UC-NRLF $B ass am --. ;•-;■, :;. ,^;i^'\;;:^ • ' ^ \ V mM -^\ ' ^^3'^'- ^•V- \=s. ^; POEMS. ANGUS FAIRBAIRN, 3tsttU\ dinger. WITH A PORTKAIT OF THE AUTHOR. GREENWICH : PUBLISHED BY HENRY S. RICHARDSON, CHURCH STREET. 1868. LONDON : K. NEWMAN, PRINTER, 9, DEVONSHIRE STREET, BISHOPSGATE, N.E. TO THE ADMIRERS OF BURNS AND ALL LOVERS OF SCOTTISH SONG, THESE UNCONNECTED AND DESULTOKY VEESES ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED. 322 CONTENTS. Page COODAILY 1 On the Centenary of Burns ... 30 The Camera and the Brush .... 34 The Sabbath Morning Vision . . . 39 Where is the London Muse? ... 43 A Meeting of *' Friends" .... 46 An Epistle to a Discontented Scholar . 48 Mona's Complaint 51 Song 54 The Hope of the Family . . . . 56 The Marygold 67 Have You any Time ? .... 58 To Katie .59 On the Death of a Kentish Man , . 61 The Man of Lee 63 Song 65 Our Great England over the Water. By the Poet of Kent 67 The Yankee's Answer to the Poet of Kent 69 Tom: The Toast of Charlton . . .71 VI CONTENTS. Page WiNTEE IS Retreating .... . 73 The Signalman 75 Greenwich . 76 A Christmas Hymn .... 77 An Epistle to Gordon Hepburn . . 81 Lines to a Poetic Friend in Sorrow 85 The Half-Brothers .... . 87 On the Death of Peter E. 89 A Wish : . 91 An Epistle to W. C. Bennett 93 On the Death of a Brother's Child . . 96 The Auld Kirk-bell .... 98 Shoeing the Dead .... . 100 Song 109 Gree, Bairnies, gree .... . Ill To my Friend the Doctor 112 PEEFACE. That the following Poems have been gathered together from various corners of newspapers and other periodicals, and now offered to the public in a form good enough for the very best sort of literature, is owing entirely to the kindness of friends. Whether these friends have done wisely or not, my old patron the Public must determine. In pursuance of my avocation as Lecturer, and singer of Scottish songs, I have never found the Public slow to appreciate a clear expression of poetical thought and feeling : I am therefore confident, if this little volume do not succeed, it simply does not deserve success. One comfort remains for me, at all events — the genuine, un- mistakable goodness of heart manifested toward me by men and by women, whose friendship is even more valuable than literary fame. Angus Faikbairn. COODAILY. The Aegument. — The scene of the first poem ex- tends from the plains of Falkirk, celebrated for its cattle tyst, to the banks of the River Tweed, equally celebrated for its excellent salmon-fishing. The time of action includes three days, and the whole transactions occupy one canto. POEMS. COODAILY. I. Chide not the Muse, ye bright transcendent crew, If she essay to sing a vision rare Of roast and boiled, and dainties not a few, Served up discreetly in the open air, To one whose stomach dainties seldom knew. Yet loved he all his lifetime goodly fare, And in his heart believed that Nature's plan Is well and wisely rounded by the frying-pan. IT. Ooodaily was this youth, from Falkirk plain, By birth and lineage a fremit Scot : His mother oft admonished him in vain, And strove to wean him from the carnal pot ; She showed how fleshly lusts do end in pain, And virtue is of temperance begot ; l>ut woe is me, her doctrines he disdained, 1^ or which she oft his slender corpus caned. a 7i COODAILY. III. She told how Israel, late from bondage free, Near Sinai did Moses much enrage By looking back, with lingering longing e'e, To Egypt's flesh-pots, sin's black heritage, And how food came from heaven, as you may see Recorded clearly in the Sacred page : Coodaily quite the moral overlooked, By wondering how on earth the heavenly quails were cooked ! IV. Nor did she fail to set before his mind The origin of sorrow, death and sin ; Quoth she, the apple had a toothsome rind, But, oh, it carried bitterness within. This son of Eve his fancy then inclined (For with instruction evil creepeth in) To speculations on the apple s flavour, That put creation on its wicked bad behaviour. V. To manhood grown, he openly despised The usual roads that lead to wealth and fame ; No mental nutriment he greatly prized, Yet tales of feasts his fancy would inflame ; The tastes of dishes mentioned he surmised, And, with a zeal to which young love is tame. In sacred groves the cookery-books he scanned. And oft, in raptures hour, a glutton's meal he planned. COODAILY. VI. His tree of knowledge was like greasy pole, At top of which a leg of mutton's placed, And upward to that point his youthful soul For consolation turned whene'er disgraced ; While others strove to win the scholar's goaJ, He carefully did cultivate his taste By earnest process of assimilation Of all that owed a potable derivation. VII. The deeds of Wallace wicht, and Bruce the brave, In him awoke no patriotic fire : In heart, I fear, he was a traitor knave. For English prowess never woke his ire ; To Burns he admiration scarcely gave ; The haggis ode alone did praise inspire : In sooth he yearned for England's fat domain, And held his native land in rooted, deep disdain. VIII. 'Tis hard, I'll own, to love one's native land When she hath sore oppressed our tender youth, And never lent to us a helping hand When w^e were full of faith and hope and truth. Ah ! many a noble nature's been unmanned By local prejudice, unkind, uncouth, That will set up its petrified traditions, In hopes to bar the immortal soul's transitions. 4 COODATLY. IX. Some said his mother, in her brooding time, Did suffer penury and hunger keen ; And who can tell, in life's primeval clime. What poor Coodaily's sympathies have been ? We wot that plastic is the hour of prime, When Nature fashioneth her changeful scene : I do opine, each well-conducted nation Should victual well its period of gestation. X. 'Twere not amiss to make a thoughtful pause, Enquiring curiously anent the gases That may have bearing on the very cause Why some are wise and others perfect asses, Why some run counter to the moral laws, And some in virtue touch the angel classes : T knew a lad whose life was all a blunder By being prematurely scared by claps of thunder. XI. When south winds blew, Coodaily would ensniff The odour of the south with nose distent. Till, roused to travel by each fragrant whiff, He toward England near and nearer went, Unheeding stream renowned and storied cliff ; No ear to History's thrilling tale he lent : He crossed the Bannock Burn, a bannock chewing, Nor gave one single thought to tyranny's undoing ; COODAILY. XTI. For in the yawning ocean of his maw All nobleness of thought was deep entombed : '* Edina, Scotia's darling seat," he saw, Where many a flower of chivalry has bloomed. Where many a gallant King has given law, And many a martyr's been to glory doomed ; But, shame to say, he passed the city by, With eating-houses in his mind and eye. XIII. Auld Reekie soon he left, and onward fared Down Galla Water, sweet in ancient song ; But not its melting mood of love he shared ; Yet well he noted, as he trudged along, The good fat sheep that from the pasture stared ; And oft he sighed, those lovely scenes among, That he might rest him by the sheltering hill, And, for one glorious year, of mutton have his fill. XIV. He paused awhile at haunted Abbotsford, For he had learned, from one who well could say, That here the wizard kept an open board, And feasted all who passed along that way. One tear he dropped in memory of its lord. And up he looked to smokeless chimneys gray : 'Twas not the high-souled tear for genius shed. But for the generous man who every comer fed. b COODAILY. XV. Not Melrose, monkish miracle of stone, Could wile our pilgrim from his southern quest, Though summer moonlight on the Abbey shone, Soft shimmering through a dewy silver mist : Sir Walter says 'tis thus, and thus alone, Our mortal eyes should view it. As you list ; But, for myself, I much prefer the view When morning streams each crumbling casement through. XVI. Opinions from a master may not be The very best for all the human clan ; The spirit knows her own, and should be free To choose, nor fear a fellow creature's ban ; But flesh is craven : few indeed there be W^ho take the freedom God has granted man ; The many twist their souls by men's invention. And yield to fashion, custom and pretention. XVII. In certain things, religion for example. The good old way is safest, not a doubt. Take our Coodaily as an easy sample : He went tlie way by Calvin hollowed out, A narrow" way, yet for a sinner ample Who means to walk on something firm and stout ; It leads direct to one supreme conclusion. And saves us from a waste of wild delusion. COODAILY. I XVIII. And for that faith Coodaily was a sot. Dost think he was in point of faith remiss ? Ah, no I though much indeed had gone to pot, He in his hosom warmly cherished this, — The faith that, if he haply were begot Predestined heir of grace and happiness, No power in earth or hell could e'er prevent him From being blest at last ; and this did well content him. XIX. Coodaily, once for all, did take his stand On God's immovable and fixed decree ; '* For He who made the ocean and the land, The heavens, and every thing that in them be, Doth surely all the ways and means command That shapeth out our mortal lot," quoth he : In this he merged the human will of course. And destiny he took for better and for worse. XX. Here I apology most humbly make For running tilt upon a dissertation That e'en a well intentioned man may take Straight to the dreary confines of damnation ; But, since the ass to prophet Balaam spake. There have been men, of every creed and nation, Who would attempt His ways to justify, y^igli- Whose footstool is the earth, Whose throne is heaven on ^ COODAILY. XXI. And as the pupil of the eye doth close Just in proportion to excess of light. So do your heavenward gazers oft suppose The heaven as it appears to their dazed sight, Though certes they cannot see beyond their nose, And only take betimes an owlet's flight, Yet build they systems on the narrow basis Made by their own defects an inch before their faces. XXTI. But where's our pilgrim, he we left erewhile By Melrose Abbey, neath the summer moon ? He careless passed that venerable pile, In hopes to reach the English border soon ; And on bis face there played a wistful smile, To think how many a cowled and shaven loon Did, in those roofless halls, at ease enjoy The sure delights that feasting-hours employ. XXIIT. And oh, dear friends, some charity I crave For poor Coodaily, as I cannot boast That his design was either high or brave In this his journey to the English coast ; He went not forth his fellow-man to save ; Ah, no ! to such pursuits the man was lost : He travelled southward, as before I hinted, Because in early life his appetite was stinted ! COODAILY. XXIV. Smile not, contemptuous Fortune's darling dear, Who aye hast had thy mortal wants suppHed ; Thou knowest not the want of worldly gear, Nor yet for daily bread hast inly sighed : Oh, mayst thou never shed the scalding tear For such mean things as provender denied ; And may thy gastric juices, in particular, Find always wherewithal to keep thy perpendicular. XXV. Oh, fie, Coodaily ! where 's thy Scottish blush ? I see thee grovelling on the English soil. For whilst we moralized thou mad'st a rush, And sped thee many an intervening mile ; Now prone beneath the morning s rosy Hush, Thou liest on thy belly, weak and vile, While tears of joy bedew thy meagre face : Rise up, thou renegade ! thy bonnet blue replace. XXVI. Was it for this thy Burns did humbly pray That day at Coldstream, on the English side. When he with fervour flung his hat away, And kneeled in rapture by the murmuring tide ? What doth his young companion Ainsley say. Who witnessed all with reverence and pride ? He offered up, without the least obstruction, The best two stanzas of his most admired production. 10 COODATLY XXVII. With strong desire for Scotias lasting weal, In sounding verse his orison arose, That she should be content with oaten meal, In shape of so wens, parritch, cake or brose ; Then luxury w^ould never on her steal, And she would be, to all her outward foes, A wall of fire : the notion is an old one, But, being well put up, it looks a new and bold one. XXVIII. Old notions, finely drawn, make money now. As witness Tennyson and Martin Tupper ; Whate er the Muses think, you must allow. It pays to clutch Pegasus by the crupper ; 'Tis something to be sound on change, I vow, Though with the gods you may not eat your supper. The poet to the age, like insect to the plant ; And hence the measured flow of artifice and cant. XXJX. Else up, thou bonded thrawl of sense ! He sleeps. Sleep on, Coodaily ; take thy quiet rest. No injured one for thee in sorrow weeps : Thy shaggy head on England's bosom prest, Within thy clouded soul there may be deeps That find in England what for thee is best. Tw^eed's murmurs on thy sleeping ear shall steal. Like flattering invitations to a glorious meal. COODAILY. 11 XXX. Oh, river, lovely river, noble Tweed, Thou living bulwark of the Scottish people, Preserving still the virtuous northern breed From organs in the kirk and cross on steeple ; Here stops at once the language and the creed That round the universe doth intercreeple : St. George recoils from Tweed's enchanted banks, As if a hornet's nest were planted in his flanks. XXXT. Oh, stream of streams, we are a nation yet, Our fathers' faith and Doric all intact, And as I on the Thames by sufferance sit I'm proud and happy to record the fact ; Still do I see, in drear prophetic fit. The breaking up of Scotland's ancient pact ; Her bond of brotherhood to me seems failing : Plum pudding, do thy work ! my tears are unavailing. XXXII. In shade of ages gone, Coodaily dreamt A strange outlandish army passed him by ; Some rode on nags and some footweary limpt, But every face and every eager eye Strained southward, ^vhile their locks unkempt Did o'er their shoulders, like the sun, drift by ; No breeches had they on, their limbs were hairy. Each bore a shield of hide, each hand a spear did carry ; 1'2 COODATLY. XXXII r. Their language was unknown, yet one could see The object of this savage inundation : Starvation glared in every haggard e'e. These were the fathers of the Scottish nation : They came from confines of the Irish Sea, From wilds beyond the furthest Koman station ; The Tweed ran mud for miles below their trail, And horrid smells did taint the wholesome gale. XXXIV. One band, another, and another still, Down ages came, with famished interlude ; One hope each manly countenance did fill, The hope of plunder and superior food : This fused in common mould each rover's will, Scot, Caledonian, Scandinavian rude ; This fettled up the fittest people going With pluck and genius charged to overflowing. XXXV. Time hath no place in dreams : the ages fled ; The Saxons, Normanized, have England named ; The Scots, who erst with glorious Wallace bled At Bannockburn, have Edward's avarice tamed ; Six Stewart Kings are numbered with the dead, And poor Queen Mary murdered and defamed ; Queen Bess is gone, who scorned the masculine gender. And England wants a King to govern and defend her. 13 XXXVI. Now, Tweed, prepare thy most melodious flow ; Such precious burthen never o'er thee passed : He comes on padded palfrey, pacing slow ; King James approaches, Scotland's Sixth and last ; T hear the Lord's anointed laugh and crow ; A train behind him, long and lean and vast ; He quoteth Scripture like a Presbyterian, And swears in Latin like an old barbarian ; xxxvii. His doublet it is buttoned all awry ; He sits on saddle like a bag of clouts ; Now doth he roll around a timorous eye, As round him rise tempestuous yells and shouts, For England's longed-for Goshen they descry ; But James in secret harbours certain doubts Anent the crossing of the land debateable. For blood and wounds to him were mainly hateable. XXXVIIT. Ah, could he gather, with prophetic ken, The upshot of this fated pilgrimage, Methinks he'd quickly turn him back again. Or lay him down and die beside the hedge ; But on he rides through each admiring glen, The Scottish Solomon, the northern sage, To turn a leaf in modern English history, Which to the reader is devoid of mystery. 14 COODAILY. xxxrx. Could he foresee his baby Charles's head Fall, gnashing, in the basket CromwelHte ; Dunbar and Nasbj, strewn with mangled dead ; The horrid wounds of Worcester's bloody fight ; His very name detested, banished ; — Would he now caper o'er the downs so light, Or show so much pedantic ingenuity To prove the right divine, that most august fatuity ? XL As onward wound the Royal calvacade, There ran a shudder through the English laud ; It rocked Carnarvon's battled esplanade, It shook St. Michael on the Cornish strand ; Prophetic nature felt this lawful raid Was more than English valour could withstand, While those who rode and those who had to shank it [it. Went south w^ard saying. Let the Lord be praised and thank- XLI. King Jamie's gone, with all his hopeful train ; Tweed smiles serenely, dimpling to the sea ; Except yon lessening dust upon the plain, No traces of the trail of Royalty. But, oh, Coodaily writhes with inward pain. As if his bowels were in extremity : He sees what none of Jamie's men behold, A ghostly convoy rearward mustering on the wold I COODAILY. 15 XLII. Their squadrons wheel and form on either side, Two hostile bands, alas ! of kindred race ; There, foremost in that eerie, ominous ride, The fierj Rupert shows his haughty face, And, on a charger stubborn in its stride. The grim Protector takes his fated place ; The choosers of the dead prepare their roll ; The Lord in love receive each brave devoted soul ! XLIII. They're gone, the outcome of the civil war, A most uncivil looking company ; Cromwell and Rupert, each a guiding star. Lead hostile legions doomed to disagree, — A bodiment of what the English are In plain day-life, and clanking chivalry ; The brewer, who will not be gauged by Kings ; The knight, whose loyalty from his religion springs. XLIV. But whence this measured tramp, this solemn drone. The covenant hosts from Scottish mists unfold ? Old Lesley, with his true blue Scots, comes on To sell the faithless King for English gold. Poor Tweed, ashamed, shrinks under rock and stone ; Their song of psalms makes all her currents cold. Oh, could she draw her torrents from the deep, And drown the mercenary crew with one indignant sweep ! 16 COODATLY. XLV. It is observable amongst mankind, I mean the mankind of our native isle, That God and gain pervade the nation's mind ; And he who would our annals true compile, If free from cant, these truths will surely find. Like stars they shine above the stress and broil ; If passages at times appear romantic, 'Twas but th' acquis'tive pietist run frantic. XL VI. Macaulay missed this point, so have the rest Who, bent on making pictures, dip the pen In fancy pigments, all of them possessed With strong desire to please their fellow men : Your true historian, he should stand confessed Above the greed of fame that poets ken, Above the partizan desire to Whig or Tory Our comprehensive nature-nurtm'ed story. XLVII. Were not Coodaily such a wretched thrawl, By flesh enchained, in sooth a sorry medium, I'd make him from the teeming past recal A faithful history, yet devoid of tedium ; Each motive I'd lay open to you all ; Each character full length, as you had need o'eni. From times anterior to the Goths and Romans Down to the present People s House of Commons. COODAILY. 17 XLVIII. But higher than the spring no stream will rise ; Of sow's ear ne'er was made a silken purse, Nor would I any man the attempt advise, Unless he means to generate a curse ; Let us be moderate in our entei'prise, And thank our stars the matter is nt worse ; One-half of all our mortal care and trouble Comes out of making human nature carry double. XLIX. The back is for the burden all must bear ; For thee I suffer, thou for me hast pain ; That symbol of atonement thou dost wear, Sweet lady, bodes thy wretched sister's gain ; If she be down and soiled her robe once fair. She haply saved thine from a deeper stain : In wearing of the cross be kind and true. And think what suffering may have been thy due. L. If this be preaching, oh, my ' Telegraph,' The dire contagion's due to thee alone ; Though * Tomahawkers ' at thee jibe and laugh. Yet great thou art when case of hardship's on ; In spite of all their badinage and chaff, The heart of England quivers to thy moan, The injured find in cash some restoration, And thou a stronger flow of virtuous circulation. 18 COODATLY. lil. Some flowers the tenderest handling wont abide, And these in Virtue's garden choice and chief: And when the blazon flieth far and wide That one for heart of love hath come to grief. It might be best the whole affair to hide ; Let Virtue in herself find pure relief ; But, as my ' Telegraph ' can well declare, The very best of people can't subsist on air. LII. Time, down the grooves of change, I hear thee ring (The fancy is mechanical, not mine) ; The spinning-jenny I have heard her sing. When cotton-manufacture was divine ; For early worm the thrush bestirs his wing. And spiders feel along the trembling line In hopes to catch the flimsy as it flies ; So in their generation do the worldly wise. Llll. Behold the last heroic Norland dash ! Six thousand Highlanders, in tartan kilts. Through Tweed, led on by Charlie, forward splash : The hills resound their hoochs and bagpipe lilts : Though they are short of caution and of cash. The pulse of honour beats against their hilts ; They enter England, sword in hand, right fairly, Kesolved to have a regular stand-up fight for Charlie. COODATLT. 19 LIV. Poor Prince ! lead back thy brave ones to Brsemar ; No man can fight the spirit of his age ; I see the blood-red setting of thy star Where dark Colloden stains the historic page ; Yet onward show them what the clansmen are When battle's tempest round the tartans rage ; With pibroch shrill and flash of bright claymore, Strike for the honoured names thy fathers loved of yore I LV. Those horrid bagpipes ! foemen hate their yell, From Preston Pans to India's farthest clime ; Yet heroes love thy skirling notes full well When victory marks the vengeful course of time ; Oh, then thy music hath a glorious swell ; At Lucknow s 'leager 'twas a note sublime ; ' It rose above despair, so clear and gaily : By all that's dear to fame, 'twill surely wake Coodaily ! LVI. Ah, no ! uneasy rolls his sleepy head ; The fluttering tartans vanish in the mist : He groans and turns him on the grassy mead, As if a nightmare sat upon his chest. Lo I Peace sits down beside him with her reed ; She pipes the strain that gourmand loveth best ; Lambs 'gin to frisk around, the pretty creatures ; Mint-sauce bedews their interesting features ! 20 COODATLY. LVII. They're roasted nicely, ready to a turn ; Ah, how shall now this record be received ? The times are sceptical, and prone to spurn The miracles that once were well believed ; But though the wrath of sceptics 'gainst me burn. So long as I am not myself deceived, I'll write Coodaily's vision in this rhyme, Though not a soull'elieve it to the end of time I LVIII. Thou rt used to miracles ; thou'rt one thyself 1 Whence cam'st thou? wherefore? whither art thou There is no printed wonder on thy shelf [bound ? So strange, so far descended, so profound ; Before thy books began, some luckless elf For thee was moiling in the virgin ground : Think what a mystery has been thy feeder To make thee what thou art, beloved gentle reader ! LXIX. 'Tis all miraculous, this passing show ; The scope and meaning who can comprehend ? The devotees of truth may something know While they in patient labours lowly bend ; The revelation comes in silent flow To humble souls that seek no selfish end, But shuns the self- asserting blatant preacher, Who makes the pulpit now a somewhat sorry teacher. COODAILY. 21 LX. Yes ! on the warlock Tweed's enchanted banks : x\round Coodaily came a wond'rous sight, By which the Egyptian transformation pranks Were in the race of wonder distanced quite, — The blood that, 'stead of water, flowed in tanks ; The rod that turned a snake, with wicked spite, And swallowed up his brothers w^ith avidity. But could not conquer Pharoah's blind stupidity. Lxr. Soon as the roasted lambs began to frisk. The steam of cooking up the valley rose ; Winds, warm and wanton, round the sleeper whisk ; They fill the extended portals of his nose ; And, ere the winker of your eye could glisk. The Tweed began to run of Athol brose ; The rocks, that stemmed the broad melUfluous flow. Were sugar, thrice refined, as pure as driven snow ; LXII. The shelving banks were oaten cake so crisp, That dipped to kiss the mealy-mouthed tide ; But, since gastronomy began to lisp, Was ever seen such salmon weltering wide ? They leap and shine in air, like will-o'-wisp, Or here and there in graceful maze they glide ; Such fish the keenest fisher never fished, For they were smoking, ready to be dished ! il'2 COODATLY. LXIII. On Scottish side great baggis hills arise ; Sheeps' heads for rocks, and trotters to conform ; Scotch coUops, cockieleekie, momiplies, With buns piled up as high as Cairngorm ; The antlered deer, whose venison supplies The thevv and muscle that can brave the storm ; Unheard-of cogues of parritch, seas of milk, Booricks of scones, and cookies of that ilk ; LXiV. Shortbread in craigs, with sweetie-mottled brows, And marmalade from song-beloved Dundee ; Cheese made from crummies milk, and eke from yows, And finnan baddies from the Northern Sea ; The whisky, that with genius man endows, And ale that oils the tongue like lawyer s fee, With many a mingled artful appetizer, The chronicle of which would make you none the wiser. LXV. Ah, there, Coodaily, clearly thou'rt a fool To leave a land so rich in condiment ; Perverted sense hath led thee, hke a mule, And put a gulf between thee and content ; Eecross ! thou never canst remark the rule, — The discontented man must bide his bent ; And, as you make your bed, so must you lie. Though round about your pillow, death and ruin cry. COODAILY. 23 LXVI. He smiles ; he turns his back upon this dish, Like one who hath a richer choice in view, And, for the present, hath no ardent wish To settle to the nearest roast or stew, But plays a little with the soup and fish. And whets his wakened appetite anew With sips of sherry, as he gently hovers To mark the uprising of the coming covers. LXVII. Then, south, upon his vision fair, uprist A smoking mountain ridge of plum pudding. Right through his stomach rapture shot, I wist. As fire to quick electric touch doth spring. Oh, spirit of this spread ! do thou assist The Muse, in melting music, here to sing The hliss a man may feel, in fancy swimming, When reason's gone to sleep and sense is fondly dreaming. LXVIII. From childhood this unrivalled pudding glowed Deep in Coodaily's heart's remotest core ; An English child him once a morsel showed, And gave to taste a crumb and nothing more ; But from that moment, like ambition's goad, His stomach's memory that remembrance bore ; And now his life in joy had nearly ended. To see his dearest youthful hopes transcended. ^i COODAILY. LXIX. Fii*st raptures o'er, more calm he did survey Old England's edibles, in state outlaid ; Nor cast he one short glance across the way, To haggis hill in rivalry displayed. Already have I said, in this essay, That which no doubt his inclination swayed, Though still the haggis is but sorry fare, When with plum pudding we its barbarous gout compare. LXX. This mine opinion is ; nor will I flinch From what is writ, for any man alive : I don't desire on others' ground to trench ; Nor will I compass, study, or contrive My neighbour's likings unto mine to clinch. Nor under his, for fear or favour, dive : I'll freely live, and freely shall I sing Of all the pudding race plum pudding is the king. LXXT. I know in this with Burns I don't agree ; I know this doctrine Scotsmen wont receive. For in my native land there thousands be Tied head and tail to honest Robin's sleeve ; But, since my youth, I never yet could see The good in sajing what I don't believe : Truth love T more, true Ilobin none the less, When I mine own opinion candidly confess. 25 LXXIl. This, say-all with-all, spreads apace of late, — Since knowledge has been known so well to pay, Conformity in reason serves tlie State ; The Kirk, I dinna ken ; perhaps it may ; One thing it gives us, one dull level prate ; The press supplies the pabulum each day ; One style pervades our mind, and eke our breeches ; And, if you be yourself, society impeaches. LXXIII. With all his faults, Coodaily had a taste ; It was his own ; for this him I revere : One single thought he never yet did waste On what his neighbours wore from year to year ; His outward form was decently encased In leathern vestments made for wear and tear ; The paunch w^as ample, in anticipation Of future plenty and a corporation. LXXIV. Roast beef, arise ! Lo ! in the front upheaves, Tn glorious majesty, the good sirloin. With ruddy berries decked and holly-leaves. As when around him flows the Christmas wine. My common sense it ofttimes sorely grieves To see those scribblers on the Saxon line Pretend to prove its greatness from its laws : These wilful wantons put the effect before the cause. 26 COODAILY- LXXV. What law will e'er take root in barren soil '? What legislature sit with famished maw ? An empty stomach who will e'er beguile By mumbling musty maxims 'twixt the jaw? Just as a people's fed, so is the style, The fabric, form and spirit of their law : In Somerset, where Alfred lived and flourished, The bacon's excellent, the cattle finely nourished. LXXVI. A lusty nation never was begot On muslin-kale or vegetable broth ; Old England's valour, wisdom, and what not. May all be placed upon the table-cloth ; Without the use of spit and pan and pot, To say what she might be I would be loth ; Her laws, her Parliament, her lords and kings. In roast and pudding hath their source and springs. LXXVII. Awe sweeps across Coodaily's raptured face, In presence of this most august display ; His instinct fully comprehends the case, For majesty the most obtuse will sway ; Upon his knees behold him in his place ; This is his Magna Charta : who shall say The man is more bewitched than those who sprawl. In front of wooden thrones, in many a gilded hall ? COODAILY. 27 LXXVIII. The Epping sausage here the scene adorns, While capons, all in cluster, frizzle free. Lives there a man who fowl and sausage scorns ? T can't respect that man, whate'er his creed may be. Not here the pigeon sad her lone love mourns. But, closed in pasty, mixes pleasantly With that which once was ox, but now is steak, Here curiously commingled for the stomach's sake. LXXIX. Of savoury pies there was not any stint, With Melton Mowbray, known to fame and me ; The Cornish, that hath sorts of goodness in't, But doth not always with its friends agree : Excepting these, I have not time to hint At half the number or variety ; A stream of double stout took up the tale. And, with a foaming murmur, filled the dale. LXXX. Ah, woe betide ! a sea of turtle soup Came steaming up beneath Coodaily's nose : Like one designed to make a final swoop, He started wdldly from his deep repose, And, with one plunge and one unearthly whoop. Straight on his head to mother earth he goes : His dream was broken, so alas ! his head, And there he lay, like one completely dead. 28 COODAILT. LXXXT. A humble Scot, returning from the field, Whose cottage stood upon the Scottish side. In passing did to soft compassion yield ; He raised Coodailj, stemmed the crimson tide, For nose and chin of cuticle were peeled ; Ou his gustative bump a wound lay wide : The peasant lifted up the wounded man, And, homeward staggering, with his helpless burden ran. LXXXIT. The wife with trembUng hands undid the door, And helped her husband, with humane intent, Spread down a quilt upon the earthen floor. Laid out the patient like a monument, Stiff as a poker ; ne'er was seen before A man alive and yet so nearly spent : They chafed his brow, his hands in water laved ; But not by means like these Coodaily's life was saved. LXXXIII. A pot of kale was simmering on the crook ; It overboiled and spluttered in the Hame : Coodaily ope'd his eye, with potward look, Which cheered much the husband and the dame ; She seized the ladle from its wonted hook, A reeming bicker filled, and to the patient came : Then up he sat, set on with dexterous spoon. Nor did he say a grace, the greedy thankless loon ! COODAILY. 29 LXXXIV. No invitation from the worthy pair Could make him rest, as I have heard them tell ; He looked like one who has no time to spare, But must attend the vYarning dinner-bell ; He never thanked them for their timely care, But vanished in the gloamin o'er the fell : 'Tis thought in England still he walks, a ghost, In hopes to find that feast, to him for ever, ever lost I LXXXV. Go, little Poem, forth of Greenwich go ! Where friends and home, through toilsome years, There's many worthy people here, I know, [I've found. Who say I should have taken higher ground. For eating is a habit vulgar, low, And not poetical nor yet profound ; But at their social board I gained the impression Their practice don't at all agree with their profession. LXXXVl. Then, much-respected reader, fare thee well ! Our fathers felt that benediction's force ; But howsoe'er you fare, where'er you dwell, I hope you'll never be compelled to eat your horse ! Though poets their Pegasus slay and sell ; The practice wisdom cannot well endorse ; If full, enjoy in thankful moderation ; If empty, may the Lord send speedy consolation ! ON THE CENTENARY OF BURNS. (Spoken at St. Martin's Hall, on Tuesday Evening , January 25tA, 1859). Scotland, her stem cold eje. bedew'd with tears, This day looks backward through a hundred years, To yon wee cottage on the banks o' Doon, Whose hearth still bienly cheers the wintry noon ; And to that spot each manly heart returns, On this the natal day of Robert Bums. Blessed be his rest, in AUoway kirkyard, Who rear'd that cot, and poortith's evils dared, Who honour's rugged course unwearied ran, And bore unstained the dignity of man. And sacred be the sward that haps her head, The first fond mistress of that clay-built shed, Who fired her first-bom's heart with Scotia's lay. The slogan of the old heroic day. And rocked his cradle to the pastoral strain Of simple days, that ne'er return again. As when light breaks, the laverock upward springs, Still higher soaring as he sweeter sings, So sung our poet, artless, clear and strong, ON THE CENTENARY OF BURNS. 31 And age to age the heartfelt notes pi'olong. This day, in every land, in every clime, They meet to honour one who, in his time, Was true to man, to love, to Nature true, And never from his path of pride withdrew, And never, never stooped to mammon's power, But lived as he had sung, until his dying hour. How doth his spirit scorn the hireling band, Six hundred strong, who, by great Grove's command. This day have strain 'd their eager wits to raise The stipulated money's worth of praise ! Poor as I am, 'twould be no work of mine, On such a day, to serve at mammon's shrine. Since Coila crown'd her ploughman-bard with bays. Three English kings have number'd out their days. And England now, in pith of sense and worth. Ranks first and foremost monarch of the earth, For she hath wisely scorn 'd the tinsel show. The false distinction whence discord doth grow, The gaudy stamp of merit, dead and gone. And placed her trust in living worth alone ; Laid her sure empire on the Maker s plan, The universal brotherhood of man. 'Tis well the name of Burns to us is dear, 'Tis well his words of wisdom charm our ear ; That people must be chief the earth's among Who march unto the measure of his song ; 32 ON THE CENTENARY OF BURNS. All generous souls with us those scenes renew, That rise so fresh and fair on fancy's view, — The *' braes o' bonnie Doon ;" the groves of Ayr ; Montgomery's streams, to him sae fu' o' care ; The Leglin Wood, where Wallace wont to bide WTien treachery and death were hounded side by side ; The Cassilis downans, w^here, on Halloween, The fairy elves danc'd o'er the moon-lit green, When anxious lovers, fain their fate to trace In mystic rites, met warlocks face to face ; The harvest-eve, when first love's thrilling joy With sweet delicious ardour filled the boy ; The upland field, where, in prophetic hour. His ploughshare crushed the crimson-tipped flower ; The sacred Nith, where, from the worlds on high. One " lingering star " beamed on his wak'rife eye. And Mary, from her " blissful place of rest," Shed hallow'd memories on his anguish 'd breast ; Lincluden's towers, where oft, as gloamin gray Stole o'er the distant hills of Galloway, In pensive walk, when life drew near its close. Forgathering glories on his vision rose, Far, far beyond earth's carking cares and woes, Beck'ning him onward to sublime repose ; Mossgiel and Ellisland, each well-known spot Dear for his sake, and ne'er to be forgot. All social souls do now with us recall The heartwarm love he felt for one and all, — ON THE CENTENARY OF BURNS. 33 The friendship true, the fond fraternal glow, The pitying eye that wept for want and woe, The kindly hand which tenderly withdrew Poor frailty's failings from censorious view, The love of woman, joy of joys, supreme. Soul of his song, his life's most hallow'd theme. Away with narrow bounds of creed to-day ; They love not Bums who own the bigot's sway, They love him not who wish a line unsung, That tears of spite from canting rascals wrung. When his keen satire broke their dull defence. And laid them bare, the scorn of common sense. Scotland ! thy triumphs have been grandly told Before the world, on fame's fair page unrolled ; Yet must they merge in glory you have won In name of thine inspired immortal son. Then, by that name which hypocrites detest. But by the honest-hearted loved the best, Avoid, oh aye avoid, the scrimped line Which seeks to circumscribe the love divine ; Add to thy clear intelligence and truth The generous faith, the charity, and ruth, The manly pride which every meanness spurns, The catholic grandeur of thy poet — Burns ! 34 THE CAMEEA AND THE BRUSH. THE CAMERA AND THE BRUSH. The leaves were falling in the lanes of Lee, The sun went westward with a watery e'e, There was a sough of winter in the air, And flocks of birds flew twittering here and there ; There was a sense of sorrow in the scene, As if rem emb 'ring what had lately been, And boding changes more and more severe, — The speechless sadness of the dying year. As I, in unison with Nature's mood, Walked pensively beside the waning w^ood, I spied a little cot beside the stream ; Its chimneys caught the sun's withdrawing gleam. Within I went, at once intent on rest, For well I knew it for a painter's nest, — A place where simple souls might welcome find. And be at ease in body and in mind. The painter, wife, and children were at home ; They glowered at me as I had been a gnome ; All silent, not a single member stirr'd. I sat me down, and never said a word. With that a Camera and Lens complete Stood forth on three long straddling pointed feet. I THE CAMERA AND THE BRUSH. 35 And challenged an old Brush to hold debate On subject more abstruse than Church or State. The Brush, though scrubb'd, and worn in every hair, Had something high and haughty in its air, A stubborn sense of consequence and pride, That seemed to say, " Whom have we here beside ? " It eyed the Camera with deep disdain. Which up and spoke in this uncivil strain : — " Thou stiff-necked, stumpy, sentimental scrub, Torn from the dirty hide of gutter grub ! How darest thou cock thy saucy birse at me ? I'll make a faithful photograph of thee. That all these honest folks may plainly see — " " Hold ! " said the Brush, " thou soulless, heartless stick. As void of fancy as a mason's brick ! Hence ! square-jawed photographic trash ; Not here they'll listen to thy balderdash." " I'll make them listen," Camera replied ; " Too long you've scumbled in your dirty pride. Confounding nature, muddhng every grace, Like devil risen from the nether place. False, freakish still, with silly, selfish aim. Aye, begging foolish praise and flimsy fame, Till I upon you glanc'd this child of light, And put thy false pretences all to flight." 36 THE CAMEEA AND THE BRUSH. •* Preteosions ! " quoth T. Said the Brush, irate, " Do'st thou pretend to truth, mechanic pate ! Thou sun-struck wretch, that every heauteous day Set'st forth all objects in the poor-house gray. Howe'er the glorious changes of the sky. Reflected clear in Nature's loving eye, Still, colour-blind, thou pokes thine eye abroad, And libels Nature, blasphemes Nature's God ; No child of light art thou, full well I wot. Thou optical illusion, misbegot ! Thou suits this sceptic age, the truth to tell. Purblind and atheistic cub of hell, Believing nothing that thou can'st not see. And hence thy ignorance and spite at me." " Ha ! ho ! " laughed Camera ; *' I've got you out ; Well, 'pon my Lens, there cannot be a doubt You've caught the jargon of the mystagogues ; Why don't you make a bargain with the rogues To paint their tliin-skin'd faces, one and all, Pinched, jealous, yellow as a monkey's gall ? I'll warrant all their inward pangs you know ; Have felt for years the envious wretches' throe ; Have worshipped self, like them, with earnest zeal. And strained your nerves to picture what you f^el ; Have called your paltry feeliugs genius, truth ; Your wretched daubs the works of Art forsooth ; THE CAMERA AND THE BRDSH. 37 And as the honest world was not incHned To call you great, you sat you down and whined." " Thou cocktailed, wooden-headed, three-legged ass ! 'Tis well they've mounted thee in triple brass. For surely impudence procured thy birth. And gave thy ugly form to wondering earth, — A monster meant to multiply deceit. And never let fair truth and beauty meet. Last week, no less, I near was driven wild ; I saw thy portrait of my master's child. A portrait ? Lord ! a something ghastly white, Clutched to a chair and standing bolt upright, As if thy hideous face and one-eyed stare Had struck her lifeless as the helpless chair.. Ah, me ! where was the dimpling rounded cheek, So eloquent of health, so downy sleek. Like luscious peach upon a summer tree ; The lips like coral of the Indian Sea ; The eye, in whose soft spirit-thrilling rays The soul of colour ever, ever plays ? All gone, all gone ; a rigid form instead, With icy features, pallid as the dead. Is it for this that I am flung aside. And thou exalted in thy upstart pride ? Confound thy lens, baths, boxes, slides, and all Dark dodges, tricks, that sneak behind the wall, 38 THE CAMERA A^D THE BRUSH. By which you now delude a gaping world ; I'll see you yet to swift destruction hurled." " Xay, poor old Brush, don't damn us out and out," i^uoth Camera, a smile upon his snout ; '' Let's compromise, and hand-in-hand we'll go, To give to future times this passing show. Be mine to draw the forms of Nature true, Be thine to fix each lovely fleeting hue ; In us sliall genius and mechanics join To reach an excellence superb, divine." •' Divine I " cried Brush, each bristle tense with rage ; " (jive patience, heaven ! sustain my injured age ! I spit upon thee. Camera, machine ! And, rather than to thee in friendship lean, I'll hide my head for ever in the dust, And die in dignity, if die I must. -'ivl4 /«* /^■^^'^^ '