THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES r jry GLEANINGS FROM THE FIELDS OF FANCY. WITH SOME BLOOD -RED POPPIES FROM THE FIELDS OF WAR. BV MADELINE THOM, FOSSOWAY, KINllOSS-SHIRE. KiNKOSS : Published for the Authoress by DAVID BROWN I'v: SON, 149 High Street. 1 li 1 5. TO MY MOTHER, WHO HATH kntp:red that land WHEKK ALL IS POETRY, THESE (JLEANINGS (fiATHERED THROUGHOUT THE PASSING Y'EARS, AMID SUNSHINE AND SIIADOw) ARE AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED BY HER YOUNGEST DAUGHTER, WHOSE ONE REGRET IS THAT SHE WHO WAS EVER SUCH A LOVER OF POETRY IS NO LONGER HERE TO SHARE Willi HER THE PLEASURE OF SEEING THESE " GLEANINGS " SAFELY STORED. ?K ( 3^ r CONTENTS. I'AGK. 7 Tntioiluctioii Spiinjj; : Now anil Then ... ... ... ... ... •) I poll I.,eaviii Retrospection ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 8(i The Divinity Flirt 87 I'nfnllilled i'roniises 88 CONTENTS. Pack. Iticli and Pdor Hi) AiMrcss to Kalthi Nicola A>i)iili T.-ims ... ... ... jd Past ami Presont ti Oilc to 'riiruins ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 42 Sonic 'rii()ii My Willie and the War 144 MarcIiinj,M() Mnsic and to Death 145 "The (Horion.s Twelfth," 191,") 146 SaleSon^'... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... i4,s Some \'erses dedicated to Mr. .John Ellis, njioii his Iteniov- in^' a I'etrol Kn;;ine wliieh was placed near " Kildon " 1.10 Away l.-)-i INTRODUCTION. -;3e EADER, if you've a critic's eyes, These sheaves of mine do not despise, Or say, methinks this grain's not good, Nor for the biuin will furnish food. Some people do not know the strain Of working either field or brain, Tho' sheaves may not brain food impart Their golden ears may feed the heart. Pluck for yourselves the ripest eai's Sunned oft by joy, and wet with tears Throughout the passing, changing years ; If e'en however small one seed Should spring to help another's need. Without a murmur or a sigh. Returning thanks to God on high, I'd let the other Gleanings die. GLEANINGS FROM THE FIELDS OF FANCY, WITH SOME BLOOD-RED POPPIES FROM -^ THE FIELDS OF WAR. Spring: Now and Then. USED to bring the first flower of the year To thee, dear mother — thou, of all most dear. Now Springs may come and wane, I cannot bring Thee flow'rets, wishes, kisses, anything. To-day, I saw the snowdrop blooming fair Tho' snow was lying coldly everywhere ; I turned away — leaving the little flower. That once, with joy, I plucked in happier hour. And thou — although the snow lies cold and white Upon the spot where, hidden out of sight, Your dust lies sacred — shall hereafter bloom In Heaven's spring, like flower from winter's tomb. In memory still, I bring a flower to thee (Although thine eyes far fairer flowers now see) ; For flower's of memory never fade or die. The' oft we cull them with a tear-dimmed eye. B 10 (iLEANINGS FROM 'I'll 10 Upon Leaving Kirkton. My heart is sorely Ki"i<''^'ii^K) Fair Kirkton T am leaving, Wheie I would fain lie weaving Some tale in rhyme, Drawn from recesses hoaiy Of ancient Border story That ever sheds its glorj'^, Undimmed by time. The past comes up before me, Its magic spell is o'ei' me ; A voice cries. Once you tore me From out your heart." But now I've closer bound thee. My Border arms are round thee ; Ah ! now that I have found thee, We'll never iiart. The glamour of my w(joing "Was never maid's undoing, My sweet and suasive suing Drew to my shrine. In all my Border roving. Responses warm and loving Thro' years unnumbered proving Once — ever mine. I sought thee in life's morning, Youth's dew thy brow adorning, All other suitors scorning, You turned to me. You revelled in caresses. In nature's sweet excesses ; Kisses, the sun-god presses On Eildon's three. Zephyrs in summer playing, Wild flowers and grasses swaying Charmed thee, thy footsteps straying In woodland ways. FIELDS OF FANCY. 11 Unknown, I've seen thee dreaming Where fields were golden gleaming, Thy brain with fancies teeming Of by-gone clays. Thovigh man may not admire thee, Long may the nuise inspire thee, Imagination fire thee To nobler rhyme. My Border heart aye thrih thee. Its glamour ever fill thee. Its past and present still be Deal- for all time. Kirkton Manse, Sept. 1908. .^ Roses. Written during the Great War, 1915, and suggested to me by receiving a bunch of beautiful roses. Now here's to thim beautiful roses The lady put duwn be me bed ; Like all the three counthries, they'i-e diff'rent. But, somehow, me fancies the red. Tlie yallow's as purty as anny. Like the gowld (that I never cu'd kape !) An', fur shure, 'tis me orangeman colour, But I'll luk' at the red till I slape. The pink's just the " pink av perfection ; " This wan is blood-red like the War ! Shure, I'll tell yez, nurse, noiv, why I love it — Its swate scent just carries me far From this ward to a dear little cabin Whei'e lives, shure, the swatest colleen That iver tripj^ed over the shamrock, The loike av her ni\er waz seen. When I lift fur to foight these Hun divils (Far worse than the worst Oirish foes). 12 GLEAMNCiS FROM THE Whan T kissed me dear gurl 'niong the praties, She give me the purtiest rose, Like this wan ! An' she said, Pathrick darUnt, Now remimber whereiver yez goes, Tho' yez parted from Mary O'Leary, Niver part wid tlie dear little? rose. But kape it, and dhrame of her soiuetoimes, An' i)ray fur her niornin' and noight; An' God kape me Pathrick from danger An' bring him safe home from the foight. An' I kipt it, nurse, wrax-)ped in her letther, Tucked saf(; away, close to me heart, For I vowed when I parted wid Mary, From her rose, shure, I niver wu'd part. An' yez don't say, dear nurse that yez got it — Ach, give it me now, like a dear, Shure, I'll slape like a top till the mornin'. If yez just lay the little rose here. God bless yez ! An' there is her letther. Here, nurse, lay it under me head. An plase, will yez put them together, Beside me owld corp, whin Oi'm dead? The roses kept watch till the morning. And as she inhaled their perfume. Nurse heard the faint flutt'ring of pinions ; Death's angel had entered the room. So his last thoughts were all of his Mary. Poor fellow ! And now he's with God. Sharon's Rose — sweeter far than earth's blossoms, But we'll plant roses over the sod. Yes ! Red ones, and some day his Mary May find her way over the sea. And be glad that he was not forgotten When she sees the red rose blooming free. FIELDS OF FANCY. 13 His medal went over to Mary, But the shattered hand over his breast Kept the rose, and the letter from Mary, To his loving heart tenderly pressed. The heart that had ceased from its beating, The rose that was withered and dead ! Thank God for those faithful lives ended, For our brave lads who suffered and bled. July 1915. Two Lives. Time was when one word spoken might ha^■e altered Two lives, and made their diverse curi'ents flow Into one stream. Alas I which of us faltered -dcAnd let the golden moment come and go ? Those moments fraught with issues past our dreaming, Those ifs " that change the tenor of our years, Bathe them in shadow, 'stead of svmlight gleaming. Those might-have-beens " that fill the eyes with tears. Young love is sweet ! Methinks 'twere even sweeter, More precious in the light of mem'ry seen. For retrosfjection maketh it completer. In brighter colours paints the might-have-been." Again the smile that set our hearts a-beating, The glance that made our cheeks all roseate glow, Come back with unforgotten joys of meeting In the fair love-lanes of the long ago." Ah ! tell me, wei^e the past once more before us. Would we be wisei- now than we have been 1 Would it to brighter dreams and hopes restore us, And change for us life's ever- varying scene 1 Would all the cares and trials that assail us Vanish like mist upon the mountain's brow "? Or would our hearts, in crucial moment, fail us As, spite (jf faith, they oft-times fail us now ? 14 GLEANINGS FUOM THE Had fate nut parted us by land and iiccan Love's flower had maybe blossomed sweet and fair. Yet see we not thro' all the soul's emotion, 'Twas wisely ch(^cked — for (iod's own hand was there? The sweetnesses of mem'ry ever cherish Those visions of the ])ast, all i-iinbow hued. Cull what is lovely, let the useless perish — 'Twill all be fair if in God's mirror viewed. We see the past — the future guess unseeinj^ ; But One above us sees where we are blind. The only Good and Wise Omniscient Being — Oh, let us trust the workings of His mind ! 'Tis well we see no path in life before us. But blindly step through its mysterious maze Upheld by One Who, ever watching o'er us, Guides falt'ring footsteps through its devious ways. Fond faithful friendship all our days will brighten The lives which, save in. heart, have not been one ; Each cloud, each sorrow, as it cometh, lighten, And gild the sunset of our day when done. The Old Mill. The dear old Mill— the dear old Mill- When I close my eyes I can see you still, And I think of the days I had many a fall From your moss-grown roof and your ivied wall. The dear old Wheel— the dear old Wheel- Could I see you again 'twould make me feel Like a boy once more ; and to watch the burn Flinging froth from your spokes at ev'ry turn. The dear old Field— the dear old Field- Did ever a meadow such clover yield As the one where my boyhood's happiest dream Was dreamt by the banks of your little stream ? FIELDS OF FANCY. 15 The dear old Stile — the dear old Stile — Since I saw you last, full many a mile Has been crossed of foreign land and sea, Yet in mem'ry I love to visit thee. Tlie dear white Gate — the dear white Gate — Oft in summer eves I used to wait In the gloaming grey, witli expectant ear. For a step and a voice T loved to hear. Oh ! Annie deai- — Oh ! Annie dear — Tho' we have been parted many a year I can see you still come tripping along With your milk-pail shining — singing a song. ''Tlie dear old Times — the dear old Times — They sound in the heart like heaven's chimes ; And I lotig with a Jonghig that gives me pain '^^or those days that can never come again. * * * * The Years have gone — the Years have gone — And I'm fai' away — alone — alone — I sit to-night, while around me plays The fadeless light of those other days. For me the wheels of Fortune tui-n Like the dear old mill — yet her gold I spurn. A look once more into Annie's eyes AVere dearer to me than the greatest prize. The wheels of Life — the wheels of Life — Turn smoothly still, and I have no strife With the world or man, yet I feel it drear This log-hut life from year to year. The dear old Home — the dear old Home — No more would I cross the ocean's foam If some Fairy could tell me that I would find That dearest girl that T left behind. A dear wee cot — a dear wee cot — Just beside the mill, in that sunny spot, Is all I would ask in the whole world wide. If only Annie wei'e by my side. 16 GLEANINGS FROM THK 111 the c-lo\er lud'udow, beside the sti'eam, We would sit (too happy for words) and dream. Ah ! dream, come true — for I'm weary here ; But at home T'd {ijrow younger every year. July r)th, 191."). Lines Suggested by a Violent Storm of Thunder and Lightning, June 29th, I9i5- I gazed upon the angry sky Where Ughtning swiftly i)layed, And wondered, were our guns more fierce Than Nature's cannonade 1 It was an awe-inHi)iring scene, And filled the mind with dread ; One's thoughts, swift as the lightning, leapt To dear ones lying dead. Upon the distant battle-field Lay thousands of our slain. Ah ! yes, man's brutal lightning Spread destruction o'er the plain. Wild Nature's storms will pass away. Her suns shine bright and clear ; But never will they shine again On those we hold so dear. They sleep beneath a foreign sky And, 'neath the blood-stained sod. Their Avearied bodies rest until Resounds the Ti-ump of God. Thunders and lightnings, earthquakes too — Yea, pestilence and sword — Must wreak their vengeance ere that day, The coming of our Lord. Ah ! how His followers should yearn For that most glorious Day, When God shall dwell with men, and this Old eai'th have passed away. FIELDS OF FANCY. IT When there shall lle^■el• more be curse, Nor sorrow, death, or tears ; But we, in perfect blessedness. Dwell through the eternal years. A Tribute to our Brave Indians when first they Came over to Help us. Brave Indians ! loyal to our King and Crown, When war's wild trumpet loudly called our land To shoulder arms — yon left youi' sunny strand, Knowing full well that lives must be laid down. Far from your home, on many a battle-field, Crimsoned by blood that flowed in Rajahs' veins, (Dearly we prize those sacrificial stains). For us, ungrudgingly, those lives you yield. -<^ But from that soil, where lies your precious dust, Shall spring such seeds as richest harvest make Of Peace. And we shall pray for your dear sake. Long may the sword within its scabbard rust. As death's cold finger closed your wearied eyes Did visions of your sacred Ganges pass Across them — as one sees within a glass Pictures of smiling lands and radiant skies 1 Methinks that Temple, Dome, or Minaret, (White marble 'gainst Ind's sky of cloudless blue), Would (like a mirage) fade, as bui'st on you God's Holy City, fairest vision yet. No Temple there — no need of earthly sun — God's glory makes these many mansions " bright ; And war shall be no more — no dreary night — Where Nations, Kings, and Peoples are as one. Jane 29th, 1915. Heather and Love. (A Student's Soliloquy.) And it's Oh, for life on a breezy moor ! In the glorious summer weather, 18 GLEANINGS FROM THE Where the muuiitain .shadows come and go — Sunshine above, around, below. Flooding the world in a golden glow, lU'd'ning the pm'ple heather. Bees drawing nectar from every bloom, Wild thyme shedding her sweet perfume On the summer air. Everywhere — Heigh-ho ! for a breezy moor. And it's Oh, for lo\'e on a liighland moor ! In the glorious autumn weather ; Crimson above, with the sunset glow Casting a glamour on all below And a blush on the cheek of a girl I know. Standing 'mid blooming heather. One drawing nectar from lips as red As the berries rip'ning above his head. Ah, the glad love-light In eyes that night ! Heigh-ho, for that witching moor ! And it's Oh, for youth's wide-spreading moor ! Where it's always summer weather. Where, never weary, we love to rove. Where the sun shines aye from the blue above, When life is full to the brim of love As honeyed bells of heather. Now nectar we draw from memory's cells ; Alas, for the faded heather bells ! They lie in this book. Let me take one look — 'Tis all remains of my moor. Ode to Matrimony. Written on the spur of the moment, after our mother liad told us that we would be happier and have fewer cares if we remained unmarrieil. Much happier lives we three shall lead If never to marry we're all agreed. Than if we were burdened with bairns and cares, With scarcely a moment to say our prayers ; FIELDS OF FANCY. 19 Demands upon time, and hands, and bi*ain, Enough to fh'ive a woman insane — Arranging one's meals befoi'e dayhght. Hurried and Hurried from morn till night ; Good-man calling one thing, chikh'en another, Where are you^ wife 1 " Where are you, mother ? " I'll come in a moment." I want you now." You press youi- hand to youi- aching bi'ow And think if you'd heeded your mother's warning Connubial troubles you'd now be scorning. Too late, too late," is now your cry, ' I'll never have rest till the day I die." a The River. Thoughts suggested by viewing the River Devon from my ,_^ window at Eildon. The river, the river — the peaceful, placid river That scintillates and flashes, like jewels 'neath the .sun ; Branch shadows sway and quiver On the bosom of the liver, As shadows fall athwart our lives ere yet our day be done. The liver, the river — the rythmic, rippling river That sings its song unceasingly to every passer-by ; Yet to many a careless liver No voice sounds from the river That with sweet and subtle music pointeth men beyond the sky. The river, the river — the lightsome laughing river Caressing fern and wild-flower as it wanders on its way ; Do we ever thank the Giver For the beauties of the river, For the lessons that it teaches all who love it day by day 1 The river, the river — the roaring, rushing river. That is hurrying ever onward to join the mighty sea ; Do we ever ponder — ever — On the mystery of the river, Life's river hurrying on to join the vast eternity? 20 ULKANINGS FKOM THK The. ri\-er, the river — the tumbling, tossing river, That swollen, angry, carrieth with it ruin far and wide ; Have pity, Oh, life's river ! Bear them up, the frail ones, ever, Lest, courage gone, engulphed they sink beneath your swel- ling tide. The river, the river — the dark and silent ri\er, Across whose tide the boatman pale must one day bear us (I'er ; Our spirits shrink antl qui\'er At the margin of the river. But our Saviour's hand will guide us till we gain the further shore. The river, the river — life's ])ure and crystal river, That without shadow floweth from the Throne of God abo\'e ; Ah, with joy our hearts will quiver As we stand beside the river Singing praise to Him who steered our barques to endless realms of love. Our Parson. Dedicated to all Clerics who resemble the subject of my poem- Sexton Loquitur. He's an absent-minded Parson — and belike a beggar too, For his stipend's not a big 'un — an' the folks is mighty few ; But there's summat I can vouch for — 'tis God's truth — not idle praise, He's a gen'leman is Parson — rare, uncommon now-a-days. You're right, but folks will speak, sir, who've no call, 'twixt you an' me. That holds he is a beggar — for he pleads for funds you see. Oh ! I've heard him in the kirk myself speak out for good hard cash, 'Twas to send out for convarsion o' the blacks in Calabash, Or some sich name — an' I could tell some folks out pretty plain That the money Parson's drawin' ev'ry year it ain't clear gain, FIELDS OF FANCY. 21 For he's a'ways givin', givin'. Why ! the tin " he gives away Would set up a chap like me, sir, with a goodish weekly pay. An' that ain't seldom, no, it ain't. Oh ! Parson is a brick. Some folks' months gape more than purses, an' their talk do make me sick. An' I'll never stand to hear 'em run a man like that to earth. For he's rare an' good, an' as I said, a gen'leman by birth. Ay ! they say he is a beggar, sir. Mebbe the coat he wears Is a trifle old an' rusty, but it matches his grey hairs. An' all honour 'tis to him I say. What's Fashion 1 let 'em j^reach ; They'd do better did they practise all the truths ovr Parson teach. Blessin's on him ! Would this owd world held some more like Parson Sym ; But the ministers they're " 'lectin' " now are not a bit like him. They're chokefull o' creeds an' notions o' their own mind, not God given — That they miss the wee bit narrow gate that leads from earth to Heaven. But Parsons o' t' good owd sort that don't believe a word 'Bout salvation, saints, or sinners, like, or aught we ever heard, 'Less he found it in t' Bible, sir, the Book our fathers prized. An' their forbears bled an' died for, but it's often now despised. But t' younger generation, they talk glib o' Heaven an' grace ; 13ut as to Hell ! Why, sir, I've heerd 'em say there's no sich i>lace ; 22 GLEANINGS FROM THK But / say (an' Parson 'grees \vi' me), T don't think 'twould be fair To let saints an' sinners walk abreast in t' K"»lden streets up there. But that's matter fur discussion, an' it's mebbe not my place To be airin' all my \ iews like — but he is a man o' grace Is Parson — just as good a man as ever trod God's earth, An' as you heerd me say, sir, he's a gen'leman by birth. There at last he goes, does Parson, wi' his cheery ruddy face ; Were it not for Jihu, sir, this would be a God-forsaken place ; An' if it be you're stayin' i' the white house on the beach You might step up here to-morrer just to hear our Parson preach. You'll get summat foi- your trouble ; oh ! he's grand is Parson Sym, Once he's lying herp. we'll never get another man like hivi. But I've buri'l on at two, an' this here talkin' don't help work ; Like as not, if spared, I'll meet you, sir, to-morrer at the kirk. Over the Hills and far away. Over the hills, and far away, Rode a gallant one summer's day ; His was no vain or idle quest. For he sought the maiden he lo^■ed the best. Over the hills, and far away, A maiden sat dreaming that sununer day ; Her eyes were blue as the heav'ns above. And brightly they shone with the flame of love. Over the hills, and far away, When the sun had sunk, and the gloaming grey Stole mistily over hill and dell. The silence was stirred by the vesper bell. FIELDS OF FAXOY. 23 Over the hills, and far away, The knight o'er his chai-gei- bent to pray ; But, spite of the hour, and the lonely place, His vision was dimmed by a beauteous face. Over the hills, and far away, A maiden knelt by her cross to pray — To pray for the t)ne whom her heai't held dear ; And lo ! while she prayed the knight drew near. * * * * Over the hills, and far awaj% The bells rang forth on a bridal daj\ By the altar there standeth a beauteous bride, > But no stalwai't bridegroom is by her side. Over the hills, and far away, Mortally wounded, the gallant lay. And the heath is stained by a crimson tide That floweth swift from his wounded side. Over the hills, and far away, Fleeth a horseman on steed of grey ; Ghastly his face in the pale moonlight, Foi" the red blood drips from his sw^ord once bright. Over the hills, and far away. With the curse of blood on his armour grey. For a maiden's love hath he done the deed, From her presence now she hath bid him speed. Over the hills, and far away, Mourneth a maid in her castle grey ; Never more will her heart grow light. It bleedeth still for her gallant knight. * * * * Over the hills, and far away. By the cairn where the shadows love to play. Where heather empurples the mountain side. Lie Sir Douglas Graham and his faithful bride. Kirkton Manse, 4th August 1908. 24 GLEANINGS FROM THE Changeless. T love you, sti.JI 1 l()\c' you, Though our Hves He far apart, For distance never can undo Those chains wliich hind the heart. Nor time, nor space can alter The unchanj^inf^ love of years, Tho' one's faith may sometimes falter When the eye is dim witli tears. Tho' o'er my pathway lengthen Shadows as the years go by, They only serve to strengthen Quenchless love which cannot die. Tho' cruel Fate ordained Thou never should 'st be mine, It knew not, once enchained, That heart was ever thine. When earth fades, and mists enfold me, Even Death I'd bravely face Did I know thine arms would hold me In one tender last embrace. Vain thought I For countries sever. Mighty ocean rolls between, And memory mocketh ever With her bitter " might-have-been." * * * * V Envoi. Yet, I know life hath been sweeter, And, dear Heart, 'twill be above Both fuller and completer For a knowledge of thy love. To Field Marshal the Late Lord Roberts. Born at Cawnpore, September 1832 ; Died in France, November 1914. Head of Earth's armies, jjeaceful be thy rest. We saw Earth's honours glittering on thy breast FIELDS OF FANCY. 25 But in that breast, within that heart so true, There dwelt unseen, what but thy Maker knew. Sokher of Christ, 'twas thus that thou had won More honour, gkii-y, trust, than many a son Of empire. God was all in all to thee. Thus didst thou win men's hearts — and victory. Would God, that sons of men who bravely fight Would fight as thou, for peace and for the right ; Did they, like thee, abundant faith possess. The end would crown their efforts with success. E'en enemies, whose rights (?) were swept away Have nought save kindly thoughts of thee to-day ; From many a lip praise falls, and still will fall, For thee, brave chief, admired, beloved of all. 'SJsy loss we mourn, yet still we cannot weep ; God took thee gently, as a child in sleep. Far from earth's wrongs, and wrangling wars art thou, At'home with Christ — His name upon thy brow. With many an honour crowned, your mortal frame Rests with our heroes of illustrious name. We keep thy precious dust, God keeps thy soul, Till both unite when Jesus calls the roll." Another Eulogy to Field-Marshal the Late Lord Roberts, C.I.C. 'Twas not his glorious deeds alone That to the whole earth spake — 'Twas not his prestige in that world Now inoui'ning for his sake. Ah, no ! 'twas something nobler still Won love fi'om sons abi'oad ; 'Twas life as lived by one who held Close converse with his God. Who from his Great Commander took His orders every day. Whose greatest joy in life was but These orders to obey. 26 GLEANINGS FROM THE Upon life's march he took no stej) Without (Jod's sanctii)n j^iven, Thus glailly woulci this aged saint Step swift from earth to hea\'en. Upon Hfe's (h'eary battle-field He calmly laid him down, Content to part with earthly arms For Heaven's fadeless crown. 'Mid life or death, 'mid peace or war, He ever dwelt secure — And now he sleeps — praise shall he reap From Briton and from Boei-. God grant his memory and deeds (Now he hath gone up higher) May never die — but many a heart And many a life inspire. And we in memory would weave (Bathed with a nation's tears) A laurel wreath of sweetest thcnights. Unfading with the years. Thus, aged saint, farewell, until, Where dwells nor time, nor space, Amid the throng of countless saints W^e meet thee face to face. Ypres. Oh, Ypres ! in thy soil lie many slain, Afar from home they found a kindly grave Beneath the sod of sister counti'ies twain They rest, those dear ones, till we meet again. They little recked when leaving Britain's shore, They gazed their last on home for evermore. Ah, well ! let shrapnel, bullets, bombs, and guns Take life. God watches o'er our precious ones ; He keeps their souls until that glorious Day When war and sin shall both be swept away. June 30th, 1915. FIELDS OF FANCY. 27 Apart. Drifting apart — not heart to heart As in the days gone by ; One Httle word by two Hps spoken — One Uttle word — the spell is broken ; Clouds gather o'er life's sky. Drifting away — daj" by day, Further from love's safe shore. God pity theui both ! No helping hand Can draw these ship-wrecked souls to land. They have parted for evermore. Too Late. You say you never ceased to love , Tho' you left me long ago 1 Ah me ! 'twas hard that love to prove — How could I ever know — That your heart was still unchanged When you never told me so 1 You say you come to claim me ? I can never wed you now. Dear Heai't ! I do not blame thee Tho' you failed to keep that vow, Which you plighted first with trembling lips Then sealed u])on my brow. Yes ! you start to see me dying And your eyes are full of tears ; But no vain regrets or sighing Can recall the vanished years That, in place of happiness with you, Were filled with sick'ning fears. Oh ! for years I faltered never, Nor believed you were untrue ; And I still kept praying ever That one word might come from you. But that prayer was never answered And my hopes to doubtings grew. 28 GLEAMN(;S FROM TilK O'er my spirit stole a sadness Which but deepened day by day ; And the hajipy, careless gladness Of my girlhood ])asse(l away ; And the life I lived was lifeless, With a future cold and grey. * •* * * Kiss me upon the lips, dear Heart, As you did in days gone by. In heaven loved ones never part ; And above jj^oia sun-lit sky We will love (as we loved in the (^Iden days) For ever — you and T. * * * * Do you hear the church bells ringing ? 'Tis like our wedding day ! I can hear the angels singing — Oh ! I hnig to be away Far above earth's mists and shadows In the light of endless day. Oh ! Carry them all to Jesus. Hymn written to lie sung to nuisic at tlie request of Gypsy Smith the Evangelist — October 1895. Oh ! carry your sins to Jesus ; He bled on the tree for you. In His promise believe, and forgiveness receive, You will find that His word is true. " Him that cometh to Me I will never cast out." Oh ! believe Him, receive Him, with never a doubt, For He comes at thy bidding if prayerfully sought ; Sinner, come with the morning dew. Chorus. Then yield up your lives to Jesus, For He laid down His life for you ; Take Christ at His word, and your prayer will be heard. We know that the promise is true. " Him that cometh to Me I will never cast out." Then believe it, receive it, with never a doubt. FIKLDS OF FANCV. 29 Oh ! carry your heart to Jesus ; He will empty it as j'ou go ; He will pour forth such love from His storehouse above, As ^\'ill cause it to overtlow. And where only leaves flourished and withered and fell, In the strong sap of faith, buds of promise will swell. They will blossom and bear fruit, and ripen as well ; Yea, Fruits of the Spirit shall grow. Oh ! carry your doubts to Jesus ; They'll vanish like mist at morn ; O'er the blackness of night shall dawn heaven's own light And new life in thy soul be born. For Jesus knows well all the fears that beset thee. He suffered for thee, and He will not forget thee ; Draw nigh — in the cleft of the Rock He will set thee. Safe sheltered from life's blighting storm. Oh ! carry the cross for Jesus ; He huiag on it once for thee. Thy Saviour will share it — He'll help thee to bear it. He bore it for you and for me. Will j^ou shoulder it bravely and not lay it down Till your Saviour replaces that cross with a crown. Till in glory you stand, with the saints, round His Throne Praising God thro' Eternity. Questions. Will you love me less when my hair is white. When wrinkles line my brow ? When diumied the light of an eye once bright, Will you love me less than now ? Ah, tell me, dear, will your love grow cold To the one you loved in flays of old 1 Will you l(jve me less when this cheek grows pale Where roses used to blow ? When changed the voice made your heart rejoice In the days of long ago 1 You little know how a woman gi-ieves For love tliat drops like the autumn leaves. 30 GLEANINGS FROM THE This little hand ! will you love me less When that hand hath nerveless grown, That, with fond caress, yon used to press And oft-times call your own 1 Or hold it still as in days of yore In a clasp T shall feel for evermore '? Will you love me less should stern Fate decree Our lives be lived ai)art 1 Or dearer to thee will I ever be, Moi'e closely drawn heart to heart ? Will the dear dead past fade from your mind. Or mine image be still in thine heart enshrined ? Will you love me less, or be ever leal To the one who was dear to you 1 When shadows steal, will you sorrow feel, That my journey be nearly through 1 Oh ! tell me, dear, will your love abide As strong and as true at eventide 1 * * * * Answer. Could I love thee less? Ah ! let me confess That my heart is still thine own. Still thee I bless. Could I love thee less Than in years that have swiftly flown 1 God grant, dear- Heart, we may both gi'ow old, But the love you kindled can ne'er grow cold. Field and Foe. Written in tlie train while travellinjf to Enjiland, November 3rd, 1914. Fighting, fighting, ever fighting, Men on sea and land. Not like painless canine slaughter. Shed they brothers' blood like water. Natui-e weeps ! Sad lesson taught her By that fighting band. FIELDS OF FANCY. 3!|^ Fighting, figlitiiig, madly fighting, AVith the fearsome foe. Shell and shrapnel shrieking round them, Country, duty, honour bound them. Thus their trusty comrades found them In the trenches low. Fighting, falling, falling, fighting, In the bloody fray. Those who trusted to a nation AVorking out its own salvation. They have wrought theii- own damnation ; God shall gain the dav. Sleeping, sleeping, soundly sleeping, Done with Field and Foe ; ]Mothei', Sister, Love forsaken. Death (swift thief) hath them o'ertaken, But God's Trump shall them awaken To their bliss oi' woe. * * * « Weeping, weeping, ever weeping For their dear ones dead. Christ in heaven hear their pleading, (Humbly we are intei'ceding), Heal the hearts with anguish bleeding. Thou Whose heart hath bled. In the Orchard. Upon the dewy grass the petals fall. Frail flutt'ring butterflies of pink and white Mingling with wild fiowers in the mossy turf. Flecked here and there with ])atches of sunlight. The melody of birds floats far and wide U])f)n the zei)hyr, soft as a cai-ess ; And frcmi vast Nature's canopy of green, The joy that swells theii- little breasts express. 32 GLEANIN(iS FROM THK But sweeter far to me than l)ircl or tlower, Or perfumed petal falling from the tree, i.s thy clear face, upturneil to mine in love, That yt)uthful budtliug form that leans on me. Ah ! may Love's blossom, when its ])etals fall Leave fruit behind, whieh never shall decay ; And Joy and Peace, twin songsters in our hearts Sing ceaselessly thro'out our life's brief day. June 6th, 1914. Only. Only a tiny parcel tied By little hands that ai'e dead and gone, Only some crumpled withered leaves That no one would care to look upon ; Yet mine eye turns dim for I seem to see The baby who tied up these leaves for me. Only a pair of tiny shoes, Worn by wee feet that will run no more, When gloamin' comes, and the house is still, I can hear them patter across my floor ; And I start to think how the years ha\'e Hown Since these wee feet pattered beside my own. Only a tiny curl of gold. That clung years ago to a baby head Here it is in the old bureau. I remember the day when I laughing said, Tho' mother should lose her baby girl She will never part with this golden curl. Only a thought of seeing her wed. Her children's children around my knee ; Fond fancy pictures many a scene Not a/ways the one that is to be ; I never pictured her lying at rest With the wee hands folded across her breast. FIELDS OF FANCY. 33 Only a tiny mound of grass Where the dancing sunbeams love to play, Only a tiny marble cross That throws its shadow at close of day ; Yet a spot where I love to sit and think Of our joyful meeting beyond the brink. Only a tiny span of life But it seems a weary time to wait, Will my darling be looking out for me Will she know her mother at heaven's gate 1 Or will she be changed from the babe I knew With the sunny locks and the eyes of blue 1 ^I cannot tell, I do not know, But I leave it all in a Father's hand. He who took my lamb will restore to me ^1^ (l can trust, where I cannot understand) ; And I /''fJ ere I reach the Great White Thi'one, That the baby I loved will be still mine own. July 21st, 1902. Nature Versus Qolf. Or, as mere man would put it. Golf versus Nature. Come, let me be off To my game of golf, 'Tis a glorious autumn day ; Nay, do not speak, But fetch my cleek And the cap I wear at plaj'. Oh ! I hear her say. Dear Harry, stay, 'Tis so quiet in the house for uie ; See ! have a look At this Jovply book. While I make you a cup of tea. Can a man refuse Tho' lie'd rather choose To be up on the breezy moor? 34 GLEANINGS FROM THK Tt might be ti)o soon Tf 'twere honeymoon, Hush ! she's coming to the door. Oh ! you naughty man Do you think ijoii can Appreciate that lovely view 1 With your "putts" and 'tees," Can you look at trees. Or the ocean's sinirkling blue'? * * * # Ah ! he has gone t)ff To his game of golf, And forgotten to say "good-bye." I'll take my book To that sheltered nook And gaze at the sea and sky. 'Tis lovely weather And oh I the heather Is reddening 'neath the sky, 'Tis sweet being fanned by the perfumed breeze, Inhaling the scent of resined trees And lulled by the hum of honey bees, Gath'ring spoil ere the day be done. * * * * " Halloa ! you herel Why 1 wifiie dear I am coming home to tea." Was your dream of golf 1 But I never scoff For Nature hath soothed me. January 190 Moonlight. I have gone in the moonlight to look on a grave, In the moonlight I've gazed on the sea. And when all the world slept. And the stars vigil kept, I have thought in the moonlight of thee. FIELDS OF FAXCY. 35 In the moonlight I've pondered o'er many a scene Which memoi'y loves to recall, For tho' Sim's cheering ray Driveth darkness away, Still moonlight is dearer than all. 'Neath the moon when in sorrow I've wandered for hours, The hitter tears dimming my sight, 'Neath the night's healing balm ]My Ijruised spirit grew calm, In the peaceful and placid moonlight. I have tended the sick when the moon's tendei- ray QIast shadows on ceiling and floor, And I've thought of the time. In that glorified clime, .jl^hen the moonlight shall he never more. Oh ! I ll)^■e well to kneel in the moonlight at prayei*, For Life's burdens slip gently away ; Yea the soul can commune 'Neath the rays of the moon. With its Maker, more near than by day. And T bear on my heart all the dear absent friends Who are parted by land or by sea, Tho' the long years have flown, Still the calm moon looks down. That is shedding her beams around me. In the moonlight I think of the dear little babe That God gave and took back in one day. Ah ! 'tis happier far. Beyond sun, moon, and star, In the smile of its Saviour alway. All thro' my life's journey, I've loved the moonlight, And will love it — while God gives me breath ; When the end draweth near, May its calm beams shine clear. O'er the river that moi-tals call Death. 36 (;LKANIN(iS KKOM TIIK Lines Written to my Intended Husband Upon lieariii}? that lit; had been imrcliasiiijx portieres, t!v:c., to eiiihcUi.sh my new home ! Oh I Pathrick, asthore, yez of all nu'ii the best, A plastherin' an' feath'riii' yer little bird's nest, But a sthoiy I'm toiild an' I'm feariii' it's true, There's a hole in yer coat, where the money runs thro'! Chorut<. For its aisy to purchase in ainiy foine shop, But the thrubble, yez see, is to know whin to sthop. Oh ! Pathrick, me darlint, T fear ye'^•e no sinse, Fur yez sOatther the su\'rin's as if they were pince. Whin yer little bird Holes to the nest yez prepare, Shure she'll foind that there's nothin' to live on but air! Troth I'm puzzled wid thinkin' be noight an' be day. How I'll git yez to act in a sinsible way, Yer heart's tirrible big, tho' yer sthipend's so small, Yet, I don't wish yer heart to be lessened at all ! Toike a thought, Pat, agrah, an' commince tt) lay by, For the rainy clouds gather at toimes in the sky ; Spind little, save more, an bedad yez soon be A far wiser spalpeen than before yez knew me ! Retrospection. Lines written while sitting in "The Cottage" garden, after my Aunt's death— Oct. Itith, 1897. The trees were whisp'ring, and the autunui air Both soothed and calmed me, as I lingered there, In the old garden, where in days gone by. We trod the paths together, she and I, Rejoicing in God's world, beneath Ifi^ sky. The same old world ; yet ah ! how strange it seems, To think that one is absent, save in dreams. Dwelling above, the other lonely strays. In mem'ry thro' the old familiar ways When life and love clasped hands in happier days. FIELDS OF FANCY. 37 Still on "The Cottage" wall the roses bloom, Shedding upon the breeze their rich pei'funie, AVooing so sweetly, as in days of yore, Yet mutely, that deai- hand which nevermore. Shall cull the fading blossoms of an hour. The evening shadows deepen, and the breeze Rises and moans among the restless trees, I turn to go, yet fain would linger here. Farewell, sweet spot ; in many a coming year, At thought of thee, will fall the bitter tear. The Divinity Flirt. Dedicated with due respect to his facsimiles either at ■4© home or abroad ! No I never mean to many, So in that case, don't you see, I can Hirt wath ev'ry pretty girl. Who's introduced to me 1 No matter whether dark or fair, Short, stately, stout, or thin, I take captive their affections, But they never take rae in. Except, well yes I do admit That once I was a fool, A red gowned bajan I was then. But newly loosed from school. I knoiv I have a handsome face, Tho' it muiit be plain to her. That (in my senses) I would ne'er Have loved a milliner. Save to beguile the tedious round Of " grinding " when at college, By interfusing female cliat, With omnium gath'rum knowledge. 38 GLEANINGS FROM THE She says I cumprised her ! But I k)i(nc you will agree, The fault lies (luite the other way, She fell in love with uie ! Girls have a penchant for the cloth, *SV>, since I got a charge, I combine the gay Lothario, With gentleman at large. My intellect I rarely use When in their company, T simply sit, and sniih' at them Till they smile back at me ! Sheer nonsense I can talk with ease To those whose speech is flat ; But at times Theology I spout. If I think they're up to that ! They could not exist without me. Oh ! the pai'ish would be tame. If I left it for another, Where I'd act the very same. Don't make your boast so loud my friend, But hearken unto me. Some men have oft to bid farewell To cherished liberty. And just when feeling most secure, Are often trapped for life, By one they 7iever would have dreamed Of choosing for a wife. Unfulfilled Promises. Lines written by request upon a small branch which had been carelesslj' broken off. Oh ! little twig ! what cruel hand hath snapped thee In idle hour from off thy parent stem 1 The mother-arms, which erstwhile had enwrapped thee, Are empty now, and many a beauteous gem FIELDS OF FAXCY. 39 Of bud and flower in dust unheeded lie Which might have gladdened smne grief-stricken eye. How tenderly spring, sun, and shower were wooing Into new life, the germs that sleeping lay Within each tiny heart. Ah ! sad undoing Of Natures hopes in one short April day ; God's handiwork liy man's rude touch despoiled, His fair creation in one moment soiled. June 1S96. Rich and Poor. Poor Girl. It's toiling, toiling all the day from rise till set of sun. With never a look of gratitude, nor a smile from any one. Oh I work is hard, and the pay is small, ^^t the ache in my heart is worst of all, And there's no one to meet, no one to greet, As, I thread my way thro' the busy street. So many I see, yet there's none for me. Oh ! I wish my life were done ! Society Girl. Oh ! Life is ti-ond'rmii< long ago Of which you're always telling us, you know, Give it to you and, like a school-girl, swear Eternal friendship on that piece of hair ? Oh, mother dear, please do not angry be ; Did some old lover gi\e that hair to thee ? You ask too many questions, Louie dear. Still I will answer them, if you sit here. That little bit of hair was sent to me, Thousands of miles across both land and sea. But, mother, did yon care for him as well ] A woman often cares, but does not fi^JI Or show her feelings, Louie dear, if she Is modest, as a woman ought to be. Was it before you married father, then, He sent the hair to you ? And mother when It di-opped from out the letter, did you cry. And sit and think of hint and days gone by? 50 GLEANINGS FROM THE '' No doubt I shed some tears — T do !iot know ; It saddened me — but as I had to y^o To Hft my baby from her morning sleep, I had no time to sit and dream or wee]). Tho' it relieves the heart oft, tears to shed ; My old friend did not know that T had wed ; So, writing me, he used my christian name ; He had not changed, but loved me still the same. He said, "A man's first love is ever best, E'en unrequited. Would I to my breast Could draw you, crush the grajie, and di'ink the wine From your pure lips, feeling that you were mine." Oh, mother, h(i?v delightful, yet how sad. Why do things happen that way — always bad Instead of good, comes first — and then too late Old love turns up, when we have met our fate. Ah, well, dear Louie, surely good at last Will compensate for sorrows of the past ; And thought of being loved sheds many a ray O'er life, like shining rift in cloud of grey. I mish some one would love me .just like that ; But, mother dear, how could he 1 when I am fat, And so iniint'resting — he'd 7iever say — He loved me in the good old-fashioned way. I thought you did not like old fashions, deai- 1 No — not in other things, but just to hear Him whisper that I was the on/y one He loved in that way underneath the sun. I would not ask him for a bit of hair. But cut it off myself, when unaware He meditating sat, and kiss his brow- Just as I'm kissing yours, dear mammy, now. Well v^e must not sit any longer here ; If dinner is not ready soon, I fear Father will walk in, wearied with the heat. And say, " T don't see anything to eat." FIELDS OF FANCY. 51 For " Love is of man's life a thing apart." He needs more food than that which feeds the heart, While we feed oft on crumbs from long ago " Which, with the years, have grown to loaves, you know. But, mother dear, you quite forgot to say If your old lover is alive to-day 1 And if he is — where is he living now 1 Oh ! Louie dear, don't wrinkle up your brow. He lies at rest, not where in youth we played. But far away beneath the palm tree's shade, 'Neath India's scorching skies, a sacred spot Unmarked e'en by the wild forget-me-not. 'And tho' roe cannot plant earth's blossoms there, I keep sweet flowers of mem'ry fresh and fair. Mowers of the past, well watered by our tears, TRemain unfading thro' the changing years. * * * * Ah me ! My jewel box I open wide And drop the little piece of hair inside. A tear to keep it company — anfl then Turn bravely to my household cares again. July 191o. Margaret's Monologue. A Present Day 8kit. I'm shair I dinna ken what to say — The warl's gae'in' on i' an' awfu' wey. Tae think that I canna' en' ma days I' the croft — wi' its dear auld-farrant ways. Ilka buddy noo seems tae rin a race. Raisin' the stour i' their neebur's face. An' thae fule-like thin's they drive the noo Are a pest — wi' their grunts — like ma muckle soo ! Thae bykes an' motors bizzin' alang ; Ah'm shair t' Almichty thinks them wrang ; For they flee like the vei-ra deil himsel' ; Deed /'m .jalousin' they'll I'iii tae hell ! 52 GLEANINfiS FROM TlIK Dae ye think thae aeryplanes that Hee I' the air wus ever meant tae be? Deed no — an' oor Maker kois tliey're wi'ang — He gied legs tae men, fur tae steer alang. They soom thro' the air, at siccan a si)ee(l, Drappin' thae bombs on oor verra heid, Settin' fire tae oor biggins, oor beasties tae — What neist wull thae villainous varmints dae"? Cu'd I han'le a gun, T'fl like fine tae try A'e shot as the brutes tlce owre the sky. They'd get a fieg I but mebbe wud fa' On the ruif o' ma house, an' smash the wa'. There's nae tellin' ; but they micht smash me tae, Sae I'd best e'en lat them gang their wey. They'll no soom, flee, or bizz for lang ; The warl's en's comin', or Marget's wrang. I wus ga'en fra' hame, noo T think I'll bide An' mak' siccar o' no bein' seen ootside. I'll gang tae ma bed, pu' the blankets on tap ; They'll no tak' fire if a bomb su'd drap. That / su'd ha' lived tae see the day When folk went daft i' this awfu' wey. We'll no get peace till the day we dee For the warl's gane crazy, 'tween you an' me. July 1915. Reveries. By a perspiring, bored, dispirited Anglo-Indian, re-cuperating in the verandah of his Bungalow after a long and serious illness. They may talk of coining fortunes With the rascally rupee. But I'd sooner save some copi)ers In the Homeland of the Free. And I'd rather play with mem'ry By the old home's ruddy glow Than chew the cud of fancy In this beastly Bungalow. FIELDS OF FANCY. 53 When I try to tliink of Scotland (Which mayhap I'll see no more), The unshed tears come scorching, While I'm moist at every pore. And I sadly watch the vessels As they turn their heads for home, Vainly wishing screws were churning Up for me the ocean's foam. What's the use 1 I'm always gx'owling, For delay I cannot brook. Here, old Bomba, go and fetch me Whisky peg, cigar, and book. Let me ti-y to banish sorrow ; Deep within ' the flowing bowl" Lies perhaps the only comfort For a solitary soul. In the years I've sometimes wondered If I'd lead a happier life, Could I cut away old habits And betake myself a wife. But the most of girls are fickle — Gay and giddy butterflies — And love rarely is the winner — In life's Derby — no — the prize That the mothers urge their daughters All to strive for and to win Is the best of earthly bargains. With (may be) the man thrown in ! But there's pretty little Cathie With her soft endearing ways ; Somehow, when that maiden's near me, I can /eel the olden days. And I fancy I am standing By the ruins of the mill. With the sweetest girl lieside me — (Jad ! I wish I had her still. 54 (JLEAXlMiS FROM TUK But the evening shadows gather As she whisi)ers, "Good-bye, dear." Hey, why ! surely I've been (h-eaniin^, Yet she seemed so very near. She wept upon my shoulder As I clasped her lissom form ; But my castle fell in ruins Ere 'twas roofed in from the storm. Had old fate been just more kindly, Chances are, we might ha\e wed ; But, here T'm sitting musing. And my old love's maybe dead. * * * * Ah, here comes Bomba giinning With a maiden in the rear. Who can it be 1 the sweeteM face I've seen for many a year. She smiles, she hesitates — her hand She stretches out to me — Good God ! The ring I Mary gave On that little hand I see 1 Oh ! Harry, don't you know me ? Say you're glad to see me here ; Across that horrid ocean T have come to see you, dear, All alone, for you were dying, Charlie wrote me, and I came; Notv you look at me as if you Did not even know my name ! My heart goes thump ! I cannot speak ! But, stumblingly, I rise From the deck chair on which I lounge And gaze into her eyes ! And then my arms are opened wide, She's drawn into my breast, While kisses pass'nate as of yoi'e On those sweet lips are pressed. FIELDS OF FAXCV. 55 Yea ! lips, hair, eyes, and slender throat All got their share, you bet. Did I get minel Of course I did — In fact, I get them yet. * * * * I never gather rupees now. And I own no Bungalow, For I live at Hornf, and my foi'tune is — A girl T used to know. July 3rd 1915. A Puzzle. One of my earlier Poems. Is your hero a farmer of acres wide, Is he rearing stock for sale, ^^Are his crops the best in the countryside. Does he brew the finest ale? Nay — the one I love is no farmer I'ed Who, when selling, gets often sold. With scarcely a thought save sales in his head And how to turn stock to gold ! Is he medical then, with practice good, With patients, prescriptions, and pills. With bandages, ointment, and extracts of food, For curing their various ills ? Nay — the one I love is no great M.D., Mixing up nauseous pills. Who takes for one visit a guinea fee. And often the patient kills ! Then is he a cleric with li\ing good. Who ministers to the poor. And from his own table, sends wholesome food. Their starving frames to cure ? Is he a divine, of talents bright, With a num'rous flock to keep, With purse strings pulled by daj' and niglit For the wants of his bleating sheep ? 56 (;lkanin<;s from thk My hero has many talents bright, Rut he wears not gdwn or bands. He has plenty to do from morn till night With his muscular well-shaped hands. Then what (m earth does this hero do 1 Is he barrister-at-law 1 Or oarsman blue in a Cambridge crew, Fed on claret and 1)eef -steak raw 1 My hero pulls as good an oar As one of your Cambridge eight, Biit not by black Thames' muddy shore. Nor is he an Advocate. Does he fight, this man you love so well ; Would he rather die than yield ? Does he brave the scatt'ring shot and shell, On a distant battlefield "? Nay — he does not fight on a battle plain, 'Mid the cannon's deafn'ing roar ; He braves temptation, worries, and pain, But he dwells on Britain's shore. Does he wear the blue of the King's Navee, Say, is he a sailor brave 1 ]SI'a,y — the one I love dwells not at sea. Nor has fought on its restless wave. Tn the Peerage then is his name enrolled, Does he bend on gartered knee 1 Is he statesman bold, with mint of gold, Of the Aristocracy 1 Is he really a hero, of whom you rave. For you seem to hold him dear "? Yes — he's young, and he's handsome, he's tall, and he's brave. He's a — Practical Engineer ! FIELDS OF FANCY. * 57 Frosted Fancies. I stood in the garden, love, last night, 'Neath the silver moon, with you. When I woke to-day the sun shone bright. Each branch, each twig, was of coral white, 'Neath a sky of sapphire blue. Why I our little rustic sheltered nook Gleamed forth like a fairy bower, While you were dreaming, a fairy spook From her crystal snow box gently shook Her gems o'er each withered flower. In the trellised arch, where red rose Turk, With the Woodbine used to cling, Tho' I see him not, a sprite must lurk. For 'tis like a craftsman's cunning work In the Palace of a King. "Those little elves, when we're sleeping sound, Must work with might and main ; For with rosy dawn away they creep, And if you or I were to take a peep They would never come again. My pane is traced with a magic scene Of tropical fi-ond and flowei". How swift have those little fingers been With this fair, fantastic, frosted scene In the mystical midnight hour. The stream which sang as it flowed along. Dear Heart, to you and me, Might be singing yet, had it not been led To hush its voice, by those elves instead And lie still as still can be. My eyes were held by the dazzling sight Of this snow-genniied scene outside. And my thoughts swift turned to one as white, My own for ever, ere fays that night Could change my i)i-omised biide. 58 fiLEANINGS FROM THK Why ! tlu' old suiuliars tiiiu'-woiii face, A\'ith its weathfi-heateu seams, That the gaudy blooms thought out of place Tn a Tiight has gained its old-world grace, Thro' fairies, frosts, and dreams. And the terrace balustrades last night Looked crumbling, old, and grey ; Now, like Venetian pillars white Of a Doge's Palace, gleaming bright. They shine 'neath the sun's clear ray. Oh, fairy fingers, frescoes, fr'ost, Who would take life as it seems ? Let our barque be ever so tempest-tossed, We'll banish sorrow, let care be lost, And live in a land of dreams. 4th December 1914. Compliance. You wish me to forget the past, old friend 1 'Tis not an easy task you set me — still, 'Twould not be courteous to refuse desires Of one so kind, e'en of old things he tires ; Thus — I obey your will. And to the Past, all that if< past consign Thoughts, feelings, sentiments, that sweetened life. Just as one lays one's old belongings by In some old cupboard, safe from curious eye — You see — you have a wife ! And I a husband ! Good-bye, then, old friend ; Life's present joys shall ever fill my heart. I give old Father Time these bygone years, Their might-ha%'e-beens," their sunshine, and their tears, And from the Past I part. FIELDS OF FANCY. 59 Watch. Dedicated to my Two Little Girls. Watch yuur feet, perchance they may slip, As heedlesslj' ovei- Life's path you trip — Alas ! there are many unseen snares ; Watch I lest you be caught, dears, unawares. Watch your eyes, let them only see What is helpful to others, and good for thee. Let them view God's wonders everywhere — Earth's baubles will then seem light as air. Watch your tongue — 'tis a treach'rous thing, Tho' it speaks sweet words — yet its deadly sting May poison the mind and wound the heart ^^Of a friend — 'twere better with life to x)art. Watch your mind — lest a sinful thought Creep into a corner and hide unsought ; Harbour only there what is pure and true. That the world may be sweetened, dears, bj- you. Watch your hands — let them never idle be ; They are beautiful gifts God gave to thee. The good they may do can ne'er be told. And blessings can scatter more rich than gold. Oh ! watch your lieart — Love is blind," they say, And youth is easily led astray ; But if wisdom and love go side by side. With God's blessing no ill can you betide. Regrets. He loved me once, time was I did not know it ; He loves me still, alas, that T sliould knoM- That I shovdd have to tread life's path without liim, Hide from the world a love I dare not show ; And, like a puppet, gaily laugh and sing. While iiiPiHoi-y stabs with many a hitter sting. 60 GLEANINGS FROM THE He ln\(_'(l inc once ; alas, liad I l»ut kiiuwii it ; He loves me still ; I know it to my cost. 'Twere best, perchance, had he his heart ne'er opened, For, oh, we cainiot bring back what is lost ; The happy days when love makes sunny weather — The days we Uvo" might have been young together. He loved mc once ! Yes, T avi glad to know it, For, after all, life here is very brief ; He loves me still, and tho' T cannot show it. The thought brings solace in the midst of grief, And soon we'll meet each other on that shore Where Love and Friendship bloom for evermore. Stout versus Thin. A small I'lay — not upon tlie Boards— but on Words. James Thin and John tStout, Made up their minds to catch a trout. One kept out, the other fell in — Now was it John Stout, or was it James Thin ? Mind Stout w^as thin, and Thin was stout, And between them both they caught one trout. Now while they quarrelled that summer's day, The wiley trout wisely wriggled away. Leaving the two men, Thin and Stout, To guess what the rumpus had been about. Thin shook Stout's hand, and Stout shook Thin, Till, like brithers baith," they reached the Inn; And, like Tam o' Shanter's world-famed bout, They refreshed the inner man " with stout. The last word caught above the din. As they hiccoughed their way from out the Inn — " We'll catch that (hie l) trout to-morrow, Thin !" A Child's Thoughts on the Death of Her Playfellow. Our Willie is dead, and my heart is so sore. For his dear little face I will see nevermore ; But he's safe with his Father in heaven, I know. And we'll meet at the Gate when God calls me to go. FIELDS OF FANCY. 61 But, oh ! it seems strange, when I look at his chair — So smihng and happy he used to sit there — I feel I must meet him at lessons or plaj-, And then I remember dear Willie's away. I wonder why God takes the children away, Instea,d of old people — I've heard mother say She was tired of the day, with its burdens and heat ; But hp never tired, nor his dear little feet. They ran ev'ry day, and they ran ev'ry where. Thro' the grounds, in the class-room, and up the broad stair, But run where I like or peep round every door, I cannot see Willie's bright face any more. » ^ * * * * The angels have wanted our Willie maybe To sing up in heaven, so that's why, you see, He just hctd to leave us when God bade him go, He was fitter for heaven than / am, I know. What will I do there, for I never could sing ? P'raps God makes each scholar do some diif'rent thing. If / could do just what I liked 'twould be this — To be first at the Gate to give Willie a kiss. .June 29th, 1915. The Wishing Well. Have you e^•er heard of the Wishing Well, 'Mong the bracken, down in that little dell ; Where the silv'ry birch, and the rowan tree Link hands o'er the bvn-n that is rushing free ? It is nice and quiet, and we're all alone — Let us sit down here on this mossy stone, And I'll tell you the tale as 'twas told to me, Near this very spot, by that alder tree. 'Twas in suuimer, oh ! many years ago, When the great red sun was sinking low, (The wish must be breatherl at close of day), That a happy ])arty came down this way. 62 GLEANINGS FROM THE Two men and two maids, a gay quartette, Triinu'd o\cr the heather, and bright eyes met, And liand clasjH'd liand, to help tliem along, While echoes awoke with their mirth and song. Now, hush," said Jeanette, as they I'eaehed the Well, Tt is very solemn- hend down and tell The Fay of the Well all your wishes true, And ni whisper my own just after you." Then Everard knelt on the slab of stone AVorn away by wishers " in days long gone — He rose, with a smile on his handsome face. And Jeanette stepped forward anfl took his place. Then Stanley, gravely, with almost a frow n, Bent over the Well, and kept looking down Into its depths, as if fain he would see What Fate would be his in the vears to be. Then suddenly turned, saying Listen, here, Suppose we all meet in some coming year If spared, and our various fortunes tell, In this spot by the same old Wishing Well." They all agreed, with a smile and a sigh. Which they knew they gave — but could not tell iihy ! Then Lucy said timidly, " Maybe you men Won't wish aftei' years to come here again. Come away, dear Lucy, 'tis now your turn." Said Jeanette — " Then I think we'll cross the burn And picnic up on that sunny brae, Not returning home till the close of day." Before going on, I must ask you, dear. To remember the names of those people here Of whom I've been speaking, and you must know Their looks, tho' it all happened long ago. Jeanette was dark, with most lovely eyes. Not blue, like our radiant summer skies, But a tender bronze, always calm and cool. Like the depths of that little Wishing Pool. FIELDS OF FANCY. 63 And Evei-ard loved her nioi-e than his Kfe (As the saying goes), and T knt)w the wife That he prayed for, down on his knees that night, Was Jeanette, with her winning ways and bright. He was handsome too, and one had to gaze At his Grecian face, and yet the praise That was showered on him never seemed to change The man at all. Yes, 'twas passing strange. He was in the Army — a Captain then. And greatly beloved — a man among men ; No wonder poor Lucy lost all her heart, And let tears fall too, when they had to part. ^Dear Lucy was pretty, and sweet, and fair. And her face peeped out from such golden hair As you read of in novels, but i-ai'ely see ; -<»d^es, Lucy was sweet, as sweet could be. Now Stanley was captive to Lucy's charms (Tho' he never dared take her in his arms), And his wishes that night were that Lucy dear Would set sail with him in the coming year. * * * * The yeai's went by, but that l)right quartette Came here no more. They had never met At the AVishing Well — but nothing I knew Till a bolt (as they say) shot from the blue. They had heard at the Inn — just up the way — That the Colonel was coming home that day, And the \'illage was proud as proud could be — Had their Colonel not won the Queen's V.C. 1 Gay bunting fi-om every window tiew. The jnpers got out their pi])es and blew >Such a welcome blast — that the Colonel's eye Looked strangely moist, and T wondered why. But soon I knew, for he sat alone — Was he thinking of ha]>])y days now gone, Of the Wishing Well, and the dear one there. With the tender eyes and the raven hair 1 64 GLEANINGS FROM TIIIC For Jeanette hud made him a loving' wife, Aiul in .saving Aim, she had lost her life. In a native rising, a fatal shot Had been fired, and our dear Jeanette was not. He told us liiiuself, n\ ith many a break In his voice, how she suffered for his sake. And the bal)e she left him had winged its way To its sainted mother that self-same day. And do you remember the Wishing Well V He said, after a pause. Ah ! who can tell, What is best for us foolish mortals here ? Hopes dashed to the grounrl, in one short year." And Stanley, I wonder where he is now?" He passed the worn hand over his brow, Ah ! Stanley, he had as line a career As any man, how I wish he were here." Poor fellow ! he had a stroke of the sun And was strange for years ; some said that the gun Went off." ' Oh, never ! don't tell me he Took his life V " I suppose it had to be." Dear Lucy ! have you heard of her?" Yes, once, she was up at Jalimpur As nurse to a lady I knew well there, A sweet little thing she was, and fair." And I thought that his eye looked not so sad, When si^eaking of Lucy, and I was glad ; So I drew him on to converse at ease About places and people, it seemed to please The saddened man, so we chatted on About happy times that had come and gone. And at last retiring, he looked so bright That my heart (for him) rejoiced that night. * -x- * * Now, fever broke out in our little town. So from London a skilfid nurse came down. And the Colonel came in to me one day In an agitated kind of way. FIELDS OF FANCY. 65 The new nurse has come, can you ever guess Who she is ? " " Not our dearest Lucy 1" " Yes ! " It took me by storm, ft)r I never knew That she was in England now, did you 1 No, I never knew, 'tis a glad surprise," And I looked straight into the Colonel's eyes, And methought he looked like a changed man, While his dark cheek flushed beneath the tan. One day T went up, I can scarcely tell Why I wandered there tt) the AVishing A\'ell, But as I drew nearer, what did I see ] Two figures beneath the c)ld rt)wan tree. i dared not move, neither make a sound For fear of the dry twigs on the ground Crackling beneath my eager tread tSo I stood ck)se up to a biix-h instead. Tho' the day was closing and growing cool, They went down on their knees by the Wishing Pool, Then he turned to her, and — you know the rest — Lucy's golden head was drawn to his breast. And I heard him say : After all those years, And your eyes, deai' Lucy, were full of tears When I left for the East. Did you really cai'e So much for me then?" ' 7'hat was my prayer.'" "You put up that day at the Wishing Well?" Oh ! Everard, dear, you ha\e made me tell." Thank God, then, I know that your l(ne is true, And for years, dear Lucy, I've cared for j'ou." You ask what became of the happy pair? They wedded soon after. Look over there. Where you see the smoke from those chimneys rise : Well, that was their earthly Paradise. They had one little girl whom they called Jeanette, She hafl marvellous eyes, and hair like jet. And two fine sons ; now there's only one — The Major was killed by a brutal Hun. €6 GLEANINGS FROM THE Well, the hounds met here one October day, And Jeanette was ridinK her handsome hay ; But when " taking the leap " at some meadow gate She was thrown. The liuntsmen came up too late To save hei- life, for the horse had reared. Then rolled over Jeanette ere her father neared. Her mother's heart was broken that day. And the Colonel gi'ew old, and bent, and grey. Tlie youngest son lives in the moated Grange, A widower, morbid, lonely, and strange, And oft in the evenings, I've heard them tell. How he never goes near the Wishing AVell. And why, do you ask 1 On a sunny day, Without nurse, the twins wandered up this way. No one near them, poor things, and none to tell. How into the treacherous pool they fell. They were not found for days, and wild with grief, Their father, in drugs sought to find relief. Now into his grave he is sinking fast. Dark clouds o'er the future, no light from the past. 'Tis sad, when you think of that gay quartette ; Oft when sitting here I can fancy yet That the zephyrs sighing in that little dell Are their voices down at the Wishing Well. They say there's a curse on that lovely spot That is blue with the wild forget-me-not. And |)eoijle are warned now 'not to tell What they hope for down at the Wishing Well. But 'tis growing late, we had better go. I have made you sad. How little we know What will meet us here, be it joy or dool, As we stand at the brink of Life's Wishing Pool 1 July 1915. FIELDS OF FANCY. 67 Lines on a Violet. Only a little violet, Once blooming by "The Cottage" door, Recalling scenes we ne'er forget, That, spite of time, are with us yet, Fond scenes from days of yore. Only a perfume faintly sweet Like precious memories stirred. By finding in some treasui'ed place The relic of a well-loved face And dear voice long since heard. Only a blossom I faded too. Yet holding still a spell. For oh ! it speaks to me of you. And friendship fadeless, pure, and true, Spite of that word Farewell." Go little blossom o'er the sea. Breathe in his listening ear A message sweet to him from me. That fain his face once more I'd see His welcome voice would hear. Tell him, sweet flower, we all do fade, 8oon we must say ' good-bye," Ere long in Earth's calm bosom laid. While you bloom brightly o'er our shade Beneath the sunny sky. Drifting. Lines written while sitting in a Boat. Out on the beautiful sunlit sea — All alone. Watching the light on hill and tree And puri»ling stone. Rowing and drifting, drifting and rowing Over a sea like amber glowing Over the tide so softly flowing — .■\]1 alone. 68 GLEANINGS FROM TIIK Out in the eveniiiK cool and grey — All alone. Thinking of dear ones far away — Loved ones gone, Who are sleeping gently, gently sleeping. Safe in a HeaAenly Father's keeping. While T am weeping, drifting and weeping- All alone. A Fragment. A vision pure and l)right she stands 'Neath the old oak tree, With idly-folded sun-kissed hands In a revei'ie. Love lurks in the depths of her eyes dt)ve grey, Of whom is she dreaming this fair June day. Of the Prince who shall steal her heart away, 'Tis surely he ! A gallant vessel homeward hies O'er the white sea foam, The glad tears start in many eyes At the sight of home. While bounding hearts tiy swiftly t(_» greet Other kindred hearts they in fancy meet. In busy mai't or in cool retreat Whei^e love can roam. The Dying Boy. One of my early Poems. It was the twilight ln)ur when all is still, The sun had sunk behind the western hill. And, save the rippling of the running stream, No sound disturbed the quiet of Natin-e's dream. Within a hush'd and silent chamber lay A dying boy. I watched the dim light play Around his noble brow and features fair, Tinging with gold his locks of curling hair. FIELDS OF FANCY. 69 He longed to be at rest within that home Where earthly care and trial never come, And as he lay he turned his lustrous eyes Upon the fading glory of the skies. He seemed to see his mother's snowy hand Beck'ning him thither to the Promised Land, His fair young sister with her dazzling charms Ready to welcome him with outstretched arms. Upon the closed lid a teardrop blight Glittered and spai-kled in the waning light, A heavenly smile his quivering lips o'erspi'ead, f Then faded, and his gentle spirit fled. Spring: Past and Present. Yes ! they tell me Spring is coming, And that every passing breeze Wafts love-liltings from the songsters Building homes in budding trees. But mine ear seems closed to gladness. And mine eye to beauty's scene. For the past hath hid and buried All the joys that might have been. And they fill my room with blossoms Pure and stainless as the snow. But / seem to see them blowing On a grave I used to know. I have loving hands to tend me, Wordless memories they bring. For the heart and hand are silent Which made heaven of my Spring. Oh ! I long for Spring eternal. It will rival every Spring, For I'll spend it with my loved ones Til th(! ]n'esence of Oin- King. 70 GLEANIN(;S FROM THE An In Memoriam to Alfred Lord Tennyson, Who departed this life fitli October 1892. Oh ! Peerless Poet! Seer and Saint coinhiiicd, Whose works were pure mid lofty as thy mind, Brijjcht was the laurel that l)i'fz:ii't the ])r()\\- Which by a fadeless erown is circled now. Well might our pe()i)le lay thy hoary liead Tn cloistered Abbey 'mid the mighty dead. No sceptred monarch ruling on his throne Swayed subjects' hearts more truly than tliine own. Mere earth-born power and genius never gained What the outpourings of a heart attained Which drew its waters from the heights above, True source of peace, and purity, and love. When men were well nigh fainting by the way. Worn with the heat and burden of the day. Oft has the fruitage of thy teeming brain Refreshed their drooping souls like falling rain. Great master-singer of the English race ! Who 'mong our poets takes so high a i)lace ; No son of Britain ever can aspire To waking sweeter strains than stirred thy lyre. Tho' Death's veil hide thee from our mortal ken, Deathless thou 'It live in hearts and lives of men, Whose high achievements yet may prove to be Sheaves of the goodly gi^ain once sown by thee. So rest thee, noble soul ! Thy race is run. The goal is reached, the higher life begun ; To future ages shall thy works go down, And with undying fame thy mem'ry crown. Floating. Floating down the stream together, 'Neath the sun's bright ray. In the balmy cloudless weather Of the budding May. FIELDS OF FANCY. 71 'INIid the peace by sound unbroken — Save by zephyr's sighs — Thoughts he deep, so love unspoken Only speaks from eyes. Ej^es that ne%er wept for sadness, In their depths reveal Every inward thrill of gladness That these young hearts feel. Oh ! that life flowed on for ever For that happy ])air, Like the peaceful shining I'iver, * , Shadowless and fair. While they dream the hours ai'e flying ; -^ Swiftly in the West, As the summer day is dying. Sinks the sun to rest. Heedless of the stars now gleaming, vSeated side by side, 'Neath the silver moonlight streaming Ever on they glide. And a wind comes up the river, Whispers thro' the trees ; And the water-lilies quiver In the chilly breeze. * * * * Floating down life's stream asunder 'Mid the darkened years. Clouded by a foolish blunder, Dimmed by bitter tears. AVould love's words had ne'er been spoken On that summer's daj^, Two young hearts had ne'er been broken In life's budding May. 72 GLEANINGS FROM 'lUE A Warning against (iossip. Oh ! Polly, clid you notice, dear, How Mr. Aeveiial FCept always hov'rin^ very near .Jane (iowans at the ball? He hardly ever left her side Until obliged to go ; You'd think she was his chosen bride, She smiled and giggled so. No, Kate, I cannot say 1 did ; But walking out to-day, The road was icy, and she slid Tn such a fuiniy way. I'm sure she could have kept her feet, But round the corner he Was coming quick, so, for a treat, I stopped the fun to see. His cane dropped from his hand, his hat Went rolling on the ice ; His glasses fell, but what of that 1 Oh ! Polly, dear, ho/n nice." And did he take her in his arms, Or whisper in her ear?" He said, " I'll help you to the farm " — The rest I could not hear. But, oh ! If you had seen her face ; Her heart was in her eyes. I wished I had been in her place. But, Kate, dear, horn time flies ! Really we must not stand too long, The world is .w ill-bred. I never gossip, for it's wrong, But still it will be said We've scandal been concocting here, Because we speak forsooth Simply of what we see and hear, And nothing but the truth. (( ( FIELDS OF FANCY. 73 To-nioxTow afternoon, then, Kate, To tea and chat, at four ; I'll scrape some news (so don't be late) ; And tit-bits, too, galore. Au revoir, dearest ; good-bye, dear. And quite absorbed in mind These chattering magpies did not hear A footstep close behind. He gravely bowed and crossed the street From where the two girls stood ; They murmured words reverse of sweet. Indeed, they sounded rude. The nasty man 1" "The horrid cad, I'll cut him :" "So Willi." ' Oh ! Polly, was it not too bad To act the part of spy?" ' We must not speak outside again. And, Kate, if I were you, I'd make a confidante of Jane, For all she's good and true." ■ Altho' she's dowdy in her gear. Wears clothes not worth a shilling. To lend a sympatlietie ear Old Jane is always willing." 80, when Jane Gowans next they met, They told with teai-s their tale. She laughed, and tossed her curls of jet, " His house is up for sale." ' His wife, poor woman, was insane, But now she's right, you see. So i)lease, girls, do not think again Of marrying him to me. ' T was engaged to Frank Tralee Before last Christmastide, .\nd ei'e it comes again I'll be A blythe and happy bi-ide. 74 GLKAXINGS FKOM TlIK " T only hope, dear girls, that you May find as good a mate, Tf not — my worfls were always few- Don't change your .single state." The Old Year and the New. Oh ! the dear t)ld year is dying, All its hours are nearly o'er. And it slips away 'mid sighing, We can call it back no more, And our eyes are dim with weeping, And our burdened hearts are sore. It came in with mirth and greeting. It goes out 'mid tears and pain. For the friends we then were meeting All have vanished, and in vain Do we list for well-kn'ed voices "We shall never hear again. How we miss the tender pressure Of the hand that death hath chilled, i| And the over-brinmiing measure Of the love which ever filled Dear eyes ! whose light like heaven's own Our inmost being thrilled. Ah I our hearts are full of anguish, But we seek Thy Throne in prayer. For tho' spirits droop and languish 'Mid earth's sorrow-stricken air, They can never soar to heaven Without finding comfort there. .* ■)<■ * * On our ears fall strains of gladness. As we sit and muse forlorn. Let us lay aside our sadness, For another year is born, And hail with joy, God's latest gift, This pure and stainless morn. FIELDS OF FANCY. 75 Ode to Spring. Welcome I sweet season oi the opening year, Thy smihng skies to us are very dear, For 'neath them young trees bud and flowers appear. By fragrant perfume thro' the woodlands shed. We trace the violet to its mossy bed. In i\'ied ^Toods pale primroses are seen, And lilies rise from shafts of em'rald green. While at their side, like flakes of feathery snow, Upon their slender stems the wind-flowers blow. The birds are carolling on the dew-dropped sprays, The stream goes chattering thro' the fern-clad braes, All Nature sings its Great Creator's praise. Come ! Let us join the chorus, gladly sing ; W^ith joy, we hail thy birth, "thrice blessed Spring." In spite of us our sorrows droop and fade. And hope springs up with every opening blade. Care seems to vanish like a withei'ing flower, And hearts grow lighter 'neath thy magic power. Sunshine shall come with roses in her train. And russet Autunni with her golden grain. Winter, in charity, o'er earth's dull bed Her snowy coverlet once more shall spread. And when dear Christmastide with joy returns Once more we'll sit where bright the Yule-log burns ; But e'en amidst its heartfelt mirth and glee. Still — still, sweet smiling Spring, we long for thee. Then let us ever rapturously sing Our praises loud to Him who sends the Spring. Lines written on a Sprig of Holly purporting to iiave come from Scotland. Oh : little sprig of holly, With your scarlet berries bright, What memories do you recall Of meetings in the dear old Hall, Whei-e loved friends gathered one and all On good old Christmas night. 7() ('ar little sjn-ifj: of liolly, No wonder you arc hiiii^iii^ Sweet thouj^hts and nuMn'ries o'er tlie sea, For they are all entwinetl with thee. Come ! Waft the very chimes to me Which now at home are rinj^ing. Oh I shininj^ spi'i^ "^ holly, My tears fall thick and fast, You bring back many a golden dream Of life that, like a trancjiiil stream. Caught every passing subtle gleam Of sunshine to the last. Oh ! welcome sprig of holly, How my heai-t goes out to you. For those who pulled your berries then Have passed beyond our mortal ken ; I ne'er shall meet their like again — Dear friends, so tried and true. There ! little sprig of holly, With my treasures you shall lie. See ! where the Bible, stained and old. Lies near that curl of living gold. The brow o'er which it hung is cold. Ah ! woe is me I Feel for me, sprig of holly. For my heart is very sore. Gaze at that little velvet case, You see it holds an honoured place ; It safely shields a treasured face I loved in days of yore. 80, little sprig of holly, I shall lay you gently there. Among these letters, once like snow. Now dim with age. Yoii cannot know The joy they gave me long ago When life was fair. FIELDS OF FANCY. But, little sprig of holly, 8urely my God knew best ? I never harboured doubt nor fear, My "promised land" seemed very near When Jesus whispered in his ear. Come home and rest. And, little sprig of holly. When you are old and brown Some other hand than mine will take You from this case, and for my sake May keep you, memories to awake Of dear days flown. At Rest. Nature was slipping otF to rest, .^ The Autumn winds were sighing, The clouds were fading in the west When the miller lay a-dying. Around the ancient moss-grown mill Light-hearted bairns were playing, Unconscious of that chamber still Where the svui's last beams were straying Over a loved face, drawn and white. And over the nerveless hand. Rough with toil, stole the faded light Like a ray from the Other Land Whither he journeyed. Cold and grey Shadows are swiftly stealing Over the bended forms that pray, And down on the stone floor kneeling. Mute with anguish, the miller's wife. Over her loved one bendeth ; Soon he will change this fitful life For the life that never (nideth. She cannot keejj, amid her woe, Her wayward thoughts from straying Back to an evening, long ago, When two lo\-ers went a-maying. 78 GLEANINGS FROM THE Words return to her, uttered where Tlie huzel bows meet over, That night, when summer's bahiiy air Was filled \\ ith the scent of clover. How can she speak the word "Good-bye" To him who is going to leave her? Oh ! to be back beneath that sky With never a thought to gi'ieve hei'. Down in the copse to wander slow. Shadowless skies above her, Listening beside the burnie's flow For the footstep of her lover. * The dawn is breaking ; o'er the trees The crescent moon is paling, And thro' the pines a fitful bi'eeze. Like a lost spirit wailing, Is boi'ne on aii-, to where at I'est, Safe in his Father's keeping, His severed spirit 'mong the blest The miller lies a-sleejiing. In Memoriam. Lines written on tlie late Lady Grisell Baillie. Weep not, ye trembling ones — she is at rest Within that home, where long her heart hath been. The veil is rent — upon her Saviour's breast She leans — her eyes His blessed face have seen. * Earth's mournful and mistaken views " are past, The ti'uer, clearei" vision is her own ; And in the presence of her God at last She gathers with her loved ones round His throne. * Quotation from a letter of Lady Grisell Baillie's to the Authur. FIELDS OP FANCY. 79 Rejoice, O iiaoiu'uei's ! that the race is laiii, The weary burden dropped, the crOss laid down ; For her the Hfe eternal hath begun, She wears the spotless robe, the golden crown — The blood-bought trophies of her risen Lord, Whose life inspired the one we miss to-day ; And let us I'aise our hearts with glad accoitl To Him who gave and took our loved away. O erring, sin-steeped souls ! who by her love Were led in penitence to Jesus' feet, Your welcome 'mid the ransomed hosts above Will make her p;ean of victory complete. March 1892. .4gfc The Young Highland Recruit. Thoughts ou Leaving for the Front. Will I ever see the hills again. Or the heather moors aflame, Shall I evei' step through the Highland Strath, Or " Donald " be but a name 1 Shall I ever stand by the wimpling burn That makes music 'mong the fern. With the one who has plighted troth with me, God knows, will I e'er return 1 Shall we ever sit on the mossy knowe Wrapped round in the ai-ms of love, Or shall one of us live to mourn alone — While the other dwells above 1 Shall we ever sail o'er the bonnie loch Where T often rowed with thee'? Oh ! Annie dear, I may have to cross Death's dark and narrow sea. Though I'll bravely fight when I am away. When I step on that foi-eign strand Oft my thoughts will tui-ii 'mid the din of war To luv own — mv native land. 80 GLEANINGS FROM THE When the bullets lly, ami the bij^ j^uiiii ruar, And the shrapnel shrieks on high, I will have no fear— for I'll think of thee, And pray that T may not die. But if He wills that 1 ^ive my life, That I fall like other men — Shall I still be dear to her T lo\e In that distant Highland glen 1 Or will Rhoderick with honeyed speech, With the gold in his ])urse — and hair — Seek to fill my place, and win the love Of my trusting maiden fair 1 I'd spill each drop of my heart's best blood For my Country and my King. And if only I knew that she'd be true, Death would iiof be a bitter thing. I'll just take a step to the old Kirkyard That lies on the sunny brae, To say " Good-bye " to the dear ones there, Ere I shoulder aims and away. And I'll often think of this bonny spot, When I stand 'neath a foreign sky, Where the hai'ebells wave o'er each lowly gra\e, And the peewits lonely cry. So I'll ijluck a bit of the heather red. And I'll wear it on my heart — From a tiny sprig (though they take my swoi'd) They would never bid me part. If when wounded — a comrade, tending me. Sought to stem the crimson tide ; He might send my Love these heather bells With her Donald's life-blood dyed. * -x- * * 'Tis chilly now for the sun has set. And 'tis fading, the golden glow ; I scarce can stir for my heart is here, Alas ! I must rise and go. FIELDS OF FANCY. 81 A last farewell — my Land, my Love Though brave a soldier be — No tear that falls need cause him shame, And I pai't with tears from thee. Suspiria Noctes. When thro' the long and sleepless hours I lie, With throbbing brow and ever-wakeful eye, A lonely vigil keeping — no one nigh. Oh I diaw Thou near. When uiy hot heart is full of deep unrest, JA\d thoughts disquieting pertin-b my breast, Lord, on Thy loving bosom may I rest Without a fear. In life's quiet moments may it be my choice To hearken to the whispers of a voice Which ever bids the trembling heart rejoice That trusts in Thee. Tones of that " still small voice " lost in the heat Of this world's turmoil and its rush of feet. And drowned 'mid earth's harsh discords. Lord repeat Unto mine eai-. When rudely driven o'er life's angry sea, O'erwhelmed by fear and sad perplexity. Stretch out Thine Hand anfl bid me come to Thee, And be at peace. Tho' my frail barque be sadly tossed about. Care's freight within. Fate's lashing waves without, May it ne'er shipwreck on the rock of doubt. But reach its haven. When o'er my sky night's shadows darken fast Thy beacon rays upon the waters cast, Until death's dreaded harbour bar be past ; Then safe with Thee. 82 GLEANINGS FROM THE And witli lay loved ones on that peaceful shore, Where neither billows rave nor tempests roar, Praises to Thee T sing for evermore — My God and Kinj;. Bowilon Manse, 1S91. April. Most fitting emblem of our life on earth, Sweet April I joyfully we hail thy birth ; Altho' symbolic of the changing y(^ars. To us thou comest blending smiles with tears. Thine advent Nature is the first to greet, Scatt'ring her Horal oti'erings at thy feet. Opening the portals of her precious store. Bidding the earth bring forth and burl once more. Sad stricken heart ! go forth and blossom too ; In love and praise and thankfulness anew Lay selfish grief aside, and morbid care, To God lift up thy smitten soul in prayer. Trammelled by earth thou'lt never i-each thy God, To gain the light frail Howers pierce thro' the sod ; They need the sunshine — thou a Father's love, On Faith's firm pinions soar to heaven above. Soon, weary mortal, opening to thy view. Shall dawn eternal Spring with all things new ; There shall be no night there " — one endless day. And God's own hand shall wipe thy tears away. Aiane. Oh ! mither, dear, ye maunna mind if whiles I sit an' greet. For there's times I cauna' thole the thocht we never mail- shall meet, That I've seen the last o' him who used to smile so kinfl on me, An' that never mair we'll stan' aneath the buddin' hazel tree. ' FIELDS OF FANCY. 83 An" wi' his Strang han' claspin' mine, we'll roam nae mair thegither By the mountain burns aye tumblin' doon amang the purple heather. Weel, weel, I minfl his luik yon day an' ev'ry word he said ; By nicht an' day thae words o' his keep runnin' thro' my head. It's hard tae think th-a/t he was fau'se when he turned his een on me, He looked s-rte kind, an' I was blind wi' love's sweet mj^stery. An'' he pled as only he could plead, as he drew me to his side, That I'd gang wi' him to the wee grey kirk, and there be -''Slnade his bride. I never thocht the time could come when his words wad prove untrue, Or that a' thae weary years gane by I'd be livin' still wi' you ; Oh ! mony a time when stanin' in the auld kirkyaird my lane I think that I wad raither dee than live thae years again ; In the lang grey simmer gloamin' when I wander on the hill I've a strange an' awesome feelin' as if he were wi' me still. For the heathei-'s just as bonnie noo, an' the nnvan trees as bricht. An' the floo'ers turn a' their faces i-oon' tae catch the e'enin' licht. The wee bit burns gae dancin' doon as in thae days lang syne ; But I cannot see ae blink o' hope in this weary hert o' mine ; There's times ] try to rouse mysel' an' be cheery for your sake, But all the while I'm try in' tae smile my hert is fit tae bi-eak. 84 GLKANINGS PROM THE I ken lin selfish in my grit't', hut oh I it's hard tae hear, Fur Ufe liad ne'er a cloud on it, an' the future seemed sae fail-, An' God luiks doon an' sees my ^v'w^, an' yet He keeps me here ; When I'd i-aither faur he ui) ahuiic \vi' a' made plain an' clear ; But mither, deal*, ye mannna greet. Oh ! God, forgi'e me noo — I see it a' — He spared me here tae wark an' pray for you. Long Ago. The outside world is cold and white, I heed not the falling snow. For I bathe in the never-fading light Of memory's golden glow. In thought I travel to days gone by, When never a cloud o'erspread my sky, When merely to live was ecstacy — Dear days of long ago. My humble hearth is bright and warm. But my heart is warmer still — So, unheeding, I hear the blinding storm Whilst T wander on at will, On and on, through a mystic haze Which rests like a halo o'er childhood's days, Back to the old familiar ways — Dear ways of long ago. Once more I see in memory's land Dear faces I have known, And feel the touch of many a hand Which used to press mine own, While, like an echo faint, I hear Familiar voices in mine ear Which have been silent many a year — Dear years of long ago. FIELDS OF FANCY. 85 I have been asleep and dreaming While my tire was burning low, Now the setting sun is streaming O'er a world enwrapped in snow, But the ilush is nearly dying, And a gentle wind comes sighing Like a far-off voice replying To thoughts of long ago. Hark ! Thro' the silence ringing Like the faintest angel chime The dear old bells ai-e bringing Mingled thoughts of olden time. Golden days with liright to-morrows, Interwoven joys and sorrows, Which we would not wish to borrow From days of long ago. To many a bitter might-have-been " Time points with shad'wy finger, And now o'er every vanished scene A sadness seems to linger. Tt dulls my heart, it clouds my brain. Till tears fall fast like summer i-ain ; T would not wish them back again — Those days of long ago. Our heavenly father would not have Us mourn o'er useless sorrow — One passing earthly joy to crave, Oi' vanished trouble borrow. He knows our grief, He knows our fears. The secret trials and the tears. The sun and shadow of the years Which swiftly come and go. But Ih' would have us lift owv gaze Beyond Time's veiled portal, To realms of light where ceaseless praise Doth lisp fi'om li|)s immoi'tal. 86 GLEANINGS FROM TIIK Blest Land 1 Tliere shiiU l)f '"no iui:;lit tlu-rt' No death nor crying, pain, nor care ; The Lamb shall light these iiiuDsions fair. For ever, and for ever. Alone, within my chamber dim, Upon my knt^'s T fall And raise my heart in praise to Him Who wisely planneth all, For sorrow sanctified will bring Us daily neai'er to our King ; The clouds and flarkness of earth's night But presage Heaven's glorious light. And resting soon at close of day, Like little children tired with play, We'll wake upon the Eternal Shore To greet our loved ones gone before, To praise ovn- Father evermore, For days of long ago. Skelniorlie, 1893. Now and Then. The rustling of the trees in the gentle summer breeze, And the rhythmic, rippling music of the spinng Take my thoughts to days gone by. When no cloud o'erspread my sky, And life seemed like one long enchanted dream. Oh ! the perfume of the May seems to fill the air to-day. And the breathing world is bridal with its snow ; Oh ! that world is fair to see, Tho' its beauty brings to me Only memories from days of long ago. I can see you as you stood near the little birchen wood. The sunbeams lighting up your chestnut hair ; You were robed in shimmering white, And I thought that summer night I had never seen a vision half so fail'. FIELDS OF FANCY. 87 The sky shone bhie above ; Nature spake of nought save love, My heart was full, and yet I scarce dare speak ; I turned and looked at you, The lashes veiled the blue, And I saw the wild rose deepen in your cheek. There were none save you and nie, far as the eye could see, All around us stretched the smiling summer land. So the old tale, sweet to hear, Was breathed softly in your ear Ere we crossed the clover meadow hand in hand. Now^ I sit alone and think, by the streamlet's mossy brink Of that happy dream which vanished like the dew, And in thought I backward gaze "^'^To those deal' departed days When heart and soul were filled alike with you. The world is looking bright, as it difl that summer night. Flowers are blooming, songsters singing, lovers woo ; I see your angel face, But my arms clasp empty space : I long — oh ! how I long, dear Heart, for you. And beneath the summer sky, in a dreamless sleep you lie,. Where no sound of earth can ever break your rest, Wliere at morn and close of day Songsters chant their sweetest lay. And the wild rose strews her petals on your breast. * * * * But there's sadness in the breeze as it moans among the trees. And a melancholy murmui- in the stream As if nature strove to say — All things earthly pass away. And life is but one short and troublous dream. 88 GLEANINGS FROM THE (jillette. A Eulo<:y : l>.v a Mi(l(Ue-a','ed IMade. Razor 1 Nay, sir ! Siu't'ly you don't say, sir, For this Gillette, Which beats all yet, You eaii't afiord to pay, sir? Finest blade, sii-, World has ever made, sir. No need sti'()])])inj;, Saves all niop])in{i; ; Cuts hair to a shade, sir I Selling by the score, sir I Sell as many moi-e, sir. Very thin ! Cut your chin ? No fear — never soi-e, sir ! Look at nie, sir ! Smooth as smooth can be, sir I Cheek, chin, all — Like billiai'd ball. Best proof you could see, sir ! Try a shave, sir? People rave, sir. Not worth your while 1 Old-fashicmed style? This beats the best it gave, sii' ! Reduce — sir 1 No use, sir. What with Free Trade, E^'en a blade Comes to be dearer made, sir ! No fear, sii- ; Sot dear, sir. None in t/ti'< street Can, sir, compete AVith IIS — that's very clear, sir ! FIELDS OF FANCY. 89 Not stay, sir? Good day, sir. Some time try it 1 Sure to buy it. Find your purchase pay, sir ! First Love. I love thee in the sweet Springtide, When Nature wakes from sleep And bids the slumb'ring earth arise Her bridal morn tu keep. When Love and Life spring side by side By God's own sunshine glorified. I love thee in the Summer time. When all is sweet and fail-, When many a fragrant blossom flings Its i;)er£ume on the air. When roses whisper many a tale • With blushes to the lilies pale. I love thee in the Autunni, When the harvest's garnered gold Recalls the Father's promise To the Patriarchs of old, When on the hills the wild bee tells Its secret to the heather bells. I love thee in the Winter As I loved thee long ago, When Nature lay a-sleeping 'Neath her spotless robe of snow, When round the Yule log's blazing light Once more dear absent friends unite. In every season, every clime, Where'er I chance to rove My thoughts shall travel back to thee, Sweet spot, for where we love In hayipy youth's unclouded day The constant heart lives (jii for aye. « 90 GLEANINGS FU0:M THH Fair and False. Oh ! tlie glittering dew dro]) is far more fair Than the jewels which gleam in your raven hair, And the tranquil Ijlue uf our sunnner skies More clear and true than your azure eyes. Yes ! Your lips are as red as the blot)niing rose, But for me they can never such sweets disclose ; Not e'en when they open o'er rows of pearls Will it win nie to call you my girl of girls." Oh ! false as fair, are you trium|)hing j'^et O'er conquests of men you as soon forget*? Do you still, as of old, play a flouble piirt, Then smilingly tread o'er a breaking heart 1 Your laughter may ring in the ears of men With its magical music, but never again Can it thrill my pulse as in days of old. Or rekindle a love which hath long been cold. Cold, cold, as the tomb where that throbbing breast Oft pi'essed to my bosom shall safclij rest, Where the lips that w^ere false shall be sealed for aye, And thine eyes fast dosed to the light of day. Stars: Earthly and Heavenly. Lines suggested by the perusal of some poems written in imitation iuid style of Indi.an verses. Oh ! gifted ones, could you foresee the ill your glib pen spreads, Instead of wearing laurel wreaths in tli ! desolate one, On the Tide of Life ; but thy setting sun Is bearing that battered barque away Safe to Eternity's trancjuil bay, Where, Christ for its Pilot, Faith's sails furknl high, You will anchor at last where no storms come nigh. My Lady's Garden. Roses, roses, everywhere In the garden bed ; Roses, roses, rich and rare, Pink, and white, and red. Yet in all of them I see Roses dearer far to me. Lilies, lilies everywhere, 'Gainst the garden wall : Lilies, lilies — oh ! so fair. Pure, and white, and tall ; I prize them, too ; they are to me Symbolic of Thy purity. Pansies, pansies everywhere — Mauve, and brown, and blue. Every one so wondrous fair Makes me think of you ; In your eyes their tints I see — Should they not be dear to me 1 Woodbine, woodbine everywhere, Clinging to the trees. With its honeyed trumpets fair Calling to the bees ; When your sweet lips smnmon me I sip nectar like the bee. Blossoms, blossoms everywhere In the gai'den ])lot. Yet amongst them none more fair Than forget-me-not ; Send a spray, dear love, to me When I'm far across the sea. FIELDS OF FAXCY. 99 All the blossoms everywhere In this garden old, Like uiy lady love so fair Treasures do unfold ; In mind and heart I daily see Xew graces bloom, dear one, for me. August 1909. Lines to a Dear Friend. ■"The reflection of a perfect soul," dear friend, you write Ti ) me : Ah 1 little dost thou know the flaws your eyes have failed *■ to see, For love is blind, and when it sets an idol on its throne It clothes the plainest image with a beauty of its own. And yet, while humbled by the thought, methinks 'twere not in vain To ahn at the ideal, tho' the prize I may not gain. Hope points us ever onward, and without its beacon ray. Sad struggling souls would surely sink despairing by the way. Created in God's image ! yet how far from being divine, Po(jr sinful human nature, while mortality is thine. Thy likeness to thy Maker we can here but faintly trace, Tho' 'twill shine out clear in Heaven, when we see Him face to face. 'Tis sweet to be remembered by the friends of other days, Whose words ring true, and are not merely empty words of praise. And thus I thank thee from my heart for words so kindly given ; God grant that you may prove them true when we have entei'ed Heaven. Shadows. Baby, wond'ring, turns to me, What does little Cecil see 1 100 GLEANINGS FROM THE Shadows here, shadows there, Shadows, sliadows e\eiywhere. Oil the ceiling, on the wall, Sliadows short, and shadows tall. Strangest figures, quite a band, Childhood's hapi)y shadowland. There are shadows in the morn. When the dewy day is born. Shadows in the sultry noon, Silv'ry shadows 'neath the moon. When the western sunlight glows, Shadows everywhere he throws — 'Mong the stooks of golden corn. Beauties thus anew are born. What would worn and weary ones, Parched 'neath scorching eastern suns, Give for what they vainly pray, Home-Hke shadows, cool and grey? And, alas ! my Cecil, dear, There are many shadows here That pursue us every day As we travel on our way. Some pass o'er, and we are glad ; Some remain : our hearts are sad ; But behind the shadows, dear, God's own sun is shining clear. -'& And I pray that life may be Shadowless for thine and thee. Yet life's shadows make the light When it cometh doubly bright. Shadows come, and shadows stay. Some will never go away. Till beyond life's shadowland Safe on heaven's shore we stand. FIELDS OF FANCY. 101 Changes. JoIdi. Ay ! It's fifty years to-day, wife, sin' you and I were wed, An' uoo the silver's shinin' where the gold shone on yer head. But in spite o' a' the cantrips time has played wi' you an' me It has never quenched the luvelicht shinin' bright within yer e'e. Yer fit gangs no sae lichtly as it did in days lang syne. But 'tis music that aye pleased me best, an' will dae, ^ wife o' mine. An' yer han' is gey an' feeble, Jean, for we're auld an' failin' sair, Buj^we'll baud oor ban's thegither till they're still for ever mair. Ay, time has brocht iis changes, bvit we dinna need com- plain When we've baith been spared thegither an' no you or me alane. An' it canna change the hert luve ye have shown thro' a' the years That has aften chased the chids awa' an' rainbows made o' tears. For a' the lads an' lassies wi' hae reared wi' joy an' pain. In auld age there's no ane near us, we maun travel on oor lane, But oor journey's nearly ended, wife, we hinna lang tae bide. An' their airms'll sune be roon' us when we reach the ither side. Jean. Ay, age is on us noo, guidman, but we maun no complain, For we've had oor bonnie simmertime an' noo oor ripened grain, Sae we'll draw into the ingle neuk an' baith sit canny here, Whaur we hae sitten' side by side for mony a bygane year. 102 GLEANIXUS FKOM THE Jjet us coont the monj" blessins, John, oor lovin' Faither's given, Tho" we'll never praise Him richt. guidman. initil we win tae Heaven ; He^s never failed us aince, John, for in oor darkest day He's proved, as He will aye prove, oor comfort an' oor stay. Then rax yer han' an' tak' the Buik, the lieht'll fail us sune, "We'll leave the warU ahint us noo, an' raise oor thochts abune ; Just read us oot the Shepherd Psalm, it's comfortin' an' true. An' syne we'll tae oor beds, John, for I'm gey an' weary, noo. Lines to an Old Mirror, which came back to me after the Death of a Relative. Old, time-worn mirror, in thy kindly face Oft many another gazed, now empty space Is there instead, and filled with sorrow, I Stand sadly thinking of those days gone by. Ah I many a Dame and Squire of high degree "VMio pleased to smile and strut in front of thee Recked little that when Life's brief day was o'er You would remain to tell of days of yore. You watched the bridal pair as low they knelt To get a blessing, and I kno?c j"ou felt Joyful, old mirror, tearfvil too, as they, ^NTien from the dear old manse they drove away. And when the bride came home from o'er the sea, She held her first-born smiling up to thee. And you smiled back, well pleased, too, I ween. She was the fairest creature ever seen. Alas ! one little year — oh 1 saddest sight You ere reflected in yo^ir depths of light ; A silent form, clasped hands, and wreathed flowers. And j^ou kept ^•igil thro' the lonefy hours. FIELDS OF FANCY. 103 Tis New Year's Day — ah ! many years agone The Yule log and the candelabra shone Within thy ciystal depths, and many a face Its ovm reflection caught \\"ith added grace. And King Plum Pudding I Why, his very name Recalls past glories as, with mystic flame Of smoking blue and holly-crowned head He caused mirth around the board to spread. As yesterday I see it all to-night, The chamjjagne sparkling in the glasses bright, The crackers, M-ith their happy, harmless jests Passed round the table by the happy guests. 5^nd when beneath the mystic mistletoe Kisses made rosier cheeks still rosier glow, The haptpy owners neath the magic spell PBrgot that you were there the tale to tell. And now, old mirror, only you and I Are here to meditate on days gone by : I can reflect, but you, alas I to-night Cannot bring back those scenes or faces bright. If only people were as good and trae, And mirrored thoughts and feelings just like you ; But we have many flaws, and so, alas I Can neer compare with you. my dear old glass. Long years agone you showed me young and gay (Smiling and careless I -wa^ then alway) Truthfxdly, now, you show the change of years — A Hned face, and old eyes dimmed by tears. And when I pass to mine appointed place, Done with this world, and last of all my race. What ^vill your fate be, faitliful friend of mine. Within your depths ^"ill God's sun ever shine ? Or Nv-ill you "mong the cobwebs somewhere He, With nought to do save think of days gone by, When you ^Wthin that dear old voom held sway ? Ah ! well, both vou and I have had our dav. 104 GLEAXIXOS FROM THE An Old Minister's Address to a Young Girl. With Hushing cheek and sparkhng eye 'INIid dancers gay thou fittest l)y. No thought t)r cai'e Leaves on thee e'en a ])assing trace, Or shadoweth that lovely face With which, and foi-ni of sylph-like grace, None; can compare. You stray from out the heatc^d room, 'Mid flowers exhaling rich perfume You sit and rest ; He fans thee gently, i)leased the while He seeks your fancy to beguile, To note your blush, your conscious smile. And heaving breast. Ah ! subtle, smiling, suasive man, Let the soft winds of heaven fan That roseate cheek. And i-ound that Grecian head of thine, Whose braided golden tresses shine Fair flowerets from the meadow twine, Oh ! maiden meek. On cushioned divan, sitting down. One arm he carelessly hath thrown Around thy waist ; Soft words fall softly on thine eai', Words that a girl loves well to hear, God grant they may not cost thee dear — First Love's sweet taste ! He leads thee to the marble hall, Where maids and gallants, one and all, In pairs draw nigh ; With painted fan you vainly seek To hide that swiftly blushing cheek (The old, old tale it doth bespeak). And downcast eye. FIELDS OF FANCY. 105 Exotics, fruits and choicest wine In rich profusion gaily shine — A glitt'riug scene. Ah I woman, who exceedest far (As jewelled toys by gleaming star) All else beside, you peerless ai'e, We toast you, (.^ueen ! On Love, methinks, this night you sup. Though pressed on thee taste not the cup That redly gleams ; Hie rather to yon purple hill, Whence springeth many a sparkling rill. Drink thou, like timid deer, thy fill From Nature's streams. To Nature's music dance and sing, For Death some day with his dark wing "Will fan thy brow : . Away from Godless scenes of mirth, 'Twas not for passing joys of earth Thy Heav'nly Father gave thee birth — Immortal, thou. Waste and Wisdom. Dedicateil to my eldest daughter, Patricia. Patricia, Patricia, what scandalous waste. The sweets of economy never you'll taste ; Independence and Thrift, once old Scotia's backbone, Without which no nation can stand Avell alone. Nor you, my dear girl, and sometimes when you sit Leaning back in a chair, and pretending to knit. One would think that Dame Nature had made a mistake And omitted to give one, for fear it might break. You not only waste gifts from dear old Father Time (Whose patience I'm trying by writing this rhyme) But the picture you look to thro' glasses of rose Will b(! shattered as sure as these "specs"