^lackje &^ Son Li mi tec/ 
 T^rivate Library 
 
 Case ^..d Shelf...:.
 
 POEMS.
 
 POEMS. 
 
 WILLIAM ANDERSON. 
 
 i^oto jFiist ©oUertfJj, 
 
 EDINBURGH: 
 
 J. MENZIES, 61, PRINCES STREET. 
 1845. 
 
 MK
 
 EDINBURGH : 
 RAY, Prixter, Milnk Sqiare.
 
 HENRY EDWARDS, D.D, Ph.D., 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 'PIETY AND INTELLECT RELATIVELY ESTIMATED," "CHRISTIAN 
 HUMILITY," AND SEVERAL OTHER WORKS OF MERIT. 
 
 THIS VOLUME 
 IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED 
 
 HIS SINCEllE FKIEND, 
 
 THE AUTHOR.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 ANDSCAPE Lyrics. 
 
 
 I. Sunrise, 
 
 7 
 
 II. Morning farther advanced, 
 
 10 
 
 III. Noonday, 
 
 13 
 
 IV. The Sunbeam, 
 
 16 
 
 V. To a Wild Flower, 
 
 19 
 
 VI. Summer, . 
 
 22 
 
 VII. Midsummer, 
 
 2.5 
 
 VIII. The Sunshine of Poetry, 
 
 28 
 
 IX. Autumn, in its First Aspect, . 
 
 31 
 
 X. Autumn, in its Second Aspect, 
 
 34 
 
 XI. Sunset, 
 
 37 
 
 XII. Twilight, 
 
 40 
 
 XIII. Moonlight on Land, 
 
 43 
 
 XIV. Moonlight at Sea, 
 
 46 
 
 XV. Home Scenes, 
 
 49 
 
 Poetical Aspirations. 
 The Alpine Horn, 
 Reflections on Death, 
 Through the Wood. — Modern Ballad, 
 
 55 
 
 62
 
 CONTENTS, 
 
 Song of the Exile, 
 
 64 
 
 To Fame, 
 
 66 
 
 To a Bee, ". ; 
 
 68 
 
 The Storm, 
 
 71 
 
 " Lazarus, Come Forth," 
 
 73 
 
 Sonnet. On the Approach of Summer, 
 
 74 
 
 Beauty, 
 
 75 
 
 To M. J. K., 
 
 76 
 
 Sonnet. A Contrast, 
 
 77 
 
 Sonnet. Eoslin, 
 
 78 
 
 On the Birth of a Niece, 
 
 79 
 
 On her death. 
 
 80 
 
 Sonnet. To Happiness, 
 
 81 
 
 Thoughts, 
 
 82 
 
 Loch Awe, . . . 
 
 85 
 
 The Wolf, 
 
 87 
 
 The April Cloud, 
 
 94 
 
 Spring, 
 
 95 
 
 Poesy, 
 
 97 
 
 Sonnet. To a Friend of the Author, 
 
 100 
 
 The Gipsy's Lullahy, 
 
 101 
 
 Woodland Song, 
 
 102 
 
 Sonnet. The Ocean, 
 
 104 
 
 Mount Horeb, 
 
 105 
 
 Written beneath an Elm, 
 
 111 
 
 The Wells o' Weary, 
 
 . 115 
 
 Dryburgh Abbey, 
 
 116
 
 CONTENTS. IX 
 
 Poems here First Collected. 
 
 Grace, . . • • H^ 
 
 Matin, ... 121 
 
 Immortality, . • .122 
 Lines. On the Death of John Sinclair, Esq., 
 
 Edinburgh, . • .125 
 
 Weep not for the Dead, . 127 
 
 Idols, . . . .129 
 
 Truth, ... 132 
 
 Sabbath Morn, . . • 133 
 
 Sabbath Eve, . . • 134 
 
 Dreams of the Living, . . 135 
 
 Lines, . . . 139 
 Spnnets Written on Viewing Danby's Picture 
 
 of the Deluge, . . 140 
 
 Thought, . . .142 
 Lines Written on the Attempted Assassination 
 
 of the Queen, July 1840, . 143 
 
 Song.^ — " I'm Naebody Noo," . . 147 
 
 Song. " There's Plenty Come to Woo me," 149 
 
 The Stout Old British Ship, . . 151 
 Lines on the Infant Son and Daughter of Hon. 
 
 Col. Montague, . . 154 
 
 The Martyrs, . . .156 
 
 Caledonia, My Country, . . 158 
 
 Song. " I Canna Sleep," . . 160 
 
 Song. " Yonder Sunny Brae," . 162
 
 X CONTENTS. 
 
 The Eagle's Nest, and other Poems, here 
 
 FIRST Printed. 
 
 The Eagle's Nest, . . .167 
 
 The Advent of Truth, . . 179 
 
 Lines Suggested by a Walk in a Gai'den, . 182 
 
 Sonnet. Sunshine, . . 187 
 Song. " At E'ening when the Kye war in," . 188 
 
 Stanzas on a Bust of Marshal Ney, . 191 
 
 Winter, . . . .194 
 
 Human Conduct, . . 197 
 
 Courtship Lines, . . .210 
 
 Love-Weakness, . . 211 
 Lines to the Rev. Henry Dudley Ryder, on 
 
 reading his " Angelicon," . 213 
 
 The Poet, . . .216 
 
 Light and Shadow, . . 223 
 
 The Early Dead, . . .226 
 
 A Dirge, ... 229 
 
 A Benediction, . . • 231 
 
 Health, ... 233 
 
 The Game of Life, . • • 235 
 
 Consumption, . • 237 
 
 Change, . • • 238 
 
 Virtue, . . • 241 
 
 Vain Hopes, . . • 243 
 
 The Valley of Life, . • 245 
 
 After Thought, . . .251 
 
 Notes, . . • 255
 
 LANDSCAPE LYKICS. 
 
 (second edition.)
 
 THE REV. HENRY DUDLEY RYDER, 
 
 CANON RESIDENTIARY OK LICHKIKLD CATHEDRAL, 
 
 THIS VOLUME OF LANDSCAPE LYRICS, 
 
 A MARK OF RESPECT FOR HIS VIRTUES, 
 OF ADMIRATION OF HIS GENIUS, 
 
 AND IN REMEMBRANCE OF THE PLEASANT HOURS PASSED IN HIS SOCIETY, 
 
 IS INSCRIBED, 
 
 BY HIS FRIEND, 
 
 THE AUTHOR.
 
 PREFACE 
 
 FIRST EDITION OF LANDSCAPE LYRICS. 
 
 The poems contained in the following pages must 
 be taken as parts of a whole, being intended to be 
 distinct only in their subjects. This will account 
 for the same measure being used throughout. 
 
 Of these pieces, the only one which has been 
 previously published is that addressed " To a Wild 
 Flower." My reason for inserting it here is, that 
 it harmonizes with the other poems ; and, having 
 been already favourably spoken of by competent 
 judges, I must confess it is one which I should 
 " not willingly let die." 
 
 In the first poem on " Autumn," I have intro- 
 duced what has always appeared to me a beau- 
 tiful incident in nature; namely, the singing of
 
 b PREFACE. 
 
 the missel-thrush during a thunder-storm. The 
 louder the thunder roars, the shriller and sweeter 
 becomes its voice. This interesting little bird is 
 popularly known by the name of the storm-cock, 
 because he is supposed to sing boldest immediately 
 previous to a storm ; but that he also sends forth 
 his " native wood notes wild," during its continu- 
 ance, is a fact which has been satisfactorily ascer- 
 tained. Undismayed by the tempest's fury, or, 
 rather rejoicing in its violence, the small but spi- 
 rited songster warbles on unceasingly, as if de- 
 sirous of emulating the loudness of the thunder- 
 tone, or of making his song be heard above the 
 noise of the raging elements. 
 
 The poetry of nature, particularly at this joyous 
 season, is in its landscapes ; and if these unpre- 
 tending " Lyrics" should lead any one to a healthy 
 contemplation of natural objects, or impart, to re- 
 fined minds, any pleasure in the perusal, the time 
 which has been bestowed upon them will not have 
 been idly or unprofitably employed. 
 
 London, 1st June, 1838.
 
 POEMS. 
 
 LANDSCAPE LYRICS. 
 
 No. I.— SUNRISE. 
 
 Spread are dawn's radiant wings, 
 Its dazzling feet pursue their silent way, 
 Leaving no shadow, for each coming ray 
 
 A general brightness brings. 
 
 The vapour from the brow 
 
 Of the old mountain crests, begins to part, 
 
 Like care from off the forehead, and the heart — 
 
 And all is cloudless now ! 
 
 B
 
 8 LANDSCAPE LYRICS, 
 
 The universal air, 
 The smiling sky, and the far-stretching mead — 
 All nature, in its varied forms agreed, 
 
 Mingle their beauties there ! 
 
 The ripple of the wave, 
 Beachward returning to the distant shore, 
 Like a lone pilgrim to the cottage door, 
 
 That once a welcome gave : 
 
 The new-waked laureat bee, 
 On the flower-blossom, breathing in its mirth, 
 Its conch-like matin song, to greet the earth. 
 
 With ever grateful glee ! 
 
 The landscape's free expanse, 
 And all the harmonies that, spread around, 
 Combine the joys of hearing, siglit, and sound, 
 
 Are gathered at a glance ; 
 
 And powerfully they tell, 
 With deeper eloquence than notes divine, 
 Of many things that round our heart-strings twine, 
 
 And in our fancies dwell ;
 
 LAJJDSCAPE LYRICS. 
 
 Of boyhood's sportive days, 
 The thymy glade, the daisy blooming there, 
 The vale remote, or lake secluded, where 
 
 The smiling sunbeam plays : 
 
 The gay flowers on the plain. 
 Gemming the mead, perfuming all the wood ; 
 As if each Summer morn was Spring renew'd. 
 
 Or May-day come again ! 
 
 The music of the birds, 
 Telling all sleepers of the birth of day. 
 And, with reviving Nature, haste to pay 
 
 Their homage, not in words ! 
 
 The dreamy waterfall, 
 Babbling and bubbling from the upland spring ; 
 The soaring crag where eaglets rest their- wing, 
 
 Listening the eagle's call : 
 
 The minstrel streamlet near. 
 The zephyr's breath, too languid for a breeze, 
 That stii's, yet scarcely moves, the gentle trees, 
 
 Touching the waters clear.
 
 10 LANDSCAPE LYRICS. 
 
 The sunrays, as they pass 
 Into broad suiisliine, throw theu" light on all, 
 With bloom and blossom, whereso'er they fall ; 
 
 On mount, or meadow-grass. 
 
 And something more than light 
 Sleeps on the verdant hill-side ; dreams of love, 
 And glmipses of the happier state above. 
 
 Burst on the mental sight. 
 
 No. II.— MORNING FURTHER ADVANCED. 
 
 Meet 'tis to watch and spy, 
 The laughing Orient, like a chubby child, 
 Bringing new joyousness to wood and wild, 
 
 To ocean, earth, and sky. 
 
 The groups of early flowers 
 To th' enamoured sun theu' bosoms ope, — 
 Apt emblems of the welcome birth of Hope, 
 
 In life's oft darkened bowers.
 
 LANDSCAPE LYRICS. 11 
 
 Pass to the green liill-side, 
 And let us wander where the wild flowers grow, 
 Gaze on the sedgy stream's calm depths below, 
 
 Where gentle minnows glide. 
 
 The sheltered cuckoo's notes, 
 In the young sunshine, echo on the ear — 
 A moving voice, from all around, is here ! — 
 
 Hymns from a thousand throats : — 
 
 The spirit grows the more 
 Refined and holy, as we stand and gaze 
 Upon the landscape, brightening in the blaze 
 
 That gilds both land and shore. 
 
 All objects, far and near. 
 The light of morn illumines ; it is now 
 That man can walk erect with glowing brow, 
 
 x\nd heart devoid of fear. 
 
 And, lo ! there is a stir 
 In yonder village, bosomed in the dell. 
 Like a meek babe, loved by its mother well, 
 
 And loving nought but her !
 
 12 LA^^)SCAPE lyrics. 
 
 Where claims the eye to rest ? 
 Earth has a bahiiy look, and so has Heaven ; 
 And thoughts, like mazy clouds through ether di-iven, 
 
 Float in th' enraptured breast. 
 
 The sylvan haunts, where youth 
 Roams, fancy led, all glorious in their hue ; 
 The quaint sequestered spots and paths we view, 
 
 Where Age consorts with Truth. 
 
 Read we of aught that wakes 
 High inspiration in the soul, in scenes like these ? 
 The tufted trees' fantastic tapestries — 
 
 Romantic knolls and brakes ; 
 
 The hill-enskirted glen, 
 Where bound the wild deer; and the huntsman's horn 
 Soimds from afar, a welcome to the morn, 
 
 Till Echo sounds again ! 
 
 And more than all, the old 
 And pyramidal mountains, that with time 
 Have stood, defying change, and storm, and clime, 
 
 As none else of earth's mould
 
 liANDSCAPE LYBICS. 13 
 
 Hath done : the sun embrowns, 
 But does not scorch them; ram, and wind, and snow, 
 Renew them, not destroy ; no waste they know, 
 
 But lasting glory crowns. 
 
 Still to the heart endeared 
 Are sights like this we gaze on. Do we deem 
 That they are other than a privileged dream ? — 
 
 One that the mind has reared ! 
 
 No. III.— NOONDAY. 
 
 Lo ! like an eastern king, 
 Forth marches Sunshine gorgeously through earth, 
 By health attended, and life-giving mirth. 
 
 And heralded by Spring. 
 
 Light through the untrack'd air. 
 Pursues its course authentic ; hill and dale 
 Rejoice, and Nature cries, " All hail !" 
 
 As if a kins: were there.
 
 14 LANDSCAPE LYRICS, 
 
 The elevated lawns, 
 Where first the day comes, and where last retires, 
 Rejoicing seem ; their light the mind inspires, 
 
 And thought, like morning, dawns. 
 
 The wild, yet artless breeze, 
 Now, in the ear of Nature, sings its song, 
 Wandering green fields and flowery banks among. 
 
 And over shadowy seas. 
 
 Soft falls the sunlight down 
 On the old castle that, above the dell, 
 Stands in its glory, lone, as if to tell 
 
 Some tale of past renown. 
 
 The hamlet in the vale, 
 The church beside the stream that winds remote 
 Among the hiUs — the smoothly-going boat, 
 
 That midway hoists its saU. 
 
 A scene like this is rife 
 With pleasurable feelings, as with grace ; 
 Perhaps we here, instructively, may trace 
 
 Some simUe of life !
 
 LANDSCAPE LYRICS. 15 
 
 The grey and steadfast hills 
 Tell of the old immortals of past time : 
 And, looking downward, beauty, in its prime, 
 
 The heart with rapture fills. 
 
 The care-escaping deer 
 Descend together from the uplands, wliile 
 The sprouting grass puts forth a pleasant smUe, 
 
 As if to tempt them near. 
 
 The sinless flowers, away 
 In the far inward forest paths bestrown. 
 Are yet not soUtary, though alone ; 
 
 None are so glad as they. 
 
 The comely violets . 
 Their leaf-buds open, and the sunshine seek ; 
 The pastures fresh their grateful homage speak, 
 
 Untinctured with regrets. 
 
 The virgin rose assumes 
 A bridal bearing, as if noonday came. 
 With brighter countenance, its love to claim, 
 
 And revel 'midst its blooms :
 
 16 LANDSCAPE LYBICS. 
 
 The prattle of the brook, 
 The lazy clouds that, hung in middle sky, 
 Exulting in the balm, float listless by. 
 
 Reflecting back theu- look : 
 
 The buds, the herbs, the leaves, 
 Each, and all things that blossom, bless the rays 
 Of the bright sun, and, as they bless, they praise 
 
 The bounteous Hand that gives ! 
 
 No. IV.— THE SUNBEAM. 
 
 Now glory walks abroad, 
 And on the quiet unassuming stream, 
 And on the rock-ribbed liills, gently its beam 
 
 All lovely is bestowed. 
 
 The daizy-footed day, 
 O'er the far mead, in virgin radiance comes, 
 While the bee, jubilant, its welcome hvmas, 
 
 And passes on its way.
 
 LANDSCAPE LTBICS. 17 
 
 The lily, in its bloom, 
 Of the lone valley, where the breezes sing 
 Of love, beside the violet-crested spring, 
 
 And heather-bell's perfume : 
 
 And beauty, without guile, 
 It pictures dreams of in the bounding breast, 
 And love-breathed vows, and unions that are blest, 
 
 And childliood's fairy smile : 
 
 The mountain's verdant side, 
 Where visioned poesy delights to show 
 The sights of Heaven to gentle minds below : 
 
 The heath-bank in its pride : 
 
 The broken branch, grass-hid. 
 On which the goat-herd leans, while, far aloof. 
 His bounding charge rest th' adventurous hoof 
 
 Where man's foot dare not tread : 
 
 The cushat in the wood, 
 Where the laburnum and the lilac grow ; 
 The placid rill, wandering away below, 
 
 As one for earth too good :
 
 18 LANDSCAPE LYRICS. 
 
 The dim-seen paths remote, 
 That lead to lone retreats and leafy cells, 
 Where, like a bashful fay, the fancy dwells, 
 
 And many-imaged thought : 
 
 The \intage and its cheer, 
 The peasant, sun-embrown'd, andflow'r-deek'd maid, 
 The festooned village, music in the shade, 
 
 To charm th' expectant ear : 
 
 The flow'ret in the wild, 
 The mossy resting place, 'neath oaks antique ; 
 The half-grassed foot-track worldlings do not seek. 
 
 Where poets are beguiled : 
 
 The foam-bell on the wave ; 
 The fuU-saUed vessel on its homeward track ; 
 The smile that lights the sorrowing sinner back : 
 
 The primrose on a grave ! 
 
 The berry's purple shine. 
 Grape-like and lustrous, scattered 'mid the waste : 
 The sprinkled heath-flower, healthful, golden-paced : 
 
 The patriarchal pine :
 
 LANDSCAPE LYRICS. 19 
 
 The memories of all 
 Telling of pleasures rare, and jocund ease, 
 In deep-toned joyousness, yea, more than these, 
 
 The sunbeam does recall ; 
 
 The hope of life above ; 
 Rich buds of promise springing everywhere ; 
 The grace-blest gifts that come without our care. 
 
 From all-providing Love ! 
 
 No. v.— TO A WILD FLOWER. 
 
 In what delightful land, 
 Sweet-scented flower, didst thou attain thy birth ? 
 Thou art no offspring of the common earth, 
 
 By common breezes fanned ! 
 
 Full oft my gladdened eye, 
 In pleasant glade, on river's marge has traced, 
 (As if there planted by the hand of Taste), 
 
 Sweet flowers of every dye :
 
 20 lANDSCAPE LYRICS. 
 
 But never did I see, 
 In mead or mountain, or domestic bower, 
 'Mong many a lovely and delicious flower, 
 
 One half so fan' as thee ! 
 \- 
 
 Thy beauty makes rejoice 
 My inmost heart. — I know not how 'tis so, — 
 Quick-coming fancies thou dost make me know, 
 
 For fragrance is thy voice : 
 
 And still it comes to me, 
 In quiet night, and turmoil of the day, 
 Like memory of friends gone far away, 
 
 Or, haply, ceased to be. 
 
 Together we'll commune. 
 As lovers do, when, standing all apart, 
 No one o'erhears the whispers of their heart, 
 
 Save the all-sUent moon. 
 
 Thy thoughts I can divine, 
 Although not uttered in vernac'lar words : 
 Thou me remind'st of songs of forest birds ; 
 
 Of venerable wine ;
 
 LANDSCAPE LYKICS. 21 
 
 Of Earth's fresh shrubs and roots ; 
 Of Summer days, when men their thirsting slake 
 In the cool fountain, or the cooler lake, 
 
 While eating wood-grown fruits : 
 
 Thy leaves my memory tell 
 Of sights, and scents, and sounds, that come again, 
 Like ocean's murmurs, when the balmy strain 
 
 Is echoed in its shell. 
 
 The meadows in their green, 
 Smooth-running waters in the far-off ways, 
 The deep-voiced forest where the hermit prays. 
 
 In thy fair face are seen. 
 
 Thy home is in the wild, 
 'Mong sylvan shades, near music-haunted springs, 
 Where peace dwells aU apart from earthly things, 
 
 Like some secluded cliild. 
 
 The beauty of the sky. 
 The music of the woods, the love that stirs 
 Wherever Nature charms her worshippers, 
 
 Are all by thee brought nigh.
 
 22 LANDSCAPE LYRICS. 
 
 I shall not soon forget 
 What thou hast taught me in my solitude : 
 My feelings have acquii'ed a taste of good, 
 
 Sweet flower ! since fii*st we met. 
 
 Thou bring'st unto the soul 
 A blessing and a peace, inspiring thought ! 
 And dost the goodness and the power denote 
 
 Of Him who formed the whole. 
 
 No. VI.— SUMMER. 
 
 Is vision-land so near. 
 And we not know of it ? Oh 1 dull and dead 
 Must be the heart, the passions cold as lead, 
 
 That find no beauty here ! 
 
 Fresh o'er th' awakened earth, 
 Now all the glories of the Summer sliine ; 
 And Nature, as if drunk with olden wine, 
 
 Is laughing in its mirth I
 
 LANDSCAPE LYRICS. 23 
 
 Aud melodies are heard 
 From far and near, and sounds that stir the heart, 
 Sweeter tlian fancy dreams of, wlien slow Art 
 
 To rival them has erred. 
 
 All things become more pure 
 And hallowed to the \dew : the very flowers 
 Seem smiling m a world more rich than ours — 
 
 A birth-place more secure ! 
 
 The berry of the wood 
 Blooms with new lustre, 'neath the golden ray 
 Of the warm sunshine, resting by the way, 
 
 Where the green forests brood. 
 
 The old and reverend trees. 
 And clustering thickets, now are gladly sought 
 By him who from the heat would stray remote, 
 
 And rest his Umbs at ease. 
 
 The smell of new-mown hay 
 Re\ives the heart, like as at evening time 
 We love to listen to the tinkling chime 
 
 Of sheep-bells far away.
 
 24 lANDSCAPE LYRICS. 
 
 And, lo ! the rustic cot, 
 On the smooth margin of the quiet lake, 
 Where wedded Love and pleased Content partake 
 
 Their en\iable lot : 
 
 Where, daylong, may be seen 
 Two sister swans, disporting in their joy ; 
 The happy parents, with their baby-boy, 
 
 Reclining on the green. 
 
 Decay should seem unknown — 
 But spiteful Time its certain change prepares : 
 Light has its shade, and pleasure has its cares ; 
 
 Music its saddened tone : 
 
 Summer its springing weeds. 
 And trodden flowers that tell of bygone joys, 
 And thoughts long since forgotten, 'mid the noise 
 
 That fi'om man's haunts proceeds. 
 
 How beautiful the sight ! 
 Wliy should we think of change for scenes like this ? 
 Fair as a poet's thought, when thought is bhss. 
 
 And all he sees is light !
 
 L.1NDSCAPE LYRICS. 
 
 Let but th' enraptured eye 
 Once look upon the landscape's gorgeous train, 
 And, like a kiss upon the brow of pain, 
 
 That brings a solace nigh, 
 
 In after years 'twill rest 
 Within the memory, with bloom and balm, 
 Refreshing to the soul, like a sweet calm 
 
 On ocean's troubled breast. 
 
 No. VII.— MIDSUMMER. 
 
 A BLAZE is in mine eyes 
 Of rich and balmy light ; and on mine ear 
 A sound of melody is ringing clear, 
 
 Like carols in the skies : 
 
 And on my heart the while 
 There rests, like Love, when Hope is bright as this, 
 A charm to soothe, a thrill of good to bless ; 
 
 A universal smile !
 
 26 LANDSCAPE LYRICS. 
 
 Is it a picture limned 
 By some high intellect where genius throngs ? 
 Are these the echoes of celestial songs, 
 
 By angel-voices hymned ? 
 
 Am I on earth, in air, 
 In heaven, or on the sea, — with ocean's sights. 
 And ocean's sounds, — that I partake delights. 
 
 And visions see so fair ? 
 
 Ah, me ! a shadow steals 
 From out the mountains, like a lurking grief; 
 As on our happy home, the silent thief 
 
 His hateful eye reveals ; 
 
 Bringing me down from heaven 
 To this dull earth, whereon my footsteps tread- 
 The sky, so calm and pure above my head. 
 
 Health to my soul has given ! 
 
 And now, before me placed. 
 What is there to rejoice the eye or ear ? 
 All that the heart deems fair is surely here, 
 
 Bv God's own fingers traced :
 
 LANDSCAPE LYRICS. 27 
 
 And bounteously his gifts 
 He has bestowed upon the growing land ; 
 Her paths are teeming from his lib'ral Hand, 
 
 That knows no grudging thrifts. 
 
 Up looks the toiling hind, 
 And Avipes his brow, and rests upon his spade ; 
 Tlie idle herdsman, in the hawthorn shade, 
 
 A-weary lies reclined. 
 
 The village church is seen, 
 Light streaming through its windows, soft and fair, 
 Like rays of mercy, answering the prayer 
 
 <Jf j^enitence serene. 
 
 'Midst fauy scenes like these. 
 Whose fruitage beautiful allures each sense. 
 And whose green leaves, in blooming eloquence. 
 
 Exert their aim to please, 
 
 Can thought, in its career 
 Of joy, pause midway, and with care alight? — 
 Can fancy, eagle-winged, restrain its flight. 
 
 To dream of winter drear ?
 
 28 LANDSCAPE LYRICS. 
 
 In noonday's warmest ray 
 We deem that darkness has our clime forsook 
 Backward or forward we refuse to look ; 
 
 But on the present stay. 
 
 Yet let not gloom be here ! 
 The Earth rejoices now m Nature's prime ; 
 Season of joy, — the holiday of Time, — 
 
 The Sabbath of the year ! 
 
 No. VIII.— THE SUNSHINE OF POETRY. 
 
 Think not the poet's song 
 Worthless or idle ; do not deem his lay 
 Fantastic, that he offers by the way, 
 
 To make it seem less long. 
 
 His numbers have their use. 
 Though foolish they may sound to worldling's ear 
 His own lot. if no other's, they may cheer ; 
 
 His own content produce.
 
 LANDSCAPE LYRICS. 29 
 
 Does he not add a light 
 To earth-born beauty, wanting it unknown ? 
 To bloom give bahn, to melody a tone, 
 
 Make brightness seem moi'e bright ? 
 
 Does he not fill the au* 
 With sights, and shapes, and shadows ? — make the sky 
 The dweUing-place of beings, which no eye 
 
 But his can image there ? 
 
 And more than all, his lay 
 Awakes new feelings in the human heart. 
 And visions bring that never can depart, 
 
 When once they feel his sway. 
 
 To him the power is given 
 To soothe the broken heart, the careworn mind ; 
 And the waked soul in dreams ecstatic bind, 
 
 And bear away to heaven : 
 
 For to none else does earth 
 Look with so fair a promise ; yea, to none 
 Speaks she with such an eloquence of tone, 
 
 Or to such thoughts gives birth.
 
 30 L.'VNDSCAPE LYRICS. 
 
 Ah ! who may analyse 
 The cloistered feelings of the poet's soul, 
 When Nature's impulse vibrates through the wliole. 
 
 And Truth, that never dies ! 
 
 Creation's beauties bring 
 Renewed enjoyment, and his genius fire ; 
 For every sight, and every sound, inspire 
 
 His inmost heart to sing ! 
 
 His bu'thright is to live 
 In citizenship with Nature ; — to hold 
 Communion with her mysteries, his old 
 
 And high prerogative ! 
 
 Seeks he for wealth, denied 
 By worldlings, lucre-led, of sordid mind ; 
 His heritage, — free, fertile, uneonfined, — 
 
 Is Nature's pastures wide. 
 
 Pants he for peace, to throw 
 A solace on his soul ? The voice that breathes 
 Its music, 'mong the wild flowers' clustering wreaths. 
 
 Does to his heart bestow
 
 LANDSCAPE LYRICS. 31 
 
 A bliss that none can share, 
 Save him whom Nature to some far-sought Avilcl 
 Has led, anointed as her chosen child, 
 
 And made her sacred care. 
 
 Where'er the breezes roam, 
 The mountains soar, or ocean's wave is thrown, 
 Tlie poet's spirit, free as Nature's own, 
 
 Finds for itself a home ! 
 
 No. IX.— AUTUMN, IN ITS FIRST ASPECT. 
 
 The orchard's plenteous store, 
 The apple-boughs o'erburdened with their load, 
 That passers-by may gather fi-om the road, 
 
 Hang now the near walls o'er : 
 
 And filberts, bursting fair, 
 Seduce the loiterer to reach the hand. 
 And pluck the offered treasures of the land. 
 
 With wood-nuts that are there.
 
 32 LANDSCAPE LYRICS. 
 
 The still liill-sides are clad 
 With bloom ; the distant moorland now is bright 
 With blossom, and with beauty ; the rich sight 
 
 The heart of man makes glad. 
 
 The hamlet is at peace ; 
 And, in the ripened fields, the reapers ply 
 Their useful labour ; while a golden sky 
 
 Smiles on the soil's increase. 
 
 To the romantic spring, 
 That gushes lone beneath the neighbouring hill. 
 The cottage maidens go, their jars to fill. 
 
 While carols rude they sing ! 
 
 Sweet is the cuckoo's song 
 In early Spring, and musical and blessed 
 The nightingale — young Summer's lutenist — 
 
 Pours its gay notes along ; 
 
 And, in the thunder's roar, 
 In Autumn, when the sudden lightnings flash, 
 Sweet sings the missel-thrush amid the crash, 
 
 The bursting tempest o'er !
 
 LANDSCAPE LYRICS. 33 
 
 As solitary tree, 
 That, pilgrim-like, scathless, amid the shock 
 Of rudest storms, that burst the sterner rock, 
 
 Stands in its grandeur free. 
 
 But sweeter than them all, 
 And softer than the voice of love returned, 
 Are the untutored lays of lips sunburned, 
 
 From village maids that fall ! 
 
 To schoolboys' feelings dear 
 Is rich-toned Autumn. Oh ! with what a zest 
 They plunge in stream retired, — despoil a nest, — 
 
 Or ramble far and near. 
 
 How oft, when changeful Time 
 Has sprinkled o'er our locks its silver threads. 
 Remembrance brings to mind — and gladness sheds — 
 
 The pastimes of our prime ! 
 
 The lowing of the kine, 
 In distant meadow-glades, comes on the ear. 
 With taste of nature fresh, like far-off cheer 
 
 Of rustics, as they join
 
 34 LANDSCAPE LYRICS. 
 
 Tlie merry dance at eve ; 
 Each rui-al sound has in it joy and health : 
 Man now should garner thought, as well as wealth, 
 
 And gladly truth receive. 
 
 The calm and picturesque ; 
 Tlie foliaged cedar, and the wreathed beech, 
 More glowing thoughts and impulses can teach 
 
 Than Learning from his desk ! 
 
 No. X.— AUTUMN, IN ITS SECOND ASPECT. 
 
 Now, Autumn's mantle brown 
 Falls on tlie woods and fields, the leaves are sere. 
 And, hke sad ofterings to the rifled year. 
 
 They drop m clusters down : 
 
 The land is lone and bare ; 
 The grateful trees themselves of leaves divest 
 To form a covering for earth's naked Vjreast, 
 
 With reverential care ;
 
 LANDSCAPE LYRICS. 35 
 
 For why should they be left 
 In all their foliage, when the sunshine's grace 
 Is gone from oft' the hUls, and Nature's face 
 
 Is of its charms bereft ? 
 
 The distance grey, becomes 
 Like a thin thread of silver, long drawn out : — 
 But hark the cheerful tabor, and the shout ! 
 
 The sound of merry drums ! 
 
 Now sportive Harvest-Home 
 By vintagers and villagers is held, 
 And heart-briglit wine, and strong-lipped ale are welled, 
 
 LilvC water at the foam : 
 
 And laboui'ers rejoice, 
 That fruits of field and orchard all are housed ; 
 And the glad song of thankfidness is roused 
 
 From every manly voice I 
 
 The high ancestral hall, — 
 Where Health delights to dwell, and generous Mii-th 
 Holds, when the corn is gathered from the earth, 
 
 A grateful festival, —
 
 36 LANDSCAPE LYRICS. 
 
 Adorns the waning scene. 
 Here may he heard, when in a musing mood, 
 The cawing of the old rooks in the wood. 
 
 That flanks it like a screen. 
 
 Is there not much to cheer 
 In the glad sounds that stUl from hill and vale, 
 And glen remote, come echoed on the gale 
 
 To gi-eet th' excited ear ? 
 
 Lo ! o'er the changing sward 
 Sweep now the huntsmen m the rapid chace, 
 The deep-toned yell of hounds, mouthing tlie trace 
 
 Of the fleet deer, is heard. 
 
 In Line and hoary wood, 
 Where the wild cherry and the yeUow elm 
 Commingled vnth the oak, the soul o'erwlielm 
 
 With visions many-hued ; 
 
 There comes a solemn tone, 
 Like what is felt, in passing down the while 
 Some old cathedral's venerable aisle, — 
 
 A feelinsc all its o^^ti !
 
 L.\NDSCAPE LYRICS. 37 
 
 But now, at close of day, 
 When the damp vapoury veil of eve is gone, 
 Of gathering winds, the mournful dirge-like moan, 
 
 Sounds wildly far away. 
 
 For winter casts its shade 
 Before it, and the year begins to feel 
 Its chilling mfluences on it steal, 
 
 Like touches of the dead ! 
 
 No. XI.— SUNSET. 
 
 Light on the landscape shines 
 x\ while, ere vanishing, as loth to leave ; — » 
 Upon the mead, the wearied ox at eve 
 
 Familiarly reclines. 
 
 The plough is left a-field. 
 And the rude labourer, from his toil set free, 
 Leads his tired steads forth o'er the upturned lea. 
 
 Refreshing drink to yield.
 
 38 LAXDSCAPE LYRICS. 
 
 The hills with light are dyed ; 
 And pointing spires peer o'er the distant trees, 
 As one tall vessels in the liorizon sees, 
 
 Careering in their pride ! 
 
 Each meek flower, white and red. 
 That tufts the meadow, in fresh odour sleeps, 
 Ere the departing Day from off the steeps 
 
 Lifts his resplendent head. 
 
 The golden-tissued clouds. 
 Amid which now the Sun, world-worshipped, sinks. 
 Retain his glory still upon their brinks. 
 
 As gloom the earth enshrouds ! 
 
 Slowly the darkness creeps 
 Up the lone hill-sides, shadow-like, by sighs 
 Of ev'ning lullabyed, as on man's eyes 
 
 Steals slumber ere he sleeps ! 
 
 Thus on the mountain-oak. 
 And on the hoary castle's ruined walls, 
 The rotting ivy, clinging as it ftiUs, 
 
 Seems their past strength to mock.
 
 LAJIDSCAPE LYRICS. 39 
 
 Exalted are the thoughts 
 That rise within our souls at such a time ; 
 The vast, the wild, the awful, the sublime, 
 
 Embodied, round us floats ! 
 
 And the hushed spirit seems 
 To listen to the tones from giants flung ; 
 Echoes of war-songs, that of old were sung, 
 
 Now rush like mountain streams : 
 
 And what come on the sight 
 Are not the puny visions of the day ; 
 The near and the familiar pass away, 
 
 Witli the departing light : 
 
 Each mountain range that towers 
 In desert grandeur o'er the darkening scene. 
 Looks like a spii'it standing now between 
 
 Another world and ours ! 
 
 Oh ! ye time-honoured hills, 
 
 The Ancient, the Immortal — is it not 
 
 A high-born privilege ne'er to be forgot, 
 
 To feel none of earth's ills ? 
 
 1)
 
 40 LAM)SCAPE LYRICS. 
 
 Sublime ye are as Heaven ! 
 Though bleak not bari'en, silent yet not dumb, 
 From out your shadows health and music come, 
 
 And thronging thoughts arc given ! 
 
 Not worthless is your aim, 
 To stand from age to age, from hour to hour, 
 The Almighty's temple, token of his power. 
 
 And record of liis name ! 
 
 No. XII.— TWILIGHT, 
 
 Now enter we within 
 The shadows of the ev'ning, as they wmd 
 Around the mountains' summits, and remind 
 
 Our startled souls of sin. 
 
 Coiling, like serpent twist. 
 Round every thought and impulse ; thus the night 
 Brings down its sable curtain o'er the sight, 
 
 And veils the world in mist.
 
 LANDSCAPE LYRICS. 41 
 
 The shrill-piped curlew's song 
 Wanders, like poesy, in distant glades ; 
 And inexpressive notes that to eve's shades 
 
 Are fitted, pass along ! 
 
 The beetle's drone is heard. 
 Dull, sluggish, heavy, in the dark-hued lane : 
 And, hark ! afar, the melancholy strain 
 
 Of Echo ! — twihght's bard ! 
 
 At this lone hour we seek 
 Some quiet spot, to meditation free ; — 
 When the Material we do not see, 
 
 Then Fancy may bespeak 
 
 Aught that she will ; — the dim 
 And shadowy her peopled world, she finds 
 Forms in the darkness ; — in the troublous winds 
 
 Can trace a conqueror's hjinn ! 
 
 Sleep has its dreams, and night 
 Its inspii'ations, — bounding, changing still, — 
 Imagination on some shrouded liUl 
 
 Does, eagle-like, alight.
 
 42 LANDSCAPE LYRICS. 
 
 Ah ! not an hour ago 
 Hore hamlets stood, and pahvces, and fields : 
 What man has furnished, what creation Aaelds, 
 
 And what the earth does grow : 
 
 And now, where are they all ? 
 Gone with the mighty, vanished with the past ; 
 For twilight, en\'iously, has o'er them cast 
 
 Her black unpiercing paU, 
 
 And shut all out to sight. — 
 Oil I bat-eyed \ision ! Oh I weak mortal eyes ! 
 Ave there no mountains left — no shining skies — 
 
 No rivers clothed in light ? 
 
 Are there no happy broods 
 Of little flowers in rustic ways remote? 
 No pathways to the woods ? And, oh ! fell thought, 
 
 No golden-foliaged woods ? 
 
 Such fancies rise to sight 
 In night's tranquillity, where Thought is born ; — 
 Rut back the laughing world will come ^A"ith morn — 
 
 Life is not all a blight !
 
 L.1NDSCAPE LYRICS. 43 
 
 Should clouded be to-day, 
 Bring yesterday, and all its joys to view ; — 
 Though no to-morrow offers to renew 
 
 Their smile — 'tis not away ! 
 
 "Twill dawn in after-time 
 r)n memory. — The charm of Nature's looks, 
 The voice of birds, the minstrelsy of brooks. 
 
 Live ever in their prime ! 
 
 No. XIII.— MOONLIGHT ON LAND. 
 
 The early bridal Moon 
 Comes in her splendour forth, and walks between 
 The stars of Heaven, like an anointed queen 
 
 Amid her maids at noon. 
 
 Now from the sleeping hills 
 The spectral mist-wreaths quickly pass away, 
 Beneath her pale, but earth enamoured ray. 
 
 And glory all things fills.
 
 44 LA]ST)SCAPE LYRICS. 
 
 Forth let us wander, led 
 By odours sweet ; leaving th' accustomed way, 
 The valley seek we, where the moonbeams stray. 
 
 Like May-flowers newly shed ! 
 
 The distant streamlets sing 
 Then' vesper hjnnn, — Is there a voice below 
 Can give such music, mingled yvith such woe, 
 
 Or can such raptm-e bring ? 
 
 In the far wdld we hear 
 That soothing tone its murmurings repeat. 
 And the more sad, the sweeter, as is meet 
 
 The spuit lone to cheer. 
 
 Fair is the sky, and fair 
 The earth ; and yet 'tis but the moon, this night. 
 That lights them both, and makes them look so bright. 
 
 Clothes them in beauty rare ! 
 
 And who are they that come 
 Into the moonlight from the tranquil shade. 
 And then shrink back, as to be seen afi'aid. 
 
 With feelii^gs that are dumb ?
 
 LAXDSaiPE LYRICS. 45 
 
 Two lovers fond and true 
 Holding communion with each other's hearts ; — 
 The first pure glow of love that ne'er departs, 
 
 Which moonlight scenes renew. 
 
 Who has not on the moon 
 Looked long and musingly, and, looking, di-eamed 
 Of love and loveliness ? Who has not deemed 
 
 Its ray a granted boon ? 
 
 The unveiled orb of night — 
 To which the sighs and orisons, flow'r- wreathed, 
 Of lovers m all ages have been breathed, — 
 
 Bathes all she sees in Ught. 
 
 Her tracery is rich 
 With images Mosaic, soft inlaid ; — 
 Forms, heav'n-traced, slmnber'twixt the light and shade. 
 
 In every quiet niche. 
 
 Moonlight is not like eld, — 
 For it is young, and bright, and fresh and clear ; 
 But age the features sharpens, and brings near 
 
 Resemblances withheld :
 
 46 LANDSCAPE LYRICS, 
 
 So moonlight in its pride 
 Outlines the landscape, and brings out to view 
 Scenes of bright promise, and of fairy hue. 
 
 By glen and mountain side ! 
 
 In moonlit mead or dell 
 My soul endenizened, imbibes a tone 
 Of nature-nurtured truth, which stiU is prone 
 
 A plaintive tale to teU, 
 
 Xo. XIV.— MOONLIGHT AT SEA. 
 
 How beautiful the chaste 
 And glorious moonlight glitters on the wave ! 
 Like diamond glancing upward from its cave. 
 
 By rusliing waters paced ! 
 
 The home-bound seaman hails 
 Its ray auspicious, as it gayly flits 
 Before him on liis ocean-path, or sits 
 
 Like silver on the sails !
 
 LANDSCAPE LYRICS. 47 
 
 Profusely thrown in showers 
 The dancing beam with every wave curl dips, 
 Like sunlight sprinkled on the bearded lips 
 
 Of humble meadow-flowers. 
 
 On the lone beetling cliff, 
 Where moonlight streams in all its glory bright, 
 I see below the fishers, by its light, 
 
 Haul beech ward their rude sldfl": 
 
 And high above, the cot 
 Wliich they call home, stands in the glad moonlight, 
 Dear to their hearts and welcome to their sight, 
 
 When they are far afloat. 
 
 Here, as I linger, rapt, 
 In the lone presence of the ocean free, 
 Suspended like a bird above the sea, 
 
 My bounding soul is apt 
 
 To mingle, as its own. 
 Among the waters, like a privileged thing ; 
 Or, as a seamew spreads its radiant wing, 
 
 On the wUd breezes thrown.
 
 48 LAM)SCAPE LYRICS. 
 
 To wander far away 
 Above the breakers, and theii* strength inhale ; 
 Or float, like one inspired, upon the srale, 
 
 And all its might survey. 
 
 The grey sea, like grey time, 
 RoUs onward tUl it traces its fixed bound, 
 And then resumes its slow accustomed round, 
 
 Fettered like measured rh\Tne ! 
 
 The hollow of God's hand 
 Might hold it ; and, though restless in its pride, 
 It cannot outflow its appointed tide. 
 
 Or overrun the land. 
 
 When the rude tempest sings, 
 And waves run high, and harsh the thunder's threats 
 Assail the ear, the seaman ne'er forgets 
 
 The promise moonlight biings : 
 
 Amid the lasliing foam. 
 When its soft smile anoints the boiling wave ; 
 It tracks his pathway, prompts his soul to brave 
 
 WTiatever perils come.
 
 LAXDSC.U'E LYRICS. 49 
 
 Homeward his vessel drifts, 
 With beauty fau- behind it and before ; 
 Hope leads it onward to the wished-for shore, 
 
 And aU the heart uplifts. 
 
 Like mellow light of years, 
 Long since evanished, on the memory, 
 The moonlight falls upon the bounding sea, 
 
 And the whole present cheers I 
 
 No. XV.— HOME SCENES. 
 
 As young bu-d fi-om its nest, 
 At mom, floats upward — onward — and away ; 
 And when the night brings down its shadows grey, 
 
 Returns unto its rest, 
 
 Ev'n thus the youthful mind 
 Goes forward to the world ; partakes its cares 
 And fleeting joys, — is tempted by its snares; 
 
 But can no refuge find :
 
 .50 LANDSCAPE LYRICS. 
 
 The freshness of his home 
 Goes with him, guidingly, where'er he wends ; 
 A star-like light upon his steps attends — 
 
 A ray from Heaven's bright dome ! 
 
 In all his toil and fret, 
 The quiet fields and gentle streams he knew, 
 When youth clothed all around in fairest hue. 
 
 His soul can ne'er forget : 
 
 For stUl then- memories come, 
 Like poetry, to his spirit ; — as a tone 
 Of music's echo on the waters thrown. 
 
 And heard 'mid evening's gloom. 
 
 In brumal age, the di-eams 
 (Jf home refresh the soul, as purples pied 
 Peep up from out the snows, and smile beside 
 
 Winter's deserted streams ; 
 
 As violets on a rock 
 They cheer the solitude, — their promise dawns 
 Upon the mind, like moonlight o'er the lawns — 
 
 Or joy to one grief-broke.
 
 L.VNDSCAPE LYRICS. 51 
 
 Home of our youth, what spot 
 (_)n earth is like thee '? Scenes of early days, 
 Oh ! where upon your equals can we gaze ? 
 
 What palace like the cot 
 
 Where childhood first its eyes 
 Oi)ed to the day, and marvelled what could be 
 The world around it ? Is there aught we see 
 
 Can be compared to skies 
 
 Like those which earliest shone 
 Upon our path, and like a sunray bright, 
 Brought with it, freshly, dawnings of the light 
 
 That ne'er can be forgone ? 
 
 Landscapes of other climes, 
 Though bountiful in beauty, what are ye 
 To the fair scenes of home, where'er it be ? 
 
 Sacred as churchward chimes. 
 
 High may the mountains tower 
 Into the heavens, and grandeur fill the scene. 
 The valleys and the pastures may be green, 
 
 The hill-sides still in flower,
 
 o2 LANDSCAPE LYRICS. 
 
 Of other lands, where stray 
 The exile's feet ; but none are e'er so fair 
 Unto his soul, as the blest landscapes wliert' 
 
 His visions fly away. 
 
 Those sordid cares beside, 
 Tliat cloud the mind, 'mong earth-born avoos and ills. 
 Come soothing thoughts of home, as 'tween far liills 
 
 The gentle streamlets glide j
 
 POETICAL ASPIRATIONS.
 
 A SMALL volume of poems, entitled " Poetical Aspi- 
 rations," was published by me, my first adventure, in 
 1830, and was favourably received. That volume was 
 dedicated to Mrs Robertson of Ednam House, Kelso, 
 a lady whose many virtues are universally acknowledged 
 wherever she is known, and whose kindness to me it will 
 alwavs be my pi'ide to remember. A second edition, with 
 additional poems, appeared in 1833. From the latter 
 volume I have selected the following pieces, the remainder, 
 bearing evident marks of inexperience and juvenility of 
 taste, not being deemed worthy of further reprint.
 
 55 
 
 POETICAL ASPIRATIONS. 
 
 The alpine hokn. (i) 
 
 Sunset is streaming o'er the snow-clad crown 
 
 Of the high Alps, while darkness settles down 
 
 Througli all their countless valleys and detiles, 
 
 Mixing with shade, where sunlight never smiles : 
 
 Ere from tlie topmost peak, its latest ray 
 
 JIas, with its Aving of glory, sped away, 
 
 The mountain shepherd's horn has sounded there, 
 
 Like the Muezzin's evening call to prayer ; 
 
 •' Praise God the Lord !" and hark! from all around 
 
 A thousand voices answer to the sound : 
 
 From every cUft, and crag, and ledge, and linn, 
 
 The notes of worship and of praise begin. 
 
 " Praise God tlie Lord !" the echoes catch the strain, 
 
 And far and near repeat the sound again ; 
 
 They wake it in the wild and in the wood. 
 
 Through all the shades of that far solitude : 
 
 E
 
 56 THE ALPINE HORN. 
 
 Bearing it on, o'er valley and ravine, 
 Where, till this hour, such sound has never been ; 
 Tlien, in the distance, fainter grown the lay, 
 The lingering notes at length dissolve away. 
 
 When all is silent, on the mountain sod 
 The humble shepherds bend the knee to God ; 
 They kneel in darkness and in peace, to share 
 Tlie sweet and social intercourse of prayer : 
 With gleams of manly thought, their prayers arise, 
 Like incense from the altar, to the skies. 
 Their temple is tlie mountain and the mist, 
 And theirs the shrine where minister the blest ; 
 They kneel before the Spirit of the world. 
 He wlio this universe of mountains hurled 
 Togetlier witli a word, and chaos spread 
 Mid majesty and grandeur, dark and dread. 
 Prostrate in presence of the Great First Cause, 
 They own liis power, while they obey his laws : 
 Their thoughts are deeper than' th' abyss beneatli. 
 Yet whUe their humble orisons they breathe. 
 Their souls are soaring far beyond each height 
 On whieli the stars are clustering, with the night ;
 
 THE ALPINE HORN. .■)7 
 
 And while they view, with soiil-adniiring glance, 
 The world of fancy, nature, and romance. 
 That circles round their native rocks, they deem 
 The glories of the earth an empty dream. 
 
 But hark ! that horn agam resounds aloud, 
 Like sudden music bursting from a cloud : 
 " Goodnight !" " Good night I" along the mountain 
 
 ■ breaks, 
 *' Good night !" '* Good night \" again each echo 
 
 wakes ; 
 And all the scene, below, around, above. 
 Teems with " Good night I" the evening pledge of 
 
 love. 
 The eagle, soaring, waits upon the wing, 
 Charmed with the notes the syren echoes sing ; 
 The startled chamois bounds along the hill. 
 Yet, half-enraptured, turns to listen still ; 
 From mount to valley, and from wold to wild, 
 The sounds are borne along, till, faint and mild, 
 " Good night," shall linger in the echoes' song, 
 When all to silence and to sleep belong.
 
 58 
 
 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. 
 
 One day — the sunbeams danced along the glade 
 As lovers dance upon then* bridal eve — 
 I wandered to the wood, where all was bloom ; 
 The earth breathed fresh with fragrance, and the 
 
 trees 
 Dropped, as it were, the dew of silent joy. 
 I loved to listen to the song of birds, 
 Wliose music wild, yet sweet, came o'er the ear, 
 Telling of ecstasy ; and, more than all, 
 I loved to view th.e flowers, those stars of earth, 
 As stars are flowers of heaven, those ghmpses bright 
 Of a far higher, purer, lovelier world ; 
 Those day di-eams of Creation, blooming wild, 
 Scattered on earth, like angel-smiles in heaven. 
 Oh ! I was happy then, for all above. 
 And all below, was fair, and pure, and bright ; 
 And then I thought that happier still I'd be 
 If my freed soul could fleet, as dew from grass,
 
 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. 59 
 
 When the glad morning sun is shining forth, 
 Passmg so silently away from earth ; 
 If that were all — if death itself were death — 
 But after death comes life, more true than this. 
 
 I lay and listened to a wild bird's song, 
 A little shining, singing, flutt'ring thing : 
 Its song was full of sweetness and of love : 
 When, lo ! it fell before me on the ground, 
 And found its grave among a bank of flowers — 
 Wlio would not die, to find a grave so sweet ? . 
 I ran and lifted it — 'twas cold and stiff. 
 And in its little heart an arrow sought 
 Unsanctified admittance, quivering there, 
 Like an unwelcome messenger of fate. 
 The spoiler came — I drew his arrow out. 
 And threw it on the earth — he trod it down. 
 As he passed onward in his careless path. 
 
 And tliis is death ! How sudden, and how strong ! 
 His harvest ne'er begins nor ends, for still 
 His scythe is ready ere the corn is ripe.
 
 60 REFLECTIOXS ON DEATH. 
 
 We cannot shun the stroke ; but if prepared 
 To meet it when it falls, its sting- is gone ! 
 
 Yet death itself is never terrible, 
 But 'tis the thought of what comes after death 
 That wakes the coward in the soul of man — 
 Of man carnal and unregenerate. 
 In the lone grave the body soon is clothed 
 In vileness, and this most delicate frame 
 Becomes the food of worms, the gorging feast 
 Of those vile particles of putresence 
 We loathe in life to look at — which we spiu-n 
 And trample on with horror. Pride, bend low ! 
 And meditate on tliis, that sluny worms, 
 Gnome-like and insatiate epicures, 
 Must feed on us to fulness, as on dainties, 
 When we, like they themselves, become corruption ! 
 This is the pang, the poison, that makes dark 
 The brightest joys, and chUls the warmest hopes 
 Of all who look no farther than the grave, — 
 That calms the laughing thought within the heart : 
 This is the weapon that affrights the bold, 
 Makes foolishness of wisdom, and creates
 
 REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. 61 
 
 The fear of death, because it terminates 
 But in corruption and the feast of worms. 
 
 To go into the grave — if that were all, 
 No one would shrink from it ; but that the thought 
 That this fair form should formless be, the shape 
 Be shapeless, decomposed, and fall to nought, 
 Preys on the mind, and hinders it from rest. 
 And few there are who seek the saving peace 
 That here can reconcile us to our doom. 
 The soul remains entire, though in the grave 
 The body lies, and slowly wastes away. 
 Then let us strive to find, through God's good grace. 
 That faith by which alone the soul becomes 
 " One perfect Chrysolite," and in Christ's blood. 
 Relieved from stain of guilt, is rendered fit 
 To stand, approved, before a holy God.
 
 62 
 
 THROUGH THE WOOD. 
 
 MODERN BALLAD. 
 
 Through the wood, through the wood, 
 
 Warbles the merle I 
 Through the wood, through the wood, 
 
 Gallops the earl ! 
 Yet he heeds not its song 
 
 As it sinks on his ear. 
 For he lists to a voice 
 
 Than its music more dear. 
 
 Through the wood, through the wood, 
 
 Once and away, 
 The castle is gained, 
 
 And the lady is gay : 
 When her smile waxes sad, 
 
 And her eyes become dim : 
 Her bosom is glad, 
 
 If she a:azes on him I
 
 THROUGH THE WOOD. 63 
 
 Through the wood, through the wood, 
 
 Over the wold, 
 Rides onward a band 
 
 Of true warriors bold ; 
 They stop not for forest, 
 
 They halt not for water ; 
 Their chieftain in sorrow 
 
 Is seeking his daughter. 
 
 Through the wood, through the wood. 
 
 Warbles the merle ; 
 Through the wood, through the wood, 
 
 Prances the earl ; 
 And on a gay palfrey 
 
 Comes pacing Ms bride ; 
 While an old man sits smiling. 
 
 In joy, by her side.
 
 64 
 
 SONG OF THE EXILE. 
 
 Banished for ever ! 
 From the scene of my birth, 
 For ever ! for ever ! 
 From all I loved dearest, and cherished on earth, 
 From the smile of my friends, and the hcjme of their 
 hearth. 
 
 To come again never ! 
 
 Banished for ever ! 
 From hope and from home, 
 
 For ever ! for ever ! 
 Away in the desert of distance to roam, 
 Like a ship tempest-tost on the wild sea-wave's foam, 
 
 To land again never ! 
 
 Banished for ever ! 
 
 When all have gone by, 
 
 For ever ! for ever !
 
 SONG OF THE EXILE. 65 
 
 The gladness of earth, and the brightness of sky, 
 Tliere's no fear but to live, and no hope but to die — 
 To feel again never ! 
 
 Banished for ever ! 
 'Tis madness to me, 
 For ever ! for ever ! 
 To think of the land I shall ne'er again see, 
 Of the days that have been, and the days that shall 
 be — 
 
 That thought leaves me never ! 
 
 Banished for ever ! 
 Be this my adieu — 
 For ever ! for ever ! 
 Let me roam where I will, ne'er again shall I view, 
 Scenes so cherished and fair, friends so kind and so 
 true ; 
 
 Oh, never ! oli, never ! 
 
 Banished for ever ! 
 Dear land of my birth. 
 We sever ! we sever !
 
 66 
 
 TO FAAIE. 
 
 An exile from all I love dearest on earth, 
 From the smile of my friends, from the home of 
 their hearth — 
 
 For ever ! for ever ! 
 
 TO FAME. 
 
 Ix the seclusion of my solitude, 
 
 Thy echo reached me, and awoke a brood 
 
 Of slumbering fancies into life and light ; 
 
 A spell seemed thrown around me, and my mind 
 
 Was full of unfixed images ; the bright 
 
 And ready impulses of thought, confined 
 
 And struggling to be free ; a light had dawned 
 
 Across my path, as if by Heaven's command. 
 
 A lofty and immeasurable longing 
 
 Sprung up fl-itliin my breast, beyond control, 
 
 A throbbing multitude of fancies thronging 
 
 Strove to o'ermaster and o'ermatch the whole : 
 
 Creation rose from chaos, as at first, 
 
 A water in the wilderness to quench my thirst.
 
 TO FAAIE. 67 
 
 The complicated elements of Mind, 
 
 No longer dim, confused, and undefined, 
 
 Rolled into order, and the springs of thought 
 
 Became then less obscure, and less remote. 
 
 My mind, not yet in union with its thoughts, 
 
 Seemed sad and solitary ; o'er it swept 
 
 A calmness like the soft sun-breeze that floats 
 
 Above the wave, that light and languid leapt : 
 
 Then high imaginations, restless, past 
 
 Into being — various, vivid, vast — 
 
 And thought, admixing with the mind's emotion, 
 
 Assumed a depth and fervoiu" of demotion, 
 
 The semblance and the hope, if not the true 
 
 Sole inspiration of poetic lore ; 
 
 Then truth, at times, like light, came struggling 
 
 through, 
 And I was sad and heart-forgone no more. 
 
 For thou became my mistress — I have thrown 
 My heart and hope on thee — I cannot bear 
 That, witli my life, my name should pass away. 
 And be forgot, when I am dead and gone ; 
 And in the grave, when mouldering in decay. 
 That my remembrance should be buried there.
 
 68 TO A BEE. 
 
 I care not for the world, or the world's ways, 
 
 I scorn alike its censure and its praise ; 
 
 But from the mental feAv, by heaven designed 
 
 To rate and recognise a kindred mind, 
 
 A sure approval I will strive to gain, 
 
 For this is fame indeed, — all other is but vain. 
 
 TO A BEE. 
 
 Ha ! pretty little bee, 
 So artless, blithe, and free ! 
 Whither are you wandering 
 Thus so gaily on the wing ? 
 To every flower o'erhung with dew, 
 Whose leaves are blossoming for you 
 To the wild flowers far away. 
 Brig] it and beautiful as they ; 
 From each blooming one to sip 
 Sweets, like those of woman's lip, 
 Oh ! happy, happy, happy bee, 
 Would it were as free to me !
 
 TO A BEE, 69 
 
 Away ! away ! for ever thus 
 Your airy flight has past from us ; 
 And you are gone where flowers invite, 
 A pilgrimage of rich delight. 
 
 But come not near the hollyhock, (2) 
 
 Let not its blooms your fancy mock ; 
 
 Shun its nectaries so fair, 
 
 Death is ever lurking there ; 
 
 On its petals if you light, 
 
 You'll be seized with instant blight. 
 
 Shun it as you onward fly I 
 
 Sip its poison and you die I 
 
 But hie thee to the lavender, 
 
 Pretty Uttle pilferer ! 
 
 Or the limetree, in whose breast 
 
 You oft have sipped yourself to rest. 
 
 Go, wanderer, to the healthful wild, 
 
 By the heath-flower's bloom beguiled, 
 
 Where sunshine, like a robe of gold, 
 
 Flings its fond light o'er wood and wold ; 
 
 There, in the calyx of the flower. 
 
 You love the best at noontide hour,
 
 70 TO A BEE. 
 
 Prepare the mead, whose hiscious draught, 
 
 The best of former nations quaff'd. 
 
 Little rambler, do you know 
 
 Why it is Ave love you so '^ 
 
 It is for the ceaseless hymn, 
 
 That you warble, as you sA\-im 
 
 Through the oderiferous air, 
 
 Light as fairy gossamer — 
 
 "Tis, for you are alwa^-s gay. 
 
 Making life a holiday, 
 
 Flying leisurely o'er earth, 
 
 A winged messenger of mirth. 
 
 When you meet the butterfly, 
 'Neath the lovely summer sky, 
 Do you show to her the bower. 
 That contains the sweetest flower ? 
 Or do you take herself to be, 
 While thus wandering so free, 
 A floweret floating- on the air, 
 Making all deHglitful there ? 
 
 When the moon bursts forth above. 
 Tinging all with light and love,
 
 THE STORM. 
 
 When with soft and silky trace, 
 Slumber finds a resting place 
 On the eyes of bees and men ; 
 Snug within some floweret then 
 You have made your bed, till day 
 Shows the sweets yoxiv dreams pourtray, 
 
 THE STORM. 
 
 The waves rise in rebellion — far away 
 The wreck-doomed ship is borne resistless on ; 
 And hark ! the screaming sea-mews trill their lay 
 Of terrible delight — its echo's moan 
 Dies wildly on the tempest, and the spray 
 Dashes around us, chilling hope to stone ; 
 And vast and fathomless the mountain waves. 
 Yawning around us, marshall forth our graves. 
 
 The clouds move like the billows o'er the ocean, 
 Clashing in fury as they hurry by; 
 They mingle fiercely, and in rude commotion, 
 As if a hurricane swept o'er the sky.
 
 72 THE STORM. 
 
 Now, let the soul rely on her devotion, 
 Now, let the prayer to Hni be lifted high. 
 Who stUls the storm, and cahns the mighty wave, 
 " And strong to smite, is also strong to save." 
 
 See ! yon poor wretch dashed from the vessel's 
 
 prow — 
 He catches at the spar that hurries past, 
 'Tis vain ! the waves are mightier stUl — and noAv, 
 Beneath theu" force his strength gives way at last : 
 Onward we drift — but, lo ! o'er heaven's brow 
 The moon her welcome light, at length, has cast. 
 Like hope o'er madness, but it tends to show 
 The life that smiles above, the death that yawns 
 
 below.
 
 "LAZARUS, COME FORTH." 
 
 Thus Jesus spoke — ^the earth dismayed 
 
 Opened its womb ; 
 The dead man heard, his Lord obeyed ; 
 
 He left his tomb : 
 And thousands, unbelievers, saw 
 
 The power of God ; 
 Then they believed his holy law, 
 
 And word, that burst the sod. 
 
 Thus when he frees the wicked heart 
 
 From earth's control. 
 Sin and ungodliness depart 
 
 From the waked soul. 
 He cleans it by his blood and death — 
 
 To it is given 
 To know, all peace, all hope, all faith, 
 
 All ante-taste of heaven.
 
 74 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 ON THE APPROACH OF SUMMER. 
 
 Summer approaches, filling earth with flowers, 
 The skies wdth beauty, and the woods with song, 
 While April, like a coy bride, wends along 
 111 tearful smiles, half-wooed by the gay hours. 
 All nature breathes a welcome to young May, 
 Summer's bright harbinger, who bears her smile 
 Through every land, with blooming health the while, 
 And all are blest who feel her gladd'ning ray. 
 How pleasant 'tis beneath the summer noon. 
 When the soft wmd hath lulled itself asleep, 
 (^n some fair hill a festival to keep, 
 Wliile fancy on the wing revisits soon 
 Til' o'erarching world, the true, the pure, the fair, 
 Gath'ring with bliss all inspiration there.
 
 70 
 
 BEAUTY. 
 
 Oh ! brighter than the brightest star, 
 
 That glimmers through the haze of night, 
 
 When the blue vault of heaven afar. 
 Is studded o'er with silver light ; 
 
 And brighter than that brilliant sky, 
 
 May be the glance of woman's eye. 
 
 Oh ! lovely as the golden ray 
 
 Of sunshine sleeping on the glade, 
 
 When morning brightens into day, 
 And in its radiance melts the shade ; 
 
 And lovelier than that gorgeous sun. 
 
 May be the smile from woman won. 
 
 But beauty does not deign to shine, 
 In brightness from a woman's eye ; 
 
 Nor does she in a smile recline, 
 Blooming, as flowerets do, to die ; 
 
 All earth-born charms shall fade in death : 
 
 Nor change nor ruin beauty hath.
 
 76 TO M. J. R. 
 
 She dwells but in the pious mind, 
 
 Apart for ever from decay ; 
 Where lives the hght of heavenly kind, 
 
 That shines " unto the perfect day ;" 
 Where Faith and Hope then" joy impart- 
 Her home is in the \irtuous heart. 
 
 TO M. J. R. 
 
 Is there ^-ithm my heart a spot 
 ^\niere thy bright image liveth not. 
 
 In its most joyful guise ? 
 Ah, no ! though all may be forgot, 
 Sa^•e sorrow, care, and pain. 
 
 Yet it securely lies 
 Within my bosom's secret bowers ; 
 
 Like dew, descending from above. 
 On Autumn's seared and withered flowers, 
 
 Re\dving it again 
 
 To happiness and love.
 
 77 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 A CONTRAST. 
 
 The flowers that, unrefreshed mth rain or dew, 
 Pine 'neath the scorching summer's sun away, 
 Are but the emblems — purer still than they — 
 Of hearts that ne'er the blight of sorrow knew, 
 To contrast with their gladness — for the breast 
 That welcomes joy back to its shrine again, 
 After a weary interval of pain, 
 Enjoys the feeling with a warmer zest : 
 And when at length the dew-drop hngers o'er 
 The flowers that sickened with its long delay, 
 How sweetly do they own its former sway, 
 And bloom again more lovely than before. 
 Who would not, for a while then, cherish grief, 
 To taste the bliss, the rapture of relief ?
 
 78 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 ROSLIN. 
 
 RoSLiN ! thy scattered beauties, rich and wild. 
 
 Lie like a garden-map before me spread ; 
 
 In all thy fauy scenes I gladly tread, 
 
 Where sleeps the sun-smile — and the breeze so mild 
 
 Enamoured sighs, as to thy presence wed. 
 
 Do\vn through thy vale — so lovely and so sweet, 
 
 Yet so retiring, like some blushing maid 
 
 Apprized of her own beauty — oft I meet, 
 
 Two pensive lovere wliispering their vows. 
 
 Thy woods and thy ra\dnes, thy rocks and caves. 
 
 Contain the gleams of grandeur, o'er the brows 
 
 Of thy dark crags, the heath-flower freely waves. 
 
 Here Drummond sung, sweetly and well, for he 
 
 In thy retreats became inspired by thee.
 
 79 
 
 ON THE BIRTH OF A NIECE. 
 E. W. G. 
 
 nth AttglKt, 1828. 
 
 The evening sun had o'er the hea\ens rolled 
 His brilliant robe of glory and of gold ; 
 The angels round the throne had just begun 
 Their vesper hymn of praise — the sweetest one ; 
 The stars were trimming then their lamps of light, 
 Like watchers, ready for the coming night ; 
 The earth rejoiced through all her numerous fields. 
 Blest ^vith the crop that generous autumn yields : 
 The meadow streams subduing music stole, 
 Like dreams of rapture, to the fainting soul, — 
 When thou sprung into being, Hke the ray 
 Of early morn, the gleam of dawning day. 
 Stranger ! so bright, so innocent, so fair, 
 We give tliee welcome to our world of care ; 
 Come to partake our sorrow — thou hast known 
 The pang already, by that stifled moan — 
 When rosy pleasure shall her smiles renew. 
 Come with thy kindred heart, and share them too.
 
 80 ON HER DEATH. 
 
 We bless thee, babe ! for we have need to bless 
 A fellow-pilgrim in a world Kke this, 
 Where mirth is mockery, and joy a dream, 
 And we are never happy — though we seem. 
 Oh ! may'st thou never know the ills that we 
 Have known, and shall know, ere we cease to be : 
 Be thou thy mother's comfort ! thou wert blest 
 Wert thou, like her, the purest and the best. 
 
 ON HER DEATH, 
 
 At the Agp of Tim Years and Two Months. 
 
 Not long beside us did the cherub stay : 
 God's will be done ! He gave and took away ; 
 It seemed as if blest memories of heaven. 
 From whence she came, were to her Adsions given, 
 And, tiring soon of earth, whose breath was pam, 
 Longed to return, and be at rest again. 
 Too pure for earth, too innocent for grief, 
 Sweet was her promise, as her sojourn brief
 
 81 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 TO HAPPINESS. 
 
 Oh ! I do hail thee, Happiness, when thou 
 
 Dost shine athwart my path with light and lore, 
 
 Dispensing joy, like Heaven's aerial bow, 
 
 When gathermg clouds lour darkly from above. 
 
 Oh ! I do hail thee, Happiness — the aim 
 
 And promise of my being live in thee ; 
 
 I pine for thee as poets pine for fame. 
 
 Or slaves and captives for their liberty ; 
 
 But fleeting art thou in this vale of strife, 
 
 A meteor gleaming o'er a desert heath — 
 
 So seldom comes thy smile to cheer our life, 
 
 We learn to hope 'twill visit us in death ; 
 
 In what bright bower, supremest blessmg, may 
 
 A mortal find thy never-dying ray ?
 
 82 
 
 THOUGHTS. 
 
 In sooth 'tis pleasant on a summer morn, 
 When the bright sun ascends the orient sky, 
 And on the mountain zephyr health is borne, 
 While we inhale it as it murmurs by ; 
 On some lone liill in musing mood to lie. 
 Then as we watch the day's advancing light, 
 We learn from it that we but live to die. 
 The sun wiU set though shining e'er so bright, 
 A few short fleeting hours, and all again is night. 
 
 Yet sunshine seldom cheers the lot of life, 
 'Tis all a scene of ling' ring pain and woe, 
 A pilgrimage of fruitless care and strife, 
 A tide of sorrow that doth ceaseless flow ; 
 Yet some have thought they felt a joy below, 
 Which to their darker hours did solace prove. 
 Making their hearts with blissful feelmgs glow ; 
 And not of earth it seems, but from abo\e 
 It comes to cheer mankind, and mortals call it love.
 
 THOUGHTS. 83 
 
 That thought is vain as love's own happiness, 
 For soon love's sweet illusion is no more ; 
 Then fly those hopes that promised lasting bUss — 
 And when the dream of ecstasy is o'er, 
 We wake, to life, far sadder than before. 
 It shoots athwart our visions. Like the gleam 
 Of flittmg sunshine o'er a desert shore. 
 Making the wilderness more dreary seem — 
 Oh ! love is all too like the visions of a dream. 
 
 It boots not now to ponder o'er the past, 
 Joy blasted oft will mar life's fairest scene ; 
 The beauty of the sky is overcast. 
 Dark clouds now brood where brightness late 
 
 hath been ; 
 And thorns appear where once sweet flowers were 
 
 seen. 
 Yet hope beams on my soul her soothing light, 
 Like the first dawtiing of the morn serene. 
 Tinging my darkened soul with hues more 
 
 bright — 
 Love ever sorrow brings, as twilight brings the 
 
 night.
 
 84 THOUGHTS. 
 
 'Tis piety alone that can impart 
 A peace of mind that ne'er will fade away, 
 A bliss that calms the passions of the heart, 
 A hope that soothes us even in decay. 
 Inspires the thought and elevates the lay ; 
 'Tis this that gives a glory to that hour, 
 When death relentless seizes on his prey : 
 Then yet may pleasure dwell in earthly bower. 
 Though man buds, blooms, and withers, like a 
 summer flower.
 
 85 
 
 LOCH AWE. (3) 
 
 Oh Lake ! how gentle and how fair art thou, 
 Above thee and around thee, mountains rise 
 E'en like a diadem on queenly brow ; 
 Crested in light the snow in masses lies 
 On Cruachan's cleft head — the eagle flies 
 In circles o'er thee, and liis eyi'ie makes 
 Afar upon its summit, from the eyes 
 Of man removed, for his wild fledgelmgs' sakes. — 
 Sinless and still thou art, most beautiful of lakes ! 
 
 Four fairy isles, — like smiles in woman's eye, 
 Or gems upon her bosom — rise beside 
 Thy spreading waters, dreamy as the sky. 
 Whose glories are reflected in thy tide ; 
 While shrubs and flowers are growing in their 
 
 pride. 
 And ancient trees, where'er our eyes we turn — 
 And, like a melody, thy echoes glide
 
 86 LOCH AWE. 
 
 Within the memory — while grey and stern 
 Stands, like a spirit of the past, lone old KUchurn. 
 
 Changeless as Heaven, thoughtful as the stars, 
 Whose light thou mak'st thy lover, ever true ; 
 Sweet are thy glades and glens ; no discord mars 
 Their quiet now — as when the Bruce o'erthrew 
 The men of Lorn, and gained his crown anew — 
 Save when sweeps by the spirit of the storm ; 
 Fearful and wonderful is then thy hue, 
 And terrible thy waiUngs, as thy form, 
 
 While Cruachan's wild shriek is heard to far Cairn- 
 
 Home of the hunter ! birth-place of the Gael ! 
 Why do my musings still return to thee ? 
 Why does the hymn of holy Innis-hail, 
 Like rhyme of cliildhood, haunt my memory ? 
 My boy-years have departed, since to me 
 Thy wildness, solitude, and grandeur brought 
 Sources of inspiration, ne'er to be 
 Forgotten or forborne — my mind has sought 
 Relief from homely scenes, recurring to remote.
 
 87 
 
 THE WOLF. (4) 
 
 A Fra-jtnerU. 
 
 'Tis evening, — one of those rich eves iu June, 
 That look as bright, and feel as warm as noon ; 
 The setting sun its parting ray has thrown 
 Italia's smiling groves and bowers upon : 
 Amid the balm of meadow, vale, and hill, 
 Where all is beautiful, and all is stiU ; 
 A bard would deem, 'neath such a tranquil sk}-, 
 He heard the stream of time wliile rushing by : 
 'Tis the soft hour, to love that doth belong, 
 To village pastime, and to village song : 
 But why do happy peasants meet no more ? 
 The village song, the village dance is o'er ; 
 Wliy is the tabor silent on the plain ? 
 Why does the mountain-pipe refuse its strain ? 
 Where is the lover fond, the trusting maid ? 
 They shun each other, and desert the shade.
 
 THE WOLF. 
 
 Is this Italia's sky, so calm, so fair ? 
 Where are its joyous sons, its laughing daughters 
 where ? 
 
 Hark ! 'tis a wild, a solitary crj^ 
 Unheard till now beneath Italia's sky ; 
 And well Italia's sons may shrink to hear 
 A cry, that fills aU who have heard with fear,- 
 It is the Alpine wolfs terrific bay, 
 Roaming abroad ferocious for its prey : 
 Soon as the sun of earth its farewell takes. 
 The Alpine wolf his solitude forsakes, 
 And, like a demon, rusliing to the plain, 
 Scatters the flock, and panic-strikes the swain. 
 
 One summer eve, a monster of the kind. 
 Hungry for prey, had left his troop beliind ; 
 Rg,nging alone, he spread dismay where'er 
 His bay was heard, as if a host were there : 
 Beneath his tusk of steel, his breath of flame, 
 Italia's bowers a wilderness became : 
 Grain for a while and sheep he stole away, 
 But, quitting these, he sought a nobler prey,—
 
 THE WOLF. 89 
 
 The tender babe, even in its mother's view, 
 He bore to crags, where no one dared pursue : 
 Until the province, late the happiest one 
 That brightens 'neath Itaha's gorgeous sun, 
 Became, throughout, all desolate and lone. 
 For there the fell destroyer forth had gone. 
 
 Lo ! like a pageant, slowly up the vale, 
 A band advances, clad in glittering mail ; 
 WhUe, in the front, a knight of noble mien, 
 And lofty plume, above the rest is seen : 
 The peasants from their huts look forth with fear. 
 But dare not quit them, lest the wolf be near ; 
 And then the chief, advancmg from the rest, 
 At sound of trump, the peasants thus addressed, — 
 " A purse of gold, and his own diamond ring, 
 As a reward, are offered by the king, 
 To him who slays the woK !" The trumpet's blast 
 Re-echoed loud, as that gay pageant passed. 
 
 Meanwhile, each swain, in hope to gain tlie prize. 
 Shouldering his gun, to kill the monster tries ;
 
 90 THE WOLF. 
 
 But home returning oft Avithout his prey, 
 All left the task to GiuUo to essay, — 
 For Giulio was the best, the bravest youth 
 Within the provmce, or the realm, in sooth : 
 Kind to liis mates, and to his mistress true, 
 Foremost in pastime and in peril too ; 
 Whene'er the river overflowed its bounds. 
 And the wild flood o'erswept the pleasant grounds, 
 Bearing away, in its retiring course. 
 The helpless flocks, too feeble for its force, 
 Giulio was first among the Adllage brave. 
 To stretch the hand to succour and to save ; 
 He was a marksman too, and well could hit 
 The target's eye, when aU feU wide of it : 
 Him, therefore, did they fix upon to be 
 Theii" champion — their meadows rich to free 
 From the destroyer — each resigned liis claim 
 To the reward, — Let Giulio win the same ! 
 
 And Giulio ranged afar from morn till eve. 
 
 But still no wolf could Giulio perceive ; 
 
 He searched each wood, explored each copse and 
 
 cave, 
 As a fierce gnome invades the quiet grave ;
 
 THE WOLF. 91 
 
 Still did he hear his roar, his ravage see. 
 But, still unseen himself, the wolf continued fi-ee. 
 
 Tliree days had sped, and Giulio had not traced 
 The monster out, although he tracked his waste ; 
 And standing on a mountain's rugged brow, 
 Giulio, despairing, breathed to Heaven a vow, 
 That he would bring the wolf in triumph slain, 
 Or never see his native home again. 
 And Giulio's vow was kept — the monster fell. 
 But not by him — a sadder tale I tell ! 
 
 One eve — it was the fourth — he threw him down, 
 Fatigued and foot-sore, on the mountain brown ; 
 No wolf as yet had crossed his anxious way. 
 Although, where'er he roamed, he heard his bay ; 
 Loth to return untU the wolf he slew, 
 Yet, ah ! his heart, to love, to feeling, true, 
 Led him to where his lover's hut arose, 
 As if her vicinage could soothe his woes. 
 There for awhile he lingered, and he wept 
 The tear of fond remembrance — slumber crept 
 Upon his eyes, for he was overspent, 
 Wasted for Avant of needful nourishment :
 
 92 THE WOLF. 
 
 Before him in the moonlight rolled a stream, 
 Whose murmur lulled liim to a blissful dream : 
 A dream of love, of happiness and pride, — 
 He thought he slew the wolf, and won his blushing 
 bride. 
 
 Beyond the river, to its very edge 
 Along the bank, there grew a bushy hedge, 
 Where oft alone, beneath the tmlight dim, 
 The lovely maid would steal to think of him ; — 
 A stir I — a motion ! — it was not the breeze 
 That shook the hedge, — for why waved not the 
 
 trees ? 
 He started and awoke — again it shook, — 
 His gun was in his hand — one hurried look, 
 One rapid touch — the fatal ball was sped, — 
 A long Avild shriek was heard, and Giulio's dream 
 
 was read. 
 
 In triumph now, he thought of home again, — 
 The prize was his, the wolf at length was slain — 
 Swift as the ball that from his rifle flew. 
 He reached the river, and SAvam gaily through :
 
 THE WOLF. 93 
 
 The corpse lay there before him in the light ! — 
 Why breaks that mournful shriek upon the night? 
 Wliy motionless stands Giulio gazing there, 
 A form of stone, a statue of despair ? 
 At length he spoke — " Is this the Avolf I've sought 
 In glen, and mount, and precipice remote ? 
 Its skin is soft, its eyes are bright and fair, 
 And still they smile on me, — ^the wolf's should glare; 
 But sweet though sad, still do they charm my view. 
 Like my fair bride's, the beautiful, the blue. — 
 The wolf ! — ah, horror ! 'tis herself I've slain ! 
 I feel it, Uke a lire within my brain, 
 And on my heart — no tear is in mine eye — 
 For her alone I lived, — with her I die.'" 
 The stream is near, he lifts her as a child. 
 While from his o'erpressed heart there bursts a wild 
 And fiendish laugh, — the peasants wondering hear, 
 And in a crowd assemble, half in fear : 
 In the broad moonlight then, as in a dream, 
 A figure rushed before them to the stream ; 
 That form did bear another — on the brink 
 He pauses not — one plunge — they sink ! they sink ! 
 'Twas Giulio and his bride ! — they rise no more, — 
 And onward rolls the stream as smoothly as before.
 
 94 
 
 THE APRIL CLOUD. 
 
 Fair as the feather of a dove 
 
 That has in gloom been dipt ; 
 Like to a smile, that, flung from love. 
 
 Its banisliment hatli wept ; 
 See yonder little cloud swims by, 
 
 As if it sprung to birth. 
 Mid summer sunshine of the sky. 
 
 And winter storms of earth. 
 
 Alas ! there ne'er was angel yet 
 
 Wlio from her heaven took wing, 
 But when the air of earth she met 
 
 Became a fallen thing : 
 And thus yon cloud, that seems so dim, 
 
 Wlien near oiu- earth 'tis driven, 
 Would look all light, if it would skim 
 
 Far upward nearer Heaven.
 
 95 
 
 SPRING. 
 
 Can aught be more magnificent tlian Spring ? 
 Mountain and mead, and foliage and ilower. 
 Assume a bridal look, as if the Sun 
 Had solemnized his nuptials with the Earth. 
 A green and growing grandeur consecrates 
 The general land, like an anointed Queen : 
 The soil begins to quicken with the birth, 
 And bounteously proseminates its gifts ; 
 A glory reigns supreme o'er all, a Balm 
 That moves, like Inspii-ation, in the soul, 
 And gives a motive to each quiet thought, 
 Stirring, in transport, like a little bird. 
 Creation seems a path to brighter worlds — 
 A track to better homes. A permeant good 
 Pervades the Universe, and all is joy. 
 The river runs, like one of nimble foot. 
 And smiling aspect, to embrace the sea, 
 Henceforth incorporate ; even as tlie youth,
 
 96 SPRING. 
 
 Of fervent spirit and of sanguine hope, 
 
 Comes from his home obscure, and wanders forth 
 
 To mingle with the world, and there is lost. 
 
 The ruminating Ocean is at peace, 
 
 And its faint murmur — for its voice is ne'er 
 
 All silent — like a half forgotten tone 
 
 Seems but the echo of a broken cliime, 
 
 As if a part of memoiy, pilgrim-like, 
 
 Had gone in quest of all, and died away 
 
 Amid the distant traces of the past. 
 
 The gentle breeze comes from its groves of spice, 
 
 And fragrance bears throughout the Virgin air ; 
 
 And hark ! the woodland music — warblings soft 
 
 Steal on the gladdened ear — from every hedge, 
 
 From eveiy forest dim, a voice proceeds 
 
 Of deep-felt rapture, praise and gratitude. 
 
 The swan disports upon the quiet lake. 
 
 And shares the cheerfulness that all enjoy ; 
 
 While thoughts, Avithout a voice, of Heaven remote 
 
 In the still waters mun'ored, stir its breast. — 
 
 All circumstance of language is too faint 
 
 The beautiful of Nature to pourtray ; 
 
 The eloquent sense, the foeling sensitive. 
 
 Alone holds free communion with her charms :
 
 POESY. 97 
 
 While thought awakes, like day-dawn, and goes forth 
 
 To gather stores of knowledge ; — like a draught 
 
 Of the pure fountain to the unrefreshed, 
 
 The bloom of Spring exhilarates the mind, 
 
 And gives a tone to virtue — its approach 
 
 Is as the coming of sweet health to one 
 
 Long time afflicted, for its bloom is blest. 
 
 POESY. 
 
 Its sweetest song the cygnet sings 
 As a soft prelude to its death. 
 And in that song expends its breath ;- 
 
 What boots it that the Poet flings 
 His wildest notes on high, 
 
 Or strikes with truest hand the strings, 
 If all his strains must die ? 
 
 And why should he his notes prolong, 
 
 If no one listens to his song ?
 
 98 POESY. 
 
 Tet can the Poet ne'er resign 
 
 The lyre he loves, for it alone 
 
 Consoles him, when all else is gone i 
 Its spirit, like the breath divine, 
 
 That stirred the water's face, 
 Pervades ev'n to the farthest line 
 
 Of universal space ; 
 And music through the whole is flung. 
 As when the morning angels sung. 
 
 An echo lingers on each peak, 
 
 In every vale, on every hill — 
 
 Should men not listen, angels will ', 
 For Poesy shall never speak, 
 
 Shall ne\'er sing in vain ; 
 In solitude the breeze shall seek 
 
 And still repeat her strain, 
 Where'er, like an aerial tone, 
 Her spirit and her voice have gone. 
 
 She moves o'er flowers — her handmaid fair. 
 Bright Summer, in a joyous dance 
 Doth still before her path advance, 
 
 Sweet blossoms strewing every where.
 
 POESY. 99 
 
 Wliich, falling, grow divine ; 
 Fresh incense crowds upon the air, 
 
 And floats above her shrine, 
 Like beauty, when her welcome voice 
 Makes the whole universe rejoice. 
 
 Why then should her adorer fear, 
 Or why her votary despond ? — 
 Partaker of a bUss beyond 
 
 All feeUngs, all enjoyments here, 
 His impulses subUme 
 
 Soar, ev'n in this contracted sphere. 
 O'er nature and o'er time ; 
 
 And her undying triumphs spread 
 
 A glow like glory round his head.
 
 100 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 TO A FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 'Tis evening, and the summer has put on 
 
 Her richest dress, her way with flowers is strewed, 
 
 Beauty and music dwell in every wood, 
 
 And bower and meadow, hill and valley lone : 
 
 A gentle shower is o'er, the earth has wept 
 
 Its fragrance into freshness. In this hour, — 
 
 When in a flood of glory all is dipped, 
 
 By the soft influence of a higher power, — 
 
 My spirit leaves its prison-house, and flies 
 
 Towards the sweet haunts of thy pleasant home, 
 
 Where, lover-Kke, thy river* loves to roam ; — 
 
 'Tis there I see thee with my mental eyes, 
 
 And hold communion with thee day by day. 
 
 Though now we never meet, and haply never may. 
 
 * The Tweed, near Kelso.
 
 101 
 
 THE GIPSY'S LULLABY. 
 
 Sleep, baby, sleep ! 
 
 Though thy fond mother's breast, 
 Where thy young head recEnes, 
 
 Is a stranger to rest ; 
 And oh ! may soft shimber 
 
 Descend on thine e'e, 
 That the sorrow she feels 
 
 May be shared not by thee. 
 
 Sleep, baby, sleep ! 
 
 Thy father has gone 
 
 On his perilous track, 
 And thy mother will weep. 
 
 Till he safely comes back ; 
 But rest thee in peace, 
 
 With soft sleep in thine e'e, 
 Though the tear is in her's 
 
 That is shared not by thee. 
 
 Sleep, baby, sleep I
 
 102 
 
 WOODLAND SONG. 
 
 Will you go to the woodlands with me, with me, 
 Will you go to the woodlands with me ? 
 
 When the sun's on the lull, and all nature is stUl, 
 Save the sound of the far-dashing sea. 
 
 For I love to he lone on the hUl, the hill, 
 
 I love to lie lone on the hill. 
 When earth, sea, and sky, in lovehness vie, 
 
 And all nature around me is stUl. 
 
 Then my fancy is ever awake, awake, 
 
 My fancy is never asleep ; 
 Like a bird on the wing, like a swan on the lake, 
 
 Like a ship far away on the deep. 
 
 And I love 'neath the green boughs to lie, to lie ; 
 
 I love 'neath the green boughs to lie ; 
 And see far above, like the smiUng of love, 
 
 A glimpse, now and then , of the sky.
 
 WOODLAM) SONG. 103 
 
 When the hum of the forest I hear, I hear, 
 When the hum of the forest I hear, — 
 
 'Tis sohtude's prayer, pure devotion is there. 
 And its breathings I ever revere. — 
 
 I kneel myself down on tlie sod, the sod, 
 
 I kneel myself down on the sod, 
 'Mong the flowers and wild heath, and an orison 
 breathe 
 
 In lowliness u]> to my God. 
 
 Then peace doth descend on my mind, my mind, 
 Then peace doth descend on my mind ; 
 
 And I gain greater scope to my spirit and hope. 
 For both then become more refined. 
 
 Oh ! whatever my fate chance to be, to be, 
 
 My spirit shall never repine. 
 If a stroll on the hill, if a glimpse of the sea. 
 
 If the hum of the forest be mine.
 
 104 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 THE OCEAN. 
 
 Oh ! that the Ocean were my element ! 
 And I could dwell among its deepest waves, 
 Like one whose home is in its gushing caves, 
 Beneath the waters, whether tame or rent. 
 Would I could roam down where the Mermaid laves 
 Her half-formed limbs ! — for Envy comes not there. 
 Nor Pride nor Hatred, nor is Malice sent. 
 Nor the deep sullenness of dark Despair. 
 Would I were not of earth — ^but of the sea ! 
 And held communion with its creatures fair : 
 Gentle in its gentleness, but whene'er 
 A tempest shook it, and the winds were free. 
 My bounding spirit would dehght to soar, 
 Float in its foam, and revel in its roar !
 
 105 
 
 MOUNT HOREB. (5) 
 
 Oh, Holy Mount ! on every side 
 Deserts are stretching far and wide, 
 Wliere thou, uptowering to the sky, 
 Dost shoot thy double head on high. 
 Mount Horeb, and Mount Sinai ; 
 And when the weary traveller stands. 
 Alone amid the sterile sands, 
 Seeking for water, vain pursuit. 
 To quench his thirst, grown absolute, 
 Groaning, as fainter grows his hope, 
 For water ! — water ! — but a drop, 
 His ever burning thirst t' appease ; 
 He through the sudden moonlight sees 
 Thy dark and shadowy masses rise, 
 A solace to his weary eyes ; 
 Then gladly on he wends, for he 
 Becomes refreshed at sight of thee ;
 
 106 MOUNT HOREB. 
 
 For well he knows, that springs and fruit, 
 Above, below, thy sides salute ; 
 For o'er the wastes of Rephidim, 
 There is no spot of peace for him. 
 Until he reach the rock, whence burst 
 A well, to quench the raging tliu'st 
 Of Israel, when they murmured there. 
 For water, in then* deep despair. 
 
 Thrice Sacred Mount ! how oft hast thou, 
 (Though none but pUgrims tread thee now,) 
 Been hallowed as the blest abode 
 Of the Most High ! Jehovah ! God ! 
 Whene'er in furthering his plan 
 Of mercy and of love to man, 
 He deigned to touch our earth, to hold 
 Communion with his Seers of old, 
 His presence consecrated thee, 
 His temple and his throne to be. 
 'Twas on thy Mount that God, concealed 
 Within the biu-ning bush, revealed 
 To Moses his command, to free 
 His people from their slavery.
 
 MOUNT HOREB. 107 
 
 There, from the midst of fire and flame, 
 He did his perfect law proclaim : 
 Then seemed God's presence in their sight, 
 A great, a mighty burst of Kght 
 Upon thy topmost mount, a fire 
 Devouring, brighter, deeper, higher, 
 Than e'er their eyes beheld, a cro^^Ti 
 Of glory on thy head, that down 
 Through all the desert brightness past. 
 Like wild flame from a holocaust : 
 And gazing on thy glorious height, 
 Israel was dazzled by the sight 
 Of that intolerable light. 
 
 Pursued by persecution's flame, 
 Elijah to the desert came ; 
 And as he rested in thy cave, 
 Which shelter and concealment gave, 
 God spoke ! he lay entranced in fear, 
 " Elijah ! speak ! what dost thou here ?" 
 He answered, — " Jezabel abhorred 
 Hath put the prophets to the sword. 
 And I alone escaped, to be 
 A prophet and a priest to thee."
 
 108 MOXJNT HOREB. 
 
 Then the Ahnighty gave command, 
 
 " Go forth, and on the mountain stand I" 
 
 But ere Elijah could reply, 
 
 A great and mighty Avind passed by, 
 
 Which rent the mountains and the rocks 
 
 In pieces, by resistless shocks : 
 
 The desert sands uprose afar. 
 
 Moving like giant forms in war ; 
 
 But, when the tempest ceased to rave, 
 
 Elijah still within the cave, 
 
 Remained unhurt, unmoved, alone — 
 
 A mighty earthquake's shock anon 
 
 Shook to its base the Sacred Mount, 
 
 And soon a fire, like a small fount, 
 
 Came bursting from the highest spot, 
 
 Increasing, but consuming not. 
 
 The earthquake vanished as it came. 
 
 And after it that holy flame ; 
 
 And hark ! a still small voice was heard, 
 
 Like sweetest music from a bird ; 
 
 A still small voice ! that speaks to youth 
 
 Of wisdom, piety, and truth : 
 
 Elijah heard — with solemn pace, 
 
 (His mantle covering his face,)
 
 MOirNT HOREB. 109 
 
 He rose and stood without the cave. 
 Relying on God's power to save : 
 The hurricane had past away, 
 And calm and bright the prospect lay ; 
 Far up the double mountain stood, 
 Varied by water and by wood ; 
 He saw the herbage thickly grow, 
 The bubbling springs, and far below 
 He saw the semicircular fount, 
 That like a bent bow skirts the mount ; 
 He saw the desert spread beneath. 
 Like an extended vale of death ; 
 He saw the blue sky far above, 
 Light up in one bright blaze of love ; 
 A burst of sun-shine fell on him, 
 To which all other light was dim ; 
 He heard again that still small voice, 
 Which made his inmost heart rejoice : 
 It was the Lord ! and power he gave 
 Elijah, to anoint and save. 
 
 Thrice Blessed Mount ! thou art a sign, 
 A type of penitence divine ;
 
 110 MOUNT HOREB. 
 
 Whene'er in darkness and in fear, 
 We wander in the desert drear 
 Of sin, and doubt, the welcome hght 
 Of truth breaks sudden, on our sight ; 
 The heart becomes a hallowed dome, 
 Where holy feelings find a home ; 
 For there the law of God secure. 
 Makes every thought and impulse pure : 
 Repentance may be slow to bring 
 Comfort and healing on its wing ; 
 The doubting sinner in despair, 
 Asks, trembhng, in a hurried prayer, 
 If guilt like his, of foulest trace, 
 Can hope for pardon and for grace : 
 But, when such doubts are swept away, 
 The still small voice of truth bears sway 
 For Jesus died and rose agam. 
 To free the world from guUt and pain : 
 Jesus, the only Son of God, 
 Like Moses, takes the gospel rod, 
 And strikes the barren rock within. 
 Hardened by wickedness and sin — 
 Whence sprmgs a Hving well, to free 
 The thirsty soul from misery.
 
 LINES WRITTEN BENEATH AN ELM. Ill 
 
 He, like EUjah from his cave, 
 
 Came to the world with power to save ; 
 
 And Israel, trusting to his aid, 
 
 Shall innocent and pure be made ; 
 
 Redeemed, shall reach the heavenly land, 
 
 Supported by his mighty hand. 
 
 WRITTEN BENEATH AN ELM, 
 
 hi a City ChurcfiyartI . 
 
 Under thy shadow how many recline, 
 Who never knew rest 'neath the fig-tree or vine !* 
 They pass from the banquet, the maU and the mart, 
 Here they meet, here they mingle, never to part. 
 
 Who comes from the porch, with colourless vest. 
 And faded black coat, once the minister's best ? 
 The mattock and shovel support him like staves. 
 As he totters familiarly over the graves. 
 
 * Micah iv. 4.
 
 112 LIIfES WRITTEN BENEATH AN ELM. 
 
 'Tis the hoary old sexton, whose home has been here, 
 Since the days of his boyhood — and now he is sere ; 
 These mounds are liis world — he can name all the 
 
 lairs, 
 As a monarch his realms, or a merchant liis wares. 
 
 Yet though he apportions a dwelling for all, 
 
 And delights when he handles the mattock and pall ; 
 
 Though his thin hairs are gray, and though feeble 
 
 his pace. 
 He ne'er for himself yet has chosen a place. 
 
 Thou wert here when his sire did this office fulfil — 
 
 When the son too is gone, thou wilt blossom here 
 still : 
 
 How strange that the grass, and the trees, and the 
 weeds. 
 
 Flourish best on that spot whence corruption pro- 
 ceeds ! 
 
 On thy trunk some rude sculptor has carved out his 
 
 name — 
 Idle labour ! for fleeting and false is such fame :
 
 LINES WRITTEN BENEATH AN ELM. 113 
 
 Lo ! wherever we look there is charactered stone, 
 But to whom is the dust each commemorates known ? 
 
 Oh ! bury me not by the multitude's side, 
 
 I would shun them in death, as in life I avoid ; 
 
 Where the loathsome newt creeps, 'neath the rank 
 
 hemlock's shade, 
 Is not where I would that my bones should be laid. 
 
 But bear me away to the limitless sea. 
 
 And heave me afar 'mong its billows so free : 
 
 Where my flesh may be wasted, but never shall 
 
 rot — 
 Where man is not dust, and corruption is not. 
 
 Oh deUght ! to be tost from wild wave to wild 
 
 wave — 
 I seek not for rest — ^it is found in the grave — 
 And my skeleton bleach on the foam it is cast — 
 A link of the future — a wreck of the past. 
 
 But alas ! if the doom of my kind must be mine, 
 If my bones in the land of decay must recline ;
 
 114 LINES WRITTEN BENEATH AN ELM. 
 
 Seek me out some lone glen, some mid Highland 
 
 vale, 
 Where the tempest's loud shriek shall my coronach 
 
 wail. 
 
 A rude rugged land, with a wild heather sod, 
 Wliere the sun never shone, where man's foot never 
 
 trod ; 
 Where the gleam of the day falls Avith withering 
 
 blight, 
 And a desolate darkness comes A\T[th the night. 
 
 Where the water-fall roars like a storm o'er the 
 
 heath, 
 The scathed Pine above, and the hoar Elm beneath ; 
 'Mongst the lone, and the mighty, the vast and the 
 
 deep — 
 'Tis there, as their own, that a Poet should sleep.
 
 115 
 
 THE WELLS 0' WEARY. 
 
 Do^VN in the valley lone, 
 
 Far in the wild wood, 
 Bubble forth springs, each one 
 
 Weeping like ehildliood ; 
 Bright on their rushy banks. 
 
 Like joys among sadness. 
 Little flowers bloom in ranks — 
 
 Glimpses of gladness. 
 
 Sweet 'tis to wander forth. 
 
 Like pilgrims at e\en ; 
 Lifting our souls from earth 
 
 To fix them on Heaven ; 
 Then in our transport deep. 
 
 This world forsaking : 
 Sleeping as Angels sleep, 
 
 Mortals awaking I
 
 116 
 
 DRYBURGH ABBEY. (6) 
 
 By Tweed's fair stream, in a secluded spot, 
 
 Rises an ivy-crowned monastic pile ; 
 
 Beneath its shadow sleeps the Wizaud, Scott ; 
 
 A Ruin is his resting-place — no vile 
 
 Unconseerated grave-yard is the soil — 
 
 Few moulder there, but these the loved, the good, 
 
 The honoured, and the famed — and sweet flowers 
 
 smile 
 Around the precincts of the Abbeyhood, 
 While Cedar, Oak, and Yew adorn that solitude. 
 
 Hail, Dryburgh ! to thy sylvan shades all haU ! — 
 As to a shrine, from places far away. 
 With awe-struck spirit, to thy classic vale 
 Shall pilgruns come, to muse, perchance to pray ; 
 More hallowed now than in thy elder day. 
 For sacred is the earth wherein is laid 
 The Poet's dust ; and stUl his mind, his lay, 
 And his renown, shall flourish undecayed. 
 Like his loved country's fame, that is not doomed 
 to fade.
 
 POEMS HERE FIRST COLLECTED.
 
 119 
 
 COLLECTED POEMS. 
 
 GRACE. 
 
 Come, free-given grace ! source of all lasting peace ; 
 My care-worn heart has wanted thee full long ; 
 The charms of earthly joys and pleasures cease, 
 And fain Fd stray thy tranquil paths among, 
 Where withered weeds and noxious odours strong 
 Come not, as here I find them rankly meet ; 
 Give me thy pleasant ways and thy contentments 
 sweet ! 
 
 Contentments sweet are ever with thee still ; 
 In the lone valley, where the streamlet flows, 
 On distant mountain, on the heath-clad hill, 
 Where springs the daisy, or where blooms the rose. 
 Even in the desert where no green thing grows ;
 
 120 GRACE. 
 
 'Mid trials of this world, whate'er they be, 
 
 Still peace, and joy, and truth accompany with thee. 
 
 With thee there is no darkness ; thou dost show 
 The Sun of Glory shining in His might ; 
 With thee there is no sadness ; thou dost go 
 Into the grief-broke heart, and with the light 
 Of heavenly love mak'st it serene and bright ; 
 Ah ! who that can thy blessings call his own, 
 Would deem himself, with thee, forsaken or alone ? 
 
 Alone ! no, never ! Jesus still is near ; 
 Friendless we cannot be with Him our friend — 
 Our counsellor — although deserted here 
 By all who to that cherished name pretend — 
 His friendship, like Himself, shall have no end ; 
 And for oiu* solace freely is bestowed, 
 Trusting in Him while here, the bounteous grace of 
 God! 
 
 The grace of God softens the hardened heart. 
 And makes it oft in gushing joy to sing ; 
 As rod of Moses caused the rock to part. 
 And made the li\'ing waters forth to spring ; 
 The grace of God serenest pleasures bring,
 
 MATIN. 121 
 
 And leads the mind from carnal thoughts away 
 Into retirements sweet, in solitude to pray. 
 
 To pray ! — blest privilege ! For evermore 
 To pray and praise, and lift the soul above 
 This sordid earth, and, as a lark doth soar, 
 Ascend into the realms of truth and love, 
 Whence once the Spirit came in form of dove ! 
 Thither, oh ! thither would it wing its flight — 
 For ever " take its rest," there where there comes 
 no night ! 
 
 MATIN. 
 
 The gleam of light that passes o'er 
 The world ere dawn of day ; 
 
 That, faintly flashing, shines before 
 The darkness is away : 
 
 Is not the smile of morn, in bright 
 And deeply glorious lines ; 
 
 'Tis the first presage of its light, 
 The morning star that shines.
 
 122 
 
 IMMORTALITY. 
 
 [The following verses were suggested by the striking 
 reply of a Protestant minister, who was about to proceed 
 to Ireland, to labour among the deluded and ignorant Pop- 
 ish peasantry, and who, on being warned by a friend of 
 the personal danger he thereby incurred, nobly answered, 
 " I am immortal, till my work is done !"] 
 
 What nerves the soldier in the field, 
 
 Wlien foes are raging nigh ? 
 What makes him proudly scorn to yield, 
 
 Though numbers round liim die ? 
 The faith that Heaven directs each ball, 
 
 And course that it shall run ; — 
 'Tis, that he knows he will not fall, 
 
 Until his work be done ! 
 
 What makes the sailor on the Avreck, 
 When storms are frowning near. 
 
 Bear up, with heart and form erect 
 His bosom free from fear ? —
 
 niMORTALITT. 123 
 
 'Tis that he feels that God is by, 
 
 To shield him like a son ; — 
 'Tis, that he knows he wLU not die, 
 
 Until his work be done ! 
 
 God holds the winds as by a rein, 
 
 Which still they must obey ; 
 The ocean fierce he doth restrain, 
 
 By his all-guiding sway : 
 The hand that bears the planets high, 
 
 Upholds the fulgent sun, 
 Has fixed the hour that all must die, 
 
 When their set work is done ! 
 
 What arms the martyr 'midst his fires. 
 
 To smile serene at death ; 
 And his whole heart and soul inspires 
 
 With never-changmg faith ? — 
 Until the victor's crown is gained. 
 
 The laurel wi'eath is won ; 
 Th' oppressor's fury is restrained — 
 
 His work must first be done I
 
 124 IMMORTALITY. 
 
 What leads Christ's servant still to dare 
 
 All dangers for his sake, 
 And with unsliaken firmness bear, 
 
 lUs that the boldest shake ? 
 The trust that God is ever nigh, 
 
 To prosper what's begun ; 
 To send a blessing from on high. 
 
 Upon his work when done ! 
 
 And when the good fight he has fought, 
 
 His earthly struggles o'er, 
 He finds the recompense he sought, 
 
 Where grief is felt no more : 
 'Tis then he gains th' appointed prize, 
 
 His trimnph is begun ; — 
 He lives immortal in the skies, 
 
 When all his work is done !
 
 125 
 
 LINES 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF JOHN SINCLAIR, ESQ., 
 
 ~th Alrrit 1844. 
 
 When from its prison-liou.se of clay 
 
 The spirit is unbound, 
 When one we love is borne away 
 
 To the lone narrow mound : 
 We feel as if the charm were gone 
 
 That renders life so dear, 
 And as a darkening cloud were thrown 
 
 O'er all our prospects here. 
 
 And when he died, we mourned for him 
 
 As only they could mourn 
 Who felt as if a precious limb 
 
 Were from the body torn. 
 Gentle and kind, and always true. 
 
 Revered wherever known ; 
 No guile his bosom ever knew, 
 
 'Twas friendship's sacred throne.
 
 12(l LINES ON THE DEATH OF MR J. SINCLAIR. 
 
 From painful days, without relief, 
 
 Death brought at last release ; 
 The change that gave to us but grief 
 
 To him was lasting peace. 
 We bore him to his hill-side grave,* 
 
 To sleep, but not alone ; 
 To kindred dust liis dust we gave, 
 
 To mingle with his OAvn. 
 
 To teach us that our home is not 
 
 Here, wliere we seek to Uve, 
 But that we have a happier lot 
 
 Than aught this world can give. 
 Death comes, — and when right understood 
 
 His lesson sure is blest. — 
 Thus one by one, the loved, the good, 
 
 Are gathered to their rest ! 
 
 * He was interred in the family burying-place, New 
 Oalton Burying-ground, Edinburgh.
 
 127 
 
 WEEP NOT FOR THE DEAD. 
 Jeremiah xxii. 10. 
 
 Oh ! weep not for the dead ; they are at rest — 
 No more shall earthly cares their minds molest ; 
 Waste not a thought on them, nor yet bemoan 
 Who to the grave's cold heritage have gone. 
 
 No sorrow know they in their narrow bed ; 
 They sin no more who slumber with the dead ; 
 They are at rest, from earth-born troubles free,— 
 Fixed is their doom, as lies the stricken tree. 
 
 Weep for yourself — for those who linger here, 
 In pain and sadness, through the varying year ; 
 Still looking through life's vista to the close, 
 Wlien faith in Christ alone can bring repose.
 
 128 WEEP NOT FOR THE DEAD. 
 
 And weep for those who go to other cUmes, 
 With toil and hoarding to gain gold betimes — 
 From friends and country parted, as if nought 
 But this world's fleeting wealth were worth their 
 thought ! 
 
 Weep for the dead in sin — the guilty soul 
 That might, but yet refuses, to be whole — 
 For him who never heard the Saviour's name, 
 For him who, having heard, rejects the same. 
 
 Oh ! weep not for the dead, nor those who go 
 Into mortality's dread depths below ; 
 But weep for those who mourn and suffer here. 
 The slaves of sin, and all its guilty fear !
 
 129 
 
 IDOLS. 
 What have I to do any more with Idols ?" — Hos. xiv. 8. 
 
 Where'er the light of gospel truth 
 
 Has shed its glorious rays, 
 The heart casts off all shapes uncouth, 
 
 And shuns the wonted ways. 
 
 The hills assume a brighter mould, 
 
 The flowers a fairer hue. 
 We quit the fading and the old, 
 
 And seek the fresh and new. 
 
 The dark and dismal thoughts that brood 
 
 Within the carnal mind, 
 Are straightway changed to bright and good, 
 
 When there the truth hath shined :
 
 130 IDOLS. 
 
 As metals in the earth deep set, 
 Though worthless in its womb, 
 
 Refined by skilful art, do yet 
 Precious and rich become. 
 
 But man, degenerate from his birth. 
 Headlong in guilt is diiven. 
 
 Still does liis spirit cling to earth, 
 When it should rise to heaven. 
 
 To vile and perverse courses prone, — 
 
 The viler more his boast. 
 Rejects all guidance save his own, 
 
 And sunk in sm, is lost. 
 
 Like dark and savage men, that dwell 
 
 In soul-benighted lands, 
 That bUndly worship things of hell. 
 
 The work of their own hands. 
 
 For hideous shapes, instead of dread, 
 
 They fierce devotion feel, 
 And the more hideous they are made, 
 
 The greater is their zeal.
 
 IDOLS. 131 
 
 Ye sinners that to Idols bow, 
 
 Let Kght illume your heart, 
 Leave earthborn things to earth below. 
 
 And seek the better part. 
 
 Come to the fountain free to all, 
 
 Drink of the living spring ; 
 Before the cross of Jesus fall, 
 
 And own Him for your King. 
 
 Come from your dark unwholesome holes, 
 
 With hateful things within, 
 Come and seek comfort to your souls, 
 
 And walk no more in sin. 
 
 If self still claims the foremost place. 
 
 Where Christ should reign alone, 
 Self is the Idol that, through grace. 
 
 Must quite be over tin-own. 
 
 The lust and vanity of life, 
 
 All pomp and pride of miad, 
 Are but the source of grief and strife. 
 
 And leave no joy behind :
 
 132 TRUTH. 
 
 Jesus alone is Sovereign King, 
 In Earth and Heaven above ; 
 
 And why should we to Idols cUng, 
 When we have Him to love? 
 
 TRUTH. 
 
 It is not in the heart of thought, 
 
 Nor in the breast of care ; 
 That truth its dwelling-place has sought, 
 
 For all is sterile there : 
 
 Nor is it in the mind, where gay 
 
 Delusive visions throng. 
 That chastening truth can find a way 
 
 Its glittering dreams among : 
 
 Yet as Avithin the desert far. 
 
 There are reflections given 
 Of light, so in the heart there are 
 
 Remembrances of Heaven.
 
 133 
 
 SABBATH MORN. 
 
 On Sabbath morn, one feels 
 
 Exalted 'bove the world, and longs to go 
 Forth to the house of God ; and, as the slow 
 
 And solemn church-chime on hira steals, 
 
 Ho seems to tread the height 
 
 Of Heaven, rise with his risen Lord, and there 
 Pour out his soul in never-ceasing prayer, 
 
 And worsliij) with the saints in light. 
 
 And peace, and joy, and faith 
 
 Are his, and all things that the earth contains. 
 And all above, through the Redeemer's pains, 
 
 And groans, and victory o'er death ! 
 
 Glory to Him who wiUed 
 
 That man should live, not die ! to Him who made 
 The Sabbath for our comfort, and who said 
 
 The soul on Christ its hopes should build !
 
 134 
 
 SABBATH EVE. 
 
 On Sabbath eve, how sad, 
 
 Yet sweet, the thoughts that come into the mind, 
 Unbid, but not unwelcome, and wliich find 
 
 Communion there, and to its solace add. 
 
 The world seems bright no more ; 
 
 Its witching charms are gone, its voice is dumb : 
 Vauily its pleasures to the soul say " Come I" 
 
 The wish for their enjo^Tnent now is o'er. 
 
 Thoughts of the dead are they 
 
 Which then we feel, low whispering to the heart. 
 Telling that we, like them, must soon depart. 
 
 And, with them, go to dull and cold decay. 
 
 How strange it is, in sooth, 
 
 That Sabbath morn and eve should, to the breast, 
 Weary with cares of life, bring thoughts of Rest — 
 
 Strong proof of its great purpose and its truth I
 
 135 
 
 DREAMS OF THE LIVING. 
 
 No golden di-eams, near quiet streams, 
 On swelling slopes, no high-reached hopes ; 
 
 These of themselves are mute : 
 The spirit wakes, the fancies shoot 
 Where Nature points, but she 
 Thought curbs, not renders free, 
 Unless her portals wide she opes. 
 
 And gives of Truth the fruit. 
 
 And man, a dreamer from his youth. 
 
 Ne'er knoweth, nor can know, the truth, 
 
 Save when Rehgion with its light 
 
 Shines on his mind, to guide his sight. 
 
 From every day that dawns, lie claims 
 
 New thoughts, new fancies, and new aims, 
 
 That lead to nothing, nothing leave. 
 
 But vague ideas that deceive ! 
 
 K
 
 136 DEEAMS OF THE LIVING. 
 
 Boyhood is dreaming, when it quits 
 Substantial joys for counterfeits ; 
 Courts pleasure as a lasting thing, 
 Nor deems it bears a hidden sting ; 
 And yields all feeling and all sense. 
 For hopes that bring no recompense. 
 Well, when its follies it forsakes, 
 And from its feverish dreams awakes ! 
 
 The loveliness of woman gives 
 More cause for dreams than aught that hves ; 
 And youth, when it aspires to find 
 Gladness in beauty, wanting mind, 
 Like guileless chUd, is ever dreaming 
 Of joy and brightness only seeming; 
 And knows not, till the dream is past. 
 What spells around the heart are cast. 
 
 And manhood dreams, — when o'er the soul 
 Ambition has secured control, — 
 Of power, and wealth, and worldly state. 
 And aU the splendours of the great : 
 Builds monuments, to which decay 
 Clings as a resting-place and prey,
 
 DREAMS OF THE LIVING. 137 
 
 Nor thinks how weak are all his pains, 
 When nothing at the last remains. 
 
 And age, that ought to know the best, 
 Is but a dreamer like the rest ; 
 O'erlooking, in its downward pace, 
 The landmarks of its upward race ; 
 No wisdom from the past it earns. 
 And from the present only learns 
 To di"ead the future ; and its staff 
 Writes its own weary epitaph. 
 
 What dream they of ? Earth, with its feelings cold, 
 Its passions withered, tales that have been told. 
 And generations dead — the same dull tone 
 That from the chambers of the past hath gone. 
 Is echoed now ; but, as before, its strain, 
 For warning, or for teacliing, is in vain ! 
 
 And hearts on which has come the earl}' blight, 
 And hopes that never knew aught here but slight, 
 And scattered flowers, and blossoms tossed an<i 
 
 shaken. 
 And promises foregone, and trusts forsaken.
 
 138 DREAMS OF THE LIVING. 
 
 Still show men's visions false, but still they cherish 
 Dreams of the earth, which only lure to perish. 
 
 No glow of life, no ante-taste of heaven, 
 From sordid earthborn thoughts like theirs is given ; 
 But disappointment, with its lagging train 
 Of blighted prospects, tells that all is vain ; 
 Yet to this earth's allurements fixed, the heart, 
 Like a wrecked vessel, drifts, without a chart. 
 Truth teaches higher hopes, and better things. 
 And o'er the mind a lasting solace brings. 
 
 Oh ! that the soul on Heaven were ever bent, 
 And all its feelings thitherward were sent ! 
 Then would our visions from the world arise. 
 Clear as the sun, and radiant as the skies : 
 Visions of light and love that ne'er decay. 
 No strifes to scare, no terrors to dismay ; 
 But peace, unchanging as the Christian's faith — 
 Peace in our life, untroubled hope in death !
 
 139 
 
 LINES. 
 
 Man knows he is immortal : there's within 
 
 A principle that tells him that his soul, 
 
 Which in himself exists, shall never die, 
 
 Although his outward tenement becomes, 
 
 By the slow-wasting chemistry of death, 
 
 Forgotten, undistinguishable dust. 
 
 His mind, his heart, his impulses, are all 
 
 Subservient to his soul, his noblest part, 
 
 That came from God, returns to God again. 
 
 If he his passions could o'ercome and sway. 
 
 Place Prudence as a wary sentinel 
 
 On all his words and purposes, that trip 
 
 He might in neither, he were great indeed I 
 
 But sense and selfishness his judgment warp, 
 
 And so debase his nature, that, having not 
 
 Of his own mind the moral mastery, 
 
 His thoughts, affections, powers, and faculties, 
 
 Are under the dominion of a yoke 
 
 More galling than a tyrant's. Slave of Sin I
 
 140 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 Written on I'iemng the Picture of " The Deluge," painted by F. Danby, Es:j., A. It. A . 
 
 We gaze in awe upon the solemn scene, 
 
 With sense and soul absorbed, as if the sight 
 Were tranced in that o'erpowering vengeful light 
 
 Which shrouds the setting sun ; and what has been 
 A world is now a waste of waters, liigher 
 
 And darker SAvells the flood, like one vast pall 
 Thrown o'er the guilty ones of earth, Heaven's ire 
 
 Who braved ere-while. — How fearful, how sub- 
 lime. 
 How terrible the sight ! — widely they climb. 
 
 To rock and mountain top to 'scape their doom, 
 While rushing torrents, dome and palace hall, 
 
 The work of man with man himself, consume ; 
 Nor these alone ! Rock, cliff, and mountain grey, 
 
 God's handiwork, become with man, their prey !
 
 SONNETS. 141 
 
 How vast the guilt that thus eoukl doom a world 
 
 So beautiful as ours was ere man sinned, — 
 The waters sweeping, like a mighty wind, 
 
 To whelm the earth, from its foundations hurled ; 
 All nature stood aghast, its course was changed — 
 
 A comet threw afar its lurid gleam, 
 Up--broke the fountains of the ocean stream. 
 
 While a fierce earthqualce thro' the centre ranged, 
 Shattering the mountains in its might. — How vain 
 
 Was then the strength of man, as poor his pride, 
 To stem the onsweep of that ceaseless tide, 
 
 Which desolation spread o'er mount and plain ! 
 Anguish and terror, madness and despair, 
 
 Took hold on all, before they perished there ! 
 
 A towering rock, whose shadow in past days 
 
 Was hailed by weary ones a place of rest, 
 Aftbrds brief shelt'er on its shelving breast 
 
 To struggling sufferers crowding from all ways, 
 Trampling their fellows down for life, sweet life ! 
 
 Alas 1 the Judgment's on them, they as well 
 Might build their hopes on sand, as stay the swell 
 
 Of the full flood and elemental strife.
 
 142 THOUGHT. 
 
 Yet has not God forgotten all his love 
 To sinful men, the Arm they madly bi-ave 
 
 " Tliough strong to smite is also strong to save' 
 The ark floats high a buried world above ! 
 
 While o'er a lifeless pair, to Heaven still dear, 
 A kneeling Angel drops a pitying tear ! (7) 
 
 THOUGHT. 
 
 Like one who on a mountain stands. 
 When morning into day expands, 
 And, as a glory, views from Heaven 
 The plenteousness of brightness given ; 
 Even so is he, who marks remote 
 The early cheering dawn of thought 
 Advancing o'er th' awakened mind, 
 Till truth, within the soul defined, 
 Spreads light and knowledge in the breast. 
 And sets all doubts and feai-s at rest.
 
 143 
 
 LINES. 
 
 WRITTEN ON THE ATTEMPTED ASSASSINATION 
 OF THE QUEEN. 
 
 Wth July 1840. 
 
 Faik as the summer in its joyous prime, 
 Free from all thoughts of guile, all dread of ill, 
 Unconscious that a traitor could exist 
 Witliin her wide dominions, forth she came, 
 Young, happy, unattended, save by him. 
 The husband she had chosen from the world ; 
 All hearts her own — no other guard she wished — 
 When ambushed treason aimed its coward blow. 
 Which Heaven ordamed should harmless pass her by, 
 In mercy to the realms that own her sway. 
 
 Ah ! had the public foe, in hostile league, 
 Come openly against her life and crown. 
 The chivalry of England, not yet dead, 
 Had promptly flown to arms, and formed
 
 144 LINES. 
 
 Around her then a shield impenetrable, 
 Her sacred person to defend, or die. 
 From out of England's millions, only one 
 Was found, so void of all the feelings of a man, 
 As point a deadly weapon at the breast 
 Of England's pride — a woman and a Queen ! 
 Then the high bravery of her race was shown ; 
 She blenched not, quivered not, but sat erect ; 
 Wliile, with the lion courage of the Saxon, 
 Which both their hearts inspired, her consort threw 
 Himself at once between her and the danger, 
 To shield the life so dear to him and us. 
 
 The loyal heart of Britain beat with joy 
 At their escape — the young, the loved, the true ! 
 Many and fervent Avere the prayers breathed 
 To Heaven, that they might live extended years. 
 And each year, as it came, their happiness 
 Increase, and ours ! Thus let the traitor's hopes 
 For ever end, thus fruitless be his aims — 
 His snares recoil upon himself alone ! 
 
 How beautiful the trait of filial love, 
 
 Of reverence daughterly, was then CAinced,
 
 LUTES. 145 
 
 When, freed from danger from th' assassin's arm, 
 She promptly to her mother hastes, herself 
 To be the foremost bearer of the tidings. 
 And, in her own particular person, bring 
 The proof and the assurance of her safety, 
 Ere Rumour's tongue had magnified details ! 
 Ah ! worthy of her people's love, is she 
 Who thus could show the veneration due, 
 At such a time, to her who gave her being ! 
 
 The ways of men are in the hands of One 
 Who cannot err ; the destinies of all 
 On earth, peasants as well as potentates, 
 Are under His sole guardianship and guidance. 
 A truism this ; yet there are men who doubt. 
 Nay, worse, deny it ; even though instances, 
 Occurring daUy, show the constant care 
 Of Providence o'er thoughtless, sinful men. 
 
 How oft does evil o'er our head impend. 
 
 And we not know it, till the danger's past ! 
 
 How oft, when evil comes, provided is 
 
 A remedy, we know not how or whence ! 
 
 Ah! blind, and worse than blind, are they who doubt.
 
 146 LINES. 
 
 The brutish beasts that roam the fields and woods, 
 And never heard of God, or gospel truth, 
 Of Christ and his salvation, better are, 
 And wiser, than the Atheist and Sceptic. 
 
 High is the sovereign's power, and great the sway 
 Which kings possess ; but, higher, greater stUl 
 Is His, the King of Kings, who overrules 
 AU tilings for good to them who love lois laws. 
 
 Tyrants have had avengers, but the good 
 
 Need fear no peril, di'ead no coming iU ; 
 
 Their trust in One who fails not, cannot fail ; 
 
 In whose hand is the breath of princes held, 
 
 As much as meaner men's. To Him thy way commit.
 
 147 
 
 I'M NAEBODY NOO. 
 
 The cjrnplaiTit of an old 7nan reduced in Vie world. ConiribuU;d to the Book of 
 Scottish Song, 
 
 I'm naebody noo, though in clays that are gane, 
 Whan I'd hooses, and lands, and gear o' my ain, 
 There war' mony to flatter, and mony to praise, 
 And wha but mysel' was sae prood in those days ! 
 
 Ah ! then roun' my table wad visitors thrang, 
 Wha laughed at my joke, and applauded my sang. 
 Though the tane had nae point, and the tither nae 
 
 glee; 
 But of coorse they war' grand when comin' frae 
 
 me ! 
 
 Whan I'd plenty to gie, o' my clieer and my crack, 
 Tliere war' plenty to come, and wi' joy to partak' ; 
 But whanever the water grew scant at the well, 
 I was welcome to drink all alane by mysel'.
 
 148 fM NAEBODY NOO. 
 
 Sae lang as my bottle was ready and free, 
 Friends in dozens I had wha then crooded to prie, 
 They sat ower the toddy until they war' fou, — 
 Noo I drink by mysel', for I'm naebody noo. 
 
 Whan I'd nae need o' aid, there were plenty to 
 
 proffer, 
 And noo whan I want it, I ne'er get the oifer ; 
 I could greet whan I think hoc my siller decreast, 
 In the feasting o' those who came only to feast. 
 
 The fulsome respec' to my gowd they did gie, 
 I thought a' the time was intended for me. 
 But whanever the end o' my money they saw, 
 Their friendship, like it, also flickered awa'. 
 
 My advice ance was sought for by folks far and 
 
 near. 
 Sic great wisdom I had ere I tint a' my gear, 
 I'm as weel able yet to gie counsel, that's true, 
 But I may jist hand my wheesht, for I'm naebody 
 
 noo.
 
 149 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Contribute d to the Book of Scottish Son^f. 
 
 There's plenty come to woo me, 
 
 And ca' me sweet and fair, 
 There's plenty say they lo'e me, 
 
 But they never venture mair : 
 They never say they'll marry, 
 
 Though love is all their tune, 
 From June to Janu-a-ry, 
 
 From January to June. 
 
 I canna keep frae smilin', 
 
 At their flatteries and art ; 
 Wi' a' their fond beguilin', 
 
 They'll ne'er beguile my heart. 
 For nought can fix a maiden 
 
 Whase heart is warm and true, 
 But vows wi' marriage laden. 
 
 Though mony come to woo.
 
 150 SONG. 
 
 That a's no gowd that glitters 
 
 I've either heard or read, 
 And marriage has its bitters, 
 
 As well as sweets, is said. 
 But though it gets the blame o' 
 
 Some things that winna' tell, 
 The fau't that folks complain o' 
 
 Lies often wi' themsel'. 
 
 The year, as on it ranges. 
 
 Within its twelvemonths' fa', 
 Shows many sudden changes, 
 
 And's lightsome wi' them a' ; 
 Though winter's tempests thicken, 
 
 Spring comes wi' cheerful face ; 
 And summer smiles to quicken 
 
 A' nature wi' its grace. 
 
 The year of life is marriage, 
 And we canna wed too sune. 
 
 Whan twa divide the carriage. 
 The wark is cheerily dune.
 
 THE STOUT OLD BRITISH SHIP. 151 
 
 If one true heart wad hae me, 
 
 For better and for worse, 
 Wi' him I'd gladly share aye 
 
 The blessing and the curse. 
 
 THE STOUT OLD BRITISH SHIP. 
 
 Hurrah ! for the stout old British ship, 
 
 The monarch of the sea ! 
 That bounds like a greyhound from the slip, 
 
 When the sails are loosened free ! 
 That, spite of the storm and deadly gun. 
 
 Ne'er yet its course gave o'er ; 
 And never knew what 'twas to run 
 
 A hostile flag before ! 
 It long has the bulwark been of our rights. 
 
 Of our freedom still the stay ; 
 Then give to the brave old British ship, 
 
 Tliree British cheers — hurrah !
 
 152 THE STOUT OLD BRITISH SHH*. 
 
 When Nelson trode its quarter-deck, 
 
 Its glory was in its prime ; 
 Victory he had at his finger-beck, 
 
 As proved in every clime : 
 Then England was honoured and feared by all, 
 
 And nations sung her praise ; 
 But that is a tale we may not recall 
 
 In these degenerate days : 
 For the stout old ship lies idly ashore, 
 
 Laid up like a useless tree ; 
 Its battles and cruises now are o'er, 
 
 Though it still is fit for sea ! 
 
 The vaunting foreigner long has felt 
 
 Its thunders on the main, 
 And he smiles when he thinks the blows it dealt 
 
 Shall ne'er be dealt again. 
 But the spirit of Nelson is not dead. 
 
 It bounds in a hundred hearts. 
 And his story of fame is remembered and read, 
 
 And studied with our charts !
 
 THE STOUT OLD BRITISH SHIP. 1 53 
 
 For cherished with care is the glory it won, 
 
 The meed of a thousand years ; 
 And its foes will fly as they often have done, 
 
 When the stout old ship appears ! 
 
 When the brave old ship, as bright as morn, 
 
 Hoists high its well-known flag ; 
 The flag that has still been unsullied borne, 
 
 Since the days of Drake and Sprague. 
 Let's see who'll dare dispute its right. 
 
 To the empire of the main, 
 'Twill prove its title clear and bright, 
 
 Against the world again ! 
 Then give to the stout old British ship. 
 
 Of our freedom still the stay, 
 That long has the bulwark been of our rights, 
 
 Three British cheers — hurrah !
 
 154 
 
 LINES, 
 
 ON THE INFANT SON AND DAUGHTER OF THE 
 HON. COL. MONTAGUE. 
 
 How fair is chUdhood ; like the ray 
 Of summer morn, the blush of day. 
 Bright scions of a noble race, 
 Blooming in love and youthful grace, 
 In innocence and beauty's pride ! 
 As rosebuds blossoming at ease, 
 Showering their beauties on the breeze, 
 On some green mountain's side. 
 
 High thoughts are mth that lovely boy, 
 In wliose dark eye beams radiant joy ; 
 May blessings on his years attend, 
 And Heaven its choicest favours send !
 
 LINES. 155 
 
 Hope of an honourable line, 
 With feeling heart and mind endued, 
 May health, and peace, and every good. 
 And length of life, be thine. 
 
 Oh ! love it is a blessed thing. 
 And to the heart doth comfort bring ; 
 But the fond throb that for a brother 
 A sister feels, excels all other, 
 Save only that by parents known : 
 Sweet maid, a pure affection cheers 
 Thy gentle heart, and still endears 
 Thy very smile and tone. 
 
 No cares upon those brows of light, 
 Round which the tresses cluster bright. 
 •Like mossy flowers 'mong sunshine blended, 
 Have yet, with envious trace, descended : 
 But all is happiness and mirth, — 
 Ye look like cherubs sent from Heaven, 
 With hope, and joy, and beauty given, 
 To cheer this Aveary earth. 
 
 1838.
 
 156 
 
 THE MARTYRS. 
 
 Faithful to God, 'mid persecutions dire, 
 The lion-hearts of old still firmly stood, 
 
 Unawed by terrors of the block or fire, 
 
 For truth "and freedom freely gave then* blood 
 
 The pari) of duty lay before them plain. 
 
 And boldly they advanced, nor turned again. 
 
 A throne east down, erected was once more, 
 An exiled king, a nation, welcomed back ; 
 
 Planted in blood it was, and tears, and gore. 
 Its only props the scaffold and the rack ; 
 
 And there the brave and good did nobly fall, 
 
 That Clivist the Sa^dour might be all in all,
 
 THE MARTYRS. 157 
 
 Calmly the martyr Guthrie met his fate, 
 
 A victim to oppression's cruel laws, 
 Nor would, for proudest prelate's form and state, 
 
 A traitor turn to his dear Master's cause ; 
 With him no joy on earth so great could be, 
 As thus to die for Chiist's supremacy. 
 
 On the lone mountains of theu* native land, 
 Where blooms the heather fragrantly and fair, 
 
 In the green valleys waved by breezes bland. 
 Struck mercUessly down while met in prayer, 
 
 Lie Scotland's martyrs in their nameless moulds, 
 
 Sustained by Him who the great worlds upholds. (8.)
 
 158 
 
 CALEDONIA, MY COUNTRY: 
 
 Caledonia, my country ! How bright is the fame, 
 Like a halo of glory, that circles thy name ; 
 When thy children remember their fathers' renown, 
 Can they, faithless, consent e'er to sully thy crown ? 
 
 In the battles of freedom, the hot fields of fight, 
 Thy great men of old stoutly fought for the right ; 
 By their conquering swords, blessed and aided by 
 
 Heaven, 
 The hosts of the foe from our country were driven. 
 
 In the fair realms of song thy sons also excel. 
 Midst the gifted of earth do their memories dwell ; 
 And of praise of thy minstrels, from nations around, 
 StiU the echo returns, with a flattering sound.
 
 CALEDONIA, MY COUNTRY ! 159 
 
 But purer, and brighter, and higher, by far, 
 Than of those that have triumphed in song or in 
 
 war, 
 Are the names, — never breathed but with love they 
 
 are heard, — 
 Of thy fearless Reformers, tliy Martyrs revered. 
 
 Now thy sword is at rest, and thy harp is laid by. 
 But the sword of the Spirit still waves from on 
 
 high, 
 And the harp of the Lord sounds in majesty forth, 
 As of yore it was heard from the lands of the north. 
 
 Again, oh, my country ! on thy hills of renown, 
 Oppression, relentless, has darkly come down — 
 On the breeze of the mountain is borne the loud 
 
 wail. 
 And the lowlands reply to the wrongs of the Gael. 
 
 From the dark page of history shadows are cast, 
 And the woes of the future loom out from the past ; 
 There are omens of evil, enshrouded in blood. 
 But in midst of them all, there are tokens of good.
 
 160 
 
 I CANNA SLEEP. 
 
 Written in 1833. Contributed to the Book of Scottish Soiig. 
 
 I CANNA sleep a wink, lassie, 
 
 When I gang to bed at night, 
 But still o' thee I think, lassie, 
 
 Till morning sheds its light. 
 I lie an' think o' thee, lassie, 
 
 And I toss frae side to side, 
 Like a vessel on the sea, lassie, 
 
 When stoi-my is the tide. 
 
 My heart is no my ain, lassie, 
 
 It winna bide wi' me, 
 Like a birdie it has gane, lassie, 
 
 To nestle saft wi' thee.
 
 I CAI«^"A SLEEP. 161 
 
 I canna lure it back, lassie, 
 
 Sae keep it to yoursel' ; 
 But oh ! it sune will brak, lassie, 
 
 If you dinna use it well. 
 
 Where the treasure is they say, lassie, 
 
 The spirit lingers there. 
 An' mine has fled away, lassie. 
 
 You needna' ask me where. 
 I marvel oft if rest, lassie, 
 
 On my eyes and heart wad bide, 
 If I thy troth possessed, lassie, 
 
 And thou wert at my side.
 
 162 
 
 YONDER SUNNY BRAE. 
 
 On yonder sunny brae we met, 
 
 Amid the summer flowers ; 
 And never can my heart forget 
 
 The rapture of those hours, 
 When she I loved forsook her liome 
 
 And there with me did stray, 
 Oh ! oft delighted did we roam 
 
 On yonder sunny brae. 
 
 The gushing of the waterfall. 
 
 The sunshine of the sky. 
 The bloom, the balm, and, more than all, 
 
 The sparkle of her eye, 
 Brought to my heart a blissful tide 
 
 That drove all care away. 
 And I was happy at her side. 
 
 On vender sunnv brae.
 
 YONDER SUNNY BRAE. 163 
 
 'Twas there I breathed my fondest vow, 
 
 Nor told my love in vain ; 
 And I am happy with her now, 
 
 Though years have passed since then. 
 No sweeter scene my eyes shall see 
 
 Though far my steps should stray : 
 There's not a spot so dear to me 
 
 As vender sunny brae.
 
 THE EAGLE'S NEST, 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 HERE FIRST PRINTED.
 
 167 
 
 THE EAGLE'S NEST. 
 
 Grace Adam was a farmer's daughter, 
 Her youth in the far west was spent, 
 
 Where Mississippi's mighty water 
 Rolls like a flood that will have vent. 
 
 She was a blooming country maiden, 
 Like those one sees in market towns. 
 
 With egg and butter baskets laden. 
 
 Dressed in their smartest hats and gowias. 
 
 In household work and dairy labours 
 Her time passed pleasantly away, 
 
 A pattern she to all the neighbours, 
 Healthy and cheerful as the day. 
 
 M
 
 168 THE eagle's nest. 
 
 Grace Adam was a farmer's daughter, — 
 Some share of beauty she could boast, 
 
 And lovers, near and far oil', sought her. 
 Each strmng who could flatter most. 
 
 From 'mong them all her heart selected 
 One gentle youth who seemed sincere, 
 
 He was by every one respected, 
 And more it needs not saying here. 
 
 Within an outfield stood an only 
 
 Old beech-tree, lightning-smote, and dead,- 
 Its branches bare, and bleached, and lonely. 
 
 An eagle built its nest amid. 
 
 Forsook the mountain's summit hoary, 
 The beetling chfF above the sea. 
 
 Sought not the forests of Missouri, 
 But sheltered on this shattered tree.
 
 THE eagle's nest. 169 
 
 And oft to see this noble creature, 
 Many there came from parts thereby, 
 
 Training its young, as is its nature. 
 To spread their wings and upward Hy. 
 
 Among the rest a student, rambling 
 In woods and meadows, also came. 
 
 In search of useful knowledge scrambling. 
 Wherever he could find the same. 
 
 Grace Adam was a farmer's daughter, — 
 Her father had approved her choice ; 
 
 For duty and her feelings taught her 
 'Twere best to have her parents' voice. 
 
 Oft as the summer sunset glowing 
 
 Came down in splendour o'er the west, 
 
 The lovers forth together going, 
 Would wander to the eagle's nest.
 
 170 THE eagle's nest. 
 
 And there in courtship sweet and prudent 
 The happy hours fast slipt away ; — 
 
 And often there, too, came the student, 
 To watch the birds at close of day. 
 
 And so they soon became acquainted, 
 He knew they were betrothed before ; 
 
 But while theii- future bliss they painted. 
 His object still was to explore. 
 
 The marriage-day, longed for yet dreaded 
 By maidens fair, at last came round, 
 
 Grace Adam and her love were wedded, 
 With hope and every blessing crowned. 
 
 Their home was in a distant city 
 
 Far, far from where her youth was spent. 
 Where Mississippi's water mighty 
 
 Pours like a flood that will have vent.
 
 THE eagle's nest. 171 
 
 And never more tlie lordly river. 
 
 Or its green banks, was Grace to see, 
 
 The dear-loved farm, no more, and never 
 The lonely shattered eagle's tree. 
 
 New duties claimed now her attention, 
 New feelings rose at name of wife, 
 
 And as time passed, she ceased to mention 
 The loved scenes of her earlv life. 
 
 Some years had gone, and she could gather 
 Her children round about her knee, — 
 
 Long since in churchyard lay her father, 
 And fallen was the eagfle's tree. 
 
 And now in course of worldly changes 
 Another town their home became ; 
 
 For business oft-times turns the hinges 
 Of man's condition and his aim .
 
 172 THE eagle's nest. 
 
 And there they settled, growing older,^ 
 But Grace aright years passing read ; 
 
 For the grey hairs appearing told her 
 Time left its shadow on her head. 
 
 Years twenty sincie the farmer's daughter 
 Left the scenes where her youth was spent. 
 
 Where Mississippi's mighty water 
 
 Rolls like a flood that will have vent. 
 
 Within that town broke out a fever, 
 Smiting alike the rich and poor ; 
 
 'Twas typhus, grim Death's surest lever 
 To turn the churchyards o'er and o'er. 
 
 Many, o'erborne with grief and watching 
 At couch of those oppressed with pains, 
 
 A hurried hour of slumber snatching, 
 Woke with the fever in their veins.
 
 THE eagle's nest. 173 
 
 Spared not the children or the father, 
 Passed not the anxious mother by, 
 
 In one swift grave the parents gather 
 Their offspring with them as they lie. 
 
 Lamented many a one his dearest 
 
 Borne to the house whence no retrace, 
 
 Mourned high and low for friends the nearest 
 Soon carried to their resting place. 
 
 A time of gloom, and doubt, and terror, 
 A time of sorrow and dismay ; 
 
 The breath of death upon life's mirror 
 All ghastly and infectious lay. 
 
 A time of judgment, when God's dealings 
 Make the most careless cry to Him, — 
 
 A time to try the human feelings, — 
 When even Hope grows faint and dim.
 
 174 THE eagle's nest. 
 
 Just at the last, when near expending 
 Its baleful force ere sped away, 
 
 Grace caught the fever while attending 
 A smitten neighbour as she lay. 
 
 Grief in the house but late so cheerful, 
 Pain on the heart but late so light, 
 
 Her husband and her children tearful 
 Watched o'er her sickbed day and night. 
 
 Beat low the pulse Avith languid movement, 
 And stopped the functions of the brain, 
 
 No sign her eye gave of improvement 
 As day and night return again. 
 
 Hastened the Doctor, if yet human 
 Aid might avail to save her life, 
 
 He saw and knew the suffering woman, 
 Although not as a wedded wife.
 
 THE eagle's nest. 175 
 
 Years twenty since the farmer's daughter 
 Had met the student at the tree, 
 
 Where Mississippi's mighty water 
 Rolls Kke a full flood to the sea. 
 
 Bent near the Doctor then, and laid he 
 His hand upon her wasted breast, 
 
 And with low cheerful whisper said he 
 No more words than " the eagle's nest !' 
 
 The change was sudden and amazing, — 
 Opened her eyes and closed again. 
 
 And like the keel of vessel grazing 
 
 The ground, grated her teeth in twain. 
 
 Gasped a long breath, as if a struggle 
 Were going on, as night with morn, 
 
 No sound made but a low faint guggle. 
 Like cry of infant newly born.
 
 176 THE eagle's nest. 
 
 A smile passed o'er her features sunken, 
 Grasped she the hand beside her then, 
 
 Remembrance, just as one half-di'unken, 
 Strove to retrace its course again. 
 
 Ah ! then came back the well-known faces 
 Of her young days upon her mind, 
 
 The scenes of long ago, in traces 
 All clear and full and Avell defined. 
 
 She saw her father as he taught her 
 Her youthful lessons at his knee, 
 
 Where Mississippi's mighty water 
 Rolls like a full flood to the sea. 
 
 She saw her mother too beside her 
 Long, long since taken to her rest, 
 
 And then, as opened Memory wider, 
 She stood beneath the eagle's nest.
 
 THE eagle's nest. 177 
 
 With him she loved, in courtship prudent, 
 And of love's sweetest cup she drank. 
 
 She saw again the youthful student, — 
 All that came after was a blank. 
 
 Thus ever Memory touched can biing time. 
 With its past feelings into light. 
 
 And thus the sweet joys of her spring-time 
 Came rushing thickly on her sight. 
 
 Thus, too, doth roused Imagination 
 Vibrate the tender chords that bind 
 
 The wide links of Association 
 
 Within the chambers of the mind. 
 
 Then turned the fever, as the meeting 
 Of the free air upon her brain. 
 
 Her pulse resumed a quickened beating. 
 Revolved the wheels of life again.
 
 178 THE eagle's nest. 
 
 And day by day she gained new strength then 
 Beneath the Doctor's care and skill, 
 
 Able to quit her bed at length then, 
 "Twas tliis she loved to talk of still, 
 
 That when Death's dart did o'er her hover, 
 And she could find no sleep or rest, 
 
 'Twas this that made her to recover, 
 
 The simple words, " the eagle's nest!" (9)
 
 179 
 
 THE ADVENT OP TRUTH. 
 
 A time there is, though far its dawn may be, 
 And shadows thick are brooding on the main, 
 When, like the sun upsprmging from the sea. 
 Truth shall arise, with Freedom in its train ; 
 
 And Light upon its forehead, as a star 
 Upon the brow of heaven, to shed its rays 
 Among all people, wheresoe'er they are, 
 And shower upon them calm and liappy days. 
 
 As sunshine comes with healing on its wing. 
 After long nights of sorrow and unrest, 
 Solace and peace, and sympathy to bring 
 To the grieved spirit and unquiet breast.
 
 180 THE ADVENT OF TRUTH, 
 
 No more shall then be heard the slave's deep groan, 
 Nor man man's inhtimanity deplore, 
 All strife shall cease and war sliall be unknown, 
 And the world's golden age return once more. 
 
 And nations now that, with Oppression's hand. 
 Are to the dust of Earth with sorrow bowed, 
 Shall then erect, in fearless vigour, stand. 
 And with recovered freedom shout aloud. 
 
 Along with Truth, Wisdom, her sister-twin. 
 Shall come — they two are never far apart, — 
 At their approach, to some lone cavern Sin 
 Shall cowering flee, as stricken to the heart. 
 
 Right shall then temper Justice, as 'tis meet 
 It should, and Justice give to Right its own ; 
 Might shall its sword throw underneath its feet, 
 And Tyranny, unkinged, fall oft" its throne.
 
 THE ADVENT OF TRUTH. 181 
 
 Then let us live in hope, and still prepare 
 Us and our children for the end, that they 
 Instruct may those who after them shall heir, 
 To watch and wait the coming of that day.
 
 182 
 
 LINES, 
 
 SUGGESTED BY A WALK IN A GARDEN. 
 
 Balmy as the dew from its own blossoms, 
 And soothing as the fragrance it creates, 
 Comes the sweet influence of this summer eve 
 To my o'ercharged heart — there is a breeze 
 Moving amid the foliage, soft and low, 
 As cradled murmur from a babe asleep. 
 It is a time for holy thoughts to spring, 
 And contemplation fill the awakened mind. 
 
 Lo ! a bright sunbeam stands 'tween heaven and 
 
 earth. 
 Taking its farewell look ere day departs,
 
 LINES. 1 83 
 
 And seeking still to light the gloom below, 
 
 As Hope, — even when the dai'kness comes, and Joy 
 
 Hath fled, — to cheer the heart, still lingering, smiles : 
 
 And when it goes, — ah ! no, it ne'er all goes : — 
 
 The sunbeam fades, a moment, and its light. 
 
 All shed, dies still-born, swiftly shone and o'er ; 
 
 But Hope, blest Hope, ev'n when it seems away, 
 
 Is near, evermore near, it cannot live 
 
 Apart, 'tis wedded to the soul for aye, — 
 
 God joined them twain, and nought can sunder 
 
 them, — 
 Near, ever near, and ever bringing peace. 
 Groping among the dark things of man's spirit, 
 And shedding o'er the troubled mind its light, 
 As a stray ray of sunshine wanders 'mong 
 The shattered arches of a fallen ruin. 
 
 Ere sunset leaves the world, and sinks behind 
 The illumined ocean, let me muse awhile. 
 
 'Twas in a garden that that hideous thing. 
 Sin, first was born accurst, and now all through
 
 184 LINES. 
 
 The wide wide universe it ranges fierce. 
 Where man has placed his foot its trace is seen. 
 The serpent's slimy trail is everywhere, 
 Disfiguring, polluting, and destroying. 
 Death following in its track inseparably. 
 
 But oh ! my sovd be humbled, yet rejoice ; — 
 It was, too, in a garden that the great, 
 The only all-sufficient, all-atoning 
 Propitiatory sacrifice for sin 
 Commenced its consummation, when the Man 
 Christ Jesus swat for thee great drops of blood, 
 (Even he, the Second Person of the Godhead,) 
 And prayed in agony that the cup might pass, 
 If so liis Father willed ; but none on earth 
 Or yet in Heaven could drink it, none save Him ; 
 And when the sacrifice was aU complete 
 On Calvary, and satisfied was Justice, 
 Mercy and Hope held out their hands to man. 
 And, in Christ's name, showed him redemption's 
 way.
 
 LINES. 
 
 The shame and misery that Adam felt 
 
 In Eden's garden, when the first great sin 
 
 Was challenged, was as nothing to compare 
 
 With the deep agony which on that night, — 
 
 That dreadful night in which he was betra} ed, — 
 
 Our Surety felt, wlien in Gethsemane 
 
 He took upon himself to pay the full 
 
 Ransom and penalty of that first sin 
 
 Which Adam sinned, and all his race in him. 
 
 Of that first sin did Adam put the blame 
 
 On Eve, " the woman whom thou gavest me." 
 
 Eve on the serpent shifted it, and proud 
 
 Was he that he had circum\ ented both, 
 
 Doomed on his womb to crawl in dust, and bruised 
 
 His head by woman's seed, short-Uved his pride. — 
 
 Christ took upon Himself the sin and all 
 
 Its anguish, nor like Adam vainly strove 
 
 To shift it to another, knowing well 
 
 No other could redeem it but Himself. 
 
 Sinless, a sacrifice for sin, that sin 
 
 Might from the souls of men be washed away.
 
 186 
 
 'Twas for that sin, and its infeftments wide 
 
 That Jesus died, that its entail cut off 
 
 Might be from Adam and his lineage, far 
 
 As generations yet to come extend, 
 
 And man restored to his lost paradise. 
 
 No flaming sword waves at its portals now, 
 
 Entrance to bar to the redeemed on earth ; 
 
 No angels guard the gates to keep them shut, 
 
 But open ever are they to the elect, 
 
 And there bright angels stand, with joy 
 
 To welcome all who come in Christ's name in. 
 
 But now the sun hath bade the world good night, 
 And gathering darkness warns me to my home.
 
 187 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 SUNSHINE. 
 
 On the old forest, bright the sunravs play, 
 
 And from the boughs hang, tinging the green leaves 
 
 With golden light that downward interweaves, 
 
 Past branch and stem finding itself a way ; 
 
 And on the greensward, and among the fern. 
 
 Some trace of sunshine still we can discern, 
 
 A sunbeam's scattered droppings gone astray 
 
 Among the wild-flowers, where they nestle close 
 
 Within the long grass, or the woodland moss. 
 
 Making for Earth a dress with colours gay. 
 
 Oh ! on our pathway thus may sunshine fall, 
 
 And like the little flowers, our hopes still bloom, — 
 
 A share of it at least, if not it all, — 
 
 To lisrht the darkness and to cheer the oiuum.
 
 188 
 
 vSONG. 
 
 AT E EMNG, WHAN THE KYE WAR IN. 
 
 At e'ening whan the kye war in, 
 
 An' lasses milking thrang, 
 A neebour laird cam ben the bjTe, 
 
 Tlie busy maids amang. 
 He stood ahint the routin' kye 
 
 An' round him glowered a wee, 
 Then stole to whar young Peggy sat, 
 
 The milkpail at her knee. 
 
 •' Sweet Peggy, lass,"' thus spoke the laird, 
 
 " Wilt listen to my tale ?" 
 '•'Stan' out the gate, laird," Peggy cried, 
 
 " Or you will coup the pail :
 
 SONG. 189 
 
 " Mind, Hawkie here's a timorous beast, 
 
 An' no acquent wi you." 
 " Ne'er fash," quo' he, " the milking time's 
 
 The sweetest time to woo. 
 
 ^' Ye ken, I've aften tauld ye that 
 
 I've thretty kye and mair, 
 " An' ye'd be better owning them 
 
 Than sittin' milkin' there. 
 ^* My house is bein, and stocket weel 
 
 In hadden and in ha', 
 " An' ye've but just to sae the word 
 
 Tae leddy be o' a'." 
 
 •' Wheesht, laird," quo Peggy, " dinna mak' 
 
 Yersel a fule an' me, 
 " I thank ye, for yer offer kind. 
 
 But sae it eanna be. 
 " Maybe yer weel stocked house and farm, 
 
 An' thretty lowing kine,
 
 190 SONG. 
 
 " May win some itlier lassie's heart, 
 They hae nae cliarms for mine ; 
 
 " For in the kirk I hae been cried, 
 
 My troth is pledged and sworn, 
 " An' tae the man I like mysel', 
 
 FU married be the morn'." 
 The laird, dumfoundered at her words, 
 
 Had nae mair will to try'r ; 
 But turned, and gaed far faster out, 
 
 Than he'd come in the byre.
 
 391 
 
 STANZAS 
 
 ON A BUST OF MARSHAL NEY, 
 
 Prettt^nted by the Prince De Moshtva to D'maM Sinelair, Fgq. Edinburgh. 
 
 There stands the hero, " bravest of the brave," 
 A name well earned, that he to whom alone 
 Ney, second, scarce to him, in glory shone, 
 After a hard fought day in honour gave : 
 And ever shall his laurels greenly wave, — 
 Still flourishing with time, for time can ne'er 
 Blight his deserved renown not even there, — 
 Over his bloody and untimely grave. 
 
 Where flow the Eagle in its wide domain, 
 There was he ever foremost in the fight. 
 Leading his band of heroes, strong in might, 
 To conquest still, — In Switzerland and Spain,
 
 192 STXSZAS. 
 
 And where the Rhine, majestic to the main, 
 Through many fertile lands, doth proudly flow, 
 His prowess won applause, even from the foe, 
 Midst blood and carnage on each battle plain. 
 
 High rose his genius with the tide of war, 
 His country's annals of his valour tell, 
 Impetuous as the torrent, when the swell 
 Of waters fierce pours onward from afar, 
 And sweeps before it every stop and bar : 
 Wliere'er his sword flashed, with its sunlike ray, 
 There victory followed closely on the way. 
 And danger's track was marked bj- many a scar. 
 
 Rednitz and Neuwied well his courage knew, 
 When yet his early deeds foretold the fame 
 That soon would throw a halo round his name ; 
 Manheim and Hohenlinden felt it too, 
 And Elchingen and Jena found him true, 
 Eylau and Friedland, names of high renoAi^n, 
 Moscow and its retreat, his glory crown, 
 Which paled not even at bloody Waterloo !
 
 STANZAS. ] 93 
 
 Immortal warrior, could France reward 
 
 Thy mighty deeds but with a traitor's death ? 
 
 The shame is hers, not thine ; thy latest breath 
 
 Was for thy country, and as one prepared 
 
 Thou met'st thy fate, as soldier should on guard : 
 
 And still shall time, with every rolUng year 
 
 The more thy memory to France endear, 
 
 And mourned thy fate shall be by patriot and bard. 
 
 Thy death has left a blot upon the fame 
 Of Wellington and England, ne'er to be 
 Removed or justified, — alas ! that he, 
 Wlio with a word thy safety could proclaim, 
 With callous heart refused to speak the same. 
 The deed, like that which stained, with blackest ray, 
 Great Nelson's honour in Palermo's bay. 
 Our history records " with sorrow and with shame." 
 
 (10)
 
 194 
 
 WINTER. 
 
 Written at Two-Waters, Berts, Wth January 1840, for a Lady's AWwrn. 
 
 Come ! we will wander to the lone hillside, 
 And, awe-struck, \dew the winter in its pride ; — 
 
 Crispy the grass and scant ; 
 The little flowers have vanished, not a trace 
 Is left of blossom on pale Nature's face : — 
 Restraint lies mighty on the stream — it sings 
 No more — dead, dead now, — hke all other things ; 
 
 The trees, as spectres gaunt. 
 Or churchyard monuments, all scattered stand. 
 As if they mourned the bareness of the land, — 
 
 Meagre as pallid want.
 
 WLSTTER. 195 
 
 Where be the fairies now, the little fays, 
 That dance in buttercups in summer days. 
 
 Though only Poets view 
 Their gambols in the flowers and in the rays 
 Of noonday, wliich the common sight gainsays, 
 
 To Fancy ever new ! 
 
 The grasshopper is gone. Ah, me ! can death 
 Have will to stop its modicum of breath ? 
 Swift fly the clouds, why should they fly so swift ? 
 Come they like Angel-spnits, with a gift 
 
 Of mercy to mankind ? 
 In this drear time, the heart asks where are they 
 That tell of sunshine being on the way ? 
 The harbingers of light and genial heat, 
 That make the meadows and the valleys sweet 
 
 When softly sighs the wind : 
 Make rich the upland grass to mountain goat, 
 When balm and beauty through the ether float, 
 
 Like ffossamer reclined.
 
 196 
 
 Oh ! for a cheerful note from blackbird — gone, 
 All gone, the songster and his song are flown ; 
 
 There's nought to cheer the ear. 
 Oh ! now to list the ma\ds in the wood, — 
 The psalms of Nature's singers, always good. 
 
 Bring solace to the year. 
 
 Oh ! for one glimpse of sunshine, to remind 
 The Earth of summer, ever bland and kind.
 
 197 
 
 HUMAN CONDUCT. 
 
 Why is it that the heart of man 
 
 So full is of vagary, 
 That when he's told what's right, he jerks 
 
 The rein, and does contrary. 
 
 Like skittish horse, or stubborn pig, 
 Or otlier self-willed creature, 
 
 That in the public highways shows 
 Its vile and perverse nature. 
 
 There's many a lesson taught to man. 
 But little does he mind them, 
 
 Many's the warning given to him, — 
 He throws them all behind him.
 
 198 HUMAN CONDUCT. 
 
 But let me a short tale relate 
 
 Instead of moralising, 
 You'll prize it more, I dare to say, 
 
 Than any such premising. 
 
 Tlie sun was shining on the hills, 
 The countryside looked sweeter, 
 
 And brighter and more beautiful 
 Than T can tell in metre. 
 
 It was the spring-time of the year, 
 That pleasant balmy season, 
 
 When freshness passes o'er the earth, 
 A.nd come the buds the trees on. 
 
 When Nature young looks, and is young, 
 But though she dresses gaily. 
 
 The time grows old, for Time, like man, 
 Grows older daily, daily !
 
 HUMAK CONDUCT. 199 
 
 Ah me ! that men should be so weak 
 As not to read the lesson, — 
 
 Ripe fruits are offered them, but they 
 The garbage love to mess on. 
 
 One day along a country road 
 
 With hedge and hawthorn bristling, 
 
 A country lad was passing, and 
 In merry mood was whistling. 
 
 Stout was he and his joints well knit, 
 And firm as time-tried timber, 
 
 But light withal and agile too, 
 No sapluig yet was limber. 
 
 Anon a horseman came that way 
 Who sat on horseback rarely. 
 
 This the horse knew as well as he, 
 And so had bolted fairlv.
 
 200 HUMAN CONDUCT. 
 
 The young man eyed him as he came 
 And was by no means idle, 
 
 For as he passed he leapt in front, 
 And caught him by the bridle. 
 
 The horse reared back, and with the shock 
 
 His rider fell right over 
 Among the mud, and well for him 
 
 The place was soft as clover. 
 
 Brought to Ids feet, without a hurt, 
 
 But all o'er very muddy. 
 He thanked the lad, weU-pleased to find 
 
 He sound was and unbloody. 
 
 He was a thiu spare man, and past 
 Mid-Hfe, and looking sickly ; 
 
 Not that his health was touched at all, 
 Or that his Umbs were weakly ;
 
 HUMAN CONDUCT. 201 
 
 But he had been for many years 
 In towns a constant dweller, 
 
 Confined to business close, and this 
 On health is oft a teller. 
 
 He had an eye for bales and goods, 
 And turnings of the market ; 
 
 But for the country's picturesque, 
 His shadow rare did dark it. 
 
 He rode out had to breathe the air. 
 
 And give his nerves a bracing. 
 His steed unruly had become. 
 
 His horsemanship disgracing. 
 
 The countryman pulled up some grass, 
 No readier thing appearmg. 
 
 And rubbed him down in ostler style, 
 The mud from off him clearina:.
 
 202 HUMAN CONDUCT. 
 
 And then for having saved his life,- 
 To cut my tale the shorter, — 
 
 He offered him, as a reward. 
 To take him as his porter ; 
 
 And if he showed capacity, 
 
 To give him education. 
 To make him fit in course of time, 
 
 To fill a higher station. 
 
 The youth agreed to't, for he thought, 
 
 (While handing back the bridle) 
 He'd like the change, besides just then 
 
 He happened to be idle. 
 
 S 
 
 In Glasgow busy city now, 
 
 Behold this country clown bred. 
 
 First porter and then junior clerk, 
 And learning to be town bred.
 
 HUMAN CONDUCT. 203 
 
 Years passed, the sun shines once a day, 
 But days make years, and every 
 
 Sun that rises counts one, thus time 
 Flows on, as water rivery. 
 
 Through all gradations of the desk 
 The youth, still true and steady, 
 
 Had risen till, from senior clerk. 
 He partner was already. 
 
 The merchant now, as commerce had 
 To counting-house long held him. 
 
 Resolved to take his ease at last, 
 And came to business seldom : 
 
 The junior partner and head-clerk 
 Care of the cash-box keeping. 
 
 While he himself had chosen to be 
 What's called the partner sleeping.
 
 204 HUMAN CONDfCT. 
 
 The countryman, no longer young, 
 
 Had toiled both late and early, 
 And gained some wealth, and 'twas his boast 
 
 That he had won it fairly. 
 
 But with it he had learnt betimes 
 And aye the more the faster. 
 
 Some of the city's ways that were 
 Not pleasing to his master. 
 
 He ne'er had married, and was fond 
 
 Of being liospitable ; 
 For 'twas his pride always to have 
 
 His friends around his table : 
 
 And so extravagant became. 
 
 To feasting much addicted, 
 And rich wines di'inking, which of course 
 
 His income much restricted.
 
 HUMAN CONDUCT. 205 
 
 One night his master was in town 
 And heard he had a party, 
 
 An old man now, not wanting sense, 
 But humorous and hearty ; 
 
 Yet this he to himself oft thought, 
 He thought that 'twas a pity, 
 
 His clerk should spend his money in 
 Thus feasting all the city. 
 
 And so resolved to call on him 
 And bring him to his senses, 
 
 Not by a lectui'e commonplace 
 Of prudence and expenses : 
 
 But by a something which he had, 
 
 A sort of old memento, 
 That in his judgment was well worth 
 
 Of lectures grave a cento.
 
 206 HUMAN CONDUCT, 
 
 It was a frosty night, and there 
 Had been a fall of snow on, 
 
 The slippery streets required great skill 
 And caution them to go on. 
 
 With but one fall, he reached the house, 
 The entrance well he knew there. 
 
 Sudden and unexpected burst 
 Amidst the jovial crew there. 
 
 The gas burnt clear, the host looked blue, 
 
 And not the lights, as use is 
 When one particular guest appears 
 
 That no one introduces. 
 
 He said, " Lies the skeleton frost 
 On one street and another, 
 
 " I tripped and fell, and where I lay 
 One skeleton hugged his brother.
 
 HUMAN CONDUCT. 207 
 
 " His breath is on each pane congealed, 
 Cold enters through each portal, 
 
 " How my teeth chatter with the cold, 
 A sign that we are mortal. 
 
 " What's this, a banquet spread and rich, 
 The wines all bright and glowing, 
 
 " No thought of this when you I met 
 Along the road-side going." 
 
 He then produced a bundle which 
 He opened with derision, 
 
 And singly held up the contents 
 To their astonished vision. 
 
 There was the wellworn hairy cap. 
 
 The corderoys to back it. 
 His host had owned, and there too was 
 
 His former fustian jacket.
 
 208 HiiMLiy com)ucT. 
 
 These were the clothes the country lad 
 Had on at then first meeting, 
 
 And these he now brought forth to be 
 To liim his present greeting ; 
 
 That he might pause in liis career 
 
 Of jollity and revel, 
 Lest in his age, reduced he should 
 
 Be to his former level. 
 
 'Tis strange that human conduct oft 
 
 So reckless is and hollow, 
 That when the right path reason shows. 
 
 It seeks the wrong to follow. 
 
 The master ha^-ing said and done, 
 Quick vanished from them after : 
 
 The host attempted at the time 
 To turn it off with laus^hter.
 
 HUMAJJ CONDUCT. 209 
 
 Next morn reflection made him take 
 The hint, — and to be brief then, — 
 
 Though roughly put, 'twas kindly meant,- 
 He turned o'er a new leaf then. 
 
 To be of any use, reproof 
 
 Still strong should be and home put, 
 A lecture grave or saying wise 
 
 The mind is quickly from put ; 
 
 Instead of gen'ral moral saws, 
 Facts personal lay stress on, 
 
 And like a surgeon probing deep, 
 Reform is in the lesson.
 
 210 
 
 COURTSHIP LINES. 
 
 Oh ! let not sorrow cloud thine eye, 
 
 Or doubt oppress thy heart, 
 For love, like truth, can never lie, 
 
 Nor truth, like love, depart. 
 To be mine own, I've chosen thee. 
 
 From all the world deems fair ; 
 And I've vowed thine own to be, 
 
 Then wherefore cherish care ? 
 
 Thou canst not think a love like mine. 
 
 Could e'er to thee cause pain ; 
 Or make thy gentle heart repine 
 
 That it has loved in vain : 
 Thee still mine eyes desire to see, 
 
 Like sunlight from abo^'e ; 
 For all my heart is full of thee, 
 
 And all my heart is love. 
 
 1833.
 
 211 
 
 LOVE-WEAKNESS. 
 
 I canna' get my mouth about it, 
 It lies so deeply on my heart, 
 
 That aye when trying to divulge it, 
 My thoughts fly somehow all apart. 
 
 Were I to learn the best confession 
 That e'er by pen of man was wTit, 
 
 To try to speak it in her presence 
 I should not have the power or wit. 
 
 As in the rose's opening petals 
 Devotion pure is ever spread. 
 
 So in the flushings of my countenance 
 She my heart's feelings must have read.
 
 212 LOVE-WEAEKESS. 
 
 Oh ! gladly anywhere I'd venture, 
 Dare anything to prove it true ; 
 
 But to disclose my ardent passion 
 Is just the thing I canna' do. 
 
 I canna' get my mouth about it, 
 It lies so deeply on my heart, 
 
 That aye when trjdng to divulge it, 
 My thoughts fly somehow all apart.
 
 213 
 
 LINES 
 
 TO THE REV. HENRY DUDLEY RYDER, 
 
 On reading his volume, entitled " The Angelicon, a Gallenj of Sonnets, mi the 
 2Ht*ine Attributes, and the Passions, the Graces, and the Virtues." 
 
 Thy strains, sweet poet, have the power 
 To give a solace to the mind, 
 
 What time the clouds of sadness lour, — 
 Like sighs of thine own " lyred wind." 
 
 For when thy page I deeply trace, 
 
 Where thoughts and fancies thickly throng. 
 It brings to mind free nature's grace, 
 
 Where wood-bu-ds tune their mystic song ;
 
 214 LINES. 
 
 And pleasant streams in ways remote, 
 Where sweetest music loves to reign ; 
 
 Where solitude gives birth to thought, 
 And thought is born of thought again 
 
 Visions of earth, the pure and bright, 
 
 As poet only hath divined, 
 When high-toned genius pours her light, 
 
 Upon the rapt and feeling mind. 
 
 Well hast thou sung the grace and love 
 Th' Almighty deigns bestow on man, 
 
 When seeking mercy from above 
 By His own sole appointed plan. 
 
 And well, too, hast thou shown the sway 
 The passions have o'er mortal kind. 
 
 Avarice, Ambition, Jealousy, 
 And other turmoils of the mind.
 
 LINES. 2X5 
 
 These, like the rays that burst from heaven, 
 Shine brightly forth in verse of thine, 
 
 For the proud gift to thee is given, 
 To charm, to waken, to refine. 
 
 Go on thy way, thy song must claim, 
 From a duU world its ardent praise ; 
 
 With saintly Herbert's twine thy name, 
 And bind with Heber's verse thy lays.
 
 216 
 
 THE POET. 
 
 I WAS told yesterday by one with wise 
 Solemn aspect, and wi'inkles 'bout his eyes, 
 That poetry is an idle trade, alack ! 
 He had a good black coat upon his back, 
 And deemed himself respectable, — he said, too. 
 That he who verses writes will never do 
 Well in the world, that his character is gone, 
 And he himself no better than a drone. 
 So having said he walked away well pleased ; — 
 Now that's a man, I say, whose mind's diseased. 
 Has he in summer ever watched a rose 
 Burst into blossoming, and as it grows 
 More and more beautiful, sweeten all the air 
 With its rich perfume, — poetry was there.
 
 THE POET. 217 
 
 A sunbeam thrown across 
 
 The clouds, that makes them glow 
 With light ineffable 
 
 To eyes from earth below ; 
 A small wave of the sea 
 
 When the vast ocean waits 
 The coming of the storm, 
 
 That slightly agitates 
 Its surface passing, — as 
 
 When of danger near 
 First made aware, the roused 
 
 Lion, though not in fear 
 Looks up, the watchfire then 
 
 Kindling in his eye. 
 His mane scarcely as yet 
 
 Moved, nor erected high 
 His head, but his proud glance 
 
 Cirehng keen, rapid, stern, — 
 There poetry is seen 
 
 By one that can discern.
 
 218 THE POET. 
 
 A priest of Natuve's own. 
 
 One she herself ordains, 
 The poet walks in brightness. 
 
 And still new blessings gains. 
 The sky above hath in it 
 
 More beauty to his sight, 
 Than to the world it shines 
 
 In its canopy of light. 
 
 The flowers his kindred are 
 
 That grow in fields remote ; 
 They waken in his heart 
 
 The pure wellsprings of thought 
 They speak to him alone 
 
 With low and whispering voice, 
 Like gentle maiden to 
 
 The lover of her choice. 
 
 And none but he can tell 
 What is it that they say, 
 
 For a most sweet communion 
 Is their's to cheer his way.
 
 THE POET. 219 
 
 The ocean in its vastness, 
 
 He loves, too, as he sees 
 It driven by the tempest, 
 
 Or slumbering in the breeze. 
 It brings into his vision 
 
 Tlie commg of that day, 
 When Time within Eternity 
 
 Shall merge itself away. 
 
 The forest trees antique 
 
 Are his familiar friends, 
 With the spirit of the woods 
 
 His own for ever blends : 
 And voices of the past, 
 
 With fancies of old times, 
 Do their murmurings recall 
 
 Which he fondly puts in rhymes. 
 
 Echoes of distant lands 
 Beyond the western sea. 
 
 Or in the burning east. 
 
 Where'er they chance to be,
 
 220 THE POET. 
 
 Are brought to him at night 
 And cheer his spirit then, 
 
 When sleep forsakes the eyes 
 Of care-worn worldly men. 
 
 And ever for his kind 
 
 Doth his spirit warmly yearn. 
 
 And his verses speak of things 
 Which only he can learn. 
 
 The human heart, and all 
 
 Its feelings, hopes and fears, 
 All that it fondly loves, 
 
 All that it blindly fears, 
 Its sympathies, affections, 
 
 Its duties and desires, 
 All that its doubts foreshadow, 
 
 All that its pride inspires. 
 
 Its sorows and its faintings, 
 Its buoyancy and glee, 
 
 Its passions and its promptings, 
 Its truth and constancy ;
 
 THE POET. 221 
 
 He knows, and can depicture, 
 
 For of the human mind 
 He is the chosen minister, 
 
 The prophet of his kind. 
 
 Such, yea and more, the poet is, 
 
 Had he had a choice 
 Of destinies, if in liis fate 
 
 Had been heard his voice ; 
 It might have been so that he had 
 
 Been a worldling born. 
 And looked solemn like his scorners. 
 
 And had gravely worn 
 A black coat too, of fasliion's cut, 
 
 And smoothed trim his beard. 
 And shook his head wisely, and been 
 
 Sententious, and feared 
 The world's opinion, and condemned 
 
 Poetry as idle. 
 But in his vocation he can 
 
 Ne'er his feelings bridle.
 
 222 THE POET. 
 
 Hjs thoughts are in a stronger hand 
 
 Than his own, his mind 
 Has thinks passing in it still, that 
 
 Cannot be confined : 
 Like the birds flying as they list 
 
 Through the summer air, 
 Or the clouds di-iven by the breeze 
 
 Floating everywhere.
 
 223 
 
 LIGHT AND SHADOW. 
 
 Shine down, fair sun, on vale and hill, 
 And light each height and hollow ; — 
 
 No shade rests in the air, but still 
 On earth the shadows follow. 
 
 Grow green, old trees, where'er you may 
 
 Your festival be keeping ; — 
 On branch and stem, on leaf and spray. 
 
 Decay is slowly creeping. 
 
 Bloom bright, fair flowers, in wild or mead. 
 
 Around you all perfuming ; — 
 The blight that mingles with each seed, 
 
 The blossom is consuming.
 
 224 LIGHT AND SHADOW. 
 
 Grow well, sweet fruit, on garden walls. 
 Or in hot-houses hasting ; — 
 
 The sooner ripe, the sooner falls 
 Corruption with its wasting. 
 
 Flow on, calm river, still flow on 
 With ever constant motion ; — 
 
 Soon shalt thou mingle, all unknown. 
 Forgotten in the Ocean. 
 
 Play up, sweet music, to the ear, 
 A merry note of gladness ; — 
 
 The chords that lively stricken cheer. 
 Give also tones of sadness. 
 
 Shine bright, young Summer, o'er the earth. 
 And fill the land with laughter ; — 
 
 Soon Autumn comes to mar thy mirth, 
 And winter follows after.
 
 LIGHT .\ND SHADOW. 225 
 
 Burn high, fair hope, within the breast, 
 By pleasant things attended ; — 
 
 Misdoubt and fear do still molest 
 Our life, till it is ended. 
 
 Fill slow, oh ! Time, the rounded cup 
 Of numbered hours that's set us ; 
 
 Soon shall our days be gathered up, 
 And even our own forget us. 
 
 Then shine, fau" sun, on vale and hill. 
 On tower and town and meadow ; — 
 
 'Tis Heaven that sends the brightness still, 
 Earth only gives the shadow.
 
 22G 
 
 THE EARLY DEAD. 
 
 On my youngext Diiughter, dinl 20th Murdt 1845, aged ticmty-one months. 
 
 She rests within her little grave, 
 A bud of promise too soon taken, 
 
 And wanting the sweet smile she gave. 
 We deem ourselves as if forsaken. 
 
 Life wore for her no luring guise, 
 She tasted time, and found it dreary. 
 
 Calmly she closed her gentle eyes. 
 As one that falls asleep aweary :
 
 THE EAKLY DEAD. 22"; 
 
 Like to a star whose little ray 
 
 Is quenched ev'n when 'tis brightly shining 
 Or as a flower that fades away 
 
 While yet its bloom tells nought of pining. 
 
 And when her latest sigh was spent, 
 And fled her spirit to its Giver, 
 
 We felt as with it also went 
 
 A lapsed part of our heart for ever. 
 
 Oh ! twice before we knew the blight 
 Upon the heart that deeply falleth, 
 
 When death for ever from the sight. 
 Of our own life a portion calleth : 
 
 But though it has the power to slay, 
 Still is this consolation given, 
 
 It cannot take the hope away 
 
 That we shall meet again in heaven.
 
 228 THE EARLY DEAD. 
 
 There is a place of rest above, 
 
 A home for childi'en there pro\dded, 
 
 To which away from earth, in love 
 Their guileless spirits still are guided. 
 
 And when our hearts Avith sorrow sink 
 And our weak eyes are sore with weeping, 
 
 "Twill soothe and cheer us still to think 
 That they sweet watch are o'er us keeping. 
 
 And in the dark and lonely night, 
 
 When sleep our eyelids have forsaken, 
 
 We'll see again the faces bright 
 Of our three babes so early taken.
 
 229 
 
 A DIRGE. 
 
 Mourn for the untimely dead ! 
 Early blossoms quickly shed ! 
 Soon taken to their long long rest, 
 
 Now there waves 
 The green grass thickly o'er their breast, 
 
 On their graves. 
 
 Neither care nor sorrow now 
 Leaves its trace upon their brow, 
 Nor can pain them more molest, 
 
 For there waves 
 The green grass thickly o'er their breast, 
 
 On their graves.
 
 230 A DIRGE. 
 
 Little flowers their heads begem, 
 
 But they cannot look at them, 
 
 For death's cold hand their eyes have prest, 
 
 And there waves 
 The green grass thickly o'er their breast 
 
 On their graves. 
 
 Winds sigh through the shadowing trees, 
 Summer brings the hum of bees ; 
 But no sounds can their ears invest, 
 
 Where there waves 
 The green grass thickly o'er their breast 
 
 On their graves. 
 
 StDl they lie in their low beds, 
 To sleep tiU the last morn sheds 
 Its light upon their place of rest : 
 
 Now there waves 
 The green grass thickly o'er their breast 
 
 On their graves.
 
 231 
 
 A BENEDICTION. 
 
 God bless thee ! is my fervent prayer, 
 At morn and eve, from day to day, 
 
 Ev'n as thou tend'st, with anxious care, 
 Tliy children dear with love alway. 
 
 God keep thee ever in His grace, 
 
 And still new mercies on thee shower, 
 
 Ev'n as thou fold'st in thy embrace 
 Thine infants tender every hour. 
 
 God love thee, with the love he shows 
 Still to his OAvn, in earth and heaven, 
 
 Ev'n as thou lov'st, with true love, those 
 Who to thy keeping have been given.
 
 232 A BENEDICTION. 
 
 God guide thee still through all thy days, 
 
 And let no e\il on thee light, 
 Ev'n as thou guid'st and guard' st the ways, 
 
 Of thy dear oflspring day and night. 
 
 God comfort thee in all thy grief. 
 And ever thy sure Hope remain, 
 
 Ev'n as thou comfort'st with relief 
 Thy little ones in woe and pain. 
 
 God cherish thee throughout thy life, 
 In weal and woe thy guardian be, 
 
 Ev'n as a mother and a wife 
 
 Thou still hast cherished them and me.
 
 233 
 
 HEALTH. 
 
 Oh ! what a thing is healtli to lose, 
 And what a prize to gain, 
 
 Most valued wlien the spirit \voos 
 Its coming back again. 
 
 After long days and restless nights, 
 
 Reclined on weary bed, 
 How sweet when first its blessing lights 
 
 Upon the aching head. 
 
 Its coming turns the life, as doth 
 
 The ocean with its tide. 
 Or as the spring renews the groAvth 
 
 Of wliat Earth's stores provide.
 
 2.34 
 
 Power, fame, and with them cherished gold, 
 
 That form man's constant aim, 
 All would be gladly overtold 
 
 Its halcyon bliss to claim. 
 
 It passes life and death between, 
 From heaven's own portals borne, 
 
 Like the sweet under-light scarce seen 
 That parts the night from morn. 
 
 An emblem of the peace that springs. 
 
 To chase away all strife, 
 An earnest of the grace, that brings 
 
 Life to the inner life.
 
 235 
 
 THE GAME OF LIFE. 
 
 Watching the game of life as daily played, 
 
 One marvels at the blunders that are made ; 
 
 Few trust to chance alone to gain their aim, 
 
 But with the means they use 'tis just the same. 
 
 Low cunning some employ, and call it skill, 
 
 Or substitute for Reason headstrong Will ; 
 
 And when they win the prize for which they strive, 
 
 To their own genius they the credit give ; 
 
 But when they lose, the blame on fate is tlu-OAvn : 
 
 They never think the fault may be their own. 
 
 Others who boast that cunning they disdain. 
 
 Affect by Pride their purposes to gain ; 
 
 High-reaching objects do their minds devise, 
 
 By wliich they blind their own and neighbours' eyes ; 
 
 Aiming at lofty things, they highly rate 
 
 Their own designings, but they find too late 
 
 That for success mere unassisted Pride 
 
 Does not all necessary means provide ;
 
 236 THE GAME OF LIFE. 
 
 So thinking surely to promote tlieir aim, 
 And win the stake of their ambition's game, 
 But not particular as to how 'tis played, 
 They call, Pride's contrast, meanness to tlieir aid : 
 Yet ev'n though Fortune should their hopes attend, 
 It does not change the matter in the end ; 
 Meanness and Pride may climb the highest hill, 
 But Pride and meanness they continue still. 
 
 Since Life's a game where all their part must play, 
 Reason and Truth should in it have the sway. 
 Or wanting these, as is too oft the case, 
 Folly and Passion will usurp tlieir place. 
 
 When this weak body dwindles into dust. 
 And man becomes the nothing that he must. 
 How puny then will to the soul appear 
 All that man toils and struggles for when here ! 
 Bound to the narrow amis and vicAvs of Earth, 
 At death his spirit finds that all is dearth 
 That to this world relates, and well that he 
 Makes Time provide still for Eternity.
 
 237 
 
 CONSUMPTION. 
 
 Like monumental Patience, see Decay 
 Watching the sand-glass slowly wear away, 
 WhUe Death at hand, amid her waning powers, 
 Counts, as a monk his beads, her niunbered hours. 
 Upon her brow, o'er which the tresses wave, 
 The cold dew gathers, dankly, of the grave, 
 And in her pale mild eyes a lustre shines, 
 As if her spirit, as she wastes, refines ; 
 WhUe ever and anon her sunken cheek, 
 Life's fading beauties delicately streak ; 
 As the departing sun from ocean's brinks 
 Sheds out its glories brightly ere it sinlc s !
 
 238 
 
 CHANGE. 
 
 Grief and change and sure decay 
 All on earth are doomed to know, 
 
 What the Past's memorials say- 
 Must the Present undergo. 
 
 Time but shifts his glass about, 
 And the sands their aims adjust, 
 
 In Creation's bounds throughout 
 All that is retiu-ns to dust. 
 
 On the bud and on the flower. 
 
 On the cliild and man grown grey, 
 
 Change is passing every hour, 
 Death has set his snare to slay.
 
 CHAJfGE. 239 
 
 And the feelings when they glow 
 With a taste of joy intense, 
 
 Soon a tinge of sadness know, 
 Dimming quickly all the sense. 
 
 Vainly do we strive to keep 
 Such scant solace as we feel. 
 
 Blight unseen on all doth creep, 
 Pleasures hidden stings conceal. 
 
 Weary soon become the things 
 That at fii'st make glad our way. 
 
 And To-morrow never brings 
 The same joy we knew To-day. 
 
 Toil exhausts, and strong Desire 
 Wasteth both the heart and head 
 
 With its strugglings, as the fire 
 Fastest burns the more 'tis fed.
 
 240 CHANGE. 
 
 Life is all a chequered score, 
 
 Death and Time direct the chess, 
 
 One hath not a triumph more, 
 Nor the other one the less. 
 
 Thus amid Mutation's range, 
 
 Man, impatient of relief. 
 Learns himself to long for change, 
 
 Even though bringing with it grief.
 
 241 
 
 VIRTUE, 
 
 He was a saf^e old man who said, 
 While in the public way he stood, 
 
 Virtue is best of all, because 
 
 Without it there is nothing good. 
 
 He was no stoic who thus spoke 
 A word so practical and true, 
 
 Nor sophist that would grandly say 
 What he would ne'er attempt to do 
 
 But one of those wise heathen men 
 Who Reason followed as a guide, 
 
 And by it he was learned a truth 
 So humbling to mere human pride.
 
 242 VIRTUE, 
 
 Yet even to him, with all the lore 
 Philosophy amassed of old, 
 
 Was the full meaning all unknown 
 Of what unaided Reason told. 
 
 A wiser man than he hath said, 
 
 By God's own spirit taught the same, 
 
 That wisdom is the chiefest thing 
 Deserving of man's fervent aim. 
 
 Wisdom and virtue both are one. 
 And only are attained aright 
 
 In their whole fulness and intent, 
 When sought in Revelation's \i<A\t. 
 
 By it the sage old heathen's word 
 In all its breadth is understood ; 
 
 Wisdom is best of all, he said, 
 
 Without it there is nothing good. (11)
 
 243 
 
 VAIN HOPES. 
 
 Vain is his labour who begins to sow, 
 Ere he has well prepared the soil below ; 
 And vainer still his aim who hopes to win 
 To Heaven, before repenting of his sin. 
 
 Weak is his wish who looks foi' full crops grown, 
 Who has prepared his land and no seed sown ; 
 But weakt^r still his hopes who thinks to win 
 To Heaven, with mere repentance of his sin. 
 
 To till the land and lay it out i'or seeds. 
 And yet none sown, will bring forth nought but 
 weeds ;
 
 244 VAIN HOPES. 
 
 And wanting grace to fill, the ^oid within 
 Breeds, with self-merit, all presumptuous sin. 
 
 Fruitless his skill avIio would a vessel steer 
 
 Without a rudder to direct and veer ; 
 
 More fruitless still his aim who seeks to win 
 
 To Heaven, when wanting prayer for light within. 
 
 Hopeless iiis task who seeks to safely go, 
 Without a chart the dangerous rocks to show ; 
 More hopeless still his aim, who seeks to win 
 To Heaven, when wanting faith to lead him in.
 
 245 
 
 THE VALLEY OF LIFE. 
 
 In the still midnight hour I sat alone 
 Within my chamber, sunk in revei'ie, 
 No sound disturbed my musings, all was hushed 
 In sUence and in sleep, the light near done, 
 A dim uncertain flickering threw around. 
 The waning fire was but a heap of ashes, 
 While there and there a feeble red remained, 
 That now and then threw out a fitful gleam. 
 Something like slumber feU upon my eyes. 
 And a dream passed o'er my spirit stealthily, 
 As, in the early grey of morn, the mists, 
 Gathered in masses, up the hillsides creep, 
 Ere they dissolve befor-e the sun away. 
 Remembrance cannot all its features tell, 
 Though vivid and particular they seemed
 
 246 THE VALLEY OF LIFE, 
 
 When that dread vision on my senses came, 
 And I could trace the shadowy details, 
 As one might mark a phantom army march 
 O'er its last field of battle, ere it passed, 
 Into obscurity, — could note it then, — 
 But afterwards cannot recall the place. 
 Order and rank, of each brigade and file. 
 
 Methought I stood upon a bare liill-top. 
 And overlooked a vast and fertUe plain 
 Peopled with many multitudes, — there met 
 Men of all tribes and nations that the globe 
 Holds in its wide extent, of every kind, 
 The Mongol, the Malayan, and the Negro, 
 The red American and Caucasian fau-. 
 Among them Evil strode ubiquitous, 
 And threw its shadow wheresoe'er it came. 
 Its Jackal, lewd Temptation, went before, 
 With angel face and soft alluring eyes, 
 WhUe close behind Guilt, Anguish, Care, and Pa 
 Followed incessantly, and left on all 
 Their mark impressed as with hot iron seared.
 
 THE VALLEY OF LIFE. 247 
 
 As then I looked upon the scene below, 
 
 Meseemed that wheresoe'er Temptation came, 
 
 And she came everywhere, — no spot escaped, — 
 
 That many, most indeed of these vast crowds, 
 
 Themselves threw madly in her way, and sought 
 
 To win her smiles, nor deemed them poisonous ; 
 
 And once within her meshes, few had will 
 
 To fly them, or to manfully resist. 
 
 As a strong man confronts his enemy, 
 
 And sti'ives to overthrow him where they meet ;- 
 
 And she the while assumed all shapes and moods 
 
 That suited were to their intents and amis. 
 
 For, with a penetrating eye precise. 
 
 Intuitively still their minds she knew. 
 
 Tendencies and dispositions, and wore, — 
 
 As snares in readiness she had for all, — 
 
 The very guise adapted for their lure, 
 
 But carefully concealed the stings they bore. 
 
 Disease and sorrow on her victims fell, 
 Too late they felt the curse that is entailed 
 On all who to the Tempter yield, and thus
 
 248 THE VALLEY OF LIFE, 
 
 Become an early prey to Evil, whose 
 Inheritance is misery and woe. 
 
 And I beheld some 'mongst the various crowds 
 Who stood aloof from her, and would not be 
 Entangled with her witcheries or wiles. 
 These with a resolute will refused to come 
 Within her reach, and so escaped the first 
 Of Evil's followers, Guilt, though more or less. 
 They had their share of what the others left 
 Behind, — Care, Pain, and Anguish, — for the doom 
 Pronounced on Man was on them, but they knew 
 That these, to all who hold out to the end. 
 With a pure conscience and unspotted mind. 
 To their endurance will be tempered still, 
 And, in due season, turn to lasting good. 
 Which to their spirits consolation brought. 
 
 Tlie valley watered was with goodly rivers, 
 Upon the banks of which were many met. 
 Prudence was one, and on its grassy sides 
 Sat some who, calculating every chance,
 
 THE VALLEY OF LIFE. 249 
 
 A deaf ear to Temptation, when she came, 
 
 Turned, unseduced from their proprieties. 
 
 Repentance was another, near it lay 
 
 Those who Remorse felt and a wounded spirit, 
 
 Seeking relief from agonising thought 
 
 And racking self-reproach. Beyond these two 
 
 Was Perseverance, Avhere returning health 
 
 Was found by all who there due time remained. 
 
 And farther still, with borders ever green, 
 
 And fresh flowers ever springing, ever new, 
 
 Were two sweet rills. Virtue and Faith their names, 
 
 Where peace of mind was known and purity : 
 
 And those who sought their banks, — they were not 
 
 few. 
 Though, midst the mighty myriads around, 
 They seemed but small in nimiber and select, — 
 Remained unshaken in their constancy, 
 Resisting all enticements of the Tempter, 
 And gladly following the path of duty, 
 Which brought to them a sure and high reward.
 
 250 THE V.VLLET OF LIFE. 
 
 On these, what e'er their griefs and trials were, 
 And they had many, to refine their souls, 
 And make them nobler after \detory, 
 Enduring hoj^e and perfect peace abode. 
 But whereso'er I looked besides, was seen 
 The power of 111, shedding on all who bore 
 The fated impress of humanity, 
 Torment and fear, and bitter agony, 
 And pain intolerable, — At the sight 
 My spirit shrank, and, starting, I a^\oke !
 
 251 
 
 AFTER-THOUGHT. 
 
 Man values many things far more 
 Than their own worth told o'er and o'er, 
 Computed at its highest score. 
 
 He counts his gold with anxious care, 
 As his whole heart's desire were there, 
 And hoards up treasures for his heir. 
 
 He gives his labour, time, and health. 
 To add still something to his wealth, 
 And life enjoys as if by stealth.
 
 2o2 AFTER-THOUOHT. 
 
 When pleasure's mood his thoughts employ, 
 He plays with every passing joy, 
 Just as a child does with its tov. 
 
 He does not to reflexion call 
 What after reckoning may befall, 
 For how he has possessed them all. 
 
 In the lapse onward of his years, 
 Ere age or grief liis spirit sears. 
 He keeps no note of hopes or fears. 
 
 Nor does he estimate his days, 
 That each its after-mead conveys. 
 Whether for censure or for praise. 
 
 As they deserve especially, 
 Each day it is his lot to see, 
 As bearing on futurity.
 
 AFTER-THOUGHT. 253 
 
 At night he tells up all his gains, 
 The more he gets the more he strains, 
 Or at his losses he complains. 
 
 And then, as one who does his best, 
 He folds his ai'ms upon his breast. 
 And with contentment takes his rest. 
 
 Thus daily should he estimate 
 His bygone hours, and calculate 
 Their good or ill upon his fate ; 
 
 That when his days all vanished have, 
 They may no bitter reckoning crave,— 
 There's no renewal in the grave.
 
 NOTES.
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Note 1, Page 55. 
 
 " The Al])ine Horn." 
 
 Reichard, a German writer, affirms that when the sun sets, 
 the shepherd who dwells on the highest part of the Alps, calls 
 through his horn, " Praise God the Lord !" and the other 
 shepherds, hearing the sound, hasten out of their huts and 
 repeat it. This continues for some time, and the name of the 
 Lord is thus re-echoed from mountain to valley. When the 
 sound ceases, all kneel down on the mountain, and their 
 prayers ascend together to the ihrone of grace. The shep- 
 lierd from the summit of the mountain then proclaims " Good 
 night !" which is instantly repeated by the rest. They then 
 retire to their homes. 
 
 Note 2, Page 69. 
 
 " But come not near the holly-hock." 
 
 The flower of the holly-hock contains a species of poison, 
 which is fatal to bees, and round its nectaries and petals seve- 
 ral of these insects are frequently found lying insensible.
 
 258 NOTES. 
 
 Note 3, Page 85. 
 Loch Awe. 
 
 A lake in Ai'gyleshire. My earliest years were spent in its 
 neighbourhood ; but I have not been there since I was a mere 
 boy. 
 
 •* Ah ! there my young footsteps in infancy wandered. 
 My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the plaid ; 
 
 On chieftains long perished my memory pondered. 
 
 As daily I strode through the pine-covered glade." 
 
 Byron. 
 
 According to the Guide Books, Loch Awe and its vicinity, 
 more perhaps than any other district in the Highlands, abound 
 with memorials of former ages. The lake is thirty miles in 
 extent, and of the average breadth of one, although in some 
 places it does not exceed half a mile. It is surrounded by 
 mountains finely wooded, and like many of the Scottish lakes, 
 its surface is studded over with small islands, beautifully 
 tufted with trees, and some of them large enough to admit of 
 being pastured. Upon the island of Innis-Hail are the re- 
 mains of a convent ; and on a rocky promontory at the east- 
 ern extremity of the lake stand the magnificent ruins of 
 Kilchurn Castle. This structure, which still exhibits the ves- 
 tiges of a castellated square tower, was built in 1440, by Sir 
 John Campbell, ("second son of Argyle,) Knight of Rhodes, 
 and ancestor of the Breadalbaue family, and in later times it 
 became, from the extensive view it commanded of the lake, 
 the favourite residence of the chiefs of the family. In 1745
 
 NOTES. 259 
 
 it was garrisoned by tlie king's troops, in order to defend the 
 pass into the Highlands, and secure the tranquillity of tlie 
 country. Emerging from the ocean, and rising on the north- 
 east bank of Loch Awe, soars Ben Cruachan, the largest 
 mountain in Ai'gylesbire. Its perpendicular height is 3,390 
 feet above the level of the sea, and its circumference at the 
 base is upwards of twenty miles. On the south, the ascent is 
 gentle nearly to the summit, where it rises abrupt, and divides 
 into two points, each having the form of a sugar-loaf. Before 
 the storm, " the spirit of the mountain shrieks" from Ben 
 Cruachan, Ben Doran, and some other Highland mountains. 
 When Burke made his tour in Scotland, he declared that 
 Loch Awe was the most picturesque lake he had ever seen. 
 It was in a narrow pass in the vicinity of this lake that King 
 Robert Bruce defeated the Macdongals of Lorn, in 1308. In 
 Loch Awe are found salmon, trout, eels, and other fresh 
 water fish. The lake discharges itself by the river Awe into 
 Loch Etive at Bunawe Ferry. 
 
 Note 4, Page 87. 
 
 The Wolf. 
 
 Wolves were once the scourge of England, and are still 
 numerous in many parts of France. The Poem is founded 
 on an incident which occun ed some years ago in Picardy — 
 tlie details of which were similar, with the exception that the 
 jieasant shot his mother instead of his sweetheart, in mistake
 
 260 NOTES. 
 
 for the wolf of which lie was in pursuit. The last of these 
 ferocious animals seen in the neighbourhood of Guisne was 
 shot by a woman named Louise Vernette, nearly fifty years 
 ago. During a severe winter, when the whole country was 
 covered with snow, a she-wolf, urged to desperation by hun- 
 ger, had entered her cottage at an early hour of the morning, 
 and carried off her infant, as it lay in the cradle. The mother, 
 on returning from the labours of the field, with frantic la- 
 mentations searched the neighbourhood for her child. During 
 her wanderings she encountered a peasant, breathless from a 
 long and unavailing pursuit of the savage beast, which he had 
 seen entering a wood about three leagues distant with the 
 child in its jaws. The whole village immediately renewed the 
 chase ; the mother, arming herself with a gun, was, as might 
 have been expected, the most indefatigable, and, penetrating 
 into the recesses of the forest, encountered the monster, which 
 she shot dead. No traces of the miserable infant were ever 
 discovered. 
 
 Note 5, Page 105. 
 
 Mount Horeb. 
 
 Mount Sinai stands about 120 miles south from Jerusalem, 
 and nearly 260 eastward from Grand Cairo in Egypt. The 
 mountain is of no great extent, but extremely high, and has 
 two tops ; the western of which is called Horeb, and the east- 
 ern, which is about a third higher, Sinai. There are several 
 springs and fruit-tre?s on Horeb, but nothing except rain-
 
 NOTES. 261 
 
 water on the top of Sinai. The ascent of both is very steep, 
 and can only be effected by steps, now much effaced, which tlie 
 Empress Helena, mother of Constantine the Great, caused to 
 be cut in the marble reck. At the foot of Mount Sinai, on the 
 north, and near to the ascent of Mount Horeb, tliere was a 
 monastery dedicated to Saint Catherine, but now in ruins, not 
 far distant from which there stands a fountain of very clear 
 water, formed like a bow or arch. A little above whicli is to 
 be seen the Cave where Elijah rested when God spoke unto 
 liim, 1 Kings xix. From the top of Sinai, God proclaimed his 
 law to the Hebrews amid devouring flames of fire, Exod. xxiv. 
 The Rock Rephidim, which seems to have been a clift fallen 
 off from the side of Sinai, and lies like a large loose stone in 
 the midst of tlie valley, gives name to that part of the desert 
 nearest the mountain. There are twelve openings in it, wlience, 
 on being struck by Moses, the waters gushed out for the sup- 
 ply of the Israelites, during the forty years they tarried in the 
 desert, Exod. xvii. 
 
 Note 6, Page 116. 
 
 Dryhurgh Abbey. 
 
 The ruins of JJryburgh Abbey ai-e surpassingly interesting, 
 from tiieir antiquity, liistory, picturesque appearance, and 
 more than all, from the Gkeat Minstrel being buried there. 
 The grave of Sir Walter Scott is in St. Mary's Aisle of the 
 Abbey Church of Dryburgh, which is in the form of a cross, 
 and the Poet lies in the left transept of the Cross, part of
 
 262 NOTES. 
 
 which is still standing, and close to where the high altar for- 
 merly stood. This transept is divided into three burial- 
 places ; that of Sir Walter Scott, Baronet, in right of his 
 grandmother, Lady Haliburton's family ; that of James Er- 
 skine, Esq. of Shieldhall and Melrose ; and that of James G. 
 Haig, Esq. of the ancient family of Bemersyde. These, with 
 tlie tomb-house of the Earl of Buchan, in St. Moden's Chapel, 
 and that of James Anderson, Esq. of Gledswood, form, I be- 
 lieve, the only cemeteries in Dryburgh. These venerable ruins 
 stand on a romantic peninsula, formed by one of the great 
 windings of the Tweed, commonly called the crescent of that 
 river, in the south-west nook of Berwickshire, where the river 
 divides that county from Roxburghshire. The land rises in 
 a sloping bank from the margin of the Tweed to the top of 
 Dryburgh Hill, about 800 feet high, on which stands the colos- 
 sal statue of Wallace, erected by the late revered Earl of 
 Buchan. The trees in the neighbourhood of Dryburgh have 
 a very luxuriant appearance, and some of them are rather 
 remarkable. There are many vestiges of old oaks to be 
 found, and the ash and the yew have grown to a surprising 
 height and circumference ; and there is still, in the cemetery 
 of the Abbey, a yew-tree of uncommon beauty, which is up- 
 wards of ten feet in circumference, at six feet from the 
 ground. In the grounds opposite the mansion house of Dry- 
 burgh, there are also some fine trees, particularly a noble 
 cedar, which has been much admired. Many interesting re- 
 mains of antiquity have been dug up in Dryburgh Abbey and 
 places adjacent.
 
 NOTES. 263 
 
 Note 7, Page 140. 
 
 Sonnets on Danhy^s Picture. 
 
 Mr Danby could scarcely have chosen a better subject for 
 the display of his great powers than that of the Deluge. In 
 this highly effective and beautiful work of art, an Angel of 
 light is introduced, weeping over the lifeless bodies of a giant 
 and a female, who, floating above the swelling waters on a 
 hastily constructed raft, were crushed to death by a fallen 
 tree. This part of the scene is evidently illustrative of that 
 passage in Scripture which refers to the " Sons of God," who 
 " saw that the daughters of men were fair, and they took them 
 wives of all whom they chose." The " Sons of God," accord- 
 ing to the best commentators, were a race of men favoured 
 by God, but who generally incurred his displeasure, and per- 
 ished with mankind in general. 
 
 Note 8, Page 157. 
 
 " Calmly the martyr Guthrie met his fate." 
 
 Mr James Guthrie, minister of Stirling,- was executed at 
 Edinburgh, on the 1st of June 1661, for his adherence to the 
 Covenant. In his dying speech, he solemnly declared, — " I 
 take God to record upon my soul, I would not exchange this 
 scaffold with the palace or the mitre of the greatest prelate 
 in Britain." 
 
 S
 
 264 NOTES. 
 
 Note 9, Page 167. 
 The Eagle's Nest. 
 
 The incident here versified is founded on fact, although I 
 have taken the liberty slightly to alter the details, — to change 
 the scene, as it were, of the heroine's birth-place,- — and to 
 give her a name of my own choosing. The case is thus nar- 
 rated by Dr Rush of Philadelphia, in his " Lectures on the 
 Utility of a Knowledge of the Mind to a Physician," lect. xi. : — 
 
 " During the time I passed at a country school, at Cecil 
 county, in Maryland," says that eminent medical pliilosopher, 
 " I often went, on a holiday, with my schoolmates, to see an 
 eagle's nest, upon the summit of a dead tree in the neigii- 
 bourhood of the school, during the time of the incubation of 
 that bird. The daughter of the farmer in whose field the 
 tree stood, and with whom 1 became acquainted, married, and 
 settled in this place about forty years ago. In our occa- 
 sional interviews, we now and then spoke of the innocent 
 pursuits and rural pleasures of our youth, and, among other 
 things, of the eagle's nest in her father's field. A few years 
 ago I was called to visit this woman, when she was in tlie low- 
 est stage of a typhu? fever. Upon entering her room, I caught 
 her eye, and, with a cheerful tone of voice, said only — ' The 
 eagle's nest !' She seized my hand, without being able to 
 speak, and discovered strong emotions of pleasure in her 
 countenance, probably from a sudden association of all her 
 early domestic connexions and enjoyments with the words I
 
 NOTES. 265 
 
 had uttered. From that time she began to recover. She is 
 now living, and seldom fails, when we meet, to salute me with 
 the eclio of — ' The eagle's nest !' " 
 
 Note 10, Page 193. 
 
 " Our htstort/ records, ' with sorrow and with shame.' " 
 
 Marshal Ney was shot in violation of a solemn capitula- 
 tion — the Convention of Paris; — by the twelfth article of 
 which an amnesty was granted to all persons in the capital, 
 whatever might be their opinions, their offices, or their con- 
 duct. Marshal Davoust, who had concluded the Convention, 
 explained it in favour of Ney, — and so will impartial history. 
 The Duke of Wellington, however, on being appealed to by 
 the unfortunate Ney, during the trial returned the cold and 
 lawyer-like answer, — " That the Convention was merely a 
 military convention, and did not, and could not, promise par- 
 don for political offences, on the part of the French govern- 
 ment." And so Ney, the most heroic of all the marshals of 
 the French Revolution, was most foully murdered in the 
 garden of the Luxembourg, to satisfy a point of mere military 
 etiquette ! Like tlie Dacian captive of old, — 
 
 " Butchered to make a Roman holiday." 
 
 That the Duke of Wellington did not at once sti'ongly re- 
 monstrate against the illegality of the act was unfortunate 
 for his own fame. It required but the saving of Noy's life to 
 have made him the greatest man of his time. Tliat the act
 
 266 NOTES, 
 
 was illegal is acknowledged by the ablest jurisconsults of 
 Europe. Well might Ney himself exclaim, when he found that 
 his death was resolved upon: — " I am accused against the faith 
 of treaties, and they will not let me justify myself. I appeal 
 to Europe aud to posterity !" 
 
 Note 11, Page 241. 
 
 " He was a sage old man who said." 
 
 A sophist, wishing to perplex Thales, who was one of the 
 seven wise men of Greece, asked him many difficult ques- 
 tions ; to all of which the sage replied without the least hesi- 
 tation. To one of those questions, — which was the following, 
 • — " What is the best of all things ?" Thales gave this response : 
 " Virtue ; because without it there is nothing good." Such is 
 the conviction of mei'e unassisted and stumbling reason, the 
 voice of nature, and the unequivocal and direct assertion of 
 a heathen philosopher. — Preface to Piety and Intellect Rela- 
 tively Estimated, by Dr Henry Edwards. — Ah excellent work.
 
 
 
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