.G ^-^..^ii^i^'kMMtMifete&i N ?rih. Ji<^ ^^hs^ /tK l^A^ ^^j^ O « • • • o. » • a o I » • • • t • t I • » * • • • • • ♦ ••• • . • * . • . . • • • • • < H E A R T B R E A T H I N C; S OR S(nM;S OF TWENTY YEAIIS BY cTILEXJIJJDER. ^'LJIREJ^, ^-f-*-*- In iii;iny a fliiiio. in many a stately ton<^uc. Thp mighty bards hnve sunj;; I'o these the immemorial thrones belong And purple robes of song ; Yet the slight minstrel loves the slender tone His lips may call his own, And finds the measure of the verse more sweet Timed by his pulse's beat, 'J'lian all the hymnings of the laurelled throng. O. W. TTor.MKS GLASGOW A. M'LAREN, ] .'? Nelson Street, (City). ^I A. M'LaKEN. PlUNTEU &i\. I^ ^y" (t 1:5 Xelson Street, (City). f) ' y^ I «■ CONTENTS PliEFACK, A Wandering Poet, "All That is Left of Thee," ... Impromptu, The Ither Lan', Hymn of Triumph, '"Way Fa' Away," "Gone to School," In Common Ground, Sonnet, The Covetous Minister, Craigie Hill, Epistle to James Nicholson, Epistle to William Wallace, The Children's Holiday, A Birthday Greeting, LAYS OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION The Last Days of Louis the Sixteenth, The Fall of the Girondists- Part 1, Part 2.— The Trial, Part 3— The Last Night Part 4. — The Execution, The Siege of Lyons, PAGE () 9 11 12 13 16 18 20 22 24 25 35 39 41 45 47 49 54 57 GO 64 CG 4862G2 A HIIOTHEK'.S REVENGE, OR Good foi; h]viL, Introductory Note, 7G A Brother's Revenge, 77 My Boy, 1 2 1 "A Rainin' Street," ... l-_'4 Go Sweet Flower, 127 A Birthday Wish, 12S "Some Day, Soon," 12!> Through the "Valley," 131 My Darling's Grave, 135 Side by Side, ... 13S Law for Rich an' Poor, 140 Sonie Day, 141 Tn God's Keeping, 142 i^ Robert Burxs, 145 Cynical Verses, 147 Scotland, 149 "Baby Helen," 150 Anither Bairn, 153 Crossed the Bourne, 155 I'm a Stranger Now, . 157 "Twenty Years after This," . 159 The Weaver's Flight, 160 Within the Gates, 169 A Poet's Reward, . 172 Friendship, 174 Hymn, (An Invocation), 175 In A\)sence, 17G HyiiiH, 177 Hyi"", 17.S Our FatJier's Will 171) For Jesus' Sake, ISO Scotland's Hills of Gloiy, ]Si> The Old Love, 18.-} "One is Not," 18.5 "When the Shadows flee Away," 18G A Song of Progress, 187 Calvary, ... 189 "In My Father's House," 191 "Across the Way,'" 1 9:' Our Only Plea, . 19;, At Forty Years 197 6 PR E FA C E. Like the "Chorus" in the old Dramas, it seem-; incumbent on Authors to say something to their readers, whether few or many — especially, when the little Argosies laden with their much prized, hrst-fruits are sent out on the waters ; seldom to find a haven of Promise ; oftener to drift beyond re-call — to a shoi-e, where perpetual dark- ness broods ; to which nq Compass ever points, and no mariner willingly visits. I need not repeat the story so often told, and as often unheeded — of the high hopes such an undertaking as this calls forth ; nor weary you by enumerating the drawbacks of those vvho have no leisure to cultivate what gifts they may be endowed with ; neither do I mean to apologise for the lack of even the rudiments of education, which is the average lot of those whom necessity compels to toil from earliest years, at the rougher occupations of life. While I could do so, I do not think it becomes authors to crave indulgence, as mendicants whine for charity, while exposing their intirmities to view. The- production of the pieces which till this volume range over a period of more than twenty years ; many pages might have been added, but for a iirst efibrt, this doubtless bulks large enough. They are not inserted in the order they were written, nor has any attempt at class- ification of subjects been made. Tlu; most of them are in print for the fii'st time; In fact, beyond the circle of fi few friends, I am entirely unknown as a writer of verse, yet I come not before the public without some words of encouragement and of cheer from quarters, in which the influence of friendship is an unknown quantity. There are Ciitics who carry sharp edged tools, and there are those of them who know how to use them. To the legitimate use of those weapons there can be no objec- tions raised ; and while I will try to benefit by any well pointed lesson, I will not be deterred from indulging my fancies in the future by adverse opinions. Many typographical erroi's which escaped the proof- reading stage have since been discovered, and consideiing that this service was rendered by inexperience, and as a labour of love; also, that this is the first, and in all likeli- hood will be the last book undertaken by a very limited printing establishment ; to such mistakes I trust you will "Be a little blind." While I have aimed at being clear and concise, T may have failed sometimes to convey to the reader what I intended. It has been my experience in shaping ideas in words, that the original thought which sought embodiment, has almost wholly eluded my grasp, and in such circumstances I was oljliged to rest content with having accomplished something quite difierent from what T contemplated at first. I trust, with all its faults, its main purpose will be at least generally acknowledged as thirsting, however ineffectually after higher things. My Muse may be too 8 (ie;ivi[y eu-Uiuberorl to sustain itself in its projected flights ; too uimli rrainped, crippled, or fettered between Wfills of prejudice to reach Independence point ; to see tlie real nakedness of the world, runiihate on the ev'ils which alflict it, and to suu-,i>est a cure. What 1 could picture is now b '["ore you, wliat the future has in store, you will bv your reception of this, partly determine. In theS3 outp'iurinii^s of youtli and of niaturer years, I feel that verv nuK-h of my own personality stands in relief before vou. whether the motives that nnned me stirs also in you, remains yet to l>e seen. Stunted perhaps, and meagre as this Sheaf is ; with all its unripe thought, and fervid utterances ; with all its blemishes, T send it forth to those of the public who care to have it — that wliicli has long been a ])rivate possession is now a public one ; what was mine, has become yours ; if it contains anything wortli prizing, you will preserve it; if you deem it an indisci'etion and a folly, you may lay it aside. In the words of a great living writer, I will only add — • Go little liook. \vho-;o p;ij Distance forbids, and other ties demand Our presence near them ; But now, how sweet a joy to life it lends, With such fair flowers to greet our absent friends, In hope to cheer them. 13 THE I THEE LAN'. A Lilt to the Bairns. O ask me nae niair the noo bairns ! Whaur ooi* wee darlin's gane; For I canna toll ye true, bairns, An' guessin' gi'es me pain ! They say there's ither lan's abune That roof o' cloudy sky, Wi' clearer licht tlian Sun or Muiie, An' a' tlie stars forbye. An' some say, in that ither Ian', Are braid, braid streets o' gold, An' mansions built wi' pearl sae gran', Oor ransomed kin to hold. To sail on glitterin' crystal seas- To bathe in amber streams ; The votaries o' wealth may please, As answerin' a' their dreams. 1 4 To sit wi' saints in coontless tlirangs— To sing aye a'e refrain; Wad mak' some yearn to hear the sangs They heard on earth again. That wadna l^e to us a hame, As heaven maun be to a' ; A tower o' strength we seek an' claim. That winna fade awa'. That change nae doubt is unco great, To life without a sorrow ; A'e day, in rags or regal state — In ether robes the morrow. What we may hear, what we may see When we gang far'er ben, Is wisely hid frae you or me ; We guess, but canna ken. Yet, judging by the gifts we ha'e Close bounded by the human ; We would be in that after day, Mair perfect man or woman. We feel our weaknesses a' roun', Our best resolves aye failin' : Syne, freed o' that which hauds us doon. Far hichts we'll a' be scalin'. 1 5 E'en then I canna see an end. Aye far'er maun we travel ; Transfigur't mair as we ascend, An' lea behin' the evil. The boun'lessness o' God's domain Lies a' spread cot before us ; Up hill, ower plain, again ! again, Like aft repeated chorus. Eternity's sae deep a sea, "We ne'er can hope to sound it ; Sae, helpless, Lord, we cry to Thee } To shed mair glory round it! Our wants Thou hast provided here, Mair than our richtfu' claim ; An' if its ill-divided cheer, Wi' us lies a' the blame! As iii the past, in future Lord ! Where'er we bide or move, Supply shall wi' our wants accord, An' dootin' hearts reprove ! Sae, wait we till some brighter dawu Reveals that ither shore ; Wi' burns, an' flowers, an' grassy lawn, Mair hame-like loved the more. re We'll ask for nae extror'nar prize, Or favours ower the rest ; 13elievin' Grod is- just an' wise. An' kens to portion best. However weel we try to serve, ' Our best fa's far behin' ; An' were we dealt as we deserve, Few, few wad e'er get in. II Y M N O F T U I U M P H §oV^.^^ While pacing daily round life's rampart wall, In various tones we hear Thy trumpet call ; We hear Thy guards pass on the countersign — 'Our Lord shall triumph all along the line !' The strongholds of Self-love are mighty ! yet, Let not Thy legions weary, Lord ! nor fret, Lead Thou the charge ! let not our zeal decline, Till shouts of triumph burst along the line! 1 7 Tliine arm is sti'ong ! our armour shall not fail ; Tliy strong shields cover hearts that never quail : Though mightier hosts opposed Thy work divine, It yet shall triumph all along the line. Marcli on ! though suffering from the fight of years, Though far beyond, the crowning goal appears ; If comrades fall, new forces shall combine And work for vict'ry all along the line ! Be not despondent for our Father's cause ! Faint not, though now denied the world's applause ; Its place and power — its riches — all resign. And God shall triumph all along the line ! This night shall wane, that gloi'ious morn shall come, When conquering Truth shall strike the scoffer dumb ; Thy light, O Lord ! through endless day shall shine. When Love has triumphed all along the line ! 18 "'WAY FA' away; I know a wee man who is far away, "Fa' fa' away," And, I know they teaze him to hear him say '"Way fa' away." And, I wonder whether he tries to pray, "T'ies to p'ay"— While the wayward will is so far away — "^Way fa' away". "Fa' away," lisps the tongue of that baby boy Like sweet refrain — Singing out from a pure and simple joy, Age seeks in vain. And, he writes long letters from day to day, With eyes aglow; Tliough, what he ever contrives to say, We never know. 1 9 All over the paper he speedily skips, Demure as a sage; Then moistens his pencil between his lips, For another page. But the secrets he writes, like the mystic spells He sees in dreams; May flood his manhood in wave-like swells ; Or piercing gleams. So, the letters he writes from far away, With love to all, Are strange as those words on that distant day. On th' eastern wall. True, thei'e is no prophet, no sage-like seer, To read them here ; E'en the author himself, — the little dear — Could'nt make them clear. Still, he must say something, when far away; Some word of cheer — A missive to all who own his sway — His subjects dear. And we must interpret as best we can, This wee boy's say — Help him to grow to the perfect man, To walk God's way. 20 GONE TO SCHOOL." CTwin Children.) Gone to School ! with bright and beaming faces, Glad, in the sunshine of an April day ; Too young to know that in life's measured paces, There's more of work than play. Too young to trace a cause for sin or sorrow ; Too young to see when guile is in the way — That tears may dim their bloom, before the morrow Brings back her golden ray. Too young to feel the want of bookish learning ; They fly along with light and prancing tread, To get equipped in coming years, for earning The needful daily bread. Gone to school ! o'er cranky letters bending Those wills that ruled us with despotic sway ; Perchance too soon, to larger questions lending The young minds widening play. It seems like yesterday, their hands were twining Among our hair, and probing ears and eyes ; The memory's fresh, of baby fingers mining — Evolving starry skies. 21 So short it seems, and soon the cliubby fingers Which hitherto have played with lead and line, May cramp o'er themes on which the memory lingers, As puzzling to define. With throbbing hearts we watched our nestlings leaving To learn from strangers how to read and spell ; First steps — though lowly — worthy of achieving, And therefore doing well. Gone to school ! it may be to temptation — To sink in, or, to triumph over sin ; Which shall be potent ? vexing dissipation ? Or, "still small voice within" ? Fond parent hearts may understand our pleasui'es ; Our watch for progress, with sincerest prayer: Or, grieve like us, if evil traps such treasures. And strips the saplings bare. Gone to school together, sweet beginning ! May life's late windings lind them side by side ; May goodness follow knowledge in the winning, With Grace divine for guide. May Life as well as Art show lines of beauty. And, Love prevail whatever comes between ; Thus, though the surface may get soiled on duty, The hearts shall still be clean. 22 IN COMMON GROUND Oh ! bury no more in the Common ground , Wliere the winds blow freely o'er them ; Wild waving grass on the mound above, And a flowerless bank before them. O'er those silent heaps there is no carved scroll, With a thought from those that love them : Unsung, they rest 'neath the crust of earth, Which dries and cracks above them. The sinless babe, in its sombre box, From a lair of drink and squalor ; Fills up a chink in the gruesome pile. By the side of a midnight brawler. The orphan girl, and the homeless youth, Who wandered hither and thither ; Are mixed with the bloated fiends of vice — Huddled, and cramuied together. ^o^ The aged, borne from their dreary homes, Through their lowly life respected; Are buried in separate trenches there, With those whom the slums rejected. 53 Why should our kindred, the helpless pool' , Have all their wants so derided ? Be condemned to live in their foulsome dens, And in death be so divided 1 Too poor to purchase a length of earth. And spurned if they chanced to crave it ; Oh ! the horror of being crushed in there, Must pain even God who gave it. Yet, men make rich by the sale of graves ! And our rulers share, or condone it ; But, the fiat goes forth from a righteous Judge, That, the doers of wrong shall atone it ! There are boundless tracks by the sounding sea, There are miles on miles beside us, AVhich we dare not till, yea, dare not tiead ; That, in single file, could hide us. Not built up in piles so broad and high ; But with sweet brown earth between us : A place, which a friend with pride might view, With sweet flowers and trees to screen us. How long shall such festering pits of death ? Stand open shamefully, giving Off stenches, in vapours that float on the air, To poison the lungs of the living ? 24 (Jh ! bury no more in the Common ground ! A waste behind and before them — Dress every mound like a fairy bower, That the birds may warble o'er them. SONNET. 0)1 laying a Birthday Offering on a Child's Grave. (Two Years after Death.) Flowers, pretty pet ! I brought these flowers for you ! Fresh from the bosom of fair mother-earth ; Tell me, how many kisses are they worth ? One for each rain-drop, like bright beads of dew — One for each cup that holds the little drink — One for each stalk that bears each tiny cup — One for each parent stem their life runs up ! No answer yet, do tell me what you think ? Still motionless — must I the boon command ? Has father's darling no carresses now ? No kisses, sweet, for lip, or cheek, or brow, And, must these fall quite thankless from my hand ? Not thankless, no ! too miich from you I crave ! E lay my offering on a silent grave. 25 THE COVETOUS MINISTER,* A TKUE STORY. "Thou shalt not covet" — so the Scriptures say — "What is thy neighbour's"; then details are stated, His ox, his ass, in short — whatever may Be reckoned his belongings, e'en his wife — if aiated- This sounds of the Commandments pure ; but stay ! Had Ladies then no claim but to be rated As goods or chattels which they kept in store ? And valued with the stock just named before. Had woman no proprietary right. As wife, as mother, or, as Hebrew maiden 1 As prophetess, as victor from the light. Returning warrior-like with spoils o.erladen ? If not, it was a sad, a grevious slight ; A mean revenge for the affair of Eden— When Moses lived, the said event w as recent. Which may account for treatment scarcely decent. * A version of this Story, adapted for a prose Reading, appeared in the Peoples Friend, in the Spring of 1888. This was written Thirteen Years earlier, and— though not in print— was read publicly years ago. A. M'L. 2 6 Hut, one may go beyond the mark, even here ; The pronoun Ae, or his may be inclusive ; Though at first glance it seems so very queer, And might — quite justly too — be termed delusive. By men who prize their wives, yea, so revere Them, as to blame the slightest tone abusive — We love so much our mothers of the earth, We deem an Eve-less Eden little worth. Man's covetous inclinings come of greed, And grasping dispositions are too common ; Crushing aspiring thought and noble deed , Purging the God-like out of man or woman : Yet, one law broken, breaks not all the Creed, That would make G-od a little less than human — ■ Still it is gospel, given in days of yore, And I am sure you've heard it preached before. Kind hearts may doubt this, very few will dare To say they do so if their pastors hear them; Dread is the vengeance strict divines declai'e Against all doubters, causing such to fear them. Strong men have more than trembled, so, beware ! 'Twas frightful e'en in thought for fiends to tear tliem; If ease is sought keep close the doubting heart. Which bared to liaughty man is sure to smart. 27 Against this truth the ranters may declaim, Yet, I propound no antiquated notion ; Though seeming different, men are much the same As wlien the flaming faggots caused commotion , Hei-etic is not yet an empty name ; Still, persecution follows blind devotion — Only the instruments with times are changed, And hearts that fain would cleave to God estranged. Wherever I can trace the life of man. The open soul has always been the loser ; I state this fact regardless who may scan These lines, pronouncing this or that a poser ; But having roved too far since I began, I must draw near my theme, and hug it closer — Divergences will happen at a time. So say at least the devotees of ryhme. Some time ago there lived a man, whose name Tradition does not tell, but his vocation Was that which wins for its true servants, fame More glorious far than man's poor approbation. He called on men etei'nal life to claim, Through the grand promise of the great Salvation- Pointing the path the saintly feet have trod. Who walked in daily converse with their God. 28 A minister, a working brother man ; Speak therefore gently of a single failing. Many have withered under priestly ban, When there was really little need for quailing ; We look for ministers to lead the van. To trace the charts for humbler craftsmen's sailincf- Charts of example, always best and surest, Inspired by motives always of the purest. This man was covetous of much he saw, Though never taking aught without permission; Which if half granted, he ignored all law, And never feigned the virtue of omission ; If reason fought desire, it failed to draw From such a heart as his the least contrition- He looked to covet, and his pompous ways, Made rich and poor contribute to his craze. ■- In this short web of fate I shall not weave A catalogue of all this brother's folly ; Some of it you might pardon I believe ; Love for a steaming pudding, crowned with holly Few will deny, though some thereat may grieve, And darkly hint disease and melancholy — Our hero was not quite a man of that sort, He would not wittingly the image distort. 29 There are so many things that one might love, Which I have no desire herein to mention. Our life is varied, thoughts of realms above Cannot be always tixed on man's attention. We prate a deal about the harmless dove, But, e'en in dove's affairs will come dissension — What creature shall we find perfection in ? not one ; Science has proved some dark spots in the Sun. The worthy pastor toils from dawn till late ; Nor, is his mission to the church confined ; At any time he goes beyond the gate, To soothe the sick, to reason with the blind ; And then besides, his flock in healthier state Require his presence and enquiries kind — Thus in God's vineyard there's incessant toU, To plant, to prune, and then protect from spoil. Our hero on his usual rounds, one day Called on a widow, rich with blessings small ; Who had at least what kept the wolf at bay — O happy world ! could this be said of all ; God's image in these tenements of clay ! Would rise more promptly at His preacher's call ! And prove a mightier bulwark of His glory ! When in defence of earth's divinest story. 3 Down from these heights, we love so much to climb, The ryhmer and his muse must now descend ; I meant not to apostrophise a hymn. Nor man's forgetful weaknesses defend. Through all life's lights and shadows, dazzling, dim, Accustom us to walk upright, to blend Our joys and sorrows, heaven-like trust with care ; Diffusing Love — and Goodness — everywhere. This thrifty woman had some bairns at school, And mother-like was busy with their dinner ; For, this is granted — as a general rule — ■ One must have vict'als, either saint or sinner ; A little while without them, sage, or fool Will note his corporation wearing thinner — ■ Fading much quicker than an Autumn leaf, And — sans repentance — sure to come to grief. The dame's potatoes were just piping hot. But plebian food for him had no temptation; He fixed his gaze upon the iron pot. And really, 'twas a wondrous fascination. When speech was found, his learning failed him not, To vent in glowing terms his admiration — The pot thus praised — you guess with what intentions- Was but a common one, of small demensions. 31 Tlie woman failed awhile to comprehend The fervour of her minister's laudation, Astonished that a common pot could lend A theme for such a flood of inspiration ; And so, to bring his praises to an end, She struck the key-note of his expectation — The pot was his, Aurora's next advance Would find it in the kitchen of the manse. Alas, frail hopes ; when our fond hearts are full Of brightest promises, there comes a fall ; But, why anticipate 1 wives have a rule. That men are short of patience — one and all — The matron said, that on the way to school, Her boys would with the little present call — She would not miss it, she had others there, Which would suffice to cook their humble fare. " To morrow," and "to morrow," mused the man ; Not that he doubted once, the good intention ; In other paths his meditations ran, Trying to invent a circumvention ; To wait, or not to wait ? both led the van Alternately, soon ending, let me mention, In this resolve — delay would not give rest, To take it home himself would thus be best. 32 There is a well worn proverb, and it says — "A bird in hand is worth" — you know what follows But after all, there are so many wa^ys A clever little bird might jink through hollows. And soar away to join in psalms of praise ; Or perch on leafy hedge to sing its solos — • Tlie chance is small with combatants unequal, Though, how can birds' affairs affect my sequel. 'Twas fixed however after some debate, That he himself should take the pot in hand ; And, off he set, rejoicing that kind fate Had east his lot in such a generous land ; So gratified, who would'nt feel elate 1 Yea, even jubilant beyond command — - But e'en with success one gets fully sated. And fails at least to seem so much elated. In going home, he took a longer road Thau that which travellers usually frequented ; Afraid, lest reverence bearing such a load. Should by the home-bound children be tormented. He cherished pride, and shunned the highway broad, Prefering by-paths afterwards repented — Who knows what grief one step aside may bring. Or whetlier flowers from full-formed buds will spring. 33 Tlie clay was warm, the road I said was long- ; Longer at least than one he might have taken ; Til person, he was like some Friars of song. Whose cloistered haunts are very much forsaken : (^nly for this, he might have swelled that throng Whose institutions long ago were shaken, And supersede!;! latterly by better ; How much, I can't determine to the letter. Unused to bearing loads in summer heat, He tried new postures as they promised ease ; Poised on his head, it crowned his brow quite neat ; Or neatly if the adjective don't please. His head thus cooled, with hat in hand, complete. He trod with stately mien by fields and trees — Till o'er his Rubicon, a burn that ran Through grassy lawns, two or three feet in span. He braA^ely leaped it, but, on coming down. He found himself in darkness and confusion ; The pot he bore aloft like regal crown, Lay on his shoulders then, 'twas no delusion ; Tt hid angelic smile, or fiendish frown ; But onwards we must hie to a conclusion — You've seen some helmets barred, and, need I ask '? You must have heard about the "Iron Mask." 34 Tt sHpj)e(l o'er that protuberance on the face, Whicli held it tirmly as a dove-tail fitting; No doubt, the pain brought many a wild grimace ; As efforts to remove were unremitting. ]u blind despair he tried at length to trace The path towards the village smithy, flitting Not like a i'uU-fledged bird on ardent wing ; Jiut gi-oping like an abject, smitten thing. The poor wretch groaning under suffocation, And pangs uncommon to our suffering clay, Near'd with a sigh his wished for destination, Where mischief-loving idlers barred his way : Till some kind spirit moved with indignation, Seeing his state admitted no delay — Led him within, and eased him of his yoke, Which might have proved too serious for a joke. So ends my story, when I first essayed To trace the fruits of covetous desires, 'Twas far from my intention to have strayed Beyond the beaten path a tale requires; But thought builds thought, piles line on line, till stayed By force of will, the Muse thus foiled, retires. Till theme historic, or tradition oral. Bequests its aid to point another moral. 35 C E A I G IE HILL. Weel, weel I min' the daffin', gleefu' clays, Wlien I wi' comrades speel'd the Craigie loraes ; Nae ither hill that could compare was near, Wi' equal ranges when the lift was clear ; The grassy summit, reached by gentlest slope, Was easier won than ane wi' misty top ; When up, the vision in a moment's glance, Spread ower a varied and a wide expanse — Of a' the kintra that was oor's at will, The place we likit best was Craigie hill. On the near side, there was a quarry howe, A temple fit for fondest lover's vow ; Whaur pairs micht sit for lang their leefu' lanes, On broken boulders, oi- on heaps o' stanes, To tell their stories, aye sae saftly spoken ; Or make a fair exchange o' love's true token. Quate an' unseen by ony but theirsels, Twa folk could kiss an' coo for gey lang spells- How sweet the memories o' thae daft, daft days, To them that courtit on the Craigie braes. Oor glory then was far abune the quarry. An' mony a pantin' race an' hurry-scurry There was to reach the top, to be the tirst To quaff the sea-fresh air for which a' thirst. 3 6 Dull is the min' an' sma' its sense o' beauty, Which never keeks ayont the line o' duty; For such, a' distant prospects shine in vain, And a' the glories in Aurora's train — On street, in factory, they can get their fill, Wha never yearn for charms like Craigie hill. Nearly a score o' years hae come an' gane, An' yet, its pictures glimmer on my brain ; I min' as far ower as oor e'en could sweep, A wavin' plain, dottit wi' kirk, an' keep, An' ruined castle crumblin' to the grun', Reminders o' a past, when Mune an' Sun Glintit ower wa's where gruesome pairts were played ; When sympathy was dumb, or sair dismayed — In those gran' times great men could make at will A mount o' sacrilice o' Craigie hill. Near, in the valley lay my native toon, Wi' smoke abune, an' water glistenin' roon ; It fills a howm, an' spreads ayont baith streams : The ane meanderin' as if wrapped in dreams, To mingle wi' the brine, takin' in course To its big bosom the mair sportive force — Nae ships or steamers cleft their waves in twain. Wealth cam' an' went there wi' the snortin' train — Clean, trig an' bonny it was then, an' still, It bears the gree far roon, frae Craigie hill. 37 Mair toons were spread oot-ower, an' claclians, koiup To which tlie name o' village hadna come ; Cities in embryo — if that term is richt — That like oorsels whiles meet untimely blicht. Pit lums were plentifu', an' here an' there, Big smeltin' furnaces sent up their glare ; Lichtin' the sky, when mirk had stown a pace, An' left us twa-three guid Scotch miles to trace We thocht that naething in oor supple days. An' sune cam' linkin' ower the Craigie braes. A guid bit ower stan's famous Loudon hill, Where Claver'se vowed oor faither's bluid to sjiill ; An' left his troopers welterin' on the sod — A wondrous victory for the men o' God. Still far'er ower, are hichts I canna name, Whiles lost in blue, their distant tints the same. At han' there's Burnweal tower, a massive square, Where Wallace watched the flamin' Barns o' Ayr — A monument to patriotism and skill, A sti'ikin' object seen frae Craigie hill. 'Yont Ayr and Irvine, wastes o' waters streetch, Ye think ye hear waves breakin' on the beach ; Ower miles an' miles o' sea the sunlicht flashes ; On rock, or dyke the great Atlantic dashes, While Ailsa Craig, sae like a steppin' stane, Stan's like Lot's wife forlorn an' quite alane. 38 It micht be sic a case, we dinna ken If Causey (jiants were as thrawn as men — • We delve gey deep, the learned page to fill, Guessin' on craigs like that, an' Craigie hill. Across the Firth, now blue, now sober grey, Accordin' to the lift abune the bay ; Without the help o' scientific glass, Arran's gran' panoramic glories pass ; Each mountain torrent like a silver streak, Wi' range ower range o' hills, ae cloud-crooned peak Liftin' its covered head abune them a'. Dotted wi' win'-bleached I'ocks like virgin snaw — The outline o' Oantyre the distance fills Wi' purple haze o' slopin' heather hills. A score o' years I say, hae come an' gane Since I on Craigie's croon looked ower the plain ; Though wider prospects since hae come between, My memory treasures a' its living green. Had I the airt poetic wreaths to braid. In blooms that wadna change, an wadna fade — To paint a scene, a' bathed in sunset fire ; Or evenin's softened silvery attire ; There's wealth to chose, if genius gave the skill, Within a mornin's walk o' Craigie hill. 39 TO JAMES NICHOLSON", (Author of "Kilwuddie," "Idylls o' Hame," etc.) On being Presented with "Tibbie's Garland," with this inscription : "To my dear friend and Brother Poet." ♦-♦♦♦ INIy thanks for this, and former gifts, dear friend, Though I have yet to earn the title, "Poet"; To win that name my aspirations tend. And when deserved our country will bestow it. Till up the mount, in distance outlined dim, I'm simply — brother — not a — poet brother — And, if Parnassus' heights I never climb, I'll find my solace in the common mother. Goals are not won by waiting for the tide, Havens, or ports by languid, careless drifting ; So, bards must labour long, and scatter wide. That some stray songs perchance survive time's sifting. Thy themes are manifold, in various veins. Ere I was born th' immortal Muse had found thee Eager to sing in true and tender strains. The joys and sorrows ever throbbing round thee. 40 Willi g-raceful ease trills forth thy doric Lyre, In mirth aurl tears we wander through "Kilwuddie ;" While "Willie Waugh" gives grander gleams of tire, With riper thoughts from life's stern stage, and study. \Vi pride we gether roun' the "Auld Hearthstane," To chat wi' tiekin' "Clock" an' soughin' "Bellows;" Syne, stray whaur the bit "Burnie" jinks its lane. Or dauner yont wi' "Fernie" an' his fellows. Wee flowers that liide in daisy-sprinkled grass, Or, moss-tilled crevices, aye breathin' sweetness ; Tell wondrous tales in thy revealin' glass. That show to cuifs like me oor incompleteness. The "Herd Boy's" thochts, the flutterin' "Birdie's W^ail," Should touch the feck o' folk, no gi'en to pity ; Thy "Tibbie's Garland" shouldna fade nor fail. While misery's plague spots blot baith toon an' city. That work, so little prized, so let alone. Thy strongest touches show, and tenderest manner ; Thy songs are sung their author oft unknown — Whereven floats the white-fringed Temperance banner. White, in the Master's noblest service grown ! What tribute shall the rescued bands bequeath thee ? Orim irony of fate ! when thou art gone — Only, a robe of living flowers to wreath thee, 41 TO WILLIAM WALLACE, (Author of "Poems and Songs," etc.) I cliuua often court the Doric muse ; I'm fear't to face her, Least she may think my wooin's but a ruse That micht disgrace her. I ask her help to croon a short epistle ; ISTae great high flyer ; Low toned it may be, as a penny whistle ; Screecher, an' drier ! I haena ony serious intentions, To sing for glory ; Nor yet to plan an epic o' dimensions, Wi' tragic story. Her lyric springs I ken I canna broach, To sing like birdies ; An' hapless in my wale o' guid braid Scotch, Tak' mongrel wordies. Failin' to shine in Doric, I maun leave it To you an' ithers ; Simple an' gran' ! sae ye may spin an' weave it In sangs like brithers. 42 Sjoteb to the core^ on wealth or worldly station, I'm no a fawner ; Yet, aye a wee thoclit prooci o' my ain nation ; Whaure'er I dauner. No to be bumptious — far be that thocht frae me — In earnest canter ; A wee vain-glorious when the mood is wi' me, For thrieveless banter. I've seen a few mair years than you, my frieu', Mair shades, mair crosses ; Though gi'en to rhyme, I dinna steek my e'en To gains an' losses. An' yet, I've neither gether'd gear nor fame j I'm at low level ; I haena spun a verse to lift my name, In kirk, or revel, I ance had hopes o' shinin' 'mang the lave O' Scotia's singers ; But what o' that, let the ambitious rave ! I hae strong lingers ! Wi' them nae doot, I'll aye can earn a crust, To stave aff famin' ; What's empty praise, when oor puir frames are dust. But senseless gamin. 43 We canna a' be stare, there's sic a spate O' singiii' bodies, A' claimin' a bit rag fa'^ea frae the great, Preent to their duddies. Yet we maun sing, tho' but to please oorsels, If no for siller ; In praise o' thistle-burrs, an' heather-bells, Or dusty miller. Flowers yet bloom bonnie, sliould they bloom in vain ? Let's rise to duty I Let's sing their fragrance ower an' ower again, In lines o' beauty I Let's sing doon wars, an' waste o' human bluid ! Sing peace, sing sweetness ! Oor humble influence may help for guid ; Used wi' discreetness. Ne'er lend a line to hatefu' scorn or jest, To blackguard sorties ; The ootside o' the lair o' vice is best — A yawnin' vortice ! But why advise ye thus ? ye dinna need it ; Ye've aye kept clear o't ; That bein' weel, sing sae that a' may dreed it — Preach aye the fear o't ! 44 In a' religious craft I'm but a stookie , A puir blin' creature, Searchin' for God thro' a' the ravell'd bookie O' human nature. Nae doot I'm often puzzled unco sair, An' dree lang pauses ; Bamboozled \vi' what tickles mony mair — Effects an' causes ! We've leeved quite lang eneuch, I'm sure to ken That much lood speakin', An' selfish prayers '11 no gang far'er ben, Than real heart-seekin'! I own nae creed, at least a short bit line, It a' wad mention ; An' yours I'm thinkin's no the fechtin' kin', That courts contention. Deep love o' man an' woman rins richt through Your printit pages ; You dinna seem a likely carle to brew The wrath o' ages ! Sae let me ken ye mair, my heart lies open, For you to read it ; Wi' ae set purpose, for mair licht we're gropin', An' may God speed it ! 45 THE CHILDREN'S HOLIDAY ♦•••♦ Tar away from our humble home. Our bairns are merry-making ; Tended by love where'er tliey roam, The solitudes awaking. »• Across earth's flower embroidered green, Three pairs of feet are tripping By burn or brae, in shade or sheen ; With clothes now dry, now dripping. As careless as the birds that sing, Fed by the Father's bounty ; Owning no squire, no lord, nor king ; No parish, town, nor county. If slighted law inflicts a smart, And turns them back aff"righted ; Then, folded to a mother-heart. That seeming wrong is righted. Sweet darlings ! on your hearts, the gloom Of care now presses lightly ; While God is shedding red-rose-bloom, To gem your faces brightly. 4 6 With frolics pass life's summer day, Shades will come uninvited ; Be each to each a guide or stay, Fear flies from hearts united ! We miss your cherry cheeks and lips. Bright eyes, so strong and steady ; Fat hands with velvet finger tips, For mischief always ready. We miss even now your noisiest fun. Defying time or season ; Your queries in their ceaseless run, So void, or full of reason. We miss you out, we miss you in ; With all your boisterous ranting ; Fain would exchange this quiet for din ; Hilarious jubilanting ! This stillness calls up homes, which death Has robbed of all such treasures ; Where stifled sob, or bated breath, Tell of departed pleasures. Whole hearts like ours knoAv not the pain Of bonds so rent asunder ? When hopes proffered, seem all so vain, While fresh wounds rankle under. 47 Our Father 1 selfish thoughts forgive ; Such precious lambs enfolding ; Teach us to learn them how to live, Thy love, Thy light upholding ] A BIRTHDAY GEEETING. How swift the stream of Time flows onward Who would think a year had gone, Since my last fond greeting sought you, Bearing friendship's tenderest tone — Having nothing new to say, I repeat old truths to-day. No bright thoughts, like brilliants glowing, Rise from fabled fane or dell ; So, in language old as Adam, From my heart I wish you well — Kindly wishes kindly said, Sweeten life like daily bread ! 48 All the deeds of human story ; All we hear, and all we say, Seein but echoes from the ages, That have gone before our day — Human joys, like hopes and fears, Kinship claim through all the years ! Fashioned like our sires before us ; Brain and sinew, heart and soul! Need we wonder ? that we image All our race, from birth to goal — Present, past, and future blend In that life which knows no end. Though I send this old, old gi-eeting, Deem it none the less sincere ; May your life be clearer, brighter ! Happier every coming year — Blessings spoken long ago, Still like healing waters flow ! 49 LAYS OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. THE LAST DAYS OF LOUIS THE SIXTEENTH. Inglorious France! why stand you there, In base ignoble throngs ! Yelling like demons in despair, And chanting fiendish songs ? Why thirst for blood of freedom's friends ; Thus vainly strive to make amends For past inflicted wrongs ? You curse to-day, to-morrow bless, What may the world declare of this ? Is conscience an unholy thing, That you have spurned it so ? Has frequent chidings failed to bring Your hearts beneath its glow ? Has France so crushed all tender ties, Its sympathies no longer rise To feel for other's woe? Have all the sweetest choi'ds of life Been silenced in this cruel strife 1 50 No wonder that your poor king fled Beyond such tortui-ing power; When over his defenceless head, He felt such threatenings lour ! Love had been dead so long a while, That innocence had lost the smile Which cheered his leisure hour — Flushed joy had fled his queen's fair face, And grief had left its withering trace. Captive, the king is led once more Within his royal hall, Outraged, with taunts he meekly bore From those who wrought his fall ; The threatening crowds of savage men Surround the prison home again, Like hordes in drunken brawl — Hurling such curses at his head, As fill his children's hearts with dread. He marched to parliament in pain, Among the wrangling crowd ; But promise, or protest is vain. Amid derision loud. No longer even respect is shown , Forbade the seat, by wont his own ; He mui'mured not ; but bowed — And never once, was heard proclaim Aloud, his sufferings, or their shame. 5 1 Again tlie lawless, brutal throng Pursue their fiendish glee ; And in their wrath a siege prolong, Like beasts long bound, set free. The gallant Swiss within the walls. Strive to defend the noble halls, Scorning to turn and flee — In Gallia's monarch's cause they fell, Though hirelings from the land of Tell. Poor king ! a prisoner, and alone. That tried, that trusted band ; All slain, or to the dungeons gone, Despite thy mild command. Thy power is taken from thee now : The diadem from off* thy brow ; The sceptre from thy hand — The law is spurned, the rabble reigns. While Grace and Virtue walk in chains. Corruption long had festered there ; But vengeance frowned on thee ! Who had at heart thy people's care, And wished to see them free ! Till factions ruled, till murmurs rose, And friends appeared in league with foes, Who now thy fate decree — Farewell to all thy peaceful dreams ! Farewell all compromising schemes. 52 Dethroned, yet held a prisoner still ; Thy few friends forced away, That meaner men may taunt at will. And wield tyrannic sway. Not yet content with fixing bounds, Tlie faction's meeting place resounds, With base intent to slay — Longing to make that monarch's blood, Precurser of a crimson flood. They triumph over right and law ; The throneless king's arraigned ; The judges are enforced by awe ; The long sought end attained. His death decreed, the morning sun Shall mark the reign of blood begun ; A decade foully stained, With deeds our race may blush to hear Repeated to a human ear. Forbade to bid a last farewell. With all he held most dear ; Watched like a felon in his cell ; Recorded, smile or tear. Surrounded by the coarse and vile, He kept his courage up the while, Restrained all rising fear — Only one favourite of the past Was near, as comforter at last. 53 It dawned at length, the solemn mom ; His last sunrise on earth ; He hears the howl of bitter scorn, And unaffected mirth. With faith buoyed up, his mien was bright ; No shuddering there, with death in sight^ To him a second birth — Assured, he would ascend on high, To brighter mansions in the sky. On the dark scaffold he proclaimed His innocence of crime ; But crowds have never felt ashamed Through all historic time. They saw with him all wrong depart ; Wronss, which had seared the human heart And clogged its march sublime — The sombre block, and muffled drum Foreshadowed brighter days to come. Their sacrifice appeared serene ; His step was firm, though slow ; His thoughts were soaring o'er that scene, To where he hoped to go. He knelt, and yielded up his head ; Then flowed his blood so basely shed ; The crowd enjoyed the show — Like fiends insatiate, tasting gore, Their passions roused, demanded more. 54 t THE FALL OF THE GIRONDISTS. PART, I. THE PRISON YARD. In the gloomy Palace-Prison where the doomed were sent to languish, We may see in gleams of fancy, many faces of renown, While on some there are deep traces of the bitterest of anguish ; Others show a holy calm, a few, a bold defiant frown. Of all ages, and both sexes ; from the stooping, white- haired father, To the maid in girlish beauty ; or the youth with beard- less face ; Love-sick swain, and warrior, bravely-proud with noble men to gather ; From the statesman, to the coxcomb, stuffed with airs of modelled grace. Prison walls are so impartial, they will frown on peer or peasant, \ Clasp the august law dispenser, who has sent another there; They will echo any voices whether surly toned or pleasant ; With a stoical indifference for the songs of joy or care. 55 Marie Antoinette there languished, once the envy of the fairest ; But her cheeks had lost their crimson, all her sprightli- ness was gone ; While the same great bolts and bars enclosed the purest and the rarest Of the men who had conspired to drive her husband from the throne. Some who had thrown off religion, felt a softening influ- ence stealing, Hearts were moved to cast their doubtings on the bosom of their God ; Stronger men who had been constant to their soul's divine revealing. Were inhaling fine discourses from their leader, Vergniaud. Yielding not to meanest passions ; not impatient to get dying ; Stately and composed in manner, yet indifferent of his life; Careless of his name's remembrance, on his past career relying, Knowing justice would be done to all real heroes in the strife. Always thoughtful, often smiling, eA'er quick at compre- hending Grave, and complex situations, dark, or puzzling to his friends ; 56 Seldom moved by petty weakness, and above mere vain pretending, A real toiler for man's glory, by humane and God-like ends. Though in poverty, he murmured not, resigned to his position ; Few friends to mourn his absence, no sweet children to caress ; Yet of him it stands recorded, in that last depressed con- dition ; That instinctively he warmed to every comrade in distress. There was gifted Brissot, writing, to reveal to future ages, The injustice of those enemies who triumphed in their fall; And his colleagues often listened to the reading of his pages ; Or indulged in moods and fancies, still the heritage of all. While the youngest of the prisoners treated all themes with derision, Gensonn^ assumed sarcastic airs, and spoke with proud disdain ; Lascource involved in mystery the phantoms of his vision, And "Valaize with unfeigned ardour, yearned the martyr's crown to gain. Touching were the daily interviews, between the iron railings ; Sad, those frequent stolen meetings, with the friends who held them dear ; 57 Now a fathei' tried in vain to hush his children's plaintive wailings ; Then a brother yearned to wipe away a sister's falling tear. There were victims of a grief which seldom finds a balm for healing ; That sought in vain the privilege, their throbbing hearts desired, And they hovered near the passage, tender, tearful glances stealing; With the fair and faithful maidens by a mutual thought inspired. PART II. THE TRIAL. On the morning of their trial, Paris heaved with wild commotion. Guards, and troops were massed in arms, as if afraid of civil war • The populace surged onward, like a restless, angry ocean, And tilled to suffocation, the approaches to the bar. One by one the prisoners enter, mid a death-like silence reigning Over all the vast assemblage, who had known their former state ; 5 8 Some were staring, lost in wonder, some were inwardly complaining, Of the treatment of the fallen, of the fickleness of fate. First came Ducos and Fonfrede, like classic brothers in their loving ; Lascource, then aged Silleiy came leaning on his rod ; Fierce Valaize, his dark eye scoi^nfully o'er all the benches roving ; Brissot followed Abbe Fauchet, last of all came Verg- niaud. ]\Iore were moved at his appearance than Avith tJiat of any other ; Tears of sympathy were trickling down the cheeks of stalwart men; All his comrades separated, to receive their noble brother, Glad to hail him as their oracle and leader, once again. On the benches of the judges, many former friends were seated ; But they bowed their heads, ashamed to meet the eyes which followed tliem ; Lest it might result in wavering, and their purpose be defeated ; Well they knew their ojffice there was not to pardon, but condemn. 59 Falsehoods then were fabricated, where the simple truth was wanting, And at times the prisoners' courage waned, they seemed to plead for life ; Allowing bitter enemies to triumph in their vaunting, Without one effort worthy their position in the strife. When condemned, a thrill of horror shook the multitude assembled. Threatening looks of anger darted from a number of the doomed. Towards jurymen, and judges, who in abject terror trembled ; But the cause of fear soon vanished, as indifference was I'esumed. Where fear was not, repentance could on no face be detected ; Not a prisoner there was likely to regret the part he played; Some viewed lightly the dread sentence, as the only end expected. Through the Trial's changeful phases they had never felt dismayed. As they filed along to prison, they observed a bi'othei- falling. And amidst the murmuring, Brissot bent, the prostrate form to raise ; 60 At that hour a sign of weakness would have been a wound most galling ; But the victim was a suicide, the grand and stern Valaize. They gathered round their comrade, but his heart had ceased from beating. Light had left the eye still fierce-like, motion each once active limb ; He had sought a higher judgment, who will trace in words his greeting, "Were his guides the heirs of glory, whei'e the light is never dim 1 PART III. THE LAST NIGHT. In the great cell of the Prison, songs of joy are heard resounding, At a sumptuous feast provided by the kindness of a friend; Choicest dishes grace the tables, flowers and fruits are there abounding, While the dungeon's gloom is banished by a torch at either end. Wine is also in abundance, and youngest of their number Are inclining to be sportive, as they drink to drown their care; 61 Saying, "Let us buiusli sadness, let no sombre gloom encumber ; Or o'ershadow our last evening with the spectre of despair." "Let us all enjoy a gala-night, for there is no hereafter ; Eternal sleep will ere long close our eyelids with its hand." Speaking thus, like jesters, hired to shape their faces into laughter. While a trouble gnaws within them, they are struggling to command. There were graver natures, grieving at such artifice of gladness, When they craved religious solace, in the soothing words of prayer ; Others filled with tender thoughts, of homes, now draped with gloom and sadness, Were picturing re-unions in a happier land — somewhere. Soon the viands are laid past, the last grand farewell supper ended ; Nearly all have eaten freely, and are therefore satisfied ; While the hours are speeding onward, many themes are well contended. And apart, a few more sage-like, of the future prophesied. They foretell fresh scenes of horror, women loveless, broken-hearted. And they wonder, will these tyrants live to triumph in such joys ; 6 2 Would the great Republic flourish when its founders were departed ; Or, their race, like little children, ask again for gilded toys. Now and then their glances fall upon their brother's corpse with sorrow, Sent to share their gloomy quarters, tln'ough the watches of the night ; Sure of meeting, after passing through the ordeal of the morrow. When they too had cast their vestments, and were bathed in ambient light. Later still, all thoughts were turned on death, and future resurrection. Every countenance assuming gentler aspects than before; Hearts were softening near the prospect, minds were throwing off dejection. Wonder growing out of wonder of the contemplated shore. Vergniaud invokes attention, all the crowd stands mute before him. Never had his theme been grander, nor his language more sublime ; Claiming for the great Creator, that the creature should adore him, Love and serve him now and ever, past the influence of time. 63 "In ourselves have we not proof" he said, "of our immor- tal being ; Must we die for this great people, with no hope of rising higher 1 If there is not something grander yet, beyond our present seeing ; Why this more than mortal struggle, why this heaven- like desire ? " "Conscience leads us to the answer, we are trusted with a duty, Which accomplished, we return to that just Master whom we serve ; And if we have acted nobly, we shall revel in his beauty ; If less worthily acquitted, less of glory we deserve !" "Are we dupes for so believing, fools for listening to our conscience 1 Shall we bury worth, and knowledge, with our bodies in yon clay ? Are the arguments of Science, and Philosophy but non- sense 1 Must we mount to death to-morrow, as the ending of the play?" "We ax'e doubtless great, and God-like, but the God-head lives above us ! And our noblest act while living is the last act to be done, G4 That of dying for our country, leaving those behind who love us , Going straight to God and glory, with the now ascending Sun!" Golden sunbeams tint the cloud-belts, yet the converse is not finished ; They rehearse again that story, still re-told to wondering ears ; Time has never dimmed its lustre, nor its interest diminished, And these pioneers of progress, find relief in flowing tears. PART IV. THE EXECUTION. Some slept awhile, but others kept astir in conversation, A few the gloomy corridors patrolled with measured pace ; Others solemnly received their church's dying consolation. And listened with devotion to its messengers of grace. Abb^ Lambert pressed on Brissot, as a friend to ask a blessing ; But with gentleness, and firmness, he refused the christ- ian's aid. 6 5 Ho the godly man desisted what might seem persistent pressing, He knew well the honest martyr would stand firm to what he said. Lascource o'erheard the nature of the minister's appealing, And approached to question Brissot on that life beyond the sky ; "Yes," he said, "I always trusted in the soul's divine revealing, And for working for its freedom, I am now prepared to die." When the hour arrived, the minions of the scaffold came to bind them ; And, while some were being pinioned, many farewell notes were penned, Healed with tokens of affection for the loved ones left behind them ; Piiceless only as mementoes, in remembrance of the friend. One by one they wended slowly to the wagons which were waiting To convey them to the scaffold, in the distance standing grim ; A\^ords of cheer inspired the march, hero-courage emulating. And their voices chimed together in a patriotic hymn. 6 S Cp t(ie sft^ps of f(e;ith they mounted, us if leading straight to heaven ; All embra'jed before subn»itting to the decimating knife; When the head of their great Leader to the ghastly heap was given, For a time tlie nation's virtue seemed extinguished with his life. ( >ften shall the voice of freedom call to mind the tragic stoi'y Of that noble V)and which pei'ished like their basely murdered king ; lu)v humanity they sutFered, but their monument is glory, (H tlieir purity and courage coming poets yet will sing. -«- THE SIEGE OF LYONS. Unhappy Lyons ! poised between two strands, Whose streams ran red and tinged the fertile lands: ( )ur hearts recoil on reading that dark page, (Crowded with deeds sutHcient for an age. The hand lays down that chronicle of woe — The brain spins round as from a staggering blow ; Can it be real 1 may not the tale deceive ? ' Tis more humane to doubt than to believe ( )ne sickens with the carnage, lieajDS of gore, Pits ovei'flow, while others gape for more. 6 7 There butcliering liands ieaion?eless wills oLey, And hourly seize on unsuspecting prey ; Mock Justice, robed in freedom's vestments chaste, Judge without mercy, and condemn with Iiante ; The Guillotine in dealing death is slow ; Pris'ners increase and prisons overtlow ; Troopers witli JMuskets round tlie \ictims close ; To slaughter friends accused of Ijeing foes — And when the doomed, chant some inspiiiuL; la\. One volley sweeps the singing choirs away. Compare the Nimbus with the white sea-fo;uii ; Compare Arcadian peace with Nero's Rome ' Select from the most trusted source at hand ; The* darkest deeds of any heathen land, Even th' orgies when a dusky monarch dies, Then pause and marvel ! Not in freedom's guise Do such barbarians act ; nor in the name Of Liberty pursue their hideous game. The pagan's sacrifice, his foes supply, His slaves meet pageant for th' immortal eye — While France to grossest passions gave her best, And doomed her martyrs to eternal rest. Lyons so long a prey to fear, at last Resolved to lift the nightmare of the past ; Commerce restrained, no longer prospered there. And ruin tilled the industrious with despair ; 68 The Loom was tennantless ; tlie workiu*;- bands Were drafted thence to satiate war's demands. The factions strove to rouse the slumbering tire^ Of evil passions, and unjust desires ; The merchants saw with mingled hate and dread, A threatening storm, a scarcity of bread, And dared to counteract before too late, The leaven working in the womb of fate ; But all in vain, a few recoiled in fear, Many rejoiced to join the spoiler's cheer ; The theorists harangued the frantic crowd, And fiend-like feasted on the plaudits loud ; Mad Chalier, genius of the rabble crew, To scattered crowds like evil angel flew ; One, given to wild and visionary dreams. To plunge through blood to realise his schemes. Taught for the church, its creed was soon outgrown, Its precepts scorned, uprooted, or overthrown ; He railed on God, reviled the Saviour's name, And sought in politics his meed of fame ; Conversion seemed too slow to whet desire. He fain would quicken with consuming fire ; Forgetting, none but tyrants would enforce A whole commune their teachings to endorse — Failing to mould in one design the whole. He vowed to immolate if not control. 69 Tlie wealthy scorned the leader and his cre"W, And, spurred to action by the doom in view ; Laid counter plans to have the boaster caught, And taste the fruitage of the lessons taught. Once in their toils there was no mercy shf)wn, The fate prepared for them became his own ; Condemned by men he meant to triumph o'er, He sought again the faith he spurned befoie; He kissed the crucilix beside the knife, And as a christian bade adieu to life. The dread Convention other butchers call, Determined to avenge their conn-ade's fall ; Then Lyons rose, her freedom to defend. Marshalling sires and sons to that great end. By wrongs made desperate, swiftly sped the alarms. And eagerly her people flew to arms ; Old Royalists who mourned their vanished days, Came out from caves by lone, untrodden ways ; Long tired of exile, they pi-eferred to die. Than live apart beneath an alien sky ; Priests, now no longer soldiers of the cross, Yearning for prestige to regain their loss ; Not all alike with ends or motives pure; But all resolved to die or to endure. This mass of combatants lirst swore to bra\e Anarchic fury, or to earn a grave, 70 They called as caj>tain, one they understood, Upright and worthy, brave as he was good. He shrank from such a great and gra^e command, Tliough crushed witli sorrow for hi.-; native hmd ; But, on reflection, threw his plough aside : And doned the patriot-soldier's robes with pride ; Looked fondly on his home ; embraced his wife. And left his smiling fields for deadly strife. The troops of the conxention, host on host > Arrive, encircle, and at any cost * Resolve to storm the city. From afar. They draft them for that fratricidal war They send a messenger within to tell The fate of those on whom their vengeance fell ; To urge them to consider ere too late The terms of mercy from the sovereign state ; Nor once to dream of success in the end. Though Spartan skill and valour might defend ; Through non-resistance there was safe retreat. While conflict, stretched them at the victor's feet To plead for life, when pleading would be vain, Amid their ruined homes, and heaps of slain. That messBge fell on the defenders ears Like boasts, or threats with vain or idle fears ; Knowing of broken trusts, and callous wrong, Their desperate fortune made their courage strong ; 71 Tliey breathe defiance till their latest breatli, And spurn all terms but victory, or death. The guns of the besiegers open fire, Beneath their rain of death vast ci'owds expire ; Buildings are shattered by the bursting bombs ; The streets in ruins are the peoples tombs, The old are urged to quench the treacherous flames ; To save the children and the faithful dames. For all, the siege proclaims a daily role. The homes, the loved ones, tired each anxious soul, Sisters and daughters to stern duties bend, All alike thirsting for the one great end. The ramparts 'neath the heavy fire give way, But valour builds by night, defends by day ; AVithal, great breaches yawn, and patriots fall. And the besiegers rush within the wall ; Wild panic spreads the ciy, "The foe's at hand !" And Precy hastes there with a chosen band. The carnage deepens as his line grows thin, Shall justice fail, shall hordes of tyrants win 1 He cheers them on until his steed is slain ; He bleeds himself, but heated, slights the pain ; He waves a blood stained handkerchief on high ; His comrades follow, echoing his cry ! They gain the breach, and grapple with the foe, And death ensues from every quivering blow. 72 Tliat conflict past, the wearied soldiers stand, Survey fheir ruined homes, tlieir wasted land ; From other points distress renews its fears, And calls for help, arrest the victors ears ; Theii' answer — feeble from the former fray — Breathes still defiance like the stag at bay; They march again tln^ough pools of comrades' blood, No heart so faint as quail before that flood. For life they fight, with fire their bosoms swell, As patriots went they forth, as heroes fell. A short-lived victory crowned their ai-ms again. And they were masters of the blood-soaked plain The foe retreated to the Rhone's far shore. To come again far stronger than before. Within, the remnant of Ten Thousand -Braves Slept on their arms, or gave their comrades graves ; The few survivors of tlie previous day, Wounded or famished, felt their hopes give way ; Powerless, they watched their stores of arms and food, Crushed under crumbling stone, or burning wood ; The Hospitals were riddled with the balls. The wounded perishing beneath the walls. Lyons had sacrificed her sons and sires. Unmurmuring thoupands foi med her funeral pyres ; Still, dauntless courage over all prevailed. Till famine with its iron hand assailed — That power, compelled the unsubdued in arms. To leave the scenes engulphed in wars alarms. 73 Tliey held a conclave in the hush of night, Discussed at length the project of a flight ; Resolved to shield their helpless ones or die, Praying for succour from tlie Lord on high Death faced them standing still, or breaking tlu-ough, This, with but flickering hopes they dared to do. Tlie dawn advances, charged with life or death, The famished ranks discourse with bated breath While forming squares, the families ranged between. Mournfully, each surveys the ghastly scene, In two divisions, spread across the plain, Exchanging hopes to meet on earth again — Hope, frail at best ; often a transient gleam, AVhich flashes bright, to vanish like a di'eam. Of one division, none survived that day ; Women and children, all were swept away : Mercy was never asked, no life was spared, All died with those they loved, their graves they shared. The other in its progress was assailed By walls of steel, and line on line impaled ; Their path was strewn with bodies of the slain, Who met their end with valour, or disdain ; All nature seemed in league against the bra\"e, And all their country ofiered, was the grave. 74 Scarce ten of every thousand then sur^'ivecI, Of all the vestiges of hope deprived ; These, Precy called together, they obey This last command as at the opening fray ; He said, their lives were promised, his was sought. To crown the victory then so dearly bought. He wished to leave them, they to happier days, While he would safety seek by secret ways ; He then looked fondly on the friends around, Broke his good sword, and threw it on the ground- And, he who bravely answered to their call, Leapt from his horse, and bade adieu to all. Shortly after the General left them, the Forces of the Government through a misunderstanding, arising from the escape of their leader ; fell on the remainder of the Lyonaise, and literally exterminated them ; not a man of them was known to have escaped. 7 5 ^M^^ B[gp^ d^^ ^£^ ^^^s^?^^iral princiyjle.s itivolved ; the Tale as told in the Scriptures — to a person of ordinary intelligence— conveys its own moral, without the aid of an interpreter to read between the lines, and to warp the judgement Qf common-^ense. It may be due to the iniiuonce of training through many centuries, that poets have been chaiy in writing of bible char- actei's except in terras of unstinted adulation, thereby using tlieir talent or genius to varnish over or preserve that which — if denuded of its gloss or halo, and exposed in its native nakedness — would not survive the first breath of criticism. For tlie facts of the story I am not responsible : for the method of handling these I must be held so ; therefore, while I have endeavour .?d not to misstate the facts, I make no apology for using the gift of our common humanity, in the ))ninting out of error, and clearing up of misconceptions, old ur new. In this case as in many others, results may have been over- estimated, and expectations altogether vain ; if it perish in its birth-laliour. it will not lie that the theme lacks interest, but because of inherent faults in the work as placed before you; if on tlie other hand it is the means of stirring up further en- i|uiry in the domains of Truth, it will have achieved a not quite unworthy purpose, and pnrtly fulfilled the hopes of the author. Glasgow. 188!k A. M'L. 77 A BROTHER'S REVENGE, O E GOOD FOR EVIL. In times remote, ere Greece or Rome had birth, "Whose myths we gather as traditions hoary ; In that dim past whfn sages walked the earth, AVhose words speak yet in lines of living glory ; Though of historians there was then a dearth : Sufficient is recorded for my story — Stories, in fact, have less withyac^ to do Than some imagine, though they seem so true. On slopes bespangled with the brightest bloom. Whence milk and honey were in plenty flowing, The air delicious as a sweet perfume — With song-birds singing, and with cattle lowing. Nature showered only smiles, with-held her gloom. And scattered all her pleasures worth the knowing- A paradise, if such on earth could be, Without the shadow of a tempting tree. 78 And yet 'twas but a corner, one might say, This spot where nature lavished her carresses ; Bounded on every side by deserts grey, And blistered hills 'mid rock-strewn wildernesses ; Blasted, as if accursed on some dread day, The vales disrobed, and scorch'd the mountain tresses, Leaving a lovely garden here and there, Guarded by frowning peaks in gaunt despair. 4 I have not seen the home of that loved tribe. Its land-locked seas or lakes, and winding feeders ; I have not seen the twain I would describe. To introduce them life-like to my readers. Not mine the golden key which oj)ens wide The gates of praise, or side-ways to the leaders — So, with originals beyond command. My pictures must be taken second hand. 5 With good and bad combined, the land was small, Compared with western vale or rolling prairie ; Kings had their realms within a Bugle's call— A train of Slaves or Mules sufficed to carry Their camps, their stores, their temples, gods and all. When bent on war, or seeking maids to marry — If when away a stronger seized their place, They robbed a weaker tribe with equal grace. ] 79 A kingdom on a fifty acre field ! Aye, laugh ye modern north-men and get warmer. Kings had not far to carry sword and shield ; Swains no great choice in seeking for a chaiuner : Just think, of kings enforced to cringe and yield ; Yea ! quake with fear in pi'esence of a farmer — Yet so it was in those old regal days. Which chroniclers make mighty with their praise. 7 Their city-strongliolds — though it seems so queer — Comprised some scores of huts with one big shanty In which the nation met to taste good cheer ; Minus good water wliich was sometimes scanty : In which case there was home-made wine or beer Brewed by the reigning queen or people's aunty — Nations then gathered like a family party. The king as head, gave each a greeting hearty. 8 But I am telling you too much before, And padding may be in demand hereafter ; The tale is all-through serious to the core ; Though here and there may ooze a little laughter. Laughter is sacred, dancing was of yore, And jingling bells, and gongs, and things still dafter- Life there was primitive, and knowledge bounded By the few hills with which they were surrounded. 8 My heroes were — twin brothers — if you please, Yet not alike by mother's love befriended. The younger lived at home, a life of ease. The elder to the hills and valleys wended, Hunting for game among the scrub and trees. And thus his aged father's wants attended — ■ A savage truly, rudely dressed I ween, Yet altogether suited to the scene. 10 Stately his mien this iirst-born of the two, And strong as stately — aspect, rough and hairy ; In dealings blunt, in friendship straight and true ; Not given to railing, nor in moods to vary — Pleasing withal — well versed in how to woo. And win besides, dark eastern belle or fairy — In Love's affairs he wavered not nor tarried, And ere the time I speak of was twice married. 11 Not married, widowed, and thus wed again ; Two wives between them held him in possesion ; A practice common with this people then, And, spite of change, or modern intercession, Is, and is always likely to remain An article of faith which blocks pi^ogression — Some peoples mend when things get out of joint, But Eastern Races have no turning point. 81 12 Unless the turning point is for the worse ; Tliey seldom rise, and wallowing, sink the lower. 0^■er these lands there seems to brood a curse Which drags them down ; some quick, and others slower- "Still, still beloved ! earth's garden-ground^ the nurse Of lofty aspirations — the bestower Of Him : the brightest, surest guiding star. That ever blessed our world from near or far." 13 "Can it be otherwise ? with Love dethroned, With Passion reigning the supi'eme desire ; The brutal lusts of manhood overgrown ; The hearts of Women trampled in the mire — Bought, sold, and trifled with ere fully blown : All hope crushed out of ever rising higher — Victims of evil, worse than common slaves. Trapped from their youth, and barred in living graves." U "Can it be otherwise ? when half mankind, The fairer and the better half is blighted ; The beautiful, to all earth's beauties blind ; Learning's lamp early quenched, if ever lighted Estranged from all the loftier flights of mind ; To-day, the prey of lust, to-morrow slighted — Their future life made doubtful, or to be A prolongation of their misery." 8 2 15 "Can it be otherwise? when countless years, Repeat the warning, but to be neglected : Faith after Faith arises — rlisa,ppears ; Age following age, that system is protected. No balm for breaking hearts, no salve for tears ; The gospel which might heal the sore's rejected— Thus ignorance sustains its Godless reign, And jeers the galling bonds, the festering pain." 10 "Rise swarthy brother ! cliild of V_)urning skies ! Open thy sun-brown eyes and look before thee ; See North and West, thy paler brethren rise, To grander heights than ere thy valour bore thee ! Read in the love-light of that sister's eyes, A love, which cherished, might to bliss restore thee — Then go at once ! and by tliy sunlit waters, Raise to the level of thy heart thy daughters." 17 What of the younger brother shall I say ? I would be just to both even to the letter, And to be just, one's judgement must have sway — Musi, spurn the very semblance of a fetter. I know it is quite common in our day. For those who think in crowds to think him better ; Perchance because more favoured than his brother — Wliilc loving neither, I prefer the other. 8 3 1 8 I never ask tlie crowds what they believe, So as to shape my faith and work to follow : I seek myself God's purpose, and achieve That end if possible ; discarding hollow And sham pretences, hoisted to deceive. I'd rather bend to Thor, or Greek Apollo, Than feign a fervonr for an unloved cause, Or chorus to the popular applause ! 19 Mistake me not, I know the pain — the price Tlie world exacts from those who stand alone ; It trusts the lying tongue, the false device, Anf] turns its shoulder — saying, friendship's gone- Or chills with finger tips like Lapland ice, As if such things as feelings were unknown — It means, a life without a friend's embrace. Averted eyes when smiles should wreath the face. 20 Yet, fearless of the cost I seize the rein. And urge my wayward fancy up the hill Scanning at intervals the teeming plain. Anon, attempting higher stages still — Regardless of the threats that would restrain — "Obedient only to the Perfect Will — That Power, which planted the supreme desire ; Which always beckons upward, onward — higher ! 8 4 21 I love the People ! wish them always right ; I stand or fall among the toiling masses : Waiting a constant war with vested miglit — Uncompromising combat with th(! classes ! Shoulder to shoulder in a bloodless tight ; Love conquering fields, and storming forts and passes- Till Right prevails ! till tyranny is ended, And all the shades of human nature blended. 22 I love the People ! I desire their weal ; But shall not flatter in and out of season ! One may to human interests be leal, Yet lash all vices with the whip of reason ; And in affairs of conscience, take appeal To One Just Judge, whom but to slight is treason — • There, and there only should we bow the head, And in that holy Presence, humbly tread. 23 Now speaking straight, I like wild Esau best. In spite of blemishes which I have noted ; The sun-tanned, red-haired savage, rudely dressed. Is nobler far than Jacob, richly coated — Fondled and feasted in the parent nest, And in the lone maternal counsel voted — Heir to his father's fields and sundry things, Father of nations, prophets, priests and kings. 85 24 And what is there resolved, must come to pass, .The fiat once sent forth, is ne'er remitted ; "Man sees but darkly, as if through a glass," I think 'tis said ; but woman sharper witted. Determines, plans, and carries, and alas ! The weaker must succumb* — man yields — unfitted To wage contention, when superior force Subdues him, or compels, he must endorse. 26 It has been so since human life began, And, doubtless it is well it has been so ; All over — not with every plot or plan — In this one, perfected so long ago. Duplicity and cunning led the van, And struck from ambush, at its own, a blow — Then, in the darkness carried oft' the spoil, Leaving him naked on his native soil. 26 These two were twins as I have said before^— Twin-born, thougli not twin-souled by any measure ; Esau had only a few minutes more Of breathing time, if not of actual pleasure Over hio brother ; still, 'twas sufficient store. To legalise his claim to Isaac's treasure — In serfs, in flocks and herds, in corn and wine. Handed from sire to son along the line. 86 27 I doiit defend this practice, but the right — ■ If right it was — has not been much disputed. Esau again — from what is said — made light Of all possessions known, and all reputed ; Knowing the forces wliich he loved to tight, And to his wild life eminently suited — Hungry and tired, one day in Jacob's cottage, He sold his birth-right for a mess of j^ottage. 2 8 Some justify that bargain, but not I, There is no Code of Morals that I know ; Christian or Pagan, that would even try ; Though like a mental twist, allowed to grow For ages ; Truth will out — like murder — cry To heaven for vengeance ! Sure, though slow, All fraud shall be exposed, even this! so long The bulwark of a nation built on wronsr. 29 How could the Highest, sanction such an act ? How register such deeds as these in heaven ? Save as a record of the damning fact ; That man to such extremity was driven By lust of gain ; which of us could exact Such terms to day, and hope to be forgiven — - Here, in this stage of manhood's vigourous prime, When crowds condone, or justify the crime ? 8 7 3 Sometliing of this hereafter may be said ; Meantime, we come to wliat we teim "The tide In the affairs of" both these men, which led Tliem both to fortune. Led them to divide Their scene of action ; like a stream whose bed Is cleft in two, the waters wandering wide — Each section seeking strange and distant plains. Gliding o'er rocks, and sundering mountain chains. 8 1 They had not truly grown up side by side. From boyhood, nature pulled them different ways ; And likely, in the flush of manhood's pride — Without mean ci'aftiness, which always plays Such havoc — Avould have chosen to abide As far apart as sunlight stretched its rays — "Where distance" as the poet says so true, Might then have "lent enchantment to the view." 32 Ah ! always if — and would — or could — or should. They might have, yes, but — somehow, did'nt do it, Small, wondrous words, in any tense or mood ; There is a way — no doubt — could one pursue it ; We follow it awhile, with no great good. Then tired with fretting, aimlessly fall through it — This by the by — though not quite in my story — May throw a faint light on the allegory. 8 8 ;5 ."> Now, for a moment I retrace my way, To render explaniitions more complete — Not at-all-needful some might truly say, As every child tlie story can repeat. "Precisely so ! but gentle reader, stay ! You would not therefore counsel my retreat — All know it, yet all have not read aright, On these I shed this ray of clearer light. 3 4 T take my stand on this resolve at least ; But who will follow wheresoe'er I lead ? A man may spread a very tempting feast, And get but sorry, sorry thanks indeed. Man is so "Poor in thanks," not so the beast ; If not in words its tell-tale eyes will plead Tn unfeigned fondness for a little more Licking the hand from which proceeds the store. 35 I labour not for thanks, but to fulhl My portion of the universal task, Devolving on our race ; I would instil Deep love of Virtue ; never seek to bask Tn rays of self-laudation. Will Our God endorse transparent shams 1 we ask ! Must every coming age the cry repeat ? That heaven showers crowns on falsehood and deceit. 89 3<3 "AVe have a Mission which we must obey ; Not borne on wings across a Jasper sea ; Nor fiery chariot through the Milky Way. No Lightning flashes it to you or me ; Iiut in "The Still Small Voice" it comes by day, And hovers round, unseen, and silently — AVhat is the messenger 1 We cannot tell ; Yet, steadfast stays the influence of the spell ! " 37 ''Gone are those days of pillar'd "Cloud" or "Fire," Of "Wrestling Angels," and of guiding "Stars" ; If — somewhere else — there lingers a desire To render earth-life sweeter, end its jars ; ]Myriads of waiting, anxious souls aspire To hold, communion ; but, alas ! the bars Keep all of earth, and all of heaven asunder. And neither yield to prayer, nor Sinai's thunder ! " 38 "Yet, not the less from heaven the message comes ! So long as there are wrongs to need redress — So long as Christian Cities have their Slums ; Where millions grovel in such dire distress — While that Religion — sent to cheer — benumbs. Chills, curses shivering souls 'twas meant to bless- Till the great victory of the "Cross'" is won. The work of heaven, on earth, shall not be done ! " 9 .Si) "God spake itnto "Tlie Fathers" — it is said — Speaks He not yet unto "The Sons" to-day. He — in the past — a "Chosen People" led From bondage, through a desert's tortuous w;jy Where, by a Miracle the host was fed ; Instructed whom to spare, and whom to slay — What are tliose people, where their glory now 1 Has "Israel's God" repented of his vow !" 4 "All are God's People ! All ! From first to last — His chosen, if you will — The meanest child Tliat ever breathed in all the hoary past ; The rude barbarian in his desert wild^ — The blind-proud scion of exclusive caste — The saint in ecstasy, the sin-defiled — God cannot help but choose, they are His Own ! His Love shall gather, where His Love hath sown?" 4 1 For all the world I would not seem unjust, And, as I said before, I have not forded The sacred river : Jordan, yet I trust T shall be true to what we find recorded. Failing contemporaTy evidence, we must Accept tlie statement of the race, that lorded "From Dan to Beer-sheba" so many centuries, And take at their oivn value, their inventories. 91 42 And these foi* certain do not fall far short Of their full value, rather exceeding, In my opinion — if I dare retort — Fairly, within the limits of (jaod breeding. Ko wonder Israel's people, made good sport For Pliilistines who had less light and h-ddiny— It needs but little Culture to see throuoh The grasping nature of the modern Jew. 43 Abraham did some questionable things, So all men do at times — and for that matter, Wc need not search too keen nor probe the springs Of all his actions : only, men will flatter Some beings out of reason ! gi-\ e them wings To soar above all heads — e'en let some scatter Dust in our eyes to hide from us their stature, Till we admit a superhuman nature. 44 Sarah and Abr'am lived for many years, So far as known in conjugal affection ; For many decades childless, it appears — Dubious no doubt at times of their selection As founders of a people. Full of fears He once played off the brother foi- protection— Though, how a change of name could thus acheive it, Passes my comprehension to perceive it. 92 45 The liist'ry says so and we must receive it — We have no choice ; and millions seeing clearer. Require the statement only to believe it Without a question ; claiming to be nearer Thereby to heaven for such belief. Conceive it ! How an unreasoning creature shall be dearer In the Creator's siirht, I want to know ! And shall not credit till I find it so. 4G Sarah was aged when her son was born, And joy was hers without a doubt that day. Some years before, when hopeless and forlorn. Her maid gave birth to Ishmael — by the way — ■ Ishmael was loved until that fateful morn When Isaac came. Peace could no longer stay- It left that household, to return no more. Till Hasjar and her son were shewn the door. 47 "Hist'ry repeats itself." This maxim, old. With fresh recurrence, still retains its youth ; And this ! of all the stories ever tolds Illustrates well the maxim's general truth. When Isaac dwelt in Gerar, he made bold To call Rebekah— sister — lest, forsooth Some native might cast loving eyes upon her, Redounding to his loss, and her dishonour. 93 48 C)n this coincidence I need not dwell ; It seemed so queer I could not but relate it. Strange, both got barren wives ; more strange to tell Two sons apiece, when if I dare to state it ; ()ne would have served the purpose quite as well — If not far better. Lijok through it — penetrate it ! Only one blessing was for one provided, And tJiat on no pretence could be divided. 49 How one might sermonize on such a theme ; Did time, and space, and audience not forbid it. O ! for one quick bright flash, one lightning gleam, To pierce the inner soul, to cleanse, to rid it Of the illusions of this noon-day dream ; Which takes for granted that God said or did it — Thought, deed, which man in reason, would disown, Leaving the majesty of God alone ! 5 Isaac was old, and likewise, nearly blind- — More than twice-told th' allotted span of years Had flown since first he gazed upon his kind. When past his prime his Lord allayed his fears, And gave contentment to his troubled mind, By yielding him the boon long craved in tears — Till then, no pratling child had blessed his tent, He prayed to God, and lo ! the two were sent. 94 51 'Tis strange that hearts, though crushed with otlier cares, Though chequered in their course — at longest brief — Should long for sweet, fresh flowers among the tares ; Though often fading ere the Autumn leaf. Cherubs, for whom the mother-hand prepares, Brought hence in pain and joy, borne thence in grief - 'Tis strange ! and yet, 'tis nature's high behest, That all should welcome every coming guest. 52 He welcomed his, and watched them as they grew, — ■ Both of them — into strong and healthy men ; Likely to act their parts, to carry through God's purpose writ on hearts, sans hand or pen ; Their God to Abraham's and Isaac's view. Revealed His Will ; kept secret until then — - Never endorsed in Sanscrit nor Arabic ; Nor in Egyptian hieroglyph, syllabic. 53 Nor ancient Chinese. Although eastern skies Enwrapt that land, they had not heard about it. Of Earth's full size, they could not even surmize. Or dream of it sufficiently to doubt it. The kiTOwn, gave room for all their enterprise As for the unknown ; they could live without it — What a small world for our great age of hurry, A mimic stage for so much fret and worry. g 5 AVitliiu their world they paced m peace of mhid, Without a scrip to guide, or give them trouble; Without a pi'iest to conjure wave or wind : Without a seer blest with seeing double. Eacli in himself was priest and seer combined ; Not one to mock belief, or prove 't a bubble — Abr'am kept it close till near his death, And Isaac almost till his latest bi'eath. Isaac, I said was old and full of years, Past any hope of useful action here ; And, Esau summoned to his couch ; appears. He hearkened with a ready, willing ear, But so did other anxious listening ears; Eavesdi'opping with intent to interfere — To set aside the plan by subtle scheming. Matured by noon-day, not by midnight dreaming. 5G The old man feeling death was drawing nigh, Desired to bless his son before his end; And as a prelude bade him outward hie To fetch some venison of finest blend To nerve him ere he took his long goodbye. The mother, meanwhile, seeming to attend To household duties, watched that son depart. Then turned to work the plot which filled her heart 9 6 5 7 81ie seurclied for Jacob, told him all she heard, And then unfolded what she meant to do — Warning him oi the fears he must discard — r To always keep the central point in view. "Think" she said "of the blessing and reward, Even though a curse should follow, not on you But on myself will all the vengeance fall, For having made, while you but tired the l)all." The thought is hers, the words no doubt are mine. Of tiring rifle balls she could not know. T modernize Rebekah in that line, And have a right to, wherefore should I go To that old valley, where their bones recline — Where still the tide of life moves on so slow; — That T perchance might lift the very phrase Which pinned down Jaoob to obedient ways. 51) Obedient, but not always truthful ways Those two don't now, nor did they go together In dim and distant patriarchal days, When family ties were held by firmer tether; And in this effort to disperse the h ize, I feel compelled to raise the question, whether — A scheme of self agrandizement or love, Was the sole ruling passion in this dove. 97 60 Without prolonging mental turns and twists, I choose without irreverence, to hold To selfishness and oust Love from the lists. To stand alone, I said one must be bold. And brave as well as bold, to pierce the mists — To face the freshet's tierce and bitter cold — To guard the open forts on cheei'less heights, And battle there for man's divinest rights. 6 1 Yet some can face loud clamours loudest shout, The scorching blaze of passion's vengeful tire; No threat or pain can put the force to route. Who fain would drag God's truth from out the mire, Disprove beyond the shadow of a doubt. All statements tending to make God a liar — If men would use aright the light that's given, The vale might not look dark which leads to heaven. 62 Most men believe too little, or too much ; While some dispute what others deem inspired : The priests tind out the weaknesses of such, And prime them with the knowledge that's desired ; So stunt the mind, that it may need a crutch. Just strong enough to bear the length lequired — Within those folds where ignorance is bliss, They little want, and therefore little miss. 9 8 <; ;? Thrice happy bands, acb/entureless, yet free ! All lieiglits are measured that your feet may climb ; The partly known, to you is chartless sea ; All new discoveries, threats to life and limb. You claim all good that is, and is to be ; All perfect music for your holy hymn — Yet, while you sleep, others may soar and sing ! And to your thankless hearts their trophies bring. 64 But, back again to Jacob we must come. To chronicle his smart impersonation. I wondered, if on this I'd put my thumb. Or speak regardless of vituperation. Then come forth Muse! though henceforth thou art dumb Or deaf to all the music of creation ! This MaJ of Jacob's was too smart by half. It reads just like a joke, to make one laugh ! 65 While Esau liunted for his quest afar, Jacob found his in an adjacent field. And ran home laden as with spoil from war; A kid o'er either arm, enough to yield A dinner for a dozen men at jxir ! With their digestion perfect, fit to wield The sledge of Thor, or wave a flaunting banner Over a host in (][uite a vig >rous manner 99 (1(5 The old man's aj^petite was more than good; Two kids in savoury stew, with bread and wine, Was quite a lusty meal of dainty food, To set before one man, who wished to dine ; One, whose condition then was understood To be just trembling on the border line — A state, in which a morsel, howe'er nice, Ts sometimes swallowed at a fearful price. The stew prepared according to command : Another problem forced itself in view — One must not only bring one's fish to land, But study how to get to market too — 'Twas boldy faced, and just as boldly planned, And in the crisis, quickly carried through — Time was so precious, none could well be lost. As both their lives might go to pay the cost. The gentle kids a double purpose served — The meat for feast, the skins in gloves were made For Jacob's hands. I never have observed Isaac's wife mentioned by the Glover Trade As sole Inventor. True, the occasion nerved Her to accomplish this without pai'ade — As advertising would have spoiled her game, ' Twas best for her to sacrifice her fame. 1 C '.I His neck was girdled with the selfsame skin ; For, Esau being hairy, so must he In counterfeiting Esau, march right in As like as ever a disguise could be. Detection then would raise an awful din, Likely enough to end in tragedy — Who would have kept wronged Esau's rage in bounds, On his returning from the hunting grounds 1 70 Jacob went in, "who's there ? " the father said, " Thy first born Esau," he at once replied, " I have returned with venison and bread That thou may'st eat thereof till satisfied; When done, I wait thy blessing on my head. " " How come ye back so soon " the father cried — "You seem to be so early from the chase That I must feel you, close in my embrace ! " 71 " Esau my son ! are you in truth that son ? Come, let me feel — you know I cannot see. The voice is like my Jacob's in its tone ! Yet, these are Esau's hands, it seems to me ! How sweet in age, when life is nearly done, To smell the greenness of the fields in thee — I would be sure, so, tell me once again. That thou art Esau, first-born of the twain ! " 1 01 "I'm truly he ! I come thus early back With that same venison so hjved of yore, Thy God went forth with nie along the track, And gave me that, so often given before To feast his servant. Tliou wilt nothing lack ' Yea, though thy pressing needs were ten times morel'' Thus Jacob lied to God and Isaac, twice Using the sacred name to shield his vice. 7?, Still, Isaac blessed him, as he would have done His brother Esau, had he been in time. The blessing seemed to wait on either son, And heaven approved the blunder and the crime ; Fixing as with its seal the falsely won ! What deeds of darkness blot that sunny clime ! Corruption blending with its songs sublime, Trailing its great Jehovah's name through slime ! When such is sanctioned in Religion's name ! When all with open eyes its pages turn ; Shall youth be able to suppress its shame : That glowing index of the thoughts that bui)i ! Restrain its wrath from bursting into flame ! Destroying altars a pure faith should spurn — And who would moui-n ? if purer fanes should i-ise. To bless the Author of the earth and skies ! 102 7 5 When such is sanctioned in Religion's name ! Need Wisdom marvel that men turn away And curse it as a mockery, craze, or game Which priests for tilthy lucre wildly play ! When such is sanctioned, it is hard to blame The searchers who have wandered far astray — - Who rather chose opprobrium, or the rod, Than purchased favours from this Jacob's Grod. 7G Of course, the times we speak of were remote, And men laid claim to closer kin with heaven And were it but — recorded life — -and thought Within the pages of the Scriptures given, One might o'erlook an error, or a blot ; Yea ! boast of generations having striven To find a purer source of light and joy Than mankind knew when Isaac was a boy. 77 We can no more go back on what has been, Than middle age can bask in childhood's glee ; The centuries of change that intervene, Render it difficult for us to see The motives of the actors on the scene ; Yet, howsoever wide the gap may be — - Those deeds, reviewed in any age's light, No Sphinx, or riddle-reader can make i ight ! 1 03 Tlie moral of those actions shall not hide, Though toned and hallowed o'er with sacred song. l^eligious bigotry and canting pride. Have been their shields and bulwarks for so long ; Cornered by Education's rising tide, Which undermines the buttresses of wrong — The spread of knowledge, full and free to all. Must hasten on the mammoth : Falsehood's fall ! When Jacob — let me now proceed to state — Secured his brother's blessing and departed ; That brother entered the same door, or gate, Bearing his message, pleased-like and light-hearted. Fondly he asked his sire to rise and eat. Then Isaac from his couch in terror started — - As if a ghost had been the cunning thief. Who had retreated with the stolen brief. 80 Then Isaac told the tale to tinfrliuf; ears. I need not now repeat it o'er again ; Its hearing first unnerved the son to tears ; The strong made man to writhe in conscious pain. That anguish left no trace on future years; Which brought at length a blessing in their train — Just then, he had small cause to love his brother, And almost less to dote on such a mother. 1 04 81 For every wound there conies a healing bahn, Unless the patient perish in despair. Soon, over S:;au's mind there came a calm, Boi-n of the consciousness of strength to bear, Without the sweetening cadence of a psalm ; Without the healing influence of prayer — These as we know them, were to him unknown, In God's earth, almost Godless and alone. '5 82 Then flashed across his mind this happy thought, If Jacob could be truly blest — or through, A gross mistake, a blessing could be bought ; Should lie, who acted honestly and true. Not yet secure the blessing which he sought ? By promise his, and therefoie but his due — This was the answer, at their God's behest — Jacob the blessing had, he would be blest. 8 8 This blessing constituted Jacob chief, Lord over Esau, and his brethren too ; What brethren, pray ? We turn in vain each leaf To tind who were the brethren, whether few Or many, liut our efforts come to grief ; Bevond the father's word there is no clue — But this seems certain ; thi'ough his chequered life. No brotlier toiled for him in ])eace or strife ! 10 5 Esau in tears implored a blessing still ; He seemed so loathe to leave the house without it. This savage recognised a higher will, And never once perhaps had dared to doubt it. Few such examples, Antique pages fill, His rugged faith had something grand about it — A trust that human wokIs — mere waves of breath — Would influence him after Isaac's death. 85 However high our scale, however low ! We always \Vorship, at our worst or best ! For something, all mankind a reverence show ; An Idol, naked, or with tinsel dressed ; A fetish, or the marsh damp's fitful glow ; A hero, or an ancestor at rest — An evil sprite, or spiteful fairy elf ; While some, who scorn all else, must worship self. 86 Esau had some dim notion of a power Other than what he saw, but in what nook, AVhat shadowed crevice, dell, or tangled bower It dwelt ; or wliat strange shape it took ; He guessed not. So, the nature of the dower Such blessings brought, no learned sage or book Could clearly tell. This he believed at least : His God was great, his father : God's high priest. t 06 87 And keeping ste.idy Uf h\s stioiigeit j^ointy He gained a sort of blessing after all ; Hazy, and just a little out of joint ; He was to serve his brother at his call — Jacob ! whom God would yet with oil anoint f Jacob ! whose seed would yet subvert the fall- But Avhen he grew to have a gi-eat dominion, He might ta,ke flight on independent pinion. 88 I may revert to this before I end, But on the story goes and so must I ! Vowing no crooked courses to defend. Esau reflecting Isaac soon would die, Resolved to kill his brother, thus amend That which he could not otherwise defy. Rebekah counteracted this intention. By an original, humane inventign. 8'.) She could not lose two sons in one fell day, One loved, one little short of being hated ; So she unfolded in her winiiing way A likely tale. Of course she underrated Esau's two wives ; likewise the race which they Were come of, and in conclusion, stated The plans she bad been harbouring in her mind, For Jacob's flight, her relatives to And. 1 07 !Mt Isjiac consenting, called his younger son ; Bless'd him again, as he had done before, Then bade hiin go his way, and journey on To where his Uncle Labau dwelt of yoi'e. There, one of Canaan's daughters might be won, As Jacob had been coujiselled to abhor The daughters of that land which gave him birth. Of all the fair ones of the peopled earth. 9 1 Theii lie set out on foot, and qviite alone, To travel to a strang'e and distant place ; By day : tlie sun in all its brilliance shone ! By night : the moon enabled liim to trace A path which led through desert tracts unknown ; Afraid to meet therein a human face — Lest it might be th' avenger on his path, Bent on accomplishing his brothei's wrath. !»2 Over those solitudes so long ago, The Caravan had not been instituted. Unknown as yet, the Camel, safe though slow — Unknown the " Arab Steed," the swift, sure-footed. Riches upon these people seemed to flow ; Yet their inventive powers were not deep-rooted — Cunning was native, that they had to spare ; It marks their children yet through fost'ring care. t 8 2 Foot-sore and tired, it give^ relief to yawn ; SleejD often masters man without a j^illow : Happy if stretched on green and flowery lawn, Shaded by twining boughs, or drooping willow ; From custom, one may sleep even after dawn, Cai'eering wildly on a storm-tossed billow — Sleep is in any case a precious thing, Though often, as the poet says, "Denied a king." 9 4 In that vast, solemn stillness, Jacob slept ; And on his stony pillow, dreamt a dream. The vista brightening as the night shades crept The closer round him. No bright sparkling stream Rippled o'er pebbles by his side, and kept His soul in tune, or gave his mind a theme — The dreary aspect of the scene all round, Made his sleep deeper on that dewless ground. 9 5 He sees a ladder resting on the sands. And sloping upward to the vaulted sky ; The God of Isaac at heav'ns threshold stands ; While many angel forms are hovering nigh — Ascending and descending, with commands ; Messages from the throne of the Most High — Bearing that healing balm which Love imparts, To weary laden souls and sinking hearts. 1 09 9G Gofl spake to Jacob, told liiin not to fear ; To put on courage and go fcrwa) d bi'ave. Charged him, to all His counsel to give ear — To trust Him, always ; He alone could save ! The land he slept on, bathed in sunshine clear. To him, and to his seed henceforth He gave — Stretching far north and south, and east and west, Till through him, all the earth would yet be blest. 7 JNIuch more he dreamt, and then he waked from sleep Trembling all over — though it was not cold ; The sun was starting on its upward sweep. Capping the purple hills with tips of gold. No sound disturbed these solitudes so deeji, Grim, desolate — magniticently bold — Sol poured o'er wastes of rock and sand his beams, And sand and rock i^eflected back the gleams. 98 He waked in wonder, terror in his eyes ; One would have thought he would have waked in bliss, In wondrous ecstasy, or glad surprise ! But no ! He dreaded something was amiss. His wondrous vision had not made him wise — Nor his philosophy prepared for this — That mystic spell, for which he sinned and wrought. Seemed far more overreaching than he thought. 11 99 He was surprised that God was in that place, And with his father Isaac, far otf too ; Though he with God had spoken, face to face^ Was also, one of but a chosen few, Who made profession to a God of Grace — A God, he could not break and shape anew — A great Creator, not a fetish blind, Like those around of human form or kind ! 100 It seems that Jacob knew not rio;ht from wronsx— Had not — of God — ,conceived a hijjher thouoht Than had the heathen, in his mysteries strong. His Lord was local. He had never sought THE HOLY ONE ! Whose evidences throng All round us. His God could be bribed or bouo-lit Hid in a bush, or carried in a box, Invisible, till priest-craft turned the locks. 1 1 Think ! what a bargain with lOne's God to make ! This man ne'er parleys but to count his gains ; Nor ever labours for another's sake. To such, a true philanthropy is vain ; He never gives, but ever wants to take ; He heeds not who may suffer want or pain — Remorseless as the Nemesis of fate, He must enforce his bond, the highest rate. 1 1 1 102 Here Jacob's mental range was stretched ; at least His Deity waxed greater than before : He had for one irliole day been travelling east, And at that distance from his father's door — Behold his God ! Yon writing at tlie feast Could not have frightened famed Belshazzar more — Yet, when the tit of shivering left his bones, He poured a flask of oil upon the stones. 103 A foolisli act, a waste of precious oil ; Yet pleasing liis vain glory for a start. This sealed the gift, he kept no counterfoil ; Except the niemory of- it in his heart. Against the great division of the spoil ; When all his children would receive their part — This action opened up the way to fame, And glory, somehow gathers round his name. 1 0-4 That ceremony over, he proceeds To find his Uncle's people by the way. As for the acts to which that journey leads — Contracts, which will not bear the light of day ; Dishonouring plans, and questionable deeds — Which but to name, would overtax my lay, Aird raise my gorge. Whoe'er would trace him there, Will find a very full detail elsewhere. tl 2 ********* 1 5 Over that period let nie draw a veil, And interpose these asterisks, or stars ; Denoting a desire to bridge the tale. An easy way of vaulting over bars Otherwise difficult to swim or scale Without defeat ; without at least some scars — When authors find these little things convenient, The reader should be, just a trifle lenient. 1 c, Let this suffice : he found his uncle out — Got married twice, and took two other wives, 8ans ceremonies, which means, done without — These had no choice, in shaping their own lives ; No wills but to obey, when charged about ; No rights at all to independent hives — Slaves at command, who might be bought or sold For a few head of cattle, or some gold. 1 7 He had grown ricli by questionable means ; The game he played, though wicked, seemed to win ; And with his gains he sought to leave the scenes. And kindly friends Avho took the outcast in. The story more to vice than virtue leans ; The veil put up to screen his frauds too thin — If read elsewhere, the reader at a glance, Would (erni it an impossible romance. 11 3 108 He left not as lie came, his dubious acts, Made liiiu afraid to meet tlie father's eye. While Laban's family were on distant tracts Gathering their harvest, he made haste to fly ; Leaving no record of the damning facts, Which Isaac's God approved. Not God on high — Rise ! fellow-men, and trample in tlie dust. This slander of the Father whom we trust ! 109 He was o'ertaken with his cumbrous train ; RejDroached for having sneaked through Laban's gate, Wliich opened for him with a fidendship fain. In answer, he commenced a lengthened prate, Quite in the injured, and offended strain ; And driven at last into a narrow strait — Confessed his haste was due to God's commands. And fear of chastisement from Laban's hands. 1 10 "Look on this picture, and on this" so said Our William Shakespeare by the Danish Prince ; And many a time, these pointed words have led To contrasts quite as great as Hamlet's, since ; And therefore, I insert those woixls, instead Of those I might have chosen, to convince All minds unbiased, in this heathen's favour ; Contrasted with that man-of-God's behaviour. 1 1 4- 1 1 1 The heathen parent's love found triumph here. He niiglit have whipped the wretch ; but doing so His daughters' honour which he lield so dear, Would thereby suffei', so he bade him go ; "Wi.sliing them success in their chosen sphere ; That peace would crown their lives, and love bestow Its choicest blessing, till the yellow leaf, Gave warning of a happiness too brief. 112 Tliey parted there in peace, one to retrace His steps for home. One hardly knowing where The path might lead him ; or in what strange place Evil might yet befall. His coward fear Betrayed an inward feeling of disgrace For wrong yet vuiatoned. Going by Seir, Where Esau dwelt in state ; where wealth and power JTad come to him, without his father's dower. 118 How could he meet him, how appease his wrath, How gain a passage through that brother's land : So warped, so wronged ! how could he cross his path — How hold to him a trembling guilty hand ; To prove what lasting love a brother hath — How pass before his armed and mounted band — H" Esau chose to tiash along the line An angry message, or a hostile sign. 1 15 114 I He soon evolved a plan he thought would do ; Selected presents in imposing scale. A grand and tempting sight when spread to view, And sure he thought with Esau to prevail. Yet other issues must be reasoned too — What if the efforts then put forth, should fail ? He must succumb before an armed liost, And all the prizes of his life be lost. 1 1 .-> Farewell then to tlie riches falsely made, And all the greatness he had hoj^ed to see. He sent his flocks across a stream ; then stayed Alone, to muse on freaks of destiny. Theie from his inmost, deepest depth he pia\ed ; A long, loud wail of selfish agony — Fear of his brother — terrors, vague and dim, Like phantoms of the brain encompassed hiin. 1 1 c He wrestled in the horror of despair With one he deemed an angel in disguise ; Common to eastern climes, but very rare In modern life, or under western skies ; Unless where fever's reign, or mad nightmare May summon such before our frenzied eyes — Born of the darkness, dawn dispels the trance. Chasing it to the region of Romance. 1 1 6 1 1 On parting with the oracle, he went Forward to meet his brother ; bowing lowly As ever slave before a conqueror bent — For seven successive times — solemn and slowly; Like envoy on momentous mission sent To plead with Lama, or Mikado holy — The tables then were turned, the mischief breeder Had thus become a very special pleader. , 1 1 8 " The quality of mercy — is twice blessed." The shaft is borrowed, and you know the quiver Whence 'tis selected, as it suited best. Small rills make up the brook, and brooks the river Which first go from, then to the ocean's breast. So do ideas from the great Thought-Giver — Poor man is but the means through which they flow To guide the progress of his kind below. 119 Time had not left deep marks on Esau's brow ; His form was strait and stalwart as of yore, And notwithstanding prophecy and vow ; He re-appears quite rich in worldly store. His first great service he would render now ; That of forgivenness — God-like long before The lips of Jesus Christ, our elder brother Uttered the precept : " Love ye one another ! " 117 1 2 Despite youth's follies, he had lived to learn That blessings were but words, sincerely spoken, And sweet to memory — eveiy man must earn His own reward, the most substantial token Of faitliful labours. Rest, for which all yearn, Is best self-won ; e'en promises get broken Without their maker's blame — like toys that please, Till life finds wants for sterner things than these. 121 Esau had never bowed to any man, Nor served one as his father said he must ; Tlie two liad lived apart, since Jacob ran From vengeance, some would have considered just. Esau was powerful, and beyond the ban, Or the command of him who touched the dust — Had ever Vice and Virtue more their due Before liigh heaven, than now, between these two! 12 2 How often are our fore-casts boding ill ? And those of Jacob's point the moral well ; He felt afraid his brother might fulfil His first intention ; but the surging swell Of inward, burning fires had long been still, And all past wrongs foi'given ; he ran and fell On Jacob's neck. ' The better angel kept The lamp of love alight, and lo ! they wept. 11 8 123 Esau had passed the shepherds with their gifts And questioned Jacob what the show might mean, " For you my Lord !" as huujbly, he uplifts His eyes, "If such as I may deign To crave acceptance." To what servile shifts A man must sink who would on virtue lean As on a crutch ; or fancies he can buy Love and esteem with gold, or with a lie. 124 " I have enough my brother, and to sjjare, And wherefore should I take these gifts from you: But whence all thsoe whom you have gathered there 1 " " My wives and children, 'tis for these I sue ! Since God has given them for my special care, I ask thy favours far beyond my due ; And since thou hast been pleased to spare the rod, I look upon thy face as that of God ! " 12r> Thus he prevailed on Esau to receive His gifts, and end the dreaded meeting ; Suspicious still, appearance might deceive, Despite the undeserved and coidial greeting. Esau so far, had no desire to leave, Offering to guard him all the way, repeating Anew the pledges of a fond affection. Love for hate, and brotherly protection. 1 19 12 The escort was rejected, 'twas inferred From Avhat he said, he wished to go alone ; If there were foes before him, he preferred To face the dangers unseen and unknown, Than those he fancied might have interfered With that prerogative he deemed his own — Thus from quite different motives friends may sever, And lives which should have blended, pai't forever. 127 " My task is finished, T have said my say ! I have attempted here to paint each brother, As they might strike a stranger by the way. I might as well at this time as some other, Drag out this story to the light of day To treat it, simply as we would another — Should they be sanctified, and fenced about ; Our sins laid bare, and theirs all blotted out ? " 12 8 "I have been frank, while some may think me bold ; I've spoken freely on a sacred theme. And some may wish to spurn me from the fold, Oi- sting my soul with scorn, thus stem the stream Within its flood-gates ; freeze with cold A heart which seeks to rouse them from a dream — To tear God's mandate from a deed most foul. Regardless of the j^riestly ban or scowl." 120 1 2 'J " Take not my statement, scan the Scripture page, Aiifl jud,<(e if I the record truly trac-e ; I do not here against the heathen rage, (^1- b;ite my reverence for the throne of Grace; I do not claim the functions of the saae : Nor of the seer, who pierces time and space — T seek to use my lowly heaven-sent powers In love for God, for man, for birds and flowers. " 1 :3 " I seek not to destroy a tithe of good. But take ray stand by those who sift the dross ; Make good and evil better understood — Weigh in the balance all tlie gain and loss ; Glean from all climes imperishable food, And point humanity to Calvary's Cross — Wliere Christ by savage hordes led forth to die, Drew all men heaven- ward in his agony 121 MY BOY T'o D J on completing his Thirteenth year. Boyhood, with its dream-like fancies, You will leave behind you soon, For the higher souled romances. We inhale at manhood's noon. School-time, with its tasks and sorrows, Interlaced with brightest gleams ; Ere the flight of many morrows, Shall be only memory's themes. Need I say 1 your baby prattle Sounded sweetly in our ears ; Need I now rehearse the battle 1 Fought for home through all those years. Not the wealth of worldlings prizing ; Not for greed, nor grand display ; But to help our loved ones rising O'er the bars which blocked our way. 122 All the steeps we have not mounted ; Backward steps make progress slow ; What is gained is easy counted— What it cost you ne'er can know. Follow now the impulse given, Aiming at, a farther height ; Watchful, that you be not driven Backward in the gloom of night. Spur each nerve of healthy being Raise your standard — up and on, Till, within your range of seeing. Looms the goal which should be won. Fame is not a prize to sigh for ; Zeal for self corrupts our good ; Never soil your soul to try for That which blots the rectitude. Riches open many places, Closed to worth and great renown ; If wealth waits on your embraces, Wear, and share the golden crown. Waste not time in vain, caressing Friends that smile in shine and calm ; Find out where life's cross is pressing, Wash the wounds, and spread your balm. 1 23 life is not a round of singing — Anthem, song, and roundelay ; Music bells in chorus ringing Till it ends like Summer day. No year brings unbroken pleasure. Sorrow meets us anywhere ; Give to every mood its measure, Never yielding to desjjair. Luring forms of dark temptation, May entrap you unawares ; Shun its fatal fascination ; Shun the wily trapper's snares. Vice with outspread arms may seize you. But, be resolute my son When the syren tries to please you, And the vict'ry will be won. All our failings you inherit — All our better parts are yours ; Strive to follow where there's merit, Nothing but the Good endures. As the years roll, wisdom gather. Nurse no idle sickly fear ; Trust the Living, Loving Father, He will guide, and He will cheer. 1 24 "A RAIN IN' STREET." A Wee Lassie's Yaumer. ' I dinna like on a rainin' street ! ' This was the plaint o' a wee, wee maid ; Thae were the very words she said Ae afternoon o' a Spring gane by, When the birds were liftin' their hearts to the sky- When specs o' blue Were keekin' through, Cheerin' the hearts o' the leal an' true. Labour was hush'd, an' the croods were gane To the sandy shore or the kintra lane. While some in the clearer holiday air, Saunter'd at will thro' the street or square — Some socht the side O' the busy Clyde, Whaur the mickle ships in their stately pride, Were tether'd, or plough in' the mirky tide. A walk wi' wee bairns gi'es little joy To hearts unblest wi' wee lassie or boy ; The en'less questions the glib tongues ply, Are wearisome tattle they'd fain slip by ; 1 25 Their manifold wants, are like rackin' pains, Their possession at best are but dootfu' gains — But the love that bides, Whate'er betides, An' the strength that shiel's In the hame or tiel's, Tho' tired an' sair, as the day wears dune, Can smile on a bairn like the Lord abune, An' keep a saft word for a steerin' ane. O' celestial movements I daurna speak, Tlio' the Sun a' day played at hide-an-seek, Ae meenint, its glory oor sicht wad strain, The next left nae trace o' the shinin' train ; Syne the silver gray took a darker hue, An' a drookin' rain cam' lashin' thro. Ratlin' on bonnets an' cloaks, an' hoods, Draiglin' the braws o' the holiday croods ; Here-awa' there-awa' flew in despair, A' that had something that wadna repair- Then it cam' to pass That that wee, wee lass Got mountit up on her brither's back, To hurry alang on the hameward^track ; But her teai's fell fast, As they hurried past. An' her cries were heard ower the getherin' blast Ower the patterin' rain, an' the clatterin' feet. As she levail'd her grief at the rainin' street. 126 But slowly we move wi' a burden alang', When oor ears are dinn'd wi' a greetin' sang. It 's a wearisome plod, be't nae great length, A trial to temper, an' tryin' to strength. Wi' the greetin' bairnie the boy trudged on, Without a groan ; Tryin' his best to get cot o' the Weet ; Oot o' the sicht o' the rainin' street. " I dinna like on a rainin' street." This was the plaint o' the wee, wee maid ; Thae were the words that she sang an' said. Wi' us grown up bairns it is much the same, The blameless, we're often gi'en to blame ; An' we canna say the mood comes in spells, For it 's unco seldom we blame oorsels. We quarr'l wi' the issues o' time an' sense. E'en the dispensations o' providence. Whatever happens, we've aye been richt ; When oor een grows dim we cry for licht — When troubles come wi' oor thrawart ways, A' things ha'e changed since oor by-gane days. We a' wad reap whaur we haena sawn, An' gether the roses before they're blawn — Jist like the bit bairn, we whine an' greet, An' wish we were afF o' the rainin' street. 1 27 -GO SWEET FLOWER." Go sweet flower ' with hearty greeting, Friendship's oldest thoughts repeating ; Fill with joy. hearts true and tender, With remembrance of the sender. Silently the years steal o'er us ; Bright gleams light the path before us ; Troubles fly when hearts draw nearer, Life grows sweeter, Love grows dearer. Earth is clouded o'er with sorrow ! Let us from life's store-house borrow. Wealth of Nature's laughing glances. So to stir our brighter fancies. Life is short ! to make it longer, Knit the bonds of love still stronger ; Let each day in fullest measure. Fill its record with pure pleasure. And, when ends this changeful lay — When Earth's music dies away ; Pass not gloomy through its portal, Cheer the Path to Life Immortal. f 28 A BIRTHDAY WISH I wish thee joy to-day ! And to thy journey's end ; May Love and Peace go hand-in-hand. And Wisdom prove thy friend These be thy guides from day to day, And carkling Care shall flee away. Bright may thy future be ; But not as cloudless day — - A life, which blends both shade and shine, Is that for which I pray — No cross of grief too much to bear, ISTo dazzling crown too bright to wear. Why wish what cannot be ? Why liuild a false ideal ? Time all our weaknesses will try, And show us wliat is real — All wrong, all falsehood then with-stand, And thou shalt sit at God's Right Hand. 1 29 "SOME DAY, SOON.' " Some day, soon ! " yes, " Some clay, soon ! " These were the words our darling said. On one of the early days of June, As the sunbeams gilded the sick child's bed. \Ye had moved from the city's crowded streets, To a quieter home, with the fields close by; Where the purer air, with its countless sweets, Might bring light back to her languid eye. All for her ! yes, all for her That change was made, though it came too late ; Unseen, unheard, mid the ceaseless stir, A hand was weaving the web of fate — She seemed so much better a year ago, We thought to baffle the sage of gloom; And brought her safe through the frost and snow. Into the season of leaf and bloom. 130 Must it he I oh, must it be ' We cried in our bitterness again; Wliy ? why so blind, that we failed to see The hand of death was there, even then ? Thus we whispered hope to our child so dear ; We promised to carry her in our arms, Out, where the notes of the song-birds cheer — Out, where the flowers and the grass work charms. " Some day, soon !" yes, " Some day, soon !" Sweet, sweet was the balm those words conveyed; They silenced our grief that afternoon, Like a gleam of hope from a deep, dark shade. We guessed not then, what her words might mean ; So simple, so easy to understand — We did not picture a far-off scene, On the unknown shores of the spirit-land. All too soon ! oh, all too soon ! Clay-cold — and silent — and free from pain — We carried her out in the afternoon, As the Sun was hid in a cloud of rain. For that last journey, she could not know She was closely veiled, and thinly dressed ; Or tliat lillies — white as the purest snow, • Lay in soft Ijeauty above her breast. 1 31 Some day soon ! yes, some clay soon ! We too shall go when we know it not ; Wherever in space, our souls commune, ' Twill be heaven indeed, that hallowed spot. Meantime, we'll treasure the faint, sweet smile Which shone on her face at our last farewell, As a God-given sign, to reconcile Our hearts to the hope that all is well. ^^^^^^^ THROUGH THE "VALLEY Wee Polt.y, aged 5 years. Why should we cry aloud in our despair ? Passing the door of that deserted room. Our darling languishes no longer there, Her spirit crushed beneath a pall of gloom ; No longer slumbers fitfully in pain ; No, ne'er again. Her weary head has found a place of rest Beyond the busy city's ceaseless sound ; With pure white lillies lying on her breast, She sweetly smiles in that dark undei^ground. And flowers are blowing while the weary sleep, And mourners weep. 1 3 2 Why should such partings come when love is strong? The trust so holy, the communion sweet, Why can we shield from deeds of human wrong ? Yet grant to Death a vengeance so complete, Wliy to that tyrant bow 1 and kiss his rod, As th' hand of God. Our race is old in years ; in wisdom young ; We have not learned as yet ourselves to know : We glibly theorize with pen or tongue, On human life, its problems — -weal and woe- Yet on the nature of the life to come ; The wise are dumb. Somewhere there is a goal, somewhere a source. Though mystery shrouds our advent and our end, The God we worship is above mere force- Higher than mind of man can comprehend ; Who through the mazes of all deed and thought. Forgets us not. When worn and shattered in this ceaseless strife, We leave this being with our wills resigned ; The ties which give the sweetest charms to life, Are rudely sundered, and the weary mind Dreams of new glories on the mist- veiled shore ; God keeps in store. 1 33 Age brings decay, but the destroyer, Deatli, Rests not content, to reap a harvest there ; O'er our loved young, he blows his blighting breath, Nor rosy, dimpled childhood deigns to spare — Do angels covet all the prettiest flowers? We claim as ours. Or would earth's contact so deface these gems, Through lack of strength in trial's darkest hour? That heavenly love, life's tiny channel stems, Bearing them safe beyond the tempter's power ; We guess, but answer not, and leave the rest, As God sees best. Yet, while the wound is fresh, the aching heart Feels that such wisdom is so hard to see ; We think sweet bonds should not be torn apart, Even for the promised joys that are to be— We love so much this life, and borderland. On whicn we stand. Our Here, is called the birth of the Hereafter — A sound of fury, or a terror dumb ; An oscillation between grief and laughter — A foretaste of the bliss or woe to come ; Our world is likened to a stepping stone. To worlds unknown. 1 34 But all beyond seems dark, those little feet That shunned small obstacles as mountain bars ; That stumbled o'er the floor, or on the street. Have now to mount to worlds beyond the stars ; The finite in infinity, though blind, The way shall find. , Our child went not tln-ough tortuous paths alone ; God does not leave his tender ones to grope Their way through gloom. He guides from zone to zone, The crowds that throng the vale and mount the slope. Till at the summit, where His doors stand wide, Through which all glide. , Our little darling had her singing days, And sang the Lord her Shepherd's loving care, This seemed the favoui'ite, of her many lays — ■ Her hymn of praise — she felt no need for prayer. Her wants were few ; her parents humble store ; Met all — and more. Though brief at prayer, her heart was full of praise. She warbled all her lyrics while she played ; Sweet, artless, full of childhoods winning ways, Oh ! how we miss that little voice. It made Our toil less wearisome, the place less drear ; voice of cheer ! 1 35 At home, at work, we miss her, and elsewhere ! Yet try to bear it bravely, as through tears We look afar among those worlds in air ; And wonder whether days, or months, or years Shall pass, before we hear that mystic call, AVhich comes to all. We shall be ready when the message comes, The readier that our sainted child is there ; No need for trumpet call, or roll of drums ; Attendent hosts, or heralds to prepare — Our little maid shall guide and escort be, O God ! to thee. MY DARLING'S GRAVE I sought my darling's grave one day, Before the advent of the snow ; The grass was green as in the May, The flowers had scarcely ceased to blow. I stooped to pull a flower or leaf. To treasure in the coming years ; But in the blindness of my grief, I could not see to choose for tears. 136 I went because I lovetl to go; And not to nurse despondent fears ; I loved that little suffwer so — I love the brown and green she wears. Ah t tell me not She lies not there, Tliat knowledge gives no cleai'er view ; She lives ! I know she lives elsewhere, And wait in faith to tind that true. AVhat we embi'aced, is hid from view ; The fondled hands, the nestling head Shall there dissolve, and with the dew Shall filter through that pebbly bed. Though that decays which wrapped the soul. Immortal love survives to cheer, And, influenced by the past control, May not her spirit hover near ? And iu some thoughtful earth-ward flight, A brief, bright glimpse I yet may see — Transfigured, in her robes of light — To shew tlie higher Life to me. Too high the wish ; too fond the hope—, That may not be, which hath not been ; Through human ways we all must grope. And climb the heights which intervene. 137 And yet, when on life's wavering line, With but a filmy thread between ; 'Tis said, sometimes a flash divine. Illumes the life beyond this scene ; So, standing o'er my darling's grave, I try to bridge the tangled years — See her grown beautiful and brave, Removed from all that blights or wears. I sought my darling's grave again — The fields with ice were crusted o'er. The furrowed ridges marked the plain. Like breakers, frozen on the shore. Each stem, each stone was robed in white. As if a myriad hands had been Weaving in webs the dews of night. To drape them with a glittering screen. Was Nature dead, or seeming so ? I marvelled on its slumbering powers ; In haste to see the green below, I brushed the hoar-frost from the flowers My touch unveiled the dormant life ; Revealed the perfect living forms, Which brave the elemental strife. And bloom again beyond the storms. 13 8 Not so our human flowers below ; Once blanched, their lips shall bloom no more ; The germs in brighter spheres may grow To ]o\elier shapes than worn before ; But no spring breeze, nor summer heat Can pierce that thick brown covering through. To touch the heart, revive its beat ; Or give the cheeks their rosy hue. No ! no, the seasons pace their round, Earth's verdure goes, and comes again ; But here, no more shall ours be found ? For our lost loves our search is vain 1 Lost Loves ! Why Lost 1 Oh doubting heart, Can Love be lost if God is Love 1 Days, months or years, we live apart, Sometime — Somewhere, to meet above. "SIDE BY SIDE." Side by side, along the green lanes roaming In friendly talk ; Watching the shadows of descending gloaming O'er-arch our walk. 1 3 9 Hand in hand, beside thy pai-ents' dwelling , Looking above ; Feeling a mystic power within us swelling — Learning to love. Aim in ai'ni, when bright the moon is shining, And all is still ; Closer and closer every day inclining, In heart and will. Heart with heart, beside a calm stream seated, Among sweet flowers ; Wondering why such joy was ever meted, To souls like ours. Soul with soul, into the future peering, With wistful eyes ; Foreseeing lasting bliss, nor even fearing, Dissevered ties. Hearts and souls, though separate, still in union. In memories hold ; Waiting till time shall give more close communion- More bliss unfold. 140 LAW— FOR RICH AN' POOR. Tliere's a Law for the rich an' a LaiD for the poor, An' few folks o' gumption '11 cloot it ; For siller can raise sic a glamour or stour, As blin's a' the bodies aboot it. If the poor step aside frae a virtuous path, They get haurl'd alang in a passion ; Whaur Justice sits sulkin' or frownin' in wrath, An, dealin' oot — Law — in the fashion. When the rich ower the borders o' rectitude gang, An' drag ithers wi' them to ruin ; They get threaten'd an' lectur'd on hae'en gane wrang, An' what tliey hae wreck'd wi' the brewin'. The harangue maistly en's wi' a punishment sma', An' sae the wi-ang's legally richtit ; Ay richtit atweel in the siclit o' oor law, While the law o' the Highest is slichtit. There may be ae law for a' kin's it is true, But hoo different it fares wi' Laio-BreaJcers ; It tramps on the crood, while it winks at the few, Wha belang to the privileged Law-Makers. 1 41 S :\i E I) A Y 8ome day, we luay think it best, That our darling has been taken To a couch with sweet flowers dressed, Nevermore, on Earth to waken — Some day, we may think it best, She was taken first to rest. Some day, ah ! but now, and here. What would love not give to bring her ? Loudest bell or clarion clear. Cannot stir our little singer — Warbling in another sphere — Somewhere, if no longer here. Some day, we may think it best ; Drooping under more deep sorrow ; Sighing for that blissful rest ; Longing for a brighter morrow — When, with keener griefs oppressed, We may come to think it best. 1 42 Some day, with her failing powers, Had she lived when we were taken ; Who would then have cheered her hours, When by those most loved, forsaken — God, Who knoweth all things best, Gave our darling needful rest. IN GOD'S KEEPI.\(J Safe in God's sacred keeping ! What wish for more, or say ? Why nurse veiled grief, why sit we idle, weeping ? And murmuring at the sower's time for reaping As if we longed to stay ? Those, who have sunnier hours ; Who never suffer wronsr ; Who stroll through greenest glades, or fragi/ant bowers, Careless, as babbling brooks, or wayside flowers; May feel their pulse-beat strong. But, those care-worn and weary, Struggling for daily bread ; Toiling from early morn, to midnight eerie ; Each sunrise, ushering an outlook dreary — The Reaper scarce can dread. 143 Broken with ceaseless fighting ; Jaded, worn-out, and sere ; Bent with life's burden, vexed with thoughtless slighting, Waiting for rest — leaving with God, the rightino: Of wrongs inflicted here. Forth, from earth's lowliest station, Into a kindlier land ; Sweetened with Mercy, gladdened with adoration ; Where Love — Infinite — worketh a transformation, Worthy the Master-Hand. Out of this darkness, Mother ! Through which we blindly stray With tliy poor boy, oiir world-bruised, sutfering brother, Sundered so long, now leaning on each other. Walking the endless way. Round thy knees there, will gather Prattlers with sunny hair; Who called thee mother, and my father, father ! Those baby sisters I have never seen, or rather Seen but in dreamland fair. W« all have visions holy. In houi's of quiet thought ; Visions of cheer — that banish melancholy — That stir the heart to lofty deeds — and lowly — That come like God — unsought. 1 44 And fain would follow, seeking The path which leads above ; We wait and watch the dawn of mornin-VEIIJKG A MAIiBLE STATUE AT KILMAIIXOCK, ISTlt. Sing ill deathless strains our heroes ; Crown their brows with laurel bays ! And invoke the sculptor's genius To subscribe its marble lays. Take t!ie shine from classic temples, Now their synibol'd myths haA'e fled ; For, instead of false ideals,. We enshrine our noble dead. All the zeal of hero worship, Graven on those ancient fanes, Thrills unchecked through all the ages ; Never tires and never wanes. Less and less, we trill the praises Of mere demigods of wars ; Worth disowns the sickening favours, Showered on pedigrees and scars. Deeming tho. e worth homage only. Who have wielded sword or pen ; To achieve their country's freedom — To redress the wrongs of men. 1 46 Such a hero was the genius, Unto whom all Scotland turns. Now to pay a debt of honour To its Poet, Robert Burns. Does his fame require this marble, Fresco'd hall, or pillar'd pile ? Shall his lyric splendours peiish, While a sc.otchnian treads this isle ? With oui- sires he roamed the woodlands. Waded streains, and climbed the hills ; And his song, on lake or rivei", Still enchants and charms, and thrills. How he yearned for righteous progress ! Though he never reached his goal ; How he spurned the thrall of fashion, And the creeds which warp the soul ! With a scorn for fulsome phrases, How he mourned neglect and wrong ! Hated shallow, vain pretension To exclusive gift of song. Could he stand to-day before us ? Listening to the swelling hymn ; Might not memory make him voiceless? Mioht not tears his \ision dim? 1 47 Crowd OMi- halls with l)usts of heroes, Read their lessons tlirough the yeais ; I'ill not othei's cups with bitters, While we deck those sacred biers. Help his profliecy's fiillihnent ! Deeds for words shall let us see. All the fulness of the sunrise, All the Brotherhood to be. CYNICAL VERSES. NOT SO CYNICAL AS THEY SEEM. Trill out a deathless lay ! Sweet, sweet as the song of bird — Piping aloud in the month of May — But, never an angry word. Sing out in trunijjet tone, Truth, Right, and the shame of Wrong And soon you'll pace life's verge alone. In imagination strong. 148 Live oil the air, poor bard I And scorn this material show ; Refuse all semblance of leward. From tlie crowds which throng below. Sing down those powers that grind The toilers, in far oif Startes ; But, for your own dear sake, be blind To the wrongs within your gates. Sing worthy means and ends ! Pour out wrath on trusts betrayed ! But ne'er portray the faults of friends. Or with stripes you shall be paid. Sing love to those around ; So that peace may crown your days ! But hush at once the faintest sound That might close the lips of praise. Sing near themes always fair ! Things distant sing as you please ; Your burdens shall be light to bear ; Your life be a life of ease. To praise, brings larger trust, And the flatterer wins renown ; But the fault-flnder's ingloi-ious dust, Dishonoui'ed shall go down. 1 49 SCO TL AX ]\ Oh this love ! this love of country ! How shall words its depth convey ; Priint the sickness and the yearning. When the heart pines far away. Scotia, Scotia ! oft with raptures Have thy songs entranced the eai', And thy daughter's sweetest singing, Has made memories doubly dear. Tiiere are lands, so vast and boundless, Where thy streams would seem but^-ills ; And thy mountains, knolls or knotches, On the bosoms of their hills. They have lakes, near which, Loch Lomond Might appear a paltry pool ; Inland seas, in which our Island Might be plunged, and not be full. They have valleys — spacious gardens, Bearing corn and fruit, and flowers. In such store, as tempt the toilers From this northern clime of ours. t 50 Yet wherever fortune leads them — Whether east, or westwards whirlesri ; All their thoughts of glory centre In this corner of the world. Wliile surveying heights of wonder, Scotia's hills in heath arrayed, Rise and till the patriot's vision, As the lovliest, God hatli made. Fairer, dearer than all others, Oft with absence fonder grown. Hallowed by past deeds of glory. Loved, because they are their own. O this love for one's own country, Gi^-^s contentment, though in chains ; While the exile frets forevei'. Where no salve can soothe his pains. "BABY HELEN ." What have you come here to do. Baby Helen? Cry, and smile, and coo, coo, coo, Baby Helen ! 1 51 Coached in all the guileless arts, Armed to storm our softer parts ; Win, and keep our human hearts — Baby Helen. Fancy follows all your smiles, Baby Helen ! Visions of bright, far-off isles, Baby Helen ' Baptures, language fails to paint. Flood our souls witliout constraint ; Spotless cherub, virgin saint — Baby Helen ! Have you come, pink hands and face ? Baby Helen ! Just to fill your sister's place — Baby Helen ■ Did she meet you, passsing through Sjoirit realms, for pastures new ? Claiming closest kin with you : Baby Helen? Here, she 'd been so glad to know you, Baby Helen! O ! so pi'oud, her toys to show you. Baby Helen! 152 Constant as a little mother, Polly worshipped baby brother ; Love in store to bless another — Baby Helen. She's with angels — with us stay, Baby Helen ! We shall prize you more than they, Baby Helen ! We shall guide and guard your way ; Watch you through the night and day^ Lest your little feet might stray — Baby Helen! Welcome, for the love you wake. Baby Helen! Welcome, for your own, sweet sake. Baby Helen ! Welcome to this changeful life ; One more blessing in the strife ; Chubby, blooming little wife — Baby Helen ! 153 ANITHER BAIRN. Anitlier Bairn ! anitlier cudlin' doo Has come to mak' its hanie amang us noo ; Anither joy to bless us in the strife, A new inducement in the fecht for life. We're countin' in the hin'maist hauf o' twelve, An' no a han' for its ainsel can delve, Or pick its lane if we were ta'en awa' To sleep aneath the niools. Atween us twa' Wee wife, I'm thinkin' noo, as far we've gane, We've managed won'erfu' wi' ilka wean — But soon Ave'll hae an extra plate to fill, When this wee lass gets on the teetliin' mill. I'se warrant, then ye'll need your wits and skill, To share the parritch roun' without a siDill. I'm in real earnest min', ye needna glower, Ae han'fu' mair '11 rin that goblet ower. That's true atweel, there is a cure for that, *■ Gae to the toon an buy anither pat.' My conscience ! what a way that is to talk ; Raise up the roof, put up anither bawk. That maun come tae, alang wi' extra pieces. If at this rate, oor winsome flock increases. 154- We've got eneuch, guidwife for a' that's cam'. An' we hae strength to work for this wee lamb ; Wha kens the bleiisin's, time may hae in store, When weak wi' age, ooi- han's can work no more. Thae han's that's helpless noo, may till oor place, E'en minister to a' oor wants wi' grace ; May soothe declinin' years, an' bring a calm Frae frets an' cares, like Grilead's sacred balm. Anither bairn ! anither bonnie doo ; Anither cooin', crawin', smilin' mou ! Red han's, red face, red as a rose a' ower ; Twa supple limbs ca'd legs, twa een that glower — A curlin' tongue 'tween lips that seem to say : Whatever comes my gate, maun sometliing pay — Twa neives that often hits its face a bang, Whilk dune by ither han's wad raise a sang. May heaven that sen's the birdies an' the flowers, The warmth to ripen after growin' showers ; Sen' doon — beside its blessin' wi' the wean — Wisdom to guide thro' pleasure, or thro' pain ; The strength to help her till that riper time. When able for hersel the braes to climb — Set on the road an ever shinin' licht. That oot o' a' the turns, slie'll tak' the richt. Meanwhile, be 't oors, guidwife to help the bairn, Tho' sweet, saft smiles be a' we're like to earn ; 1 55 Thae gie a joy the bairnless dinna feel, All" cheer us up the hills we've yet to spiel. Cares come to a', an' whiles we think they're blest, That ha'e nae yaunierin birds to tile their nest ; When — could we measure a' that jars an' wears, An plaits the wrinkles, whiles in early years — We 'd learn that they whase hearts an' hames were fou, Were the inaist thankfu' an' had least to rue. Sae, walconie mang the lave, oor brent-new bairii ; An' share wi' them whatever love can earn ; Oor fare is hamely, an' oor bield is sma', An' no a stane o't is oor ain ava ; But that which siller canna buy is oors, An' a' we baith can gie o't, shall be yours. CROSSED THE BOURNE. G. R. Crossed the bourne. Death's dai-k mysterious river. To closer union with the great life-giver ; Thy task soon done. Earth's garments cast for ever. One of our choicest, therefore soonest taken ; Gone ere thy prime, thy pictured course forsaken, And thy fond trust in heaven's grand truths unshaken. 156 Not given to boisterous mirth, nor melancholy ; Simple and Christ-like, faithful, loving, lowly — : Claiming the bliss that waits the pure and holy. Not heedless of the laurels men were earning ; Nor scorning those for worldly comforts yearning — - Life was from Grod, His knowledge worth the learning. His fair creation did not seem a blunder, Its general beauty marred by rending thunder ; Nor robed in green to hide our manhood under. The flower, the leaf declared their highest meaning ; Each unto each in close dependence leaning. And well repaid the ardent student's gleaning. Thy faith was simple, worshipping sincerely — Praying for light to see God's purpose clearly ; And in the struggle, judging self severely. Though loving all things, not averse to leaving ; Sure of a glorious home and glad receiving, And final union with thy friends, left grieving. Not over strong, hard work and close confining — The storms and mists of city life, combining, Waged war with thee and hastened thy declining. 1 57 Storms have no longer any power to shake thee, Music to cheer, voices to soothe or wake thee ; Since tlie loved Father deem'd it tit to take thee. From these surroundings which invoke our wonder ; From comrades, and the fiiendships closer, fonder, To the unending life that wait?-- us — yondei'. "FM A STRANGER N()^V." " All, all are gone, the old familiar Jctces." — Latnh. I'm a stranger now in my native town, Though less than a score of summers have flown Since, knowing and known, I traversed its streets. Or strolled with companions the vernal retreats. All the highways and byeways I love to trace, And stand as before at each halting place ; But, the faces I see, and the voices I hear, Are strange to my vision, and strange to my ear. Has my sight grown dim 1 that I fail to see The friends of the past, only changed like me 1 Ah no ! some have gone from the beaten track, Whence no spell of a wizard can conjure back. 158 A few sleep near by, in a narrow bed. While others the streets of far cities tread ; And many approaching life's midway then. Are — reverend — ladies and gentlemen. Ev'n the nursling babes of my youthful prime Are now in the height of their courting time ; And the boy and girl of the scholar's age, Is a bearded man., or a matron sage. The young men and maidens then out of their teens Now reign over households as kings or queens ; While some of the earlier married pairs, Recline in the shades of their — promising heirs. Need I wonder then, as I sweep the range Of those vanished years, that I feel so strange ? When half the crowd of that holiday morn, A score of years ago, was not born. Ev'n the friends still known, that I fain would meet, Have cares wliich deny them the busy street ; Such as our fathers and mothers had then, When we were the growing women and men. Many favourite haunts I still can trace ; But the groups are changed at each halting place; And their faces call up memories dear, As I visit the old place, year by year. 159 "TWENTY YEARS AFTER THIS.' Twenty yeai'S after tliis I ah, who can tell 1 Shall we be soured or saddened, sick or well? It seems so far to look befoi-e, I wis«— Twenty years after this ! Twenty years after, shall we then look back With pleasure, or with pain along the track ] Brood o'er lost hopes, or bask in well earned bliss Twenty years after this ? Shall we have risen above all groundless fears ? Pinched means, uncertainties of early years ? Or poor and fi'iendless, present comfoii^ miss — Twenty years after this ? Twenty years after, we shall not be old ; With love surviving, all sJiall not be cold ; There may be sweetness in the clasp and kiss — Twenty years after this I We may be feeble, lingering at the gate, Or passed beyond into a future state, And all forgiven, which we have done amiss — Twenty years after this ! 160 THE WEAVER'S FLIGHT A SEARCH FOR FOOLS. (Siiid to be Founded on Fact). Oonie Muse, and weave a simple rhyme. m An incident of modern time Just strikes my fancy, and I fain Would climb Parnassan heights again. Lend me a steed, and let us skip Without the aid of spur or whip, Bound o'er the course, before the day Has settled into twilight gray, And let us note while hurrying by : The verdant mead, and glowing sky, The vagaries of great or small, In lowly hut or lordly hall; Then spin a tale of homely lore. In lighter vein than heretofore. Within a house of one small room, A weaver plied his creaking loom, And though it clicked till evening's fall, His means were strait and pinched witlial. He laboured side by side with care, And felt its kinship everywhere ; 161 Work with whatever will he would, That phantom grim, beside him stood. And would not budge. He tried in vain To shunt it forth, his small domain. He had, like many more in life, A thriftless, unaspiring wife ; Who, void herself of high desire, Would trample down ambition's fire. While he exerted might and main. She slept and yawned and slept again ; Aud this went on from day to day, No matter what her lord might say. Or rather long ago had said, Before he deemed all hope had fled ; Ere the bright gates of Eden's bowers Had closed on him, and hid the flowers. One morn, the sunbeams, rosy red, Cheered the lone toiler. Still in bed, His spouse unconscious of Sol's charms. Reposed in drowsy Morpheus' arms. Back and forth the shuttle flew. Rich in tints the pattern grew, Inch by inch went round the beam With click on click ; until a scream Aroused him from his working dream. That moment, why, he never knew ; Beyond its bounds the shuttle flew. And winged with force, it did not fall T62 Till it had reached the cott.-ige wtiIP. But, as across the room it sped, It grazed his loving spouse's liead ; Housing her from her after sleep. In wrathful ire, to scold and weep. 8uch thoughtless creat«res, from the lirst- For draughts of Nectar never thirst ; Though not averse to life's good things. If providence the blessing brings. Boorish, they wallow in the mire ^ Of husks and dirt tliey never- tire. Labour^ by sweat of brow or brain, They could not tear for richest gain ; They take large shares at nature's feast. And giving, give what troubles least ; Yet strange to say this shiftless crew. In life's proplexities pull through. When higher mortals fail to do. They fondly cling to life and time, Give no deep thought to themes sublime ; Though quick and ready, old and young, With canting phrases on the tongue. This mixture of the sage and fool, Was no exception to the rule ; Though every limb wa? safe and sound. Her terror knew no mete or bound ; And in the fever of her fright. She hurled her venom ed darts with miyht. 1 63 ^Slie really slirieked in her deapaii\ And, thoiigli she had not lost a hair ", iShe charged him — in her frenzied strife AVitli base designs against ter life. •However, as through life you wend, All loads nmst take a turn, or end, Aye even storms- — when sources fail- Must sober down to sickly wail, And in the ca«e before us now, It end at Forty T — Byrnn, Forty Years ou life's broad river, Forty years of storm and calm ; Forty years of sweat and shiver, Forty years of gall and balm. How the chor/ds of memory lingers On the sweeping changes seen ; Touches, light as baby fingers Take us back to— might have been. Back, through manhood's growing stages, Back to childhood's pictured lore ; Back to cone the scholar's pages, Scan the meagre fruits they bore. School-time, short-lived, unheroic, Scant of charm or daring deed ; Yet, the spirit of the Stoic Has not crept into my creed. How the fii'e of boyhood's passion Kindled at the sight of wrong ; How it scorned the tyrant fashion In its yearnings to be strong. 19& .s'ttoiig, to smite the evil-doer, Strong to shield tlie vreaker one ; Strong to help in something truer ; Strong to see real justice done. Oil, those hopes so rudely shattered I Blown, or burst, oi- trampled down ; Each fond Idol dust-bespattered, With a fooFs cap for a crown. Ofi! that vague and idle dreaming. Baseless as mock suns or stars; t'ormless as the ether streaming From the disc of lurid Mars. r have lit no torch of glory, Kindled no bright steady flame ; Life, the old, old common story. Going naked as it came. What about the talents lent me. Have I hid them in the dust ? Have I shirked tlie mission sent me, Has it proved a miss-placed trust ? If so, master now that langour. And go forth with firmer tread. Yet appease God's righteous anger ! Raise for good a chastened head. 199 Let the past be dead for e\e\\ Like regret, beyond re-call ; .Balmy aii'S from heaven can never Sweeten fruits that blight and fall. Thresh my sheaves — they are not luanv Far from worthy of their cost , Yet, if Bread is found in any, All ray labour is not lost. If I shed a beam of ghidness Into one lone sinking heart ; Light its darkness, lift its sadness,, I have faithful been, in j^art. Only finite powers are given, ' Tis not meet that we should know All the deepest things of heaven. All the fruits of what we sow. "VVe are not, not even in seeming To our poor devices left ; Light from God all round is streaming, For us yet, the rocks are cleft. Manhood has the God-like in it, All its leanings are not vile ; Those who choose the good, shall win it, With the "Well done,*' and the Smile. 20O l^p, in manliood's strengtli of being ! (Tirt with boyliood's hope and clieer; Heaven witJiin our range of seeing — O'er the world-wide waters steer. Leave off planning, and pursuing Cliimeras, which can't be won I Work is blessed in the doing, Blessed with reward when done. Youtli, we cannot now live over ; Cliildhood's years come not again ; Nor the role of sighing lover, With perplexing bliss and pain. All past joys are o\er-rated, Present, and to couie denied ; Life is blest when truly mated ; Heaven on earth if true when tried. Homes bind up life's broken story Homes, with Love enthroned serene ; AVife-hood in her robes of glory Sheds o'er all a hallowed sheen. THE K\D. YOU When You and I my friend, were young. Our pathways lay together : Now, you have drifted into calm, I still breast stormy weather. We for an hour converge again Within the range of speaking, When thoughts of joy so crowd the brain, I can't find what I'm seeking. I was no slave to pomp or pride, Nor in my manner craven ; I've fought all through, yet failed to gain Like you, a peaceful haven. You have thus early found your goal, And are at anchor lying ; While, like a lone, lost mariner. Distress's flag I'm flying There seems no rest for wayward hearts. Till Death's white robes are wrapping ; Or robeless clay is washed ashore, And waves against it lapping. Had you but chanced the way I went, And T your path liad taken — Glasgow, Nov. 18S!). AND I How diff'erent might it all have been AVhen from life's dream we waken. You might, with ease have crossed the fords, Where I careered or stumbled ; And lightly climbed the steepest banks, Where I sat down and grumbled. You might have leapt the rocky bars, Wlien I sought longer turnings, And come unscathed through snares or wrongs, With half of my heart-burnings. I passed by fortune seeking fame. You found both waiting, smiling ; You toiled for comforts, I went on. With songs the way beguiling. Oft through tlie fire, and through the cloud ; Above the blasts appalling ; Your face appeared, your friendly voice In fancy, I heard calling. Tin's glad re-union is so short, Forgive my rude caressing ; And if they are not wasted words, Accept the warbler's blessing. Alkx. M'Laren. PR 49 71 M'Laren » M35h Heart breath- 1889 ings. PR 4971 M35h 1889 Ui>l VEKSl 1 1 KJr v^/\i-ir\^xviMrv, i-wo rn>vji-i^i^o THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY This book is DUE on the last date stamped below Form It-i} 2Dm-10,'ll(21»l) W'<