LIBRARY •N1VER51TY OF CALfFORNIA^ / / / r /^ y' ^^^ POEMS AND SONGS. GLASGOW :— MAURICE OGLE & SON. ^binburgl^ :— john menzies. ^nmixuB: — john anderson & son. n CURRIE & CO. n W. F. JOHNSTONE. If J. MAXWELL. n J. G. MONTGOMERY. n J. B. SINCLAIR. POEMS AND SONGS, DAYID DUNBAR, DUMFRIES. GLASGOW: MAURICE OGLE & SON 1859. lOAN STACK GLASGOW : PRINTED BY ROBERT ANDERSON, 85 QUEEN STREET. INHABITANTS OF DUMFRIES, THEIR OBLIGED AND GRATEFUL TOWNSMAN, DAVID DUiXBAR. 122 PREFACE. The following Pieces were composed during the leisure hours of the last few years, and were called forth by something either memorable or beautiful ! Not a single line was written without an impelling motive. Affectionate Friendship, Death, and Nature's beauties, have controlled my spirit, and made me feel what I have written. Merit there may be none in these compositions, but that heart is their distinguishing characteristic I will maintain — formality was not at their making. They are gathered together from many sources, and presented to the public in a spirit of perfect humility. DuMKRiES, May, 1859. CONTENTS. PAGE Robert Burxs: a Centenary Poem, 9 My Country, 23 Bannockburn, from Stirling Castle, 29 Corby Castle, 31 Farewell to Glencaple, 37 Adieu to a Friend on Going Abroad, 41 By the Sea Shore, 49 The Truthful Part, 54 Crichope Linn, 57 Lines in Commemoration of the Planting of the Gun: a Trophy of the late Russian War, 63 Song op Triumph, in Honour of the Glorious Victory of Sinope, 67 On Hearing a Blind Girl Sing, 70 To the Princess Royal of England, on her Wedding Day, 25th January, 1858, 74 The Quick Sands: a Tale of the Solway,....= 77 A Faahliar Letter to a Friend, 84 CONTEXTS. PAGE To OUR Eight-day Clock, 90 The Dominie's Drea3i, 93 To My Mother, 98 Wee Willie, 103 In Memoriam J. H. K., 106 Wee Aggie 109 In Memoriam T. F. D., 113 In Memoriam "Menie," 116 A Grave Question, 119 Hymn.— "He doeth all things well!" 122 Jeanie, 129 Come, my Love, 131 Elen, 134 Mary, 136 Aggie Steel 138 Song 140 Minnie's Lips, 142 Winifred, 144 Song, 146 The Bonnie English Maiden, 148 I ha'e got a Dearie, 0! 150 Elloraine 152 Burns 154 Mima, 157 "There were two Bonnie Maidens," 159 ROBEET BURNS %, Cftttenarg ||ofnv. "Robert Buens Invented no steam-engine, but he knew the secret source of tears and smiles ; he discovered no new planet, hut he called up thoughts that twinkled in the soul like stars, for he touched, as with a fiery finger, every latent emotion until it started into light ; he made us no richer in worldly wealth, but he taught us how divine a thing human love may be ; he taught us the nobility of eaniest patriotism and unflinching manliness ; he taught us how these, or any of these, may make the darkest life resplendent with a gleam of inward lustre." Henry Olassford Bell. ROBERT BURNS ARGUMENT. Invocation to Scotland to arise and celebrate tlie Centenary — Edinburgh, Kilmarnock, Irvine, Ayr, Tarbolton, Mauch- line, and Dumfries, particularly called upon to do so. Scots in distant lands — England, Ireland, and America — invoked to send their tribute of admiration. Apostrophe to the illustrious dead, whose memory Burns revered, to i(uard his mighty fame — the unknown Minstrels — the Poets of Scotland — the Clansmen — Soldiers — Martyrs and the despised Poor. The Bard's Mission — the Sons of Toil called on to bless and extol his name — His Love for A 10 ROBERT BURNS. Scotland and intense Patriotism — "Scots wlia hae. " Burns' sympathy for the hrute creation — the Wounded Hare — the Mouse — Winter's Night — the Daisy — The Streams which he celebrated — Doon, Lugar, Xith, Cluden, J^>ruar, Afton, Yarrow, Ayr. Apostrophe to the dames of his Country and Song — Bonnie Jean, Clarinda, High- land Mary, Jessie Lewars. Conclusion — appeal to Nature to praise our Bard's great name. ROBERT BURNS. 11 Arise ye Brother Scots ! from South and North ! From Clyde's industrious banks to winding Forth ; From Solway's tide to shores of far Caithness ; Arise to-day our Bard's great name to bless ! Ye Towns and Cities all your voices raise — In triumph swell the anthem-notes, in praise Of him who gave to Scotland Honour, Fame, And added new found glory to her name ! Chief thou Edina ! guide the nation's tongue To celebrate the Birth of him who sung 12 ROBERT BURNS. In noble verse of thee, while proudly beat His Scottish heart for " Scotia's darling seat." In thee awhile his wearied soul found rest — In thee awhile he was his country's guest. Cease from your toils Kilmarnock, Irvine, Ayr, For of the Poet's love each had a share — Tarbolton, Mauchline, aU his much loved West Arise and honour him who loved you best ! And thou the Queen of Nithsdale ! sweet Dumfries, Where rests his dust'neath yon proud dome, in peace, Go to his tomb ! (where thousands yearly tread), And homage pay to its illustrious dead ! Around his grave let all thy townsmen meet, And with a brother's smile each other greet. Ye Scotsmen, too, in ocean-severed lands Unite to bless his name, in happy bands ; Thou mighty England, and fair Erin, send Thy tribute to our Bard, who was thy friend. Waft thou America across the sea Thy voice to swell Auld Scotland's Jubilee ! ROBERT BURNS. 13 Ye Minstrel Bards whose lays are Scotland's pride, Who sleep in unknown graves, and unknown died ! And ye whose names are household words, who sung Immortal strains in Scotland's Doric tongue ! Ye Clansmen true, who life or country gave Him, whom ye deemed your righteous King to save ! Ye Soldiers brave, who rose at duty's cry, And for your country dared to bleed and die. When War's portentous cloud pour'd forth a flood That deluged Europe's plains with human blood ! Ye Martyr'd Spirits who defied the stake. And braved terrific deaths for conscience sake ; Who with a Koman look bade life adieu, But with a hope the Eoman never knew ! Ye Noble ones who in foul dungeons died. And on our land your latest blessings sighed ; Who saw beyond the little stream of time The ocean of eternity sublime ! And ye who were despised for being poor, And unrepining live but to endure ; 14 ROBERT BURNS. Whose countless ills, and toils, and faces wan, Eevealed " man's inhumanity to man ! " Around his tomb ye silent shades draw near, And guard his fame who held your mem'ries dear. Burns raised his mighty voice, in war to wage Against the vice and follies of his age ; He hurled defiant scorn at those who ruled As tho' mankind were made hut to be fooled. His acts proclaimed — his w^ords as nobly told — That man shall not be honoured for his gold, Nor rank, nor dignity of ancient birth, If not respected for his moral worth ! He was the poor man's bard ! strong, earnest, true, And felt himself the crushing wrongs he drew ; He struck his lyre with fierce indignant scorn That brother worms should make their fellows mourn ! His spirit burned to end oppression's sway, And win the freedom we enjoy to-day ! ROBERT BURNS. 15 He knew and taught that God's great laws forbade To shun a man, if poor, whom God had made :• He found as true a heart 'neath '' hodden grey " As ever beat 'neath silken vestments gay: His eagle eye the inward heart could scan, And find the " true divinity in man ! " Ye sons of labour ! who in cities toil, And you his fellow workers of the soil ! To you our Minstrel's name is doubly dear — His proudest wish was labour's lot to cheer. He sang your loves, and joys, and sorrows great — The sum of every workman's chequer'd state ; He shew'd to pamper'd cit, and courtier gay. That ye felt joys and griefs more true than they. He saw more dignity in horny hands Than aught the greatest spendthrift lord com- mands — More virtue oft in humble cottage walls Than ever dwelt within his lordly halls ! 16 ROBERT BURNS. His cheering words and sacred teachings went To toiling hearts, and gave them rich content. Who has not read, and blessed him for the sight, Of yonder cotter's home he brought to light ? Their week of labour o'er, how blest the scene Where virtue and affection reign supreme ! Ah! Scotland! how my heart with pride would glow If thou hads't still such living faith to show. His love for Scotia ev'ry bosom fills. With dearest raptures for her thousand hills, Her rivers, lochs, and glens, and spreading woods, Her flocks, her waving fields, and solitudes ; Her meadows that withbeauteous wild-flowers bloom. And sweeten morn and eve with rich perfume — The " rough burr " thistle, Scotia's emblem dear, And modest daisy, whom all hearts revere. He sang his country, glorious, great, and free, First in the vanguard ranks of liberty ! ROBERT BURNS. 17 Behold ! how fervently his patriot voice Makes kindred souls and patriot hearts rejoice ; How it inspires us, craven hearts to spurn, And for the hero makes our spirits burn ! Exultant pride in every bosom swells When of our glorious Scottish chiefs he tells — Who shed their "dearest veins" for Scotland's right, And bore her banners thro' triumphant fight ! Those mighty brave who for their country fell, And welcomed death, proud Edward to expel ; Who, led by Bruce, unsheathed th' avenging sword, To rid their land of that usurping Lord ! At sound of " Scots wha hae," what Scot but feels The fire that ev'ry line therein reveals Course like a floodtide headlong thro' each vein. To shew we could fight Bannockburn again ? Is there a Scot who loves not to be free, And would not strike a blow for Hberty ? None ! All alike their birthright priv'lege claim. Of breaking link by link from thraldom's chain ; 18 ROBERT BURNS. For Scotland's blood has nourished freedom's tree In ev'ry age, because she would be free ! Free as the eagle tliro' the lift that soars ; Free as the waves that wash our rugged shores ; Free as the gentle breath of rosy morn, Or mighty blasts on whirlwind tempests borne ! From Burns the sympathetic tear would flow For brother man, or fellow creature's woe : A wounded hare inspired a noble strain, And made him curse the art that gave such pain: Its bleeding bosom moved the feeling tear. Because he held the meanest creature dear : A cow'ring tim'rous mouse, in hapless state, Inspired a fellow-feeling for its fate : A warbling thrush amid the leafless wood Enriched him ; as with soul entranced he stood, And heard its cheerful notes of sweet content, And shared with it the mite high Heaven sent : ROBERT BURNS. 19 When low'ring cloudSj in winter, dim the skies, And shower their snows, and biting blasts arise — Wlien bared is ev'ry field, and hedge, and tree, Ye '' owrie cattle " he would think of thee ; And thro' his manly breast sad thoughts would spring Of you, ye little birds with chitt'ring wing : The upturned daisy, crushed beneath the clay, Wrung from his soul a sweet immortal lay ; He saw in that pure flower, low laid in earth, The type and luckless fate of suff'ring worth. Ye gently flowing streams his name prolong, For he has wed your names to living song. Meander ever sWeetly " bonnie Doon/' And to thy " banks and braes " his praises croon. Sweet Lugar gently flow, and raise thy voice, And with auld Scotia's bonnie streams rejoice. Ye winding Mth, and beauteous Cluden, join Your soothing whispers to the wat'ry throng. 20 ROBERIFBURNS. Thou Bruar Water murmiir '^ortht ]| j ^J ianVs. For sheltering shades that gracd thy craggy banks, With bush, and flower, and cliff o'erhanging tree — For Burns appealed unto thy lord for thee. Where feathered songsters tune their wood-notes wild, ^ - And woo their mates by thy sweet shades beguiled. Sweet Afton, to thy music gently flow, And richest praises on thy Bard bestow; And Yarrow Stream thy plaintive notes prolong, When on thy banks is heard his melting song. Ayr, gurgling, roll thy waters to the sea, And bless his name in sweetest melody. Ye gentle dames, of high and low degree, Were strains e'er heard like those he sung of thee : Your loves and virtues he embalmed in song, And saved your names from out the common throng, Else you had died, and never more been heard, Nor would your loves another breast have stirred : ROBERT -"burns. 21 Aye, e'en his own, his darling bonnie Jean, Without his love and song had unknown been. Clarinda, thou whose love mysterious stole Impetuous thro' his breast, and fired his soul, Thou Hv'st in glowing song, a deathless name, Which boastful wealth, nor rank, could ever claim ; And thou, his fond and faithful Highland Maid, Whose tender love from him untimely fled, An undimmed lustre to thy name is given, For Mary's name is henceforth linked with Heaven. Oh ! '' dear departed shade," heard'st thou above His piteous, melting, tender tale of love. And Jessie Lewars ! thy honoured name shall live While hearts shall homage to compassion give — For thou wert dear to him in dying hour As summer's gentle rain to dust-clad flower : Thy words w-ere sweet as young afiection's vow, Or zephyr breeze around his fevered brow. 22 ROBERT BURNS. Ye flow'ry dells, and birks, and linns, and glens ; Ye fairy meads and warlock-liaiinted dens ; Kirk AUoway, with demon midnight powers ; And ye Lincluden's grey and roofless towers ! Ye sacred battle fields where pilgrims tread, And kneel devoutly o'er the slumbering dead ; Ye ivied keeps and ruined castles hoar. That are enriched by stirring deeds of yore ; Ye forests, straths, and dales, and heath-clad hills ; Ye seas, and firths, and lochs, and streams, and rills ; Break forth in praise of him, with blended voice, Who sung so well thy charms from early choice ! MY COUNTRY. 23 When I was but a child, I loved to hear Tales of my country's greatness, told around The glowing fire of winter's eve, when hearts Were warm, and kind, and knew not selfish love- And eyes shone bright at some heroic tale. Of Wallace wight, or Bruce at Bannockburn ! And when such tale was told, I've oft implored, AVith fond caress, the gifted chronicler To tell again those splendid deeds of old. 24 MY COUNTRY. The child was never tired, but hour by hour Would list with eye intent, and beating heart, And drink with youthful ardour every word That gave my country fame ! With memory's eye I love to linger yet, and cast a glance Back on my youthful self, as when I oft The mimic sword, invisible, would draw, And shew how I, if I had lived but then. Would, like these heroes bold, have rid my land Of ev'ry foe, and proud usurper. Yes ! Such youthful scenes I oft recall, and ask If I am such a patriot now. God grant I am ! 0, Scotland ! my beloved, my native land, How sweet the joy that reigns within my soul. When I survey thy glorious past, and aU Thy sons have done for independence sake ! Scotland ! that other name for liberty, Whose sacred tree has prospered in thy soil. MY COUNTRY. 25 Because thy best and bravest blood was slied. And freely shed, if it secured sweet peace And liberty for thee. Grim Tyranny May reign supreme in other climes remote, 'Neath brighter skies, and warmer suns than thine. And boast a softer wind, with perfumed breath. That only dallies on the cheeks of slaves — Slaves who can gaze unmoved on Nature's charms, And feed their souls to dullness on her looks, But wish not to be free ! Or, if they wished, Dare not the thought proclaim ! But ne'er in thee, My native land, shall thraldom's ugly power Usurp our rights, or unmolested thrive ! Ye everlasting hills forbid such fate ! Ye seas majestic, who in fury lash Our rock-bound shores ; ye elements that war 26 MY COUNTRY. Around our mountain tops ; ye frosty blasts, And thunder's voice, and lightning's burning fire, Conspire to crush, with thy united power, Each threatened tide of slavery. ! proud am I, that birthright gave to me A claim which education fostered, fed, And made a dear delight : a claim to call A roll of mighty heroes, in the world Unparalleled, my countrymen ! to point With glowing pride to hist'ry's page, and shew That Scotland was for ever free. Ye Scots, Of this our wondrous age, *could ye resist Our country's call, if call she did, to fight In hour of need ? Would ye, like them of old, Unsheath the trusty sword, and strike a blow In her defence ? Defence of what ? Her j^ast, And all her mighty future ; her sacred MY COUNTRY. 27 Freedom, laws, religion, and its blessings ; Her manners, and her nationality ! 0, Scotland ! tliou art dear to all thy sons — Alike to those who ever dwell secure Within thy rugged bounds, and they who seek In other lands for fortune and for fame ! Thy vent'rous sons are found in many climes, Acquiring wealth and power with steady aim, With diligence and perseverance rare ; But ne'er amidst Dame Fortune's sweetest smile Do they forget the land that gave them birth ! Howe'er so rich the scenes they may behold x^round them, with the natural eye, wide-spread In prodigal display, they look beyond These intervening scenes, by mem'ry's aid, And gaze enraptured on their Scottish homes ! The exiled Scot, in dreams, revisits oft His native land ; like sweetest melody 28 MY COUNTRY. Discoursed in liquid strains, at midnight's houi* He hears the murmuring of his native streams, The shepherd's reed, the milkmaid's melting strains, The songs of birds, and happy Sabbath Bell ! BANNOCKBURN. "29 FROM STIRLING CASTLE. 'Tis summer's noon ! I stand on Stirling's height, And gaze enraptured on the charming scene. Where everlasting mountains bound the sight, And seas of golden grain-fields intervene, And richest pasture lands of freshest green. No fairer sight my eyes will ever see Than this — I linger on with joy, I ween : 30 BANNOCKBURN. The far outstretcliing landscape seems to me A land of unsurpassed sublimity ! I trace the windings of the tortuous Forth, I sweep the outlines of the Ochil Hills, And pierce with wondering eyes the distant north, While patriotic pride my bosom fills ! But admiration new my heartstrings thrills : Majestic nature too I seem to spurn : To worship other scenes my spirit wills. As southward to a hallowed spot I turn. To muse on Eobert Bruce at Bannockburn ! I see, in thought, proud Edward's steel- clad braves Overrun like glitt'ring sea the battle field ; I see them backward driven to their graves, Before our Scottish freemen doomed to yield — Whose blood the cause of sacred freedom sealed. Oh, hallowed spot I most blessed in our land — Where our brave ancestors to God appealed. And drew the sword with high avenging hand, A patriotic; conq'ring, and heroic band ! CORBY CASTLE. 31 Attend thou nature-loving tribe, Where'er on earth thou may'st abide, My heart now sings with grateful pride, In simple strains, The charms that deck sweet Corby's side, And fair domains. Thou, too, of chaste and classic mind, And thou whom culture has refined, 32 CORBY CASTLE. May list if thou art so inclined, Tho' small its worth ; 'Tis gen'rous deeds and actions kind, That call it forth. A stranger I — a wand'ring Scot, Bless'd with a heart for any lot, Yet partial to some bonnie spot. Did wander here ; And met what ne'er shall be forgot, But cherish'd dear. The flowers bloom'd welcome at my feet, The birds around did welcome greet, The lambkins, too, with playful bleat. Did add a charm ; And kindly faces smiling sweet, Dispel I'd alarm. CORBY CASTLE. 33 Some foreign climes may be more fair, With fragrant groves to scent the air, And flowering perfumes rich and rare, May gem their plains ; Yet 'midst those gifts of nature — ^there A tyrant reigns ! But here, on Eden's banks embower'd. Has freedom's seed ta'en root and flower'd. And round fair Corby beauties shower'd, With lib'ral hand. And centr'd all in noble Howard, To bless the land ! Long may the great Creator spare The darhng Boy, the hopeful heir ! His parents' fondest love to share. And sisters dear ! Such is my grateful heart's fond prayer, And wish sincere. 34 CORBY CASTLE. Throughout the beauteous walks I've trac'd The lib'ral mind — ^the man of taste, For art has bounteous nature grac'd, In ev'ry part — A temple or some sculpture plac'd. To please the heart. Meet spot for faithful hearts to stray, Amid thy shady flow'r-clad way. Or sweet recline on grassy brae, Among the trees, When gloamin' fans the dying day, With soothing breeze. Sweet are thy banks at eventide, Sweet are thy shades at noonday's pride. And sweet to watch the finny tribe. In Eden's stream. As smoothly on its waters glide. Like life's young dream. COEBY CASTLE. 35 On nature's beauties I was bent, And felt the charms her beauties lent, And homage gave — yet 'twas not meant To give her all, I shar'd it with the monument, AtWetheral! From Corby's woods do not depart. Though thou hast pleased both eye and heart, Till on this noble work of art Thou feed'st thy soul ; The sympathetic tear will start, Without control ! Behold Keligion point on high, To future bliss beyond the sky. For those sweet forms that lowly lie — No woe nor care, Nor sorrow to bedim the eye. Shall enter there. 36 CORBY CASTLE. 0, England ! well may'st thou be proud Of such a shrine where pilgrims crowd — 'Tis here that raptur'd love is vowed, Mid rev'rent gaze, And admiration's knee is bow'd, In silent praise. Farewell, sweet Corby, haunt of joy ! I'll think of thee when pleasures cloy. And breathe thy name when griefs annoy, And bring fresh woes ; And tho' the fates my peace destroy, Thoul't give repose. Farewell ! and may soft winds blow free, Around each flow'ret, bush, and tree. And waft the Eden to the sea, With breezes sweet ; And music's softest melody. Each stranger greet. FAREWELL TO GLENCAPLE. 37 Withdraw your charms ye bonnie flow'rs, That smiling deck the way, And stop your strains ye warbling birds, That sing sae blythe and gay ; And dinna blaw ye gentle winds, Sae sweetly frae yon hills. And dinna murmur half sae sweet, Ye prattlin' wayside rills. 38 FAREWELL TO GLENCAPLE. Oh, hide your beauties frae my e'en For this ae summer day, And show again wi' fairer charms When I am gane away. Cease nodding ilka bonnie bell And bracken, as I pass, And tremble not so witchingly Ye gracefu' feather grass ; And dinna scent the air sae sweet, Thou fav'rite meadow queen — And dinna lift your tufted heads, Ye rushes straight and green. Flaunt not so gay ye insect life, On wing of ilka hue. Against the bonnie deep green woods And sky o' cloudless blue ; And sleep not now so tranquilly, Thou placid- bosom'd sea. FAREWELL TO GLENCAPLE. 39 Adorn'd around on ilka side Wi' buslL, and flower, and tree. Why sleepest tlion so holily, Like little child at rest. Thou cloudlet — spotless, fair, and pure. On CriffeFs heath'ry breast ; How can ye feed so peacefully Ye lammies on yon hills. When nought but dool and sorrow now My bursting bosom fills ! Forget for ance ye snaw-white gulls To float in siccan pride, And dinna dook your bonnie breasts In Solway's glowing tide. Let me away frae sl your haunts, Where your shrill eerie scream Will sound like some departed joy, When on the past I dream. 40 FAREWELL TO GLENCAPLE. Withdraw your charms ye hills and woods, Ye birds and flowers sae gay, And wear again a brighter look, When I am far away ! ADIEU TO A FKIEND. 41 g,trhu I0 K Jfrxeitir an ®0mg ^br0a!tr. Friendship! mysterious cement of the soul! sweetner of life! and solder of society! I owe thee much!" — Blaib. To thee, my friend, both tried and true, With heartfelt pangs I bid adien, Because staunch friends are scant and few. And getting less ; But more because in losing you. The best I'll miss, c 42 ADIEU TO A FRIEND. 'Tis true there are a hundred men, Whom, as mere nodding friends we ken ; But I ne'er found, save one in ten. By word or deed, Who would a friend assistance len'. In time o' need ! But I have ever found in thee A heart, from all that's selfish, free — And aye attuned to harmony With aU it met— Such friendsliip, love, and sympathy. Can I forget ? Thy counsels, too, and rare advice, I prize beyond mere worldly price : From them no power shall e'er entice My grateful heart I ! may *7, by no new device, From thee depart ! ADIEU TO A FKIEND. 43 To idle moods we botli were foemen (As other things we had in common) — So I will oft recal the roaming WeVe had together, Frae morn till far beyond the gloaming, In ilka weather. In fancy I'U renew our walks, And oft rehearse our pleasant cracks : 'Twas then on care we turn'd our backs — Such was our choice. But oh ! how chang'd when friendship lacks Sweet friendship's voice ! Thy voice, my friend, at merest hint. Shed o'er our path a rosie tint : It coin'd kind words hke ony mint — And true their ring. They could, to aught but heart o' flint, Sweet pleasure bring. 44 ADIEU TO A FRIEND. ril treasure, too, the happy hours We've spent together midst our flowers, When nature spread her rarest powers To give us joy — We shared her sunshine and her showers, Without aUoy ! While we admired, they likewise taught, In lessons with deep meaning fraught, That we, like them, should come to nought, Tho' fresh our bloom ! — And lasting joys are only sought Beyond the tomb ! Aye, friend, these flowers, poor mortals teach. In silence, what frail mortal's speech Was never true enough to reach — A sinful heart — A man must by example preach, And not by art ! ADIEU TO A FRIEND. 45 In all my tliouglits thoult have a share — My heart proclaims thy friendship rare — And while a gen'rous feeling there, Shall hold its seat — A chord, as long as time shall spare, For thee shall beat ! We've walk'd the busy town together, We've rov'd amang the blooming heather. And cross'd the sea in sunny weather, Sae glad and gay ; But now nae mair will we forgather, Since thou'rt away ! I may no longer haunt the shore, Nor nature's face again explore. And Ksten to the sea's loud roar. When thou art near ; Thy voice amidst such scenes no more Shall glad my ear. 46 ADIEU TO A FRIEND. No more we'll seek the leafy wood, No more well watcli the bursting bud ; No more, in meditative mood, We'll gather flowers, And muse, 'midst nature's solitude, On passing hours ! Yet, oft in spirit I'll renew Those scenes so dear to friendship true- The earth sae green, the sky sae blue. And stretching sea. These, in many a changing hue, I've seen with thee. The sea I when did we love it best I We lov'd alike its peaceful rest And noisy roar, when whitened crest Surmounts the wave, And stormy sea-birds haunt its breast. And hoarsely rave ! ADIEU TO A FRIEND. 47 We lov'd to cast the ling'ring eye Athwart the waters, dashing high, The white-winged seagull to descry, Amidst the gloom ; And, flashing 'gainst the murky sky, The dark illume ! Thus has it been my pleasant lot, With thee to view each bonnie spot, That my sweet native vale has got. By wood and glen ; Such wand'rings ne'er shall be forgot While life I ken. And aU the love I can command. Of head, and heart, and willing hand, That partial friendship ever planned, I'll have for thee — Both here and in that distant land, That's strange to me ! 48 ADIEU TO A FfllEND. Adieu, dear friend ! and good beset thee. Oil, may no canker care e'er fret thee, And wheresoe'er dame fortune set thee Around her wheel, Mind thou'st ae friend will ne'er forget thee, Thro' good or ill ! BY THE SEA SHORE. 49 '§\y tlj^ Sea $^oxt. One autumn morn I wander'd, Alone by Solway's shore ; And as I roam'd, I ponder'd Upon the days of yore. The past it never slumbers, But drums with ceaseless tone, And to my soul it thunders The loudest when alone. 50 BY THE SEA SHORE. I sometimes cast a longing Across that stretching sea, Where feet uncertain thronging Kush to eternity ! Thus musingly I travelled, By ^' meddling mem'ry" led, While every step unravell'd Some joy of youth long fled. I mus'd, and careless finger'd Each shell and stone I found ; The winds around me hnger'd With sympathetic sound. I watch'd the sea bird soaring — I heard the distant swell Of heaving billows roaring, In ev'ry tiny shell. BY THE SEA SHORE. 51 I saw the white cloud sleeping On distant SMddaw's crest ; I watch'd the cloudlet creeping Up Criffel's heath'ry breast. I pluck'd the sea pink, growing Upon the salt sea beach — And in some pool kept throwing Each stone within my reach. ' Twas thus I careless noted Each flower, and shell, and stone ; Or thistle-down that floated The gentle breeze along. * And pensively I drifted Away, without a guide, When from the wreck I lifted A shoe left by the tide. 52 BY THE SEA SHORE. I tum'd it o'er, and handled The trim and taper'd shoe — ' Twas made of silk, and sandled, And bound with ribbons blue. Sad thoughts arose at finding This gentle-looking thing, That fetched the tears up winding From out their deepest spring. I thought of bright eyes glancing. Where love and kindness shone — And feet in beauty dancing ; And ask'd, where are they gone ? I thought of tresses flowing Around a lovely brow — Of lips with sweetness glowing ; And sighed, where are they now ? BY THE SEA SHORE. 53 I thought of gentle pressings, When hand in hand was laid ; I thought of soft caressings Upon a beauteous head. Was she a lovely sister Who owned that little shoe ? How many hearts have miss'd her. With her eyes of laughing blue. How many eyes are keeping Keen watch for her return ; How many eyes are weeping. Like mine, with tears that burn ! 54 THE TRUTHFUL PART. ^t CrulIj&I fart. I SING a strain, tho' brief 'tis plain, For manhood, age, and youth ; ' Tis fierce and strong against the wrong That error does to truth. Friend, if in town thou toil'st, why frown ? At fortune why repine ? If thou hast health, ne'er covet wealth Lest discontent be thine. THE TRUTHFUL PART. 55 Or dost thou keep the bleating sheep, On braes near limpid stream ? Then bless thy lot, in lowly cot — Thy life's a pleasant dream. Pray thou may'st show, thro' weal or woe, A life free from deceit ; Let ev'ry act be stamped a fact, And not a counterfeit. Speak, act, and think, and do not shrink From truth's eternal laws ; Shun thou a lie, tho' it should buy Th' admiring world's applause. Shun thou the knave — e'en shun the slave — These are the proud man's tools ; — His lordly halls, meek wisdom calls The haunt of none but fools. 56 THE TRUTHFUL PART. There's often less below the dress. On back of courtier gay ; And sometimes more of purest ore Found mixed with humble clay. The outward part, tho' ne'er so smart, May cover loads of sin ; And rough outside may often hide An honest heart within. % Then, fellow man, who this may scan. Court nature more than art ; 'Twill then be said, thou'rt not afraid To play the truthful part. CRICHOPE LINN. 57 Let others sing the Fall of Foyers, And Cora Linn, and Stoneyb3rres — In lofty strains that each requires, Their verses spin ; To humbler theme my heart aspires — Sweet Crichope Linn I Yet dearer far is it to me Than grander linn or glen can be — D 58 CRICHOPE LINN. 'Twill live within my memory, While others fade — So lov'cl each rock, and bush, and tree, And pleasant glade. Far up among yon heath-clad hills, Spring forth sweet unpolluted rills, Whose waters flow as nature wills, Wi' pleasing din ; And, gliding gently onward, fills Sweet Crichope's Linn. There nightly are the fairies seen At dance, bedeckt in mantles green, To music frae the infant stream. In plaintive tune ; And lichted by the silv'ry beam 0' pale cold moon ! CRICHOPE LINN. 59 Sweet stream, that gently glides away, Like youth's untroubled joyous day — The flow'rets whisper it to stay. And pleading hing, The wood's sweet songsters join their lay, And raptured sing ! The perfum'd wild-flowers gem its side. And brackens kiss its gentle tide, And garland it, like blushing bride, Wi' favours sweet. It casts their off 'rings all aside In high conceit ; And on it swims, like haughty boy, In triumph, with a child-Hke joy — No flower can tempt, nor bird annoy. Its onward speed. Oh ! may no fate its course alloy Wi' darksome deed ! GO CRICHOPE LIN]S'. It floats like him who at his birth Had fortune's ready smiles on earth ; Was toy'd by beauty, love, and mirth, In fawning tone — But burst their snares, and issued forth To fight alone I It glides enraptured on its way, And dances wide o'er rock and brae, Rejoicing in its white array, In noisy glee. And throws around its sparkling spray On bush and tree. It now disdains the name of child. And speeds along like one beguiled ; Forsakes its actions once so mild For sterner form ; And rushes, roaring, raging wild, In haughty storm. CTJCHOPE LINN. 61 In noise and maddened rage it boils, As struggKng 'tween huge rocks it toils, And, whirling round in serpent coils. The foam it scatters : Ye powers above ! pour soothing oils Upon its waters. It thunders fathoms 'neath one's feet ; It makes the stoutest heart to beat ; And bounds o'er barriers it may meet, In dread array : All nature shouts in fear, — retreat 1 Fly fast away ! But soon its youthful vigour spent, In rage that youthful passions lent — On peaceful course it now seems bent : ' Twould fain begin To plunge in cavern, and repent A life of sin. 62 CRICHOPE LINN. It oozes out again, and prattles, In whimpering tones, like cliildisli tattles ; O'er tiny stones it feebly rattles. Its weakly waters, And now resigns its sturdy battles For other matters. Thus dost thou emblem Life, stream ! First Youth, whose world is but a dream; Next Manhood, whose strong passions gleam From valiant eye ; Then Age, whose tott'ring frailties seem Most loath to die. THE PLANTING OF THE GUN. 63 A TROPHY OF THE LATE RUSSIAN WAR. Unfurl old England's glorious flag, Strike np the fife and drum, And round tlie shattered war-worn rag Let gallant Britons come ! Come loyal Britons, young and old — Come matron, maid, and son, — 64 THE PLANTING OF THE GUN. And, with a mighty shout, behold The planting of the gun ! There shall that trophy tell its tale To Britons yet unborn — How British valour did prevail On Alma's bloody morn ! And whisper from its iron lips How Inkermann was won ! 'Twas there our soldiers did eclij^se All former efforts done ! And how Sardinians, Turks, and Frendi, Fought by the Briton's side — And how they shared the deadly trench, And Russian hordes defied ! How lavishly our blood was spilt On Balaclava's plain ! And how unskilful blundering guilt Made that blood flow in vain ! THE PLANTING OF THE GUN. 65 It shall proclaim, with brazen face, That deed of infamy, Where Kussian navies reaped disgrace At blood-stained Sinope ! For 'twas so base and foul a deed, That they who list the tale Will see the heart of woman bleed. And manly cheeks grow pale ! 'Twill tell what hordes of Cossack horse Our Cavalry defied. And fled before our little force. Or else ignobly died ! And how the Highland brave brigade In hist'ry's pages shine For yonder gallant stand they made As Campbell's thin red line ! Oh, may this gun, in coming time, To ev'ry heart proclaim 66 THE PLANTING OF THE GUN. There is no race, there is no clime Tliat knows not Britain's name. And if oppressors madly rush To grasp some neighbour's land^ May Britain still be quick to crush With an avenging hand ! Then spread Old England's glorious flag- Sti'ike up the fife and drum, And round the shattered war-worn rag Let gallant Britons come. Let loyal Britons, young and old. Each matron, maid, and son. Assemble, and with shouts behold The pla 1 1 i i 1 1 1:- of the gun ! SONG OF TRIUMPH. 67 Song 0f Criumpfj, IN HONOUR OF THE GLORIOUS VICTORY OF SINOPE. Arouse, ye gallant MuscoviteSj Ye children of the Czar ! And list how we the Islamites Did beat in glorious war ! Let Britain boast her Inkermann, And Alma's victory ! But let her show us, if she can, A match for Sinope ! 68 SONG OF TRIUMPH. True, 'twas no fair or open fight, And we were three to one ; No matter, 'twas a glorious sight.! Such mighty deeds w^ere done ! Our fire securely did the work That some call butchery ! No matter ! we did thrash the Turk That day at Sinope ! Some say the Turks did mercy hope, And did for mercy call ! But how could we our broadsides stop Till we had sunk them all ? Such conduct may in some men's eyes Appear like treachery ! But we know better how to prize The deeds of Sinope ! And who amongst us has not read Of Peter, called the Great, SOKG OF TEIUMPH. 69 Who long and wisely ruled as head Of both our church and state ! He left his gracious will behind A sacred legacy — '- We ne'er should fight till we're inclined." Hurrah for Sinope 1 Then here's to all our Admirals, Our Gen'rals, and our Czar — And muskets, powder, cannon-balls, Dread instruments of war ! Let Britain boast of Inkermann, And Alma's victory ! But let her show us, if she can, A match for Sinope ! THE BLIND GIRL. #tt Hearing a §Ihtir @irl Sing. I HEARD a pale-faced blind girl slug — Oh, tender were her years I And, as she raised her sweet soft voice, Her heart gushed forth in tears ! The tear, responsive^ dimm'd my eye — I felt an unbreathed prayer. That heaven above would make me kind To that wee creature there. THE BLIND GIRL. 71 For sad she sat, and sweet she sang, 0' nature's richest looks — The charm o' hills, and green-clad fields, And murm'ring o' the brooks : The glow o' love, on nature's face, In simmer's smiling morn — The silent, and majestic look 0' winter's snow-clad form : The purity o' virgin spring, Wi' life-restoring breath — The loaded look of autumn's brow, Clad in the hues of death : The fragrance o' the blooming flow^er. On gladd'ning breezes borne — The beauty to a lowly heart 0' yellow broom and thorn : 72 THE BLIND GIRL. And glorious friendships that could rise All earthly thoughts above — While smiling thro' her tears, she sang The gift of human love ! She sang o' happy faces, too, Of bairns — earth's purest flowers, That ever garlanded man's brow In sad or tranquil hours. She sang of all the joys they felt, Which she had tasted, never — The casting pebbles from the shore At foam bells on the river : The gath'ring wild flowers by the brae, The paidling in the stream, The gladsome chase of humble bee — To her were all a dream ! THE BLIND GIRL. 73 But, oh, her dreams were surely bright. As her wee heart was kind, — Her soul was rapt in purest light, Known to the good and blind. 74 TO THE PRINCESS ROYAL. ON HER WEDDING DAY, 28TH JAN., 1858. Daughter of a miglity nation ! Daughter of Old England's Queen ! Who has better filled her station, Than the proudest monarch seen ! On this joyous, bhssful morning Of thy happy bridal day, A loyal Scot, intrusion scorning. Bids thee joy in simple lay. TO THE PBINCESS EOYAL. 75 And O5 sweet Princessi may thy life, If spared, he sucIl another, ' In what relates to Qu^en ^nd wife, As thy exalted mother I May virtue, dignity, and grace. Free thought and free opinion, Within thy counsels find a place, When thou hast got dominion. May bounteous heaven long preserve Thy life from ev'ry danger ; And may thy actions all deserve The homage of the stranger : To British hearts thou'rt ever dear, Of ev'ry rank and station. For virtue wins the prayer sincere, Of all the British nation. And since to Prussia's Heir thou'rt wed, May blessings shower upon her ; 76 TO THE PRINCESS ROYAL. And when her crown shall grace thy head, Long may thou wear't with honour ! And when thy earthly reign is run. And blended with her story, May thou by gracious deeds have won A crown of endless glory ! THE QUICK SANDS. 77 A TALE OF THE SOLWAY. Antony Geddes, the fisherman, Stood at his cottage door, And long he gazed with wistfu' eye Along drear Solway's shore. The laird and his bonnie daughter, Early left Arhigland ha', And crossed the treacherous Solway sands To view Caerlaverock's ruin'd wa'. 78> THE QUICK SANDS. " 'Twill be a stormy nicht, I fear. Long time before liigh water ^ I wish we saw our honoured laird . And his sweet blooming daughter. " The tide sets in wi' awful rush, The breakers loud are dashing ; I dread the look o' yon black cloud 'Grainst which the white gull's flashing- " Oh, wife, we sure must send them help^ For they ha'e nane to guide them ; Fm sure our two brave lads will go. Whatever toils betide them." " Rise, Willie," the fond mother cries ; " Rise up, my guid lads baith, I ken your manly hearts would break If Amy cam' to skaitk." THE QUICK SANDS. 79 A youthful impulse fir'cl each breast Of these two hardy brothers ; For, while they show'd deep filial love, They still had love for others. The blood rush'd red to Willie's brow For the danger of sweet Amy, While inwardly he breath'd a prayer For the benighted lammie. The gloamin' long has pass'd away, The storm is gathering fast ; The clouds are black'ning round the Heads, And moaning comes the blast. The lads have launched their fishing boat — Fond hearts are never slow — The sea has music to his soul. As thro' the deep they go. 80 THE QUICK SANDS. The little craft has left the beach, Scarce notic'd in the gloom, Till lit up by the lightning's flash Amidst the thunder's boom. 'Tis seen high rais'd on crested foam That dashes white from boat to shore — 'Tis swept into the womb of night, And then is seen no more. Now distant dies the clank of oars — The mighty billows roll — AVhile inward falls poor Anton's heart, And anguish fills his soul. " Oh, my bairns," the fond father cries, While blinding tears fall fast, " Heaven knows but this most awful nicht May prove to be your last." THE QUICK SANDS. 81 The wife beheld his bending form, She felt his saut, saut tears, And tried by Christian fortitude To cast out a' his fears. " Oh, Anton, dinna be cast down, 'Tis nought but needless sorrow ; 'Tis no a' lost that is in peril, A dark nicht brings the morrow." Poor troubled Anton and his wife Both heave a bitter sigh. While rev'rently they kneel in prayer To Him who reigns on high. The earnest words gush from his heart. No useless form employs — " Oh, God ! quell now this awful storm — Save Amy and my boys." 82 THE QUICK SANDS. Poor Amy and her father long Had grasp'd each other's hands. They run — ^they stand — bewilder'd. Amidst the unknown sands. A flood of rushing waters Has snapt the clasped bands — The grey-hair'd sire sails with the tide, Poor Amy sinks in sands. The storm now thickens with the blast- Big wave now sweeps on wave, And Amy's voice is feebly heard Calling on Heaven to save. Her feet are sinking in the sands, The flood is dashing o'er Her tender form, while raised her arm Imploring help once more ! THE QUICK SANDS. 83 A boat came scudding with the blast : She heard the dash of oars : Again the tide sweeps o'er her form, Again the thunder roars. " Good Heavens ! 'tis Amy Irving's arm : Back ! back the boat, my brother !" The oars both break — the boat sweeps on, But Willie grasps his lover ! Amy heaved her latest sigh In Willie's grasping arms : He struggl'd still against the tide To gaze upon her charms. "Fareweel, father and mother dear ; Fareweel, my native shore." He kiss'd again his dead love's lips ; Both sunk to rise no more. 84 A FAMILIAR LETTEIl. % Jfamilmr "Sttin io \x J^rhntr. All hail, thou man of head and heart, And more, that should he famous ! When you and I meet o'er a quart, Time flies so sweet, we're loath to part, And who will dare to hlame us ? When we ha'e quaffed ae reaming jug, We may again refill it, For, round the fire, we sit sae snug, A FAMILIAR LETTER. 85 We catch a grip o' caiild care's lug, And drown him if we will it. The happy nicht runs joyous on Wi' sang and pleasant story, Which tell the weak has heat the strong, And right has overcome the wrong — 'Tis then we're in our glory ! AVe banish gloom, and summons mirth Wi' her attendant graces ; We 'portion praise to modest worth, And pride o' cash and pride o' birth Kank in their proper places. Some madly drink, and wildly sing At nicht, and think it jolly — How oft the morn's reflections bring A legacy that leaves a sting. To prove such work a folly. 86 • A FAliOLIAR LETTER. 'Tis wise to fly from wild excess In speaking and in thinking, To sliun the show of gaudy dress, T' indulge the sensual passions less In eating and in drinking. Then may be drunk the social glass ^Vi' pure refined enjoyment — And, as the pleasant moments pass, Some feeling thoughts we may amass For future calm employment. When we are thus together hurl'd By sympathy's attraction, Wi' truth's white flag aloft unfurl'd. We bid defiance to the world With all its low detraction. We lash the scandal-monger well, Till's head hangs wi' a bevel, A FAMILIAR LETTER. 8/ No more his noisome lies he'll tell, Nor merit's honoiir'd name will sell, To bring't to his own level. 1 envy, thou malicious elf, What sins thou hast to answer ! Thou hatest all things but thyself, And eatest man's fair fame by stealth, Thou black insidious cancer ! The oily hypocrite we place. And pin him to our table, Till loud he bawls wi' coward grace — '' Eeligion dwells but in my face. My good deeds are a fable ! " Yet oft I'm rank'd among the just Appointed for salvation, And tho' on outward show I trust. Thou on my bible, clad wi' dust, May'st write the word d n." 88 A FAMILIAR LETTER. Thus hatred to Religion grows When ev'ry villain tries it : Our faith receives more sturdy blows From mere professing friends, than foes Who openly despise it ! Upon the sordid rich man's head We heap our bitter fancies, And smile to see the poor world led, And swallow all the great man said, As at his nod it dances ! He's poor in soul, tho' rich in purse. Who only money prizes — A knave, or fool, or something worse — And scarcely worth the beggar's curse Whom his poor soul despises ! Shall he, because he boasts more gains In gold and silver treasures. A FAMILIAR LETTER. 89 Compare his silly joys and pains With those of him whose wealth is brains, And heartfelt griefs and pleasures ? Such love as thine I'd rather share — Its joys and its distresses, Than with this rich man sumptuous fare — His paltry pomp I would not wear For aU that he possesses ! 90 OUR EIGHT-DAY CLOCK. ^0 0ttr ®ijjljt-tran €lotk Undimm'd to me thy polished case, Unchang'd thy slender hands, that trace The fleeting hours upon thy face, And warning give, To mark each short'ning day of grace. And wisely live ! Thy voice proclaimed upon that morn, Tlie hour when I to life was horn ! OUR EIGHT-DAY CLOCK. 91 Perhaps thou'lt tell, with voice forlorn, The hour I die — And from the world's allurements torn I lowly lie ! Thou'st been to me a friendly guide. Thro' boyhood's days, to manhood's pride- And, still, as on life's gladsome tide I heedless sail, Thou tell'st me life's swift moments glide With silent trail ! I've watched — while dancing flames burst forth, And cheered our kitchen's social hearth. And sounds of glee and sober mirth Made bright eyes glow — Thy warnings, careless of their worth, Unheeded go ! 92 OUIl EIGHT-DAY CLOCK, I've sat when ev'ry sound was gone, Save the night wind's and thine alone, And listened to thy eerie tone In chill affright, While dying embers flick'ring shone A gloomy light. All hail, then, friend of early days, And constant guide to wisdom's ways, Thy monotone for ever says Time swiftly flies. And youth alike with age decays, And surely dies ! Oh, when I hear thy hourly chime, May I improve the fleeting time ; And while life's moments brightly shine. Impressed be With thoughts about that dread sublime — Eternity I THE dominie's DREAM. 93 Calmly sits the Yillage Master Lone before his dying fire, Ever brooding, ever thinking, Wishing rest — his chief desire. Precious rest, intensely long'd for, Sweet as freedom's blessed hour, Grateful to his worn-out spirit As green mead or garden bower. Calm he sits, serenely thankful 94 THE dominie's dream. That his day of toil is done — Gently wooing rest, to gather Strength before another sun. Thus, in ever grateful humour, Daily toils does he resign For the feast of mem'ry, mingling Joys and griefs of auld langsyne : Balmy sleep comes gently o'er him, In its train pure visions brings Of a dead and heaven-gone maiden ; Hark ! in fancy, as he sings : — A' nature is wae, And laigh-drooping each leaf, The cups o' the blue bells Are trailing wi' grief ; And the west trickles out Like saut tears on the ground. THE dominie's DREAM. 95 And hush'd is ilk bonnie bird's Gladdening sound ! But how can the flow'rets To me appear gay, Or the wee birds sing sweetly Since Annie's away. Thus, in trem'lous strains and calmly. Did the wearied Master sing Of a dead love, carried early To her grave, where wild flowers spring. While he sung, a smile serenely Hung upon his careworn face, And he gently kissed the vision In his tender, fond embrace. Suddenly his face grew paler — Down his cheeks flowed burning tears, And his lips shook with emotion As he thought of byegone years : 96 THE dominie's dkeam. As he tliouglit of her last blessing That had oft his heart unstrung, Calmly thus renewed the parting As again he sadly sung : — Hark ! my sweet love, to the trembling trees, The whispering leaves tell the bu'ds we maun part; And the murmuring brook reveals to the breeze. As it floats o'er its bosom, the pangs o' my heart. The dew, gently falling, proclaims that above The pale stars are tearfully keeping A watch o'er our fates, — and the flowers bend in love, And fragrance exhale in their weeping. All nature, my love, weeps in sympathy for us — The deep vault of Heaven, and earth's fairest flowers ; And the sweet singing birds that oft caroU'd before us Shall wile us no more thro' love's gladdening bowers. THE dominie's DREAM. 97 Farewell, love ! I'll see thee in each blooming form : Thy lips choicest music shall fashion my ear — Thro' peace let my lot be, or threatening storm, My star shall be thee, love, to guide me while here ! 98 TO MY MOTHER. ^0 Mu Hbtbn- -CI 'O'- I THINK of thy love in the sweet evening time, And first when I wake on the morrow ; Thy smile is before me when pleasure is mine — Thy voice I recall when I sorrow. My joys are increased if but shar'd by a friend, And sympathy lessens my troubles — But thy cheerful look brings my griefs to an end. And even my rarest joy doubles. TO MY MOTHER. 99 Tliou calmest the wild thought that in my hreast boils, Thou bindest again what it shatters ; Thou soothest my soul like the outpoured oils When cast upon turbulent waters ! Some love not till fortune shines golden and bright. And favours around them are show'ring ; But thou lov'st tho' troubles come darker than night, And black clouds above me are low'ring ! ! blest may such love be tliro' long changing years ; And as we draw nearer death's portal, Our eyes beaming love will dispel all our fears — For surely such love is immortal ! IN MEM CRT AM." " I feel it when I sorrow most 'Tis better to liave loved and lost Than never to have loved at all." Tennyson. Sorrow is the source of song And of gentle fancies." Ihdderwick. WEE WILLIE. 103 mn miiiu. I FEEL your arms, Willie, as when fondly ye clung Round my neck, while some auld Scottish ballad I sung, And your wee rosie lips that wi' warm kisses flowed, While your e'en, beaming love, wi' sweet ecstacy glowed : And I feel your soft breathings, sae caller and sweet. As sae fondly my arms round your sma' form would meet; 104 WEE WILLIE. But, alas ! sic delight is for evermair fled, Since my Willie now sleeps in liis daisy-clad bed ! At nicht, when kind sleep lulls my sad soul to rest, I dream that my bairnie is wrapt in my breast, And fondly sleep on in the vision's embrace. While tears o' delight frae my e'en bathe his face. But soon from such short fleeting slumbers I start, To feel the quick throbs of my agonis'd heart ! 0, then do I pray that my ain head was laid Wi' my Willie, who sleeps in his daisy-clad bed. I wander the glen where wee streamies rejoice, For they seem to my soul like my wee Willie's voice : And deep in the woods where the wee birdies sing, To my heart the same sound of my Willie's voice bring! And the scent-laden zephyr that floats down the strath, Aye hovers around me like my bairnie's breath — WEE WILLIE. 105 While the saut tears fa' fast as I think o' the dead. Who silently sleeps in his daisy-clad hed ! ! thus I see Willie, in a' things around, Where the exquisite spirit o' heauty is found : I ne'er see the woodbine encircle the tree. But I sigh for the flower that ance garlanded me : I ne'er see a bonny bud tenderly blow, But I think on my flow'ret for ever laid low ! And I ne'er see the rays o' the setting sun fade, But I think on the spot where my Willie is laid ! Fareweel, my sweet bairnie! we will soon meet again, When my spirit is rid o' this sad world o' pain : Our souls will unite in those bright realms above. Where death is unknown amidst perfected love ! Fareweel, my wee Willie ! a tender fareweel. Till our spirits rejoice in the land o' the leal. And my ain wasted form near thy wee head is laid. In the silent kirk-yard, 'neath thy daisy-clad bed ! 106 IN MEMOEIAM. September, 1857. Alas ! where can my spirit fly to for relief From this sad blow to my afflicted heart ! let my soul pom* forth in bitter grief, The wail of woe that mak'st so keenly smart. My grief is such, I never felt before The power of awful death to bring such woe ; But marvel not, the loss I now deplore — A noble youth by sudden stroke laid low ! IN MEMORIAM. 107 He was by nature and by culture graced — His talents rare were bursting into bloom ; But, ab ! the hopes that all upon him placed Are crushed for ever by his early doom ! If such the pangs that fill mere friendship's breast, And cause such heartfelt feelings thus to burn, What must they feel whose every hour he blest ? How must a father, mother, sisters mourn ! God ! send down thy spirit from above. To soothe, to comfort, and to give relief ; May they receive from thy unbounded love A balm to fill their souls with hallowed grief ! Be this their comfort too, the fairest flower Blooms early, droops, and fades, and dies away; So this bright youth reign'd but the briefest hour — Too precious he to feel this earth's decay ! 108 IN MEMOEIAM. Farewell sweet youth! thy portion's with the blest — O'er thy young grave I drop a silent tear ! And till that time my spirit finds its rest, Thy bright and much loved name I will revere ! WEE AGGIE. 109 tt %m. Serenely closed at Angel's word wee Aggie's bonnie e'e, And now unsullied rests her form beneath yon ashen tree ; The gowans deck her wee green grave wi' genty blue bells shared, And low winds moan a mournful dirge in yonder auld Kirkyard. 110 WEE AGGIE. The birds no longer glad the ear wi' soul-inspiring strain, For now their blythesome songs are changed to songs of woe and pain ; They hover round the loved one's grave, and lilt by night and day A tender and a sad farewell to her that's now away. 0, farewell Aggie, bonnie bairn ! is sl their songs reveal, And my poor heart responsive says to their sad plaint, "fareweel;" No more they'll nestle in her breast, the seat of purity — No more they'll listen to her voice of sweetest melody : No more her gouden clustering hair shall her wee playmates see — No more on her shall ope their eyes the violets of the lea : WEE AGGIE. Ill The lambkins, too, shall hover round where she was wont to stray, And bleat their plaintive fare-thee -weel to her that's now away. Sweet was her voice and sad her e'e, and, oh, her cheek was pale When last she sung,' like spirit bright, the death o' ^'LilyDale;" Around her placid brow there hung an unseen angel band. To win her from our earthly love, to sing in brighter land. For, oh, she was too pure a thing to bloom much longer here, So Aggie smil'd away her soul and met her sister dear; But her fond sisters left behind, still mourn her day by day. And sob themselves to sleep, and dream of her that's now away. 112 WEE AGGIE. Long will the voice of memory keep murm'ring in my ear, The songs of her departed voice my spirit loved to hear; 'Twill oft recall her looks o' love, her actions meek and kind, That she for ever loved to shower on those she left behind. And, tho' our hearts are like to break, we say, '' God's will be done," For while we've lost a favourite child, a cherub God has won. Fareweel, awhile, our darling one, and teach our hearts to pray. Our souls may be as free from sin, as thine that's fled away. IN MEMORIAM. 113 lit gttmcrram C Jf. fl. February, 1859. A SAD farewell, thou beauteous boy ! We bend beneath the chastening rod, In pale submission to our God, Who metes out every grief and joy. Thou wert the gentlest boy I knew — Thy heart was ever frank and kind ; No sweeter youth is left behind — None ever lived more good or true ! 114 IN IVIEMORIAM. Of thy sad death all hearts are full — Thy love-lit eye and smiling face Are missed from ev'ry wonted place — At home, in play-ground, church, and school I Gloom reign'd within my little realm Upon the morning of thy death — No playmate spoke above his breath, So much did grief each mind o'erwhelm. Thy love dwells in our breasts secure, — Fond mem'ry too thy form shall trace. And brood on its peculiar grace — Meet temple for a soul so pure ! ! who shall now supply thy love ? In tears we grudge thy present bliss, — Too pure wert thou for earth like this, And Seraphs beckoned thee above. IN MEMORIAM. 115 t Sweet wert thou as the fragrant flower Depending from its parent stem, — The Angels ne'er culled purer gem To bloom within a heavenly bower. "Who now will raise thy Mother's head ! (When round thy neck her loving arms Were clasp'd — ^her world was in thy charms). Since thou, her darling boy, art dead ? Pour heavenly comfort, gracious God, And Kesignation's healing balm. To fill her soul with hallowed calm — And ease the Father's crushing load ! Farewell! farewell, thou manly boy! We bend the knee with one accord In pale submission to the Lord, Who makes our grief thy endless joy ! 110 IN MEMORIAM. fit SUmnriam '' Mtnit. So early heavenward gone, sweet child ! Earth's flowers are getting less and less — This world is now a wilderness, Which once to me in gladness smiFd. Where now the crimson of thy lips ? Where now the lustre of thine eye ? And where thy cheek's deep beauteous dye ?- All fled at thy sweet life's eclipse ! IN MEMORIAM. 117 Gone, too, for ever is thy breath ; Gold is that hand I've fondly prest — And cold the brow I've oft caress't, — Still thou art beautiful in death ! Oh ! empty now, thy wonted place At morning meal and evening prayer, Thy blessed presence is not there — We miss thy gentle form and face. Why do the Angels sweep the earth, And make the fairest ilow'rets die Ere they have reached maturity ? Why do they only covet worth ? 0, who shall bind thy mother's heart ? We'll place our trust in God above, Where thou art now in blissful love — To soothe her soul's afflicted smart ! 118 IN MEMORIAM. God sanctify to us our loss, And mitigate our grief and pain, And fit us all to share thy gain — For all things earthly are but dross ! Farewell ! a long fareweU, sweet child ! Earth's joys are getting less and less- This world seems now a wilderness Whicli once in love and beauty smil'd. A GRAVE QUESTION. 119 % &xnbt ^mBimx, "What numerous monuments rise over the cold bosoms that once warmly received us ! Their epitaphs collected would make volumes ; volumes how instructive if read aright! The thought of death is the directing helm of life, and he bespeaks a wreck who lays it aside."— -Voung. Whose turn is it next ? aye, that is a question Each one should ask as he visits the grave, For the tomb will have tenants ! Who, then, is tlie next one ? 0, ponder it well, who have spirits to save ! 120 A GRAVE QUESTION. Speak thy soul thus — '' Art thou roused from that slumber, That long has enchained thee and called thee its slave ? Art thou prepared to be ranked with the number Who sleep their long sleep in the dark silent grave ?" In boyhood's bright day-dream we heed not the w^arning That some lost companion, in deep silence gave ! We shout in our glee 'mid the sunshine of morning. And think then but seldom of death and the grave. In manhood's prime vigour we struggle for glory, And toil for the title of victor and brave ; But soon is unfolded the often told story, The hero must yield to the power of the grave I A GRAVE QUESTION. 12] And at last, in old age ! oh, this life is so precious ! That of living far hence the old dotard will rave, And boast of his strength — of his life so tenacious ! But he, too, must tenant the much dreaded grave! Then ponder well, reader, who treadest the green earth. Or roam'st the wide world on tempestuous wave, That a mandate of death went forth at thy birth — And that all, soon or late, must inhabit the grave ! 122 HYMN. "he doeth all things well!" Behold the glorious orb of day, And ask, Who guides its wondrous way ? Go, mortal, with adoring eyes, As day by day new suns arise : Go, worshipper, and ne'er forget To wonder when each sun is set : Let rapture in thy bosom swell To Him " who doeth all things well 1" HYMN. 123 Go forth at evening's silent time, And gaze into the deep subHme ; With wonder, awe, and holy love, Behold the myriad worlds above : The beauteous moon — ^fair queen of night ! Kesplendent in her silv'ry light : Hark to the praise they ever tell Of Him '' who doeth all things well V Go, mortal, bend thy heart and knee, And worship Him who made the sea ; And, as its mighty waters roll, Let praise to God engross thy soul. Think He, who made the solid land. Holds seas and oceans in His hand ; And as the mighty billows swell, Praise -'Him w^ho doeth all things well I" Go to the trimly cultur'd fields. And feel the joy their beauty yields ; 124 HYMN. Go to the desert bleak and bare. And ask, Who reigns in silence there ? Gro to the forest dense and dark,. And all its thousand pulses mark ; Each voice in forest, flood, and fell, Proclaims ^' He doeth all things well !" If reverence thy bosom fills, Look to the everlasting hills ! See nature, in sublimest form — In whirlwind, earthquake, and in storm : See warring tempests scatter woods, And fertile gardens drown'd in floods ! Thou'lt hear amidst this anthem swell The words—" He doeth all things well ! " Go, mortal, to the bed of death, And learn what the destroyer saith ; Go to the grave, that place of rest, Wher6 sleep oppressor and opprest I HYMN. 125 There silence speaks to living ear, In words that living men must hear ! Go, mortal, look, return and tell Thy soul—" He doeth all things well !" SONGS. SONGS. 129 When the last golden beam of the sun is receding, And twilight advances with deepening hne, I wander alone the green banks of the Eden, Where first I met Jeanie, so loving and true. I hear her sweet voice in the wood-songster singing Its last song of love to its mate on the tree ; I emblem her beauty, in every flower springing, For nature recalls my dear Jeanie to me ! I see her dark hair in the plumes of yon raven, I see her bright eyes in the clear stars above ; In the dark depths around them is pictured a haven, The type of my dear Jeanie's undying love ! 130 SONGS. I feel her balm breath in the wind softly blowing The perfume of flowers over meadow and lea ; I hear her love whispers, in rivnlets flowing, For nature recalls my dear Jeanie to me ! She is pure as the lily in calm beauty sleeping, Dew-laden, and hushed by the murmuring stream; She is pure as the waters, where pale stars are keeping A vigilant watch o'er the sweet flow'ret's dream. dearly I love on such scenes thus to ponder, dearly I love nature's beauties to see, As ever enraptured the Eden I wander — For nature recalls my dear Jeanie to me ! SONGS. 131 Come, my love, and stray with me Where the gowans deck the lea, Where the softest sward is found, Where the songs of birds resound ; Come, my love, and pass the hours Near Lincluden's* ruined towers — Where around, below, above, All is joy and peace and love ! Come, my love, come roam with me Where the wild flowers tempt the bee. * LiKCLUDEN. — A fine old monastic ruin, of great antiquity, on the banks of tlie Nith, about a mile above Dumfries, the favourite haunt of the poet Burns, which he immortalised in his "Vision of Liberty." 132 SONGS. Where the swallow dips the wing, Where the water lilies spring, Where the Cluclen's banks prolong Some coy maiden's artless song ; While resounds from bush and grove Sounds of joy of peace and loye. Come, my love, come stray with me Where the wayward step is free, Where the brackens kiss the pool, In some spot, secluded, cool ; Where the fairies pranks renew Nightly on the virgin dew ; Come, my darling, let us rove 'Mid such scenes of peace and love ! Come, my love, come roam with me Where streams murmur melody ; Come, for nature seems more dear To my soul when thou art near. SONGS. 133 Let lis thread the solemn woods Where no vnlgar eye intrudes, While the leaves in whispers move To our songs of joy and love ! Come, then, love, oh ! come with me When the sun sinks silently, And when evening shadows throw Deepening tints on all below ; When sweet warblers are at rest In their leaf-concealed nest. And when stars are seen above We will tell our tales of love ! 134 SONGS. ! WHY am I sae blithe tliis nicht, Who oft has cause for sadness ; 0, why has ev'ry sound and sicht Such power with me for gjladness ! The sweet wee birds that sing above, The secret seem revealin' ; For while they sing their songs o' love, They sing to me of Elen ! Sweet thoughts this nicht sae fill my hear I'm wrapt in love and wonder ; For nature's voice and looks im})art The secret spell I'm under. The leaves aboon that closely wreathe, And wee birds are concealin', SONGS. 135 In solemn whispers seem to breathe The name and love o' Elen ! The burnie wimplin' down yon glen Wi' blithe and merry rattlin', The happy secret seems to ken As to each bush it's prattlin'. The gently blawing simmer wind That o'er my cheek is stealin', In whispers secret, sweet, and kind, Makes glad my heart wi' Elen ! And ev'ry thing aboon, around — The moon and st amies lowin' — And earthly stars that deck the ground. The pure and lowly gowan — Wi' dearest rapture fill my breast Wi' monie a gentle feelin'. For her, the lassie I lo'e best, My ain true-hearted Elen ! 136 SONGS. When nicht unfolds her jet-black wings, And sweet repose o'er nature flings, The purest joy to me she brings, As down the Nith I wander. Fu' sweet the songs frae bush and tree, 0' wee birds ere they close the e'e; My Mary, then I think o' thee. And on thy beauty ponder I Hk bonnie thing recalls thy face, nk bending flower thy witching grace. My passion in yon star can trace Thy sparkling eye and tender. SONGS. 137 As deeper grows the evening shade, And forms around me melt and fade, I breathe thy name, my dearest maid, In accents growing fonder ! Then earth and sky may fade away, And darkest nicht succeed the day. For through the mirk aye streams a ray To fill my soul with wonder ! That ray, my love, art thou to me ! Thou'rt dear as light or life can be. Come, Mary ! say I'm dear to thee. As down the Nith we wander. 138 SONGS. When nicht 'gins to kiss the grey skirts o' the gloamin', And the gay garb o' nature is folded in rest, 'Tis then that my spirit, in sweet fancies roamin'. Allures my fond heart back to scenes that are bless'd : In calm contemplation I musingly wander Amid the lone shades where my love I reveal — Of nought do I dream, and on nought do I ponder But the peerless attractions o' sweet Aggie Steel! The pure breath of spring, with its pearl-deaUng showers, And gay featlier'd warblers of nature's wild strains ; SONGS. 139 The ricli look of summer, whose s\yeet-smellmg flowers Are felt in the breeze of the valleys and plains ; Kipe many-hued autumn so golden and bright, — All I love ; e'en for winter a fondness I feel ; But which of the seasons can bring such delight To my love-stricken bosom as sweet Aggie Steel? Not the clear-ringing laughter of light-hearted child- hood. Nor beauties of flowers, nor wild hum of bee, Nor music of streamlets that dance through the wild wood, Are half so enchanting as Aggie to me ! I love the fond smile on her dear rosy ripe lips, Which lovingly blend with the pearls they conceal. And make my poor heart but a slave to the cantrips That flash from the dark eyes of sweet Aggie Steel ! 140 SONGS. There's music in my Elen's voice, And beauty in her e'e, But weel I ken a greater charm My Elen has for me : It's no her sweet and winsome smile That ripples hke the sea, When stirr'd by balmy summer wind- But 'tis her modestie. Her face is poetry itsel' Her figure witcherie, And, oh, her heart is firmly set In pure simplicity. SONGS. 141 What tho' I range all nature thro' For fittest simile, There's nought on this green earth to match My Elen's modestie. I think upon the setting sun In gowden majestie, The huhhKng brook, the solemn hills, And stately forest tree ; The songs of birds, and sighing winds. The gowan on the lea. Have a' their charms — but nane so sweet — As Elen's modestie. 142 SONGS. Jltinme's Sips. There was a lass cam' frae the west. To see us in the south, ; Tho' perfect a', what I liked best Was her sweet smiling mouth, ! Her e'en o' blue were sparkling fair, And diamonds did eclipse, ; But nought about them could compare Wi' her sweet crimson lips, ! Her bonnie hair around her brow, In waving clusters hung, ; The cause o' monie an ardent vow That frae my bosom sprung, ; SONGS. 143 Kot tliey, nor yet her lovely form, As o'er the grass she trips, 0, Can win my heart, for I ha'e sworn To love her for her lips, ! Yestreen she put her lily hand Wi' confidence in mine, — The greatest honour in the land For her I'd then resign, ! I told her sae, and took a kiss In sweet prolonged sips, — I ken o' nought could gie such hliss As Minnie's crimson lips, ! 144 SONGS. Sweet smiling maids I've often seen In lowly cot and lordly ha', But ane I ken whose smile, I ween. To me is sweeter than them a' ! She is a bonnie maiden coy — Thick raven locks adorn her heid, And her dark e'en glance bright wi' joy- Her heart is love — ^my Winifred. Her blooming form when I behold, Fu' soon my coldest thought disarms- My heart its secrets maun unfold, Enraptur'd wi' her lovely charms : She wins me wi' her heart sae kind, By tender word and gentle deed — SONGS. 145 Search a' the world, I canna find Sae warm a heart as Winifred. I wander oft the woods among, Sweet nature's hidden gifts to see. When fond to me the thrush has sung In softest, purest melody ; My heart rejoicing 'mid the scene — Exulting cries — 'tis bliss indeed ! But sweeter far such joy had been If shar'd wi' gentle Winifred ! There's music in the angry dash 0' tempest torn and maddened sea, And beauty in the gleaming flash. To hearts both fearless, bold, and free ; But I heed not the thunder's roU, Nor yet the vivid lightning's speed ; Not nature's wrath can move my soul, While musing on my Winifred. 146 SONGS. I've seen a cauld and stormy blast Bedim an autumn sky, And tell that a' its charms were past, By its breath doomed to die ! I've wept to see its beauties melt, And 'midst such change, decay — But greater far the pangs I felt, AVhen Elen gaed away I To hear the mavis' e'ening sang I then nae langer cared, For, tho' I roved the woods amang, Wi' her it wasna shared. I bade the sweet bird seek its nest And hush its am'rous lay, SONGS. 147 For nought but sorrow filled my breast Since Elen gaed away ! When morn again the glad earth warms Wi' tints o' rosie hue, The birds in hymning nature's charms Their blithesome strains renew. In melting melody they sing Frae morn till gloaming grey, But joy to me they canna bring Since Elen gaed away ! As budding leaves, in bursting forth, The gladsome tidings bring. That ance again upon the earth Is felt the breath o' spring ; So glowing transport in my heart Wi' gen'rous warmth will burn, When fond I clasp — nae mair to part — My love on her return ! 148 SONGS. ^\it '§amxu ^atglislj Utiiiben. Theke was an English maiden, Who dwelt near the sea. And none of Eve's fair daughters Seemed half so dear to me ; She was bright as summer sunshine. Sweet as violet on the lea, Or hawthorn blossom on the hedge, This maiden o' the sea ; Her presence dwelt amongst us, happy then were we ! But the dark-eyed EngUsh maiden, Whose lips with smiles were laden, Left us all for her home near the sea ! SONGS. 149 I've oft felt budding beauty Bewitch my heart and e'e, But my soul was roused to new life By this maiden o' the sea ; 0, she was kind and gentle, And full of sympathioj Her words were sweet as nature's voice Attuned to melodic ; Since then I've often wondered If a vision it might be, As I sit calmly brooding, With old memories intruding. Of a dark-eyed maiden near the sea ! 150 SONGS. I l^it'^ got It gcaric, (9 ! The sun I think gi'es blither licht, The flowers they bloom mair sweetly, 0, And a! things seem to prosper richt, And harmonise completely, ; The warbling birds mair joyous sing, In strains that never weary, — And ilka thing new pleasures bring. Since I ha'e got a dearie, ! The cheerfu' blink o' morning tide — The sad, sweet hour o' gioamin', — Begin my days wi' youthfu' pride, And end them wi' sweet roamin', (). SONGS. 151 I tread the braes in inirkest niclit, I never now feel eerie, ; The darkest hour is mair than licht If I but meet my dearie, 0. My heart has lang lain in the dark — The lasses thought me awkward, ; But now I'm roused by love's bright spark, I'll never mair feel backward, ; I'll e'en fling care unto the winds. And sing sae blithe and cheerie, — And quaff a cuj) wi' bosom friends, To love, and my sweet dearie, ! 152 SONGS. (BUoxvam, Let poor worldlings strive for this life's pomp and fashion. And vainly confide in their titles and gold ; Fd sooner exult in love's soul-cheering passion, Than all the vast treasures their wealth can unfold ; I heed not their riches, nor gold-gotten pleasure, Nor yet the false worship their rank e'er can gain ; I'd rather inherit the pure priceless treasure — The love o' the warm heart o' sweet Elloraine. She is dear to my soul as the dew softly falling Is sweet to the summer-parched meadow and lea ; She is dear to my soul as the floweret enthralling. In perfumed embraces, is dear to the bee ! SONGS. 153 Oh ! dear to the mariner's heart is the ocean, As he glides in his gallant bark over the main ; But deeper and purer the heartfelt devotion That reigns in my bosom for sweet Elloraine. Her beauty o' feature, at first sight bewitch'd me, Wi' her dark flowing tresses and love-sparkling e'en, And the warmth o' her heart thro' her smiles so enrich'd me. The happiest o' mortals I've ever since been ; But, oh, could I reckon she'd look kindly on me. As I vowed that -my heart, through this life, was her ain, I'd clasp her in rapture, and proudly enthrone me. Amid the kind smiles o' my dear Elloraine. 154 SONGS. Arise, ye brother Scots ! arise ! Arise from sea to sea ! And fill the air from earth to skies With sounds of Jubilee ! Let bealfires on our mountains blaze, T' illume the land around ; Let Scotia's streams their voices raise To swell the anthem sound ! We sing no conq'ring warrior's worth. For bloody vict'ries won ; We hail the day that saw the birth Of Coila's minstrel son. SONGS. 155 One hundred years have this day roU'd Since that tempestuous morn, When Januar' blasts to Scotland told That EoBEKT Burns was born ! He tun'd his lyre for Scotland's sake And sacred libertie ! His noble spirit burned to make His country great and free ! With glowing pride he struck his lyre , For Scotland's ancient fame ; He fiUed the patriot's breast with fire For her immortal name ! His mighty soul poured forth in song. The nation's heart to move ! He fired the breast to spurn a wrong — He melted it with love ! He sung those glorious men of yore, Who ne'er from foes would turn — 156 SONGS. Wlio Scotland's blood-red lion bore With Bruce at Bannockburn ! He told with bard-propbetic voice Of that approaching day, When ev'ry Briton would rejoice To end oppression's sway : " When man to man, the wide world o'er," Should trusty brothers be ! And peace should reign on ev'ry shore, And truth from sea to sea ! Then, rise ye brother Scots ! arise ! Of high and low degree ! And fill the air from earth to skies With sounds of Jubilee ! Let bealfires on our mountains blaze, T' illume the land around ; Let Scotia's streams their voices raise To swell the anthem sound ! SONGS. 157 The sweets o' spring may pass away Like its ain silver dews, And summer's charms may a' decay To autmnn's golden hues. Cauld winter's reign may next succeed, And hare each field and tree — But dearest aye, in hour o' need, Is Mima's love to me ! The joys o' youth I'll ne'er forget, Tho' long they've pass'd away, Nor can I lose, without regret. The pleasures of to-day : E'en coming joys I have in store, And taste before I see — 158 SONGS. I'd give them all, though doubled o'er, My Mima, love, for thee ! Sweet friendship bids my heart rejoice, And burn with fond regard. For I have found, in friendship's voice. Its own sincere reward. In happy fellowship I live. With sober mirth and glee — But such delight it cannot give As Mima's love to me. I've felt sweet music's gentle power Oft soothe my troubled breast : Its tranquil sounds, at midnight hour. Have lulled my soul to rest, lands illum'd by purest love, n fancy then I flee. But soon return, where'er I rove. My Mima, love, to thee I SONGS. 159 txt btxz tfa0 l0mxu fflaitrijns/' Sweet Mary Ann is like the dawn 0' simmer's balmy morning — The sparkling glance o' her blue e'en Wi' gladness a' adorning. Her soft sweet voice is like the bird Melodiously discoursing — 0, fain my heart yields to her smile — A slave without enforcing ! Meek Genevieve is Hke the eve 0' summer — lang in closing ; Her tear-wet cheek, like nature's face, 'Midst dewy pearls reposing. • 160 SONGS. She's like the drooping op'ning bud, Wi' fragrant drops impending ; She hangs her head sae silently, Ane's very heart maist rending ! GLASGOW: 1>RIMTKD BY ROBERT AHUSBSON, 86 QDEKM STBBKT. HP \ o