THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES i^^-^^ STRAY RHYMES BV DUNCAN D. HEPBURN, ''Emerald Isle!' Revised and Enlarged. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY HUME NISBET. LONDON: W. H. ALLEN & CO., 13 WATERLOO PLACE, S.W. mdccclxxxvi. PRINIED BV MOULD & Tod, Edinburgh. 1-185" 86880f? PREFACE. At the request of many friends, this enlarged " Second Edition "—with Illustrations— of " Stray Rhymes " is issued. D. D. H. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, By the Sea Shore, - A Slave Dhow, Coming of Age, A Psalm of Life, - " Blessed are the Pure in Heart," A Snowdrop, Hymn for the Blind, PAGE I 2 4 5 6 8 9 Vlll I'AGE A New Year's Reverie, - - - - lo A Carol for Christmas, - - - - 1 1 Dr Livingstone, - - - - - 13 A Greeting to New Year, - - - - 14 Our Sparrows, - - - - - 14 A Good Monumental Design over a Grave, - 16 Hymn on the Death of a Child, - - - 17 To my Wife on her Birthday, - - - 18 On seeing the Hand of an Egyptian Mummy, - 19 A Queen's Soliloquy on a Shoddy Bill, - - 20 The Lady of Nightburn, - - - - 21 A New Song to an Old Tune, - - - 23 A Drop of Water, ----- 24 A Voice from the Primroses, - - - 27 Workmen's Strikes, - - - - 28 Spare Time and Spare Money, - - - 29 King Cash, ----- 3° April's Greeting to May, - - - - 32 A Wee Birdie's Greeting, - - - - 33 An Invalid's Dirge on the death of her Bird, - 34 A Mother's Love Stronger than Death, - - 36 The Widower, ----- 38 On the New Arrival, by the Wee Pet Doggie, - 39 The Shepherd to his Dying " Collie," - ' - 40 The Face of an Old Lady after Death. - - 41 IX PAGE A Mother on the Death of a Son, - - 42 Birthday Ode, ----- 43 " The Drink that did it," - - - - 44 UnveiHng a Statue to Robert Burns. - - 46 Robert Burns, ----- 48 A Bunch of Highland Heather, - - - 49 Livingstone, - - - - - 5^ " Owe no man anything," - - - 52 A Bird left in charge — Died, - - - 53 " Hospital Sunday," - - - - 53 Church and Chapel in Danger, - - - 54 On receiving a Rose, - - - - 5^ On the Marriage of Rose R , - - - 5^ The Death Wave, - - - - 57 Christmas Reaping, - - - - 5^ November, - - - - ■ 59 A Dead Lark in a Field, - - - - 59 A " Silver Wedding " Day, - - - ^i A Lament for " Puggie," - - - - 62 To a Brither, .... - 64 frART H. paut SecouD. SONNETS. PAGE A Mission of the Clouds, - - - - 69 To Ben-Muich-Dhui, . . . - 70 Tlic Natural and Spiritual Blessings of Spring, - 70 The Trent in the Great Flood, 1875, - - 71 Autumnal Gloaming by the Trent, - - 71 A Winter Afternoon on the Banks of the 'I'rent, - 72 A May Day on the Banks of the Trent, - - 72 To May, - - - r - - 73 A Christmas Sonnet to One from Home, - - 74 An Old Solution to the Question of the Day, - 74 To a Daughter Coming of Age, - - - 75 To F S on her Birthday, - - 75 Princess Alice, - - - - - 76 On the Death of a Deal-Hearted Minister, - 76 In Memoriam — Jessie Hepburn, - - - 77 Stuart Smith, Artist, - - - - 77 " Whom the Gods Love Die Young," - - 78 The Rev. James Matheson, - - - 78 On the Death of K H - - - 79 The Scots Greys, - - - - - 79 Robert Burns, ----- 80 Lord Shaftesbury, - - - - 80 " They Learn in Suffering what They Teach m Song, 81 XV Ipart Ubir&. SONGS & MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. PAGE The Keeper's Dochter, - - - - 85 The Working Man, .... 86 The Strong Pauper, - - - - 87 Song of the Miner, - ... 88 Daybrook House, .... go Black Diamonds, - - - - 91 The South Notts. Yeomanry, - - - 92 Ahnighty Cash is King, - - - - 93 SHmy Arthur's Song, - ... 94 Here's tae the Year that has Come, - - 95 The Royal Marriage, . . . . 96 Jeannie, --..-. 97 A Mither's Sang, ..... 98 The Little Birdie's Spring Song, - - - 99 The Highland Soldier's Song, - - - 99 Hurrah ! for the Bonnet and Plume, - - 100 A Song for " Poor Jack," - - - - loi On the Marriage of a Friend, - - - 103 An Election Song — " King Coal," - - 103 Do. The " Midlothian Campaign," 105 Do. The " Bold Buccleuch," - 106 Our " Bccnie "—A Valentine, - - - lo^ Ml Christmas Card, with Picture of a Dog, Homeward Bound, Brigandage Abroad and at Home, A Dog Show, To a Friend in London, - A Dentist's Soliloquy, PAGE 107 108 108 1 10 III III Stray Rhymes. V^ 4^ . MvjAr ! STRAY RHYMES, BY THE SEA SHORE. Dark and grand thou look'st, and full of mystery, Reveal to me thy birth, and thy life's history ? Near, and far, as list'ning ear could reach, The only answer rolled along the beach. For ever — ever — ever. In spring time of the world thy life began. Through countless ages, yet unknown to man, In calm, and storm, by day, and night, thy cry Is in thy thund'ring sound, or gentle sigh, For ever — ever — ever. Whether thou dash thyself on rocky coast, Or, in dread breakers, warn the tempest toss'd. Thy cry is heard, and bold men quake with fear, As thy deep sound strikes loudly on the ear. For ever — ever — ever. Ry star or moonlight, solemn, still and grand, Thy almost noiseless waves fall on the sand, Yet still their mighty whisi)er rolls along, And in low cadence, sing their old, old song. For ever — ever — ever. B Eternal emblem, since thy voice began, This wond'roLis lesson dost thou teach to man In howling dreaded storm, or gentle wind, Thy bounds are fixed by an Almighty mind, For ever — ever — ever. -j#^ h^ipmwmw^ Out on the ocean. Near Afi-ica's shore, A ship — scarce in motion — ■W' ind and waves ceased to roar. The sun shone above, All around, the blue sky, Fit emblem of love. From a Father on high. SI^===^ A Slave Dhow was sailing. Crew, swearing and railing ; Too calm was the w^eather For their bloody trade, Av'rice held them together, A link, devilish made. Down close under hatches AA'ere lying, in batches. And horridly dying Blacks, stolen by white crew : Women, and children too. Groaning and crying. Oh God ! how unsightly, That men all so lightly For mere love of gold, Should, — for cargoe and stores- Have men " dying by scores " Human freight, to be sold ! Oh Father in heaven, Avenger of wrong, Man, to slavery driven ! " How long Lord, how long." No chance in resistance. On hope, they must lean. And far in the distance A small speck is seen ; Nearer and nearer, Increasing in size. Then a flash, and a smoke, And an ominous sound As the stillness it broke. To the crew of the Dhow, No chance of escape now, No breeze, sails to fill ; While close to her bow, A shot fell, and dashed The spray as it flashed In the face of the crew. Fiercely and spitefully, Savage and frightfully. Looked every man, And captain and crew, ^Vith oaths, not a few. To the hatches they ran, Unbattened their top.s. Quick, quick as they can. Never was steamer, By enthusiast dreamer So God-serving made ; In spite of wind or tide, Soon at the Slaver's side To stop her cursed trade. England's flag at head of her ; Brave hearts on board of lier, Who fear shot nor blade. " Boats out " with your crews, Not a moment to lose, A strong pull and tight. Spring on their fore-deck. No fear of a check ; Backed by might and by right. Set free every slave From their living grave, Let them feel the free light. Soon at that fearful hold Cargo— stolen for love of gold, All struggling for air ; Human beings — tho' black. Packed like goods in a sack. Or beasts in a lair ; Quickly the dead remove, England, your mission prove To slave, dark or fair. COMING OF AGE. A Midnight Reverie. Midnight, in my chamber, wear}', all without was dark and dreary, Thinking, e'er to-morrow's dawn, time would hail me, twenty-one ; Restless, sleepless on my bed, musing how my years had fled ; Wished some Spirit would me tell, how live for Heaven, how 'scape from Hell. Through the dim light of my chamber, near my couch there seemed to bend A figure, and it gently whispered, " Look to the end, look to the end." Breathless, yet, my eyes I raised, on a face I anxious gazed, Face so human, yet divine, full of love, those eyes met mine ; Ask of me, — they seemed to say, — I can show true wisdom's wa}'. Then tell, oh ! tell me what to do ? how my daily life pursue ? ^^'here each road would lead me to, where its course would tend ? Answered slowly thus the figure, " Look to the end, look to the end." Gentle spirit, stay thy flight, unfold to me on this strange night, What to seek, and what to fear, in this world of conflict here. In my tide of manhood say, where life's shoals and quick- sands lay ? In this sea of life I see, pleasure's craft trimmed out for me ; To what haven I shall sail, to what port my voyage wend ; Slowly vanished then the figure, it's only words, — " Look to the end." Musing on this apparition, and its solemn admonition, " Look to the end ! " — It must be so, for fast young men, or men too slow. A golden truth to keep through life, "midst worldly joys or business strife ; 'Midst dress and gambling, balls and races, billiards, taverns, and worse places ; Thanks Spirit for thy warning voice, though it my heart strings rend. In all life's aims be this my guide, " Look to the end, look to the end." A PSALM OF LIFE. At 85 Years. Fourscore years and five My pilgrimage lias been ; My I'ailh is more alive. That faith, in things unseen. 6 My Saviour and my King I long to see Thy glory ; I crave no other thing, Oh read again His story. It says, He came to save me ! Repeat it o'er and o'er, Jesus, — Jesus only, I sigh to love Him more. Read, how He left His throne. And died that I might live, And not for me alone, For all ! His life did give. Tell of His wondrous love. His gentleness. His grace. It lifts my thoughts above, I soon shall see His face. His promises must stand, I feel their heavenly power. To guide me to that " Better Land," And cheer my dying hour. Oh God, I cannot cease To thank Thee night and day. Thou art my strength, my peace, My comfort, in life's way. My end is drawing near, I hear the angels call, I catch a glimpse, so bright and clear, Of Thee, my God, my all. "BLESSED ARE THE PURE IN HEART, FOR THEY SHALL SEE GOD." Who are the pure in heart ? Hour after hour, day after day, we strive. And fight and strive ; yet, spite of all, In our best moments imagination riot runs, Disturbing purer thoughts, and chase away The better longings of the stricken heart. Who, then, is fit an all-pure God to see ? In " His light only can we see the light," If we desire such heavenly light to see ; According to the wish, the inner thought, Men see what they desire, be't pure or foul. In a strange country the geologist sees Rock, peak, and mountain, drift and debris ; The lover of nature sees hill and valley. Lake, river, tree, and flower his homage get ; The scientist sees the habits of the people, And notes the thrift, industry, and social customs ; The merchant, trained for commerce, sees with pride The docks, the wharves, the shipping, trades, and mines ; The artist, with his cultured mind and eye, Sees pictures, sculpture, buildings, streets, and squares ; — Each reaps what he has sown. As in material, so in spiritual things : Man sees what he has trained himself to see. That man, he who with earnest head and soul, Hath ever sought the pure, the good, and true. Must in that "undiscovered country" see What in this world he had hoiked and i)rayed for. Since man can never "jump the life to come," But in another state eternal dwell. He who would see a pure and holy Cod Must Jicre strive bravely to be pure himself. Else there he'll only see his self-made idol ; To him, im])ure, (lod will be still unseen. Men "will not" see God. Alas ! ])Oor brother mine, because yc will not — In that lies all your sin ; on thine own head Thou'rt gath'ring up a dowry black as night. 'Tis not in gambling " corners," where earth's products (A nation's blessings) made by thee a means To cheat and plunder, reckless of all right ; Not there can God be seen. All double-dealing must bring double guilt, And actions base or false defile the heart. Blinding the sense to what is good on earth, Dark'ning the soul to what is pure in heaven. 8 Alas ! poor erring heart, Who, who can purify thy constant guilt? May what is human not need help divine To I3urge away impure, unholy acts, And make atonement for thy daily sins, Before man can a God so holy see ? O Christ, Thou spotless One, to Thee we look To get a glimpse of God. Hast Thou not said, "Whosoever will"? — -immortal words. With faith in Thee, and true repentance made, Pure in our heart, we, God will surely see ; Then, earnest Christian, train he7-e well thyself; Be jHire, if thou would'st ever see thy (jod. .>«\C^ A SNOWDROP. And didst thou drop from yonder sky. From snow-white cloud just passing by ? A gem so ])urc should never die. But live always. And ever in thy beauty lie. Cheer all our days. Emblem of innocence and youth. Symbol of purity and truth, Hast thou escaped the icy tooth Of winter keen, To show thyself, like one forsooth From realms unseen ? Thou type of hope, all white and sweet, Thou lov'st the early Spring to greet, Thy graceful form, how fit to meet Our longing eyes, Thou mak'st our hearts with joy to beat And hush all sia:hs. ^to' From dark stained ground, you spotless spring, And with thee, health and beauty bring, Tho' drowsy earth to thee would cling, With arms unseen And am'rous birds thy praises sing, And hail thee Queen. Thou lead'st the van, nor storm doth fear, But shew thy form in early year, Whilst stronger ones shrink in the rear. Hid under ground. Thou first of flowers, thou't ever dear. Thy praise I'll sound. Ah, w^hom the Gods love, they die young And die thou must, but not unsung. For men and maids, with loving tongue, Will sigh and moan, To miss thee from their joys among. When thou art gone. "CHRIST, THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD." Hyjim for the Blind. Tune—" Intekcussok." Christ, the light from heaven. Hear, oh hear our cry. Shed Thy light upon us, From Thy throne on high. All is dark around us, Morning, noon, and night ; c lO Eavtli with all its beauty, Shut out Irom our sight. O Christ, thou Saviour of mankind Oh let us not to Thee be blind. To this world Thou earnest, In Thy love and might ; Sick were healed, poor were fed. Blind restored to sight. Such love, blessed Saviour, Grant to us this day ; Though our eyes are darkened, Light our souls, we pray. O Christ, thou Saviour of mankind, Oh, let us not to Thee be blind. In Thy light, we see light In our darkened heart ; Make us feel we need Thee To cleanse each foul part. Thy power and willing love, We see, like all men. And in the future world. All will see Thee then. O Christ, thou Saviour of mankind, Oh, let us not to Thee be blind. A NEW YEAR'S REVERIE. The dying hours are fleeting. The old year's nearly gone. I, in my chamber resting, Yet neither sad, nor lone. A Father's eye is on me, No cause have I for fear, I joy, with all who gladly Will greet the coming year. II The year will soon be ended With all its joys and pains, And I must bear its losses, As reap, I must, its gains. My mercies none can number, Removing every fear, Shall I not join to welcome, And greet the coming year. When life's midnight is ended, O may my soul find rest. And dayspring find me safely In " Mansions of the Blest.'" Then oh ! what joy and rapture, Away from sin and strife. See Christ in God, and God in Christ, And gain immortal life. A BOY'S QUERIES. A Carol for Christinas. Father, read again that story. How eighteen hundred years have ran. Since angels sang — "Give God the glory," "Peace on earth, good will to man." Has this been told, year after year, Since Christ was born? Do Christian men Believe it as a truth, and clear Written by inspired pen ? If so, what means such constant fear, Why other nations do we scan With jealous eye ? I see nowhere, " Peace on earth, good will to man." What pond'rous guns, what monster ships, Are they made on the Christian i)lan ? Do "Woolwich Infants'" iron lips Sing " Peace on earth, good will to man ? " Are " Spitfire's," " Bulldog's," " Devastation's," " Firebrand's," " Destroyer's," " Fighting Ben," Only meant to frighten nations To " Peace on earth, good will to men ? " Do men from shop, and plough, and all Taken from city, town, or glen. With guns, and swords, and shell and ball, Mean " Peace on earth, good will to men ? " " Increase our Army," Navy too With deadlier weapons arm, what then ? Shall power to kill, be it more or few, Bring " Peace on earth, good will to men ? " Ah, well ! my boy, the father said, Such questions are too deep by far ; But 'tis a maxim in war trade, " In time of peace, prepare for war." Build "Ironclads," make loo-pouhders, Needle guns, — a million more. And whilst another nation wonders, Increase our men, for war in store. And England thus, so others follow ; They arm — we arm — " Might is right." Or should this be a sham, and hollow The " God of Battles " bids us fight. " God of Battles," father, tell me, Is this the Christian God, whose birth, This Christmas-day, we all agree. Was ushered in, with " Peace on earth ? " I know not, boy, but God is good,- And wishes men to live in peace ; And did we live as Christians should, AVars and fighting soon would cease. I DR LIVINGSTONE. '• It would be better to lessen human woe than discover the sources of the Nile." — Extract from Dr Livingst07ie' s letter. Christ-like words and nobly spoken, Words addressed to friend or foe, From a spirit still unbroken, Whispering, " Lessen human woe." Sad and lonely, sick and weary, Toiling, panting, faint and low. Hoping on, though all be dreary, Live, and " Lessen human woe." Sore of heart, thou felt forsaken, Thy dauntless soul, said, "Onward go," In thy Master's love unshaken, Bear, and "Lessen human woe." Afric's Desert, River, Isle, Where Zambesa's waters flow, And dear to thee, " Source of the Nile," But dearer, " Lessen human woe." Did these poor, heart-broken slaves Men and brothers, did they know Whilst daily sinking to their graves, Thy mission, " Lessen human woe." 14 Shall tliy words pass by unheeded ? Let a Nation answer, no ! Near, or far, where human soul is. Strive to " Lessen human woe." Millions of men, pray thanks to God, {Science does not teach them so) That wheresoe'er thy feet have trod. Thy aim is " Lessen human woe." Future age will tell thy story. In hall or cot, by fireside glow, But these words shall be thy glory, Christ-like, — " Lessen human woe." A GREETING TO NEW YEAR. Come, New Year, we give thee greeting, Though you tell us life is fleeting ; Glad to feel, our heart expands. From home fireside to far off lands. Cold, cold the heart that does not feel, At New Year time his brothers' weal. Who does not many a wrong forgive. And pray for higher aims to live. Do good, do good, the Master's plan, And show more love to God and man, Kind deeds, dry many a bitter tear. And sure to bring a hajDpy year. TO OUR SPARROWS. IP- Has no poet ever sum A lay in your praise ? Though with no warbling tongue, You cheer our days. Ye dusky Arabs of our towns and ways. T5 Chirrup, chirrup clear, Mixes Avith children's sport, And all throughout the year. In house, barn, lane, and court, Ye li\e and hang around wherever men resort. Close to our homes you dwell, And find your dinners. Sometimes steal them ! ah, well, Like biped sinners, A gipsy life ye lead, laughing at bread winners. Your habits are not clean, You have a rake's look, And in gutters are seen. And not by the brook, I'm afi^aid you have stolen a leaf from man's book. Ye roughs, you never rage, At birds grandly dressed. Who live in gilded cage, And seeming so blessed. Oh, wiser sparrows, you are not chirping out " oppressed." You soar not to heaven. But cling to our street, Much to fighting given, And ways not discreet, We like thy rude boldness whenV :' companions you meet. The eagle's rock throne. Nightingale's sweet song, Brings not from you the groan, " The world must be wrong." Ye seem to say, there's room, both for the weak and strong. Can we a lesson learn. From such tiny things ; Can we a trutli discern. With which nature rings ? God's place for all, and duty done, contentment brings. i6 A GOOD INIONUMENTAL DESIGN OVER A GRAVE. T N the lower part of the General Cemetery, Nottingham, where the poor are buried ; amidst the numberless graves, is one, prominent by a well-worn path around it, and a rude cross formed by small stones from the wayside — No marble stone, no letters gilt, relate This unknown tenant's past, or future state ; No iron wreath, no artificial flower Flaunts in the world's face a worldling's dower. Under this mound, does some poor pauper lie, Who, shunned in life, was only glad to die ? For this poor soul was there no mourner dear ? No one to sigh, no friend to shed a tear ? Pauper or not, someone bewails a loss. These simple unhewn stones and that rude cross ; Around the grave, that path so v/orn and bare, Some loving heart must keep its vigils there. True mourner here, however poor thou art, Thou'rt rich in love, thou must be pure in heart ; Cheer up, poor pilgrim, if thou sow'st in pain, Thou'lt reap in joy, thy loved one, meet again. I? Whoe'er lies buried here, whose race is run, Be thou a mother, father, daughter, son, In peace sleep on, some faithful heart is near. Some honest soul must daily wander here. Oh, rare true love ! this simple, humble shrine, Speaks gently to the heart like voice Divine, And shows such signs of earnest, honest grief. That this poor lowly tomb stands out the chief. HYMN ON THE DEATH OF A CUUA). Tl.'XE — " RrXHERFORD." Yes, gone — but not for ever. Oh, sweet, consoling thought ; It calms our fears and troubles, And gives the comfort sought. Though mourning ; yet rejoicing ; We on Thy word rely. And feel we will again meet In our home on high. We bow in meek submission. It is our Father's will To take away that life, He gave. He doeth nothing ill. His ]:)rovidence we trust still, Nor murmur not, nor sigh, Believing we shall join our child. In our home on high. Our lather ! oh, \vc ihank Tliee, So dear a human name Oivcs comfort to our aching hearts, To know 'J'hou art the same ; Thy own dear Son has told us A Father hears our cry, Through Him we know the good live In our home on high. D i8 Heaven now seems nearer to us, To think our child is there, Our thoughts now go more upward We long such joy to share. So trusting, hoping, waiting, The time is drawing nigh When we shall see our lost one. In our home on high. TO MY WIFE ON HER 50th BIRTHDAY MAY 1872. 'Tis fifty years, one blythe May Morn, My sweet " wee wife " since thou wer't born, Yet thou look'st neither sad, nor worn, My own sweet pet ; And still, to me, thou'rt fairer far Above all, yet. In mother's cares, thou"st borne thy part ; From thy pure mind, no envious dart Was e'er shot forth, to wound the heart Of wife or child ; To all in pain, thou ever art Gentle and mild. When anxious cares disturb my breast, No heart like thine, doth bring me rest ; Friends — young or old — thou'rt aye the best, My own dear Avife ; '\\'ithout thee, earth would seem to lose Its charm of life. A woman's work, thou ne'er did shun, Each daily task is bravely done. And bright thou art, as summer's sun, To me and mine. From out thy heart, doth faith and truth For ever shine, 19 ^Vith all a mothers tender care, I'hou fain would'st others sorrow bear, And with each friend, their trials share To cheer them on ; And lead their thoughts to brighter worlds, ^Vhere cares — there's none. In fancy oft, I love to see, Our children all, aye cling round thee, And children's children on thy knee, Recall long years. Of bye-gone times, their joy and glee, Their hopes and fears. I pray that He, who all things made, May never from our memory fade, Until, in His good time, we're laid 'Neath the green sod ; And in our sleep of death, await The call of God. On seeing the HAND of AN EGYPTIAN MUMMY. How passing strange, thou remnant of humanity. That, more than thrice a thousand years ago. May oft, in sym])athetic love, have pressed The hands of heroes. Mayhap, in Pharaoh's court, those fingers stiff Have touched the lyre to many a moving strain, Or led, at priestly call, the mystic dance. It may have helped to soothe some dusky chief. Who, fretting with the cares of desjiot rule. Toyed with this hand to wile away the hour. 20 Has some fond mother, with maternal love And joyful pride, pressed to her loving lips Those fingers, once so full of life and play ? Some father, too ; perhaps a soldier chief, In peaceful moments may have fondled thee. By the Nile's bank, this hand may oft have led Some tawny child, or in the cooling stream Have laved the waters over dainty limbs. And now, from out thy dark and stony bed, Rude hands have filched thee from thy long repose, And sold for English gold this relic of the East ! Here, in a foreign land, fate has tliee cast : " To what strange usage may we come at last ! " A QUEEN'S SOULOQUV ON A SHODDY BILL. "To be, or not to be, that is the question," Whether 'tis wiser, — in this name we're offered, — To give consent, or by refusing quench it ! (^ueen — Empress — both of Royal ancient date. Both, mighty in their claims, to rule and reign Our great old country, England — native land On thee, the name of Queen is proudly stamped. And famous memories and grand traditions Are gathered round this old and hallowed name. And deep down in our people's heart of hearts Like sacred love, this powerful feeling lies ; The glorious prestige of a thousand years Is bound up with title so divine ; Yes ! we must pause ere we can think to add More majesty to such a designation. " Empress of India ! " 'tis a consummation So greatly tempting to our Royal house ; But in that name, what troubles may arise To thwart our hopes, and bring discord and strife Into our Island Home, where peace now dwells ? Our well beloved son, our Royal Prince, Throughout his progress in that mighty land. By India's millions was he proudly welcomed ; Princes and nobles cast their wealth before h'm, And owned a Sovereign in our powerful sway. 21 But then, our gracious Minister, our supple 1 ) Raises our fears, and with whispering breath, AVarns us of a mighty power, v.ho, with slow steps, Is stealing near our empire in the East. That power, an Emperor, and to that name, ^^'ith stricken awe our Eastern subjects bow. Can India, then, which we hold by our sword. Be kept as jewel to our crown ? Ah ! me, Oh ! for an hour's advice from my lost spouse. To guide me by his sage and loving thought, Or that my people would speak boldly out. " The Persian language has no word for Queen ! " 'Tis time that one was coined for such a name ; Meantime, we'd rather our own title hold Than fly to others that may breed disquiet. THE LADY OF NIGHTBURN'S BIRTH EVE LAY. You must wake and call me early, call me early Rawdon dear, To-morrow will be the happiest day, to me, of all the year, To me, of all the year, Rawdon, the blithest, jolliest day, For I'll be Queen of the Day, Rawdon, I'll be Queen of the Day. There's many a laughing e}e Rawdon, but none so bright as mine, There's Mrs and Mrs and one from near the Rhine, But none so sweet as I, Rawdon, — (when I have had ni)' way). So I'll be Queen of the Day, Rawdon, I'll be Queen of the Day. You sleep so sound all night, Rawdon, when I would lune you wake, Jiut to-morrow, )ou must get up, Rawdon, e'er day begins to break, T^(;r I must gather pretty flowers, make every thing look gay, Lor I'll be Queen of the Day, Rawdon, I'll be (^ueen of the Day. As 1 drove on the road, Rawdon, wliuin ihink you did I sec, But Mrs with chaise and pair, just like our old friend E. She envied that new dress, Rawdon, which you gave me yesterday, For I'm to be Queen of the Day, Rawdon, Im to be Queen of the Day. She thought I was so proud, Rawdon, so I drove with all my might, And passed her at a spanking i)ace, with rein and curb so tight ; They call me jolly and proud, Rawdon, I care not what they say. Since I'm to be Queen of the Day, Rawdon, 1 m to be Queen of the Day. There's Mr and Mr , there's H. and T. and L., There's sweet young Mr and S. and many another swell, They'll praise me to my heart's content, both here and far away. For Fm to be Queen of the Day, Rawdon, Fm to be Queen of the Day. lie sure, speak well of me, Rawdon, I always do of thee, Now there's a dear, now go to sleep and dream of — only me, 'Whilst I will watch the stars, Rawdon, that shine and seem to say That Fm to be Queen of the Day, Rawdon, I'm to be Queen of the Day. Well now, — Fll go to sleep, Rawdon, to-morrow ! oh ! heigho ! But don't forget champagne, Rawdon, be sure it is Cliquot ; And when you're asked to sing, Rawdon, oh, sing that favourite lay, " Many happy returns of the day " dear, for I'll be Queen of the Day. And then, for all " the Mothers," Rawdon, the poor and the distressed, ^^■ho through this biting winter long, with want and care oppressed ; 1 I Let them share in our joy, Rawdon, be happy while we ma\-, And to-morrow will be the merriest time, and TU be Queen of the Day. I must — yes — whisper— Rawdon, — hush ! before you close your eyes. To-morrow— is prepared for you, a beautiful surprise. A work of Art,* so full of life ! in all her bright array. But I'll not be jealous of her, Rawdon. for I'll be your Queen of the Day. A NEW SONG TO AN OLD TUNE. I'll sing you a new song, that ought to make you sigh. And make each honest man feel sad, and honest women cr)-; It is a song of our own days, and of that modern gye. That fast and foolish lazy gent, who lifts his head so high. That thoughtless English gentleman, all of our i)resent time. He seldoms owns a fathers rule, nor mother oft ol^eys. For sister's love he little cares, or homely joys or ways, And when he's asked to join them all, and might their spirits raise, " "Tis deuced slow," " for me, no go," this brave young gent aye sa3's, Like a thoughtless English gentleman, all of the present time. His home, he keej)s at Billiard rooms, and suncli-\- well- known Bars, And talks aloud, of wine and girls, of brandy and cigars. And has his daily " spin " and " weed " like any son of Mars, At night, reels home with shaky knees, and wounds for future scars, Like a thoughtless English gentleman, all of the present time. Portrait of the Larly of Niglillnirn, 24 At " bets," he's up to everything, from " sov," up to a " thou,' Can tell each horse's pedigree, — to jockeys, humbly bo\v. To Epsom on the " Derby Day," he's there with fevered brow, Winds up a " Evans or Cremorne," perhaps with " jolly row," Like a weak and foolish gentleman, all of the present time. The rising sun, or early morn, the flowers in diamond dew, To him display their charms in vain, and beauties ever new. Though Nature speaks with winning voice in every lovely view, Yet to his heart in vain, recall ! the beautiful and true. Ah ! silly, fast, young gentleman, all of the ])resent time. No church, or marriage tie has he, "oh not so jolly green!" Uut spends his cash on Poll or Sue, admires her pretty team ; And shirks all kinds of honest work, lives in an idle dream. Sips at the watered milk of life, and throws away the cream. Like a young weak-minded gentleman, all of the present time. And drawing thus on Nature's bills, age creeps on him at last, "As ye do reap, so must you sow," who choose a life so fast ; An old man now, though young in years, alas ! the die is cast. So to the Judge of all, we leave, his present and his past, Of a thoughtless English gentleman, all of our moderii time. I A DROP OF WATER. From sunny climes in ocean deep. Through long, long years I seemed to sleej). Till, roused by storms, I made a leap From sea to shore ; And, in a pool, I joined a heap Of millions more. 25 A liurning sun came out next day, And scorched me as I panting lay ; In mist I then was borne away High up in air To join a cloud, whose colours gay Shone bridit and tair. Away, away through sunny sky, Arrayed in hues of richest dye, I sailed along 'midst regions high To colder clime. Where the keen north winds sullen lie. And bide their time. Then I felt glad my lot was cast, So close to heaven, and wished 'twould last. But rude north wind with cruel blast. Raised all my fears ; We met, embraced, and then fell fast To earth, in tears. On mountain top I lay in woe, Ah me ? it was a bitter blow, Dealt out from that relentless foe The ruthless wind ; Then between rocks I down did go Some peace to find. Down, in the dark, I slowly sped, Mixing with kindred droj^s that led. And trickling on our numbers— fed l''rom every side, 'J'hcn into light, frcjin out earth"s*bed I slow did glide, I? 26 From stone to stone, with joy 1 leaped, Passing, where all my friends lay heaped AMio in respose were snugly steeped Shrinking from sight ; I danced and laughed at having reaped The wished for light. Down tiny stream, down fairy dell, 'I'hrough flowery meads, through mossy fell Stealing a glance at sweet blue bell And primrose pale, " Forget-me-not " and bright speedwell, T bade, all hail ! Down swirling stream I rushed all day. Kissed silver trout in anVrous play, And watched with glee each sunlight day Till it was gone : Fmbraced the wind in s^jarkling spray Then floated on. My stream, now fed from high peaked hills. Was deepened by a hundred rills, That from all sides the channel fills. From ravines steep. ^^'here roaring cat'ract boils and swills, I maddened leap. With rapid pace, but lessening quiver, From storm to calm, yet onwards, ever ; My home, now in a grand old river, Seemed like a dream. No more can I regain, ah never ! My youthful stream. Still on, and on, though life to me, • Dost much the force of mirth and glee. Yet in calm joy, I glided free Past town and fort, And reached again my mother, sea, First, last resort. 27 A VOICE FRO-M THE PRIMROSES. Come, ciiiickly come, From strife and hum Of pent u]) town, Come, young and old, now Winter's cold Is past and gone. Come, see the beauties we unfold By wood and down ; Come, Cjuickly come. Come, quickly come. Come, haste away At break of day, Each youth and maid, Leave crowded street, for meadow sweet And wood, and glade. Come, lovers all, our glances meet In sun and shade. Come, haste awa)', Come, haste away. At morning hour, Come to our bower. See nature's screen, Where all around is diamond crowned With dew dr()[;s sheen, And on our breasts rich gems arc found l''it for a (]ucen ; Oh ! come away, Oil ! come a\va\'. Oh ! come and see, 'Neath bank and tree, And hillock crrccn. By mossy root, and old tree toot, ^Ve now are seen ; Around our forms our soft leaves shoot With graceful mien ; Oh ! come and see, Oh ! come and see. Leave smoke and noise, Ye girls and boys. And maidens all ; All sickly ones, and all in health, In cot or hall ; All sons of toil, all men of wealth, List to our call, Your homage bring. Come, greet the Spring. WORKMEN'S STRIKES. Again this cr)-, my fellow workmen. Rings throughout our native land, Is it hunger, is it famine ? 'Gainst s/zf/i foes I'd have you stand. Are you crying out for labour, Seeking work, but finding none, Are your claims for " rights " unheeded, That you fret, and chafe, and moan ? Are you stricken, and opi)ressed, Trodden down and sunk so low, iJare you not lift up your heads, Are you bent by toil and woe ? 29 Why should capital and labour Stand opposed in bitter strife ? They were meant to help each other, And gladden all our daily life. No ! my brothers, times are changiuLi, Work there is for one and all, The idle and the drunken only, To stop all work, do shout and bawl. Let us work, where'er demand is. Free to sto]) and free to go, Slave to neither strike or union, Master of oiaselvcs, or no. Independence, be our watchword, Shrink from ])atronising bands, Feel, each man, his natural birthright, To reap the labour of his hands. We want neither gifts or doles. Hospital or parish fees. Left off clothes, or coals, or blankets, Christmas feeds, or Easter teas. Let us not, so lose our manhood, Shrink from alms, there evils lurk. Then, we may shout with might and main " A fair day's wage, for fair day's work." SPARE TIME AND SPARE MONEY. A Rhyme for the ]Vorking Man. Long we've fought to reach this height, By unions, strikes, and com!)ination, Now, in this dawn of new-born Hght, Shall we raise or sink oin- nation ? 30 Day by day, and year by year, Long we strove to reach tliis goal, Counting nothing was too dear To gain more rest from slavish toil. Now we've won oiu" sighed-for state, Rest from labour,— "softer lines," Shall we " rest and thankful wait," And test results by i)resent signs ? Are oiu" homes made happier, say Is want banished from our ranks, ^\'here goes all our extra pa)-. To public-house, or " Saving Banks ? " The future is at least our own. Fight and conquer each abuse, Let us trust in right alone. To good, fost cling, the bad, refuse. Leisure time brings leisure's cares. Extra pay, temptations strong ; Be it ours to shun all snares. If we would our rights prolong. Rally round Mechanics' LLills, Lecture rooms and evening schools. Step to the front when duty calls. Leave drink and sloth to sots and fools. ( KING CASH. What made my masters all but praise My whims, hot temper, evil ways, And all my faults of boyish days. King Cash. What made INIamma's, the first to see, Something uncommon nice in me, Admire my taste, m\ neglige. King Cash. To Dinners, — Balls, — so often prest, To Croquet, Picnics, Archery test, What made me aye the welcome guest King Cash. ^a 'What made me, singled from the rest. And have the choice of all the best, And with attentions constant prest, Kins Cash. 'o "What made those eyes, so bright and blue And those so dark, — aye, every hue. Smile at my freaks, tho' not a few, Kintr Cash. '& What made men say, that sense and wit I had, for Mayor, or Judge to sit, Nay, even for Parliament was fit, King Cash. 'S At Church or Chapel, — when I go. What makes the Parson, praise bestow ; Beadle and Deacon bow so low. Kins; Cash. 'o At public feast, or public show, ■\Miat makes the Stewards bustle so. And find best place where'er I go, King Cash. When laid upon sick bed at last, \\'hat makes the Doctors come so fast. The world grin when all is past, King Cash. AMiat rears for me the sculptured tomb. And promises "eternal bloom," I'ho' cannot chani:,e my //««'/ doom. King Cash. And Cash is King, all else is hum — In s])ite of (iod, or world to come. We'll worship thee, our "bon and sum," King Cash. ^.^,,^'V^y^^,r APRIL'S GREETING TO MAY. Hail sister May, hail Summer Queen, For thee I've clothed with lightest green Each hedge and tree with leaves so sheen, Young, fresh, and bright ; And bud and blossom shoot forth keen \\'ith heart's delight. The winds for thee now gently blow, Come and fear not frost nor snow. For thee will come the Summer's glow. And scented air — The hawthorn sweet, in white will show Surpassing fair. Now sheltering leaves and grassy banks Protect from cold or boyish pranks, The home of birds who'll sing their thanks At early morn ; And joy stir through their feathered ranks That May is born. Primrose and violet fade away Before thy charms, gay blithesome May, Yet live to hail thy natal day. My sister mine, And sing thy praise in dying lay A\'ith voice divine. 33 Anemones now hang their liead, As if thy coming time they dread, And thought how soon Spring would be dead, And even gone, To leave them in their woodland bed To live alone. With thee will come clear, warmer skies, For thee the sun will earlier rise, And Nature join the cheerful cries At sight of thee, Endeared to all by thousand ties Of peace and glee. A AVEE BIRDIE'S GREETING TO HIS INVALID MISTRESS, ON HER BIRTHDAY. My gentle mistress, many years I've watched thee oft, with hopes and fears ; I've felt thy smiles, and seen thy tears For others' woe ; And heard thy voice sound to my ears So sweet and low. I share thy room, I'm near thy bed — Thy loving hand I never dread ; My daily wants by thee are fed With anxious care — With thee I feel my life is wed. Thy love to share. With song I love the morn to greet. And listen to thy welcome sweet. And join with thee in praises meet Our Maker, God, Who sends down from His mercy seat Strength for our load. F I know my yellow robe of gold Reminds you of the story old, Of those white-robed ones who behold Their Father's face : Perhaps my notes to you unfold Some heavenly place? My mistress mine, my little heart Would break to think that we should part- The very thought's enough to start My tiny frame ; For thou to me far dearer art Than I dare name. Let other birdies seek the tree. The sky, the field, and sing with glee ; Contented I shall ever be The live-long day To sing, to cheer, and gladden thee Till called away. I AN INVALID'S DIRGE ON THE DEATH OF HER BIRD. My own wee bird, and art thou gone, And left me here to weep alone ? Oh ! what to me, can now atone For my sweet pet ? Yet, yet, I must not grieve and moan. Or cry, or fret. 'Twas in the dark, the silent night. When thou wert hidden from my sight, Before the morning's dawning light. Thou passed away. Thy too short life, it took its flight, And cold thou lay. 'Tis said, by Grecian sage of old, That birds have souls of human mould ; If so — beneath thy coat of gold, Thy soul was love. And left my birdie, stiff and cold. To soar above. No more thy matin song I'll hear, Those heavenly notes, rich, full, and clear, No more thy lays my heart will cheer, All, all is fled, And I am left to shed a tear, Poor birdie's dead. With thee, I loved the morn to greet, And listen to thv carols sweet, Thou wert to me companion meet, My thoughts did share. Our hearts I've thought did mutual beat, At morning ))rayer. 36 November winds sigh for thy loss, And nature weeps o'er grass and moss, The swelHng sea, her tears doth toss, On rock and reef. And o'er our hearts, there flits across Deep shades of grief. Thy spirit may have winged its flight, To land more pure, to skies more bright. Where free to soar and sing with might ; For ever free. One thing I know, God will do right To you and me. A MOTHER'S LOVE STRONGER THAN DEATH. T N Smiles' Life of Edward, the Scotch Naturalist, page 235, Mr Edward states : — " A heavy snow storm forced plovers and wild ducks to abandon their nests, full of eggs. Wandering by the sea I came upon a wild duck. I imagined she was skulking to avoid observation. I touched her with a stick that she might rise, but she rose not. , . I found she was dead. She lay, a little raised on one side, her neck stretched out, her mouth open and full of snow ; underneath her were thirteen eggs. A few of them were broken, and in all of them were young birds. There was no wound or mark of violence whatever. She had every appearance of having died of suffocation in a desperate but faithful struggle to protect her eggs from the fatal effects of the snow storm." Days an' nichts the storm raged wildly. The blast wi' fury blew On a lane, bleak cauld north shore. An' birds tae shelter flew. The howlin' win' had blawn mair fierce, Fast cam' the smoorin' sna', Fillin' every little hollie. Sedgy bank, an' rocky wa'. Wanderin' whan the storm was owre, A\'haur wild birds only ken. Near the sea, wi' a' roon' erie, Awa' frae haunts o' men. Whist ! for noo a feathered beauty, Close tae my peerin' e'en. Fittin' hame for sic a mither, She sat, a bonnic queen. Saftly creepin' ; noo bent owre her, My han' upon her heid, I lifted her frae aff her nest, The puir wild duck was deid. In a' the eggs were wee bit birds, Keep't wi' a mither's care, Wha's ootstreetch'd wing an' strained neck, Wud keep them warm nae mair. Wha killed thee, eh ! my bonnie bird ? I looked her body a'. An' fand her open mooth an' throat, Filled fu' o' drifted sna'. Oh cruel sna', oh cruel sna', A faithfu' life ye've taen. An' wi' cauld an' icy heart, Left her tae dee alane. What will a mither's love nae dae For her dear offspring a' ? Affection mair, nae woman bare For bairn, great or sma'. Nae wonder that it garr'd me greet ; I dug, an' cut a sod. Syne covered a' an' sighed, an' thocht, Sic love maun come frae God. 3S "THE WIDOWER." A Picture in tlie Royal Acadeniy, by L. Fildes. Come on my knee, my bonnie bairn, Come nearer to my heart ; Come let me press thee closer still, Oh, God, we shoudna' part. Oh, dinna, dinna leave me, bairn. Oh, dinna leave me noo ; But let me kiss thy bonnie cheek, Thy han', thy lips, thy broo. Thy han' is cauld, my bonnie bairn. And dim thy ance bricht e'e. It gars a stoond gae thro' my heart ; Oh, dinna, dinna dee. Oh, look into thy faither's face. Just gie him a'e sweet smile. To cheer his sad and waefu' heart, That's like to break the while. Oh, ye were aye your mither's pet, You bear her ain dear name ; She said, you sune wad follow her, 'Twas only "ganging hame." A big lump rises in my throat, I canna say, fareweel, Altho' I ken ye're sure to gang, To the land o' a' the leal. Mitherless bairn, God will tak' Tae bide wi' his ain Son, But oh ! its awfu' hard to say His will. His will, be done. ON THE NEW ARRIVAL. By the IVee Pet Doggie. Oh, wae the day ! oh, wae the hour ! That that wee thing should hae sic power That ilka anc should on it glower, An' turn frae me ! Ance a' was sweet, noo a' is sour : I think I'll dee, In vain I leap on mai'ster's knee. In vain I try to catch his e'e, He's sae taen up, says, " Bide a wee." Then aff tae pat And poke, wi' a' a faither's glee — Oh ! dash the brat ! Tae see this Moloch, at whose ca' The hale hoose ran, aye, ane an' a' ; What idol was't cud make them fa' Doon on their knees. And dae sic homage as I saw, Fechtin' tae please ? I jumped upon the wecl-kent bed — What met my e'en ? — a wee bald head, A toothless, hairless thing, wha led The women folk. Till like demented anes they fled Tae this imp's yoke. Ance I was ca'd baith lamb and pet, An' nur.s't an' woo'd by a' I met ; But noo a' that I maun forget — Oh, dash my lugs ! Tae see that girnin' awfu' fret Tak' place o' dugs ! Ance I was cuddled ; noo 'lis blows, I daurna bark, 'twould " break repose O' "darlin' babe!" Dl bile his toes. An' mak a ])int Tae gar it sfiueel — it's jnil ?iiy nose Sair ool o' j'int. 40 I'll droon mysel' ! — that wiiina dac, — 'Twould gar my niaister, mistress tae, Greet owrc puir " Paddy," an' feel wae Bcgane, rash vow, I'll bide my time ; "ilk dug 's his day." Oh, bow, wow, wow. THE SHEPHERD TO HIS DYING "COLLIE." Lie doon, lie doon, my bonnie pet, The death mist's owre your e'e ; Nae mair can ye come oot and rin The hale day lang wi' me. Ye canna thole the biting cauld. Nor face the blindin' sna', As aye ye did wi' right gude will, The fleetest o' them a'. Ae word, ae look, was aye eneuch To mak' ye ken your wark ; An' day an' nicht ye've served me weel. Ne'er gied me angry bark. Ye aye were gentle wi' the lambs, They ken't ye were a frien' ; An loup't aboot ye ane an' a'. Among the knowes sae green. Thy claws or teeth on sheep or lamb Ne'er gaed below their woo' ; Though wae betide the prowling fox, Gat grip't within thy mou' ! A' simmer throo, owre a' the hills, In win', in mist, or rain, The silly sheep that strayed awa' Ye sune brocht hanie again. 41 When winter, wi' her storms o' sna', Cam' sweepin' doon the glen, An' sheep were moored in awfu' drift, An' hidden frae a' men ; 'Twas then, wi keen and anxious e'e. An' scent, nae ane could doot. Ye pointed whar to find the lost, An' helped to howk them oot. A'weel ! if dogs hae souls like men, A noble ane is thine ; Ye've spent your days in daeing guid, I'm prood to ca' ye mine. Noo, collie, boy, fareweel, fareweel, My pet o' best trained breed ; \\'hat will guidwife an' bairnies dae When they ken Collie's deid? THE FACE OF AN OLD LADY AFTER DEATH. Tell me why life is in thy face ? Why do I with such wonder trace The beauty which death cannot chase. Away from thee ? Surely some hand divine I trace On all I see. Thy loving si)irit seems to shine Still on thy foce in every line, Oh what a loving heart was thine To one and all ! And art thou gone from me and mine At God's own call ? Another kiss — wc feel no fear ; Thy gentle spirit hovers near, Whispering peace around thy bier ; Farewell, farewell. Love ruled thy heart, and made lliec dear ; Now "all is well." G 42 Loath to obey its Maker's will, Thy soul seems ling'ring with thee still, As if it fain with joy would fill The trusting heart. Making it feel death can but kill The mortal part. Thy spirit cannot yet have fled, Else why this halo round the dead, That turns to joy the tear that's shed. For hope is there ; And wc can look on tJiis death-bed A\'ithout despair. A MOTHER ON THE DEATH OF A SON WHO DIED "FAR AW A' FRAE HAME." Mv darlin', my darlin', oh sair was my heart, When I let him gae oot o' my care, O little I kenn'd when I frae him did pairt, That my Eric I ne'er should see main Tho' seas 'tween us rowed, he was ne'er oot o' sicht, Tho' sae far frae his ain faither's ha' ; My thochts ilka day, an' my thochts ilka nicht, ^Vere wi' Eric, my bairn, far awa'. Wae, wae was the day when the sad tidings came, That fell death pierced my brave laddie's breist. An' seized on my Eric, sae far frae his hame, O my bairn, I could spare thee the least. Nae mither, nae faither, sister, or brither, Wha could wipe the het tears frae his e'e ; O had I had wings tae hae flee'n awa' thither, O my laddie, O why did ye dee ? 43 Did the spirit o' Bella,* our sweet child o' sang, Beckon him to the land o' the leal ? Did it hover around him a' the nicht lang, As he sighed oot his deein' fareweel? / God's ways are nae oor way, shall He nae dae richt ? Aye, aye, I ken a' that is written ; But wha but a mither can ken a' the micht, O' a love, noo, sae waefuUy smitten. God mak' me resigned. His word is aye sure, I maun trust Him tho' " He does me slay," Wi' Him for my freend, I maun aye be secure, An' nicht's sorrows may bring joyfu" day. BIRTHDAY ODE. To write to you like ony brither, I'm sure I hinna' ony swither, May ye live, aye, as lang's ye're mither, An' hae her health. Then ne'er will heart, or feelin' wither, At lack o' wealth. My certie, but ye wear richt weel, An' look sae trim frae heid tae heel ; Ye maun hae fed on Scotch oatmeal, An' " hotch potch " guid, Tae see ye dance a hielan' reel. Aye warms ane's bluid. Tho' ye maun feel nicht closin' roond. It needna gie ye're heart a stoond. But a' sic thocht,s should heal the woond, O' bye-gone year, An' day, an' nicht reca' the soond, O' ane sae dear. A sisicr who died suddenly. 44 Tho' ye're slow "toddlin' doon the brae," Uinna' forget — 'tis (iod's ain way To gently lead yc, day by day, Whaur a' maun rest ; He canna' gang sae for astray, W'ha God has blest. May ye sae slowly wear awa', As no tae fear thy deein' ca'. An' may ye rest in heavenly ha", Amang the leal, An' " kith an' kin " meet, ane an' a', W'hatir a' is weel. "THE DRINK THAT DID IT." Tivelve Dionths' experience at the Police Court. But one short year, ah ! sad to think. How many crimes arise through drink. How "trumpet tongued '" day after day. They've sadly told their mournful lay, From gaol or street, from theft or fray, " The drink that did it." See yonder youth — in dress or mien, No trace of poverty is seen. His tone and manners plainly show. Not want forced him, to crime so low, But step by step, so sure, tho' slow, " The drink that did it.' Another youth, — in shame draws near, He struck the head, he should revere ; His father begs to set him free, His mother's tears are sad to see. They both urge strong the usual plea, "''I'he drink that did it." 45 Here manhood stands of shame bereft, No outward sign of goodness left, With brutal strength, in drunken strife, He smote a toiling, loving wife. She stands to plead (poor wretched life,) " The drink that did it." Here aged men, oh ! cruel fate, \Mth palsied limbs, and stagg'ring gait, Heart hardened to this fearful curse. All virtue gone, from bad to worse, And yet with feebled frame they nurse " The drink that did it." "Tis sad to tell of females young. Who good advice aside had flung. With sobbing voice now curse the day The fatal draught lured them away. And led from virtue's paths astray, " By drink that did it." And women too, now lost to shame. And all that's dear to woman's name. Now sunk in vice, though once so gay, Who here in maudlin accents pray, A claim for mercy, whilst they say " The drink that did it." And sadder still — a mother stands With babe in arms — such tiny hands, It's shrunken form, it's cheeks so pale, Bespeak the miseries which entail, And tell with face the true sad tale, " The drink that did it." And grey-haired sots, who come and go In spite of wretchedness and woe. Though hovering over grim death's brink. Are victims yet to demon drink ; In vain remorse — they cannot shrink " From drink that did it." Deal gently willi the drunkard's sin, Who lost lo all, '^ e'en kith and kin." 46 We know not what temptation strong Beset his path his whole hfe long, But there he is ! and, right or wrong, " 'Tis drink that did it." In care and toil, what ])lcasant thing. To feel but for an hour — a king Amidst a wild and drunken band, His hovel changed to palace grand. Pity his faults ye who withstand, " The drink that did it." Look to the child^ see to his state. And snatch him from a drunkard's fate. From alleys, courts, seek to entice. From dens of infamy and vice ; Save the child at any price, " Or drink may kill it." UNVEILING A STATUE TO ROBERT BURNS At Kili\l\rnock, August 9, 1879. " Time but the impression stronger makes. As streams their channels deeper wear." — Robert Burns, Not for an age, but for all time he came, A gifted genius born of humble state, But dowered with the power that makes men great. Fitting it is to honour thus his name. A benefactor he, whose magic pen Still rouses heart and soul to deeds of love. And from their deep unnoticed sources move A joy, a pity, for all fellow-men. Undying song welled out from his large heart. With thrilling thoughts he tuned his simple lyre ; His country's weal drew forth his inborn fire — For Scotland's glory, well he played his part. 47 Indulgent Nature, with no scanty hand, On him bestowed gifts of no common kind ; So often fatal to the ardent mind. That make the strongest fall where weak ones stand. Brimful his cup of life he had to' lift, A fearful thing to carry 'midst the storm, And strong temptations, which in every form Beset the man who holds so dread a gift. What wonder if a drop, or more, were spilt From out that cup ? Who, who can justly scan The inborn passions of his brother man, And say, here's innocence and there is guilt ? Toiling through cares and sorrows, sad, sad story ! " He learned in suffering what he taught in song," His life a " fitful fever," and amidst the throng Few saw the Poet's future fame and glory. Falsehood or meanness stained not his brave mind. Nor pledged word broke he to friend or foe ; With honest worth his life did ever glow, To kith and kin unselfish, true, and kind. His was a love for all, things great or small ; To birds and beasts he tender care did shew ; In kindly words and deeds his love did flow. And his large loving heart had room for all. Tree, flower, and meadow, leaf or simple blade, Sea, loch, or river, lowly burn or stream, A speech he found in them none else could dream : All Nature, by his muse, was vocal made. Deep in his heart of hearts one i)lace aye leal There was, and kept alive 'midst grief and care, Till death alone, the only foe who dare. Quenched out that spot that yearned for Scotland's weal A debt is ever due, men pay but part, In rearing thus, to Ikirns, another shrine, To him they owe so much, who did entwine Their country and its glory round his heart, 48 ROBERT li U R N S. Born January 25, 1779. " Well a' he prood Robing Time canna' wither Burns's fame. Nor tak' the halo frae his name ; In native Isle, or far frae hame, The Scot's heart turns ; And hails \vi' gude and glad acclaim, " A nicht wi' Burns." Nae ane can play the enchanter's i)airt, Nor stir wi' magic wan' the heart, Or sway the bluid wi' poet's airt, To love or war ; His words ding throo ye, like the dairt, O' some bricht star. The Poet's spirit in its micht, Shall keep us a' in glee the nicht, An' owre us shed the joyfu' licht, O' byegane years ; Till heart and soul are shinin' bricht, AVi' smiles and tears. On sic a nicht the thochts come fast, Laden wi' visions o' the past : Thochts, that in mem'ry aye will last, An' welcome be, Whaure'er our changin' lot be cast, By fate's decree. The heart gits grit, tears fill oor e'en At " Highland Mary's " farewell scene, Or love's ain sangs to " Bonnie Jean," I'he leal an' guid ; Or " Scots wha hae " arooses keen, The Scottish bluid. 49 Auld Scotland's hills, her dells, her streams, Rise up before our mind as dreams ; An' " Braes o' bonnie Doon " noo seems, Ance mair at han'. The " Auld Clay Biggin' " sends its gleams, Throo' a' the Ian'. This nicht, a' touns, in British Isle, Pay homage to the " Lad o' Kyle ; " An' far owre sea do Scots beguile, The nicht awa' ; An' in lone woods, or banks o' Nile, Hame scenes reca'. Nae mair clouds noo ; we winna sift, What darken'd ance the poet's lift. Time opens wide the shiniti' rift, An' nae ane mourns ; Laurel, not cypress, be our gift. Immortal Burns. ON RECEIVING A BUNCH OF HIGHLAND HEATHER. Wh.\t cheers my heart this dreary weather An' maks me feel as licht's a feather? What, but this bonny purple heather Frae yont the Forth. It maks me fain to slip my tether. An' rin fast North. I envy you, near lea])in' rills, Awa' amang the Hiclan' hills, Whaur a' the place wi' rapture thrills, The hale heart owcr. An' nature a' aroond instils. Her .secret power. H 5° Thy scent an' blossom, fond reca' To mcni'ry dear, scenes that I saw O' hills and dells, noo far awa', Whaur aft my feet Have speeld, unheedin' o' a fa', I maist cud greet. I fain wud lie on heather bed, ^^'i' white clouds sailing ower my head ; Or daunder where my fancy led, By hech or howe ; Sic youthfu' visions, let me wed An' keep in lowe. 51 LIVINGSTON E. Like the April day does England Weep, and all her people feel A hero claims a nation's laurels, Tho' earned not, from shot or steel. Sadly mourning for the ending Of a brave and loving heart ; Proudly knowing that her hero Played so good, so great a part. Toil or danger ne'er appalled him. Marshy lake or desert drear, A heart so full of love to man Could never faint, could know no fear. Struggling on through slimy marshes, Weak and faint, no white man near, But Afric's sons, with loving hearts, Clung to that heart they loved so dear. " Build me a hut,"' my warfare's o'er, " My Master calls," — " I'm going home." There, no slaves, all sons and brothers ; No more to grieve, no more to roam. Oh strike the fetters from the slaves. Grant me this, oh God, he cried ; " One blood " all men, — all brothers all ! Oh ! truth divine, and thus he died. Who can count the trials and dangers ? We can only tell the cost ; Life for life, white life for black. Died the martyr at his post. A thousand miles they bore his body Through death swamps, with danger rife ; Heroes all, though black of colour, Leal and true in death or life. 52 Time will come when children's children That long march of death will read, And loudly praise the " poor black slaves " That nobly did so great a deed. J "OWE NO MAN ANYTHING." With sad and aching heart, with weary anxious mind, A man at his fireside sat, sighing for peace to find. Debt, debt, debt, it brings both trouble and grief, Day after day crushing the life, and night gives no relief. Oh the accursed debt, what ruin it ever brings To home and fireside joys, blighting all hopeful things, Like a millstone round the neck, weighing the whole man down. A heavy weight at the heart, all manliness nearly gone. This living beyond one's means, aping a class above, Is not the honest way, to bring me peace or love. When trade was brisk and good, and all look'd bright sun- shine, I thought not of a "rainy day" when life looked "jolly" and fine. Credit too easy I had, which soon increased to more. Each craving want I fed, careless of future store. I fear that debt is crime, my conscience whispers so, Yet Church or Chapel debt, seems more a friend than a foe. "Out of debt, out of danger," wisdom of a thousand years. Gathered in the olden proverb, though its truth is found through tears. But traders, willing to trust, and I, not willing to save, Brings me to misery now, mayhap to a pauper's grave. But if great folks run into debt, why, why should I repine ? A " shilling or two in the pound " may quiet this conscience of mine. Yet, oh 'tis a weary load, enfolds me with iron net, So sighed a careworn man, ruined by demon debt. 53 A BIRD LEFT IN CHARGE— DIED. Our hearts are sair this waefu' day, Tho' flowers, bright, and Nature gay, For ne'er again we'll hear his lay, Poor Dickie's dead And filled us a' wi' grief and wae. Even tears, we shed. Nae mair we'll hear his bonnie sang, Cheering our hearts the hale day lang. For death wi' fatal, cruel fang, Has laid it low ; And whether richt, or whether wrang. We feel the blow. For three lang days, it pined awa', Wi' seed and water at his ca', It missed it's mistress, bairns, an' a'. And thocht them gane, Syne burst it's wee bit heart in twa, Than live alane. " HOSPITAL SUNDAY." " Gloria Mundi," " Hospital Sunday," Thank Heaven for such a day. When men of all sects pray With united aim. Church and Dissent agree To give most cheerfully. And lessen human misery On " Hospital Sunday." Scoffer and saint combine. In such a cause divine. Workman and Peer may shine. " Heal the suffering sick," 54 Sad and wearied hearts to cheer, Wipe away the painful tear, No two o])inions here On " Hospital Sunday." ^\'ith syn"ii)athetic glow, Let all hearts kindly flow. And feel for others' woe, Like Christ for men. A day for honest deeds, A day to banish creeds. And sow some loving seeds, On " Hospital Sunday." Christians — all who sigh. And for unity would die. Here's union, safe and high, One day each year. Twice blessed is a doer^ Acts ever tell more sure. And bless both rich and poor On " Hospital Sunday." CHURCH AND CHAPEL IN DANGER. Church and Chapel, both in danger, Not from any foes without. Not from alien, or from stranger. Have they cause for fear or doubt. Not from forms, or decorations ; Not from surplice, cape, or hood ; Not from gownless ministrations, Rough in dress, in manners, crude. Not from rich Cathedrals grand, Stained glass, or sculptured walls ; Not from Bethels in our land, Sanded barns, or cot, or halls. 55 Not from Bishop, or from Dean, Not from bond of Church and State In Free Church, — no danger's seen, Nor in the Reverends, — small or great. Not in music cultivated, Surpliced choir and many toned ; Not in shouting praise elated, Drawling voice, or deeply groaned. No ! my brothers, danger lies. In ourselves ; with Christian name. So good in 7C>ords, so rich in sighs, Our deeds make honest hearts feel shame. Once a week, three hours at most, We give to Church, high, low, or broad ; Business yfri'/, at any cost. An idle hour, we give to God. A week-day service ! " not for Joe ! " What! give up business, tea or dinner? Let women old, and children go, Sunday's enough to feel a sinner. Respectable we are, and good, Don't beat our wives, get drunk, or swear. External conduct, chaste, not lewd. At Sunday service,— mostly there. And so, with Christian flag unfurled, \\q go to church one day in seven, The other six, give to the world, And thus we hope, to " slope " to Heaven. And can wc wonder, sceptics sneer, And we get of the world more fond ? Oh ! did we hold our faith more dear. Our deeds and words would corresi)ond. But we go on, and play our part, To Christian life, a j)erfect stranger. Dull and dead and cold of heart, Therein, lies Chur< h and Chapel danger. 56 ON RECEIVING A ROSE. Sweet cmlilem of a tender thouglit, How may I cherish — as I ought — So kind a gift ? by me unsought ; Come near my heart. Fair flower, hast thou no message brought ? Come, si)eak thy part. Thy lovely leaves, like pent up lips, That fain would ope their tinted tips, would I were the bee that dips In thy heart's core, And taste the sweetness that he sips. From honied store. 1 only am a little flower. Plucked by my mistress from her bower, She sends me as a Summer dower, Tho' poor a thing ; In sweet remembrance of an hour In op'ning Spring. ON THE MARRIAGE OF ROSE R On famed Blackheath, a Rose was in full bloom ; Cultured with care, In 'midst of flowers of every hue, it shone Bright, pure and fair. And many a longing eye was turned upon, A flower so rare. To own so rich a prize, who would not strive To " do and dare ? " Not long this Rose could shed its fragrance forth Unseen, alone. Coming from wood, to ^Vood it gave it's heart — That Wood was John. 57 THE D E A 1^ H A\' A \' E. /^N the coast of Yorkshire, it is a common beHef, that ^-^^ once or twice in the year, a great wave breaks on the shore and carries away one or more victims ; the natives call it the " Death Wave." Remorseless wave, deep in the sea, Like caged beast, he lies, Sullen and grim, dang'rous when free ; Waiting for winds to rise. Yet all is calm, a cloudless .sky. The sun is in full glow. The wind blows with a gentle sigh. But, still as death, below The " Death Wave " sleeps. Remorseless wave, dost hear the sound Coming from distant west ? Coming, and from the depth profound Will rouse thee from thy rest. Can'st see, far away, a little cloud ? Dost feel, a stir and shaking As the fresh breeze gets strong and loud ? Soon to make thee waken, Thou grim " Death Wave." Remorseless wave, rise from the dee]). The clouds are gath'ring fast. The rising storm, calls thee to reap The spoil of the angry blast. High on the sea, now rides the wave, Swiftly, with head so high ; The sailor tries, his craft to save, ^^'atches with anxious eye The dreaded " Death Wave." Remorseless wave, thy grip is near, East onwards to the coast Strike boat and ship with dread and fear. Though boat nor ship be lost, I 58 'Tis on the shore, at one fell swoop, Thou dashest on thy j^rey, Without remorse, from one small group, Thou bearcst two away,* Mysterious '" Death Wave." A "Death Wave" comes to young and old, No son of Adam spared ; Come fast, come slow, both wise and bold Is he, who is prepared. CHRISTMAS REAPING. A Carol. Three hundred and sixty-five days Gone, no more to appear. The angel of time to us says, Lo ! the harvest is here. Now reap ye the fruits of your choice From the seeds ye have sown, If bad, then mourn, if good, rejoice, For the time that has flown. . Whoe'er did plant the seed of crime, With free and willing hand. Must reap the fruit this reck'ning time, A wise, divine command. If seeds of fraud, or pride, or lies. Have in our hearts been set. Not Christmas joys, but Christmas sighs. In justice, we must get. If seeds of debt, we've thoughtless laid. Deep in the past year's soil. The crushing interest must be paid, In fretting care and toil. If seeds of strife, we've scattered wide. Among our fellow-men. Be sure that peace, her charms will hide. And woe betide us then. * Charles Paget, M.P., and wife, were victims to this sudden, unlocked for wave, at Filey, November 1873. 59 If seeds of selfishness, or wrong, Have found place in our breast. No Christmas angel's soothing song Will bring us peace and rest. If pomp and show, or actions mean, Have been our past year's seeds, Old Father Christmas won't be seen, To bless such selfish deeds. But seeds of love and self-denial. If planted here and there. Will stand the test of Christmas trial, All, " Happy Christmas " share. From thistle seeds, grapes cannot spring- And good comes not from ill ; He reapeth best from everything. Who does his Father's will. NOVEMBER. Dark November, cauld an' drearie, Makin' a' things dark an' eerie, Tree, an' hedge, withoot their dress. Shiver in their nakedness. A' the birdies are awa'. Bitter, keen, the win's dae blaw. Month o' mist, an' rain, an' fogs. Gars us burn our coals an' logs. Nips nose an' lugs, an' chills the bluid ; Is't for harm, or is't for guid ? ON SEEING A DEAD LARK IN A FIELD, ON A MORNING IN SPRING. O HARBINGER of carly morn, What ! now at rest, When fields are decked with fiowers new born, To kiss thy breast ? 6o Above, below, all Nature smiles, Courting thy love by winning wiles, Longing to hear thy song outpour ; Alas ! thy ringing notes are o'er ; AVhat rruel foe Has laid thee low ? Hushed is thy voice for evermore. Has some harsh arm, in sport so cruel. Crushed thy young life And dashed to earth so bright a jewel ? O coward strife. Or has some hand in careless theft, Thy young, and mate, of thee bereft ; Then finding all thy loved ones gone, Could'st thou not bear to live alone. Did'st thy true heart From life then part ? For such a loss, what could atone ? The risihg sun, no more shall find Thee poised in air ; No more thou'lt charm the sky and wind \\'ith love notes rare No more, above thy guarded nest, Shall't watch the one thou loved best ; No more protect her through the night, Until she saw tliy morning flight — Slow soaring, high, To cloud and sky. Singing with glee 'midst dazzling light. Thy lovely form, is yet, still warm, Tho' dim thine eye ; Come, let me place thee free from harm, 'Neath this blue sky. Here, underneath this bright green sod. No eye to see but Nature's God, Without Whom, " not a sparrow falls " Unheeded ; so He now recalls Thee to the earth. That gave thee birth. And claims thee for her silent halls. 6t t^>\*'' A " SILVER WEDDING " DAY. ^^fr» '^\x Fro:^i our window, my love, see yon cloud from above. 'Tis surely your angel of lile ; Ah ! she comes forth to greet, and cast flowers at the feet Of Annie, my long wedded wife. See, her light outspread wings, hark how sweetly she sings, And for off in the air a melody rings. Oh, bright silver wedding day. Bright silver wedding day. Now hush, darling, hush, for the lark and the thrush Seem to know 'tis our bridal day, From their clear tuneful throats well out thrilling notes Ascending to heaven far away. Hark ! 'tis Nature's own choir, from tree, meadow and briar, Our thoughts like their voices, rise higher and higher. Oh, bright silver wedding day, Bright silver wedding day ! 62 Look, the trees for your sake how their branches they shake, Offering their festive lay ; All joining in chorus, oh, their glad music make Our hearts, wife, feel more than we say. Round the garden, in state, all the flowers eager wait. Fresh arrayed by the gods to take part in our fete. Oh, bright silver wedding day. Bright silver wedding day. In the cycle of years with its smiles and its tears. Since leaving your home by the river, On that bright day in June, full of hope and few fears, INIy bride then and now, and for ever, Love has never grown cold, our hearts never feel old, And high upward we look to our wedding of gold. Oh, bright silver wedding day. Bright silver wedding day ? A LAMENT FOR " PUGGIE." Oh ! wae the day, oh ! wae the day, Oor hearts are sair, what shall we dae ? Grim death has come and ta'en away, Oor wee bit Puggie. Och hon oree ! we loved it sae As ony duggie. It's wee bit queer auld-fashioned face. Looked aye sae grave, wi' nae grimace ; It's glowerin' een bespoke a race O' folk uncannie ; An' dressed in mutch trimmed roond wi' lace, Looked like a grannie. We miss it, morning, noon an' nicht, It was tae us a spot sae bricht, Owre a' the hoose it shed a licht O' happy care. An' though some said it "was a fricht," We'll miss it sair. 63 Puir " Cheetie " " Pudgin," noo ye'rc gacn An' left as a' tae greet alane ; Tae bring ye back, we a' wud fain Cry lood an' lang ; Oor hearts fell tae ye like ane's ain, Be't richt or wrang. It ran aboot oor briest, oor heid, An' frae oor very mooth wud feed, An' loup and rin wi' meikle speed, Frae ane tae ither Amaist as if it felt indeed, A freend an' brither. Nae kettle noo on fire is set, Xae mair will bottle noo be het Tae warm its bed, for oor wee pet Is past a' care ; Nor grapes at supper when we're met Fa' tae its share. Noo stiff an' cauld, nae mair yell dim' Roond a' the wa's wi' soople lim', Nor spring on chairs wi' body slim. Oh ! pet o' Pugs. Wha pu'd it's tail, 'twud gang at him An' try his lugs. For this wee thing we've much tae thank It cheered us a', it filled a blank. An' 'mong our frecn's it took its rank An' held it tae ; An' yet, wi' a' oor care, it sank An' pass'd away. It shairly had a kind o' sowl ? It ne'er was heard to girn, or growl. Nor screech, or roar, or moan, or howl, Like ither beasts ; Some day, it may sit, cheek by jowl Wi' kings, or priests. 64 TO A BRITMER, On his e?iterijig his i^th year. Great chieftain o' the race, Time gallops on wi' you apace, \'et leaves few wrinkles on your face ; Ye wear richt weel ; Abune us a' ye lead the chase, Still brae can speel. Upricht, an' straicht, ye look fu' gaucy. Can keep the cantel o" the causey \ If noo and then a wee bit saucy Ye ca' your gir, Ye've aye a smile for lad or lassie, Wi' muckle bir. Tho' auld in years, ye're young in heart. Ye play fu' weel a manly pairt ; May ye escape death's reckless dairt For mony a year. An' meet ill win's frae ony airt AVithoot much fear. "What mak's ye look sae trig an' braw ? Is't parritch, haggis, usquebaugh? Or cheerfu' heart tae ane an' a' Gars ye look sproose, An' haud yer ain 'mong big or sma', Heid o' oor hoose? Lang may ye yet be spared tae cheer The freen's tae wha ye've aye been dear, An' ne'er want routh o' them or gear, Syne may ye sing A\'i' joy to find anither year Sic blessin's bring. 65 Nae doot that thochts, kin tae auld age Maun aften flit ower memory's page, An' mak ye think the closin' stage Comes awfu' fast. Aweel, ye ken, nae truth mair sage, — " Look tae the last:' K _— L\jrrF-'V'-^==tg-^ i-J^±i-.^..:=^ 69 SONNETS, ^Mysterious monitors with voice divine, From morn to eve in airy path you speak, In low and gentle tone our love you seek, And in your glowing hues our hearts entwine. In murmurs soft we hear cloud answer cloud, A " still small voice " seems whisp'ring from on high, As fleecy wreaths, like angels, light the sky, Who yet, with tongues of fire, oft thunder loud. Yon silv'ry palace in the sea of heaven, A chain of mountains tinged with lurid glow, A castled fortress, white as driven snow ; Such forms of beauty, must, for good be given. Clouds help to guide us, could we read tliem right. To heavenly lands of brighter, purer light. 7° TO BEN-MUICH-DHUI, BRAEMAR. Age ne'er can conquer thee, Nature's great king : Thou reign'st supreme, and through the countless years, Higli, high to heaven thy head majestic rears, To thee, cloud, moon, and sun their homage bring. Tho' storms and darkness ofttimes cloud thy brow, Light, fleecy, fairy forms hang on thy breast. And there the virgin snow doth ever rest. Lovely as when she fell, so sleeps she now. Here, at thy foot, thou monarch of the North, I fain would kneel, and worship day by day, And feel thy greatness steal my heart away, And know the joy thy presence calleth forth ; Oh, had I eagle's wing or speed of deer, Thy might and beauty oft would draw me near. THE NATURAL AND SPIRLI UAL LLESSINGS OF SPRING. Bv day and night, the power of God ne'er stops, So with the Spring ; the dead and barren earth Bursts into new-born life, a heavenly birth, Thus icy fears give way to warmer hopes. Li crowded cities, and in busy towns, Myriads of souls lie wintered up, cold, dead ; Of heaven no gleam of hope, of hell no dread. Careless alike, of God's love or His frowns. Can dry bones live, that in earth's sin have lain ? Yes ! rings the answer out, men, strong in faith, Believing what the eternal Lord God saith, Have wrestled, worked, and prayed, and ne'er in vain, Souls, hardened, dead, deaf, dumb, and lame and blind, Feel " born again," redeemed, renewed in mind. 71 THE TRENT, IN THE GREAT FLOOD, 1S75 Is this the cahn and quietly flowing T See how it rushes on ! how fierce and How mad with passion, late, so calm and mild. But now with roar and crash, on ruin bent. How wild and harsh thy angry waters sound ; The startled village through the fearful night, Cry loud for help, and brave hearts nobly fight The rising stern flood that sweeps around. A common enemy is at the door — The old are pale, the little children weep, While surging waters rouse them from their sleep — But raft and boat is manned tho' waters roar ; Heroes spring up where none were thought to be, And even from dread ills, much good we see. rent ? wild. AUTUMNAL GLOAMING BY THE TRENT What mystery is here ! on bank and stream ; A weird-like light hangs o'er each half-clad tree Shadowing lovely forms, and eyes can see Light fairy shapes as visions in a dream, 'i'lie noiseless river, with a pale, cold light, Unceasing si)eeds along, and in true rhyme It gently whispers, — so flows fleeting time. 72 Man, choose thy i)alh, decide now, dark? or bright Light clouds on high, Uke spirits, seem to gHde, Above, around, all nature is at rest. The fading light still lingers in the west Like lingering beauty, loath her charms to hide ; O'er meadow, field, and hedge, and distant town. The rising moon, the gloaming glories crown. A WINTER AFTERNOON ON THE BANKS OF THE TRENT. Deserted are thy banks, yet on thy stream A hundred beauties on thy bosom play. Disclosing charms to wile departing day Before it tades away like heavenly dream. Here, on thy surface, floats a lurid light ; There, gold and opal tints, now, sapphire blue, Now, pale roseate, now, cold and silver hue. Blend lovingly to join the day with night. Fair Trent, what though unseen thy winter charms, And men cling to the gay and flaunting town, All reckless of thy smile, nor heed thy frown. Though thou dost woo them with thy loving arms. Frost's sparkling gems glistens each stately tree, That stretch their jewel'd, longing arms to thee. A MAY DAY ON THE BANKS OF THE TRENT. Like stream of silver, now thy waters flow, The pure May air doth fan thy limpid breast. Here, stays its course, so sweet a place to rest. And river, air and sun, with life doth glow. Thy winding banks, now clothed in freshest green. Display their varied charms in sun and shade. As gems of beauty, by Divine hand made, To deck thy sides, as meet, for such a queen. 73 And from thy mirror'd Iieait some fairy wand, Shews sweetly back, blue sky, tree, flower and blade. Now, dressed in gold, with heads towards thee bent Thy attendant Meadows greet their own dear Trent. T O MAY. Hail ! our heart's goddess, brightest and fairest, How have we longed to see again thy charms ; Our first loved maid, we clasp thee to our arms And proffer thee the love no other sharest. Here, in our heart of hearts, thou reignest queen ; Thy virgin beauty doth to us enfold A mine of wealth more precious far than gold, Too much for mortals, wer't thou always seen. Death, that grim lord of all, cannot hold thee. For, from his iron grasp, thou com'st to speak Joy to the young and old, hope to the weak. Scattering beauty lavishly and free. Where'er thou tread, flowers spring on every side — We greet thee, heart and soul, a heavenly bride, L 74 A CHRISTMAS SONNET TO 0N1<: FROM HOME. Oh, Christmas ! sacred time ; now friends draw near, And gather round the hearth, that dear old spot, Where i)ast years' jars and cares are all forgot ; When loved ones — long from home — are doubly dear. Though far away from " kin," my daughter mine, Here, in our heart of hearts, thou ever art ; Though rolling seas divide us wide apart We feel our spirit mingling close with thine : Here, as the song and tale pass blithely round, Thy form, thy voice, is present aye to me. Whether in solemn thought.s, or mirth and glee, Making our fireside shine like hallow'd ground. Good angels seem to bring us face to face, Ah, then ! we feel our souls and hearts embrace. AN OLD SOLUTION TO THE QUESTION OF THE DAY— OCTOBER 1876. In ancient time, along the Eastern coast, A storm arose, and bold hearts quaked with fear ; A dreadful hour ; was there no pitying ear To hear, and save that ship, where hope seemed lost ? Where ! and to whom, should fly the helpless crew ? With wild despairing cry, to one they go. One, ever ready to the cry of woe ; He, who alone could winds and waves subdue. Oh ! that men now, that same Christ would implore To quell the passions of an armed throng. And still the tempest that may burst ere long. Flooding in blood one half the world o'er. Would that men tried Christ's precepts to fulfil, And say to angry passions, " Peace be still." 75 TO A DAUGHTER COMING OF AGE. Thrice seven years the Spring has come and gone, Since first thy voice fell strangely on mine ear, And brightened up my heart like oi)'ning year. Which in that season sings with cheering tone. Thy childish prattle I can ne'er forget ; Thy sunny laugh aud all thy winning ways Made long nights short, and lengthen'd short'ning days ; Such heart-felt joys, I see, and feel them yet. Returning Springs brought gladness to my heart, Thy budding youth kept true to my desire. To see thy mind expand, thy thoughts soar higher, And in thy duties play full well thy part. As child is ever mother to the woman. Thy heart must aye be true and always human. TO F S ON HER BIRTHDAY. November born flowers, ne'er lose their charm. They steal our hearts, they i)lease our longing eyes, And fill us with desire for such a prize To wear close to our hearts and guard from harm. Fair Florence, thou hast seen thy joyous Spring Pass hopeful on, and rarely known a care ; Thy Summer opens bright, and sweetly fair. And friends, to thee, their varied homage bring. On verge of womanhood, may thy young heart Be guided to the good, the true, the brave. And shun the false, the heartless and the knave ; True to thyself, through life, play well thy part, Then will thy Autumn, golden fruits disclose, And Winter, crown thy days with calm repose. 76 PRINCESS ALICE. Noj'.LK l)y l)irth, by deeds made nobler still ; Brightest of England's daughters gone to rest ; Well may that nation weep whom she hath blest, Whilst millions think, who, who her place may fill ? A ministering angel here below ; No sacrifice too great for her large heart She played so well a daughter's, mother's part. And soothed with welling love all pain and woe. For others' good she lived, for others died ; A Christ-like spirit, with a home on high, The too sad loss is ours, her gain, to die. To know of great and good ones sorely tried. Here, verily, the mighty (Jod doth show He no respecter is, of high or low. ON THE DEATH OF A LEAL-HEARTED MINISTER. Gone to his rest, at the noon time of life. His spirit has fled with startling mystery ; In peaceful flight, at dawn of life's history, A sudden release from duty and strife. His was no cold heart, not idle his zeal, Divinely human, his whole nature glowed With love for all that's mortal, his soul flowed, With ardent passion for their future weal. Preaching for Christ, his honest, earnest boast, And from the depths of an unselfish heart, He poured a life stream out with simple art. Ah ! little knew his hearers, at what cost. T,ife power given out, no wonder "sleepless night,' His soul took wing, in calm tho' early flight. 77 IN MEMORIAM. Jessie Hepburn, Died nth June 1878. " For her to live was Christ, to die was gain." A MINISTERING spirit whilst on earth ; No wonder angels compassed thee around, For rarely such a soul was to be found. Who brightened many homes, cheered many hearts. Thy thoughts each day were aye for others' weal ; Thy winning smile, thy looks, thy gentle voice. Made each at ease, made every heart rejoice. No one came near thee but went bless'd away ; No sacriiice too great for thy kind heart. Tasks never shirked, and duties bravely done. Who in life's drama played so good a part. Well earned the prize for race so nobly run. Not dead, not dead, thy spirit near us roams, And lightens with its love a hundred homes. 'A Founder of the "-Ari Instiiuie" Stirling. Died 1S75. A WORSHIPPER of Nature, at her altar His head was constant bent, round which he trod. To seek the path that led to Nature's God, And from that way, his faith did never falter. He tried to find perfection in frail man, 'J'hc same as that, he saw in Nature's book, 78 And with a keen and deep inquiring look, Didst, o'er and o'er, his fellow mortal scan. He only found what the " old book " dost say, Man's nature is imperfect here, on earth. Perfection comes alone from spiritual birth. P'or that^ through Christ, in God, mu.st all men pray. From erring man, too much he did expect. But found it not, in Chapel, Church, or Sect. "WHOM THE GODS LOVE DIE YOUNG." On the bright threshold of young manhood's life Death's portal opened to a welcome spirit, One to whom the gods gave to inherit Talents, with power and strength for mental strife. O that from his new sphere light might be given. And longings answered for the loved one gone, To calm fond hearts, now heavy, sad, and lone, And whisper to our souls, " You'll meet in heaven.' As our faith's strength, so shall our true reward Be reaped ; so is it writ ; God give us faith ; Support and comfort comes from what He saith, And from despairing thoughts may He us guard. From darkest cloud light flashes on the eye. From death's dark grave springs immortality. IN MEMORIAM. The Rkv. James Matheson. Farewell ! no, not farewell, thy spirit lives. Around us still, and sheds a guiding light, And gently leads us in its loving might, Where all is pure and true, and comfort gives. Thy Lord's vineyard, a broad widening space ; From it, no one to thee in vain did call ; Thou laboured'st daily for the good of all, And clasped all mankind in thy wide embrace. 79 All God-created things spoke to thy mind — A blade of grass, a flower, plant, or tree, Hill, dale, and river ministered to thee ; Birds, clouds, and stars, in all thou speech didst find. Thou hast fulfilled thy task, thy work is o'er : Both rich and poor alike will miss thee sore. ON THE DEATH OF K H- RiPENED for harvest, ripened for reaping. The grave claimed her body, and heaven her soul. As calmly she passed to her wished-for goal. Bringing morning of joy, for long nights weeping. How calm and peaceful was her gentle life. Example, more than precept, was her plan, Her sisters' failings she did gently scan, No w^ords from her caused either pain or strife. For young or old, she had a loving heart, And in a quiet, kind, unnoticed way. Cheered stricken, suffering lives, through life's dark da)-, And lovingly she played a mother's part. Her quiet life fulfilled its destined lot, And left behind, a mark, not soon forgot. THE SCOTS GREYS. Nottingham hails with high and loud acclaim. The " Brave Scots Greys," whose fame in olden story. Has been so bravely bought with well won glory. And earned on battle-fields a deathless name. No brighter scroll in Scottish army seen. Than in thy trophies gained in deadly fight, And bleeding to defend our country's right, On foreign soil thy laurels oft did glean. Thy standard waved on high where danger la)'. 8o "Those terrible (Irey Horse," Napoleon cried, As on the plains of Waterloo, he sighed. To see them change the fortune of the day. On fields of Spain, on Crimean valleys low, 'Midst shot and shell, eac;h deadly charge was made And no man ever feared a foeman's blade, Nor turned his back however fierce the foe. Thy deeds speak loud of glory and renown. We give you welcome to our ancient town. ROBERT BURNS. As moss, around a tree of well-known fame, Strengthens itself as year by year returns, So grows our love around our Robert Burns, As time still adds more lustre to his name. His heart, so widely human, felt for all ; He yearned with love to man, and bird and beast. And Nature's works, the greatest and the least — Seas, clouds, and winds responded to his call. His own immortal words attest his worth — What rapturous joys his thrilling lines impart In strains of song from an impassioned heart. Ah ! well may Scotland boast of such a birth. His sfenius and his virtues sound abroad — • His weakness, sins, and faults leave to his God. IN M E M O R I A M. Lord Shaftesbury. Thank God who sent us Shaftesbury ! gift divine To all o'erburdened, weary outcast ones. Poor ragged mortals who the world shuns. To raise the fallen waifs, such charge was thine. The " gutter " children were his special thought ; " Neglected arabs " looked for help to him, Never in vain. They whose cup to brim Was full of dreary toil to hope were brought. 8i His greatest aim — ever with sin to cope — He found his mission in each lane and court, In slum and alley — where'er poor resort : He in such stratum worked away in hope. The " poor man's friend " befits his cherished name No nobler claim for memory and fame. "THEY LEARN IN SUFFERING, WHAT THEY TEACH IN SONG." Ye everlasting hills, ye clouds and sea. That give a blissful dowry for thy love, Thy gifts are true and pure, as stars above. No unreal flatt'ring hopes thou gavest me. But who can tell, or even guage the pain, One human heart can to another give For weal or woe whilst in this world we live ? E'en should the wound be healed, the scars remain. Let me lie on thy breast, oh dear loved hill. When you entice me, you are what you seem. And pass not from me like some idle dream ; Let me but rest on thee, I'll fear no ill. Nature, is truth, returns my fond embrace ; And as I woo her with my heart of hearts, She never from my loving soul departs. And I can, trusting, woo her truthful face. Ah me ! and must I suffer for truth's sake, Yes, yes, I must, tho' this poor heart should break. M 85 SONGS, -^^^^■'^':»v.\v*^-.,;:;i;^ij^ '^'^''tp"^^'=^ THE KEEPER'S DOCHTER. " J5ut me and my Irue love we'll never meet again On the bonnie bonnie banks o' Loch Lomond." Old SiOttish Ballad. I'l" was on a day i' the Autumn o' the year, When a' looked rich an' rarely, But oh my heart was sad an' wae, Tho' the loch shone oot sae fairh". 86 I turned my ccn across tae bonnie Luss, A\'haur Colin was tae come frae, An' far on the water I saw his wee boat, An' Coh'n, noo, a sodger laddie. Mak' haste, mak' haste, thou bonnie bonnie boat, An' bring me my ain only dearie. An' oh, sun stand still, that oor fareweel tryst May last till we are wearie. Oor Queen wants a' her brave hielan' men Tae support the countrie's cause. An' Colin's leal heart made him join his ain clan, An' fecht for his Queen an' her laws. Noo, he has landed on the siller sandy shore. An' clasped his Maggie in his arms. An' by the rowan tree an' up the heath'ry brae. Oh pairting, has deep charms. He hadna been awa', jist only for a year. When the news — oh ! cruel blow — Told hoo Colin bravely fell, like a hielan' man, in front. Wi' his face towards the foe. " An' me an' my true love we'll never meet again On the bonnie bonnie banks o' Loch Lomond." THE WORKING MAN. Air — "The Ivv Gkeen." Oh, a right brave man is the working man. Who scorns every idle way. And with steady aim, does all that he can To cheer up each toiling day. Let wages be high, or wages be low, He ne'er will outrun his score. He lives not "too fast" and neither "too slow," And aye has a little in store. Hating and shunning the pauper's plan Like a true brave soul, in a working man. 87 When winter comes round with frost and snow — And " short work " with " shorter days " And misfortune, or iUness should bring him low Oh ! his "savings" his spirits raise, No dependant is he for beggarly gift, To whine and to groan and to mope ; And he meets all his cares, for his past steady thrift Makes the future all bright with hope. Hating and shunning the pauper's plan Like a true brave soul, in a working man. No cringing at Church or Chapel he shows, No fawning on Deacon or Priest, When to worship he goes, 'tis not for old clothes, " Soup ticket," or " blanket," or feast, No beggar is he for " Medical aid," From Hospital " Out-door " or " In," For his weekly pence to his " Club " he has paid Independence and manhood to win. Hating and shunning the paupers plan Like a true brave soul, in a working man. THE STRONG PAUPER. Air— "The Ivv (!i;erx." Oh, a lazy chap is the pauper bold. Who feeds upon all he can, — In bright summer heat— or dark winter cold He ever, is on the same plan ; He dodges the beaks and overseers too, And skulketh from morn to night, And will, if he can, his own pals " do," For he's shabby, and won't do right. Sneaking there and everywhere. As none but a lazy pauper dare. Oh, a sordid chap is the pauper strong, And a selfish heart has he. Whining and cringing all day long, And full of liypocrisy. 88 There he iiaujicrs in rags, and jxaupcrs dressed fine Who fatten on otlier men's brains ; No matter who suffers, not his to repine, As he squanders his ill-gotten gains. Sneaking there and everywhere, As none but a lazy pauj^er dare. For Bishop or Pope, if you give him a groat, He'd swear right or left, black or white. All things to all men, with a lie in his throat. Like a coward who shirks life's fight. He grubs through life, a heartless tramp. In a slimy and crawling state, An idle and unproductive scamp. Deserving a pauper's fate. Sneaking there and everywhere, As none but a lazy pauper dare. THE SONG OF THE MINER. Down, deep down in our " Mother Earth," The miner he bravely toils. And from her rich and teeming grave. He gathers her treasur'd spoils, Tho' no sun cheer his daily task In darkness black as night, Tho' bird, nor tree, or flower, or stream, Is there to gladden his sight. Chorus. Yet a miner's life's a right brave life With all its hopes and fears, Digging a hundred fathoms down, The work of a million years. 89 Deeper, and wider, still he digs, Winter and summer day long ; The click, click of his handy axe Keeps time with his cheery song. When work is done, he greets the light. He sees, and he feels new life. Singing with glee, he wends his way To his cosy home and wife. Oh ! a miner's life, S:c. Then shout hurrah ! for the miner bold. Who sends to each fireside Treasures that warm both rich and poor ; Oh ! a miner's a nation's pride. In burning his stores we laugh at space, As we master the wind and sea, Make forges roar, and furnace glow ; Oh ! a miners the man for me. Chorus — Oh ! a miner's life,