5-1 (?r. M54Q\ THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES ISLAFOED, OTHER POEMS: A BOOK KOK WINTER EVENINGS AND SUMMER MOODS. By GEORGE MURRAY. " Poetry is the communion of an individual heart with the heart universal— the Great Heart of Humauiiy."— Prrfacb. SMITH, KLDEU, AXD CO., LONDON : OLIVER AND BOYD, EDINBUKGH : GEORGE AND KOBERT KING, ABERDEEN. 3I.DCCC.XLV. ':^±imiM Ao imww, is^n. OF PI ADD O, AND TO THIS VOIiUJrE, TlIE GHEAT IJXrAYABLE DEBT OF GRATITUDE, 15 86275S PEEFACE. The question, What is Poetry ? has been so often, and so often ill-naturedly, asked, that an attempt to answer it by the humble writer of these pages, might seem incompatible with the modesty of a maiden-authorship, and be received only as evi- dence of ignorance, inexperience, or presumption ; for both poet and prose-man have done the same so often with so little satisfaction that an inquiry into the circumstance and cause of their failure, must be regarded as the most probable preliminary of a more hopeful investigation : this is not a task either for a young author or a preface. It might be unfair to attribute the failure of the essayist to a want of sympathy with liis subject, though this is so far true that one of the most original prose-thinkers of our age, somewliere asserts that poetry lias no fixed principles, and is therefore undefinable; but the want A 11. PREFACE. of success in the other is undoubtedly involved in the fact that, what he adduces as a definition is generally — and perhaps by design — so poetically expressed, that we are constrained to look on it rather as a specimen of his individual effort and ability than a definition of his art. But simpler definitions of the art are not wanting. It has been, intelligibly enough, termed " the langiuige of feel- ing." This is true, but not all the truth we desi- derate : poetry is always the language of feeling, but the language of feeling is not always poetry. There is a story told of a dissenting clergyman north of the Dee, who, at the desire of his flock, sent one of his sermons to the press, which proved so feelingly exclamatory, that less than a sheet of it exhausted the printer's stock of O's ; yet the dis- course certainly had not been written under the in- spiration of any muse. To complete this definition then, we propose to add another clause in answer to the question, To whom is this language to be ad- dressed ? The preacher alluded to, though literally exclaiming the printer out of breath, wanted the necessary depth of heart to make an uncircumscribed appeal to the sympathies of his fellow-men; he spoke the language of feeling, but it was only heard by his immediate audience. Let us turn to the other PREFACE. 111. hand and listen — that voice sounding among the mountains like the trumpet of God itself; it comes from a Yates — one gifted with both prophecy and song ; he does not merely speak to his congregation, but through them to their countrymen, and through them to the ends of the earth : the scene is Wales ; the preacher is Jeremy Taylor. Poetry, then, is the language of feeling thus spo- ken : or, it is the communion of an individual heart with the heart universal — the Great Heart of Hu- manity. Compositions bearing this stamp of uni- versal sympathy will always be rare, but the proximity of their approach must determine the degree of excellence which tliey have attained. There is nothing in this volume, its author is deeply sensible, belonging to the grand or the sublime, either in sentiment, description, or versi- fication ; but, because he knows that it contains nothing of a forced, sickly, or hot-house raising — because he believes that even the insect-productions of annuals and newspapers liave their value, and enter the juices which nourish the body of tlie age — and because his contributions to the public reading through this cliannel liave been good-naturedly received, he ventures to present them in a collected form, accompanied by some things of a closer and A 2 iv, PKEFACE. more continuous texture and a more determined bearing on the moralities of life. The moralities of life : for, admitting the above definition of poetry, it will be seen that nothing immoral ought to be spoken of under the name. Whatever appeals to universal sympathy must be a thing that endureth for ever : this is the secret of a poet's deathlessness; his sentiments mingle with the great principles of a virtuous life, and live by reason of their vitality. Corruption — wherever it exists, or however it may be gilded — vanity, blasphemy, er- ror, and whatsoever maketh or loveth a lie, all must be swept away in the improveability of our nature ; for when humanity becomes all-human, which is the nearest approach it can make to the Divine, how could it retain the livery it wore when half a fiend ? The great name of our native land — Robert Eurns — has been often mentioned of late to prove the questionable morality of genius. To those that are so fond of sweeping the sooty corners of a fellow- sinner's heart it is of little avail to read a lesson of charity ; but though they neither walk humbly nor love mercy they may be willing to do justice. We would then counsel them thus : If ye will judge your fellow-men, let the rule of our Master be your guide — " By their fruits ye shall know thera." Burns, indeed, wrote " Holy Willie's Prayer," and PREFACE. V. " The Ordination," and " The Calf," but these were the thorns, not the fruits of genius. It may be the tree produced many such, and some excrescences besides which all of us could have wished away; but He that said, " Judge by the fruit," pointed out the only way by which criticism of any kind can become a labour of lore, viz., by making the good that a man has done the criterion of his good name. Thus, if we mistake not, the philosoi)hy of Carlyle is as old as the New Testament, and essentially contained in the text we have quoted. There is much false criticism abroad, both in the walks of morals and literature. Our boyhood is drilled to admire the magnanimity of Cincinnatus retiring from the dictatorship to the plough. This was undoubtedly grand : but there is a sublimer story told of one that ploughed our native soil, who was summoned from his plough by a republic more extensive, and far more glorious than the Roman ever was, to wit, the Republic of Letters, — yet the return of the AjTsliire peasant from the first circles of the first city in Europe to his plough and his Jean is comparatively unremarked and unknown ! And he who is stigmatized for immorality forgot both his glory and liis wrongs and married the humble woman, " because," says lie, " I had the A 3 VI. VKEPACE. happiness of a fellow-creatiire in ray keeping, and could not trifle with the sacred deposit !" To return more immediately to the subject of this preface : it may be proper to mention that most of the minor poems in the volume were com- posed without reference to the public eye, or the intention of meeting it. Few of them are autobio- graphical and none of them, it is trusted, indeli- cately so; for the author has been careful to suppress whatever seemed egotistical in his verses. Auto- biographical poetry, moreover, is open to this ob- jection, that, while assuming to be the glowing ex- pression of present feelings, it is generally elaborate and retrospective ; generated in the calm which ensues when the feelings it describes have subsided, such verses are more the resurrection and the ghost than the life and reality of passion, and spring from its grave into a fluttering existence, like the birds from the grave of Memnon. Accordingly the reader will find few records of misfortune in a book which professes to be adapted only to winter-evenings when they bring with them summer-moods. But though the present candidate for public favour pre- fers no claim on the sympathy of his readers in this way, remembering that the lines of Gray, which have become too trite to be quoted, are the expres- sion of a great truth, it were sometimes beneficial PREFACE. VH. to others — always to ourselves — to inquire what those deserts are in which, and in spite of which, the flowers of genius bloom, and how much they have to sweeten and purify in the atmosphere that surrounds them; or, taking the other illustration, to sound that sea of trouble which has gathered oyer the gems. But if there is one point of view from which, more than another, the author of Islaford could wish his book to be scanned, it is from the fireside and the rural abode ; or where the freshness of his description, however inferior to that of his subject, may prove itself to be of a congenial kind. As the humble interpreter of quiet Nature — as a pro- fessor of signs and seasons, and days and years, he commits himself, with some little confidence, to the reader that loves to find a fiower Avith more than a vegetable life in it — to hear the old trees clap their dripping hands in the wind after a shower — to gaze on the mountain's almost-intellectual brow or the great river that walks ofi" like an ocean — ^to admire the fervid sunset, or the watch-worn face of dawn — in short, who loves all things that can be mentioned with a loving epithet. Such a one will see no presumption in giA"ing to this littlo book the title it bears, Shakspere grandly tells ns that the poet's eye rolls in a fine frenzy from heaven to earth and from earth to licaven : the Vlll. TKEFACE. eye that rolls with brotherly kindness from man to man, and from man in darkness and doubt to Man Millennial — that eye has a humble inspiration also. The writer of the Address to the Sun, in Paradise Lost, was a poet ; and he that did not look so loftily, bitt dropped his eyes on the ground, and first called a small gowan the Day's Eye — ^he was a poet too. Do not conceive that there is any arrogance in speaking of great men in this little way : their writings, ojjera sunt, are woi'ks ; this, opera est, is an endearour. In conclusion : the author has nothing to offer his critics for the mitigation of their rigour, be- cause he intends to avail himself of their sugges- tions. The hand that holds the extinguisher is as gentle as it is powerful ; and if its power is to be exercised on his humble volume, he has only to say, that he shall stay no longer in the walk he has chosen than he discovers his unfitness to tread it. If he has mistaken taste for power — the enjoy- ment of poetry for the faculty of producing it — he shall give up the attempt, and, while others more fortunate and gifted are permitted to enter, con- tent himself with a seat, like the beggar in the Acts, at the Beautiful gate of the Temple. Aberdeen, 25th Dec.^ 1844. COXTE'NTS. Page. ISLAFOKD, PART FIRST, ™ 15 PART SECOXD, 24 PART THIRD, . . „ 32 PART FOURTH,„ . 41 TO MY FATHER, „„ , 51 SONXET : THE WIFE, .„„™, 54 SONNET : TO A LADY ON HER REFUSINU TO SING, 55 SONNET : THE WIND AND THE LEAF, 56 SONNET : TO THE EARTH, . ._ 57 THE DYING HUSBAND, „ 58 LINES WRITTEN IN MY BIBLE, 60 IT WAS A DREAM, 61 ANNOT RAE, „ 62 ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A SOUTER, „„ 64 SMILE AGAIN, 68 DONALD MACBEAN, , 70 O WEEL, WEEL MAY THE LIP UXBLEST, 72 here's TO ANCIENT CALEDONIA, 73 MY AIN BOARD-EN', 75 X. CONTENTS. SUN AND WAVE ARE MEETING, „, ^^ , 77 ELOPEMENT SONG, _ — . — . — . — ™_ — . . 79 bleachin' her CLAES, „,„- . 80 EPITAPH,„_ — . — — „^„„™ 81 SONNET ; THE HARMONY OF NATURE, 82 CONTENTMENT, OR EADENYON, ^ . 83 THE COAL-BLACK STEED IS IN HIS STALL, , 86 THE TIME O' TEAR, ,™ 88 JEANIE CAMPBELL, ^ -~ 90 SONNET : TO THE INVENTRESS OF PAINTING, 93 ON VISITING LORD PITSLIGO's CAVE NEAR ROSE- HEARTY, „,™„™ ^^ 94 MARY LA MORE, , — . 96 THE traveller's RETURN, . ,„,™„ 98 TO THE MOON, , . 100 ELLINOR, PART FIRST, 101 PART SECOND, „„ . . 107 THE PLOUGHMAN LAD, . . , — , 113 LANG HAE YB BEEN ROAMIn'-^- .,™,™,™ ^ 114 improvement; OR, THE COUNTRY CRACK : A CON- TER-CRACK, , . . 116 CULLODEN, , ™ .- . „„ 125 FILL HIGH THE GOBLET, „,„„ 129 COLIN AND PEGGY, - ~ , ,. 130 KING CARE, 134 A SONG : TRANSLATED FROM THE NORTH POLE- WHEN FIRST I LEFT MY NATIVE SOIL, 137 THE METAMORPHOSIS OP A SCHOLAR INTO A BOOK, 139 there's a star IN THE SKY, 148 CONTEXTS. XI. LOVE, POOR LOVE, . „ 149 DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. A PASTORAL, 151 THE iXOrXTAIXS o' SXAW, „ 154 I've seexher, 156 eoDiVA, , . 157 THE BIRD OP FAERY LAND, ,_ 161 PEaGY RAilSAY, 164 O, GIN I WERE AVHAUR GADIE RINS, 166 BONNY ROTHIEilAY, , 167 HYilN TO DEATH, . ^ 168 THE WEDDING OP BIRKENSHAW, —„„„„.„,,„_ 170 A CAROL OF THE CONTENTED, 174 LINES WRITTEN ON ATTENDING AN AGRICULTURAL DINNER AT WHICH MR. DUFF OF HADDO PRE- SIDED, . 176 HADDO, . 177 SUPERSTITION, .,„„ „ 1 79 THE AULD KIRK o' SCOTLAND, . . ._ 187 HAPPINESS, IfiS CONSUMPTION, 189 SONNET : ADDRESSED TO AN HONOURED LADY ON THE DEATH OP HER ONLY DAUGHTER, 192 ISLAFORD. A TALE OEIGIXALLY 'VVEITTEIT FOR MY PUPILS. PART FIRST. " "What is the charm that drives dull hours away, And makes the day of work a holiday ?" My pupils ask, — and, lest their plot should fail. Some bolder urchin shouts " A tale, a tale !" Clustering like the clusters of a vine, They gather round me. How young faces shine, Ere the new gloss has left them, or the eye — A fragment snatclied from heaven's inmost sky — Begun to lose its violet, for the blue Of a less winning and more worldly hue ! Childliood and Innocence ! — that tongue doth rave, Which says of man when drooping to the grave, O'erlaid with heavy age and heavier sin, That then liis second childhood doth begin ! O happy time, when smiles liave no deceit — Words no more meanings tlian a lambkin's bleat; n2 16 ISLAFORD. When the young breast bounds lighter for its load, And, j)leased with life, forgets the dirty road ; Before it feels one string of life decay, Or learns that friends are things which pass away ! children, though I pray your various races May find paths smooth and shining as your faces. Yet there are roughnesses on this green ball Of earth that make me tremble for you all ! Grim years will come, and cares that eat like rust Into the shining cheek ; and passion's gust May overthrow a world of hopes : and time Fills the black-lettered calendar of crime With names as spotless once, and once as dear. And once as happy too, as any here. Oh, shun deception ! He — and none but he — Is truly blest whose life's a verity. For, taken in the moral light of duty, A straight line is the only " line of beauty ;" And even a secret's best concealed, in sooth, When only hid beneath a fold of truth. I. A form like Racliel's mvAe the damsel fair, To make her good the soul of Ruth was thei-e ; For none that saw young Ada Rose e'er knew A thing too comely to compare her to. Her brow was like a wreath of mountain-snow. With two sweet harebells peeping out below ; Her cheek, that seemed of summer sunsets wove, Had smiles that saints in sight of heaven would love; ISLAFOED. 1" And as the dimple on a well doth show The fountain-freshness springing up below. That dimpling cheek spoke pleasure bubbling free From a young heart, like joy from pui-ity ! ir. Iler father, being a widower and blind, Keceived much kindness, and was very kind ; The iron that entered, had not scarred, his heart,— For suffering seldom acts a callous part : But rivers wander ere they reach the sea, And minds before they join eternity. John Rose had been for many trying years A parish minister ; and his compeers Have not forgot how faithful to his cure — How good to all, and gracious to the poor — How truly earnest in his Master's cause — How lamb-like in his shepherd-care he was ! For till his reason had its latest shock, He fed and fathered all his little flock. III. It was the time when some few acts of state Had made an era in our country's fate, When troops of change her holiest spots o'erran. And Catholic-liberation led the van. Tlie manner of the good old man grcAV strange, Though Ada was tlie last to see the change : Hut when she found him crazed as well ;is blind — The gentlest being sometimes is unkind — IB isr.AFoiti). And heard his daily talk, and nightly dreams, Of licensed Popery, and some hideous schemes For flinging Freedom's pearls to dangerous men, And bringing beads and missals back again ; — She, ignorant of the logician's laws, Mistook the efi'ect of madness for its cause, And thought on Catholicism and Catholics too "With as much harshness as her nature knew. IV. But some green feelings beautified and twined Around the ruins of his shattered mind. He had his daily walk as heretofore, And Ada led, and thought she loved him more : Nay, when the heartless, heavy fit had gone, He seemed more cheerful than ere it came on. At times, and when his mind was most deranged. He'd fancy she — and she alone — was changed, And finger o*er her features, like a lute, — Eut never found one chord of feeling mute. And something kin to music must have dwelt ITl^on her smiling face, for, as he felt The depth of dimple curling in her smile, It soothed and made him quiet for a while. V. One morning as they sauntered forth together, And spoke of sunny skies, and summer weather- And wondered what the inner heaven would be, When even the outer shone so gloriously — rSLAFOKD. 19 A stranger joined tliem unawares, the tone Of whose salute made the old man his own ; Although his daughter heard it with a start, And walked with downcast eyes and beating heart. Yet, sooth to say, it was a pleasant walk, For sire and stranger soon were deep in talk : The former, zealous always, and sincere — The latter, gentle, musical, and clear (Like summer rivers.) — turning o'er the page Of history with the finger of a sage ; But, like the seer, still finding fullest scope Within the dreamy world-to-come of hope. This pleased the good old man, and thus he spoke To Ada : — " Child, the stranger's words have broke Upon me like a vision — come at last, And wished for long — no vision of the past. The past is always with us, like the poor ; Its page is full, and legible, and sure ; — And even the future gives me little care ; For it is guaranteed by hope and prayer — And, thanks to God, I still can hope and pray. But this has been a vision of to-day — A world of life and action, into which I have no feelers now, alas ! to reach For infonnation : yet I would not fix, Even if I could, thy thoughts on politics ; Although their various bearings and events Might be discussed by heaveu-translated saints." 20 ISLAFORD. VI. Durn Cottage-gate showed its white arms at last, And Ada wished they had not walked so fast. She scarcely ventured to look up till now — Heavens ! what a noble amplitude of brow ! And from his paleness — though no sickly pale — • She knew his heart had also had its ail ; And on his brow one folding wrinkle told That it had grief untimely to unfold : It was not age — for he was in his pi'ime — But cut by more unfeeling things than Time. And then his eye — Oh ! it is in the eyes That the soul trims her wings before she flies ; 'Tis there that Grief sits darkest when we grieve, And Reason lingers when about to leave : The stranger's had a deep, but restless fire, That flickered as if ready to expire. VII. Ada was strangely silent all that day, And thought, poor girl, 'twould never pass away ; For many a troubled thought her bosom tore. And sad anxieties unknown before. Night came ; but sleep, that loves the easy chair, Too oft forgets to lock the lids of care. On Ada's couch — no more a downy bed — Reclined, but not reposed, a weary head ; For in her broken sleep, the sighs she drew Showed that her heart was almost broken too. ISLAFORD. 21 VIII. Star after star had set, and morning's beams Illumed the sleeper's couch, but not her dreams : "Visions so sad, yet of such real seeming. She never had : — Is there no fate in dreaming ? In visions hitherto her father's sight Had been restored and reason's better light ; But other beings reigned in Dreamland now — The fiery eye, pale cheek, and noble brow. sleep, thou art no synonyme for rest ! Pale as the pillow that her cheek had pressed She 'woke, and blamed the garish light of day — The stranger, not her love, had passed away. IX. What meant this agony she well could guess. And shuddered at her own heart's wilfulness. Last morning's incident served to discover How promptly nature makes a maid a lover ; But what could this mysterious passion mean For one unknown, and — save a glance — unseen ? A phantom cloud that melted in her gaze, Which, once belield, must haunt her all her days ! A face that floated past her in a stream. But left not even a name to guide her dream ! She called it foolishness, she called it fate ; She felt the passion illegitimate : The pangs of love, without its hope, she knew, And all its heartburn, with its heartbreak too. 22 ISLAFOKD. X. Then passed some gloomy days, till, one fair morn, A breeze was sailing o'er tlie waving corn, And wiped the chill, wet cheeks of blades and flowers, Diffusing so much joy after the showers. That all the old trees, on Durn's tree-peopled lands, Looked young again, and clapped their dripping hands. Ada, although too sick at heart for talk. Had with her sire resumed their wonted walk ; And earnestly the good old man had pressed To know the secret of so much unrest ; And yet himself had rested just as ill. Tliis she observed, and bade her heart " be still," And blamed herself for giving him new fears, And read reproaches in the piteous tears That gathered in his strange white eyes, whene'er He turned — as oft he did — their orbs to her. XI. It took an effort — smiles are hard to force — But to see old age weeping thus was worse ; And, while resolving that she would be gay, To assist her, who arrives, but Ellen Hay! Ellen and she were cousins " by their sires," And sisters — by themselves. The electric- wires Of relative, friend, schoolmate, confidant, And (both being motherless) their common want Made their communications always quick — Especially since the old man was lunatic. ISLAFORD. 23 But in the friends was something to contrast : Ada was still and calm — bird-Ellen, wild and fast. Her very gait betrayed a bounding joy; Her mirth was like the romping of a boy ; Her cheek outshone the summer-shine of Howers ; Her life had been a flight of hapi^y hours, With one dark break, where Death's cold shadow fell- In her best moments, yet, remembered well. In Ada's breast all virtues grew and seeded ; In Ellen's, chiefly those the world most heeded : For Ada Rose, a heaven on earth was she ! And Ellen Hay, an earth in heaven would be ! XII. She came to inform her Rose that Islaford, A neighbouring estate, had changed its lord ; And how a maid might profit by the change, (As she herself intended ;) but, 'twas strange, The squire, though all that Avoman-hearts admire — Romantic, young, and wealthy — for a squire — Not all the arts by woman practised could Extract the hermit from his solitude. 'Tis pity such sage converse should be broke. Rut the door-bell rang merrily as she spoke ; And only tlioy that look and long can tell AVhat music's in the voice of such a bell. Rird-Elleii heard a bridal in the peal ; Rut how shall language Ada's thoughts reveal Wlicn the door oixmumI, and licr l)osom's lord Again appearc'any or concert, yet Witli liope of meeting — and, of course, they met : 26 ISLAFOKD. Two fine chords in a perfect unison, They saw that neither cared to be alone ; But, when they parted, any eye might see They really cared much less for company. III. A sunny life they led by wood and stream, In stirring joy, though noiseless as a dream, Believing earth as blest as earth shall be "When wanting nought of Heaven save Heaven's eternity I They loved all gentle things : the lambs that flee, Like fleecy clouds, across the dewy lea ; The birds that sport, as gamesomely as they, In morning air, or on the leafy spray ; The bee that swingeth in the buttercup ; The trout that in the sunshine leapeth up ; — And well they loved the merry, mocking breeze That chased itself around and round the trees, And laughed and sighed as often in a minute As they, the lovers did, who cooled their hot cheeks in it. 'Twas like a lonely child that knoweth none ^ Of all its games, that can be played alone, ! And therefore must contrive to play all parts in ( one. J IV. They loved all trees — the slight-clad lady birch ; The light pagoda-structure of the larch ; The oak patrician ; and, that minister Of houseliold duties, the plebeian fir ; ISLAFORD, 27 Tlie spruce, whose boughs (though tipped witli goldeu growths, Spring's fmger-ends,)look grave as theywhose troths \S"ere plighted underneath them yesterday ; Ash, elm, and all — all lonely shades loved they. V. They loved all rural flowers ; and Allan know -j Their family-secrets : harebells meek and blue, • The mountain's maiden eyes ; the violet ever true ; i The briar-rose that just begins to pout Its pretty lip, and from its bud looks out ; The yellow primroses, cosily pressed, Like unfledged birdlings, in a grassy nest ; Furze, broom, and heath, a trio which if new Would be adored ; the cheerful daisy, too. That gathereth its crimson tips together When rains descend, and blusheth for the weather. VI. And when they chose to linger in a nook Of shady luxury, there was a book — (A silent friend, and deaf as well as dumb,) Opened at random, careless what migiit come; Perchance a ballad that our grand-dames sung, Time-blest and ancient — nay, the ever-young, — A tale to keep the tender heart alive. Or verso to teach the down-lu-bl liow to strive. Such was their reading when they could not walk ; And if they could not read, they still could talk ; 28 ISLAFORD, Talk by the babbling brook — a babbler which (Might hence be guessed,) ne'er tattles overmnch. Of much they spoke ; of friendships many a one, Of hopes, of loves, — but never of their own ; Yet every — even the veriest wayside — greeting, From this time forth, became a lover's meeting. VII. One summer evening, exquisitely fair. While old John Rose was dozing in his chair, His daughter sat beside the window sill And watched the big moon coming o'er the hill, With eyes that sucked her nun-like beauty in, Until their tears were streaming o'er her chin. " Dear Rae," she cried, (for Allan Rae was there,) " Was ever sky so fine, or moon so fair ! If one could see a coinage of the sky. When newly struck in the almighty die, Before the superscription and impress Of potency combined with graciousness. Were dimmed by sin, or worn by misery. Yon moon's fair silver such a coin would be ! Yet some, elsewhere the gayest of the gay, Grow over-sad at times beneath her ray,— And I am one of these ; for she was clad With memories long ago, that made me sad. But new associations greet me now ; — lady of the pale and peerless brow, 1 gaze upon thee till my heart grows sick, — Thou tell'st me that my sire 's a lunatic !" ISLAFORD. 29 VIII. " For Heaven's sake, Ada ! — for thy own — forbear Such hideous words, and dotf that frightful air ! Thy sire and all things shall be blither soon ; Far happier tales are told us by the moon. The peasant lover walks beneath her ray A gentler being than he is by day : He to the loved one's cottage home is bound. His long black shadow striding o'er the ground ; And see ! the green-bound cottage meets his view, And looketh lovelier for the moonlight too ! And now the taper's twinkle hath expired To notify the wrinkled dame retired. But lovely is the eye a vigil keeping For him when every loveless thing is sleeping, And lovely is the girl whose breath grows mute In eager listening for the expected foot I" IX. " 0, happy girl I" said Ada innocently : — Consumi)tion breathes no soul away more faintly Than these few words were spoken ; but they came To Allan's ear like breath to hidden flame. His lady-love, though trembling when he knelt. Heard out his talc, and more than heard it — felt! It would Iiave done a good heart good, to sec Proprifty ;iiid passion tlius agree. 30 TSLArOKD. X. But what is this that glitters on his breast ? A golden cross ! — She guesseth all the rest — And clasps her hands and prays, for slie hath cause ! — Oh, what a flash of timely truth it was ! — A flash of timely truth, although it blighted The hopes of both that reached to be united ; For now the fact is out, that Allan wears The creed which gave her sire so many cares That their amount was madness. There he sat, Hushed into slumber by their quiet chat — The old, and reverend, and crazed, and blind ; — Why rushed his ravings now across her mind ? — And here a suitor knelt — young, loving, dear : — Alas ! there was another madness here ! But " the bruised reed" was dearer for the bruise, And, though 'twas hard his daughter had to choose Between his sorrow and her own, the choice She made was virtue's — and she thought not twice. XI. " Nay, Allan, rise ; I cannot give my hand — In truth, it is not at my own command : My father has a claim, and it must be The only claim that man shall have on me. We have been friends— none truer — but to press This suit will make me love — esteem thee less." What farther passed my story needs not show ; Nor, gentle reader, boots it thoe to know.— ISLAFuRT). 31 Enougli, tliat Allan felt a tliunder-slioclc, 111 every word the liigli-souled maiden spoke, That all the gaiety forsook his air — That soon his step fell heavy on the stair, XII. But she — the free-will-oiTerer — what felt she ? Was her step lighter, or her look more free ? Hers had been no unmeaning sacrifice, Though he for whom 'twas oifered could not prize Its piety. Her heart was true, but sore — A smoking altar, whose sad rites were o'er. But soon she came more calmly to herself. And felt her peace had passed a fearful gulf! — And how ? — Oh, woman hath an eye AViien man Ilath none, and seeth deeper than he can ! Her reason there's a potency to charm, But none to lull her instinct-dread of harm. c2 PART THIRD. I. How grateful was the breeze that kissed his brow, Though scarcely rocking the laburnum's bough ! Behind the hedge it sang its sleepy psalm, And made the calm, still night appear more still and calm. He strode along the garden-walks of Dnrn, And tried to leave, — but took another turn, — Lingering unwittingly, until his heart Regathered all its strength and would not part ! He entered the summer-house ; — it might ~j Be unawares ; or else to shun the light, > Which, at that season, never leaves us quite. J Entering he stumbled on a chair, and knew That bower could not but have chairs for tAvo. Then, stretching forth his hand, it touched a Hute — His own — and henceforth to be dry and mute ! ISLAFOHD. 33 And uext, a hamlkcrcliief Avhicli slie had left — - And thus was tempted to commit a theft ; — And now threw down a book, where they had read That morning, (of a day so sadly fled,) How a young, gallant knight went to the wars, To win him, as he gaily said, some scars ; (And here a gentle heart could understand These scars were meant to win a lady's hand ;) And how his countrymen were forced to yield. And leave him with the bleeding on the field — His sword all hacked and bloody, and his flesh All hacked and bloody too ; and how a fresh And timely breeze, direct from heaven blew The blood-reek oft", and afterwards the dew Wept out its coolness, and his quiet eye -j Opened again, and, gazing on the sky > So beautiful, he felt it hard to die I J And how the foemen came and found him living Next morn, and saved him — for, with no misgiving. He took the cordial nutriments they gave. And soon was strong enough to be — a slave. And now, for seven long years, the scars he got "Were from ignoble thongs ; yet he winced not, But prayed and longed, as month on month crawled past, For one true sword again ; which at the last lie did receive, and thus, one bloody night, Eetook liimself to honourable tligiil. The story then rehearsed his doughty deeds lieiorc he reached his home in rahner-woeds, 34 isiiAFor.D. Wliere a fair lady, bearing of his death, Tlad almost veiled her beauty for her faith. But when he flang aside the shadowy hood, (iiimself it Avas that bore report so rude,) She knew him — for his scars, though not a few ^ Let still some glimpses of his old face through — ', And paid him with a kiss, which more than paid ( him too ! - II. The tale shot through his bosom like a pain. And now he felt in loA'e and hope again ; And growing calmly earnest with the theme, Sat down and mused himself into a dream, Such as the notes of drowsy music make, "When you half fear you sleep, and fear as much to wake. Yet erer and anon he gives a start And heareth — what ? the beating of his heart ? Not so, for now his heart is beating calmer — He only hears the foot-step of the Palmer ; And now he quickens from the trance Elysian, And feels the Palmer too was but a vision. Yet there is a pulsation in the air, A footstep, or a groaning, or a prayer — He slideth silently along the wall. Reaches the free air and discovers all ; For, as I said, though darkness did prevail. Light had not left the world, but gone behind a veil. ISLAFOHD. 35 III. Twas Ada, who had ventured abroad To open all her sores before her God. She knelt — a rose among the roses — and Upraised to heaven the lily of her hand, Her hot lip quivering, and her limbs all shaking, As if she feared there might be ill in breaking The silence of an hour, so deep and still, "VTith e'er a misery-roughened syllable. At first her words were calm and unconfined, For Ada loved and prayed for all mankind ; But when they centred on her poor old sire, They came like sparks struck from a heart on fire. She spoke of her own murmuring with regret, But oh ! the crushing hand lay heavy yet ; The tender lamb was shorn, but, as she said, The storms that beat upon it were not laid : — " Great Shepherd, save it from the biting cold, Until it meetens for thy better fold !" A sapling full of tender leaves was she. And might adorn, but could not prop the tree — That aged tree had need of more suppoii nian earth could give, and of a better sort. And now she supplicated purer light For those that sit beneath the popish night, The very terror of whose doctrines had (As she expressed it,) driven her father mad. " Yet, Heavenly Fatlier, erring though they be. They look through clouds, but oh, they look for thee :" 36 ISLAFORD. And here the rich voice faltered, for she found Her thoughts had fixed on questionable ground, To deprecate a creed which had undone Her peace, and wrought themselves into a benison. IV. * * * * *^ * « * * * V. Meanwhile the breeze had sighed itself to death. The trees were dumb for very lack of breath, The poplar's lightest leaf had ceased to quiver, And all things panted with a heat like fever About to burst in madness. At the first, A growling A^oice was heard, and then a burst Of distant savage laugiiter, as it seemed ; And then all ears, whether they woke or dreamed, Might hear the bellowing thunder plough the sky, A tramp like heaven's war-steeds prancing by, And mountains echoing like a battle's rout. While all the lightnings hung their banners out — Those fiery sheets that flap o'er heaven, and fling Their revel foi'th, like torch-lit rioting. VI. 'Tis break of day, although a cloud is drawn Over the pale, thin, watch-worn face of dawn, — A grim black cloud, though the red flashes wreathe it In grandeur, and a corse grows black beneath it. ISLAFOED. 37 VII. Xext morn the sun ne'er saw a fairer heaven, — Which smiled too freshlv to be unforgiveu : There was a light-heart briskness in the air — For cheerfulness is Nature's morning-prayer — And, save a heavier moaning from the brooks, Whose waters pale had lost their summei'-looks, Nothing recalled the midnight's broken sleep — That its accomj>animeuts had been more deep In meaning than a common Spring-day's freaks, Or tears that dance down April's laughing cheeks, — Till, in the shade of some grave trees which bound Durn-land, a thunder-stricken corse was found By a poor, lame, rheumatic, gray-hair'd man. Who at the sight fiang by his crutch and ran Until he came to Islaford, and then ^ Shriek'd out his story to the serving-men. And never spoke a word of sense again I J For he had recognized the garments on The black, heart-turning form, and knew it was his son ! VIII. The rustics meet to bear the corse away, And moralize above the lifeless clay. But whitlier must the dreary load be borne ? As Durn is nearest, they resolve — to Duni. Their garments form at once a ]»all and liiei — All sorrow's artful aid was wanting hero ; 3u ISLAFOllD. But Islaford meanA?Iiile had heard the tale, And, lest their willing, but rude wits should fail To show the delicacy due to pain, He si^urred his steed and overtook the train, And thanked them for their care, and said he would Repay it soon, and praised their promptitude ; Dismissing one to seek the poor man's friends, Another for the readiest hearse he sends, And rides himself before the bier to Durn. The gentle lady greeteth his return. Perchance, with some surprise, but no offence, For well she knew his worth and innocence. But, when he told the occasion of his call, And led, or rather bore her from the hall, That no hard sight or rash unthinking tongue Might with rude utterance do her spirit wrong : Her kind heart oj)ened and she could have told — For gentle deeds makes gentle natures bold — How she would wear, beyond time's power to efface, The memory of that most dear embrace. IX. But the low converse of the loving two. Meanwhile, had turned a corner wholly new : Of death they spoke, and of the christian's faith Which readeth a beatitude in death ; Of those debated creeds which save us not ; Of heaven, where controversy is forgot — A tempest that hath ruffled the deep sea Of, what were else, a blest humanitv. ISLATOIUJ. 39 Aud both, tliougli marvelling at themselves, agreed That right and Avroug were found in every creed ; That faith was one of the heart's businesses ; — And here tlie squire said something about his; And, knowing its effect on Ada's peace, Assayed to overturn what he called prejudice. X. " The church, which, till some centuries had run, Was undivided, like its Grod, and one ; The Heaven-accepted spouse whose earthly dower AVas architecture, painting, music, power ; The faith whose fervent votaries did not mock The altar with th.e weaklings of a flock ; That faith hath been the object of your fear. But see how gentle Catholicism is here ! Our priests are doomed to celibacy — true : Are laymen hence unfit for husbands too ? We cherish, true, tlie memories of the dead, And hope our own will thus be cherished ; I3ut still, for all this reverence, we give Tlieir due devotion to the saints that live. And if we venerate the sacred sign, Or deem the mother of our Lord divine ; Must we for this one genial thought suppress, Or love the mothers of our children less ? Far from us. Ada. such suspicions be : This lieart sliall sooner break, than break its love to thee :" 40 ISLAFORD. XI. With prepossessed attention Ada heard, And thought she found a truth in every word ; Her breathing stopt, her colour came and went, " Then go," she said, " and get my sire's consent ;" Trembling the while lest some new thought should lead The good old man to question Allan's creed. The fear was vain, for the old man was won, When Allan begged his blessing as a son. PART FOURTH. HOLY Wedlock ! is not thine the school Where Passion's self submits itself to rule ? In dreams of thee, I see a Map:us stand At the altar, with a burning-glass in hand, Concentrating the rays of love that Hoat Around the lovely, to one sunny spot ; And there the turtle builds her M'armest nest, And all things formed for bliss are there most blest! In thee, the weakest maiden tinds lier strength ; To thee, the gayest looks for peace at lengtli. I. The sacred months tlieir gentle course had run, And Islaford was kneeling o'er a son; And now the hapi)y pair Jiad tenfold joy, In seeing each the other in their boy. 42 IS1.AF0ED, But, 'twas a sunburst leading on a cloud — That evening saw the infant in his shroud ; Tlie day that gave, recalled his quiet breath ; One pang had almost served for life and death — Mysterious twain ! and grievous when they meet, To make the swaddling-robe a winding-sheet ! II. The heart's hysteric beat, the gushing eye That only looked for comfort from on high, Might well have been expected ; but the change It made on the old clergyman was strange ; For, in that moment of unraingled pain, His mental vision was restored again : Disjointed Reason rendered, by a jerk. Fit to walk over Sorrow's blighting work — The mind diseased, by one sharp stroke made whole, And qualified to comfort or condole. III. Painful associations dwelt at Durn — The cradle-coffin, and unbaptized urn ; And so the family moved, with one accord, To seek the novelties of Islaford. A favourite spot with Ada it liad been ; To Allan 'twas at least a change of sceiio ; To old John Rose, 'twas something Avholly rn/w — And thus Resolve " had never less to do." ISLAFORD. 43 IV. Grief liveth long when resolutely dumb, And Time tliat eateth all things feedeth some. Have ye not seen a mother's pride of heart, In showing a flock where death has had no part ? Naming them, large and small, her " little ones." She links them, like a chain of precious stones. In the order of their years ; one, from the breast New weaned, who seems the child of all the rest, Stands crowing at a side ; her eldest brother — The guard, the guide, the playmate — at the other. Have ye not marked the gradual statures rise From head to head, years only making size ; "While the eye, from infancy, where it began. Has clomb, by steps, o'er childhood — youth — and man. But found no death-break in the household stair, For all whom God has given still are there ? Tliis is a scene too exquisitely dear To show us oft, if Heaven would be severe ; Which, ne'crtheless, all mothers hope to sec — The fullest meaning of, a fam'dif. Oh ! the first death that breaks this hope and pride. Come when it will, might throw a heart beside Itself I but thou, grim King, to do the worst That Death can do — strike, strike the very first! V. Thus the good lady, whose sweet name of Kose Once more shall scent mv tale l)efore its close — 44 Ii^LAKOPvD. Had many a dream of baby-lips that lay TTpon her breast, and sucked her life away ; Of tiny hands that twined among her curls, And well supplied the want of other pearls ; And of a face, so spiritual in hue, It seemed an infant's, yet an angel's too — "Which, ever as she gazed, would wane, and wane, As if about to seek the sky again — Some little soul whose chain of Hesh had broke. Whom to detain she struggled and awoke — Or, haply, half awoke, and felt around Tlie pillows all, but ueA^er, neA^er found A lip those milk and honey streams to taste, Which bless that land of promise — a young mo- ther's breast. VI. But gentle, breezy jauntings are not ta'en On forest-skirt and water-brink in vain ; And health at once with parent-hopes restored, Brought joy, though calmer, back to Islaford. Yet, ah ! a canker in the bud still lurks, The household secret like a demon works ; That demon had possession of the fact, That truth had once been overstept by tact. VII. Old John, the while, was wearing fast away, And waiting calmly for his dying day ; His garden-visits had for long been rare, Though Old Age loves a draught of merry air. ISLAFORB. 45 And now 'twas fonnd he could be only led From bed to board and back again to bed. Yet, sensitive in blindness, lie had felt A shadow, like the consciousness of guilt. Which sometimes wrapt the household in its gloom ; And once the servant whispered of a room Which seemed to have something mysterious in it. For as he listened all was hushed that minute. Tiir. A few days after this had happened, John Was left — as he conjectured — lord alone, With a young girl to lead him when he walked, Read what he wished, and listen when he talked : " This very day" — he rubbed his hands for glee — " Shall satisfy my curiosity ; Most opportunely have my keepers gone, I'll have the Avhole house rummaged — Girl, lead on !" Door after door was opened till, alas ! They came to one the menial tried to pass ; Which, strangely, he observed, and clamorously Commanded her to unlock or give the key : The trembling creature answered, there was none — It was the chapel, and the priest was gone. "The priest !" he echoed, and with maniac strength Assayed to break the door, which broke at length. IX. One window, well obscured, admitted all The light tliat travelled o'er the pictured wall, 46 ISLAFORD. Save what api^eared to come from the sweet face Of saint or visioned angel : All the place Was darkened as a sick-room is, for there The sin-sick heart reposed in hope and prayer. The walls were storied with the life and death Of Mary's son — the Man of Nazareth ; And on the ceiling, the enchanted eye Saw, through a rift of clouds, the purple sky — Where, as if waiting souls set free from thrall, A shadowy sj)irit sat. But, crash and fall, The door burst open and the canvass shook With the fresh gush of air, and in a nook Which, from the o'ercharge of light elsewhere, looked dimmer, Its pictured saints and scenes began to glimmer, And every holy shape aj)peared to move, Shuddering at what they could not here reprove ; For he that did the sacrilege saw naught Of all the piety wherewith the place was fraught. X. On, on, with vengeful hurried step he strode — And what doth vengeance in the house of God ? The altar from its holy place he tore. And dashed the sacred vessels on the floor. But what he said no narrative shall say ; For she that heard, until her dying day Will not forget the curse, the laugh, the yell — Each, frightful as the mother -tongue of hell — With which he named his daughter and the creed ISLAT-ORD. 47 "Whose toys he trampled. But the impious deed — Kit was impious — was to be atoned For, soon. Had he in truth believed the bond Of filial love was broken, well he might Have prayed the bands of life to disunite. And so they did, right speedily : a fit Convulsing soul and body could admit No doubtful termination. There he fell, And few, few words may serve the rest to tell : — He gnashed his teeth, his white eyes gave a roll, And this was the departure of a soul ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. TO MY FATHER, WHO DIED IX JAMAICA. My father, when I saw thee first the hum Of men was round me — 'twas a sabbath-day — And when tliiue arm caressed me I was dumb, And when thou spak'st I knew not what to say • For it had not been granted me to play "With a dear father's smile, or on thy knee To sit and talk thine anxious brow away, And feel the joy of giving joy to thee ! This would have given me joy, but was not given to me. II. As, when the friend we love is on his way, 'Tis sweet to gaze or think we gaze on him, However indistinct his form and gray, Or even evanishing in the distance dim; 52 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, As, when a pilgrim hears the evening hymn, Though chanted in a tongue he never knew, Shapes from his home across his vision swim, And, doffing his rude cap, he kneeleth too ! Something like this I felt when first I gazed on you ! in. Thy little boy was sent to school one day, And read not in thy face, so grief-begone, The pang of parting — till thou wert away. When all was i^lain and I was very lone ! They told me truly ; but I wandered on, And wondered why we met not as before ! — There seemed a meaning in the ocean's moan. And, as I roamed along the beaten shore, I called, but called in vain, and never saw thee more. IV. The sun shines shadowless upon thy grave. And Afric mourners pass bare-headed by : Upon it may the undying verdure wave. And every wind be laden with a sigh ! I've often had a childish wish to lie, If but an hour, upon that sod so dear — To sleep and dream thy spirit hovered nigh. And thou, if angels weep, wouldst drop a tear — Unless thy soul forgets the souls that loved thee here ! MISCKLLANEOUS POEMS, 53 Father in heaven ! I hare not lost thee yet, Although no more I bend the filial knee ; Thy golden image in my heart is set, And there I study to resemble thee. And, for a spell to make the foul world flee, Pronounce thy name — a name for e\er dear : As light unsullied 'twas bequeathed to me, And — aid me, Thou that aidest the sincere- Unsullied it shall be when I am on my bier ! 54 MISt'KLLANEOUS POEMS. SOKNBT. THE WIFE. Oh, 'tis not in unmeaning thoughtless phrase The Wife is termed her husband's better part, For fully as much truth as gentle heart Might thus be spoken : — In her maiden days With ear averted, even from voice of praise, And conduct wisely framed by tact and art, She shunned the world — too often beauty's mart But Hymen changeth her most wayward ways : Her husband now ne'er ceaseth she to woo, For where his courtship ends, doth her's begin ; The eA'ery path she loves is made for two ; And when he falls, there's not a seraphin In all God's heaven that could so kindly view. Or love so tearfully the man of sin. llISCELLANEOUS POE.MS. OO SONNET. TO A LADY, OX HER REFUSING TO SING. Nat, Lady, do not say thine art is spent, Thine is not art to spend ; that melody "Was less thy creature than a part of thee ; Thy Toiee so wedded to the instrument. Soul of its soul, and each so finely blent Into the other, — heartless would it be To sunder the sweet help-mates that agree "With such a hearty and unstrained consent. Lady, bring us back that wandering air That went away bewailing, for it seems An old familiar spirit — as it were The Bethlehem-song that hushed our cradle- dreams, "When shepherd-mothers their lone watch were keeping Over their small dear flocks, all helpless sleepinjf. 56 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. SOJTNET. THE WIND AND THE LEAF. LISTEN, ladies, and I'll tell you brief A toucliiiig tale but true as history : — The Wind and Leaf held dalliance : " Gentle Leaf," The wooer said, " awake and fly with me. For thee I've left the beds where roses are, And though their opening bosoms woo'd my stay, Though every jewel-bud shone like a star, I thought upon my Leaf and came away. Thy sisters dark are sleeping in the dew, I would not wake their coldness with a sigh ; But thou— the beautiful, and I— the true Were made for mutual passion, let us fly." The Leaf complied and, ere a day was gone, Was flung away — a thing to trample on ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 57 SOIfJfET. TO THE EARTH. Earth, I have grown less earthly gazing on thee, And nurtured feelings foreign to the throng Of reptile-men that walk in slime upon thee, And do thy gentlest nature frequent wrong ; For I have gazed upon thee with a pride, As on a near relation — thou art such ; And I have wept for those, too leaden-eyed To weep, that mar a loveliness so rich. And I have gazed upon thee with a wish, "While my weak eye reposed upon the sod — That, when I felt life's sinking fountains gush Less freely, and my very heart a load — I thus might tlirow its weight on thee and rest ; Or die, to learn what peace is in thy breast! 58 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. THE DYING HUSBAND. GENTLY, gently raise me up, On tliis sad bed, my siiouse, To look ance mair upon the wood "Whaur first we clianged vows. The spring is coming, Jeanie, For the trees begin to sprout ; But, ere the leaf is fully blawn, A secret will be out ! My heart is beatin' loud and fast, And ilka beat's a pang ; The deid-bell soundin' in my lug, Has tauld me I maun gang ; And death has come to our bed-side — But, oh ! its hard to dee, And pairt wi' a' I've loved sae weel— Yet dinna greet for me ! Last night I had a waesome dream — What gars me tell it noo ? Methought I saw a stranger-youth A-courtin,' courtin' you; MISCELLANEOUS POEirs. 59 But the willow-tree hang ower ye, For I watched its branches ware, And the wither't bink ye sat on, was A newly-covered grave ! The heavy moon was rising On the simmer day's decline ; And deid men's banes a' glimmer't white, Beneath the pale moonshine ! Oh I 'twas a sad, ungenerous dream, As ever dream could be, For lang hae ye been leal and kind — Sae dinna greet for me ! 0, Jeanie, dinna look sae wae, Upon your bairnies three ; Poor, sabbin' things, they'll break my heart Or I hae leave to dee ! My little lambs, wi' Heaven's help, This warld ye'll warstle through — Ye greet for me I 0, never let Your mither greet for you. And, Jeanie dear, our wee, wee bairn Wlien toddlin like the lave, Ye'll tak' her down to you kirkyard. And show her father's grave. Thore, tell her of tlie deathless One, That fends for her and thee ; And there slie'll learn to lisp a prayer, And dry your tears for me ! 60 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. LINES WRITTEN IN MY BIBLE. There is a star that lights the gloom Of human life, and fadeth never ; "Whose brightness can alone illume The wave of death's unlovely river. There is a word, the word of life. That ne'er deceived the humblest sinner ; A hand that aids the pilgrim's strife, And makes the weakest arm a winner. That hand ! it smites as well as guides — 0, may I ne'er despise its beckon ; That voice, which now so gently chides, Shall one day bid the dead awaken ! Blest Book ! when rightly understood. How high the truths that thou relatest Of them — the great, the wise, the good ; And Him — the Wisest, Best, and Greatest ! MISCKLLAXJ20US POEMS. 61 IT WAS A DREAM. It was a dream — 'twas naetliing mair, But weary fa' the morrow That cam' wi' sic a loveless glare, And wakened me to sorrow. The orange-bloom was in her hair, And never twain were fonder ; It was a dream — 'twas naetliing mair, And we were forced to sunder. It was a dream — 'twas naething mair, But oh, wert thou my dearie, I hae a love that canna wear, A lieart that winna weai'ie ! I'll bind in Avreaths thy yellow hair, Like links o' gowd I'll braid it; It was a dream — 'twas naething mair, And nane but thee can read it. 62 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. While others seek the festive glee, My lanely thoughts thou sharest ; It's sAYeeter far to muse on thee, Than mingle wi' the rarest. The hope that haunts but canna heal, Must evermair pursue me. Unless — unless ye do reveal, Sweet lassie, gin ye'll loe me ! ANNOT RAE. We parted by the ocean-brim, We parted very sad. And baith were dearer for the pang That hour of parting had ; Yet now that we are met again, Thy e'e is turned away, As if ye couldna be my ain — My laug-loved Aniiot Rae. II. I likened thee to ilka thing That's gentle, sweet, and true : — A budding flower, a singing bird, The silent-dropping dew I MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 63 For, when we parted by the sea, The summer-wind at play- Was no "sae light and pure a thing As thou, my Annot llae. in. A fearfu' thought was whispered me, To set my soul on flame. That whaur I left the blush of love, I've found the blush of shame ! Oh, I wad gie a warld's wealth, To drive that thought away. And think that thou might yet be mine My spotless Annot Rae ! IV. But lift thy head, my Annot Rae, And dicht thy red, red e'e ; I hate the wrecker o' thy peace Ower deep for hating thee. On thee I'll think wi' tenderness ; For lightly step should tliey That tread upon a broken heart, My hapless Annot Rae ! 64 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A SOTJTEE. THOU wliase drouth is ill to sloken, Lament wi' tears wad wash a stockin' : For Death has had a drearie yokin' And driven's cou'ter Ower ane that now sleeps wantin' rockin' — Our canty souter. Last ouk he took an unco dwam, And got his usual drug — a dram, Anither and anither cam', — He swallow't a' ; And lies as peacefu' as a lamb I' the lion's paw. Buchan,* thou'rt without a marrow, Thy beuk has often eased our sorrow, And broken a tram o' death's wheel-barrow But what's the matter ? Thy saws he wasna muckle waur o' — And nane the better. • Author of the Domestic Medicine. MISCELLAIfEOXJS POEMS. 65 Whaur were ye a', ye men o' trade, That day he was sae lowly laid, "When, lifting up his wearie head, He loot an aith — Some say he bann'd, some say he pray'd — And sank in death ? Ye souters, grip your knees thegither, And hing your heads aboon your leather. The head that lies as laigh's the heather May claim a tear ; The best o' you has lost a brither. The warst — a fiere ! His ancestors straught up to Adam Brawly he kent, and what they ca'd them ; Within his bible-brods he had them, Their names and ages. And whiles on Sundays proudly shawed them On its fly pages. He left it aye to learned ears To list the music of the spheres, — The sonnets of our auld forbears lie loft to nane. But could hae drawn the vera tears Frae hearts o' stane. But Crispin's art he chiefly tried, And lang and sair the lapstane plied, And mony a hole in mony a hide u'. 66 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Has Johnny made — 'Twas aye his glory and his pride, Forbye his trade. Wi' him nae brute's skin lay and rottit ; — • Now his ain carcass he lias^ quit it, His weel-hained hide the yird has got it — • A bitter change ! — And clocks and worms are borin' at it, In pure revenge. Nae bastard-son auld Scotland mourns, But tells to a' whom it concerns He was, amang her true-born bairns, A dainty loon, "Whase saul is jinkin' through the starns Ayout the moon. And is there ane wha wadna tire 0' nature's glee and nature's fire, Wad weep when genius' rays expire Within a gutter ? — Ye wad hae wandered miles o' mire To have seen the souter. And can ye gie us music's charms ? Then blaw your reeds and thrum your thairms, And do your best to sound alarms Frae pipe and fiddle ; For Death's cauld clammy sheep-shank arms Clasp Johnny Riddle. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 67 In yon Icirk-yard we saw liim laid, And near-hand cursed the sexton's spade ; The clods fell duntin' ower his head, Wi' dowie sound, And auld fowk grat and bairnies play'd Around and round. Life, thou wears sae sad a raein, Thou'rt hardly worth a heidless preen ; And when this warld is brunt up clean, Like an auld backet, Deil blaw the ase o't in their een Wha fin' the lack o't. Death, since he has had to i)ree you — Though very few are blithe to see you — Come on, three honest cheers I'll gie you, Ye ill-faur't widdie ; But dinna bring the auld chiel wi' you, To fley a body ! 68 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. SONG. SMILE AGAIN. Smile again, bonny lassie, Lassie, smile again ; Your loving look of auld langsyne, look that love again ! There's no a frown in a' the warld, But thine, could gie me pain ; Then smile again, bonny lassie, Lassie, smile again. II. But tell me not — dinna tell Of joy, while I can see The cheeks where dimples ever dwell, Hae smiles for a' but me ; There's no a glint in a' your face But gleams for me in vain ; Then smile again, bonny lassie, Lassie smile again. MISCELLAXEOrS POEMS. 69 ni. The star o' eve that brings the dew, And brightens a' but me, "When gleamin' frae the starry blue, Is like my Peggy's e'e ; Twas first at it the torch was lit Of love that burns sae fain ; Tlien smile again, bonny lassie, Lassie, smile again. IV. The spring may come without a flower, To glad the humming bee ; And summer glow without a shower, To cool the parching lea. Whate'er's my lot, I'll murmur not, If thou wilt be my aiu ; Then smile again, bonny lassie, Lassie, smile again. 70 MI.SCEIiliAKEOUS POEMS. DONALD MACBEAN. How gently the breath of the evening is blawin' — I gie it a sigh as it sinks in the glen, And mingle my tear wi' the dew drap that's fa'in' — It fa's on the grave of poor Donald Macbean ! The stranger beholds me, and spiers why I'm weepin' Sae silent and sad, for I never complain ; But mine is a grief as unchaugin', as deep, an' As calm as the sleep of poor Donald Macbean ! II. I mind on the day when nae wind could hae wafted A sigh frae my bosom or gi'en me a pain, On ilka wild flower I then had engrafted Some tender idea of Donald Macbean ; As the wee flow'ries wither't my heart wither't wi' them, But spring soon restored them to beauty again ; They're blooming sae sweetly, wi' sorrow I see them — They bloom on the grave of poor Donald Macbean MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 71 III. 0, warm was his bosom, and dearly he lo'ed me, Though nae wi' the lore o' a saft-sighiug swaiu ; He hang his claymore on his side while he woo'd me ; And fell wi' the foremost — poor Donald Macbean ! He fought for his country, its claims, and its sorrows, He fought for his prince on Culloden's dark plain ; Though his name is na mentioned wi' those o' our heroes. There ne'er was a braver than Donald Macbean ! IT. "When the ghosts of CuUoden — the warrior and chieftain — Look forth on the field of disaster again, Half-hidden and dark, as the shadows are sliiftin', I see the dim form of poor Donald Macbean : "While voices of woe in the tempest are shrieking. He comes to the hallan that ance was his ain ; The wind whistles drear, and a voice from it speaking Says, Soon shall ye sleep witli poor Donald Macbean. 72 MISCELLANEOUS rOE^fS. SONG. Air — " Mary Jamieson." WEEL, weel may the lip unblest Be witlier'd, dry, and wan — That sings, unpraised — and sees, unkiss'd, The lip o' Lady Ann ! But were she queen of a' Scotland, Less hope I couldna share ; And were she queen of a' Scotland, I couldna love her mair ! n. Ye needna tell me this is wrang, I've tauld mysel' the same ; But gi'en my heart its will ower lang, And now it winna tame. Yet ae kind look, wad she cast, Afore I'm taen awa' ! I ken my hope maun fa' at last, But this wad break its fa' ! IIISCELLAXEOUS POEMS. 73 SONG. Air — " Andro and his Cutty Gun." Here 's to ancient Caledonia, (Drink it round afore we gae,) Love to ilka lass that 's bonny, Lads to ilka ane that 's nae. Scotsmen, keep the cogie jumblin'. Base be he whaur first it dries, Time anench when stools are tumblin'- Wlia, afore he fa's, Avad rise ? Here's to &c. Is't for sic unwordy beings Ye're in haste to gang awa' ? Scawlin' wivos, and squawliu' weans, We'll for anco forget them a'. Here's to &c. 74 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Here is nane to try your patience Wi' his gude-words, said by rote ; Scotland, wlien she pours libations, Always pours them down her throat ! Here's to &c. Scotland ! dearer a'thegither Than the land that bears the vine ; — Land of heroes, hills, and heather, Drunk or dry, we're always thine ! Here's to &c. Life, and love, and wit forgathers, In the cogie we've them a', Gin ye let them dry their feathers, Here's my hand — they flee awa.' Here's to &c. Wha can toom the grey-beard soonest ? Wha the cogie never hains ? Mark him. Love, his heart thou tunest, Life loups keenest in his veins ! Here's to ancient Caledonia, (Drink it round afore we gae,) Love to ilka lass that's bonny. Lads to ilka ane that's nae. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 76 SONG. * MY AIK board-en'. I. I CANXA bide at e'en Frae my aiu board-en', There's a wifie and a wean At my ain board-en' ; And a blitliesome-beaming e'e Blinks across the hamcAvard lea, And a dish is laid for me On my ain board-en'. II. But though I maun awa' To my ain board-en', I'll be blithe to see ye a' At my ain board-en'. Wit mayna aften flash, But gossips seldom gasli, And scandals never clash At my ain board-en'. • noard-cn', A Table. 76 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. III. I hae aye a jug of ale Ou my ain board-en', And mony a canty tale At my ain board-en' ; They are wearin' auld I trow, But they're better far than new. When tauld by lips I loo, At my ain board-en'. IV. I hae twa-three miles to gang To my ain board-en', And in troth I'm thinkin' lang For my ain board-en' ; And nane will surely blame, For, gin Bliss be worth a name, It is worth the carrying hame To our ain board-en'. MISCELIiANEOUS POEMS. 77 SUN AND WAVE ARE MEETING. A CRADLE-UYMN. [The following verses were written several years ago, on seeing a young female (and her child) who had experipnced the sad fallings-off of fortune, selling willow-baskets for her daily bread. The weave-the-willow senti- mentalism of sad heroines in three-volumed novels, has no propinquity in lorrow to this.] Sujf and "Wave are meeting, Daylight fast retreating, And the flocks are bleating Hameward ower the lea ; Sleep, my bonny dearie, Angel-drcams be near ye, Ne'er be thou sac wearie That sleep itsel' shall flee ! Thine be nights of slumber, Days that ne'er shall number Half the woes that cumber My heart so heavily ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. When thy father parted Frae his Broken-hearted, Sad and hope-deserted Fell his look on thee. Yet affection glowing, Gentler breezes blowing, Fortune's full-tide flowing Shall bring him back to me Then, when the sad billow Has ceased to be his pillow, No more I'll weave the willow, Baby, for bread to thee. No longer, hunger-tasket, I'll plait ray osier-basket, Or by rude tongues be asket To bate my penny fee. When the next moon kisses Autumn's gowden tresses, Such a night as this is Shall bring thy sire frae sea. MISCELLANEOUS POEJIS. 79 ELOPEMENT SONG. Air — " Auld Lang Syne." The lovely moon is shining o'er A silvery shining lake, Whose waves come laughing to the shore, And brighten as they break ; These waves shall bear us on, my dear, And o'er this lake we'll go ; Yon moon shall be our honey moon — Sweet lady, say not No ! II. I see thee wave thy lily hand, I see thy smile divine ; And, lady, well I understand What means the sacred sign. Tliat smile can I forget, ray dear, Tliat hand can I forego ? Though all thy father's kin were here, My love, I'd answer No ! f2 80 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, BLEACHIN' HER CLAES. One morning I dander'd (I needna say when) "Wliaur a wee bickerin' biirnie rins through a low glen, I met a young lassie amang the green braes ; — She was herdin' her lammies and bleachin' her claes. The bloom on her cheek was the rose's bright hue, And clear her complexion as fresh-fa'in' dew. Her yellow hair streamed like the sun's parting rays, And her breath was as sweet as her new-watered claes. I said, " Lovely maiden, how caller the air ! The season how pleasant ! the morning how fair ! The fields are a' flowers, and the flowers are a' dew, And if earth has aught fairer, sweet girl, it is you." She cried, " Let me be, I maun notice my claes, And canna mind a' thing that ilka ane says ; My mither aye tauld me — and likely she'd ken — That thei-e's fouth o' fine tales but nae faith in young men." MISCELLAXEOrS POEMS. 81 "0 dinna look blate though your mither may scauld, Her heart-bluid is daiver't, she's doitit and auld ; And say, boiinie lassie, what ills ye could dree Frae the laddie that loves ye, and loves nana but thee ?" I kissed her, I pressed her, — mair tender she grew, And sank in my arms, crying, " Laddie be true !" Though art wad hae frowned, and pride made a fraise. The lassie had nane that was bleachin' her claes. EPITAPH. Hebe lieth one who lived, (but lived not long,) As right as knew he had been often wrong ; So proud — he would not e'en to bliss be driven ; So poor — he carried all he had to heaven. 82 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. SONNET. THE HARMONY OF NATURE. The timid Night had set her sentinels, O'er the blue fields of hearen a warm breeze blew From the poetic south, and all that dwells Of Peace on earth in one sweet hour I knew ; For, gazing on the gracious Heaven, I grew So spiritual, and every sense so keen. That I could hear the pink of falling dew, And see gay creatures dancing in its sheen : Oh, such a dream might glorify a life ! Methought I stood with Nature, soul to soul, And asked her if her bosom had its strife As well as otirs : she gathered up her stole. And answered mild — " My attributes ye see, Love, Beauty, Music — can they disagree ?" MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 83 CONTENTMENT ; OR, BADENTOK. I. CoNTENTMEXT is a mine o' gowd And the discoverer's ain, Although a wee thing aff the road That leads direct to gain ; And, frae an honest, canty sang, By canty, honest John,* We've named the hamesome residence, The toun o' Badenyon. II. Nae servants dance attendance to The music of a bell, But, tent me, nane are better served Than he that serves himsel' ; There's nouglit bides langer in your hand Than what your hand has won ; Thus prudent guidance, more than gear. Is wealth in Badenyon. • Rev. John Skinner, Author of Tullochgorum, &c. 84 VISCELLATfEOUS PGEMS. III. He's never poor that thinks nae sae, Nor rich that buys annoy ; And, mind, ae penny honest won Is tippence-worth o' joy. When Poverty has peace o' mind To rest its head upon, Oh, but it makes a wee bed warm And blesses Badenyon ! IV. I'm aubi and gray, and bent and torn. But ne'er was heard repine. Or wish my friend a ragged coat For sake o' mendin' mine ; The laird rides by me wi' a splash, "While I on foot trudge on — "What reck ! he may ride far and lang, And meet nae Badenyon ! For caller beauty, come and see The cottar wifie's daughter, Wi' blushes warm as ruddy wine But pure as running water ; Though ance a-week, a while at night, She sits wi' cousin John, Her e'e's the clearest, and her fame The best in Badenyon. MISCELLAXEOUS POEMS, 85 VI. Her sole cosmetic is the burn That wimples 'mang the broom, The orient fragrancy of morn Affords a rich perfume ; She never sees a brawer gown Than what hersel' has spun, But wonders that the laird has no His seat at Badenyon. vn. This warld is hard aneuch to grip, As rich and poor hae kenn'd; But there's a comfort in the thought — We'll see its hinder-end : To learn the way to heaven above Apply to good Mess John, But gin ye seek a heaven on earth — It lies in Badenvon. 86 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. THE COAL-BLACK STEED IS IN HIS STALL. VERSES ADDRESSED TO MY HUSBAND. [The title of this little poem will, of course, be received with aqualiflca- tion. The right of a poet to address verses to his husband is to be under- stood as included in the original charter of his inspiration, by which he is empowered and entitled to sympathize and hold communion with every created thing ; and, therefore, he may at times be the Wife as well as the Soldier, the Law-giver, or the Priest — or— what seems as unnatural as any of these— the Wealthy Man.] The coal-black steed is in his stall And neiglieth to be free, But there's a tempest on the wind That must not beat on thee. The thunder-cloud across the sky Comes like a bursting bomb, — Oh, how my heart will bless the storm That keepeth thee at home ! And lest ye long for sunny days And grudge the cloudy sky, I'll shew thee summer in my looks And sunshine in my eye : MISCELLAXEOUS POEMS. 87 I'll sing ye songs of wooing-time — For I have learned to woo — Or read your favourite books, for they Are now my favourites too ! The whole of heaven is one black frown. Ah, whither wouldst thou roam ? For well I wot ye never found A frowning face at home ! The coal-black steed is in his stall, And in his stall shall stay — 'Twould be a sin to make me sad, So willing to be gay ! 88 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. THE TIME 0' YEAR.* SONG. Air — " Jockey^sfar awa." I. "When Bogie-side puts on her pride, And Notli lias decked Ms powe, The sweetest bud in glen or wud Is Jeanie o' the howe. In Winter's grief, in Summer's leaf, In Autumn's mellow cheer, She heeds no fraise because, she says, It's nae the time o' year. II. In vain to her each worshipper Did all obeisance show, "Within the shaw, ilk evening-fa', She breath'd her maiden-wo : " There is but ane my heart has ta'en And he's ower blate to spier. Or though he did, I wadna wed — For its nae the time o' year ! * Time o' year — a phrase meaning, the appropriate season. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 89 III. " It was a niclit when Love weel iniclit Have play'd his pranks nnseen, "Wlien out gaed I to milk the kye As Rab cam' ower the green : 'Twas lang afore the wonted hour — He spak' nae word o' cheer ; My heart was wae to see him gae, But — 'twasna time o' year." IV. Tlie lad she loe'd ahint her stood And heard her mak' her maen ; He saftly went, she gae consent, And gaedna hame her lane ! When the heart we woo and the lip we loe "With ours are meeting near, Oh, Love will wile an yielding smile At ony time o' year ! 90 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. JEANIE CAMPBELL. Air — " Catherine Ogie." [The heroine of the following ballad (for ladies of modern times are all heroines — in print) was the daughter of a Canadian gentleman, who dis- charged the three-fold duties of farmer, militia-captain, and inn-keeper on the highway leading from Hamilton to London, Canada West. His tavern was one of the stages of a public coach, the driver of which — a young and meritorious Scotsman — took the opportunity of paying his addresses to the young lady, who — as far as fixing the wedding-day goes in America — may be said to have given him some encouragement. The wedding-day was fixed ; but a few weeks before it, a citizen of Michigan called at the inn, and, some eight days after his arrival, it was thought proper to inform the coachman that a change had taken place in his bride's aff"ectlons, who was, nevertheless, still a bride ; and on the evening of the day on which he received this intel- ligence, the bridal party entered his coach and were driven to London, in order that the nuptial rites might be performed there. Over a stream called the Thames, a wooden bridge leads into the town, so dangerous that it re- quires considerable skill to drive a team of horses along it ; but to-night, all the coachman's endeavours could not induce the animals to take a lover's leap. I have given a pastoral character to the ballad ; but greater liberties are taken with more important truths, every day.] When summer-tide o'erflowed the sliaw "With waves of flowery beauty, When love was all the sight I saw, And pleasure every duty ; I heard a shepherd's sang o' wae And half-forgot my ramble, For aye the o'ercome o' his lay Was, Faithless Jeanie Campbell. MISCELLANEOtrS POEMS. 91 U. where, he cried, where are gone Those words so sweetly spoken. That scarce I kent my heart had flown, Till a' its hopes were broken ? 'Twas right thy fate to rend frae mine, But why, why dissemble And leave thy lover here to pine, Fause-hearted Jeanie Campbell ? ni. The friend that's lang been true may shift, And a' that sought may shun me : The blackest cloud in a' the lift Hath pour'd its wrath upon me ! The cloud that's o'er my weary soul, what dotli it resemble ? Frae me it's darkness canna roll, Fause-hearted Jeanie Campbell ! IV. How fondly, kindly we hao met ! How sadly we hae parted ! Alas ! canst thou remember yet, And not be broken-hearted ? Our little lambs their joys cxprest In many a lightsome gambol, And leal and lightsome beat my breast. For there lay Jeanie Campbell ! 92 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. speak of me in ilka hour When hearts are beatin' sairly, And strew my grave wi' ilka flower The frost has nipj)it early, And mak' my grave beneath the pine, Surrounded by the bramble. And on its sod encarve this line — ' TAUSE-HEAKTED JEANIE CAMPBELL !' MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 93 SONNET. TO THE INVEXTRESS OF PAINTING. 'TwAs a Corinthian girl, to whom was given The ministry of genius, like a shower In Spring's young fulness. Ah ! the twilight hour To her came never half so full of Heaven, As when it brought her overwearied lover : Him she had lulled into a blessed sleep, And now was leaning like an angel over The quiet face, and always drinking deep Out of its breathing fountain ; but she tasted A joy sublimer, when, on the lit wall Catching the form of sleeping love, she hasted To trace the outline of its shadowy fall : The morning comes; lier skill hath not been wasted ; Her lover goes away, but goes not all ! a 94 • MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. STANZAS. ON VISITING LOKD PITSLIGO's CAVE NEAR ROSEHEARXY. "Wha dig-git thee, thou queer auld biggin' ? My fegs, he's been some time o' diggin' ! Thy red-stane wa's and vaulted riggin' Ance formed a palace, Which white-rose loyalty lay snug in And maugred malice. The eagle has his rocky bole ; The foumart and the tod, a hole ; The thraw-mouse and the blinterin' mole May howk the lea : But thou, auld cavern grim and droll, Wha howkit thee ? In thee the surly tempests sleep Before they rise and rouse the deep, When sailor-loves and mithers weep Their sound to hear, And bairnies round the ingle creep For very fear ; MISCELLAITEOUS POEMS. 95 Perhaps upon some fated morn, In mad comulsion thou wert born ; Gray rocks by time till then unworn Crash'd fearfully, And Earth's auld Avomb was rent and torn Producing thee. But here conjecture a' is laid — A ploughman, leaniug ower his spade. Declares 'twas no for tod, nor taed, Nor erne, nor seagu' ; But by the Lord's ain finger made For Lord Pitsligo. Ah, waes me for that aged man, The lord of fair Pitsligo's Ian', 'VVhase bald head lay beneath a ban For following Charlie, Because his prince required his han'. And got it fairly. He sat within these wa's o' granite. And ee'd the white rose on his bonnet. And thought how Caledon's red planet Had lost its glory. Or haply croon'd some auld Scots sonnet Of brighter story. lie thouglit upon tbt day of doul, (For ne'er was Ajiril day so foul ; g2 96 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. The very bairnies at the school Wad greet to learn Its wrangs, deliberate and cool, To wife and bairn.) He rais'd his arm to yon blue vault, And spoke of blood-red fury dealt. And questional why such heartless guilt Should be forgiven, And ask'd if Justice always dwelt Aloof in heaven ! MARY LA MORE. Afar from the scenes of my infancy roaming, The outcast of fortune, I came to the sea : The wild gulls were shrieking, the wild waves were foaming. The landsmen were trembling — unnoticed by me ! Proudly the seamen looked forth to the ocean. And wildly the landsmen looked back to the shore, But I gazed on my love with a softer emotion. And felt not a fear but for Mary la More. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 9? II. The spirits of death from their slumbers awakened, The demons of wrath brooded over the ware, The mermaid sang sweetly and mournfully beckoned Tlie sea-beaten wanderers to rest and a grave ! The landsmen clung fast to whatever was nearest, And I to my Mary more fond than before ; "Wliile each sought to save what their passions held dearest. I heaved not a prayer but for Mary la More. III. "Wild was the shock, like the gusts of December, That gave our proud ship to the rock and the wave ; But wilder — ah ! why do I live to remember ? — My visions of safety with nothing to save I I woke on the beach, but the tempest was over, The sea-boy sang time to the splash of his oar. But though nature smiled sweet as the smile of a lover, The green billow slumber'd o'er Mary la More • IV. I called on her name in the burst of my anguish, — The hollow wind answered, tlie sea gave a groan; And now in a bright busy world I must languish So lonely — 0, never was any so lone ! 98 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. I rove by the beach and sing peace to the billows, When wild is their rage and all mournfnl their roar ; For I hear a soft voice, like the wind among wil- lows, That tells me of Mary, dear Mary la More ! THE TRAVELLER'S RETURN. I LEANED on my staff while I listened the strains That were sweet to me once, but the voices were new ; I clomb the blue mountain, but knew not the swains Who were tending their flocks where the ptar- migan flew. My own native streamlet was blue as the sky. Its banks were as fair and its waters as clear, But it mirrored no longer the love-looking eye "Whose magic makes all that it looks upon dear ! The shadows of twilight were darkening aloft When I flung myself down on the banks of the stream, Its prattling so soothing, and murmur so soft, Grave song to my slumber and life to my dream ; MISCELLAJfEOUS POEMS. 99 The miud loves to wander in regions unknown, Among creatures too lovely to be of our sphere ; And tired of this world maketh worlds of her own, More fair but as false as the one we have here. I dreamed that I stood on that same lovely spot. Every mountain I knew and could call by its name. And naught save the diiference of years was forgot, But all save the discords I left was the same ! Then I fancied that faces so fair could not change, And that bosoms so loved must be peopled with bliss. That the friends who had nursed me could never seem strange. But — never was vision so faithless as this ! 100 MISCIOLLANEOUS POEMS. TO THE MOON. Star of our earth ! thou art brilliant again, The days of thy darkness are o'er, And the shepherds that watch in thy beam on the plain Will think thee as bright as before ; But to me thou art loveless, all bright as thou art, And changed, sadly changed I must be Since first I felt love at its work in my heart. And learned to love gazing on thee ! Yet thou art the same and still smil'st as benign As the angel that scatters the dew ; Methinks, upon lovers thou only shouldst shine, And the love that thou light'st should be true ! In thee. Lady-planet, I never can trace An emblem of aught that could range ; For thine, lovely Orb, is the only fair face That smiles upon man without change. MISCELLANEOUS rOEifS. 101 ELLINOR. PART FIRST. TVua's she that stands on yon fearsome steep, And gazes across the main, WV a look as lonely as if she liA'ed In tlie wide, wide warld her lane ? Oh, Ellinor ance was as blithe and gay As a birdie's sang on a simmer-day, But her cheek is Arorn ower thin and howe To carry its auld-warl' dimple now ! Iler step is sIoav, for her heart is sair, And her e'c has a look of strange despair That wad try to hojte, gin she didna fear Sueh hope would be high presumption here. 102 illSCELLASTEOUS POEMS. II. Squire Harvey sat in his stately ha', Observing the rustic maidens a', As on they hied to the village-fair ; And Ellinor's face was the fairest there — Ye could hae thought her sweet lips budding, Ye would hae known that health was flooding Her silken cheek by its rosy hue, And guessed that her mind was as healthy too. III. The girls — no more than girls sedate, For why should a maid have a matron's gait ? — "Walked on ; but Ellinor paused to bless The sea she loved for its loveliness, "Whose billows rose but did not break — Like the young heart spared for Mercy's sake ; When Love grows faithless, and Grief grows rough, It has only to heave and shake them off. She saw that the ocean-ways were safe, Else her thoughts, too, had begun to chafe — For she loved all things that quiet be. But none so well as the quiet sea. A thousand smiles came from the main, And she gave it a thousand smiles again. Then started off with a frightened air. As if any had seen her smiling there ! MISCELLAXEOUS POEMS. 103 IV. Squire Harvey, frae his stately lia', Tlie low, but lovely maiden saw ; His heart was fause, and his thoughts were foul — He spared nae right, he feared nae rule ; He recked no censure, and felt no shame — His love was ruin, his hate — the same. But Ellinor's love young "William had. And heart of her heart was the sailor-lad. In childhood's path they two had met ; And, though now the wedding-day was set, Neither seemed likely to discover That childhood's happy time was over ; They knew that a rose might have its stings, But nothing had led them to suppose That there are such ungentle things In life as thorns without a rose ! I see your Paradise, happy pair — Alas ! what a fiend is lurking there ! VI. « * * * * :U * * 4f * * * * n i In a late number of Blacknood, a powerfully-written critique denounces such starry ttanzaa an a pitiful subterfuge to which a writer betakes him- self when there is sompthing to grapple with beyond his mastery. With regard to the above, the reader is assured that, as far as the Author knows, there is nothing in it. lie uses the device simply to notify that the story has made some little progress, though too unimportant to be described. 104 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. VII. WILLIAM. " Come to my side, come to my side, My second heart ! my blest ! my bride ! We should have met last night, and ye Came not, but pleaded company ; Dear, gentle girl, as well as you, I had companions — choice ones, too — My fervent thoughts of thine and thee, A gallant, courteous company. Now, Ellinor, I do opine That yours was not so sweet as mine." VIXI. ELLINOE. " Of mine, dear William, do not speak. Or my poor heart will break — will break ! A secret ne'er had I before, And never wish a secret more. Now, do not frown, and I will tell That secret, black and horrible. And do not frown, ye Powers above. Though Harvey offers me his love ; 0, William, save thyself and me. But save thyself immediately !" MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 105 IX. WILLIAM. " Nay, Ellinor, I scorn his hate ; His arm has no such length or weight That thou shouldst flinch — that I should fear, Or lose a moment's transport here. But, if he loves thee — as he may — 'Tis for his good ; for this I say, Tliat, pure and holy as thou art, Thy image could not walk his heart. But leave a holy trace behind, To mark its passage o'er his mind — As angels tread this world of ours, But leave no pressure on its flowers." X. ******* ******* XI. A strange ship anchored in the bay, Some weeks before tlie wedding-day ; And a sickly seaman Avas sent to port, Who told that the voyage was to be but short- And the voyage short, with double pay. Lured EUinor's sailor-boy away. He wont to sea with the captain grim — The ship returned, but brought not him ; 106 MISCELLAIfEOUS POEMS. And few wad sail tliat ship again, Though a prouder thing ne'er swam the main — Though they saw nae iiend but the captain's e'e, And heard nae sound save the shrieking sea ! XII. And, ah ! how Ellinor was changed, Her heart and happiness estranged ; For sleep was a wilderness where lay Such things as never walked by day — When she'd start from an unvarying dream, And think she heard her Willie's scream, Or the fearful gulp, and hollow soun' That the ocean gies when a ship gaes down ! MISCELLANi:OUS POEMS. 107 PART SECOND. 'TwAS a sumnier-niglit, but the round moon's ray Made it look the sister t^n of Day ; The meteor shot frae the sky's faint blue ; The cock cam' doun frae his i^erch and crew ; The liowlet sat on a silent tree ; The laverock raise frae the dewy lea ; And the fox aroused by the glare in his den Fled farther awav from the dwel linos of men. On Ellinor's pillow the moon-beara fell ; To-night, for the first time, she slumbered well, For her breath was evenly-drawn and deep, And she lay as calm as a soul asleep ; But yet she dreamed, and tlie fair moon-beam Was no sae lu'ight as her maiden-dniuu. 108 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. II. She dreamed she was lying, but waking wide, "When her ain sweet William came to her side, And oh ! sae happy she was to see His snawy form and starlike e'e ! " I come," he said, " frae the land o' Soul, And frae Him that maketh the wounded whole, Frae the land o' Love and heavenly grace. Where happiness has her hiding-place ; But dinna look sae sair on me. Lest my form should melt in your very e'e. III. " Our hameward voyage was nearly through. For lightly, lightly our good ship flew To the light-house blaze, revolving far. That comes round with a flash and goes ofl' like a star. I was counting my gains with an honest pride, When a rude hand plunged me in the tide ; 'Twas a smothering glift' and a thought on thee, And Sorrow and Sin had done wi' me, And I seemed to feel a cauld han' creep Across my breast and fell asleep. I woke again, but my soul was free, The coral hang o'er my dead bodye, And the light was streaming attour my head, Of the crimson warmth and hue of bluid. For the violet rays on the surface dwell, To gaze on the heaven that's sae like themsel' ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 109 IV. " Away, away from the coral cave. Away and above the glittering wave, Farther aloft than the lark can flee, And farther aloft than eagles see ; Beyond the last wave of the sea of air Whaur bodily beings never were ; — And I saw the back of the farthest star. And the place where the worlds of chaos are — Where angel foot hath never trod, The laboratory of Mighty God. V. " Then strength unto my soul was given To bear the happiness of heaven ; And the Ilonse of Mansions met my e'e, And grace had opened one for me. I could tell you tales that uane think lang, And sing ye a verse of an angel's sang That would gar ye sigh away your breath, And long for the blessedness of death. vr. " But, holy as heaven, ye ken, maun be, I sometimes spen' a thouglit on thee, For there it isna ca'd a crime To love the beautiful things o' Time. Yestreen I hied me douii my lane To the gay, green warld o' my birth again 11 110 MISCELLANKOUS POEMS. The setting sun on the mountain glowed, Like the amethyst gate of the city of God ; I heard the sound of tlie booming sea ; I saw the squire with the fiendish e'e, And past his stately mansion came To a holier I'oof — your ain sweet hame ; I saw thee at an evening walk, And overheard your sisters' talk, I heard them speak of your wandering e'e, And watched them greet when they spake of thee — Of thee, and their father's hoary hair, And — soul though I was — I could look nae mair !" VII. The vision fled with the gray moon-beam, Whose glint had gi'en her this timely dream : " We maunna, we winna part, Willie !" she screamed with a sudden start, That rent the curtain o' sleep in twain And gave her consc ousness again. Her brow that lang had throbbed as sair ~| As if her heart had been beating there, > Grew calm and chill as morning-air. -' VIII. The morning came — the household met — And now, at length, nae cheek was wet : Sire and motherless daughters three, Gladder hearts there could hardly be. The old mnn blessed them, and forth they hied To see the flowers in their dcAvy pride, MISCELLAJTEOtrS POEMS. Ill And they smiled on ilka thing they saw. But Ellinor's smile was the sweetest ava. A' day she thought on her bonny dream, And wrought at her younger sister's seam. As silent as if she had hesfun The quiet of death ere life was doue. IX. Eut when the sun had sunken low, Her hand less steady grew, and slow, And — having asked her sire's consent — She went — they saw not where she went — She went to the blare of the booming sea To meet the squire with the fiendish e'e, And — strange as it may seem to tell — He came invited by hersel'. His swarthy cheek had a guilty flush, But Elliuor saw it without a blush : " Sir squire, I've ta'en a lover's vow, And ye must aid me to keep it now — Nay, speak not yet — and do not kneel, iMethinks I know what ye ought to feel ; On those fine clifls awliile we'll go. And then descend to the beach l;elow. XI. " How suddinly the sun comes down I" She cried, with s(Miutliing that seemed a frown ; 1! -2 112 MISCELLAl^EOrrS POEMSr " When Ifist I looked from tlic rugged shore. He hang as round as a drop of gore, But already half of his orb is hid, And — Vengeance — my delay is chid ! Come to my arms, false man, at length ! — Come, while I hae a maniac's strength ! — Come, ere my purpose has time to shake ! — I clasp thee, thus, for my "William's sake." XII. Slie threw her taper arms around him, And like the fold of a serpent, bound him : The heart-smote yictim saw his fate. And owned its justice — too, too late ; He begged forgiveness — but there was none. And grace — but the day of grace was done : She flung herself from the fearfu' steep, And hang one moment above the deep, And the last maddening word that came From her burning lips, was William's name ; Her victim heard it, like a knell. And struggled — wavered — shrieked — and fell ! The sun gave forth a blood-shot beam And vanished, like a fevered dream. MISCELLANEODS POKMS. 113 THE PLOUGHMAN LAD. Nae vials ha€ I to weet my cheek, And keep its colour fair ; Nae drap o' balm save the halmy kiss That the ploughman lad lavs there ! The bonny brent o' his snavry brow, Has the gleed o' morning liglit, And the locks that peep frae his bonnet blue, Are dark as the winter night. The toils that wad mak' the heartless sair, Ne'er mar the ploughman's glee ; And when I praise his step sae light, He gies a' the praise to me. The land lie tills is no his aiu, For his haudin' is but sma' ; But his wee cot-house and its plenishin', He wadna gie for't a'. 114 MlSCELIixVNEOUS POEM*. There is ae sweet bairnie at my fit^ Aud aiiither on my kuee — Wi' a tlie father in his form, And the mither in his e'e. Their father hies to the stibble-land, And my heart wad whiles be sad, Were it no for the smiles o' my bairnies twa. And the thoughts o' my ploughman lad. LANO HAE YE BEEN ROAMING Air — " Fee him. Father, fee him !" Lang hae ye been roamin', laddie, Lang hae I been grievin' — Life sae near its gloamin', laddie, 'S hardly worth the livin'. Mony merry days hae ye, Nought to mak' ye wearie — Whaur's the bliss ye promis'd me. When I was first your dearie ? This poor heart so laden, laddie, Mind ye bow ye won it ? This poor cheek so fadin', laddie. Ken ye what has done it ? MlsCELLANEors VOEJIS. llo TTeel thou kens, but daurna spier ^^^ly this tear is stealin' ; Lang I tried to hide it here, And burst my heart concealin' ! I've had mony sorrows, laddie, Since thou wert my lover — I've had weary morrows, laddie, Now they're nearly over. Then, when thou and thy poor lass, Ance and aye are parted — Think, oh, think, while thou wert fause, I was broken-hearted. 116 inscEiiLAXEOus roEjisr. IMPROVEMENT ; OR, THE COUNTRY CRACK: A CONTER-CRACK. GUDEWIFE. Hech, Sirs ! but aiild fowk fast grow auld, And, when we're fairly bent twafauld Beneath the weight of years bygone, Time shortly slips a bnrden on ! When threescore years hae ta'en the wing-, The back-sprent sadly tines its spring ; And, underneath the withered brow, The mind itsel' will wither too ; The snaw upon the thin, gray powe. Accords na wi' the lee'some low Of youth, gudeman ; but you and me May warm us wi' the memory MISCELI/AXEOrS POEMS. 117 Of mony an artless, happy day, When our hearts had their simmer-play — For, lang as 'tis sin' first we met, Our daffm I remember yet. It was a time o' muckle glee. For little cark or care had we. And crowd was what we never saw, And puir fowk had nae pride aA^a, And rich fowk werena half sae dour, For even the vera lairds were poor ! GUDEilAN", I dinna doubt, gudewife, ye're richt — Yet life, ye ken, 's an unco fecht ; And when there's nane to tak' his pairt A chiel wad need a whinstane heart, A brow o' brass, or arm o' steel. Oh then the gowd does unco weel ! The puir man must be mim and meek. But he that spends may also speak ; And Favour, though she's ill to catch — A siller bullet* kills the witch. "We'll nae count Fortune's ])ouutith sma' As laug's she hands grim Want awa' ; For the warst colic, let me tell ye. That man can dree, 's an empty belly. » It Is a well-known and accredited fact that witches when they choose 10 travel incog., (that is, in the likeness of hares, &c.,) can only be shot by a piece of silver. 118 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Altliougli we're fairly down the brae, The dargers of a closing day, And are nae langer green and sappy, Yet, Janet lass, we're nae unhappy. We've had as muckle gear, ye'U grant. As balanc'd wear and frichtit want ; And honest-got when guided weel Has aye a foot the brae to speel, And gin a harvest-storm should blaw There's lithe in an auld ruck or twa. This warld has things in't worth the lovino- And, what is niair, it's aye improving." GUDEWIFE. A braw improvement wi' a vengeance ! The stimulation o' steam engines ! It's that that's gien us a' the steer 0' feein'-markets twice a year, That tines a herd by parkin' nowt, That fosters i)ride by length'ning out The distance 'tween a but and ben, That works wi' mills instead o' men. Nae mair the farmer dowfs his bonnet And gies his servants some auld sonnet, Or brak's his bread at table wi' them, Or looks as though he liked to see them : Nae mair his servants try to furder, And do beyond their master's order; Nae langer seem they interested To keep his gearfrae being wasted. JIISCELLAXEOUS POEMS. 119 What now will pay the whaler's toil, When fowk burn reek instead of oil ? Ye kent my cousin, Jock MacRob, Tliat used to luak' a canny job By sailin' wi' the lads that sail O'er northern seas to hunt the Avhale : — Hae mercy on us ! hoAV a storm "Will shake the bodie's bedstrae for him ! For, as their ship was hameward bound, Some towmonds syne, puir Johnny drowned ; — But there his better fortune lay. For he is happier far than they, His comrades — spared to live, alas I Heart-broken wi' the licht o' gas ! GUDEMAN. Gudewife, gudewife, though ne'er sae blest There's something iu's that winna rest. Forever painting to the min' Some hapjner period — auld lang syne. Ye look abroad and think ye see Naething unchanged save you and me ; Ye miss the muirs whaur maukins hirpled, Begilt wi' wliins or heather-purpled, Ye mind when we were bairns thegither AVhat ]>loys we had amang the heather. And tlius forget to ask what pi'olit To man or beast could then come otf it ; Ye miss the tacksman's auld clay biggin's Wi' hamely thack-and-raipit riggin's, 120 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. That really had nae charm I ken, Except the honest, simple men Wha trusted Providence as weel 's To put their heids aneath sic beils. We see these changes round about us — Distinct, because they lie without us ; But, Janet, could we look within, A change even in ourselves we'd fin' : The warld of Nature doesna stan', And wherefore should the warld of Man ? Richt weel I like to hear you crack — But dinna wish the auld times back ; For wulsome muirs and roads, beside. That some might travel — nane could ride, And lichtly rented lands that gae As licht a crap the rent to pay, Are weel awa' : we'll no regret, Or murmur at their absence yet. GUDEWIFE. The roads ! we never thought them lang However rough or far to gang, When men and nowt in squads thegither To markets hied across the heather ; Or lads and lasses frae their wark Gaed linkin' barefit to the kirk, Whaur, glad of ought to rest their haunches, They worshipt God frae forms and benches. And oh, the blithesome coming hame ! When hearts that lowed wi' mutual flame MISCELLAS^EOUS POEHS. 121 Bade liouestly by aue anither, And found or feared nae flytin' mither; For miserable was the life Of ony mither no a wife : Fowk on the vera road wad shun her As though she seemed a warld's won'er. But now the frailty's grown sae common As scarce to raise a blush on woman ; And when a servant-lass fa's by, Her comrades pass her with a sigh Of fellow-feeling, and a doubt "Wha's turn may come the next about. GUBEMAN. Let that foul flee stick to the wa' — 'We see but canna mend the flaw. And as for kirk-road haivers, I Aye found them graceless, dull, and diy, And our auld topics, bit by bit, Ye'U get them on the kirk-road yet. The doucer sort to show their gumption Explain the mysteries of redemption, And make it weel appear to a' To be nae mystery ava ! The vera virtuous, always willing To save a sinner or — a shilling. Tire a' ane's patience but their ain "VVi' cutty-stools and stots and grain, Till, stupififd, bumbaized, or vext, They'll whiles forget the very text. 1-2 MlfSCELLANEOUS POElfS. But surely, Janet lass, ye'll own How rapidly our comfort's grown ; And, by a' parties but and ben. How pleasant in a storm to ken The wind and rain beat on a roof That 's wind-secure, and water-proof. I mind since 'twas believed tlie win' "Was sent us as a scourge for sin, To preach a warnin' to the nation, Or teach a Christian resignation ; And some, ower-anxious to be sainted, When damage might have been prevented, Sat still aneath the storm, and said, " 'Twas raised by Heaven, and would be laid." There was a storm, (and weel I may Remember't till my dying day :) The Spring was in, but — save the name o't, — The season hadna great to claim o't, Sunshine — it scarcely had a blink o't. And nae ane kent weel what to think o't ; It look'd like Winter come to see What like a hizzie Spring wad be. The wind was blusterin' and rough. The moon aye circled wi' a brugh ; Auld wives had watched for months thegither. She changed, but never changed the weather And warldly carls, grown teugh wi' age. Began to notice frets and rage, — For even their sturdiest hands confessed That biggit land was far the best. MISCELLAJTEOUS POEMS. 123 The humblest shielin' — worth possessing, A blazin' fire — an unco blessing, Tlie brawest claith — what kept the heat, The best o' stacks — a stack o' peat ! Even then — to show their zeal and faith — (And, troth, they had aneuch o' baith,) Would squads around the kirk forgather, Wha stayed at hanie in better weather, — As if, when droukit to the skin, The word could sink the farther in — Or rains, that gar the rashes rise. Could aid the "growth of grace" likewise. GUDEWIFE. Nae doubt, our winters whiles were dreary E'en then — and could they aye be cheerie ? But now, the wee-bit weary day Maun travel ewer us as it may ; For gane is a' that lifesome sport That wad have made the langcst short. Tlie poor man's wit, his mirth, his merit, His luckless independent spirit, The soul within him — rent and torn — Down to the ground he tills, is worn I Oh had we back the merry min', The honest joy of auld lang syne ! In blinterin', blearin', bleak November — "When the wan sun seems but an ember. And scarcely turns his noddle till 's, lint crociiils round the southlan' hills; — 124 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Came rattliu', roariu' Hallowe'en, And drave a' sadness frae the scene ; When dool, and care, and thinkin'-lang Were only kent frae some auld sang Made by a joe in sad deray, Whase love was fause or far away. Then Yule-day, gladsome as a bride, The heart that beats in Winter's side ! Though time has gane a waefu' length Since last we saw it in its strength, I hear it bizziu' at my lug Just like a weel-barm't nappy jug ; — Its rantin' roar grows daft and dafter, A hurricane of glee and laughter — There never met a blither quorum — The dancers skirl for Tullygorum, The vera bairnies join the fun. And stot like hailstanes on the grun'. The gravest granny looks applause. And lucky-daddy hoasts ha-ha's ! OUDEMAN. Enough, enough. We've been thegither Ower lang to confer ane anither. Auld ways are sanctified by distance, When wrapt in time's mysterious mist ance, And there 's a certain point of view, Nothing beheld from which is true : As when the magic moonbeam fa's On auld Strathbogie's castle-Ava's, — MISCELLAXE0TJ3 POEMS. 12." Ae chiel observes't frae fair or revel, Gangs bame and says, he saw the devil ; A second, only tells his people Tlie kirk has got anither steeple : Some ither day they baith see weel Enough it's neither kirk nor deil. CULLODEN. tThe following song, which was published in Upper Canada about Ave years ago and sufficiently well received among the Scotch people there, was composed to the tune and on the model of one of those ballad-foundlings which from time to time have appeared in our literature, possessing ge- nerally as much beauty, or dignity, or grandeur as to show that their births had been superior to their fortunes. True, their country has taken care of them, and, like noble wards, they have repaid their guardians well : but the ▼erses appended to my own have never, as far as 1 am aware, been pub- lished before ; it is hoped, however, that sufficient merit will be found in them to justify their insertion here.] Loud on the hills were the wintry winds howling, Dark on the heavens the tempest was scoAvling, And bitter and sad were the tears that were fioodin' Young Ellen's dark eye, as she gazed on Culloden. " Blow, ye wild winds ; though my heart blood is freezing, Ye'U never add more to my griefs with your teasing, 1 126 MISCELLAITEOUS POEMS. For ye sweep o'er the field where my lover was trodden By the foot of the hireling that fought on Culloden ! " There's that in your howlings, from which I dis- cover That the sorrows of Ellen will soon be all over, When this deep-throbbing heart shall be cold as the sod on The breasts of the heroes that fell on Cullodeu ! " Oh, little I knew of the nature of sorrow, "When the clans drew their swords, and I roused my young hero — ' Go, meet the proud foe as our sires did on Flodden, Go, Fergus, and die for your Prince on Culloden !' "He went — not a step had he flinched when we found him, His claymore was bloody, the dead lay around him : He fell — as the fears of my heart were forebodin'. When the freedom of Albyn was lost on Culloden ! "Oh, sweet be his sleep, for his death-bed was gory; And long may his child live to tell the sad story : For me, my fond heart has long fixed its abode on The spot Avhere he fell, and shall burst on Culloden. MISCELLANEOUS POEIIS. 127 "But he hears not the words which my passiou has spoken, He feels not the pangs whicli ray proud heart have broken, The blood-thirsty stranger may still stretch his rod on The land of the Gael,but there's peace on Culloden !" I might sing o' my country, its deep glens and foun- tains, Of its woods, and its rivers, and steep-rising raoun- tains — But I'll sing of a battle — the saddest in story, Of wintry Culloden, and Cumberland gory. 'Twas the sixteentli of April, I'll ever remember, The night it was dark as the darkest December, The moon came by lits, something awful forobodin' To the clans the next day on the muir of Culloden, -As we lay under arms our chiefs were debating. Some were for liglitiiig and some for retreating, But Lochiel, and Lord Drummond, and yuung I^ewie Gordon, Drew their swords and declared they would die on Culloden. 1 2 128 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. The war-pipe is playing — the fierce charge is sound- ing ; From the wild rocky hills are the echoes rebounding ; If the charge had been given as the clans did at Flodden, The day had been ours on the muir of Culloden. Some brave clans were there who did never appear, And for some cause or otlier they kept in the rear; " I fear there is treachery," the Prince was heard sobbin', " Alas for the clans on the muir of Culloden." The Caraerons, M'Phersons, and the ClanRonalds, The Grordons, M'Gregors, and the M'Donalds, They rushed to the charge, and thousands were trodden. Determined to conquer or die on Culloden. Nae mair the pipes play " Prince Charlie is coming," Nae mair we hurra that the red coats are running. But now for our Prince every Scots heart is sob- bin'— And cauld lie the lads on the muir of Culloden ! MISCELLA>^EOUS POEMS- 129 SONG. FILL HIGH TTTK GOBLET. Fill \\\gh the goblet, fill it up, Ami, lady, drink one glass with me ; The ruddy wine and ruby lip — What titter company could be ? But were it Uosainunda's cup, Fd drain the bitter cup for thee. II. Fill high the goblet ; Beauty pour.s A flood where every drop is bliss ; To Arab's lip the sunnner-showers Have no such sweetness in their kiss ; For hearts are beating — warm as ours, And cheeks are blushing — deep as this ! 130 MISCEIiliANEOUS POEMS. COLIN AND PEGGY. AFTER AN OLD BALLAD. Young Peggy was the bonniest lass That ever tript the green, And Colin was the blithest lad That she had ever seen : He lang had loved and aften vowed That she wad be his ain, And aft the wedding-day was set, And aft was set again ; At last he told her he was doomed beyond the seas to go, But the bonny lassie's answer was, Oh no, no ! " Now dinna greet, my bonny lass. Ye canna gang wi' me — The blast that's blawin' on the wave Must bear me oft" from thee ; MISCELLAXEOU.S PoEJIS. 131 The ship is anchored in the bay, The boat is on the shore, That waits to carry me away — And so we meet no more ; For there's a fate bids thee to stay, and forces me to go," But the bonny lassie's answer was, Oh no, no ! " Twa hearts were never tied sae close But fate could break the strings, Nor happiness so great (though we Were happier than kings), But one dark moniout could destroy And level Mi' the dust : That moment's come, the strings that bound My fate to thine are burst ! For I am doomed to lea' thee, love, and far away to go," But the bonny lassie's answer was, Oh no, no ! " Ye'll soon forget, ye'll soon forget, "NVhcn auce Tm fairly gane. And I shall live and die abroad — Beloved, bewailed by nane I Or it may be my better fate To sleep beneath the wave, Tliat no cauld maiden may pass by In scorn poor Colin's grave ! Tlien dinna greet, my bonny lass, for we must sunder so," But the bonny lassie's ausMcr was, Oh, no, no ! 132 MISCELLANKOUS POEMS. She dashed the bnniing tears away That gathered in her een, And left him with a look of woe That blinded baith his een ; Her Colin only spoke in jest. He kenned her heart was true, And only wished, where'er he went, That she might wander too. And now he cries, " can ye tell whaur my true love did go ?" But ilka body's answer was aye, No, no I They hurried him away to sea, The sun was on the main. And many a breast was heaving with The heaving ocean then ; And many an eye was wet that gazed Upon the fading shore. But Colin only wept for her He thought to see no more. And now he cries, "0 can ye tell whaur my true love did go ?" But ilka body's answer was aye, No, no ! One night he stood and watched the wave Assume its darkest hue. When a voice behind him softly said, " Young man, what troubles you ?" The voice was hers that aye spake peace MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 133 To hiin when care opprest ! He turned — 'twas she, the maid he lo'ed, That sprang into his hreast ! And now she asks him, " Wha was right— the youth that vowed to go. Or she that always answered with Oh no, no?" Now merrily merrily scuds the ship Across the foaming sea, And blithely Colin's bosom beats, And bright is Peggy's e'e ; The winds are whistling through the masts, Like sea-maws screaming high. And the ship-boy from the topmast sings Aloud that laud is nigh ; Then Colin says, " Wad ye refuse wi' me to kirk to go?" And the bonny lassie's answer is, Oh no, no ! 134 JMrSCELLANEOUS POEMS. KING CARE. Hurra, hurra for tlie skeleton-steed So rattliug-dry and bare, That the night-wind groans in his hollow bones- 'Tis the steed of the good King Care ! His crown is the regal bonnet That kings are wont to wear ; The diamonds are brilliant upon it, But still 'tis the cap of King Care ! He purses the broAv of Beauty As if his wealth lay there ; But down below in the coffer-heart Is the safe of good King Care ! He's lord of the breast that hath love in't, He lives in the breast that hath none. He'll come to a wedding without a bidding, And stay when the guests are gone ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 135 "We are owing a debt to Nature, King Care hath got the bill, And he makes us pay on the promised day Or before it an he will ! Hurra, hurra for the skeleton steed Whose bones are so dry and bare — But the early grave and a broken heart Have rebelled against good King Care I A SONG. TRANSLATED FROM THE NORTH POLE-ISH. THOU * whose ever trembling ray I've watched grow wan at dawning day. Of half our lives the guiding star, The seaman greets thee from afar ; For thou, that light'st our humble lot, Art all in heaven that changetli not. And toachost tliosc thou shiuost upon To love but once and love but one ! • The Pole-star. 136 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. II. The earth begins to lose its snow, And, my Nuna, I must go, For see ! the waves curl in the bay And wait to bear me far away ! The genius of the sunken rock Shall sing to warn me from the shock ; The spirit of the storm is laid — And what can make my girl afraid ? III. There is a land — as thou mayst hear — Where darkness lords not half the year, "Where life's best things are bought and sold, And nothing save the heart is cold ; My love, a better land is ours, With icy cliffs and lichen flowers. And frosty sky of cloudless blue, For every heart beneath is true ! IV. There's not a sparkle in the sea That speaks of j)urity like thee, Thy ermine vest is white as snow. But fairer is the breast below ! And, Nuna, when I'm far away, Speak oft a spell-word to the bay And sing across the dashing foam — ■ " Ye billows, bear a lover home !" MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 137 SONG. WHEN FIRST I LEFT MY NATIVE HILL. AiK — " Miss Forbes' farewell to Banff." When first I left my native hill, A maiden proud of beauty's power, My heart was like a prattling rill Reflecting ilka wee, wee flower ; For I had wooers mony ane. And I had smiles to gie to a', Till AVillie won me for his lane — And just was forced to gang awa' ! 11. Now wha hao 1 to hand my heid When weary thoughts hae made it sair ? And wha to watch the tears I shed And brush thorn wi' his ravfii hair ? 138 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, And how could my sad e'e be dry "When Willie's loot a tear-drap fa' ? For wae was he, and wae was I, The dreary day he gaed awa'. III. Oh, dear to me 's yon glen so gay, Whaur lasses meet their joes at e'en. And dear to me 's yon heather brae Whaur winds the shepherd's path sae green ; For ower yon brae my Willie gaed, And there the last of him I saw ; And down yon bloomy glen we sti'ayed, The very day he gaed awa' ! IV. When morning comes wi' rosy light I wander np yon heather-brae, And try to hear his step at night When gloamin' faulds the e'e of day ; The time he set is hardly gane, But oh, the time gangs unco slaw ! And sair I weary for him hame — The bonny lad that's far awa' ! MISCELLAXEOIS POEMS. 139 THE METAMORPHOSIS OF A SCHOLAR INTO A BOOK : a new traxslation of ovidius naso by ovidius so-so ; with ixterpolatioxs, coxtaixing, aliong other matters, an address to the sun, by ossian mak'-verse-on. [The author is aware that he gives publicity to his "Metamorphosis" at the risk of being identified with the whimsical individual he describes. The Terses themselves were written almost at a sitting, in a fit of boisterous good humour, occasioned by a sudden burst of flne weather. This is mentioned, not as an excuse, but as an explanation. The reflective mind discovers, as Shakspere tells us, tongues in trees and sermons in stones: in those trees the whimsical finds ears also, and auditors in these stones ; and this is far from an equivocal advantage to the solitary, who never feels himself alone among birds, and bushes, and flowers, but exists in a solitude of solitudes when it is formed by removing the trees and flowers and planting stupid and UDsympatbizing scions of humanity in their place.] The sky was overspread with lurid smoke, Or what appeared so, from a conilagration. But 'twas tlio risinj:^ sun wlio just awoke In time to reach the down-axst railway-station Before the train began its locomotion, \nd, in a cloud of steam, broke from the ocean. 1 10 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. II. Him now addressed a strange though simple wight, Who, in ripe years, was yet a mere man-child, An easy soul, capacious of delight In all its shapes : — a flower upon the wild ; The mountain-breeze ; the merry neat-herd boy, "Whose laugh breaks down with an o'erload of joy; HI. In summer-days, the all-embracing bath ; In winter's cold, the walk against the wind ; The melancholy sounds that autumn hath ; The spring's gay, fluttering garments just un-' pinned ; His book at table (for he always read The while he ate) ; his waking hours in bed ; IV. A shower in sunshine, when the rambler feels He walketh in a rainbow ; a stream's side, "Where the glad waters hold no muddy eels. But trouts like meteors shoot, and leap, and glide ; A holiday — that Sunday, out of starch ; The church, — especially the road to church ! "With him a walk was medicine and cosmetic : To sit like Patience on a monument "Was not for the determined per'patetic. Even in deep grief, — though latterly he Aveut MISCELLAXEOUS POEJrS. 141 Stooping, as if he'd suddenly grown old, or Had Patience' monument upon his shoulder. VI. He lived unmarried, though he loved a wedding, And has been known to take a lady's hand, Though, certes, never at the parson's bidding. This singular feeling rose, I understand. From reading some sad verses wherein wedlock (Rhymes must be had) was made to chime with padlock. VII. Another reason : — once he loved a maid, Named Elspet when they both had scarce a guinea, But sudden wealth had turned the damsel's head, And suddenly her name turned Elspetina; Yet dream he sometimes would of Elsie's charms, And waken with the pillow in his arms ! VIII. Yet he allowed 'twas pleasant (though 'twould pall If such a sight were shown in every place) To see a father catch his features all Reflected in a baby's simple face ; But — woful inconsistency, alas ! — He, for himself, preferred a looking-glass. K 142 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. IX. Perhaps, he might heave married, but with His whims aud spouse, there must hare been a war : In short, 'twas better to be born beneath That anti-nuptial Occidental star,* Mention of which is in the dedication Of the Holy Bible's authorized translation. But difficulties grew, and met, and brought Forth other difficulties. Times were bare And hard as any nut, and, when he thought To find the kernel — was no kernel there ! He never would complain, or some were willing To lend their ears, and some to lend a shilling. XI. As for his looks : his first appearance showed The happy soul within a shining case ; But having to remove from this abode — He had neglected it of late ; his face, Once round as heaven's, much care had now made gibbous ; Such was the mister wight that spoke to Pha^bus. * I need not say that Queen Elisabeth, of glorious (and celebatarian) memory, is here referred to. MlSCELLANEOtrS POEMS, 14:3 XII. *' All-glorious Phoebus ! art not thou so high That man is utterly beneath thy uotice ? His world— to him so great — 's ' all in thine eye' And some blest ' Betty Martin' in the sky Farther above us than the poet's thought is, "Who STvears the lark's song reaches their abode, And hints as much concerning his own ode. XIII. " HoTV fares thy brother, the Emperor of China ? TVe read him lately an ungracious homily ; ('Tis very good he sends us so much rhino :) And how are th' other members of the family ? It's shrewdly thought, our earth has to dread some'at From that scape-grace. Prince-royal of a comet. XIV, " Far-shooting god ! the favourite of all Things that upon this verdant carpet roll, — Of factory-girl, who from her savings small Contrives to sport a cotton parasol — Of Ifomer's self, although he could not see — But chief, of an euthusia.st, (like me !) XV. " Whose morning walk gives him an appetite For rolls and coflV-e, and the pleasant fume Of misty flowers — who, in his stroll at night, The mountain climbeth like a blithe bridegroom K 2 144 MISCELLANEOUS I'OEMS. To meet Diana* reeking from the cliase, With-strealis of sweat o'er her red, dusty face : xvr. " Then home-returning at a break -neck pace, How swells his heart with every large emotion ! His feet and his ideas try a race ! 'Tis midnight, but his spirit walks in Groshen ! Till forced at length to pause and gasp for breath. Or words, he speaks — scarce knowing what he saith ; XVII. " A bush of broom becomes Saint Stephen's chair, The stars applaud with kerchiefs from the gallery. The very stones cry ' hear,' — and from his air, You know he does not speak for place or salary, But is, in truth, an iron man-of-Sparta, And grasps his stick as if the Magna Charta. XVIII. " Perhaps he makes the poor man's claim his task, And vouches that a nobleness resides In poverty, found no where else ; they ask ' Whither a beggar set a-horseback rides,' Which he retorts, and makes the boldest stagger — ' Whither rides he, who rides upon the beggar ?' * The moon ; and reference is made to the pheootijena of her rising in drou£;hty weather. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 14o XIX. " Perhaps, in pure beuevolence, lie enacts Some musty superannuated laws — Poll-taxes, test-and-corporation acts — So that he may repeal them with applause ; Builds up old jails and fills them with sad men. To have the joy of pulling down again. XX. " The joyous watch-dog interrupts his speeches, And now he's something else — an altered man, A rake reformed, perhaps — and, as he reaches His bed, declares contrite, that Sheridan, And Fox, and Falstaff were sad dogs, but he A sadder still — a Cerberus — all the three ! XXI. " Sun ! thou comest not purposely to shine, Or hurt a chandler's trade, we know — because The world liad light anterior to thine, Altliough 'tis hard to say how good it was ; Two things are clear — and scarcely more, alas ! 'Twas neither from long-sixes then, nor gas. XXII. " Could men but see it as thy garment, much Dispute would be avoided certainly, For none would be so rash as doubt that such A thing as ante-solar light might be ; As if a balty's cap could not be made Until the bantling's self had shown its head. 1-iO MISCELLANEuUrf POKMS. xxiri. " Sun, I beg a boon ! Tliou hast the power, Although unexercised of late, to change Into a tree, a river, or a flower. All living things that hill and valley range ; — The days of man, Sun, are few and ill, And the duration 's half the misery still !" XXIV. Apollo heard the oration with a nod Expressive of his indolent consent, Just like old Homer's all-gods-ruling god ; And this he said or (more correctly) meant To say : " I apprehend yovir meaning. Sir, It shall be done, — what say you to a fir ?" XXV. " Say to a fir ! a thing of deals and rosin ! You can't be serious ; my good fellow, say A cobler, rather : I'd have sooner chosen To be a snipe on twelfth (of August) day, Or Balaam's ass, e'en had the brute been gored Both by the angel's and the madman's sword. XXVI. " The oak is much too large, the larch too lean, The aspen's preferable — all alive As far as vegetable life within And wind without can make it: — one might thrive Even in a beech if not condemned to bear The names of Damon Hound and Delia Hare. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 147 XXVII. " A tree 's a very pretty thing, I owu, By hill-side — valley — homestead — far or near, And in the interstices of a town Or its suburban skii'ts disclosing, here And there, a house crawled out of town by stealth, To touch the country's garment-hem for health. XXVIII. Make me a book I" Anon his clothes, without The intervention of a paper-mill, Fall down in quires ; his blood grows double stout To all appearance, but has life in't still ; The branching veins have blackened into lines ; And all his gold upon the edges shines. XXIX. The volume is illustrated by Phiz, His joint-bones still are hinges though called pauses, Excepting that the large intestine is A colon still ; the chapters, sections, clauses, Are all found, somehow, somewhere in the brain. — When shall a book like this be made again ? 148 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. SONG. Air — " The Meeting of the Waters. There 's a star on the sky, and a flower on the lea, Like the blush of thy cheek, and the glance of thy e'e ; Thou art sweet to my soul, as thy voice to ray ear. And dear to my bosom — ye know not how dear ! I hae been on the waters, and ower the wide main ; The blue hills of Scotland are round me again. Unchanged in their aspect, unchanged in their hue — Are the maidens amang them as changeless and true ? I've seen other maidens wi' blushes divine. And eyes like a wine-cup in sparkles, or thine, But turned frae their bosoms, all fair as they be, For the loveliest only reminds me of thee ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 149 Tliough dreary the mouutain when plaided with mist, How it smiles into grace, by the summer-shine kissed ! Siich a sliade over me had been fated to roll, But tliat thou wert a sun-beam, and came to my soul ! LOVE, POOR LOVE! The maniac-maiden singeth aye Of love — poor love, And still the ower-come of her lay Is poor, poor love ! Her tortured spirit hath confessed Its secret on the rack, But what shall soothe lier troubled breast, Or bring its quiet back ? u. A weary story is the tale Of love — poor love ; Sweet eyes grow dim and soft cheeks pale For poor, poor love. 100 MISCELLANEOCrS POEMS. When hearts are fou, it's aft their bliss That's foremost to rin over, And love with its heart-fillingness, Is thus a fatal dower. in. The maniac looks to heaven high For love — poor love, And reads a lesson frae the sky Of poor, poor love : The wandering orbs though bright are cold, The stars that burn ne'er rove, — And earth the same sad tale has toid Of poor, poor love ! illSCELLAJfEOUS POEMS. 151 DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. A PASTORAL. 'TwAS iiiclitfa' ; the raven luul gane to liis rest, And hushed was the hum of the bee, Tlie head of the waterfowl lay ou his breast, As he slept on the banks of the Dee. 'Twas nichtfa' ; and then I was buchtin' ray yowes, How blest ! for my charmer was there ! Ye shepherds recline whaur tlie heather-bell grows. And I'll tell you of Phebe the fair. The shadow fell short at the foot o' the birk — For it clianced to be heicht o' the day — And the laverock was silent, that sang when the mirk Of the night had scarce melted away. 152 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. My flocks left the knowes overpowered wi' the heat, And I overpowered wi' care, But the bushes beneath made a caller retreat, For the broom-bush and whins blossom there. I took uj) my pipe, and it breathed a saft strain — My Phebe had called it divine — It sang me asleep, and I saw her again, For I dreamed that the maiden was mine. Now judge, ye fond shepherds, what was my surprise "When I found the fair shepherdess near ! For I woke from my slumber, and opened my eyes Upon a' that my bosom hands dear ! I tauld her the dreams she inspired with a sigh — " why are not things as they seem ? Is nothing but wretchedness real ? or, why Is not life — as they call it — a dream ?" I clasped her enraptured ; she sank in my ai'ms — Smiles, blushes, and beauty all o'er — I kissed her and tasted a thousand dear charms I never had dreamed o' before ! "We hae biggit a cot in yon bonny green howe, Wi' its blue bells and gowans so fair. And the hare that came limpin' and listened our vow, Shall sleep in security there ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 153 "VTlien morn aff her eyes shakes the laug dripping hair, Our flocks are at liberty too, And oh, it is caller to drink the fresh air When the half o't is incense and dew ! When the heather that blooms on the mountain- tap plays Wi' the last reddening beam o' the sun, We fauld our wee flocks, — and our toilsomest days As sweetly as holidays run ! Tims, smooth and uncounted, the hours pass away, And I fancy my bliss is complete ; — pleasing delusion ! for ilka new day Brings me a new pleasure more sweet ! Unclogged by reflections that make the heart sair, We'll die, as we've lived, in bliss ; And the warld beyond the dark grave shall be fair, For our love makes a heaven o' this ! lo-t MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. THE MOUNTAINS 0' SNAW. Air — " Braes o' Caledonia." "When joy's young breath was on my cheek — my e'e without a tear, When first I saw my Mary — when first I saw my dear, My heart it bounded wildly as the wildest winds that blaw, And as free as the erne on the mountains o' snaw. When the wood shook in the wind and the stars seemed shaking too, How deeply I hae drank frae her loving eye o' blue ! But now she wanders lanely and I am far awa' — Far, far frae my Mary and the mountains o' snaw ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 155 But the tether tugs the harder the farther frae the stake, And the farther that we wander the mair we feel its check : Such is the tie that binds me to her that's far awa', So distant and so dear are the mountains o' snaw ! Scotland, thou art mistress of the mountain and the glen — How smiling are thy maidens, how gallant are thy men ! So lovely are the violets within thy glens that blaw, So warm the hearts that beat amang the mountains o' snaw ! How sweetly smiles the rising sun — he rises on my hame, "Wi' its blue, snaw-crested mountains like ocean in its faem ! Though here by cruel fortune I'm kickit like a ba', It may yet tak' a sten' to the mountains o' snaw ! Ance mair to clasp my Mary, — 'twould banish a' my pain ! Ance mair to ca'r my dearie ! ance mair to ca'r my ain I Though a'thing here were lovely yet I would leave it a' For Mary and a cot amang the mountains o' snaw ! 156 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. I'VE SEEN HER. I've seen her — I've seen her in visions ere now, But coiitliie lier look and unwrinkled her brow, When the love-lore of womanhood gleamed inhere'e, "Whose orb was a heaven ever cloudless to me. I've seen her — I've seen her ! arrayed like a bride, In a rose-veil of blushes she comes to my side, With a smile that is always as true as it seems, And words that could only be spoken in dreams ! I've seen her — I've seen her ! she aye had her due In the gowd-dream of morning that's nearest to true. In the day-dream of life she is a'thing that's fair. But the dark dream of midnight — why is she there ? I've seen her — I've seen her ! but ne'er till yes- treen Wi' the blush aff her cheek, wi' the licht frae her e'en ; 'Twas the first time her presence was aught like a j)ain, And I winna be weel till I see her again ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 157 GODIVA. A STORY OMITTED BY IIUilE. The story of this noble woman has been frequently told. It is to be found in Matthew of Westminster, in Drayton's Poiyolbion, in Landor's Imagi- nary Conversations, and in Leigh Hunt's Indicator. Leofric, Earl of Leicester, acted an important part in the early politico of England, for, living in the reign of Edward the Confessor, he consolidated and headed an opposition to the famous Earl Godwin. Coventry formed a part of his feudal domains, and had been subjected — probably not by him to a severe and impolitic exaction. Ills gentle Udy was, as she had wisned to be, the deliverer of the town ; the manner in which she effected this, is the subject of the following ballad. Hume, who tells the stories of Klfleda and Elfrida (of which the very air they breathe is romance) on the authority of William of Malmesbury, forgetting that the elder historian, William himself, avows as much as a suspicion of their authenticity, having only met with them in the works of the minstrels, — Hume makes no mention of (iodiva. GENTLE reader, there is naught Could make thy heart so sore, As opening an old book to find Its sweetest pages tore — To miss the tale, whose truthfulness Makes pam[)ered spirits whole, Whose heartfulness has warmth enough To give the thing a soul. L 158 MISCELLANEOUS POEAIS. Such lines there are, so full of life, With joy so warm and lush, I've read, and blushed the more to catch My hot cheeks at a blush ; I've felt a pulse in every page. In every finger end, And given the book the very grasp I would have given a friend : Yet all this warmth and gush of life, A stern hand would let out. Because some slight exactitude Had not emerged from doubt ; For history has deflowered herself. And like a courtier flings Her morning-beams, with all their glare On the cold heights of kings. And courts, and camps ; but ne'er enquires, And does not seem to know. What great hearts beat beneath a fold Of nature's vest below. Lord Leofric is stern and proud, And rules with iron sway ; And few but haughty Leofric, Could speak his lady nay : For she hath pled, as woman pleads, Against the mailed hand Of impost, whicli, with crushing weight, Breaks down the groaning land. inSCELLAXEOUS POEMS. 159 n. " And, 0, Lord Leofric, it is A bitter thing to see How even Starvation's self looks fierce "Whene'er it looks on thee ! For voices that the heavens will hear Their snits have vainly made — Tliough every prayer hath been forgot, Bnt this one — ' Give us bread.' Regain thy people's love — thy own; Relax thy stern demand — Lord Leofric, love is not held By such an iron hand." m. " Now, hear me, lady, once for all — I tell thee, by the Rood ! I'll not relax my stern demand, Nor change my present mood. Until"—" Till when. Lord Leofric ?— I beg it as a boon." " Until thou ridest nakedly Til rough Coventry at noon I" IV. These haughty words, proud Leofric, Thou speakest but in a jest, And little knowest the earnestness That warms a Avoman's breast. l2 160 MISCELLANKOUS POEMS. Godiva holds him by his oath, And rideth through the town — Her maidens having doffed her robes, And let her long hair down ; Which, as if angel-wings should come Between us and the sun, Conceals a beauty else too bright For aught to look upon. But Leofric, unequal now To change her gentle mind, Commands that all the doors be shut, And every window blind ; And every townsman, more than this, Closes his eyes in prayer — And listens for the palfrey's tread, For Freedom's voice is there. VI. And, nestling in her silken locks. The gentle dame rode on ; And, ah ! no knight in panoply Such victory ever won ! The clay that moulds the heart of man, Bears not a nobler flower Than Meekness, which could thus unlock The grasping hand of Power. ariscELLAXEors poems. 161 THE BIRD OF FAERY LAND. {The conjecture of Pope that the robin owes his status as the bird-pet of our firesides to the honourable mention made of him in " The Babes of the Wood," does not seem to have a very deep foundation. More probably the idea of employing this particular songster in the gentle office of covering the dead bodies of t\?o ill-fated children, was sugijested to the kind-hearted ballad-maker by this hospitable observance, even then existing. It is also probable that the observance itself belongs to an early mythology, in which the robin might have been one of those connecting links our ancestors were so fond of forming between this world and the spiritual world unseen. The harsh treatment of the yellowhammer, which would be otherwise unaccount- able, corroborates this opinion ; for the yorling is as fine a creature as the other, but there is a drop of devil's-blood on its head and the peasant boy would gladly see the whole race e.xtirpaled. It is unfortunate that in denouncing superstition the evils on which we expatiate are such as would attend its resuscitation, instead of those that were really induced by its existence. We have huddled together the beauti- ful remains of a rude, but earnest and — in the best sense of the word — homely faith, under so hideous a name that, afraid of investigating, we content our- selves with a general deprecation, and are in truth superstitious for fear of being thought so. In the two following poems — where the bird in one is a fairy and in the other a spirit — I have endeavoured to exemplify one of the purposes these myths were made to serve.] On, fair is Faery-land, And the fields wliaur I was roaming, For the skies of Faery-land Are days withont a gloaming J 1G2 AIISCELLANKOUS POESrS. The dun-deer's foot is fleet, But the elfiu-foot is fleeter ; The mountain air is sweet, But faery-breath is sweeter. His warld has hillocks green. And no ploughshare can wrang them ; And he loves his hillocks green, For there's no ae grave amang them ! My wing is weet and chill Beneath your cloudy carey, And I've come against my will Frae the pleasant land of Faery ; Ye have called me by a spell Into your warld sae dreary, Pale, heart-sick youth, to tell The tidings o' thy dearie. YOUTH. Then tell me, bonny bird, Whaur is the fause heart roaming ? BIRD. With Errington's young lord She spends the summer gloaming. YOUTH. But what wiled her frae me? — What takes she a' her pride in ? MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 163 BIRD. The hope of high degree And a bouny coach to ride in ! YOUTH. And is her ee as clear ? Her cheek, is't aye as smiling? BIRD. Ah, no I she learns to fear And feel her lord's beguiling. YOUTH. But, birdie, when the neist Spring-flower unfaulds its blossom — BIRD. There's a baby at her breast, And the worm within her bosom ! YOUTH. And will the fause lord grieve That he traiued her hopes to wither ? BIRD. Alt, no I he'll yet deceive j\nother, and another. 164 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. YOUTH. And what shall be my doom For loving her so dearly ? BIRD. Tlie heart-break and the tomb — A cauld, cauld grave ower early I PEGGY RAMSAY. I. A birdie sits in yon kirk-yard — A strange wee bird is he, For a' the summer-time he sat Upon the willow tree : And aye he sits and sair he greets And sings most mournfully — My bonny Peggy Ramsay, what has gar'd ye dee ! II. I chose the mournfu' willow tree To hear my notes of wae ; Its lang leaves hingin' ower me, Hae withered or their day ; MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 165 Already they've begun to fa', There's naething lives wi' me — My bonny Peggy Ramsay, what has gar'd ye dee ! ni. I loved a flower — a little flower — And warbled for its sake ; Thought I nae storm was rude enough The gentle stalk to break : I flew awa', and gathered moss To big my nestie wi' — My bonny Peggy Ramsay, what has gar'd you dee ! rv. Her e'en were like twa beads o' dew, Or violets flung on snaw — Tliey never shed a bitter tear Till Airlie gaed awa' ; The smile fell frae her wan cheek, Her love was on the sea — My bonny Peggy Ramsay, what has gar'd yc dee ! V. She doesna ken her Airlie's voice, Nor hear his spirit pine ; The green, green grass is on her breast, Tlie green, green wave on mine ; 1G6 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. My bouiiy Peggy Ramsay, My joe, my joy Avas she — But, my Peggy Ramsay, What could hae gar'd ye dee ! SONG. 0, GIN I were whaur Gadie rins, Wlianr Gadie rins, whaur Gadie rins ; Or she that dwells whaur Gadie rins — 0, gin she were wi' me ! It's no the hill, though it be brave — It's no the sowf o' Gadie's waye — But she that blumed ower a' the lave. And gae her thochts to me. 0, gin I were, &c. Jeanie, is the glen as gay ? Has Gadie yet as sweet a say ? Is yon brown hill the same auld brae. And naething changed but we ? 0, gin I were, &c. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 167 I iniud, when, if my wanderin' e'e Got but a blink o' Benachie, It seemed a look o' love frae thee — A look o' love frae thee ! 0, gin I were, &c. We haena met this mony year, My heart is deider grown, I fear ; But, oh, the memories are dear That come frae Benachie ! 0, gin I were, &c. BONNY ROTHIEMAY. I. Come back, come back, ye gowden dream ! And leavena me so bare ; Ye wercna o' the deid, dark things That sometimes haunt my lair. 1 met her by the spruce-tree's shade, But wha I winna say ; Whaur Deveron bends his mossy stream. Round bonnv Rothiemav. 168 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. II. There was a breast — but it is sad ; An eye — but it is gane — Memory, cease — ye canna turn The living heart to stane ! Though ilka worth-warm heart was gane, (But God forbid the day !) My fondest thoughts would linger lang On bonny Rothiemay. HYMN TO DEATH. Death, darkness, terroi' — night without a star, From which as from a fiend the racer flies ; Death, calmness, peace — the peace that follows war, The race's goal, but surely not its prize ! Unto this final curtain we have given Such colouring of Fear and sullen Pride, That though the drapery hides the face of Heaven We dare not push the painted thing aside, But carry into all our businesses A dream of pending scaith : The worst of ills from which thou freest us is This very fear of death ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 169 n. Death, when we see thee ushering a soul Into the presence-chamher of its God, Serves it no better purpose than to roll Sorrow's eye-waters from their dark abode ? Yes ; in thy breathless, sabbath-eve-like quiet We hear the murmur of the eternal sea ; And, when the heart's beat and the pulse's riot Are quelled beside us, learn to live for thee — To own thy net well-laid and hold our breath, Standing beside the mesh As silent as if monuments of Death Sculptured in living flesh ! HI. But when our friends compeer to ask our ail And shake their heads, it seeraeth hard to go; To leave Life's green and almost happy vale. Impressed with all our footsteps to and fro ! And when we stand beside the sullen river, Whose cold, deep waters never shone in day. It is not marvellous that the soul should shiver Before she plungeth and departs for aye ; For why :; As rottriiness makes earth's dull parts More fruitlul, even so The seeds of Death are in us, but our heart's Corruption makes them grow ! 170 MFscKLLANEous roE:\rs. THE WEDDING OE BIRKENSHAW. TOUCH a bairn wi' bairn-like hand ! For, nourice, ye sail learn How surely God repays a wrang Committed on a bairn. The buds themselves are Heaven's, and Heaven Gives that which makes them flowers ; The garden-plot from which they spring — Our hearths — alone are ours. The marriage-feast was in the ha' With more than marriage-glee ; For all are met but the portly priest. And wherefore tarries he ? A gentle rap came to the door, The bridegroom turneth pale ; " It is the priest," quo' the wedding-guest, " And doth the bridegroom quail ?" MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 171 " And if I quail, ye merry meu, It's no at mortal man, But there's ane behind the door, me fears, "Wad gar ye a' look wan," Anither rap cam' to the door, The sweat brak' frae his bree, And a' the wedding-guests ran out But naething might they see. " There are fearsome things, ye merry men, Abroad — me fears— to-night ; Grod sain us, when the dead arise To hear our wedding plight !" Anither rap cam' to the door, Wi' a heavy, heavy clang — The wedding-guests were mute enough, But ha' an' haddin' rang ! 'o " Ye'll blame me sair, ye merry men, To leave my winsome bride, But lifeless things will get a tongue Gin here I langer bide !" The bridegroom hurried to the door While a' the lamps grew dim — The wedding-guests were much amazed, But nane looked after him. A spirit, that a lady seemed, Ran tripping up the stair: The 1)ridal-cliaiiiber richly dight. And in he followid there. 172 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. " YeVe lang forgot me, Birkenshaw, I've not forgotten you ; For, change the living as they will. The dead are ever true ! Your eyes grow large with earnestness, Nae niair they'll look on me ; Ere the cock craw I'll be awa', Far over land and sea. " I dinna claim the virgin lock Ye severed frae my brow — Ye wore it like a jewel lang, "Whaure'er ye hae it now. I dinna come to claim the laud, That was my tocher-fee ; Although ye gae your love to it. Your hand alone to me. " Nor do I come on such a night To upbraid your marriage-mirth, Your hand was free when it had let My body to the earth. But I hae left the ha's o' heaven, A sadder truth to learn ; To ask ye why I've met sae soon The spirit of my bairn. And raise a fiend that winna lay In your hard heart of airn ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 173 " There's bleid upon your hand, ill man, Its vengeance on your held, For the huge charter of your woe Is writ in baby-bleid. My brother John frae sainted lands Comes bounding o'er the brine. And Heaven's hand shall further him, A knight of Palestine ; " And he'll be lord of Birkenshaw, When ye rin wud and wild — No for the bride ye've gien yoursel', But for my murdered child !" The bridegroom hurried down the stair, Unwitting where he ran ; He hung his heid, and gae his hand. And was a wedded man. And aye sin' syne as that day comes. The saddest of the year, The hall is filled with sight and sound Of ghastly wodding-cheer ; And aye before the silent morn, The menials can discern 'Mang mony earthless eerie sounds The greetiu' of a bairn. K 174 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. A CAROL OF THE CONTENTED. Believe me, this warld's no sae ill as it's ca'd, And the hearts that are on it are seldom sae bad ; It has losses and crosses and mony a scanr, But fowk should be thankfu' — it might hae been waur. We have auld wives to scauld us whenever we sin, And young anes to tempt us, and dear anes to win ; And though life may be rough, yet the maid or the man That hae taen's by the heart may yet tak's by the han'. For daffin' and gabbin' whase tongue was like Meg's, A glaikit young quean as e'er stood on twa legs ? And as canty a callant as ever ye saw Was Jocky when Meg's fickle fancy he staw : MISCELLAXEOUS POEMS. 175 But the lassie begeckit him — what'll ye say ? Fowk should just lat the warld wag on as it may — But Jock Avadua bear it, but swore in a fit He wad dee the neist day — though he's living aye yet! The lassie gaed aft* and the laddie gaed gyte, The haill parish ken't it and gae her the wyte ; And he bought a bit whittle to nick his bit craig, For ram-stam, through-ither, hallucket Meg. But a packman came in with a weel-stockit pack Just as poor Johnny's test'ment was — ready to mak'; So he tries on a hair if the whittle was gleg, And — trocks't for a ribbon to hallucket Meg. And next to the green-wud in sorrow gaed he To cleek himsel' up to the tap o' a tree, But a burn on the road-side poor Jocky fell in — And wha's fit for business when soak'd to the skin ? Then he gaed to the kirk, and what did he there But sat like a heathen — the time o' the prayer, "Wi' his hose like a raip at the mou's o' his shoon, And his bauchels gaun a'way and a'thing but dune. Tiie minister's sermons were awfu'-likc screeds. For sometimes the monsters liad seventeen heads : The maist o' fouk sleepit, but Jock sat fu' gleg, For wha does lie si»y but his auld cummer Meg ! M 2 176 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. They sent for the parson, but he could do naething ; They sent for the doctor, and he did but ae thing — He brought an assistant — Miss Maggie cam' ben. And now they hae sent for the parson again. Then live and laugh on, boy, and ne'er be the carle That seeks by a short-cut to reach the next warl' ; If times should be cloudy, why, clear up your brow, And laugh at aiild Care and he'll soon laugh at you ! LINES WRITTEN ON ATTENDING AN AGRICULTUEAL DINNER AT WHICH MR. DUFF OF HADDO PRESIDED. We met ower a bowl o' bliss sae fou That it held nae drap o' sorrow, And spent an evening to hope sae true That it left nae pang for the morrow. And wha was it sat at our blithe board-en' But the gude Gudeman o' Haddo, Wha flang sic a licht round us a', that nicht, That it left nae corner in shadow. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 177 Oh, his is a Witchery that never should cease — An Art that has no misgiving, That leaveth the dead to rest in peace, But raises tlie spirits o' the living ! We hae met before at rant and splore, When Joy led on the chorus, And we'll meet again the blither men For an evening like this before us ! HADDO. I KEN whaur Spring comes farthest ben And leaves her sweetest flowers, I ken whaur Summer seems to tine Her way among the bowers, Whaur Beauty has her biding-placo, And Worth his proudest ha' — O ITaddo banks and Haddo bowers, Weel may I love them a' ! II. The water bends around the scene As bridegroom clasps his bride ; The lang grass Dings its fingers lean Across the rippling tide. 178 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. As if it felt for music whanr Nae harper's hand could fa' : — Haddo banks and Haddo bowers, Weel may I love them a' ! III. There's mony a green and leafy bield To dit the cauld warl's een, There's mony a true and trusty heart That doesna need a screen ; The face of heaven, the siller beam A sweeter spot ne'er saw — Haddo banks and Haddo bowers, Weel may I love them a' ! IV. Then never, never come a tear To dim yon diamond e'e ! And never an ungentle throe In yon fair bosom be ! For, oh, whaur blessings are sae rife Grief's shadow shouldna fa' ! But Haddo banks and Haddo bowers, High heaven should love them a' ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 179 SUPERSTITION. [In the following fragment I have endeavoured to bring out a great truth, viz : that Superstition vpas one of Hie phases of civilization. Of course, I exclude the raw-head-and-bloody-bones Monster of the Inquisition, for the same reason that in delineating the monarchic character, one would not make use of the materials furnished by the cruellies and caprices of Nero or Caligula. Accordingly, in a few examples, 1 have attempted to show what were some of the good works produced by that Faith which we are wont to call Superstition ; for, as mpntioned in a former part of the volume, it is inaccurate and unwarranted to argue that, because a certain amount of evil would attend the revival of a creed, the same amount attended its healthy existence. The old observances, the presence — felt, But never questioned, the ghost-haunt of guilt, The shadowy sweep of forms at fall of night, AVhen faith awoke and dictated to sight — Are obsolete and happily, yet they Did virtue excellent service in their day. Superstition, though denounced by all That tliink most wisely as a godless thrall. 180 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Our fathers knew thee by a better name, And kept the faith ; their children may defame But not deflower thee, for beneath thy stole Beat a warm heart and shone the instructed soul. There are two evils — let us bring them out Unshrinkingly — credulity and doubt : " The men that were," a rude but brawny race Of minds, with them belief was an embrace,* And did imply a warmth which none will scout, Till blinded by the icy glare of Doubt, Or deadened by its most unfeeling cold ; For what green branch of hope — what honest hold Of bliss to be — what kind presentiment Does it to wrecked humanity present ? A mighty spirit is departed : few Have been so potent and so gentle too. Its gentleness, we know, has been denied, The potent spirit vilely vilified ; But of its enemies the whole we ask Is that they bring a reverence to their task : Dissection is the task, and — be it said — We should not judge the living by the dead. Yet they that hack and mangle it to detect A poison, and to show some dire eflfect Of blind belief, their toil, they will allow, Is a post-mortem operation now. But vain the attempt and misapplied the pains To trace its real form in its remains ; * Let the reader (that is, the gentle reaJer) think for a moment how in- appropriate such a phrase, as—" He embraced the philosophy of Hume." MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 181 A bone, a cere-cloth, or a little dxist Are often the remains to which we trust, Though all we know is that so huge a bone Must have belonged once to a Mastodon. ITie fine old fancy of the Fay is fled : What has it left us better in its stead ? Gay were the trappings, verdant the resort, And rich the bountith of the Elfln court ; 'Twas something to etherialize our hills, To make us find a music in their rills. And love the green sod where young streamlets start "With their springs dancing in it like a heart ! In wood and glen they waged a merry strife With all the sour realities of life ; A freshness rose where'er their footsteps pressed, Whose antetype was in the faith-full breast. We grant that wizard-faith hath been indeed A most pernicious, a most poisonous weed ; But, gentle reader, turn aside to see Its antidote in yonder rowan-tree. How beautiful a growth ! how fine a shade ! How gracefully it holds its comely head ! Its ruddy clusters, nestling here and there, That gleam like blossoms wreathed in Beauty's hair, How grateful when the droughty autumn gapes To schoolboy's lip! they are the sclioolboy's grapes, And, though displayed on the tree's loftiest limb. Ne'er inaccessible or sour to him ! Few farm-steads want such ornaments, yet they Rose in a coarsely-calculating day, M 3 182 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. When What's-tlie-use ? was all the answer made To those that urged the planting of a shade. Then, Superstition, thiue was the address To introduce the tree of loveliness ; Then the rude farm, itself untaught to deck, First wore around its erst-unlovely neck This amulet of Beauty, — and the blast, "Witch-ridden thougli it was, went scaithless past I In yonder cot, so rich with eglantine, Long has old Elspet lived and "made no sign;'* Her little house is pulseless, for the stir Of life has ceased to involve or interest her. But, out on wicked change ! the time hath been When Elspet's cottage showed another scene. When all day long she sat and span the thread That brought, and amply brought, her daily bread ; Together hummed her wheel, her cat, and she — The light rose never on a blither three. Then factories came and spoiled the si)inner's art, And bore right hard on many an honest heart ; The sound of Elspet's spinning-wheel was gone, But Elspet and her tabby friend sang on. Well, time advanced ; the cottage grandame's curse Made nothing but the venter's temper worse ; Nay, bread was got as usual for the winning. And willing hands found other work than spinning; But Elspet's neighbours, other tales believing, Had time for naught save counselling and grieving. She never met them ; factories, they said, Had either broke her heart or turned her head. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 183 But Elspet's heart lay in her milkiest side, And, more, her pantry was too well supplied, Her house too neat, too trim its eglantine To be possessed by one that could repine : The sun, in short, might lose his way as soon As tabby or her mistress lose a tune ! The pitying gossips, shocked to find her rich. Shook their wise heads and — Elspet was a witch. The inference was natural ; and some Discovered they had never liked her hum, While others would have only hinted that Had not her cat looked something more than cat. The philosophic twain, for all this wrong. Never appear to have lost the wonted song. The good old maid — for Elspet kept her fame And ne'er had changed, nor sighed to change, her name — Had a sweet garden-plot to work upon, And made its face as smiling as her own. She raised the old turf-wall, o'er which in time The investing ivy hiding all did climb ; Fresh flowers she planted, and the old ones grew Beneath her hand as beautiful as new. And 'twas her boast — no empty one indeed — For years her garden had not raised a weed. Unless — as she would add in sober tone — No weed, unless that she herself was one. It liappeued, ore the harvost-slieaf was tied, That some of Elspet's Spring defamers died, And hence with awe her latch the peasant lifts, Even when lie brings propitiatory gifts ; 184 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. And when the bell tolls from the house of prayer — For Sunday never comes but Elspet's there — Her scarlet cloak that glows without a stain, (Displaced by russet when she looks for rain,) That flings a warmth on every cheek that passes — Gets many a courteous look from lads and lasses ; For none will pass, elsewhere however rude, Without inquiring how her health has stood ; The rustics, one by one collecting, put Each the same question with his best salute, And one by one the same reply receives, Making all glad — for Elspet never grieves. Then, ah ! how well the bridal maidens know Where all the finest flowers and fairest blow ; And, with the bridegroom's favours tendered sly, Buy them with gifts that do not seem to buy, That aid her comfort yet revere her pride, And win best blessings for the happy bride. Thus have the rustic superstitions grown Round one whose worth had made her walk alone, And, with the unknown-propitiatory fee, Secured her humble cot fi'om penury — Thus twines the ivy o'er the garden-wall. Which else had now been nodding to its fall. No rite, except the marriage-service, now Seems strong enough to guard a lover's vow ; Of yore, the trysting-tree would witness oaths And broken rings,* but seldom broken troths. » See the areounl of Burns' last iniorview witli Highland Mary. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 186 Neighbours made contracts when they met alone, And sought no witness save an earth-fast stone ;t Such contracts now in guarded terms we draw, And muse instinctively on Courts of Law. Then the rude poet, whom a little care Had ripened to — or even beyond — a Clare, Essayed with rough but earnest hand to trace The lineaments of Nature's honest face. He walked the sea-shore with a sounding heart, And loved all things — though not by rule of art : Tlie mountain's almost-intellectual brow ; The lonely dell that hears the lover's vow ; The humble cot, when lovers cease to roam ; The lowing herd that even-tide brings home ; The old grey rocks that lift their bald heads high ; The stars like dew-drops sprinkled o'er the sky ; The moon whose very brightness makes her lone ; The deep blue waters that she shines upon ! Earth's lifeless is not her most earthly part ; No sea, hill, stream has in itself a heart, (And let our healthiest bards this truth attest,) Because it beats within a poet's breast ! But how in a rude age would he express Tliat sixth best sense — his sense of loveliness ? Most likely in some tale for Uallow-o'en, Of shapes too glorious to be often seen. Haunting the sweetest nook of glen or wood. And waving mortals from the solitude. t A fact. 186 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Aghast the humless circle hear him tell — And shudder at each heart-felt syllable— Of her, the spirit of the cloudy car, Whose eyes are sparks struck from a midnight star ; Her words — who listen live not half their days, Her steeds — the souls of them that rashly gaze ; And as we know the lark has mounted by A line of music quavering in the sky. So from the music of her chariot-wheels, Which may be heard when sleepy twilight steals Her silken lashes o'er the eye of day, 'Tis known the spirit-lady soars away. A peasant here corroborates the tale Unheard before, and waxeth wondrous pale, For he hath heard unwittingly the strain, And never hopes to be himself again. Ingenious Bard, thou didst not mean this wrong. For thou canst tell who sings that evening song ! ******* MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 187 THE AULD KIEK 0' SCOTLAND. The gude auld Kirk o' Scotland ! The wild winds ronnd her blaw, And when her foemen hear their songh They prophesy her fa' ; But what altliough her fate has been Amang the floods to sit — The gude auld Kirk o' Scotland, She's nae in ruins yet ! There may he wrath within her wa's, — What reck ! her wa's are wide ; It's but the beating of a heart, The rushing of a tide, AVhose motion keeps its waters pure : — Then lot them foam or fret, The gude auld Kirk o' Scotland, She's nae in ruins vet I 188 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. She was a lithe, she was a licht, When a'thing else was mirk, And mony a trembling heart has found Its bield behind the Kirk ! She bore the brunt and did her due, When Scotland's sword was wet, The gude auld Kirk o' Scotland, She's nae in ruins yet ! The clouds that overcast her sky Maun shortly flit awa', A bonny, blue, and i)eacefu' heaven Smiles sweetly through them a' ! Her country's life-blood's in her veins, The wide warl's in her debt ! The gude auld Kirk o' Scotland, She's nae in ruins yet I HAPPINESS. The heart that seeks for happiness In beauty, grandeur, lore, Must leave them all in turn, like one That begs from door to door. Oh, but he walks a weary round, And follows a sad dance ! I reach my home a nearer road, And go to God at once ! MISCELLAKEOUS POKMS. 189 CONSUMPTIOX, I, We wandered on : the summer-wind was flying to the North ; The hawthorn like a censer swung and flang its incense forth ; We heard the cuckoo's spirit-voice walking the woods among In sad-sweet dual melody — a blossom-burst of song; And every living thing was glad — nay, even life- less things Were not so dead but that they lived in our ima- ginings. II. When next I trod the same green path, the eve was fair and still, The young moon l)ackward bent — like one thatgoetli down a hill, 190 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. But now I wandered all alone in pleasure's very- dearth, For she was gone behind the veil that hideth hea- ven from earth ; And every fair, familiar haunt to eye, and soul, and heart, Did seem in kindness to have lost its beautifulest part ; For well I wot this gay, green earth, with bird, and flower, and tree, Shall never, never more appear the same old world to me ! III. Consumption ! when I hear the word it makes me hold my breath ! Oh, hide its hideousness behind its synonyme of death ! It hath a lover's eye to make the beautiful its prize, And yet the strength of Death's right hand to fasten where it flies. It Cometh like an angel-shape, all loveliness and bloom. And Hope, high Hope is in its train, that speaks not of the tomb, But whispers words of life even when the upward- rolling eye Betrays its near relationship to yon half-open sky ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 191 IV. I saw its liaud ou Isabelle — God, give me any care, But save me from the second siglit of seeing aught so fair ! That cheek, by turns so finely flushed and spiritual- ly -wan, Was too, too heavenly for earth — too beautiful for man ! I saw when first her trouble came — I saw she would not stay, I knew that seraphs o'er her hung, and wooed her soul away: "We gave her spirit to its God, her body to the worm — Heaven never got a purer soul, nor earth a fairer form ; Her day was cloudless to the last, and set most gloriously — Great God, we have an angel kss by giving one to Thee ! 192 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. SONNET. OF HER ONLY DAUGHTER. Lady, I've thouglit upon thy grief, and tried To think of anght that makes affliction meet, — Of Christ who all life-long was crucified, And of the many sufferings that complete The Christian, hence ; and then I've thought how sweet It is to have, among the Seraph-eyed, An eye that looketh from the golden street Of heaven and calls thee Mother — and to know Thy child, by death brought to ripe age at once, Has entered on her high inheritance : Such thoughts as these would not let grief o'erflow, But that its coming is so unaware — Ah, Grod be gracious ! what a world of woe The gentle heart is sometimes forced to bear ! PKINTED B-V GEORGE A N D R O B K }{ T KING, 28, St. Nicholas Street, .-Mjerdeen. This book is DUE on the last date stamped below lOm-ll, '50(2555)4701 Tlifi LIBRARY fjNIVERSITY OF CALlFORNliS "L LiorirthT rAtlLlI Y AA 000 381 178 PR 5101 L'51i8i