JOHN STEELING. 2S1

JOHN STEELING

Born 1306 — Died 1844.

JoHX Sterling, the second son of Edward many, where he met his friend and former and Hester Sterling, was born at Kames tutor, with whom he had much serious conver- Castle, in the island of Bute, July 20, 1806. sation on religious topics, which resulted in Ills parents were born in Ireland, but -were his entering the Church. He returned to both of good Scotch families. Wiien John England, was ordained deacon in 1834, and was tliree years old the family removed to became Mr. Hare's curate at Hertsmonceux Llanblethian in Glamorganshire, and here his immediately after. He entered earnestly on childhood was nurtured amid scenes of wild the duties of his new calling, but after a few and romantic beauty. At first he attended months he resigned on the plea of delicate a school in the little town of Cowbridge, and health, and returned to London. For the sake Avhen the family removed to London in 1814 of a more genial climate he went to France, he was sent to schools at Green v.-ich and Black- and afterwards to Madeira, occupying his heath, and finally to Christ's Hospital. AVhen leisure hours in writing prose and poetry for

at school he was known as a novel - reader, Blaclcirood. In addition to his numerous devouring everything that came in his way. contributions to this magazine and the quarter- At sixteen he was sent to Glasgow University, lies, he was the author of Arthur Coningshy, and at twenty he proceeded to Trinity Col- a novel published in 1830. Professor "Wilson lege, Cambridge, where he had for his tutor early recognized his merit as a poet and essay- Julius Hare, the future archdeacon, one of his ist, and bestowed very lavish praise upon him. two biographers, Thomas Carlyle being the He Avas a swift genius, Carlyle likening him other. Though not an e.xact scholar. Sterling to "sheet-lightning." became extensively and well read. His studies For several years Sterling led a kind of were irregular and discursive, but extended nomadic life, fleeing from place to place in over a wide range. Among his companions search of health. He visited London for the at college were Richard Trench, Frederick last time in 1843, when Carlyle dined with Maurice, Lord Houghton (then Monckton him. "I remember it," he says, "as one of Miines), and others, Avho were afterwards his the saddest dinners; though Sterling talked fast friends through life. copiously, and our friends—Theodore Parker The laAv had been originally intended as one of them —were pleasant and distinguished Sterling's profession, but after hesitating for men. All was so haggard in one's memory, some time he at last decided upon literature, and half- consciously in one's anticipations: and, joining his friend JIauriee, purchased the sad, as if one had been dining in a ruin, in A fhenceum, in which appeared his first literary the crypt of a mausoleum." Carlyle saw Ster-

effusions. In 1830 he married Miss Susannah ling afterwards, and the following is the con- Barton, daughter of Lieut. -General Barton. clusion of his last interview with him: —"We

Soon after his marriage he became seriously ill parted before long; bed-time for invalids being —so ill that his life was long despaired of. come, he escorted me down certain carpeted His lungs were affected, and the doctors recom- back-stairs, and would not be forbidden. We mended a warmer climate. He accordingly took leave under the dim skies; and, alas! went to the West Indies, and spent upwards little as I then dreamt of it, this, so far as I of a year in the beautiful island of St. Yincent, can calculate, must have been the last time I where some valuable property had been left to ever saw him in the world. Softly as a common the Sterling family by a maternal uncle. In evening the last of the evenings had passed 1832 he returned to England greatly improved awa\', and no other would come for me for in health. From thence he proceeded to Ger- evermore." Sterling died at his residence at — —

282 JOHN STEELING.

Ventnor in the Me of Wight, Sept.18, 1844,— speaking of his religious opinion was unneces- cut down, like Siielley and Keats and Michael sarily apologetic. To this circumstance we owe Bruce, when on the road to fame. IIisreniain.s the " Life by Carlyle," in which a correspondent were inten-ed in tiic beautiful little burial- says: "Archdeacon Hare takes up Sterling as

ground of Bonchurch. a clergyman merely. Sterling I find was a In 1839 a volume of Sterling's poems was curate for exactly eight months; during eight issued in London, and reprinted in the United months and no more had he any special rela- States. They are full of tenderness, fancy, tion to the Church. But he was a man, and and truth. "The Sexton's Daughter," a had relation to the Universe for eight-and-

striking lyrical ballad written in early youth, thirty years; and it is in this latter character,

is among the most popular of his poetical pro- to which all the others were but features and ductions. In 1S41 his poem in seven books, transitory hues, that we wish to know him. entitled "The Election," Avas published, fol- His battle with hereditary church formulas lowed in 1843 by the spirited tragedy of was severe; but it was by no means his one "Strafford." "Essays and Talcs by John battle with things inherited, nor indeed his Sterling, collected and edited, with a Memoir of chief battle; neither, according to my observa- his Life, by Julius Charles Hare,M- A., Kector of tion of what it was, is it successfully delineated Hertsmonceux," in two volumes, was published or summed up in this book." And so his in London in 1848. On reading that life, countryman and friend gave to the world interesting and beautiful though it is, one another and a better portraiture of John Ster- could not help feeling that there was a great ling—one of those lovely and noble spirits that deal remaining untold, and that the tone in charm and captivate all beholders.

As is a rushy fountain's tone, TO A CHILD. As is the forest's leafy shade. Or blackbird's hidden serenade: Dear child! whom sleep can hardly tame. Thou art a flash that lights the whole As live and beautiful as flame. A gush from nature's vernal soul. Thou glancest round my gi-aver hours As if thy crown of wild-wood flowers And yet, dear child! within thee lives not by mortal forehead worn, Were A power that deeper feeling gives. But on the summer breeze were borne, That makes thee more than light or air. Or on a mountain streamlet's waves Than all things sweet, and all things fair; Came glistening down from di'camy caves. And sweet and fair as aught may be, Diviner life belongs to thee. With bright round cheek, amid whose glow For 'mid thine aimless joys began Delight and wonder come and go; The perfect heart and will of man. And eyes whose inward meanings play, Congenial with the light of day; Thus what thou art foreshows to me And brow so calm, a home for thought How greater far thou soon shalt be; Before he knows his dwelling wrought; And while amid thy garlands blow Though wise indeed thou seemest not, The winds that warbling come and go. Thou brightenest well the wise man's lot. Ever within, not loud but clear, Prophetic murmur fills the ear. That shout proclaims the undoubting mind; And says that every human birth That laughter leaves no ache behind; Anew discloses God to earth. And in thy look and dance of glee, Unforced, imthought of, simply free. How weak the schoolman's formal art Thy soul and body's bliss to part! I hail thee Childhood's very Lord, THE ROSE AND THE GAUXTLET. In gaze and glance, in voice and word. Low spake the knight to the peasant-girl, In spite of all foreboding fear, " I tell thee sooth, I am belted earl; A thing thou art of present cheer; Fly with me from this garden small. And thus to be beloved and known. And thou shalt sit in my castle's hall. ; ! —; — "

JOHX STEELING. 283

" Thou slialt have porap, and wealth, ami plea- The fair white bird of flaming crest, sure, And azure wings bedropt with gold, Joys beyond thy fancy's measure; Ne'er has he known a pause of rest, Here with my sword and horse I stand, But sings the lament that he framed of old. To bear thee away to my distant land. "0! Princess bright! how long the night " Take, thou fau-est! this full-blown rose, Since thou art sunk in the waters clear! A token of love that as ripely blows." How sadly they flow from the depth below With his glove of steel he pluck'd the token, How long must I sing and thou wilt not hear .' But it fell from his gauntlet crushed and broken. "The waters play, and the flowers are gay, The maiden exclaim'd, —"Thou scest, Sir Knight, And the skies are sunny above; Thy fingers of iron can only smite; I would that all could fade and fall, And, like the rose thou hast torn and scatter'd, And I too cease to mourn my love. 1 in thy grasp shovild be wrecked and shattered." "0! many a year, so wakeful and drear, 1 have sorrow'd and watched, beloved, for thee! She trembled and blush'd, and her glances fell; But there comes no breath from the chambers of But ' she turned from the Knight, and said, "Farewell!" death, ^Vllile the lifeless fount gushes under the tree. " Not so," he cried, "will I lose my prize; I heed not thy woi'ds, but I read thine eyes." The skies grow dark, and they glare with red. The tree shakes otf its spicy bloom He lifted her up in his grasp of steel. waves of the fount in a black pool spread. And he mounted and spurred with furious heel The And in thunder sounds the garden's doom. But her cry drew forth her hoary sire. Who snatched his bow from above the fire. Down springs the bird with long shrill cry. Into the sable and angry flood; Swift from the valley the warrior fled. And the face of the pool, as he falls f:om high, Swifter the bolt of the cross-bow sped; Curdles in circling stains of blood. And the weight that pressed on the fleot-foot horse Bvit sudden again upswells the fount; Was the living nian, and the woman's corse. Higher and higher the waters flow In a glittering diamond arch they mount. That morning the rose was bright of hue; And round it the coloui-s of morning glow. That morning the maiden was fair to view; But the evening sun its beauty shed Finer and finer the watery mound On the wither'd leaves, and the maiden dead. Softens and melts to a thin-spun veil. And tones of music circle around. And bear to the stars the fountain's tale.

And swift the eddying rainbow screen THE SPICE-TREE. Falls in dew on the grassy floor; Under the Spice-tree the garden's Queen The spice-trce lives in the garden green; Sits by her lover, who waits no more. Beside it the fountain flows; And a fair bird sits the boughs between, And sings his melodious woes. SIIAKSPERE. No greener garden e'er was known Within the bounds of an earthly king; How little fades from earth when sink to rest No lovelier skies have ever shone The hours and cares that moved a great man's Than those that illumine its constant Spring. breast nought of all we saw the grave may spare, That coil -bound stem has branches three; Though woi'ld's impregnate air; On each a thousand blossoms grow; His life pervades the Shakspere's dust beneath our footstcpj And, old as aught of time can be, Though The root stands fast in the rock below. lies, His spirit breathes amid his native skies; In the spicy shade ne'er seems to tire With meaning won from him for ever glows The fount that builds a silvery dome; Each air that England feels, and star it knows; And flakes of purple and ruby fire His whispered words from many a mother's voice Gush out, and sparkle amid the foam. Can make her sleeping child in dreams rejoice; —! —! ; ———

284 JOHN STERLING.

And gleams from spheres he first conjoined to 'Tis our stored and ample dwelling; earth, 'Tis from it the skies we see. Are blent with rays of each new morning's birth. Amid the sights and tales of common things, Wind and frost, and hour and season, Leaf, flower, and bird, and wars, and deaths of Land and water, sun and shade kings,— Work with these, as bids thy rea.son, Of shore, and sea, and nature's daily round. For they work thy toil to aid. Of life that tills, and tombs that load, the ground, visions mingle, swell, command, by. His pace Sow thy seed, and reap in gladness; And haunt with living presence heart and eye; Man himself is all a seed; And tones from him, by other bosoms caught. Hope and hardship, joy and sadness Awaken flush and stir of mounting thought. Slow the plant to ripeness lead. And the long sigh, and deep impassioned thrill, Rouse custom's trance and spur the faltering will. Above the goodly land, more his than ours. Ho sits supreme, enthroned in skyey towers; And sees the heroic brood of his creation THE TWO OCEANS. Teach larger life to his ennobled nation. .shaping brain! flashing fancy's hues! Two seas, amid tlie night, boundless heart, kei)t fresh by pity's dews! In the moonsliine roll and sparkle wit humane and blithe! O sense sublime Now spread in the silver light. For each dim oracle of mantled Time Now sadden, and wail, and darkle; Transcendant Form of Man! in whom we read The one has a billowy motion. Mankind's wliole tale of Impulse, Thought, and And from land to land it gleams; Deed! Tlie other is sleep's wide ocean, Amid the expanse of years, beholding thee. And its glimmering waves are dreams: We know how vast our world of life may be; The one, with murmur and roar, Wherein, perchance, with aims as pure as thine, Bears fleet around coast and islet; Small tasks and strengths may be no less divine. The other, witliout a shore. Ne'er knew the track of a pilot.

THE HUSBANDMAN.

Eartli, of man the bounteous motlicr, LOUIS XV. Feeds hira still with corn and wine; He who best would aid a brother, The king with all his kingly tr;',i:i Shares with hini these gifts divine. Had left his Pompadour behind, And forth he rode in Senart's wood Many a power Avithin her bosom. The royal beasts of chase to find. Noiseless, hidden, works beneath; That day by chance the monarch mused. Hence are seed, and leaf, and blossom, And turning suddenly away, Goldea ear and clustered wreath. He struck alone into a path That far from crowds and courtiers lay. These to swell with strengtli and beauty Is the royal task of man; He saw the pale green shadows play Man's a king; his throne is duty. Upon the brown untrodden earth; Since his work on earth began. He saw the birds around him flit As if he were of peasant birth Bud and harvest, bloom and vintage He saw the trees that knew no king These, like man, are fruits of earth; But him who bears a woodland axe; Stamped in chiy, a iieavenly mintage, He thought not, but he looked about All from dust receive their birth. Like one who skill in thinking lacks. Barn and mill, and wine-vat's treasures, Earthly goods for earthly lives Then close to him a footstep fell. These are nature's ancient pleasures; And glad of human sound was he. These her child from her derives. For truth to say he found himself A weiglit from which he fain would flee. What tlie dream, but vain rebelling, But that which he Avould ne'er have guessed If from earth we souglit to flee? Before him now most plainly came; — —— —

JOHN STERLING. 235

The man upon his Aveary back Had been to many million hearts A coffin bore of rudest frame. The all between themselves and naught; And so they stood agliast and pale. art "Why, who thou?" exclaimed the king; As if to see the azure skj' '' And what is that I see thee bear?" Come shattering down, and show beyond '• I am a labourer in the wood, The black and bare infinity. And 'tis a coffin for Pierre. Close by the royal hunting-lodge For he, while all men trembling peered You may have often seen liini toil; Upon the future's empty space, But he will never work again, Had strength to bid above the void And 1 for him must dig the soil." The oracle unveil its face; And when his voice could rule no more, Tlie labourer ne'er had seen the king. A thicker weight of darkness fell. And tills lie thouglit was but a man, And tombed in its sepulchral vault Who made at first a moment's pause. The wearied master of the spell. And then anew his talk began: myriad hands like shadows weak. " I think I do remember now, A Or stiff and sharp as bestial claw.s. He had a dark and glancing eye. Had sought to steer the fluctuant mass And I have seen his slender arm That bore his country's life laws; With wondrous blows the pick-axe ply. and The rudder felt his giant hand. " Pray tell me, friend, what accident And quailed beneath the living grasp Can thus have killed our good Pierre?" That now must drop the helm of fate, "Oh! nothing more tlum usual, sir; Nor pleasure's cup can madly clasp. He died of living upon air. 'Twas hunger killed the poor good man. France did not reck how fierce a storm Of rending passion, blind and grim. Who long on empty hopes relied; Had ceased its audible uproar He could not pay gabell and tax. When death sank heavily on him; And feed his children, so he died." Nor heeded they the countless days The man stopped short, and then went on, Of toiling smoke and blasting flame, " It is, you know, a common tiling; That now by this one final hour Our children's bread is eaten up Were summed for him as guilt and shume. By courtiers, mistresses, and king." The wondrous life that flowed so long The king looked hard upon tlie man, .\ stream of all commixtures vile. And afterwards the coffin eyed, Had seemed for them in morning light Then spurred to ask of Pompadour, With gold and crystal waves to smile. How came it that the peasants died. It rolled with mighty breadth and sound A new creation through the land. Then sudden vanished into earth, And left a barren waste of sand. MIRABEAU.i

To them at first the world appeared Xot oft has peopled earth sent up Aground, and lying shipwrecked there, So deep and wide a groan before. A nd freedom's folded flag no more As when the word astounded France " With dazzling sun-burst filled the air; — " The life of Mirabeau is o'er! But 'tis in after years for men From its one heart a nation wailed, A sadder and a greater thing, For well the startled sense divined To muse upon the inward heart A greater power had fled away Of him who lived the people's king. Than aught that now remained behind. 0! wasted strength! 0! light and calm The scathed and haggard face of will. And better hopes so vainly given! And look so strong with weaponed thought, Like rain upon the herbless sea Poured down by too benignant heaven 1 A few of Sterling's minor 13'rics, such as "Mira- We see not stars unfixed by Avinds, beau," are eloquent, and, wliile defaced by conceits and Or lost in aimless thunder-peals, lu'osaic expressions, show flaslies of imagination which brighten the even twiliglit of a meditative joet. But man's large soul, the star supreme, E. C. ^ted.nan. In guideless whirl how oft it reels! — :

286 THOMAS BEYDSON.

The mountain hears the torrent dasli, The lamp that, 'mid the ?acred cell, But rocks will not in billows run; On heavenly forms its glory sheds, No eagle's talons rend away Untended dies, and in the gloom Those eyes, that joyous drink the sun; A poisonous vapour glimmering spreads. Yet man, by choice and purpose weak, It shines and flares, and reeling ghosts Upon his own devoted head Enormous through the twilight swell. Calls down the flasli, as if its fires Till o'er the withered world and heart A crown of peaceful glory shed. liings loud and slow the dooming knell.

Alas! —yet wherefore mourn? The law No more I hear a nation's shout Is holier than a sage's prayer; Around the hero's tread prevailing, The godlike power bestowed on men No more I hear above his tomb Demands of them a godlike care; A nation's fierce bewildered wailing; And noblest gifts, if basely used, 1 stand amid the silent night. Will sternliest avenge the wrong, And think of man and all his woe, And grind Avith slavish pangs the slave AVith fear and i)ity, grief and awe. AVhom once they made divinely strong. When I remember Mirabeau.

THOMAS BEYDSON

Born ISOG — Died 1855.

Hev. Thomas Brydsox, a minister of the of expression. He was a frequent contributor Established Church of Scotland, and the author to the London annuals, to the Repuhllc of of several fine songs and sonnets, was born at Letters, and to t\\& Edhihimjh Literary Journnl. Glasgow in 1806. On completing his studies Henry G. Bell said of Brydson's second volume at the universities of his native city and Edin- " With our friend Brydson the readers of tlie burgh, he became a licentiate of the Church. Journal are too well acquainted to require a He acted successively as an assistant in the lengthened criticism or recommendation of his parishes of Greenock, Oban, and Kilmalcolm little volume at our hands. Here he is as Ave in Eenfrewshire; and in 1839 Avas ordained have ever found him — Avithout any straining minister of Levern Church, near Paisley. In for effect — luxuriating in the beautiful and the 1842 he became parish minister of Kilmalcolm, grand of external nature—unceasingly finding where he remained until his deatii, Jan. 28, • ' tongues in trees, books in the running brooks. 1855. In 1829 a volume was published in Sermons in stones, and good in everytliing.' Glasgow, entitled "Poems by Thomas Bryd- son," followed in 1831 by "Pictures of the Vre know none Avhom Ave have more reason to Past," a collection of his poetical compositions, esteem for independent and manly sentiment c'.iaracterized by much sweetness and elegance and reflection."

THE FALLEN ROCK.

No mortal hand, save mine, hath yet To gaze across the Avide expanse Upon th}' cold form prest. Of desert spread beloAv. Thou mighty rock, just freshly torn But yesterday the fleecy cloud From off the cliff's dark breast, Went curling o'er thy face; So steep that never hunter climbed But 3'esternight the eagle slept Unto its helm of shoaa', Within thv calm embrace: — — — ————

THOMAS BRYDSON. 287

While moon and stars, thine ancient friends, The sound of nature's joy to thee, In glory journey'd by, Mocking thy solitude. And bathed thee Avith their purest light, Yet, proudly 'mid the tide of years Up in the silent sky. Thou lift'st on high thine airy form, Scene of primeval hopes and fears! Ah, me I and thou art downward hurl'd Unto this lowly glen; Slow yielding to the storm. From thy majestic place of pride, thy gi-ay portal, oft at morn, Down to the haunts of men; From The ladies and the squires would go; Thou who throughout all time hast been While swell'd the hunter's bugle-horu So lofty and so lone. In the green glen below. That voice of human joy or grief Scarce reach'd thy marble throne. And minstrel harp, at starry night. Woke the high strain of battle here; Thou'st stood unmoved, while age on age When with a wild and stern delight, Earth's myriads pass'd away; The warrior stoop'd to hear. Strange destiny, methinks, that I Should mark thyself decay. All fled for ever! leaving nought Save lonely walls in ruin green, AVhich dimly lead my wandering thought To moments that have been. ALL LOVELY AND BRIGHT.

All lovely and bright, 'mid the desert of time, Seem the days when I wander'd with you. PO'K-HEAD W00D.2 Like the green isles that swell in this far-distant clime. wood is bonnie. On the deeps that are trackless and blue. 0, Po'k-head When the leaves are in their prime: And now while the torrent is loud on the hill, 0, Po'k-head wood is bonnie And the howl of the forest is drear, In the tunefu' summer time. I think of the lapse of our own native rill I think of thy voice with a tear. Up spake the brave Sir Archibald— A comely man to see The light of my taper is fading away, 'Twas there I twined a bower o' the birk It hovers, and trembles, and dies; For my true love and me. The far-coming morn on her sea-paths is gi'ay. But sleep will not come to mine eyes. The hours they lichtsomely did glide. When we twa linger't there; Yet why should I ponder, or why should I grieve Nae human voices but our ain O'er the joys that my childhood has known? To break the summer air. We may meet, when the dew-flowers are fragrant at eve, 0, sweet in memory are the flowers As we met in the days that are gone. That blossom'd round the spot, I never hear sic music noo, As swell'd the wild bird's note.

licht amang the leaves DU NOLLY CASTLE. 1 The trembling The licht and the shadows seen Eleanor, The breezes of this vernal day I think of them and Come whispering through thine empty hall. Her voice and love-fiU'd een. And stir, instead of tapestry. 0, Po'k-head Avood is bonnie, The weed upon its wall, When the leaves are in their prime; is bonnie .\nd bring from out the murmuring sea. 0, Po'k-head wood And bring from out the vocal wood, In the tunefu' summer time.

2 contraction for Pollock head; a I The remains of this picturesque ruin occupy a fine ro'k-head is a local Tollock estate in Renfrewshire.—Ed. site on the shore of the bay of Obau.—Ed. wood on the —— ——— — : ! ——

28S THOMAS BRYDSON.

Did she look lovelier with her staiTy eyes; The music of the mountain-rill comes down, I KENXA AVHATS COME OWER II IM. As if it came from heaven with peace to earth. And from yon niin'd tower, where ages gone I kenna wliat's come owcr him, left Have theii- footsteps — hark I the voice of He's no tlie lad he used to be; mirth I kenna what's come ower him, The gipsy wanderers, with their little band The blythe blink left his e'c. has Of raven-tressed boys and girls, are there; He wanders dowie by himsel', And when the song of that far-distant land, Alanj; the burn and through the glen: From whence they sprung, is wafted through the His secret grief he winna tell air, I wish that he would smile again. I dream of scenes where towers Ihe mystic pile There was a time alake the day! — The Arab and his wastes—the rushings of the Ae word o' mine could male' him glad; Nile! But noo, at every word I say, I think he only looks mair sad. The last time I gaed to the fair AVi' Willie o' the birken-cleugh, FALLING LEAYE-S. Like walkin' ghost he met us tliere And sic a storm was on his brool Down fall the leaves; and, o'er them as we tread, 'Tis strange to think they were the buds of I'm wae to see the chiel sac glum, spring. Sae dismal-like frae morn to e'en; Whose balm-breath met us on the zephyr's Than sic a cast as this had come, wing, I'd rather Willie ne'er ha'e seen. \Vlien mirth and melody were round us spread, skies in I kenna what's come ower iiim. And placid brightness overhead. And streams below with He's no the lad he used to be: many a dimpled ring-! 'Tis strange to think, that when the bee did I kenna what's come ower him sing The blythe blink has left his e'e. Her sunny song, on summer's flowery mead. They were the locks that waved on summer's

brow I But stranger far, to think, that the white bones THE EARTHQUAKE. We tread upon, among the churchyard stones, Once moved about, as we are moving now In youth, in manhood, and in hoaiy Her parents and her lover waved adieu age Oh! then, let time and change our From out the vine-clad cottage, and away thoughts engage! The maiden pass'd, like sunbeam from the day, Into the ancient forest, to renew Her wonted task of gath'ring lowly flowers For the far city : —Innocent and j^onng She wander'd, singing to the birds, that sung RETROSPECTION". Amid the balmy foliage of the bowers. We look upon ourselves of other days. Eve fell at length—and to the well-known steep. As if we looked on beings that are gone; That gave again her native vale to view. For fancy's magic ray hath o'er them thrown The maiden came. —Earth shook—and, burst- A glorj^, that grows brighter as we ing thro'. gaze Then, then, indeed, was pleasure's mirthful She sees an ocean o'er that valley sweep. maze Our own, and happiness no shade as now: Ah, me!—she has, 'neath heaven's all-circling dome, We met her on the mead, and on the brow Of the unpeopled mountain, and her ways Xo parent —and no lover—and no home! Were where our footsteps wandered. Still we see Her phantom form, that flits as we pursue O'er the same scenes, where jocund once and THE GIPSIES. free. And all unsought, she with our young thoughts It is the night —and ne'er from yonder skies, gi-ew! High-piled amid the solitudes of time. So, to the parting sailor, evermore And based on all we vainly call sublime. She seems to linger on his native shore. — ;

ANDREW PARK. 289

And Juliet's woes would voice the moonlight A EEMEMBERED SPOT. wind. Bidding me to my home. That lonely spot. There is a spot in flowery beauty lying, By me can never —never bo forgot! Clasp'd in the silver arms of a small stream, Flowing from hill-tops, where, when day was dying, I've seen the distant cities like a dream; A THOUGHT. That spot was unfrequented, I did deem. Save by myself, the wild bird, and the bee, Though far away. Far off; the ring-dove, from her forest tree. Though ruthless Time have scatter'd memory's Told the wide reign of solitude. Here came, dream Sweet Shakspere, first, thy visions to my mind Some scenes can ne'er decay, Around me were thy woods—Miranda's isle. But rest where all is change, like islands on a And circling waters were my own the while; stream.

ANDEEW PAEK

Born 18C7 — Died 1863.

Andrew Park was a native of the town of trations by ]\Ir. (now Sir) J. Xoel Paton. In

Renfrew, where he was born, March 7, 1807. 1856 he visited Egypt and other eastern coun- lie was taught first at the parish school, and tries, and the following year published a narra- then finished his education at the University tive of his travels entitled Eijupt and the East. of Glasgow. In his fifteenth year he was em- Park's poems were originally published in ploj'ed in a commission warehouse in Paisley, twelve volumes, and the whole of his poetical and wliile a resident of that town he published works were again issued in 1854 by Bogue of a poem in sonnets entitled " The Vision of London in one large volume. In one of his Mankind." AVhen about twenty he removed poems, entitled "Veritas," he gives a nar- to Glasgow, and became a salesman in a hat rative of the principal events of his life up manufactory. After a time he began business to the period of its publication in 1849. on his own account, wliich not proving very His songs were either humorous, sentimen- successful he disposed of his stock and Ment to tal, or patriotic : they possess both lyrical London. Previous to leaving Scotland he beauty and power, and have taken their posi- issued in 1831 another volume of poems en- tion amongst the poetry of Scotland. Several titled the '•Bridegroom and the Bride," which of them have been set to music, and have was welcomed as a higher effort than his former enjoyed an unusual degTee of popularity. Jlr. production. His prospects in the metropolis Park died at Glasgow, Dec. 27, 1863. Before not turning out so bright as he expected, he his death he expressed a wish to be interred in retui'ned to Glasgow in 1841, and purchased the Paisley Cemetery, where his friend James the stock of Dugald Moore the poet, then re- Fillans the sculptor had been buried. The cently dead, and became a bookseller. That poet's funeral took place on 2d January, 1864, new business being also unsuccessful, he soon and his bier was followed to the grave by two abandoned it, and devoted his time to literary hundred mourners. His friends and admirers pursuits. In 1843 he published "Silent Love," erected to his memory a handsome granite pe- his most successful literary work, as the pro- destal eight feet high, surmounted by a colossal duction of a James Wilson, a druggist in bronze bust of the poet, which was inaugurated Paisley. A beautiful edition of this poem in on 7th March, 1867, and handed over to the small quarto was published in 1345, with illus- corporation of Paisley for preservation. Vol. II.—T ! ! ! —— ; — ——

290 ANDEEW PARK.

Laugh not, j^e sordid sons, ye beings cold, Who measure all your greatness by your gold, SILEXT LOVE. Whose marble bosoms never once could feel What friendship, love, and sympathy reveal; (extract. ) Learn but one truth, 'twill not reduce your stores, No man e'er loved like me! When but a boy, Love higher than your gilded riches soars, Love was my solace and my only joy; Your demi-god a meaner thing must be Its mystic influence fired my tender soul, Than Cupid proves. No man e'er loved like me! And held me captive in its soft control Think not a glance too transient to desti-oy By night, it ruled in bright ethereal dreams, The calmness of the mind with mingled joy; By day, in latent, ever-varying themes; Judge for yourselves, but make no strictures here. In solitude, or 'mid the city's throng. Set no mean limits to its hope and fear. Or in the festal halls of mirth and song; Many could tell, if they but had the art, Through loss or gain, through quietude or strife, The stirring power with which it throbs the heart, This was the charm, the heart-pulse of my life. Thrills every nerve, pursues through every vein

While age has not subdued the flame divine, Its path electric till it fires the brain A votary still I worship at the shrine And trembling there like needle to the pole, When cares enthrall, or when the soul is free, Strange blushes rise in crimson from the soul; 'Tis all the same. No man e'er loved like me! The heaving breast, in resjjiration free,

Oh ! she was young who won my yielding heart; Convulsive feels with innate ecstasy. Nor power of poesy, nor painter's art, Could half the beauties of her mind portray.

E'en when inspired, and how can this my lay ? Two eyes that spoke what language ne'er can do, Soft as twin-violets moist with early dew SAXDYFORD HA'. And on her cheek the lily and the rose Blent beauteously in halcyon repose; Ye '11 a' get a bidding to Sandyford Ha', While vermil lips, apart, reveal'd within Ye'll a' get a bidding to Sandyford Ha'; Two rows of pearls, and on her dimpled chin When summer returns wi' her blossoms sae The Graces smiled; a bosom heaved below, braw, Warm as the sun, but pure as forest snow; Ye'll a' get a bidding to Sandyford Ha'. Her copious ringlets hung in silken trains O'er alabaster, streak'd with purpling veins; This dwelling, though humble, is airy and clean, Her pencill'd eyebrows, arching fair and high Wi' a hale hearty wifie baith honest and Hen, O'er lids so pure they scarcely scrcen'd the eye! An' a big room below for the gentry that ca', A form symmetral, moving forth in grace Ye'll a' get a bidding to Sandyford Ha'. Like heaven-made Eve, the mother of our race; A wooden stair leads to the attics aboon, And on her brow benevolence and truth Whar ane can look out to his fi'iends in the moon, Were chastely throned in meek, perennial youth; Or rhyme till saft sleep on his eyelids shall fa': — While every thought that had creation there Ye'll a' get a bidding to Sandyford Ha', But made her face still more divinely fair; And every fancy of her soul express'd An' when a lang day o' dark care we hae closed. On that fail" margin what inspired her breast. An' our heart wi' the bitter ingredient is dozed, Pure as the sunbeams gild the placid deep, We'll puff our Havana, on hope we will ca', When zephyrs close their wings in listless sleep. An' our chief guest be pleasure at Sandyford Ha'. This maiden won my heart; oh! is it vain Ye'll no need to ask me to sing you a sang.

To say, perhaps hers was return'd again ? For the wee thochtless birdies lilt a' the day lang; To say, she read the language of my ej^es, The Untie, the laverock, the blackbird an a',

And knew my thoughts, unmingled with disguise ? Ilk day hae a concert at Sandyford Ha'. Is it too much to say, that eyes reveal

^Vhat words in vain but struggle to conceal ? There's palace-like mansions at which ye may That silent love is not far more sincere stare. Than vaunting vows—those harbingers of fear! Where Lu.xury rolls in her saft easy-chair, Deep-rooted veneration breathes no sound; At least puir folks think sae, —their knowledge Back, mortal, back, ye stand on holy ground! is sma', Hid in the heart's recess, like precious ore. There's far mair contentment at Sandyford Ha'. It lies in brilliant beauty at the core! There's something romantic about an auld house, Or, as the moon, sweet empress of the night! Where the cock ilka morning keeps crawing fu' Reflecting, gives, in modest, mellowy light. crouse, The sun's refracting rays—her destined part An' the kye in the byre are baith sleekit an' braw. So genuine feeling steals from heart to heart! An' such is the case at blythe Sandyford Ha'. ; ; ; —— —

ANDREW PARK. 291

In the garden we'll sit 'neath the big beechen tree, They talk o' their mountain-cairns, As the sun dijis his bright-buruish'd face in the And they talk of the rolling sea. sea, And meikle an' lang they speak Till night her gray mantle around us shall draw, 0' their youthfu' days gane by, Then we'll a' be fu' cantie in Sandyford Ha'. AVhen the rose it was on the cheek. At morning when music is loud in the sky, An' the pearl was on the eye! An' dew, like bright pearls, on roses' lips lie,

We'll saunter in joy when the lang shadows fa', They talk o' their friends lang gane, 'Mang the sweet-scented gi'oves around Sandy- And the tear-draps blin' their e'e; Ha'. ford They talk o' the cauld kirk-stane AVhare sune they baith maun be. Yet each has had their half 0' the joys o' this fitful sphere, HUKRA FOR THE HIGHLAND.?! So whiles the auld folk laugh, And whiles they drap a tear!

Hurra for the Highlands ! the stern Scottish Highlands! The home of the clansman, the brave and the free; FLOAVERS OF SUMMER. Where the clouds love to rest, on the mountain's rough breast. Flowers of summer, sweetly springing, Ere they journey afar o'er the islandless sea. Deck the dewy lap of earth Birds of love are fondly singing 'Tis there where the cataract sings to the breeze. In their gay and jocund mirth: As it dashes in foam like a spirit of light; Streams are pouring from their fountains. And 'tis there the bold fisheiTaan bounds o'er the Echoing through each rugged dell; seas. Heather bells adorn the mountains, bark, through the perilous In his fleet, tiny Bid the city, love! farewell. night. See the boughs are rich in blossom, 'Tis the land of deep shadow, of sunshine and Through each sunlit, silent grove; shower. Cast all sorrow from thy bosom on high Where the hurricane revels in madness Freedom is the soul of love! war with its power. For there it has might that can Let us o'er the valleys wander, In the wild dizzy cliffs that are cleaving the sky, Not a frown within us dwell, And in joy see Nature's grandeur I have trod meriy England, and dwelt on its Bid the city, love ! farewell. charms; I have wander'd through Erin, that gem of the Morning's sun shall then invite us sea; By the ever-sparkling streams; alone the true Scottish heart But the Highlands Evening's fall again delight us waiTQS, AA'ith its crimson-coloured beams. blooming, her eagles are free. Her heather is Flowers of summer sweetly springing. Deck the dewy lap of earth Birds of love are loudly singing, la their gay and jocund mirth. THE AULD FOLKS.

The auld folks sit by the fire, AVhen the winter nichts are chill; THE BANKS OF CLYDE. The auld wife she plies her wire, The auld man he quaffs his yill. How sweet to rove at summer's eve An' meikle an' lang they speak By Clyde's meandering stream, 0' their youthfu' days gane by, AVhen Sol in joy is seen to leave beam. AVhen the rose it was on the cheek, The earth with crimson And the pearl was on the eye! AAlien island-clouds that wander'd far Above his seacouch lie. star They talk o' their bairnies' bairns, And here and there some gem-like They talk o' the brave an' free. Re-opes its sparkling eye. — ——

292 JAMES MACDONALD.

I see tlic insects gatlier liome, I fain Avould steal it frac its bower, That lov'd tlie evening ray; Thougii a' should think me sair to blame. And minstrel birds tiiat wanton roam, It smiles sae sweet amang the rest, And sing their vesper lay: Ijike brightest star where ithcrs shine; All hurry to their leafy beds Fain would I place it in my breast, Among tlie rustling trees, And make this bonnie blossom mine. Till morn with new-born beauty sheds Her splendour o'er the seas. At morn, at sunny noon, whene'er I see tliis fair, this favourite flower, Majestic seem the barks that glide, I\ly heart beats high, with wish sincere, As night creeps o'er tlie sky, To wile it frae its bonnie bower! Along the sweet and tranquil Clyde, But oh! I fear to own its charms. And charm the gazer's eye, Or tear it frae its parent stem, AVhile spreading trees with plumage gay For should it wither in my arms, Smile vernal o'er the scene. AVhat would revive my bonnie gem! And all is balmy as the Jlay All lovely and serene. Awa' — ye coward thoughts, awa' That flower can never fade with me. That frae the wint'ry winds that blaw Hound each neglected bud is free! THERE IS A BOXNIE FLOWEIl. No; it shall only bloom more fair, When cherish'd and ador'd by me, There is a bonnie blushing flower. And a' my joy, and a' my care, But ah! I darena breathe the name! This bonnie blushing flower shall be!

JAMES MACDONALD.

Born 1807 — Diijd 1S18.

]\r James acdoxald, A. M. , the anthor of many thus occupied he became an earnest and devoted Sabbath-school hymns and several still popular Sunday-school teacher, and composed many Scottish songs, was born at Culcreuch, in the sweet hymns for the use of his pupils. IVIac- parish of Fintry, Stirlingshire, September 18, donald's mind being still bent upon teaching, 1807. lie was educated at the University of he accepted an invitation about the year 1845 Glasgow, where he graduated, and also passed to take charge of a school in Blairgowrie, where through the theological classes with the view of he laboured for a time with much acceptance. becoming a minister in tlie Established Church. He removed to another school in Dundee, and He began life as a tcaclier in the parish of finally to the village of Catrine in Ayrshire, Drymen at the age of seventeen, and subse- where he died May 27, 1848, after a lingering quently (1833) during his tiieological course he illness. taught in a boarding-school in the manse of ]\Iacdonald's poems and lyrics appeared in Kincardine Blair -Drummond. On the ter- various collections, such as the Book of Scot- mination of this engagement he went to Glas- tish Song, and in various papers and periodi- gow, where he was for a time occupied as a cals, but they have not been published in a private tutor. Having relinquished the inten- collected form. His only separate publications tion of entering the ministry, he joined the are two booklets of "Hymns for the Use of printing establishment of the Messrs. Blackieof Sunday-schools," in which he was always deeply that city as a correcter of the press. In this interested. His poems display considerable calling he had no superior in Scotland, and poetic merit and a spirit of genuine piety. In as a proof-reader of Greek no equal. While a letter to the Editor, dated September 24, —

JAMES MACDONALD. 293

and en- 1875, Dr. Macdonald, of the Free Church, Blairgowrie. He was an admirable greatly esteemed Xorth Leith, Avrites, '•'Macdonald was an ex- thusiastic teacher, and was will that in cellent, warm-hearted, and most useful man, by young and old. I only add I ever found him a very and I loved him warmly. I am unable to all Christian work g'.vc any precise particulars of his life while at hearty and loving helper."

And cried aloud on all the tribes of earth. THE WILDERNESS WELL. Of every nation, kindred, hue, and tongue, To hail with joy their great Redeemer's birth, DIDACTIC rOEM. A And sing in hymns of loud-resounding mirth Heaven's Lord and King, (extract.) The jubilee of Whose loving sceptre scatters every dearth " Ho ye that thirst approach the spring That hunger, thirst, and \n-etchedness c:.n Where living waters flow. bring. Free to that sacred fountain all saw the Shiloh come—the prophet ran. Without a price may go."—Pa)-. Is. Iv. 1. He And bade men kiss the lowly Son of man. So sang the son of Amoz, as he saw, Messiah came to earth,—the Vine Branch came,— In vision bright, the coming Saviour's day, The Fountain flowed,—the Balm of Gilead grew. When David's tlirone and sceptre would give law The King, the mighty Counsellor by name, To men in nations, loving to obey. Glid down on Judah's mountains like the dew. With glowing breast and eye of fer\'id ray Proud Salem saw her King; but, ah! how few The prophet gazed along the course of time. Revered the name of Mary's righteous Son! And poured in golden drops the melting lay She saw his wonders, heard his doctrines true. Of heaven's grace revealed to every clime, And paid him wth the cross for what he'd done. \,Mi en David's Son should leave his realms on high, But on his cross Cluist won his golden crown; And come to earth for wretched man to die. 'Twas from his side the fount of Ufe ran down, AVithin the veil of heaven's sacred fane, That shall through ages pour its balmy stream. The holy man in -vision sweet was led, And shed the blessing of its gentle cure And taught the numbers of the seraph strain— On all who will to see its joyous gleam, The joyful words that sinless beings said And wash their bodies in its waters pure. Of God the Son, whose feet were yet to tread The broken-hearted, sick, and lowly poor. The dust of earth, and fallen man restore. The wand'ring sinner, weeping 'neath his load. When Judah's crown and sceptre's might had fled, And they who dread the pangs the damned endure, And law begirt the tribes of God no more, Alone are found to seek the hill of God. A lowly thrill rushed through the prophet's breast, Go, ask at them, for they alone can tell He cried "Unclean," and quailed at Heaven's What Zion is, whence flows their- Desert Well. behest. While basking in the i-ays of wondrous light, A scene of gladness filled his ravished eye, Messiah's reign and kingdom blessed his sight. In all the grandeur of the eternal sky. THE THl^EE AGES. He saw the angels of the Lord on high Descend in gorgeous light on Bethlehem's plain, CHILDHOOD. And raise the hallelujah sj-mphony 'Tis sweet to look on a new-blown flower; Of man restored to Heaven's love again, To watch the tints of the summer sky; Redemption's glories in a boundless cloud To lurk in the depths of a sylvan bower. Of peerless, priceless gems around him crowd. Lulled by the lone stream's lullaby. He saw the night of darkness flee away. He saw the Sun of Righteousness arise 'Tis sweet to view, at the opening day, To cheer the earth with beams of healing ray. The pearls that gem the green-clad earth; And make the desert wear the garden's dyes. And hear the burst of the song-birds' lay His lit eye saw the Fountain of the skies The morning hymn of their love and mirth. Run far and wide o'er many a dreary plain, Creating where it flowed a paradise 'Tis sweet to stand, at the dusky hour, Of flowery grandeur, feeding on the rain. By the pel»bly rim of a glassy lake, And dew, and light, and smile of Heaven above. While myriad stars, in a silent shower, And slumb'ring in the arms of holy love. down as a silv'ry flake. He saw, and in his joy of heai-t he sung Drop calmly —! ———— — — ——

294 JAMES MACDONALD.

But Avhere's the sight, on the earth or sky, No new-fledged bird that roams the summer By the garden bower, or woodland wild, dell Where aught so sweet as the heavenward eye, Is half so fond of earth's rich flowery vale And fervent look, of a praying child? So vainly dreams in ceaseless joy to dwell Amid its sunny haunts and smiling flowers, The cherub form seems not of this h;nd, Bathed in the blessed dew of heaven's balmy Xo tenant of earthly mould or clay, showers. But a stranger—come from the seraph band On Zion's hill, in the realms of day, The song of birds—the lulling hum of bees— The bleat of lambs— the evening waterfall A dream of light, —a vision of might, The shepherd's pipe— the dulcet summer A starbeam cased in a mortal urn, breeze A soul of bliss from spheres of delight, The milkmaid's merry lay —commingled, all An incense breath from the lamps that burn In soft harmonious cadence charm the ear, And make earth seem but one vast music- Around the throne of the Unseen Power hall- That ruleth beyond the depths of night, One choir of joy— this life a long career A sainted seer of the heavenly dower. Of sweets whereon the heart should never That waits the good in the land of light; pall: happy time, days of careless glee Come here to tell to the earthly mind Of golden morning dreams—from pain and Of the hopes that spring where fears begin. sorrow free! And rend in twain the fetters that bind Poor man slave to But a the ways of sin. ah ! what snares athwart its pathway lie, AVhat fraud is used to lure it from the way

Then smile not thou at its lowly prayer. 1 ts fond heart seeks beyond yon spangled sky, Though short its cry for mercy appear; And chain it under sin's corrosive sway! An angel band is hovering there, youth, beware, for myriad unseen foes And Jie that bled still deigneth to hear. By night, by day, their ruthless trick'ries try Thy soul to rifle of its dower on high. Pound childhood's day sliines many a ray. And rob thy young heart of its soft repose Of beauteous gleam and of nameless dye; Its bed of peace— its hopes of high renown But the hour the young heart strives to pray Then leave thee to the world's sneer and deso- Brings brightest joy to a parent's eye. lating frown.

YOUTH. But happy he! who, like that maiden fair, AVhom painter's art has reared before our fairest season in the life of man eyes. Sweet noontide of his short and chequered With willing heart receives a mother's care day! To lead him wisdom's way, and gain that Who would not wish to live again that span prize Of radiant hopes and feelings, ever gay, So dearly won— so fraught Avith love and Which round the heart, like sunbeams in the grace stream. For all to seek, Avhich all may win and In many a glad and glittering halo ran! share: Such as of old young poets used to dream who would not this cold Morld's wiles Begirt the brow of her that led the van efface. Of merry maids, who danced on vine-clad And, with a will deep-fixed, for ever dare hills To baffle all the snares that sin has wove.

To the soft tinkling music of old Grecian rills. And lose earth's fleeting joy for deathless bliss above ?

That morn! the voung mind breaks its golden OLD AGE. cell.

And finds its wings expand o'er trackless air; A lonely hamlet, with its house of prayer, Oh what a gush of towering fancies swell To which a matron's guided on her wa}'. In billowy madness, and a power that ne'er By one that shows a daughter's tender care, Would seem to bend beneath misfortune's And, by their side, a child that seems to gale! pray, — — : —

JAMES MACDONALD. 2S5

Is all the scene —hut, wliile we fondly gaze, Jehovah, Lord, AVhat thoughts of Life and Death these objects Be thou adored. raise. Almighty Three-in-One, Thy love hath wonders done. "We leave weak childhood's morn of smiles and Jordan's stream and Tabor hill, tears. Sychar's well and Kedron's rill, And youth's full tide of gaiety and glee, Revealed thy great and gorgeous plan To commune with the hoary man of years, Of love and wondrous grace to man; AVho longs from out this vale of tears to be, There rose thy Sun of righteousness and love; There, robed with all above, And find that rest he here has sought iu vain, the might of Heaven Thine image stood, the fulness of thy grace, Beyond the reach of vanity and pain. Thy Godhead radiant in his living face; Thy messenger—our sacrifice; Pilgrim of life ! what though thy locks be gray, Thine only Son—our only prize, Tiiine eye be dim, thy cheek be wan and pale; Who came to seek and save Tho' gone the strength of youth's exulting day, The sons of misery, And e'en the mind itself begin to fail; And by his dying gave Xe'er let the tear of grief bedim thine eye. Them hope beyond the gravo desert's crossed thy Jordan's rolling Thy — niglil Of gldry in the sky. Immanuel, Though friends have dropped like brown leaves Around thee dwell from the tree, The majesty and might And hopes be dead that once bloomed fresh Of Heaven's glories bright and fair; Seraphs tune their golden lyres. Tiioiigh all alone on earth thou secm'st to be, Angel hosts before thee bend. Xo one so poor as with thy grief to share; Endless love each breast inspu-es; Lift up thine eyes in faith to Him that bled Unto thee they kneel and send The cloud is past — thy solitude has fled. All the glowing soul's desires. Their first, and last, and only Friend. With lowly heart we here would lend A few moi-e steps—thy weary feet at last, Our feeble voice, and join the lay AVitli joy, shall tread that gorgeous sun'^y The hymn of everlasting day. shore. But ah! what can we say or sing Where, nestled safe, the withering simoom blast To Heaven's Lord—to Heaven's King? Of pangs and cares shall beat on thee no Oh what can dust and ashes bring more To Him whose sceptre rules the earth and sky, No more along our earth a wanderer driven, To Him who sits on glory's throne on high, panting breast Thy has found a home in heaven. 'Jlid grandeurs which no mortal hand or eye Can think or see in frailty's dress, Till o'er this weary wilderness, With sorrow's heavy load, Our wand 'ring feet have trode? HYMX. But, glory to thy name, Thou art, O Lord, the same (from the wilderness well.) As when on earth thou gav'st thy willing aid To him who in distress a prayer made Oh God above, Upon destruction's brink, Thou art our love. And looked at thee and said, And hope of life always; Help me, Jesus, or I sink. Thy name is all our praise; Thou great I Am, Thine arm is our salvation sure; Thou mercy's Lamb, Thy loving-kindness shall endure Thou Lamp of light, Through never-ending days. Thou Branch of might. When fades the light and glory of the sun, Thou Fount of cleansing wave, Thy truth a pure and blessed stream shall ran Thou Balm to cure, In climes where first its blessed flow heguu. Thou Rock to hide, Like dew by heaven's light Thou Friend of i^oor, Again it shall ascend, To guard and guide, And with eternal might Thou'rt ever nigh to save. It shall in radiance bright Tliou hear'st the moan and lowly cry And glory never end. Of sorrow's bed, where poor men lie — — ——

296 JAMES MACDONALD.

On pillows wet with bitter tears, Thy voice the sun, and moon, and stars obey. Crushed by an avalanche of fears, All heaven, earth, and hell proclaim thee King. And swathed in clouds of awful gloom, Thy way is light. Portending- nought but horror's doom; Thine arm is might. Thou lift'st the lattice of the sky, To sink or save And pour'st upon the weary eye A worm or world A flood of hope on angel wing From desolation's grave. That makes the vexed mail to sing. Thy truth unfurled The child of grief and woe by thee is seen. On Sinai's hill, As every prop on which he loved to lean Thy holy will By angry tides is loosed and swept away, On Bethlehem's plain, O'erwhelmed by waves, or made the tempest's play. Send joy and peace to every strand, He looks without, on life's tumultuous sea. And fall on bosoms pierced with pain. He looks within, where comfort used to be. As dew-drops on a parched land. Nor there, nor here, one vestige can he find Or silver rain; Of all that once was sacred to his mind. And they who taste delight to dwell. He feeds on sorrow's bread, and fills with tears As we do, round thy Desert Well. The cup that cheered the noon-day of his years. God! man's days are but a dream at best. Till thou in mercy com'st to cheer his breast, And turn his heart from trusting on a reed THE THISTLE. So sure to break, and breaking sure to bleed. Then all is changed, his harp is tuned to sing, Loo'st thou the thistle that blooms on the moun-

Of thee the Lord, his Prophet, Priest, and King. tain , Oppression's groan And decks the fair bosom o' Scotland's green The heavy load. howes? The blist'ring goad. Loo'st thou the floweret o' Liberty's fountain.

The blood-hound's greedy yell. The emblem o' friendship that guards as it The vulture's hoarded cell. grows ? By thee is known. The wee lamb may sleep 'neath its shade wi' its The captive's clanking chain, mither. Pale famine's cry and pain, The maukin may find 'neath its branches a lair, birds o' ilk Dost thou not hear ! And feather may there flock thegither. And sorrow's blist'ring tear. But wae to the wretch wha our thistle wad tear! And hunger's trembUng fear, Loo'st thou the thistle ? the broad leaves it The tyrant's choking fangs. weareth Are gemm'd o'er wi' pearls o' morning's His victim's silent pangs. sweet dew The weary bloodshot eye. Lo! on ilk dew-drop a dear name it beareth The heavy throbbing sigh, The name of a' freeman o' leal heart Man's bale and misery. and tiue. Kenn'st thou the story o' proud fame and glory Dost thou not see ?

That's tauld by ilk spike o' its bristled array ( gracious God of love, who feed'st the leaves Nae wonder our thistle wi' grandeur is hoary, That dangle on each shrub, and bush, and tree, It's auld as creation— it's new as the day. Thine eye, thine ear, no vail of fraud deceives. No lying tissue throws its net o'er thee. Loo'st thou the thistle ?—the rose canna i^eer it, The dwelling place of justice is thy throne Nae shamrock can smile wi' sae gaudy an air. Great God in man ! thy love will yet apjiear. The lily maun hide a' its beauty when near it, Thy day will come—thy wisdom shall be shown, The star- flag is bonnie— the thistle is mair. Dread retribution's judgment hour is near. True to the thistle, I'll ne'er lo'e anither, O Father great, Whatever my station, wherever I be; Uj)on thee wait Its love in my bosom no blighting can wither, All living things on earth: Auld Scotland's ain darling I'll lo'e till I dee. The forest bends to thee, The ocean owns its birth. Hei-e's to ilk pillar that bides by the thistle! Thine, mighty God, to bo. Lang may his roof-tree be kept frae decay The dew smiles by thy power. Lang may the voice o' happiness whistle The grass feeds from thy hand. In glee round his dwallin' by nicht and by day. Thy Godhead owns the flower. Here's to the banners that wave o'er the ocean. The wind knows thy command. The rose of old England, the brave and the free; The stream by thee is taught to know its way. The shamrock that raises green Erin's devotion; The bird inquires at thee what song to sing. The thistle of Scotland—hurrah for the three !^ — — —

JAMES MACDONALD. 297

Can the warld brag o' aught like the pride o' LEEZE ME ON THE GLEX.i thy gouden noon. When the revelry of morn is lulled to a solemn leeze me on the glea that summer maks croon. her Eden ha', And the flocks cease to bleat on the brow o' the benty knowe, And bigs her fairy bower in the deptlis o' the greenwood shaw; Vrhile the linns o' the Endrick shine bright in a silver lowe; The glen where tlie winds pUij' their saftest, sweetest summer tune, As the bride on her bridal day walks forth in Amang the heatlier bells and the green waving her gay attire, Tier heart fu' o' woods o' June. joy and her een glancing maiden fire; 'Tis the glen of my boyhood, the cradle o' my happy days, So the valley calmly basks in the beauty o' its flowery dress. Still fondly my heart longs to roam o'er its broomy braes, While the winds hover o'er, gently fanning its loveliness. And listen to the sang o' the lintie on its whinny bed. And wipe awa' the tear, for love and warm But dearer far to me the mirk o' thy gloamin' friendship tied. hour, When the curlew's eerie cry echoes far frae its Though torn frae thy lap where I first drank fenny bower; the balmy air, And the throstle's e'ening hymn, wi' the sough Thy picture hangs untouched 'mid the canker o' the water fa', o' writhing care: Xow rises and now sinks, now like death calmly Thy gray rugged cliffs and thy lowne lily- glides awa' dappled dells. When the flowers shut their cen and the winds Thy pale primrose banks, thy pure gurgling in the woods are still. mountain wells. And the wee lammies sleep in the howe o' the Thy haughs spread wi' daisies, thy honey- dewy hill; scented meadow-land, Then the weary soul o' man, like the bird to Thy green velvet holmes and thy auld hoary its cozy nest. ^^oods so grand. Floats on fancy's wings 'mang the clouds o' Aft drift through my dreams, all wrapt in the purple west. their azure hue. Like scenes o' the happy is'es sparkling wi' Thus morning, noon, and eve, sweet vab o' hinny dew. my youthfu' days, I still in thought haunts can I e'er forget the glory o' thy dawning roam through my on morn. thy bracken braes; as Endrick waxes deep the When the pearly tears o' night fa' in beads frae And when bounds the aged thorn; near her resting goal, And the milky mists creep back to their bed So deepens aye the flow o' thy love in my weary in the mossy muirs. soul. And heaven's bliss comes down wi' the draps Farewtll, then, my glen, the land o' my brightest o' the crystal showers; dreams, When joy's trumpet sounds through the val- Jly heart, like the stricken dear, pants for thy silver leys o' the ringing woods, streams; At this late hour o' life I fainly And echo singeth back wi' the voice o' the would come water-floods back again, sleep on the o' While frae bank and frae brae a clear gush o' And braes my ain native happy glen. music flies. With the incenseof earth, away to the ruby skies.

' The beautiful mountain stream of the Endiick rises among the hilJs south-west of Stirling, and passing in a rapid course by the villages of Fintry, Balfron, Kil- THE PRIDE 0' THE GLEX. learn, and Drynien, falls into Lochlomond a few miles west from Buchanan House, the seat of the Duke of Oh, bonnie's the lily that blooms in the valley. Montrose. Ed. And fair is the cherry that grows on the tree; — ;

293 JAMES BALLANTINE.

The primro33 smiles sweet as it welcomes the I've dream'd o' a palace wi' gem-spangled ha's, simmer, And proud wa's a' glitterin' in rich diamond And modest's the wee gowan's love-talking e'e; sheen, Mail- dear to my heart is that lowne cozy dingle, Wi' towers shinin' fair, through the rose-tinted air.

Wliar late i' the gloamin', by the lanely "Ha' And domes o' rare pearls and rubies atween. den," I met wi' the fairest e'er bounded in beauty, I've sat in a garden, 'mid earth's gayest flowers, By the banks o' the End) ick, the pride u' tlio A' gaudily shawin' their beauteous dyes, glen. And breathin' in calm the air's fragrant balm. Like angels asleep on the plains o' the skies; She's pure as the spring cloud that smiles in the Yet the garden, and jjalace, and day's rosy dawn- welkin, ing. An' blithe as the lambkin that sports on the Though in bless'd morning dreams they should lea; aft come again, Her heart is a fount rinnin' ower wi' affection, Can ne'er be sae sweet as the boniiie young lassie.

And a warld o' feeling is the love o' her e'e. That bloom'd by the Endrick, the pride o' the The prince may be jiroud o' his vast hoarded glen. treasures.

The heir o' his grandeiu- and hie pedigree; The exile, in sleep, haunts the lands o' his fathers, They kenna the hapi^iness dwalt in my bosom. The captive's ae dream is his hour to be free; When alane wi' the angel o' luve and o' thee. The weary heart langs for the morning rays comin', The oppress'd for his Sabbath o' sweet libei'ty. I've seen the day dawn in a shower-drappin' goud. But my life's only hope, my heart's only prayer. The grass spread wi' dew, like a wide siller sea; Is the day that I'll ca' the young lassie my ain; The clouds shinin' bricht in a deep amber licht, Though a' should forsake me, wi' her I'll be happy, Aod the earth blusliin' back to tlie glad lift on On the banks o' the Endrick, the pride o' the hie. glen.

JAMES BALLANTINE.

James B.vllaxtixe, one of the sweetest of receive a very liberal school education, and at living Scottisli singers, was born in the West the age of ten he was obliged to e.xert himself

Tort of Edinburgh, June 11, 180S. He has for his own support and the assistance of liis chronicled in verse his recollections of the mother and sisters. He was apprenticed to a famous locality of his birth in a highly char- house-painter, and soon acquired a thorough acteristic effusion entitled " The Auld West knowledge of his trade. At a subsequent period Port/' in which he says he for a short time attended the University

of Edinburgh to study anatomy M'itli a view "O the days are sair c'nangecl wi' the auld West Port, Whar aiice a wee looii I gat schuliii' an' sport to professional advancement. He afterwards Now farweai-iiig through, thoiigli few fouterscai'e for't, turned his attention to the art of glass-paint- Yet is dear to my soul the aukl West Port. ing, in which profession he met with the most

" Ilka auld water-wife wi' her stoups at the well, gratifying success. He became the head of Ilka laigh half shop-door wi' its wee tinkling bell, the eminent firm to which was intrusted the Ilka howff where wee callant.s were wont to resort, execution of the stained-glass windows for the Are a' stannin' yet in thi auld West Port." Houses of Parliament, his designs being con- The father of the poet was a brewer by trade, sidered the best by the royal commissioners. and while he lived his family were comfortably From an early age Ballantine has been a maintained, but on his death he left a widow, writer of verses. His first appearance in print three daughters, and James, then only seven to any extent was in the pages of WJdntlehlnkk, years of age, but indifferently provided for. a publication which did much to encourage The young lad did not, as may be supposed, struggling talent. In lSi3 the Gaberlunzie s ; ;

JAMES BALLANTINE. 299

Wallet appeared, containing some admirable He has not been restricted to the narrow field lyrics, and it soon attracted a very large share of his own bosom, nor to the little circle of a of public attention. This was followed soon few congenial friends, for his observation of after by the Miller of Deanhnwjh, a prose human nature and character. He has not, as story with many pieces of good poetry inter- many poets, and preachers, and moralists have spersed. In 1856 an edition of his poems done, looked upon the world of human beings

Avas published in Edinburgh: and in 1865 a afar off, as if from an eminence and through volume appeared from his pen entitled One a telescope ; but he has descended into the Hundred Songs, which met with a warm wel- fields, and traversed the streets and lanes of come. His latest publication —containing a society; he has gone forth freely among his ' love-tale in the Spenserian stanza called Lilias fellowmen ; he has associated with them, rich Lee," and ''Malcolm Canmore," a historical and poor, learned and ignorant, good and bad; drama— was issued in 1872. ThisA'olurae also and consequently his poetry is not the dreamy contains a number of short poems. A few years effusion of brooding and disordered fancy, but ago he issued a work on stained glass, which a faithful transcript of the impressions pro- has been translated and published in Germany. duced upon an honest heart and a discerning Of ilr. Ballantine a critic remarks: — "He, mind by mutual contact with the realities of like many men of similar stamp, has the high life. . . . His exquisite taste for the beautiful merit of being self-educated— that is, he owes in natural scenerj- and in language, his keen his education and position not to any accident eye to observe, and his warm heart to com- of birth or fortune, but to his own talents and miserate the sorrows of mankind, render him exertions. . . . He has not devoted himself a 'sweet singer' after IS'ature's own heart; while to literature or poetry as a profession; nor has his thorough mastery of the fine language of he ever, through imprudent love of the iluses, old Scotland, in all its wealth and pith of neglected his proper avocations. And perhaps expressive terms and familiar idioms, gives his productions may be indebted for much of him the power to wield at will the sympathies their freshness and truthfulness of portraiture and feelings of a large portion of his fellow- to this seemingly unfavourable circumstance. couutrvmen."

HAEVEST-HOME.

Hark ! 'tis the voice of harvest-home Come now, your sickles nimbly ply. That rings atliwart the welkin dome, Trust not that richly mottled sky. And fields and forests, hills and skies, For lazy vapours, gray and cold, Are clothed in bright autumnal d3-es: Are creei^ing o'er the distant wold The generous eartli her treasures yields, Then haste, press on, no time for talk, And golden sheaves bestrew the fields. Come bind and fork, come lead and stack. And sweeping fleet the rigs along, That mellow moon yields ample light, The bands of sturdy reapers throng, Come, have your haiwest-home to-night. Gath'ring in heaps earth's bounteous load, Nor leave ungathercd on the plain Hymning in heart, "All praise to God!" One single sheaf of golden grain.

Hail, happy field I hail, joyous sight! The harvest-moon, the harvest-moon. Where manhood strong, and beauty bright, Praise God for that most grateful boon; Invest with life the laughing plain, From dewy eve till gray-eyed morn Each striving foremost place to gain She scatters gold o'er ripening corn, From gi'oup to group the farmer flies And flickering through the cheijuered leaves, With cheerful tones and eager eyes. She studs witli gems the bristly sheaves. He knows that friendly joke or hint And cheers the weary reapers on Works wonders when it's kindly meant, Until their timely labour's done; And sometimes ere the day be past Then praise Him, morning, eve, and noon, They lead the first who lagged the last. Who gives to Eai'th her harvest-moon. ;

300 JAMES BALLANTINE.

But see the harvest maiden Qneen, ! snelly the hail smote the skeleton trees Borne hghtly laughing- o'er the green, That shivering shrunk in the grasp o' the breeze, With blushing cheek and sparkling eye Nor birdie, nor beast, could the watery e'e scan, She waves her treasured prize on high; A' were cowerin' in corners, save grief-laden man Admiring rustics strive in vain Tho' the heart may be broken, the best maun Approving smile or glance to gain, be spared For her dear Sandy's coming soon To mak up a wreath in the Snawy Kirkyard. Far o'er the moor, 'neath that bright moon, With her through yellow fields to stray, The wee Muirland Ilirk, whar the jrare Word o' And fix their happy bridal-day. God Mak's warm the cauld heart, and mak's light the The fields are swept, the barns are filled, lang road. In long straight rows, huge stacks are piled, The slee hill-side yill-house, whaur lasses meet In graceful forms they rise en high lads, Beneath the farmer's keen gray eye, Whaur herds leave their collies, and lairds tie Who with artistic skill and care their j'auds. Must have them built to taper fair. Kirk-bell and house riggin', the white drift has Old grandame's fowls are clucking heard squared. Rejoicing in the rich barn-yard, But there's ae yawning grave in the Snawy And happy groups of peasants come Kirkyard. To welcome jocund harvest-home.

Thi-ough a' the hale parish, nae Elder was known The board is heaped with ample cheer. That was likit by a' like my grandfather John, And all are linked in friendship dear, And drear was I that day when we bore him awa', And on one level all are raised. Wi' his gowd stores o' thought, and his haffits o' And all are pleased, and all are praised; snaw; Till roused by pipes and fiddles sweet I was then a wee callant, rose-cheek'd and The happy groups start to their feet, gowd-hair'd, And dance, and skip, and cleek, and reel. When I laid his auld pow in the Snawy Kirk- And bob, and bound, and whirl, and wheel, yard. Till floors and windows shake and clatter. And distance whispers, " What's the matter?" And aye when I think on thae times lang gane by, Saft thoughts soothe my soul, and sweet tears Hail, rural mirth and rustic glee! dim my eye. Hail, honest pure simplicity! And I see the auld man, as he clapp'd With lively dance, and joyous song. my wee head. Your jocund merriment i:)rolong; While a sigh heaved his breast, for And while your bosoms grateful glow my faither lang dead. To Him whose bounties round you flow. He nursed me, he schooled me, how can I And while your thoughts are raised to Heaven, — regard Be't yours to give as He has given, But wi' warm-gushing Whose sun and moon illume yon dome, heart-tears, a Snawy Ku-kyard. Who gives yon gen'rous harvest-home.

In soothing sad sorrow, in calming- mad mirth. His breath, like the south wind, strewed balm on the earth, THE SXAWY KIRKYARD. And weary souls laden wi' grief aft were driven To seek comfort frae him, wha aye led them to A' Nature lay dead, save the cauld whistUn' blast Heaven. That chilled the bleak earth to the core as it 0! sweet were the seeds sown, and rich was the passed, braird And heaved in high ridges the thick chokin' drift That sprang frae that stock in the Snawy That cam' in wreathed swirls frae the white Kirkyard. marled lift. And winter's wild war, wearied baith heart and Now age wi' his hoar-frost has crispit my pow. e'e. And my locks, ance sae gowden, are silvery now, As we warsled richt sair ower the drear muirland And tho' I hae neither high station nor power, lea. I hae health for my portion, and truth for my And our feet skyted back on the road freezing dower. hard, And my hand hath been open, my heart hath As we wended our way to the Snawy Kirkyard. been free. ——— —

JAMES BALLANTINE. 301

pows, To dry up the tear-draps frae sorrow's dull e'e, The auld trees shake their leafy And moiiy puir bodies my awmrie hae shared, Young glossy locks dance round tlieir brows, 'Twas my counsel frae him in the Suawy Kirk- And leaf and blade, and weed and flower, yard. A' joyous drink the feeding shower.

The misty clud creeps ower the hill, And mak's each rut a gurglin' rill. FALLING LEAVES. And tips wi' gowd each auld whin cowe. And gaurs the heath wi' purple glow, and dour, Pale symbols of our mortal end, And sterile rocks, gray, bleak, Ye meet me on my way, Grow verdant wi' the feeding shower. \Vhere thrushes coo, and streamlets wend, The ewes and lambs a' bleat and brouse. As if it still were ]\Liy. The kye and couts a' dream and drouse, Your merry dance with wind and light. 'Mang grass wha's deep rich velvet green Your bridal green is gone; Is glist a' owre wi' silver sheen. Ye come like farewells to the sight And birdies churm in ilka bower, Ye fall as from a throne. A welcome to the feeding shower.

of brown, and red, and yellow, Crisp leaves The soil, a' gizen'd sair before, fade away; Ye can but Is filled wi' moisture to the core; your fellow Ye ne'er will rise to meet Ducks daidlin' in the dubs are seen. Upon the fresh green spray. The cawin' corbies crowd the green. Their beaks are sharp when rain-cluds lower— But friends in Clirist though fallen now, They batten in the feeding shower. And in the churchyard sleeping, Life's spring bough, Will blossom yet on Furth frae their stalks the ears o' grain tlieir weeping. And glory end Peep sleely, lapping up the rain. Ilk gowan opes its crimson mou'. Adown the stream I see you going. And nods, and winks, till droukit fou, Here spattered with the foam. And butter-cups are whomled ower. And there, on waters scarcely flowing, Brim-laden wi' the feeding shower. Ye rest as if at home. The drowsy sun, as dozed wi' sleep, A dream comes over me in calm Doun through the lift begins to peep. Of trees that never fade. And, slantin' wide in glist'nin' streams. Of leaves that shed a healing balm. The light on bright new verdure gleams, Of skies that never shade. And Nature, grateful, owns His power shower. Our days are dropping like the leaves AVha sends the genial feeding Our tree will soon be bare! For shorter are our summer eves, And colder is the air.

But yet the orchard fruit grows mellow; LAY UP TREASURES IN HEAVEN. As down the leaves are winging WHiy treasures hoard that rust and rot, Crisp leaves of brown, and red, and yellow, Or gold that thieves may steal ? I hear the reapers singing! Why are those priceless gems forgot That bear God's holy seal ? "What, then, of all our leaves bereft, Strive ye to gain the Christian's share. "When reaping angels come. And store in heaven your prize; If autumn's golden fruit be left For if your dearest treasure's there. Their joyous harvest-home! There will your wishes rise.

On food and raiment wherefore spend Your Ufe in carewoi-n thought, THE FEEDING SHOWEP. Wliile food for an immortal mind Kemains by you unsought ? The feeding shower comes brattlin' doun. Your Father feeds the fowls of air, The south wind sughs wi' kindly soun'. Who neither reap nor sow; ! ; ——; —

302 JAMES BALLANTINE.

The lilies spin not, yet how fair Tho' toited by some, and tho' lightlied by mair, The gentle lilies grow She never compleened, tho' her young heart was sair; And if God feed the sparrow small, And warm virgin tears that might melted And clothe the fading flower, eauid airn Will He not clothe and feed you all, Whiles glist in the blue e'e o' Naebody's Bairn. Poor children of an hour? For jjresent wants then take no thought. But fix your hearts above; Though nane cheered Iier childhood, an' nane And He, whose blood your souls hath bought, hailed her birth, Shall give you h'ght and love. Heavensent her an angel to gladden theeartli; And when the earth doomed lier in laigli nook to dern. Heaven couidna but tak again "Naebody's Bairn." WIFIE, COME HAME. She cam'smiling sweetly as young mornin' daw. Wifie, come hame, Like loun simmer gloamin' she faded awa, couthie wee My dame! And lo! how serenely tiiat lone e'enin' starn O but ye're far awa, Shines on the green sward that haps Naebody's Wifie, come hame! Bairn! Come wi' the young bloom o' morn on thy broo, Come wi' the lown star o' love in thine e'e, Come wi' the red cherries ripe on thy mou', A' glist wi' balm, like the dew on the lea. Come wi' the gowd tassels fringin' thy hair, A STIEYE HEART AND A STURDY Come wi' thy rose-cheeks a' dimpled wi' glee, Come wi' thy wee step, and wifie-like air, STEP. quickly come, and shed blessings on me! Ne'er troAV the day will lour throughout, Wifie, come hame. altiiough the dawn be dark; My couthie wee dame! Ne'er dream ye're doomed to drag througli my heart wearies sa,ir, life, though hard your early wark; Wifie, come hame! The morning gray and misty aften brings a Come wi' our love pledge, our dear little dawtie, golden day Clasping my neck round, an' clamb'rin' my Astieve heart and a sturdy step will climb the knee; steepest brae. Come let me nestle and press the wee pettie. Gazing on ilka sweet feature o' thee: A wee bit jutting boulder whiles will help ye but the house is a cauld hame without ye, ower the wa'.

Lanely and eerie's the life that I dree; So ne'er despise the willing gift, although it come awa', an' I'll dance round about ye, may be sma' Ye'll ne'er again win frae till I dee. my arms The birdie, e'er he flees, is proud to hap alang the spray A stieve heart and a sturdy step will climb tlie steepest brae.

NAEBODY'S BAIRN. The road to happiness is aft wi' sorrows thickly strewn She Avas Naebody's Bairn, she was Naebody's The waur to win the mair we prize ilk comfort Bairn, that we own; She had mickle to thole, she had mickle to And peace and freedom aft are gained by learn, bluidy battle fray Afore a kind word or kind look she could earn. A stieve heart and a sturdy step will climb the For naebody cared about Naebody's Bairn. steepest brae.

Tho' faither or mither ne'er owned her ava, Then if the prize ye seek be high, and if your Tho' reared by tlic fremmit for fee unco sma', aim be pure. She grew in the shade like a young lady-fern; Press onward ever hopeful, still be patient to For Nature was bounteous to Naebody's Bairn. endure; —

EVAN MACCOLL. 303

For lie wlia seeks to enter heaven miLst wat'.-h, Grief lies deep hidden in j'our heart, or tears and work, and pray tlow frae your een.

A stieve heart and a sturdy step \\'A\ climb the Believe it for the best, and trow there's good in steepest brae. store for J'on, For ilka blade o' grass keps its ain drap o' dew.

In lang lang days o' simmer, when the clear and cludless sky ILKA BLADE 0' GRASS KEPS ITS A IX Refuses ae wee drap o' rain to Nature parch'd DIJAP 0" DEW. and dry, The genial night \vi' balmy breath gaurs verdure

Confide ye aye in rrovidenee, for Providence is spring anew. kind, An' ilka blade o' grass keps its ain drap o' dew. An' bear ye a' life's changes wi a calm an' tran- quil mind, Sae lest 'mid fortune's sunshine we should feci Though press'd an' hemm'd on every side, hae ower i^roud an' hie. faith an' ye'll win through, An' in our pride forget to wipe the tear frae

For ilka blade o' grass keps its ain drap o' dew. poortith's e'e. Some wee dark cluds o' sorrow come, we ken na, Gm reft frae friends, or cross'd in love, as whiles, whence or hoo, nae doubt, ye've been, But ilka blade o' grass keps its ain dra^) o' dcv,-.

EYAN MACCOLL.

EvAX MacColl, better known to his Gaelic Poems and Songs in Gaelic." IMacColl's next countrymen as "Clarsair nam Beann," or publication was " 71ie Mountain Minstrel; or "The Mountain Harper," was born at Ken- Poems and Songs in English," a Avork which more, Lochfyneside, Argyleshire, September has passed through four editions. Philip 21, 180S. Here, a farmer on a small scale James Bailey, tiie author of Festus, speaking and a fisherman at the same time, his father of this volume, said— "There is a freshness, Dugald ]\IacColl reared a family of six sons a keenness, a heartiness in many of these pro- and two daughters; and though in compara- ductions of the 'Mountain Minstrel' which tively humble circumstances he contrived to seem to breathe naturally of the hungry air, afford his second son Evan a good education. the dark, bleak, rugged bluffs among which Like many others of the minstrel race, Evan they were composed, alternating occasionally seems to have inherited the poetic faculty, and with a clear, bewitching, and spiritual quiet, that peculiar temperament incident to it, from as of the gloaming deepening over the glens his mother, who was a Cameron. He com- and woods. Several of the melodies towards posed his first song in praise of a neighbouring the close of this volume are full of simple and Chloe, and by his literary effort gained great tender feeling, and not unworthy to take their eclat among his friends. His father's circum- place by the side of those of Lowland minstrels stances rendered it necessary for the young of universal fame." poet to engage in the business of farming and In 1831 MacCoU's father and the rest of the fishing, and he was thus employed for several family emigrated to Canada, but the young years—years during which many of his best bard could not be persuaded to leave the land Gaelic lyrics were composed. In the spring of his birth, where he remained, and in 1839 of 1837 he became a contributor to the Gaelic was appointed to a clerkship in the customs at Magazine, then published in Glasgow, and Liverpool, Avhen he removed to that city. In before the close of the year he issued a volume 1850, in consequence of impaired iiealth, he under the title of "Clarnach nam Beann; or obtained leave of absence for the purpose of — :: — ;: ! — !

304 EVAN MACCOLL. visiting his kinsmen in Canada. Soon after and the grandeur of tlie lovely scenes in which crossing tlie Atlantic he obtained a situation his infancy has been nursed. We have no in the custom-house at Kingston, Canada, hesitation in saying that this work is that of uhere he still continues to reside. In 186i a man possessed of much poetic genius. Wild his townsmen presented the "Bard of Loeh- indeed, and sometimes rough, are his rhymes fyne" -with his portrait as a mark of their and epithets; yet there are thoughts so new esteem and admiration. and so striking— images and comparisons so The late Dr. Norman Macleod, himself a beautiful and original — feelings so warm and poet, said — "Evan MacColTs poetry is the fresh, that stamp this Highland peasant as product of a mind impressed with the beauty no ordinary man."

GLORY TO THE BGAYE.i A VISIT TO STAFFA.

Mark ye how the Czar threatens Europe's peace, Over Mull's mountains gray dawned the warm- Marshalling his millions for the fray! blushing day. Britons! up and on at the despot base, As to Ulva a good-bye throw we; Dashing in between him and his prey. Before a fair wind from the shore right behind Up! 'tis honour's cause; Our swift bark spreads her canvas snowy. Up! and ere you pause On, on speed we now where, far off, on our bow Let the empire sought be his grave. Loomed that isle of which fame s23oke so loudly; Now's the fated time! On, where wash the wild waves Staffa's columns Crush his course of crime! and caves. Glory, glory, glory to the brave! Fast and faster, our way we go proudh-.

On the Euxine wave—on the Baltic tide On the Paps we scarce thought—of Eigg's cliff Soon shall our proud banners be imfurled took slight note; Britain and the Gaul, heart and hand allied, Nor, although its blessed shore was so nigh us. Well may dare to battle half a world. Could Columba's own isle for a moment beguile On then stern as fate! Our charmed gaze from that now which lay by us. Strike, ere all too late! Like a fragment chance-hurled from some fairer- Europe you from Cossack iide would save framed world, Onward in your might 'Mid the waves round it joyously dancing. God defend the right! Stood that isle which aU there well indeed might Glory, glory, glory to the brave! declare, All unmatched save in Sinbad's romancing. Waken, Poland! wake from thy dream of death; Think of all thy suff'rings unavenged: And now thy weird beach, wondrous Staffa, we Hungary, arise ! proving, in thy wrath. reach Thy old hate of tyranny unchanged: Now we kneel with devotion beseeming; By thy sword of flame, Now that grotto we mark, where, 'tween daylight Schamyl ! son of fame. and dark, Swear that now or never thou shalt have Combs the mermaid her tresses gold-gleaming; Thy Cireassia free, And now wend we our way where above us in play Her best hope is thee Wakes the seamew a clamorous chorus. Glory, glory, glory to the brave! Till a joyful " hurroo I" sudden stops us, and lo! Fingal's Cave in its gloiy before us Glory to the brave! Soon may they return Cro%vn'd with wreaths of never-dying fame What vain fool would compare with that fabric Soon their haughty foe shall his i-ashness mourn, so rare Cover'd with discomfiture and shame. Palace, church, or cathedral splendour? Potent though he be, Charms that far more amaze the rapt pilgrim's Europe shall him see fond gaze Mercy on his knee lowly crave. It has there in its own gloomy grandeur. Such be quick the fall No—there's nothing can be, of man's work, Of earth's despots all matched with thee, Glory, glory, glory to the brave! Thou famed fane of the ocean solemn! He who sees not God's hand in thy record so grand 1 Wiitten on declaration of war against Russia in 1S54. Never will in the holiest volume. — — — —

EVAN MACCOLL. 305

the joy of that hour! the heart-stirring p3w'r The long fret is o'er—yet for evermore Of the music so wiklly romantic, Shall the glamour by thee cast o'er me Which the hght summer gale in yon pile blended Flourish fresh and fair in my memory, where well Thou shalt seem as if still before me.

"With the sough of the moaning Atlantic ! Still, in fancy's charmed ear, that wild anthem I hear Still, the echoes that answered our voices. MY EOWAN-TREE.i As we hymned our delight at His goodness and might Fair shelter of my native cot Who could fashion such things to rejoice us. That cot so very dear to me, how I envy thee thy lot. Witching isle of the west, never made for thy long-lost rowan-tree! breast My Was the slow-gliding plough nor the harrow; Thou standest on thy native soil, But the Ughtnings that fly, and the storms pass- Proud-looking o'er a primrosed lea; ing by. The skies of Scotland o'er thee smile, On thy brow have left many a furrow. Thrice-happy rowan-tree! What to thee is the spring of which bards love to sing? Well do I. mind that morning fair What reck'st thou how the harvester speedeth, AVlien, a mere boy, I planted thee: When the life-teeming sea giveth amply and free A kingdom now were less my care All thy feathered inhabitant needeth .' Than then my rowan-tree.

is rose Thine not the red that like beauty's cheek How proudly did I fence thee round! glows, How fondly think the time might be Nor the cuckoo with spring returning; I'd sit with love and honour crown'd Thine is not the glad thrush in the green hazel Beneath my rowan-tree. bush Hailing sweetly the Maytido morning; My children's children thee would climb, But thine is the shell where the pearl loves to Inviting grand-papa to see; dwell, 1 yet might weave some deathless rhyme The wild swan and the fulmar wary, Beneath my rowan-tree. And the spar-spangled cave which the murmur- ing wave 'Twas thus I dream'd, that happy day, Lightens up with an emerald glory. I'd die to tiiink my fate woukl be So soon to plod life's weary way, Staffa, well love I thee, yet right loath would I be Far from my rowan-tree. In the winter to voyage by thee. When the west winds rave, and a ready grave 1 Written on receiving in Canada a Imncli of rowan- bark that would dare to nigh thee. Finds the Tjenies taken from a tree jilauted by JlacCoU when a And from Skerrievore comes the ceaseless roar boy. To the proper understanding of certain allusions Of the mountain waves over it bounding. in the concluding verses of the poem, it may be neces- While thy echoes reply to the sea-bird's shrill cry sary to inform the uninitiated in Celtic superstitions Heard afar 'mid that music confounding. that the rowan-tree was once held in great veneration in many parts of the Highlands of Scotland— and this

Then the time is to hear with a credulous ear. on account of its supjiosed possession of virtues that are What old islesmen believe in devoutly now, I suspect, very rarely called into action. Amulets That though haughty enow in the calm lookest made from its wood were woni about the person as a against the malice of goblins, witches, thou. protection and warlocks. And woe be to that woman who at Beltane On thy pillar-propped throne seated stoutly; time would forget to place a sjirig of rowan over the Yet withal, when the storm in its fearfullest form entrance to her byre! The butter which ought to fiil O'er the maddened Atlantic sweeps past thee. her crocks during the following summer would be sure Thou dost quiver and quake like a leaf in the to find its way into the churn of some more canny and brake. unscrupulous neighbour! The worst of all bad luck, As if fearing each hour would thy last be! however, was certain to befall that household at whose hearth there was not a careful avoidance of using any When but yet a boy, the most cherished joy portion of the rowan tree as fire wood! A death in that Of my heart was the hope to view thee; family within the next twelvemonths would be the Ne'er did Moslem pine for far Mecca's shrine inevitable consequence! No wonder the rowan-tree More than I for a journey to thee. grew and flouri^hed under such a ] rotective system. Vol. II. -U ! — ———

306 EVAN MACCOLL.

Long years have passed since last I eyed The Maam has donned its brightest green, Tliy growing grace and symmetry; The hawthorn whitens round Kilblane, A stranger to nie sits beside And blends the broom its gold with Shira's My long-lost rowan-tree! azure sheen.

Yet still in fancy I can mark Hark from the woods that thrilling gush Thy lily bloom and fragrancy, Of song from linnet, merle, and thrush! And birds that sing from dawn to dark, To hear herself so praised the morning well Pcrch'd on my rowan-tree. may blush.

Like rubies red on beauty's breast, The lark, yon crimson clouds among. Thy clustering berries yet I see Rains down a very flood of song; Half-hiding some spring warbler's nest, An age, that song to list, would not seem lost Left in my rowan-tree. or long. Fair as the maple green may tower, I'd gladly give a century Yon cushat by Cuilvocan's stream spirit ]5eside it for one happy hour The of some bard you'd deem Beneath my rowan-tree. One who had lived and died in love's delicious dream.

forest The many trees can boast, Thrice welcome minstrel! now at hand, JMore fit perhaps for keel or knee; The cuckoo joins the tuneful band: But none for grace, in heat or frost. A choir like this might grace the bowers of Can match the rowan-tree. fairy-land

How beautiful above them all Now is the hour by Duloch's tide Its snow-white summer drapery! To scent the birch that decks its side. A cloud of crimson in the fall. And watch the snow-white swans o'er its calm Seems Scotland's rowan-tree. bosom glide. Well knows the boy at Beltane time. is the When near it in a vocal key, Now hour a poet might What whistles perfectly sublime Be blameless if, in this delight, Supplies the rowan-tree. He Druid-like adored the sun that crowns yon height: Well knows he too what ills that wretch ]\Iight look for, who would carelessly ^lay! thou'rt an enchantress rare Home in his load of firewood fetch Thy presence maketh all things fair; Aught of the rowan-tree. Thou wavest but thy wand, and joy is every- where. In vain would midnight hags colleague To witch poor crummie's milk, if she Thou comest, and the clouds are not Had only o'er her crib a twig- Rude Boreas has his wrath forgot, Cut from the rowan-tree. The gossamer again is in the air afloat.

Alas! that in my dreams alone I ever now can hope to see The foaming torrent from the hill My boyhood's home and thou my own, Thou changest to a gentle rill Jly matchless rowan-tree! A thread of liquid pearl, that faintly murmurs still.

Thine is the blossom-laden tree, A MAY MORNING IX GLENSHIRA.i The meads that white with lambkins be. Thou paintest those bright skies that in each Lo, dawning o'er yon mountain gray lake we see.

The rosy birth-day of the May ! Glenshira knoweth well 'tis Beltane's blissful Cheer'd by the smile, the herd-boy gay day. Oft sings the rock-repeated lay. And wonders who can be the mocker in liis

1 Glenshira is in Argyleshire. way. — —

EVAN MACCOLL. 307

tliy gentle tread. Thou givest fragrance to the breeze, 1,0 ! beneath A gleaming glory to the seas; Fair as bride to altar led, Xor less thy grace is seen in yonder emerald 15ends the lady-birch her head: leas. Come, come, snow!

Around me in this dewy den See how like a crystal column. AVild flowers imparadise the scene; By yon lake so calmly solemn, Some look up to the sun — his worshippers, I Towers magnificent the elm! ween: Come, come, snow!

Some here and there, with bashful grace, Fields that late look'd bare and brown. Invite the roving bee's embrace; Fairer now than solan-down, Some, as with filial love, do earthward turn Well maintain thy bright renown: their face. Come, come, snow!

Above— around me—all things seem Evening stealeth on apace So witching that I almost deem Soon in all her virgin grace Myself asleep, and these, creations of a dream! Earth shall sleep in thy embrace! Come, come, snow! But cease, my muse ambitious! frail Thy skill in fitting strains to hail But enough^I fain would see The morn that makes a heaven of Shira's lovely How the stars shall smilingly vale. Gaze upon the earth and thee: Cease—cease now.

TO THE FALLING SNOW.

Bright-robed pilgrim from the North! THE CHILD OF PROMISE. Visitant of heavenly birth, on thy journey forth Welcome She died— as die the roses snow! Come, come, On the ruddy clouds of dawn. When the envious sun discloses footsteps free, Light as fairy His flame, and morning's gone. Fall, oil fiill! I love to see Earth thus beautified by thee. She died—like waves of sun-glow Come, come, snow! Fast by the shadows chased; She died — like heaven's rainbow Silent as the flow of thought. By gushing showers effaced. Gentle as a sigh love-fraught, AVelcome as a boon long sought, She died—like flakes appearing Come, come, snow! On the shore beside the sea; They grew as bright; but, nearing, Let him boast of landscapes green, The ground-swell broke on thee. Who no Highland vale hath seen, Decked in thy resplendent sheen! She died—as dies the glory Come, come, snow! Of music's sweetest swell; She died— as dies the story Streamlets that to yonder tide When the best is still to tell. Gleam like silver as they glide, Look like darkness thee beside: She died—as dies moon-beaming Come, come, snow! When scowls the rayless wave: She died—like sweetest dreaming At thy touch, behold, to-day That hastens to its grave. The dark holly looks as gay As the hawthorn does in May: She died— and died she early: Come, come, snow! Heaven wearied for its own. As the dipping sun, my Mary, morning ray went down! 1 Written iu Glen Urquhart, Scotland. Thy — —: ——— —

308 HORATIUS BONAR.

Where the insect-chasing swallow EVENING ADDRESS TO LOCH- Hither-thither skims thy breast. And yon wild duck—timid fellow LOMOND. Flaps his wings in awkward haste.

Lake of beauty! lake of splendour, See with what an air of scorning Ail-surpassingl Jjomoud rare; Sails yon swan in beauty's pride. Fondly to thee would 1 render Bright as sunbeam of the morning. Praise befitting- scene so fair. Fairer far than Eastern bride!

Matchless mirror of the Highlands, Little recks the yeoman yonder Cold's the heart that feels no glow, AVhat to me such rapture yields; Viewing thee with all thy islands More to him than all thy splendour Pleaveu above and heaven below! Are his own gold-tinted fields.

All from margin unto margin 'Tis for him yon maids the cor'ran Sleep'st thou in thy glowing grace, Ply among the yellow corn, Calmly fair, as might a virgin Cheered on by the chorused dran Dreaming of some chaste embraco. Of such happy labours born.

Lo, where, — watching thee serenely, Hark, now: 'tis some youthful shepherd Takes yon Ben his kingly stand! Whistling all his cares away Hills that else were great look meanly Near yon fold where, lately, upward In Benlomond's presence grand. To the milking went his may.

How yon group, in grand confusion, Nature now is hush'd to silence,

Now seem piercing heaven's concave, Ceased the sportsman's jjastime fell: Now seem in as grand confusion, 111 becomes his licensed violence Overturned in Lomond's wave! Heath-clad Fruin's fairy dell.

See yon eagle skyward soaring Now thy face, loved lake, is beamless, Air's proud empress lightning-eyed: Dies the daylight in the west: Lo, she sweeps! The prey alluring Never mind, my beauty blameless. Was her image in the tide. Stars will soon bedeck thy breast!

Here, the wary heron seemeth Vanished is the ray that crimson'd Watching me with careful look; Yonder sky-sustaining pile. There a salmon sudden glcameth. And like captive newly ransom'd, In his spring to catch—the hook. See how Vesper now doth smile.

Hapless trout! exultant angler, 'Tis the witching hour of gloaming, Vaunt not too much of thy skill Just the very time to hear Thou hast met a sturdy wrangler, Fairy footsteps lakeward roaming, One that yet may thwart thy will. Fairy minstrels piping near.

Coasting Innis-chailleach holy, From his lair the fox is stealing, ]\Iark yon otter wide awake! Quits the owl her hermit cell: Doubtless there the knave sups duly Vision fair past all revealing, On the best of all the lake. Dear Lochlomond, now farewell!

HOEATIUS BONAE.

IIoRATius BoNAR, D.D., favourably known for several generations were ministers of the as a sacred poet and prose-writer, was born at Church of Scotland. He was educated at the Edinburgh, December 19, 1803. His ancestors high -school and at the universitv of his // ;_

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HOEATIUS BONAE. 309 native city. For several ycay's lie acted as a dark eye, the power of wliicli one feels across missionary at Leitli, after wiiicli lie was or- tlie cliurch. There are no bold, rugged lines dained to the ministry at Kelso in November, in his face; but benevolence, peace, and sweet-

1837. He remained here for upwards of tliirty ness pervade it. The first thought was, ' He years, when he returned to his native city, and is just like his hymns— not great, but tender, became minister of tlie Ciialmers Memorial sweet, and tranquil.' And everything he did Free Church. Dr. Bonar was for some time and said carried out this impression. His editor of the Presbyterkm Review, afterwards prayer was as simple as a child's. His voice of the Quarterly Journal of Propliecy, and is was low, quiet, and impressive. His address, the author of above twenty volumes of a reli- for it could scarcely be called a sermon, was gious character, including " Tlie Land of Pro- founded on the words, 'The Spirit and the mise," "The Desert of Sinai," "Prophetical Bride say. Come,' 'the last invitation in the Landmarks," " Earth's Morning, or Thoughts Bible.' It was marked by the absence of all on Genesis," "God's Way of Peace," and "God's attempt at originality, which is to an American \Vay of Holiness;" tiie last two having attained so striking a feature of most foreign preaching. an extraordinary circulation. To tliese must It was simply an invitation — warm, loving, be added his deservedly popular poetical works, urgent. His power over the audience was consisting of "Lyra Consolationis," and several complete. Even the children looked steadily series of his beautiful "Hymns of Faith and in his face; once he paused in his discourse Hope,"which have been republislied and very and addressed himself especially to the Sunday- extensively circulated in the Lhiited States. school children, who sat by themselves on one

Some of tlie pieces in his latest volume belong side of the pulpit. I was sure the little ones to the highest order of religious poetry. never heard the Good Shepherd's call more A recent visitor to Dr. Bonar's cliurch in tenderly given. "With one of the most winning Edinburgh furnishes us witii the following faces I ever .saw he closed; ' AVhosoever'— that portraiture of the gifted poet-preacher: — " The includes you; 'AVhosoever lollV— does that striking feature of his face is tlie large, soft. include you?'"

A LITTLE WHILE.

Beyond the smiling and the weeping I shall be soon. I shall be soon; Love, rest, and home! Beyond the waking and the sleeping, Sweet hope! Beyond the sowing and the reaping, Lord, tarry not, but come. I shall be soon. Love, rest, and home! Beyond the gathering and the strewing Sweet hope! I shall be soon; Lord, tarry not, but come. Beyond the ebbing and the flowing. Beyond the coming and the going, Beyond the blooming and the fading I shall be soon. I shall be soon; Love, rest, and home! Beyond the shining and the shading. Sweet hope! Beyond the hoping and the dreading, Lord, tarry not, but come. I shall be soon. Love, rest, and home! Beyond the parting and the meeting Sweet hope! I shall be soon; Lord, tarry not, but come. Beyond the farewell and the greeting, Beyond this pulse's fever-beating, Beyond the rising and the setting I shall be soon. I shall be soon Love, rest, and home! Beyond the calming and the fretting. Sweet hope! Beyond remembering and forgetting. Lord, tarry not, but come. —— ——— —! —————• ——

310 HOEATIUS BONAE.

Beyond the frost-chain and the fever Life's battle's won, I shall be soon; That sliall be thine. Beyond the rock-waste and the river. All well with thee! Beyond the ever and tiie never, 0, would that it were mine! I shall be soon. heart that flutters not, Love, rest, and home! A Sweet hope! No timid throb, quick-breathed sob, Lord, tarry not, but come. No That shall be thine. All well with thee! 0, would that it were mine!

NEWLY FALLEN ASLEEP. A will that swervetli not At frown or smile. Past all pain for ever. At threat or wile, Done with sickness now; That shall be thine. Let me close thine eyes, mother. All well with thee! Let me smooth thy brow. 0, would that it were mine! Eest and health and gladness, These thy portions now; A soul still upward bent Let me press thy hand, mother, On higher flight. Let me kiss thy brow. With wing of light, — That shall be thine. Eyes that shall never weep. All Avell with thee! Life's tears all shed, 0, Avould that it were mine! Its farewells said, These shall be thine! Hours without fret or care, All well with thee; The race well run, prize well Avon,- 0, would that they were mine The These shall be thine. A brow without a shade, All well with thee! Each wrinkle smoothed. 0, would that they were mine! Each throbbing soothed, That shall be thine. Days without toil or grief, All well with thee! Time's burdens borne, AVith strength well worn, 0, would tiiat it were mine! These shall be thine. A tongue that stammers not All well with thee! In tuneful praise. 0, would that they were mine! Through endless days, That shall be thine. Picst Avithout broken dreams. All well with thee! Or wakeful fears. 0, would that it were mine! Or hidden tears, That shall be thine. A voice that trembles not; All well with thee! AH quivering past. 0, Avould that it were mine! Death's sigh the last, That shall be thine.« Life that shall fear no death, All well with thee! God's life above. light and love, 0, would that it were mine! Of That shall be thine. Limbs that shall never tire. All well with thee! Nor ask to rest, 0, would that it Avere mine! In service blest, light the These shall he thine. Morn that shall tomb. All well with thee! And call from dust 0, would that they were mine! The slumbering just,— That shall be thine. A frame that cannot ache, All well with thee! Earth'.s labours done. 0, Avould that it Avere mine! !

HORATIUS BONAR. 311

The voice of the weepers wails over the sleepers— martyrs of Scotland that now are away. HEAA'EX. The

of her waters is crimson'd with ours, The hue That clime is not like this dull chmo of slaughters, All, all is brightness there; And the blood of the martyrs has redden'd the A sweeter influence breathes around its flowers, clay; And a far milder air. And dark desolation broods over the nation, No calm below is like that calm above. For the faithful are perished, the good arc No region here is like that realm of love; away. Earth's softest spring ne'er shed so soft a light, summer never shone so bright. Earth's brightest On the mountains of heather they slumber together; That sky is not like this sad sky of ours, On the wastes of the moorland their bodies Tinged with earth's change and care; decay: rain-cloud lowers— No shadow dims it, and no safe is their How sound is their sleeping, how broken sunsliine there! No keeping. everlasting stretch of azure pours One Though far from their kindred they moulder o'er those sinless shores; Its stainless splendour away For there Jehovah shines with heavenly ray. There Jesus reigns, dispensing endless day. Their blessing shall hover, their children to cover, Like the cloud of the desert, by night and by not like those of earth These dwellers there are day; they bear; , . . No mortal stain Oh, never to perish, their names let us chensh, kindred blood and birth— And yet they seem of The martyrs of Scotland that now are away! Whence and how came they there? Earth was their native soil; from sin and shame. Through tribulation they to glory came; Bond slaves delivered from sin's crushing load. Brands plucked from buming by the hand of God. LUCY.

below: AUGUST 20, ISoS. TBhese robes of theirs are not like those angel's half so bright! No All niglit we watched the ebbing life, Whence came that beauty, whence that hving As if its flight to stay; Till, as the dawn was coming up, Whence came that radiant white ? Our last hope passed away. Washed in the blood of the atoning Lamb, the light these robes of theirs became, Fair as She was the music of our home, And now, alltears wpcd off from every eye, A day that knew no night. where the freshest pastures lie. They wander garden-bower, unfading The fragrance of our Through all the nightless day of that A thing all smiles and light. sky. Above the couch we bent and prayed,

In the half-lighted room ; As the bright hues of infant life THE MAETYRS OF SCOTLAND. Sank slowly into gloom.

Each flutter of the pulse we marked, There was gladness in Zion, her standard was Each quiver of the eye; flyings To the dear lips our ear we laid, Free o'er her battlements glorious and gay; To catch the last low sigh. All fair as the morning shone forth her adorning. And fearful to foes was her godly array. We stroked the little sinking cheeks, The forehead pale and fair; is lying There is mourning in Zion, her standard We kissed the small, round, ruby mouth, Defiled in the dust, to the spoiler a prey; still was there. prevailing, For Lucy And now there is wailing, and sorrow For the best of her children are weeded away. We fondly smoothed the scatter'd curls Of her rich golden hair; The good have beentaken,theirplace isforsaken— We held the gentle palm in ours, The man and the maiden, the green and the For Lucv still was there. gray; !

312 HORATIUS BONAR.

At last the fluttering pulse stood still; In the day of earth's new glory, The death-frost, tiiroiigh her chiy Still I seem to roam by thee. Stole slowh', and, as morn came up, As if all had not departed. Our sweet flower pass'd away. But the glory lingered still; As if that which made thee lovely The form remained; but there was now Had remained unchangeable. No soul our love to share; Only that which marred thy beauty, No warm responding lip to kiss; Only that had passed away; For Lucy was not there. Sullen wilds of ocean-moorland, Bloated features of decay. Farewell, with weeping hearts, we said. Only that dark waste of waters Child of our love and care! Line ne'er fathomed, eye ne'er scanned; And then we ceased to kiss those lips, Only that shall shrink and vanish. For Lucy was not there. Yielding back the imprisoned land. A'ielding back earth's fertile hollows. But years are moving quickly past, Long submerged and hidden plains; time Avill soon be o'er; And Giving up a thousand valleys Deatii shall be swallow'd up of life Of the ancient world's domains. On the immortal shore. Leaving still bright azure I'anges, AVinding round this rocky tower; Then shall we clasp that hand once more, Leaving still yon gem-bright island, And smooth that golden hair; Sparkling like an ocean flower. Then shall we kiss those lips again, Leaving still some placid sketches. 'When Lucy shall be there. Where the sunbeams bathe at noon; Leaving still some lake-like reaches, Mirrors for the silver moon. Only all of gloom and horror. NO MORE SEA. Idle wastes of endless brine, Haunts of darkness, storm, and danger; Summer ocean, idly washing These siiall be no longer thine.

This gray rock on which I lean; Backward ebbing, wave and ripple, Summer ocean, broadly flashing W^ondrous scenes shall then disclose; With thy hues of gold and green; And, like earth's, the wastes of ocean Gently swelling, wildly dashing Then shall blossom as the rose. O'er yon island-studded scene; Summer ocean, how I'll miss thee, ]\Iiss the thunder of thy roar, iliss the music of thy ripple, ALL WELL. Miss thy sorrow-soothing shore.

Summer ocean, how I'll miss thee. No seas again shall sever, When " the sea shall be no more." No desert intervene; Summer ocean, how I'll miss thee, No deep, sad-flowing river As along thy strand I range; Shall roll its tide between. Or, as here I sit and watch thee In thy moods of endless change. No bleak cliffs, upward towering. Mirthful moods of morning gladness, Shall bound our eager sight; Musing moods of sunset sadness; No tempest, darkly lowering, AViien the dying winds caress thee. Shall wrap us in its night. And the sinking sunbeams kiss thee, And the crimson cloudlets press thee, Love, and unsevered union And all nature seems to bless thee Of soul with those we love, Summer ocean, how I'll miss thee. Nearness and glad communion. Miss the wonders of thy shore, Shall be our joy above. Miss the magic of thy grandeur, When "the sea shall be no morel" No dread of wasting sickness. No thought of ache or pain. And yet sometimes in my musings. No fretting hours of weakness, When I tiiink of what shall be. Shall mar our peace again. —— : :

ALEXANDEE HUME. 313

dear families arc gathered Ko death oui- homes o'ershading, Where scattered on tlie wild: Shall e'er our harps unstring; That were shall meet and rest For all is life unfading Brother, we In presence of our King. 'Mid the holy and the blest:

Where the hidden wound is healed, AVhcre the blighted life re-blooms; THE MEETING-PLACE. Where the smitten heart the freshness Of its buoyant youth resumes; here we lavish Where the faded flower shall freshen Where the love that leaves of time. Freshen never more to fade; On the withering flowers to fix on Where the shaded sky shall brighten Shall have fadeless In an ever spring-bright clime: Brighten never more to shade ; joy of loving Where the sun-blaze never scorches; Where we find the Where the star-beams cease to chill; As we never loved before, unhinder'd, Where no tempest stirs the echoes Loving on, unchilled, evermore Of the wood, or wave, or hill: Loving once, and Brother, we shall meet and rest Where the morn sliall wake in gladness, and the blest! And the noon the joy prolong; 'JMid the holy Where the daylight dies in fragrance, blasted world shall brighten 'Jlid the burst of holy song: Where a Brother, we shall meet and rest Underneath a bluer sphere. sunshine 'Mid the holy and the blest! And a softer, gentler Shed its healing splendour here: blossom. Where no shadow shall bewilder, Where earth's barren vales shall on their robe of green. Where life's vain parade is o'er; Putting fairer Eden Where the sleep of sin is broken. And a purer, have been: And the dreamer dreams no more; Be where only wastes king in kingly glory. Where no bond is ever sundered; Where a never known. Partings, claspings, sob, and moan, Such as earth hath the righteous sceptre. ]klidnight waking, twilight weeping, Shall assume wear the holy crown Heavy noontide— all are done: Claim and shall meet and rest Where the child has found its mother, Brothei", we and the blest. Where the mother finds the child; 'Mid the holv

ALEXANDER HUME.

Born 1S09 — Died 1851.

Alexander Hume, the son of Walter Hume, a part in tragedy, comedy, or farce,— and, if dance reel or hornpipe. He a respectable merchant of Kelso, was born there need be, could a great favourite with in February, 1809. He received his education soon therefore became a but disgusted with his associates in his native town, his first teacher being Mr. the manager, London. By the Ballantyne, well known for his ability. The he left them, and returned to was put in a way of family afterwards removed from Kelso to Lon- kindness of a relative he and in 1827 he don. When about thirteen or fourteen years earning his own livelihood, situation with a firm in ilark of age Alexander suddenly disappeared, and obtained a good year he became a lover, joined a company of strolling players. He sang Lane. In the same to attempt the art the melodies of his native land with wonderful which first influenced him rhyming, but although tolerably successful skill, —was equally successful with the popular of to win English comic songs of that day, —could take in his eflTorts at verse-making, he failed 314 ALEXANDEE HUME.

the object of his admiration. Hume dedi- health. Five years later he published a com- cated his first volume of songs to his friend plete edition of his Poems ami Songs, many Allan Cunningham. In the preface to this vol- of which enjoy an unusual degree of popularity. " ume he saj's: I composed them by no rules In 1847 he made a second voyage across the excepting those which my own observation and Atlantic for the benefit of his health, which feelings formed; I knew no other. As, I thought had become impaired by over-application to and felt, so I have written. Of all poetical business. He returned with health somewhat compositions, songs, especially those of the improved; but it again gradually declined, and affections, should be natural, warm gushings he died at Korthampton in Jlay, 1851, leaving of feeling —brief, simple, and condensed. As a widow and six children. During the latter soon as they have left the singer's lips they years of his life Mr. Hume entirely abandoned should be fast around the hearer's heart." In literary pursuits, devoting all his time to his the 1837 poet was married, and in 1840 he business, in which he met with very great visited the United States for the benefit of his success.

"Gae scour the country, hill and dale; MEXIE HAY. Oh! wae's me, where is ilenie Hay? Search ilka nook, in town or vale. For my daughter, A wee bird sits upon a spray. Menie Hay." " Sweet art thou, Menie And aye it sings o' Slenie Hay, Hay! Slee, I trow, Jlenie The burden o' its cheery lay Hay! I wish Is "Come away, dear Menie Hay! you joy, young Johnny Tax, 0' Sweet art thou, Menie Hay! your bride, sweet Menie Hav." Fair, I trow, Menie Hay! There's not a bonnie flower in May Shows a bloom \vi' Menie Hay." MY BESSIE.

A light in yonder window's seen. And wi' it seen is Menie Hay; My Bessie, oh! but look upon these bonnie Wha gazes on the dewy green, budding flowers. Where sits the bird upon the spray? Oh! do they no remember ye o' mony happy " Sweet art thou, Menie Hay! hours. Fair, I trou', Menie Hay! When on this green and gentle hill we aftcn At sic a time, in sic a \vay, met to play, What seek ye there, Menie Hay?" An' ye were like the morning sun, an' life a nightless day]

'•' What seek ye there, my daughter dear? The gowans blossom'd bonnilic, I'd pu' them AVhat seek ye there, :\Ienie Hay?" from the stem, "Dear motiicr, but the stars sae clear .\n' rin in noisy blithesomeness to thee, my Around the bonnie Milky Way." Bess, Avi' them. "Sweet art thou, Menie Hay! To place them in thy lily breast, for ae sweet Slee, I trow, Menie Hay! smile on me; Ye something sec ye daurna say, I saw nae mair the goAvans then, then saw I Pawkie, winsome Menie Hayl" only thee.

The window's shut, the light is auc, Like two fair roses on a tree, we flourish'd an' And wi' it gane is Menie Hay; we grew. But wha is seen upon the green. An' as we grew, sweet love grcv,- too, an' strong Kissing sweetly Menie Hay? 'tween me and you; 'Sweet art thou, Menie Hay! How aft ye'd twine your gentle arms in love Sice, I trow, Meme Hay! about my neck. For ane sae young ye ken the way. An' breathe young vows that after years o' And far from blate, Menie Ilav! sorrow has na brak! — —-

ALEXANDER HUME. 315

We'd raise our lisping voices in auld Coila's melting lays, I'VE 'WAXDER'D OX THE SUNNY An' sing that tearfu' tale about Doon's bonnie HILL. banks and braes; But thought na we o' banks and braes, except I've wander'd on the sunny hill, I've wander'd those at our feet, in the vale. Like von wee birds we sang our sang, \et When sweet wee birds in fondness meet to ken'd na that 'twas sweet. breathe their am'rous tale; But hills or vales, or sweet wee birds, nae Oh! is na this a joyous day, a' nature's breath- pleasures gae to me — ing forth The light that beani'd its ray on me was love's In gladness an' in loveliness ower a' the wide, sweet glance from thee. wide earth? The linties they are lilting love on ilka bush The rising sun, in golden dispels the an' tree, beams, night's dark gloom Oh! may such joy be ever felt, my Bess, by thee and me! The morning dew to rose's hue imparts a fresh- ening bloom: But sunbeams ne'er so brightly play'd in dance o'er yon glad sea, Nor roses laved in dew sae sweet as love's sweet SAXDY ALLAN. glance from thee.

1 love thee as the pilgrims love the water in Wha is he I hear sae crouse, the sand. There ahint the hallan? When scorching rays or blue simoom sweep Whase skirling rings through a' the house, o'er their withering hand; Ilk corner o' the dwallin'. The captive's heart nae gladlier beats when set 0! it is ane, a weel kent chiel, from prison free, As mirth e'er set a bawlin', Than I when bound wi' beauty's chain in love's Or filled a neuk in drouthy bicl, sweet glance from thee. It's canty Sandy Allan.

I loved thee, bonnie Bessie, as the earth adores lie has a gaucy kind gudewife. the sun, This blithesome Sandy Allan, I ask'd nae lands, I crav'd nae gear, I prized Who lo'es him mickle mair than life, but thee alone; An' glories in her callan. Ye smiled in look, but no in heart your heart As sense an' sound are ane in song, — was no for me; Sae's Jean an' Sandy Allan; Ye planted hope that never blooni'd in love's Twa hearts, yet but ae pulse an' tongue, sweet glance from thee. Ha'e Luckie an' her callan.

To gi'e to a', it's aye his rule, Their proper name an' callin', A knave's a knave, a fule's a fule, OH! YEARS HAE COME. Wi' honest Sandy Allan. For ilka vice he has a dart. Oh! years hae come, an' years hae gane. An' heavy is its fallin'; Sin' first I sought the warld alane. But aye for worth a kindred lieart Sin' first I mused wi' heart sae fain Has ever Sandy Allan. On the hills o' Caledonia. But oh! behold the present gloom, To kings his knee he winna bring, My early friends are in the tomb. Sae proud is Sandy Allan, And nourish now the heather bloom The man wha richtly feels is king, On the hills o' Caledonia. Ower rank, wi' Sandy Allan. Auld Nature, just to show the warl' My father's name, my father's lot, Ae truly honest callan, Is now a tale that's heeded not. E'en strippit till't, and made a carle, Or sang unsung, if no forgot. An' ca'd him Sandv Allan. On the hills o' Caledonia. — —

316 JOHN S. BLAC'lvIE.

0' our great ha' there's left nae stane As if the kind things pitied me A' swept away, like snaw lang gane; On the hills o' Caledonia. Weeds flourish o'er the auld domain On the hills o' Caledonia. But friends can live, though cold they Ke, An' mock the mourner's tear an' sigh; The Ti'ot's banks are bare and high, AVhen we forget them, then they die The stream rins sma' and mournfu' by, On the hills o' Caledonia. Like some sad heart maist grutten di'y, An' howsoever changed the scene, On the hills o' Caledonia. While memory an' my feeling's green, The wee birds sing no frae the tree, Still green to my auld heart an' een The wild-flowers bloom no on the lea. Are the hills o' Caledonia.

JOHN S. BLACKIE.

JoHX Stuart Blackie was born at Glasgow, Greek in the Edinburgh Universitj-, and in July 28, 1809. His father, who was a banker, 1853 he travelled in Greece, residing in Athens removed to Aberdeen when John Avas very for several months until he had acquired young, and here he began his education at a a fluent use of the living Greek language.^ private school, then under the rectorship of In the matter of accent he became a convert Mr. ]\Ierson. In his twelfth year he i)ecame a to the modern Greek pronunciation, with student of Jlarischal College, where he re- certain modifications, and has since then per- mained for four years, and then attended the sistently denounced the English method of University of Edinburgh. In 1829 he went to pronouncing Greek with Latin accentuation the Continent, and continued his studies at as a barbarous figment, ntterly destitute of Giittingen and Berlin. From Germany he pro- any foundation either in science or in philo- ceeded to Italy, where he devoted himself to the logical tradition. In 1857 he published Lays study of theltalian languageand literature, and and Leyends of Ancient Greece, ivith other to the science of arch£eology. On his return to Poems. In 1860 he issued Lyrical Poems— Scotland he studied law, and was called to the many of them in Latin; and six years later bar in 1834; but not finding the profession his Homer and the Iliad, in four octavo vols., congenial, he occupied his time chiefly in writ- including a translation of the Iliad in ballad ing for the reviews. It was at this time that measure. For his highest honours as a poet and he published a very successful translation of a scholar Professor Blackie is indebted to his Goethe's "Faust," which at once established admirable rendering of the illustrious Greek his reputation as an accomplished German poet. Several of his lectures and discourses scholar. In 1841 he was appointed professor have been issued separately, of which the most of Humanity in Marischal College, a position famous is the discourse on Democracy, in which which he held for eleven years. In 1850 he defended the principles of the British con- he pul)lished a translation of the dramas of stitution in opposition to those who held up iEschylus, which he dedicated to the Chevalier America as the model of political excellence. Bunsen and Edward Gerhard, "the friends The j-ear following Miisa BurscJticosa, a of his youth and the directors of his early volume of songs for students and univer- studies." sity men, appeared; and in 1870 he put forth In 1852 Blackie was elected to the chair of stone went to Greece a few years ago, not a word could 1 The learned professor, in his enthusiasm for that the Greeks understand wlien he spoke to them; there- ancient " tongue, declares broad Scotch " Doric the only fore he was obliged to address them at Corfu in Italian. correct pronuticiation. '-The English," lie remarks, I went to Greece and they understood every word 1 'don't know how to pronounce Greek. When Glad- said." Ed. ; —

JOHN S. BLACKIE. 317

Beligion and Life appeared in 1876, and con- a volume of War Songs of the Germam, fine effusions, amongst others the with lii.storical sketches, in which he advo- tains many World." He is now (May, cated the cause of Germany against France poem "Beautiful be entitled 7'he with great energy and decision. This work was 1876) engaged on a work to Literature the Highlands. followed in 1872 by Lays of the HUjltlands and Language and of James's Magazine says: Inlands, and by a prose volume entitled Self- A writer in St. " known so long for cidture, which appeared in 1874 and was repub- Professor Blackie has been his scholarly lished in the United States. Professor Blackie his excellent translations and it will be unnecessary to say lias also appeared as a lecturer in the Eoyal abilities, that were needed Institution, London, where he successfully much here. If additional proof combated the views of John Stuart Mill in that there is more in the teaching of the have moral philosophy, of Mr. Grote in his estimate classics than mere 'gerund-grinding,' we of Scotch professors. of the Greek Sophists, and of Max Midler in it in this most amiable ordinary kind to hear his allegorical interpretation of ancient myths. It would be a treat of no There are His views on moral philosophy were afterwards him dilate upon Aristophanes. has seized embodied in a separate work. The Four Phases points, too, in Homer, which no one as he. We of Morals (second edition, 1874, reprinted in upon so sharply and effectively about America); while his philological papers gen- should like to hear him talk oflTliand is that Professor erally appeared under the title of Hone Hel- Thersites. Yet the wonder of his time lenkai (London, 1874). His philosophy of Blackie should have spent so much in his Taste appeared in the work On Beauty (1858), in translations—not in the class, but considering his un- in which he combated the famous Association study as literary work— poetry. theory of Alison and JeflVey. Jlore recently deniable claims as a writer of original he has advocated with characteristic energy There is no member of a Scotch senatus so well and ardour the establishment of a Celtic pro- and favourably known as Professor Blackie, orthodox fessorship in the University of Edinburgh. chiefly because he has so little of the Another volume of poems, entitled Songs of school-man about him."

THE DEATH OF COLUMBA.

Saxon stranger, thou didst wisely, Here his troop of godly people. Sunder'd for a little space In stout labour's garb array'd, plying From that motley stream of people Blithe their fruitful task were Drifting by this holy place; AVith the hoe and with the spade. " With the furnace and the funnel I will go and bless my people," " Through the long sea's glancing arm, Quoth the father, ere I die. Let them hurry back to Oban, But the strength is slow to follow Where the tourist loves to swarm. AVhere the wish is swift to fly; Here, upon this hump of granite. I am old and feeble, DJarmid, slow, Sit with me a quiet while. Yoke the oxen, be not go bless my people. And I'll tell thee how Columba I will and spirit go." Died upon this old gray isle. Ere from earth my On his ox-drawn wain he mounted. Faithful Diarmid by Ids side; grassy ^lachar, 'Twas in May, "a breezy morning. Soon they reached the When the sky was fresh and bright, Soft and smooth, lona's pride: " bless people. And tlie broad blue ocean shimmer'd I am come to my AVith a thousand gems of light. Faithful fraters, ere I die; On the green and grassy JIaehar, I had wish'd to die at Easter, joy, Where the fields are spredden wide, But I would not mar your And the crags in quaint confusion Xow the Master plainly calls me, Jut into the AVestern tide; Gladly I obey his call — — —

318 JOHN S. BLACKIE.

I am ripe, I feel the sickle, God hath taught the mute unreasoning Take my blessing ere I fall." What thou fail'st to understand, But they heard his words with weeping, That tliis day I pass for ever And their tears fell on the dew, From lona's shelly strand. And their eyes were dimmed with sorrow. Have my blessing, gentle creature, For they knew his words were true. God doth bless both man and beast; Then he stood up on the waggon, From hard yoke, when I sliall leave tiiee. And his prayerful hands he hove. Be thy faithful neck released." And he spake and bless'd the people Thus he spoke, and quickly rising AVith tlie blessing of his love: AVith what feeble strength remained, "God be with you, faitliful fraters, Leaning on stout Diarmid's shoulder, With you now, and evermore; A green hillock's top he gained. Keep you from the touch of evil. There, or here where we are sitting, On your souls his Spirit pour; AVhence his eye might measure Avell God be with you, fellow-workmen, Botli the cloister and the chapel. And from loved lona's shore And his pure and prayerful cell. Keep the blighting breath of demons. There he stood, and high uplifting Keep the viper's venom'd storel" Hands whence flowed a healing grace. Thus he spake, and turn'd the oxen Breathed his latest voice of blessing Townwards; sad they went, and slow. To protect the sacred place, And the people, fixed in sorrow. Spake such words as prophets utter Stood, and saw the father go. When the veil of flesh is rent, And the present fades from vision, On the germing future bent: n. "God thee bless, thou loved lona. List me further, Saxon stranger, Though thou art a little spot. Note it nicely, by the causeway Though thy rocks are gray and treeless. On the left hand, where thou came Thine shall be a boastful lot; With the motley tourist people. Thou shalt be a sign for nations; Stands a cross of figured fame. Nurtured on thy sacred breast. Even now thine eye may see it, Thou shalt send on holy mission Near the nunnery, slim and gray; Men to teach both East and West; From the wag^gon tiiere Columba Peers and potentates shall own thee, Lighted on that tearful day. ilonarchs of wide-sceptred sway And he sat beneath the shadow Dying shall beseech the honour Of that cross, upon a stone. To be tomb'd beneath thy clay; Brooding on his speedy passage God's dear saints shall love to name thee. To the land where grief is none; And from many a storied land When, behold, the mare, the white one Men of clerkly fame shall pilgrim That was wont the milk to bear To lona's little strand." From the dairy to the cloister, III. Stood before him meekly there, Stood, and softly came up to him. Thus the old man spake his blessing; And with move of gentlest grat;e Tlien, where most he loved to dwell, O'er the shoulder of Columba Tlirough the well-known porch he enter'd Tiirust her piteous-pleading face, To his pure and prayerful cell; Look'd upon him as a friend looks And then took the holy psalter On a friend that goes away, 'Twas his wont when he would pray Sunder'd from the land that loves him Bound with three stout clasps of silver, By wide seas of briny spray. From the casquet where it lay; "Fie upon thee for thy manners!" There he read with fixed devoutness. Diarmid cried Avitli lifted rod, And, with craft full fair and fine, "Wilt thou with untimely fondness On the smooth and polished vellum Vex the prayerful man of God ]" Copied forth, the sacred line. "Not 80, Diarmid," cried Columba; Till he came to wliere the kingly "Dost thou see the spcechful eync Singer sings in faithful mood, Of the fond and faithful creature How the younglings of the lion Sorrow'd with the swelling brine? Oft may roam in vain for food. : —

319 JOHN S. BLACKIE.

And they said that holy angels But -who fear the Lord shall never Surely hover'd round his head, Live and luck their proper good. For alive no loveliest ever Here he stopped, and said, " My latest Look'd so lovely as this dead. Now is written; what remains I bequeath to faithful Beathan thou hast heard my story, To complete with pious pains." Stranger, Thank thee for thy patient ear; Then he rose, and in the chapel are pleased to stir the sleeping Conned the pious vesper song We Memory of old greatness here. Inly to himself, for feeble have used no gloss, no varnish, Now the voice that once was strong; I To make fair things fairer look; Hence with silent step returning As the record stands I give it. To his pure and prayerful cell, In the old monks' Latin book. On the round smooth stone he laid him Keep it in thy heart, and love it. AVhich for pallet served him well. loves to dwell; rising, Where a good thing Here some while he lay ; then It may help thee in thy dying, To a trusty brother said If thou care to use it well. 'Brother, take my parting message. Be my last words wisely weighed. 'Tis an age of brawl and battle; Men who seek not God to please. With wild sweep of lawless passion THE LAY OF THE BRAYE CAMERON. Waste the land and scourge the seas. Not like them be ye; be loving, At Quatre Bras, when the fight ran high, Peaceful, patient, truthful, bold, Stout Cameron stood with wakeful eye, But in service of your Master Eager to leap, as a mettlesome hound. Use no steel and seek no gold." Into the fray with a plunge and a bound. Thus he spake; but now there sounded But AVellington, lord of the cool command, Through the night the holy bell Held the reins with a steady hand, That to Lord's-day matins gather'd Saying, "Cameron, wait, you"ll soon have Every monk from every cell. enough. Eager at the sound, Columba Giving the Frenchmen a taste of your stuff. In the way foresped the rest, When the Cameron men are wanted." And before the altar kneeling, Pray'd with hands on holy breast. Now hotter and hotter the battle grew. Diarmid followed; but a marvel With tramp, and rattle, and wild halloo. Flow'd upon his wondering eyne, And the Frenchmen poured, like a fiery flood, All the windows shone«with glorious Right on the ditch where Cameron stood. Light of angels in the shrine. Then Wellington flashed from his steadfast Diarmid enter'd; all was darkness. stance ' " answer came. a lightning glance. ' Father! But no On his captain brave "Father! art thou here, Columba?" Saying, " Cameron, now have at them, boy. Nothing answer'd to the name. Take care of the road to Charleroi, Soon the troop of monks came hurrying. Where the Cameron men are wanted." Each man with a wandering light. a shaft from a bow For great fear had come upon them, Brave Cameron shot like plunging foe. And a sense of strange affright. Into the midst of the he loved, like a "Diarmid! Diarmid! is the father And with him the lads whom With thee? Art thou here alone?" torrent its foamy current; And they turn'd their lights and found him Sweeping the rocks in fervid fray. On the pavement lying prone. And he fell the first in the shove its way, And with gentle hands they raised him. Where a deathful shot had where the work was And he mildly looked around, But his men pushed on And he raised his arm to bless them. rough, a taste of their stuff. But it dropped upon the ground; Giving the Frenchman men were wanted. And his breathless body rested Where the Cameron On the arms that held him dear. Brave Cameron then, from the battle's roar, And his dead face lookVl upon them foster-brother stoutly bore, AVith a light serene and clear; His !

3-20 JOHN S. BLACKIE.

His foster-brother witli service true, Peaks cloud -cleaving, snowy-crested. Back to tiie village of Waterloo. Praise ye, praise ye God the Lord And tliey laid him oa the soft green sod, And he breathed his spirit there to God, Rolling river. But not till he heard the loud hurrah Praise Him ever, Of victory billowed from Quatre Bras, From the mountain's deep vein pour'd. Where the Cameron men were wanted. Silver fountain, clearly gushing, Troubled torrent, madly rushing, By the road to Ghent they buried him then, Praise ye, praise ye God the Lord! This noble chief of tlie Cameron men, And not an eye was tearless seen Bond and free man, Tiiat day beside the alley green: Land and sea man, Wellington Avept, the iron man; Earth, Avith peoples widely stored, And from every eye in the Cameron clan Wanderer lone o'er prairies ample. The big round drop in bitterness fell, Full-voiced choir, in costly temple. As with the pipes he loved so well Praise ye, praise ye God the Lord! His funeral wail they chanted. Praise Him ever. And now he sleeps (for they bore liim home, Bounteous Giver; When the war was done, across the foam) Praise Him Father, Friend, and Lord! Beneath the shadow of Nevis Ben, Each glad soul, its free course winging, With his sires, the pride of the Cameron men. Each glad voice, its free song singing. Three thousand Highlandmen stood round, Praise the great and mighty Lord! As they laid him to rest in his native ground; The Cameron brave, whose eye never quail'd, AVhose heart never sank, and whose hand never failed, Where a Cameron man was wanted. THE TWO MEEK MARGARETS.

It fell on a day in the blooming month of May, When the trees were greenly growing, That a captain grim went down to the brim BENEDICITE. 0' the sea, when the tide was flowing.

Angels holy. Twa maidens he led, that captain grim, High and lowly, Wi' his red-coat loons behind him, Sing the praises of the L^jrd! Twa meek-faced maids, and he sware that he Earth and sky, all living nature, In the salt sea-swell should bind them. Man, the stamp of thy Creator, Praise ye, praise ye God the Lord! And a' the burghers o' Wigton town Came down, full sad and cheerless, Sun and moon bright. To see that ruthless captain drown Night and moonlight. Those maidens meek but fearless. Starry temples azure-floor'd. what had they done, these maidens meek, Cloud and rain, and wild winds' madness, What crime all crimes excelling. Sons of God that shout for gladness. That they should be staked on the ribbed sea- Praise ye, praise ye God the Lord! sand. And drowned, where the tide Ocean hoary. was swelling? Tell His glory. waes me, wae! but the truth I maun say, Cliffs where tumbling seas have roar'd! Their crime was the crime of believing Pulse of waters, blithely beating, Not man, but God, when the last false Stuart Wave advancing, wave retreating, His Popish plot was weaving. Praise ye, praise yc God the Lord! spare them! spare them! thou captain grim! Pock and highland, No! no!—to a stake he hath bound them, Wood and island. Where the floods as they flow, and the waves as Crag, where eagle's pride hath soar'd, they grow, Mighty mountains, purple-breasted, Shall soon be deepening round them. X ! —:

JOHN S. BLACKIE. 321

Tlie one had threescore years and thi-ee; And slie walked as one who was full loath Far out on the sand they bound her, To travel from the land. Where the first dark flow of the waves as they grow, Quoth I, " bonnie lass!" for she Is quickly swu-Hng round her. My — Had hair of flowing gold. The other was a maiden fresh and fair; And dark brown eyes, and dainty limbs, More near to the land they bound her. Eight pleasant to behold That she might see by slow degree The grim waves creeping round her. "My bonnie lass, what aileth thee On this bright, summer day. captain, spare that maiden gray, To travel sad and shoeless thus She's deep in the deepening water! Upon the stony way! No! no!—she's lifted her hands to pray, " stoutly shod, And the chokuig billow caught her! I'm fresh and strong, and And thou art burdened so; See, see, young maid, cried the captain grim, March lightly now, and let me bear The wave shall soon ride o'er thee! The bundles as we go." She's swamped in the brine whose sin was like thine; "No, no!" she said; "that may not be; See that same fate before thee! What's mine is mine to bear; Of good or ill, as God may will, 1 see the Christ who hung on a tree I take my portioned share." When his life for sins he offered; In one of his members, even he "But you have two and I have none; With that meek maid hath suffered. One burden give to me; ni take that bundle from thy back. captain, save that meek young maid; That heavier seems to be." She's a loyal fanner's daughter! Well, well! let her swear to good King James, "No. no!" she said; "this, if you will, I'll hale her out from the water! And That holds—no hand but mine May bear its weight from dear Glen Spean, 1 will not swear to Popish James, 'Cross the Atlantic brine!" But I pray for the head of the nation. That he and all, both great and small. "Well, well: but tell me what may be May know God's great salvation Within that precious load She spoke; and lifted her hands to pray, Which thou dost bear with such fine care And felt the greedy water. Along the dusty road ? Deep and more deep around her creep. present rare Till the choking billow caught her! "Belike it is some From friend in parting hour; Wigton, Wigton! I'm wae to sing Perhaps, as prudent maidens' wont. The truth o' this waesomo story; Thou tak"st with thee thy dower." But God -will sinners to judgment bring. And his saints shall reign in glory. She drooped her head, and with her hand She gave a mournful wave "Oh. do not jest, dear sir! — it is Turf from my mother's grave!"

THE EMIGRANT LASSIE.^ I spoke no word: we sat and wept By the road-side together; No purer dew on that bright day As I came wandering down Glen Spean, Where the braes are green and grassy, Was dropt upon the heather. With my light step I overtook A weary-footed lassie.

She had one bundle on her back, OCTOBER. Another in her hand, Once the year was gay and bright. is gray and sober; 1 The following lines contain the simple unadorned Now the sky statement of a fact in the experience of a friend, who But not the less thy milder light

is fond of wandering in the Highland glens. I love, thou sere and brown October. Vol. II.— ! ! ! —

322 JOHN S. BLACKIE.

Then across each ferny down And the plume of the fern uncixrls Marched proud flush of purple heather; Its grace in the depth of the glade.

Now in robe < f modest brown, Heath and fern he down together. Away to the cottage so sweetly Embowered 'neath the fringe of the wood, AYeep who will the faded year, Where the wife of my bosom shall meet me I have weaned mine eyes from weeping; With thoughts ever kindly and good; Drop not for the dead a tear. More dear than the wealth of the world. Love her, she is only sleeping. Fond mother with bairnies three. And when storms of wild unrest And the plump-armed babe that has curled O'er the frosted fields come sweeping, Its lips sweetlj' pouting for me. Weej) not; 'neath her snowy vest Nature gathers strength fi'om sleeping. Then away from the roar and the i-attle. The dust and din of the town. Eest and labour, pleasure, pain, Where to live is to brawl and to battle. Hunger, feeding, thirsting, drinking, Till the strong treads the weak man down. Ebb and flow, and loss and gain, Away where the green twigs nod Love and hatred, dreaming, thinking. - In the fragrant breath of the May, Each for each exists, and all And the sweet growth spreads on the sod. Binds one secret mystic tether; And the blithe birds sing on the spray. And each is best as each may fall For you and me, and all together.

Then clothe thee or in florid vest, THE HIGHLAND MANSE. Thou changeful year, or livery sober, Thy present wear shall please me best, If men were free to take, and wise to use Or rosy June, or brown October. The fortunes richly strewn by kindly chance. And when loud tempests spur their race, Then kings and mighty potentates might choose I'll know, and have no cause for weeping. To live and die lords of a Highland manse. They brush the dust from off thy face, For why? Though that which spurs the forward To make thee wake more fair from sleeping mind Be wanting here, the high-perched glittering- prize, The bliss that chiefly suits the human kind Within this bounded compass largely lies A SONG OF THE COUNTRY. The healthful change of labour and of ease, The sober inspiration to do good. Away from the roar and the rattle. The green seclusion, and the stirring breeze, The dust and the din of the town, The working hand leagued with the thought- Where to Uve is to brawl and to battle, ful mood; Till the strong treads the weak man down These things, undreamt by feverish-striving men, Away to the bonnie green hills The wise pi'iest knows who rules a Highland Where the sunshine sleeps on the brae, glen. And the heart of the greenwood thrills To the hymn of the bu'd on the sjaray.

Away from the smoke and the smother, BEAUTIFUL WOP.LD! The veil of the dun and the brown, The push and the plash and the pother. Beautiful world The wear and the waste of the town Tliough bigots condemn tliee, Away where the sky shines clear. My tongue finds no words And the light breeze wanders at will, For the graces that gem tliee! Anfl the dark pine-wood nod near Beaming with sunny light, To the light-plumed birch on the hill. Bountiful ever, Away from the whirling and wheeling, Streaming with gay deliglit, And steaming above and below, Full as a river! Where the he^rt has no leisure for feeling Briglit woi-ld! brave world! And the thought has no quiet to grow. Let cavillers blame thee! Away where the clear brook purls. I bless thee, and bend And the hyacinth droops in the shade, To the God who ilid frame thee! ! !! !

THOMAS SMIBERT. 323

Beautiful ^yorkl Beautiful world Bursting around mc. What poesy measures Manifold, millioa-hued Thy strong-flooding passions. Wonders confound me! Thy light-trooping pleasures? From earth, sea, and starry sky, Mustering, marshalling, Meado\v and mountain, Striving and straining. Eagerly gushes Conquering, triumphing, Life's magical fountain. liuling and reigning! Brigiit world! brave world! Thou brigiit-armied world!

Though witlings may blame t'.iee, So strong, who can tame tbec? AVonderful excellence Wonderful power of God Only could frame thee! Only could frame thee!

The bird in the greenwood Beautiful world His sweet hymn is trolling, While godlike I deem thee, The fish in blue ocean Xo cold M'it shall move me Is spouting and rolling! With bile to blaspheme thee! Light things on airy wing I have lived in thy light. Wild dances weaving. And, when Fate ends my story. Clods with new life in spring May I leave on death's cloud Swelling and heaving! The bright trail of life's glory Tiiou quick-teeming world, AVondrous old world! Though scoffers may blame thee, No ages shall shame thee! I wonder, and worship Ever bright with new light The God who could frame thee! From the God who did frame thee!

THOMAS SMIBEET

BORX ISIO — Died 1854.

Thomas Smibert, a poet and most prolific In 1842 Smibert was appointed sub-editor prose-writer, was born Feb. 8, 1810, at Peebles, of the Scotsman newspaper, and the same year of which town his father held for some time the a historical play from his pen, entitled Condi's honourable office of provost. Litended for the Wfe, was produced at the Theatre Eoyal, medical profession, he was at first apprenticed Edinburgh, where it had a run of nine nights. to an apothecary, and afterwards studied at the Although by the bequest of a wealthy relative L'^niversity of Edinburgh. lie was licensed as Smibert became independent of his pen as a a surgeon, and Began practice at Innerleithen, means of livelihood, he still continued to write. near Peebles, but lack of business and a disap- Besides contributing to Hogr/'s Instructor, he pointment in love induced him to abandon the published a Avork on Greek History, collated a place and hi.s profession, and betake himself to liltyming Dictionary, and prepared a magnifi- the field of literature. Eemoving to Edinburgh cently illustrated volume on the Clans of the he obtained employment with the Messrs. Highlands of Scotland. In 1851 he collected Chambers, and became a successful writer for and published his poetical compositions in a their Journal, to which he contributed no less volume entitled "lo Anche! Poems chiefly than five hundred essays, one hundred tales, Lyrical." Many of the pieces are translations fifty biographical sketches, and numerous from French writers. poems within a period of five years. He also Mr. Smibert died at Edinburgh January IG, wrote extensively for the Information for the 1854, in his forty-fourth year. Dr. Ilogers People, a work published by the same firm. says of him:—"With pleasing manners, he —

324 THOMAS SMIBEET. was possessed of kindlj- dispositions, and was regret that he had devoted so much time to much cherished for his intelligent and inter- evanescent periodical literature. His poetry esting conversation. In person he was strongly is replete with patriotic sentiment, and hh built, and his complexion was fair and ruddy. strain is forcible and occasionally brilliant. He was not undesirous of reputation both as a Plis songs indicate a fine fancy and deep poet and prose-writer, and has recorded his pathos."

And sair, THE WIDOW'S LAMENT. sair in the fauld Will be the winter's cliill; For peats were yet to ca'. Afore the Lammas tide Our sheep they were to smear. Had dun'd tlie birken tree, When my a' passed awa' In a' our water-side In the fa' o' the year. l^ae wife was bless'd like me. kind gudeman, A and twa I ettle whiles to spin, Sweet bairns were 'round here, me But wee, wee patterin' feet But they're a' ta'en awa Come rinnin' out and in, Sin' the fa' o' the year. And then I just maun greet; I ken it's fancy a'. Sair trouble cam' our gate, And faster rows the tear. And made me, when it cam', That my a' dwined awa' A bird without a mate, In the fa' o' the year. A ewe without a lamb. Our hay was yet to maw, Be kind, Heaven abune! And our corn was to shear, To ane sae wae and lane. When they a' dwined awa' And tak' her hamewards sune In the fa' o" the year. In pity o' her maen. Lang ere the March winds blaw, I downa look a-field. Jlay she, far, far frae here. For aye I trow I see Meet them a' that's awa' The form that was a bield Sin' the fa' o' the To my wee bairns and me; year! But wind, and weet, and snaw, They never mair can fear. Sin' they a' got the ca' In the fa' o' the year. THE HERO OF ST. JOHN D'ACRE. Aft on the hill at e'ens Once more on the I see him 'mang the ferns— broad-bosom'd ocean ap- pearing. TJie lover o' my teens. The banner of The faither o' my bairns; England is spread to the breeze. For there his plaid I saw. And loud is the As gloamin aye drew near, cheering that hails tlic up- But my a's now awa' rearing Of glory's loved Sin' the fa' o' the year. emblem, the pride of tiie seas. Our bonnie riggs theirsel' Xo tempest shall daunt her. Reca' my waes to mind; No victor-foe taunt her. Our puir dumb beasties tell What manhood can do in her cause shall be O' a' that I hae tyned; done For wha our wheat will saw. Britannia's best seaman. And wha our sheep will .sliear, The boast of her freemen. Sin' my a' gaed awa' Will conquer or die by his colours and gun. In the fa' o' the year?

On Acre's proud turrets an ensign is flving, My hearth is growing cauld, Which stout hearts are banded till death to And will be caulder still. uphold; —

THOMAS SMIBERT. 325

father's ha', And bold is their crying, and fierce tlieir I see nae defying, Nae burnie's waterfa', AViien trencli'd in tlieir ramparts, uncon- But wander far awa' quer'd of old. Frae my ain ilear land. But lo! in the offing, heart was free and light, To punish their s^coffing, Jly burning bright, Brave Napier appears, and their triumph is ]\Iy ingle by night, done; AVhen ruin cam' foe's fell brand: No danger can stay him, Thro' a No foeman dismay him. I left my native air, — I gaed to come nae mair ! He conquers or dies by his colours and gun. — And now I sorrow sair For ain dear land. Now low in the dust is the crescent flag hum- my bled. But blythcly will I bide, Its warriors are vanquish'd, their freedom is AVhate'er yet betide, gone; may When ane is by my side The strong walls have tumbled, the proud this far, far strand; towers are crumbled, On My Jean will soon be here. And England's flag waves over ruin'd St. This waefu' heart to cheer, John. tear But Napier now tenders And dry the fa'ing For my ain dear land. To Acre's defenders The aid of a friend when the combat is won; For mercy's sweet blossom Blooms fresh in his bosom, Who conquers or dies by his colours and gun. THE VOICE OF WOE.

"All hail to the hero!" his country is calling, "The language of passion, and more peculiarly that of And "hail to his comrades!" the faithful grief, is ever nearly the same." and brave; An Indian chief went forth to figiit, They fear'd not for falling, they knew no And bravely met the foe. appalling. His eye was keen—his step was light— But fought like their fathers, the lords of His arm was unsurpassed in might; the wave. But on him fell the gloom of night— And long may the ocean, An arrow laid him low. In calm and commotion. His widow sang with simple tongue. Rejoicing convey them where fame may be won, When none could hear or see, And when foes would wound us, Aij, cheray me! May Napiers be round us. their colours and gun! To conquer or die by A Jloorish maiden knelt beside Her dying lover's bed; She bade him stay to bless his bride. She called him oft her lord, her pride; MY AIN DEAR LAND. But mortals must tlieir doom abide The warrior's spirit fled. bonnie are the howes. With simple tongue the sad one sung, And sunny are the knowes. When none could hear or see. That feed the kye and yowes, At/, dI me; AVhere my life's morn dawn'd; An English matron mourned her son, And brightly glance the rills, The only son she bore; That spring amang the hills, Afar from her his course was run, And ca' the mcrrie mills, perished as the fight was done. In my ain dear land. He He perished when the fight was won. foreign shore. But now I canna see Upon a mother sung, The lammies on the lea. AYith simple tongue the Nor hear the heather-bee AVhen none could hear or see. On this far, far strand; Ah, dear me! 326 THOMAS T. STODDAET.

A gentle Highland maiden saw An infant in untimely hour A brother's body borne Died in a Lowland cot; From where, for country, king, and law, The parents own'd tlie hand of power He went his gallant sword to draw; That bids the storm be still or lour; Lut swept within destruction's maw They grieved because the cup was sour. From her had he been torn. And yet they murmured not. She sat and sung, with simple tongue, They only sung with simple tongue, When none could hear or see. ^Vhen none could hear or see, Oil, hon-a-ree! Ah, ivae's me!

THOMAS T. STODDAET.

Thomas Tod Stoddart was born in Argyle sided. For many years he has devoted him- Square, Edinburgh, February 14, 1810. He self to the pursuits of literature and the is the son of a distinguished rear-admiral of pleasures of good old Walton's favourite re- the British navy, who was present at Lord creation. He was an early and frequent con- Howe's victory, at the landing in Egypt, at tributor of poetry to the Bdinbvrgh Literary the battles of the Kile and Copenhagen with Journal. In 1831 he published " The Lunacy i^elson, and in many other encounters. Young or Death-wake; a Necromaunt in Five Chi- Stoddart was educated at a Moravian establish- meras;" in 1835, "The Art of Angling;" in ment near JIanchester, and subsequently passed 1837, "Angling Eeminiscences ;" in 1839, through a course of philosophy and law in the "Songs and Poems;" in 1846, "Abel Massin- University of Edinburgh. At the age of six- ger, or the Aeronaut, a Romance;" in 1847, teen he received a prize in Professor Wilson's "The Angler's Companion," a new edition of class for a poem on "Idolatry." He studied which was published in 1852; and in 1866, for the bar, and was admitted to practise in "An Angler's Piambles and Angling Songs." 1S33; but finding the profession uncongenial, His latest poetical work, entitled "Songs of he abandoned it. A few years later he married the Seasons, and other Poems," was issued in and settled at Kelso, where he has since re- 1873.

LOCH SKENE.

Like the eye of a sinless child. You may hear them in a summer's hour. That mo.ss-brown tarn is gazing wild Trickling, like a rainbow shower, From its heath-fringe, briglit with stars of dew, From yon rock, whose rents of snow Up to the voiceless vault of blue. Lie shadow'd in the tarn below. It looketh from the margin l)are. It seemeth of a violet tinge, Like a headstone in a churchyard fair; Shaded under its flowery fringe. But the heavy heron loveth well For the dark and purple of moss and heather. Its height, where his own sentinel Like nigiit and sunset blend together. He sits, M'hen heaven is almost done With the slow watch of the sun. That tarn, it lieth on the hills. And the quiet day doth fold Fed by the thousand infant rills. His wings in arches of burning gold. Which are ever weeping in A-ery sadness, Or tliey smile through their tears with a gleam There is a lonesome, aged cairn, of gladness. Pising gray through the grass-green fern; THOMAS T. STODDAET. 327

fathom under, It tells of pale, mysterious bones, Their features many a Unried below the crumbling stones: And, like a launch through surge of thunder, flings 15ut the shadow of that pile of slaughter From the trembling ledge it thousand springs; liies breasted on the stirless water, The treasures of a their blissful play. As if no mortal hand had blent As if to end spell of its life away. Its old, unearthly lineament. And throw the

Like a pillar of Parian stone A M-izard tarn is gray Loch Skene! old temple shone, There are two islands sown within: That in some slender shaft of living star, Both are like, as like the other Or a that foam-fall from afar; As brother to his own twin-brother; Gleams is melted down below Only a birch bends o'er the one. But the column gulf of seething snow, Where the kindred isle hath none, Into a stream steals away from its whirl of The tresses of that weeping tree And the Hang down in their humility. hoar. As bright and as lovely as before.

'Tis whisper'd of an eyrie there, There are rainbows in the morning sun, Where a lonely eagle pair ]\Iany a blushing trembling one. In the silver moonlight came. Arches of rarest jewelry, To feed their young by the holy flame; Where the elfin fairies be, And at morn they mounted far and far, Through the glad air dancing merrily. Towards the last surviving star. Only the forsaken nest Such is the brook, so pure, so glad, Sighs to the sea-winds from the west, That sparkled high and bounded mad, As if they told in their wandering by From the quiet waters, where How the rightful lord of its sanctuary It took the form of a thing so fair. Mourneth his fallen mate alone On a foamy Atlantic stone. Only it mocks the heart within. To wander by the wild Loch Skene, Never hath the quiet shore At cry of moorcock, when the day Echoed the fall of silver oar, Gathers his legions of light away. Nor the waters of that tarn recoil'd light skiff gliding wild; From the For the sadness of a fallen throne spiritual cloud that lifted But the r.eigns when the golden sun hath gone, quiet moon, and dimly drifted The And the tarn and the hills and the misted snow. Away in tracery of stream its image on the pool below, Threw Are shaded away to a mournful dream. Till it glided to the shaded shore. Like a bark beneath the moveless oar.

Out at the nethermost brink there gushes A playful stream from its ark of rushes, THE ANGLER'S TRYSTING-TREE. It leaps like a wild fawn from the mountains, Nursing its life with a thousand fountains, Sing, sweet thrushes, forth and sing! It kisses the heath-flower's trembling bell. ]\Ieet the morn upon the lea; And the mosses that love its margin well. Are the emeralds of the spring On the angler's trysting-tree? Fairy beings, one might dream. Tell, sweet thrushes, tell to me! Look from the breast of that silver stream. Are there buds on our willow-tree? trysting-tree ? Fearless, holy, and blissful things. Buds and birds on our Flashing the dew-foam from their wings. forth and sing! As they glide away, away for ever, Sing, sweet thrushes, Borne seaward on some stately river. Have you met the honey-bee, Circling upon rapid wing, angler's trysting-tree? That silver brook, it windeth on Round the and see! Over slabs of fretted stone, Up, sweet thrushes, up bees at our willow-tree? Till it Cometh to the forehead vast Are there trysting-tree ? Of those gorgon rocks, that cast Birds and bees at the — —— — ; ; —

328 THOMAS T. STODDAET.

Sing, sweet thrushes, forth and sing! The streamlets that at ilka turn Are tlie fountains gushing free? Sae saftly meet an' mingle there. Is the south wind wandering Through the angler's trysting-tree? The lanesorae Tala and the Lyne, An' Manor wi' its rills, Up, sweet thrushes, tell to me I mountain Is there wind up our willow-tree? An' Jltterick, whose waters twine Wind or calm at our trysting-tree? Wi' Yarrow, frae the forest hills; An Gala, too, an' Teviot bright, Sing, sweet thrushes, forth and sing! An' mony a stream o" playfu' speed AVile us with a merry glee; Their kindred valleys a' unite To the flowery haunts of spring- Amang the braes o' bonnie Tweed. To the angler's trysting-tree. Tell, sweet thrushes, tell to me! There's no a hole abune the Crook, Are there flowers 'neath our willow-tree? Nor stane nor gentle swirl aneath. Spring and flowers at the trysting-tree? Nor drumlie rill, nor fairy brook. That daunders through the flowery heath, But ye may fin' a subtle trout, A' gleamin' owcr wi' starn an' bead. An' mony a sawmon sooms aboot, THE BRITISH OAK. Below the bields o' bonnie Tweed.

The oak is Britain's pride! Frae Holylee to Clovenford, The lordliest of trees. A chancier bit ye canna hae, The glory of her forest-side, So gin ye tak' an angler's word, The guardian of her seas! Ye'd through the whins an' ower the brae. Its hundred arms are brandish'd wide An' work awa' wi' cunnin' hand To brave the wintry breeze. Yer birzy hackles black and reid The saft sough o' a slender wand Our hearts shall never quail Is raeetest music for the Tweed! Below the servile yoke. Long as our seamen trim the sail. And wake the battle smoke Long as they stem the stormy gale On planks of British oaki MUSINGS ON THE BANKS OF THE TEVIOT. Then in its native mead The golden acorn lay. With thy windings, gentle Teviot! And watch witli care the bursting seed. Through life's summer I have travelled And guard the tender spray; Shared in all thj' merry gambols. England will bless us for the deed All thy mazy course unravell'd. In some far future day! Every pool I know and shallow.

Oh ! plant the acorn tree Every circumstance of channel, Upon each Briton's grave; Every incident historic So shall our island ever be Blent Avith old or modern annal. The island of the brave Which, within thy famous valley, The mother-nurse of liberty. Dealt a merc,y or a sorrow And empress o'er the wave! Every song and every legend Which has passed into its morrow.

Who has loved thee, artless river, LET ITHER ANGLERS. Best of all thy single wooers? Of thy wayward, witching waters. Let ither anglers choose their ain, Who most ardent of pursuers] An' ither waters tak' the lead; 0' Ilieland streams we covet nane, On thy banks, a constant dreamer, But gie to us the bonnie Tweed! Sitting king among his fancies, An' gie to us the checrfu' burn Casting all his wealth of musing That steals into its vallev fair Into thy tried course of chances. —— ! —— —— !

THOMAS T. STODDART. 323

of the Trident, Name another in th}- prattle From the kingdom native river Who has clone his service bettei' Bearing to his Tendering or accepting tribute, Noble gifts of self-devotion. Creditor as well as debtor? Tribute to the Tribute Giver!

Out of thy redundant plenty, On the lap of living mercies,

I have woven a votive offering Shaped a wreath of simple verses. FLOWER -LIFE.

Every generous wish attend thee PART riRST. And, among thy generous wishers. Takes its place with bard and scholar Angels are sowers everywhere! The more lowly band of fishers. They scatter as they fly The gifts of heaven. In flower-life To that lowly band belonging. Is traced their passing by. In its pleasures the partaker, More I feel of true contentment L'pon the beaten thoroughfare, Than the lord of many an acre. Under the hedge-row sere, On the heavings of the churchyard. Still, with glowing virtues, Teviot! In places dread and drear; Graces, joys, and forms of l>eauty, Fill the valley of thy holding Upon the far-famed battle-field. EoU in dignity of duty! Where freedom at a blow Abased the giant Tyranny, Forward roll, and link thy fortunes Their mission is to sow. With fair Tweed— thine elder sister! Lyne and Leithen, Ettrick, Leader, Also 'mid pleasant homesteads. In their earlier turns have kissed hci-. And meadows of delight, And up among the harbourings Welcome, more than all the others. Of God's tempestuous might; Thou! whose fulness of perfection forehead. Finds a grateful recognition L^pon the mountain the plougiishare never soarr'd. In this symbol of affection! Which They cast, while soaring heavenward, So entwined, Tweed glides exultant. Their farewells of regard As a joyful burden bearing affluence All thy passionate confidings The nigh-exhausted their charge. The rich lore of love and daring Committed to On the more favour'd valley land, Wliieh to ballad and romances. Sown broadcast and at large! Oft uncouthly, bard committed, howling, Guided by thy chime or plaining. In yon desert, parch'd and and stern. To the rhythm which best befitted. On yon rock, so bare If you have eyes and soul of grace In the arms of Tweed enfolded. You may their tracks discern. Followed still by my devotion, its token Thou art separate to the vision, No spot without Wending on thy way to ocean. Its letter of commend Left by celestial Visitor- Friend Even there, I see the spirit Sent by the Unseen Of whose life partook the willow. scripture. And whose love laved slope and meadow, In flower-life is study is to gain Moving o'er the restless billow. Which to Glimpses of the eternal world. In the salmon which ascends thee Where saints with their Saviour reign. All arrayed in gorgeous scaling power of its teachings A proud legate I distinguish By climb and nigher From the court of Neptune hailing; 'We higher • • — ——

330 JOHN BETHUNE.

To tlie Iieaven of the Iicavcns seven, \Vith conference among the boughs Where sit the tongues of fire; Of voices low and clear

And of God's heart and purposes— "With renderings of legends His glory and his power— That stir the spirit fond. New revelations ope on us And snatches of quaint melody, By virtue of the flower! CuU'd from the world beyond.

Better tlian pulpit rhapsodies. The gathering of angels Safer than priestly strife. "Mid the hidings of the oak In its guidings to the throne of love Is a page in the pleasant fiction Is the study of Flower-life. Of the merrie fairy folk.

PAKT SECOND. For angel-life and fairy-life, In the poet's soul and song, Angels are sowers everywhere. Their part hold in the mystery They scatter as they fly That mateth Right with Wrong. The gifts of Heaven, and everywhere Eeveals their passing by. And everywhere and everywhere. The angels and the elves. Behold it in that shining tuft To win God's creatures, zealously No jeweller could devi.se Contend among themselves. Out of the seed of orient pearl. Or diamond's flashing eyes! Yet of this grand contention 'Twixt the Evil and tlie Good From imprint of the messenger 'Twixt elf and angel, -wrong and right- On mercy's errand sent, The end is understood! Sprung up, obedient to the charm. The sparkling ornament. Ye messengers of God! go on Sowing the seed of grace, An angel dropt the acorn And grant that in the reaping-time, Four centuries gone by. When face is turned to face. From which yon gnarled oak cast root, And man beholds the IMaker And sprung its antlers high. In whose image he was fraught And oft among the curtains of AVhen the light of apprehending The storm-defying tree Things that were vainly sougiit Are heard the ru.stling as of wings, Comes flashing on an intellect And a sound like a nearing sea. Obscured by the under-powers, The lovers trysting under it Be ye among the presences. Affirm that earnest eyes Ye sowers of the flowers! Are ofttimes gazing down on them That vindicate God's glory Like stars from autumnal skies; By the showing of His love, And the pauses in their whisperings And lend a leal helping hand Are filled up to the car To the paradise above!

JOHN BETHUNE

Born 1810 — Died 1839.

.Toiix Betju'XE, the younger of two remark- of Ifonimail, Fifeshire, August, 1810. We able brothers, was born at the Mount, once the have already noticed the scanty education re- residence of Sir David Lindsay, in the parish ceived by his elder brother Alexander; but the JOHN BETHUNE. 331

of any one schooling of John was limited to a single day, lying, and as soon as the footsteps the door, copy-book, after which he was never at school again. He were heard approaching under the was taught, however, to read by his mother, pens, and inkstand Avere thrust visitor came in he and initiated into writing and arithmetic by covering, and before the hand, and appeared Alexander— his teacher in boyhood and guar- had in general a bookinhis dian and counsellor in more advanced years. to have been reading." had been For some time he was employed as a cowherd, Since October, 1829, John Bethune on the grounds of and at the age of twelve he joined his brother employed as a day-labourer of his birth- in the work of breaking stones on the road. Inchrye, in the neighbourhood death of the over- To better his condition he apprenticed himself place; but in 1835, on the his successor. The in 1824 to a country weaver, and so soon ac- seer, lie was appointed exceeded quired a good knowledge of the trade that at emoluments of this office considerably formerly enjoyed, for its the end of the first year he could earn fifteen anything he had the right of a cow's shillings a week. This was much better than salary was £26 a year, witii gladly stone-breaking, and with the hope of being pastui-age. To this new situation he with his brother Alexander as able to assist his aged parents he resolved to betook himself, their satisfaction was short- follow^ weaving as his future craft, for which his assistant; but purpose he purchased a loom and commenced lived, for the estate of Inchrye soon changed followed by a change of in earnest, with his brother Alexander for his owners, Avhich Avas circumstances the apprentice. But the national mercantile de- servants. Under these their snug ap- pression which followed so utterly disappointed brothers were obliged to leave to add to their misfortunes, liis calculations that his earnings were soon pointment; and little cottage at reduced to six shillings weekly, and he was the new landlord required the located their aged obliged to return to his old occupation as an Lochend in which they had altogether homeless, out-door labourer. Amidst all these hardships parents. Being thus erect a house and privations John had also to encounter the John and Alexander resolved to their parents, Avliich they evils attendant upon weak health, which re- for themselves and hands, at Mount peatedly suspended his labour in the fields. did, chiefly with their own XcAvburgh; and here the noble- It was during these intervals that he consoled Pleasant, near tried various liimself Avith reading and composition, and hearted peasants, after having vain, resolved to make under this harsh apprenticeship his intellectual kinds of hand-labour in resource. John con- qualities were called forth and ripened for literature their principal Christian Ilcrahl, action. Before he had completed his nine- tributed to the Scottish other serials, teenth year he had composed upwards of twenty Wilson's Tales of the Borders, and pieces to his brother's Talcs poetical pieces of some length, and all of them and supplied some Peasantry. pervaded by consi

332 JOHN BETHUNE.

writings in eitlier capacity were stamped with little known while he lived, but Avhich will the impress of true genius, they also sliowed constitute his best commemoration, were pub- much deptli of reflection, ennobled by the spirit lished by his brother Alexander, Avith a memoir of genuine devotional piety. And such also of their author, in 1840; and from the profits was his daily life—simple, pure, and medita- of the second edition, issued the following year, tive, showing a man far above the ordinary a suflicient sum Avas realized to erect a monu- mark, and isolated from the sphere in which ment in the churchyard of Abdie, over the lie lived. His poems, by which he was so grave where tlie two brothers now rest.

And where are they whose eyelids then were wet ? HYMN OF THE CHURCHYARD. Alas! their griefs, their tears, are all forgot; They, too, are landed in this silent city. Ah me! this is a sad and silent city; Where there is neither love, nor tears, nor pity. Let me walk softly o'er it, and survey Its grassy streets with melancholy pity! This is a place of fear: the firmest eye Where are its children ? where their gleesome Hath quailed to see its shadowy dreariness; play ^ But Christian hope, and heavenly prospects high, Alas! their cradled rest is cold and deep, And earthly cares, and nature's weariness, Their playthings are thrown by, and they asleep. Have made the timid i^ilgrim cease to fear, And long to end his painful journey here. This is pale beauty's bower; but where the beautiful, Whom I have seen come forth at evening hours, Leading their aged friends, with feelings dutiful.

Amid the wreaths of spring, to gather flowers ? Alas! no flowers are here, but flowers of death. A SPRING SONG. And those who once were sweetest sleep beneath. There is a concert in the trees, This is a populous place; but where the bustUng— There is a concert on the hill, The crowded buyers of the noisy mart, There's melody in every breeze. The lookers on, —the showy garments rustling, — And music in the murmuring rill. The money-changers, and the men of art? The shower is past, the winds are still, Business, alas! hath stopped in mid career, Tlie fields are green, the flow'rets spring. And none are anxious to resume it here. The birds, and bees, and beetles fill The air with harmony, and fling This is the home of grandeur: where are they, The rosied moisture of the The rich, tlie great, the glorious, and the wise? leaves In frolic flight from Where are the trappings of the proud, the gay, wing to wing. Fretting the spider as The gaudy guise of human butterflies ? he weaves Alas! all lowly Ues each lofty brow, His aiiy web from bough to bough; And the green sod dizens their beauty now. In vain the little artist grieves Their joy in his destruction now. This is a place of refuge and repose Where arc the poor, tlio old, the weary wight, Alas! that, in a scene so fair. The scorned, the humble, and the man of woes, The meanest being e'er should feci Who wept for mom, and sighed again for night? The gloomy shadow of despair. Their sighs at last have ceased, and here they sleep Or sorrow o'er his bosom steal. Beside their scorncrs, and forget to weep. But in a world where woe is real. Each rank in life, and every day, This is a place of gloom: where are the gloomy? ]\hist pain and suffering The gloomy are not citizens of death. reveal. And wretched mourners in decay Approach and look, wlien the long grass is plumy; When nations See them above; they are not found bcneatli! smile o'er battles won. For these low denizens, with artful wiles. When banners wave and streamers jday, Nature, in flowers, contrives her mimic smiles. The lonely mother mourns licr son Left lifeless on the bloody clay; This is a place of sorrow: friends have met And the poor widow, all undone. And mingled tears o'er those who answered not; Sees the wild revel with dismay. JOHN BETHUNE. 333

Even in the happiest scenes of earth, on high, HYMN.i When s\Yell'il the bridal-song SACRAMENTAL "When every voice was tuned to mirth. And joy was shot from eye to eye, Lord, munificent, benign. mercies have been mine, I've heard a sadly-stifled sigh; How many with thee And, 'mid the garlands rich and fair. Since last I met could vie ordinance of thine— I've seen a cheek, which once In that blest bread and wine. In beauty with the fairest there, The holy feast of by me! Grown deadly pale, although a smile Which was enjoy'd Was worn above to cloak despair: days, in goodness sent, Poor maid! it was a hapless wile How many sickening sadness spent; Of long-conceal'd and hopeless love, Have been in while many nights have come. To hide a heart which broke the How and sweet content, pangs no lighter heart could prove. Which promis'd rest With went, Yet left behind them, when they The joyous spring and summer gay Distress, and grief, and gloom! With perfumed gifts together meet, And from the rosy lips of May How many purposes have fail'd, Breathe music soft and odours sweet; How many doubts my heart assailVl, feet fast; And still my eyes delay my And held my spirit To gaze upon the earth and heaven, How many sins have been bewail'd. And hear the happy birds repeat How many follies have prevail'd, Their anthems to the coming even: Since I confess'd thee last! Yet is my pleasure incomplete; springs. are given But still to thee my spirit I erieve to think how few underneath thy sheltering wings "To feel the pleasures 1 possess, And asylum seeks: While thousand hearts, by sorrow riven, A safe sweetly brings Must pine in utter loneliness. For this memorial of thy sufferings, Or be to desperation driven. Remembrance And all thy kindness speaks. Oh! could we find some happy land, Some Eden of the deep blue sea, And, like a little child, I lay and say, By gentle breezes only fann'd, My spirit at thy feet, thine: Upon whose soil, from sorrow free. "Lord, take it, it is to pray,— Grew only pure felicity; Teach it to trust, to fear, main and day, AVho would not brave the stormiest Feed it with love by night Within that blissful isle to be And let thv will be mine." _ Exempt from sight or sense of pain? see, There is a land we cannot Whose joys no pen can e'er portray; And yet so narrow is the road, stray. WITHERED FLOWERS. From it our spirits ever Shed light upon that path, God! Adieu! ye wither'd flow'rets! And lead us in the appointed way. Your day of glory's past; There only joy shall be complete, But your latest smile was loveliest. can reach, More high than mortal thoughts For we knew it was your last. meet. For there the just and good shall No more the sweet aroma speech; Pure in affection, thought, and Of your golden cups shall rise No jealousy shall make a breach, To scent the morning's stilly breath. Nor pain their pleasure e'er alloy; Or gloaming's zephyr-sighs. There sunny streams of gladness stretch, very air is joy. to was administered on And there the 1 The sacrament here alluded relied and it was the last There shall the faithful, who the second Sabbath of June, 183S, cloy, the parish (Rev. Laurence On faithless love till life would at which the minister of the last at which the And those who sorrow'd till they died Millar) officiated, and likewise his seat: the former being pain and earthly woe, author of these lines took O'er earthly before another and the latter too ill to attend, See pleasure, like a whelming tide. dead, opportunity occurred. From an unbounded ocean flow. —

334 WILLIAM MILLER

Ye were the sweetest offerings There comes a blast to terminate Wliicli friendsliip could bestow Our evanescent span: A token of devoted love For frail as your existence, is In pleasure or in woe! The mortal life of man! Ye graced the head of infancy, And is the land we hasten to grief ]}y soft affection twined A land of and gloom? Into a fairy coronal Ko: there the Lily of the Yale Its sunny brows to bind. And Eose of Sharon bloom!

» Ye deck'd the coffins of the dead, And there a stream of ecstasy Uy yearning sorrow strew'd Through groves of glory flows. Along each lifeless lineament, And on its banks the Tree of Life In deatli's cold damps bcdew'd; In lieavenly beauty grows. Ye were the pleasure of our eyes And flowers that never fade away, In dingle, wood, and wold. Whose blossoms never close. In the parterre's sheltered premises, Bloom round the walks whei'e angels stray, And on the mountain cold. And saints redeem'd repose.

blown And though, like you, sweet flowers of earth, But ah I a dreary blast hath Athwart you in your bloom. We wither and depart, And, pale and sickly, now your leaves And leave behind, to mourn our loss, Tlie hues of death assume. Full many an aching heart; AYe mourn your vanisii'd loveliness, Yet when the winter of the grave Ye sweet departed flowers; Is past, we hope to rise, For ah! the fate wliich blighted you Warm'd by the Sun of Righteousness, skies. An emblem is of ours. To blossom in the

WILLIAM MILLEE

Born ISIO — Dif.d 1S72.

William JIiller, author of "Willie Winkie" peared in the public prints, but the first of his attention was his — which the IJev. George Gilfillan characteristi- compositions that attracted " cally pronounced "tiie greatest nursery song nursery song of Willie Winkle." This was similar in the world'"—was born in Bridgegate, Glas- followed by a number of pieces of a gow, in .Vugust, ISIO, but passed most of his character, and led to the author's acquaintance early years at Parkhead, then a country village with many eminent literary gentlemen. The near Glasgow, and from whence many of his best known of ^liller's nursery songs were all rural inspirations and recollections are derived. written before he was thirty-six years of age, He was intended for a surgeon, and pursued for but it was not till 1863 that he collected and a period his studies for tliat profession, but a published a small volume, entitled Scottii-h severe illness, with which he was seized when Xurseri/ Somjs, and other Poems. In Novem- about sixteen, induced his parents to change ber, 1871, ill health compelled him to aban- their intention, and Willie was apprenticed to don work and to confine himself to the house, a wood-turner. By diligent application he soon wlicn he again found pleasure in poetic com- became one of the best skilled workmen of his position, which for several years he had craft, and even in his later years it is said that almost entirely abandoned. In July, 1872, there were but few who could equal him in he removed to Blantyre with the expectation speed or excellence of workmanship. that the purer air of the country would re-

While still a youth some of his verses ap- invigorate his frame. But this hope was not ——— ——

WILLIAISI MILLER. 335 fulfilled, and in a few weeks he was brought Bairnies, Gree.' Manitoba and the banks of back and died at his son's residence in Glas- the Mississippi echo the 'Wonderfu' Wean' as gow, Aug. 20, 1872. His remains were buried often as do Kilmarnock or the Goosedubs. in the family ground at Tollcross, and since 'Lady Summer' will sound as sweet in llio then a monument designed by the sculptor Janeiro as on the banks of the Clyde. . . . !Mossman has been erected by the poet's friends Few poets, however prosperous, are so cer- and admirers in the Glasgow Necropolis. To tain of their immortality. I can scarcely con- his only son we are indebted for several unpub- ceive a period when William Miller will be lished productions of Mr. Miller's later years forgotten; certainly not until the Scotch Doric given in our Collection. is obliterated, and the lowly nursery abolished

Eobert Buchanan, in writing of William for ever. . . . Speaking specifically, he is ^liller, remarks: " Xo eulogy can be too high (as I have phrased it) the Laureate of the for one who has afforded such unmixed pleasure Xursery; and there, at least, he reigns su- to his circle of readers; who, as a master of the preme above all other poets, monarch of all Scottish dialect, may certainly be classed along- he surveys, and perfect master of his theme. side of Burns and Tannahill; and whose special His poems, however, are as distinct from claims to be recognized as the laureate of the nursery gibberish as the music of Shelley is nursery have been admitted by more than one from the jingle of Ambrose Phillips. They generation in every part of the world where are works of art— tiny paintings on small the Doric Scotch is understood and loved. canvas, limned with all the microscopic care of Wherever Scottish foot has trod, wherever Meissonier. The highest praise that can be said

Scottish child has been born, the songs of of them is that they are perfect 'of their kind.'

AVilliam Miller have been sung. Every corner That kind is humble enough ; but humility of the earth knows 'Willie Winkle' and 'Gree, may be very strong, as it certainly is here."

"Hey, Willie Winkie— AVILLIE WIXKIE. The wean's in a creel! Wamblin' aff a body's knee Wee AVillie Winkle Like a very eel, Rins through the toun. Euggin' at the cat's lug, Up stairs and doun stairs Rav'Ilin' a' her thrums nicht-goun, In his Hey, Willie Winkie Tirling at the window. See, there he comes!" Crying at the lock, the weans in their bed, "Are Wearied is the mither .*" For it's now ten o'clock That has a stoorie wean, A wee stumpie stousie. "Hey, Willie Winkie, That canna rin his lane. Are ye coming ben? That has a battle aye wi' .«lecp, The cat's singing gray thrums Before he'll close an e'e To the sleeping hen, But a kiss frae afF his rosy lips The dog's spelder'd on the floor, Gies strength anew to me. And disna gie a cheep. But here's a waukrife laddie That wiuua fa' asleep."

Onything but sleep, you rogue! COCKIE-LEERIE-LA. Glow'ring like the moon, Uattling in an airn jug There is a country gentleman, Wi' an airn spoon, Who leads a thrifty life. Piumblin', tumblin', round about, Ilk morning scraping orra things

Crawing like a cock, , Thegither for his wife Skirlin' like a kenna-what, His coat o' glowing ruddy brown, Wauk'nin' sleeping folk. And wavelet wi' gold — — ;—— •

336 WILLIAM MILLER

A crimson crown upon his bead, For in his quiet turns, siccan questions he'll Well-fitting one so bold. speir: How the moon can stick up in the sky that's If ithers pick where he did scrape, sae clear] He brings them to disgrace, AVbat gars the wind blaw? and wharfrae comes For, like a man o' metal, he the rain? Siclike meets face to face; He's a perfect divert: he's a wonderfu' wean! He gies the loons a lethering, A crackit croon to claw Or wha was the first body's father? and wha There is nae gaun about the bush Made the very first snaw-shower that ever did AVi' Coekie-Ieerie-la! fa'? And wha made the first bird that sang on a His step is firm and evenly, tree? His look both sage and grave And the water that sooms a' the ships on the His bearing bold, as if he said, sea? "I'll never be a slave I" But after I've tell't him as weel as I ken, And tho' he bauds his head fu' high, Again be begins wi' his "Wha?" and his He glinteth to the grun, "When?" Nor fyles his silver spurs in dubs And he looks aye sae watchfu' the while I Wi' glowerin' at the sun: explain, — He's as auld as the hills he's an auld-farrant And whiles I've thocht bad he a hand — wean. AVbarwi' to grip a stickie, A pair o' specks across bis neb, And round his neck a dickie, And folk wha ha'e skill o' the lumps on the bead, That weans wad laughing baud their sides, Hint there's mae ways than toiling o' And cry, " Preserve us a'! winning Ye" re some frien" to Doctor Drawbluid, ane's bread; Douce Cockie-leerie-la!" How he'll be a rich man, and ha'e men to work for him, So learn frae him to think nae shame Wi' a kyte like a bailie's, sbug-shugging afore To work for what ye need, him, For he that gapes till be be fed. Wi' a face like the moon, sober, sonsy, ami May gape till be be dead; douce, And if ye live in idleness, And a back, for its breadth, like the side o' a Ye'U find unto your cost. bouse. That they wha wiuna work in beat. 'Tweel I'm unco ta'en up wi't, the}' mak'a'sae Maun hunger in the frost. plain,

He's just a town's talk— he's a by-ord"nar Avean I And bain wi' care ilk sair-won plack.

And honest pride will fill I ne'er can forget sic a laugh as I gat. wi' Your purse gear— e'en ftir-off frien's When I saw him put on father's waistcoat and Will bring grist to your mill; hat; And if, when grown to be a man. Then the lang-leggit boots gaed sae far owi-c Your name's without a flaw, bis knees, Then rax your neck, and tune your pipes The tap loops wi' bis fingers he grippit wi' ease, To Cockie-leerie-la! Then be march'd thro' the house, he march'd but, be march'd ben, Sae like mony mae o' our great little men,

That I leugh clean outrigiit, for I couldna THE WOXDERFU' WEAN. contain. He was sic a conceit— sic an ancient-like wean.

Our wean's the most wonderfu' wean o'er I saw, It would tak' me a lang summer day to tell a' But 'mid a' his daflin' sic kindness be shows, His pranks, frae the morning till niglit shuts Tliat he's dear to my heart as the dew to the liis e'e, rose When be sleeps like a peerie, 'tween father and And the unclouded hinnie-beam aye in liise'e, me. Mak's him every day dearer and dearer to me. — ! — : !

WILLIAM MILLER. 337

Though fortune be saucy, and dorty, and dour, We meet wi' blythesome an' kythesome cheerie weans, And glooms through her fingers, like hills Daffing and laughing far adoon the leafy lanes, through a shower, Wi' gowans and buttercups busking the thorny When bodies hae got ae bit bairn o' their ain, wands, How he cheers up their hearts, — he's the wou- Sweetly singing wi' the flower-branch waving in derfu' wean. their hands.

'Boon a' that's in thee, to win me, sunny Spring I Bricht cluds and gi-een buds, and sangs that the GREE, BAIRNIES, GREE. birdies sing; Flower-dappled hill-side and dewy beech sae The moon has rowed her in a cloud, fresh at e'en; shining a' in green— Stravaiging win's begin Or the tappie-tooi-ie fir-ti-ee To shuggle and daud the window-brods, Bairnies bring treasure and pleasure mair to- me, Like loons that wad be in Stealing and spelling up to fondle on my knee whistle a tune in the lum-head, Gae In spring-time the young things are blooming craik in saughen treel Or sae fresh and fair. AVe're thankfu' for a cozy hame That I canna, Spring, but love and bless thee Sae gree, my bairnies, gree. evermair.

Though gurgling bhists may dourly blaw, A rousing fire will thow A straggler's taes, and keep fu' cosh LADY SUMMER. My tousie taps-o'-tow. who would cule your kail, my bairns, Birdie, birdie, weet your whistle! Or bake your bread like me? Sing a sang to please the Avean; Ye'd get the bit frae out my mouth, Let it be o' Lady Summer Sae gree, my bairnies, gree. AValking wi' her gallant train! Sing him how her gaucy mantle, Oh, never fling the warmsome boon Forest green trails ower the lea, 0' bairnhood's love awa'; Broider'd frae the dewy hem o't Mind how ye sleepit, cheek to cheek, Wi' the field fiowers to the knee! Between me and the wa'; How ae kind arm was owre ye baith How her foot's wi' daisies buskit, But, if ye disagree. Kirtle o' the primrose hue, Think on the saft and kindly soun' And her e'e sae like my laddie's. 0' "Gree, my bairnies, gree." Glancing, laughing, loving blue! How we meet on hill and valley, Children SAveet as fiiirest flowei's. Buds and blossoms o' affection. Rosy wi' the sunny hours. SPRING. Sing him sic a sang, sweet birdie! linking jinking through The Spring comes and Sing it ower and ower again; the woods, Gar the notes fa' pitter patter, Opening vn' gentle hand the bonnie green and Like a shower o' summer rain. j'ellow buds "Hoot, toot, toot!" the birdie's saying, There's flowers and showers, and sweet sang o' " Wha can shear the rigg that's shorn? little bird. Ye've sung brawlie simmer's ferlies, And the gowan wi' his red croon peeping tlii-o' I'll toot on anither horn." the yird.

The hail comes rattling and brattling snell an' keen, Dauding and blauding, though red set the sun HAIRST. at e'en; Tho' weel I lo'e the budding spring, In bonnet and wee loof the weans kep an' look I'll misca' John Frost, for mair. no Dancing thro'ther wi' the white pearls shining in Kor will I roose the summer days their hair. At gowden autumn's cost: Vol. II.—Y — ; — — — ; — —

338 WILLIAM MILLER.

For a' the seasons in their turn Lift thine eyes above, around thee, Some wished-for pleasures bring, Infant sire of storm and floods. And iiand in hand tliey jink aboot, Like weans at jingo-ring. Through the tangled green and golden Curtains of thy valley bed, Fu' weel I mind how aft re said, See the trees hath vied to woo thee. AVhen winter nights were lang, And with homage to subdue thee

" I weary for the summer woods, Show'ring bright leaves o'er tliy head. The lintie's tittering sang;'' But when the woods grew gay and green. Let, oh! let their fading glories And birds sang sweet and clear. Grace the earth while still tliey may, It then was, " When Avill hairst-tinie come, For the poplar's-orange, gleaming. The gloaming o' the year?" And tlie beech's ruddy beaming. Warmer seems to make the day. Oh, hairst-time's like a lipping cup That's gi'en wi' furthy gleel Now the massy plane-leaf's twirling, The fields are fu' o' yellow corn, Down the misty morning liglit. I'ed apples bend the tree; And the saugh-tree's tinted treasure The genty air, sae lailylikel Seems to seek the earth with pleasure Has on a scented gown, Show'ring down from morn till niglit. And wi' an airy string she leads The thistle-seed balloon. Tlirongh the seasons, ever varying, Bapture tills the human soul Tlie yellow corn Mill porridge mak', Blessed dower! to mankind given, The apples taste j'our mou', All is perfect under heaven. In the part as in the whole. And ower the stibble riggs I'll chase The thistle-down wi' you Hush'd the golden flute of mavis. I'll pu' the haw frae aff the thorn, Silver pipe of little wren, The red hip frae the brier But the redbreast's notes are ringing. For wealth hangs in each tangled nook And its "weel-kent" breast is bringing In the gloaming o' the year. Storied boyhood back again. Sweet hope! ye biggit ha'e a nest Woodland splendour of November, Within my bairnie's breast — Did departing Autumn dye Oh! may his trusting heart ne'er trow All thy foliage, that when roamin' That whiles ye sing in jest; We might pictur'd see her gloamin' Some coming joys are dancing aye In thy woods as in her sky] Before his langing een lie sees the flower tiiat isna blawn, And birds that ne'er were seen; JOHN FEOST. The stibble rigg is aye ahin'! The gowden grain afore, You've come early to see ns this year, John Frost, And apples drop into his lap, Wi' your Crispin' an' poutherin' gear, John Frost; Or row in at the door! For hedge, tower, and tree, Come, hairst-time, tlien, unto bairn, my As far as I see. Drest in your gayest gear, Are as white as the bloom o' the pear, John Fi'ost. W i' saft and winnowing win's to cool The gloaming o' the year! You're very preceose wi' your wark, Jobn Frost! Altho' ye hae wrought in the dark, John Frost; For ilka tit-stap, Frae the door to the slap. Is braw as a new linen sark, John Frost.

NOVEMBER. There are some things about ye [ like, John Frost, And ithers that aft gar me fyke, John Frost; Infant Winter, young November, For the weans, wi' cauld taes. Nursling of the glowing woods, Crying, " Shoon, stockings, claes," Lo! the sleep is burst that bound thee Keep us busy as bees in the byke, John Frost. — — ———

WILLIAM MILLER. 339

And gae "\va' wi' j-our lang slides, I beg, John And a' that's gude I wish ye. Frost, At our ain fire- end. Bairns' banes are as bruckle's au egg, John Frost; For a cloit o' a fa' When ye're far, far frae the blink Gars them hirple awa', 0' our ain fire end. Like a hen wi' a happity leg, John Frost. Fu' monie a time yell think On our ain fire-end; Ye liae fine goings on in the north, John Frost! On a' your gamesome ploys, Wi' your houses o' ice and so forth, John Frost! On your whistle and your toys, Tho' their kirn's on the fire. And ye'll think ye hear the noise They may kirn till they tire, O" our ain fire-end. Yet their butter—pray what is it worth, John Frost ?

Now, your breath would be greatly improven, WHEN JAMIE COMES HAME. John Frost, scone pipin"-het frae the oven, John Frost; By a Ye breezes, blaw saft as the coo o' the dove. And your blae frosty nose Waft gently the ship hame, that brings me my Nae beauty wad lose love. Kent ye mair baith o' boiling and stovin', John The joy o' my heart brings the tear to my ee. Frost. For I trust ye'll bring safely my laddie to me. We'll hae crackin' o' thum's when young Jamie comes hame Some eatiu' sour plums, when my Jamie comes OUR AIN FIRE-END. hame An' seats will be shiftin', an' bonnets be liftin'. When up the Clyde cbiftin' my Jamie comes When tlie frost is on the grun', hame. Keep your ain fire-end. For the warmth o' summer's sun An' how's my joe Janet ? I ken what he'll say, Has our ain fire-end; An' syne tak' my han' in his ain kindly way When there's dubs ye miglit be lair'd in. Sae douce aye afore fock—nae ane will can tell Or snaw-wreaths ye could be smoor'd in, The touslin' FU get, when we're left by oursel'. The best flower in the garden I ken wha'll get married, when Jamie comes Is our ain fire-end. hame Fock say my head's carried at his coniin' hame and fatlicr are sie twa! You 'Tween out-in and in-in, an' here an' there rinnin", lioun' our ain fire-end, It really is spinnin' at his comin' hame. He mak's rabbits on the wa'.

At our ain fire-end. The parish is ringin' wi' what I will wear, Tlien sic fun as they are mumping, An' spite has an answer to a' that do specr, When, to touch them ye gae stumping, "Some cheap trash o' muslin at saxpence the ell. They're set on your tap a-jumping, An' if a thocht yellow, the liker hersel'." At our ain fire-end. A pose I've a-hidin', till Jamie comes hame My time I'm a-bidin', till Jamie comes hame; Sic a bustle as ye keep Then a silk gown o' green, wi' a skinklein' sheen, At our ain fire-end. Will dazzle their een, when my Jamie comes When ye on your whistle wheep, hame. Round our ain fire-end; Now, the dog maun get a saddle, Then a cart's made o' the ladle, THE BLUE BELL. To please ye as ye daidle Round our ain fire-end. The blue bell, the blue bell, I'll try to sing thy praise, When your head's lain on my lap. For thou hast been to mc a joy in many lonely At our ain fire-end, ways: Taking childhood's dreamless nap, When listening to the skylark, it puzzled me At our ain fire-end: to tell Then frae lug to lug I kiss ye. Which were the most beloved— his notes, or An' wi' heart o'ei-flowing bless ye. thou, the Scottish bell. — — — ! — —

340 ALEXANDEE MACLAGAN.

Tlie blue belli the blue bell! nae wonder that Then say if thy breast can forget e'er the pleasure

I loe Gave by flowers at thy feet, or the haw bloom The dewy shimmerin' gloamin', for ever linkd above.

wi' you : Tell then the lover to woo in the e'enin' A band o' rosv rovers then, we rifled copse au' Down where the haw blossom's flom-ishing seen; dell Sweeter shade never two young hearts was For meadow-queen to bind, wi' thee, thou screenin' bonnie gracefu' bell. Than the thorn with its snaw-crown and mantle The blue bell! the blue bell! where'er Ave wan- of green. dering go, If, with such sweetness around them when roam- By highway, or in bye-way, or where tiny streamlets flow; in', The heart of the lassie, sae guileless, is won, By hedgerow, or in leafy lane, or by the way- Forever the haw-bloom, the richness of gloarnin', side well, And the blush of his dearie, shall mingle in one. We meet in nook, or marge o' brook, thy bonnie droopin' bell. Bloom with the lily-breath ! everywhere growing Down in the deep glen thy white crown is seen; The blue bell! the blue bell! does Afric's tra- High 'mid the dark firs alike art thou blowing; veller dream Thou'rt the banner of love! and the summer's 0' slender wavin' flow'rets, that grew by fau" queen. Clutha's stream 0" being once again a boy, with blue bells in his hand, An' wake to bless the di'eam that gave to him SONNET TO A LADY. his native land. Thy hand is on the plough—look ye not back; Tiie sang o' the mavis, frae afF the holly-tree, Thy hand is on the harp—strike ye the string: The lintie in the whin-bush, that sings sae A youthful poetess may courage lack, merrilie; But Heaven deserts not whom it taught to sing. The hum o' rural murmurs, like sound o' If 'mid the pageant of thy fancy's throng, ocean shell. Passing before thy mind in musing hour. Fair riseth beautiful song! Arc ever thine, for glaumorie is round the Blantyre — as thou should note sweet neglected sweet blue bell. And some flow'r The gift is thine—the poet's power to fling A witch'rj' round it, that all eyes shall see THE HAW BLOSSOM. Another—not the modest cow 'ring thing That's fed by dew and sunshine on the lea, Think on the time when thy heart beat a measure, But glorified—to grace a festival All tuneful as woods %\ith the music of love; A gowan made a gem— meet for a coronal!

ALEXANDEE MACLAGAN.

Alexander Maclagan was born at Perth, He applied his leisure time to diligent study,

April 3, 1811. His father Thomas Maclagan, and in 1829, while yet an apprentice, became first a farmer and afterwards a manufacturer, a contributor to the Edlnhunjh Literary Jour- removed to Edinburgh when his son was five nal, some of his poetical pieces receiving the years of age. He attended several schools in commendation of Professor Wilson and the Edinburgh, and when ten years old was placed Ettrick Shepherd. He afterwards proceeded in a jeweller's shop, where he remained for two to London, Avhere he worked for some time at years, when he was apprenticed to a plumber. his trade, and where he made the acquaintance — —

ALEXANDEE MACLAGAN. 341

service. If you of Allan Cunningham. He returned to Edin- or to be able to do you any set down burgli, and was for two years manager of a publish by subscription you may me plumbery establishment at Dunfermline, but for five or six copies, and do not scruple to further aid you may think for many years past he has devoted himself apply to me for any believe with entirely to literary and educational pursuits. I can lend you. — Meantime, me, In 1841 Maclagan published an edition of his all good wishes, your obliged and faithful " poems, which attracted the attention of Lord friend, F. Jeffkey." Jeffrey, who invited him to Craigcrook Castle, Soon after liis patron's death :Maclagan his residence near Edinburgh. The following found a new friend in Lord Cockburn, who letter, the last which his lordship ever wrote, obtained a clerkship for him in the office of the was sent to our author regarding a new volume Inland Revenue, Edinburgh. In 1851 he was entitled Sketches from Nature, and other entertained by a number of his admirers at a Poems, whicli he was about to publish:— public dinner, and more recently a similar "24 Moray Place, 4th Jan. 1850. compliment was extended to him in his native poet's third publication, entitled " Dear Sir, — I am very much obliged to you town. The School Rhymes, ap- for the poems and tlie kind letter you have sent Rugijed and Industrial later he had me, and am glad to find that you are meditat- peared in 1854. Two years a civil list ing an enlarged edition of your Poems. I have conferred on him by the Queen In 1860 the poet already read all these in the slips, and I think pension of £30 per annum. Yolunteers, them, on the whole fully equal to those in thefor- joined a company of Highland the commission of ensign. In 1863 mer volume. I am most pleased, I believe, with receiving songs that which you have entitled 'A Sister's Love,' he published a little volume of patriotic title of " A'olunteer Songs, by Alex- which is at once very touching, very graphic, under the ;"' E.E. V. and very elegant. Your 'Summer Sketches' ander Maclagan, Ensign Second City written have beautiful passages in all of them, and a also a collection of "War Songs," pervading joyousness and kindliness of feeling, during the Crimean and Indian wars. His quarto as well as a vein of grateful devotion, which latest poetical publication, a handsome must recommend them to all good minds. volume richly illustrated, entitled "Balmoral: other Poems," 'The Scorched Flowers' I think the most pic- Songs of the Highlands, and turesque. Your muse seems to have been un- appeared in 1871. It includes some of the is dedi- usually fertile this last summer. It will always author's formerly published poems; and be a pleasure to me to hear of your well-being. cated by permission to her Majesty the Queen.

A SISTER'S LOVE.

The glory of the starry night Sweet guardian of my infancj', Hath vanished, with its visions bright: Hast thou not been the blooming tree Whilst daybreak bluslies glad my sight, Whose soft green branches sheltered me inclemency? Take my first kiss of fond delight, From withering want's And let me greet. No cloud of care. With blessings meet. Nor bleak despair Thy morning smiles, my sister sweet. Could blight me 'neath thy branches fair.

Lo! whilst I fondly look upon And thou hast been, since that sad day Thy lovely face, drinking the tone We gave our mother's clay to clay. Of thy sweet voice, my early known, The morning star, the evening ray, life's weary way, Jily long, long loved, —my dearest grown,- That cheered me on I feel thou art A vision bright, A joy, a part Filling my night light. Of all I prize in soul and heart. Of sorrow Avith thy looks of —— ——— —

342 ALEXANDEE MACLAGAN.

Yet there were hours I'll ne'er forget, And hourly prove. Ere sorrow and thy soul had met, The joys that move Ere thy young cheeks with tears were wet, The pure heart with a sister's love. Or grief's pale seal was on them set, Ere hope declined. And cares unkind Threw sadness o'er thy sunny mind. THE OUTCAST. In glorious visions still I see The village green, the old oak tree, And did you pity me, kind sir? The sun-bathed banks where oft with thee Say, did you pity me? I've hunted for the blaeberrie, Then, oh how kind, and oh hoAv warm. Where oft we crept, Your generous heart must be! And sighed and wept, For I have fasted all the day, AVhere our dead linnet soundly slept. Ay, nearly fasted three. And slept upon the cold, hard earth. I the rustic chair Again see And none to pity me; In which you swung me through sweet air. And none to pity me, kind sir, twined fair lilies with hair, Or my And none to pity me. Or dressed my little doll with care;

In fancy's sight My mother told me I was born Still rise its bright On a battlefield in Spain, Blue beads, red shoes, and boddice white. Where mighty men like lions fought, AVhere blood ran down like rain! And oh! the sunsets in the west: And how she wept, with bursting lieart, And oh! my joy when gently prest My father's corse to see! To the soft pillow of thy breast. When I lay cradled 'mong the dead, Lulled by thy mellow voice to rest. And none to pity me; Sung into dreams And none to pity me, kind sir, Of woods and streams. And none to pity me. Of lovely buds, and birds, and beams. At length there came a dreadful day, Sweet were the morns that then did break. My mother too lay dead, Sweet was thy song— " .Vwakel awake, And I was sent to England's shore !My love; for life, for beauty's sake, To beg my daily bread, xVwake, and dewy kis.ses take! To beg my bread; but cruel men Awake, and raise Said, Boy, this may not be. A song of praise So they locked me in a cold, cold cell. To Ilim whose paths are heavenward ways." And none to pity me: "When wintry tempests swept the vale, And none to pity me, kind sir. 'When thunder and the heavy hail And none to pity me. A nd lightning turned each young cheek pale. They whipped me, sent me hungry forth; Thine ever was the Bible tale — I saw a lovely field Or psalmist's song Of fragrant beans; I plucked, I ate; The wild night long. To hunger all must yield. IIow firm the heart where faith is strong! The farmer came, — a cold, a stern, Now summer clouds, like golden towers. A cruel man was he; Fall shattered into diamond showers: He sent me as a thief to jail. Come, let us seek our wildwood bowers. And none to pity me; And lay our heads among the flowers; And none to pity me, kind sir, Come, sister dear. And none to pity me. That we may hear Our mother's spirit whispering near. It was a blessed place for me, For I had better fare; For worldly wealth I have no care. It was a blessed place for me, For diamond toy to deck my hair, Sweet was the evening prayer. For silk or satin robes to wear; At length they drew my prison bolts.

Content, if I can daily share, And I again was free, -— —— — —

ALEXANDER MACLAGAN. 343

of brightness on me alight. Poor, weak, and naked in the street, Spirit For the thirst of my soul would gladly sip And none to pity mc; The dew that is shed from thy downy wing; And none to pity me, kind sir, Then breathe, sweet spu-it, oh! breathe on my And none to pity me. lip. And teach me the thoughts of my soul to smg. I saw sweet children in the fields, For words must be warmed at a holy flame And fair ones in tlie street. my venture to breathe my true-love's name! And some were eating tempting fruit, Ere I I speak it not to the worldly throng, And some got kisses sweet; I sing it not in the festive song; And some were in their fatlier's arms, But when clasped in the arms of the solemn Some on their mother's knee: wood, 1 thought my orphan heart would break. In the calm of morn and the stillness of even, For none did pity me; I tell to the ear of solitude did pity me, kind sir, For none The name that goes up with my prayers to heaven. For none did pity me. Come, Echo! come. Echo! but not from the eaves Then do you pity me, kind sir? Where gloom ever broods and the wild wind raves. Then do you pity me ] Come not in the gusts that sweep over the graves, Then, oh how kind, and oh how Avarm, In the roar of the storm or the dash of the waves; Your generous heart must be I But softly, gently, rise from the earth, For I have fasted all the day. As full as the heave of a maiden's breast. Ay, fasted nearly three, When the first sigh of love is starting to birth. slept upon the cold, hard ground, And And sweetly disturbing her bosom's rest; none to pity me; And Softly, gently, rise from the bed And none to pity me, kind sir. Where the young May gowan hath laid its head. And none to pity me. Hath laid its head, and slept all night. With a dewy heart—so pure and bright; Come with its breath, and the tinge of its blush, Come with its smile when the skies grow flush: LOVE'S EVENING SONG. Come, and I'll tell thee the secret way Thou must go to my love with my lowly lay;— Night's finger hath prest down the eyelids of day, Onward, on, through the silent grove, interwove; And over his breast thrown a mantle of gray, Where the tangled branches are the moon's gold beam I'll out to the fields, and my lonely way Onward, on, where Shall be lighted by fancy's burning ray; Is painting heaven upon the stream; on, And, oh! might I hear my own love say, Through floweiy paths still onward, the sun "Sing on, sing on, I'll bless thy strain," Till you meet my love as you meet ;My heart would re-echo most willingly, A being too bright to look proud upon! pass "Amen, sweet spirit, amen!" But her gentle feet will as softly As the shade of a cloud on the sleeping grass; I seek the green bank where the streamlet flows, And the soul-fed blue of her lovely eye The home of the bluebell and wild primrose; Is as dark as the depths of the cloudless sky, Where the glittering spray from the fountain And as full of magic mystery! springs, And, more than all, her breath is sweet And twines round the branches like silver strmgs. As the blended odours you love to meet. Or falls again through the yellow moon's rays, When you stir at morn the blooming bowers, Like rich drops of gold—a thousand ways. And awake the air that sleeps round the flowers. I come in thy presence, thou bright new moon! Then tell her. Echo, my whisper'd vow, To spend nature's night, but true love's noon; I cannot breathe it so well as thou, To stretch me out on the flowery earth, Oh! tell her all I am feeUng now! And to christen with tears the young buds' birth.

Oh! surely, ye heavens! some being of light Is descending to earth in this calm, calm night. Bearing balm and bliss from a holy sphere. THE AULD MEAL MILL. To cheer the hearts that are sorrowing here, auld meal mill. Gently alighting upon each breast The auld meal mill— oh, the schule-days it haunts me still; It knew on earth and loved the best; Like a dream o' my blink on the face o' a hfll. That its strength be renewed, its sleep be rest. Like the sun's summer the a\ild meal mill. Its thoughts be pure, and its di-eams be blest. Stands the love o' my boyhood, ; , — ; ! ,; ——; ————

344 ALEXANDER MACLAGAN.

The stream frae the mountain, rock-ribbit and The auld meal mill—oh, the auld meal mill, brown Like a dream o' my schule-days it haunts me still; Like a peal o' loud laughter, comes— rattlin' doon Like the sun's summer bhnk on the face o' a hill, Tak' my word for't, my freen 'tis nae puny rill Stands the love o' my boyhood, the auld meal mill. That ca's the big wheel o' the auld meal mill.

When flashin' atid dashin' the paddles flee roimd. The miller's blythe whistle aye blends wi' the CURLING SONG. sound; The spray, like the bricht draps whilk rainbows Hurrah for Scotland's worth and fame, distil, A health to a' that love the name; Fa's in showers o' red gowd round the auld meal Hurrali for Scotland's darling game, mill. The pastime o' the free, boys. While head, an' heart, an' are The wild Hielari' heather grows thick on its thack arm Strang, AVe'll a" join in patriot's The ivy and apple-tree creep up its back a sang, The lightning-wing'd swallow, wi' Nature's ain And sing its praises loud and lang skill, The roarin' rink for me, boys. Euilds its nest 'neath the eaves o' the auld meal Hurrah, hurrah, for Scotland's fame, mill. A health to a' tiiat love tlie name; Hurrah for Scotland's darling game; your e'o Keep on the watch-dog, for Cajsar kens The roarin' rink for me, boys. weel When the wild gipsy laddies are tryin' to steal; Gie hunter cliaps their break-neck hours, But he lies like a lamli, and licks wi' good will Tiieir slaughtering guns amang the niuirs; The hard, horny hand that brings grist to the mill. Let wily fisher prove his powers At the flinging o' the flee, boy.s. There are mony queer jokes 'bout the auld meal But let us pledge ilk hardy chiel, mill; Wha's liand is sure, ivha's heart is leal, are noo sober They folks 'bout the auld meal mill, Wha's glory's in a brave bonspicl But ance it was said that a het Hielan' still The roarin' rink for me, boys. Was aften at wark near the auld meal mill. In ancient days— f;ime tells the fact When the plough's at its rest, the i' the sheep That Scotland's iieroes werena slack fauld, The heads o" stubborn foes to crack. Sic gatherin's are there, baitli o' young folk and And mak' the feckless flee, boys. auld Wi' brave hearts, beating true and Avarm, The herd blaws his horn, richt bauldlyand shi-ill, They aften tried the cnrlin' charm A' to bring doon his clan to the auld meal mill. To cheer the heart and nerve the arm The roarin' rink for me, boys. Tlien sic jumpin' o'er barrows, o'er hedges and harrows ]\Iay love and friendship crown our cheer The men o' the mill can scarce fin' then- marrows; Wi' a' the joys to curlers dear; Their lang-barrell'd guns wad an armoury fill— AYe hae this nicht some heroes liere, There's some capital shots near the auld meal mill. AVe aye are blythe to see, boys. A' brithers brave are they, At blithe penny-weddin' or christ'nin' a wee ane, I ween fickle fortune, slippery Sic ribbons, sic ringlets, sic feathers are fleein'; May queen, Sic laughin', sic daffin', sic dancin', until Aye keep their ice baith clear and clean The laft near comes doon o' the auld meal mill. The roarin' rink for me, boys.

health I hae listen'd to music—ilk varying tone May an' strength their toils rewanl. Frae the harp's decin' fa' to the bagpipe's drone; And should misfortune's gales blow hard, But nane stirs my heart wi' sae happy a thrill Our task will be to plant a guard As the sound o' the wheel o' the auld meal mill. Or guide them to the tee, boys. Here's three times tiiree for cnrlin' scenes, Success to the mill and the merry mill-wheel Here's three times three for cnrlin' freen's. Lang, lang may it grind aye the wee bairnies' Here's three times three for beef an' greens meal! The roarin' rink for me, boys. Bless the miller—wha aften, wi' heart and good- will. A' ye that love auld Scotland's name, Fills the widow's toom pock at the auld meal mill. A' ye that love auld Scotland's fame, — — ! ———— ! ; —

ALEXANDER MACLAGAN. 345

wi' manly strokes- A' ye that love auld Scotland's game, Strike out, my friend, keep your head aboon the water! A glorious sicht to see, boys Aye Up, brothers, up, drive care awa'; Up, brothers, up, ne'er think o' thaw; Up, brotliers, up, and sing hurrah The roarin' rink for me, boys. "DIXNA Y^E HEAR IT?"

':Mid the thunder of battle, the groans of tlie AYE KEEP YOUR HEAD ABOOX THE dying. The wail of weak women, the shouts of brave WATER. men, A poor Highland maiden sat sobbing and against life's tide, When breastiu' up sighing. Richt in tlie teeth o' wind and weather As she longed for the peace of her dear To dasli the giant waves aside, native glen. When tlireat'nin' clouds around you gather; But there came a glad voice to the ear of her To face misfortune's wildest shocks, heart, Although it prove nae easy matter, The foes of auld Scotland for ever will fear it, Strike out, my friend, wi' manly strokes are saved!" cried the Aye keep your head aboon the water! "We are saved!—Ave brave Highland maid,

Chorus. "'Tis the Highlanders' slogan 1 dinna ye Aye keep your head aboon the water, hear it?" Aye keep your head aboon the water; Dinna ye hear it? dinna ye hear it? Strike out, my friend, wi' manly strokes the battle's din, dinna ye hear Aye keep your head aboon the water! High o'er it? W^hen coward guile would lay ye low, High o'er the battle's din, hail it and When envy watches for your stum'lin', cheer it! Turn boldly round upon the foe "'Tis the Highlanders' slogan! dinna There's little help in useless grum'lin"! ye hear it?" W^hen malice hides her sunken rocks, Your tiny bark o' hope to shatter. A moment the tempest of battle was hushed, Strike out, my friend, wi' manly strokes- But no tidings of help did that moment Aye keep yom- head aboon the water! reveal Again to their shot-shattered ramparts they When poortith drives ye to the wa'. rushed To poison ilka earthly pleasure, Again roared the cannon, again flashed tlie ba'. Reck not how fortune kicks the steel honest fame your greatest treasure. Count Still the Highland maiden cried, "Let us your ire provokes, When slander's tongue welcome the brave! That would a vestal robe bespatter, The death-mists are thick, but their clay- Strike out, my friend, wi' manly strokes mores will clear it! Aye keep your head aboon the water! The war -pipes are pealing 'The Campbells are coming!' When fickle friendship proves untrue. They are charging and cheering! dinna There's nae sweet balm in fits o' sadness; ye hear it?" When love forgets her warmest vow, To sigh and pine is dounricht madness. Dinna ye hear it? dinna ye hear it] &c. There's other eyes, and lips, and locks, And truer hearts love's hopes to flatter; Y"e heroes of Lucknow, fame crowns you wilh Strike out, my friend, wi' manly strokes glory; Aye keep your head aboon the water Love welcomes you home with glad songs in your praise; The world will af ten do its best And brave Jessie Brown, with her soul-stir- To fricht you wi' its hollow thunder, ring story, To plant its foot upon your breast, the Highlanders' lays. To crush you doon, and keep you under. For ever will live in Queen, the hearts who To guard against its hardest knocks, Long life to our and Its threat'nin's to the wind to scatter, defend her! — ! ! ! !

34(5 ALEXANDER MACLAGAN.

Let glory rear her flag of fame, Success to our flag! and Avhen danger is near it, Brave Scotland cries, " This spot I claim!" May our pipes be heard playing '-The Here will Scotland bare her brand. Campbells are coming 1" Here will Scotland's lion stand ! And an angel voice crying, "0 dinna ye Here will Scotland's banner fly. hear^it?" Here Scotland's sons will do or die! Here shout above the " symbol dear," Dinna ye hear it? dinna ye hear it? We'll ha'e nane but Highland bonnets here! High o'er the battle's din, dinna ye hear We'll ha'e nane but Highland bonnets here! it? High o'er the battle's din, hail it and cheer it! "'Tis the Highlanders' slogan! dinna ye hear it?" SUCCESS TO CAMPBELL'S HIGHLAND- MEN.

All beneath an Indian sun. WE'LL HA'E NANE BUT HIGHLAND Another mighty work is done! BONNETS HERE.1 Another glorious field is won!

Success to Campbell's Highlandmen ! Alma, field of heroes, hail They march! the dauntless hearts and true!

blue I Alma, glorious to the Gael! They march ! the stainless bonnets Glorious to the sjTnbol dear, They dash the traitor columns through. Glorious to the mountaineer. Success to Campbell's Highlandmen! Hark, hark to Campbell's battle-crj'! Chorus. It led the brave to victory; It thundered through the charging cheer, Success to Campbell's Highlandmen! We'll ha'e nane but Highland bonnets here Success to Campbell's Highlandmen! We'll ha'e nane but Highland bonnets here! They fought the traitors one to ten! We'll ha'e nane but Highland bonnets here! Success to Campbell's Highlandmen! It thundered through the charging cheer. We'll ha'e nane but Highland bonnets here They charge! the bravest files they break! They charge! the loudest guns they take! See, see the heights where fight the brave They charge for dear auld Scotland's sake! See, see the gallant tartans wave! Success to Campbell's Highlandmen! How wild the work of Highland steel, They fight! lo, blood-stained Lueknow falls! When conquered thousands backward reel. They fight! their flag is on its walls! See, see the warriors of the North, How true their steel! how sure their balls! To death or glory rushing forth! Success to Campbell's Highlandmen! Hark to their shout from front to rear. We'll ha'e nane but Highland bonnets here! Hail, heroes of a glorious day! We'll ha'e nane but Highland bonnets here! Hail, favourite sons of victory! Let honours thick your toils repay! Braver field was never won. Success to Campbell's Highlandmen! Braver deeds were never done; A nation's love, a nation's praise. Braver blood was never shed. Will wed them to her proudest lays. Braver chieftain never led; And crown with bright immortal bays Braver swords were never wet Brave Campbell's dauntless Highlandmen! With life's red tide when heroes metl Braver words ne'er thrilled the ear. We'll ha'e nane but Highland bonnets here! We'll ha'e nane but Highland bonnets here! TO A WOUNDED SEA-BIRD. 1 This fine song was dedicated to Sir Colin Cam|ibel!. At the decisive charge on the lieights of Alma, wlieii I marked the murdering rifle's flash, pressing on to share tlie honour of tlie Guards were I marked thy shattered pinions' dash Colin taking the first giuis with the Highhinders, Sir Of agony, and heard cheering on his men, cried aloud, "We'll C'anii)bell, Thy wild scream 'hove the wailing blast, ha'e nane but Highland bonnets here!" How these When, stricken low, ye struggled past, heroic words acted upon liis brave followers is well known. Ed. Poor wounded ocean-bird I —

WILLIAM B. SCOTT. 347

And ever as the SAvelling wave Alas, for thee, poor bird! —no more Thee and thy riven plumage gave 'Twill be tiiy joy with them to soar Up to my aching sight, Through sunsliine, calm, or storm; Thy glossy neck, witli terror strained, Kor on the shelly shore to land. Showered forth warm crimson drops, which And sit like sunshine on the sand, stained riuming tliy beauteous form. The sea-surf, foaming white. The wintry wind that rudely raves, Away! on, on the proud ship flies; The lashing rains, the torturing waves. And he who struck thee from the skies- Thy bleeding bosom beats. Heartless destroyer hel — The ocean-scattered food dolh pass Feels not a pang for thee, poor thing I Before tiiine eyes, but thou, alas! Tossed by the reckless bufl'eting May never taste its sweets. Of the cold careless sea.

Cold, nestled on the black sea-rock, Thy mates, perchance to bathe their breast, liear thy little feathered flock May seek a while thy wave to rest, I In piteous accents mourn With greetings soothing kind! For thee and food—but all are gone; But soon, alas! they'll gild the air, And thou art drifting on, and on, "With flasliing plumage, fresh and fair. And can no more return. Leaving thee far behind.

birdl like thee How it will wring thy little heart. Farewell, poor wounded To see tiiy kindred all depart. Full many a pilgrim o'er life's sea All ghid, refreshed, and free! In peace Avould fain float on, Thou'lt stretch in vain thy wounded wing, Wer't not that tyrants on the flood Thou may'st not from the wave upspring Thirst, ever thirst, to shed tlie blood Alas! poor bird, for thee! That's purer than their own!

WILLIAM B. SCOTT.

"William Bell Scott was born at St. Leon- at the high school of their native city; but our ards, near Edinburgh, September 12, ISIL author, wlio in after years has written so much The house then inhabited by his father Robert in biography, criticism, and poetry, does not Scott, a landscape -engraver, was an old- appear to have been distinguished as a pupil. fashioned villa, standing by itself, with a coat Theearliest metrical compositions of William of arms over the doorway, both outside and are described as of a very ambitious character, inside of the house showing the characteristics his first being a tragedy of the wildest descrip- of by-past days. Here his boyhood was passed tion, which he diffidently persuaded his school with his two elder brothers and a sister younger companions he had picked up in the street! than himself, who died when he was still in His first published poem was the "Address to in his his teens. This house and sister he has com- P. B. Shelley," revised and reprinted memorated in a sonnet, which we give among late illustrated volume. It appeared in Tait's was fol- our selections: it also speaks of his loving, Edinburgh Magazine in 1831-32, and pious mother. His father had at this time a lowed by other pieces, and by several in the large workshop in Edinburgh, which tiie boys "EdinburghUniver^ity Souvenir," published at were in the habit of frequenting; and David Christmas, 1834. This volume, emulating the the eldest having learned to engrave and etch, annuals then fashionable, was wiitten and pro- finally became a painter, the same course being duced by a few students in the theological followed by "William. Tlie boys were educated section, these being the most intimate friends "

348 WILLIAM B. SCOTT. of Scott at this time, although he liad long Having organized the School of Art at Xew- before entered the Trustees' Academy of Art, castle-on-Tyne, however, he was fortunate to and had determined his path in life. be commissioned by Sir Walter Trevelyan to At the age of twenty-five he resolved to leave paint eight important pictures for the saloon Edinburgh, and proceeded to London in Sept. of his large house at Wallington. These pic- 1836. He here became acquainted with Leigh tures, four of the ancient and four of the later Hunt, who was then editing the Montldy "History of the English Border," are among Repository, in whicli Scott printed a poem the few excellent monumental works in paint- of considerable length called " Eosabell," after- ing yet existing in England. wards re-christened " JIary Anne," by whicli His eldest brother David, the author of two he became favourably known. In 1838, when poems, and a painter of great intellectual he was beginning to exhibit at the British activity, died in 1849, and William published Institution and elsewhere, he issued his first his memoir in 1850. This volume was the book, a very small one, called "Hades, or the beginning of his prose publications, which have Transit," two poems with two etchings by him- now lengthened out to a considerable list. The self. This little volume, like his later ones the next was "Antiquarian Gleanings in theXorth

' " " -hour ' Year of the World and Poems by a Painter, of England," followed by "Half Lec- both of which in their original form were to tures on the History and Practice of the Arts." some extent illustrated with designs by him- The last we need to mention is "Albert DUrer, self, is now an object of rarity and prized as his Life and Works," 1869. Previous to this such, although we believe the author Avould the volume of miscellaneous poems entitled rather it had never been published at all, as " Poems by a Painter" had appeared, the date the second of the two poems is a juvenile ex- of the first issue being 1864. Mr. Scott was pression of the fact that there is a progress in now, if not one of the popular poets—which human affairs as represented by history; and possibly he never can be —known to the ini- as this formed the motive in the scheme of the tiated, and appreciated by the "inner circle," only large poem he has produced, the" Year of and he was content to remain so till 1875, the World," which is so able and splendid as a when he thought the time had come when he whole, he would rather that the latter had "should put his poetical house in order." He stood quite alone. accordinglyissued a beautiful edition of the ma-

' " Before the ' Year of the World was produced jority of his poems, entitled "Poems, Ballads, Scott had taken a step which seriously mili- Studies from Nature, Sonnets, &c.," richly tated against his position as a historical painter, illustrated by himself and his friend L. Alma by connecting himself with the newly-formed Tadema, E. A. It is now many years .'^ince ilr. Government Schools of Design, and by leaving Scott returned to London, and finally took London, the centre of the arts in England. up his residence there.

And when she saw me watching, smile would SONXET—MY MOTHER. she. And turn away with many things distraught; ST. Leonard's, Edinburgh, is2G. Thus was it manhood took me by surprise. The sadness of her heart came into me, A [lebbled pathway led up to the door And everything I ever yet have thought AVhere I was born, with holly hedge confined. I learned then from her anxious loving leaves oft Whose the winter snows inter- eyes.

lined ; Oft now it seems, because the year before My sister died, we were together more. And from the parlour window every morn WOODSTOCK MAZL. Looked on that hedge, while mother's face, so worn "0 never shall anyone find you then!"

With fear of coming ill, bent sweetly o'er. Said he, merrily jiinching her cheek; " —

WILLIAM B. SCOTT. 349

•'But why?" she asked, —he only laughed, The wild-brier roses by runnels grow thick; there. " Why shall it be thus, now speak! Seems never a pathway and wrung, " Because so like a bird art thou, Then come the dwarf oaks, knotted mistletoe, Thou must live within green trees. Breeding apples and ground With nightingales and thrushes and wrens, And now tall elms from the wet mossed And the humming of wild bees." Straight up to the white clouds go. Oh, the shower and the sunshine every day Oh, the leaves, brown, yellow, and red, Pass and pass, be ye sad, be ye gay. still fall. Fall and fall over churchyard or hall. "Nay, nay, you jest, no wren am I, Nor thrush nor nightingale. "0 weary hedge, thorny hedge 1" And rather would keep this arras and wall Quoth she in her lonesome bower, 'Tween me and the wind's assail. "Kound and round it is all the same; I like to hear little Minnie's gay laugh, Days, weeks, have all one hour; And the whistle of Japes the page. I hear the cushat far overhead. Or to watch old Madge when her spindle twirls, From the dark heart of that plane. And she tends it like a sage." Sudden rushes of wings I hear, Oh, the leaves, brown, yellow, and red, And silence as sudden again. still fall. Oh, the shower and the sunshine every day Fall and fall over churchyard or hall. Pass and pass, be ye sad, be ye gay.

"Yea, yea, but thou art the world's best Eose, ''Maiden Minnie she mopes by the fire, And about thee flowers I'll twine. Even now in the warmth of June; And wall thee round with holly and beech, I like not Madge to look in my face, Sweet brier and jessamine." Japes now hath never a tune. "Nay, nay, sweet master, I'm no Eose, But, oh, he is so kingly strong. But a woman indeed, indeed, And, oh, he is kind and true; And love many things both great and small, Shall not my babe, if God cares for me. And of many things more take heed." Be his pride and his joy too? Oh, the shower and the sunshine every day, Oh, the leaves, brown, yellow, and red, Pass and pass, be ye sad, be ye gay. still fall, Fall and fall over churchyard or hall. "Aye, sweetheart, sure thou sayest sooth, art even so! I think thou " I lean my faint heart against this tree, But yet needs must I dibble the hedge, Whereon he hath carved my name, hedge can grow. Close serried as I hold me up by this fair bent bough, Then Minnie and Japes and Madge shall be For he held once by the same; long, Thy merry-mates all day But everything here is dank and cold. And thou shalt hear my bugle-call The daisies have sickly eyes. For matin or even-song." The clouds like ghosts down into my prison Oh, the leaves, brown, yellow, and red, Look from the barred-out skies. still fall. Oh, the shower and the sunshine every day Fall and fall over churchyard or hall. Pass and pass, be ye sad, be ye gay.

"Look yonder now, my blue-eyed bird, "I tune my lute and I straight forget See'st thou aught by yon far stream? What I minded to play, woe's me! There shalt thou find a more curious nest Till it feebly moans to the sharp short gusts Than ever thou sawest in dream." Aye rushing from tree to tree. She followed his finger, she looked in vain, Often that single redbreast comes She saw neither cottage nor hall, To the sill where my Jesu stands; But at his beck came a litter on wheels, I speak to him as to a child; he flies. Screened by a red silk caul; Afraid of these poor thin hands! He lifted her in by her lily-white hand. Oh, the leaves, brown, yellow, and red, So left they the blythe sunny wall. still fall. Oh, the shower and the sunshine every day Fall and fall over churchyard or hall. Pass and pass, be ye sad, be ye gay.

The gorse and ling are netted and strong. "The golden evening burns right through The conies leap everywhere, My dark chamber windows twain; — — — —— ;

350 AVILLIAM B. SCOTT.

I listen, all round me is only a grave, For now I know his quiver harbours those Yet listen I ever again. Deatli mixed with his, as the old fable shows, AVill he come? I pluck the flower-leaves off. AVlien he slept heedless on the red rose leaf. And at each cry, yes, no, yes! .\nd I may open Memory's chamber-door

I blow the down from tiie dry hawkweed To grope my way around its noiseless floor, Now that, alas! its windows give no light, Once, twice, ah I it flieth amiss! Oh, the shower and the sunshine every day Nor gentle voice invites me any more; Pass and pass, be ye sad, be ye gay. For she is but a picture faintly bright Hung dimly high against the walls of night. "Hark! he comes! yet his footstep sounds As it sounded never before! III. —MORNIXG. Perhaps he thinks to steal on me, Last night, — it must have been a ghost at But ril hide behind the door." best,— She ran, she stopped, stood still as stone I did believe the lost one's slumbering head It was Queen Eleanore; Filled the white hollows of the curtained bed, And at once she felt that it was death .\nd liappily sank again to sound sweet rest. The hungering she-wolf bore! As in times past with sleep my nightly guest, Oh, the leaves, brown, yellow, and red, A guest that left me only when the day still fall. Showed me a fairer than Euphrosyne, Fall and fall over churchyard or hall. Day that now shows me but the untilled nest.

night! thou wert our mother at the first. Thy silent chambers are our homes at last; PARTED LOVE. And even now thou art our bath of life. Come back! the hot sun makes our lips athirst; -THE P.VST.' Come back! thy dreams may recreate the

Methinks I have passed through some dreadful past; door. Come back! and smooth again this heart's Shutting off summer and its sunniest glades long strife. From a dank waste of marsh and ruinous shades: IV. — BY THE SE.V-SIDE. in that sunlit past, one day before And Rest here, my heart, nor let us further creep; All other days is crimson to the core; Rest for an hour; I shall again be strong. That day of days when hand in hand became And make for thee another little song: Encircling arms, and Avith an effluent flame Rest here, and look down on the tremulous terrible surprise, we knew love's lore. Of deep, Where sea-weeds like dead maenad's long locks The rose-red ear that then my hand caressed. sweep Those smiles bewildered, that low voice so Over that dreadful floor of stagnant green. sweet, Strewed with the bones of lovers that have The truant threads of silk about the brow been, Dishevelled, when our burning lips were pressed Nor even yet can scarce be said to sleep. Together, and the temple-pulses beat! AH gone now— Avhere am I, and where Beyond that sea, far o'er that wasteful sea. art thou? The sunset she so oft hath seen with me Flames up with all the arrogances of gold, II. —THE PRESENT. Scarlet and purple, while the west wind falls No cypress-wreath nor outward signs of grief; Upon us with its deadliest winter-cold; But I may cry unto the morn, and flee Shall we slide down? I think the dear one After the god whose back is turned to me. calls! And touch his wings and plead for some relief; Draw, it may be, a black shaft from his sheaf: SAINT MARGARET. 1 W. M. Rosetti remarks in Macmillan's Magazine for irarcli, ISTG, tliat one of the forms of verse in which the The wan lights freeze on the dark cold floor, Ijoet-painter succeeds best is that form whicii moft lightsand green the high windows adorn urgently demands iierfection of execution— the sonnet. Witch —Ed. The cresset is gone out the altar before. !

MRS. JANE C. SIMPSON. 351

She knows her long houi* of life's nigh worn, .Vnd a horse neighed shrill from a distant stall, And she kneels here waiting to be re-born, And the sea sounded on. On the stones of the chancel. "Are all the dear holy ones shut within. That none descend in my strait?" said she; "That door darkly golden, that noiseless door. "Their songs are afar off, far off and thin. Through which 1 can see sometimes," said she, The terrible sounds of the prison-house flee "Will it ever be opened to close no more; About me, and the sound of tlie sea." Will those wet clouds cease pressing on me: Lights gleam from room to room. Shall I cease to hear the sound of the sea?" Her handmaids miss her and rise. Slowly a moonshine breaks over the glass. The black and green witchcraft is there no more; " I've served in life's prison-house long," she It spreads and it brightens, and out of it pass said, Four angels with glorified hair, —all four " Where silver and gold are heavy and bright, With lutes; and our Lord is in heaven's door. AVhere children wail, and where maidens wed. Margaret I they hail thee. Where the day is wearier than the night, -Vnd each would be master if he might." Her eyes are a-wide to the hallowed light. Margaret! they seek thee. Her head is cast backward, her bosom is clad With the flickering moonlight pale purple and The night waxed darker than before; white;

Scarce could the windows be traced at all. .A. way to the angels her spirit hath fled. Only the sliarp rain was heard rushing o'er; While her body still kneels, — but is it not dead ? A sick sleeper moaned through the cloister wall, She is safe, she is well

MES. JANE C. SIMPSON.

Mrs. Jane Cross Simpson is a daughter of and in 1848 there appeared fi'om her pen a the late James Bell, advocate, and was born volume entitled Woman's History; followed at Glasgow in 1811. Her first verses appeared in 1859 by Linda, or Beauty and Genius, a in the Greenock Advertiser while her father metrical romance. Mrs. Simpson's last work resided in that town. To the Edlnbur(jh appeared under the title of Picture Poems. Literary Journal, edited by her brother Henry She is the author of the beautiful and much- Glassford Bell, she afterwards contributed many admired hymn beginning "Go when the beautiful poems under the assumed name of morning shineth," and a frequent contributor "Gertrude," and subsequently various articles to Good Words and other current periodi- in prose and verse to the Scottish Christian cals. In July, 1837, Miss Bell was married Herald. In 1836 Miss Bell published a volume to her cousin Jlr. J. B. Simpson of Glasgow, of tales and sketches entitled The Piety of in which city they chiefly resided for many Daily Life. A collection of her poems, which years. Her present home is at Portobello, she called April Hours, was published in 1838; near Edinburgh.

THE LONGINGS OF GENIUS.

It is a sacred privilege to lofty natures To own all gentle sympathies that bind the given. human race. Even while in mortal guise, to walk midway Yet rise in pure and earnest aim, a brighter 'twixt earth and heaven, course to trace. — — — ! ! —

352 MES. JANE C. SIMPSON.

Creation teems with poetry —above, beneatli, Genius! thou hast high desires, and longings around wild and vain. Thought, fancy, feeling, lie enshrined in sim- Which never in this darken'd world their plest sight and sound; bright fulfilment gain! Mysterious meaning clothes whate'er we hear, or touch, or view. 'Tis ever thus! The souls that prove their and end divine And still the soul aspires to grasp the beautiful source and true! Must ceaseless strive, yet never win the prize Genius: tliou hast high desires, and longings for which they pine; wild and vain, Whate'er is purest, loveliest, best, floats on Which never in this darken'd world their their tide of thought. bright fulfilment gain! But, like the rainbow''s fleeting form, dissolves ere it is caught. that beauty, Within a lonely chamber burn'd a single sickly And why is this, if not to teach lamp, truth, and love Around the watcher's brows the dews of night Have but one birth-place and one goal— the hung cold and damp, land of light above. poetry The page yet wet before him lay, the faithful Where, far beyond our highest dreams of record bore or art, Of many a high heroic thought he in his Inviolate perfection reigns serene through bosom wore. every part But though the strain his muse had coin'd Genius! there, and there alone, thy longings would soon, in cadence deep. wild and vain. Cause manly hearts to thrill response, and Expanding still, shall all at last their bright gentle eyes to weep. fulfilment gain The pen dropped sadly from his hand, his head lean'd on his breast Alas! how feebly had his song the burning soul express'd: GOOD AXGELS. Genius! thou hast high desires, and longings wild and vain, An angel came down in the still of the night. Which never in this darken'd world their And stood by tiie bed of a sleeping child. bright fulfilment gain! He breathed in his ear; and I knew that the words It was a gorgeous landscape on the ample Were a whisper of joy— for the cherub smiled. canvas lay Then the angel flew back to his home; and I Wood, valley, mountain, lake, and river heard, stretching far away. As the golden gates were wide open thrown. In some sweet southern clime of earth, where Ten thousand voices the tidings rehearse— skies are blue and warm. "O child of earth! thou art all our own!" And seldom Nature's smiling face is marr'd by gloom and storm; An angel came down at the dusky dawn, So fresh the sod whence, blushing, peep'd the Where a youth kept watcii on the field of softly-cradled flowers, fight: So rich the radiance mantling round the ruin's The hostile camp in the distance loom d, ivied towers. And the grass waving green would be red This is no picture.' On my cheek I feel the ere night. balmy breeze; But the soldier's heart was of metal true 1 hear the murmur of the stream, the song- God's trust and strength in his blue eye birds in the trees. shone: Thanks! great magician-painter, thanks! whose So the angel went np, and the voices rang mind :ind hand unite fortii— " " To steep the dreaming senses thus in silent, child of earth! thou art still our own ! deep delight! Well may'st thou now the lofty mien and flush An angel came down as the twilight closed, of trium)>h wear: To a lighted hall, where the wine flow'd free: Ah! wiiy instead that sunken eye, those looks And tiie young man laugh'd as the ribald je.st of pallid care? And the song ro.se high of the drunkard's glee. ; —— ———" ; :; —

MRS. JANE C. SIMPSON. 353

at a tall house-door flung wide a chariot Ah! then fell a shade on that pale pure face And (As the summer moon veil'd in a soft mist stood in wait, box atop, behind— a mix'd o'er) "With bag and And tender and low was the seraph's strain suggestive freight; rang upon the "0 child of earth! thou art ours no more!" While children's merry voices quiet air, An angel came down on a forest glade And boys and girls with sunshade hats tripp'd As the stars went out at the flush of day, nimbly down the stair, "Where one, with hot cheek and a blood- stain'd And leapt into the carriage straight; while on sword, the steps apace, Through the dewj^ copse strode in haste away. With shawl and cloak the parents came, and For angry words overnight, they had met smiling took their place. As foes this morn who were friends of yore, •'Oh! but the town is hot and dry— here we And the angel went up witli the murmur'd no longer stay sigh— Off to the country cool and clear, on wings of "0 child of earth! thou art ours no more! light away!" The door was bang'd, the reins caught up, the An angel came down as the moonbeams play'd whip was crack'd amain. 'Mong the scatter'd gray stones of the old Will rattling wheels to young fresh hearts e'er churchyard, bring such joy again 1 — Where the strong man, bowing bis angu'.sh'd head. By a fresh grave knelt on the cold damp In that same street, that very hour, in that sward. bright morn of spring, The gentle friend of his youth was at rest, A gentle form of maiden grace lay wan and And the fruits were blessed her memory bore: withering; So the angel flew up with a smile, and they And as her quick ear caught the sound of sang horses' trampling feet. " child of earth! thou art ours once more!" She knew that household band was borne ta life more green and sweet. darken'd room, An angal came down to a Yet if a pang came o'er her heart it vanish'd bed; Where a father lay pale on his dying in a sigh, light of his widow'd home. The daughter, sole And holier meanings lit the depths of her re- In tears heard the blessings he pour'd on splendent eye; her head. And as the sounds in distance died, a low clear As the angel look'd, the soul broke free. voice awoke, to God the giver; And he bore it in triumph Of tone so flute-like that it seem'd she rather Then rang heaven's arch with the welcome sang than spoke shout "Yes, these to fields and woods are gone, with ever 1 "0 child of earth! thou art ours for pulses bounding high. For May now hangs her blossoms 'neath a blue waiting with zeal untired, Thus watching and delicious sky; angels hover round pilgrims here; Good And they will climb the mountains and inhale or wisdom's scene, And whether in folly's the balmy breeze. some radiant spirit is near. Be sure that And gather flowers, and launch the boat upon brother! as first they found thee And oh, my the sunny seas. blossom of hope on life's desert thrown A Then pluck the autumn fruits, and stand be- bright host hail thee at last, in glory Jlay the side the golden grain. heaven, and all their own! A child of And when the winds blow chill, return to city's home again. But I — oh! fairer far the land to which I surely go. GOING TO THE COUNTRY. Where fadeless trees are mirror'd in the crystal river's flow; steep'd Upon the city's dusty street the sun beat fierce Where high upon the hills of God, aye and high. in golden sheen. For biting winds had sudden veer'd, and sum- The angels find their radiant rest 'mong pas- mer fleck'd the sky: tures ever green Vol. II.—Z —— ! " : — — — :

354 MES. JANE C. SIMPSON.

That make the sum of good to man below— Where peace unutterable fills like light the Food, raiment, kindred and domestic ties. liquid air. Music and books, and art's exhaustless stores. And speech divinest music hath, for perfect With glorious pageantry of nature's realm ^ love is there. If these have wearied thee, look to thyself Say, what are all the loveliest scenes here Thy wit's diseased. Go, pray to have it healed. spread from shore to shore. Down, down upon thy knees; or if there be To that far boundless summer-land whence A lowlier posture, wherein knees, hands, face, travellers come no more? Clasp the cold earth, pour out thy spirit there; is dim and drear I would Oh! but this earth — And, while hot tears for pardon plead, cry out I were away "0 Lord! change naught but this weak, thank- of the soul, this early Home to that country less heai't!" morn of May.

The prayer went up as incense from a holy censer pour'd, I KNOAV NOT. Down came the willing angel straight, and loosed the silver cord weaveth ever And when that eve the boys and girls ran I know not if thy spirit golden fantasies of mine for thee; shouting by the sea, Tlie I only know my love is a great river, She went to spend the long bright days where And thou the sea! summers ceaseless be.

I know not if the time to thee is dreary, When ne'er to meet we pass the wintry days; I only know my muse is never wear}'. The theme thy praise. TEDIUM YIT.E.

I know not if thy poet heart's emotion Thou say est " I am weary. Day by day. Responsive beats to mine through many a Time, like a quiet river, glideth on; chord; No ruffle on the tide, no shifting skies I only feel in my untold devotion Naught save the noiseless round of common tasks. A rich reward. Oh! 'tis a tasteless life. Heaven send me change!"

I know not if the grass were waving o'er me, Friend, many feel as thou, the thought un- Would nature's voice for thee keep sadder tune shaped; I only know wert thou gone home before me, Many are vainly, vaguely weary thus. I'd follow soon. Such weariness is i-ash, ungrateful, mean. Consider—change brings grief more oft than joy; But while thou walk'stthe earth with brave heart Monotony of good is good supreme, ever, And pain's exemption test of health entire. I'll singing go, though all unrecked by thee My great affection floweth like a river. Oh ! there be men and women who ne'er owned And thou the sea! Of thy full measured blessings even a tithe: Whose natural wants, health, money, friends denied, Might well have sapped the core of sweet content, And caused them pine, and fret, and weep for TO A FRIEND. change Who yet go almost singing on their way: How art thou spending this long summer day, Such music patience makes in great meek souls! Beloved friend, where'er thy home may be? On breezy heather uplands dost thou stray, Art weary of God's love, that wraps thee close Or by the margin of the sounding sea? In the sweet folds of mercy hour by hour ? glassy lake Weary of strength renewed and sight uiidimmed. Is the boat mirrored in the resting on suspended oar To walk 'mid summer scenes 'neath open skies ? Where thou art brake, Wearj-of friendship's voice that woos thee forth. Or, in some nook reclined of forest And calm affection of the household band. Dost linger o'er the page of classic lore ? That watch thy steps and hail thee home with nature's holy face smiles? Ah ! well I know that prison-house of care; Art weary of all fair and gracious things Will woo thee from thy —

WILLIAM SINCLAIR. 355

Will deepen in thy soul the poet grace, Pray, too, for those who hate thee, And wider ope the golden gate of prayer. If any such tliere be. Tlien for thyself, in meekness, I sit and watch the ocean's quivering sheen A blessing humbly claim; The old romance of youth still round me And link with each petition clinging, The great Redeemer's name. Dreaming of thousand things that might have been, Or if 'tis e'er denied thee And losing half my sadness in my singing! In solitude to pray, Should holy thoughts come o'er thee, AVhen friends are round thy way; Even then the silent breathing PRAYER. 1 Of thy spirit raised above. reach his throne of glor^', Go when the morning shineth, May Who is mercy, truth, and love! Go wlien tlie noon is bright, Go when the eve declinetli, blessing Go in the hush of night, Ol not a joy or Go with pure mind and feeling. With this can we compare, • us Fling earthly thouglit away, Tiie power that he hath given prayer! And, in thy chamber kneeling, To pour our hearts in sadness, Do thou in secret pray. AVIiene'er thou pin'st in Before his footstool fall, Remember all who love thee, And remember, in thy gladness. All who are loved by thee; His grace who gave thee all.

WILLIAM SINCLAIB,

Born 1 SI 1 — Died 1870.

William Sinclair, the author of some Poetical Illustrations of the Achievements of pleasing patriotic songs, &c., was born at Edin- the Duke of WelVmgton, published in 1852, he burgh in 1811. He received an ordinary edu- was a contributor. While residing at Leith cation, and in his fourteenth year was appren- he enjoyed the intimate friendshipof the poets ticed to a bookseller. A large circulating Gilfillan, Moir, and A^edder. Robert Nicoll library connected with his employer's shop submitted the first edition of his poems to his enabled him to gratify his taste for reading, revision. Several of iiis patriotic strains have and he soon became devoted to verse-making, been set to music, and continue to enjoy a contributing to the newspapers and periodicals wide-spread popularity, not only in his native of the day, including Blackwood's Magazine. land but also in the United States and tiie He afterwards became a lawyer's clerk in Canadas. His poem of " The Royal Breadal- Dundee, and Avas subsequently employed in bane Oak" was an especial favourite with Sir the customs at Liverpool and Leith. Allan MacNab, Bart., prime minister of Can- In 1843 Sinclair published a volume of ada. For several years previous to his deatli poems and songs, entitled Poems of the Fancy Mr. Sinclair resided at Stirling, M'here he was acted also and the Affections. To the work entitled connected with the local press, and as the correspondent of several of the daily ^ This mnch-admired hymn has heen attributed to newspapers. He died, April, 1870, and a neat different uuthors, among others to the Earl of Carlisle. monument, erected by public subscription, It appeared in the Ediuburrih Literary Journal of Feb. marks the place of his interment. 2ti, ISyi, where it is signed " Gertrude."— Ed. ——! — — —

356 WILLIAM SINCLAIR

The Breadalbane Oak shall stand With the brave, with the brave! THE ROYAL BEEADALBANE OAK.

Thy queenly hand, Victoria, By tiie mountain and tlie rock, Hath planted 'midst the Highland hills IS NOT THE EARTH. A Royal British Oak; Oh, thou guardian of the free! Is not the earth a burial place Oh, thou mistresf5 of the sea! AVliere countless millions sleep. Trebly dear shall be the ties The entrance to the abode of death. That shall bind us to thy name, Where waiting mourners weep. Ere this lloyal Oak sliail rise And myriads at his silent gates To tliy fame, to thy fame! A constant vigil keep?

The oak hath scatter'd terror The sculptor lifts his chisel, and O'er our foemen from our ships. The final stroke is come, They have given the voice of England's fame But, dull as the marble lip he hews. In thunders from their lips; His stiffened lip is dumb; 'Twill be mirror'd in the rills! Though the Spoiler hath cast a holier work. It sliall wave among the hills! He hath called to a holier home! And the rallying cry shall wake Nigh the planted of thy hand. The soldier bends his gleaming steel, That the loud acclaim may break He counts his laurels o'er, O'er the land, o'er the land! And speaks of the wreaths he yet may win On many a foreign shore; "While it waves unto the tempest, But his l\Iaster declares with a sterner voice It shall call thy name to mind, He shall break a lance no morel And the "gathering" 'mongthe hills shall be of tlie wind Like the rushing The mariner braved the deluge long, Gaels, arise! Arise! ye He bow'd to the sweeping blast. Let the echoes ring your cries, And smiled when the frowning heavens above By our mountain's rocky tlirone. AVere the deepest overcast; adored By Victoria's name He hath perish'd beneath a smiling sky — AVe shall reap her enemies down He hath laid him down at last. With the sword, with the sword!

Far in the sea's mj'sterious depths Oh, dear among the mountains The lowly dead are laid. Sliail thy kindly blessing be; Hath not the ocean's dreadful voice Though rough may be our mien, we bear Their burial service said] A loyal heart to thee! Have not the quiring tempests rung 'Neath its widely spreading shade The dirges of the dead? Sliail tlie gentle Higlilaml maid Teach the youths, who stand around, The vales of our native land are strewn Like brave slips from freedom's tree, AVith a thousand pleasant things; That thrice sacred is the ground The ui)lands rejoicing in the light Unto thee, unto thee! Of the morning's flashing wings; Even there are the martyrs' rugged cairns In the bosom of the Highlands The resting-place of kings! Thou iiast left a glorious jilcdge. To the honour of our native land. And man outpours his heart to heaven, In every coming age: And "chants his holiest hymn," By the royal voice that spoke But anon his frame is still and cold. On the soil where springs tlic oak And his sparkling eyes are dim By the freedom of the land And who can tell but the home of death

That can never bear a slave Is a happier home to him .' —

FRANCIS BENNOCH. 357

FEANCIS BENNOCH.

Francis Bexxoch was born in the parish of she dedicated to him as a mark of her gratitude Durisdeer, Dumfriesshire, June 25, 1812. At and esteem. At his residence in Leicester the age of sixteen he went to liOndon and Square, London, artists and authors are con- entered a commercial house, where he remained stantly met; and Mr. Bennoch's business con- for a period of nine years. In 1837 he began nections with the Continent and the United business as a merchant on his own account, States, both of which he has repeatedly visited, at his elegant and is now the head of the well-known firm of contribute very much to gather Francis Bennoch & Co. entertainments a variety of eminent foreigners Bennoch had been two years in the metro- and literary men of the New AVorld. Nathaniel polis before his Scottish feelings sought expres- Hawthorne was a frequent guest of Mr. Ben- sion in verse, and it was in the Dumfries noch's at his former residence at Blackheath Courier that his first poetic essay found its Park, and was indebted to him for the use of a way to the public. Amid the cares of business mansion-house about a mile di-stant from his he has always found time to pay court to liter- own, which the gifted writer so charmingly ature and to cultivate the society of artists and described as "Our Old Home." literary men. He proved a kind friend to the Three volumes of Bennoch's poems have been eccentric and unfortunate Haydon, who never published in London; he has besides contri- applied to him in vain; and it is probable that buted extensively both in prose and verse to hud Bennoch not been ab.sent on the Continent the periodicals of the day. He is a Fellow at the time, the sad termination of that artist's of the Society of Antiquaries, a member of career might have been averted. He also ren- the Society of Arts and of the Royal Society dered very essential service to the late Miss of Literature. In a note to the Editor Mr. " Mitford, and it was through his intervention Bennoch remarks, I am still engaged in that the public were gratified by the issue of business, where I am only known as a man of Atherton and other Tales, and also by a col- business, few dreaming that I ever wrote any lected edition of her dramatic works, which notes but business notes."

MAY-DAY FANCIES.

The biting wintry winds are laid, Come forth, time-furrowed age, and say. And spring comes carolling o'er the earth; If anything feels old in May ] 5Iead, mountain, glen, and forest glade Step o'er the brook, climb up the bank. Are singing with melodious mirth. And peep beneath those wither'd leaves The fields have doff'd their sober brown, Among the roots with wild weeds rank; And donn'd then- robes of lovely green. See how the fruitful earth upheaves On meadow wide, on breezy down, With pulsing life ! How quiveringly Are flowers in countless mpiads seen. The timid j'oung flowers, blu.shing, bend Come forth, come forth, enjoy the day, heads, where modesty And welcome song-inspiring May! Their gentle And all the graces sweetly l^lend. Through bud and branch, and gnarled tnmk, Come forth, come forth, ye young, and To deepest root, when quickening light say Touches the torpid juices, sunk What cheeks can vie with rosy May 1 In slumber by the winter's might, Electric currents tingling rise, From desk and 'Change come forth and range; Each circle swells with life anew; From clanging forge, and shop, and mill; Wide opening to the sunny skies. From crowded room, from board and loom, still. Young gi-ateful blossoms drink the dew. Come ! bid the rattling wheels be — —— —!

358 FEANCIS BENNOCH.

Come, old and young, come, strong and weak, With hawthorn blooms and speckled shells, Indulge the limli and brain with rest. Chaplets are twined for blushing brows; Come g-ushing youth and wrinkled cheek, While gipsies work their magic spells, deathless vows. In leisure feel your labour blest. And lovers pledge their Come forth, come forth, and hail the day. Then round and round with many a boimd. Come, welcome in the glorious May! They tread the mystic fairy ring; The silent woods have voices found, Come, ere the dappled East has burn'd— And echoing chorus while they sing: Made molten gold the winding stream; " With shout and song, and dance and play, Come, ere the fiery sun has turn'd We welcome in the glorious May!" The jiearly dew to misty steam; Come, ere the lark has left his nest, Link'd hand in hand, their tripping feet Or lambkin bleated on the hill; Keep time to mirth's inspiring voice; Come, see how nature looks in rest, They wheel and meet, advance, retreat, And learn the bliss of being still. Till happy hearts in love rejoice. Come forth, come forth, and hail the day! The ring is formed for kisses sly Come, welcome blossom-teeming May! Leaping and racing o'er the plain; The young wish time would quicker fly. ^olian murmurs swell the breeze. The old wish they were young again.

Enchant the ear, and charm the brain; Away with care : no cares to-day While merry bells and humming bees Care slumbers on the lap of May! Fill up the burden of the strain. On earth, in air, oh, everywhere, The voice that bade them welcome forth, A- brighter glory shines to-day; Now gently, kindly whispers " Home!" Old bards reveal how birds prepare To-day has been a day of mirth; New songs to hei-ald joyous May. To-morrow nobler duties come. Come forth, come forth, nor lingering stay. Such pleasures nerve the arm for strife.

Come,cro wn with flowers the matchless May 1 Bring joyous thoughts and golden dreams, To mingle with the web of life No trumpet's thrilling call is heard And memory store 'with woods and streams. To servile host or lordly crest, Such joys drive cankering care away; But that mysterious voiceless word, Then ever welcome, flowery May! By which the world is onward presfc — Which bids the grass in beauty grow, And stars their path of glory keep. Makes winds and waves hannonious flow. And dreaming infants smile in sleep. THE LIME TREE. That voice, resistless in its sway, Turns winter wild to flowery May. Sing, sing the lime, —the odorous lime! With tassels of gold and leaves so green, From edges of the dusky .shade. It ever has made the pleasantest shade That canopies the restless town. For lovers to loiter and talk unseen Come trooping many a youth and maid. When high overhead its arms are spread, With flushing face and tresses brown. And bees are busily buzzing around. High hopes have they, their hearts to please, When sunlight and shade a woof have laid They seek the wild-wood's haunted dell; Of flickering net-work on the groimd. Tlioy laugiiing come, l)y twos and threes. I love the lime—the odorous lime! But chiefly twos. I mark them well With tassels of gold and leaves so green. So trimly drest, so blithe and gay, To its balmy bower in the noontide hour With them it seems 'tis always May. Is wafted pleasure on wings unseen.

They steep their kerchiefs in the dew; When the Switzcr fought and gallantly wrought Then follow wondrous wringings out; His charter of freedom with liow and spear, As winged seeds were blown, they knew A branch was torn from the lime, and borne What laggard lovers were about. As the patriot's hojie, and the tyrant's fear. Some pluck the glowing leaves to learn They proudly tell where the herald youth fell If love declared be love sincere; With a living branch in his dyii>g hand; Or in red ragged streaks discern Blood-hallowed, the tree is of libei'ty Love lost, and virtue's burning tear. The sacred symliol throughout the land. Oh, love is earnest though in plaj'. Oh the lime—the odorous lime! When comes the love-inciting May. With tassels of gold and leaves so green; ! !

FEANCIS BENNOCH. 359

The whisperings heard when its leaves are stirred, Professors and poets, and merchant men Are the voices of martyrs that prompt unseen. Whose voyagings never cease; From shore to shore, the wide world o'er, I love it the more for the days of yore, Their bonds are the bonds of peace. And the avenue leading— I tell not where; Then a ho and a hip, &c. But there was a bower, and a witching flower boasts the brave, the dutiful. Of gi-acefullest beauty grew ripening there. She aged and the young. From valley and hill, from forge and mill. The From neighbouring handets murmurs stole; And woman bright and beautiful. prattling tongue. But the sound most dear to my raptured ear And childhood's rise, like a bird she flies, Was a musical whisper that thrilled my soul. With a dip and a not the storm or squall; Oh the lime—the odorous lime And we fear officers rule the helm, With tassels of gold and leaves so green, For faithful Heaven protects us all. It ever has made the pleasantest shade And a ho and a hip to the gallant ship For lovei's to wander and woo unseen, Then That carries us o'er the sea, to a western home. \Vlaen the gairish noon had passed, and the moon Through stonn and foam, the brave and free. Came silvering forest and lake and tower, The home of In the hush of night, so calm and bright. How silent and sweet was the linden bower. They may boast of their forests of larch and pine, Of maple and elm and scented thorn, LOXDOX. Of ash and of oak, defying the stroke Of the tempest on pinions of fury bome; If glorious deeds deserve a song. Give me the lime—the odorous lime! Then, London, one to thee With tassels of gold and leaves so green; Thine ancient name all tongues proclaim The vows that are made beneath its shade The watchword of the free; Ai"e throbbings of spirits that bless unseen. Where'er the flag of liberty Is righteously unfurl'd. There London is; —her mighty heart Beats through the civil world. Then ho! for London brave and high. OUR SHIP. Which she shall ever be, While justice rules within her walls. A song, a song, brave hearts a song, And honom* guides the free. To the ship in which we ride, Which bears us along right gallantly, Of conquering peace the pioneers Defying the mutinous tide. Her dauntless merchants are; Away, away, by night and day. Her ships are found the world around, Propelled by steam and wind. Her sons 'iieath every star. The watery waste before her lies. Her sheltering tree of liberty And a flaming wake behind. Spreads hourly more and more; Then a ho and a hip to the gallant sliip Its roots run under every sea, That can-ies us o'er the sea, It blooms on every shore. Through storm and foam, to a western home. Unfading youth, untarnished truth. The home of the brave and the free. Great London! bide with thee; Of cities, —queen, supreme, serene. With a fearless bound to the depths profound, The leader of the free. She rushes with proud disdain, While pale lips tell the fears that swell. In days of dread, she boldly stood Lest she never should rise again. Undaunted, though alone, With a courser's pride she paws the tide, To guard with might the people's right Unbridled by bit, I trow. Invaded by the throne; While the churlish sea she dashes with glee And yet when civil fury raged, In a cataract from her prow. And loyalty took wing, Then a ho and a hip, &c. Her gallant bands, with bows and brands. Defended well their king. She bears not on board a lawless horde, Then ho! for London, might and right. Piratic in thought or deed. With her twin brothers be; Yet the sword they would draw in defence of law. To curb with right the despot might. In the nation's hour of need. Exalting still the free ; ! ! —— — —; —

360 FEANCIS BENNOCH.

The wandering king, of crown bereft, They knew that they were cared for then, The patriot, lone, exiled, Their eyes forgot their tears; their pain. Alike find refuge and repose In dreamy sleep they lost Where freedom ever smiled; And thought of early years And evermore she spreads her store Of early years, when all was fair, pale. The exile to maintain, Of faces sweet and And what has been her pride before. They woke; the angel bending there Nightingale! Shall be her pride again. Was—Florence Then ho! for London, ward and guard To all who refuge seek; A terror to the tyrant strong, A shelter to the weak. OVER THE HILLS.

within her ancient halls, And now Over the hills the wintry wind Where freemen ever stand. Blew fiercely—wildly screaming. She welcomes men from every clime, Adown the glen rushed tawny floods With open heart and hand; The tempest rocked the Closeburn woodc She welcomes men of eveiy creed, Where lay the cushats dreaming. The brave, the wise, the good; And dreaming too a maiden lay, And bids all nations form indeed A maiden lovely as the day. noble brotherhood. A And sweet as is the scented May, Clasped hand in hand, let all mankind Lay Hebe fondly dreaming. Like loving brothers be; pole to pole, let every soul From Over the hills the spring winds came. United be—and free. Softly, gently blowing. Ado^^^l the glen the glancing rills Came dancing from the Closeburn hills In sweetest cadence flowing: And down the glen a gallant came. NIGHTINGALE. FLORENCE Who woke to life love's latent flame, New life awakened by a name lofty song we love to cheer With That came like music flowing. The hearts of daring men Applauded thus, they gladly hear Over the hills the summer breeze The trumpet's call again. Came with odours laden lowly deeds But now we sing of Odours wafted fi-om the trees the brave. Devoted to Wliere sing the happy summer bees the wound that bleeds, Where she, who stems And happy made the maiden. A hero's hfe may save: For with it came sweet orange flowers, heroes saved exulting tell And So wisely prized in lady bowers. How well her voice they knew; Oh, Hebe is no longer ours. How sorrow near it could not dwell, For married is the maiden. But spread its wings and flew.

Neglected, dying in despair. They lay till woman came To soothe them with her gentle care, UNDER THE LINDEN. And feed life's flickering flame. When wounded sore, on fever's rack, Come—come—come Or cast away as slain. You know where the lindens bloom

She called their fluttering spirits back, Come—come—come I And gave them strength again. And drink of their sweet perfume. 'Tvvas grief to miss the passing face Come! meet mc, beloved, beneath their shade, That suffering could dispel; When day into night begins fo fade; But joy to turn and kiss the place A time for wooers and wooing made gloom. On which her shadow fell. Is the twilight's deepening

When words of wrath profaning rung. Wait—wait—wait! She moved with pitying grace; I will come unto thee betimes; Her presence stilled the wildest tongue, Wait—wait—wait chimes And holy made the i)lace. I will come with the evening ! — —

NOEMAN MACLEOD. 3G1

the early spring. I will come when sliimmcring up the sky But oh! the spring, The light of the day retreats on high, Is brimming full of mirtii. And darkening shadows unveiling lie When mating birds, on happy wing. Beneath the odorous limes. Rain music on the earth; And earth, responsive, spreadeth wide here Here—here— Her leafy robe of green. My beautiful met at last. Till March is wreathed in flowery pride Here—here—here A smiling virgin queen. My sheltering arm thou hast. The storms of life may fiercely blow, Oh ! that dear time is dearer made And sorrow in surging tides may flow. By love's mysterious will. Come wealth or want—come pleasure or woe, Which in the sun and in the shade My treasure is in thy breast. Its impulse must fulfil; In wood, or wild, or rosy face, The law is broad and clear; all-entrancing grace VERSES ADDRESSED TO IIAAV- Love lends its To springtime of the year. TH0RNE.1 Spring-time, my friend, with mystic words. A verse! —My friend, 'tis hard to rhyme Has filled thy life with joy. AVhen cares tlie heart enfold, Bound close thy heart with triple cords And Fancy feels tlie freezing time, That age can ne'er destroy. And shrivels with the cold. For her, thy first —so fair, so good, And yet, however hard it seems So innocent and sweet To generously comply. An angel pure as model stood! The heart, fraternal, throbbing, deems The copy, how complete! It harder to deny.

Few love the weary winter time. Oh! sacred season, ever blest. bring. When trees are gaunt and bare, When saints their offerings offering prest And fields are gray with silver rime, Thou to thy heart an of spring. And biting keen- the air. ]\Iore fair than flowers the frost Though all without is weird and waste, A miracle! —long ere And shrill the tempest's din, Or snowdrift passed away. With those well suited to our taste Thy Hawthorne into blossom burst, How bright is all within! Anticipating May!

NOEMAN MACLEOD.

Born 1812 — Died 1872.

Norman Macleod was born at Campbel- to a race of ministers. His grandfather was was succeeded in town, Argyleshire, June 3, 1812. He belonged the pastor of Morven, and

" many pleasant recollec- I The following verses were composed at the urgent author, the verses bring up remembrance that he who could request of the late Nathaniel Hawthorne — a distin- tions dimmed by the tenderest emotions, guished American writer, and an intimate and \evy rouse with a skill unequalled the power the deepest passions of dear friend of the author of them- on the occasion of and depict with infinite mouldering in the tomb. Those who the anniversary of the birth day of Mr. Hawthorne's the human heart, is best loved him most; and all who daugliter Una. Hence the allusion in the last verse. knew Mr. Hawthorne with the plans he had hoped to cany The poem «as written in 1804, and is now first i)ub- were acquainted death should have stilled the heart and lished. Mr. Hawthorne was tlien staying at Leaming- out regret that before his greatest work was accom- ton, in Warwickshire, busy with the last sheets of his stayed the hand Italian romance l\-ans/onnaiion. In the words of the plished."— Ed. 362 NORMAN MACLEOD. that office by one of his sonf?, whose tall figure that burned within himself. On all matters and stately gait procured for him the name pertaining to Christian life, every scheme that of "the high -priest of Morven." Norman's aimed at improving the social or moral con- father was minister first of Campbeltown, after- dition of the w'orking poor, no one could speak wards of Campsie, and finally of St. Columba with more eloquence than he, and no one was Church, in Glasgow. He was said to be one of ever listened to with more rapt attention. Nor the most eloquent Gaelic preachers of his day, all this time was his pen idle, as is shown by and was a great authority in all matters per- the large number of works published under taining to the Gaelic language. Norman was his name, including sermons, lectures, ad- educated partly at the University of Glasgow, dresses, devotional works, treatises on practi- after leaving which he spent some time in cal subjects, tales, travels, children's songs and Germany, and finally completed his divinity stories, all bearing the impress of his warm studies at the University of Edinburgh, where heart and enthusiastic nature. he came under the influence of Dr. Chalmers, In 1860 Good Words was begun, a maga-

Avitli whom he was a favourite student. In zine which he continued to edit till his death; 1833, almost immediately after being licensed, and every volume of it was enriched with much he was ordained pastor in the parish of Loudon, in prose and verse from his own pen. But it Ayrshire. Here he continued for about five is to his tales that he chiefly owes his position years, and when the secession of the Free in literature: " The Old Lieutenant and His Church from the Establishment took place in Son;" "The Starling, a Scotch story;" the 1843 he received the charge of Dalkeith, near "Reminiscences of a Highland Parish," in Edinburgh. It was while minister here that which he gives a picture of life in the parish he first began to attract the notice of the of Morven; "Character Sketches," containing Church and the public. About this time he eleven tales, among others "Billy Buttons," became the editor of the Edtnhvnjh Christian with its racy humour, and " Wee Davie," the Magazine, which he conducted for ten years. best known and most pathetic of all his stories; In 1846 he was intrusted by the General and "Eastward," an account of his travels in Assembly with a mission to Canada on the Egypt and Palestine in 1865. These, which affairs of the Church. In 1851 he was inducted appeared originally in the pagesof Good Words, into the Barony parish, Glasgow, one of the were afterwards published separately at dif- most influential charges in Scotland. From ferent times. In 1865 considerable excitement this time liis fame as a preacher gradually in- was produced in Scotland by his opposition to the creuseil, and his church was every Sunday filled strict views on the observance of the Sabbath to overHowiiig by crowds eager to hear him. laid down in a pastoral address which the pres- In 1854 he published his first work of import- bytery of Glasgow had proposed to issue; but the ance, being the memorials of iiis friend John suspicion of "heresy" on this point gradually Macintosh, under the title 7^/(6 Earnest Student. died out. In 1867 he was commissioned by In October of that year he first preached before the General Assembly to visit the mission-field the Queen in the parish church of Crathie. of the Church in India, and his " Peeps at Henceforth his life seems to have been one the Far East," Avhich also appeared in Good continuous scries of labours. Not content with Words, are a memorial of this visit. From the tiie arduous duties of his large and popu- shock which his system received from the lous parish, which he performed with an efli- fatigues of his eastern journey and the climate cicncy and zeal that has been seldom equalled, Dr. ^[acleod never quite recovered, and he died he threw liis whole soul also into the general on June 16, 1872, aged sixty years. He sleeps work of the Church. In all her schemes of in Campsie churchyard, near the glen where public usefulness, all her efforts to elevate and he watched as a boy the "squirrel in the old Christianize the masses at home or the heathen beech-tree," and learned from his brother abroad, he ever took the warmest interest. James to "trust in God and do the right." Year after year he travelled through the coun- In 1858 Mr. !Macleod received the honorary try, everywhere addressing meetings, and seek- degree of D.D. He was also api)ointcd one of ing to infuse into others some of the enthusiasm the Deans of the Chapel Royal, Holyrood, one —

NOEMAN MACLEOD. 363

of the Queen's Chaplains for Scotland, and Dean a multitude weeping for a lost chief, in the of the order of the Thistle. In May, 1869, second greatest city of the empire, when rich was conferred upon him by acclamation the last and poor of all creeds and opinions followed honour which he lived to receive, that of being to his grave the great Scottish pastor, Avhose elected to the moderator's chair in the General good deeds had so endeared him to all who Assembly, and never was honour more richly knew him, and whose Good Words had i-eached deserved or more hardly earned. An inter- thousands who had never seen his face, in

esting memoir of the far-famed Scottish min- homes and lands far away, what was it that ister, from the pen of his brother, the Eev. shed over the close of that career so peaceful,

Donald Macleod, D. D. , appeared in 1876. so cheering a light? It was that he was known In alluding to Dr. JIacleod's death Dean to have fought the good fight manfully, that Stanley said, in a sermon delivered in West- he had finished his course with joy, and had minster Abbey—"When ten days ago there done what in him lay to add to the happiness went up the sound of great lamentation as of and goodness of the world."

Let the road be long and dreary, DANCE, MY CHILDKElSr! And its ending out of sight; Foot it bravely, strong or weary; "Dance, my children! lads and lassesl " Trust in God, and do the right." Cut and shuffle, toes and heels! Piper, roar from every chanter Perish "policy" and cunning. Hurricanes of Highland reels! Perish all that fears the light! Whether losing, whether winning, "Make the old barn shake with laughter. " Trust in God, and do the right." Beat its flooring like a drum, Batter it with TuUochgorum, Trust no forms of guilty passion. Till the storm without is dumb! Fiends can look like angels bright; Trust no custom, school, or fashion, "Sweep in circles like a whirlwind, " Trust in God, and do the right." Flit across like meteors glancing. Crack your fingers, shout in gladness. Trust no party. Church, or faction; Think of nothing but of dancing!" Trust no leaders in the fight; Thus a gray-haired father spcaketh, But, in everj^ word and action, As he claps his hands and cheers; " Trust in God, and do the right." Yet his heart is quietly dreaming, And his eyes are dimmed with tears. Some will hate thee, some will love thee. Some will flatter, some will slight; AVell he knows this world of sorrow, Cease from man, and look above thee; Well he knows this world of sin. "Trust in God, and do the right." Well he knows the race before them. What's to lose, and what's to win! Simple rule, and safest guiding; Inward peace, and inward light; But he hears a far-off music Star upon our path abiding: Guiding all the stately spheres "Trust in God, and do the right." In his father-heart it echoes, So he claps his hands and cheers.

CLTiLER'S SONG. TRUST IN GOD. A' nicht it was freezin', a' nicht I was sneezin', Courage, brother! not stumble, do " Tak' care,'' quo' the wifie, "gudeman, o' yer Though thy path is dark as night; cough;" There's a star to guide the humble: A fig for the sneezin', hurrah for the freezin'! "Trust in God, and do the right." This day we're to play the bonspiel ou the loch! —" ——;

364 NOEMAN MACLEOD.

Then get up, my auld leddy, the breakfast get The past is not forgotten, ready, And we ever think of thee For the sun on the snawdrift's beginning to all our dear ones. blink, Of thee and dearer now than ever. Gi'e me bannocks or brochan, I am aff for the Far lochan. For we are one in Jesus, To mak' the stanes flee to the tee o' the rink! And nothing can us .sever. Chorus—Then hurrah for the curiin' frae Girvan Be of good cheer, beloved ! to Stirlin'! And let those eyes be dry the lads o' the besom and HuiTah for Oh, be not crushed by sorrow. stane! Nor ever wish to die. "Ready noo!" " soop it up!" "dap a " ! g-uard I " steady noo Wish only to act bravely every stan's Oh ! curiin' aboon game In doing our Father's will, alane! And where our Master puts thee. — Be faithful and be still. The ice it is splendid, it canna be mended glower on't and shave aff Like a glass ye may Be still! for Ciod is with thee. yer beard; And thou art not alone. gether, comin' ower the brown And see hoo they But one in all thy labours heather. With the hosts around his throne. The servant and master, the tenant and laird! brave Jamie Fan-lie, he's there late and There's Be of good cheer, beloved ! early. For not an hour is given canna be. Better curlers than him or Tam Conn That may not make thee fitter Kilwinnin', they'll send the Wi' the lads frae To join us all in heaven. stanes spinnin' Wi' irhlir an' a ciur till they sit roun' the tee. What though no sin or sorrow Then hurrah, &c. Are in our world above. Thy world below most needetli that baith Whig and Tory It's an unco-like story The life and light of love. Maun aye collyshangie like dogs ower a bane; And a' denominations are wantin' in patience. Thou canst not see our glory For nae kirk will thole to let ithers alane; Beyond that peaceful sky, But in the frosty weather let a' meet thegither, Nor canst tliou tell when angels Wi' a broom in their haun' and a stane by tlie Or dearer friends are nigh tee. And then, by my certes, ye'U see hoo a' parties But thou canst see the glory Like brithers will love, and like brithers agree! Of our Saviour and our Lord, Then hurrah, &c. And know his living presence, And hear his living word.

Ilim, dear one! trust and follow. Him liear with faith and love. WE ARE KOT THERE, BELOVED And He will lead thee safely A VOICE HEAED WHILE LOOKING AT THE GRAVES To join us all above. OF OUR HOUSEHOLD AT CAMPSIE. And tlien we Avill remember, And talk of all the past, AVc are not there, beloved! When sin an

home of glory, To yonder ANXIOUS MOTHER. Where we together live, THE 'Ti-i all our Savio\ir died for, Never did a kinder mother 'Tis all our Ciod can give. Nurse a child upon her knee; or Yet, in that home of glory, Yet I knew somehow other jMidst all wc hear and see, That she always feared for nic. — — ———— — — —

NORMAN MACLEOD. 365

AVhen at school m}- teacher told her I was busy as a bee TEMPORA MUTANTUR. Learning more tlian others older She was pleased— jet feared for me. Tick! tick! tick! my heart is sick All the summer woods were ringing To hear how time is flying; With my shouts of joyous glee, For at break of day I must haste away. Through the house she heard me singing- And leave dear Kitty a-crying. Yet she always feared for me. cruel clock, Was she whimsical, or fretted? AVhy dost thou mock That the dear one could not be! ISly heart so sick,

AVas I selfish, false, or petted? With tiiy tick, tick, tick? That she always feared for me. Go slowly !

II. Did she think I did not love her, Tick tick tick— heart is sick Nor at heart with iier agree? — — my To hear how time doth tarry; Yain such question to discover For at break of day I will liastc away, AVhy she always feared for me! My own dear Kitty to marry. But one morn, in anguish waking cruel clock, With a dreadful agony, Wiiy dost tiiou mock She said, in hers my small hand taking, jMy heart so sick. " He was drowned this day at sea." With thy tick—tick— tick !

So slowly '] And she told how but one other Branch grew from her iiousehold tree, And lest I, the best, should wither. That was why she feared for me! SUNDAY IN THE HIGHLANDS. Then convulsively she snatched me; What holy calm is this! The mountains sleep, Setting me upon her knee Wrapped in the sun-mist, through which To her beating heart she clasped me. heaven-born gleams While I sobbed, " Why fear for me? Kiss their old foreheads tiU they smile in dreams Of early youth, when rising from the deep. "For you told me I must walk, too, the path father trod, h\ my : Baptized by God , they shared man's sinless da j's And that he, with none to talk to, Dreams, too, of Restoration, when shall cease On the ocean walked with God. Creation's groans in universal peace, And harmonies of universal praise. "Often did you tell me, mother. That our father's God was near But hark! From yonder glen the kirk-bell rings, Tliat iiis Saviour was my brother Where lambs at play 'midst purple heather Therefore I should never fear." bleat, And larks make glad the air; while shepherds

"I'll walk," I said, "as did mj' father; meet

Wliy then should you fear for me? To worship Christ. Good Lord ! Thy world now ril not grieve you, for I'd rather sings Sleep beside him in the sea!" The hymn that louder yet shall fill the sky. Of "Peace on earth! Glory to God on high!" Then, again, she hugged and kissed me, W^hile I saw the shadows flee From her anxious face that blessed me, Now from sad forebodings free. A MOTHER'S FUNERAL.

As she looked to Heaven, saying: Ah! sune ye'Il lay yer mither doon "Thou hast given this child to me!" In her lanely bed and narrow; Whispering o'er me, as if praying, But, till ye' re sleepin' by her side, " Never more I'll fear for thee!" Ye'U never meet her marrow! — ——

366 JAMES C. GUTHRIE.

A faither's love is strong and deep, AVhen sorrow passed the door, and nana And ready is a brither's, Frae 'mang ye a' were missing. A sister's love is pure and sweet But what love's like a mither's? And mind the peacefu' gloamin' hours When tlie out-door wark was endin'. Ye manna crreet ower muckle, bairns, And after time, when auld gray heads As round the fire ye gaither, Wi' yours in prayer were bendin'. And see the twa cliairs empty then, baith are noo, O' mither and o' faither; And think how happy Aboon a' thocht or tellin'; Xor dinna let yer hearts be dreicb, For they're at hame, and young again, When wintry winds are blawin'. AVithiu their Father's dwelliu'. And on their graves, wi' angry sugh. to there The snelly drift is snawin'; Sae, gin ye wish meet up Yer faither and yer mither, But think of blyther times gane by love tlieir God, and be gude bairns. The mony years of blessing, And love ane anither!

JAMES C. GUTHEIE.

James Cargill Guthrie was born at Air- appeared anonymously, so sensitively doubtful niefoul Farm, in the parish of Glamis, Strath- was he of ultimate success. Nevertheless the more, Forfarshire, August 27, 1812. His fa- first edition of this long descriptive poem ther, a respectable tenant-farmer, could trace at once gained the ear of the public, and his descent from James Guthrie, the famous was rapidly disposed of. The work has now Scotch worthy who suffered martyrdom for his reached a fifth edition. In 1854 he published adherence to the Covenant at Edinburgh in "The First False Step," which was also well 1651; and his mother was descended from the received. In 1859 another continuous poem no less famous Donald Cargill, who suffered for from his pen appeared entitled "Wedded Love." the same cause in 1681. He was educated first A large volume of miscellaneous poems, en- at the neighbouring parish school of Kin- titled "My Lost Love, &c. ," was published by nettles, and was afterwards sent to Jlontrose him in 1865; followed in 1867 by "Summer Academy, where he successfully studied for Flowers." The last of his poetical works is some years. Being intended by his parents for "Rowena; or the Poet's Daughter," a poem in the Church, he then attended the necessary blank verse, which appeared in 1871. classes in Edinburgh University; but circum- The versatility of our author's genius stances intervened which completely changed showed itself by his publication in 1875 of his destination, and instead of the Chui'cli he Tlie Vale of Strathmore: Us Scenes and Le- was consigned to the counting-house. This dis- gends, a large and exhaustive prose work, full appointment in the choice of a profession seems of historical and legendary lore. He is also to have tinged with a kind of unrest the whole the author of several popular songs, amongst of his future life, and to have struck that which may be noticed " The Bonnie Braes o' tender ciiord which has given a tone of pensive Airlie" ami "The Flower of Strathmore,"

sadness to all his writings. Aviiich have taken a high place amongst stan- Guthrie wrote verses from his earliest years; dard Scotch songs. In 1829, when a mere yet, although assiduously cultivating his poeti- youth, he aided materially in establishing and cal gifts, and occasionally contributing to conducting the ClirM'tan Reporter, the first magazines and reviews, he did not publish cheap religious periodical published in Scot- until 1851, and even then his V'dlarje Scenes land. In this magazine, besides several able , —

JAMES C. GUTHRIE. 367 papers in prose, appeared for the first time torily to discharge until the whole library had many of the earlier effusions of his muse. been put into complete and thorough working In 1863 Mr. Guthrie was chosen from order, when he retired from its management, amongst a number of candidates to fill the receiving from tlie library committee, as re- position of principal librarian in the Dun- presenting the town-council and ratepayers, dee Public Library, then newly established. a handsome recognition of his valuable ser- The duties of this office he continued satisfac- vices.

"BelovM: belovJiuI come, I wait to welcoma THE UXSEEX. thee!" But no refrain came answering back, save the 'Twas on a wild and gusty night, in winter's wailing of the sea: dreary gloom, Yet still I cried—" Beloved, come"— as if I'd I sat in meditation rapt, within my lonesome cry my last, room Heard only by the rushing wind mock'd by While like a panorama passed the days of love's the stormy blast! sweet joy, visions bright whicii And all youth's blissful Deserted, sad, woe's me! rcturn'd into my cheered me when a boy. widow'd room, The chambers of my soul hung round witii dark winds let loose, mad shrieking howled, The funereal gloom. the leafless trees, among Loud on the shivering window-panes wild beats Sad from the distance hollow came the mur- the sobbing rain, mur of the seas. Like a lover by his false one left in sorrow and While on the trembling window-panes wild in pain! dashed the sobbing rain, Like a maiden by her lover left in sorrow and in pain.

Clear high above the blast arose, like an ancient THE LINKS 0' B.YRRY. melody, — The silver tones of a well-known voice "I In young Ufa's sweet spring-time, one mom, come, my love, to thee; My heart like wax inclining Jly broken vows forgive, fain I would come to Some pure impression to receive, thee for rest. My future keen divining; And pillow soft my weary head upon thy faith- A comely maiden fair I met ful breast." That made my footsteps tarry. And bless the hour I wander'd forth Like summer cloud across the blue, a shadow Adown the Links o' Bany. on my soul 0, fragrant flowers 'mong sylvan bowers, longer can I tarry; Fell dark and heavily, but quick it vanished No Far dearer to my heart the breeze like a scroll: Adown the Links o' Barry. Yes, freely I forgave, forgot the change she'd wrought in me. Her ej'es like violets steep'd in dew. And seizing quick the lamp, I cried, " I come, Her hair like sunshine glancing, my love, to thee!" Like cherries ripe her pouting lips, Her lily cheeks enhancing. door I opened wide, and blushed to wel- The And 0, her voice so soft and low. come to my hearth, Like music did she carry Her to my heart the dearest jewel, most pre- My fluttering heart within her own, cious gem of earth: Adown the Links o' Barry. Alas! the flickering taper frail, it went out like bonnie streams, sweet mountain streams, a spark. With you I cannot tarry, And lo! all weeping, left me lone, faint crying Far deai-er to my heart the sea in the dark That laves the Links o' Barry. : — —— — — !

368 JAMES C. GUTHEIE.

I took the rose-bud from my breast, "The world unhoeds, nay, mocks your grief; She, blushing, kiss'd its blossom; Night's gone; 'tis near the break of day; "Will you be mine?"—" I will;" the flower The voyage is short, the shore soon reached- She laid upon her bosom Come, come, my brother, come away!" Then hand clasp'd hand, and lip met lip; No longer could we tarry. I rose, enraptured, to embrace. take But vowed oft-times to meet again To him kindly by the hand; Then go together to rejoin Adown the Links o' Barry. all in that bright 0, hazel glades, sweet hazel glades, My sunny land. 'Mong you I cannot tarry; But he was gone! remembrance came; The trysting hour approaches, love, I, trembling, held my stifling breath— Adown the Links o' Barry. My brother dead for twenty years;

Oh ! I have shaken hands with Death Oh, crael fate! why thus our hearts So early, sadly sever; The ghostly warning well I know, Woes me! I mourn hke wounded dove, I'll welcome glad the break of day: For ever and for ever! Hush!—listen —full the chorus swells Where'er you be, sweet early love. " Come, come, my brother, come away!" My blessing with you carry.

Oft-times I muse on love's first j lys, Adown the Links o' Barry. Bowers, glades, and streams, now fain would I FORGET HERi Among you ever tarry, The trysting hour now comes no more Forget lier? mock me not; beliolJ Adown the Links o' Barry. The everlasting hills, Adown whose rugged fissures dash A tiiousaml flashing rills; E'en they, inheriting decay, Slow moulder, though unseen; THE MINSTREL'S LAY. But love, celestial sacred flower, Is ever fresh and green. The winds were whistling loud and shrill, Fast fell the wild and sobbing rain. Forget her? gaze on that bright stream. While in my desolate home I mused E'er deepening as it runs Of joys which ne'er come back again. Its rocky channel, leaping free, In storms and summer suns. My thoughts were melted into tears, So in my heart of hearts do years, That ran like rivers to the sea, As onward swift they roll, Sore yeain'd my heart for those I loved, The deeper grave in diamond lines With them I longed—oh! longed to be. Her name upon my soul.

Thus hopeless, weeping like a child, Forget licr! hast thou ever loved? I heard no sound of opening door. Nor human voice admittance claim. Know then love cannot die; Nor footsteps pace the oaken floor. Eternal as tiie eternal God, "Twill ripen in the sky. Yet there my own loved brother sat, yes! sad, drencli'd in tears on earth, And smiled so sweetly now on me, By stoi-ms and tempests riven, That lighter grew my heavy heart 'Twill only blossom in its prime I wonder'd what his words might be! In the golden air of heaven!

' With hope, dear brother, have I come To guide you 'cross the stormy sea. No longer mourn, weep, weep no more, But come, my brother, come with mo. WILLS' BONNIE BRAES.

after life, * All that you loved on earth have gone, We love but once; in No one remains your heart to cheer; 'ilidst sorrows, hopes, and waes. A welcome waits you in the sky How fondly turns my yearning heart Oh! why then linger, tarry here? To Wills' lionnie braes! — — —

JAMES C. GUTHRIE. 30!)

Upon a flower-enamelled bank Thirsting for a name, I left my native moun- We sat in golden joy, tains, Witliin our inmost heart of hearts Drinking here my fill at the pure classic foun- What bliss without alloy! tains; Striving hard for fame, I've wrestled late and The glad birds sang their even-song early. Above each guarded nest, An' a' that I might rest on the bonnie braes o' Then folding soft their dewy wings, Airlie. Sank lovingly to rest. Yonder gleams the prize for which I've aye Coy with her sunny ringlets fair been longing Did arch the zephyr's play, Darkness comes atween, my struggles sad -pro- While murmured fondly at our feet longing, The wavelets of the Tay. Dimly grow my een, and my heart is breaking sairly, Expressive silence reigned around, Waes me! I'll never see the bonnie braes o" I clasp'd her hand in mine Airlie. She raised her eyes— I read it there Her answer— " I am thine!"

Alas! cruel Mammon with his wand THE FLOWER OF STRATHMORE. Hath cleft the rocks in twain. And all our favourite pathways sweet arc Have crumbled in the main. The morning star's waning, the wild deer springing. I All, all is changed, yet not more changed, And fair breaks the morn on the vale AVoe's me, alas! than she; adore, Yet no reproach escapes my lips, Hark! sweet o'er the homesteads the lav'rocks Though ever lost to me. are singing Of golden-haired Helen, the flower of Strath- Ko turning love to scornful hate. more. Ko wailing o'er my Avaes; I only dream of early joys, To songs of the mountains I've listen'd when On Wills' bonnie braes. roaming. And heard tlie lute touch'd on a far southron shore. But sweeter to me in the calm summer's gloaming, THE BONNIE BRAES 0' AIRLIE. The voice of my Helen, the flower of Strath- more. Bonnie sing the birds in the bright English valleys, Her hair of the sunniest, her eyes of the Bonnie bloom the flowers in the lime-sheltered bluest, alleys, On the lea tripping light as the fawn on the Oolden rich the air, with perfume laden rarely. moor, soul of the purest, her heart of the truest, But dearer far to me the bonnie braes o" Airlie. Her All rivals excelling, the flower of Strathmore.

Winding flows the Cam, but it's no my ain loved Isla; Come, hope of my life, the light of each liosy decked the meads, but they're no like morrow, dear Glenisla; In my heart fondly nestling, a love ever- Cloudless shines the sun, but I wish I saw it more, fairly To bless me in gladness, to cheer me in sorrow. Sweet blinkin' through the mist on the bonnie Dear, golden- haired Helen, the flower of braes o' Airlie. Strathmore!

Vol. II.—a a 370 EOBEET NICOLL.

EOBEET NICOLL.

Born 1814 — Died 1837.

Few among the long list of Scottish poets of His first production as an author was an the nineteenth century have more closely ap- Italian love-story entitled "II Zingaro," which proached the standard of their great master appeared in Johnstone's Magazine. H is health Burns than Robert Nicoll, who was born at began to fail before the expiry of his appren- Little Tullieheltane, in the parish of Auchter- ticeship, and in 1832 he returned home to be gaven, Perthshire, January 7, 1814. His father nursed by his loving mother. lie rapidly was at that time a farmer in comfortable cir- recovered, and in September of that year he cumstances; his motlier's name was Grace proceeded to Edinburgh in search of other Fenwick, a daughter of the venerable Seceder employment. Here he met his friend Mr. "Elder John," of Avhom Nicoll speaks so fre- Johnstone, and was introduced to Mr. Robert quently and affectionately in his poems. His Chambers and Mr. Robert Gilfillan. Disap- mother was the poet's first and almost only pointed in not finding employment in Edin- teaclier, and by her aid he could read the New burgh, he opened a small circulating library Testament when five years of age. At this period in Dundee, and the year following published a a sad reverse befell the family. His father volume of Poems and Lyrics, which Avas well had become security to a large amount for a received by the press and public. relative, who failed and absconded, and Mr. The business upon which Nicoll had entered NicoU's ruin was the immediate consequence. not proving profitable, he abandoned it and He gave up his entire property to satisfy the went again to Edinburgh, tormenting himself creditors of this individual; he lost even the with the thought of an unpaid debt of £20, lease of his farm, and with his wife and several which his mother had borrowed to aid in young children he left the farmhouse and establishing him in business. " That money became a day-labourer on tiie fields he had of R.'s," he writes, "hangs like a millstone lately rented. The young poet was thus from about my neck. If I had it paid I would the date of his earliest recollection the son of never borrow again from mortal man. But do a very poor man and the inmate of a very not mistake me, mother; I am not one of those lowly home. In his sixth year he attended meii who faint and falter in the great battle of the parish school for a short time, and at seven life. God has given me too strong a heart for he was set to iierd in the fields during the that. I look upon earth as a place where summer months. Even at this eav]y age Robert every man is set to struggle and to work, that was a voracious reader, and never went to the he may be made humble and pure-hearted, and herding without a book under his plaid; and fit for that better land for which earth is a from his studious disposition he was known {U'eparation — to which earth is the gate. . . . among his young companions by the name of If men would but consider how little of real the minisler. AVhen about twelve he was taken evil there is in all the ills of which they arc .so from herding and set to work in the garden much afraid —poverty included — there would of a neighbouring proprietor. During this time be more virtue and happiness, and less world

Robert was a diligent home student, and man- and mammon worship, on earth than is. . . . aged to acquire some knowledge not only of Half the unhappiness of this life springs from arithmetic and grammar, but also of Latin and looking back to griefs which are jiast, and geometry. In histhirteenth year he was appren- forward with fear to the future. That is not ticed to a grocer in Perth, and although working ?«»/ way. I am determined never to bend to from seven in the morning until nine at night, the storm that is coming, and never to look yd found time by abridging his hours of sleep back on it after it has pas-sed." to write verses and correspond for a newspaper. He obtained temporary employment in the — — — —;

ROBERT NICOLL. 371

likely to precede her husband o.Ticc of Mr. Tait, and through the kind inter- first she appeared vention of that gentleman in the summer of to the grave, she survived him for a consider- 1836 he was appointed editor of the Leeds able period before falling a victim to the same Times, with a salary of £100 per annum. malady. This was a weekly new.-^paper repre.senting A second edition of Nicoll's poems, with extreme Radical opinions, and NicoU entered numerous additions and a memoir of his life upon the work of editor with a burning zeal. by Jlrs. Johnstone, was published in 1842 by which " He wrote as one of the three hundred might Mr. Tait, the publisher of the magazine himself be supposed to have fought at Thermopylte, bears his name, and who had proved animated by the pure love of his species, and a faithful friend to the young poet. Since zeal for what he thought their interests; but, that date numerous editions of Nicoirs poems amidst a struggle which scarcely admitted of have appeared in Great Britain and the United have a moment for reflection on his own position, States. Although some of his songs the springs of a naturally weak constitution attained a popularity only surpassed by those were rapidly giving way and symptoms of of Burns, they are not equal to his serious consumption became gradually apparent." The poems, which breathe that simple and pure excitement of a political contest during a par- piety which may be looked—for in the descen- liamentary election completed the physical dant of such parents as his "decent, honest, prostration of the poet-editor; he removed to God-fearing people." Ebenezer Elliott says of Kuaresborough, and from thence to Laverock NicoU: "Unstained and pure, at the age of Bank, the residence near Leith of his friend twenty-three, died Scotland's second Burns Mr. Johnstone. Here he lingered until De- happy in this, that without having been a persecutor, and injurious,' he cember 9, 1837, when his gentle spirit pas.sed 'blasphemer, a away. His remains were followed tothechurch- chose, like Paul, the right path: and when the yard of North Leith by a large assemblage, terrible angel said to his youth, 'AVhei-e is the and were interred near the grave of the dramatic wise?—where is the scribe?—where is the dis- foolish the wisdom poet John Home. It is now (1876) proposed puttr? Hath not God made did answer, to erect a suitable monument over the poefs of this world?' he could and 'By grave. In 1836 NicoU married Miss Alice the grace of God I am what I am.' Robert Suter of Dundee, a lady possessed of sweet and NicoU is another victim added to the hundreds gentle manners, and an unbounded admiration of thousands who 'are not dead, but gone of her husband's talents. Her health was, like before,' to bear true witness against the merci- less." his own, extremely delicate ; but although at

LIFE'S PILGRIMAGE.

is o'er: Infant! I envy thee Boy! infivncy Thy seraph smile— thy soul, without a stain; Go with thy playmates to the grassy lea. Angels around thee hover in thy glee Let thy bright eye with yon far laverock soar. A look of love to gain! And blithe and happy be!

notes Thy paradise is made Go, crow thy cuckoo Upon thy mother's bosom, and her vo'.ce TUl all the greenwood alleys loud are ringing throats Is music rich as that by spirits shed Go, listen to the thousand tuneful AVhen blessed things rejoice! That 'mong the leaves are singing!

Bright are the opening flowers I M'ould not sadden thee. Ay, bright as thee, sweet babe, and innocent, Nor wash the rose upon thy cheeks with tears: They bud and bloom; and straight their in- Go, while thine eye is bright— unbent thy fant hours. knee Like thine, are done and spent! Forget all cares and fears! —— ———; —! ———

372 EOBEET NICOLL.

the Youth! is thy boyhood gone?— 'Tis manhood makes man or a fettered slave. The fever hour of life at length has come, A high-soul'd freeman fit to span, And passion sits in reason's golden throne, The mind a temple for God While sorrows voice is dumb! Or a dark dungeon-grave!

God doth not man despise. Be glad: it is thy hour gives him soul mind heart that living Of love ungrudging— faith without reserve He — — — flame; And from the right, ill hath not yet the power To make thy footsteps swerve! Nurse it, and upwards let it brightly rise To heaven, from whence it came!

Kow is thy time to know go hence, and make IIow much of trusting goodness lives on earth; Go hence, spirit pure as morning, light and free! And rich in pure sincerity to go Thy Avon, I llejoicing in thy birth! The pilgrim shrine is and awake Come to the woods with me! Youth's sunshine unto thee Love first and dearest, has unveil'd her face. And thou hast sat beneath the trysting tree. In love's first fond embrace! THE MORNING-STAR. Enjoy thy happy dream, For life hatli not another such to give; Thy smile of beauty. Star! face of night Thestream is flowing —love's enchanted stream Brings gladness on the gloomy Live, happy dreamer, live! Thou comest from afar. Pale mystery! so lonely and so bright, Though sorrow dwelleth here. A thing of dreams—a vision from on high And falsehood, and impurity, and sin, A virgin spirit — light — a type of purity Tlie light of love, the gloom of earth to cheer, thou Come sweetly, sweetly in! Star! nightly wanderest Companionless along thy far, cold way: till now, 'Tis o'er —thou art a wan!— From time's first breath Tlie struggle and the tempest botii begin On thou hast flitted like an etlier fay! arose; Where he who faints must fail— he fight who can Where is the land from whence thou first which thy A victory to win! And where the place of light to pathway goes?

Say, toilest thou for gold ? dawn's first messenger! Will all that earth can give of drossy hues Pale prophet-sign of brightness yet to be! Compensate for that land of love foretold, Thou Which mammon makes thee lose? Thou tcllcst earth and air Of light and glory following after thee; woodlands Or waitest thou for power? Of smiling day 'mong wild green A proud aml)ition, trifler, dotli thee raise! sleeping; tears of bright- To be the gilded bauble of the hour And God's own sun, o'er all, its That fools may wondering gaze! ness weeping!

But would'st thou be a man — Sky sentinel! when first liomade i)atriarchsaw thee fmni his hill A lofty, noble, uncornipted thing, The burst. Beneath whose eye the false might tremble wan, Upon his vision thou art still; The good with gladness sing? Thou wast as pure and fair as And changeless thou hast looked on race, and Go, cleanse thy heart and fill name. but flion art yet Thy soul with love and goodness; let it be And nation, lost since then — Like yonder lake, so holy, calm, and still. the same! And full of purity! Night's youngest child! fair gem! astrologer o'er thee would cast This is thy task on earth The hoar and to thy name This is thy eager manhood's proudest goal; His glance, join; then tremble when To cast all meanness and worldworsiiip forth His own would And thus exalt the soull thou wast —— —— - — ; — — ———; —— — !

EGBERT NICOLL.

In darkness; and rejoice when, like a bride, If a' ithcr bodie ^ Thou blushed to earth—and thus the dreamer AV'ere married but me. dreamed and died! Syne I wad get plenty About me to speer Pure star of morning love! Folk wadna be fashions The daisy of the sky's blue plain art thou; 'Bout beauty or gear. And thoughts of youth are wove Hearts broken in dozens Kound thee, as round the flowers that freshly Around I wad see. blow- If a' ither bodie In bushy dells, where thrush and blackbird sing— AVere married but me. FloAver-star, the dreams; of youth and heaven Ac lover would ha'e thou back dost bring! A' my errands to rin; Anither should tend me Star of the morn! for thee Baith outby an' in; The watcher by aflfection's couch doth wait; And to keep me gude-humour'd 'Tis thine the bliss to see AVould tak twa or three. Of lovers fond who 'mid the broom have met: If a' ither bodie Into the student's home thine eye doth beam AVere married but me. Thou listenest to the words of many a troubled dream! Fond wooers in dozens, AVhere I hae'na ane. Lone thing! — yet not more lone An' worshippin' hearts gazeth thee, Than many a heart which upon AVhere I'm langin' alane: gone AVith hopes all fled and Frae morning to e'enin'. AVhicli loves not now, nor seeks beloved to be. How bless'd I wad be. lone thou art— but we are lonelier far. Lone, If a' ither bodie When blighted by deceit the heart's affections AVere married but me! are! A daft dream was yon Myslerious morning star! It has faded awa' Bright dweller in a gorgeous dreamy home, Nae bodie in passin' Than others nobler far E'er gies me a ca' Thou art like some free soul, which here Nae sweetheart adorin' hath come I ever shall see. pure, and disenthrall'd — Alone, but glorious, Till a' ither bodie A spark of mind, which God through eartli to Be married but me! heaven hath call'd!

Pure maiden star! shine on. That dreams of beauty may be dreamed of THE HA' BIBLE. 1 thee! home art thou a throne A — Chief of the household gods land where fancy ever roameth free A Which hallow Scotland's lowly cottage homes! light afar— A God-sent messenger— a While looking on thy signs A blessed beam—a smile—a gem— the morn- That sjieak, though dumb, deeiJ thought ing star! upon me comes With glad yet solemn dreams my heart is stirred, Like childhood's when it hears the carol of a bird

The mountains old and hoar A MAIDEN'S MEDITATION. The chainless winds — the streams so pure and free Nae sweetheart hae T The God-enamell'd flowers Yet I'm no that ill-faur'd: The waving forest—the eternal sea But there's ower mony lasses, wooers are scared. An' 1 Wm. Howitt says:—"The Ha' Bible" is perliaps This night I the hale not unworthy to take equal rank witli 'The Cotter's 0' my tocher wad gie, Saturday Night' of Robert Biuns." Ed. ! ! — —— ! —- ! ——!

374 EOBEET NICOLL.

The eagle floating- o'er the mountain's brow But the fairest spot on the earth to me as thou Ai-e teachers all ; but 1 they are not such Js on bonnie Ord6 Braes.

An ell lang wee thing then I ran Oh ! I could worship thee Thou art a gift a God of love might give; Wi' the ither neebor bairns, For love and hope and joy- To pu' the hazel's shining nuts, In thy Almighty-written pages live! — An' to wander 'uiang the ferns; The slave who reads shall never crouch again An' to feast on the bramble-berries brown. For, mind-inspired by thee, he bursts his feeble An' gather tlie glossy slaes, chain By the burnie's side, an' aye sinsyne

I ha'e loved sweet Ordd Braes. God! unto Thee I kneel, And thank Thee! thou unto my native land- Tlie memories o' my father's hame, Yea to the outspread earth An' its kindly dwellers a', everlasting hand, Hast stretched in love Thy 0' the friends I loved wi' a young heart's love, earth and sea and air And Thou hast given Ere care tliat heart could tliraw, all that heart can ask of good and pure and Yea Arc twined wi' tlie stanes o' the silver burn, fair! An' its fairy crooks an' bays, That onward sang 'neath the gowden broom And, Father, Thou hast spread Upon bonnie Ord6 Braes. Before men's eyes this charter of the free. That ALL thy Book might read, Aince in a day there were happy hames And justice love, and ti-uth, and liberty. By the bonnie Ord^'s side; The gift was unto men—the giver God Nane ken how meikle peace an' love Thou slave! it stamps thee man— go, spurn thy In a straw-roof'd cot can bide. weary load! But thae hames are gane, an' the hand o' time Thou doubly-precious Book! The roofless wa's doth raze; Unto thy light what doth not Scotland owe? Laneness an' sweetness hand in Iiand y Thou teachest age to die. Gang ower the Ordd Braes. And youth and truth unsullied up to grow! sun were shinin' now. In lowly homes a comforter art thou Oh! an' the A sunbeam sent from God—an everlasting vow! An' oh! an' I were there, Wi' tAva-three friends o' auld langsync, O'er thy broad ample page My wanderin' joy to share. How many dim and aged eyes have pored ? For though on tlie hearth o' my bairnhood's

v^ How many hearts o'er thee hame In silence deep and holy have adored? The flock o' the hills doth graze. How many mothers, by their infants' bed, Some kind hearts live to love me yet Thy holy, blessed, pure, child-loving words have Upon bonnie Orde Braes. read?

And o'er thee soft young hands Have oft in truthful plighted love been BRETHREN A". join'd, WE ARE And thou to wedded hearts A bit happy hame this auld world would be. Hast been a bond—an altar of the mind! If men, when they're here, couUl make shift to Above all kingly power or kingly law agree, May Scotland reverence aye—the Bible of the Ha'! An' ilk said to his neighbour, in cottage an' ha', "Come, gic mo your hand —we arc brethren a'."

I ken na why ane wi' anithcr should fight. When to 'gree would make a' Iwdy cosie an' right, 0RD6 BKAES. When man meets wi' man, 'tis the best wayava. To say, "Gi'enie your hand —we are brethren a'." There's nae hame like the hame o' youth

Nac ithcr spot sac fair: My coat is a coarse anc, an' yours may be fine.

Nae ilher faces look sae kind And I maun drink water, while you may drink As tlic smilin' faces there. wine;

An' I ha'e sat by mony streams But wc baith ha'e a leal her rt, unspotted toshaw; Ila'e travell'd mony way.s; Sae gi'e me your hand—we are brethren a'. —; —— ——— ————; !

EOBEET NICOLL. 375

The knave yc would scorn, the unfaithfu' deride; The caller summer morning brings Ye would stand like a rock, wi' the truth on your Some joy to this wae heart o' mine; side; But I the joy o' life wad leave, Sae would I, an' nought else would I value a If I could wi' it .sorrow tine. straw My mother .said, in Heaven's bliss Then gi'e mo your hand—we are brethren a'. E'en pair herd lassies had a share;

I wish I were where mither is or man; Ye would scorn to do fausely by woman Her orphan then would greet nae mair! I baud by the right aye, as weel as I can; We are ane in our joys, our affections, an' a'; Come, gi'e me your hand—we are brethren a'.

Your niither has lo'ed you as mithers can lo'e; BE STILL, THOU BEATING HEART. An' mine has done for me what mithers can do; We are ane high an' laigh, an' we shouldna be twa; Be still, be still, thou beating heart, Sae gi'e me your hand—we are brethren a'. Oh cease, ye tears, that fill my e'e; In warldly joys I ha'e nae part We love the same simmer day, sunny and fair! Nae blithesome morning dawns for me. Hame!—oh, how we love it, an' a' that are there! I ance was glad as summer winds, Frae the pure air o' heaven the same life we draw Wiien fondling 'mang the grass sae green; pleasure now hatli left my breast Come, g^'e me your hand —we are brethi-en a'. But I am na' like what I ha'e been. Frail, shakin' auld age, will soon come o'er us baith. I ance was loved, — I lovetl again An' creeping alang at his back will be death; The sprecst lad in a' our glen; Syne into the same mither-jnrd we will fa'; I kent na' then o' care or pain. Come, gi'e me your hand—we ake brethren a'. Or burning brow, or tortured brain. I braided then my flowing hair,

I had o' love and peace my fill; Deep, deep I drank— but a' has gane Oh, cease thy beating; —heart, be still! THE HERD LASSIE. Why should two hearts together twined motlicrless, I'm fatherless and Be sever'd by stern fate's decree? There's nana on earth to care for me; AVhy doth the brightest star of mind are the waes And sair and meikle Oft turn its darkest cloud to be? That in the warld I maun dree. My Jamie left his native glen. work a stranger's wark. For I maun My silken purse wi' gowd to fill; stranger's fire; And .sit beside a But oh, he ne'er came back again cauld and hunger I maun thole And Oh, cease thy beating;— heart, be still From day to day, and never tire!

Why should I longer watch and weep? And I maun herd frae morn to e'en, Hame, hame to yonder glen I'll gac; Thougli sleety rain upon me fa', There in my bridal bed I'll sleep. And never murmur or complein Made i' the kirkyard cauld and blac. And be at ilka body's ca'. I'll soon, soon wi' my Jamie meet. I needna deck my gowden hair, Where sorrow has nae power to kill Nor mak' mysel' sae fair to see. Earth's waes are past— and my poor heart For I'm an orphan lassie puir Will .soon have peace — will soon be still. And wlio would look or care for me?

The lave lia'e mithers guile and kind, And joyful is ilk daugliters heart; The lave ha'e brithers steve and Strang, THE PLACE THAT I LOVE BEST. To hand ilk loving sister's part. But I'm a puir man's orphan bairn, AVhere the purple heather blooms And to the ground I laigh must bow, Amang the rocks sae gray An' were it nae a sinfu' wish, AVhere the moorcock's wiiirring flight Oh! I could wish the warld through! Is heard at break of day ————• —!!!!—— — — ; —— —————

376 ROBERT NICOLL.

\Vhere Sootland's bagpipes ring Alang the mountain's breast THE PUIR FOLK. AVliere laverocks lilting sing, Is the place that I love best Some grow fu' proud o'er bags o' gowd, And some are proud o' learning: Where the lonely' sliepherd tends An honest poor man's worthy name His bleating hill-side flock I take delight in earning. Where the raven bigs its nest Slaves needna try to run us down — In the crevice of the rock To knaves we're unco dour folk; AVhere a guardian beacon-tower AA'e're aften wrang'd, but, deil may care! Seems ilk rugged mountain's crest, AA'e're honest folk, though puir folk! To watch aboon auld Scotland's glens. Is the place that I love best AA'i' AA'allace wight we fought fu' weel, AA'hen lairds and lords were jinking; Where the shepherd's reeking cot They knelt before the tyrant loon— Peeps from tlie broomy glen AVe brak his crown, I'm thinking. Where tlie aik-tree throws its leaves The muckle men he bought wi' gowd O'er the lowly but an' ben— Syne he began to jeer folk AVhere the staunch auld-warld honesty But neither swords, nor gowd, nor guile Is in the puir man's breast, Coukl turn the sturdy puir folk! And truth a guest within his hanie, AAMien tried to bind Is the place that I love best auld King Charlie AVi' airn, .saul and conscience. In virtue o' his right divine, Where the gray -haired peasant tells ither daft-like non.sense; The deeds his sires have done, An' A\"ha at Marston such a stour. Of martyrs slain in Scotland's muirs, raised made the tyrants fear folk? Of battles lost and won And prayed fought wi' Pym and Koll? Wherever prayer and praise arise AVha and trusty, truthfu' puir folk! Ere toil-worn men can rest, The From each humble cottage fane, AA'ha ance upon auld Scotland's hills Is the place that I love best AA'ere hunted like the paitrick, And hack'd wi' swords, and shot wi' guns, Where my ain auld mitlier dwells. Frae Tummel's bank to Ettrick, And longs ilk day for me— Because they wouldna let the priest While my father strokes his reverend head, About their conscience steer folk? AVhilk gray eneuch maun be The lairds were bloodhounds to tlie clan Where the hearts in kirkyards rest The martyrs were the puir folk! That were mine when youth was blest, tlie gowans, As we rowe

Is the place that I love best! Ye aften sair misca' us; —— — — — ——! — - —

EOBEET NICOLL. 377

And hunger, cauld, and poverty The sun shines sweetly—sweeter may it shine! Come after ye to thraw us. Bless'd is the brightness of a summer day; Yet up our hearts we strive to heeze, It cheers lone hearts; and why should I repine,

fields I stray? In spite o' you and your folli; Although among green cannot But mind, enough's as gude's a feast, Woods! I have grown, since last 1 heard you Although we be but puir folk! wave, Familiar with death, and neighbour to the We tliank the Powers for gude and ill, grave As gratefu' folk should do, man; mighty But maist o' a' because our sires These words have shaken human Were tailors, smiths, and ploughmen. souls Good men they were, as staunch as steel- Like a sepulchre's echo drear they sound- They didna wrack and screw folk: E'en as the owl's wild whoop at midnight rolls Wi' empty pouches—honest hearts The ivied remnants of old ruins round. ? the soul decay ? Thank God, we come o' poor folk! Yet wherefore tremble Can Or that which thinks and feels in aught e'er fade away"?

Are there not aspirations in each heart MILTON.—A SONNET. After a better, brighter world than this? Longings for beings nobler in each part— martyr, saint, and sage! Blind, glorious, aged Things more exalted — steeped in deeper poet's mission God revealed to thee, The bliss? lift men's souls to Him to make them To — Who gave us these? What are they? Soul! free; in thee AVith tyranny and grossness war to wage The bud is budding now for immortality ! A worshipper of truth and love to be all things nought but these To reckon Death comes to take me where I long to be; alone; One pang, and bright blooms the immortal truth to the To nought but mind and bow flower; knee Death comes to lead me from mortality, throne! To make the soul a love-exalted To lands which know not one unhappy JIan of the noble spirit! — Milton, tiiou hour; All this did'st do! A living type thou wert I have a hope— a faith;— from sorrow here the soul of man to be may grow — Of what I'm led by death away— why should I start love-fraught heart! The pure perfection of the and fear? Milton! from God's right hand, look down and see, If I have loved the forest and the field, For these, how men adore and honour thee! Can I not love them deeper, better there? If all that power hath made, to me doth yield Something of good and beauty —something fair. DEATH.' Freed from the grossness of mortality. May I not love them all, and better, all enjoy?

The dew is on the summer's greenest grass. change from woe to joy from earth to Through which the modest daisy blushing A — heaven. peeps, Death gives me this it leads me calmly The gentle wind that like a ghost doth pass, — where A waving shadow on the corn-field keeps; The souls that long ago from mine were riven But I who love them all shall never be May meet again! Death answers many a Again among the woods, or on the moorland prayer. lea! Bright day! shine on, be glad ; days brighter far Are stretched before my eyes, than those of 1 to be the last, or iinioiig the This poein is believed mortal are! last, written by Niooll. A lopg jioeni, wliith he said would be by far the best thing he hrid ever written, I would be laid among the wildest flowers, founded on the story of Arnold of Biescia, was left I would be laid where happy hearts can unfinished, but the world would be glad to see the frag- meut, as yet unpublished. Ed. come: —

)78 JAMES HEDDERWICK.

The worthless day I heed not; but in hours Upon the silent vales — the sunny glow Of guslung noontide joy, it may be some That fills each alley, close, and copsewood Will dwell upon my name; and I will be nook; A happy spirit there, affection's look, to see. I know them— love them—mourn not them to leave.

Death is upon me, yet I fear not now; Existence and its change my spirit cannot Open my chamber-window— let me look grieve!

JAMES HEDDEEWICK

Jakes IIedderwick was born in Glasgow, Previous to leaving Edinburgh Jlr. IIedder- January 18, 1814.^ At an early age he was wick was entertained at a public dinner, at put to the printing business in his father's which the late Mr. Charles Maclaren, editor of establishment. His tastes, however, being the Scotsman, presided, and Mr. John Hill more literary than meclianical, he became dis- Burton, advocate, officiated as croupier, while satisfied with his position, and devoted all his tlie company included many literary men and leisure hours to study and composition, con- artists of distinction. In 1844 he collected some tributing in prose and verse to various news- of his poems which had appeared at various papers and periodicals. In his sixteenth year times in different periodicals, and published he went to London. AVhile there he at- them in an elegant volume. After the death of

tended tlie university, and gained the first the gifted David Gray Mr. IIedderwick prepared prize in the rhetoric class. Before he was a most interesting memoir of his life, which twenty-three he became sub-editor of the Scots- was prefixed to his poems, together with an man newspaper. In 1842 he returned to his introductory notice written by Mr. Eichard native city and established the Glasfjoiv Citizen, Monckton Milnes (now Lord Houghton). In a weekly newspaper which long maintained 1859 Mr. IIedderwick published another vol- a respectable position. In this journal ume of poems, under the title of Lays ofMiddle Alexander Smith made his first appearance as Age. From this, his principal work, we make a poet, and in later years poor David Gray the subjoined selections.

first saw his beautiful lines in its columns, In 1864 Mr. Hedderwick established the bearing the nom-de-plume of " Will Gurney." Evenimj Citizen, one of the first Scottish half- Among others who made their iHbut in the penny daily newspapers, which under his con- Citizen was Mr. William Black, who has since trol maintains a high character, and is said to attained great popularity as a journalist and have the largest circulation of any daily paper writer of fiction. in Scotland.

FIRST GRIEF.

They tell me first and early love The grief that marks our dawning youth Outlives all after dreams; To memory ever clings. But the memory of a first great grief And o'er the path of future years To mc more lasting seems; A lengthen'd shadow flings.

' " When I was eight years old," Mr. Heilileiwick family. Not liking the country, he returned somewhat writes to tlie Editor, "I was in America for a few abruptly, so that I narrowly escaped being a Yankee!" months, my father having eniig ated thither with his — Eu.