5748 
 
 THE 
 
 RHYMJErS 
 
 rAMILY 
 
 mi 
 
 2T^
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 THE 
 
 EHTMBR'S FAMILY: 
 
 A COLLECTION OF BANTLINGS. 
 
 BY 
 
 THOMAS WATSON. 
 
 The frog in fen essays to sing. 
 As well's the lark upon the wing. 
 
 Old Proverb. 
 
 ARBROATH: 
 
 KEN>'EDY & RiVMSAY, PRINTERS AND PUBLISHERS. 
 MDCCCLI,
 
 PR 
 
 STIR'S. 
 
 TO 
 
 THE PURCHASER, 
 
 ifliis f itilf Mmi 
 
 IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 861841
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 INTRODUCTION, , . . . VU 
 
 THE DEIL IN LOVE, .... 1 
 
 THE LOG, ..... 17 
 
 LINES ON THE DEATH OF A LITTLE GIKL, . . 19 
 
 THE DEAD RIDER OF VEITTIE'S GEIL, . . 23 
 
 THE SQUIRE o' LOW DEGREE, . . .26 
 
 THE SUPERSEDED MAN, ... 29 
 
 LINES ON THE ABBEY OF ABERBROTHOCK, . " 33 
 
 BY IIARTKIRK, . . . . ' 36 
 
 WILLIE WYNE, ... * . 37 
 
 THE DYING MAN AT SEA, ... 41 
 
 THE HAIRST FIELD, . . . .44 
 
 THE PRIVATEER, . . . . 46 
 
 THE LILY AND THE ROSE, . . .54 
 
 A VOICE FROM SNIg'S END, ... 57 
 
 THE HOWES o' KINNABER, . . . .59 
 
 KATIE BEATTIE, . . , ' 64 
 
 SANDY cant's CALF, . . . .66 
 
 THE WINSOME WIFE, .... 70 
 
 LAMENT OF THE COUNTESS OF STRATHMORE, . 72 
 
 THE HUNGER FIEND, .... 76 
 LINTRATHEN BRAES, .... 
 
 79 
 
 LIFE, , . . . . . 81
 
 vi CONTENTS. 
 
 tonal's travels, ... . . 82 
 
 THE WEARY SPULE, 
 
 FRAGMENT, 
 
 TO MY LITTLE BOY, 
 
 MY AIN WIFE AT HAME, 
 THE HAT, . 
 
 THE POOR OLD LAIRD, . 
 THE WARNING, 
 
 THE MANIAC S SANG, 
 
 SCIENCE, .... 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF CAPTAIN GRAY, R.M., 
 
 84 
 86 
 87 
 
 THE LASS THAT LO'ED ME DEARLY, . . 89 
 
 91 
 92 
 93 
 95 
 
 MY lord's advent, .... 97 
 
 106 
 107 
 108
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Every little publication of this sort requires to be 
 prefaced by apology in this practical age. Poetry is 
 the most unmarketable commodity in the world 
 unless its author has attained a certain celebrity. A 
 volume by an unknown poet will scarcely find a 
 publisher. We need not wonder that the publisher 
 of a provincial publication such as the present 
 requires to be protected by subscription, when we 
 consider that a taste for poetry is not the most 
 prevailing of the day. 
 
 The greater part of this little collection has 
 appeared in the 'Arbroath Guide,' 'Scotsman,' 'Tait's 
 Magazine, the ' Glasgow Citizen,' and some have been 
 copied by the London press : — this is a sort of guaran- 
 tee that they are readable at least, and some excuse 
 for republishing them in a collected form. I will not 
 say a word about the smallness of the ' Family,' lest 
 the reader should reply ' There is too much of a good 
 thing.' 
 
 Thus much, however, I may state, that though only 
 an amateur, chaunting a stave noAv and then — and
 
 Vlll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 sensible of the trifling nature of this publication — 
 I am yet encouraged to hope, by commendations 
 received from literary men, that the partiality of my 
 townsmen will not be Avliolly thrown aAvay ; and 
 though there must be much to condemn, that there 
 may nevertheless be as many redeeming qualities as 
 will save the thing fi-om contempt. 
 
 Although craving no mercy, I beg the critic to 
 bear in miud that these poems are written by a 
 working man, whose acquirements are only such as 
 may be picked up by random reading : this may 
 partly excuse some rudeness in execution, — as for 
 anything else, let him slash away — 'tis something to 
 be worth cutting up. 
 
 I would here return my sincere thanks to sub- 
 scribers, particularly to those who have subscribed 
 largely, to help out the Bantlings. I have especial 
 cause to be grateful to those who have kindly 
 exerted their influence in my behalf, whose names I 
 am not at liberty to make free with here, but, which 
 is much the same, may venture to refer the reader to 
 the Subscription List. I have also to acknowledge 
 the spirited way in which the publishers have carried 
 through their share of the work. 
 
 The reader will perhaps now bear with rae while I 
 indulge in some rambling observations on poetry and 
 poets.
 
 INTRODUCTION. IX 
 
 The poet holds a sort of equivocal position ; and 
 society, though little heeding him, seems disinclined to 
 let him occupy any other. If he is highly imaginative, 
 delighting in the ideal, he may he apt to neglect the 
 common practical matters of every-day life. In 
 proportion to his worship of the ideal, may he his 
 disregard of the real : if so, what wonder if the world 
 neglects the man that neglects the world. But it may 
 be said his judgment should he commensurate with 
 his imagination, or he is no great poet. True ! but 
 there are few great poets ; and a suspicion of the 
 idiosyncracy attaches even to them : it is presumed 
 that they cannot be altogether free from the craize 
 which is deemed peculiar to the genus. Their genius 
 may be admired, their conduct may command respect, 
 but their prudence — while they live — who give their 
 energies to such an unworldly calling, will still bo 
 questioned in the eyes of the world. The poet is not 
 believed to be eminently a practical man. Laraar- 
 tine is not President of France, — she preferred the 
 little Napoleon : but can we reproach her — have we 
 ever preferred poets before princes ? 
 
 Another cause may be found in the little sympathy 
 between the poet and the generality of men : their 
 likings and dislikings being so dissimilar to his, they 
 cannot sympathise with his strange imaginings — his 
 dreamy musings, his subtle theories, and wild specu-
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 lations ; indeed, these crotchets of his often appear 
 to them supremely ridiculous, and so they treat him 
 and his vagaries with very little ceremony ; and as he 
 is generally a thin-skinned creature, the prickles of 
 ridicule annoy hira exceedingly, and all the more that 
 he is half-conscious of deserving the infliction : but 
 in the long run, kind nature produces a sort of scurf- 
 skin from his many wounds, — the sensitive plant may 
 thus become as hardy as a thistle. Does he then 
 stand in a more enviable social position ? Perhaps 
 not : he may either become shy and retired, disdain- 
 ing common converse, or, under shelter of his time- 
 forged mail, may ply his defensive weapons-;— Avit, 
 ridicule, and satire — with blistering effect, indis- 
 criminately repaying society for his case-hardening. 
 Neither of these is the way to ' Buy golden opinions 
 from all sorts of men.' 
 
 The poet may be absorbed in the contemplation of 
 nature, or he may delight in pourtraying individual 
 passion and feeling, or he may so revel in old romance 
 that he may be unable or disinclined to sing of pass- 
 ing events and subjects of great public interest ; if so, 
 lie may harp away to himself and a few of the same 
 kidney, for the mass is like the deaf adder, that will 
 not be charmed, charm he ever so wisely, unless he 
 can come with resistless power and novelty, and take 
 the temple of fame by storm.
 
 INTROOrCTION. XI 
 
 Perhaps we might take into account the fiict of 
 a numerous class of minds hovering between genius 
 and that sad state to which Swift says it is ' most 
 near allied.' Every new adventurer is taken for 
 one of these moonrakers ; — he must pull down a 
 prejudice before he can raise a name. It must also be 
 borne in mind that the fields of poesy are — though 
 ever-varying circumstances suggest ncAV themes — 
 indeed ' time-wasted' as respects the life of poetry — 
 that wdiich is understood by the term originality, 
 which the satirical Dean declares is ' Just a pouring 
 out of one vessel into another ;' and there is a good 
 deal of truth in the remark. Novelty of subject, of 
 style, manner, and expression, must supply the place 
 of originality, except such illustrations, figures, and 
 comparisons as may be drawn from the shifting 
 phases of our age of discovery and progression. 
 What still further enhances the difiiculty of writing 
 poetry now is, that by the cheapness of books, the 
 reader has his mind stored with the beauties of great 
 authors, and the poor aspirant has, as it were, to 
 exhibit his glimmering rushlight in the glare of noon. 
 
 Ah, who can tell how hard it is to climb 
 
 The steep where f;ime's proud temple shines afar. 
 
 The taste of the age is decidedly fastidious in the 
 matter of poetry. It is a remarkable circumstance 
 that a century ago there were only tritons and small- 
 fry — mere minnows — as may be seen at once by
 
 XU INTRODUCTION. 
 
 opening a magazine of that period, and glancing at 
 the poet's corner. The amateiu" effusions are in 
 general very poor indeed, and, apart from their 
 mythological stuff, would scarcely be admitted into 
 our journals of the present day ; while we have now 
 exceedingly beautiful little pieces by poetasters 
 to which the proudest names might be appended with 
 honour. 
 
 Our language is rich in poetry of every conceivable 
 variety, from the epic to the lyric, possessing master 
 pieces of every class ; and most of these are now at 
 everybody's command that has a taste for reading : 
 surpassed they cannot be — nay, I may say cannot be 
 equalled — for latter-day bards are forestalled in 
 every way. All the highways and byeways of 
 Parnassus have been trod by giants, and now the 
 honest climber may be seen wriggling and shuffling 
 to avoid stumbling in their footprints. The straw is 
 all used up, and the children of Apollo are striving 
 to make shift with stubble, and that too when there 
 is no demand for brick ; how then can they equal 
 their forebears 1 Let them be thankful that in this 
 they have no taskmasters, but rather everybody 
 calling out to them to give it up for a bad job. 
 
 The poet must look to be rightly appreciated only 
 by kindred minds — minds not possessing the poetic 
 afflatus in an active degree, but passively imbued
 
 INTRODUCTION. XIU 
 
 with kindred fire ; latent it may be, and incapable of 
 spontaneous combustion : so much the better ; let 
 him but strike truly, and he will elicit a spark of the 
 sacred fire. If his hardship be admitted among the 
 brotherhood by the grand-masters of criticism, 
 thousands will echo their decision; but those that 
 judge for themselves, and admit the value of the 
 unstamped gold — those are his best readers, his 
 delighted audience — the silent bards that listen to 
 their tuneful brother. 
 
 Poets themselves are not always the best judges of 
 poetry : they have perhaps their partialities and 
 antipathies with regard to subject, style, or mode ; 
 in short, they may be more or less addicted to 
 mannerism, and whatever approaches or recedes from 
 their pet standard is praised or censm-ed accordingly. 
 They may be constrained to admit that they see some 
 beauties in poetry dissimilar to their own ; but then 
 they see so much more to condemn, that — in short — 
 they don't like it at all. 
 
 I do not like thee, Doctor Fell, 
 The reason why I cannot tell. 
 
 Though they may not be altogether aware 
 of their own faults, they are keen-sighted and 
 fastidious enough in reviewing their brethren. Yet 
 how generous were Burns and ^cott in judging of the 
 writings of others !
 
 XIV INTRODUCTIOK. 
 
 There is anotlier peculiarity of poets — or ratlier 
 was. for they eschew it pretty well iiow-a-daya — 
 that is a display of morbid, maudlin sensibility to the 
 • ills that flesh is heir to,' and bardic flesh in 
 particular. Have we not heard a poor bard chaunt- 
 ing his woes, and making his moan to the pitiless 
 public, that would exclaim — if it heard at all — 
 ' Confound the fellow ; does he think there's nobody 
 hurt but himself?' No, no, brother rhymer: it will 
 never do to ' wear your feelings on your sleeve for 
 daws to peck at.' You may be extremely sensitive 
 — more the pity : you may be wounded by the 
 sharpest thorns and feel them keenly: you must not 
 wince, but bear them bravely, for know, poor soul, 
 that the philosophy of life is to suffer and smile. 
 
 The reader and judge of poetry has his mind 
 preoccupied with the treasures of genius — these have 
 formed and refined his taste — how hard it is to 
 write anything new to please him : he involuntarily 
 compares it while reading with first-rate productions 
 of a similar class. It is weighed in the balance and 
 found wanting : no second, at least no third, rate 
 merit will suffice — he will admit of no mediocrity. 
 He has the sovereigns of literature in abundance, 
 and he cares little for the shillings, or even the crown 
 pieces ; and as for the coppers, he won't look at them 
 — like Beau Brummel, he does not know the coin !
 
 INTRODUCTION. XV 
 
 As regards the proverbial poverty of the poet, it is 
 a natural consequence of his equivocal position. His 
 verse will not soil ; and it is not believed that he can 
 or will give his whole mind to business when he has 
 such an engrossing hobby to ride. 
 
 Suppose a young man applying for a situation in 
 a merchant's office, with letters of recommendation, 
 good character, and so forth. The merchant is about 
 to say he will give him a trial, when some one enters 
 who happens to know the youth. The merchant and 
 the new comer retire to an inner room to talk of 
 business matters ; that done — ' By the bye,' says the 
 latter, ' you have got a poet waiting in your office.' 
 ' A poet — that young man !' ' Yes, I believe he 
 dabbles in rhyme.' ' Whew ! — then he is not for me.' 
 ' Oh, I perceive — wants a situation — perhaps he may 
 suit you — know nothing against him — good morning.' 
 After a little the merchant reappears in the office : 
 • I fear, my young man, you won't suit me :' and the 
 poet being too proud to beseech, retires disconsolate- 
 Poor fellow, he is slow to believe that thus it will be 
 to the end of the chapter. If he is a poet, he must 
 be poor : he cannot serve two masters ! 
 
 Anciently princes rewarded poets, and chiefs 
 entertained their bards ; but the compact was praise 
 for pudding and pudding for praise. Our laureate- 
 ship is a remnant of the old system ; and we need
 
 XVI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 not go far back to find racy specimens of the 
 flattering unction applied to Royalty. Before the 
 invention of printing, and for long after, every poet 
 had his patron, and generally flattered him out- 
 rageously. It cannot be doubted that this has been 
 the means of associating ideas of servility and 
 sycophancy with the name of poet, which still in some 
 degree attach to him, now when the public is the only 
 patron. I have but touched the shades — the reader 
 may throw in the lights of the picture. 
 
 AiiiiROATH, August 1851. 
 
 The t'oUoinng Names were received after tlie Subscription List was printed ;— Glasgoiv : 
 James Hedderwick, Editor ' Glasgow Citizen,' five copies ; Hugh Macdonald, Sub-Editor 
 ' Glasgow Citizen ;' John Matlieson, Jun. ; 'VVm. Wighton, W.S.A. ; Wm. Ingleton. 
 Arbroath; Joiin Greig, Marketgate.
 
 THE EHYMER'S FAMILY. 
 
 THE DEIL IN LOVE. 
 
 " E'en Satan glowi'd and fidg'd fu' fain"— Borns. 
 
 '* The halydays o' Tule were come. 
 And the nights were lang and mirk." 
 
 Langsyne, upon a winter night, 
 A horseman rode toward the light 
 Set in a winnock o' the Chance Inn,* 
 To guide the weary wight advancin' ; 
 But light or dark, through muir or fiel', 
 Gude faith, he kenned the way fu' weel : 
 0' a' the joes o' Effie Miller, 
 He was the warst that e'er gaed till her. 
 
 Now Effie was a winsome dame 
 As ever Poet gave to fame ; 
 A sonsy, lo'esome, wanton quean, 
 Wi' rosy cheeks and roving een ; 
 Wi' gowden locks sae bright and bonnie, 
 And woman's wiles fu' sweet and mony ; 
 Wi' tempting lips and dimples gay — 
 Come, kiss me now ! she seemed to say ; 
 
 • On the old road hetween Arhroath and Montrose. The Chance Inn, or Half-way House, 
 formerly famous for home-brewed ale and Holland gin, is now converted into a steading, 
 and gives its name to the farm.
 
 For in her bonnie bosom white 
 There lay a loving heart and light ; 
 And, wi' a voice sae sweet and rare. 
 She sang a lullaby to care : 
 A wanton widow, blythe and cheerie, 
 0' weeds and widowhood fu' wearie. 
 
 She vaunted she was fancy free, 
 Though she had wooers twa or three. 
 There was a Deacon frae the Toun — 
 I trow he might have spared his shoon ; 
 But for the sake o' Effie Miller 
 He lo'ed her very gear and siller : 
 The strongest potion he would quaff 
 Was ae degree aboon the draff — 
 A greedy, grovelling, snuffy carl, 
 She wadna haen him for the war!'. 
 
 The Miller neist, frae Lunan Water, 
 A rattling chiel, was daft about her ; 
 He liket weel to plunge his snout 
 I' the glorious faem o' double stout. 
 And to her health he toomed the bicker- 
 His love was hearty as his liquor. 
 
 The Dominie o' Inverkeillor 
 Could think o' nought but Effie Miller ;
 
 THE DEIL IN LOVE. 
 
 He clean forgot his books and lear, 
 And sang o' Effie's gowden hair ; 
 When a' the lave were sleepin' soun*, 
 He chaunted to the listening moon ; 
 And aften at the midnight hour. 
 By auld Eedcastle's haunted tower, 
 An eerie echo sang again 
 The burthen o' his canty strain : — 
 
 THE DOMINIE'S SANG. 
 
 There's no a lass in a' tlie land 
 
 Wi' Effie can compare ; 
 Atween the Lunan and the Tweed 
 
 There's no a face so fair. 
 It haunts me aye by night and day, 
 
 The cause o' a' my care, 
 And ever glancin' in my een 
 
 Her bonnie gowden hair. 
 
 I look upon her bonnie face 
 
 To read the dimples there. 
 And canna look on ither book. 
 
 Or think o' ither lear ; 
 But wander lanely out at e'en, 
 
 Or lie in lowly lair. 
 Entwining ever round my heart 
 
 Her bonnie gowden hair. 
 
 I saw her on Saint Ringan's day, 
 
 A' buskin* for the fair. 
 And ever syne she's in my een, 
 
 And buskin' evermair: 
 Her locks o' light hing waWng down. 
 
 Upon her bosom fair — 
 A glowin' dawn on hills o' snaw, 
 
 Her bonnie gowden hair. 
 
 The mean may creep, the proud may climb. 
 
 The rich may plod for mair. 
 And gallant sigh, in silken chain. 
 
 For love o' ladye fair j 
 Gie me but Effie in my arms, 
 
 I'm rich beyond compare — 
 A willing thrall in glittering bunds 
 
 0' bonnie gowden hair !
 
 He was inspired, ye may believe it, 
 By Effie and her pure Glenlivet ; 
 Nae milk-and-water coof was he, 
 His love was like the barley bree 
 Distilled and pure — or like the gold 
 Transmuted by adepts of old — 
 A rare compound of pleasing pain. 
 Sublimed by fancy in the brain 
 Till ilka thrill o' sweet temptation 
 Was heavenly in imagination ; 
 But frae the barley comes the bree, — 
 Alas for love's divinity ! 
 
 A score o' joes had Effie Miller, — 
 Some lo'ed the woman, some the siller ; 
 The wildest rake amang them a' 
 Was couper Tam o' Glasterlaw ; 
 Poor Effie' 8 heart was in a swither, 
 Or whiles wi' ane and whiles anither : 
 It wasna lang till she had fewer ; 
 But turn we to the unco wooer. 
 
 The stranger was a stalwart chiel, 
 . Wha graced his coat and bonnet weel, 
 Wi' curly hassock thick and black. 
 And brawny arms and buirdly back ;
 
 THE DEIL IN LOVE. 
 
 His piercin' een and visage swart 
 Wad made a skeerie maiden start ; 
 But Effie met liim frank and free, 
 Wi' mickle kindly courtesie. 
 
 She set him by a blazing ingle, 
 And ferlied if he might be single ; 
 She lightly skippit butt and ben, 
 And neither mindit maids nor men, 
 But frae the kitchen to the spence 
 Returning aye on slight pretence : 
 For as the glowing taper brings 
 The fluttering moth to burn its wings, 
 The dyvor loon bewitched her clean, 
 And cuist the glamoui* in her een. 
 
 " The sugared words and feignings fause" 
 Beguileth mony a simple lass ; 
 The glittering gowd and tempting gear 
 Bewitcheth mony a lady fair ; 
 But mony a dame, ye weel may trow. 
 Has been bewitched and wist nae how ; 
 And brawly kenned this prowling giiiser 
 That Efiie was nae whit the wiser : 
 He plied his wiles and speeches fine. 
 He made her drink the bluid-red wine ;
 
 THE rhymer's family. 
 
 And, as he prest her willing hand, 
 He tauld her o' his rigs o' land — 
 That he was laird o' Pandemonie, 
 A lightsome place it was and honnie ; 
 That he had flocks a-feeding there, 
 As niony as my lord and mair ; 
 And how the pleasant river Styx 
 Was flowing by his garden dykes ; 
 She wadua need to kilt her coat, 
 But cross in Charon's honnie boat ; 
 His kin wad a' be glad to see her ; 
 Sae happy as he wad be wi' her : 
 He wanted ane he liket weel 
 To share his dry and cozy hi el. — 
 A smile was on her bonnie face, 
 She wistna o' her waefu' case ; 
 He pu'd her down upon his knee — 
 A bauld and graceless loon was he — 
 And, wi' an arm around her waist, 
 Fu' aft her glowing lips he kissed. 
 
 Oh, fie ! Auld Nick, thou shameless devil ! 
 Wad thou at hame but riot and revel. 
 And be content to bear the bell 
 'Mang gruesome cattle like thysel' ; 
 But thou maun sport in our Half-way House, 
 At kirk and market, court and play-house ;
 
 THE DEIL IX LOVE. 
 
 And not a thought can man be thinkin', 
 
 But thou maun ha'e a sinfu' link in ; 
 
 And not a fause card can he turn up, 
 
 But thou maun grin and cock thy horn up ; 
 
 And not a drap can cross his weason, 
 
 But thou maun drug wi' tempting poison ; 
 
 And not a lass can he he courtin', 
 
 But thou maun ha'e thy tithe o' sportin'. 
 
 Ah ! little wot \re o' thy amours, 
 
 In lonesome ways and secret chaumers ; 
 
 In guise of noble or of clown, 
 
 In lowly lair or bed of down, 
 
 Wi' silly maiden, wife, or widow, 
 
 Oh ! wha could tell the ills that ye do ? 
 
 When once the eye of deadly snake 
 Hath charmed the sweet bird in the brake, 
 The little fearful fluttering thing 
 Can wave no more its quivering wing, — 
 So Effie trembled in his arms, 
 And leapt her heart with vague alarms. 
 That shivering through her veins would creep, 
 As mystic fear in dreamy sleep. 
 Awakening into terror slowly, 
 She quailed beneath his looks unholy ; 
 His eyeballs bright and brighter grew. 
 The waning light grew dim and blue.
 
 THE rhymer's family. 
 
 When, hark ! his steed doth tramp and neigh. 
 
 ' The hour is come, I must away ; 
 
 My tale is told, my tryst is set, 
 
 And my true love will ne'er forget,' — 
 
 He whispered, like a serpent's hiss, 
 
 And scorched her with a parting kiss ; 
 
 But now from his unhallowed breath 
 
 She shrank in horror strong as death. 
 
 The grey cock clapt his wings and crew — 
 Away the fearful horseman flew ; 
 The phantom courser, swift as light 
 Careering on the skirts of night — 
 His glowing breath in lurid gleams. 
 Flashed lightning on the foaming streams ; 
 And flew the fire-flaughts from his feet. 
 On hounds of darkness, staunch and fleet ; 
 While, heard afar, his tramp of thunder. 
 As if the rocks were cleft asunder : 
 Now auld E-edcastle, grim and bare. 
 Was lighted up with ghastly glare ; 
 And ilka haunted tower gave out 
 Its goblin-fiend to join the rout, 
 And ilka houff" its ghastly crew, 
 As hellward-bound away he flew.
 
 THE DEIL IN LOVE. 
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 When Boreas blusters o'er the ocean, 
 The waves are up in wild commotion, 
 And, when the fiu'ious wind is spent, 
 Still heaves the troubled element ; 
 So many a breast was moved with fear, 
 Till day was in the welkin clear : 
 The night was rife with omens dire, 
 And fearful looks by mony a fire ; 
 The sturdy guisers hied them hame. 
 And hushed Avas sport and merry game — 
 As waters frozen in their course, 
 By sudden winter's polar force ; 
 Or sang arrested on the lips. 
 By sudden qualm or windy gripes : 
 'Twas clear the Deil wad hae his kain 
 Ere the halydays o' Yule were gane ; 
 But eild opined the end was come. 
 And lookit for the day o' doom. 
 While mony a simple prayer was said. 
 By wee things happit o'er the head ; 
 And mony a lassie in her fright. 
 Clung to the lad she lo'ed that night, 
 And in the clasp o' fear revealed 
 What maiden pride had lang concealed-
 
 10 THE rhymer's family. 
 
 But, up at last, the lazy sun 
 Looked through his sleety curtaius dun, 
 And terror vanished at the sidit 
 Of Phcehus' deil-defying light ; 
 And Yule, in spite o' fear or care, 
 Began wi' fun and feasting rare. 
 
 But lang hefore the day was done, 
 A rumour flew frae toun to toun, 
 0' something awfu' at the Chance Inn, 
 And elders lang that day the manse in : 
 While some said ae thing, some anither, 
 'Twas fearfu' mystery a'thegither ; 
 For tales o' devilry were tauld 
 That made the very bluid rin cauld ; 
 And tauld again, in variorum, 
 By Tullys o' the rustic forum : 
 But a' agreed that Effie Miller, 
 Had got a fright was like to kill her. 
 
 Again the sun was out o' sight, 
 And down in darkness fell the nijrht : 
 The Christmas fires were blazing cheerily. 
 And groups around them meeting merrily ; 
 But not a soul gaed near the Chance Inn, 
 For fun or frolic, drink or dancin' ;
 
 THE DEXL IN LOVE. 11 
 
 The door was barred, and butt or ben 
 Were nane that niglit but haly men. 
 
 Poor Effie, pillowed in her chair, 
 Was ten year aulder like and mair : 
 But yesterday a buxom widow. 
 Now scarcely o' hersel' the shadow. 
 On ilka side, a haly elder. 
 Each by a hand they firmly held her ; 
 The minister himsel' was there — 
 Could ony sinner wish for mair 'i 
 
 I maist forgot an interloper. 
 The reckless deil-may-care, the Couper ; 
 They kenned him for a very heathen, 
 Wha ghaists and deils put little faith in : 
 But troth, the birkie saw the light, 
 And swore he would be in that night. 
 They shawed but little welcome for him, 
 But, right or wrang, he joined the quorum : 
 He volunteered, and that was civil, 
 For Efiie he would face the Devil ! 
 
 She lookit round, bewildered quite, 
 Wi' looks o' strange unearthly light 
 (They prayed she might be granted grace) ; 
 Anon, a change came o'er her face :
 
 12 THE rhymer's family. 
 
 Her een, that were so wild and bright, 
 
 Grew dark beneath their lids so white ; 
 
 The listener could not hear her breath, 
 
 As life put on the mask of death : 
 
 Again returning thoughts would come, 
 
 As spectres starting from the tomb, 
 
 And fears that madness could not smother, 
 
 Wi' cauld sweat and convulsive shudder — 
 
 She lay, as one in terror dying ; 
 
 As guilty wretch in durance lying. 
 
 Foreboding more than pains of death. 
 
 The while he shares his dungeon breath 
 
 With loathsome things that round him crawl ; 
 
 And on the damp and slimy wall 
 
 He steeps his lank and tangled hair, — 
 
 Unnoted all in his despair — 
 
 He sees beyond the hour of doom, 
 
 While gleams of horror light the gloom. 
 
 But, hark ! like sounds of distant war. 
 The storm-fiend, in his rattling car, 
 Now booming on from cloud to cloud. 
 Now whistling, wi' his blast so loud ; 
 The lightning flashed, and streamed, and quivered, 
 The murky clouds were rent and shivered, 
 With pealing, crashing, rattling thunder, 
 The stedfast hills were shaken under ;
 
 THE DEIL IN LOVE. 13 
 
 The elements so fiercely battled 
 
 That doors and windows shook and rattled, 
 
 And black as ink the rain came down 
 
 The hissing, smouldering fire to drown : 
 
 Now on the dusky kipple-taps 
 
 Wee devils hung like sooty draps, 
 
 Or squealed like rottens i' the nook : 
 
 The trembling watchers feared to look ; 
 
 The stifling reek was like to smore them, 
 
 And black infernal drift fell o'er them, 
 
 AVhile i' the gloom, their haggard faces 
 
 They screwed in horrible grimaces, 
 
 And wildly glared on ane anither 
 
 Till a' grew deils and ghaists thegither. 
 
 Then came a strange and sudden lull, 
 More terrible than storm ; so still 
 That they could hear the death-watch beat, 
 And cricket chirping at their feet : 
 A little while — and a' Avere dumb, 
 They kenned the enemy was come ; 
 The cauld sweat burst from every pore, 
 But harrowing suspense was o'er, 
 And fainting nature, overstrained. 
 Was now by faith and hope sustained.
 
 14 THE rhymer's family. 
 
 And there he stood, the very Deil 
 In mortal shape, bedizened weel — 
 Arrayed in ghastly hahs complete : 
 His sark was o' the windina;-sheet 
 (But doubtless fumigated weel) ; 
 His cravat o' the silken tweel, 
 Ta'en frae a desperate cheat-the-wuddy. 
 Dyed i' the red gash deep and bluidy ; 
 His brooch a living salamander. 
 Set in a flame o' glowin' cinder ; 
 His coat and breeks o' velvet pall, 
 Weel fashioned by a tailor's saul ; 
 And then his shapeless cloven cloots 
 Were thrust in bluidy pirate's boots ; 
 His gloves in molten sulphur tanned, 
 Each featly peeled frae dead men's hand ; 
 And scalps of savage men he wore 
 Glued on his head wi' clots of gore : 
 But through this mock of mortal state 
 Shot gleams of malice, scorn, and hate ; 
 His een were like twin stars of bale. 
 Plucked from the sunless vault of hell. 
 
 He claimed his Bride : all wan she lay, 
 A living thing of senseless clay ; 
 He claimed her as his bounden thrall ; 
 He claimed her body and her saul.
 
 THE DEIL IN LOVE. 15 
 
 A ring lay on the table broken : 
 
 * See, she is mine by pledge and token !' 
 
 The haly man Avas granted grace — 
 Wi* faith an' fervour gloAved his face ; 
 He laid his hand upon the book 
 So calmly, not a finger shook : 
 ' Now be this light, that glimmers low, 
 An emblem of her weal and woe ; 
 And Avhen it dies — be thine the prize.' 
 ' Amen !' the sneering fiend replies. 
 Oh, then ! as thought — as lightning quick, 
 His rev'rence seized the candlestick, 
 And in an ecstacy did swallow 
 The glowing candle, wick, and tallow ! 
 
 But mortal tongue wad fail to tell 
 The hurly-burly that befel ; 
 For a' the house was in a bleeze. 
 And a' the folk like smokit bees. 
 Fu' lang the country made a clatter o't ; 
 But, faith, the Avidow got the better o't : 
 The Couper courted her for a' that, 
 His cloven foot she never saw that. 
 Waes me for bonny Effie Miller ! 
 He grieved her sair and spent her siller :
 
 16 THE rhymer's family. 
 
 The Devil couklna frame a plan 
 To scare a widow frae a man : 
 Her roses soon began to fade, 
 And aftentimes the neebours said, 
 ' The Couper stood in Satan's shoon — 
 She gat a deil when a' was done.' 
 
 Now, Woman ! hear my warning voice : 
 Gude help thee in thy wilfu' choice ; 
 For thou wilt slight a worthy true love, 
 And thou wilt choose a worthless new love, 
 And thou wilt smile on him sae kindly. 
 And thou wilt blush and love him blindly,— 
 While every simple soul may see 
 A devil in disguise but thee ! 
 
 I
 
 THK I,0«. • 17 
 
 THE LOG- 
 
 I WAS a nursling of untrodden soil ; 
 In dim primeval forest of the West 
 I grew, and reared aloft my leafy crest, 
 Remote from men's turmoil. 
 
 And when the Spring had clad my branches bare, 
 I waved them in the breeze, all blossom-laden, 
 And shook my gi-een locks like a gleesome maiden 
 Whose light heart flouts at care. 
 
 And when, impervious to the Summer heat, 
 I gave my shade to worlds of fluttering things 
 That stirred the air, beneath my brooding wings, 
 AYith humming music sweet : 
 
 Then in my green recesses carolled free 
 The merry minstrels of the listening woods, 
 Wearying sweet echo in their solitudes. 
 With warbling melody. 
 
 And silvery threads, by fairy fingers drawn, 
 At eve on my unbending twigs were hung ; 
 But all unseen, till rich with pearls strung, 
 
 And glittering in the dawn. 
 
 B
 
 18 THE rhymer's family. 
 
 When the old forest heard tlie pealing thunder. 
 And the rent clouds came rushing down amain, 
 The hunter listened to the pattering rain 
 My leafy covert under. 
 
 Sear Autumn came, like death in fair disguise, 
 And, as the dying dolphin, changing aye 
 Her variegated beauty of decay 
 
 With tints of many dyes : 
 
 And in her withering breath my branches waved. 
 And every twig its leafy honours shed 
 In rustling shoAvers, until the ground was clad 
 With wreck of Summer paved. 
 
 Cold Winter came ! I was a naked tree. 
 Streaked with the whiteness of his hoary hair. 
 And wild winds howling through my branches bare, 
 Like the loud moaning; sea. 
 
 'O 
 
 And thus return the Seasons, o'er and o'er. 
 In endless round, with blossom and decay ; 
 But never more to me, or night or day — 
 I reckon time no more.
 
 DEATH OF A LITTI-E GIRL. 19 
 
 The spoilers came ! — the ruthless pioneers — 
 My giant stem, that bent not to the breeze, 
 Fell by the axe : the crash of falling trees 
 AYas music to their ears. 
 
 They lopped my boughs, and launched me on the river ; 
 With many a lifeless log I floated down, 
 Through mangled woods, by many a mushroom town, 
 Leaving my home for ever. 
 
 LINES 
 
 ox THE DE.\TH OF A LITTLE GIRL. 
 
 [ELIZABETH KTD.] 
 
 My little darling is no more, 
 
 My loving pet is gone ; 
 She grew the ivy of my heart — 
 
 I loved her as my own : 
 For she would leave the merry game, 
 
 So glad to see me come. 
 And clasp me with her little hand, 
 
 To lead me kindly home.
 
 20 THE rhymer's family. 
 
 Tliat day I laid her on my bed, 
 
 "Wlicn she fell sick at play, 
 'I'll lie till you come liame again,' 
 
 The stricken one did say. 
 I went from home, and came again, 
 
 To see her lying there, 
 The prey of death — to love denied — 
 
 Denied to many a prayer. 
 
 Death ! dread minister of doom, 
 I know thou sparest none ; 
 
 But thus to strike the gamesome lamb ! 
 
 Our only little one : 
 To gloat upon its dying pangs I 
 
 In merciless delay, 
 So like a cruel savage beast 
 
 That dallies with its prey. 
 
 1 came, alas ! too late to hear 
 
 Her uncomplaining sighs — 
 To look upon the waning light 
 
 In those benighted eyes ; 
 Yet brooding fancy pictures all — 
 
 Like sad remembrance now — 
 The hours of pain, that lay like years 
 
 Upon that fair young brow.
 
 DEATU OF A LITTLE GIRL. 21 
 
 But she is gone ; life's bitter brine 
 
 AVill never drench her more : 
 Poor skiff ! short while upon the sea. 
 
 Soon stranded on the shore : 
 She — left by the receding tide, 
 
 To moulder and decay, 
 That should have skimmed the waves of life 
 
 For many a happy day. 
 
 'Tis vain to ask — Why fade the flowers — 
 
 Why early fade and die — 
 Why rank weeds cumber long the soil 
 
 Where blighted blossoms lie ? 
 Why death respites life- weary age, 
 
 While youth may plead in vain, 
 And poisons thus the bitter cup 
 
 To moiu'ners that remain ? 
 
 We cannot lift ourselves from earth, 
 
 Or set our hearts above ; 
 We cannot love the things of heaven 
 
 With holy heavenly love : 
 For earthly, of the earth are we ; 
 
 Our idols are of clay — 
 Shrined in our hearts — though well we know 
 
 Death takes them all away.
 
 22 THE rhymer's family. 
 
 Yet, would we wish tliem to return 
 
 To this sad Avorld of ours, 
 That sorrow from their eyes again 
 
 Might rain the bitter showers ? 
 Woukl we, to ease oui' hearts of grief, 
 
 Their souls of joy bereave '? 
 Oh, no ! we but regret and weep, — 
 
 'Tis for ourselves Ave grieve. 
 
 Our blossom, from the tree of life 
 
 Untimely plucked, before 
 That sin could soil its folded leaves, 
 
 We should not thus deplore. 
 But, ah ! Ave hear the pulse of Time 
 
 NoAV, in our lonely home, 
 When she, our blithesome bird of joy, 
 
 Lies in the silent tomb.
 
 THE DEAD RlDtK. 23 
 
 THE DEAD RIDER OF VEITTIE's GEIL. 
 
 (.From a Norwegian Sketch in ' Chambers's Journal. 'J 
 
 Where Norway rears her hills of snow, 
 And scoops her frightful geils between, 
 The Norseman hath his highland home ; 
 There dwelt, amid the savage scene, 
 Old Harold and his hardy sons, 
 Cut oflF from Nordlaud vallies green. 
 
 When God, who gives and takes away, 
 Took one from that fraternal band. 
 They laid him in a grave of snow 
 Till Spring and Summer, hand in hand. 
 Like fair twin sisters, came again 
 To smile upon that di-eary land. 
 
 They come ! hark to the rushing streams !- 
 Up from thy wintry tomb arise 
 Pale horseman of the icy cliffs ; 
 Thy train awaits, with Aveeping eyes : 
 Arise ! and ride to Lister Vale, 
 Where kindred dust in slumber lies.
 
 24 
 
 Thy pioneers the path prepare ; 
 
 Loose tottering stones are downward hurled, 
 
 And steps are cut in ghxcier snow : 
 
 The dead may go wliere life is perilled, 
 
 Wliere never man was borne on bier 
 
 By mourners to the silent world. 
 
 Ah ! mother, turn thy eyes away ; 
 Now, father, look not on thy son ; 
 Haste, brothers, bind him on his steed : 
 Away the mournful train is gone, 
 By slippery steep and narrow ledge. 
 Meet for the mountain goat alone. 
 
 As, sure of foot, that Finland steed 
 With fearful caution felt his way 
 Through the cloven mountain, in whose heart 
 The stars look down at noon of day, — 
 Where foaming floods and shapeless rocks 
 Are tossed and strewn in wild deray : 
 
 And as he rode, that horseman grim 
 
 Swung to and fro from side to side, 
 
 Oft leaning o'er the dizzy brink. 
 
 With leaden eyes reopened wide, 
 
 AVherc none but the brave would dare to tread, 
 
 AVliere none but the dead would dare to ride !
 
 Tiiic di:ad rideu. 25 
 
 Fi-om every cleft, from every crag, 
 The birds of prey came forth to fare ; 
 The vulture hung upon the wind, 
 The raven winged the nether air ; 
 He heeded not — that ghastly man — 
 The harpies that were hovering there- 
 
 The torrents leapt into the gulf — 
 Leapt at a bound from day to night — 
 And foam-flakes from the boiling floods 
 Flew upward, flashing into light, 
 Like sea-birds through the briny mist. 
 When ocean waves are raging white. 
 
 The river, like a flood of snow, 
 Rushed down between the mountain walls ; 
 The beetling crags hung over-head, 
 And yaAvned the subterranean halls. 
 Where, blindly groping evermore, 
 Dark Horror rolls his sightless balls I 
 
 Now pendant streams and sloping lakeSj 
 
 Coagulated masses hoar, 
 
 That long had clung to slippery rocks. 
 
 Can keep their desperate hold no more i 
 
 Affi-ighted Echo flics afar — 
 
 Old Chaos hears the dread uproar !
 
 26 TUE rhymer's family. 
 
 But, by the dead, unheeded all 
 The foaming torrents of the geils. 
 The snowy peaks that pierce the sky, 
 The gulfs that drizzly darkness fills — 
 The thunders of the avalanche 
 That shake the everlasting hills ! 
 
 Pale rider ! onward to the vale 
 Where thy departed sires have gone : 
 A peaceful grave awaiteth thee ; 
 Thy bones shall be with grass o'ergrown. 
 Now, fearful horseman ! rest in peace — 
 The task of life and death is done. 
 
 THE SQUIRE o' LOW DEGREE. 
 
 My luve's a flouir in gardin faire. 
 
 Her beautie charmis the sicht o' men ; 
 And I'm a weed upon the wolde. 
 
 For nane recke how I fare and fen' ;— 
 She blumes in bield o' castil wa', 
 
 I bide the blast o' povertie. 
 My covert looks are treasures stoAvn — 
 
 Sae how culd my luve think o' me ?
 
 THE SliUIRE O' LOW DEGREE. 27 
 
 My luve is like the dawn o' day — 
 
 She wears a veil o' woven mist, 
 And hoarie cranreuch deftly flouired 
 
 Lies paling on her maiden breist ; 
 Her kirtle doun her jimpy waist 
 
 Has studs o' gowd to clasp it Avi' — 
 She decks her haire wi' pearlis rare, 
 
 And how culd my luve think o' me ? 
 
 My cloak is o' the Friesland gTey, 
 
 My douhlit o' the gay "Walloon, 
 I wear the spurs o' siller sheen, 
 
 And yet I am a landless loon ; 
 I ride a steed o' Flanders' breed, 
 
 I beare a sword upon my thie. 
 And that is a' my graith and gear, 
 
 Sae how culd my luve think o' me ? 
 
 My luve's rose-lips breathe sweit perfume, 
 
 Twa pearlie raws peere fair atween ; 
 The happie dimpils dent her cheiks, 
 
 And diements lowe in her dark een ; — 
 Her haire is o' the gowden licht, 
 
 But dark the fringis o' her bree ; 
 Her smile wold warm cauld winter's lierte, 
 
 But how culd my luve blink on me 1
 
 28 
 
 My luve is tended like a queene — 
 
 She sits amang her maries faire ; 
 There's aue to send, and ane to sew, 
 
 And ane to kaira her gowden haire. 
 The lute may Inve her fingers sma' — 
 
 Her lips are steept in meiodie ; 
 My lierte is.fu', my een run ower, — " 
 
 Oh ! how culd my luve think o' me ? 
 
 My luve she sits her palfrey white, 
 
 Mair faire to see than makkar's dream 
 0' faery queene on munebeam bricht, 
 
 Or mermaid on the saut sea faem ; 
 A beltit knicht is by her side — 
 
 I'm but a squire o' low degree — 
 A baron halds her bridil reine, 
 
 And how culd my luve think o' me ? 
 
 But I will don the pilgrim weids. 
 
 And boune me till the Haly Land, 
 A' for the sake o' my deare luve, 
 
 To keip unstained my herte and hand ; 
 And when this warld is gane to wrack, 
 
 Wi' a' its pride and vanitie, 
 Within the blessed bouris o' heaven 
 
 We there may meit, my luve and me !
 
 THK SUPERSEDED MAN. 29 
 
 THE SUPERSEDED MAX. 
 
 " Who begs a brother of the earth 
 To give him leave to toil." 
 
 Rushing on, the mighty steamer 
 Runneth down the clumsy craft, 
 
 Saying but the nimble swimmer, — 
 Let them take to boat or raft. 
 
 Shall humanity reproach us, 
 
 That we leave the crew to drown, 
 
 Steaming on, their fate unheeding, 
 Caring only for our own, 
 Reckless who may next go down ? 
 
 On by horse of fire careering, 
 Rolling on in reckless haste — 
 
 He that trudgeth is behind us, 
 Left upon the barren waste ; 
 
 There the wolf that haunts him ever. 
 Thus his shadow Avaneth so. 
 
 Ere he nears the gloomy valley 
 Where the sun of life is low, — 
 Why should he be loath to go \ 
 
 Tell me now, ye men of iron. 
 To this evil deaf or blind.
 
 30 THE rhymer's family. 
 
 What avails your vaunted progress 
 
 To the wretch you leave behind 1 
 What to him your wondrous triumphs I 
 
 He is sacrificed to one : 
 Driven from the world of labour, 
 
 Like a Pariah under ban, 
 
 Is the superseded man. 
 
 See him as a walking sleeper — 
 
 Not a dog on him will fawn ; 
 As a pale belated spectre, 
 
 Left bewildered in the dawn ; 
 As an alien in nature — 
 
 Element of other star — 
 Here intruding, out of keeping. 
 
 With the harmonies at war — 
 
 An embodiment of jar. 
 
 See him passing by the factory — 
 He can hear the arms of power 
 
 Rattling ever on untiring, 
 
 Working wonders hour by hour. 
 
 In his soul the iron enters. 
 
 Graving deep this sense of doom ; 
 
 Rigid sinews, vision failing, 
 
 Suit not heckle now, nor loom — 
 Underneath the ground is room.
 
 THE SUPERSEDED MAN. 31 
 
 If lie look for railway labour, 
 
 Beg for work at pick or spade, 
 At a glance the shrewd contractor 
 
 Knows the cast-away of trade — 
 Sees him wan, and lank, and grizzled ; 
 
 He may shake his head and smile, 
 For he has his choice of thousands 
 
 From Prolific Sister Isle, 
 
 " Navies" seasoned with the toil. 
 
 Home he goes, if home we call it, — 
 
 See him by the cold hearthstone, 
 Gazing on the smouldering ashes, 
 
 His sad state he thinks upon. 
 As his partner, sad and silent, 
 
 Setteth down his sorry cheer. 
 Thus he with himself communeth — 
 
 Every thought might claim a tear 
 
 Would the heedless world but hear : — 
 
 ' Mine, alas ! these hapless children, 
 Bound to me by nature's bands — 
 
 Must the elder rear the younger. 
 While I sit with folded hands ? 
 
 Shall they in life's early morning 
 Bear the burthen of the day ? 
 
 Will their youth be robbed of pleasure,
 
 32 TiiK rhymer's family. 
 
 As their childhood was of play — 
 Urged along the thorny way l 
 
 ' Shall I then become dependent 
 While I'm yet an active man ; 
 
 Live upon the children's lahom% 
 Thus reversing nature's plan ? 
 
 Shall I weary their affection 
 With a load of abject years ; 
 
 Eat the bitter bread unwelcome, 
 
 Moistened with an old man's tears ? — 
 Thoughts that pierce like barbed spears, 
 
 •' Will the pauper's dole be brought me, 
 
 Ta'en from laboui*'s weary moor ? 
 Will this great and wealthy nation 
 
 Tax the poor to feed the poor ^ 
 From the workman's scanty table 
 
 Shall a loaf be ta'en for me 1 — 
 Tax the poor to feed the pauper ! 
 
 God forbid that this should be, 
 
 Earnestly I pray to Thee. 
 
 ? Oh ! but life's a gloomy ocean, 
 Darker than its dismal shore — 
 
 Every beacon disappearing, 
 Left to me nor sail nor oar ;
 
 THK ABBEY OF ABERBROTHOCK. 33 
 
 Now the only liglit is breaking 
 
 In the far horizon dun, 
 Dawning of the Avorld eternal — 
 
 Truly underneath the sun 
 
 Other hope for me is none.' 
 
 Hear we him that's superseded ! 
 
 Think we of his wretched state ? 
 Something might be done to saA-e him — 
 
 His misfortune is not fate : 
 'Tis a duty that we owe him, 
 
 Let us pay it if we can ; 
 Still again, again endeavour 
 
 To devise some saving plan 
 
 For the superseded man. 
 
 LINES 
 
 ox THE ABBEY OF ABERBROTHOCK. 
 
 Lone lingering in the Old Churchyard, 
 
 And gazing on these mouldering walls. 
 The stately pile of other days, 
 
 The recreative mind recalls. 
 
 c
 
 34 THE rhtmer's family. 
 
 Deep musing here, as day declines, 
 And silence lulls the dinsorae town, 
 
 I needs must dream of ages past, 
 
 Ere creed and church were overthrown. 
 
 I tread a roofless temple floor, 
 
 Where many a pilgrim foot hath trod ; 
 I stand where brave King Eobert knelt — 
 
 Wave, Fancy ! wave thy magic rod ! 
 Ha ! see uprise the ponderous walls — 
 
 Upshoot the clustering columns high ; 
 The groined roof arching o'er my head, 
 
 Upheld between me and the sky. 
 
 And see the transept circle bright, 
 
 So high above the tuneful choir, 
 Pours down a flood of rainbow light 
 
 On king and priest, and knight and squire ; 
 And shivered in a thousand rays 
 
 On pillar, cusp, and carving quaint — 
 Illuming mask and dusky niche, 
 
 And many a rudely-sculptured saint. 
 
 Where huge columnar shadows throw 
 Their giant length along the nave, 
 
 Are kneeling, hushed in reverend awe, 
 Rude men of iron, fierce and brave ;
 
 rUE ABBEY OK AUliltUKOTHOCK. 35 
 
 But helm there's none on warrior's heaJ, 
 Nor hauberk on his shoulders there ; 
 
 No mailed hand makes the sacred sign, 
 
 Nor armed heel treads the house of prayer. 
 
 Now, hark ! the Abbot lifts his voice, 
 
 And prays for Scotland and her king ; 
 That Jesu, from his heaA'enly throne, 
 
 Would look down with a smile benign, 
 And pity this war-wasted land ; 
 
 That Mary, virgin queen ! mote plead 
 That He would will poor Scotland's weal, 
 
 And shield her in her utmost need. 
 
 Now solemn music thrills my ear ; 
 
 The choir chaunt forth the sacred strain 
 That echoing peals from arch to arch, 
 
 And swells through all the mighty fane ; 
 Seems every stone to find a tongue. 
 
 And join the choral hymn of praise. 
 To melt the fierce and ven2;eful men 
 
 That know not mercy's gentle ways. 
 
 A change comes o'er my waking dream ; 
 
 I hear the tramp of harnessed men, 
 The clank of steel, the neigh of steed ; 
 
 I see a knight and goodly train ;
 
 36 THE khyjiek's family. 
 
 He bears a scroll — oh, now I know ! 
 
 They mount, they vanish while I gaze, 
 And bear the bold protest to Rome 
 
 That makes the monkish world amaze. 
 
 I turn again my wildered eyes ; 
 
 Alas ! what do I now behold ? 
 A roofless ruin all around, 
 
 Through which the night wind bloweth cold. 
 But dear to me these mould'ring walls ; 
 
 'Twas here in early years I played ; 
 My father's and my mother's bones 
 
 Within this hallowed ground are laid. 
 
 BY MARYKIRK. 
 
 By Marykirk, a sweet bird sang 
 
 When trees were green and waters clear ; 
 That sweet bird sang the hale day lang. 
 
 And charmed the hearts o' men to hear. 
 But down upon a flowery bank 
 
 The wily fowler laid his snare. 
 And in a weary prison cage 
 
 The sweet bird pined, and sang nac mair.
 
 WILLIE WYNE. 37 
 
 By Marykirk there bloomed a flower, 
 
 Beside the winding Esk it grew ; 
 And, oh, it charmed the sunny light, 
 
 And ilka wanton wind that blew. 
 But rude hands pu'd that flower sae sweet, 
 
 And fause lips kissed its leaves sae fair ; 
 It faded in a cheerless bower. 
 
 And charmed the sight o' men nae mair. 
 
 By Marykirk the birds may sing, 
 
 But dowie are their notes to me ; 
 On Craigo haughs the flowers may bloom, 
 
 But now nae mair delight my e'e. 
 Mary ! though ye did me wrang, 
 
 I'm wae to think o' your downfa' ; 
 Poor silly bird, sae eithly snared, 
 
 Sweet flower, soon pu'd and flung awa'. 
 
 WILLIE WYNE. 
 
 Gae bring to me my green-wood guise, 
 And bring my buckskin shoon, 
 
 And I'll av.'a' to my true luve, 
 By the wan liclit o' the mune.
 
 :58 THE RlITMliK S FAVll.T. 
 
 ' Now busk ye, Marie, busk ye luve — 
 
 Gin luve o' mine ye be — 
 And we'll awa' to Lochtoun Tryst, 
 
 By the loans o' Netherlea.' 
 
 * I wad be fain to gae wi' you, 
 
 Oh, Willie ! weel ye ken, 
 But wha wad say to me, the morn, 
 
 Ye're welcome hame again ? 
 Oh ! wha wad say a silken snood 
 
 Was meet for me to wear, 
 Gin it was tauld my Willie Wyne 
 
 Was Wyne o' Wynetoun's heir V 
 
 ' There's nane will ken, there's nane will trow. 
 
 Sae busk ye, gin ye may ; 
 I'll see my luve within her bower 
 
 Before the dawn o' day : 
 Now ilka maiden meets her joe, 
 
 The mune is shinin' clear, 
 And ilka bird is wi' its mate — 
 
 What hath my luve to fear V 
 
 ' I fear the scaith, I fear the scorn. 
 
 That simple maid may dree, 
 Wha gies her wealth o' luve to ane 
 
 Aboon her ain degree :
 
 WILLIE WYN'K. 
 
 I fear the kisses o' your lips, 
 
 The glances o' your een ; 
 I fear the heart that's in my breist, — 
 
 Luve, rede ye what I mean V 
 
 ' I rede, ye mean that cauld munesheen 
 
 Wad melt the wreaths o' snaw, 
 Before that luve wad warm your breist, 
 
 Your frozen heart to thaw, 
 I've tasted o' the dear delyte, 
 
 And I maun dree the pain : 
 Ye gave to me your faith and troth, 
 
 To tak' them back again.' 
 
 ' Oh, Willie, Willie ! weel ye ken 
 
 Ye cam' a guiser loon ; 
 Ye tauld me ye was ranger lad 
 
 In the bonnie woods o' Scoone. 
 I gave my hand, I gave my heart — 
 
 And what could maiden mair I — 
 I gave them to my ranger lad, 
 
 And nae to Wynetoun's heir.' 
 
 ' Now list ye, Marie, list ye, luve, 
 
 Gin ye be leal and true. 
 The heir o' Wynetoun I may be, 
 
 And Willie Wyne to you ; 
 
 39
 
 TIIK UllYMKli's FAMILY. 
 
 And ye sail ha'e a pleasant bower, 
 
 And wear the silk sae fine ; 
 Ye'll be the licht o' life to me, 
 
 The ae trne love o' mine.' 
 
 ' Fause luve ! my father's locks are grey. 
 
 My mither's cheeks are pale ; 
 Gin I wad leave them, shame and wae ! 
 
 Oh ! could I hope for weal 1 
 My heart wad beat in sair unrest 
 
 Beneath the silk attire, 
 As captive bird, in lady's bower. 
 
 That beats the gilded wire.' 
 
 • Ye needna' fear, my bonnie lass, 
 
 I'll tak ye owcr the sea ; 
 And yc sail drink the ruddy Avinc 
 
 In France and Germanic : 
 When auld Sir Hugh is dead and gane, 
 
 We'll soon come hame again, 
 And ye sail be my lady-luve, 
 
 Wi' servin' maids and men.' 
 
 ' I wadna be your paramour, 
 
 Though ye might wear the crown ; 
 
 I wadna hing my head wi' shame 
 At e'en when we lay down ;
 
 Tni: DYING M.ix .\r sea. 41 
 
 I Avadiui loathe the licht o' day, 
 
 And flee my kith and kin, 
 For a' the goAvd the warld could gi'e 
 
 To o'ild the shame and sin.' 
 
 ' jN"ow Gude forfend, I tempt ye mair, 
 
 Riciit noble luve o' mine ; 
 My auld gudesire is dead and gane ; 
 
 The lands are mine and thine : 
 Now I'm the lord o' Wynetoun towers, 
 
 Ye'U be my ladye fair ; 
 And ye'U gi'e me a brave young son, 
 
 And he'll be Wyuetoun's heir.' 
 
 THE DYING MAN AT SEA. 
 
 I R. E., Passenger in the American Ship, ' Fides,' bound to Liverpool, died at sea, 
 10th July 1850, in the twenty-sixth year of his age.] 
 
 'Ti8 sad to die at sea ! My weary head 
 Is rocked on restless billows : I must bear 
 
 The pains of death unsoothed by sorrowing love ; 
 A warning voice is whispering in my ear — 
 
 ' Thou ne'er again wilt land on earthly shore : 
 
 Father and mother thou wilt see no more.'
 
 -12 THE rhymer's family. 
 
 A home-sick yearning preys upon my heart, 
 And fain the wanderer would be home to die ; 
 
 Oh, for a green grave in the old churchyard ! 
 Where kindred feet might linger, I would lie ; 
 
 But, ah ! the hoarse waves murmuring claim my clay, 
 
 Chafing, impatient of dull death's delay. 
 
 I lie awake, tossed in my stifling berth ; 
 
 The weary night I hear the whistling breeze — 
 The creaking timbers, and the flapping sails, 
 
 And deep-toned voices of the surging seas. 
 That press around me like besieging fears — 
 Muttering and moaning in my dying ears. 
 
 And monstrous shapes my sickly fancy sees, 
 To stir the lank hair on my clammy brow ; 
 
 Oh ! I Avould rather feed the hungry worm — 
 But why should care of flesh annoy me now ? 
 
 If that my soul may mingle with the blest. 
 
 Let earth or ocean be my place of rest ! 
 
 Yes, let me lie down many a fathom deep, 
 
 In grove of coral, or in shelly cave, 
 All still and silent as my sleep profound. 
 
 Far, far beneath the strife of wind and wave ; 
 Down where the quiet waters will not bear 
 A rippling sound to mock my senseless ear.
 
 THK UYINO JIAN AT SEA. 43 
 
 I dream of wandering in that nether world, 
 
 O'er sands bestrewn with pearls and glittering ore; 
 
 In lands submerged, and cities of old time ; 
 
 Through weedy jungles stretched from shore to 
 shore ; 
 
 Up mountains high, that pass the watery bound, 
 
 Whose tops are isles with green bananas crowned. 
 
 But who may tell the wonders of the deep ? 
 
 Methought the waters were as crystal skies ; 
 And, as each wave upheaved high o'er my head, 
 
 Flashes of glory charmed my wondering eyes, 
 And fleets, like clouds, came, by the storm blast 
 
 driven. 
 Athwart the deep blue of my watery lieaven. 
 
 All-wondrous ocean ! from thy cavern gulfs. 
 
 Where rocks, with beating of earth's heart, are 
 quaking, 
 Up to the summit of thy mountain peaks — 
 
 Those fearful reefs whereon white waves are 
 breaking : 
 Oh, wondrous ocean ! far more wondrous He 
 Who raaketh suns and worlds of land and sea.
 
 44 THE rhymer's family. 
 
 Father of Life ! my soul to thee returns, 
 As to a mother lier confiding child : 
 
 I, sorely stained with error's miry ways, — 
 Thou, more than mother pitiful and mild : 
 
 Thy creature Avill not cry to thee in vain, 
 
 From his lone death-bed on the heaving main. 
 
 Oh ! He whose hest the waves, the worlds, obey, 
 I know He will remember even me — 
 
 He will reclaim me from the mighty deep, 
 For His dear sake who died upon the tree ; 
 
 Then, welcome death ! let billows o'er me roll ! 
 
 Fathci', I come ! receive my parting soul ! 
 
 THE HAIRST FIELD. 
 
 Ye mind, Mary, lass, o' the blithe days o' hairst, 
 Wi' the daffin' o' youth, and the jokin' o' eild ; 
 How they paired us thcgither, and ca'd us lad and 
 lass ? 
 By my troth, they were na far aglie on yon hairst 
 field.
 
 THK HAIRST FIELD. 45 
 
 Ye mind how they set up your checks in a lowe, 
 When they counted the bairns tliat our wedlock 
 might yield ; 
 How we joined in the jokin', and made licht o' love, 
 That the lave might na read our liearts on yon 
 hairst field 1 
 
 Ye mind, Mary, lass, o' the blithe loosin' shower, 
 When we baith ran to ae stook, outower for a bield? 
 
 We creepit thegither, but the weet had a' the wyte, 
 For we saw neither auld nor young on yon hairst 
 field. 
 
 the claspin' and kissin' o' love when it's new, 
 The bliss that by cauld words may ne'er be 
 revealed ! 
 
 Our hearts beat thegither as gin Ave had but ane ; 
 happy, happy hour o' life on yon hairst field !
 
 46 I'liii uhtmik's tamilv 
 
 THE PRIVATEER. 
 
 There came a daring Privateer,* 
 
 Some eighty years ago, 
 To raise the wind without delay, 
 
 And he Avould have it so ; 
 Or batter down our ancient town, 
 
 As all the world doth know. 
 
 The Provost, from the Ballast Hill, 
 Long spied the thrcat'ning sail, 
 
 While ancient skippers shook their heads, 
 And chewed the twist pig-tail ; 
 
 And cocked hats and powdered wigs 
 Surmounted faces pale. 
 
 Tliat day the wabster left his loom. 
 
 The cobbler left his stool ; 
 And a' the laddies got the play — 
 
 The dominie left the schule ; 
 The tailor jumpit afFhis board. 
 
 And left his guse to cule. 
 
 • I' all (Felle), mnstpi of a »choonrr. tho * Fcirnoni^ht,' att;itkfd the town of Arbroath 
 in tlic WAV (i^firrihed.
 
 THE I'lilVATEEK. 47 
 
 The heights were clad baith far and neai-, 
 And thousands lined the shore ; 
 
 Down plunged an anchor in the bay — 
 Up went the tricolour : 
 
 Was ever such a brazen roo-ue 
 In the thieving trade before ? 
 
 The ' Yellow Meg,' of Wester Ha'eu,* 
 
 He captured in the bay — 
 The Flying Skipper's famous craft f 
 
 Became the rover's prey ; 
 And every soul aboard the twain 
 
 Was captive ta'en that day. 
 
 Meanwhile, the bodies on the shore 
 
 Were watching every motion, 
 And now they cry, ' A boat ! a boat !' 
 
 And all were in commotion : 
 A thousand babbling voices blent 
 
 Rose louder than the ocean. 
 
 The boat swept in between the Heads, 
 
 And each man shipped his oar ; 
 As recklessly, sans flag of truce, 
 
 The liffy leapt on shore, 
 
   The ' Yellow Mee,' a fine vessel, often tons burden, engaged in the fishing trade. 
 
 + The ' Flying Skipppi.' ^'e have only his souhriquet, even the name of liik ' fumnut 
 eraft' is forgotten.
 
 48 THE uhymek's family. 
 
 Witli bat in Land, he parlez vonzcd — 
 ' Messieurs, votre scrviteurV 
 
 Amid the rush, the crush, the push. 
 The shoving here and there, 
 
 He held a missive in his hand — 
 ' Present Monsieur le Maire, 
 
 Or, after him, de chiefest man 
 In Scotland, oderwhere.'* 
 
 The Provost could not read the scrawl 
 
 The Privateer had sent ; 
 In sad distress he scratched his wig — 
 
 The Bailies glowered ahint ; 
 The very Deacons stood amazed, 
 
 In mute bewilderment. 
 
 Till came the Reverend Mr Mac,t 
 Nor book nor band had he ; 
 
 The crowd gave way on every side ; 
 He strode undauntedly, 
 
 With pistols in his pouches' sydc, 
 And sword upon his thie. 
 
 " See copy of the original document in the' Gazetteer of Scotland.' 
 
 ■f The reverend gentleman deserves to be honoured. The w^^rlike priests of the Middle 
 Ages did not always confinu themselves to defensive warfare.
 
 THE PRIVATEER, 49 
 
 He read the letter, line by line, 
 
 Expounding, as a text, 
 The base compound of Lingua Franc, 
 
 Low Dutch, and English, mixed ; 
 Exciting bravery and fear, 
 
 And all that be betwixt. 
 
 A Council then was called in haste ; 
 
 Each member spoke at once ; 
 ' We'll go on board,' said Provost Greig,* 
 
 And prig him down, perchance.' 
 ' Na, by my saul !' quoth Bailie Kyd, 
 
 ' He'd whup us afF to France.' 
 
 Up starts the reverend gentleman. 
 
 So urgent was the case ; 
 And there was silence over all, 
 
 As if they waited grace ; 
 And, like a quiA'^ering jelly, shook 
 
 Each pale and pursy face. 
 
 Then instant forth, as bottle froth, 
 
 The bold defiance burst : — 
 ' What ! shall we shame the ' Auld Round V 
 
 No ! — Rather perish first ! 
 
 " True. The Provost proposed to go on board, and ' prig him down,' when Bailie K. 
 objected, as in the text.
 
 50 THE RIITMER'S FAMILY. 
 
 Away ! and say to Captain Fall 
 We dare liim to the worst.' 
 
 ' Messieurs bon joui* !' with great sang froid 
 
 The envoy sought his boat ; 
 Departing, he a signal made, 
 
 Then followed, quick as thought, 
 The flash, the loud report, the ball, — 
 
 A base, discourteous shot.* 
 
 Whiz went the iron o'er their heads, 
 Red cheeks gTew pale with fear ; 
 
 Crack went a block from a herring smack, t 
 Like a drop from Beauty's ear : 
 
 Now, every man was hard at work 
 On board that Privateer. 
 
 The Flying Skipper walked her deck ; 
 
 He said to Captain Fall, 
 ' The people on the Ballast Hill 
 
 Don't seem to fear yom* ball.']: 
 ' Me make dem fear ! Ha, ha ! you see — 
 
 Mon Dieu! — dem running all.' 
 
 ' The first gun was sbotteil. 
 
 + Tlie liall struck one of the spars of a sloop in the harbour. 
 
 t It if> said he was induced to take higher aim, and eo threw his shot over the town.
 
 THE PRIYATEBR. 51 
 
 And now, in the beleaguered town, 
 Spread terror everywhere, 
 
 And fathers ran, and mothers ran, 
 Bewildered, here and there ; 
 
 And hundreds hurried up the Den, 
 With bairns and bundled sear. 
 
 to'- 
 
 And all around the town that day — 
 
 Fu' mony a brawny lout, 
 Wi' wife and bairns, and pocks' o' meal. 
 
 Or bannocks in a clout — . 
 Ran scampering o'er the fields afar, 
 
 To lie amauo; the nowt. 
 
 "£3 
 
 Meanwhile, the brave remained to save 
 
 The honour of the town : 
 A gallant feint they tried, in haste, 
 
 Thev mounted cannon soon — 
 Great wooden pumps, on cartless wheels — ^ 
 
 To scare the murdering loon. 
 
 But still on board the Privateer 
 
 The guns did blaze away, 
 And red hot balls flew o'er their heads 
 
 Throughout that fearful day ; 
 
 ' ' Great wooden pumps.' This has been asserted.
 
 52 THE rhymer's family. 
 
 The bricks did shake on chimney tops. 
 And some did fall, they say. 
 
 In this heroic band, that braved 
 That robber of the sea, 
 
 There was a silly tailor loon, 
 And ' Simple' wight was he ; 
 
 ' I vow,' he cried, ' to shoot him dead- 
 Ay, Simple though I be. 
 
 1* 
 
 And off he went at ebb of tide, 
 With firelock in his hand ; 
 
 And, under cover of a rock, 
 He boldly took his stand ; 
 
 And riddled the Eover's flapping sails 
 At his own word of command ; 
 
 Till a wag aboard the Privateer 
 Took a base, ignoble aim ; 
 
 The glowing ball across the brine, 
 Like a bolt of thunder came. 
 
 Rebounding from the splintered rocks, 
 And hissing in the faem. 
 
   ' Simple though I be." Many will reraemhcr the ' Simple Tailor' in his latter years, 
 reeling along the streets, shouting, ' Simple though I be,' with a crowd of boys at his heels. 
 The great warlike feat of liis youth is correctly stated in the verse. 
 
 f
 
 THE PEirATEE;^. 53 
 
 Forth from his cover, like a hare, 
 
 The ' Simple' tailor ran ; 
 The best game cock in our game town 
 
 Can do hut what he can ; — 
 Was ere six-pounder fired before 
 
 At the ninth part of a man l 
 
 'Twere long to tell of what befel 
 
 Throughout that fearful day, 
 When Captain Fall, with powder and ball, 
 
 On our brave town did play ; 
 Till, fairly baffled at the last, 
 
 The rascal bore away. 
 
 Then in the late beleaguered town 
 
 The loud hurra uprose, 
 And then expected troops arriyed, 
 
 So handy, at the close, — 
 A sergeant's party, all recruits, 
 
 Hot marching from Montrose.* 
 
 Lament we now the glorious dead, 
 Whose blood that day was spilt ; 
 
 Dame Partlet and her brood shall livet 
 In this immortal lilt ; 
 
 " A toT\-nsman rode to Montrose in an Incredibly short time, and so the ' sergeant's party' 
 came to relieve the to^rn. 
 
 + A melancholy fact: the hen, and chickens vmdcr her wings, were struck by a ball, and 
 lay mangled on the field of glory— i.e. midden head.
 
 51 THE PUYMER S FAMILY. 
 
 The ' little chickens and their dam, 
 At one fell swoop,' were kilt. 
 
 Now, glory to our gallant sires. 
 Who baffled Captain Fall ; 
 
 And honour to our noble selves, 
 The sons of heroes, all ; 
 
 And never may the ' Auld Round ' 
 Be scathed by cannon ball ! 
 
 THE LILY AND THE ROSE. 
 
 [A Glee for Two Voices.J 
 
 I lo'e the blooming rose, 
 
 Ye lo'e the lily fair ; 
 And we may challenge Scotland wide 
 
 For sic anither pair — 
 
 The lily and the rose. 
 Ye'll sing to me o' your love, 
 
 I'll sing to you o' mine, 
 As the simple shepherd laddies 
 
 Were wont to do langsyne. 
 
 1
 
 THE LIliY AND THE ROSE. 55 
 
 First — I lo'e tlie blooming rose, 
 Second — I lo'e the lily fair ; 
 Both — And we may challenge Scotland Mide 
 For sic anither pair — 
 
 The lily and the rose. 
 
 First — I lo'e the blooming rose, 
 
 Sae bonnie and sae sweet ; 
 There's nae her peer upon the brier, 
 
 Amang the dewy weet : 
 My bonnie blooming rose, 
 
 My sweet be^atching queen, 
 Wi' her locks o' raven hair, 
 And her bonnie black een. 
 
 I lo'e the blooming rose, &c. 
 
 Second — I lo'e the lily fair, 
 
 Sae bonny and sae sweet ; 
 There's nae her peer in gay parterre. 
 
 Where flowery beauties meet ; 
 Wi' her locks o' silky hair. 
 
 And her een o' melting blue. 
 And glistering rows o' pearl 
 
 Set in her sweet wee mou.' 
 
 Second — Ye lo'e the blooming rose, 
 First — Ye lo'e the lily fair, &c.
 
 56 TUE rhymer's family. 
 
 First — I met my blooming rose, 
 
 And I lookit in her een — 
 She loot the jetty fringes fa', 
 
 Lest love should there be seen ; 
 I clasped her jimpy waist — 
 
 She had nae vd]\ to flee, 
 But a' my kisses ower again 
 She gave them back to me. 
 
 I lo'e the blooming fose, &c. 
 
 Second — I met my lily fair, 
 
 She, bashfu', hung her head, 
 And borrowed frae your blooming rose 
 
 A blush o' glowing red ; 
 I kissed her rosy lips, 
 
 And my heart leapt up to pree ; 
 The lonely dell was Eden's yard 
 
 To my young love and me. 
 
 Second — Ye lo'e the blooming rose, 
 First — Ye lo'e the lily fair ; 
 Both — And we may challenge Scotland wide 
 For sic anither pair — 
 
 The lily and the rose.
 
 A VOICE FROM SSIG'S END. 57 
 
 A VOICE FROM SNIG's END, 
 
 ■niTH AN lEISH ECHO. 
 
 Where is our pleasant home and teeming garner ? 
 
 Where is the land so soon to be our own ^ 
 Where is the tutor of each delving learner ? 
 
 And where have all our poor instalments gone ? 
 And echo answered — Done ! 
 
 Where is oui- cow that stands knee-deep in clover, 
 With udder swelling till she scarce can budge — 
 
 Whose lacteal treasures flow all winter over ? 
 She will enrich us, and without a grudge. 
 And echo answered — Fudge ! 
 
 Where are the ducks that daily were to lay us 
 Those great goose eggs, all seasons, foul or fair \ 
 
 Where are the goslings that would doubly pay us 
 For all the ova that we had to spare \ 
 
 And echo answered — Where ? 
 
 Where are the mighty hogs that were to batten 
 Upon our surplus taters in the sty ? 
 
 Where are the bacon pigs we were to fatten % — 
 Five pounds a-piece — Will anybody buy \ 
 And echo answered — Try !
 
 58 THE rhymer's family. 
 
 Our ducks won't lay but only at their leisure, 
 And goose eggs only when the moon is full ; 
 
 Our pigs won't grow the faster for our pleasure, 
 And och ! our cow — she is an Irish bull. 
 And echo answered — Gull! 
 
 I 
 
 Where is our car that dogs delight to bark at I 
 Where is the extra produce that will pay ] 
 
 Where is our ass to draw it to the market, 
 And pick up his subsistence by the Avay ? 
 And echo answered — Brar/ ! 
 
 Where are the long ears nature should have lent us 1 
 Where is the marvel that this truth surpasses "? 
 
 Ould father Feargus to the fields hath sent us, i 
 
 To dig our way towards the higher classes. 
 And echo answered — Asses ! 
 
 Where is the author of this scheme colossal ? 
 
 Where is our sage and philanthropic head ? i 
 
 Where is the gintleman would rather lose all j 
 
 Than see his childer badly off for bread 1 
 And echo answered — Dead.
 
 THE HOWES O' KINNABER. 59 
 
 But what is life laid down as pledge of honour ? 
 
 A specious cobweb for the fustian flies ; 
 And w^hat's the blarney of the great O'Connor, 
 
 That takes Utopian ninnies by surprise ? 
 And echo answered — Lies. 
 
 THE HOWES KINNABER. 
 
 Tlie hand tliat smote its kindred heart 
 Was prone to deeds of mercy — 
   • • • 
 
 He who tliv being gave siiall judge of thee olone. 
 
 Campbell. 
 
 'TwAS in Kinnaber's bowers sae green, 
 
 That we were wont to wander, 
 Before we wist that time and tide 
 
 Wad part us wide asunder. 
 Now waes me for the bonnie green howes, 
 
 And the lanely bowers o' braken ; 
 waes me for the flowery swaird 
 
 By lovers' feet forsaken. 
 
 The wild rose blooms, and fades, and fa's. 
 Untouched by hand o' maiden ; 
 
 Nac silken goAvn to brush the dew, 
 Nor coat o' hamely plaidin' ;
 
 60 THE khymer's family. 
 
 Nae bard to haunt the greenwood glade 
 When cauld -night winds are raving, 
 
 And eerie gleams o' wan moonshine 
 Wi' the shadows deftly waving. 
 
 'Twas there the fause love pu'd a rose, 
 
 To be a true love token ; 
 But gowd maun clasp the tender bands, 
 
 Or eithly are they broken. 
 She pu'd a flower in blooming prime. 
 
 That leal true love had halloAved, 
 And cast it on the stream o' life, 
 
 E'en as a weed that's wallowed. 
 
 He wandered there, the hapless youth. 
 
 When the lonesome owl was crying ; 
 As a lingering ghost may haunt the place 
 
 Where the whitening bones are lying. 
 He wandered there the lee-lang night. 
 
 His luckless love bemoaning, 
 Until the twinkling stars grew dim 
 
 In the red light o' the dawning. 
 
 Sweet sleep, the dew o' life, fell down 
 On the weary warld o' labour, 
 
 And hushed the blithesome birds to rest 
 In the gi'ccn howcs o' Kinnabcr.
 
 THE HOWES O' KISNABER. 61 
 
 life becomes a heavy load, 
 
 The waefu' wight to cumber, 
 Who may not close his weary een 
 
 In the blessed rest o' slumber. 
 
 Weep, kindly hearts — ye weel may weep, 
 
 To hear his moiu'nful story ; 
 The dark locks on his youthful brow 
 
 Grew all untimely hoary. 
 He was the blithesome bard o' Esk — 
 
 The pride o' dale and borough ; 
 wae betide the cruel guile 
 
 That pierced his bosom thorough. 
 
 She plighted faith, that maiden fair, 
 
 Wi' mony a tender token ; 
 Wi' mony a kiss she sealed the vows 
 
 That her fause lips had spoken. 
 wha could think that heart sae base 
 
 Lay in sae fair a bosom ; 
 wha could think that deadly weed 
 
 Wad bear sae sweet a blossom ^ 
 
 The lord o' day, i' the glowing west, 
 
 His jaded steeds was stalling, 
 And the queen o' night, to the starry ha', 
 
 Her glittering train recalling :
 
 62 THE rhtmer's family. 
 
 The lover hied to the howes sae green, 
 
 To wait by the doleful river ; 
 But a gowden shower on the maiden fell — 
 
 The fause love meets him never. 
 
 The cares o' men were nought to him — 
 
 To him, the sad forsaken ; 
 Nor blooming flowers, nor blithesome birds 
 
 That sang amang the braken ; 
 And Scotland's sangs — her strains sae sweet, 
 
 The lore in which he prided — . 
 As light that fa's on cauld cauld death, 
 
 Or dew on flower that's faded. 
 
 Weep, gentle hearts — ye wee! may weep 
 
 For him, the lost, despairing ; — 
 Benighted in the light o' heaven, 
 
 To death's dark vale repairing. 
 wha may judge the mind distraught, 
 
 Where fearfu' thoughts engender ? 
 wha may judge the senseless hands, 
 
 That soul and body sinder ? 
 
 They missed him in his father's ha' 
 
 That night o' meikle sorrow ; 
 And in the haunts o' busy men 
 
 They missed him on the morrow.
 
 THE HOWES O' KIN'NADER. 63 
 
 Bewail thy son, thou lightsome town ; 
 
 Bewail, thou lonesome river ; 
 The leal, kind heart is caukl and still — 
 
 The Bard is gane for ever. 
 
 They sought liira in the greenwood glade, 
 
 Where the pine's dark shadow gloometh ; 
 They peered in clefts and darksome dells 
 
 That the noontide ne'er illumeth ; 
 They dragged the deep and drumly pools 
 
 Wi' meikle care and labour ; 
 By Marykirk, by Craigo haughs, 
 
 And the gi*een howes o' Kinnaber. 
 
 They called his name frae bank to brae, 
 
 The lonely rocks replying ; 
 The sad sea moaning on the shore, 
 
 And dark woods deeply sighing : 
 And Avhen they scared the birds o' prey 
 
 The death watch o'er him keeping, 
 Through a' Kinnaber's bowers, sae green. 
 
 Uprose the voice o* weeping. 
 
 wae betide thy haste to wed ; 
 
 Fause love, couldst thou not tarry 
 Until the bending reed wad break. 
 
 Ere a new love thou wouldst marrv.
 
 64 THE rhymer's family. 
 
 Hadst thou a heart within thy breast ? 
 
 Coukl there be no delaying ? 
 couldst thou speed the sand o' life, 
 
 Nae gentle ruth betraying ? 
 
 But, ah ! the sting o' late remorse — 
 
 The wound that never healeth ! 
 The pang that rends the guilefu' breast — 
 
 The pride o' beauty paleth. 
 never mair in festive ha' 
 
 She joined the mirthfu' measure ; 
 And never mair in lonesome bower 
 
 She wore the smile o' pleasure. 
 
 KATIE BEATTIE. 
 
 Waitin' by the Ladle Well — 
 
 Weary Avaitin' in the gloamin'- 
 Ilka minute is an hour 
 
 Till I see my Katie coniin' : 
 Comin' barefoot frae the toon, 
 
 Liltin' up a lightsome ditty, 
 Wi' her lips sae rosy red ; — 
 
 0, my bonnie Katie Bcattie !
 
 KATIB BEATTIE. G5 
 
 I'm a dummie by her side, 
 
 Slowly pacin' through the plantin' ; 
 Wae's my pluck — ray tongue is tied — 
 
 I canna tell her what I'm wantin', 
 For her twa black pawky een, 
 
 For her tongue sae glibe and witty, 
 For this duntin' heart o' mine ; — 
 
 0, my bonnie Katie Beattie ! 
 
 When we sat by Hungerheigh, 
 
 Just as I was at the spicrin', 
 Came a laugh out-ower the wood, 
 
 Set my very hair a steerin'. 
 Katie up, and ran awa' ; 
 
 Weel she kenned it wasna Clootie, 
 But a muckle horse's calf; — 
 
 O, my bonnie Katie Beattie ! 
 
 When she's gane, and I'm alane, 
 
 Wi' the very wind I'd quarrel ; 
 Sic a coof was never seen — 
 
 Never seen in a' the warl'. 
 A' our fouk they jeer and mock ; 
 
 Now they ca' me simple Patio, 
 Daised and daft, and a' for love ; — 
 
 O, my bonnie Katie Beattie !
 
 60 
 
 SANDY cant's CALF. 
 
 AuLD Sandy had a gude milk cow. 
 She was as black's a craw ; 
 
 But, strange to say, she had a calf 
 That was as white's the snaw. 
 
 She was, I trow, a canny cow. 
 And kent baith far and wide : 
 
 The calf it grew the biggest calf 
 In a' the country side. 
 
 Auld Sandy prized his cow for lang, 
 But now he changed his tune : 
 
 He couldna bear to see the beast. 
 Or bide to hear her croon. 
 
 And he wad spean the meikle calf, 
 And tak it frae its mither, — r 
 
 Because he couldna thole to see 
 Sic black and white thegither. 
 
 It was about the Mart'mas time, 
 When leaves forsake the tree, 
 
 That Sandy reared a canvas byre 
 Out-ower upon the lea :
 
 sANDt cant's calf. 67 
 
 But the storm came on, the keen wind blew, 
 And the cauld draps wad be in : 
 
 They dribblit down on the puir young calf, 
 And droukit its braw white skin. 
 
 Syne Sandy gaed to the borough town, 
 
 And he coft a i)urly pig, 
 And sent his herd loons far and near 
 
 Amang his freends to beg. 
 
 They beggit north, they beggit south, 
 
 Amang the Jocks and Jennies, 
 And soon cam back to Sandy Cant, 
 
 Wi' the purly fu' o' pennies. 
 
 They beggit east, they beggit west, 
 
 They beggit ower the water ; 
 And aye the purly pig was filled, 
 
 And aye the calf gi-ew fatter. 
 
 And sure sic beggin' ne'er was seen 
 
 In a' the warld before, 
 Sin they beggit for the gowden calf 
 
 In the idol days of yore.
 
 t»8 THE rhymer's FAMH-T. 
 
 It was about tlio Whitsuntide — 
 The calf was grown a stirk — 
 
 When Sandy reared a braw stane byi'e, 
 Amaist as big's a kirk ; 
 
 And winnocks it had in ilka side. 
 
 And eke in ilka gable, 
 Wi* whirligigs aboon the door 
 
 Wad graced a royal stable. 
 
 It was about the Lammas tide —   
 The calf was a towmond aul' — 
 
 Twa lang-tongued duels came frae the West, 
 And bred an unco squall ; 
 
 And aye they shouted far and near, 
 
 And raised an awfu' clatter : 
 ' Send back the money, Sandy Cant — 
 
 Ye beggit ower the water.' 
 
 But Sandy buttoned up his pouch : 
 
 Quoth he, ' The end is holy ; 
 And sure, whatever means we use, 
 
 It sanctifies them wholly.
 
 SANDY CANT S CALF. 
 
 We tak' their pence, but o' their sins 
 We wash our beggin' ban's : 
 
 A pagan's penny is as good 
 As ony Christian man's, 
 
 A blessin' rests on a' that gie 
 
 A penny to our herds ; 
 Because their sustentation tub 
 
 Is hooped wi' gospel girds,' 
 
 Wi' that the stirkie cocked her tail, 
 And whiskit ower the lea, 
 
 To bellow in her braw stane byre, 
 Rejoicin' to be free ! 
 
 And she will aye be Sandy's pet, 
 And aye will bear the bell, 
 
 Until she come to be a cow, 
 And ha'e a calf hersel'.
 
 70 THE rhymer's family. 
 
 THE WINSOME WIFE. 
 
 The winsome wife o' Watty Glen. 
 
 Sae bonnie and sae braw, — 
 Sae couthy aye wi' ither men 
 
 When her gudeman's awa'. 
 There's glamour in her bright blue e'e ; 
 
 Her face is blythe and fair, 
 Wi' blooming roses red and white, 
 
 And lips sae ripe and rare. 
 The winsome wife, &c. 
 
 Auld Watty lo'es his youthfu' dame ; 
 
 A kind gudeman is he ; 
 And Jenny meets him wi' a smile. 
 
 But love it canna be. 
 lease me on the bright new moon, 
 
 That kindly clasps the auld ; 
 But waes me for the winter snaw 
 
 That simmer beams enfauld ! 
 The winsome wife, &c. 
 
 The jade yestreen bewitched me clean : 
 My lass gaed lanely hame — 
 
 While I gaed lightly through the dance 
 Wi' Watty's Minsome dame.
 
 THE WINSOME WIFE. 71 
 
 She was sae lithe and maideu like 
 As she gaed through the reel — 
 
 Wi' heaving bosom peering white 
 Through faulds o' silken tweel. 
 The winsome wife, &c. 
 
 Her looks, and smiles, and wanton wiles, 
 
 Nae man may weel withstand : 
 She wad beguile a saint to sin. 
 
 And brak the chaste command. 
 But Watty is the best o' men ; 
 
 He'll ne'er be wranged by me ; 
 I'll conquer, like an honest loon. 
 
 Or fairly turn and flee. 
 
 The winsome wife o' Watty Glen, 
 Sae bonnie and sae braw, — 
 
 Sae couthie aye wi' ither men 
 When her gudeman's awa'.
 
 72 IHE UUYMUU'S FAMILY. 
 
 LAMENT OF THE COUNTESS OF STRATHMORE, 
 
 FOR THE EARI, HER UUSDAND, ON THE ANNIVERSAUV ur HIS DEATH. 
 
 Charles L'von, Earl of Stratlimore, was stabbed in the Streets of Forfar by Cibmegie of 
 Findhaven, in the year 1727. He was carried home to his Castle of Glammiss, where he 
 died of his wounds. Many years ago, an old woman in the village told nie that the 
 affray took place at the funeral of a daughter of Douulas of Bridgton : When the sexton 
 had finished his task, Findhayen said, that pays her tocher gude,'— old DoroLAS drew 
 his sword and attacked him instantly. The Earl rushed between, to part them, when he 
 got "the redding stroke," — was stabbed by Findhaven. She said, that in her yonth 
 the old folks always spoke of this Earl as the " Good Earl Charles,"— that he had a kind 
 word for every one,— that every puii body or ragged youngster that met him was sure of 
 .1 sixpence or shilling ; and that Findhaven had to fly the country, execrated by all, for 
 tlie murder of the " Good Earl Charles." When lately in the Castle of Glammiss, and 
 looking at the portrait of the unfortunate nobleman, I mentioned the circumstance to 
 the servant. She told me another story :— There had been a gathering of gentry in 
 Forfar, and Findhaven, under the influence of liquor, rushed out of the inn, and 
 attacked the Earl on the street while he was unarmed. Tliis is unlikely, as the 
 sword was invari.bly worn at that time. The prevailing tradition is, however, that there 
 was foul play. It has generally been accounted a case of murder. I have been informed 
 there is a manuscript in the Castle, written by the widowed lady, expressive of her feel- 
 ings on her bereavement ; but I had to draw upon imagination ; and if I have made her 
 \itter sentiments hardly to be expected from a lady of rank in those days, the reader will 
 please to remember the license by which bards can make even ladies talk as tliey have a 
 mind, 
 
 The morning breaketh cold and grey, 
 With dewy tears on every leaf, 
 And all is Imslied in gloomy calm — 
 Meet dawning for this fatal day. 
 When bleed afresh the wounds of grief, 
 Tliat time can bring no healing balm. 
 
 Now, from the lofty towers of Glammiss, 
 I look abroad on wide Strathmore ; 
 Our lands beneath far spreading lie, 
 But, ah ! the banished, craving alms 
 From aliens on a foreign shore, 
 Are not of joy forlorn as I.
 
 LAMENT Of XUE COUNTESS OF STRATHMOBE. 73 
 
 A year hath passed — sad year to me — 
 Since he, my own dear lord, was slain : 
 Attended here by kith and kin, 
 This day to grief will sacred be ; 
 This day will thousands curse again 
 The hand that wrought the deadly sin. 
 
 A year I've worn this sad array, 
 Secluded from the world apart — 
 The living by the dead possest ; 
 And, ever till my dying day, 
 I'll chamber in my inmost heart 
 The liege lord of my loyal breast. 
 
 I see his portrait from the wall 
 Look smiling down to see me weep, 
 Until I fail to gaze thereon : 
 This painted counterfeit is all ; 
 Oh, this is all that earth can keep 
 Of him — the dear departed one. 
 
 But pardon me, my sireless sons, 
 That in my sorrow I forget 
 You come between me and despair : 
 I watch your sleep, my darling ones, 
 Your faces witli my salt tears wet, 
 And trace your father's image there.
 
 74 THE rhymer's FAHILt. 
 
 Oh, he was good ! beloved by all — 
 By high and low, by old and young ! 
 All but the basest of the base : 
 So good and kind in hut and hall, 
 His praise the theme of every tongue — 
 The gentlest of a noble race. 
 
 He on his high estate conferred 
 The lustre of a humble mind, 
 A generous heart, an open hand : 
 The worthless great he ne'er preferred 
 Before the worthy honest hind : 
 Oh, that his spirit filled the land ! 
 
 It was not for a noble name, 
 For princely hall or wide domain, 
 Or arms with royal quarterings, 
 That he hath this — his meed of fame : 
 A man among his fellow-men, 
 Ennobled by the King of kings ! 
 
 Oh, woe is mo ! — my love ! — my life ! 
 My crown of joy that God me gave ! 
 I saw thy life-blood drop away ; 
 And I who prayed to Heaven above — 
 Oh, vainly prayed ! — to heal and save, 
 I live to sec this doleful day !
 
 LAMENT OF THE COUNTESS OF STRATHMORE. 75 
 
 Oh, woe is rac ! — ofttimes distraught, 
 I ope these dreary chamber doors : 
 What is it there my sight appals ? 
 With blood my burning eyes are fraught, 
 Red sunlight gleameth on the floors, 
 Red arras gloometh on the walls. 
 
 Again I hear the tramp of horse, 
 I hear the hum of many men, 
 I see him borne into the hall : 
 I clasp the dead — a lifeless corse 
 I clasp within my arms again, 
 And on my lost love wailing call. 
 
 My God, thou art my sole relief! 
 Until thou lett'st me 'part in peace. 
 These towers are but my living tomb. 
 Oh, pardon me my sins of grief ! 
 Oh, blessed Jesu, grant me grace 
 To meet him in his heavenly home !
 
 ?g TUE rhymer's family. 
 
 THE HUNGER FIEND. 
 
 [Wiitten nesrly twelve years ago, when the Corn Laws were in full operation,— with cheap 
 work and dear bread. It appeared in ' Tait's Magazine,' and was quoted bj various 
 journals. T 
 
 As one who in a lonesome road, 
 
 Doth walk in fear and dread ; 
 And, having once looked back, goes on. 
 
 And turns no more his head : 
 
 For why ? he knows a frightful fiend 
 
 Doth close behind him tread. 
 
 Ancient Makinhi. 
 
 I AM the Hunger Fiend : 
 
 Who hath not heard of me I 
 My home — my native hell, 
 
 Is the Island of the Free. 
 For I am not of heaven ; 
 
 Nor do I owe my hirth 
 To devils, but to men : 
 
 The honoured of the earth 
 
 Begat the Hunger Fiend ! 
 
 And they have pampered me, 
 
 These noble sires of mine, 
 With flesh of living men : 
 
 Ho ! Death, the bones are thine ! 
 When in their sunken cheeks 
 
 I've writ my horrid name, 
 Give them to Mother Earth — 
 
 We play a deadly game — 
 
 Come, follow the Hunger Fiend !
 
 THE HUNGER FIEND. 77 
 
 The Land of Trade is mine, 
 
 Where thousands feel my pangs ; 
 Where many an honest heart 
 
 Is poisoned vntli my fangs ; 
 Aye, many a noble soul, 
 
 Defiled in ravenous clay : 
 Though the Church hath lordly priests, 
 
 For wretched men to pray — 
 
 They pray for the Hunger Fiend ! 
 
 The famished city cries, 
 
 To the cold insensate air, 
 The while her idle hands 
 
 Are clasped in despair : 
 Saith Hope, ' She yet may ply 
 
 Her countless iron wheels — 
 The fulness of the earth 
 
 Awaits her thousand keels :' 
 
 ' Ha, ha !' quoth the Hunger Fiend ! 
 
 'Tis there the mother weeps 
 For the babe that's yet unborn, 
 
 While the weary father sleeps ; 
 But I wake him up at morn :
 
 78 THE rhymer's family. 
 
 Ah ! he can sleep no more — 
 The wail of want he hears, 
 
 And his burning brain is full 
 Of desperate thoughts and fears. 
 Am I not the Hunger Fiend ? 
 
 Britannia ! rejoice 
 
 In thy loyal sons of toil, 
 Who eat no alien bread, 
 
 For love of thy poor soil : 
 Thou shalt have soldiers yet, 
 
 And seamen for thy fleets, 
 And felons for thy jails, 
 
 And harlots for thy streets — 
 
 While I'm thy Hunger Fiend ! 
 
 All hail ! thou Island Queen ! 
 
 Let my honoured sires rejoice 
 In thy army's proud array, 
 
 In thy navy's thunder voice : 
 Ho ! nobles, laugh to scorn 
 
 The curses of my prey ; 
 On with the festival : 
 
 Pour out the wine — hurra ! 
 
 For the terrible Hunger Fiend.
 
 LISTRATHEN BRAES. 79 
 
 LINTRATHEN BRAES. 
 
 LiNTRATHEN braes were clad 
 
 Wi' the bonnie blooming heather, 
 And the snawy gowans spread 
 
 In the sunny summer weather, 
 
 By the shallow water side. 
 Now a' is bleak and bare 
 
 Where I have been wi' thee, love ; 
 But fancy ever there 
 
 A sunny blink can see, love — 
 
 The light o' thy dark e'e. 
 
 Lintrathcn braes are white. 
 
 The winter winds are raving, 
 But gleams o' glancing light, 
 
 And leafy boughs are waving 
 
 In dreams o' dear delight. 
 I hear thy gentle voice, 
 
 Thy smiling face I see, love, 
 Thy glowing lips I kiss 
 
 In dreaming free, love, 
 
 When sleep has closed my e'e.
 
 80 THB RHYMER S FAMILY. 
 
 And fondly I recall 
 
 The flowers on muir and mountain, — 
 The little warblers all, 
 
 And lake, and stream, and fountain, 
 And gushing waterfall. 
 I love them for thy sake : 
 
 If thou be false to me, love, 
 My proud heart may not break. 
 
 But never more I'll see, love, 
 
 A heaven in woman's e'e. 
 
 Lintrathen, fare-thee-well ! 
 
 I saAv thy fairest maiden. 
 And left thy lonely dell. 
 
 As the bee wi' honey laden 
 
 Frae the bonnie heather bell. 
 Light fancies may depart 
 
 As fleeting shadows flee, love ; 
 Thy image in my heart 
 
 For evermore will be, love, 
 
 Till death has closed my e'e.
 
 LIFE. 81 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 ffKlTE COMPARISONS.] 
 
 Compare we life in its merry cliildliood 
 To insect roaming from flower to flower ; 
 
 Alas ! we are poor in joy to envy 
 The sportive creature its little hour. 
 
 Compare we youth to a colt unbridled, 
 
 Spurning ever the spur and rein, 
 Till fairly broken, and tamed, and jaded, 
 
 And yoked for life in the heavy wain. 
 
 Then lusty manhood, in leaky vessel 
 
 Must work the pump or of life despair ; 
 
 No rest ; no rest : see ! The rising waters 
 Strive for the dear ones perilled there. 
 
 Cling round the grandsire his second children. 
 Reminding him of his youthful dreams, 
 
 Like ancient ruin upgrown with ivy, 
 
 On which the cold moon sheds her beams. 
 
 Compare we life to a rapid river, 
 
 And men to straws on the stream that float. 
 
 Borne by current or inwhirled by eddy, 
 
 And left in mire of the banks to rot : 
 
 F
 
 82 THB rhymer's family. 
 
 And he that floats on the stream the longest 
 Is hasting on to be seen no more : 
 
 Soon swept away by the falling waters, 
 Down in the gnlfs of tlie dead sea shore ! 
 
 toxal's travels. 
 
 Oc'ii ! Shonie, noo, she'll tell you true 
 
 About the Railiway, man ! 
 Arbroath be gang ta Forfar toun 
 
 Ta see the holiday, man ! 
 ITcrsel' she'll pay the shillin' down, 
 
 And get the wee bit print, man ! 
 Till let her in the fleein' toun. 
 
 And leave the warl' ahint, man ! 
 
 Awa' we flee by Collietoun ; 
 
 She no ha'e time for think, man ! 
 But when we come to Lousymill, 
 
 The iron prute be drink, man ! 
 And when she get her pelly fu', 
 
 She gie an unco skirl, man ! 
 And hostet, when she tak' the gate, 
 
 Till a' her banes be dirl, man I
 
 tonal's travels. . 83 
 
 And uoo, the dykes upon the ground, 
 
 They a' be fleein' by, man ! 
 The meikle trees be try a race, 
 
 And frightit a' the kye, man ! 
 The houses flee like lieihin' deer, 
 
 The fields be whirl about, man ! 
 But a' the fouk be sit like stane, 
 
 Tho' a' be rin-thereout, man ! 
 
 She sit beside a shcntlemans 
 
 Tat print the meikle news, man ! 
 And tak' hersel' for heilan' laird 
 
 Because she wear the trews, man ! 
 She tell her o' especial train, 
 
 Tat be so very big, man ! 
 Her head be up in Forfar toun, 
 
 Her tail on Clokim Brig, man ! 
 
 But noo, she see the Forfar fouk 
 
 Be glowerin' in a raw, man ! 
 And when she stap upon the grund, 
 
 The stanes be stap awa', man ! 
 And when she sit upon her pack, 
 
 They cry, be Tonal' fu', man ! 
 She tell the lousy wabster loons 
 
 Ta pack ta Diouf dhu, man !
 
 84 THK rhymer's family. 
 
 And noo, they tak' the iron peast, 
 
 And pit her in the bjre, man I 
 But a' the meat she eat he coal, 
 
 And a' the dung he fire, man ! 
 But tak' her up ta Shonie Groat's, 
 
 And pang her weel wi' peat, man ! 
 She wad come o'er the heilan' hills 
 
 Like Satan's coach o' state, man ! 
 
 THE WEARY SPULE. 
 
 Now fare-thee-weel, thou weary spule. 
 
 For laigher down I canna fa' ; 
 Gin ere I see anither yule, 
 
 Gude send I haena thee to ca'. 
 I'm weary o' thy ration sma', 
 
 And lang, lang weary days o' dule ; 
 I'll ha'e a kick at fortune's ba', 
 
 Sac fare-thee-weel thou weary spule ! 
 
 Thy darg wad bleach the Parson's nose, 
 Thy cog wad pinch the Provost's paunch 
 
 Thou wad niak' wide His Worship's hose, 
 Gin he Avere on thy weary bench.
 
 THE WEAKY SPOLE. 85 
 
 The thirst o' lear tliou Aveel may quench, 
 The lowe o' love thou maist wad cule ; 
 
 Wlia scared me frae a winsome wench 
 But thee, thou worthless, AVeary spule ! 
 
 There's Willie and his wife and bairns 
 
 A' skelpin' barefit on the stanes ; 
 She, scolds for peace ; he, shouts for pirns ; 
 
 They, fecht for hrose, like dogs for banes : 
 Sae when a dream o' wife and weans 
 
 Comes stealin' o'er my flichty brain, 
 I just look in on Willie Deans, 
 
 And, wae's my heart ! the dream is gane. 
 
 Yet drivin' thee, thou weary spule, 
 
 I whiles maun woo the Muse sae shy, 
 And spurn oblivion's drumly pule ; 
 
 When Pegasus will scale the sky, 
 Awa', in Gilpin trim, we fly 
 
 To list the music o' the spheres. 
 Till, crash ! — a score o' threads to tye — 
 
 I'm down — wi' patience and the shears. 
 
 But fare-thee-weel, thou weary spule. 
 Thou winna fill the wabster's maw : 
 
 Sae, gin I see anither yule, 
 
 I houp I'll nae hae thee to ca'.
 
 86 THE rhymer's family. 
 
 I'lu weary o' thy ration siua', 
 
 And lang, lang weary days o' dale ; 
 
 I'll ha'e a kick at fortune's ba', 
 In spite o' tliee, thou weary spule. 
 
 FRAGMENT, 
 
 THOU promethean fire, 
 
 Thou lightning of the brain, 
 That finds a quivering wire 
 
 In every nerve — a vein — 
 And pours the blood of thought 
 
 Beyond the will's control, 
 Till every sense is fraught — 
 
 Imbued and blent with soul : 
 
 Or muse — whate'er thou art, 
 
 That with despotic power 
 Wouldst sway the subject hear 
 
 I love thee and thy dower 
 Of beauty rarely given ; 
 
 Thy bright imaginings, 
 That tinge with hues of heaven 
 
 Our cold dark earthly things
 
 TO MT LITTLE BOT. 87 
 
 Afar apart tliy dwelling 
 
 lu the land of dreams, 
 By fountains ever welling — 
 
 Ever flowing streams ; 
 By waters gushing ever 
 
 From the secret mine. 
 To swell the purest river 
 
 That sweetens ocean's brine- 
 
 TO MY LITTLE BOY. 
 
 I FAIN would be thy guide, my child. 
 And guard thee where I have been foiled ; 
 If thou must bide the brunt of life, 
 I would forearm thee for the strife : 
 The golden rule without alloy 
 Man will not keep, my little boy ! 
 
 I w^ould not thou shouldst be, my cliiid, 
 
 A simple man, so meanly mild 
 
 As hug the mire beneath the tramp 
 
 Of any overbearing scamp ; 
 
 Nor would I have thee wrano-lino- still 
 
 At strife for every petty ill, —
 
 88 THE KHYMER's I'AMII.Y. 
 
 But bravely bear the world's annoy 
 With liglitsome heart, my little boy ! 
 
 Thongh I must leave tiice poor, my child, 
 From costly pleasures' haunts exiled — 
 Thou may'st enjoy the summer air. 
 And flowers and music, sweet and fair : 
 May'st have a book at thy desire, 
 Beside the winter evening fire ! 
 Those costly pleasures sting or cloy, 
 Let these be thine, my little boy ! 
 
 And give not up thy heart, my child, 
 To mad ambition's projects wild ; 
 Nor cherish thou insane desires 
 Within thee, like consuming fires : 
 Or thou wilt simple pleasures scorn, 
 And they will leave thee all forlorn, 
 And thou wilt nothing else enjoy 
 So sweet again, my little boy ! 
 
 Go ; fight the fight of life, my child. 
 And keep thy honour undcfiled ; 
 Revere thy God, my darling one ! 
 And love thou well thy brother man ; 
 And man may trust thee, and employ — 
 And God will bless my little boy !
 
 THE I.ASS THAT I.o'ED ME DKARl.Y. 89 
 
 THE LASS THAT LO'ED ME DEARLY. 
 
 My Annie dwelt on Angus Braes, 
 
 A blooming muirland maiden, 
 Content amang tlie heather hells. 
 
 In a coat o' hamely plaidin'. 
 To busk her braw, in silk attire, 
 
 I followed fortune fairly ; 
 To gather gear I left my love, 
 
 The lass that lo'ed me dearly. 
 
 But far awa' in foreign land, 
 
 My heart was leal and lonely ; 
 Though mony a bonnie face I saw 
 
 I lo'ed my Annie only. 
 And though ambition shared my heart, 
 
 I thought baith late and early 
 0' th' love I left on Angus braes, 
 
 The lass that lo'ed me dearly. 
 
 I held her in my clasping arms 
 That Aveary day we parted ; 
 
 Sly blushing rose — my lily pale— 
 My true, my tender hearted !
 
 90 THE rhymer's FAMII.V. 
 
 Bat, \vi' her tears upon my lips, 
 I left her mourning sairly, 
 
 And never, never saw her mair, 
 The lass that lo'ed me dearly. 
 
 She faded in her lanely harae ; 
 
 My x\nnie drooped and faded, 
 So like a sun-forsaken flower, 
 
 By rank weeds overshaded. 
 In vain they say that nought could save ; 
 
 This thought will haunt me sairly — 
 I left her to an early grave, 
 
 The lass that lo'ed me dearly. 
 
 Oh ! wae betide the warld's gear, 
 
 That makes us pause and ponder — 
 The sweetest flowers o' life grow sere 
 
 While lovers pine asunder. 
 Oh ! wae betide ambition's fire 
 
 That scorches hearts sae early, 
 And ithers leaves to pine and die, 
 
 The hearts that lo'e sae dearly.
 
 MV AIN WIFE. 91 
 
 ]^JY AIN WIFE AT HAME. 
 
 Troth, I'll ba'e a wife i' the spring o' my life, 
 
 And nae bring an liouest man's docliter to shame, 
 
 Por the bachelor chief aften gaes to the deil ; 
 Sae I'll gae belyve to my ain wife at hame. 
 
 And when I may fail my friends at the ale, 
 
 They'll tell me the pleasures o' wedlock are tame; 
 
 But I'll think o' my Jean, sittiu' weary alane, 
 And I'll hie me awa' to my ain wife at hame. 
 
 r the lang winter night, by the fire blazin' bright, 
 I'll think nae o' wealth, and I'll reck nae o' fame, 
 
 But I'll sit on my chair, and ha'e nacthing to fear, 
 In our warld o love, wi' my ain wife at hame. 
 
 And I'll read frae the page o' some auld warld sage, 
 Wlia stands in a niche in the temple o' fame ; 
 
 And she will comment sae weel thereanent, 
 
 I'll get plenty o' lear wi' my ain wife at hame. 
 
 And when I may dee — at some ninety-and-three — 
 Some twa of three year after my canny auld dame — 
 
 My sons and my grandsons, in scores will convene, 
 To lav the auld man bv his ain wife at hame.
 
 02 THE rhymer's familt. 
 
 THE HAT. 
 
 Say, why should folk stare with their mouths all 
 agape, 
 
 And turn up the white of their eyes, man ! 
 At the colour, or shape, of a hat or a cap 
 
 On the head of a fool or a wise man ? 
 
 This hat has been banished these three hundred 
 years, 
 
 And here all the devilment lies, man ! 
 That this obsolete hat should now fit so pat 
 
 On the nob of a Cardinal Wiseman. 
 
 Cries honest John Bull, ' Don't we 'ate this 'ere 'at V 
 Quoth the Pope, ' That is all in our eyes, man ! 
 
 You have lads that wear mitres, might come to St 
 Peters, 
 And get hats like our Cardinal Wiseman : 
 
 Our blessing will stick to this eminent hat. 
 And England will find it a prize, man ! 
 
 She may flourish again, as our States do, and 
 Spain, 
 And all who have Cardinal Wisemen.'
 
 THE POOR OI.D LAIRD. 93 
 
 Cries Pat, • Pray your Holiness, give us a liat, 
 Sure we hav'nt the money to buy's one ; 
 
 Ocli ! Avouldn't we thrive, like miu'ther alive, 
 If we had but a Cardinal Wiseman V 
 
 Says Sawnie, ' We fear that Mahoun will be next ; 
 
 It needna be ony surprise, man ! 
 Though a Mufti MacTurk was established in York, 
 
 Or in London, like Cardinal Wiseman ! 
 
 But we piously hope that the meikle black deil 
 That danced awa' wi' the exciseman, 
 
 Will come fiddlin' soon through London toun, 
 And dance aff wi' this Cardinal Wiseman !' 
 
 THE POOR OLD LAIRD. 
 
 Pity the sorrows of a poor old laird, 
 
 Whose tottering state has brought him to your 
 door — 
 
 Whose rents are dwindling beautifully less ; 
 
 Give credit still, and heaven will bless your store.
 
 94 iHK rhymer's family. 
 
 These mortgage deeds my poverty bespeak — 
 Tliese torn entails proclaim my boding fears. 
 
 That every furrow of those burdened lands 
 Will soon bo wrested from my luckless heirs. 
 
 Yon house, erected on St Stephen's ground, 
 I hoped might yet relieve me of my load ; 
 
 For Compensation there her claims hath found. 
 And there Protection long had his abode. 
 
 Hard is the fortune of the landed poor : 
 
 When I but craved my dole of taxed bread, 
 
 A Whiggish Premier drove me from the door, 
 To seek my fortune in some honest trade. 
 
 Monopoly, the consort of my youth. 
 
 Lured by Sir Robert from her native home, 
 
 Is now abandoned to the world's wide stage, 
 And left in shameless liberty to roam. 
 
 Our child, Dear Loaf, who claimed my tender cares, 
 Soon fell, alas ! beneath the stern decree — 
 
 Gave up the crust to feed the hungry worms, 
 And left the world to ruin and to me.
 
 THE WAUSING 
 
 Pity the sorrows of a poor old laird, 
 
 Whose tottering state has brought him to your 
 door — 
 Whose rents are dwindling beautifully less ; 
 
 Give credit still, and heaven will bless your store. 
 
 THE WARNING. 
 
 The ladye sat within her bower, 
 
 In ward o' maidens fair, 
 And listened to the wailing wind 
 
 Wi' meikle dool and care. 
 ' I hear, I hear a mournfu' voice 
 
 That mak's sad melodic ; 
 I hear a strain, wi' sad refrain, 
 
 Oh, turn thee, love, and flee ! 
 
 ' The cauld drift fa's on waste and wold, 
 
 The piercin' wind blaws keen ; 
 It's no the sheets o' driven snaw 
 
 My love should lie between. 
 Fu' hard is winter's icy heart, 
 
 But harder man's may be, 
 And lang may beat in deadly hate — 
 
 Oh, turn ye, love, and flee !
 
 96 THE rhymer's KAMILY. 
 
 ' III Lyiidoch lietli hounds in leasli. 
 
 And lurkctli vengeful men ; 
 In Metliven's dismal, dreary woods 
 
 Is raony a darksome den ; 
 The Almond o'er its rocky bed 
 
 Rins roaring to the sea : 
 My heart is sair — I can nae mair — 
 
 Oh, turn ye, love, and flee ! 
 
 ' Hark ! Is't the bay o' fierce bloodhound ? 
 
 Or is't the howling wind V — 
 The ladye's face is deadly pale, 
 
 And wandering is her mind : 
 Her true love, till the day o' doom, 
 
 She never mair will see ; 
 But aye she sings the sad refrain — 
 
 * Oh turn ye, love, and flee !' '
 
 97 
 
 M V J. O U I) S A L) \' li N T. 
 
 A ROMAUNT IX TWU CANTOS. 
 ' A Lor J ! up higher yet, my bonnet 1' 
 
 'TWAS in the toun o' Catclitlioplack, 
 
 So famed for bcggin' kirks and seliiiles, 
 
 Some philanthropic chiel' proposed 
 A scrand asvhim for tlie fules : 
 
 And everybody praised the scheme — 
 A fellow-fceiin' fired the toim — 
 
 And some gave freelv o' their aiu, 
 And some wi' itlicr's dust came down. 
 
 And then it chanced upon a day 
 That Rumour took her tootin' liorn, 
 
 And blew the tidings through the toun — 
 ' My Lord's cxpcctit here the morn !' 
 
 Tiie magistrates o' Catchtheplack 
 Sat down upon their council stools, 
 
 And soon resolved to treat my Lord, 
 And In'oacli liim for Uu; iu>upo o' fnlos. 
 
 G
 
 gg THE RUYMEk's FAMIIiY. 
 
 So atf tlicy gaed to Jamie's Inn, 
 And ordered dinner for a score — 
 
 A mighty meal o' beef and veal, 
 Forbye a skate and flukes galore. 
 
 And sin' the days o' Mally Auld 
 
 There ne'er was seen sic cookin' thcrc- 
 
 The hungry loons upon the street 
 Were snuffin' up the greasy air. 
 
 The schulcs are out ! they hear the news : 
 ' Hurra,' they cry with one accord — 
 
 ' Hurra for Jolly Jamie's Inn ! 
 
 For there the Toun's to feed my Lord.' 
 
 Now dance the halberds at the cross — 
 The folks are glowerin' anc and a', 
 
 To see the bailie bodies strut 
 In a' the dignity o' law. 
 
 First Provost Gruft* and Bailie Fikc, 
 Preceded each by halberdier ; 
 
 And neist came Bailies Hum, and Haw, 
 And Councillors bring up the rear.
 
 MY LORD s Advent. 99 
 
 Tliey entered Jolly Jamie's Inn, 
 
 And straight proceeded up the stair ; 
 
 The ProYOst sync got on liis specks, 
 To overhaul the bill o' fare. 
 
 But, hark ! they hear a horse's hoofs 
 Come np the street wi' clatterin' din — 
 
 A groom upon a sweatin' naig 
 Reins quickly up at Jamie's Inn. 
 
 ' And Avhere,' ' and when V was a' the cry — - 
 
 Frae ilka side the queries pour : 
 ' My Lord and Lady will be here 
 
 AVithin a quarter of an hour.' 
 
 ' My Lady !' grunted Provost Grulf : 
 ' My Lady !' whispered Bailie Fike ; 
 
 ' My Lady !' muttered Hum, and Haw, 
 And a' the Councillors alike. 
 
 Says Gruff, ' An awkward job, indeed ! 
 
 We should have thought of this yestreen : 
 We heard my Lady was at Court, 
 
 Attending on our gracious Queen.'
 
 1(K) THE EUYMER's FAMILT. 
 
 Syne up gets Councillor M'Funie, 
 And blusters out this sage advice : 
 
 ' Invite them baith ; invite them baith I 
 They say my Lady's nae that nice.' 
 
 ' But liooly, hooly,' quoth the clerk — 
 ' It's no the etiquette, you ken, 
 
 T' invite a lady at an inn 
 
 To dine wi' public gentlemen.' 
 
 ' I move,' said Councillor M'Gusc, 
 ' We send to bid our wives get ready, 
 
 And come wi' a' the speed they can 
 To keep in countenance my Lady.* 
 
 UV 
 
 2 
 
 ) 
 
 \' 
 
 n 
 
 ' 'Twill never do,' quoth Bailie Fikc : 
 ' Before the ladies would get dressed 
 
 You know the dinner would get cold' — 
 Reporters could not catch the rest : 
 
 For at the moment, liark ! ' hurra !' ~\ 
 
 Tlioy hear the sound o' carriage wheels, -^ 
 
 And a' the dogs o' Catchtheplack 
 Loud barkin' at the horses' heels.
 
 S5 LORD S ADVKNT. 
 
 Now i» tlio lobby, all in haste, 
 On ilka side they rank in raw ; 
 
 And on the right is Gruff, and Filio, 
 And on the left is Hum, and Haw. 
 
 * Now, Provost,' whispered Bailie Fike — '""f 
 
 For honour o' the toun, be ready : 
 Tak' aff your glove, and play the host — 
 
 It's you that maun help out my Lady !' 
 
 ' Now, hold your tongue,' quoth Provost Gruff, 
 ' What ! do yon take mo for a donkey ; 
 
 Chief Magistrate of Catchtheplack 
 To do the duty of a flunky !' 
 
 Up drives the carriage to the door — 
 Amazed, the coachman glowered about ; 
 
 The flunky stood like ane bewitched, 
 But Jamie soon came hobblin' out. 
 
 Up flees the door wi' sic a bang, 
 Down fa' the steps sac instantly. 
 
 And sic a booin' then began, 
 
 That deil a ane o' them could see ;
 
 102 THE khymer's family. 
 
 For aye they boo'd. and boo'd, and boo'd- 
 I see them yet, the supple chiels ! 
 
 A plummet hung outower their rumps 
 Wad fa'n a yard ahint their heels. 
 
 And when they ventured up their heads, 
 The mob set uji a loud guffaw : 
 
 There was the carriage, sure enough, 
 But nae my Lord was there ava. 
 
 CANTO SECOND. 
 
 • A lord at the liotlle ! set tlitni u|' wi' a lord '.'— Meo Hops, 
 
 Commissioned now to seek mv Lord, 
 The coachman graspit Avhip and rein, 
 
 And dravc to where he set him down, 
 In hopes to pick him up again. 
 
 But nac ray Lord was there, it seems, 
 And coacliie drave frae hill to see, 
 
 Through dirty streets, wi' jolt and splash, 
 Bomircd up to the axletrec.
 
 MY LOUd's advent. 103 
 
 At length lie halts, perplexed and lost, 
 
 When straight a callant brouglit him word — 
 
 Awa' he dravc to mussel shore, 
 
 And catched my Lady and my Lord. 
 
 My Lady, like a tradesman's wife, 
 
 Was sittin' on the benty brae ; 
 My Lord was down upon the beach, 
 
 And chappin' at a partan tae. 
 
 ' My dear, the carriage, I declare ; 
 And see, a mob of boys pursue.' 
 
 • The carriage ! where ? by Jove, it is ; 
 
 I wonder what can be ado.' 
 
 * What's happened, John V ' Don't know, my 
 
 Lord: 
 Some public business to begin — 
 Tlie Magistrates of Catchtheplack 
 Await your Lordship at the inn.' 
 
 ' The devil take them ! — waiting me ! 
 
 I wish I'd been my younger brother : 
 My Lordship to a plack, 'tis some 
 
 Confounded charity or other !'
 
 101 'juic rhymer's family. 
 
 But no retreat, — away tliey go, 
 
 As they were drivin' for their lives : 
 
 Th' astonished gutters flew like drift, 
 And spattered a' the glowerin' wives. 
 
 Arrived — the farce was played again : 
 The hooin' scene was famous sport ; 
 
 But for the laughin' o' the crowd, 
 The actors had to cut it short. 
 
 My Lord and Lady were engaged — 
 They had to be at home to dine ; 
 
 But took, by way of compromise, 
 A biscuit and a glass of wine. 
 
 ' Proud of the honour,' and so forth — 
 
 The buttery speech was made and ready— 
 
 ' Here's wishing your good health, my Lord ; 
 And no forgetting yours, ray Lady !' 
 
 ' Thanks, gentlemen,' etcetera — 
 
 My Lord behoved to pay them back — 
 
 ' Lord Provost ! gentlemen ! your healths : 
 Prosperity to Catchtheplack !'
 
 MV lord's advent. 105 
 
 Sic compliments and specclics fine 
 
 Wad civileczcd a clown to hear ; 
 For afterwards the Magistrates 
 
 Were mair polite for mony a year. 
 
 But how they brought the house o' fules 
 
 Within the conversation bounds 
 I ne'er could learn, yet sure enough 
 
 They drew my Lord for fifty pounds. 
 
 When they retired to private life, 
 
 Wecl privileged to chaw the cud 
 O Bweet reflection were they a' 
 
 On beggiu' for the public gude. 
 
 Now what's become o' a' the funds 
 
 They best can tell that had the charge ; 
 
 But th' grand asylum's yet to fund, 
 And a' the fulcs are goin' at large.
 
 106 3HK rhtmrr's family. 
 
 THE maniac's sang. 
 
 LMany jcnrs ngo a rhymin? friend of mine w,i9 engaged on a poem in never so many 
 cantos, entitled ' The Maniac,' and asked me for a sang to put in the mouth of his mad 
 lieroine. I tried, but it would not do for my friend's epic, as he said it was not wise 
 cnougli for wise folks nor daft enough for tlie daft. lie was right. His Maniac is 
 defunct, and so should be lier sang ; but tlien there is the printer now crying, ' Copy- 
 copy— more copy,' and 1 am obliged to sweep the nursery, and drag all these abortions 
 to light. Realli it is too bad. Reader, 1 pity you— pity me if ye can.] 
 
 What ails thee, now, thou wailing wind, 
 
 Wliat makes thee sigh hy tower and tree I 
 Sec yonder sad forsaken sail, 
 
 That pines, thou faithless wind, for thee. 
 Gae waft the weary clouds forlorn — 
 
 Oh, waes me but my heart is sair — 
 Awa', thou fickle wandering wind, 
 
 Thy fause breath beareth sweets nae mair. 
 
 What ails thee, now, thou weary moon, 
 
 What makes thee look so pale and wan l 
 Thou dallies wi' the changing tide, 
 
 Mair stable than inconstant man. 
 Gae, hide thee in the darksome cloud — 
 
 Oh, waes me, but my heart is eair — - 
 Awa', ye little twinkling stars. 
 
 And blink nac doon to light despair.
 
 SCIENCE. 107 
 
 What ails tlice, now, thou restless main, 
 
 fSae sadly moaning on the shore : 
 Can wac betide thy heaving breast, 
 
 Deep, deep -within thy bosom's core? 
 Then doon amang the glittering shells — 
 
 Ohj waes me, but my heart is sair ! — 
 Beneath the sheets o' foam sac white, 
 
 I fain wad rest for evermair. 
 
 SCIENCE. 
 
 Thy revelations most amazing aro 
 
 Proud science ; and thy triumphs manifold. 
 
 ^Xe canonize thy pioneers of old, 
 
 By bigots doomed, and spurned by brands of war 
 
 Now, harness we the lightning to thy car — 
 
 Now, gazing with our naked eyes, behold 
 
 Earth's annals, time-engraven, as she rolled 
 
 Through space, ere foot of man did cumber her ; 
 
 And with thine eye., see in the glorious zone 
 
 Myi'iads of suns, and worlds of foreign lands. 
 
 Proud science ! — yet, for all that thou hast done — 
 
 Yet art thou ever to the helot-bands 
 
 A prisoned eagle, pining for the sun — 
 
 A stranded tritou, gasping on the sands.
 
 108 TIIK UIIYMI'K'S lAMlLY, 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF CAPTAIN GRAY, R.M. 
 
 CCai't\in Cii.vKLiis GftiY, R.M. ( Author of Liiys and Lyrics), died while these roems were 
 in the press. He was a niitive of Austruthcr, in Fife, and early entered the service — 
 letirin^ in 1841 as Captain of Murines, after serving nearly forty years. 1 became 
 acquainted with iiim in 1844, when he sent me a note, addressed, * Thomas Watson, 
 Author of The Dcil in Love, Arbroath ;' which address astonished the late John Lowe 
 not a little, who said it was an unwarrantable freedom taken with the name of his 
 S.itanic Majesty, as in all his life he had never before seen * Deil '.' on the back of a letter. 
 The Captain had an extensive circle of literary acquaintance. All who loved Auld 
 Scotland's saugs were his friends— he made no distinction of rank— 'twas * Hail fellow, 
 well met V with those he believed to have ' A spark of Nature's fire :' for 
 
 ' Although he was a soger bred. 
 
 And ano wad rather fa'n than fled,' 
 * The Muse was a' tliat he took pride in.' 
 He was indeed an amiable enthusiast. Peace to hi& memory. Captain Gray, on hearing 
 of the proposal to publish these Poems, kindljf sent an order forten copies, as will be eeen 
 from the List of Subscriber-. ] 
 
 Now a' yo bards o' Scotland mourn 
 
 For liiui that death lias ta'en awa', 
 For oh, he had the kindest heart, 
 
 And was a friend to ano and a'. 
 The breezes o' the spring may blaw, 
 
 The clouds may sail the summer skies, 
 And the yellow leaves o' autumn fa', 
 
 Unnoted there where low he lies. 
 
 Mourn, hamely Muse o' Scotland, mourn 
 Thy life-lang lover tried and true ; 
 
 He wad ha'c gi'en the warld to meet 
 Thy Robin rare, that lield the plough.
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF CAPTAIN GRAY, R.M. 109 
 
 Had father Time contrived it sac, 
 The twa wad ha'e like brithcrs been ; 
 
 Rab wad ha'e travelled Scotland wide 
 For ae night wi' the blythe Marine. 
 
 Auld Scotland, mourn thy son that's ganc, 
 
 Wha sang thy praise by land and sea, 
 Wha bore a name without a stain, 
 
 Whose heart was a' for thine and thee ; —   
 Now weel the tear may blin' your e'e, 
 
 He'll tread nae mair your flowery sward ; 
 The leal kind heart lies cauld beneath 
 
 The gi*een sod o' the auld kirkyard. 
 
 Farewell the bard ! farewell the friend ! 
 
 We ken'd nae a' thy worth till now ; 
 There may be prouder wreaths than thine, 
 
 But nane upon a nobler brow. 
 Brave veteran o' the lyre, adieu ! 
 
 We never mair thy face will see ; 
 We never mair may meet again 
 
 Till we shall lie as low as thee. 
 
 THi: END.
 
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 Kyd, James D., Arbroath, 
 
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 Young:. Thomas, Dundee f Author of ' The 
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