COPYRIGHT DEKJSI-R WM. NISBET POEMS BY ISBET Partly in tHe Scottish Dialect CHICAGO: . WILLIAM NISBET 1104 West Harrison Street ^ \ti Copyright 1914, by William Nisbet FIFTEEN HUNDRED m 26 f9f4 ©CI,A376483 k4)f CONTENTS THE LOVE DIVINE PART I. Page The Shepherd 3 Malcolm 5 His Story 9 The Hermit 22 Young Love 24 The Serpent 30 The Escape 33 PART II. The Moor 36 The Conflict 44 The Fugitive 46 Grace Watson 49 The Eagle's Nest 54 PART III. The Rebel 59 Home Reflections 70 The Mountebank 72 The Afton Inn 75 Mother and Son 81 The Meeting 83 PART IV. The Conventicle 89 Intolerance 91 The Tragedy 98 The Love Divine 102 Postscript , 103 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS AND SONGS Address to George Bain 198 Address to John Auld 203 Agree, My Bairns, Agree 1 50 Alice 263 Auld Scottish Tongue, The 280 Awaiting for the Dawn 199 Away Where Praise I 59 CONTENTS Page Baby, The 214 Bachelor, The „ 152 Bamnockburn , . . 1 8& Become a Maccabee 2S8 Belated Flower. The _ 192 Big Fund Pock, The , 267 Bill Baillie. , 297 Bonnie Jean .,..,.., 262 Breeks or Kilts 1 46 Broken Package List, The , , 1 48' Brother Jim. . . , 125 Burns ;, 193 Busy Maccabee March, The , ; . . , , 285 By the Stream ... , 261 Chicago , ,...,..,. 278i Chicago FishermeB, The 1 82 Chicago Rancber, The 305 Chicago World's Fair, The 105 Chief of MacDaff.The 137 Colliers Wife, The 216 Come, Health and Joy 288 Comfort Isle. . '. 222 Coming Bliss 186 Compensation 205 Crimson Flower, The - . . 136 Cur's Plea, The 139 Dailly Water Supply, The 129 Dandy. The 259 Davie's Reform 1 60 Days are Long, The 289 Dead Butterfly. To a 124 Desire 223 Despair. To 229 D. P. Markey, To 237 Don't Worry 181 Dream. The 169 Eagle Resort 272 Echoes from the Home 134 Ehnore 164 Everybody Haud Thegither 255 Excess 202 Faithful Few, The 210 CONTENTS Page Fancy 232 Farewell to Kilkerran 144 Fields of Clover, The 269 Fiery Cross, The 167 Fool of the Boarding House, The 273 Forget Me Not 207 Geordie's Address to the Clan 143 Glide on, Happy Hour 261 Going Home 257 Gone 191 Good-Night Lullaby 256 Good We All May Do, The 168 Gowk, The 238 Granny's Tears 1 33 Hail to Clan Campbell 215 Happiness 272 Haw thorn Flower, The 226 Her Corn 152 Here's tae the Heather 2 51 Help the Fallen 142 Highway of Cement, The 233 His Mistake 153 House Cleaning 240 How Pat Rode the Goat 221 Humiliation of Apollo, The 200 Hypocrisy, To 231 Illinois 292 I'm a Maccabee 295 I'm Faur Awa' 253 In Memoriam 168 Isabel Warnock 252 It's Coming 281 Ivy Bough, The 187 1 Wear a Kilt 287 James Anderson, To 166 Jamie's Lament 236 John Buchanan, To 119 John Clumsy 247 John Greedy 243 John Hill, To 1 96 John Tamson's Hallowe'en 177 John Tender 1 49 CONTENTS Page John Windy 241 Justice 224 Kilty Band, The 245 Labor 265 Lake Geneva 1 85 Laura Jones 206 Life Seems a Joke 235 Lines to a Lily 12 7 Little Alice 174 Live in the Present 285 Lonely 187 Long Ago 283 Lost. The 212 Lost Twin, The 165 Love 271 Lover's Song 286 Maid of Coila Water, The 265 Meditation 211 Mighty Hunters, The 311 Minstrel's Farewell, The 176 Misunderstood 208 Muckle Soo 160 Mustache, A 243 My Boyhood Home 249 My Scottish Bluebell 263 Nancy Adair 274 Never Been the Same 294 New Woman, The 138 Old People's Home, The 270 Old Songs, The 27 5 On Music's Wing 204 Oot o' Wark 242 Other Days 255 Parted 145 Passing of John Buchanan 128 Pensive Evening 207 Power of the Will, The 112 Prayer vs. the Sword 194 Puppet with the String, The 217 Record Keeper, The 230 Rob Muidoch 113 Sadie 290 CONTENTS Page Science, To 223 Scottish Clans, The 162 Scottish Simmer Nicht, A 1 26 She's a' Hunky-Dorrie 282 Sidewalk Parade, The 224 Sigh of the Emigrant, The 214 Sincerity 135 Siren, The 151 Sough o' the Pump, The 213 Social Dance, The 241 "Stag," The 154 Star Studded Flag, The 277 Sulkiness 140 Summer 268 Sundrum 190 Surprise "Stag," The 308 Sweet Sixteen 269 Taming of Jim Rankin, The 218 Tam Muirhead's Farewell 239 That Old Pipe of Mine 280 Think of Me 254 To an Old House Ill Together in Death 183 Tramp's Despair, The 141 Tug-of-War, The 175 Unemployed 220 Unrequited Love 250 Voice in My Dream 264 Vulture, The 13] Waes Me, Bonnie Scotland 288 Wafted Away 277 Want's Soliloquy 120 Wee Hoose, The. .". 291 We'll Wander 256 Wee Sprig o' Heather, A. 284 We Will Stand By Our Chief 279 What Spring Has Brought 293 When Blinking Stars 293 When Mother Goes to Bed 229 Who Love Scotland 276 Winsome Nell 259 Wm. Davidson, To 246 CONTENTS Page Wm. G. Clements. To 180 Wooing of Reason, The 227 Word from a Star. A 244 You'll Seek Me Yet 266 GLOSSARY 315 THE LOVE DIVINE A TALE OF THE SCOTTISH COVENANTERS Flow gently, sweet Aflon, mnong thy ^reen braes; Flow gently, P II sing thee a song in thy praise. — Burns. Away from noise, from haunts of sin, Aw^ay from men and worldly din. Where Afton flows through winding turns. And o'er its pebbly bottom churns To froth the joyous liquid stream That dances in the sun's bright gleam. Reigns solitude, by peace caressed. By all the charms of Nature blessed, As though man's echo had not rung Among the caves, but overhung With virgin shrub, it seemed afraid Man would its sacred peace invade. On either side the rocky hills Weep silent tears through rippling rills. And answ^er back in mocking strains The feathered minstrels' w^ild refrains; Or mimicking the plaintive bleat Of lambkins, soothe them at their feet. The wind bears through the list'ning trees A sigh of sorrow on its breeze, Enlisting sympathy from flowers That hang the head in native bow^ers, And w^ith the dew^drop on the cheek They listen patiently and meek To stories of that sacred ground — ' The secret of that velvet mound Where Heaven in its mute appeals The sympathies unconscious steals, NISBET'S POEMS And weaves his net to gain control Of the emotions of the soul. Go! dull decay, your poisoned dart Can sway not here its withering art. No scathing winters can efface The sacred grandeur of this place; For when the frost is sharp and keen, The grass is ever fresh and green;- And while surrounding fields are bare This mound has Heaven's watchful care^ Whose silent guards, with jealous eye. See that no harm approaches nigh. Eternal bloom seems planted there;, A holy stillness holds the air; And onward as the river rushes. Around this spot it rippling hushes> Responsive to a high behest — Obedient to high Heaven's request. While quiet still pervades the spot. And Nature seems with sorrow fraught,, Let us its secret folds assail And hear the humble, touching tale. NISBET'S POEMS PART I. THE SHEPHERD In Afton's glen, close by a rill That flows from Black Craig's lofty hill. There stood a shepherd's humble hut Beneath the shadow of a jut Of rocks that seemed to raise their crest To shelter this secluded nest. So far removed from human ken. From blighting haunts of worldly men. No sound disturbed this wld retreat Except the lambs' pathetic bleat. Or screaming of the wild curlew As circling, soaring, high he flew; Sometimes a neighb'ring chanticleer Would break the solemn stillness here. When close approached the frow^ning storm, Then Black Craig in the mist his form Concealed, and when the thunder roared Without relent its wrath he poured Into the humble vale below, Which meekly took the stunning blow. When winter's wilting hand drew near The snow^-clad hillside, bleak and drear, Looked with compassion on the scene — A silent waste of snowy sheen. Yet Peter Watson loved the wood, The rocky hill, the solitude, And often w^ith his sheep w^ould roam Far from his cozy little home; While at his side, with easy jog. Would trot his faithful shepherd dog— And Caesar understood his call. His looks, his moods and actions all. One nod would send him through the heather To herd the wand'ring sheep together; A whistle, echoing through the glen. Brought Caesar to his feet again. NIS BET'S POEMS When grass was green on summer day&., And sultry grew the sunshine rays, Far up the hill he'd sit him down Amid the height's majestic frown. The Afton glen lay at his feet With sweet tranquility replete, And like a silver belt the stream Reflected back the sun's bright gleam,. Encircling peace within its arms. And spreading through the glen it^ charms,. While trees in every shade of green, Lent color to the happy scene; For every stroke of Nature's brush. Augmented by majestic hush. But keyed his soul to gratefulness And cleared his ej'-es to wakefulness. For peace enjoyed his soul w^ould rise- In thankful praise to the All-Wise. Here daily would arise his prayer — Here would he strive for Heaven's care^ And plead long for the Covenant cause,. For broken vows, for broken laws, For all the perpetrated ills Beyond the distant Cumnock hills. Where men were tortured, mangled, shot With fiendish pleasure on the spot, Or gladly lay their burdens down Upon the block in every town Rather than be compelled to sing The praises of a tyrant king. Or call him head of Scotland's Kirk Who stained his hands with bloody* work. He'd pray that God would shed His light And sightless souls endow^ with sight. That guilty men w^ould tire of sin And turn to God His peace to w^in. That wide the glorious Word wouH spread Till every soul its truths had read; And that the Lord would safely keep In meek humility His sheep — NISBETS POEMS His favored flock, His own elect. Whom He was teaching to expect That suffering which the great Atone While here on earth had undergone. He'd pray for Grace, his daughter, too, That to her God she would pirove true. And while the scourge went o'er the land To keep her safely in His hand. MALCOLM One Sunday morning, when the sun Began his daily course to run. When o'er the landscape beauty streamed And on the radiant river gleamed, When bees were flitting o'er the flowers, And hurnming off the happy hours. Within the hut, around the fire. Were drawn the daughter and the sire In morning worship, high to raise Their voices in Jehovah's praise. The room was small, the rafters bare, Upon the walls hung relics rare; A rusty blade, a flint-lock gun, Which, handed down from sire to son, Had long since lost their warlike sheen, Nor told the carnage they had seen; A plaque with sheep in bas-relief, Another of a highland chief. As though portraying peace and war. Were centered on the mantel bar. With candlesticks on either side Of burnished brass, their special pride. Within the roomy fireplace hung An L-shaped crane, and on it swung A pot which held the morning meal — - A sup that nurtures Scotland's weal. The floor was paved with mountain rock, The doors w^ere made of native stock. The lattice window, open flung. Upon its hinges gently swung. As healthfully the mountain air Breathed irx upon the feryeiit pair NISBET'S POEMS Who -worshiped that great heavenly Being, The Omnipresent and All-Seeing. The prayer o'er, the time-worn book With reverence on his knee he took. And solemnly began to read Of hovv^ the Lord in time of need Came to the Hebrew Pilgrims' aid, And Egypt's haughty king dismayed; How through the deep at His command They w^alked in safety to dry land; And how, with cruelty imbued. King Pharoah and his host pursued, Till in the middle of the sea, And Israel from its waters free. How God had issued His command For Moses forth to stretch his hand. And lo! the waiting, wall-like wave Engulfed them in its mammoth grave. His hands upon the book he crossed. In silent meditation lost. And o'er the careworn face there came A sunbeam from the great Love Flame That seemed to w^arm the soul of Grace. The inspiration of his face In that brief minute's verdant pause Endeared to her the sacred cause. His hand he placed on Grace's head And smoothed it, as he gravely said: "My daughter, though our foes assail. O'er God they never can prevail. Throughout the darkest shades of night His eye can pierce with searching light; And willful hearts, unmoved by care. Before His searchings are laid bare. Through seas of trying persecution He'll lead us to our retribution, And by the pillar and the cloud He'll guide our steps and will enshroud Us from the subtle, scheming foe. Whose hearts for us no mercy know. NISBET'S POEMS Poor Scotland's best and dearest blood Is shed profusely as a flood — Our dearest liberty denied, Our God and all His hosts defied; But hope surmounts the passing taunts, And lives beyond their bloody haunts; Then all our cares and fears we'll cast Into the cauldron of the past." With great solemnity and calm He read the stanzas of a Psalm, And fervantly, with measure long, Arose their simple, dual song. Old Peter merely raised the lay, Then dragged along in his own Way« Grace had a voice clear as a bell Which, from a sigh to organ swell, In modulation, at her will. She could in liquid notes distill, Till, drifting past her tongue's control. She breathed upon the air her soul. When all their cares w^ere put to flight, And, raptured with their souls' delight. Triumphant hope began to soar, A crash upon the cottage door Startled the singers to their feet And hushed their song; the lab'ring beat Of their own hearts alone betrayed That life its vital force essayed. A pallor on their faces lay; Their glances met in mute dismay. But in the gateway Caesar's growl Diminished to a plaintive how^l, And set at rest the anxious fear That enemies were lurking near. Then bidding courage to his aid Peter aside his bible laid, And causing Grace her fears restrain — To soothe her nerves to peace again — He walked tow^ard the cottage door And raised the latch, when lo! before His anxious gaze a still form lay, NISBET'S POEMS Besmeared with blood, bedaubed with clay, Apparently bereft of life — A victim of some bloody strife. The humble mien of his attire And horny hands would scarce require A passing glance at once to guess Of some poor neighbor in distress. At sight of blood old Peter quailed. And but for Grace he might have failed To raise the helpless bleeding head— But sometimes, let it here be said, In times of greatest nervous strain The weaker best their calm maintain. And Grace her agitation drowned — A calm her every eflFort crow^ned. Then with her father's help she bore The heavy burden from the door And laid it gently on a bed, As consciousness w^ithin her fled. And in a swoon she listless fell, Unable longer to dispel The sure reaction Nature serves To strained and feebly tensile nerves. A minute more, and she revived To find her father had contrived To w^ash the w^ound upon the head That on the pillow^ slowly bled, And dazed, yet conscious of the past. An earnest, searching glance she cast Upon the pale and youthful face The faintest signs of life to trace; Then seized her father by the arm And questioned him in w^ild alarm: "Say, father, does his heart still beat? Is he alive? " But to a seat He led her eie a word he spoke. Then carefully his silence broke: "My daughter, still -within his breast The spirit labors w^ith unrest; That ugly gash upon his head Well nigh enrolled him with the dead. I cannot tell what brought him here — NISBET'S POEMS It may be grief; it may be fear; But under circumstances dire Humanity and love require Our humble efforts, till at length We nurse him back to health and strength." They dressed his wound, his pillow smoothed. His fevered lips with water soothed, And w^atched him w^hen he tossed and turned. As through his veins the fever burned. HIS STORY A week wore on, and still he "lay Unconscious of the passing day. While through his frame the fever raged, And on his mind its w^arfare w^aged. He raved and talked of soulless friends. Their heartless deeds, their bitter ends. Of being hunted to the death. And then, completely out of breath With sheer exhaustion, limp his head Would lie as helpless as the dead. Both sire and daughter took their turn To cool his lips when they w^ould burn. And kept his every stir in sight. Attending him both day and night. At last the Sabbath morning came. And they were watching just the same; The sunbeams danced upon the door And flitted lightly o'er the floor. To all appearance Caesar slept. Yet consciously his vigils kept. Grace had but raised the patient's head When suddenly upon the bed He raised himself with frightened eyes And stared around in great surprise, Then gasped out wildly: "Where am I? Where are the troopers now, and why 10 NISBET'S POEMS \m I beset with signs of peace When wolves are hunting for my fleece?" "Poor boy! you well nigh joined the dead, But calm yourself," old Peter said. And we w^ill try to ease your mind By telling how^ you come to find Yourself so helpless in our care." So, jointly braced, the ardent pair Alternately began to tell Him how against the door he fell, His hair and clothing soaked with blood. His shoes and leggings thick w^ith mud. How he had raved of cruel foes, Of trials and domestic woes. He listened calmly, sad and pale. While they related in detail All that had been to him a blank Since he upon the doorstep sank. Then w^ith his fast reviving strength He told his story thus at length: "My name is Malcolm Stuart Brown, But since perfidious is the crovvn I cannot bear to hear that name. So has it lost its vaunted fame; Now call me simply Malcolm Brown — In name I'll cut the Stuart down. Betw^een the Nith and Corsen Cone Stands unpretentious and alone My father's farm, where, raised to toil. For fifteen years I've tilled the soil. And spent my happy childhood days Amid the scenes that Nith displays Within the shadow of the hill On which the clouds their dews distill. In boyhood's days, w^hen joys w^ere keen, I loved the woods, the verdure green. The joyous birds, the sumrner air; Unhampered by the weight of care, No thought had I of fear or gloom. But free as is the heather bloom That loves the wilds and solitude. My thoughts were all for freedom's good: NISBETS POEMS In frolic, when the leafy tree Displayed its robe invitingly, I roved, yet scorning to molest The feathered songster or his nest; A-berrying when the summer paled, A-nutting when the berries failed, A-fishing w^hen the w^eather might Induce the subtle fish to bite, A-gunning for destructive game, A-skating w^hen the winter came. When high arose the morning sun And daily duties had begun The mysteries of the universe In wonder w^ould my thoughts immerse, And v/hen I tried their depths to sound I found them only more profound, Until I saw^ the utmost limit Of my perception could but skim it No boundary curtailed my strolls; I wandered through the w^ooded knolls With greedy eyes and heart that yearned For lessons I from Nature learned; And often on the lone hillside I wandered v/ith a zig-zag stride Till high above the scene so fair I breathed invigorating air. Thus raised and taught in Nature's school Without a task, without a rule, I learned that harmony prevailed. Where freedom could not be assailed; And thus from boyhood's fitful stage To,^that of manhood's sober age I gifew, endorsing every plan Of freedom for my fellowman. "One dav, upon the dewy steep, In search of some poor wand'ring sheep. Upon the breeze arose the swell Of human voices from a dell In song, and hastening to the spot It was my truly happy lot To view a wondrous peaceful scene. Unmatched the distant poles between. U NISBET'S POEMS Ranged in a circle on their plaids Sat mothers, children, youthful maidsy And round the outer circle stood The men in eager, furtive mood, All gathered round the aged preacher — A hunted sage, their faithful teacher. Whose snow-white locks, -with wanton flow^, Revealed a ray of heaven's glow — Old Sandy Peden, prophet, seer. Who awed the guilty souls with fear. "As I approached the men betrayed Uneasy signs, as if afraid Of some unseen, impending ill. And stole a glance toward the hill Where stood the lookout, but no sign Gave he of troops or ill design; So their composure they resumed As love to God their souls consumed. At last the benediction came. And Peden, in Almighty's name. Blessed all with firm uplifted hand; Then o'er the undulating land They all dispersed their several ways. Buoyed on their course with psalms of praise. "1 watched them go, and none was near Except the strange, prophetic seer. Whose warnings of God's righteous ire Had filled my passive soul with fire; Then, when alone w^ith him whose power With awe had pregnant made the hour, I asked him why the people me?t To w^orship in the dewy wet. So far removed from man's abode, And w^hy so guarded in their mode Of worship, when the world was free For thought, whatever it might be. 'Have you not heard, have you not read How God is mocked and spurned?' he said; NISBETS POEMS 'How, if a man his faith portrays, Or for the cause of Heaven prays, He's hunted Uke a thieving beast, And with his death begins a feast. Thus human justice drinks and sleeps While innocence in silence weeps. But mark me: There's a day at hand When he who rules this tortured land Will so vex Heaven's w^atchful eye That he'll receive from courts on high A summons, earthly strange and brief. To answer for this time of grief. Two days ago a mother saw^ The horrors of corrupted law — ~ The handiwork of these hell hounds Whose cruel measures know no bounds. Her innocent and harmless boy. Who bubbled o'er with childish joy. Seized by the brutal, ruffian hands. And frightened by their coarse commands To tell his father's hiding place. In nervous silence hid his face. Then, w^hen no secrets could be wrung From him, they cut the little tongue Out from the root, and let him lie In bitterest agony to die. Thus is outraged the patient heart- Thus for the cause of Christ we smart, Yet reconciled to earthly loss When w^e uphold the Savior's crosso' "I stood dumfounded as he talked; Then, as I homeward slowly walked, I breathed uneasy in a realm Where no one dared to man the helm For liberty; where Nature's bent Was complaisance and sweet content. My peace w^as gone; naught could assuage The rising billows of my rage. I scorned the selfish, bigot throng Whose lives were spent to still the song Of innocents. Their only fault NISBET'S POEMS Was but their Maker to exalt As conscience taught, where duty led. Though danger hung above each head. "I reached at length my father's farm. And, dreaming not of causing harm I told my story, how that day I'd heard the people sing and pray Amid the hillside solitudes. Their sanctuary's w^alls the woods, Their roof the canopy of heaven. For liberty from churches driven; And how relentless, cruel foes, With hawk keen eyes and bloodhound nose. Pursued them to the woods and caves, And slaying them, denied them graves. I spoke my sympathy for those Who for the cause of freedom chose To be oppressed and hunted down As rebels 'gainst a rebel crown, When from her chair my mother sprang. And in my ear her venom rang. As leaps the powder from the dark When wakened by a careless spark. So did she spit her anger out: Her eyes flashed fire w^ith every shout With all invectives she could use She tried in vain to disabuse My mind of its incumbent care (For freedom still was struggling there); But w^hen she saw her w^ords w^ere vain The tears fell like the April rain; And as the Stuart cause she pleaded. It fell upon my ears unheeded. 1 could not stifle freedom's plea Within my heart, nor could I see Where she could justify the claim To shedding blood in that great Name Who loved the fettered to release, And drop on all the dews of peace. So when she termed those faithful few A stiff-necked, low^ rebellious crew. NISBETS POEMS I scarce could quell my raging heart; It seemed to tear my breast apart; But not desiring to offend My mother, still my dearest friend, I calmed the raging storm within. And tried in soothing terms to win Her back to peaceful terms and reason, But all I tried seemed out of season. Meanwhile my father spellbound stood — A man conservative in mood — And heard my unsuccessful plea por those whom tyrants forced to flee From homes and hearths to breathe the air Of freedom in their songs -and prayer; Then tried he in a neutral way To patch up peace, yet forced to say That 1 had reached the time in life When in my breast, impulsive, rife With folly's pranks, cool wisdom strained And fitful o'er my judgment reigned; That 1 had some exclusive thought Of what was right and what was not. This had no weight, no good effect. But caused her only to reflect How sad that she w^as spared by death To see her son draw rebel breath. "At last 1 left them in disgust, Without a groat, without a crust; And bidding them a curt good- by, That carried its regretful sigh, I wandered forth in dire dismay. My only thought to get away. Along the banks of Nith I strayed Where oft in childhood I had played; And as its music seemed to quell The thoughts that stirred me to rebel Against the fickle human race. And envy beasts in my disgrace, I sat beneath an old oak tree And listened to the river's glee. While dancing welcome to the sun 16 NISBET'S POEMS And flashing brightness in its run. Thoughts, happy thoughts of boyhood time, Kept flocking through my restless mind — Day of my unrestricted joy — Once more I wished myself a boy. My spirit groaned through many a sigh; I almost wished that I could die. The preacher's words burned in my soul Like eating fires of red-hot coal; To look behind or forward now Confused my troubled, aching brow. Despair began to spread its gloom And bury me within its tomb; For hours I strove to sing or pray. But nothing could I sing or say. Doubt, fear and care engrossed my mind; No other thoughts could lodgment find. When like a waking sunbeam stole A wild resolve upon my soul. At last the sun began to sink, And I still on the river's brink. No thought of shelter crossed my mind; Desire to leave my home behind Alone bestirred me to my feet. And bounding off with footsteps fleet, I followed where the river led. With nervous haste and throbbing head. Through many a farm w^hose sprouting fields Gave prospects of abundant yields. Till darkness, like a covering dropped. Then in my headlong flight I stopped, And in a barn, unused and old, I crept to shun the dewy cold. The night seemed long; I could not sleep. I tossed and turned, and tried to keep My mind upon the happy past. But clouds of gloom would overcast The prospects of my future life. And plunge me in its depths of strife. The morning came; and on I w^ent, As if on some mad impulse bent. NISBETS POEMS Till past Kirkconnel I had gone, And far behind me Corsin Cone Looked gloomy, as I onward stept, But heeding not his gloom I kept Upon my way; then hunger caused A faintness o'er me, and I paused. Seeing a farmhouse close at hand I crossed the intervening land And sought the farmer who, though gruff "Was plainly well disposed enough To listen to my simple tale, But though it was of no avail To draw his sympathy, he said Impulsiveness had turned my head, That I should rest my wearied feet Beneath his roof and then complete. My journey after I had fed If! would not return instead. He talked so kindly as I ate. That as I cleared the w^elcomed plate 1 felt encouraged at my stay, And thanked him as I took my way. "The sun rose to meridian's crown As I approached old Sanquhar town. And idle, gaping gossips glanced Suspiciously as 1 advanced. But heeding not their wond'ring stare I reached at length the old town square. Just then the sound of horses' hoofs Came echoing from the dingy roofs; And lo! a cavalcade of men Rode in from mountain, moor and glen. A fair-haired youth the vanguard led — Young Richard Cameron at its head; They formed a circle wide, complete, As two dismounted in the street — Bold Richard and his faithful brother. Who much resembled one another; The other horsemen closer drew, To see no harm should reach the two. A psalm was sung, then followed prayer, 18 NISBET'S POEMS And to the people gathered there, Mid breathless silence, Michael read A paper, which denounced as head Of church and state, the tyrant king. Whose highest aim was but to bring Affliction to the hone'st masses, And triumph to the bigot classes. It was the Sanquhar Declaration, Drawn up at Richard's instigation, Disowning fickle Charles the Second As no more w^orthy to be reckoned The king of Scotland, since he broke The covenant ceaselessly, and spoke Insultingly of that dissension. Which proved the people's just intention. When the brief paper had been read. Each placed his hat upon his head; And, fired w^ith resolution's flame Retraced the pathway as they came. Strange fascination seized on me; This mold of men I loved to see. And manhood's enervating thrill Soon made desire my stubborn w^ilf To follow them and share their fate. Although the land should boil w^ith hate For those whose royal souls refused To be with empty deeds abused. "Off on their trail I steered my course. But, being mounted all on horse. They soon outdistanced my attempt To reach them, as with clothes unkempt And eager search, I onward pressed As if of some wild power possessed. On, on I went, my guiding proofs Were but fresh marks of horses' hoofs Till tired and footsore from the chase — And now it seemed a hopeless case — I thought no longer to pursue. But looked for shelter from the dew^. The hazy veil of soft tw^ilight Began to deepen into night, And on my cheek the damp night air NISBETS POEMS 19 Brought only feelings of despair, When loJ to my supreme delight A mile away appeared a light That flickered, flared and then went out. My limbs grew strong, my heart grew stout. And on I pressed to where the light Flashed first upon my anxious sight. J had began to think 1 strayed, When close at hand a charger neighed; Soon in their midst I panting stood, Tired out and faint from want of food, And round a fire of blazing wood The men, in careless attitude. Contented supped, but seeing me They stopped at once, and I could see Suspicion in their hasty glance At my embarassed circumstance. 1 told my mission, brief and plain, But further bidding me refrain. They set before me food to eat. Then sinking on the grassy seat I supped and talked, until the moon Began to light the hillside gloom. Young Cameron, hearing how we talked Into our circle slowly walked, And bade us hush our voices low. So that our presence to the foe Be not betrayed; for since the stand At Sanquhar, all they could command Would be exerted both to find The Cameronians and their kind. I told him of my fond desire — The yearnings like consuming fire That burned my soul — to join his band. He seized me w^eirmly by the hand And thanked me for my good intent When legions were against it bent; 'But from your mind the thought dispel Of following us,' said he, 'for hell Has slipped its bloodhounds on our scent. And blood alone will bring content. 20 NISBET'S POEMS A price will on our heads be set. And he who wades in gory wet The deepest will be honored most— The hero of their drunken toast. Although outnumbered ten to one We must uphold the work begun. And save the standard of the Lord By all means, even by the sword. Prudence compels us to this course Of having each a speedy horse, In case we stumble unawares Into their crafty, deep-laid snares.' Four days I passed among the hills. In sheltering woods, by crystal rills. Leading the horses to the grass. Or trying various ways to pass Away the time. When Richard read All with attention bowed the head. And eagerly my soul would yearn The Holy Word of God to learn. " *Twas noon; the sun was overhead. And lazily the horses fed; The lapwing with his lordly crest Swooped down on us as if distressed. Then w^ith his plaintive pee- wit cry Above our heads would soar on high; In worship we had drunk the balm. Had sung the measures of a psalm. And sighed to think our harps unstrung Upon the weeping willows hung; When hark! a shriek, a whistle shrill. Re-echoed o'er the heathery hill. Each knew that dreaded wild alarm— The herald of approaching harm — And each upon his saddle flew: Delay meant torturing death, he knew. Young Cameron beckoned me to leap Behind him on his steed, and keep Close to the crupper at his back; But fearful that his horse would lack His wonted speed with such a weight, I waved him off, and left mv fate NISBETS POEMS To Him who sees the sparrow fall. Who tries the faith, yet cares for all. I hurried on, I know not w^here. Unmindful though my head was bare Through rocky gorges, ditches, rills. And shrub obstructions of the hills. Untiring in my onward flight. And praying for the cloak of night. On, as the scene but w^ilder grew^. Where mounted troops could not pursue. Till the keen pangs of thirst I felt. And at a spring I eagar knelt. Refreshed, relieved, I gazed around. Startled at every little sound. Like a wild deer upon w^hose scent The baying hounds are swiftly bent. At length I rose, prepared to go. When in the valley far below I saw a troop of mounted men In stealthy march come through the glen. They saw^ me as I rose to view. And stopped as though they would pursue. I bounded off w^ith eager haste Along the hillside's rocky w^aste. Thinking alone my life to save, . When the dark mouth of a cave Yawned to the left; w^ithin I dashed And stumbling, fell; my forehead crashed Against the sharp edge of a rock And, knocked unconscious by the shock, I must have there for hours remained; For when my senses I regained. The sun had long since hidden down And night w^as on w^ith sullen frown. Feebly, at length I staggered out Half stupified, and looked about; My head reeled and my limbs were w^eak. But help, 1 knew, was mine to seek. So seeing straggling lights somew^here. Upon my knees I sank in prayer — A hesitating, awkward plaint. That in my own ears sounded faint — NISBET'S POEMS I sought deliverance from my plight And wandered forth into the night. The drizzling rain fell in my face And slow, laborious, made my pace; But on I struggled, till my strength Began to fail me, and at length Through sheer exhaustion, down I sank Upon a rain-soaked grassy bahk. When I revived the morn w^as gray; The night and rain had passed away And close at hand, with glad surprise The smoke from this hut caught my eyes; Renewing effort, on I pressed. And reached it — but you know the rest." Exhausted with his tale, at length Tired nature overcame his strength. And while in sympathy they wept. Fatigued and weak he soundly slept. THE HERMIT Where Afton in its infant play Runs bubbling, sparkling, on its way. And where tired Nature goes to sleep. While lofty hills their vigils keep. All solitary and alone Rests the wild hermit on a stone. Impatient with the human race. Avoiding every human trace To be alone, he dreams and raves. While Afton with compassion laves The rock on which he often stands; And when those thin and ghostly hands Are raised above the shallow stream. And the wild spirits of his dream Are stirring up the fires within The stream, to soothe discordant din. Sings to his soul a lullaby That stills his strange, prophetic cry. See how he stands with hands out- stretched Where ruggedly the moon is sketched Upon the water, and his hair NISBETS POEVIS 23 Is lorg, unkempt, unknown to caire. Hear the strange sounds that o'er his Up In guttural bursts of passion slip. The spell is gone; he pants for breath, His raving tongue now still as death; And, weakened by his load of care, He seeks again his mountain lair. Why shuns he thus the haunts of men? Why courts the silence of the glen When Nature wills that man should find A kindred comfort in his kind? And w^hy the fitful storms of rage That shrinks his vital force with age? Has epilepsy's cursed blight Reduced him to this sorry plight? How^ came he there? From w^hence came he? Where are his friends, if such there be? Perhaps despoiled of home he fled To parts unknown and mourned as dead; Perhaps affliction beyond season Bereft him partly of his reason. Care, sometimes like a cancer growth. Makes all our best ideas froth. And undermines our good resolves, Thus lowers all that life involves. What once infused us with delight Then seems distasteful to our sight; Affliction's stab may leave a scar That all our future life may mar. Some hardy natures shed the taint And soar triumphant like a saint Which sensatives can not dispe^ But morbid, droop to shades of hell. No one could tell whence came this man — A nondescript — a half-formed plan In human guise; for in his eye A steadfast purpose seemed to lie Of shunning men as night shuns day, And raving as a maniac may. 24 NISBET'S POEMS In days gone by an inane cry Was vaguely read as prophecy. For agents of the unknown world The future cautiously unfurled Through medium of an unhinged mind, To its importance strangely blind. Thus aimless, nameless, minus friends, A living death — description ends. A question asked his secret spurns. Unanswered echoing back returns. YOUNG LOVE The morning wakes as night's dull shade Retreats, and all its shadows fade; Effulgence takes the place of gloom, And day arises from her tomb. Like bridegroom, parted from his bride, Who smiles her welcome to his side, The sun, as flowers their dews distil, Shocts forth his rays behind the hill. And wakes the birds to life and song. The beetles, bees and insect throng Each, as instinctive habit guides Into its daily orbit glides. The drooping branches raise their leaves; The slumbering earth with pleasure heaves Recuperation's restful yawn At welcomed day's unrivaled dawn. Through ferny glades, along the stream. As Nature w^akens from her dream, Past many a bower of dewy beads, Grace carefully her patient leads. To breathe the healthful mountain air. And see the joys of morning fair. The fever's scourge had left him weak, Had dulled his eye and paled his cheek, And o'er his brow maturing care Had left its imprint plainly there. Long had the thought engrossed his mind Of whither duty, groping blind, NISBET'S POEMS 25 Was leading him; amid the maze His path was lost in doubtful haze The shepherd's trustful, simple life, Unmarked by discontent and strife, Was his ideal, and their ways Evoked within him silent praise, And drew them closer in a bond Of friendship mutually fond. In conversation round the fire. Where varied themes the tongue inspire. It chanced to Malcolm's lips there came The mention of his mother's name, When Peter closer to him drew And strangely interested grew. Inquiry but convinced him more That he had known her once before, in younger days, when Queen of May He saw her first; that sunny day When he had saved her from the river Seemed branded on his mind forever. Thus, like a rediscovered friend. Their confidences knew no end. Like magnet that attracts the steel As smiles and sighs would not conceal, Malcolm and Grace, in friendship's course. Attracted by a subtler force. Were often seen together then Along the walks of Afton Glen. One morning, in their daily ramble Through hazel grove and thorny bram- ble. Their conversation turned on man. His mission here, and Nature's plan To make him happy and content Beyond compulsion's government. "Malcolm," said she, "how wondrous fair The morning is, how free the air; And o'er the stretch of Nature's realm No despot stands to man the helm; But beasts and insects, even birds. NISBET'S POEMS In actions, louder than mere words, Portray their talents at the best When in the garb of freedom dressed; They even pine with every care When banished from, their native air. In haunts their instincts freely sought The elements disturb them not; No ruffian hand to check the tide Of their trancendent, hopeful pride; No curb to stem their wild outflow. No chain to bind where'er they go. Untrammeled as the summer, Their sphere is here and everywhere; And every willing breath they draw Is sanctioned by God-given law. We creatures of God's special care, Who His majestic image bear. With light and reason well endowed. With freedom bounteously allowed, Cannot enjoy our lives like they; But spend the minute, hour and day. Oppressing, crushing those w^ho choose To differ slightly from our views. The mighty God of our creation Who planned our wonderful salvat'on. Can see our w^eakness, mark our siii. With every day He ushers in. What great long-suffering He possesses To see us in our wild excesses. When one small gesture of His hand j Could wipe us mortals from the land. The robes that show sepulchral goodness. The rags that cover empty rudeness. The self-sufficient, moral giant. The careless and the bold, defiant. Must see their w^eakness; feel their shame; Must know the power of Jesus' name; Before the faith that brings salvation Can hasten to their liberation." Poor Malcolm hung his wounded head And mutely went where he was led NISBET'S POEMS 21 In thought and deed; the tender flame Inciting him to fond acclaim Of obvious truths, and with her shared Regret, he thus his bosom bared: "No insects, birds, nor beasts of prey Can match in cruelty with they Who seek their fellowman's disgrace And spit their venom in his face. No words of mine can e'er portray The loathing that I feel this day For those who trample in the dust All that is noble, all that's just; Meanwhile their better natures rot. And conscience, stifled, pains them not; Till wallowing in their bloody feast. They're to be pitied by the beast. Compulsion never made a saint. And though an outlaw, tired and faint, With rags in freedom where I went I still could live in sweet content; When mankind learns to curb his hate, Respect his fellowman's estate And treat w^ith liberality; Then shall w^e live in amity." They stroll along by Afton's stream. While overhead the lapw^ings scream. Through hazel groves and leafy bowers. Through scattered tufts of sweet wild flowers. And as the scenes with day grow brighter, Their hearts grow^ consequently lighter; As highT'the sun rose from his lair And purified the scented air. So rose their spirits from the slough Of their depression, and as through The thorny spreads of bramble bush, Their careless way they slowly push By hawthorne shades and verdant spots A-teeming with fbrget-rne-nots, High overhead with basalt crest The tow^ering mountain strove its best A smile of gratitude to wear NISBET'S POEMS At sight of listless led by care. When battling through the maze of night And sore perplexing is the plight. When anxious duty, halted, trembles Upon the balance, then dissembles By dint of energy suppressed, By keen perceptions lack confessed. When struggling in the surf of life And overpowering seems the strife; When lonely on the desert waste — The tongue but bitter w^aters taste And madness normal thoughts displace To glare us wildly in the face. Care, soothing, leads the soul aright, Guides from the groping dark to light; The muscles strained relax again. And pleasure thus begins his reign. On, on through Nature's palisades. Through ferny dens and open glades; Discoursing in a happy strain Of peace and his eternal reign When greed of gain is known no more. And grim ODoression's day is o'er. Perhaps to Malcolm's heart there clung A tender feeling yet unsung. That he had vainly tried to smother To the attachment of a brother; Yet every time their glances met Distractingly their hearts were set, , Until once more the golden gleam Of Afton's singing, sighing stream Burst on their sight; adow^n they sank Upon its w^ild and rocky bank. As if by mutual consent,, Enraptured by the quiet content. Oh, tranquil river, on thy brink The troubled heart is forced to think: Could we but in our life affairs Surmount our little fears and cares As thou dost clear the pebbly rock That vainly tries thy course to block; NISBETS POEMS 29 And when we grieve that wayward fate Embroils our path with bhght and hate, We turn to thee with this confession: Thou bearest on thy breast the lesson, That rocky troubles cannot force The transposition of thy course. No care hast thou, nor dangers dread, But fits the waters to thy bed. And while the seasons come and go Thy charm is in thy steady flow. Time, flitting on with jeweled wing. To them made afl with rapture ring. They sat and watched the water's flow, On various themes conversing low. And Caesar lay and snapped at flies That teased his ever watchful eyes. The cooing of a turtle dove Sent Malcolm's thoughts adrift in love, And as he pressed his ardent suit- The answ^er on her lips hung mute — There suddenly arose a shriek That chilled the blood upon each cheek. Caesar gave note with answering howl. With intermittant bark and growl. Across the stream, the tufted bank Disclosed a creature, tall and lank. With unkempt hair and haggard eyes And hands uplifted to the skies — The hermit of the Afton Glen — A being shunned and shunning men; Sepulchrally, his voice w^as hoarse But gestures gave dramatic force: "The wolves will tear the yearling tip, The ewe lamb's blood at leisure sip!" Aghast at something to be feared. They w^atched him till he disappeared Among the copsewood and the brake. Then rose, but how their limbs did quake. They stared into each other's eyes Alike with terror and surprise — Into their tonerues a numbness crept 30 NISBET'S POEMS Those words; they kept a-brooding o'er The strange significance they bore. "Who is this creature, Grace," at length He stammered, as reviving strength Began to nestle in his breast And fear w^as gradually supressed. "I do not know^," was her reply, "But from his gestures and his eye I judge affliction had bereft Him of his reason and had left The aimless spirit to the w^orld At which the shaft of scorn w^as hurled. I think I heard my father say He came upon a man one day Beyond Black Larg, who lived alone. And loved in solitude to groan Far from the haunts of curious men. Beyond the stretch of Afton Glen. 1 his must be he of whom he spake — The tenant of the fern and brake. Poor man! though solitude's his nest, A thorn still rankles in his breast; But He who governs all mankind, Who knows the secrets of the mind. Who rules the day and guards the night. And keeps us ever in His sight, Who regulates the moon and sun — He knoweth best. His will be done." THE SERPENT The moon's pale disc of silv'ry light Sat on its cloudy throne of night, Artd gazed into the Afton Glen With wonder and anxiety, when It ssiw a human form creep through The tangled brush and heavy dew, And watch the Watson home with eyes In which no mortal could disguise The crafty, selfish, jealous glare Of Satan's stamp imprinted there. What could this lurking devil mean By sneaking, skulking there unseen? NISBETS POEMS What fate decreed that this foul worm Should tread the earth in human form, And taint society with his slime That best befits the haunts of crime? A neighboring herd, named Livingstone, Had found that o'er his pathway shone But one bright star — the artless Grace — Whose nymph-like form and angel face Had caused him many a sleepless night. Now prowled beneath the bright moon- light. Rank jealousy had fired his breast, And scheming had disturbed his rest Since first he learned of Malcolm's stay; He watched the hut from day to day. Lo! now he seeks the cottage door, Raises the latch, and then before The inmates are aware he stands Before them with uplifted hands: "Fly neighbors, Hy! The troops are near, Your blood will: stain their blades, I fear; To-day, At town, I heard it said, A troop, by bloody demons led, Will scour the countryside for those Whoin they delight to call their foes; And maddened by the Sanquhar act "''■ They'll stop at nothing now; in fact " -. Your safety is not long assured. And doubtless they have now secured^ The tidings that you shelter here A rebel youth, it would appear. Corhe, seek the shelter of the cave ~, On Black Craig's brow, where truly brave And noble men have hid before! Even Wallace, in the days of yore,. :^ Took shelter in its gloomy" walls,' And strode impatiently its halls. But no, your daughter could not stand , The rigors of a roving band,^ Nor lay her gentle head to sleep When damp and hunger o'er her creep. But I w^ill guide her to a place Where troops her steps can never trace!" 32 NISBET'S POEMS "Stop!" Peter cried; "no words of mine Can be an answer fit for thine! Why, Livingstone, w^hy should we fly Though all the hordes of hell were nigh? No guilty conscience pains this breast No guilty rebel stains this nest. Even though they visit us this night And safety lies alone in flight — Even w^ith no shelter from the dew. My daughter shall not go with you!" "No, Livingstone," Grace rose to say; "I hope I ne'er see night or day When I can rest in safety's fold And father wand' ring in the cold. No terrors are too great for me When I his patient face can see. Let trials come like winter's blast; We'll face them as w^e did the past. He who the elements controls Can well protect our helpless souls. No matter what you could provide, 1 would not leave my father's side." Like rain clouds gathered to the fray, Suspicions rose in stern array In Malcolm's heart; no more he thought Of kindness in the tidings brought; That face but smiled for selfish gains: That soul w^as bound by Satan's chains; And consequently ill defended When on his head the storm descended: "How came you by this direful news? Is this the foam the Black Bull brews? Or does its origin commend Your purpose to its selfish end? Did such a craven heart as thine E'er think that such a life as mine Was valued so that I could see You revel in your treachery? No, sneaking cur! Take to the wjods, And hide therein your craven moods! " Aghast the guilty culprit stands Like suspect caught w^ith bloody hands. And rankling w^ith iridignant hate. NISBETS POEMS 33 His brow contracts, his eyes dillate: "Thou art the dog the soldiers seek; They'll have you ere another week!" He thundered, and as Malcolm hears His gnashing teeth and bitter sneers, He knocks the ruffian to the floor And kicks him through the open door; Then turned, ashamed that rage had burst The bonds of peace — had done its worst — And seeing Grace and Peter made No sign of censure, but atraid, He seized his cap and turned to go. "Farewell!" he said; but Grace said, "No! You must not go; the dew is chill; There is no shelter on the hill!" He stood amazed; her voice seemed sweet He knew surrender was complete, But duty called him to his task Another hour he could not ask "Farewell, dear friends! we'll meet again; No doubt the troops will scour the glen; Your safety shelters in my flight!" And off he fled into the night. THE ESCAPE Ch, direful time! Oh, luckless day! To see poor Malcolm led away, A victim for the cruel slaughter; A pale-faced sire, a weeping daughter. Go pleading after his release — How futile their protests of peace. Shame, mortal worm! In history's page Thy cruelties from age to age Have desecrated every trace Of love divine throughout the space Of thy domain. With all thy power For good, thy precious fleeting hour Is spent in needless, wanton hate. Thy chief desire to dissipate 34 NISBET'S POEMS In blood, and in thy rage unseeing Trampling the tountain of thy being. Yet thou art but a feeble worm; How guiltily thou hast to squirm Before the reaping hand of death — Thy frothings but a guilty breath. Through various scenes of forest shade, Through moonlit glades, the cavalcade. With clanking swords and shouting coarse, The clattering of the well-shod horse. Bore onward down the Afton Glen, Through many a copse and boggy fen. Toward the Castle on the hill Where Nith displays her waters still. A fiery trooper, coarse and blunt, Held Malcolm tied to him in front. And jested harshly in his ear Of death so grimly drawing near. Howe'er it chanced none seemed to know. They were amazed and startled so: When they had reached Dalhanna's ford An eldritch screech of wild discord Rose on the air, and like a sprite. Uncanny in the moon's pale light, A form rose from a covert near That filled their guilty souls with fear. Of hoary aspect was the hair; Its long, lean arms rose in the air. As if invoking dire dismay On all whose missions lay that way — A wretched form, a bloodless face, Unhappiness in every trace. It was the soldiers' firm belief That elves and brownies brought relief To Covenanters, and this sight O'erwhelmed the troopers with affright. The horses, startled by the cry. Trembled as though a foe was nigh; But when the ghostlike form appeared. Upon their haunches w^ildly reared. The mounted pair were rudely thrown NISBETS POEMS 35 Into the road. A sullen moan Made Malcolm instantly aware That as they both lay sprawling there, And while the trooper foamed and curst, The thongs that bound them had been burst. The thought of freedom filled his brain; He started to his feet again, And ere they could their steeds appease Had disappeared among the trees. END OF PART I. NISBETS PCEMS PART II. THE MOOR When friends are few and far between. And darkly looms the evening sky; When grim misfortune rules the course O'er which our tiresome journey lies. And clouds uncertain hang above With threat'ning gloom, the blinding rain All pittiless assails the path. And w^ith the night w^ind's dreadful aid Sends shivers to the shrinking heart; Then when no friendly light is near To guide the aimless w^anderer's steps. He staggers on as if impelled By some strange force as long as life Supports his equilibrium. Even though despair enshrouds his soul. And hope but feebly flickers there, On, on, w^herever fate may lead, Rough though the trackless waste may be. Bracing the heart against all odds Well knowing that the elements With all their JlJifU., destroying force Can master not the restless soul. Although they crush the earth-bound shell. The wand'rer, when incumbent care His soul absorbs, ignores the blast And blindly braves the consequence. Thus Malcolm found himself with ni^ht Upon the lonely Cumnock moors. No sound upon the silent stretch Except the moaning of the winds. And the soft patter of the rain Upon his drenched and stiffening clothes. By reason of his sorry plight All thoughts of God within his soul Were stifled; all his good resolves NISBET'S POEMS 37 Had sunk to mere confusing dreams That mocked the cold reaHty; Vet on he toiled, now stumbling o'er A rocky cairn or sunken stone. Now floundering in a boggy pool Or grappling w^ith a stunted bush To gain his balance once again. Thoughts of his home^ The cheerful hearth. The blazing log, the cozy chair, The singing kettle on the hob. The comfort of a sheltering roof; -And then unbidden rose the scene That blighted youth's fair paradise. Till, Ismael-like, a wanderer, 'Cast out upon the cruel world. He traced his restless pilgrimage To that brief stay in Afton Glen; Such pictures crowded through his brain And sapped his courage, till he fain Would eat the husks his soul forbade. Still he could never up and dare To trample conscience under foot; Much rather founder in the fight With conscience amply satisfied. Than te an aching, empty, shell. Annihilating truth and peace. » Just then a sudden gust of wind Blew off his cap, and as he raised It to his Kead-, a tiny spark Of light first caught his languid eye Away across the darkness drear. It scintillated like a star Then disappeared and shone again, Hope bounded in his saddened breast And flinging to the w^inds his cares He struggled onw^ard till he leached A low-thatched but, erected on A rocky knoll. His foremost thought Was that before his eyes there stood The dwelling of an elf or gnome Or some w^ild sprite. With ea:ger band He loudly knocked upon the door; A gruff voice answ^ered ircm -within: JS NfSBET'S POEMS "Who's there?" and Malcolm made reply:, "A stranger who has lost his way Across these uninviting moors, And craves the shelter of your roof."^ The door was opened by a man Of stature short and strongly built. With well set chin and steady eye That spoke of purpose firm and &ure^ Who, in the dim, uncertain light Shed by a candle crudely formed That stood upon the mantlepiece,. Beckoned the stranger to advance And share his refuge for the night. Stepping within with timid mien As if encroaching on the realms Of some unearthly visitant, Malcolm shook off the nervous fear And gazed around the little hut. To find but one small, scanty room,^ And rudely fashioned. On the walls A coat of whitewash hid the stones. And overhead the rafters bare Made the abode look shelterless; A stool, a chair, an ancient clock. Well nigh composed the furnishings. The careless way apparel lay — Strewn here and there without regard- Proclaimed more loud than could the w^ords. The absence of a woman's hand. The host, a man beyond the prime. With ruddy cheek and open brow, Tanned by exposure's hardening hand. And hair of iron grey that grew Like heather on the wild hillside, Apologized for meager fare And humble shelter from the wet; Explained that living on the moor Had charms for him still undescribed. That his lone means of livelihood Way but a hunter of the mole. The income of which humble work Forbade excess in luxury. NISBETS POEMS 39 To Malcolm's mind this little speeck Invited reciprocity, And ere he had got settled down He found himself relating o'er His wanderings and his change of heart, His hopes, his fears, his little cares. Omitting not his grevious doubts; The happy stay at Afton Glen That shone upon his gloomy past Like a fond taJe of yesterday; And hoped that God w^ould shortly bring The restitution of His own. The hunter sighed and shook his head As though his well reined tolereince Had been deflected to the point Of light amusement, but the air. The earnest trend of Malcolm's mind Controlled him, and he could not brook To strangle the ambitious soul Nor trample on its fond ideal; But duty urged him to the task With all devout sincerity. And seeing Malcolm's puzzled stare He thus began his simple strain Of criticizing wayward man: "Diversity of human thought Has ever been the bane of strife. Where sympathy can play no part, Or tolerance assay the truth. Our foes are self-made, and are those Who do not share our narrow view^s In all our little cares and plans — Who dare to fear and w^orship God In unfamiliar attitude, Who from their viewpoint do not see The truth garbed as perhaps our eyes Have been accustomed to convey. But still unchanging stands the truth. When discord has destroyed our peace. God is the origin of good; No evil filters through His hands, And sin is but our guilty plea. 40 NISBETS POEMS Our knowledge of a broken law In Nature's realm conveyed to us By intuition's guardian voice, Or when outraged the Reaper calls To claim his righteous penalty. The fount of life — the sun of light — Conveyed to creatures animate, To herbs and trees, to grass and flowers. To every phase of light and growth. To all the changing scenery Is God reflected on the earth, Proportionately as absorbed, I And measures our capacity. Perfection's height or harmony Is God, the soul's Utopia. When Nature hums contentedly Or when she frowns majestically, When scenes are spread entrancingly. When music soars triumphantly. When deeds of kindness are portrayed And abnegation grows a flower. When moderation's steady hand Extracts the gifts so w^isely given. All but reflect the glorious light Of God, the soul's perfection. In every good and noble thought. In every kind and cheerful word In sights and sounds that serve to whet The souls appreciation keen. Reigns God, the everlasting light The smcJlest atom on the earth Is governed by the same fixed laws That guide the distant twinkling stars. Whose distance from us is so great To calculate the brain grows tired And comprehension falls far shorL Yet we define the Origin And dare explain Infinity. We are but His receptacles. Absorbent to His living light, Reflecting only as w^e draw^ Upon the boundless reservoh. Our life sees our development Death maiks our full capacity. NISBETS POEMS Eternity our constancy. Your dogma can be so construed And twisted that it serves to fit The wildest stage of human thought And aids the ends of selfish knaves. The judgment day that w^aits the soul Looks not to me a High assize. When every scar will be laid bare And condemnation its reward But rather through death's crucible Their individuality Will be conveyed to kindred spheres By Nature's own adjustment true. No grievous task nor penance dread Appeals to me as Nature's plan. The golden rule — the simple way — The shunning of the gloomy shade The open heart, the frank and plain, The love of sunshine o'er the world, All strike a chord of harmony. Repulsive forms, a forced belief. Suppression of the inner soul. Ignoring reason for a faith That limps along in wild discord. And shelters incredulity. Can never be my faithful guide. Your Scriptures serve to stultify The soul's aspiring, natural growth. And shackle every bounding throb Of freedom, by incongruous. Undue conditions, which but show The grasping, slaving hand of man. I bear no malice to your clique. Nor those you love to term your foes; I give my love to all mankind As freely as my light allows. To lead the blind, relieve distress And work for perfect harmony, Developing as do the flowers In all their grand beatitudes, Debarring none who wish to bask In love's entrancing everbloom. Is my religion, if you will. And my delight continually." 42 NISBET'S PCEMS Malcolm sat mute, uneasy as He saw the bulwarks of his faith Swept from his feet as easily As if its logic and its power Were but as cobwebs in the wind; But would he yield, even though a reed A-shaking in the leveling blast? Nay, howling storms may blow their worst, And when exhausted was their force He could regain his mental peace. And say to Satan, "Get thee hence!" He could not meet the hunter's words With contradiction, for he knew Truth glimmered in the argument; But such bold, fearless sentiments Were too extremely heretic; And did not Satan tempt the Lord With even more beguiling speech? Therefore he meekly sought his couch. And tried to banish thought in sleep; But restlessly he lay and turned. Suppressing conflicts inwardly. Till Nature interfered and gave The wearied body needed rest. Next morning ere the sun was up, When he awoke, with noiseless tread, He saw the hunter move about In preparation for the day, A-fixing, cleaning at his traps, And judging that his further stay Would interfere with daily toil, He rose and bathed his hands and face, And thanked his host as on his w^ay He urged his lightened step again. Still aimless was his pilgrimage Across the scrubby, heathery w^aste — No destination primed his soul With fond ambition to attain. But rather with the thought of flight From danger he had left behind, And hunger for the open moor NISBETS POEMS 43 With its gaunt silence luring him Into its maze of mysteries. The sun came out in half regret That such a deluge had been poured Upon the earth so recently, And soon began to make amends By licking up the overflow. As high- it rose and time wore on, Its w^armth began to show effect Upon depression's joyless cold, For Malcolm soon forgot his cares, Diverted happily the while By Nature's cheerful rhapsody. Thus is it ever with the youth: Care oft may scratch but seldom scars; And scarcely has the mold been cast When the impression fades away. He trudged along contentedly, A rosy dream of perfect love Monopolizing heart and soul — A day-dream of Utopia. In fancy through the sylvan shade He strolled with Grace, his radiant bride. The birds vied in their serenade; The trees in welcome waved their plumes; The flowers bedecked their glory path, And everthing spelled paradise, Invoking from his youthful heart The fevered sigh of fond desire. Yet o'er the w^hole with haunting force Would rise the hunter's argument. Like spectre risen to destroy The fond ideals of his heart. It must be crushed if he would sing The only song his soul had learned, Or stifled meanwhile in the breast To woo the needed peace of mind. Thus onward o'er the rugged moor He wandered lost in happy thought And careless mien, until the sound Of horses' hoofs beat heavily NISBET'S PCEiVS Upon the sod, and looking up, A horseman met his startled gaze Whose humble plaid and bonnet brown Too plainly told his walks of life Were pastoral, and in his eyes There glowed no fires of butchery. His mount was fiery, flecked with foam. And pranced around uneasily. As mutually they showed surprise To see a fellow human thus So far astray from human haunts, Suspicion for a moment dw^elt Within each heart and curbed each tongue. A brief acquaintance soon revealed The horseman w^as a Child of God Dispatched upon a secret trip By Richard Cameron and his men. Then Malcolm learned few miles away The Covenanters lay concealed In Aird's Moss, rough and marshy waste. Anticipating an attack. Yet lightly armed to meet the shock. And anxiously a curt goodbye Was said as each betook his way. THE CONFLICT Bright rose the morn, as o'er the hills The sun peeped at the waking scene. Dispelling from the shaggy moss The night dew's misty, ghostly form. Concealed the Covenanters lay Like partridges at danger's threat. Behind each knoll, wild grass or shrub, A valiant freeman clutched his gun. And anxious lay with bated breath. And eyes and ears but strained to catch The first sign of approaching death. Poor hunted men? Why sought they thus To shelter in a dismal bog? NIS3ETS POEMS The Aird's Moss — clammy, stagnant marsh — The haunts of wildfowl, duck and teal, Unfit to feel the plough or scythe, Untrod but hy the sportsman's foot. This w^as their plea: In freedom's folds. Their conscience sought to worship God As they beheld Him, but the powers That ruled the land, not satisfied With rule o'er all things temporal, Sought to control their soul's desires. And stem the tide on Nature's shores. Hark! shrill upon the startled air A whistle shook concealing lairs, And made the occupants lie low And clutch the weapons feverishly. The thud of hoofs upon the turf Could now be heard distinctly plain. And ere the squad of cavalry Had drawn up to a battle front The shrubs, the knolls and sheltered spots Began to spit their streaks of flame. And brought the vanguard from their / seats. "Charge!" was the order to the troop; And floundering horse in a morass Chaotically turned the charge Into a blundering mimicry. Thrice did the Covenanters send A reaping volley through their ranks. Until an order to retire Deceived the Cameronian band Triumphantly into pursuit. Then, only then, they saw mistake Had show^n their numerical strength. An order wheeled the troops about And spread confusion in their ranks. Unshielded, Richard Cameron In frenzy cheered his drooping men. When greedy sabres laid him low, And turned the flight to massacre. Unrecognized poor Richard lay NISBET'S POKMS While the poor remnants of his band Were scattered far in stealthy flight, And would perhaps have so remained. But for a horse that tripped upon The corpse; the rider overthrown. In climbing to his restive mount. With joy had recognized the face. With fiendish glee he carried off The head on w^hich a price was set; Thus grimly claimed the high reward. His chief in w^anton glee exclaimed. As on his sword's point high it tossed: "Here is the head of one who lived In an incessant realm of prayer, And died while fighting as he lived With fervent prayer on his lips!" Meanwhile as Malcolm saw the rout. Though wounded and in sore distress. Instinctively he lay concealed Within the refuge of a bush Until a horse ran riderless. And trailing o'er the turf his rein; Then Malcolm seized it eagerly And dragged himself upon its back. The creature reared indignantly To feel a stranger in the seat. But Malcolm reined him to control And dashed aw^ay in hasty flight. A dozen shots sent after him Well-nigh cut short his wild escape. And though a bullet grazed his head None found a lodgment in his frame. By using unfrequented ways. Adopting scheme and artifice Against pursuit, he left behind A baffled trio of the troop. THE FUGITIVE Like hunted deer that seeks the brake And buries its identity In Nature's robe of common hue. NISBET'S POEMS 47 Yet starting at the faintest sound. As though the stirring of the leaves Would there disclose the hunter's form, Or twitter of the feathered flock Strike on his ear with grating sound; So Malcolm crouched with bated breath And stole from tuft to leafy shade. When pressed by hard, relentless man. And tense had grown anxiety, A curse had risen to his lips; He, like the patient Job of old, Had thus been tempted to despair. Rebellion had his bosom fired, And from his eyes shot hateful gleams, Forboding dire dismay to those In soldier garb who crossed his path. Yet time composed the youthful brow; The w^ell-spent day had soothed his eye. And now remorse had leveled all, And brought him back to see his sin. 1 hus had the devil trapped his soul. Augmenting his adversity. The curtain of the coming night Was slowly falling on his w^ay. As through the ferns he spied a hut Set by the roadside, w^ith its roof Straw-thatched; its humble gable lined With ivy matted solidly. Its architecture, rude and plain. Showed but a meagre step or tw^o From the cliff-dwellers of the West, And bore the imprints of a vague Instinctive shrinking from the cold That seized the hardy pioneer. Here, thought he, w^hen the darkness fell A shelter he would somehow^ seek. Even as he mused a droning sound Was borne acutely to his ear, And ere he could w^ithdraw himself A buxom lass had v/ell-nigh tripped Upon his secret hiding place. "Well, lack-a-day! Why are you here ? 48 NISBET'S POEN'S Been spying on our little home? What have we done that we should be Watched by a spy at every turn? My father lent no helping hand To Covenanters or their kind, Nor found a fault with government." "Stay girl! I never was a spy. And wish no evil to your home," Said Malcolm half beseechingly; "I'm but a hapless fugitive Who craves a shelter for the night. The blood you see upon my face And hands, the cruel, thorny briars Drew from my veins, as in my flight From Aird's Moss, through the covert shade I tore my w^ay unthinkingly Of broiling sun, of water, food. And kindred earth's necessities. My mind bent but on quick escape From bloody deeds and ruthless hands. I was with Richard Cameron, And saw the valiant soldier fall A victim of the Covenant, His prayer stilled at last in death I tell you this because I know The honest candour of your eyes. Tell me if lives at yonder hut A genial soul of whom I might With safety crave a sheltering roof?" The tears welled in her large blue eyes In sympathy to see his plight. Yet shrinkingly she turned to say: "My father could not brook to hide A Covenanter in his home. But scarcely more than half a mile Due west from here there lives a man — John Finlay — w^ith a stiff-necked brood; He's sheltered many a roving carle. And still escaped the lurking spies That now infest this wayward land. Try at his door; your secret's safe." And ere he knew it she had passed NISBET'S POEMS 49 Along the zig-zag mossy path, And left him with his wandering thoughts. The deepening gloom of silent night Found him at Finlay's humble door. Where his w^eak, hesitating knock Brought forth response reluctantly. And after anxious questioning He was allowed to step within, Too tired to note the furtive glance, The strangely keen, suspicious glare, The ever watchful attitude. That marked their actions, as the door Was closed, and shut him from the sight. GRACE WATSON Let us return to Afton Glen, The home of Grace, the artless maid, The feeble shepherd of the hill, And Livingtone, rapacious hawk. That threatened rupture to their peace. The sire and daughter both had seen With wild delight the lad's escape On that eventful moonlight night, And, careless how it be construed, Could scarce repress hilarity Until rebuked by stern rebuffs Born of a spirit mortified. About his shelter 'neath their roof, In such event a hasty flight Was the best course they could adopt; Yet often, in their pensive quiet They lived that weird night o'er again. Have you e'er felt that torturing strain Upon the heart when those you love And for whose welfare you could die Are languishing in hostile bonds, While helplessly you stand close by? And then to see that cause removed sa NISEET'S POEMS As if by magic: Have you felt That wild reaction of the heart That makes the blood dance through the veins, And tingle the extremities, Melting your soul in joyous mood And making life a happy dream? For many a day they pondered o'er The youth's escape, and then there fell A meditative sUence, strange, Upon the pair. The old man sighed As he reflected on the launch Of that young life upon the waves Of martyrdom's tempestuous sea — The soul that woke at Nature's touch. Was cradled in its tender lap, Grew with the flowers of the field, Sighed with the wind among the trees. And joined the chorus of the birds— That heart torn from its w^onted soil And given a plaything o'er to fate. Yet firm in faith that Fleaven still Provides essential element For every controverted soul That lives expectant of His truth. And steers it to its native sphere. Grace missed his close companionship. His simple faitfi, his knightly love, His softly w^hispered w^ords of care, And in her rambles through the glen Could feel his soothing in the breeze. Could read his heart in every act That memory loved to resurrect. One day she took her favored walk Simply attired; her silken shawl Thrown o'er her shoulders carelessly. Her mind's eye fixed upon the past To conjure up some picture fair. The birds tried in their gushing songs To praise her charms from every bush; The flowers, as she passed them by, NISBET'S POEMS Noflded approval to Ker smile. For fancy painted happy scenes That carried her to ecstasy. The winds, in glorifying sigh, Sang of her grace and purity: PURITY She trails her robes of spotless white Across the path of earth-bound men; Her beauty thus reflects the light Of heaven o'er the Afton Glen. No tongue can tell; no pen can write The matchless grace and symmetry. The azure eyes of sparkling light — A vision for mortality. Her charms bespeak a well-poised soul Laved by the surf of passion's tide. Rich in the virtues that extol — A nature amply satisfied. She bears a ray of future bliss. When this mortality shall cease And earth-worn souls receive the kiss Of immortality and peace. The glamor of her radiant dreams Was broken by discordant sounds Of crackling branch and underbrush, And from the leafy foliage Two greedy eyes peered gloatingly. Like to the snake's hypnotic glare. Or wilting stare of basilisk — The evil eyes of Livingstone. How sad to think that Eden's bloom Should desecrated, wilt and fade Before the serpent's evil eye, The banishment of joy before The promptings of his forked tongue, In allegories of the past. Here faded all her sunny skies, Her fleecy clouds and tranquil .calm; And terror struck her startled breast Like peace struck by a thunderbolt. With knightly bow he doffs his cat> 52 NISBET'S POEMS And greets her with effusive smiles. He tries to tell her of his love — How empty life w^ould be to him Were he deprived of her sw^eet charms; How earth possessed one single spring At which his thirsty soul could drink. He begs of her to spare the blight Which her refusal would create, But fly with him where passion's tide Could ne'er on reason's banks o'erflow; Where peace could dwell in balmy shades, And banished care would be forgot. Like sacrilege upon her heart, The polished w^ords had no avail; For she could read his craven heart. A shudder froze her to the spot. Yet steeled her eyes with righteous power That o'er the viranton hypocrite Hypnotically checked the beast, And crushed his guilty, squirming soul. Till he would fain have turned and fled: But Nature aWa^^s claims her due. And as he faltered, with a moan Grace swooned away, and helplessly Sank to the mossy, ferny bank. He would have rushed to aid her then But as he stirred the crackling twigs Gave token of approaching steps. And on his vision dawned a sight That quickly turned his thoughts to flight. And left the hermit of the Glen To bring her back to consciousness. Pale was her face, upturned to heaven; Blue were the eyes that looked in his: And as he stooped to pick her up A softness dimmed his staring eyes. Compassion stirred his rugged breast. And forced from his unwilling lips An exclamation of regret: "Poor dove! Has wicked, w^anton man NISBET'S POEMS 53 Pursued thee in this wild retreat? Will peace forever be disturbed By man's discordant ruthlessness? Is there no shade where innocence Can sing in blissful rhapsody, Untrammeled "by the w^ithering blight Of Eden's gloomy tragedy?" Grace rubbed her eyes and stared to see This creature whom in days gone by She pictured as a wand'ring soul Beyond the power of reasoning, Glow with compassion for her plight And reassure her all was right. She w^ondered at the peaceful brow, The resolute and well-poised mien: Could this calm spirit be the same Who tore and racked this aged frame- Before her eyes but previously? Oi, was his frame a lodging place For the free spirits of the air? Perhaps his reason had returned. And balanced judgment ruled once more. So she could question him about The motive for his strange attire, The secret of his dwelling place And his persistent shun of men. Her lips no sooner formed the w^ords Than troubled looks came to his eyes, A haggard frown came o'er his face, The smouldering fires w^ithin his breast Burst forth with all their energy. And with a wild, despairing cry He fled in terror from her side. As though the questions had called forth The specter that had haunted him. Stunned and rebuked, she tried in vain To stem her thoughts* chaotic trend. But ever in their ebb and flow- Recurrent echoes whispered back How false to Nature mankind grew. 54 NISBET'S POEMS The sun was beaming overhead, And peeping through her hazel shade To see her brow grown calmly pale, To see her eye grown luster dim, And in the fullness of his heart Bribed the fond thrush to trill a lay. The branches high to wave their plumes, The fragrant vines to scent the air. And all combined to banish fear. And steal her off again within The silvered fold of fancy's wing. To breath a free, unstifling air, To tread a free, unslaving soil, To chant a great harmonious song. And wear a robe of mystic bliss. As though to chain her raptures there High in air the lone curlew Sent forth his shrill and piping note, The bleating lambs, the droning bees, The soothing winds, all whispered peace. And in its folds so gently w^rapped Grace w^ended forth her artless w^ay, A-gathering flowers as she w^ent, And ev^n humming to herself; But all the while two anxious eyes Watched o'er her with a father's care. From many a stealthy covert bower. As though high Heaven had decreed The hermit as her safety guard. Until the portals of her home Were reached, and in its humble shade Her form had gently disappeared. Then, only then, his vigilance Relaxed, and from his parted lips Escaped a sigh of vain regret And, turning to the sheltering w^ood. He soon w^as lost to human view. THE EAGLE'S NEST The afternoon was wearing on As Peter with his woolly flock One day were on the rocky hill. NISBET'S POEMS 5 5 And Grace was exercising thrift Around the home, adjusting what Had been displaced, and rounding up A day of useful, wholesome toil; A snow-white lamb around her reec Kept sporting in its giddy glee, As tame as mortal beast could be. Her father had, on her birthday. Presented her with this young lamb Whose mother, in her quest for food, Had lost her life among the rocks. Pinned down by massive rocks she lay, And Sandy, hastening to the spot. Attracted by her lambkin's call. Arrived too late to save her life. Grace placed a ribbon rounds its neck And fed it, soothed its plaintive bleat. Until affection's cordial salve Had healed the aching little heart. This afternoon, as round the home Grace tended her domestic cares, The quacking of the restless ducks. The distant lowing of the cows, The clarion voice of chanticleer. All seemed like balm upon her soul. She did not hear the startled cluck, The hasty scramble of the brood For shelter 'neath the old hen's wing; But high o'erhead a small black speck In circles floated true and swift. Its spiral flight brought it more near. Until, as though a lifeless stone. It dropped almost at Grace's feet; And ere she could collect her wits The fan-like flutter of those vs^ings Told her more plain than tongue could say, An eagle's talons held her pet. A scream — a wild, despairing cry, And she grew frantic in her grief. Casting the broom with careless sweep At cruel fate which had decreed That she should part with that which had 56 NISBET'S POEMS Endeared itselt to her and claimed Her constant care, she started off In agony, and as she ran She wrung her hands and bit her lips, Her face white as the virgin chalk, Her eyes as large as though possessed By some wild spirit, and her hair Disheveled, streaming in the w^ind. Her gaze w^as on the distant speck That seemed to her as though a part Of her young life was borne away. Unmindful of the bramble vines, The pitfalls and the boulder knolls. Up, up the hill with maddening haste She struggled till the lofty w^all Of basalt rock forbidding frowned, And checked her wild, unbridled course, High overhead the eyrie perched Upon a ledge of rugged rock; Arid now perhaps the eaglets strove For some choice morsel of her pet While she deplored her impotence. Now she must dare the steep ascent And save the lamb at any cost. In desperation she commenced To scale the rock whose mocking front With footholds was extremelj'^ scant, And ere she had attained the height Of forty feet her head began To swim, and with despairing gasp She fell unconscious from the height Into a scrubby, straggling growth. That bruised her arm but broke her fall As she recovered consciousness She heard a voice in breathless haste Inquire if she sustained a hurt, And^ looking up surprised, she saw The dreaded eyes of Livingstone. In dire distress w^e see a friend In every human that we meet When isolation makes us kin. And Grace forgot repugnance as She screamed in anguish and distress: NISBET'S POEMS 57 "My lamb! my lamb? the eagle's nestl The eagle stole my lamb away! " She rose and pointed to the spot High overhead, where all her thoughts Were concentrated for the time. No time was lost with Livingstone, For without thought of consequence He soon was high upon the rock. Spurred on to frantic energy By Grace's wild distress of mind. Up, up he climbed unheedingly, Though jagged corners tore his plaid, And clutching fiercely griped his hands. No soldier on a mission sent, With danger lurking on the way. More valiantly stuck to his task Than did the eager Livingstone. His course was slow; the climb was rough; And many a problem hard provoked A breathless, angry, smothered curse From his light drawn, untutored lips. But perseverance brings reward; And as he neared the shelving ledge On w^hich the eyrie safely lodged, A scream, a rushing gust of wind. Raised by the mother eagle's w^ings Told him too plainly he arrived Too late to hear the plaintive bleat. And only to disturb a feast. The eagle, to protect her young. Her courage showed in each attack Upon the head of Livingstone; And he, with disappointment stung. Could think of nothing but revenge; So, drawing forth his hunting knife He waited for the next attack, Hoping to sheath it in the bird. Wise calculations oft go wrong; And when his opportunity Arrived, a feathered airy front Deceived the true intended stroke. And its momentum broke the hold 58 NISBET'S POEMS Of the incautious Livingstone. His body hurtled through the air. And turned a double somersault; Crashed through a bristly bush of brake And bounded to the level plat, Not far from v^rhere, with fright trans- fixed, Grace in her mental anguish stood. She had in view his every step. Had watched with fear his every move. Until it ended v^ ith the fall. Now^ all was changed; she thought no more Of her lost lamb, but darting off In search of help, she soon returned With herds and helpers from the farm That tops the hill across the stream To which poor Livingtone was herd. And on a litter, there devised. Of simple make and crude design. They bore away the wounded man. END OF PART II. NISBETS POEMS 59 PART III. THE REBEL The winter passed, and o'er the land All Nature beamed on every hand. It was a sultry afternoon, And birds and insects sung in tune; The verdant landscape smiled to see So much apparent unity; A soothing, care-alloying breeze Just stirred the thickly curtained trees, And fanned the brow of Malcolm Brown To smooth away that anxious frown. But why the frown, when rapture sung Where foliage its festoons hung In beauty o'er the sylvan shade, And care forbidden to invade? A brief sojourn at Finlay's farm Had served in measure to disarm His soul of sentimental joy. And all the arts he could employ Would never truthfully explain That wakeful, gnawing, hungry pain That troubled him throughout the day And held, at night, fond rest at bay. That haunted him in solitude. Of conscience strangled; and the rude, Unmannered Finlay's selfish creed. Conspicuous with moral greed, He could not truly reconcile With Nature's truth and Nature's smile. Man's most unnatural salvation. With all its doubtful explanation. Now palled upon him, and a doubt Crept in that faith could nowise rout. Let us approach and hear his plaint. And with his grievance get acquaint: "No use, no use!" he helpless cries; "This comfort never satisfies. I've read the book from start to end With inclinations to defend. 60 NISBET'S POEMS Yet o'er the whole suspicions rise At which my soul in anguish cries. 'Tis unbehef. It seems its pages Were meant for dark, despairing ages. When men in ignorance were led And w^ere with superstition fed. (Will I be doomed for such a thought By which unwittingly I'm caught?) If all is true, investigation Will only lead to my damnation; If I should read, I must not reason. For faith w^ould then be out of season; I must my intellect deceive, j Then shut my eyes and blind believe. It teaches love, then boils with hate, And sleeping passions agitate; it raises me to virtue's height At morning, and before the night It has me plunged into the pit With bestial tales in holy writ. It staggers reason, throttles truth; It nurses age and murders youth; It stems the tide of moral growth, By strictures that are vain as froth; It honors lies; it lauds deceit, And tramples virtue 'neath its feet; It tells me that my aims are pelf. That I am not my moral self. That Nature is a hideous lie. And lures us onw^ard but to die. Our senses are the devil's tools To populate his hell with fools. That helplessness is Heaven's aim To make us worthy of its claim. It contradicts in many ways. And honesty with vengeance slays. If God but sanctions what I read As His commands, each wicked deed But show^s that common human sense Surmounts divine intelligence — And that, unquestioned, all men know. In Nature's law cannot be so. Why was I ever human born If I should freedom treat with scorn? Why formed with independent mind NISBET'S POEMS If I should grope forever blind? No man can say what God desires. Or what of me His law requires. For every deed the die is cast, And compensation follows fast. Still truth, untarnished, often w^eaves Itself between its pliant leaves, And philosophic light is there That leads us through its regions fair. And He w^ho rules the planets' course But speaks to us through grave remorse Or harmonizing hours of bliss — The songs of peaceful happiness — While cant or theologic creed But bare the depth of human greedo I had no choice when I was born. Nor will I when I have been shorn Of all that holds me here below; And reason tells me this is so. Yet Nature has her wondrous book Which mankind long ago forsook; And here, where angels' feet have trod Is closer intercourse with God. The flowers, the fields, the waving trees. The sun, the shade, the sighing breeze, All teaming with eternal truth That honors age and welcomes youth, That sheds divinely heaven's rays. In simple yet mysterious ways. Sing songs of beauty and delight To light the day and calm the night." Thus Malcolm mused, and to his ear In fancy stole from far and near The lessons from a teeming world That wisdom to his soul unfurled. The meditations of the hour Were concentrated on the flower: THE DREAM OF THE FLOWER On the banks of a sparkling mountain stream A humble wild flower grew. That daily bathed in Heaven's beam And nightly drank its dew. NISBET'S POEMS Fair on its face the sun shone down; Its petals spread apart That luster for its amber gown Might store within its heart. The birds sang peace; the gentle breeze Then lulled it off to sleep; And stately stood the giant trees Their vigilance to keep. It dreamed a dream of happy hours In a restful, sunny clime. Where frost can never strike the flowers, And life is peace sublime. The cooling fountains dashed their spray Upon the velvet sod. Then reigned an everlasting day: The king of all was God. Love, joy and peace are at command — No room for hate or gloom: For Heaven had decreed this land The haven of its bloom. Anon he looked across the fields, Whose bosom plenty ever yields To constant care and hardy thrift And is the base of man's uplift, Which hide the dead and feed the living, And listened to their song of giving: THE SONG OF THE MEADOW I open my bosom and offer all rest. Sustaining the world at my nurturing breast; From the rise of the sun till it sinks in the west I constantly give That others may live. For giving develops my grandeur the best. So I constantly give. NISBETS POEMS 63 I draw my supplies from the snow-covered mount, I drink from the dews of the white, misty fount. And daily to balance this mighty account I constantly give That others may live. And all other attributes clearly discount. So I constantly give. My bosom is broad and my storehouse is deep; With substance abundant my larder I keep. And over me always the pleasure will creep To constantly give That others may live; The soul that gives nothing has reason to weep. So I constantly give. What matters abundance if that cannot please? It generates hunger that naught can appease; The soul that is healthy in giving finds ease. So I constantly give That others may live. I forage for others as Nature decrees. And 1 constantly give. From out the shady forests stole A voice that reached the needy soul; Exultant life sprang from its shade, That made the timid unafraid: THE VOICE OF THE FOREST Come, feathered singer, to my woods. And nestle on my sheltering breast; Drink inspiration for your moods. And fearless weave your artful nest. Come to my dens, ye timid beasts Who fear the wanton hand of man; Here, undisturbed, prolong your feasts. And joyous live life's little span. 64 NISBETS POEMS Hide, pretty flower, within my shade. And coyly shed your silken gown; In dews refreshing you may wade. As sunshine decks your regal crown. Drink, meadows, of my stored supply. When drought assails your bosom wide; My succor for your wants is nigh. And life flows sparkling from my side. The sun, the mystic orb of day, Seemed to have something new to say To Nature's student, Malcolm Brown, As in the west it nestled down, THE SERMON FROM THE SUN Hail! little mortal, upon the earth, 'Tis w^ell to remember your humble birth. In me you see no attendant light To merely scatter away the night. But a governing orb at whose beck and call Your earth is only a fragile ball. Your life and condition are at my dispose — I rule w^hen I seemingly seek repose; And every phase of engendered life With proofs of my constant care is rife. I mature your harvests and quicken your seed; I fill with pleasure your every need; I guard your seasons and husband your store; I temper your seas from shore to shore. Dependent on me for your heat and light, You have my reflection to see by night; And when on my journey through boundless space I draw you along with your dwelling place; I am nrtoved by a power that is higher than I, With no response to my wonder why. Yet I am a speck in the ether blue. Where millions of suns are traveling, too; And powers that are infinite guide us along Like the glorious chords of a perfect song. NISBET'S POEMS 65 The shady trees, whose spreading arms The sun's rays of their heat disarms, Invitingly disclosed their shade, That all their precincts might invade. THE LURE OF THE SHADE Weary, w^orn traveler, hitherward wend; Here let your song and your sigh ever blend; To you invitation 1 earnestly send; Come into my shade. When you are abroad in the hot, broiling sun Think not of the glorious labors you've done. But rather of those that you just have begun. And rest in my shade. Low drooping heads, on your wearisome way. Pine not away with the heat of the day; Partake of refreshment with me as you stay In my bountiful shade. Rest well but loiter not here on the road. And always be ready to shoulder your load When duty insistently calls you abroad From my strengthening shade. As day w^ore on, and night drew near, When bloom and radiance disappear. The w^inds breathed forth a peaceful sigh As evening's restful hour grew nigh, THE SIGH OF THE WINDS The sigh of the wnds is a haven of peace. When the tempest is stilled and the hurricanes cease. And the balmy breezes renew their lease Of a tranquil scene. It w^hispers to us as it glides along. To control ourselves if we w^ould be strong. The make of our hardships a lightsome song— A song serene. 66 iNISBET'S POEMS It seems to sigh with a vain regret For the golden moments that we have met. And wantonly passed to soon forget; And yet its voice Speaks of a peace that we have won At the struggle's close, when the day is done, Or a certain honored race is run. And we rejoice. It breathes a contentment, pure and grand — ■ Not contentment of the languid hand. But that which love can alone command. Whose powers increase; For love is the loftiest motive power That turns the w^heels of the passing hour. Grinds golden truths in reason's tower That bring us peace. Night's sombre curtain, falling fast. On Malcolm's path the shadows cast, When he curtailed his fruitful stroll. And o'er his heart misgivings stole As inward search to him revealed Deeprooted, cunningly concealed, Strong prejudice lay coiled within — The scarecrow of original sin. Cold reason's plain, unyielding facts, Its truthful, yet forbidden tracts. The soothing balm of promised bliss. Emotion's false, hypnotic kiss, Repentence and the saving grace. All in his mind strove for a place. Thus with tumultuous thoughts embroilec And stubborn reason safely coiled Around his soul, he raised the latch Of Finlay's door in time to catch The torrid close of Finlay's prayer Which, in his frenzy tore the air, And cried for vengence on his foes In God's great name; but at its close He begged the peace that crowneth all Upon his little flock to fall. He asked it all for Jesus' sake. Who spoke as no man ever spake. NISBET'S POEMS 67 As Finlay struggled from his knees Anxiety began to seize The youth's lone, puzzled, groping heart That no solution could impart. "Vengeance is mine; I will repay!" God's words — thus Malcolm heard him say To his two daughters, sitting near, Who trembled with perplexing fear Far more than interest displayed In this proclaimed divine tirade. How mockingly the sentence seemed To Malcolm, and his bosom teemed With strange impatience as he listened, And in his eyes resentment glistened. The bible lesson's explanation Was rife with grievous illustration, And treated of the wilderness. Where Israel, tried by sore distress And aimless wanderings, gave vent To waywardness and discontent Down on their heads the judgment fell, That human skill could hardly quell; Diseases dread and plagues most foul, That made the very heavens scowl With disrespect. To even think Of such a thing our natures shrink. And Finlay smoothed it o'er with tact. As though unconscious of the fact That Malcolm in their presence stood; But his attentive attitude Brought forth an earnest invitation From Finlay (for a soul's salvation Was paramount to every need Of which his daily life took heed), To join them in their comfort quest, In which he gladly acquiesced. Hoping that fear and grievous doubt Within him w^ould be put to rout. Then humbly drawing in his chair He joined the Scripture students there; And Finlay took his place as teacher, But soon assumed the role of preacher. 68 NISBET'S POEMS The lesson grave in peace progressed Till Malcolm felt himself possessed Of keen desire to question there The God of fire — the God of prayer. No vengeance showed on Nature's page, No creature suffered from its rage, And kindness only from above Was showered by the God of Love. But Finlay quickly sought relief In giving as his firm belief That Holy Writ should be defended Where it could not be comprehended; No matter how^ its w^ords conflicted, No matter how it contradicted; To doubt its statements w^as absurd Since truth was subject to The Word. Propelled by pliant, buoyant youth, The lad's keen aptitude for truth Demurred at faith where reason.mangled, Lay listless still, and coldly strangled. "Do you deny Him?" Finlay roared; 'A God of vengeance, when He poured His w^rath on those who disobeyed His holy will? Are you arrayed With those who doubt the power of God, Exemplified in Moses' rod. Through which He punished Israel's tribe For doubts and failure to subscribe To those divine appointed laws That are the framework of our cause? You cannot doubt that from His hand The lightnings issue at command To strike the scorner when He wills. The mocking tongue to silence stills. Nor can you doubt the scourges sent For sin were fitting punishment. The chastened child obeys in fear. And learns the Master to revere." The daughters sat amazed with fright, Accustomed on a Sabbath night In passive frame of mind to hear No discord in their tranquil sphere; NISBET'S POEMS '69 For, raised within the towering wall Of theologic teachings, all That fitted not in its confines Were classified the tempter's lines. Yet mercy moves our human hearts; Its influence divine imparts A lotion for the sting of sin That makes a fretful world akin. Though both had pity, neither stirred — Too much afraid to say a word. "I cannot understand the book," Said Malcolm calmly, "when I look Upon its aimless contradictions. Its slavish teachings and restrictions; Were it but true, the groping mole, Secure within his narrow hole, Would live a life of nobler vein Than man, as pictured, could attain. The God that flickers on its page Was but a god to fit the age — Man-made, to serve a subtle end, When man w^as slow to comprehend. The mere thought of a Trinity — The three in one, the one in three — Is mythical; the stories told Would make the zealous blood run cold, It balanced well by reason's plea, That speaks so plain to you or me. Did I not stories such decry Nature to me would be a lie. I would not screen the tyrants bold Who, like the wolves, invade the fold To slay the fairest of the flock, And all their pleas for freedom mock; But would you ape their bloody zest, You, who declare yourselves 'the blest,' To justify avenging deeds, As direful times have dreadful needs? The death of Sharp saved not the cause. Nor did it temper stringent laws. But served to many an anxious wife An invoice for her husband's life. 7a NISBET'S POEMS The God of Nature naade us free. And meant us always thus to be; But man, with slavish, binding chains. Has cast a blight where'er he reigns. Has peace from its foundations riven, Inventing hell and selling heaven; Your saints were murd'rers, thieves and rogues; Broke their own laws and decalogues; And they who framed them — perjured crew — ■ Had selfish purposes in view. The only chance for faith to grow Is when the book you do not know."^ The anger blazed in Finlay's eyes And caused him from his chair to rise. "Go from this house at once," he cried; "Beneath this roof I will not hide A heretic who will not know The saving grace of Jesus; go!" A flush appeared on Malcolm's cheek; Resentful words that he would speak Died on his vengeful lips the while, As anger melted to a smile. Half satisfied, without retort, And fearing hate to further court. He left them anxious and perturbed; And Finlay unapp eased, uncurbed. HOME REFLECTIONS Dark loomed the night, and overhead 1 he clouds hung low witfi aspect dread. As though pent up, a giant strained To spread destruction, and arraigned His forces frowning in the sky To shed the storm's artillery. Amid the gloom the heavens scowled. And low the distant thunder growled As through the trees the sad winds stole With sighs as of a tortured soul; And intermittently the gleams NISBETS POE:v1S Of lightning's ever-growing beams But showed the anger of the clouds That lurked within their sullen shrouds. Thus ushered forth into the night Malcolm bewailed his sorry plight, Conscious that he had acted true To what he thought, to what he knew. Was e'er poor mortal so possessed Of radiant truth that makes us blest? And still no place to lay his head. No kindred spirit nigh to shed A ray of comfort o'er his path, No shelter from the tempest's w^rath; But stunned, rebuked, that truth sublime Should almost be construed a crime. He wondered if at error's feet Truth must forever take its seat It seemed the elements conspired Against the truths his soul had fired. And spat their venom in his face Until, like Christ, he found no place Wherein to ease his burdened soul. Defensive of his heart's control. The lightnings flashed, the thunder roared, The drenching rain in torrents poured. Compelling him against his will To shelter nigh to Finlay still; Into the barn he quietly stole Like hunted beast that seeks his hole, Found a dry nook, and laid him there To quell the fever of despair. Long did the tempest's fury last, His shelter swaying with the blast; The raving winds moaned in the eaves And sighed among the rustling leaves Until their fury had been spent. And growling still, reluctant went. Long lay he there a-thinking o'er The joys of Afton, gone before. When charmed by that angelic tongue Of her so gentle, fair and young — 72 NISEET'S POEMS Of Grace, whose sympathy he craved. Whose loveHness his bosom laved With inspiration for beyond Mere fascination's slavish bond. He fancied he could see her start, And shrink to hear his change of heart. His untamed soul that rode the blast. That wind nor w^eather could o'ercast. Now sulked w^ithin his troubled breast. And craved the peace of passive rest. But can the knowledge of a truth. E'en in the soul of ambient youth. Be crushed to serve an end at will And foreign purposes fulfill? Nay, with truth's armor buckled tight» A heart is valiant in the fight. Is there a discord in your life — An aftermath of wearing strife. That presses with distressing force. Until uncertain seems the course; No soothing balm that can dispel The gloomy clouds, nor comfort tell Like loving eyes and faithful breast To lull our gravest fears to rest? So Malcolm found it as he sought To resurrect the past in thought; What, with the cloak of good intent And self-denial, could prevent A clear and unmistaken course Upon his soul its way to force? And he, before approach of sleep, Resolved that when the sun should peep From eastern hills he would retrace The path that led him from Kis Grace. THE MOUNTEBANK Anticipation whets desire, When thoughts of home have stirred the fire Within the breast to see once more NISBET'S POEMS 7 3 The scenes that greeted us before. Each word or token seems divine, And recollections fondly twine Their subtle w^ebs around the past, All else forgot, aside is cast. How dear those hills we used to trace So long ago as commonplace; How sweet the sound like that now still When memory but serves to fill A fond desire whose reign supreme Is ever foremost in our dream. An absent face, a love-lit eye. Grow dearer as the hours go by; And Malcolm lived again those hours He spent with Grace in Afton's bowers. As scenes familiar came to view — 1 he rugged hills so well he knew — Impatience seized his walk-worn frame And set his bosom all aflame With love's anticipation keen In all its fresh and youthful sheen. Inspired by cherished hope and joy, He would have hastened like a boy To shorten intervening space Had not a dirty, smiling face With sparkling eyes that peered at him From underneath the tattered brim Of a low^ hat, delayed his feet And filled him with surprise to meet Such jocund smiles, a prince of wags. Arrayed in such ungainly rags. "Hello, young stranger, whither bent? Is there concealed, unchained, unspent Upon your person such a thing As money? Would you care to fling A copper at me, and I'll show You tricks that you w^ould like to know: The phantom card, the puzzle key. Besides some hints in jugglery? " Refreshed to meet a fellow man Upon the highway, who that can Refrain from halting on the way 74 fNISBET'S POEMS To rest awhile and hear his say? 1 he stranger, voluble in tongue, At sight of money rhymed and sung In sportive mood, in v^raggish strain. And worded well some old refrain. He talked with patronizing air, As though w^ith condescension rare He strewed the jewels of his mind With lavish ease, the w^hich to find The listener w^ould realize Elusive as the time that flies. Well versed in varied human aims. Where open countenance proclaims The hungry want, the sad regret. How simple, when a mind is set Deductively to search the heart. Successfully to ply the art Of telling fortunes, and this man Tried many a mystifying plan To interest our hero's mind. But Malcolm to his tricks was blind. He hungered only for some news Of home, and futile was each ruse To gain a hold for mystic lore When interest returned no more. The stranger then began to tell Of various things that him befell Upon the way. He loved the life Of aimless travel, and its strife But spiced the languid hours along. And day went like a happy song. Care, eating liking a worm, displays Upon our frames its blighting ways, And "least resistance" he would crave Along the journey to the grave. He told with an approving grin Of stopping at the Afton Inn, And meeting there a jolly crowd Whose songs w^ere gay, whose laughter loud. And being warmly pressed to sing. Was treated better than a king. NISBET'S POEMS 75 For hours he stayed, his stories told, And many a secret did unfold. Till night grew old, and with a frown The Inn's new hostess. Mistress Brown, Stepped in to say the time had come For him to start his journey home; And, knowing that no home had he. They laughed aloud in drunken glee. The mountebank went on to tell Of sundry happenings as well That lay not in our hero's quest. And hence they failed to interest. They parted, as must all perforce, Each to pursue his wonted course. As Malcolm sped upon his way The passing incidents of day Unnoticed went; his anxious mind No other exercise could find Than thinking of the Afton Inn, The tales the stranger had to spin. The jolly landlord, Harvey Bell, Whom everybody loved so well; But Mistress Brown — who could she be? And why so much concerned was he? Still undefined, a dread was there That tinged his every thought with care. THE AFTON INN The day was drawing to a close, And to the arms of sweet repose The serenaders of the day, The birds and insects, crept away To shelter from the dewy night At the approach of gray twilight. In Nith's clear, still and sluggish stream, On which the sun's departing gleam Fell like a wistful lover's smile, The cows stood knee-deep, dreamy, while The passive boy upon the bank To wait their pleasure slowly sank. 76 NISBET'S POEMS The bats in sportive, zig-zag flight Came out to herald in the night, And threw a wierd, fantastic dream Upon the fancies of the stream. The Afton Inn resounded mirth; A flick'ring Hght played o'er the hearth As Malcolm neared its open door And stood its welcome vent before. The rustic worthies, gathered there. Unused to taste, unknown to care. Were plying jokes and stories too, Enlivened by the barley brew. In Malcolm's mind arose the thought: Was happiness so dearly bought That men must sink their lives in shame To give their hearts' delight a name? Was he, alone in all the world. With duty naked and unfurled, Endowed with sight as few have been, A sight deep-searching, clear and keen? How could men throw away their means To nurture such debasing scenes? As still he in the doorway stood Among the crowd of rustics rude He recognized some well known faces. Their gestures and their queer grimaces. With curious interest to see How men could so contented be. And how they at the Inn would meet, Malcolm, unnoticed, took a seat. Conspicuous the men among Sat Rab, the Packman, glib of tongue, And Worthless Wilson, of the Laight, A drunken spendthrift, seldom sliraight. With Andie Law, the blacksmith, too, And Rhyming Mac — a motley crew. Rab told the most unearthly tales That happened as on hills and dales He journeyed with his heavy pack; And while they much of truth did lack They never failed to interest NISBETS POENiS 77 Where idle words are relislied test. He told of wraiths and warlocks grim. Of brownies stout and fairies slim; Then racked his superstitious mind More ghastly tales for them to find, And ventured many a wide digression To make a visible impression; But while he held their keen attention They knew his tales were mere invention. Then Mac w^as aslced to sing a song To pass tlie happy hour along; A dram and song. Mac a^ked no more. The cares of Trsnkin'd to ignore; No one his songs had to entreat; A mere bint brought him to his feet; So clear above t\ve noisy throng Arose his careless, ranting song: A RANTING ROGUE A rantin^ rogue I aye liae been. An' muclcle though it hasna brocVt me, Tae -while a'wa^ the liouTS at e'en TKe -wale o' company hae socht me. efrain: I can fiddle, I can sing, J cam dance tKe Hielan' flin'g, I can tell a funny story or dae ony blessed thing; I'll dae onything for pleasure. For that is a' my treasure; I'm as careless as a beggar and as bappy as a king Noo what care 1 for fame or gowd? Gie me a richt guid-hearted fellow. An' set us wi' a rantin' crowd, Then life tae me rins smooth and mellow^ AuU care and I were never Irien's; We never drew tae ane anither; If 1 could only find the means We ne'er again wad come thegither. 78 NISEET'S POEMS Well pleased to Kear t!ie shouts of glee. As happy as a man could be, Mac squatted down amid encores. And maudlin, clamVous ringing roars. Encouraged, flattered, once again He started up another strain: BCEPT m AT SCHOOL When I was yoimg^ Ecred careless I had to learn to recici At school down in tKe village. But g3ve it little beed^ I hated task and lesson. And balked at every nale; So every day at noontime TKey kept me in at school. The teachoeT thought me stupid. And w^ith me was severe; I could not learn the lesson — He had me crushed with fear- To shame me more he sat me Upon the dunce's stool. And then each day at noontime He kept me in at school. i never did forget it Through: all the years gone past; I direamt alone of vengeance. And vengeance same at last: The teacher failed; I prospered. Forgot I w^as a fool — He's weeding in my garden Who kept me in a.t schooL The song^ was greeted with appfaase; The blacksmith, with his loud guffaws. Insisted that he sing again Some g€>od old-fashioned Scots refrain; But Mac, whose throat was rather dry. Agreed to sing it by-and-by. NISBETS POEMS 79 When he Kad tasted of tlie ale. For want of which the hour grew^ stale. All eyes with expectatitan great, Were turned to Wilson of the Laight, Who searched his pockets here and there In drunken frenzy and despair, But soon a grin o'erspread his face. And happiness possessed the place Once more. The bell-cord quick was pulled. The joyous tipsters sung and fooled. And gave their orders with a roar When opened wide the cubby door. In course of time the drams were brought. Their thirsts appeased, and now they sought Some entertainment; loud and long They called on Mac to sing his song. And Mac, well primed to do his best. With drink and praise felt doubly blest. And proud to please his fellow man. His homespun ditty thus began: WHAT CARE I FOR MAGGIE. NOO> There leeves a lass al Burniside, An' nane ker equal far and wide; She has twa een like stars above That used tae mak' me rave wi' love. She got some gear \when I had nane. Syne treated me wi' high disdain. An' passed me wi' uplifted broo: Oh, what care 1 for Maggie, noo? Chorus: Oh, Maggie's guid, and Maggie's braw. The smartest lass that e'er I saw. She frowned on me — w^hat could I do? Oh, what care I for Maggie, noo? 83 MSBET'S POEMS She had her wooers by the score; Her txKiher only such adore; Puir lass, she tried tae look sae pleased. When common sense Ker conscience teased- She liked tae pass me in her pride Wi' some wee ninny by her side, Sae wi* disgust I oft got foia: Oh, what care I for Maggie, noo? Chorus — Oh, Maggie's guid, etc. Time southers a' an' brings back heailth. But fate met Mag an' took her wealth; An' oh, her pride, that widna bend. Got badly broken in the end. Her fond, admirers fled the scene. An' noo her bonnie, tear-stained eem Are haunting me,-, what can I do? I'm. think in mair o' Maggje, noo. Chorus.- Oh, Maggie's guid, an' Maggie's braw". The smartest lass that e'er I saw. She smiled on me; w'nat could 1 do> I think m-uch nxair o' Maggie, noo. Applause unchecked was at its height. That spread confusion o'er the sight, When wide the door was open flung And words suppressed, unspoken, hung Upon the hps. A form appeared Whonn all the noisy w^orthies feared — The landlady. No more his seat FCept Malcolm silent and discreet. Like as a dreaded dream come true In all detail, before he knew Restraint and care had lost their grips. And "mother" had escaped his lips. The awe-struck patrons were surprised To see a man none recognized Rise from their midst, whom now they knew^ As Malcolm Brown, and round him drew NFSBET'S POE\lS To welcome him, this their intent. But ere a greeting, kindly meant, Could be extended, orders came To clear the room, and with the same The crowd stole off into the night, Unwilling further to invite The landlady's imperious frown That centered now on Malcolm Brown, MOTHER AND SON "Why were you there among them? You With such a worthless, drunken cr&w. Who have no thought — worse than the beast — Their lives see famine or a feast. Ne'er did I think that son of mine Would herd with such inhuman swine; But great things we could not expect When one will mix with 'the elect,' As Covenanters have been named, But ne'er for truthfulness been famed," Thus Malcolm heard the op'ning shot, The only welcome that he got. As in the parlor, round the fire. His mother ventured to inquire. When she had closed the Afton Inn And rid the place of noise and din, "I'm more surprised to see you here In this old inn, my mother dear," Said Malcolm, as he took a seat. Prepared his mother's- scorn to meet, "I ne'er could think that your ambition Would court the threshold of perdition; When you were anxious of my fate. Afraid that I might dissipate. Was there no thought for other men. For sons, for brothers, fathers, when You served the drink that robs the will. That dulls the mind and body, till The victim sinks a callous wreck NISBET'S POEMS That ties the clearest cannot check? Since last I saw you I have been With Covenanters, and have seen Their faithfulness, their zeal for truth. Their care for age, their love for youths I've seen displayed their charity, Their firmness and sincerity; And though in much v^e disagree. More honest falks I fail to see. I was w^ith Cameron when he fell. And have been marked for death as well; Now though my zeal toward the cause Has shrunken, alnntost to a pause. Still can I well admire their stand. Like rugged bulwarks of our land. In Afton Glen there lives a maid, , With, faith and purity displayed In all her actions; to my breast This Covenanter brings unrest; She fills each thought, she haunts each dream Like goddess O'f the Afton stream, I cannot rest till I have seen Once more this modest mountain queen; But on my way grave fears within Attracted me to Afton Inn. Where is my father? Is he here Who loved the farm's ntore tranquil sphere?" "Your father never caused alarm; He still remains upon the farm," Said she; "his life was always tame. And yours inclined to be the same; While I excitement crave instead, Because I feel my blood is red; I bought this Inn against his will; Tomorrow, when above the hill The sun arises, be his guest. And tell him of your empty quest; And tell him also I'm opposed To w^hat you have to me disclosed; But have no power ta step betweers NISBET'S POE\4S 83 You and your pretty mountain queen." Thus squelched, no further talk tran- spired. And Malcolm, sad at heart, retired, THE MEETING A radiant day, the heavens tlue. The earth, refreshed by morning's dew. Began to shed its ilowery charms. The trees in glee to wave their arms; The feathered songsters' matin notes With rapture quivered in their throats. And from the valley's verdant sward The bleat of lambs were plainly heard. As Malcolm, thrilled as ne'er before With joyous thoughts for him in store. Like as the ancient Jewish Land, Approached the sighed-for, promised land. And entered on the Afton Glen The very happiest of men. His father he had found morose. And ventured deftly to propose • That should he find a bride in Grace They might return and lease the place. His father, pleased at the suggestion, Had sanctioned it without a question; For life, without a w^oman's care. Had grown to him extrexnly bare. Hope, gracious in its sunlit reign. Distilled its joy in every vein. And sped him happy on his way. That by the River Afton lay. Through groves of oak and elm and pine The roadway steeps and vales entwine; Here rising from the river's brink, There to its vale abruptly sink. Encircled by the rocky hills That feed the Afton with their rills. A faint regret in Malcolm's mind Arose to think that he should find 84 NISBET'S POEM5 His mother at the Afton Inn; But his ambition Grace to win Soon stifled thoughts that rose between With threat to thwart or intervene. The Black Craig's brow soon came tc view^ And as its ramparts nearer drew^, A searching glance from Malcolm told That snug and safe w^ithin its fold, The little cot still nestled there Where she abode, to him most fair. As he surveyed the hillside scene. In every shade of living green. And o'er his mind there flitted fast The golden mem'ries of the past. He suddenly became aware Of panting of a dog somewhere; And glancing to the river side The form of Caesar he descried Alert, in watchful attitude. But indecision in his mood. A call brought Caesar fawnirg near (As dogs mankind sometimes revere). He scarce had patted Caesar when A far voice sounded through the glen — A welcomed voice that Malcolm knew. And one that thrilled him through and through. The dog reluctant took the track By bounding on, then looking back To see that Malcolm, close behind. The way to follow him could find. The afternoon w^s wearing old. And all was tinged with hues of gold,. When Grace and Malcolm once agair^ Together came in Afton Glen. She still retained her native charm. And, with the basket on her arm. Seemed Charity personified. With all the virtues close allied. The stealthy glance, the blushing maid^ NISBET'S POEMS 85 To him her secret heart betrayed; And, with confusion ill concealed, He soon to her his love revealed By awkward speech and nervous act That made it an apparent fact. The greetings o'er, inquiries drew^ The news of various friends they knew, And Grace explained where she had been, The quick recovery she had seen. Which led her on to tell the tale Of the lost lamb, the weary trail; How Livingstone had climbed the rock, And all its dangers seemed to mock; And fought the eagle at her call; The futile blow, and then the fall; How she had tended him at length, Till now he was regaining strength. And she had just some dainties taken To him, that friendless and forsaken He might not feel; but as she told Her simple tale she saw^ a cold And numb, disdainful, jealous streak Steal gradually o'er Malcolm's cheek. How quick will intuition mark In jealousy the hateful spark; And Grace immediately divined What jealous thoughts his soul entw^ined; And piqued that slighted, misconstrued. Had been the feelings which inabued Her every action, she assumed An air of coldness, which she groomed To reprimand presumption's shade For peace of mind thus to invade- When Malcolm saw he had presumed Too much, he was with guilt consumed. And hastened then to make amends With ardor that occasion lends. He told her of his secret love For her that ruled himself above, That o'er his wand'ring shed its light, And made his darkest moments bright. 86 NISBETS POEMS "Since we two parted," Malcolm said' "Grave dangers hung above my head. I've been with Cameron and his men. And saw the Christian soldier w^hen He fell, a hero of the cause, A victim of disgraceful laws. The bible that you gave to me I have perused with patience. See! The leaves are thumb-worn. 1 have tried To understand it, and have cried To God that He might give me faith; But reason, like a w^arning wraith. Would ever haunt me, bring to nought The soul's assurance that I sought. It is with no temerity Nor slight to your sincerity That I have bared my heart to you. But truth will ever pay its due. I would not willfully dissuade You from your faith, be not afraid; But honesty forbids deceit; And here with candour at your feet I lay my love my cause to plead, Unbiased by a faith or creed. But governed by unswerving laws That bring effect to every cause. That w^ith no vain formality Advance sublime morality. That ask no penance of the mind. But compensate each deed in kind. As far as mind can comprehend These laws are steadfast, will not bend To gods, to miracles or prayers, To necromancers or soothsayers, But as a sin they overtake, Leave perfect justice in their wake. Shall creeds upon our lives impart A blight to force us wide apart? " In cold dejection Grace recoiled To hear her fairest dreams despoiled. To see a gulf rise up between Stern facts and joy that might have been NISBETS POEMS 87 So firm, deep-rooted in her soul, Her faith in God and its control. From anguish she had no recourse But threats of hell and its remorse; And with a long, heart-crushing sigh, That clouded all her summer's sky, She muttered in despairing tone. So hollow that it seemed a groan: "Oh, Malcolm, love for me is vain; Your pleas will only cause me pain; My duty bids my wayward heart To end this scene, so let us part." The tortured w^ords had scarce been spoken When twilight'speacefulcalmwas broken By piercing shrieks, and up arose From hazel shades, with tattered clothes And matted hair, the hermit's frame. As from his lips the strange w^ords came: "The wolves will tear the yearling tip. The ewe lamb's blood at leisure sip! " The rage of Caesar knew no bounds, But bayed his protest at the sounds; And forced into the bush his way As off the hermit fled away. Grace, at this moment sore distressed With feelings hidden and suppressed. Swooned at the wreird and tragic sight, And would have fallen limp outright Had not our hero caught her arm And saved her thus from further harm. She soon revived to find that he Whom she refused had bent the knee With tender care her to restore; And as he stroked her cheek no more She thought of creeds nor things above. For heaven centered in her love. She clung to him as clings the vine With love that lasts — the love divine. The balm of evening had begun Its regal reign; the setting sun 88 NISBET'S POEMS Had kissed the hills with living gold, And spread its beauties manifold On earth and sky with fairy charm. As Grace and Malcolm, arm in arm. Approached the humble mountain home. Old Peter had arrived before, And, seated at the cottage door With head uncovered, viewed the scene Of tinted sky and earth of green. Where golden beauty crow^ned the hill. And sparkled on the thread-like rill. His thoughts w^ere on discordant man — A travesty on Nature's plan — For peace and beauty marked the sight; Mankind appeared the only blight. His meditation, tinged with care. Was interrupted by the pair. And warm, effusive, was the greeting That clothed this unexpected meeting. The greetings fond and supper o'er. When all were seated by the door Malcolm was urged all to recite That had transpired since his wild flight. Omitting not his own beliefs, His doubts and cares, his joys and griefs; But o'er them all the thought of Grace No circumstance could e'er efface; And, now his rambling days were o'er. His father's farm he would restore. And live a calm, secluded life If Grace could only be his wife. Old Peter, in reflective mood. Weighed well the thought, as fathers should But seeing in his daughter's eye A love he cared not to deny. He placed a hand upon each head. And in his cheerful manner, said: "Fear not objection — 1 have none — Bless you, my dears; God's will be done." END OF PART III NISBET'S POEMS PART IV, THE CONVENTICLE Deep hid in Nature's still recess, Surrounded by the barren hills Whose beetling fronts like battlements Stand watchful o'er the basin plain — Where infant Afton springs to life Within a mammoth sepulchre — There Ues Montraw, some scattered huts. Amid the grave unfruitfulness. No sound of rash, discordant man To mar the still, majestic awe; As though the gods had set aside Its precincts for their breathing grounds. For meditation undisturbed. For calm, recuperative rest Poor Scotland's unfrequented moors, Her hills and valleys, that had known Scarce any living thing except The moorfowl, plover or curlew, Were now become the hunting grounds Of Claverhouse and fierce Dalzell, To satiate inhuman thirst For blood that surged through valiant hearts. The staunchest Scotland yet could boast, And sacred made the bleak hillside, Stained by atrocities most foul. Tongues that were stilled by lire and sword. Though mute, are still more eloquent In death, by honest purpose shown. By all that makes their birthplace since "Beloved at home, revered abroad." Amid such wilds a secret meet — An all-important gathering — Was to be held one Sabbath morn, A sunny, bright September day. And those who were conspicuous 90 NISBET'S POEMS Upholders of the Covenant Had all been secredy informed By trusted men whose lips were sealed To passive ears. Experience Had taught these earnest^ honest men. Discretion in life's daily weilk; And every movement, every word. Was guarded, that none should betray The faithful to the cruel foe. So silent, swift the news was spread Without the flutter of a leaf. Without a ripple on the stream Of their habitual, daily course. That none could see beneath their nxask Of calm a purpose undismayed. Unlike the ancient fiery cross That called the clans for home's defence. Or for ofFensive tribal wars, 1 heir w^hispered tidings brought the few To peaceful worship of their God. How^ firm those Covenanters stood. Like rugged oaks throughout the storm. Surrounded by a hostile v/orld. Encompassed round by trait' rous slaves. To us will ne'er be fully known. Right well they stood as adamant Through sacrificing seas of blood. As told in Scotland's history. Two figures could be seen that morn- Young Malcolm and his promised bride. Linked arm in arm, as hopefully They tripped along the grassy path To tend that lone conventicle. His earnestness, his simple pleas. His judgment, rational and plain. Had worn upon her artless soul As waters w^ear their beds of rock; His unrestricted, open course. But left her free to choose her own; And though she chose fidelity To father's faith, the Covenant, And strictures of theology; NISBETS POEMS SI His actions, like an open took, His earnest soul's simplicity But fostered that deep-rooted love Which death itself could not dispel. Blythe Nature's charms along their way- Appealed to each v/ith mutual force; With grave theology forgot And sunshine golden on their path, Their dreams -were all of happiness. The skylark carolled high above, The blackbird trilled his fondest lay. And trees waved high their garland boughs. As if to hail a bridal day. So happy had their journey seemed. So all-engrossed were they with love, They had approached the secret vale. Had signaled to the sentinel, Before they fully realized Their happy walk was near its end. Each felt as though they could retrace Their journey of that peaceful morn. So hopeful had their concourse seemed. So busied with each others' cares And so inspired w^ith youthful dreams. How radiant had young love appeared. With not a cloud in all its sky And naught to mar the future bright So long immured among the hills Where social joy was scant and rare. How dear to Grace a kindred soul, A tongue to shed those secret thoughts In blossomed beauty o'er her path, INTOLERANCE The service had been w^ell begun, The psalm w^as sung in soothing strain. Preparing heeirts for thoughts divine. For molding to the Higher Will, And Peden had announced the text: *'I am the Way, the Truth, the Life," 92 NISBET'S POEMS Ere Malcolm's calm, complacent eye Became transfixed upon the face Of one who slunk from open view, And in which lurked revengeful gleams — The crafty face of Livingstone. What turn had sw^erved the wheel of fate. To bring that grim, discordant smile Upon this peaceful, happy scene? It was not ardor for the cause. Or friendship for the preachers bold; No penitence w^as printed there. Nor had the love of liberty Enticed him out that Sabbath morn. What then had been the secret cause Of Livingstone's appearance there? Such w^as the question Malcolm weighed Within his mind, and hauntingly There rose a fear that would not down. That in his conjured paradise The serpent's baneful influence Was to be felt, and Peden's words Were lost to Malcolm's troubled heart; No matter how^ he strove to soothe His soul to moral harmony. The haunting fear was ever there To mar the reign of peaceful calm. Grace was unconscious of the cloud That hovered o'er her tranquil sea; She saw no faces in that throng But those of friends, all tried and true. And Peden's w^ords were balm to her. Unbroken as the azure blue Of summer's sky. With pride she saw Her father by the preacher's side. And in his eyes she saw the light Of heaven dawn w^ith roseate beam. As though seraphic music lulled His trusting soul to rest serene. The preacher ended his discourse Amid the all-absorbing hush NISBET'S POEMS 93 Caused by the hunger of the souls Of that vast, waiting audience, And introduced a clear-eyed youth — Young Renwick — who had come to raise His voice with Peden's for the Lord. "I'm getting feeble," Peden said; "But here's a lad of promise bright. With spirit great, though shoulders slim. To bear the weight of Scotland's care. Support him, for the day w^ill come. When this gray head is laid to rest, That all your courage you will need To save you in the trying times." The youth, w^ith features pale and firm, Exhorted all within the reach Of voice and call to stand secure Upon the rock of heaven's strength. That anchored thus no one might fall A victim of the tempter's snare, Or listless, fall unwittingly. He then announced that children might Be by the flowing stream baptised; And many infants were brought forth To share the much-sought sacrament. Expectant stillness reigned o'er all When Peden rose to state that he Had been requested to perform A marriage ceremony there. He asked the couple to approach And face the people gathered there. And Malcolm led his blushing bride With trepidation to the front, And faced the vast conventicle. 'Mid death-like silence Peden's voice Rolled forth in silence o'er their heads: "If any know of reasons why These two should not united be Let them speak truly, and at once, Or ever after hold their peace." A moment's silence, then a form Was seen to wriggle from the ranks. 94 NISBETS POEMS As squirms the jointed angleworm When forced to leave its slimy bed. And Livingstone approached the pair With pale, drawn face and skulking eyes. And w^ith gesticulations wild Broke forth in bitter, scathing words To Peden's challenge: "I protest Against this marriage taking place!" "And why are you opposed to this Most sacred bond for this fond pair Who seem devotedly attached To one another? Speak the truth." The base informer felt abashed Before the stern, unflinching stare Of Peden, as the question asked Conveyed suspicion of a doubt As to his own sincerity; So mustering the last reserve Of courage for the final shot. He launched forth with this weighty charge: "She is a Christian; he is not, Nor does he worship God at all; He mocks the very faith you preach, And lives a wolf among the sheep. Does not your sacred book advise To be not yoked unequally With unbelievers? Yet he craves A union w^ith this Christian maid." A broken murmur rippled o'er The tragic stillness of the hour; They might have heard their own hearts beat, So shocked w^ere they to hear the charge. The interruption w^rung their souls With anguish; for the bride and groom Were known to many. Grace, dismayed, Flushed deeply, as she hung her head; But Malcolm, conscious that in thought And act his course was clear and plain. Stood firm like Ajax, and erect. Confronting Livingstone with mien That made the cringing traitor droop. NISBET'S POEMS 95 "What say you to this charge of his?" The voice of Peden sounded hoarse As on the loathsome, shrinking wretch He cast a look of cold contempt. And motioned Malcolm to address The vast assemblage gathered there. With some minute embarrassment. But no apologetic air, The youth, amid the awful hush, in simple language of the soul Poured forth his heart as Nature bid, Like as it taught the birds to sing: " 'Tis true, I do not know your God, With moods and myst'ries manifold. Nor will debase myself before The peerless majesty of Love That sparkles on the radiant stream. That blooms upon the blushing flower. That waves its gladness in the trees And permeates the very air. 'Tis natural that man should ask: 'From whence am I and w^hither bent?* But still unsolved the question stands. To answer which is mockery. Unheralded, devoid of claim To prior life, brought from a source Of which I have no mortal ken Without consent, with no commands. But w^ith an independent will. And powers of reason for its guide. What is my mission on the earth? Is't but to fill a vacuum In Mother Nature's gaping side? An aimless object thus to be Much as a raindrop in the sea. Resistless as the tossing chip Upon the ever-surging tide. Has the All-Wise created me With fond desire, w^ith appetitie For independence, knowledge, light. To rise above my daily moil With heart and mind to scrutinize 96 NISBETS POEMS Each story given me for truth? Why then to damn me in His wrath For but their daily exercise; To put conditions in my path That are to me impossible; To crown me with intelligence. And then insult its faithfulness? Here cradled from our infancy In superstition's blighting shade. The eyes see with perverted sight. Provided us by those most dear. From us originality And concrete truth begin to fade; Then hell is dangled over us To save our slavish souls by fear; But reason, daring reason, comes In its ow^n plain, convincing way, And crude your earth's creation makes. Laughs at your fabled Trinity, Ridiculous salvation shows. And fans to Hame within my heart Conviction of a higher power Than mortal man can comprehend — A sun of suns — rules absolute Beyond the cant of narrow creeds, Whose rays are knowledge; and the soal Absorbent of their living light, Ascends to higher spheres of truth. The primal force that gave me birth. That nurtured me to man's estate, That with its fond environment Resolved my thoughts to artless song. Is not man-made; it radiates Through all the stretch of Nature's realm; It glows in beauty, wakes to joy, And blends the w^orld in harmony. Then w^hy should I in vain aspire To life beyond my just deserts, By merely exercising fajth, Or speak w^ith confidence of bliss Transcending all projected thought. As portioned only to the few Who call reality a myth? NISBET'S POEMS ^7 Thus do I differ from your creed. Which I have been at pains to learn. And mock not the sincerity With which your simple faith is clothed. But conscience will be satisfied. And I have willed that it should be. The difference of human thought Should raise no barrier between Two loving hearts, and this fond maid Consents to be my lawful bride; Her father's blessing comes with her To urge our union. Shall this man. With disappointment in his soul. With hatred gleaming in his eye, And blind to manhood's courtesies. Prevent two souls whose lives are linked As one already, from the form Of so declaring publicly?" The dark look died on Peden's face. His brow relaxed, as Renwick's plea To join the two in wedlock there But favored his own judgment, too. He then and there would have per- formed The act that would have made them one. But from the ranks of the elect Arose a form that caused a chill Throughout the anxious, waiting crowd — John Rankin — rigid, stern and true To all that he considered right. And right was as the book decreed. No matter what good judgment taught. "I must protest," he firmly said, "Against this marriage taking place; He ridicules the sacred Word, And says our God is but man-made, That love and vengeance do not dwell Together in Omnipotence. He classifies our Bible saints As liars, thieves and murderers, Who violated every law Which they w^ere chosen to uphold; 98 NISBET'S POEMS Says they were worse than savages. And should not for example stand; His mother keeps the Afton Inn Aad spreads abroad intemupsrance;. His sympathies are not with us. Nor cares he for the Covenant Enough to speak in its defence. As proven by his words today. We must n>ot mix the sheep and go-ats^, Not yoke our flock unequally." Much more, perhaps, would have beera said, But ere he had his mind relieved A whistle shrill struck Finlay dumb — A sound that each one dreaded so — And instantly the bridal scene Was banished from the minds of all. And Grace and Malcolm were forgot. As safety was the chief concern. O'er wildly agitated heads A benediction brief was said. Then all betook their several ways As stealthily as hill and shade Would hide them from the enemy. THE TRAGEDY The day was fading fast away. And twilight had begun to fall, When through the coverts of the glen The lovers stole in saddened haste; Their thoughts were on the tragic scene They just had witnessed, and they each Were fearful of the cruel gulf That threatened now to intervene And rob them of their happiness. For him the world seemed but a band Of hostiles with the lone intent Of making life a bitter draught That he, amid the taunts of men. Would always be compelled to drink. If he had only been less true To conscience, and like other men. NISBET'S POEMS 99 Had studied but to please the eye, To soothe the ear with pleasant sounds. Perhaps success he might have had; But what was all the world's acclaim ilf truth lay strangled by his hand? Was Grace not still his closest friend. Tried as by fire like purest gold. Bound by a faith whose edicts could In part control her destiny? And was not love supreme o'er all, A love unshaken by the test? Then why should he bewail his fate When she still clung to him through all? Such were the thoughts in Malcolm's mind As through the glen they softly stole In silence, saddened and subdued; And she, with doctrines harsh confused. With purposes of men perplexed. Still clinging to her father's faith. Still holding for the mystic book And ties that years of trust had grown Around her life from infancy; Yet over all, supreme, intact. That love divine, implaceable. Ruled in her breast, and covert threat Nor righteous ire nor damning scoW Could e'er divert her trusting soul. They had but reached an open glade And swift were bent upon their way. When "halt!" the words rang sharp and clear Upon the evening's startled air. Three horsemen blocked their path at once. And w^ith their muskets leveled straight At Malcolm's breast, delayed their flight. "Where have you been?" the foremost asked — A man with visage full and coarse. Who seemed the leader of the three— "Were you at that conventicle?" roo NISBET'S POEMS No answer came from Malcolm's lips; Like adamant he stood unmoved, For from the thicket right behind The soldiers he had dimly seen The leering face of Livingstone. "Let them be searched!" was the com- mand; But ere this could be carried out A shrill, wild cry apalled them all. And on their vision dawned a sight That froze the marrow of their bones, And caused their steeds to plunge and rear. And they to wonder if the powers Of heaven or hell had intervened. A wretched form in human shape. With haunted look, disheveled hair. And eyes ferocity possessed, Stood forth before them wild, enraged. His features livid with the fire That burned within him, as with hands Uplifted in despair, he hissed: "Wolves, thirsty slayers of the flock. You slew my lamb, my peaceful lamb. And lit a fire within my breast That fierce will burn till I have crushed Her slayers as I would the snake That crawls beneath the feet of men; You, Glenn, of Craigie, were the beast That in your bloody, wild excess, Released her soul, and left me here To hunt you down, and in revenge To tear your carcase limb from limbl" Then suiting action to the word. He sprang upon his hated foe As springs the wild cat on its prey. The lovers; speechless, stood aloof. Amazed to see the hermit's rage, His frantic gestures and the gleam Of bitter hatred in his eye; And Grace shrunk backward from the scene Of such unwonted violence. NISBET'S POEMS 10 1 As Malcolm heard the bitter words Denouncing Glenn of murder dark. He fancied he could see a gleam Of light upon the conduct strange The raving hermit had displayed. The anguish of his tortured soul. The brooding o'er the fiendish act. The craving for a swift revenge. The mind unbalanced with its load. And all the fountains of his heart Poured forth their floods of sympathy. When on his foe the hermit sprang He saw Glenn's hand his pistol grasp, And moved by feelings of dismay He raised his hands in mute appeal Against such threatened wantonness. Just then two musket shots rang out In quick succession on the night. And Malcolm fell in Grace's arms Inert and wounded fatally; The horsemen wheeled and disappeared. With careless, cold brutality. Unmindful w^here the hermit went, Who, like the others, from the scene Had vanished ere the smoke had cleared; And soon the lovers were alone Amid the falling shades of night. Grace staunched the blood as best she could That trickled from poor Malcolm's breast; Despair o'erwhelming parched her throat And horror choked her cry for help, So that her young life's agony Found outlet only in her sighs. With soothing hand she smoothed his brow And sobbed and sighed despairingly, Yet tearless were her anxious eyes In all the anguish of her soul. He knew his life was near its close. 102 NISBETS POEMS And as he felt the chill of death Steal o'er his frame, he whispered low: "Alas, alas, my darling Grace, How sad is this our bridal day. J feel my time on earth is short. And fear not death with clammy chill; That which I dread is leaving you To face a cruel, selfish world. A mist begins to gather fast. And coldness creeps along my veins — Grace, draw me closer — I must go — 'Twas not to be — farewell — fare-well ! " He gave a sigh, a long-drawn sigh. But with that sigh his breath had gone. And left her lonely with the night Among the wilds of Afton Glen. THE LOVE DIVINE Next morning, ere the sun was up Old Peter, who had never slept Throughout the night, but vain had searched For tidings of the absent pair, Was wading through the tangled bush, With wearied air and heavy stride And in his rough, unsteady course. Almost had stumbled o'er a heap That proved to be the sad remains Of those he sought, the absentees. Poor Malcolm lay upon his back. As if to greet a breaking dawn; And o'er his form, with outstretched arms. The lifeless form of Grace was laid, As if in death they had been wed. Slain by exposure and by grief, She made her choice without reserve; No murmur left those tortured lips. No earthly life could light those eyes, Nor with reluctance did they close; Content to enter death's dread gates NISBETS POEMS 103 If but his smile would light the way; Forgetting all parental pleas, Disdaining rules of canting creeds, Denying all that stood against A love that would not be denied; The voice of Nature, kind and true. She heard alone above them all. Old Peter sounded the alarm, And neighbors hastened to his side With eager haste and willing hands To bear the martyrs each aw^ay; But Peter could not bear to see The lovers parted e'en in death. So solemnly a grave was dug Close by, and where they faithful fell The pair w^ere buried silently Without undue formality. But marked with grave solemnity, Amid the quiet of the Glen. POSTSCRIPT Weep silent tears, ye lofty hills, Adown your sympathetic rills. For the intolerance of man Whose life is but a little span — A little space w^herein to grow, A seed or two of light to sow — But by suppression's stifling hand He smothers knowledge o'er the land. That creeds and fads may have the sway To stain the virgin light of day. The virtues, blighted by its shade. Mid affluence begin to fade. Truth strangled lies, insipid, cold, And hate, with arrogance grown bold. Destroys fertility of mind; The shackled spirit, stagnant, blind, 104 NISBETS POEMS Can ne'er aspire to heaven's height. But flickers with a borrowed hght. The weahh of knowledge is acquired. The w^ords of wisdom are inspired By rich diversity of thought, By reason, though we know it not. The convict, wearing hfe away In vengeful thought serves to display The rancid growth that need not be If reason ruled society. Come, tolerance; your hour is nigh; Come earthward from a cloudless sky And spread those peaceful wings of thine In benison o'er love divine. THE END NISBET'S POEMS 105 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS THE CHICAGO WORLD'S FAIR THE ADVERTISEMENT While time, unswerving in its measure, rolls To us between the ever-distant poles, There comes a pause to toiling brawn and brain When Nature w^ill assert itself again; And highly-tensioned nerves are soothed to rest. With business banished meanw^hile from the breast. Then can we know the glories that unroll And spread before the anxious seeking soul. Whene'er w^e study Nature's beauteous w^ork, In meek obscurity the gems that lurk In every guardian shade and hidden nook. And haply by the clear, life-giving brook, Divulges to our hearts the sweet, reticent care Of noble worth that is engendered there. Mark how upon the petals of the flower The dewdrops from the silent, mystic shower, In sparkling grandeur cheers the drooping head. And lo! recuperated leaves are spread With vigorous welcome to the grand maturing sun Then shrink reluctant when the day is done. The rocky steep, the w^oodland and the vale. The sheltered nook, the meadow and the dale. The canon deep, the hoary, snow-capped peak, The roaring river and the singing creek. The waterfalls, the joyous mountain rill; All ow^e their majesty to Nature's w^ill. The gushing strains from birds in yonder bower. The cattle low^ing in the evening hour. The humming insect in its busy quest. Each echo Heaven's harmonious behest. Why then should reasoning man, divinely blessed. Be by his ow^n productions sore oppressed? Come forth, oh slave! There is no cause to shirk The glorious vision of thy handiwork. There is a city nestled by the lake. Of w^hich the ancient prophets never spake, 106 NISBET'S POEMS And there, within its gates so generous wide, The gems of nature, art and science hide. Beneath those stars upon the flag unfurled The representatives of all the w^orld Have gathered products of the mine and mill. The field, the orchard and the vale and hill. Before the eye the artist's work is laid; Before the eye the common ware is made; And all combines to show progressive w^ill, And intricate, hair-splitting soulful skill. The soft, sweet music of the chiming bells Recalls to mind some welcome scene that dwells In lethargy, within the memory housed, ' Till by familiar sights and sounds aroused; And fancy lures us, whether joy or pain, To live that little moment o'er again. A thousand relics of some ancient race, Which time had managed somewhat to deface; The customs of a crude, barbaric age But illustrate the earth's historic page. Here, with the works of mortal man displayed. Is seen the progress that the w^orld has made. The sparkling fountains dash their cooling spray Into the bosom of a sultry summer's day. And through the sun's rays startling beauty wades In the transcendant glory of its shades. Upon the languor of the great lagoons There steal the sounds of fond Italian tunes In an unmeasured, careless, sleepy draw^l. As through the waters the gondolas crawl. Ths Wooded Island with its leafy bowers, its vegetation and its gorgeous flowers. Exhale their fragrance on the summer air. And h'jg the breezes on its bosom fair. Here could the seraphim of mysdc lore In peace and comfort reign for evermore. Varied architecture flaunts its classic head By virtue of the living and the dead. From pillared palaces and kingly domes To common masonry of humble homes. Minds are diversified, but not a heart Can disappointed, listlessly depart. Enchantment captures the bewildered soul, NISBET'S POEMS 107 And all its beauties artlessly unroll. 1 hen come and taste of pleasure and delight, And feast thy eyes upon the wondrous sight. Come meet thy fellowmen from distant climes; See wonders new and those of ancient times; For everything on earth that's rich or rare Is represented at the great World's Fair. THE FAIR I stood upon the Whaleback's deck and gazed Upon the glorious city come to view, That in the morning sun with glory blazed, Contrasting beautiful with heaven's blue. The smoke like monsters from the funnel gushed. And hung in sullen festoons in the air. As if ethereal pow^ers their hopes had crushed. And left them hanging in a mute despair. The lake in sweet tranquility becalmed, Lay like a lawn by Heaven's indulgence spread Before the city, like a bliss embalmed, As on its course the Whaleback swiftly sped. The Mediterranean in tbe days of yore, With pomp of Rome or mythologic Greece, Inadequate w^ould all its charms deplore To show^ such grandeur in the arms of peace. How sweet was life if like the peaceful lake — No storm or rupture to disturb our course; But like a stream our journey onward take; Oblivious of a counteracting force. Still on the lake it is not always so: Betimes stern anger mounts the seething wave. To dash the cobwebs of the creature low. And stow the wreckage in its massiv^ "-rave. And so in life our fickle seas are lashed Sometimes in merciless affliction's roar. Till some poor bark is on the breakers dashed, And strewn in fragments all along the shore. 108 NISBETS POEMS But golden gleamed the city by the lake In the effulgence of the morning sun; Surprise on every lip began to break In admiration of the wonders done. That creature man, with great constructive hand. Should string the elements with earth's extract Into a subtly bound harmonious band. Obliterating waste and desert track. And then that he with individual aim Should blight his soul with grasping, selfish greed. And null the lotion which utility can name For every care, emergency and need. Thus as I mused upon the power of man; His strength, his weakness, loves and hates. And how on liberty he lays the ban, I passed within the city's pillared gates. Oh, heavenly grandeur! how its mute appeal Played on the heartstrings of an anxious soul; Even now again its mystic touch I feel, But miniature to what then o'er me stole. Collossal architecture, stately grand, The domes and turrets poised toward the blue. Oh, man how cunning has become thy hand! And what is there undone thou canst not do? Beneath the shadow of the spreading palm The flow of joy I tried not to assuage, , But eager drank the fragrance and the balm That filtered through the tropic foliage. The cool, delightful, perfume-laden air. The wild, untrammeled beauty of the flowers. Spoke eloquently of an Eden fair, O'ercanopied by leafy, shaded bowers. The freakish cactus with its bristling shield. The ferns by Nature variously designed. And vegetation which the forests yield. Were interesting to the studious mind. NISBET'S POEMS J09 The orange trees of magic Soutiiern growth, The grape vines from the great Pacific slope. The shrubs and trees, so many kinds of both. To give their Latin names I durst not hope. Among the tempting fruit I stood amazed To feast my eyes upon their luscious heaps; In admiration through the glass I geized At giant fruits which preservation keeps. Through Mammoth Cave with cold and crystal walls, Most interesting to observant eyes, I wandered to the Transportation Halls Delighted, filled with w^onder and surprise. 'Tis transportation, almost to the poles. That joins the various points from east to west; Like Time's great w^heel it ever onward rolls, And progress rides triumphant on its crest The earth is governed like the human frame. With throbbing pulse and sympathetic nerve; And commerce w^ith its civilizing fame, The deserts with its animation serve. The lumbering of the stage coach dies away And sinks in insignificance before The locomotive of the present day. With lightning dash and heavy thundering roar. The old canoe has sunk into the shade Before the steamship's easy plow^ing speed; Thus w^ith the past must its belongings fade Before inventions for our present need. Here vehicles of every rank and kind Were ranged successively in broken rows; The sailing craft, propelled by steam or wind. Electric launches with their sharpened bows. I saw displayed the products of the mine. The uncut jewels, precious stones and ores. And thought of how the world in wealth would shine With free access to Nature's bounteous stores. 110 NISBETS POEMS Machinery of every grade and size That steel and other metals could produce. Or ingenuity of man devise. Were there for show^ or shown in active use. Electric motors, dynamos and wires. The massive wheels with rapid, easy glide, Producing glowing, rapid-heating fires, And o'er the grounds the light and power provide. The telegraph and telephone has brought The world in touch so cosmopolitan; The printing press but circulates the thought And action of the brotherhood of man. Oh, man! the w^orkings of thy skillful hand Should robe the w^orld in high degrees of bliss; The riches Nature yields at thy command. Ennobled, w^ins approval w^ith her kiss. Yet though inventions to improve abound. To lighten labor's drudgery and care, The laborer's load is lightened not a pound. Not one whit better is his earthly fare. Utility is blindly ostracised ' From products vv^eary labor brings to light; A thousand schemes against him are devised. That choke ambition with their deadly blight. . The crafty workman, vv^hose inventive skill Gives to the world a new constructive force. Becomes its victim, and despite his w^ill His recompense is only deep remorse. A world replete with plenty all around. And willing hands to utilize its use. When want and famine w^ith their cares abound. Can surely testify of its abuse. Whene'er I looked around that charming scene Of stately buildings, lawns, lagoons and all, I thought how^ grand the picture might have been If greed had never crushed man's soul so small. NISBET'S POEMS But just as true as yon retiring sun Reluctant, gilds the earth with parting kiss, But to return his daily course to run, So will he see the dawn of coming bliss. Absorbed in thought I sought Midway Plaisance, Where strange excitement rules in every place, With music, shouts and oriental dance, And various customs of the human race. What seems dull or discordant to my ear To theirs may sound entrancing and divine; The sight that perfect to their eyes appear May never meet a like respect in mine. Then homew^ard as I sped upon my way, The city disappearing from my sight, I lived again those moments bright and gay. Transported to the realms of pure delight. What had I learned from all that I had seen Within the portals of the World's Fair gates? What had I gained in know^ledge where I'd been? One truth made plain my humble pen relates — That man, w^ith access to the waiting soil. Would plant a heaven here upon this earth; Of noble virtue w^ant could make no spoil, Nor would invention half regret its birth. TO AN OLD HOUSE On seeing a picture ol an eld houee near JeK&t O'Croats, Scotlariid. Scoff, noble architecture! Such a shade Has graduated from its lowly hearth More honest worth to grace thy palisade Than all the marbled columns of the earth. No base degenerate yawns in listless clay Within this habitation crude, nor can The classic structure with its wealth display A more God-given gem— an honest man. 112 NISBET'S POEMS THE POWER OF THE WILL Wrap me, my muse, in your comforting folds. Sing of a twentieth century theme — Not of the past and the charm that it holds. But life as it is and its magical dream. Man has advanced to a wonderful height. Braced by invention and consummate skill; Strong in his purpose, majestic in might- Nothing can conquer the power of the will. Plowing the deep in leviathan cities; Showing by pictures the acts of a play; Storing the vocalist's lays and his ditties. Shedding his music long after his day. Launching his ships in the clear, bracing air; Problems unsolved are confronting him still; Mysteries sealed w^ill in time be laid bare — Nothing can conquer the power of the w^ill. Pruning the shrubs of incongruous features; Loading the fruit with a nectar divine; Linking the plant life with that of the creatures. Making of all a gigantic combine. Using the bones of the dead for the living. Surgery blesses mankind with its skill; Science its w^onderful secrets is giving — Nothing can conquer the power of the will. Making an Eden of deserts and by-ways; Calling the wide world to speak in its ear; Thundering swiftly along its steel highw^ays; Training the eye on a neighboring sphere. Turning the arid lands into a garden. Watered by many a far-distant rill; Why with these blessings will man's bosom harden? Nothing can conquer the power of the will. Where goes the bloom of the frost-bitten flowers? Whence comes the life that returns with the spring? Where is the Eden of evergreen bowers Of which faith is certain and hope loves to sing? Hemmed in on earth by the infinite ether. Serves this small earth man's ambition to fill? Bridling the elements, fearful of neither — Nothing can conquer the power of the will. NISBET'S POEMS 113 ROB. MURDOCH O'er all the land from east to west, Search as you may, the worst, the best. From SoWay Firth to John o' Groat, You'll find not such a stubborn Scot As old Rob Murdoch of the Mill— A man of strength and iron w^ill. No one dare t^^ll him he was old; He still could w^ork w^ith courage bold. His nostrils sprouted tufts of hair, His eyebrows shaggy as a bear, And in his ears a bird could rest. And find enough to build a nest. Yet shaggy Rob, though grim and gruff, Would help you to a pinch of snuff; Or, if you had a care to throttle, Enjoyed to help you clean the bottle. A glass of w^hiskey show^ed his might; Another glass just put him right. He still w^as strong despite his age, And no sane sinner w^ould engage To bend or break his stubborn will — E'en faith could never move this hill. His eye w^as never known to falter — It had the strength of stern Gibralter; And many a foe w^ho took the chance But v/ilted at its piercing glance. 'Twas told about the village square He had a temper like a bear; Yet Betty, his old faithful wife — The dearest friend he had in life — Had never any cause to grumble. But lived submissive, kind and humble. Rob loved a joke as well's another. And every joker w^as his brother. But he appeared in all his glory When chance would let him tell a story. A miller w^as Rob's regular trade. And he had nigh for a decade Owned and controlled the old grist mill That hugs the side of Shilling Hill, Where Afton Water listless strays Among its green and flowery braes. 1 1 4 NISBET'S POEMS He loved to take, when work was slack, His heirloom shotgun from the rack. And wander up Dalhanna Hill, All eager for a chance to kill A partridge or perchance a hare, A rabbit and sometimes a deer. Often he whipped the Afton's stream. Where finny tribes their beauties gleam. But oftener, w^ith w^illing hands He cut a load of w^illow^ w^ands. And brought them home to boil and strip To split and season like a whip — He had a craze for basket making. By hand, a skillful undertaking. And few could match his w^eaving skill For miles around the Shilling Hill. One night w^hen gloaming grey w^as stealing Down o'er the glen, and he was peeling His willow w^ands contentedly, A neighbor called dementedly, And asked him as a special favor To use his very best endeavor And save his pet crow^ from the mill, A-roosting there despite his will. It seems this rieighbor had a crow — A common squawking, pet jackdaw. Which he had taught some fancy tricks: To dance a jig, to carry sticks. To answer to his master's call (And "Jackie" w^as not dull at all), But this fine evening he refused To keep his master's mind amused. And roosted high upon the mill; No coaxing stirred his stubborn will — For crows like men will have their way Even though it clouds the light of day. Rob listened to the neighbor's tale; He first grew red and then grew pale. To think such trifles should engross The minds of men, yet at a loss To find a w^ay to rescue Jackie, And make himself the village lackey; NISBET'S POEMS 1 1 5 However he survived the shock, But ne'er a single word he spoke. He took his coat down from the nail, Put on his hat without a wail. Then both set out, but from the start Their purposes were far apart. When Rob arrived a glance aloof Revealed the bird upon the roof; He muttered something 'neath his breath That w^as not prayer, as sure as death; Then in the door he turned the key And told the man to 'wait awee;" He grabbed his shotgun from the rack, Craw^led through a w^indow^ at the back, Climbed on the w^heel, took careful aim: A loud report, a streak of flame. Made Jackie join the winds and w^eathers And vanish in a cloud of feathers. Rob clambered down, put back the gun, As if a noble thing he'd done. "My frien' " said he, "I've aye been prood Tae dae a kindness w^here I could; A favor's yours as sune's ye ask it. An' wi' a raither guid-sized basket. An' lots o' patience, time and care, Ye'll get yer Jackie, dinna fear." This w^as a sample of his humor, Which justified the current rumor, That Rob's best jokes were rather grim; But what cared Rob, it suited him. And when the joke old Murdoch eased, The other had to feign half pleased. One night when he came home for sup- per His wife was frying fish — a "whupper" Which he had caught in Afton Water — It sm.elled so rich done up in batter. He squatted down, took off his shoes. And as he waited read the news. Old Betty was a famous cook; She never practiced with a book, But made the fries, the stews and paste To suit their own peculiar taste. A kind old granny, neat and trim— 116 NISBET'S POEMS The neighbors thought too good for him. She had a patient, easy "way, That earned respect from day to day. The fragrance of the frying fish Made quite an appetizing dish. Attracting to the open door A cat that neither saw before. Old Betty, as it reached the mat. Stamped with her foot and cried, "Hish cat!" The cat took flight with might and main. But soon w^as at the door again. She shook her skirts and cried, "Hish cat!" The cat just walked around the mat. Rob sat and saw beyond his paper The cat's defiant little caper. His anger soon burst into flame; He seized a shoe, and without aim Or any threatening display. He knocked that cat ten feet aw^ay. "There Bet," said he, "for business that's As guid as twenty-five 'hish cats!' " Poor Granny's heart w^as sore for kitty. Yet speechlessly she held her pity; Discretion was her sterling merit That bent submissive to his spirit. No prince or potentate could dream Of such authority supreme As Rob imposed upon his kind, And swayed the bright but servile mind. A certain strange hypnotic spell — Or what it w^as they could not tell — Restrained persistence on their parts And sapped the bulwarks of their hearts. Rob had a forceful way of speaking That alw^ays set their courage leaking; He settled all their small disputes With judgment shorn of attributes; In short, he kept them in dismay By strength of personality. But every chapter has an end. Even life always w^e can't defend And village gossip tells it true NISBET'S POEMS 117 How Rob received his Waterloo: One day when he returned from town His features wore a sullen frown — Some trifling care had crossed his path And helped to store the bottled wrath. Old Betty in the garden stood. As busy as a woman could, A-hanging clothes upon the line. The weather being rather fine. Then he espied upon the ground The old clothes basket upside down; A good-sized hole at him w^as gaping, Which made it somew^hat aggravating, Now Rob had worked for many a night To make a basket strong and tight — The best that willovir w^ands and care Could make to stand the tear and wear. He bade her throw^ the old one out. And not have rubbish piled about; But Betty, honest, frugal dame, Like others who have given to fame Their portion of a thrifty race, Had often found it no disgrace The use of all things to prolong Until they were "not worth a song:" Thus Betty had delayed the day Of putting holey things away. Rob flushed to see the taunting hole — It seemed to bum his squirming souL Like flaunting red before a bulL The brisde rises as a rule; Like tiger spriiiging on his prey, Rob leaped into the hole full sw^ay; And the impetus of his run Lost him his equilibrium- Down in a heap he sprawled and lay, The basket clinging to its prey He tried to wriggle from the trap, But cruel teeth possessed the gap; He tried to push it off his legs. But vengeance steeled the pointed pegs; The more he tried to struggle free. The more ^t nained his legs, till he Exhausted lay upon his back. 1 18 NISBET'S POEMS The victim of his own attack, Chagrined as if some freak of Nature Had stemmed the mountain's glowing crater. Or curbed the north wind's howhng blast While unspent forces stood aghast. He bit his lips in smothered rage To think a basket was his cage. Old Betty saw all at a distance. And promptly rushed to his assistance. But all that she could do or say Pained him the more, and there he lay A-foaming mad, and w^hat is w^orse. She heard him for the first time curse. Soon came the quiet of contrition. Resultant from this strange condition. And Betty used to hear him roar. Got frightened at his silence more; With nerves unstrung, she shrieked for aid; The echoes rang through glen and glade; Then like the gathering of a clan. The neighbors, men and w^omen ran. But when they saw^ Rob's sorry plight, How^ he w^as w^orsted in the fight. The women snickered, and the men. Their roars of laughter filled the glen. Excitement general got birth. And took the place of wanton mirth; Like the suggestions from the crowd Around a fallen horse, aloud Each neighbor shouted out some plan Of rescue for their fellowman; But after everything w^as said Rob still unrescued hung his head. The only one composed and cool Was Jamie White, the village fooL When others labored w^ith the jaw- Poor Jamie w^ent and got a saw. And started working while the crowd . Jeered and tormented Rob aloud. Thus Jamie freed him from the ban. An injured but a wiser man. NISBET'S POEMS TO JOHN BUCHANAN Past Chief of Clan MacDuff, No. 16 0. S. C, and Royal Deputy for Illmois, with gift of Umbrella on occasion of leaving Chicago for the South. Dear honored friend this httle gift Is not a vague digression, But through Kfe's cares a little rift To give our love expression. Look not to its intrinsic worth To gauge that love sincerely; There are no trifles on the earth Can e'er express it clearly. When sheltered in its silken shade In sunny Southern climes, In recollections may you -wade. And think of happy times- Joys that the past cannot conceal When each could meet the other As clansmen true, as clansmen feel The handshake of a brother. As warriors of the latter day We wage a bloodless strife, That widows and the orphans may Protection find for life. Your kindly counsel in the Clan Has ever been respected; Your bright example as a man Will never be neglected. Accept this gift then honored friend. And long may Heaven spare you; In spirit you will with us blend. Though travel far may bear you. Among the chieftains of each clan. From Caithness to Clackmannan, There has not breathed a truer man Than honest John Buchanan. 120 NISBET'S POEMS WANTS SOLILOQUY The Autumn had but few days run — ' A time for merriment and fua — When downward sank the glorious sun Into the west, And smiled at daily labor done. Commanding rest. The w^ind scarce stirred the leafy trees. So gentle w^as the balmy breeze, As down the glen w^ith careless ease I wandered lone My strolling fancy to appeeise. So greedy grown. 1 sought the brow of Carrol Hill When Nature hushed the insects still. And closed the flowers with wondrous Of varied hue, [skill. Rejoicing her artistic w^ill To charm the view^. Gaining the ruined hut I sought That stands unsheltered on the top I gazed around this tranquil spot; And silence reigned. Except the birds whose happy lot Their bosoms strained. Below me stretched the Girvan vale,. Where Girvan Water marks her trail. And listens to the night owl's wail When all is still. Or, rippling onward, gladly sail To catch the rilL My view^ extended from the coast Where high the Ailsa's head is tossed. And where the Girvan Water's lost In ocean's brine To far beyond Kilkerran's post Of boundary line. NISBET'S POEMS 121 As round the scene my gaze I threw, The scattered huts attention drew. Whose inmates sought with courage true And honest zeal, Need's heavy burdens to undo. Its plaints to seal My thoughts, depressed, began to stray. And sailed in fancy far aw^ay. Till far below me Scotia lay In queenly pride. Bathing her sides in firth and bay With limpid tide- But w^hy me look of troubled care That knit the brow of hex who dare In days gone by her might declare In battle keen? To null th' oppressor's bloody glare. His every scheme. The ghastly monster. Want, whose greed Is manifest w^herever need Its ravages on man decreed, Had done his share By stinted harvest, mostly weed And useless tare- It pained the sympathetic heart. And caused poor Scotia's sons to start With indignation at the smart Of its demand, And tore their happiness apart Throughout the land. The breezes, as they stirred the tree, Then sighed at Want's unholy glee, And wafted clear the w^ords to me. The gloating strain Of its accurst soliloquy. Which ran thus plain: 122 NISBET'S POEMS "I've lived nigh since the world began. Have aWays proved a foe to man, For life to him is scheme and plan To ward me off; Yet sometimes I escape his hand. And at him scoff. "I reign w^ithin the dark abode, Where merciless I used the goad. And where in many a different mode. With misery's aid, I cast on him w^ith toilsome load My gruesome shade. "I've visited the regions sold, Where half my deeds w^ill ne'er be told; In sultry climes I did unfold My ravenous fangs, And made them in my scourges bold To feel my pangs. "I scale the w^alls of haughty pride; I cast the spendthrift on the tide; Close on the heels of waste I ride On wings of speed; Among the honest oft I glide With darksome deed. "Many a proud country I've dismayed; Full many a host in w^ealth arrayed I've brought to naught or made afraid. And now at last To flinch I've sturdy Scotia made Beneath my blast. "I've made the soft, bright eye to stare; I've knit the brow of frugal care, And made the ruddy cheek compare With w^inter's snow. While helplessly they took my fare — My scanty show. NISBET'S POEMS 123 "'I found tKe suclcing infant liale, Who crowed as from his fingers frail I dashed his botde with my flail; Then in my glee I laughed to hear his tiny w^ail. His tears to see. "At school I found the stripling bright, And sent him home in sorry plight; For clothes and schoolbooks in my might He'd me entreat; Instead, to meet the w^intry night J bared his feet "'Two lovers 'neatli the sbady bower With love entranced the happy hour; I sent him distant lands to scour To feel my hate. And her alone to feel my power And mourn her fate, "I met the father at his toil. And, rankling in my w^icked spoil, 1 round his fondest cares did coiL And in his ear I echoed back the sad turmoil Of children dear, *'The aged man with feeble frame Thought well to close life's little game — Till then he scarce had known my name- But in my rage I hurried his poor flickering flame From time and age. "'Many the hearts with care dismayed I've tortured in nny sweeping raid, And now beyond the Autumn's shade I see in view A harvest in the winter's glade To reap anew. 124 NISBET'S POEMS "If men in judgment could agree How labor should rewarded be, There would be no excuse for me Around his door; This would compel me hence to flee For evermore." Thus while Want reveled in his might Frail fancy fled the dismal sight. And left me with the deepening night On Carrol Hill To scramble from its lonely height At pleasure's wilL TO A DEAD BUTTERFLY Poor w^orm, thy fate is somewhat sad — Thy form lies shriveled on the w^ay. No more in zig-zag flutterings glad Thou'lt spend the golden hours of day. Thy beauteous wings of amber hue No more can bear thee from the ground; What is to thee the morning dew. And w^here is life so lately found? When bursting from thy lowly state Into the joys of fairyland. Thou hadst no thought of this thy fate: No terrors had the slayer's hand. Like mortal man, thy earthly life Is short, and though in beauty clad. Death must forever close the strife. Between decay and life so glad. They say, in death's cold, silent clay Thou must forgotten ever lie- That thou art dark oblivion's prey. Life cannot perish 'neath the sky. Reluctant but transcendantly, Thy life like man's, though lowly here; Will lay the earthly garments by, And blossom in a higher sphere. NISBET'S POEMS 125 BROTHER JIM Who is the man, your records say, That once a month to him you may Your Council dues with safety pay? 'Tis honest Jim. Who is the man that beats the sun For sunshine as he takes your "mon," And makes you think it lots of fun? Just sunny Jim. Who, when you travel many a mile. Can make you think it worth your while. And compensate you with a smile. But happy Jim? When w^e our meetings will neglect, Who keeps our books and all correct. And merits well our best respect? Our faithful Jim. Who never has been known to boast. Nor give his fellowman a roast? Who merits our approval most? Our brother Jim, Search through our members as you will. Where, in the name of old Sam Hill, Is there a man to fill the bill Like genial Jim? Bring out your airships and alight At Kedzie Hall on Friday night. And let us gather in our might To honor Jim. 126 NISBETS POEMS A SCOTTISH SIMMER NICHT I've wandered frae my native hame Tae lands I've sighed and longed tae But never can they be the same [see. As my dear country is tae me. Ae nicht when a' wis hushed tae rest Except the sighin' o' the vv^ind, When a' vs^i calm delight wis blest The joys o' hame cam tae my mind. On fancy's wings I wandered back Tae see my native hame ance mair; The ocean never crossed my track, For in a twinklin' I wis there. ^n that sweet glen whar Coila's stream Rins ripplin' through tae meet the Ayr, I sat alane tae view the scene Which Nature had adorned sae fair. The ferns in clusters lined the bank. Protruding frae the rocky steep; The modest primrose slowly sank Wi' folded petals into sleep. The daisies on the grassy vale Appeared like gems on Nature's lap; The w^ild rose in its beauty pale Blent fragrance w^i' the pine tree sap. The blackbird warbled frae the bower; The mavis trilled his sweetest note Beside the haw^thorne's garland flower Which beauty chose to charm the spot. Sae calm, and gentle wis the breeze Its pleasant rustlin' I could hear, When playin' through the leafy trees; It seemed tae carry voices dear. An' there before my fancy's gaze, Like passing shadows on the w^ay, I noted each familiar face That spoke tae me of early day. The scene w^is grand; my happiness Wis greater far than I can tell; But when my joy w^is at its best Upon the scene the curtain fell. NISBET'S POEMS 127 LINES TO A LILY Seen Floating Down the River. Alas, poor lily, thou art gone With rapid course to meet thy fate, Nor canst thou stay the cruel stream That hurls thee onward in its hate. Once in an Eden thou didst bloom, And forth thou didst thy petals stretch Till high upon the garden wall Thou didst thy handsome shadow sketch. The gentle showers did thee refresh. And gladness smiled on every side; With thee the gard'ner spent his skill. And bo?>-=.ted of thee in his pride. Fair bloomed thy face, and thou didst seem A noble, pure and stately gem; When forth a ruthless hand was thrust, And lo! it plucked thee from thy stem. Sad was thy lot, for didst thou not With drooping head thy beauty lose; Thou couldst not bloom as thou wert wont. No more thy fragrance could diffuse. Then when thy luster thee forsook. And shriveled grew thy fairy form. It cast thee forth into the stream To vainly buffet tide and storm. Ah, many a flower like thee so fair Within a fertile garden smiles, Wheri villiany v/ith subtle snare Their youth and innocence beguiles. And so, like thee, w^hen fades their hue, Adrift they're cast upon the w^ave Until with broken heart and health They sink into an early grave. 128 NISBET'S POEMS PASSING OF JOHN BUCHANAN He passed away in verdant June, When Nature beamed -with wondrous grace; And clothed the tree and flower atune, As if to deck his resting place. One chieftain less in mortal sphere, One more in immortality; One soul forsook the transient here. And wakened to reality. The vacant chair, the grieving Clan, With eloquence bespeak the love That spans the brotherhood of man. To which his ardent soul w^as wove. Few, few^ are they whose lives are spent In self-denial; w^e revere The honored clay to which was lent A spirit that could draw the tear. His form may fade and pass away. But still his smile forever lives Like blossom of eternal day — The happy spirit ever gives. ' And we rejoice, indeed, that he Is far beyond earth's fading dross; Yet in the moot we all shall be Regretful ever of his loss. As hope eternal in the breast Forever springs to bid us cheer. And as his soul has entered rest. So on his dust w^e drop the tear. Farewell, dear chief, and honored friend; We all must seek the other shore; And with life's ever hast'ning end We'll meet again for evermore. NISBET'S POEMS 129 THE DAILLY WATER SUPPLY Whar Girvan Water sweetly glides, A-singing as it onward rides. The trig w^ee clachan, Dailly, hides Wi' modest care; In douce and honest men she prides. An' wimmen fair. Nae country-side sae lovely seems, For here the sun wi' smilin' beams. An' Nature wi' her fairy dreams, Enchants the soul; While lofty hills and rippling streams Bedeck the whole. But Dailly had ae w^oefu' want: Its drinkin' water aye w^is scant: An' mony a heavy, cuttin' taunt Its dwellers got F'-om thirsty visitors that haunt This charmin' spot. Each burgher had his private well. An' though he w^idna w^ater sell You never could for certain tell His fickle mood; You simply had tae help yersel' Whene'er you could. At last, for peace o' conscience sake Due measures they resolved tae take An' pipe conveyance swiftly make Frae Hadyart Hill; Then celebrate the openin' date Wi' richt guidwill. 'Tw^as Saturday; the sun w^as high, An' cloudless seemed the azure sky. When croods o' men wi' anxious eye An' beatin' heairts Were waitin' till the band drew^ nigh,. Tae dae their pairts. 130 NISBET'S POEMS But hark! the noise o' mounted men. Their echoes sounin' through the glen. Approaches frae the ither en' Of Dailly's street, Wi' colors floatin' in the win* Their friens tae greet. An' blythe Jock Mantle tae the front— The foremost man in a' the hunt — Diggin' heelshods thick and blunt Intae his steed. His looks defyin' battle's brunt Wi' valorous deed. His colors floatin* frae his tile, ', An' on his face the dauntless smile. He sits sae stracht an' a' the while Wi' carefu' steerin'. He guides his charger on wi* style That earns lood cheerin'. Had prood King Edward seen this sicht He micht hae gotten sic a fricht That in his w^ild and hasty flicht He ne'er wid turn; It micht hae saved the bluidy fecht At Bannockburn. But somehoo Jock, w^i' art an' skill. His army led tae Hadyart Hill, An' faur abune the ramblin' rill • He drew^ the rein; Then w^aited on the speakers' will, Tae hear their strain. Wi' speeches eloquent an' gran' They spoke successfu' o' their plan. An' praised the handiwork o' man Through mony a cheer; They boasted of the artisan. The Engineer. NISBET'S POEMS \i\ Connectin' history wi' their strain, They spoke o' Bruce wi' worrit brain, How often he could scarce refrain Fiae drinkin' deep Frae that same well when pressed tae The hill sae steep. [gain But soon the openin' crisis cam'. An* free the crystal water ran; When tasted it wis found sae gran' — Sae aw^fu' guid — That little winner Bruce cud stan* Tae lose some bluid. Then Dailly saw anither sicht When gailly they cam hame that nicht, Commandin' shooers o' water bright, Wi' pressure strong, Tae spoot abune tae sic a heicht, Noo fire's unknown, Sae weel accomplished wis the plan That Jock sent oot his stoup and can, Removin' frae his tile the ban', Sae neatly fixed; An' then, like mony anither man. Had water mixed. THE VULTURE At his feet a white dove fluttered. Helplessly with crippled wing; "Innocence abused," he muttered. As he spied the tender thing. Stooping slowly, Kind and lowly. Thinking that the deed was holy. To his breast the bird he folded; Sympathy his fond heart molded When he felt it to him cling. 32 NISBET'S POEMS Straightway to his home he bore it, Bound its wounds with skill and care. Spread his substance all before it, Till his very soul lay bare. But its cooing, Softly w^ooing. Proved to be the man's undoing. Though upon the dove he lavished Gifts, till all his means were ravished. Love for him w^as never there. Soon the cooing changed to sighing. And a sadness reigned supreme; Innocence gave place to lying. And deceit dispelled his dream. Poor and needy Turned to greedy, As the wheels of life flew speedy; Then each dainty, snow-w^hite feather Lost its grace and charm together. And the eyes began to gleam. Claw^s the pink toes soon succeeded. And the bill turned to a beak; Needs increased — his pleas unheeded. And the larger grew the leak. Ever w^atching. Ruin hatching. Careless though misfortune catch- ing In its w^hirlpool each endeavor. Swallowed it from sight forever; Still the bird no word would speak. Thus the dove grew to a vulture. Grim and cold, w^ith icy stare; And its meekness and its culture Vanished as the scene grew bare. Self-devotion, Like an ocean. Showed itself in every motion; NISBET'S POEMS 133 Nothing tender or relieving, Always taking or receiving, Undisturbed by thought or care, Then despair came, dense in thickness. Shutting out the light of day; Ard in him the gloom of sickness Kept ambition's thrill at bay. Still unspoken. Gloom unbroken — Not a word or sign or token, Till the breast had ceased its heaving; Then the bird, alert, ungrieving, Picked the bones and flew^ aw^ay. GRANNY'S TEARS ''No, I have never learned to smoke," The aged Scotsman said; "My granny once I did provoke; Now she is long since dead. "It's five and seventy years ago Since last I burned the weed; And oh, it grieved old granny so — That thoughtless youthful deed. "She told me not of my disgrace — She issued no commands; But soon the dear old wrinkled face Was buried in her hands. "In fancy I could see the tear A-coursing down her cheek. It made the deed a crime appear: That chiding, silent, meek. "And so it fell in after years I never liked the weed; li may have been that granny's tears Made that a sinful deed." 134 NISBETS POEMS ECHOES FROM "THE HOME" "Your young men shall see visions, and your old men dream dreams." Along the banks of staid Desplaines A youth one Sabbath strayed Through verdant bowers and hazel lanes To court its leafy shade. The vigor of a sprightly frame Lent to his eyes a glow, As Nature, robed in beauty, came Her treasures to bestow. The glamor of the sylvan grove. On fancy's golden w^ing, His thoughts to capture blandly strove. And caused his soul to sing. But as he strayed, there rose to view A sight that ancient Rome In glory never could outdo — The Scottish Old Folks' Home. A thrill of pride ran through his veins; He bared his youthful head. As sacred grew the still Desplaines Along its languid bed. He saw in vision, clear and plain. That building grow apace, i Until with ease it could maintain A refuge for his race. Far nobler than the pomp of Rome, Or mythologic Greece, His homeless kindred find a home To end their days in peace. When night her sable mantle spread Along the quiet Desplaines, A white-haired sire bows low his head To hear the night bird's strains. NISBETS POEMS 135 It brings him back, on memory's trail. O'er life's eventful stretch. Through sunshine and the fitful gale. As time alone can sketch. Once more a voice that has been stilled Speaks to his soul the while; A form that oft his bosom thrilled Appears with beckoning smile. Again he feels that magic touch. And lives the joys again; He dreams in quiet reflection such As come to honest men. Perhaps he hears the children sing, Or far-off hunter's horn; Perhaps he hears the church bells ring Some quiet Sabbath morn. There as he sits in thought sublime The night is falling fast; But he has ceased to jostle time: He's dreaming of the past A picture fair — the fear of w^ant 1 hat haunts the human breast Dispelled as by a heavenly grant. When plenty lines the nest. SINCERITY The robin chirps upon the tree. While in the wooded grove The nightingale bursts forth in song, And trills his lays of love. But Robin Redbreast's little throat Conveys the notes of cheer; While in his song the nightingale Can only draw the tear. n6 NISBET'S POEMS THE CRIMSON FLOWER The hall was bright, the music sweet, And happy was the hour, While waltzing dreamily with her Whose beauty was her power; And in her hair. So rich and fair, She wore a crimson flower. So smoothly did we glide along, I pondered in my mind If through the waltz of life I could In her a partner find; Then, doubly strong. We'd glide along And leave dull care behind. The dance was o'er, and from the floor I led her to a seat; She fairly stole my heart aw^ay With smiles entrancing sweet. My soul was thrilled. My heart was filled . With love for her complete. With awkwardness I spoke my love. Surprised to see her start: But muttered something breathlessly Of Cupid's glowing dart. She ne'er would pine If she were mine. But live for love and art. "Dear youth," she said, "you're much in haste. And still you have been slow; I'm married, lo, these twenty years. And hence must answ^er, no; My children three Are dear to me. And 'hubby' loves me so. But let not disappointment cloud Your passion in its morn; Accept this litde flower from me. It will your coat adorn." But from that hour The crimson flower Declined, and left a thorn. NISBETS POEMS 1 37 THE CHIEF OF MACDUFF Mark how he stands on his own native heather, Strong as the oak in his figure and mien, Careless aUke to the wind and the weather. Straight as the pine of the glades ever- green. Keen of the sight, Brusque yet polite — In Scotland alone w^as the like ever seen. Belted and kilted, the hose unconcealing Brawn that alone the wild highlands can boast. Pride in the bonnet and feather revealing When the proud head is defiantly tossed. Swells his w^ide breast To his nature's unrest — Freedom and kindred appeal to him most. Hark to the sound of the pibroch a- wailing; Some mother's son has expired in his gore. True he has fought to the last unavailing. But who to the mother her home can restore? It causes the chief A sigh that is brief. As he fondles again his trusty claymore. Mark him again when afar from the heather, Clad as before in his native attire. Calling the same native clansnjen to- gether, Amply imbued w^ith a resolute fire. Bagpipe and fife Sound not to strife: Joy unconfined these occasions require. 138 nisbp:t's PC ems Bonnet and plaid with the brooch at the shoulder; Keen as before is the azure blue eye. And deep in the bosom the war f ago is smoulder. For he is as ready as ever to die. But (mark the correction), He fights for protection; And he is as valiant no one w^ill deny. No more is the w^idow or mother a- mourning — The days of unreasoning bloodshed, are o'er. And freedom is still in his big bosom burning With all of the glamor that graced it before, Excitement enough For the Chief of MacDuff, And there's rust on the blade of the trusty claymore. THE NEW WOMAN She w^ades the mazy dreams of night In ether robes of misty hue; And beauty sheds her liquid light Upon her path of sparkling dew. Ten thousand hearts are at her feet: Ten thousand souls are hypnotized; Her triumph seems to be complete, For she is simply idolized. Her merest wish is a command; Her smile w^ith hope the soul inspires. Magnetic seems her dainty hand; Her eyes but feed the lovelit fires. But lo! ten thousand souls are free: Ten thousand hearts disgusted, sad. Forsake her, pittiless, for she Has caught the crazy bloomer fad. NiSBErS POEMS 139 THE CUR'S PLEA Ah! here's a quiet place at last; I'll rest my weary bones; And though it may prolong m^y fast, I'm safe from sticks and stones. Why I should be ill-treated so I cannot well explain; The human creatures act as though They love to cause me pain. I'm but a hapless mongrel cur, But that's no fault of mine; Had 1 my choice a royal fur Upon my back would shine. Unlike the pampered curly pet That lies in Miss's lap, I'm left in misery to fret And w^ail o'er my mishap. The pure-bred dog w^ith lordly feast Is cultured for the show; But I, a low-born, shameful beast To uselessness may go. An hour ago I found a crust. And tried to make a meal, When at my head a brick w^as thrust; Its sting I yet can feel. I started how^ling down the street, With fear my heart imbued; Then sounds of agitated feet My flying shape pursued. Like to the shrieking of a storm The crowd behind me yelled; As terror seized my shrinking form And swift my flight impelled. A baby toddled in my way, But, crazed at every sound, I brushed it down, to my dismay, And left it on the ground. 140 NISBET'S POEMS This only stirred the tumult more, The shout, "mad dog," was raised; Legs that I often did deplore, For speed must now be praised. One thing in life that I bewail. But w^hat the boys call fun: They tie an old can to my tail, And laugh to see me run. No pity for inferior brutes Inflames the human breast; A kick can settle all disputes And give the conscience rest Now^, since I've life and on this earth There must be room for me; The mystic power that gave me birth Is from eternity. SULKINESS He sits in silence, but his brow- Reflects the smothered storm w^ithin; He's miserable, but teils not how. So bites his lips and strokes his chin, Somewhat ashamed To own w^ho's blamed For this dark, self-inflicted sin. No beauty greets him on the earth; He will not hear the rustic brook; He hates the day that gave him birth. And Nature has a stagnant look. Within his breast There is no rest — No pleasure finds he in a book. The w^orld moves on, but what cares he? A false pride holds his soul in check; His mind is not as wont to be: He tramples on ambition's wreck. To friends and foes A grudge he owes. And hills of care grow from a speck. NISBET'S POEMS HI How much of beauty, joy and health He to his starving soul denies; How can he taste of wisdom's w^ealth When truth and honor he'll despise? How much he'll lose Should he refuse To think of others and be wise. THE TRAMPS DESPAIR I stood on the bridge and w^atched him Come through the thorny hedge. And a deep-drawn sigh escaped him As he neared the water's edge. A tramp with a look of anguish Stamped on his careworn face — A tfamp whom stern society Had refused an honored place. He gazed in the deep, cold water. And a shiver shook his frame; "Oh, merciful heaven!" he muttered, *'Here w^ill I hide my shame. *The stains of earthly sojourn Will here be swept aw^ay. And society can't deny me The deed that I do this day." He looked to the sky Avith a longing, ,A^ if he w^ould see it no more; "Alas!" I thought, "his existence In misery soon -will be o'er. "Yet could I hot bid him take courage And tell him there's hope for a tramp, Although the world may despise him But the ominous sound of splashing Unnerved me and quickened my pace, And before I could reach him the fellow Had ventured to w^ash his face. 142 NISBET'S POEMS HELP THE FALLEN In the city, deaf to pity, Move the crowds of wise and witty, Heedless of the wrecks around them — Human wrecks, as fate has found them; Poor, neglected. Sad, dejected; How the numbers would astound therrt Sadly crawling, downward falling, 1 hinking they mistook their calling; Love, ambition, which delighted. Leave them strangled, cold, benighted. Inspiration, Education, By despair have thus been blighted. Low they mutter, as they flutter Helplessly into the gutter. Of the hopes and fond preparing Dashed to wreckage and despairing. Hear them calling As they're falling To the aimless life wayfaring. Darkness choosing, light refusing. Think of what the world is losing; Master minds deprived of thinking. Rugged frames debauched with drinking; Chilled with sadness. Fierce w^ith madness. Shall we stand and see them sinking? Come, my brother, let us smother Selfishness, and help another Who from duty is digressing. And to ruin onward pressing. Give him greeting. See him meeting Chances we have been possessing. NISBET'S POEMS 143 GEORDIE'S ADDRESS TO THE CLAN Ye Clansmen leal, o' Clan MacDuff, I've held my peace jist lang enough; 1 carena, no a -pinch o' snuff For criticism; Oor manners hae been unco rough^ As wild's a besom. The banquets that we haud each year Nae credit bring tae us, i fear, in fact, oor actions hae been queer For explanation. Why did we gie the ladies dear Nae invitation? Thae banquets simply hae been stags — A guid excuse for silly *'jags," Where we could sport oor joyous rags; Oh, muckle shame! That she wha fills oor hungry bags Was left at hame. What did we dae when we got there? Jist blethered till oor sides were sair — ■ A gush o' w^ind an' naething mair; An' every toast O' common sense was barren, bare — An empty boast Ye blew yer horn 'bout Clan MacDuff Wi' speech an' sang an' sic like stuff. But a' yer ravin' was a bluff, An' a' yer lives Ye'll rue ye werena men enough Tae tak yer wives, Wha rises in the early morn, Although she may be tired an' worn, Tae mak' yer crowdie or yer corn. An' tend the weans. While ye're content tae blaw yer horn Wi' hearts like stanes? 144 NISBET'S POEMS Wha cooks the meals that mak' ye fat, Gi'es ye the best an' scarts the pat. An' rins an' gets ye this an' that Wi' patient smile. An' calms the girnin', greetin' brat Wi' soothin' wile? Wha floats ye doon the turbid stream O' life, as in a fairy dream. Till a' yer daily trials seem Like airy bubbles, An' then, instead o' yer esteem. She reaps the stubbles? Noo, listen. Clansmen — dinna laugh: The wife is aye the better half; Wha contradicts me is a calf — A rowtin' stirk; A man wad come but puirly aff Withoot her work. Oor banquets are a burnin' shame. An' ye hae but yersels tae blame By leavin' wives an' w^eans at hame. Let us be human, An' men maist worthy o' the name: Invite the women. FAREWELL TO KILKERRAN What makes my heart misgive me so? In solitude why do I grieve? Thy woods, so bright w^ith Nature's glow. In bitter anguish I must leave. Oft, w^and'ring through the Lady Glen, I've listened to the river's rush When wildflowers peeped from every den And gailly trilled the warbling thrush. The bird of spring with gentle call Throughout thy woods its echoes ring. The wood-doves loves thy trees so tall, And from thy bowers the blackbirds sing. NISBET'S POEMS 145 Oft would 1 yet, with heartfelt joy, Along thy ferny pathways stray. But fate my fondest dreams deploy. And forces me from thee away. Though far away from thee I roam My heart shall hover with thee still. And often, when with thought alone, Thy sylvan shades my mir d shall fill. Farewell, thou charming Lady Glen! Farewell, ye walks and murmuring streams! And farewell to the flowery den^ Where I have dreamed love's fairest dreams. PARTED With care distraught, with sorrow fraught, I fondly sigh to think of you. And w^hile I sing, as mem'ries cling. The ocean roars between us two. It must not be Is fate's decree. Yet strong 1 pledge my faith anew. It pained my heart that we should part. Whose lives were linked with love's fond chain. Our little play of yesterday Repeats itself to me again, And in the whole I bathe my soul. Refreshed anew with love's refrain. Joy's not complete until we meet — Until our sighs in triumph blend; And though the sea parts you and me. Some day this exile life shall end. Then bliss we'll see As it should be. And peace shall all our days attend. 146 NrSBET'S POEMS BREEKS OR KILTS OK, weel I mind that Fiappy day When first I heard my mither say: "If ye Behave yersel', ye may Try on yer breeks." Wi' conscious pride the blushes lajr Upon my cheeks. My faither used the breeks tae wear,. But when he got a bran' new pair My mither had some claith tae spare,, Sae breeks she made me? For style they hadna muckle care,. But weel they did me, Frae that hour, every inch a man, I startit in tae scheme an* plan, As they wha wear breeks only can,, How I could craw Abune the kindergarten clan,. King o* them a'. My bosom swelled wi* muckle pride Tae hae twa pooches at the side Sae deep an' sae capacious w^ide, Tae baud my boo Is, My peeries, string, an' much beside O' sic like tools. Ye talk o' knights wi* big cockades, Hoo gran' they strut in swell parades; Beside my pride their glory fades. Mair than a boy I felt promoted mony grades. An' grat wi' joy. NISBETS POEMS 14? But oh, my pride received a shock: When swaggering Hke bigger folk I met wi* Ramsay's bubblyjock, An' tried tae stun it By giving it a vicious poke Wi' my blue bonnet A bubbly's like a stubborn brit It didna like the joke a bit — I kent I hadna made a hit, An' tried tae square it. But swith on my breek-leg it lit, Hot bent tae tear it. Wi' wings it flailed me something gran' As only angry turkeys can; I stood an' focht it like a man. But it grew stronger As I grew sair; I broke an' ran, A man nae longer, Wi' that it didna seem content. But pressed me closely, seeming bent Upon my breeks its rage tae vent. My hameward track Was swift, as in the door I went An' ne'er looked back. Aff w^ent the breeks, on went my kilt, I grabbed my grannie's broken stilt. An' looked tae neither hold nor hilt. But ance again I ventured oot, an' we went till't Wi' micht an' main. Noo, whether breeks or kilt is best In battle, it must be confessed I gave the kilt the better test, But Bubbly Jock Turned tail tae kilts much like the rest O' fightin' folk. 148 NISBET'S POEMS THE BROKEN PACKAGE LIST Of all the ills that e'er beset The much afflicted printer — The stifling heat of summer time. The ccld of gloomy winter; The cares of competition keen. The struggle to exist — Are insignificant beside The Broken Package List. He sees it in his nightly dreams. He tastes it in the daytime, He hears it in the cry of "graft," He feels it, too, at paytime. This gross injustice clouds his brow. And fills his eyes with mist; He shudders when he has to smell The Broken Package List The printer printed on the stones Before he thought of paper, And now since trusts control the pulp He's stood for many a caper; But this the greatest ill of all, Has given his soul a twist. "Man's inhumanity to man" — The Broken Package List. Since skill first blessed the sons of toil The parasitic dealers Have kept the workman s recompense Within their mighty feelers. Then o er the new creative force They closed the mighty fist. Behold their latest tentacle — The Broken Package List. When times grew hard and profits smeJl, With many comforts needed. The paper houses still grew fat. And left his pleas unheeded. NISBET'S POEMS With greed-inspired philanthropy They promised to assist; The weapon of assistance was The Broken Package List. But hark! Revenge is on their track; The printer's press is humming; A firm resolve has steeled his eye, And tells us what is coming. Upon the paper they supply Their crime he w^ill resist; He prints in full the truth about The Broken Package List. JOHN TENDER John Tender w^as a hen-pecked man — A poor, submissive martyr; His w^ife ruled since she married him. And oh, she was a tartar. He couldn't call his soul his own; He had to praise her cooking, But screw^ed his face and mocked her when He thought she was not looking. He could not even think alone, For there she tried to crowd him; He durst not even talk abroad Till she had first allowed him. She spent his money right and left. Nor needed his assistance; She was the man he should have been When he gave up existence. To save the undertaker's bill She had poor John cremated. But the result of such a course She had not contemplated. With stifled feelings and abuse Poor John w^as amply loaded So when w^armth found his frozen heart The tender bulb exploded. 150 NISBET'S POEMS AGREE, MY BAIRNS. AGREE When busy day flees wi* its licht, An' gloamin' gray turns intae nicht, The hame affords a weel-kenned sicht: In fancy yet we see A patient mither sittin' there Among her brood, wi' frugal care, Entreatin' kindly, like a prayer — "Agree, my bairns, agree!" "Oh, mither, Jock has stole my cheese," Cries Davie, an' w^i' Jock, the tease, The place hums like a hive o' bees; Her soul is tried awee. Then Wullie girns wi' hackit feet Aboon the tub; Jock tips his seat; Owre a' the din her words entreat — "Agree, my bairns, agree!" Jock breaks the heid aff Mary's doll; The w^anton deed is hard tae thole. An naethin' Mary will console; She greets as though she'd dee. Then anger takes the place o' care — She rages on Jock's tousled hair, Till mither's voice is heard ance mair — "Agree, my bairns, agree!" When bedtime comes the tricks begin; For WuU an' Jock, possessed wi' sin. Start kickin' Davie on the shin. An' mither comes tae see; But innocent the twa appear. As Davie tells and dichts a tear; An' as they sink tae sleep they hear — "Agree, my bairns, agree!" "Agree, my boys; let love befrien* ye, An" ne'er let hasty words demean ye. For oceans yet may roar atween ye. An' nae kent face tae see. Deal always kindly wi' yer brither. NISBETS POEMS 151 An' dae yer best for ane anither, Because ye 11 no aye hae yer mither — Agree, my bairns, agree!" Noo time has passed, on fleet wings skimmin'. The bairns hae grown tae men and wo- men; Wi' ither joys their cups are brimmin'. But miles and miles o' sea Wide separate their wand'ring feet; An' though their paths may never meet. Still can they hear that pleading sweet — "Agree, my bairns, agree!" THE SIREN She smiles; but in her smile there reigns To prudent hearts a sneer that pains; The vaunted wiles are but a mask Behind which selfish pleasures bask. No calm contentment smooths the brow; 'Tw^as callousness that taught her how - To feign serenity for those Who cannot see her empty pose. She laughs; but to the chastened ear Her merry ripple rings not clear. For outraged virtue's protest faint, Unconscious of her, makes complaint. That lightsome laughter still revives The tragedy of many lives. And in its cadence, deftly hid. There lurk deceptions that forbid. She beckons; and it needs restraint In moral man or pious saint To conquer her magnetic power — To shun her in the evil hour. No welcome lurks in seeming joy; Her only wish is to destroy. That vanity may be appeased. And guileless honesty displeased. 152 NISBET'S POEMS THE BACHELOR A bachelor sat in his rocking chair And thought of youthful days gone by; His brow was knitted deep w^ith care, And from his lips escaped a sigh. A picture met his absent gaze, And as he gazed a tender smile (A stranger to his careworn face) O'erspread his features for awhile. Why did the hardened lips grow soft. The tear come slow^ly to his eye? Why did he raise his eyes aloft. As if to search the azure sky? It is a secret of his own. And as the years go on their way More sacred to his heart has grown; He'll keep it to his dying day. HER CORN A youth sat in a State street car With a furtive, bashful face. And watched a lady search in vain To find an empty space. With nervous haste he quickly rose And offered her his seat; It recompensed him fifty times To see her smile so sweet But cars will sometimes jolt as they Along the tracks are borne; He stumbled when it gave a lurch And stepped upon her corn. Her manner changed; the smile was gone; She glared at him so mute. And as he staggered from the car She muttered, "Oh, you brute!" NISBETS POEMS He would not now apologize. But w^hen he reached the ground He vowed w^ithin a street car hence He never would be found. So now^, w^hen w^alking from his w^ork He treats the cars with scorn; But sometimes he is heard to say, "Confound that w^oman's corn!" HIS MISTAKE They sat in silence, for his tongue Refused to speak his feelings; The stripling w^as both tall and young, With caution in his dealings. His distant gaze to her was pain Without some blissful token; She longed to hear his voice again; The silence must be broken. "Charley," she said, "do you observe The w^onders of us creatures. How intricate the brain and nerve. How wonderful the features? "And do you see our limbs are made Each one to serve the other? The hands can't move w^ithout the head, But all can work together. "My waist is twenty inches round — A size that gives me pleasure — Your arm much longer should be found; To prove it you can measure." Up jumped poor Charley from his seat. His eyes big in the socket. Then blushing, trembling on his feet. He fumbled in his pocket Out came a lengthy piece of twine. And round her waist he threw it. But oh! her eyes did wicked shine. And quickly he withdrew it. 154 NISBET'S POEMS In indignation up sKe rose, And with a look disdainful. Of eloquence she did dispose. To him extremely painful: "Go, pitch a marble through the moon. Or stop the crater's throttle? Go, gather cloudlets in a spoon» Or lightning in a bottle. "Go out and sup the ocean dry. Or stop the planets' motion; But never in your lifetime try To tell me your devotion." THE "STAG'* Ae nicht cor Jock cam frae the Club Wi twa Glenlivets in his snoot. As frisky as a wee bear cub; I asked him whit it wis aboot. He kind o* swithered. An' tried tae turn the crack aroun Tae ither news aboot the toun That he had gathered. Jist let a woman get the scent When mischief brew^s withoot her ken. An' feth, she'll never rest content Until she gets it cot o' men. I got it, too. Says he: "Weel, if ye li hae it, Mag, The Club is gaun tae gie a "Stag" — That's no for you! '* I tried to get him tae explain Whit he wis gaun tae hear or see; I micht as weel let him alane: He only smirked and winked his e'e. An' widna tell. Suspicion urged me tae a plan Tae wear the breeks jist like a man. An' see't mysel*. NISBETS POEMS 'SS It wisna that I liked a "Stag," Whar wimmen are forbid tae go: If Jock could see it, so could Mag. I figured that a secret show For jist ae nicht. That gied the ■wimmen folks a shock. Could be nae waur for me than Jock, An' wisna richt. Howe'er the nicht soon cam alang, An' after tea Jock got his coat, Went oot an' gied the door a bang. An' didna care for me a groat. I wisna stickit — I merely sent wee Jamie oot Tae try the neebors roun aboot. An' bocht a ticket Then w^hen I got the weans tae bed. An' a' the dishes laid awa', The hoose spruced up an' Rover fed. An' naething left tae dae ava, I found a suit That Jock discarded long ago Because it didna fit jisl so. An' brocht it ooL The breeks, the w^aistcoat an' the coat Were dandy, yet I couldna say They fitted me richt tae the dot. But guid enough the pairt tae play. Wi' hair let doon — A Mackintosh weel covered that — A jaunty little Derby hat Stuck on my croon. Awa* I went tae see the "Stag " If Jock had met me onjrwhere We w^idna kent me for his Mag; My male disguise wis pretty fair. I tried tae swagger Like men ye've seen upon the street. But tryin' aye tae hide my feet. It made me stagger. 156 NISBET'S POEMS As I cam near the hall side doors The deil a man there wis in sicht Tae talc my ticket, but the roars An' shoutin' inside wis a fricht. I steppit in An' took a staun against the w^a' Whar I could plainly see it a' An' no be seen. Inside the ropes twa muckle lads Were slappin' ane anither's lugs. Their hauns tied in a pair o' pads. An' girnin like a pair o' dougs. The air wis hazy Wi' reek frae pipes an' vile cigars; The noise wis like the soun o' wars. For a' wis crazy. Richt in the front there wis oor Jock, My bashfu', quate, guid-natured man. It gied my bosom sic a shock Tae see the way he carried on. It beat creation. They couldna keep him in his chair. His airms were aWays in the air Wi' agitation. He yelled oot: "Try an uppercut!" An' "Guid boy, Jamie, get his hash! Look oot, the coward w^ants tae butt! Swing on his jaw an' tak the cash! Ye're daein' splendid!" Wi' shouts like that the biggin' rang, An' joy wis mixed wi' sportin' slang Until it ended. Then everybody took a breath. An' settled in their chairs awee. When everything w^is still as death A chap comes ow^er an' says tae me: "Tak aff yer hat!" It w^idna dae tae bare my heid, Sae facin' him, says I: "Indeed, Ye snappy brat!" NISBETS POEMS 15^ He motioned tae twa ugly pugs That I had never seen before; They crushed my hat doon ower my lugs An' threw me clean ootside the door; They used me rough. I struck the grun wi' sic a crack, I never thocht o' lukin' back; I had enough. Though lanely wis my journey hame, I hadna time tae think o* harm; On Jock I had tae lay the blame, An' nursed my wrath tae keep it warm, I made a vow That when oor Jock cam tae the door. If things had been too tame before, I'd crack his pow^. I slippit easy up the stair An' let mysel' intae the hoose. Put on the claes that w^immin wear. Then settled doon as quate's a moose Tae wait for Jock; But my! I had an unco job Tae smother doon the risin' sob. I thocht I'd choke. It must have been an hour or twa Before he cam, an' withoot lees When I peeped oot, guid feth, I savr My man upon his hauns an' knees Come up the stairs. Thinks I: "My man, ye'll get it noo! Here's whar ye meet yer Waterloo! Jist say yer prayers!" I've always tried tae please my man. An' studied w^hit he liked the best; It struck me as a happy plan Tae beat the boxin' show oot W^est. As he cam in I stooped an' took my bauchles aff. An' how I beat the silly calf. It wis a sin. 158 NISBET'S POEMS A bauchle for a padded mit Is no sae vera bad ava; Wi' me it surely made a hit, When I could land ane on his jaw. But Jock jist grinned: "Strike, Mag!" says he; "I'm tough as (hie) leather. As rugged as the purple heather. An' no (hie) thin-skinned." This got my birses up ance mair; I threw the bauchles tae the floor. Then slapped his lugs an' pu'ed his hair. An' shoved him hard again' the door. He made a stumble; A weel- directed "cork-screw" blow Jist at that moment I let go — He took a tumble. Richt in ahint the door he sprawled. Convulsed in hearty laughter's roar; An' as upon his knees he crawled. It flashed intae my heid the door Had jist been painted; But w^hen I saw his Sunday coat Wis smeared w^i' paint in mony a spot I nearly fainted. But bless me, on his haun wis bluid; "Oh, speak, man Jock, tae me yer wife!" Says I; "I'm vexed for whit I did! 1 didna mean tae tak yer life!" I canna tell Whit feelins crooded through me then; I had a safter heart for men. An' had tae yell. The weans were waukened frae their sleep; I had tae coax them back tae bed; An' when I startit in tae w^eep Jock strauchtened oot his face an' said: "Ye needna (hie) faint! Ye couldna hurt me if ye try! Come, cheer up, Mag, an' don't ye cry; It's only (hie) paint!" NISBETS POEMS Noo when oor Jock gaes oot at nicht I never ask him whar he's gaun. I ne'er forget the awfu' fricht I got tae see the bluidy haun; An' feth, the craters Maun 'get an ootlet o' some sort For cravings that they hae for sport; It's jist their naters. AWAY WHERE PRAISE Away w^here praise enthralls you; Go, empty pleasure calls you; For I'll regret We e'er had met. No matter what befalls you. Had you remained contented. And not my zeal resented. This bitter blow, That crushes so. Might well have been prevented. What once to me was heaven Is now with anguish riven; With deady skill You snared my w^ill Through w^iles to woman given. Inconstant as the ocean. You sneered at my devotion; Unkind, untrue. This w^ound from you Has found no healing lotion. And now that w^e have parted. Unmindful how we started. Returning day Is dull and gray, And finds me broken-hearted. But though the ties you sever They're not forgot forever; Some sober day Regret you may The joys returning never. 160 NISBET'S POEMS MUCKLE SOO Oh, muckle soo, ye're happy noo, Sae fat and lazy, gruntin' fou: There's no a care ye seem tae hae — An' no a thing ye want tae dae But He an' grunt wi' snout sae blunt, As though ye didna care a runt Whether the world gaed up or doon. Instead o' whirlin' roon' an' roon'. I ken a man wha has nae plan — Wha never labors when he can; An' even has nae time tae think, But sits an' soaks himsel' w^i' drink. His w^ife an' w^eans are bags o' banes — They cry for food; he gies them stanes. He ne'er feels richt unless he's fou — He's hardly hauf sae guid as you, A w^oman, too, I ken, like you. But much more wretched through and through; She's aye a-howkin' in the dirt As though the guid, clean truth w^ad hurt; She winna raise her dooncast gaze. But bauds the muckrake a' her days. She w^inna see the guid an' true — She's hardly hauf sae guid as you. Then, muckle soo, respect tae you; Ye're fat an' lazy, gruntin' fou. An' though ye dinna care for work Unconsciously ye're makin' pork. Jist lie an' grunt wi' snout sae blunt. As though ye dinna care a runt; There's folk no hauf sae guid as you, Sae feel contented, muckle soo. DAVIE'S REFORM "Come in, guidman, for dark's the nicht. The win' blaws cauld an' dreary. An' ye appear an unco sicht Wi' een sae red an' bleary. NISBETS POEMS 161 "Wi' drink ye hae begun tae smell; Yer step is dull an' heavy; Nae mair ye seem tae be yersel'. My ance licht-heartit Davie. "Think o' the w^arnin's I hae gien, But still ye never heed them; The truth afore yer een is plain. An' feth, ye dinna need them. "The bairns are cauld wi' nakedness, Wi' hunger aye they're stervin'. An' wad ye still their hearts oppress Wi* cares they're no deservin'? "Jist cast yer een aroon* the hoose. As bleak's the English Channel, An' nocht ye'U find tae feed a moose Except it eats the cannel. "Are bairns an' me tae starve an' dee While ye are daily boosin' ? Will we depend on charity While ye enjoy caroosin' ? "Whar is the vow ye made tae me When -we were gaun thegither? Ye're no the same as when wi' glee Ye took me frae my mither." "Weel, wreel, guidwife, ye've had yer say An' touched my heart fu' sairly. But dae ye mind yon simmer day Yer haun I w^on sae fairly. "I thocht ye were the triggest lass That e'er I clapped an e'e on; Yer cheeks w^ere red an' smooth as glass, Sae temptin'-like for preein'. "I asked ye tae be my guidwife, An' we were mairrit early; I liked the thocht o' settled life. But noo I rue it sairly. "At first ye v/rocht and planned yer wark Tae keep the hoose sae tidy, But cleanliness's hopefu' spark Sune dee't an' left a smiddy. 162 NISBET'S POEMS "An' aften when frae wark returned I ne'er could see you cheery, My very heart within me burned Against a Hfe sae dreary. "Nae mair I got yer hamely talk; Wi' neebors ower the railing Ye spent yer time in idle crack Until it wis yer failing. " 'Tw^as then tae droon my heavy care I mixed w^i' fast society; An' witlessly, like mony mair, I waunert frae sobriety. "It wisna that I cared for drink. For weel I ken 1 shouldna; But aye at hame my heart wad sink. An' stay at hame I couldna. "I like the bairnies, ane an' a'; They'll sune forgie their faither. An' if ye'd mind yer w^ark ava* Among them bide I'd raither. "Sae if ye brichten up the hoosCs An' no in dirt be muddlin', ni settle doon as quate's a moose. An' stop my heartless fuddlin.'. '* THE SCOTTISH CLANS I wander back in fancy's dreams To Scotland's rocky, heathery hills; To wooded glens and sparkling streams; To waterfalls and singing rills. I see once more the Scottish Clans, A-gathering in the sombre glade. I see the gleam of keen claymore. The regal beauty of the plaid. The pibroch sounds; the valiant souls. Stirred to the heights of frantic heat. Would beard the devil in his den To make a victory complete. NISBET'S POEMS 163 I see them form at Inkerman And scale steep Balaklava's height; No inspiration but the pipes, Yet soul inspiring is the sight. With fearless pride they dash away Without a single flag unfurled; Just so they hear the bagpipes play. Their deeds electrify the world. The battlefields throughout the world, Where Scotchmen fought and Scotch- men fell; Could they but yield their secrets up, Full many a glorious tale would tell. What is the secret of their strength. Without a preconcerted plan? They gained their schooling on the hills, At various gatherings of the clan. They met as one in union's bonds; A living barrier to erect. That their dependents might have peace. While they had courage to protect. Where are those Clans at this late day? Have they evanished w^ith the past? Live they but only in our dreams, When troublous nights are overcast? Nay, but w^ith every circumstance. Upon the Clansman's fertile brain There grew^ a thought that blossoms out In glorious action once again. The widow now^ may dry her tears. When sighing o'er the vacant chair; The orphans still protection find. Although the sire lies lifeless there. Now when the droning pipes announce The regular gathering of the Clan, It serenades in Scottish notes The noblest, grandest work of man. 164 NISBET'S POEMS ELINORE He sighed by Irvine's languid stream When Spring had shed its verdant sheen, And ever in his love-Ht dream He saw his EHnore a queen. Long had he lost his Elinore — Death could not part them evermore; And as he raised his eyes above The clouds bore image of his love. "Oh, Elinore! Oh, Elinore! We cannot part for evermore!" The Summer came; its regal reign Brought festoons, ferns and fairy flowers, With feathered minstrels in its train That hopeful made the happy hours. For he w^as with his Elinore In fancy, as in days before; No other care possessed his soul — She was his theme, his life the whole. "Oh, Elinore! Oh, Elinore! We will not part for evermore." With Autumn fell the lifeless leaves, The covert bowers grew bleak and bare, The wind moaned as a soul that grieves. And strange forebodings filled the air. Still he was with his Elinore In fancy, dreaming as before; He saw no sign of bloom's decay. But spent with her the happy day. "Oh, Elinore! Oh, Elinore! We shall not part for evermore." Bleak Winter's chill and icy blast Spread desolation far and near; He could not see the sky o'ercast— The tempest for him had no fear. They found him pale, benumbed with cold, A lock of hair firm in his hold; And as they raised his drooping head. Before he closed his eyes he said: "Oh, Elinore! Oh, Elinore! We meet again to part no more." NISBETS POEMS 165 THE LOST TWIN Where is my brother gone — My brother loved and dear, Who filled our home with happiness, And lit our lives with cheer? Where is the curly hair, The soft, bright eye of blue? Where is the ruddy, healthy cheek That marked my brother true? Where are the cherry lips? And w^here the silv'ry voice? Alas! 'tis hushed in ocean's w^ave, Away from din and noise. We w^ere two loving twins, Nursed at the same fond breast; But as he grew his fancy strayed Beyond the rugged west A sailor he w^ould be, And plough the bounding w^ave, To visit distant sultry climes And mingle with the brave. The good ship, "Hope," embarked With hopeful hearts on board; And brother waved a long farewell. As teeirs like torrents poured. We watched it till at last It faded from our sight. And left us with our lonely hearts To meet the dreciry night But startling came the news That filled our hearts with grief; The ship had foundered on the deep. And sunk without relief. Where w^as my brother then? He filled a watery grave, And though his time on earth w^as short. He mingled with the brave. 166 NISBET'S POEMS The deep sea was Kis grave; The sad winds mourn his loss; And in the fancies of a storm I still can hear his voice. TO JAMES ANDERSON With Writing Desk and Chair, as a token of esteem, by the members of Clan Campbell, No. 28, O. S C, at a Banquet held in Morrison's Hotel, Saturday Evenmg, May 13, 19 11 To you, dear Past Chief of this Glan — A much esteemed, respected man — We pay this tribute, not because 'Tis in accordance with our laws, But, deeper motive than a law. We, with discerning judgment, saw What years of labor may reveal — Your honest and unflagging zeal. In every thought, in every deed. You aimed to serve our pressing need Through many a complex, trying phase. With care that brings success always. For every one that loves to w^ork There's ninety-nine that w^ants to shiik; And shall he unprotected go Who treads untrodden fields to show The faltering step w^here safety lies. And danger easily descries. Yet gifts or glibly flowing pen Can measure not the hearts of men; And our appreciation keen Is at the best but dimly seen In this slight token, but the glory Is woven through life's little story. Accept from us this desk and chair. And when you have the time to spare. And other cares disturb you not. In comfort sit and write your thought; So that for many a coming year Your influence will guide us here. Thus, souls whom pleasure prompts to give The longest in our mem'ries live. NISBET'S POEMS 167 THE FIERY CROSS A sombre glen, and night's chill dew Lay heavy on the heather bell; The primrose close her petals drew, As dark'ning night more gloomy fell. Yon scraggy height, though dimly seen, Is watched by many a jealous eye In silence, by the stars' faint sheen That stud the dome of Scotia's sky. What seek they in their native glen Like panthers ready for the spring? Have they the common hearts of men? Does mercy to their bosoms cling? Yea, valiant as the eagle bold. And in defense of home and heath, Those lips will stifiFen in death's cold Or strong the air of freedom breathe. Look! yonder height sends forth a gleam And slow^ly sheds a cross of fire. While w^atchful eyes reflect its beam, And waiting hearts with zeal inspire. Now may th' invader rue the raid, For Scotsmen never count their loss, But through the foe in triumph wade, Responsive to the Fiery Cross. Those days are gone, but o'er the land The grim invaders still are rife; For grief and want, on every hand, Invade the realm of blissful life. Yet through the gloom it rises still To compensate for bitter loss. And tells, as from the distant hill. The lesson of the Fiery Cross. We who have sought a foreign shore. Whose feet are laved by foreign tide. Shall we neglect thus evermore For dear dependents to provide? E'en though transplanted in a land Of plenty, all is w^orthless dross Should we with carelessness withstand The warning of the Fiery Cross? 168 NISBET'S POEMS It gleams afresh upon our path, To tell in union there is strength; And Avisdom adds to him that hath, Until the reaper comes at length. Then heed the summons; tend the call. And high your heads in freedom toss; Protection spreads its wings o'er all That rally to the Fiery Cross. IN MEMORIAM Past Chief George Bain, Clan MacDuff. No. 16 Sleep, brother, sleep! It is not meet That we should grieve thy tranquil rest; Was not thy earthly life complete? Peace stamped forever on thy breast? 'Tw^as balm in death to know that life Contained that one unselfish joy — That in the midst of worldly strife Thy loved ones did thy thoughts employ. Like knight of old, thy heart was brave To fight the battles of the weak, And even to the very grave Their comfort only thou didst seek. Thy voice rang clear for truth and right. With earnestness in every tone; A host thyself in righteous fight, E'en shouldst thou labor all alone. Let mournful souls with empty creeds In selfish zeal their labors ply; Thy life had no such empty deeds — It taught them how to live and die. Then brother, rest; thy mission done. Thy courage strengthens every breast. Until the race of life is won. So slumber on — rest, brother, rest! NISBET'S POEMS 169 THE DREAM The night had closed its mantle o'er The last chill day of nineteen-four, And seven times on the old church bell The hesitating hammer fell. No moon appeared in the heavens high, But o'er the wide encircling sky The stars peeped forth with tiny light To view the splendors of the night. The city's streets contained a throng That joyous, pushed its w^ay along, A-shopping gailly for good cheer To welcome in the glad new year. Some hustled past w^ith footsteps fleet. In haste to leave the crowded street; While some trod slowly up and down With eyes directed to the ground. And in their attitudes confessed A cloud of care their souls possessed. With gaudy dress and joyous glance Some drove away to join the dance. While others through the stores w^ould roam For some small comforts for the home. As night wore on the drunken crew Upon the streets more numerous grew. And eager boys around them met, Absorbing the example set By fathers whose gross ignorance Outshone their festive opulence. All w^as bustle; all w^ere bent On carrying out their own intent. And no one seemed to see the youth Who staggered on with mien uncouth. He had but twenty summers seen All Nature clothe the world in green. Yet vice and dissipation's trace Were visible upon his face. An only son; a mother's pride; A son in whom she might confide 170 NISBET'S POEMS The joys and sorrows of the heart— - A son who could to her impart The comfort that a w^idow needs, While care her struggle oft impedes. But oh, how pained she looked when night Revealed to her the torturing sight Of him she loved, with hair disheveled. Return debauched from where he reveled. In vain she pleaded at his side; In vain, it seemed, to God she cried. And even now, as through the streets He goes, she humbly God entreats. He staggers blindly to the door, And as he enters, on the floor In prayerful attitude, he sees His patient mother on her knees. It stings his conscience as he hears Her pray for him through sorrow's tears* And in despair he hangs his head And flings himself upon his bed„ With shame and sorrow^ there he wept. Till tired and worn, at last he slept; And as he slept he had a dream: He dreamt that three-score years he'd seen. An old man he'd become at last. Whose w^rinkled brow was overcast With that thick, brutish, grim expression That is the drunkard's sad confession. His eyes seemed starting from his head. Like balls of fire, a-glowing red. His bloated features also spake Of wasted life for pleasure's sake. And tattered garments plainly told A tale of misery and cold. With quickened step and fevered breath He hurried on the Way of Death: No time for thought, unshed the tear. But onward in his mad career. NISBET'S POEMS 171 On, on, as though relentless hate Was luring him to hells of hate. No time to think of right or wrong; His early pace dragged him along. Till outraged Nature made him pause^ Exhausted, as its broken laws Exacted their full penalty In weakness and in misery. A shiver shook his feeble frame, And conscious guilt his soul o'ercame. As turning then, he looked far back His life's irregular, w^inding track (A retrospect of youthful days), To where Hope shone w^ith smiling rays. He saw the start in life's rough road Which he, a child, had lightly trod: No demon then his soul beguiled — The sun was bright and fortune smiled. He well remembered coming on To realize his guide had gone. And reason laid before his gaze The choice of two divergent v/ays. One was. narrow, rough and straight. But led to peace and comfort great — A healthful, if an uphill road: The Way of Life— The Way of God. The other w^inding, smooth and broad. Was more desired and easier trod; For earthly pleasure's balmy breath Perfumed the dangerous Way of Death, With indecision he had stood In an indulgent attitude. As reason tried his steps to sw^ay Along the straight and narrow^ way. But as he hesitated there Enchanting music filled the air; His heart, responding to its strains. Laid life aside for w^orldly gains. He had not meant to come so far. But lured by many a giddy bar He grew acquaint with Demon Drink, 172 NISBET'S POEMS Who ne'er from crime was known to shrink. That demon, rankUng w^ith deceit, Had trampled him beneath his feet. And through those two-score years that Had dragged him on to ruin fast. Thus, musing on the days gone by. He muttered w^ith a deep-drawn sigh: "Oh, had I back my youthful days. Then w^ould I w^alk in wisdom's w^ays! Neglected vows, resolves unkept, Now sting my soul that long has slept Oh, could I but redeem the past, My lot would with the just be cast! "Where are the golden hours I've spent In idle riot? They w^ere lent To mold my life aright, but fast The opportunities w^ent past Unheeded, till among the dust, Ambition died of sheer disgust. Oh, precious moments, how you flitl 'Tis only those of little w^it Can see you pass without remorse, Unharvested along your course. "Where is the youth, the strength, the power, I've wasted in my idle hour. And w^antonly took pains to spurn? Gone from me never to return. "Where are my boon companions now^ — The w^ould-be friends that taught me how^ In gay society to shine — Whose laughter merely echoed mine? Like vultures at their grewsome feast. They tolerate misfortune least; And w^hen the frame is nibbled clean They vanish from the stricken scene. "Where are the friends of long ago. Who warned me of this coming woe? NISBETS POEMS 173 Some gone to fairer havens which I cannot ever hope to reach; For !, a hopeless drunkard now Must reap the fruits w^here I did sow. Too late, too late! The summer's gone, And dreary winter coming on! " The cold sweat drops upon his brow Like beads began to gather now; His furrow^ed face grew pale as death, And panting feeble grew his breath. With bitter anguish in his soul, And dismal death his only goal, He turned to go, but oh, the sight That met his eye froze him w^ith fright — Close by in sullen silence rolled A deep, wide river, dark and cold. " Can this be death, with angry wave?" He asked himself in accents grave; "Am I so near my journey's end Without a chance my life to mend?" Too soon he neared the river's bank. And through exhaustion quickly sank; The icy w^aves rolled o'er his head And numbered him among the dead. Just then the hammer struck the bell The hour of tw^elve, and with a yell The New Year watchers, far and near. Gave greetings to the new-born year. The sleeping youth w^oke with a scream; "Oh, has it only been a dream? It seemed so real, that awful death: The thought still steals aw^ay my breath, I still can feel that icy wave Engulf me in its greedy grave. The tortures of anxiety That mother in her piety Has oft endured for me shall cease. I'll try and crown her life with peace. NISBET'S POEMS 'Tis not too late! " he muttered low; " No more the Way of Death I'll go!" Then, as he felt upon his head His mother's hand, he meekly said: " Dear mother, I had in a dream A warning from the great Unseen; And now^ while youth my path bestrew^s With hope's bright flowers, I mean to use This warning 'gainst my past career To guide me through this welcomed year." LITTLE ALICE Full of life and childish gleCj Happy as a child could be, Sympathetic, fond and free Is little Alice. Crawling slowly up the stair. Singing in her rocking chair, Here and there ard everywhere Goes little Alice. Through the house with pleasant smile. Playing in her childish style; Innocent and free from guile Is little Alice. Running at her mamma's side. Or on papa's knee she'll ride — Mamma's darling, papa's pride. Is litde Alice. Sky-blue eyes and golden hair. Smiling face, unknown to care; In her ways none can compare With little Alice. Long may heaven's genial rays Smile upon her kindly ways, Until maturity displays A model Alice. NISBETS POEMS 175 THE TUG-OF-WAR A LOVE-CRACXED COMBAT Brazil ne'er witnessed such a day, Nor was there such in County Clay, As w^hen j'-oung Jamie met with Mort In tug-of-war's exciting sport. The prize w^as bonnie Bertha Ross, And neither one could brook her loss. Now Jamie w^as a miner lad; Of w^ealth he had an awful w^ad, And though w^ith love his bosom burned For Bertha, yet as he returned Each day from work, when that was done, A-meeting Bertha he would shun; For Jamie reasoned true love flows To him w^ho w^ears the grandest clothes. Mort w^as a humble farmer's son Who, w^hen his toilsome work was done, Would brush his clothes and saunter out With nothing he could boast about. A favorite with all the boys — He did so much with little noise. The hour approached, and half the tow^n In anxious mood had gathered round; And Ross' boarders, too, were there. As pleased as at the county fair. They tossed a coin for choice of ground. And Jamie's guess correct w^as found; So choosing for his stand the West, Where footing clearly was the best, ■ And half afraid of Mort, he tried To bribe the boarders to his side; But they would not to his dismay — They only sought to see fair play. Determined, Jim threw off his coat, And stood prepared upon the spot. Mort with anxiety looked around. For some advantage on his ground, Yet pleased that both could fairly test Who was the strongest and the best. Then round the crowd he cast his gaze, Read his success in every face. 176 NISBETS POEMS Yet half afraid, he tried to bribe 1 he boarders, but this honest tribe Refused encouragement to show. So single-handed he must go. The bell was rung; the fun began, And through the crowd the bettors ran. "There's three to one on Mort!" they cried; But none w^ould bet on Jamie's side. Mort struggled hard with might and main. And on poor Jamie seem to gain; Till, drawn up almost to the line, Jim cried, "she is and will be mine!" Then all his strength he fiercely threw Into the sport, and slowlv drew His combatant with beating heart Back to the spot they made the start Excitement now^ w^as rising high. And Bertha w^atched with anxious eye. With muscles strained and faces red. The sweatdrops starting from each head. They pulled till Mort began to fail. And Jamie's wild strength did prevail. Till to the line his foe had drawn. And seemed to have him overthrow^n. But Bertha jumped to Mort's w^eak side. And round her waist the rope she tied; Then did they both their strengths com- bine And pulled poor Jamie o'er the line. THE MINSTREL'S FAREWELL The minstrel tuned the pliant strings And blended each in proper chord; Then sw^eet as any bird that sings. To rhapsody his violin soared. Along the strings the music danced. And joy from every corner flew; But when on each sad face he glanced. From joyous strains his bow withdrew. NISBET'S POEMS 177 With soft, pathetic, touching strain He played a sad and fond farewell, For oh, it gave his bosom pain That fate should break the deepening spell The weeping strings with fairy touch He made in sorrow^'s vale to mourn; The thought of parting was too much, Perhaps no more he would return. A maiden sat absorbed in thought Intently listening to his strains. To her fond heart it only brought Intensely agonizing pains. To part with one whom she admired. Whose handsome form and open face Her heart -with deepest love had fired. Was pain not difficult to trace. But when he laid his music by And bade farewell to all so dear. From her poor heart there came a sigh, And from her eye there fell a tear. JOHN TAMSON'S HALLOWE'EN John Tamson smoked his corncob pipe As though a care had never been. When Autumn nichts w^ere growin' ripe, Ae mirthfu', stirrin' Hallowe'en. The young folks gethered. An* joked an' blethered Aboot the funny sichts they'd seen- He saw the w^ashin' bine brocht in For apple doukin', an' the sicht Caused him tae think it wis a sin Tae see the sport o' Scotland's nicht Grow bare's a dyke; 'Tw^as naething like The time he wis a callan bricht 17S NISBET'S POEMS He turned an' twisted, then he snuffed Tae see them at a parlor game, An' wi' contempt the smoke he puffed Tae see humanity grow tame; For girl an' boy Found mirth an' joy in mony a dear auld Scottish hame. Through rings o' reek he saw himsel* A boy ance mair, oot pu'in' runts An' bangin' doors, then aff pell-mell A-smashin' glass an' ither stunts. Those were the days The deil tae raise; An' hame forgot in mischief hunts. He minded weel o' speelin' up Tae put a turf on Richie's lum, When Richie's dcg, the mangy pup, Tore a' his breeks as doon he cum. How frae his friens He borrowed preens Tae haud his claes thegither some. In rattlin' w^indows, tyin' doors An' pu'in' stocks in mony a yaird. Flooding the mill-run till it roars An' throwin' burrs at Auld Mill's beard. The pranks were mony, Baith queer an' funny; But deil a thing John Tamson cared. So as he slipped aw^a' tae bed He had tae fire some pairtin' shots: "Ye don't ken whit fun means," he said; "Ye're actin' like a herd o' stots; When I wis young Auld Scotland rung Wi' fun frae Nith tae John o' Groats. But when John Tamson's back wis turned Young Tam an' Rab began tae think, An' as their cheeks wi' vengeance burned They whispered aye an' gied the wink NISBET'S POEMS 179 h or when each guest ' Gaed aff tae rest Thae twa boys never slept a blink. John rose next morning wi' the sun, Tae find the clock wis upside doon; Nae milk at a' tae w^et his bun. An' no a hat tae hide his croon; The coffee can Wis fu' o' bran, An' naething handy a' aroon. The saut w^is in the sugar bow^l. The tea w^is in the pepper dish; The fancy new^-churned butter roll Had a decided taste of fish; He couldna eat Of bread nor meat, An' had tae quit against his w^ish. Disgusted, as he w^ent tae work John Tamson met a big surprise — Horse-harness on the wee bull stirk — He stared an' then he rubbed his eyes; An' strange tae tell. Hung in the w^ell His plaid and bonnet there he spies. The garden gate w^is on the roof, Some mischief had removed the bell. The mule had red paint on each hoof An' wore a pair o' specks as well; Then a' the kine. Likewise the swine. Were rigged in hats an' garments fine. High on the barn he saw his hat A-swingin' on a cotton string; Up on a water barrel he gat Tae haul doon the provokin' thing; The lid caved in. Wet tae the skin The soot met John at every sw^ing. 180 NISBET'S POEMS A grimy picture he presented; The mule looked at him through its specks; The guidwife saw an' nearly fainted, But Rab an' Tarn jist craned their necks An' feigned surprise. Vet in their eyes A glint wis there that John suspects. Weel wife, says John, "I'm maybe wrang In whit I told the bairns yestreen; I said they werena worth a sang; They're better than I've ever been. An' doonricht bricks At fun an' tricks: They've had a splendid Hallowe'en,'* The moral of this tale is plain: Mankind in season duly learns A trick aye comes back tae its ain An' brings tae us but w^hat it earns. Ower a' the earth, In dool or mirth, Ye'll find we're a' John Tamson's bairns. TO WM. G. CLEMENTS Member of Lafayette Tent, honorary member of Enterprise and Young America Tents, and rnember of the West Side Hustler Club, K. O. T. M., in Chicago, on the occasion of his leaving the city tor Laporte. It is not meet that we should part With one whose Maccabean heart Responded to the Order's need. Who to its solemn vows gave heed. Without expression to regret At loss of him whom w^e have met So often in our local Tent; Whose precious time w^as nobly spent Our Order's needful work to raise To lofty heights of well-earned praise. The Hustler Club w^ill miss him sore, When it had learned to love him more* In fact, it is with sad regret NISBETS POEMS 181 That we acknoAvledge we have met With few Sir Knights who tried to do. So faithfully, so nobly true, His utmost in fraternal w^ork, Which many listless try to shirk. Poor Lafayette hangs low her head; No aiore her knights w^ith martial tread Shall march to William's marching tune. Nor w^ill they find his equal soon. In Enterprise he will be missed At team w^ork; w^hen he could assist. His hand w^as first among the rest To help the team to do its best. In Young America, w^ell known. His martial swinging march, alone. Had brought new life into the team. And made their eyes w^ith ardor gleam. So, parting thus with one we love. May all the blessings from above. And health and luck of every sort Attend him aWays at Laporte; But should he seek the homeward track We'll all be glad to see him back. DON'T WORRY E\ery bitter load of trouble. And each pang of mental pain. Vanish like an airy bubble When the sun comes out again. Every joy that has been halted, Every song that has been stilled. By adversity exalted, Still its mission has fulfilled. When the darkness looms before us. And despair obstructs the way, Hope triumphant will restore us To the light of radiant day. When we sink in languid sorrow We but spread the darkness more; Fox the sun that shines toniorrow^ Rises brighter than before. 1H2 NISBET'S POEMS THE CHICAGO FISHERMEN When May arrayed the woods in green The leafy bowers were ringing With feathered tribes of every kind Were all engaged in singing. To Yorkville came tw^o tow^nsick lads For sport and rusticating; Chicago's lack of fishing sport A love to fish creating. But Al. had cast a line before, While Bill was somewhat lacking; And how to deal with stubborn fish His brain w^as almost racking. With eager haste upon the bank 1 hey dug the wriggling baiting; Far in the river threw their lines, Then nervously stood waiting. Two redhorse, out of sympathy. And rather short of rations, Seized on the bait and were drawn in To raise their expectations. So as to keep the fish alive Upon a string they dangled; Back to the stream again they w^ent. And there for freedom wrangled. But while the sport was growing keen. And versatile the wishes, A hungry turtle had been there And stowed aw^ay the fishes. Al. bit his lip and muttered low Of hungry, hoggish vermin, While Bill with resignation stood And listened to the sermon. "Come, what's the use of brooding, AL?" With hopeful heart he queried; NISBETS POEMS 183 Then in the water with the bait His cares he promptly buried. What could it be that telegraphed Along the line a quiver, And made him firmly take a hold To drag it from the river? It must be an enormous fish To hang so dull and heavy, And on the fibres of the line A tax of strength to levy. "Come Al, come quick! I've got a whale!" He nervously kept shrieking; "We're even with the turtle yet When this one's dry and kicking." Then Al. came up with eyes as big As plates with expectation; And on the fevered line he threw His strength in exultation. Slowly it came; they w^atched it keen; Their breaths grew short and hotter; When lo! a washing boiler lid Appeared above the water. Thus on the w^ings of hope we mount To heights of expectation. But to be cast into the pit Of deep humiliation. TOGETHER IN DEATH The huge Titanic, o'er the w^ave Ploughed westward with terrific speed It's maiden trip, of time a slave. To satisfy insensate greed. Oh, purpose vain. Unwise, insane, To slight the dangers of the main! A monster 'neath the restless tide — An icy giant- tore her side, And crushed her haughty pride.indeed. 1B4 NISBETS POEMS Where was the monument of skill — This boasted triumph of the age? A helpless cripple, shorn of will. An awkward blight on hist'ry's page. Midnight and morn The air was torn With wireless calls'mid hope forlorn. And rich and poor streamed to the deck. All leveled by the sinking wreck. Like birds cooped in a prison cage. "Now, man the boats!" the captain cried, "The women and the children first;" The bridegroom parted from his bride. And ties of home w^ere rudely burst. The children dear, With haunting fear. No matter though no kin was near. Were loaded in the nearest boat. And, orphaned thus, w^ere set afloat At midnight, when the gloom was worst. When men turned mad and women shrieked. And sterner grew the captain's brow, When gaping wounds their torrents leaked. And lower sank the great ship'sprow. Amid despair An aged pair With chastened brow and snow- white hair. Clung to each other in affright Throughout the trials of the night, And none could separate them now. The seamen coeixed, the husband pleaded; She would not leave her partner's side. And threats fell on her ears unheeded. For with him she vv^as satisfied. The icy wave Began to lave Her form as boats that could her save NISBET'S POEMS 185 Swept from the mammoth sepulchre; Still from his side she would not stir — Her great love w^ould not be denied. As lower in the greedy sea The great hulk sank from human aid, The bandsmen, brave as men could be, Played solemn anthems unafraid. Upon the swell The music fell With awe-inspiring, death-like knell; But to that old devoted pair It seemed to smooth away each care, And lighted up death's sombre shade. Though closer crept the hungry wave, It dampened not their fond embrace; In death still w^edded, she could brave The gloomy chill with smiling face. With one great sigh — A stifled cry — That carried murmurs to the sky, The proud ship settled in the deep; But memory shall ever keep That picture in an honored place. LAKE GENEVA Sweet, placid lake, upon w^hose bank Repose great mansions, courtly halls, And walks that with the foremost rank, Thy beauty still my soul enthralls. I love thee for thy peaceful smile, For thy immortal grandeur, too; While mortal men their souls defile. Thou hast to bounteous heaven been true. When dark unrest disturbs the soul, I look not to thy turret crest; When sad misfortunes o'er me roll I gaze upon thy tranquil breast. 186 NISEET'S POEMS When kindred souls are far apart. And dark, discordant gloom descends, I drag to thee an aching heart Where peace and beauty ever blends. Art thou a fortaste of that land Where ends our little task of care? Thou wert not framed by earthly hand; No mortal shed thy smile so fair. Yet with the echoes of mankind Thy startled air is often riven. And calls reluctantly to mind That thou art but a gate to heaven. COMING BLISS Ten thousand tons of purest gold In value has no part Beside a conscious, noble thrill. That stirs the human heart. A love to help the weak, the poor. Is heavenly inspired; A love tow^ard your fellow^man With righteous zeal is fired. If man would rise above the beast. To heights of grandeur soar. He must forget his selfish self. And tend his brother more. What shallow pleasures rule his breast. And propagate his scorn. When he his strength can measure from His w^eakly brother torn? If shut out from the virgin soil — The source and end of all — The poor unfortunate must live Upon the crumbs that fall. But time will come when man shall feel This self-inflicted blight; And though he now is unconcerned. Will see at last the light. NISBET'S POEMS 187 THE IVY BOUGH On ancient walls of stately halls Fond ivy bough their ruins hide. And round the home with freedom roam, While peace and joy with you abide. Oh, ivy bough, I'm thinking now Of that dear cottage w^here you cling; Your form sublime throughout all time Shall ever happy memories bring. Your creeping vine its leaves entwine And w^eave a shield around the home, Till cold and care can't enter there And peace within its portals roam. What thoughts you bring as thus you cling Of faithful hearts now still in death, Whose artless ways I live to praise. And bless them with my dying breath. LONELY Lonely in this w^orld of din — Lonely in this sphere of sin — Lonely, lonely. Kindred souls are far apart, Wand'ring on w^ith groping heart, Lonely, lonely. Can w^e quell our fond desires? Can we quench those eating fires That make us lonely? Beyond the tide of worldly cares — Beyond our everyday affairs, I feel so lonely. Ever w^atching in the night- Ever w^aiting for the light. Lonely, lonely; Till hope flits o'er my careworn path, And lightens up the gloom that hath Made me so lonelv. 188 NISBET'S POEMS THE GOOD WE MAY DO When the winds of adversity howl O'er a greedy, devouring sea; When the clouds, w^ith an angry scowl. Hang threat'ning for you and for me; There are others abroad in the blast, Not sheltered as well, it is true, But w^hom w^e may rescue at last. Oh, the good that w^e all may do! And our duty is urgent and plain, As the struggle each day is prolonged; For the breast of the bounding main. With delicate craft is thronged. So uncertain is life at the best — And the fortunate ones are few^ — That affliction may scatter the nest. Oh, the good that we all may do! Then onward, through leveling storm. The great w^ork of rescue is ours. To succor the perishing form. And temper the storm and its pow^ers. There is labor enough for us all. As our journey w^e struggle through; Let us hasten to duty's call. Oh, the good that we all may do! BANNOCKBURN When Scotland, w^earied, gagged and bound. Lay humbled at the tyremt's feet, The haughty despots oft w^ere found To desecrate the highest seat. And pour reproach upon a race Whose mute resentment showed its trace In fitful flushing of the face. By jealousy's internal broils Deterred, poor Scotland saw the day When England carried off the spoils, And left her helplessly to pray For Bannockburn. NISBETS POEMS 189 All hail! the anniversary Of that eventful, cherished day When Scotland showed the worm will turn, And dared and did at Bannockburn. No balm could soothe each hungry soul, No promise bring a lasting truce; They eagerly their arms enroll With Scotland's king, the valiant Bruce. No power could stem that raging stream; Reality forestalled the dream. And steel put on a w^arlike gleam. The breasts that smothered many a sigh, Occasioned by th' usurping foe. Now throbbed w^ith palpitation high To strike the long-diverted blow At Bannockburn. All hail! the anniversary Of that revered, historic day; Six centuries our thoughts return. And joyous sing of Bannockburn. High rose the hopes of Scotland then — A menace lurked in every eye, A purpose steeled the hearts of men, And resolution choked the sigh. Like charges of the battering ram — Like waters that had forced the jam, Triumphantly had burst the dam. Unswerving flew the vengeful shaft Amid the grim tumultuous roar; The Bruce's stratagem and craft But w^hetted keen the broad claymore At Bannockburn. All hail! the anniversary Of that great unforgotten day When freemen could the tyrant spurn. And stand erect at Bannockburn. We glory not in clash of arms. Where noble blood is needless spilt; 190 NISBET'S POEMS We glory not in war's alarms, Nor wear the sword of jeweled hilt. But rugged Nature w^eaves her w^reath Where freedom is the air w^e breathe, And tyrants thrive not on our heath. Long may we live to bless that day; The vanquished, too, may well be pleased: For in each Scotsman's bosom lay A vengeance stern, that was appeased At Bannockburn. SUNDRUM The sun is sinking in the w^est. The little birds have sought the nest, And nature seems to welcome rest Around her throne; While I, in spirit sore depressed, Sit all alone. The bat in weird, fantastic flight. Is flutt'ring through the peaceful night. But, sad at heart, this soothing sight Is dull to me; For fate commands me in its might Across the sea. O, Sundrum woods, bow down the head. The happy scenes from thee are fled, When I my true love oft have led Into thy shade. And happy o'er thy pathways sped Till light would fade. The pair that met in thy green glade Have from each other w^idely strayed. But never from their mem'ries fade Thy sylvan gleams; And often thou thy part hast played In their fond dreams. No more they w^alk thy avenues, No more on thy green sward they muse. No more they dash the richest dews From thy sweet flowers; No more the birds their joys diffuse Among thy bowers. NISBETS POEMS 191 Departed scenes, come back to me! Oh, once more let my dull eyes see The beauty of the hawthorn tree In blossom full, Where oft we spent our nights with glee At nature's school. Farewell, then, to thy wooded glens, Thy mossy banks and flow'ry dens Thy shaded walks and ferny fens By Coila's stream; No poet adequately pens Love's fairy dream. GONE UNES ON THE DEATH OF MY MOTHER Gone w^hen Summer's flowery shade Began with Autumn leaves to fade; Gone w^here endless Summer reigns; To the Land of Rest and its domains. Gone when Day had closed his eye, And Night had darkened earth and sky; The w^earied spirit took its flight To the Land of Rest that knows no night. Gone w^hen Nature, w^ith a sigh Closed the flower, but born to die; But now forever hers to bloom In the Land of Rest, beyond the tomb. Gone w^hen birds had ceased to sing, And slept w^ith heads beneath the wing; Gone to join the glorious song. In the Land of Rest, around the throne; Gone when loved ones round her drew. To bid a last and fond adieu; Away to meet with loved ones there. In the Land of Rest, among the fair. Gone forever from us here — Left this sin-polluted sphere; But we'll meet her on the shore Of the Land of Rest, to part no more. 192 NISBET'S POEMS THE BELATED FLOWER The summer day has sighed away In Autumn's arms so wearily; The broken clouds, like riven shrouds. Are hanging dull and drearily. O'er all the scene the falling leaves, Borne on a w^ailing wind that grieves To see the waving trees undressed. Are laying flowers to winter's rest. The stricken scene, devoid of green. Holds forth its wreckage flauntingly. And dismal gloom finds ample room To spread its sadness dauntingly. "Whence fly the joys?" our spirits ask. For life has now^ assumed a task; The echoes of our question fair Reverberate w^ith dark despair. Despondency and misery Begin to fall oppressingly; Contentment's shade begins to fade Within the soul distressingly. O'er all the scene, with brooding wings. Doubt haltingly its anguish brings. And stabs at hope's inspiring plea. Enraged at its sincerity. Half hid beneath the rugged heath A flower peeps out cozily, Its petals bright with heavenly light, And color tinted rosily. At once the sombre scene is changed; The trees around the flower are ranged, The sky, the clouds, the scene so bare. Form setting for a picture fair. A summer's morn, 'mid tangled thorn. Is resurrected charmingly; The lovely bloom has banished gloom. And Nature revels warmingly. NISBET'S POEMS 193 The trees that looked so bleak and bare To memory their bright hues w^ear; And clouds that hung so drear and cold Now sail along like ships of gold. Such is a smile of artless wile, When life drags onward drearily, A pleasant w^ord, a singing bird, Sound sweet when time lags wearily. Oh, could we drive the gloom away With joy and kindness, every day Would one step nearer heaven be. And dull despair give place to glee. BURNS Burns has left the scene of mortals. Mingled w^ith immortal throngs; Till he crossed death's mystic portals Filled the air with happy songs. Though his body long has w^asted, O'er the world his spirit reigns; He who of its strength has tasted Something true and noble gains. Soldiers in the field of battle, Singing, find their powers increase: Farmers 'mid their lowing cattle Calmly hum his songs of peace. Downtrod peasants tell his glory, j Praise his sympathetic soul Till in love's immortal story All his virtues they extol. Lovers in their lonely rambles Sing his songs of love and praise; Wand'ring by the thorny brambles, Woo each other with his lays. Nature iiugs him to her favor. And her sighs to singing turns: He has gained a name forever; Hail, immortal Robert Burns.! 194 NISBET'S POEMS PRAYER VS. THE SWORD St. Peter sat at the golden gate Of the fair immortal regions, And sighed to think untoward fate Had peopled Hades with legions. A dreamy stare w^as in his eye. His brow^ w^as knit w^ith care; The breeze that wafted up his sigh Spread incense everywhere. The radiance of a gleaming host Sent many a sunbeam dow^n, But gleams of life it seems were lost Upon that heavy frown. Some knotty problems he had solved With vague regret that day. And now to balance all resolved To lean the other way. Up from the mists arose a band In regular marching order, A gallant captain in command. To lead them o'er life's border. The pipers strode along in front As chesty as Dumbarton — Right well they knew the battle's brunt Fell heavy on the tartan. This was a Highland regiment Straight from the Modder River, Upon its spirit mission sent That balks return forever. The jasper walls sent back the sound Of march and pipes a-humming; St. Peter roused from thought profound And w^ondered w^hat w^as coming. Right at the gate a halt w^as called; They singled, swung and doubled. Until the drill on Peter palled, And he was plainly troubled. NISBET'S POEMS 195 "What seek ye here in this array?" St. Peter cried in wonder; "I care not for this grand display Nor for your martial thunder." Up spoke the gallant chieftain then- To mild entreaty driven — "I crave, St. Peter, for my men A camping ground in heaven. We served our country in the war Through many a bloody battle, Until in Africa afar We fell in heaps like cattle." **The kilty lads before the foe Were placed at M odder River, And hopefully they watched us go A-singing 'Scotland Ever." And now^, St. Peter, grant our plea Without more vain palaver; With such a record brave, you see» We hope to gain your favor." *'Begone from me!" St. Peter cried; "War has no lodgment here; Your last petition is denied. So seek another sphere. You've come here in a luckless day — There's blood upon your coat! Depart from me! Away! Away!" — The words died in his throat Far from the earth there came a plaint That seemed to catch his ear; At first it sounded rather faint, Then swelled more loud and clear. Unbounded rhythm soared aloft Until the aisles of heaven. Re-echoing back in accents soft, With eloquence was riven. f96 NISBET'S POEMS The angels paused upon the lyre. Forgot to tune the lute — Such vast expression to desire Had strangely struck them mute. It was the moot of Clan MacDuff, And bowing heads w^ere swaying; Here Scotland show^ed her sterling stuff. For G B w^as praying. A smile spread o'er St Peter's face. His brow relcLxed the wrinkle, A kindly purpose took its place. And caused his eyes to twinkle, "Come in, ye cream of Scotland's might. Cried he, repentant driven, "No more you'll need the foe to fight — You're w^elcome into heaven. "March in and rest your weary feet. And wash your tartans gory; I'll see that Scotland gets a seat In everlasting glory. Not for t-he glorious fights you've w^on- There's no demand for slayers — But when all else is said and done. You can't be beat for prayers." TO JOHN HILL Royal Chief, Order of Scottish Clans, at the Silver Jubilee Banquet of Clan Campbell, No. 28, in the Morrison Hotel. Chicago, March 30, 1912. Most worthy Chief, great honor lies In your exalted station; Your fitness for it none denies Throughout this mighty nation. No bloody w^ars bedim your fame; Fraternal raptures place your name Where virtue guards her holy flame With proud anticipation. .NISBETS POEMS 197 The Scottish Clans of former day Exemphfied devotion To home and chief, and well we may Give such our high promotion. With safeguards round our dear ones spread, An honored chieftain at our head. We emulate our honored dead That sleep beyond the ocean. No balm, on which the soul depends, Has ever been invented. Like love of kindred, home and friends, To make our hearts contented. When w^e our fellow kinsman see Neglect his dear dependents' plea. Till death steps in and comforts flee, It might have been prevented. When want goes prowling for his prey. The w^eak are his selection; And they w^ho plan not w^hen they may Are left in sad reflection. 'Tis well to have a cozy home. Though neither tower nor gilded dome; But when abroad misfortunes roam, 'Tis best to have protection. Chicago Clans are working hard. But never shall outgrow you; As time wears on, with fond regard. They struggle more to know you. Thus, as they start campaigns anew, They never fail to "land a few; " They know you're from Missouri, too. Because they mean to "show^ you." Throughout the country, near andi far — The States and o'er the border — The Scottish Clans shine like a star Above the world's disorder. So Clansmen, high your bumpers fill, And pledge with undisguised goodw^ill A toast to Royal Chief John Hill, The kingpin of the Order. J 98 NISBET'S POEMS ADDRESS TO GEORGE BAIN With Diamond Ring, as a token of esteem, by members of Clan MacDuff, No. 16, Order of Scottish Clans, Saturday evening, March 4, 1911. Respected frien', wi' joy we meet, ^ Yer guidwife an' yersel' tae greet; We a' cam here wi' willin' feet Tae show our feelin' — Our love for ye is hard tae beat. An' hard conceahn'. It w^idna dae for Clan MacDuff Tae simply say ye're guid enough — A rare auld diamond in the rough. Our satisfaction Is maistly w^hen ye show^ yer stuff In every action. There's no a man in a' the Clan But kens ye as an honest man. An' gled tae shake ye by the han*; In fact yer name Is praised by Scots thoughout the Ian' Tae muckle fame. There's naething we could ever dae; There's naething w^e could ever say. Could hauf our love for ye display. Or be enough Tae gauge respect for ye this day In Clan MacDuff. Some heroes don't get passing heed. An' some turn heroes when they're deid. When glory grow^s frae mournin' weed An' bitter grievin'; We w^ant ye here tae get yer meed While ye are leevin'. There's mony a gem still in the earth; There's mony a truth that still w^ants birth. An' mony a soul of noble worth That hugs the shade; Yet Compensation spans the girth Of each decade. NISBETS POEMS 199 Lang may ye leeve tae wear the ring — Lang may it tae yer finger cling. An' ever tender memories bring. It's but tae mind ye That we are pleased in everything Jist as we find ye. This little gift may trifling seem To those those who ever fondly dream Of gifts that always tip the beam. The ring alane Is loaded wi' our fond esteem For Past Chief Bain. AWAITING FOR THE DAWN The w^ind w^as shrieking fearfully, The billows rolling high; The ship-wrecked sailors clung to spars And wished that help w^as nigh. The night was dark; their hopes were low, Their courage almost gone; Yet anxiously they scanned the sky. Awaiting for the daw^n. Along the shore the mother pressed. The baby at her breast. Straining her eyes to pierce the gloom. And sooth her fears to rest. Her husband had been long delayed; Her looks w^ere w^oe begone, As tearfully she paced the beach. Awaiting for the dawn. Still louder blew the angry blast. And w^ith redoubled force It dashed the shelter to the ground And slew without remorse. The rich, the poor, the strong, the weak. The men of brain and brawn. All crouched in abject terror there. Awaiting for the dawn. ?00 NJSBET'S POEMS When pirate powers and tyrants bold Despoil the needy poor They sweep the shelter from their heads And tie their hands secure. Yet through the troublous gloom we gaze. And while the storm goes on. Our hearts are lightened by the sight — The coming of the dawn. THE HUMILIATION OF APOLLO Within Fort Dearborn's towering walls. Re-echoing through the marble halls, Came sounds of mirth and festive cheer. And banterings of joke and jeer. Earl Downer round the Council fire Had called his chiefs from every shire To draw allegiance to his cause, And there discuss the various laws. He told them tales of war and sport His loyal subjects to exhort. And boasted of Apollo Tent, The pride of every tournament; His praise indeed took aerial flights When speaking of Apollo Knights. Deep lost in thought sat John of Groat — A lump had gathered in his throat; He thought of his own valiant men. The cream of forest, hill and glen. And when the Earl a challenge sent ; To any vain aspiring Tent Who with inaction long had slept, Or had presumption to accept. Brave John of Groat sprang to his feet, His blood stirred up to fever heat: "Your challenge. Earl, I must accept! " He said, as to the front he stept, "Long have I listened to this noise About Apollo's darling boys, But w^hen they on the field have met The kilted boys of Lafayette Their boasted pride and glory hence Will look to you like 'thirty cents.' " "Bravo! Bravo! Brine on your men. NISBET'S POEMS 201 And beard the lions in their den," Earl Downer said: "On Friday night You'll have a chance to show your might; My sympathy is freely spent Upon your little headstrong Tent, But every stained and ruined kilt Will show how vain the blood was spilt" The day w^ore on. The dull sun sank Behind a heavy, clouded bank. The w^ind rose to a bitter blast And here and there the snowdrifts cast: They who could stay at home that night Around the stove were gathered tight. Within the grand Apollo's Court The knights were gathered for the sport; And louder as the cold winds blew, Uneasiness within them grew — A fear that kilts, by Spring's wild pranks. Might spoil the game with frozen shanks. The hour grew late, and on each face A disappointment one could trace. Hark! What was that? A bagpipe note! The tramp of men, and from each throat A shout went up that thrills them yet: "It is the boys of Lafayette! " Then in they trooped; the pipers led, The kilties marched with soldier tread. They squared, they circled and they sang Till the Apollo rafters rang, And then drew up for battle there In the formation of a square. Upon each face the dauntless smile, A purpose steeled their hearts the w^hile; Expectant sat the w^aiting throng. Uplifted by the martial song. Earl Downer sprang up from his chair And waved his hand high in the air: "Thrice welcome art thou, John of Groat!" A cheer burst forth from every throat. The pipers played; the fight w^as on. And from each face the smile was gone. 202 NISBET'S POEMS The pipes evoked their courage true — Straight at the foe they onward flew. Now let Apollo w^ard the blow. For they have met a w^orthy foe. The battle raged; the pipers skirled; The kilties fought as if the world Was looking on; for vengeance just They met each blow and foiled each thrust, Till proud Apollo, now laid low. And trampled in the drifting snow. Cried mercy! Then Earl Downer set The victor's w^reath on Lafayette. "Now^, John of Groat," he said at length, "What is the secret of your strength? Apollo, pride of all the Order, Now scattered, flies in wild disorder." " 'Tis thus," said John, "w^hen sounds the the pipes. My men in unity it gripes; It led them up on Alma's heights. Through Balaklava's stubborn fights; They'll follow me through fire and hell. If on in front the bagpipes yell. They'd dare the devil to his face. And chase him from his own fireplace." Apollo still is far from dead; It still holds up its haughty head; And though it has resistance met. It carries scars from Lafayette. Now when it hears old "Scots wha hae," Or should it hear the bagpipes play. Its head gets full of shooting pains. And thrills of fear run through its EXCESS He stands, the victim of excess — A madman with distorted sight; His talents, that w^ere given to bless. Have only served hi» life to blight. NISBETS POEMS 203 The lure of gold, that madd'ning quest, Possessed him with itis gnawing greed, Denying him of peace or rest, Though rich beyond his earthly need. Reaction drives him to extremes Along the coarse, voluptuous way; And there he scatters wide his means To keep a grim remorse at bay. With joy intrinsic as his aim. His calloused soul forever lacks; And he has but himself to blame For discontentment's mad attacks. The noblest work a man can find Is when he tries by scheme and plan, In every act, in heart and mind. To benefit his fellow man. ADDRESS TO JOHN AULD Deputy Great Commander of Illinois, with the gift of a silk umbrella, from Young America Tent No. 282, K. 0. T. M. 0. T. W., Friday evening, January 18, 1907. When kindred souls together meet As one great family complete. There rise events in which the haze Of lassitude bedims the gaze. When languor slows ambition's fire. And bids it stalk in strange attire — - When dark suspicion's fitful dream Diverts the current of t-he stream. And doubts and cares betrew^ the path. Depression is the aftermath. Then, like a sunshine ray you send Your beam among us, honored friend; Yours is the smile that bids us hope — With you to guide we cease to grope. Your w^ords of peace and kindly cheer Were always welcome to the ear — 204 NISBET'S POEMS Whene'er you spoke of pilfered homes. Where death the non-respecter roams. And robs the mother of her stay. And fills the children with dismay — The quick relief, the solaced tears. The soothing of the poignant fears. All with new^ life our spirits fired. And with new^ aims our thoughts inspired. Thus, by the charm that love imparts. You won your w^ay into our hearts. The loyal heart, the w^illing hand Will ever be in great demand; And our appreciation keen In hearty welcomes you have seen. This little gift w^e now^ present Is no reward, 'Tis but a vent To give our love a slight expression That could no longer brook repression. When sheltered in its silken folds From rain, from sleet, from wintry colds. May memory picture evenings spent With us in Young America Tent. Long may you live to give us cheer. And be with us from year to year; Then while w^e gather round the ring. The knights will ever fondly sing: "Should AULD acquaintance be forgot?" The echoes answer, "SURELY NOT!" ON MUSIC'S WINGS She charms the keys with fairy touch — Her soul streams from her finger ends. And w^ith the heav'nly rapture blends. Till earth contains no glory such. He sits in trance-like, dreamy mood. Wiled from the cares of earth-worn toil — Purged from the stains of gross tur- moil — Clothed in divine beatitude. NISBETS POEMS 205 — _ . ■ . : T:rai^" — — ' — ^ The inortal sKell no longer claims The lofty passions' mere control. As higher, bolder mounts the soul Beyond the reach of earthly aims. Enriched by joys, still unexplained. He speaks a happy tongue untaught — He finds a pleasure often sought. And treasured as its heights are gained. Play on, dear maiden; to his ears In liquid notes there softly falls A cadent echo that enthralls And sheds the music of the spheres. Thy mission is to swing the gate That separates him from the real — To him the higher life reveal. To which we all would graduate. COMPENSATION My breast heaves forth a weary sigh, A languor clouds my drooping eye; A hungry w^ant reigns in my soul — A nondescript Of romance stripped That nothing earthly can control. Beyond the desert's silent sand Is there a happy spirit land, Upon whose everlasting shore Desires rebound With hopeful sound. That tells of peace for evermore? Shall I be judged for every deed Of which my wajrward soul took heed, Though circumstance provoked the act, And will its pain I taste again. Defenseless from its grim attack? 206 NISBET'S POEMS Have I not suffered for my wrong By discords in my daily song? And Nature but exacts her own When from its stem We pluck the gem; — We reap the harvest w^e have sown. Or shall my failings be forgot And left like w^eeds to droop and rot. While every smile and kindly deed Beam in the rose While 1 repose. And Nature claims them as her need. LAURA JONES The woods are hushed to greet the night. And feathered tribes all w^elcome rest; The trees are tinged with golden light As low the sun sinks in the west Among the trees the gentle wrinds In peaceful pleasure playful roams As that sw^eet face I call to mind — The fair and artless Laura Jones. All hail, thou angel of this earth! In heaven's absorbent beauty clad; All hail, thou proof of virtue's w^orth? Thy presence makes my bosom glad. Where didst thou find those eyes of blue? And where thy voice of liquid tones? Where didst thou find thy heart so true. That makes me love thee, Laura Jones? Keep still, my heart, and wait the spell That hold thee in its fevered grasp; 'Tis time alone thy fate can tell— If Laura to thee I can clasp. But should not fortune favor me I'll try to stifle sighs and groans. And in my mind shall always be The image of sweet Laura Jones. NISBET'S POEMS 207 PENSIVE EVENING When pensive evening falls. And stars begin to peep; When day no longer calls. But steals away in sleep; I ponder o'er my foolish haste. My fitful and unbridled taste; I bite my lips with vain regret That fickle joys and I had met. How^ plain each duty seems to me That in day's glare I could not see. But, dazzled w^ith its brilliant light, I saw^ alone the gay and bright. Now all its glory fades — The glory that enthralls. And thought my soul invades When pensive evening falls. When pensive evening falls, And tides of deep remorse ' Creep o'er my peaceful walls To cloud my heav'nward course, 1 think of every hasty word, That cut w^ith keenness of a sword; My triumph o'er a fallen foe, My pride and all its wanton show. From dreams that scale ambition's height, Dreams that would fain ignore the night, I wake to land it merely dross: What mankind loses is my loss. 1 find no peace in pride. In fame or marble halls, Like conscience satisfied. When pensive evening falls. When pensive evening falls, And grinding day is stilled; When haunting duty calls For missions unfulfilled; Then we can see how far astray We have been led by love of play; How oft upon our structure bold We have grown dizzy, lost our hold. 208 NiSBETS POEMS - But onward, upward, we must climb To heights of knowledge, grand, subhme. Extending forth a helping hand To stay a foot in shifting sand. And when our day is run, And toil-worn Nature calls. We'll find our heaven begun When pensive evening falls. MISUNDERSTOOD I When you struggle along in the highways of life With a heart for the good and the true. Avoiding the paths of contention and strife. And searching for truths ever new; As you prune at your habits to make them conform To that which is noble and good. With patience you weather the withering storm. But it's hard to be misunderstood. The friends that you love, in avoiding your path. Look askance w^henever you speak; They look with contempt on your soul's daily bath. And tread on the treasures you seek. When those w^ho are closest to you on the earth With their whimsical fancies intrude. To rob an ecstatical joy of its birth, It is hard to be misunderstood. But w^hen w^ith compassion you smooth every care. And endeavor to lighten the load; When you shoulder the burden that others should bear And fall with fatigue in the road. When the soul that w^as burdened relaxes in ease And laughs at your desperate mood, It's harder by far, as you struggle to please. To be willfully misunderstood. NISBETS POEMS 209 FORGET ME NOT Last night I had a fearful dream, Amid the sombre clouds of night; So real did the whole thing seem, I never can forget the sight. The ship in which my Jamie sailed Had struck, and rooted to the spot, i saw him sink; he sadly wailed His last farewell: "Forget me not." Ah, fondly can I aye recall The happy hours and sunny days When Jamie proved to be my all. And locked me in his warm embrace. But cruel fate disturbed our joy And forced him from his mother's cot; When parting from my sailor boy His last w^ords were "Forget me not." With steadfast speed the stately ship Smooth glided o'er the briny deep, And, as it sped, w^ith quiv'ring lip, I vowed my promise true to keep. Now, often as I seek the shore, And sadly mourn my lonely lot, Amid the din of ocean's roar I hear his words, "Forget me not" Or, if I seek the sheltered nook Where oft we met to tell our love. Discordant seems the restless rook, And plaintive coos the wild wood-dove. Or, list'ning to the gurgling stream That ripples past his mother's cot, I hear his voice, as in a dream, In tones so calm, "Forget me not." The dream I had last night has rent My peace of mind, and serves to fill My heart with strange presentiment. Foreboding some despairing ill. But though he ne'er comes back to me, The weary wait will be my lot; In calm, in storm, on land, on sea. Forever I'll forget him not. 2rO NISBETS POEMS THE FAITHFUL FEW In nearly every Council hall Where good fraternal workers meet. No matter whether large or small. That body would not be complete Without a group of earnest men Who always find some work to do. Who are not praised by tongue or pen. But who are termed "the faithful few." Of all the men w^ho form our ranks But few^ stand by the Order square; It is not presidents of banks Nor those who have the time to spare. But men whose honest, loyal hearts, In word and deed proclaim them true. Who to the Council life imparts — The ever-helpful, "faithful few." When w^intry w^inds, w^ith sleety shower. Send shivers to the shrinking heart, When round the stove you creep and cow^er In comfort to escape your part. Is there a kindly, grateful thought For that small, happy-hearted crew Who takes the burden you will not? God bless the noble "faithful few!" Some shoulders must assume the load. Because the burden must be borne: When you stir not from your abode, But leave the meeting cold, forlorn, A kindly feeling stirs their souls And makes them sympathize with you; On to their backs the burden rolls. And on they plod — "the faithful few." No medals deck each manly breast; No pen portrays each battle won; But when each "faithful" sinks to rest He's conscious of his duty done. Then raise no marble o'er his dust. To tell his worth, untiring, true, When he is gone; he saw he must. All honor to the "faithful few.'* NISBETS POEMS MEDITATION 'Twas Autumn, and from siglit tKe golden sun Sunk low, and radiant day its course had run; On life's unfinished task they could not wait. But left the anxious soul to meditate. The garnered wheat, the stretch of bulging corn. Spoke of a harvest-home the coming morn; And everywhere the rich, prolific soil Showed due reward to care-directed toil, I heard the birds their twitter soft suppress. And restfully the peace of eve caress; I saw the flower prepare to fold its charms, And from the sinking sun withdraw its arms. The rook, returning home on drowsy wing. Seemed well content to stay his w^andering; The hum of insects now diminished low To hail the kindly sun's departing glow. I saw^ the shadows creep along the hill. As if to thwart the groping, clay-bound will; And night come on apace, with brooding shade, That young ambition cares not to invade. Sleep-laden Nature stills the day's bright tongue. And hushed to murmurs are the songs it sung. When thought stalks forth w^ith fearless, silent stride. And ranges in the twilight far and wide. Exploring mysteries that tempt the soul — The source of all and its divine control. I ask myself if, past the cares of life. Far from the grind of grievous, wearing strife, There be reward for each unselfish deed; Shall virtues spring from ever generous seed To fall unharvested from w^here they sprung. And their degrees unspoken and unsung? 21? NISBETS POEMS Shall light-winged soul's dejection be endured, Or brilliant light forever be obscured, Because of stern convention and its laws That strangle Nature to a stagnant pause? Shall all our knowledge, unrequited, fade. And with our earth-bound, drooping frames be laid? Shall w^ell-worn functions, when their labors cease. Sink unregretted to oblivious peace. Or, with rejuvenated strength, hold fast To all the golden treasures of the past? Shall life, like yesterday, be but a dream? Are toil's rewards much greater than they seem? Yea, every thought, with lofty, noble strain. Lives on, and undimished, soars amain; Like niches cut upon the cliffs of time, It leaves a footing to the heights sublime. THE LOST Where is the pair that often strolled Down by the ferny knoll? The grave has yawned, the bells have tolled. And left a lonely soul. No more life's joys with glad refrain Can stir him from his dream; Love scarce can light his eye again — The lost IS all his theme. Shall soothing time efface the loss. Or tend the wound to heal? What mem'ry keeps supports his cross. And sad regrets conceal. Bi^ds sing her praises from the bower. The winds contain her sigh; Her soul is shed in every flower, Her smile is in the sky. NISBETS POEMS 213 THE SOUGH O' THE PUMP As 1 sit a' my lane in the cool simmer gloamin' A-list'ning for voices that lang has been still, I hear in the wind wi' its eeriesome moanin' A sigh that a want in my heart seems tae fill. I think o' puir Jimmie, my licht-heartit brither, An' aye in my sadness my heart gies a thump When a soun' steals alang w^i' its burdensome swither — The dreich, ever-faltering sough o' the pump. Wee Jimmie w^is clearly the best o' us brithers: He cam when the rest o' us a' w^ere grown up, A kind-hearted wean wi' a nature like mither's. As bricht as the lark an' as gleg as a whup. I canna but sigh for the winsome wee callan, An' aye in my throat there'll gather a lump When day is weel w^orn an' the gloamin' is fallin', An' the evening breeze brings the sough o' the pump. When still a bit laddie he fain would be working. An' doon in the mines he determined tae gae Whar the sun never brichtens an' danger is lurking That brings tae the hame-folks unspeakable wae. Wee Jimmie w^is missing ae nicht at the gloamin' — They found him crushed lifeless an a' in a clump; As they tenderly bore him the sad winds were moanin' An' blending in grief wi' the sough o' the pump. Ever since as I sit in my quiet reflection An' pine for the lad wi' the bonnie blue een, He lives as supreme in my bosom's affection As though he had left me alane but yestreen. There were times when 1 thocht I wid gang fair dementit Tae hear the auld thing bring its flood frae the sump. But noo when I hear it I'm strangely contentit An' feel Jimmie near at the sough o' the pump. 214 NISBETS POEMS THE BABY Baby is slumbering sweet en the pillow; Softly she's sleeping, While breezes caress the low drooping willow. Vigilance keeping. Soon she will w^ake like the dawning of day, Shed her sweet smiles like the sunshine's bright ray. And laugh with delight in her innocent play. Crowing and creeping. Pride of our home, our hearts* chiefest treasure! Still she is slumbering; Breathing as time in its regular measure . Moments is numbering. Fair is her brow and untrammeled with care. Golden the locks of her wild flowing hair. Sweet on her lips is the smile that is there. Artlessly w^ondering. What is our home without our dear baby. Smiling to greet us? Prattling along like a little lady, Coming to meet us. Rich blessings upon her fairy face. May she dwell forever in Heaven's grace, And as she grows to an honored place Let love entreat us. THE SIGH OF THE EMIGRANT I've left the old home on Scotia's fair shore To struggle with fortune far over the sea; Perhaps I have left it to see it no more. But oh, it seems dearer than ever to me. I left my poor Mary bewailing her fate; It seemed very hard that we should have to part; And in silence with grief, for the struggle w^as great, I left her behind -with, a sorrowful heart. We loved one another both fondly and true; Our hearts w^ere as one in our quiet summer w^alk; I gazed with delight on her soft eyes of blue. And listened enraptured whene'er she w^ould talk. NISBETS POEMS 215 Although I may wander by sea or by land Through scenes that attract with magnificent glare, They match not the touch of her lily-white hand, Nor the charm of her presence, angelic and fair. 1 hear her sweet voice in my dreams of the night, And ofttimes I fancy I sit by her side; But like a vain buble it bursts, and its flight No substitute fancy for me can provide. I vowed when we parted to meet her again, If not on this earth then in heaven above; And although roars between us the wild raging main, Still I to my Mary my true love will prove. HAIL TO CLAN CAMPBELL! Hail to Clan Campbell, the pride of the West! Among Scottish Clans it is one of the best. There are other Clan Campbells, but hardly as great As the Campbells whose number became twenty-eight. They are tested and tried; they are loyal and true; They stand by their chief and the officers, too; And the resolute fire that glows in their veins Its coveted purpose in triumph attains. It often was said, when the pipes were a-humming, To outw^ard appearance the Campbells were coming; When the tune of "two hundred" they started to hum We soon were aware that the Campbells had come. In the thick of the conflict, the obstacles met Were razed to the ground by their "dinna forget;" All credit to clansmen, their officers, too, For what is accomplished and what is to do. Just think of the structures fraternal erected, The two hundred homes that are amply protected, And the vast opportunities at their command To render the Order a power in the land. Then here's to Clan Campbell, and great may it grow; May success to its efforts eternally flow; And the flame of ambition, that grew from a spark. Imbue it with zeal for the "three hundred mark." 216 NISBETS POEMS THE COLLIER'S WIFE A country domestic, on writing for a bit of sound advice to a friend who had been married to a miner for some years, received the following letter: Dear Aggie, yer letter cam safely tae haun; Richt gled I'm tae hear o' ye takin' a man. Nae doot ye'll be thinkin' its bound tae be nice. But wait till I gie ye a piece o' advice. I advise those that's thinking o' mairrage ava* Tae luk for a man that's baith wealthy and braw^. An' ane w^i' a tred, like the penter or jiner, But oh, keep awa' frae the black, sooty miner. Ye scarcely wid credit the w^ark that I hae Tae keep the hoose tidy an' clean every day; An' then I'm polluted at nicht wi' the soot That rises when Jock saunters hame frae the pit. If I w^is a w^anter an' single again, Lukin' cot for a man, I'll tell ye richt plain My life wid be changed, an' my Sunday claes finer — Ne'er again w^id I wed wi' a miserable miner. I lie a' nicht w^auken tae rouse him up sune, Or else every mornin' the bleck wid sleep in; Then up I've tae rise an' mak him some tea. But deevil the lick does he lee tae me. So w^hen I get rid o' the black-nebbit chookie A nice cup o' tea an' a biscuit or cookie Is jist my delight, then I'm back tae my bed, An' deep in the blankets I cover my head. At nicht he comes shauchelling hame frae his w-ark Wi' his breeks a' torn or a hole in his sark; It's sew, sew on frae mornin' till nicht, An' his claes wi' patches are siccan a fricht. He washes himsel', then oot wi' his pipe An' smokes (bad luck tae the black-smeekit snipe), An' spits in the fire, nearly pitten it oot, For which if I speak he wid bite aff my snoot. He talks aboot w^heelbraes, an' dooks an' dips. Of w^hins an' gaws an' steps an' stips, But hoo does he think I can talk aboot that When I ken nocht aboot it nae mair than the cat? NISBET'S POEMS 217 If he canna get me tae battle an' fecht He's aff tae the pubHc-hoose spendin' the nicht; Then hame he comes singin' sae late an' sae fou An' sleeps on the flair like a great muckle soo. The wage that he earns is no muckle ava', For the pounds tae me are as scarce as blue snaw. An' starvation stares in the face o' obr weans That tumble aboot like a bundle o' banes. Noo whit dae ye think o' a collier's wife? An* hoo wid ye like tae leeve sic a life? Tak my soun' advice an' leeve a' yer lane, Or mairry unlike yer auld crony, Jean Blain. THE PUPPET WITH THE STRING In every sort of company there's always one who leads, And always there's a puppet that his every motion heeds; The puppet may not like it when he's told to do some thing, But always has to do it when his master pulls the string. In course of human government there's one or two that's tall In matters of intelligence, and some exceeding small; The tall ones rule the small ones, and remove the little sting. Then make them do their bidding when they choose to pull the string. We should not blame the tyrant when he rules the little man: The tyrant only does it just because he thinks he can; His safest way of working is to reach behind a wing And have his will accomplished well by pulling at a string. In market, church and politics there's crookedness galore; We're learning from statistics it's increasing more and more; The good men try to check it, but they cannot do a thing As long as representatives consent to have a string. To be a good American, although you fight alone, If you respect your country and would call your soul your own. Before you make a stumble that disgrace to you may bring. Be careful to examine if you have not got a string. 218 NISEET'S POEMS THE TAMING OF JIM RANKIN Jim Rankin left Kilmarnock when the hour was getting later He was fearless in the parting with his sweetheart at the gate; Although somew^hat reluctant to be on his lonely w^ay He always thought of something he had, forgot to say. Till ten o'clock was striking on the solemn old church bell, And still he kept a-talking, and with but little news to tell. He had been telling stories that were gruesome, strange and weird. Until he had his hearers plainly terrified and scared. He told of ghosts and goblins, and it gave him keen delight To see their anxious faces and their eyes grow big with fright; His careless laugh to Nanny showed he did not care a straw For all the would-be goblins, for in life he never saw A single thing that happened that w^ould lead him to suppose There w^as anything in Nature but what everybody knows; But man's imagination could be played on like a harp, Till his reason has been rifled and his judgment prone to vsrarp. Now Jim had quite a journey far beyond the Craigie Hill — From Killie o'er to Trabboch — and against his Nanny's will He bravely had determined to face the thirteen miles. And meet the awe of midnight with his confidential smiles. Poor Nanny tried to stay him but he kissed her on the cheek And waved his hand at parting from his sweetheart for a week. She saw his form departing till it stabbed the d'eep'ning gloom And saw it disappearing in the darkness of a tomb. Jim whistled like a linnet till he crossed the Craigie Hill When thoughts of that day's pleasure then began his mind to fill And he forgot to whistle as he lived it o'er again; Nor saw he his surroundings, for the crowding, joyous train Of thoughts began to cheer him as he journeyed on his way; He could not keep from laughing at the fun he had that day. The night w^as dark and gloomy, for no moon appeared in view And through the rifts of cloudbanks the stars w^ere very few. So w^hen he crossed the hillside and w^ent dow^n the other side Where the signs of habitation w^ere scanty far and wide, A creepy feeling took him on the stretch of lonely road, For the motion of the branches looked like spirits were abroad. And the bats came swooping by him as they fluttered on the way. Conveying some suggestions that he couldn't well allay. Then far off in the distance came the night owl's eerie cries. That made his spine feel numb like and caused his hair to rise. Till in his fevered fancv the trees w^aved eho^tlv arms NISBETS POEMS 219 And everything in Nature was prolific with alarms. Jim summoned all his courage and pursued his lonely trend With a hasty, quickened footstep that threatened soon to end His gloomy midnight journey, and to keep his courage strong. He wrapped himself with reason as he swiftly strode along. What was there to molest him — what was there to be feared? He never knew a mortal to whom a ghost appeared. All this appeal to reason was struggling in his brain, And Jim was getting easy; he was himself again, And had begun to wonder how the creepy feeling came, When a sound away behind him like the clanking of a chain Fell on his ear, like thunder from a clear and tranquil sky; He could not be mistaken, for the sound was drawing nigh. Here was a situation! Out upon a lonely road At the dark cold hour of midnight, w^ith no helping hand abroad. And Satan loosed upon him, for what else could explain At such a tragic moment the clanking of a chain. The thought of fire and brimstone began his mind to rack; He could almost feel the pitchfork of the devil at his back. He durst not look behind him, for the awful sound was there. Approaching clcse and closer, and the pallor of despair Came slowly creeping o'er him, as he started on the run. But his limbs were weak with terror, and he scarcely had begun Till he found his every effort was not equal to the task. And the chain was sounding nearer; in his mind the awful mask Was gleaming fierce with hateur, and the cloven feet were bent With energetic fervor, to their hellish mission lent. Already, in his fancy, he could feel the scorching breath. And his heart was beating madly at his fast approaching death. When the gateway of a meadow rose to view^ out of the gloom. There he sank into its shelter, as though it were his tomb, And lay in abject terror for the crisis grim to come. In a mental state chaotic and his feet and fingers numb. But lo, the sight that met him soon relieved him of the strain — • A St. Bernard dog passing that dragged a broken chain. A problem's very simple when it has been well explained — There is no cause for wonder when experience is gained. We flounder on in error w^hen the mind is overcast, And w^onder at our denseness w^hen the incident is past. Against all superstition, where is the man that's proof Who breathed it since his childhood beneath his father's roof? 223 NISEETS POEMS And Jim was no exception, but he loved to show his strength; And the dog in passing by him restored his breath at length. The weakness of reaction passing quickly from his frame, His heart resumed its normal as his mind resumed the same. He laughed to think how funny he could tell the tale in town. How after it w^as doctored it could well be swallowed down; But he wouldn't care to mention how hard his heart had beat. And only show his coolness an emergency to meet. He had but half arisen, to resume with pleasing thought, When a sight that met his vision nearly froze him to the spot: A figure large, ungainly, had approached the meadow gate And glared at him intensely with a look of bitter hate; Two fiery, glowing eyeballs, seemed to chill his bosom dead. And a pair of horns surmounted the grinning, ugly head. Poor Jim collapsed completely; he could neither think nor pray. But the figure's laugh sepulchral caused the lad to swoon away. How long he lay unconscious he never yet could tell, But as he gained his senses, he still remembers w^ell A farmer standing o'er him, sprinkling water on his brow; And soothing him writh language like, "1 think you're better now! You must be very nervous; yet I think a man's a fool To ever lose his senses at the braying of a mule." UNEMPLOYED How can 1 best describe my mind? How can desire an outlet find? I don't know how to spend the day — I'm always getting in the way; I'm restless, and 1 cannot read; I'm hungry, and 1 cannot feed; I'm sorrowful, but cannot weep; I'm very tired, yet cannot sleep. What once 1 saw with joyful eyes I'm often tempted to despise. Time, that once flitted like a song. Now drags its weary way along. Once I would not my duty shirk, But now I hate the sight of work. I'm like a fish out of the water. Well, since you ask me what's the matter And why I cannot find enjoyment, I'll state, 1 cannot find employment. NISBET'S POEMS 221 HOW PAT RODE THE GOAT Pat Carney was a candidate to join the Maccabees; He filled the application and paid the doctor's fees; The doctors had approved him, so he buttoned up his coat And told them he was ready to meet their billy goat. Some member whispered in his ear the goat was getting old, The older he w^as growing, the sassier and bold. This was his first experience and on a plan he hit To get a course of training that would surely make him fit: In the Italian settlement the goats w^ere thick as flies. Among them walked King Billy, a battler old and wise. With a beard as long as Moses', and horns like bars of steel; And Pat resolved to ride him to see how it w^ould feel. He w^ished to make a showing, and he wanted to be right. To show the boys a circus on initiation night. One night he coaxed King Billy in through his garden gate, With two or three potatoes on an old discarded plate. No sooner had he Billy in than to the gate he slammed But Billy started off the show, and promptly had him rammed; Pat w^atched his opportunity, and lit on Billy's back And crossed his legs right under to save him from attack. Now Billy's game w^as butting, and his foe he could not see So he reared and kicked and tw^isted till he shook his rider free. Then on poor Pat's round stomach he saw a shining mark — He took a plunge and hit the spot, and all to Pat w^as dark. When Pat recovered consciousness the goat w^as standing by; "By goshi" says Pat, "I'll conquer him! I'll have another try!" He seized the horns of Billy and crawled on him once more. But Billy threw him easily in through the kitchen door. The goat now grew more hostile and started for his man With lowered head and bloodshot eyes as only Billies can. And Pat knew well that Billy's horns were just as hard as rock, So he held an empty wooden box in front to break the shock — Crash went the head of Billy ia his murderous attack His horns and all went through it, but he couldn't get them back. This was to Pat's advantage; no more he found it hard 222 NISBET'S POEMS To ride the stubborn Billy, for he rode him round the yard, Then fed him with potatoes, and in triumph at the meet, He next escorted Billy through the back gate to the street. Initiation night came on, and joyfully the boys Gave Pat the Oriental 'mid the laughter and the noise; He took the matter calmly, but the boys were full of tricks: They tried galvanic batteries; they led him over bricks. They tripped him and they mauled him; they stood him on his head; They tortured and abused him till they thought him nearly dead. But after all was over, they found him strong and game; Says he, "Initiation, boys, is very, very tame." COMFORT ISLE The sea was as calm as the sea could be As the boat sped its way through the waters free, And the crew, tried and true, With the courage to do. Send sounds of their joy o'er the ocean blue. The vessel was bound for the Comfort Isle, And every face wore a hopeful smile; For the skill and the will Had a task to fulfiill. But hope made it as easy as sliding downhill. But the ocean so fickle we never can trust, For its frown is oftentimes over us thrust, And pray as we may Through the livelong day With our terrified souls it seems to play. So down came the storm like a sheeted ghost, And the little vessel was tempest tossed; But a few of the crew Seeing something to do. Labored hard with the winds as a "faithful few." And the listless and cold, when the wild winds blew, Could nowise enlighten the weather-worn crew, But like drones with their moans And their desolate groans, Expected the fishes would nibble their bones. NISBET'S POEMS 223 Soon the storm moved on, and the sailors brave Who labored their little craft to save. Worked away day by day. And had no time to play. Yet were thrilled with content like the heroes display. Thus the days wore away and isle hove in sight. Then the anchor was dropped in the bay with delight. And the few of the crew Who had something to do Were fitted to meet the environment new. But the indolent men with no purpose to think. In their listless indulgence from labor would shrink; Their estate, grown so great, They could not estimate; And in swift dissipation the end must await. Take heed, then, my brother; remember that you Are sure to be one of a struggling crew^; Go along, join the throng, And cheer them with song; The workers without you will never be strong. DESIRE Away in the realms of ethereal bliss, Is their balm for the tempest lashed soul? Does the tide waves of peace with its soothing kiss, On the beach of Content always roll? Are the virtues there prized? Are our hopes realized When our eyes see its beauty unroll? Will the cares of convention be swept as a mist. Before the clear sunlight of truth? Will the earth-fettered souls be as free as they list And bask in perpetual youth? Is desire but a ray From that glorious day, That annihilates darkness uncouth? When I dig in my soul and its treasures assay: I find that my doubts have grown less — The weight of suspense has been wearing away, Until I am free to confess. That over the swell. As clear as a bell, The soul's w^elcome answer is "yes." 224 NISBET'S POEMS THE SIDEWALK PARADE As Nature has painted the country with scenes That appeal to the wide-awake soul, There are pictures in town by whose copious means Our duties each day to unroll. There is one in w^hich sunshine and shadow are seen. Whose coloring never can fade While the strife for existence continues so keen; It's entitled, "The Sidewalk Parade." From bright early morning till far in the night This mammoth procession moves on, And various the projects that each have in sight. As they're coming, a-going and gone. How light is the foot of the happy and gay. Compared with the misery displayed In many a heart as they struggle each day In the ranks of "The Sidewalk Parade." There are those who have been to the chamber of death. And seen the last struggle for life; And they w^hose delight seems to dance on their breath. Whose lot with contentment is rife. The sad unemployed in despondency's trend And the wealthy in comfort arrayed Must each take their place in the ranks to the end. And keep up "The Sidewalk Parade." There is many a side of this picture to see. Which shows us our duty so plain: That w^hatever w^e do and w^hatever w^e be. Returns back w^ith interest again. A kind word to cheer up the helpless and sad Will lighten our gloom and our shade; And each one take courage again and be glad. As w^e march in "The Sidew^alk Parade." JUSTICE Soar justice, soar, w^ith exalted amoition. Seek in thy rapture the welfare of man; Sink the oppressor to deep-felt contrition, Raise up the downtrod, the helpless and wan. NISBETS POEMS 225 Couldst thou but liear the deep tone of the mourner, Couldst thou but hear the dull clank of the chain. See but the curl on the lip of the scbrner, A stern indignation thy bosom would pain. Soon thou shalt know the dark secrets of sorrow. Soon thou shalt open the floodgates of joy; Conquering angel, thy day is tomorrow^ — - Soon as the victor our praises employ. Long has the reign of malignity lasted, Legion tie miseries with which the poor cope; Do not delay till each comfort is blasted. Sweep to thy triumph, our future's bright hope. TO SCIENCE Cold science, with your keen-edged blade. No mercy for the fond ideal Can stay your stroke; although dismayed. We must admit the stubborn real. How hard it seems To crush the picture we have painted; To shun where we have grown acquainted; We have with sentiment been tainted. But spare our dreams. Where high we soared with wanton wing To cleave the skies of ardent bliss, Truth-weighted, to the earth you bring Our hopes with cold but sterile kiss, ^Your warning rings Clear as a bell from out the distance. That leaves us room for scant resistance; Yet still we plead for your assistance — Oh, spare our wings. Life has become so nobly sweet. And hope is surging in each breast; Say life's eternal, we entreat. And set our haunting fears at rest. Swift, banish woe. The fear of death and empty cavil; Then on from height to height we'll travel And as earth's secrets we unravel Wise may we grow. 226 NISBET'S POEMS THE HAWTHORN TREE Oh, hawthorn tree, thou'rt dear to me When summer sports in sylvan glee; Thy shady bower, thy fragrant flower. Bring back to me youth's happy hour. 'Twas in thy shade I met my fair. There in her eyes I saw my fate; The flowing tresses of her hair Proclaimied that I had met my mate. Oh, hawthorn tree, it had to be: Thy blossom, beautiful to see. Soon withered grew, and earthward flew. All moistened with the falling dew. So fell her love — alas, for mel — As day departing leaves the night; Her fickle smile gave pain to see- It made my life a sordid blight. Oh, hawthorn tree, still can 1 see Thy crimson haws, so bright to me; They may adorn the Autumn morn. But sharp and piercing is the thorn^ Thus beauty revels on the way, But beauty is a wayward thing; Behind that tempting, sweet display' May ktrk a smarting, blighting sting. Oh, hawthorn tree^ still dear to me. Thy blossoms still are lair to see; Thy shady bowers, thy fragrant flowers. Still bring to mind the happy hours. My languid heart still has its thorn. Yet dreaming has its joys lor me; Unbidden rise the sighs forlorn When Lam near thee„ hawthorn tree. NISBETS POEMS 227 THE WOOING OF REASON The glimmering iight of day began to fade. And slowly dropped the solemn veil of night; Descending gloom upon my spirit weighed. And cast upon my path its deadly blight Reflection on the days that had gone past Showed how misfortune in my footprints kept. How soon my azure sky was overcast. And sorrow crushed me while ambition slept. Around me drooping languor fairly fawned, And misery was in the very air; When lo! upon my life a vision dawned That raised me from the quicksands of despair, A maideTi fair — a gem of Nature's work — A youthful, sprightly, neat and noble form; A being in whose heart there seemed to lurk More virtues than a mortal could adorn. Those eyes of blue; tbose lips of rosy red; That noble, snow-white brow, so calm and fair; The smile before which gloomy sorrow fled; All matched the beauty of the raven hair, A sacred atmosphere she seemed to breathe, A captivating wile wcts in her eyes; Around her temples hung a saintly wreath That caught its radiance from beyond the skies. Enchained by raptures beretofore unfelt, I gazed into the depths those eyes displayed, Till awed by their serenity 1 knelt And at her feet my adoration laid, "'Kneel mot to me,^ she said; ""but why so sad? My name is Reason^ dost thou know me no%v? I came to strengthen and to make you glad. And banish -sadness from your youthful brow," 228 NISFET'S POEMS "Alas! fair maid; since first I knew your name I've had to pul! against the cruel tide; My recompense, the sacrifice of fame; Unpopular, I'm stranded with my pride, "Malignant furies lashed me in their spite. And ignorance, in triumph floating by. Half pitied me, with its derisive blight; My dearest friends forsook me with a sigh- "If man's approval is to be desired. Reluctantly to reason it is given; If duty is of mortal man required. Why should it seem to shut him out of heaven/* „Ah! thus it is," she whispered in reply; "Too oft by far you court dark, gloomy care; There's hopeful mystery in earth and sky; You cannot breathe with freedom God's pure air. "Cheer upf throw off that cloud of dismal gloom. And never let your courage get so low; For pleasure in your heart there yet is room; Let joy upon your every action glow, "Man has an earthly mission to fulfill; Should be evade the work when duty calls. To shrink makes grievous inroads on his will. And lures hinrs on to where his manhood falls. "A summit gained is but a duty done; A thousand channels bring its recompense; A conscience satisfied is heav'n begun. And fits one better for the journey hence," I looked into that fair and honest face. And whispered as I gently took her hand: "In this fond heart thou hast the foremost place; Wilt thou irsy guardian angel ever stand?" The wind sighed through the trees, as if relieved. When that sweet answer thrilled my waiting soul; New vigor from that moment I received; No more could gloom my earthly life controL NISBET'S POEMS 229 WHEN MOTHER GOES TO BED A silence falls upon the house, The fire has flickered low; The children have retired to rest, When coaxed and helped to go. And now all Nature holds its breath. The song-bird hides its head; For everything is still as death When mother goes to bed. With pots and pans to put away, And chairs to put in place. The disarray by careless hands In everything you trace. But when o'er all her heart feels proud. The last w^ord has been said. The clock begins to tick aloud When mother goes to bed. The yawns are lost in peaceful sleep; She carries all the care; She lives again the busy day When she puts up her hair. But when she turns the lights all low It has been truly said; The cares to dark oblivion go When mother goes to bed. TO DESPAIR Away, away, thou gloomy shadel ' Though neither famed nor w^ealthy, Our souls would be of grosser grade To seek thy folds unhealthy. The worst that e'er can us befall Will merely show our merit; Though broken health may us enthrall Jt shall not break the spirit 230 NISBET'S POEMS By gloomy thought what can we gain? 1 he gloom but grows the deeper; And why of penury complain? The hill but gets the steeper, Away, thou blighting, dull despaiii Hope's bells are ever ringing; If even death be in the air. We'll go, if need be, singing, THE RECORD KEEPER When you stroll into your Tent With an attitude imperious. Note a man with shoulders bent Sitting in the corner serious. See the furrows on his brow; See the lines grow long and deeper'; Silver w^hite his hair is now^. Mark him! That's your Record fCeeper! That's the man who haunts your dreams„ He's the chap who takes your money; Vulture-like he always seems, Waiting for you. Ain't it funny? See his hands, with fevered clutch,^ Clinging like an ivy creeper To the "roll" you loved so much. Oh, the wolfish Record fCeeperf When the funds grow sleek and fat. And we feel we want to spend them^ Look at how he'll kick and "spat," Fighting madly to defend them. When we want a banquet spread Loud he'll howl for something cheaper; Money must have turned his head. Oh, the "grouchy" Record Keeperl When your dues have not been paid^ And he dares to merely mention Laws that you and 1 have made That pro'vide for our suspension. NISBET'S POEMS 2 31 Rise in all your righteous ire. Call him miser — sluggard — sleeper; Roast him with indignant fire — Blame it on the Record Keeper! When a brother member dies, And we have a notice sent us, Let us look supremely wise. Just as though he never meant us. Why should we attend the dead? Let him be a lonesome weeper; That's his place; enough is said: Leave it to the Record Keeper. Thus we are inclined to think As along our course we travel, And each knowing, little wink, Gives him problems to unravel. Trials come to every door. And as hills of care grow steeper. He climbs best who climbed before: That's your patient Record Keeper. As his life draws to a close Fond farewells you need not kiss him. But he earned a calm repose And perhaps some day you'll miss him. When in fancy's folds you stray; As he meets with death's grim reaper. You might hear St. Peter say: "Hail, Sir Knight, the Record Keeperl" TO HYPOCRISY Foul w^retch, depart! no more I wish To see thy rank, deceitful ways; Go, seek the poor, subservient slave. And find thy nurture in his praise. 232 NISBET'S PCEMS When stern necessity compells The worker to his weary toil, His hfe thou hast embittered so It makes him with resentment boil- Give me the honest, simple heart That stoops to nothing but the grave, That loves to mingle with the free. Extending pity to the slave. But thou! seek hearts whose deeds reflect The loathsome working of thine own; Go, seek the quagmire like thy mind; Begone, thou smiling cur, begone! FANCY Afloat in the air, with no anchor to stay, And drifting somewhere from the cold earth away; The wild winds to soothe with their comforting wail; Oh, how in delight would my soul ever sail! Untrammeled with care, from my lips steals a song That blends with the air as I travel along; No sorrow to blight, and no shadow to cloud— ^ Oh, how would I shout in my rapture aloud! No sickness to mar, with incongruous taint. And grief left afar with its ominous plaint; No night to depress, but a bright, cloudless day— Oh, how would I bask in its clear, golden ray! No cold, wintry sleet, and no hot, scorching sun. With life flowing glad as though newly begun. And buoyed by the joy of an ever-clear spring — Oh, how would I strike a wild anthem and singl As I'm sailing along on a trackless domain. Upon my free song with its gladsome refrain Comes a staggering jolt that dissolves my wild mirth— I've struck on a snag, and I'm back to the earthf NISBET'S POEMS 233 THE HIGHWAY OF CEMENT 3f you would see Chicago and its many sides of life. It humor and its pathos, its peace, its care and strife. The first time opportunity allows, if you will take A stroll upon the highway that is built along the lake — The road that from the river leads you on to Lincoln Park; There in its varied pictures, you reflectively can mark Life in its many phases, with its friction and content, That struts before your vision on the Highway of Cement. First, you behold a dreamer, with a vain excuse to fish; His life has been a failure, for his life has been a wish; The rod and line are outward signs that action reign supreme, But underneath the surface all his life is but a dream. His brains have gone to cobwebs, and his good resolves are lost; His costly education has been blighted by a frost; And there he sits reflective, as his futile hours are spent^ In "toiling not nor spinning" on the Highway of Cement. Now strutting gaily onward, you behold a suit of clothes Immaculate in finish, but withal an empty pose; It makes a strong impression on the empties like itself, But men of sober judgment dedicate it to the shelf. The world move on so swiftly in the sciences and arts The dude appears a simple, and a simple he departs; Though hollow the impression, yet he struts in calm content^ To satisfy his ego on the Highway of Cement. Here sits a yawning minion in the throes of sad ennui; Her tastes are satiated and no appetite has she; She drank at all the fountains, but no one can satisfy; There's naught to interest her, so she heaves a languid sigh. With beauty spread around her, empty pleasure clouds her sight; She hears the shouts of children, as they frolic with delight, But cannot understand them; in her bitter discontent She yawns aw^ay existence on the Highway of Cement. At leisure strolls a student with a field glass in his hand; He scans the face of Nature, and he seems to understand The lights and shades of sunset with their irridescent glow. The language of the breezes and the tides he seems to know. 234 NISBETS POEMS The sermon great he studies, as the glories there unroll; A fervent thrill announces the expansion of his soul. Oh, how he wades in rapture, as his afternoon is spent So close to Mother Nature on the Highway of Cement. A nurse with garments sombre comes a-wheeling past a chair, An invalid sits in it, and his face is wan w^ith care; He draw^s the welcomed ozone in his lungs with eager breath. And fights the silent battle with the clammy chill of death. But she, though kind and tender, is in thought across the sea. Where she has left her kindred, and with w^hom she longs to be. Yet fate, the cold dictator, seems their hopes to circumvent, And leaves them sad and sighing on the Highway of Cement. A laddie and a lassie, in the happy stage of youth. Come tripping lightly onward but to illustrate the truth That life has got a sparkle then, the brightest of its course, Which after years of happiness its like could never force. The future spreads before them like a rosy, cloudless dream, And care makes no impression on the current of their stream. They chatter lightsome nonsense just to give their feelings vent. Begrudging moments fleeting on the Highway of Cement. A stately, young mechanic wheels a carriage by his wife. Attesting by a healthy child a happy married life; His daily occupation gives him little time to spare. To see the best in Nature, as he breathes the summer air. He notes the joyous sparkle in her eyes as on they walk. Which adds to his enjoyment, and inspires their hopeful talk. At peace with God and human kind, it's good to know they spent A day with one another on the Highway of Cement. Oh, various are the pictures that appeal to you and me. And life in many phases that observant eyes can see; The good, the bad, the gay, the sad, have all their parts to play. And life in thrilling drama is enacted day by day. But bright o'er all the others is the eye that beauty draws, And sees in Nature's handiwork the least disturbing flaws; A soul reflecting sunbeams, as it smiles in sweet content. Illuminates the journey on the Highway of Cement. NISBETS POEMS 235 LIFE SEEMS A JOKE Life seems a joke When like a herd of rampant steers The crowd tears on, and never veers From beaten paths; but courts abuse Of what is given for its use. No thought of laws that compensate. But yielding listless to its fate. Life seems a joke When honest effort is ignored. And virtue almost is abhorred^ When wild hysterics scoff and taunt The rational, the sober haunt; And when apparent culture bows To folly, and its reign allows. Life seems a joke When life's great energy is spent On trifles nil in their intent; When human deeds, like bubbles blown. Like seeds in beds of gravel sown, Shaw life in artificial phase, Unreal, insincerely blase. Life seems a joke When man, with provident intent, Departs this life with calm content, Well knowing that his dear ones left Are not of comfort kind bereft; And they, for what the world may say. Spend all to deck his lifeless clay. Life seems a joke When listless round a sufFrer s bed. They most respect him when he's dead Who send him flowers he cannot smell. But sent no ilow'rs when he was well; Who made no stir his life to save, But put a stone to mark his grave. 236 NISBET'S POEMS- Life seems a joke When to a crude, religious ereed, The people look for every need; And damn the firm, rebellious crew That bend not as the servile do. That live with reason, love and peace,. Where hate's intolerance shall cease. But life's no joke When you in every momenf live. Absorbing sunshine but to give; Depending not on- man's esteem. Unmindful what your life may seemv With truth and freedom close allied,. And conscience amply satisfied. JAMIE'S LAMENT I carrna stay at hame nae mair — I'm tired o' leevin' by the Ayr, My heart is sick, an' sometimes sail?;: 1 canna eat — My appetite, ance pretty fair,. Is gane coniplete.- There's naething pleasant noo in sight. Nor onything at a' seems richt; An.' wae begotten is my plicht; I'm thinking daily Of her I saw last Sunday nicht:; Twas Bessie Baillie I this is love, it's rackin' pain. An' torture when I'm- left alane; It's no sae easy tae explain;: I'm sair distressed — Her attitude, her prood disdain^ Make me depressed. But jealousy, tae my dismay. Is eating me baith nicht and day? For ever since prood Farmer Hajr, NISBETS POEMS 237 Cam the up river Wi' a' I care for, young and gay, I think and shiver. I've seen her walk wi' ither men, Though some o' them I dinna ken, Yet never wad she condescen' Tae smile on me Wha aye will lo'e her tae the en', And for her dee. What care I noo for this dull life? I canna face its care and strife; I think I'll emigrate tae Fife Tae hide the pain; I never noo will take a wife. But leeve alane. TO D. P. MARKEY Supreme Commander K. O. T. M. O. T. W. Unequaled zeal, most noble aim, No search for wealth, no hunt for fame, But motive higher still. That brings a lasting thrill: A well-devised, unselfish plan, A labor for your fellow man. With strong, unswerving will. For this accept our fond esteem. And trivial though that may seem. The just will deem it good When they are understood. The loyal Knights of Illinois Pay their respects to you with joy. As only Sir Knights could. Where'er a Tent in peace is raised Your name is widely known and praised, And thus we dare to seize The chance, ourselves to please. Of telling you how much we're moved, And showing you how much you're loved Among the Maccabees. 238 NISBET'S POEMS THE GOWK There Was a gowk cam tae oor toon, A bashfu', awkward bodie; He glowered confusedly aroon, As stupid as a cuddy. The unco wise men strutted by Wi' air erect and scornfu'. An' aye their heids they tilted high Tae see him sad and mournfu'. His big hauns couldna weel behave; His feet were large, ungainly; His chin w^as itching fof a shave — Neglect had claimed him plainly. He couldna get a stroke o* wark^=- Nae business man wad hae him; The very dogs at him wad bark, An' folks wad hurry frae him. In desperation, strange tae tell, Withoot an education He bocht some newspapers tae sell Aroon' the railway station. In coorse o* time he had a staun, Sell't books as weel as papers, And hired a lad tae gie a haun. Then show^ed the toon some capers. While smart men gazed he took a store, And gied the toon sensation; Where he had ane he sune got four. For w^ork w^as recreation. What do the w^Ise men think o' that? An' hoo did they receive it? On business lore they've grown sae fat They simply won't believe it. NISBETS POEMS 239 TAM MUIRHEAD'S FAREWELL Farewell tae Joppa's clachan sma' Where I hae dwelt for years; A fond farewell tae ane and a' — Departing time appears. Nae mair I'll saunter up the lane The news tae neebors tell; I'll sune be bounding ower the main. So Joppa, fare-ye-well. Nae mair at Jamie Meikle's place I'll haunt the checker board. Nor yet at Gemmill's smiddie face The practice wi' the sword. Aye, mony a time the tears will blin' My sicht as by mysel I struggle wi' the doots within When I hae ta'en farewell. Farewell tae Sundrum's bonnie woods. In mony shades o' green. Where aften in its joyous moods The blackbird sings unseen. Nae mair alang its walks I'll be, Tae listen tae the bell; For fortune leads me ower the sea. So I maun say farewell. Farewell tae frien's a' gathered roon; I'm sweart tae leave the place, But ne'er again aboot the toon Ye'll ever see my face. And tell the lassies, ane and a' What I can never tell: Hoo vexed I am tae gang awa', And tak' them my farewell. 240 NISBETS POEMS HOUSE CLEANING Cleaning the house at the spring of the year Ruffles the peace and good temper, I fear; You never can guess How much you possess In household effects till the cleaning time's here. Off goes your dignity, on your old rags; Down go your shoulders, and how the knee sags; There's dust on your clothes. And paint on your nose; You work like a beaver, and still the time drags. Down on your knees to the carpet you bend, Not humbly, but willing its pattern to rend, Until, with a howl Or an ominous growl, You know that a tack has been standing on end. In anger the carpet you drag from the room, And hang it then bang it severe with the broom; But the dust that flies Gets into your eyes. And you feel like undoing the work of the loom. Tumbling from step-ladders, knocking down chairs, Giving the window shades needed repairs; Upon your complaints Lo! down fall the paints. Which gives you a task in concealing your cares. Thus onward you go in your cleaning crusade. Leaving no corner untouched in your raid; Bright'ning the halls, The ceilings and walls. Till home is in comfort and beauty arrayed. NISBET'S POEMS 241 JOHN WINDY John Windy was a citizen Of no great mold nor witty, A simple, noisy manikin — A nuisance to the city. The little deeds he ever did With gross exaggeration Were all obscured by boasts and hid In their reiteration. So busy was he day by day Extolling all his merits. The virtues soon were blown away That mortal man inherits. In every action you could see A tendency to swell it; And small, indeed, though it might be. It took some time to tell it. He thus grew old before his time — His energy was wasted Before he should have reached his prime, Yet ne'er of life had tasted. Death had at last his breath to choke. The flames his bellows shattered; And when the w^hole arose in smoke The wind soon had it scattered. THE SOCIAL DANCE When business duties tire the brain. And other cares in endless train Crush down the spirits with their load. There is a time when far abroad Care should be stifled by the glee Of recreation, wild and free. The dance, the song, the game, the play, Each make the drooping spirits gay; But what can match the social dance. Or joy of living so enhance? When music dances on the strings Care leaves the scene on rapid wings; 242 NISBETS POEMS The heart feels young, the spirits bright, And faces glow with keen delight; The wits put on their keenest edge. And slumb'ring gifts peep from the ledge; There Cupid throws his keenest dart, And pierces many a stubborn heart; There anxious lovers read their chance Upon the other's furtive glance. The dance goes and mirth abounds, The silv'ry laugh infecting sound. And o'er the floor the light feet skips. As time with stealthy movement slips. Then morning comes, and duty's call Reluctantly concludes the ball; And homeward, joy in every glance. They go, enlivened by the dance. OOT O' WARK Why am I sad wi' sighin'? >Vhy am I fu' o' care? My een wad fain be cryin'. An' oh, my heart is sair. The days are lang an' dreary. An' life grows dull and dark. Ye ask me why I'm w^eary: Hech sirce! I'm oot o' wark. I'm feelin* discontented, An' canna stay at hame; I'm jist like ane demented. An' feth, I'm no tae blame; For ane that's used tae working Can never toe the mark, But ilka thing is shirking When he is oot o' w^ark. My heart wad lose its sadness An' joy wad thrill my veins. New life wad come w^i' gladness Tae quell thae weary pains; I'd caper roon licht hearted. An* sing like ony lark If I was only started Again wi' lots o' wark. NISBETS POEMS 243 A MUSTACHE Of all the adornments I fondly desire. Though most of them wise men call trash, There's one beauty point I am sure they admire, And that is a lovely mustache. When over my lip it began to grow dark I thought of the glorious dash I would cut in society when they would mark The majesty of my mustache. I waited and sighed, and wondered long Anxiety my bosom would lash; But patience grew fretful and hushed was my song To welcome the slothful mustache. I read of a salve that a Boston firm made. And sent them a dollar in cash; The salve came by mail, and a picture displayed A man with a massive mustache. I tried it, but lo! when I looked in the glass To the floor went the glass with a smash; Three hairlets on one side, the other a mass Of redheads to form a mustache. JOHN GREEDY Here is a man you all must know, Who has been named John Greedy; You meet him everywhere you go. So hungry-like and seedy. His hands have grown to be like hooks; O'er wealth he grows demented. No matter what he gets his looks Show still he's discontented. He thinks the earth is his alone. And other men intruding; But never thinks the passing groan Is to his ways alluding. 244 NISBETS POEMS So deep engrossed is he in greed, It's all of his existence; He never knows of others* need, Nor renders them assistance. Like snowball rolling down the hill, His craze is all collecting, Ne'er knowing when he has his fill. And always more expecting. But when his days draw to a close. Though dollars he had many. Divested of his dross, he goes Without a single penny. A WORD FROM A STAR I twinkle in silence far distant away, And though I am hid by the sunshine of day, When night's pensive season of twilight draws near I shine out of range so provokingly clear. What tales have been told to the wondering child, So grossly absurd, unbelievably wild; But here like a gem in the heavens am I, Too far for discernment, and dumb to your why. 'Tis whispered that I am a sun like your own. And over my planets I sit on my throne. That I am controlled by invisible force. Supreme o'er my destiny, shaping my course. 'Tis known to your vision, how wondrous, how strange. How varied the objects that come in its range. And sail through the heavens in streamers of light. That come without warning and go in a night But who can explain that bejeweled display Of millions of stars in the great Milky Way. Are they suns with their planets, a numberless train, That melts in infinity, tiring the brain To trace any further? And yet in the dome Of heaven's wide arch many mysteries roam Far greater than this, but still on you must go Without the great secret your earth must not know. Perhaps when you rise to a much higher sphere The mysteries then will in turn disappear; So here in my silence I twinkle away. And leave you to ponder alone what I say. N1SBETS POEMS 245 THE KILTY BAND The Kilty band! The Scottish band] Oh, how I love the sound; There's not a band in all the land More welcome to he found. It brings me back to early days; With zeal my heart inspires. It stirs my soul to lifelong praise. And kindles all its fires, Tlie sounds that Scotsmen's valor fired On Balaklava's plain, The strains that Alma's height inspired Its frowning crest to gain; Oh, how they stir my languid soul, And give my feelings vent; Before my mind past scenes ^inroll — The souls that came and went. In fancy's dreann I see the shock At bloody Waterloo; Where Scots, unflinching as the rock, To vict'ry onward drew. What inspiration did they need But that the pipes might sound? Then woe betide the foes, indeed,- Who dared dispute their ground. The drooping spirits brave they cKeered Across the desert's sand; In triumph they have oft appeared In many a foreign land. They lilt, they march, tKey also M^ail In sympathetic strain; Inspiring wKere all else would fail — Oh, let them play again! The Kilty band! The Scottish band! Oh, how I love the sound; There's not a band in all the land More welcome to be found. 246 NISBET'S POEMS It bring-s me back to early days; With zeal my Keart inspires. It stirs my soul to lifelong praise. And kindles all its fires. TO WM. DAVIDSON WKere Coila rins tae meet tKe Ayr TKe lasses a' are trig an' fair; Their equals maun be vera rare — 1 canna see them; An' by my feth, my heart was sair Tae gang an' lee them. Noo, Willie, that I'm faur awa', I try my vera best tae blaw Aboot auld Scotia's scenes sae braw. Her vales and mountains. Her rippUn* streams an* leafy sshaw. Her crystal fountains. Here aften, since ower seas I came, 1 think on my auld Scottish hame; To me it aye shall be the same: My bounden duty Shall, be tae tell abroad its fame. Its grace and beauty. We've spent some happy nichts the- gither; In fact, the ane looked on the ither As fondly a^ he wad a brither; But noo the ocean Divides us till I tak* anither Sea-going notion, I'd travel mony a weary mile Tae see ance mair yer frienly smile; An* join ye on the Craigs o' Kyle Amang the heather, Or by the Bride's Well rest awhile An' wish thegither. NISBETS POEMS 247 D'ye mind the time ye lost yer bonnet? When ower the cHffs the wild winds spun it, An' hoo we socht but never foun' it — We tried oor best. Maybe some wild bird lit upon it An' made its nest. I aften hae a lanely wish Tae be ance mair wi' ye tae fish. An* hear the eager line gae swish Alang the Ayr; Oh, hech! it seems that sic a dish rii ne'er get mair. But hoe's the Trabboch Big Hoose girls? An* hoo's the ane that has the curls — Wha fondly tae yer een unfurls The joys o* life — The ane that ye wad pick frae warlds Tae be yer wife? Send me some news aboot the place. An' noo I canna see yer face, Keep writin', for it's nae disgrace Tae write a letter; An' then, ye ken, it makes my case A guid deal better. But noo I'll hae tae quit my rhyme. No that I think it ony crime, But simply for the want o' time; An' here 1 lee ye Till thochts an' pen are mair in prime, Sae guid be wi' ye. JOHN CLUMSY John Clumsy was an awkward man. His life a constant blunder; No matter how his wife would plan He'd trip and all go under. 248 NISBET'S POEMS His feet alone were not to blame- In everything he'd stumble; Where'er he rose almost to fame His stock would take a tumble. With talent he was richly blessed. And in his skill he prided, But awkwardness, it is confessed, His efforts all derided. He could dissect, construct, invent. But never could conceal it; And by and by some cunning gent Would come along and steal it. His failures weighed upon him so. With melancholy riven A wasting fever laid him low. And sent him straight for heaven. As he was passing through the gate He blundered — to be candid. He fell. We never knew his fate: We don't know where he landed. NISBET'S POEMS 249 SONGS AND LYRICAL POEMS MY BOYHOOD HOME I'm standing on the rustic bridge That spans the languid creek, And each famiUar tree and ridge In recollections speak. They speak to me of boyhood days. When care I hardly knew — With sunburnt face and happy ways I sung the w^hole day through. Refrain— My boyhood home, though rude it seems And though the world 1 roam, There's not a place in all my dreams Like boyhood's dear old home. The old stone house where I was born, The barn with creaking frame. The old cow^ path, the w^aving corn, They all look just the same. I see the spreading maple tree Still waving in its prime. Within whose shade I loved to be In glorious summer time. The setting sun with golden beam Shine on the old churchyard. And gilds the tombs of those who dream In heaven's high regard. Beneath those mounds lie honest worth. And one serenely fair. The dearest hopes I had on earth With her lie buried there. 250 NISBET'S POEMS UNREQUITED LOVE rm sailing back in fancy to the day When to my eager heart your promise came; It carried me in ecstacy away. But now it lags along w^ithout a name. Your welcome smile will haunt me while I live, And memory unbidden draws a sigh; No comfort can disjointed pleasures give When blighted hopes in bitter ruins lie. Refrain: How could you let me love you as I did? And force my heart to beat as it w^as bid. Turn not away so coldly, For I love you madly, boldly; How^ could you let me love you as I did? When first I met you by the garden gate It must have been the handiwork of fate. By impulse actuated. And w^ith love infatuated; Oh, how could you let me love you as I did? Could you but know the bitter pangs I feel- How aimless is my life from day to day- How hard this crushing blight is to con- ceal — Your conscience would engulf you with dismay. Reluctantly I speak the bitter words That part the love-bound ties for evermore; And though they pierce my heart like cruel swords. You've left me but this only open door. NISBETS POEMS 251 HERE'S TAE THE HEATHER I sing o' the land wi' the wild purple heather, The land o' the valiant, the noble and free. The land o' the plaid and the bonnet and feather, Whose mountains and fountains I'll lo'e till I dee. The cushat, the muircock, the wild- screaming lapwing. All cling tae its bosom a-sippin' its dew; And Scotsmen all over, the oak and the sapling, Tae Scotiand w^ill ever be loyal and true. Refrain: Then here's tae the heather. The bonnet and feather, That made us a nation distinct frae the rest; There's nae sic anither That honors his brither Like a son o' auld Scotland, the truest and best. There's nae sang can w^in me like sw^eet "Annie Laurie," Nor liven my spirit like "Bonnie Dun- dee," The famed "Auld Lang Syne" or the quaint "Lass o' Gowrie," "The Lea Rig" and ithers familiar tae me. But Scotland inspires us tae sing o' its beauty. On heathery mountain, in river and glen; An' every true Scotsman considers it duty Tae honor the land an' its wimmen an' men. 252 NISBET'S POEMS ISABEL WARNOCK Sweet Isabel Warnock, The pride of Kilmarnock, Has trysted to meet me tonight in the glen; As pure as she's pretty. So winning and witty, She makes me the happiest man among men. My ears are a-ringing With Isabel's singing; The sunshine is with her wherever she goes; Her smile I w^ould die for — She's all that I sigh for, And she lives in a house near the Bon- nyton Row^s. Refrain She's fair as the lily. No daffy-down-dilly. But sweeter and brighter than flower that grows Is Isabel Warnock, The belle of Kilmarnock, In the old ivy house near the Bonnyton Rows. Her hair in long tresses That fondly caresses The dear, gentle bosom, so spotlessly fair, Is part of the story That tells of her glory. For none with my fair Isabel can com- pare. Tonight, w^hen I meet her, I'm going to greet her With all of the joy that a true lover know^s. And ask if forever With me on life's river She'll leave the old house at the Bonny- ton Rows. NISBETS POEMS 253 I'M FAUR AWA* I'm faur awa frae Scotia's shore, I've left my hame behind, Perhaps tae see it nevermore, Anither hame tae find. My memory clings tae childhood days, When young and fu' o' glee, An' places whar I tore my claes On bramble bush and tree. In auld Kilmarnock I hae spent The best o' youthfu' prime; An' mony a bonnie spot I kent Tae gang in simmer time. Some happy hours I've spent doon by The charming Fairy Hill, When lav'rocks warbled from on high, And blackbirds sung their trill. In Bellfield gardens I hae been. Among the fragrant bowers; And there in wonder I hae seen The loveliest o' flowers. I've strayed alang the Irvine's bank The Struthers' Steps tae see. An' on its grassy carpet sank In fancy's dreams sae free. Among the trees that try tae hide The Auld Dean Castle's wa' Birdsnestin' I w^id often glide Till gloamin' gray w^id fa'. When bats wi' eerie, aimless flicht Wid flutter through the air, I'd steal aw^a' tae spen' the nicht In play some ither w^here. 234 NISBET'S POEMS Oh, mony a place that I could name Is ever dear tae me; An' Scotland aye shall be my hame Although I'm bwer the sea. I'm Scottish; that I'll ne'er deny — I'm prood o' sic a name; An' mony a time I draw a sigh For my auld Scottish hame, THINK OF ME Think of me when I am absent. Fighting for my country's cause: Every blow is struck for freedom And the justice of our laws. When the battle keen is raging Think of one you cannot see; ; Prove your love is ever faithful — When I'm absent think of me. Think of me, my little darling, When I'm far away from thee; Let thy heart beat true as ever — When I'm absent think of me. When the summer day is ended. And the sun sinks in the w^est; When unerring Nature hushes All the w^arbliiig birds to rest. Seek the fragrant, leafy archway. Where we w^alked in raptured glee; There, when silence reigns around you. When I'm absent think of me. I will miss thy smile so pleasant, And thy soft, sweet, silv'ry voice; Yet, as long as thou art faithful, I have reason to rejoice. When proud wealth adores thy beauty Scorn the tyrant's slave to be; When the flat'rer whispers softly Heed him not, but think of me. NISBET'S POEMS 255 EVERYBODY HAUD THEGITHER Air — Coming through the Rye Here we may again assemble* Bound in unity; Union makes the tyrants tremble Anywhere you be. Everybody haud thegither; Let us a' be free; For every man will find his brither Jist like you and me. Let us sing an' aye be jolly, Every man yer frien'; Love is something pure an' holy; Naethin' steps between. Here's a haun my trusty brither; Put yer haun in mine; An' may we often meet thegither, Jist for auld lang syne. OTHER DAYS Silent 1 sit in the calm twilight, Thinking on days of the long ago: Days when the sun seemed to shine so bright. Shedding reflections of joyous glow. Dreaming of days when the heart w^as young: Living again the sweet days of yore; Echoing back come the songs 1 sung. And sacred scenes of my youth restore Other days! Other days! Memory basks in thy golden rays. Happy the scenes that 1 call to mind; Loving the hearts that were true and kind. Fondly I think of their artless ways, Happily dreaming of other days. -56 NJSBET'S POEMS Life had a sparkle, when looking back; Brooks had a music that charms me yet; Birds had a warble that now they lack — Notlting so sweet have I ever met. Not that the sun doesn't shine so bright; Time onlybrightensthoseyouthfulrays; Lengthening day to exclude the night, As we think and dream of those other days. GOOD-NIGHT LULLABY Come to me my darling child And listen while I sing to you Of how I roamed the woodlands wild With my little sister Sue. In fancy I stray to my childhood's day, And pluck the pretty flow^ers; You waft me aw^ay w^ith fun and play To childhood's happy hours. Good-night, kiss me good-night; Angelssurround and watch atyour head. Good-night, my heart's delight; Tell me your love and steal off to bed. Swinging on the orchard tree. And dancing in the dewy dells; Oh, how the joys come back to me. Like music of chiming bells. Then kiss me good-night and steal off to bed And innocently dream; Your days are like a stream, 'tis said. But swiftly flows the stream. WE'LL WANDER We'll wander whar the blackies sing- When gently fa's the gloamin'. An' let oor echoes joyfu' ring As through the glen we're roamin'. NISBET'S POEMS 257 For I adore thae een o' thine; My heart beats true and fondly; Come, put yer milk-white haun in mine. An' say ye'U be mine only. w hen blythe spring waukened a' the earth An* filled the air wi' singing, Twas then my love for you got birth, Fond dreams and bright hopesbringin*. Noo simmer's here in a' its pride. Arrayed in Nature's flowers. So let us wander side by side Among the fragrant bowers. J love the rounds of sparkling glee. Alternate with employment. But moments like these are to me The summit o' enjoyment GOING HOME I am far from home and kindred. And I miss the kindly smile That greeted me before I loved to roam] In exile I have lingered With between us many a mile, But I am thinking now^ of going home. Refrain: Back to my kindred and my home. Though a thousand miles from them I roam; Their peace and comfort haunt me. And their kindness bids me come Back to my kindred and my home. In search of vt^ealth I've w^andered. But w^ealth has not the power To mold the hearts of others like our own; And often 1 have pondered On many a happy hour. But 1 am thinking now of going home. 258 NISBETS POEMS There are loyal hearts awaiting For the wanderer's return. Whose kindly ways more dear to mc have grown; And time is but creating A desire my soul to bum. So I am thinking now of going home. BECOME A MACCABEE! You're looking for fraternity where every moral man Can meet his equals everywhere as only brothers can; There's one crow^d in particular looks aw^ful good to me: Come join the throng, and hear their song — become a Maccabee. Chorus: You ought to be a Maccabee, And well insure your life. You ought to be a Maccabee, i And thus protect your wife. Provide for helpless little ones. Therein the glory lies. You've got to be a Maccabee Before you can be wise. The monthly rates are easy, and you never miss the cash; You never w^ill accuse yourself of doing something rash. There's nothing so substantial for insur- ance, you'll agree; So join the crow^d, and shout aloud: "I'll be a Maccabee! *' We're proud of what we're doing for the helpless of the land; We count our wealth in millions, and w^e give with w^illing hand; There's nothing can approach us in this country of the free. So join the crowd that sings aloud: "I am a Maccabee! " NISBETS POEMS 259 WINSOME NELL Nae doot ye've hccird o' Loudon's Lraes Or blythe Dumbarton's dell, But Dailly hauds the brag o' a'— There Jeeves my winsome Nell. An' sud ye ask the reason why. The truth I'll plainly tell: There's ne'er a lass that can surpass My winsome lassie, NelL The virtues o' this bonnie maid Are mair than I can tell; Perfection seems tae rest upon My winsome lassie Nell. My thochts are on her nicht and day, Nocht can my love dispel. My dearest wish is jist tae share My lot wi' winsome Nell. THE DANDY A haberdasher is my trade. But I must show in life's parade? With a cutaway coat and a bamboo cane, I think there's none can call me pleiin. Ha, ha, ha! Don't you see What a dandy fellow 1 must be, With my stand-up collar and my stove- pipe hat? It takes "some guy" to go like that I w^ent one night to a Teamsters* Ball, That happened in a North Side hall; As I walked in the drum went "bing," And a fresh young chap began to sing: "Ha, ha ha! Don't you see What a fancy fellow he must be, With his stand-up collar and his stove- pipe hat? He must be 'bugs' to go like that." 260 NISBETS POEMS I met a pretty little girl that night. Who brought me to a sorry pUght; I squeezed her hand and she curled her Hp, Then caught my hair in a death-Kke grip. Ha, ha, hal "Well!" said she, "What a dandy masher he must be, With his stand-up collar and his stove- pipe hat; There's not many dudes can go like that.'* Then up ccime a fellow with a whiskey nose And handed me some awful blows; He led me to the door, and he yelled, "take thatl" As I plunged to the chin in my stove- hat. Ha, ha, ha! "Go!" laughed he, "No sissy mashers here for me; With your stand-up collar and your stove-pipe hat; Your beaji is soft to go like that." In haste I scrambled from the ground. My bamboo cane I quickly foiuid, I scraped the mud from my Sunday clothes. And wiped the blood from my broken nose. Ha, ha, ha! If this is me. What a wretched figure I must be, With a dimpled hat and a broken nose. And mud stains on my Sunday clothes. I crawled in a car, but I couldn't get a seat. So I stood on the corns of a lady's feet; She gave a shriek, I gave a shout, And the kind conductor put me out. Ha, ha, ha! He, he, he! I'm still a dandy, you can see. With my stand-up collar and my stove- pipe hat; It takes some "crust" to go like that. NISBETS POEMS 261 BY THE STREAM I'm sitting by the stream tonight, To watch the bat in zig-zag flight, And bathe my soul in gloom twilight. The past like shadows creeping; But when the moon begin to rise, And owls break silence w^ith their cries, I think of her in death w^ho lies Serenely, calmly sleeping. Refrain: She w^as the idol of my eye; For her I often draw a sigh, And listen to the night wind's w^ail For echoes of a long-lost voice That makes my inmost heart rejoice And lets my soul in fancy sail. As peaceful as the stream that flows — As heavenly as the fragrant rose. She sank into her last repose, And sealed my desolation; But though she sleeps beneath the mound Our hearts are still securely bound; And when relief in death I've found, We'll sail in exultation. GLIDE ON, HAPPY HOUR Here our pledges we again renew, While we meet once more with one another; Here we feel the power of friendship true. Where we know that every man's a brother. Don't you feel your fond heart wildly forcing Joy supreme along your glad veins coursing? Come, then, full of joy as any boy. And join this gladsome song: 262 NISBET'S POEMS Chorus Glide on, happy hour, gUde on. For Hfe runs calm and clear (so smoothly) Trip on, happy hour, trip on. With song and festive cheer; Sing on, happy hour, sing on, We want to feel your power; For in the bonds of brotherhood Ear h one will do the other good. So glide on, glide on, glide on, happy hour. Leave each sober cloud of care behind; Sail upon the breast of friendship's ocean. Till the highest pleasures we can find Blossom like a flow'r in love's devo- tion. What is life without this fellow feeling? Let us sing as hours along are stealing. Come, then, full of joy as any boy. And sing this gladsome song: BONNIE JEAN The win' blaws saftly through the trees. The joys o' birds float on the breeze; Blythe Nature wi* her robes o' green Surrounds the dwelling o' my Jean. Her face is like the lily fair. Her breath is like the balmy air; Her equal scarce wis ever seen, Sae queen-like is my lassie Jean. The blackbird warblin' fu' o' glee Wi' richest notes o' melody. Within some hawthorn bower unseen. Joins me in praising bonnie Jean. The win' plays wi' her golden hair. The sun shines on her form sae fair. And love's smiles sparkle in her een. Fast binding me tae bonnie Jean. NISBETS POEMS 263 ALICE When I left you, Alice, I saw a tear Bedim your azure blue eye; I saw a care cloud on your brow. And heard your smothered sigh. So I'm patiently waiting the time, love, When w^e shall be seen as of yore A-strolling along by the old mill stream. And fortune part us no more. Refrain: I see your sweet face in my dreams, I fancy your whisper I hear; [love, I see your smile in the orange tree bloom. And 1 know in spirit you're near. There are moments, Alice, w^hen fancy climbs To glory's uppermost peak. And all my thoughts are spent on you — No other joys I seek. I hear your voice in the rippling brook; I see your cheek on the rose; I see your eyes in the pale w^ild flower. Before it sinks in repose. MY SCOTTISH BLUEBELL Back in the w^oodlands I meet her, . Oft as our hearts beat true; There in her beauty I greet her. Bathing her robes with dew. Refrain: Gathering the flowers of woodland. Close by the rambling stream. Seeing the blessings of goodland, All in our love-lit dream Then comes my joy arranging I hose that 1 love so well; There in' the posies I honor the roses, But cling to my Scottish Bluebell. 264 MSBET'S POEMS Fair is her face as the morning, Clear are her eyes of blue, Form like a fairy, adorning Earth with its azure hue. Life seems an ocean of sunshine, Fragrant as balmy June; Bluebell will honor me sometime Be m> sweet blossom soon. THE VOICE IN MY DREAM As I lay on my bed busy thinking On days that were long past and gone, I wandered unconscious to dreamland All heartsore, dejected and lone. Despair o'er my soul hung its pallor, Till hope with it glorious beam Burst in on the scene of my sadness At the sound of a voice in my dream. Oh, could I but hear that dear voice again. So familiar and sw^eet did it seem; In the silence of death for years it had lain: The voice that I heard in my dream. *Twas the voice of my dear angel mother. Who long since had left me alone; She embraced me and leftme her blessing. And in that embrace she was gone. Its tone struck a chord that had slumbered And o'er my dark path shed a gleam; It took me far back to my childhood — The voice that I heard in my dream. There can be no use in repining For forms that have faded away; The wealthy must part with their jewels. For death in the end holds the sway. But onward in life as I struggle One wish in my heart reigns supreme: That at last I may join in the singing With the voice that I heatdinmy dream. NISBET'S POEMS 265 LABOR The man whom labor dignifies Is monarch of the land; Though pompous wealth his worth denies, They live but by his hand. Who ploughs and sows, Who plants and hoes, Must be allowed to reap; And hand and mind That treasures find Must be allowed to keep. The humblest cabin still can hold The love and peace of home. And be, despite great grandeur's cold, The parent of the dome. The day is coming when true worth ' Shall meet its just reward; When justice leavens all the eartl-. And peace destroys the sword. THE MAID OF COILA WATER 'Twas Autumn, and the swaying trees Their lyart leaves were sadly shedding When sum_mer's sad departing breeze The raving w^intry w^ind w^as wedding. Along the Coila's banks I strayed, As rustling leaves began to scatter; There I beheld a pretty maid In dreamy pose by Coila Water. Her skin w^as white as virgin snow. Her arms had rhythm in their motion; The raven hair, w^ith wanton flow, Turned admiration to devotion. Outshone, the noblest work of man Was but a robe for nature's daughter; The winds subdued their zeal to fan The bonnie maid of Coila Water. NISBET'S POFMS Entranced, I stood at heaven's gate. Alike with joy and indecision; My joy was brief; it was my fate To see her vanish as a vision. E'er since, when care comes in the night My tranquil peace of mind to slaughter I think upon that matchless sight — The lovely maid of Coila Water. YOU'LL SEEK ME YET I saw them meet, as lovers may. And then in bitter anguish part; She poised her head and walked away. And left him crushed and sad at hearL He watched her as the distance grew. Then with a groan of deep dismay. As drooping eyes distilled their dew. In sorrow^ he w^as heard to say: Refrain You'll seek me yet, when passing joys Sail off and leave behind the dregs; You'll throw aside your useless toys When honest love no longer begs. Back to the sober walks of life He shuffles with a heart of lead. Devoid of peace, w^ithout a w^ife, His soul's ambition well nigh dead. Still o'er his path the star of hope Sheds forth a single little ray. And onw^ard as he seeks to grope He often has been heard to say: Long has she basked in pleasure's glare. Till empty grew the flimsy scene; But mem'ry to her heart lays bare A picture of what might have been. She sees the lover sadly crushed, She hears him sigh away the day; And as aside the tear is brushed In fancy she can hear him .«ay: NISBETS POEMS 2(1 THE BIG FUND POCK The auld street lamps o' Galston toon Sent oot their scanty hcht, As Vickers went a-shoppin' gay Ae lovely winter nicht. Obleege me. Candy Ann," said he, "Wi' mints an' broken rock; Gies tippence worth o' sweeties in a big pund pock." Then after being satisfied Wi' sweets he greatly prized He sauntered oot intae the street. An' thus soliloquized: *Tve gathered a the ha'pennies Frae rags an' paper stock Tae buy her lots o' sweeties In a big pund pock. "I'm sure that bonnie Leezie's mine, I'm sure she likes me w^eel, An' on her apple-blossom lips A kiss I'm gaun tae seal. An' when she gets this gift frae me She'll ken it is nae joke; I think I'll win her easy Wi' the big pund pock." Thus reasoned Vickers to himsel' As licht he crossed the street Tae where his ain dear lassie leeved, The lass wi' smiles sae sweet; But when he climbed the stairs an' gave The door a timid knock Her mither took the sweeties An' the big pund pock. Says Vickers, "That's for Leezie, noo; Lang may she hae her health — May she be buskit unco braw An' aye hae loads o' w^ealth." But as he hurried doon the stairs His feelin's got a shock. For Leezie crushed his bonnet Wi' the big pund pock. 268 NiSBET'S POEMS Says he: "My saucy little maid Ye'll maybe rue the day Ye scorned my honest offering, Tae my puir heart's dismay. But gin ye staun' a year or twa Ye'll no sae ready mock; Ye'll see the day ye'll wish ye took The big pund pock." Noo twa-three years hae come an' gane. An' she has left the place; Some foolish chaps that liked her weel Hae run a wild-goose chase. There's Duncan, Feeley, Watson, too. An' puir unlucky Jock, But aye she sighs and hankers For the big pund pock. SUMMER When the bloom is on the flowers. And their perfume fills the air; When the birds in fragrant bowers Flood with song the morning fair; Then we hail thee, term of brightness — Sweetest portion of the year. Revel in thy joy and sweetness, As thy golden gifts appear. When the sun pours down upon us Joyfully its noonday heat; When the w^aving branches faw^n us. And the soft grass soothes our feet; Then we prize thee, time of dreaming. Singing as the moments fly; Life has but a joyful meaning. As the time goes flitting by. When the evening, soft and mellow^. Brings the fireflies from their shade; When the heavens with gold and yellow See the sun reluctant fade; Then w^e love thee; and we borrow Comfort from thee as we lie. Caring not w^hat comes tomorrow. For tomorrow^ w^e may die. NISBETS POEMS 269 SWEET SIXTEEN Bright as the sun on a summer day, Sweet as a bud when it bursts in flower, Fresher with hope than the month of May- Is my angel love in her morning hour. All the delight that the world can-give, Every dear transport of joy serene. Throbs in her bosom; how joyous to live When dream-laden bells chime at sweet sixteen. Sweet sixteen! Sweet sixteen! Happier am I than I've ever been; I see in her eyes an ensnaring wile That carries me off as her slave the while; No time in life is a joy so keen As in life's dear morning, when sweet sixteen. Singing the songs of an ardent love, Breathing with freedom its tranquil bliss. Nothing beneath the blue heavens above Radiates pleasure like love's fond kiss. All the fresh beauty that fills the eye, All the sw^eet coyness that love has seen Lowering eyelash and quivering sigh — They come in their glory at sweet sixteen. THE FIELDS O' CLOVER I'm far frae my ain native land. An' thinkin' o' my ain true lover; There's plenty here on every hand. Enough o' gear and ample cover; But aye my heart gaes back tae hame, Though lang I've been a hameless rover; Noo what is a' yer w^ealth an' fame Beside the bonnie fields o' clover. 270 NISBET'S POEMS Refrain I'll ne'er forget the leafy shields That spread their charms my court- ship over, Nor will I e'er forget the fields O' bonnie white and purple clover. There's mony a lassie jist as braw, An' mony w^istfu', fond and nearer. But none compares wi' Maggie Shaw, An* distance males her a' the dearer. Aye when the gloamin' settles doon Her w^insome charms aboot me hover; They mak me sigh tae be aroon' Wi' her amang the fields o' clover. The bramble vine the path entwines. The hazel bush displays its beauty Afar frae me wha inly pines. Exiled, unwilling slave to duty. But soon this w^eary, gnawing pain — This lang suspense will a' be over; I'll be wi' Maggie ance again Amang the bonnie fields o' clover. THE OLD PEOPLE'S HOME The mists are slowly rising by the river, And glimpses of the future we have seen; They tell us that the old folks now will never Be homeless, friendless as they once have been. At Riverside in all its stately glory. While Scotsmen stand and gaze with honest pride, A mansion tells the oft repeated story — The Scotch Old People's Home at Riverside. NISBETS POEMS 271 By the side of the River Desplaines We are well recompensed for our pains A mansion £o fair Rests so royally there By the side of the River Desplaines. I can fancy the old people's pride, As they strol] o'er the grounds far and "Wide; What a feast for their eyes — What a joyful surprise — In the Old f^eople's Home, Riverside. We love the saintly grace of dear old granny. Divinely shed with virtue's heavenly touch. Among immortal halos are not many Like that which lingers o /er granny's mutch. Nor can we think of noble Scottish fathers Without a thrill of honest, buoyant pride; And there our dear old homeless kin- dred gathers In the Scotch Old People's Home at Riverside. LOVE Love is a garden of roses. Where marvelous beauties shine, Where the flowers in clustering posies Along the pathways entwine. Love is a sweet smelling fragrance That charges the air with health. And spreads its heavenly radiance Upon the soul-garnered wealth. Love is a bountiful heaven Where hardship is never felt. Where the bars of grief are riven, And cold despondencies melt. 2/2 NISBETS POEMS EAGLE RESORT In the midst of your yearning for lucre or learning Remember your body needs rest; Then take to the mountains, the lakes and the fountains, But see that you pick out the best. When the heat makes you weary and life becomes dreary. Your spirit needs pleasure and sport. For lakes that are cooling and holiday fooling There's no place like Eagle Resort. Chorus: Brave Admiral Dewey and William H. Tuohy — Tw^o heroes of famous report — One captured Manila; the other a villa, And called it "The Eagle Resort." There's no use of wishing for excellent fishing — The fishes are there to be caught; And if you are mellow to meet a good fellow, The fellows are there to be got. From June to September, each year you'll remember For the good of your health to report; For Tuohy w^ith reason provides all in season For you at the Eagle Resort. HAPPINESS This w^orld is full of trials, of that there is no doubt, But w^hen w^e meet them gladly -with a heart intensely stout Their problems are not hard, their solutions easy found. So let us all be happy while the earth goes round. Let us all be happy, happy as the bee, No matter what we hear and no matter w^hat we see; For happiness is sunshine and always to be found, So let us all be happy while the earth goes round. It's happiness brings peace and happiness brings health; It brings us comfort too, and it's sure to bring us wealth; The deeds that we do daily without it are not sound, So we should all be happy while the earth goes round. NISPET'S POEMS 273 THE FOOL OF THE BOARDING- HOUSE Oh, why was I horn with a brain. To reason again and again? The rest of the crowd Are peerlessly proud Of the fact that they're cheerfully sane. Because I can never allow Other schemers to guide me; that's how. As stubborn's a mule 'Gainst popular rule, I'm the fool of the boarding-house now. Refrain: I'm the fool of the boarding-house now, And failure is stamped on my brow^; I'm told I will rue Whatever I do — I'm the fool of the boarding-house now^ They want me to do this and that. Forgetting that under my hat 'Twas easy to find That I had a mind, And lived not the life of a rat. Because I don't shuffle and bow. And feel as content as a sow. It's plain as could be — A blind man could see — I'm the fool of the boarding-house now. When I see a poor fellow is down, Because I don't treat with a frown Misfortune and care Or abject despair, They look upon me as a clown. And w^hen I won't live like a cow, Or low^ w^ith hypocrisy bow^. Complain like an owl. And grub like a fowl, I'm the fool of the boarding-house now. 274 NrSBETS POEMS With the stranger Trrx classed as a prince^ In the boarding-house naught but a Gfuince. They constantly ask What to me is a task; Their pleasures divine make me wince. But though it should start up a row I'll keep my own counsel somehow — " What comes, just the same 1 am always to blame — I'm the fool of the boarding-house now^. NANCY ADAIR There's a sigh that I hear in the windsv As they play with the green, leafy treesr^ That reminds me of one whom I know^ With her fair hair adrift in the breeze. There's none can compare With Nancy Adair, Go search the wide w^orld as you: please. There's a ^vave of the leaf-Iaden boughs^ When stirred from their soft summer calm. That reminds me of Nancy's dear hands As she beckons my soul to its balm. There's none can compare With Nancy Adair— She's as pure as an innocent lamb. There's a voice that I hear in the song Of the birds through the warm sum- mer day That reminds me of her as she sung in her rapture a true lover's lay. There's none can compare With Nancy Adair, ^ And I'm going to meet her today, , NISBET'S POEMS 275 THE OLD SONGS The shades of night are drawing near. And dreams come with the twilight's haze; Again in fancy I can hear The voices dear of other days: '"'My love is like a red, red rose That's newly sprung in June.'* Again for me a picture grows, When Nature ^ang in tune. Chorus,* Those happy days! The dear old songsl Time makes them still more dear; The smiles that lit the joyous throngs In mem'ry linger near. Again the voices that inspire My waiting soul with holy calm Are singing in the village choir That ever trustful, hopeful psalm: *'The Lord's my Shepherd, I'll not want; He makes me down to lie." It strengthens me when cares would daunt, Or sorrow hovers nigh. Where'er I go they haunt me still, And ever in my ears they ring; And peaceful joys my bosom fill When once again I hear them sing; "Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to mind?" The cares of life dismayed them not, But every heart was kind. 276 NISBET'S POEMS WHO LOVES SCOTLAND, FOLLOW ME Scotsmen, shall the foe invade us. Plant his foot upon our shore? Shall the tyrant's yoke degrade us. Shame our souls for evermore? Kinsmen, on to death or glory;: Drive them back into the sea; Let your courage tell the story; Who loves Scotland, follow mel Refrain: Onward, Scots! Let claymores whistle! Hills and dales proclaim us free; None shall tread upon the thistle — Who loves Scotland, follow^ met Shall the glory that for ages In defending was our own. Sink in shame on hist'ry's pages, And our humbled spirits groan? Never shall the proud oppressor Steal upon us from the sea. And become our land's possessor. Who loves Scotland, follow mel Freedom is our peerless treasure; They who come with trenchant boast Shall regret in ample measure Ever landing on our coast Love of home we fondly cherish — Land of heather, wild and free; Let us win the day or perish — Who loves Scotland, follow met NISBETS POEMS 277 WAFTED AWAY How often we think of the dear little child That lit up our hearts as the sun lights the day. We think of her kindness, how^ meek and how^ mild, And how from our midst she was wafted away. Refrain: Wafted aw^ay! she w^as w^afted aw^ay — Wafted away on the breath of the morn. Wafted away! she was wafted away, A happier sphere with her love to adorn. She came like a sunbeam to brighten our home; She dwelt like a sunbeam, with quivering ray. That dances with joy as it ceases to roam. And then, like a sunbeam, was wafted away. He playthings lie scattered around on the floor As if she had ceased but an hour from her play; The desolate dolls and the marks on the door Remind us of her who was wafted away. We'll think of her yet and the joy that was ours From the rise of the sun till the close of the day; And we'll meet her again in the heavenly bowers When we .bid earth farewell and are wafted away. THE STAR-STUDDED FLAG There's a star-studded flag that is dearer to me Than all the proud banners on earth that I see; Each star means a statehood that can't be undone. And while the flag waves all the states are as one. Refrain; 'Tis the flag of my country— the flag of the free; It's welcoming folds has a shelter for me. The red and white stripes, gleaming stars on the blue: The flag of America, loyal and true. 278 NISBETS POEMS It ne'er has been humbled, nor has it been furled. But spreads its silk folds to a mystified world; It stands as a shelter to mankind downtrod: To honor that flag brings us nearer to God. Long, long may it flourish and spread its wide folds And each feel a thrill of delight who beholds. It stands for the noble; it stands for the free — The flag of my country, the banner for me. CHICAGO From the prairies of the West there rose a city That is famous everywhere that man has trode For its architecture, parks and driveways pretty, And it's there my loved ones dear make their abode. My happy days were spent within its portals. When life upon the wings of pleasure whirled; A grander spot was never given mortals. For Chicago is the wonder of the world. Refrain: Chicago, I love you, my haven and my home Your fame across the seas has been unfurled; You are my gladsome magnet, no matter where I For Chicago is the wronder of the world, [roam. All the world has said Chicago is a wonder, And I know the world in this makes no mistake; For Chicago will not brook to be put under; It succeeds in all that it may undertake. America is not so great without it— The city by the lake so snugly curled — No gentleman of intellect w^ould doubt it. For Chicago is the wonder of the world. NISBETS POEMS 277 WE WILL STAND BY OUR CHIEF We sing a song of our beloved order; *Tis built secure on beneficial lines. In rank and file you never see disorder. And tranquil joy along its path en- twines. There may be other orders still more wealthy, And some that boast of more extensive plans; But none are growing half so strong and healthy In every feature as our Scottish Clans. Chorus: We will stand by our Chief and our Clan, And will greet as a friend every man; Let us sing in our pride, As we stand side by side, Of our order since first it began. There is no other like it, we know. And we're happy as onward we go; While there's something to do Let us ever be true To the tartan we learned to love so. We cannot stay the hand of death or sorrow^ — Life is uncertain to the best of men. It may be years; we may be called to- morrow; Perhaps it's good we don't know how or when. But oh, what comfort to our dear de- pendents: Protection is the chiefest of our plans. We joy to leave behind for our de- scendants The principles that guide the Scottish Clans. 280 NISBET'S POEMS THE AULD SCOTTISH TONGUE Sing me a sang o' the auld coortin* days, As laddies and lasses oor secrets tae tell. When blythely we strayed on the banks an' the braes. Where dews were distilled on the sweet heather bell. How^ sweet to remember the nichts in September, When simmer grew auld, but oor hearts aye were young. And Isabel Davis, wi' notes like a mavis. Wad warble a sang in the auld Scottish tongue. Far hae I strayed frae my ain native hame. An' aften I think o' the joys that are gane; But somehoo the joy o' my life's no the same. An' mem'ry's enchantment me haunts when alane. It's no that I'm weary, nor thinkin' life's dreary. For kind are the folks that I'm settled among; But lang though my stay be, an' kind the folks may be, I'm hankerin' aye for the auld Scottish tongue. There's peace an' there's plenty aroon me arrayed. An' rich opportunity opens its door; But all the bright pleasure an' comfort displayed Are tame when compared wi' the pleasures of yore. I'm happy, contentit, an' bless Him wha sent it, When some auld Scots sonnet is fervently sung; It brings me reflections an' fond recollections When sung tae my heart in the auld Scottish tongue. THAT OLD PIPE OF MINE My labor now is over; I'm going home to rest — I never wis a rover. The comfort I like best Is sitting with my clay pipe, a-dreaming of the past, The stove so warm, away from harm and winter's chilly blast. Refrain: Like a furnace hot my pipe is always steaming So cheery, I never weary; NISBET'S POEMS 281 And like glowing coals the weed is gleaming, As danger signals shine. Dudeen, I have not seen Any meerschaum smoke so fine; In the winter time it keeps my nose from freezing — That old pipe of mine. One day when I was hauling some bricks three stories high, I lost my hold and falling before a pass- er-by, He asked me if I suffered; I rose my my face to wipe: "Not much, your nibs; I've broke three ribs, but I have saved my pipe." IT'S COMING Let those who trample Nature's law^s Prepare to pay the cost; When retribution shows its claws Their schemes and all are lost. Chorus: It comes, no matter what they do; It's even at the door; That right will rule is just as true As "two and two are four." Come, boys, keep up the drooping lip. Though now the heart feels sore; The bees will yet the honey sip When drones are here no more. The child that wails for want of bread Will soon be satisfied; For wakened justice rears its head, And will not be denied. 282 NISBET'S POEMS SHE'S A' HUNKY-DORRIE There's a blossom on the thorn And its fragrance fills the air, As it greets the simmer morn; But it's naething tae compare Wi' the rosy lips o' Mary, An' the twinkle in her een; She's bewitching as a fairy An' as gracefu' as a queen. Refrain: For she's a' hunky-dorrie, She's as bonnie as can be; 1 hae nae cause tae worry Since she is a' for me. Yet sweart am I tae lee her. An' when she's oot o' sicht I'm anxious till I see her, For my Mary's a' richt. You hae seen the rose's blush, An' hae marked the lily fair; You hae heard the warblin' thrush, But they're naething tae compare Wi' the bonnie cheeks o' Mary, As she trips her way along; An' she fairly keeps the dairy In enchantment wi' her song. You hae seen the mornin' sun As it clarifies the air, When the day has jist begun. But it's naething tae compare Wi' the charms o' bonnie Mary, An' the kindness in her een; She's as dainty as a fairy An' the brawest lass I've seen. NISBET'S POEMS 283 LONG AGO I have left my native shore Long, long ago, Braved the ocean's angry roar Long, long ago; I heard the work out here w^as good, Soon in America I stood; I would have left it if I could Long, long ago. Long ago, long ago. In misery I began to sink Long, long ago; I spent my money all in drink Long, long ago; My wealth once was a bag of gold. But in saloons 1 got so bold, For drink my Sunday suit was sold Long, long ago. — Long ago. When 1 young I went to church Long, long ago, But drink has left me in the lurch Long, long ago; Good fortune always on me frow^ned. And failure all my efforts crowned; My people said 1 should have drowned Long, long ago. — Long ago. But now, although ! was a slave Long, long ago, Luck has snatched me from the grave Long, long ago. I learned the w^ay of clever tricks; This to my noodle closely sticks. And now^ I'm launched in politics Long, long ago.— Long ago. 284 NISBETS POEMS A WEE SPRIG O' HEATHER 'Tis a wee sprig o' heather frae my ain native shore, But it takes me in fancy tae the guid times o' yore, Tae the hame o' my boyhood and the mill dam sae dear, By the side o' the Afton, ever sparkling and clear. Refrain Jist a wee sprig o' heather frae the wild, purple hills, Where the clear crystal fountains feed the fast flowing rills; But it weaves recollections in a grand, sacred wreath — This wee sprig o' heather frae my ain native heath. I'm far frae auld Scotia, and I ne'er again may see The banks o' the Afton, where I oft used tae be; But wide as I ramble there is nae place the same For wild, rugged beauty, as my ain na- tive hame. In fancy I ramble up the Afton ance mair, Through the brier and the bramble on the hillside sae bare; And bright inspirations come tae me frae above Through this wee sprig o' heather frae the land that I love. NISBET'S POEMS 285 THE BUSY MACCABEE MARCH Our ranks are 8aily swelling and our banners are unfurled^ We're sendmg our protection nearly all around, the world, The Maccabees are growing, and in time to come you'll see That every man of common sense will be a Maccabee. Chorus: The Bees! The Bees] The busy Maccabees! The Maccabees! Tbe Busy Bees! We're busy everywhere; In Tent and Hive we always thrive. Dispelling want and care. And joy in heaping measure Our ranks shall ever see; For everything's a pleasure When you are a Maccabee> Our Tents are always open to the moral-minded man Who knows our institution has got far the better plan; And when he sees the peace of mind that's come to you and me H-e'll never rest contented till he is a Maccabee. We count our wealth in millions, and throughout this noble land To sick and helpless Maccabees w^e give w^ith gracious hand; A Home, if we should need it, is prepared for us, and v/e Are working for the interests of every Maccabee, We're marching on to glory our protection to exploit; We've spread all o'er the country, and our hub is in Detroit With men like D. P. Markey and L. Sisler, you'll agree There's reason for the happiness of every Maccabee. Our Great Commander Downer is the bulwark of the State, And Record Keeper Doig is his able working mate. It's mighty hard to match them, therefore proud indeed are we To ask our fellow-citizen to be a Maccabee. LIVE IN THE PRESENT The sins of the past, in their grievous array. Are nothing compared with the sins of today; And all of our dreams of what might have been done Are shorn of their stings by the work we've begun. 286 NIS BET'S POEMS Refrain: Then live in the present; don't trouble the past; Be hopeful and pleasant, for time travels fast; The more of the sunshine you store in your heart The more of the sunshine your actions impart. The world moves along at a marvelous pace; The fancies of youth left behind in the space. The hours of reflection are milestones of time To note the corrections that make life sublime. We shrink with the past; with the future we swell, So improve on the past if you mean to do well; As upward you soar, let yoiir song ever be: "It's upward and onward forever for me.'* LOVER'S SONG Thou gem resplendent in my heart — The sweetest flow'r in mortal sphere. Oh, that we never had to part. For I am blest when thou art near. Fair as the sun that lights the earth. So are thy form and features fair; Thy aura melts in youthful mirth. And care dissolves in limpid air. Blow soft, ye winds, with breezes meek. And stir the tresses of her hair! You never fanned a smoother cheek. Nor breathed on one more comely fair. Sing on, ye birds, your sweetest song! Each note with adoration frame; Sing of my love the whole day long. And ring into my soul her name. Where is the joy that earth can give To be compared with this fond state? With thankfulness, each day I live, 1 muse upon my happy fate. NISBET'S POEMS 287 I WEAR A KILT When I was a boy my daddy often said to me: "Grow up, my boy, and see how much you'll be like me. I have grown much older, but I never found this out, How daddy was so awful thin and I so very stout. But although I'm stoutly built. Still I can wear the same old kilt Cborus: I wear a kilt just like the kilt that dear old daddy wore; I have not forgot how my daddy fought the Zulu and the Boer; It's a fine old garment that will stand no bluff. It shows my tartan — that of Clan MacDuff. I wear a kilt just like the kilt that dear old daddy wore. When I sailed away from home the king was on the dock; "Come back!" those words he spoke; I need ye here, man, Jock; You will be drum major in the Black Watch Kilty Band." "Na, na, your nibs," says I, and waved at him my horny hand. "Well I know I'm finely built Still I will keep this same old kilt." When I was down East a would-be "Scotty" says to me: "You may be Scotch, but we can't see how that could be; Where is there a Scotsman with such bandy legs like you?" "Yer squint-eyed, man," says I, "or else yer very, very fou', For although I'm widely built. Still I can wear the same old kilt." 288 NrSBET'S POEMS COME, HEALTH AND JOY Come, health and joy, thy so-ngs shall upward bear me Far from dull care; Where sorrow's gloom in doubt cannot ensnare me. Nor cold despair. High on thy glorious wings HI rise Till I am lost in thy blue skies, Where all the gifts of Kfe I'll prize. Spread everywhere. Thy fountains flow with water clear and cooling For me to drink; Thou hast no tasks, for pleasure is thy schooling. Pure joy to think. Life, like a flower with petals spread. With bliss absorbently is fed; And neither blight nor death to dread- No cause to shrink. Thy azure blue, that peace and calm bequeath me^ Shall me control; Thy verdant green, so bright w^ith hope beneath me. Will stir my soul. Then upward may 1 ever fly,. Till sorrow is no longer nigh; And gloom or sickness I'll defy. To reach my goalL WAES ME, BONNIE SCOTLAND? Twas years ago, in Scotland, where the purple heather ^rraws. In a sylvan, ferny valley, where the sparkling water flows, A hunted Covenanter strayed along the river's bank. And reveled in the sunshine as its glories there he drank. He sighed tc think his country was embroiled in bitter strife. And he, by moor and hillside, being hunted for his life. He muttered as he wandered, hardly knowing w^hat to da: "Oh, waes me, bonnie Scotland, what I'm suffering for ye nool" NISBET'S POEMS 289 In Africa's dark jungle, and among the tangled grass. Where shrubs and trailing underbrush were woven in a mass, A wounded Highland soldier, in a foraging affray. Was tortured by the insects, and a-dying there he lay. He thought of home and kindred in his far-off native land, And he afar from comrades, and without a helping hand; The words came from him grimly, as his teeth together drew: "Oh, waes me, bonnie Scotland, what I'm suffering for ye noo! ' This happened in Chicago, not so very long ago: In greeting Harry Lauder, it was planned to make a show; A Scottish town-bred laddie had aspired to wear the kilts In chilly, damp November, when it's cold enough for quilts. His teeth in frenzy chattered, and his lips were blue with cold; He suffered mental anguish that he wouldn't stand for gold; He could not keep from sighing as the winds more chilly blew: "Oh, waes me, bonnie Scotland, what I'm suffering for ye noo! " THE DAYS ARE LONG The days are long; my heart is broken; Long have I been in suspense; I still possess my lover's token. When the war took Willie hence. The nights are dark and sometimes dreary, , Pining for my soldier lad; Oh, bring him back, for I am weary. Waiting with a welcome glad. Refrain: Lightsome, kind and open-hearted, Willie was so fond and free; Oh, why were we so rudely parted? Bring my Willie back to me. Oh, why will men forever battle. Stir the fires of hateful strife? A contrast to the lowing cattle. Who enjoy the peaceful life. 290 NISBET'S POEMS But soon the fighting will be over^ And the soldiers will be free; Then I will see my war-worn rover' When my lad returns to me. The wars, we hope, shall part us never; Peace and joy shall crown each day^ When we can wander by the river Where we often used to stray. When he arrives bedecked with glory Homew^ard swift his way will be; Once more I'll hear the old, old story:; Send my Willie back to me, SADIE On every hand throughout the land The birds are sweetly singing Among the trees that w^ith the breeze? Their leafy boughs are swinging. In Loudon's wood I always could Enjoy a pleasant ramble. And still I love the shaded grove Where spreads the thorny bramble. In youthful' glee I loved to see The dewdrops deck the morning, And woodlands green enchant the scene. The fairy haunts adorning. Bright was the day in leafy May When in the coverts shady I met the lass none can surpass— The bonnie, blue-eyed Sadie, I told my love, and this sweet dove" Repulsed me to dejection;: But now I see she honors me By catching the infection. She had to yield with lips unsealed. For all her schemes miscarried; When last w^e met the day was set: WeVe going to be married. r^SBET'S POEMS 291 THE WEE HOOSE I am far frae the land where I first saw the hcht. An' wide is the ocean that rages between, But aften Pve sighed an' hae wished for a sicht O' the heathery hills wi^ their purple and green. There's a hamely wee hoose wi' its shelter o' strae. Where faither sits reading wi' white frosty pow; An' mither is waiting for me day by day In the wee hoose that stands on yon heathery knowe. Refrain: Oh, the bonnie wee hoose, the humble wee hoose. The thocht o' its charms sets my heart in a lowe; It's maybe auld-fashioned, but cleanly and douce — The wee hoose that stands on yon heathery knowe. It is gran' tae hae mansions an^ treasures galore. It is great tae be famous an' win folks' esteem, But thochts o' the wee hoose hae pleasures in store That haunt me each day like a fairyland dream. Deep doon in my heart there's a hankering want That aften I stay wi' regret, I'll allow; For the folks are plain people, wi' luxuries scant, In the wee hoose that stands on yon heathery knowe. The silks and the satins society flaunts Can cover nae thrift like the hame worsted gown; An' the auld-farrant cracks frae the auld-farrant haunts Contain mair guid sense than ye hear in the town. The hearts that are leal, an' hae feelings divine. Before the wee hoose wi due reverence bow; With fond recollections its comforts entwine The wee hoose that stands on yon heathery knowe. 292 NISBET'S POEMS ILLINOIS Oh, IIlinoisF Dear Illinoisr Across your fruitful prairie lands. As peaceful thought our minds employ. In loyalty we stretch our hands. Both skilled and brave those sons of thine, Thy daughters artless, sweet and coy; Their names in glory still shall shine. Oh, Illinois! Dear Illinois! Illinois, Illinois, The cradle of our nation's joy. Oh, Illinois! Dear Illinois! The honors proud to you have flowed. What matchless glory you enjoy — A luster that for years has glowed. Our banner waves across tKy plain, And none our Union shall destroy; We sing with pride the glad refrain: Oh, Illinois! Dear Illinois! Illinois, Illinois, The cradle of our nation's joy. Oh, Illinois! Dear Illinois! Thy future rises sharp and clear; In commerce wide thy lines deploy; Thy influence goes far and near. Our praises for thy stately domes. Thy fertile fields our songs employ. Our blessings on thy happy homes. Oh, Illinois! Dear Illinois! Illinois, Illinois, The cradle of our nation's joy. NISBET'S POEMS 293 WHAT SPRING HAS BROUGHT What has blythe Spring brought to me? Flow'rs in great variety, Blooming in their fragrance sweet, Each a gem laid at our feet. What has blythe Spring brought to me? Budding shrub and leafy tree. Clad in green and bright array. Spreading shadows on the way. What has blythe Spring brought to me? Feathered w^arblers fall of glee. Springing from their dewy dens. Tuning notes that flood the glens. What has blythe Spring brought to me? Friendship wider than the sea; Friends whose hearts are loyal, true, Fond and free in all they do. What has blythe Spring brought to me? Love, the lofty, noble, free; Love for country, home and friends. Love sincere, that never ends. WHEN BLINKING STARS When blinking stars and silv'ry moon Tell courting time is drawing near, I think of you alone, for soon I'll meet you at the tryst, my dear. Give shallow hearts their hectic joys. The miser all his hoarded gold; I'll not compare their empty toys With joys you can to me unfold. Refrain; When near to me you're dear to me. You haunt my dreams when far aw^ay; It rends my heart to see us part, But we will wed some happy day. NISBET'S POEMS With glad surprise your dark blue eyes Will sparkle when I tell my tale Of ardent love; the starry skies Shall greet us in the scented vale. The cloak of night, with tender care. Shall waft to us the summer breeze, And by the river we shall share A welcome from the waving trees. NEVER BEEN THE SAME Oh, yes, I'm safely married, to that I will confess; 1 met a waiting maiden, and tried her age to guess; She thought I was proposing, so she sweetly answered "yes," And I've never been the same man since. Refrain: I have never been the same man since; I am not so very easy to convince. What happened to me? Well, It's hard for me to tell, But I've never been the same man since. My wife is fond of baking, and one day she made some cakes. And I sat down to eat them (for a man will make mistakes); Of course I have recovered, but I still have got the shakes. And I've never been the same man since. 'Twas somewhere in Chicago that I went to place some bets. And innocently wandered in a hall of suffragettes; I got a shower of handbags— what the male intruder gets. And I've never been the same man since. NISBETS POEMS 295 I went to Cincinnati, there to see a box- ing show; At juggHng with the pillows I know I am not slow; One boxer was a-missing, and I took on the go, And I've never been the same man since. I once went to a "Smoker," where they asked me for a song; I gave a recitation just to help the night along, But oh, the ripe tomatoes and the hen fruit came so strong I have never been the same man since. I'M A MACCABEE Everywhere you travel o'er this country far and wide; Protection we provide, whatever may betide; Where is there an order with such hap- piness and joy As you will find in Tents around Chi- cago, Illinois? Alhough we get them by the score Still there is room for hundreds more. Chorus: I'm a Maccabee, you're a Maccabee, But still there's room for more; We have got to be what we ought to be And get them by the score. There's no use crying if we don't suc- ceed; Keep on trying till our friends take heed. I'm a Maccabee, you're a Maccabee, With room for hundreds more. 296 NISBETS POEMS Here among Chicago Tents the boys are good and true; There's always something new to give them work to; They will capture thousands yet, as sure as you're alive, For they can well accomplish if they earnestly will strive; And as we get them by the score We'll open wide the door for more. NISBET'S POEIV5S 297 CHICAGO TALES BILL BAILLIE Some tales are told to cause a laugK With humor light as flying chaff. And some are told with features grim. It seems, to please a passing whim; But this one I propose to tell. Which late one winter night befell A worthy lad whose name is Bill (Bill Bailiie will the part fulfill. For his right name we must suppress That we may cause him no distress). Is given here with scant adorning To serve you as a timely warning. The lodge convened in Hogan's hall. And though attendance had been small. Fraternal, fond, had been the greeting,, And happiness had ruled the meeting. Each brother pledged himself to work. And ne'er a bounden duty shirk; For they had lately changed their hall. Their meeting nights, their plans and alL The street, the hall, the scenes were new. So who could blame the "faithful few" For lingeiing at Hogan^s bair Before they took the homeward car. And thrashing over oft-told tales Whi<:li to recall ray memory fails? Time seems to fly on lightning wing When round the bar the blythe hearts cling, And tongues unloose like opening flowers To hide the passage of the hours. No thoughts of home possess the breast„ But every man feels doubly blest. Contented, happy with his lot, For care, dull care, concerns him not 19S NISBET'S POEMS Bill Baillie stood amid the throng And cheered the happy hours along With talk — he talked on all he knew. And still more talkative he grew. Anon, his hunger to appease. He ate the crackers and the cheese. Ne'er thinking of the many miles. The deep ravines and dark defiles. That lay between him and Glenellyn, Where stood his cosy, little dwelling. But thoughts of home on such occasion Are often treated with evasion; The cares of life are promptly drowned. And all with pleasantry is crow^ned. The talk now turned to women's votes. And how they flayed the petticoats, (To dwell on here would be a sini) Which caused the "barkeep" with a grira To tell some tales of registration That roused their manly indignation. It is not told w-hat caused to fill With recklessness the mind of Bill, But lo! a bumper high he filled. And drained it — not a drop he spilled — Then wiped his mouth, as though the gin Would soil the lips, but not within. As talk began to get hilarious. And arguments on subjects various. Bill glanced his eye up to the clock: Gosh! how his breast received a shock! TTie hour of midnight was at hand. And darkness brooded o'er the land, A moment more he would not stay, So "Good by, boys; Vm on my way^- And out he staggered in the night. To navigate in sorry plight. Now let us follow Baillie's trail. Since he for home has set his sail. The snow lay heavy on the street. The walks like glass beneath the feet; He'd stagger,^ stumble, take a fall. NISBETS POEMS 299 Then bound up like a rubber ball. Some men, impatient, would have sworn. Exasperated and forlorn. But Bill possessed a genial soul That shed good-nature o'er the whole. What cared he for a fall in snow? A happy grunt, and on he'd go. The only thing that vexed his brain. Perplexed him time and time again. Was that the route to him was new; And, with the fumes of Hogan's brew. He wondered if he'd lost his way And had been wandering astrayi Yet not a murmur from his mouth. He knew his way lay to the south. And nothing earthly on his track Would ever dare to keep him back At last a highway hove in sight That in the silv'ry moonlight night Looked like a glaring, great white way. With grand electric light displays And was not that a street car coming. With headlight bright and motor hum- ming? It must be so, for cars proceed Through streets with such uncanny speed; Then he would "flag" the motor man. And board the car; his craftj plan Was when aboard to question there What car it was, and how and where Could he, a stranger, tired, belated. Best reach the "Polly Elevated." So out he swung into the street. And waved his arms and stamped his feet. No rumbling sounds; no warning clang. In answer, on the still night rang; But on the headlights nearer drew. And past an automobile flew. The wind of which so upset Bill He took a dive into a hill Of snow, and would have there remcuned 3m NISBET'S POEMS Had not composure he regained Enough to know that lying there Would only bring hini to despair. And -would not bring Glenellyn near. Nor those to him than liie more dear. So crawling fron* his snowy bed He fixed his hat well on his head. And with a careless grunt arose And brushed the snow from off his clothes. Then started walking boldly forth Expectantly, but to the north. Still thiraking south his course was bent^ With buoyancy that courage lent. Bill straight bis journey did pursue Through many a lane and avenue. And floundered wildly in the dark Till he wEis lost in Garfield Park. The courage that strong liquors give Is false,, and has not long to livej When it reacts, remorse and care But pave the way to cold despair. Bill still bad courag:e, still had hope Enough with circumstance to cope^ But when before his vision rose A manly form, of noble pose. He scarce could make his feet behave When help was near that could him save. The stranger was a wrelcome ssght, A tall man,, too, he seemed,^ in he^ht; The snow thick on his shoulders spread^ And yet no= hat was? on his head. Bill stood and stared to see this giant Of night and elements defiant. Who seemed immune to wind and cold;, And stovjd in pose erect and botd. "Say, stranger, can yo«r tell me where ! am3" Bill ventured in despair. But not a sound came in reply. Nor yet a stir could he descry; The silence seemed to mock his ques-- tion„ NISBET'S POEMS 301 His mind could offer no suggestion; The quickened action of his brain Confused him o'er and o'er again, And Bill got wildly agitated: "Say, where's the 'Polly Elevated? Cried he, as he much bolder grew. And to the stranger nearer drew. 'Twas then the truth upon him broke. And not another word he spoke; He knew — and flushed and paled by turns — The statue of our poet. Burns. Exhausted with his efforts, there He limply sank in cold despair Upon the snow; his limbs were numb, His eyelids nearly overcome By sleep; he lay as in a trance — Surroundings faded from his glance. How long he lay he could not tell. But something seemed to break the spell. He saw the poet move his head,; With hand upraised, to Bill he said: "Belated sinner! Whither bent? 'Tis not the path of sweet content That thou dost choose. Beware the cup, Or they who wanton pleasure sup! No peace can come from such a course; The end is only deep remorse. Too soon hast thou essayed the pqce That leads to w^ant and dire disgrace; Too soon met artificial joy. That composite of base alloy Which blights the rosy blush of youth, And soils the lips with words uncouth. The careworn plodder, sore distressed, With chilling penury depressed. Is tempted oft to steal a smile From folly, passing by the while, But tendency to dissipate Temptations and desires create; And 'pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed; 302 NISBETS POEMS Or, like the snow falls in the river, One moment white, then melts forever; Or, like the Borealis race That Hit ere you can point the place.' " Bill heard no more of this pure strain. For rudely brought to earth again, A harsh voice sounded in his ear: "Get up! What are you doing here? " A park policeman shook him well, And Bill his story had to tell. The officer, as Bill related. Conveyed him to the "Elevated." Perhaps it takes too long to say How Bill at last got on his way. But when aboard and safe from harm, The car felt very snug and warm, And Bill no longer w^atch could keep — - His head sunk on his chest in sleep — And as the train flew on its way Oblivious to his course he lay; No sound to break its onward roar Except a harsh, discordant snore. Once he was heard to stir and sneeze. And ask some one to "pass the cheese." Thus passed the time, and still he snored. The stops and station calls ignored. Until Glenellyn had been passed. And still the train tore westward fast. Bill struggled with a troubled dream, And realistic did it seem: Before his vision rose a glass Like what the "barkeeps" freely pass Across the bar to thirsty souls — A vehicle for human tolls— And from that glass, with snowy dome Arose the spreading flaky foam In myriads of sparkling beads Of vanity — like empty deeds. Bill licked his lips and cleared his throat. Then smiled and straightened down his coat, NISBETS POEMS 303 And raised the glass to quench his thirst, When lo! the foam asunder burst, And off in airy clouds careened. As from the glass arose a fiend. A grinning sneer was on his face That nothing earthly could displace. "Come, Mr. Devil; what's your game?" The taunting sneer made Bill exclaim; "With vaunted smile perhaps you think To rob me of this cooling drink; I have no time for such as you. So trot along! Avaunt! 'Skiddoo!' " The monster laughed aloud with glee Bill's disappointed look to see. And chuckled as he wriggled near, And hissed this warning in his ear: "You weakling! Yet you think you're brave; You have become my servile slave; Your will in mine is deeply hid — You'll do hereafter as I bid. I'll chain you to this glass for life; I'll vex your children and your wife, And ply new tortures day by day; Thus spread despair across your way! " So suiting action to the word, He stooped to lift the binding cord. Bill's blood was up; he was not slow To swing a hard, pile-driving blow. But when it fell no fiend was there, For he awoke, and shining bare A bald head in the seat ahead Received the vicious blow instead. The man's profuse vociferations And Bill's elucid explanations, Commingling, as the train still rushed Upon its journey, soon were hushed To hear a voice in accent slow: "Aurora next; as far's we go ! " Up sprang Bill then and rubbed his eyes. Looked all around him in surprise. Then muttered low: "Goldarn my duds! 304 NISBETS POEMS Confound that Hogan's gin and "suds!" No more Dl look upon the foam; When meeting's o'er I'll shoot for home." The story now draws to a close; Bill sank no more in calm repose In going back; with some elation He stepped out at Glenellyn station, And quickly took the homeward way In triumph at the break of day. The rooster raised his five-toed comb And proudly crowed his welcome home; The old cow^ turned her head and moo-ed To welcome him as best she could; And Rover barked with keen delight To see his master heave in sight; His wife and children ne'er had slept, But all night long their vigils kept; And hearts with thankfulness did burn To see the wanderer return. Bill to his w^ife his story told, How he was absent from the fold. Omitting nothing to his shame, But shouldering alone the blame. "I've had some thought since you w^ere gone, With sleepy children all alone; This is our anniversary — 'Tis ten years since our wedding day;" His wife exclaimed with joyful glee. As they enjoyed their cup of tea. "Ten years been married," Bill replied; I can't look back to them with pride. I've acted like a boy at school — It took ten years to cure a fool. The future looms with promise great. So we this day will celebrate. Think, brothers, think; in mercy think; When you are pressed to take a drink. If drink you must, take something thin. But shun the foaming "suds" or gin. NISBETS POEMS 305 THE CHICAGO RANCHER The night was passing swiftly with a company of friends, The beer was fine and gracious with the confidence it lends, And all the joys of friendship were appearing at their best When talk grew strong on ranches and the glories of the West. Old Mac. was fondly telling of Montana's mighty plains. The easy mode of living and the most unheard-of gains; How life was worth the living — just a long, continuous day Of fishing, hunting, riding, and all other kinds of play; No one had time to worry, and unknow^n to work or care, The sun of joy and gladness shone in all its splendor there. In fact, to hear him talking, you would think he had a job To keep the land from growing too much corn around the cob. 1 hey grew as fond as brothers then, and mellow grew the beer; The eloquence was pleasing and like music to the ear. Rob Mantel sat and listened, with his eyes as big as plates. To all the random ravings of a pair of breezy skates. He was a typo printer lad, who had been born and bred Within Chicago's windy bounds (at least that's what he said); The jangle of the street cars, or the roll of heavy teams, Besides the Elevated, had to him been pleasant dreams; So when Mac. made the offer to convey him to his ranch, Like drowning man despairing, clutching wildly at a branch, He seized the offer quickly, promised Mac. his crew to join (For Robert had been thrifty and had saved a bag of coin). Next day, when w^ork was over, he gave out the joyful tip To friends and fellow^ w^orkingmen of his intended trip. He had but w^ords of pity for the grubs w^ho had to face The picking of a living from a dusty pica case; He nevermore would vilify his hands with printers' ink; That work might be congenial to those w^ho never think, Or those with morbid natures who could never see the fun Of drinking in the ozone or of basking in the sun. 306 NISBET'S POEMS But he would "shake" Chicago and erect his httle stand Away out in Montana's plains, that far-off, happy land, He bought a gun and fishpole, to be ready for the sport, For fish and deer were numerous, according to report; His stock of ammunition w^as some slug and shot and shell. And hooks of all descriptions, fly and bait, some spoon as well. Two days were spent in farewells to his chums and closest friends, His relatives were downcast with dismay beyond amends; Society was fretful at the threatened pall of gloom That soon must overtake it, and make all look like a tomb; For while the farewells lasted brave Chicago never slept, And all its fairest maidens fairly bubbled forth and wept. And at the farewell dinner they fell limply on his neck And sobbed upon his bosom till his shirt front was a wreck. But sadness, sighs and weeping, always hurries to an end As soon as friends are certain that you have no more to spend; And tears are dried entirely when the glasses cease to clink — The program is a failure when there's naught to eat or drink. The time was fast approaching for the journey to the West, And in the preparation Rob had done his level best; His baggage, which was bulky, for his pilgrimage afar, The trainmen soon discovered would require another car. He had bullets for the coyottes and slugshot for the deer. Two gallon jugs of whiskey and a case of bottled beer, Two bags of fishing tackle, with two rods of extra length, A box of good home cooking and some tea of extra strength, A trunk or two of clothing and a host of other things Too numerous to mention, but to which his fancy clings. The train at last was moving, and poor Rob stuck out his head And waved a farewell bravely as the long train onward sped. But when he left the city and his home far, far behind. The good old times he had enjoyed kept floating through his mind; And as the night came on him and the deeper he would think NISBET'S POEMS 307 His heart began to falter and his chest began to shrink. Thus two long days of yawning and a night without a sleep, (For in the midst of strangers he had close his watch to keep), Made Rob look somewhat wilted like a strangled chimpanzee, And all the passing scenery he had no wish to see. When he and Mac. were landed in Montana's lonely plain Poor Rob sighed for Chicago and his happy home again; He could not hear the rumble of the Elevated cars, Nor could he sip the nectar from the Schlitz-dispensing bars. Two days were spent in hunting, but without a deer in sight, A day was Spent in fishing, and without a single bite; And oh, the disappointment almost turned to bitter hate When he discovered turtles had been near and stole his bait. One day he went out strolling in a quiet search for fun. The fishpole was in one hand, and the other held the gun; He thought he saw a coyote stealing in behind a log And fired, but soon discovered he had shot Mac's hunting dog. Rob tried his luck at swimming in a muddy, marshy creek; The sun beat down upon him, and exertion made him weak. Besides the bull frogs scared him with their croaking loud and deep. So courage soon forsook him, and ashore he had to creep. He sought his little cabin, there to rest his w^earied head, And after sweeping rattlers from his little canvas bed He fell asleep to music from Montana's ghostly owls. Assisted by the coyottes and their intermittent howls. Next morning Rob was sleepy, and upon his face a frown — The cowboys all were "pickled" and were shooting up the town; His whiskey they had scented, and had drained his gallon jugs, And rifled his belongings like a band of graceless thugs; The liquor, being famous as a cure for morbid kinks. Soon caused an exhibition wild as ever grew "high jinks; The bullets flew around them like a hurricane of hail, And noise and smoke of powder made a battlefield look pale. Rob did not wait to see it, but the cellar quickly sought; Such reckless use of firearms close around him pleased him not. 308 NISBETS POEMS Meanwhile, as this was happening, old Mac. received a note From friends back in Chicago that some rumors were afloat Of eager speculators who were looking at his place, And if he wished to sell it he should meet them face to face. His business quickly settled, he got on the fastest train. And soon was racing wildly for Chicago once again. When Rob heard his departure had occurred in haste that day He nearly had a spasm, nearly fainted dead away. With grim determination on his features, cold and pale. He asked no man for liberty but started on Mac's trail. The dust that rose in columns Robert's fleeting form concealed. And doubtless in his thoughts, at least, Montana's doom w^as sealed. We know that at the depot if a train he could not get He'd start at once to "hoof it," and he must be "hiking" yet. THE SURPRISE "STAG" Within the Council chamber met The faithful few, whom truants let Assume the burden of the work, While they their share by absence shirk. A silence reigned throughout the hall. For each had heard the gavel fall, And grave solemnity and grace Was evident on every face. When lo! a knock came to the door. And, by credentials which he bore, A visitor was ushered in Amid the hearty, w^elcome din. The op'ning ode had scarce been sung. The rap to seat them just had rung, When starting to his fretful feet The stranger rose the chair to greet, And craved the privilege to speak At once, for he had come to seek Their aid in sickness and distress For one who starved in helplessness. He told a tale of some poor friend Whose life was drawing to an end NISBETS POEMS 3C9 >Of some incurabJe disease, -And, with desire his mind to ease, 'His Council had a "stag" proposed To give the friends who feh disposed /A chance to give and yet to get More pleasure than they evermet; Thus would a sum be realized, •And charity be well disguised. The Council heard the urgent cry, The tear unbidden fille-d each eye, And money voted •for the cause /Amid the deafening applause. The night arrived -to stage the "stag,^* And time to many seemed to drag. Anticipation and desire Alone stirred up the restive fire; But many souls had never slept •Since to their knowledge tidings crept That something -startling would take place To benefit the liuman "race. It was an starry Autumn night; Within the hall the scene w^as briglit, But the main entrance had been closed And silence in its shades reposed, Except tlie wliisper of the watcb, And in the stillness you could catch A smothered Tiint, that spoke of fear. To seek the entrance at tlie rear. The crowds arrived in course of time. Expectantly, in sporting prime; But not for vaudeville or song Were gathered that pugnacious throng. The Council officers were there All innocent of the affair. And strong suspicion quelled the doubt They were to see a boxing bout; For lo! the chairs were clustered round A canvased ring, and there were found The men who love the padded mit. And there indulge their brutal wit. Close grouped behind, a do2en deep, 310 NISBET'S POEMS Fraternal brothers tried to keep Positions where they all could see Two men agree to disagree. The bout began; the boxers squared And banged and slammed till all de^ clared. With sparkling eyes and joyous shouts,, It was the king of boxing bouts. The sports were keen to see the game,. With beating hearts and eyes ajflame; And no one seemed to see the youth— A spying, harmless looking sleuth — Step to the w^indow, lift the shade, And while tbe boxers danced ajid swayed, His pocket lamp sent out a glow Of warning to the watch below. And he, in turn, as sport grew warm,, Sent in a still but swift alarm. The bout w^ent oh amid the noise. And sober men lost mental poise, When bang! a knock Came to the door^. And pandemonium seized the floor. Police were there, and down below Patrols stood waiting in a row Impatiently with warning clang To gather in the whole "'shebang." The sports, with wild excitement thrilled,, The fire escapes and windows filled; Some down the rainpipes madly slid And some upon the housetops hid. While others could but stare and gape And made no effort to escape. Upon the gladiators' wrists The handcuffs now subdued their fists; Instead of waiting for the bell They languished in a lonely cell. The tale is told, the moral plain: When charity appeals again. And innocent appears the "stag." Look well that you escape the bag. NISBETS POEMS 311 TI^E MIGHTY HUNTERS It was the first day of September, A day that sportsmen with the gun Look forward to and long remember For the adventure and the fun. A calm and gentle breeze was blowing. The morning air was clear and cool, When up arose, as dawn was showing. Bill Avey and young Jack O'Toole. With gun in hand these cracks assembled To try their fortunes in the wild; With eagerness to say they trembled Would be to put it rather mild. On second thought, as they were starting. They lingered at Jack Porter's door; Few minutes found the three departing In glee a little after four. Near Bothwell was the scene of pleasure, So off they, journeyed to the place; Their talk was without bounds or measure, A smile lit up each ardent face, Each built his hopes on careful shooting. Each hoped to win a glorious liame; imagination scarce gave footing Among the fields of slaughtered game. In case that darkness should betide them. And bring to grief their eager haste. They hired an Indian to guide them And thread the virgin, triackless waste, A dog, besides, was also needed — A setter dog to point the game; The main thing must not go unheeded if they would rise to deathless fame. iVl NISBET'S POEMS^ A farmers boy^ whom they fell in with* Possessed a dog — a graceless hound; He praised and sold it, to begin w^ith, And fleeced th^e hunters-all around. Then, w^and'ring on w^here game abounded,. Each w^atched the dog w^ith beating heart,. Till presently, by quail surrounded. Each clutched- his gun ta do- hiS' part. If e-er a citedal w^as takert By cannon's rocir and martial noise; Its firm> foundation would be shaken By the artillery of those boys. Whirr! rosea quail beyond their setter, When' pop! w^eat off three guns at once^ liJp rose another shot, much better. But unprepared,, each played the dunce;- Thus, on they went w^ith shot and powder^ With lead and thunder everywhere; And in their zeal they all grew louder As whirrs and cracks both rent the ait At last a Ixrll; no birds' were rising; They whistled for the dog in vain. This was an incident surprising: "Wlierte is it gbne?" they asked in pain. Jack Porter found the creature lyings In fear behind a fallen log, Besmeared with blood and plainly dying; "By gosh!" he oried,^ "I've shot the dogl " "W^e've shot away our ammunition," Said Avey. in a mournful strain, "But have not satisfied arrtbition, For we have shot our lead in vain," *'Mot so!" a voice cried from behind them, A farmer's voice, both loud and deep; "My flock is scattered; you must find them. And pay me, for you've shot a sheep." NISBET'S POEMS 313 Enough's a feast, they all were thinking, But when they reached the camping spot Their rye the Indian had been drinking, And there they found the man "half shot." Thus favored both by game and w^eather, But cursed by luck and sad mishaps. They all returned without a feather To grace their new-bought hunter caps. GLOSSARY In the Scottish dialect the finals ch or gh have generally the gutteral sound of the German language, and the final letters d and g, when preceded by n, are gen- erally silent. A'— all Aboon, abune—above Aboot — about Ae — one Aff-off Afore — before Aften— often Ahint — behind Airm — arm Alane — alone Alang — along Amang; — among An' — and Ance — once Ane — one Anither — another Aroon — around Atween — between Auld- old Awa* — away Aw^ee — a little Aye — always B Bairn — child Baith — both Ban' — band Banes— bones Bauchels — slippers Besom — broom Biggin'— building Bine — tub Birses — bristles Blaw — blow Bleck— black Blethered — raved Bluidy — bloody Bocht — bought Bools — marbles Boosin' — drinking Brat— child Br aw— pretty Bricht — bright Brit — brute Brocht— brought Broo — brow ' Breeks — trousers Brither — brother Bubblyj o ck — turkey Buskit — dressed c Callan — boy Caroosin' — carousing Canna — cannot Cannel— candle Cauld — cold 315 Chap — young fellow Chookie— chicken Clachan — village Claes — clothes Claith — cloth Crack — talk Crater — creature Craw — crow Crood — crowd Croon — top of head Crowdie — porridge Cud — could Cuddy— donkey Dae — do Da-ein' — doing Dee — die Deil — devil Dicht — wipe Didna — did not Dinna — do not Dool — sorrow Doon — dow^n Doot — doubt Douce — respectable Doug — dog Doukin' - d eking Dowie — sad GLOSSARY Driech — tedious Droon— drown E E'e — eye Een — eyes Eeriesome — weird Faith er— father Feth- faith Flair — floor Flees — flies Flicht— flight Focht — fought Forgie — forgive Fou — full Frae — from Fricht— fright Frien' — friend Fuddliri' — drinking G Gae — go Gaed— went Gaun — going Gear — w^ealth Gie — give Gied — gave Gien— given Girnin' — growling Gled — glad Gleg- smart Gloamin'— twilight Gowd — gold Gowk — fool Grat — wept Greet — cry Grun— ground Guid — good H Hackit — Chapped Hadna — had not Hae — have Hame — home Hasna — has not Haud — hold Hauf— half Haun — hand Heelshods — heel plates Heid — head Hielan' — Highland Hoo— how^ Hoose — house Howkin' — digt;ing Intae — into Ither — other Jiner — carpenter Jist— just K Ken — know Kenned, kent-known L Lane — lone Lanely — lonely Lang — long Leal — good, true Lee — lie Leeve — live Licht— light Lug — ear Luk — look Lukin' — looking Lum — chimney M lyiair — more Mairrit — married 316 Maist — most Maun — must Micht— might Mither — mother Mony — many Moose — mouse Muckle- big N Naethihg — nothing Nane — none Nater — nature Neebor— neighbor Nicht— night Ninny - insignificant person Nocht— nothing Noo — now o Ony — any Oor— our Got — out Ootlet— oudet Owre, ower — over P Pairt — part Pat— pot Peerie — top Penter— painter Pock — bag Pooches — pockets Pow — head Pree — taste Preen — pin Prood — proud Pu'ed — pulled Puir — poor Pund — pound Q Quate — quiet GLOSSARY R Raither — rather Rantin' — stirring Reek— smoke Richt— right Rin— run Roon, roun' — round Rqwtin' — lowing Runt — cabbage stem s Sae — so Saft-saft Sair — sore Sang — song Saut— salt Scart — scrape Shaucheling — slouch- ing Shooers— showers Sic — such Sicht — sight Simmer — summer Slippit — slipped Smeek — smoke Smiddy — blacksmith shop Snoot — snout Soo — sow Sough — sigh Soun' — sound Sounin' — sounding Souther — settle Specks — spectacles Speelin' — climbing Spoot — spout Stane — stone Startit — started Staun — stand Steppit — stepped Stervin' — starving Stickit — stuck Stirk— calf Stot — steer Stracht — straight Strauchten-straighten Sune — soon Sw^eart — reluctant Sw^eeties— confections Swithered — hesitated Syne— then T Tae — 'o Thae- those Thegither — together Thocht — thought Thole— suffer Tile— tall hat Tip — male sheep Tippence — tw^opence Tocher — dowry Toun, toon — town Trig— smart Twa— tw^o u Unco — -very w Wad — would Wae — woe Wale — pick Wark — work Wauken — awaken Waunert — wandered Wean — child Wee— small Weel- well Wha— who Whar — where Whupper — big one Wi' — with Widna — would not Win' —wind Winna — will not Winner — wonder Wis — was Wisna — was not Withoot — without Woefu'— woeful Worrit — troubled Wrocht — worked Y Yaird — yard Yer — your Yersel* — yourself Yestreen — last night 317 ERRATA Page 2, 1st line, shoi " 4, 27th " " 18, 19th " " 21, 26th " " 49. 29th " " 50, 4th " " 54, 17th " " 55, 13th " " 96,22nd" lid read: And weaves its net to gain control Or gladly laid their burdens down Retraced the pathway as he came. When the dark entrance of a cave Yet often, in their pensive mood, And course to the extremities. High poised in air the lone curlew And Peter, hast'ning to the spot. Conviction that a higher power