made a gallant show, I wed my darling one year ago ; And our psalm of joy took the lark's strong wings— We knew tlie beauty of all bright tilings. Then the tongue of hope such a brave tale told Of joys and pleasures so manifold ; And more deep and strong did our fond loves grow — In Summer months when the roses blow. Oft through Autumn woods we would nutting go, When earth with ripe fruits did overflow ; And we fear'd no future of grief or pain, For Eden's days were with us again. But our montlis of joy wei'e too bright to last ; Death's angel came with a biting blast ; All my hopes were shatter'd and buried low Where she was hiid 'neath the Winter's snow. And, oh ! now I'm plung'd, since one year ago. From heights of bliss to the depths of woe ; But yet all alone I can never be, Through night's still watches she talks with me. Now with weary steps through this land I roam, Till the strong veil'd angel bear me home, Where, till all my wand'rings on earth are o'er, . 8!ie waits for me on the further shore. u C F) e c r up! C b c c r up! EEK up ! cheer up ! ne'er let your heart droop- It is ioWy to despair ; Aye hope for the best, tho' the gathering mist Bedims ilka prospect fair ; Tho' dark be the night o' the sornm ful pliglit, And a' seems forsaken and lorn, The sun will yet rise upon fairer skies, And bring a brighter morn. Cheer up ! cheer up ! Cheer up 1 cheer up ! the earth will not stop In its course round the sun, Nor the sun to shine on the verdure line Ere time was withered and done. Shedding light— bright light — on the mountain's height, "NVhaur the gloom o' winter lay, And greenness again on the smiling plain. And the bonnie flowers of May. Cheer up ! cheer up ! Cheer up I cheer up ! whispers bright-eyed Hope— The real life's fairy queen, Wlia doubles the ston; at contentment's door And aids tlie Eydent Unseen — There's aye in the cup a bit and a sup, There's wealth for winning, ne'er fear ; There's peace for the mind o' the gentle and kind. And health for the hearts o' cheer. Cheer uj) ! cheer up ! 15 Cheer up ! cheer up ! brave courage will prop The steps o' the weary and lame ; Like a star in the dark, it guides the lane barque, And points to the wanderer's hame. To the tempest-toss'd there's a stormless coast — In the land o' the leal a haven ; Fause friends may deceive, and fause lovers leave- There is truer love in Heaven. Cheer up ! cheer up ! IG Mbi tber? =i. ^^ E are children by niysteiies bounded, So little we knoAv, '^^ By strange wonder on wonder ^unovnided, Wherever we go ; And all tilings that this great globe inherit, From flower unto star, Hour by hour only tell to our spirit How feeble we are. Though our far-reaching thoughts we keep sending On wings of the Avind, 8till the darkness before us keei)s blending With darkness behind ; But yet sometimes faint glimpses of glory FaitJi cleaves with its sword, And there gleams from Love's marvellous story Tlie face of our Loid. Till weird lights o'er the darkness keep breaking, Tlip mists disappeai', And sin's strongholds are heaving and shaking. For dawning is near, We have built up our strong habitatiojis On foam and on sand. And wlale vaunting our strength to the nations The hour is at hand Wlien tlie towers of our boasting will ciunible, Sure, swift, unawares; r.ut (u.d's right hand will lift \ip the lunnble And wiimow tlu; tares. 17 Soon the loud drums of God will l)e beatiun' The grand reveille, "Wake to judgment " tlie echoes repeatnig From sliore and from sea ; But, oh, woe should our Judge and All-Father Find nothing but leaves. When He comes in His glory to gather And garner His sheaves, 18 Bmono tbc Sba^o^V5. H, vanish'd youtli ! thou green spring-time of life, AVlien all our hopes and loves on tip-toe stand, Girding their armour round them for the strife That soon will meet them upon every liand — WJieii life's pui-e fountain pours without control Its gushing notes, blythe as the bii'd that sings — Bright time of roses, when the buoyant soul Bathes in the waters of sweet fancyings." 'Twas thus a.n old man mus'd at close of day, While gazing at tlie slowly setting sun ; Tlie breezes with his thin sere locks did play — His day near setting and life's journey run. " With joy my soul leaps o'er the lapse of years — Back to the season when the gay laugh rung From my glad heart, and busy mem'ry rears A mirror of the time when life was young. From all the dead years sweeps their fun'ral pall — Once more I stand within the dear, lov'd spot, Where from their graves come gathering, one and all. Those who onoe fill'd with glee my parents' cot. As in the noonday of their life they stood, My father and my sainted mother stand ; Sisters and brothers, in a joyous mood. Dance in the dancing sunshine, hand in hand, !My with'ring heart with youthful vigour l)eats, And to the music of their feet keeps time. Till from my view the vision fair retreats, And leaves me liaskin" in life's summer-time, 19 Now to my side a radiant maiden comes, With eyes of hazel ; raven locks do curl Round face and form, where richest beauty blooms, And stately as the daughter of an earl. 'Tis the dear partner of my cliequer'd life — So firm my love had wrapt her round my soul ; Oil, 'twas a blest hour when T called her wife — The crowning of my wishes and their goal. Four pretty children gambol'd round my knee — Two brave young boys and two dear comely girls ; The boys possess'd my buoyant spirit free. The maids her clear eyes and lier raven curls. But all these now lie in the darksome tomb, Where Deatli, our brother, left them long ago ; And mother Earth hath in her silent womb Rock'd them to sleep where I must shortly go. Each sheltering branch lopt off the parent tree, This old trunk's left to bi-ave life's winter stoinns ; Yet oft in dreams there comes to visit me, 0\it from God's presence, their dear sainted forms. While I, like miser, hold those moments sweet, When fancy's mirror each lov'd form recalls, Oh, 'tis a time of joy for me to meet My grave-strewn friends within fair mem'ry's halls- For there each spirit of my dead appears ; I hear them calling from the further shore ; Their voices whisjier ever in mine ears, ' Come, join us here ; we have but gone before.' " 20 H BMaiii /Iran's (rrec&. K->^ROM o'er the broad Atlantic's wave, I 'il|2f From out the fail-, wide Western land, There came sweet words of cheer to-day. And claspinij; of a sister's hand AVhich roused me like a trumpet's blast ; God keep for aye from care or crime That sister I may never meet On eai'th, within the bounds of time. And I can only render praise Unto my ever-present God, Whose spirit gave me words could cheer One soul along life's dusty road. Though strangers both, we fain would know If either one be young or old — The place, and circumstance, of each, And if we stri\'e for God or gold. Among the magnates of the land I was not born, but lowlier down ; I daily earn my daily wage, And eat no man's bread but mine own. I envy no one's rank or state, Content 1 plod my simple way, A pilgrim in a stranger's land, But stepping higher day ])y day, 1 care not for the loud debates. Nor windy strife of creeds or school ; I do not mutter pi-ayers by rote, Nor beck, nor bend my knees by rule, 21 I liold my soul up like a cup, High heavenwards, for full well I know Tliat God will shower His blessings down. And that my cup will overflow. The yearnings of the earnest soul, The up-turu'd eye, tlie waiting hand, Are language which " Our Father " God Doth clear and fully understand. Through all life's strange and varied scenes Where circumstance doth make or mar, They who hold firm the hand of Christ, From God can never wander far. I do not mean that we should sit In silence or with idle hand, When there is earnest work to do On sea or shore, in ev'ry land. And if we see our neighbour walk In paths where sin lures to betray, Be ours the task to win them back. And point them to the Better Way. Let bigots shriek " Believe my creed. Or ye had better ne'er been born " — Those planted on the Living Rock Can laugh such bitter words to scorn. 'Tis but their zeal speaks ; — well I know We're crowding to the self-same goal God never yet barr'd Heaven's gate On any earnest trusting sou 22 AN'heu some full-freighted barque of liope In sluitter'd wreck and ruin lies, We cannot see the Guiding Hand AVliile miittted in such tierce disguise ; But when my stuljborn reason fails Some hidden ]nystery to perceive, My spirit, bending like a child, Can only whisper, "I believe." Because I do not understand, I dare not say — " This is not so ;" In fullness of God's fuller time. His wider knowledge yet will grow. I cannot read the flowers or stars, Nor what the bird sings on the tree. Yet these are revelations strong As any prophet's Aoice to me. 1 know that through the gates of death Our Elder Brother went before. And past the gloom of crowding mists "Will lead us on through Heaven's door And if we keep our gainients clean And spotless, o'er life's miry road, We yet may meet, dear sister, tlun-e, Within the City of our God. 23 /Ift^ Minsomc IRell. WAS wlien swallows on the wing Jouk'd an' danced their jingo-ring, As ae bonnie nicht in Spring, I gaed roaming Doon beside the Pear Tree Well — There I met my winsome ISTell, Singing saftly to hersel' In the gloaming. An' when Simmer cam' wi' fioo'rs An' her honeysuckle bow'rs, Aft through sunset's rosy hours We gaed weaving The bricht wab o' luve sae sweet, A' sae firm an' sae complete. That twa souls in ane did meet, Firm believing, Sune doon through the rustling lanes Will come wealth o' fruits an' grains. An' the merry harvest swains Lauching cheerie ; But the Autumn months will bring Juist ae ither fairy thing, A sweet denty wadding ring For my dearie. Then when life's dour Winter cauld Snaws oor pows or pooks them baukl. Sweet wee gran' bairns young and yauld May be spelling 2i Oil our knees to coo an' kiss ; ]jut it's lang to tliat frae this, Yet sie dreams tlirougli present Ijliss AN'ill keep stealing. P)ut w'liile sun an' niune endures, Through a' times fleet-titted hours, Hearts as firm an' fond as oors AV'ill gang roaming 'I'lirough tlie bonnie wuds an' dells, An' led by hive's witching spells Walk as ance we did oorsel's In the gloaming. CV^ „ r^ ; (s^' " g\3 25 Ubrouob Storm to Calm. ) j^i^ ID storm and tempest, through the night, ii[[[i^^lL I once a weary way did go, ry way ..... j^. Chill'd to the bone with soaking sleet. Fierce, pelting hail and swirling snow ; And, blind and dazed, I stumbled on — No star peejD'd through night's ebon cloud- I felt the lingers of the storm Were swiftly weaving me a shroud. But, staggering near the caves of death, Some cherub sweet did surely say — " Look up, sad heart — night's darkest hour Is just before the break of day." All through that fearful time my soul In vain had groped for outward sign, But now these cheering words of hope Swept tingling through my veins like wine. And, lo ! across the far hill-tops. Night's curtains slowly were withdrawn ; Like skulking thieves the shadows fled Before the glories of the dawn ; The snows were melting from the hills ; The tempest and the night were done ; My psalm on wings of prayer sped up With soaring larks to greet the sun. Oh, friends, who, compassed round with grief, Kee]} groping in the darken'd ways, Who see no pitying stars above, Nor comfort in your weary days — 26 » Look up ! once o'er this woeful road Our Elder Brother went before, Beneath the shadow of whose Cross We bend to ^\•orsllip and adore. E'en now, o'er all the list'ning land The herald angels' ai^theni swells — " To us this day a Child is horn " Is pealing from the Christmas bells. Lean out the trusting ear of faith And you will surely hear thera say — " Sad heart look up — night's darkest hour Is just before the break of day." And past these days of mist and rain, The birds again their songs will sing ; The flowers lie slee])ing in the earth, "Will blossom in the bowers of Spring ; So, while the better times draw near, For all sad hearts in truth we pray — " May larger hope and stronger faith Come with the coming New- Year's Day. 2? 1tt e a V i n g t b e IT b u n e i\ r^z^ H ! tliat words like swords could Hash from my pen, Ip/ Where the weak war with the stronger ! Uh ! sisters, brothers, be women and men, And snakes and wolves no longer. Though you vaunt and boast of your noble birth. Poor pride-pamper'd Sir or Madam, Yet your parents and mine once till'd the earth. And their names were E^'e and Adam. Ere the trembling sword of stern Justice smites, 'Twere well we sliould pause and ponder ; How woefully mean seem our spleens and spites To the angels watching Yonder. If but seeds of sin and hypocrite prayers We give to the whirlwind's keeping. Oh ! what else can be found save weeds and tares. In the day of God's fearful reaping 1 Though the bii'ds now sing and the fountains leap, And the lambs skip through the meadows, Yet the tierce tornadoes now growl in their sleep From their cave of gruesome shadows. Soon from mazes of lust, where ye loll and rove, Ye will hear with fear and wonder The dread Cyclops forging the bolts of Jove, And the rolling drums of thunder. Vaiii tinsel and gauds from the proud heads all God's keen sword of wrath will shiver ; And smiters of men will stagger and fall, To where none will say " Deliver I" 28 While the low and meek, from their raiisom'd place, With tempests of song keep telling Of the marv'Uous power of redeeming grace, Safe within their Father's dwelling. Though Wisdom now beckons, and talks through tears With a thousand witching voices, Her words fall unheeded where no one hears For din of self's jangling noises. Still within, without, and all round about. We Eternity's seed keep sowing. Whose fruit shall be known when the years die out And the trump of doom is blowing. 29 ®b, XTcmpora ! ®b, /IDores ! (Dedicated to Edmund Yates, the " Looker-on in London." ) *HE paeons wild and songs of praise, The loud liuzzas for victory won I dare not raise— my heart is sad. Oh, brothers, for this deed ye'\e done. I cannot hear the victory sliouts — I only hear the shrieks that rise From murder'd men ; the air is fill'd With widows' wails and orphans' cries. ()h, man of i)lots, who rode red-shod O'er mangled neighbours to a throne. The wolves are crouching in your path ; The day of reckoning drawetli on ! Home, poor pi'ide-dandled puppet-prince, Play marbles and leap-frog with boys ; Hence with your " baptism of fire," And blasphemy of frothy noise. And Bismarck — wily, shuffling Count, Wlio makes in part tliis blood to flow — , Think you from this red rain of death That any lasting good can grow ? The German fights for Fatherland, He says ; — he's but the Prussians' tool. And might fare better — liardly worse — Though Ijending to the Frenchman's rule. 30 But ye are fools and madnien all — Blind wrestlers in the dark that grope With all the God trod under foot, And all the devil at the top. Oh, bare Thine arm. Almighty Power, And bid these woeful w?-anglings cease Oil. haste the end — our souls How out With moanings for a dawn of peace ! 31 B Mai tin G Soul. LONE soul, waiting at life's furthest edge, Where deep and far death's i*ealni of terror lay, Throu2;h orrief's hushed sobbings heard the voice of God Call from the darkness, " Daughter, come away." Then, wliile night's demons, huddling mute with fear, The awful voice of the Creator knew, A hand of glory smote the clouds in twain. And marvellous wonders of weird beauty grew. The voice spoke on : " Here through your night of pain The low, sad burden of your moanings rise. But see where, upward througli a flowery land, The pleasant pathway to My kingdom lies. ' Be of good cheer ' — lift those far-dreaming eyes — Ye grope no longer in the dark alone : My waiting angels compass thee about, And they will guard and safely guide you on." " Lord, Thou hast called me and I come," she said, Then like a lily bowed her weary head iSafe on the bosom of the pitying Christ, And friends and neighbours whispered " She is dead." But from that chrysalis state of seeming death The soul that waited had found winnowing wings. And her poor garments had grown grander far Than e'er were wrapped about the loins of kings. And as they pass'd the burnish'd gates of beryl. In richer tones heaven's harpers, clear and strong. With notes of joy for one more soul I'edeem'd, Broke forth in gushing ecstasies of song. 32 Thoy put tlio saint's sweet psalm within her mouth : N(Av, free from eartlily pain or blight of tears, Her swelling anthem near " the great white throne " Flows on for ever through the endless years. Faint and far off, like music heard in dreams. From the bleak land she left a chorus swells — • " Glory to God, to us a Child is born," Was peal'd and shaken from the Christmas bells. 33 S u !i s e t « AVAS wlien the sun crept downward to the rim Of the round world, and from their hiding-place Came the long troops of shadows, weird and grim, With busy fingers to hide up the face Of the dead day — I, in that mystic hour, Went wand'ring through the balmy fields of June, Where the gray owlet, from her ivied bower. Hooted a welcome to the white-faced moon ; While, flowing through the black and ebony bai's. Wave upon wave, came the long lines of light Flung from the marv'lous wonder of the stars. Garlands of worlds twined round the brow of night. Across the mystery of life's warps and woof IVIy thoughts surged onward in a dream sublime ; " What star," my soul said, " in that golden roof Shall be thy Eden in God's fuller time T 34 POOR man, ragged and lonely, Dropt down in the street one day ; " Oh, 'tis nought but a poor beggar only, A lady in silks did say ; " And they're thievish and loathsome knaves, Who pester us night and day — We could spare them an acre for graves, If they'd crawl to them out of our way." Harsh words these — they cut like a knife — And cruel, my lady, indeed ; For this poor man was crippled for life When he once stopped your runaway steed. But for him whom you now grudge a crust, Proud dame, in your trappings so rare, The rank mould of the graveyard dust Would be diming the gold of your hair. Some scraps that you .saved from your hounds You sent to liis hovel next day ; And some wine, too, you left on your rounds, In a Dorcas Society way. But Time's snows are abroad on his brow ; He is palsied in every limb ; And the fingers of clestiny now Have number'd the hours for him, 35 From the filth of the miry ways, Oh, lift him and give from your store ; He is Hearing the end of his days, And his pilgrimage soon will be o'er. So the Master of All you may please. And your own end the sweeter will be- Forasmuch as ye did it to one of these, Ye have doiie it unto Me," 36 3n Dreams aub Disions. STRANGE voice liailVl my spirit one day, In a tone that commanded to stay, From the mists tliat had grown, Wliere I wander'd alone, And tliese were the words it did say — " Oil, listen ! Oh, hearken and hear ! Where the footsteps of Doom draweth near ; Men are sharpening the sword and the spear, And the trampling of armies I hear ; Oh ! the vultures will fatten, T fear, 'Ere the end of this terrible year." Then a hand rolled the thick mists away, And in dark Armaggedon that day Lo ! an army more numerous lay Than the motes in the sunbeams thai play. And the clarions and trumpets did bray. And the drums beat the signal to slay. Then did cannon to cannon reply, Till in heaps the dead warriors did lie ; And the thick air grew heavy with groans. And the burning and breaking of thrones, And all things into ruin seemed hurl'd. As if here lay the end of the world. For the lion had leapt from his lair. And in death giips now hugg'd witli the bear ; And the cobras from India were there, So deadly, so treacherous, and fair ; Shrieks from German's and Frank's filled the air, And no man did pity or spare. 3t And the heaven's above nie seem'd brass, While my spiiit cried — " Lord, let it pass. Bid this terrible carnage to cease, Oh, send Thy Millenium of peace ; My brain throbs with fear — I grow blind, AVith tears for the crimes of my kind. Then as swiftly it faded from sight, As a vision or dream of the night. From each tree top gush'd anthems of song, Streams tinkled and babbled along ; In the still glen the young lambs were grazing By the loch side the dun deer stood gazing ; And Beauty was walking abroad. Fair and fresh from the fingers of God, But it seem'd, through the shuddering air. Crept a strange voice that whisper'd — " Prepare." 38 Zhc Ool^eu Calt. Fit/, Noddle draws near, Lord of liill and glen, itli liis stutter and leering laugh ; jh he never could till any place among men, They must bend to this Golden Calf. Bow l(»w to the Golden Calf — and pray. And flatter, and cringe, and crawl, Till their backs are bent and their hair gi-ows grey, And in pauper graves they fall. For his ancestors came to our shame and grief, Eight hundred years ago; And through our land, witli the Norman thief Did like swarming locusts go ; For they harried and slew-, and graveyards grew Wherever they pass'd along ; And the weak fell like straw, as they ever do. Beneath the flails of the strong. They boast their descent from this Norman line, These Lords to whom we pray For leave to dig in their field or mine, For a crust by night and day. And their harsh deeds search us like grief or flaiues ; We are born thralls — fetter'd and bound — Who must sweat and slave for their lusts and shames. And fare worse than their horse or hound. Though the summer fields may be tilled with flowers, And the hedges with roses sweet. We must burrow like moles through the sunny hours Underneath our master's feet. 39 Oh ! God, must Thy stewards before Thy sight Do for ever a cursed thing? Will the wrong seem right by the force of raiglit, Till Eternity's bells shall ring 1 Oh, no, for that ominous earthquake sound, May well make them shiver with fear ; For the storm and the vultures are gath'ring round, And the thunderbolts are near. And we who faint and fall down by the way, 'Neath the grinding wheels of wrong ; Can only stretch hands unto Thee and pray— " How long, oh Lord 1 how long f 'p^ 40 G i n :f6 a c f? . AN ALPHABETICAL ACROSTIC. LL (liiy I had been AvancFring far, By flinty roads, o'er hill and lea ; Cares guaw'd my heart, and many a scar Dealt by the unkindly fates to me. Each hedgerow, bent with bursting flowers, From ev'ry twig the birds did sing ; Great joy flll'd all — tlie laughing hours Had brought once more the gladsome Spring. In pensive mood while I did stray, Just as I near'd my native town. Keen winds did swiid the dusty way. Loud patt'ring rain came pelting down. Months, years, had pass'd, and I had seen No friend I'd loved, nor kith nor kin ; On many a stranger's shore I'd been, Pride wall'd nic round, without, within. " Queen of my lieart where bide ye now, Hose leaf I tost upon the stream, Shall we e'er meet, and when, or how ?" Thus on I walk'd as in a dream. " Ungodly thoughts long since have died, Vain are the joys from fame doth grow ; Wife, friends, and chiklren by our side, 'Xcells all else on earth below. Yc gods ! bring back to me young manliood's prime Zeal for my kind shall guide life's ev'ning time." -U Brave jf I o i* a . iTs^THEN tlie gloaming fell on Drunnuossie Muir y-V^/^ Owre a scene o' dread an' o' fear, Like chaff on the M'in' a handfu' o' men Had gane fleeing baith far an' near ; But whaur awa' noo was the Bonnie Prince They had spilt their best lives to save 1 Gangs he hale an' weel, or has he been clutch'd In the maw o' the greedy grave *? Oh, he's skulking oot on the bleak hill-sides Wi' a lassie to guide him noo. An' prove ance mair for the ane that they love, What a woman will daur an' do. ' Owre my loyal clans," Bonnie Charlie sabb'd, " The red hooves o' the spoilers go ; Oh ! that wi' them I Avere streekit the nicht, Whaur noo they are lying sae low," While slowly they crept amang wuds an' caves, She wi' comforting words wad say — ■ Lean yer weary held on my lap, my Prince, An' sleep safe till the break o' day ; For afore the hunters cud strike ye doon, Or that you should yer life bluid tine, They first shall drain the last draps frae my heart, An' maun lapper their hauns in mine." An' for mony a weary day an' niclit, While his foemen sair press'd him roun', He row'd himsel' up in his tartan plaid, An' on rough heather bed slept soun'. 42 Sae for weeks an' months amid danger's dire Bonnie Flora ne'er left his side Till the ship wi' him gaed booing frae sicht Owre the rim u' the frothing tide. Thus \anish'd the last o' the Stewart race Frae auld Scotland for evei'mair ; But mony a day frae the harried glens Cam' a wailing an' moaning sair ; For as few o' the brave braw lads raed back, As cam' frae the rout o' Flodden, For maist ane an' a' bow'd their heids in death On the red field at Culloden. But when leal true hearts in the years to come Seek brave deeds on our scroll o' Fame, In the foremost front o' oor bravest bi'ave, They'll find Flora M 'Donald's name. 43 "J Cannot /IDaUe /IDi^ /IDinb Sit Bown." Suggested on hearing Lord Rosebery in his speech at the unveiling of the Reformers' Monument, Kilmarnock, relate an anecdote of a little girl of his who told her nurse " She could not sleep, she dreamed so much at night." Her nurse said—" You must not think so much." On telling this to her father, the little one said— "But I cannot help thinking, papa; I cannot make my mind sit down." To that young lady I dedicate these lines. REAM on, wee meditating Miss — Your words are wiser than you know : From active, i-estless minds like yours The deeds that move the workl do grow. They who through battles fierce have Avon The victor's wreath, the martyr's crown, Wei-e dreamers who wrought out their dreams, And could not make their minds sit down. Your fatlier bears his torch of truth Where moral victories may l)e won : God grant him length of healthful days To end what lie has well begun. The germs of tliought he holds ere long Will blossom into fruitful deeds- He holds the power to bend men's minds As strong winds bend the swaying reeds. Though wealth and plenty crown your board And life moves in a pleasant place, God meant not you should fold your hands ; The drones are but the land's disgrace, Ere long in fashion's giddy ranks A foremost place you well may claim Think then some hopeless sister-souls For want are drifting into shame. u Where famine rends the poor like wolves, And starving children cry for food, Oh ! let them say "Slie holds her wealth But as the means for doing good. To save from sin my lady deems Her robe of glory and her crown ; She lives a pure and noble life, And cannot make her mind sit down." Some time, perchance, before you go To mingle with life's busy throng, Our dainty maid may pause to sift The words of wisdom from my song. I know on all this teeming earth There lives not one so great or small But holds Love's cord that binds us firm To God, wlio is above us all. 45 Zhc %anc{^ Hulb Mife. ERE I sit, and my wee wheel keeps turning, An' striving to spin an' to pray, But it's lang frae the first skreigh o' morning To the end o' the gloaming sae gray ; An' though little I get for my spinning — Let them cock up their noddles wha daur — What I leeve on is a' my ain winning, And they're thieves that dae onything waur. Yet I'm blythe and contented as onie, I've a penny to liain an' to spen' An' to dae't at my age there's no' monie, For I'm noo past my three score an' ten. Aye the bite an' the brat's been provided By the bountiful Giver for me ; By His haun' I've been guarded and guided, An' will be till the day that I dee, Sae I croon to mysel' while I'm spinning- Some lilt o' the days ha'e gane bye. When, a bare-fitted lass, I was rinning, An' herding the sheep and the kye ; Till I hear the lark pouring and shaking [ts sang frae the heart o' the cluds, While the birds a' ai'oon' me are making An anthem o' praise in the wuds. An' like clear siller bells they seem chiming, Thae birds' sangs I never can tyne ; On my sweet harp o' mem'ry their rhyming Comes doon frae the days o' lang syne ; 46 But fui'tlier tliau larks sang an' higher Soars upward my fragment o' praise, Till I speil to my height o' desire At the end o' my desolate days. Whiles the skreighin' win' doon the lang loanin' Comes groanin' like some ane in pain, Till my croon tak's the soon' o' its moanin', An' I feel, oh, sae eerie my lane. Then I stop my wee wheel, an' I ponder ; An' lost voices hear, for I ken That my freens' wait an' watch for me yonder. When this pilgrimage comes to an en'. A' the fowk that I ance lo'ed sae dearly Ha'e been lifted an' ta'en frae my side An' I feel my ain limpin' feet nearly Noo touchin' the edge o' the tide, That will bear me awa' like a blossom Afloat on the briest o' a stream, Owre the waters o' Death to the bosom 0' God, in the land o' my dream. An' nearer, aye near, an' mair steady, Tlie lichts o' His city I see ; Let Him come when He likes, for I'm ready. An' few will cry " dool " when I dee. Sune like south win's that scarce stir the barley His messenger saftly will steal. An' steek my auld een without parley, While croonin' my sang at my Avheel. 47 ® u r X a ^ ^ JS u n t i t u I ! Lines to the Honourable Dowager Lady Howard de Walden on her princely gift to the Kilmarnock Infirmary, for the benefit of the little ones. <( OR BID them not," the loving Master said, When little children claraber'd round His knees ; " They who would see my Father's face or Mine In fflorv, must become like one of these." And the same love that till'd this heart of love Set in your thoughts some helpless little one ; AVe loved you, lady, from your coming first — We love you doubly for the deed you've done. And on, and on, tln'ough all the coming years The little ones — the weak, tlie maim'd, the lame — Will bless you for the sunshine you have made, And praise and honour the De Walden's name. With gratitude we take your princely gift, And tender you our meed of thanks and praise ; God grant you, lady, in your sunset years, 8weet healtli and pleasure tln-ougli life's flow'ry ways. 48 Jobn Stuart Blacftie. INCE " rusty, crusty CJjristoplier " Smote shams with weight of words and pen, No truer Scot has trod our land — A man among ten tliousand men ; Wherever Scot had wrongs to right Your sword of wrath swept flashing there, Till shams of creed or cruel deed Became a hissing everywhere. And we have heard your words to-night — " AVords of a dreamer," some may say — So spake men of the seers of eld And prophets of the earlier day. Press onward with your torch of truth. Pass up and onward in the van ; All earnest words of honest truth Brins: near the brotherhood of man. 49 /ID a n ( p u r- vViir' TRIKE now, my muse, a martial strain with roll of ■''^ muffled drums, See where the sad, grief-laden dame, dower'd round with honour, comes To sit within her darkened home, and mourn her early dead ; 0]\ ! pitying Father, shower Thy balms of healing on her head Who, late within tlie gap of death, stood staunch, and firm, and true. And proved once more in hour of need what one brave heart can do. Vain now to whisper " Shame," or blame those men of proven steel, Wlio rushed through treachery to their fates, mayhap through over-zeal ; God holds the record in His hand who first struck treach'rous blow. And weighs within His balance true the deeds of friend or foe. Sore-tested soul, 'twixt fears for " Frank " and love for fill your kind, Who nursed the sick, and planned the deed that grew within your mind ; Who, when men quail'd, and hope seemed dead, led forth your faithful band Safe over danger's fearful path and through an enemy's land, P 50 Now on and ou tlnou,i(li .ill tlie years, while tliis old earth spins round, Till quick and dead alike sliall hear the last trump's awful sound, We'll keep from time's corroding rust, graved on the scroll of fame, \n our front rank of bravest brave, sweet Mrs. Grim wood's name. 51 Mbat tbc 5a vatic Saw. HE Great Prince Salambo came here one day, From his kingdom of Chickeraboo ; And he thouglit the whole workl turn'd upside down, Sucli rare wonders did meet his view. For our civilization in vain he sought, Both through city and country town ; As marvelling much, on a fruitless quest, He went wandering up an