{LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. J h 95^3^3 J/¥^ ¥ & %-! UNITED STATES OP AMERICA, f 9 m r Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2011 with funding from The Library of Congress http://www.archive.org/details/poems01wils Oo^-t PfUUb/U POEMS BY WILLIAM WILSON EDITED BY BENSON J. LOSSING. SECOND EDITION, 3fe POUGHKEEPSIE: ARCHIBALD WILSON 1875. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by Archibald Wilson, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New York. RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE ! STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED Bt H. 0. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY. CONTENTS. PAGE Memoir 1 Sabbath Morning in the Woods . . . 17 Nature's Worship 19 0, Blessing on thee, Land 22 Song of the Western Settler .... 24 King Robert the Bruce 26 The Rare Old Friends 28 The Mitherless Wean 30 Bonnie Mary . . ' 34 Hymn 36 Mary 37 Stanzas to a Lady 40 Eulalie 49 Song 51 A Welcome to Christopher North . . .53 "Ah! Na, Johnnie, Na" 5'! Richard Cocur de Lion 58 The Island Queen 60 A Mourner's Dream 63 "It is Well" 65 The Faithless 67 Epistle to Lizzy Lee 69 Night on the Sea-shore 75 The Husband's Song 78 Confession 80 Marian's Gra.ve 82 Dirge 84 iv CONTENTS. PAGE The Fountain of Life 86 The Lily o' Glenlyon 88 St. Mary's Well 90 Jean Linn 92 Song 94 Song for the Anniversary of the Birthday of Burns 98 Work is Prayer 99 Auld Johnny Graham 101 A Fireside Scene 101 Thou art far away 307 Church-yahd Thoughts 109 Schamyl Ill Stanzas to a Child 113 Scotland 119 Song 12i r Tou jours la Meme 122 Hymn 123 Song ■ 121 The Bereaved 125 Farewell 126 Auld Hawkie 128 A -Midnight Sketch 130 Song 132 Song 134 To Orynthia . . 136 The Refuge 138 The Homesick 140 Lizzy Lass 144 Song 145 Song 147 Jeanie Graham 149- The Beatified Child ]51 Laura's Smile 153 O Blessing on her Star-like Een . . . 155 Song 157 Lizzy Lokhimer 158 CONTENTS. V PAGE To Lizzy 160 My Soul is ever with thee 162 Song 163 My Father's Grave 164 The Close 167 ADDITIONAL POEMS. The Awakening of the Wind .... 171 Bessy's Wooing 174 When I was first a Mason made .... 176 Epistle from Niagara Falls. — To Jeanie . 178 Dark's the Winter's Night an' Drear . . 181 Meg Macree 183 Meet me at the close o' Day .... 185 The Absent Wife 186 Glenisla Mary 188 A Tribute 189 The Glad Voice of Spring in the Woodland is ringing 190 To 192 Oh, heavy and chill fa's the Wintry Rain . 193 On a Tainting of Two Children . . . 195 Spirit of my Father, art thou hovering nigh? 197 To my Sister Ellen 199 Lines on a Miniature 201 And shall^ their Anthems ring for me? . . 203 Love 205 A Serenade Song 207 Philip Fairley. — Song 208 A Siller'd Love they bid me Seek. — Song . 210 Thy Cheeks are like Lilies, Marion. — Song 211 But unto thee, but unto thee . . . .212 In Memoriam 213 LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. A. COPIES. Adriance, John P Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 Adriance, Walter Poughkeepsie, X. Y 1 Ainslie, Hew. Louisville, Ky 6 Anderson, Catherine Poughkeepsie, X. Y 1 Armitage, Rt. Rev. TV. E . Milwaukee, "Wis 1 Arnold, E. C Milwaukee, Wis 5 Atwill, Winthrop Poughkeepsie, X. Y 1 B. Barnard, Miss Marg't A. Poughkeepsie, X. Y 1 Barnard, George Chicago, 111 1 Barritt, William Xew York 1 Beecher, Rev. Henry W.Peekskill, X. Y 1 Bedell, Rt. Rev. G. T . . . . Gambier. Ohio'. 1 Beadle, Dr. Edward L. . .Poughkeepsie, X. Y 1 Beckwith, Miss Helen M. Alstead, X. H 1 Bockee, John Jacob Brooklyn, X. Y 1 Bockee, Dr. Jacob Poughkeepsie, X. Y 1 Bockee, Phoenix North East, X. Y 1 Bowne, James Poughkeepsie, X. Y 1 Boyd, John G Poughkeepsie, X. Y ] Bryant, William Cullen.Xew York 1 Bruen, John. S . Ulster Co., X. Y 1 Buckingham, S. M Poughkeepsie, X. Y 4 viu LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. C0PIE3 Buckingham, C. J Poughkeepsie, N. Y Butler, Mrs. M. A Hyde Park, N. Y Buck, Mrs. Elizabeth L. . Poughkeepsie, N. Y Burnap, G. C Poughkeepsie, N. Y C. Cady, Eev. Philander K . Poughkeepsie, N. Y Carpenter, Leonard Poughkeepsie, N. Y.. Carter, Robert, & Bros. .New York Carpenter, Jacob B Poughkeepsie, N. Y Carpenter, Hon. Morgan . Poughkeepsie, N. Y Carter, Dr. N. M Poughkeepsie, N. Y Carpenter, B. P Poughkeepsie, N. Y Chambers, Rt. Hon. Wm, Edinburgh, Scotland Cheeswright, E New York Clarkson, Rt. Rev. R, H.Omaha, Nebraska Territory. Clark, Rt. Rev. Thos. M . Providence, R. I Coxe, Rt. Rev. A. C Buffalo, N. Y Cooledge, W. P New York Corlies, George Poughkeepsie, N. Y Corning, Rev. J. L ..Poughkeepsie, N. Y Corlies, Jacob Poughkeepsie, N. Y Corliss, C. K New York. , Corn well, George Poughkeepsie, N. Y Crooke, John J New York Currie, Samuel Poughkeepsie, N. Y D. DaVis, Rev. Sheldon Northford, Coun Davies, Wm. A Poughkeepsie, N. Y Davies, Gen. T. L Poughkeepsie, N. Y Derby, J. C .New York Dibble, Miss Julia B Poughkeepsie, N. Y Dixon, Robert Poughkeepsie, N. Y LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. ** COPIES. Dorland, S. G Hastings-oa-Hudson, N. Y. . Doughty, Joseph C Poughkeepsie, N. Y Donaldson, James New Hamburgh, N. Y Dodge, Le Grand Poughkeepsie, N. Y Dreer, Ferdinand J Philadelphia Duvckinck, Evert A New York Durand, J South Orange, N. J Du Bois, Cornelius Poughkeepsie, N. Y E. Ellsworth, John E ..... . Poughkeepsie, N. Y Eldridge, E. Q. . ...*. . . .Poughkeepsie, N. Y Emott, Hon. James Poughkeepsie, N. Y Farnum, M. L Poughkeepsie, N. Y Faulkner, Josiah Wappinggers Falls, N. Y, Ferguson, David Milwaukee, Wis Flint, M's Martha Bockee.Monticello, N. Y Fonda, W. C Poughkeepsie, N. Y Freeman, Mrs. L. S New Hamburgh, N. Y. . . Frost, R. W Poughkeepsie, N. Y Frost, Henry S ....... . .Poughkeepsie, N. Y Frost, Prof. S. T Amenia, N. Y Frost, Joseph G Poughkeepsie, N. Y Frost, John G Caspar's Creek, N. Y . . . Frazer, John Poughkeepsie, N. Y G. Garland, Mrs. M Hyde Park, N. Y 2 Garrettson, Miss M. Pv . . . Rhinebeck, N. Y 1 Gavlord, G. R Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 Gifford, N Poughkeepsie, N. Y Gibson, William New York 2 LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. Giraud, Mrs. J. P Poughkeepsie, N. Y. Gibson, William Poughkeepsie, N. Y. Goodrich, Wm. M Poughkeepsie, N. Y. Gregg, Rt. Rcy. Alex. . .San Antonio, Texas. Greble, Edwin Philadelphia , Greeley, Horace New York , Grubb, John Poughkeepsie, N. Y. Grant, John J Poughkeepsie, N. Y. COPIES H. Harper & Brothers New York 4 Harper, J. W. Jr New York Harris, Joseph C Poughkeepsie, N. Y Hageman, Rev. Chas. S. .Poughkeepsie, N. Y Hasbrouck, Miss Laura T.New Paltz, N. Y Hammond, Mrs. Geo. . . . Wickford, R. I Hagar, J. Henry New York '. Hamilton, Mrs. Philip. . .Poughkeepsie, N. Y Hart, Mrs. Elizabeth Poughkeepsie, N. Y Hayt, P. B Poughkeepsie, N. Y Hale, P. C .Milwaukee, Wis Harvey, Dr. A. B Poughkeepsie, N. Y Hinsdale, Wm. L Milwaukee, Wis Howland, H Waterford, Pa Hoyt, Rev. Sherman Staatsburgh, N. Y Hull, George D Poughkeepsie, N. Y Houghton, Dr. Chas. L. .Poughkeepsie, N. Y I. Innis, Mrs. George Poughkeepsie, N. Y Ingersoll, Mrs. Gertrude . Poughkeepsie, N. Y, J. Jewett, Jacob B Poughkeepsie, N. Y . Jewett, Milo P Milwaukee, Wis LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. Xi COPIES. Jewett, Henry S Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 Johnston, John Milwaukee, Wis 1 Kemper, Rt Rev. Jaeks'n Delafield, Wis 1 Kelly, Hon. William Rhinebeck, N. Y 2 Keene, Rev. David Milwaukee, Wis 1 L. Langdon, Mrs. Cath. L. .Hyde Park, N. Y 2 Lattin, J. M Rhinebeck, N. Y Latto, Thomas C New York Lay, Rt. Rev. H. C Little Rock, Ark Lenox, James New York 2 Lewis, John N Red Hook, N. Y Lent, William B .New York Lent, George B Poughkeepsie, N. Y Lossing, Benson J Dover, N. Y Lossing, Mrs. B. J Dover, N. Y Lossing, Edwin J Dover, N. Y Loomis, John Mason .... Chicago, 111 M. Malcom, James F New York 2 Mayer, Brantz Baltimore, Md Mann, Dr. James H Poughkeepsie, N. Y Martin, William Milton, N. Y Mc Arthur, Hon. Arthur. Milwaukee, Wis McAllister, John A Philadelphia McLanahann, Mrs. A. M. New Hamburgh, N. Y Merritt, Wm. H Fishkill-on-Hudson Miller, Hon. A. G. Milwaukee, Wis Mitchell, Alexander Milwaukee, Wis Mitchell, Jane Eliza. . . . .Washington Hollow, N. Y. . xii LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. COPIES. Moore, George H N. Y. Historical Society. ... 5 Morgan, William S Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 Morse, Prof. Saml. F. B . Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 Moreau, John B New York 1 Moreau, Charles C New York 1 Moreau, Peter J New York 1 Mulfof d, Mrs. D. H Hyde Park, N. Y 1 Myers, Mrs. M. J Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 N. Nelson, John Peter Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 North, R Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 O. O'lvane, James New York ' 1 Oshorne, E. B Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 P. Palmer, Rohert N Poughkeepsie, N. Y I Palmer, B. D . . Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 Palmer, Hon. A. W Amenia, N. Y. 1 Parker, Dr. Edward H . .Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 Parker, Thomas E Hyde Park, N. Y 1 Pendleton, Mrs. Edm. H. New York 1 Pelton, G. P. Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 Pine, Dr. Per Lee Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 Piatt, Isaac Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 Piatt, Angelina Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 Piatt, Samuel R New York 1 Pooley, William I New York 1 Pond, Mrs. B. F Washington Hollow, N. Y. . 2 Putnam, George P New York 1 Purdy, Rev. J. S... Hyde Park, N. Y 1 LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. Xm COPIES Q. Quintard, F. F New York 1 R, Randall, Rt. Rev. G. M.. Denver, Colorado Ray nor, Samuel New York Randolph, A. D. F New York 3 Raymond, Rev. J. H. . . . Vassar College Redfield, J. S New York Reed, Henry A Poughkeepsie, N. Y Rice, Rev. C. D Poughkeepsie, N. Y Rider, Rev. Geo. T Poughkeepsie, N. Y Richmond, Miss Sarah S. Newark, N. J Robertson, Rt. Rev. C. F. St Louis, Mo Rogers, Mrs. Archibald. . New York Rogers, John (sculptor) . .New York Roe, Capt. Stephen West Point, N. Y Russell, Archibald Esopus, N. Y S. Sanford, Robert Poughkeepsie, N. Y Scribncr, Charles New York Shaw, Henry W New York Sheafe, Mrs.' J. F New Hamburgh, N. Y Slee, Robert Poughkeepsie, N. Y Smillie, W. C Ottawa, Canada Sjnart, Miss Mary Poughkeepsie, N. Y Smead. Dr. W Cincinnati, O Smith, Col. James Poughkeepsie, N. Y Smith, Gen. A. B Pougbkeepsie, N. Y Somerville, James New York South-wick, Mary D .Poughkeepsie, N. Y Sterling, George "W Poughkeepsie, N. Y Stuyvesant, Mrs. M. A. .Poughkeepsie, N. Y xiv LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. Steele, Mrs. M. C. C . . . .New York Street, Alfred B Albany, N. Y Stevens, Henry H Poughkeepsie, N. Y. , Swift, George H Amenia Union, N. Y. Swift, James H Amenia, N. Y Swan, C Poughkeepsie, N. Y. . Swift, C. W Poughkeepsie, N. Y. , Swift, Isaac Hart's Village, N. Y. Synnott, Rev. S. H Poughkeepsie, N. Y. . T. Talbot, Rt. Rev. J. C Indianapolis, Ind. . . Taylor, Miss B Poughkeepsie, N. Y. Taylor, Bayard Kennet Square, Pa. . Taylor, R. E Poughkeepsie, N. Y. Taylor, Hudson Poughkeepsie, N. Y. Thompson, Hon. John. ..Poughkeepsie, N. Y. Thomas, Rev. Wm. B. . .Poughkeepsie, N. Y. Trowbridge, N. C Poughkeepsie, N. Y. Tuttle, Rt. Rev. D. S. . .Helena, Montana. . . Tucker, John F Poughkeepsie, N. Y. U. Uhl, Stephen Poughkeepsie, N. Y. Underhill, Miss Jane Poughkeepsie, N. Y, Upton, Mrs. Sarah B. ...Woodbury, N.J V. Vail, Rt. Rev. Thos. H. .Lawrence, Kan Varick, Dr. Richard A. .Poughkeepsie, N. Y, Varick, Abraham Poughkeepsie, N. Y, Van Kleeck, George Poughkeepsie, N. Y. Van Kleeck, George M. .Poughkeepsie, N. Y. Van Kleeck, W Poughkeepsie, N. Y COPIES LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. XV Van Kleeck, Edward .... Poughkeepsie, N. Y . Van Kleeck, E. M Poughkeepsie, N. Y. Van Alen, Jacob New York Vassar, John Guy Poughkeepsie, N. Y. Vassar, Matthew Poughkeepsie, N. Y . Vincent, Rev. Leonard M. Poughkeepsie, N. Y. W. Wallace, Gen. Lewis Crawfordsville, Ind. . . Warner, J. H Poughkeepsie, N. Y. . . Ward, Daniel O Pleasant Valley, ST. Y. Watkins, W. S . . . .Farmdale, Ky Warring, Chas. B Poughkeepsie, N. Y. . . Wellstood, Stephen Edinburgh, Scotland. . Wellstood, John Geikie. . Greenwich, Conn Wellstood, William Metuchin, N. J Wells, Mrs. Saml. R. . . .New York Weeks, James H Poughkeepsie, N. Y . . . Whipple, Rt. Rev. H. B.Fairbault, Minn Whitton, W. H New York Whittingham, Rt. Rev. . W. R. Baltimore, Md. Whitehouse, Rt. Rev. H. J. Chicago, 111 Whitall, Miss Sarah R. .Woodbury, N. Y Wheaton, Hon. Charles. .Poughkeepsie, N. Y. . . White, Isaac W Poughkeepsie, N. Y. . . Wheeler, Rev. Francis B. Poughkeepsie, N. Y. , . Wheaton, Homer Lithgow, N. Y Whittier, John G Amesbury, Mass Winslow, J. F Poughkeepsie, N. Y. . . Winslow, James Poughkeepsie, N. Y. . . Willcox, W. C Stamford, Ct Wilson, Velina Bockee. .Poughkeepsie, N. Y. . . Wilson, Oakley Bockee. .Poughkeepsie, N. Y. . . Wilson, William Ross. . .Poughkeepsie, N. Y. . , COPIES. XVI LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. Wilson, Geo. Sibbald. ...Poughkeepsie, N. Y. Wilson, Allan Grant. . . .Ponghkeepsie, N. Y. Woodhnll, Azelia Giraud.Ravenswood, L. I . Woodin, Capt. W. R. . . .Ponghkeepsie, N. Y. Wood, James G Ponghkeepsie, N. Y. Worrall, Benjamin Ponghkeepsie, N. Y. Wright, John Henry Ponghkeepsie, N. Y. Wright, Rev. D. G. ..... Ponghkeepsie, IS. Y. Wright, James H New York. . . COPIES. Y. Young, Henry L Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 SECOND EDITION A. Ainslie, Hew Louisville, Ky 1 Anderson, Mrs. Cath Ponghkeepsie, N. Y i Arnold, E. C. New York 1 Astor Library New York 1 B. Baker, Hon. Stephen. . . . Poughkeepsie, N. Y. l Barney, Hon. Hiram. . . . New York 1 Beadle, Dr. Edw'd. L. . . Poughkeepsie, N. Y l Bech, Mrs. Edward Poughkeepsie, N. Y l Bockce, Abraham Chicago, Illinois l Brown, Edwin Rhineheck, N. Y l Broas, Win. H Poughkeepsie, N. Y. l Bryant, William Cullen. New York 1 LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. xvii C. COPIES. Cady, Rev. Philander K.Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 Campbell, Dr. C. N Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 Candec, John N Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 Capron, Mrs. Helen Walden, N. Y 1 Caul dwell, A. . - Newburgh, N. Y 1 Chambers, Rt. Hon. Win. Edinburgh, Scotland 1 Cleaveland, Frank San Diego, Cal ] Coxe, Rt. Rev. A. C. . . Buffalo, N. Y 1 Colfax, Hon. Schuyler. . South Bend, 111 1 Cooper, Mrs. John R. . .Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 Cook, Prof. Geo. W Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 Cook, J. Hervey Fishkill-on-Hudson, N. Y. . . 1 Coffin, Tristram Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 Crocker, John T Watertown, Wis 1 Crary, Rev. Robert F. . .Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 Currier, Andrew F Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 Curtis, George William. . New York 1 D. Darrow, Mrs. S. K Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 De Garmo, James M.. . .Rhinebcck, N. Y 1 Drake, Francis S Boston, Mass 1 E. Elliott, Hon. James New York 1 F. Fanning, Mrs. Wm. A. .Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 Flagler, Miss Jane E.. .Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 Flagler, Paul Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 Fonda, Arminta Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 Fonda, Mrs. JamesH.. . .Brooklyn, N. Y 1 Freeman, Mrs. L. S.. . .London, England. 1 Frost, Prof. S. T Amenia, N. Y 3 xviii LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. G. COPIES. Grant, Gen. U. S Washington, D. C 1 Gilbert, Henry Wilber. . .Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 Garland, Mrs. M Hyde Park 1 H. Hallock, Sarah H Milton, N. Y 2 Hallock, Nathan Milton, N. Y 1 Ham, Mrs. Milton Washington Hollow, X. Y. . 1 Hegeman, W. W Poughkeepsie, N. Y 3 Hicks, Gilbert E Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 Hoag, Langdon Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 Holmes, Dr. 0. W Boston, Mass 1 Hoi man, Rev. J. W North Stonington, Conn.. . . 1 Hopkins, Elias G Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 Hoyle, Mark C Boston, Mass 1 J. Jewitt, John II Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 K. Kernot, Henry New York 1 Knortz, N. Carl Portage, Wisconsin 1 L. Lawson, James New York 1 Le Roy, Sherman H. . . .Poughkeepsie, New York. ... 1 Lenox, James New York 1 Loyd. Rev. William Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 Longfellow, H. W Cambridge, Mass 1 Lossing, Benson J Tbe Ridge, Dover, N. Y. . . . 5 Lossing, Mrs. Benson J.. Tbe Ridge, Dover, X. Y. . . . 1 Lossing, Edwin John. . .The Ridge, Dover, N. Y 1 Lossing, Helen Miriam R. The Ridge, Dover, N. Y. . . . 1 LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS.^ xix C0PIE8. Lossing, Alice Casey. . .The Ridge, Dover, X. Y Lossing, Thomas Sweet. .The Ridge, Dover, N. Y... . Lynde, Mrs. Wm. Pitt . .Milwaukee, Wisconsin M. Mackenzie, James New York Mackenzie, Dr. Slielton.. Philadelphia, Pa. . . Malcolm, James New York Mercantile, Library New York Michigan Ave. Free Li- brary Chicago, 111 Millard, Mrs. Rob't Ponghkeepsie, N. Y. Motley, J. Lothrop London, England. . . Moore, John.. Poughkeepsie, N. Y. Morris, Richard Troy, N. Y 0. Osborn, Edward B Poughkeepsie, N. Y. P. Patten, Col. G. W Ponghkeepsie, N. Y. Piatt, John I Ponghkeepsie, N. Y. Potter, Rt. Rev. Horatio. New York. Ponghkeepsie City Li- brary Ponghkeepsie, N. Y Q. Qnintard, "William M. . .Ponghkeepsie, N. Y. Quintard, C. A Ponghkeepsie, N. Y. R. Redfield, J. S Burlington, N. J. . . Reed, Henry A Ponghkeepsie Ring, Fred A Lockport, N. Y XX LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. COPIES. Robson, Adam Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 Rogers, John ( Sculptor) . New York 1 S. Sackett, Guernsey New York 1 Sanford, Rob't Poughkeepsie, N. Y 2 Schram, N. H Newburgh, N. Y 1 Sheafe, Mrs. J. F New Hamburgh, N. Y 1 Simpson, Mrs. John Poughkeepsie, N. Y 2 Southwick, Willet H Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 St. Stephen's College... . Anandale, N. Y 1 Stoutenburgh, Jas. T>. C. Hyde Park, N. Y 1 Stoutenburgh, J. A New York 2 Sutcliff, Eli Poughkeepsie, N. Y 2 Swan, Cyrus Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 Swift, H. M Chestnut Ridge, N. Y 1 T. Taylor, Bayard Kennet Square, Pa 1 Taylor, Mrs. E. P Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 Turner, W. L Wappinger's Palls 1 U. Upton, Mrs. Sarah B.. . .Woodbury, N. J 1 V. Van Benschotten, Mrs. Henry La Giange, N. Y 1 W. Webb, Dr. De Witt Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 Welles, Howard W Poughkeepsie ] Wheeler, Rev. F. B Poughkeepsie, N. Y ] Whitall, Miss Sarah R. . Woodbury, N. Y 1 LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. xxi COPIES. White, Isaac W Poughkeepsie, N. Y 2 Whit tier, John G Amesbury, Mass 1 Whittemore, Abm Milwaukee, Wisconsin 2 Whit ting-ham, Et. Rev. W. R Baltimore, Md 1 Willetts, Mrs. Jacob Washington, N. Y 1 Willis, W. H " Obercreek," N. Hamburgh, N.Y 1 Wilkinson, Miss Mary. . Poughkeepsie 1 Worrall, Thomas Poughkeepsie, N. Y 1 Y. Young Men's Christian Ass'n New York 1 MEMOIR. The sweetest flowers are not the foster- children of the garden only. The most fra- grant blossoms are not always the most delight- some to the eye. The student of nature finds many of them in the shady margin of the. wood, or in the sunny meadow, where no visible hand ever cultivates them, and where the feet of the lovers of pleasure seldom stray in search of them. They are wild flowers wrought into ex- quisite beauty and sweetness, by unaided heat and moisture. They bear no mark of human skill. They exhale no other perfume than that which was given them in Paradise. And so it is with the diviner nature of man, that blossoms into expression in poetry and the plastic and pictorial arts. Its spontaneous utter- ances by souls in shadow or secluded sunshine, are often more perfect interpreters of that diviner nature, than are the displays of the culture of the schools. They are wild flowers of the spirit, — sweet, modest, and unpretending. Of such flowers this little volume is com- 1 2 MEMOIR. posed. These, and many others that bloomed in the fancy and imagination of the author, have been gathered and preserved by the hand of his eldest surviving son as a filial duty ; and it has been my office only to select the most at- tractive and bind them into a bouquet. That, task has been a labor of love, for the writer of these verses was a tried friend of my youth and of my mature r years. To the friends of William Wilson, no more need be said. To strangers I will here tell all the story of his life which they may care to know, or which it is proper for them to know. At the foot of the lofty Grampian Hills in Perthshire, near the picturesque centre of Scot- land, is the village of Crieff. There William Wilson was born on Christmas Day, in the year 1801. When he was five years of age, his mother, a high-spirited Scotch Highlander, be- came a widow. Her husband had been a gener- ous and unsuspicious merchant in Crieff, and by the knavery of others was made almost penniless before his death. Sympathizing friends offered the widow pecuniary aid. She steadily refused to accept it, for, with innate independence, she relied upon her own industry as an expert spin- ner for a maintenance for herself and family. She had a hard and weary struggle, for she often earned no more than eight cents a day, though toiling from dawn till almost midnight. MEMOIR. 3 Willie was the widow's best-loved child. He was bright, beautiful, and affectionate. He never entered a school as a pupil, but his mother taught him to read before he was six years of age. And long winter nights, when she was toiling with her wheel and distaff, he would sit upon an old counterpane spread for him upon the bare floor of the cottage, near a poor turf- fire, without shoes or stockings (for he had none), and read to her from the blessed Book of Life, until his eyelids longed for sleep. Then she would charm him bv singing old Scottish ballads, in the lore of which she was deeply versed. She sang the strains of her native land with unusual sweetness and warmth of feeling ; and she early imparted to the child a love of music, poetry, and romance which gave tone to his intellectual life ever afterward. At the age of seven years Willie was employed by a farmer not far from his mother's cottage, in tending cows upon a moor. He was delighted, for a love of nature was a dominant emotion of his heart. His most attractive companions there were the Bible, " The Pilgrim's Progress," and a tattered volume of " Scotch Ballads." These he would read until his eyes were aweary, when he would sing the ballad of Chevy Chace, or some other stirring story in verse. A few years later, young Wilson and his 4 MEMOIR. mother were living in the populous city of Glasgow, where he was apprenticed to the busi- ness of folding and packing cloth, and putting it into various forms for a foreign market. He became an excellent "lapper," as those who practiced that business were called ; and he won the respect and confidence of his master by ex- cellent deportment at all times. He spent his leisure hours in reading and study ; and his chief place of resort at such times was the street book- stall of a good-natured dealer, where, standing by the shelves, he read Young's " Night Thoughts " twice through. He finally saved enough money, after months of self-denial, to buy the book for fifty cents. That was the beginning of a library which, four years later, was greater in the num- ber of its volumes than that of his parish minister. It was at the beginning of his apprenticeship in Glasgow that he made his first attempts to ac- quire the art of writing. He was so successful in self-culture, that at the end of a year he acted as subordinate clerk in the establishment. Young Wilson was very fond of music ; and he was so good a singer at the age of fifteen years, that he chanted a solo at a grand concert in Traders' Hall, Glasgow. A year later he was precentor or leader of a choir in psalmody in a parish church near that city. He had already composed several songs of considerable merit, MEMOIR. ") but his modesty caused their concealment from his most intimate friends. At about that time he met Jane, the beautiful daughter of William M'Kenzie, of whom he said, in after years, " She was the sweetest, purest, gentlest, and kindest of her sex that ever I looked upon, or ever will." She was younger than he, — a child in years and simplicity of heart. They became fond of each other ; and they sometimes spent a whole day together in a secluded little fir-coppice in a dell near the suburbs of the city. There, on a bright after- noon, they " plighted their troth " to each other, when each pulled a fir-tap from the tree that shaded them, which they exchanged and kept as a token of their engagement After that, " fir- taps " was a love watch-word between them that puzzled their friends ; and the riddle was not explained until, before he was eighteen years of age, the gentle Jane became his wife. He was yet a cloth-lapper, but the business, then declin- ing, soon failed altogether. For eight months during his early married life, he was without regular employment, and felt the pinchings of poverty most severely. But his love for his wife was such an inspiration, that he was happy dur- ing the darkest hours of that night. Morning soon dawned. The young lapper found employment in the establishment of Adam 6 MEMOIR. Reid, in Dundee, whose son was the editor of the " Dundee Review." Wilson worked for his employer from six o'clock in the morning until ten o'clock at night. After which, while others slept, he wrote prose and poetry for the " Re- view," over the signature of " Alpin." He was, in fact, the Editor's chief assistant. He was also a contributor to other periodicals, but al- ways over a fictitious signature, for then, as all through life, he disliked notoriety. In 1824 Mr. Wilson became the conductor of the Dundee " Literary Olio," a periodical issued fortnightly. He yet continued lapping, and was pursuing that vocation late in the following year when a Danish author, named Feldburg, travel- ling: in Scotland, tarried a little while in Dundee. Charmed by some of Wilson's poetry in the " Dundee Magazine," the Dane visited the au- thor, and promised to do what he might to pro- cure for him a more lucrative employment. At Edinburgh he commended him to Sir John Sinclair and other leading citizens, as a young man of genius, worthy of their patronage. Wil- son was invited to the Scottish metropolis, and was a guest at the table of men of note there, who assisted him in starting the business of a coal commission-merchant. The eminent and venerable Mrs. Grant, of Laggan (better known in this country by her charming volume of MEMOIR. 7 ante-revolutionary reminiscences entitled " Me- moirs of an American Lady "), became deeply interested in him, and was his warm friend as long as she lived. Mr. Wilson formed a partnership with his younger brother. Business thrived for a while. Their customers were many and influential. Robert Chambers, his early and life-long friend, said in a letter to Mr. Wilson's eldest son, writ- ten not long ago : " A man of very great note, Sir William Hamilton, was a fast friend of the young coal-merchant. There was, at this time, something very engaging in his appearance : a fair open countenance, ruddy with the bloom of health ; manners soft and pleasing ; language and elocution free from all vulgarity." It was now the beginning of the year 1826. Luminous beyond all precedent then seemed to him the orb of hope. It was suddenly eclipsed. His young wife, who was his idol and the mother of his four children, died. At her bedside, while watching without intermission and trem- bling with anxiety, and by her lifeless body when hope was extinguished, he wrote the touching poem in this volume entitled " Mary," a name by which he often addressed her in verse. Un- der that heavy blow his health and spirits were crushed for a season. At length he sought and found relief from wearing sorrow in his desolated 8 MEMOIR. household, in composition. Prose and verse flowed from his pen in full measure. His songs were popular ; and his musical compositions were admired. One of his songs was sung repeatedly with applause, in the theatre at Edinburgh, by one of the most eminent of the feminine singers of the time. He was an ever-welcome con- tributor to the " Edinburgh Literary Journal," and other periodicals in Scotland and in Lon- don ; and he enjoyed the friendship and esteem of many intellectual men of that day The death of his wife gave a soberer tone to Mr. Wilson's after-life. The memory of her perfections, linked with a deep religious senti- ment which pervaded his whole nature, inspired much of his verse. Time, the great healer, closed the wounds made by sharp sorrow, and several years after his bereavement, the happi- ness of his earlier life was renewed by marriage with Miss Jane Sibbald, a beautiful and accom- plished young woman, and member of one of the oldest families in the County of Roxburg. She was a true mother to his " mitherless bairns," and in character, the reverse of the one hinted at in his poem entitled " The Mitherless Wean." A score of years after this marriage, he said, in a lecture on u The Philosophy of Home," given before a literary association in this country : " Were it fitting, I could tell you of a MEMOIR. 9 step-mother, who for twenty years has filled that ungracious and much maligned duty, whose un- deviating aim has been to screen, qualify, and ex- plain away the faults and follies of her step-chil- dren, and who, in the unselfish nobility of her nature, has never once appeared to be conscious which portion of the family was hers and which that of her predecessor." Mr. Wilson continued his mercantile business and literary recreation, in Edinburgh, until De- cember, 1833, when he left his home in Mel- ville Place, with a moderate capital, and emi- grated to the United States. He passed the re- mainder of the winter, after his arrival, in the city of New York, and in the spring of 1834, he went into the interior of Pennsylvania with the intention of investing his capital in land or merchandise there. His purpose was changed when his family arrived in New York in July ; and at the close of that month he went with them to the village of Poughkeepsie, on the bank of the Hudson River, where he established a bookstore and circulating library. From that time until within a few weeks of his death, on the 25th of August, 1860, he was engaged in the book trade in Poughkeepsie as publisher, binder, and seller, a part of the time in partnership with the late Paraclete Potter (brother of the bish- op), but a greater portion of the time alone. 10 MEMOIR Mr. Wilson was a most attentive and laborious business man, yet he found time to write much and well for the periodicals of Great Britain and this country. He was always an acceptable con- tributor to the Edinburgh " Literary Journal," " Chambers' Journal," and others. During his earlier residence in Poughkeepsie, he wrote some excellent poems for " Tait's Magazine," over his old signature of " Alpin." In a collection of Scottish poetry, published in Glasgow in 1844, and another collection, in six volumes, published in Edinburgh in 1857, there are several poems from his pen which display great delicacy of sentiment, vigor of thought, and artistic con- struction. Mr. Wilson seldom published his compositions over his own name ; and when, many years ago, his eldest son proposed the issuing of a collection of his poems in a volume, he said, " Pray, think no more about it. I have no objection to be quizzed by a few private friends who may affect to admire my rubbish, but I have no wish to be the target of the public. I know, moreover, that although you might like to hear me sing to half a dozen friends at your own fireside and mine, it does not follow that you would equally relish an exhibition of my vocality in Tripler Hall." Later, his modest scruples were par- tially overcome ; and a few months before his MEMOIR. 1 1 death, he told me that he had thought of mak- ing a selection of his poems for publication in a volume. That willingness is his son's warrant for issuing this little book. Mr. Wilson's writings for the press of this country — among them the " New York Even- ing Post," " The Albion," " The Knickerbocker Magazine," and others — bore the assumed name of " Allan Grant." Over that signature he made many contributions to "The Church Rec- ord," edited and published in Chicago by his younger son. These were mostly poetic ef- fusions. Among his prose contributions to that periodical were a series of extracts from the u Diary and Correspondence of Samuel Pepys," a courtier of the times of the later Stuarts. These he introduced by a racy general preface and charming intenveaving paragraphs from his own pen, and the papers were signed " W. W." He continued these contributions until a short time before his death. He was passionately fond of music, and left several compositions of considerable merit. A few months before his death he composed an air of great beauty to a poem by his friend Hew Ainslee, the venerable Scotch poet, who survives him. True, just, and honorable in all his dealings, a warm and active friend of the deserving, and liberal to those in need and in the promotion of 12 MEMOIR. public benefactions, so far as a prude; .t man- agement of his affairs would allow, Mr. Wilson was highly esteemed by all as an excellent citi- zen. Fluent in conversation, well educated possessed of an extensive and critical knowl- edge of books and their authors, he was a most agreeable and instructive companion for intelli- gent men. Retiring and unobtrusive, he was seldom seen in social life excepting in business relations, or as a worshipper in the temple on the Sabbath day. Only a few knew his real moral and intellectual worth. The few who ap- preciated him, and shared his confidence and friendship, remember with pleasure his genial good-nature, the exuberance of his spirits, his fund of anecdote, and his pure and delightful social qualities as exhibited under his own roof. In his family he was a strict disciplinarian, according to old country notions ; but he was ever tender, affectionate, kind, generous, and winning. And had he published his collection of poems when he contemplated it, he might have truthfully dedicated it to his children in the following words, which he wrote for his friend, John Aitken, Editor of the " London Cabinet," as the dedication to his children of one of the volumes of that publication : — Yes, my young darlings, since my task is done, Affain I'll mingle in vour freaks and fun ; MEMOIR. 13 Be glad, be gay, be thoughtless if I can, And merge the busy worldling in the man. Not the stiff pedagogxie, with brow severe, Authoritative air and look austere, But the fond sire with feelings long repress'd, Eager to bless, as eager to be bless'd, Longing in home's dear sanctuary to find The smiling lips, the embrace, the kiss so kind, The cloudless brow, the bearing frank and free, The gladdening shout of merriment and glee, And all the luxury which boisterous mirth Scattered, erewhile, around our social hearth. Bemember ye. my sweet ones, with what " pomp And circumstance " of glee we used to romp From room to room, o'er tables, stools, and chairs, O'erturning household gods — now up the stair.-, Now under sofas, now in corners hiding, Now in, now out, now round the garden gliding 1 Remember ye — when under books and toys The table groaned, and evening's tranquil joys Soothed your excited spirits to repose — How, blithe as larks, at peep of dawn ye rose 1 Pleased every moment, mirthful every hour, As bees love sunshine, or as ducks the shower, No ills annoyed you, pleasures never pall'd, Care ne'er corroded, nor repinings gall'd, But like blithe birds, from clime to clime that fly, Each change brought blossoms and a cloudless sky, — "But now Papa's grown strange, and will not speak, Nor play at blind-man's buff, nor hide-and-seek ; Tell no more stories ere Ave go to bed, Nor kiss us when our evening prayers are said, But still, with thoughtful look and brow of gloom, ] 4 MEMOIR. He stalks in silence to his study room, Nor ever seeks our evening sports to share ; Why, what can dear Papa be doing there 1 " Such were the thoughts which oft in tears gush'd forth, Amid the pauses of your infant mirth, And dimmed the lustre of your bright blue eyes — As wandering clouds obscure the moonlit skies, Making their misty mellowness even more Soul-soothing than the glorious light before. 'Mid laureled literature's elysian bowers, I've been a-roaming, culling fadeless flowers, And these collected treasures at your feet I lay, ye beautiful ! " Sweets to the sweet." Yet all too soon I dedicate to you Flowers of such rich perfume and varied hue, O'er which the deathless fire of genius breathed ; And all too soon this garland I have wreathed, To win me favor in your infant eyes ; Though years may come when ye will fondly prize Affection's fond memorials, given to prove The doating fondness of a father's love ; Love, full as ocean's waters, firm as faith, Wide as the universe, and strong as death. Such, in brief outline, is a picture of the more salient points in the life and character of the author of this volume of poems. It is but the familiar illustration of those of a thousand others who have soared up from the shadows of poverty and social obscurity on the wings of their own MEMOIR. 15 inherent excellencies, into the upper light and air of usefulness, honor, and distinction. He experienced, in its broadest sense, as others have done, the truth of the assurance of the sacred Proverbialist, who said, " Seest thou a man dil- igent in his business? he shall stand before kings ; he shall not stand before mean men.*' B. J. L. The Ridge, Dover, N. Y.. 1869. POEMS. SABBATH MORNING IN THE WOODS. O blessed moral whose ruddy beam Of gladness mantles fount and stream, And over all created things A golden robe of glory flings. On every tendril, leaf, and spray, A diamond glistens in the ray, And from a thousand throats a shout Of adoration gushes out, - — A glad but sweet preclusive psalm Which breaks the hallowed morning's calm. Each wimpling brook, each winding rill, That sings and murmurs on at will, Seems vocal with the blest refrain, — " The Lord has come to life again ! " And from each wild-flower on the wold, In purple, sapphire, snow, or gold, Pink, amethyst, or azure hue, Beauteous of tint and bright with dew, 18 SABBATH MORNING IN THE WOODS. There breathes an incense off'ring, borne Upon the wakening breeze of morn To the Creator, all divine ! — Meet sacrifice for such a shrine. Far clown those lofty forest aisles, Where twilight's solemn hush prevails, The wind its balmv censer swings Like odors from an angel's wings, Who, passing swift to earth, had riven Their fragrance from the bowers of heaven. And through each sylvan tangled hall Where slanting bars of sunlight fall, Faint sounds of hallelujahs sweet The tranced ear would seem to gree% As if the holy seraphim Were choiring here their matin hymn. God of all nature ! here I feel Thy awful presence, as I kneel In humble, heart-abasement meet, Thus lowly at Thy mercy seat ; And while I tremble I adore (Like him by Bethel's stone of yore), For this Thy vouchsafed presence given Hath made this place the gate of heaven. NATURE'S WORSHIP, What means this sleepless longing For the open sapphire sky ? Those restless wishes thronging, That like falcon I might fly To the mountains towering high ? Away from reeking alleys, With their swelt'ring heat and din. To the blessed hills and valleys, Where, assoiled from mortal sin, Peace of spirit I might win. I loathe the steaming city, With its mis'ries manifold, And its ever during ditty, " Give us gold — O, give us gold ! Heap'd, unmeasur'd, and untold." There the hollow pomp of fashion, With its apish airs of pride, And the baleful fire of passion, Flinging ruin far and wide, Heav'n from the hearth doth hide. 20 NATURE'S WORSHIP. These have soil'd the robes of brightness, That the soul in Eden wore, And have marr'd the spirit's lightness. From the ancient days of yore — And will mar it evermore. From the rich man's pillar'd temple, With its carv'd and fretted roof, And cushion'd stalls so ample, The poor man must stand aloof, Or endure pride's stern reproof. My spirit shuns communion With the robe-bedizen'd crowd, That in freezing formal union, And with aspect cold and proud, Mumble orisons aloud. But roams where brooks are gliding Through the deep embow'ring dells, And violets are hiding, 'Neath the laden fox-glove bells, Where the wild bees' bugle swells. Seeks the old woods' leafy ceiling, With their cloister'd vistas dim, When summer winds are pealing Forth their incense-breathing hymn To the list'ning seraphim. NATURE'S WORSHIP. 21 There in fervor, lowly kneeling On the consecrated sod, In silent prayer appealing, From my anchorite abode, I would humbly worship God. O, BLESSING ON THEE, LAND! 0, blessing on thee, land Of love and minstrel song; For freedom found a dwelling-place Thy mountain cliffs among! And still she loves to roam Among thy heath-clad hills, And blend her wild-wood harp's sweet strain With the voice of mountain rills. Her song is on the gale, Her step upon the wold ; And morning diamonds brightly gem Her braided locks of gold. Far up the pine-wood glen, Her sylph-like form is seen, By hunter in the hazy dawn, Or wandering bard at e'en. My own dear native home, The birthplace of the brave, O, never may thy soil be trod By tyrant or by slave ! 0, BLESSING OX THEE, LAND! 23 Then, blessing on thee, land Of love and minstrel song ; For freedom found a dwelling-place Thy mountain cliffs among ! SONG OF THE WESTERN SETTLER. Why did I leave fair Branksome's towers, Why did I leave sweet Teviot glen, Its daisied banks and hazel bowers, Kind collie, plaid, and blithe sheep-pen ? O, there is not a rushy den, Clear wimpling burn, or brier brake, But in my bosom stirs a train Of mournful thoughts that make it ache. Oft, dreams of Albion's sea-bound isle Steal o'er my slumber with their balm ; I hear a song, I meet a smile, At blighting in the gloaming-calm. Anon the reverential psalm, From straw-thatched cot, will fancy hear, And kneeling low with joined palm, Breathe the heart-uttered prayer sincere. Then round me gathered faces dear, That kindly words of welcome speak ; My father's smile — the glistening tear Of gladness on my mother's cheek. SONG OF THE WESTERN SETTLER. 25 One form my wandering eye doth seek, My plighted Marion — " nearest, best, Come hither with those looks so meek, And let me fold thee to my breast." But morning comes, and with it wake My bleeding sorrows fresh again, And I must to my toil betake, Beside that fatal marshy fen. Could I again in Teviot vale Wander when gloaming hour was near, And hearken to the cushat's wail, Or blackbird piping to his dear, Or listen'd with delighted ear The soaring laverock's vesper song, Blent with the lintie's warblings clear, That pipes the yellow broom among, — Then light of heart and lithe of limb, I'd belt my plaid and grasp my kent, And by the holy twilight dim, Would hie me to the upland bent. There with the star-gemm'd firmament Above me for my temple dome, I'd kneel and ask of heaven — content — A shepherd's lot and Scottish home. KING ROBERT THE BRUCE. He sat alone on a mossy cairn, And leant on his bloody brand, While his look grew vengeful, dark, and stern, With thoughts of his injured land. Where is the plaided warrior host He marshal'd at morning tide ? On the battle-field with banner lost, They are slumbering side by side ! And he like a hunted felon flies To the hills of his native home, In mountain shepherd's lowly guise, Through the wilderness to roam. On steep Benvoirlich's storm-beaten crest, The eagle is monarch there ; And low in the heathy vale at rest, The red deer couch in their lair. The hill-fox hies to his craggy den, The bittern to sedgy brake, But the Bruce must shun the haunts of men, An outcast for Scotland's sake. What kingly daring and might could dare, That good King Robert did he ; Now falls his grief on the desert air For the knight of Ellerslie : KING ROBERT THE BRUCE. 27 " 0, for the sword of the Wallace now, With its lightning flash of doom ! When the battle flush was on his brow And victory on his plume ! When like the whirlwind's wrathful sweep, He rushed to the deadly fray, While the foe fell round him heap on heap, As the mower swaths the hay. And back like frighten'd deer they fled, Each hurrying rank on rank, As the stern avenger's angry blade Gleamed red on rear and flank. " Then rung fair Scotland's stormy hurra, As she waved her bonnet blue, While o'er her warrior's thick array Her proud lion-banner flew. And that lion-banner yet shall stream Uncheck'd from strand to strand, And the broad claymore 'mid victory gleam In each plaided hero's hand ! Then from her trance shall Freedom wake, And her trumpet blast be blown, Till haughty English Edward quake On his loftv tvrant throne." THE RARE OLD FRIENDS. The rare old friends, the dear old friends, How fast they pass away ! Fast as the vernal blossom showers Fall from the leafy spray. And in their dark and silent homes We lay them, one by one, Each like a planet from our heaven, Forever quenched and gone. The rare old friends, the dear old friends, The trusted and the true ; How wane they from our weeping sight, As dries the summer dew. We miss them on the crowded mart, We miss them in the hall, And by the vacant ingleside — 0, saddest blank of all. To gaze into the frozen eye From which the light is gone, To speak, and hear no loving voice Replying to our own ; THE RARE OLD FRIENDS. 29 To strain them to our bleeding heart, As if their flight to stay, And O, the cruel thought to know, — We clasp but lifeless clay. So stealeth night upon our sky ; Yet 'mid its pall-like gloom, Faith points, with angel smile, to worlds Of bliss beyond the tomb. Then let them pass, those dear old friends, As autumn's honors fall, They soon shall call us hence, and we Shall answer to their call. Why linger at the banquet board When all the guests are flown? No ! let us seek that land of love Where all the loved are gone. THE MITHERLESS WEAN. If ye ever rejoic'd in the sweets o' a hame, If ye still have a mither to luve an' to bless ; 0, pity, kind stranger, a puir beggar wean That has nae hame to seek, an' is mither- less! 0, pity, kind stranger, for ance like thee I was ane o' a happy familie ! F the morning we raise wi' the loud liltin' lark, When he dried his dewy wings in the young sunbeam ; An' wi' hearts fu' o' luve sent our praise up to Heaven An' our prayers for what to him best might seem. An' she that's awa' — wi' an uplifted ee — Sought the blessing o' the Lord on our In- dustrie. A' day lang we toil'd, but we never repined, Our dear mither lo'ed us, our father ay was kind, THE MITHERLESS WEAN. 31 An' our hearts then a' pure, were as licht as the down O' the thistle, when it frolics wi' the way- ward wind ; Whate'er Heaven sent we were gladsome to see, An' we ne'er thoct our day's daurk a drudgerie. An' when gloamin' cam' on, nicht's dark har- binger, O, then cam the hours o' our innocent mirth When we gather'd wi' joy 'neath our cot's lowly roof, An' wi' faces a' smilin' encircled the hearth, An' beguil'd the e'en wi' tales o' the deeds that wont to be, Or wi' sangs o' our Kubra's auld minstrelsie. An' O, it was sweet when the nicht was gane, To raise high the holy Psalmodie, An' to read in the book, o' the love o' our God, An' to kneel to Him rev'rentlie : An' to bless his name, wha has sworn to be The puir man's God continuallie. 32 THE MITHERLESS WEAN. But wae's my sad heart ! thae bricht days are gane An' a lanof nicht o' sadness an' sorrow is nigh, For the finger o' death touch'd the face o' my mither An' her well-spring o' life dribblet dry : An' she slippit awa' like the mists that ye see Stealin' upward to heaven sae bonnilie. An' ere spring had spread its green o'er her grave, An unco woman sat in her auld chair — His new wife, father ca'd her — an' he said she wad hae A mither's luve for us, an' a kind mith- er's care ; 0, how could she e'er be a mither to me That spake o' the dead sae scornfullie. — Fu* soon on our stools her bairns were a' planted Round the ingle that erst burnt sae cheerilie. An' frae hame we were driven — an' the door barr'd against us To drift through a wide warld wearily. An' 0, sad are the days that the wretched maun dree Wha wander through the warld friendlesslie. THE M/TEERLESS WEAN. 33 If ye ever rejoiced in the sweets o' a name, If ye still ha'e a mither to love an' to bless, 0, pity, kind stranger, a puir beggar wean That has nae hame to seek, an' is mither- less. 0, pity, kind stranger, an' frae heaven hie The God o' the puir will bless thy charitie. BONNIE MARY. When the sun gaes doun, when the sun gaes doun, I'll meet thee, bonnie Mary, when the sun gaes doun ; I'll row my apron up, and I'll leave the reeky town, And meet thee by the burnie when the sun gaes doun. By the burnie there's a bower, we will gently lean us there, An' forget in ither's arms every earthly care, For the chiefest of my joys in this weary mortal roun' Is the burnside wi' Mary, when the sun gaes doun. When the sun gaes doun, etc. There's the ruined castle tower on the distant steep appears, Like a hoarv auld warrior faded with vears ; BONNIE MARY. 35 An the burnie stealin' by wi' a fairy silver soun' Will soothe us wi' its music when the sun gaes doun. When the sun gaes doun, etc. The burnie is sweet when the dew is on the flower, •But 'tis like a little heaven at the trystin' hour. An' with pity I would look on the king who wears the crown When wi' thee by the burnie, when the sun gaes doun. When the sun gaes doun, etc. When the sun gaes doun, when the sun gaes doun, I'll meet thee by the burnie, when the sun gaes down ; Come in thy petticoatie, and thy little drugget gown, An' I'll meet thee, bonnie Mary, when the sun gaes doun. HYMN. Thou who art beyond the praise Of holy minist'ring seraphim, With trembling joy may I not raise To Thee my grateful, lowly theme ? Yes ! leprosied all o'er with sin, And worm of dust although I be, Omnipotent and Holy One, I lift my soul in praise to Thee. 1 bless Thee for the love which tells Of Him that for the guilty died; I bless Thee for the stream which wells In healthful murmurs from His side. O, bathe me there ; O, wash me white, And free from every mortal stain ; Restore the inner man to sight, And bid my spirit live again. MARY. WRITTEN IN JANUARY, 1826. Start not, my love, 'twas but the midnight bell Pealing its drowsy notes upon thine ear, In measured tones of dreariness which knell The solemn dirge of the departed year, Dying in melancholy deep farewell. O, how that lengthened chime was wont to cheer Us with its magic ; why so charmless now ? The dew of sickness stands upon thy burning- brow. There was a time, my own belov'd, when I Did rouse thee up to revel at that sound ; And now I sit beside thy couch, and siMi To watch thy throbbing bosom's fevered bound, Or read the wishes of thy languid eye That wanders vacantly the chamber round, Until it fix with steady smile on him On whom alone aye falls its fondest, warmest beam. 38 MARY. 0, Mary dearest, seven years have past, Since we were one in feeling, future, soul, And every year seemed happier than the last, Because we loved each other with the whole Of our affections, which no time can blast, Change alienate, nor circumstance control ; For passing years but beautify our chain, As rivers widen as they onward near the main. Thy thoughts are wandering, love ; this is no bower, There is no streamlet rippling 'mong the broom. Are we not now alone, at midnight hour, Keeping our vigil by that taper's gloom ? Here is no singing bird, nor shrub, nor flower, Flinging upon the breeze its rich perfume ; Save I thy own bird, that, too sad to sing, Sits by thy couch with weary, drooping wing. My drooping flower, thy cheek is flushed, thy lip Is parched with withering drought, and deeply pale. But come, this cooling goblet thou shalt sip. 'Twill quench its burning ; O, let me prevail Upon thee, sweetest, but to quaff this cup, And like the mist before the mountain gale, MAR Y. 39 Or evening's shadows at the dawn of day, These wildering fantasies will quickly fade away. I cannot sing, my love, yet faint and low, I'll breathe that melody thou lov'st to hear ; O could the strain but half as softly flow. As when I potir'd it first upon thine ear, Then ecstasy would light that brow of snow, And brighten up that eye's dimmed atmos- phere, As breaks the sunbeam through the morning mists Serene and beauteous; list now, my lov'd one, list : HYMN. O there's a land of life and light, Where sickness never ventured, A paradise of pure delight, Where sorrow never entered. There nought to bid the bosom ache, Or cloud the brow with sadness, But every heart to joy awake, Forever tuned to gladness. And there the ransomed spirits dwell, By life's immortal river, 40 MARY. The raptured song of love to swell. Forever and forever. A little while in darkness here, We, weeping, onward wander ; But death shall every fetter tear, Which keeps fond souls asunder. The grave is but our couch of rest, Where, freed from sin and sorrow, We'll sleep until we join the blest On judgment's glorious morrow. SLEEP. My wounded dove, the soothing strain, Like summer shower on thirsty plain, Hath for a while beguiled thy woes, And lulled thee into calm repose. Then slumber, love, slumber, love, softly and bland, May thy visions be all of the heavenly land. And 'neath the cadence of the lay, Thy veering fancies died away ; As melts the dreamer's grief, when clear The voice of morning meets his ear. Then slumber, love, slumber, love, softly and bland, May thy visions be all of the heavenly land. MARY. 41 DEATH. My loved one, why that anguished start? Thy pale lips' silent quiver? The sigh that seemed to rend thy heart? That wild convulsive shiver? And wherefore not return the kiss 'Mid burning tears I gave thee ? Why heedless of his deep distress That now would die to save thee? One word, one softly whispered word, Before we part forever, Ere yet thy spirit be restored To its Almighty Giver. And art thou then at rest from pain, Released from all thy sorrow, And wilt thou never wake again To welcome in the morrow ? Then earth no more my heart shall claim, Since death the bond hath riven : But up through nature's vast domain, 'Twill follow thee to heaven. 42 MARY. DECAY The strife is o'er, and calmly now, On that cold alabaster brow, The glow of beauty lingers still Like moonlight on a snowy hill. And on that death-cold marble cheek The last faint fading roseate streak Of life, like sunlight on the wave, Plays yet as if to mock the grave. But o'er that mild blue, dove-like eye, Like clouds athwart the moonlit sky, The darkening haze of death hath passed. And all its glory overcast. r My beauteous idol now o'erturned For whom my soul's best incense burned, To whom my spirit bent the knee, Alas ! why is it thus with thee ? Yet wherefore ask ? that lip so pale, Though mute reveals the awful tale ; And that fixed eye, though closed, can teach More moving truths than priests can preach. But vain is grief, regret is vain, Since now the soul hath burst its chain, MARY. 13 Broke from its prison-house abode, And sought the bosom of its God. And what remaineth here but clay, Fast hastening onward to decay ? But glorified it yet shall rise To meet immortals in the skies. One farewell kiss, but not forever, For though a few brief years we sever, Rejoined we yet shall bask for aye, In sunshine of eternal daw DIRGE. My sun of gladness now though set, Thou shalt arise in beauty yet, Serene and cloudless, on to blaze In an immortal length of days. No setting there, no darkening cloud Thy blissful dream of joy to shroud ; For thee, the Lord in might sublime Gives light to all that lovely clime. My star of bliss whose shrouded beam No more upon my sight shall gleam, Since thou art set, a purer ray Shall cheer me on my heavenward way. 4 I MAE Y. Yea, He the bright and morning-star, Shall shine upon my path afar, Till earthly perils all are past, Then take me home to heaven at last. Farewell, farewell, the darksome grave All that is dust again shall have, But the immortal part hath gone To put its robes of glory on ; Hath sought with the redeemed to shart- The song of rapture rising there, To join the everlasting psalm Of adoration to the Lamb. . EPITAPH. Pause, reader, o'er this lowly bed, Where one that erst did live is laid. Brief was her race, but nobly run ; The goal is reached, the crown is won. All that was gentle, pure, refined, Benignant, winning, courteous, kind, She was ; but words are vain, for she Was all that womankind should be. MARY. 45 In this cold world's unkindly soil, Her virtues shed their sweets awhile ; But when the warning word was given, She burst her bonds and sprung to heaven. STANZAS TO A LADY. Sweet lady ! I tell thee thou need'st not tremble, Unwarily should thy soft fingers touch mine ; I love thee not, girl, — why should I dis- semble ? My heart is another's — it ne'er can be thine. And if thou wouldst know who that heart has a keeping, And wherefore my brow is still shadowed with care? Or why all my gladness is changed into weep- ing ? Go ask the dark grave — for my idol is there. Oh ! it was not the spell of her dark ringlets wreathing Around the white neck so surpassingly fair, STANZAS TO A LADY. 47 Nor the music that seemed from that soft bosom breathing, As if telling how kind was the heart that beat there. It was not the calm of her brow's snowy whiteness That won my heart's homage from all else on earth ; Nor the glance of her eloquent eyes' thrilling brightness, Still sweetliest beaming when by her own hearth. 'Twas the smile on the ruddy lip ever repos- ing* When no one was near to applaud or con- demn ; The sunshine within, of the pure soul disclos- ing; The bliss of the spirit — the blaze of the gem. She waned not as light from the landscape at even, As mist from the mountain, or snow from the hill,— But passed as a star from the azure of heaven, A flash from the cloud, or a ray from the rill. 48 STANZAS TO A LADY. My sainted, my loved one, my lost earthly treasure — All pure and beatified now as thou art, Thine, dearest, thine be my harp's latest meas- ure, The last sigh of my soul, the last throb of my heart ! EULALIE. There was a man in noon of life, Of passions ardent, deep, and warm, Who sought by turns repose and strife, Alternate courted weal and harm. Divers and strange the ways he trod, Now seemed, a Satyr, now a God. He gazed on nature with the look The lover on his idol flings, And woman's heart he made a book, Wherein unutterable things Of heaven and earth by turns he read, As prudence or as passion led. Zig-zaging thus from flower to thorn, From thorn to flower he wildly sprung, Now met his prayer the golden morn, Now on a wanton's smile he hung ; Anon his eyes well bitter tears, For broken peace and squander'd years. One morn, an ano-el clad in light. Met him upon his devious way, 4 50 EULALIE. Took pity on his mournful plight, And cleared from clouds his mental ray ; Then pointing heavenward said " Beware ! Uplift thine eyes, thy home is there ! " And now with humble heart and mien. And chastened spirit, journeying on. He walks a stranger 'mid the scene, Where once with meteor flash he shone ; And ever and anon with prayer, He looks to heaven, for she is there. And still upon his evening path, A light is shining half divine, For in his spirit's depth he hath Upraised a pure and sacred shrine, And that adored one, who was she ? His guardian angel, Eulalie. SONG. How pleasant, in our highland home, When early flowers were springing Among the birchen bowers to roam, And list the linnet singing; The moorland dells, where heather bells, And fox-gloves fair were blooming, And mountain thyme, all in its prime, The balmy air perfuming. Around our childhood's happy home A wimpling stream went chiding ; Now glassy calm, now white with foam, Now 'neath green hazels hiding; That streamlet fair, those woodlands rare, Methinks I yet behold them ; And to my breast, those wild flowers blest, In fancy I enfold them. In slumber, thus, we oft recall Some long departed sorrow, Till fancied woes, in tears that fall, Fly at the voice of morrow. 52 SONG. Thus mem'ry dwells on fond farewells, When years come softly stealing, Till Faith's bright ray breaks on our way, The bliss of heaven revealing. A WELCOME TO CHRISTOPHER NORTH. Oh the queer auld man, the dear auld man, The drollest in Christendie, Wha sae aft has beguil'd doure care till he smil'd ; He's comin' his kinsfolk to see! He's comin' to daud frae his bonnet a blink The stoure o' classic ha's ; He's hung up his goun i' the gude auld toun, An' brunt his critic's taws. CHORUS. He's a dear auld man, he's a queer auld man, He's a leal auld man, he's a hale auld man, Frae the Aristook to the Raritan Ye'll no find the fier o' our spree auld man. But his pike-staff o' aik, whilk mony a paik Has rung on timmer crouns, An' his birken crutch, ye'll find few such For soberin' senseless loons. Thae switches Strang — the short an' the lang, The pawkie auld carle brings, 54 A WELCOME TO CHRISTOPHER NORTH. An' wae to the pate o' the . blether-skate, On whilk their vengeance rings. He's a bauld auld man, he's a yauld auld man, He's a free auld man, he's a slee auld man, An' there's no a lady in a' the Ian' Wi' a blythesomer e'e than our braw auld man. But a kindly wit has Scotland's Kit, As kind a heart an' smile, An' the wierd words flung, frae his witching tongue, The gled frae the lift wad wile. For a' kind o' lear, His presence be here ! An' a' kinds o' knowledge has he, Baith Latin an' Greek he as glibly can speak, As ye wad the A, B, C. He's a grave auld man, he's a brave auld man, He's a frank auld man, he's a swank auld man, At fleechin' or preachin' or cioorin' a pan, There's nae peer to our North Com i tree auld man. A WELCOME TO CHRISTOPHER NORTH. 55 Sae lads to your shanks, an' thegither in ranks, Let's welcome gude Kit to our shore. In our costliest braws — wi' our loudest hur- rahs, Till the wondering welkin roar; For kings are but caff, an' warld's gear draft', Eugulph'd by the tide o' Time, But the heaven-born mind, loving a' mankind, Till doomsday shall tower sublime. He's a srand auld man, he's a bland auld man, He's a yare auld man, he's a rare auld man, Tho' the terror o' sumph an' o' charlatan, He's a kind-hearted debonair auld man. "AH! NA, JOHNNIE, NA." Ah ! na, Johnny, na, though ye're bonny, young, an' braw, I canna lea' my puir auld mither pining a' alane In her lowly theekit beild i' the gloamin* grey o' eild, Wi' nane to help an' nane to heed her mane. Ah ! na, Johnny, na, I wot ye never saw, A cruel dochter mak' a kindly marrow to a man, Nor the ruthless bairn that wrings a parent's bosom strings, But fell beneath misfortune's bitter ban. Ah ! na, Johnny, na, when Liking gies the law Puir Duty aft maun jink an' jee an' hide her head awhile, But a blessing ay maun be on the bairn frae on hie, Wha seeks a mither's sorrows to beguile. "Aff! NA, JOHNNY, NA." 57 Ah ! na, Johnny, na, 'twould break my heart in twa, Should ony winsome lassie wile awa' your love frae me, But laddie dinna blame that I canna lea' my hame, Or frail auld widow'd minny love for thee. Ah ! na, Johnny, na, the true love atween us twa, Will like a rose tree blossom on for mony a happy year, An' ilk comin' spring will find its tendrils closer twin'd, An' nearer to ilk ither and inair dear. RICHARD CGEUll DE LTON. Brightly, brightly the moonbeam shines On the castle turret wall ; Darkly, darkly the spirit pines, Deep, deep in its dungeon's thrall. He hears the screech-owl whoop reply To the warder's drowsy strain, And thinks of home, and heaves a sigh For his own bleak hills again. Sweetly, sweetly the spring-flowers spread, When first he was fettered there ; Slowly, slowly the sere leaves fade, Yet breathes he that dungeon's air. All lowly lies his banner bright, That foremost in battle streamed, And dim is the sword that in the fight Like midnight meteor beamed. But place his foot upon the plain, That banner o'er his head, His good lance in his hand again, With Paynini slaughter red, RICHARD C(EUR DE LION. 59 The craven hearts that round him now With coward triumph stand, Would quail before that dauntless brow, And the death-flash of that brand. THE ISLAND QUEEN. How sternly beautiful art thou, Romantic northern land ; Whose lofty cloud-encompassed brow, And look of high command, Bespeak thee wont to have thy will, — To wake or bid the world be still. Amidst the surging ocean throned, That laves thy queenly feet, And round by girdling mountains zoned, Thou tak'st thv regal seat, The sovereign lady of the sea, Hope of the brave — home of the free. I've seen the Summer coronal Thy princely robe with flowers, And Autumn gather sweets from all The upland dingle bowers, And breathe around thee, the perfumes Of all his fairest mountain blooms. But when hoar Winter round thy brow His white tiara bound, THE ISLAND QUEEN. 61 And like a spotless vestal thou, In dazzling beauty crowned, Sat pinnacled in grandeur there, What sight on earth so calm, so fair ! Now o'er thy vales the virgin Spring, Her joyous smile hath thrown ; And from thy woods love-warblings ring- In many a varied tone ; And lambs upon the green sward leap, And herds are lowing on each steep. And all is fair and free from thrall, Where despot none is found ; For shackles from the captive fall, Who touches English ground ; And by each rude and gentle tongue Upon the earth, thy praise is sung. Hast thou not to the nations been A hope-inspiring star? When tyrants made the world a scene Of carnage, waste, and war, Till forth thy serried legions thronged, To spoil the spoiler — right the wronged. But calmly thou'rt reposing now Like a lion in his lair, And peace hath charmed from thy brow 62 TEE ISLAND QUEEN. The tempest cloud of care ; But woe to him would wake thy ire — 'Twere better rouse old Etna's fire. All lovely art thou, ocean queen, Most beautiful and free; And where on this terrestrial scene, Is aught may vie with thee ? For on thy consecrated sod, Hath Freedom chosen her abode. And long to her may incense rise, From city, cot, and wold, Until the moon in dotage dies, The sun grows dim and cold ; Then be the dirge of nature sung, And heaven's last trumpet-summons run^ A MOURNER'S DREAM. Yestreen at midnight hour I crept Forlorn to my lonely bed, For the carking cares of this weary world, Lay on my heart like lead. And on my pillow bitter tears Of sorrow fell like rain, Till balmy slumber kindly stole The poison sting of pain. And then methought my buried love, With brow of blissful calm, Came softly in, as she was wont, At hour of evening psalm. And down beside my couch she sat, As if to list my moan, While close I held my breath to drink Her words' celestial tone. O, Willie, wherefore weep ye sae, And wherefore do ye pine ? And is the sacred lore forgot, Ye taught to me lang syne? 64 A MOURNERS DREAM. Leave sordid cares to sordid souls, The earth to earthly men, And lift thy open brow to heaven, With faith and hope again. And God on high shall be thy guide, His angel host thy guard, And earth shall turn to heaven, and heaven At last be thy reward. Keep hands unsullied, heart unstained, Nor mammon worship more, And I shall meet thee, Willie dear, On yon immortal shore. "IT IS WELL." 2 Kings iv. 26. £t is well with the soul of the righteous, well Though the seas of adversity over him swell ; For He who is mighty will ever be near, To comfort his saints amid sorrow and fear. It is well, though the idols in whom thou didst trust Should be shiver'd before thee and trampled in dust: Believer, in love from thy grasp they were riven, That thy hopes might be anchor'd alone upon heaven. It is well — it is well — all is well, still with thee, Though thy gourds of enjoyment blasted should be ; Bless the hand that bereaves, 'tis a Father's own hand, And beckons thy thoughts to a lovelier land. 5 6G "IT IS WELL." ' And when 'neath the cold wizard touch of decay, The nearest and dearest of friends fade away Like autumn's sere honors, when strew'd on the gale, Even then be the words of thy soul, "It is well ! " When the combat is o'er and the race is run, And the bright goal of glory almost won, O Saint, may thy spirit, triumphant in faith, Exclaim, " It is well ! " in the valley of death. And when the veil rends that no longer shall sever Thy soul from the joys of Jehovah forever, May the last faint sounds on thy pale lips that swell, Be whisper'd in rapture, " It is well ! It is well ! " THE FAITHLESS. We part, — yet wherefore should I weep, From faithless thing like thee to sever ? Or let one tear mine eyelids steep, While thus I cast thee off forever ? I loved thee — need I say how well ? Few, few have ever loved so dearly ; As many a sleepless hour can tell, And many a vow breath'd too sincerely. But late beneath its jetty lash, I loved to mark thy blue eyes' splendor, Which wont all witchingly to flash On me its light, so soft and tender; Now, from that glance I turn away, As if its thrilling gaze could wound me : Though not, as once, in love's young day, When thoughtless passion's fetters bound me. The dimpling smile, with sweetness fraught — The bosom, 'mid its snow, upheaving ; Who, that had seen them, could have thought That things so fair could be deceiving ? 68 THE FAITHLESS. The moon, the sky, the wave, the wind, In all their fitful moods of changing, Are nought to wavering woman's mind, Forever shifting, ever rangino- ! Farewell ! I'd rather launch my bark Upon the angry ocean billow, 'Mid wintry winds, and tempests dark, Than make thy faithless breast my pillow. Thy broken vow now cannot bind ; Thy streaming tears no more can move me ; And thus I turn from thee, to find A heart that may more truly love me. EPISTLE TO LIZZY LEE. Where Hudson deep, majestic, wide, Pours to the sea his monarch tide, And mountains mirror'd in their pride 0' simmer sheen, A cozy cot may be descried 'Mid maples green. The settin' sun is sweetly glantin' His gowden glories down the plantin', While loud the mellow robin 's chantin' His melodie, And on the croft the bairns are rantin' Wi' mickle glee. The sheep are nibblin' on the swaird, The ky are routing i' the yard, The naigs wi' e'ening corn are car'd, An' i' the pen The ca's ha'e low'd till echo rair'd Lowino-s again. *r»* Beneath the honeysuckle's screen, Gazing upon the gladsome scene, 70 EPISTLE TO LIZZY LEE. My modest, comely, gentle Jean, Wi' bairn on knee, Sits smilin' like some shepherd queen 0' Arcadie. And Arcadie it is I trew To me whose hopes and aims are few, Where unpolluted joys I pu' Fresh frae love's tree, Which bears young blossoms fair and new For ay to me. And certes tho' my day is dreigh, And fortune still looks sour an' skeigh, Baith head and heart I'll still baud high, An' cock my bonnet, Though brainless, purse-proud coofs cry " feigh," I'll pen a sonnet. Let saints look shy, and sages sharp ; Let prudes cry " fye ! " and critics carp, I'll wake ance mair my Norlan' harp, An' think nae crime To weave the measure, woof an' warp, In Doric rhyme. 'Tis true I never can aspire To Jamie's bauld Promethean fire, EPISTLE TO LIZZY LEE. 71 Or glorious Walter's lofty lyre, Or Robbie's strain, The chief an' king o' a' the choir 0' mortal men. But yet in artless rustic sang O' scenes dear Scotia's vales amang, When simmer a 'her sweetness flanof O'er hill an' plain, A simple minstrel thinks nae wrang To lilt a strain. And ablins to his muirland lays, Will gentle L gie meed o' praise, Nae hollow, courtly, sugar'd praise, 0' commendation, But kind encomium, meet to raise Self-approbation. And haply when he's no ower thrang, He'll sing to her some rustic sang, Sometimes o' joy, sometimes o' Strang, Heart-riving sorrow. Sic as the breast o' Mary wrang, By flowery Yarrow. 'Twad pleasure her I weel opine To list the lays o' auld lang syne, 72 EPISTLE TO LIZZY LEE. Strain after strain, line after line, Wi' transport filling; A pensive sadness half divine The bosom thrillin'. Men worship wealth, and sigh for rank. As if their heav'n were in a bank, And when by mony a wily prank, Wi' gear they're gorged, 'Tis but to hear the fetters clank Themselves hae forg'd. But tent me winsome Lizzy Lee, Could wealth ay fa' to sic as thee, Unspoil'd by greatness and degree, By purse unprided : E'en God's puir bodies wad agree 'Twas weel divided. Oh leeze me on the open heart ! Unchill'd by greed, unstain'd by art, Unkent on fashion's giddy mart: By rank unscared, Scorning to play a fawning part To king or laird. And should we meet — and meet we shall In spite o' bondage and o' thrall — EPISTLE TO LIZZY LEE. 73 A voice shall echo in her hall To some auld ditty, And if on tentless ears it fall, The m air's the pity. How soothing is this solitude, Where nature, in her wildest mood Of richly cultur'd quietude And beauty, reigns, And gentle L , the lov'd, the good, The soul enchains. The greenwood glade, the sylvan bower, The garden grac'd with many a flower, The wild birds' song at gloaming hour In melting strain, These all are gentle Lizzy's dower, — This her domain. What is there in the grand saloon Amid the dinsome stoory toun, To keep the weary heart in tune ? Which like a dove, Pines through the leafy groves o' June, At will to rove. O what has wealth or what has lare To heal the canker wounds o' care, 74 EPISTLE TO LIZZY LEE. Or soothe the. heart wi' sorrow sair When, tempest-driven, The bloodshot e'e o' wild despair It lifts to Heaven ? Wha spurns distrust an' loathes disguise An' ilka will that knav'ry tries, That is the heart o' hearts to prize ; An' where 'tis given, Nae greater blessing to the wise Can come frae Heaven. Then wi' a sordid miser's care That friendship in my heart I'll bear ; A glowing jewel — priceless — rare — Of worth untold, That deeply shall be treasur'd there Like hidden gold. Farewell; for while this strain I'm weavin, The sober russet plaid o' even Has thrown athort the azure heaven Its darksome cover ; But gay or gloomy, glad or grievin', I'm thine forever. NIGHT ON THE SEA-SHORE. The heavens are cloudless, The winds are asleep, And there is not a breath On the face of the deep, Save the drowsy sound Of the fisherman's oar, As he heavily nears His boat to the shore. The shepherd's blithe whistle Hath ceas'd on the hill, The watch-dog is mute, And the forest is still ; And the silence of ocean, Of earth and of sky, Is soft as the slumber Of innocency. Now the weary fisher Hath moor'd his light skiff; The sea-bird hath gone To his place in the cliff; 76 NIGHT ON THE SEA-SHORE. And the aspect of nature Seems silent and dead, As man's mortal part When the spirit hath fled. The young autumn moon Looks abroad on the scene, Unclouded, untroubled. Tranquil and serene ; And walks the blue azure, As lovely and fair As if the dark tempest Had never been there. It is thus with man In prosperity's hour ; He plucks the gay blossom From pleasure's fair flower ; And his eye beams as bright, As joyous and clear, As if it had never Been dimmed with a tear. When the moonlit heavens Their glories unfold, Like a "beautiful garment Bedropped with gold ; And lake, and river, And ocean waves' hue, NiGHT ON THE SEASHORE. 77 Are all of the deepest Cerulean blue. 'Tis in the softness Of such a calm hour, That earthly passions Relinquish their power. Then soars the glad soul All unfettered and free, Through the boundless space Of immensity. Then seemeth the earth, With its joys and fears, Like some faded dream Of our boyhood years ; And the bliss that we taste In such moments of thought Breathes peace to the soul, And is never forgot. THE HUSBAND'S SONG. Wha my kettle now will boil, Wha will cheer me wi' her smile, Wha will lichten a' my toil, When thou art far awa' ? Wha will meet me on the stair, Wha will kiss me kindly there, And lull to rest ilk earthly care, When thou art far awa'? When the day is at a close, Wha will mak my wee drap brose, Snodly mend my holey hose, When thou art far awa' ? Wha will wi' my failings bear, Wha my e'enin' psalm will share, Wha will wi' me kneel in prayer, When thou art far awa' ? When the nights grow lang and cauld, And the wind blaws snell and bauld, Wha her arms around me fauld, When thou art far awa'? THE HUSBAND'S SONG. 79 Wha will trigly mak' my bed, Draw my nichtcap on my head, And kiss me when I down am laid, When thon art far awa' ? Nane ! and dowie now I gang, Through the house the hale nicht lang, Croonin' ower some simple sang 0' her that's far awa' ! Now I downa bide to leuk Ayont the cheerless ingle neuk, Where oft I read the Holy Beuk To her that's far awa' ! Haste, my dearest ! haste ye hame ; Come, my ain beloved dame ! Ferry ower loch, sea, and stream. And ne'er gae mair awa' ! CONFESSION. " Who can forgive sins, but God only V »> Nay, holy father, come not near, The secret of my soul to hear, For not to mortal ear I tell The thoughts that in this bosom swell, — The hopes, the wishes, wild and vain, Which wander through this burning brain. Frail fellow-being, why should I Before thee kneel imploringly? 'Twere worse than madness to believe Man can his brother-worm forgive, Or yield unto the contrite one That peace which comes from Heaven alone. No — let me spend this blessed hour Communing with a higher power. The world shut out, I'll lowly bend To my Almighty Father, Friend: To Him for mercy I'll appeal — To Him my inmost soul reveal. He knows the heart that He has made, By each alternate passion swayed; And can forgive it, for He knows Its wants, its weakness, and its woes. CONFESSION. 81 By His protecting pardon blest, How sweetly might I sink to rest, And sleep His sheltering wing beneath, Though 'twere the last dark sleep of death. MARIAN'S GRAVE. We saw decay's pale, hectic streak A moment flush her faded cheek; And heard the sounds of farewell quiver Upon her lip, now mute forever. And for a space her sunken eye Seem'd lighted with a brilliancy Of sunshine from the soul imparted, So bright a look of love it darted. ! that so sweet, so fair a form Should feed the loathsome church-yard worm ; 'Mid crumbling bones and clammy clay, The stern memorials of decay. No! she should not be shrouded there, So pure, so gentle, young, and fair, Nor hireling's vulgar fingers stain Her coffin, with their touch profane. Far down the green dell's woody glade, Deep, deep beneath the elm-tree's shade, With wild flowers springing o'er her breast, There she should have her place of resf. MAR TAN'S GRAVE. 83 No choristers beside her grave Should chant their dull funereal stave ; Nor sculptured marble rise to show The sleeper's name that rests below. But there the thrush, at vesper hour, His mellow hymn of love would pour; The red-breast too, in autumn day, Would warble there his roundelay. There Spring would spread her gayest green, And nightly, 'mid the sylvan scene, Kind fairy elves, with many a flower Begemm'd with dew, would deck that bower. And all forgetful of her care, In silence she would slumber there, Nor e'er again heart-broken grieve That man should woman so deceive. DIRGE. Charlie, darling little Charlie, Much beloved but blighted early ; Blinding tears our grief are telling, As we can scan thy narrow dwelling. Household echoes, lately ringing To the gladness of thy singing, Now are silent — or awaken To the wail of hearts forsaken. While the budding woods were growing, Daffodils and pansies blowing, Song-birds to their haunts returning, Thou hast gone and left us mourning ! Mourning for our cherished treasure, Mourning for our vanished pleasure, Mourning for the broken story Of its brief terrestrial glory. To thee baby hearts were clinging, Now with wordless sorrow wrinodno- ; He recall'd thee home who gave thee : Night was come, and death would have thee. DIRGE. 85 So we leave thee here in slumber Which no earthly pain can cumber, Till the trump of God awake thee, Home to Christ in bliss to take thee. THE FOUNTAIN OF LIFE. " To Avhom can we go, but unto thee ? Thou hast the vords of eternal life." — Matt. xiv. 6. But unto Thee — but unto Thee, To whom can man in trouble flee? To whom his malady make known, O living God ! but Thee alone ? Thou the alone Physician art, Canst heal the sorrow-broken heart ; Subdue the wounded spirit's pain, And bid it bound with joy again. The troubled springs to which, at first, We blindly stoop'd to slake our thirst, Hath dried up like a summer rill, And left us faint and thirsting still. When storms are low'ring o'er our head, And every earthly stay is fled, To whom for refuge can we flee, living God ! but unto Thee ? THE FOUNTAIN OF LIFE. 8 No health earth's turbid streams contain : Who drinks from them must thirst again; But he who quaffs life's limpid river, No more shall thirst again forever ? THE LILY O' GLENLYON. Sweet is the e'ening's tear o' dew Upon the bending harebell blue, But sweeter far is she I lo'e, — The Lily o' Glenlyon. I've kissed wi' mony a Highland quean, Wi' Lowland maids danc'd on the green, But nane like her I kiss'd yestreen, — The Lily o' Glenlyon. O, thou art sweet as e'ening's gale That whispers down the blossom'd dale, An' soft as lover's wooing tale, — Sweet Lily o' Glenlyon. I've seen the rose in lordly bower, The violet bloom by ruined tower, But thou art beauty's peerless flower, — Sweet Lily o' Glenlyon. Nae gems thy gouden ringlets braid, Thy brawest veil's the tartan plaid, My Highland love, my mountain maid, My Lily o' Glenlyon. THE LILY 0' GLENLYON. 89 Thy rosy cheek, thy deep-blue e'e, That shot sic deadly glaumerie, Hath bound my heart for aye to thee, Sweet Lily o' Glenlyon. ST. MARYS WELL. The blithest e'e I ever saw Was her e'e o' heavenly blue, The sweetest kiss I ever staw Was a kiss o' her hinny moue. We met when gloamin's dewy tear Upon the wild flower fell, We parted when the morning clear Shone on St. Mary's Well. Nae vulgar love was ours, I trew, At that calm blessed hour, For the pearly drap o' siller dew Ne'er was more chastely pure. We gazed upo' the stars aboon That danc'd to the waverin' sicht, An' blessed the bonny simmer moon Wi' her cloudless mellow licht. We swore nae aith, we pledg'd nae vow To be to ither kind, For honest sauls will aye be true, Without an aith to bind. ST. MARTS WELL. 91 I'll aye gang to St. Mary's Well, By the green wood leafy shaw, To meet the maid o' Annandale, That wil'd my heart awa\ JEAN LINN. haud na your noddle sae hie, my doo, O haud na your noddle sae hie ; The clays that hae been may be yet again seen, Sae look na sae lightly on me, my doo. geek na at hame hodden gray, Jean Linn, O geek na at hame hodden gray ; Your crutcher and mine wad hae thocht them- selves fine In cleedin sae bein, bonny May. Ye mind when we won in Whin glen, Jean Linn ? Ye mind when we won in Whin glen ; Your daddy, douce carle, was cottar to mine, And our herd was your bonny sell, then, Jean Linn. then you were a' thing to me, Jean Linn, then you were a' thing to me ; JEAN LINN. 93 An' the moments scour'd by, like birds through the sky, When tenting the owsen wi' thee, Jean Linn. I twin'd you a bower by the burn, Jean Linn, I twin'd you a bower by the burn ; But dreamt na that hour, as we sat in the bower. That fortune would take such a turn, Jean Linn. You busk noo in satins fu' braw, Jean Linn, You busk noo in satins fu' braw ; Your daddie's a laird, mine's i' the kirk yard, And I'm your puir ploughman, Jock Law, Jean Linn. SONG. Old England, warlike England, Thy lion wakes again ! His roar through sunny Ind resounds As once it pealed in Spain. In soul-arousing notes it rings, Through Cathay's distant clime, And a wail On the gale Is blent with battle's hymn, While the craven herds amaz'd behold Triumph unstained by crime. Old England, dauntless England, Thy conq'ring legions come ! The Clansmen's gathering pibroch blends With trumpet and with drum. Bold Erin's battle-cry bursts forth, As on the dusky bands With a cheer They career, And the traitors bite the sands, Or like the chaff by rushing winds, Are scattered through the lands. SONG. 95 Old England, noble England ! Thy hand ne'er drew the glaive But from his foes to free the wronged, His fetters from the slave ; Yet ever gen'rous in thy strength To spare a fallen foe, No stain Can remain On thy scutcheon's spotless snow, Who strong in might upholds the right And strikes the spoiler low. Old England, glorious England ! On this terrestrial sphere For truth and worth and majesty Where yet was found thy peer? Thou t reader down of tyranny, Thou tamer of the strong, Land and main Own thy reign, And round thy footstool throng, While wond'ring nations worship thee, Thou Queen of sword and song. SONG FOR THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE BIRTHDAY OF BURNS. Tune — " Go to Berwick. Johnnie.'''' Blessing on the day that brings us a' thegither, To drink in Usquebae the land o' kilts an' heather ; An' blessing on the night set Scotia's heart a throbbin', As wi' supreme delight she welcom'd winsome Robin. Then its warlike head her thistle liftit proudly, While strains might wake the dead her bag- pipes liltit loudly : Then by loch an' lea, then ower muir an' cairn, Fairy minstrelsy sung welcome to the bairn. A' the world ower has heard his wild harp ringing, Hearts on ilka shore ha'e kindl'd wi' its sing- ing* Through the lordly ha', i' the reeky sheeling, To the hearts o' a' Robie's sangs gae stealing. BIRTHDAY OF BURNS. 97 Ilka bosom here at that lov'd name is throb- bin'; Here's to Scotia dear, an' Scotia's darlin' Robin ; Here's to Hieland hame and Hieland hills sae hoary, An' here's to him whose fame made brighter Scotia's glory. Kindly 'tis and meet thus yearly to forgather, We whose favor'd feet ha'e trod the muirland heather ; Paidl't in the streams frae Scotia's mountains rowin' ; Heard her pibrochs scream and pu'd her bonny Blessing on the land that mither-like receiv'd us, Took us by the hand and brither-like believ'd us ; Long as ocean laves and ocean breezes fan her, Still o'er ocean waves exalt the starry banner. While we've truth and worth, manly faith an' honor, Let our hearts send forth their benison upon her; 7 98 BIRTHDAY OF BURNS. By our thistle dour, by our mossy cairns, Nought maun stain or cloor the faith o' Scotia's bairns. Sae up wi' hodden grey, up wi' plaid and bon- net ; Native hame for aye, and blessing be upon it. WORK IS PRAYER. Laborare est orare. GRANT us faith to work, and hope to win. When jocund youthhood's morning sun is shining, ' Tis time the work of warfare to begin, — The Christian soldier's warfare waged with sin. Laborare est orare. Father, let our toil seem ever sweet ! When duty bids us still the task be plying ; The task that brings us daily to Thy feet, To catch new glimpses of Thy mercy-seat. Laborare est orare. Though stern the harvest toil, the day's work long, With thankful hearts our scanty sheaves we'll gather ; And strong in confidence, in trusting strong, Still with our tears will mingle bursts of song. 100 WORK IS PRAYER. Labor are est or are. We soon must lay our earthly armor down : And in the heavenly land are legions waiting, To raise the choral welcome of renown, And crown us with an everlasting crown. AULD JOHNNY GRAHAM. Dear Aunty, what think ye o' auld Johnny Graham ? The carle sae pawkie an' slee ; He wants a bit wifie to tent his bien hame, An' the body has ettled at me. Wi' bonnet sae vaunty an' owerlay sae clean. An' ribbon that wav'd boon his bree, He cam' doun the cleugh at the gloamin' yestreen, An' rappit, and speer'd aye for me. I bade him come ben whare my minnie, sae thrang, Was birlin' her wheel eidentlie ; An' foul fa' the carle, he was na' that lang Ere he tauld out his errand to me. " Hech, Tibby lass ! a' yon braid acres o' land. Wi' ripe craps that wave bonnilie, An' muckle mair gear shall be at your com- mand, Gin ye will look kindly on me. 102 AULD JOHNNY GRAHAM. '" Yon herd o' fat owsen that rout i' the glen, Thae naigies that nibble the lea, The kye i' the sheugh, .an' the sheep i' the pen, I'll gie a', dear Tibby, to thee. "Nae carkin' or toilin' shall e'er to ye fa', Gin ye will but buckle with me ; Wi' plenty in kitchen and plenty in ha', Our ingle a heaven shall be. " I'll hap ye an' fend ye, and busk ye and tend ye, As couthy as couthy can be ; I'll comfort an' cheer ye, an' daut ye and dear ye, An' mak' ye the licht of my e'e. " An', lassie, I 've goupins o' gowd in a stockin', Wi' pearlins wad dazzle your e'e ; A mettl'd but canny young yaud for the yokin', When ye wad gae jauntin' wi' me. " I've lo'ed ye, dear lassie, since first, a bit bairn, Ye ran ilka day to meet me, An' deckit my bonnet wi' blue bells an' fern, Wi' meikle glad daffin and glee. " An' noo woman grown, an' mensefu' an' fair, An' gracefu' as gracefu' can be, AULD JOHNNY GRAHAM. 103 Will ye tak' an auld carle, who ne'er had a care For woman, dear Tibby, but thee ? " Sae, Aunty, ye see, I am a' in a swither What answer the body to o-i'e ; But aften I wish he wad tak' my auld mither, An' let puir young Tibby abee. A FIRESIDE SCENE When the sunbeams o' fortune upon us are sportin' We've plenty o' frien's then to daut us ; But when siller is gane we sit down alane O'er a wee pickle saut an' potatoes. The case was just sae, wi' my mither an' me, Sae down at the fireside we sat us ; An' my auld mither sicht, as we sat at mid- nicht O'er a wee pickle saut an' potatoes. " Come, mither," I cried, " lat you sorrows be dried ; I'm sure it would unco ill set us To sit here an' gloom, cause our aumry is toom, O'er a wee pickle saut an' potatoes." THE GRACE. " Thou Being all good, who hath sent us this food, Thou who at the first did create us, A FIRESIDE SCENE. 105 In goodness now shine, and in mercy divine, Bless our wee pickle saut an' potatoes. "Tho' want we've endur'd, yet still we're as- sured That Thou wilt not always forget us ; When siller is scant, Thou wilt bless to the saunt His wee pickle saut an' potatoes. " Now, Lord ! we entreat, mak' us patient and meet For the joys and the woes that await us ; Where Thy blessing is sent, lat us aye be con- tent Wi' a wee pickle saut an' potatoes." CONCLUSION". " Come, rnither, begin, to repine would be sin, Tho' little we ha'e to elate us, Save light hearts an' leal, that sma' pock o' meal, An' this wee pickle saut an' potatoes. " Let the wealthy deride i' the pomp o' their pride. An' grandeur's gay minions sneer at us ; Tho' we may look waur, we 're happier far Wi' our wee pickle saut an' potatoes. 106 i FIRESIDE SCENE. "An' when we are laid in our cauld clayey bed, The just an' the gude will regret us ; Then let's ne'er despair, altho' our best fare Be a wee pickle saut an' potatoes." THOU ART FAR AWAY. Thou art far away, Thou art far away ; But thy image imprest on my soul is so blest And lovely, it ne'er can decay- I think on thy soft, tearful smile, At parting so tenderly given, And the lingering look then wistfully took, That thrilled like the lightning of heaven. I gazed on the bright summer morn, That looked from her home in the sky, And pensively said in my fondness of soul, Perchance she now meets thy mild eye. Thou knowest my passion, how pure, By many a kind token proved, But ne'er till this heart-broken hour did I dream How fondly and deeply I loved. When seated by those we adore, The bosom may ecstasy own ; 108 THOU ART FAR AWAY. But the depth of affection we never can know, Until the beloved is gone. , Thou art far away, Thou art far away ; But thy image imprest on my soul is so blest And lovely, it ne'er can decay. CHURCH-YARD THOUGHTS. How soundly sleep the dead In the chambers of their rest ! Every waking dream is fled, Every care that heaved the breast, All is hushed and they are blest. How soundly sleep the dead! The beloved heart is cold ; And the cheek where beauty played Is enveloped in the hold Of the shroud's enwrapping fold. How soundly sleep the dead ! Beauty's ruby lip is blanched, And the glance that lightnings shed The dark charnel-damps hath drenched. And its light forever quenched. How soundly sleep the dead ! The young lover's whispered tale Hath died, as down the glade Dies the murmur of the gale — 0, his manly cheek, how pale ! 110 CHURCH-YARD THOUGHTS. How soundly sleep the dead ! Even hushed the infant's cries : Now the earth's its cradle bed, Which the night wind lullabies : And how still the baby lies. How soundly sleep the dead ! Statesman, soldier, sage, and bard, All, like broken harps, are laid 'Neath the silent dewy sward — Proud ambition's sole reward. Yes, soundly sleep the dead! But a shout shall rend the skies, That will rouse them from their bed, And bid each sleeper rise, To attend Heaven's dread assize. SCHAMYL. [In the beginning of 1840 the Circassians, led by their gal- lant native chief, Schamyl, with great slaughter defeated the Eussians, commanded by General Godovin, and destroyed all their new forts ; since which time the hordes of the Czar have never set foot among the mountain fastnesses of Circassia.] Hear ye the hurricane sounds that come From far-off mountain lands, Where legions marshal to bugle and drum, And bondsmen bare their brands? Their fetters and fears to the winds they have given ; Their country, their homes, and their cause to Heaven ! Like the desolating locust cloud, The spoilers blight the plains, And the blaze of freedom's sun they shroud With carnage, blood, and chains ; Like the rush of the mountain cataract, The patriot warriors shall bear them back. How manhood spurns at the name of slave. When roused from slavery's dream ! How nerved the arm that wields each glaive, With vengeance in its gleam, 112 SCHAMYL. While thickly the Autocrat's savage hordes Are sinking beneath their chivalrous swords ! The deep-voiced winds with freedom roam, The waves with freedom roar, As mountain-like they, crested, foam To the quaking cliff-bound shore ; And the warrior land, late an ice-bound sea, Hath mustered the might of its wrath — and is free ! STANZAS TO A CHILD. Strange that this breathless, lifeless thing hath felt The sunshine of existence : can it be That music on those bloodless lips hath dwelt? Now mute and fixed in cold frigidity. That smile of merriment, and lightsome glee, Should on that clammy marble cheek have play'd ? Like sunbeams dancing on the daisied lea, Or summer gales that wake the primrose bed, Leaving no trace behind, yet lovely while they stay'd. O, little dreamt thy mother, on her breast, As, cherub-like, thou in thy childhood lay, That from its shrine, man's vi'lent hands would wrest Thy little head; and widely to the day, Each crevice, cord, and secret spring dis- play- That to the earth its crimson stream would fall, 114 STANZAS TO A CHILD. As drop the rose-leaves from the shaken spray, Or autumn berries from the bough, when all Sweet flowers are gone, and Winter holds his carnival. And who is he that stands beside thy clay, With tearless eye, and sees thy bosom torn? That sullen, dogged serf; let no one say He was thy sire, else would the laugh of scorn Light on his leaden soul ; the sun of noon Ne'er shone upon a duller clod than he. Yet wherefore should we j.udge ? Though he hath borne, And still bears on in mute tranquillity, His soul we cannot scan, nor all its secret workings see. What know we but that soul with bitter pangs Of noiseless woe is wrung, though tearless noAV Above thy mutilated frame he hangs, With apathy of look, and scowling brow, As if his heart were iron ; yet O how Terrible the thoughts that may be war- ring there ! STANZAS TO A CHILD. 115 Waters are deepest where they smoothest flow, And his may be the calmness of despair — A spirit steel'd, misfortune's stormiest blasts to bear. Misjudge him not. Speaks not that vacant eye Of deep abstraction's meditative trance? Haply he ruminates on years gone by, And at one mournful retrospective glance, Beholds his blue-eyed, rosy darling, dance In gladsome gambols round his cottage hearth, And eying her, well pleas'd with looks as- kance, Blesses the happy hour that gave her birth, While his low cottage rings with the young prattler's mirth. 'Tis Sabbath morning, and his heart leaps high, While with his little one he seeks the knoll, Dappl'd with daisies, where the stream runs by The hazel bower, with soft meandering roll; There while its music steals into his soul, 116 STANZAS TO A CHILD. How his eye glistens as he views the wiles Of his fair infant as she pours the whole Fresh, flowery treasures on him — dewy spoils From bank and lawn — and with a father's joy he smiles. He smiles ! do not wake him from his dream Of thrilling ecstasy. The summer sun Shines beautifully on that bank ; its beam Falls on his innocent, young, gleesome one, While like a fawn she frolics in her fun ; Now listening to the brook — anon the birds Delight her infant soul — now she hath run And clasp'd his neck with lisp'd affection's words ; Ha ! dreamer, wake and see what misery earth to thee affords. O what a sorrow-breeding life is this, Teeming with ailments, evils, groans, and tears ; A lazar-house of trouble and distress, — A pilgrimage of "few and evil years;" Or if one pleasure 'mid the waste appears, Tis but to cheat us ; and when we would clutch STANZAS TO A CHILD. 117 The lovely thing which beauty's semblance wears, Even for its very frailty prized so much, Then like a blighted flower it withers at our touch. We come into this weary world in tears ; Leave it in lamentation ; and between, A fearful track of sin and suffering rears Its hideous length — a sorrow-checkered scene, Where pleasure's glimpses briefly intervene, Like lightning's flicker in the midnight gloom, Cool fountains in the desert, spots of green And sunny verdure, living flowers whose bloom But give a darker shade of terror to the tomb. It was not so with thee, thou blighted flower ; Thy April sun in smiles a moment shone, Seeming to promise many a blissful hour Of cloudless beauty; now the spell is gone, And thou art shrouded, coffined, and anon The yawning grave will hide thee from our eyes, 118 STANZAS TO A CHILD. And thou wilt slumber soundly and alone, Unheeding aught that passeth 'neath the skies, 'Till the archangel's summons bids the dead arise. SCOTLAND. O the bonny hills o' Scotland! I think I see them noo, Wi' robes o' purple heather bloom and rugged peaks of blue, Where mountain glen is ringing wi' shep- herd's melodie, While laverock Upward winging is not more blithe than he. O the flowery howns o' Scotland, her haughs and gowany braes, Where blooming, lovesome maidens barefoot are bleaching claes, And gleesome bairns are skirling, and tenty carlines scauld, And rosy health is glowing on cheek o' young and auld ! To the bonny streams o' Scotland, her lochs and wimplin' burns, My waking visions wander, my sleeping love returns ; And there the birken sheeling to fancy comes again, Wi' Jean at gloamin' stealing to meet me i' the glen. 120 SCOTLAND. the storied fields of Scotland are fraught with battle lore, They're rife with Roman mem'ries, they're rank with Danish gore ; And lion-hearted Wallace wight, the flower of chivalrie, And Bruce of Bannockburn, shall ne'er for- gotten be. O the holy men of Scotland, that muster'd in their might To breast corruption's torrent spate, and battle for the right ! Each spot rever'd where freely forth their sa- cred lives were given, Shall ever, like an altar fane, send incense sweet to heaven. thrice beloved Scotia ! my honored mither dear, A wanderer's bosom truly beats for thee from year to year; And when this mortal pilgrimage his weary feet hath trod, He fain would tak his final sleep beneath a Scottish sod. SONG. A proud heart 'neath a needy coat, O' ane o' laigh degree, A happy ha', an' humble lot, Yet wha daur meddle wi' me ? For painted room or lordly bower A preen I wad nae gie, But place my fit on mountain flower Then wha daur meddle wi' me ? For in mv soul a something thrills All fetterless and free, As blasts that sweep my native hills, Then wha daur meddle wi' me ? There's king and country, knights an' cairds, An' men o' ilk degree, Dukes, tinkers, statesmen, leals and lairds, But wha daur meddle wi' me ? Here's to my frien's, here's to my faes, An' here's to Ochiltree ; God bless him wheresoe'er he gaes, An' wha daur meddle wi' me ? TOUJOURS LA MEME. As gathers the night when the sun seeks the sea, So, darkens my spirit when parted from thee, Thus folds up the daisy in silence alone, To weep 'mid the dews when the day-god is gone; And here in the wildwood I whisper thy name, And sigh to the summer wind, Toujours la meme. Toujours la meme, Mary, far in the wild, I see thee before me as last when thou smiled ; Thy rosy looks glowing with goodness and love, As beams the May moon from the blue heaven above ; And spurning ambition, and grandeur, and fame, My soul to thee turning, love, Toujours la meme. HYMN. Loud of the sunshine, cloud, and shower, Who swayest nature with Thy nod, All space is Thine, all life, all power, Thou glorious, wonder-working God. All things are Thine — all days, all years, All seasons with their varied change ; All worlds within their countless spheres Throughout creation's boundless ran