IRLF in sm . i m OEM (sLH.M.'-DOUG H Pil WILLIAM AND OTHER POEMS. Bv G. A. H. DO U GLAS GLASGOW : G. A. II. DOUGLAS & Co., 172 AND 174 HOPK STREET. JOHN MENZIES & Co., 21 DRURY STREET. LOAN STACK F SIR ARCHIBALD C. CAMPBELL, BARONET, BLYTHSWOOD HOUSE, RENFREW, A GENTLEMAN WHOSE NAME IS RP.VERED THROUGHOUT SCOTLAND AS A LANDLORD, A POLITICIAN, A GENTLEMAN, AND AS A FRIEND OF THE PEOPLE, AND ONE WHOSE MANY VIRTUES AND AMIABLE QUALITIES HAVE ENDEARED HIM TO THE HEARTS OF ALL, IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR. 381 PREFACE. IN presenting this volume to my friends and the public, I do it with feelings of some trepidation, knowing as I do that my business occupations have not allowed me to take the time necessary to give these poems the finish I could have desired. I am, however, deeply sensible of the encouragement I have received from many who are almost total strangers, who have urged me to gather together my fragmentary and fugitive pieces, which have appeared from time to time in the various weekly papers, with a view to their publication, and who assured me of their support, which I am very pleased to say they have generously fulfilled. For a few of the pieces I cannot claim the merit of strict originality, but for the most of them I can honestly say they are as original as it is possible for a writer to make them, as I have neither copied words or rhythm from any author. With these few words I leave it to the generosity of the public, only hoping that any defects which may be observable will be excused upon the grounds of the limited time that my business life allows me to cultivate what is my greatest luxury in life, viz : the cultivation of the Muse. G. A. H. D. CONTENTS. RAM Jubilee Song, 9 In Memoriam Lord Iddesleigh, ... ... ... ... u The Storm, 12 Laughter-loving Davie Jones 13 The Little Captive King, 15 The Graves of the Christian Poor, 17 Too Late, 21 In Memoriam W. E. Forster, ... ... ... ... ... 24 Autumn, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 24 Our Heroes,... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 26 Alice Lee, 32 The Pirate Ship. (After Bryant,) 34 Abide with me, fast falls the eventkle, ... ... ... ... 36 Life, 38 The Bairnies crood roond me, ... ... ... ... ... 44 To Eva, 46 To wee Katey, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 47 Maggie's no' here, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 48 The Hero of Scotland Sir William Wallace 49 Meditations,... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 64 The Village Churchyard, 65 Bill Scott, the Surfaceman how he saved Tom Love's brother, 71 Bothwell Castle, 74 Mors Omnibus Communis, ... ... ... 78 To my auld Chum,... ... ... ... ... 82 Robert Burns, 84 In Memoriam Basil R. Anderson, ... _.. .. ... 86 Tom Everett, the Surfaceman, 88 The Shepherd and his Bairn, ... ... ... ... ... 90 The Dying Boy, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 91 The Drunkard's Tale, 95 My Love is dead, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 100 O, Jamie, dear, I'm like to greet, ... ... ... ... 103 A sigh for laddie days, ... ... ... ... ... ... 105 The Bairnies, ... ... ... ... ... 109 Spring's gladness Winter's sorrows, ... ... ... ... no Christmas Chimes, ... ... ... ... ... ... in VI. CONTENTS. PAGE On Yarrow,... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 113 A Legend of Danzig, ... ... ... ... ... ... 115 Regrets, 125 Scotland, dear Country, ... ... ... ... ... ... 127 Retribution, 128 My Sweet Cot, 129 The three jolly Blacksmiths, 130 A Nobleman, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 131 The Home of the Drunkard, ... 132 Truth, 133 Ye Sons of Temperance, arise ! ... ... ... 135 Sowing and Reaping, ... ... ... .. ... ... 136 Autumn Leaves, ... ... ... ... ... 137 By the Banks o' the blooming Almond, ... ... ... ... 139 Darling Maggie, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 141 Life's Lessons, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 142 Lines on the Old Man of Hoy, ... ... ... ... ... 144 Gabriel found by Evangeline, ... ... ... 145 There's nae love like the auld love, ... ... ... ... 146 The News Bairn, 147 The Ocean, 149 Not an atom, not a grain, ... ... ... ... ... ... 154 My bonnie Mountain Land, ... ... ... ... ... 155 Ballad, 157 Of Dogs beware, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 159 Onward, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 162 The Watcher, 163 The Sun and Star of Peace, 165 In Scotia's rock-bound Isle, ... ... ... ... ... 166 To Gracie, 169 His form is gone, ... ... ... ... ... 169 The Charge of the Black Brigade, 171 Straying in the Woodlands, ... ... ... 173 The Sun it still shines on us a', ... ... ... ... ... 173 Better than Jewels, 175 To \Villiam Douglas, 176 Song : Gentle Maiden, still I love thee, 177 Wallace's Address to his Army before the Battle of Stirling Bridge, 178 The cantie auld Kimmer, ... ... ... ... ... ... 179 Scotland, ... ... ... ..- 182 CONTENTS. Vll. PAGE Hopes, 184 I long for a face, ... ... ... ... l %$ To Mrs. S., 186 Oh, fause, fause Maid, 187 Far-offCot, 189 Rob Roy's Grave, ... ... ... ... ... ... I9 1 Song: Only a smile, ... ... ... ... ... ... I9 1 A Summer Morning, ... ... ... ... ... ... I9 2 Strong Drink, ... ... ... ... ... 194 Stand up for the Right, 195 Little Talents, 195 Red-headed Donald 196 Old Shears to Grind, 198 Seaside Memories, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 199 In Memoriam Isabella Smith, ... ... ... ... .. 200 In Memoriam The Rev. John Tulloch, D.D., 201 A Border Wooing, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 201 To Mrs. C. J., 203 The Lass o' Uddingston, 204 True Service, 206 Never give in, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 207 Address to Erin, .. 208 In Memoriam Emperor William of Germany, 209 Britain still shall rule the Sea, 210 Safe on the Home-Rule Plank 211 Hurrah for the Bounding Ball, .. 214 The Clyde in Winter 215 My love and I, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 216 Shadows, 217 Scott of Harden A Border Incident, 217 The Churchyard by the River, 222 'Tvvas in Days of dark November, ... ... ... ... 226 The Exile's Return, 229 Christ's Birth and Resurrection, ... ... .. ... ... 232 Hymn Psalm xc. 3, ... ... ... ... ... ... 233 My Strength is made perfect in Weakness, ... ... ... 234 Hymn A light to lighten the Gentiles, ... ... ... ... 235 Song of the Israelites on crossing Jordan after the Exodus, ... 236 Hymn, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 238 CONTENTS. PAGE The Nativity, 239 At closing of Life At the turn of the Tide, ... ... ... 240 Hymn Isaiah Ivii. 14. ... ... ... ... 241 Hymn John xiv. 2, ... ... ... ... ... ... 242 Xmas Hymn, ... ... ... ... ... 243 Hymn, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 244 Hymn Luke ii. 32, ... ... ... ... ... ... 245 Hymn John xxi. 16, ... ... ... ... ... ... 246 Hymn Psalm cxix. 105, ... ... ... ... 247 Hymn Isaiah liii., ... ... .. ... 248 Home, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 249 Hope, 253 Sunshine and Storm, ... ... ... ... .. ... 255 Prologue by Bailie Nicol Jarvie to " Rob Roy," 259 POEMS AND SONGS. JUBILEE SONG. What pen will write thy glorious reign, What tongue with sweet impassioned strain Will raise a clear and thrilling voice, And bid mankind gladly rejoice ? O ! sea-girt islands o'er the main, O ! mountain tops and teeming plain, Send forth thy songs of mirth and glee, On this the year of Jubilee. The hills and valleys all shall tell, The rolling rivers loudly swell, And thou shalt sing, thou boundless sea, This is the year of Jubilee. Ye cannons forth your salvos pour. Ye vessels great your ensigns soar, Ye minstrels pour your meeds of song, Ye trumpets blare, ye drums beat long ; O, every land 'neath British sway Join in our gladsome song to-day, Grasp hands on sand and rock-bound shore, Let friendship reign, strife be no more. The hills and valleys all shall tell, &c. B 10 POEMS AND SONGS. What progress hath thy realms made Beneath thy beneficial shade ? Let steamer's clanking engine speak, Let rushing mail with sounding shriek; Let science, music, poetry, art, Speak forth, and each enact its part, Shine out thou bright electric light, Light up the gloom, dispel the night. The hills and valleys all shall tell, &c. Stern nature yields her secrets up, And helps to fill thy golden cup Of happiness, without alloy Thy people share with thee thy joy ; A reign begun with silent prayer Well merits all our love and care, A life well spent in sympathy Can know no Stoic's apathy. The hills and valleys all shall tell, &c. Earth lays her riches at thy feet, Beneath our flag all nations meet, America and Asia pour Their fruits and grain, a boundless store; Europe and Africa both send Their greetings to their gracious friend, And nations all the world o'er Do wish thee joy for evermore. The hills and valleys all shall tell, &c. Mr. GEORGE A. H. DOUGLAS, 174 Hope Street, Glasgow, who has written and forwarded to Her Majesty, a Jubilee song, has received the following: " General Sir Henry F. Ponsonby is commanded by the Queen to thank Mr. George Douglas for his letter and enclosure of 22d inst. Buckingham Palace, 3oth June, 1887." POEMS AND SONGS. II IN MEMORIAM. LORD IDDESLEIGH, DIED I2TH JANUARY, 1887. Another beacon vanished from the shore Its light is quenched, 'twill shine again no more ; A statesman good has crossed the Lethean wave, And leaves us sadly weeping at his grave. A nation mourns thee, Iddesleigh, to-day ; Amid the greater stars thy lesser ray Will more be missed, for all thy deeds of love Are written on our hearts and known above ; A true nobility of heart was thine ; In midst of selfish men thy light did shine, For generous thou wert to friend and foe- Such nobleness the selfish cannot know; Thy life was built on nature's kindly plan, And every act proclaimed thee gentleman. THE LATE EARL OF IDDESLEIGH. Our readers will perhaps remember that some touching lines of poetry appeared in The Scottish People shortly after the death of Lord Iddesleigh, from the pen of Mr. G. A. H. Douglas, Glasgow. A copy of the poem, beautifully illuminated by the author, was sent to Lady Iddesleigh, and Mr. Douglas has now received a letter of thanks from her ladyship. POETICAL. Mr. G. A. H. Douglas, a well known contributor to our Poet's corner, sent a copy of his poem on "Lord Iddesleigh" to the widow of the deceased nobleman. The poem in question appeared in the Advertiser of January 22nd. Mr. Douglas received the following reply from her ladyship : " Pynes, Exeter, Feb. 8. Dear Sir, I am much obliged for the beautifully illuminated poem you have sent me, and which I think is so well illustrated. I remain, yours faithfully, CECILIA IDDESLEIGH. 12 POEMS AND SONGS. THE STORM. O, the glamour o' the moonlicht ! O, the swaying o' the trees ! O, the scudding o' the cloudlets Before the driving breeze ! O, the ripple o' the wavelets ! O, the flapping o' the sail ! O, the drifting frae the anchors Before the whistling gale ! O, the rumling o' the thunder ! O' the sweeping o' the blast ! O' the flashing o' the lightning, And bending o' the mast ! O, the roaring o' the billows ! O, the beating o' the swell ! O, the sexton in the belfry, And the tolling o' the bell ! O, the launching o' the life boat ! O, the harsh words skippers speak ! O, the broken splintered timbers, And the sailors' drowning shriek. O, the mothers in their cabins ! O, the widows on the shore ! O' their weeping and their wailing For faces seen no more ! POEMS AND SONGS. 13 LAUGHTER-LOVING DAVIE JONES. Oh, well I mind thee, Davie Jones, Laughter-loving Davie Jones, Oh, well recall thy mirthful tones, Laughter-loving Uavie Jones. In the street, and in the school, Who like thee could play the fool ? Who like thee play pranks so cool ? Laughter-loving Davie Jones. Loved by young folks and the olden, Laughter-loving Davie Jones ; Loved by May with curls golden, Laughter-loving Davie Jones; Well I mind the trysting tree, Where you bent to her the knee, W r hen she gave her heart to thee, Laughter-loving Davie Jones. When you went to be a sailor, Laughter-loving Davie Jones, Then May's heart had nearly failed her, Laughter-loving Davie Jones. Passed the sweet smile from her face, Though her love was cheered by grace, Sent to all God's chosen race, Laughter-loving Davie Jones. Strong the wind blew from the West, Laughter-loving Davie Jones, That day you found eternal rest, Laughter-loving Davie Jones. 14 POEMS AND SONGS. As a ship in stormy bay, From its anchors breaks away, So your soul escaped that day, Laughter-loving Davie Jones. On the shore just by the landing, Laughter-loving Davie Jones, On the rock and on the standing, Laughter-loving Davie Jones, Moved sweet May with figure slim, Grace and beauty in each limb, Watching through the twilight dim, Laughter-loving Davie Jones. Long she looked for thy returning, Laughter-loving Davie Jones, With new light her eyes were burning, Laughter-loving Davie Jones. Long she waited on the shore, Long a lamp swung at her door, But 'twill swing again no more, Laughter-loving Davie Jones. But her life with grief was spent, Laughter-loving Davie Jones, And her form grew round and bent, Laughter-loving Davie Jones; And they laid her down to rest, In her bridal robes neat dressed, She who loved thee first and best, Laughter-loving Davie Jones. No more we hear your merry tones, Laughter-loving Davie Jones. POEMS AND SONGS, 1 5 For o'er your shroud the sea loud moans, Laughter-loving Davie Jones. Yet fond fancy still will cling, Round thee throw the mystic ring, That the twilight shadows bring, Laughter loving Davie Jones. But when the brazen trumpets sound, Laughter-loving Davie Jones, Calls saints and sinners from the ground, Laughter-loving Davie Jones, Then your form shall cleave the air, Then you'll meet your May so fair, Where there is no cank'ring care, Laughter-loving Davie Jones. THE LITTLE CAPTIVE KING. The story of the little Captive King is one of the saddest that darkens history. The son of Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI., born in 1785, died of ill usage at the early age of ten years and two months, with the word "Mother" on his lips, on 8th June, 1795. His beautiful mother had trained the future king that virtue and goodness were the only true attributes which became the character of a king, and he early showed signs of that nobility and gentleness which distinguished him. Unfortunately, the revolution of 1789 broke out in all its fury, and his father, the king, early fell a victim to the rage of the populace, and his mother (to whose character the eloquent Edmund Burke pays a great tribute in his "Letters on the French Revolution,") was accused of crimes that are revolting to human nature, trumped up in the following manner : The men of the Convention sent a few of their emissaries to interview the young Dauphin (called by courtesy, Louis XVII.), who forced him to take wine, and under its influence, or moved by fear of these " Lambs of the Convention," as they have been sarcastically called, l6 POEMS AND SONGS. he was compelled to sign a paper charging his mother with various crimes, and on the strength of this and some other false charges, she was tried and condemned to the guillotine. The sentence was carried out in all its barbarity on the i6th Oct., 1793. The young prince, on hearing the fate of his dearly loved mother, said in a tone which despair rendered calm, "I am a wretch. I have murdered my mother. Never again shall a single word pass these guilty lips," and until the day his young life fled away, just eighteeen months or so afterwards, he never opened his lips to speak. Such devotion, such love, such resolution on the part of a boy not nine years of age, is unprecedented, and deserves more than a passing notice from our historians. Sweet Prince ! blood guiltiness is on that land Which saw thee perish without helping hand ; Young King ! thy very heart and soul were crushed, Even sympathy seemed ever to be hushed : When all fair France was drunk with human blood, Which flowed in one continuous crimson flood ; Oh Robespierre ! thou Danton 1 thou Marat ! Ye hellish three, ye black triumvirate, 'Mongst all the blood you spilt, and hearts you broke, There never fell a more heart-breaking stroke Than fell on that brave Prince, that tender boy So young, so fair, more fitted for a toy, Than cope with dark insidious poisoned minds, Whose smiles and blandishments were only blinds To hide their dark and fiendish purposes. When from thy simple lips they wrung the tale That made your mother's noble heart to fail, She, who had never quailed before her foes, Nor turned from duty's path for fear of blows, Was humbled by the blackness of the charge ; And filled with grief her mind and heart so large At thought of violence unto thee, her son. POEMS AND SONGS. I'J But when, young Prince, you knew you'd thoughtless been, Thy aimless words, pretext to guillotine, Your mother, fondly loved, the fairest flower That ever graced the porch of kingly bower, Then noble boy, tho' scarcely nine thy years, Did'st say in grief and bitterness of tears " A word these guilty lips shall pass them never :" And ne'er you spoke, in spite of their endeavour, Until the day thy young life fled away : For eighteen months, thro' many a weary day, Thy lips seemed sealed, for never once you spoke, Tho' thy young form was bent, thy young heart broke. Brave boy ! brave prince ! brave king ! I honour you, I honour, I revere a heart so true ; And though thy grave's forgotten and unknown, The story of thy life shall still be blown Upon the winds, and told in every land, For deeds like thine must not be writ on sand. Altho' no poet yet has sung thy praise, Yet I a simple epitaph will raise ; And tho' 'tis not in granite, may it live Until thy grave its honoured dead upgive. THE GRAVES OF THE CHRISTIAN POOR. Here stand gigantic monuments and stones Recording all the virtues of the great, And here are lowly mossy-covered slabs That give their names, their ages when they died, Of those whose lives was fight 'gainst poverty. 1 8 POEMS AND SONGS. And here mound after mound a countless throng Are laid the pauper dead, no stone or slab To show to future ages where they rest, Their lives a blank not even a memory. Here come no weeping friends to drop large tears Upon the rugged mounds that mark their graves ; Yet tho' their names and deeds are here forgot, It may be, that in mansions in the sky, Their names stand higher in the Book of Life Than those asleep beneath the granite pile. Mayhaps their name and fame for Christian work Had long preceded their departure from A world of sorrow and of gilded fame, Whilst poets blazon forth the mighty deeds Of those at rest beneath the granite grey, And sing the praise of mighty Wellington, And tell the tale of Cranmer, Latimer, And of heroic Ridley at the stake, Who bravely bore the scorching seething flame, Amidst the admiration of an awe-struck world, Ne'er flinching when they saw the curling smoke, And fire-forked tongues, with scorching burning breath, Twisting and twining round their funeral pyres : As, without fear of death they calmly stood, And seemed to glory in their martyr's death. Oh ! let me shed a tear for those who sleep So calmly 'neath these grassy-daisied mounds. Perhaps here lies the dust of those who bore The shafts of ridicule, the gibes of wit, The slander of the tongue, the spiteful sneer, The calumny of friends, the hate of foes, The pangs of grief for confidence betrayed, The slights and snubs of trivial-minded men ; POEMS AND SONGS. 19 But borne with Christian patience, and with hope That God would right them in this world of woe ; Vain thought, for God had meant that they should bear The cross whilst here, so that they yet might wear A crown of glory in a scept'red world Beyond the dreamy wave that rolls so dark, And hides from view the glorious Heavenland, Which, hid from sight to world's philosophy, Is yet revealed to true simplicity ; But God in his mysterious dealings meant, That even as Job of old, that they should shine As bright examples of that living faith Which fills all those who put their trust in Him, And which led Abram up Moriah's steep, And Moses guided through the Egyptian sea Which sep'rates continent from continent When limpid waters stood upright like walls At the command and rod of Israel's chief, Or like the faithful two who, sent to spy, And search in Canaan's land for some foothold For God's own people, and brought back the grapes To prove to Israel richness of the land, Their's was the faith, tho' giants great they saw, That God would give His people all their plains. Oh, silent tongues ! had ye but vital breath To tell me of your trials and struggles brave Against the whirlpool of wrath and hate That, vortex-like, around you seethed and boiled, Which deals and death to virtue and to life With that insidious poison only known By those who seek to overturn the good, Yet still mayhaps 'twas borne with God-like strength, 20 POEMS AND SONGS. This battling 'gainst this malarious influence, And when your work and toils were finished Ye had no craven fear to enter through The portals of the door that leads to life ; Even death, so dread, to you seemed gate of Heaven, You had no fear altho' none e'er come back To tell the road which weary travellers go, But to discover which we go alone. Yours was the faith by Revelation given Thro' prophets who had lived in days gone bye, Who rose and spoke and then had fallen asleep. What though the sceptic tongue had often said That prophets told no more than what was found Of old within the Sanscrit's sacred page, Ye, like true Christians, based your hope on this, That tho' you were but as the fleeting mist, Or like to pebble dropped in sevenfold sea, Tho' no one marked your coming to the world, And no one mourned you when this orb you left, That with Christ's armour you could safely cross The stream of death, and gain the other shore. Ye tombless saints ! I reverence and esteem Your silent witness for the Christian life, And when immortal spirits reach the veil Yours are the names will fill the heavenly host, And set their hearts aglow, and tune their harps To sing your praise and tell your mighty deeds Not conquests, but temptations overcome. POEMS AND SONGS. 21 TOO LATE. Alone am I, and silently I lean upon the coping stone, Gazing thro' the old church windows, listening to the music's strain; Seems as 'twere but yesterday since I joined in praise and song In the same old church's chancel seems it not as things are vain ; But the time's long gone and vanished, down the vistas of the past, And there's left but fragrant sweetness shadows of the long ago : Alone I stand, my playmates scattered brothers, sisters, gone: Gone my father and my mother, ebbed as ocean after flow. Yes, I feel the world is hollow, standing gazing at the stone That recalls their ages, virtues, and their good deeds done ; Now, oh, now ! my all I'd give for their sweet smiles as of old, Give up all my lands and treasures, both of silver and of gold; But I hear a lonely echo bursting from my heart Too late ! Here the first that's graved on granite is my father's name and age ; My mind recalls my feeble steps guiding me unto his knee ; Oh, I mind his loving counsel and his words of wisdom sage, Written on the chords of memory, bound with golden cords to me. Yes, my mind recurs with pleasure to my rides on his broad back, And how he romped with childlike joy and at boyish games would play ; 22 POEMS AND SONGS. Oh, I mind, when in sore illness, how he'd fold me to his heart, Soothing me with fond caresses and I bless him to this day, Yes, I feel how hollow's friendship when compared with his great love ; And I feel his virtues, graces, are recorded high above ; Now, oh, now! my all I'd give for his sweet smile as of old Yes, I'd give up lands and treasures, both of silver and of gold ; But I hear a lonely echo bursting from my heart Too late! Here I trace upon the granite mother's dearest, honoured name, Gath'ring up the threads of memory, linking them in one grand chain : How she trained my faltering steps taught my lisping tongue to speak Hourly, daily, nightly, served me sought my childish love to gain ; Oh, the nights of pain and anguish, hid from mortal eyes save mine ; And I mind when friends did leave me, she clung closer to my side And when I was sad and broken, like a wreck on craggy shore, When friends and foes alike did chide, only she could not deride. Yes, I felt 'twas hollow friendship when with her great love compared, And I felt the burden lighten'd when by her the load was shared ; Now, oh, now ! my all I'd give for her sweet smile as of old- Give up all my lands and treasures, both of silver and of gold; But I hear a lonely echo bursting from my heart Too late! POEMS AND SONGS. 23 Here, engraved upon the granite, are my brothers', sisters' names, But deeper graved upon my heart, carved in letters as of gold, Are your mem'ries, sisters, brothers, and your gentle, loving minds ; You were gentle and forgiving I was frigid, hard, and cold ; Graven deep upon my mem'ry are the games we used to play, Jinking round the peat and hay stacks, hiding 'mong the standing corn ; But, like summer flowers, you've vanished, I am left like oak tree old They have gone across the river, I am left like one forlorn, Yes, I feel their loving glances and their kindly words and ways Have thawed my heart, that once was sterile, shadowed by my evil days ; Now, oh, now ! my all I'd give for their sweet smiles as of old Give up all my lands and treasures, both of silver and of gold ; But I hear a lonely echo bursting from my heart Too late ! On the church I see no changes, still the village street's the same; Still the ploughman's busy working richest furrows in the mould ; Birds are singing to their help-mates, and the slanting sun- beams shine On the smith within the smithy as he hammers as of old ; I alone am left a stranger, like a ship adrift at sea In the world I'm lone and friendless, I have neither kith nor kind ; As I wander, gently roaming, by the sloping, slimy stones, Seems as if the sun was slanting sunbeams soft upon my mind, 24 POEMS AND SONGS. Yes, I feel the world is hollow, for a selfish heart was mine; Yes, I feel its pleasures finished, and my heart can but repine ; Now, oh, now ! my all I'd give for their sweet smiles as of old Give up all my lands and treasures, both of silver and of gold; But I hear a lonely echo, echoing from the grave Too late ! IN MEMORIAM. W. E. FORSTER, DIED 5TH APRIL, l886. Great statesman, full of rugged energy That won esteem from every honest heart, And sycophancy hid its hydra head Before the light'ning glance which thou could'st dart ; Even foes admired thy truthful earnestness Thy rectitude of purpose was to all Apparent as the sun in azure skies ; From selfish men thou stoodest forth a Saul ; In councils of the nation thou'lt be missed With words of warning ever on thy tongue, To guide us safely past the shallow shoals Or through the mist that pall-like round us hung ; Sleep, weary statesman, worn out with the strife And struggle for a nation's higher life. AUTUMN. The sun is sinking in the far-off west, Like some great ball of liquid fire aglow, And heaven reflects a thousand golden tints, The richness of the dying sunbeams' rays ; POEMS AND SONGS, 25 The glow of red light seems unnatural Unto the gloom of dark autumnal day As the last struggles of the dying man Before his spirit leaves its house of clay, When he, who seemed to have no strength and power To prop his dying head upon his hands, Upstarts from lethargy and sits erect, And shines his eyes as bright as evening stars As forth his lips he pours his faith and hope, And future state, that's hid to us below, Seems plain to him, as though he had an eye Within the sanctuary of God unseen And thus the soul asserts its God-given life Before it wings its way into the night, And turns again to him who gave it might ; But now the wind upsprings in fitful gusts, And drives the clouds across the golden path, And trees begin to groan and creak and sway As though they laboured under some great pain And yonder brawling brook, which glanced the rays Back from its breast in gleams of flashing light, Is now as dark as Lethe's burdened stream And brown dead leaves, that seemed to fondly cling Unto the trees as tender child it hangs Upon the bosom of its parent dear, Are falling with a dreary rustling sound, As if their parting from the dark brown branch, Where they had hung the golden summer through, Was as the severing of two tender hearts Which ne'er will meet within this world again ; Solemn the sound of falling leaves to me As to the Egyptian the Colossi is When morning sun floods all the Thebian plain, c 26 POEMS AND SONGS. And o'er the silence of the desert sands Is heard the sound which falls upon the ear Like to the breaking of a harp's great chord ; All round I see the Winter's icy breath Is grasping earth within an iron-bound spell. Hedges and trees I see are gaunt and bare As to and fro they sway their branches high The ground is brown and fallow, bleak the land, And earth is dead as though it ne'er had bloomed My mind, my soul, seem frozen as the earth, Even hope itself seems hopeless as despair ; Although I know that Spring will come again And make the fields to bloom as they have bloomed In seasons past, in seasons still to come, Yet mind and heart live only in the past, And seem to cherish things I once had loved In nature even as parents love to dwell Upon the beauty of their children dead, And present loves chase not dead loves away ; Oh ! Father of us all, vouchsafe the hope That death may be the ush'rer of the Spring, And heaven be near us when our souls take wing. OUR HEROES. The Frenchmen may talk of their terrible Guards, The Russ' of their Cossacks being bearded like Pards ; The Germans may prate of their Uhlans in line, And Austrians enlarge on their cavalry fine : POEMS AND SONGS. 27 The Spaniards can boast of their chivalry bold, And Italians may rave of the Romans of old But I sing of a nation of heroes so true, Whose flag bears the colours, the red, white, and blue. Our heroes are dauntless in every clime, Their graves to be found at equatorial line ; Their bones strew the beach of the far Polar sea, Their graves lie deep in the blue Zuyder Zee. The Moslems of old have quelled 'fore their steel, As ground it did tremble beneath their horse heel ; And Saladin's forces have fled at the shock, Like waves that are baffled by strength of the rock. The Frenchmen have felt the full strength of our steel, The charge of our troops caused their columns to reel, When with shouts and hurrah we forward did pour, At bloody Poitiers and at famed Agincourt ; We've met them, and beat them, at bloody Badajoz, We've met them, and beat them, at dark Rodrigo ; They felt our hard blows at the fierce Dettingen. Their lines they did break 'fore the shouts of our men, At Ramilies, Malplaquet, and great Oudenarde, Where Marlborough led like a demon of war. Napoleon shook when he saw our Life Guards Sweep like a rude tempest o'er the hoof-beaten swards, Making lanes in his army, with death-dealing blows, And trampling the wounded beneath their horse shoes, When Wellington stood and gave orders " Advance," Like autumn leaves strewn were the legions of France ; 28 POEMS AND SONGS. The flash of our guns and our musketry true Were felt by our foes at the red Waterloo. The Russians too have felt our hard heel, The strokes of our swords and the flash of our steel j And even the Czar his temerity rued, For with Trojan strength our men seemed imbued : Oh, Alma ! thy heights saw our Highlanders charge With glitt'ring bayonets, though used to the targe : No thought at the moment, an army they fought 'Twas fearful the carnage and slaughter they wrought. On Balaclava's heights, thro' mist and thro' smoke, Our heroes stood firm, and an army they broke ; When pressed by battalions, 'twas then they did shine, Unwav'ring they stood, in that long "thin red line." In the " Valley of Death," 'midst the grape and the shell, When our orders to us seemed a funeral knell, Tho' we thought t'was a blunder to ride at the guns, And each thought they'd see no more setting suns, Yet our orders were plain, our leaders were bold, And we felt we must strike for our fame, as of old, For behind was the sea, before us the foe, But what were their numbers we cared not to know. 'Midst the flash of our steel, 'midst shouts of our men, Six hundred we rode thro' the jaws of the den ; With our swords 'tween our teeth, and carbines in hand, We rode thro' the valley, a resolute band. As saddles were emptied we closed up our ranks, Tho' their guns made sad havoc in front and on flanks ; Like a whirlwind of tempest their ranks we rode thro', Amazed were all who our onslaught did view, POEMS AND SONGS. Then spiking the guns a troop we rode back, Where our brave dead were strewn to mark our red track. Then fainting and weary, and covered with blood, Our horses befoamed and bespattered with mud, We reined up our steeds where we'd bivouacked before, And counted our heroes 'midst the canon' loud roar ; But few were the numbers who answered the roll, Though the fight we had won, 'twas fearful the toll, We silently listened and answered the call, And numbered the heroes who that day did fall. It was not " la guerre," the French people said, But 'twas fearful the harvest that fell by the blade. And spite of the blunder, with pride we look back To the heroes who fell on that hoof-beaten track. Our heroes are famed both by land and by sea Wherever they fight for the land of the free. The Dutchmen may boast of their Admiral Tromp, And speak of Von Reuter with pard'nable pomp, But we have a much better in glorious Blake, Or our chivalrous explorer, the dashing Drake. And even old Collingwood was match for the foe, For when he was beat he ne'er seemed to know. And who has not heard of Nelson, the brave ? How he fought for our flag, and our prestige did save, When off Copenhagen the signal was shown, To retire from the fight that was then going on, How he put his long glass to his sightless eye, And said in the words that now never will die I can't see the signal, nail the flag to the mast, Let us fight for the fame of our land to the last. 30 POEMS AND SONGS. At the sad Trafalgar, where our great hero fell, The Frenchmen a tale of our pluck they could tell ; When our brave sailor lads, with a wild ringing cheer, Charged with their handspikes, as their way they did clear, Hand to hand was the conflict, bare were our breasts, And sinew and muscle the only true tests. Our brave Nelson stood, with his glass in his hand, Directing the fight with sharp words of command ; With the aid of such leader we'd conquered a world, Though shells stript our masts, and smoke round us curled, We had not a fear, as we returned them their fire, No thought of surrender, in the conflict so dire, Tho' the decks were bedyed and slippery with blood, Though we each helped to swell the dark crimson flood, We fought all undaunted with cutlass and spike, To the devil himself not our colours would strike ; Though hotter and hotter became the dread fire, We swung the dread cutlass, and ne'er seemed to tire, 'Twas each for himself in our brave, gallant band. Like " Hal o' the Wynd," each fought for his hand. Our gunners, begrimmed and blackened with smoke, .Thundered their guns, and loud cheers they broke From our crews, as the Frenchmen their colours did strike Before the fierce slash of the cutlass and spike. But alas ! our brave hero was shot with a ball From the gun of a Frenchmen, in mizzentop tall, And sadly we bore him, as one in a fit, To the cabin below the bloody cockpit. Tho' his life-blood was ebbing, as we crowded around, He had not a thought for his bloody death-wound, But calmly he looked for the news of the fight, Giving orders to tack to left and to right ; And smiled when he heard their colours they struck POEMS AND SONGS. 31 Before our brave tars, who had won by their pluck. Then, stretching himself, he took the hard hand Of Hardy the brave, who was second in command, And said, as he thought of our England's beauty, "Hardy, I think we have all done our duty." Thus died our brave hero, whom poets have sung ; Thus died our brave leader, whose praises have rung Through every land, on every shore, In legend, in story, and classical lore. But our hero tho' dead is a bright guiding star, More famed than brave Henry, the heroic Navarre. Yes ! the fight we had won, but fearful the cost, When we saw the dead bodies of heroes we lost, And looked on our wounded all marked with sword thrust, When we saw the brave lads who'd bitten the dust ; As we silently gazed on our comrades held dear, The bravest amongst could shed bitter tear. Yes ! great was the cost of the fight we had won, But that sorrowful day, and the red setting sun Had seen French supremacy swept from the sea, By the hands of the lads of the sons of the free. Our heroes have built our great empire at home, And are patriots true, where'er they may roam, They've fought for our prestige on Atlantic's steep wave, On Pacifican sea have proved themselves brave. With the arms of our heroes our place has been won, The empire so wide, that knows no setting sun. A nation of units, they have made it a whole, And freedom from slav'ry has e'er been our goal. And who is the traitor our union would spoil ? For which heroes have fought and statesmen did toil, 32 POEMS AND SONGS. Who is the dastard will like craven draw back From the paths which our heroes have left us to track? And who is the statesman will Ireland let go, And make our once friend our bitterest foe ? In the pathway of life, misfortune his lot, His history a blank, his actions forgot ; May his rank or his fame from our mind back be flung, His death unregretted, his memory unsung. Accursed may he be the contest won't brave, His name be forgotten, dishonoured his grave. ALICE LEE. Snowflakes falling, twisting, whirling, driving in my face, Snowflakes playing, toying, coying, joining in a race ; A boy again, amid my playmates, full of fun and glee, Racing, chasing one another, like swift hares we flee. Building castles, building houses, though they were of snow, Yet we had our battles, sieges made our faces glow ; And we each had school-girl sweethearts, proud were we as knights, And we felt as we were warriors fighting for their rights. Mine, she was a lovely creature, fair-haired Alice Lee ; Had those been the days of tournay, bent had been my knee To receive the crown of honour from this maid of charms, Given to the valiant victor for brave feats of arms. These were days of happiness, when I dreamt of wealth and fame, Dreamt we two should live together, wearing the same name, Dreams, I dreamt them o'er and o'er ; They were dreams and nothing more. POEMS AND SONGS. 33 Summer's sunshine slanting, shining, stealing o'er the lea, Summer's scented breezes blowing on sweet Alice Lee. In fair summer, sweet seclusion, walking by the lake, Promising, whate'er betides, would ne'er our promise break, Alice Lee and I are roaming round its level brim ; Silver orchids, white-leaved lilies, seem to breathe a hymn, Wildest notes, translucent, flowing, trilling from the birds, Loos of oxen, bleats of lambs, are echoed back by herds Which we see upon the meadows, straying far and wide ; On the lake, with sylph-like motion, little boats do glide, And we hear the sound of rowlocks as their oars they dip ; Nature's joys they spring supernal, we their nectar sip. As we walked the future seemed all pleasant for our love, I was filled with proud ambition, she with hopes above ; I was building giant castles of a future great, She with love and hope of heaven spoke with eyes elate. I had hopes that in the future I'd still brighter shine The future wore cerulean colours, golden hopes were mine. But the autumn came with chillness, leaving but dead leaves, And the harvester was busy binding up his sheaves ; And my dreams were blighted, scattered like the o'er-ripe grain, Leaving nought but wasted fragrance and my dreams were vain Dreams, I dreamt them o'er and o'er ; They were dreams and nothing more. Snowflakes driving, twisting, whirling, beating on a stone, Snowflakes playing, coying, toying, in my face are blown ; 'Twas the last time I was able to wander to her grave, But I felt that I must do it ere I crossed dark Lethe's wave, For sweet Alice died in Autumn, ere the red leaves fell, She had gone among the angels, and the number swell 34 POEMS AND SONGS. That surround the throne in glory, and who always cry " Holy, holy, holy, Lord," to the God that dwells on high. When I saw the snowflakes falling, covering up the mound Of her I loved, whose heart was mine, to whom my heart was bound, I remembered how the shadows deepened round my door, When I knew no more I'd meet her, look on her no more, And it brought me back the dreams when we walked beside the lake, Dreaming dreams of love and faith ; little dreamt we death would break Dreams, we dreamt them o'er and o'er ; They were dreams and nothing more. THE PIRATE SHIP. (After Bryant.) It is morn on the sea, and flooded with sheen The deep waves are sparkling like emerald's green ; The pale skies are pulsing and flashing with light, Which seem but God's glory reflected to sight. Over the waters, like a child of the sun, O, see ! the tall vessel its lone course does run. As full to the wind she shakes out her broad sail, Her pennons stream back with the force of the gale, The high winds sweep past her with whistle and song, And surges leap up as they bear her along ; Her sharp bows look up to gaze at the clouds, And the sailor lad sings a loud song in the shrouds Onward she sweeps like a vision of light, As fast as the pinions of eagle in flight ; POEMS AND SONGS. 35 She seems like a bird, with her sails flashing white, As bright as the sun, and as fair as its light. And who, that now sees her careering along, Can think of the hearts that are bursting with wrong ; Would think there are prisoners now battened below ; Could think of the tears from their eyelids that flow ; Would think on the morrow they must walk the dread plank Regardless of pity, position, and rank. Tis night on the sea, and the moon rises high, The bright stars are shining like gems in the sky ; They shine like the lamps in some spectral scene, And the ship like a mirage at sunset is seen. O, look on the waves, as she's calmly at rest, And seems not the ship as a vision of blest ; O ! seems not the ship as a wisp on the main, Or oasis of hope on a long desert plain. Alone on the deep are the prisoners at night, They take not a thought of time in its flight, But are thinking of home, and some visions of song, And to press some dear hand they earnestly long. Calmly the mother takes her child to her heart To tell of its father from whom she did part, Rejoiced with the hope, soon united they'd be How little they dreamt of her death by the sea ! Who, that now watches the ship smoothly gliding, Thinks that to-morrow some hearts will be chiding ; Thinks of a father who waits on the bleak shore, To welcome the wife he will never meet more. Thus, oh ! 'tis thus that we never can know, Half of the trouble in this region of woe, 36 POEMS AND SONGS. Nor deem there are watchers on shore and on wave, To whom hope is a knell, its echo a grave. 'Tis thus with our lives. They go smoothly along, Our smiles are their sunshine co'mingled with song ; We hide all our sorrows and fears from the world, We close up our hearts like a sail that is furled. While gazers are watching, our streamers fly high ; They know not our hearts can but echo a sigh. To appearance all gladness, all hope, and all joy, Yet chartered with sorrow, and ballast's alloy, Yes, we wear a false smile to hide our sad tears, Yet we're freighted with sorrow and darken'd with fears ; But hopes that are blighted the world cannot know, They are hid like the breakers by ocean's calm flow. ABIDE WITH ME, FAST FALLS THE EVENTIDE. " Abide with me, fast falls the eventide," In accents sweet, with voices full and clear, Sweet are the blending of harmonious notes, That fall with wondrous power upon the ear. They swell through chancel, and echo in the eaves, And grandly ring within the transept wide " Abide with me, fast falls the eventide," The darkness deepens, Lord, with me abide." "When other helpers fail, and comforts flee," Grandly they sing, as only those can sing Who feel each note and tender sympathy, Sung as if sung by angels on the wing. POEMS AND SONGS. 37 A weary soul creeps in from frost and cold, Tired are her steps, from life's ills fain would flee ; But music's power has charmed her in to hear, And brings the lowly suppliant to her knee. Felt need of help, for helpers she had none : Heaven's door seemed closed, a lonely waif was she, Her broken heart re-echoes back the strain, " Help of the helpless, O, abide with me ! " " Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day," Sung by fair child o'er father's dying bed, And, oh ! what rapture do the words convey ! For doubts and fears like midnight dreams had fled. Calmly, trustfully, looks he for his Lord ; No more desire for earth no more to stay ; Their voices blend in the harmonious words, "Earth's joys grow dim, its glories pass away." " Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes ! " Mind, heart, and soul are blended in the cry, Sung by dear lips, will sing on earth no more, But which will sing the words within the sky. The aged form, though racked by inward pain, Forgets the gloom that all around her lies, She sees the heavenly shore, and sings again, "Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies." Past now the quicksands and the rocky shore, " Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee." Forgot the ills of life and pangs of death, " In life and death, O Lord, abide with me." 38 POEMS AND SONGS. LIFE. Spirit from the vast unseen, Spirit on which flesh must lean, Whence art thou, and where thy road, Why must flesh lay down thy load ? Art thou conquered in the fight ? Hath death conquered in its might ? And must we thy burden lay, At the closing of life's day ? Ne'er to take the burden up, Ne'er again to drink life's cup, In a future land of bliss, Ne'er to meet a Father's kiss ; Or is death but as the door, Leads to life for evermore ? Is it but a stepping stone, That will lead us to his throne ? Lead us to a life on high In the mansions 'yond the sky ; Helps us, as on wings to spring From our depths of suffering, To the heaven by angels trod, Nought of man, but all of God. Where wert thou, oh feeble life, 'Midst the seeming chaotic strife ? When our world was raging flames, Ere the stars had won their names, When our earth like molten lead, Swiftly round its circle sped, In a blazing ball of light Giving moon its borrowed light, POEMS AND SONGS. 39 Ere the liquid mass grew cold, Forming mountains, rugged, bold, Ere the vapours poured down rocks, Ere the earth knew earthquake shocks, Where wert thou, oh feeble life ? Wert thou in the hands of God ? Didst thou bud like Aaron's rod ? Wert thou hid like Christ in tomb? Didst thou know the impending doom ? Was't foreknown the curse was hurled At primal man, ere he the world In life's niche had found a place, Ere Orion rolled through space, And a Harpocratian silence fell, When all was silent as a well. Upon Sahara's desert sand, That stretches out like Hade's land, When earth with bright Tartarian light, Burned brightly, sparkled bright; Ere the moon was as the sun, Flashing till its light was done, Ere its crust had turned cold, Lost of atmosphere its hold, Leaving no reflecting light, Nought to gladden sense and sight, Save when sun's bright light is thrown, Then it shines like jewel in stone, Flooding worlds with brilliant sheen, Marking God to worlds unseen. But what art thou, oh feeble life ? Pregnant potent bounteous, rife, 40 POEMS AND SONGS. Didst thou come as sunny shower, Filled with great refreshing power. Come to cheer and fill a world, Wert thou like a meteor hurled From the anvil of God's throne, As a cloud is swiftly blown By fierce winds and angry blast, When the sky is overcast ? Tell us, have we aimless come Something out of nothing's womb, Shall this something nothing turn, Like the incense from an urn ? Shall the soul that's filled with fire Droop and flicker, then expire When the frame gets worn and old, When the blood gets thin and cold, When the eye its life gives out And our strength gives place to rout ? Nothing were we, and will we Sleep to all eternity ? O much rather would we be, As a barque on stormy sea By the winds tossed to and fro, And the currents in their flow, Yet when it has reached the shore, All its dangers then are o'er ; Or like meteor was life sent, On some mystic mission bent, Blazing, dashing, through the air Wondrous bright, and wondrous fair Whistling on its dazzling way, Through the night and through the day, Lost as we might think in space ; POEMS AND SONGS. 41 But when it has run its race, Drifting, shooting 'gainst the sun, Mission finished mission done, Merging its great light in his, As a bride and bridegroom kiss, So our life's work finished. With our hands, our hearts, and head, And our brief sojourning o'er, We would seek to dwell e'ermore, When our dust is laid in sod With our great creator, God. Seek the Gordian knot to tie, Deathless life will never die, Knot that death has sought to cut ; But like acorn, tree, or nut, Plants its seed in earth's firm bed, Seems to rot, and seems as dead, But when winter's cold is done, And the balmy winds and sun Come again to cheer the flowers, And to decorate the bowers, Springs the acorn, springs the nut, Out their deep embedded rut, Grow they into stately trees, There to grace the dales and leas ; Thus the deathless life goes on, Nature sings her sweetest song, And mankind deep lessons drink, Nature teaches doubts to sink; Nothing dies but takes new form, Tender plants survive the storm, And revivified, the land, Filled with joy both shore and strand. D 42 POEMS AND SONGS. Scale we up to yon high mount, Look upon the crystal fount As it wings its silver way, Nothing staying nought can stay, As it springs from out the sand, Struck as by magician's wand ; Ask we where its feeble source, Ask we whence its winding course, And the fountain would reply- Ask the hill and ask the sky, Ask the lake and ask the deep, Ask the clouds, why do you weep ; They may tell you whence each drop, But I run and never stop, Content am I to do God's will, Content my little part to fill, On I go through brake and fen, On I go through wood and glen, Gath'ring volume as I go, Sometimes fast and sometimes slow ; Cheering heart of man and beast, Contentment is continual feast ; And when I have reached the sea Mourn not though I've left the lea. Content that I my course have run, Content although life's journey's done, Happy in the thought that I Have done well and well can die, For the future care I not, I can leave my future lot In the hands of Supreme Power, Who is bulwark, fortress, tower \ Who guides all with mighty will, Guides the reajm of nature still, POEMS AND SONGS. 43 Toil we higher up yon mount, Leave behind the tiny fount, Breathe the balmy summer air, Nature seems as fresh and fair As when first, in virgin dress, Primal man with fond impress Stole the kiss from Eve's sweet lips Near the fount that gently drips, Cooling waters from the rock ; As they joined in sweetest talk, Look upon the crested hills, Look upon the silvered rills, Dancing, glancing to the sun : Seeming as 'twere endless fun, All their lives as on they go, Sweeping to yon plain below ; Pine trees' branches swaying high, Oak trees pointing to the sky, Brackens waving with the breeze, Scented zephyrs from the trees ; Heather standing close and high, On which we might lean or lie ; Mountain tops with craggy head, Once volcanoes, but now dead ; Ridges formed by lava's course, As it swept with mighty force ; Far away rolls boundless tide, Like sweet Venus in her pride ; On its breast the sunbeams play, Bright as diamonds is their ray ; Clear as drops from hawthorn tree, That's sheltered by the dale and lea ; Islands green as Oasis, 44 POEMS AND SONGS. Seems to weary travellers bliss ; Hebe here might pass her youth, Graces, on whose brows sit truth, Well might drink nectar divine, Ganeymedian vintage fine ; Sea and shore and hill and lake, Woods and shrubs and bush and brake, Seem alive with heavenly joy, All their beauteous powers employ ; Seem to praise their Maker's name, Seem to smile and tell His fame, Seem to live to cheer each heart, Seem to make affection start. And when nature works God's will, Why should we stand doubting still ? Why should we not rise o'er doubt, Why not put our fears to rout ? Let us rise, then, in God's name, Put our doubts and fears to shame, Christ has risen to the sky, And our souls can never die. THE BAIRNIES CROOD ROOND ME. The last words of a dying old man to his children were "Will you a' meet an' play roond me in Heaven ?" O, the bairnies crood aroond me When daily toil is done, And the auld hoose throws a shadow At the scttin' o' the sun ; K)EMS AND SONGS. 45 When it throws its deeing splendour On the spray of every tree, O, the bairnies a' beset me, Hoo the bairnies crood roond me. When the snaw is on the hill tap, An' frost on ilka pane. And the sun wi' short-lived glory Seems to rise and set in vain ; And the icicles are clinging, An' glintin' tae the e'e, Then the bairnies still beset me, O, they meet and crood roond me. When the adverse winds are blawing, And poortith is oor hame, I still ha'e routh o' pleasures That rich folks canna claim ; When wi' care and toil exhausted I tak' them on my knee, And the cares o' life are lichter When the bairnies crood roond me. When the smiles o' fickle fortune Are like the rainbow's sheen, And the lads and lasses gathered For their games upon the green ; Then I watch the bairnies playing Till the tears start tae my e'e, And I wish the bairns could ever Meet and play an' crood roond me. But the years will pass an' vanish Doon the vistas o' the past, 46 POEMS AND SONGS. And my bairnies have to leave me, For oor lives they canna last ; Yet I'll think o' blissful heaven, Where the folk can never dee, Where my wife an' a' my bairnies Will meet and crood roond me. TO EVA. Oh, Eva, dear Eva ! your eyes are like starlights, Your face is both chubby and sweet ; Your smile's like the sunshine ; Engraved on this heart of mine Is the pat of your sweet little feet. My dimpled-cheeked Eva, you're sunshine and shadow, Your fun is the joy of my heart, And to what place you go My eyes seek to know I am weary when we are apart. Our rosy-cheeked Eva, our own sweet wee fairy, Your charms they have quite won our love ; You're so trig and so neat, Such a little conceit, Our wee lammie, our dearie and dove. O, gentle wee Eva ! continue your playing ; I wish you could ever be young, Far, far from temptation And sins of our nation, Our hearts then could never be wrung. POEMS AND SONGS. 47 O, gentle wee Eva ! tho' life seems a shadow, Yet each has a part to fulfil, Our motto " reliance," Which means not " defiance," But which means, do your duty with skill. TO WEE KATEY. When my daily work is over, And business cares are past, And when I return with pleasure, To be with the children at last, Ah ! then it is that I miss thee, And the fall of thy sweet tiny feet ; Ah ! then it is that I miss thee, And love that I nightly did greet. But my darling now is far away, O'er cold and dismal sea ; And 'tis with effort I still work on ; For my mind will wander to thee. I fain would look for sweet blue eyes, Hid by rugged and rock-bound shore ; In vain I long for the kiss of old That met me each night at the door. For thy happy smile I vainly long, And light of thy cheerful eyes ; And when I think of the romp of old, Oh ! my breast heaves with tender sighs 48 POEMS AND SONGS. But still of thee I am dreaming, And when winter's wild winds are all past ; In the summer time I will see thee, What then, we shall meet at last. My Katey, I wish thee a fond farewell, Oh happy still may you be, Picking up shells from pebbly beach, And running and shouting in glee, And oh ! when the light of setting sun, It tells us life's journey is past, Again may we meet in sunnier climes, Where love and its light will out-last. MAGGIE'S NO' HERE. The lark lilts its notes at the break o' the dawn, The silk frae the flo'er o' the dandie is blawn, The wind like soft zephyrs is sweet 'mang the trees, The air is melodious wi' hum o' the bees ; I see the sweet linnet wi' bonny bricht bill ; The cuckoo's wild notes die awa' on the hill, The mavis is thrilling the wuds wi' its sang, The notes o' the blackie are deep, rich, and strang. But joys are not joys, When Maggie's no' here. I think on my lassie across the bricht blue, I think o' my Maggie wi- heart leal and true, O hard seems the fate that keeps us apart, O, saut are the tears frae my eyelids that start, POEMS AND SONGS. 49 Though bricht is the lift, and refulgent the sun, And clear is the stream, as its course it does run, Though nature's a' clad in a bricht simmer sheen, Yet waves and deep ocean roll braid us atween. And joys are not joys When Maggie's no' here. But the sun at its rise gangs stracht up the hill, And the mill, tho' 'tis slow, keeps aye grinding still, And the time, tho' 'tis dreech, will keep slipping aye by, And our sorrow will fly, if we'll only but try ; So I hope and I wait for the time we will meet, Tho' I wish I had wings like the eagle sae fleet, To fly like the wind o'er the breadth o' the sea, Then nae mair wad the sea keep Maggie frae me. And joys wad be joys, Wi' Maggie sae near. THE HERO OF SCOTLAND SIR WILLIAM WALLACE. INTRODUCTION. Bard of the north, my trembling hands inspire To strike some notes with true Promethian fire. Thou who inspired the world with love anew For Highland glens and men like Roderick Dhu, Who made the traveller find Saint Monance well, And seek the echo of Saint Mungo's bell ; Thou who brought back chivalric days of old, And did the wealth of legend tale unfold Magician great, rest here a little while. 50 POEMS AND SONGS. Bard of the north, who climbed the Ossian height, And like Olympian bard, thou sang our might, Oh let thy mantle rest for moment brief, Until I gather in some little sheaf, To tell the fame of Scottish warriors brave, And Wallace leal, who sought our land to save, Oh had I Gorgon's power to turn to stone That power, that strength would now be quickly shown, And every patriot have a niche in fame. When heaven's embattled arch is steeped in gloom, Like to the roaring cannon is the boom Of thunder through the strangely silent air ; Or like the heaving billows tossing in despair Against a tow'ring adamantine rock, That scathless stands against their headlong shock ; Or like the flashing of ten thousand guns, Is scintillating lightning as it runs Across the sky and lightens up the sea, And madly flashes against tower and tree, Dispelling gloom in one great sheet of light, To leave a deeper gloom and darker night : So was our land, so was each Scottish hearth, Freedom seemed dead and buried 'neath the earth ; A ruffian host trod o'er our sacred soil, Our commerce gone, each hardy son of toil Seemed paralyzed beneath the tyrant's feet, No more in feats of strength or skill could meet, The archer's bow was stricken from his hand, An awful reign of terror filled the land; The nobleman no longer kept his train, The jester sought his lordly hall in vain, POEMS AND SONGS. 5! From cot, from hall, from castle, mirth had flown, The English minion Baliol fled the throne, The richest in the land at Edward's court, Commingled in the dance and festive sport ; O'er Scotland's plains the Curfew bell rang out No more the Wappinshaw and friendly bout, The land was watered with a nation's tears, And hope seemed fed and nurtured amidst fears; But hope had not expired in one brave heart, For Wallace strove to act the patriot's part His pulses beat to meet and fight the foe, To strike for Scotland a decisive blow, And thus to free our land from thraldom's chain, And drive him back across our hills again. 'Twas morning, and the summer sun shone down Upon the streets of Lanark's ancient town, A stately youth is striding thro' the street, The causeway ringing 'neath his iron feet. His English foemen know that dreaded form, And like vile wasps they close and round him swarm ; His warlike brand sweeps he from out its sheath, And soon an English foe lies it beneath ; He mows them down like grain before the knife, All Lanark rings again with the dread strife ; But foes are numerous, and back he reels, Before the stroke of oaken staff and steel, And soon he'd fallen 'fore the hireling foe, Though many felt his ever deadly blow, When sudden ope's a door before their eyes, And quick within it springs to their surprise, And soon he's lost in trackless woods behind, But well his way bold Wallace he can find ; 52 POEMS AND SONGS. Thus Wallace 'scaped with aid of his dear wife, But ah, alas ! 'twas ending of her life; Accursed be Hazelrig's dishonoured name, Who gave the Englishmen a lasting shame, By taking her dear gentle life away ; Shame on thy name and shamed thy heartless sway. Now, Wallace ! play the man, thy country groans, Thy wife, thy father, and thy brother's moans, Call loudly for thy vengeance on the foe, And Hazlerig thy vengeance soon did know, All Scotland sang thy fame. Like wild-fire flashing From the clouds, on sullen sultry earth beneath, Which lightens up the mountain top and heath, So blaze the watch-fires on each dark-browed hill, The broad reflections caught by lake and rill, All Scotland springs to arms each lowland clan, The Selkirk men and Jedwood lead the van, From lowland farm, from mountain, highland brake, From wild sea shore, from sheltered placid lake, They swarm to meet their hero in the north, At Cambuskenneth's towers close by the Forth, For England's chivalry is on the way, To meet and mingle in the deadly fray. But Wallace is not by their force dismayed, Although with harness and with arms arrayed, But takes his stand with back to Stirling's towers, Where flows the Forth between its stately bowers, With its clear breast reflecting back the light, As on it flows in smooth and placid might. Clear Forth, thy waves will soon be red with blood, Soon thy clear stream will know a darker flood POEMS AND SONGS. 53 Than ever ran upon thy heaving breast In days of yore. They marshal for the fight, Bold Cressingham leads on the English host, To tame the Scottish hounds thy greatest boast ; Sagacious Lunden follows with veiled fear, Warren's reserves are bringing up the rear, They reach the bridge, they troop with martial show, Column after column, row succeeding row, The bridge re-echoes back the martial tread Of warriors brave, who at Dunbar had led, The rocks re-echo, the loud trumpets clang, The clash of spears and axes loudly rang Out on the leaden morning air, the sound Inspires the Scottish host to leave their ground, And pour like flood adown the adjacent hill. Their weapons rude, the spear, the axe, and bill, And flutters high upon the fresh'ning air, The banner of old Scotland, country fair, That flag so proud, with lions set in blue, Saint Andrew's banner with its silken hue, The crescents high and ever blazing star. Tell Scotts and Carrs are ready for the war ; The dagger and the bloody heart proclaim The Douglas true that ever dreaded name The Homes, the Kerrs, and every Elliott true Are marshalled 'neath the Scottish banner blue ; And Cranstoun's men, aye ready for pursuit, Their banner waves a crane with stone in foot. Turnbulls and Rutherfords, each border clan, Forgetting quarrels, seek to lead the van ; Each man has confidence in Wallace wight, 54 POEMS AND SONGS. For well all know his skill, his worth, and might. The English spearmen scarce had formed their ranks, And ere the bowmen mustered on their flanks, When like a torrent from a highland glen, That rushes wildly down some lofty ben, The Scottish spearmen charge with headlong speed Upon the English host with tentless heed, They meet together with a mighty clang, The hills, the woods, the steeps now loudly rang With cries, with slogans, from our stalwart men, The English answ'ring back their shouts again With yell, with shriek, with loud and wild hulloo, While Cressingham from right and left swift flew To form their ranks, to bring them into line ; But back they're pressed adown the slight incline O God ! the shrieks that rend the startled air, O God ! their looks of blank and dread despair, They break ! they fly ! they strive to reach the bridge, But Scotland's hosts now press them o'er the ridge Into the swollen river fall the mail clad men, Some strive to reach the banks, but quite in vain ; Thy stream, O Forth, is red with English blood, As deep they sink beneath the darkening flood, Some try to swim, they rise, they fall, they drown, His heavy armour weighs each strong man down ; But Lunden and brave Warren try to save The rout of English vet'ran warriors brave. They reach the bridge with England's battle cry, With shouts, with cheers, that ring to heaven high, The Scotsmen cry " Saint Andrew and our right," Did ever day look down on fiercer sight, Since Lucifer was cast from heaven high, And all his hosts were driven from the sky, POEMS AND SONGS. 55 To outer darkness into sulphrous hell, And from archangels' lips fell dreadful doom Upon his broken hosts. The rabble fly Across the bridge, upon their serried rank The Scottish swords the English blood deep drank, Their pennons wave, their banners forward pour, As o'er the bridge Saint Andrew's flag does soar, Confusion fills the ranks of England's might, Their men give way to panic's headlong flight, Lunden and Warren are in full retreat, And bloody Cressingham is trampled neath the feet Of Scotland's hardy sons, his tyrant sway No more will Scotland own, O glorious day ! For Scotland, and each hero, Who struck with all their might for our dear land, They chase the English close by Snowden's tower, And Lunden owns the Scottish foemen's power, And not till night had settled o'er the plain, Did Wallace turn from their pursuit again. Brave \Vallace, noblest son of Scotland's realm, Thy country looks to thee to guide the helm Of state, to steer her past each rocky shoal, And lead her to an independent goal. Alas ! alas ! for Scotland's worth and weal, Nobilities' ambition made it feel The yoke of tyranny and Edward's hate, Through jealousy 'mongst leaders in her state. Like locusts swarming o'er a fertile plain, Devouring all its herbage and its grain, 56 POEMS AND SONGS. Leaving behind a desert blackened waste Of barren land. So swarm St. George's hosts, Behind them are the blackened cottage walls, Behind them are the barons wasted halls, With fire and sword they sweep the country o'er, The tread of martial feet is like the roar Of fiery billows on the waving plain, Or roll of thunder cross the startled main, They reach Linlithgow's palace, church, and tower, Where Edward shows his regal strength and power, By summoning all the Scottish lords to meet, And lay their weapons at his regal feet, He summons them by name in order due, Argyle, Lord Athole, Crawford, and Buccleuch ; Mar, Murray, Douglas, March, Forbes, and Ross, To meet and join him at St. Michael's Cross ; Deterred by fear of Wallace and his men, The Scottish lords return excuses vain, And Wallace sends for answer, he will wield His sword against him on dark Falkirk's field. Elated at the prospect of a fight, Edward has donned his cloak and armour dight, His mantle of fine purple slashed with gold, Studded with gems and pearls at every fold, Tis fastened to his arms with brooch so bright, Studded with pearls and opals red and white, His banner broad he flings out on the breeze The same had been across the stormy seas The banner with the unicorn in red, That flies so high where English blood is shed ; POEMS AND SONGS. 57 The same which flew before old Acre's wall, Beside the fleur-de-lis of ancient Gaul, When Louis led the martial hosts of France, Against the Saracen with sword and lance ; Where Edward, struck by poisoned dagger's blow, Had surely ended his career below, But for the bravery of his consort queen, Who sucked the poison with her lips, I ween Old Edward knows no patience in his rage, But cries like savage beast within its cage, " Now fly to arms, brave Surrey, lead the van, Call up your yoemen and archers every man, Make ready for the march without delay, For in Linlithgow's towers no more I stay," Then heard throughout the town is hurrying feet, And clang of arms as mailed warriors meet, They gather till the streets are filled with men Ready to march. Then forward pour the ranks In rows four deep, with martial English pride, The Lincoln archers first, short swords by side, Then men at arms a fearless, countless host, Ready for fight, for tournay, or for toast ; Next cavalry, encased from head to feet, With martial tread and measured beat, That makes the causeway and the pavement ring, As on they march with steady pace and swing ; Next follow pages and the budding squires, Who tend upon the lords of English shires. Each squire encased in armour clear and bright, Gilt spurs upon their heels, with swords so dight. Each page bears high his master's crest and shield, E 58 POEMS AND SONGS. Which tells some tale of foray or of field ; Then follow lords of every English shire, Pembroke and Surrey, Suffolk and Wiltshire, From town, from country, men from every city, Knights whose praise is sung in song and ditty ; And yonder's England's long shanked iron king, Whose words and deeds make ballad-makers sing; He reins his steed with all the easy grace That well becomes that man of power and place, And well might each spectator him descry, By features bold, and restless eager eye, One well could tell the great Plantagenet race 'Twas written on his brow and haughty face ; " The hammer of the Scotch " wore sternest look, That to his death his features ne'er forsook ; Around him cluster many a noble knight, The heroes of the tournay and the fight, To give each name, no poet could declaim, T would be in vain to tell the martial pride, Of all who rode the English king beside. At length they reach dark Falkirk's fatal field, Where Scotland's ranks are marshalled on the ground, A deadly silence rests o'er all the plain They seemed a host of stone, for not a sound, No word, no cheer, bursts from their serried ranks. But Wallace, as he rode along their van, Cried out aloud to all fair Scotland's men, "I've brought you to the field hop giff you can." Proud Edward chafes at sight of rebel show, The fierce Plantagenet blood boils in his veins, " Now, by Saint George of England, form in line The man who flinches this day his scutcheon stains ; POEMS AND SONGS. 59 Forward the dragon, forward unicorn, Brave Surrey, Norfolk, gallant Argentine, Lord Cecil, Surrey, quit you now like men, Before that rebel host your deeds shall shine, Now, forward ! charge ! my spearmen and my horse, And Lincoln men so brave, with long cloth yards, Pour on their lines and sweep these slaves away ; Your praise shall yet be sung by English bards." The cavalry sweep o'er the trembling plain, Like billows thund'ring from the broad sea main, The fiery Percy heads the battled host, Yeomen follow with many a jest and boast, And dark De Argentine, and many a knight, The flower of English chivalry and might, Dukes, Lords, and Squires commingled in the host, Each heart and arm intent to shine the most Beneath the stern eye of Edward great, Which shines malevolent with deadly hate Upon the Lords and every Scotsman born, And hatred was with him commixed with scorn ; Then roll their ranks upon their foes like flood, And soon their blades are stained with Scottish blood. They rush on Scotland's line with many a cry, The sound ascends unto the trembling sky, " Saint Ina, help us," shout the Essex men, The Kent men shout " the sainted Augustine," And many an English yeoman cries for aid To Peter and the martyr Ethelred. Still press the men of England on their way With glitt'ring hauberks and their kirtles grey, With plumes, with pennons waving in the air, And banners that the standard bearers bear 60 POEMS AND SONGS. These banners flew when Edward tried to wrest The sacred city by Moslem power opprest, They flew o'er Antioch and Acre's towers, When Edward led the hosts of western powers Against the dark skinned hosts of Mahomet, And many a red cross knight found gory bed. Full many a templar knight is in that host, With long white cloak and many a blood red cross, Their banners slashed and striped with black and white, With sword, and shield, and armour bright ; The English pour like sea against a rock, But Scottish spearmen stand their heavy shock Like breakwater stretching out its arms to sea, Protects the harbour and the grassy lea, 'Gainst which the waves in rude rebellion rise, And sweep their crested billows to the skies ; But yet their headlong force its strength restrain, Although they leap and lash with fury vain So stand the Scottish spearmen 'gainst the foe, And answer English might with fiercest blow, Though Percy rights with all his might and main, And Argentine leads on again, again ; Yet still the Scottish host embattled stand, And fight with ardour for their dearest land, And many a yeoman falls beneath the spear, And many a knight who ne'er knew coward fear Lies low and trampled 'neath the Scottish feet, No more again to hold his knightly seat. And Wallace rides along the Scottish ranks Now in the front, now on the flanks, And bravely still the ranks of England pour, Although the field is red with English gore, POEMS AND SONGS. 6 1 Which pours from out the veins of England's brave Upon the sweltered ground. The hour has come, But where ! oh, where the man ! with mighty skill Will conquer Scotland on that blood-dyed hill ? Proud Edward sits impatient on his steed, Watching his host advance, waver, recede Before the stroke of spear and bill, As echoes rise and fall upon the hill ; With all his lordly strength of mind he speaks As forward to the front he swiftly seeks : " Now men of Lincoln, forward every man, Meet them in front, now lead our broken van, Sweep round their left and take them on their flank, And break the Scottish square and rank." And forward march the men in Lincoln green, Shooting their cloth yards upon the Scottish sheen ; Now Scottish spearmen fall like drizzling rain, And Wallace looks for Comyn but in vain, With Scottish horse to drive bowmen away But jealousy, what wrongs you worked that day ! Comyn looks on the dreadful scene unmoved, Altho' by brave John Graham how oft reproved, " I strike not now," he said, " for Scotland old, Altho' there's here one thousand horsemen told, No sway of Wallace will I own to-day, Upon this battle field no more I'll stay." The traitor turned, and now withdrew his men, Back to his home, back to his native glen O Scotland, humbled by such lordly pride, Well may each bard the Comyn's name deride, Well may historians bewail such act of shame, 62 POEMS AND SONGS. And bann thee, Comyn, as an infamous name. Did ever land see such ingratitude ? See such desertion from its patriot good As shown to thee, great Wallace, in thy strait, By lordly malice and malevolent hate ? Alas, this treach'ry gave thy foes the day, For Wallace had no horse to sweep away The archer's flying arrows thickly round Litt'ring with dead the Scottish battle ground. His men he slowly draws from off the field : For unto numbers he is forced to yield, Tho' stubbornly he leaves the blood stained plain, Where Scottish blood had all been poured in vain ; Where fell that hero-patriot John de Graham, With many a patriot, many a noble name ; Now Wallace seeks the Torwood's woody shade, And finds a shelter 'neath its woody glade. For Wallace knows each bush, each brake, and tree, And soon he'd made the haughty southern flee Had they but come within the lonely wood, A welcome they'd received both rough and rude ; So Edward sounds the halt to England's host, And camps on Falkirk's field. And what of thee, Brave Wallace, is thy ardent soul subdued ? Reverses only have weak hearts subdued. Thine's not the heart to murmur and repine, Thy country wrongs were graved on heart of thine. The battle o'er, Wallace thou sought the north, And left the windings of the crystal Forth. Undaunted ! yes, but now an altered man, Thy greatest wisdom and his noblest plan, POEMS AND SONGS. 63 Thy dream of Scotland freed from English sway, Vanished like dew before the suns of May. Yet as the setting sun more glorious seems Than even at mid-day when its dazzling beams Light up the mountain and the fertile vale, Or than its light upon the earth so pale, When peeps its horns across the horizon line, Dispelling night with light almost divine So, Wallace, was the evening of thy life, And 'midst the storms and the internal strife That hung their shadows o'er the darkened land, Thy name more glorious was than all the patriot band ; And time's oblivion, and thy waves, dark Lethe, And all the horrors of thy dreadful death, Can never make the Scottish heart forget Thee, Wallace, and thy patriotic heart, But makes us love thee more. Angels look down ! Amidst the jeers of thousands stands the man, Like lion 'midst a hungry jackal band, He owns no tyrant's power, no Edward's sway, His heart and mind are with his native land ; A solemn silence falls upon that crowd As bold he cries, sonorously and loud " For England's power I feel no slavish fear, My life I yield for my dear land to-day, But Edward yet will rue this bloody deed : For thro' the mists I see a brighter ray Of light than ever dawned on Scotland's realm ; I see a nation mighty in its power Rise up with truth and honour as its crest ; In mighty enterprise I see it tower. 64 POEMS AND SONGS. And Scotland mourns no more her patriot's blood, Which wantonness and arrogance has shed ; I see old Scotia rise from out the fire, Her noble people by her heroes led, To drive her foes from out her sacred soil ; And I shall live throughout the future years My name shall be enshrined in Scotland's heart, And all my wrongs call forth a nation's tears." He's silent now, for death has sealed his lips, On Smithfield's gallows our hero met his fate. More honoured is our patriot by all men, Because of lordly pride and England's hate. And who shall say he's dead whose memory lives And in the heart of every patriot true ? Where'er he dwells he speaks with martial pride, And loves brave Wallace with a love anew. Wallace ! thy name has more than regal sway, Thy patriot life is more and more revered Than even the noblest of our Scottish Kings Who have the barque of state judicious steered. Thy fame, thy worth, more priceless are than gold ; Thy wrongs, thy griefs, have made our hearts expand And never through the centuries of time Will be forgot by thy beloved land. MEDITATIONS. Leg weary wi' days' rude rough march, O'er stubbly moss and purple heath, I throw me down to meditate, The shadow of a tree beneath. POEMS AND SONGS. 65 A wimplin' burn flows by my feet, On ilka side the grass grows long ; An' a' aroond on steep and fell The birds are busy wi' lood song. The dockens cooling blades here mix Wi' red leaves blawn frae aff the trees ; A' nature wears a silent robe, An' to their skeps ha'e ta'en the bees. The leaves drap tears frae aff their tips, Horse daisies peep frae 'mang the mesh, The bushes bend across the burn, To catch the spray that rises fresh. An' further up the banks I see Young birch and ash's yellow leaf, The mavis' rich note sounds thro' glen In sweetest tone for moment brief. And I, ah me ! my thoughts they stray, Where white-sail bark toils o'er the sea, Which bears a leal heart far away, To a new home sae far frae me. THE VILLAGE CHURCHYARD. I tread with solemn feet the path that leads, Twixt hawthorn hedges, to the old churchyard, And stand within its hoary walls, My hat in hand, a reverential act Called forth by those that sleep beneath the ground. 66 POEMS AND SONGS. The moon's pale beams illume the waving grass, And o'er the tombstones shed a spectral light. O'er yonder, 'neath the shadow of the wall, I see the glowworm throw a hasty spark, And far away I see a dancing light Flit to and fro, unceasing in its change, Like some wild Elfin from the shady woods, Or as a fairy haunts secluded glen, And well I know thy light, Will o' the Wisp, That oft allures tired travellers from their way, To follow thee, with senses half benumbed, Until they find they're deep in a morass, And sink into its depths to rise no more. I hear the owlets hooting 'mong the trees, And see a lonely bat wing its wild flight With fearless wing, through maze of upright stones, Without impediment, instinct unerring- Guiding its way and keeping it unhurt. On every side are tokens of decay ; Here stands a sculptured monument, defaced By the rude touch of years ; its face should tell The names of those who sleep beneath its shade ; But names and dates have all been swept away By thy rude hand, thou great destroyer, Time ! 'Tis only by the sculptured coat of arms I know their names are in heraldic book. O'er yonder, where the church throws shadows dim, I hear the clinking of the sexton's spade, To time of which he sings some ribald song ; No feelings of emotion have their place Within the breast of this toil-hardened man, As slow he digs the grave, without a care Of who will tenant the dark house he scoops POEMS AND SONGS. 67 He recks not whether it be young or old, One dearly loved, or someone much despised, But murmurs loudly to himself because, Perforce, this grave it must be dug to-night. I feel alone beside thee, silent dead ! The world and all its sorrows seem at rest, And only stars their nightly vigil keep. The night is beautiful the moon shines down Upon the weird and ghostly scene below, With coldest look unlike the genial sun, Which seems to be the soul of sympathy I see its face, 'twixt belfry and the bell, It makes the church to throw athwart the ground Dark shadows o'er the doorway scarce is seen The twisted rope of stone, which seems to crawl, Like cobra, o'er the Gorgon heads beneath. I pause I think of those who lie asleep, A motley throng they rest without a care, For cares are past their hopes, their fears quite gone Hatred or love have no place in the tomb. There Pitt and Fox have no envenomed words, There Walpole throws no gibes at Pitt, There meet the vanquished and the vanquisher, The vanquished has no fears to lie beside The man whose might and skill have conquered him The mighty Median Babylon's conqueror, Who brought that city low upon one night, When Babylon's great king held orgie, And Greece's king who wept for worlds to war, And Gaul's great Emperor who scaled high Alps, Like thunderbolt to sweep Italian plains, And Waterloo's great chief the Iron Duke, The hero of a hundred splendid fields ; 68 POEMS AND SONGS. Even Sweden's king, who, like an avalanche, Swept down upon Siberian dark-browed hosts Can rest in peace, without a thought of war ; Here all is calm here are no murmurers, All meet together in equality. The rich are poor as are their poorer brothers, Since death has robbed them of their hoarded wealth. Even now their bones are only as the dust, And what was great and what was poorest hind's No man can tell their dust commingled makes The grass to grow the flowers to spring and bloom, And helps to decorate their lowly tomb, All ! all ! is peace, no notes discordant here, Within the grave eternal silence reigns ; They rest together : the servant and his lord The subtle brain the man of simple mind, The man of lust the maiden he beguiled, The saintly man the man of sinful life, The generous man the man of avarice ; At rest without a grudge, all silent sleep. Dark thoughts, dark fears, bright hopes have fled away, And, looking at their graves, I wonder why We sweat and strain and fill with care our lives, When soon our hopes and fears will all be past. Why do we plot and scheme to reach the top Of high ambition's ladder, when we must Leave places high, which our ambition's won ? Oh ! ye proud potentates who sought to climb The giddy heights of power, and then to reign By aid of artifice and high pretence, And, after all, were swept from off your thrones Like the third emperor of Napoleon's line Before the rage of fierce democracy, POEMS AND SONGS. 69 Was't worth thy loss of honest principle, To like a comet blaze across the sky, Or like a meteor shoot with dazzling light, And then, like it, to fade out in the night, No more again within the sky to shine ? And you, ye persecutors, filled with hate, Who sought to foist a Romish darkened creed Upon a people who had found true light ; Oh, Tilly ! with your high-heeled boots and plumes, That hounded on to persecution men Who children slew, who slew the old and weak, Whilst thou did'st wildly shriek "Slay! slay! kill! kill!" At Magdeburg so that thy name's abhorred By every man who values love and truth ; Oh, Tilly, was it worth the ephemeral fame That shone upon thee for a moment brief In shape of Papal benediction Ere the snow king from northern mountains came, And poured his legions o'er the German plains, A conquering host upheld by God and truth, And took revenge at Leipsic and at Lech, And punished thee for all thy deeds of blood ? Was't worth thy while, to steep thy hands in gore, Because thy Pope was filled with vengeful thoughts And made thee instrument to work his hate, Then sink into thy grave with such a load Upon thy head and on thy guilty heart ? Oh kings and emp'rors, leaders of the State ! Seek not to tarnish lustre that should shine Around your thrones, and round your kingly names, Seek not by tyranny's dark web to weave Your toils around the vitals of your realms As serpents twine their folds around their prey 70 POEMS AND SONGS. And thus to crush out freedom from the hearts Of those whom thou should'st govern with righteousness. Oh, think upon the records of the past ! Remember dynasties are swept away When freedom's love rises triumphant o'er Its sleep of seeming lethargy, and all The true nobility within mankind Will brook no tyrant's laws which seek to wind And warp their weft around brave hearts and true, But wells up like the spring from out the sand, Or, like an echoing messenger, returns To him who first emitted forth the sound. Oh, princes ! when ambition prompts to deeds Of darkness, and your hearts are full of hate, Oh, go and meditate amongst the tombs, And think of those who sleep the morphial sleep ! These had ambitions, these had deadly hates, That rankled deeply in their burning breasts. Oh, where have thoughts ambitious now a place In which to dwell oh where's ambition fled ? They're gone ! quite gone ! but where we cannot tell; Oh, people ! if ambition fills your minds, Let your ambition rest on what is good ; Seek ye to find a salve for every wound, Help ye the weary in their struggles up The hills and mountains of adversity, Then will your life be filled with actions pure, Your mem'ries be revered in future times, And when your souls have left their dwellings here, And seek to find some lasting resting place, They'll find true rest and peace in heaven above. POEMS AND SONGS. 71 Sadly I turn and wend my way again Towards my village home and back to other scenes, Whilst o'er the silent earth the grey dawn creeps With stealthy steps, and lightens up the vale. On the horizon's ridge I see the sun, With red refulgent glow, shine o'er the world, Then pour its genial rays on trees and flowers, On hills and dales, and on the wakeful plain, And night has given place to day again. BILL SCOTT, THE SURFACEMAN. HOW HE SAVED TOM LOVE'S BROTHER. BILL SCOTT and I were old pals on the line, I'll allow he had none of the gentleman fine ; But he sang a good song, and drank a stiff glass, And he'd never allow a good joke to pass. Bill was none of the kind that apes to be saint, Our parson oft said, " his words he did paint " Yet I'll say till I die, if there's a place for the good Bill's there sure enough though he was coarse and rude, " And what about Bill ?" was that what you said, Well, I'll tell you as soon as the liquor is paid ; So now that the landlord is into the bar, And we've got to ourselves the bar-parlour fire, I'll tell you just why I think Bill's up above, Though he was not a chap allers speaking of love. Bill and I had been over to see old Dick Black, Where we'd had a stiff glass, and had a long crack, When our Bill says to me : " The clock has struck nine, And the 'mail' it is due upon the down line, 72 POEMS AND SONGS. So we'd better go see if the line is all clear, For at the Highgate crossing, as sure as you're here, The children upon the high banks they do play, Though often and often I warn them away." So we passed through the gate, and beneath the high bridge; And there saw the " mail " sweep round yon high ridge ; With lightning-like speed it flew down the steep, The pace was so fierce that the wheels seemed to leap. Bill was standing, shading his eyes with his hand, (For the sun it was throwing a bright light o'er the land,) When he clutched my arm with a grasp as of death So fierce and so strong it suspended my breath. " Look yonder, Joe Finch, at the foot of the steep, I'll bet you my life, there's a youngster asleep ; Its head's on the rail, its feet near the other, As sure as you're bom its Tom Love's little brother. Tom Love drives the engine upon the down train, And I've seen the small boy again and again Stand on the low wall, and wave his small hands To Tom, as upon the huge engine he stands ; And Tom, as he passes, he looks for that boy, And his face beams with smiles which shows his great joy." With these hurried words, Bill ran like a deer ; And I followed hard my heart beating with fear. Over sleepers he ran, and o'er the rough stones, Till turning, he shouted, in hoarse, hollow tones : " Stand up on the wall, Joe, and wave your hands high, And Tom he will see you against the bright sky." So I climbed the steep banks, and waved my hands high, To attract the attention of the driver's clear eye ; While Bill he rushed forward upon his death race, His heart filled with fear despair on his face And the " mail " came thund'ring down yon incline, POEMS AND SONGS. 73 Like an angel of death upon the smooth line, Though Tom held the brake so tight with his hands, And stengthened its grasp on the engine's broad bands, That the sparks from the rails flew round him like hail, Or like spray from the ocean before wint'ry gale. But the hill was so steep the train could not stop, And the fireman and Tom, they were ready to drop On their knees for the safety of Bill and the child, Their faces were livid their eyes staring wild ; But on went the " mail " on its headlong career, Filling our hearts with a nameless dread fear, For Bill he is panting and clean out of breath, And it seems to us all he is rushing to death ; But see ! with a spring he is over the rail ! Though his head seems quite giddy his legs seem to fail ! As he grasps the fair child within his strong hands, The sweat sweeps his brow, in broad streaks like bands, And as with last effort he springs to the side, The " mail " is right on him with wheels large and wide, Belching forth from its valves, in jets, its white steam, And before he was clear before we could deem ! His feet catch the rail ! he's down in a heap Just as the huge monster, with fierce sounding shriek, Tears o'er him, and past him upon its fleet way, In headlong career, which nothing can stay, " My God he is safe ! oh no ! he is killed !" I shrieked in an agony with frenzy half wild ! Yes, Bill was struck down, had his legs cut away, They lay 'tween the rails, on the four-foot way ; So we took him up gently, and carried him back On a stretcher, along the rail's level track, And into his bed he was laid gently down, And we got for brave Bill the best skill in the town, F 74 POEMS AND SONGS. But Bill drooped away he sighed and he pined, Found no rest for his body, and none for his mind. He was troubled with fears for his children and wife, As to how they would fight the rough battle of life. And when God in His mercy called rough Bill away, There was no one who knew him would asked him to stay, Who knew what he suffered, without even a groan. He was none of the kind who live but to moan, For 'twas born in silence, in death he was brave, And only when dov'ring did he murmur or rave. " And what of the boy ? " Why, the child had no harm, 'Twas as safe as 'twere held in a mother's loved arm ; For Bill grasped him tight, had him clutched to his breast, As safe as a maiden, by love's arms impressed ; 'Twas as much as we could to rend them apart, The boy was so tightly pressed to his brave heart. I told you before, Bill was never a saint, He could swear like us all his words he could paint ; Yet I tell you there's many a parson can preach, And there's many a missionar' can lecture and teach ; And there's many a gent that wears a black coat, Who said in Bill's eye there was a great moat ; Although they can lecture, can preach, and can pray, As won't stand so high in the big judgment day ; Yes ! there's lots o' them " saints " will wish they were Bill, Who saved Tom Love's brother at the foot of that hill. BOTHWELL CASTLE. Roll on, dark Clyde, beneath those ruined towers ; Sweep on past classic shades and sylvan bowers POEMS AND SONGS. 75 Bedecked, bejemmed, with summer's fairest flowers Here would I meditate a few sad hours. Forth from thy gates I see a cavalcade Ride out upon the lea with merry jest. The lordly Murray heads the company, And follow Scotland's knights, bravest and best, Beauty is seen with rank, in dresses gay ; Each highborn dame, with merlin at her wrist, Smiles at the flattery of gallants brave, Who've won their spurs within the tournay's list. And further back again my eyes are turned. Thy halls are bright with banners, shields, and spears ; Blaze the huge logs within the chimneys wide ; Hung round the walls I see the heads of deers, The trophies of the chase; and, hark ! within The splendid hall I hear the minstrel's lyre. Old " Bell the Cat," he fronts the festal board, While Bishop Gawin strikes poetic fire. And, ranged each side the festive board, I see Ladies and Lords, and all invited guests. To Douglas' sumptuous table each is welcome made, From vassals poor to those who wear their crests. Each guest, tho' met for social purposes, Has spurs on heels and corslet tightly laced. At call " To arms ! " they're ready each to ride, For all within that hall do know the foe Is on the march from Newark's stately tower, And watch-fires' light from hill and mountain top Might lighten up the vale at any hour. At right and left of festal board I see Proud Kerr of Cessford, chief of all his clan, 76 POEMS AND SONGS. And Home of Wedderburn, who De Bastie slew Of Homes the chief, the foremost in the van. Ladies the highest in the land are there, Health glancing from each cheek, and eyes aglow ; And, as the wine from fair Moselle does throw Its glamour o'er them all, their spirits flow. Diamonds I see reflecting rainbow hues, Pearls and opals sparkle in their hair ; Be-ruffed, be-jemmed, are fairest necks and wrists ; I see their raven coils and golden curls fair. Cloaks lined with fur, and capes from Astrachan ; Cashmeres gay from India's land of gold, Velvets and silks of such chameleon hue, To throw a changing shade from every fold. The viands, products of each teeming land ; Pomegranates, pine apples, oranges from Seville ; Grapes, luscious as though grown in Eden's bowers ; Peaches, apricots, the luscious Muscatel, And stealing over all, the scent of flowers. Old Douglas sits with all that haughty pride, That well befits that man of lion strength, Clad in mail cuirass head to feet, he wears The sword bound to his waist unmatched for length, By aid of which he laid proud Spens so low With one fell sweep, as Godfrey, famed of old, Clave Saracen in twain with fiercest blow. He speaks, and silent is the chambered hall, To tell of some great foray in the night, Of how, o'er moss, moss-troopers he had chased, Until they found good shelter by swift flight ; And by Saint Bride of Douglas, my mailed hand Had smote to brisket bravest trooper there. As much I love to chase and smite a thief, POEMS AND SONGS. 77 As others love to hunt a wounded hare. And as he speaks with animation great, And smites the table with his mailed hand ; He looks like some old Carthagenian chief, Born to conquer worlds with high command. Proud Douglas, though a thousand in thy train, Own thee as lord, and boast thy Douglas name, Had future years been open to thy sight, Thine eyes had seen thy kindred put to flight ; The heir to thy great name a fugitive, Not one in Scotia's realms dared shelter give, But shelter found from wrath of good King James At Henry's princely court upon the Thames. Open wide your gates ! for issuing forth I see A right royal company a kingly train Dukes, lords, and knights, and budding squires ride forth ; The jester with his bells is in the van. Proud Douglas named the grim, leads with stately mein ; And following him, the son of Scotland's king, The gallant son of Bruce's royal line ; Their martial tread makes sounding drawbridge ring. And as the company, with many a jest and smile, Ride through the castle's gates and wend their way To Bothwell Church, whose gothic arches ring With clanging bells ; and clothed with bunting gay, Are all its walls in honour of that day. And there appears to grace the festive scene, Duke Albany, with that dark frown and scowl, Ere yet his mind with murder charged I ween. Unhappy Prince ! and thrice unhappy day, That Douglas' lord gave thee his child away. 78 POEMS AND SONGS. Now ruined are thy towers, O, Bothwell grim, Now filled with earth thy dungeons dark and dim ; Where now thy sacristy ? and where thy font ? Where now thy martial men that nought could daunt ? Thy fosse is filled with ruins from thy wall ; On ramparts now no more the measured fall Of sentinel is heard in weary rounds, No more in thy quadrangle martial sounds. But close and nigh my ear the thrush's strain, And blackbird's minstrelsy I hear again, From branch of tree the robin casts his eye, And upward pipes into the list'ning sky ; See from his hole the fox slinks slow away, And mawkin, at the closing of the day ; In classic shades like these Hawthorne loved to roam, And here (short time) De Quincy made his home. Here I, poor scion of a noblest race, Unworthy quite their latchets to unlace, Would seek to woo some true poetic fire, And tune to nobler themes my simple lyre. Roll on, dark Clyde ! obilvious of us all, Sweep past the remnants of frail man's decay ; How soon I too must like those dark walls fall, And soon, oh soon, my name be swept away. MORS OMNIBUS COMMUNIS. Thou dread, dark visitor, from whence thou'rt sprung, We know not reason unaided cannot tell, We know thy shadowed form amidst the gloom, POEMS AND SONGS. 79 That settles o'er the patient's dying bed. Thou comest upon us like a midnight thief, Stealing across the weak and trembling frame In stillest hour, when nature is all hushed, And whilst we're sleeping in the darkened room. Full oft thou comest too, on tented field, When shot and shell are flying thick and fast, Amidst the dying groans, rude shouts of men, The clash of steel and rattle of the charge, When warriors forward pour in serried ranks, Like walls of stone, to face the muzzled gun, That deals out death with an unstinted hand. Thou comest also in the midst of work and toil, Ere half our purposes in life are wrought, And callest us to lay our armour down Before life's battle's either lost or won. Thou sparest not, no quarter wilt thou give ; Thou feel'st no tenderness for young or old, The young man in his strength thou takest away, The woman in the dawn of loveliness, The child of tender years, that hangs upon Its mother's loving breast, thou snatchest too : Thou mowest them down as sickle does the grain I've seen the maiden with her rosy cheeks, Suffused with blushes at a lover's kiss, With eyes that sparkled like the sun's bright rays, With coral lips, like rose-bud just fresh op'd, And that bright bloom on fairest face and brow, And fond expectancy in every smile, Torn from the arms of him she loved the best, By thee fell death thou archest, darkest fiend ! I've seen the youth just touch the ladder high, 80 POEMS AND SONGS. With highest hope writ on his heart and soul, Nobility's bright stamp upon his brow ; But scarce had set on lowest rung his feet, Up which he never could have failed to climb, Ere he was riven from admiring friends, Amidst their sighs and tears oh rugged slayer ! The politician I've seen rise, like sun Arises o'er time's rugged giant hills, Like it he flashed his light across life's stage, Until he reached meridian splendour bright, And dazzled compeers by his vivid grasp, His wealth of facts from precedental use, With wit, with eloquence, and latent power, He kept his foes at bay with massive mind ; His purity of life, his love for men, Moved all the sympathetic chords in us, And shrined him on our hearts throughout all time. Oh, Canning ! brightest name on history's page, Thou rose to fame amidst the world's applause ; But when thou reached the zenithian line. Thy life was quenched, blasted by thee, O death ! And thou, majestic Pitt, Chatham's great son, Like hurtling star, thou blazed out o'er the world, With moving words, with almost power divine, Thou soughtest to lead thy country into war With that all conquering emperor, who the world Would fain have brought beneath his iron grasp And having spent thy country's blood and wealth In vain pursuit of glory, thou sank down Into an unregretted grave, amidst The contumely, the spite and hate of those Who feared the lion whilst he was alive. Such was thy fate, oh Pitt ! Oh ! what an end POEMS AND SONGS. 8 1 To such a heaven-born genius gone wrong. And thou, oh death ! can also bring the warrior low, The man whose life has known no sad defeats, Who covered is with glory and with fame That ever deepens as the years fly by. Thou, Wellington, whose name makes Britons proud To own thee as countryman and son, Thy battles all were o'er, thy fame was great, Ere death broke loose upon thy rev'renced head. Like Simeon of old, thou well couldst say " Let now thy aged servant die in peace." Oh, Death ! thy reign is a despotic sway ; No wave, no tide of fierce democracy Can sweep thee from thy throne thou stand st secure, Amidst the billows of our human tide, Thou laughest at our scientists and quacks ; Drugs and physicians are to thee but sport, As on thou marchest with gigantic stride, Sweeping mankind away like lightest chaff Flies 'fore the gathering wind across the plain. But still, proud Death ! thou hast a conqueror, For far across the dark abyss of years I hear a voice from fair Gethsemane, Sound like some charm, loud out upon the air, Down nineteen centuries of pain and woe, And calm becomes the heart that throbbed with fear ; The gloom is fled that seizes our weak minds When writhing 'neath the pangs and pains of death, When faith is weak for lack of body's strength, And when the grave seems dark and horrible, And all our spirits burdened with the thought 82 POEMS AND SONGS. That we must leave all those we hold most dear To the buffets of a rude, rough world. Then ! then ! we seem to hear the words of Him Who said, with all the tenderness of love, " I am always with you, and still will be, Amidst the terrors of death's gloomy sea." We hear His voice, the voice of him who rose A conqueror from out the darken'd tomb ; And all our terrors, our dark visions flee, A calmness rests upon our hearts, and we, With deepened faith and hope, can smile Even at the moment that our spirits go Back once again to Him who gave us life. TO MY AULD CHUM. It maun be forty years since syne We laddies oot o' schule wad play At fitba's rouch-shod heatin' game, Frae afternoon to duskiest day ; An' whiles we'd steal thro' darkest wood To seek for birdies' nests an' eggs, An' spiel the trees, the livelong day, Till hame we cam' wi' weary legs. We'd scamper roon' Dunsappie's loch, Wi' bottles filled wi' minnows grey, Syne in the water throw our lines, An' drachle hame wi' buits o' clay ; Oh, chum ! altho' we're baith gey old, Oor faces scaured wi' mony a line, POEMS AND SONGS. 83 It male's oor feelings young again To think o' days o' auld langsyne. Fu' mony a day, when schule was o'er, We hied wi' sticks an' rubber ba' An' played wi' sides at shinty's game, Lood shoutin', gi'en it mony a ca' ! At cricket we were quite adepts, Oor matches were excitement high ; Tell me, my chum, what game ye'll play Could mak' ye rin as then ye'd fly ? But noo, my cannie chum an' freen', Oor mates are wearin' fast frae sicht, Some gane across the deep blue seas, An' some ha'e gane to land o' licht ; But aye ye'll mind o' canty Jock, In mony a ploy he was oor mate ; Puir Jock has got a drucken wife, An' drinks himsel' sad is his fate ! An' aye ye'll mind o' Sandy Glen, The maister said he was a deil, He'd pop his head beneath the stools, An' syne set up some horrid squeal ; Puir Sandy's noo a henpecked man, Ye'd no' believe't scarce ava ! His wife she sairly wears the breeks, Ye'd almost laugh to see sic fa' ! Auld chum, yer chat I'd like to hear ; Oh, come an' spend yae nicht wi' me ; We'll ower oor pipes grow young again, An* mak' oor cares an' sorrows flee ; 84 POEMS AND SONGS. Auld care has sittin' on us baith, The warP we've found rouch restin'-place ; But it'll mak' dull care tak' fricht Yae nicht o' chat an' lichtsome grace ! An' sae I hope, when time wears late, An' we are gettin' frail an' dune, Oor minds will drink a sweet foretaste O' where there's neither grief nor sin ; An' should we ha'e oor griefs an' trials, Oor hearts will turn to youth again, To time we clamb the Pentland braes, In simmer's drooth an' peltin' rain. ROBERT BURNS. BORN 2$TH JANUARY, 1759; DIED 2isx JULY, 1796. All hail ! high priest of Scottish song, A nation sweeps thy praise along, And still thy name towers o'er the throng Of Scottish bards. The love the tears of Scotland's sons Thy sweet rewards. Thou soughtest not the golden pile Thou cared'st not for the rank and file Of lordly pomp and fashion's style, But sang the praise Of Scottish life in cot and ha' In deathless lays. POEMS AND SONGS. 85 The raindrop glist'ring in the sun, The toiler's joys when work was done, The penny wedding's mirth and fun, They rise and fall Like ghosts and fays wha answer fast The wizard's call. The modest daisy, crimson-tipped, The autumn trees by cauld winds nipped, The bushes green, a' thorned and hipped, We plainly see, And e'en the moosie, tim'rous beastie, Scuds ower the lea. We see Death and auld Hornbook, We feel the laugh his sides that shook When honest Tammas had a look O' Satan's crew, As to auld Satan's chanter lood They swiftly flew. We see the auld man, worn wi* care, Beside the banks o' drumlie Ayr, We seem to see his hoary hair And dress sac torn, And hear it from his lips that man Was made to mourn. We hear puir Mailie's dying words, The hum of bees, the songs of birds, The milkmaids and their honest herds, We see them a', Like writing on old Babylon's walls They seem to fa'. 86 POEMS AND SONGS. The primrose peeping 'mang the flo'ers, The rose and honeysuckled bo'ers, The driving wind, the rattling sho'ers, Ower hill and fen, And mony an auld-warld character We seem to ken. All hail ! high priest of Scottish song, Thy name shall live through ages long ; Amidst the world's changing throng Thou'lt never die, And Scotchmen e'er will toast thy name Wi' beaming eye. In every patriot's heart thou'rt set, Thy griefs, thy cares, mak' kind eyes wet, For thou wert never Fortune's pet, Unlucky man ; Yet he who dares asperse thee yet The world will ban. IN MEMORIAM: BASIL R. ANDERSON, BORN AT UNST, SHETLAND, 1861, DIED AT EDINBURGH ;TH JANUARY, 1888. Away from crag and from skerry That so proudly breast the wave, Away from the rolling billows Our poet has found a grave ; Gone hence from city's wild turmoil, From its seething surging throng, POEMS AND SONGS. 87 Where the pulse of life beats high and wild Like the beating of a gong. His magic lyre no more will know That tremulous skilful hand, His voice no more will tell sad tales Of Shetland's boreal land ! No more our hearts will melt again To the sweetness of his lay, That thrilled our souls with glad'ning notes Like the brightly breaking day. In midst of city life, for him There was no place like his home, By the broughs and holms of Shetland dear Where his youthful feet would roam ; He longed to hear the northern tongue, And to grasp the northern hand, And feel the equinoctial gales Sweep the sea far o'er the strand. But now, alas ! he sleeps his sleep Far away from Shetland's shore, And hands that felt his tender clasp Ne'er again will feel it more ; But though he lies 'mong strangers here, There are hearts that love him still, And feel a sense of void and blank That the world can never fill. 88 POEMS AND SONGS. TOM EVERETT, THE SURFACEMAN. We were out on the night shift, Tom and I Had seen passenger train and express go by, And work being done, we made tracks for home To each of us dear, howe'er we may roam. The signals shone clear, and the London " mail " We could hear was tearing along the rail ; In the distance we saw the flash of her fires, And above we heard the telegraph wires Sighing and groaning with sough of the breeze, And we heard the blast thro' the leafless trees. Tom was walking in front with a wary eye, When all of a sudden gave loud outcry " O, Jim ! my God ! look here, quick, I say, I see something lying in the four-foot way." Like a man in a trance, transfixed I stood, For sure enough lay a huge block of wood, And there was no time to think of its weight That log must be moved, and that right straight For there was the mail train sweeping along, And there was no time to signal along, As the signal box was a full half-mile, And the train was tearing thro' yon deep defile. " Come quick, man, Jim, lend a hand, I say: This is no time to stand still and pray. Give a hand, man, Jim ! sharp and quick ; You take the thin end I'll take the thick : You know I'm stronger than you at a load, So you take that end next the London road." We tugged and strained at that huge block of wood- We strained and tugged till the veins upstood On our foreheads like cords, and damp hot sweat POEMS AND SONGS. 89 Coursed down our broad backs till our shirts were wet. At length the log began gently to glide, But poor Tom's feet gave way with a slide ; His last hard push sent the earth clean away, And outstretched he lay on the four-foot way. But that desp'rate push cleared away the plank, But there was the mail, with its loud clank, clank, Right down upon Tom before he could rise The clouds of steam almost scalding my eyes; And there was the driver, with oily hands, Up on the engine with its iron bands, Grasping the lever with giant-like grip Despair in his eyes and sweat on his lip Tugging and straining to check its career, His eyes all ablaze with his mortal fear. By the glare of the lamps he had seen us two But, alas, too late ! to the brake he flew, For 'midst glare of the lights and scalding steam 'Midst sparks from the rails and the red lamp's gleam Poor Tom was scorched and a shapeless mass, When the mail's huge wheels shot swiftly past : But the mail was safe not a life was lost. Though the life of poor Tom had been the cost. Brave Tom ! there's no tomb within the nave Of Westminster's pile, where lie England's brave, To tell how you laid down your live to save Hundreds of lives from a premature grave; But in the hearts of your comrades shall live your deeds, And the heart of a young wife silently bleeds, And we who knew you will never forget Our brave surfaceman, bold Tom Everett ! G 90 POEMS AND SONGS. THE SHEPHERD AND HIS BAIRN. Come under my plaidie, the nicht's dark and eerie, Sae cauld blaws the wind frae the sheltering fauld ; The snaw lies knee-deep in the low lying valleys, And covers the top o' Ben Nevis so bald. Come under my plaidie, the nicht's dark and stormy, The cauld winds are sabbing, as if in deep pain ; And dark owre the broos o' the far-away mountains The thick clouds are gath'ring for storm and for rain. Come under my plaidie, the storm is descending, The sheep on the mountain seek sheltering wa' ; I hear noo the bleat o' the bonnie bit lammies In answer to soond o' their mithers' lood ca.' Come under my plaidie, the thunder is rolling, The lichtning is flashing in lang slanting lines ; They mak' my heart eerie, I'm footsore and weary, I wish we were safe in your biggin' and mine. Come under my plaidie, you're dear to my bosom, And dearer you are to your mither's kind heart ; The spring to the simmer, the autumn to winter May change, but oor love can ne'er be apairt. Come under my plaidie, my ain only dearie, You are a' that is left to mither and me ; Your brithers and sisters in cauld grave lie happit, Under the shadow o' an auld willow tree. Come under my plaidie, I hear oor doug barking, And far in the distance the blink frae oor cot ; Your mither, dear bairnie, has lamp in the winda', To guide oor tired steps to oor ain sweet wee spot. POEMS AND SONGS. 91 Come under my plaidie, I see oor roofs shingle, The fire flares and leaps at our ain ingleside ; See ! yonder's your mither gazing oot owre the heather And wishing her laddie was close at her side. THE DYING BOY. In a garret, bleak and lonely, Up a worn and broken stair In a room, 'twas scarce a shelter, Lived our poor friend, James Adair. Oh ! his room was sparsely furnished, Nought it had but one old chair, A truckle bed, an oaken table, And its walls were blank and bare. James's face, though thin, was flushed, \Yith consumption's hectic glow ; How soon the ravishing disease, His poor feeble frame brought low. As we climbed the wooden staircase, How the boards did twist and squeak, To us it seemed they soon would fall, They were so fragile, old, and weak. As the rattling door we opened, By the rust the hinge o'erlapped, Gave a squeakle and a creakle, Then it thro' the centre snapped. 92 POEMS AND SONGS. But we gently on our tiptoes, Glided quietly to his bed, And his breath it came so softly, That we thought his soul had fled. But he op'ed his eyes with gladness, Gave a look our hearts beguiled ; 'Twas a look of deepest sadness, Though he turned round and smiled. As we gazed upon his features, By the window's shadowed light, His life we knew was swiftly ebbing Soon for him 'twould be the night. Yes ! but only for a moment, For, o'ershadowed by the love, Trusting, holding, to his Saviour, Soon he would be safe above. His hand I took in mine, and said "James, do tell me how you feel?" " Well enough," he softly answered, " Journeying to the land o' leal. " Open up the window shutters, Let me see the sun once more, Ere I leave this world of sorrow, To tread upon the shining shore. " Oh, last night, as I lay dreaming, Thinking of my Saviour's love, Darkness round me seemed to brighten, Heaven seemed to open above, POEMS AND SONGS. 93 " And I saw the King in glory, All around a happy band ; And I heard their notes of triumph, Sounding through the golden land. " And I saw a kneeling, bending, Happy, joyous, white-robed throng, Lift their voice in acclamation, Joining in the praise and song. " And I saw the swift-winged angels, Bearing messages of love To the Son, once Man of Sorrows, Now the life-giving Holy Dove. " Sinners came, I once had known them, Full of wrath, and spite, and hate ; But the blood of Christ had washed them, Opened up the golden gate. " Then I saw amongst the people, Who were thronging to his knee, A poor, sickly, out-worn figure, And I felt that it was me. " Then I saw the Book was opened, That he held upon his knee ; And I saw the triple God-head, Symbolistic One in Three. " Then was heard amid the silence Of the surging mighty throng ' Well done, good and faithful servant,' Then a shout both loud and long. 94 POEMS AND SONGS. " And the deafening acclamation, Seemed to me like ocean's roar ; But when I started from my sleep, 'Twas a dream and nothing more." James had risen from his pillow, As he told us of his dream ; Now he sank back quite exhausted, But his face wore brightest beam. 'Twas a gleam of heavenly gladness That his face now overspread ; And we knew by his hard breathing, Soon he'd be amongst the dead. Then his breath it came so faintly, That we thought his heart had stopped ; But again his face was beaming, On his hand his head he propped. " Hark ! I hear the heavenly music, Sounding from the other shore, And I see the angels bending Now I see the opened door ! " Now I'm ready, Heavenly Father, Waiting on the river's bank; And I see my Saviour armoured Hark the angels tell his rank ! " Friends, you now may close the shutters, Straighten out each wasted limb I am going ! coming, Saviour ! Though the river's dark and dim POEMS AND SONGS. 95 " Dim ! Oh, no ! it is not dimness, For I see the light from Heaven, Streaming on * the Lamb of Glory,' Like the sun when newly risen. As he spoke, the wasted features Were with glory lighted up ; And he fell back in our arms He had drank the heavenly cup. THE DRUNKARD'S TALE. 'Tis but a wee bit tuft o' thyme, Aboon a childish grave, But yet it speaks of a girlish form With which I used to dave. It seems to you o' little worth, Yon wee bit gressy mound, To me it is an untold world, Roond which my mem'ry's bound. I'll tell the story in few words, It's vivid to my mind, And when you've heard me tell the tale, I think harsh words you'll find. Twas on a Friday afternin, When comin' frae my wark, I drapped intae a public-hoose, An' drank till it was dark. g6 POEMS AND SONGS. An' when my wages were a' spent, I socht the road for name, Wi' passions rankling in my breast, Wi' heart and blood aflame. At last I climbed oor wooden stair, Wi' help o' the iron rail, But as I reached the inside door, My legs felt like to fail. I rapped ; the wife ope'd wide the door, Wi' frichten'd, dazed look, An' I rolled slowly tae a chair, Close by the ingle's neuk. My wee bit bairnie, bonnie Nell, Sat in a chair sae high, But stopped her prattlin' for a blink, To look wi' wond'ring eye. The wee bit thing I think I see Her bonnie pettit face ; She was jist five years auld that day, But fu' o' childish grace. She jump'd doon frae her high-back'd chair, An' in her artless way, Says she, " what's kept ye late, kind Dad, I've wearied a' the day. " Ye promised me a fine big doll, For this is my birthday, An' to my bed I wadna gae Till it beside me lay." POEMS AND SONGS. 97 Brute that I was, I struck her hard, Her words had pierced my heart, I felt my mind and soul inflamed As by some poisoned dart. Puir Nellie gave a scream o' pain, My wife knelt by her side, And said, " Ye brute, why strike the wean, Wha aye has been yer pride ? " Gi'e me some cash tae keep the hoose. It's a' spent, I believe ; I've ne'er a shilling in my purse, I can dae nocht but grieve. " Ye spend yer wage frae week to week, And give me nocht but debt, Ere hauf the week, my money's gone, The pittance that I get. " I little thocht when I left hame, And left my parents kind, An' swore to love an' honour ye, A ne'er-dae-weel I'd find." My drunken blood it seemed aflame At hearing this frae her, I grasped the poker let it fly Wi' a' my strength and birr. But drucken brain, unsteady aim, It fell wi' sick'ning thud Upon the child the fearful blow I'd nipped the little bud. 98 POEMS AND SONGS. God ! the child I loved so well Had perish'd at my hand My only child, my dearest sweet, More loved than gold or land. My wife shrieked loud, syne in a fent She fell upon the floor ; And me, the murd'rer of my child, I rushed frae oot the door. 1 ran, I walked, I cared not where, My brain was fierce and wild ; I felt there was no rest for me, The slayer of my child. How far I went, I cannot tell By madness surely led I mind a railway terminus A signal brightly red. I mind a bright and flashing light An object looming dark, A whistle's scream, a million stars, Then I was stiff and stark. How long I lay, 'tween life and death The doctor could not tell, But in my dreams I heard it toll My darling's funeral bell. They told me when I understood, How near I'd been to death ; And said I should thank God in prayer For my return to health. POEMS AND SONGS. 99 Thank God ! had they but known these hands Had smote a tender child, They'd turned from me with scorn and hate Instead of smiles so mild. To pray, my God ! it sickened me, The thought of my great guilt ; Could I lift up the hands in prayer, My own child's blood had spilt. You ask me where my wife is now, I fled I cared not where, Like Cain, God's curse was on my brow, I'd nought left but despair. I scarcely dared to ask for her, But heard her mind gave way, She lay for weeks and months in bed, And could not even pray. A spirit seemed to haunt her room, The spirit of her child, And then she'd start and wake the night With screams both fierce and wild. t Yes, this is little Nellie's grave, This tiny little mound, And that is why this tuft of thyme, Is round my mem'ry wound. IOO POEMS AND SONGS. MY LOVE IS DEAD. 'Twas when the evening vesper's done, The sun far down the west, When the evening shadows deepened, And nature seemed at rest ; The church bells rang out loud and long, Thro' still and silent air ; 'Twas then I dropped upon my knees, And found relief in prayer. That morning broke ; a day of rain, The thundery sky was red ; To me it mattered not what came, For my true love was dead. They said he died in faith and hope, And trust we'd meet above ; I had no trust, no hope, no faith, For I had lost my love. I saw him in the crowded hall Win learning's highest prize ; I saw him in our village games Win fame before my eyes ; I saw him 'midst his trials at home, With head bowed down with care ; I saw him with his clustering curls Around that brow so fair. Six days had gone his funeral day Had come had passed away, And all our villagers resumed Their wonted round of play. POEMS AND SONGS. IOI Twas Sabbath day, the church was crushed, To hear our parson preach, To tell of my love's life and death, And its deep lessons teach. They said he spoke to every heart, And told with grief and tears How bravely he had fought against, And strove to hide his fears. They said there was not one dry eye Within that crowded nave ; But there was one for mine were dry, My heart was in the grave. Twas lack of heart, some people said, God pity my poor brain ! sacred heart ! O dearest life ! To weep would been in vain. O, lovely dead ! I could not weep There's love too deep for tears 1 only felt a heart so dead, There was no room for fears. His drunken father raved at me, And said I had no heart ; His mind so coarse, it could not know A grief no tears would start. But, when he raved in drunken strain, Rebellious words broke forth " 'Twas you that broke his noble heart : You never knew his worth. " Twas you, when he had early shown How great his classic lore, And won the fame that's only won Within a college door, 102 POEMS AND SONGS. 'Twas you, base father, turned to gall The draught from virtue's cup : Your drunken brawls, they made him droop The head he should held up." I said no more : I could not speak, 'Twas well I held my tongue, I ? or him, my love had never chid, Tho' his brave heart was rung. I turned from him in bitterness, I thought my reason gone ; I had no heart to chide him more, My heart felt like a stone. Five years I passed our village church, Five years I passed his door ; I saw his father's form brought forth To enter it no more. The flowers had lost their sylvan hue, Their scent to me had fled ; Earth's fairest charms were nought to me, For my true love was dead. Ten weary years have come, have gone, And I am far away Upon the golden, burning sands, Beneath sun's scorching ray. Yet still I see the old church porch I see his daisied bed ; But neither sea nor land have charms, For my true love is dead. POEMS AND SONGS. 103 O, JAMIE DEAR, I'M LIKE TO GREET. O, Jamie dear, I'm like to greet, My heart's maist like to burst, Yet I maun keep my grief in boonds, In God maun be my trust ; Ye ask what mak's my heart sae sair, An' why wi' grief I'm spent, ! had you seen what I hae seen, Your heart wad been fair rent. Last nicht when I had gane tae bed, An closed my weary e'en, 1 dreamt I wandered thro' Dairy, Wi' sad and heavy mien ; An' as I wandered 'mang its stanes, I saw a hearse and bier, God pity my poor achin' heart, Tsvas filled wi' grief and fear. I saw the waefu' mourners a', Wi' slow an' solemn tread, Tramp doon the walk, an' cross the moonds, The hooses o' the dead ; An' first amang the sable thrang, I saw you, Jamie, gae, Your heid was bent, your face was bleared Wi' tears o' dule an wae. I looked on wi' sad wonderment To see the solemn thrang, Then chasing owre the flo'ery beds I was the crood amang ; An' wi' a sigh I sadly cried " Wha's funeral's this the day?" 104 POEMS AND SONGS. " The flo'er o' a' the Lothians, Oor Bonnie Mary Hay." O, Jamie, when I heard them speak, My heart filled like to break, It wasna for mysel' I grieved, But only for your sake ; For your sake, an' oor bonnie bairn, My heart was thrummelt sair, 1 hae nae pangs at partin' frae This world o' carkin' care. O, raise your hand my Jamie dear, An' stroke my raven hair, An' tell me that you'll tend oor bairn, Oor bonnie Mary fair ; O, swear it, Jamie, by the love You bore to me langsyne, When love and faith were strong in you, O, may they never tine ! O, weel I mind the time, my love, I gi'ed my heart to thee, The burnie wimpled doon the shaw, Sang birds on ilka tree ; An' you were then sae blythe, Jamie, Your face wi' smiles wad shine, When roaming thro' the greenwood shades Wi' hand locked ticht in mine. Like startled lark upsprings to meet The dawnin' o' the day, As primrose peeps frae 'mang the grass To welcome smiling May ; POEMS AND SONGS. 105 So sprang my heart to meet thee, love, In days of happy yore, An' sae my heart will turn to thee, When on the waveless shore. O, tak' my hand in yours, my love, My sicht is growin' dim, I feel the chill o' death, Jamie, Noo creepin' owre each limb ; Disease an' death noo claim their ain, Life's tide is ebbing fast, I'll sune be 'mang the golden thrang, Where joys for ever last. O, Jamie, press your face 'gainst mine I canna see your broo, O, print ae kiss upon my lips I'm calmer, Jamie, noo ; I'll sune be owre the wave, laddie, I'll sune be on the shore, To welcome you and oor sweet bairn, When partings are no more. A SIGH FOR LADDIE DAYS. Oh, gi'e me back blythe laddie days ! When we cam' bounding oot o' schule, The maister flyting at the din O' slates and books we banged at will. And playgroond echoed back the soonds And shouts o' " tippney nippney's " gemm ; The policemen micht gie us chase We ran, but aye made fun o' them. H 106 POEMS AND SONGS. My auld heart warms at thought o' mates Wha joined wi' me at cricket play, When "overs," "no balls," and "tall hits" Were a' the order o' the day. I mind sae weel the matches played 'Tween Lauriston and Beaumont Clubs , The rivalry it was so keen, We'd fain have won the match wi' " subs." Wae's me, it seems just yesterday Wi' "tammy reekies" we wad hie, An' up we'd gae to Simon's door, And to the rails the haundle tie, Then put oor reekies to the hole, A' rilled wi' rags an' lichted tow, Syne purse oor lips an' gie a blaw ; The smoke, it made him dance, I trow. At Halloween we had rare dooks For apples an' Brazilian nuts, An' ane by ane we took oor turn To dook oor heads intae the butts. And weel I mind when 'twas my turn, I dooked my head into the bine ; They held me till my face turned blue : To me it wasna fun sae fine. And, oh ! the happy "geyser times :" We'd pent oor faces black an' blue, An' stripe oor cheeks wi' chalky lines, Wi' red lines streaked upon the brow. We'd steal like cats up entry stairs, Syne pu' wi' fear the bells sae slow, POEMS AND SONGS. 107 And a' join in the chorus fine, Wi' " Please tae help the geysers, O." The cantrip capers we then cut, Wad seem quite oot o' place enow ; Boys then were gemm an' fu' o' fun, Not impudence, as they seem now. I canna pass a neep field yet, But aye it minds me o' the time We owre the dykes wad in a crack, An' pu' the neeps they were sublime. What funny lanterns we could mak' Oot o' a fine big yellow neep Men's faces, horses, donkeys, a' Micht mak' a high-souled artist weep. But they were bonnie to oor e'en ; An' when wi' candles a' alicht, And we in order marched along, There never seemed a grander sight. My mind, it seems, grows young again When on oor merry pranks I think, As playing " shepherds waurning " grand, Or " hy-spy," through the entries jink. Oh ! could I flee from present care, I'd gladly drink of boyhood's cup- On, for yae gemm at " fit an' hauf," Or " tell the fingers I haud up ! " Oh, aince again, withoot a care, To round St. Margarets lichtly skip, Wi' towels a' twisted roond oor necks An' barefeet running for a dip ! TOS POEMS AND SONGS. Oh, aince again, on " Portie's " saunds Tae join sae lively in a " dook;" Wi' neither fear o' win' or cauld, For hoors we'd waddle in an' oot ! Tae tell the names o' gemms we played, My fegs, 'twould tak' lang time indeed ! There's "dully," ''buttons, "shinty," "bools," Wi' "fitba," "papes," "follow the lead." An' when I think o' bells we've rung, An' gouks we played on yin an' a', The lines they leave my withered cheeks I'm fain to lauch wi' lood guffaw. Oh yes, it seems but yesterday, When Saturday cam' roond wi' play, We'd rin tae Granton wi' oor lines Tae fish for crabs an' podlies grey. Oh, give me back blythe laddie days ! Nae thocht or care or fear was then ; Wi' lichtsome glee we played at " tig," Or " hoonds an' horses " in the den. But laddie days can ne'er come back, Altho' they're woven on my heart ; And from the mem'ries of the past Come faces blythe that mak' me start. But gin there cam' mair peace o' mind, An' gin there cam' less grief an' sin, My mind will rest and be content To dream o' days o' auld lang syne. POEMS AND SONGS. log THE BAIRNIES. Worldly cares are sad to thole, Aft they make me sair at heart, Yet their worries I forget, When at e'en I hameward start ; Butt'ning up my auld top-coat, On I go, 'midst gaslight's glare, Thinking o' my chubby weans Waiting me upon the stair ; Anxious cares sune fly awa' As they romp around my knee, Playing wi' their dolls and toys, Shoutin' lood in childish glee. Robbie rides upon a chair, Susie dresses up her dull, Eva's setting up her bricks, Katie's keeking through keyhole ; Mither has a pridefu' look, As she irons their dresses braw, At oor Willie wi' his slate, Adding figures in a raw ; Care and sorrow ha'e nae place , In my heart as I look on, Happier than a duke or lord, Or a king upon his throne. Cheery is the wintry fire, Sings the kettle on the hob, Pots and pans are bricht and clean Shining is ilk haundle knob, A' around are comforts great, Thankfu' is my heart and glad, 110 POEMS AND SONGS. Wi' sic wife and bonnie weans Could a man be ever sad ? Care and sorrow will I leave At the threshold o' my door, Wi' sic comforts a' around, What could heart o' man wish more ? Oh ! the bairns are happy noo, But their days o' trials will come, And it sometimes mak's me sad Thinking whaur their feet will roam ; Will they wander o'er the earth, Hapless things, without a bield ? Will they from their duty stray ? Will they to temptations yield ? Oh, the doots that fill my heart, Sometimes mak' me sad and wae, Till I min' that God can bless, And will lead them on life's way. SPRING'S GLADNESS WINTER'S SORROWS. When the spring time returns, and with it blue skies, And no clouds they are seen by youthful glad eyes, Tis then that life's gladness lights up the scene, And youthful enchantments make life seem a dream. " What then of wild winter," thus thinks the fair youth, He sees the blue skies all betokening truth, The horizon may cloud it seems but a dream, He beholds but the bright clouds flitting between. POEMS AND SONGS. Ill " What then of wild winter," let it come when it choose, To-day it is mine, I my pleasure won't loss ; I'll frolic and laugh in innocent glee, The future's not mine the present's for me. And thus was my life, when with some one I met ; Alas ! can it be ? can I ever forget, That sweet smiling face that welcomely smiled, They seemed born of heaven, so gentle, so mild. What need to repeat it how oft it's been told, And mine's but the story the story is old, sorrow ! I wish that we never had met, My cheeks had been dry now they're wet oh, how wet ; Ah the spring time can bring me no joyousness now, It can bring but sad tears but lines to my brow ; 1 look now for winter, should I see it again ? To bring rivers of Lethe for sorrow and pain. And now o'er dark ocean and fast running tide, My hopes and my fears shall for ever subside, The dark rolling river 'twill help me to gain, Where a face and a smile shall be with me again. CHRISTMAS CHIMES. I hear the bells across the moor, From the old cathedral town I hear their jangle across the fields, Over the meadow and down ; 'Tis Christmas chimes that float along, For 'tis time of right good cheer, Our hearts they will be glad to-day, Jolly Christmas now is here. 112 POEMS AND SONGS. Chorus. Play now a Christmas song With a loud ding, ding, dong, Carry the notes along, Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, dong ; Sound them out loud and long, Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, dong, In notes both clear and strong, Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, dong. I look upon the city gay With its busy heaving tide, And I wish ah ! wish in my heart That peace might ever abide ; Oh ! that love might ever remain In each heart even as it is now ! And the poor and the helpless be fed, And our love we each would avow. Chorus Play now a Christmas song, &c. Oh ! ring, ye Christmas bells of peace ! Oh ! jangle your loved refrain ! Speak to the rich, speak to the poor, Of love in your loudest strain ; Oh ! ring out strife ! oh, ring in peace ! Let woods re-echo your song ; Oh ! ye chimes, ye glorious chimes, Toll out your loud ding, ding, dong Chorus Play now a Christmas song, &c. POEMS AND SONGS. 113 ON YARROW. I stray by Yarrow's flo'ery braes, I stray by Yarrow's river, I wander through fair Ettrick Shaw Amidst its blooming heather. I see sad scenes of long ago My very soul they harrow; Commingled with the strife of men I hear thee, wimpling Yarrow. I hear the clash of swinging blades ; I see yon lord her marrow With his long blade slay four strong men On the bloody banks o' Yarrow. I see her coming doon yon glen, Wi' heart surcharged wi' sorrow, And press his cauld heid to her heart Beside thee, weeping Yarrow. I see her kaim his matted hair, And fondly kiss her marrow, I hear the sigh break from her lips Her heart has broke on Yarrow. I see her kinsmen climb the brae; The Banshees wail their sorrow As on the bier they baith lie stretched, The lady and her marrow. I see the bloody Philiphaugh Vender's the gallant Leslie ; I see the Covenanting men Uplift the arm fleshlie. 114 POEMS AND SONGS. I see the gallant great Montrose, He strives to save the battle I hear the shouts of cavalry, And hear the cannon's rattle. I see the haunted fairy dell Young Tamalane frequented I see his lady seek her love Wi' cries and wails demented. I see her catch him in her arms His body's fairly naked And cast her mantle a' aroond That love she ne'er forsaked. I see a king, yet not a king He wanders sad and sairly ; The very birds I hear them lilt " O, wae's me for Prince Charlie ! " I see the sage of Abbotsford, I see him walking slowly, I hear his words o' kindness still Unto the poor and lowly. He wanders by old Yarrow's stream, By Ettrick's brake he tarries He leans upon his oaken staff, Which in his hand he carries. O, Yarrow Yarrow bonnie stream ! O, Scotland's sweetest river ! O, may romance still cling to thee Throughout the great forever ! POEiMS AND SONGS. And when the present is long past May Scotland think \vi' sorrow Of that brave knight and his true love Wha sleep beside thee, Yarrow. A LEGEND OF DANZIG. On ! on they walked the incongruous pair, The endless tracks almost made them despair ; But he, though feeble and a broken man, Seemed to be upheld by some mysterious plan ; And though their way was through the dismal swamp, And though their feet were blistered by their tramp O'er moor and thro' the forest dark and bleak, O'er frozen plains which sunbeams never seek, And oft, how oft, they lost their dreary way, So that they were scarce further when the day- Had ended and the gloomy night came down, And many leagues between them and a town, So that they fain were forced to seek a hut, And all their food was bread or hazel nut. Yet still the old man urged their eager way, And wildly muttered at each fresh delay, Until, o'ercame by weakness and old age, He often was laid up for shortest stage. His restlessness their journey did retard, Though not for health he seemed to have regard, He was so eager to pursue his way, That to get well again he scarce would stay. And once poor Lottchen thought that he would go Il6 POEMS AND SONGS. By agues, malady he was racked so- Each moment she had thought would be his last, But brave he struggled till his pains were past. And seemed to be upheld by strength of will, When struggling hard against both steep and hill ; Sometimes with help of sledge they held their way, And oft on canal boats they sailed all day ; Sometimes a cart or waggon gave a lift, And through the leaden clouds there seemed a rift : " For country folks were kind," dear Lottchen said, " For truly on their hearts by God 'twas laid," To help the feeble, helpless, poor old soul, And the sweet child to reach their city goal. Oft Lottchen prayed and read from God's kind book, And charmed their family circle with sweet look, And told them of her Christ, the living way, To her a guardian, guide, a help and stay. They looked with piteous gaze on this fair child, With aspect sweet and voice so gently mild, With tattered dress, and naked swollen feet, While singing hymns of praise and songs so sweet. They watched her as she helped the poor blind man, With many a sweet encouragement and plan ; She told them of the cold, 'twas so intense, The atmosphere so foggy and so dense, That he, poor man, so wearily would say, " Oh, let us lie and rest a short time by the way ; I feel so sleepy, Lottie, little child, Come, let's lie down, the wind is cold and wild ; The snow is high, 'tis almost quite knee deep, I think we'd be the better of a sleep." But Lottie would implore him, " Let us go : We ne'er will wake if we should sleep 'midst snow." POEMS AND SONGS. 117 And so they urged their way o'er frozen lakes, Thro' darkest woods of fir, thro' tangled brakes ; The wind raged loud and moaned so fearfully, And came in sudden gusts so fitfully, That strong trees were uprooted by its might, And birds were blown about by its swift flight. Twas then her mind dwelt on her. mother's form As she lay dying midst the raging storm, And how she read to her from out the Book Of one, who never once his friends forsook. They seemed to give her heart new strength again- And surely such dear words are not in vain : " Fear not, I am with thee ; I will never Leave thee nor forsake thee ; I will keep thee In all places whether thou goest. Be strong And of good courage. Be ye not afraid" At last their weary way draws to an end, For yonder's Danzig's towers behind yon bend ; Though what had been the object of their walk She knew not and the blind man would not talk Upon this subject, he would never rave, Tho' oft tears coursed his cheeks like watery wave. Once in the city, lodgings quick they found, A widow (Margaret) was quickly bound As Lottie was so like her buried child And then her childish talk her heart beguiled. She spoke so oft of Jesus and his love, And longed to gain the higher life above ; And tales she told of her dear sainted mother, That Margaret her tears she could not smother ; And so they mingled tears, sung many a hymn, Until the candle's light burned low and dim; Il8 POEMS AND SONGS. And then dear Lottchen wandered in her mind, And dreamt in trackless woods she could not find Her way. And walked again where sun ne'er shined, The trees they were so dense and leaves so thick, Her way thro' tangled woods she could not pick. She saw her mother's grave so far away, And cried, " oh ! let me go, I cannot stay From her whilst she lies lonely 'midst the snow The way is dark and drear, yet I must go." And then she thought she saw her in the sky Look on her child with kindly beaming eye, And she would faintly smile and murmur low, " Mother, I'll come when duty's done below." But days of rest and nursing by her friend, And feelings of content at journey's end, Soon brought the bloom of peaches to her cheek, And gratitude soon made her tongue to speak. The blind man rested after his long walk, But was morose, and scarce a word would talk Unlike dear Lottchen, whose thoughts were good and pure, His only thoughts were how was he to cure His maladies, and how to best restore His failing strength, and give him courage more To do the work for which he came such length, And to accomplish which, felt need of strength. " It would be hard if I were now to die, But no ! bless God, these bones they shall not lie Within the grave until I've had revenge. Revenge ! revenge ! 'tis sweetest word ' revenge.' Danzig shall rue that day it plucked my eyes From out these sightless sockets time it flies Quickly, and I must do it, yes, and fast POEMS AND SONGS. ITQ This action great, the grandest and the last In all life's drama, before I quit this stage, And then appeased my heart's embittered rage." He lent upon his stick, and as he spoke, He sat down 'neath the window, and there broke Upon his ears John's words of wisdom true, By many read, but pondered on by few : " Dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves, but Give place unto wrath, for it is written, Vengeance is mine I will repay, saith the Lord." Twas Margaret that read the holy words, Whilst Lottchen lay and fed the little birds But Margaret still continued solemnly To read the words slowly and mournfully : " Be not o'ercome of evil but of good." The old man started tried to hide from view, His strength, howe'er, was weak, and ere he knew Down heavily he fell upon the seat, \Yhich Lottchen heard, and cried in sudden heat, " I hear a groan ! oh, grandpapa is ill !" And with these words her eyes with tears did fill, And bounding from the bed whereon she lay, Not for an instant would she stand or stay, She said, " oh, are you ill, my grandpa dear ?" 11 No ! no !" he said, "Tis nothing, have no fear." He waved her from him, and easily she knew, That he could wish her far away from view. And so she turned and slowly went away She saw that he was cross and strange that day. A month had slowly gone, and the old man Seemed bent to execute his cherished plan : " To-day," he said, " we'll to Cathedral go ;" 120 POEMS AND SONGS. And spite of rain, and even spite of snow, He wrapped himself into his tattered cloak, And not another work the old man spoke, But took her arm in his and went his way, Through darkness grey, for sunlight's slanting ray, Had spent its light within the golden west, And swallows fled unto the eaves for rest. Soon they were close unto the old church tower, And then the old man told with wondrous power Of Danzig's clock and of its action fine And as he spoke it solemnly chimed " nine." " That clock must be the greatest of its kind ; The man who made it must have wondrous mind ; I'm sure the people must of him be proud, And tell his fame and sing his praises loud." The old man stood and dark sardonic smiled, And gave a look so fearful and so wild, She shook with fear to look into his face, But then he hurried on with smarter pace. " Here at this spot must be cathedral door, Lottchen, remember, the blind man's blind no more ; I know each foot, each turning of the way, For darkness is to me as 'twere the day." He knocks impatient at the wicket door, And stamps impatient on the wooden floor, When Sacristan, he said, " Sir, you're too late, For no one now can enter thro' this gate." " No sightseer am I," the old man said aloud, "To study mechanism I'm justly proud, And yonder old clock tower I'll see to-night, For darkness is the same to me as light ; You see I'm blind but yet I'll find my way, A crown is yours for each minute I stay." POEMS AND SONGS. 121 He waited not, but hurried up the stair, The man did follow and the child so fair. The head of the long stair at last they reach, Then the old sacristan began to teach, And tell the wonders of old Danzig's clock, And praise its action, show its wondrous knock ; He told how people came the world o'er Sometimes in crowds the tourists thronged the door, They came to gaze upon its wondrous dial, They came to note its wondrous power and style, And people came from Danzig's rival town, To look on it with dark'ning sinister frown ; He thought the man who made it must be dead, For he had disappeared and left no thread To tell them if there had been some foul play, And none had seen him to the present day ; None knew what had befallen this artist great, Or what had been his little family's fate. The blind man heard the tale with rising rage, Impatient as a lion treads its cage ; At length he spoke with biting wrath and scorn : " Listen to me, for I myself have sworn To avenge the wrongs to that great artist done, And he shall be revenged ere sets another sun. I knew him well, he stayed in yonder spot, He had a lonely life, but happy lot ; He had a child, her company was sweet, And a grand-daughter, who, each night he'd greet With laugh and kiss whene'er he reached his door: Her little feet was music on the floor. He loved his daughter, doated on her child, And they were both so tender and so mild. Oh God, even toil was pleasure for their sake-; I 122 POEMS ANt> SONGS. To speak of them my heart feels fit to break. One night the night the clock was finished The artist tired had early gone to bed, And whilst in bed he dreamt of wealth and fame, Dreamt of the glory of undying name, He dreamt of houses, dreamt he'd won the prize, Fame, riches, pleasure, spread before his eyes When suddenly burst 'gainst the wall the door, And villains masked he saw their number, four ; With crape their faces covered and their eyes Rushed to his bed, and quick to his surprise Sprang on him, down their knees upon his breast ; God ! I scarce can tell you all the rest. Two held him, and the other villains two (What savage things our brother men can do) Bent o'er his bed and forced out his two eyes. He scarce could cry, he could not move or rise. The ruffians held him down the cursed cruel four- Then forced the shrieking artist to the door, (Blind and helpless, half naked, mad with pain, His daughter's tears and prayers were all in vain.) Into a coach which they had standing near, And drove through Danzig's streets without a fear. For weeks and weeks they travelled night and day, Close to a frozen sea they made their stay, God knows where they had left him at the last, He did not care he lived but in the past." " Is Duringer the artist still alive ? And is he well ? oh, tell me does he thrive ? 1 feel I now could take him to my heart, And ne'er again this good man let depart." Thus spoke the sacristan with feeling great, The old man answered, with a bitter hate - POEMS AND SONGS. 123 " He lives, he still lives on ; but his dear child She who was always gentle and so mild Her heart was broken with his fearful cries, And in a frozen grave her dust now lies. The blind man felt a longing to go back Unto old Danzig, his mind was on the rack, And thus, tho' old and feeble and half mad, He begged his way o'er many a weary stad, Accompanied only by his daughter's child. They crept, they walked, thro' forests thick and wild, And safely came thro' many days of danger Behold me, sacristan, for I'm Duringer ! " The sacristan was now overcome with fright, Fell from his hand the lamp, and all was night. But darkness or the light were each the same To Duringer ; so when the flick'ring flame Died out, he plunged his hand into his breast, Drew forth a pair of scissors 'neath his vest, And snapped the cords he snapped the little wires The clock stopped short, as one whose life expires When heart's high action fails and pulse stops dead, And death sits high enthroned when life has fled. 11 Hark," he exclaimed, " the wondrous clock has stopped, No more 'twill move again the wires have dropped. It moves no more until they give me sight Ha ! ha ! revenge, let Danzig mind this night," The old man cried, and fainted on the floor, And spoke again the old man never more. And when that clock had ceased its mighty beat, Reason and life both dropped from off their seat ; Twas like the breaking of the harp's great string On Thebian plain before the Roman king. The clock stopped short and seemed to heave a sigh, 124 POEMS AND SONGS. As sighs the lips of men before they die ; In Danzig's town no more was heard that bell, No more was heard its solemn sounding knell, Across the domes of churches and its streets, Its echoes ne'er were heard in rustic seats. And Duringer now rests within the walls Of the cathedral, where the music falls Upon the worshippers whilst they sweetly sing, But silent are his ears to echo's ring. And Lottchen never felt again the same, Excitement was too much for feeble frame ; For fever raged and burned within her breast, And soon her gentle soul found heavenly rest. Whilst ill she was so gentle and so meek, That many came to see and hear her speak, And look upon that face so sweet and mild, To hear the words of the fast dying child. The last words she was known or heard to speak Brought tears unto the list'ners' pensive cheek : " I am so happy Jesus died for me For me He died, was nailed upon the tree." But where the old man lived has not been found, Mayhaps 'twas near to Mezen's holy ground : For there an old sea fisher used to tell How an old man came and stayed awhile, And with him was a maid they stayed a night ; The aged man, he said, had lost his sight; And oft' the maid spoke of her Saviour dear, And as she spoke her eyes dropped many a tear ; He thought she was an angel from the skies, She had such calm and trustful loving eyes. They seemed, he said, on some long journey sent, POEMS AND SONGS. 125 But where they came or where their journey bent He could not say, her eyes were like a saint's, Or like an angel that a Raphael paints. NOTE. The clock of Danzig was constructed by an old mechanician of the name of Duringer, who lived very happily with his married daugh- ter and her child in the suburbs. The clock was of such wonderful con- struction that it drew crowds from all parts of Europe to see it. Some of his townsmen, being afraid that he would design a clock of equally wonderful parts for the rival town of Hamburg, very cruelly put a plan into execution to hinder this. One dark night, four ruffians, with black crape upon their faces, broke into his room : two of them held him down and the other two forced out his eyes. They then forced the shrieking artist into a vehicle, and drove him away. For weeks and weeks they travelled ; and finally, when they set him, his daughter and the infant down, it was in a hut by a frozen lake he knew not where. His gentle daughter died broken-hearted at witnessing his sufferings, and after her death he had an irresislable longing to go back to Danzig and revenge himself upon his native town for his wrongs. With his grandchild he therefore begged and walked his way back after terrible sufferings for an old man and a child, and having reached the cathedral, he climbed the stairs, accompanied by his grand -daughter and the sacristan, and after revealing the terrible story of Duringer the artist, and telling the horrified man he was Duringer, he produced a pair of scissors from his breast and spoilt his own handiwork the work of years. Duringer had his revenge, but it recoiled upon himself, for when the m ighty beat of the clock ceased the heart of its inventor broke, and he was never known to speak again till he died. His grandchild, Lottchen, took ill after this with over-excitement, which developed into a burning fever, of which she also died, but her sweetness and her love for Jesus was so much seen at her deathbed that it was a lesson to older people for many years after. 126 POEMS AND SONGS. REGRETS. O ! sweet tae me is the wimplin' burn, And sublime is the roar of the fall ; And dear to me is the trouty stream As it sweeps with clatter and brawl. O, grand ! O, grand are my heather hills ; O ! weird is the plover's shrill cry But grander by far to roam o'er the rocks, Or on the tall heather to lie. O, bricht ! and O, bricht is highland tarn, As it shelters beneath yon grand hill ; Fine ! and, O fine to see waterfowl rise From its bosom, so calm and still. In dreams again I'm a little child, And am roaming a sandy beach o'er, And again I stoop to pick up the shells That are strewn on the shingly shore. But my weary feet no more will roam O'er thy pebbly and rocky strand For I'm wearing away in the city gay, So far from my own mountain land. O ! why must I die 'mong strangers here, Far away from my home and the hills ? O ! why should I ne'er hear the purling brook, And gaze on its clear crystal rills ? O ! once again to chase with fleet foot The mawkin and rabbit in flicht ! O ! once again to wade deep in the burn, And clamber o'er some dizzy heicht ! POEMS AND SONGS. 127 O ! once again to bind harvest sheaves In the fields, in the pure bracing air ! O ! once again to see long rolling waves, And roam o'er the moorlands, sae bare ! Will I never more roam in the woods ? Never more by their breezes be fanned ? And ne'er again gather bells by the brook That flows in my own mountain land ? ! could I but see my cottage home Could my mother beside me but stand ! 1 think I could smile on the bolts of death Were they shot in my native land. SCOTLAND, DEAR COUNTRY ! Oh, Scotland, dear country ! I love thee so well, That pen cannot write, and tongue cannot tell ; Engraven thou art on the chords of my heart, Thy name and thy fame make my pulses to start. Thou land of the patriot thou home of the free, Oh, let me attune my poor lyre unto thee ; Oh let me but sing of thy warriors brave, Who fought for the land of the foam and the wave. By Romans invaded, and Saxons and Danes, By English and Irish, led by their cruel thanes ; By foemen out-numbered thy men yielded never, But shouted their battle cry " Scotland for ever ! " Brave Wallace fought fiercely, and fought not in vain, To free our dear country from England's dread chain ; Undaunted and firm he stood 'gainst our foes, And thought not of yielding to Edward's fierce blows. Whilst our king noble Bruce with a resolute band, For Scotland strove bravely and rescued our land ; 128 POEMS AND SONGS. And now o'er the world their names are revered, And Scotland is proud of the heroes she reared. By Romans invaded, and Saxons and Danes, &c. Our watch-cry is " forward ! " our place is the van, A myriad people, we march as one man ; Wherever the standards of liberty fly Our people will follow to win or to die. We are true to our present, true to our past, For the good and the true still we strive to the last ; And yet through the ages our praises shall ring, And ballad and lay yet our good deeds up-bring. By Romans invaded, and Saxons and Danes, &c. RETRIBUTION. In the fading light of a warm summer's night, The conflict was over and finished the fight, And all round about me lay darkness so drear, That my hopes had vanished and turned into fear, As I crouched by the dead, in silence and awe, My God ! in its falseness my life now I saw : I'd seen in the last look which on me was turned The love that I slighted, and heart I had spurned. Yes, I had rejected, yea slighted that life ; Had filled his great soul with a sense of deep strife. For even tho' I loved him I'd flirted away, Led a butterfly life which lasts but a day. But slowly and surely time vengeance does take, For he who'd for years held his peace for my sake, Had read thro' my soul, and in depths of my eye Saw how false was my pride my life but a lie. POEMS AND SONGS. 12() MY SWEET COT. I lo'e my sweet cot, it stands by a rill, Where it's sheltered at base of neighbourin' hill, Wi' bonnie bit gairden, an' sweet rustic porch, An' sheltered frae breezes that come frae the north. I lo'e my sweet cot, it's surrounded by trees, It's covered wi' woodbine, which shelters the bees Wha swarm a' aroond it, frae neighbourin' bink, And rest on the flo'ers, their sweet nectar to drink. I lo'e my sweet cot, where the bairnies a' play, An' my lassies sit knittin' an' sewin' a' day, An' my bairnies are pu'ing sweet floorets tae make Garlands an' bouquets for their dear mither's sake. I lo'e my sweet cot, wi' its gairden ahint, Its roses an' violets, an' sweet smelling mint, Wi' its bonnie wee plots an' the boxwood at edge, An' birdies a' shelt'rin' in its hawthorn hedge. I lo'e my sweet cot when the spring time is nigh, An' skylark is singin' its sang lood on high, When nature's unfauldin' itsel' tae the sun, An' workers return when their day's work is done. I lo'e my sweet cot when the summer is here, Wi' flooerts an' roses, an' sweet smellin' brier, When the thrush is singing lood sangs tae its mate, An' mankind is storming at hardship of fate. I lo'e my sweet cot when the autumn leaves fall, When barley an' wheat, an' corn's ripening all, When lintock is singin', makin' silent the thrush, An' toilers are seeking the shelter of bush. 130 POEMS AND SONGS. I lo'e my sweet cot when winter winds blaw, When fields are a' covered by saft sleet an' snaw ; I lo'e my sweet cot for the memories of past, I've lo'ed, I'll love it, frae first tae the last. THE THREE JOLLY BLACKSMITHS. We are three jolly smiths, with arms both stout and strong, We on our anvils beat with many a ding, ding, dong ; We whistle and we sing, and make the smithy ring With bellows' roaring sound, and hammer's steady swing. Chorus Ding, ding, dong, beating loud and long, Toiling and hammering, To time of some old song ; Ding, ding, dong, the notes we do prolong, Merrily, merrily, and gaily, oh. We are three jolly smiths, with faces black and tan, Our hammers we can wield as well as any man ; The sparks we make them fly from ceiling unto floor, While villagers stand gazing in at the open door. Chorus Ding, ding, dong, &c. We are three jolly smiths, we work with might and main, Each in his little sphere makes duty all his aim ; And we are glad to know when work has been well done, 'Twas worthy of the strain, since our master's praise we won. Chorus Ding, ding, dong, &c. We are three jolly smiths ; and when our work is done, We with our children play we with them romp and run ; Our homes we make as happy as any palace hall, We do our duty well, we do our duty all. Cliorus Ding, ding, dong, &c. POEMS AND SONGS. A NOBLEMAN. A man of culture and a man of mind, Whose very heart and soul go forth to find A nobler life, and some far-reaching rein, And teach mankind high ethics to obtain. His mind goes forth to seek religious truth, To hallow age, and temper fiery youth ; Tis his a nobler, better world to frame, Not pass his life in seeking vulgar fame. 'Tis his to teach a patient, loving song ; Not his the nature would the poor man wrong, Nor would he deign the slothful part to choose, Or on life's passing shadows idly muse. He may have known and felt the chast'ning rod ; And tho' his burdens were a heavy load, Not his to faint or murmur at his fate For fortune's smile he is content to wait. His is the hand to help a fallen brother. He takes for motto, " Help ye one another." If some weak sapling, bent with heavy strife, Tired of his lot, tired even of very life, Should seek his aid, he grants a willing ear, Not simply, for he makes impostors fear To come with falseness, for his searching glance Makes liars quail, the vicious look askance. This is the rank to which we all might rise, And onward press to earn the glorious prize. Our lives should form no flick'ring gleams of light, No shadowy forms, flitting o'er life's swift flight. 132 POEMS AND SONGS. Unlike the track of vessels on the deep, A moment seen when mountain billows sweep, Our life's example should come brightly back, To mark the way, to follow in our track. THE HOME OF THE DRUNKARD. Home of the drunkard, horrible place, Misery and squalor is seen on each face ; Children in rags, and women in tears, No law of love, but the brute's rule of fears. Home of the drunkard, villainous den, Where all that is heard are curses of men, Laugh of the harlot, shriek of the child, Women in filth, by its baseness defiled. Home of the drunkard, dirty and mean, Vice and cupidity ever are seen ; Love and truth from thy door fly away, Lust and unchastity hold their foul sway. Home of the drunkard, sadder than wreck, Oh, when shall drink's yoke be struck from each neck When shall thy victims from slumber awake, Oh, when shall they learn drink's haunts to forsake. Father, above us in mansions of light, Dost Thou look down from Thy glorious height ? Hast Thou no pity nor power to oppose Wilt Thou not bring its dread reign to a close ? POEMS AND SONGS. 133 Yes, Thou hast pity in heart and in eye, Soon Thy dread thunder shall ring from on high, On the heads of the men who've thriven on sin, Selling their souls for the profits of gin. Come then, dear Father, in mercy and love, Give men the draught from Thy heaven above ; Cleanse Thou our hearts now from each hidden sin ; Keep us unmoved 'midst sin's bustle and din. TRUTH. Truth is like a mighty flowing river That endless seems to wind its way for ever, O'er pebbly bed and over shelving rock, That seems her passage and her way to lock. Truth seems a power so potent and so strong, The good defends and overcomes the wrong, It points the road with an unfaltering arm, And saves the weak and innocent from harm. Error may swell its plumes like Juno's bird, And truth short time like placid stream unheard That wanders calmly through the flowery vale, With feeble song and plaintive murm'ring wail ; But yet 'twill show its clear and sparkling wave, With crystal breast from out some hidden cave. Truth is resistless as the mighty sea, That drives yon vessel on the rocky lea, That stands upright like adamantine tower, And yet 'tis ground to sand by seas' great power. A Herod or a Nero may arise, And tower their heads may seem to reach the skies 134 POEMS AND SONGS. Herodias may dance and laugh at truth, Clowns may make jests on it within low booth ; A wicked Charles and his cruel mother, Helped by Guise, and aided by his brother, May make a bloody red Bartholomew, But truth and right will burst upon our view, And cruel Henry fall by Clement's blow, And bloody Guise's guilty blood will flow. The blood of Charles from every vein shall spring, And dark remorse its gloomy terrors fling ; Around his bed shall horrid visions speed, His fearful cries proclaim his guilty deed. The gloomy cardinal, last of this quartette, By stabs of ruffian swords his quietus get. Thus truth asserts itself and wins its way, And wrong is forced to bow before its sway. Licentious Charles to Britain's throne restored, For short time, may by triflers be adored, And reign with craft, corruption, and fraud, With aid of Clifford, Arlington, and Laud ; But Andrew Marvell, spite of bribes and gold, Will prove to all that virtue is not sold. A Richelieu or a Louvois may scheme To stay its forward march, and all may seem To point unto a victory over good, Quenched seems its light, to flourish seems falsehood, A woman, wicked as a Montespan, Usurp truth's place and seem to lead the van, With aid of sensual and voluptuous king; But truth will flash her white and brilliant wing, As beams from lighthouse flashes o'er the deep, Which helps the mariner with glass to sweep POEMS AND SONGS. 135 The crested waves to save his ship from rocks, To keep her safe from angry ocean shocks, And wickedness will hide her satyr head, Virtue sit high enthroned and vice be fled. YE SONS OF TEMPERANCE, ARISE ! Ye sons of temperance, arise, Rise up like men in might, And banish demon drink away, Its sellers put to flight ; Too long has this dread evil reigned, Too great has been its sway, But now, ye sons of temperance, This mighty giant slay. Alas ! too long its gloom has spread Its nightmare o'er the land, Thousands of hapless victims fall, A wretched, hopeless band ; Our homes too long have felt its curse, And blighting influence, Too long this gloomy Nemesis Has thrown a shadow dense. But now, drink's course draws to its close, Its days of triumph fled, Now forward, sons of Temperance, With noblest leaders led. Up ! up ! and bravely follow on The path of truth and right, Protected by your bucklers strong, Strike now with fearless might. 136 POEMS AND SONGS. Rise up in your God-given power, Obey each leader's call, Far better live as conquerors Than craven cowards fall ; Your temperance banners onward wave, Your path is o'er each foe, This hydra-headed monster great For ever lay it low. SOWING AND REAPING. Some are sowing wildest thistles, And are reaping nought but woe ; Some are sowing golden grainlets, Making earth a heaven below. What will you sow, what will I sow, Sow we tares or sow we wheat ? Let us each return our answer, Time is fleeting, time is fleet. Those who sow the noxious weedlet, And against their conscience go, Yet will find that all their reaping Will be anguish, grief, and woe. Those who sow small deeds of kindness And to right their hearts incline, Yet will find their deeds are blessed, And their acts will ever shine. Angels now are bending o'er us, Watching all life's tangled ways, And will give us endless judgment, Or will give us lasting praise. POEMS AND SONGS. 137 Though the mighty, thro' the ages Had to bear with some great wrong, Yet, when trusting in their Saviour, Gladness mingled in their song. Let us gather up the threadlets, Wind them strongly in a chain, Trusting Him who aid has promised, 'Midst the sunshine and the rain. Gather up the golden threadlets, That across our paths are laid, Working for the true and noble, In the sunshine and the shade. Thus our progress though 'tis slowly- Will be ever upward still, And our hearts will have no terrors, On the dimmest, darkest hill. Let us sow, then, deeds of virtue, Let us help the poor and weak, And our reaping will be blessings From the lowly and the meek. AUTUMN LEAVES. My heart is filled with melancholy, Sadly now it grieves, Gazing at the swaying branches And the falling leaves. 138 POEMS ANt> SONGS. All above the trees are golden, Gold on bush and brake ; Summer's gone with all its pleasures, Death is in its wake. Fields are filled with grain, fresh gathered By each harvest hind ; Women sing within the meadows, As the sheaves they bind. Birds no longer chant their carols, Rooks are flying high ; Fleecy clouds are swiftly gliding, O'er the dark -red sky. And the sun is like some furnace, Glowing darkly red, Frowning like a haughty giant, Ere it goes to bed. And the brook is rumbling grumbling, Muddy, dark, and brown, Angry at the rock's resistance As it rushes down. Winter will soon be upon us, With its frost and snow, And the equinoctial breezes Loudly soon will blow. Nature will be bleak and barren, As she sadly grieves, Wearying for the coming springtime, With its bright green leaves. And the year is swiftly hasting, Drawing to its close ; POEMS AND SONGS. 139 As the days fly past and vanish Sadder mankind grows. Let us not our sadness cherish, All's sent for the right ; God, before the world knew sunshine, Called it out of night. BY THE BANKS O' THE BLOOMING ALMOND. We twa stood 'neath the auld thorn tree, Sweet Almond wimpling at oor feet, An' the sun was glintin' on its breist, And the bushes bent and seemed to meet O'er the banks o' the bonnie Almond. The cushie croodled to his mate, The robin hopped frae spray tae twig, An' the mavis lilted lood his sang, An' the leveret sprung frae rig tae rig Beside the banks o' the Almond. The troots louped lively in each pool, The kye lay listless on the green, An' the lazy dougs yapped at the sheep, Whilst summer's sun, wi' gowden sheen, Shed its rays on the wimplin' Almond. The blackie sang in Turret glen, Its notes were rich the wuds amang, As wi' haun' in haun' we list'ning stood, While the echoes sped the hills alang, Nigh thy banks, o' thou siller Almond. 140 POEMS AND SONGS. My love then sang an am'rous lay, Her voice sae rich, sae clear, and high, That the mavis ceased its sang, to hear, An' the lark was silent in the sky, By the banks o' the crystal Almond. She sang o' love, she sang o' hope, Her heart was in her minstrelsy, And the very kye stood still to list' As she flooded the air melodiously, By the banks o' the gurgltn' Almond. Still lives her voice in Turret glen, I seem to hear it mang the trees, Though the earth sae cauld enfaulds her breist, Yet methinks her song still fills the breeze That blaws through thy wuds, o' Almond. November cam' wi' blightin' wind, Wi' hoary frost an' drivin' snaw, And when fields were bleak an' trees were bare, Then the fairest flo'er was ta'en awa' From the banks o' the weepin' Almond. Alone thro' Almond's wuds I stray, Alone I linger near the stream, But my mind still lives on that happy day When our lives were pleasant as a dream, Ere she left the banks o' the Almond. POEMS AND SONGS. 141 DARLING MAGGIE. Pretty Maggie, little baby, Eyes so full of mirth ! Crooning lightly, always sprightly, Music not of earth ! O, what pleasure is our treasure ! A blessing, oh, how dear ! Blythe's a starling is our darling, Sent our hearts to cheer. Oh, she's pretty, eyes so jetty, Ever fond of fun ! Dimpled arms, full of charms, Loved by every one ! Always good, she's never rude, Such a winning smile ! Her pearly teeth her lips beneath Would any heart beguile. Sometimes haughty, never naughty, When our teasing's done, All our petting and besetting Help to make it fun ; For we cannot, and we will not, Put her in a pet, Always striving and contriving, A sweet kiss to get. 142 POEMS AND SONGS. LIFE'S LESSONS. A sough of wind comes up the glen, An eerie feeling creeps o'er me, Rich autumn leaves cling to my feet, The raindrops patter from the tree, A rich red-brown tints nature's garb, A wheeslie sound steals thro' the maze, I look up to the leafless boughs Sad relics of the summer's days. Upon my ear the luscious notes Of starlings, borne upon the air ; The mavis' notes are heard again, And parting crow of chanticleer ; And on the river and the cloud Phcebus I see, in glow of fire, Break forth the mist in rich-red sheen, To shine on tower, on church, and spire. The day had been a dreary day, A day of cloud and patterin' rain ; The showers had been like drivin' mist To look for shelter 'twas in vain. But now the mist and rain are past, And nature's joys restored again ; The fields rejoice to see Sol's face, And birds rejoice in choicest strain. I wander slowly up the burn, My thoughts are of life's busy scene ; The city's bustle is to me A fellest snare a vicious dream. POEMS AND SONGS. 143 And yet wi' agony we dree, An' scramble in the busy crowd, Some for a name, an' some for fame, An' some for riches cry out loud. O ! wealth of gold, what are your joys, That all so madly seek to find ? Canst give the joy without alloy ? Canst give the eye-sight to the blind ? O ! is it pleasure has no end The prize you dangle 'fore the eye ? " No ; 'tis fleeting full o' sorrow," Riches answering reply. O ! fleeting fame, what joys have you, That many fondly press to gain ? Dost offer bliss, eternal fame, That these thy votaries thus should strain ? Is't Babel's tower that which they climb To reach a land of fadeless light ? " No ; 'tis sorrow," fame replies ; " Only grace and truth are right." O ! sounding name, what are the joys So many strive to reach unto ? Canst give a hope of life beyond ? Canst give a heart that's leal and true ? O ! art thou built on charity ? Is hope the mirage held to sight ? " No ; 'tis madness," great name answers ; " Riches, fame, and names but blight ! " 144 POEMS AND SONGS. LINES ON THE OLD MAN OF HOY. See, there it stands abaft, my brothers, In glorious majesty serene ; There is no tottering at its base, As it calmly views the scene. The waves may lash and roar, boys, But it laughs with merry scorn, And bids them rush away, boys, It enjoys the howling storm. Proudly erect, it rears its head, And proudly seems to say, " I like the lashing of the waves As I stand here night and day. " I like to hear the howling storm, To me it is childish play To see waves leap with frothy head, They wile my time away. " I like to see some stately ship, Driven onward with the storm, Furling her sails and floating a flag Why it makes me feel quite warm. " I stand and watch its upper decks, I mark the captain's face As the brave ship's tossed upon the rocks And strewn all over the place. " To me it seems such fun, my boys, I delight in standing here, Laughing to see the wild waves leap, Laughing while others fear. POEMS AND SONGS. 145 " I'd always wish the winds to howl, The waves to be running high, To me they are sweet company, Watching them sweeping bye. " Standing here seems to you a dull life, And, so 'twould be to me, If 'twere not for the stormy gales ; The wintry winds and sea. " When sitting on a calm, calm day, Watching the wavelets play, It is so dull I'd almost wish To drink oblivion of my day." GABRIEL FOUND BY EVANGELINE. All hopes, all fears are now no more, After long, long years of waiting ; All troubles and searching now are o'er God granted it out of His bounteous store; But not till flesh and heart were fainting With years of searching on the shore. Patience and prayer the priest did say Ah ! how easy words are spoken ! She had known their comforts for many years, She had sought them with, oh ! what blinding tears, Though with a heart 'twas almost broken, And who could tell with what hopes and fears ? 146 POEMS AND SONGS. But now forgot her life-long cares Answered at last her life-long prayers ; Though the death-like flush is on his cheek, And his struggling lips now fain would speak To tell of his search, with what despair But flesh and blood, though strong, how weak. But now, alas ! all hope has fled ; The words he wished to speak unspoke ; She downward drops upon her knees, Clinging to hope as hope oft clings to fears With hopes to hear her name if spoken, And clasps his dying hand in hers. THERE'S NAE LOVE LIKE THE AULD LOVE. There's nae love like the auld love, There's nae love hauf sae het, There' nae lane like the lover's lane, Where we together met. There's nae hoose like the auld hoose, There's nae hoose hauf sae snug, There's nae chair like the auld airm chair, Close by the ingle's lug. There's nae tree like the auld haw tree I think there's nane sae big There's nae yaird like the cabbage yaird, Where aft we played at tig. POEMS AND SONGS. 147 There's nae schule like the auld schule, There's nane that's hauf sae bien, There's nae kirk like the Parish Kirk, Sae tidy an' sae clean. There's nae times like the auld times, Though some folks them despise, An' speak o' learning's great advance, Wi' words they think fu' wise. There's nae chums like our auld chums, Nane, nane can be sae dear, Though some are happed below the moolds, Upon a cauld, cauld bier. Yet memory gies them still a plan, And fancy mak's me see The hoose, the schule, the cabbage yaird, The kirk, an' auld haw tree. THE NEWS BAIRN. O ! bairnie wi' the tattered dress, An' face sae blue and cauld, O ! why left ye your mither's hoose, Why left ye faither's fauld ? Your mither begs, I hear ye say, Your brithers cry for bread, Nae wonder, bairnie, puir wee thing, Ye wish that ye were dead. 148 POEMS AND SONGS. And is it Evening News ye sell, Ye puir wee toddling thing To look upon your shelpit face, A stony heart wad ring. Your feet are swelled wi' chilblains sair, Your bones shine through your skin, Your life is spent 'midst blasphemy, 'Midst sorrow, lust, and sin. God pity ye, my bonnie wean, Far worse than orphan you Your home is but a wretched den, Without a mither true. Your faither beats ye, bonnie wean, When filled wi' drunken wrath ; No charity wi' beauteous smile Strews roses 'cross your path. But all your paths beset wi' briars, Wi' nettle, and wi' thorn, Wi' jests and froons from silly folks, An' arrogance's scorn. O ! come ye hame wi' me, my bairn, An' bide this nicht wi' me ; I'm wae for ye, my bonnie pet, The tears well in my e'e. O ! bairnie, ha'e ye ever heard Of Jesus and His love, Wha died for sinners on the Cross, And lives and reigns above ? POEMS AND SONGS. 149 ! ha'e ye heard abune the clouds There's rest for little feet, An' hovering roond aboot unseen Are winged angels fleet ? My bairnie, sune you'll be wi' Him, Your cough is lood and sair ; But trust in Jesus and His love, An' sune you'll ha'e nae care. 1 took the bairnie hame wi' me, But, ah, alas ! too late For e'er another week had flown She passed the golden gate. O ! God of mercy upon high, Look down upon our woe, Protect each little arab waif From every evil foe. O ! move our hearts with pity great, And make us show our love, By helping every outcast here To reach Thy heaven above. THE OCEAN. Yon mighty ocean, rending earth, That rolls its tide up strath and firth, A never-ending come and go, A ceaseless, endless ebb and flow ; How often o'er the stretching sand, I've strayed with playmates hand-in-hand, 150 POEMS AND SONGS. And often 'midst the fresh'ning gale, I've watched the ship with stretched sail, As on it swept with scienced might, Like some fleet sea-bird in its flight ; Whilst o'er the land and o'er the wave, And o'er the mountain and the cave, The mist and rain came drizzling slow, And heaven's face was robed with woe, Away across the arching sky, Suspended in the heaven high, But seeming still to rest on sea, Upon the shore and on the lee, Were clouds of deep portenteous gloom, Like unto darkness of the tomb ! How often cross the level strand, Where sea is locked and linked to land, I've wandered in the summer's heat, Whilst brilliant sun upon me beat, And on the sea lay becalmed boat, So calm and peaceful did it float ; I've heard the flapping of its sail, As wearying for the fresh'ning gale, And far across the pensive sea, Their echoes dying on the lee ; I've heard sweet voices o'er the deep, The music lulling me to sleep 'Twas like the tinkling of a bell, Sounding from out some monkish cell Or like the beat of Arab steed, Beside the bending desert reed, As on it sweeps with steady swing, As light as swallow on the wing, POEMS AND SONGS. 151 As o'er the bleak Arcadian plain, It proudly shakes its shaggy mane Whilst on the grassy slope I lay With heart, with mind, far, far away ! My eyes I've raised to see the gull Sweep round thy base, thou dark-browed mull ; And oft with lightsome steps I'd stray, To watch the fishers leave the bay, With canvas stretched to catch the breeze, That swept the ever-widening seas ; How oft my cheeks have flushed with pride, W r hen, gazing o'er the prospect wide, And 'midst the howling torrent's roar, Which swept across the sea-locked shore, I've vowed a vow to heaven high, Which now can only make me sigh ; For then my hopes were o'er the sea, Commingled with infinity. My dreams, alas ! were but of fame, And of a great poetic name ; Since then I've found that fame is woe, Though clothed with glitter, pomp, and show. Thou dear, thou ever restless sea, No changes seem to come to thee, Thy waves still beat against the shore, Thy caves still echo back thy roar, Thy heaving billows beat thy rocks, Like earthquakes are their mighty shocks ; Yet thou, unchanged, seem'st to me, An emblem of eternity. But I am sadly changed in form, [52 POEMS AND SONGS. Like some old ship that's braved the storm, For I am feeble, worn, and old, And many years have o'er me rolled Since first I knew thy sounding caves, And watched thy rolling white-fringed waves. The world's trials have changed me No more am I the potent " he " Who yet would climb Parnassus' height, And storm the world with brilliant light ; But now a feeble, broken man, On whom the world has set its ban, I seek my youthful haunts for health, And gone all longings now for wealth Ambition gone, and all desire ; The feelings gone that men inspire, To seek for place, and strive for power, To reign supreme for some brief hour. But in its place has come a calm, An earnest of the heavenly balm. I've tried the world, and find it brings But jealousies and heart-burnings ; It brings but malice and desire No burning bush of purest fire ; It brought me sorrow, grief, and pain, But blighted hopes, and prospects vain. I've sometimes won an earthly prize, But soon it faded 'fore my eyes, Which made me turn to solace true, To take of life some higher view. From men I've turned to mankind's God, To follow meek His guiding rod ; And nature wears a deeper truth Than ever dawned upon my youth. POEMS AND SONGS. 153 In youth I looked with upstart pride Upon the world, and thought it wide ; In age I thought 'twas but a speck 'Mongst countless worlds, the heavens that deck. The sands of time are running out, And life will soon give place to rout, Although we cling to it at last As shipwrecked sailor clings to mast When by the winds and waters driven, And by the bolts of open'd heaven And we must leave this battling shore, Again to enter it no more ; And I, when life draws to an end, With solemn steps my way shall bend Back to the cot where life's young day Was passed 'midst frolic, glee, and play ; And yet, will lie near to the shore, Beside the sounding ocean's roar, Although my ears no more will know When tempests rage and fierce winds blow. Yet, still it soothes my heart to think That I will rest close to the brink Of that sea shore and that high rock, That still the hurstling waves will block, When I in death am fast asleep Beneath the mounded, daisied heap Where first I took my childish way, And listened to the lark's loud lay, Before I knew dark Lethe's stream When life was bright as sunlight's gleam. 154 POEMS AtfD SONGS. NOT AN ATOM, NOT A GRAIN. Not an atom, not a grain, In God's world can perish, Even the dew returns anew Flowers and shrubs to nourish ; Or, mayhaps 'twill deck the sky When the clouds are fleeting, Glittering in the rainbow's sheen, When the skies are weeping. Not an atom, not a grain, In God's world can perish, Even dead leaves from off the trees Help the earth to cherish ; Arid when winter's passed away, And the groves are ringing, Earth from them draws nourishment When the blade is springing. In the Persian books of lore Persian authors mention, That a stone dropp'd in the sea Makes a ripple lengthen, And the ripple wider grows, On it goes expanding, And its progress is not stopped By the sea or stranding. And the angry words we speak, Find a lasting lodgment In the hearts of children young, Who will give us torment ; POEMS AND SONGS. 155 But the kindly words we speak, Though we think them fleeting, Yet will turn to us again, And will give us greeting. Yes, our kindly words go on Down the countless ages, Like the tiny waves of sound Spoken of by sages, That go on their airy way, Though unheard by mortals, Echoing through eternity Till they reach Heaven's portals. And since words can have no end, Let us be forgiving, And when we from earth are gone Still we will be living ; Living in the hearts of men Living, loved, and honoured, Not like those that sow harsh words, Who die, their name dishonoured. MY BONNIE MOUNTAIN LAND. Oh, dear to me are Scotland's flo'ers ! Oh, sweet to me her hills ! I love to drink the mountain dew That flows in crystal rills ; I long to stray along her streams Amidst the waving fern, I long to tread upon her moors And view her mountains stern, 156 POEMS AND SONGS. Oh, when I'm straying far from thee, My bonnie mountain land ! Unhid the tears start to my e'e, When on a foreign strand ; Whene'er I think upon thy brave, Who fell in freedom's cause, And would not have a foreign knave To bind them with his laws. On Wallace, and that mighty ring At Falkirk's bloody field, On Douglas, trusted by his king, Who died but ne'er would yield ; On daring Randolph, who did shine When England tried in vain To turn the wing of Scotland's line, On Stirling's level plain. Kirkpatrick, brave in time of strait, Who stabbed the Comyn red, And thou, John Graham, who met thy fate, When noble Wallace led ; Of Boyd, of Angus, Scott, Argyle, And Stewart classic name, That dwelt in Holyrood's dark pile, And won historic fame. Such names as those make mantling blood Start to my withered face, Such memories are like a flood That sweeps with headlong pace ; Though dear I lo'e auld Scotland's flo'ers, Though sweet to me her hills, Though loved by me the mountain dew That flows in crystal rills. POEMS AND SONGS. 157 Though much I lo'e her gallant men, And lo'e her daughters fair, Yet bune them a', abune a' ken, I lo'e her history mair ; It throws a glamour over strife O'er deeds long past and gone, And mak's me live a hidden life, A life within my own. BALLAD. They rode by Yarrow's dark running stream, In the mirk they rode through the dale, They rode till the first streak o' dawnin' licht Saw them far past Ettrick Vale. They rode to the spot where the siller Tweed rins, Aneath auld Melrose's tower, And there, i' the teeth, they met bauld Buccleuch Wi' mounted men ninety and four. " Oh, what seek ye here," quo' the chief o' the Scotts, " At this early hoor o' the day ? " " Our business is neither wi' you nor your men, Sae we daur ye to stand in oor way." " Oh, draw now thy glaive, thou fause-hearted knave ! Think ye that Black Douglas we fear ? Each man o' us here has a bricht shining blade, Whilk wi' Douglas blood we shall smear 1" 158 POEMS AND SONGS. So they focht i' the licht o' the bricht, bricht sun, They focht till it set i' the west, Till thrust thro' and thro' fell the bauld chief Buccleuch, Wi' Douglas's sword thro' his breast. Black Douglas still clave wi' his lang swinging blade, Richt and left Scott's vassals they lay, Till hemmed a' aroond he gat his death wound Oh, dule ! an' Oh, dule on that day. His leddy sits looking frae oot her high bower, Wi' hopes sair saddened wi' fears, An' sobs as she sees-na sign o' her lord, And she draps the saut, saut tears. But her maiden noo raps at her turret door, An' says wi' a waesome face " The wise wife o' Selkirk's awaiting on you, An' she begs your leddyship's grace." Sae dazed is the face o' the red mantled witch, An' bluid-shot her een sae grey, That the leddy has fa'n on her bended knees, An' spiers the ootcome o' her spae. " Last nicht as I sat wi' my crooked staff, And spaed wi' my magic glass, A deid bride I saw, an' a deid lord an' a', Baith streeket oot on the grass." The leddy has donned her silk dress sae white As white as the driven snaw, An' she's hurried awa, her true lover to see, Though the hairst winds keenly do blaw. POEMS AND SONGS. 159 Then, when some nine or ten o' her chieftian's men An' wi' them his riderless steed See her coming, they lower his rustic bier An' leave her alane wi' her deid. An' she's pressed his cauld head tae her warm breast, Drapped tears on his temples fair ; She has straightened his limbs, she's kissed his lips, An' she's combed his matted hair. But his e'en are glazed, an' his cheeks are wan, An' his manly heart's at rest, Sac wi' grief o'ercome she fa's in a swoon, An* dies on her warrior's breast. This knight an' fair bride they rest side by side, In Melrose Abbey they sleep, An' they lie near the hero of Otterburn, In a slumber baith long and deep. An' 'tis said, when the moon wi' pale pale licht Floods the choir and the broad, broad nave, This knight an* his bride pace the chancel so wide, An' still hover aroond their grave. OF DOGS BEWARE. Old Captain Scott had made his pile, And now could live in first-class style, A house he had with verdant grounds, Beyond the mighty city's bounds. 160 POEMS AND SONGS. But though his joy was great below, 'Twas not unmixed with care and woe, For poachers gave him great complaint, Their impudence would "vex a saint." A friend advised him, " Now, dear Scott, Get two good dogs, and fright the lot ; Put up a card, * Of dogs beware,' By jove, the poachers 'twill make stare." No sooner said than 'twas on view, It looked so forcible and true The very birds his woods had fled, And trembling cats turned tail and fled. But what will man not dare to do, When primed with ale and mountain dew ? Two "jolly dogs " had been to town, Their cares if any there to drown. And now, when passing by Scott's wall, Upon the card their keen eyes fall, Says Jack to Jim, " Why, man alive, How can such people hope to thrive ? " " * Of dogs beware.' Now can it be, These words are meant for you and me ? Let's o'er the walls, and make a row, They'll have enough of us, I trow." No sooner said than o'er the wall Our " jolly dogs " now slowly sprawl, Says Jim, " I'm lively as a lark, We'll have some fun my jolly spark." POEMS AND SONGS. 1 6 1 But hark ! bow wow ! comes on their ears, And ere they'd quite o'ercome their fears, Through bushes rank, two large dogs spring, As swift as hawks upon the wing, Without politely saying " Please," They on our wags at once did seize. Old Scott was startled by the row, And said, " What have these dogs in tow ? " As out he hied into the air ; He cried out with a horrid glare, " By all the gods, what want you here ? Well make you quake and shake with fear My gun is loaded to the top, And now your thieving I will stop." Jack scarce could help a rising tear, His very knees now shook with fear ; " Take off your dogs, I humbly beg, This one has sampled my right leg, The other dog has Jim on hip, There's no slip here 'twixt cup and lip." Scott slowly lifted up his gun " You villains twain, look at the sun, I mean the moon this night you'll die, Like Washington, I never lie." " For heaven's sake, sir, your rash hand stay, Why, don't you see, we've lost our way ? " " You've lost your way, you drunken scamps, By heaven, you're surely worse than tramps." And straightway Scott gave each a kick, And soon our friends had cut their stick, 1 62 POEMS AND SONGS. They faster flew than " sprinting ped," Expecting each a shot through head ; And when they crossed the bound'ry wall, Jim said, "I swear, my friend and pal, When next I see ' Of dogs beware,' They'll prey not upon me, I swear." ONWARD. Onward ! where the battle's thickest, Onward ! to where sin is rife, Marching, as the valiant soldier Marches to the drum and fife. Onward ! tho' the way be weary, Forward ! march to meet the foe, Though the road be dark and dreary, And our progress seems but slow. Christ has promised us the vict'ry, O'er our sins, and o'er the world. Let our swords ne'er know the scabbard, And our flag be aye unfurled. Till we've won a glorious triumph, Till we've won the promised prize Given to the Christian conq'ror By our Father in the skies. Though we have our foes around us, Greater foes have we within, Little faults and little failings, Each has some besetting sin. POEMS AND SONGS. Up, then ! let us all be heroes, Cleanse our hearts from little faults ; Those who overcome their failings Best can stand the foe's assaults. Old philosophers have told us That the greatest conq'ror's he Who can guard against his temper, And his little failings see. Greece's greatest warring hero, Wept for worlds to over run, But he had not vanquished failings, His self-conquest scarce begun. Up, then ! let us not be triflers, We have dreamt have slept too long ; First the battle, next the vict'ry, Last the victor's gleeful song. THE WATCHER. A good ship sailed from our bay, Far away, Not a stay Was loose as she sailed that day. The wind was peaceful and calm, Seemed like balm Yon tall palm Swayed gently beside our mill dam. 164 POEMS AND SONGS. The lark sang loudly and high In the sky ; Every eye Looked hope as the ship sailed bye. The crew on board of that ship Lightly trip, And each lip Gave a cheer as their flag they dip. That ship came back to the shore Never more ; Not an oar Was saved from the ocean's roar. A sweet lass stands by the sea, On the lea, Bent her knee In prayer for the lad she'll ne'er see. Each day she stands by the shore, But ne'er more Will her door Open to the knock of Jack Shore. But still that figure so slim Waits for him, And not dim Is the lamp she holds up for him. And he lies deep in the wave. In a cave Is his grave, His eyes ne'er will close 'neatih^the wave, POEMS AND SONGS. 165 THE SUN AND STAR OF PEACE. The shores of time were dark and drear, Men's hearts were filled with doubt and fear, Even virtue, truth, and hope seemed flown Corruption filled the Jewish throne ; Philosophy was filled with gloom, Men shrank to face the darkened tomb, And Grecian sages looked to heaven That life and light might now be given. All seemed as hopeless as the grave, Men saw their helplessness to save ; No star of peace its brilliance shed, From Judah had the sceptre fled. A Roman minion filled its throne, Jerusalem no more would own The sway of David's erring line Their sun had set, no more to shine. When sudden swelled the joyful cry, Reverberating in the sky " All glory be to God in heaven, For unto us a Saviour's given." The thunder-clouds proclaim His name, Men answer with a glad acclaim, And angel hosts pour forth His praise, Earth, sea, and sky their voices raise. The mountains loudly echo back, The shepherds leave their sheep to track The star that leads o'er Bethel's hills, And glances on Judean rills. [66 POEMS AND SONGS. The night of gloom has passed away, Forth shines the sun with brilliant ray, The Conqueror has rent the gloom, No sting has death, no dread the tomb. Oh, grave ! where now thy victory ? Yield now, oh, night ! to conquering day ; See, vanquished death gives way to flight, Shines forth His star with brilliant light, Oh, earth ! oh, sea ! now clap your hands, Him praise all people and all lands, His praises sing from shore to shore, The sun has risen to set no more ! IN SCOTIA'S ROCK-BOUND ISLE. I've trod the lowest reaches deep Of rich Brazilian mine; I've lingered on the summit high Of rugged Apennine; I've sailed the Arctic circle round, Crossed Equatorial line, And trudged across St. Bernard's pass, Fringed with the dark brown pine. Yet though I've lived in many lands, And basked 'neath foreign smile, I longed still for my friends of old, In Scotia's rock-bound isle. I've seen the holy Ganges roll, Onward in stately pride; POEMS AND SONGS. 167 I've seen the Hindoo devotee, Cleansed in its sacred tide; I've sailed in Fellaheen barges slow, Adown the golden Nile, Past Osiris' and Isis' tombs, And Karnak's wondrous pile. But though I've lived in many lands, And basked 'neath foreign smile, I longed still for the friends of old, In Scotia's rock-bound isle. I've stood upon the highest peak Of Alleghany steep ; Like toys upon Pacific's wave, I've seen the great ships sweep; I've trod Sahara's burning sand, Welcomed the oasis green ; Australian trees and trackless bush, With wond'ring eyes I've seen. But though I've lived in many climes, And basked 'neath foreign smile, I longed still for my friends of old. In Scotia's rock-bound isle. I've seen the ruins and remains Of Bab'lon's wealth and pride, Where now the panther waits its prey, And only Arabs ride. For hours I've roamed through Nineveh, Whose classic ruins lie, To tell the greatness of its past, Unto the classic eye. 1 68 POEMS AND SONGS. But though I've lived in many climes, And basked 'neath foreign smile, I longed still for my friends of old, In Scotia's rock-bound isle. I've wandered by Niagara, I've stood beneath its falls, The glory of the wondrous scene, Even now my mind recalls; I've seen the Adriatic sea, With beauty me enslave ; I've watched the Danube as it swept, With proud and lordly wave. But though I've lived in many lands, And basked 'neath foreign smile, Yet still I longed for friends of old, In Scotia's rock-bound isle. I've seen the stealthy tiger creep Through Afric's jungle wild, The roving life that hunters lead, Has oft my time beguiled. I've stood in modern Jericho, Jerusalem I've seen, I've floated on sweet Galilee, To Nazareth I've been. But though I've lived in many lands, And basked 'neath foreign smile, Yer still I longed for friends of old, In Scotia's rock-bound isle. Oh Scotia ! there are sunnier lands, Yes ! sunnier lands by far ; Yet Scotia, dear old sainted land, Thou art my guiding star ; POEMS AND SONGS. 169 Unerring as the compass points Unto the northern pole, So Scotia still, thy woods and vales Are anchors to my soul. Yes, though I've lived in many lands, And basked 'neath foreign smile, Yet still I longed for thee, old land, For thee, thou rock-bound isle. TO GRACIE. Partner of my sorrows, joys, and pains, On thee have suns refulgent beat, And wintry winds and rains ; But love has ever been with thee, A constant harbour and a safe retreat. Thy children yet will rise to bless thy name, If trained as they have been, Despising earthly dross and fleeting fame, They struggle npwards to a higher life, Where goodness is not, as 'tis here, a dream. HIS FORM IS GONE. Shed down, ye stars, your liquid light, Thou moon, look down upon the night, Ye balmy winds, chase clouds away ; Venus, look down with flick'ring ray. 1 70 POEMS AND SONGS. I wend the paths we used to tread Alone for his bright life has fled ; I wander through the still, lone wood, Where oft with hand in hand we stood. The woods, the groves, are still the same As when, with love our hearts aflame, We vowed old vows and new vows made Within the shelter of their shade. But, ah ! their magic spell has fled, For joy and hope to me seem dead ; And nature wears a garb of woe That only the heart-broken know. The shadows fall athwart the trees, The roses scent the zephyred breeze, The clus'tring flowers bedeck the vales, The streams still whisper lovers' tales. The brooks still flow as bright and clear, The dew, like diamonds, cling to brier, The hare still starts from 'neath the thorn, The lark upsprings to meet the morn. But gone that form, from hence that face His form is gone I used to trace ; But yet upon my heart and eye His face, his form, can never die. All nature seems to wear a shroud No silver lining lines the cloud; My hopes seem buried in the grave, Since he rests deep beneath the wave, POEMS AND SONGS. 17 1 THE CHARGE OF THE BLACK BRIGADE. There could not have been less than a thousand concerned in the looting of the shops Vide Glasgow morning paper. Half a mile, half a mile, Half a mile forward, All through the sleepy town Strode the ten hundred. " Onward the black brigade ! Charge for the shops ! " they said ; Into the sleepy town Tramped the ten hundred. 11 Onward the black brigade ! " Was there a man afraid ? Not tho' each miner knew Some must be pris'ners made ; Not one could make reply, Not one did reason why, Theirs but to swiftly fly, Into the grocery store, Clatter'd ten hundred. Brandy to right of them, Whisky to left of them, Cheeses in front of them, Fit to be plundered ; Rushed in with fiendish yell, What tho' some tripped and fell ? Into the grocery store, Rushed with a wild pell-mell Ragged ten hundred. 172 POEMS AND SONGS. Soon the deep shelves are bare, Miners can do and dare, Miners can shout and swear, Opening the wine butts, while Policemen wondered ; Tapping the whisky cask, Bent to their mighty task, Swinging the brandy flask, They reel from the grocers' shop, All who were fit to walk, All who could fly, but not Not the ten hundred. Wrecked shops to right of them, Old wives to left of them, Children behind them, Gapingly wondered ; Whilst on their ears there fell, Who can their panic tell ? Oh how their brave hearts quail The tramp of the soldiers. Who can their stampede tell ? Oh how they raced and ran, Noble ten hundred. When will their glory fade ? Oh, the wild flight they made The soldiers they wonder'd. Honour the pick and spade ! Honour the black brigade ! Boosey ten hundred. POEMS AND SONGS. 173 STRAYING IN THE WOODLANDS. Straying in the woodlands, by flowery dale and lee, 'Midst woodbine scenting all the air, And rugged hawthorn tree. Straying in the woodlands, by bracken and harebell, Beside some murm'ring pebbly stream, And by some shady dell. Straying in the woodlands, by fir and chestnut tree, And rustling fall of autumn leaf, And busy hum of bee. Straying in the woodlands, by river, mead, and stream 'Midst purple heath and sweet blue bell, Where wild birds startled scream. Straying in the woodlands, by streamlet's mossy bank, 'Midst stately oak and silvery birk, And bushes dark and rank. Straying in the woodlands, 'midst winter's biting gales, Or in the gladsome summer time, When smiles the hills and dales. Straying in the woodland's at e'ening's silent hour, I whispered the old tale of love, And blessed its magic power. THE SUN IT STILL SHINES ON US A'. In your journey through life be manly and brave, Grieve not though your fortune's but sma', And aye keep in mind there are ithers warse aff, And the sun it still shines on us a'. 174 POEMS AND SONGS. When we start on the road we're lichtsome and hale, And troubles, though great, seem but sma' ; But when we get auld we get timid and frail, And forget that the sun shines on a'. As you climb up life's hill you will aye find in front That the cliffs stand raw upon raw ; But set a stoot heart and you'll win to the tap, And the sun it will shine on you a'. The gentry, although they may dress in silk goons And drive in their chariots braw, Yet findna content, and are grumlie and sour Though the sun it still shines on us a'. There are ithers, again, though they're puir as kirk mice, And the wind on them keenly may blaw, Yet can laugh and can sing, for they're blest wi' the thought That the sun it still shines on us a'. There's some grumbling loons that you meet in the warld, Their pleasure seems others to thraw j But ne'er be like them : be happy and gay, And the sun it will shine on us a'. As we gang on our road let us dae a' we can To help him whase back's to the wa' ; For oor Maister, when here, helped the weak and the puir, And He made the sun shine on us a'. Let this be our motto wherever we gae To side wi' the weak and the sma', And we'll get our reward from the Maister Himsel', And the sun it will shine on us a'. POEMS AND SONGS. 175 BETTER THAN JEWELS. Better than jewels, my darling, Lasting as gems so rare, Richer than rings or rubies Is the love, the love that I bear. Brighter than flash of diamonds, Purer than azure skies, Fairer than sunbeam's flashes, Is the flash, the flash of your eyes. Purer than spray from ocean, When ships the deep waves plough, Whiter than snowflakes falling Is the gleam, the gleam of your brow. Fragrant as summer's roses, Scented like brier leaves, Sweeter than smiling violet Is your breast, your breast when it heaves. Richer than grain at autumn, Fairer than silver birk, Brighter than lake at sunset, Are the smiles 'neath your lips that lurk. Pinker than pink carnation, The bees in summer seek, Richer than western sunbeam Is the glow, the glow of your cheek. Better than jewels, my darling, Lasting as jems so rare, Richer than rings or rubies, Is the love, the love that we swear. I 76 POEMS AND SONGS. TO WILLIAM DOUGLAS. Obit 5th January ^ 1860, Sleep on ! thou kindly heart, Well hast thou earned rest ; Thy spurs were nobly won : Sleep on take rest On earth thy duty done With manly truth and zeal. Thy motto, noble heart, Was ever " peace and weal," Dread Lethe's darkling waves, Thy memory cannot drown : In hearts that knew thee well, Thy deeds are sown. Sleep on ! thou kindly heart, Thy children love thee still; They, by thy acts nerved on, Thy precepts do fulfil. Sleep on, brave heart, take rest The world says " well done ! " 'Twas not on bloody field Thy conquests here were won. Not Endymion sleep Thou'st entered into now, But an eternal rest : The crown becomes thy brow. Thou'rt safely past the shades, Dark Hades' shades are past ; And in Elysian bliss, Found rest, true heart, at last. POEMS AND SONGS. 177 Then sleep, thou kindly heart, Well hast thou earned rest ; Thy spurs were nobly won, Sleep on take rest. SONG : GENTLE MAIDEN, STILL I LOVE THEE Gentle maiden, still I fondly Worship at thy shrine, When thou'rt near me thy smiles cheer me, Peace and joy are mine; As the spring with vernal beauties Makes the world rejoice, So thy presence ever cheers me Object of my choice. As the violet, fringed with May showers, Droops its head in tears, So my soul, when thou art absent, Has a world of fears ; As the rose unfolds its petals, 'Neath the sun's bright light, So my heart opes when I meet you, In the moonlight bright. Gentle maiden, still I'll love thee, Though e'en stars should fade, Yet I'd wander down to meet thee, 'Neath the forest glade ; Friends may frown, and foes may chide me, I'll to thee be true, Fairest maiden, say you love me, Love, as I love you. 178 POEMS AND SONGS. WALLACE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY BEFORE THE BATTLE OF STIRLING BRIDGE. Scotsmen, by your love of country, By your wives and children dear, Strike ! with all your strength and vigour, Patriot hearts ! you know not fear, See ! those English tyrants coming, Knights, and squires, and yeomen tall ; Like brave heroes we shall conquer, Or like heroes we shall fall. Let us fight for our dear country ; Let us fight with might and will, For our bonnie lochs and streamlets, For each mountain tarn and hill ; Ochil high looks down upon us, Winding Forth before us flows, Let us prove we love old Scotland By our valiant deadly blows. Yonder fly St. George's banners, Surrey's pennon's flying high, Cressingham is gaily prancing, Hatred glitt'ring in his eye. We will drive them back for ever Take our vengeance on each foe On each hated English foeman, Give them vengeful blow on blow. By our people's pains and sorrows, By our noble ancestry, By our sons and by our daughters, By our king and country ; POEMS AND SONGS. 179 By the God that dwells above us, By our might and by our right, With our blue St. Andrew's banner, We shall conquer in the fight. Shall we crouch before these tyrants ? Yes, we'll crouch ! we'll crouch to spring As a lion on its victim, Or as a hawk upon the wing. Forward ! forward ! then, to vict'ry, Draw* your swords, nor sheathe them more, Till this field has seen you victors, Till 'tis red with English gore. Forward ! strike for dear old Scotland, Think you of your country's wrongs, Bards shall yet proclaim your prowess, Sing your deeds in deathless songs ; By our past and by our present, By our hope of liberty, Strike again for dear old Scotland, Bravely strike, sons of the free. THE CANTIE AULD KIMMER. I'm a cantie auld kimmer just turned fifty six, But hoo to get merrid puts me in a sair fix, I've a weel biggit hoose an' twa or three placks, No' like some auld maids ha'e na clase tae their backs ; Altho' I'm no merrid I've had twa or three lads, I've had Tories an' Whigs, but nae red-heided Rads ; But aye when I thocht I had got a fine " catch," Aye something has happen'd to break off oor bit "match.' l8o POEMS AND SONGS. There's nae yin will blame me, for merrid I'll be, Wi' some man or ither before that I dee, I'll seek him in Europe or American Jand, In Asian plain or on African sand ; Be he red man or white man, or yellow or blue, Be he Whig by his birth, or Tory sae true, Be he German or Greek, be he Roman or Gaul, Be he big Patagonian or Hottentot small. Be he Pigtail or Hindoo, be he Kaffir sae rude, Be he kilted or breekit, be he claithed or nude, I'll seek him and find him, be he leggit or lame, Be he wild as an Arab or as a Greenlander tame. Noo lads look around you, wha seek for a wife, For here is a partner wha'll be it for life, Ye need ha'e nae fears that tentless I'll prove, Were I aince by your side I'd ne'er frae it move. There's some brazen hizzies that live in oor toon, Wha carry high heids and on ithers look doon, Wi' ill-natured clatter ha'e said I'm three score, An' ha'e tried a' the lads to turn frae my door, The lad's heids they turned by speaking o' balls, An' Grecian bends an' their high Roman falls, But I stopped a' their clatter by gi'en' them a ca' To look at their feet 'neath their dresses sae braw. Noo lads I now hope you'll mind what I say An' leave they dressed hizzies wha on you wad prey, An' seek a bit wifie wha's well settled doon, An' no a licht " gipsy " the talk o' the toon ; I ha'e a stocked mailin' an' twa or three croons, I ha'e dishes an' gear an' twa bonnie silk goons, POEMS AND SONGS. l8l I ha'e kettles an' pans an' bric-a-brac rare, An' you've only to ask me an' pu' in your chair. I aince had a braw lad, his name was Wull Glen, Guid looking an' sonsie, a prince amang men, His love it was desp'rate, as on me he'd ca', An' aften lang walks we baith went awa' ; Ae day we went oot to the Crab Tree Well, An' say's he, " when I saw ye in love deep I fell, My love for your " tocher " I aye thocht wad be green, But I've fan' deep in love wi' bonnie wee Jean." I aince had anither, Jock Simpson " the laird," He was lean, he was lanky, and had a grey beard, He was blin' o' ae e'e, he spak wi' a mant, He was mad on religion, could roar and could rant ; Jock's land was a' mortgaged an' heavy in debt, If he took me folk said on his "feet" I'd him set, But Jock, the auld hound, had a big fortune left, An' sune he left me like a creature bereft. The last love I had was Rab Tamson the miller, Wha' swore that he lo'ed me I kent 'twas my siller, He vowed that to see me, was only to love, While I stood and simpered an' bit at my glove ; Rab Tamson he wisna a chiel that was blate, Sae he left me, tae coort wi' auld fashioned Kate Kate Lowrey sae braw, the plumber's rich dauchter The hale woman-kind I feel I could slauchter. Sae lads I'm no merrid tho' I'm scarcely to blame, For I'm no a prood leddy or high minded dame, I'm ready tae "jump" gin you'll mak' but an offer, Gi'e the rin o' my hoose an' the use o' my coffer ; 1 82 POEMS AND SONGS. So mak' but ae offer, I'll snap at the chance, My heart will feel licht, on my head I will dance, Be ye naked or clad, be ye rich, be ye puir, My heirt I will gi'e an' my fortune I'll share. SCOTLAND. Oh, Scotland ! let me sing to thee, And tune my simple lyre; Oh, had I but the poet's art To strike poetic fire, Once more to thee I'll tune my harp In simple joyous strain, To raise to thee a meed of song, Thy fame to sing again. Chorus My country true, my country fair, No dastard foe will ever dare To touch thy soil with conqu'ring feet, Where worth and wisdom ever meet. O Scotland ! land of purple heath, And land of brave and free, Thy hills, thy dales, thy sunny slopes, Are ever dear to me. I've read of lands, of heroes true, I've read of Greece of old, But Scotia's sons, the world o'er, Are bravest of the bold. Chorus My country true, my country fair. POEMS AND SONGS. 183 Thou land of torrent and of flood, Thou land of heath and lake, Thou land of giant mountain pine, Thou land of moss and brake, Thou land of many a noblest mind, Thou land of warriors true, Thou land of great poetic fame, Thou land of mountains blue. Chorus My country true, my country fair. Thou land which mighty Randolph bred, And many a patriot brave, On Bannockburn's crimson field, By Stirling's rocky cave, Where Douglas and our brave Bruce fought With all that strength of heart That still makes Scottish blood course warm, And mantling colour start. Chorus My country true, my country fair. Oh, Scotia ! great even when you lost The fight on Flodden's field, Where Scots stood round their king and fell, Tho' beat, they ne'er would yield ; And all thy chivalry stood firm, And fell in solid square, When Lindsays, Mortons, Douglas, Scotts, Thy noblest sons, fell there. Chorus My country true, my country fair. 184 POEMS AND SONGS. And still thy sons are famed afar, Thy race the world's spread o'er, Thy sons still dwell in every land, And stand on every shore ; Yet still they're marked by courage great On land and sea and wave, In Christian enterprise they've filled Full many a martyr's grave. Chorus My country true, my country fair. HOPES. The hopes, the hopes, the pleasure That to my mind they yield, And with what delightful treasures The future is revealed. The prospect it is golden, Expectant hopes they grow, And the bright and pleasant halo Is tinged " colour de Rose." The hopes, the hopes, so dear, That through my bosom thrill, And rush into my aching heart, Unsubservient to my will. They flood and tide my weary soul O'er all the bitter past, But ah ! the flood will still flood on When the goal is even passed. POEMS AND SONGS. 185 I LONG FOR A FACE. I long for a face that is over the sea, I long for the grasp of a hand ; I long for the light of a sweet blue eye, And I long for a far-away land. The hills and the dales of my ain native land Are dear to my heart as can be The spring of its turf and the bloom of its heath, Are sweeter than lands o'er the sea ; But still my heart longs for a presence again For a loved one so sweet and so dear I long once again for the light of an eye That can banish all care and all fear. They tell me of rivers, more lovely by far Than either the Don or the Dee, They tell me there's mountains sublimer by far Than Ben Nevis or sweet Monagh Lea. They tell me of cedars and jessamine bowers, Of myrtle and rich orange-tree, Of Eastern shades, and of deep broad'ning glades, Of prairies both boundless and free, But, still, these allurements I'd gladly forego, Were the light of those sweet eyes but here ; There's no place on earth like the land of my birth, Were a vanished face only but near. They tell me of songsters, whose music so sweet, They could silence the thrush notes so clear, They tell me of flowers of such ravishing scent, Beats the rose and the sweet-smelling brier, They tell me of lakelets whose waves are so blue As to almost outrival the skies, N [86 POEMS AND SONGS. And of boreal climes, where days are so long, That the light from their sun never dies. 'Tis not for those beauties my heart pines and sighs, For my ain native land is more dear ; But I long once again for the light of an eye, That can banish all pain and all fear. TO MRS. S. 'Tis not descent from Norman blood she claims, Her boast is not in rubies nor in rings ; The lineage she claims is free to all Tis heirship to her Lord, the King of kings. Some boast, by war their ancestors have won Their acres broad, and many a pole and rood ; Her claim would be, that like her own dear Lord, She went about and sought aye to do good. The great have their heroic deeds emblazed, By minstrels old, in ballad, song, and ditty ; The songs that she loves best to hear and sing Are psalms of praise, and words of love and pity. And thus it is she overcomes the world ; And thus its cares are fleeting as the wind ; Her cares, her fears, her hopes are all in Him Who died for her for all for all have sinned. And yet she's felt the strokes of chastisement, For death bereft her of her dearer life ; Their partnership in life, tho' sweet, was short, Qod called him from this world, where sin is rife, POEMS AND SONGS. 187 And their dear boy, whose life they sanctified To be a life of service to their Lord, Even he, though much beloved, was yielded up Unto their Master dear with sweet accord. She parted with them both, with that fond hope, That death to her was life to them above ; And that they yet would live and meet again, And dwell together in an endless love. OH, FAUSE, PAUSE MAID ! I think I see her at the well, As in the long ago, With dark-blue eyes and ruddy lips, With brow as white as snow ; The blushes chasing o'er her cheeks, As blooms the bonnie rose When summer sheds its orient light, And soft the south wind blows. Chorus And the burn rowed alang, And the birds sweetly sang Their sangs sae lood and cheerie, oh ! And the corn was springin' And the ivy clingin' Abune the Wells o' Weary, oh ! Her raven hair in waving curls Embowered her swan-like neck, And roses and camelias white Her snow-white bosom deck ; 1 88 POEMS AND SONGS. And love and hope danced merrily Within her bright, clear eyes, While o'er our heads the lark sang lood, Suspended in the skies. And the burn rowed alang, &c. But time works wonders wi' its change ; And sune a gallant braw Cam' frae his grand ancestral halls And stole my love awa. She married him for jewels and gold, An' for his titled name, For he was sprung from ancestry, Had won great knichtly fame. As sae boldly he sang, And the piano he'd bang, He kentna' my heart was weary, oh ! Tho' birds micht be singin' And corn micht be springin' She souchtna' the Wells o' Weary, oh ! Oh ! fause, fause maid, oh worldly heart, Oh prood yet charming belle, Thou for a glitt'ring coronet Thy love thyself did'st sell ; While I, fause heart, crossed ower the sea, To seek anither hame ; Oh, feeble love oh, faithless heart Hide now thy heid for shame. When the sea sang its sang, And the waves lichtly sprang, POEMS AND SONGS. 189 And sailors' hearts were cheerie, oh ! Then my lips breathed thy name, And, with no thought of fame, I sighed for the Wells o' Weary, oh ! Ten years long years passed ere I saw My love's faase face again ; But then I met her in a crowd, Out in the wind and rain. Amidst the rush of city life, I saw her fause yet fair ; Yet, though she drove in chariot gay, The silver tinged her hair. As the crowds surged alang, 'Mid the din and the thrang, Her face was sad and eerie, oh ; For although a duke's wife, Her heart sighed for the life And love by the Wells o' Weary, oh ! FAR-OFF COT. far off cot, where I spent young days, Midst romp and play and fun, 1 see thee still with thy walls aglow, With the red light from the sun ; And still I see the old, old porch, Where my father loved to stand, And watch us children 'mongst the "stooks," A fair light-hearted band. I QO POEMS AND SONGS. Oh, golden day, with the blazing sun, That shone on hill and tree ; Such light, such heat, such glorious skies, My eyes ne'er again will see. Yet methinks I see the golden broom, Like a sea of liquid gold, And mist go rolling up the hill, Like foam by the ocean rolled. Oh, glancing stream, which I used to wade, With legs bared to the knee ; Oh, deepest linn, with the leaping trout, Thy depths were well known to me ; Oh, gleaming pool, where the sun shone bright, And I guddled the live-long day; Oh, stream so dark, where the salmon rose, With scales of silver grey. Oh, dark-browed hills, which I used to climb, To gather heather sweet, In the far-off time, in days of yore, With feet so swift and fleet ; Oh, cloud-capped bens, where the mist and snow Seemed to rest and never rise, And the serried rocks like giants grim Seemed built within the skies. Oh, ne'er again will I see you more, Ne'er see thee, gleaming pool ; Will I ne'er again wade in thee, stream, Ne'er stray in the evening's cool ? Oh, I'm far away from my mountain home, And must die on a foreign shore ; And soon I shall be where trials are done, And cannot reach me more. POEMS AND SONG?. ROB ROY'S GRAVE. And this is thy grave, Rob Roy, Thou chief of the plaid and feather, Thou chief of the sword and dirk, Thou son of the heath and heather ? Is't here thou art lying low, Where feet of the careless tread, Who know not the sacred spot, As they pass o'er thy gallant dead ? Alas ! it is even so ; This headstone marks the spot, Of him whose daring clan Were ready to share his lot. They saw in their gallant chief A spirit that feared not man, Whose buckler and broad claymore Were foremost aye in the van. Farewell to thy grave, Rob Roy, Amidst the hills and heather, Where the stately giant pine Has smiled at stormiest weather. Farewell to the grass-grown spot, Oh, chief of the plaid and feather ! High o'er thy tomb the eagle soars, Thou manly, thou brave Macgregor. SONG: ONLY A SMILE. Only a smile from your lips, Only one press of your hand, Only a sigh from your breast, Ere I leave my own native land. 192 POEMS AND SONGS. Only a lock of your hair, Only some token of love, Only a promise of hope To treasure up here and above. Promise, oh ! promise to wait, Promise to wait, love, on me, When far, my love, I'm away Divided from thee by the sea. Years, love, will soon fly away, Freighted with sorrow and pain, But our faith with us will endure, Yes, and our love will ever remain. Only a smile from your lips, Only one press of your hand, Only a sigh from your breast, Ere I leave my own native land. A SUMMER MORNING. The winds blew saftly ? bune the fauld, The skinklin' sun shone bricht and bald, The maukin scudded o'er the moor, The bummer socht the openin' flo'er ; A' Nature wore a gowden hue, Bedecked the grass wi' morning dew, The burnie sweetest strophes sang, The mavis lilted lood and lang. POEMS AND SONGS. 193 The sea swelled high wi' waves fu' blue, Deep 'mang the wuds is heard cuckoo ; The ring-dove's notes are clear and shrill, Their echoes linger on the hill ; The lark sings carols in the sky, Its notes are ringing clear and high ; The jenny-wren stays swiftest flight, And listens yonder yellow-yite. The fox peers cautious from its den, Before it seeks the marshy fen ; The reeds are shiv'ring in the lake, The bushes rustle in the brake ; The ploughman stalks to early moil, The milkmaid wends to weary toil, The farmer leaves his household cares, The poacher lifts his nightly snares. On wood and stream rests tranquil peace ; I feel the feelings of release From thoughts of business, free to roam And wander near my woodland home. The morning air mak's spirits licht, I glory at the sylvan sicht, And feel a calm within my breast, A mine of wealth a mind at rest. But, ah ! there comes across my brain Bewild'ring thoughts of mental strain The wear-and-tear which business brings, Of commerce, with its eagle wings ; And, mingled with the sense of peace, Comes cares from which there's no release, When fields and woods are lost to view, And happy days, alas, are few. 194 POEMS AND SONGS. STRONG DRINK. Thou blighter of our happy homes, Of all temptations arch-deceiver, Thou comest like a serpent vile, Or as some foul malarious fever. Thou sparest not the young or old, But twine us round with sensuous fold, Thou trappest us with subtle smile, Both weak and strong, the base and bold. The rich man in his carriage gay, Thou holdest with a giant's spell, And many wills that once were strong, Beneath thy lures have swiftly fell. In lowly cottage still thou'rt met, In lordly hall, thy sway's supreme ; Thy influence is so unmarked, That some are slaves before they deem A curse upon thy pest'lent breath, Thou robber of the old and young ! Oh, may each bard who sings thy praise Die unregretted and unsung ! Oh may you perish from our land, No longer let it own thy sway, But may the future be to us The dawning of a brighter day. Oh, then, our land shall know true peace, And darkness shall give place to light ; No more thy terrors fill our hearts, Let daylight dawn upon the night. POEMS AND SONGS. 195 STAND UP FOR THE RIGHT. In this world you will find, There is plenty of abuse, If you're striving to do what is right, But keep a calm mind, To do wrong aye refuse, And never give in, in the fight. Though your friends should despise, And speak light of your fame, Let your actions still speak of your might ; ^Yhen dangers arise, Do not yield but be game, And ever be firm for the right. There are venemous men, That go venting their spleen, By abusing the things that are right, But their malice is vain, For their jealousy is seen, And justice is strong for the right. LITTLE TALENTS. Each one has some little talent, Lent it may be for a day, Or to shine throughout the ages, With Hyperion's golden ray; We should then improve each moment, Though a moment seems but small, By our actions time will judge us, By our deeds we stand or fall. 196 POEMS AND SONGS. Some are born to lead, like Moses, Over life's rough desert way, Or like Grecian Alexander, A world's destinies to sway; Rome of old her golden eagles, Flashed 'neath Eastern sun, But their wars were bubbles only, Bursting when Rome's course was run. Christ of greatness gave His verdict, When He said 'twas vanity, And that greater were the children Whom He took upon His knee ; God has said the greatest heroes Men to conquer world's given, Are but as the very poorest When they reach the gates of heaven. Waste not then your time in dreaming, Thinking of some future great, Idleness produces scheming, And begets ill-will and hate : We shall have to give a reckoning, Be our talents five or ten, May we use and not abuse them, Let us quit us now like men. RED-HEADED DONALD. They say I lo'e red-headed Donald, An' say to his bosom I'll draw ; Because, when I meet him, I gi'e him a smile When I'm oot 'mangst sleet an' 'mang snaw. POEMS AND SONGS. 1Q7 It's when I am oot 'mang the heather, An' winds roond ahoot me dae blaw, He wisps me up tight in his plaidie, An' says I'm the queen o' them a'. They say I lo'e red-headed Donald, An' I wadna just like to say na, Tho' there's plenty o' lads wa'd draw to my side, Gin I gie'd them a glinka or twa. When a lassock gets oot o' her teens, The neighbours a' think they can draw, From the innermost depths o' her bosom What lad she is coorting ava. They say I lo'e red-headed Donald, But for marriage I ne'er cared a straw, For I saw ilka couple aroond me, Seemed to like each other to thraw. But one day I said to my Donald, " The lassies your name dae me ca'," An' he wisna angry, altho' with a frown, He swore a' their necks he could thraw. They say I lo'e red-headed Donald, An' say to his bosom I'll draw, Because a bit lad steals a kiss frae a lass She canna just weel rin awa'. But I carena for red-headed Donald, An' I wantna to have him ava, So lassies you're welcome to coort him each ane, For Donald I carena a straw. They say I lo'e red-headed Donald, But for him I've nae love ava, 198 POEMS AND SONGS. Tho' they say wi' love he is pining, An' that e'en to his love I maun thaw. Sae to keep the laddie frae deeing, An' tae please the folks yin an' a', I think I'll ha'e to tak' pity on him, To keep him frae slipping awa'. OLD SHEARS TO GRIND. The shades of night were falling drear, As out the " pub " without a fear, The tinker bawled out through the street, Amidst the tramp of hurrying feet, "Old shears to grind." His breath came quick, with whisky blent, His credit gone, his cash all spent, Onward he went like some vile beast, In search of drink on which to feast " Old shears to grind." In every " pub " he saw the light Blaze out upon the dismal night, Above their doors the lamp shone down, Yet still he shouted through the town, " Old shears to grind." " Try not to pass," the barman said, 11 Bad coins, or you'll be prisoner made, For if you try to pass bad tin, You'll surely get yourself run in, " Old shears to grind." POEMS AND SONGS. 199 " Oh stay ! and grind my scissors old, I see your hands are blue and cold ; " A tear stood in his bleared eye, But still he raised the weary cry, " Old shears to grind." " Beware of whisky's cunning blend, Beware the drunkard's awful end," This was teetotaler's last request, But all his answer to behest, "Old shears to grind." Upon his nightly mission bent A watchman through an old close went, When issuing from the floor below, He thought he heard a murmur low, " Old shears to grind." The tinker on the stair he found, His body stretched upon the ground, While close by stood his old grindstone, But still he raised a drunken groan, " Old shears to grind." The tinker passed the bar next day, " Ten shillings fine," the judge did say, When from his lips there loudly fell As if it was some dying knell, "Old shears to grind." SEASIDE MEMORIES. Waves, mighty waves, come thund'ring, rushing on ; Waves, mighty waves, prolonging an old song A weird, unearthly long ago. 200 POEMS AND SONGS. Of childhood's happy days my mind is dreaming, Its melody, like harp's sweet music, stealing Through my soul, While giant waves keep beating, and repeating A weird, unearthly long ago. Waves, mighty waves, come rushing thund'ring on ; Waves, mighty waves, that beat, in measure strong, A weird, unearthly long ago. Waves, mighty waves, you seem to beat my breast With some new hope, and tale of seeming rest ; Within my soul ! A wavelet's play on pebbly shore, and not A weird, unearthly long ago. IN MEMORIAM. ISABELLA SMITH, DIED 1886. Her spirit is gone, has fled through the skies, Cleaving the clouds which still hide from our eyes The beauteous land, the heavenly shore, Where sorrow and pain are banished and o'er ; Vanished from earth like a star from its place Gone to behold her dear Saviour's loved face ; Like broken chord from our heart she is torn, Only to meet on that happier morn, When earth shall vanish away like a scroll, And good deeds be known, when angels unroll The parchment of time, recording the worth Of each pilgrim's journey whilst here upon earth ; Weep not, oh, friends ! for your loved one so dear, Who has gone to her Lord to a higher sphere. POEMS AND SONGS. 2OI IN MEMORIAM. THE REV. JOHN TULLOCH, D.D. Another noble soul gone to his rest, Leaving a dreariness behind a blank The world cannot fill. A soldier true, By dint of worth and skill he won his rank, And not by patronage. The Gordian knot Is cut which bound him to our faithful hearts While here ; but, freed from earthly dross, we hope To meet again, in love which never parts. A Christian soldier fighting for the right He won his place with armour on his breast, But now has laid his well-worn harness down, To enter on a great, eternal rest. Sleep, Christian soldier ! rest is truly won By thee : thy days of toil and warfare done. A BORDER WOOING. He has ta'en his way to Harden Ha', A' dressed in Lincoln green, An' mounted on his bonnie black horse A blacker never was seen. An' they ca' him still the black, black knicht, For he is a Douglas bold ; A son of that gallant, noble race O' Chevy Chase fame, I'm told. An' he has ta'en his trusty sword, An' dagger wi' handle braw ; The dagger that laid Red Comyn so low By the hand o' Bruce o' the Shaw. o 202 POEMS AND SONGS. A Douglas bold, he kens the law, A law framed on the good old plan That he should take wha has the power, And he should keep who can. An' he has ta'en him by bonnie Tweedside, Making vale and dingle ring With the clank of his heavy swinging sword. And horse-hoofs steady swing. An' noo he has got him to Harden Ha', An' stands at the castle yett, An' loudly knocks wi' whip an' spur, An' impatiently stamps while he waits. " Open the yett ! Sir Porter," he cried ; " An' open wi' richt guid grace, For a free born son o' the Ian' stands here, Waiting Lord Walter to face." The porter keeks cautious frae out the portal, An' a rueful visage mak's he ; To see Douglas bold stand at a Scott's yett Was a sight he ne'er thocht to see. Loud he makes answer wi' shaking voice For a frightened man was he " I canna let Home or Douglas in here, The Scotts meet wi' them on the lea." Then up an' spak' the Douglas bold, An' his words were words o' ire " Gin ye dinna open wide the yett to me, I'll set your place on fire." POEMS AND SONGS. 203 " Ho ! ' stand aside, thou porter auld," The words are by Lord Walter Scott ; " I'll speak mysel' to this Douglas here, An' ask him weel what he wots." " I want nae either silver or gold, But the blink o' a bonnie blythe e'e ; Tis Kate o' Hardree wi' the dark raven locks, I've ridden a saxty miles for to see." " Gae hame, gae hame, thou Douglas black, Gae back to the west countree ; The eagle's nae mate for the cannie doo Nor Douglas for Scott o' Hardree, Fearfu' the oath the Douglas swore An' waefu' the vengeance he took, An' gossips still tell in that country side Hoo he fixed the Scott wi' a look. Black was the wa' o' Hardree then, When Douglas came trooping back, An' they say, wha ought to ken it best, That Kate rode ahint at his back. TO MRS. C. J. Like lighthouse standing straight and strong Against a moonlight sky, 'Gainst which the winds and waves have beat In conflict keen and high. 204 POEMS AND SONGS. As rock in midst of foam and wave Uplifts its hoary head, Defies the elemental strife By winds and waters fed. Thy life has been, not peaceful calm, But constant struggle thro', But ever 'mid the blasts of time Thy heart beat leal and true. Thy children, scattered far and wide Across the deep's domain, Have left thee, like a stranded ship, That's stood the toil and strain. But safely moored upon the beach, Beyond the ocean's rage ; Saved by the strength of bolt and screw, That rotted not with age. THE LASS O' UDDINGSTON. When Cynthia pale her crest has raised Oot ower the darksome wud, And bright orbed stars, like brilliant gems, The arch of heaven stud ; When mavis clear, in Thorniewood, Nae mair is heard in song My love I breathe into thine ear, Sweet lass o' Uddingston. Chorus Sweet lass o' Uddingston, Kind lass o' Uddingston, Thine eyes are blue, thy heart is true, Leal lass o' Uddingston. POEMS AND SONGS. 205 When vernal spring is here again, An' nature's charms unveiled, And balmy breezes fan the trees Through which the winds had wailed 'Tis then, sweet lass, with thee I roam, And breathe in lowest tone, My heart's fond love, my fairest maid, Thou lass o' Uddingston. Chorus Sweet lass o' Uddingston, &c. When smiling summer decks the field Wi' flo'ers o' gowden hue, An' ilka silvery spark and leaf Reflects the morning dew 'Tis then, sweet lass, wi' raptured words, I swear like thee there's none, That have the mind, the heart, the soul, Dear lass o' Uddingston. Chorus Sweet lass o' Uddingston, &c. When autumn comes wi' falling leaf, An' tints o' russet broon ; Wi' blood-red skies o' marv'llous hues, And day departs too soon 'Tis then, sweet lass, we lonely stray To Bothwell's ancient toon, And tell the aft-repeated tale, Kind lass o' Uddingston. Chorus Sweet lass o' Uddingston, &c. When winter comes, wi' chilly breath, An 1 snatches a* oor flowers, An' icicles, an' frost, an' snaw, Mak' weary, dreary hours 206 POEMS AND SONGS. "Tis then, sweet lass, I need your love, For life's ills to atone, In faith, in hope, in life, in death, Leal lass o' Uddingston. Chorus Sweet lass o' Uddingston, &c. TRUE SERVICE. I love to strike a note upon my lyre, To rouse the melodies of times long past ; Anew it makes loved faces start again, Remembered forms, mind treasures to the last. Forms known and loved, wake from Endymion sleep, I feel to touch their lips with Cynthian kiss, And fondly see their faces as of yore, 'Twould be entrancement and too much of bliss. Beloved ones I have known, Venus-like in form, Around whom Cupid threw his wily art, And Dione threw a shade of loveliness Which start affection's chords unto my heart. I love to dwell upon those fancies still, In midst of ocean's currents shoreless seas, For they are fraught and twined with golden links Of youthful days and happiest memories. And thus reflecting, comes the solemn thought Why, gracious Lord, should all these sad things be, That those dear forms we loved the most the while Should thus, good Lord, be plucked from off the tree ? POEMS AND SONGS. 207 Awake, my soul ! throw off sad fretful thoughts, Learn still to do your duty in your sphere. Arise, my soul ! to high and faithful service ; Learn to do well, and brighten faces here. Why should my mind indulge vain, foolish dreams ? We shall be judged by virtue's legacy ; Oh learn, my soul, by serving, Lord, but Thee And those we love therein's felicity. NEVER GIVE IN. " Never give in " though dark clouds should gather, Better to wait till clouds flit away Think of the life that is higher and better, Better to think of a happier day ; " Never give in " when storms beat around you Each of us meet with hills on life's road Better, like travellers on Alps, to keep climbing, Than to sit down and fret at our load. " Never give in," let it be our bright motto, Better to patiently bear each our loss Better to reach the banks of the river Ere we seek life's dark bridges to cross. " Never give in " was the watchword of ancients, Never retreat though the fight we should lose Better to fight for the weaker than stronger, Though the world and our friends should abuse. " Never give in " was the motto of heroes When they streamed up the Alma's fierce height- Better, far better, to fall in sharp conflict, Than to live and not strike for the right. 208 POEMS AND SONGS. " Never give in " though many deride you, If you know that the world is wrong Better to stand on low rung of the ladder Than to fight for the hands of the strong. " Never give in " was the cry of our heroes When they stood 'gainst Napoleon's Life Guards- Better like them to do duties unhonoured, And like them we will have our rewards. " Never give in," let it be life's bright motto, On our flag let it e'er be unfurled Better, far better, to show this bright motto Than to turn a deaf ear to the world. ADDRESS TO ERIN. Oh, Erin, thy people are scattered like sheep, Thy patriots imprisoned, thy daughters do weep, By an alien race thy country subdued, By hardship and want thou'rt spectre pursued. Oh, Erin, I love thee, thou land of my birth, Oh, Ireland, dear country, the fairest on earth, For thee would I live, for thee could I die, Thy sorrows oft bring the hot tears to my eye. Oh, Erin, dear country, thou land of the green, Thy sons o'er the world as strangers are seen, Oh, when shall thy land re-echo once more Contentment and peace on thy tide-beaten shore ? Oh, when shall thy people lie down with the lamb ? And honey and milk flow like Gilead's balm ? Oh, when shall thy land in tranquility rest, Thy labours protected, thy toilers be blest. POEMS AND SONGS. 209 Oh, Erin, my country, time's chariot flies fast, And wrongs of the present soon be rights of the past, The people that rule thee, tho' an alien race, In future will help thee thy dangers to face. Now sadly they feel for the errors of past, And will sweep them away, as clouds 'fore the blast, And by friendship united, with banners unfurled, We onward will go in the sight of the world. Oh, Erin, my country, forgive and forget, Let not past sufferings before thee be set, Oh, let us be brothers, as onward we go, By friendship united with face to the foe. Be we English or Irish, brothers are we, Foes of the past, true friends now we'll be, And shoulder to shoulder we'll march bravely on, With mutual support foes need we fear none. Oh, Erin, my country, make labour your pride, Work on and be strong, and by truth e'er abide, With energy, purpose, and strength of thy will, And soon you will mount o'er despondency's hill. Tis not by your violence and fretting at fate By meetings in moonlight at early and late Your wrongs will be righted, your happiness made, But by commerce, by work, and by profits of trade. IN MEMORIAM. THE LATE EMPEROR WILLIAM OF GERMANY. Dead ! for the Infinite has shot His bolt, Death, the dread conqueror, tattooed loud the halt A greater king a lesser called away, From hence, where like a Caesar he held sway. 210 POEMS AND SONGS. For years two warlike nations, side by side, By princes ruled with jealousy and pride, Were kept asunder though by blood allied, For want of some great chief to be their guide ; Even as two rivers on their seaward way, May roll in mighty tide, and seldom stray Far from each other, and yet can never meet Their tide to mingle at the mountain's feet, Until they pass some high-lying spur or hill, Some barrier small, and yet a barrier still, Which seemed as bent their union still to stay, As on they danced and wimpled on their way. So Kaiser William, spite of princeling's hate, Held firm the wheel and guided well the state, Until he steered it past the rocky shore, Past swiftest rapids, and past torrent's roar. His was a task of which we say " Well done " The blending of two empires into one. BRITAIN STILL SHALL RULE THE SEA. Where the mighty billows sweep, That sound floats o'er the deep; When the cannons thunder loud That break the dark red cloud; When the British flag flies high, Beneath the lurid sky, In the fight and in the throng, 'Tis our song, 'tis our song. Chorus Rule Britannia, rule Britannia, Britain still shall rule the sea, Britons ever will be free ; Rule Britannia, rule Britannia. POEMS AND SONGS. 211 'Tis the death-knell of the proud, When sung in chorus loud, By each hardy sailor lad, In jacket loosely clad ; As his cutlass he grasps tight, And ready for the fight, 'Midst the fight and in the throng, 'Tis his song, 'tis his song. Chorus Rule Britannia, rule Brittania, &c. 'Twas our refrain in the past, And will be to the last, When cruel despots have gone down Before our angry frown ; Then each honest British heart The world will make start, 'Midst the fight, and 'midst the throng, 'Tis his song, 'tis his song. Chorus Rule Britannia, rule Britannia, &c. SAFE ON THE HOME-RULE PLANK. Oh, Willie, is it you, dear, Safe on our Home Rule plank ? We thought you could not come dear, We thought you would have sank ; We saw you wading near our raft, But thought you could not swim ; Oh, Willie, you're like other tars, And still your sails can trim. It was music in our ears Your conversion to Home Rule ; 212 POEMS AND SONGS. Twas votes that made you change, dear, Oh, Willie, you're no fool. Oh, Willie, where is Harty ? And where is Goschen, too ? They all have gone and left you, Even Joe has ta'en the rue ; But defections never trouble you, It only makes you sad To see good men like Rylands Go over to the bad. Oh, 'twas music in our ears Your conversion to Home Rule ; And votes are what you want, dear Oh, Willie, you're no fool. Your chums have gone and left you : Brave Caine and good John Bright ; But still you do not miss them, dear, For you know you're always right. Even Popes are not infallible, It's different, Will, with you, For, Willie, when you prophesy It surely does come true. Oh, 'twas music in our ears, Your conversion to Home Rule ; And votes will win elections Oh, Willie, you're no fool. Oh, Willie, you have Harcourt still, Consistent still and true ; His motto, how you like it, dear, Is " Ditto, Will, to ycm." POEMS AND SONGS. 213 He never alters cannot change, But plays the same old note, Until you give the order, dear, To turn his manly coat. Oh, 'twas music in our ears, Your conversion to Home Rule ; For Irish votes are what you want Oh, Willie, you're no fool. Oh, Willie, you love Parnell now, And bathe in Irish juice ; And you're the greatest man, Willie, Our country can produce ; And you've told us now, dear Willie, To Boycott is no harm, It's just exclusive dealing, dear Oh, Willie, how you charm. Oh, 'twas music in our ears, Your conversion to Home Rule ; It's just the votes you want, dear Oh, Willie, you're no fool Oh, Willie, listen to your friends, Who have your good at heart, And leave your Irish allies now Ere it's too late to part ; For when they've sucked the orange dry, They'll throw the skin away ; Oh, Willie, leave the Parnell juice, Mind, Willie, what we say. Oh, 'twill be music in our ears, When you leave the Home Rule plank ; With such a ship and such a crew, Oh, Willie, how you've sank. 214 POEMS AND SONGS. HURRAH FOR THE BOUNDING BALL. Then, hurrah ! loud hurrahs for our grand Scottish game, Then, hurrah ! loud hurrahs for every name of fame, With swift steps, with proud hearts, we troop across the field, Determined each on winning, with not a thought to yield ; Muscular each player, what though the wind be strong, With header, with drop kick, the ball is sent along, And lightly, so lightly, the ball bounds o'er the green, Now cheer, boys, loudly cheer, for each footballer keen. Chorus Hurrah ! hurrah ! for the bounding ball, Hurrah ! hurrah ! for the uprights tall ; Mid the scrimmage and the din, The ball is sent clean in, Another goal, another goal to win. Then, hurrah ! loud hurrahs for each forward so fleet, As he sweeps o'er the turf in jersey dressed so neat, When rushing at the ball, what heeds he of a fall, As eager he presses to mingle in the maul ; In melee or scramble, he boldly takes a part, And winner or loser, he keeps a cheery heart, As swiftly he races right forward to the front, Like hero of old so brave, he seeks the battle's brunt. Chorus Hurrah ! hurrah ! &c. Then hurrah ! loud hurrahs for every trusty back, Like greyhounds so nimble, the ball they seek to track, With keen eyes they follow each movement of the ball, And jealously they ever guard their uprights straight and tall ; Their motions aye are sure, their kick is clean and strong, As often to themselves they croon some old footballer's song, And well their goals they keep from all the forwards gay, And keen, oh, keen's their play with hope to win the day. Chorus Hurrah ! hurrah ! &c. POEMS AND SONGS. 215 Then, hurrah ! loud hurrahs for captain and for team, Every eye is sparkling, each face does brightly beam, For victory now is ours, our men played well together, No brawling or funking, no showing the white feather ; No " horse play," no charging we played an honest game, So shout boys, loudly shout, for football's grand old name ; And may our game be played in every Scottish glade In winter, in spring time, by every class and grade. Chorus Hurrah ! hurrah ! &c. THE CLYDE IN WINTER. Thy banks are clothed in darkest green, Thy trees are gaunt and bare, Thy fertile fields are bleak again, With icy wintry air. Thy waters are a yellow brown, The ice now marks thy course, Thy current is not sluggish now, But sweeps with mighty force. Soon shall thy banks be fringed with snow, Soon shall thy course be dark As darkest night, without a star To guide the sailor's bark. Soon death shall come to visit man, But death ne'er comes to thee Thy path is through the rock and sand Unto eternity. 2l6 POEMS AND SONGS. MY LOVE AND I. The first time I met her 'twas in the grey gloaming, My heart wi' the music of nature was stirred, And Jean's heart within her sweet bosom was flutt'ring, And beat like the heart of a nest-startled bird, We looked on the primrose wi' rain drops fresh drooping, The daisy peeped shy from its downy soft bed ; While far away down in the eastern heaven, The moon through a cloud threw a shadowey red. The throstle was singing its lay to the evening, The blackie was list'ning in yonder dark glen, The corn craik was busy within the short corn stalks, The plover's weird cry sped away o'er the fen ; And standing enwrapped in the silence of ev'ning, I said as I gazed in the depths of her eyes " Be mine, dearest Jean ; be mine, Jean, for ever," And I knew by her clasp I had won my sweet prize. Ah ! little I thought I had won her to lose her, How little I thought what the winter would bring ; We met in the springtime, we parted in winter, And Jean knew the glory of heavenly spring. And now, all alone, I am longing and waiting, I'm waiting and longing to meet her once more ; For I know, when I've gone through the valley of sadness, My love, Jean, and I will meet on Heaven's bright shore. POEMS AND SONGS. 217 SHADOWS. Dreary winter's shadows flying, Lightsome spring ones fill their place, Dreary winter's fears are dying, Lightsome spring hopes on each face. Winter shadows dread and dreary, Spring bright dreams will bring, Cheerless winter, how we weary For the fair and joyous spring. Even the soul it hath its winter, But it hath a joyous spring Sad the heart that ne'er would venture To be gay with mirth's glad ring. Harsh words though but idly spoken, Kind ones spoken soft and low ; Harsh words many hearts have broken, Kind ones caused the heart to glow. Shadows, oh ! how swift they're flying ! Kind shadows, past long ago, Dreary shadows, dead and dying, Pleasant ones flit to and fro. Faces we have ever loved, Softened by the hand of time, Forms of dear friends now above, How our hearts do feel for them. SCOTT OF HARDEN A BORDER INCIDENT. Scott of Harden was a noted free-booter who was familiarly known by the appellation of " Auld Wat of Harden." His castle was built in a precipitous dell on the Borthwick, three miles from Hawick. There he used to drive the cattle after some of his border exploits, and they were then brought out one by one till the last bullock was killed, P 2l8 POEMS AND SONGS. when his lady used to put a pair of spurs on a dish on the table as a hint that it was time he was remounting his horse. It is related of " Auld Wat" that on one occasion he heard the village herd driving out the cattle to pasture, crying loudly, "Drive oot Harden's coo ! " " Harden's coo ! " said the noted free-booter, " is it come to that ? By my faith, they shall soon say Harden's kye." And with this he called out his men, had a midnight raid, returning in the morning with " a bow of kye and a lassen'd [brindled] bull." On his return he saw a fine large haystack, and it struck him that it would make capital fodder for his new stock of cattle, but as no means of transporting it could be found, he was fain to content himself with this pithy saying, "Had ye but four feet, ye should not stand long there." The incident referred to in the poem may be summed up in a few words. Auld Wat had six sons by his wife Mary Scott, celebrated in Scottish song as the Flower of Yarrow. One of them (the youngest) was slain by the Scotts of Gilmans-cleugh in a fray at a hunting match. His five brothers, when his lifeless form was carried to Borthwick ha', were so enraged and so intent upon revenge that they would not listen to their father's advice to keep " a calm seugh " and he would get a gift of the lands of Gilmans-cleugh, but wanted to ride against the slayers of their brother at once. The old laird, however, when he had a pur- pose in view was a man of strong resolution, so he secured them in the dungeon of Harden, hurried off to Edinburgh with his son's bloody shirt at the end of his spear, and in this fashion was ushered into the king's reception chamber at Holyrood. The king was so incensed at the murder that he granted their lands to Scott and his heirs for ever. He returned then to Harden, released his sons, and showed them the charter, saying as he did so, " To horse, lads, and let us take possession. The lands of Gilmans-cleugh are well worth a dead son." The news is heard by Bortha's side, And spreads to Borthwick heuch : Tarn Scott has fa'en by the craven hand, (V the Scotts o' Gilmans-cleugh. The flo'er o' Yarrow looks in vain, Wi' a mither's wistful gaze, She looks, and looks, for his manly form, In sunlight's last ling'ring rays. POEMS AND SONGS. 2TQ The warder has ceased his weary roonds, The sun o'er the hill has set, But Yarrow's flo'er still earnestly peers Thro' the gloom wi' cheeks quite wet. " Oh, will my Tammie ne'er return Frae that horrid hunting match ? Oh, tis gruesome, I fear he is killed, And vain is my vigil watch." But hark ! her ear tells 'tis horses' hoofs, That ring on the hard, hard road, Sax horsemen ride wi' measured tread, An' see, they carry a load ! Auld Walter Scott had gane tae rest, For fear ne'er troubled his breist A stout old border chieftain is he, The foremost in fecht or feast. The flo'er has rushed tae the porter auld He's fast asleep in the ha' " Get up ! get up ! ye porter sae auld, And let the portcullis fa'." The portcullis fa's wi' thund'ring soond, As torchlights gleam on the wa', An' sax bord'rers stand wi' nodding plumes, Bold fellows wha ken nae law. The leddy looks na' at horse nor at men, Her bricht e'e looks on the cor'se The load they bear is her ain dead son, An' there is his riderless horse, 220 POEMS AND SONGS. The flo'er o' Yarrow ne'er stops to think, Her orders are plump an' plain : " Gae, wauk yer chief an' my five brave sons, For we'll ha'e moonlight again." Auld Watt noo rins to the castle yett, An' hurries his five bold sons ; Each ane o' them wears a guid braid sword, And all of them carry their guns. Loqdly they cry for instant revenge On the Scotts o' Gilmans-cleugh ; But Watt says, " I'll get a gift o' their Ian', Sae its best tae keep a calm seugh." An' so he's stripped off Tarn's hunting coat, An' aff he's ta'en his sark ; The bluid still clinging in clotted lumps, His heart's blood rich and dark. " Noo I will ride tae Edina's toon, To see our bonnie King James Giff he disna gift their Ian' to me, He deserves to be put in chains." But his five brave sons were filled wi' rage, An' swore in their haste and ire, They'd ride, gin it were a thoosand miles, An' set Gilmans-cleugh on fire. Auld Watt ne'er answers wi' word or look, But hails the castle's guaird ; " Mak' prisoners to me o' my five sons brave, An' put them doon in the yaird," POEMS AND SONGS. 221 An' noo he's ta'en ten trusty men, An' he's ta'en his shirt o' mail, An' slowly they ride through the castle's yett, Past moat, an' doon thro' the vale. Auld Watt he carries his long, long spear, An' he has the bluidy sark, An' wi' him, too, is a trusty guide, To lead thro' mosses sae dark. An' noo he's got to the capital, An' to Holyrood sae braw, An' maks his boo to bonnie King James, Wha's pleased wi' the borderer's ca'. Quo' King James, " what thing's this that ye bear, At neb o' ye'r lang lang spear ? An' hoo ha'e ye passed my warders sae brave, For nae arms are admitted here ? " " Ma liege, liege lord, I crave ye a word, The king has an open ear, Your rules been just since ever ye reigned, YeVe made moss-troopers to fear. 11 At neb o' ma spear's a gory sark, That's soaked wi' my son's heart's bluid The Scotts o' the cleugh ha'e tae'n his life, They slew the lad where he stuid. " He wisna a lad wad seek for a fecht, Nor foucht on occasion sma', But nine to ane they attacked him, And he fell wi's back to the waV 222 POEMS AND SONGS. " Noo, by my royal word," king Jamie said, " Their lands I gi'e ye by charter ; The life o' yer son I cannie gi'e back, But their lands I'll gi'e ye as barter." Auld Watt he's dropped doon on bended knees, An' kissed King James' royal hand, " For this, my liege lord, I'll e'er ye obey, My life ye aye can command." Scott o' Harden rides gallantly back, By the Tweed's broad swelling strand, Till he has reached where Bortha's hoarse notes, Load the mead wi' shingle an' sand. Proodly he ca's for Yarrow's sweet flower, He ca's up his five brave sons, " For I've got the lands o' the Scotts for my ain, As long as there's water runs." THE CHURCHYARD BY THE RIVER. In the churchyard by the river, I am wand'ring sadly now, Oh, what visions press upon me, And what cares oppress my brow ; I am thinking sadly musing, On the dear ones laid to rest, And sweet tender thoughts come o'er me Of those dead ones loved the best. He is sleeping calmly resting, One whose life had promise bright, For life's noontide round him circled, With a strangely mystic light ; POEMS AND SONGS. 223 He is resting calmly sleeping, And his friends shed bitter tears, For they know his heart was broken By their bitter biting sneers. Now he's silent silent ever, Oh, they cannot wake him now, Though his mother and his father, Dropped hot tears upon his brow ; Then they knew not, seemed to care not, What a tender flower was he, Little recked they he was longing Like a caged bird to be free. Over yonder, 'neath the church wall, Through a mist of blinding tears, Is the grave of one dear loved one, Loved throughout the bygone years ; Oh, the golden curls that circled, Round her fair and childish head, And the hectic spot that flitted, Sometimes white and sometimes red. Oh, the coughing how it racked her, And her cheeks how wan and white, Till she vanished like an angel, Vanished slowly from our sight ; And when came the awful summons, Her to call from earth below, The world methought less beautiful, And the flowers had lost their glow. 224 POEMS AND SONGS. Yonder, 'neath a weeping willow, Is a straight basaltic stone, Round this emblem of our friendship, A romantic glamour's thrown ; It commemorates the valour How his death still makes me thrill Of a friend who fell in action On Majuba's bloody hill. Yet though strangers gaze upon it With a kindly, pitying eye, Oh, they never knew his virtues, Or their cheeks could not be dry ; He to me was as a brother, What a depth in soul and eye, And I know his deeds of kindness Must be written in the sky. Here is sleeping a dear sister, 'Tis her time for needed rest, For throughout the long, long summers, Care sat heavy on her breast ; He had promised wildly promised, All her future steps to guide, When he strain'd her to his bosom, When he took her for his bride. But new sorrows came upon her, Through the long and dismal years, And her life was filled with sadness, As her eyes were filled with tears ; He who'd promised e'er to love her, Love her with his latest breath, Broke her heart with harshest treatment, Made her life a second death. POEMS AND SONGS. 225 Let her sleep then calmly sleep on, For no sorrow now she knows, Though the world has still its burdens, And the wind still fiercely blows, Rest, then, sweet one ! rest for ever ! Though the world should madly surge, Hushed the voice that never murmured, Winter winds shall chant thy dirge. Yet another, and another How the ranks are getting thin, And the heav'nly gates are op'ning, As the dear ones still press in. How they're falling, falling meekly, Each one falling in his place ; But like soldiers we are ready, All life's danger still to face. Oh ! I feel the churchyard holy, With its mem'ries of the past, And when work is past and finished, It will be our rest at last ; Though the sea can claim its thousands, Millions lie beneath the sod, 'Tis the home of weary pilgrims, 'Tis the acreage of God. 226 POEMS AND SONGS. 'TWAS IN DAYS OF DARK NOVEMBER. 'Twas in days of dark November Well the date do I remember Sitting at a blazing fire, Mentally felt no content, Stormed I at the tricks of fate, Grumbled at my hapless state. Grumbling at the word advancement, Worldly praise had lost enchantment ; Sitting nursing rising wrath, Grumbling at the little merit Leads the rich to sure success, Whilst the poor know dire distress. Many men I knew were striving, Well I knew their deep contriving, Trading on their brother's brains ; Won applause by pushing forward, Puffed up by the daily paper, Though their thoughts were light as vapour. Thinking thus of their condition, Mindful of my poor position, Grudgingly and hardly won ; I forgot my many mercies, Only thought of worldings slight, Thought my earthly hopes but blight. Thinking thus, with deep emotion, Came a sound that caused commotion In my hard and angry heart ; Seemed to me like wail of infant, Penetrating window casement, Rising from the house's basement. POEMS AND SONGS. 227 Opening up the parlour shutter, " Who can be outside," I mutter, " In the midst of all the snow ? Can it be some lonely orphan, Can it be some child so fair, Out into the midnight air ? " All without was dark and dreary, Snow made shapes fantastic, eerie, Frosty winds were sharp and keen, Icicles were firmly clinging To the eaves and to the wall, And the snow flakes thickly fall. Looking out could see no figure, But I cried with manly vigour, " Speak, I pray you, who is there ? " But there came no sound in answer, All was silent as the grave, Silent as cathedral nave. I closed the window, softly, slowly, Thinking of the poor and lowly In the streets on such a night ; Shiv'ringly I closed the casement, Thinking 'twas imagination, Or some strange hallucination. Scarce had I got firmly seated, Scarce had I my hands got heated, Deep had sunk into my chair, Ere I heard the dismal wailing, Echoing like the sigh of ocean When 'tis moved by some commotion. 228 POEMS AND SONGS. Wondering what could be its meaning Out the casement gently leaning Of this strange and piteous cry, On the stairs I saw a figure Covered with the falling snow, And I heard some wailings low. And I felt my senses reeling, Felt a nameless sort of feeling, Half of pity, half of awe, But the pity welled up strongly In my heart and in my eye, To the door I swiftly fly. Saw the body f a woman, Who, tho' fallen, still was human, But her heart was dead and still ; In the piercing wind had perished, With the child upon her breast, Entered on the final rest. But I saw the child was living, And its tiny lips were moving Tho' its face was blue and cold As I loosed her from her mother, Gently took her in my arms, Gazing at her little charms. Saying softly with great feeling, As beside the body kneeling, " I will guard this babe through life ; Unto her I'll be a father, Through life's maze her steps will gtiide, Down life's stream we two shall glide." POEMS AND SONGS. 2 29 And this child is always growing, And around my life is throwing Glamours of delightful love ; And she well repays my keeping, With her prattle at my side, Makes my sympathies grow wide. And I now forget my sorrow, Thinking of the long to-morrow When life's troubles cease ; Thinking why we are so fretful When there is so much to do, And our years so short and few. Thus this child has brought contentment, And I know no more resentment Looking upon others fame ; Thinking of life's many comforts, I forget my little cares, Through this child found on the stairs. THE EXILE'S RETURN. 'Twas a cadence that I heard, 'Twas some music, soft and low, From the organ's lofty pipes Memories sad they caused to flow, Listening, heard the simple words, In sweetest cadence, low yet plain, Stealing through the nave and choir Hallelujah ! Amen ! 230 POEMS AND SONGS. I leant upon the mouldy stones, Listening with a throbbing heart ; All inside was still the same, But chancel's gloom it made me start. I saw inside a kneeling throng, The young and old, the gay and vain, Joining in God's holiest praises Hallelujah ! Amen ! I saw inside the choristers, The priest and people, all were there : But where my father's face and form ? My mother's voice I could not hear. I groaned aloud, in anguish dire, " Mother dear, come back again ! " The choir joined with the loud refrain Hallelujah ! Amen ! Friendship's balmy words are dear, Soothing many a broken heart, But now I felt that I could weep How little joys could they impart ! And I in bitterness shed tears, Crying out in mental pain, This was all I had in answer Hallelujah ! Amen ! The iron entered to my soul, An anguish dire took hold on me, My eyes they wore an icy stare, And I felt that I could flee. But my soul was held in thraldom : I must know all, or live in vain, " Where are my friends ? " but still the answer- Hallelujah ! Amen ! POEMS AND SONGS. 231 Turned me now with sudden start, For the sound was in my ear, And the sexton he leant o'er me, His voice had made me start in fear, " You ask for friends," he sadly said, " Those that will ne'er come back again, They're gone as wind that dies at even." Hallelujah ! Amen ! HYMNS AND SACRED PIECES, &c, CHRIST'S BIRTH AND RESURRECTION. O'er the dark abyss of ages, O'er the sands of drifting time, Sung by saints and sung by sinners, Comes this song in words sublime : " Hail Him hail Him ! He is righteous ! Hail Him King and Lord of all ! Hail Him hail Him ! full of brightness ! Hail Him ! in the manger stall ! " O'er the top of heathen temple, O'er the earth and o'er the sea- Sung by wise and sung by simple Comes this song in joyous glee : " Christ is born ! let angels chant it ; Christ is born ! the prisoners cry ; Christ is born ! the shepherds echo ; Chant it waft it to the sky ! " O'er the hearts of God's disciples, O'er the bending, weeping crowd, Echoed by the Roman soldiers, Swells this dirge on Calv'ry loud ; " It is finished ! It is finished ! " Nature all is hushed and still Temple's rail is rent and broken, Darkness falls on lake and hill. HYMNS AND SACRED PIECES, ETC. 233 O'er the world now sounds the anthem O'er the bounding, swelling main, Sung by men and sung by angels, Comes this song in loud refrain : *' Christ is risen 1 Christ is risen ! Death and terrors fly away ; Earth and sea and endless nature Praise Him praise Him own His sway ! " HYMN. THOU TURNEST MAN TO DESTRUCTION ; AND SAYEST, RETURN, YE CHILDREN OF MEN." Psalm XC. 3- Life here is like a mist, Which wind will drive away ; We rest here but a little while, How short-lived is our day. Oh God, our footsteps guide, Twine Thou our hearts to Thee, When glamoured by the glare of sin, Oh, make us from it flee. Oh God, we all now own Our hearts are full of sin, Come, then, our gracious Paraclete, And cleanse our souls within. Our thoughts are of the world, In vanity we roam, But Thou can'st turn our hearts to Thee, Thy grace can lead us home. 234 HYMNS AND SACRED PIECES, ETC. All here tends to decay The monuments we rear Are swept away before Thy breath As snow when sun shines clear ; Oh God, give us new hearts, Do Thou refresh, renew ; And may Thy Holy Spirit come To live with us anew. Thou art our faith, our hope, Thou art our God, our all, 'Tis Thou that lead'st us to success, 'Tis pride that makes us fall. Our comfort in distress, Our light in happy day, Be Thou our beacon in the night, Be Thou our life, our stay. "MY STRENGTH IS MADE PERFECT IN WEAKNESS." " My strength is made perfect in weakness," Oh marv'llous the depth of Thy love, That can reach to the lowermost strata, And rise to the heights up above. " My strength is made perfect in weakness," Can Thy love bind my weakness to Thee ; And hast Thou forgotten past wickedness, That entwined its strong cords around me ? " My strength is made perfect in weakness," Can Thy love forgive me my fears ; And the doubts that like clouds hung around me, In the past, the past hidden years ? HYMNS AND SACRED PIECES, ETC. 235 'My strength is made perfect in weakness," Though the winds and storms should prevail, And God from His bow shoot the lightning, I fear not the rain or the hail. " My strength is made perfect in weakness," I fear not to-day or to-morrow ; These words on my lips and my heart strings Will make me prevail over sorrow. " Our strength is made perfect in weakness," Then why should we weep or repine ? Though clouds dark as night hide the heavens, Yet we know that the stars ever shine. " Our strength is made perfect in weakness," In God's name we forward will go ; And he who stands firm in the conflict, A life's crown will win we do know. HYMN. "A LIGHT TO LIGHTEN THE GENTILES." Jesus, breathe Thy spirit o'er us, As we bow before Thee now ; Let Thy peace now rest upon us, Seal Thy name upon each brow. Lo we come, our sins confessing, Perfect grace to find in Thee, Dark our path with Thee is brightness, Thou wilt guide us o'er life's sea. Wilt Thou come with heavenly radiance, Like a brightly guiding star; Come to us, Thy garments sprinkled With the vintage as of war, 236 HYMNS AND SACRED PIECES, ETC. When unsaved, we know but sorrow, And like ships are tempest driven ; Without Thee to guide through darkness We could never reach Thy heaven. But above the ocean's billows Faith unerring sees its rise Is the cross, with fiery splendour, Gleaming bright to faithful eyes. Now with armour tightly buckled, And Christ's banner waving high, Press we on, through thick'ning dangers, To our home within the sky. SONG OF THE ISRAELITES ON CROSSING JORDAN AFTER THE EXODUS. The desert's past, our journey's o'er, And now on Jordan's further shore We thank our God, and own His sway, Who brought us through the toilsome way. Jericho's walls before us frown, But with God's power we'll bring them down ; Our God His strength and power shall show, Till heathen lands His greatness know. Deep in the wilderness are laid Our fathers' bones, who were afraid To trust our God, whose strength and love Are great and full all God's above. He took us from the Egyptian land, A helpless, poor, and feeble band ; Past Succoth's wall and Ramses proud, With harp and timbrel sounding loud. HYMNS AND SACRED PIECES, ETC. 237 We had, by night, to lead the way A pillar's fire a cloud by day : The fire, with red and lurid light, Made all the desert sparkle bright. The cloudy pillar through the day Reflected back the sun's bright ray ; Behind the fire, from out the cloud, Our God oft spake in thunder loud. And when our path led through the wave, Immortal power He Moses gave, To cleave the waters, and make way, Like Him who made the waves obey. While Pharaoh's hosts were swallowed quite, His chariots and his men of might ; For who can fight against God's ire Our God is a consuming fire. For forty years we journeyed long, The desert echoing chant and song ; For forty years our hosts were led, Great Moses marching at the head. By Horeb's hill, by Sinai's mount, By Elim's wells, by Moses' fount Throughout the wilderness of Zin, As punishment for our great sin. Near to Mount Nebo did we stay, While Moses took his toilsome way Up to Mount Pisgah's glorious height, To gaze upon the wond'rous sight. But Moses ne'er again we saw, Although he left behind the law To help us through life's troubled way, And e'er to be our guide and stay. 238 HYMNS AND SACRED PIECES, ETC. We praise God now for mercies shown, And ever will His goodness own ; Our hearts, our minds, shall own him King, And we His praise shall ever sing. Though darkness rests on Canaan's land, Together we will ever band, And God will aye with us abide, Amidst the shades of eventide. HYMN. GOD BLESSED THE SABBATH DAY. Oh God, on this Thy day of peace, We bow before Thee now, Our hearts, with sympathetic chords, Renew our holy vow. Oh, that the incense of our praise May rise to heaven and Thee, And that rebellious knees may bow To praise the holy Three. Take Thou our lives, take Thou our hearts, And weld them, Lord, with Thine ; And may the sunshine of Thy love Upon us ever shine. Across the land, o'er troubled seas, We seem to hear Thee speak " Oh, weary ones, come rest on Me, For all Me find who seek." Within Thy courts we find true peace, With Thee is life and love ; And those who seek the pilgrim's path Will find true rest above. HYMNS AND SACRED PIECES, ETC. 239 This is Thy day, Thy holy day, This is the day Christ rose Oh may this sacred thought attend Upon us to its close. Oh may it sanctify this day, And draw our love anew, To service sweet, whilst here below, To service fond and true. This is Thy day, 'twas blessed by Thee, And o'er our circling years The cross, the symbol of Thy love ; Dissolves all doubts and fears. THE NATIVITY See the gentle face that's beaming From the manger in the stall, See the infant arms extending Grace and peace and love to all ; Though He comes a child so tender, A Saviour few could recognise, Yet to Him are swiftly hasting Shepherds good and kind and wise. See the star that's o'er them guiding, Their dear Saviour Him to meet, With hymns of praise the way beguiling, Until they kiss their Saviour's feet \ Wise men from the east are coming, Praise and homage Him to give, Little wonder there's rejoicing All that taste of Him shall live. 240 HYMNS AND SACRED PIECES, ETC. Oh, may the day be ever blessed, That brought our loving Saviour near ; May each Christmas day be hallowed, Bringing love and joy and cheer. May the star be ever with us, Guiding us life's journey thro' ; As in times past did the shepherds, May it guide and bless us too. AT CLOSING OF LIFE AT THE TURN OF THE TIDE. Riches are fleeting, gold is but dross, Joy turns to mourning, gains are but loss ; Toiling is fruitless, pleasure is vain, Sowing in sorrow, and reaping in pain ; All these things vanish, leaving but tears All are dissolved in the mists of past years ; Even our hopes and our fears will subside, At closing of life at the turn of the tide. Mists on the mountains, dark'ning our way, No star above us shedding bright ray ; Stumbling and falling, onward we press, Fainting and weary, and filled with distress ; Neglected by friends, pursued by the foe, No one to help in our trouble and woe ; On whom shall we lean for a help and a guide At closing of life at the turn of the tide ? Some one to help us is ever our cry, Some one to lead us to our home on high, Some one to help us to conquer our sin, Midst city's rattle, its bustle, and din. HYMNS AND SACRED PIECES, ETC. 241 High o'er the surge of the fast-rushing throng, The paeans of vict'ry are rising in song ; ; Jesus, your help and your friend, will abide " At the closing of life, at the ebb of the tide. HYMN. "THEN SHALT THOU DELIGHT THYSELF IN THE LORD, AND i WILL CAUSE THEE TO RIDE UPON THE HIGHEST PLACES OF THE EARTH." Isaiah Ivii. 14. Tis not delight, 'tis rapture great, That thro' our bosoms thrill ; Our thoughts are but to serve Thee well Thro' good report or ill. In happiness or trials great, Our thoughts are of Thy love, Our only wish to follow Thee, And live with Thee above. Celestial fire inflames our hearts, Rememb'ring Christ who died For us, but who arose again, With Thee aye to abide. We feel 'twas for us sinners great, He showed such marvellous love : That makes rebellious knees bow down, To praise the Holy Dove. We have Thy gracious promises, To dignities we'll rise, If we but serve and follow Thee With faithful, watchful eyes. 242 HYMNS AND SACRED PIECES, ETC. Our hopes are not in treasures great, For these we've no desire ; We wish to sing around Thy throne Within Thy heavenly choir. We wish to leave destruction's path, And walk midst smiling vales, Not roving thro' the desert drear, 'Midst fierce and biting gales. Oh, God Omnipotent ! we crave, And have Thy promise bright, To lead us from our darkness here Into Thy glorious light. HYMN. "I GO TO PREPARE A PLACE FOR YOU." John xiv. 2. Oh, let not trouble move your hearts, Believe in God and me ; Your fears will bind your hearts to earth, Your hearts I came to free. Beyond the skies my mansions are, All rilled with light and love, And all who reach that beauteous shore Will live and serve above. Your place is sure by me prepared Within the gates of Heaven, And those who reach my home of peace Can not from it be driven. HYMNS AND SACRED PIECES, ETC. 243 I go the way, the way you know, My pathway's through the tomb ; But soon a conqueror I shall rise And burst its bars of gloom. Then, let not fear of death you quell, Stronger than death am I ; Before the grave has ope'd for you Your souls shall dwell on high XMAS HYMN. Saviour, unto Thee we're coming, Asking Thee to lead us home ; May we, each one, win Thy blessing, Ere we further from Thee roam. Oh, on this, another Christmas, All our wants we see in Thee ; New resolves, this day, we're making, May they not unfruitful be. Now may Christian peace attend us, Through the path of life's highway, Every day find us improving, Each year a happier Christmas day. Oh, may Christ's natal day be blessed, And triumphant may we sing Unto God, our heavenly Father, And to Christ, our head and king. Jesus, free us from oppression, Make our hearts delight in Thee; Looking to our God and Father, And to Thee on Calvary. 244 HYMNS AND SACRED PIECES, ETC. Looking to the Man of Sorrows, Who our guilt and burdens bore, Who will bear us o'er the river, Till we reach the further shore. HYMN. ; VERILY I SAY UNTO YOU, I HAVE NOT FOUND so GREAT FAITH; NO, NOT IN ISRAEL." His faith and trust stand forth revealed, Such faith our Lord did say No, not in Israel to be found, Even David's Judah's stay. Lord, give us of that blessed faith, Oh give us bounteous store, That faith which whets the appetite, And makes us wish for more. Oh, give us still the faithful heart, We nothing want beside ; Like Moses, we could wish by faith To stem our sinful pride. Then help us, Lord, now give us faith, When tempted by the power Of death's dark, dreary, shadowy form, To wrestle in that hour. Yes, Lord ! in life and death we need Thy cov'ring wings as shields, And Thy strong arm to lean upon, When death to victory yields. HYMNS AND SACRED PIECES, ETC. 245 HYMN. "A LIGHT TO LIGHTEN THE GENTILES." Luke ii. 32. When the last rays of parting day Have spent their light within the west, When Nature's garb's enwrapped in night, And all mankind are seeking rest. When o'er the top of highest hill The moon is struggling through the clouds, And stars are seeking forth the shade Of mists that wind them round like shrouds. When storms of life beat round our heads, And dark as night the shores of time, Oh, Saviour ! then, with beauteous smile, Show thou Thyself with light divine When doubts and fears assail our minds, And anchorless we drift away, Be thou our hope, our anchor true, Shine on our hearts with brightest ray. When life's short pilgrimage we close, And shadows dark flit through the room, Oh, Saviour ! with thy light unveil The glorious life beyond the tomb. Oh, Saviour ! friend in life's young day, In manhood's prime our help and guide, In later life our staff and stay, Through life, through death, with us abide. 246 HYMNS AND SACRED PIECES, ETC. HYMN. "LovEST THOU ME?" John xxi. 16. Oh, Jesus ! now I love Thee more and more, Thy words thrill my poor heart ; And neither death, nor all the arts of sin, Shall make us part. In years gone by, within my sinful soul, Still lay the love of Thee ; And spite of all my sins and guilty life, Thou still loved me. In midst of life I nursed the germs of death, And sought to hide from Thee ; But o'er the roar of seas Thy words I heard, " Oh lovest thou Me ? " Then anguish tore my guilty soul in twain ; I sought to gain Thy love, For well I knew repentance was the road To life above. A sinner foul, I sought Thy house of prayer, With heart so filled with fear, I scarce could breathe aloud Thy name, although I felt Thee near. But yet I sought, and yet I clung to Thee, I found Thy arm was strength ; And spite of earthly ties that held me back, Found Thee at length. And now I love Thy courts above all else The more I seek Thy face ; And in Thee find all fulness and all joy, With plenteous grace. HYMNS AND SACRED PIECES, ETC. 247 And through my pilgrim journey still I seek, To lean upon Thy breast ; And when I near the troubled sea of death, Will on Thee rest. HYMN. THY WORD IS A LAMP UNTO MY FEET, AND A LIGHT UNTO MY PATH. Psalm cxix. 105. Round the mountain and the hill, Shrouding lake, and fount, and rill, Mist on sea, on shore, and lea, Nature's gloom o'erwhelms me ; Seeking out the mountain way, Without arm on which to stay, Stumbling as I press along, Broken snatches all my song. Pressing on through darkest night, Nought to cheer e'en sense or sight ; Drizzling rain and sleety snow Mud-bedraggled road below, On I press with weary feet, Through the gloom-benighted street, On through grief, and toil, and woe, 'Midst the jeers of friend and foe. Onward ! oft' in pain and sorrow, Hope eternal seems to-morrow, 'Midst discouragement and pain, In the sunbeams, in the rain ; 248 HYMNS AND SACRED PIECES, ETC. Onward ! upward ! still I go. Conquering sin, o'ercoming woe, Still my truant feet do roam Onward ! upward ! to my home. God is guiding all my way, Watching o'er me night and day, Leading me o'er many a road, Carrying all my weary load. His own word is still my light Through the darkness of the night And his arm will be my strength When I lay me down at length. HYMN. HE WAS OPPRESSED AND AFFLICTED. Isaiah liii. Thou, of life and grace the fount, Holy Man upon the mount, Thou on earth could'st find no rest, Loaded and by sins opprest ; By our sins 'twas not Thine own In Gethsemane made Thee groan, Guiltless, yet afflicted Thou Wore the thorns upon Thy brow. Despised, afflicted, Holy One, Though Thou wert God's Holy Son, Yet our sins they made Thee mourn, By our guilt Thy heart was torn ; We did all thy sorrows make, Yet Thou borest them for our sake, Thou for us the burden bore, Though it strained Thee more and more. POEMS AND SONGS. 249 Holy God, from highest heaven, Holy One for sinners given, Cleanse and purify the world, Backwards may our fears be hurled ; Teach us to o'ercome our foes, By the grace that only knows Love in all its ecstasy Truth in its simplicity. HOME. What tender mem'ries linger round that name, In each vicissitude of life still 'tis the same, Though other pleasures vanish with the years, 'Tis still the same amidst e'en doubts and fears. The love of home has no particular place Tis found in every clime, in every race ; 'Tis found where suns eternal seem to shine, In Afric's heat, beneath equator's line, The Laplander beside his frozen lake, The Zealander 'midst trackless forest's brake ; 'Tis found where softest, warmest zephyrs fly, On old Campania's plains where ruins lie ; 'Tis there on desert sands where Arabs ride ; On Venice ways where swift gondolas glide ; On Hudson's river, 'midst primeval wood, Far ! far from man, in gloomy solitude The redskin plants his rude wigwam beside Its woody banks, as on it rolls in pride, And there he teaches his young braves their skill In hunting prey, so that they yet may fill R 250 POEMS AND SONGS. His wigwam with the trophies of the chase With trophies valued by each savage race. Home is a loadstone, like a guiding star The wand'rer brings from other lands afar Back to the place where glance his native rills, Back to the spot where stands the oft' trudged hills. The sailor, who has sought each foreign strand, When once again he sees his native land, Feels fresh within his heart the feelings rise That flood his soul and fill with tears his eyes. Whene'er he sees his dear beloved home, From which in youthful days his feet did roam, And love rekindled fills his mind with fears Of all the changes through the bye-past years ; Sadly he thinks of all his playmates gay Some dead, some gone to foreign parts away His playmates once, he knows them now no more, Although he knows each well frequented door. He knows yon cottage well to him 'tis dear And as he looks on it the rising tear Wells forth from out his eyes : for strangers fill The home he loved, the house that he loves still For there his father raised the solemn prayer, And mother nursed him with a tender care. Years seem to vanish, he's a boy once more, Playing at games beside the rustic door. Tis thoughts of home that make the soldier stand A patriot true amidst a patriot band, And 'midst the cannon's roar, the wounded's cries, His home appears before his startled eyes, And makes him strive, though death to him be near, Against great odds without a thought of fear. POEMS AND SONGS. 251 'Twas thoughts of home that filled brave Nelson still, And caused his mighty heart to throb and thrill, When dying in the cabin 'midst the fight, For well he'd battled for Britannia's right. Home is the place where all should solace find, To that dear spot that sanctifies the mind ; There should we take our sorrow and our care : For there our loved ones all our burdens share. There we were taught the reverential love Of parents dear foretaste of heaven above ; There clustered children round our father's knee, To raise the solemn hymn and prayerful plea ; In that sweet spot we played each childish game, With ne'er a thought of worldly dross or fame, Ere yet our hearts had known consuming fire The love of gold, or its twin child, desire ; There, gathered round our board for evening meal, How softly to our mother would we steal, To tell of all our little cares and woes, And all we bore at school from childish foes. In later life, when we came far and near To taste old joys perchance but once a year At Christmas time we gathered round the fire To hear old tales, we never seemed to tire ; But when our eyes strayed to a vacant chair Where used to sit a loved one oh how fair ! Our eyes would fill and turn to mother dear, Her eyelids glist'ning with the rising tear, Till father, coughing, turned his head away, Then kneeling down, he'd say " Come, let us pray ; " And then with reverential words he'd ask God's blessings on our daily work and task, 252 POEMS AND SONGS. And ask for us a closer walk with God, And that we all might bear the chast'ning rod If God should send it, 'twould be sent in love To fit our souls for higher life above. And then he'd speak of her who'd passed away, With hope that we might meet in cloudless day, When we had ran our little course below, And all had met where we should never know The heartburning of pride, the load of sin : For all is love and joy that home within. Around such tender scenes we gather love That makes us think of home where'er we rove ; A king may boast of diadem and crown, And rich men on our poverty may frown ; The lordling boast of his ancestral hall, Or trip fantastic at the glitt'ring ball ; The poor man wots not, but finds a solace true Where all his deeper nature's brought to view Within his cottage, where his children play, And share his humble board from day to day. He seeks, mayhaps, in winter his bright fire, The round of joys that never seem to tire, And there his children gather all around. To hear the fiddle's strains melodious sound Or laughing trip the light fantastic toe, Forget their cares with not a thought of woe. At home the statesman, tired of wordy fray, Finds solace sweet at closing of the day ; When back returning to his home once more, Finds his dear children waiting at the door ; Deep hid within the porch his wife stands back, POEMS AND SONGS. 253 Watching her children's well loved swift attack, As to his neck and on his back they spring ; Heedless of mother's chides the younger fling Their arms around his legs with childish clasp, Or to his coat-tails hang with loving grasp Cheered by such welcome-loving home and hearth, His home to him is dearest spot on earth. And thus it is a nation is made great, Thus children learn the tyrant's rule to hate ; This the true safeguard of our liberty, And to no foe we bend the suppliant knee ; Kings may uprise and dynasties go down Before the tyrant's or the despot's frown, But love of home will make a nation brave To struggle still its hearths and homes to save. HOPE. 'Tis at thy mast ambition flies its sail, And bends and tacks to woo the fresh'ning gale, To seek new spheres, to conquer tracks unknown, It gives a peace and bliss we all must own. 'Tis at thy shrine the poet courts the muse, And o'er his work with richness it bestrews His pathway, though it often turns to loss Thou ! thou alone helps him to bear life's cross. At thee the dreamer drinks his chaliced cup, Though oft he stoops, he bears life's burdens up, As on he presses, seeking for the goal Which ne'er he finds, for 'tis within the soul The rest, the peace, he seeks in outward things 254 POEMS AND SONGS. Is not even found upon commercial wings, But where religion sows its blessed seed There ! there alone we find true peace indeed. Hope chains the merchant to his desk and stool, To guide his business by the strictest rule, As forward peers he with his eager eyes, And onward presses to the golden prize. The mariner upon the briny deep, As with his glass the mighty seas doth sweep, Is cheered with thoughts, that far across the foam, A loving welcome waits him there at home ; And that some time but when he scarce can tell He will come back and there will ever dwell, When he has made his little pile of gold, To tend his lambs and watch his precious fold. Hope springs seraphic on an upward wing, It makes the weary and the way-worn sing, It cheers our sorrows with a mystic light, Making life's pathway with its sunshine bright. In all the devious paths of life we see The heart of man is cheered with thoughts of thee- Even the poor cottar, at his toil all day, Sees o'er his life a better, brighter ray, When through what seems to others dismal gloom, The shadows of the future startled loom. He sees his children full of manhood's health, Enjoying what to him seems plentous wealth : For he has not been reared in luxury's lap Which all the vitals of a nation sap. He only knows the toils of country life Unknown to him the city's busy strife ; But all his joys are simple, from the heart, Content in life to play his little part ; POEMS AND SONGS. 255 And comes there joy, or even should come pain, His heart is cheered with thoughts of life again. When drops this fleshly mantle from its throne, And flies his God-given life through tracts unknown Back to its author, back to heaven once more, To taste the joys on that bright further shore. Hope makes the student burn the midnight oil, As patiently with problems he does toil Mayhaps dissecting some Algebric theme, Or finding out the driving power of steam, Philosophy, geology he tries, Or seeks new stars at midnight in the skies. Perhaps in chemistry he seeks high place, With thoughts profound to benefit our race, But over all the feelings still him sway That he 'mongst savants yet will win his way, And rich reward an everlasting name Within the niche 'mongst men of mighty fame. Thus hope is ever hov'ring round our heads, Comforting our hearts, and brilliant sheds Its light upon our darkest hours of woe, Sustaining, helping on our way below. And thus 'twill cheer us to our journey's end, And like a guardian angel will attend Upon us, strewing all our way with flowers, Cheering its light, as sunshine after showers. SUNSHINE AND STORM. Out on the hills ! the sun, resplendent orb, Beats on the grass, till it is shrivelled up Like tinsil on the sward. No breath of wind 256 POEMS AND SONGS. Disturbs the calm that rests on all around ; The heat beats down upon the sweated head With pulse-like throb, like to the beat of waves Upon the sand. The air is furnace-like ; A solitary bee, with busy hum, Flies past on ladened wing, bearing its load To yonder hive, where throng the busy crowd The busiest workers that I see. All else In nature seem at rest, save grasshopper, Who busy is achirping 'neath the hedge Of hawthorn tree, which spreads its branches O'er dried up brook, where cresses used to grow. The milkmaid drives the kine, with listless step, Out on the withered grass. The sheep, far up The hills beneath the cliffs, are panting loud, Their sides dilating as a blacksmith's fire Leaps up and sparkles 'neath the bellows blow. Upon the distant city wreaths the smoke, Forming what seems like a perpetual pall Above it. From its streets I hear the sounds Come up, like hollow murmurs from a shell When held nigh to the ear. The atmosphere Seems redolent of peace. The lark soars high, With constant beat of wing and bright keen eye, Sending from forth its throat its clear crisp notes, Richer than pipe or harp or clarion loud. Heaven's arch is blue no clouds scud o'er the sky With shape fantastic, but brightly glares the sun, Pouring its light on tree, on flower, on shrub The air is charged with electricity. Even when I close my eyes, I seem to see Fair scenes scenes indescribably sublime Too grand for pen or pencil to depict. POEMS AND SONGS. 257 Yon river, stealing slowly through the mead, Reflects the sun's clear glance in rainbow hues Back from its face ; upon its bosom floats The graceful swan and nimble water hen. The blackcock whirrs across the lake's fair marge ; And o'er the water, hanging like a cloud, Are midgets, countless as the grains of sand That strew some sloping beach. The harvester Stalks slowly to his mid-day cheese and bread, And to his can of ale his sole delight On such a day of heat with hat in hand, And beads of perspiration on his brow, Which oft he mops, as on his way he goes, The first of all the train that follows him. But see ! dark clouds are gath'ring in the east Clouds dark as night are hanging o'er the hills, Throwing dense shadows on the earth below, A solemn silence still rests on the land ; The weird cry of the plover as it wings Its way across the dark brown moor I hear, The shrill cry of the whaup rings in my ears, A robin pipes its lay unto the sky, The sheep in single file troop down the hill ; The kine are lowing as they seek their byres, The milkmaid, staff in hand, seeks yonder hut, The horses gallop swiftly to their stalls. The farmer, gazing from his humble porch, Drawls slowly to his wife at kitchen fire " Goodwife, to-day we'll have a thunder storm You'd better see the hens safe in their roost." Oh, see ! flash ! crash ! the distant lightning plays Across the hills ; and hark ! the muttering thunder, 258 POEMS AND SONGS. As nearer, nearer still it comes The voice of God like fierce artillery. The lightning flashes forked and curved With fire-forked tongue and blinding sheet, Striking the trees, as with the curse of God, Blasting their leaves, tearing others by the roots. Old Sol has hid himself within the clouds That gather thickly o'er the inky sky, And midnight's gloom has settled o'er the scene. The clouds commingle with an awful roar Like the fierce clash of Niagrian fall Upon the rocks a thousand feet below The rain descends in mighty solid sheets, And from the hills, by many a water course, The water seeks the plain to join the streams That verge their way to join the river broad, Which sweeps along with tentless speed, and dark It is as Styx's heavy burdened stream. The birds have all forsook the trees, the fox Has sought his bushy lair within his den. The scene is grand ! the wild sweep of the rain ; The roll of thunder, peal on peal so deep ; The lightning's play, in sheets of livid light ; The brawling stream, encased in whited foam As on it sweeps, tearing high banks away, Make up a scene that artist ne'er could draw God works his wonders in the calm and storm ! But see ! the clouds drift slowly to the west, The distant rocks are gleaming neath the sun, Their rugged points are bright with changing hue The tears of God are gleaming on each cliff. Further, still further roll the clouds away, POEMS AND SONGS. 259 Duller and more dull the thunder's roar, The lightning's play is short and evanescent. And now the storm has spent its strength away, The sun shines out with brightest light again, And trees are raining tears upon the soddened mould ; The hay sends forth a rich and radiant scent, The corn droops low its bright green head, The sheep again seek yonder mountain path, And kine return again to stray the fields. The milkmaid and the herds discuss the storm, The farmer hies to see the damage done Unto his crops and to the blasted trees. All nature is refreshed and seems to breathe again ; And I, with grateful heart, now thank my God, The Governor of all, who rules for good, The mighty Potentate directing all With mighty acts, with mercy wonderful. PROLOGUE BY BAILIE NICOL JARVIE TO ROB ROY. My conscience ! here I am again, The years noo seem to pass in vain ; Though science and the art's advanced, The bailie's memory seems enhanced ; What wad my worthy faither say, To see his son in Rob Roy play ? And spite of new plays' great attractions, And spite of cliques, and spite o' factions, 260 POEMS AND SONGS. And spite of douce men, spite o' sullen, Auld freends like me they are culling. I aften in the days gaun by, Did swear, wi' mony a weary sigh, That gin I left St. Mungo's bell, I'd sleep wi' Rab Roy's wife mysel'; But those were days of long ago, When trains were not, and travelling slow. But here, I'm wand'ring in my mind I've come to say, 'tis unca kind To mak' me walk the magic floor, When there's o' dramas such a splore Frae Shakspeare, Taylor, and oor Byron, An' a' sich like, to pick and choose on ; And yet it need be little wonder, And maybe no sae great a blunder, Since Rab and I've been yont the sea, And 'Stralia, Cape, and Canadee Have laughed at me and my het poker, Till, faith, I've thocht they'd choke wi' lauchter. And even in England I'm held dear, And when weel played cause muckle steer Aye, e'en when played in our big London, That's noo oft ca'd the modern Babylon. But wha in my young days did think, The bailie's name wad be a link In combination wi' my faither's, To mak' mankind a' feel like brithers ? So noo, my lads, let's ha'e a chorus Before we ha'e a cheek in jorus, My certes we will ha'e some fun, And Rab and I will ha'e a run POEMS AND SONGS. 261 I scarcely mean by that a chase, (I've got ower stoot to rin and race,) But mony a nicht o' winsome grace, And mony a seat aroond the fire, Before oor kind freends we will tire ; So noo, dear freends, I've said my say Run up the curtain richt away. ALKX. PETTIGREW, PRINTER, COATBRIDGE. " "" ' ^" l> . " --"'" --1' J 'JV/ '- '" " '''"** "* >- -i ' " ''' ^^ : '-' ^ S < ^-f/" ^-"^V"-.d ; '{*-*0)