LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, Cliap.. __. Copyright No. Slielf.......B..5S UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. DAY DREAMS, BY / CHARLES REEKIE. Or CO.V,^, )PVfi/G/y DEC301B95/ I I,. D. ROBERTSON & SON, Printers and Publishers, No. 93 Warren Street. 1895. COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY CHARIvES REEKIE. TO MY ESTEEMED FRIEND, ROBERT MORRISON, FIFESHIRE, SCOTLAND, I DEDICATE THESE PAGES. Beatcs Memories. CONTENTS PAGE Introductory . . . . . , . . . . . . i Oh, Weeping Muse, be Still 6 Oh, Sing a Sang when I am Gane . . . . . . 7 Columbia . . . . . . . . , . . . . . 7 Imitation of Browning . . . . . . . . . . 8 Shall I No More ? 10 Whaur My Ain Lassie Dwells 11 Na, Na, Johnnie Lad . . . . > , . . . . 12 Meditation .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 12 'Twas Midnight „ 13 The Second Deluge . . . . . . . . . . 17 A Thought 20 Scotland Forever ! 21 The Sparrow . . . . . . . . 22 Carphin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 Awake ! My Love . . . . . . . . . . 24 A Song of Jersey Shore . . . . . . 25 Leaves 26 Fair Belmar by the Sea 28 Farewell . . . . . - . . . . . . . . 29 A Fragment 30 The Auld Kirkyaird . 31 CONTENTS Fare Thee Well ! A Question Forget Thee ? Profit and Loss A Memory I Ken ae Hoose I Love the Land of Cloudy Skies Past and Present A Vision Better than Gold Margaret's Ride Moses Brown A Wish The Scottish Shepherd Only a Child Live the Republic ! In Memory of John Reid The Hungry Politician Golden Grains When Jamie Meets wi' Me A Legend of Roslin Castle Oh, Let Me Roam ! Mary When Sandy Gaed Awa' Let Me Die The Hame where I was Born I Like a Rainy Day Bessie's Poplin Dress Gae Bring to Me a Heatherbell Song of the Prairie Maid Meet Me where the Coverts Ring CONTENTS. My lyove cam' owre the Ivomond Hills The Maid of Baltimore To Margaret Sing of Ivove, the Maiden said A Pearl Auld Scotland's Hills First Love • Ode to Women Sandy Scott Ring out the Bells ! Toddy Sweeties I Dreamt of Thee Nellie Graham Let Me Die as the Brave Should Die Annie Lee . • Long Ago .. On Hearing a Lady Sing "Love Not" Where are Now the Old Graveyards ? A Scrap Despair A Dream Last Nicht a Lass cam' owre the Lea A Sigh Bury Me Not 'neath Sculptured Domes In a Dream of the Night Lines addressed to Miss Julia C The Infinite . The Poet Who Shall Write the Page Immortal ? Blank Leaf Presentation PAGE 89 90 91 92 92 93 94 95 97 102 103 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 no 112 113 114 116 116 117 118 120 121 122 123 125 CONTKNTS. Lines on the Birthday of Robert Burns An Invocation Blow On, ye Winds ! . - My Little Maid .. Never to See Thee Again Lines to Mrs. Y A Vision Ae Mair Sang before we Part Think of Me A Day in the Woods .. The Owl My Love's Gane Owre the Sea In Memoriam Can It Be So? A Wife's Lament Fancy The Outlaw A Question The Cot where I was Born Corabel PAGE 126 128 129 136 137 138 »39 143 144 145 148 152 153 157 159 160 161 DAY DREAMS. Inti^oductof^y. I. Dear Reader: I have named these broken stanzas "Day Drkams," because I have a dreamy notion That scarce a reader breathes from Maine to Kansas But must have felt that half-awake emotion That dreams enshrine. 'Tis a devotion That will repay the worshiper, indeed — The more especially as it owns no creed. II. There was a time when this great globe was younger, Ere Mammon worship had become the rule, Or nations felt that democratic hunger Which seems the gospel of the modern school, — Ere folly taught that every common fool Was born a sovereign, whom the devil meant For either scavenger or President ! 2 DAY DREAMS. III. I know it was before the age of rings, Or the grand art of Printing was invented ; I know that I have read of certain things That certain hoary sages represented, And places, too, that ancient bards frequented — Such as the temples of prophetic women, Somewhere in Greece, where men were fond of dreaming. IV. But we are moderns, and old Greece is dead — I mean that Greece that gave the world its dreams. Yet though her temples in the dust are laid, And hushed is now the music of her streams. And time's murk night has half obscured her beams, Yet who will say, despite her modern fetters. The world has not been better for her letters? V. Besides, there was the later mighty Rome, Whose thunders shook the empires of the globe ; Against whose fame the sea of Time, like foam. Breaks all in vain, as still our pulses throb Beneath the shadow of her Caesar's robe ; Yet though her heroes were malignant schemers, It's history now that they, like us, were dreamers. DA Y DREAMS. VI. And later still, behold the Norman host lyanding its prows upon old Albion's strand, And hear the victor's shout, the battle lost, And mothers weeping for their fatherland — Their slaughtered sires in heaps upon the sand. Yet who asserts this subject of my theme Was not the logic of the victor's dream? VII. And dreaming still next comes the brave exile. The Plymouth hero of an iron faith. Dreaming his dream, through suffering, want and toil He hears the savage yell with bated breath, Contented there to die a martyr's death, Or waste his years in solitude supreme — The self-deluded victim of a dream. VIII. And you, fair reader, what the theme that thrills Thy life's young pulses, when the moon is low? And whence this gazing at the distant hills. Counting the fleeting moments all too slow ; While nursing there thy self-deluded woe, Thy young eyes dim, thy tender bosom rent? — 'Tis but the illusive dream of sentiment ! 4 DAY DREAMS. IX. Next in review the youthful mother's joy, Crowding her life with hope, and trust and tears, In love's prospective— sees her fair young boy Become the crowning treasure of her years, And in the airy temple that he rears She sees his rising sun's immortal beam ; — 'Tis but, alas ! the vapor of a dream ! X. And next behold the conqueror of kings — That heartless tryant of a nation's dower — Who shadowed earth beneath his vampyre wings. And shook the thrones of empire with his power ; Now mark him caged, the vulture of an hour. Poor wingless moth of hell's illusive dream, Who reared his throne upon the bayonet's gleam ! XI. Next comes with lofty brow the poet seer : With eagle glance he scans the morning star. That marks the dawn of earth's millennial year. And hears the song of freedom from afar. Ringing the knell of carnage and of war, — When love shall reign o'er mountain, vale and stream, And life become one universal dream ! DAY DREAMS. XII. And even he, the serf-slave of the soil, Whose willing ploughshare turns the lifeless sod. Dreams of a crowning glory for his toil, And patient as the ox bows to his load, Treading the paths his fameless fathers trod. Far from the crowded city's ceaseless hum, Yet dreams of harvests in the years to come ! XIII. But mark the lettered slab, the crumbling scroll, That crowd the silent cities of the dead ; And read the piteous longing of the soul In meanless epitaph, where all are laid, From lisping childhood to the silver head. And see where desolation reigns supreme — The final drama of life's hopeless dream ! XIV. Thus ends the chapter of the life of man, In day dreams as the silent ages go — A kind of lunar aid in Nature's plan. Or heaven-sent Balm of Gilead for life's woe. So in these pages may the reader find Some solace for the ills of humankind ; And like an echo from wild mountain streams. They help his weary soul to pleasant dreams i DAY DREAMS. ^H, 'VfEEPlJMQ flu^E, ;pE ^TILL. Oil, weeping muse, be still, Go ! sleep thy dreams away ; No native song, from brook or rill, Shall rouse thy slumbering lay ; No gentle thrill of bird, With echo's soft prelong, From brake or bower is heard, To wake thy latent song. No distant peaks arise. No sun -robed hills are seen, Nor heaven-toned skylark in the skies Floats o'er soft vales of green ; No Summer strains from leafy shades Their lingering notes diffuse. Nor murmur heard from distant glades, To wake thy slumbering muse. But in this second Babel drear The fiends of barter rule. And for the skylark's song I hear The laughter of the fool ! Then weep, oh muse ! thy harp is still ; Exiled from brook and river, These pent-up shadows, bleak and chill, Have hushed thy song forever ! DAY DREAMS. K)h, jSljMQ A ^AJMQ WHEJM I AJM {^ANE. Oh, sing a sang when I am gane, To some auld Scottish air, Around yon hamely auld hearthstane. Where I will sing nae mair. Oh, sing it on my native hills, Amang the heather bells, Or whaur the ringing mavis trills His love song in the dells. Oh, sing it in the gloaming hour, In love's deserted shrine, And wake again in yon auld bower The echoes of lang syne. Oh, sing a sang when I am gane, To some auld Scottish air, Around yon hamely auld hearthstane. Where voices sing nae mair. jIloLU/VlBIA. Columbia, dean child of the ages, thou Hast much to reckon with the age to be : lyong ma}^ the crown of justice wreath thy brow — Right not might, the standard on each prow That bears thy starry flag from sea to sea ; Nor cancerous env}" warp thy native power, Nor craven bluster e'er bequeath its dower, But as thine eagle, may thy heart be free ! DAY DREAM S. IjVIITATIOJM of ^ROWNIjMQ. No, this is not a song — not by any means ; No, nor a sermon, if you come to that ; So, friend, use your ears ; say it is — what ? — A salad of wit, or a hotch-potch of greens, Or a half-hour wasted in chat ? Come, let us move up to the grate. While I hand you this old arm chair: 'Tis cold when minus our hair. If we have not a rag on our pate — A theorem we needn't debate. Heavens ! how the sash rattles ! hear the snow Beating a tattoo of death on the bars. And hiding the moon and the stars. 'Tis not a night to have the fire low; No, sir — the thought of it jars ! How it blusters and roars, like voices Howling in the chimney, as if the dead Had come out of their graves to invade The house and harrow us with their voices — (Just touch the bell there for the maid !) Thanks ; this is the birthday of my daughter ; 'Tis her twentieth year at midnight : I remember she came in moonlight — (Yes, Janet, a little hot water — That's the gin standing next to your right !) DAY DREAMS. Drink hearty ! I like to remember Those milestones of time as we go, For life has its ebb and its flow, And that memorable night in December lyooms up from the long, long ago. You know time is naught but a notion — A mere figure of speech, nothing more ; For suppose we were dead as a door, And minus the sense of emotion, Could we tell number one from a score? Or suppose that this thing called our planet Were nothing but ocean and land, The terra being principally sand, With no living mortal upon it, And no rules of arithmetic at hand — Could time, with life unrelated. Know a month or a week or a day? — Imagine a cycle of clay. And you see the whole thing as debated ; — Do you master my logic, I pray? Reducto ad absurdum, a fable — A something in nothing, don't you see, That this moment is all that can be; — (Will you please to move up to the table, And try this last mixture with me ?) lO DAY DREAMS. 'pw^hh I JN[0 floRE? And shall I tread no more my native hills, Nor hear again the music of its dells, Nor catch the soft refrain of Sabbath bells, Nor drink at noon the freshness of its rills? Shall I no more, when Summer hours are long, Dream o'er the shadows of the misty lea, Nor watch the wonder of the distant sea, Nor hear again the ringing skylark's song? Shall I no more in gloaming's fading light listen the echoes from the vales below, Nor watch the sinking sunset's latest glow, Fade 'neath the curtain of imperial night ? Shall I no more where mountain wilds are free Feel the pulsations of the Summer air, As if the soul of Nature lingered there, And voices of creation spoke with me? Shall I no more from aerial heights untrod, See the deep vision of the age to be. When all shall know the Man of Galilee, And every creed the one eternal God ? Shall I no more feel love's impassioned strife Thrill the wild pulses of my longing youth? Or shall the atheist's dictum be the truth, And every hope and purpose end with life? BAY DREAMS. A/yHAUR ^Y ^yVlJM La&31E JwELL^. The heather grows around the knowes, Abune the ferny dells, And a' alane there stands the hame Whaur my ain lassie dwells. And buds o' blue and thistle too, A' mixed wi' dead man's bells, Are blooming round the auld stane wa's Whaur my ain lassie dwells. There's naething there, frae kirk or fair, To draw your city swells. But a' around is bleak and bare Whaur my ain lassie dwells. But though its thack is auld and black, The reeking chimney tells There's kindly mirth around the hearth Whaur my ain lassie dwells. Let city lairds deck oot their yairds Wi' grots o' auld sea shells, Gie me the wale o' guid green kail Whaur my ain lassie dwells. And let cauld hearts in crowded marts Seek gowd in gambling hells, The gold for me shall ever be Whaur my ain lassie dwells ! 12 DAY DREAMS. JHa, JSa, Johnnie J^ad. Na, na, Johnnie lad, Ye maunna think o' me ; Na, na, Johnnie lad. The thing can never be ! Na, na, Johnnie lad. Although my heart is free, I ken it weel, my bonnie lad. We never could agree ! Na, na, Johnnie lad, They've yet to plant the tree That has to grow the green, green wud, To build a hoose for me ! Na, na, Johnnie lad, So dinna bother me. But gae your gate, my bonnie lad, And leave me here to dee ! ^EDITATIOJM. When the weary earth is sleeping. And the solemn winds are sighing, And fond watching eyes are weeping Where their stricken loves are dying, 'Tis then I speed on Fancy's wings And fleet away from human strife, To ponder o'er these solemn things, That show the awful depths of life. DA V DREAMS. 13 'JWA3 ^IDNIQHT. 'Twas midnight, 'twas midnight, And the city's thousands slept Beneath a thousand curtains bright : Some had gone with bosoms light. While some, alas ! had wept. Slowly woke the midnight bell. O'er the silent streets it fell, Pealing like a midnight knell, That time was watching yet. 'Twas midnight, 'twas midnight, And the silent stars looked down Over tower and attic height Where the licensed scribblers write The scandal of the town ; And the shadows, dense and long. Deepened in the alleys strong, Where the shambles rang with song Of mountebank and clown. And the echoes sent their swell Through the festering haunts of crime, Where illusion held its spell In the gambler's gilded hell, With women, mirth and wine ; And the drunkard's oath profane. Reeking from his maddened brain, Where the sons of Satan reign, Amidst their tinsel slime. 14 DA Y DREAMS. And the echoes still repeating, With their deep, ominous roll, Where the pulse of death was beating, And the eyes of love were weeping For some swift departing soul ; And the felon heard his knell In his death-enshrouded cell, Where it seemed, with deepening swell To roll from pole to pole. And the watcher heard its chime Where the self-destroyed lay, I^ike a trumpet sound of time Wailing out its dismal rhyme O'er that thing of clay- Over shrouded mounds of death Till it rung its iron breath, As if pealing o'er the earth The dawn of judgment day. 'Twas midnight, 'twas midnight, And the car of Time rolled on O'er the attic's giddy height. Where beneath the taper light A woman watched alone : Pale and hollow was her cheek. And her eyes were sunk and meek. While her pulse beat faint and weak Through hands of skin and bone. DA Y DREAMS. 15 And the fireless hearth was cold In that wretched attic cell, Where with faded locks of gold, Dreaming of the da3^s of old. She heard that midnight bell — Heard out from the spectre trees. Floating on the midnight breeze Like an anthem from the seas, Songs of her native dell. And she dreamt of scenes of childhood. When her skies were cloudless blue — Dreamt of where the rustic stile stood And the path through brake and wild wood. Where the flowers of childhood grew : And she heard the copses ringing, Where her native birds were singing, While her youthful feet were springing O'er the meads of silver dew. And she felt her pulses beating 'Neath the twilight's trysting tree, Heard the tempter's lips repeating, While her dreaming eyes were weeping For that promise ne'er to be : And she dreamt of hope and gladness, Smiling in her dream of sadness, Till she wakes to want and madness In that home of misery ; — l6 DA Y DREAMS. Woke to feel that life was fading With the taper's dying ray, While the mist of death was shading, All the powers of life invading, As sensation passed away ; But as sunlight brings the morrow When the shades of night decay, So this soul of sin and sorrow Passed on to eternal day ! Soft the breath of dawn is sighing Through the broken window bars, And the shadows there are dying Where a thing of clay is lying 'Neath the silent morning stars : There they found her where she perished In that dreary attic cell, But the name or love she cherished Not a line was found to tell. 'Tis midnight, 'tis midnight, And its central hour has pealed, Ringing outwards 'neath the starlight O'er yon ghastly Potter's Field ; O'er the nameless mounds it lingers lyike a death song midst the gloom, Where no feet nor loving fingers Wait to deck that nameless tomb ! DA V DREAMS. IJ Jhe ^ecojmd Jeluqe. 'Tis said, by those who ought to know, That some day hence the ice and snow Gathering round the southern pole Will produce a sudden squall, Canting this terrestrial ball So the ocean floods will roll. Sinking nations in their sweep Perhaps a thousand fathoms deep. And drowning every living soul ! 'Tis a horrid declaration, This destruction of creation ; Yet it seems as plain to me As a question in addition. Simple in its definition As the rule of two and three — If preponderance you venture. To outweigh the axis centre, Then you must cant up the sea ! Then the ocean, as you know. Over all the land must flow, lyike a blizzard from the sky ; Thus the continents must sink Quicker than an eye may wink. While the helpless millions die. 'Tis an awful consummation, This, the sequel of creation — Yet it may not be a lie ! l8 DA V DREAMS. If you wish the theme to grapple, Let us test it with an apple : — First, we run a needle through, One end here, the other there, So the ball is balanced fair ; Now, if gravitation's true, Take the balance from the pole And you must upset the whole. I can see it ; cannot you ? Certain, then, is our destruction. As a natural deduction : If we cannot live in water, And the land goes 'neath the sea. What becomes of you and me But to perish in the slaughter. Buried deep, without a casket? Not a chance for Moses' basket, Or a second Pharaoh's daughter ! Now, 3^ou may propound the query. Whence this scientific theory? Has it not been spoken higher That the final end should be. Of the mountains and the sea, With a flood of molten fire ? When the final morning came All the dead would rise again ? — Tell me, then, who is the liar? BAV DREAMS. 19 If the first of these be nigh, What a fate for you and I ! — Standing here upon the brink When the flood of ocean comes Like a foe with mufiled drums, And the quaking mountains sink. Quicker than the lightning flash Comes the ruin, wreck and crash. Ere a soul has time to think ! What a fearful desolation Must befall this mighty nation, All its greatness gone, alas ! What a horrid state of things ! — End of democratic rings ; Not a demagogic ass Left to run the boodle poker, Not a Grover or a Croker — Reformation gone to grass ! Will the mother clasp her child. When that scene of terror wild Rings with earth's destructive knell ? Will the parting throb be less In the lover's last caress, In that hurried, wild farewell ? Will the miser clutch his gold. Or the bigot's beads be told, In that awful hour of hell ? 20 DAY DREAMS. Here's a nut for those to crack Who are ever on the rack Preaching faith instead of deeds Searching in the dust of ages, While the human battle rages, Reaping only wealth of weeds ; Building up a second Babel, While the brainless bigots cavil O'er the rubbish of the creeds ! Tell me, fathers, can it be True, this theory of the sea ? Can the race be nearly run, Promise of millenniiim day, lyike a vapor, passed away, Ere the promised goal is won ? Shall this great terrestrial ball Perish in a sudden squall, Like a bubble in the sun ? 7^ Yhouqht. Most things we hear and see only differ in degree ; Thus the gleeful frog, in his cheerless bog. Croaking his note from his tuneless throat. In response to his being, is true to the All-Seeing As the sweet prelong of the skylark's song, As it gladdens the sun when the zenith is won. Or the eagle's call from his cloud-capped wall, Or the soft-toned wail of the nightingale. DAYDREAMS. 21 ^GOTLAND ]^0I^EVZ:R ! Scotland, my native land, Still true to thee, I tender my heart and hand. Land of the free ; And while my heart shall beat Or my pulses quiver, Still shall my lips repeat, Scotland forever ! Long may your rocky glens Ring out the jubilee. Out from your rocky bens And onward to the sea ! Land of the misty dells, Mountain and river. Land of free Sabbath bells, Scotland forever ! Never may the foeman's feet Tread your happy shore. While your hardy sons repeat, Onward evermore ! And where'er your sons may die, Where the squadrons sever. Still ring out the battle cry, Scotland forever ! 22 DAY DREAMS. And the coming ages bringing Grander deeds to crown your page, Down your peaceful valleys ringing Onward to the golden age. lyand of the heather bell, Mountain and river, Land where the eagles dwell, Scotland forever ! Jhe ^PARROW. I like to see the sparrow trip Across my window sill. And watch the little fellow tip His toilet with his bill. I love to hear his chirrup call Beneath the morning sky. And see him watching on the wall To breakfast on a fly. I learn a lesson from his life — To hate all human greed, The folly of ambition's strife. The little that I need. God help the wretch, with instincts mean. Who fills a sphere so narrow, Who bows before the Nazarene, And yet would starve a sparrow ! DAY DREAMS. 23 j^ARPHIJM, The wind blaws cauld frae Norman's Law, The woods are blae and thin, And a' the hills are white wi' snaw That lies around Carphin. The heather hills are bleak and bare, The glens a' wrapped in gloom. And weary linties sing nae mair Amang the yellow broom. There's silence on the Emley Hill, Where youth's fond echoes rang. And lilac bowers are hushed and still, Where once the mavis sang. My native ha' is cauld and hoar. Where raging tempests blow. And round its hearth is heard no more The songs of long ago. And silent glade, and brake and bower By winter blasts are torn, Where Fate has ta'en love's early flower And left the leafless thorn. The Spring again will deck the lea, Whaur wimpling burnies rin. But Spring will bring nae mair to me The voices of Carphin. 24 DAYDREAMS. yVwy\KE, flv JaOVE ! Awake, my love ! the morning wakes, The dawn is on the sea. And from afar The morning star Sends greeting, love, to thee. Awake, my love ! pale night awaits To shake his mantle free, And in the east Aurora's feast Is waiting, love, for thee. Awake, my love ! the flowers await Thy footsteps on the lea, And crystal brooks, In shady nooks, Are murmuring, love, for thee. Awake, my love ! the brake resounds With song of bird and bee. And dewy bells, In leafy dells, Fill nectar cups for thee. Awake, my love ! awake ! awake ! The dawn is on the sea. And on the shore The waves encore lyOve's morning song for thee. DAY DREAMS. 25 ^ ^ojsfQ OF Jersey ^hore. Let me sing a song of my dead young love, That sleeps by the Jersey shore ; Let me sing a song of my dead lost love, That will sing with me no more ; Let me look again at the setting sun, From the strand where we sat together ; Let me hear the song of the autumn woods, For my love is still forever. Let me see the stars come out again. And the moon come up from the sea ; Let me see the sails of the distant ships, For my love is lost to me ; Let me hear the peal of Summer bells, That cheered us long ago, And sit alone on the silver sand, Where my loved one sleeps below. Let me gather there, on that lonely shore, The treasures of the sea. And weave again, with silver shells, A lover's wreath for thee ; There let me sing our bridal song. Where the breakers wild encore. Till I lie down to rest with thee On Jersey's silver shore. 26 BAY DREAMS. JaEAVE^. Drop ! drop ! drop ! Oh, silent, fading leaves ; Drop ! drop ! drop ! In valley, dell and grot, Oh, leaves. Here, falling one by one, There drooping twos and threes, Symbolical of man As thy brief season ran, Oh, leaves. We tremble as you fall In the sighing autumn breeze, By brake and moss-clad wall, Like dying Nature's pall, Sad leaves. How green on every stem, Upon the summer trees ; How like the race of men. Laughing in brake and fen. Green leaves. And in the morning air, The green-clad forest heaves. Through meads and valleys fair, In myriads everywhere, Green leaves. DAY DREAMS. 27 But hear the passing moan Among the winter trees, Like Nature's requiem song For generations gone, Of leaves. And the biting winds shall pass Where the silent brooklets freeze, L/ike human hopes — alas ! As you moulder in the grass, Sad leaves. But the breath of Spring shall come. With its life-restoring breeze, And the crystal brooks shall run, And the forest hide the sun With leaves. And again, on every stem, Upon the Summer trees, You'll laugh in brake and fen, lyike another race of men, Green leaves. Thus as the seasons pass. Poor, weary man perceives That soon he, too, alas ! Must moulder 'neath the grass, lyike the leaves. 28 DAY DREAMS. ]^AIf\ i^ELJVlAF^-BY-THE-^EA. I've stood upon the bounding deck Where ocean's tempests roar, And heard the Arctic thunders break On Greenland's icy shore ; I've watched the golden sunset gleam Across the tropic lea, But the greenest spot on memory's dream Is Belmar-by-the-Sea. I've roamed alone through pathless glades, Where Indian skies are clear, And heard the song of her dusky maids, In the vales of fair Cashmere, And dreamed where echo still enfolds The Arabian maiden's glee ; But the fairest scene that memory holds Is Belmar-by-the-Sea. I've heard the curfew fading still On gloaming's soft decay, And heard the flute-toned bulbul thrill The wilds of far Cathay ; But sweeter than the wildbird's note. Fond fancy turns to thee, The gem of memories unforgot — Fair Belmar-by-the-Sea. DA V DREAMS. 29 Farewell, sweet vision of a dream, I can forget thee never, For I shall love what thou hast been Forever and forever ! The hours may come, the years may go. All other ties to sever, Bui I shall love thee, weal or woe, Forever and forever ! Where'er I roam, by land or sea, By mountain, brake, or river, My weary soul will turn to thee Forever and forever ! My maddened brain wdth fever's chill On reason's brink may quiver, But thou shall be my idol still, Forever and forever ! For thou hast been life's sweetest dream, lyOve's wildest, briefest fever ; But all is past (that might have been). Forever and forever ! Farewell, sweet vision of a day, I can forget thee never ; All other memories may decay, But thine shall be forever ! 30 DA Y DREAMS. yV ]^RAQ)V1ENT. The tide is high, the moon is low, The sea breaks on the shore, And soon from me my love must go To where the billows roar. The strain is on the cable chain. The sails are flapping free ; When shall the winds waft back again My sailor lad to me? The watch has struck the midnight bell. His bark bounds onward, free ; Above the storm I send farewell. Oh, sailor lad, to thee. The morning breaks beyond the bar, No sail is on the sea, But still, beneath the morning star, She waits, alone, for thee. The tide is low, the cliffs are sad. No sail is on the sea ; Beneath the sand, oh, sailor lad. She waits, alone, for thee. DA V DREAMS. ^I JhE ^ULD j<^IRK YaI^D, I remember it still, the auld kirk 3^ard, With its circling walls, where the weary are laid. And the rude old gate, aye locked and barred, That only opened for the dead ; And the roofless kirk, where ivy empalls The grass-grown mounds and the crumbling walls. And the tablets rude, and the moss-covered stones, With their mouldering dates of long ago, And the pillared slabs, with skulls and bones, That roofed the graves of the dead below ; And the bulging roots of the ancient trees. That moaned their requiem in the breeze. Oh, shrouded mound, but an acre wide, That blinks alone on that desolate lea ; Oh, roofless kirk, while centuries glide, What sacred dust you hold for me ! What voices hushed in your voiceless air, What forms at rest, what memories there ! And centuries come, and centuries go. And age after age in your dust are laid. And the flowerless grass on your mounds shall grow. Where the living shall come to bury the dead ; And the sire and the son rest under the sod, The rich and the poor, in this acre of God. 32 DA V DREAMS. ]^'are Jhee ¥/ell ! Fare thee well, land of my childhood, Rocky glen and flowery dell, Mountain, valley, brake and wildwood, Scenes of childhood, fare thee well ! Swift my lonely bark is stealing Where the midnight winds shall sigh, And to-morrow's dawn revealing Naught to me but sea and sky. Still farewell to vale and mountain, Yellow broom and heather bell, Wimpling brook and crystal fountain. To each, to all, a last farewell ! Still for me my love is waiting Where the twilight shades decay, And my native bowers are shaking With the pulse of closing day. Still my native bells are ringing Far beyond the harbor bar, Where the nightingale is singing lyonely to the evening star. Dreaming on my heaving pillow, I can hear our parting knell. Ringing louder than the billow ; lyand of childhood, fare thee well ! DAY DREAMS. 33 ^ Question. Reader, have you ever made Any measure of the tears, Ever reckoned up the dead Of one hundred years? — Ever for a moment thought, Ever held your breath. Counting up the myriads brought To the gates of death ? Three times all the sons of men lyive and pass away ; Thrice in ninety years and ten All the human race are clay ; Fallen like the swaths of corn, Changed to dust each living face : Who shall name the host unborn That must come to fill their place? Think, one hundred years to-day — Oh ! thoughtless sons of mirth ! — Not one living son of clay Will be on this earth. Every man and every maid, Wrinkled age and youthful bloom, lyike the forest leaves, are laid In one universal tomb. 34 DAYDREAMS. Onward moves the ebb and flow, Ever was, and still shall be ; Generations come and go Like the billows of the sea. Billions, countless as the sand On the ocean-beaten shore, Coming from the silent land, Follow those that went before. Perish creeds of ancient pages ; Who will rend the prison bars ? Light the sons of coming ages With an echo from the stars? Not a whisper hath been given Tangible for human needs, Buried all the light of heaven 'Neath the dust of human creeds. Would the Author of creation Make our shrouded visions clear, With an .honest demonstration That our reason could revere ; Then each heart might be an altar, Thrilling with the trumpet blast ; Then our footsteps might not falter In the moonlights of the past. DAY DREAMS. 35 Then the future might restore us Brotherhood, for human strife, And the pathway stretch before us Onward to the gates of life. Then the tomb might lose its sorrow, As the shadows pass away ; Death, the twilight of to-morrow. Breaking in eternal day. Stretch the pathway on before us, Haste the ages yet to be. When one universal chorus Rings the song of Galilee ! ]^ORQET JhEE. Forget thee ? Yes, when seas run dry And the living sun shall die ; When the waves shall break no more On the ocean-beaten shore ; When the stars shall lose their light, And no moon shall cheer the night ; When the songs of life are still ; Dead, the fountain and the rill ; Dead, the forest and the vales ; Dead, the green-robed, summer dales ; Withered, every bud and flower ; Stilled, the tempest and the shower ; Nothing left of earth or sea — Then I have forgotten thee. 36 DAY DREAMS. pROFIT yVJSfD Ja0^3. If your purpose in life be pelf, Then 'midst its strife, I^et your motto in life Be— self; Or in other words, I say, Boy or man, Be your calling what it may, Remember, night and day. First, Number One ! And in dealing with another, I^et every transaction, Although it be your brother, Or even your mother, Bring you a fraction ! And always remember That, selling or buying, In June or December, Borrow or lender. There's money in lying ! And keep it in view, As a text from the school. That in dealing with you. The profits of two Is ever your rule ! DAY DREAMS. 37 And at kirk or fair Still the motto maintain, Fasting or prayer, Remember it there, A purpose to gain ; And never neglect, Be it partial or whole, To temper your spec So it stiffens your neck And narrows your soul ! And when they have weighed Your profit and loss, And your balance is laid In the vaults of the dead, With a cross, Let the writing be clear. That mouldering here Is the dross ! ^ ^EJVIORY. Over New England hills. Over valley and lea. Up from the brooks and the rills Fond echoes are calling to me 38 DAY DREAMS. Out from the brakes and the bowers, Over the summer-robed dells, Out through the long summer hours, I hear the low village bells. Oh ! soul of memorial days ! Oh ! song of the bluebird and bee ! Like a dream in the summer blue haze The cottage of Mary I see ; Still see the white garden wall, And the porch where the jessamine blows. And the roof that o'ershadows them all, With its smoke as it heavenward goes. I stand by the old apple tree, I wait as I waited of yore. And I listen, dear Mary, for thee, For the feet that are coming no more. There is life in the leafless woods. Where the death shroud of winter hath lain ; There is life in the deep solitudes. That comes with the summer again. But the flowers that I cherished are dead, And the dreams that were never to be, Like the leaves of the forest, are laid In the dust, forever, with thee. DAY DREAMS. 39 I jCen ^E ]4oo3e. I ken a hoose, ae story high, That stands among the hills, It has nae shelter but the sky, Nae music but the rills. Nor spreading porch, nor trellis bars, To hide its wa's sae bare, Whaur it has stood beneath the stars A hundred years or mair. The summers go, the winters come, Wi' rain, and drift, and snaw. And shakes the dockens round the lum, Abune its thack of straw. Its sturd}^ door is bleached and gray, Whaur mony a storm has beat. And its auld hallant floor of clay Is worn wi' weary feet. And through its winnocks bent and thrawn, Atween its auld gray stanes. Has come the licht o' mony a dawn, In through its wrinkled panes. And round its broken auld hearthstane, Noo green wi' grass and sod, Auld heads hae bent (lang dead and gane) To praise their father's God. 40 DA Y DREAMS. And grander than the micht of kings, In that wee but-and-ben, Guid trusty mithers raised their weans, Wha died ^uid honest men. And mony a head has gaen to rust, With neither slab nor urn, Could trace its record frae the dust That sleeps on Bannockburn. The king may get his ain again In that guid time to be, But he'll be king wha has the brain, When RIGHT is chivalry. It's no' the palace or the ha' That's gi'en the world its men ; The grandest chields the world e'er saw First toddled but-and-ben. And roofless kirks, whaur martyrs lie, Though storms gae whistling through, Hae sealed a record in the sky Cathedrals never knew. And though the richt may yield to micht, When there seems nae appeal. The soul of things will aye be richt In spite of Pope or deil. DA Y DREAMS. And though some doubters bay the moon, While creeds and reason jars, The plumb of God hangs even doon. Eternal as the stars. It's been weel said, that beauty bides Nae deeper than the skin. That mony a scarlet mantle hides The fires of hell within. There's mony a wretch wha owns a mine Gaes crawling to his grave. Who, measured by the rule divine. Is viler than a slave. And some are clothed in raiment white Wha fill the bigot's roll, Wad rob the widow of her mite Or sell his brither's soul! It's no' this age of braggarts vain, Of demagogues and sham. Will raise earth to a higher plane Or bring the promised man. It's no' the sneaking, crawling saint. Whose stock in trade is hell, Wha think, when groping brithers faint. The only licht's himsel'. 41 42 DAY DREAMS. Nor is it pith o' learning rare, Nor tomes in college hall ; The honest widow's humble prayer Is grander than them all! It's no' the self-conceited crank, That microbe of the devil. Whose skull is but an empty tank, Half stuffed wi' dirt and drivel. His daily food newspaper slang, The gossips of the gutter. His dream that naething can be wrang That scribbling demons utter. God help us ere the deluge comes Frae Satan's latest hoax, That epidemic of the slums, The reeking ballot-box ! , And save the nations ear' and late From vile pollution's pool. And keep us from the Carron State, Where brazen blacksruards rule. DAY DREAMS. 43 I JaOVE THE JoAJMD OF f LOUDY ^KIE^. I love the land of cloudy skies, Of mountain, vale and lea. Whose ocean-beaten wall defies The thunders of the sea. I love the shades where lovers meet, When gloaming hours are long, And where the rustic bowers repeat The blackbird's evening song. I love the land of purple hills, Whose rugged cliffs are free. And silent glens, where mountain rills Steal onward to the sea. I love the land whaur Unties sang Frae New Year's day till Yule, And whaur the wimpling burnies ran, Whaur I went to the schule. I love the land whose auld kirk bells Peal forth the Sabbath morn. And thrills the peaceful village dells, Where freedom's sons were born. I^et others sing of green-robed vales, Kissed by the tropic sea, Wi' myrtle groves, and spicy gales, Auld Scotland yet for me ! 44 DAY DREAMS. ^/i^T AND ^F^E^EjMT. PART I. A silent isle lay in the sea — A gem from Nature's God — And on its sands the waves broke free, Where never foot had trod. No home of beast or bird was there, On that lone speck of green, Nor sound to thrill the silent air Where never life had been. The passing ages rolled away, The surf broke o'er its bars ; But still the lonely islet lay 'Neath sun, and moon, and stars. No passing wing, no sail or speck, As Time's slow currents ran. Nor fragment there of drifting wreck Gave evidence of man. No gilded pomp of war's array, Nor iron bonds of toil, As day repeated yesterday Upon that silent isle. DAY D R EA MS. 45 No tropic heat or Arctic snow Its green-robed valleys knew, As o'er its verdure soft and low Earth's fairest breezes blew ; And o'er its wide surrounding sea Ten thousand suns had rolled, While passing seasons crowned its lea With myriad buds of gold. Yet not a home in brake or bower Was there to pluck its bloom, Or token seen of bud or flower Of human life, or tomb ; And not a sound of evening bell E'er thrilled its sylvan shade, As dying ages moaned their knell In sea songs of the dead. PART II. The scene has changed ! Upon that shore The foot of man has trod. And in its shades are found no more The peace of Nature's God. Ten thousand sails have crossed its seas, Where commerce spreads her wings. And on the ocean-wafted breeze The iron anvil rings ; 46 DAY DREAMS. And now no more, in brake or bower, The gems of Nature smile, Where human greed and tyrant's power Has cursed this peaceful isle ; And on its meads and valley green No God-robed lillies bloom, But in the broken shades are seen The wrecks of life and tomb ; And from the mountains to the sea, Where hidden brooklets ran, The weeping silent stars can see Sad evidence of man ; And all around its silver strand, Where health-blown billows rolled, The eye can trace on every hand The lust of power and gold ; And vapors foul have curst its clime, While o'er its man-owned soil Now crowd the haunts of vice and crime, Where hopeless millions toil ; And reeking marts with clouded breath Blot out the morning stars, While frowning battlements of death lyoom o'er its coral bars ; And o'er its vales, from shore to shore, The wrecks of life are strown, And in its fragrant shades no more The soul of peace is known. DAY DREAMS. «A Y1310N. I dreamt of a dead face That glowed again with life, And radiant with the strife Of love's embrace ; I saw closed eyes Wake from that sleep of death, And health and breath Blending their dyes On that young cheek So lately cold, While lips unrolled Essayed to speak ; I saw the light Of sense again Thrilling the brain, As morning wakes from night; Or as the star That early blends, When sunset sends Its rays afar, And silver bands That held love's flowers In death's dark hours, Bursting from folded hands ; And weary feet Stirring again With life's refrain And heart's responsive beat ; 47 48 £>AV DREAMS. And from the tomb, Shaking the robes of death, Came, thrilled with life and breath, A maiden in her bloom. And on her brow A crown of gold. With this enrolled — ' ' Immortal now. ' ' And earth was thrilled With hope's eternal sun ; All mortal work was done, And life's grand dream fulfilled. And from the stars. That sunless were no more, I heard a host encore And thrill the immortal bars From shore to shore. ^^ETTEE^ THAjM <^OLD. Oh ! better than gold is a woman's heart. And her love than the miser's store ; For the tinsel of gold in an hour may depart, But the priceless wealth of a true woman's heart Is a treasure forever more. And better her love than the wreaths of fame, For these, too, may decay ; But her treasures will cheer in sorrow and pain. And the youth of her heart it will ever remain, Though her beauty has faded away. DAY DREAMS. 49 A LEGEND OF THE SCOTTISH SHORE. The castle wakes, the pennant shakes Above the turrets free, And silver clouds, in fleecy flakes, Come drifting from the sea. The shadow falls along the walls. And lights flash on the lea, And loud the sweeping sea-bird calls, As he drifts o'er the sea. The distant cliffs reflect the dawn, As white as chalk can be, While dewdrops glisten on the lawn And health blows from the sea. While birds wake in my lady's bower. Fair Margaret opes her e'e. And from the window of her tower She hails the white-capped sea. And as she gazed across the mead Her heart beat light and free ; "I'll mount," she cried, "my snow-white steed, And gallop to the sea. "Go haste, my page, and tell groom John To bring my horse to me ; I go this hour to ride alone And gallop by the sea." 50 DAY DREAMS. And as she stood arrayed in green, With tresses waving free, She seemed the model of a queen, And fresher than the sea. Now comes her steed of spotless white, A noble horse is he ; She mounted like a gallant knight. And turned him to the sea. And well she rides through brake and shaw, Then thunders o'er the lea ; The startled woodmen shout ' ' Hurrah ! ' ' As she rides to the sea. And while she held the ready reins, Her locks all waving free. The living blood leaped in her veins As she rode to the sea. The startled hare breaks from the fen, The frightened moorcocks flee. And terror hides the water-hen. As she rides to the sea. And when she turns him on the sands A willing horse is he. And needs no urging from her hands To gallop by the sea. DAY DREAMS. And swifter than a flash of light She passed the headland free ; O, stars ! it was a noble sight, As she rode by the sea ! Now b}^ the base of towering cliff, Where sea-washed caverns be. And where the weeds of ocean drift For ages from the sea ; Still onward by the rocky wall, A thing of life dashed she, And laughed to hear the eagles call As she rode by the sea. And as she passed each frowning steep And made the pebbles flee, She seemed a spirit from the deep As she rode by the sea. But at the outer bounding reef A moment still stood she, And there her joy was turned to grief On gazing at the sea ! For from the deep blue waters wide, All o'er the rock-bound lea, She saw the swift returning tide Come thundering from the sea ! 51 52 DAY DREAMS. Along the outer reef she rides To find some outlet free, But only met the rising tides That thundered from the sea. She turned again along the sands, In hope that aid might be In passing yet the rocky bands That walled her in the sea. "Oh, save me now, my noble steed ! Oh, save me. Lord !" cried she; The willing horse, with lightning speed. Dashed onward by the sea. His heated breath, like sheets of foam, Rolled from his nostrils free, And still he dashed like lightning on To save her from the sea. And though the swift returning tide Had reached his struggling knee. He still, with nostrils foaming wide, Dashed onward through the sea. The shrieking gulls, like fiends of death, Swept round them with wild glee. But still the beating of his breath Was heard above the sea. DAY DREAMS. 53 And on and on, with reeking flanks, Through seething waves dashed he, And fought to reach the distant banks And save her from the sea. The waters rose above his breast, And to his neck clung she, Yet through the foaming tide he pressed To save her from the sea. And though within his bloodshot eyes The fires of terror be. He struggles onward till he dies. To save her froui the sea. One dying leap, one dying scream, Rings on that rocky lea. And where the noble horse was seen Is nothing but the sea ! Around 3^on tower the seasons speed, But none again shall see Fair Margaret and her milk-white steed That perished in the sea. But when the tempest loud and coarse Breaks on the rocky lea, The mariner sees a spectre horse And rider on the sea. And often, by the winter hearth, Midst children's merry glee, Grandfathers tell, with bated breath, This legend of the sea. 54 DAYDREAMS. ^03E3 ^ROWN. 'Twas on a fair September day, Now twenty years ago, 'Twas afternoon, I too might say, Because the sun was low ; And I can this remember still. That all that afternoon. The arching sky, o'er vale and hill. Was clear as rosy June ; And there, among the shady dells, I roamed at will, alone. Where echo caught the village bells, With their soft semitone. The golden sunset lent its shade. No feet was there but mine, Nor human call of man nor maid In that New England clime ; Here waving fields of golden maze, There meads of emerald green, And through the distant autumn haze The village spire was seen. There once the beaver reared her young, Where now rich harvests grow, And there the red-skinned savage flung His war spear long ago ; And winding roads o'er vale and lee. Traversed by brooks and rills. Whose rugged ramparts seemed to be Coeval with the hills ; DAV DREA MS. 55 And fence and rail and rustic stile Mapped out the rock-ribbed dells Where drowsy cattle lounged awhile, And ^hook their twinkling bells ; And there, down in a tangled waste, Where cedars yet may wave, I paused in wonder, as I traced The outlines of a grave — So bare, so bleak, from tracings free, That careless feet might pass A thousand times, yet never see That shadow on the grass ; No crumbled wall, no sculpture old. No record left to show. But one rude stone, whose letters told The sleeper's name below ; But of his birth, or of his time, In hamlet, street or town, I only found this mouldering line, ' ' Here rests old Moses Brown . ' ' Oh, that my soul could fly On the wings of a summer cloud, Where no shadows shall ever enshroud The depths of the boundless sky ! Oh, to float away Beyond the sunset bars, To the home of the nameless stars. And the light of eternal day ! 56 DAY DREAMS. Jhe ^cotti^h Shepherd. The shepherd sits upon the grass, His flocks are on the hill ; The seasons come, the seasons pass, Bat he is yonder still. He has no thought of coming care, Has nought to gain or lose ; He puts no varnish on his hair, Nor polish on his shoes. He rises daily with the sun. Drinks at the fountain's rim ; The passing seasons, as they run. Bring nothing new for him. His kingdom is the mountain side. O'er paths his flocks have worn. He looks across the landscape wide To scenes where he was born. The end and purpose of his day, That purpose he fulfils ; The songs of Nature are his praise. His temples are the hills. The war of race, the hate of creeds. He seeks not to explore ; He gets the little that he needs — The mighty get no more. Who would not live the shepherd's life. And tread the paths he trod. To live removed from human strife, Alone with Nature's God ? DAY DREAMS. 57 " ^jMLY A j::;hild." " Only a child," I heard him say, Then the speaker smiled And moved away. "Only a child," said the thoughtless throng, But I musing thought, as I went along : Only a little cheek Faded and chill, Only two little feet Forever still ; Only another grave Beneath those trees, Where the grasses wave In the Autumn breeze. Only two little eyes Folded in sleep. Never to rise And never to weep ; Only a little dust To the great store. Where the myriads rust For evermore. Only a little head. Pillowed so low With the nameless dead, Where we all must go ; Only a voice hushed In its little song. And a mother crushed Through her lifelong. 58 DAY DREAMS. JalVE THE I^EPUBLIC ! lyive the Republic ! Let the words go forth From rocky Andes to the distant sea, Peal through the forests of the starry North In thunder tones, the nation shall be free ! Live the Republic ! Let the anthem ring From freedom's lips along the surf-beat shore ; Live the Republic ! Let the nations sing Among the Isles, while continents encore. Live the Republic ! Let the words ascend From mother's lips who teach the children's prayer; Live the Republic ! Let the watchman send It from the ramparts on the midnight air ; Live the Republic ! Let the thunder peal it Out from the battlements at early morn ; Live the Republic ! Let the d^dng seal it, A living legacy to hosts unborn. Live the Republic ! This the battle cry From freedom's host that charge the tyrant foe ; Live the Republic ! This the latest sigh From martyr heroes heavenward as the}^ go ; Live the Republic ! Let the words be sung Around the capstan on the iron deck ; Live the Republic ! Peals the evening gun On distant shores, where tyrant thrones may shake ; Live the Republic ! Columbia's sons, awake ! BAY DREAMS. 59 |n ^EMOF^Y of JOHJM l^EID. And thou art dead, my friend — Passed like a breath away ; While we are left to say, Is this the end ? And thou art still, great heart ! To friendship ever leal ; While we in sorrow feel Thou hast the better part. Those lips are silent now ! Thy life-long deeds remain With neither blush nor stain Upon thy brow. And hearts that loved thee well Bow 'round thy silent bier. To drop a parting tear, With one long, sad farewell. No more beneath the sun. In busy mart or street. We hear thy tireless feet ; Thy race is run. Had early fate but willed, Where feebler tongues debate In lofty halls of state, Thou mightst have thrilled ! 6o DAY DREAMS. Or worn the ermine crown, Where sculptured bronze, With lettered scroll, enthrones Deathless renown. But faultless Nature drew, With happier mold, Thy heart of gold, To honor ever true. Oh, fleeting breath, Brief as the taper light, Quenched in the starless night, Of unrelenting death ! True friend in need, Thy crown is won, Thy race is run. Beloved, lamented Rkid ! JhE ]4uNqF^Y pOLITICIAjM. I often in my anger rave, To find some definition To demonstrate that truckling knave, The hungry politician ; And wonder by what devilish plan Old Nature's law maintains A wretch to best his fellow-man, By passing brass for brains. DAY DREAMS. 6l The nauseous role of pampered kings Breeds many a loathsome flunkey ; But from this age of cliques and rings Has sprung this leprous donkey ! Can you propound, O reverend priest, When Noah first frequented His ancient boat with bird and beast, Was this wretch represented ? And tell me, ye, who underground Hath toiled with hand unwearied. If e'er his brainless skull was found In the Silurian period ? And let the student pause and think While I propound the query — If this is not the long-sought link — That proves the Darwin theory ? For certain he is part the snake — To honor's law a traitor, With all the cunning of the ape, And greed of the alligator. From withering curse of ancient creeds Let learning's light repent us, But this foul curse of Satan's needs Man's second fall hath sent us. 62 DAY DREAMS. In ruined halls of perished thrones The hungry wolf is prowling, And o'er their crumbling towers and domes The gusts of time are howling. But sadder yet the tempe.st rolls Down this proud age of culture, When on the wreck of human souls There feeds this lecherous vulture ! Oh ! silent mounds of martyr's dust, That died to save a nation, Your tombs must sink, when virtues rust In utter desolation ! With transient dreams of power and gold The demagogue may nurse us, But for our birthright, cheaply sold, The babe unborn shall curse us ! And Liberty herself may weep, While foreign knaves may scoff us, To see men on their bellies creep To lick the slime of of&ce ! There's many a knave since Adam fell Has gone to black perdition. But the meanest wretch in the vaults of hell Is the hungry politician ! DAYDREAMS. 63 Only a mite given in honest love, By humble hands, rugged and rough with toil, Only a bite, seen from the stars above, May make a weary watching angel smile. Only a school boy's dream, Wending his pathway to the village school. May be a vision of the great unseen, In mimic navies on the wayside pool. Only the sunlight, in a widow's home. Falling upon the hearth where God is praised. May grander be than gleam of gilded dome, Sparkling afar, that tyrant's power has raised. Only the humble head Of some toil martyr in the roadway slime, May be with grander, nobler crown arrayed, Than princely diadem, won through blood and crime. Only a midnight thought Born in sorrow in the attic drear. May be the soul of battles yet unfought. To change the commerce of a hemisphere. Only a mother's prayer O'er her first born, when fades the closing day, Ma3^ crown a harvest yet, more rich, more rare Than all the impassioned creeds of wild Cathay. 64 DAY DREAMS. ^/hen Jajviie ^eet3 wi' flE. The mavis sings his gloaming sang, The kye come owre the lea, And shadows frae the hills grow lang When Jamie meets wi' me. The drowsy blossoms scent the air Frae brier and hawthorn tree, And a' the sweets o' heaven are there When Jamie meets wi' me. There's silence in the coverts deep, The cushie shuts her e'e, And weary Unties gang to sleep When Jamie meets wi' me. Let gowks sing o' their summer bowers Beyond the tropic sea, Gie me auld Scotland's gloaming hours When Jamie meets wi' me. And let wee lairdies hae the bliss That land and bawbees gie — It's naething to oor honest kiss When Jamie meets wi' me. There's folk wha like the clank o' bells- We're different as can be ; For I'll hae naebody but oorsels When Jamie meets wi' me. BAY I) J? £ A MS. 65 yV JaEQEND OF Ho^L^r^ f A^TLE. ■ I will tell you a tale," said the hoary sire, As he sat in the fading light, And we hung around the blazing fire On that merry Christmas night ; While above the eaves the wind did blow The drifting flakes of the virgin snow. So the lamps were lit in the ancient hall, And the logs piled on anew In the wide old hearth, where we gathered all To hear his story through ; Then with a sigh the good old man This tale of Roslin Tower began : — 'Tis forty years now past and gone, I think, next Whitsuntide, Or thereabout, since brother John Brought home his Yankee bride ; And the guns were fired and the bells were tolled As up the lawn the carriage rolled. And there was music in the bowers. That pealed from tower and dome. And porch and pillar hung with fiowers, To bid them welcome home ; But though the scene was fair to see, The fairest flower of all was she. 66 DAY DREAMS. " And merr}^ rang the village bells From spire and turret gray, And like a harvest anthem swells To hail that marriage day ; And well the yeomen did encore When she stepped from the carriage door. " And I recall it like a dream, When she stood in the hall. And looked the model of a queen, The wonder of us all ; And how my mother kissed her there. And led her to the ancient chair. " And then was brought the vintage clear, While ancient corks were drawn. To quaff ' Our Daughter ! ' with a cheer That echoed on the lawn ; But when the loving cup she pressed, The tears were falling on her breast. " Then spoke our sire, like knight of old. And touched his ancient crest : ' We bid thee welcome to our fold, Fair daughter of the West ; And though from distant lands unknown, Thy kith and kindred are our own.' DAYDREAMS. 67 " And in the tresses of her hair He placed two heather bells : ' Long may you breathe our native air And love our rugged dells ; For though our isle hath lesser claim, Our native eagles are the same.' " And there was mirth 'neath groin and arch, With song and dance and glee ; And how my father tripped the march Was something good to see ! While ancient warriors on the wall Lent stately grandeur to it all. " And thus flew past their bridal hour, Like some brief summer tide, As fleets the bee from flower to flower, My brother and his bride, With not a shadow on their skies To dull their mirth or dim their eyes. " Through bower and brake, through coverts long, No thought their love to sever, Where linnets sang their bridal song. Forever and forever ; While at the board or on the hearth Her laugh was loudest in our mirth. 68 DAY DREAMS. " But why recall those perished days That cannot come again, But fleet across life's fading- haze Like phantoms of my brain ? Those songs are hushed, those hearts are still, And groin and arch are cold and chill. " For death was in the coming hour, When we resolved one day To see fair Roslin's ruined tower, That stood some leagues away ; But better for our house, I ween, That Roslin Tower had never been. ' ' The morn is fair ; each harnessed steed Seems eager for the fray ; No merrier group e'er crossed the Tweed Than we went forth that day — John and his bride, our cousins tall. Myself and father — six in all. " The breath of life is on the breeze, As from the heath it blows. And over all such aerial seas As only Scotland knows ; While red-tiled hamlets lent their sheen To break the dark, deep Autumn green. DAY DREAMS. 69 ' And on we speed, mile after mile, By ancient field and flood, Where every rood of freedom's soil Was bought with Scotland's blood, And where her glens, from sea to sea. Still ring the anthems of the free ! ' By broken cliff, by moss and stone. Where night's first shadows fall. And silver Bsk goes rippling on Beneath the castle wall. From hill and muir, through brake and fen, Down song-loved Scotia's noblest glen. ' We rest our steeds at hamlet low. By Roslin's red-tiled inn. And down the ringing groves we go To reach the castle grim ; Through ancient forest's hawthorn glades. Where once rode forth proud cavalcades. ' Down where the deep-pooled waters flow Beneath the rock-ribbed bands. Like ruined tomb of long ago, The roofless castle stands, And casts its shadows long and deep From turret wall and donjon keep. 70 DAYDREAMS. " We enter through the portal walls With merry marriage glee, And linger in the ruined halls Where wassail used to be, And from the fallen stair we scan The ruined tower and bartizan ; " And gaze out from the casement rude Where once, with curtains drawn, The love-lorn hooded maiden stood To watch the coming dawn, Or listened, in those days of yore, To midnight lute of troubadour. " And now the ready lunch is spread Around the moss-grown hearth, Where oft the booted warrior led The ancient Christmas mirth. And where that whispered tale was told That still is new, though time grows old. " ' Come seek and find me ! ' cries the bride, When our brief feast is o'er, And from the hall we see her glide To pass the low-arched door, And down the steps that lead below We hear her footsteps fainter grow. . DA V DREAMS. 71 " My brother stands one moment there, Our cousins laugh aside, And, passing down the turret stair, He runs to find his bride ; But hidden bride he seeks in vain — That bride was never found again ! " We follow, where the arch is low, To search the dungeons wide. And list the echoes as they go, To find the hidden bride ; But search in vain ; 'neath arch and mound All echoes die — no bride is found ! ■* My father stares, our cousins weep, My brother rends his hair. And rushes through the donjon keep In hope to find her there ; But not a speck 'neath arch or stone He found, to tell where she had gone ! ' We linger through that fatal day Till shadows grow opaque. And tear my brother John away, A raving maniac ; And when we pass the portal's gloom We know that portal is her tomb ! 72 BAY DREAMS. " One hundred days they watched that pile From early dawn till late, But not an echo crowned their toil To tell them of her fate ; But often from those dungeons barred A midnight wail of woe was heard ; " Till twenty years had rung the knell Of seasons passing round, When far below the captive's cell A skeleton was found, Where by some ancient tyrant's snare She was entombed, and perished there ! ' ' The old man ceased, the fire was low, Each speaker held his breath, And save the drifting of the snow, The hall was still as death ; But often since, at twilight's hour. We tell the tale of Roslin Tower. ^H ! JaET flE l\0AjVl! Oh ! let me roam the mountains high. Where the winds of freedom blow, Above my head the arching sky. And the misty glens below ! Oh ! let me wing my flight away To the golden gates afar, To chant the hymn of the new-born day, Beneath the morning star ! DAY DREAMS. 73 ^ARY. I see ae star hangs in the lift — The only star that decks the cary — It's waiting on this munelicht nicht To licht me owre the hills to Mary. Dark is the muir, the road is lang, And howlets scream frae yon auld tower, But there's for me a Untie' s sang Aye ringing in yon cottage bower. And though the clouds be black wi' snaw, And winds come howling frae the sea, Let howlets scream or tempest blaw, The}^ canna keep my heart frae thee. The weary flocks hae gane to rest. And mirk and dreary is the lea, But there's nae winter in the breast That's waiting in yon cot for me. And though nae stars may cheer the nicht, Nor beacons flash frae cot or ha', There's aye for me a loving licht In Mary's een, that dings them a'. Let pampered princes deck their bowers Wi' treasures rare of earth and sea, Nae monarch's gowd can steal the flowers That Mary's heart aye holds for me. 74 DAY DREAMS. ¥fHEN ^AJ^DY {JaED ^^W/^'. Gae, man, and bring yer fiddle doon, And gie yer strings a thraw, For we maun hae anither tune Bre Sandy gangs awa'. For there's mysel' and Jock McNeil, Wi' anither ane or twa, Are gaun to hae anither reel Bre Sandy gangs awa'. Tam Scott will dance the Hielan' Fling Wi' Ross and Duncan Shaw — We're gaun to mak' the rafters ring When Sandy gaes awa' ! Sae get yer fiddle tuned again, McTosh will gie's a blaw ; Guid faith ! we'll let the neebor's ken That Sandy's gaun awa' ! We'll get auld I^uckie Tamson's byre — The kirk wad be owre sma' ; Guidsakes ! they'll think the Tweed's on fire When Sandy gangs awa' ! And sae they met, ae Friday nicht, Wi' lots o' usquebae, And I can tell ye 'twas a sicht. When Sandy gaed awa' ! DA V DREAMS. 75 For miles aroun' their cronies cam', To drink and dance and jaw ; Ye needna think it was a sham, When Sandy gaed awa' ! Dumbarton Kate and comely Jean, And Betty frae the Shaw — lyOrd ! sic a nicht was never seen Since Sandy gaed awa' ! And how the}^ danced and how they sang The like I never saw ; — The very hills aroun' us rang When Sand}^ gaed awa' ! Wi' countr}^ dance, strathspey and reel. As fast's the bow could draw — I'm sure it wad hae scared the deil, When Sandy gaed awa' ! The drouthy souter left his awl. The blacksmith ceased to blaw, And tailor Robie led the ball, When Sandy gaed awa'. Auld grannies frae the Scouring-burn, Young hizzies frae Bug-ha', And e'en the Dom'nie took a turn When Sandy gaed awa'. 76 DAY DREAMS. The mune gaed doon, the morning came — They didna care a straw, But drank and capered on the same, When Sandy gaed awa'. The mid-day sun had reached its hicht — It grew to half-past twa — But still they danced wi' candle licht, Till Sandy gaed awa'. Not till the usquebae was dune. They yield to Nature's law ; They danced the soles maist aff their shoon, When Sandy gaed awa' ! There's no' a living soul that nicht Had strength to lift his paw ; Lordsake ! it was an awfu' sicht, When Sandy gaed awa' ! My story's dune ; the dance is o'er : That dance of forty-twa Has ne'er its like in Scottish lore Since Sandy gaed awa'. DAY DREAMS. 77 J.ET flE Pie I