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32X

FAME

SANGS

BY
41. Mr LEAN CALDER.

—

'It's hame, an' its hiime, hame fain wad I ^e,"
•' An' H's liarae. harae. hame, tae my ain counirie/'

Allan Cunningham

— o-

LONDON :

KING & CO., 50 BOOKSELLERS EOW,
STEANJ.

1887.

, V ■] \:

^ o Co r^

^«ip^ua*^«»'M'lli<

LONDON,

August, 1887.

The pieces contained in this small volume
mostly written during a long residence
the United States and Canada, and have
Iready appeared in newspapers and peri-

were

odicals there. .

They have been collected and published
at the request of many friends in the Do-
minion and the neighbouring Republic.

The themes being homely, they are treated
in a homely way ; still they may serve to
echo the sentiments of Scotchmen who have
wandered far ''owerche sea," and who yet
retain a strong affection for everything per™
taining to their native country.

' >^

CONTENTS.

Preface

Contents

When the bairnies are frae hame

Polart Burn

A royal mouse .

Lizzv Broon

The "thistle

My faither's tiddle .

Lost .

When Nellie sings to me

Doon at the heel

The royal marriage .

Hame sick

Halloween memories

St. Andrew's Day

Lover's Lane

Come oot frae 'mang the neeps

The hawthorn tree .

The Rose o' Whiteside

Oh ! come wi' me

Dreaming of mother

Ada Lee

1 love to dream of home .

The little white cot in the clearing

Draw in yere stool an' sit doon

The girl who lives over the way

My hame across the sea .

Faither's ain bairn .

Indian summer

The auld schule hoose on the green

Wait and Hope

3
5
9

Constant atiil
Side by Hide
Little Blue-bell
The auld thackit hoose »
When the days are creepin' n\ ,
Lounsdale Haughs
Edinburgh's welcome to Priiict; Al-
bert Victor
Mither's bonny lass.
Kiss the bairns for me ,
My heart warms tae the tartan
How shall we honour him ^
*' Wher« last we met"
Won . . • •

Ither folk's bairns „
The land of the maple for me
Under the orchard trees
Heaven is where our Father is
Leezie Trotter
Johnny's Grave

The love o' my schule-boy days
The bairnie tak's after his faither ,

An auld settler

On the death of David Kennedy,
the Scottish vocalist .

My faither's fireside

Jeanie Ray

The sunset hour

Katie o' the Mill .

Welland Stream

Ellen o' the Ha'

The Flower o' the Dye ,

Langton Water

The waning year

Nae mair .

6e5

67
68
70
71

7:^

7(>

8(»

8IJ

94
96
99
101
102
103
105
106
108
111
114

.,i

Undtjif the snow

Penny's Brae

Shouther tae shouther

All for her

Meet me in the bower

The Maid o' Cothill

When the summer buds unfold

Gavinton Green

Wait a-wee, an' dinsia weary ,

'* Eastern's E'en"

First Love.

Robbie Burns .

My horn-spune and luggie

Over the creek .

316
[17
119
121

124
125
126

127
129
130

133
134
137
139

HAME SANGS.

WHEN THE

BAIRNIES ARE FRAE
HAME.

The house is donf an' clrearie,

When the bairnies are frae hame,
An' ilka 'oor I weary,

AVhen the bairnies are frae hame ;
I miss their merry lauchin'

Their friskin' and their dafhn',
Their shouts an' sangs sae cheery,

AVhen the bairnies are frae hame.

When John comes hame at e'enin',

When the bairnies are frae hame,
Tho' ne'er a word compleenin'

Wlien the bairnies are frae hame ;
The' he seeks tae hide his feelin',

His thochts there's nae concealin',
For his looks confess his meanin'

When the bairnies are frae hame.

Noo, John, just write tae granny,

To bring the bairnies hame.
For withoot they're here we canna

Feel the hoose tae be the same.
An' ilka day she'll see them,

For when she comes here wi' them.
W e'll just keep her for we mauna,

Let the bairnies qan" frae hame.

An' sao anco niair taeL^ithor,

Wlit'U the bairnics arc at hanvo,
Fu' blytho will ha tlioir iiiither,

When the bainiics ;iro at hanio.
We'll just keeptlunu aye l)L'rti(Ie us,

Aii''wliat joy or grief betide lis,
We mau.i sluire \vi' ane uiiither,

When the bairnies are at haine.

— -

POLAllT liUllN.

The frost h:is nipt the heather bloom,

The brackens hhi'4 their dowaie leaves —
The hips are red ni)on the brier,

An' paitrieks whirr anian-^ the sheaves :
Kae niiiir the bees roam o'er the niuir,

Or, laden wi' their sweets, return,
As T, tae snilt'thc canler air,

Stray up the glen by Polartburn.

Here, niony a happy day we spent.

When we were laddies at the sehnle ;
We sought the heather-Unties' nest,

()r gump'd for niennents in the pool :
We wTst nae hoo the time sped (m.

Until we heard the cowboy's Injrn,
Yet laitli tae hsa' we linger'd on,

'Till gloaniin' fell o'er Tolartburn.

We've wander'd 'n\ang the heather knowes,
When frae oor feet the mnir-cock whirr'd

Or wander'd by the hnver hangh

Where first the cuckoo's note was heard :

83 1113 liainew.ird wo ^v(»^llcl trend its l)aiil<ft
Tilt! watch themoss-j^nown luill-wlieclUini,

Or note tlio ioaniiii' uiill-raco rush
Tac blend its Hood wi' I'olart l)urn.

There, ^vi' tht; love cior boyhood l<iiew,

We wiinder'd— proiligal o' time--
Wlieii eyes were brighter, li]»s inair sweet,

Tliaii ever met wi' in oor prime ;
Noo sad the memory that comes back, —

Its brightness never cvin return, —
An' ])haiitom hopes th)at 'mid the Jiaze,

That e'ening brings o'er Pohirt burn.

The schnleboy friendships then begun,

Hae still grown closer year by year,
Tho' a' oor mates are scatter'd wide,

111 cauld nor'-land, or southern sphere :
But scarce a simmer time ccmies roun ,

r)Ut ane or ither maun return,
Tae see ance niair their native hame,

Am boyhood's haurds by Tolart burn.

An' noo, annd the city's stir,

The busy mart, aii' crowded street.
Aft' will my fancy wander free,

Ilk shady nook and calm retreat ;
Or as beside my fire I sit,

Inclined o'er bygane joys tae mourn,
The sunny glints come back again,

Whene'er I think o' Polart burn.

12
A ROYAL MOUSE.

Wee boastie, wham our Scottish bard,
L<.ok'd on wi' tcnaorest re-ard ;^
Tho' nobly born, an' L^ently rear (U

Letnocht alarm ye,
There's nae occasion tae be fear'd,

I wadna harm ye.

Whatever made tht3 scd^^er loon,
Entrap ye frae the royal toon ;
Frae 'neath the shadow o' the croon,

An castle ha', ^

Tae live ilk day the same dull icon ,

()' here awa.

I fear 'twill bo an unco change,—

Tho' here, ye're free tae romp an rani^^e*,

Yet a-thinir will be dull an' strange

For some wee while,
Tho' here ye needna boo nor crnige,

Tae lordly style.

]]ut warsto' a,' ye'll miss yere meat ,
The little tit-bits choice an' sweet,
At royal feasts— some extia treat

Frae maid or lackey,
While here, there's little ye can eat,

But books or baccy.

But still there's comfort even here,
Altho' the larder's scant o' cheer ;
Nae cakes, nor kebbuck, meal nor beer,

Tae nil yere maw,
Y'^^ murderin' cats ye needna fear.

In Bachelor's Ha'.

If ye can iiml a corner snug,

Safe frae tlie fear o' cat or dug ;

In drawers, or cupboard, chair or rug, —

In plaid or (piilt,
Then tak' yere ease, nor fash yer lug

Ye're welcome til't.

Hut mind ye, here yell lind nae state,
Nae booin' tae the rich an' great :
Nae fetes nor feastin', puide nor plate,

An' grand display,
Wi' sodgers guardin' ilka gate,

Baith nicht an' day.

Ye maun just tak' thinj;s as they are,
Nor gi-uml)le at yere scanty fare,
An' tho' I hae-na much tae spare,

Ye're wcicome to't,
My crust or crowdie ye can share,

Or gang withoot.

An' maybe when we're mair acquent, —
Oor mutual feelin's better ken't.
Just gambol tae yere heart's content,

Withoot a swither,
Sae lang as I can pay the rent,

We'll fend thegither.

Try tae forget what ye hae been, —

The pomp ye' ve shared ; the wealth ye've

seen.
An' at yere doon-come ne'er complcen,

Nor care a whistle,
Ye're safer here than wi' the Queen,
In Windsor Castle.

El ITAPH.

Hero lies a piiir viiifoitunate beast,
Wham royal cats aiice deeiii'd a feast,
W'ha cuddled in the sodger's breast,

Frae pussy's fangs,
Tae find as cruel a fate at last,

Frae hunger's pangs.

An' maybe, tae. it felt the blow,
The fa' frae high estate, tae low ;
An' wi' this rankliu' sense o' woe,

An' cruel smart,
It pined for bygane pomp an' show.

An' broke its heart.

Sac like the feck o' mortals here.
Aye pinin' iov some grander sphere,
Forgettin' a' the joya sae near,

On every side,
Or mournin' ower a past career

O' cursed pride.

Heaven save me aye frae sic a fate ;
1 want na, crave na wealth nor state.
Nor for the favor o' the great, —

An' should 1 do it,
Then may misfortune warm my seat,

Until I rue it.

On the publication of the above poem in
The Chatham Banner, (Ontario), the fol-
lowing note vras printed by way of introduc-
tion :

A fellow boarder, who belongs to the Grena-

!
i

.♦»

dicrs' Band, was stationed at Windsor
Castle for a time, going and returning every
day. On his ai-rival one evening lie entered
<Mir room for a chat, when, in taking ott' his
overeoat, a monse jumped one from his
shoidder and disappeared. He said he liad
felt a strange feeling about him all the way
from Windsor, and then recollected that in
one of the rooms of the Castle he had been
fondling a cat which had caught a mouse
and was playing with it. Pussy having
dropped the mouse for a moment, it dis-
appeared, and its escape could not be ac-
counted for until our friend's arrival home.
Home weeks after, in overhauling the room,
the poor mouse was found dead. The
above lines are founded on this incident.

— 0-

LIZZIE BROON.

When the bloom was on the heather

An' tlie ch)ver deck'd the lea,
An' the dewy beads were hingin'

On ilka blade and tree
When the simmer dawn was smilin',

An' sheddin' beauty roun,'
Then o'er the meadow trippin'

1 first met Lizzie Br(jon.

Oh ! lightly fell her footfa'

Her gowden locks hung doon

O'er the snaw white neck an' bosom
Of my gentle Lizzie Broon.

My heart was yonng an' blythesome,
My days like simmer sky,

Ave brighter for the cloudlets
"Tliat gaily tiitted by ;

An' when the ahadow'd twilight
Had drawn her curtain doon,

Then happy were the moments
I spent wi' Lizzie Broon.

AY® wandei'd in the valley

licneath the smilin' moon,
My arms in fondness twinin

Kound gentle Lizzie Broon,

Now far far hae I wander'd

Frae that still cherish'd scene,
An' oft' when there is fancy

The tears drap frae my e'en,
I think I see her strayin'

An' gazin' sadly roun'
On the spot where last I plighted

My love to Lizzie Broon.

An' my weary heart is longin'
Its vexin' cares tae droon,

In the lovin', tnistin' glances
0' my gentle Lizzie Eroon,

THE THISTLE.

While memory backward tracks the time,
8 in' tirst 1 trode a foreign clime
In fancy aft the hills I climb

Where waves proud Scotia's thistle ;
By knowe an' cairn, by mead an' moor,
By linn an' loch, by glen an' shore,
M V childhood's scenes I aft explore,

'Mun<' heather, fern, and thistle.

Hoo aft in boyhood's snnny days,
I've skelpit baretit o'er the braes,
An' little cared tho" heels an' taes

Were tinglin' wi' the thistle ;
Or when its summer bloom was past,
An' downy feathers wayward cast,
I've grieved that autumn's thieving blast;

Should bare tlie bonny thistle.

I carena for ye're garden flowers,
Sae trim an' neat in ladle's bowers—
There's ane aboon them a' that towers^

The stalwart bearded thistle.
Koo noodin' tae the surly breeze ;
Is^oo hid beneath the hazel trees ;
Kot) sunward baskin' svhere the bees

Sip honey frae the thistle-

The flowers may languish in the held.
When sinnner days nae showers niay yield
It needs nae plantin's shade or bield.

The hardy, burly thistle.
Tho' sharp an' keen the blasts may bhiw,
An' ither flowers may fade an' fa',
It rears its head aboon them a'

The sturdj^ bearded thistle.

The sun may glint wi' a' its poAver,
An' cluds deny the fresh'ning shower ;
TIio' dewdrops at tlie gloamin' hour,

Beujeni nae blade or thistle.
Still nourished by its native earth,
Detiantly it branches forth ;
Tho' bendin' 'neath the biting n(n'th,

Still bravely wags the thistle.

When warlike hordes cam' ower the main,
Wi' hopes o' con(j|uest an' o' gain,
A city's shimberers wad been slain.

If t hadna been the thistle.
While baretit for surprise prepared,
'i'hey steel upon the drowsy guard,
A warnin' cry o' pain was heard—

Their curses on the thistle.

An' sae the thistle proved to be,
The guardian o' oor liberty —
Then wha can ever doot that we.

Are proud o' Scotia's thistle.
On mountain heights it rears its head.
Proudly an' stern, as if it said —
'' For Scotia's cause ye ne'er may dread,"
' Sae lang's ye lo'e the thistle."

((

vSae when we see its sturdy form,
Aft bent an' toss'd before the storm,
Oor hearts tae Scotia's heroes warm,

Sae like their native thistle.
Tho' aft assailed by war's rude blast.
When broadside Mars's red bolts were cast,
They cam' triumphant forth at last,

Unconquered like the thistle.

What tho' oor hardy mountaineer
May rongh an' rugged still appear,
Tae pamper'd fools wha scoft' an' sneer

At Scotia's cherish'd thistle.
Tho' hearts that beat 'neath silken gown
Were saft as fleece or thistledoon,
Still warm as breath o' balmy Jnne

Are hearts that lo'e the thistle.

Here, parted frae oor sea-Rirt hame —
Still doatin' on anld Scotia's name,
Oor hearts leap np wi' bonndin' Hame,

At mention o' the thistle.
Her name, her fame tae us are dear,
Undimm'd by wealth an' fortune here —
We'll teach oor children tae revere

The land where wags the thistle.

At times my heart is aften fain,

Tae cross ance mair the trackless main,

An' roam my native hills again,

Where bonny blooms the thistle.
If but a glint 'twere mine tae see.
Ere death's canld hand had closed my e'e,
That my last restin' place might be

Beneath the waving thistle.

— o —
MY FITHER'S FIDDLE.

Hoo aft' in happy times gane bye,
AVhen but a wean some three feet hii?h,
My heart has been elate wi' joy

As chair astriddle,
I'd aft' alane delight tae try

My iather's fiddle.

:||

Or when the weary day was dune,

\ii' by the ingle gather'd roun ,

I've watched whene'er my dad took doon

The auhl green bag,
J wearied sae tae hear the tune,^

" An' rax my leg.

An' when we heard the tuning notes,
We sune were all' oor c(jsy seats
IJoside the lire o'blazin' peats ;

Tip tae the tloor,
When tlingin' atf oor heavy boots

We raised a stoure.

Nor did we cease the mirth an' glee,
Till tired an' wearied sair were we—
Wi' hearts as licht as licht could be

We sought oor rest,
An' in sweet slumber closed oor e'e,

Au' pillow press'd.

Whenstack-yairds were wi' plenty clad,
And farmer- boddie's hearts were glad,
I've seen the hinds gang dancin' mad,

When work was dune,
An' ilk blithe lass wad pick her lad,
An' dance like fun.

I^)ut when the harvest kirn took place,
Then joy was seen in ilka face,
An' lasses wi' a witchin' grace

Sae neat and braw,
Made .Jock and Tam alike confess

^' That it beat a'."

h :

Au' when thy canty strains began,
Tlion kept them a' in mirth an' fun,
An' auld an' yonng wi' noise and din

Made rafters ring ;
Till dayiieht tauld the nicht was dune-
New cares tae bring.

I've seen thee tae on anhl year's nicht,
I^Iak' lads' and lassies' hearts beat licht,
An' youngster's faces beam sae bricbt,

An' hearts beat high
Wi' expectation and delicht,

An' purest joy.

Then, when the partner's danced and reeled
Then loud and lang the music pealed—
While cat-gut held thou wadna yield,

Tlio' sair the tussel,
Exceptin' when the tiddler chield

Wad weet his w hustle.

Wi' gallant lads an' maidens coy,
An' youngsters daft wi' mirth an' joy,
I've seen the merry nicht slip bye,

Till new year's morn.
Wi' welcomed in wi' blithe strathspey

Around the thorn.

Oh ! aften hae I blessed thy power,
Tae yield us thus a happy hour,—
Tae sweeten a' that sad and sour

Oppressed my heart,
An' gie auld care a canty clour, —

His richt desert.

Still, when 1 hear thy cauty soniul.
I'm tae my feet wi' lichtuume bouiK],
Or when the merry sani; gan^^a rouiKl

Wi' heartaoine L'lee,
N;u' mair wi' 1,'rief my heart ilvvi stf>iim(

Frae care Fsu fiee.

Or when wi' plaintive accents i)layeil, —
When sango' lover lowly laid,
Throws o'er my soul a holy shade —

Wi' heart richt sair,
I've sorrowed for the hapless maid,

Tae fancy fair.

Lang may thoTi cheer my droopiu' heart
Ere I frae this world's sorrows part,
Ajx' when I feel the keen, keen dart

O' grief an' pain,
I'll seek, tae sooth the bitter smart,

Thy canty strain.

— 0-

LOST.

I loved her long, 1 loved her true.

Yet never told my love ;
I hoped one day to call her mine^

And tried her heart to prove ;
I saw when others sought her smiile.

How happy she cowld be,
And hid the thought within my heart

That she was lost to me.

I 1

I saw her iu tlie prime of youtli

With every grace adorned,—

II Imilt f(»ud hopes of future bliss,

\iid o'er their ruins mourned.
Vnd stiil a liiii^eriug star of hope,

Shoue out in titful gleams,
Hut now, ai.is ! she's lost to nie, —

Dispelled are all my dreams.

Within my heart there is a void,

For sontething loved and lost,
A dark despair o'erwhelms my hopes^

Like vessel '•-empest-tossed,
With rudder gone, and compass lost

Upon a stormy sea, —
Such is my life, a drifting wreck,

Since she is lost to me.

Soon will another claim her as

The partner of his life, —
Yet still I'll pray for her, that she

May he a happy wife.
Nor shall she e'er by look or word.

My hopeless love discover, —
I'll school my heart to fate's decree,

♦Since lost to me for ever.

WHEN NELLIE SINGS TO ME.

I've listened to the summer winds,

Amid the leaf> trees,
I've heard the brooklet's rippling song,

The humming of the bees ;

}

At morn and eve tlie birds have snn?^%

In all their wanton glee,
But oh ! a sweeter voice 1 hear

When Nellie sings to nie,

AMien o'er the summer sea, the moon

Has shed her silvery ray^
And gentle tipples Idas the shore,

'Tis then I love to stray ;
Where balmy breezes bearaweet sounds

Across that sparkling sea ;
But there's a sweeter charm than all

When Nellie sings to me-

When by her side I often sit,

Or fold her to my breast ;
Oh ! then what brighter joy has earth 'i

What mortal e'ef so blest ?
The world and all its cares are lost

In that sweet ecstacy,
A foretaste of that purer world y

When Nellie sings to me.

■ G —

BOON AT THE HEEL.

This life is a warsle at best ye'll alloo,
An' we hae mony back-sets before we win
thro' ;

But sic things we could thole gin it werena

the way,
Yer frien's look asklent whaa ye tint what

ye hae —

Whan ye needna their help— oh ! it's a' very

weel,
But their sang seems tae change whan ye're

doon at the heel.

It's agarmento' shoddy— a fabric o' thrums
The frien'ship that cools whan adversity

comes ;
Ye'll hae plenty o' frien's in yer bricht

simmer hours,
When yer pathway is cheerie wi' sunlicht

an' tlowera,

But let a bit frost come— their feelin'a con-

geal.
An their hearts turn like ice, whan ye're

doon at the heel.

When ye needna their help— oh ! they'll

mak' sic a f raise,
But ance ye get scanty o' meat an' o' claes ;
Whattho'at yer table they've eaten an'drank
Whan they kenn'd ye'd a balance a' safe at

the bank —
As ye briested the brae they wad help ye

tae speil.
But they'll shove ye aside whan ye're doon

at the heel.

1^ I

If in manners and speech, ye're as rucle

as a cad,
Yer fau'ts they'll o'erlook — but ye're a'

thint^ that's bad
Gin ye hae a come doon, thro' nae fau't o'

yer ain,
Ye'U fin' ye'U be left just tae toddle yer

lain —
Ye may dee in a ditch, ye may beg or may

steal,
It's nae business o' theirs whan ye're doon

at the heel.

Ne'er min' hoo ye got it, if siller ye hae,
Ye'U be flattered an' praised ilka hour o'

the day ;
At kirk ye'U be welcomed, sae lang's ye

donate
A share o' yer ill-gotten walth tae the

plate —
Gin they dinna just brand ye a limb o' the

deil,
Ye'U get the cauld shouther whan doon at

the heel.

I'm sweir tae believe that a' mankind's the

same,
But it's best gin ye needna their praise or

their blame ;
Just steer yer ain path, an' ne'er trust tae

the reed
That's sure tae gie way whan assistance ye

need ;
Keep yer frien' i' yer pooch — hae a heart

that can feel,
An' a' han' that wiU help them that's doon at

the heel.

■I

THE ROYAL MARRIAGE.

While fevered nations cease their burning

strife,
And war-worn veterans seek their homes

again—
While mourning widows 'miu their blighted

life,

And orphans in their prayers,
Think of the loved who fell on battle plain,
Unmoved by sighs and tears ; —
And patriot hearts with holy feelings swell,
For the brave ones in duty's cause who fell.

Within our peaceful kingdom, far and near
'Mid city life, in rural cot and hall,
A nation's voice is raised in loyal cheer.

On this bright bridal morn, —
God bless the fair Louise resounds from
all-
God bless the Lord of Lome ;
And Scotland sees with patriotic pride,
Her son united to a peerless bride.

On mountain tops the lurid bonfires blaze,
As when of old to herald war's alarms,
But now the thoughts of peace and joy they
raise,

And call the happy free,
Not to repel a proud invader's arms—

'Tis England's jubilee ;
And peer and peasant join with one ac-
cord,
To[Lail the maiden and her happy lord.

! li

Our fair Dominion loyal to the core,

Vies with our motheMand to wish them

joy;

And Scottish hearts where'er the wide world
o'er

One sentiment express,
That heaven will watch them with a loving
eye—

And guard, protect, and bless
With love felicitous that will abide ;
Not the cold form which mocks a purchased
bride.

If such were needed, 'twill our htiarcs

unite,
In closer bond to our beloved Queen,
Whose virtues shine with a refulgence
bright

Though sorrow clouds her heart ;
A mother to her people she hath been,

And we must act our part,
Like loving children ready to obey,
When called to peaceful scene or battle fray.

Campbell, the scion of a noble race,
Whose deeds of valour shine on history's

page,
May'st thou, through life their worthy

footsteps trace ;

Though now in battle field,
No longer clansmen glorious warfare wage,

Or deadly olaymore wield :
Thine be the path which art and science

claim,
Here add new lustre to thy honoured name

For thee, fair daughter of a noble Queen,
We wish tliy Jife as happy, pure, and good ;
Thine be the Christian's better part to win,

And shine in ali thy deeds, —
May never grief within thy heart intrude,

As 'neath thy mother's weeds, —
Thine be the queenly virtues we admire ;
Thine be the genius of thy noble Sire.

So when thou hear'st our acclamations peal ;
So when thou see'st torch and taper gleam,
Know that our hearts are ever staunch and

leal.
And true to all that's free ;
Deem not our vows an empty worthless

dream, —

We will be true to thee,
Long as thou keepest thy wifely honour

bright.
And hold'st thy lord's heart as thy love's

true right.

And we, though parted from our father-
land —
The land thy mother loves with many ties,
With willing hands, and willing hearts will
stand

To guard thy happy home —
Our country's stainless memories we prize

Wherever we may roam.
And dearer for all time because of thee,
Will be to us that land across the sea.

- 0—

80
HAME SICK. .

I'm wearin' doon the hill o' life, an' sune

maun reach the tit,
Wi' feeble step I toddle roun', or by the

ingle sit ;
While in sweet dreams o' langsyne days the

time slips saftly by,
For my heart's awa' across the sea, 'mang

scenes o' infancy, —
An' tho' for niony years I've been a wan-
derer frae her shores,
Wi' stronger love as death draM^s near, I lo'e

her glens an' moors,
An' my heart is aften hame-sick for ae look

ower fell an' flood,
Or a breath o' Scotland's mountain air that

fires the patriot's blood.

Just five and fifty years gane by, sin' I left

hame an' frien's ;
A sonsy, brawny cheil I was, tho' only in

my teens, —
I'd listened tales, an' conned ower buiks

which fanned the youth fu' flame,
Tae see the wide warld for mysel' an' seek

a foreign hame,
sin' that day ower mony lands my

weary steps I've traced,
An' still the love o' childhood's scenes has

never been eflaced.
But stronger grown wi' failin' years my ae

desire has been,
Tae see the hame I left langsyne ere death

has closed my e'en.

»■■

t
■I

The snaws o' age liae frosted ower my

haffets thin an' bare,
An' my een grow dim an' feeble as the

gloamin's clrawin' near ;
But my soul on wings o' fancy seems tae

break its bands o' clay,
An' tae revel in the dream-land o' the auld

hame far away, —
An' bonny are the visions that licht my soul

at times.
Far grander than the boasted scenes o'

myrtle-scented climes —
They're the scenes o' childhood's cludless

years, my native banks an' braes,
Where I roved a fair-haired laddie wi' the

frien's o' ither days.

In fancy's e'e I'm ance again a laddie *mang

the lave.
An' climb the mist-clad mountains where

the fern and heather wave ;
Or listen tae the music o' the bonny whimp-

lin' burns —
Or the sough o' simmer breezes amang the

mossy cairns :
'Mang a' the favourite neuks we kenn'd, by

meadow, hill an' glen,
Wi' lichtsome heart, an' boundin' step I

rove them ance again.
Or wi' a fond expectant heart I seek the

trystin' tree.
Where first I met my life's ae love, now

lost tae earth an' me.

Deep in my heart's most inward neuk wi'

miser care I prize,
Auld Scotland's hallowed scenes where famed

historic memories rise, —
Her battle fields — dear cherished spots —

wliere oor forefather's bled.
Victorious ower their country's foes, by

Bruce an' Wallace led, —
Or the lonely, wild, romantic spots, by

mountain, glen or hill,
Where the covenanters worshipp'd wi' Peden

an' Cargill, —
Or waukenin' sadder memories — by mony a

lane hill side,
The moss clad cairns which mark the spot

where Scotland's martyrs died.

While croonin' ower some auld Scotch sang,
some lilt o' happier days,

I seem tae be amang the scenes where Burns
ance tuned his lays—

Those deathless sangs which tind a chord in
ilka Scotchman's breist,

Whene'er wi' joy elated, or e'er wi' grief
oppress'd, —

Or I wander sad an' pensive by mony a
grove an' rill,

The scenes o' plaintiff melody — the haunts
o' Tannahill,—

Or by the banks o' bonny Tweed wi' pil-
grim steps I hie.

Where sang tlie border minstrel, Scott,
high priest o' chivalry.

At times I'm dow an' dreary, an' the toar-

drap dims my e'e,
Wi' the thvoclit that this my last desire may

be denied tae me —
Gin sic tlie will o' heaven be, I'll humbly

bow my heid,
Contented in a foreign land tae lay me wi'

the deid,
But while I'm tae the fore, I'll ne'er forget

the langsyne days,
When I roamed amang the heather, or

speiled the gowany braes, —
Nor cease to hae a Scotchman's pride in ilka

honoured name.
That frae the path o' poortith rose tae win

a lastin' fame.

My weary life has been as fu' o' crosses as

my plaid ;
An' welcome will be rest at last when 'mang

the mools I'm laid,
But oh ! gin I could hae my wish, hoo

peacefu' could I dee,
The' there were nane tae drap a tear, or

heave a sigh for me ;
For I think I'd sleep sae sweetly wi' the

heather ower my heid,
An' the blue bells droopin' lowly as if tae

mourn me deid.
Could my last desire be granted ere the

thread o' life is riven ;
For ae sight o' bonny Scotland wpve like a

glint o' heaven.

— —

f i

34
HALLOWEEN ME.AIORIES.

Oonie sit ye doon my anld guid wife, an'

let us liae a crack,
An' ance niair thro' the ])yi,^ane years trend

memory's storied track ;
The happy days o' anld langsyne, the cloud-
less an' the free,
Come ance niair back tae cheer us wi' ilk

hallowed memory,
For tho' 'tis lang sin' we, guid wife, left

that hame far away,
Htill a' her scenes o' hill an' dale are dear

tae us tae day.
An' wi' a schule-boy love I still think o'

that happy scene.
When roun' oor cosy ingle-side we kept oor

Halloween.

8ic langsyne recollections aft yet my bosom

thrills,
When thinkin' o' my dear anld hame amid

the heather hills, —
Wi' what licht-heart I've sported o'er

gowany bank an' brae,
When tae the anld schule hoose we hied

ilk sunny morn away ;
But no a happier day we spent, than when

we roamed the glen,
Tae hunt for hazel nuts tae burn, when

hame we got again,
Or when 'mid joke an' ringin' laugh, whilk

ilk ane relished keen,
We joined the fun-provoking sports in the

langsyne halloween.

1^.

What happy moments hae I spent on that

all hallowed nicht,
When lads an' lasses fathered roun' the

ingle biirnin' bricht,
When mirth shone oot frae every face, an"

a' were happy there,
For e'en the auld folks joined us wi' hearts

devoid o' care :
They joined us in the merry laugh, the

gossip an' the sang,
An' for ae nicht at least, we drove awa' care's

withering stang,
We blithely listened tae their screeds o'

what they'd dune and seen,
On this same nicht, lang years ago, — the

auld Scotch Halloween.

An' Peggy, dae ye min' the time when I

was courtin' you,
Those first fond years we aften met oor

pledges tae renew,
When ower the hills J gaily sped tae the

auld trysting tree,
My only thocht, tae gain a look an' word o'

love frae thee,
When there we wandered lang, an' talked

o' days o' comin' joy —
For secretly I'd lo'ed thee, sin' a happy

careless boy.
For ye maun min' that nicht, guid wife,

some forty years T ween,
I drew thee as my valentine, that langsyne

Halloween.

Noo we are toddlin' doon the hill, an' suiio

in aim reach the tit,
►Still wi' a 'j([ow o' yonthfu' fire my jiuKI

heart flutters yet,
When thinkin' o' that land I lo'e, far, far

across the sea,
An' the happy days that hae been mine, my

ain giiid wife wi' thee ;
Noo bairn's bairns roun' us rin, an' pouk

thee by the goun,
While wi' the younkers on yere knee, I like

tae hear ye croon
Some auld Scotch sang, that aft' has brocht

the saut tears tae my een.
Or tell the frolics we hae had on the auld

Scotch Halloween.

Then let us hand oor Halloween as we were

wont tae dae,
Langsyne amang the schule-mates o' the

auld haine far away.
We're nae sae soople's we hae been, an'

canna join the fun,
But wi' the bairns aroun' us, we can tell hoc

things were dune,
W^hen you an' I were bairns tae, as blithe

as ony here,
Wi' burnin' nuts, an' pu'in' stocks, an

ither frolics queer, —
An' let us hope guid wife, that ere in death

we close oor een,
We'll see a few mair winters come tae bring

us Halloween.

— —

37
ST. ANDREW'S DAY .

Come neeboiir Scots ance mair forgather,

Tae celebate wi' ane anither,

The memories o' the land o' heather,

Tho' far away,
All' toast oor patron's name taegether, —

St. Andrew's Day,

Come lasses, wi' your witchin' smiles.
Again tae cheer wi' women's wiles ; —
Come labourers frae yere cares an' toils,

Ance mair be gay,
An' share the joy which aye beguiles,

St. Andrew's Day.

Here mony a son o' Scotia's hills,

Forgettin' a' his griefs an' ills.

This day will range the glens an' dells

Far, far away.
For 'tis a time ilk bosom thrills, —

St. Andrew's day.

Nor dae we meet alane tae think,
O happy times, or toasts tae drink, —
A' ye wha mourn at poortith's brink.

Will hnd us aye,
Prepared to honour wi' the chink,

St. Andrew's day.

We meet tae talk o' what's been dune.
The poor frae pinchin' want tae win,
Tae keep the wolf, be't debt or dun,

Frae's door away,
'Till frae his heart he bless oor ain

St. Andrew's day.

We meet tae wipe the widow's tear,
AVlia luoiirns o'er husband's early bier
He? heart tae lichteii, she maun share

Oor charity,
'Till blessin' a' in heartfelt prayer,

St. Andrew's tfay.

i)v she oppressed \vi' poverty,

Wha lanj^s her frien's aiice mair tae see,

Make glad when we can set her free

Her sea-bound way,
Tae thank, when hame across the sea,
St. Andrew's day.

Or they wha've suffered poortith's ills,
Amang their native heather hills.
An' come amang us sturdy chiels

Tae push their way.
Will ne'er forget, when fortune smiles,

St. Andrew's day.

There's no' a day in a' the year.
We greet wi' sic a hearty cheer, —
For Scotia's sons frae far an' near

Their hearts obey,
Tae baud oor patron saint aye dear,

St. Andrew's day.

Frae east tae west, baith south an' north,

In ilka corner o' the earth.

Will Scotchmen gie in joyous mirth

Their feelin's play,
Tae celebrate oor patron's birth,

St. Andrew's day.

An' in oor aiu Dominion land,
Frae forest wild tae sea-girt strand,
Scotsmen will meet, a mighty band,

Respect tae pay.
When *^ chill November" brings tae hand

St. Andrew's day.

Our wives and dochters tae mann greet
This hallowed time wi' honours meet,—
An' bairnies tae maun hae their treat, —

An' grannies gray,
Tell hoo they kept langsyne the great

St. Andrew's day.

Then let us hope that mony a year,

We lang may meet ilk ither here,

Oor jokes to crack, oor questions spier,

An' blithe an' gay.
Tae welcome wi' a joyous cheer

St. Andrew's day.

An' in this land for years tae come.
While burnies rin and forests bloom.
When hearts are sad an' pooches toom,

Let nae ane say,
We failed tae free frae grief an' gloom,

St. Andrew's day.

Note. — The above poem was awarded a
Gold Medal by the St. Andrew's Society of
Ottawa in 1868. A similar prize was ad-
judged to '* The Royal Marriage,"

— 0-

LOVER'S LANE.

Down in lover's lane the violets arc bloom-
ing,
That kiss the limpid waters along the

river side ;
And the tall and stately trees rise in all their
leafy glory,
Like a pretty maiden watching her re-
flection in the tide,
The summer breeze is stirring amid the
waving leaflets.
Sighing to the river that answers back
again —
And a soothing sense of quiet falls gently
o'er my spirit,
As I wander in the sun-lit i>ath down in
Lover's Lane.

Down in Lover's Lane when the twilisfht
shadows lengthen.
Across the verdant sward where the clover
is in bloom.
With youthful faces glowing and loving
arms entwiningf,
Sighing, dreaming, whispering, the lover's
nightly come.
Oh ! what fond endearments are whispered
'neath the shadows
By lips in rapture breathing, devoid of
care or pain.
Bright visions of a future with nought to
mar its sunshine
Are pictured to the innocents ^^hen down
in Lover's Lane.

Mki

W'iile often there I wander, and sadly there
I ponder
On scenes of brighter beauty, far, far
across the eea.
The past comes all before me, while fancy
brightly conjures,
A time when I was happy, young, inno-
cent and free.
But oft ther^ uunies a shadow across this
pleasant vision,
For never can such brightness illume my
lot again ;
Yet, oh ! it is a pleasure to see these youth-
ful dreamers
With hearts so light and happy, when
down in Lover's Lane.

Then wander on, young dreamers, 'mid
love's unchequered trances,
And paint the future radiant with the
sunshine of the heart ;
For there will come a time when your inno-
cent young fancies
In the mid-day of your pilgrimage may
never bear a part.
*Tis time enough to gird up your loins for
the struggle ;
'Tis time enough to wrestle on life's great
battle plain ;
So gambol in the sunshine of thy life's gay
blushing morning,
And taste the sweets of "love's young
dream " when down in Lover's Lane.

— —

V ,

42
COME GOT FRAE 'MANG THE NEEPS.

Eh ! callants dae ye mind the time when

youth was in its prime,
Oor schuleboy days — oor brichtest days —

life's cheery, cludless time ;
What pranks we played, what rievin' raids

we planned baith nicht an' morn.
As thochtless as the maukins that were nib-

blin' 'mang the com ;
When baigie's were just at their best, we've

ventured 'mang the shaws,
Nor thocht for sic misdeeds we yet should

feel the maister's tawse ;
Until a runkled face appears — a voice oor

paikment threeps —
'' Ye deevil's buckies that ye are, come oot
frae 'mang the neeps.

Aye mony happy days we had at Polwarth-

on-the-green.
When thochtlessly we ventured w^here we

kenn'd we sudna been,
Thro' slaps an' stiles, ower bank an' burn

tae hunt for scrogg's an' slaes.
Or may be harry lav'rock's nests by March-

mont's woods and braes ;
We catched the mennents i' the burn, or

chased the startled hare,
Nor thocht oor voices could be heard, or

ocht tae fricht us there, —
But see us rin for life or death— when thro'

the bushes creeps
Tho keeper's dug— and shouts are heard,
" Get oot frae 'mang the neeps."

mr^

When aulder grown, like a' the cheils, I*d

but tae hae a lass,
An' mony a winnin' glance I cuist aroiin' oor

singin' class ;
For there were sonsy lasses there wi' pawky

roguish e'en,
An' ane I took a fancy till — the miller's

dochter, Jean ;
But whither I was rather slow, or no, I

dinna ken,
But when I just was speirin' — '* could I see

her up the glen " —
Her lad — I ne'er jaloused she'd ane — be-
tween us canny creeps,
An' wi' a dunch he says tae me, ** Get oot

frae 'mang the neeps."

When oot I steer'd intae the warl' tae warsle

for mysel',
Wi' mony pitfa's 'mang my feet where

thochtless comrades fell,
I didna aye steer clear o' them, but still I

kept my grip,
An' managed tae get thro' the mire whane'er

I made a slip ;
An' then I'd aften think o' what my faither

used tae say,
*' Gin wicked drinkin' comrades seek tae

wile yere feet astray.
Ye're sure tae get yersel' ae filed, gin ye

consort wi' sweeps,"
" Sae when ye're like tae tint yere gate,

come oot frae 'mang the neeps."

■

In business, tae, I've ventured whiles a wee

thocht aff the road,
When no' content tae save by sma'a, an'

cautiously tae plod ;
I tuik a dab in railway shares, or else in

minin' stock.
An' used tae dream o' waltii secured, until

the bubble broke.
Then, wi' a pooch as toom as when a laddie

at the schule,
I groaned o'er a' my bawbees gane, an'

ca'd mysel' a fule ;
But when the clud o' ruin breaks', an' day-

licht ance mair peeps,
I learned a lesson that wad last when oot

frae 'niang the neeps.

I've no' forgot the lesson yet, an' aften

times sinsyne,
Whene'er I strayed frae duty's path, an'

crossed the boundary line, —
When sinfu' pleasures tempted me, an'

lured me intae ill,
I've waTered — left the narrow road, — but,

yet, when a' was still, —
When nicht cam' on wi' gruesome gloom,

an' a' was dark an' drear,
I've kent the sweat come o'er my broo, my

heart tae quake wi' fear.
An' whispered chidin's frae the wee sma'

voice that never sleeps,
Rang i' my ears as i' the past — '* Come oot

frae 'mang the neeps."

'11

'5'

45
THi:i HAWTHORN TREE.
Air—*' When the kye come hame."

'Twas on a summer's sunny eve when nr*-
ture sought to rest,

The setting sun still lingered in the gaily
purpled west ;

'Twas then I heard a maiden sing, *'Tis
pleasure dear tae me,

Tae meet my Shepherd Laddie by the haw-
thorn tree."

By the hawthorn tree, «fec.

Oh ! sweetly sang that merry maid as she

skipped o'er the green,
A happier smiling face, I trow, in Polwart

ne'er was seen,
Sae rosy was her cheek, and sae brightly

shone her e'e.
When she met her Shepherd Laddie by the

hawthorn tree.

By the hawthorn tree, &c.

When met and clasped in fond embrace, oh !

who their joys can tell ?
Sae fondly lo'ed that shepherd lad his ain

dear Isabel.
Nae lad she lo'ed like him, aye sae blythe and

gay was he,
When she met her Shepherd Laddie by the

hawthorn tree.

By the hawthorn tree, &c.

11^

Lang may they Io*e each other, and laating
be their joy,

Let nothing mar their future peace, or hap-
piness destroy ;

And may that smiling lassie aye as blythe-
and happy be,

When she meets her Shepherd Laddie by
the hawthorn tree.

By the hawthorn tree;^ &,c.

^^^

•0 —

THE ROSE O' WHITESIDE.

Air — "My Nannie's awa\'*

'Mong Marchmont's green woodlands the

flowers blossom fair.
The sweetbrier and primrose that perfume

the air,
But nane hae I seen, tho' Tve roamed far

and wide,
Like Maggie, fair Maggie, the Rose o'

Whiteside.

Nae fair blushing flow'ret when sparkling
wi' dew,

Though sweet be its odour and rich be its
hue,

Nae sweet scented rose in its fair summer's
pride,

Can vie wi' fair Maggie, the Rose o' White-
side.

<■ ^J

There 'maag her green woodlands eae happy

blooms she,
Where lightly the sweet summer breezes

blow free,
Where wood-songsters warble, where streams

sweetly glide, . ^, ry

There blooms my fair Maggie, the Kose o
Whiteside.

When, like a young rosebud, sae tender

and fair, ., , j i.

I loved her, I watched her, wi tenderest

care *
And thro' a' life's changes for her I'll pro-

And wilUovJ, guide, and cherish the Rose
o' Whiteside.

Till Winter's rude blast comes and fades my

fair Rose,
Then may a' my joys and my sorrowmgs

close *
And oh ! lay me down by my dearly loved

bride, , _ ,

And I'll rest wi' fair Maggie, the Rose o
Whiteside.

— —

OH ! COME Wr ME.

Oh ! come wi' me, my Bessie, love,

And gaily we will rove
Down by the bonny bnrnie's side

That wimples thro' the grove ;
For sweet it is, at eventide.

To roam 'mid scenes so gay,
'Mong flowers that deck each brake and
glen.

Or 'mong the new-made hay.

If i

m.v
1)

The reaper hastens to his home,

And lilts his simple song,
And, sweet, 1 hear the evening bells

Borne by the gale along ;
The gurgling stream that, winding, flows,

The swift, refreshing gale.
Throw their sweet music on the air.

And till the fragrant vale.

And in yon groves that fringe the stream,

The linnets sweetly sing ;
But when thy charming voice is heard.

Then Marchmont's valleys ring ;
For oft when I have wandered there^

These shady groves among.
Oh ! how delightful 'twas to hear

Thy simple rural song.

Then come, my love, and charm me now,

As thou wert wont to do,
And meet me, where we oft have met,

Beneath the spreading yew ;

And, atm in arm, we'll rove once more,
While thou shalt smile on me :

Thus we will spend the joyous hours,
And ever liappy be.

DREAMING OF MOTHER.

On a pallet, weak and dying,

A little orphan lay,
While through the open window

He watched the fading day ;
'Till weary with his vigil

His head to rest he laid,
And lost in airy fancies
In murmurs soft he said—

<' I love to dream of Mother—

To feel her loving hand
Stretched out to smooth my pillow
From that happy spirit land.

He closed his eyes in slumber,

And rested calm and still.
Just as the sun had vanished
Behind the purpled hill,—
A smile played o'er his features
Like sunshine's wintry beam,
While scarce above his breathing
He murmured in his dream—
" I'm coming, dearest Mother—

I see thy beck'ning hand
Stretched out to give me welcome
To that happy spirit land.

ADA LEE.

Sadly tlie twilight is fjilling

Over the shore and the sea^
And the star of the evening is shinir'

O'er the home of my sweet Ada I
"VVhile lonely I roam where the bilL.

Are gently embracing the shore,
And gaze long and sad o'er the waters
To the home of the maid I adore.
Ever the blue waves are rolling,
Parting my true love from me,
While sadly my bosom is longing
For the smiles of my sweet Ada Lee ,

Slowly the night's sombre shadows

Creep over valley and plain,
And the pale moon that smiles 'mid the
cloudlets

Come forth from her chamber again.
But her smiles only deepen my sorrow

As they silver the rippling tide,
Recalling the moments when fondly

I gazed on my love by my side.

Ever the blue waves are rolling, &c.

Now o'er the blue vault of heaven

Crystal stars beam with delight,
And no voice save the wave's gentle mur-
mur

Breaks on the ear of the night.
While the moon glances soft on my pillow

Her beauties unheeding I see,
]My thoughts are away on the night-winds

To the home of my sweet Ada Lee.
Ever the blue waves are rolling, &c.

I LOVE TO DREAM OF HOME,

I love to dream of home,

Of kind friends far away,
'Tis then sweet mem'ries come,
Like morning's cheerinj^ ray,
Which from my drooping heart,

Dispel all care and gloom.
And soothing joys impart—
Oh ! happy dreams of home.
Oh ! happy dreams of home,
Around my pillow come,
And tell me of the loving ones,
Who think of me at home.

I love to dream of home.

In fancy's pleasing reign,
With loving friends to roam,

And share their joys again 5
Or sport in boyish glee.

By mead and sylvan scene,
As oft in days when we

Roamed o'er the village green.
Oh ! happy dreams of home, &c,

I love to dream of home,

Sweet home,— oh ! happy theme,
When morning dawn is come,

To tell me 'twas a dream ;
I often wish 'twas more.

That I indeed were there,
Within that cottage door,

Their happiness to share.

Oh ! happy dreams of home, &c>

I love to dream of home,

And though I never meet;
Those friends of youth, or roam

Those scenes so fair and sweet ;
Yet, till my dying day,

Whatever sorrows come,
Till memory's decay,

I'll love to dream of home.

Oh ! happy dreams of home, &c.

THE LITTLE WHITE COT IN TEE
CLEARING.

Down in yon little white cot in the clearing,
Where the bright summer roses encircle the

door,

Dwells a sweet maiden

With eyes beauty laden.
And dark raven tresses her brow streaming

o'er.
Soft is her glance as the bright summer

dawning,
Ere the fierce sun sheds his fire-piercing

dart.

Gentle and airy.

Like light flitting fairy, —

Sweet winsome Mary,

The maid oi my heart.

Down by yon little white cot in the clearing.
Often I roam at the close ef the day,

liisten'ng he. singing,

Like silver bells ringing
Borne on the soft twilight zephyrs away.

Then will a feeling steal over my spirit,
Wafting me backward to childhood's bright

day.

Years when no sadness

Darkened my gladness,

Nor yet love's madness

Held me in sway.

Down in yon little white cot in the clearing,
Gladly I'd linger till life's closing scene, —

No more to wander

Through scenes of bright grandeur,
Tempted my wild roving footsteps again.
But, in that cottage, though ever so humble,
Blythe would I be as a bird on the wing,

Never to weary,

Though others are dreary.

But with my dearie

A light-hearted king.

DRAW IN YERE STOOL AN' SIT

DOON.

When young widow Glen lived awa' up the

cleugh,
T thocht an' I dreamed o' her af ten eneuch ;
If I met her by chance, I looked sheepish

an' shy,
She wad nod, say guid mornin', an' aff she

gaed by.
Bui at last, I plucked courage tae gie her a

ca',
Sae dressed in my Sunday claes, breeks,

hose an' a',

Oil ! my heart it felt queer when I gat tae

the toon,
An' she said tae me, " Draw in y ere stool ao'

sit doon."

I drew in my stool an' "at doon by the fire^
An' naething could I dae but look on an'

admire.
My tongu® wadna wag, sae a word I ne'er

spak',
Till the widow sat doon, an' the silence she

brak'
By speerin' for mither an' faither at home.
An' hoo the auld crummie got on that was

lame,
0, the sheep in the fauld^ an' the hens on

the bank.
While aye, no, an' um-phum was a' that I

»pak'.

She broeht oot the bottle an' gied me a

dram,
Whilk opened my mou' like an oyster or

clam,
I praised her white han', an' her e'en o' deep

blue,
Then crap closer till her an' pree'd her sweet

mou/
She never resisted but gied me her han',
An' said th; ♦■, her riches, her houses, an'

Ian
I should share, gin I'd leave the auld folks

in oor toon,
An' cannily draw in my stool an' sit doon.

I tell't her lioo lang, an' hoo fondly I'd io'ed

her,
Hoo fu' was my joy noo I'd sought an' hud

woo'd hetr,
A lang fond embrace an' a kiss sealed oor

vow, —
8ae my head has been lichtsome frae that

time till now.
Neist week Fve appointed tae mak' her my

ain,
For I canna thole langer her living her

lane,
Sae I'll dae as she tauld me when tirst I ca'd

roun',
I'll cosily draw in my stool an' sit doen.

~o -

;

THE GIRL WHO LIVES OVER THE

WAY.

From monting till night I am sighing

For a glance of a bright roguish eye ►:
Wherever I go I am trying

A face in the crowd to descry ;
I sit at my window, so lonely,

At the dull, dreary close of the day,
And my thoughts are ever and only

Of the girl who lives over the way.

I know not her name nor her station, —
How rich or how poor she may be ;

But my heart always feels a sensation
From a smiling face peeping at me.

I think her the loveliest creature
That e'er held a fond heart in sway,

For love beams from every feature
Of the girl who lives over the way.

How often I musingly wonder,

Whoe'er this fair creature can be ;
Or softly I sing while I ponder —

** Sweet maid ! I am dreaming of thee."
At night I am restless and weary,

And long for the dawning of day,
t'or a loving smile once more to cheer me.

From the girl who lives over the way.

i wish I could find out her mother,

Or father, if such there may be ;
And manage, without any bother.

To get an invite out to tea ;
After which, could I catch pa a-dozing,

And ma, busy, out and away,
I would soon make short work of proposing

To the girl who lives over the way.

MY HAME ACROSS THE SEA.

I've heard you speak o' sunny lands.

An' far aft' Southern bowers ;
I've heard you sing in loyal strains,

'• This Canada of ours; "
But there's a land 'boon a' the lave.

That's dearer far tae me.
Scene o' my happy childhood's hours,

My hame across the sea.

Tho' lang an' mony a day sine I

Bade hanie an' frien's fareweel,
Yet aften dearest memories

Will fondly o'er me steal ;
An' bring me back the loved o' youth,

The happy an' the free,
Wha aft' my joys an' sorrows shared,

In my hanie across the sea.

I canna stop the tear that fa's

When thinkin' o' the jDast,
An' youth's dear frien's noo scattered wide

Like leaves in winter's blast.
Or they wha sleep their lang last rest

Beneath some kirk-yard tree, —
Yet link my heart still closer tae

My hame across the sea.

Tho' here I've found a happy hame,

An' frien's baith leal an' true.
Yet noo whan wearin' doon the hill,

An' sune maun bid adieu !
Tae a' I dearly lo'e on earth ;

My only wish would be,
Tae rest l3eneath my native sod

In my hame across the sea.

FAITHER'S AIN BAIRN.

Faither's ain bairn is a blue e'ed lassie,
Wi' lint- white locks hingin' doon ower her
broo,
An' the blush on her cheeks like the roseate
dawnin',
Or the crimson flowers wat wi' the simmer
dew,

Her step is as licht as the breath o' the
zephyr,
That scarce stirs the grass by the brae
side or cairn,
As she rins thro' the meadow the gowans
she tramps on
Spring up frae the tread o* faither's ain
bairn.

Her voice is as sweet as the sang o' the
mavis,
Whilk sings aye sae saft at the close o' the
day,
An' she'll lilt and she'll sing the hale day
taegither,
As she gathers flower wreaths by burnie
or brae,
The ither wee lassies will toddle taegither,
Awa thro' the woods amang heather or
fern,
Tae meet my wee lassie, for nocht they lo'e
better
Than the sangs an' the stories o' faither's
ain bairn.

In the lang winter nichts she'll sit by the
ingle,
Watchin' the flare o' the dancin' lowe, —
Or wi' saft dimple fingers she smooths oot
the wrinkles.
That she wunners tae see in her faither's
broo,
It cheers ma tae list tae her innocent prat-
tle,—
And her sweet winnin' ways tae a' sae
endearin',

' "t

Sune mak' me forget the care's o' life's
battle,
As|I kiss the fair cheek o' faither's ain
bairn.

Ilk mornin' an' nicht whan the knee we are
bendin',
To Him that's the gjiver o' a' that we hae,
\Vi' deep fervent zeal I press the petition,

That oor lassie may never be taken away.
That she may be kept frae a' trial an' temp-
tation,
As pure as she's noo, is my deepest con-
cern ;
'Till some likelie laddie may woo her an'
win her,
Tho' she'll aye be tae me her faither's ain
bairn.

— —

INDIAN SUMMER.

The glorious days of summer

Are numbered with the past,
And the giants of the forest

Their withered leaves have cast ;
In garden and in wildwood,

The flowers their bloom have shed,
And the maple tree is blushing

And hanging down its head.

The parching summer sunshine

No longer lights the scene.
The summer dews no longer

Refresh the meadows ^reen ;

-SC-ttx'

At morning and at evening
The hoar frost decks the spray,

Like the signs of old asre comin<'
V\ hen the locks are turning gray.

The bees have ceased their hummin

The meadow flowers among, —
And hushed in grove and greenwood

The feathered warblers' song.
Though blue the sky above us,

And mild the mid-day sun —
'Tis the summer's lengthening shadow

And the twilight comino: on.

As the candle in the socket,

Gives its last expiring glare, —
As hope beams out the brightest,

Near the clouds of dark despair,
As the soul's ecstatic visions

When the snows of a'je appear.
So the glorious Indian Summer

Proclaims the waning year.

— —

THE AULD SCHULE HOOSE ON THE

GREEN.

Oh ! weel I remember the scliule hoose,

That stood fu' snug 'neath the trees.
Where the blaeberries grew in the plan tin,

An' the heather invited the bees,
Where the bairnies' voices rang merry.

As wi' faces an' daidlies sae clean,
They scampered awa' thro' the bushes

To the auld schule hoose on the green.

Oh ! I mind when mysel' a bit laddie, —

Whan life wore its sunniest smile, —
How blythely wi' licht heart I lilted,

Aa I scampered through hedge-slap an'
stile ;
Or climbed the scrogg tree in the meadow, —

Or waded the burn clear an' sheen, —
Tho' aften I loitered ower late for

The auld schule hoose on the green.

Still niem'ry delights for tae dwell on

The scenes o' those happiest days.
The burn where we gunipit for mennents ;

Or the blue bell an' gowan-clad braes
Where we twined tlower wreaths for the
lassies ;

For Mary, an' Lizzy, an' Jean,
Wha ilka morn toddled there wi' U3

Tae the auld schule hoose on the green.

Oh ! I mind o' that wee theekit schule hoose

Wi' the rose bushes grown at the door,
An' the apple trees in the wee garden,

Wi' bonny white blossoms hung o'er.
The desks wliere we scribbled our copies,

Or oftener, ate sweeties unseen.
While the lassies were clippin' and shoowin'

In the auld schule hoose on the green.

An' still aft' I think o' the plantin

Where th e geena an' the blaeberries grew,
For aften we've sat there an' feasted

Till our faces an' daidlies were blue ;
An' our legs wi' the whuns were a' scartct,

But w hilk we ne'er cared for a preen,
We were blythe as the lamkins that sportit

Near the auld schule hoose on the green.

■ 1 ,

I,
i
H

I :

An' weel can I mind how we hiintit

The squirrel high up the fir tree,
Or the young cuaha doo that had ventured

Oct the nest afore it could flee.
Where we shunned the deep well where the
hunter

Had fa'n in, an' ne'er was mair seen,
When the bell ca'd ns back frae oorsportin'

Tae the auld schule hoose on the green.

Oh, aften I think o' those playmates

Noo scattered far, far, frae their hames, —
Where the laddies still search in the plantin

For the trees where we cut oot our names,
While they tell ane anither the story, —

That in many a strange foreign scene,
Are the laddies wha were years before them

At the auld schule hoose on the green.

I ken na if e'er I may wander.

Again by that auld cherished spot,
But those bright cludless hours o' my child-
hood

An' those playmates shall ne'er be forgot,
W^hile deeply engraved on my mem'ry,

Shall aye be each fair hallowed scene,
As in fancy I aften shall linger

By the auld schule hoose on the green.

WAIT AND HOPE.

Cease repining, troubled heart,
Time will sooth the bitter smart ;
Now, thou','h dark the clouds may lowet,
Summer comes with sun and shower,
Wait and hope.

Though thou may'st have loved and yearned
For a love yet un returned ;
Though thy wealth of love were wasted,
For a mutual love untasted,
Wait and hope.

Kindness wins a kindred feeling.
And the heart, yet unrevealing,
Love's mute mysteries, may yet
True felicity beget.

Wait and hope.

May be thou hast loved and lost,
Shadows o'er thy pathway crossed—
Though forlorn thy life may be,
There are brighter days for thee.
Wait and hope.

Come, no longer sadly shun
Summer breezes, summer sun ;
Let not winter's storm clouds roll
O'er thy dark, despairing soul.
Wait and hope.

And as sure as summer brings
Flowers and fruit and pleasant things ;
So thy path will bloom anew,
With a mutual love and true.
Wait and hope.

CONSTANT STILL.

We have loved, and we have parted,

And my life is sadly changed,
Since I tind thee fickle-hearted.

And thy love from me estranged ;
Though thou gav'st me many a token,

Time nor change my hopes would kill,
Yet thy ardent vows are broken,

While my heart is constant still.

Oh ! how fondly memory lingers

On the days, when, void of care,
Love had touched with fairy lingers

Future scenes, serene and fair.
Now the sky is darkly clouded.

Storms oi sadness work their will ;
Though despair my life has shrouded,

Yet my heart is constant still.

How I thought of thee when severed,

For I deemed thy heart was true.
And my trust in thee ne'er wavered.

Anxious cares I never knew ;
Yet there came a sad awak'ning.

Future years with grief to fill,
Silently my heart was breaking.

Yet I loved thee constant slill.

Though you wed for wealtli and station,

And despise my humble love, —
Though time brings no consolation,

And my life a burden prove ;
Still the byegone joys I'll cherish.

Faintly though the void they fill.
And, till life or memory perish,

I will suffer, constant still .

SIDE BY SIDE.

Side by side in the churchyard lying^,

Mother and children sleep ;
Where summer winds through the trees are
sighing,
And flowers 'mid the mosses peep ;
Down in the vale the murmuring stream ;
Glances and waves in the noonday gleam ;
While mother and children peacefully
dream,

Side by side.

There were two little mounds in the old
churchyard —
Two little tombstones, telling
Where the loved and lost 'neath the verdant
sward,
Had their last long silent dwelling :
And the mother's wish on her dying bed.
To be laid by the side of the cherished

dead,
Is granted — Mother and sons are laid,

Side by side.

Over the fresh made mound I linger,

In dreams of the silent night.
For that patient spirit at last has winged
her
Happy, heavenward flight, —
Away from the toils and struggles of earth, —
From a world of changing gloom and mirth,
Now with the saved in their glorious birth,

Side by side.

l<\ir o'er tlio soa my si)ii'it waudors,

Awiid eacli liallowed scene,
Wiiere tlie old familiar stream meanders,

And the vallej'^ is fresh and green. ;
As in days of yore Avhen we wandered there,
With youth's guy spirits void of care.
And pictured the future bright and fair,

8ide by side.

1'hough the home, once happy, now U
shrouded,
In sorrow's sombre gloom,
And the hearts of mourning friends are
clouded.
With the shadow of the tomb. —
A light gleams forth througli the dark <]es-

pair ;
A hope of a joyous meeting there.
Far from earth's bitter grief and care,

Side by side.

May a mother's dying prayer be granted,

That we who linger here,
jMay not rest with the joys of earth con-
tented,
l>ut strive for that better sphere,
To which a Saviour's smiles entreat us :
\\ here the loved ones gone before shall

meet us, —
Where a mother's fond embrace will greet
us,

Side by side.

LITTLE BLUE-BELL.

Down in the dell wheie the streamlet glides
cheery,
Now in the sunshine, and now in the

a ll C) rj o

WhcAe bees humming blythely seem never
to weary,
Cleaning their sweets from the flowers m
the glade.
(Jhuicinf,' so modestly out from the shadows,
INoddmg its head to the zephyrs' faint
aw ell.
Brightly reflecting the sky's cloudless aznre,
Pride of the valley the little blue-bell.
Little blue-bell, waving blue-bell,
List to the fairy chimes rung in the

moonlight
Little blue-bell, modest blue-bell,
^ Pride of the valley is little blue-bell.

iX.wn in the valley as modest and winning,
As the fair flow'rets that dapple the glade,
Blythe as a fairy, with steps light and airy,
(ilooms in her spring-hood, my dear little
maid-
Often 1 sing of her charms to the breezes^-
( >ft' to the song-bird her graces 1 tell,
Often compare her to flowers of the meadow,
Dear to my hearr is my little blue-belL
Little blue bell, charming blue-bell.
List to its fairy chimes rung in the

moonlight,
Little blue-bell, modest blue-bell.
Pride of tue valley is little blue-bell

Kever may winter blasts come near her
dwelling,
Never chill night dews wither the bloom,
Safe in her home from the storm and the
tempest,
Ever the same when a- wooing I come ;
Soon may the hour come when claiming her
promise,
Safe in my home and my bosom to dwell,
Years may roll o'er us, as happy and joyous,
As when I first met my little blue-bell.
Little blue-bell, winsome blue-bell.
List to the fairy chimes ring in the

moonlight,
Little blue-bell, modest blue-bell.
Pride of the valley is little blue-bell.

— o—

THE AULD THACKIT HOOSE.

Just ower the wee briggie that crosses the
burn.
That rins by the fit-o' the green.
There's a humble bit cottage wi' ivy clad
wa's,
Where niony blythe days I hae seen :
The inside is hamely, yet tidy an' neat,

It's inmates are kindly an' douce,
An' there's aye a warm welcome whenever
lea'
On the folks at the auld thackit hoose.

Hoo cantie we've been by the aulcl ingle
side,
When the lang winter nichts had set in ;
We sat in the glow of the cheery peat tire,

When the story an' sang wad begin ;
We sang the sweet lilts o' oor ain native
land.
When our heroes were Wallace and Bruce,
Or listened tae auld-f arrant tales ^-hat were
tauld.
In the neuk o' the auld thackit hoose.

'Twas a picture o' hamely contentment an'
cheer,
That riches or state couldna bring,
Auld Jock by the ingle, his pipe in his
cheek,
Was as happy as kaiser or king,
Auld Babbie sat there wi' her wark on her
knee :
On the hearth stane lay Rover an' puss,
For even the cats an' the dugs would agree
'Neath the roof o' the auld thackit hoose.

Whene'er I return to the auld village green,
Tae the scene o' my boyhood's bright
days.
The joys o' the past come again tae my heart

As I roam by the burnies an' braes ;
An' here wi' auld cronies, still faithfu' an'
true,
We meet a' sae frienly an' crouse,
Tae crack ower the scenes o' the happy lang
syne.
In the neuk o' the auld thackit hoose.

70
WHr^N THP: days ARE CREEPTN' IK

T' e dimmer flowers are withered,

Tlie siuiiiier winds are gane.
All' yeliuw leaves lie scattered

On upland an' in glen ;
1'he burnie lilts sae dolefu'.

As its drunilie water's rin.
Ail' the sun curtails its glances

U'hen the daj's are creepin' in.

'J'ke stacks hae a' been thackit —

We've laid aside the plough,
1'he tatties a' are howkit.

An' the simmer dargs are thro'.
An' noo beside the ingle,

In the netdi sae anug an' cleaji;
^ae canty we foregather

When the days are creepin' in.

'NiH> winter's comin' surely,

Wi' canldrife win's an' snaw, —
We're thankfu' for oor biggin',

Altlio' oor cot'a but sma',
We envy nae the riches

Sae mony try to win ;
^Ve hae oor simple pleasures

\Mien the days are creepin' ifi.

All' for the helpless ooteast3

We never grudge a bite, —
"We're fain tae gie them shelter

Krae the nippin' winter's nicht,
For we think o' oor ain laddie

Far frn'« a' his kith an' kin,
Aniaug strangers may oe fendii)'

When the days are creepin' \n.

Aulil ai^o coiiius oil us croepiu\

For oor siniiiiei' days are past,
All' snue we maun be .sleepiu',

Aiiiaug tile luools at last;
l>iit yoiiiler, when oor hope is,

L^Vee frae a' stains o' sin,
'I'here will be nae cheerless wiiiter.-?,

When the days are creepin' in.

l.OUNSDALE HAUOtLS.

How oft' in sunny summer days.
We wandered down the silent dell.

To irather scrofCLjs, or lijeens, or alaes,
<)r pull the primrose on the braes,
The foxglove and the pale blue-bell.

H eve, too, when hearts were tuned to love,
And nature seemed to share our joy,

We trysted in the shady grove,

To [)light our vows — Avhile fancy wove
A dream of bliss without alloy.

Ah I that was bliss which could not last,

Yox lictle then we knew of care ;
We thought not that time's withering blast
Would wreck our hopes as on it passed,
And leave our hearts alj bleak and bare.

Yet, when I roam again the scene,
And see it just as in my prime,

1 crush the tliought — what might have been,

And feel a glow of peace within
That gilds once mure my childhood's time.

Bright meinories of the past, come back,
And dear compaiii )ns round me play,
We seek the okl famdiar track,
While laughter light and boyish talk
Beguile the sunlit woodland way.

And though the clouds of care may loom,

Our fancy still will brighter glow —
Away with all despair and gloom.
When all our old loved flowerets bloom,
And zephyrs whisper soft and low.

Who could be sad in such a spot,

Where beauty smiles on every hand —

Where blooms the sweet forget-me-not,

Where lilies on the waters float.
And pebbles glisten 'mid the sand ?

It were unfitting I should bring,
A tear or sigh to such a spot —
N^y, round it still let memory cling,
To brighten all, as time's fleet wing
Brings age and sorrow as my lot.

Then fare-thee-well, — and if denied

To roam again thy banks and braes,
I'll cherish with a miser's pride
These flowers — when o'er the ocean wide.
They '11 bring me back my childhood
days.

EDINBURGH'S WELCOME TO PRINCE
ALBERT VICTOR,

At the Opening of the Exhibition of 1886.

What's a' the steer, that the bugles are
soundin', ,

An' cannon belch forth frae the crest o
the rock ?
What mean the cheers frae the meadows
resoundin*, .^

An' windows an' balconies crowded wi
folk ;
High aboon a', hear the pipes wi' their
bummin', ^ ^

Soundin' the pibroch, sae piercin' an
shrill, —
What's a' the steer ? Why, the young Prince
is comin',
Sae, welcome, my bonnie lad, come when
ye will.

Come they frae mansion, an* come they

frae cottage,
Frae field an' frae forest, the mountain

an' glen.
The children in arms, tae the old in their

dotage.
Leal hearbs hae a' tae their country an'

Queen ;
Frae crag an' frae peak, the wild cheers are

ascendin',
An' echo replies frae the valley an' hill.
The leal hearts o' Scotia their voices are

blendin',
Wi' " Welcome, my bonnie lad, come

when ye will."

Gin ye inherit yere gran'aires' devotion,
Tae a' that pertains tae the guid o' the
land ;
Tae learnin's advancement— the spread an'
promotion
0' art, skill and science on every hand ;
Then, welcome ye'U ever be here tae the
north, lad.
The proud seat o' iearnin', o' courage an*
skill,
We'll mak' the hills ring frae the Clyde tae
the Forth, lad,
Wi' *' Welcome, my bonnie lad, com©
when ye will."

MITHER'S BONNY LASS.

We hae a fair-haired lauchin' wean.

As fu' o' mirth an' glee
As ony friskin' lamb that sports

Upon the gowany lea ;
An' should ye speir her name, she'll look,

Wi' roguish, lauchin' face.
And say, "I'se dot nousser name —

I'se mither's bonny lass."

(

Ay, 'deed, she's mither's lassie noo.

The younglin' o' the fauld,
An' oor Laarts cling closer till her.

As we feel we're growin' auld ;
We watch an' guard wi' ceaseless care,

Frae a' the storms that pass.
That no a bitin' blast can harm

Oor mither's bonny lass.

]

An' whan she says her prayers at nicht^

An' cuddles 'mang the claes,
We ask kind heaven tae be her guide

In a' her comin' days ;
We nichtly plead that she may hae

The spirit's savin' grace,
Tae keep her pure as she is noo,

Her mither's bonny lass.

Her mither's heart aft pleads wi' Him

Wha blessed the bairns lanp^?
Tae hae a watchfu' e'e upon

This wee, wee, tot o' mine ;
Tae shield her in his lovin' airms,

Frae a' sin's foul disgrace,
An' be thro' life a guide an' frien'

Tae mither'a bonny lass.

•=jsyne,

— —

KISS THE BAIRNS FOR ME.

My guidman's far awa' frae hame,

An' oh ! I miss him sair ;
But, still, I hen that he is leal,

An' Ic/'es me a' the nmir.
For when his tender letters come^

Frae far across the sea ;
He ne'er forgets the weans, but says,

'' Just kiss the bairns fo-r me.''

Oh ! dool and dark wad be my lot^
If 'twere na' for the weans ;

I've aye their love tae cheer me an,
Tho' *ar may be my frien's.

An' weel T ken the fcaither's heart

Wherever he may be,
Gangs oot in kindly words o' love,

'' Just kiss the bairns for me."

I hear their lauchin' voices ring ;

I see ilk rosy cheek,
An' when my thochts are fair awa'

My heart's owerfii' to speak.
But when at nicht they cuddle doon,

An' close ilk roguish e'e,
I ne'er forget their faitlier's wish :

"Just kiss the bairns for me."

My prayers are aye that we ere lang

May meet, an' jmrt nae mair ;
Tho' puir oor lot, wi' him we'll a'

Our joys an' sorrows share.
But while he roams in distant lands,

Tho' lang oor partin' be,
I'll ne'er forget his lovin' words,

" Just kiss the bairns for me."

— o —

HEART WARMS
TARTAN.

TAE THE

Is there a land like Scotland,

Wi' sons sae brave an' free,

Can show sae fair a record

O' dauntless chivalry ?

I love her cloud-capped mountains,

Her glens and whiniplin' rills,

While my heart warms tae the tartan

An' my native heather hills.

I love thee, ciear aulcl Scotland,
Thy mountains heather clad,

For my heart warms tae the tartan ^
An' the lads wha wear the plaid,

We'll ne'er forget her heroes,

Wha fought in freedom's cause,
An' laid the i^^rand foundation

0' a' her righteous laws ;
I listen tae the lyrics

By deathless x^oets sung,
AVhile my heart warms tae the tartan

An' my native mither tongue.

I love thee, dear auld Scotland, &c ,

I hear the pibroch sound in'

A rousin' martial blast.
With shattered pennons tlyin'

The troops are marchin' past ;
A hearty loyal welcome,

Sounds in that loud hurrah,
An' my heart warms tae the tartan

An' the gallant forty-twa.

I love thee, dear auld Scotland, &c.

In mony lands I've wandered,

Far, far across the sea,
But aften hameward turnin'

My thochts wad wander free.
An' noo I tread the heather,

I fain would be at rest,
For my heart warms tae the tartan^

An' the land I lo'e the best.

I love thee, dear, auld Scotland,

HOW SHALL WE HONOUR HIM.

How shall we honour him now he is gone,

How shall we show that we cherish hia
name 1
Shall it be cut in memorial stone ?

The tribute we pay to his fealty and fame.
Shall it be blazoned on pillar or scroll I

Shall it be sounded in speech or in song ?
Nay, let his deeds be the theme of our soul,

Like him, loving right, and despising the
wrong.

Bow down the head, reverently tread,
(jartield has gone to his last silent rest ;

Here let us plight our souls to the right.
Thus shall we honour him, bravest and
best.

♦'>.

Mourn we not, then, as do those hope-
bereft,
Learn we the lesson his pure life has
taught ;
Hi^h let us prize the example he left.

Thus shall his memory ne'er be forgot.
Thus shall his fame and unsullied name

Still in our memories ever be green ;
Be our life's aim free from censure and
blame.
And may our record be stainless and
clean.

Bow down the head, &c.

-gEBy Tr^"! .m I ' M gii J -

»'>,

High was the standard he soufjht to attain,
High was the trust that the nation be-
stowed ;
And though cut off in the dawn of his reign,
Mighty the power that he wielded for
good.
Then let the nation, the rich and the poor,
Follow his steps on the pathway he trod ;
Thus shall we honour him, noble and pure,
And live for our coun^,ry, our people, and
God.

Bow down the head, &c.

*^ WHERE LAST WE MET."

Where last we met, dear Aggie,

Beneath the hazel bower,
Where winding Langton watereth

The fragrant woodland flower ;
Where sweet the feathered warblers wake

The echoes o' the glen.
An' nature smiles a welcome aye,

Oh ! meet me there again.

Where last we met, dear Aggie,

Fair spring had decked the scene.
And the cooling breeze was whispering

'Mid the bower's sweet foliage green.
Tho' many years have passed, love,

Since last we roamed the glen —
Tho' now pale autumn welcomes us,

Oh ! meet me there again.

Where last we met, dear Aggie,

Tho' all was fair around,
Yet our hearts were sad aud sorrowful,

No peace our bosoms found.
For we had met to say farewell, —

We wept, we sighed in vain.
We dared not hope that ever, love,

We'd wander there again.

But now when met at last, love,

Oh ! think not of the past,
But rather let our hearts rejoice

We've met again at last.
Now from thy throbbing bosom, love,

Let pleasure banish pain,
And looking on to future joys

We'll happy be again.

WON.

With what a glow of happiness.

My heart does wildly beat,
The warm bvood courses through my veins,

My joy is now complete ;
For I had thought her lost to me,

And all my hopes undone ;
But, no, she said that only I

Her trusting heart had won,

I asked her to become my bride,

I told her how 1 ioved,
How months and years of ardent hope

My constancy had proved ;

V:''

And though but poor in worldly wealth,

Her heart was still the shrine,
Where all n^y wealth of love I'd lay,

If she would still be mine.

I knew that some had sought her as

The partner of their joys.
While all the love that I had shown

Was from the tell-tale eyes.
But they a deeper love had told

Than tongue could have revealed,
For soon I found her heart was mine,

Her vow to me was sealed.

Through all the years of youth's bright joys,

I never knew such bliss,
As when in fond embrace we took

Love's first sweet mutual kiss.
And, oh ! may heaven protect and guide

Where'er our paths may be,
Until I claim her for my own.

As all in all to me.

— o —
ITHER FOLK'S BAIRNS.

In my batchelor's ha', I can whustle at a'
The cares whilk the married folks hae ;
My spirits are licht, an' my skies are aye
bricht.
Let storms rave withoot as they may.
I ne'er fash my held aboot statecraft or
creed.
Or the worry o' hoosehold concerns ;
Wi' nae wife nor wean, yet I'm bound tae
compleen,
I'm plaguit wi' ither folk's bairns.

It's no' that 1 hae-na, a love for the weanies,

I like the wee tottums fu' weel,
But when niithers insist, that the younkers
be kissed,
I'm tempted tae say what I feel ;
It's no' me they care for, — the why and the
wherefore.
They'd twine me as easy's their pirns,
They ken I've the cash, syne that'& hoo they
fash.
An' plague me wi' ither folk's bairns .

If there's ae-thing I hate, it's when sittin'
up late,
Tae gie the last touch tae a sang,
Tae hear frae neist door, an infantile roar,

I'rae lungs that are sturdy an' Strang.
When the days darg is dune, I sit an' I croon.
While my thochts are awa' 'mang the
starns,
But I'm fain tae gie in, for the whingin' an'

din, —
I'm' doited wi' ither folk's bairns.

I'm no' sae auld yet but a wife I can get,
Wi' acosie bit-hoose o' my ain,
An' gin weanies appear, oor auld age tae cheer,

Then maybe they'll lea' me alane ;
But I've set doon my fit, that a wife I will
get,
Gin I seek thro' the Merse and the
Mearns,
For nae langer I'll thole, that the peace o'
my soul
Should be blighted wi' ither folk's bairns.

,>^-

THE LAND OF THE MAPLE FOR ME.

Here's a health to the land of the forest aud
flood,
And the Queen who rules over the free ;
While united we stand as our forefathers
stood,
In liberty's van we will be ;
Though our hearts fondly cherish the me-
mories of old,
And the homes we have left o'er the sea,
Our love for old Canada ne'er shall grow
cold—
Oh ! the land of the maple for me.

If invasion should threaten our lake-
sheltered land,
And the war-cloud be thundering near,
We will stand a true-hearted and vigorous
band,
To strike for our country so dear ;
While the memories of those who fought not
in VMin,
To bequeath us the rights of the free,
Shall nerve us to deeds of true valour
again, —
Oh ! the land of the maple for me.

Then hurrah ! for old Canada, home of the
free,
May hea\en still over her smile,
And may plenty and peace the true blessings
still be,
Of our hard-handed heroes of toil.

I :>

From her ocean-girt coast, to her wild forest
shades,
Where the hall or the homestead may be,
Ever brave be her sons, and devoted her
maids —
Oh ! the land of the maple for me.

UNDER THE ORCHARD TREES.

\ n !

As amid the silent sadness,

Of winter's gloomy days ;
We dwell on bygone pleasures,

Of the Summer s golden haze ;
So in my heart's lone sadness,

Comes memory's passing breeze,
To tell the houi3 of gladness,

Under the orchard trees.

'Twas in the days of summer,

When first we wandered there *,
When the blossoms lent their fragrance

To the balmy twilight air :
And my hopes were young and blooming,

As when fancy only sees
The tuture bright with sunshine,

Under the orchard trees.

My heart went out in rapture,

To the song birds in their glee—
The flowers bedecked my pathway, —

My sky from clouds was free :
The hours brought only svreetness,

As the flowers repaid the bees ;
And we reckoned not their fleetness,

Under the orchard trees.

lii, =^f— •

Each look, each word, and promise,

I stored within my heart,
'Till her image there engraven

Became of me a part ;
Wherever fortune called me,

O'er foreign lands or seas,
I fed on dreams of wooing,

Under the orchard trees.

The orchard trees are leafless,

Their branches gaunt and bare,
Keep time to the winds of winter,

In a low funereal air,—
The leaves are lowly lying,

Where the biting wintry breeze,
Has left them sear and mouldering

Under the orchard trees.

So are my life's hopes faded,

And mingle with the dust,—
So has my dream departed

Of a life of love and trust :
And all that's left to cheer me,

This sad heart only sees,
That summer gleam of wooing,

Under the orchard trees.

-0—

i 1

! I

HEAVEN IS WHERE OUR FATHER IS
(Music by G. E. Kemp.)

Little hearts which throb with pain —

Little eyes which swim in tears,
Let me take you to my heart,

Let me quiet all your fears,
I will teach you of that home

Where our loved ones rest in bliss ,
All our troubled hearts need know —

Heaven is where our Father is.

Yes, thore is heaven, calm, peaceful heaven.
There are the dear ones happy and blest,
There with the F;^ther they loved while
on earth —
There, in His presence only, is heaven :
Yes, there is heaven.

Hearts may cling to earthly ties :

These, alas ! will pass away :
Idols that we worship now.

We will find are only clay.
All is lleeting here below —

One by one our friends we miss,
But this truth should calm onr woe.

Heaven ia where our Father is.

Yes, there is heaven, &:c.

Sweet the thought that those we miss

Sympathise with all our care,
And rejoice to know, we seek

After life to join them there ;

.^.

2...M

,M,

... ' ^ji-iniB i m i

Bfe»;w>»«w»t.-!BBSri!S

•67

And though doubts and fears assail.
We will cling in faith to this,

That at last we may unite
In that heaven where Father is.

Yes, there is heaven, &a

— o —

LEEZIE TROTTER,

When Langton woods were smilin' fair^

In a' their simmer bloom,
An' breezes bore frae Harden Shaw,

The wild-flowers sweet perfume,
I wandered by the wimplin' burn,

An' by the reddens sought her,
Wha lo'es rae better than the lave.

My winsome Leezie Trotter,

I see the leddies frae the ha',

A' decked in silk array,
Yet envy not their feckless lives.

That aimless pass away.
My Leezie's but a kintry lass.

The dochter o' a cottar, —
But far aboon the lave I lo'e

My gentle Leezie Trotter.

The lads come far an' near to woe,
An' jouk an' dance aboot her.

But faith she's naething blate tae teli
That nane amang then suit her.

Yestreen, beneath the hazel's shade,
Where wimples Langton water,

Her hand in mine, I vowed my love.
And won my Leezie Trotter.

— o —
JOHNNY'S GRAVE.

When last I wandered here.

And rested on this graveyard stone,
A little brother, loved and dear,
Culled the flow'rets growing near.
And now I'm all alone.
He rests beneath that sod ;

No power his life could save, —
His spirit's with his God,
And here is Johnny's grave.

And now I sit and gaze

Upon the well known scenes around.
And list' the warblers hymn their praise,-
The cattle lowing where they graze.
Or streamlet's rippling sound ;
But not as sounds of joy,

Which oft my soul did crave,
I mourn a gentle boy, —
I weep by Johnny's grave.

And sacred are the tears

That moisten his last resting place ;
This spot my soul r'^^veres.
Here all earth's pains and fears
Cairn solitude shall chase.
And in their stead bring peace,

To nerve niy soul, to brave
Earth's sorrows, till they cease,—
'Till here I tind a grave.

'£

THE LOVE 0' MY SCHULE-BOY

DAYS.

There's a langsyne fancy comes back tae
me,

When I think o* my Scottish hame ;
There's a lowe o* love that rekindles again,

That brings back a dear ane's name :
An' ance mair I wander the bonny glen

Where the clear wimplin' burnie plays,
An' the primrose blooms on the banks I
roamed,

Wi' the love o' my schule-boy days.

The flowers were gay in their brichtest
hues.

And the woods in their freshest green ;
An' there was-na a clud tae darken the
sky.

Or a sorrow tae mar the scene ;
Oor voices rang wi' as merry a lilt.

As the birds that sang on the sprays,
As I daidled aboot in the simmer hours

VVi' the love o' my schule-boy days.

The burnie murmurs the same auld sang,

By the banks where the hr,zels grow ;
But it has nae langer the cheerie soun',

That it had in the lang ago :
For it tells o' my schule-mates scattered
wide,

Far awa' frae its banks an' braes,—
An' it tells o' a mound near byj where slaeps

The love o' my schule-boy days.

! I

If ^

i
1

I
I I

i I i

I ' \

\ I

i I. I

It canna be sinfu' tae cherish the thocht^

That whan dime wi' this warl' o' toil,
We'll meet in that bonny land aboon,

As if pairted a little while ;
That the years gane by will seem as a day;,

Whan free'd frae earth's dreary haze ;
An' in happier scenes ance mair I'll renew

The love o' my schule-boy days.

THE BAIRNIE TAK'S AFTER HIS
FAITHER.

We hae a bit laddie doonbye at the hoose,
An' the mither aboot him is cantie and

crouse,
As for me, wha am generally sober an'
douse,

They say I am prood o' him raither ; —
Wi' his carroty pow he is unco like me ;
He's a kip tae his nose, an' a cast i' his e'e,
An' a' the auld wives i' the clachan agree,

That the bairnie tak's after his faither.

0' the wee ane's complaints he has had his

full share, —
The chin-hoast an' measles, — an* twenty

things mair,
Yet he's stoot an' weel-faured a' the howdies

declare,
Whilk comforts the heart o' his mither,
Yet 'mang a' the troubles, an' drawbacks

sae rife,
fie tak's tae the bottle as nat'ral as life,
An' aften I smile as I tell the guidwife,
That the bairnie tak's after his faither.

■'

Whan the lassies drap in hoo he coo's an'

he craws,
An' glams at their ribbons, their guin-

tiowers an' braws,
Or expresses his joy wi' goo-goos and da-das,

While the lassie's gufifaw tao ilk-ither,
As for me — when I see a' the cuddlin*

gaun on,
I think o' the days afore Kirstie was won,
For in a' this curdooin' sae early begun,
The bairnie tak's after his faither.

Yere rattles an' toys he no cares for a preen,
Nor dolls — whilk the lasaocks are fond o', I

ween,
But see hoo he'll warstle an' cock up his
e'en.
Whan I jingle the siller taegitlier ;
An' should I a bawbee an' saxpence haud

oot.
He'll grab at the wee-ane withoot ony doot,
This auld-farrant weanie ken's what he's
aboot.
For the bairnie tak's after his faither.

There's ae thing peculiar tae Scotchmen a'

ower,
They'll unco strong-wulled, an' inclined tae

be dour, —
They winna be driven, dae a' i' yere poo'er,

Tho' they'll follow withouten a swither.
An' young as he is I can see i' the wean.
He'll stan' tae his point just as steeve as a

stare,
An' he'll try a' he can tae toddle his lane ;
For the bairnie tak's after his faither.

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Let us houp as the years come an' gang, he
will be,

Aye lovin' and kind tae his mither an' me ;

Kor frae the straight road gangin' meikle
aglee.
Nor wi' dootf u' companions forgather ;

Aye firmly the wiles o' the warl' tae with-
stand, —

As saft as the doon, yet as gritty as sand.

An* hand up his heid wi' the best i' the
land,
For the baimie tak's after his f aither.

AN AULD SETTLER.

She left her hame in youth's fair morn,

An' crossed the boundin' main ;
But aft' her heart wad yearn tae roam,

Hei native hills again ;
Tae wander wi' her playmates dear,

Adoon the bosky dells,
Where 'mang the nooks the violets
bl^'^med —

The primrose, an' blue-bells.

As age crept on, her memory seemed

Tae Cling tae langsyne days,
A.n' she wad tell o' pranks an' ploys,

Amang the gowany braes :
Hoo aft' she climbed the Hard en's hill,

Or roamed thro' Langton wood,
An' waded bare-fit i' the burn

That thro' the meadow flowed.

She talked wi' pride o' famed Dunse Law^

Where stood the Covenant Stane, —
Where heroes vowed to do or die

Their freedom tae maintain :
She aft' described the Castle woods,

The Hen-poo's placid lake ;
The spots where geens an' brambles grew

By glen or tangled brake.

Hoo aft' tae me she has recalled

The quiet sylvan scene,
By March mont's bonny woods an' braes,

Or Polwarth-on-the-green :
The auld kirk-yard by Lounsdale's haughs,

The bonny wimplin' burn ;
The hills an' howes, the glens an' knowes,

Tae which her heart wad turn.

Hoo mony times she wished, ance mair

Tae tread the heath-clad braes,—
Ance mair tae hae a glint o' hame,

An' there tae end her days ;
An' while her heart wad dwell on this,

An' saut tears dim her e'e,
She'd say—" I'm ower auld noo for that,

Na ! na, it canna be."

Yet while the lamp held on tae bum,

An' memory held its sway,
Wi' fondest love she aft' recalled

The auld hame far away ;
She gloried in its spotless fame,

Its fights in freedom's cause,—
Its martyr heroes wha laid doon

Their lives for righteous laws.

Alas ! that wish was ne'er attained —

Death cut the vital thread ;
An' noo beneath the maple boughs
She rests amang the dead ;

But while oor memory aft' recplls

That humble, honoured name,
We'll think o' her in youth renewed.

In a brighter, fairer hame.

— o —

OK THE DEATH OF DAVID KEN-
NEDY, THE SCOTTISH VOCALIST.

Farewell, sweet singer of our Scottish songs.
No more thy lilting will our spirits
cheer, —
Nor tell of Scotia's triumphs «nd her
wrongs,
To wake the »mile or tear.

To those in exile, far in other lands.
In cold or sunny climes, thy tender
lay,
Felt like the clasp of warm embracing
hands,
Of loved ones far away.

How oft' in listening to some matchless
strain,
Has fancy round us wove her magic
spells,
And wafted us to childhood's scenes again,
'Mid cowslips and blue-bells.

» •

Thy martial lays have nerved us for the
fight,
And made the Scotch blood leap m every

vein
Inspiring in the cause of freedom's right,
Our birthright to maintain.

And then thy melting strains so soft and
sweet
That told of love in many a humble
cot, —
Of trysting hours when faithful lovers meet,
Or vows too soon forgot.

Again, with laughter have our hearts been
stirred
And slumbering echoes of the past

awoke, —
As mimicked action,or some quamt old word,
Pointed the .quip or joke.

How have we hung upon thy varying
tones, . ,

And seen new beauties m the poets

Which told the doughty deeds of Scotia's
sons, —
Their struggles against wrong.

Here, where we met and clasped thy kindly
hand,
We gave thee hearty welcome as a
friend,— . i j

A messenger from that dear distant lana,
Which we have left behind.

i .

96 ,

Now, still the manly heart, and cold the
hand,
Hushed is the voice of sweet melodious
• tone ;

And Scotia's sons afar in many a land^
Will mourn a brother gone.

Fitting the end, — when death had dealt the
wound.
Not darkling through the valley didst
thou grope ;
Thy weary spirit passed away, attuned
To songs of faith and hope.

— 0—

MY FAITHER'S FIRESIDE.

Oh ! the hame of my childhood, hoo can I

forget
The bright scenes that cling to my memory

yet.

Thro' lang years o' absence frae jthat
chenshed scene,

Wi' ocean's wide billows careering between ;

My heart never yet has forgot the bright
days

When as younkers we spoiled up the heather-
clad braes —

Or the sweet hallowed spot where true love
did preside.

In the auld cosy neuk at my faither's
fire-side.

Nae distance or time can ever erase
t'rae my heart the gay scenes o' my dear
native place, —

^97

Tke auld thacket cot, wi' tli€ stile in the
yaird, .

The byre ai'. the barn where the poultry
werf reared ;

The bonny thorn trees that grew on the
,?''9en,

An' the burnie meandering sae crystal an'
sheen ;

But the scene aboon a' that has stood time
an' tide,

Is the auld cosy neuk o' my faither's fire-
side.

Hoo af ten in dreams o' the nicht I am there,
An' mingle wi' lang-parted cronies ance

mair.
As there in his auld elbow chair in the neuk,
My faither sits readin' some paper or buik ;
My mither is mendin' my corduroy breaks,
I had torn in some o' my mad spielin'

freaks,
While my ae sister, Aggie, oor suppers pro-
vide.
Ere sleep reigns ower a' at my faither's fire-
side.

Or again, amid innocent laughter an' din,
We callants wad gather oor peeries tae spin^
On the muckle hearth-stane, where the

dancin' glint,
O' the big peat fire, shone on faces content ;
Faces frae cares an' griefs mair free,
I never hae seen 'mang the prood an' hie,
Nor hearts as free frae a' envy an' pride.
As gathered langsyne roun' my faither's

fireside.

On cauld winter nichts, when the wind an'

rain,
Fatterin' fell on the window pane,
We hae danced for hours tae the fiddle'»

strains,
Or got in a corner a' oor lanes,
Tae tell ower stories, aft' tauld before,
O' ghaist an' bogles, an' warlock lore.
Or sung the sangs that are Scotia's pride,
That sounded sae sweet at my faither's fire-
side.

My faither's auld neebours wad aften pap
in.

Just tae hae a bit crack ower what was gaun
on.

The news or the gossip frae steadin' or
toun,

Gin the craps were thrivin' or markets were
doun.

An' listenin' tae a' as they cracked sae
crouse,

I sat in my corner as quiet's a mouse,

"Till my e'en nae langer open wad bide,

An' I dosed sae snug by my faither's fire-
side.

There's no' a scene o' those days o' yore,
I'll e'er forget while I'm tae the fore —
The dance an' fun at the harvest kirns,
The fishin' splores in the muirland burns,
Climbin' for scroggs in the auld kirk park.
Or playin' at bogley whan nicht grew dark.
Or spaein' fortunes as we sat side by side,
On oor cutty stools by my faither's fireside.

Nor hae I ever the lessons forgot,
The Bible lessons my faither taught,
Or the solemn stillness reigning there,
When we read the buik, or we knelt in

prayer ;
E'en noo I remember his solemn words,
An' my mither's counsels my heart still

hoards.
As she sought in prayers my young heart tae

guide
An' I knelt at her knee by my faither's

fireside.

But those days are gane, an' will ne'er re-
turn.
Yet oft' wi' sic thochts my heart does burn,
As my youthfu' days I live ower again,
Forgettin' my manhood's sorrows an'

pain, —
An' oh ! gin I could my wish but hae
Tae visit that spot noo far away,
I'd joyfully cross ower the foaming tide,
Tae spend my last days by my faither's fire-
side.

~o —

JEANIE RAY,

Sweet glides the stream by Fogo braes,
Where fairest flow'rets bloom,

That in the sunny simmer days,
The breezes sweet perfume.

,i\

100

Nae floweret there does bloom sae £air,

Nae rose sae fresh and gay
As she that blooms by Fogo muir ;

My bonnie Jeanie Ray.

Sweet is her smile an' witching grace.

Her e'en o' bonny blue,
The crimson o' her glowing face

Outvies the rose's hue.

Her neck is like the driven snaw,

Her locks are like the slae,
That doon the snaw- white bosom fa*

O' bonny Jeanie Ray.

Oft' by the trysting tree we meet,

Doon in the flowery vale,
I listen oft' in rapture sweet

Tae Jeanie's tender tale.

The scented roses frae the brier.

The primrose frae the brae
I pii'd, to deck the flowing hair

0' bonnie Jeanie Rae,

She's gien tae me her youthfu' heart
An' vowed she'll aye be true ;

An' should it be our lot tae part,
Nae other will I lo'e.

But till this throbbing heart shall cease.

Till life's declinin' day,
I'll live in happiness and peace

\Vi' bonnie Jeanie Rae.

101

THE SUNSET HOUR.

When the village bells are chiming

The approach of twilight's gloom,
And the labourer is returning

To the comforts of his home ;
Then, alone, I love to wander,

Or recline beneath the bov t,
Pondering on th > scenes around me,

At the balmy sunset hour.

I have wandered at the day-dawn,

When Aurora's golden beams —
Glowing o'er the eastern hill-tops—

Pearced the mist in fitful gleams.
But I feel a haj^pier pleasure.

Yea ! I love that soothing power.
Breathed o'er nature's scenes enchanting

At the balmy sunset hour.

I have wandered at the noon-tide,

When the sun in all its might,
Lighted up with fairy grandeur,

Scenes of charming rich delight.
But far fairer were the valleys,

Sweeter fragrance filled the bower,
Gentler blew the genial zephrs

At the balmy sunset hour.

At that hour how fair the dew-drops
Sparkle o'er the forest glade,

Sweetly sings the mellow blackbird.
Welcoming the twilight's shade ;

102

Merry laugh the village children,
As they cull the wildwood flower,

Sweetest even is echo's answer
At the balmy sunset hour .

'Tis the hour when faithful lovers

Seek the fairy-haunted dell ;
There, where all is calm and silent,

Each their joys and sorrows tell.
But no cares can there disturb them.

Grief nor sorrow's withering power ;
All is happiness and pleasure

At the balmy sunset hour.

Thus I love alone, at even.

O'er these woodland scenes to rove.
When my heart is sad and down-cast,

F?r pway from her I love.
O'er my grief my spirit rises,

And tho' sorrows clouds may lower,
They like morning vapours vanish

At the balmy sunset hour.

KATIE O' THE MILL.

Again the sun has sunk to rest^

Behind the western plain,
When now from weary labour free,

I wander to the glen ;
For there I often pensive rove.

By Virtue's murmuring rill,
To wait the hour when I shall meet

Sweet Katie o' the Mill,

103

But no glad trysting will this be,

But sadly we shall meet,
The' oft in happy mood we've roamed

That lovely, calm retreat ;
For I must sigh the word ** Farewell ! "

Tho' sad my heart does thrill,
Must leave those scenes I loved so well,

And Katie o' the Mill.

Oh ! sad tae think we'll roam nae mair

The fragrant, flowery dell,
Nor list the warblers o' the woods

Their little love-tales tell :
For, ere another sun shall set

Behind fair Eildon's hill,
I'll wander far frae her I love —

Sweet Katie o' the Mill.

WELLAND STREAM.

On Welland banks I loved to stray.
When closed the summer's sultry day j
When twilight over vale and plain
Her sombre curtain drew again ;
When by the grove, the glade and hill,
The warbler's song was hushed and still ;
Where bending flow'rets kissed thy wave^
I loved to list thy limpid lave,

Sweet Welland Stream.

There, many hours of sweet delight
I've passed, when first the shades of night
Came spreading o'er the verdant vale,
When balmy winds waft on thy tale ;

104

There, 'neath an ancient elm, I'd lie,
And list thy murmurings bubbling by,
Or, slowly, wending by thy side,
Where, o'er the vale, thou llowest wide.
Sweet Welland Stream.

But, sweeter far, the hours I strayed,
With Mary, lovely, peerless maid ;
I thought not then of streams and tides,
Nor culled the flow'rets by thy sides ;
By mossy bank, where oft' we'd rest,
My Mary to my heart I pressed.
While all her charms I praised in song.
Sweet echo sighed thy groves among,
Sweet Welland Stream.

Glide on, sweet stream, glide on, and tell.
Where Mary sleeps in yonder dell ;
Tell how she faded in her bloom.
Like flower to spring-tide's early tomb :
Tell how I wandered lonely here.
My clouded heart and spirits drear ;
Tell how my sigh and grieving wail
Thou wafted on thy twilight gale.

Sweet Welland Stream.

Where willows to the night- winds wave,
I often muse by Mary's grave.
And, often, as the tell-tale breeze.
Whispers amid the clustering trees.
It bears my joyful message on ;
When, with this path of tears, I'm done.
Beside thee laid, I'll peaceful dream.
While thou shalt sing my requiem.
Sweet Welland Stream.

— 0—

105

ELLEN 0' THE HA\

This warld *mid a' its fairest scenes,

Has mony a cloud o' care,
Tae cast its shadow o'er the heart,

An' leave a sadness there.
But what care I whate'er may come, —

What troubles me befa',
'Tis sunshine aye, while in this heart

Reigns Ellen o' the Ha'.

Noo winter cleads the hills wi' snaw,

An' bares the forest trees.
While dreary whistles doon the glen

The cauld cauld norlan' breeze.
But safe frae a' she blossoms fair,

Whatever storms may blaw,
'Tis simmer aye, where'er she be,

Sweet Ellen o' the ha'.

An* when auld age comes creepin' on,

Like e'ening's twilight grey.
An' steals the blossom frae her cheek.

As doon life's hill we gae.
Still life will hae its charms for me.

An' till death's certain ca'
I still will share youth's brightest joys

Wi' Ellen o' the Ha'.

— —

103

TflK FLOWER O' THE DYE.

I<l(>w on, lovely r>ye, thro' the heatlier-clad
rn oil n tarn.
The wild rocky gorge an' the soft braken

Thro the wirie spreading hazels that ahadow
thy fountain,
Then out on the mea«iow raeandering
again.
For round this fair spot linger fond recol>
lectiona
That now bring the tear drop o' joy to
my eye.
Aa ance mair by the scenes o' my yontiifiil
aifet^tiona
I roam wi' my Jeanie, the Flower o^ the
Dye.

Oh ! well I remem.her the spv^'^a now juround
me
Where ott' I hae sported in innocent
glee*—
No scenes o' the land where matnrer years
found me
Can ever compare, homeo' diildhood^ with
thee.
Kor can e*en the faLD^t o these soathem
bowers*
Tho' blooming in peace ''neath a bar
cludiess :jky»
Compare wi' my iin conn try 5 mountain-
rear^ dowers.
Far lose* mi uij am peerless Flower 0' the

■r

107

Oh ! my Jeanie is fair as the sun in his
glory,
As rising he smiles o'er the Dew -sprinkled
scene, —
A" the primrose that blooms 'neath the
birch spreading hoary,
Sae modestly blooming's my ain lovely
Jean.
Then how could my heart but be dowie an'
drearie,
As here we last wandered tae weep our
good-bye.
It seemed as if never again wi' my dearie
I'd visit these scenes on the banks o' the
Dye.

Now happy am I in thy bosom, my dearie,
Nae visions o' grandeur shall wile me f rae
thee.
Thro' sunshine and shade thy sweet pre-
sence shall cheer me,
Tho' rough the life-path o' oor pilgrimage
be.
When the twilight o' life sees thy locks get-
ting hoary.
Steals the rose frae thy cheek, and the
fire frae thine eye ;
Still, memory, delighted, shall cherish the
story
0' our youth's cludless hours on the banks
o' the Dye.

108
LANGTON WATER.

Green are thy banks, thou bonny stream,
That windest sweet by wood and field.
Where summer's flow'rets blooming sweet,

Their fragrance to the zephyrs yield.
Thy scenes are ever fair and bright,

'Neath springtide's smile, or summer's
glow,
When with rich autumn's bounty crowned,
Or winter's snow.

Far up amid the heathery hills,

There, murmur first thy tiny rills ;
Then, flowing on through mead and dell,

The burnies meet,
With many a gurgling rippling swell.

In a calm and fair retreat.

Now thro' the deep and craggy glen ;

Now sleeping 'neath the hazel's
shade, —
Now rushing on thy course again
Making the valleys echoes roar
As o'er the lynn thy waters pour ;
Now calm and peaceful as before

On tliro' the silent glade.

Thy course is marked by many a scene,

Rugged, yet fair and bright,
Where titfu' thro' thy leafy screen.
The sun's refreshing rays are seen

Or Luna's silvery light.

109

Where hanging in thy rugged steeps,

The honeysuckle blooms,
And the trailing ivy creeps

Where the sunshine never comes.

Where the cowslip and the fair primrose

Lift up their modest heads,
And fling their fragrance all around.
When hushed is every sound,

As they catch the dewdrops' pearly beads
When day draws to its close.

When first Aurora's golden beams ;
O'er the eastern hilltops stream ;

Then sweet the forest warblers sing
Their happy songs of love
Which echo thro' the grove,

Till woods and valleys ring. •

Oh ! how I love to roam along

By many a sylvan scene,
And listen to thy song, —
As oft in days of yore,
I wandered on thy pebbled shore,

And happy was I ween,
But now sad are the thoughts that rise
And oft the tear drops fill my eyes.
As thou recalsfc the days gone by
When gayest of the gay was I.

Oft' with the loved of childhood's days,
I've sported on thy gowany braes ;
Thy richest spots full well we knew —
The copse where the wild apples grew

And where the hazels hung,
Down o'er the deep and craggy rock,
Where oft the echoes were awoke,
By ringing laugh of mirth and joy,
From many a fair and happy boy,

The clustering boughs among.

Oft' too, weVe gone a nesting there.
For we knew each shady nook
And slaethorn bower,
Where the linnets lo\ jd their young to
rear, —
Where they loved to lave in the limpid
brook,
At the sultry noontide hour,—
WeVe watched the bee on the opening
flower,
And oft' in merry chase,
We've run o'er the glade for many an hour
Chacing the gaudy butterflies,
To us a rich and wonderous prize,
'Till o'er each happy face
The rosy glow of health was spread.
And home again we sped.

There, too, I've often happy been,

When, with the maid Iloved,

By thy sweet banks we roved
In some sequestered scene,

Away from all the vexing cares

Which marked my growing years.

But, ah ! where is that maiden now ?

By thee, sweet stream,
She lieth low,

m^i

Ill

No more her smiles, like sunshine's glow

Shall play around her brow ;

No more her dazzling eyes shall beam,
Or evening's balmy air
Dance 'mid her golden hair.

She sleeps, and on thou murmurest still ;

And thus I love to wander here,
To listen to thy purling rill,
As if her voice still met my ear,
And bade my drooping spirits cheer
With visions of a coming joy ;
When all my wanderings o'er,
I'll fly to yon bright peaceful shore
Where to the loved ones gone before,
Sorrow and sighing come.no more.

And tears no more shall dim the eye,
For there at last
All griefs of earth are past.

But, lovely stream, still here I'll rove,
And list the songsters of the grove ;
Here at the opening dawn I'll come,
Here at the eventide I'll roam,

While sweetly thou shalt gurgle on ;
And tho' thou dost remind ma still

Of ioys for ever gone,
'' ^ Yet will
I love thee, peaceful murmuring rill.

— —
THE WANING YEAR.

Swiftly to its close,
The old year goes,
And nought that we can do its step retard,

I 1

112

Still it, with many a groan,
With struggle, sigh and moan,
'Mid life's last ebbing throes,
Dies hard.

Oh ! it hath seen sad sights,

This fading year, —
Brought many woeful plights

To nations and to men,
Bloodshed and war to some,
And blackest gloom :
To others woe and fear,
A prospect drear
Of want and misery.
Sad heart and teai^ul eye
That we

Hope ne'er to see
Again.

And it hath had bright days,
And sunny skies o'erhead ;
Full many a mother gave to heaven
Her heartfelt praise ;

While on her lowly bed, —
When, pain and travail past
She gazed with joy at last
Upon the lovely child kind Providence had
given.

And marriage bells have pealed

A merry peal,
As in the solemn church
The holy man of God,
Spoke of the pledges sealed

In Heaven— exhorts them to fulfil

113

Each unto each the vows they take ;

Then to their new abode,
The prancing steeds soon whirl them away,

And anxious crowds around the porch
Wish life and love for the young couple's

sake,
And all seems glad and gay.

But let the curtain fall

Upon the woes of war.
And awful waste of life that did appal

The world both near and far,
And let us pray that, in the coming year,

No tear
May fall upon a murdered victim's bier.

But over all the earth
Peace and good will to man will reign ;

As from out the ark of hope goes forth.
With olive branch, the peaceful dove,
Proclaiming heaven's love

To fallen man ;
Pointing to gloomy wrecks of days gone

t>y,—
Warning of guilt's undying misery.
And leading to the cross of Calvary
All nations, slave and free,
A Saviour's all atoning death to see.

Thus would the coming year,
Witness alone, contrition's hopeful tear.
And the "good time" by sages often

sung
With poesy's sweet tongue,
^ome with the infant year's bright smile.
When all our flickering hopes and fears.

114

And anxious toil,
Would dissipate before the genial ray,
Of a millennial day.

Alone I sit and dream
Upon this solemn theme ;
The passing moments, with a sigh,

Rush swiftly by ;
Around me all is darkness and repose^
As to the year's sad close,
The clock with warning finger points.

And wisely hints
Of that time when my little year shall

cease
Exhorting me to make with heaven my
peace,

That so,
A", hen parting from this weary world below,

Hope's bright illumined star,
May lead my thoughts from Time's sad
scenes of woe

And through the valley's gather-
ing gloom

Guide on and up afar
To an unfading home.

— -o —

NAE MAIR.

Slowly and sadly the muffled bell,
Rings oot a b jlemn funeral knell.

On the bitin' winter air,
A mournfu' dirge for the loved and gane.
While the funeral march, wi' its sad refrain,
Tells o' ane wha will march again

Nae mair.

115

Slowly the crowd o' mourners go,

Thro' the eager air and the drivin' snow,

Tae the kirk-yaird bleak an' bare,
Where the elm tree points wi' boney arms,
Tae the joyless river an' dreary farms,
Ower ane wha'U hail spring's buddin' charms

Nae mair.

He is laid tae rest, the salute is fired,
The train o' mourners hae a' retired,

While the band, wi' lively air.
Wakens the echoes frae grove an' plain,
Whilk silently listened the funeral strain ;
But, gay or sad, he will listen again

Nae mair.

Cauld in death is his kindly heart.
Silent his tongue • frae street an' mart,

His f rien's will miss him sair,
But as the years roll swiftly by.
We'll lo'e the spot where his ashes lie,
While his name shall fade frae oor memory,

Nae mair.

The nicht is sad wi' the widow's wail.
An' infant fears are soothed wi' the tale —
(A light 'mid the dark despair,)
If faither comes not, they'll go tae him,
Where their cup o' joy will be fu' to the

brim —
Where hearts are sad, and eyes grow dim
Nae mair.

— o

116

UNDER THE SNOW.

TJnder the snow, the stainless snow,
Which falls so lightly o'er hill and glade,
Calmly at rest,
Inthe earth's cold breast,
A darling brother's laid.
Just as the flowers
In the autumn bowers,
Fell neath the winter's blasting breath,
He passed away
Into glorious day
Which knows no night, no death.

Under the snow, the spotless snow,
From the loved who mourn his early fate,
Yet calm in the joy
That their darling boy.
Has passed the pearly gate.
Amid the gloom
Which wreaths his tomb

The star of faith shij js bright and cloar,
And beckons us on
To the loved ones gone ;

From the grief which rankles here.

Under the snow, the winter's snow,
With the flowers that decked the verdant
plain.

To rest awhile
Till the summer's smile,
Calls them to life again,

Culled from earth's scene
To the fadeless green
Where the river of life flows ever on.

117

To bask for aye
In the cloudless day,
Our darling one has gone.

Under the snow, the beautiful snow,
Which beams in the jun like a thousand
gems,
But gone to the fold
'Mid the streets of gold,
And the crown of diadems.

Oh ! happy the thought
Of l^s soul blood bought
Into the fold of the King of Kin gs.
Joining the song
Of the ransomed throng,
Ad he mounts on angel wings.

-0—

PENNY'S BRAE.

'Mang a' the scenes where in my youth,

I wandered free o' care.
At morning's dawn, or sunset hour,

Tae snuff the cauler air ;
There's ae scene o' the langsyne days.

Still ower my hearts bauds sway —
The shady paths, an' quiet neuks

Alang by Penny's Brae.

'Twas there my young friend, Rab an' I,
First sang oor sangs taegither,

Or lay beneath some spreadin' tree
In sultry simmer weather ;

118

We little thocht that frae such scenes

We'd wander far away,
Tae cherish but the memories o'

Oor nichts by Penny's Brae.

There aft' when wandering alane ;

When simmer days were fair,
I used tae meet my shopmate Bob,

An' kenn'd what brocht him there ;
For in some quiet gloaming hour,

He'd meet sweet Betty Gray —
Their favourite trysts on Sunday nichts

Was doon by Penny's Brae.

Still as my memory wanders back,

I seek that scene again,
Tae meet beneath the trysting tree

My first fond sweetheart, Jane ;
I seem tae press her hand again,

An' vow I'll ne'er betray.
The trustin' heart she plighted me

Lanysyne by Penny's Brae.

An' now while I, a stranger, roam,

O'er many a foreign part,
Some ither may have woo'd an' won

Her young an' trustin' heart ;
Tho' such may be, I'll ne'er forget

Until my dying day,
The memories o' the happy hoiTS,

I spent by Penny's Brae.

— —

^^■^'■^-""■"mii'iii iin irtiiiri wm" in

wm^

119
^^SHOUTHER TAE SHOUTHER."

(Addressed to the St. Andrew's Society of Memphis,
Tenn ., during the yellow-fever scourge .)

When oor f oref aithers f oucht by land or by

Preparedfortheirrichtsaye tae door tae dee,

'Twas then that they made their prood foe-
men to feel, _ u 1 ^

In vain was their charge 'gainst a phalanx
o' steel *

Or as forward^they sprang at their chief-
tain's word, ., ., , i.

Dealing death at each blow wi' the bayonet
an' sword, > r f

As they fell dead or wounded, an tront

ranks were thinned, , , • j

Stillcloserpressedforwardtheheroesbehma,

** Shouther tae Shouther.
When the enemy force's came sweeping

along, , , 1. >

Wi' the waU an' the dirge, for the lauch an

the sang ;
When thousands were f a'ing like leaves in

the blast ,

Leavingsairdesolationwherevertheypassed,^

A brave band o' Scots like their f aither s o

Stood iirm tae their posts for the nameless
an' poor, .,

They flinched nae tho' ithers were weak wi
despair ; , i. xv. *

Tlio' death's shafts micht reach them, their
duty was there,
** Shouther tae SLouther.

120

i«

Where'er in the land o' the stranger are

met,
The sons o' auld Scotia— they're brithren

yet;
They're prood o' the fact that they're clan-

nich an' leal^
An' hae aye a true heart for poortith tae

feel—
Their love hasna dimmed for their hame

o'er the sea,
The land o' the heather, the land o' the

free,
That the honour o' Scotland may ne'er bear

a blot,
Is the heart-wish o' every true loyal brither

Scot,
** Shouther tae Shouther."

This life's a sair fecht 'mid its poortith an'
pain.

But the wail o' the sad, Scotchmen hear nas
in vain.

An' they wha wi' plenty or little are blessed.

Are ready, aye ready, tae help the dis-
tressed.

Gk> bravely on, brithers, the scourge now
has passed,

An' the prayer o' the stricken is answered
at last,

An' should in the future new troubles ap-
pear.

Ye can aye count on help frae yere brithren
here.
" Shouther tae Shouther."

. ,- VK#»-*«MW»-H»4|»*W

121

ALL FOR HER 1

(A. Scene from " A Tale of Two Cities.")

He sat alone and listened within the prison
cell,
But only sounds of clashing doors or
footsteps passing on
Fell on his ear, until the clock rung out its
dismal knell :
Then sounds of opening doors were
heard, and finally his own.
A gaoler with a list in hand looked in, and
merely said,
"Follow me, Evremonde." He went,
and, through the shadows dim.
He saw men standing there erect, and some
with drooping head,
Silent or mourning for the fate they were
to meet with him.

And as he stood among the throng, a girlish
form drew near
And, touching him, said, ** Citizen, from
ja;uilt, my soul is free ;
Heaven bear me witness to the truth. —
From me, what could they fear ?
i'or who would think of plotting with a
poor weak thing like me !
I*m not unwilling nor afraid to meet this
awful death,
If the Republic and the poor will profit
by my blood.

■^■'•■W^

122

Let your brave hand sustain me until my
latest breath. "
" Yes, my dear sister,'* he replied ;" and,
hand in hand, they stood.

As through the streets the tumbrils go,
with guards on every side,
Holding her hand and comforting this
child of tender years ;
While surging crowds along the streets the
prisoners deride,
Deaf to their cries, he kindly speaks to
calm her anxious fears.
Upon the church-steps, waiting the coming
of the carts,
fhe spy appears, and, vulture -like, he
gloats upon his prey.
" Down, Evremonde !" the cry is raised ;
the pris'ner faintly starts ;
But; at the cry, he only looks, and passes
on his way.

All robed, and ready for their work, beside
the guillotine,
The ministers of blood appear — when,
crash ! the deed is done ;
And knitting women, where they sit, scarce
heed the ghastly scene ;
But, for a moment, lift their eyes, and
carelessly count " one.**
The empty tumbrils move away ; again that
dreadful crash !
And, never pausing in their work, the
knitters count out " two.**

123

While swift descends that murderous knife,
with ever gleaming flash,
And bloody heads are held aloft, the jest-
ing crowd to view.

Amid the waiting victims there, this man
and maiden stand.
And from her sight he seeks to hide the
instrument of blood ;
With words of comfort, still he cheers, and
holds her patient hand
Until her beating heart is stilled— her
trembling fears subdued.
Unselfishly she speaks to him, *' Ah ! it is
better 'SO •
The only friends I leave behind should
never know my fate ;"
And asks him if in that bright land to
which she now must go,
Before she meets those cherished ones,
she will have long to wait 1

One kiss,-~the words "You comfort me,"—
the moment now has come,
With sweet bright smile of constancy
upon her patient face ;
One moment, and those trembling lips are
now for ever dumb, » - ..,

And with the whispered words of faith,
he calmly takes her place.
The knitting women, counting Btill, have
muttered '* twenty-three,"
And then the murmur of the crowd in
silence dies away,

124

Like one great heave of water upon a
stormy sea,
The bloody festival is o'er which marked
that fatal day.

-o-

MEET ME IN THE BOWER.

O'er Eildon's hill the setting sun

Pours forth its dying ray,
And paints each scene in golden hues,

By mead and flowery brae.
And in the vale the frao;rant dew

Perfumes each blooming flower ;
Then haste to me, Eliza, dear,

And meet me in the bower.

I've twined for thee a shady bower

Where yonder streamlet flows.
And decked it with the ivy green

And many a blooming rose.
I'll twine for thee a garland fair,

And cull each fragrant flower ;
Then haste to me, Eliza, dear,

And meet me in the bower.

O'er hill and dale, by stream and grove.

All nature's gone to rest ;
Then, come ! I wait for thee, my love,

To fold thee to my breast.
I long to see thy loving smile,

And feel its charming power ;
Then haste to me, Eliza, dear,

And meet me in the bower.

125

Oh ! happy are we when we meet,

No tears, no heaving sigh,
But round our path 'tis joy and lo^e,

Above, a radiant sky.
Should, o'er our youthful, loving hearts,

Distress and soitow lower,
It cheers our hearts whene'er we meet.

By Lounsdale's fragrant bower.

— o —
THE MAID O' COTHILL.

Oh ! far frae my hame and my country I
wander,
Frae the wild heathy valleys and moss
covered rill,
Where oft I delighted tae gaze on their
grandeur.
Or roam wi' my lover, the maid o' Cothill,

But tho' from my dearly loved land I did
sever,
These scenes of my childhood are dear tae
me still ;
But dearer tae me is my true-hearted lover,
My sweet smiling dearie, the maid o'
Oothill.

For now though I see nae the smiles o' my
dearie,
The thought o' that loved one my bosom
does thrill.
And cheers my sad heart, when a' lonely
and weary,
I long tae be back tae the maid o' Cothill.

126

But I soon will return tae thy bosom, my
lover,
The vows which I pledged thee, 1*11 truly
fulfil,
Nae mair frae my hame and my country tae
sever,
But love and protect the fair maid o* Cot-
hill.

WHEN THE SUMMER BUDS UN

FOLD.
Music by G. E. Kemp.

When the summer buds unfold,

To the wooing summer sun.
And the charm of wood and wold.

Tells that winter's course is run ;
When a gladsome smile is spread.

Over nature's beaming face ;
Shall the hopes we deemed as fled

Bloom again with sweeter grace.

When the doves are gently cooing,
When the birds begin their wooing,
What should we, my love, be doing ?
When the summer buds unfold.

When the summer buds unfold,
And the flow 'rets deck the vale.

We will whisper as of old,

Love's enchanting oft' told tale ;

•^%{^i^!!!^-jJ:MjJ'^^^ '

li j i npnii ii fj I ,

127

And our hearts will feel the glow,
Of our childhood's sunny hours,

As when balmy zeph3rrs blow,

'Mid the fragrant blooming flowers.

When the doves are g^ently cooing, &c.

When the summer buds unf-^ld,

'Neath the sunshine and the rain,
All our hopes, once seared and cold,

Will revive to bloom again ;
And tho' winter's blight may come,

And the flowers may droop and die,
Love's bright beams will light our home.

With a pure and lasting joy.

When the doves are gently cooing, &c.
— o —
GAVINTON GREEN.

How pleasant tae wander by Langton's fair

woods.
By the green birken bowers, and their pure

rippling floods,
When the dew o' the mornin' on each flow'-

ret hings,
When hill-top and valley wi' melody rings.
Oh ! then wi' my Jeanie sae gaily I stray,
And pluck her the wild flowers that bloom

o'er the brae.
Or blythesomely meet in the gloamin* at

e'en.
When lightly she trips o'er frae Gavinton

Green.

128

In the calm anmmer e'eninga before the

sunset)
Before e'en the flowers with the night-dews

are wet,
Away then I haste tae the anld birken tree
Where Jeanie sae faithfu' is waiting for

me;
While there we together will wander the

glen
Till Phoebus has sunk in the westward, and

then
I'll row in my plaidie my ain bonnie Jean,
And hie wi' my lover tae Gavinton Green.

Oh ! my Jeanie is handsome, she's modest

and meek,
Like the fair blushing rose is the glow on

her cheek,
And doon o'er her breast like the snaw-drap

sae fair,
Hangs in loose flowing ringlets her bright

auburn hair.
Her sweet smile enchants me whenever she's

near,
And her voice like sweet music sounds soft

on my ear ;
Oh ! there's nane can compare wi' my ain

bonnie Jean,
She's the pride o' the village on Gavinton

Green.

Viv-i-

And oh ! 'tis a treasure my Jeanie's true

heart.
For she's vowed she'll be mine, and will
ne'er frae me part ;

And dearest ! when wedded, oh ! happy wVU

be,
For my hopes and my joys are a* centred in

thee.
We carena for wealth, and tho' poor be our

lot,
Yet love's cheering rays shall aye shine in

our cot,
Where blythe and contented frae morning

till e'en ^

I will love thee, fair Jeanie, on Gavinton

Green.

WAIT A- WEE, AN' DINNA WF.ARY.

Wait a- wee, an' dinna weary,

Tho' your heart be sad an' sair,
An' your youthfu' dreams hae vanished,

Leavin' nocht but grief an' care ;
Tho' the cluds be dark an' lowerin'—

Faded flowers lie 'neath tlie snaw.
Simmer suns wi' hricht hopes laden,

Sane the mists will clear fM^\

Wait a-wee, an' dinn9 weary .^
Tho' the winter's lang and dreary,^
Simmer days will come tae ^h/ser ye,
Gin ye'll only wait a-wee.

Wait a-wee, an' dinna weary,
Tho' ye're maybe crossed in Iofo,

An' your springh.ood's hojpcj lie withered,
Time will yet your carea ttemov^ ;

180

Tho' the joys that langsyne perished^
Left a wound baith deep and pair.

Maybe some true heart has cherished,
Love for you, deep an' sincere.

•

Wait a-wee, an' dinna weary, &c.

Wait a-wee, an' dinna weary,

There are ithers sad an' wae ; —
Sufferin' puir wi' heavy burthens,

Strugglin' 'gainst adversity :
For awhile forget your sorrows,

Sune a' cankerin' cares will flee.
Gin ye'U sooth the broken hearted —

Wipe the tear frae purtith's e'e.

Wait a-wee, an' dinna weary, «&c.

— 0—

" EASTERN'S E'EN.

'Mang the memories o' the langsyne days,
O'er which my fancy af ten strays ;
That waft me back to the gowany braes.

An ilka lang-left scene,
I fondly lo'e that scene o' a'.
When lads frae cottage an' frae ha'
Met ilka year tae play the ba',

An' baud their Eastern's E'en.

My puir auld heart will aften thrill,
'Wi' youth's bricht recollections still ;
O* hoo we played 'tween kirk and mill
Till the last prize was gi'en : —

131

Hoo lads wi' neebour lads wad meet,
Tae spier for news, tae crick, an' treat ;
An' hoo blythe lassies tae wad greet,
The sports o' B'astern's E'en.

Even noo, my fancy still can trace,

The crowd that thranged the market place.

Where joy was seen in ilka face —

Baith auld and young, I ween, ,
For frail auld bodies then wad meet,
Tae crack at corners o' the street, —
An' drouthy cronies tae, wad weet

Their gabs at Fastern's E'en.

The ba'-men, an' the fiddler loon,
Play " Never let the Gregor doon,'*
'Till ilk shopkeeper in the toon

His croon or shillin's gien ;
An' ere the sport at noon's begun.
The prentice lads close up like fun,
Prepared tae scramble, jouk, an* run,

For the sports o' Fastern's E'en.

The laird comes doon frae his castle ha',
Wi' leddies tae sae busk an' braw.
For he's aye the first tae toss the ba*,

An' mak' the sport begin ;
The fiddler then, an' ba'-men chiels,
Play round the toun-house, lichtsome reeU|
Wi' callants slioutin* at their heels.

For the fun o' Fastern's E'en.

Then frae before the toun-house staps,
'Mid shouts, an' tossing up o' caps,
The gowden ba' first upward pops

An' ower their heads does spin ;

182

In earneet then beginB the play,

While back and fore they stragglin' sway.

An' lasses cheer and shout hooray I

For the sports o* Eastern's E'en.

Then comes the wrestling an' the sport,
'Mid yells an' cries o' every sort, —
The race pell-mell up lane and court,

The like was never seen ;
f hey toss an' tumble, squeeze an^ tear,
While hats and bonnets skim the air, —
Nae fun at country hiring fair

Beats this at Fastern's E'en.

The married men, the ba' maun hail,
By ringin' wi't the auld kirk bell,
While single chaps rin for the mill

Tae thraw't the happer in,
Sae there the wily lads keep guard
By yett an' dyke o' the auld kirk-yaird,
To win the laurels there prepared,

For the fun o' Fastern's E'en.

Then here a squad of country lads,
Hae cast awa' their cumbrous duds,
Ready for ditches, slaps or wuda

An' for the mill tae rin,
They stick at neither bums nor stiles,
dae lang's they win the lassies' smiles, —
Nae money's prize for them has wiles.

Like this at Fastern's E'en.

An' sae the fun's kept up until.
The last ba's hailed at kirk or mill,
An' ilka ane has got his fill,

0' that day's snort, I ween ;

138

Then tae their hames at toun or stead,
The lads an' laasies hameward speed,
nk' Jock an' Jeanie as agreed

Lang ere this Fastem's E'en.

An' then the ba'men wi' their Men's,
Adjourn tae some ane o' the inns, —
Where langsyne yarns the landlord spins

O' what he's dune an' seen ;
An' when the noise and din hae ceased.
Then pork an' dumplin's crown the feast,
Washed doon wi' toddy o' the best.

To wind up Fastern's E'en.

— —

FIRST LOVE.

How can I but be sad at times

When all around is happiness,
While listening to the village chimes

Reminding me of bygone bliss ;
As often, at the twilight hour,

It called me to the silent dell
To meet beneath the try sting bower

My own, my lovely Isabel.

But ah ' alas ! they fcell me now

That I must wander there alone —
Beneath affliction's stroke I bow ;

My true one to the grave has gone.
They breathe a sadness o'er my heart -

A cadence like departing knell,
Still torturing the bitter smart

"'^hat bleeds afresh for Isabel.

aft

134

She was the first on whose sweet charms

My youthful heart's lond hopew were fed^
Her heart the shrine where zealously

My wealth of love was offered,
But 'tis in vain again to seek

To feel once more that witching spell ;
My faded hopes lie buried there

Beneath the sod with Isabel.

ROBBIE BURNS.

(Written for a Caledonian Society
Gathering.)

While gathered here frae a* the airts,
Wr mirth an' sang tae cheer oor hearts,
Ae name, 'boon a, a lowe impairts

Tae Scottish veins ;
He wha auld Scotia's fame asserts

In Doric strains.

Dear Ploughman Bard, wha's meteor flight
Gleamed but a span, then sank in nicht ;
Yet left ahint a glamour bricht,

O' sang sublime.
An' gilded wi' poetic licht

The stream o' time.

Thy name an' fame become mair dear,
As time rows roun' the circling year, —
An' Scotia's aonsy bairns, where'er

They may forgather,
Delichted, list thy lilts tae hear

Frae anc anither.

135

In youthfu' hearts, thy love strains sweet
Gars the warm bluid aye faster beat,
At gloaniin' hour when lovers meet

O' simmer days,
An' " sighs an' vows " again repeat,

By *' banks and braes."

Still, patriot hearts are nerved for war, <
Whan lowei*s the thunder-clud afar,
An' Scottish heroes dae an' daur

As in the past ;
Nae coward hearts thy fame shall mar.

In "war's rude blast."

Thy thunder-blasts, langsyne, sent forth
Against the pride o' rank or birth,
Still j&nds an echo o'er the earth,

In ilka Ian',
An' proves, wi' honest, Stirling worth,

''A man's a man.**

Where crawling hypocrites are rife,
Smooth o' the tongue, yet vile o' life.
Thy satire pierces like a knife

In flesh an' bluid,
An' bares the root o' cantin' strife,

r *' the unco guid.'

But piety, wharever pure,

Ye noted 'mang the simple puir,—

An' pictured i' the reading hour.

In cottar's hame,
Warm love for Him wha did endure.

The cross an' shame.

,^=SL_ -Jt*-

136

An' sympathy thou didna lack

Where stern oppression bowed the back ;

For serf or slave — or white or black.

Thy heart did yearn,
An' curst the tyrant wha could mak',

*' A brither mourn."

Aye, e'en thy sympathy went oot,

Tae puir dumb creatures— bird an' brute,

Nor heard their suffering cry withoot,

A pang o' grief —
An' ever watchfu' kindly thou' t

Tae gie relief.

Thou had'st thy fauts — an' wha is there,
Wad hae his inmost thochts laid bare,
Or show his words an' actions square, —

Sic saint, alane,
Daur ought against thy fame declare

Or cast a stane.

Na, Rabbie, had ye been a saint,
Withoot a flaw — or sin's mirk taint,
I fear me, we'd hae looked asklent,

Tae hear ye rave ;
Ye're words an' guidin', baith ill-spent,

** Amang the lave."

Thy very fauts are beacons brioht,
Tae help us forward tae the licht.
Whan thrawart hearts wad frae the richt

On ill-rades gang,
Yet scorn tae hide if e'er sae slight,

"Akennin' wrang."

137

still a- thy «^-i::;;:r pt^r.

Bcicht gUnts o rate p» ^

O' pi";t'*^„'*Si an' dour,

While «*''^y.\y...ard turn

— o—

. • ^mv boyhood's hama,
Oh ! weel I "'^•^tr^e cheerie ;
"V a' its «««»«V* Vthat pleasure gie,

^Vaf^ufa^C^'
''Th^*»%a^whffioodn.yain

.. i„ its UPS an' doons,
My We has ham ite«P blended,

Vi" joy »" * „^, come back, as gm
. ^ye\ these ^«"^'er htd eaded :

My t^^''°t^::L same, as whan
The viUfge green ^^^^^^

W«PH'i*esttaemony»fea8t

Wl'l^'^u^'!^ toane an' lugg'«-
Oot horn-sp»"

! W

^^1

138

That horn-spuno wi' whistle in't, —

That luggie brichtly nolished,
Are just as real tae me, tho' a'

Youth's dreams hae been demolished
But tho' the glamour's gane for aye,

An' life's noo gey an ruggie,
A glint o' joy comes back at sicht

0' hom-spune an' luggie.

I like tae see the dear auld spot.

The cot whare I was born in,
Nor feel a shame in speakin' o'

The struggles o' life's mornin' ;
I raither pride me in the fac',

That puirtith was nae bogie,
An' frugal lessons were imbibed,

Frae hom-spune an' luggie.

Sin' then, I've mixed amang the great,

Wi' titles an' distinctions,
An' sat at mony a festive board,

In gay an' gilded mansions ;
But gie tae me, 'boon a' their stews,

Or wines that just befog ye,
A feast o' halesome parritch oot

horn-spnne an' luggie.

Auld Scotia's sons the warld ower

Hae shown a sturdy valour ;
They mak' a name whare'er they gang.

An' lauch at thoucht o' failure.
Tho' hard the stniggles o' their youth,

Wi' whiles a scrimpit coggie,
They've spelled the brae tae walth
poo'er

Frae hom-spune an' luggie.

i'lSdiat-S

139

The sturdy chiels frae Scotland's hills,

Hae shared war's strife an ' glory,
An' left a record o' their deeds,

Embalmed in sang an' story :
An' whare ower distant lands they range

Tae share life's stern tug aye,
May they look back wi' honest pride,

On horn-apnne and luggie.

OVER THE CREEK.

Over the creek, in a snug little cottage,

Lives little Madeline, pride of my heart,
With light waving hair o'er her lily neck
streaming,
And eyes that first snared me with love's
piercing dart,
Fair is her bosom as snow on the mountain,
Like day's rosy dawn is the blush on her
cheek, —
Lips like the cherry their sweetness dis-
closing
Has sweet little Madeline, over the creek.

Soft as the murmur of Summer's light
zephyrs,
Sweet as the thrill of the mocking bird's
song,
Is the voice of mj^ darling to me gaily singing,

As over the meadows we trip it along.
Nature's gay treasures of sunshine and
flowers,
bair tho' they be in the bright lands you
seek,

140

Wi«ld not such power o*er the spirit en-
trancing,
As the charms of my Madeline over the
creek.

In far distant lands of the East I have wan-
dered,
But not their fair daughters in rural attire,
Nor the gay city belles amid fashion and
splendour.
Could wake in this bosom affection's true
fire*
'Twas the fair Madeline, the beloved of my
boyhood,
First taught me the language of lovers to
speak,
And still, though long years from my home
I have wandered,
I love only Madeline, over the creek.

And since this fair treasure's restored to my
bosom,
My cup of delight is now full to the brim.
Again throbs my heart with the feeling of
boyhood,
While tears of true joy will my eyes often
dim.
Soon will our hearts be in wedlock united.
And then home's endearments I'll faith-
fully seek,
No more till the sunset of life to be parted,
I'll cherish my Madeline, over the creek.

THE END,

Piinted by J. B. Leno, 76 Dmry Lane.