^ BBiliafa ' ^^ •*'-*' *' ■' ilii ; ■; f M [■ 1 11 '' ' lil':i THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES v> .^ A VOLUME OF VERSES, SEBIOUS, HUMOEOUS, AND SATIEICAL. BY WILL. BUCHANAN, B.A., EDITOE OF THE 4YB OBSEEVEB. P EDINBURGH: JOHN MENZIES. GLASGOAV: HUTCHISON CAMPBELL. AYR; W. M. DICK, 38 SANDGATE STREET. MDCCCiZVI. fR CONTENTS. THE WIFE OF RABBI MEIU, ..... HANS herder's STOCKING, .... ROBERT BURNS. A CENTENARY OI)E, . THE GLOAMING, THE ASS AND THE MIRROR, .... THE FRAILTIES OF GENIUS, .... TO MR. JOHN LEECH, ON HIS VISIT TO AYRSHIRE IN 1858, THE UNPROTECTED FEMALES, .... A VISION OF LIFE, TIT FOR TAT, ....... time's MEASURES, THE SWALLOW, ....... ON THE FAMILY REGISTER IN AN OLD FAMILY BIBLE, SCOTTISH BALLADS THE DEAD CHILD, THE ART OF MODERN POETRY, .... THE BELLE AND THE BUTTERFLY, FAMILY AVORSniP. WRITTEN IN A VOLUME OF FAMILY PRAYERS, THE SHIP — AN OCTOBER MUSING, PATERNAL ADVICES PAGH, 1 19 24 34 36 39 43 47 58 68 69 73 76 79 82 86 98 99 102 . 106 11 CONTENTS. PAST AN^D PEESEKT, CLOTJD AND STJNSHIJTE, . BOTH SIDES, .... THE JTJDG;iIENT op SOLOMOy, 8IE HENET HA"V':EL0CK, THE YEOMEN A'N'B THE PEEK, GENERAL NEILL, . QUIETUDE, .... THE GRAND PIANO, THE QUILT. A CONNUBIAL COLLOQUY, TO A YOUNG L.U)Y, WITH THE PRESENT OF A SCRAP-BOOK, ON A YOUNG ERIEND, WHO DIED AT EIGHTEEN OPINIONS, AFTER SUNSET, ABUT AD PLURES, THE GOURD, . DEATH IN THE MANSE, THE REMONSTR^INCE O' WELLINGTON SQUARE, IN AYR, ST, MARY's bazaar, DUMFRIES, .... 'tis a BEAUTIFUL WORLD, TO A FRIEND, ON THE DEATH OF A SISTER, time's CHANGES, YOUTH, PAGB. - 117 127 130 132 135 136 140 143 147 154 162 165 167 168 170 172 174 177 183 193 195 198 201 ERRATA. At page 3, thirleeu lines from top, for boys read sous. At page 17, three lines from top, for men read man. At page 21, nineteen lines from top, for year.^ read ypxtr. At page 23, four lines from top, for Ivmk read roll. At page 40, thirteen lines from top, for her read his. At page 40, thirteen lines from top, for worms read worm's. At page 60, top line, for hrp.eze read hirch. At page 90, eleven lines from top, for ta'ine read the tamer. At pag9 111, top line, for They're read There. At page 124, three lines from top, for licr readFer. At page 125, foot line, for charm read vjile. A YOLUME OF VERSES. THE WIFE or EABBI UmK Of Woman's excellence, when asked To state my full conviction. My perverse Muse I've sometimes tasked To write a pleasant fiction. Yet fiction e'er so exquisite — I'm far enough from pleading The character would mine befit — Is evanescent reading ; l^or all the fantasies put forth By novelist or jDoet, Could half so well de.pict her worth As simple fact might show it ; THE WIFE OF RABBI MEIR. And, if you doubt me, stay and hear About the Wife of Eabbi Meir ! The Rabbi was a learned Scribe, Of virtue unaffected ; Not any Elder of his tribe Was ever so respected ; The old men rose Avhen forth he walked, The young men kept from pressing ; The prince was silent if he talked, The poorest had his blessing ; ^No haughty condescending airs. The paltry soul concealing ; No broad phylacteries, long prayers. The hypocrite revealing ; So truly good and wise was he. To seem, with Hm, was but to be. To Her, an ardent Je^dsh maid, His first fond troth he pHghted ; Years saw the promise imbetrayed. Their hearts but more united. Though gone the glow of other days, A richer light was beaming. THE WIFE OF RABBI MEIR. Like Sunset's long-dra-\vii golden rays O'er August's landscape streaming, So shone with lustrous melloAving grace, Whicli made the whole diviner, The beauties of his Eachel's face — A glory calmer, finer. Than e'er adorned her maiden life, Halo'd the Mother and the Wife ! No longer young — she past her prime. Her lord was sixty turning ; Tlu-oiigh botli Hfe's Spring and Summer-time They'd had their share of mourning. Of daughters seven and lovely hoys The Sepulelire had reft them — Two boys — their last and youngest ones — Were all that Death had left them. Beside the grave of its first-born Youth is a frenzied weeper ; When Age laments its latest-torn, Its gTief is sorer, deeper ; For ah ! the tenderest .heartstrings twine Eound Joseph and round Benjamin. THE WIFE OF RABBI MEIR-. At morning meal, the Eabbi hears Those cloildren's music swelHng ; Then to liis Court he goes, nor fears, Ere he regains his chvelhng, Another entrant at its door His footsteps shall have planted, And come, as he has come of yore, T^nwelcomed, and unwanted^ That hated guest ! who never Avaits Until that he be hidden ; Who claims the best within our gates, Nor heeds though he be chidden ; Where least expected — there he flies ; And loves to take us by surprise ! 'Not far from Rabbi Meir's abode, And all along the meadow, A niurm'ring river quietly flow'd Through sunshine and through shadov. ^Not deep — a stripling's tender limb Was strong enough to stem it ; Not dark — the silver fishes swim, [lis young eyes see them gem it. THE WIFE OF RABBI MEIR. Yet, sometimes, if a thunder-sliOAver Among the hills at morning Had fallen, it rushed with torrent power, And, rising, scarce gave warning — And then as quickly 'twould subside, Long long before the even-tide. Of all the witcheries that dwell In nature's kind or coy mood, It surely is the water's spell Which fascinates our boyhood. We tire betimes of field and wood, Of valley, and of mountain ; But sea, or lake, or pouring flood, Dark tarn, or glassy fountain, Or streamlet — if they chance be near The home that's ours no longer — It weaves a charm, Avhich every year Binds round the heart the stronger ; For there we never tired to stray And while the livelong summer day. Beside that stream the children oft Would sit for hours together ; THE WIFE OF RABBI MEIR. And lave them in its water soft, Through all the sunny weather. The one — the elder of the tAvo — Was darker than his brother ; His hair Avas of the raven's hue, But golden looked the other ; And his long silken auburn tress Flowed to his round white shoulder, His face had more of boyishness, In spmt he was bolder — And strangers called them, near and far. The Evening and the Morning Star. Their favourite spot an islet was ; To it they daily waded — So fresh its flowers, so green its grass, So pleasantly 't"was shaded ! There they rehearsed their simple talcs. Or guessed their boyish guesses, Or launched the skiff" with tiny sails. Or gathered water-cresses ; Or — ^but 'tis needless to relate What every spirit fancies ; THE WIFE OF RABBI MEIR. Things perish of a later date, But these dear old roraances Of early days, they perish not, Though all between should be forgot. And they were busied M^ith their game, As children can be busied. When lo ! a rushing sound there came Which older heads had dizzied ; The elder, terror-stricken, cried — " The water's up the valley !" Then crept close to his brother's side. His gentler heart to rally. The younger said—" The way is short — Before the flood can near us We'll reach the ford — 'tis but a sport — Why fear — there's nought to fear us !" With that he took Ms brother's hand — Alive they never reached the land. 'Not far beloAv the well-known ford, The servants sought and found them : Alarm'd they ran when first they heard The Waters rusliing round them ; THE WIFE OF RABBI JIEIR. Yet childhood struggling for its life, With death contends but weakly ; Indeed, yon cannot call it strife, It yields so soon, so meekly; Fast in each other's arms they lay, Their ringlets interweaving. So still, and yet so sniihng they, Yon could not help heUeving They feigned to sleep ; or else you deem'd They really slejit, and, sleeping, dreamed. Small are the griefs that toss the breast. As wdnds toss up the ocean ; And blind the sight, and break the rest, And make a wdld commotion. But a great grief, or hope, or fear. Or hate, or love, or wonder. It shakes the soul — as shakes the sphero The awful stroke of thunder — A moment; the vibration o'er, A perfect calm possesses. And powers, all dormant heretofore, Awake to curse or bless us — Angels or devils then we are, To do, to suffer, or to dare ! THE WIFE OF RABBI MEIR. The selfish natiu'e, iu such mood, Is hardened to the stoic ; But ah, the selfless and the good Sublimed are, and heroic. Quiet tears may fall, as on they go Along this vale of sadness ; And yet not wholly tears of woe, They have a tinge of gladness. Such tears as Christ himself once shed Where Lazarus lay sleeping — Even though about to wake the dead And end the sisters' weeping — Such tears, poor Rachel, then were thine, At once both human and divine. !N^o vulgar wail of grief was hers, Xo passionate despairing, 'No feature of her visage stirs. But tranquil is her bearing. Her women w^onderingly looked on, And awe-struck stood before her. Ne'er so majestic had she shone, Xe'cr such a light come o'er her; 10 THE WIFE OF RABBI MBIR. And still they looked, and still they feared, So wondrous and unhiiman. To common natures she appeared Or more or less than woman, — One mighty sorrow in its fall Transfigured her, transfigures all ! Their bier she made her bridal bed, That bed where oft had nestled Each Kttle sleeper's round warm head, Unconscious how she wrestled With God in prayer, to bless the lad. And take him in His bosom. Ah ! sui'e, that prayer an answer had ; Though Flesh might pine to lose them, Faith, piercing far beyond this scene, To Love's great heart confining, In regions purer, more serene. Beheld her tmn-stars shining. And everlasting radiance pour, Where clouds can intervene no more. Why cowers the hen above her brood — The fox still keeps his cover 1 THE WIFE OF RABBI MEIR. 11 Why quails tlie throstle in the Avood — • Not yet the hawk doth hover ? Why pales that v/onted sunny hrow With momentary tremor t What mars the visions bright just now Of yonder placid dreamer 1 Whence flits there tlirough the crowded feast That silent shadowy spectre 1 Why, when we're fain to douht the least, Some damning dark conjecture — Inexplicable, undefined — Starts up to daunt and dog the mind 1 — We know not. But there is a sense The sages never mention— A sure, instinctive prescience — A subtle apprehension Of evils — yet to sight unseen, By circumstance unshapen — A mystic sympathy between Our thought and wlaat's to happen ! It is not terror or disease; It is not calculation ; 12 THE WIFE OF RABBI MEIR. Far less the vagrant reveries Of wild imagination ; It makes the strong and resolute At times unsteady falter ; The readiest tongue, the nimblest foot, The rosiest cheek to alter ; And most men, in reflective hour, Cwa its existence, and its power. The Rabbi had this feeling too, He strove in vain to master — It was not he already knew. Or dreaded the disaster ; Yet, all that afternoon, his breast He felt a weight oppress it ; The more it Aveighed he did his best The more to dispossess it ; And strangers said — " How eloquent, How luminous, how pleasant His words, his thoughts, his argument 1 "- But still that ever-present Seemed to the man himself to draw A veil o'er prophets and o'er law. THE WIFE OF RABBI MEill. 13 Ah ! could Ave sometimes enter in The soul's most secret closet, Shut out the world and all its din, And know as God but knows it — How often might we start to see, Beneath the covering lifted, Some slow-consuming misery, Insj)ire the highest gifted ! Yes, yonder man of many-tongue "Wlio seems, and makes us jo^^ous, His accents are hut wildly flung To drown his own heart's noise — To stifle wliat he cannot quell, To hide what he would scorn to tell ! The Rabbi reached his home, and still The burden was not lightened ; But, lest his Avife should think liini ill. His looks the more he brightened ; He called for Avine A\dien he did sup. And generous Avine AA^as brought him ; Rachel herself poured -out tlio cup, And tenderly besouglit him 14 THE "WIFE OF RABBI MEIR. His Avearied strength to renovate After the day's fatiguing; It seemed, whilst they conversing sate, As if the two were leaguing. Each from the other to withhold "What both were burning to have told. A man that very day had pled, And gained lois cause, as claimant, From one Avho money borrovfed, And would not make repayment : The Uvo before the Rabbi stood, To hear the suit he bent him ; The debtor said, with hardihood, The money Avas not lent liim, But given in gift. This was denied. And when he asked the debtor What proof he had, the man rephed — " No witnesses, no letter ; " Yet still more obstinately loud He swore, protested, and avowed. " It was such vile attempt at fraud, " The Eabbi said commenting. THE WIFE OP EABBI HEIR. 15 " I could have seen tlie -wretch outlawed, And stoned, without relenting. " And though his heart was not severe, His feelings never hardened — He ever sentenced with a tear. Rejoiced whene'er he pardoned — Remembrance of such treachery, Ingratitude and meanness, Shot fire into his mild blue eje, Lent to his tongue its keenness ; With anger strange for him and heat, He cursed the ingrate and the cheat. Rachel from hstening now arose ; The daylight fast was waning ; The Rabbi thought a night's repose ]\Iight cure the day's complainin, So to his chamber he withdrew — At first a dread suspicion, Then horror, flashed upon his vie^w ; N'ow he repels the vision — But no ! Too evident, alas. Was read the strange foreboding ; 16 THE WIFE OF RABBI MEIR. Anil, soon as read, at once did pass Away til at lieavy loading — Broken tlie spell that hound him fast, But worse what came than wdiat had jiast. " That I should hve ! " the old man cried, " Siuwiving hahes so cherished ! Would God for them that I had died, Or at my own birth perished! Hopes of my heart ! — props of my age ! — How vain was all my toiling To leave you fame and heritage ! No^v cruel death despoiling My hearth of you, all else may take ! — Oh ! if all else could buy them Gladly I'd give it for their sake — And want and scorn — defy them ; But now, Avhat need I care or crave, I'll go down mourning to the grave ! " Rachel awhile uttered no word. Though silently she sorrowed ; Then said — " And is it thus, my Lord, We pay what we have borrowed ? THE WIFE OP RABBI MEIR. 17 And may not He who lent iis tlieni Eecall His own at pleasure ! Shall selfish men deny His claim, Or OTud^e restored trea.sure 1 God of oiu' fathers, and our own, Thy law is right and gracious ! Grateful we held them as a loan — These jewels dear and iirecious — And gratefully we thank Thee for Their uses past and — Evermore ! " The Rahhi heard, the Rabbi felt That higher wisdom spoken; Then on the ground profoundly knelt. And thus in accents broken — " I thank thee, God, for all Thou dost. Though clouds and darkness gather, Thy way is holy, wise,-and just. My Father ! oh my Father ! B 18 THE WIFE OF RABBI MEIR. I tliank Thee most of all for her Wlio cures my seLfish blindness, To me the present minister, And token of Thy kindness ! " Then who may Woman's worth despise ? Her selfless heart — ^it makes her wise ! 19 HANS HERDEE'S STOCKING. Hans Herder of Heidelberg was so well known, To all the good Germans wlio dwelt hj the Rhine, If you have not ere now heard about his renown, 1 am sure, gentle reader, the fault is not mine. For never- a tower, nor a turret, nor mill. For fifty leagues round where he dwelt with Ms dame. But sometime or other had needed his skill, And [)roud, to tliis day, has carved on it his name. Did the quaint borough clock need its dial renewed — Did a weather-cock rust, or a copestone but lurch — Or some lightning-rod start — had an arm to be screwed . On the old battered cross at the top of the church — Who but Herder was called ? What height was so great, To scale it his art would not willingly dare 1 Till the blouses around all so knowingly state — Sly Hans is in league with the Power of the Air ! 20 HANS herder's STOCKING. Hans never once tried disabusing their mind ; It made his acquaintance so wondrously civil : For, since witchcraft's no crime, 'tis men's interest j^ou'll find, To appear upon very good terms with the Devil ! And such was the mark at which Herder was prized. That nobody thought of e'er crossing his track ; So through all that "wide district he monopolised The office and fees of the sole Steej)le Jack. One day he had scrambled, by aid of liis kite* — (Hans called it his Demon to keep up the ruse). To a tower of not less than some fifty yards height. With scarce breadth on its summit for one pair of shoes. But scarce had he seated himself on the top, Beginning his work, when a mischievous puff * In former times the only way of ascending spires and other elevations was to throw a rope over the summit by means of a paper kite. A string was attached to the tail of the kite. The kite was then flown right over the building, and l)rought doAvn on the other side, taking the string, of course, with it. A rope was then attached to the other end of the string, and easily hauled over the summit, and fastened, and thus, a kind of ladder, very precarious, was obtained. HANS herder's STOCKING. 21 Of wind blew riglit over the fastening-rope Of his ladder, antt made him look foolish enough. For he knew liis ovni secret : he knew what some don't — And the knowledge of that made liim inwardly groan — He knew if the Devil had helped him to mount, He also would leave liim to get down alone. In vain the good burghers exhausted each shift To fly that same kite as they'd seen Hans oft fly it ; N^ow — it wont rise at all and the ladder-rope lift ; Now — it lifts, but the tower it sweeps saucily by it ! All their eflbrts are vain — and the day it wears on ; Poor Hans still remains, hke old Simon StyHtes, Aloft on liis pillar, nigh tiu-ned to stone, With hunger and cold — what a pitiful sight 'tis ! His Frail, who had been in the country all day To visit her mother, returned rather late ; And wondered Hans had not come part of the way As was always his wont, to escort home his mate. For, though they'd been married for twenty long years, Jokn was as dear to his heart as of yore ; And at home, or abroad, or where'er they'd appear. It seemed as their courting would never give o'er. -2 HANS herder's STOCKING. And of all the fine sights one deliglits to behold— Tlie piu-est and sweetest this world can give — 'I'l-s a couple whose love never fades or grows cold, But who go on sweethearting as long as they live ! She reached her own house — all was silence and gloom ; The door it was fast, at the window she stood ; A moonbeam so dreamily lit up the room In whose order and quiet there boded no good. " Why — what can tliis mean 1 Hans has never been here ! Things are just as I left them — his table and chair — The cloth neatly spread — and the pot for his beer — ^ind the loaf for his dinner — are still standing there. " And then a cold shiver tlirough Joan would steal; So fearful she felt ; and no wonder, I ween — What lonehness equal to that which we feel "VMiere all speaks of life, yet no Hving tiling's seen ! To town she soon sped ; and quickly she heard How her spouse had been prisoned for many an hour. liight glad 'twas no worse, she said never a word, Till she called up to Hans from the foot of the tower " The Stocking you put on this morning, I troAv, Is all of one thread, it was worked on my wire — HANS herder's STOCKING. 23 I^nravel't, and make up a ball for yoTir Frau, As I've taught you to do oft o'niglits by our fire — Hold fast the one end, and then drop down the ball — I'll catch it, and fasten a hank of thin cord, Wliich will carry a rope, with your ladder and all, And you'll come down as sweetly and safe as a bird. " So Hans he was rescued. Before all the folk He kissed his good wife for her love and her wit ; And the blouses of Heidelberg say as they smoke — " More uses than one in wives learning to knit ! " Of women like Joan Heaven send us no dearth ! But prosper their art ; and, oh, help them to spin, From the web of small charities wove at the hearth. Escapes for their husbands from sorrow and sin ! And when Pride our poor Eeason would tempt to ascend To heights whence the spirit can find no release, May the piety twined by our firesides then lend The thread, that guides home to faith, virtue, and peace. 24 EGBERT BUEXS. A CENTENARY ODE. 185 9. We hail to-day Ms glorious birth, One hundred years ago, "VMio taught his brothers o'er the earth To think, to feel, to glow ; Whose independent sphit fires In countless thousands now. Aye, and mil burn till Truth exjiires — That Eoman from the plougli ! — AVlio spurned the falsehoods of pretence, The insolence of pride, Who measured men by worth and sense, And not by mere outside ; Who, from the mob that worship State, Turned to the sterling few That honour — what alone is great — The Good, the Just, the True ! — ROBERT burns: A CENTENARY ODE. Who round tlie lot of loAvly life Has warmtli and beauty flung ; Who shared its pleasures, cares, and strife, And as he found them sung ; Who, in his own hrief chequered course, Proved that though Fortune's ban Goes far — too far — it need not force Eeal manhood from a Man ! Thy story, Burns, a tale unfolds As thrilling as thy song ; Oh! that the age wlilch now beholds . Might hate thy crying wrong — The cold neglect, contemptuous airs. The cruel callous sneers Proud Dullness towards Genius bears ; And worse, mayhap, the tears — The maudlin tears which only fall As soon as men are dead. And flow full-coursing do^vn the pall Of Bards who wanted bread ; The liypocritic tears accurst. So like their ways and doom, 25 26 ROBERT burns: a centenary ode. Who used to kill the prophets first, And garnished next their tomb ! Away, away, the ignoble train ! "What duty have they here ? Could ever Poet's ardent strain Reach to their frozen ear 1 Could intellect's bright flashing beam Their barren being start 1 Or feehng's glorious headlong stream Run rusliing through their heart ? But come all men, true, human-souled. Whatever your degree — Men cast in honest nature's mould, And, like that nature, free — - Whom love, and hate, and pity's yearn Alternate sway by turns, For ye, indeed, should crown the cairn- Tlie towering cairn of Burns ! He gave a voice to every mood, A tongue to every scene ; ROBERT BURNS: A CENTENARY ODE. 27 His scorn fell like a lasting flood, Electric wit between ; And satire's blast, rougli, roaring, loud, Came on like driving hail ; How slirunk the shivering liars, cowed, Behind their rotten pale ! But humble hope, and virtue pure. And faith divinely calm, In his affection stood secure. And poured their holy psalm — Ahke from Loudoun's manse of love. Or cottar's kitchen hall — And breathed theu' souls to One above. The Father of us all ! The truly reverend he revered, Who lived, not lipped, their creed. Who served the God they felt and feared, By righteous word and deed ; Xor, till in Scotland's homesteads fair Devotion's lamp grows dim. Can die the fervour of "that prayer, The music of that hymn. 28 ROBERT burns: a centenary ode. 'No, no, ye shallow sceptic crew, 'Tis false what bigots say ; Our poet was as far from you, As from the night the day ; That light of his — most awful dower To erring mortal given — In every calmer, loftier hour, Approved its native Heaven. jSTo pale phosphoric gleam, which plays Eound stale corruption, here ; Xo feehle taper's gUmmering rays Beside some dismal hier ; No Etna-flame, with salph'rous hreath. Its dust and ashes showers ; No huid levin, charged with death. That dazzles and devours ; His genius like the sun forth shone. To bless our human sight. And clasp the world in one broad zone Of bright and hving light ; To banish gloom — alas that gloom His own career should mark ! ROBERT burns: A CENTENARY ODE. 29 Yet, thougli the Sim all else illume, The SiTii itself is dark. In Biu-ns's lustre, oh ! how sweet The wild flowers round us spread ! The iiiou.ntain-daisy at our feet Lifts up its modest head ; The broom puts on a yellower flush Along our hanks and hraes ; The heather dyes a deeper blush As conscious of oxu" praise. The bu'd sings bl}i:her on the tree, Or twitters in the brake ; The bees they hum more busily, And sweeter honey make ; While all the creatures of the hill Forget their hiding place. And come to hck our hand at will — We know them by theu' face. Fairies foot Mghter on the lea. And dress in gayer green ; 30 ROBERT burns: a centenary ode. Fate wears more pleasing mystery, When lie holds Hallowe'en ; He waves his wand — witches and ghosts Our wizard's spell abide ; He speaks, and lo ! the hellish hosts,— And "Tarn's" immortal ride ! How lovelier lovely Woman too, In maiden charms arrayed ! So artless, innocent, and true. Who is not captive made 1 And oh, what ecstasy as both Confess the mutual tln?all. And pass the word, and plight the troth, Which leal hearts ne'er recall. How softly blow those westland winds Around the happy spot. Where married love its dwelling finds, Care and the world forgot ; Where peace gives joy a deeper zest . And sanctifies our lives. And each believes his " Jean " the best Of women and of wives. ROBERT burns: A CENTENARY ODE. 31 And Avhen the swiftly-footed Time Steals on us unaware, AVrites wrinkles on young Beauty's prime, Binds Vigour to liis chair, Age looks not cral^bed or forlorn Although its strength be gone — The fresh dew of a second morn Is round " John Anderson. " What mirth in "roaring WiUie's" laugh. And soul in every stave ! What pith in Dr. Hornbook's staff ! What shrewdness, gay and grave, And fund of honest, friendly lore, In every friendly hne To "Davie," "Graeme," and twenty more, Which sages might enshrine ! His lyrics stir our British blood Wherever Britons toil ; They fell the far Canadian wood. Dig the Austrahan soil ; Where ISTorthern winters hold their reign, And Eastern summers long. 32 BOBERT BUENS: A CENTENARY ODE. They bind oiir sons in one strong chain Of Sentiment and Song. A soldier, once "by conquest led — So old historians write — Slept with his Homer 'neath his head To nerve him for the fight ; Whererer Freedom's battle's fought, And patriots seek the fray, They'll ronse them to that trumpet-note — Heroic " Scots wha hae ! " Plail Scotia's Bard ! Long shalt be felt Thy lyre so many-stringed ; To soothe, to madden, or to melt. What words lilfe thine are winged ? One age— and do we deem it hard That but one Burns appears 1 Xay, men were blessed with such a Bard Once in a thousand years ! For He shall hve, and still Hve on, "When all those years are past ; While harvests wave, and rivers run ; While pangs and passions last ; KOBERT burns: A CENTENARY ODE. 33 He'll be, till nature's final hour Looks wan in nature's face, A name, a presence, and a power, To move tlie liuman race. 34 THE GLOAMING. The traveller, he chooses at morning to startj The evening thinks best to come home in ; But of the whole day I prefer, for my part, The quiet hour that brings us the Gloaming : The calm and the beautiful Gloaming ! The poet, he raves of star-lit midnight skies, Full moon sets his fancies a-roaming ; But in my little heaven the whole stars are two eyes. And they shine far most bright in the Gloaming : The calm and the beautiful Gloaming ! The toper, he sits 'mid a glare hghted up, While the tankard before him is foaming ; But I know a still more enrapturing cup. Which intoxicates so at the Gloaming : The calm and the beautiful Gloaming ! THE GLOAMING. 35 'Tis when Maggy meets me in our own trysting 'bower, As the bees cease their day's honey-com'bing, And I sip the sweets of the lovehest flower That ever shed charm on the Gloaming : The cahn and the beautiful Gloaming ! I wonder how lovers get on in the clime "Where night of approach gives no omen, And day, disappearing at once, leaves no time For the courting that's done in the Gloaming : The calm and the beautiful Gloaming ! 36 THE ASS AND THE MIEEOE. The Animals long liad some capital play found, In the ignorant airs and conceit of the Donkey ; Who fancied he'd got hmhs as lithe as the Greyhound, The coat of the Leopard, and wit of the Monkey. But, tiring at last with his poor exhibitions, They Avished him at Banif Avith his capers so silly ; Yet the Ass could not see it ; his vain repetitions He still would inflict on them idlhj or nllly. The Beasts, bored, at length a great meeting devise, For the purpose in fine the poor Donkey to settle ; Some would crop liis long ears ; others shave round his eyes; While a third would adorn his scrub tail with a kettle. THE ASS AND THE MIRROR. 37 But the motherly Stork, deeming mildness the hest, Said — She thought that the Ass might reclaimed be hy flattery ; For her part, soft measures were dear to her hreast, She dissented from acts of assault and of battery. At once 'twas agreed, and her plan passed nem. con.. And this was the way they proposed with the Ass — Each a small contribution should bring of their own. To buy for his use a full-length looking-glass. They said on presenting't — the trick it was sly, And worthy the Fox who composed the inscription — " That the mirror was given " — now this was no lie— " Because of his Donkeysliip's poAvers of perception ;" For they thought them so weak ; and were sure if he saw Wliat a figure he cut in his mirror at home, With his stupid-hke face, and his vacant hee-haw, Never more he'd presume in the forest to roam ! 'Twas done ; but, alas, for the Stork's calculation. Though meant in reproof, in mistake it was ta'en, For the Ass got more fooHsh in each demonstration. And with love of his figure more asinine vain ! 3S THE ASS A^^D THE MIRROR. And what do you tliink'? as one evening tliey called, Astonished tliey found his Avhole crib in a scrimmage — In the middle the mirror, and there, unappalled, Master Donlcey was standing haranguing his image ! He balanced liimself on his liind-legs and tail, His fore-legs, extended in orator-fashion. Were waving around Hke a wind-mill or flail, And he brayed as if aping John Bright in a passion. The Animals looked, and were satisfied sure. That asses are asses, do all that you may ; And to show him himself, in the hope of a cure. May make worse but won't better poor dull Neddy Bray. 39 THE FEAILTIES OF GENIUS. fsUGGESTED BY A CLERICAL INVECTIVE AGAINST BURNS] The flaws pass unseen in tlie potter's dull ware, WhicLi the clear sparkKng grain of the crystal discloses ; And the rust-stains escape on the coarse iron-share, Which the fine pohshed steel of tlie sword-hlade ex- poses. The weeds that grow rank in the black muddy meres, Have taints which their ughness helps to conceal ; On the beautiful rose every blemish appears, Which the rose's OAvn beauty but helps to reveal. 'Tis the light of the sun makes his dark spots so dark ; 'Tis the brightness of gold makes its dimness so dim ; Had the silver no sheen, could we ever remark The motes that across its fair surface may swim 1 iO THE FRAILTIES OF GENIUS. And SO, of the foibles and frailties let's speak Of the gifted and great ones who ranked among men ; Had their lives been less noble, their genius more weak, Their foibles and frailties had sHpped from our ken. Say, would you prefer yon dull potsherd of clay. To this bright flashing goblet, brimful, flowing o'er ? Though the dullness of that hides its fractures from day, And the brightness of this makes its flaws shoAv tlie more. Would you deem the vile ore, from its dross scarcely run, Of more price than the falchion of temper so true 1 Or imagine a glow-worm worth more than the sun, That her spots are ajiparent, the worms out of view ? "Would you garner the weeds, and dishonour the flowers. Because weeds pass unnoticed, while flowers are well scanned 1 And take from the "wreaths that encircle the hours All the beauty and fragrance they breathe thi'ough the land 1 If the sins of the Small you so often o'erlook — And how many may not mediocrity hide 1 — For the faults of the Great, oh, pray, spare your rebuke, Or, of error, speak gently when truth's by its side ! THE FRAILTIES OF GENIUS. 41 They were men of like passions with all, we allow, And their passions, too truly, oft led them astray ; But, tell me, how much of their frailty might flow From their far greater powers, giving passion more sway? If Dullness so often leaves Duty's right course — Although its inertness scarce moves it along — Can we wonder if Genius, with thousand-fold force. Is driven at times into paths which are wrong 1 What vexations and sorrows, which fools never know. Are the prices the great for their >\asdom pay down] And if these overcome them, alas ! till they how. Is it righteous to weigh them in scales with the clown ? What feelings, what griefs, disappointment and care Has the sensitive spiji^it 1 What deep-hidden tears 1 Are these naught in your balance ? Oh, surely, 'tis fair. That the Gifted he tried and condemned by their peers ! There is cant in the Church, there is cant in the State, On the mart of Exchange, in the cobbler's stall ; But of all the vile forms of such canting I hate. It is thut which metes not candid justice to all : 42 THE FRAILTIES OF GENIUS. Wliich leaves daily pigs in their filth to grow foul, Because for their lard there's convenient need ; And atones its neglect with an orthodox howl At the dead, who were men, both in thought, Avord, and deed ! 43 TO ME. JOHN LEECH, ION HIS VISIT TO AYRSHIRE IN 1858.] Excuse me, Sir, tliis rlijaning speecK ! Your name, well knoA^ai, is Mr Leech — A name which, on reflection, I'm sure yourself will quite admit, In one respect is not so fit ; For, under your correction, Leeches are most unpleasant things. Their very sight a shudder hrings, And thoughts of deep dejection ; The young ahhor them ; and the old, Although Avith feeHngs more controll'd, Don't view them with affection. But You, permit me, Sir, to say. Are very much the other way, 44 TO MR. JOHN LEECH. By old and young you're courted ; And, when on Punch's weekly slieet, Our boys and gixls your presence greet, Ko matter liow exhorted — They'll laugh and shout, aye till they cry, And, tlirough sheer force of sympathy, Even Baby crows transported. I wish you saw our merry group, Wlien Tom, at Aunt Jemima's hoop, Gets to be quite satiric ; Or Bob, the rascal, apes papa, In some connubial fracas, Or "does" a state-empiric; Or Billy, taught by none but you, "With voice and gesture renders true. The London street-boy's lyric. And yet, methinks, I hear a bird Just whisper in my ear a word, — " Pray, wherefore all this potber About a name 1 The name is good : Don't common leeches draw bad blood From people 1 So this other TO MR. JOHN LEECH. 45 Draws off ill-humours, cures the spleen, And, with his pencil-punctures clean, Makes whole at heart each hrother. We thank you, Sh, for aU you've done ; For all our jolly fii-e-side fun, Untuing and unending ; For deeper lessons sometimes taught : Lessons where tender pity fraught With harmless frohc's hlending ; And liints of social sorrows too, Sorrows that else might drop from view ; Or pass without amending ig- We wish you. Sir, with all our heart, Long days to use your happy art, And make mankind your dehtor ; An art to which Acliilles' blade, Whose touch could heal the Avounds it made. Just answers to the letter ; — The shafts of ridicule you dart. Even when most keen is felt their smart, Through laughter make us better. 46 TO MR. JOHN LEECH. The tears you wring are tears of mirth, The throes we feel the pangs at birth Of many a quaint sensation ; And, when your tyrant power you use, To drag us wheresoe'er you choose, In uttermost prostration, A single straw might bind us all. Obedient to thy humour's thrall. Thou Hogarth of the nation ! 47 THE UNPROTECTED FEMALES. FYTTE YE FIRSTE. The Misses Vinegar of Cruet Hall Kept house — a long way off from Union square ; No husband's tyrant voice, no baby's squall Disturbed the peace of the unbiirdened fair. Miss Bet, Miss Poll, Miss Peggy, and Miss Sue, The title was of each most worthy madam, Who said— and, more than that, who looked it too- She'd share the bed of ne'er a son of Adam. In liigh disdain they held the giddy crowd Of silly ones, who sigh for love's embraces ; Most copiously they censured them, but loud These sisters were in ceUbacy's praises. " See to that chit," Bet says, " that flutters so "When Mr Thing-a-bob pays her attention ; 48 THE UNPROTECTED FEMALES. I do declare I would not have a beau, To make me blush, and simper, for a pension I" *' Poor Widow Spry !" the pitying Poll would add, " I wonder what with her young child she'll do ? Better she ne'er had seen that foolish lad, Who died and left her scarcely worth a sou /" Peggy, with pursed-up mouth, takes up the tale : — " The widow, truly — well — it makes one tingle To see how briskly some folks take the veil ! It won't be her fault if she long is single. I'm sure, last Sabbath, 'twas so very clear, Her cap was set at Mr Such-a-one ; Dear me ! how soon they do forget 'a dear,' And through their weeds bhnk like an April sun ! Yet, after all, 'tis not so very strange ; What can folks look for 1 ' Married love,' indeed ! Well, it seems all the better for a change ! And change is lightsome — that's your widow's creed ! '' And thus the maidens sat, and talked, and sewed j And comforted each other with the thought, Though to be wed for them an easy road, They'd wisely chosen a much happier lot. THE UNPEOTECTED FEMALES. 49 Yet, keeping health and spirits up, fresh labours You'll find will very much assist you in ; And so these ladies in their friends' and neighbours' Affairs took interest truly Christian. *' Who worsliipped with the Crabs last Sunday week 1 Is't true he and Louisa are engaged ? He'll not, poor man, his sorrows have to seek — ■ The Crabs have fearful tempers when enraged ! " The Partans lease the house of Seafieldgate, 'Tis quite a wreck indeed, but, then, they're poor ; His wife and Oyster are to separate ; He's given to lick-er, and she drinks galore. " The Salmons soon must fall, I've heard it said ; (That they were e'er oX parr some folks deny;) The Trouts are in deep waters overhead ; And Martha Flounder is in such a fry ! " Tom Tit's young cliild, 'tis thought, will never talk ; That comes of cousins marrying, I declare ! D'ye hear, N'ed Sparrow is to wed Nell Hawk ? — They'll make, indeed, a very pretty pair ! D 50 THE UNPROTECTED FEMALES. " The pride of tliese Goldfinclies, whose papa Once kept a garden, makes one cough, eh — Sirs ! And I much fear that giddy girl Macaw Is too familiar with the officers !" And thus, from house to house and day to day, Each "free" and fair Athenian goes and clatters; For recreation hears what people say. And helps to tear a character to tatters. And then, at home, they chew the cud again ; That is, when they have no domestic jars; But jars the house must have, which can contaia So many aromatic Vinegars ! FYTTE YE SECONDE. Sally, their housemaid for a while had been, Fee'd with " no followers " — as you may suppose- Only a " brother" sometimes might be seen — But this, remember, is " beneath the rose." THE UNPROTECTED FEMALES. 51 Sally, in fact, was young ; and rather fond Of being smart, and looked at by young fellows ; Her caps were done with ribbons, even blonde, - Which sometimes made her " neighboiu- " rather jealous. And when on Sundays she went out to kirk, So neat the gum-flowers looked inside her bonnet, So fresh her coloiu', too, I'm told a clerk. O'er head and ears, had written her a sonnet. But he and she cast-out sometime ago ; Indeed, she was a rather fickle thing ; Most are content with two strings to their bow, Sail always wanted two beaux to her string. How one like her in Cruet Hall should be. To some may seem a circumstance quite odd. Not so at all. For, don't you clearly see, Sail was at home a kind of lightning-rod 1 — So that, whene'er a Vinegar was itching To use her tongue — which, it is no conjecture. Was twice a day — she, going to the kitchen. Discharged a most electrifying lecture ; 52 THE UNPROTECTED FEMALES. Dress — looks — youtli — ^work — and messages — and men — The gamut was of each, most tuneless spinnet ; This when exhausted she found peace ; and then Sail sang jpicmo blythe as any linnet. For she was clever, plausil^le, and glib, And knew the weak points of each mistress well ; A bit of scandal, news, sometimes a fib, And, oftener still, a well put tale could telL Once she had ta'en a rather devious way To market — ^what the cause was must be guess'd — And stay'd her message — why, I do not say — The least that's said is sometimes thought the best. But, coming home, it struck her to contrive A history to screen her malversation ; And so, with breathless haste, she brought the hive To earnest, deep, excited consultation. " Oh mems," said Sail, "just guess what's happened now! The houses far and near is being plundered — A gang of villains is abroad, I trow, And murders being gone and done a hunderdj THE UNPROTECTED FEMALES. 53 " Last night old Hunks's was most broke into — The night before Miss Cochin's hens was took — The tliieves got into neighbour Lucre's flue, And could not get no farther, for they stuck ! " Oh mems ! its awful times — I treml)le for Lone women hke ourselves, and unprotected — I'm sure they'll kill us — cut our throats — oh lor' — And maybe sell oiu- bones to be dissected !" ISTow, as they were tall skeletons, these sisters Dissection doctors ne'er would need to try on ; And, though a doctor, with his pills and bhsters, May make a skeleton, you'll catch him buy one. But artful Sally, often metaphorical When driven to sliifts for hoaxing each grim scold, Had thrown this in just for effect rhetorical ; Yet, sure enough, it was the shot which told. 54 THE UNPROTECTED FEMALES. FYTTE YE LASTE. To think their lovely bones should meet such end — Be handled, looked at with jjrofanity ! "Why, the bare thought was quite enough to send Those maidens of strong mind into insanity ! It did not make the sisters four look blue. For that they always did — it made them bluer ; And Sail, who thought she'd hit the proper cue, Said it thrice o'er, as if nought could be truer. For she'd a notion that the ladies might Desire her to bring up her "brother" quick To guard the Cruet premises all night, Sitting doivn stairs with blunderbuss or stick. For once the maids were speechlessly dumbfoundered- As if they saw the robbers come, they shook ; Then in each other's faces looked and pondered — At length Miss Sue, the youngest, speech uptook. THE UNPROTECTED FEMALES. 55 " Indeed, indeed, the times are very awful For unprotected females Kke us foxu- — Garrotting, murder, everything unlawful Done in broad day-light, and at night much more. " Those who have husbands may, in sueh' a hurry, Find themselves better off than those who want ; It is some recompense for all their woriy — A man's of moderate use at times, I grant. " But that aside : You know I disapprove Of ladies having servant-men in hvery ; And wonder that that silly thing jNIiss Groove Is not ashamed ; but then she's lost to every " Sense of propriety. I'm sure Pve hoped, That it may not some day come to be known. That with her footman she has just eloped — Such things have been! — StiU— Cruet Hall's so lone"— (" Alas, alas," sighed each responsive dame — A-lad — a-Iad — inconstant Sail surmis'd. Who hoped a coming footman, and fresh "flame," And, in her mind, a deep man-trap devised) — 56 THE UNPEOTECTED FEMALES. " So very lone, and we are so unfit To guard ourselves that something we must do; Upon a plan most excellent I've hit, Wlien we have gone upstairs I'll tell it you. " ^Necessity, the proverb says, you know, Proves man's and woman's best and wisest ally; And in tliis case it showed itself just so — Though not to please the amorous housemaid Sally. The Misses Vinegar fixed on a plan To scare intending robbers — a device Which was no fooKsh virgin's weak trepan. But a wise plot, and innocent as wise. For, lo, each bought a Hat — a human Hat — A Hat such as the rougher species uses — And these upon the lobby pegs they squat In Cruet HaU — oh happiest of ruses 1 That, when the robbers come, they'd see the beavers, And straightway for their lives run fast and far, Dreading four foemen in the fair deceivers, Wlio, if not up to love, proved up to war ! THE UNPROTECTED FEMALES. 57 Each Miss Minerva went to bed that night, Confirmed m courage, resolute, sedate, No other arms to shield her from affright. Strong in her helmet, bought for Six-and-Eight ! 58 A VISION or LIFE. I TELL it as 'twas told to me, Although not told in rhyme, By a weather-beaten Sailor, Who had voyaged many a time To India from Scotland, And from India back again. And had faced, in aU their thousand shapes, The" dangers of the main. o Hard-featiu-ed was that Sailor, His hands Avith toil were tann'd, And stout at heart as any Tar That ever left the land; Gruff was Ins speech in common : He was — you might have said — Take liim for all, of toughest teak Of which a Salt is made. * The Author had the substance of this Poem told him, as a personal experience, from the lips of a Sailor, several years ago. A VISION OF LIFE. 69 And yet, as lie related tliis, In simple words and slow, His voice was like a woman's whiles, So musical and low ; And o'er his roughened features A strange tenderness was thrown, Whilst his horny palm seem'd sensitive. And pulsed Avitli every tone. Strange power of soul ! to make men look At times so different — Dilate the form, or shrivel it, According to its l3ent — As it glows with lofty feehngs, Or gloats on low desires ; Expands with glorious passions, Or in ahjectness expb-es. "We were doulding the Cape — It bleAV a stiffish breeze. The word was " shorten sail " — I had mounted the cross-trees, GO A VISION OF LIFE. When a sudden freeze to leeward Pitched me over in the sea j I sank, and, ere I rose, the ship "Was far a-head of me. She was howling at the rate Of some seven good knots or more ; But in life-or-death I tell you, Sir, One knot counts for a score, And every second for an hour. An hour, Sh, hy the glass — An lioiu'! Nay, one such second's An eternity to pass ! The shij) it seemed to lessen, And the distance seemed to grow ; And the hoiHng sea it tossed me Like a feather to and fro ; And, strong swimmer though I was, Hope might well give up the strife ; But a man ne'er thinks of hope or fear When swimming for his life. A VISION OF LIFE. 61 Once only I remember, When uplifted on a wave, I thonglit I saw, far, far away, A "boat laimclied out to save ; That was the latest earthly thing That flashed across my brain ; Aiid then the rush of waters. And I sank and sank again ! But next I saw a something. Sir, Far clearer even than thought ; 'No words could ever teU to you How clearly it was brought ; Far clearer than the fire that burns Within the chimney there ; Or even than I see you now. When sitting in that chair ! I've often dreamed of Mother, And of home, when on the deep ; Beheld old scenes and faces. And have hailed them in my sleep ; 62 A VISION OF LIFE. So natural and living-wise The fancies all did seem ; Yet this something, Sir, was quite unlike The seeing in a dream ! I cannot, Sir, explain it ; But I only know that then — In these few struggling moments- As if written with a pen, The story of my life was traced, And I could read it through ; And all the letters were so large, And all the words so true ! 'No scene through which I e'er had passed- The good as well's the had — No friendsliip that I ever made, Or hatred that I had ; Xo love, no joy, no fear, no grief, Possession, or desire. But was set forth upon that scroll In characters of jSjce ! A VISION OF LIFE. As on a chart, at one swift glance I could entirely scan The track I'd travelled o'er life's sea, From haby-hood to man ; All that I ever said or thought, Or did, or left undone — The best and Avorst, and all between. Were gathered into one ! And then each letter txu-ned a face — The face of one I knew In years long lost, long lost to me. But now restored to view; And, oh, what thousand memories stood Disclosed in every look, As, one by one, each visage gazed At me, from out that Book ! Some had a recognising smile, And some an earnest air ; Some looked a speaking pity, And some a dumb despair ; 63 64 A VISION OF LIFE. Some gave a stern, upbraiding glance, And some a withering frown — But, turn me where I might, that crowd Of faces still looked down ! Those shapes I knew : old buried thoughts Sprung into life once more ; The ghosts of years departed all, The years of youth and yore ; And, oh, if they can haunt one thus, And blast him with their spell, I wonder people ever doubt The horrors of a hell ! One sad, sweet face — I see it yet, Though faint. Sir, very faint Compared with then — it bent on nie The sorrow of a saint : Oh, Christ ! I'd given the universe To turn away my sight ; But, no ; I could not shun its gaze. And far less quench its light. A VISIOX OF LIFE. 65 I once refused a "beggar alms Wlien I had coin in purse — His wan and wasted features there Grinned at me with a curse ; An orphan child I might have saved From cruelty and wrong, But did not, and with piteous eyes It smote me from that throng ! I saw the loving ones I'd grieved ; I saw them one and all ; "What meaning, as each saddened glance, So gently they let fall ! The mother that had nursed me, And the sister of my youth. The truest friend I ever had — - Type of all manly truth. How long the vision lasted 'Twas impossible to gauge ; It may have heen an instant. But it might have been an age j 66 A VISION OF LIFE. All sense of time was "baffled, And lost in that amaze, As there they stood, confronting me, With solemn, steadfast gaze. I only know, when next I woke To sense and time, I lay Weak, weak, and weary in my cot ; And still my messmates say That for long hours 'twas doubtful, Wlien they plucked me from the wave, If they would not have to cast me hack Into the Sailor's grave. He ceased. The quiver on his hp Told eloquently true. That the Sailor was but speaking Of what he felt and knew ; And, sure, if Hfe be wonderful. More wonderful is death. To make us hve life o'er again, As we resign our breath. A VISION OF LIFE. 67 "We carry, each, within his breast, The judgment yet to come ; And one day, self-convicted. May like him be smitten dumb. The sharpest axe to torture lis 'Tis our own hand that helves ; Heaven spare us such a punishment, And save us from — ourselves ! 68 TIT FOE TAT. Tom slapped Ids neiglibour in tlie face, And tlius, with, metaphysic grace, He begged to be forgiven — " Don't now be angry at tbe bloAV, For it, like all tilings else, you knoAV, "Was fore-ordained by Heaven !" His neiglibonr, seeming satisfied, Witb coolness thus to Tom replied. Although his cheek did burn — " 'Tis very true what you aver ; As Heaven ordained, my witty Sir, I kick you in return ! " I 69 TIME'S MEASUEES. Eeckon not by Sand or Dial, Or the Clock's dull passing sound ; Life disowns such computation, Time consists not in their round ; Sun and Moon may keep their coiuses "With unvarying length of years, And the Seasons dance their cycle To the music of the spheres ; Kot by such material measures Is our being counted o'er ; Youth is sometimes old at twenty, And Age youthful at fourscore ! Present pain, it clogs the minutes, How unwelcomely they stay ! Pain in prospect lends them swiftness, Eapidly they pass away ; 70 time's measures. Promised Hopes, expected Pleasures, Loitering, laggard is their pace ; While oiir fevered pulses thunder, Like the chariot in the race ; Like the courser, who, the nearer To his gaol, the faster flies ; And, like him, as worn and jaded. Ere we \nn, and wear the prize. "Worn and jaded, with the sickness Of Desire so long delayed. Pleasure palls us with its sweetness, Hoj)e j)ossessed is hope decayed ; Sated, not with satisfaction. Sinks the soul in torpor numb, Every nerve and power grow feeble, Feeling, Fancy, all are dumb; Then, indeed, i)oor senseless Matter Well enough existence tells ; ^linutes are but sixty seconds. Hours are counted on the bells. Oh! for something less deceiving* More ennobHng and sublime. time's measures. "/I WTiicli sliall set our bosoms beating To a grander march of Time ; Eonse our souls to earnest striving, Stir our liearts to ceaseless play, And shall make us, while we're living In To-Morrow, live To-Day ; Something whose majestic Future, Unconceived, unheard, unsung, Fresh before us ever rising. Keeps the spirit ever young! Young, for eager aspiration ; Young, for generous lofty aim ; Young, with tluilling thought and effort ; Young, vnth feeling's warmest flame ; Old, in all the unbought wisdom Sagest counsel can impart ; Old, in all the wary caution And experience of the heart. Such a Youth and Age uniting. Meeting thus in holy strife — This, Immortals, is the only Fitting gauge of Mortal life I 72 time's measures. Eeckon not by Sand or Dial, Or the Clock's dull passing sound ; Life disowns sticli computation, Time consists not in their round ; Sun and Moon may keep their courses With unvarying length of years, And the Seasons dance their cycle To the music of the spheres ; Not by such material measures Is our being counted o'er ; Youth is sometimes old at twenty, And Age youthful at fourscore ! 73 THE SWALLOW. Ha ! thoii'rt welcome, little comer, From far lands iDeyond the sea ; Shaking from thy ^vings the suimner, Eaining sunslrine on the lea ; Fluttering, twittering, round my dwelling. Swimming, skinmiing through the air, In swift lines, now sinking, swelling. Here and there, and everywhere. Cynics call thee, feathered chatterer, But a false fair-weather friend, Leaving, like the hiunan flatterer. When the heat and splendour end ; Leaving when the cold and freezing Months of dreary winter come ; Leaving, for a land more pleasing, And a warmer Southern home. 74 THE SWALLOW. 'Tis not so, my "blythesome neigli'boiir, Buikling there beneath the eaves, Ceaseless at thy grateful labour ; "Wlien the fickle Summer leaves, Thou dost follow to decoy it From its haunts across the main. And, that we once more enjoy it. Bring' st it back to us again. And thou bid'st the Eobin cheer us, As thy proxy, wdien away ; And the Blackbu'd to be near us. Through the dull and wintry day ; And the Mavis from the tliicket Cometh too, at thy behest, Tapping gently at our wicket, A confiding Christmas guest. All unlike the saucy Starhng, Thou no measured distance keep'st ; But, as some familiar darling, Sly into my study peep'st. THE SWALLOW. 75 Chasing gloomy tlioughts when rising ; Papers, books, I cast aside. Thou so coaxingly art wising To enjoy the bright noon-tide. "Winter nights may do for moping Over ills we must endure ; Lamps be good enough for groping Tlirough old musty tomes obscure ; But, with thee and sunsliine wooing To the gay and open fields. Who could bear such task pursuing, Who would prize the gain it yields 1 Deeper than the lore of sages. Wiser than the gloomiest look. May be gathered from the pages, Of great I^ature's glowing book; So, I thank thee, friendly Swallow, For thy hint so kindly sped. And, with thee, I'll quickly follow. Where the golden volume's spread. 76 ON THE FAMILY EEGISTEE IN AN OLD FAMILY BIBLE. Thou unpretending chronicle ! brief record of tlie past — Of hopes "born to be blighted, and of joys that could not last ! Like shadows chasing each across some calm and inland sea, Thy tranquil page it miiTors well how swift life's stages flee ; It shows how mourning follows mirth, how gladness turns to grief, The Bridal, Birth, and Burial stand so closely on thy leaf' No insj^iration penned thy lines, yet all those lines are true — True as the sacred Book, of which thou seem'st a portion too ; (^h, happy thought ! Avliich thus in one so fitly interweaves, Whate'er ancestral pity felt, and piety beUeves ; ji THE FAMILY BIBLE. 77 For here is sorrow, coinfort there — the wound, the cure beside — The trouble of afflicted hearts, and Eefuge where to hide ! 'Tis thus, in lone and lovely spots, where trees toAver to the sky, And cast their shadoAvs o'er the ground Avhere dust and ashes he. To chiu'ch the churchyard points the way, and in its solemn ah The worshipper is fitted best for penitence and prayer — Mortality conducts to God, immortal hopes are fed, The house for living men is next the house of all the dead ! I love thee well, thou httle scroll ! though, hke the prophet's one, Within, Avithout, thou'rt Avritten full of Aveeping and of moan; Like it, too, tliou art SAveet to taste, if sorroAvful to see, For Fancy, Faith, and Hope descry the angel's hand on thee. So SAveet and sacred is the calm suffusing all my breast. As piously I read the names of friends long gone to rest. 78 THE FAMILY BIBLE. Yes ! blessed is the communing we hold with parted friends, Mysteriously merciful the rapture which it lends ; It stills our passing angers, it dries our passing tears. It dissipates our foohsh hopes, dispels our fooKsh fears. It girds us to the battle, and it nerves us for the blow, And it gives us strength to master all the meaner things below. I'll treasure thee, thou httle scroll ! And whensoe'er this heart. Too keen, too kindly, or too cold, forgets its proper part. Acutely feels an injury, imwittingly oifends, Yet proudly scouts forgiveness, and as proudly scorns amends, I'U take thee do-\yn to learn thy lore, and in that lore descry — These Lived, these loved, these hated once, — they died ; I have to die. 79 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Oh ! we remember "well the dear-loved times, "VVTierL life and thought as yet to us Avere young, With what delight we Hstened to the rhymes, ■Which fall hut from a Scottish mother's tongue ; The sweetly simple Ballad, said or sung, Of love-lorn maid, or warrior clad in steel. Of bloody men and dark forbidding crimes, Of high-souled honour, and heroic zeal, Eesolved, in life or death, Truth never to conceal. And how we fondly wished ourselves were men. That we might right the wrongs our fellows bore ; How gladly should we aid all sufferers then ! Joy vnth the jo}^ul, with the sad deplore. The long-lost lover to Ids bride restore, 80 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Tlie evil from their ways of guilt allure To A^irtue's happy path of peace; and when — But why regret the ills we cannot cure 1 Om's was the good at least to feel intention pure. Greece had a Homer; Virgil tuned in Eome, For royal ears, his chaste and classic lyre ; Shakspere hath writ for ages all to come ; He "looked through I^ature with creative fire." Great are the feelings which the Great inspire, Green he the laurels that to them helong ; And yet, as high the thoughts in happy home. That thrilled through all our httle listening tln'ong. Woke by the winged words of simple Scottish song ! My native Scotland ! In thy halls are heard Xo more the lays that oft have echoed there ; The mirth, the music, and the feast seem marred ; Still in those halls are lords and ladies fair, And looks as hlythe, and hearts as free of care ; Still is the hoard as hospitahly spread ; But one alone is wanting — Wliere's the Bard 1 Is it the Muses from thy shores have fled ? Is it that, Avith thy power, thy Poesy is dead 1 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 81 Thy Bardic race has long since passed away, Each sleeps in silence hy his own green hill ; Forgot his name, hut not forgot his lay. Ah, no ! Its accents yet have power to thrill. And if, when all things else are strangely stiU, Some stray-notes fall upon the vacant ear, Soft as the hreeze on Summer's Hstless spray, We think of whom we now no more can hear; And, for that memory, hless the Minstrel with a tear. His are the strains with-beauty ever new — The oftenei" listened to the more they please ; To home, to feehng, and to ]S"ature true. Orpheus might lead the all-obedient trees — So was it fabled — but tliese melodies, Where'er I wander, or where'er I stand, Whate'er I think upon, whate'er I view. Arrest me like some strong, though unseen, hand, And bind my soul to thee, our old historic land ! 82 THE DEAD CHILD* I MIND it well as yesterday — Thoiigli years have come and gone a score- Upon my bed one night I lay, And, troubled, tossed me o'er and o'er ; No sleep would settle on my eye, No peace possess my throbbing breast : It was not sickness made me wake, Nor 'even sorrow caused unrest. But, in the next adjoining room, A tiny corpse lay dressed in white — An infant's corpse— a Httle clay ! I knew it ; yet, in Reason's spite. * It may be necessary to explain that this incident happened to the Author when a very young man, living in lodgings, during liis attendance at College. THE DEAD CHILD. 83 Around that object all my tlioughts And wildering fancies constant clung, Until I could have cried aloud, But shame denied me tears or tongue. The Mother, with her watchings worn, Had long since sobbed herself to sleep ; The Father, Avith Ms toil o'ercome. What time had he to wake and weep 1 The Children scarcely knew theix loss. Or, knowing, had forgot it too ; A stranger underneath that roof, I only woke that whole night through. No sound stole through that silent house. Yet, to the inner, active ear, Even Silence seemed itself to speak In deep, suppressed whispers near. No movement at that mid-night hour, And yet the eye, acutely keen, Saw shapes and shadows in the dark. And muffled images between. 84 THE DEAD CHILD. The sounds no human note conveyed, Of wailing grief, or sigh, or moan ; The shapes were what no limners trace, No earthly form did they put on. Kor were they of that mingled hrood, Begot, as Sadducees might deem. In realms they never yet defined. Of a delirium and a dream. Yet, whence they came, and wherefore sent, And whither tending, well I knew ; And, led by them, at last I rose. And from the bier the cover drew. The solemn hour — the soHtude — The corpse — the silence — and the gloom— I've been at deaths and graves since then ; I never was as near the tomb ! The scanty grey of earliest dawn. Gathered upon the snowy sheet. The swathings round the httle head A halo formed, faint but complete. THE DEAD CHILD. 85 And, oh, what sculptor ever caught The still, entrancing, matchless grace "Which those young features carried there ! I bent me low — I kissed the face. "With reverent care I then replaced The cover, but no tear I Avept ; Then backward to my room I passed, And laid me down, and soundly slept ; And, to this hour, when others speak Of death with shrinking and dismay. My memory straightway summons up That Baby's bier, at break of day. 86 THE AET OF MODEEN POETEY. How now, my Geron ! Wherefore tliiis deplore The former times, that can return no more 1 "Why say that genuine Poesy is fled, Apollo dumb, and all the ]\Iuses dead 1 Apollo dumb! iN'ay, man, he cries aloud, And never had so large a listening crowd. Nor feeble lute, nor lyre, he now employs ; His godship has outgrown such childish toys ; And, unconfined to rural dale or hill He tlirough the city wanders at sweet will For trumpery go-cart, dra^vn by trumpery team, He mounts a 'bus, or drives high-pressure steam ; And for ^oHan breathings faintly borne, He shrieks a whistle, or he sounds a horn. The Muses dead ! Sure, years have made thee bhnd, Or shattered all thy faculties of mind : The Muses live ! i!^ot barren virgins shy, But, fruitful now, they smftly multiply ; THE ART OF MODERN POETRY. 87 ]Sror long gestation-months a birtli precede, As with your bantling of the human breed ; A day at most is all these ladies care, The ensigns of fecundity to wear. A family likeness runs tlirough each one's race ; No single feature, but a power of face Marking the daughters, from their dams received, Like advertisements that must be beheved. We moderns count ApoUos by the score, And for nine Muses number hundreds more ; What time you try to pass along the street. You cannot fail a deity to meet ; Some pale avatar, "with impassioned woes. Which mortal language struggles to disclose. One has such insight he can clearly m\q\v A very miller's stone qiiite through and through ; And would most surely tell you all he sees. If K'othing could be told out in degrees. This has a mission — ^where he cannot tell, Because his way^vard fate is not to spell. That has a purpose — what he never knew, And, till he knows, of course he can't tell you. 88 THE ART OF MODERN POETRY, A foui'tli, who darkling destiny provokes "With compound epithets so nearly chokes, That sympathizing friends grieve for the lad, Thinking his case is, lilie his English, bad. Then, all are certainly by heaven inspired. And with such earnestness of spirit fired, We can afford with Prophets to dispense, And vote Apostles want uncommon sense ; Or, pitying, say — " Poor simple men, and good, "They would have held a candle, if they could 1" Hail, teeming soul of this our nineteenth age ! Who may impugn thy fierce poetic rage ? Wlio may gainsay thy lofty claims, or dare To question mortal right to mouth and stare ? Let those who will prefer the elder days, When bards said simj)le things in simple ways. And, following nature, were content with truth, WTiether of love they sang, or hate, or ruth. Far higher praises, surely, must be thine. To spurn the probable in every Hne, To leave poor tame.reahty afar. And with dull reason wage eternal war ; THE ART OP MODERN POETRY. 89 To agonize in rhapsodies unknown To men or angels, since tliey are tliiue own ; To spout and rage, to mutter and to melt. With passions ne'er conceived, and pangs ne'er felt. Wlio cares to hear that rivers sea-ward run, Or seasons wait obedient on the Sun 1 That trees expand theh svimmits to the sky, And flowers put forth their blossoms in July ? We know all that, and we can see it too ; Pray, give us Avhat's original and new — Something will both astonish and dehght. And cause a strong sensation when you write. Do, let your roses bloom amidst the snow, And all your trees with tops inverted grow ; Your seasons rule the sun, not bide his will ; Your rivers rush with head-long force uphill ! Thus have I seen, 'mong lu'chins at their play. Him bear the palm of cleverness away. Who, nimbly tlirowing both his heels on high, Stands on his head — a yo\ithful prodigy ! What loud applauses the deft tumbler greet, What conu-ades envy liis most dexterous feat ! 90 THE ART OF MODERN POETRY. He gets besides (what ordinary mates, W^io still old fashion-wise keep up their pates, Can never get) perspectives of the town Both rare and strange, hy turning upside down ! Wlio cares to know that men fair women woo Our grandfathers did that, and fathers too — That human passions warm to flesh and hlood, And feelings fall to ehb, or rise in flood, Just as repelled by hateful objects near, Or drawn by pleasant ones, to virtue dear ? Who cares to mark in novel, poem, play, What one beholds enacted every day — Sorrows that grieve, and joys that make us glad, The peace of good men, and the pain of bad 1 Such home-spun articles do well enough For brains that can afford no costher stuff ! Our authors now despise the plain-clad band, And walk abroad in vestures rich and grand, To paint a character they know so well That has no type in earth, or heaven, or hell ; Defying rules, wliich guide the sluggish pen, With strokes astonishing to gods and men ; THE ART OF MODERN POETRY. 91 Creating other worlds of sliow and sound That far surpass our planet's humble round ; Where vast ideas mth ideas rove, Hopes against hope, and loves in spite of love ; And liigh abstractions mth abstractions strive, Super-superb, super-superlative. We wish a hero of a novel cast, Who shall out-do all heroes of the past ; Make speeches of not less than ten-horse power, And speak a hundred of them in an hour. Remember, he must be 'anointed priest,' And wear a 'star-gemmed coronal' at least; ' Soul-phrensied' always too, and 'ocean-full'; ' God-conquered, ' ' fate-o'ermastered' — that's the school No common fetters should his spirit bind. But 'adamantine,' 'giant-forged' — so mind ! No vulgar feelings play within his heart, *Tis set for all ' humanity ' apart ; And even humanity is far too small To fill its greatness — depth, and breadth, and all ! How could a soul, so universal, deign Its 'god-hke' instincts feebly to restrain? 92 THE ART OF MODERN POETRY. And narrow, to one earthly friend, or so ? — The very thoiiglit were "blasphemously low ! Our hero is by loftier cares possessed, ' AU Being groans ' — ^for that he tears his breast; Then 'mighty utterances' fall on his ear — At these he glows, and wipes away a tear. He plumbs the 'inscrutable' on every side, Storms the 'inevitable' with lordly pride, Apostrophizes the ' impossible ' In words of every form of vocable ; Outruns the double-fast extravagant At speed which makes one's human bellows pant; And, gathering up his power for a great cry, Dies as he hved — one vast soliloquy ! Begone, ye stupid oracles that speak In rusty Latin and forgotten Greek — "Who say Time, Place, and Circumstance control The glorious strains of each poetic soul. Time, Place, and Circumstance ! Pray, what are these But creatures we create just as we please 1 How very wise ! To be in subject thrall ' To what we make, unmake, command, recall ! THE ART OF MODERN POETRY. 93 Authors who write for all time — on their sheet Surely all ages should together meet ! The Past, the Present, and the Future there Bide the diviner, and his skill declare. And, thus, the more anachronisms appear, They all the more approve the master-seer. Had purbhnd Homer known what we know now. Think you he'd not have mentioned the steam-plough 1 And made Achilles drive with faster speed On locomotive than behind a steed 1 And can we not anticipate in thought What after years no doiiht will "witness wrought ? When men shall on electric currents flash. And through mid ether unconcerned dash 1 Why not then all those wondrous things relate As if they were of yesterday's short date 1 Hence, times and epochs only hold in string . Your elder bards of poor and feeble wing ; Our eagle poets burst the silly bond And soar away into the grand profound, Whence, looking back froni their far-distant height, They see Past, Present, Future — all unite, Virgil could make his heroes prophesy AU the events of by-gone history ; 94 THE ART OF MODERN POETRY. Greater tlian Yirgil are our poets seen ; They treat us to sucli tilings as ne'er liave been ! Your savage warriors of the Middle Age Act, speak, and reason like a modern sage ; J^o — I beg pardon — that were quite a myth — I merely meant, they dramatize like For Place : why is this world made to go round If not that no fixed place on it be found ? Seize any point of sky wliich you think fit, Each spot on earth sure each day passes it. How can you then suppose it very wrong That to all spots like temperatures belong 1 Things equal to the same, old EucHd swore, Equal each other, neither less nor more ; Wherefore, 'tis plain, oiu' bards are not in fault. When they from north to south, and backward, vault ; To polar realms our British flowers transplant. And teach our birds in orange groves to chant ; Our common oaks to Labrador assign. And gather gooseberries along the Line ; Give Iceland maids bare bosoms as they walk, And Afric belles resp'rators as they talk; THE ART OF MODERN POETRY. 95 Or make their "beaux tremendous passions froth From under vests of West of England cloth. Oh happy license, freed from latitudes, What lessons teaching in thy grander moods ! Showing how art is ISTature but improved. And decked with marvels 'hove itself removed ! Our modern poet — no poor ancient dunce — In mighty thought can bridge the world at once ; With sweet confusion gather all its spoils Into one heap ; till, resting from his toils. Acclaiming thousands croAvn the hard who sings The un-understandable of men and things ! Then, as for Circumstance — that is set loose From absurd precedents of hurtful use. If you have Fancy, why, then, so have I — Must yours be always right and mine awry 1 Things are to every one just what they seem, And in my own way I may treat my theme. If at a wedding feast my hero weeps. He knows the reason, and the secret keeps ; If at a fun'ral he is blythe "and gay. He's the best judge, whatever critics say. 96 THE ART OF MODERN POETRY. Ou Circmnstance liow vain to dogmatize ! With no two tilings tlie same in shape or size, Or taste, or colour, aptitude, or end, How can you urge this alter, that amend ? Or hoAv pretend the poet is not wise Who fills his page with most varieties 1 The more the Letter, since the chance is vast He'll hit some lucky accident at last. Or if he do not, still no harm is done ; You've had a hundred images where one Had scarce heen ventured in tame verse Such as my Geron and his friends rehearse. Thus, modern muses, whom no trammels hold, Pursue their way original and hold ; Rising to realms, unclogged by time or space, Each has a world she makes, each world a race ; No worn-out laws reach to the far-ofi" sphere, 'Tis ' sovereign genius ' only it will hear ; No poor weak sympathies earth-born and slow. Its transcendental denizens can know; 'Nov hopes, nor yearnings, of a human source, Nor fears, nor faith, repentance, or remorse — THE ART OF MODERN POETRY. 97 Such, as well up at times within us all — • Their lips rotund can ever once let fall. In grand enigma, clad from heel to head, We hear them speak, and wonder — what they said ! Wonder, my Geron, even of olden time, Is called the truest test of the sublime. You shake your head ! Well, then, I shan't insist ; I grant scarecrows loom largest through a mist; And ragged thoughts, just like those ragged birds, Show greatest covered with a cloud of words ! G 98 THE BELLE AND THE BUTTERFLY. A Belle with a butterfly held a dispute As to whose was the finer attire ; And when slie could not the j)oor insect refute, It presently kindled her ire: "Vain creature," she said, "how darest thou prate, Who but yesterday wert a vile worm 1 Yet, no wonder thou'rt proud on comparing thy latt With th}^ jDresent and newly-got form !" The insect rephed — " What you state, Ma'm, is true, I once was a worm, but 'tis past; The same can't be said, my fine lady, for you, Who wilt turn to ten thousand at last !" 99 FAMILY WOESHIP. [written in a volume of family praters.] The noblest Temple men can build, The holiest Altar mortals rear, The sweetest censer ever filled. Are represented here! In vain the swelling dome so proud, In vain the gorgeous ritual show. And incense rising cloud on cloud. Unless the bosom glow ! Mercy, and Faith, and Love disown The hollow pomp, the studied art ; The God we worship makes His throne Within the simple heart ! 'Mid kindly thoughts, and tender ties. And pure affections warm and true, And all home's nameless charities, His worship best we do. 100 FAMILY WORSHIP. Oh formalist, with wearying round Of useless service, fain to please, Come, and I'll show thee hallowed ground- Yon Child upon his knees ! Oh pharisee, of haughty hrow. And scornful eye, and stately prayer, Tread soft, speak low, and learn to how, For Piety is there ! Oh hypocrite, who long hast brought Vain offerings to an empty shrine, Approach and listen, and he taught What is alone Divine ! Oh sophist, who so often try'st From every hetter mood to slirink, "Was ever argument devis'd Like that to make thee think? The hest by far of all the creeds. It dreams no douht, and never can ; The Infant greybeard Wisdom leads, The Babe confutes the man ! FAMILY WORSHIP. 101 Oh reprobate, the sight may well Awaken salutary pain, Stir thoughts thou can'st not kill or quell, And whisper Good again — From eyes that seldom weep may cause The hot but blessed tears, as thou Remember'st all thy Mother was, And all thyself art now ! Dear holy shade ! Thy presence yet, Like some lone star when all is dark. Seems o'er my rugged course to flit. And hght my storm-sted bark ! Surely thine angel-form will stay Till niglit and darkness are no more, To point thy erring child the way, As thou didst point of yore ! Praise simply tuned, however faint. Prayer breathed around the old roof-tree — Such Sanctuary makes a saint. Such Saint a sanctuary ! 102 THE SHIP: AN OCTOBEK MUSING. In one of those sweet serious days of October, Wlien Nature looks pensive for Autumn's decay ; Wlien the woods are all clad in their russet so sober, The skies are all hung in their mantle of grey ; When the quiet-dropping leaves one by one are descending^ And the streams scarcely murmur while floating along ; When the tlu'iish and the blackbird their music are blend- ing In cadence subdued from their loud summer song. — In that audible hush — so instinct with emotion To hearts sympathetic — I wandered from care. Where the Doon's tranquil waters unite with the ocean, And the shore gently winds to the Headlands of Ayr. Dark Greenan,'"" like some faithful sentinel, grimly On the bay a look-out from his watch-turret kept, And Arran afar, looming grandly and dimly Through his curtain of cloud, seemed a giant that slept. An old ruined Castle at the head of the bay of Ayr. THE SHIP. 103 On the wide-stretching waters, the lazy mists traiUng Had wreathed into volume, huge, massive, and dark, And up to the barrier slow, stately, was saiHng, Its canvas all spreading, a gaily trimmed Bark. I watched it a moment : The faint sunheams, streaming Through a cleft of the sky, had embraced it in light, And its white wings extended, were glistening and gleaming ; But it entered the cloud, and was lost to my sight. " Thus fail us," methought, "highest hopes, richly freighted With all of which poor Human JSTature is proud! For they sparkle a time Hke that phantom ship, fated To sink and be swallowed at last in a cloud. "Wliat eyes have not gazed on this hoary old ruin, Or looked in deep wonder at Goatfell's vast dome ! Wliat hearts not been raptured as, walking and wooing, Love hath oft by this pathway delighted to roam ! " The stones of that Castle have heard many a story ; The heights of yon Hill many a change have withstood ; But, alas, for the Noble, his pomp and his glory. Or the Sage that hath meted the earth with his rood ! — 104 THE SHIP. Where are they ? And what of them now can we cherish? Ah, nothing ! Lost — gone — as we all soon shall be ; For, like shadows we come, and like shadows we perish, And the rede of our hfe is yon Ship on the sea ?" Nay, nay, drooping Fancy ! Such bodings so dreary Are painful to keep, nor all just do they rise ; For hfe, be it ever so treacherous and weary, Has something still lasting, and lofty, and wise. Yon ship, that you saw disappear in the distance, But clove on its way, and is cleaving it now, Through the tliin fleecy vapours that offered resistance Yet stayed not its going, nor cumbered its prow. To our seeming the shadows have closed in around it, And swallowed it up amid darkness and night ; But tbey cannot delay it ; they leave as they found it, Unchanged in its course, and unchecked in its might. As it voyages onward the shadows will sever ; So, the brave one in heart who is bent to fulfil Life's duty, finds yielding to manly endeavour The doubts which beset the less resolute will. THE SHIP. 105 Yon Sliip is not lost ! With its cargo, uncounted, Of wealth and of hopes, it careers o'er the seas, On the billows that lave other shores it has mounted, Brighter skies kiss its pennant that floats to the breeze. And thus — though in gloom and in death disappearing, Tliey who watch our dej)artm'e are smitten Avith grief; To the Limitless Land the Immortal is steering, Taking all that endures, leaving all that is brief. Oh affluent spirit of Man ! 'Tis thy being Gives life to the landscape, and soul to the grove ; From thee stocks and stones borrow hearing and seeing, Speak in tones of despondence, or accents of love. And can they survive thee 1 'No ! Goatfell shall shiver, His thickly-ribbed rocks l^ack to noticing return ; But thou shalt endure— a creation for ever — To know and to feel, to rejoice or to mourn ! 103 PATEENAL ADVICES. You're young, my son, and want a beard, I'm auld, and fain wud see you leared In prudent counsels ; dcn't be scared Though they're a wee thing rotten ; For, let me tell you, Johnnie lad, It had been better for your dad, If he, when young, like counsels had Frae sage Experience gotten. He'd been a richer man the noo, And many a kick, and pang, and grue, And many a wrinkle on his broo He'd missed in consequence. Sae, listen, and ne'er fash your head Wi' foohsh gomerils that mislead, And fine high-flying notions breed ; I'll teach you common sense. PATEENAL ADVICES. 107 First, then, and foremost, yon maun mind, Ne'er hate o\vre much, nor be OAvre kind, And, though you see, let on you're blind, Sae paukily conceaKng. Your foe may turn the morn your frien'. Your frien' the warst foe e'er was seen, Just ye steer cautiously between The cauld and het o' feeling. ■■tD* No that when friens appear in luck Ye need be wanting spunk and pluck, Close by their elbow stievely stuck. And ready wi' assistance ; But if their fortune tak' the dort — ■ Wliat sense that twa should sufter for't ?- Syne, when ye meet, just look athort, And keep a proper distance. The strongest side, if no aye best, Is aye the safest ane at least ; Nay, maun on guid foundation rest, Or else it would be weaker; 108 PATERNAL ADVICES. Then stan' ye firmly by that side As lang as it is strong and staid ; Eut, oh, be sure an tak a stride, If it should get a shaker. I dinna mean that ye shonld tak Even a Men's qnarrel on your back. Although he may be worth a plack, And at the time sair riven ; Folk that are ready in that way, Aye get the warst skelps in the fray, And maistly maun the piper pay In grudges ne'er forgiven. If fallows curse him to your teeth, E'en let them, John ; Avords are but breath, What for should ye come by a skaith His vain defences drawing 1 '^iD But ye can tell laim, when alane. How scarce your wrath you could contain Frae breaking the duel's rumple bane. To hear your frien's misca'ing. PATERNAL ADVICES. 109 I've ne'er seen muckle tlianks returned To them Avhose friendship ardent burned ; But I hae seen tlieni kicked and spurned Awa wi' the occasion. John, Gratitude's a treacherous dame, For gifts received her memory's lame, She's only in a loweing flame For gifts in expectation. In speech, if ye shouLl say a Avord Abune your l)reath tliat can be heard. For gudesake, John, be on yoiu* guard. And saftly, saftly latch it. Haud aff, hand afi" frae cracking jokes. Men ne'er forgie satiric strokes. It's no what's said sae much provokes As just they canua match it. Commend me to your douce dull loon Wi' nae mad nonsense in his croon, Wha snuves alang baith up and doAvn, And is na gien to dafl&ng. 110 PATERNAL ADVICES. Hech, he's the model man for you ; Whaur ithers stick he'll warstle through ; Kaebocly needs to fear his mou, And random fits of laughing. Oh "Wit, what are ye but a mar, That's bred us many an angry jar, And made our sorrows ten times waur, And a' advancement hinners ! They that hae made their fortunes should Indulge at times thy frisky mood, And utter mots — that's if they could — But no puir sarkless sinners. Johnny, beware o' an opinion ; Its unco easy whiles to fin' ane. But, man, it's desperate apt to sting ane, Unless ye catch it canny. Listen to what your neighbours think, And wi' the lave be sure to clink ; Frae singularity aye shrink, And ne'er say ' Xo' to any. PATERNAL ADVICES. Ill They're men set up to form our views Upon the Bible or the News ; Then let them worlc their warlc, and use The fruit o' their inventions ; Its dounricht pride and vain conceit To try such orators to heat ; 'Twill kennel mony a fashions heat, And hell o' p-uid intentions : &" I've kenned a chiel lose half his trade By baking heresy in bread ; Or base black Toryism, instead 0' sound and Popular notions. And what's the worth o't 1 I will vouch 'Twill ne'er put siller in your pouch ; He's a wise man that Avliiles can crouch ; Avoid such vain commotions. Truth and the State Avill last a wee Without the help o' 3^ou or me ; Ye canna weel afford to. bo A sodger for nae payment. 112 PATERNAL ADVICES. Conscience is far owre precious gear For every clay and man to wear; Just put it l)y ; its costs sae dear : Folks envy the fine raiment. Think lang, my son, before you marry ; Young husbands maistly aye miscarry ; And dinna tak a lass will harry, But ane will hoard up rather. Nae braw young gilpy, spruce and gleg, Wi' glancing een and weel-turned leg : What's beauty John? — no worth a feg; Nor handsome ancles either. That sort will spen' mair than she earns, And put her foot through yoiir concerns ; Or droun you wi' a lash o' bairns. Whose vera keep an' deeding Would tak a ransom o' theirsels ; Besides, schule wage expenses swells, Pianos, and sic bagatelles That gang to gentle breeding. PATERNAL ADVICES, 113 Na, 'Na, ; tak' ane o' mair discretion, "WTiase years will limit procreation — A woman o' gear, age, and station — Nae liizzie in lier teenies, Wi' a' lier tocher in fine dresses ; She may hae winsome, warm caresses ; Be bonny, blythe, and guid ; but, bless us, Her charms Avill no coin guineas ! Beauty's a frail and fading flower, A lean and insufficient dower ; The roses that deck Cupid's bower Their thorns we canna know aye ; And if the Avinter-blast o' want Should mak' their leaves and blossoms scant, "We'd rather hae some other plant. Though, aiblins, no sae showy. Flowers mak' an unca bare house-theek, They fen us frae nae storms sae bleak. Nor 'gainst the weet our rigging steek; Plain strae is far mair cozie. H 114 PATERNAL ADVICES. Sae, Jolm, may prudence aye protect ye, And no let smittal Beauty wreck ye, But keep ye frae ilk thocktless geckie, Wi' clieeks however rosy. J^SiQ doubt, by folio wing my advising, You'll lack much that the heart rehes on — Truth, friendship, love, fun, and the rising 0' thochts that stir the breast. There's no a gain but has a loss, There's no a life but has some cross. We maun tak' matters in the gross, And strike the balance best. Tills warld is a' a mixty maxty ; But, Jolm, its wealth ye aye may rax tae, And, when you've reached the age o' saxty Ye'll no hke me be bent ; Ye'U hae guid braidcloth if nae brain ; Ye'll ne'er thole looks o' caul disdain ; Wlia kens, ye'll ride youj coach, and gain A seat in ParHament ! PATERNAL ADVICES. 115 The road may He tlirougli dub and dirt, Yet, what o' that ? — ilk splash and squirt Frae your four wheels "will ithers blurt — Ye're snug inside, my bairn. . Wealth hides a multitude o' 'sin, It covers many a scurvy skin. And puts a bonny gloss abune The bald and empty j)ow ; But Poortith leaves folk unco bare ; It shows their faults, and whiles far mair, And plays the deil wi' parts and lear. Unless they cringe and bow. John, mind my words, no my example ; I canna on auld habits trample. But I can screed you aff a sample 0' what it's wise to learn. It's what I ne'er could mak' my rule ; I was but gowkish at that schule ; A flighty, independent fule, Aye chasing some new raptur' ; 116 PATERNAL ADVICES. And noo it's second nature, hinnie ; I canna change my way, nor winna ; I'll kick the mean and cnff the ninny TiU. finis ends the chapter. 117 PAST AND PRESENT. In the childhood I remember, now some forty years ago, The tales we heard were Fairy tales ; how pleasant was their flow. As the kind old faithful foster-nurse — peace to her, simple soul ! — To quiet her noisy auditors rehearsed her well-known r61e ; How Jack had mounted the Bean Stalk, the Giant grim had slain, And how his Mother wondered when the boy came back again ; The sights by sailor Sinbad seen within the magic cave ; And how Men hved up in the moon, and Mermaids 'neath the wave ! Or, if it chanced her auditors were in a different mood, How touchingly she told us of the two Babes in the Wood, 118 PAST AND PRESENT. And liow tlie Eotin liaj)ped them in tlieir lone and leafy- bower — My heart warms to the Eobin yet, and has warmed since that hour ! The Bells that rung out fortune to the little Whittington, There's music in their memory — I'm not ashamed to own The charm, whene'er my ear drinks in some distant tink- ling chimes, They seem the hajjpy echoes of those old and hapj)y times ! How cheery were the songs she sung, and never tired to sing; The ballads, too, now softly sweet, now weirdly wild their ring, Now gentle as a breathing lute, now Hke the tempest's race — Fair Helen of Kirkconnell Lee, or Che^dot's bloody Chase ! And as our group responsive felt the savage or the sad, Were vexed with tender i^ity, or anon with laughter glad. How carefully she watched each turn, improved it as she might. To make us bolder for the weak, and braver for the right ! Dear Betty, I recall you still, though humble was your lot, Such home-spun honest worth as thine can never be for- got. PAST AND PRESENT. 119 If wliiles you scolded us yourself, none else at least dare Not father, mother, granny, aunt, if you were standing by. No hireling montlily hack, dear Bet, of this "progressive" age, Yours was the service of the heart, not task-work for a wage. But then your "house" was made a home, nor was there known at all So wonderful a distance from the kitchen to the hall ! Is it I'm growing critical hecause I'm growing gray, Yet nursery tales like these, metliinks, have all but passed away ; And childish fancy now-a-days is not so bold and free, Nor fed upon the simple lore it once was wont to he. Perhaps there's sometliing better now — the folks think so, at least. And stronger meat they all uphold a fitter childish feast. So be it. Still, I'll keep my creed, and say there may be worse To warm the heart of Childhood than those fables of the nurse. 120 PAST AND PRESENT. IL In the shiny summer Saturdays, when we were boys at school, Noon found us nesting in the woods, or angling in the pool ; And then the evening twihghts, with their shadows length- ening down, Assembled us for sport in lanes of the dear native town. No strict preceptor's frown to fear with the to-morrow's sun. For tasks neglected over night, and ' Bland' and ' Mair' un- done; To-morrow is the Sabbath, so, our satchels on the peg. We'll have it out to-night till ten at ' Corby', or the ' Gegg' ! No niceness in our company, no modish pride was there ; Each boy his neighbour's equal, if he choose the game to share ; The piecer from the mill hard by, the drawboy from the loom. And the laddie from the ropery — all welcomely had room ! PAST AND PRESENT. 121 Cloth-jacket cliummed witli Corduroy, and loved liim dearly too; And whatsoe'er the one proposed the other one would do ; So clear the shouts rang up the street, and fast and far the run, "While quaint weavers, in red night-caps, looked intently at the fun ! 'No stiff pohceman meddled us, he rather liked the sport, As out and in, and up and down, we threaded every coiu^t ; If, unawares, we overset a candy-woman's stall, For reasons of her o-\vn she said but little of the fall ; Even servant-lasses seemed to like their errand very well, If whiles we raised a knocker, or whiles we tugged a bell : And called out ' mischiefs ' after us as- fast away we fled. Or turning round we laughed outright to see them shake their head ! It may be that I'm getting blind as age comes creeping on ; And yet it seems such olden sports have out of fashion gone; At least as they were played in years of unforgotten joys, Wlien every to^vn could count by troops its happy, thought- less boys. I miss them in the summer eves, the lanes seem still to me, Deserted Like, and very changed from what they used to be. 122 PAST AND PRESENT. I miss the girls, too, on the paves, vnth. skipping rope and ball, A-chanting the ' mintanzie, ' or a-hopping at ' pal-lal. ' Perhaps there's merriment as blythe and hearty as was then ; Yet, somehow, bairns now seem to start from babies into men ; 80 trim their dress, so tight their drill, their looks so very wise. We call them boys, and think them so, from nothing but i their size. 1 If this be right, then I am wrong ; I like the good old way. When boys were boys, and dearly loved a rough and roar- ing play ; Got into scrapes, got out again; and knew no deeper shame Than to have Tell-tale, Liar, Cheat, or Coward to their name ! PAST AND PRESENT. 123 III. In the hearty, hajDpy gatherings at homes — ah, roofless now ! — Care did not brood so hea\ily on each assembled brow ; The Old were pleasant in their ways, and ready A\dth their jest, And had a kindly word to speak with every yonnger guest ; And, when the hvely reel struck up, you might have seen Threescore Select his partner, choose his set, and foot it on the floor As lightsomely as e'er he did when dancing days were new ; And, after, when the song went round, he sang his ditty too! Beside a presence hoar with years, yet still at heart so green, Twas vain to put on prudish airs when one was but eigh- teen ; So, speed the dance, and quicker let inspiring music fly Till wearied maidens for respite imploringly shall cry ! Then, change the venue for a time, and take a breathing space, And, if we can, let's quietly shp into some cornered place, 124 PAST AND PRESENT. Where, safe from the too prying eyes of jealous rivals near, We'll steal a rapture from her Hps, or pour one in her ear ! I miss these genial hale old men ! the race seems all hut dead, WTio slipped the 'fairing' in the hand, or kindly stroked the head. We never felt them a restraint at feast, or fete, or dance, But gathered gladness from their voice, and pleasure from their glance. The Old are noAv so hard, and dull, and sour, and callous gro-\vn, They cannot hear a youngster's glee, hut freeze it with a frown ; So changed in all from those who shared our mirth one scarce can grieve That Hallowe'en is seldom kept, and jolly !N"ew-Year's Eve! And neighhours then were neighhourly, they shrank from heing shy ; At kirk or market never thought to pass each other by, 'Nov measure out cold stately hows hy some capricious scale. But jauntily and hrotherly they hade each other hail. PAST AND PRESENT. 125 l^ow they may live for years at hand, and scarce exchange a word ; Perhaps you're sick in the next street — ah, well, they never heard ; Your child is dead — they recollect a hearse was at the door; Your daughter married— on their word, they never knew before ! Well, well, the mode is altered noAv, the manners more demure ; But, then, at least, you must admit the manners are so pure ; The frankness of the by-gone time is noAV quite laid aside, But 'tis because we're more refined — that cannot be denied ; Age has grown graver with its years, youth more correct behaves ; Before Propriety alone we bow as -ndlling slaves ! Who would the olden coarseness change for good so pass- ing fair, Or wish Society to loss such a becoming air ! Oh, Sophistry, what power is thine, to cheat plain honest sense ; Thou slimy Tempter, as of yore, thy charm lies in Pretence; 126 PAST AND PEESENT. Is Vice less vicious that 'tis hid beneath thy snakish hood ?— Makes man so oft hut hyjjocrite, and woman hut a prude ? Thinks ill where notliing ill was thought, sin where no sin was done. And to dissemble the first law of life beneath yon sun 1 Are Honour, Virtue, Truth to-day more safe, or oftener shown. Than in the years Avhen people wore no colours but their own 1 Let bankrupt hsts, and swindhng schemes, and crimes might sicken hell, Of these enlightened days of ours the bitter story tell ! Let wise young men, vflio will not wed, at least till years are gone, Their fortunes made, position gained, and all their wild oats sown ; Let rifled rose-buds cast away by thousands every year — Truth must speak out — it speaks, alas, in bitter accents here ! — Palled appetites, and hardened hearts, what matter if you make Yon old man ^vretched in his age, who was in youth a Eake ? 127 CLOUD AND SUNSHINE. There he times wlien tlie soul is struck duuib with a sorrow, When seeing we see not, nor hearing we hear ; When the heart from emotion no language can horrow, No sign for its burden, no sigli, and no tear ; When the whispers of friendship fall on us unheeding, And affectionate soothings prove empty and vain ; Wh^n Eehgion's still voice, though importunate pleading, Nor adds to, nor lessens, nor alters our pain. It is not Despair paralyses oivr vision. Nor cold unheheving that stifles the heart ; Nor Fear, nor Remorse, marks that wondrous condition, We know and we feel, but can never unpart. Misfortune has thrown not its ruin around us, And Death in our dwelHng no ravage has made ; The day, as it passes, but leaves as it found us, The night closes in AAith its quietness and shade. 128 CLOUD AND SUNSHINE. There be times wlien oiir being, absorbed, is confounded With a joy that ne'er yet found its utterance in speech; Whose depths no philosophy ever hath sounded, - IsTo sages recorded, no numbers can reach. Care may crush Avith its load on the jDoor sinking Eeason, Till Hope shall expire in the strife with Dismay ; But the harpies of hell, though abroad in that season, Pollute not our banquet, and snatch not their prey. The more that they struggle, the deeper our spirit Knows a rapturous bhss it can never unfold ; The treasure we have — although, whence we inherit, Or why we enjoy it — a secret untold. Ask the cloud why it nurses the sheen of the hghtning. Beside Avhich the sun like a taper burns pale. Which flies far and flashes, still brightening and brighten- ing, The denser the gloom and the louder the gale. Ask the sunbeam itself, why, ahke all untainted, In palace and prison it carelessly gleams : — Then ask — ^Why such moods of the mind I have painted Remain all unchanged 'mid this world and its dreams 1 CLOUD AND SUNSHINE. 129 Oh, OUT life is a trance ; we're both sleeping and waking, And the Mortal within us responds to this earth. But the Immortal also its \'igil is keeping, And such moods are the throbs of its grief and its mirth ! 130 BOTH SIDES. There's sly, demure, and godly "Will, Sings psalms and prays all Sunday ; With unction lie robs Simon's till. And cheats him on the Monday. But frank, blaspheming, rakish Bob, 's a fish of different water. He scorns alike to pray or rob, Yet ruins Simon's daughter ! Wliich is the worse ? Aye, there's the pose ! I'm sure, were I the father Of that jjoor outcast girl, I'd choose That "Will should cheat me rather. He mocks his Maker to His face, "With pious profanation. Still — all his whining and grimace But works "Will's own damnation. BOTH SIDES. 131 Yet, ah, what wicked whine was his, What hollow vows he tendered, What Judas-leer lurked in his kiss, To whom the maid surrendered ! He damns himself ; he damns her too ; And that's a douhle damning. Compared with which even Will should stew For only half a shamming. Ye Wits, who handled have so long The pious counterfeiting ; Come, take a fresh theme for your song- Un-pious ways of cheating ! The foul sin of Hypocrisy You've treated right ; begin And, doubly foul, let all men see The hypocrisy of Sin ! 132 THE JUDGMENT OE SOLOMO]^. The Queen of the South, led hy Solomon's fame, To his court for instruction in wisdom once came, And therein, no doubt, she did rightly ; But Sheha, it seems, hke a few of her sex. Had a mischievous humour to tease and perplex, If she thought she could do it pohtely. " N"ow maidens, " said she, " go and fetch me a wreath Of the lovehest flowers the "wide Heaven beneath, The freshest and fairest in blooming ; And of flowers artificial a Hke one I'll trim, Their forms as complete, nor their colours more dim. All the same, to the very perfuming ; And so, it shall be, that this wisest of kings. Who of every fair plant from earth's bosom that springs Hath duly the properties meted. When asked to declare which is I^ature's, which mine, May perchance be deceived, or, if he decHne To give judgment, for once own defeated ! " THE JUDGMENT OP SOLOMON. 133 'Twas done as 'twas said ; and Queen Sheba drew near Where the King on his throne and the courtiers all were; A wreath in each hand she extended, And the question proposed ; all the court looked demure ; But spoke not; hecause they were not very sure If the Eang would he pleased or offended. In the silence it chanced that a bee should be heard A-hum at the window, its entrance debarred, As if praying permission to enter ; The King in a trice bade a page to undo The casement, and straightway the humble bee flew Of that circle right into the centre. By the one of those nosegays it carelessly passed, But, faitliful to nature, it settled as fast On its twin as a miser on money ; The King, with a look half of jest, half of state, Said — " Colours, forms, perfumes, we imitate, But the test of a flower is the honey. " If this tale will instruct certain maidens I know, To look more to real virtues and less to mere show, 'Twill be useful, I'm sure 'tis conceded ; 134 THE JUDGMENT OF SOLOMON. And if matrons upon tlieir yoimg ladies impress, That besides pretty looks, pretty manners, and dxess, In a Woman one quality's needed j That quality Nature, not Art, can supply, 'Tis a charm beside wliich not another can vie, Wliilst without it all else lose their sweetness ; Bright and pure, it must spring from the depths of the soul, To complete, to cement, and give worth to the whole, 'Tis that grace of all graces, called — Sweetness ! 135 HAVELOCK. TO A YOUNG SOLDIKR, GOING TO INDIA, WITH A COPY OF THE BIOGRAPHY OF SIR HENRY HAVELOCK. HisTOBT no finer -wxeatli could ever twine Around a name, than, Havelock, around tliine ! A lofty life hj no dishonour stained — Duty to man, and faitli in God maintained — And at the last a death serenely grand As Victory smiled upon thy Spartan Band ! Who would_^not envy such a twin-renown ? — The Hero's laui'el, and the Martyr's crown — Virtue and Valour through a long career — Long be his memory to our army dear ! Long may his course our British youth inspire To blend with hallowed fervour martial fire — To tread the steps of one Avhose eagle sight Ne'er quailed in danger, and ne'er cowered in fight, But shrank alone from vice and sin away, And quivered only as it closed to pray ! For such a guerdon, friend, how well to try — Live lilce a Saint, and hke a Soldier die ! 136 THE YEOMEN AND THE PEEE. ON THE VISIT OF THE EGLINTON TENANTRY TO THE LORD- LIEUTENANT OF IRELAND IN 1858. Hail to the Land where social ties Are film and fitly hound ; Where small and great thus fraternize. And pass the welcome round. No servile shame, no haughty pride, No sullen looks are here, But friend to friend, and side hy side. The yeomen greet the Peer ! We know of climes heyond the seas Where endless summer reigns ; Where luscious fruitage loads the trees, And gorgeous are the plains ; ' THE YEOMEN AND THE PEER. 137 Where Mature yields spontaneous store, And rivers run with gold ; But there the men are men no more, They're bartered, bought, and sold ! We know of regions pictured too. On which the sun ne'er shone, - Where all is beautiful and true, And AVant and Wealth unknown ; Where Eank and Titles there are not, None poor, none richer seem ; For all enjoy an equal lot — Mere phantom of a dream^! But give us Scotland's sterner strand, And Scotland's sturdy race. We'll envy not the fairer land. Where Freedom has no place ; And give us loobies such as rules Where Garnock's'"'" tide flows near, We'll let the visionary fools Their fine Utopias rear. * The Garnock rises in Kilbirnie parish, and, passing through Eglinton grounds, joins the Water of Irvine a little Delow tha Castle. 138 THE YEOMEN AND THE PEER. Told fortli shall be tlie glorious Past, While Story has a tongue, When clansmen, faithful to the last, Around their chieftains clung ; And they who knew not how to j^eld, To falter, change, or fly, On many a grand old battle-field Could bravely know to die ! Yet, better guerdon waits the age, And prouder it shall show. When clansmen and thek chiefs engage To fight another foe ; When ignorance and sloth are slain, And tyrant triumphs cease ; Bright be their names who so maintain The holier wars of peace ! And fair indeed His fame appears. And loved our Lord may be, Wlio, high 'mid Scotland's noble feres. Yet meekly "bears the gree " ; THE YEOMEN AND THE PEER. 139 Were he who sang " a man's a man " Ahve in bonny Ayr, He'd tAvine the name of Eglinton With good Glencairn and Daer ! Long may Montgomerie live and blest, A grateful people prays ; And may that island of the West, Where regal power he sways, See all his patriot wishes crowned ! Her long, long spell is broke ; The fairest tree on Irish ground Has proved a Scottish oak ! * * No government ever exceeded in popularity Lord Eglinton's administratiou of Irish affairs on the two occasions on which he held the Lord-Lieutenancy (in 1852 and 1858) ; and none ever equalled it in the substantial blessings it conferred on that interesting country. His lamented death in 1861 was a source of unfeigned regret to the whole United Kingdom. 140 GENEKAL NEILL. LINES ON THE INAUGURATION OF THE NEILL MONUMENT AT AYB, 11th OCTOBER, 1859. Well done, brave Neill ! heroic heart, And foremost of the few, Wlio fought, and — " second glorious part " !- Who died, as soldiers do ! When Treason, Eapine, Murder, rose For fierce and fiendish fray, On every side ten thousand foes, On every face dismay — Unawed, we see thy noble form In calm commanding might. Emerge a giant from the storm, A lion for the fight ! Till cheeks that blanch' d with fear before, And hearts that quail' d grew bold, GENERAL NEILL. 141 And hands that never weapon hore Grasp'd sword and shield, as told How one grand Briton stood his ground, And scorned all flight and fears, How Courage had with triumph crowned Neill and his Fusiliers ! Long, long shall British mothers wail That sad disastrous time. And maidens sicken at the tale Of Cawnpore's helHsh crime; Yet, long as Memory holds her seat, And History her pen, They'll tell of Lucknow's wondrous feat. And all our mighty men; And, while we grieve as grieve we must, A rapture still shall steal. To think our country owns the dust Of Havelock and of N"eill ! Brave ISTeill, Avell done! We thank to-day The Art that gives aneAv, To all but life in proud array. Thy dauntless breast and true; 142 GENERAL NEILL. The stalwart form — the look of fire — Tlie seK-reHant mien — All tliat our fancy can inspire With what the Erave has been ! And here — ^upon this storied spot, To Home and Freedom dear, Wherp Bruce once rul'd and Wallace fought — His Monument we rear, Whose martial spirit, nursed upon Their grand old deeds of war, Grew and hlazed forth, until it shone A fit comj)anion-star ! Here NEILL was born ! His Hfe, his death If you would learn, then go, Go Scotsman, and with panting breath. Behold it writ— LUCKI^OW! 143 QUIETUDE. When Story paints the ancient king Retiring to liis distant cave, That he might thence sage counsels bring, The gifts his guardian goddess gave, — Deem not that ancient faith so "blind ; All have, 'like Mm, in secret sought Some sweet Egeria of the mind, And Hke him found the better thought. The BETTER THOUGHT ! What human hreast Hath never known its soothing power, Welcomed its sacred Sahhath-rest, And blessed the spot, and blessed the hour 1 'Mid mountain-heights and solitudes, By lonely stream and ruin hoar. We all have had our hoHer moods. And every soul hath learned to soar. 144 QUIETUDE. These better thoughts tliey speak a speech. Unused in languages of men ; And truer, deeper wisdom teach Than falls from tongue, or flows from pen. Like rays of Ught, which ne'er assume Gross form, or dull material guise, Unclothed in words they best illume — Bright emanations of the skies ! Yes, if throughout the realms of earth, So beauteous wheresoe'er our flight, We trace the uses, hail the hirth Of silent, pure, and quickening Light. Doubt we that for far nobler ends Etherial moods in men are Avrought 1 Or question that from Heaven descends, Tn tranquil hours each better thought ? Were every ill around me spread. And I had all to bear alone, In desert wild to make my bed, Nought for my pillow but a stone — QUIETUDE. 145 Yet, visited by siicli a guest, Even in a di-eam did it appear, I sliould but deem my lot too blest. And say — an angel has been here And might there not, and shall there not. Be still this boon for me and all ? However abject and forgot. Or high our state, or low our fall 1 Oh, yes ! And who shall dare to Aveigh The influence which its sacred claim Shall carry to his dying day. Even on the child of sin and shame 1 The throb of fear, the strange remorse, That shoot athwart the guilty brain, May make their victim only worse. Or stun him back to good again ; Whiche'er it be, full well I know, Could but his deepest depth be sought, Heaving and struggling up, 'twould show Some old, though buried, better thought. J 146 QUIETUDE. Then let us live in humljle tope, And honour, of all human kind ! The Pharisee and Misanthrope Alike presumptuous are, and hhnd. The Great, the Good, the Last, the First, For erring Man the blessing bought — He'U one day ask both best and worst, How each improved his bettek thought. 147 THE GRAND PIANO. A PARABLE FOR THOSE WHO CAN INTERPRET IT. [suggested ok LEAENING that a certain PKESBITERIAS KrKK HAD BOUGHT A H ARMONILTI. ] Air—" The Rock and the Wee Pickle Tow. " There was a douce man, Johnny Blue'^ to liis name, And a ae storey lioosie lie rented it ; The biggin was hamely, yet aye it was hame, And Johnny was unco contented ^Yi't. His Molly and he years thegither had gane. Ilka year seeing added anither braw wean, And they leeved unco couthie, although they leev'd plain, Sae his wedding he never repented it. * Blue is the colour of the Presbyterian, and Ifoll stands for a certain Kirk of St. Mary's, whose whereabouts shall be nameless Madam Bishoj} is- the Episcopal Churcli, with its many stairs or grades of office, surplice, organ, ritual, &c., &c.— and Leddy Scarlet is the Romish with dilio. 148 THE GRAND PIANO. For lang and awliile in his first married days Moll was tlioclitfu', and furthy, and thrifty in't ; At maklving and mending, and turning the claes, Oh her fingers hut they were sae shifty in't I For she shued and she shued, and she span and she span ; To deed the bit bairns, and snod the gndeman, Her needle and wheel gaed, till neebors l^egan To say — " Sic a wedlock, nae tifty in't ! " And aye while she laboured, her canty bit tliroat Some hearty auld tune would be crooning it — The music as nat'ral and saft in the note As when lav'rocks in heaven are soon'ing it ; And folk when they passed near her winnock were stirr'd, And looked, though they ne'er saw the blythesome bit bird Tliat sang to the wheel as it whirr' d and it Avhirr'd — Through sheer love o' her wark Moll Avas drooning it ! But waesucks on a' the puir dochters o' Eve, The pride o' tlieir mither still doses them ! Onie tempter that " blaws in their lug" to deceive He easy and sune discomposes them ; THE GRAND PIANO. 149 And the " friiit that's forhidden" they greedily eat — Fling innocence frae them hke dirt o' their feet — And barter their artless simpUcity sweet For a "fig," that sair metamorj)hoses them ! Madam Bishop she leev'd in a house Avi' big stairs, Leddy Scarlet had equal pretension o't; Baith kept grand pianos, and put on sic a'o'S As puzzled some folks' comprehension o't; Yet in this wicked Avarld it's really the case That naethiug gangs farrer than carrying a "face;" And the puirly informed whiles thocht tliat in lace And ruffles the tAva Avared a pension o't. But for a' they kept up sic a rippet and rack, The better informed mair than hinted o't, That their belhes Avere pinched just to cover their back. And for "strong" meat they sadly AA'^ere stinted o't. They gied musical parties, hoAvever, sae fine To a' Avho preferred on iilano to dine, And for supper o' soHds have rather moonsliine — Oh, moiiie the blockheads here ghnted at ! 150 THE GRAND PIANO. 1*^00, "fasliion," for women, is simply a plague, And tliey're certain to catch, the infection o't; (It's the cholera morbus — the fever and ague — Fleeing Nancy-— whate'er the direction o't, Be't to heart, head, or heels, he't to nose, eyes, or ears — Painted cheeks, or black " patches, " or fause hair) — the " dears, " Be they ugly or fair, be they young or in years, Nae " doctor" can gie them protection frae't. Honest Molly escaped sic contagion awee — She had mair to engage her than thinking o't — (It's idleset brings on disease, whiles, we see, And wark gie's us mt for the jinking o't) — But Moll's bairntime by, wi' its tliick and its thrang. And the needle and wheel, to which saftly she sang, Nae mair in request — it was no verra lang This fashionable fever she blinked it. O' And naething wad serve her but she tae would try Like the twa uppish leddies the thrumming o't ; And a " CoUard" or " Broadwood" assuredly buy For the pleasiu-e o' hearing the strumming o't. THE GRAND PIANO. 151 The tlioclit it possessed her hy nicht and by day, When she walked, when she sat, when she stood, when she lay, Till John, in a passion, for aince in a way, Said he wonnered what she was aye humming at. " It's no, woman Moll, that there's harm in the th ing, But it's daft-like your way o' presenting it ; For there's fitness in a' things, and surely to bring A piano in here, instrumenting it. Is quite out o' keeping wi' a' our douce ways — Modest bield — mainers plain — sma' pretence — hamely claes — A piano ! My certy, 'twould fule sic a place. And the rafters would ring clean dementing wi't. " Grand pianos, grand houses, grand dresses, grand foUc, And grand flunkey chaps tae attending them. May jump weel enough ; but 'twould be a puir joke For us noo to begin wi' pretending them. Isa, na, wifie Molly, I winna agree — It would scarce stan' to reason, between you and me, "Were your gown made of drugget, your mutch filhgree — So thae haivers, come, let us be ending them. 152 THE GRAND PIANO. " And to tell you the truth, the fine music they gie, Though " grand " be the name they have christened it, Was nocht to your ain, wi' the bairn on your knee, When his wee soul felt lapped as he hstened it ; Or that plaintive auld tune that used owre us to steal Like a dream o' the dead whom we loved so weel, And wha lo'ed us far mair, till we thocht we could feel The touch o' the sainted and blest in it." But a woman's a woman, o' that I'll be swoxn. And her head, when a plan aince gets into it. You may coax her, command her, or put to the horn. But some road to accompHsh't she'll rin to it ; And Moll', wi' the instrument fever so fir'd. Was na lang e'er she felt by a thocht quite inspir'd, Sae, for her ain voice a puir proxy she hired. And this was the way she did win to it — A travelling chap wi' a kist o' nicknacks Her door the neist day gently knockit at. And quickly, unstrapping liis case yn' its packs, Each box in the case he unlocked it ; THE GRAND PIANO. 153 Mang the lare caught Moll's e'e a mahogany shell That coiild clink seven tunes — " ISToo, " thinks Moll to hersel', *' This will surely please John — it is ivee — yet souns well" — And the ransom at aince she unpocketed. But even when women get whims gratified, They aft feel a kind o' humility ; And Moll, having ijot the box, felt that her pride Smelt rankly o' real juvenility. So she gied the wee box to the bairns for a toy, And Kit, her great favourite, had monie a ploy, Amusing himsel' and his cronies forbye, Wi' the fruit o' his mother's gentihty ! 154 THE QUILT. A CONNUBIAL COLLOQUY SENT TO THE MISSES BEGG, NIECES OP ROBERT BURNS, ON THE ARRIVAL OF A VERY ELABORATE AND ELEGANT BED-QUILT, MADE BY THEM, AND PRESENTED TO MY WIFE, MARCH, 1862. Dear Ladies, the Quilt by joivc handicraft wrought So superb and so snug, to my partner was brought, Who, as soon as received, put at open defiance All the rules and restraints of our married alliance ; For she suddenly entered my " den " without asking Permission, just as my poor brains I was tasking, And of an idea or two had got inkHng ; In she came — the ideas flew off in a twinkling, And have not been caught since — ideas are scary. And, like bu'ds once escaped, most uncommonly wary ! In my rage, papers, pens, ink, and all things were spill' d, "■S^ow, what is't?" cried I— " Oh, " said she, "'tis the Quilt ! " THE QUILT. 155 " The Quilt, go-be-lianged," I exclaimed in a passion, How can you, my Madam, come in in sucli fashion And bother me so when I'm busy composing — Composing, to be fZ^'^'composed with your prosing ! Xow, see what you've done ! I've been hunting this hour For a grandly pathetic and jDopular ilower To stick in my pages, and just when I'd got it You enter — the whole from my memory's blotted !" " Oh — a flower, my sweet Will, there are flowers here in plenty, And I'll warrant they'll last you for years more than twent}^ ! !N"ow do just be quiet and attend for one minute, TiU I show you my Quilt, and what wonders are in it ! Fhst, look at this Fringe of rich Manchester Cotton — How curious and finished — the hke ne'er was shot on A loom I am certain — " " Indeed, tliafs a story ; Do you know. Ma'am, your spouse is an out-and-out Tory ? He hates Manchester stuff; and its cotton, you see, Succiunb to't who will, shall ne'er get ahuve Me — So, if under this Quilt you're -disposed to rechne, You in future must find your own bed, and I mine !" 156 THE QUILT. " Oh, shocking, my dear, the bare thought were a scandal ! Besides, do yon. fancy your wife svicli a Yandal As to make common use of this Quilt — of tliis present — So finished and fine, and so charmingly dizzenedl Why — look at it, man ! I declare 'tis like satin As it ghsters and gleams, yet the fingers Avhen pattin' Feel it softer than velvet, and smooth to the touch As a full ripened peach ! Troth, I doubt very much K a Quilt half as rich be possessed far or near ! And / use it myself? K'ever, Willie, my dear ! rU keep it to put on our spare bed, you know; And when strangers go in it "udll make such a show! Islx.i X, Y, or Z, or the Misses A. B., As they put off their bonnets, on coming to tea, Will admire it as I do — and oh then the pleasure Of telhng them who it was furnished the treasure ! You won't grudge our loitering a bit in that case, Nor growl at our Sex, as you've done to our face. Saying — women do tattle so much when up-stairs, They're surely ashamed of that gossip of theirs — They are cleaning their nails on some poor wretch, be sure, Or spreading some mischief — or laying some lure ! You'll know what we're talking of then at the most, THE QUILT. 157 If tlie tea should "be boiled, or if Ijiirnt be the toast ! / use it myself ! Bless my heart — feel its weight — " " ^JTay— stop now — for these very reasons you state Prove quite the reverse of the point you intended, And like most women's reasons, they need to be mended ! I cannot approve of your forethought so paAvky Of entrapping your guests into this talky-talky — Till each takes as long to untie her own bonnet As I'd take to a leader or scribbling a sonnet. On my Avonl 'tis too bad, whilst yoiu' speeches you utter On this and on that, to spoil my bread and butter ; So, rather .than tempt tetes-a-tete and delay, I'd prefer that the Quilt be kept out of the way ! Besides, its great 'weight' proves it never was meant To be but a piece of mere house ornament ; So thick and so cozy — so long and so wide — It might hold a wdiole good rumping dozen inside ; Serve a family for sheets, blankets, covering and all, And keep them right warm, both the old ones and small ! Om* old coverlid, made of many print-patches — Green, sky-blue, and scarlet — hvd, gives heat by snatches ! Beneath it I've oft felt so thoroughly frozen As on waking to doubt if I had any toes on, 158 THE QUILT, And when easterly winds with one's hones play the deuc« It seems much more fitted for show than for use ; So, I vote it he sent to the grand empty hed, And this jolly warm Quilt he thrown o'er us instead !" " Indeed ! Though jou think we poor females are blind It would seem 'tis yourself is not long of one mind ! But a minute ago you broke out on the fringing, And vowed you would ne'er under cotton go cringing — Ymi^re no Manchester convert — no — no — not an inch ! Yet now, it appears, you are fain at a pinch Of frost or east wind to forget all yom* principle ! For shame. Sir ? A "\\^iig may that way be convincible ! Or place-hunting Trimmer, but yon I thought better AYould stick to your creed both in spirit and letter. Oh fie ! If such high mighty ' lords of creation ' Prove so fickle, pray what is to come of the nation ? For my part, I tliink that each good honest Avife Is a Tory at heart, and a Tory for life ; Since she'd always desire certain cliamhers at least In her 1w^lse to be kept quite apart from the rest — Not exactly for people to stand in and stare ; And yet, from a j)ride to have such chambers there, THE QUILT. 159 With all their helongings in decent array Set aloof from the commoner use of each day ; Where the things chiefly prized — he they old, be they new — Are preserved, though not hidden, most sacredly too— Heir-looms of the past, from the Dead or the Gone, And the gifts which the friends of To-day make o\ir own — Let them stand there in honour — all priceless theu' worth ! — And perish that sordidest system from earth That would dare in its cold calculation to prate Of either their value, or measure, or weight !" " 'Weight' — ' weight' did you say 1 That truly is good — 'Twas You spoke of 'weight,' if I right understood. But — 'tis bootless to argue — so, do as you choose, For, since you're determined, depend I won't snooze '!N"eath your new Quilt. And yet — pray now, let me see — Don't you think it, that, quietly between you and me And the bed-post, I might just occasionally take Some good of the Quilt 1 jSTay — nay — don't mistake — From so vulgar a purpose as going to sleep As sure as a Cliristian your Quilt I will keep ; But, ''twixt sleeping and wahinrf there's a difference — now, Suppose for the latter I use it — allow 160 THE QUILT. 'Twould be no common use ? That's granted — well then, Whenever I want to wake up -wdth my pen (Over which, as just now, I am shockingly dull) I'll get into the Quilt ! It may brighten my skull; For 'tAvas made every stitch by the JS'ieces of One ^^Tiose Genius and Wit were as bright as the sun : Who knows but the needle of each friendly maid May a spark of His fire to their gift have conveyed 1 And if but one spark of the Poet were mine, 'Twere enough to make dullness itself proudly shine !" " Nay — there you are right, and I cannot say Ifo — You are often so stupid, and silly, and slow ! The Seer's mantle fell on the shoulders of those Who in awe and in trembling looked up as he rose — It inspired their high purpose, which grew and still grew, Long after the Prophet was hidden from ^dew. To expect Hke results, or pretend to maintain The parallel here, were both imj)ious and vain ; Yet strange are the links that mysteriously bind Age to Age, Thought to Thought, Heart to Heart, Mind to Mind ! And faint the memorials which oftentimes speak Like trumpets to feelings long dormant or weak ! THE QUILT. 161 Perhaps then this gift, as it whispers the name Of our Great One, may waken congenial flame ; Make your soul fire like his 'gainst oppression and wrong, And teach it for all the weak ones to he strong ; On the fair things around, in the earth or the sky, To look with a brighter enkindling eye ; And for Life's changing scenes have a vision more clear — For the happy a smile, for the wretched a tear !" 162 TO A YOUNG LADY, WITH THE PRESENT OF A SCRAP-BOOK. Accept, dear girl, the gift I send, And with it take this simple hne, From one who was your father's friend, And wishes peace to Thee and Thine ! Upon this volirme's virgin white Let no false hand inserihe the lie, Wliich flatterers know so well to write And maidens know too ill to fly : 'No passion forced, no feigned parade, Theatric plirasing, and bombast, AVith sighs and tears to pattern made. That last — as long as patterns last ! TO A YOUNG LADY. 163 But here be honest words and kind, Proceeding from the manly breast, The lofty sentiment refined, The noble thought, and harmless jest ; Here choicest " scraps" of grave and gay, From authors witty, authors sage ; And here let Art its gems convey, To ornament the varied page. Here, too, let Friendshij) often leave The traces of its genial prime. That so the future may receive The impress of the passing time. For ah ! too soon the hurrying hours, With their resistless onward tread, Shall kill its brief but briUiant flowers. And crush its rarest blossoms dead. Yet, casual leaflets garnered here, And snatched from Time's remorseless Avi'ack, May keep their fragrance lingering near, Or give thee all theu' freshness back. 164 TO A YOUNG LADY. The Letter, Sketcli, or random Stave, By tliose you once liave dearly known, From dull oblivion's grasp will save Their memory when themselves are gone ; Will, 'mid the desert, cause to flow Again old fountains clear and bright. Or round descending shadows throw The flush of young hfe's purple light. Ee such the uses of this Book ; And, when long years have passed away, Upon its pages as you look. You'll think of him who writes to-day ; You'll think of him, and many more Far wiser, Avorthier ones than he ; But none a kindlier heart who bore, My dearest girl, to Thine and Thee ! 165 ON A YOUNG FEIEND WHO DIED AT EIGHTEEN. Say, what sliall we plant by tlie lowly bed Of the loved and the loving — the early Dead ? The Cypress ? "Ah, no ! It can tell but the woe And racking those poor human bosoms must know, Whose affection, unaided and hopelessly brave, Endeavours to pierce through the gloom of the Grave, And across the dull river directs its lone cry, To that shore whence a question ne'er met with reply. Plant rather the Eose ! 'Tis the emblem most fit For the spot where our dearest to dust we commit ; The fresh life of its breath, though the leaf pcrisheth, Will tell how the soul can survive amid death ; How our loving regards brook not final decay. When the light leaves the eye and the Hp turns to clay. 166 ON A YOUNG FRIEND, For the Dead are not dead, but more living than "we ; And they know, and enjoy, and they sing, and they see What is all dark to us, till our dreamings here close. And we wake in Hereafter — Saint, plant us the Eose ! ■I Plant the Eose ! 'Twill remind of liis sweet comely grace, Ere disease had inscribed its wan hues on his face ; And in language most couth — yet how short of the truth ! — Tell of charms that now flush in immortal youth ; In that region of life and of beauty afar. Where they need not the glory of sun, moon, or star- — Where the Day, without cloud, never sinks into Night, And the Lamb robes His own in ineffable Hght ! 167 OPINIONS. Father Jove called a council of Gods on a time To consider the case of us mortals, And lie vowed he would pujiish us all for the crime Of bringing complaints to his portals. Not a wretch of them all, said the God in a wrath, Is happy, or pleased, or contented With one single thing in the world which he hath, But my thunder shall make them repent it. Nay, nay, Mighty Sire, mild Apollo replied. Don't be hasty or harsh with the minions ; With one thing at least is each man satisfied And perfectly pleased — His Opinions. 168 AFTER SUNSET. The fleetest tints that melt at eve Have one great Orh from whence they gleam ; The faintest sounds that softly heave One Font of Music whence they stream ; There's not a flush upon yon sky, There's not a murmur in yon sphere, But tells of Light heyond thine eye, Of Harmony beyond thine ear. There's not a smile upon the brow, Or small heart-pulse of happiness, But has a Source more grand, though thou, Poor doubting one, may know it less ! That smile, though transient as the hght. That pulse, though gentle as the air. Beams from a Love that's Infinite, Throbs from the heart of God— is There ! AFTER SUNSET, 169 Oh could we feel oiir pleasures so, And know our joys as they are known, How doubly bright would pleasure glow, And joy how full and rich its tone ! 'No transient gleam, no way^vard thrill, No satiety -with sorrow blent, But one enduring bliss would fiU The soul, ^Yith. Love Supreme content ! 170 ABUT AD PLURES. Sublimely strong — that ancient Faith. ; Though not as bright or calm or clear ; Which, thus, beside a brother's bier, Could wrest the very dart from death! And can I, friend of mine, but choose Upon thy recent tomb to write, Wlio readst them by the higher hght, The words of thy loved Eoman Muse ? Gone to the Many ! Yes, thou art ; The many good, and just, and true. The wise to plan, the brave to do, Wlio never die, though they depart ! Gone to the ]\L\ny ! "Wlierefore so 1 Because this world is too confined To hold the measures of the mind : — Do lordly oaks in j)otslierds grow ? ABUT AD PLUBES. 171 Gone to the Many ! Wliitlier then ? Wliere knowledge is no partial gain, And tliought no phantom of the brain, But all is full and fixed to men ! Gone to the Many ! Here no more Shall friendly counsels from thee come ; Tliine eyes are dim, thy hps are dumb, Thy books are closed, and sealed thy lore ! Gone to the Many ! Eound thy tomb Wliat days of faded summers meet With all then' recollections sweet ; Forgotten things their hght resume ! Gone to the IVIant ! Wliy should we In vain lamenting mourn the past ? We, too, shall get release at last ; Then Farewell ! till we come to thee. Gone to the IMany ! ]N"ot the wail Of pallid doubt, or drear despair ! The old Familiar Ones are there ; And There they wait to bid us Hail ! 172 THE GOUED. Oh ! tlie heart of the Prophet of God it was glad, "When the Gourd with its branches o'ermantled his head; But the heart of the Prophet of God it was sad When the Gomxl with its tranches lay withered and dead. 'Twas a worm in the Gourd which the Lord had allowed, To grow with its growth and its beauty to bhght ; For he willed that the Prophet, rebellious and proud. Should a lesson be taught by that plant of a night. Ah ! how many there be, like that Proj)het of old, On the things of a day who will centre their trust ; And the moral of Avisdom will never be told. Till the gourd of their hopes is laid low in the dust. THE GOURD. 173 Did the pleasures which, yesterday's promise revealed, "Wlien to-day we possessed them, that promise fulfil ? "Was there no cahker-worm in the flow'ret concealed. Or no " wind from the east" the frail blossoms to kill t Have the friends on whose faith all our happiness leant. In whose ear all our wants, all our sorrows were pom-'d, Has their kindness ne'er changed, but unbroken, unbent. Have we still to rejoice in the shade of our Gourd ? No ; pleasures and friendsliip, alas ! they have been ; It is only their wreck we are able to tell — The few shrivelled leaves of a tree once too green, In a night it sprung uj?, on the morrow it fell. Sad emblem of all which engages us here ! Wliile others above thee despairingly grieve, May Faith calm my tumult, may God bless my tear. And point me where hopes can no longer deceive. 174 DEATH IN THE MANSE. 'Tis weary im our parlour now, 'Tis weary out and in ; I miss the liglit of George's "brow, I miss Ms merry din ; I miss him hy his mother's chair ; When others gather round For evening hymn, or morning prayer, No Georgie there is found. His cap where last he laid it Hes, His toys and picture-hook ; They hring the salt tears to my eyes, Yet still I look, and look. The wild-flowers that he used to tend Grow listless hy the hurn, As if they knew their httle friend Can never more retiu'n. DEATH IN THE MANSE. 175 The feathered favourites that he fed, The robin and the wren, Have sought out Georgie's Kttle hed, And there they sing again. They sing beside the httle mound So near our garden gate, In that still spot of hallowed ground, Where all meet soon or late. Ah, cliildish death, ah, cliildish love, How cruel is your spell ! But no : Faith, Hope, divine reprove- Then why, my heart, rebel 1 George is not dead ; he only sleeps, A primrose on his breast, A holy star its vigil keeps O'er liis unbroken rest. Though woods may wave and gowans spring, And stiU he slumber so ; Though streamlets run, and bii'ds may sing, As seasons come and go ; I'J'G DEATH IN THE MANSE. Though hearts heat painful, in the hush That makes our house so dumh, As wayward feehngs through them rush, * Or douhts across them come— He'll wake ! As sure as each bright day Succeeds each nightly gloom ; As sure as every flowery May Starts from its wintry tomb ; He'll wake to chase away our tears Where sorrow needs no ruth ; Where childhood wears the strength of years. And age perpetual youth. 177 THE EEMONSTEANCE 0' WELLINGTON" SQUAEE, IN AYE. Tak pity on me, men o' Ayr ! Tak pity on your only Square, In simmer bald, in winter bare, Whiles fried, Avhiles frozen, To polar gust and tropic glare My breast exposin' ! Nae dainty gowans near me seen ; Nae shrubs, Avi' saft refresliing green. And clumps o' violets between, My bleakness cover, But driving san'-drifts blin' my een A' seasons over ! 178 WELLINGTON SQUARE. The "Barns" owtq there, in leafy pride, My sterile nakedness deride, And " Alloway Place, " close by my side, Joins wi' the scorner ; I wish I could rin aff and liide In some hy-corner ! Twenty gnid houses, clean and honny, Stan' Avi' disdain, and glowre upon me ; And there the Jail, my neehor cronie, Looms wi' black froun, • And says I'm a disgrace to onie Weel-ordered toun ! The Cannon, tas, Avi' muckle mou,* Girns till it gars my vitals grue, And then the Statue knits its broo And turns its back ; I canna thole the surly crcAv, Their scowls and clack. * Since removed to make room for the Eglintoii Statue. "WELLINGTON SQUARE. 179 The toun o' Burns ! Its doimriclit canting To talk o' Him, and lea me wanting The bonnie buskit bit o' planting He took delight in ! Would he were here ! He'd sune be taunting, 'And on you fly ting. He sang o' woods, he sang o' flowers, 0' birken shaws, and rosy bowers ; And whaur the Bruar water poiu^s A poem screeded. To get its ragged rocky coiu\se Wi' trees weel-cleeded. But Me ! There's no a beggar's babby Ae half as starved-like, or as scabby ; Or actor-body piiir and shabby Wi' seedy coat on ; Guid faitli, it's plain that honest Eabbie In Ayr's forgotten. 180 WELLINGTON SQUARE. Oh would you l)ut aljoot me cast A strong fir-belt to fen' the blast That gathers in the wild Sou'-wast, How sune 'twad rise, And mak me wear a smile richt fast 0' Paradise ! Wliat braw thick bushes I would rear, Wi' branches spreading there and here, Whaur nestling birdies a' the year Micht hap and whussel — The Blackie, Avi' his note sae clear, Lintie and Thi'ossel ! Whaur Wrens and Eobins, blythe and free Blue Bonnets, Shelfas, merrily, Micht preen their feathers ere they flee, And fill their gebbies. And in the midst a fountain see To cule their nebbies ! WELLINGTON SQUARE. 181 Laburnums, wi' their gowden 'braidin', And Lilacs, wi' their modest shadin', Micht grow in June ; and Eowens laden Wi' coral berries, Li Autumn, when the leaves are fadin', At spruce " Barns Terrace, " The sodger-form o' glorious ITeill Would look a hunner times as weel Did laurels up ahint it speel. The e'e reheving ; And no, as noo, gaunt, grim, atweel. To taste sair grieving. And when beside it stan's the shape 0' Him whose death made thousands weep, And put twa kingdoms into crape — Earl Eglintoun — Sure evergreens were best to drape His statue roun. 182 WELLINGTON SQUARE. In ilka simny simmer morn, How sweet their fragrance Avould he home ; In ilka wintry clay forlorn The gloom they'd brichten ; Pleased wi' their heaiity, even the storm Would hft and lichten ! Oh, wad ye, men o' Ap-, tak pity, There's no a toiin, or even a city, ISTeed boast a Square mair trig and j)retty In a' the nation. Or worthier of a rhymer's ditty And admhation ! 183 ST. MAEY'S BAZAAE, DUMFEIES. [a prologue, supposed to be spoken by a fair stall-keeper.] Come all ye pretty maidens, young baclielors also, Come ladies of a " certain age, " come every ancient heau, Come wedded folks, come widowed follcs, and children in a row. Till T rehearse the rarities of this most wondrous Show ! There's sometliing here for every one — the grown-up and the small — The single and the double too — the little and the tall — The lean and stout — the grave and gay— I'll fit them at my stall ; Oh, such bargains ne'er were seen before in our Assembly HaD. Here Pattens for wee Eaby's feet to keep it snug and warm. And wool-knit Wrappers that defy the north-wind and all harm ; 184 ST. Mary's bazaar. And Bibs, and Hoods, and Pinafores, and little Frocks in swarm. And thick long Gaiters for its legs, and Gauntlets for the arm ! We've fine-dressed Dolls for girls here ; and Jumping- Jacks that poise Their limbs in every posture that can charm the heart of boys ; "We've China-men, and ISTegro-men, and gallant bold Eob Eoys, And Puzzles and Dissected Maps for those too old for toys. We've Conversation Cards will keep the table in a roar — Such funny questions they do ask ! aye, and we have much more, Some Spaewives that will tell you true the mates for you in store. And whether you'll wed in your teens, or wait till twenty- four. ST. mart's bazaar. 185 Are you in love, my nice young Miss, and sorely vexed, my dear, That Some One's Slippers are not done you've had in hand a year — And that fine Smoking-Cap 1 alas ! But, come noAv, never fear, HeHl ne'er find out if you should buy a Cap and Slippers here ! See what a handy thing is this — a case to hold Cigars ! And Pellet-Boxes for his breath when smoke its sweetness mars ! Eosettes, Love-knots, and Mottoes too, Book-marks and Prenez-gards, Pen- wipers, Purses, Port-monnaies — the pride of all Bazaars ! Tou, modest youth, at such a loss to know what you should send At this blythe Christmas-tide to — ah, I understand — a " friend "— Look here, a "Work-Box, I declare, and usefuls without end ! Whene'er She knits or hems — ahem — she'll tliink of Tou, depend ! 186 ST. mart's bazaar. We've Xeedle-Tjooks, Pin-cusliions too, and Patterns for the frame — (Here's Isaac looking for Eeloec. — Yoiu- case, Sir's, mueh * the same), And MaucMine tartan souvenirs of every clannish name, And Music-sheets with words Avill set her heart in mutual flame ! There Perfumes for the toilet here, and mats to set them on — JNIillefieurs, Eosemarj^, Lavender, Pachouli quite the ton — Head ornaments which her fair brow -will so become — you'll own — And every thing but CrinoHnes — for these are neve)' shown ! We've Cravats too of every sort, of every flower and shade, Embroidered by neat fingers, and so cmiously inlaid — Eejected lovers with their necks in such attii'e array'd Can still pretend to being noosed by some devoted maid ! J ? i ST. MART S BAZAAR. 187 Yet if, young man, you'd l^e advis'd, I'll kindly you exhort — To have a friend at courting is as needful as at Court ; "Mamma" can say a word or two may cut your trouhles short — If some attention's paid to Tier you'll he the hetter for't ! Xow there's a Cushion '\Yill just suit her couch or ottoman, YvTien ladies in the dra^ving-room are holding their divan. As gentlemen discuss their wine, and they discuss mag. scan., But— whisht ! to teU what ladies talk is no part of my plan ! This " Cozie " for her tea-pot. Sir, it looks so very nice ! That Fire-Screen — how magnificent its Bhd of Paradise ! A Basket-cloth to hold the cake on Christmas-day she'll shce — And Doyhes, Tahle-napkins too— you'll ne'er rue my advice ! 188 ST. mart's bazaar. And, if you're wishing just to make assurance doubly sure, Pray doia't forget " Papa ;" you know " Papa" you should secure "With some small present — something just to testify to your Eemembrance, goodwill, and respect — He'll ne'er detect the lure ! This handsome Ink-stand, or that Desk, or yon fine Yol- umes may Do, or a Paper-cutter, or a Collar for poor " Tray, " (Since "like me like my dog," you know's a proverb to this day. And folks are mostly safe wlio mind what sucIl old proverbs say). But stop ! perhaps— I may be wrong — there is a maiden Aunt ! Well, I declare this Prudence-Cap's the very thing she'll want. Or MuIFetees, or Muffler, or Shawl, so fine, you'll grant, Or Cocoa, Tablet, and Jujubes to cure asthmatic pant. ST, mart's bazaar. 189 But Biany, maybe, would prefer the " hazard of the die f If so, I've tickets here to sell for Eaffles by-and-by ; A dip into this " Lucky-bag " perhaps you'd like to try 1 Sixpence a chance ! — you'll get such lots — it is a Zo^-ter-y. There Buns, and Cakes, and Comfits rich, and Lemonade, and Tart, [ Puffs, Pates, Cookies, Christmas Pies, and Soups a la Mivarf, And since even belles are hungry whiles, a sure way to their heart May be just by their mouth — You see — Nay, wherefore, Sir, thus start ? 'Tis far more shocking, sure, to starve in sight of things to eat ; Eomance, with nothing to't, indeed is very sorry meat ! Besides, " Eefreshment's " needed much after this crowd and heat— The "Eoom's" at hand — step in — and mind that "sweets are for the sweet. " 190 ST. jiary's bazaar. And Avlien Amanda's had lier luncli, ere you politely pop The question — " are you going home T pray don't forget the " Shop " Called " Curiosity f * and yet this hint I scarce nee 1 di'op — Amanda's curiositij, no douht, "\^n.ll make you stop ! But I must end my Catalogue, lest it prevent my sale — From too long lists it might confuse you purchasers to wale ; So, come, do huy, and help me with my very liea\'^^ tale Of sums to make, and Deht to clear — • (A penm-ious old gentleman here aslcs his " change " back out of a " Three- penny hit ") Avhat ! — " change ! " — you make me pale ! * It should be explained that this stanza referred to a room in the Bazaar which was fitted up and filled with antiquities of all descrip- tions — autogi-aphs, rare IISS., and volumes, pictures, old armour, &c., &c., by my very excellent friend, that industrious collector, Mr. David Dunbar, of Dumfries Academy, who is also a most worthy elder in St. Jtlary's. ST. Mary's bazaar. 191 I never deal in " coppexs," Sir ! and fractional white " bits" I merely take them to obhge — they're paltry coin for cits. ; A shilhng, florin, half-crown, crown, or pound my hook best fits, (And as much more as people please) — think I have lost my wits I Oh, no ! I may be new enougli to selling out such ware ; But " change" and charity — how odd ! it really makes one stare ! You drop a sovereign in the " plate " — do you get " change" back there ? And where's the dilference, let me ask, at this Kirk Fancy Fair? (Old gentleman retires more con- founded than convinced.) (Stall-keeper Aside — Laughing to herself, and counting an immense heaj} of moncg. — ) 192 ST. MABY S BAZAAR. They talk atout the Volunteers— and in their praise enlarge — And how they use their Rifles, and how they hit the Targe ; I'm a St. Mary's Volunteer — and though I'm no Lafiarge To murder, still I rifle well, and beat them at a charge ! Dumfries, December, 1863. 193 'TIS A BEAUTIFUL WOELD. 'Tis a Beautiful World ! Whatever the time We look upon !N"ature — in sunshine or shade, In storm or in cabn, in the Winter or Prime, Or when Summer flowers flush, or when Autumn leaves fade. The eye that delights o'er the landscape to range, Or scan the bright glories that sparkle on high, May own to fatigue as they endlessly change ; Yet still it is Beauty, in Earth, Sea, or Sky ! There is Beauty in Life ! Where the lowly ones dwell, Or the great ones have planted the parterre or hall ; Where the young their fond longings so gleefully tell. And the old their past pleasures as pensive recal. Tn Joy's loudest music, in Grief's deepest wail. Or Love whose strange medley of both is combined — In Life's every scene, every season, and tale. Some snatches of beauty you surely shaU find. M 194 'tis a beautiful world. Yet, o'er !N'atiire as Life, there be breasts tbat unfold ISTo rapturous tliouglit, no sensation of bliss, And eyes that look stony, and tearless, and cold On a scene so resplendent, so lovely as this. And why ? 'Tis not S'atiu'e and Life are to blame ; Their wonderful issues for ever they roll ; To the bhndly insensate the sights are the same — 'Tis the lookers who want but the Beautiful SouL Then, Fortune, take all of thy favours away — H(nv Uttle, at best, of true joy they impart ! — But Heaven, preserve us, we earnestly pray, The clear thoughtful spirit, the warm loving heart ! Oh what wealth in such treasures ! Xay, feeble the word ; For wealth may be squandered, and treasures run waste. But these, while we spend them the most, most we hoard; And the more that we scatter, the longer they last ! * 195 TO A FEIEXD, OK THE DEATH OF A SISTEE,, WHOM SHE HAD NOT SEEK FOE FIFTY YEARS. Life dawns ! Two little girls at play, Like bees from flower to flower, Dance childlioocl's liappy morn away, Kor dream that change can lower ; But, as the sun through cloud and mist Will travel up the sky, Life grows ! and these two girls have kissed Their last, and said — Good-bye ! Good-bye ! Yet still young hope is strong : They part — ^yet, wherefore shed Sad tears ? They part to meet ere long, 'NeTv honours round their head ! 196 TO A FRIEND. It is not so : they never meet ; Years as tliey come and go, In prospect long, in passage fleet, No after-union know. Their children gamhol as did they. With reckless romp and glee, But the two little girls at play No more each other see I Grave cares, grey hairs come on apace. And failing vigour too, But ne'er one sisterly emhractj Of hearts so warm and true ! And fifty years are gone ; and one From earth has passed away ; The other sees life's westering sun Set on her sister's clay I Dear Friend ! That sister for whom tears Of old affection floAV, Than thro' those long, long fifty years Is nearer to you now 1 TO A FRIEND. 197 So, weep no more, nor mourn lier loss, She does not weej), he sure ; Life has for her no heavy cross, And sorrow needs no cure. But hack to that old happy time. When thought and love were new. When earth looked fair and in its prime To Her, — the dead — and You ; That sister of your soul has fled ; And there she waits the while. Her visage radiantly o'erspread With childhood's hlessed smile. 198 TIME'S CHANGES. Here to-day, and gone to-morrow — Meeting, greeting, then farewell ; — Joy alternating with sorrow — Birth-day hjann and funeral knell — Eainbow tints on showers descending — Laughter bursting into tears — Hopes in disappointment ending — Such the sum of Human Years. Restless ocean, rolling river — Shifting cloudland, fitful dream — Passinc; meteor — onward ever Coming gloom and coming gleam, — Uphill toil that knows no resting, JTe'er a breathing 'mid the strifa Of a battle loud and wasting — Such and so is Human Life. time's changes. 199 Mighty Power, on high who movest Guiding and controlling all, Surely human things thou lovest Who canst mark a sparrow's fall. If this Life comprise our heing, Earth the only hope allowed, Save us, save this sorrow-dreeing. Send us silence, send the shroud ! If, beyond the mocking Present, Stretch another, nobler sphere, Whose events less evanescent Die not, as they perish here. Then, amidst those transient losses, Hopes GO shifting and unsure. Gains and pleasures, pains and crosses, Teach us, Father, to endure ! From yon loom's most tangled tissue — Brittlest threads of hght and shade- Finished shapes of beauty issue, In the gorgeous fabric laid ; 200 iniE's CHANGES. So, the slenderest chance that flieth 'Thwart the weh of Human Pate, From the hand Divine which pHeth, Hath its uses, soon or late. Oat of all those iieeting blisses, Out of all those griefs as fleet, Not a thread its purpose misses, None, hut yet its end shall meet ; Till a texture, swift-evolving, Fit for regal men to wear. All this chequered change resolving, Shall endue om- Being There ! How, when all Time's action over. Bursts that Future on our eyes, 'Twill amaze us to discover Harshest contrasts harmonize ; And those smiles and tears heart-rending, Fits and fervours interwove, In one scheme of wisdom blending, Showing one design of Love ! 201 YOUTH. Oh, give me back tlie fresliness Of those early days again ! When the hlocd went bounding joyously And free tln-ough every vein ; While the throbbing heart beat unison In wonder, hope, or fear ; And 'twas all so Eeal within me, In the Morning of the Year ! When the strings of life would ^-ibrate To the faintest breath around ; And every touch Avas musical With something more than sound ; As Joy glowed into a rapture, And Grief melted in a tear ; And 'twas aU so Eeal within me In that Morning of the Year ! 202 YOUTH. How the buds tlien "btirst in beauty ! How the trees wore living green ! And everything was aniraate And vocal in the scene ; While Echo, gathering all their speech, Would pour it in my ear ; And 'twas all so Eeal around me In the morning of the year ! Ah, Friendsliip then- was friendship, More fast than lover's knot ; And a quarrel — when I quarrelled, Wliy, I fought it on the s]5ot ! For I loved Avith whole affection, And I hated as sincere ; And 'twas all so Eeal Avithin me In the Morning of the Year : My wise Self of to-day As he travels back to School, Recalling boyish fervours. Thinks that other self a fool ; YOUTH. 20^ But, between the Selves, I'm certain, Wliich may justly point the sneer, It at least was Eeal within me In the Morning of the Year ! How firmly then I trusted ! I then behevecl, indeed ; No halving of my confidence, 'No halting in my creed : Faith, like a second Sight, to me Brought everything so near ; And 'twas all so Eeal witliin me In the ]\Iorning of the Year ! The sated palate seeks again The old and simple fare — The cup of milk, the crust of bread ; But where, oh, tell me where Can the sated spmt of a man Eegain the wholesome cheer, Which was the hfe of Hfe to him In the Morning of the Year ? 204 YOUTH. A little cliild was set, hj One Who spake Divinely Great — " Behold," said He, " 'tis snch as those Shall reach yon heavenly gate ! " What marvel if the holloAv crowd Refused the Word to hear ? Alas, the Eeal was gone for them With the Morning of their Year ! Youth's golden howl is hroken, Its fountain hath run dry ; Vain for its pearly waters now The jaded heart may sigh ; But, oh, to quafif that other font Whose living crystal clear, Shall make the Eeal be all so Real Through the Eternal Year ! UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L9-100ni-9,'52(A3105)444 THE LIBRARY BBOVERSITY OF CALXFOKHIB ^.isil«]SlilHiiiiailQiinjEL^--'i;L-iill:i3;>.7/.;«K"i|uiaiismi 5^ f^ lA^ PR B851V