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Price each, 3s, RICK'S VIEWS OF ERINBURGH. Engraved on Steel, in Ornamneal Fancy Wrapper. 4to. Priee 5s. 6d. 1 THE MINISTER'S KAIL-YARD, AND # ' OTHER POEMS. THE MINISTER'S KAIL-YARD, AND OTHER POEMS. EDITED BV THOMAS C. LATTO. *' Sae tiU't I set, an' rhym'd awa, Till I bae laade a book o't ; An" tlic' 1 should rue't a' my life, I'll ; That clos'd around to work their wae ; ) Sae did th' unconscious Worthy sleep. While round him fell destroyers sweep, Circling his garden in a rowte. In shape o' sax-score Highlant nowte ; THE minister's KAIL- YARD. 17 Och ! dire mishap, that led them thither Frae norland hills o' gorse an' heather. These shaggy, scraggy, bandit rovers, Were trav'lling slow to southern clovers. To sleek their tawtit, runkled rumps, An' line their ribs wi' fatty lumps ; A bait to Englishers, I ween, Wha canna thole what's puir or lean. Alake ! this drove, as night fell dark. Were bivouack'd in adjoining park ; Malicious freak o' fortune's frolics. To post sae mony starving bullocks Out owre a field o' sapless stibble, Whare scarce a blade was left to nibble, — A wooden fence, the only guard Between it an' the Saunt's Kail-yard. Nae need o' fence to fend his gear Frae kintra folks, for a' revere The holy office pastors hold, — The sacred shepherds o' God's fold ; In these they see an' feel a friend. To lead through life, ayont its end, B 18 THE MINISTER S KAIL-YARI). To life immortal, — regions, where There's bliss an' rest for everraair. Aweel, the nowte, like eastern plague. Devouring owre the park stravaig. Boring their heads down, like a dibble, Amang the barren, jaggy stibble ; Raking alang beneath the hedges, Like fishers wi' their oyster-dredges. As Herschel, wi' his telescope, Ranging 'mang stars wi' ardent hope. Hunting for planets — ferlies queer. Till Georgium Sidus did appear, — Sae owre the field the cattle pass, Wi' eydent ee, in search o' grass ; Stibble, like stars, they found in plenty, But grass, like planets, unco scanty ; Consider, then, how joy'd the stot, Wha got at last a glimm'ring o't ! In this way were the herd ta'en up, Whan ane discovered how to sup ; He was a shrewd, incarnate deevil, Self will'd — for ever scheming evil, — THE minister's KAIL-YAUD. 1 !) A wee, bow'd, bandy-leggit bufter, But pointer-like, a famous snufter ; Whan snaw lay lieavy on the ground, His neebor stots his talents own'd : The grassy patch, deep smoor'd in snaw. He'd smell it out, an' show't to a' ; His fiery, sharj^, deej)-seated ee Wad never rest, — and O ! 'twas slee ; — Malicious and misshapen born, He seem'd, like Richard, made for scorn. And hate ; — for, whether first or last, The dogs bark'd at him as he jmss'd. His hide was rough wi' curly hair, As black's a craw, — his forehead fair. Surmounted wi' twa broken horns, Scarce langer than my Granny's corns ; An' various bumps — the Combative, Acquisitive — not Amative ; Largely defin'd was Ideality, But doubly larger his Rascality : — No Veneration — Self-esteem Tremendous, — aye in rogues supreme. 20 THE minister's KAIL-YARD. By this ye'll guess this leading beast Had consfcience smaller than its least ; That's nane at a' ; — some men hae that ; Thus brutes an' them hob-nob the faut. This Imp survey'd the Pastor's paling, Au' saw th' advantage of assailing; The right of entry, and of search, He thought, belong'd to those who'd march, An' risk their hides, without a thought Of — can I — should I — or I ought. Ah Mexico ! thy golden spires In Cortes thus fann'd fiercest fires. As thou — doom'd city ! frae the hill Appear'd to float on waters still. An' rais'd incitement in the hero — Andes on Andes over zero. Take modern instance — prettily 'Xeath barrier Alps lay Italy : Temptation here — the Frenchmen there, Their leader, Boney, ripe to dare ; Pass ! — Pagico ! — the Alps are pass'd, An' Italy enjoy'd at last THE minister's KAIL-YAUL). 21 As Hannibal before him did it; "Which conjurer, then, deserves maist credit ? We've said the stot beside the paling Perceived the advantage of assailing : Convinc'd o' this — is't politic To let ane's conscience kick or prick, Where great advantage can be got ? The thing were madness, moo'd the stot ; What nonsense, then, to chitter, chatter, The paling's doom'd, sae here goes at her ! This said, he push'd an' push'd again, Re-push'd, re-butted, but in vain ; The line o' paling thus drove back Unbroken quite, his first attack ; That cowes a Frenchman, but our stot Enrag'd — for Highland bluid he'd got. If rival bulls by chance forgather, They glare, then hack frae ane anither, Syne forward dash, wi' frantic bound, — The weakest rolls upon the ground ; — Or thus, — as batt'ring rams fall back, ^ f To plunge wi' mair tremendous thwack Against the city doom'd to sack ; — 22 THE minister's kail- yard. Or — vaulters light, to mak their swoop Mair certain, through high paper'd hoop ; — Or bowlei", at a match o' cricket. To force those Dardanelles, — the wicket ; — Sae skill'd — but how he leam'd is curious, — The stot drew back t' advance mair furious ; The charge was worthy Waterloo, Crash, smash, the fence in shivers flew ; Amang the cabbages he drives, The monster ! how he rugs an' rives. Ye've seen a dam across a gutter, By laddies bigg'd, 'mid splash an' splutter. Out owre its surface, spread at large, Pea-hools an' corks, for boat an' barge : When ane, on fun or mischief bent. Assails the dyke — effects a rent, — Forth gushes wi' mad, desp'rate clatter, Th' impatient, hurrying, headlong water. Drawing along, by strong attraction, The hools an' corks within its action. Thus, then, the nowte frae far an wide The breach attracts, an' through they stride : THE minister's kail-yari>. 23 As air to fill a vacuum rushes, Sae ilk resistless onwards pushes, — A clan o' wild, four-legg'd Rob Roys, Descended frae their mountain joys. Not come, to gather in black mail, But levy blacker on the kail : Right — left — and on, the flood disperses. The garden's at their tender mercies ; Like victors of a town assaulted. They ravag'd on, an' never halted. Still pressing on, frae bad to worse, Wi' less, an' less, an' less remorse ; Tilt desolation, far an' wide Is spread an' shed on ilka side. Beside the yard the barn-yard stood. Inviting a' to change o' food ; Politely open stood a yett, "Which kintra folks to steek forget, Through which the drove a minuet walks. To waltz an' dance amang the stacks ; They choose for partners wham they please^ Some Hay, some Aits, an' some sweet Pease : 24 THE minister's KAIL-YARD. AVliat spinning round — what fearless tossing, Down — back again — cross horns — sic crossing. What pu'ing o' their partners round, Like reeling deils they gar them bound ; Sic gallivanting ne'er was seen At weddings, kirns, in barn, or green. At balls we only feast the ee, As up an' down its beauties flee : Had stots that night been sae contentit. Their acts by me had ne'er been prentit ; But here was flagrant gross abduction, Rank ruin, robb'ry an' destruction ; Goths, Vandals, Scythians, in their fury, Ne'er spread warse ruin, I assure ye : Not Pharoah's locusts — (beg your pardon) — Did half sic damage in his garden ; They raunch'd its blades — but these vile beeves Devour' d, destroy'd root, stem, an' leaves. So much, that Etna frae his crater Could hardly inak the havoc greater ; Or bestial deluge be exceeded By that o' water which preceded. THE minister's KAIL-YARD. 25 Thou Alpha and Omega o't ! Thou fell Attila of a Stot ! Thou Hun — par excellence — thou Deevil ; Or his prime minister o' evil, — To work our "Worthy siccan scaith, As ne'er before befel the claith. The Pastor had a wee bit pup, That he was training virtuous up : It was as playfu' a bit doggie, As ever lick'd a parritch luggie : Puir beastie, whan it heard the rowte, It instantly flew forth to scout ; Noi like Don Quixote did it rush, Assur'd the hale sax -score to crush ; But wha for this can scorn its spirit ? Rashness is madness, and not merit ; Yet, like Guerilla, there an' here. It flegg'd the flanks — beat up the rear, T' expel the garden promenaders, — These lowing — mooing serenaders : But ah ! a surly, sulky Goth, Wi' horns like bignets, wax'd sair wroth ; 26 THE minister's KAIL- YARD, The pup, alake ! had nipp't his heels ; "Whisk round th' atrocious vagrant wheels, An', wi' terrific downward dart. Transfixes doggie through the heart ; Then, bawbee-like, spins up the whalp, Not quite sae high as gray-pow'd Alp, Nor half as high as Largo Law : Puir doggie fell an' ne'er mov'd paw ; Gleg, gladsome, faithfu,' dear, wee doggie, Nae mair for you they'll heap the luggie ! Meantime — O shame ! — the Drovers lay In neighb'ring barn, ensconc'd in strae ; Frae weary trail — cauld dewy sky, — They judg'd it better than out-hye. Wi' mountain-dew themsells' they'd warniM, But kent that sky-dew chill'd an' harm'd, Depress'd them sairly — while the ither Maks man see in the Moon his brither ; — Balloon-like, lifts him owre earth's mist, An' far aboon, to shake his fist ; The bubble bursts, an' there they lie, Like swine in midden, or in stye ; THE minister's KAIL-YAKD. 2? The drove fenc'd in — the collies near, — They'd drank, got drunk, without a fear. 'Tis true, like Richard in his tent, They started aft — the cause unkent ; Nae regal ghaists afore them march'd, As white an' stiff as collars starch'd : But waur, — far waur ; — out owre their faces, Were rottens rinnin midnight races ; — Still waur — a rotten took a rug O' this ane's cheek, an' that ane's lug : Ae drover simply gied a roar, The ither — " d n ye" ! and a snore. At length, amidst the rotten's daflin ; The cock was heard in hen-house flaffin. An' crawin' glad his " leerie la !" — A warning-bell that startled a'. Like ghaist that smells th' asthmatic morn. Or thwarted witch, they shrank forlorn ; Anither craw ! — to hole ilk jinks, Like rabbits scaur'd in Gullan Links. The primal craw, like quick'ning spell, Upon the snoozing Drovers fell : 28 TUE minister's kail-yard. Ilk whammel'd round, wi' heavy grane, Syne coupit owre in sleep again ; At second craw — they jump'd, I ween, Like Dominie jagged wi' corkit preen, I An' gauntin' loudly, rubb'd their een ; But at the third — th' eventfu' third, The stalwart pair in earnest stirr'd, Syne warslin', reestled thro' the strae. At early glimm'ring o' the day, — Their plaids threw round them, late their blanket, Took up their rungs, an' out-bye shankit. The park attain'd, wi waggin' tail Ilk collie springs, to snowk an' hail Its pridefu' maister, wha's bit clap Maks collie frisky in a rap. The air near earth wi' mist is druraly, But O ! the blue aboon is comely ; The far aff east in gorgeous guise Is decking out his gladd'ning skies : Ilk moment tints mair rich an' red — Vermilion — golden, are outspread, — THE minister's KAIL-YARD. 29 T' adorn an' decorate a sky, Mair glorious as the sun draws nigh. But ere that advent, wi' amaze, Owre empty park, the drovers gaze ; " 'Ot tarn it ! Tonal, whare's she got ? Her canna see a single stot," — Said Murdoch, as he claw'd his can tie. His fears a heap — self-blame a hantle ; " Och ! far the teevil has her gane ?" Yet Donald answer'd not again. But heez'd his bonnet — knit his brow. An' scarted up an' down his pow ; A wftile it seem'd a' thought was gane ; 'Twas only fled frae face to brain, An' soon cam back " itself again ;" The loon had spied, wi' consternation, The drove's untoward situation : " Wheesht ;" beck'ning Luath to his heels, Awa' like thief he cow'rin' steals, To drive the cattle frae the garden. Sans thanks, or paying down a farden ; .'30 TUE minister's KAIL- YARD. lli.s ruse succeeded as he meant, Nane heard — nane saw — while aff they went. An' sail the panting herd they goad To gain unseen the crowded road. Where lost mid ither droves, amain, The best pursuit might prove in vain. ( 31 ) THE MINISTER'S KAIL-YARD. CANTO III. Forth walks the Morn in smiles an' bkishes, Th' enamour d Sun pursuing rushes ; A maiden coy an' timid she, A lover bold and ardent he ; Yielding at length, wi' heightcn'd charms, She melts in his enclasping arms. From such embrace, sprang forward gay The young enthusiastic Day : The gentle Zephyr soon he lov'd ; Too ardent he ! she disapprov'd, 32 THE minister's kail-yaud. But temp'ring down to purer Noon, She sighing, dying, yielded soon : Beauty divine — their darling child, Serene, and sweet, meek, modest, mild, The soften'd image of the morn, The lovely, pensive Eve was born ; The Sun, wi' fondly ling'ring rays, AVi' her delighted climbs the braes, Sweir, — sweir to part, yet sinking fast, His head unclouded to the last. Sad, sad she ee'd the parent beam. An' dew'd wi' tears his closing gleam ; Bereaved o' him, her life an' light, She early sunk entomb'd in night. Thus in the Sun — Morn — Noon, and Eve, A type o' mankind we perceive : The fiery, ardent, brilliant, fair, One common fate their final share ; They rise their destin'd course to run, Glow, dazzle, melt, and all is done : Not so ! the re-ascending ray Proclaims the dawn of brighter day. THE MINISTER S KAIL-YARD. 33 But to proceed, — our sun fu' cheerie, Glintin' owre braes an' hedges brierie. Cam liltin' forth, wi' blythesome bound, Enravishing Creation round. The ploughman whistlin' frae his bield, Now hies wi' naigs to stibble field. Forgotten fykes, perhaps sair sorrows, He lays alang the kindly furrows ; Amang the roupit 'tatoe drills. The cotters heap their pocks an' creels ; There dochter, mither, son an' father, Wi' tentie ee, scrape, howk, an' gather ; Nane time to clishmaclaivers lend. But busy to the 'tatoes tend ; For Winter's comin,' snell an' dour, Sae a' improve the pa-ssing hour : As thrang as bees or eydent ants, Providing for their winter wants : For oh ! whan winter's on the winsr. Sad sight a scrimpit 'tatoe-bing ; Far, far frac towns, mid ice an' snaws. Sad lot is his wham it befa's. c 34 THE minister's KAIL-YARD. Yooder the sower owre the land Flings forth the seed wi' skilly hand ; Ahint the burying harrows spread, An' hap it in its mystic bed ; While swarms o' resurrection craws Aft follow wi' their scartin claws ; Eh ! clever is the loon atweel Wha doses ane wi' leaden pill ; For cunnin' are they as the deil. Nature ! thou mother scien tific, Thou library o' arts prolific ; Hear thee discourse — attend thy movements, We canna miss to gain improvements ; Ye speak what words can ne'er impart, High thoughts, an' feelings, to the heart. Behold the seed the sower showers. Observe its fate — that fate is ours ; 'Tis buried, and it mould'ring lies ; ~\ No ! something in it never dies : /■ A quicken'd spirit that will rise, / Vernant an' beautiful in spring. To full perfection flourishing,— THE minister's KAIL- YARD. 35 Save grains the worm o' evil gnaws, Or picks up like destructive craws. Hark ! owre the lea an' stibble grun', The early sportsman's jjealin' gun : Pap-7-gangs his double barrell — pap ! An' down a brace o' paitricks drap : His satisfaction's now complete, The challenger lies at his feet ; Their mocking whirr, and scornfu' scraich, When springing up, hae brought them laigh. He loads again — behold a hare Cour'd jji her form — he shoots — is't fair ? Cat's room an' dog's room for the beast, Puir thing ! O gie't a chance at least ! Blithe, blithe's the kintra far an' near, Serene the air — the sky how clear ; — What brilliant gems bestud the thorn. How radiant seems the robe of morn ; — How blithe the Sun peeps owre the village^ As if to cheer the busy tillage. An' now our worthy Minister Though prest wi' sleep, begins to stir ; 36 THE minister's kail -yard. It us'd, 'tis said, to be his way, To lie an' muse the coming day : Rap at the door, he'd answer, winking, " I'm gaun to rise, it's time, I'm thinking !" But aft the bed grew cozier, safter, An' found him thinking twa hours after ; Perhaps he's done it ance — nay twice, That's aye or aft wi' folks not nice, In rinffins: Slander's far-heard bells 'Gainst better folk — when hid themsells ; Be that however as it may. This morn he rose without delay : I've search'd an' trac'd the definition To his new-fangled acquisition. Swift on the floor his feet he clankit. But stoiter'd as he tried to shank it : The spirit mov'd, but still the body Was unco fu' o' nid — nid — noddy ; At length, as sleep his grasp relaxes, The system poises on its axis. His winnock-glass, like cosmoramic, Commands a view quite panoramic : THE minister's KAIL-YARD. 37 Here cultur'd fiekls — there moor an' hill, — Mountains beyond, an' mountains still, — This way an' that, where'er he's glancing, Some loch is smiling — burnie dancing ; Awhile he stands in pleasing muse, An' thus methinks the scene reviews. — How pleas'd I ee these Highlant champions, Hill-grenadiers ! yon line of Grampians ; Erect and bold they look defiance, An' lofty — claim wi' sky alliance : — These green hills in advance are rifles, Fu' weel — but still to those but trifles — Behind them high — an' 'tis not flattery, How ''finely plac'd that foaming battery : With what a sweep it downward pours Its torrent, as it smokes an' roars ; These solid squares o' fields look grand, They're really lucky wha command ; How finely those brigaded rivers Advance — whose charge knocks a' to shivers. These light dragoons o' bickering streams. How brisk they curvet in the beams ; J8 THE minister's KAIL-YARD. Flanking that fine reserve o' larch, In full array prepar'd to march To nameless dock-yards to be ships, To slip frae slips to warst o' slips : The like has been — the like may be, I've seen — but hope ne'er mair to see. * As kindly bleeze to frozen wight, The Pastor hails a scene sae bright ; Fu' glad, like worthies o' his callin,' His lines sae pleasantly had fallen. O ! sweet, and deep the joy he felt, As on his ain bit gleibe he dwelt ; The bright burn dancing at its feet. Amid a lawn wi' flowrets sweet, That blush an' breathe their very hearts, As the lov'd Sun his kiss imparts : On his kail-yard, too, yearn'd to glint, But couldna, for 'twas placed ahint ; Respectit Worthy ! let me sough ; I rede ye'll see't, an' soon aneugh. * Alluding to the ill-fated fir frigates employed towards the conclusion of the war in IS 14. THE minister's KAIL-YAUD. 39 An' now his raiment swift he seized, Afraid o' cauld, for twice he'd sneezed. The Eleusian myst'ries o' the toilette We'll leave unsung — inviolate ; Suffice it then, that in a wee He sallied forth quite cap-a-pee ; A little quicker than in common, To view by morn, what pleas'd in gloamin ; Comparisons, 'tis said are odious, Yet lead to truth, an' that's commodious. Now forth he sallied, having first Own'd fealty to the faith he nurs'd, And humbly paid th' allegiance true, Frae creature to Creator due, — Pour'd forth his heart in gratitude, The Christian's best beatitude. Wi' pleas'd, attemper'd step, he slips Around his lawn — at length he skips To greet his garden in the morn, When nature's freshest charms adorn ; Arriv'd — he hurried in — but lo ! Just 'scaped a clyte — ^"twas touch an' go ; 40 THE BIINISTER S KAIL- YARD. Advanc'd again — skid went his heels ; Gude man, he nearly cowp'd the creels ; Adown he gazed — was puzzled vastly, — Look'd round and round, an' dreadfu' ghastly. But now, ere travelling farther on, He called for Ailie Morrison, Wha on the green was spreadin' claes, To bleach them in the mornin' rays. The best o' Ailie's days were gane, She'd sairly griev'd, but griev'd alane ; Ance happy wife — ance happy mither, Owre soon no that — owre soon no t'ither. Her waes were waes she kent fu' weel, Maist folk could pity — few could feel ; An' nane like her — sae in her breast. She nurs'd them now — now hush'd to rest ; Her reason lang was like to sink, An' aft she wish'd she couldna think : 'Twas then our Minister she blest, His words o' comfort gied her rest ; He tell't — she felt, she'd meet in bliss The objects lov'd sae weel in this : THE MINISTER S KAIL- YARD, God's will be done ! she said at last, An' felt her keenest pangs were past ; That blessed hope fill'd all her heart, An' no' for worlds wi' it she'd part ; Wi' Christian gratitude it grew, An' mair than peace o' mind she knew. An' wha wad rob her o' that bliss ? The reckless infidel, in this Demoniac-like, wad heartless see The widow low an' lost as he ; How base to rob her, if you could, O' a' that cheers her solitude; — Abstl^ct morality's best guard, The hope o' heaven its last reward. But no ! the immortal spirit stirs, The crime is yours, the triumph hers ! How cold, gross, groy'lling, fu' o' pride The mind that owns nae heavenly guide ? Her feelings seem'd like April day, Now gentle — tearfu' — an' now gay ; Her heart, quite innocent o' guile ; Frae nature cam her tear an' smile. 41 42 THE MINISTERS KAIL-YARD. Her ee aye on her Pastor dwelt, W i' mair o' pride than ere she tell 't ; Her's was the lap where first he lay, A moving yet unconscious clay ; An' her's the knee, on which when young, Like bird on bough he merry sprung. In widow'd state — her bairnies dead, Wi' nane to cheer her — nane to heed, She gladly cam some years sin' syne To serve her ain — her lov'd Divine. A carefu' decent bodie she, Familiar whiles, but never free, Aye clean an' tidy, douce and tentie. She liked to gab, an' whiles gabb'd plentie. Now waiglin,' cam she at his ca'ing. But in her haste was nearly fa'ing ; " Confound the muckle dirty brutes !" She rautter'd as she cleaned her coots ; Her maister, ill attun'd for dafiin' Had yet a pinch to smoor his laughin'. THE minister's KAIL-YARD. 43 Parson. " Ailie ! I see you're like niysell, Uuknowing how all that befel ; Some nowte or kye have broken iu : Bid Andrew come, — but dinna via ; " Yet stop ! first I would have it known If all the herd be fairly gone !" Then stejjpin' on, as Ailie foUow'd, They soon beheld a scene unhallow'd; — As sad, an' clean dumfound'ring sight, As ever shock'd puir clergy-wight ; Wide devastation round them spread A dfeary garden o' the dead ; Life,"* bloom, an' beauty, herb, an' flower, Swallow'd or trampled in the stour. The Peasant on the Tyrol braes Sae ee'd, wi' mournfu,' madd'ning gaze. His hut an' village smokin' far, Sad ruins of ferocious war ; Sae ees the fainting fisher's wife Thae bodies on the beach — nae life ! 44 THE MINISTERS KAIL-YARD. " Cauld — cauld, an stiff — lost — lost — undone !'' Her husband this — an' that her son ! Again she moves — again she gazes ; Her straining ee to Heaven she raises : O ! what a depth o' grief is there — The utter anguish o' despair. Sae the puir lintie, sad an' dreary, Missing its nest in shelter hrierie ; Cheerless it mopes upon the spray, Chirpin' its notes o' utter wae : Dear warbler ! sweet, wee, harmless beastie ! Cruel the pang that rends thy breastie ; Whan sae langsyne I ee'd it beating, My heart grew grit — I fell a-greeting. Sae sad — not quite — but sad indeed, The twain, the havoc round them ee'd, Nor spak for lang ; if deep grief speak, Its language is the bloodless cheek ; Its eloquence the glist'ning eye, The quiv'ring lip — convulsive sigh. A touch o' these puir Ailie felt, As waefu' on his looks she dwelt ; THE minister's KAIL-YARD. 45 His rosy cheek now grown aghast, His honest bosom heaving fast : Around an' round she gaz'd an' gaz'd, Confus'd, astonish'd, haflins crazed ; Syne back to 's face, occasion seekin' To start her tongue on earnest speakin'. At length his visage growing brighter, To say her say, seem'd to invite her ; Sae following whare his ee had stray'd, Thus in condoling strain, she said : — " Hech, Sir ! but that's sic change, I ween, I maist misdoubt my very een ; O Mf^'s my heart ! but yesternight, ThatVas a cantie, cheerie sight : How bonnie frae time trees hung cleekit The big round apples, red, red cheekit ; Amang the leaves sae richly rosy. No like yer English, saft and fozy ; An' whare's the bonnie jargonelles, We just were gaun to pu' oursells ? Alake ! alake ! I'm sure ye feel For this young plum, that thrave sae weel, 46 THE minister's KAIL- YARD. An' bore, I'm tell't, a crap like gow'd, But now how broken, bent an' bow'd ; How saftly up thae levell'd raila The bonnie pij^pins clamb, like snails ; Now crash'd an smash'd, a' lie an' shiver, Them ye may raise, the puir trees never !" This mournfu' thought, nurs'd up a tear The tribute to aflfection dear — A reminiscence o' langsjme, Her losses, — may they ne'er be thine ! — Judge wedded pair o' gentle bosom ! A husband lov'd, what pang to lose him, Wha lov'd ye as he lov'd his life, Aye happiest, cantiest wi' his wife : An' wi' him, too, in early grave. The prattlers ye'd have died to save ; Your pitying hearts now thrill an' melt, Yet only guess what Ailie felt. She paus'd — this broke his reverie ; He saw the big tear in her ee, — Spak sweet a word in kindly sort, An' thought the mair o' Ailie for't ; THE minister's KAIL-YARD. 47 Meantime wi' cbeckit apron corner, She wiped away the lovely mourner. Her maister's words act like a spell, An' Ailie grows again hersell ; But gratefu' for his care, rej)orts say, Repaid him wi' a kintra courtsey ; An' flatter'd wi' his notice kind, Her apron smooth'd, an' thus rejoin'd. As he wi' glances downward flung. Upon a trampled flower-bed hung : — AlLIE. " E5, losh ! that's awfu' — O, the sorries ! Dear ! how they've smoor'd the flowers afore us." Parson. " Yes ! Ailie, yes : he solemn said ; That bed has felt their fiercest raid : How blythe I thought on pleasing spring, Their bloom and fragrance on the wing ; The tulips rich with every dye. That decks the bow in summer sky, 48 THE minister's KAIL-YAUI). The snowdrops pure — the golden crocus ; But wordly dreams for ever mock us !" AlLIE. " O, Sir ! that's true — an' in my day I've seen — I've felt it to my wae !" Words sank within — her heart grew grit ; A tear maun come, syne grief will flit : A soft regret his bosom knew, For Ailie's waes awak'd anew, Which two three words unguarded spoken, Like spell, the charm o' time had broken ; Her tears soon dried — the tide row'd back, When Ailie thus resum'd her crack : — Ailie. " Waes me ! thae pinks an' raws o' daisies, O' whilk I've heard sic high flown phrases ; — That wallyflower — yon thyme — thae roots, Lie dead an' buried by their cloots ; An', only look ! that hinney-sickle ! They've rugg'd into an awfu' pickle ; — THE minister's KAIL-YARD. 49 That spearmint too — an' oh ! I fear, They've clone for this sweet bonnie brier ! That fiiie lad's-luve — yon flowers sae little — An' a' thae plants wi' names sae kittle ; Troth e'en that branchy lilly-oak, The clumsy sorries they hae broke ; — An' Sir, look ! the greedy gluttons Hae e'en devour'd the bachelor's buttons ; That nowte I'd ca' a daintie brute, Wha'd fleg the bachelor to the boot ; No you, Sir ; na — I'm no sae menseless, I mean folk thoughtless — rich but senseless. To whom guid wives wad soon gie sense, Tak care o' pounds, and save their pence ; Eh, Sir ! already there are folks On you an' some ane passing jokes." Parson. " Indeed ! — but Ailie what's their say ?" AlLIE. " Just what I've kent for mony a day. D f)0 THE minister's KAIL- YARD. Ye wad hae wail'd a mournfu' ditty, Gin nowte had scaitli'd yer Nafici/-'protty, An' at its side the fair Primrose, The sweetest flower ye think that blows !" Frae flowers, an' fruit-trees, hash'd, indeed. Next to tlie bushes they proceed : — When Ailie thus — " Weel, this is waur Than loss o' flowers — a hantle far ; See how the deevils (Sir, forgie't) Hae us'd the grozets, young an' sweet ; Wae for thae rizars, white an' red ; dule ! for that strawberry bed, — Rasps — blackberries — wanchancy hour ! Lie leaning wi' their stems in stour !" Parson. " The prospect's sad — ^yes — truly, Ailie, 1 judg'd next year would bring me jelly ; I've got some pots for that, and jam, But am afraid — I really am — There's been around here such a murrain I shall not have a single curran' ; THE minister's KAIL- YARD. 51 Now this, perbajis, may prove mischievous, For jelly's good for colds when grievous, Since jam and jelly soothe the throat ; But I'll have none — no, not one pot : I hoped to have some wine for caskin'. But fear I shall not have a gaseou ; I like strawberries much with cream, But mine a ruin'd offspring seem ; An apple, too, I like with cheese, And coddled apples more than these ; Dumpling still more, and crusty pie, But apples I must want, or buy ; Yet all, I trust, is wisely meant. For wisdom or just punishment : I fear I felt on tiptoe more Than what I ought, or did before ; Yet troubles while they last, though painful. Are always in the long-run gainful !" Ailie look'd up, an' saw him pious ; Her mind that instant felt its bias. THE MINISTER S KAIL-YARD. AlLIE. " Ye speak sae true — but ye're sae guid, No made like weaker flesh an' bluid, Which tears an' swears whan sorrow fa's it, An' wi' unchristian names misca's it ; I trust ye'll be fu' soon rewarded : Maybe the kail hae still been guarded." Parson. " I hope so, Ailie, yet I fear, 'Twill fare no better there than here." He said, yet grasping clung to hope, Like shipwreck'd sailor to the rope, As his keen glance is to the shore, Amid the dread tempestuous roar ; 80, both their fancies forward flew. To where the kail-pat beauties grew. Onward the twain by short cuts hasted, Sae keen that Ailie sometimes raced it. As some tall ship, wi' bellied sail, Sweepin' in foam before the gale ; THE MINISTER S KAIL-YARD. Amaiu on sunken reef she crashes, Recoiling shivers, while she dashes ; Sae swift, our Pardon in his current, Was dash'd aback by sight abhorrent ; Forlorn he gaz'd, wi' claspit hands, While Ailie trembling by him stands. AlLIE. " O, worthy sir ! ye're sure ta'en badly ! I'll rin, an' send for Doctor Hadley : Or, stop — we've something still mair handy. There's in the press a wee drap brandy ; Ye look sae ill, I'm haflins feared, There's something in a' this that's weird." Parson. " Not so ! not so ! but only see There's not one cabbage left for me." Ailie. " Eh, dear ! dear me ! for that's eneugh' To thraw a heart, however teugh ; THE MINISTERS KAIL-YARD. I'lague take tliein a' — the glutt'nous wretches ! ('Tis sough'il an echo answered b ) ; May colics wring their vile internals, An' fufF them up like roastin' kernels ; Greens — cabbage-plants, are gane — my certie ! They've supp'd at ithers cost fu' hearty ; — The carrots — turnips, leeks, an' a' Are trodden down or in their maw ; It's past remeed — dule an' wail ! AVe've neither curlies, neeps, nor kail ; Eh ! but my heart fu' sairly dunts, Confoond the stots they've left but runts ; "We canna coff things as we us't ; The kail-pat now may lie an' rust ; Pat-luck nae langer can ye proffer, Alake ! they'd only douht yer offer ; Dule on the nowt — pest tak ilk drover. An' rack them a' as wi' weet clover ! ]\Iay a' the i>l agues Parson. " Hush ! Ailie, hush ! Breathe no uncharitable wish ; THE minister's KAIL-YAUD. 55 I mourn, like you, my kail an' flowers, An' feel a pang as sharp as yours ; Alas ! my turnips sore are liasb'd, I like them much with mutton mash'd ; With them a cliop — a broil, or chicken Makes a delicious, tender pickin' ; No more for months I'll feast on broth ; The cause I own has wax'd me wroth ; For still the belly's democratic, And apt to speak at times emphatic, — To grumble sadly if neglected. But quiet enough, if well protected : Yet %hat I deem the greater grief I'll lack greens to my powder'd beef ; Yet, is it right to use reviling. Because our prospects are not smiling ? Ah ! man's short-sighted as a mole. That gropes its way along its hole ; Therefore let us submit resign'd. When ills betide us, for we're blind." 56 THE minister's kail- yard, AlLIE, " Guid Worthy ! ye' re a perfect saunt ; Beside ye aye I feel my want ; At times I'm crouse, an' rather birsy, An' maybe this may be a mercy ; For gin I'm doufF an' dowie growin', It sets the spunk again a lowin' ; Yet was I wrang, like Clootie's bought. To .plague puir stots in words or thought ; Nor had — gin they'd scaith'd me alane, But scaithin' you gaed 'gainst my grain." Parson. " It speaks the goodness of your heart, To take up thus your master's part ; I thank you for't, and will remember, While in this vale of tears a member." AlLIE. " Hoot, sir ! ye'll mak me mair than proud, Sic praise is gowden frae the good ; THE MINISTER S KAIL-YARD. O ( Ye' re aye sae meusefu', kind, an gracious, Your words sae pithy, an' sae precious ; But, sir ! look here, O ! what a blessin*, They've spared the tatoes — few are missin' ; Fair fa' the clods that keepit them Frae out the nowt's devourin' wame : Bless — ^bless the bonnie v/ind that blaws, They've only ruggit at the shaws !" Parson. " That's tidings glad — but are you sure ? I'm thankful they at least endure ; For good potatoes, if not frosted. Are fine at supper, if right roasted ; If boiled, and mealy, oft I'll dine On them, with herring from Lochfine ; And now, I fairly think on both, Potatoe-soup surpasseth broth." AlLIE. " Mair fatt'ning too, sir, whan it drains The marrow frae the marrow-banes." THE minister's kail-yard. Parson. " Right, Ailie ! aud how nice in frost, Potatoes brown'd beneath the roast ; By red, red ingle gilt and garnish'd. And with the gravy drest and varnish'd." Ailie. " Eh, aye ! but what's still mair my pride Is paddin', that way moistified." The cluds o' grief began to scatter. But still row'd down some beads o' water : Yet let me own the haly truth, No frae the een but frae the mouth. Ailie. " Losh, sir ! now things begin to mend, Wi' tatoes left, we'll mak a fend ; I'll jjare them — split them, an' weel wash them; For soup— I'll boil— I'll roast — I'll mash them ; Wi' flesh, wi' fowl, wi' game or fish. They aye sit down a frien'ly dish." THE minister's KAIL-YARD. 59 The Parson nodded, jileased, assent. Then barn-yard ways baith somehow went ; Not that he feared th' irreverent host Its guid fir-yett had loup'd or cross'd ; But still his footsteps that way tended, His pace aye mending as he wended ; Till all at once he stopp'd — turn'd round, Wi' looks that Ailie thought profound. Parson. " To marvel, Ailie ! I begin, Whence came the brutes ? how got they in ? Like other self-invited guests They've pleas'd themselves, but been my pests ; The garden dyke they could not bound, And there the wooden fence seems sound ; The more I think — the more I wonder, Jump o'er they could not — nor creep under." Ailie. " O, sir ! yestreen, a wee 'yont gloamin', A drove o' nowte were owre there roamin' ; 60 THE minister's KAIL-YARD. As sure's a gun, they've snuff'd the kail, Stronsr brutes ! an' found the fence owre frail ; Or been let thro' — for weel I ken A drover's cunnin' lies far ben ; I'm owre far north — I ken his tricks ; For his half dozen, pay him six ; They trock an' houff wi' southrons, till They lose a' guid, an' learn a' ill : An' iHva drover kens fu' weel He's just an arraut ne'er-do-weel." Parson. " Stop, Ailie ! stop ! — there may be such, But saying all, is sure too much." Ailie. " Ye' re right ! but drover's are sae cunnin'. There's no the like o't out o' Luunon ; Whare'er the stots hae made their entry. The loons hae copied courtier gentry ; — Allow'd their herd to glut their greed, Then patch'd the fence, to hide the deed ; THE minister's KAIL- YARD. 61 But by their fit-marks, in a rap, I'll guide ye to their patch'd up slap." As Indian in the pathless wood, Tracking his foe that flies, pursued. Whose search no obstacle of rocks. Of streams, or woody labyrinth, mocks ; Sae a* decoys were unavailin', For Ailie bump'd up to the paling ; An' as the pointer points the paitrick. So she the slap wi' speechless rhet'rick ; He blush'd to find her shrewd discerning Had solv'd the problem, not his learning. Admiring much puir Ailie's shrewdness, The pair proceeded — till, O ! goodness, At barn-yard yett arriv'd, he glowr'd. An' Ailie star'd — baith quite o'erpower'd ; At length she enter' d — but aghast, Cam back — he kend the warst at last. Ailie. " Eh, sir ! eh, sir ! like never was ; The toozled stacks lie heads an' thraws ; 62 THE minister's kail-yard. The hail barn-yard is fairly hidden, An' turn'd into a perfect midden ; Just look, sir ! look !" — he felt it kittle. But trembled onward for a little ; Then back as white's a clout he started, Crestfall'n, an' wofuUy down-hearted. AlLIE. " Sir ! ye're owre guid — ^gin man or brute Sud serve me sae — I'd prosecute ; Nor wad I rest, until I saw The drovers in the jougs by law ; Eh ! but I'd gie them a' their flegs, Wi' plenty clarts, an' rotten eggs ; An', afterhend, as the best wiper, I'd gar them sweetly pay the piper." Parson. " I've thought — and really am determin'd The drovers shall be soundly sermon'd ; Experience, then, will be their tutor, To teach them better for the future : THE minister's KAIL-YARD. 63 Go, Ailie, and bid Andrew baste ; I'll have the drove this instant chas'd." Round Ailie wbeel'd, an' sairly flurried, In search o' Andrew Hastie hurried, To speed abroad the haly mandate To legates high, wha can command it ; That a' th' aggressor-nowte might be Impounded till by law set free ; Or caution gieu for due appearance, To pay what law might judge fair clearance ; Then slow our Pastor wended hame, Fu' douff — an' thus his musings came. " xis not befitting my vocation To snap at every provocation ; But when on me and mine folk trample, The reparation should be ample ; Far less for me than for example ; Meekness is comely, but a' meekness Too far extended is but weakness ; Hence it behoves me so to act, That justice may remain intact ; G4 THE minister's kail-yard. To pass this o'er might prove derogative, And lower law and kirk-prerogative ; Then let me gird myself for action, And challenge law to give due satisfaction." We'll merely add the drove was chas'd, But, mix'd wi' ithers, never trac'd. END OF THE MINISTERS KAIL-YARD. POEMS AND SONGS. / ^ VERSES WRITTEN AFTER A VISIT TO THE GRAVE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT IN 1842. 'TwAS gloaming, and the autumn sun Had shed his last and loveliest smile, When late I ferried o'er the stream To Dryburgh's mouldering pile. For I had wander'd from afar, And braved the fierce Atlantic's wave, To see the poet's resting-place — The " mighty wizard's " grave. fiS VERSES WRITTEN AFTER A VISIT TO I stood within the ruin'd fane, Beside Saint Mary's grated aisle, No sound was in that lonely spot, No voice was on the gale, Save when at intervals there came A mournful music, sweet and slow — The murmur of his own loved Tweed, That calmly roll'd below. I linger'd till the harvest moon Peer'd through the ivy'd loopholes there. And still delay'd to quit a scene, So gloomy, yet so fair. And was it here — life's^fever o'er — In this sequester'd holy spot, Lay mingling with its kindred clay The dust of Walt£r Scott ? I gazed with feelings strange and sad — FulfiU'd the cherish'd wish of years ; I leant my brow against the stone^ And melted into tears. THE GRAVE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. <>9 Ah ! where is now the flashing eye, That kindled up at Flodden field — That saw in fancy onsets fierce, And clashing spear and shield ! The eager and untiring step, That urged the search for Border lore, To make old Scotland's heroes known On every peopled shore : The wondrous spell that summon'd up The charging squadrons fierce and fast, And garnish'd every cottage wall With pictures of the past : The grajihic pen that drew at once The traits alike so truly shown, In Bertram's faithful pedagogue. And haughty Marmion : The hand that equally could paint. And give to each proportion fair, ^ The stern, the wild Meg Merrilees, And lovely Lady Clare : I y VERSES WRITTEN AFTER A VISIT TO The glowing dreams of bright romance, That, teeming, fiU'd his ample brow : Where is his darling Chivalry — Where are his visions now ? The open hand, the generous heart, That joy'd to soothe a neighbour's pains ? Nought, nought I see save grass and weeds, And solemn silence reigns. The flashing eye is dimm'd for aye ; The stalwart limb is stiff and cold ; No longer pours his trumpet-note, To wake the jousts of old. The generous heart, the open hand — The ruddy cheek, the silver hair — Are mouldering in the silent dust — All, all is lonely there ! What if it be ? his fame resounds To far Creation's farthest rim ; No forest, lake, or mountain grey. But speaks and breathes of him. THE GRAVE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 71 Why pours yon stream by liolyrood i' 'Mong weeds tliey look for Muschat's pile. Why dart yon boats from fair Kinross ! They seek Lochleven's isle. Why flock yon crowds up Ben venue, And wander far and linger late ? Dost thou not know the meanest cairn Genius can consecrate ! Yes ! castle, lake, and moated wall, The outlaw's glen and cavern grim. Have each a tongue, if thou canst feel. To speak and breathe of him. The victor on the battle-field Looks proudly round and claims the prize ; But thou, beneath us, hast achieved Far mightier victories ! The hero, when in death he falls, Nations may hail his deeds divine ; Ah ! bought with blood and widow's tears, His fame is poor to thine ! VERSES WRITTEN AFTER A VISIT TO " Give me," the Syracusan cried, And saw a globe, in fancy, hurl'd — " Give me but where to plant my foot, And I will move the world." Now, Scotland, triumph in a son, Who triumph'd in a grander thought ; Great Archimedes, now outdone, Bows to thy "Walter Scott, Who the gigantic lever plied, And plies, while we his deeds rehearse, Swaying, obedient to his will, A moral universe. Behold thick prejudice dispell'd ! And whose the blest, the god-like boon { The Sun of Waverley arose. And made the darkness noon. Deem ye his tales an idle task ? They join'd the poles in kindly span, Made seas but highways to our friends, And man to feel for man. TIIK GRAVE OF SIR M^ALTER SCOTT. 73 They show'd the proud what worth might glow Beneath a breast that russet wore ; They gave the hind a rank and place He had not known before. Yes ! persecuted Hebrew, tell Where'er a Jewish maid may roam, She knows, she feels, in every heart, Rebecca has a home. The Paynim, in a hostile land, Throws down his sword, and counts us kin. Proud that a Briton's bosom glows For noble Saladiu. Courage in high or low he hails, Where'er he finds the generous drop, In Richard of the Lion-heart, Or him of Charlie's-hope. Yon cottar feels his class is rich In nature's nobles — shaming queens ; Ah ! not a prattler climbs his knee. But lisps of Jeanie Deans ! 74 VERSES AVRITTEN AFTER A VISIT TO Praise, deathless love, to him who thus A stubborn tide could backward roll, Rein in the chafing pride of man. And triumph in the soul. The grave, the gay — the child, the sage — The lovers 'neath the hawthorn hoar ; All for a while their dreams forget, And o'er his pictures pore. The force of truth and nature see ! For all peruse and all admire : The duchess in her ducal hall — Her milkmaid by the fire ! AVe laugh or weep, or he may choose To blend our willing tears with smiles. At Lucy Ashton's hapless fate, And Caleb's honest wiles ! We see before us strut in pride. The Bailie, " pawky, hard, and slee ;" The busy lawyers tangling yet Poor Peter Peebles' plea ! THE GRAVE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 7> Again we glow with Ivanhoe, His burning words so cliami the sense : And hear the Covenanter pour, His strange wild eloquence ! The Antiquary stern and gruff. Rejoicing in the caustic joke ; Stamp at the name of Aikin Drum, And quail 'neath Edie's mock. Tell him of Steenie's fate — or hint Of dreams his own young days beguiled ; The soul within that rugged husk, IS gentle as a child. Where'er the winds of Heaven have blown. We hear his numbers borne along. In martial strain — or tender plaint, The magic of his song, liong Beauty's lips shall chant those lays, In music's bower for ever green, Bold Ettrick's border march renown'd. And Jock o' Hazel dean. VERSES WRITTEN AFTER A VISIT TO Yet pause awhile ! among the names. Thy genius steep'd in Pity's dew, Though thou did'st sigh o'er Mary's griefs, Thine own have not been few. Who has not wept, when — dropp'd the veil O'er homes and hearts to us unknown — Thou gav'st us but for one brief hour, A glimpse into thine own ? Ah ! bitter were thy thoughts I ween, "With old Sir Henry 'neath the tree, The gentle Alice by his side — Thy darling Anne and thee. Yet though the cloud of ruin fell, Thy fair horizon to deform, Thou stood'st serene and unappall'd, Erect amid the storm. The last sad scene we would forget, For kind, loved friends were round thy bed- So milder fell the parting gales Upon thy aged head. THE GRAVE OF SIR WATER SCOTT. i Yet oh ! how terrible the shock, When crack'd that strong and manly heart Sure Death with faltering tongue pronounced The dread command " Depart !" The grass is trodden by the feet Of thousands from a thousand lands — The prince — the peasant — tottering age — And rosy school-boy bands. All crowd to fairy Abbotsford, And lingering gaze, and gaze the more ; Hang o'er the chair in which he sat, The latest dress he wore. t Thou wondrous being, fare-thee-well ! Thou noblest, best of human kind. Who join'd to a Nathanael's heart A Shakspeare's master-mind. Light be the turf upon thy breast, For pleasant was in life thy mood, And rare thy fate, proclaim'd at once The glorious and the good. 78 VISIT TO THE GRAVE OF Sill WALTER SCOTT, May flow 'rets fair long blossom here, Sweet birds the quiring concert lead, To swell thy dear Eternal dirge, Sung by the " Silver Tweed," Farewell ! farewell ; my bosom throbs With grief and ecstasy to pain, " Take thee for all in all, we ne'er Shall see thy like again." ADDRESS FROM THE SPIRIT OF ANCIENT PHILOSOPHY TO THE STUDENTS OF THE MORAL PHILOSOPHY CLASS IN THE UNIVERSITY OF ST Andrew's, — session 1 834-35. Haste ! oh baste ! I have call'd ye loiii,^ I shine through the mist of years ; A holy spirit pervades my shrine To scatter doubts and fears : I am rich with the glorious spoils of Eld, With the lore of gifted seers. so ADDRESS TO THE STUDENTS OF THE I will strew, as I tread your cloister'd hall, The Aisions which Plato drew : O how my heart thrill'd with delight — Perchance they might be true ! They will stir your thoughts like Music's sva'cII: Such dreams ye never knew. We'll bend o'er the Stagyrite's "' noble dust ; But no tear shall dim our eye ; A colder spirit congeals the drop And checks the i-ising sigh ; For a haughty Stoic marks our grief — Zeno is standing by. Come, then, I'll lead your willing feet, Not by Castalia's stream, Not where Peneus winding glides And Tempo's marbles gleam ; But through a fresher nobler maze — The groves of Academe. * Aristotle. MORAL PHILOSOPUY CLASS OF ST ANDREW S. There Epicurus, great and good, His mental feast shall spread ; Take from his hand yon talisman, Thy cares — thy griefs are fled : Then pluck that fragrant myrtle green, Anil wreathe it round thy head ! And see ! clad in Egyptian stole. The Samian sage appears; It is — it is Pythagoras, His god-like form uproars. And bares that brow, where swell sublime The garner'd thoughts of years. Behold — my pride — ^yon care-worn wight ! No genius lights Ms eye, But call to mind the poison cup — His high philosophy ; Hush ! I will summon Socrates ; He'll teach you how to die. 82 ADDRESS TO THE STUDENTS OF THE Yet kneel not blindly ! — would ye scan The page of Destiny ? Ah ! none with me may seek to cross The dark imhallow'd sea That rolls before her gloomy hall, — The shrine of Mystery. Nor will I tempt your vagrant steps Where Elean Pyrrho* trod — The man who doubted e'en his doubts, Himself, — his soul, — his God ; Ah 1 no, — I ne'er would tempt your het On such a cheerless road. But when Misfortune rains her ills On your devoted head, — When Calumny's envenom'd web Around your fame is spread, — When all the ties that bind to Earth Are rudely severed, — '■* A Grecian philosopher, and founder of the sect of thp Bceptics. MORAL PHILOSOPHY CLASS OP ST ANDUEw's. 83 When, hanging o'er a dying friend, Thy heart is chill and drear, — When, prostrate o'er his wasted corpse, You groan upon the bier ; — I will be there to soothe thy grief And wipe away the tear. Should pale-faced Envy raise her head. And hiss upon thy name, — Should wild Ambition fire thy breast, With reckless, wasting flame ; — I'll shield thee from thyself and foes, Th^ saviour — still the same. Be thou my child ! thy head shall tower Among thy compeers high, Sublime as yonder hoary piles That frown into the sky ; Pleasure and Peace thy constant guests,-— O calmly thou shalt die. 84 ADDRESS TO THE STUDENTS OP ST ANDREW S. Be tbou my child ! the priceless mines Of THOUGHT I will disclose — A wondrous gem, — the human mind — Its duties, — all it owes ; A cure for all its little pride — A balm for all its woes. Then haste ! oh haste ! I have called ye long, I shine through the mist of years ; A holy spirit pervades my shrine. Dispelling doubts and fears ; — 'Tis I alone can nerve the heart. And dry the mourner's tears. THE ALEHOUSE TAP. The alehouse tap ! the alehouse tap ! Where maudlin Jemmy roar'd and sung ; Where knuckles beat the sharp, quick rap, Where gills were toss'd and coppers rung ; Eternal mugs pant to be wet, But all except thy sign is set. The stolen sip — the hurried booze, — The cup quaff'd at the door on foot ; Leave cats and dogs to bark and mews In the deserted kitchen, mute To boist'rous voice of Robby West, fShouting, like Stentor, for " the best." 86 THE ALEHOUSE TAP. The mutclikin-stoup looks o'er the gill ; The gill looks o'er the glasses wee ; And musing o'er the one I fill, I dream not of — a cup of tea : For, while my cronies round me rave, Could I be a Teetotal slave ? A lecturer stood upon the slope That rises to our village wall ; He hector'd fierce the brandy shop ; His audience gaped — he trapp'd them all ; He counted them at six that day, And when ten struck, ah ! where were they ? And where are they ? and where art thou " Pale Brandy ?" o'er thy water'd strengtli The jocund stave is silent now ; " Glenlivet" takes thy place at length ; And must thy praise, spirit divine ! Degenerate into hands like mine ? THE ALEHOUSE TAP. 8? 'Tis something in the dearth of Wine, The' cast among a taxed race, To kneel at least at Whisky's shrine, And bear grog-blossoms on my face ; Yet what is left the boozer here. Since Gin is gone — since Brandy's dear ? Must we but grudge the heighten'd price ? Sit greetin' fou ? our fathers fought ; Death ! render, if but for a trice, A couple of them plagued with drought ; But if perchance thou grant us three, I tremble lest they drain the sea. What ! silent still ! then silent bide ! Ah, no ! the voices of the drunk Sound like an empty barrel's side. And hiccup, " tho' we here be sunk, Let one be tapp'd — we come, we come, 'Tis only fools who shirk their tiim.'"''' * Cant abbreviation for tumbler. 88 THE ALEHOUSE TAP. In vain ! in vain ! broach other casks ; Fill high the glass with " British Gin ;" Leave " Hollands" to the spoon who asks A bottle from the oldest binn ; Hark ! answering to the summons rough, How scuds "Will Tapster with the stuff. You have Scotch Whisky potent yet, But where has fled Jamaica Rum ? Of two such spirits, why forget That which could almost move the dumb ! The lush which Brewer Noah gave Is not for the Teetotal slave. Fill yet the stoup with " gude Scotch drink !" (We will not think of Rum and Wine) ; To Burns's thoughts it formed the link That bound them in a chain divine ; — Burns, our pride — tho' gifted, lost, Cramp'd, crush'd 'neath guager's paltry post. THE ALEHOUSE TAP. 89 The quaffer of the " cup of sack" Was jollity's unflinching friend ; That quaffer was the " queer Sir Jack ;" O that the present hour would lend To us his head, so strong and sound, His paunch so dome-like and profound. Fill yet the stoup with " gude Scotch drink !" By Ferintosh and Islay's shore ; Swagger the coves, who never wink At swigging off a quart or more ; And there, perhaps, some seed is sown The jolly god might not disown. Trust not for cheap Gin to the Whig Or taxes low — the taxes rise ; In smuggling sly the Schiedam kegs The only chance of cheapness lies ; But cruel force and iron rule Would seize your keg, however full. 90 THE ALEHOUSE TAP. Fill high the stoup with " guole Scotch drink !" Our lasses dance beneath yon tree ; I see their figures rise and sink, But, gazing on the si^n-ery, I weep to think they shall be tools For suckling soft Teetotal fools. Place me upon a hogshead's top, Where nothing, saA-e the ale and I May hear our mutual gurglings drop. There, landlord ! let me tap and try : Cold-water drink shall ne'er be mine ; Restore — repaint yon faded sign. •THE KISS AHINT THE DOOR. Tune — " There's nae luck about the house." There's meikle bliss in ae fond kiss, Whiles mair than in a score ; But wae betak the stouin smack I took ahint the door. "O 'laddie, whisht ! for sic a fright I ne'er was in afore ; Fu' brawly did my mither hear The kiss ahint the door." The wa's are thick, ye needna fear, But gin they jeer and mock, I'll swear it was a startit cork, Or wyte the rusty lock. There's meikle bliss, &c. 92 THE KISS AHINT THE DOOR We stappit ben, while Maggie's face Was like a lowin' coal ; An', as for me, I could hae crept Into a mouse's hole : The mother look't, safF's how she look't ! Thae mithers are a bore. An' gleg as ony cat to hear A kiss ahint the door. There's meikle bliss, Sec. The douce gudeman, tho' he was there, As weel micht been in Rome ; For by the fire he fuff'd his pipe, An' never fashed his thoom. But titterin' in a corner stood The gawky sisters four ; A winter's nicht for me they micht Hae stood ahint the door. There's meikle bliss, &c. " How daur ye tak' sic freedoms here ?" The bauld gudewife began ; THE KISS AHINT THE DOOR. 93 Wi' that a foursome yell gat up, I to my heels an' ran ; A besom whiskit by my lug, An' dishclouts half a score ; Catch me again, tho' fidgin' fain, At kissing 'hint the door. There's meikle bliss, &c. *' THE HONEST MAN, OR THE TUB-PROPRIETOR OF ATHENS. (from the greek.) Langsyne, when Athens was a town. An' sages swarm'd like bees ; — When Hercules, and siclike chiels Made walkin-staffs o' trees ; — An ill-faur'd loon was seen to strut Down Athens' Prince's Street ; His claes were hingin' a' in rags, An' shoeless were his feet. THE HONEST MAN. 95 Upon his head a muckle tub, — A sour-like dog he was ; And in ae greasy paw he swung A pair o' heavy taws ; The tither held a lichtit lamp, Altho' the time was noon ; The odd conceit drew round him quick The rift-raff o' the town. The bairns yell'd as they'd gane gyte, Sae desp'rate was the scream, That thousands pour'd frae every wynd, Frae Porch an' Academe. Then speer'd a gapin' country lout Wha was this Prince o' Fules ? " Tut man, that's daft Diogenes, The Cynic o' theSchules!" The queer auld shaver stappit on, His lamp was rais'd on high ; An' loud aboon the treble yells "Was heard his deafenin' cry. 96 THE HONEST MAN. We've heard Newhaven oyster wives, An' loud they scriech I trow : But ane an' a' micht learnt frae him To cry their « Caller Oo." At length he halted on a hill Beyond the city's wall ; And squattin' on his bannet tub, Continued still to bawl. " An honest man — come shew to me," Thus cried the Cynic sot, (Himself was banish'd in his youth For forgin' o' a note.)* " An honest man ! — I fear 'twill need The sun and lamp to boot, The moon an' stars an' a' to find, That fau'tless monster out ; * Historical fact, he \\as banished from Sinope for coining false money. THE HONEST MAN. 97 Come here, ye fules ! — sons o' the schules Or bide my curse an' ban, Will ony here stand forth an' say He is an honest man ?" " An' he shall have this siller cup, An' eke this milk-white lamb, An' aiblins we may try an' scrape Acquaintance owre a dram. For years I've been" (eh, sic a whid !) " O' the Teetotal school ; * But let me find the man I seek For ance I'll break the rule." Out stapp't a brawny shoutlier'd chiel, Plato, I think, liis name; Quo' he, " I ne'er was gi'en to boast, Yet will the title claim." * He got roarin' fou' occasionally. 98 THE HONEST MAN. " Your instance ?" growled out dirty face > " Hear me," said Plato, then ; " / once return d a borrow'd book Back to my friend again !" The mol) set up an awful shout, The greasy paw was rais'd ; " Great is thy merit, and shall be In golden letters blazed ; And if no other should be found To try the lists with you, To tell the truth, an' shame the deil, The prize is but your due !" " Mak' way for that gay dashin' youth, 'Tis Epicurus comes ;" The Cynic eyes his foppish claes Wi' mony haws an' hums. The younker cries, " I claim the prize. And must dispute it still ; Kyiow, gentlemen ! 'pon honour, once /^aii A Tailor's Bill!!" THE HONEST MAN. 99 " Hurrah ! hurrah ! he is tlie man", The " great unwashed" resumed ; Again the tub-proprietor rose, He grinned^ — he swore — he fumed. " Dog on it ! is it come to this ? The truest heart in Greece Beats 'neath a gaudy waiscoat, flash As Jason's golden fleece ! " Na, bide a while, I winna steer, A towmond here I'll stand, But I will gie the cup an' lamb Into anither hand : An' yet to find a stretch 'yont this. Seems hoping against hope ; Troth he that shall surpass the lad. Sure frae the skies maun drop ; " For truly this has gi'en the bowl O' honesty the fill, — A puj^py in thae awfu' times To pay a Tailor's Bill ! 100 THE HONEST MAN. But stop — there's a new-fangled tliing,- A bield frae rain an' snaw, Lent wi' a gvoau, wha brings back it. Will fairly ding them a' ; " What fule expects it back again ? 'Tis either smash'd or lost ; But deil a' ane e'er minds to speer How many groats it cost." He waited hours, ane, twa, three, four, His patience oozed out ; The crowd was nieltin' fast awa, When, hark ! a distant shout ; And soon auld Zeno hirpled in, " Gi'e me the lamb an' cup ; Their merits may be great, indeed, Yet ne'er to mine come up. Yield me the palm, Diogenes, Here with it, quick, old fellow ! Last night I borroiced, and to-day Returned A New Umbrella ! ! !" THE HONEST MAN. 101 " Shout boys ! noo gie your tongues the rein, Roar till ye're like to burst ; And he that first shall tine his wind, Come near me if he durst : Welcome auld Stoic, tried an' true, Frieu' Zeno gi'e 's your han' ; My een hae seen the first in Greece — A truly Honest Man." TELL ME DEAR, &o. (For Music). Tell me, dear ! in mercy speak, Has Heaven heard my prayer, lassie ? Faint the rose is in thy cheek, But still the rose is there, lassie ! Away, away, each dark foreboding, Heavy days with anguish clouding ; Youthfu' love in sorrow shrouding, Heaven could ne'er allow, lassie ; Day and night I've tended thee. Watching, love ! thy changing e'e ; Dearest gift that heaven could gi'e ! Say thou'rt happy now, lassie, Jamie ! lay thy cheek to mine. Kiss me, oh, my ain laddie ! Never mair may lip o' thine Press where it hath lain, laddie I TKLL ME DEAR, &C. 103 Hark ! I hear the angels calling, Heavenly strains are round me falling ; But the stroke — thy soul appalling — 'Tis my only pain, laddie ! Yet the love I bear to thee, Shall follow where I soon maun be ; I'll tell how gude thou wert to me : We part to meet again, laddie ! Lay thine arm beneath my head. Grieve na sae for me, laddie ! I'll thole the doom that lays me dead, But no a tear frae thee, laddie ! Aft where yon dark tree is spreading, When the sun's last beam is shedding, Where no earthly foot is treading, By my grave thou'lt be, laddie ! Though my sleep be wi' the dead, Frae on high my soul shall speed And hover nightly round thy head, Altho' thou wilt na see, laddie ! SLY WIDOW SKINNER. Air — "The Lothian Lassie." the days when I strutted (to think o't I'm sad) The heir to a cozy bit mailen, "When sly Widow Skinner gat round me, the jaud ! For she thought my auld daddy was failin', was fail in', She thought my auld daddy was failin'. 1 promised to tak' her for better for worse, Though sma' was my chance to be happy ; For I found she had courtit na me, but my purse ; "What's waur — that she liket a drappy, a drappy ; What's waur — that she liket a drappy. Then ae nicht at a kirn I saw Maggy Hay, To see her was straight to adore her ; The Widow look'd blue when I pass'd her neist day, An' waited na e'en to speer for her, speer for her. An' waited na e'en to speer for her. SLY WIDOW SKINNER. 105 pity my case — I was slieepislily raw, And she was a terrible Tartar ! She spak about " measures," and " takin' the law," And I set mysell down for a martyr, a martyr, I set mysell down for a martyr. 1 buckled wi' Mag, an' the blythe honejrraoon Scarce was owre, when the Widow I met her ; She girningly whisper'd, " Hech ! weel ye hae dune-, But, tent me, lad, I can do better, do better, But, tent me, lad, I can do better ! " ' 'Gin ye canna get berries, put up wi' the hools !" ' Her proverb I countit a blether ; But, — Widows for ever for hook in auld fales — Neistweek she was cry'd wi' my feyther, my feyther, Neist week she was cry'd wi' my feyther ! LAMENT FOR ABERCAIRNIE. A mournfu' gloom is owre the earth, A' nature seems in pain, An' joins the dolefu' wailin' sang, " Gude Abercairnie's gane." Nae children's play was in the glen That heard his bugle's swell ; And night closed on a bloody day When Abercairnie fell. We brought him hame upon his shield, His tartans dyed in gore ; And tears were seen in stern auld een Whaur ne'er were tears before. His mitlier and his bride cam' down, Ae shudd'ring look they cast ; Ae waefu' look — it mair than tauld Their day o' joy had pass'd, LAMENT FOR ABERCAIRNIE, 10? O ! for ae saft an' dewy tear Of pity, not of ire ; For mine are bursting frae my een, Like draps o' scorching fire ; Or for a blade whose sweep were death, And let me face them a'. The traitors wha ha'e slain my chief, — - But I'll avenge his fa'. O ! I could lay me down an' dee, Sin' Abercarnie's gane ; But lang for him the tears shall fa', And deep shall be our mane. Awa ! thou pipe, that pleas'd him sae, Nae mair thy strains he'll hear ; — Dead now the stormy pibroch falls On Abercairnie's ear. DRUCKEN TAM, THE BAKER. A MYSTERY. AlB^" The Quaker's Wife" Miss Mysie Mill was aged — hem ! And ne'er a man would take her ; Yet how she blush'd to hear the name Of Drucken Tarn, the baker. For oftentimes to tea and toast, And other recreation, 'Twas known she'd sent him thro' the post A card of invitation. Now you must know this q^ueer-like beau. Tho' dusty as a miller, In Mysie's eye was quite the go, And quite a lady-killer : DRUCKEN TAM, THE BAKER. 109 His boots and hat (oh ! such a hat,) Might well have claim'd a pension ; And how the coat stuck to his back, Was past all comprehension. His head was like a cauliflower ; His legs were short and bandy ; His teeth were brown — he had but four — As bits of sugar candy. His mouth was stretched from ear to ear, A most expressive feature ! But Mysie swore he vras " a dear!" The fascinating creature ! His nose was like a partan's back, Or like a copper kettle ; Tlio' Mysie elegantly said 'Twas like a rose's petal. And as we differ in our tastes For white and crimson roses. What wonder tho' Miss Mysie did Prefer a red proboscis ? 1 10 DRL'CKKN TAM, TUE BAKKR. O would my verse but flow like his^ Who sung the Doon and Lugar, I'd paint his smile, so very sweet, It sav'd Miss Mysie's sugar : But Mysie's beau was cold to love; The fact there's no disguisin' ; He roll'd his eye, then ey'd his roll, And quietly sipp'd her hyson. And honest Tarn, when o'er his dram, Did womankind despise aye ; He toasted baps, he toasted cheese, But never toasted Mysie. At last, one summer's afternoon, Oh ! how she did confuse him ; She press'd him to a cup of tea, Then press'd him to — her bosom. Could brute or baker gaze unraov'd On Mysie's glowing charms ; And now the Jlour of all the town Was clasp'd within her arms. DRUCKEN TAM, THE BAKER. Ill Poor Thomas grinn'd a horrid grin ; What anguish he did cause her ; She dropt a tear, while from his hand There dropt a cup and saucer. "With face as long as Aaron*s rod, And staring goggle eyes, he Was gasping like a dying cod, Within the hug of Mysie. One word she whisper'd in his ear, But none may ever know it ; The secret rests with Tarn himself, And Mysie, and — the poet. When, lo ! his optics straight he rais'd,' — I'm wrong, alas ! he squinted ; But sure as fate, a loving kiss He on her lips imprinted. My tale is told ; as to the rest I'm mum as any Quaker ; Miss Mysie's garret's now " to let,'' And sober is the baker. THE IRON DUKE. WRITTEN ON THE OCCASION OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON'S ACCEPTANCE OF THE COMMAND OF THE BRITISH ARMY IN 1842, ON THE SOLICITATION OF SIR ROBERT PEEL. O let the brave old warrior rest ! His thousand toils and perils o'er ; Though chafes the spirit in his breast To dare a thousand more. O in his grasp no truncheon set ; Urge not the stern — the iron man ; For well ye know, the bugle yet Would find him in the van. Too long yon sword has served its lord, And danger been his bride ; But Arthur's name and Arthur's fame Have filled the world wide. THE IRON DUKE. 113 Where, 'mid united earth's acclaim, — Where shall we find the heart so cold, That kindles not to hear the name That quelled the foe of old ? Save on the burning eastern plain Where rages cruel war anew, — Save on the bloody fields of Spain, — And bloodier Waterloo. Long ages o'er — men gaze the more, Can clouds the day star hide ? No ! Arthur's name and Arthur's fame Have filled the world wide. The tyrant, whom from France he chas'd. In Fame's high temple, too, appears ; But on the scroll his name is trac'd In blood and orphans' tears. Ah ! not like /«"«, who has withstood All arms and arts, and flatteries too — Our Wellington's — the great and good, — The noble and the true. 114 THE IRON DUKE. Projid tears may start — his country's lieart Exulting in her pride : Her Arthur's name, her Arthur's fame Have filled the world wide. Long may he live, and see, hearth-blest. Life's peaceful evening to beguile, Before he takes the " warrior's rest," His children's children smile. But when he sinks, what fane's extent May give his wondrous glory room ? A nation's tears his monument, The universe his tomb ! Hail, Wellington ! 'twas worth alone Could take thy giant-stride ! So Arthur's name and Arthur's fame Have filled the world wide. THE PRINCE'S STREET BEAU. Tune—" The Mistletoe Bough." Young lawyer Tom was the pride of the ball ; His waistcoat shone like a white- wash'd wall; And though his retainers were small and few, His credit seem'd good, for his coat was new. The ladies all sigh'd, " oh, la ! what a dear !" And in tiuch he looked spruce as a bottle of beer ; O, the rogue with his bright boots aimed to be A moving mirror of gallantry ! O the Prince's Street Beau ! The boots of the Prince's Street Beau ! At his lodgings arriv'd, " ah, demmit !" he yaAvu'd, " I fear its all up, for my shirts are pawn'd ; And crucify me, if I know what to do. To pay ray last trousers, my hat, and surtout. I Hi THE prince's STREET BEAU. I've liv'd on a trotter a week, I am sure, But, of course, 'twas my appetite getting " so poor ;" (bark in your ear) had mutton been cheap, 1 think in the time I'd have manag'd — a sheep !" O the Prince's Street Beau ! Hard times for the Prince's Street Beau ! Next morning, when combing his whiskers, he cried, " I must vanish by twilight, but where shall I hide ? Sniji thinks he is up to a trifle or so, But I'm bless'd if I leave him a string to his beau f" Away he flew, and his landlord look'd blue, Three bailiffs are started, our friend to pursue ; And the tailor scream'd, " he promised to pay The 'dentical hour that he cut away." O the Prince's Street Beau ! " What a fuss," cried the Prince's Street Beau They sought him that night, and they sought him next day. And they sought him in vain, when a week pass'd away; THE prince's street BEAU. 117 In the Canongate, Cowgate, all over the town, Old Cabbage sought wikllj, the bird was flown ; And years flew by, he was neatly done ; Yet the beau, though he manag'd his clutches to shun, At times hove in sight, when each imp shouted " Beaus, Should never forget to pay their clo's !" O the Prince's Street Beau ! " I'm off"— sigh'd the Prince's Street Beau ! At length a live bundle of rags was seen In a field of barley, near Juniper Green : * Can I credit my eyes ? 'twas our hero, indeed — O in running so fast, he had run to seed ! Sad, sad was his fate ! be warn'd ye beaus. And never forget to pay your " clo's 1" He had hired himself out, at a penny a day, As a bogle, to frighten the crows away ! O the Prince's Street Beau ! The fate of the Prince's Street Beau ! * A village near Edinburgh. PHEMIE. We sat upon a grassy knowe, My lassie dear an' me ; When round her neck my arms I flung, An' gat her on my knee. White as the swan's that bonnie neck, How saft, nae words may say ; T lookit fondly in her face, And gazed the hours away. The e'enin cloud, when fring'd wi' gowd, Was match'd wi' Phemie's hair ; The apple bloom — how saft its tint, Her cheek was twice as fair. Her breath was sweeter than the breeze That plays 'mang new-mawn hay ; Her form was gracefu' as a fawn, An' fresh as op'nin' day. PHEMIE. 119 Her poutin' lips, sae rosy red, 'Mang laughiu' dimples dwell ; Nae journey- wark were they, I trow, But made by Love himsell : Her voice was like a linty's sang ; Her een were bonnie blue ; And mine drank in the living light That sparkled through the dew. I kiss'd her twenty times, and mair, Syne took them a' again ; My heart was rinnin' owre wi' bliss ; That hour she was mine ain. O mony a day has fled sinsyne. When first her lips I prest. But ne'er a wish has stray'd frae her ; In blessing, I am blest. Our love was bonnie in the bud. But bonnier in the bloom ; — The morning rose delights the ee, The gloamin' brings perfume. 120 PHEMIE. Methuselah's were mony years, But lived I lang as he, I'll ne'er forget that raptur'd hour, I gat her on my knee. THE MINISTER'S DOCHTER. Air—" Johnny M'Gill." ! the minister's dochter for daffiii's a deil, There's fire in her ee, and there's spunk in her heel— 1 kenna what ails me — I'm no very weel, Since'^the minister's dochter blink'd slyly on me. It's no for her beauty, it's no that she's braw, Tho' sunny her smile, an' her skin like the snaw, But I dinna ken what has come owre me ava, Since the minister's dochter blink'd slyly on me. My cronies a' jeer, for their presence I shun, They say I am douff, and ha'e tint a' my fun, An' just like a foggy day wantin' the sun. For ance I was canty as canty could be. 122 THE MINISTER S DOCIITER. I look like a man that's been baul'd into law, Or puir dyvour loon, \vi' his back at the wa' — I whiles try to sing, but the sound dees awa', Since the minister's dochter blink'd slyly on me. But how should I bother the company sae, 'Tis folly outright to be dowie and wae — I've nought to complain o' — what mair wad I ha'e ? For didna the lassie blink kindly on me ? How lang I've been proggin' my courage iu vain ; But birds now or eggs I'm resolved to obtain, I'm no gaun to sleep this cauld winter my lane — Na ! the minister's dochter maun cuddle wi' me. THE WIDOW'S AE BIT LASSIE. Tc.\E — " My only jo and dearie, O." O guess ye wba I met yestreen, On Kenly banks sae grassy, O ? Wha cam' to bless my waitin' een ? The "Widow's ae bit lassie, ! She brak my gloamin dream sae sweet, Just whaur the wimjilin' burnies meet : The smother'd laugh, — I flew to greet The Widow's ae bit lassie, ! They glintit slee — the moon and slic. The Widow's ae bit lassie, ! On tremblin' stream an' tremblin' me ; She is a dear wee lassie, O ? How rapture's jjulse was beating fast, As Mary to my heart I claspt ; O bliss divine — owre sweet to last, I've kissed the dear bit lassie, O ! 124 THE widow's ab bit lassie. She nestled, close, like croodlin' doo, The Widow's ae bit lassie, O ! My cheek to hers, syne mou' to mou'. The Widow's ae bit lassie, O ! Unto my breast again, again, I prest her guileless heart sae fain ; Sae blest were baith, now she's my ain. The Widow's ae bit lassie, O ! Ye powers aboon, wha made her mine. The Widow's ae bit lassie, ! My heart wad break gin I should tyne The Widow's ae bit lassie, O ! Our hearth shall glad the angels sight ; The lamp o' love shall lowe sae bright On me and her, my soul's delight, The Widow's ae bit lassie, ! LINES TO VEDDER. The minstrel sleeps ; his golden lyre Hangs silent on tlie wall : Are then the lofty numbers mute That rung in Odin's Hall ? Tl^ silence of the spirit-land O'er Caledonia broods ; No Doric reed now cheers her glens, And mountain solitudes. Her streams may flow — her daisies bloom As freshly and as fair, As when their own lov'd minstrel stray'd Adown the winding Ayr. 126 LINES TO VEDDER. As soft and sweet the birds may sing By Lugar and the Doon ; No poet lists their plaintive lays, Or echoes back the tune. Fair maidens trip the sunny holms Where Tweed and Yarrow run ; Unsung they live — unwept they fade, In dim oblivion. Orcadian Bard ! and is it so ? Those chords in slumber bound, "Whose varied notes now rous'd the soul, Now breath'd a wail around ? Why has thy lofty music ceas'd ? Is Nature's beauty gone ? For thou wert wont, in other days, To make her strains thine own. LINES TO VEDDER. 127 Have we then beard tliy latest song ? Britain yet queens the sea, And loudly calls thee to resume The song of Liberty. Thy strains electric, yet shall pour ; Again each breast shall swell ; No impulse stirs the human heart But thou dost know it well. The Children of the Covenant, Storied thy verse among, Like insects in their amber shroud, Embalm'd in Tedder's song, Shall be immortal as the piles That cumber Egypt's sands ; And glorious as the feath'ry palms That shadow eastern lands. 128 LINES TO VEDDER. Leonidas and Wallace wight, And Washington, and Tell, Have been ennobled in thy lay, And halo'd by thy spell. Arise ! resume thy northern lyre, And wake thy magic strain ! The Norseman's boast — the Muse's pride- Awake thy song again. Let not the blight which Burns curs' d — A heartless, cold Excise — Quench in the dust thy noble fire. Or freeze thine energies. THE BLIND LASSIE. Tune—" The Flower o' Dumblane." O hark to the strain that sae sweetly is ringin', And echoing clearly o'er lake and o'er lea ; Like some fairy bird in the wilderness singiu', It thrills to my heart, yet nae minstrel I see; Round y(Mider rock knittin', a dear child is sittin', Sae toilin' her pitifu' pittance is won, Hersell tho' we see nae, 'tis mitherless Jeanie, — The bonnie blind lassie that sits i' the sun. Five years syne, come autumn, she cam' wi' her mither, A sodger's puir widow, sair wasted an' gane ; As brown fell the leaves, sae wi' them did she wither, An' left the sweet child on the wide world her lane. I 130 THE BLIND LASSIE, She left Jeanie weepin', in His lioly keei)in', Wha shelters the lamb frae the cauld wintry win' ; We had little siller, yet a' were gude till her, — The bonnie blind lassie that sits i' the sun. An' blythe now an' cheerfu', frae mornin' to e'enin', She sits thro' the simmer, an' gladdens ilk ear ; Baith auld and young daut her, sae gentle and winnin' ; To a' the folks round, the wee lassie is dear. Braw leddies caress her, wi' bounties would press her; The modest bit darliu' their notice would shun. For though she has naething, proud hearted this wee thing — The bonnie blind lassie that sits i' the sun. MY WIFIE AN' ME. Air—" Toddlin but and toddlin ben." The laddies now laugh at my wifie and me ; Yet feckless auld wifie, how canty are we ; They scarce can believe me, when aften I say. My Kate and her jo were ance blithesome as they. My wifie an' me, my wifie an' me What gars them a laugh at my wifie an' me ? Now wither'd, an' cripple, an' raaistly as frail As the wa's o' our housie that rock i' the gale ; AVha ance wi' the lasses could jig it wi' me ; Or shaw'd sic a leg, an' wha loupit sae hie ? My wifie an' me, &c, 132 MY WIFIE an' me. Though my pow is now bel' as the howe o' my han', An' the crap on my chin's like the clown o' the swan, The day's been, my haffets fu' richly were clad, When the een now sae dim could be match'd wi' the gled. My wifie an' me, &c. An' Kate ! my auld lassie, it seems like yestreen Sin' ye were run after frae mornin' to een • Then happy the lad frae your ee could beguile What his fancy might count as the gift o' a smile. My wifie an me, &c. A' day what a steer did ye mak' in my breast ; Night fauldit her wings, but she brought me nae rest ; My blude gallop'd wild as a cowte owre the green. An' my heart it gaed duntin' the lang simmer een. My wifie an' me, &c. But Katy, my dawtie ! tho' auld we hae grown, The love's but the firmer sae early was sown ; MY WIFIE an' me. 133 As canty 's we've speel'd it, we'll slip down life's brae. An' we'll creep aye the closer the langer we gae. My wifie an' me, my wifie an' me, Just let them laugh on at my wifie an' me ! NOW ROSY SUMMER LAUGHS IN JOV Air — " Bonnie Jeanie Gray." Now rosy summer laughs in joy, O'er mountain, glen, and tree ; And drinks the glittering siller dew, Frae gowans on the lea. Blythe frae the clover springs the lark, To hymn the op'nin' day ; The wee waves dance beneath the sun, Like bairnies at their play. Now frisks the maukin 'mang the grass. Nor fears the rustlin' trees ; Now linties chant frae ilka spray, To charm the westlin' breeze, NOW ROSY SUMMER LAUGHS IN JOY. 135 Ye gay green birks, your breath is balm, — Ye stately flowers o' June — Thou little stream, that wimples by, Thou sings a soothing tune. O sweet Balgove ! aboon thy shades How aft the Star o' Day Has op'd his wauk'nin' ee to gaze, On whom I daurna say. Now chill rememb'rance, journeying back O'er weary wastes o' gloom, Rests fondly on the hours we spent Amang the yellow broom. And ha'e they bonnie walks aboou, Where my love dwells afar ? — Then we may wander yet beneath A bonnier morning star. Ah ! why could Heav'n take my flower, — Nae fairer flower could blaw ; Oh ! she was heav'n owre lang to me, Sae she was ta'en awa'. THE FLOWER O' THE AYR. I walk'd out yestreen, when the e'enin' was fa'iu', A lingering glory yet played on the sea ; The woods were sae still, no a zephyr was blawin', The sang o' the lav'rock was hushed on the lea. Awa frae the town, wi' its din and its folly, I kent ua, and cared na, how far I had gane ; The night was sae peacefu', the hour was sae holy, The spirit o' Nature and I were alane. I thought on the days when I stray'd wi' my Jessie, While birds lilted sweet on the banks of the Ayr, — When Hope's fairy visions were shared wi' my lassie, And life was as happy as simmer was fair. THE FLOWER o' THE AYR. 137 Sad was my heart, for again I was roarain' Thro' scenes that were dear in the days o' langsyne, And Mem'ry flew back to the still simmer gloamin', When, prest to my bosom, she vowed to be mine. There was. the buruie yet, fring'd with the breckan ; There was the bank where she sat on my knee ; There was the birken bower, sad and forsaken, Where aft she had lookit sae fondly on me. But where is my lassie ! O where is my Jessie ? Ah ! cruel echoes, ye mock my despair ; Nor sunshine may cheer me, nor tempests can fear me, Oh, soon may I lie wi' the Flower o' the Ayr. LORD THOMAS, OR, THE DEAD MAN'S EIDE, A LEGENDARY FRAGMENT. PART FIRST, Dark-frowning Ruthven Castle stands High on a rocky steep ; No warder need protect its wall, The glen's sae dark an' deep. Its lord is to the border gane Wi' a' his men o' weir, And left behind his only bairn ; I wot he lo'ed her dear. LORD THOMAS. 139 May Marjory paced the battlements Upon the eve o' Yule; Her face like waves beneath the moon As cold and beautiful. The blude has left thy bonny cheek ; Thy lip is pale and wan ; What can it be May Marjory Thus maks thee wring thy han' ? Why is the step sae solemn now, Yesireen that was sae light, And. why that ee sae stern and chang'd, Yestreen that glanc'd sae bright ? She's ta'en a bodkin frae her kist, A nee worn by gipsy dame, And hid it in her yellow hair Beside the siller kaim. 140 LORD THOMAS. She's rais'd the whistle to her lips, And called the fierce sleuth-hound ; And to the greenwood up the hill May Marjory is bound. Scarce has the ladye walk'd a rood — A rood but barely threes— The hound's low growl struck on her ear ; "Who may the comer be ? Hark ! on the borders of the waste, It is a horse's tread ; And fast and furious o'er the fell A noble courser sped. He comes ! his sable chest is flak'd, White as the ocean foam ; And rushing like an eagle on Who seeks his rocky home. LORD THOMAS. 141 And now the rider's by her side, The rider 's on the ground ; His voice it startled e'en the dog, Sae hollow \^as the sound — Cried,. " Gie me back, May Marjory, Now yield me back the trotli. That I sae aft hae pledg'd to thee, Wi' mony a holy oath. " Far hae I come to thee this uicht, 0'„er' torrent, scaur and howe ; For a thousand times I'd tyne my life, Ere I wad break my vow. " I've seen her that I lo'ed the best Lang ere I came to thee ; I thought she was my brother's bride — She lo'ed but only me. 142 LORD THOMAS. " To curb the will, when love is fierce, To mortal ne'er was given ; And we maun part, as rocks do part, Cleft by the bolt o' Heaven. " Sae Marjory, gie me back the troth I jiledg'd upon thy han' ; For I maun keep my tryst this night Wi' Bothwell's Lady Anne." " O truly did I guess Lord Thomas, The errand ye were on ; We aye maun reap the whirlwind, "When we the wind have sown. " O surely did I dread. Lord Thomas, The errand ye were on ; Yet take the troth ye plighted me. And eke my benison. LORD THOMAS. 143 " Aud blythesome may thy meeting be Wi' Lady Anne this night ; A statelier lover never bless'd A love-sick ladye's sight. " But.gie me now thy trusty blade, Gie me thy sword to keep ; O it shall be a relic dear, O'er which I aye shall weep : " But tak' the harness frae thy breast, That grips sae hard and sair. And press me ance within the arms, Whaur I'll come never mair." He's ta'en the harness frae his breast ; He's gi'en her up his brand ; And press'd her to his manly heart, An' kiss'd her lily hand. 144 LORD THOMAS. He's clasp'd May Marjory round the waist, That Avas sae jimp and sma', But ghastly look'd he, when in haste He tore her arms awa. He quiver'd like an aspen leaf; He gaz'd into the sky ; Then sunk, and roll'd upon the earth In strange wild agony. Great drops of sweat, like summer rain, Were standing on his brow ; The cruel Judith calmly smiled — It is her triumph now. Ha ! as he turns, the cause is seen ; Small cause — ^yet deadly smart ; A little bodkin sharp and keen Is buried in his heart. LORD THOMAS. 145 " Away, thou fiend ! who stole, like sin, To mar a life of bliss ; God, I dreamt of better things ! And has it come to this ? My sight is dim ; through death's dark yetts My way I now maun wend ; But vengeance for this bloody deed E'en from my grave I'll send." " Set on, set on ! my gude sleuth-hound, And tear him limb frae limb ; Nae sword has he to harm thee now, Fair death's owre gude for him. " Set on, set on ! my brave sleuth-liound, Now that his breast is bare ; 1 trow the head o' Lady Anne Will never nestle there !" K PART SECOND. The night fell drizzly, cold and drear, But Marjory linger'd still ; When, sudden stood her bower-womau Beside her on the hill. O what a laugh was theirs ; they look'd And saw the panting hound Lap the red blood, that flowed as free As water on the ground. They stepp'd into the thickest shade, And what that hour was done. It was a deed no sun nor moon, Nor star might look upon. LORD THOMAS-. 147 Now let her seek her rugged liome, Less rugged than her breast ; There let her sleep, if sleep she may, I leave her to her rest. The hound return'd not with the pair, But vanish'd in the gloom ; Startling the little sleeping birds, That nestled 'niang the broom. The wind blew hollow down the strath, And lash'd the big waves on the shore ; The water wraiths were out that night. Shrieking amid the tempest's roar. Snug by the fire the cottar sat, Wild tho* the night, he cared na by ; Yet well he might have fear'd the blast Had whirl'd his own roof-tree on hiofh. 148 LORD THOMAS. The bairnies crept around the hearth, And listen'd greedily to hear The awful tales which granny told ; They sat, and quak'd, — yet burn'd to hear. The rain plash'd down in waterspouts, With din that might have mov'd. the dumb ; As if Heaven's windows wide were oped, As if a second flood had come. Yet once, above the tempest's roar, Was heard an eldritch cry of fear ; It was the baying of a hound That struck the trembling cottar's ear. And oh ! was that a horse's tramp. That, in this night of blinding rain, Came thundering past the lonely walls. And shook the little window pane ? LORD THOMAS. 149 Closer they crept, and tliought of ghosts And spectre-huntsmen of the hill ; And surely deem'd the dawn would bring A weird fulfiU'd of woe and ill. Yes ! 'twas a steed that thunder'd on, And at his heels a hound ; But I cannot see the rider's face, The gloom is so profound. What car'd that steed for raging winds, Or sleet, or piercing cold ? Away he flies, on terror's wings, Across the dreary wold. Nor heeds he once the howling gusts. That sweep adown the vale : He only hears that savage cry, — The sleuth-hound on his trail. 150 LORD THOMAS. With eyeball strained, and motionless, And nostril carried high, It seem'd as if a troop of fiends Were urging him to fly. The stalwart rider sits erect. But stark and stiff his air ; The bridle is within his grip, But dangles loosely there. The steed may plunge — the steed may rear, He never draws the rein ; The knightly spur is on his heel, But the spur is there in vain. His courser takes a fearful leap Across a cavern grim ; The boldest would have quail'd to look ; — It never daunted him. LORD THOMAS. 151 It plung'd into the roaring stream Where boiling eddies fought, But there he sat a tower of steel, As though he saw it not. Madly it flew across the moor, And stumbling as it ran, It reel'd — it fell — but still the same, There sat the iron man. Up ! on and on the good horse flew, 4ind slacken'd not his pace ; "When sudden flash'd the lightnings blue Across the rider's face, Jesu ! how bloodless was that cheek, The wanness of despair Is nought to this ; that noble brow, Ala,s ! how deadly fair \ 152 LORD THOMAS. The jaw is down ! oh ! close the lips Those ghastly teeth to screen ! Half sever'd in his agony The lolling tongue is seen. The big, white eyes glar'd blank and wide, The flesh Death's impress bore ; It sicken'd Heav'n that moment's view : The lightnings gleam'd no more. Love wakes, and waits for thee, Sir Knight ! O haste thee on thy way ; Now see'st thou yonder twinkling light, It chides thy long delay ! The steed has climb'd a gentle hill, And stands by Both well's tower ; A taper's light yet feebly gleams Within the ladye's bower. LORD THOMAS. 153 Long hast thou wearied Lady Anne, The hour has long been past ; But now his steed is at the gate, — Thy love is come at last. * " Now, truant, truant ! is it thou ! Yet cruel was thy joke ; Where hast thou tarried ?" strange it secni'd But ne'er a word he spoke. " I^eem'd thou hadst been drowned where The rival brothers fought ;" Faint, faint, she grew ; what may it mean ? Lord Thomas answers not ! Fast for the taper she has flown, Returned with trembling speed, A coil of thongs is round his waist, And round and round his steed. 154 LORD THOMAS. She throws the light upon his face, O mercy ! the display ! Her shriek pierced to the midnight sky, And reason fled for aye. The grave maun be his marriage-bed, The worm maun be his bride ; The eyes were fixed that glared on her — It was A Dead Man's Ride ! THE BROKEN HEART 0' ANNIE. [Founded on a Fragment, in Crojiek's Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song.] O jiiFT na up thy white wee han ! To hear thee cry, my babe I'm laith; For I ha'e mony gather'd tears, An' fondly would I weep for baith : Lie still, lie still, my dear wee babe ; Lie still, my darlin' lammie, O ! Nor vex me mair, since dark despair' Sits heavy on tliy mammie, ! Nae holy words o'er me were said. And men will ca' thee my disgrace ; Yet wha could think o' sin and shame When gazin' in that dear wee face ? 156 TIIK BROKEN HEART o' ANNIE. Thy father's bree — thy mither's ee, Are stamp'd in thee, my Tammie, O ; But gin deceit be in thy heart, Thou hast nae't frae thy mammie, O. Fause man ! my love was as a mist That cam atween my God an' me ; An' when my burnin' lips ye kiss'd, 'Twas a' my Heav'n to gaze on thee : You've broke a heart that lo'ed thee dear, An' guileless was as ony, O ; And now, owre late for me, I hear That thou hast broken mony, O ! O that the turf for me were spread, — The lang grass wavin' owre my breast ; But Death aye passes on his way. An' winna lay this head to rest ; Then lie thee still, my dear wee babe ! Lift na thy white wee hannie, O ! Nor add thy tears to grieve the heart, — The broken heart o' Annie, 0. THE EXILE'S FAREWELL. Now twilight falls to break the spell ; Fate ! canst thou part us, can it be I should have liv'd to say farewell ! Farewell to bonny TVoodhouselee ? Yes ! part we must, ah ! swelling tear, It needs thee not to tell how dear As buried joys ye are to me, Ye bonny braes o' Woodhouselee ! The wide world has no home for me ; I have not where to lay my head ; Now I could lay me down and dee, Since " all the life of life" is fled : 158 THE exile's farewell. But vain the tide of years shall roll, To wear thy image from my soul ; Home of my childhood ! home of glee ! Farewell, farewell ! sweet Woodhouselee ! Despair would brighten, could I trust. When long, long years had closed the scene, My bones should in the hallowed dust Be laid, where all my heart had been. But hopeless, for a foreign shore, I leave the cherish'd haunts of yore ; Alas ! I never more may see The bonny braes o' Woodhouselee. My father's hearth is desolate ; My sister long has pined away ; And yet I ling' ring weep and wait, Why, homeless wand'rer — why delay i One look — the last — oh grief and dool ! My soul is sick, my heart is full ; Farewell ! yet how I yearn to thee, My bonny, bonny Woodhouselee ! ANNIE LEE. Tune — " Ye banks and braes o' bonny Doon." Weel do I miud the hour we met, While cushats rung their e'enin' ca' ; Yet mony circlin' years hae pass'd Sitt* frae my love I sail'd awa'. We gaz'd into ilk ither's face ; The burning love of years confess'd ; While slowly sunk the sun amang The gowden islands o' the west. Weel do I mind the fairy spot, — A dell fu' secret, fair and lown ; Nae time can wear it frae my heart ; — 'Twaa by the banks o' bonny Doon. 160 ANNIE LEE. The siller saugLs bent weeping low, To kiss the bosom o' the stream ; Sae hung sweet Annie on my breast, Half-7 When we fall, as fall we must, Ours sliall be no vulgar dust ; In Pindar's burning song, I trust, Our deeds shall live for aye : Our childrens' children yet shall come, And kindle at the hero's tomb ; — Plants of renown, our names shall bloom Thro' Fame's eternal day. Twilight spreads her mantle dun ; Slowly fades the crimson'd sun ; But the combat once begun, Our swords shall flash us light ; Brothers ! shout your battle cry ! Victors, though we proudly die, — Victory our latest sigh, — " We'll feast with Gods to night."" * The ipsissima verba of the Hero. LET ME KISS THOSE TEARS AWAY ! Weep not, dearest ! for my soul Is sad to see thy alter'd eye ; And down those cheeks the t«ar-drops roll, Where danc'd the sunny smile of joy. •Joys have sprung from sorrow's tree ; Who can tell what ours may he ? Darkest night must have its day ; Let mo kiss those tears away ! Weep not, dear ! tho' well I know Why in thy breast Hope's star has set ; Despair's wild sea may ebh or flow, But I will love thee fondly yet. LET ME KISS THOSE TEARS AWAY. 181 Dreariest pathways have an end ; Things at worst must turn and mend ; — April showers give place to May ! Let me kiss those tears away ! THE DOMINIE'S DOCHTER. Gix Fiddler Content aye play'd up the tune, Sae merry the dance o' life would gae ! Clin Fashion an' Rank would flee to the moon, I've thought I could dance it wi' Betty M'Lae ; But Betty has learnin' — nae scholar am I ; 81ie counts me, I hear, 'mang the nowte an' the kye ; She scorns an' she geeks me whene'er I gae by ; O the Dominie's dochter is far aboon me ! My coat is auld-fashion'd, an' maybe my shoon. Yet I'm respeckit in my degree ; The year is but young, an' before it is dune, I'll sit in tlie Council a Bailie ye'U see : THE dominie's dociiter. 183 I am — but what matters to speak o' mysell ? Set her up wi' her gum-flowers, an' ca' her a belle ! They've flatter'd the cretur clean out o' hersell, An' the Dominie's dochter is far aboon me. But stop ! for I'm really in want o' a wife, Since my granny was buriet, how lanely I feel ; There's bonny Jean Inglis, I'll lay ye my life, Would gladly come hame to this canny, snug biel' : I'll just awa there, I've been jeer'd lang enough, An' Rs-tty may live to repent her rebuff; For her taws, an' her grammars, I gie na a snuff ; Now the Dominie's dochter may gae to the deil ! SOUTHEY. Why is there gloom in Keswick vale ? Stranger ! the passing knell has toll'd ! A glorious bard has gone to join The glorious bards of old. It is not that the sky is dark, Sweet song birds hail the opening year ; The sun is laughing forth in joy, For infant spring is here. Yet solemn stillness reigns around ; The village children cease their play ; Cheerless the hind pursues his toil, Nor whistles he to-day. Was it the time for bard to die, Ere yet the " primrose rath" had blown ? Why staid'st thou not till on the blast The autumn leaves were strown ? SOUTHEY. 185 Yet, no ! would we have pain prolonged ? We would be thankful it has been ; O not one hour too soon was closed The melancholy scene. Come ! let your thoughts go forth with me'; Ayvay, away to Keswick side ; Time ! give us back one little week ; Behold him ere he died ! What drooping muse hangs o'er the couch, Her eyes suflfus'd with softest dew ? Alas ! how many days have pass'd, gince that lov'd face he knew ? And there he lies, all motionless, Uncheer'd by Reason's feeblest spark ; The eye where^cadiant Fancy beamed, Rayless, and fixed, and dark. Sad scene is the Acropolis, With ruined temples strewn around ; Dark weeds trailed o'er the columns white, Half-buried in the ground ; i^'i .SOUTIIEY. But Athens ne'er disclosed a sight, Nor years, since years began to roll, Ere brought a ruin sad as this, — Wreck of a god-like soul ! A mind in ruins, fragment-thoughts, Scarce thoughts, so feebly linked are they,- Tlie sti-ong man helpless as the babe, — The child of yesterday ! O what a lesson has been read, Proud man, such yet may be thy state ! 'Tis good for us to have been here ; Stand, gaze, and meditate ! In that crushed, pity-asking wreck, That voiceless, helpless form we see. The centre of a thousand gifts — A bright epitome. Bring forth his " Roderick," fiery, fierce ; Read, kindle, pause, read and admire, And start to find, in frequent bursts, How much of Homer's fire. SOUTHEY. 18" Pass on ! and turn the sybil page ; Hush ! demons shriek ! unearthly wail ; Confess the power of " Thalaba," " That wild and wondrous tale !" "W^oman ! thou ow'st the bard a debt Who trac'd thy worth in noblest scenes ; Attest it martyred brave Joan, Thou Maid of Orleans ! France ! yield thy tribute to the man, "Who poured the spirit-stirring tones, To elevate a nobler name Than thy Napoleon's. The wide earth cannot hold thy fame ! Far o'er the wide and boundless sea What heart that glows at Nelson's name But grateful turns to thee ? Dear wert thou to our schoolboy days, The' starting in our sleep to dream Of him, the human fiend, who plung'd " Youns: Edward in the stream :" 188 SOUTHEY. Dear art thou to our manly prime, Thy pathos still our tears can win, When listening to her hapless tale — Poor Mary of the Inn. Would we see Model-History — Truth richly 'tired, yet simply plain ? Seek not in Livy's " pictured page," But Southey's " Wars of Spain." Moulding a mighty nation's taste. He reared a chaste and classic dome, Supporting Jeffrey's gracefulness Upon the strength of Brougham ! Aye ! gaze upon that wreck, and pause ; Were these thy works ? wondi'ous range ! ]\Iysterious Providence, we cry, How strange, how sad, and strange. The bow full bent ne'er left his grasp ; The string he ne'er relaxed a jot ; So fell our Southey, ere his time — So perish'd Walter Scott ! SOUTHEY. ISO His was no venal truckling soul, That worshipp'd rank, that bowed to power ; He was not one who laboured, wrote, Lived for the passing hour. Xho' lays of loyalty he sung. Of servile homage there was none ; And yet he propp'd, as few have done, The altar and the throne. At all of little, low, or vile. The standard of his wrath unfurl'd ; For Vice he had a stinging whip, To lash it through the world. Yet cast in Nature's manliest mould, His soul, accordant to the plan, Was noble, gentle, true and kind. As ever beat in man ! Thou weep'st, fair wife, on whom short months Have wrought the work of wasting years; I do not bid thee cease to grieve, For God will dry thy tears. inO SOUTUEY. Thou weep'st, old man on Rydal Mount, The partners of thy early page ! The intellectual Hercules — The giant of his age. First Coleridge went — ah, sadly mise'd ! That voice, deep, strange, melodious tone ; And now by glassy Windermere, Great Wordsworth roams alone ! No more with thee shall Southey stray, Exchanging sparkling converse high ; By Derwentwater or Lochore, Or down the murmuring Wye. The birds shall miss him in the vale, Keswick's secluded groves among, Where oft he mused at early dawn, Fond listening to their song. And ardent youths shall miss him more, "Who helped them, friendless and unknown, And wreathed with laurels many a brow, Regardless of his own. SOUTHEV. 191 Bard after bard may rise and sing, And " strain at Marlow's mighty line ;" But few shall strike a chord so hiffh. So sweet, so pure as thine. What boots it tchen the Poet dies ? Autumn or Spring the same had been ; What frosts may nip the tree thou raised ? Thy fame is ever green ! LINES, SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY AN EARLY SCOTTISH POET UNDER APPREHENSION OF INSANITY. Away, wild shapes ! I know ye well ! Ye thougiits so strange, so horrible ; I sing by fits, I dance, I cry, — Mother ! is this Insanity ? Ha ! I have fear'd 'twould come to this, In many an hour of loneliness j Now hurries on, fleet as the wind, The dreadful twilight of the mind ; /\.nd aimless thoughts, too sure betoken, The chord is loos'd — the bowl is broken. LINES, BY AN EARLY SCOTTISH POET. 193 Bring me the mirror — let me trace Its hideous workings in my face ; The twitching lip ! — the glaring eye ! — Jesus ! it is Insanity. Dup'd by a mother's jealous guile, I never mark'd the meaning smile, The hasty shrug — the wondering eye — The whisper'd word — the pitying sigh : All sunk the poor despised fool Below the veriest child at school. Well I remember crazy Jean, Whom urchins pelted from the green ; Hooting as if the wretch were sent Only to be their merriment. No ruth, no pity, check'd their jt?/«y, 'Twas dearer than a holiday : I drove them off — ah ! fool and blind, — " A fellow-feeling makes us kind." N J 94 LINES, SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN Stay, wand'ring thoughts ! — a moment pause ! Must I soon be what Jeanie was ? With vacant look, and gajjing stare, Wander about, regardless where ; — Shall I, a maniac, take the street, Gibbering at every face I meet, With " leer malign," palsy the sense, And frighten youth and innocence ; Or, fetter'd in an iron chain. For years and years must I remain, Where every hour that passes by, Shall count an age of agony ? Pity me God ! let Reason's spark Relume the soul, now drear and dark ; And shed again her heav'nly light. To scatter Frenzy's moonless night ! Pity me God ! suspend the blow ; Say I shall not be tortur'd so. Oh ! blame my madness, blame not me, If I shall turn to cruelty : BY AN EARLY SCOTTISH POET. 1