{library OF CONGRESS.} # # t [SMITHSONIAN DEPOSIT.] i # ^/^/. FH 5SO<2> # ! UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.! |(D(BCmf THE WAVERLEY NOVELS. mm^mef id^ecnf fiEINO THE POEMS SCATTEREri THROUGH THE WAVERLEY NOVELS. ATTRIBUTED TO AKONYMOUS SOURCES, BUT PRESUMED TO tJE WRITTEN BY SIR WALTER SCOTT. WITH TtTLES AND INDEX. BOSTON: PUBLISHED BY MUNROE & FRANCIS, 18 5 1- Entered, according to Act ofron^'ress, in the yesr 1K51, El' DAVID G. FRAMCI^, In the District Court of tlie ^ourliern District of New-York. ADVERTISEMENT. IN the year 1822, Mess'rs. Constable of Edinburgh pnblished a small volume, entitled " The Poetry contained in the Novels, Tales and Romances of the Author of Waverley," embracing the series only from Waverley to the Pirate. After that time fourteen additional Tales were published, and the whole work revised by the author. The publishers of the present volume have completed the project of the Edinburgh editors, and it now comprehends all the Poetry contained in the Waverley Novels supposed to be original, or translated by Sir Walter Scott. It is possible a few passages have been included, which were quoted from other aiuhors, although it is probable Sir Walter has not hesitated to alter these quotations, eith- er to supply defects of his own memory, or to adapt them more per- fectly to the matter in hand ; with these additions it will be found that this volume contains gems of rare beauty, many sparkles of wit, and many aphorisms of wisdom, which will serve for texts to in- numerable lessons of morality, already or hereafter to be written. The present publishers have ventured to prefix a title to each of the pieces, and added to the volume a complete Index. Boston, 1850. WAVEIiLEY POETRY. ROUNDELAY. WAKEN, lords and ladies gay, On the mountain dawns the day. All the jolly chase is here, With hawk and horse and hunting spear: Hounds are in their couples yelling, Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling, Merrily, merrily, mingle they, Waken, lords and ladies gay. Waken, lords and ladies gay, The mist has left the mountain grey ; Springlets in the dawn are streaming, Diamonds on the brake are gleaming, And foresters have busy been To track the buck in thicket green ; Now we come to chant our lay. Waken, lords and ladies gay. WAVERLEY POETRY. Waken, lords aad ladies gay, To the green wood haste away ; We can show you where he lies, Fleet of foot, and tall of size ; We can show the marks he made. When 'gainst the oak his antlers frayed ; You shall see him brought to bay, Waken, lords and ladies gay. Louder, loader, chant the lay. Waken, lords and ladies gay ; Tell them youth and mirth and glee. Run a course as well as we. Time, stern huntsman ! who can balk, Stanch as hound, and fleet as hawk ? Think of this, and rise with day. Gentle lords and ladies gay. LINES In answer to a request of Ballantyne to acknowledge the Work. NO, John, 1 will not own the book, I won't, you picaroon ; When next I try St. Grubby 's brook. The A— of Wa— shall bait the hook, And flat-fish bite as soon As if before them they had got The worn-out wriggler, Walter Scott. WAVfiRLEY POETRY. MIRKWOOD MERE. LATE, when the autumn evening fell On Mirkwood Mere's romantic dell, The lake returned, in chasten 'd gleam, The purple cloud, the golden beam. Reflected in the crystal pool. Headland and bank lay fair and cool ; The weather-tinted rock and tower, Each drooping tree, each fairy flower, So true, so soft, the mirror gave, As if there lay beneath the wave, Secure from trouble, toil and care, A world than earthly world more fair. But distant winds began to wake. And roused the Genius of the Lake ! He heard the groaning of the oak. And donn'd at once his sable cloak. As warrior, at the battle cry. Invests him with his panoply. Then, as the whirlwind nearer pressed. He 'gan to shake his foamy crest O'er furrowed brow and blackened cheek. And bade his surge in thunder speak. In wild and broken eddies whirl'd, Flitted that fond ideal world. And to the shore in tumult tost, The realms of fairy bliss were lost 10 WAVERLEY POETRY. Yet, with a stern delight and strange, I saw the spirit-stirring change. As warr'd the wind with wave and wood, Upon the ruin'd tower I stood, And felt my heart more strongly bound. Responsive to the lofty sound, While, joying in the mighty roar, I mourn 'd that tranquil scene no more. So, on the idle dreams of youth. Breaks the loud trumpet-call of Truth, Bids each fair vision pass away Like landscape on the lake that lay. As fair, as flitting, and as frail. As that which fled the autumn gale. Forever dead to fancy's eye Be each gay form that glided by. While dreams of love and lady's charms Give place to honor and to arms ! GRIEF OF THE AGED. TELL me not of it, friend....When the young weep. Their tears are lukewarm brine ; from our old eyes Sorrow falls down like hail drops of the north, Chilling the furrows of our withered cheeks, Cold as our hopes, and hardened as our feeling. Theirs, as they fall, sink sightless. ...ours recoil, Heap the fair plain, and Weaken all before us. WAVERLEY POETRY. U BRIDAL SONG. AND did you not hear of a mirth befell The morrow after a wedding day, And carrying a bride at home to dwell ? And aw^ay to Tewin, away, away ! The quintain was set, and the garlands were made, 'Tis pity old customs should ever decay ; And wo be to him that was horsed on a jade, For he carried no credit away, away. We met with a consort of fiddle-de-dees. We set them a cock-horse, and made them play The * Winning of Bullen,' and ' Upsey Fires,' And away to Tewin, away, away ! There was ne'er a lad in all the parish That would go to the plough that day ; But on his fore-horse his wench he carries, And away to Tewin, away, away ! The butler was quick, and the ale he did tap, The maidens did make the chamber full gay ; The servants did give me a fuddling cup. And I did carry 't away, away. The smith of the town his liquor so took, That he was persuaded the ground looked blue ; And I dare boldly be sworn on a book, Such smiths as he there's but a few. 12 WAVERLEY POETRY. A posset was made, and the women did sip, And simpering- said they could eat no more ; Full many a maiden was laid on the lip; I'll say no more, but give o'er, give o'er. DAVIE GELLATLY'S SONGS. MY heart's in the highlands, my heart is not here ; My heart's in the highlands a-chasing the deer ; A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe ; My heart's in the highlands wherever I go. There's nought in the highlands hut syboes and leeks, And long-leggit callants gaun wanting the breeks ; Wanting the breeks, and without hose and shoon. But we'll a' win the breeks when king Jamie comes hame. But follow, follow me. While glow-worms light the lea, I'll show ye where the dead should be — Each in his shroud. While winds pipe loud. And the red moon peeps dim through the cloud. Follow, follow me; Brave should he be. That treads by night the dead man's lea. WAVERLEY POETRY. 13 DAY IE GELLATLY'S SONGS. HIE away, hie away, Over bank and over brae, Where the copsewood is the greenest, Where the fountains glisten sheenest, Where the lady-fern grows strongest, Where the morning-dew lies longest. Where the black-cock sweetest sips it, Where the fairy latest trips it ; Hie to haunts right seldom seen, Lovely, lonesome, cool and green, Over bank and over brae, Hie away, hie away. FALSE love, and hast thou played me this Li summer among the flowers ? 1 will repay thee back again In winter among the showers. Unless again, again, my love, Unless you turn again ; As you with other maidens rove, I'll smile on other men. THE Knight 's to the mountain His bugle to wind ; The Lady 's to green wood Her garland to bind. 14 WAVERLEY POETRY. The bower of Burd Ellen Has moss on the floor, That the step of Lord William Be silent and sure. YOUNG men will love thee more fair and more fast ; Heard ye so merry the little bird sing ? Old men's love the longest will last ; And the throstle-cock's head is under his wing. The young man's wrath is like light straw on fire ; Heard ye so merr^^ the little bird sing ? But like red hot steel is the old man's ire ; And the throstle-cock's head is under his wing. The young man will brawl at the evening board ; Heard ye so merry the little bird sing ? But the old man will draw at the dawning the sword ; And the throstle-cock's head is under his winor. THEY came upon us in the night, And brake my bower, and slew my knight ; My servants a' for life did flee, And left us in extremitie. They slew my knight, to me sae dear, They slew my knight, and drave his gear ; The moon may set, the sun may rise. But a deadly sleep has closed his eyes VVAVERLEY POETRY. 15 FLORA MAC IVOR'S SONG. THEEE is mist on the mountain, and night on the vale, But more dark is the sleep of the sons of the Gael. A stranger commanded. ...it sunk on the land, It has frozen each heart, and benumbed every hand. The dirk and the target lie sordid with dust, The bloodless claymore is but reddened with rust ; On the hill o'r the glen if a gun should appear, It is only to war with the heath-cock or deer. The deeds of our sires, if our bards should rehearse, Let a blush or a blow be the meed of their verse ! Be mute every string, and be hushed every tone, That shall bid us remember the fame that is flown. But the dark hours of night and of slumber are past, The morn on our mountains is dawning at last ; Glenaladale's peaks are illumed with the rays. And the streams of Glenfinnan leap bright in the blaze. O high-minded Moray !....the exiled. ...the dear !.... In the blush of the dawning the Standard uprear ! Wide, wide on the winds of the North let it fly, Like the sun's latest flash when the tempest is nigh ! Ye sons of the strong, when that da^^ning shall break, Need the harp of the aged remind you to wake ? That dawn never beamed on your forefathers* eye. But it roused each high chieftain to vanquish or die. 16 WAVERLEY POETRY. O, sprung from the Kings who in Isiay kept state, Proud Chiefs of Clan Ranald, Glengarry and Sleat ! Combine like three streams from one mountain of snow, And resistless in union rush down on the foe ! True son of Sir Evan, undaunted Lochiel, Place thy targe on thy shoulder and burnish thy steel ! Rough Keppoch, give breath to thy bugle's bold swell, Till far Corryarrick resound to the knell ! Stern son of Lord Kenneth, high chief of Kintail, Let the stag in thy standard bound wild in the gale ! May the race of Clan Gillean, the fearless and free, Remember Glenlivat, Harlaw and Dundee ! Let the clan of grey Fingon, whose offspring has given Such heroes to earth, and such martyrs to heaven, Unite with the race of renowned Rorri More, To launch the long galley and stretch to the oar ! How Mac Shimei will joy when their chief shall display The yew-crested bonnet o'er tresses of grey ! How the race of wrong'd Alpine and murder'd Glencoe Shall shout for revenge when they pour on the foe ! Ye sons of brown Dermid, who slew the wild boar, Resume the pure faith of the great Callum-More ! Mac-Neil of the Islands, and Moy of the Lake, For honor, for freedom, for vengeance, awake !.... # ^ # # ^ # WAVE RLE Y POETRY. 17 Awake on your hills, on your islands awake, Brave sons of the mountain, the frith and the lake ! 'Tis the bugle.... but not for the chase is the call ; *Tis the pibroch's shrill summons. ...but not to the halL 'Tis the summons of heroes for conquest or death, When the banners are blazing on mountain and heath ; They call to the dirk, the claymore, and the targe, To the march and the muster, the line and the charge. Be the brand of each chieftain like Fin's in his ire ! May the blood thro' his veins flow like currents of fire ! Burst the base foreign yoke, as your sires did of yore, Or die like your sires, and endure it no more ! IJ^ERGtJS^ soNa. O LADY of the desert, hail ! That lovest the harping of the Gael, Through fair and fertile regions borne, Where never yet grew grass or corn. =^ ^ ^ # # # O vous, qui buve2 a tasse pleine, A cette heureuse fontaine, Ou on ne voit sur le rivage Que quelques vilains troupeaux^ Suivis de nymphes de village. Qui les escortent sans sabots...^ 18 WAVERLEY POETRr. WAVERLEY. HIS heart was all on honor bent, He could not stoop to love ; No lady in the land had power His frozen heart to move. THE HERBALIST'S CHARM. HAIL to thee, thou holy herb, That sprung on holy ground ! All in the Mount Olivet First wert thou found. Thou art boot for many a bruise, And healest many a wound ; In our Lady's blessed name I take thee from the ground. THE BARON'S ARIETTE. MON coeur volage, dit elle, N'est pas pour vous, gargon, Est pour un homme de guerre, Qui a barbe au menton. Lon, Lon, Laridon. Qui port chapeau a plume, Soulier a rouge talon. Qui joue de la flute, Aussi de violon. Lon, Lon, Laridon. WAVERLEY POETRiT. 19 BALMAWHAPPLE'S SONG. IT *s up Glenbarchan's braes I gaed, And o'er the bent of Killiebraid, And mony a weary cast I made, To cuittle the moor-fowl's tail. If up a bonny black cock should spring, To whistle him down wi' a slug in his wing And strap him on to my lunzie string, Eiofht seldom would I fail. HIGHLAND MODE OF PAYING DEBTS. WE 'LL give them the metal our mountain affords, Lillibulero, bulien a la. And in place of broad-pieces, well pay with broad-swords, Lero, lero, &c. With duns and with debts we will soon clear our score, Lillibulero, &:c. For the man that's thus paid will crave payment no more, Lero, lero, &c. A WIFE'S LAMENT. gin ye were dead, gudeman, And a green turf on your head, gudeman. Then I wad ware my widowhood Upon a ranting Highlandman. 20 WAVERLKY POETRY. ST.SWITHIN'S CHAIR. ON Hallowmas Eve, ere ye boune ye to rest, Ever beware that your couch be bless'd ; Sign it with cross, and sain it with bead, Sing the Ave, and say the Creed. For on Hallowmas Eve the Night-Hag will ride, And all her nine-fold sw^eeping on by her side, Whether the wind sing lowly or loud, Sailing through moonshine, or swathed in the cloud. The Lady she sat in St. Swithin's Chair, The dew of the night had damp'd her hair ; Her cheek was pale.... but resolved and high Was the word of her lip and the glance of her eye* She muttered the spell of St. S with in bold. When his naked foot traced the midnight wold. Y/hen he stopt the Hag as she rode the night, And bade her descend, and her promise plight. He that dare sit on St. Swithin's Chair, When the Night-Hag wings the troubled air, Questions three, when he speaks the spell, He may ask, and she must tell. The Baron has been with King Robert his Iiege, These three long years, in battle and siege ; News there are none of his weal or his wo, And fain the Lady his fate would know. / WAVERLEY POETRY. 21 She shudders and stops as the charm she speaks ;.... Is it the moody owl that shrieks ? Or is it that sound, between laughter and scream, The voice of the Demon who haunts the stream ? The moan of the wind sunk silent and low, And the roaring torrent has ceased to flow ; The calm was more dreadful than raging storm, When the cold grey mist brought the ghastly form ! When Sir Walter began to write the History of Napoleon, Mr. Con- stable sent him several cartloads of books for consultation, to- gether with a hundred huge folio volumes of the Moniteur. He writes to Lockhart : WHEN with poetry dealing, Room enough in a shealing ; Neither cabin nor hovel Too small for a novel ; Though my back I should rub 'Gainst Diogenes' tub, How my fancy could prance In a dance of Romance ! But my house I must sw\ip With some Brobdignag chap, Ere I grapple, God bless me ! with Emperor Nap. 22 WAVE RLE Y FOETKY. TO AN OAK TREE, In a churchyard in the Highlands, said to mark the grave of Cap- tain Wogan, who was killed in 1649. EMBLEM of England's ancient faith, Full proudly may thy branches wave, Where loyalty lies low in death, And valor fills a timeless grave. And thou, brave tenant of the tomb ! Repine not if our clime deny, Above thine honored sod to bloom, The flowerets of a milder sky. These owe their birth to genial May ; Beneath a fiercer sun they pine, Before the winter storm decay.... And can their worth be type of thine ? No ! for, 'mid storms of Fate opposing. Still higher swell'd thy dauntless heart, And while Despair the scene was closing, Commenced thy brief but brilliant part. 'Twas then thou sought'st on Albyn's hill, (When England's sons the strife resign'd,) A rugged race resisting still, And unsubdued though unrefin'd. Thy death's hour heard no kindred wail, No holy knell thy requiem rung ; WAVERLEY POETRY. 23 Thy mourners were the plaided Gael, Thy dirge the clamorous pibroch sung. Yet who, in Fortune's summer shine To waste life's longest term away, Would change that glorious dawn of thine, Though darkened ere its noontide day ? Be thine the Tree whose dauntless boughs Brave summer's drought and winter's gloom ! Rome bound with oak her patriot brows, As Albyn shadows Wogan's tomb. HATTERAICK'S SONG. SAUFEN bier, und brante-wein, Schmeissen alle die fenstern ein ; Ich ben liederlich, Du bist liederlich, Sind wir nicht liederlich Leute a. GLOSSIN ' S SONG. GIN by pailfuls, wine in rivers, Dash the window-glass to shivers ! For three wild lads were we, brave boys, And three wild lads were we ; Thou on the land, and I on the sand. And Jack on the gallows tree ! 24 WAVERLEY POETRY. THE GYPSY'S CHARM. CANNY moment, lucky fit ; Is the lady lighter yet ? Be it lad, or be it lass, Sign wi' cross, and sain wi' mass. Trefoil, vervain, john's-wort, dill, Hinders witches of their will ! Weel is them, that weel may Fast upon St. Andrew's day. Saint Bride and her brat. Saint Colme and her cat. Saint Michael and his spear, Keep the house frae reif and weir. TWIST ye, twine ye ! even so Mingle shades of joy and wo, Hope, and fear, and peace, and strife, In the thread of human life. While the mystic twist is spinning. And the infant's life beginning, Dimly seen through twilight bending, Lo, what varied shapes attending ! Passions wild, and follies vain, Pleasures soon exchanged for pain ; Doubt, and jealousy, and fear. In the magic dance appear. WAVERLEY POETRY. 25 Now they wax, and now they dwindle, Whirling with the whirling spindle. Twist ye, twine ye ! even so, Mino[le human bliss and wo. DEATH CHANT. WASTED, weary, wherefore stay, Wrestling thus with earth and clay ? From the body pass away,.... Hark ! the mass is singing. From thee doff thy mortal weed, Mary Mother be thy speed, Saints to help thee at thy need,.... Hark ! the knell is ringing. Fear not snow-drift, driving fast. Sleet, or hail, or levin blast; Soon the shroud shall lap thee fast, And the sleep be on thee cast That shall ne'er know waking. Haste thee, haste thee, to be gone. Earth flits fast, and time draws on,.... Gasp thy gasp, and groan thy groan, Day is near the breaking. 26 WAVERLEY P0ETR5^. PROPHECY. THE dark shall be light, And the wrong made right. When Bertram's riofht and Bertram's mio^ht Shall meet on Ellangowan's height. THE INDIAN EMIGRANT. SO the red Indian by Ontario's side, Nursed hardy on the brindled panther's hide, As fades his swarthy race, with anguish sees The white man's cottage rise beneath the trees ; He leaves the shelter of his native wood. He leaves the murmur of Ohio's flood, And forward rushing, in indignant grief. Where never foot has trod the fallen leaf, He bends his course where twilight reigns sublime, O'er forests silent since the birth of time. ETERNITY. OUR hopes and fears Start up alarmed, and o'er life's narrow verge Look down.. ..On what ?....a fathomless abyss, A dark eternity.... how surely ours ! WAVERLEY POETRY. 27 THE PRISON. A PEISON is a house of care, A place where none can thrive, A touchstone true to try a friend, A grave for one alive. Sometimes a place of right, Sometimes a place of wrong, Sometimes a place of rogues and thieves. And honest men among. POLITE HOSTESS. TO every guest the appropriate speech v/as made. And every duty with distinction paid ; Respectful, easy, pleasant, or polite, " Your Honor's servant... .Mr. Smith, good night." PRIDE. TO hail the king in seemly sort The ladie was full fain ; But King Arthur, all sore amazed. No answer made again. " What wight art thou," the ladie said, " That will not speak to me ? Sir, I may chance to ease thy pain. Though I be foul to see." 28 WAVERLEY POETRY. A FORCED BARGAIN. MY gold is gone, my money is spent, My land now take it unto thee. Give me thy gold, good John o' the Scales, And thine for aye my land shall be. Then John he did him to record draw. And John he caste him a gods-pennie ; And for every pounde that John agreed. The land, I wis, was well worth three. THE CHANGE. AH, cruel maid, how hast thou changed The temper of my mind ! My heart, by thee from all estranged. Becomes, like thee, unkind. THE EYE OF PROVIDENCE. For though, seduced and led astray, Thou 'st travelled far, and wandered long, Thy God hath seen thee all the way. And all the turns that led thee wrong. THE CUNNING MAN. HOW like a hateful ape, Detected grinning midst his pilfer'd hoard, A cunning man appears, whose secret frauds Are opened to the day I WAVE RLE Y POETRY. 29 EPITAPH. NATHANIEL'S heart, BezaleePs hand, if any ever had, These boldly do I say had he, Who lieth in this bed. SPIRITS. 'TIS said that words and signs have power O'er sprites in planetary hour ; But scarce I praise their venturous part, Who tamper with such dangerous art. LETTERS. Heaven first, in its mercy, taught mortals their letters, For ladies in limbo, and lovers in fetters, Or some author, who, placing his persons before ye, Ungallantly leaves them to write their own story. VIRTUE'S PATH. WITH prospects bright upon the world he came, Pure love of virtue, strong desire of fame ; Men watch'd the way his lofty mind would take, And all foretold the progress he would make. C2 30 W^AVERLEY POETRV THE HAUNTED CHAMBER. ** BE brave," she cried, " you yet may be our guest, Our haunted room was ever held the best. If then your valor can the sight sustain Of rustling curtains, and the clinking chain ; If your courageous tongue have powers to talk, When round your bed the horrid ghost shall walk ; If you dare ask it why it leaves its tomb, I'll see your sheets well air'd, and show the room/' THE ROCK-BOUND SHORE. Pleased awhile to view The watery waste, the prospest wild and new. The now receding waters gave them space, On either side the growing shores to trace ; And then, returning, they contract the scene, Till small and smaller wanes the walk between. PROPHECY CONFIRMED. THIS does indeed confirm each circumstance The gypsy told No orphan, nor without a friend art thou . . . I am thy father, here's thy m.other, there Thy uncle .... This thy first cousin, and these Are all thy near relations ! WAVERLEY POETRY. 31 GYPSIES. COME, princes of the ragged regiment^ You of the blood ! Prigg, my most upright lord, And these, what name or title e'er they bear, Jarkman, or Patrico, Cranke, or Clapper-dudgeon, Prater or Abram*man....I speak of all. THE ANTIQUARY. I KNEW Anselmo. He was shrewd and prudent, Wisdom and cunning had their shares of him ; But he was shrewish as a wayward child, And pleased again by toys which childhood please ; As . . . book of fables graced with print of wood, Or else the jingling of a rusty medal. Or the rare melody of some old ditty. That first was sung to please King Pepin's cradle. THE VISION. See then, Lovel . . .See .... See that huge battle moving from the mountains. Their gilt coats shine like dragon scales ; their march Like a rough tumbling storm. See them, and view them, And then see Rome no more. 32 WAVERLEY POETR^T. LINES TO BALLANTYNE, On finishing "Paul's Letters to his Kinsfolk." Dear James, Pm done, thank God, with the long yams Of the most prosy of the apostles, Paul ; And now advance, sweet heathen of Monkbarns, Step out, old Quizj as fast as I can scrawl. THE RETAINER. I AM going to the parliament. You understand this bag : If you have any business Depending there, be short, and let me hear it, And pay your fees. THE OUTCAST. CAN no rest find me, no private place secure me, But still my miseries like bloodhounds haunt me ? Unfortunate young man, which way now guides thee Guides thee from death ? The country's laid around for thee. AN OATH. BY Woden, god of Saxons, From whence comes Wensday, that is, Wodnesday^ Truth is a thing that I will ever keep Unto thylke day in which I creep into sepulcre WAVERLEY POETRY. 33 THE RUINED HOUSE. YES, ye moss-green walls, Ye towers defenceless, I revisit ye Shame-stricken ! Where are all your trophies now ? Your thronged courts, the revelry, the tumult. That spoke the grandeur of my house, the homage Of neighboring barons ? ARGUMENTATION. HERE has been such a stormy encounter Betwixt my cousin captain and this soldier, About I know not what !.... nothing indeed ; Competitions, degrees, and comparatives Of soldiership !.... THE GABERLUNZIE. THE pawky auld carle cam ower the lea, Wi' mony good-e'ens and good-morrows to me, Saying, Kind sir, for your courtesy, Will ye lodge a silly poor man ? THE MILITARY PHYSICIAN. HE came. ...but valor so had fired his eye, And such a falchion glittered on his thigh. That, by the gods, with such a load of steel, I thought he came to murder.. ..not to heal ! 34 WAVE RLE Y POETRV. FUNEREAL PAGEANTRY. BUT this poor farce has neither truth, nor art, To please the fancy, or to touch the heart. Dark, but not awful, dismal, but yet mean, With anxious bustle moves the cumbrous scene, Presents no objects tender or profound, But spreads its cold unmeaning gloom around. SELF-PUNISHMENT. 'TWAS he Gave heat unto the injury, which returned, Like a petard ill-lighted, into the bosom Of him gave fire to't. Yet I hope his hurt Is not so dangerous but he may recover. OLD WORLD POLITENESS. I am one of the old school, When courtiers galloped o'er four counties The ball's fair partner to behold. And humbly hope she caught no cold. THE VISIONARY. Sometimes he thinks that Heaven this vision sent, And ordered all the pageants as they went ; Sometimes that only 'twas wild Fancy's play,.... The loose and scattered reliques of the day. WAVERLEY POETRY. 35 TIME. " WHY sit'st thou by that ruin'd hall, Thou aged carle, so stern and grey ? Dost thou its former pride recall. Or ponder how it passed away ? " " Know'st thou not me," the Deep Voice cried, " So long enjoyed, so oft misused.... Alternate, in thy fickle pride. Desired, neglected, and accused ? " Before my breath, like blazing flax, Man and his marvels pass away , And changing empires wane and wax, Are founded, flourish and decay. " Redeem mine hours. ...the space is brief.... While in my glass the sand-grains shiver ; And measureless thy joy or grief. When Time and thou shalt part forever ! " THE ANTIQUARIAN LIBRARY. THAT weight of wood, with leathern coat overlaid, Those ample clasps of solid metal made. The close-prest leaves, unoped for many an age, The dull red edging of the well-filled page. On the broad back the stubborn ridges rolPd, Where yet the title stands m tarnished gold.J 36 WAVERLEY POETRY. EXCHANGE NO ROBBERY. WELL, well, at worst, 'tis neither theft nor coinage, Granting I knew all that you charge me with. What though the tomb hath born a second birth, And given the w^ealth to one that knew not on't, Yet fair exchange was never robbery, Far less pure bounty. THE RING. This Ring.... This little Ring, with necromantic force. Has raised the ghost of Pleasure to my fears, Conjured the sense of honor and of love Into such shapes, they fright me from myself. TRUE FREEDOM. Beggar ?....the only freeman of your commonwealth ; Free above Scot-free ; that observe no laws. Obey no governor, use no religion But what they draw from their own ancient custom, Or constitute themselves ; yet they are no rebels. THE INDEPENDENT BEGGAR. . . . . MANY great ones Would part with half their states, to have the plan And credit to beg in the first style. WAVE RLE Y POETRY. 37 THE ABBOT. The Lord Abbot had a soul Subtile and quick, and searching as the fire ; By magic stairs he went as deep as hell, And if in devils' possession gold be kept, He brought some sure from thence. ...'tis hid in caves, Known, save to me, to none. TRANSLATION OF A DL4lL0GUE FROM OSSIAN. ** PATEICK the psalm-singer, Since you will not listen to one of my stories, Though you never heard it before, I am sorry to tell you You are little better than an ass...." " Upon my word, son of Fingal, While I am warbling the psalms, The clamor of your old women's tales Disturbs my devotional exercises." ** Dare you compare your psalms, You son of a Do you compare your psalms To the tales of the bare-arm'd Finians ? I shall think it no great harm To wring your bald head from your shoulders.*' 38 WAVERLEY POETHY. DUELLING. . . . , . If you fail Honor here, Never presume to serve her any more ; Bid farewell to the integrity of arms ; And the honorable name of soldier Fall from you, like a shivered wreath of laarel By thunder struck from, a desertless forehead. THE FISHER'S BOAT. WEEL may the boatie row, And better may she speed, And weel may the boatie row That earns the bairnies' bread. The boatie rows, the boatie rows, The boatie row^s fu' weel, And lightsome be their life that bear The merlin and the creel. HECTOR'S COI^IEAT WITH THE SEAL. WHO is he?.. ..One that for lack of land Shall fight upon the water. He has challenged Formerly the grand whale ; and by his titles Of Leviathan, Behemoth, and so forth. He tilted with a sword-fish. Marry, sir. The aquatic had the best. ...the argument Still galls our champion's breech. WAVERLEY POETRY. 39 GRIEF OF THE AGED. TELL me not of it, friend. When the young weep, Their tears are lukewarm brine. From our old eyes Sorrow falls down like hail-drops of the North, Chilling the furrows of our wither'd cheeks, Cold as our hopes, and hardened as our feeling. Theirs, as they fall, sink sightless. ...ours recoil, Heap the fair plain, and bleaken all before us. THE ALCHEMIST. And this Doctor, Your sooty smoky-bearded compeer, he Will close you so much gold in a bolt's head. And, on a turn, convey in the stead another With sublimed mercury, that shall burst i' the heat, And all fly out in fumo. REMORSE. REMOESE....she ne'er forsakes us ! A bloodhound staunch. She tracks our rapid step Through the wild labyrinth of youthful frenzy, Unheard, perchance, until old age hath tamed us ; Then, in our lair, when time hath chilled our joints, And maimed our hope of combat or of flight, We hear her deep-mouth'd bay, announcing all Of wrath and wo and punishment that bides us. 40 WAVERLEY POETRY. ELSPETH'S BALLADS. THE herring loves the merry moonlight, The mackerel loves the wind, Bat the 'oyster loves the dredging sang, For they come of a gentle kind. tF "T^ ^ W W "7? Now haud your tongue, baith wife and carle, And listen great and sma', And I will sing of Glenallaa's Earl That fought on the red Harlaw. The cronach 's cried on Bennachie, And doun the Don and a', And hieland and lawland may mournfu* be For the sair field of Harlaw. They saddled a hundred milk-white steeds, They hae bridled a hundred black, With a chafron of steel on each horse's head, And a good knight upon his back. They hadna ridden a mile, a mile, A mile, but barely ten, When Donald came branking down the brae Wi' twenty thousand men. Their tartans they were waving wide, Their glaives were glancing clear, The pibrochs rung frae side to side. Would deafen ye to hear. WAVERLEY POETRY. 41 The great Earl in his stirrups stood, That Highland host to see ; Now here a knight that's stout and good May prove a jeopardie ; ** What wouldst thou do, my squire so gay, That rides beside my reyn, Were ye Glenallan's Earl the day, And I were Roland Cheyne ? ** To turn the rein were sin and shame. To fight were wond'rous peril, What would ye do now, Roland Cheyne, Were ye Glenallan's Earl ? " " Were I Glenallan's Earl this tide, And ye were Roland Cheyne, The spur should he in my horse's side, And the bridle upon his mane. *' If they hae twenty thousand blades, And we twice ten times ten, Yet they hae but their tartan plaids. And we are mail-clad men* ** My horse shall ride through ranks sae rude. As through the moorland fern, Then ne'er let gentle Norman blude Grow cauld for Highland kerne." AA. ^ ^ ^\r. j^ ^ ^^ T?- ^^ ^- W Tv" d2 42 WAVERLEY POETKY. He turned him right and round again, Said, Scorn na at my mither ; Light loves I may get mony a ane, But mirinie ne'er anither. AVARICE. SO, while the goose, of whom the fable told, Incumbent, brooded o'er her eggs of gold, With hands outstretched, impatient to destroy, Stole on her secret nest the cruel boy, Whose gripe rapacious changed her splendid dream? For wings vain fluttering, and for dying scream. FALLEN PRIDE. LET those go see who will.. ..I like it not.... For, say he was a slave to rank and pomp, And all the nothings he is now divorced from By the hard doom of stern necessity ; Yet is it sad to mark his altered brow, Where Vanity adjusts her flimsy veil O'er the deep wrinkles of repentant Anguish, ROB ROY. FAR and near, through vale and hill, Are faces that attest the same. And kindle, like a Are new stirr'd, At sound of Rob Eov's nanie. WAVE^LEY r^OETRY. 43 SYJVIPATHY BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH* STILL in his dead hand clenched remain the strings That thrill his father's heart . . . e'en as the limb, Lopt off and laid in grave, retains, they tell us, Strange commerce with the mutilated stump, Whose nerves are twingeing still in maimed existence. HOPELESSNESS. A hopeless darkness settles o'er my fate ; I've seen the last look of her heavenly eyes*..* I've heard the last sound of her blessed voice... I've seen her fair form from my sight depart ; My doom is closed. FAREWELL TO THE HIGHLANDS. Farewell to the land where the clouds love to restj Like the shroud of the dead, on the mountain's cold breast ; To the cataract's roar^ where the eagles reply, And the lake her lone bosom expands to the sky. RESTORATION DEMANDED. AND be he safe restored ere evening set, Or, if there's vengeance in an injured heart, And power to wreak it in an armed hand, Your land shall ache for't* 44 WAVERLEY POETRY. COMMENDABLE SILENCE. YES ! I love Justice well..».as well as you do.,.. But, since the good dame's blind, she shall excuse me^ If, time and reason fitting, I prove dumb. The breath I utter now shall be no means To take away from me my breath in future. EDWARD THE BLACK PRINCE. FOR the voice of that wild horn, On Fontarabian echoes borne, The dying hero's call, That told imperial Charlemagne, •How Paynim sons of swarthy Spain Had wrought his champion's falL Sad over earth and ocean sounding. And England's distant cliffs astounding. Such are the notes should say How Britain's hope, and France's fear, Victor of Cressy and Poitier, In Bourdeaux dying lay. " Raise my faint head, my squires," he said, " And let the casement be displayed. That I may see once more The splendor of the setting sun Gleam on thy mirror'd wave, Garonne, And Blaye's empurpled shore* WAVERLEY POETRY. 45 " Like me he sinks to Glory's sleep, His fall the dews of evening steep, As if in sorrow shed. So soft shall fall the trickling tear, When England's maids and matrons hear Of their Black Edward dead. " And though my sun of glory set, Nor France nor England shall forget The terror of my name ; And oft shall Britain's heroes rise. New planets in these southern skies. Through clouds of blood and flame." LIFE'S VARIABLENESS. LIFE, with you, Glows in the brain, and dances in the arteries ; 'Tis like the wine some joyous guest hath quaff'd, That glads the heart and elevates the fancy . . . Mine is the poor residuum of the cup. Vapid, and dull, and tasteless, only soiling With its base dregs the vessel that contains it. DIANA'S CHAMBER. YON lamp its line of quivering light Shoots from my lady's bowser ; But why should Beauty's lamp be bright At midnight's lonely hour ? 46 WAVE RLE Y FGETKY. THE SUPERANNUATED. LIFE ebbs from such old age, unmarked and silent. As the slow neap-tide leaves yon stranded galley. Late she rocked merrily at the least impulse That wind or wave could give ; but now her keel Is settling on the sand, her mast has ta'en An angle with the sky, from which it shifts not. Each wave receding shakes her less and less, Till, bedded on the strand, she shall remain Useless as motionless. PROPER RESENTMENT. NAY, if she love me not, I care not for her. Shall I look pale because the maiden blooms ? Or sigh because she smiles, and smiles on others ? Not I, by heaven ! I hold my peace too dear To let it, like the plume upon her cap. Shake at each nod that her caprice shall dictate. WAR. " WO to the vanquished ! " was stern Brenno's word. When sunk proud Eome beneath the Gallic sword.... *' Wo to the vanquished ! " when his massy blade Bore down the scale against her ransom weigh'd * And on the field of foughten battle still War knows no limit, save the victor's will. WAVERLEY POETRY. 47 DEBTOR'S PRISON. LOOK round thee, yoang Astolpho. Here's the place, Which men (for being poor) are sent to starve in ; Rude remedy, I trow, for sore disease. Within these walls, stifled by damp and stench, Doth Hope's fair torch expire ; and at the snuff, Ere yet 'tis quite extinct, rude, wild, and wayward. The desperate revelries of wild despair, Kindling their hell-born cressets, light to deeds That the poor captive would have died ere practised, Till bondage sunk his soul to his condition. A TOWN WITHOUT AN INN. BARON of Bucklivie, May the foul fiend drive ye, And a' to pieces rive ye, For building sic a town, Where there's neither horse meat, nor man's meat, nor a chair to sit down. DESOLATION. FAR as the eye could reach no tree was seen, Earth, clad in russet, scorn'd the lively green ; No birds, except as birds of passage, flew ; No bee was heard to hum, no dove to coo ; No streams, as amber smooth. ..as amber clear, V*^ere seen to glide, or heard to warble here. 48 WAVERLEY POETRY. FORTUNE. FORTUNE, you say, flies from us... .She but circles, Like the fleet sea-bird round the fowler's skiffs ; Lost in the mist one moment, and the next Brushing the white sail \vith her \vhiter wing, As if to court the aim. Experience watches, And has her on the wheel. ELSPETH ' S HIDDEN SECRET. WHAT is this secret sin, this untold tale, That art cannot extract, nor penance cleanse ? . . . . Her muscles hold their place ; Nor discomposed, nor formed to steadiness, No sudden flushing, and no faltering lip. DIE VERNON'S LIBRARY. IN the w^ide pile, by others heeded not, Hers w^as one sacred solitary spot. Whose gloomy aisles and bending shelves contain For moral hunger food, and cures for moral pain. COME fill up my cup, come fill up my cann. Come saddle my horses, and call up my man ; Come open your gates, and let me gae free, I daurna stay langer in bonny Dundee. WAVERLEY POETRY. 49 BALLAD. YOUNG ROB ROY. EOB EOY is frae the Hielands come, Down to the Lowland border ; And he has stolen that lady away, To hand his house in order. He set her on a milk-white steed. Of none he stood in awe ; Until they reached the Hieland hills, Aboon the Balmaha' ! Saying, be content, be content. Be content with me, lady ; Where will ye find in Lennox land, Sae braw a man as me, lady ? Rob Roy, he was my father called, Mac Gregor was his name, lady ; A' the country, far and near. Have heard Mac Gregorys fame, lady. He w^as a hedge about his friends, A heckle to his foes, lady ; If any man did him gainsay. He felt his deadly blows, lady. I am as bold, I am as bold, I am as bold and more, lady ; Any man that doubts my word. May try my gude claymore, lady. 50 WAVERLEY POETRY. Then be content, be content, Be content with me, lady ; For now you are my wedded wife, Until the day ye die, lady. ROBBING THE BAGGAGE. EOB ROY he stood watch On a hill to catch The booty, for aught that I saw, man ; For he ne'er advanced From the place where he stanced, Till nae mair was to do there at a', man. FROM ARIOSTO. LADIES, and knights, and arms, and love's fair flame, Deeds of emprize and courtesy I sing ; What time the Moors from sultry Afric came, Led on by Agramant their youthful king.... He whom revenge and hasty ire did bring O'er the broad wave, in France to waste and war ; Such ills from old Trojano's death did spring. Which to avenge he came from realms afar. And menaced Christian Charles, the Eoman Emperor. Of dauntless Eoland too, my strain shall sound, In import never known in prose or rhyme. How He, the chief of judgment deem'd profound, For luckless love was crazed upon a time WAVERLEY POETRY. 51 JUSTICE INGLEWOOD'S SONG. O, in Skipton-in-Craven Is never a haven, But many a day foul weather ; And he that would say A pretty girl nay, I wish for his cravat a tether. MORRIS'S SONG. Good people all, I pray give ear, A woful story you shall hear, 'Tis of a robber as stout as ever Bade a true man stand and deliver. With his foodie doo fa loodle loo. This knave, most worthy of a cord, Being armed with pistol and with sword, 'Twixt Kensington and Brentford then Did boldly stop six honest men. With his foodie doo, &c. These honest men did at Brentford dine, Having drank each man his pint of wine, When this bold thief, with many curses. Did say. You dogs, your lives or purses. With his foodie doo, &;c. 62 WAVERLEY POETRY. TOBACCO. THE Indian leaf doth briefly burn, So doth man's strength to weakness turn ; The fire of youth extinguished quite, Comes age, like embers dry and white. Think of this, as you smoke tobacco. HORSEMANSHIP. HOW melts my beating heart ! as I behold Each lovely nymph, our island's boast and pride, Push on the generous steed, that sweeps along O'er rough, o'er smooth, nor heeds the steepy hill, Nor falters in the extended vale below ! WOMAN ' S SMILE. THE bleakest rock upon the loneliest heath Feels, in its barrenness, some touch of spring ; And, in the April dew, or beam of May, Its moss or lichen freshen and revive ; And thus the heart, most seared to human pleasure, Melts at the tear, and joys in the smile, of woman. BRENT brov/ and lily skin A loving heart, and a leal within. Is better than gowd or gentle kin. WAVEELEY POETRY. 53 ARE these the Links of Forth, she said, Or are they the crooks of Dee, Or the bonny woods of Warroch-head, That I so fain would see ? LINES Sent to Ballantyiie with the last proof-sheet of Rob Roy. With great joy, I send you Roy ; 'Twas a tough job. But we're done with Rob. THE POISONER OF MORALS. DIRE was his thought, who first in poison steeped The weapon formed for slaughter.... direr his, And worthier of damnation, who instilled The mortal venom in the social cup, To fill the veins with death instead of life. SO spak the knicht. The geaunt sed, Lead forth with thee the sely maid. And mak me quite of the and sche ; For glaunsing ee, or brow so brent, Or cheek with rose and lilye blent, Me lists not ficht with the. E2 54 ^VAVERLEY POETRY. JENNY DENNISON AND HALLIDAY. IF I were to follow a poor sodger lad, My friends wad be angry, my minnie be mad , A laird or a lord, they were fitter for me, Sae I'll never be fain to follow thee. To follow me ye weel may be glad, A share of my supper, a share of my bed ; To the sound of the drum to range fearless and free, I'll gar ye be fain tlD follow me. MAJOR BELLENDEN'S SONG. AND what though winter will pinch severe Through locks of grey, and a cloak that's old, Yet keep up thy heart, bold cavalier. For a cup of sack shall fence the cold. For time will rust the brightest blade, And years will break the strongest bow ; Was never wight so starkly made. But time and years would overthrow. 1 LEFT my ladye's bower last night,...* It was clad in wreaths of snaw, I'll seek it when the sun is bright, And sweet the roses blaw. WAVERLEY POETRY. 65 VERSES Found in Bothwell's Pocket Book, and inclosed was a lock of hair. THY hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright, As in that well-remembered night, Vfhen first thy mystic braid was wove, And first my Agnes whispered love* Since then how often hast thou prest The torrid zone of this wild breast, Whose wrath and hate have sworn to dwell With the first sin which peopled hell ; A breast, whose blood's a troubled ocean, Each throb the earthquake's wild commotion ! O, if such clime thou canst endure, Yet keep thy hue unstained and pure, What conquest o'er each erring thought Of that fierce realm had Agnes wrought ! I had not Wandered wild and wide With such an angel for my guide ; Nor heaven nor earth could then reprove me, If she had lived, and lived to love me. Not then this world's wild joys had been To me one savage hunting scene, My sole delight the headlong race, And frantic hurry of the chase ; To start, pursue, and bring to bay, Rush in, drag down, and rend my prey, Then.. ..from the carcass turn away ! 56 WAVERLEY POETRY. Mine ireful mood had sweetness tamed, And soothed each wound which pride inflamed ! Yes, God and man might now approve me, If thou hadst lived, and lived to love me ! GLORY. SOUND, sound the clarion, fill the fife ! To all the sensual world proclaim, One crowded hour of glorious life Is worth an acre without a name* . . . . 'TWAS time and griefs That framed him thus. Time, with his fairer hand; Oflfering the fortunes of his former days, The former man may make him* MY hounds may a' rin masterless, My hawks may fly frae tree to tree, My lord may grip my vassal lands. For there again maun I never be ! A GOOD CONSCIENCE. STONE walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage ; A free and quiet mind can take These for a hermitage. WAVERLEY POETRY. 57 TAKE A MOTHER'S ADVICE. THEN out and spake the auld mother, And fast her tears did fa', Ye wadna be warned, my son Johnnie, Frae the huntinS HYMN. WHEN Israel, of the Lord beloved, Out of the land of bondage came, Her fathers' God before her moved, An awful guide in smoke and flame. By day, along the astonished lands, The cloudy pillar glided slow; By night, Arabia's crimson sands Eeturned the fiery column's glow. There rose the choral hymn of praise, And trump and timbrel answered keen, And Zion's daughters poured their lays, With priest's and warrior's voice between. No portents now our foes amaze, Forsaken Israel wanders lone : Our fathers would not know Thy ways, And Thou hast left them to their own. But present still, though now unseen ! When brightly shines the prosperous day, Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen To temper the deceitful ray. 4.nd O, when stoops on Judah's path In shade and storm the frequent night. Be Thou, long-suflfering, slow to wrath, A burning and a shining light ! 88 WAVERLEY POETRY. Our harps we left by Babel's streams, The tyrant's jest, the Gentile's scorn ; No censer round our altar beams. And mute are timbrel, trump, and horn. But Thou hast said, The blood of goat, The flesh of rams I will not prize ; A contrite heart, an humble thought, Are mine accepted sacrifice. A DESERTED CASTLE. ALAS, how many hours and years have passed, Since human forms have round this table sate, Or lamp, or taper, on its surface gleamed ! Methinks I hear the sound of time long past Still murmuring o'er us, in the lofty void Of these dark arches, like the lingering voices Of those who long within their graves have slept. THE UNPROFITABLE PRIEST. A PRIEST, ye cry, a priest !....lame shepherds they, How shall they gather in the straggling flock ? Dumb dogs which bark not.... how shall they compel The loitering vagrants to the Master's fold ? Fitter to bask before the blazing fire. And snufl* the mess neat-handed Phillis dresses, Than on the snow-wreath battle with the wolf. VV^AVERLEl? POETRY. 89 VIRELAI. BLACK KNIGHT AND WAMBA. ANNA-MARIE, love, up is the sun, Anna-Marie, love, morn is begun, Mists are dispersing, love, birds singing free, Up in the morning, love, Anna-Marie. Anna-Marie, love, up in the morn, The hunter is winding blithe sounds on his horn, The echo rings merry from rock and from tree, 'Tis time to arouse thee, love, Anna-Marie. WAMBA. O Tybalt, love, Tybalt, awake me not yet, Around my soft pillow while softer dreams flit ; For what are the joys that in waking we prove, Compared with these visions, Tybalt, my love ! Let the birds, to the rise of the mist, carol shrill, Let the hunter blow out his loud horn on the hill. Softer sounds, softer pleasures, in slumber I prove.... But think not I dreamed of thee, Tybalt, my love. PROVERB. NORMAN Saw on English oak, ,0n English neck a Norman Yoke ; Norman Spoon in English dish, And England ruled as Normans wish ; Blithe world to England never will be more, Till England's rid of all the four. do WAVERLIY POETRIf. SONG.... THE BLACK KNIGHT AND WAMBA. THERE came three merty men from south, tvest, and north, Evermore sing the roundelay ; To win the widow of Wycombe forth, And where was the widow might say them nay ? The first was a knight, and from Tynedale he came. Evermore sino^ the roundelay ; And his fathers, God save us, were men of great fame< And where was the widow might say him nay ? Of his father the laird, of his uncle the squire, He boasted in rhyme and in roundelay ; She bade him go bask by his sea-coal fire. For she was the widow would say him nay. The nejct that came forth, swore by blood and by nailsj, Merrily sing the roiindelay ; Hur's a gentleman, God wot, and hur's lineage was of Wales, And where was the widow might say him nay ? Sir David ap Morgan ap Griffith ap Hugh Ap Tudor ap Rice, quoth his roundelay ; She said that one widow for so many was too few, And she bade the Welshman wend his way. But then next came a yeoman, a yeoman of Kent, Jollily singing his roundelay j WAVERLEY POETRY. 91 He spoke to the widow of living and rent, And where was the widow could say him nay ? So the knight and the squire were both left in the mire, There for to sing their roundelay ; For a yeoman of Kent, with his yearly rent, There never was a widow could say him nay. VERSATILITY. THE hottest horse will oft be cool, The dullest will show fire ; The friar will often play the fool, The fool will often play the friar* •IMITATION OF HORACE. " Ne sit ancillae tibi amor pudori," &c» TAKE thou no scorn. Of fiction born Fair fiction^s muse to woo ; Old Homer's theme Was but a dream. Himself a fiction too. THE FORAY. THEY lighted down on Tweed water, And blew their coals sae het, And fired the March and Teviotdale, All in an evening late. 92 WAVERLEY POETRY* THE DEAD WAKE. I FOUND them winding of Marcello's corpse.., And there was such a solemn melody, 'Twixt doleful songs, tears, and sad elegies.... Such as old grandames, watching by the dead, Are wont to outwear the night with. FUNERAL HYMN. Dust unto dust, To this all must; The tenant hath resigned The faded form To waste and worm.... * Corruption claims her kind. Through paths unknown Thy soul hath flown, To seek the realms of wo, Where fiery pain Shall purge the stain Of actions done below. In that sad place. By Mary^s grace. Brief may thy dwelling be ! Till prayers and alms, And holy psalms. Shall set the captive free. WAVERLEY POETRY. 93 THE MONKS. 0, AY ! the Monks, the Monks, they did the mischief ! Theirs all the grossness, all the superstition Of a most gross and superstitious age.... May He he praised that sent the healthful tempest, And scattered all these pestilential vapors ; But, that we owed them all to yonder Harlot, Throned on the seven hills with her cup of gold, I will as soon helieve, with kind Sir Roger, That old Moll White took wing with cat and broomstick, And raised the last night's thunder. HALBERT GLENDENING. IN yon lone vale his early youth was bred, Not solitary then.... the bugle-horn Of fell Alecto often waked its windings, From where the brook joins the majestic river, To the wild northern bog, the curlieu's haunt, Where oozes forth its first and feeble streamlet. REFORMATION. NOW let us sit in conclave. That these weeds Be rooted from the vineyard of the church. That these foul tares be severed from the wheat, We are, I trust, agreed. Yet how to do this. Nor hurt the wholesome crop and tender vine plants. Craves good advisement. 94 WAVERLEY POETRY. SONG OF THE WHITE LADY. 1 MERRILY swim we, the moon shines bright, Both current and ripple are dancing in light. We have roused the night raven, I heard him croak, As we plashed along beneath the oak That flings its broad branches so far and so wide. Their shadows are dancing in midst of the tide. " Who wakens my nestlings," the raven he said, " My beak shall ere morn in his blood be red ; For a blue swollen corpse is a dainty meal. And I'll have my share with the pike and the eel." 2 Merrily swim we, the moon shines bright. There's a golden gleam on the distant height ; < There's a silver shower on the alders dank, And the drooping willows that wave on the bank. I see the Abbey, both turret and tower. It is all astir for the vesper hour ; The Monks for the chapel are leaving each cell, But where's Father Philip should toll the bell ? 3 Merrily swim we, the moon shines bright, Downward we drift through shadow and light. Under yon rock the eddies sleep, Calm and silent, dark and deep. WAVERLEY POETRY. 95 The Kelpie has risen from the fathomless pool, He has lighted his candle of death and of dool ; Look, Father, look, and you'll laugh to see How he gapes and glares with his eyes on thee ! 4 Good luck to your fishing, whom watch ye to-night ? A man of mean, or a man of might ? Is it layman or priest that must float in your cove, Or lover, who crosses to visit his love ? Hark ! heard ye the Kelpie reply as we passed,.... * God's blessing on the warder, he lock'd the bridge fast, All that come to my cove are sunk. Priest or layman, lover or monk.' •&C. ^l!. .A2. 4^ .^A. 4^. ^ ^ f> 'Jf- '7^ 'K' Landed.. ..landed ! the black book hath won. Else had you seen Berwick with morning sun ! Sain ye, and save ye, and blithe mot ye be. For seldom they land that go swimming with me. THE WHITE LADY TO THE SUB-PRIOft. GOOD evening. Sir Priest, and so late as you ride, With your mule so fair, and your mantle so wide ; But ride you through valley, or ride you o'er hill, There is one that has warrant to wait on you still. Back, back, 96 WAYERLEY POETRY. The volume black ! I have a warrant to carry it back. What, ho, Sub-Prior ! and came you but here To conjure a book from a dead woman's bier ? Sain you, and save you, be wary and wise, Ride back with the book, or you'll pay for your prize. Back, back. There's death in the track ! In the name of my master, 1 bid thee bear back. ^ ^ ^ ;>£. *W* "TV" T^ TV" That which is neither ill nor well, That which belongs not to heaven nor to hell, A wreath of the mist, a bubble of the stream, 'Twixt a waking thought and a sleeping dream ; A form that men spy With the half-shut eye, In the beams of the setting sun, am I. Vainly, Sir Prior, wouldst thou bar me my right ! Like the star when it shoots I can dart thro' the night ; I can dance on the torrent, and ride on the air, And travel the world with the bonny night-mare. Again, again. At the crook of the glen, Where bickers the burnie, I'll meet thee again. # # ^ # # # WAVERLEY POETRY. 97 Men of good are bold as sackless, Men of rude are wild and reckless. Lie thou still In the nook of the hill, For those be before thee that wish thee ill. ^t, -iL. •V' -^ ^ -K" W W 'Tf- W Thank the holly-bush That nods on thy brow ; Or with this slender rush I had strano^led thee now. HALBERT'S INCANTATION. THRICE to the holly brake.. Thrice to the well ;.... I bid thee awake, White Maid of Avenel ! Noon gleams on the lake, Noon glows on the fell, Wake thee, wake, White Maid of Avenel. HALBERT AND THE WHITE LADY. Youth of the dark eye, wherefore didst thou call me ? Wherefore art thou here, if terrors can appal thee ? He that seeks to deal with us must know nor fear nor failing ; 98 AVAVEKLEY POETRY. To coward and churl our speech is dark, our gifts are unavailing. The breeze that brought me hither now must sweep Egyptian ground, The fleecy cloud on which I ride for Araby is bound ; The fleecy cloud is drifting by, the breeze sighs for my stay. For I must sail a thousand miles before the close of day. What I am I must not show.... What I am thou couldst not know.... Something betwixt heaven and hell, Something that neither stood nor fell.... Something that, through thy wit or will, May work thee good.. ..may w^ork thee ill. Neither substance quite, nor shadow. Haunting lonely moor and meadow, Dancing by the haunted spring. Riding on the \vhirl wind's wing ; Aping, in fantastic fashion, Every change of human passion, While o'er our frozen minds they pass. Like shadows from the mirror'd glass. Wayward, fickle, is our mood. Hovering betwixt bad and good. Happier than brief-dated man, Living twenty times his span ; W.^VERLEY POETRY. 99 Far less happy, for we -have Help nor hope beyond the grave ! Man awakes to joy or sorrow ; Ours the sleep that knows no morrow. This is all that I can show.... This is all that thou may'st know. THE WHITE LADY REPROVES HALBERT. Ay ! and I taught thee the word and the spell, To waken me here by the Fairies' Well. But thou hast loved the heron and hawk, More than to seek my haunted walk ; And thou hast loved the lance and the sword, More than good text and holy word ; And thou hast loved the deer to track, More than the lines and the letters black ; And thou art a ranger of moss and of wood. And scornest the nurture of gentle blood. Thy craven fear my truth accused. Thine idlehood my trust abused ; He that draws to harbour late, Must sleep without, or burst the gate. There is a star for thee which burned. Its influence wanes, its course is turned ; Valor and constancy alone Can bring thee back the chance that's flown. =^ # ^ # # 100 WAVE RLE Y POETRY. THE BIBLE. Within that awful volume lies The mystery of mysteries ! Happiest they of human race, To whom God has granted grace To read, to fear, to hope, to pray. To lift the latch, and force the way ; And better bad they ne'er been born. Who read to doubt, or read to scorn. Jt: jj, At, jju "TV" '??■ -TV ■TV" Many a fathom dark and deep I have laid the book to sleep ; Ethereal fires around it glowing — Ethereal music ever flowing — The sacred pledge of Heaven All things revere. Each in his sphere. Save man for whom 'twas given. Lend thy hand, and thou shalt spy Things ne'er seen by mortal eye. SHE BECKONS HALBEllT TO ACCOMPANY HER. Fearest thou to go with me ? Still it is free to thee A peasant to dwell ; Thou may'st drive the dull steer, And thase the king's deer, WAVERLEY POETRY. 101 But never more come near This haunted well. HALBERT DESCENDS WITH THE LADY TO THE CRYSTAL COVE, WHERE, AMID LIVING FLAME, LFES THE BIBLE UNCONSUMED. Here lies the volume thou boldly hast sought ; Touch it, and take it, 'twill dearly be bought. Re THRUSTS HIS HAND INTO THE FLAME AND BURNS HIS ARM. Rash thy deed, Mortal weed To immortal flames applying ; Rasher trust Has thing of dust, On his own weak worth relying* Strip thee of such fences vain. Strip, and prove thy luck again. The LADY PASSED HER COLD HAND OVER HIS ARM AND INSTANT- LY RESTORED IT. Mortal warp and mortal woof Cannot brook this charmed roof ; All that mortal art hath wrought In our cell returns to nought. The molten gold returns to clay. The polish'd diamond melts away ; All is altered, all is flown. Nought stands fast but truth alone. Not for that thy quest give o'er ; 1 2 Courage ! prove thy chance once more. 102 wavehley poetry. HE SEIZES THE BOOKj AND SHE SEIZES HIS HAND, AND BOTH A3* CEND TO THE UPPER AIR, WHERE THE LADY VANISHES. Alas ! alas ! Not ours the grace These holy characters to trace ; Idle forms of painted air, Not to us is given to share The boon bestowed on Adam's race. With patience bide, Heaven will provide The fitting time, the fitting guide* EDUCATION. V"OIJ call this education, do you not ? Why, 'tis the forced march of a herd of bullocks Before a shouting drover. The glad van Move on at ease, and pause awhile to snatch A passing morsel from the dewy greensward, While all the bloWs, the oaths, the indignation, Pall on the croupe of the ill-fated laggard That cripples in the rear. TH£ STOtT MILLER. THE miller Was of manly make, To meet him was na mows ; There durst na ten come him to take, Sae noited he their pows» WAVE RLE Y POETRY. M3 VARIETY. Nay, let me have the friends, who eat my victuals, As various as my dishes. The feast's nought Where one huge plate predominates. John Plaintext, He shall be mighty beef, our English staple ; The worthy Alderman, a buttered dumpling ; Yon pair of whiskered Cornets, ruffs and rees ; Their friend the Dandy, a green goose in sippets. And so the board is spread at once and filled On the same principle — Variety. THE EXaUISlTE COURTIER. A COURTIER extraordinary, who by diet Of meats and drinks, his temperate exercise, Choice music, frequent bath, his horary shifts Of shirts and waistcoats, means to immortalize Mortality itself, and makes the essence Of his whole happiness the trim of court. INVOKING THE SPIRITS OP AIR. I'LL seek for other aid. Spirits, they say, Flit round invisible, as thick as motes Dance in the sunbeam. If that spell Or necromancer's sigil can compel them, They shall hold counsel with me. 104 WAVERLEY POETRY. SECOND INTERVIEW BETWEEN HALBERT AND THE WHITE LADY. THIS is the day when the fairy kind Sit weeping alone for their hopeless lot, And the woodmaiden sighs to the sighing wind, And the mermaiden weeps in her crystal grot ; For this is the day that a deed was wrought, In which we have neither part nor share, For the children of clay was salvation bought, But not for the forms of sea or air. And ever the mortal is most forlorn. Who meeteth our race on the Friday morn, jt ^ ^ ^ w w •T\* ■Tr Daring youth ! for thee it is well, Here calling me in haunted dell. That thy heart has not quailed, Nor thy courage failed, And that thou couldst brook The angry look Of Her of Avenel. Did one limb shiver, Or an eyelid quiver, Thou wert lost for ever. Though I am formed from the ether blue, And my blood is of the unfallen dew. And thou art framed of mud and dust, *Tis thine to speak — reply I must. WAYERLEY POETRY. 105 A CHANGE HAS COME OVER HALBERT, HE DEMANDS THE CAUSE. A mightier wizard far than I Wields o'er the universe his power ; Him owns the eagle in the sky, The turtle in the bower. Changeful in shape, yet mightier still, He wields the heart of man at will, From ill to good, from good to ill, In cot and castle-tower. .&A, ^/, .AA, ^ ^ ^ W W ^ "Vr W T^ Ask thy heart, whose secret cell Is filled with Mary Avenel ! Ask thy pride, why scornful look In Mary's view it will not brook ? Ask it why thou seek'st to rise Among the mighty and the wise, — Why thou spurn'st thy lowly lot, — Why thy pastimes are forgot, — Why thou wouldst in bloody strife Mend thy luck, or lose thy life ? Ask thy heart, and it shall tell. Sighing from its secret cell, 'Tis for Mary Avenel. HE ASKS HOW HE SHALL DISCLOSE HIS PASSION. Do not ask me ; On doubts like these thou canst not task me. 106 WAVEKLKY TOETRY. We only see the passing show Of human passions' ebb and flow ; And view the pageant's idle glance As mortals eye the northern dance, When thousand streamers, flashing bright, Career it o'er the brow of night, And gazers mark their changeful gleams, But feel no influence from their beams. .At, ^A, M, OA. .&<, O^ w TV" t'F w w ^ By ties mysterious linked, our fated race Holds strange connexion with the sons of men. The star that rose upon the House of Avenel, When Norman Ulrick first assumed the name, That star, when culminating in its orbit, Shot from its sphere a drop of diamond dew, And this bright Font received it — and a Spirit Eose from the fountain, and her date of life Hath co-existence with the House of Avenel, And with the star that rules it. Look on my girdle — on this thread of gold — 'Tis fine as web of lightest gossamer, And, but there is a spell on't, would not bind, Light as they are, the folds of my thin robe. But when it was donn'd, it was a massive chain, Such as might bind the champion of the Jews, WAVERLEY POETRY. 107 Even when his locks were longest. It hath dwindled, Hath 'minished in its substance and its strength, As sunk the greatness of the House of Avenel. When this frail thread gives way, I to the elements Resign the principles of life they lent me. Ask me no more of this ! — the stars forbid it. HALBERT ASKS HER TO REVEAL THE FATE OF HIS PASSION. Dim burns the once bright star of Avenel, Dim as the beacon when the morn is nigh. And the o'er-wearied warder leaves the lighthouse ; There is an influence, sorrowful and fearful, That dogs its downw^ard course. Disastrous passion, Fierce hate and rivalry, are in the aspect That lowers upon its fortunes. Jl, -ifc -^ -^ -ife ■TV" •TV' 'Tv TV- TP Complain not of me, child of clay, If to thy harm I yield the way. We who soar thy sphere above, Know not aught of hate or love ; As will or wisdom rules thy mood, My gifts to evil turn or good. SHE TAKES FROM HER LOCKS A SILVER BODKIN, AND PRESENTS IT TO HALBERT. When Piercie Shafton boasteth high, Let this token meet his eye. The sun is westering from the dell, Thy wish is granted^ — Fare thee well. 108 WAVERLEY POETRY. SUPERSTITION. THERE'S something in that ancient superstition, Which, erring as it is, our fancy loYes. The spring that, with its thousand crystal bubbles, Bursts from the bosom of some desert rock In secret solitude, may well be deemed The haunt of something purer, more refined. And mightier than ourselves. THE CHALLEINGE. I HOPE you'll give me cause to think you noble, And do me right with your sword, sir, as becomes One gentleman of honor to another ; All this is fair, sir — let us make no days on't, I'll lead your way. HONOR OR WEALTH. NOW choose thee, gallant, betwixt wealth and honor ; There lies the pelf, in sum to bear thee through The dance of youth, and the turm.oil of manhood, Yet leave enough for age's chimney corner ; But an thou grasp to it, farewell Ambition ! Farewell each hope of bettering thy condition, And raising thy low rank above the churls That till the earth for bread ! WAVEKLEY POETRY. 109 THE EUPHUIST. HE strikes no coin, 'tis true, but coins new phrases, And vends them forth as knaves vend gilded counters, Which wise men scorn, and fools accept in payment. LINES BY SIR PIERCIE SHAFTON. WHAT tongue can her perfections tell, On whose each part all pens may dwell. tP tt TV *?? *fr Of whose high praise and praiseful bliss, Goodness the pen. Heaven paper is ; The ink immortal fame doth send, As I began so I must end. ^ -^ ^ ^ ^ Ah, rest ! — no rest but change of place and posture ; Ah, sleep ! — no sleep but worn-out Nature's swooning ; Ah, bed ! — no bed but cushion filled with stones ; Rest, sleep, nor bed, await not on an exile. THE INEXPERT. Indifferent, but indifferent — pshaw ! he doth it not Like one who is his craft's master — ne'ertheless, I have seen a clown confer a bloody coxcomb On one who was a master of defence. K 110 WAVERLEY POETRY. ARISTOCRACY. NOW, by our lady, Sheriff, 'tis hard reckoning That I, with every odds of birth and barony, Should be detained here for the casual death Of a wild forester, whose utmost having Is but the brazen buckle of the belt In which he sticks his hedge-knife. THE WHITE LADY IN HALBERT'S CHAMBER. HE whose heart for vengeance sued. Must not shrink from shedding blood ; The knot that thou hast tied with word, Thou must loose by edge of sword. ^ ^ ^ ^ jfcj TV- "3^ T^ -TR- T^ You have summoned me once — you have summoned me twice. And without e'er a summons I come to you thrice ; Unasked for, unsued for, you came to my glen, Unsued and unasked, I am with you again TIME. NAY, dally not with time, the wise man's treasure, Though fools are lavish on't. The fatal Fisher Hooks souls, while we waste moments. WAVERLEY POETRY. Ill REMUNERATION. I GIVE thee eighteenpence a day, And my bow shalt thou bear, And over all the north country I make thee the chief rydere. And I thirteenpence a day, quoth the queen, By God and by my faye ; Come fetch thy payment when thou wilt, No man shall say thee nay. THE DUELLIST. YES, life hath left him — every busy thought, Each fiery passion, every strong affection. All sense of outward ill and inward sorrow, Are fled at once from the pale trunk before me ; And I have given that, which spoke and moved, Thought, acted, suffered, as a living man, To be a ghastly form of bloody clay. Soon the foul food for reptiles. REMORSE. 'TIS when the wound is stiffening with the colu. The warrior first feels pain — 'tis when the heat And fiery fever of his soul is past, The sinner feels remorse. 112 WAVE RLE Y POETRY. THE TANGLED CASE. NOW, on my faith, this gear is all entangled, Like to the yarn-clew of the drowsy knitter, Dragged by the frolic kitten through the cabin. While the good dame sits nodding o'er the fire — Masters, attend ! 'twill crave some skill to clear it. PRUDENCE. I'LL walk on tiptoe ; arm my eye with caution, My heart with courage, and my hand with weapon, Like him who ventures on a lion's den. BORDER BALLAD, 1 MARCH, march, Ettricke and Teviotdale, Why the deil dinna ye march forward in order ? March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale, All the Blue Bonnets are bound for the Border. Many a banner spread, Flutters above your head, Many a crest that is famous in story. Mount and make ready then, Sons of the mountain glen, Fight for the Queen, and the old Scottish glory. WAVERLEY POETRY. 113 2 Come from the hills where the hirsels are grazing, Come from the glen of the buck and the roe ; Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing, Come with the buckler, the lance and the bow. Trumpets are sounding, War-steeds are bounding. Stand to your arms then, and march in good order, England shall many a day Tell of the bloody fray, When the Blue Bonnets came over the Border. THE WHITE LADY AND MARY AVENEL. MAIDEN, whose sorrows wail the Living Dead, Whose eyes shall commune with the Dead Alive, Maiden, attend !... .Beneath my foot lies hid The Word, the Law, the Path, which thou dost strive To find, and canst not find. Could Spirits shed Tears for their lot, it were my lot to weep, Showing the road which I shall never tread. Though my foot points it. Sleep, eternal sleep, Dark, long, and cold forgetfulness, my lot ! — But do not thou at human ills repine ; Secure there lies full guerdon in this spot For all the woes that wait frail Adam's line. Stoop then and make it yours. ..I may not make it mine. K2 114 WAVERLEY POETRY. HOW TO PROTECT THE CHURCH. IT is not texts will do it.. ..Church artillery Are silenced soon by real ordnance, And canons are but vain opposed to cannon. Go, coin your crozier, melt your church plate down, Bid the starved soldier banquet in your halls, And quaff your long-saved hogsheads. Turn them out Thus primed with your good cheer, to guard your wall, And they will venture for't. THE STUDENT. AT school I knew him — a sharp witted youth. Grave, thoughtful, and reserved among his mates, Turning the hours of sport and food to labor, Starving his body to inform his mind. LOVER TURNED FRIAR. THEN in m-y gown of sober grey Along the mountain path I'll wander, And wind my solitary way To the sad shrine that courts me yonder. There, in the calm monastic shade, All injuries may be forgiven ; And there for thee, obdurate maid, My orisons shall rise to heaven. WAVERLEY POETRY. 115 THE WHITE LADY AND EDWARD GLENDENING. Thou who seek'st my fountain lone, With thoughts and hopes thou darest not own ; Whose heart within leaped wildly glad, When most his brow seemed dark and sad ; Hie thee back, thou find'st not here Corpse nor coffin, grave nor bier ; The Dead Alive is gone and fled — Go thou and join the Living Dead ! The Living Dead, whose sober brow Oft shrouds such thoughts as you have now, Whose hearts within are seldom cured Of passions by their vows abjured ; Where, under sad and solemn show, Vain hopes are nursed, wild wishes glow* Seek the convent's vaulted room, Prayer and vigil be thy doom ; Doff the green, and don the grey, To the cloister hence away ! A WONDER. YOU call it an ill angel — it may be so ; But sure I am, among the ranks which fell, 'Tis the first fiend e'er counselled man to rise* And win the bliss himself had forfeited. 116 \VAVERLEY POETHY. THE WHITE LADY'S FAREWELL. PARE thee well, thou Holly green ! Thou shalt seldom now be seen, With all thy glittering garlands bending, As to greet my slow descending, Startling the bewildered hind, Who sees thee wave without a wind. Farewell, Fountain ! now not long Shalt thou murmur to my song. While thy crystal bubbles glancing, Keep the time in mystic dancing. Rise and swell, are burst and lost. Like mortal schemes by fortune crost. The knot of Fate at length is tied, The Churl is Lord, the Maid is Bride ! Vainly did my magic sleight Send the lover from her sight ; Wither bush, and perish well, Fallen is lofty Avenel ! THE UNTIRED. AND when he came to broken briggs, He slacked his bow and swam ; And when he came to grass growing, Let down his feet and ran. WAVERLEY POETRY. 117 CONSPIRACY. NOT the wild billow, when it breaks its barrier — Not the wild wind escaping from its cavern — Not the wild fiend, that mingles both together, And pours their rage upon the ripening harvest, — • Can match the wild freaks of this mirthful meeting - Comic, yet fearful — droll, and yet destructive. POLITICAL PATRONAGE. In the wild storm The seaman hews his mast down, and the merchant Heaves to the billows wares he once deem'd precious ; So prince and peer, 'mid popular contentions. Cast off their favorites. THE RUINED PrIONASTERY. THE sacred tapers' lights are gone. Grey, moss has clad the altar stone, The holy image is o'erthrown. The bell has ceased to toll. The long-ribbed aisles are burst and shrunk, The holy shrines to ruin sunk. Departed is the pious monk, God's blessing on his soul ! 118 WAVERLEY POETRY. THE FOUNDLING. HOW steadfastly he fixed his looks on me — His dark eyes shining through forgotten tears — Then stretched his little arms and called me mother ! What could I do ? I took the bantling home — I could not tell the imp he had no mother. FAMILY SECRETS. THOU hast each secret of the household, Francis. I dare be sworn thou hast been in the buttery Steeping thy curious humor in fat ale, And in the butler's tattle — ay, or chatting With the glib waiting-woman o'er her comfits — These bear the key to each domestic mystery. THE FORESTER. AND rather would Allan in dungeon lie, Than live at large where the falcon cannot fly ; And Allan would rather lie in Sexton's pound. Than live where he follow'd not the merry hawk and hound. THE OATH. Kneel with me — swear it — 'tis not in words I trust, Save when they're fenced with an appeal to Heaven. WAVERLEY POETRY. 119 SONG OP THE ABBOT OF UNREASON. THE Paip, that pagan full of pride, Hath blinded us ower lang, For where the blind the blind doth lead, No marvel baith gae wrang. Like prince and king He led the ring Of all iniquity. Sing hay trix, trim-go-trix, Under the greenwood tree. The bishop rich, he could not preach For sporting with the lasses, The silly friar behoved to fleech For awmous as he passes. The curate, his creed He could not read. Shame fa' the company ! Sing hay trix, trim-go-trix, Under the greenwood tree. The Friars of Fail drank berry-brown ale, The best that e'er was tasted ; The Monks of Melrose made gude kale On Fridays, when they fasted. 120 WAVE RLE Y POETRY. Saint Monance' sister, The grey priest kissed her, Fiend save the company ! Sing hay trix, trim-go-trix, Under the greenwood tree. From haunted spring and grassy ring, Troop goblin, elf, and fairy ; And the kelpie must flit from the black bog pit, And the brownie must not tarry ; To Limbo lake Their way they take, With scarce the pith to flee. Sing hay trix, trim-go-trix, Under the greenwood tree. PROGRESS OF LIFE. YOUTH ! thou wear'st to manhood now, Darker lip and darker brow, Statelier step, more pensive mien In thy face and gait are seen ; Thou must now brook midnight watches, Take thy food and sport by snatches ; For the gambol and the jest. Thou wert w^ont to love the best, Graver follies must thou follow. But as senseless, false and hollow. WAVERLEY POETRY. 121 POVERTY. WHEN I hae a saxpence under my thumb, Then I get credit in ilka town ; But when I am poor, they bid me gae bye, O poverty parts good company. LIFE ' S SPRING-TIME. LIFE hath its May, and it is mirthful then ; The woods are vocal, and the flowers all odor ; Its very blast has mirth in't, — and the maidens, The while they don their cloaks to skreen their kirtles, Laugh at the rain that wets them. A BROTHER'S CLAIM. NAY, hear me, brother.. ..I am elder, wiser, And holier than thou.... And age, and wisdom. And holiness, have peremptory claim^s. And will be listened to. THE REFORMERS. What, Dagon up again ! I thought w^e had hurled him Down on the threshold, never more to rise. Bring wedge and axe ; and, neighbors, lend your hands, And rive the idol into winter faggots. 122 WAVERLEY POETRY. PASSION. IN some breasts passion lies concealed and silent, Like war's swart powder in a castle vault, Until occasion, like the linstock, lights it ; Then comes at once the lightning and the thunder, And distant echoes tell that all is rent asunder. A PRISONER ' S REFLECTIONS. 'TIS a weary life this .... Vaults overhead, and grates and bars around me, And my sad hours spent with as sad companions, Whose thoughts are brooding o'er their own mischances, Far, far too deeply to take part in mine. 4A, ^ ^ ^ <^ •Tf' •ft* "TV* Tv" W Give me a morsel on the greensward rather, Coarse as you will the cooking — Let the fresh spring Bubble beside my napkin — and the free birds, Twittering and chirping, hop from bough to bough. To claim the crums I leave for perquisites — Your prison feasts I like not. 'TWIXT Wigton and the town of Ayr, Portpa trick and the cruives of Cree, No man need think for to bide there, Unless he court Saint Kennedie. WAVERLEY POETRY. 123 DELUSION. IT IS and is not — 'tis the thing I sought for, Have kneel'd for, pray'd for, risk'd my fame and life for. And yet it is not — no more than the shadow Upon the hard, cold, flat, and polished mirror, Is the warm, graceful, rounded, living substance Which it presents in form and lineament. DOUBTFULNESS. , The sky is clouded, Gaspard, And the vexed ocean sleeps a troubled sleep, Beneath a lurid gleam of parting sunshine. Such slumber hangs o'er discontented lands, While factions doubt, as yet, if they have strength To front the open battle. BEREAVEMENT. NOW have you reft me from my staff, my guide, Who taught my youth, as men teach untamed falcons. To use my strength discreetly — I am reft Of comrade and of counsel ! IT is a time of danger, not of revel, When churchmen turn maskers. 124 WAVERLEY POETRY. THE RELIGIOUS QUACK'S ADVERTISEMENT. LISTNETH, gode people, everiche one, For in the londe of Babylone, Far eastward I wot it lyeth, And is the first londe the sonne espieth, Ther, as he cometh fro out the se ; In this ilk londe, as thinketh me, Eight as holie legendes tell, Snottreth from a roke a well, And falleth into ane bath of ston, Wher chast Susanne in times long gon, Was wont to wash her bodie and lim — Mickle vertue hath that streme, As ye shall se er that ye pas, Ensample by this little glas — Through nightes cold and dayes bote, Hiderward I have it brought ; Hath a wife made slip or slide, Or a maiden stepp'd aside, Putteth this water under her nese. Wold she nold she, she shall snese. MY maids, come to my dressing bower, And deck my nut-brown hair ; Where'er ye laid a plait before, Look ye lay ten times mair. WAVERtE^ POETRY. 125 DISHONOR. YES, it is she whose eyes looked on thy childhood, And watched, with trembling hope, thy dawn of youth, That now, with these same eyeballs dimmed with age, And dimmer yet with tears, sees thy dishonor. THE WAGER. NAY, I'll hold touch — the game shall be play'd out, It ne'er shall stop for me, this merry wager ; That which I say when gamesome, I'll avouch In my most sober m.ood, ne'er trust me else. THE PATERNAL GUARDIAN. AY, Pedro, — Come you here with mask and lantern, Ladder of ropes, and other moonshine tools — Why, youngster, thou mayst cheat the old Duenna, Flatter the waiting-woman, bribe the valet ; But know, that I her father play the Gryphon, Tameless and sleepless, proof to fraud or bribe, And guard the hidden treasure of her beauty. O SOME do call me Jack, sweet love, And some do call me Gill ; But when I ride to Holyrood, My name is Wilful Will. L2 126 WAVERLEY POETRY. DEATH. DEATH distant ? No, alas ! he's ever with us, And shakes the dart at us in all our actings. He lurks within our cup, while we're in health ; Sits by our sick-bed, mocks our medicines ; We cannot walk, or sit, or ride, or travel, But Death is by to seize us when he lists. LOVE AND REASON. AND when Love's torch hath set the heart in flame, Comes Seignor Reason, with his saws and cautions, Giving such aid as the old greybeard Sexton, Who from the church-vault drags his crazy engine. To ply its dribbling, ineffectual streamlet Against a conflagration. BESSY BELL AND MARY GRAY. O Bessy Bell and Mary Gray, They were twa bonnie lasses ; They biggit a house on yon burn-brae, And theekit it ower wi' rashes. Fair Bessy Bell I loo'd yestreen. And thought I ne'er could alter, But Mary Gray's twa pawky een Have garr'd my courage falter. WAVERLEY POETRY. 127 GOLDTHRED'S SONG. OF all the birds on bush or treej Commend me to the owl, Since he may best ensample be To those the cup that trowl. For when the sun hath left the west, He chooses the tree that he loves the best, And he whoops out his song, and he laughs at his jest ; Then, though hours be late, and weather foul, We'll drink to the health of the bonny, bonny owl. The lark is but a bumpkin fowl. He sleeps in his nest till morn ; But my blessing upon the jolly owl, That all night blows his horn. Then up with your cup till you stagger in speech. And match me this catch, till you swagger and screech, And drink till you wink, my merry men each ; For, though hours be late, and weather be foul. We'll drink to the health of the bonny, bonny owl. HAZARDS OF A CROWN. AY, sir — our ancient crown, in these wild times, Oft stood upon a cast — the gamester's ducat. So often staked, and lost, and then regained. Scarce knew so many hazards^ 128 WAVERLEY POETRl?. THE JOLLY INNKEEPER. I AM an innkeeper, and know my grounds, And study them : Brain o'man, I study them* 1 must have jovial guests to drive my ploughs, And whistling boys to bring my harvests homCj Or 1 shall hear no flails thwack. ANTHONY FOSTER. NOT serve two masters ? — Here's a youth will try it- Would fain serve God, yet give the devil his due ; Says grace before he does a deed of villany, And returns thanks devoutly when it is acted. VARNEY. He was a man Versed in the world as pilot in his compass. The needle pointed ever to that interest Which was his lode-star, and he spread his sails With vantage to the gale of others' passion. HE mounted himself on a coal-black steed, And her on a freckled grey, With a bugelet horn hung down from his side ; And roundly they rode away. WAVE RLE Y POETRY. 129 EARL OF LEICESTER. THIS is he Who rides on the court gale ; controls its tides ; Knows all their secret shoals and fatal eddies ; Whose frown abases, and whose smile exalts. He shines like any rainbow — and, perchance, His colors are as transient. THE RIVALS. THIS is rare news thou tellest me, my good fellow ; There are two bulls fierce battling on the green For one fair heifer — if the one goes down, The dale will be more peaceful, and the herd, Which have small interest in their brulziement, May pasture there in peace. AMY ROBSART AT KENIL WORTH. HARK ! the bells summon, and the bugle calls, But she the fairest answers not. The tide Of nobles and of ladies throngs the halls, But she the loveliest must in secret hide. What eyes were thine, proud Prince, which in the gleam Of yon gay meteors lost that better sense, That o'er the glow-worm doth the star esteem, And merit's modest blush o'er courtly insolence. 130 WAVE RLE Y POETRY. LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. NOW, God be good to me in this wide pilgrimage ! All hope in human aid I cast behind me. Oh, who would be a woman ! — who that fool, A weeping, pining, faithful, loving woman ? She hath hard measure still where she hopes kindest, And all her bounties only make ingrates. PANDEMONIUM. WHAT, man, ne'er lack a draught, when the full cann Stands at thine elbow, and craves emptying ! Nay, fear not me, for I have no delight To watch men's vices, since I have myself Of virtue nought to boast of. Fm a striker, Would have the world strike with me, pell-mell, all. SIR ROGER ROBSART. HE was the flower of Stoke's red field. When Martin Swart on ground lay slain ; In raging rout he never reeled. But like a rock did firm remain. IN my time I have seen a boy do wonders. Robin, the red tinker, had a boy Would ha' run throu2:h a cat-hole. WAVERLEY POETRY. 131 QUEEN ELIZABETH'S VISIT TO KENILWORTH. NOW bid the steeple rock.. ..she comes, she comes ! Speak for us, bells !... speak for us, shrill-tongu'd tuckets ! Stand to thy linstock, gunner ! let thy cannon Play such a peal, as if a Paynim foe Came stretch 'd in turban'd ranks to storm the ramparts. We will have pageants too. But that craves wit, And I'm a rough-hewn soldier. What stir, what turmoil, have we for the nones ? Stand back, my masters, or beware your bones ! Sirs, I'm a warder, and no man of straw ; My voice keeps order, and my club gives law. Yet soft. ...Nay stay....What vision have we here ? What dainty darling's this ?.... what peerless peer ? What loveliest face, that loving ranks enfold. Like brightest diamond chased in purest gold ? Dazzled and blind, mine office I forsake. My club, my key, my knee, my homage take. Bright paragon, pass on in joy and bliss ; — Beshrew the gate that opes not wide at such a sight as this ! GENTLE deed Makes gentle bleid. 132 WAVERLEY POETRY. LEICESTER AND HIS COUNTESS. HERE stands the victim.. ..there the proud betrayer, E'en as the hind pulled down by strangling dogs Lies at the hunter's feet.... who courteous proffers To some high dame, the Dian of the chase, To whom he looks for guerdon, his sharp blade, To gash the sobbing throat. " TO ERR IS HUMAN." THE wisest sovereigns err like private men, And royal hand has sometimes laid the sword Of chivalry upon a worthless shoulder, Which better had been branded by the hangman. What then? Kings do their best.... and they and we Must answer for the intent, and not the event. A NORTHERN TEMPEST. THIS is no pilgrim's morning.... yon grey mist Lies upon hill, and dale, and field, and forest, Like the dun wimple of a new-made widow ; And, by my faith, although my heart be soft, I'd rather hear that widow weep and sigh. And tell the virtues of the dear departed, Than, when the tempest sends his voice abroad. Be subject to its fury. WAVERLEY POETRY. 133 NORNA ' S INVOCATION TO THE TEMPEST. 1 STERN eagle of the far north-west, Thou that hearest in thy grasp the thunderbolt, Thou whose rushing pinions stir ocean to madness, Thou the destroyer of herds, thou the scatterer of navies, Amidst the scream of thy rage. Amidst the rushing of thy onward wings, Tho' thy scream be loud as the cry of a perishing nation, Tho' the rushing of thy wings be like the roar of ten thousand waves, Yet hear, in thine ire and thy haste. Hear thou the voice of the Reim-kennar ! Thou hast met the pine trees of Drontheim, Their dark-green heads lie prostrate beside their up- rooted stems ; Thou hast met the rider of the ocean, The tall, the strong bark of the fearless rover, And she has struck to thee the topsail That she had not veil'd to a royal armada ; Thou hast met the tower that bears its crest among the clouds. The battled massive tower of the Jarl of former days, M 134 WAVERLEY POETRY. And the cope-stone of the turret Is lying upon its hospitable hearth ; Bat thou too shalt stoop, proud compeller ot clouds, When thou hearest the voice of the Eeim-kennar. 3 There are verses that can stop the stag in the forest, Ay, and when the dark colored dog is opening on his track ; There are verses can make the wild hawk pause on the wing. Like the falcon that wears the hood and the jesses, And who knows the shrill whistle of the fowler ; Thou who canst mock at the scream of the drowning mariner, And the crash of the ravaged forest, And the groan of the overwhelmed crowds. When the church hath fallen in the moment of prayer ; There are sounds which thou also must list, When they are chanted by the voice of the Reim-ken- nar. 4 Enough of wo hast thou wrought on the ocean, The widows wring their hands on the beach ; Enough of wo hast thou wrought on the land, .The husbandman folds his arms in despair ; Cease thou the waving of thy pinions, WAVERLEY POETRY. 135 Let the ocean repose in her dark strength ; Cease thou the flashing of thine eye, Let the thunderbolt sleep in the armory of Odin ; Be thou still at my bidding, viewless racer of the north- western heaven, Sleep thou at the voice of Noma the Reim-kennar. 5 Eagle of the far north-western waters, Thou hast heard the voice of the Eeim-kennar, Thou hast closed thy wide sails at her bidding, And folded them in peace by thy side. My blessing be on thy retiring path ! When thou stoopest from thy place on high, Soft be thy slumbers in the caverns of the unknown ocean, Rest till destiny shall again awaken thee ; Eagle of the north-west, thou hast heard the voice of the Reim-kennar ! THE PEDLAR. THIS is a gentle trader, and a prudent — He's no Autolycus, to blear your eye With quips of worldly gauds and gamesomeness ; But seasons all his glittering merchandize With wholesome doctrines suited to the use, As men sauce goose with sage and rosemary. 136 WAVERLEY POETRY. THE OCEAN. SHE does no work by halves, yon raving ocean ; Engulphing those she strangles, her wild womb AfTords the mariners whom she hath dealt on, Their death at once, and sepulchre. SYMPATHIES. 'TIS not alone the scene. ...the man, Anselmo, The man finds sympathies in these wild wastes And roughly tumbling seas, which fairer views And smoother waves deny him. MARY. Farewell to Northmaven, Grey Hillswicke, farewell ! To the calms of thy haven. The storms on thy fell — To each breeze that can vary The mood of thy main. And to thee, bonny Mary ! We meet not again. Farewell the wild ferry, Which Hacon could brave. When the peaks of the Skerry Were white in the wave. WAVERLEY POETRY. 137 There's a maid may look over These wild waves in vain For the skiff of her lover — He comes not again. The vows thou hast broke, On the wild currents fling them ; On the quicksand and rock Let the mermaiden sing them* New sweetness they'll give her Bewildering strain ; But there's one who will never Believe them again. were there an island, Though ever so wild, Where woman could smile, and No man be beguiled — Too tempting a snare To poor mortals were given ; And the hope would fix there, That should anchor on heaven. PARENTAL LOVE. PARENTAL love, my friend, has power o'er wisdom, And is the charm which, like the falconer's lure, Can bring from heaven the highest soaring spirits. So, when famed Prosper© doff'd his magic robe, It was Miranda plucked it from his shoulders. M2 138 VrAVERLEY POETRY, REFORMATION. . . . . All your ancient customs, And long-descended usages, I'll change. Ye shall not eat, nor drink, nor speak, nor move. Think, look, or walk, as ye were wont to do ; Even your marriage-beds shall know mutation ; The bride shall have the stock, the groom the wall ; For all old practice will I turn and change, And call it reformation — marrv, will I ! CONSERVATISM. WE '11 keep our customs. "What is law itself, But old established custom ? What religion, (I mean with one half of the men that use it) Save the good use and wont that carries them To worship how and where their fathers worshiped ? All things resolve in custom — we'll keep ours. SONG OF HAROLD HARFAGER. THE sun is rising dimly red, The wind is wailing low and dread ; From his cliff the eagle sallies, Leaves the wolf his darksome valleys ; In the midst the ravens hover, Peep the wild dogs from the cover, AVAVERLEY POETRY. 139 Screaming, croaking, baying, yelling, Each in his wild accents telling, *' Soon we feast on dead and dying, Fair-haired Harold's flag is flying." Many a crest in air is streaming, Many a helmet darkly gleaming, Many an arm the axe uprears, Doomed to hew the wood of spears. All along the crowded ranks Horses neigh and armor clanks ; Chiefs are shouting, clarions ringing, Louder still the bard is singing, ** Gather, footmen, gather, horsemen, To the field, ye valiant Norsemen ! Halt ye not for food or slumber. View not vantage, count not number ; Jolly reapers, forward still ; Grow the, crop on vale or hill, Thick or scattered, stiff' or lithe, It shall down before the scythe. Forward with your sickles bright, Reap the harvest of the fight — Onward, footmen, onward, horsemen, To the charge, ye gallant Norsemen ! 140 WAVERLEY POETRY. Fatal choosers of the slaughter, O'er you hovers Odin's daughter ; Hear the choice she spreads before ye, — Victory, and wealth, and glory ; Or old Valhalla's roaring hail, Her ever-circling mead and ale, Where for eternity unite The joys of wassail and of fight. Headlong forward, foot and horsemen, Charge and fight, and die like Norsemen I TRUTH AND FALSEHOOD. HIGH o'er the eastern steep the sun is beaming, And darkness flies with her deceitful shadows..,. So truth prevails o'er falsehood. DUET. . . .MERMAID AND MERMAN. MERMAID. FATHOMS deep, beneath the wave, Stringing beads of glistering pearl, Singing the achievements brave Of many an old Norwegian earl ; Dwelling where the tempest's raving Falls as light upon our ear, As the sigh of lover, craving Pity from his lady dear, WAVERLEY POETRY. 141 Children of wild Thule, we, From the deep caves of the sea, As the lark springs from the lea, Hither come to share your glee. MERMAN. From reining of the water-horse, That bounded till the waves were foaming, Watching the infant tempest's course, Chasing the sea-snake in his roaming ; From winding charge-notes on the shell. When the huge whale and sword-fish duel, Or tolling shroudless seamen's knell. When the winds and waves are cruel ; Children of wild Thule, we. Have ploughed such furrows on the sea, As the steer draws on the lea. And hither we come to share your glee. MERMAIDS AND MERMEN. We heard you in our twilight caves, A hundred fathom deep below. For notes of joy can pierce the waves. That drown each sound of war and wo. Those who dwell beneath the sea • Love the sons of Thule well ; Thus, to aid your mirth, bring we Dance, and song, and sounding shell. 142 WAVERLEY POETRY. Children of dark Thule, know, Those who dwell by haaf and voe. Where your daring shallops row, Come to share the festal show. THE WHALE ASHORE. THEY man their boats, and all the young men arm With whatsoever might the monsters harm ; Pikes, halberds, spits, and darts, that wound afar, The tools of peace and implements of war. Now was the time for vigorous lads to show What love or honor could incite them to ; A goodly theatre, where rocks are round. With reverend age and lovely lasses crowned. NORNA'S SONG. FOR leagues along the watery way, Through gulf and stream my course has been ; The billows know my Runic lay. And smoothed their crests to silent green. The billows know my Runic lay, — The gulf grows smooth, the stream is still ; But human hearts more wild than they, Know but the rule of wayward will. WAVERLEY POETRY. 143 One hour is mine, in all the year, To tell my woes, — and one alone ; When gleams this magic lamp, 'tis here, — When dies the mystic light, 'tis gone. Daughters of northern Magnus, hail ! The lamp is lit, the flame is clear, — To you I come to tell my tale. Awake, arise, my tale to hear ! LOST IMAGININGS. BUT lost to me, for ever lost those joys, Which reason scatters, and which time destroys. No more the midnight fairy train I view, All in the merry moonlight tippling dew. Even the last lingering fiction of the brain, The churchyard ghost, is now at rest again. THE WAIF. FOR equal right in equal things doth stand, And what the mighty sea hath once possessed, And plucked quite from all possessors' hands, Or else by wrecks that wretches have distressed, He may dispose, by his resistless might, As things at random left, to whom he (istc 144 WAVERLE Y POETRY. NORNA'S INCANTATION. Dwellers of the mountain, rise, Trolld the powerful, Haims the wise I Ye who taught weak woman's tongue Words that sway the wise and strong, — Ye who taught weak woman's hand How to wield the magic wand, And wake the gales on Foulah's steep, Or lull wild Sumburgh's waves to sleep ! Still are ye yet ? Not yours the power Ye knew in Odin's mightier hour. What are ye now, but empty names, Powerful Trolld, sagacious Haims I That, lightly spoken, lightly heard, Float on the air like thistle's beard ? TROLLD THE DWARF TO NORNA. A THOUSAND winters dark have flown, Since o'er the threshold of my stone A votaress passed, my power to own. Visiter bold Of the mansion of Trolld, Maiden haughty of heart, Who hast hither presumed, TJngifted, undoomed, WAVERLEY POETRY. 145 Thou shalt not depart ; The power thou dost covet O'er tempest and wave, Shall be thine, thou proud maiden, By beach and by cave,— - By stack, and by skerry, by noup, and by voe, By air, and by wick, and by helyer and gio. And by every wild shore which the northern winds know And the northern tides lave. But tho' this shall be given thee, thou desperately brave, I doom thee that never the gift thou shalt have, Till thou reave thy life's giver Of the gift which he gave. NORNA'S ANSWER. DARK are thy words, and severe, Thou dweller in the stone ; But trembling and fear To her are unknown, Who hath sought thee here, In thy dwelling lone. Come what comes soever. The worst I can endure ; Life is but a short fever, And death is the cure. N 146 WAVERLEY POETRY CLAUD HALCRO AND NORNA. CLAUD HALCRO SPEAKS FOR THE UDALLER. MOTHER darksome, Mother dread, Dweller on the Fitful-head, Thou canst see what deeds are done Under the never-setting sun. Look through sleet and look through frost, Look to Greenland's caves and coast, — By the ice-berg is a sail Chasing of the swarthy whale ; Mother doubtful, mother dread, Tell us, has the good ship sped ? NORNA. The thought of the aged is ever on gear ; On his fishing, his furrow, his^ flock, and his steer ; But thrive may his fishing, ficck, furrow, and herd. While the aged for anguish shall tear his grey beard. ^ J^, JL, Jt- JjZ; ■T^ -Tr •TV- IT- -Tl* The ship, well laden as bark need be, Lies deep in the furrow of the Iceland sea ; The breeze for Zetland blows fair and soft, And gaily the garland is fluttering aloft ; Seven good fishes have spouted their last, And their jaw-bones are hanging to yard and to mast ; Two are for Lerwick, and two. for Kirkwall, — Three for Burgh Westra, the choicest of all. WAVERLEY POETRY. 147 CLAUD HALCRO. Mother doubtful, mother dread, Dweller of the Fitful-head, Thou hast conn'd full many a rhyme, That lives upon the surge of time : Tell me, shall my lays be sung. Like Hacon's of the golden tongue. Long after Halcro's dead and gone ? Or shall Hialtland's minstrel own One note to rival glorious John ? NORNA. The infant loves the rattle's noise ; Age, double childhood, hath its toys ; But different far the descant rings, As strikes a different hand the strings. The eagle mounts the polar sky — The imber-goose, unskilled to fly, Must be content to glide along. Where seal and sea-dog list his song. CLAUD HALCRO. Be mine the imber-goose to play, And haunt lone cave, and silent bay ; The archer's aim so shall I shun — So shall I 'scape the levelled gun — 143 WAVERLEY POETRY. Content my verses' tuneless jingle, With Thule's sounding tides to mingle, While to the ear of wondering wight, Upon the distant headland's height, Softened by murmur of the sea, The rude sounds seem like harmony ! CLAUD HALCRO SPEAKS FOR CLEVELAND, Mother doubtful, mother dread, Dweller of the Fitful-head, A gallant bark from far abroad, Saint Magnus hath her in his road. With guns and firelocks not a few — A silken and a scarlet crew, Deep stored with precious merchandize, Of gold and goods of rare device — What interest hath our comrade bold In bark, and crew, in goods and gold ? NORNA. Gold is ruddy, fair, and free; Blood is crimson, and dark to see. I looked out on Saint Magnus bay. And I saw a falcon that struck her prey ; A gobbit of flesh in her beak she bore, WMVERLEY POETRY. 149 And talons and singles are dripping with gore ; Let him that asks after them look on his hand, And if there is blood on't, he's one of their band. CLAUD HALCROo Mother doubtful, mother dread, Dweller of the Fitful-head, Well thou know'st it is thy task To tell what Beauty will not ask ; Then steep thy words in wine and milk, And weave a doom of gold and silk, — For we would know, shall Brenda prove In love, and happy in her love ?||f Untouched by love, the maiden's breast Is like the snow on Eona's crest, High seated in the middle sky, In bright and barren purity ; But by the sunbeam gently kissed, Scarce by the gazing eye 'tis missed, Ere, down the lonely valley stealing, Fresh grass and growth its course revealing, It cheers the flock, revives the flower. And decks some happy shepherd's bower. 1«0 WAVERLEY POETRY. MAGNUS TROIL Mother speak, and do not tarry, Here's a maiden fain would marrv. Shall she marry, ay or not ? If she marry, what's her lot ? JJORNA. Untouched by love, the maiden's breast Is like the snow on Eona's crest ; So puro, so free from earthly dye. It seems, whilst leaning on the sky. Part of the heaven to which 'tis nigh ; But passion, like the wild March rain. May soil tne wreath with many a stain« We gaze. ...the lovely vision's gone... A torrent fills the bed of stone. That hurrying to destruction's shock, Leaps headlong from the lofty rock. THE GOOD-NIGHT- THERE was shaking of hands and sorrow of heart, For the hour was approaching when merry folks must part; So we called for our horses, and asked for our way, While the jolly old landlord said, ' Nothing's to pay/ WAVERLEY POETRY. 1M THE FISHERMEN'S DITTY. FAREWELL, merry maidens, to song and to laugh, For the brave lads of Westra are bound to the haaf ; And we must have labor, and hunger, and pain, Ere we dance with the maids of Dunrossness again* For now, in our trim boats of Noroway deal, We must dance on the waves with the porpoise and;seal, The breeze it shall pipe, so it pipe not too high, And the gull be our songstress whene'er she flits by, Sing on, my brave bird, while we follow, like thee, By bank, shoal, and quicksand, the sVvarms of the sea I And when twenty score fishes are straining our line, Sing louder, brave bird, for their spoils shall be thine. We'll sing while we bait, and we'll sing when we haul, For the deeps of the haaf have enough for us all ; There is torsk for the gentle, and skate for the carle, And there's wealth for bold Magnus, the son of the earL Huzza, m.y brave comrades ! give way for the haaf, We shall sooner come back to the dance and the laugh ; For life without mirth is a lamp without oil. Then mirth and long life to the bold Magnus TroiL 152 WAVERLEY POETRY- CLEVELAND'S SERENADE. 1 LOVE wakes and weeps, While Beauty sleeps ! for Music's softest numbers, To prompt a theme For Beauty's dream, Soft as the pillow of her slumbers ! Through groves of palm Sigh gales of balm, Fire-flies on the air are wheeling ; While through the gloom Comes soft perfume. The distant beds of flowers revealing* O wake and live ! No dream can give A shadowed bliss, the real excelling ; No longer sleep. From lattice peep. And list the tale that Love is telling* WAVERLEY POETRS'. 153 CLEVELAND'S SONG. FAREWELL ! Farewell ! the voice you hear, Has left its last soft tone with you, — Its next must join the seaward cheer, And shout among the shouting crew. The accents which I scarce could form Beneath your frown's controlling check, Must give the word, above the storm, To ci^t the mast, and clear the wreck. The timid eye I dared not raise,.... The hand that shook when pressed to thine,.., Must point the guns upon the chase, Must bid the deadly cutlass shine. To all I love, or hope, or fear, Honor or own, a long adieu ! To all that life has soft and dear, Farewell ! save memory of you ! THE CORPSE-LIGHT. WHEN corpse-light dances bright, Be it by day or night. Be it by light or dark. There shall corpse be stiff and stark. 154 WAVERLEY POETRY. HALCRO ' S NORSE DITTY. AND you shall deal the funeral dole ; * Ay, deal it, mother mine, To weary body, and to heavy soul, The white bread and the wine. And you shall deal my horses of pride ; Ay, deal them, mother mine ; And you shall deal my lands so wide. And deal my castles nine. , But deal not vengeance for the deed, And deal not for the crime ; The body to its place, and the soul to Heaven's grace, And the rest in God's own time. HALCRO ' S CONJURATION. SAINT Magnus control thee, that martyr of treason ; Saint Ronan rebuke thee, with rhyme and with reason ; By the mass of Saint Martin, the might of Saint Mary, Be thou gone, or thy weird shall be worse if thou tarry! If of good, go hence and hallow thee ; If of ill, let the earth swallow thee ; If thou'rt of air, let the grey mist fold thee ; If of earth, let the swart mine hold thee ; WAVERLEY POETRY. 155 If a Pixie, seek thy ring ; If a Nixie, seek thy spring ; If on middle earth thou'st been Slave of sorrow, shame and sin, Hast eat the bread of toil and strife, And dree'd the lot which men call life ; Begone to thy stone ! for thy coffin is scant of thee, The worm, thy play-fellow, w^ails for the want of thee. Hence, houseless ghost ! let the earth hide thee, Till Michael shall blow the blast, see that there thou bide thee ! Phantom, fly hence ! take the Cross for a token, Hence pass till Hallowmas ! My spell is spoken. ANCIENT RUINS. I DO love these ancient ruins We never tread upon them but w^e set Our foot upon some reverend history ; And, questionless, here, in this open court, (Which now lies naked to the injuries Of stormy weather,) some men lie interred, Loved the church so well, and gave so largely to it, They thought it should have canopied their bones Till doomsday ; — but all things have their end — Churches and cities, which have diseases like to men, Must have like death w^,hich we have. 156 WAVERLEY POETEY. NORNA'S INCANTATIONS. CHAMPION, famed for warlike toil, Art thou silent, Eibolt Troil ? Sand, and dust, and pebbly stones, Are leaving bare thy giant bones. Who dared touch the wild bear's skin Ye slumbered on, while life was in ? — A woman now, or babe, may come And cast the covering from thy tomb. Yet be not wrathful, Chief, nor blight Mine eyes or ears with sound or sight ! I come not, with unhallowed tread, To wake the slumbers of the dead, Or lay thy giant reliques bare ; But what I seek thou well canst spare. Be it to my hand allowed To shear a merk's weight from thy shroud ; Yet leave thee sheeted lead enough To shield thy bones from weather rough. See, I draw my magic knife — Never, while thou wert in life, Laid'st thou still for sloth or fear, When point and edge were glittering near ; See, the cerements now I sever — Waken now, or sleep for ever ! WAVEELEY POETRY. 157 Thou wilt not wake ?....the deed is done !.... The prize I sought is fairly won. Thanks, Eibolt, thanks !....for this the sea Shall smooth its ruffled crest for thee ; And, while afar its billows foam, , Subside to peace near Ribolt's tomb. Thanks, Eibolt, thanks !....for this the might Of wild winds raging at their height. When to thy place of slumber nigh, Shall soften to a lullaby. She, the Dame of doubt and dread, Noma of the Fitful-head, Mighty in her own despite, Miserable in her might. In despair and frenzy great, In her greatness desolate, — Wisest, wickedest who lives, — Well can keep the word she gives. NORNA AND MINNA. CHARM TO THE FIRE. THOU, so needful, yet so dread, With cloudy crest, and wing of red ; Thou, without whose genial breath The North would sleep the sleep of death ; o 158 WAVERLEY POETRV. Who deign'st to warm the cottage hearth, Yet hurPst proud palaces to earth, — Brightest, keenest of the Powers, Which form and rule this world of ours, With my rhyme of Runic, I Thank thee for thy agency. ^ ^ jj; Jt jfc TV "Ti" -TV "T*" TV TO THE EARTH. Old Reim-kennar, to thy art Mother Hertha sends her part ; She, whose gracious bounty gives Needful food for all that lives. From the deep mine of the North Came the mystic metal forth, Doomed, amidst disjointed stones, Long to cere a champion's bones, Disinhumed my charms to aid — Mother Earth, my thanks are paid. tP t? tv' tP mr TO THE WATER. Girdle of our islands dear, Element of Water, hear ! Thou whose power can overwhelm Broken mounds and ruined realm On the lowly Belgian strand ; All thy fiercest rage can never Of our soil a furlong sever WAVERLEY POETRY. 159 From our rock-defended land ; Play then gently thou thy part, To assist old Noma's art. .V, 41. ^ .^ J|e 'Tf ^ ^ ^ Tv Elements, each other greeting. Gifts and powers attend your meeting ! ^ -^ -^ 'Vr •Sfe •Jv* TV" TV TV •Tv' TO THE WINDS. Thou, that over billows dark Safely send'st the fisher's bark ; Giving him a path and motion Through the wilderness of ocean ; Thou, that when the billows brave ye. O'er the shelves canst drive the navy, — Didst thou chafe as one neglected, While thy brethren were respected ? To appease thee, see, I tear This full grasp of grizzled hair ; Oft thy breath hath through it sung, Softening to my magic tongue, — Now 'tis thine to bid it fly Through the wide expanse of sky, 'Mid the countless swarms to sail Of wild fowl wheeling on thy gale ; Take thy portion and rejoice, — Spirit, thou hast heard my voice ' 160 WAVERLEY POETRY. # ^ ^ # ^ # She who sits by haunted well Is subject to the Nixie's spell ; She who walks on lonely beach, To the Mermaid's charmed speech ; She who walks round ring of green, Offends the peevish Fairy Queen ; And she who takes rest in the Dwarfie's cave, A weary weird of wo shall have. By ring, by spring, by cave, by shore, Minna Troil has braved all this and more ; And yet hath the root of her sorrow and ill A source that's more deep and more mystical stilL KORNA FORETELS MINNA'S FATE. Thou art within a Demon's hold. More wise than Heims, more strong than TroUd ; No siren sings so sweet as he, — No fay springs lighter on the lea ; No elfin power hath half the art To sooth, to move, to wring the heart, — Life-blood from the cheek to drain, Drench the eye, and dry the vein. Maiden ! ere we farther go, Dost thou note me, ay or no ? WAVERLEY POETRY. 161 MINNA ANSWERS. I mark thee, my mother, both word, look, and sign ; Speak on with the riddle.... to read it be mine, NORNA. Mark me ! for the word I speak Shall bring the color to thy cheek* This leaden heart, so light of cost, The symbol of a treasure lost. Thou shalt wear in hope and in peace, That the cause of your sickness and sorrow may cease, When crimson foot meets crimson hand In the Martyrs' Aisle, and in Orkney land, ^ ^ -y? -lr Be patient, be patient ! for Patience hath power To ward us in danger, like mantle in shower ; A fairy gift you best may hold In a chain of fairy gold ; — The chain and the gift are each a true token. That not without warrant old Noma has spoken ; But thy nearest and dearest must never behold them. Till time shall accomplish the truths I have told them. ADVICE TO MAIDENS. MENSEFUL maiden ne'er should rise, Till the first beam tinge the skies ; 02 162 WAVEKLEY poetry. Silk-fringed eyelids still should cIosGj Till the sun has kissed the rose ; Maiden's foot we should not view, Marked with tiny print on dew, Till the opening flowerets spread Carpet meet for beauty's tread. THE FORTUNE TELLER. SEE yonder woman, whom our swains revere, And dread in secret, while they take her counsel When sweethearts shall be kind, or when cross dame shall die ; Where lurks the thief who stole the silver tankard, And how the pestilent murrain may be cured. This sage adviser's mad, stark mad, my friend ; Yet, in her madness, hath the art and cunning To wring fools' secrets from their inmost bosoms, And pay inquirers with the coin they gave her. CONTINUATION OF AULD ROBIN GRAY. NAE langer she wept.. ..her tears were a' spent.... Despair it was come, and she thought it content ; She thought it content, but her cheek it grew pale, And she drooped, like a lily broke down by the haiL WAVERLEY fOETRY. 163 SAILORS ON SHORE* WHAT ho, my jovial mates ! come on ! we'll frolic it Like fairies frisking in the merry moonshine, Seen by the curtal friar, who, from some christening, Or some blithe bridal, hies belated cellward, — He starts and changes his bold bottle swagger To churchman's pace professional, and, ransacking His treacherous memory for some holy hymn. Finds but the roundel of the midnight catch. THE POWER OF HABIT. I STRIVE like to the vessel in the tide-way, Which, lacking favoring breeze, hath not the power To stem the powerful current. Even so, Resolving daily to forsake my vices, Habit, strong circumstance, renewed temptation, Sweep me to sea again. heavenly breath, Fill thou my sails, and aid the feeble vessel. Which ne'er can reach the blessed port without thee ! OUTLAW'S LAW\ OF an outlawe, this is the lawe,— That men him take and bind, Without pitie hanged to be. And waive vfith the wind. 164 WAVERLEY POETRY. BRYCE SNAILSFOOT'S ADVERTISEMENT, POOR sinners, whom the snake deceives, Are fain to cover them with leaves. Zetland hath no leaves, 'tis true, Because that trees are none, or few ; But we have flax and taits of woo', For linen cloth and wadmaal blue ; And we have many of foreign knacks Of finer waft than woo' or flax. Ye gallanty Lambmas lads appear. And bring your Lambmas sisters here, Bryce Snailsfoot spares not cost nor care, To pleasure every gentle pair. DICK FLETCHER'S SONG. IT was a ship, and a ship of fame, Launched off* the stocks, bound for the main. With a hundred and fifty brisk young men, All picked and chosen every one. Captain Glen was our captain's name, A very gallant and brisk young man ; As bold a sailor as e'er went to sea, And we were bound for High Barbary. WAVERLEY POETRY. 165 CHORUS OF THE PIRATES. EOBIN Rover Said to his crew, Up with the black flag, Down with the blue ! Fire on the main-top, Fire on the bow. Fire on the gun-deck, Fire down below ! ROBBERS' QUARRELS. HARK to the insult loud, the bitter sneer. The fierce threat answering to the brutal jeer ; Oaths fly like pistol shots, and vengeful words Clash with each other like conflicting swords. The robber's quarrel by such sounds is shown. And true men have some chance to gain their own. LOVE OVERCOMES ALL. OVER the mountains, and under the waves, Over the fountains, and under the graves, Over floods that are deepest. Which Neptune obey, Over rocks that are steepest, Love will find out the way. 166 WAVERLEY POETRY. THE SCOT IN LONDON. NOW Scot and English are agreed, And Saunders hastes to cross the Tweed, Where, such the splendors that attend him, His very mother scarce had kend him. His metamorphosis behold, From Glasgow frieze to cloth of gold ; His backsword, with the. iron hilt, To rapier, fairly hatch'd and gilt. Was ever seen a gallant braver ? His very bonnet's grown a beaver. GEORGE HERRIOT. THIS, sir, is one among the Seignory, Has wealth at will, and will to use his wealth. And wit to increase it. Marry, his worst folly Lies ia a thriftless sort of charity. That goes a gadding sometimes after objects Which wise men will not see when thrust upon them. * ^ :^ ^ :K' Ay, sir, the clouted shoe hath oft-times craft in't, As says the rustic proverb ; and your citizen, In's grogram suit, gold chain, and well-black'd shoes, Bears under his flat cap oft-times a brain Wiser than burns beneath the cap and feather. Or seethes within the statesn^ian's velvet nightcap. WAVERLEY POETRY. 167 THE COURT. WHEREFORE come ye not to court ? Certain 'tis the rarest sport ; There are silks and jewels glistening, Prattling fools, and wise men listening, Bullies among brave men justling. Beggars amongst nobles bustling ; Low-breathed talkers, minion lispers, Cutting honest throats by whispers ; Wherefore come ye not to court ? Skelton swears 'tis glorious sport. THE INaUISITIVE FEMALE. AY ! mark the matron well, and laugh not, Harry, At her old steeple hat and velvet guard. I've called her like the ear of Dionysius ; I mean that ear-formed vault, built o'er his dungeon, To catch the groans and discontented murmurs Of his poor bondsmen. Even so doth Martha Drink up, for her own purpose, all that passes, Or is supposed to pass, in this wide city. She can retail it too, if that her profit Shall call on her to do so ; and retail it For your advantage, so that you can make Your profit jump with hers. 168 WAVERLEY POETRY. FATE OF A SUITOR AT COURT. SO pitiful a thing is suitor's state ! Most miserable man, whom wicked fate Hath brought to Court to sue, for Had I loist, That few have found, and many a one hath missed ! Full little knowest thou, that hast not tried, What hell it is, in sueing long to bide ; To lose good days that might be better spent ; To waste long nights in pensive discontent ; To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow ; To feed on hope, to pine with fear and sorrow ; To have thy Prince's grace, yet want her Peers' ; To have thy asking, yet wait many years ; To fret thy soul with crosses and with cares ; To eat thy heart through comfortless despairs ; To fawn, to crouch, to Wait, to ride, to run, To spend, to give, to want, to be undone. THE ONE THING NEEDFUL. THINGS needful we have thought on ; but the thing Of all most needful, — that which Scripture terms, As if alone it merited regard. The ONE thing needful, — that's yet unconsidered. WAVERLEY POETRY. 169 THE STALE WIT. 0, I do know him, — 'tis the mouldy lemon, Which our court wits will wet their lips withal, When they would sauce their honied conversation With somewhat sharper flavor. Marry, sir. That virtue's well nigh left him ; all the juice That was so sharp and poignant, is squeezed out ; While the poor rind, although as sour as ever, Must season soon the draff we give our grunters, For two-legged things are weary on't. THE CLUB HOUSE. . . . THIS is the very barn-yard, Where muster daily the prime cocks o' the game, Ruffle their pinions, crow till they are hoarse, And spar about a barley-corn. Here too chickens, The callow, unfledged brood of forward folly. Learn first to rear the crest, and aim the spur, And tune their note like full-plumed chanticleer. BIRTH-DAY PROVERB. Full moon and high sea, Great man shalt thou be ; Eed dawning, stormy sky, Bloody death shalt thou die. 170 WAVERLEY POETRY. PATIENCE IN DIFFICULTIES. LET the proud salmon gorge the feathered hook, Then strike, and then you have him. He will wince ; Spin out your line that it shall whistle from you Some twenty yards or so, yet you shall have him. Marry ! you must have patience, — the stout rock Which is his trust, hath edges something sharp ; And the deep pool hath ooze and sludge enough To mar your fishing, 'less you are more careful. A LONDON BORE. 'TWAS when fleet Snowball's head was woxen grey, A luckless leveret met him on his way. Who knows not Snowball ? — he, whose race renowned, Is still victorious on each coursing ground ? SvvafTham, Newmarket, and the Roman Camp, Have seen them victors o'er each meaner stamp. In vain the youngling sought, with doubling wile, The hedge, the hill, the thicket, or the stile. Experience sage the lack of speed supplied, And in the gap he sought, the victim died. So was I once, in thy fair street. Saint James, Through walking cavaliers, and car-borne dames, Descried, pursued, turned o'er again, and o'er, Coursed, coted, mouthed by an unfeeling bore. WAVERLEY POETRY. 171 DICING AND DRINKING. BID not thy fortune troll upon the wheels Of yonder dancing cubes of mottled bone \ And drown it not, like Egypt's royal harlot, Dissolving her rich pearl in the brimmed wine-cup. These are the arts, Lothario, which shrink acres Into brief yards, bring sterling pounds to farthings, Credit to infamy ; and the poor gull. Who might have lived an honored, easy life, To ruin, and an unregarded grave. SELF REDRESS. GIVE way — give way — I must and will have justice. And tell me not of privilege and place ; Where I am injured, there I'll sue redress. Look to it, every one who bars my access ; I have a heart to feel the injury, A hand to right myself, and, by my honor, That hand shall grasp what greybeard Law denies me. AN UNCOAXABLE DOG. BINGO, why. Bingo ! hey, hey — here, sir, here., He's gone and off, but he'll be home before us ; 'Tis the most wayward cur e'er mumbled bone, 172 WAVERLEY POETRY. Or dogged a master's footstep. Bingo loves me Better than ever beggar loved his alms ; Yet, when he takes such humor, you may coax Sweet mistress Fantasy, your worship's mistress, Out of her sullen moods, as soon as Bingo. BE JUST, AND FEAR NOT. THIS way lies safety and a sure retreat ; Yonder lie danger, shame, and punishment. Most w-elcome danger then — Nay, let me say, Tho' spoke with swelling heart — welcome e'en shame ; And w^elcome punishment. For, call me guilty, 1 do but pay the tax that's due to justice ; And call me guiltless, then that punishment Is shame to those alone who do inflict it. MIDNIGHT ROBBERS. THIS is the time. Heaven's maiden sentinel Hath quitted her high watch ; the lesser spangles Are paling one by one ; give me the ladder And the short lever ; bid Anthony Keep with his carabine the wicket-gate ; And do thou bare thy knife and follow me, For we will in and do it. Darkness like this Is dawning of our fortunes. WAVERLEY POETRY. 173 MARGARET RAMSAY. BY this good light, a wench of matchless mettle ! This were a leaguer-lass to love a soldier, To bind his wounds, and kiss his bloody brow, And sing a roundel as she helped to arm him. Though the rough foemen's drums were beat so nigh, They seemed to bear the burden. LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT. Mother, What ! dazzled by a flash of Cupid's mirror, With which the boy, as mortal urchins wont. Flings back the sunbeam in the eye of passengers-— Then laughs to see them stumble ! Daughter, Mother ! no — It was a lightning flash which dazzled m6, And never shall these eyes see true again* PITY. HOW fares the man on whom good men would look With eyes where scorn and censure combated. But that kind christian love hath taught the lesson- That they, who merit most contempt and hate. Do most deserve our pity* P2 lU WAVERLEY POETRY. THE ALSATIANS. COME hither, young one— Mark me ! Thou art now 'Mongst men o* the sword, that live by reputation More than by constant income. Single-suited They are, I grant you ; yet each single suit Maintains, on the rough guess, a thousand followers— And they be men, who, hazarding their all, Needful apparel, necessary income, And human body, and immortal soul. Do in the very deed but hazard nothing — So strictly is that ALL bound in reversion ; Clothes to the broker, income to the usurer, And body to disease, and soul to the foul Fiend j Who laughs to see Soldadoes and Fooladoes play better than himself his game on earth. I>ETITION FOR ADMISSION TO ALSATIA. YOUR suppliant, by name Nigel Grahame, In fear of mishap From a shoulder-tap ; And dreading a claw From the talons of law, That are sharper than briars ,* WAVEKLEY POETRY. 175 His freedom to sue, '^ And rescue by you— Through weapon and wit» From warrant and writ, From bailiff's hand, From tipstaff's wand. Is come hither to Whitefriars. ALSATIAN OATH. BY spigot and barrel. By bilbo and buff. Thou art sworn to the quarrel Of the blades of the huff, For Whitefriars and its claims To be champion or martyr, And to fight for its dames Like a Knight of the Garter, PRIVILEGE OF SANCTUARY. From the touch of the tip, From the blight of the warrant, From the watchmen who skip On the Harman Beck's errand ; From the bailiff's cramp speech, That makes man a thrall, 176 WAVERLEY POETRY. I charm thee from each, And I charm thee from all. Thy freedom's complete As a Blade of the Huff, To be cheated and cheat, To be cuffed and to cuff; To stride, swear, and swagger, To drink till you stagger, To stare and to stab, And to brandish your dagger In the cause of your drab ; To walk wool-ward in winter, Drink brandy, and smoke, And go fresco in summer For want of a cloak ; To eke out your living By the wag of your elbow, By fulham and gourd, And by baring of bilbo ; To live by your shifts. And to swear by your honor, Are the freedom and gifts Of which I am the donor. WAVEKLEY POETRY. 177 CHANCE. CHANCE will not do the work.... Chance sends the breeze ; But if the pilot slumber at the helm, The very wind that wafts us towards the port May dash us on the shelves. The steersman's part is vigilance, Blow it or rough or smooth. DEATH. DEATH finds us 'mid our playthings ; snatches us, As a cross nurse might do a wayward child, From all our toys and baubles. His rough call Unlooses all our favorite ties on earth ; And well, if they are such as may be answered In yonder world, where all is judged of truly. THE SILENT FLIGHT. GIVE us good voyage, gentle stream ; we stun not Thy sober ear with sounds of revelry ; Wake not the slumbering echoes of thy banks With voice of flute and horn ; we do but seek, On the broad pathway of thy swelling bosom, To glide in silent safety. 178 WAVERLEY POETRY- WOMAN ' S C OXFIDENCE. CREDIT me, friend, it hath been ever thus, Since the Ark rested on Mount Ararat, False man hath sworn, and woman hath believed — Repented and reproach'd, and then believ'd once more. SIGN ON AN ALEHOUSE KEPT BY A BARBER. ROVE not from pole to pole — the man lives here Whose razor's only equalled by his beer ; And where, in either sense, the cockney-put May, if he pleases, get confounded cut. COLEPEPPER'S ADDRESS TO A MATE. THOU son of parchment, got betwixt the ink-horn And the stuffed process-bag — that mayest call The pen thy father, and the ink thy mother. The wax thy brother, and the sand thy sister, And the good pillory thy cousin allied — Rise, and do reverence unto me, thy better ! ^ ^ ^o ^ ^ And three merry men, and three merry men, And three merry men are we, As ever did sing three parts in a string, All under the triple tree. WAVERLEY POETRY. 179 FENELLA. . . . . CAN she not speak ? If speech be only in accented sounds, Framed by the tongue and iips, the maiden's dumb , But if by quick and apprehensive look, By motion, sign, and glance, to give each meaning, Express as clothed in language, be termed speech, She hath that wondrous faculty ; for her eyes, Like the bright stars of heaven, can hold discourse, Though it be mute and soundless. WAR ON THE VIANDS. WHY, then we will have bellowing of beeves, Broaching of barrels, brandishing of spigots ; Blood shall flow freely, but it shall be gore Of herds and flocks, and venison and poultry, Joined to the brave hearts-bteod of John-a-Barleycorn ! NO, sir, 1 will not pledge— I'm one of those Who think good wine needs neither bush nor preface To make it welcome. If you doubt my word, Fill the quart cup, and see if I will choke on't. 180 WAVERLEY POETRY. PRIDE OF BIRTH. MARRY come up, sir, with your gentle blood ; Here's a red stream beneath this coarse blue doublet, That warms the heart as kindly as if drawn From the far source of old Assyrian kings, Who first made mankind subject to their sw^ay. BRAGADOCIA. Swash-buckler, Bilboa's the word — Pierrot, It hath been spoken too often, The spell hath lost its charm. I tell thee, friend. The meanest cur that trots the street will turn And snarl against your proffered bastinado, S, 'Tis art shall do it then — I will dose the mongrels, Or, in plain terms, I'll use the private knife 'Stead of the brandished falchion. SIN'S PROGRESS. WE are not worst at once. The course of evil Begins so slowly, and from such slight source. An infant's hand might stem its breach with clay ; But let the stream get deeper, and philosophy — Ay, and religion too — shall strive in vain To turn the headlong torrent. • WAVERLEY POETRiT. 181 HUMAN FRAILTY. THE course of human life is changeful still, As is the fickle wind and wandering rill ; Or, like the light dance which the wild breeze weaves Amidst the faded race of fallen leaves ; Which now his breath bears down, now tosses high, Beats to the earth, or w^afts to middle sky. Such, and so varied, the precarious play Of fate with man, frail tenant of a day ! ^ :^ * # No human quality is so well wove, • In warp and woof, but there's some flaw in it. I've known a brave man fly a shepherd's cur, A wise man so demean him, drivelling idiocy Had well nigh been ashamed on't. For your crafty, Your worldly-wise man, he, above the rest, Weaves his own snares so fine, he's often caught in them. THE SILENT RECOGNITION. WE meet, as men see phantoms in a dream, Which glide, and sigh, and sign, and move their lips, But make no sound ; or, if they utter voice, 'Tis but a low and undistinguished moaning, Which has nor word nor sense of uttered sound, Q 182 WAVERLEY POETRY. THE POLITICIAN. THIS is a lecturer so skilled in policy, That (no disparagement to Satan's cunning) He well might read a lesson to the devil, And teach the old seducer new temptations. THE CONVERTED CAVALIER. Ye thought in the world there was no power to tame ye, So you tippled and drabb'd till the saints overcame ye ; "Forsooth," and^" Ne'er stir," sir, have vanquished " G— d—n me," Which nobody can deny. There was bluff old Sir Geoffrey loved brandy and mum well. And to see a beer-glass turned over the thumb well ; But he fled like the wind before Fairfax and Cromwell, Which nobody can deny. THE ENLISTMENT. HERE, hand me down the Statute — read the articles — Swear, kiss the book — subscribe, and be a hero ; Drawing a portion from the public stock For deeds of valor to be done hereafter — Sixpence per day, subsistence and arrears. WAVERLEY POETRY. Ib3 SONGS OF THE ORDINARY. HEY for cavaliers— ho for cavaliers, Pray for cavaliers, Dub-a-dub, dub-a-dub, Have at old Beelzebuh, Oliver shakes in his bier. Good even to you, Diccon, And how have you sped ? Bring you the bonny bride To banquet and bed ? Content thee, kind Eobin ; He needs little care, Who brings home a fat buck Instead of a hare. All joy to great Caesar, Long life, love, and pleasure ; May the King live forever ! 'Tis no matter for us, boys. HE was a fellow in a peasant's garb ; Yet one, could censure you a woodcock's carving Like any courtier at the ordinary. 184 WAVERLEY POETRY. NICENESS. " Speak not of niceness, when there's chance of wreck," The captain said, as ladies writhed their neck To see the dying dolphin flap the deck ; *' If we go down, on us these gentry sup ; We dine upon them, if we haul them up. Wise men applaud us when we eat the eaters, As the devil laughs when keen folks cheat the cheaters." MERCENARY MARRIAGES. PAINTERS show Cupid blind— Hath Hymen eyes ? Or is his sight warped by those spectacles Which parents, guardians, and advisers lend him, That he may look through them on lands and mansions. On jewels, gold, and all such rich dotations, And see their value ten times magnified ?.... Methinks 'twill brook a question. THE PREACHER. HE came amongst them like a new-raised spirit, To speak of dreadful judgments that impend, And of the wrath to come. WHAT know we of the blest above, But that they sing, and that they love ? Wi^VERLEY POETRY. 185! A DESPAIRING LOVER. BUT when he came near, Beholding how steep The sides did appear, And the bottom how deep ; Though his suit was rejected, He sadly reflected, That a lover frrsaken A new lova may get ; But a neck that's once broken Can never be set. THE DREAM. AND so^ne for safety took the dreadful leap ; Some, for the voice of Heaven seemed calling on them ; Sorre, for advancement or for lucre's sake ; I leaped in frolic. CASTLE OF PLESSIS-LES-TOURS. FULL in the midst a mighty pile arose. Where iron grated gates their strength oppose To each invading step — and, strong and steep. The battled walls arose, the fosse sunk deep. Slow round the fortress rolled the sluggish stream, And high in middle air the warder's turrets gleam, as 156 WAVERLEY POETRY. ON THE DEATH AND MURDER Of Receiver-General William Christian of Ronaldsway, who was shot near Hango Hill, 1662. Translated from the Manx. IN SO shifting a scene, who would confidence place In family power, youth, or in personal grace ? No character's proof against enmitv foul ; And thy fate, William Dhone, sickens our souL You are Derby's receiver of patriot zeal, Replete with good sense, and reputed genteel, Your justice applauded by the young and the old ; And thy fate, &c. A kind, able patron both to church and to stav? — What roused their resentment but talents so great ? No character's proof against enmity foul , And thy fate, &;c. Thy pardon, 'tis rumor'd, came over the main, Nor late, but concealed by a villain in grain ; 'Twas fear forced the jury to a sentence so foul ; And thy fate, &:c. Triumphant stood Colcott, he wished for no more, When the pride of the Christians lay weltering in gore, To malice a victim, though steady and bold ; Arid thy fate, &c. WAVERLEY POETRY. 187 With adulter}'' stained, and polluted with gore, He Ronalds way eyed, as LoghuecoUy before, *Twas the land sought the culprit, as Ahab before ; And thy fate, &c. Proceed to the once famed abode of the Nuns, Call the Colcotts aloud, till you torture your lungs, Their short triumph's ended, extinct is the whole ; And thy fate, &;c. For years could Robert lay crippled in bed. Nor knew the world peace while he held up his head. The neighborhood's scourge in iniquity bold ; And thy fate, &;c. Not one's heard to grieve, seek the country all through, Nor lament for the name that Bemacan once knew ; The poor rather load it with curses untold t And thy fate, &:c. Ballaclogh and the Criggans mark strongly their sin, Not a soul of the name's there to welcome you in ; In the power of the strangers is centered the whole ; And thy fate, &c. The opulent Scarlett, on which the sea flows, Is piecemeal disposed of, to whom the Lord knows ; It is here without bread, or defence from the cold ; And thy fate, &c. 188 WAVERLEY POETRY. They assert it in vain, that the law sought thy blood, For all aiding the massacre never did good ; Like the rooted-up golding deprived of its gold, They languished, were blasted, grew withered and old* When the shoots of a tree so corrupted remain, Like the briar or thistle, they goad us with pain ; Deep, dark, undermining, they mimic the mole ; And thy fate, &c. Round the infamous wretches who spilt Caesar^s blood, Dead spectres and conscience in sad array stood. Not a man of the gang reached life's utmost goal ; And thy fate, &c. Perdition too seized them who caused thee to bleed, To decay fell their houses, their lands and their seed Disappear 'd like the vapor when morn's ting'd with gold, t And thy fate, &c. From grief all corroding, to hope I'll repair. That a branch of the Christians will soon grace the chair, With royal instructions his foes to console ; And thy fate, &c. With a book for my pillow, I dreamt as I lay. That a branch of the Christians would hold Eonaldsway; His conquests his topic with friends o'er a bowl ; And thy fate, &c. WAVERLEY POETRY. 189 And now for a wish, in concluding my song,.... May th' Almighty withhold me from doing what's wrong! Protect every mortal from enmity foul, For thy fate, William Dhone sickens my soul. AIR.... COUNTY GUY. AH! County Guy, the hour is nigh, The sun has left the lea, The orange-flower perfumes the bower, The breeze is on the sea. The lark his lay who thrilled all day, Sits hushed his partner nigh ; Breeze, bird, and flower, confess the hour, But where is County Guy ? The village maid steals through the shade. Her shepherd's suit to hear ; To beauty shy, by lattice high. Sings high-born cavalier. The star of Love, all stars above, Now reigns o'er earth and sky ; And high and low the influence know — But where is County Guy ? HERE'S neither want of appetite nor mouths, Pray Heaven we be not scant of meat or mirth. 190 WAVERLEY POETRY. BOHEMIAN GYPSY. SAE rantingly, sae wantonly, Sae dantonly gaed he, He played a spring and danced a round Beneath the gallows-tree ! ■At, ^L, .^ .M, .. TV' W W W * HE was a son of Egypt, as he told me, And one descended from those dread magicians, Who waged rash war, when Israel dwelt in Goshen, With Israel and her prophet.. ..matching rod With his the sons of Levi's.. ..and encountering Jehovah's miracles with incantations. Till upon Egypt came the avenging angel. And those proud sages wept for their first-born, As wept the unlettered peasant. ^ ^ >)^ ^ ^ ^ I am as free as Nature first made man. Ere the base laws of servitude began. When wild in woods the noble savage ran. LOVE LETTER. WELCOME, she said, my swete Squyre, My heartis roote, my soule's desire ; I will give thee kisses three, And als five hundrid poundis in fee. WAVERLEY POETRY. 191 FREEDOM AND SLAVERY. AH, freedom is a noble thing.... Freedom makes man to have liking.... Freedom the zest to pleasure gives.... He lives at ease who freely lives. Grief, sickness, poortith, want, are all Summed up within the name of thrall. FRANCE. I SEE thee yet, fair France.... thou favored land Of art and nature.... thou art still before me ; Thy sons, to whom their labor is a sport, So well thy grateful soil returns its tribute ; Thy sun-burnt daughters, with their laughing eyes And glossy raven locks. But, favored France, Thou hast had many a tale of wo to tell, In ancient times as now. GEOFFREY HUDSON. HERE stand I, tight and trim, Quick of eye, though little of limb ; He who dei^eth the word I have spoken, Betwixt him and me shall lances be broken. 192 WAVERLEY POETRY. PRISONER OF WAR. RESCUE or none, Sir Knight, I am your captive ; Deal with me what your nobleness suggests.... Thinking the chance of war may one day place you Where I must now be reckoned.. ..i' the roll Of melancholy prisoners. THE COURT. HIGH feasting was there there — the gilded roofs Eung to the wassail health — the dancer's step Sprung to the chord responsive — the gay gamester To fate's disposal flung his heap of gold, And laughed alike when it increased or lessened. Such virtue hath court-air to teach us patience Which schoolmen preach in vain. NECESSITY. NECESSITY— thou best of peace-makers, As woll as surest prompter of invention — Help us to composition ! NOW, hoist the anchor, mates — and let the sails Give their broad bosom to the buxoii% wind, Like lass that wooes a lover. WAVERLEY POETRY. 193 SLAVE TO THE DEVIL. THY time is not yet out.. ..the devil thou servest Hath not as yet deserted thee. . He aids i The friends who drudge for him, as the blind man Was aided by the guide, who lent his shoulder O'er rough and smooth, until he reached the brink Of the fell precipice.. ..then hurled him downward. GULLIBILITY. . . . This is some creature of the elements, Most like your sea gull. He can wheel and whistle His screaming song, e'en when the storm is loudest — Take for his sheeted couch the restless foam Of the wild wave-crest — slumber in the calm. And dally with the storm. Yet 'tis a gull, An .arrant gull, with all this. THE TROTH-PLIGHT. HOLD fast thy truth, young soldier. Gentle maiden, Keep you your promise plight. Leave age its subtleties, And grey-haired policy its maze of falsehood ; But be you candid as the morning sky, Ere the high sun sucks vapors up to stain it. R 194 WAVERLEY POETRY. HYPOCRISY. I FEAR the devil worst when gown and cassock, Or, in the lack of them, old Calvin's cloak, Conceals his cloven hoof. THE SAGE. TALK not of Kings — I scorn the poor comparison ; I am a Sage, and can command the elements — At least men think I can ; and on that thought I found unbounded empire. SORROWFUL MEETING. THIS a love meeting ? See the maiden mourns, And the sad suitor bends his look on earth. There's more hath passed between them than belongs To Love's sweet sorrows. TABLE TALK. AND, sir, if these accounts be true. The Dutch have mighty things in view ; The Austrians I admire French beans. Dear ma'am, above all other greens. .M, ^ ^ ^ ^L, T? "TV" *«* TV* W And all as lively and as brisk As Ma'am, do you choose a game at whisk ? WAVERLEY POETRY. 195 FAMILY LOVE. NEAREST of blood should still be next in love ; And when I see these happy children playing, While William gathers flowers for Ellen's ringlets, And Ellen dresses flies for William's angle, I scarce can think, that in advancing life, Coldness, unkindness, interest, or suspicion, Will e'er divide that unity so sacred, Which Nature bound at birth. THE PROPOSAL. OH ! you would be a vestal maid, I warrant. The bride of Heaven. Come.. ..we may shake your purpose ; For here I bring in hand a jolly suitor Hath ta'en degrees in the seven sciences That ladies love best. He is young and noble, Handsome and valiant, gay, and rich, and liberal. GOVERNMENT. THERE must be government in all society.... Bees have their queen, and stag-herds have their leader. Rome had her consuls, Athens had her archons, And we, sir, have our Managing Committee. 196 WAVERLEY POETRY. CARE. TRANSLATION FROM HORACE. Sedct post equitem atra ciira Still though the headlong cavalier O'er rough and smooth, in wild career, Seems racing with the wind ; His sad companion.... ghastly pale, And darksome as a widow's veil. Care.. ..keeps her seat behind. ASKING COUNSEL. COME, let me have thy counsel, for I need it ; Thou art of those, who better help their friends With sage advice, than usurers with gold. Or brawlers with their swords. ...I'll trust to thee, For I ask only from thee words, not deeds. THE CONFESSIONAL. A LOVELY lass to a friar came, To confession a-morning early ; — *' In what, my dear, are you to blame ? Come tell me most sincerely." *' Alas, my fault I dare not name — But my lad he loved me dearly." WAVERLEY POETRY. 197 OMINOUS. WHEN Princes meet, Astrologers may mark it An ominous conjunction^ full of boding, Like that of Mars with Saturn. DEATH-BED OF THE WICKED. IT comes. ...it wrings me in my parting hour, The long-hid crime.... the well-disguised guilt. Bring me some holy priest to lay the spectre ! THE VAGRANTS' SONG. JACK looked at the sun, and cried, Fire, fire, fire ! Jem stabled his keffel in Birkendale mire ; Tom startled a calf, and halloo'd for a stag ; Will mounted a gate-post instead of his nag ; For all our men were very very merry. And all our men were drinking ; There were two men of mine, Three men of thine, And three that belonged to old Sir Thom o' Lyne ; As they went to the ferry, they were very very merry, For all our men were drinkinn. Erl-King. O come and go with me ; no longer delay, Or else, silly child, I will drag thee away. 252 WAVERLEY POETRY. * father ! O father ! now, now keep your hold '. The Erl-King has seized me — his grasp is so cold ! ' Sore tremhled the father ; he spurred through the wild, Clasping close to his hosom his shuddering child ; He reaches his dwelling in doubt and in dread, But, clasped to his bosom, the infant was dead ! SCOTT'S DEAREST HAUNTS. SWEET are the paths, O passing sweet, By Esk's fair streams that run, O'er airy steep, through copsewood deep, Impervious to the sun ; From that fair dome where suit is paid By blast of bugle free, To Auchendinny's hazel shade, And haunted Woodhouselee. Who knows not Melville's beechy grove, And Roslin's rocky glen ? Dalkeith, which all the virtues love, And classic Hawthornden ? TO BONAPARTE. BONY ! I'll owe you a curse, if Hereafter To my vision your tyrannous spectre shall show ; But I doubt you'll be pinned on old Nick's reddest rafter, While the vulgar of Tophet howl back from below. WAVEELEY POETRY. 253 ANSWER TO THE REQUEST, " DO NOT FORGET US." FORGET thee ? No, my worthy frere I Forget blythe mirth and gallant cheer ? Death sooner stretch me on my bier ! Forget thee ? No. Forget the universal shout, When canny Sunderland spoke out — A truth which knaves affect to doubt — Forget thee ? No. Forget you ? No — though now-a-day I've heard your knowing people say, Disown the debt you cannot pay. You'll find it far the thriftiest way — But I ? no. Forget your kindness found for all room In what, though large, seemed still a small room, Forget my Surtccs in a ball room — Forget you ? No. Forget your sprightly dumpty-diddles, And beauty tripping to the fiddles, Forget my lovely friends the Liddells ? Forget you ! Np. 254 WAVERLEY POETRY. "To-day I leave Mrs. Brown's lodgings." July 13, 1225. SO, good by, Mrs. Brown, I am going out of town, Over dale, over down, Where bugs bite not, Where lodgers fight not, Where below your chairmen drink not. Where beside you gutters stink not ; But all is fresh, and clear and gay, And merry lambkins sport and play ; And they toss wnth rakes uncommonly short hay, Which looks as if it had been sown only the other day, And where oats are at twenty-five shillings a boll, they say. But all's one for that, since I must and will away. TARRY woo', tarry woo' Tarry woo' is ill to spin ; Card it weel, card it weel, Card it weel, ere ye begin. When 'tis carded, rowed, and spun, Then the work is hafHins done ; But when woven, drest, and 'clean, It may be cleading for a queen. WAVEPwLEY POETRY. 255 LETTER FROxM ZETLAND AND ORKNEY. To his Grace the Duke of Euccleuch, &c. Light-house Yacht, in tlie Sound of Lerwick, Zetland, 8th Aug. 1814. HEALTH to the Chieftain from his clansman true ! From her true minstrel health to fair Buccleuch I Health from the isles, where dewy Morning weaves Her chaplet with the tints that Twilight leaves ; Where late the sun scarce vanished from the sight, And his bright pathway graced the short-lived night, Though darker now as autumn's shades extend, The north winds whistle, and the mists ascend. Health from the land w^here eddying whirlwinds toss The storm-rocked cradle of the Cape of Noss ; On outstretched cords the giddy engine slides. His own strong arm the bold adventurer guides, And he that lists such desperate feat to try, May, like the sea-mew, skim 'twixt surf and sky, And feel the mid-air gales around him blow. And see the billows rao-e five hundred feet below. Here, by each stormy peak and desert shore. The hardy isles-man tugs the daring oar. Practised alike his venturous course to keep Through the w^hite breakers or the pathless deep, By ceaseless peril and by toil to gain A wretched pittance from the niggard main. 255 t7AVEHLEY POETRY. And when the worn-out drudge eld ocean leaves, What comfort greets hinn and what hut receives ? Lady I the worst your presence e'er has cheered (When want and sorrow fled as you appeared) Were to a Zetlander as the high donr.e Gf proud Drumlanrig to my humble home. Here rise no groves, and here no gardens blow, Here even the hardy heath scarce dares to grow ; Eut rocks on rocks, in mist and storm arrayed. Stretch far to sea their giant colonnade, V/ith many a cavern seamed, the dreary haunt Of the dun seal and swarthy cormorant. Wild round their rifted brows with frequent cry, As of lament, the gulls and gannets fly, And from their sable base, with sullen sound, In sheets of whitening foam the waves rebound. Yet even these coasts a touch of envy gain From those whose land has known oppression's chain ; For here the industrious Dutrhmian comes once m.ore To moor his Ashing c|^ft by Bressay's shore ; Greets every former mate and brother tar, jMarvels how Lerwick 'scaped the rage of war. Tells miany a tale of Gallic outrage done. And ends by blessing God and Wellington. Here too the Greenland tar, a fiercer guest, Claims a brief hour of riot, not of rest ; VVAVERLEY POETRY. 257 Proves each wild frolic that in wine has birth, And wakes the land Vvath brawls and boisterous mirth. A sadder sight on yon poor vessel's prow, The captive Norseman sits in silent wo, And eyes the flags of Britain as they flow. Hard fate of war, which bade her terrors sway His destined course, and seize so mean a prey ; A bark with plank so warped, and seams so riven, She scarce might face the gentlest airs of heaven ; Pensive he sits, and questions oft if none Can list his speech, and understand his moan ; In vain — no isles-man now can use the tongue Of the bold Norse, from whom their lineage sprung. Not thus of old the Norse-men hither came, Won by the love of danger or of fame ; On every storm-beat cape a shapeless tower Tells of their wars, their conquests, and their power ; For ne'er for Grecian vales nor Latian land Was fiercer strife than for this barren strand— A race severe — the isle and ocean lords Loved for its own delight the strife of swords — With scornful laugh the mortal pang defied, And blessed their gods that they in battle died. Such were the sires of Zetland's simple race ; And still the eye may faint resemblance trace X2 258 WAVERLEY POETFA*. In the blue eye, tall form, proportion fair, The limbs athletic, and the long, light hair ; (Such was the mein, as Scald and Minstrel sings, Of fair-haired Harold, first of Norway's kings ;) But their high deeds to scale these crags confined, Their only warfare is with w'ave and wind. Why should I talk of Mousa's castled coast ? Why of the horrors of the Sumburgh Eost ? May not these bald, disjointed lines suffice, Penned while my comrades whirl the rattling dice — While down the cabin sky-light lessening shine The rays, and eve is chased with mirth and wine ? — Imagined, while down Mousa's desert bay Our well-trimmed vessel urged her nimble way — While to the freshening breeze she leaned her side — And bade her bowsprit kiss the foamy tide — ? Such are the lays that Zetland isles supply ; Drenched with the drizzly spray and dropping sky, Weary and wet, a sea-sick minstrel I. W. Scott. POSTSCRIPTUM. Kirkwall, Orkney, Aug. 13, 1814. In respect that your Grace has commissioned a Kraken, You will please be inform'd that they seldom are taken ; It is January two years, the Zetland folks say, Since they saw the last Kraken in Scalloway bay ; WAVERLEY POETRY. 259 He lay in the offing a fortnight or more, But the devil a Zetlander put from the shore, Though bold in the seas of the North to assail The morse and the sea-horse, the grampus and whale. If your Grace thinks I'm writing the thing that is not, You may ask at a namesake of ours, Mr. Scott ; (He's not of our clan, though his merits deserve it. But springs, I'm inform'd, from the Scotts of Scotstarvet,) He questioned the folks who beheld it with eyes, But they differed confoundedly as to its size. For instance,*he modest and diffident swore That it seemed like the keel of a ship, and no more — Those of eyesight more clear, or of fancy more high, Said it rose like an island 'twixt ocean and sky — But all of the bulk had a steady opinion That 'twas sure a live subject of Neptune's dominion — And I think, my lord duke, your grace hardly would wish To cumber your house such a kettle of fish. Had your order related to night-caps or hose, Or mittens of worsted, there's plenty of those. Or would you be pleased but to fancy a whale ? And direct me to send it, by sea or by mail ? The season, I'm told, is nigh over, but still I could get you one fit for the lake at Bowhill. Indeed as to whales, there's no need to be thrifty, Since one day last fortnight two hundred and fifty, X3 260 WAVERLEY POETRY. Pursued by seven Orkney men's boats, and no more, Betwixt Truffness and Luffness were drawn on the shore ! You'll ask if I saw this same wonderful sight ; I own that I did not, but easily might — For this mighty shoal of leviathans lay On our lee-beam a mile, in the loop of the bay, And the isles-men of Sanda were all at the spoil, And fiinching (so term it) the blubber to boil. Ye spirits of lavender, drown the reflection That awakes at the thoughts of this odorous dissection. To see this huge marvel full fain would we go, But Wilson, the wind, and the current, said no. We have now got to Kirkwall, and needs I must stare, When I think that in verse I once called it fair ; 'Tis a base little borough, both dirty and mean — There is nothing to hear, and there's nought to be seen, Save a church, where, of old times, a prelate harangued, And a palace that's built by an earl that was hanged. But farewell to Kirkwall — aboard we are going. The anchor's apeak, and the breezes are blowing ; Our Commodore calls all his band to their places. And 'tis time to release you. Good night to your Graces. WAVERLEY POETRY. 261 WRITTEN IN PAIN AND LANGUOR. THE sun upon the Weirdlaw hill, In Ettrick's vale, is sinking sweet ; The westland wind is hush and still — The lake lies sleeping at my feet. Yet not the landscape to mine eye Bears those bright hues that once it bore ; Though evening, with her richest dye, Flames o'er the hills of Ettrick's shore. With listless look, along the plain, I see Tweed's silver current glide, And coldly mark the holy fane Of Melrose rise in ruined pride. The quiet lake, the balmy air, The hill, the stream, the tower, the tree, — Are they still such as once they were, Or is the dreary change in me ? Alas ! the warped and broken board. How can it bear the painter s dye ! The harp of strained and tuneless chord, How to the minstrel's skill reply ! To aching eyes each landscape lowers, To feverish pulse each gale blows chill ; And Araby's or Eden's bowers Were barren as this moorland hill. INSCRIPTION On a Monument, which Sir Walter Scott caused to be erected, in the chnrcb-yard of Irongrey, Edinburgh, to the memory of Helen Walker, the original of Jeanie Deans. THIS STONE WAS ERECTED by the Author of Waverley to the Memory of HELEN WALKER, who died in the year of God, 1791. This humble individual practised in real life the virtues with which fiction has invested the imaginary character of JEANIE DEANS ; refusing the slightest departure from veracity even to save the life of a sister; she nevertheless showed her kindness and fortitude in rescuing her from the severity of the law, at the expense of personal exertions, which the time rendered as difficult as the motive was laudable. Respect the Grave of Poverty when combined with love of truth and dear affection. INDEX. PAGE Abbot 37 Activity *.. 67, 204 Adept 230 Advice to maidens .... 161, 201 Ahriman, or the evil principle, 198 Alsatians 174 Alchemist 39 Amy Robsart 129 Ancient Ruins 155 An hour with thee ...*.... 221 Annot Lyle's song 75 Anthony Foster. . . » 123 Antiquary ».... 31 Antiquarian Library 35 Argumentation 33 Are these the links of Forth 53 Ariosto, lines from ........ 50 Aristocracy * . . . 110 Arthur's seat shall be my bed 59 Aspirant's plea 74 Asking counsel 195 Astrology 207 Auguries 245 Auld Robin Gray continued 162 Avarice » 42 Baron Bradwardine's ariette 18 Balfour of Burley 58 Barefooted Friar » 81 Ballantyne, lines to ... . 8, 32, 53 Bale, city of 232 Bereavement 123 Bessy Bell and Mary Gray 125 Be just 172 Beauty ....210 Beautiful deceiver 220 Black Knight and Wamba. . . .89 Bloody Vest 212 Both well's verses 4 ....♦♦...♦. 55 Bold and True 230 Bridal song 11 Brother's claim 121 Bryce Snailsfoot * . . . 164 Bragadocio 180 Broken-hearted 237 Cavalier's chorus * 69 Care — from Horace 196 Castle of Plessis 185 Cavalier Scraps 225 Change * 28 Challenge 67,108 Church protected 114 Chance 177 Cnaut for the dead 227 Chant of German inquisitors 234 Club-house * . 169 Combat with a seal 33 Commendable silence 44 Come fill up my cup 48 Conspiracy * 117 Conservatism 138 Court 167, 192, 239 Colepepper and his mates ... .178 Converted cavalier 182 County Guy 1 89 Confessional * 196 Conscience, faith and hope 220 Conclusion * . 246 Crusader's return 78 Crusader 208 Cromwell's Times 217 Cringing ceremony 236 Cry the wild war note .... 2'^2 Cunning man 28 Davie Gellatly's songs .... 12 Dalgetty's song * 71 264 INDEX. Death chant •••«.• 25 Desolation ..••.. 47 Debtor's prison 47 Death of the wicked... . 80, 197 Deserted castle 88 Dead wake 93 Delusion 123 Death 126, 177 Despairing lover * .185 Death of Wm. Christian. ... 186 Der Rhein — from the German 236 Decrees of Providence .... 241 Deluge 240 Dialogue from Ossian 37 Diana Vernon's rooms. . . .45, 48 Dismal castle 70 Dishonor 125 Dicing and drinking 171 Donald's war tune. 74 Doubtfulness 123 Dog not to be coaxed 171 Dream 185 Duelling, Duellist 38, 111 Duet — Merman and Maid 140 Duty 217 Earl of Leicester .... 129, 132 Edward the black prince. ... 44 Education 102 Edinburgh 235 Effectual Physician 208 Elspeth's ballads 40 Elspeth's secret 48 Enlistment 182 Envy 207 Enchantment 211 Engineer 238 Epitaph 29 Epitaph on Balfour 58 Eternity 26 Ettrick forest 86 Euphuist ♦» 109 Evilplotter 70 Evening hymn 86 Every-day woman • • 21 1 Exchange no robbery • . . 36 Exquisite courtier 1 03 Eye of Providence 28 Fallen pride.. 42 Fanaticism 82 Farewell to the highlands. ... 43 Farewell to Northmaven .... 136 Farewell— Cleveland's song 153 Fate of a court suitor 168 Family love 195 Family secrets 118 Fair jailer 202 Fancy 232 Fenella 179 Feudal times 238 Fisher's boat 33 Fisherman's ditty 151 Flodden field 71 Foray 91 Foundling US Forester H3 Fortune teller 162 Forced bargain 28 Fortune 48 Freedom and thraldom .... 191 France 191 Funeral pageantry 34 Fragments from Lockhart's Life of Scot 247 Funeral hymn 92 Gaberlunzie 33 Gaiety and innocence .208 George Herriot 166 Geoffrey Hudson 191 German inquisitors 234 Ghost 222 Glory 56 INDEX. 265 Glee for king Charles 219, 245 Glee-maiden's dirge 229 Good conscience 56 Good daughter 216 Good night 150 Governnienl 195 Grief of the aged 39 Great effects from small causes 210 Greek and Frank 239 Gullibility 193 Gypsy's charm 24 Gypsies 31, 190 Halhert Glendening 93 Halcro's songs andconjuration,154 Happy old age 233 Haunted chamlier 30 Hazards of a crown 127 Herbalist's charm IS He mounted himself. 123 Hie away, hie away 13 Home is home 72 Honor or wealth lOS Hopelessness 43 Horace imitated 91 Horsemanship 52 Human frailty 181 Hypocrisy 194 I left my lady's bower 54 I'm come to the low country 226 Independent beggar 33 Indian emigrant 26 Indisputable argument .... 226 Inexpert 109 In my time 130 Inquisitive female 167 It is a time of danger 123 It's hame, and it's hame .... 203 Jeanie Deans and the queen 64 Jenny Dennison 54 Jew 74, 82 Jolly innkeeper 128 King Rene 236 Ladies' eyes 76 Lady's escort 86 Law and order 81 Law, take thy victim 65 Lay of poor Louise 223 Letter writing 29 Life's spring time 121 Life's variableness 45 Lizzy Lyndesay 228 Lockhart, lines to 21 London bore 170 Lost imaginings 143 Lost Honor 206 Lover turned friar 114 Lover's challenge 240 Love and reason 126 Love's pilgrimage 130 Love overcomes all obstacles 165 Love at first sight 173 Love letter 190 Love of gold 231 Love's power 238 Love wakes and weeps .... 152 Lucky Trumbull 226 Lucinda 229 Madge Wildfire 60 Man's wrath 237 Blarch, march, Ettrick 1 12 Mary— Halcro's song 136 Tvlargaret Ramsay 173 Marriage bells 244 Merkwood Mere 9 Mercenary father 68 Mercenary marriages 184 Merman and mermaid .... 140 266 INDEX. Middle ages 85 Military physician 33 Midnight robbers .172 Minstrel 205 Mine, the 241 Mother's advice 57 Monks 93, 233 Mr. Smith 225 My dog and I 228 My heart's in the highlands,12.237 My hounds may a' rin 56 My maids, come to my bower 124 Mysterious murder 227 Necessity 192 Never despair 200 Niceness 184 Night-mare 72 Noma's incantations 133 to 156 Northern tempest 132 No, sir, I will not pledge. ... 179 Novelist 222 Now, hoist the anchor .... 192 Oath 32, 118 Oak-tree, lines to an 32 Ocean 136 O fear not, fear not. ....... 224 Old world politeness 34 Ominous 197 One thing needful 168 One way to pay debts 19 Orphan maid 76 O sadly shines 211 O some do call me Jack .... 1 25 Ourang Outang 239 Outcast 32 Outlaw's law 163 Paternal guardian 125 Parting 59 Parents and children 69 Passion 122 Pandemonium 130 Parental love 137 Patience in difficulties .... 170 Perseverance 69 Persecuted Jew 74 Pedlar 1 35 Piercie Shafton 1 09 Pirates' chorus 1 65 Pity 173 Polite hostess 27 Poisoner of morals 53 Political patronage 117 Poverty 120 Power of habit 163 Politician 182 Poor Louise 223 Preacher 184 Predestination 70 Prisoner of war 192 Prisoner's reflections. ...... 122 Prison 27 Pride 27 Pride of birth 180 Proper resentment 46 Proverbs 84, 85, 131, 169, 241 Progress of life 120 Proposal 195 Prophecy 26, 30, 72 Prophecy confirmed SO Prudence . . . *. 1 1 2 Punishment is sure 218 Pure afiection 75 Q,ueen Elizabeth 131 Quack's advertisement .... 124 Reason for robbing 59 Rebecca's hymn 87 Reformation 93, 138 Remorse 39, 1 11 Remuneration ill INDEX. 267 Restoration demanded .43 Retainer 32 Retraction 207 Requital 231 Ring *. 36 Rivals 129 Road of life 944 Robbers' quarrels 165 Rob Roy 42, 49 Robbing tbe baggage 50 Rockbound shore 30 Roger Robsart 130 Roundelay — Lords and Ladies 7 Roundhead language 21s Rowena 78 Ruined house 33 Ruined monastery 117 Rural life '. 231 Sailors on shore 163 Sage 194 Saint Switbin's chair 20 vScolchman in London 166 Scotchman's return home .... 65 Self punishment 34 Seeming 85 Self redress 171 Secluded beauty 243 Sin's progress 180 Sign on an alehouse kept by a barber 178 Silent flight 177 Silent recognition 181 Slave to the Devil 1 93 Some better bard 293 Sometimes methinks 1 hear 200 Song — Abbot of Unreason 1 1 9 Annot Lylc 75 BaJmawhapple 19 Black Knt. & Wamba, 89 Claud Halcro 136 Cleveland 152, 153 Song— County Guy 189 Davie Gellatly 12 Dick Fletcher 164 Efhe Deans 58 Farewell, farewell. ... 153 Fergus 17 Flora Mclvor 15 Glossin 23 Goldthred 127 Hatteraick 23 Harold Harfager. . . . 138 In the ordinary .... 183 Inglewood 5I» Lucy Ashton 65 Love wakes 153 Madge Wildfire 60 Major Bellenden .... 54 Mary 136 Morris 51 Soldier, wake 201 Vagrants 197 White Lady 94, 116 Sorry cheer 68 Sorrowful meeting 194 Sound, sound the clarion. ... 56 Spirits 29 Spirits of air 103 Stale wit 169 Stout miller 102 Superannuated 46 Sumptuous entertainment .... 66 Sullied honor 209 Superstition 108 Sword and pen 71 Sympathies 136 Sympathy between life & death,43 Table talk 194 Tangled case 112 Tecbir 222 The heart is lightly prized 244 The hour is nigh 243 INDEX. The king called down his . . . .203 The knight's to the mountain, 13 The monk must arise 66 Then let the health go round 225 There is mist on the mountain 15 There never was a time .... 211 They came upon us in the nightjl4 Time 35 Tis the black ban dog .... 203 Tiber and the Tay 237 Tobacco 52 To err is human 132 l&'oll, loll the bell 237 Tom and Dick 232 AGwn without an inn 47 Touching tale 241 Travellers 70 Troth-plight 193 Ti-'js freedom 36 rriith and falsehood 140 Twas time and griefs 56 Twist ye and twine ye 24 Twixt Wiglon and Ayr 122 Two bodies to one head .... 2 IS Uncertainty 67 Unprofitable priest S3 Untired 116 Upon the Rhine, a song . . . . 235 Variety 103 Varney described 128 Vengeance 210 Versatility 91 Vicious sympathy .68 Virtue's path .20 Visions 31, 233 Visionary 34, 242 Waken, lords and ladies gay 7 Waverley 18 Wager 125 Wamba's song 89 Waif 143 War 46 War song of the Saxons. ... 83 War on the viands 179 Way of escape 67 V/eich descant 205 Welch war 207 V7hat know we of the blest 184 Vv hat sheeted ghost 203 Whale ashore 142 When with poetry dealing. . . .21 Where's the jolly host 58 V7here is he 241 V^hite Lady's Chants. . . .94, 104, 110, 113—116 V^ife's lament... ..' 19 Vv^ill you hear of a Spanish 240 Woman's confidence 178 Woman's smile 52 Woman's truth 204 Worldly benevolence 68 Wo, wo, son of the lowlander 64 Woodman's rhyme 242 W^onder 115 Young men will love thee. ... 14 Young Rob Roy 49 FROM THB PR28S OF MTJ1TR035 k FRANCIS, BOSTON, Hbu^lj^^^