THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 -Jiu
 
 ^' 
 
 d-^-'u-a, (-n^i^i 
 
 ti'X-uJCi. 
 
 Jyi^^aJLcL. Crt-'x,ct~^ 
 
 M-O-O^H, «-=
 
 POEMS 
 OF THE HEART, 
 
 BY 
 
 DUGALD FERGUSON, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 '■'■ Job''' and other Sacred Poems, "Biisli Life,'' S^c. 
 
 11 
 
 '0M 
 
 jQuucditi: 
 
 JAMES HORSBURGH, Publisher, George Street. 
 
 MDCCCXCVll.
 
 PR -^ 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 " Surely (lid those in exalted stations know how happy 
 they eonld make some classes of their inferiors by condescen- 
 sion and affability, they would not stand so high, measurin,' 
 out with every look the heig;ht of their elevation, but con- 
 descend as sweetly as did Mrs. Stewart of Stair." — Robert 
 Burns. 
 
 TO 
 
 MRS. DAVID McKELLAR. 
 
 as a public makk of esteem for qualities of iikart 
 
 amd demeanour akin to those that evoked 
 
 such a noble eulogium from the 
 
 ayrshire bard on the worth 
 
 of mrs. stewart of stair, 
 
 This Volume is Most Respectfully Inscribed 
 
 BY the 
 
 AUTHOR.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 
 ^''^^"^- OR a volume of verse, void of speculative 
 C philosophy, and almost lacking in 
 Colonial character, the prospect of 
 ?£,^ favour with a Colonial Public must, I 
 
 '^'i\^ fear, be but moderate. Yet, withal, I 
 
 ij am emboldened to hope that this care- 
 
 fully selected edition of my poems — 
 designed in their various divisions to instruct, to 
 amuse, and to elevate — will be found to have some- 
 what attained to these aims. 
 
 To the possible objection to my Scottish Musings, 
 I reply that these are Poems of the Heart, which, 
 as I felt, I writ. 
 
 A stranger, speaking to me about my autobio- 
 graphical novel — " Bush Life," — which he had just 
 finished reading, summed up his opinion of its 
 merits with the emphatic remark, " I call it a vtnuh/ 
 story." 
 
 Should it be my good fortune, then, to impress 
 intelligent readers with the opinion that the con- 
 tents of this volume are manly poems, I will bear 
 contentedly with what merely artistic merits the 
 severely critical may disallow for them. 
 
 THE AUTHOR.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Proi.oguk 
 
 NATURAL AND DESCRIPTIVE THEMES. 
 
 ■Castlk Gay 
 
 A Song of Home 
 
 Address to thk Blue 
 
 Mountains 
 Addkecs to the Clutua 45 
 ■On a Tuee Stump 
 
 I'XGK. 
 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 4 
 
 A Bush Eamule 
 
 .. 4'J 
 
 40 
 
 Spuing 
 
 .. 52 
 
 
 WiNTini 
 
 .. 53 
 
 43 
 
 Diinedin 
 
 .. 55 
 
 45 
 
 Sandie and Jean 
 
 .. 58 
 
 47 
 
 Otago 
 
 .. 69 
 
 HISTORICAL AND HEROIC THEMES. 
 
 The Flag of Scotland 
 Scotland Victorious 
 Otago and Scotland 
 The Bagpipes 
 •OuAiLLAiiin a Cheil 
 The Square 
 
 PAGK. 
 
 70 
 82 
 85 
 88 
 93 
 
 m 
 
 
 PAGK 
 
 Chinese Gordon 
 
 .. 100 
 
 Lord Clyde 
 
 .. 103 
 
 Victoria the Good 
 
 .. 106 
 
 HEliMENGOILD 
 
 .. 108 
 
 GusiAvus Adolphus 
 
 .. 110 
 
 HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL THEMES. 
 
 PAGK. 
 
 The Lambh .. ..125 
 
 Apology fob Shooting 
 
 MY OLD Horse . . 144 
 
 Tommy Hughes . . 147 
 
 Happy Go Lucky . . 149 
 
 Man of the World 
 
 Pride of Degree 
 
 Estrangement 
 
 On Exchanging Boots , 
 
 ■age. 
 151 
 
 154 
 155 
 157
 
 Contents. 
 
 vn. 
 
 BALLAD AND LYRICAL THEMES. 
 
 PACK. 
 
 The Plaime . . 158 
 
 The Bei,le of the Ball iCO 
 The Snow .. .. 102 
 
 On Tea .. ..165 
 
 The Shores of Loch 
 Fyne .. ..167 
 
 MUCKLEKOY THE WeaVEK 169 
 JUNELLE M'JuNE .. 170 
 
 Captain M" Gruff . . 172 
 
 Old Colonial Ldshington 173 
 
 ELEGIAC AND 
 
 On Death 
 
 The City of the Dead 
 A Mother's Grave 
 On Two Sisters 
 On James Eitchie 
 On David McKellar 
 On a Twin Sister 
 Sir Walter Scott 
 Epigram 
 
 Thomas Carlyle 
 Life in Earnest 
 On Dr. Stuart 
 
 PACK. 
 
 . 175 
 
 . 177 
 
 . 178 
 
 . 180 
 
 Lord Cochrane 
 
 The Blossom 
 
 Maggie's Awa' 
 
 Watty and Bess 
 
 Alone on the Mountains 182 
 
 AlLEEN . . . . 183 
 
 Nanny's Eeturn . . 184 
 
 The Flower of the 
 Taieri .. ..185 
 
 D REFLECTIVE THEMES. 
 
 
 pagk. 
 
 
 page 
 
 . . 187 
 
 Cast Down, hut not Dis- 
 
 
 D 188 
 
 heartened 
 
 210 
 
 .. 193 
 
 To a Young Friend 
 
 211 
 
 .. 194 
 
 A Eemonstbance 
 
 214 
 
 .. 196 
 
 Hard Eows the World 
 
 216 
 
 .. 197 
 
 Evil Communications . . 
 
 21» 
 
 . . 199 
 
 LEAhN to Bear and to 
 
 
 . . 201 
 
 Forbear . . 
 
 220 
 
 . . 202 
 
 On a young Girl's Photo- 
 
 
 . . 203 
 
 graph 
 
 222 
 
 . . 206 
 
 On James Buttaes 
 
 223 
 
 .. 208 
 
 A Meditation 
 
 225 
 
 
 Sunset 
 
 2,S1 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Portrait . . Frontispiece 
 Castle Gay . . Facing page 17 
 Dunedin . . ,, ,,49 
 
 Flag of Scotland ,, ,, 81 
 
 The Bagpipes 
 
 Facing page 97 
 Pastoral Scene ,, ,, 12t> 
 
 The City of the Dead 
 
 Facing page 193
 
 PRESS NOTICES OF "CASTLE GAY" AND 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 " ON THE WHOLK, Mil. FKIUIUSON HAS PRODUCED A 
 VOLUME OF VERSE THAT 13 ALIKE CREDITABLE TO HIM 
 AND TO THE ANTIPODEAN PRESS." — 
 
 People'')^ Jouriuxl, Dundee. 
 
 " THE COLLECTION OF POEMS BY DUfiALD FERGUSON, 
 FOR A SHEPHERD TENDING HIS FLOCKS ON THE PLAINS 
 
 OF THE DARLING IS A WONDERFUL. 
 
 PRODUCTION." 
 
 Oban Timp>i.
 
 ERRATA. 
 
 Page 6— "Pride gives no solace to the the. " Omit last "the." 
 
 Page 7— For initial word of the line " For past our wildest 
 hopes," tfec, read " Far." 
 
 Page 26 — For initial word of the line " Born from the hill," 
 c&c, read " Borne." 
 
 Page 38— For initial word of the line " There own resolve," 
 &c., read '■ Their." 
 
 Worldling in several instances occurs lacking a letter. 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 PoRTUAiT . . Frontispiece 
 Castle Gay . . Page 4 
 
 D0NEDIN . . ,,55 
 
 FiiAG OF Scotland ,, 70 
 
 The Bagpipes . . Page 88 
 Pastokal Scene .. ,, 125 
 The City of the Dead ,, 188 
 
 \Yben 'neath the swagman's weary load, 
 Australia's plains I traversed far ; 
 
 Or Zealand's wilds meandering trod ; 
 Impelled by fate's malignant star.
 
 I
 
 £oems o^ Ifie jSeod. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 HEY asked me to forsake the muse — 
 My worldly friends with lips up-curled — 
 ^And thoughts of more import to choose, 
 That might advance me in the world. 
 
 But liow could I that friend forsake 
 That unto me so closely clung ; 
 
 And through a troubled life's mistake, 
 A halo o'er my spirit flung. 
 
 That from the outset of life's morn, 
 
 Through length'ning years and less'ning friends, 
 \Vhile gay day prospects drooped forlorn 
 
 With secret joys made rich amends. 
 
 When 'neath the swagman's weary load, 
 
 Australia's plains I traversed far ; 
 Or Zealand's wilds meandering trod ; 
 
 Impelled by fate's malignant star.
 
 Prologue. 
 
 In many a distant backwood wild, 
 
 Where strangers proved more kind tlian kin, 
 My close familiar still, it wiled 
 
 My way with scenes I revelled in. 
 
 In the heroic days of yore 
 
 It showed the patriot's sacred flame ; 
 Or Forum's fervid orator 
 
 Against oppression's lust declaim. 
 
 Or with electric transport shook 
 
 My soul with some sweet minstrel lays 
 
 "Whose joys to reproduce awoke 
 My own first lab'ring crude essays. 
 
 Amid the wordly throng unknown, 
 
 Who scornfully my gifts esteemed, 
 The muse's countenance alone 
 
 My name from obloquy redeemed. 
 
 And I would still prefer to choose. 
 
 If by my choice it were decreed. 
 My portion with the gentle muse 
 
 Than share the wordling's lust and greed. 
 
 While poesy upon me smiles. 
 
 Though deemed a dunce where wordlings rule. 
 What boots to me their shallow wiles 
 
 If honoured in a higher school. 
 
 I 
 
 *C)' 
 
 And with these minds, whose meteor guise 
 'Mid a dazed world erratic shone, 
 
 I can in spirit sympathise 
 
 By instincts kindred to their own.
 
 Prologue. 3 
 
 Or with delighted eyes explore 
 
 The charms of Nature's changhig face ; 
 
 Or glow in homage 'neath the pow'r 
 Of beauty's ever pleasing grace. 
 
 Or wand'ring forth at stilly eve, 
 
 When others droop with cares distraught, 
 
 Experience oft my bosom heave 
 
 With a sweet vein of gushing thought. 
 
 But these no sordid worldings fire. 
 Who for more solid pleasures burn ; 
 
 Tuneless to them the poet's lyre, 
 
 And vain the charms of memory's urn. 
 
 But with the muse, to nie not loath, 
 Howe'er imperfect, wild, and crude, 
 
 Its sweet creations still will clothe 
 A life of all adornment nude. 
 
 And then, perchance, it may be writ 
 
 When I go hence, or said of me, — 
 -" A man of little worldly wit. 
 
 And loose regnrd for l.s.d. 
 
 Yet still his bosom fondly woke 
 
 Before affection's kindly flame, 
 And, though chased by misfortune's stroke. 
 
 Was swift to yield to pioy's claim. 
 
 But loosed from impecunious pain 
 
 He with the rich now fully shares 
 Of mother earth, yet still remam 
 
 His thoughts behind : — But where are theirs ?"
 
 Castle Gay. 
 
 CASTLE GAY. 
 
 ME^t^ is now lone: years since to this shore, 
 ' ' While yet the colony was young, 
 I came, in wordly substance poor, 
 
 But with youth's ardor highly strung, 
 And with me, Jean, but late a bride, 
 
 Whose cheeks of bloom had long since wono 
 My heart, and cast, let what betide, 
 Her lot with David FuUarton. 
 
 But arduous years of steady graft, 
 
 In summer's heat and winter's storm. 
 Returned us in due time a draft 
 
 For a good thousand-acre farm. 
 Yet corn was cheap and labour dear. 
 
 And borrowed int'rest sorely dragged. 
 Till we experienced year by year 
 
 That still our easy prospects lagged. 
 
 Yet still we toiled, in prospect cheered 
 
 That we with diligence might raise 
 Our place o'er all encumbrance cleared. 
 
 And quietly spend our dwining days. 
 And thus we schemed and thus we plaiinedi 
 
 On such a goal alone intent, 
 So Fortune's ever shifting wand 
 
 Yields man his measure of content.
 
 Castle Gay. 
 
 n- 
 
 The early Summer's noonday sun 
 
 Shone on the field with sultry ray, 
 Where we already had begun 
 
 The toilsome harvest of the hay. 
 That hour had come when Jeannie's care 
 
 The swelt'ring harvesters regaled 
 "With tea and cake, a dainty fare 
 
 That heat-parched toilers gladly hailed. 
 
 And Jessie — then but bare thirteen, 
 
 With rosy cheeks and mirthful eye. 
 Like what her mother once had been — 
 
 In sight was quickly drawing nigh. 
 My scythe I buried in the swathe, 
 
 And the warm drops that freely oozed, 
 And all my hair and face did bathe, 
 
 Wiped oft" while on the ground reposed. 
 
 1 inly sighed, " happy folk, 
 
 In whose smooth lot there lies no crook,* 
 Who in your duties' stifi'est yoke 
 
 No swelt'ring heat or hardship brook ; 
 Would ye but choose awhile to toil 
 
 Till fairly fagged, then what a boon 
 To you would prove the lazy coil 
 
 Throuf^hout the sultrv hours of noon ! " 
 
 'o' 
 
 Hy lassie here came to a stand. 
 And as she laid her burden down 
 
 •She placed a letter in my hand 
 
 Whose superscripiion seemed unknown. 
 
 • The Crook in the Lot. — Boston.
 
 6 Castle, Gay. 
 
 One might have tied me with a straw ;- 
 For my amazement knew no bounds 
 
 When I found I was heir-at-law 
 To fully twenty thousand pounds. 
 
 III. 
 
 When Jean, to whom I sped, heard tell 
 
 How by a distant kinsman's death 
 The sudden fortune that befell. 
 
 The tidings seemed to take her breath ;. 
 And, as incredulous she gazed. 
 
 Unto my heart I pressed the dear, 
 Whose love so oft my toils had eased 
 
 And soothed my burden and my care. 
 
 Then, as her situation dawned 
 
 With its new prospects outlined clear. 
 Her woman's mind fled far beyond 
 
 Her hitherto contented sphere : 
 " Of course we now must live more fine, 
 
 And sell this old place right away. 
 And buy a run — " " Tuts, wife of mine,'" 
 
 I answered her, " you're all astray. 
 
 " I've noted much life's social grades 
 
 And all the windings thereanent, 
 And saw enough to know such aids 
 
 Alone ne'er yielded due content ; 
 While with more anxious fears entailed. 
 
 Pride gives no solace to the the mind. 
 Where ev'ry hill with labour scaled 
 
 Still shows a higher range behind.
 
 Castle Gay. 
 
 *' Believe me in the high career 
 
 Both peace and ease less seldom lie 
 Than in the free familiar sphere 
 
 Where one his gifts may best apply ; 
 And I would sooner to do good 
 
 Amid the heat and bracing breeze 
 Employ my life, than that my blood 
 
 Should suppurate in cushioned ease. 
 
 " For wealth boots small for happiness, 
 
 Save in the feeling duly prized 
 Of what we need ; and its excess 
 
 In works of kindness exercised ; 
 Then wliy should we ourselves constrain 
 
 To fill some high ungenial sphere. 
 When all the means our wealth will gain, 
 
 Will serve us more effective here ? 
 
 " While with this capital outlaid, 
 
 Our land will quickly reproduce 
 What would insure us with its aid 
 
 To bid to future cares a truce ; 
 While fortune yields an annual store. 
 
 For past our wildest hopes pretence. 
 Instead of casting to win more. 
 
 We'll make this Fortune's measure hence. 
 
 " Nor seek in lands 'neath other skies 
 
 For bliss, when this in time improved 
 May be an earthly paradise 
 To us peculiarly beloved. 
 While we at once will start to build 
 A place that shall our fancies test.
 
 8 Castle Gay. 
 
 Which we as folk whose hopes are filled, 
 Through life will look to as our nest. 
 
 " Where thou, dispensing good through life, 
 
 Without one gen'rous wish denied 
 By prudent fears, a leal guid tvife, 
 
 Will in thy matron grace preside. 
 And I, without one wish or plan 
 
 Beyond a yeoman's plain degree. 
 As lief will be the douce guid man 
 
 Of hospitable favours free.*' 
 
 IV. 
 
 And thus for happiness I schemed. 
 
 And laid my plans that time matured. 
 Determined on a course I deemed 
 
 That both content and ease insured. 
 For labour sweetens health and life. 
 
 While needy cares embitter toil. 
 Then with no cause for life's bare strife. 
 
 My toil would lassitude beguile. 
 
 And I resolved no sons of mine. 
 
 From weak command, or pride, or both. 
 Should be as young gents superfine 
 
 Brought up in uselessness and sloth. 
 But I would train my hardy boys 
 
 To hold the plough, and mov/ and bind, 
 Each striving in as plain a guise, 
 
 As any other country hind. 
 
 But not that I would have them drudge 
 Till labour bowed their pliant forms ;
 
 Castle Gay. 9 
 
 Or pleasure of themselves begrudge. 
 
 As but mere money grubbing worms. 
 While as their hands in toil waxed skilled. 
 
 Still I would have their minds expand, 
 That in the parlour or the field 
 
 As equals they might always stand. 
 
 So work would be, when to be done, 
 
 With hearty int'rest exercised, 
 Or that to play would be foregone 
 
 When Nature the respite advised. 
 From mine my sons might then discern 
 
 Views of their own for future years, 
 While of the wife the girls could learn 
 
 As much for their own special spheres. 
 
 A down, that the lake's prospect scanned, 
 
 Long marked by me before, I chose, 
 Where in continuance duly planned 
 
 A stately mansion soon arose. 
 In it fair architectural taste 
 
 With use commodious blended meet. 
 And bedrooms o'er the garden placed 
 
 In virtue of an old conceit. 
 
 Along the wall beneath where shed 
 The earliest beams of purpling day, 
 
 A grove of various shrubs was spread 
 
 That bloomed in Spring with blossoms gay ; 
 
 O'er this a net of braps wire twined. 
 The whole as in a cage enclosed,
 
 10 Castle Gaj/. 
 
 Wliere song birds rare of many a kind, 
 The drowsy sleepers early roused. 
 
 And tlirou,t,'li the centre of the grove 
 
 A graceful path was trained to wind, 
 Where one or more at will might rove, 
 
 A spring-door closing swift behind. 
 But there I thought it shame to coop 
 
 The lark so small, yet great in mind. 
 Which skyward wont to soar, would droop, 
 
 If 'neath St. Peter's dome confined. 
 
 From there the garden spread superb, 
 
 With trim walks kept with constant care, 
 Where fruitful tree and kitchen herb 
 
 Alternated with gay paterre. 
 A belt of bush then closed the view, 
 
 And screened the lake that spread beyond,. 
 Save where its openings gleaming through, 
 
 The water seemed smooth as a pond. 
 
 In all this — prodigal of cost — 
 
 I halted not in my design. 
 Till (all my taste in it engrossed) 
 
 I fashioned out its utmost line ; 
 This much I did, so that my boys 
 
 In after years when moved to roam, 
 Might ne'er be led in quest of joys 
 
 Unknown in their paternal home. 
 
 For now removed from want's excuse. 
 
 And with a spirit set above 
 Mere hoarding wealth, its proper use 
 
 Would hence be my fixed aim to prove ;.
 
 Castle Gay. 
 
 11 
 
 And with the purpose understood, 
 
 That gen'rons thoughts should hence have play 
 To brighten life, in sportive mood, 
 
 I named my structure Castle Gay. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Bright shone th' auspicious day when come 
 
 That all these building labours closed, 
 And in our stately mansion home 
 
 At length beheld us all composed. 
 But scarcely were we there bestowed 
 
 When the next anxious query grew, 
 What to do with the old abode, 
 
 Whose presence sadly marred the new. 
 
 Some moved to level it at once, 
 
 But I objected : " Let it bide, 
 'Twill answer well there for the nonce, 
 
 If as a foil to future pride. 
 In years to come when the surfeit 
 
 Of wealth might puff the rising young, 
 'Twould soon dispose them to forget 
 
 The humble source from whence they sprung. 
 
 ' But this, in prominent outlook. 
 
 Will tell them how their parents toiled, 
 And gladly fared in that quiet nook 
 
 Lang Syne e'er fortune on them smiled. 
 And should we here as gladly dwell 
 
 As in the old ere fortune's ray 
 Shone on our lot, bestowed right well 
 
 Will be its name of Castle Gay."
 
 12 Castle Gay. 
 
 VII. 
 
 My team had Willie Lamont wrought 
 
 Now for two years, and whom 1 had 
 Observed to be — as marked in aught 
 
 He did — a kind, attentive lad. 
 In handling steeds justly extolled, 
 
 In every branch of farm work skilled, 
 And few with him a plough could hold, 
 
 Or show a prettier furrowed field. 
 
 But though reserved, through modest worth, 
 
 I shrewdly guessed what Willie felt. 
 As when at night beside the hearth 
 
 I marked where his eyes oft'nest dwelt ; 
 "Where Lizzie, Jeannie's servant lass, 
 
 Moved at her work, or sat and wove, 
 Whose mirthful glance and comely face 
 
 A colder stoic well might move. 
 
 Fair, comely, well-proportioned, tall, 
 
 Of love, th' expression of the verb, 
 Kind, unaffected, frank, in all — 
 
 A woman modelled out superb. 
 And sprightly gallants not a few 
 
 A.t ev'ry festive gMth'ring near, 
 With many a thriving cockatoo. 
 
 Strove for the right to bring her there. 
 
 ■"Twas then I marked as 'neath a cloud 
 The eyes of Willie deeper shone, 
 
 Although no word escaped aloud — 
 For skill in dancing Will had none.
 
 Castle- Gay. 1* 
 
 Yet still he strove with purpose stern 
 
 To curb a hope and bid it cease, 
 As what might ne'er himself concern ; 
 
 That withal plainly sapped his peace. 
 
 And Willie whistled at the plough, 
 
 Thus to dissemble what he thought ; 
 And Lizzie laughed, unconscious how 
 
 Her charms with Will such mischief wrought. 
 On this with Jean I held commune, 
 
 To hazard there a friendly word 
 For two hearts singly oul of tune. 
 
 That Nature plainly meant should chord. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 •' Well, Wilhe, lad, the beasts seem warm. 
 
 At the rig end, set in and spell, 
 I want to speak about the farm. 
 
 And something to yourself as well. 
 It's now two years since you came here. 
 
 And we're used to each other's ways, 
 And I can't see what's to deter 
 
 You staying on here all your days. 
 
 " Just settle here and take a mate — • 
 
 There's Lizzie now, a strapping lass ; 
 Now, Willie, man, I'll say you're blate 
 
 If e'er you let that lassie pass." 
 His eyes bright flashed, his cheek quick flushed :: 
 
 " What can a common ploughman do '? 
 For Lizzie could have, if she wished, 
 
 A storekeeper or cockatoo."* 
 
 * Colonial terra for farmer.
 
 14 Castle Gay. 
 
 " A common ploughman, Willie ! fie ! 
 
 When I came here with empty purse, 
 More than a ploughman what was 1 '? 
 
 And am I now for that the worse ? 
 Should one, though wanting fortune's gloss. 
 
 His merits less for that cause scan ; 
 Wealth is hut the superfluous dross, 
 
 Of which the pure ore is the man. 
 
 " Though honest toil should stain the face, 
 
 Should one the less for that keep mute, 
 And in shamefacedness sheer give place 
 
 Before a richer rival's suit ? 
 Nor need this to disquiet your mind, 
 
 Your lot obscure and prospects bare, 
 For with your pay as my head hind, 
 
 She need not blush your lot to share. 
 
 " And for a house, the one we've left, 
 
 Where we ni such content did dwell, 
 You're welcome to, and as a gift 
 
 I'll plenish it for you as well," 
 This much I spoke to him and more, 
 
 To clearly prove how wise this plan. 
 Till Will, with hopes depressed before, 
 
 Seemed all at once another man. 
 
 While I could see, though bashful still, 
 With words all impotent to thank, 
 
 How deep such interest in his weal 
 Within his grateful bosom sank. 
 
 That night in Jeannie's laughing glance, 
 Without a word required to put,
 
 Castle Gay. 15 
 
 I saw with Lizzie what advance 
 
 She'd made in prompting Willie's suit. 
 
 While Lizzie, too, as Will came ben, 
 
 Glanced quickly up with conscious eye. 
 Though 'twould be hard to say just then 
 
 Which of the two appeared more shy. 
 And then ensued the bliss of youth 
 
 In fond loves met, nor long delayed 
 Its consummation, and m sooth 
 
 A comely, sonsy pair they made. 
 
 And in my old home they were placed. 
 
 That, as a present to the bride, 
 I furnished had with careful taste. 
 
 Well pleased to see't thus occupied ; 
 That with its willow-shaded brook. 
 
 And tall blue-gums half mile away, 
 Imparted a sweet rural look 
 
 Unto the view from Castle Gay. 
 
 IX. 
 
 And now, with fortune's smiles content. 
 
 My aim thenceforth with cheerful air 
 Was to jog on, with brows unbent, 
 
 From further thoughts of worldly care. 
 For wealth in use I'd eooner spend. 
 
 Than see its blessings rendered ml, 
 Stored up to serve the dreary end 
 
 Of furnishing a pompous will. 
 
 One thousand pounds I safely banked 
 'Gainst accidents, a margin large ;
 
 16 Castle Gay. 
 
 And with the rest myself I ranked 
 As but a steward left in charge ; 
 
 With so much that I could employ 
 As I saw meet, in light'ning woe, 
 
 To me would yield far purer joy 
 
 Than hoarding up could e'er bestow. 
 
 For come day, go day, now I'd live 
 
 Not counting it as wholly wise 
 For acquisition still to strive, 
 
 But in my portion's exercise. 
 If we before, with frugal fare, 
 
 Could shelve the future's discontent. 
 Should we be then less free from care 
 
 When now was closed this wonted vent ? 
 
 X. 
 
 And so it happened as I planned, 
 
 While years round on their circuit rolled, 
 Until my highly cultured land 
 
 Eeturned its outlay manifold. 
 For tussocks long had given way 
 
 To clover pastures stocked with beeves ; 
 While former swamps could now display. 
 
 In harvest, paddocks dense with sheaves. 
 
 And the farmstead, in form of square. 
 With stabling, outhouse, barn and byre^ 
 
 Substantial built, and kept with care, 
 Was all a farmer could desire. 
 
 Beside all these, a building large 
 
 Of brick, in which the farm-hands slept ;
 
 Castle Gay. 17 
 
 And that the servant lassies' charge 
 Was made to have it trimly kept. 
 
 With wood and coals for it in store, 
 
 When nights were long, and days were rude ; 
 While book-shelves lined with useful lore 
 
 Found for their leisure mental food ; 
 Yet, in the kitchen's spacious hall, 
 
 With its departments amply stored, 
 Master and men, at meal-times, all 
 
 Assembled round one cheerful board. 
 
 While duty's wheels each day along 
 
 Rolled smooth 'neath Willie's wise control, 
 And lusty toil and jocund song 
 
 Gave pleasing colour to the whole ; 
 And thus though splendour closely loomed, 
 
 Yet pomp and pride were kept at bay. 
 Nor false pretension once presumed 
 
 To innovate at Castle Gay. 
 
 xr. 
 
 A prosp'rous man in current fame 
 
 I now could fully work my bent. 
 For saving means was my last aim, 
 
 Among the hundred ways they went. 
 Far o'er what our wants could demand 
 
 Our land returned, and so it was 
 I conld extend a helping hand 
 
 When aught deserving showed a cause : 
 
 As when I marked, borne to the earth, 
 A man without an answering fault,
 
 18 Castle Gay. 
 
 Or wanting means saw honest worth 
 In view of his goal forced to halt. 
 
 Yet shortly I was taught to learn, 
 And see discretion duly weighed ; 
 
 And to repulse with aspect stern 
 
 When worthless objects sought my aid. 
 
 And I observed a prudent rule 
 
 To early mould my children's taste, 
 "Whilst yet but wee things at the school, 
 
 Lest they for wealth should rashly haste ; 
 And strove their minds to disabuse 
 
 Of too high thoughts concerning it, 
 That, save in charitable use. 
 
 For peace itself was scarcely fit. 
 
 And not on golden hopes to build, 
 
 As seeking but themselves to please, 
 Nor deem life's purpose it fulfilled, 
 
 A prospect crowned with slothful ease. 
 But looking to a trade or farm, 
 
 Where they some active end might serve. 
 Their minds with firm resolve to arm. 
 
 Their own spheres out in life to carve. 
 
 Whilst thus their views I fostered sound, 
 
 I still was careful to provide 
 Such training as would yield a ground 
 
 For nourishing true, manly pride. 
 Nor yet were private means denied. 
 
 To make them common with its use ; 
 That was left to their sense of pride 
 
 To keep from spending in abuse.
 
 Castle Gay. 19 
 
 And while their moral wants I owned, 
 
 Yet these confined not all my aims, 
 That sought to keep their bodies toned 
 
 In vig'rous health by lusty games. 
 For I opined that exercise. 
 
 Enhanced by lusty sports like these. 
 Served more to keep health's ruddy guise 
 
 Than all compounded pharmacies. 
 
 XII. 
 
 A field, in which our sports to hold, 
 
 Fronting the lawn, I had prepared, 
 Whose thick green sole of grass was rolled 
 
 Unto a level springing sward. 
 And there my laddies keenly strove 
 
 To which, as what I had at heart, 
 I gave th' importance that behove 
 
 What I deemed education's part. 
 
 With them their classmates from the school, 
 
 To whom they gave a welcome, came ; 
 But all submissive to this rule: 
 
 To keep their conduct free from blame. 
 No gross remark, no wordy war 
 
 I'd have from one — my word was law ; 
 For cause whate er whoso should mar 
 
 Our harmony must straight withdraw. 
 
 They raced, they vaulted with the pole. 
 With other games contending keen ; 
 
 While from the lawn tlie household whole 
 Amused spectators of the scene.
 
 20 Castle Gay. 
 
 And Lizzie's curly-lieaded elves 
 (Always a pleasant sight to me), 
 
 With some bright game among themselvep^ 
 Might be heard whooping out in glee. 
 
 While in their sports the young men joined 
 
 Soon as their evening's meal was o'er, 
 As lithe of limb and light of mind 
 
 As if no toils had been before. 
 (Each one was there well known by face, 
 
 For on such lib'ral scale arranged 
 Were hours and pay, that from their place 
 
 My hired assistants seldom changed). 
 
 To cause them with more zest to vie, 
 
 And on improvement keep their aims ; 
 I, on set times, as umpire high. 
 
 Awarded prizes for the games. 
 A book, a whip, or slippers wrought 
 
 By my young Jessie's deft hands, and 
 Though trifles, yet as keenly sought 
 
 As trophies of some gath'ring grand. 
 
 And Katie, too, whose coal black eyes 
 
 First heralded the laugh that pealed. 
 As some droll scene made her mirth rise 
 
 Amongst the rivals on the field ; 
 She, likewise, to inspire the strife, 
 
 Had taxed her own peculiar art ; 
 While there, my genial-minded wife, 
 
 To brighten all gave mind and heart. 
 
 Ah ! heartsome were these Summer eves 
 Whose vision, seeming tinged with gold,.
 
 Castle Gay. 21 
 
 Unto my mind yet brightly cleaves 
 
 When years since then have onward rolled. 
 
 'Gainst the pure joys of these dear ones, 
 What cynic could a censure urge ; 
 
 In the last echo of whose tones 
 
 There lingered no presaging dirge ? 
 
 Or, when the gloaming might allure, 
 
 Themselves, the whole troop would betake, 
 And the long graceful yawl unmoor. 
 
 For a row on the placid lake. 
 Thus lib'ral ways and healtliy toil 
 
 Were tempered wise, and in this way 
 We sought to woo the constant smile 
 
 Of happiness at Castle Gay. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 My children I my study made, 
 
 And watched what traits their minds possessed, 
 While some to draw out I essayed, 
 
 Yet more I cautiously repressed. 
 ]\Iy eldest, John, with features clear, 
 
 Reticent, self-reliant, cool. 
 With strong-built frame, gave little fear 
 
 What course eventually he'd pull. 
 
 While James and Dick, my younger sons. 
 Impetuous willed, with quicker parts ; 
 
 An uppish bent, showed by their tones ; 
 Though both with warm impulsive hearts. 
 
 For them the splendid wild career 
 
 Bade fair, if left with wills unchained,
 
 22 Castle Gay. 
 
 Were not these traits, when let appear, 
 With gentle vigilence restrained. 
 
 But in my second, Coliii's, weal, 
 
 With sight purblind and statnm'ring tongue,. 
 I scarce could from myself conceal 
 
 The doubt that o'er his future hung. 
 With diffidence oppressed and cowed, 
 
 Irresolute, and soon confused, 
 I marked his inanner 'mong a crowd 
 
 Or place to which he was unused. 
 
 And in forecast, I saw him mild. 
 
 When battling singly with the world, 
 To earth at ev'ry onset — foiled — 
 
 His bleeding spirit crushed and hurled. 
 Yet in his normal way I marked 
 
 The rapid sympathetic flow 
 Of feeling, that at no depth lurked, 
 
 And burst to light at helpless woe ; 
 
 And signs of spirit flashing strong. 
 
 When once his dormant passion raised ; 
 Or in contempt of flagrant wrong 
 
 The eye that literally blazed. 
 Where sprang spontaneous from the soil 
 
 Such fruits, I thought there should be more,. 
 Though latent, that, with careful toil, 
 
 Might be brought also to the fore. 
 
 To tutor him, I took my post. 
 As father, the least that I owed ; 
 
 And in what he seemed lacking most 
 The more abundant pains bestowed.
 
 Castle Gay. 2$ 
 
 I marked him sensitive inclined, 
 And playing on this generous vein, 
 
 To gain direction of his mind 
 Applied it as a guiding rein. 
 
 At auction mart or cattle show 
 
 His judgment pow'rs I exercised. 
 And beasts of prize caused him to know, 
 
 And all the rules why they were prized ; 
 Or gave his own discretion scope 
 
 In marketing, and when he failed, 
 I pointed out, to give him hope. 
 
 How his means should have best availed. 
 
 And then "neath WiUie's charge again, 
 
 Howe'er the labour seemed uphill. 
 The same pains were bestowed to train 
 
 His hands to works of farming skill ; 
 Till soon, by such experience earned, 
 
 His latent pow'rs were plainly shown ; 
 And then with confidence he learned 
 
 With other men to hold his own. 
 
 So aught requiring care and art — 
 
 As ploughing, sowing, tilting grain — 
 Upon a farm my boys their part 
 
 Were early practised to sustain ; 
 Not in respect of need, as though 
 
 They had to toil, where they were heirs ; 
 To work the farm were hands enow. 
 
 Regardless of such help as theirs. 
 
 But in such things taught to excel, 
 I hoped would be a theme for pride.
 
 24 
 
 Castle Gay. 
 
 As love for what they could do well 
 Would vainer notions keep aside. 
 
 And, furthermore I quietly planned 
 To fix its int'rest in their hearts, 
 
 And subdivided all my land 
 Into imaginary parts. 
 
 And this to John, and that to James, 
 
 And Dick and Colin in control, 
 I lotted each as private claims. 
 
 But Willie foreman of the whole. 
 Thus, I was king in my domain, 
 
 And Wilhe, premier, vested large 
 With pow'r, and under him again 
 
 The lads all officers in charge. 
 
 From this arrangement was evolved 
 
 Incentive bouts for harvest yields, 
 By whose results it was resolved 
 
 Which more judicious farmed their fields. 
 Thus, artfully, did I devise, 
 
 By giving ev'ry member play. 
 The body all to harmonise. 
 
 In smooth accord, at Castle Gay. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 And thus, in fortune's smiles we basked. 
 
 But yet lest fortune cares might add, 
 Ourselves with active toils we tasked, 
 
 Yet, in these labours, always glad. 
 Thus round our lives did smoothly wear, 
 
 And as the varying seasons rolled,
 
 Castle Gay. 25 
 
 We, still forearmed, were through the year, 
 In all its changing moods, consoled. 
 
 When Spring, in her course, knew the earth, 
 
 And she conceived amid her bow'rs, 
 And herbs, and buds, and flow'rs brought forth, 
 
 Sustained with warm refreshing show'rs. 
 The brightening year we gladly hailed. 
 
 As, with its beams, enlarged our hope 
 That the grave cares on life entailed. 
 
 To overtake gave ampler scope. 
 
 When night's dark curtains slowly drawn, 
 
 Kevealed the morn approaching nigh, 
 As, with its hues of gold, the dawn 
 
 Was burnishing the eastern sky : 
 And instant from the garden grove, 
 
 The songsters in loud madrigals 
 Unto the sleeping house above, 
 
 bang out melodious morning calls ; 
 
 Our family not wont in sloth 
 
 To overstate their hours of sleep. 
 At the sweet summons nothing loath 
 
 Then from their beds would lightly leap. 
 And thus we diligently rose, 
 
 As ere our toils began, we sought 
 A little space to interpose 
 
 For studious exercise and thought. 
 
 The joyous ploughmen whistling clear, 
 As they led out their clanking teams, 
 
 Whose glossy skins and burnished gear. 
 Reflected back the sun's bright beams.
 
 Castle Gay. 
 
 The sun high in the cloudless zone, 
 
 Resplendent as a golden shield 
 That on a glorious prospect shone 
 
 Of hill and lake and brairding field. 
 
 The lamb's sweet bleat adown each field. 
 
 And fainter echoes on each breeze, 
 Born from the hill of which I held 
 
 One thousand acres long in lease ; 
 Such truly natural scenes as these, 
 
 To me were pleasures unalloyed, 
 That usage could no whit decrease 
 
 Or make their sense of freshness void. 
 
 And, when in evening's mellowed balm, 
 
 I wandered forth as oft I used. 
 My thoughts within in tranquil calm 
 
 Subsided gently as I mused. 
 Or, sweetly welled in grateful praise 
 
 To Him whose love had hedged me round. 
 And made the best part of my days 
 
 With peace and plenty to abound. 
 
 XV. 
 
 And when the blessed Sabbath morn 
 
 Dawned on the world with smiles of peace. 
 And to a land with week toils worn, 
 
 Proclaimed at least one day's surcease ; 
 Like folk with spirits deeply stirred. 
 
 That day betimes we also rose, 
 To wait with rev'rence on His word. 
 
 Who that day as His portion chose.
 
 GastU Gay. 27 
 
 To Him whose bounty filled our hand, 
 And health and love in store had given, 
 
 And made us signal in the land, 
 
 Well might we yield one day in seven. 
 
 And with our spirits in accord, 
 
 While early rose our morning prayer, 
 
 We purposed wholly to the Lord 
 
 To spend the day in holy fear. 
 >« 
 
 No worship bound by modes austere, 
 
 Our miens in rueful habits dressed ; 
 Nor bondage of degraded fear 
 
 Our confidence in gloom repressed ; 
 But with glad hearts as Spirit-taught 
 
 The freedom of the Gospel plan, 
 The Book that showed God's mind we sought 
 
 That day instructively to scan. 
 
 Or other books our interest wooed. 
 
 Whose sacred themes us fresh inspired ; 
 Or lives of men, the great and good. 
 
 Our souls at once rebuked and fired ; 
 Or, on our readings travelled o'er. 
 
 Ourselves at times we catechised. 
 And on what proofs some rend'rings bore 
 
 Our judgments straitly exercised. 
 
 Or Christian friends, who chanced to call. 
 With social cheer and grave discourse 
 
 We entertained, that unto all 
 
 Of profit proved a constant source. 
 
 Or 'neath the strains of Judah's lyre. 
 Sublime emotions thrilled our hearts ;
 
 28 Castle Gay. 
 
 For wliicli the family formed a choir, 
 Trained skilfully to take their parts. 
 
 And yet, with all these, when the peal 
 
 liang from the distant village hell, 
 With its strange note of woe or weal 
 
 To thoughtless men at ev'ry knell ; 
 Unto the sanctified abode 
 
 We drove our way with zeal pi'ofound, 
 To hear the minister of God 
 
 His holy oracles expound. 
 
 Then, like the patriarchs of old, 
 
 Who household altars wont to raise, 
 At night amidst our family fold 
 
 We closed the day with thanks and praise. 
 Thus wholly 'voiding worldly goals. 
 
 And Sabbath kept a hallowed day ; 
 Its rest was proven to our souls 
 
 A pure delight in Castle Gay. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 When Summer with reviving hopes 
 
 Made glad the agricultural swains. 
 As with the hues of ripening crops 
 
 She brightly limmed th' enamelled plains ; 
 While larks were warbling in the sky, 
 
 And root crops in, and sheep all shorn : 
 And we could our chief cares lay by, 
 
 And quietly watch the ripening corn. 
 
 This season, then, from active toil 
 The lads had freedom to desist ;
 
 Castle Gay. 29 
 
 And 'mong their city friends awhile 
 Rub off the country rust and dust ; 
 
 Or pending Christmas hohdays 
 
 Our city friends with us would stay, 
 
 With whose bright bevys in relays 
 
 Our place those days was thronged and gay. 
 
 Bright laughing girls and eager men, 
 
 With what a spirit they engaged 
 In all their country freedom then — 
 
 By town restraints so lately caged ; 
 With picnics when the weather let, 
 
 Or boating on the sunny lake. 
 Or riding parties, their thirst yet 
 
 For outdoor pastimes scarce could slake. 
 
 Or else the ladies' v/its were bent 
 
 T' inaugurate a Christmas tree ; 
 For which around the district sent 
 
 Were invitation tickets free. 
 While bluff games proved each youngster's pith,. 
 
 Unto the fete from all parts drawn ; 
 Whose pleasant cheer was wound up with 
 
 A merry dance upon the lawn. 
 
 Nor for these meetings was a plea 
 
 Restricted to a certain class ; 
 But to our social favours free 
 
 Behaviour was the only pass; 
 There the stout farmer from the plain 
 
 With city gents rubbed shoulders free ;, 
 And in the reel the rustic swain 
 
 With our own girls were vis-a-vis.
 
 30 Castle Gay. 
 
 And there was Jessie, rosy-lipped 
 
 (To me fair as a daisy flow'r — 
 That modest, spotless, crimson-tipped, 
 
 Blooms sweet beneath the dewy shower) ; 
 She then with sprightly, graceful art, 
 
 Her rosy cheeks with zeal aflame. 
 Amid the throng the foremost part 
 
 Sustained in every laughing game. 
 
 And Katie, too, with archer wit, 
 
 And wondrous gift of repartee. 
 Her roguish eyes with mischief lit. 
 
 Gave no small share to swell the glee — 
 Their mother's girls, despising pride. 
 
 Who either could with equal grace 
 A canny farmer's household guide. 
 
 Or as a lady take her place. 
 
 And in such social gath'rings spent 
 
 These means we freely did engage. 
 That we demurred to let have vent 
 
 In pomp and costly equipage. 
 No means were vetoed that could please 
 
 While these enhanced youth's lovely bloom, 
 Which merely useless luxuries 
 
 Would in inertia soon consume. 
 
 Nor from the road this home of ours 
 Appeared like luxury's languid maze. 
 
 By jealous walls and leafy bow'rs 
 
 Shut out from common people's gaze. 
 
 But, while with rich abundance stocked. 
 To neighbours these were welcome aye ;
 
 Castle Gay. 31 
 
 No gates to all approaches locked 
 Conserved the charms of Castle Gay. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 When Autumn, mellowing the year, 
 With saffron dyed the fields again ; 
 
 And cereal seedlings in the ear 
 Filled out to ripened golden grain ; 
 
 And the late summer's quiet, from morn 
 Till late at eve, was changed to stir, 
 
 Where from each field of yellow corn 
 Was heard the reaper's echoing whirr. 
 
 To save the treasures of the earth. 
 
 At once we roused from our repose ; 
 And as th' emergencies called forth 
 
 Accordingly our spirits rose. 
 Then all was throng and busy din, 
 
 As we of all our strength availed 
 To hurry quick the harvest in ; — 
 
 Yet still hilarity prevailed. 
 
 While the yard showed a lively view. 
 
 Where wains with toppling loads of sheaves 
 Rolled in, and stacks like mushrooms grew, 
 
 Of vast proportions round their eaves. 
 And workmen toiling till their light 
 
 Was borrowed from the stars and moon ; 
 Except when midday brought respite, 
 
 Or "rateful lunch at either noon. 
 
 o 
 
 And I myself the while alert. 
 Gave all my efforts to the work ;
 
 32 Castle Gay. 
 
 And on the stack took up my part 
 As odd man, with a rake or fork. 
 
 And this as by constraint I did, 
 
 And not that I myself should please ; 
 
 And to work other people bid, 
 
 While I would quietly take my ease. 
 
 Nor was it parsimonious greed 
 
 But for the riches heaven gave ; 
 I thus lent all attentive heed 
 
 From chances to securely save. 
 And I remembered long erewhile. 
 
 When labour's bondage sorely grieved 
 And tied me down, ere Fortune's smile 
 
 Me from its narrow strait relieved : 
 
 And how I envied their lots then 
 
 For whom life's hardships were foregone ; 
 And who at will — thrice happy men — 
 
 Could work or leave their work alone. 
 This taught me also with my men 
 
 On whose low spheres no hopes might shine. 
 Their feelings all to wisely ken 
 
 By the gauge that once fitted mine. 
 
 But when our arduous toils were crowned 
 
 By the last sheaf borne from the field, 
 The weight of care late felt profound 
 
 One night of festive pleasure sealed ; 
 And in the barn's commodious room 
 
 The ample supper was prepared, 
 To celebrate our harvest home. 
 
 Where all were free to come who cared.
 
 Castle Gay. 33 
 
 The big bouse tben seemed tenantless, 
 
 While wife and gids with cheerful zest 
 Concurred with social heartiness 
 
 Just to take pot luck with the rest ; 
 And Malcolm Graeme, our ploughman lad, 
 
 A piper famed in many a test. 
 That night, in tartans fully clad, 
 
 Provided music of the best. 
 
 While the goodman, to infuse life 
 
 Into the rest, would then advance 
 With Lizzie, Willie's comely wife, 
 
 As foremost to lead off the dance : 
 Thus blent with hospitable worth 
 
 And brought into alternate play 
 Industrious thrift and harmless mirth, 
 
 We brightened life at Castle Gay. 
 
 XVIII 
 
 When surly Winter's blust'ring air 
 
 And bitter showers of tempest raved ; 
 'Till flooding fields all bleak and bare. 
 
 That late in fertile beauty waved ; 
 And shiv'ring beasts were seen to cow'r 
 
 With quarters pointing to the blast ; 
 As chilling rain and sleety show'r 
 
 O'er naked fields came drifting fast. 
 
 Yet, in our ample steadings housed, 
 Our better stock were tended warm ; 
 
 And hardier sort outside that browsed 
 Were amply sheltered from the storm.
 
 34 Castle Gay. 
 
 While utilising time when fair, 
 
 Foul weather ne'er to us came strange ; 
 
 For, standing loose from worldly care. 
 New pleasures came with ev'ry change. 
 
 Then doubly bright the hearth's warm glow 
 
 When dark without the heavens frowned ; 
 Or Nature, with deep lying snow. 
 
 Appeared to bleach the world around. 
 For there, amongst our stored alcoves. 
 
 Were what oped fairy views to thought ; 
 When 'mid the muses' sacred groves 
 
 The weather's rigour moved us not. 
 
 •'D^ 
 
 And in such times when from the field 
 
 The lads at home were weather-bound, 
 Their minds to studious thoughts to yield 
 
 I ever urged with care profound ; 
 And kept in view the bright careers 
 
 Of Miller, Livingstone, and Burns, 
 Who rose, from poor laborious spheres, 
 
 By studying in their leisure turns. 
 
 The means afforded thus to gauge 
 
 The motives of those spirits bold. 
 Whose toils conduced from age to age 
 
 Our nation's present form to mould ; 
 And the high priv'lege they'd derive 
 
 In thus divining with its aid, 
 As old-world scenes would then revive 
 
 In converse with the mighty dead. 
 
 And, in anticipation, while 
 
 They yet were children, with fixed bent.
 
 Castle Gay. 35 
 
 I cLose out books of healthy style 
 For their minds' future nourishment. 
 
 There Dickens, Bulwer, Scott, and James, 
 The raptured spirit kept in trance ; 
 
 With other scarce less honoured names 
 In the bright regions of romance. 
 
 And Shakespeare, throned the bards among ; 
 
 And Campbell, the sweet bard of hope ; 
 And Byron, soaring grand and strong ; 
 
 With Moore and Goldsmith, Burns and Pope. 
 While travel-books and deeper lore 
 
 Bulked in that literary hoard ; 
 And on one shelf (none cherished more) 
 
 " Chambers' Miscellanies " were stored. 
 
 (Among all writings excellent. 
 
 Designed the mind of youth to raise. 
 That pastime with instruction blent, 
 
 Chambers, thine deserve all praise ! 
 If e'er a people's gratitude. 
 
 To worth a monument decreed. 
 To thine, if duly understood. 
 
 Might well be rendered such a meed). 
 
 XIX. 
 
 In the long nights, when window blinds 
 Conserved the comforts of the room. 
 
 That snugly beamed while angry winds 
 Were snarling in the outer gloom ; 
 
 Then, by the pomp and state unmoved 
 Of fashion's artificial codes.
 
 36 Castle Gay. 
 
 The charms of lioniely love we proved 
 In all its most nttractive modes. 
 
 Except, ■when in the township near, 
 
 Some meeting, for the public weal, 
 Kequired my presence in the chair. 
 
 To which concurred my active zeal ; 
 Or, with some friends of kindred heart, 
 
 In the long nights held quiet commune, 
 How we some social scheme might start, 
 
 That would be deemed a public boon. 
 
 Or friendly neighbours, dropping in. 
 
 Our family circle whiles enlarged ; 
 Whose talk — howe'er they would begin — 
 
 In farming topics quickly merged ; 
 Or thoughtful youths, who Colin's zest 
 
 For bookish lore endorsed, oft came 
 With him to read, or, with the rest, 
 
 Engaged in some more mirthful game. 
 
 For them in spirits high, though poor. 
 
 This was the rule I took to scan 
 The marking line, howe'er obscure — 
 
 The mind was passport to the man ; 
 But the presuuintuoas, false, and proud, 
 
 In the world's view whatever they, 
 Or held in honour by the crowd. 
 
 Found welcome slight at Castle Gay. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Now have I, as my skill availed, 
 
 Sketched out my life from stage to stage,
 
 Castle Gay. 37 
 
 Perhaps too tediously detailed, 
 
 For folk grow garrulous with age ; 
 
 Yet there I've clothed the homely things 
 Of truth in rhythm's pleasant guise, 
 
 As time allowed, to meet the springs 
 Of poesy that slowly rise. 
 
 And instanced, from my own career, 
 
 That peace comes not with wealth attained ; 
 Where each increase of wordly gear 
 
 Still finds the mind with fever pained. 
 But, as a lever-pow'r, to heave 
 
 Off troubles from our poorer kind, 
 "We, by its lib'ral use, will leave 
 
 Our paths through life with silver lined. 
 
 'Tis true that in life's loftier scenes 
 
 Some men a graver charge must bear. 
 Who need a larger scope of means 
 
 For the requirements of their sphere. 
 But yet howe'er the question bends, 
 
 In proving prudence should provide, 
 Wealth surely should serve nobler ends 
 
 Than in buttressing worldly pride. 
 
 But of my sons, the frank and bold. 
 
 So hardily in virtue reared, 
 It now remains but to be told 
 
 How all my precepts with them fared. 
 As start in life, a thousand each 
 
 My prudence deemed should quite suffice — 
 Not with the wish to see them rich, 
 
 But to incite their enterprise.
 
 38 Castle Gay. 
 
 For this, I deemed, was but the wedge 
 
 Which, if they wished for more to come, 
 There own resolve should be the pledge 
 
 It would be somewhere driven home. 
 With this, and fired to ardour's pitch. 
 
 My stout lads vowed with manly pride 
 In new tracts, yet an ample flitch, 
 
 To carve out from the world's broad side. 
 
 Aspiring farmers, Dick and James, 
 
 From 'midst the virgin solitude 
 To clear a home blent kindred aims, 
 
 (Their flighty notions long subdued), 
 And now, with fertile beauty mild. 
 
 Two cosy farms adjoin, where erst 
 Was but a tangled desert wild. 
 
 Till sturdy toil the scene reversed. 
 
 But book-worm Colin, more retired, 
 
 By nature indisposed to yield 
 An interest in the toil required 
 
 For a mere agricult'ral field ; 
 As more congenial theme preferred 
 
 A small run 'mong the hills to choose, 
 From whence, at intervals, is heard 
 
 The flutt'rings of his rural inuse. 
 
 And both the girls, for other loves. 
 Have long forsook the parent nest ; 
 
 Though what prevailed for their removes 
 Themselves were doubtless judges best. 
 
 But John, my eldest, still with me 
 Remains to comfort with his aid ;
 
 Castle Gay. 39 
 
 Calm, thoughtful, kind, I know that he 
 Will fully in my footsteps tread. 
 
 And bright-faced bairns delight his sight, 
 
 They grow apace while we grow old ; 
 My Jean and I life's topmost height 
 
 Have long passed o'er, yet still consoled ; 
 And journeying calmly down the slope, 
 
 No frettings mar our inward bliss ; 
 While simple faith supports the hope 
 
 That at the foot we'll rest in peace. 
 
 But when, with each New Year's return, 
 
 Our household, with all theirs, convene 
 To pass with us a brief sojourn. 
 
 Fond welcome brightening ev'ry mien ; 
 What proud delight then Jean derives, 
 
 As ev'ry year brings more increase ; 
 In scanning with her daughter wives. 
 
 Their children's growth and likenesses. 
 
 While I, inspecting with my sons. 
 
 The property (some day all theirs : 
 The land and mansion always John's, 
 
 And substance to the rest in shares). 
 Thus elders in their moods consoled, 
 
 And youngsters whooping at their play ; 
 Our happy home its name of old 
 
 Right well sustains of Castle Gay.
 
 40 
 
 A Song of Rome. 
 
 A SONG OF HOME. 
 
 IllT^jSli ^ Crinan'9 banks my fancy flies, 
 
 And byegone mem'ries crowdinii: rise ; 
 jz-hp^^ To Crinan's banks and wooded braes, 
 
 mW^ Sweet scenes of boyhood's happy days — 
 
 For there the Hntie sweetly sings. 
 And there the blackbird's whistle rings ; 
 The mavis wakes the solitudes 
 Of Auchindarroch's solemn woods. 
 
 Her choicest gifts there Nature blends, 
 And ev'ry changing scene transcends — 
 The sloping plain, ihe heather's sheen. 
 The smiling sea, the plantin' green : 
 There Crinan winds her waters still 
 By fringing woods and bord'ring hill ; 
 And Auchindarroch shades the scene 
 With stately firs of evergreen. 
 
 'Tis there to feel the morning's breath, 
 Ere yet the dew has left the heath, 
 And Nature — her night robes unrolled- 
 Gilds all the purple hills with gold : 
 With ravish'd eyes to gaze around, 
 And hear the cuckoo's notes resound. 
 While soaring high on quiv'ring wing 
 The skylark's warbling accents ring.
 
 A Song of Home. 41 
 
 There, mountains, ranged in rugged line, 
 
 Cast their deep shadows on Loch Fyne, 
 
 That ghstens in the early rays, 
 
 Kound bending capes and smiling bays. 
 
 But o'er each well-known scene is cast 
 
 A mournful halo of the past : 
 
 My bursting heart by ev'ry brae 
 
 Could weep o'er friends long passed away. 
 
 How sweet, at eve, to rove beside 
 The winding Crinan's placid tide, 
 Where flow'rs in rich profusion spread 
 To ev'ry breeze their fragrance shed. 
 How oft in youth its death-like still. 
 Chilled my young heart with solemn thrill, 
 As through the twilight's dusky pall 
 I heard the lonely corncrake's call. 
 
 The Highland youth steals thro' the shade. 
 His lassie folded in his plaid ; 
 And ev'ry breeze that murmurs by 
 Bears on its wings a lover's sigh. 
 Still as I muse, old feelings throng, — 
 The harvest field, the milkmaid's song — 
 The sporting lambs among the braes — 
 Pass through my mind in fancy's maze. 
 
 Ye solemn woods, ye shady groves, 
 "Where still my pensive fancy roves, 
 Far, far from }ou 1 wander now. 
 But for you still my heart will glow. 
 The plough may mar the blooming plain. 
 Yet will its flowers spring again ;
 
 i 
 
 42 
 
 A Song of Home. 
 
 And still thro' years, 'neatli distant skies, 
 Will childhood's golden mem'ries rise. 
 
 Green be your leaves, ye rural bow'rs. 
 Sweet scenes of boyhood's happy hours — 
 The hazel bush, the bramble wild, 
 That oft my truant steps beguiled. 
 Adieu, sweet scenes of other days — 
 Ye heather hills and gowan braes, 
 The murmuring burn, the greenwood shade. 
 The wooded glen, the wild cascade. 
 
 By Crinan's banks in life's decay, 
 I fain would pass the scene away, 
 And by the church upon the hill 
 Eecline when death my pulse shall still ; 
 For there, beneath the elm trees' shade. 
 The friends of early youth are laid ; — 
 A mother's love, a brother's pride. 
 Long quenched in death sleep side by side.
 
 Address to the Blue Mountains. 43 
 
 ADDRESS TO THE BLUE 
 MOUNTAINS.* 
 
 SS^E bills, above tbe plain, tbat rear 
 
 ,ul I.JNIIIllf. 
 
 ^ Your steep impervious barriers, 
 
 How bold in prospect ye appear, 
 With terraced heights and buttressed spurs, 
 Where mural ramparts tow'ring high 
 Appear like bulwarks of the sky '. 
 
 Ye seem, like some baronial hold. 
 By towers flanked and bastions steep ; 
 The fastness of some knight of old : 
 While round your moated ramparts sweep 
 Th' imperious Clutha's foaming tide, 
 And Pomahaka winding wide. 
 
 Upon a cloudless morn, how fair 
 Appear your heights of hazy blue, 
 Whose sharp projections cut the air, 
 That seem like some rare woodcut view, 
 With its marked features prominent. 
 And hollows all in shadow blent ! 
 
 But stern the view when vapour clouds 
 Hang broodnig o'er thy summits hoar, 
 
 * Observed a few miles from the plain they present a perpendicular 
 ■wall-like appearance, that is further sustained by an almost unitorraity 
 of height along a considerable part of the range.
 
 44 Address to the Blue Mountains. 
 
 And snow-rack wraps in frozen shrouds 
 The rug^'ed fastness of the boar, 
 Revealinji; in each dark'ning form 
 The progress of the rampant storm. 
 
 Time speedeth on, ye lofty hills. 
 And marks its ravage like a flood, 
 When teeming clouds the streams o'erfill 
 That furrow fields, and spoil the wood ; 
 So rolling seasons leave their trace 
 In wrinkled brow and shrunken face. 
 
 Time speedeth on, ye lofty hills. 
 While ebbs and swells the human tide. 
 The father's place his offspring fills ; 
 But in your seats ye still abide 
 A monument through changing time 
 Of Nature's handiwork sublime. 
 
 Man, o'er your rugged spurs and slopes, 
 
 Ambitiously asserts a claim. 
 
 In fond indulgence of his hopes 
 
 To found himself a house and name : 
 
 But, while men's records rise and fall. 
 
 Ye witness still perpetual. 
 
 But he who marks his useful sphere, 
 And lays his talents out to soothe 
 His generation's evils here, 
 And spread abroad the cause of truth ; 
 As lasting as your ramparts shall 
 Endure his bright memorial.
 
 .-iddress to the Clatha. 45 
 
 ADDRESS TO THE CLUTHA. 
 
 (As seen at Alberton, three miles from where it issues from 
 Lake Wanaka). 
 
 ^ 
 
 <• N my rapt mind what fancies glow 
 
 While viewing thee, thou mighty river, 
 p^T^ Clutha ! that with rapid flow, 
 !.K J Thy winding course pursuest ever — 
 
 #!^ The depth of thy pellucid stream, 
 
 Lit by the sun's refracted beam. 
 
 Abhorring ever supine sloth, 
 
 Thou seem'st a type of restless force, 
 
 Sweeping along with angry froth 
 
 Past rocks that vainly stem thy course, 
 
 Or, eddying grandly round each bight, 
 
 In thy redundancy of might. 
 
 Wliat mission hast thou in pursuit. 
 
 That thou my life thus seem'st to chide, 
 
 That I see without aim or fruit. 
 While gazing on thy hurrying tide, 
 
 That day or night ne'er slackeneth. 
 
 Like the unresting stream of death ? 
 
 'Tis so ; and lo ! thy parent lake 
 Of Life seems also image large.
 
 4fi ,/iddress to the Chitha. 
 
 "Whose surface none less seems to make 
 
 The waters lost in thy discharge ; 
 That in vast volume ever roll 
 Unto their mighty ocean goal. 
 
 So life, too, ever teeming, seems. 
 
 From which — although unseen — the chill 
 
 Dark stream of Death for ever streams 
 To Time's eternal goal ; but still, 
 
 By births replenished, ever grows, 
 
 Like the lake by the mountain's snows. 
 
 Thus, Clutha, in thy rushing tide, 
 Thy parent lake, and ocean goal, 
 
 Do I see figures typified — 
 
 Clear as the writing of a scroll — 
 
 That show the whole scheme in a breath 
 
 Of human birth and life and death. 
 
 In thy impetuous waters' course 
 
 Another lesson, too, I read : 
 As they speed on, the bounteous source 
 
 Of fragrance to each fertile meed, 
 That, in broad strip in places flank. 
 Thy windings wide on either bank. 
 
 Thus, with me, should it not be meet, 
 Whate'er my work or enterprise. 
 
 While passing down life's current fleet, 
 With all I meet to exercise, 
 
 By studious kindliness of mood, 
 A gracious influence for good ?
 
 On a Tree Stinnp in Inch Clutha. 47 
 
 ON A TREE STUMP IN INCH 
 CLUTHA. 
 
 6j^^^^ HEEE stately Clutha's arms enfold 
 Her island round is to be seen 
 A tree stump marvellous to behold, 
 
 So vast in girth, that what had been 
 A tree so mighty, one might well 
 Deplore what cause there was to fell. 
 
 But anger soon with sorrow blends, 
 
 When told what sent its sentence forth, 
 
 That had no place in paltry ends 
 Connected with its market worth 
 
 (That wields o'er men such potent law, 
 
 And doomed it to the woodman's saw). 
 
 A personage, with nature mean. 
 
 Whose charge the workmen were, to vent 
 
 Against its owner his vile spleen 
 Had the tree felled for this intent ; 
 
 His mean soul pleased, when on the ground 
 
 He heard its thundering shock resound. 
 
 But for such ill-timed prank I wot, 
 Its top umbrageous tow'ring vast 
 
 Might yet on high long proudly float. 
 And on the ground its shadow cast, 
 
 With zealous care, guarded from harm, 
 
 As a prized object on the farm.
 
 48 Oa (I Tree Stmiip in Inch Clutha. 
 
 For it was once a tree of fame, 
 
 When high it towered o'er the glade ; 
 
 And travellers from a distance came, 
 And its vast form in awe surveyed, 
 
 As with huge trunk, and mighty limb, 
 
 It tow'red a forest Anakim. 
 
 Ere yet the ruthless Pakeha 
 
 Appeared with desolating axe. 
 And tangled brakes, where chance some pah 
 
 Was reared mid bordering s^rub and flax, 
 With echoing strokes felled down and cleared, 
 Its towering form there long was reared. 
 
 Around its top, an object marked, 
 
 Ten thousand storms had haply raved. 
 
 With howling blasts and lightnings forked, 
 That still unscathed had all been braved, 
 
 Till treach'rous act, from dastard foe, 
 
 Its mighty form at length laid low. 
 
 And of the tree late in that place, 
 
 Whose wealth of timber gave such cause 
 
 For wonder, now is found no trace. 
 
 The stump but shows what once it was ; 
 
 And thistles now suffice tn hide 
 
 What lately was the forest's pride. 
 
 Like it, the man, who once in pride. 
 
 His name " writ large " upon the earth. 
 
 With wealth and substance spreading wide, 
 And yet of useful works was dearth ; 
 
 And that he lived, but tells alone, 
 
 A costly monumental stone.
 
 A Bush Ravible. 49 
 
 A BUSH RAMBLE. 
 
 )t. 
 
 
 I HE weather's gay — a Summer's day, 
 Then for a while give trouble best, 
 
 '^'i^'^ And Nature fair home in her lair, 
 
 .^ 
 
 <i^ 
 
 To interview now make your quest. 
 
 So banish fears, and ope' your ears 
 Unto the music of the birds. 
 
 Whose gladsome lays, of byegone days 
 When life was young, strike answer- 
 ing chords. 
 
 When Summer beams, and sunny dreams, 
 To minds by cares then unperplexed, 
 
 And 'mong the woods the nestling broods 
 To seek, were draughts of bliss unmixed. 
 
 Now have a care, for here and there 
 The stumps impede the open cleared ; 
 
 Till now within this leafy screen. 
 
 Stumps, plain, and sun have disappeared. 
 
 And, now, just hark, 'mong leaves and bark, 
 From flutt'ring forms and climbers free, 
 
 Yon tuneful throng of choral song. 
 Like Summer's joyous heraldry.
 
 50 A Bush Bamhle. 
 
 For here are met, in sweet duet, 
 The Robin's chirp and Lintie's trill, 
 
 And Mocking Bird, with Fantail heard, 
 And parroquets green, clamouring shrilL 
 
 Canaries wild, here unbeguiled. 
 All round are twitt'ring joyously ; 
 
 While tiny Til, with music smit, 
 Swells the sweet sylvan symphony. 
 
 While high above each choral grove. 
 Of ev'ry tint and flutt'ring wing. 
 
 The Tui's notes, from fuller throats. 
 Loud, rich and clear are heard to ring. 
 
 With groves in kind, wild flowers twined — 
 To grace the scene what charms pay tax— 
 
 The silence woke, whiles by the stroke 
 Of some far bushman's echoing axe. 
 
 The sunny calm — the Muse's balm — 
 (Sweet muse ni// balm in many a woe), 
 
 Or Summer's gale, that to inhale 
 Seems like a draught of long ago. 
 
 The tow'ring pines, with clinging vines. 
 That like some temple makes the wood ; 
 
 With solemn aisles — deep opening whiles — 
 The chosen home of solitude. 
 
 With fragrance lush, deep grows the bush. 
 From fuschias and clematis gay ; 
 
 While down unpruned, in clumps festooned^ 
 The pendant toliage blocks the way.
 
 A Bush Ranible. 51 
 
 How fitting here, from fate austere 
 
 And nauseous views, to bide one's self — 
 
 The sordid crowd, the money proud, 
 Who rate men, not by worth, but pelf. 
 
 There in a cot, and small cleared lot. 
 With Nature's sweet similitudes ; 
 
 Made ever glad, yet musing sad, 
 Oe'r a past life's vicissitudes. 
 
 The prospects fled, the dear loved dead. 
 And friendship's o'erstrained broken bow, 
 
 That loving darts to answering hearts 
 Shot late, but laid by useless now. 
 
 But dreamer, hey ! come, rouse up, pray ! 
 
 'Tis time that we were sauntering home ; 
 The weka's squeal, weird, lone, and shrill, 
 
 Proclaims that evening's shades have come. 
 
 The gloaming grey now shades the way, 
 Then keep a sharp eye on the track. 
 
 Lest 'midst this routh of undergrowth 
 You haply miss the right way back. 
 
 You're wrong, I fear. no ! see here. 
 Just straight ahead the open plain 
 
 Is gleaming through, and with its view 
 Return my wordly cares again.
 
 52 
 
 Spring. 
 
 SPRING. 
 
 > OW sunny rays bode Summer days, 
 
 And Nature, like a Highland maid 
 In mantle sheen of tartan green, 
 Is seen exquisitely arrayed. 
 
 And all around the fields resound 
 
 With varied creatures' varied words — 
 
 The bleating lambs and answering dams. 
 The humming bees and chanting birds. 
 
 The trees that bear, with blossoms fair, 
 Give signs of treasures soon to bring ; 
 
 The clover mead, with flowers are spread, 
 In all the affluence of Spring. 
 
 The yellow broom, the alder's bloom, 
 In ev'ry scene makes gay the view ; 
 
 That to the sight gives pure delight, 
 As Nature seems revived anew. 
 
 Ah ! sweet's the charm of Nature's form, 
 Adorned with many a sparkling gem ; 
 
 Her mantle fair, of colours rare. 
 Woven throughout without a hem. 
 
 The brairding corn, the clouds of morn. 
 Tinged gorgeous with the rising beams ;
 
 Winter. 53 
 
 The azure sky, the sun on high, 
 The balmy air, the shining streams. 
 
 And maids essay apparel gay. 
 
 In keeping with the sunny hours ; 
 
 The palm of grace, in form and face. 
 Contesting with the birds and flow'rs. 
 
 While Hope, the blood in healthy flood 
 Sends lightly coursing through each vein, 
 
 So long depressed, in every breast, 
 
 Through chilling Winter's torpid reign 
 
 WINTER. 
 
 ^HE Winter's blasts begin to blow ; 
 
 The mountain tops are white with snow ; 
 Round Maungatua's rugged brow 
 The west wind whistles eerily. 
 
 Wild raves the piercing wintry blast, 
 The gloomy clouds are gath'ring fast ; 
 Chill blinding show'rs come sweeping 
 
 past, 
 And Nature sighs most drearily. 
 
 Across the bleak, unsheltered plain 
 The howling tempest bursts amain,
 
 54 Winter. 
 
 Where shiv'ring beast and houseless swain 
 Shrink from its wild inclemency. 
 
 Unkind their lot, who forced to roam, 
 Whom want of toil denies a home, 
 Must face the bitter blasts that come 
 With unabating veh'mency. 
 
 The driving sleet and bitter hail 
 The friendless wayfarer assail, 
 Until, with cold benumbed and pale. 
 He struggles forward wearily. 
 
 A solemn tremor moves my soul 
 To hear the midnight tempest roll. 
 Whose bellowing gusts can scarce control 
 The building shudd'ring fearfully. 
 
 I hear the ocean's sullen roar, 
 As breaking on the distant shore. 
 Its storm-tossed billows ceaseless pour 
 Their fury wild and foamingly. 
 
 Beneath a black and frowning sky 
 A wintry prospect meets the eye ; 
 The misty hills loom dark and high. 
 Where storm clouds gather gloomily.
 
 Dunedin. 
 
 55 
 
 DUNEDIN. 
 
 PON her bill, Dunedin, 
 
 How beautiful sbe stands ! 
 Tbe ocean wafting to ber feet 
 
 Tbe wealth of other lands. 
 Eound promontories bending, 
 
 Far as the eye can reach, 
 On ev'ry side extending, 
 
 Her rising suburbs stretch. 
 Opposing and closing 
 
 On ev'ry side the scene, 
 Are bills on bills reposing. 
 
 With fertile vales between. 
 
 Surrounding and frowning, 
 
 Wild mountains guard the bay — 
 Green woods their summits crowning 
 
 To make the landscape gay. 
 And o'er its waveless bosom 
 
 Tbe steamboat churns along. 
 And craft in busy motion 
 
 To crowded jetties throng. 
 While booming and foaming 
 
 Beyond the land-locked bay, 
 With white-topped billows combing. 
 
 The ocean spreads away.
 
 66 Duiiedin. 
 
 How pleasantly ! How pleasantly, 
 
 Beneath the sun's warm glow, 
 From Eoslyn's lofty eminence, 
 
 The city looks below. 
 O'er rugged situations 
 
 Dunedin spreads away, 
 In waving undulations 
 
 It winds around the bay. 
 What toiling and moiling 
 
 Is sounding underneath ; 
 "What scheming and dreaming 
 
 Within that compass brief! 
 
 How wonderful ! How wonderful — 
 
 Where flax so lately grew — 
 To see so many goodly piles 
 
 And streets stretch out in view. 
 By ev'ry hillside shelving, 
 
 Where lately reigned the fern, 
 The fruits of vig'rous delving, 
 
 And cottages, adorn. 
 Where hewing and hoeing, 
 
 Forced Nature to give place, 
 Till orchards now are growing 
 
 Where Maories led the chase. 
 
 How beautiful ! How beautiful. 
 
 When darkness robes the scene. 
 With heaven's starry vault o'erhead. 
 
 All cloudless and serene. 
 And heavenly gems in clusters 
 
 Light up the milky way, 
 Whose ev'ry bright orb glisters 
 
 Like silver in the bay.
 
 Duneclin. 
 
 Whilst gleaming and beaming 
 
 From ev'ry side on high, 
 The hills with lights are teeming 
 
 Like lanterns in the sky. 
 
 Upon thy hill, Dunedin, 
 
 With all my wand'rings wide, 
 To vie with thee I know one spot, 
 
 And only one beside. 
 Far o'er yon waste of waters 
 
 Whose white foam laves the shore. 
 By the graves of my forefathers — 
 
 Land I may see no more — 
 To me than sweet Crinan, 
 
 E'en where it meets Loch Fyne, 
 No fairer can I see than 
 
 Its dear scenes of langsyne. 
 
 57
 
 58 Sandie and Jean. 
 
 SANDIE AND JEAN. 
 
 Summer evening, with its mellow 
 
 charm, 
 Had closed the toiling labours of the 
 
 farm ; 
 The horses for the night released from 
 
 thrall 
 
 Were all unyoked, and foddered in the stall. 
 The servant lads, the cheerful supper o'er, 
 With lighted pipes, were loit'ring round the door; 
 While for the yard each maiden gets her pail — 
 The lads assisting wayward kine to bail. 
 With romp and jest, the sounds of laughter peal, 
 While calves impatient bellow for their meal ; 
 And the goodman, with careful oversight. 
 Looks round and sees all sorted for the night. 
 When Sandie, all his work with care now done, 
 Went off on some quiet errand of his own. 
 
 The western clouds, with many mingled hue — 
 
 That o'er the scene a chastened feeling threw — 
 
 Still showed the glowing pathway where the sun, 
 
 With fading grandeur, on his way had run 
 
 Like some proud monarch by his fate o'erthrown. 
 
 Who, to a rival, abdicates his throne ; 
 
 So his high sphere, where proudly throned at 
 
 noon. 
 He now perforce has yielded to the moon,
 
 Sartdie and Jean. 59 
 
 That in bis burning footsteps treading close, 
 Tben in tbe east, subbmely orbed, arose. 
 The rich green clover fields, wet by tbe dews, 
 To every breeze their fragrance fresh diffuse ; 
 Bright in the angles from the fading beam 
 Gleamed the red waters of a neighbouring stream. 
 'Twixt neat hedge-rows, the smoothly metalled 
 
 road 
 That echoed Sandie's footsteps as he trod, 
 Now skirted round the suburbs of the town. 
 Where stately villas grassy uplands crown ; 
 Where, from the cares of life, the moneyed great, 
 Of fortune wearied, held retired state ; 
 Fair gardens there sent perfumes to the wind, 
 And waving gums the wayside thickly lined ; 
 While close within a deep'ning avenue 
 (W^here the wan gloaming faintly struggled through), 
 Fond Sandie's heart began to palpitate. 
 As, waiting by the trim white garden gate. 
 His eyes beheld — so neatly dressed and clean — 
 The graceful figure of his winsome Jean. 
 The road, deserted erst, to him I wist 
 Now seemed quite gay, with that sweet form at tryst; 
 And stepping up, right blytlie his greeting fell — 
 ■" How are you, Jean ? I hope I see you well " ; 
 He read his welcome in her kindly face, 
 As " Well, I thank you," she replied with grace, 
 And with bright smile — yet orderly arranged, 
 Shook hands with him and greeting kind ex- 
 changed. 
 
 Fair in that scene of mingled light and shade, 
 Was the appearance of that kind-eyed maid ;
 
 ('0 Sandie and Jean. 
 
 Above her brow, and down each temple white, 
 Flowed her rich locks, like darkest robes of night — 
 Of net and braid, all free and uncoufined, 
 In silken ringlets left to fall behind ; 
 The deep blue eye showed only peace serene, 
 While the expression of her tranquil mien 
 Yon full-faced moon, that in the east slow rose. 
 Than her's seemed not more gentle in repose ; 
 Though the whole portrait boasted a pretence 
 To beauty, less than honesty and sense. 
 
 Right glad that night was Sandie by her side, 
 As o'er her comely form he glanced with pride. 
 She was the goddess, over all confessed. 
 Whose image long was shrined within his breast ; 
 To whom before he'd urged a gentle suit, 
 And was this night resolved to prosecute 
 With all the tender zeal that eloquent 
 A lover makes when seeking such consent. 
 
 " Dear Jeannie," — he began with this intent — 
 •' 'Tis now some time since we were first acquaint, 
 And of each other as fit mates for love 
 W^e've now by this had ample time to prove ; 
 But as for me, and that I love you well 
 I hardly think 'tis needful I should tell. 
 Since from the time when first you met my eye 
 To win thy love has been my constant sigh ; 
 While your kind ways, and actions of your life, 
 
 Are all that I would seek for in a wife. 
 'Tis true, the brightest gifts I can bestow 
 Are but a horny hand and sweaty brow ; 
 But with these go a heart whose truth insures
 
 Sandie and Jean. 61 
 
 That all its hopes and high resolves are yours ; 
 To look on YOU, as through this life we wend, 
 Less as a partner than a bosom friend ; 
 And trusting Him whose sunshine lights us all, 
 Our lines may yet on sweet contentment fall. 
 While homely comfort blesses our estate, 
 What care we for the splendour of the great, 
 Whose dowered portion, and whose silken store. 
 Than empty show too oft yield little more." 
 
 While for himself thus fondly Sandie pled, 
 Jean smiled at first, and then she gravely said — 
 I would be wrong, if not to tell you plain. 
 That these fond fancies of your heart are vain. 
 Though for yourself, from other thoughts apart, 
 With strong respect I hold you in my heart ; 
 But here the line more near approaches ends 
 That still must mark our intercourse as friends. 
 For my resolve — with due reflection made — 
 Is that 'tis better for me not to wed ; 
 When I observe so oft, and o'er again, 
 How married joys but end in wedded pain, 
 I can't help thinking that of ev'ry test 
 For peace of mind, ' a single life's the best.' " 
 
 ' Like many a purpose, born of fancy's freak. 
 This thought of yours, Jean, is a wild mistake. 
 That if persisted in, you may depend. 
 You'll rue the fault when it's too late to mend. 
 Just see yourself, the Great Creator's plan, 
 Who made the woman as a help for man. 
 And formed their iiatures, diff'rent tempered, so 
 That each a mutual blessing should bestow ;
 
 62 Sandie and Jean. 
 
 Just of two sisters mark the diff' rence made, 
 The one is married — one remains unwed : 
 The latter left alone her course to steer, 
 How soon her life becomes a narrowing sphere I 
 While the position of her fleeting race 
 Is plainly written on her fading face ; 
 Her wonted buxom form grows thin and spare. 
 And rolling years but seem to sour her air ; 
 Misunderstood, unloved, unsought, unknown, 
 'Mong friends and company, ne'er more alone : 
 Left by the old, and bantered by the young, 
 Her spirit oft by rude allusions stung ; 
 While ev'ry mark of pain to her is laid 
 As from a jealous-minded sour old maid. 
 But, to the other turn, and in the wife 
 See the bright genius of another's life — 
 Years deal but lightly with her comely face, 
 While her proportions grow in matron grace ; 
 And spreading out, and growing in her room 
 (Like some fair fruit-tree in perennial bloom), 
 Come shooting up sweet saplings by her side — 
 A blooming race, at once her love and pride. 
 Here in her world, where all her cares convene, 
 With scarce a hope outside that homely scene : 
 How fair the view ! what subject for desire — 
 The clean-swept hearth, the cheerful evening fire, 
 Where young and old, with chats and bursts of 
 
 mirth, 
 From cares released, are gathered round the hearth. 
 There sits the sire, his limbs relaxed from toil. 
 His care-worn features softened with a smile ; 
 And there the mother, in her element, 
 A picture looks of comfort and content ;
 
 Sandie and Jean. 6$ 
 
 For here the woman breathes her native air. 
 And there the powers of love are brought to bear. 
 Where all the days with kindliness are sped, 
 And years fly by with blessings on their head ; 
 With the grand plan of ' living and let live,' 
 They, blest themselves, a mutual blessing give ; 
 So roll their lives in even tenor through." 
 
 " 'Tis charming, doubtless, in that bird's-eye view. 
 But to the picture draw a little nigh — 
 What a wide diff'rence then will meet the eye ! 
 The mutual bick'rings of an ill-matched pair 
 Will sadly mar the scene you paint so fair, 
 Whose glowing minds once painting joys, when 
 
 wed 
 Ne'er dreamt of sorrows with the marriage bed. 
 How oft a girl has proved the bitter truth, 
 Who in the hey-day of her bloom and youth. 
 With sprightly manners, and with sparkling eye, 
 From many an envious lover wrung a sigh ; 
 Just like a flow'r which sent forth sweet perfume 
 In the green fields, when left alone to bloom, 
 And like that flow'r, snatched up and prized a day. 
 Begins to droop, and then is cast away. 
 Behold her fate, who in a thoughtless hour 
 Her destiny puts in another's pow'r ; 
 A while, perhaps, things may go smooth and sweet. 
 Till pleasure palls, and passion finds surfeit ; 
 When soon a change will work beneath the roof, 
 As ' Self begins to show his cloven hoof ; 
 And then 'twill be, instead of ' will you, dear,' 
 ' Do as I bid,' or ' Madam, do you hear ' ! 
 Till she, his goddess once (his words to judge),
 
 €4 Sf/iulie and Jean. 
 
 Is now reduced to a mere household drudge ; 
 To study whims is now her privilege high, 
 And read his humour in her master's eye ; 
 Her pain or pleasure, all her ups and downs, 
 Just as her selfish tyrant smiles or frowns. 
 And now, against the scene you paint so fine, 
 "Where love and peace harmoniously combine, 
 Imagine this case — surely not o'erwrought — 
 "Where hasty love has dear experience bought : 
 A wretched thatched hut, built of sod and clay, 
 Just bare enough to keep the storm at bay ; 
 A care-worn woman moves within this sphere. 
 Coarse-dressed from need, and slovenly from care ; 
 Her growing fam'ly hanging round her skirt, 
 Kagged and rude with tumbling in the dirt, 
 "With scarce enough to satisfy their needs. 
 Their minds, like gardens, overgrown with weeds. 
 The man, at eve, returning from his work, 
 Fatigued with toil, and sullen as a Turk ; 
 Something outside has come his mood between — 
 His wife at home receives his pent-up spleen. 
 Now, a choice spirit in some wild carouse, 
 He sits and guzzles at a public house. 
 Till, brutalised with fumes of beer or rum. 
 He makes a shift at last to stagger home, 
 "Where, by the light that night-long doomed to burn, 
 His weeping wife sits, dreading his return ; 
 And he, so glorious late, so hugely blessed. 
 Comes to his home, a demon in his breast : 
 "While she, poor creature, to the storm must bow, 
 Of sottish clamour or unmanly blow. 
 And soon, with tears of bitter anguish shed, 
 She learns to rue the day when she was wed."
 
 Sandie and Jean. 65 
 
 " Jean, nothing's good when carried to extremes, 
 Then why compel your fancy to such themes ? 
 The earth itself is not from evils whole — 
 Behold the burning South, the frozen Pole — 
 But who would thence at the result arrive 
 That in this world 'twas misery to live ? 
 Nor is it right for its abuse to charge 
 With inconsistence married life at large." 
 
 *♦ Well, then, look higher in the social scale, 
 Still will you find sad evils wide prevail : 
 How oft we see a wife refined in mind, 
 Who seemed for greatness and some good designed, 
 Yet, bound by vows to honour and obey, 
 She follows one who but impedes her way — 
 One whose success to her clear sense he owes. 
 Whose counsel prompts him, and whose wisdom 
 
 shows ; 
 Yet her bright views, obscured by contact mean. 
 From her proud breast wrings many a tear unseen. 
 The worldly gaze oft meets a smiling face. 
 Which in the chamber shows a tearful trace ; 
 Where wedded love oft seems a poet's theme, 
 The curtain lecture marks the closing scene. 
 And so, you see, 'tis as I've often said, 
 The wisest plan of all is not to wed." 
 
 Then Sandie answered, as she ceased, " But, Jane, 
 Though sound your reasons seem, they yet are 
 
 vain. 
 And if you'll favour me a while to pause, 
 For this dark state of things Til find a cause. 
 While maidens leave their judgment in suspense,
 
 66 Saiidie and Jean. 
 
 And hark to vanity instead of sense, 
 
 And, for its glitter, prize the wedding ring, 
 
 So long will grief from their mad folly spring. 
 
 Just see a man, a perfect lady's beau, 
 
 Whose dress and hair his chiefest labours know ; 
 
 A perfect don at the accomplished art 
 
 Of utt'ring nothings with a manner smart. 
 
 Place by his side a man of sterner stuff. 
 
 In outward mien and manners plain and rough, 
 
 Eude as the rock that hides the precious ore. 
 
 With the same mine of richness at his core : 
 
 He, in his rugged strength with wonder cast. 
 
 Sees woman's softness as a sweet contrast ; 
 
 Her gentle nature all his thoughts conjure. 
 
 Who seems to him so innocent and pure. 
 
 With her attractions heightened by the charm 
 
 Of one whose weakness needs a shelt'ring arm ; 
 
 And hence, with sober thoughts, he seeks the yoke, 
 
 That, for her sake, he might be like the oak 
 
 That lets the vine twine round its mighty form, 
 
 And shields the frail thing from the sweeping 
 
 storm. 
 'Tis this enthusiasm nerves his arm 
 For her to toil, and brave all care and harm, 
 For her all this — no plaything of a day — 
 His dearest friend, to share his weal alway ; 
 To her who calls all his devotion forth. 
 His words betray his sense of her true worth. 
 As in her mien his thoughts he seems to trace, 
 True as the glass, reflecting face to face ; 
 So what he thinks, or what he wants to say. 
 He frankly tells her in the plainest way. 
 But little dreaming that his manner plain
 
 Sandie and Jean. 67 
 
 Is apt to fray the lady's tender grain. 
 
 The perfumed dandy, caring not a rush, 
 
 Makes splendid game by beating round the bush ; 
 
 No depth of feeling highly marks the scene 
 
 Where words contrive a doubtful sense to mean ; 
 
 Till soon, o'erpowered by artificial charms, 
 
 The flattered beauty sinks back in his arms. 
 
 The man whose qualities embosomed lie 
 
 Has few attractions in a woman's eye — 
 
 She, quickly caught by superficial grace, 
 
 Draws her ideal from a shape or face. 
 
 A speech polite, a mincing step at waltz, 
 
 With her will screen a multitude of faults. 
 
 But the fond dreamer seeking only good. 
 
 Who judges others with his mind imbued 
 
 With honest thoughts, straightforward and sincere. 
 
 Trusts by fair means to gain the maiden's ear ; 
 
 But, shocked and pained, he meets a cold return. 
 
 Or finds hnnself repelled with slight and scorn. 
 
 And darkly brooding, sternly bites his beard, 
 
 As o'er his head a rival is preferred ; 
 
 To one he must, forsooth, forego his prize 
 
 Who as an equal he might well despise. 
 
 Then can you wonder longer, Jeannie, friend. 
 
 That marriages should oft in sorrow end, 
 
 When maidens, willingly, so oft are strung 
 
 By the soft blarney of some supple tongue ? 
 
 Note this remark — too oft with truth replete — 
 
 Whoe'er you see distinguished for conceit. 
 
 Who chiefly through their tongues attention gain, 
 
 You'll seldom see to play their parts as men ; 
 
 Where'er they go, in whatsoever spheres, 
 
 Their love of Self conspicuously appears ;
 
 68 Saiidie and Jean. 
 
 Soon Time, the touchstone, their devotion proves, 
 When passing months have cooled their wedded 
 
 loves ; 
 Then Self, awaking from his short-lived dream, 
 Within the household views himself supreme. 
 And to be served and waited on for life, 
 Self must be tyrant, and enslaves the wife. 
 Yet strange it is of cases, nine in ten, 
 To such as these girls turn in choice of men." 
 ^t :i: -:■■ * -::• 
 
 By this the moon had risen o'er the trees. 
 Whose dark leaves rustled iu the chill night breeze ; 
 The tolling bell told that the hour was late, 
 As Jean prepared to shut the garden gate ; 
 While o'er their features streamed the broad 
 
 moonlight 
 As they locked hands and whispered their good 
 
 night. 
 How Jeannie looked as her good-night she bade. 
 Or what impression Sandie's logic made — 
 Of these two facts my muse knows only this, 
 That Jean and Sandie parted with a kiss.
 
 Otago. 69 
 
 OTAGO. 
 
 (A fragment.) 
 
 .9 
 
 f^lOW dreary seem Otago's hills, 
 mJ^ Where wond'ring fancy strangely fills, 
 'Mid scenes in gloomy grandeur laid, 
 With mountains wild around arrayed ; 
 Where underneath a fickle sky 
 The cloudy tempests ceaseless fly ; 
 And brawling Boreas raves at will. 
 And torrents foam by ev'ry hill, 
 And dang'rous rivers down the steep, 
 Sweep madly onward to the deep. 
 
 From ev'ry height in wide survey 
 The hills and mountains spread away 
 In wild confusion heaved and crossed. 
 Like billows in the ocean tossed. 
 On one side sudden stops the chain 
 Abruptly, frowning on the plain, 
 While all around, besides, the view, 
 Is met by the same sombre hue 
 Of naked hills confusedly piled. 
 And mountains tow'ring bleak and wild ; 
 While in the far background appear 
 Dark ranges, rising tier on tier. 
 Till, looming high among the clouds, 
 Some hoary mount its crest enshrouds.
 
 70 The Flag of Scotland. 
 
 THE FLAG OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 (Suggested on the occasion when I first saw it waving at the 
 Caledonian Gathering in Dunedin). 
 
 PRELUDE. 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 ev'ry patriot Scottish heart a thousand 
 feehngs stream — 
 In ev'ry loyal Scottish mind a thousand 
 
 visions gleam — 
 When gazing on that flag that waves 
 above his country's games, 
 That stirs such thrilling mem'ries up of noble heroes' 
 
 names. 
 O'er peaceful scenes like these, alas ! not always was 
 
 unfurled 
 That brave old flag that oft has been the wonder of 
 
 the world : 
 O'er many a 'leagured citadel, 'mid many a battle's 
 
 shock. 
 When Freedom on the trembling scale at times was 
 
 seen to rock. 
 The vision of that banner waving proudly in the air 
 Has oft revived a Nation's heart when sinking in 
 
 despair. 
 And, oh ! that He — who from the night of bloody 
 ages gone,
 
 ■-%\ 
 
 -I- 
 
 " O'er many a 'leagured citadel, 'mid many a battle's shock."
 
 The Flag of Scotland. n 
 
 To play a proud part on the earth, hath highly 
 
 raised her throne — 
 May still for Scotland's Lion flag in gracious love 
 
 vouchsafe 
 That, borne above the tides of time, it yet may 
 
 prouder wave. 
 And yearly widening in its range more glorious may 
 
 it soar 
 As herald of the Gospel sound to every heathen 
 
 shore. 
 Now intertwined with England's red and Erin's 
 
 em'rald green. 
 The Scottish Lion rears upon the flag of ocean's 
 
 Queen ; 
 And, terrible in might combined, the Union Jack 
 
 unfurled 
 Floats ev'rywhere a tow'r for Truth, a beacon to the 
 
 world. 
 Long may one part these kingdoms take, like loving 
 
 sisters three ; 
 Yet ever in the cause of Truth may Scotland " bear 
 
 the gree." 
 
 Ha ! the spell of rhyme comes o'er me, 
 As that banner fills my eyes ; 
 
 Deeds of fame and battles gory 
 In my wakened mem'ry rise. 
 
 Ev'ry nation has its glory, 
 
 Mighty names their annals grace ; 
 Scotland, too, can boast her story— 
 
 Hers is not a craven race :
 
 72 The Flag of Scotland. 
 
 Patriot, statesman, and commander 
 Shed a light o'er ev'ry age ; 
 
 Captains great as Alexander, 
 
 Poets roused with Homer's rage. 
 
 Thebes may boast Epaminondas, 
 
 Athens of Miltiades ; 
 Still their mark is not beyond us — 
 
 We have names as great as these. 
 
 Foremost stands Sir William Wallace 
 'Mongst the race who live sublime, 
 
 Like some dome or stately palace 
 Tow'ring through the mists of time. 
 
 When his country's name and honour 
 The insulting tyrant crushed ; 
 
 Laid his spoiling hand upon her ; 
 Trailed her banner in the dust ; — 
 
 Flamed the spirit of the hero 
 At his country left forlorn ; 
 
 Sternly braved the Southron Nero, 
 Laughed his brutal pow'r to scorn. 
 
 And in all its wonted manner. 
 Free on ev'ry breeze to toss. 
 
 He unrolled once more the banner 
 With the Lion and the Cross ; 
 
 While the wild notes of his bugle 
 Roused the spirit of the land : 
 " Up, ye freemen, for the struggle ! 
 
 Scotsmen, for your country stand ! '*
 
 The Flag of Scotland. Ti 
 
 At the signal rose the clansmen, 
 With the buckler and claymore ; 
 
 With their spears came the Lowlandsmen 
 Vengeful as their sires of yore. 
 
 Ranging their loved banner under, 
 
 Came a stern determined band. 
 Worthy their high-souled commander, 
 
 Worthy of their native land. 
 
 Cruel wrongs their minds inflaming. 
 Each one felt his cause was right ; 
 
 Eavaged homes their vengeance claiming 
 Made them heroes in the fight. 
 
 His heroical behaviour 
 
 Lending terror to his name, 
 Soon his country's mighty saviour 
 
 Put her vaunting foes to shame. 
 
 Clothed in battle as with thunder, 
 
 Tow'ring like a demi-god, 
 From his arm the strife asunder 
 
 Rolled, as from the Prophet's rod. 
 
 From his onward march, undaunted, 
 Conquest's tide did swift recede, 
 
 Till his country's flag he planted 
 Upon Berwick on the Tweed. 
 
 But a tempest bends the forest, 
 
 And the giant monarch oak 
 Falls to earth — its loss the sorest — 
 
 Riven by a lightning stroke :
 
 74 The Flag of Scotland. 
 
 He, who should have in a palace 
 Shaped a nation's counsels wise, 
 
 Was for Freedom, on the gallows. 
 Offered up a sacrifice ! 
 
 • 
 
 But the tyrant's rage was baffled. 
 And his ruthless plans o'erthrown, 
 
 For the blood shed on that scaffold 
 Proved true seed for patriots sown.''' 
 
 Where is now that gallant standard 
 Raised by Wallace to the breeze ? 
 
 To the mountains has it wandered ? 
 Has it fled across the seas ? 
 
 Nor in city, nor in manor, 
 
 Can we find it in its place ; 
 Alas ! Scotland's ancient banner 
 
 Has ceased waving for a space. 
 
 See yon vessel tempest driven, 
 
 With its mariners so few — 
 Tossed by the wild winds of heaven, — 
 
 Yet they seem a martial crew. 
 
 On each bronzed and manly visage 
 
 Is detected still a trace, 
 Spite of toil and cruel usage, 
 
 That bespeaks a noble race. 
 
 From the mastliead see the royal 
 Flag of Scotland proudly sweep ; 
 
 *The blood of the martyrs was the seed of the church.— Trrtui.uan.
 
 The Flag of Scotland. 7 
 
 Ha ! these are Ler patriots loyal, 
 Though now exiles on the deep. 
 
 Mark yon knight of dauntless bearing, 
 
 Mortal foe to shameful truce, 
 Well his glance of restless daring 
 
 Tells the stern Sir Edward Bruce. 
 
 Who is yonder warrior swarthy ? 
 
 Dark and fearless is his eye. 
 He must be some mighty worthy, 
 
 Or his looks the man belie. 
 
 That is he, who in " times troublous," 
 Toiled for Scotland's weal and fame, 
 
 Where the name of " Good Lord Douglas" 
 Still incites the patriot's flame. 
 
 Yet, behold ! another noble. 
 
 With a look of calm command 
 On a forehead pale with trouble, 
 
 That proclaims the master hand, 
 
 That is he whose tameless nature. 
 
 Soaring as on eagle wing, 
 O'er disasters still rose greater, 
 
 Scotland's darling hero king. 
 
 Now from vision disappearing 
 
 Go that stern devoted few ; 
 But on land their ensigns rearing. 
 
 Who are these that meet our view '? 
 
 Now on mountain, now in valley. 
 They are seen in constant fray.
 
 76 Th& Flag of Scotland. 
 
 Now they scatter, now they rally ; 
 And the colours they display 
 
 Show thereon a lion rampant, 
 
 On a flag of yellow hue. 
 With St. Andrew's Cross triumphant, 
 
 Blazing on a field of blue.* 
 
 Ha ! are not these men the same as 
 
 We just noted on the main ? 
 Now begun their progress famous, 
 
 In their country's cause again. 
 
 Till in all its wonted manner, 
 
 In each place in her domain, 
 There is seen old Scotland's banner 
 
 Waving proudly, without stain. 
 
 Ho ! a brave scene spreads before me, 
 
 On a lovely summer's day : 
 Two hosts, all in martial glory. 
 
 Fronting each in stern array. 
 
 England's power is assembled, 
 
 With no soft'ning thought to spare 
 
 Those who late before her trembled ; 
 All her chivalry is there. 
 
 Nor is little Scotland wanting — 
 Stern, composed and undismayed — 
 
 Gaily in the sunshine, flaunting. 
 Waves the philabeg and plaid. 
 
 *This quartering was disused at the Union to make way for St. George's 
 
 Cross.
 
 The Flag of Scotland. 77 
 
 Hark ! the brazen trumps are sounding, 
 
 And to the terrific charge, 
 Fiery knights and lords are bounding. 
 
 Crying : " England and St. George ! " 
 
 On they burst upon the spearmen, 
 
 Like storm billows on the rock. 
 But from van unto their rear men, 
 
 Ev'ry steed reels from the shock : 
 
 While amid the armour's rattle. 
 
 Shrieks and war-shouts rend the air. 
 
 As if demons, met in battle. 
 Strive instead of mortals there. 
 
 Yet is seen with each charge wheeling, 
 Scotland's flag borne high in air. 
 
 Floating o'er the spearmen kneeling 
 In a grim unbroken square. 
 
 Gallant knights, with levelled lances. 
 Sheathed in mail from head to heel, 
 
 Spurring, fall like avalanches 
 On those walls of pointed steel. 
 
 Then recoiling, baulked, and broken, 
 
 Rage and numbers all in vain, 
 For the Scottish Lion woken, 
 
 Now is rampant on the plain. 
 
 While o'er all the strife sonorous, 
 
 Rings the pibroch of the Gael, 
 With the clansmen's gallant chorus, 
 
 " Gaeldach guallin a chiele.'"'' 
 
 .1, .<- .'- vt, i> -v 
 
 .,. ^» .^, -1- <i '(• 
 
 •Highlanders, shoulders together.
 
 78 The Flag of Scotland. 
 
 Vain were England's vaunted bowmen, 
 'Gainst Scots' valour on that day, 
 
 Horse and footmen, squires and yeomen. 
 Mingled fell in wild affray. 
 
 As the Summer's tempest lashing, 
 Heaves and rends the Arctic floe, 
 
 Grinding, groaning, cracking, crashing. 
 So discomfited the foe. 
 
 From the conqu'ring Scots receding. 
 On each quarter forced to yield ; 
 
 Till at length, in fragments bleeding, 
 They fled from that fated field. 
 
 Then, in one vast chorus blending, 
 
 "Victory's exulting cry 
 Pealed o'er ev'ry sound contending, 
 
 Till it seemed to shake the sky. 
 
 Nor as mere lukewarm bystanders. 
 Or inactive on their steeds. 
 
 Proved those valiant commanders 
 On that day of doughty deeds. 
 
 Douglas, fighting hke a Hector, 
 Led the way with levelled spear, 
 
 And in his old course as victor. 
 Held a glorious career. 
 
 Stern Sir Edward, in command of 
 The right wmg, gave place to none 
 
 On the left, heroic Randolph 
 
 Well sustained the wreath he won.
 
 The Flag of Scotland. 7» 
 
 (When the English horsemen shivered 
 
 On the foredays' glorious strife, 
 By his spearmen, and De Clifford 
 
 yielded both the wreath and life). 
 
 Tell me, all ye students hoary. 
 
 In the annals of the brave, 
 Versed in ev'ry nation's story 
 
 From its cradle to its grave. 
 
 Like that group so truly gallant, 
 
 Where such others can ye find, 
 High in soul and bright in talent, 
 
 For their country's weal combined ? 
 
 Yet 'mong knights, whose deeds undaunted 
 Made all Europe's plaudits ring, 
 
 Still the foremost place as wonted. 
 For high prowess held the king. 
 
 On the evening of the battle. 
 
 Ere one action had been done, 
 Ere the charge began to rattle. 
 
 Ere the slaughter had begun ; 
 
 When to view his troops appointed, 
 
 If well ordered in their post ; 
 On a palfry, meanly mounted, 
 
 He in front rode of iiis host. 
 
 On his head a crown, resplendent, 
 
 Glittered in the setting sun. 
 But, save on an axe dependent. 
 
 Shield or weapon he had none.
 
 80 The Flag of Scotland. 
 
 On his helm the goUl crown flashing, 
 Caught the fated Bohun's glance ; 
 
 Couched his spear, and at him dashing, 
 Thought to pierce him with his lance. 
 
 But the monarch, ne'er demurring 
 At his fate, put in his pow'r ; 
 
 To the gage rode forward spurring, 
 Feeling equal to the hour. 
 
 Now, behold a sight of wonder ! 
 
 Scotland ventured on a blow ; 
 Let yon steed or rider blunder, 
 
 And her prospects will be low. 
 
 They seemed like two gladiators. 
 On that bold foreground of fame, 
 
 With two armies for spectators. 
 And a kingdom for their game. 
 
 On came Bohun, and the vision 
 Tried the stoutest warrior's nerve, 
 
 But, before the wild collision, 
 Bruce's steed was seen to swerve. 
 
 Then a stroke rang sharp and sudden 
 With a dull crash on the ground. 
 
 And a charger, terror ridden. 
 
 O'er the plain was seen to bound. 
 
 Through De Bohun's helmet driven 
 Such force Bruce's axe had sped, 
 
 That nigh from its handle riven. 
 Cleft unto the chin his head.
 
 The Flag of Scotland. 81 
 
 His troops wav'ring with emotion, 
 
 The king rode then to keep fast, 
 Who at bis stern self-devotion 
 
 Shook hke pines before the blast. 
 
 While 'raid their alarm, he singly 
 Of them all appeared composed ; 
 
 Save his glance and bearing kingly. 
 Showed the lion had been roused. 
 
 On the Southrons wreck and ruin 
 Fell like plagues on that dread day ; 
 
 Who, for years of wrongful doing. 
 Then a bitter price did pay. 
 
 Nor until in v/ild disorder — 
 
 Harassed, broken, and dismayed — 
 
 They were driven o'er the border, 
 Was the chase and slaughter stayed. 
 
 For insult and spoliation 
 
 They a lesson then were taught. 
 
 By a roused and outraged nation, 
 They for ages ne'er forgot.* 
 
 As to earth, before her banner 
 
 Thus Oppression's pride was hurled ; 
 
 Providence showed in this manner 
 Scotland yet should teach the world. 
 
 * After the rout of the Scots at Dunbar, a second battle seemed 
 inevitable between Crfiniwell and Leslie on the old battle site of 
 Kannockburn ; and one of the causes given in Aikman's History why that 
 fight did not occur was the traditional dread of the English soldiers at 
 en(;a({ing with the Scots on that memorable field.
 
 82 Scnflattd Victorious. 
 
 SCOTLAND VICTORIOUS.* 
 
 ''(C'l'iLEAE Scotland ! what glory 
 Encircles thy history, 
 Till th' far-reaching story 
 
 Is shrouded with mystery. 
 For as light strikes its pages 
 
 The record — now hoary — is 
 That the Scots in all ages 
 Were fighting victorious. 
 
 When Rome armed for conquest 
 
 Her invincible legions, 
 Whose stern valour compassed 
 
 The earth's furthest regions ; 
 But the fierce Caledonians, 
 
 Their measures laborious, 
 Made with iron continuance — 
 
 Baulked for ages, victorious. 
 
 When the ravaging Norse race 
 
 Spread the flag of the raven, 
 And with spirits remorseless, 
 
 Carried death to each haven, 
 But at Largs and Luncarty, 
 
 Fierce sustained and uproarious, 
 Their discomfited party 
 
 Left the Scots there victorious 
 
 •Suggested from reading somewhere about the Romans, whom the 
 Caledonians were still resisting.
 
 Scotland Victorious. 83 
 
 When Normandy's chivalry, 
 
 The Saxons had vanquished, 
 And brooking no rivah-y. 
 
 For Scotland's realm languished ; 
 But with baulked endeavour, 
 
 Returning inglorious. 
 The result showed as ever. 
 
 The Scots were victorious. 
 
 ^Yhen the Southron a'='pirant 
 
 To total dominion. 
 With the soul of a tyrant, 
 
 Sought a free race to pinion, 
 Then their country's Redressors 
 
 Rose for the occasion. 
 Overthrew her oppressors. 
 
 And repelled their invasion. 
 
 my muse proudly chorus 
 
 The ever dear story, 
 When o'erthrown was the war-horse, 
 
 And the Bannock ran gory ! 
 proud day of vengeance, 
 
 So justly notorious, 
 That sealed th' independence 
 
 Of Scotland victorious ! 
 
 In that dark time of scorning, 
 
 When Satan was jubilant, 
 And Scotland w-as mourning 
 
 Her subverted Covenant. 
 Yet scorning time serving — 
 
 'Mid moss hags and trydes mirk —
 
 84 Scotland Victorious. 
 
 A i-emnant unswerving, 
 
 Held for conscience and Christ's Kirk. 
 
 And for what they contended, 
 
 Held with purpose unaltered. 
 And the suff 'rings appended, 
 
 Bore with faith that ne'er faltered. 
 Till o'er measures unrighteous, 
 
 And edicts censorious, 
 Their stern sense of right arose. 
 
 In the long end victorious. 
 
 And that name was well reckoned. 
 
 Amid Waterloo's thunder. 
 When the " Greys " and " Ninety-Second " 
 
 Burst the French ranks asunder ; 
 And, on charging together. 
 
 Their war cry was glorious. 
 As " Scotland for ever," 
 
 They shouted victorious. 
 
 Now with Scotland is partner 
 
 Her once mighty foemen, 
 With whom Erin quarters. 
 
 In one great cognomen. 
 And at no foes affrighted, 
 
 However vainglorious. 
 For Britannia united, 
 
 Must still be victorious.
 
 Otago and Scotland 
 
 85 
 
 OTAGO AND SCOTLAND. 
 
 ITAGO'S mountains, brown and bare, 
 
 With Scotland's bills may well compare ; 
 Like hers, the same keen atmosphere 
 
 That health imparts, 
 Assists a hardy race to rear 
 
 Of loyal hearts. 
 
 Otago's rivers, deep and wide. 
 In silent flow or swollen pride. 
 Their tributes to the swelling tide 
 
 Incessant pour. 
 As grand as Yarrow, Tweed, and Clyde 
 
 Of classic lore. 
 
 But tuneless all her rivers sweep 
 
 In devious courses to the deep : 
 
 O'er shining sands sweet streamlets creep 
 
 As yet unsung. 
 No bards by their lone banks, to weep, 
 
 Their harps have hung. 
 
 And where are those romantic glens, 
 So oft the theme of poets' pens ? 
 The ruined holds, the robber dens 
 
 With dread so fraught ; 
 The battle mounds 'mong moorland fens, 
 
 Where heroes fought.
 
 86 Otago and Scotland. 
 
 Ah ! Scotland, 'mid thy mist of years 
 Tliy shadowy grandeur far appears, 
 What halo story round thee rears 
 
 Of classic ground ; 
 Where stirring deeds and high careers 
 
 Each scene renowned. 
 
 A minstrel's song this stream endears ; 
 A warrior's deed that mound reveres ; 
 Yon hermitage the rustic fears, 
 
 For ghostly tale 
 Tells how a lover died in tears 
 
 Within its pale. 
 
 Her minstels' fame years tarnish not — 
 Burns, Ramsay, Campbell, Nairne and Scott, 
 The Ettrick Shepherd's happy note 
 
 On his green hill — 
 And he, obscured by one dark blot — 
 
 Poor Tannahill. 
 
 (The gowan's wet wi' Summer's dew. 
 The mavis' song, the cushat's coo, 
 The lav'rock chanting in the blue 
 
 Her matins shrill, 
 Do not to nature speak more true 
 
 Than Tannahill.") 
 
 Will time e'er dim those names of light — 
 Bruce, Randolph, Douglas, Wallace wight ? 
 Men who " waxed valiant " in the fight, 
 
 With purpose grand, 
 And put the alien hosts to flight 
 
 Who spoiled iheir land.
 
 Otago and Scotland. 87 
 
 How shocking now in view appears 
 Those dreadful days of swords and spears, 
 When all that manhood most reveres — 
 
 Blest freedom's light — 
 Was then with blood and mortal fears 
 
 A dear bought right. 
 
 Those acts of our heroic sires 
 
 In us this kindling thought inspires, 
 
 When truth oppressed our aid requires — 
 
 As they up stood, 
 So should we guard its sacred fires, 
 
 Ee'n with our blood. 
 
 Otago's mountains high and cold 
 No legends twine with deeds of old ; 
 No errant knights, and barons bold, 
 
 Their names here carved — 
 That manor hall, or ruined hold, 
 
 Have still preserved. 
 
 But in her lap, though rude she stands, 
 Is hid the wealth of golden sands. 
 And ready homes for toiling hands 
 
 Her plains afford, 
 Unchequered by the cruel bands 
 
 Brought by the sword. 
 
 And, Otago, on these terms. 
 
 Ne'er may romance add to thy charms ; 
 
 May still thy arts, thy mines, thy farms, 
 
 Thy fame increase ; 
 And shining thro' thy native storms 
 
 The star of peace.
 
 88 
 
 Oil the Bagpipes. 
 
 ON THE BAGPIPES. 
 
 HEN Scotland's pipe sounds in my ears 
 My heart with martial joy it cheers ; 
 From off my mind all worldly cares 
 
 It makes to roll, 
 And sways at will to joy or tears, 
 
 My melting soul. 
 
 Some for the organ's solemn peal 
 Affect a lofty joy to feel ; 
 Some, for dancing a quadrille, 
 
 Choose the piano. 
 Or back the fiddle for a reel. 
 
 Or waltz Vienna. 
 
 Their merits I will not gainsay — 
 They're all respectful in their way — 
 While I must own that at the play 
 
 Of the sweet fiddle 
 My jigging feet, perforce, obey 
 
 Its lively diddle. 
 
 But when the pipes give utterance. 
 Then, houts ! all vapours fly at once, 
 And on the floor, inspired to dance. 
 
 Go toe and heel. 
 It makes the toddling wee things prance, 
 
 So blythe they feel.
 
 ^^■\ Ir 
 
 % 
 
 
 • «i -^ 
 
 
 'd xn-Km^iA 
 
 " While wildly the onset the bagpipes were screaming."
 
 On the Bag])ip6s. 81) 
 
 On battle field, 'mid clashing steel, 
 
 How vain would be the organ's peal 
 
 To make the squadrons charge or wheel, 
 
 While cannons volley ! 
 And there the fiddle's lively squeal 
 
 Would be but folly. 
 
 But o'er the roar of battle known 
 Eesounds the bagpipes thrilling tone. 
 That fires the Gael with actions done 
 
 In days of yoie. 
 Until a thousand fight as one, 
 
 When harassed sore. 
 
 How swift it bears ray thoughts along ! 
 
 As wailing some old Scottish song 
 
 That pictures forth some plaintive wrong 
 
 Of olden time, 
 Till through my mind wild visions throng 
 
 In muse sublime. 
 
 Inspired by its wild strains to rise. 
 
 The mind from mean surroundings flies, 
 
 Or, smarting, chafes at its low guise 
 
 And curbed career. 
 As Fancy then would realise 
 
 Its higher sphere. 
 
 Still, Fancy lashes on her car. 
 As swells the pibroch's wilder bar, 
 When gallant visions loom afar 
 
 Of battle vans. 
 And, foremost in the ranks of war, 
 
 The plaided clans.
 
 90 Oil tlie Bagpipes. 
 
 Wild thrills with sympathetic joy 
 My lieart, to view them stern deploy='= 
 On fields of fame, while foes annoy, 
 
 With shot and shell, 
 As when at hloody Fontenoy 
 
 They bore the bell. 
 
 Still, vivid mem'ries flashing o'er 
 Illumine dark Culloden Moor, 
 Where rival hosts, resolved and dour. 
 
 For war have come ; 
 And mingling notes defiant pour 
 
 From pipe and drum. 
 
 I hear the furious cannonade, 
 
 Whose shots the Highland ranks enf'lade, 
 
 And the concentric fusilade 
 
 That greets their charge. 
 With the loud clashing tumult made 
 
 By sword and targe. 
 
 A horrid tug — the line is clear — 
 Then grand in view the clans appear. 
 As gath'ring their thinned forces near 
 
 Their furious charge 
 Full on the foe, still ranged in rear, 
 
 Again they urge. 
 
 Alas ! the battle is too sore, 
 
 And vain's the strength of the claymore, 
 
 • In this verse, whethrr from accidental coincidence of thoutfht, or 
 that ideas were simply, though inaiiverrentlv, supplied from previous 
 readinj;, the similarity of this ver~e to one of Burns's is too striking to 
 be passed by without acknowledgment.
 
 On tJie Bagpipes. 91 
 
 Where foes outnumbering volleys pour 
 
 That havoc carry, 
 While proud M'Donald's sullen corps 
 
 Inglorious tarry.''' 
 
 They're gone ; that stern race are no more, 
 With their broad buckler and claymore, 
 That some affirm, in needless gore 
 
 Was oft imbrued, 
 When their wild land contentions tore, 
 
 And party feud. 
 
 But, who has known in trust to fail 
 The loyal bosom of the Gael ? 
 Or seen his face in battle quail 
 
 Before a foe ? 
 Or e'er a suppliant one assail 
 
 With coward blow ? 
 
 As ocean's flood-tides strew their bays. 
 So they have left on moors and braes 
 Stern tokens of those stormy days, 
 
 Where cairns are piled. 
 While breathe their spirits in their lays 
 
 And pibrochs wild. 
 
 Curse on their suicidal laws, 
 
 That have betrayed a people's cause, 
 
 Whose valour won the world's applause. 
 
 Whose once thronged glens, 
 Are now laid waste by quibs and flaws 
 
 Of lawyers' pens. 
 
 •The M'Donalds, resenting the loss of their accustomed post on the 
 rifht wing in battle at Culloden, refused to charge with the other cbns. 
 even at the bidding of their own chief.
 
 <)2 
 
 On the Bagpipes. 
 
 Across the wild Atlantic waves, 
 Or where the broad Pacific heaves, 
 By forests vast of tropic leaves, ''•' 
 
 They're scattered wide, 
 Who to the land of their sires' graves 
 
 Still turn with pride. 
 
 And I, a wand'ring, far exile, 
 
 Do also oft my mind beguile 
 
 With thoughts of that dear heather isle, 
 
 Whose glorious lot 
 Upon this earth oft makes me smile 
 
 That I'm a Scot.
 
 GiiaiUaihJi a Clieil. 93 
 
 GUAILLAIBH A CHEIL. 
 
 Respectfully inscribed to the Gaelic Society, Dunedin. 
 
 [Professor Blackie, in one of his speeches, lately recom- 
 mended the Highlanders, in view of the probable extinction 
 of their identity as a people, to assert themselves more 
 strongly by means of public associations than they have 
 hitherto done.] 
 
 (S^¥i^c 
 
 '5 
 
 ll^OK your loved institutions, ye sons of the 
 Gael, 
 1^^^ May your motto as ever be — Guaillaibli 
 fk"^ a cheil, 
 
 2y^ As the Fiery Cross roused your fore-sires 
 
 to the fight, 
 Like them, for your name, be as swift to unite, 
 While this too slighting age would fain ignore the 
 
 worth 
 Of a race that have left their deep stamp on th& 
 
 earth ; 
 Still, in union combined to their memories true. 
 May we oft with their own stirring themes these 
 renew ! 
 
 Though now exiles of fortune, whate'er be our lot. 
 Let us prove in our bosoms are still unforgot 
 Our ties with the land of those chivalrous clans,
 
 94 Guaillaihli a Gheil. 
 
 Who so proud ill their country's wars shone in the 
 
 vans ; 
 Though unfriendly scribes have their virtues decried,* 
 And their wild headlong valour 'gainst vet'ran hosts 
 
 tried ; 
 Yet their disciplined conduct such proud notice 
 
 claimed. 
 As their sneering detractors confounded and shamed, 
 At Bed Fontenoy.i where at first was essayed 
 'Fore Europe, the might of the Highland Brigade, 
 As they spread o'er her rear hke a covering shield. 
 When Britain for once had to yield up the field. 
 Then the pibroch's wild chorus defiantly rose, 
 As exultantly dashed all their triumph-flushed foes 
 On their ranks, like the waves on their own rocky 
 
 shores, 
 But to " break like their spray " from their dreadful 
 
 claymores. 
 
 Nor 'mong Egypt's red sands were their deeds less 
 
 of note. 
 Where Napoleon's invincible legions they smote, 
 Till in each bloody battle the Highlanders, known 
 As the bulwarks of victory, gallantly shone. 
 Nor yet more intrepid in battle thoir tramp, 
 Than ordered and peaceful their steps in the camp ; 
 Thus, in war with its blood, or m peace with iis balm, 
 So fitly combining the lion and lamb. 
 
 * Goldsmith, in his abridged history, states that at Culloden the 
 Highlanders charged with their usual f^yocity. A few pages further 
 on we are told that, at the Battle of Quebec, the Highlanders (now 
 British soldiers) behaved with their usual gallantry. 
 
 + Fontenov, the battle in which the Black Watch, or 42nd High- 
 landers, first distinguished themselves as British soldier^, by first cutting 
 in pieces a regiment— the flower of the French Array— and then cove ing 
 the retre.4t of the British, when a French defeat was converted into a 
 glorious victory for them, by the wild charge of the Irish Brigade.
 
 Guaillaihlv a Clieil. 95 
 
 How stately their port, when in costume arrayed, 
 With hose, kilt, and sporran, and bonnet and plaid, 
 When parading the street, to the pipes' thrilling 
 
 strains ! 
 Whose mem'ries the blood makes to surge through 
 
 the veins. 
 But when the war-cloud cf battle hangs lurid and 
 
 low, 
 And the pibroch peals loud the advance on the foe, 
 In the shock of the charge, then how dreadful the 
 
 Gael, 
 While rings their wild rallying cry, " Guaillaibh a 
 
 cheil ! " 
 
 Ye sons of the Gael, boast your proud pedigree, 
 For your stern warring sires were the race of the 
 
 free. 
 Whose far-reaching annals, like nightly sky starred, 
 Are bright with the records of hero and bard ; 
 Whilst Ossian's mind shed like the moon's fuller 
 
 rays, 
 As of Fiiigal he sang his majestical lays 
 From tliese far hills of time such a glory of light 
 As have brightened the ages of succeeding night. 
 
 Stern race of the Highlands, the years now are gone. 
 When the Saxon and Celt but as foemen were 
 
 known. 
 And, in peaceful acquirements, are now hand in 
 
 glove, 
 The descendants of those who once vengefuUy 
 
 strove ;
 
 06 The Square. 
 
 Yet, hailing the Saxon as brother and peer, 
 Our forefathers' mem'ries we'll still cherish dear. 
 And guard the mementos — a sacred birthright — 
 That tell of their ancient traditions and might. 
 
 THE SQUARE. 
 
 ET them boast of Old Eome and the 
 legions whilom 
 That allowed none to break their array. 
 Or the famed Macedonian phalanx, un- 
 known 
 To defeat or repulse in its day ; 
 But I would esteem a more excellent theme 
 
 Than Roman or Greek e'er did dare. 
 That a resolute few lately did dare and do 
 When arrayed in a stern British Square. 
 
 'Twas at Abu Klea — now hence destined to be 
 
 'Mong the noteworthy names of the world — 
 That we sighted the foe, all in stern martial show, 
 
 With their prophet's white banner unfurled ; 
 Though the odds to our men were as one unto ten. 
 
 Yet but little for that did they care, 
 As in stern silence dumb, to the roll of the drum, 
 
 They stepped on in a grim, serried Square. 
 
 * This poem was by mistake attributed to my late brother, R. C 
 Ferguson, in his posthumous volume of Essays, etc.
 
 The Square. 97 
 
 Then at once from their post, all the Moslems' vast 
 host 
 Rushed down, with their watchwords of death — 
 A mixed multitude, swarthy, fierce and half-nude, 
 
 Though as one in the same zealous faith ; 
 As one wave they rushed on, " while like bright 
 mirrors shone " 
 In the sun spear and keen scimitar ; 
 While their light troops ahead, as our skirmishers 
 fled, 
 Pursued them right into the Square. 
 
 But — ere yet came the shock of war's horrible lock. 
 
 Or our riflery luridly rolled — 
 There was Burnaby seen, with his intrepid mien. 
 
 Acting feats like a champion of old. 
 Must we mournfully tell how untimely he fell, 
 
 Whose chivalry could not forbear 
 At another bestead, and rode out to his aid 
 
 From his own place of strength in the Square. 
 
 But on came the foe, like a flood in o'erflow, 
 
 When at once, from each face, everywhere 
 Rose a white, sulph'rus cloud, as the guns roaring 
 loud 
 
 Scattered havoc and death from the Square. 
 At the bloody rebuke, for an instant they shook, 
 
 When again their wild shouts rent the air. 
 As in fury to strike they rushed on, until like 
 
 A tornado they burst on the Square. 
 
 Like the billow's fierce shock on the outstanding rock 
 That are only flung back to return,
 
 98 The Square. 
 
 And with the uproar of the surf-beaten shore 
 When the broken waves madden and churn, 
 
 On the hnes passion-flushed so they furiously rushed. 
 But no breaking nor shaking was there, 
 
 Where roused daring chimed with each face battle- 
 grimed 
 Of the heroes composing the Square. 
 
 Oh ! the spectacle there, it was awful and rare. 
 
 As their dark waves tumultuonsly surged, 
 With the hoarse, ringing shrieks of their zeal- 
 maddened sheiks. 
 
 On their foaming white steeds, as they urged 
 With wild gesture and deed, on the furious stampede 
 
 That grim hedge of steel to downbear ; — 
 Now, God help afford ! for the fanatic horde 
 
 Have fairly crushed mto the Square. 
 
 Now confusedly tossed, all arrangement seemed lost. 
 
 While the chargers, affrighted, uprear ; 
 And Stewart is down, with the bright laurelled 
 crown 
 Almost won, but foredoomed ne'er to wear ; 
 While, like tigers uncaged 'mid a crowd, the foe 
 raged — 
 Oh, sirs ! 'twas a frightful afiair. 
 As with javelin and brand, dealing death on each 
 hand. 
 They threatened with ruin the Square. 
 
 But that noble band — oh, their conduct was grand — 
 In that bloody and deadly affray,
 
 Tlie Square. 99 
 
 From the shock though they reeled, yet as quickly 
 they wheeled 
 At the word to reform their array ; 
 Then a fire on the flanks of the fanatics' ranks 
 
 Made them swift for their safety beware, 
 When once more was seen — now more bloody, I 
 ween — 
 Th' unbroken steel hedge of the Square. 
 
 On Gubat's reddened plain, a like lesson again 
 
 Was read to the same daring foe 
 When attempting to foil our advance to the Nile — 
 
 Still untaught by their former o'erthrow. 
 Shall we tell, as they swooped, how they withered 
 and drooped, 
 
 All their wild courage impotent there, 
 As the deep volleys rolled, by stern order controlled, 
 
 From that unflinching, terrible Square ? 
 
 Now that warfare is o'er, with its catalogue sore 
 
 Of illustrious lives valued dear, 
 Cut off in their bloom, in the same fated doom 
 
 As Gordon, their chivalrous peer ; 
 Yet while banning the guilt of such useless blood 
 spilt, 
 
 That their country so badly could spare, 
 Still, from father to son, the great deeds that were 
 done 
 
 Will for ages be told of that Square.
 
 100 
 
 Chinese Gordon. 
 
 CHINESE GORDON. 
 
 HE wire, flashing swift through the deep. 
 Its tidings of horror and gloom 
 Has dashed all our hopes on a heap 
 With the sad, sudden mode of his doom ; 
 
 For his fate, late in thrilling suspen?e, 
 Each cablegram's message we hailed ; 
 
 While the prayers breathed for his defence 
 We ardently hoped had availed. 
 
 But now, with the news of his death. 
 The scofler derides our despair : 
 
 Believer, what boots now thy faith ? 
 
 Where now is thy stronghold of prayer ? "' 
 
 Yet still we will bow, a.nd revere 
 
 His Name, who in wisdom hath willed 
 
 That His righteous servant's career 
 Should thus in such mode be fulfilled ; 
 
 Who, when of that long night of strife 
 
 The glorious dawn had begun, 
 For laurels so slighted in life. 
 
 The prized ones of Heav'n then won. 
 
 Not for him, that grand knight of the Cross, 
 Our tears in despair issue forth ;
 
 Chinese Gordon. lOl 
 
 His now is the gain, and the loss 
 
 Is but ours, in the loss of such worth. 
 
 Gladstone ! — of gifted renown. 
 To thy country so justly a boast — 
 
 What a laurel has dropped from thy crown'''' 
 In the hero thy tardiness lost ! 
 
 Though his fate now thou well may'st deplore 
 
 In words of forensic display,! 
 Yet his blood crieth loud at thy door, 
 
 And how shall thy words that allay ? 
 
 Say, what were e'en millions of gold. 
 You seemed then so fearful to broach, 
 
 Weighed with him, who like Bayard of old, 
 Was as full without " fear or reproach ?"' 
 
 And the down-trodden blacks of the Nile 
 Now loudly may wail o'er his fate. 
 
 Who to lighten their lots made the toil 
 And aim of his vice-regal state. 
 
 And the war-worn troops for the chief. 
 
 That them to their victories led, 
 Too, will mourn ; but more bitter the grief 
 
 Of the poor whom he bounteously fed. 
 
 In the sight of a wondering world. 
 
 Through that long night of horror and gloom, 
 Each wave of assault he back hurled 
 
 And inviolate guarded Khartoum. 
 
 • Bnice's reproof to Randolph at Bannockburn. 
 
 + "Gordon was a hero amongst heroes." — Gt.adstonh's Speech in 
 
 I HE HoLSK.
 
 102 Chinese Gordon. 
 
 Till treachery opened the gate, 
 
 And the foe flooded in like the tide ; 
 
 When, undauntedly, meeting his fate, 
 At his stern post of duty he died. 
 
 Ah ! well may his grieved country wince 
 At this sore-telling blow, in her need — 
 
 From whose midst a great man and a prince 
 In him has now fallen indeed. 
 
 To the bad, how unyielding and stern ! 
 
 Yet in compassionate feeling, how rare. 
 Whose heart like a woman's would yearn 
 
 Over scenes of distress and despair ! 
 
 In disciplined, constant restraint — 
 Yet rapid, and fearless, and wise ; 
 
 Whose traits but in duty found vent ; 
 His sole goal his home in the skies. 
 
 In talent, his mind how supreme ! 
 
 Yet of self-love, his spirit how dearth. 
 Whose life was a knight-errant's dream — 
 
 A redresser of wrong on the earth !
 
 Lord Clyde. 
 
 103 
 
 LORD CLYDE. 
 
 -'"™™]^0W the storm has ceased to rate, 
 And the howling hurricane ; 
 And the vessel of the State 
 Is riding safe again. 
 
 But when breakers on each bow 
 Threatened all to overwhelm, — 
 
 Where is the pilot now 
 
 Who then stood by the helm ? 
 
 Till the storm had died away, 
 With the roaring of tlie gale ; 
 
 And safe anchored in the bay 
 They brailed her shattered sail. 
 
 Lowly, lying in the tomb, 
 
 He now rests in honoured state 
 
 Beneath Britain's proudest dome, 
 Where he slumbers with the great. 
 
 And by Abercrombie's side. 
 And Moore's immortal name, 
 
 There's an honoured niche for Clyde 
 In the gallery of fame. 
 
 His was a life of arms, 
 Like the iron race of old ;
 
 104 Lord Clyde. 
 
 And the campaign's wild alarms 
 
 For bis youth had formed the mould. 
 
 Till the roaring of the gun, 
 And the bullet whistling near, 
 
 Was the humming of a tune 
 That the soldier loved to hear. 
 
 Up the ladder steps of fame 
 
 He tuiled bravely from the ground, 
 
 Till to the last be came. 
 
 When he passed it with a bound. 
 
 And in that time of wrong 
 
 He sustained his country's pride. 
 
 When to combat with the Strong 
 She espoused the Feeble's side. 
 
 On Alma's bloody height. 
 
 When the storm of battle roared, 
 
 The veteran's eye was bright. 
 And his hand was on the sword. 
 
 How his spirit fired the men 
 
 With the favour he would wear,''= 
 
 As he shouted " We'll hae nane 
 But Hieland bonnets here." 
 
 Yet round the hero's crown 
 
 Fresh laurels intertwine, 
 In that battle of renown 
 
 When he led the " thin red hne ; " 
 
 •The favour of being allowed to wear a bonnet in the Queen's name.
 
 Lord Clyde. 105 
 
 When tbe war-pipe, screaming loud, 
 Stirred up thoughts of ancient fame, 
 
 As the Russians, hke a cloud, 
 111 their vaunting courage came ; 
 
 Not a cheek was seen to blanch, 
 
 Though the chargers shook the sward ; 
 
 Not an eye was seen to flinch 
 As tlieir steady volley roared. 
 
 Again the volley rolled 
 
 That the cravens brought to bay. 
 As like wolves, scared from the fold. 
 
 They turned and fled away. 
 
 When the pow'r of Britain's sway 
 
 On her Indian empire reeled. 
 He only asked a day 
 
 To prepare him for the field. 
 
 For the fire of youth still burned. 
 
 Though his limbs were wan and frail ; 
 
 And an age of ease he spurned. 
 For his soul was sheathed in mail. 
 
 When the horrors of that day 
 
 Shed a gloom o'er ev'ry path, 
 His presence like a ray 
 
 Dispelled the shades of death. 
 
 And till order was restored, 
 
 And the reign of peace begun, 
 He never sheathed the sword 
 
 Till his work was wholly done.
 
 106 Victoria ilie Good. 
 
 Then, having filled his day, 
 He quietly left the scene, 
 
 And his spirit passed away 
 While his laurels yet were green. 
 
 Yet to Scotia cherished dear 
 Is the mem'ry of her son, 
 
 While she proudly wipes the tear 
 As she claims him as her own. 
 
 VICTORIA THE GOOD. 
 
 (Written on the occasion of the expected arrival of the Duke 
 of Edinburgh in Port Lyttelton in 1867). 
 
 ^a 
 
 *fe 
 
 (^ XPECTANT eyes will soon begin to strain 
 JlM!^ across the sea, 
 
 i.i^^t«^a In watch for the arrival of the stately 
 "Galatea" 
 I ween that for our quiet town 'twill be 
 a gala day 
 When the pennant of that noble ship will float 
 
 within the bay : 
 The son of Queen Victoria now comes to see us here, 
 A prince who seems to promise yet a glorious career ; 
 And his path may be an Englishman's upon the 
 swelling flood,
 
 Victoria the Good. 107 
 
 Where his deeds will make him worthy of Victoria 
 the Good. 
 
 Twelve months have scarce rolled onward since we 
 
 heard, with bated breath, 
 The brave and good Prince Alfred lay at the point of 
 
 death. 
 And he, whose manly bearing should the love of all 
 
 command, 
 Had fallen by a bullet from a vile assassin hand ; 
 The horror of those dismal news on every face 
 
 appears, 
 But joy for his recovery soon banished all our fears ; 
 While praises swelled from every heart to God, who 
 
 had withstood 
 And spared her gallant son unto Victoria the Good. 
 
 Should war's wild desolation convulse the world again, 
 And mark with ruined wastes the land, and dye with 
 
 blood the main ; 
 And tyrants, insolent with pow'r, despising Nature's 
 
 laws. 
 Stretch forth their ruthless hands to vex a weaker 
 
 people's cause — 
 The lion of Britannia then terribly will roar, 
 Her ironclads, in grim array, will sweep from shore 
 
 to shore ; 
 Victoria's son may lead them on to quell the rising 
 
 feud. 
 And teach the nations 'round to fear Victoria the 
 
 Good. 
 
 Her name, endeared to every heart, is spread through- 
 out the world —
 
 108 
 
 Hennengoild. 
 
 Where Britain's banner proudly waves, for Liberty 
 
 unfurled, 
 From Zealand's hoary mountains to India's burning 
 
 plains, 
 Until the sun can never set upon her vast domains ; 
 While tribes and tongues of every clime who own 
 
 her gentle sway, 
 And felt the blessings of her reign, their grateful 
 
 homage pay. 
 The tears of many a lightened heart, her soldier's 
 
 willing blood. 
 Will long embalm the memory of Victoria the Good. 
 
 HERMENGOILD. 
 
 ^^|WAS long ago, ere supine sloth 
 
 Replaced with silks the garbs of steel, 
 When Rome's dread scourge, the 
 Visigoth, 
 Held haughty sway in Old Castile ; 
 A hero then the sceptre held, 
 
 Of lofty port and presence mild ; 
 Though early called the sway to wield, 
 His people's hope was Hermengoild. 
 
 He various gifts did well combine 
 
 To wield the sword and poise the spear.
 
 Hermengoild. 109 
 
 Till in the tourney formed to shine, 
 No foe could brook his steed's career. 
 
 Though he could move proud beauty's fears, 
 No vicious stains his name defiled ; 
 
 Among his knighthood's stately peers 
 The stateliest was Hermengoild. 
 
 Within the crowded city walls 
 
 The stately pageant slowly moves. 
 As to his father's lighted halls 
 
 He leads the beauteous bride he loves. 
 Then gaily shone the festive throng, 
 
 Where peerless beauty blushed and smiled, 
 And pealed the music and the song : 
 
 " On with the dance," said Hermengoild. 
 
 Ere coursed the sun its aimual round, 
 
 Again the festive honours blazed. 
 When the proud father's hopes were crowned, 
 
 As on his new-born son he gazed. 
 He took the swaddling on his knee, 
 
 And fondly kissed and blessed his child : 
 ' Through life may spotless honour be 
 
 Thy guiding star," said Hermengoild. 
 
 When dark rebellion rose in force, 
 Wilh thirty thousand in its train, 
 
 With scarce ten thousand foot and horse 
 He faced their army on the plain. 
 
 Along the bristling lines opposed 
 
 The hero glanced, and sternly smiled, 
 
 Then, as his vizor's clasp he closed, 
 
 " Proclaim the charge," said Hermengoild.
 
 no Gustavus Adolphus ; or, 
 
 As burst bis troop like lightning forked, 
 His sword was foremost in the field, 
 
 Where his destroying path was marked 
 By riven helm and cloven shield. 
 
 Before his squadron's stern array 
 The foe gave place in panic wild, 
 
 Then, wav'rhig, turned and fled away— 
 " Spare all who yield," said Hermengoild. 
 
 Alas ! that triumphs bright as these 
 
 Should yield so soon to scenes of grief. 
 When, smitten by a fell disease. 
 
 The people mourned their mighty chief. 
 With quenchless soul he faced his doom. 
 
 Nor from its terrors grim recoiled : 
 " Since life for me has shed its bloom, 
 
 Then welcome, death," said Hermengoild. 
 
 GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS; 
 
 Or, THE BATTLE OF LUTZEN. 
 
 IK1?S clouds spread o'er the sky's cerulean form. 
 Too surely herald the approaching storm, 
 When moaning winds, and dark'ning 
 
 clouds and haze. 
 For this had threatened bodingly for 
 days ; 
 
 And meteors seen to vividly illume 
 The previous night's profound Plutonian gloom.
 
 Tlie Battle of Lutzen. HI 
 
 That 'mon.^st the elements, the storm that looms, 
 Portends some dire disaster when it comes. 
 So loomed o'er Germany's distracted State, 
 The gath'ring feuds, sprung from sectarian hate. 
 Whose flame from little kindling, spread, when 
 
 raised, 
 Till Europe in a conflagration blazed. 
 Then great Gustavus left his northern home. 
 To curb the power of autocratic Rome, 
 Whose bigot priests, and priest-rid rulers joined, 
 With subtle sophistry and force combined. 
 To quench the lamp unveiled by Luther's hands, 
 Whose beams illumined the awakening lands, 
 While th' stern Tilly, to enforce their ban. 
 With conquering arms the alien States o'erran ; 
 And, with fierce zeal o'ermastering pity's claims. 
 Gave Magdeburg's proud city to the flames. 
 
 Where Pomerania spreads her level meads. 
 Meanwhile Gustavus with his hardy Swedes, 
 Perforce inactive, chafed for promised aid, 
 But when the laggards came, not long delayed 
 His movements then, whose spirit, eagle-like, 
 But merely hovered to more surely strike ; 
 And soon at Bretenfeld was felt bis shock. 
 That made an empire to its centre rock, 
 Where Tilly, terrible in former fight. 
 Awaited in grim consciousness of might. 
 
 Then gazed the world, when " host encountering 
 
 host " 
 Showed moral order in strong vantage post, 
 And conscious discipline put to the worse,
 
 112 (Jiistavas Adolphus ; or, 
 
 The blind obedience of unthinking force. 
 Although o'er-matched, Gustavus, undismayed — 
 When snapped a reed on which he leant for aid; * 
 But, in cahn view of the approaching storm, 
 In order new, he shaped liis battle form ; 
 So mariners, when bursts the bellying sail, 
 Adjust the rest to suit the freshening gale. 
 Like a deft pugilist, whose rapid blow 
 Eludes the guard of a more pond'rous foe, 
 Whose size is but more mark for fresh assault, 
 That each time tells with staggering result — 
 80 actively tlie Swedish squadrons wheeled, 
 So helpless back the troops of Tilly reeled, 
 Through whose dense columns, in wide gaps of gore, 
 Great and small shot their horrid passage tore ; 
 When Tilly, for the first time forced to yield, 
 Reluctantly retreated from the field — 
 Six thousand of his bravest 'mong the slain, 
 Whose mangled corpses strewed that bloody plain. 
 
 Again encountering on Leech's banks. 
 
 Destruction winged enf'laded Tilly's ranks. 
 
 That swept their opposition from the path. 
 
 Their stern commander, wounded to the death. 
 
 When his career closed subsequently soon — 
 
 The brave, and zealous, but blood-stained Walloon !t 
 
 The foe now crushed, before Gustavus' way 
 
 All Germany appeared an easy prey. 
 
 Then turned its Emperor to Wallenstein, 
 
 As only fit to curb the conqu'ror's rein. 
 
 But Wallenstein, omnipotent of yore, 
 
 * His Saxon allies fled at Tilly's first onset. 
 t" Ihe Bloody Walloon."— G. P. R. James.
 
 The BatiU of Lutzerv. 113 
 
 Devoted legions now obeyed no more, 
 
 And, in retirement, brooded o'er the wrongs 
 
 Brooked from a faithless prince and envious 
 
 tongues — 
 Him now the humbled monarch stoops to court, 
 The man he erst deserted for support, — 
 And to the warrior's haughty terms agreed. 
 So he would help him in his present need ; 
 When Wallenstein once more the flag unrolled 
 That victory so oft had kissed of old. 
 Then soon again from the late scattered war 
 The broken clouds came rolling from afar, 
 While flashing fitfully with signs of fear 
 The dark'ning storm approached more near and 
 
 near — 
 Until, at Lutzen, the full tempest broke. 
 That all her towers with its thunders shook. 
 There the arch schemer in the game of war. 
 For once betrayed by Fortune's fickle star. 
 By his unslumb'ring rival brought to bay, 
 Was his last desp'rate stake compelled to play. 
 
 Behind his trenches, massed in grim array. 
 The wily Wallenstein inactive lay ; 
 Astute and vigilant, not his the wont 
 To court the battle with the lion's front, 
 But on the foe, at his chance issuing, 
 To dash upon him with the tiger's spring. 
 
 Against the Swede's attack their front to guard, 
 A batt'ry bristling with great guns was reared ; 
 A mill entrenched, for the same end designed. 
 Secured the key where his left wing reclined.
 
 114 Gitstaviis t/ldolpluis ; or, 
 
 These have I noted as flood-marks to guide 
 Where flowed and ebbed the battle's crimson tide. 
 
 The chill November morning, big with doom, 
 
 Broke on the armies with presaging gloom ; 
 
 But in the Swedish host, throughout their lines. 
 
 In view of" the near struggle's bloody signs, 
 
 But little tended the chill boding day 
 
 To damp the confidence of their array ; 
 
 Nor there beat hearts less competent to dare, 
 
 Whose lips were moved in reverential pray'r ; 
 
 Or men less brave, who pleaded for the fight, 
 
 The God of Battles to defend the right ! 
 
 From brazen trump the holy anthem pealed, 
 
 And worship solemnised that bannered field. 
 
 The clearing sun smiled on that gallant host. 
 
 As for the charge the various lines took post : 
 
 Composed they stood there, fraught with purpose 
 
 large, 
 Till the loud " Forward ! " in the dreadful charge 
 At once impelled the whole, their " lion king " 
 Among the horsemen riding in the wing. 
 
 And then, as on the living torrents poured. 
 The opening salvos of the batt'ry roared. 
 That death emitting from each cannon's throat 
 Full in the teeth the advancing columns smote — 
 Theirs the first blood to die that fatal plain. 
 But, as when some convulsion heaves the main : 
 A tidal billow, curling, tow'ring high — 
 From whose approach th' aftVighted wharfmen fly 
 High o'er the works designed the waves to break — 
 Sweeps foaming grand, without an instant's check.
 
 The Battle of Lutzen 115 
 
 And thuiid'ring on in one wild ruin down 
 
 Hurls the street buildings of the lower town ; 
 
 So swept the Swedes, as from the fire opposed 
 
 Their shot-torn ranks each time they sternly closed, 
 
 Unwav'ring on (while gunners fled alarmed). 
 
 O'er the destructive battery they swarmed, 
 
 And dashing on, past trench and earthen dyke. 
 
 Upon the foe behind with levelled pike 
 
 Their onset urged with furious battle shout. 
 
 Short and terrific, broke and put to rout. 
 
 O'er all the van their ranks of men and steeds. 
 
 At once were 'whelmed by the impetuous Swedes. 
 
 Whose wave of vict'ry still flowed on until 
 
 It dashed against the basements of the mill. 
 
 But Wallenstein himself, in high command, 
 
 Presided there, and from his waving hand 
 
 The tide rolled back as from the prophet's wand. 
 
 The battle there restored ; Friedland then turned 
 
 And with armed heel his snorting charger spurned. 
 
 As he careered, like " genius of the storm," 
 
 At his approach the broken troops re-form. 
 
 And, as they halted in their panic flight, 
 
 Eesumed their arms and faced again the fight 
 
 (While succours from the rear in ready bands 
 
 Came hurrying up and strengthening their hands) ; 
 
 And, rigid as a reef of solid rock. 
 
 Received and broke their assailant's surging shock. 
 
 While from their instant furious assault 
 
 The late flushed Swedes— confounded and at fault. 
 
 With broken ranks, and impotent to strike — 
 
 Were driven backward at the point of pike : 
 
 Enraged and baffled, scarcely fit to gasp, 
 
 At victory thus wrested from their grasp ;
 
 116 Gustavus Adolphiis ; or. 
 
 And, yielding the dread battery again, 
 
 Kecoiled disorderly across the plain. 
 
 Its fury spent, so the receding surf 
 
 Again leaves bare the lately submerged wharf; 
 
 While waste and ruin welt'ring in its train 
 
 Attend its far recoil unto the main. 
 
 When news of this disaster reached the King, 
 
 Then with the cavalry far on the wing, 
 
 At once his centre to restore again 
 
 Gustavus gave his fiery steed the rein, 
 
 That, stretching forward in its swift career, 
 
 Soon left his followers far in the rear. 
 
 Of peril oblivious from his neighbouring foes, 
 
 The straightest route betwixt both hosts he chose ; 
 
 So fatalists in Eastern proverbs say — 
 
 W^hen filled its destined hour the hunter's prey 
 
 Runs to his feet. Again the storm-cloud low'red 
 
 That screened the foe who o'er the plain then 
 
 scoured 
 As grim and silent as a troop of death — 
 W^hen, traversing then suddenly their path, 
 A single horseman speeding past is seen, 
 Of fearless bearing and right kingly mien. 
 But little deemed they in that sudden spoil 
 The lion's self had come within their toil. 
 Nor, till his blood was ebbing on the field, 
 What hostage for the fight their stars did yield. 
 The manes of war ne'er gained so rich a prize. 
 Nor freedom claimed a costlier sacrifice. 
 Than when, so soon on that ensanguined plain 
 The great Gustavus closed his glorious reign !
 
 The Battle of Liitzen. 117 
 
 The king's white horse, descried upon the plain, 
 Careering riderless, with bloody rein, 
 Awoke among the Swedes in dread survey 
 The wildest pangs of horror and dismay. 
 The Imperial squadrons, like a thunder-cloud, 
 Converging rapidly, and volleying loud ; 
 And, lost the guidance of their wonted head — 
 Of yore in peril their surety when he led — 
 Their hitherto undaunted bearing failed. 
 And wild confusion 'mong their ranks prevailed. 
 
 But from the hand, then cold upon the plain, 
 
 Another now assumed the battle rein : 
 
 Well worthy he the post — Bernhard his name, 
 
 Of Germany's most princely line he came — 
 
 A race heroic in the scroll of fame — 
 
 Whose high career to vie he inly burned ; 
 
 And now in scorn their craven counsels spurned 
 
 Who named retreat, and lifeless on the sward 
 
 Stretched the poltroon who scrupled at his word.* 
 
 Then rolled the drum, and loud the clarion pealed. 
 That in new order quick the squadrons wheeled — 
 Swift as the queen-bee's notes direct her swarm, 
 The mixed array again take shape and form : 
 And fierce and deep each heart with vengeance 
 
 burned 
 As for the charge again the squadrons turned — 
 While nerved their hearts the purpose to regain 
 Their monarch's form, or perish on the plain. 
 And, then, again their levelled weapons glanced 
 
 •Bernhard pistolled a colonel who hesitated in obeying his order to reform 
 
 his men.
 
 118 Gustavus Adolphus ; or, 
 
 As at the charge they terribly advanced ; 
 
 And then the ground with the concussion sliook 
 
 As the dread batt'ry's thunders once more woke ; 
 
 While panting gunners plied their utmost pow'rs 
 
 To sweep th' approaching foe with iron show'rs 
 
 To stay their progress — but in vain ; the wave 
 
 Again sweeps on with the undaunted brave. 
 
 And as the tidal billow from the deep 
 
 Keturns again in its unbroken sweep, 
 
 And o'er the wharf with its wild seething roar 
 
 Pursues its course destructive as before — 
 
 So swept the Swedes, avengers of iheir king. 
 
 In an unfaltering line from wing to wing ; 
 
 And, dashing onward to each thund'ring gun, 
 
 Again the deadly battery is won ; 
 
 Then on the foe once more with fury closed, 
 
 Who pike to pike as stubbornly opposed. 
 
 Stupendous then the scene upon that field. 
 
 Where this ne'er gained, nor that could force to 
 
 yield ; 
 But all along the line of either van 
 With equal purpose man confronted man. 
 The adverse tides surged hoarsely on the plain, 
 Till catacombs scarce sufficed for the slam ; 
 The wail of slaughter rose above each host, 
 But in the rage of strife death's shrieks were lost. 
 While the fierce combatants with mutual toil 
 Strove furiously to force each to recoil. 
 And with their pikes their bodies ghastly gashed, 
 Or face and arms with their clubbed muskets 
 
 smashed — 
 Or closing, maddened as their weapons baulked,
 
 The Battle of Littzen. 119 
 
 Eolled on the ground in deadly clutcbes locked ; 
 Where man with man, like throttling mastiffs tore, 
 Till stretched in death 'mid pools of curdled gore ; 
 While wild the din prevailed, 'mid thick'ning smoke 
 Of roaring guns and sabres' ringing stroke, 
 The trumpet's peal, and maddened charger's neigh. 
 And captains shouting"'^' in the fierce affray ! 
 
 The sun o'er the meridian journeyed on, 
 
 When toiling swains unyoked from tasks half done ; 
 
 And Nature's fount by sore exhaustion dried. 
 
 With meat and drink then seas'nably supplied ; 
 
 When further toils thus heartened to pursue, 
 
 Their labours they resumed with ardour new. 
 
 But here, alas ! in the sad work of death 
 
 The toilers found no interval for breath. 
 
 And hunger's pangs in mad rage heeded not. 
 
 And Nature's thirst in thirst of blood forgot ; 
 
 While deadly fury lent unnatural tide 
 
 For the new strength that meat and drink supplied. 
 
 From side to side, the reeking battle swayed, 
 
 As though each host some blind impulse obeyed, 
 
 And in their actions, as they fiercely drove, 
 
 The spirits of their great commanders strove ; 
 
 For though Gustavus then no longer lived. 
 
 Yet in his men his spirit's force survived : 
 
 'Twas this, as oft before in bitter need, 
 
 Inspired tliem still to toil and bravely bleed. 
 
 While thoughts of vengeance, flaming in their hearts. 
 
 Inspired them doubly to perform their parts — 
 
 •Job xxxix., 2j.
 
 120 Gustavus t/ldolphus ; or, 
 
 Until the foe, despite their galhint deeds, 
 Again recoiled from the victorious Swedes ; 
 And, slowly driven from each vantage post, 
 Confusion gained on the Imperial host. 
 
 'Twas at that moment fiery Pappenheim 
 Into the field with timely succours came. 
 Who with his horsemen, chosen from his force 
 That morn, had early posted on his course. 
 Though many a weary hour must intervene 
 Ere yet his foot could reach the battle scene. 
 
 As starts the war-steed at the trump — for fame 
 
 So blazed the soul of daring Pappenheim ; 
 
 That still as obstacles his patii opposed, 
 
 His spirit's emulation fiercer roused. 
 
 He marked the scene of battle's dark turmoil, 
 
 And the Imperial lines in wild recoil 
 
 Before the Swede's victorious advance ; 
 
 Then o'er his troops he swept his flashing glance — 
 
 When, instant as he gave the stern command, 
 
 The riders, with their chargers well in hand. 
 
 In order firm their prancing steeds arrayed, 
 
 Unsheathed their swords, and themselves firmer 
 
 stayed — 
 Then at the word, with all their fury urged, 
 Full on the foe their charging squadrons surged. 
 
 The Swedes beheld th' approaching bolt of war, 
 And stayed their ranks th expected shock to bar ; 
 But as the lightning-bolt with thund'ring stroke 
 Smites full the trunk of the majestic oak. 
 And, hissing, cleaves through its gigantic girth,
 
 The Battle of Lutzeiv. 121 
 
 Till quenched its fury as it strikes in earth. 
 
 So Pappenheim, like meteor bolt of Jove, 
 
 Through Sweden's ranks with his fierce horsemen 
 
 clove. 
 And, then, again the vainly struggling Swedes, 
 O'erborne by the wild crush of trampling steeds 
 And slashing sabres, in commingled rout, 
 With shouts of fury soon were dashed about, 
 And driven backward o'er the ground, erewhile 
 That they had won with so much bloody toil ; 
 But there, arrested in his conqu'ring path. 
 The gallant Pappenheim was stretched in death — 
 Yet sternly glad, in closing his career. 
 That the same fate had snatched his great compeer. 
 
 The war tide turned once more upon the plain, 
 
 And wavering victory smiled on Wallenstein, 
 
 For whom the field once more showed cheering 
 
 signs — 
 With all the Swedes beyond his utmost lines, 
 And the dread battery again his own — 
 On that fierce day so often lost and won. 
 
 But, as one sees upon a stormy day. 
 
 When clouds and sunshine struggle for the sway. 
 
 And for a space a fairer prospect gleacns, 
 
 As all the clouds, chased by the golden beams, 
 
 Eeveal a sky unto the gladdened view. 
 
 O'er all its face of one unruffled blue ; 
 
 Yet, in the dark horizon, e'en the while 
 
 Clouds reinforced again are seen to pile. 
 
 That speedily the blue vault spreading o'er 
 
 Crape with a pall more gloomy than before.
 
 122 Gufitdviis v4cloIphus; or, 
 
 And so in Wallenstein's cleared battle lines, 
 That for a space showed vict'ry's cheering signs ; 
 As o'er the plain, discomfited and foiled. 
 The broken squadrons of the Swedes recoiled, 
 Yet from their ruins, as they fell aside, 
 A fresh array in vig'rous force deployed. 
 And the swept-lately battle plain afar 
 Again was dark'ning with the rallying war. 
 
 To reinforce the Swedes' exhausted nerve 
 
 A squadron had been held in quiet reserve ; 
 
 From Caledonia's hardy shores, renowned 
 
 For martial lay and storied battle-mound, 
 
 To Sweden's clime these fortune- warriors came. 
 
 Where well their deeds sustained their country's 
 
 fame. 
 Throughout that day, while war's fierce billows 
 
 tossed. 
 As to each side the fight alternate crossed, 
 Composed they waited in their shining arms 
 With miens unmoved at all their dread alarms ; 
 To them now Bernhard trusted to redeem 
 The fight imperilled by gallant Pappenheim. 
 
 Like some machine of complicated art 
 
 That with one wheel moves ev'ry sev'ral part, 
 
 So simultaneous, orderly, and grim, 
 
 In rider's form and well-trained charger's limb. 
 
 At the command, while lit each face with joy, 
 
 In open line at once they all deploy ; 
 
 While sternly cool, their fiery steeds' career 
 
 They kept restrained until approaching near — 
 
 Then, quickening, at the trumpeted commands,
 
 Ihe Battle, of Lutzen. 123 
 
 With sabres gleaming dreadful in their hands. 
 Until, with spurs deep in their chargers' flanks, 
 As one, all dashed upon the Imperial ranks ; 
 While in wild chorus rose, as foe met foe, 
 The yell of fury and the wail of woe — 
 The victor's shout of triumph ringing high, 
 Mixed with the vanquished 's supplicating cry." 
 As the tornado through the forest sweeps, + 
 And in its passage in wild havoc heaps. 
 With broken limbs and debris thickly strown, 
 Vast trunks of trees by its wild rage o'erthrown, 
 So swept the Scots, fierce as their native storms, 
 Their country's mem'ries strengthening their arms. 
 Sheer through their foes in close sustained attack — 
 Horsemen and foot, o'erthrowing in their track — 
 Through their foes' closest ranks their passage strown 
 With mangled heaps and banners beaten down ; 
 Till, with the shock unto their centre tossed. 
 The Imperialists from ev'ry vantage post 
 Again in wild disorder to recede 
 Were forced by conquering Scot and furious Swede — 
 Fit comrades they in kindred paths to bleed ; 
 Their deadly battery once more disarmed, 
 And their own lines at ev'ry quarter stormed. 
 
 By this the sun, as wearied with the scene, 
 
 The struggling hosts let night's shades come 
 
 between ; 
 Then Wallenstein, submitting to his fate — 
 Through all that changing day, still always great — 
 
 * Genesis xxxii. 18. 
 +The whirlwind does not reap the lorest with greater rapidity than the 
 Highlanders cleared the line. — Chambers' Hist. Rebellion.
 
 124 Gustavus Acloli)hus. 
 
 Whose glance unerring at each point imper'lled 
 Against the Swedes some fresh bataHioii hurled ; 
 Tliongh Pappenheim's too tardy foot at length 
 Arrived to reinforce his jaded strength, 
 Yet, all too late to retrieve his defeat — 
 Was forced to give the signal for retreat. 
 
 The Swedes, encamped on that red field of strife, 
 
 Too dearly won with their great monarch's life ; 
 
 Yet not too dear, though at such bitter cost. 
 
 That conscience' rights, the freeman's dearest boast. 
 
 So long by cruel bigotry abjured. 
 
 To Germany and to the world secured. 
 
 The contemplation of heroic deeds 
 In gen'rous minds a kindred ardour breeds, 
 That thus inspired a nameless bard to sing 
 The splendid deeds of Sweden's greatest king ; 
 Whose stainless life of high heroic faith. 
 So fitly ended with such glorious death. 
 
 Note. — Wallenstein, more familiarly known to his own soldiers as the 
 Duke ot Friedland, and the most consummate strategist ot his age, at no 
 time exposed his army to the chances <if battle in an open field ; it 
 being his invariable habit, on the approach of an ememv, to throw himself 
 behind tortifications or natural strengths, like Wellington at Torres 
 Vedras. Hut in the manoeuvres that eventuated in the Battle of Lutzen, 
 Gustavus, by a ranid mnveinent, seized one of the strongholds that 
 guarded Wallenstein's position. Wallenstein, who was still strong 
 enough, imajiining that Gustavus would have been satisfied with this 
 measure of success, and (as the winter was now approaching) meant to 
 go into quarters lor the season, made the fatal mistake of breaking up his 
 own army, and dispatching Pappenheim, the greatest cavalry officer of 
 his time, on another expedition. Gustavus, a prince to whom in war all 
 seasons were alike, no sooner heard of the blunder that Wallenstein had 
 committed, than he advanced straight upon his position. Wallenstein, 
 on the other hand, as soon as he discovered his mistake, at once 
 endeavoured to reitity it by dispatching couriers to bring back his 
 absent detachments, and in the meanwhile laid out the field, so that 
 as these arrived during the fight, the positions assigned to them were 
 seen ready marked out. It was about sunset when Gustavus' army 
 came up with their enemies, but ihe battle did not begin till ii o'clock oa 
 the ensuing day.
 
 
 c 
 
 J3 
 3 
 
 3 
 <
 
 The Lambs . 125 
 
 THE LAMBS. 
 
 HERE, like an oven in the sky, 
 Australia's sun is blazing liigh, 
 And from its distant inland source 
 The Darling takes its sinuous course 
 'Mid dreary regions parched and dry, 
 Whose sameness palls the wearied eye, 
 With sandy scrubs and salt bush plains. 
 That scant rewards the shepherd's pains,* 
 And timber belts of straggling growth, 
 All stunted with the Summer's drouth ; 
 Where dusty clouds and teasing flies 
 Afflict the sight and bung the eyes, 
 While panting Nature faints beneath 
 The hot siroco's stifling breath ; 
 Where, proper to that region rude. 
 Appears the aborigine nude, 
 With agile form and eye of fear. 
 Equipped with boomerang and spear : 
 A simple race, devoid of cares. 
 Who herd in camps like beasts in lairs, 
 Exhibiting in all their outlines — 
 As things grow coarser at their confines — 
 G-od's image's remotest trace — 
 The selvage of the human race. 
 
 •This only alludes to seasons of drought, for salt bush is usually 
 «steemed excellent pasturage for sheep.
 
 126 The Lambs. 
 
 'Mid scenes like these — home of the lory, 
 And crested dove — to start my story : — 
 Three swains resided on a station, 
 Who herded sheep by occupation. 
 Who in their course of work were put 
 Out to a sep'rate shepherd's hut, 
 Where they at ease might brood and muse. 
 Each with a flock of lambs and ewes. 
 These duly named were, Harry Ruff, 
 A thorough John Bull, frank and bluff; 
 The next, a Scot, named Hugh M'Rae, 
 Both 'cute and canny in his way ; 
 The third, a red shock-headed Pat, 
 For shortness, nicknamed Irish Mat. 
 
 But, by-and-bye, the overseer 
 
 Eode out to learn the shepherds' cheer. 
 
 It now was time to mark the lambs. 
 
 And mark young ewes distinct from rams ; 
 
 But for this, to be better done, 
 
 'Twas handiest, where there was one, 
 
 To drive all to one yard, for which 
 
 He bore an order round to each 
 
 To start next morning, soon, prepared 
 
 To reach a more commodious yard ; 
 
 Where, in a hut for them before 
 
 Were ample rations laid in store ; 
 
 While he (the overseer) would come 
 
 With full hands from the station home, 
 
 From which they'd start by break of day, 
 
 And do the marking straight away. 
 
 But still he cautioned each to heed, 
 
 And look out as he did proceed :
 
 The Lambs. 127 
 
 Now, mind yourselves, for if you box* 
 You'll play the mischief with the flocks." 
 
 Next morn as Nature, blushinp; proud. 
 Revealed a sky without a cloud. 
 And shining on the dewy ground 
 The Orient sun rose red and round, 
 Whose preternat'ral fervid ray 
 Might predicate a burning day ; 
 The shepherds broke their fast in haste, 
 And from the folds their flocks released. 
 Thus ardent, pressed at starting soon 
 To reach their journey's end by noon. 
 But while each swain his way pursues. 
 With skipping lambs and bleating ewes. 
 Yet leave we, journeying o'er the flat, 
 The rest awhile, and follow Mat, 
 Of whom the Muse, in comic song, 
 Some mischief promises ere long. 
 
 The time was now when in July 
 
 The sunbeams warmed the humid sky, 
 
 Whose heat already 'gan to blaze 
 
 Mat's rough but not unkindly face ; 
 
 Although not yet when in its zone 
 
 The mounting sun more fervid shone 
 
 Vertically o'er the plains. 
 
 Then parched through Inng-recurring rains. 
 
 Until the baked and chapped earth's crust, 
 
 Kesolving to primordial dust. 
 
 That by ten thousand trotters ploughed, 
 
 •Shepherd phrase for join or mix.
 
 128 The Lamhs. 
 
 Ascends up like a fj;lory cloud — 
 That o'er each flock floats all the day, 
 A token seen for miles away. 
 
 Now with his flock in wide array, 
 Mat slowly wended on his way ; 
 Meanwhile, as older grew the day, 
 The sun shone out with stronger ray, 
 Till, from th' unwonted swelt'ring heat 
 Mat's sheep-dog Tip was fairly heat. 
 And slunk from bush to bush along 
 With panting sobs and dripping tongue ; 
 Besides, the sheep begin to sulk, 
 And crowded into closer bulk, 
 Till Mat oft languished to attain 
 The further limit of the plain, 
 The timber's cooling shade to reach, 
 That now ahead was seen to stretch ; 
 Where, with its fringe of deeper green, 
 The river's course was plainly seen. 
 But by degrees, progressing slow, 
 As lawyers (said) to heaven do go. 
 The object wished at length he gained. 
 In mind and body chafed and pained ; 
 While in his throat a burning drouth 
 With saline phlegm encased his mouth ; 
 Then in the cool refreshing shade 
 At his full length himself he laid 
 A prey to sullen lassitude, 
 And from him in this fevered mood 
 The following words did disembogue, 
 Dressed slightly of the native brogue :—
 
 The Lamhs. 129 
 
 ODE TO WATER. 
 
 " Hail to thee, great Alma Mather ! 
 First of Chaos forms I sing ; 
 Nature's great renewer, wather, — 
 Wather sparkling in the spring. 
 
 What need all this toiling matter ? — 
 What relief can prospects brinf ? 
 
 When parched Nature pants for wather, 
 Wather bubbling from the spring. 
 
 Ho ! all ye who treasures scatter, 
 
 Chasing joy on fancy's wing, 
 Wot ye what a boon is wather 
 
 Pure and bubbling from the spring ? 
 
 Puffed with egotistic notions, 
 
 Providence's gifts ye waste, 
 With fermented high-spiced potions 
 
 Pamp'ring a perverted taste. 
 
 For your rich wines ye may cather, 
 
 But for commoner or king 
 Nature needs no draught but wather— 
 
 Wather sparkling from the spring. 
 
 Some descant, quite eulogistic. 
 
 On sweet harmony's concord, 
 Yielded from the touch artistic 
 
 By the lute or harpsichord. 
 
 the dullards ! I would rather. 
 Than from lute or harp can ring, 
 
 Hark the tinkling sound of wather, 
 Bubbhng in a sparkling spring.
 
 130 The Lanihs. 
 
 Some for stately mansions pander, 
 Will) ^'ay walks and graceful lawns. 
 
 Game preserves of solemn grandeur, 
 Parks of deer and bounding fawns. 
 
 Keep your parks and groves of pheasants ; 
 
 Would my fate such station bring. 
 In the foreground of my pleasance 
 
 I would have a bubbhng spring. 
 
 Or, for more refined requirement. 
 In the Summer evenings' cool, 
 
 To enjoy an hour's retirement, 
 I would have a shady pool. 
 
 how nice to lie and splather, 
 As I bathed myself therein ! 
 
 "While with floods of cooling wather 
 I would lave my fevered skin. 
 
 Pomp and pride some minds may flather. 
 Wealth acquired more aims will bring, 
 
 Mine would simply be for wather, 
 Wather " 
 
 By this a tumult in his ears 
 Awoke such strong foreboding fears. 
 As from his couch upon the ground 
 Made Mat recover with a bound ; 
 When such a sight his optics met 
 As made him all his song forget. 
 Forget his weariness and thirst — 
 I'm rather dubious that he cursed — 
 When he beheld, in act to fuse
 
 The Lamhs. 131 
 
 With bis, an adverse flock of ewes ; 
 One startled glance told plain enough 
 That he had boxed with Harry Ruff. 
 
 You've doubtless beard, with zest enlarged. 
 
 How well the " Forty- Second " charged 
 
 On Alexandria's sandy plain. 
 
 And many a bloody field of Spain ; 
 
 Or how the " Eighty-Eighth " scared wholly 
 
 The French with their wild "Faugh-a-Ballagh;"* 
 
 Or how the noble Light Brigade, 
 
 By roaring cannons undismayed, 
 
 Upon the Russian batt'ries hurled, 
 
 Awoke the wonder of the world. 
 
 Yet all these feats were tame and flat 
 
 Compared to those performed by Mat, 
 
 As on that memorable eve 
 
 He toiled his prestige to retrieve. 
 
 Emitting an unearthly yell. 
 
 He ran, be stumbled, and he fell. 
 
 Yet scarcely taking time to rise 
 
 He floundered on with starting eyes. 
 
 Now calls for Tip, and hoarsely chokes, 
 
 And in that breath his word revokes : 
 " Go for'ard, Tip," " come to my foot," 
 " Speak up, good dog," " lie down, you brute ; " 
 
 Until the puzzled Tip, unused 
 
 To hearing orders so confused. 
 
 And firing up beyond command 
 
 Took his own counsel out of hand. 
 
 And with one vocif'rous sweep 
 
 •Clear the way.
 
 132 The Lambs. 
 
 More wildly jumbled up the sheep. 
 
 As Mat careered, like stormy wind 
 
 They fled before, and closed behind ; 
 
 Then wheeling to his rear once more. 
 
 The sheep in front ran as before ; 
 
 Yet still he frantically flew 
 
 From right to left, and on till through, 
 
 When there he met his brother elf. 
 
 As much excited as himself ; 
 
 And then and there, betwixt the two, 
 
 A furious wordy clamour grew. 
 
 But Mat's Hibernian temp'rament, 
 
 By rules of logic, seldom pent, 
 
 Now quickly o'er discretion rose, 
 
 Till angry words gave place to blows. 
 
 But Harry Ruff, a former tar, 
 
 Well skilled in pugilistic war, 
 
 So scientifically sparred. 
 
 And his opponent hit so hard. 
 
 That soon poor Mat, unlike M'Duff, 
 
 Was glad to cry — " Hould ! that's enough." 
 
 Just at that time a whistle shrill 
 Forewarned them of more danger still. 
 And glancing through the dusty fog. 
 They both discerned the Scotchman's dog, 
 That, swiftly darting 'twixt the flocks. 
 Just barely saved a three-fold box, 
 M'Rae appeared then on the scene, 
 With a portentous lengthened mien : 
 " Tout, tout ! my lads," he said ; " what's this ? 
 There's something unco here amiss, 
 But fechting's only fit for fules
 
 The Lambs. 133 
 
 Or little feckless bairns at scbules — 
 When ye would far mair wisely win 
 To mend the mischief that's been done 
 And shift the blame from off your backs, 
 Or both are bound to get ' your cheques.' " 
 For thus remarked the canny Scot : 
 
 " Although I wouldna for a note 
 Mysel unto a lee demean, 
 I'd do't to benefit a frien'. 
 Then in the fence we'll mak a breach, 
 And to the cove* a yarn we'll pitch, 
 That when in bed we were asleep 
 The dingoes came and rushed the sheep, 
 Which crowding up against the brush, 
 Bore it before then in the crush. 
 Meanwhile, among sae mony lambs, 
 "Where they'll be safe to find their dams, 
 We'll put the twa flocks in the bend 
 Where Mavy them this nicht will tend ; 
 For she is supple, wise, and Strang, 
 And in her charge they'll no go wrang. 
 Hey — Mavy lass, ye winna fail." — 
 (Here Mavy whined and shook her tail ; 
 A gentle beast she seemed, and fly. 
 Whose points would take a shepherd's eye, 
 With tints of white, and black, and tan. 
 And wisdom almost of a man.) — 
 
 " While in the yard mine will be richt. 
 And noo the hut is here in sicht. 
 And as the sun is gangin' doon 
 And o'er the red horizon soon 
 
 *Rush term or boss.
 
 134 The Lambs. 
 
 We'll see its beams begin to glance, 
 We'll shove them in the yard at once, 
 And then we'll see about a feed," 
 To which all cordially agreed. 
 
 Convenient to the river's bank, 
 
 With herbage round it growing rank. 
 
 The hut in view was now displayed, 
 
 Enveloped in a gum tree's shade ; 
 
 A simple structure, strongly reared, 
 
 With posts by broad-axe rudely squared, 
 
 Set down at distances approved, 
 
 With slabs between transversely grooved ; 
 
 While 'gainst the weather's changes proof 
 
 Broad sheets of bark composed the roof. 
 
 Prevented curling at the edge 
 
 By rider-logs slung o'er the ridge. 
 
 In view of the retreating roof 
 
 The chimney seemed to stand aloof, 
 
 Constructed, with its fire-place 
 
 Old fashioned, to give ample space 
 
 For the huge log fires that at night 
 
 Blazed there with flames of ruddy light. 
 
 'Twas in this place, where sheets of bark 
 The bunks composed — and, save the mark ! 
 The table eke, — each shepherd wight 
 Prepared to quarter for the night. 
 
 Then all of them as they were versed 
 To various tasks themselves dispersed ; 
 But Matthew, at the river first. 
 With cooling draughts assuaged his thirst.
 
 The Lambs. 135 
 
 Then swinging round his axe on high 
 The firewood chips he soon made fly ; 
 And as the chimney 'gan to smoke 
 Hugh took a wether from the flock, 
 That from a gallows of rude lorm 
 He soon had hanging dressed and warm ; 
 While Harry Ruff, whose genius took 
 More to the duties of a cook, 
 Was soon up to the arms in flour, 
 And he in less than half-an-hour 
 Had such a pile of Johnnie-cake, 
 That on the embers he did bake. 
 As would have given six their rights 
 With fasting shepherds' appetites, 
 And went down with a relish high, 
 With steaming tea and liver fry ; — 
 And that by men so much in need 
 Was well pronounced " a glorious feed." 
 
 Then, when the hearty meal was o'er 
 
 And bated nature asked no more, 
 
 It was proposed in council deep 
 
 That Hugh and Mat should view the sheep — 
 
 If in the bend they were all right 
 
 And like to settle for the night ; 
 
 And take some supper for the dogs, 
 
 And Mat's and Euff's tie up to logs, 
 
 But Mavy would be better loose, 
 
 As she would be of greater use 
 
 By making the sheep keep in bound 
 
 If they inclined to leave the ground. 
 
 While then they both huge fires would rear 
 
 Around the camp, suflicient near,
 
 136 Tlie Lanihs. 
 
 As would by their bright flaming light 
 Scare prowling dingoes at the sight— 
 Of which nathless they feared no harm 
 With Mavy there to give alarm. 
 
 Meanwhile, Harry on his part 
 Essayed his culinary art, 
 And heaping fuel on afresh, 
 Intending, when reduced to ash, 
 To bake a damper for the morn 
 Whose taste no epicure might scorn ; 
 While from the sheep a quarter cloven 
 Was quickly splutt'ring in the oven. 
 The which, while wailing to be done. 
 To make the time more smoothly run, 
 His purpose was while thus they sat 
 To make some puff-cakes boiled m fat ; 
 And when completed to his wish 
 The billy he would sling afresh. 
 That they might have, as Harry said, 
 " A snack before they went to bed." 
 
 Yet, Harry these arrangements made. 
 
 And still the absent men delayed ; 
 
 By this the damper had been baked, 
 
 The fire again together raked. 
 
 The puff-cakes done to his desire. 
 
 The billy simm'ring on the fire, 
 
 The hut swept out and all things cleared. 
 
 Ere their returning steps were heard. 
 
 By this the twilight long had closed. 
 And silence o'er the earth reposed,
 
 The Lamhs. 137 
 
 Where late the sun with flaming/ay 
 
 Presided o'er the glowing day, 
 
 Yet scarce was missed its golden light 
 
 In the calm splendour of the night ; 
 
 For Nature now high in the sphere 
 
 Had lit her silver chandelier, 
 
 In which ten thousand starry jets 
 
 Were ranged in strange fantastic sets ; 
 
 Though then their tributary rays 
 
 Were dmimed by Lunar's fuller blaze. 
 
 That pendant from the glorious frame. 
 
 Diffused abroad its lambent flame, 
 
 Till all the earth below was white 
 
 With its rich flood of milky light. 
 
 Save, where the branching trees o'erhead 
 
 Cast on the ground their inky shade — 
 
 While the soft influence of the light 
 
 Roused all the creatures of the night. 
 
 Among the gums the 'possums swarmed, 
 
 Below the civets spat and squirmed, 
 
 While down the bush in tedious rote 
 
 Was heard the solemn Morepork's note, 
 
 And hooting of the weird night owl, 
 
 And prowling dingoes' distant howl. 
 
 Meanwhile prevailed a wild uproar, 
 
 Where from three thousand ewes and more, 
 
 With answ'ring lambs, their bleatings close 
 
 In one full blended chorus rose. 
 
 Outside the hut paused Mat and Hugh 
 The wondrous canopy to view, 
 When Hugh remarked, moved at the sight : 
 " Man, is not this a splendid nicht !
 
 138 The Lmtihs. 
 
 Mat, look in yonder glorious sky, 
 
 What marvels meet the wond'ring eye ! 
 
 And where, though now hid from the sicht 
 
 By Lady Luna's dazzling licht, 
 
 So many michty planets hurn, 
 
 That roond their stated orbits turn ; 
 
 Yet graduated in the heicht. 
 
 To act as lamps this world to licht : 
 
 And look, there, at the ' Milky Way,' 
 
 Composed o' coontless nebulae — 
 
 Astronomers say every ane 
 
 Is just a planet like our ain ; 
 
 Yet, while along they smoothly glide, 
 
 Nae jars obstruct, nae shocks collide. 
 
 But in harmonious career 
 
 Each wheels in its allotted sphere. 
 
 How plain such facts proclaun abroad 
 
 The living presence of a God, 
 
 Whose wondrous wisdom traced this plan 
 
 To beautify th' abode of man ! 
 
 That answ'ring its stupendous hulk 
 
 Made lichts in corresponding bulk 
 
 To licht the whole, that poised in space 
 
 Were fixed, each in its fatting place ; 
 
 When further would make faint their rays, 
 
 And nearer they the world would daze* 
 
 But noo it's time that we were gaun 
 
 To see how Harry's getting on. 
 
 Or, maybe, he'll be getting riled — 
 
 My faith ! he's got the billy boiled." 
 
 Anon, as round the fire the three 
 Were munching cakes and drinking tea, 
 
 'Hervey's Meditations.
 
 The Lambs. 139 
 
 *' 'Twill scarce be safe," the Scotchman said, 
 For us to gang at ance to bed, 
 We'll bide at least till twal' o'clock, 
 When then may settle down the flock ; 
 And, meanwhile, look at them by turns, 
 And pass the time wi' sangs and yarns ; 
 And if by that they tak nae harm 
 We may turn in without alarm ; 
 But, meanwhile, since we're jolly here, 
 Wi' this bricht fire and pleasant cheer. 
 To drive the time mair smooth alang 
 I vote that Mat will sing a sang." 
 " My faith," said Mat, " but if you plaise 
 Yourself's the man the tune should raise, 
 And afther that your song is done 
 P'raps Ruff and I will each give one." 
 
 •' Aweel," said Hugh, " I'll gie a ditty 
 That p'r'aps you'll no think ower witty, 
 But for the time may suit no ill 
 For ane that aince I made mysel'; " 
 And after hemming once or twice, 
 Hugh sang in a clear tenor voice. 
 (" Muckleroy the Weaver.")'* 
 
 When Hugh ended his song, said Mat, "By my sowl ! 
 But the same Muckleroy had some reason to growl ; 
 But I'll sing ye, my lads, if ye've patience enough, 
 A nate little lyric called ' Captain McGruft.' " 
 (" Captain McGruff.") 
 
 * :i: * :[-. ;;- t- 
 
 * See Contents for this and the five following songs in " The Lambs."
 
 140 The Lamhs. 
 
 As Mat his song brought to a olose, 
 His comrades' plaudits warmly rose. 
 •' Hoots! Mat," said Hugh, " lad, gie's your hand ; 
 Why, man, your singin's really grand. 
 As for your sang, baitli tune and words 
 Are pat to each as cream and curds ; 
 McGruft" was an eccentric chiel. 
 He must ha'e been a thrawart deil. 
 But, Harry lad, it's your turn noo ; 
 Get on your legs and mak' your boo ; 
 And place your hand upon your hup 
 And show how you can gie it lup." 
 At this request, so oddly made. 
 The obliging Harry rose and said : 
 " I'll sing you one that's parodied. 
 
 Or somewhat modelled on the plan 
 Of that rare ditty, known wide, 
 
 Called the ' Old English Gentleman ' " 
 (" The Old Colonial Lushington.") 
 
 # * -^ •» ■» 
 
 When Harry's song came to a pause 
 The old slab hut rang with applause ; — 
 Their spirits now were fairly raised 
 While cosily the fire blazed, 
 By far too snug for them to choose 
 To see how Mavy watched the ewes. 
 But from the door content to peep 
 And hark the bleating of the sheep. 
 While anecdote and comic pun 
 Contributed to swell the fun. 
 Thus for a while they yarned and laughed, 
 And oft their pints they filled and quaffed 
 With as much zest as if their cheer
 
 The Lambs. I4l 
 
 Were brimming tanks of foaming beer ; 
 And when the tea leaves they did drain 
 They slung the billy on again. 
 Then Mat, with a grave face, proposed 
 To sing a song he had composed 
 Upon the eve of leaving home, 
 And the occasion of the pome, 
 A girl he meant to make his bride, 
 ' When the swate purty coleen died, 
 Och, but my heart it sorely wrung ; " 
 And with a changed voice Matthew sung. 
 (" Junelle McJune.") 
 
 * ;•? :r ir ir * 
 
 Your sang," said Hugh, " shows sense and art, 
 And is a credit to your heart ; 
 But wae is me the hamely strain 
 Has touched in me a kindred vein, 
 And stirred up thochts o' auld lang syne 
 When gowden hopes were yet to tyne, 
 Ere a' the fresh'ning dews o' youth 
 Were fleyed by life's meridian drouth, 
 And blichted joys their shadows flang ; 
 And, noo, I'll sing anither sang. 
 That ance, when langing sick and sair, 
 I made on scenes I'll view na mair. 
 (" The Shores of Loch Fyne.") 
 
 i:- ^ ie- A- =:: 
 
 Applauding murmurs, loud and long. 
 Hailed the conclusion of Hugh's song ; 
 Mat cried in glee, " more pow'r to you ! " 
 While Euff said, warmly, " bravo, Hugh ! " 
 Though such sad songs make me feel queer, 
 By waking thoughs of past career ;
 
 142 The Lanihs. 
 
 But. now, I'll sinp: yon one ao;ain 
 Of somewliiit a more martial strain, 
 I learnt when serving as a tar, 
 On board a British man-of-war. 
 (" Lord Cochrane.") 
 
 ^ .;;. A- ■):• * * 
 
 When Harry's song, with spirit sung. 
 
 Delivered with a stentor's lung, 
 
 Was fairly done, you may suppose 
 
 A perfect storm of rapture rose, 
 
 Until excited with the theme, 
 
 And pledging " glorious Cochrane's fame," 
 
 These worthies all were like to be 
 
 Debauched with their teetotal spree ; 
 
 Said Mat at last, " Confound this thirst ! " 
 
 " By JovR ! " said Ruff. " I'm like to burst ; 
 
 With tea my stomach's fairly tight. 
 
 For thirteen pints I've drank this night." 
 
 Now by their languishing slush light. 
 
 Admonished of the evening's flight, 
 
 They rose, and without further said. 
 
 Abruptly tumbled into bed. 
 
 Next morning dawning. hoar with frost, 
 
 Found faithful Mavy at her post. 
 
 The ewes in camp all safe and fast. 
 
 And all the lambs composed at last. 
 
 When shortly after on the ground 
 
 The Super came and glanced around ; 
 
 When at the sight soon fell his brow, 
 
 And, " How, my lads, what's happened now ? 
 
 But well for the occasion tried 
 
 Our friends their pleas had cut and dried,
 
 The Lainhs. 
 
 14S 
 
 And told, with features pale with fright, 
 The horrors of the previous night — 
 Of dogs they vowed there were a score, 
 But Mat he swore to thirty more. 
 The Super paused, and answered trite, 
 " 'Gainst accidents it's ill to fight ; 
 We must, as we've no better way, 
 Just make the best of things we may : 
 The bullock-driver's now at large. 
 You, Ruff, can take the team in charge. 
 While we will leave the flocks in two. 
 And leave the largest, Hugh, with you, 
 You'll manage them with your good bitch ; 
 Now into work, lads, we must pitch. 
 
 Then all arrayed in old smock frocks. 
 Until tbey looked like Bash-ba-zouks 
 Engaged in some design of hell, 
 With bloody hands to work they fell, 
 And long ere eve their task was done ; 
 But while tlie work was going on 
 All were regaled with hearty drams. — 
 So ends the poem of " The Lambs."
 
 144 Apology for Shooting My Old Horse. 
 
 APOLOGY FOR SHOOTING MY 
 OLD HORSE. 
 
 Y poor old horse, you harmless brute you ! 
 In faith, I'm sorely grieved to shoot you, 
 It seems a thankless turn to do thee, 
 For all your faithful service to me ; 
 How over many a weary journey, 
 Though limping sorely, you have borne 
 me. 
 While I might set it down as granted 
 That you would be at hand when wanted ; 
 And in one point but few could match you. 
 So void of tricks when I would catch you. 
 While all your grub you had to fossick 
 Upon the dry and stringy tussock. 
 Alas ! my purse was oft so lanky, 
 For little corn you had to thank me — 
 I've found you still, I'll not dispute, 
 A faithful, harmless, willing brute, 
 Who did, at least, what you were able, 
 With little hope of groom or stable. 
 Last Winter, too, when it was snowing. 
 And sleety winds were keenly blowing, 
 I felt so grieved to see you shiver, 
 I said this year you'd have a cover ; 
 And now that promise, to fulfil it, 
 It seems a hard way with a bullet.
 
 Apology for Shooting My Old Horse. 145 
 
 But then, my poor old beast, what better 
 
 Can I do now to mend the matter, 
 
 Since to yourself you are a burden. 
 
 Your leg no hope of cure affording ? 
 
 And so the wish the act must pardon. 
 
 Not that dead I care to see thee. 
 
 But from pain I'd like to free thee. 
 
 Besides, were I to enfranchise thee, 
 
 I hardly think I would do wisely, 
 
 Since of one acre I'm not master 
 
 On which you might at leave depasture ; 
 
 To turn you out would be so flagrant, 
 
 "You'd just be treated as a vagrant, 
 
 While ev'ry cockatoo who found thee 
 
 Upon his ground would straight impound thee ; 
 
 And you'd be kicked about and driven 
 
 To desp'rate shifts to get a living. 
 
 Till death itself were better meted 
 
 Than that you should be thus maltreated. 
 
 And, in this world of strife and greed, 
 
 Where none have more than what they need. 
 
 When they have ceased their useful courses. 
 
 There's little room for men or horses. 
 
 Yet, though your case may hard appear, 
 
 My own may not be less severe, 
 
 There's little odds 'twist me and thee. 
 
 Since fate will some day shoot at me. 
 
 And haply, too, may pull the trigger 
 
 W^hen in the fullness of my vigour ; 
 
 While happy in your nothingness, 
 
 Your case may be infinite less. 
 
 For you there is no suit in lodgment. 
 
 But after death, with me, comes judgment ;
 
 146 Apolo()ij for Shooting My Old Horse, 
 
 "When if I fall beneath the curse, 
 
 Then I may wish in wild remorse 
 
 That I had only been a horse ! 
 
 You'll think it mean to take your hide, 
 
 But after all that's only pride — 
 
 Something like our human passion 
 
 For buryhig in the mode of fashion, 
 
 When really it matters nothing ; 
 
 A blanket or a blazened coffin, 
 
 Since rare device or sculptured forms 
 
 Will hardly edify the worms. 
 
 Your hide to you no more will profit, 
 
 While I might make a little of it ; 
 
 And the idea should content you. 
 
 That it should serve as a memento 
 
 Of the old horse that oft me carried, 
 
 Long after you were dead and buried ! 
 
 Or, it will serve some purpose rather 
 
 Converted into good shoe leather ; 
 
 Or a stockwhip, to crack and rattle 
 
 When mustering wild mobs of cattle. 
 
 As you yourself have done before 
 
 In youthful palmy days of yore, 
 
 When arching neck, and fiery eyed 
 
 You pranced and snorted in your pride ; 
 
 Oft round the herd your gallop thundered 
 
 Ere ring-bone maimed, or spavin foundered I 
 
 And thus you would have still the pride 
 
 Of must'ring with your plaited hide, 
 
 Like the old English king in story 
 
 With thoughts in death still grim and gory. 
 
 Who gave stern orders to his sons 
 
 To boil the flesh from off his bones,
 
 Tomniy Hughes. 
 
 147 
 
 So that, when well cleaned in tbe pots, 
 They might be used to scare the Scots ! 
 
 And now, good-bye, my poor old horsey ! 
 I'll make your death pang swift in mercy. 
 But what is this ? my spirit fails me. 
 At the last hour remorse assails me ; • 
 Then from the sentence I exempt thee. 
 As for thy hide it will not tempt me. 
 Then go, poor beast ! and close in peace 
 The remnant of thy life's short lease ; 
 And if there e'er should such a brute be 
 Who of the tussocks would dispute thee, 
 Confound him, he himself may shoot thee. 
 
 TOMMY HUGHES. 
 
 "^^^AMi 
 
 "^ifj^ll FREAK of my fancy, a whim of my 
 | ££S ^ muse, 
 
 
 % 
 
 Is this queer little sketch of my friend, 
 
 Tommy Hughes, 
 Who lives in the smallest of up-country 
 shops. 
 
 And drives a smart business in produce and slops. 
 He's a man of low stature, inclined to get stout, 
 With quiet-going mannei's, not soon put about. 
 With hands in his pockets, seeming aye in a muse ; 
 But a wide-awake brain has the same Tommy Hughes.
 
 148 Taimny Hivghes. 
 
 As a sharp man of business, a man of wise port, 
 So his engagements are many and varied in sort, 
 For besides the small store, there are seen in his name 
 A farm and a mill, and a share in a claim. 
 In judgment so clear, and with measures well 
 
 planned, 
 He is gaining in substance and wealth on each hand — 
 A decenter fellow ne'er stepped in two shoes ; 
 But, if you want a bargain, just mind Tommy 
 
 Hughes ! 
 
 '■o'- 
 
 It's a queer old caboose where he trades in, no doubt, 
 With boxes and cases piled inside and out ; 
 Herring-ribbed on the windows are two flaring bills, 
 Touting Vinegar Bitters, a cure for all ills. 
 Of soft and hard goods all kinds are crammed there. 
 The shelves lined with clothing, the roof with tin 
 
 ware : 
 Soap, tea, and tobacco, you're served in two two's — 
 But, when you come to settle, you'll know Tommy 
 
 Hughes ! 
 
 There is not in the district a sheep or horse sale, 
 But with eyes turned to bus'ness, he's there without 
 
 fail. 
 Each lot that seems hopeful, quite ready to buy, 
 From the horse in the stall, to tbe hog in the stye ; 
 As he quietly stands by, with a wink or a beck. 
 He signals his bid when he lights on a spec' ; 
 And the fancy horse-dealer bas no time to lose, 
 Who'd be up-side in a bargain or cheat Tommy 
 
 Hughes.
 
 Happy Go Lucky. i'i9 
 
 The words on the lintel of " T. Haghes and Co." 
 Show he has assistants to make the mare go. 
 For the store and the farm and the mill there is one, 
 As each man is gifted he's placed to his gun ; 
 Like the parts of a wheel, so they act in conclave, 
 These the spokes and the felloes, but Hughes is the 
 
 nave : 
 For a man of shrewd talents, a man of sound views, 
 There are few in Otago will match Tommy Hughes. 
 
 HAPPY GO LUCKY. 
 
 (Written on the occasion of a miscarriage of prospects). 
 
 ^f^^v-ERE I am, there T am, happy go lucky, 
 T'l-^Jr A waif on the tide without prospect or 
 
 i\ Knocking about on life's shores hard and 
 
 i rocky. 
 
 With scarcely a pound or a thing to my 
 
 4% 
 
 name. 
 
 My plans have been smit with the blast of confusion, 
 That levelled in ruins my castles of air, 
 
 'Twixt the spirits of evil there seems some collusion 
 To baulk my designs and to keep me thread-bare.
 
 150 Happy Go Liichy. 
 
 To quietly sit down to some purpose and settle, 
 The task that so simple to others appears, 
 
 How to compass this object I know but as little 
 As I do the signs of the heavenly spheres."' 
 
 Dame Fortune — the limmer, may sorrow consume 
 her ! 
 
 Who makes me the victim of many a trick. 
 Whenever she seems in a special bad humour, 
 
 Will come out of her way just to give me a kick. 
 
 There is something so callous, so fine in her malice, 
 As some gaudy bait in my way she will place. 
 
 When I stretch out my hand she will snatch back 
 her chalice. 
 And smite me with it a smart blow on the face. 
 
 Or, if I should venture on some spec to enter, 
 Deceived by the gleam of some prospective flash. 
 
 She'll stir up some scoundrel to take my debenture, 
 Who will praise my good nature and pocket my 
 cash. 
 
 Confound her and hang her — I'd almost said dang 
 her. 
 
 Although it is wicked and vulgar to swear — 
 But to be baffled by her in this manner, 
 
 A person for growling need not be a bear. 
 
 They say there's attraction in things of like action, 
 But I can't imagine how this can well be. 
 
 For if there's a duffer or brazen-faced buffer 
 Within reach, he is somehow attracted to me. 
 
 •American Humourist.
 
 Man of tJie World. 
 
 151 
 
 I know it's a failing, at Fate to keep railing ; 
 
 But Fortune her sunbeams though scattering free, 
 The which, in pursuit of, for years I've been trailing, 
 
 Yet not the least shimmering e'er lighted on me. 
 
 Here I am, there I am, happy go lucky, 
 A man still unmarked in the battle of life ; 
 
 Though often repulsed, still undaunted and plucky, 
 Kesolved but with breath to relinquish the strife. 
 
 MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 'HERE'S an evil too commonly seen 'neath 
 the sun, 
 =1 That virtue oft lags when the goal's to 
 ^(^ be won ; 
 
 And the ballast of honour is lighter by 
 
 far 
 When the schemer would tide o'er some 
 troublesome bar. 
 
 Let those, who in thoughts are exalted and pure, 
 Set their hopes upon joys that are lasting and sure ; 
 But your worldly self-seekers, your knowingly wise, 
 Such dreamy abstractions will hardly suffice. 
 
 More matter of fact, and purblind in their moods. 
 Less care to be just than increase their world's goods !
 
 152 Man of the World. 
 
 They choose the first near-cut that leads to their goal ; 
 Without a concern about trespass or toll. 
 
 Like a cat on its feet, or a duck in a show'r, 
 Naught takes them amiss, for they change with the 
 
 hour ; 
 From the straight course of truth they at will turn 
 
 aside 
 To row with the current, or sail with the tide. 
 
 To fine feelings lost — talk of feelings to them, 
 
 Get blood from a flint — for the thought they'd 
 
 contemn ; 
 All finer emotions, with lips lightly curled. 
 They regard as unworthy of men of the world. 
 
 What soft'ning thoughts can their natures alloy. 
 With whom a sharp deal is the ideal of joy ; 
 For which in pursuing the bent of their end, 
 They own not a brother and know not a friend. 
 
 They honour not God, yet they bay and they sell, 
 Their sales are well-timed, and their ventures pay 
 
 well ; 
 Their bank book's their Bible, percentage their 
 
 creed, 
 And mighty in bills, with St. Mammon to speed. 
 
 As they prosper in trade they increase in their state, 
 Their living grows rich, and their stomachs wax 
 
 great ; 
 Complacent with wealth, they must now be genteel, 
 As matters that seem are assumed for what's real.
 
 Maiv of the World. 153 
 
 More kiiavishly clever than honestly wise, 
 With them wisdom is cunning and cunning is lies. 
 O how they look down upon other poor elves 
 They reckon are scarcely as sharp as themselves ! 
 
 To their earth-trodden thoughts leave the muck- 
 worms alone ; 
 Vain dupes of their cunning their joys are their own, 
 For the use that they put it their gold is but dross, 
 As in gaining, their hands are corrupted and gross. 
 
 Yet what fortune might do when the just it befell ! 
 A Guthrie might teach and a Peabody tell ; 
 "Where are hardships to lighten and sorrows to heal, 
 There's a pathos in life that the worldly ne'er feel. 
 
 But where will I go, a poor creature forlorn. 
 Harassed in each quarter, beset at each turn, 
 On this too trusting spirit confusion is hurled. 
 Outwitted and twitted by men of the world ? 
 
 If I say I'll content with a sweet dream of love. 
 This harbour of hope but scant refuge will prove, 
 When I note the plain trace 'mid their sighs and 
 
 their tears 
 Of a shrewd worldly vein in the hearts of the dears. 
 
 But ril call to my mind all the noble and great, 
 And tread in their footsteps, though narrow and 
 
 straight ; 
 Who with honour and truth for their banners 
 
 unfurled. 
 Marched gallantly on 'mid a sin-scoffing world.
 
 154 Pride of Degree. 
 
 PRIDE OF DEGREE. 
 
 Xrilfc- 
 
 ^f^^ HERE'S a pride of high talent, a pride of 
 
 ^2}K^~*^ A pride of affection, a proud sense of 
 
 ^^ worth ; — 
 
 But of all sorts of pride that is hateful 
 
 to me, 
 
 'Tis where money alone is the mark 
 of degree. 
 
 There is well-to-do Jones makes obeisance to Brown, 
 Who drives in his carriage to church and to town ; 
 
 But of plain working Hodges no notice takes he — 
 For why ? He regards him of lower degree. 
 
 And so the line runs, rising grade over grade, 
 As they're happy in fortune or lucky in trade ; 
 
 The conservative form holding good, on the plea 
 The longer the purse more select the degree. 
 
 Nay, some doomed by fate fortune's pinches to feel 
 Still cling to the passion of seeming " genteel," 
 
 And with fiinisy veneering at elbow and knee 
 Make frantic attempts to uphold their degree. 
 
 As a source of all blessing, for all ills a salve. 
 All fall down to worship the great golden calf; 
 
 Mere virtue and truth are like pearls in the sea, 
 Where cash is the great motive-pow'r of degree.
 
 Estrangement. 155 
 
 Here a worldly upstart on his high bobby flies— 
 Ob, bow proud are bis looks and upturned are bis 
 eyes ! 
 
 In the pride of bis station, too lofty is be 
 To observe a connection of lower degree. 
 
 -o* 
 
 But metbinks tbat if ricb I would say to a friend. 
 By your conduct to me you yourself will commend ; 
 
 Tbat you're low in position wbat matters to me — 
 'Tis mind, and not money, sbould mark tbe degree. 
 
 ESTRANGEMENT. 
 
 ^£i£2i^ 
 
 J 
 
 MARVEL, girl, to see tbe cbange 
 
 Now pictured in tby mien, 
 
 m^ ^ Tbat seems to me so cold and strange 
 
 •)*-* To wbat it late bas been. 
 
 1^ 
 
 Wben in my beart as by a stroke, 
 Tby manners frank and warm, 
 
 Tbe slumb'ring sense of passion woke 
 To new life by tbeir cliarm. 
 
 Wbile contact from tbe flame (metbougbt) 
 Witbin my beart tbat burned, 
 
 Tbine own in sympathy bad caugbt. 
 And answering beat returned.
 
 15G Estrangement. 
 
 I saw it in thy redd'ning cheek, 
 And conscious flashing eye, 
 
 When in low tone I risked to speak. 
 Or when 1 hade good-hye. 
 
 But now no more a flattered look 
 Gives token of my pow'r ; 
 
 Whose view in me such transport woke 
 In yon delusive hour. 
 
 With cold disdain, and slighting pride 
 Thou now canst pass me by ; 
 
 Then be it so. I will not chide, 
 Nor seek the reason why. 
 
 But with lips set in noble scorn, 
 I quell my inward pain, 
 
 For she who makes a heart forlorn 
 Is worthless there to reign.
 
 Lines Addressed to a Friend. 157 
 
 LINES 
 
 ADDRESSED TO A FRIEND ON HIS 
 EXCHANGING BOOTS. 
 
 
 7 T'^j^EAR friend, though not passionate, but 
 
 ^^^ 
 
 My mind to a test this fair puts, 
 3''\\(^y '' ^Yhen a fellow comes into my hut, 
 y^ And coolly walks off with my boots. 
 
 'Tis not that I'm " stuck up," or vain, 
 Like coxcombs or foppish "galoots," 
 
 Whose sole labour and thought of their 
 brain 
 Concerns but their dress and their boots. 
 
 But then, I like whiles to look neat, 
 
 And though dressed in the best of my suits, 
 
 I ne'er fancy my toilet complete, 
 If wanting my Wellington boots. 
 
 And the matter that most makes me grieve 
 Was your sly way of going, bout touts ! 
 
 Without as much as " My friend, by your leave, 
 I'll just take the loan of your boots." 
 
 But when I was out, I declare 
 
 Cock-fighting it fairly confutes. 
 To leave me your shabby old pair 
 
 In lieu of my Wellington boots.
 
 158 
 
 The Plaidie, 
 
 I have read of the wars of the Turk, 
 
 Their burnings, their sacks, and pursuits, 
 
 But who ever heard tell of such work. 
 To rob a poor man of his boots ? 
 
 On the subject no more need be said ; 
 
 But to settle all further disputes, 
 I think you might wait till I'm dead 
 
 Before you step into my boots. 
 
 THE PLAIDIE. 
 
 Jl^^^ji^WA' wi' your new-fangled fashions untidy, 
 Your Inverness capes I'd no value a 
 straw, 
 Gi'e me for my ain pairt a guid Scottish 
 plaidie. 
 For comfort and neatness the pride o' 
 them a'. 
 
 Hoo weel a man feels when the Winter sets cauldly. 
 
 An' the winds frae the hills whistle frosty an' raw, 
 
 Wi' its warm faulds aroon' him, he bauds his course 
 
 bauldly, 
 
 Though black be the tejnpesi, and wild, wild it 
 
 should blaw.
 
 The Plaidie. 159 
 
 It minds o' tb' clansmen wi" claymores drawn 
 gleaming, 
 
 When in battle tbey meant to gi'e foemen a fa', 
 Wbile wildly tb' onset tb' bagpipes were screaming, 
 
 Tbey flung, ere tbey started, tbeir plaidies awa'. 
 
 Wben a Chief wad appear in bis gran' Hieian' 
 costume, 
 
 Wi' sporran an' buckles, a' shining fu' braw, 
 Hooe'er rich his dress is, or boo much it cost him, 
 
 If be basna' his plaid on, he's no' dressed ava'. 
 
 it's a richt gracefu' costume, if tartan or plaid'n. 
 An' your great-coats and cape-coats it clean dings 
 them a' ; 
 
 An' ne'er in my dress do I tak' sican a pride in, 
 As wben roun' my sboutbers my plaidie I ca'. 
 
 What cloak could you find to compare wi' a plaidie, 
 Wben the dews o' the eve begin saftly to fa', 
 
 An' ye stroll in the lane wi' your lassie beside ye, 
 An' the faulds o' your plaidie o'erreaching ye twa ? 
 
 Hoo sweet is the scene on a calm Simmer's e'ening, 
 Frae the lips ye lo'e best to bear loving words fa', 
 
 Wbile roond your dear lassie wi' nae tbocbt o' 
 sinning. 
 The faulds o' your plaidie mair closely you draw ! 
 
 Hoo usefu' it comes to the kind shepherd laddie 
 When be finds a wee lammie half deid in the snaw, 
 
 As be tak's it up gently and faulds 't in his plaidie, 
 Wbile the puir frichted ewie comes bleating awa' !
 
 inn 
 
 The Belle of the Ball. 
 
 It's a lieartsome companion in Simmer and Winter, 
 When we gang to the kirk, or awa' in the snaw ; 
 
 And it's weel worth a sang to be sent to the printer, 
 Wi' its lang hinging tashes baith usefu' and braw. 
 
 THE BELLE OF THE BALL. 
 
 6i 
 
 HEN the harvest was over, and crops 
 
 g iM!ii'it«»i».j^ under cover, 
 
 ^/f^P And toil for a space had respite from 
 
 •lll^ its thrall ; 
 
 ^ When gay lads and lassies in parties and 
 
 classes 
 Convene to beguile that set time with 
 a Ball. 
 
 For such a gay meeting, to make the scene fitting, 
 We swept and lit up the old barn for a hall ; 
 
 When a gay throng of dancers, in Polkas and Lancers, 
 Woke the night's silent hours with the sounds of 
 the Ball. 
 
 Such din they were making, the old barn was 
 shaking. 
 The rats quaked with fright in their holes 'neath 
 the wall ; 
 Such romping and joking, and laughter provoking. 
 Was ne'er before seen in the place at a Ball.
 
 The Belle of the Ball. 161 
 
 The lassies so blooming, with modes unassuming, — 
 Even now it gives pleasure the scene to recall — 
 
 With bright, flossy dresses, and soft glossy tresses — 
 But Katie, to my mind, was Belle of the Ball. 
 
 Her slim rounded figure, abounding with vigour, 
 Her manner so sprightly, yet modest withal ; 
 
 Her soft swelling bosom, her cheeks all a-blossom, 
 Ah ! yes, she was lovely that night at the Ball. 
 
 Yet, I allow, Nanny admirers had many. 
 
 Who voted that she had no peer in the hall ; 
 
 I know she was graceful, attractive, and tasteful — 
 But still I hold Katie was Belle of the Ball. 
 
 And then there was Ettie, so piquantly pretty, 
 And lacking admirers, by no means at all ; 
 
 Well matched tints and laces, enhancing her graces — 
 Yet still I hold Katie was Belle of the Ball. 
 
 There also was Philly, with skin like the lily, 
 Whose eyes of dark lustre did many enthral ; 
 
 With dark locks in fashion, and bust kindling 
 passion — 
 Yet still I hold Katie was Belle of the Ball. 
 
 There was coquettish Jessie, so showily dressy, 
 Whose part there enacted that night was not 
 small ; 
 So handsome and dashing, her eyes with mirth 
 flashing — 
 Yet still I hold Katie was Belle of the Ball. 
 
 And then there was Janet, with voice like a linnet, 
 Who sang in soprano, surpassing them all,
 
 162 The Show. 
 
 Of Wigton's sweet lassies, and " Green Grows the- 
 Raslies" — 
 Yet still I hold Katie was Belle of the Ball. 
 
 So lithe and so supple, how handsome the couple ! 
 
 When waltzing with Johnnie, so strapping and tall.. 
 Though Philly was touching, and Nanny bewitching — 
 
 Yet still I hold Katie was Belle of the Ball. 
 
 There were belles from the city, enchanting and* 
 witty. 
 Sweet creatures entirely, whom none could 
 miscall ; 
 But you may think me hazy, or moonstruck, or 
 crazy — 
 I will maintain Katie was Belle of the Ball. 
 
 THE SNOW^. 
 
 (A Dirge). 
 
 ^Am 
 
 "*^!i^ PILGPJM bewildered is wandering weary 
 ^ O'er desolate moorlands where piercing 
 winds blow, 
 And wild hills and mountains around 
 frowning dreary, 
 All shrouded with tempest and whitened 
 with snow.
 
 The Snow. 163 
 
 Wbile o'er him the tempest is sullenly brooding, 
 
 And onward the moorlands more drearily grow, 
 They remind him of hopes that were nipped in the 
 budding, 
 Till his heart seems as waste as these regions of 
 snow. 
 
 How warmly and bright shone the late sunny 
 morning ! 
 All Nature rejoiced in the mild Summer's glow ; 
 The birds sang with gladness, when scarce without 
 warning 
 The scene of the landscape was Winter and snow. 
 
 So bright shone his prospects, while Hope stood as 
 sentry, 
 And the wide world before him seemed void of 
 a foe ; 
 But now glooming on him as sullen and wintry 
 Are some that regard him with hearts hke the 
 snow. 
 
 chill runs his blood 'mong these moorlands so 
 frozen ! 
 
 But his heart inly bleeds, from a deeper felt woe ; 
 For he trusted his holiest thoughts to a bosom 
 
 As soft and as chaste, but as cold as the snow. 
 
 And the falsehood of friendship, so chilling and dreary. 
 The scorning of love, with its anguishing throe. 
 
 On the heart leaves a feeling more numbing and eerie 
 Than all the chill forces of Winter and snow.
 
 164 The Snow. 
 
 How oft with these fancies repining and moody, 
 While the spring of life's daring heaves lazy and 
 slow 
 He thinks what would reek, if this shame-smitten 
 body 
 Lay shrouded and stiff 'neath a deep wreath of 
 snow. 
 
 Yet still with the Spring, will these bleak moorlands 
 blossom. 
 And o'er these hills Summer her mantle will 
 throw ; 
 But when will renewed hope bring joy to his bosom, 
 Who now sadly wanders 'mong cold wastes of 
 snow ? 
 
 When time and I'eflection will wring her with sad- 
 ness. 
 So wanton and cruel his pride who laid low ; 
 Then his heart, like the landscape, will brighten 
 with gladness, 
 When Phoebus his beam sends to scatter the snow. 
 
 yes ! the sunshine will return in its glory, 
 
 But his joy with the Summer no more will outflow ; 
 
 But lonely he'll go till his locks, few and hoary. 
 Are chilled with life's frosts, like these mountains 
 of snow.
 
 On Tea. 165 
 
 ON TEA. 
 
 lifM^fl OETS ha'e suns o' the worship o' Bacchus, 
 111 1° And sulHed their muse wi' a Bacch- 
 
 ^'•^ anal's glee, 
 
 j} J But blythly the wings of my fancy I'll 
 
 practice, 
 In praise of the pure herb that grows 
 in Bohea. 
 
 Doctors, wi' tales o' slow poison, may fash us. 
 
 They're naething but gowks, and just tell a great 
 lee ; 
 
 Ae bev'rage sae harmless, to soothe and refresh us, 
 The milk frae the coo is nae mair sae than tea. 
 
 My heart wi' sair trouble, when dowie and weary, 
 Like a ship in a storm, lying hard on its lee ; 
 
 To set me at aince up, and mak' me feel cheery. 
 Just gi'e me a guid cup o' rich creamy tea. 
 
 Hoo much has the picture the thoughtful to sadden, 
 0' folk getting socially drunk at a spree ; 
 
 While the contrast against it tends only to gladden 
 A blythe social party o' freens at their tea. 
 
 On the ane hand is only confusion and clamour. 
 That too often ends in a senseless melee ;
 
 166 0,1 Tea. 
 
 On the itber is always amusement and amour, 
 And bricht festive faces a' beaming wi' glee. 
 
 Whiles fi-ae these wild revels' concomitant evils 
 Their vofries are never, or seldom, set free ; 
 
 The mind driven crazy wi' fits o' blue deevils, 
 
 Till the puir frichted wretch to destruction wad 
 flee. 
 
 But turn we again frae this picture o' horror, 
 Sweet soother o' feelings, turn gladly to thee ; 
 
 Nae sicht here we meet wi' o' conscience smit terror, 
 But well-being ever associates wi' tea. 
 
 That era sae blissfu', believe me, won't happen. 
 When men will, like " brethren, a' learn to agree," 
 
 Till a' body harks to guid counsel to luppen. 
 
 And pass naething o'er their lips stranger than tea. 
 
 If the Cooncil my wishes would only consent to, 
 A' the grog in the land wad be hove in the sea. 
 
 An' the gran' inns and canteens converted a' into 
 Fine temperance hotels, selling cordials and tea. 
 
 Although to great learning I mak' nae pretension. 
 Yet naething will force me to budge frae this plea, 
 
 That strong drink o' a' kind 's the Deevil's invention^ 
 But Providence surely meant man to drink tea.
 
 The SJwj^es of Loch Fyne. 167 
 
 THE SHORES OF LOCH FYNE.* 
 
 Air— Lucy's Flitting. 
 
 HILE the noon of life's day is declining 
 and shady, 
 
 jM^r^ A lone-hearted exile in sorrow I pine, 
 ^i^> As I muse on the davs when a bare- 
 
 Jl-i]'^ footed laddie 
 
 1 
 
 I gleefully roamed by the shores o' 
 Loch Fyne. 
 
 For these were the days when no cares co'ild o'er- 
 pow'r me, 
 And the young shoots o' friendship were nourished 
 to twine. 
 And the hopes o' a life that were opening before me 
 Were bright as the rainbows that bent o'er Loch 
 Fyne. 
 
 In the lang days of Simmer, what pleasure and 
 laughing, 
 As we roamed o'er the braes, or we rowed on the 
 brine ! 
 In the lang nichts of Winter, what romping and daffing 
 In the warm social lianies by the shores o' Loch 
 Fyne ! 
 
 (•Hugh's song in "The I.ambs.")
 
 168 The Shores of Loch Fijne. 
 
 There, Nature her best charms the landscape blends 
 through all, 
 Where the green and the purple sae sweetly com- 
 bine ; 
 And the hills o" Lochgair, and the green slopes o* 
 Covval, 
 Oppose their rich views by the shores o'Loch Fyne. 
 
 "While the green o' the plantin', the sheen o' the 
 water, 
 The daisy-clad meadows wi' tame browsing kine. 
 Show a redolent landscape wi' sunshine and laughter,. 
 When Simmer her treasures sheds gay roond 
 Loch Fyne. 
 
 Nor lesser the prospect, though chastened and sober. 
 When Winter advances her cold, icy line ; 
 
 And the branches, all stripped by the blasts o' October, 
 Toss leafless and weird by the shores o' Loch Fyne. 
 
 Alas I these sweet landscapes, I've left them for 
 ever — 
 Nae mair they'll bring joy to this lane breast o" 
 mine ; 
 And these friends from whom late I did buoyantly 
 sever. 
 Their graves are noo green by the shores o' Loch 
 Fyne. 
 
 As the magnet reverts tae the point in the polar, 
 Sae flee my heart's thochts to the days o' lang^ 
 syne ; 
 
 While sad recollections my deep musings colour 
 Wi' scenes that are hallowed, by lovely Loch Fyne.
 
 Muckleroy the Weaver. 
 
 169 
 
 MUCKLEROY THE WEAVER.* 
 
 AiE — Magijle Lauder. 
 
 F in this warld o" care and strife, 
 
 A bodv there was ever 
 Plagued wi' cross currents in this life, 
 
 'Twas Muckleroy, the weaver : 
 For in a'e week he lost his soo ; 
 
 His mither took the fever ; 
 And in the sheugh was smoored his coo,- 
 
 Puir Muckleroy, the weaver ! 
 
 Chorus — Hout, hout, awa ! hout, hout, awa ! 
 
 Hout awa ! Whatever 
 Should gang amiss to mar the peace 
 
 0' Muckleroy, the weaver ? 
 Hout, hout, awa ! hout, hout, awa ! 
 
 A man sae smart and clever ; 
 Yet a' aboot the pipe puts oot 
 
 0' Muckleroy. the weaver. 
 
 The lassie neist wham he loe'd best 
 
 She proved a vile deceiver, 
 And gied the poke for Soutar Jock 
 
 To Muckleroy, the weaver. 
 
 (• Hugh's song in " 1 he Lambs.")
 
 170 JtiJiellfi M'Jioiie. 
 
 She leuch at Roy, the saucy quean, 
 Quo' he, " OKI Harry deave her ; 
 
 May she hae neither chit nor wean ! " 
 Said Muckleroy, the weaver. 
 
 Chorus. — Hout, hout, awa ! hout, hout, awa ! &c. 
 
 He gied a neebor some employ ; 
 
 The man turned cot a swiper, 
 And pawned the wab, and Muckleroy 
 
 Was left to pay the piper. 
 He fell o'er the kirb an' brak' his bane. 
 
 His hat rolled down the ceever : 
 I wish that I was deid an' gane ! 
 
 Grained Muckleroy, the weaver. 
 
 Chorus. — Hout, hout, awa ! hout, hout, awa ! &c. 
 
 JUNELLE M'JUNE.* 
 
 HY gentle mind no stain defiled ; 
 Thy spotless faith no arts beguiled, 
 ^ Junelle M'June. 
 
 What was there in his rough, wild ways, 
 Those purty eyes of thine to plaise ; 
 That losing thee such grief should craze 
 This poor gosoon ? 
 
 (• Mat's song in " The Lambs.")
 
 Junelle M'Juiie. 171 
 
 Soft as the murmur of the strame, 
 Bright as the twinkling starlet's bame. 
 
 When shines the moon, 
 Was thy swate voice's gentle tone, 
 And these blue eyes that kindly shone, 
 Now still in death, and dull as stone — 
 
 Junelle M'June ? 
 
 Too rash we fixed the bridal hour — 
 I little thought my purty flow'r 
 
 Would fade so soon. 
 How could'st thou on this earth have staid, 
 Who seemed more fit for angels made. 
 But in thy grave my hopes were laid — 
 
 Junelle M'June ? 
 
 There are some men, but sure they lie, 
 Who all thoughts of a world deny 
 
 Beyond the moon. 
 There must be some more happy sphere 
 Beyond this gross and sensuous sphere. 
 Where now in glory lives my dear 
 
 Junelle M'June.
 
 l7'-i Captain, M' Gruff. 
 
 CAPTAIN M'GRUFF.* 
 
 iljRRAH Captain M'Gruft*, is scarce civil 
 enongli, 
 AJl around him he plagues wid his 
 pig-headed ways, 
 For he pulls up his head, and his nose 
 he will snuff 
 If you don't make obaisance to him if you plaise. 
 He meddles and mars, and makes troubles and jars, 
 
 No motion is mooted but shure he will bluff ; 
 Wid his neighbours he's still in hot wather and wars 
 Should they durst spake contrtiry to Captain 
 M'Gruff. 
 
 It's hard to be near him, and thin to forbear him, 
 
 For if you gairsay him your neck he will scruff. 
 And it's just as taising, the effort to plaise him, 
 
 For no sinse of raison has Captain M'Gruff. 
 His mood you ne'er can know — a smould'ring 
 volcano — 
 
 You know not the moment he may take the huff, 
 But Cathleen his daughter is purer than wather — 
 
 She's the gim in the ould coat of Captain M'Gruff". 
 
 Och ! she is the dailint, love fits like a garment. 
 With mirthful blue eyes, and a step like the roe ; 
 
 But still the bright jewel is kept down so cruel, 
 She durst not so much to a goose as say " bo ! " 
 
 (*Mat's song in " The Lambs.")
 
 The Old Colonial Lushington. 173 
 
 How often heart-baiting, for her I've sat waiting, 
 To spake at ber bouse just to meet a rebuff ; 
 
 He sits in the chamber, and will have you remimber 
 You must only spake, sir, to Captain M'Gruff. 
 
 Beside the ould villain the swate little colleen. 
 
 As meek as a dormouse sits quietly by ; 
 But it would fill volumes av close printed columns 
 
 The look she gives me wid the tail av her eye. 
 Shure no Turk or haythin misguided by Sathan 
 
 Would break a girl's spirit wid thraitment so rough, 
 But he's now getting hoary — may his sowl rest in 
 glory !— 
 
 But a perfect ould Tory is Captain M'Gruff. 
 
 THE OLD COLONIAL 
 LUSHINGTON* 
 
 
 EDDY was a Lushington, Teddy was a man 
 Who ne'er refused to take a drink or 
 
 fight with any one, 
 To have a round or stand a shout, Ted 
 
 either way would please. 
 And when too drunk to stand upright he 
 
 shouted on his knees. 
 Like a rare Colonial Lushington, one of 
 
 the olden time. 
 
 (•Harry's song in "The Lambs.")
 
 174 Tlie Old Colonial LusJuiigton. 
 
 There are some men who dream and rhyme on all 
 and sundry pleas, 
 
 The passion f^overns all their thoughts, a strange- 
 sort of disease ; 
 
 But all the study Teddy takes to cause him mental pain, 
 
 Is how to quickly make a cheque, and knock it dowp 
 again, 
 
 Like a rare Colonial Lushington, one of the olden 
 time. 
 
 Some men, with thoughts set on this world, oft with 
 
 complaisance bland, 
 As fruits of all their frugal toils boast of their wealth 
 
 and land ; 
 But small this cumbers Teddy's mind, for all that he 
 
 can brag 
 For forty years of gathering is rolled up in his swag. 
 Like a rare Colonial Lushington, one of the olden 
 
 time. 
 
 Most people, as they're growing old, become more 
 
 staid and sage, 
 And, for their youth's privations, seek th' amenitie& 
 
 of age ; 
 Though Teddy's locks are thin and white, so little 
 
 does he reck. 
 That soon as he can reach a bar he hands the 
 
 " pub " his cheque, 
 Like a rare Colonial Lushington, one of the olden 
 
 time. 
 
 And some o'er former fractious lives are prone 
 
 to suffer qualms. 
 And quaUfy their closing years with penitential 
 
 psalms ;
 
 Lord Cochrane. 
 
 175 
 
 On points so delicate as these Old Ted seems quite 
 
 But sighs o'er the past pleasures of his former 
 
 glorious sprees, 
 Like a rare Colonial Lushington, one of the olden 
 
 time. 
 
 LORD COCHRANE.* 
 
 I^Slf HEN rivals, envying Britain's might, 
 
 
 Contended on the main, 
 A braver ne'er sustained her right 
 
 Than noble Cochrane. 
 The poor man's guardian and friend, 
 
 But venal statesmen's bane, 
 Whose dark designs could never bend 
 
 The high-souled Cochrane. 
 
 The " Speedy " was our vessel's name, 
 
 Though scanty was her crew ; 
 Yet not unknown that ship to fame 
 
 For deeds she wont to do. 
 The Spaniard, from his lofty deck. 
 
 Looked on us with disdain. 
 And vainly thought, with his Zebec.t, 
 
 To take Lord Cochrane. 
 
 (*Harry's son^ in ''The Lambs.") 
 tSpanish warship of the largest size.
 
 176 Lord Cochrane. 
 
 They little deemed our Captain's might, 
 
 Who their great odds defied, 
 And for four hours th' unequal fight. 
 
 With crimson stained the tide ; 
 But while shells burst on either hand, 
 
 And bullets fell like rain, 
 Rose high and clear in stern command 
 
 The voice of Cochrane. 
 
 Their broadsides o'er us vainly roared, 
 
 While ours their bulwarks swept ; 
 At length our captain waved his sword, 
 
 And on their deck we leapt. 
 Their crew, recoiling from the shock. 
 
 Their captain with the slain, 
 Spain's haughty colours soon were struck, 
 
 By mighty Cochrane. 
 
 As when the sun thick vapours shroud, 
 
 So villains void of shame, 
 With obloquy have dared to cloud 
 
 This deathless hero's name ; 
 But like the sun that naught can blot. 
 
 High o'er his foeman's bane. 
 So shines the fame without a spot 
 
 Of glorious Cochrane.
 
 The Blossom. 
 
 177 
 
 THE BLOSSOM. 
 
 j: ONCE espied a gentle blossom, 
 
 With grace and fragrance blooming 
 rare ; 
 I thought to take it to my bosom, 
 And wear it as a treasui-e there. 
 
 And as it grew so fair and goodly, 
 I longed the more its sweets to taste ; 
 
 I stretched my hand, perhaps too rudely — 
 For, ah ! I crushed it in my haste. 
 
 Oh, would that I had left that treasure. 
 
 Contented with a distant view ; 
 It might have yielded still a pleasure 
 
 To watch and love it as it grew. 
 
 But now it has shed all its sweetness, 
 
 Or for my breast, or for the tree ; 
 Such charms I thought that showed such meet- 
 ness 
 
 To sooth my heart were not for me.
 
 178 
 
 Maggie's Jwa'. 
 
 MAGGIE'S AWA'. 
 
 Cast 
 
 HE lads of the station in late exultation, 
 \Ylia as liappy as roosters did flutter 
 and craw, 
 Are noo sadly changed, and in deep 
 tribulation, 
 They'e a' so doun-hearted since 
 
 Maggie's awa'. 
 Maggie, the limmer, 
 Has seeming a glamour 
 over their minds that has dizzened them a'. 
 For Archie is dwining, 
 And Johnnie is pining. 
 And Galium is whining, 
 Since Maggie's awa'. 
 
 McDonald the Piper noo vain tunes his chanter, 
 To roose up their spirits with strathspeys and 
 reels, 
 Whose heart-stirring music before this mishanter 
 Had often put spirit and life in their heels ; 
 Oh, then in high fettle, 
 The boards they would rattle, 
 But noo ye might bind every man v/itb a straw. 
 Nor pibroch McCrimmon, 
 Nor hornpipe of seamen. 
 Can keep up their leman 
 Since Maggie's awa'.
 
 Maggie's Awa\ 17& 
 
 Poor Galium the wliQle night lies tossing and 
 
 groaning, 
 
 You would think that his conscience was woke by 
 
 a crime ; 
 
 Or by day some head-aching tune he keeps droning 
 
 With a voice that seems more like to greet a' the 
 
 time. 
 
 While Archie, forlorn, 
 
 Seems weary and worn ; 
 
 And although he says little, what words he lets fa* 
 
 Betray the sad willow 
 
 He keeps 'neath his pillow. 
 
 To mind o'er the billow. 
 
 Where Maggie's awa'. 
 
 -^oo 
 
 Jack keeps in his hut in the gully, poor fellow ! 
 
 To hide from rude eyes what he cannot disguise, 
 Though his black-a-vised visage each day grows 
 more sallow, 
 
 And the dark rings of sorrow are seen 'neath his 
 
 eyes. 
 
 The impudent rabbits. 
 
 Unchecked in their habits, 
 
 Noo frisk roond his cottage wi' no sense o' awe ; 
 
 For Jack, in weird fashion. 
 
 Uncombed and unwashen. 
 
 Sits wailing his passion 
 
 Since Maggie's awa'. 
 
 ^oo' 
 
 Oh, sweet is the charm o' a dear, loving woman 
 
 To sooth a man's troubles and brighten his life ; 
 And if 'tis a weakness, the weakness is human. 
 To wish by oor ingle a snod sonsy wife. 
 And Maggie so comely, 
 With manners so homely.
 
 180 
 
 Watty and Bess. 
 
 Is a bait that ony wife-hunter might draw ; 
 But Maggie coquetting, 
 Each in his turn petting. 
 Has left them a' frettnig 
 Since she gaed awa'. 
 
 If this state of matters is left to go further, 
 
 Wha can tell to what sad event they may tend ? 
 See that there will not be self-slaughter or murder 
 Come oot o' these troubles before they will end. 
 Such violent heart burning 
 To grief will be turning, 
 If Maggie won't soon make 't a matter o' law ; 
 For whoso may get her. 
 The rest then may let her, 
 But they'll never get better 
 While she keeps awa'. 
 
 WATTY AND BESS. 
 
 ; i^^^^ OW funny seems Watty's experience with 
 Bess ! 
 Now downcast and silent, then hopeful 
 -/iv and chatty ; 
 
 For if to his love plea she would but 
 say yes. 
 Then who 'mong the shepherds as 
 happy as Watty ?
 
 Watty and Bess. 181 
 
 So sweet and engaging in manner is Bess, 
 
 And in person at all times so tasteful and natty ; 
 
 So thrifty in habit, so spotless in dress, 
 
 No marvel if of peace she's fast robbing Watty. 
 
 With tall lissom figure, and soft golden tress, 
 
 And sweet modelled features, far better than 
 pretty ; 
 To all who come near her a kind word has Bess, 
 But that same word can hearten and mortify 
 Watty. 
 
 By night his sleep broken with dreams of distress, 
 His heart going wildly by day, pit-a-patty. 
 
 What nature can stand this ? be gracious, sweet 
 Bess, 
 Or some mischief surely must soon happen Watty. 
 
 But this pictured rapture what pen can express, 
 A neat trellised cottage, with things equal, that he 
 
 Could call his, and share it thenceforward with Bess ? 
 Then what blythesome mavis could out-whistle 
 Watty ? 
 
 For, ah ! 'twould be filling his cup to excess. 
 
 If Fate would but grant him such chance to be 
 happy ; 
 For with his head laid on the soft breast of Bess, 
 What raptures would thrill then the soft heart of 
 Watty !
 
 182 Alone on the Mountains. 
 
 ALONE ON THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 ' '"'***"'" ' 'M alone on the mountains ! and wolves are 
 about ; 
 'Mid darkness and danger I wander in 
 
 doubt, 
 While I wistfully gaze on the plain far 
 
 below, 
 
 Where the lights like love beacons from 
 warm hearthsides glow. 
 O kindly love beacons, for others that shine, 
 How blissful their portions ! how dismal is mine ! 
 All the lone dreary night on the cold dismal hill, 
 Till my bones with the night blast are stricken with 
 chill. 
 
 I'm alone on the mountains ! unarmed, and a prey 
 To the fierce wolves that raven and howl round my 
 
 way, 
 While I wearily struggle a shelter to gain ; 
 But my steps are misspent, and my toil all in vain. 
 The bleak world around me, like some barren shore, 
 Grows in wild desolation the more I explore, 
 Till I shudder with dread, as I stumble and fall, 
 Lest the night's gloomy shades prove my funeral 
 
 pall. 
 
 I'm alone on the mountains ! and, as the hours wear, 
 The blast grows more keenly, the darkness more 
 drear ;
 
 Aileen. 
 
 183 
 
 And the planet of hope that shone bright o'er my goal 
 Is obscured by the thick clouds that darken my soul. 
 ■0 when will the shades flee ? and when the dawn 
 
 come, 
 With the beams of the day-star to lighten me home ? 
 "When I'll rest from my sorrows, so heavy and sore, 
 •O'er mountains of darkness to stumble no more. 
 
 AILEEN. 
 
 4^^ 
 
 AILEEN dear, I marvel well 
 How thou can'st be so frozen ; 
 And that so hard a heart can dwell 
 Within so soft a bosom ? 
 
 Yet well I guess thy haughty pride, 
 And thy high mind's ambition, 
 That causeth thee but to deride 
 My poor, obscure position. 
 
 Yet on this plain truth ponder well, 
 Dear Aileen, at thy leisure : 
 
 Within a common oyster shell 
 Is oft' concealed a treasure. 
 
 As wanting water flowers fade, 
 
 So often expectation 
 Will prove like mildew to the maid 
 
 Who slights true love for station.
 
 184 
 
 Katuhij's Return. 
 
 NANNY'S RETURN. 
 
 ^HE harvest was tardy, and hope seemecF 
 
 forlorn 
 i^ With clouds daily dripping, of saving 
 the corn. 
 The farmers despondent, with dark 
 
 boding fears, 
 At skies unpropitious,and dues in arrears- 
 
 But soon from a Presence, like light in the gloom, 
 Rose brightness, our dark-clouded minds to illume ; 
 For with Nannie's return from her trip o'er the sea,^ 
 Where late was despondence came lightness and glee^ 
 
 Forgot then were harvest and dark boding skies, 
 Inspired by the sunshine of Nanny's bright eyes ; 
 Even Johnnie the plough lad, late seeming to mourn,. 
 Went whistling quite gaily since Nanny's return. 
 
 She's the theme of all praise, with her bright whi- 
 ning air 
 And aspect so pleasing, with dark braided hair, 
 And lilly pale face, and these dark lustrous eyes 
 In whose softness basking seems love's paradise. 
 
 But, forced by the potence of love's mystic tie. 
 
 O'er the wide heaving deep soon again she must hie,. 
 
 To her friends then and Johnnie, what reason to- 
 
 mourn, 
 When Nanny, sweet Nanny, no more will return ?
 
 The Flower of the Taieri. 
 
 185 
 
 THE FLOWER OF THE TAIERI 
 
 AND PRIDE OF THE PLAIN. 
 
 (Written in imitation of " Bonnie Strathmore.") 
 
 
 t 
 
 \ HEN the sun, as it sets, leaves the west 
 in a glow, 
 il^^^"^' Till the clouds are all tinged with the 
 
 WP 
 
 I' 
 
 tints of the bow, 
 r^r^ How sweet is the landscape in evening's 
 
 soft hue, 
 "While the distant hill-tops are like gold 
 in the view ! 
 But the loveliest landscape that e'er I surveyed 
 On a calm Summer's eve, half in sunshine and 
 
 shade, 
 Cannot yield me the pleasure that thrills through 
 
 each vein, 
 Like the Flow'r of the Taieri — the Pride of the 
 Plain. 
 
 CHORUS : 
 
 You might turn to the east, and the west, but 
 
 in vain ; 
 Or the lands of the sun, o'er the far rolling 
 
 main ; 
 But a flower so spotless you'd search for in vain. 
 As the Flow'r of the Taieri and Pride of the 
 
 Plain.
 
 18(> Th& Flower of the Tdieri. 
 
 Nor the tui and thrush, on a bright Summer's day, 
 As they chant in the bush while I pass by the way, 
 ■Can convey an impression more gratefully dear 
 Than the charm of her voice as it falls on niy ear. 
 And the note of the skylark more joy cannot bring. 
 Or the sweet sylvan choir, as they welcome the 
 
 Spring, 
 When the green-mantled woods burst in blossom 
 
 again, 
 Than the soft thrilling tones of the Flow'r of the 
 
 Plain, 
 
 You might turn, &c. 
 
 Though rosebuds the garden may sweetly perfume — 
 Though grace in the mansion may haughtily bloom ; 
 Yet there luxury's charms show the labour of art, 
 And the glitter of fashion eclipses the heart. 
 But, fair in the field Nature's blossoms are strown, 
 And sweet in the cottage blooms beauty unknown. 
 And lowly the cottage where blooms without stain 
 The Pride of the Taieri — the Flower of the Plain. 
 
 Y'^ou might turn, &c. 
 
 As the breeze gently ripples the sun-lighted streams. 
 With the ripple of smiles, so her face brightly beams ; 
 Nor more artlessly winning in manner than she. 
 Is the lamb as it gambols so blyth on the lea. 
 As in Winter's wild blasts, the totara and pine 
 Protect from their ravage the frail clingmg vine ; 
 So, with love to the end, I would fondly sustain 
 The Flower of the Taieri — the Pride of the Plain. 
 
 You might turn, &c.
 
 On, Death. 187 
 
 ON DEATH. 
 
 E hear Death's shafts incessant on the wing : 
 Sometimes so near, we start in sharp 
 surprise ; 
 But when one smites our own, that bitter 
 sting 
 'Tis only then we fully realise. 
 
 Like children then, who promise to be good 
 
 While smarting 'neath the stern parental scourge. 
 
 In our affliction, we in humbled mood 
 
 Eesolve our ways with penitence to purge. 
 
 At Death's chill presence, this more humbled walk, 
 Deep purposed 'mid our bitter falling tears 
 
 Some months may hold, but due sense of that shock 
 How seldom does it stand the test of years ! 
 
 ■0 hungry Death, that seldom for the aged 
 Will wait the term of Nature's certain law — 
 
 But with the young, or usefully engaged, 
 Doth chiefly gorge thy wide insatiate maw. 
 
 Will it be e'er on this terrestrial sphere 
 
 There will be rest from thee, destroying foe ? 
 
 Or, at thy strokes, men cease to ask in fear, 
 Who next will be by thy dread pow'r laid low '?
 
 188 
 
 The Citij of the Dead. 
 
 Yes, Death ! thy mighty Conqu'ror Hveth still, 
 Thougli now with darts thy quiver yet is rife ; 
 
 At the set time, by His resistless will 
 
 Thou wilt be wholly swallowed up in Life. 
 
 Meanwhile, till then, the firm, believing faith. 
 Not e'en thy terrors now can make despond ; 
 
 For the blest thought doth blunt thy sting, O Death- 
 The light that shines thy gloomy realm beyond. 
 
 THE CITY OF THE DEAD. 
 
 Why should the spirit of mortal be proud ? "—Knox. 
 
 \1 
 
 A 
 
 ^' 
 
 ":-'''*pi 'i-PON the plain, or spread o'er the hill side» 
 
 'J'''--^jJ,:- By country town, or proud metropolis 
 
 Jf^^^i" . . . . . 
 
 "*''^'^ Where lusty life flows on in brimming tide, 
 
 Another town — yclept Necropolis 
 (As if in weird proportioned couple) — is 
 There ever seen, with streets and squares- 
 outspread ; 
 Although withni its quarters populous 
 No traffic wakens with its noisy tread 
 The Sabbath calm of this lone City of the Dead. 
 
 Yet still within its precincts desolate 
 
 Are often days of high event, when some
 
 I
 
 The City of the Dead. 189 
 
 New tenant, borne along in solemn state 
 To its assigned abode therein, has come ; 
 
 Yet even then, nor trump, nor beat of drum. 
 Makes gay such scene of seeming triumph led ; 
 
 But then heard only of hushed tones a hum ; 
 
 While heads bowed low, and eyes with weeping red, 
 Mark most such high days in the City of the Dead. 
 
 In peaceful rest its citizens there lie, 
 
 Both young and old, a motley multitude ; 
 
 All once as we are now, with passions high ; 
 Yet rich and poor, now seeming one in mood. 
 
 No jealous prejudice, nor party feud— , 
 
 As in life ever makes strife imminent — 
 
 In aught affects the awful quietude 
 
 Of each one's seeming marbled lineament, 
 
 Or breaks the silence of each lonely tenement. 
 
 Yet 'mong these tenements the sculptured pile 
 Decks bravely some, with monumental pride ; 
 
 Whereon engraved, in gilded, lettered style, 
 The owner's name and virtues are descried ; 
 
 While more again, adjoining these beside, 
 
 Are seen in waste, with grass and weeds o'ergrown. 
 
 Yet heed not these with names thus blazoned wide. 
 Nor yet reck those left without plate or stone — 
 That who they were is now forgotten and unknown. 
 
 And, from the outer world, are frequent there 
 Seen visitors, yet who, with tones subdued. 
 
 These paths pace slowly, as if in that air 
 
 Were what made sober the most joyous mood ;
 
 I'JO 
 
 Tlie Citij of the Dead. 
 
 And by tliese homes of silent solitude, 
 
 The iloors of which no living foot may tread, 
 
 Stand mourning ones, in garments sable-hued, 
 Whose recent wounds of ruptured ties still bled 
 For friends late flitted to that City of the Dead. 
 
 There, by a mound fresh moulded, have I seen 
 
 The blooming maid, not yet to woman turned, 
 Weep silently — a guileless Magdalene — 
 
 For her strong sire, in that dark house inurned ; 
 And known the mother, who in anguish mourned 
 
 O'er her brave son — to that lone City rushed 
 At one fell blow, in manly pride unwarned. 
 
 Ah, many a heart with cords thus torn and 
 crushed, 
 
 Yearns o'er these silent homes of mouldering 
 forms of dust. 
 
 A few short years ago — how few times ten ? 
 
 These all in life their various courses drove ; 
 Then blooming women, and strong lusty men. 
 
 With hearts as ours are now, to feel and love, 
 They joyed, they grieved, they coveted, they strove,. 
 
 Unconscious of the fraying of life's thread, 
 That, as their far-off schemes they fondly wove. 
 
 Abruptly snapt ; when from life's cares then sped^ 
 
 A sudden quittance for the City of the Dead. 
 
 Their eyes, now held by Death's hermetic scales, 
 No more take cognizance of Time's career ; 
 
 The flight of which, when chafed by life's details. 
 Had proved the source of many an anxious fear ; 
 
 When no thought then of the sepultured bier 
 In aught impaired life's confidence, assured ;
 
 The Cifii of the Dead. vn 
 
 Or, even yet its liope's prospective clear, 
 
 Were by the approaching shadow chill obscured ; 
 Now ever hovering o'er where they he lowly 
 mured. 
 
 No more shall these dulled orbs with rapture fill 
 
 From stars or moon, or sun's delightsome-beams ; 
 Nor stream nor wood, nor flowered mead nor hill, 
 Thrill these cold hearts with their untiring 
 themes. 
 Nor yet again, in more deplored extremes, 
 
 Shall passions wild those pulseless breasts 
 consume ; 
 That in some — mast'ring reason's fitful gleams — 
 Them, victims, had — in midst of manhood's 
 
 bloom — 
 Consigned to these cold homes of dust and silent 
 gloom. 
 
 And of that concourse silent slumbering there, 
 All once with bright creative gifts endowed. 
 
 How few there are who show what once they were. 
 In marks behind left of their names avowed ! 
 
 Or who for talents o'er the common crowd, 
 Had by their use such timely purpose made ; 
 
 They, with the living, still hold converse loud, 
 In works, and thoughts, admired, and fondly read. 
 Though now long tenants of the City of the Dead. 
 
 With thee, dear /rer<?, how suits such question here, 
 Ab by thy low abode in thought I stand ! 
 
 And sadly muse o'er thy curtailed career. 
 
 With heart and mind for noble purpose planned ;
 
 11)2 The Citij of the Dead. 
 
 And gifts endowed to impel at command 
 The facile pen, or on the Senate floor 
 
 To shine among the chosen of the land ; 
 
 Had thine the wisdom been to augment more 
 The talent lent thee, by persistent studious lore. 
 
 But in vile Moloch's worship, low abased, 
 
 These gifts, soon dimmed, alas ! became in thee, 
 Till such enslavement from thy mind effaced 
 
 The high poised thoughts that there were wont 
 to be ; 
 And, in such blinded mad fatuity, 
 
 A truant wanderer from Wisdom's school, 
 Must it of thee, then, be her stern decree, 
 *' Died Abner thus, as dieth but a fool " ; 
 
 In thy sad wasted life, poor victim of misrule. 
 
 * * th.- ^- * ■:■»' 
 
 These Cities of the Dead, they grow apace. 
 And when to crumbling ruins shall descend 
 
 The world's proud Capitals, o'er the earth's face 
 Their sad memorial columns will extend. 
 
 But their closed vaults yet suddenly will rend 
 The awful shock of the Archangel's blast ; 
 
 When all their inmates — there long mouldering 
 penned — 
 Will leap to life — a teeming concourse vast — 
 Some jubilant, but some at that dread call aghast!
 
 A Mother's Grave. 193 
 
 A MOTHER'S GRAVE. 
 
 m 
 
 _ J^^l USH ! thoughts of toil, while gazing here, 
 =iLSjf Give place to the unbidden tear ; 
 ejj^" Ambition, passion cease to rave, 
 
 While gazing on my mother's grave. 
 
 Oh ! hallowed spot of God's wide earth, 
 That holds her form that gave me birth, 
 Your very flow'rs are dear that wave 
 Luxuriant o'er my mother's grave. 
 
 With childhood's mem'ries interwove 
 A world of gentleness and love : 
 All that a yearning heart could crave ; — 
 And all within this narrow grave ! 
 
 What, all ? Ah, no ; my soul adores. 
 For high that ransomed spirit soars, 
 Washed in His blood who died to save ; 
 'Tis but her dust lies in the grave.
 
 194 Oil Two Sisters. 
 
 ON TWO SISTERS. 
 
 Composed while engaged sod-fencing. 
 
 HILE all tbe graces of the rose 
 
 The gentle Cath'rine sweetly shows, 
 Helen beside, refined and pale, 
 Droops like a lily in the vale ; 
 But deep in Helen's pensive eyes 
 A far and fond expression lies, 
 As one who gives her fancy wings 
 Beyond the range of present things, 
 Who, too unequal for the strife — 
 The ruthless cares of active life — 
 Still feels a charm her mind expand 
 In dreamy muse of fairy land. 
 
 The pleased view meets a nameless charm 
 In Cath'rine's slim but rounded form, 
 Where vig'rous health and sprightly ways 
 Are there combined with gentle grace, 
 In whose untiring zeal we see 
 An active image of the bee, 
 And which from every flow'r it meets 
 Can find supplies and gather sweets. 
 So with her wond'rous pow'r to please 
 Tbe hardest lot she'd charm at ease. 
 Whose love (of life's ills making light) 
 Would make the humblest fireside bright ;
 
 Oil Two Sisters. 195 
 
 And with her gentle winning smile 
 The task-worn swain from care beguile. 
 
 But Helen, modelled more severe, 
 Seems fitted for a higher sphere. 
 In her the calm majestic gra.ce 
 Of station born seems in its place. 
 That, dower'd with fortune's equal boon, 
 Could well adorn the gay saloon ; 
 And still beyond the cold constraint 
 That ruder minds is seen to taint. 
 Her well-bred manners but express 
 The softest touch of gentleness. 
 
 Both in the order of their spheres. 
 May joy attend the gentle dears, 
 So richly dow'red some hearts to bless. 
 Who in their love might well possess 
 The sum of earthly happiness. 
 
 This humble meed to virtue due 
 From one who feels its charms in you. 
 Dear lassies, take his offering made. 
 Who with your smiles is well repaid ; 
 Who rude and worn and iron shod 
 Now hardly toils to turn the sod, 
 Yet whose fond breast ambition wrings 
 With yearning thoughts of better things. 
 And though unpolished, in his soul 
 The floods of pure emotions roll ; 
 Whose eye, to nature's beauties true, 
 No charm more pleased delights to view 
 Than the soft lines he loves to trace 
 Of woman's form and maiden's grace.
 
 1% On James Ritchie. 
 
 ON JAMES RITCHIE. 
 
 (Found dead from heart disease). 
 
 If n, cruel blow that smote him in his prime,. 
 And laid in death the frank and manly 
 low, 
 While yet the hill of life seemed long to 
 ohmb, 
 And health and hope smiled on his 
 open brow — 
 Ah ! cold and fixed and white as marble now ; 
 
 And stifi" those limbs, but late so lithe and strong. 
 And quenched the flame of that kind bosom's glow 
 Where dwelt no thought that would another 
 wrong. 
 But courtesy that him endeared to old and young. 
 
 Ah ! many a loving heart this tale will rend 
 
 With heavy sighs and tearful sobbings loud ; 
 His parents hoar — how will they learn his end ? 
 
 With sorrow mute and heads in anguish bowed. 
 Peace to his dust now mould'ring in the shroud. 
 
 Though youthful errors dimmed the common clay,. 
 Yet these with him were but the morning cloud, 
 
 Maturer manhood's light would drive away, 
 And leave in shining splendour his meridian day.
 
 Lament for Mr. David M'Kellar. 197 
 
 LAMENT 
 
 FOR MR. DAVID M'KELLAR. 
 
 (Shot in Mexico), 
 
 "But I'll remember thee, Glencairn, 
 And all that thou hast done for me." 
 
 -Burns. 
 
 N solitary pensive muse, 
 
 When day with its hard toils are o'er, 
 I wander, brooding o'er the news 
 
 It well befits me to deplore. 
 Ah ! well for this may issue forth 
 
 My grief, at his untimely end ; 
 While I remember all his worth, 
 
 W^ho was to me so kind a friend. 
 
 Can I forget while life remains 
 
 W^hen at his house a frequent guest, 
 The welcome Und, the courteous pains 
 
 To make me there feel self-possessed ? 
 Forget that spirit's kindness rare, 
 
 That, when this land left far behind, 
 Could 'mid his own perplexing care 
 
 A poor friend's welfare bear in mind ?
 
 198 Lament for Mr. David M'Kellar. 
 
 In him what fitting pioneer 
 
 Explored the wastes of this young land ; 
 With grand physique and vision clear, 
 
 And for each toil the ready hand ; 
 With these a nerve of iron brace, 
 
 That caused him but to smile at fear ; 
 And moved him 'mid a lawless race. 
 
 To calmly choose his future sphere. 
 
 Now o'er his form, in death laid low, 
 
 In silent bitterness I grieve ; 
 Whose bounty''' late, with fervid glow 
 
 Caused my astonished heart to heave. 
 And he, that bitter vengeful foe. 
 
 May his end be a felon's lot. 
 Who could a family plunge in woe 
 
 With coward aim and murd'rous shot. 
 
 And thou, dear lady, for thy case 
 
 Our sympathetic feelings flow; 
 As we recall thy genial face, 
 
 In our midst such short time ago. 
 For thee, who made thyself beloved 
 
 By thy delight in doing good ; 
 Since from thy place here thou removed, 
 
 Successive evils have pursued. 
 
 For whom but gladness and sunshine. 
 Till late, had seemed to be the part ; 
 
 What sorrows barbed, by fate malign. 
 
 Have since then pierced thy woman's heart ;. 
 
 *He. unsolicited, took upon himself the risk of the publication of my 
 work, entitled " Bush Lite," etc.
 
 On a Twin Sister. 199 
 
 For her laid in the grave so young 
 Had scarce dried thy maternal tear ; 
 
 "When thy heart deeper anguish wrung 
 O'er thy loved husband's bloody bier. 
 
 Then return unto the shore, 
 
 Where 'mid its seagirt bracing clime, 
 New Zealand's mountains tow'ring hoar, 
 
 O'erlook a land unstained with crime ? 
 For here are friends, who for thy weal 
 
 Feel still as loyal as of yore, 
 Where time amid their love will heal 
 
 Thy bosom's wounds now bleeding sore. 
 
 ON A TWIN SISTER. 
 
 Vl ^rg-^s S^o 
 
 EATH, when life secure seemed nodding, 
 O'er the place its shadows cast, 
 At whose apparition boding 
 
 The most thoughtless looked aghast. 
 
 And without respite the smallest, 
 Grief reigns in one darkened cot — 
 
 Rachel weeping and unsolaced, 
 For the dear one who is not. 
 
 And a dove, bereaved, is cooing 
 For its lost companion fair.
 
 200 Oiv a Twill Sister. 
 
 Who, in going, and in doing, 
 Seemed so late a comely pair. 
 
 They were birds so much of feather, 
 Form and temp'ranient the same, 
 
 That together, which was either 
 Posed the oldest friend to name. 
 
 "With these laughing puzzles many, 
 Cruel death has done away ; 
 
 Now that he has borne off Nanny, 
 Any child can point out May. 
 
 Oh, it seems a cruel sorrow. 
 
 From her home so sudden torn, 
 
 Where her loving winsome marrow 
 Now pines mateless and forlorn. 
 
 Yet ye mourners, God unbidden 
 With the cloud displays the bow ; 
 
 Though His judgments still are hidden- 
 When he'll smite, or why the blow. 
 
 Weep not for that twin-chord broken, 
 That now of your Father's love 
 
 Serves you as a double token — 
 One below and one above.
 
 On Sir Walter Scott. 201 
 
 ON SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 l^^IS brief career the " mighty peasant ran," 
 Whose dazzhng genius hke a meteor 
 burned ; 
 His was the end to elevate the man, 
 For whose own worth the castes of rank 
 I he spurned ; 
 
 Yet still the prejudice of foes unturned, 
 His country slurred — though forced to own her 
 
 worth — 
 Till raised to chase these friendless thoughts 
 unearned 
 The brilliant mind of Scott illumed the North — 
 That like the sun at once lights up and warms the 
 earth. 
 
 Instant his touch, as by a magic wand 
 
 Dispelled the mist, and as the curtain rose 
 The ravished eyes viewed an enchanted land, 
 
 With woods and lochs and rivers studded close ; 
 Here Katrine's bosom dimples in repose. 
 
 There towers Benledi with her slopes of green ; 
 
 And wild romantic glens the views compose, 
 With purple hills and yellow plains between, 
 And storms and sunshine cheq'ering ev'ry pictured 
 scene.
 
 202 
 
 Epiqravi. 
 
 A century now its course begins to toll. 
 
 Since that great light first dawned upon this 
 earth ; 
 And, as its echoes spread from pole to pole. 
 
 Sense of his worth is everywhere called forth ; 
 And well the land that gave that genius birth 
 
 With just pride may extol her happy lot — 
 Cradle of valour, nursery of worth — 
 And 'mong her roll of deathless names I wot, 
 As her crown's brightest gem boast of Sir Walter 
 Scott. 
 
 EPIGRAM 
 
 ON THE ACTIONS OF THE COMMITTEE 
 
 FOR THE CELEBRATION OF 
 
 SCOTT'S CENTENARY. 
 
 
 HEN Scott's Centenary 'gan to dawn 
 On this side of the ocean, 
 Among our literary spawn 
 It started a commotion. 
 
 And fittingly to mark the time 
 Some ardent souls proposed it ; 
 And some resolved to have a rhyme, 
 And some resolved to prose it. 
 
 ut our patriotic committee 
 Found they would be a winner.
 
 Thomas Cariyle. 203 
 
 Instead of paying muse a fee 
 To buy themselves a dinner. 
 
 So they resolved it on the spot — 
 
 The thought their stomachs whetting — 
 
 How they would show their love to Scott, 
 By to his mem'ry eating. 
 
 THOMAS CARLYLE. 
 
 the grim king another has succumbed, — 
 Cariyle is dead, the wire brings o'er 
 the deep ; 
 And 'mong the myriads each year 
 entombed. 
 Say, who is he, that men for him 
 should weep ? 
 
 Wot ye not that one in the fullest sense, 
 
 Who ruled supremely in the realm of mind ; 
 
 Whose noble life was spent in truth's defence. 
 In him is now unto tlie dust consigned. 
 
 As some brave warrior, in some fight in life. 
 By foes environed, in a noble cause ; 
 
 With head and shoulders tow'ring o'er the strife. 
 Excites attention and extorts applause.
 
 204 Thom'ts Carlijle. 
 
 So this man's conduct in the moral war, 
 
 Still combating with wrongs and social faults ; 
 
 His name and genius soon were spread afar, 
 
 As bowed each system 'neath his strong 
 assaults. 
 
 'Gainst the worn dogmas of subjective cant. 
 All the artillery of his wild wit flashed ; 
 
 And windy forms of sophistry and rant 
 
 His pond'rous strokes uito small fragments 
 smashed. 
 
 'Mong rival themes his penetrating ken 
 
 Gave each their measures as their rights behoved ; 
 
 His fiat gave their true degrees to men, 
 
 Nor deemed the world but such as he approved. 
 
 Yet ne'er his scorn his sense of right outran ; 
 
 With his humanity so true and large, 
 He of the earnest, thinking, acting man, 
 
 Whate'er his creed, made his especial charge. 
 
 Twas his brave work, when lesser men forebore, 
 
 That to the world appraised his genius rare 
 "Who made melodious "Ayr's pebbled shore," 
 Yet sank a prey to darkness and despair. 
 
 The mic;htv Cromwell and the deathless Knox, 
 Who in their lands the rights of men secured, 
 
 Their characters, like adamantine rocks, 
 Erstwhile by clouds of obloquy obscured, 
 
 Unto the wondering world are now unveiled, 
 Above the sceptic's puling sneer removed ;
 
 Thomas Carlijle. 
 
 205 
 
 III these are now triumphantly beheld 
 
 The grand fruits of a great man's labours loved. 
 
 He spurned the languid cares of venal strife ; 
 
 But arduous manly work apotheosised, 
 As panacea for the ills of life, 
 
 Whose worth he gauged by what its years com- 
 prised. 
 
 Should one take grief to see the yellow corn, 
 Dead ripe for food, and fruitful seed cut down; 
 
 When the rich grains, if further left unshorn, 
 Would by the winds in useless waste be strewn ? 
 
 Then need we make pretensions to deplore 
 His final end, who having served his race, 
 
 With his ripe mind, ere was eclipsed its pow'r 
 By doting years, went quietly to his place. 
 
 Like some grim warrior rested from his war. 
 He seems in thought, with his broad pennon 
 furled ; 
 
 His burning genius shining like a star, 
 Not of one land or state, but of the world. 
 
 .-'^-r'^.v,'-
 
 206 
 
 Life ill Earnest. 
 
 LIFE IN EARNEST. 
 
 HY so sorry wilt thou worry. 
 
 Constant harping on one string ? 
 Look before ye, better for ye 
 Joyously hope's strains to sing. 
 
 Cease your sorrow, smooth that furrow; 
 What will all your grieving bring ? 
 Still hope borrow of the morrow — 
 And dull fancies from you fling. 
 
 Some their trouble must needs double, 
 
 Keeping it upon the brain ; 
 This forgetting — idle fretting 
 
 But exasperates the pain. 
 
 If brought humble, round you crumble 
 Fond heart's hopes ; still, ne'ertheless, 
 
 To cease coping and sit moping 
 Proves but little manliness. 
 
 Show your manhood, sit not languid, 
 For the hour resources frame ; 
 
 And let no man — friend or foeman — 
 See your spirit put to shame.
 
 Life in Earnest. 207 
 
 Life's hill climbing— sweat begriming — 
 Slips and false steps may occur ; , 
 
 Firmer rooting down your footing, 
 Each successive step secure. 
 
 If, when started, one way thwarted. 
 Trim your courses with the blast ; 
 
 Ever daring, ne'er despairing : 
 Courage znakes the port at last. 
 
 O'er disaster still prove master. 
 
 From reverses taking rules 
 That may tutor you in future ; 
 
 Sure " experience teaches fools." 
 
 Be not fruitless, with lore bootless, 
 Like old books laid on the shelf ; 
 
 But discerning this — worth learning — 
 " God helps him who helps himself." 
 
 "What though mighty cares benight thee ! 
 
 Still let not your heart rebel ; 
 Surely nature's great Creator 
 
 Will provide for thee as well. 
 
 Then press onward, don't look downward ; 
 
 Life for all should have an aim. 
 And, while wishing, you keep pushing, 
 
 Victor's joys you yet may claim. 
 
 So when hoary years come o'er ye. 
 You can say with lightened heart 
 
 (Back reviewing life's great doing), 
 
 " Thank the Lord, I've done my part !"
 
 208 
 
 On tlie Rev. Dr. Stuart. 
 
 ON THE REV. DR. STUART.* 
 
 (In grateful respect). 
 
 I 
 ^1 
 
 iii'hf^'lii 
 
 i^ 
 
 s 
 
 ?F stalwart form, by Time's weight slightly 
 I bowed, 
 
 Witli strong marked face and marked 
 capacious brow. 
 Striding along the street, yet 'mong the 
 crowd 
 Noting familiar forms with constant 
 bow ; 
 By these brief tokens one may quickly know 
 
 The large-souled man whose aim seems in his 
 sphere. 
 To no one but the debt of love to owe ; 
 
 That thus has made through his long tried career, 
 With all ranks in the land, his name so justly 
 dear. 
 
 In his large heart, the tale of helpless woe 
 Finds ample room for sympathetic care. 
 
 And care to help as well, as those best know 
 Whose bedfellows are suft"'ring and despair ; 
 
 'Published when in life, in the Dunedin ' Morning Herald.'
 
 On the Rev. Dr. Stuart. 209 
 
 And, while with indigence so swift to share 
 His own strait means, in him a counsellor 
 
 Still finds — with words to comfort and upbear — 
 The prodigal from recent folly sore ; 
 Yet, in his own veiled grief, none cheers the 
 monitor. 
 
 In this fast age and land of griping greed, 
 How pleasing 'tis, in full view, to perceive 
 
 One man at least, who, by his each day's deed. 
 Unto his Master's precept loves to cleave 
 That, " better 'tis to give than to receive ! " 
 
 Who, in his arduous duties to his flock. 
 Can worldly substance at a distance leave. 
 
 And find fruition in his sphere's high walk 
 
 Without concern for funds, or equipage, or lands, or 
 stock. 
 
 From thee sprung forth, my Highland country, 
 thou — 
 
 With storied scenes of wild magnificence — 
 Of old renowned for kilted warriors' prow ; 
 
 My patriot pride, the thought makes more intense, 
 
 By such grand type of broad enlightened sense, 
 That still thy sons the same place in the fore 
 
 Hold 'mong the nations for intelligence. 
 That their sire's prowess won for them of yore ; 
 For virtues aptest spring from valour's genial core.
 
 210 Cast Down, hat JSot Disheartened. 
 
 CAST DO^A/'N, BUT NOT 
 DISHEARTENED. 
 
 WERE bootless now, and long to tell 
 What struggles my strange lot befell ! 
 Yet, still, without a certain spell, 
 
 My days it might have shortened. 
 Though rudely jostled in the throng, 
 I've still contrived to rub along 
 With ev'ry fortune — ^right or wrong — 
 
 Cast down, but not disheartened ! 
 
 A baffled life's fatiguing race. 
 
 That led me many a wild-goose chase, 
 
 By crosses smitten in the face. 
 
 My spirit may have tartened. 
 Yet, where fond schemes have fallen through, 
 When for myself I tried to do, 
 To some fresh plan I buckled -to — 
 
 Cast down, but not disheartened. 
 
 When slighted love's more bitter scourge 
 Had made my very life's blood surge. 
 Till trembling on distraction's verge. 
 
 With affection thicartened. 
 On passion wild I laid the rein. 
 Till hope and promise smiled again — 
 Though deeply smarting from the pain — 
 
 Cast down, but not disheartened !
 
 To a Young Friend. 211 
 
 "What folly, sighing for a face, 
 
 That time will soon spoil of its grace, 
 
 While half its charm — the hair and dress — 
 
 With some conceit up-smartened ! 
 Should I be cheap if she is dear ; 
 Is not a man a woman's peer ? 
 And with this thought I still took cheer — 
 
 Cast down, but not disheartened. 
 
 Though chilled affection nips me keen ; 
 Though low'ring prospects close my scene ; 
 Yet still the earth is fair and green. 
 
 And I have yet a part on't ; 
 Then, while health braces ev'ry nerve. 
 From duty's path ne'er may I swerve. 
 But still some noble purpose serve — 
 
 Cast down, but not disheartened ! 
 
 TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 
 
 j|_EAR Maggie, whom I've fondly known, 
 Long ere thou donned a cockernonie, 
 Till now, when all these years have flown. 
 And thou art growing blythe and 
 bonnie ! 
 For thee now life but yields its honey, 
 In youth's blest season, ever bright. 
 When the charmed theme of matrimony 
 Tints haply all thy musings light.
 
 212 To a Young Friend. 
 
 For 'tis in youth — life's dewy spriiip;— 
 
 The highest art of Nature's power 
 Is seen, in the smooth pohshing 
 
 Of the form of the human flower. 
 For such is maid, man's richest dower. 
 
 With countless charms then budding sweety 
 As Eve, all fair in Eden's bower, 
 
 For Adam's wants was fashioned meet. 
 
 And with thy cheeks of rosy hue. 
 
 And form so rounded, soft, and lissom ; 
 Such thou art now, in youth's bright dew. 
 
 In sooth a perfect human blossom. 
 Who seemest formed, some manly bosom, 
 
 To deeply mark with thy charm's style ; 
 So well hath Nature thy parts chosen, 
 
 That thou to please hast but to smile. 
 
 But thou, too consciously proud, — 
 
 A vain flirt, or a prude affective, — 
 Say, will the thought make, thus endowed 
 
 With such sweet maidenhood, attractive ?" 
 And rather, say — for good elective — 
 
 Wilt thou not deem that all these charms 
 Should be to soothe Inm more effective. 
 
 Who yet will claim thee for his arms ? 
 
 Thou art now in that hey-day youth. 
 That of life the most perfect bliss is, 
 
 The time essential, in sooth. 
 
 Of laughter, courtship, hope, and kisses I 
 
 Yet one, too, strewn with sad abysses, 
 Wherein, by soft-tongued villains lured,
 
 To a Yoiojig Friend. 
 
 213 
 
 Too fondly trusting, heedless misses 
 
 Have slipped, and speechless pangs endured. 
 
 Yet, strongly written traits I trace, 
 
 That, since I knew thee, marked thee ever, 
 Enhancing more thy comely grace. 
 
 And always proved thee quick and clever ! 
 These still foreshow resolved endeavour 
 
 For him who yet thy lot shall share, 
 Till Death that sacred bond will sever, 
 
 A Icyal, thrifty, wifely care. 
 
 Fair fall thee, Maggie ! and ne'er low'r. 
 
 O'er thy life's journey prospects saddened, 
 But, as now, in thy youth's bright hour. 
 
 May still thy face with smiles be gladdened ! 
 And these harmonious blessings cadent 
 
 Make bright thy coming matron sphere, 
 As with thy mother, ever radiant, 
 
 Her hearthside made to me so dear.
 
 214 ^ Renionstrarice 
 
 A REMONSTRANCE. 
 
 ^^^^? 
 
 f 
 
 i 
 
 
 \|'-^OST thou well, with judgment so bitter, 
 
 '^MJ]\ To rate my life's services vam ? 
 
 ■^ilu^r '^ When to do so, with reason, were fitter 
 
 j'^ Than with truisms mere, to arraign ! 
 
 -^^ Though true — with my long term 
 
 } allotted — 
 
 I am still neither marked nor promoted, 
 At the foot of life's ladder unnoted. 
 Yet is there no cause to explain ? 
 
 Say, whene'er at the post of my duty. 
 
 When the alarms the bugles loud pealed. 
 Was I wanting ? if heedless of booty. 
 
 Or, was my hand slack in the field ? 
 'Mid the shock and confusion of battle. 
 And the volley's wild plunging and rattle, 
 And the surging of troops in death's grapple, 
 When whole squadrons like drunken men 
 reeled ? 
 
 Or, when to my keeping, when placed in, 
 Have I ever dishonoured my trust ? 
 
 Or, with spending of money, disgraced been 
 That I squandered in riot and lust ?
 
 A Remonstrance. 215 
 
 In the field, on the march, or in rampart, 
 Harassed with fatigue and discomfort. 
 In the front I ever bore some part — 
 Then wherein is your caviUing just ? 
 
 Or is it, too, a misdemeanour. 
 
 In me deemed the deeper ingrained, 
 
 That others with talents far meaner. 
 Have to places of honour attained ? 
 
 While I, with miscarriages blighted, 
 
 My qualities misjudged and slighted, 
 
 By no tempting op'nings incited. 
 
 In the ranks still have noteless remained. 
 
 I know that hfe's sun, swiftly west'ring. 
 
 Is even now lighting my brow ; 
 And that soon with infirmities pest'ring, 
 
 My " house's stfong keepers must bow." 
 To Time's strong assaults yielduig slowly, 
 With the hopes of my life all laid lowly, 
 However humbled, this, ray defence holy, 
 
 I will never one whit disallow.
 
 216 Hard Rows t]ie World. 
 
 HARD ROWS THE WORLD. 
 
 ^f^^^ARD rows the world, 
 
 With its freight of toil and care ! 
 With its weary fight of life 
 
 That ev'ryone must share ; 
 But his lot is hard to bear, 
 
 Who scarce can hold his own. 
 While misfortunes round him stare 
 Till he sinks beneath their frown. 
 Hard rows the world, 
 When once a man is down ! 
 
 Hard rows the world 
 
 W^hen adversity blows keen ! 
 That chills affection's ties, 
 
 And leaves mistrust between ; 
 And the loving social scene. 
 
 With its cheery hearthside glow. 
 Compelled by fortune mean, 
 
 The poor must oft forego. 
 Hard rows the world, 
 When the clouds hang dark and low ! 
 
 Hard rows the world 
 
 To the friendless and the poor, 
 
 Where virtue, when threadbare. 
 Is slighted as obscure !
 
 Bard Rows the World. 217 
 
 And the soul of feeling pure, 
 
 From the narrow churlish mind 
 With its proud slights must endure, 
 By his social bounds confined. 
 Hard rows the world. 
 Yet the poor must bear resigned ! 
 
 Hard rows the world 
 
 With its broad commercial plan. 
 Where virtue must give place. 
 
 While money makes the man ! 
 And a rich appearance can 
 
 The heart's short-comings hide, 
 While the honest artisan 
 
 Must stoop to empty pride. 
 Hard rows the world. 
 With its partial-leaning side ! 
 
 Hard rows the world ! 
 
 But the man to honour true, 
 Let fortune smile or frown, 
 
 Will his even course pursue. 
 With his bright goal well in view. 
 
 Strong in the right he'll stand, 
 Though understood by few, 
 
 Still those a chosen band. 
 Hard rows the world, 
 Yet will worth respect command !
 
 218 
 
 Evil CoDniiiiiiicatiniis 
 
 EVIL COMMUNICATIONS 
 
 CORRUPT GOOD MANNERS. 
 
 I^^^'^OU say no harm attends a flippant tongue, 
 im Whilst I, my I'rieud, as plainly say 
 you re wrong. 
 A naughty tongue will kindle Tophet's- 
 
 flames — 
 A world of sin, if there be truth in 
 James. 
 With men in general this truth you'll find — 
 That words are but the index to the mind ; 
 And they who clothe their thoughts in brutal 
 
 phrase 
 Display but minds whose tastes are ever base ; 
 And when I hear a dressed man thus express, 
 *i\Iy instant marvel is what made him dress ? 
 As all his toilette's pains seem but designed 
 To show the contrast 'twixt his form and mind. 
 How strange it is that there should e'er exist 
 'JMong educated men so vile a taste ! 
 And stranger, still — will wonders never end ? — 
 That some should such degraded tastes defend ; 
 And who, while wearmg virtue's spotless gown, 
 Will laugh at what fair virtue's mind should frown. 
 
 •Spectator.
 
 Corrupt Good Manners. 219 
 
 Away from me such thoughts, such low desires ! 
 
 My soul for nobler, higher things aspires. 
 
 Mine be the soul, the even-balanced mind, 
 
 With lofty thoughts and chaste desires refined, 
 
 That curbs all ruder thoughts with stern control, 
 
 And all that tendeth to debase the soul. 
 
 Oh ! low delights ; oh ! sensual pleasures vile, 
 
 Are these to be the end of all our toil ? 
 
 And is't for this our sordid spirits crave ? 
 
 Or, is there not a hope beyond the grave ? 
 
 And shall we still be ever looking down 
 
 f To gather dust and straws, and miss the crown ? 
 
 And still mis-spend the time which cannot last, 
 
 And find, with aching hearts, when that is past, 
 
 And in the yellow leaf we're fading sere. 
 
 That all these hollow joys have cost us dear, 
 
 For which our present peace has been estranged, 
 
 And future hopes of happiness exchanged. 
 
 Be sure the idle words we utter here 
 
 In judgment 'gainst us shall each one appear ; 
 
 And by their witness shall we stand or fall 
 
 When the dread Judge upon our names shall call. 
 
 + Pilgrim's Progress.
 
 220 
 
 Leant to Bear and to Forbear. 
 
 LEARN TO BEAR AND TO 
 FORBEAR. 
 
 
 j |^^X!,OW is it in ev'ry section 
 
 I Of mankind, e'en closest friends, 
 
 The same scene of disaffection 
 
 Still the thoughtful mind ofTends ? 
 Why ? because the heart ungodly 
 
 Ignores in its selfish care 
 The grand precept, written broadly — 
 " Learn to bear and to forbear." 
 
 How averse seem all from chording 
 
 With the great Apostle's charge ! 
 Touching each his neighbour's burden, 
 
 Much less on it to enlarge ; 
 But, to watch for every stumble, 
 
 Bather more takes up their care. 
 And, at smallest faults to grumble, 
 
 Than with these to gently bear. 
 
 Yes ! where things seem most at evens, 
 The same rule will still apply. 
 
 Scarce one but has some small grievance 
 With his fellow, neighbouring by ; 
 
 And, in points of rival merits. 
 
 Some there are — but these are rare —
 
 Learn to Bear and to Forbear. 221 
 
 Who, in friction of the spirits, 
 Strive to bear and to forbear. 
 
 Each one on his merits stiffly 
 
 Stands, with conduct seeming fair, 
 And the other sums up roughly 
 
 With his thoughts paraded bare ; 
 Thus they keep themselves comported 
 
 O'er some wretched small affair, 
 That at once might have been sorted 
 
 Would each but bear and forbear ! 
 
 'Gainst opponents swift to listen 
 
 To reports, and to impute 
 Baseness to their motives hasten, 
 
 But on all their good points mute ; 
 Yet, in fallen human nature, 
 
 Is seen still sufficient there 
 Of the face of their Creator 
 
 To make all bear and forbear. 
 
 Better that than keenly noting 
 
 Every petty speck and flaw 
 In another, as if gloating 
 
 0"er all there amiss we saw ; 
 what bitterness and railings 
 
 People oft themselves would spare. 
 If, in view of others' failings. 
 
 They would but bear and forbear ! 
 
 But, should treatment most uncomely 
 
 Deeply make the spirit move, 
 When mean insult and contumely 
 
 Are returned for loyal love ;
 
 •222 Oil a Youiui Girl's FJiotogiripJo. 
 
 Outraged, falsified, and slighted, 
 Moralist, wilt thou declare. 
 
 When thus worthlessly requited. 
 How to bear and to forbear ? 
 
 Friend, the best of man and woman 
 
 Show the nature of the clod, 
 Be in anger thou a true man. 
 
 But the issue leave with God. 
 What, though some forego their duty. 
 
 Yet be thou heroic there ; 
 Thou wilt win the richest booty. 
 
 Still with e'en such to forbear. 
 
 ON A YOUNG GIRL'S 
 PHOTOGRAPH. 
 
 "cj fe^^^ y 
 
 HOSE locks of dark and glossy tinge, 
 Cut o'er the brow in even fringe, 
 Enhancing features sweet and fair ; 
 How well they suit that placid air ! 
 
 Gentle and pure in thought she seems, 
 As vision rare of poet's dreams ; 
 With modest grace and comely form, 
 That well the eyes of love should charm.
 
 James Buttars. 223 
 
 As here expressed, bow fit seems she 
 For type of maiden purity ! 
 As one whose highest aim on earth, 
 Is to make bright a family hearth. 
 
 That such for her may be fulfilled, 
 May beams of sunshine ever gild. 
 Throughout her life, that sphere of love 
 In which she seems so formed to move. 
 
 JAMES BUTTARS. 
 
 (An Aged Friend). 
 
 cSB 
 
 " Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord." 
 
 NOTHER earthly tie has snapped ; 
 And in that life come to an end 
 Death has my soul with sorrow wrapped. 
 That reft from me a treasured friend. 
 
 Though he was in the yellow leaf. 
 
 And death, we know, for him was 
 gain; 
 
 Yet still we mourn him with the grief 
 Due one of Nature's Noblemen.
 
 224 James Biittars. 
 
 In manner kind and cordial ; 
 
 Supremely just in ev'ry mode ; 
 Nor lacked the crowning trait of all — 
 
 A constant, fervent trust in God. 
 
 'Tis such as he, who through the earth — 
 From Torrid Zone to Polar bound — 
 
 For steady thrift and sterling worth 
 Have bcotia's Godly sons renowned. 
 
 In modes of thought acute and wise 
 To note when sophistry beguiled ; 
 
 But for the world's low wonted guise 
 With ways as simple as a child. 
 
 The tumult and the strife are o'er, 
 His body's ailings and its pains ; 
 
 His words and ways we'll know no more — 
 Their mem'ry now alone remains. 
 
 With him, 'twas as the morning rays 
 That brighten with the day's increase ; 
 
 Bo bright the record of his days ; — 
 His. life was pure, his end was peace. 
 
 When Jordan's waters round him rolled, 
 And chilled and cramped his wasted frame, 
 
 He wavered not, nor loosed his hold 
 Of his firm trust in Jesu's name. 
 
 What hallowed scene was that where strove, 
 To soothe his pains with arts endeared. 
 
 The wife and daughters of his love, 
 Who him with equal love revered.
 
 A Meditation. 225 
 
 Their loving arms encircled him ; 
 
 And though his cup they could not drink, 
 Nor cross with him the Jordan stream, 
 
 They still convoyed him to the brink. 
 
 A MEDITATION. 
 
 'Si&'kP^g^ 
 
 IS 
 
 3~ 
 
 m. 
 
 '-l»-3 
 
 HE sun had closed another weary day, 
 
 And hard-tasked labour's toils awhile 
 "^ did spare ; 
 
 Light had made place for shades of 
 evening grey 
 ■ That closed around. Silence was 
 
 reigning there, 
 When, wandering forth ward on the steps of care — 
 Pressed by dull thoughts that 'gendered fancies 
 keen — 
 I strangely strove, with meditative air. 
 To separate, as from a tangled skein, 
 The thoughts that crowded in my mind's con- 
 flicting scene. 
 
 Here led by fate to this New Zealand gorge — 
 
 Erewhile on earth a wand'rer dull and " slow " — 
 
 I now would view life's current round me surge. 
 And read a lesson from the plain below. 
 
 Where cultured farms in fertile beauty grow, 
 
 And smiling homes, embow'red in waving trees,
 
 22(i ^ Meditation. 
 
 That stand like sentinela in stately row 
 
 To shield the dwellins^s from the wintry breeze — 
 A peaceful, perfect picture of contented ease. 
 
 Here, what of late was but a lonely weald, 
 
 Now choicest grain each spring returning bears. 
 And lowing kine feed in rich pastured field ; 
 
 In sooth, toil's triumph everywhere appears, 
 Where ev'ry field declares the work of years — 
 
 Of pristine wildness by the plough been won ; 
 While sturdy arms, enlarging still their spheres, 
 
 Pursue their work from dawn till setting sun ; 
 
 And each successive year shows something triedi 
 and done.* 
 
 And, now, the wintry winds may rave and blow ; 
 
 The settlers, by their hearth-sides dry and warm. 
 Can bid defiance to the frost and snow, 
 
 Nursed with the comforts of each well-stored farm. 
 And still attentive to the bell's alarm 
 
 When the blessed Sabbath loosens worldly care. 
 Along the road in decent groups they swarm. 
 
 And to God's house with ordered steps repair. 
 
 To join with rev'rent mien in holy, earnest pray'r.. 
 
 And thou, poor wight, so apt to dream and rhyme. 
 But worldly wisdom so unapt to know, 
 
 For all those years of manhood's blush and prime 
 What is tliy boast ? What labour canst thoifc 
 show 
 
 'Gainst helpless age, the prodigal's worst foe ? 
 What preparation hath thy foresight made 
 
 •Longfellow's " Village Hlacksmith."
 
 A Meditation. 227 
 
 "When strength sliall fail, and hopes are quenched 
 and low ? 
 Now even ent'ring life's declining shade, 
 A frowning heaven bending o'er thy naked head. 
 
 The unreas'ning brute will for the storm prepare, 
 
 And seek a shelter from the raging blast. 
 In some close cell awaits the dormant bear 
 
 Until the Arctic's howling reign is past ; 
 The puny tribes, armed with a wise forcast. 
 
 Will toil in Summer for their Winter's food. 
 And housed, and dry, live on their stores amassed, 
 
 Whilst the storm roars inclemently and rude. 
 
 Thou only seem'st with care and prudence 
 unendued. 
 
 Yet still is this a good and favoured land, 
 
 Where life's supplies in rude abundance flow ; 
 
 No wretches here seek bounty from each hand. 
 
 With tattered robes and features pinched with 
 woe ;* 
 
 Nor men like serfs, condemned to cringe and bow 
 Before the will of some agrarian lord. 
 
 With o'ertasked muscles, for a pittance low ; 
 But sturdy toil here meets a due reward. 
 And hopes of competence its prospects still afford. 
 
 ■Still thirst of gain here claims incessant toil. 
 That tendeth homely comforts to ignore ; 
 
 Success but adds unto the wild turmoil — 
 Each step attained displays a step before ; — 
 
 •Truer of the time when this was composed, in 1875, than now in 
 New Zealand in 1897.
 
 228 ^ Meditation. 
 
 The grasper struggles to enricli his store. 
 And with these still accumulate his cares ; 
 
 At length he leaves an all unfinished score, 
 And o'er his grave a monument appears — 
 A poor requital for so many toils and fears ! 
 
 Like arrows darting from a strong man's bow, 
 
 That swiftly reach their zenith in the air, 
 Ere we can tell their mode of flight, or how ; 
 
 So human life, in youth that starts so fair ; 
 Of golden hopes all have their ample share, 
 
 A))d day dreams gild the future of each one ; 
 But age and pain replace their prospects rare. 
 
 And then with all those hopes that brightly 
 shone, 
 
 They drop into their graves — scarce missed, 
 scarce mourned when gone. 
 
 Time, like a mighty water-wheel, appears. 
 And high in space is poised its central nave ; 
 
 Its radiating spokes the circling years. 
 
 Whose motive pow'r th' eternal's fiat gave ; 
 
 And as it slovvly rears the human wave 
 
 Is dropping off in countless show'rs of spray, 
 
 Until the world seems one extensive grave ; 
 And still the fabric will pursue its way 
 Magnificently on until the Judgment Day. 
 
 What then, ye proud? How then, ye puny great ? 
 
 What boots your titles and ambitions dear. 
 Who of this world will not one jot abate — 
 
 As if ye always would continue here ? 
 Kings of the earth — yea, men of might and fear — 
 
 Who raised a tumult in their fleeting day,
 
 J. Meditation. 229 
 
 On Time's great wheel how futile they appear— 
 Their splendour but some larger drops of spray, 
 Whose weight to the abyss but lends more head- 
 long way. 
 
 What, then, is peace ? or how shall it appear 
 
 That life is not a boon bestowed in vain ? 
 If fame and fortune are but figments here, 
 
 How can we life's true purpose ascertain ? 
 The path of duty, lying in our train, 
 
 Still shows the way, when dubiously perplexed. 
 To act as stewards of entrusted gain. 
 
 Now in this world we see the opening text ; 
 
 But for life's full discourse we look unto the next. 
 
 Yon frugal farmer is both great and wise 
 
 Who on the truth a firm foundation lays, 
 And sees a virtuous offspring round him rise, 
 
 All early nurtured in Jehovah's ways ; 
 He, nursed by them, in life's declining days 
 
 In peace shall rest from all his labours done. 
 How poor to this the monarch's sanguine bays ! 
 
 Who through thick slaughtered hosts may gain 
 his throne, 
 
 But that, for happiness and peace can ne'er atone. 
 
 Ah ! fair is virtue in this world revealed, 
 
 Wliere so much guile and hollowness is seen ; 
 
 'Tis like, in Summer, half 'mong trees concealed, 
 A stream meand'ring clear through Nature's green. 
 
 The ploughman, hieing from hia work at e'en. 
 
 His wearied, foam-flecked beasts brings to the 
 brink.
 
 230 A Meditation. 
 
 Whicli keenly thrust their quiv'ring nostrils in, 
 And greedily absorb the cooling drink. 
 So, sweet refreshing thoughts with virtue ever 
 link. 
 
 Then let me choose this wisdom as my best, 
 
 Nor for a dubious prize unduly strain, 
 But make each act to conscience take the test. 
 
 Though tardy fortune lingers on the plain ; 
 And ceaseless strive this knowledge to attain, 
 
 What end to me hath been allotted o'er 
 (Lest, haply, from my God's work I refrain. 
 
 And fail his wondrous mercies to explore) ; 
 
 With humble zeal I then may strive to serve Him 
 more and more. 
 
 But I would mourn a youth that's fled too soon ; 
 
 Though even here is seen a hopeful ray. 
 As oft we find a glorious afternoon 
 
 Reverse the clouds of the fore-running day. 
 Then let me on this hope of comfort stay, 
 
 And in life's battle still fight bravely on. 
 That when I come my head in death to lay, 
 
 Some little good that I may yet have done 
 
 Among my friends, may prove my best memorial 
 stone.
 
 Sunset. 
 
 231 
 
 SUNSET. 
 
 I N thy bright course remain, 
 
 Oh, suu of glory yet, 
 Amid thy crimson train 
 
 Awhile refrain to set ; 
 Lest in thy steps should get 
 
 The wind, the snow, the rain, 
 And we in dolour fret, 
 
 Ere thou art seen again. 
 
 While here we yet remain, 
 
 Oh, leave us not in gloom ; 
 Ere we reach that domain, 
 
 Thy beams cannot illume ; 
 Though there no more consume 
 
 The care, the grief, the pain. 
 For in the cold, dark toaib 
 
 Peace holds unbroken reign. 
 
 0, why is it man chords 
 
 Not with thy gladsome beam. 
 Instead of cruel words, 
 
 In good-will and esteem ? 
 But seen to earth's extreme, ■ 
 
 The guns, the spears, the swords, 
 As though her natal scheme 
 
 With Mars alone accords.
 
 232 Sunset. 
 
 Why is it 'neatli thy reign 
 
 Throughout this planet's bound, 
 The trace of Eden's stain 
 
 In all i'ts coasts is found ? 
 And strewing vi'lence round, 
 
 The hist, the greed, the gain, 
 Attest the sin-cursed ground 
 
 With creatures dumb in pain ? 
 
 Oh, suns of childhood bright 
 
 That o'er its joys did burn, 
 Oh, sorrow-stricken wight 
 
 To whom but cares return ! 
 By a rude world o'erborne — 
 
 The sneer, the scorn, the slight ;- 
 While retrospect forlorn 
 
 The future bodes with fright. 
 
 Oh thou, whom death did'st wound. 
 
 Life's bright and morning star. 
 Wilt thou to realms beyond 
 
 Yon sun of glory far 
 Lead me, where ne'er shall mai', 
 
 The sob, the pang, the bond. 
 And feuds no more will jar 
 
 That endless union fond ? 
 
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