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 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
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 " WHEX ONE COMES OUT, THEIK CAPIAIN, AND CALLS OUI rOB HE TO STAY.
 
 BUCHANAN'S POEMS FOR THE PEOPLE. I. 
 
 THE 
 
 BUCHAI^AN^ BALLADS, 
 
 ®l^ ant) 1Rcw, 
 
 BY 
 
 ROBERT BUCHANAN. 
 
 CIou,-)i. What hast hero ? Ballads ? 
 
 iHopsa. Pray now, buy some ; I love a ballad in print o' life, 
 
 for then we are sure they are true. ' 
 Autolycus. Here's one to a very doleful tune. 
 Mopsa. Is it true, think you? 
 .Autolycus. Very true, and but a month old . . . This is a 
 
 merry ballad, but a very pretty one. 
 Mopsa. Let's have some merry ones." 
 
 —The Winteb's Tale. 
 
 JOHN HADDON & CO., SALISBURY SQUARE, E.C., 
 
 AND ALL BOOKSELLEES. 
 
 1892,
 
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 PREFATORY NOTE. 
 
 Of the poems Avliicli follow, a few are already familiar to 
 the great public, while some are entirely new, and now 
 published for the first time. Such pieces as the " Wake 
 or O'Hara," " Shon Maclean,'"' " Phil Blood's Leap" and 
 '•Fra Giacomo" have long been used for purposes of 
 public recitation. 
 
 In the poem called " Hallelujah Jane" an attempt is 
 made to do justice to the nobler side of the great social 
 Crusade led by "General" Booth, a Crusade which, 
 , despite some disagreeable features and a barbarous term- 
 f^ inology, has awakened the sleeping conscience of the 
 (0 world to the sufferings of countless human beings. I 
 have gone to the life for my picture, and have omitted no 
 ^^ detail on either sentimental or prudish grounds. In the 
 Ode addressed to the Empress Victoria, and published 
 originally in the Contemporary Review, no note of mere 
 flattery was sounded, but occasion was taken to point out 
 those blots which still disfigure our boasted civilization ; so 
 that, in one respect at least, the Ode had an unique pur- 
 pose. The lines on "the Burial of Parnell" (supposed to 
 be spoken by one of his personal followers) are without 
 any sorb of moral or political bias. The business of a 
 poet is to utter the truth dramatically, and fearlessly as 
 well as clearl}^ ; this I have tried to do, at the risk of any 
 kind of misconstruction. 
 
 I desire in these prefatory words to chronicle the courage 
 and the generosity of the first man who, at a moment 
 Avhen the intellectual Scribes and Pharisees hung back, 
 gave a practical answer to General Booth's great Appeal, 
 and I do so with the more pleasure because this man 
 belongs to a profession with which Puritanism has never 
 shown any sympath}'. I know of no more large-minded 
 conception of true philanthropy than that expressed, on the 
 occasion in question, by Mr. S. B. Banceoft, to whom, 
 with all sincere respect, I dedicate these " Ballads." 
 
 ROBERT BUCHANAN. 
 Dec. 3, 1891. 
 
 190105
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 "Storm ix the Kigiit" . 
 
 The Ballad of the Magdalex 
 
 " Hallelujah Jaxe " . 
 
 The Good Pkofessou's Ckeed 
 
 The Ballad of Judas Iscabiot 
 
 Kightixgale-Song 
 
 Fra Giacomo .... 
 
 Charmiax 
 
 The Wake of O'Hara . 
 The AVeddixg of Shox Macleax 
 Phil Blood's Leap . 
 The Golden Year . 
 "Axxie" 
 
 PlIERSOX'S "WOOIXG . 
 
 The Ballad of Magellan 
 
 The Burial of Parxell . 
 
 Tom Duxstax ; or, The Politician 
 
 L'Exvoi 
 
 FAGB 
 
 7 
 10 
 U 
 26 
 30 
 36 
 37 
 41 
 43 
 47 
 55 
 65 
 73 
 80 
 90 
 103 
 108 
 112
 
 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 "STORM IN THE NIGHT." 
 
 Stokm in the Night, Buchanan! a Voice in the night 
 
 still crying, 
 " They have taken away my Lord, and I know not where 
 
 he is lying ! " 
 
 Thou^ too, singer of songs and dreamer of dreams, art 
 
 weeping 
 For the Form that lay in the tomb, the Face so peacefully 
 
 sleeping ; 
 
 And now he hath gone indeed, and his worshippers roam 
 
 bereaven, 
 Thou^ by the Magdalen's side, art standing and looking at 
 
 Heaven ! 
 
 Woe unto thee, Buchanan ! and woe to thy generation ! 
 The harp of the heart he strung, the Soul he set in 
 vibration, ♦ 
 
 Are lost since he is lost, the beautiful Elder Brother ; 
 For the harp of the heart was his, the song could gladden 
 no other ! 
 
 'Twas something, — nay, 'twas much ! — to know, though 
 
 his life was over. 
 That the fair, bright Form was there, with the wool-white 
 
 shroud for a cover ! 
 
 7
 
 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 He did not speak or stir, he did not hark to otir weeping, 
 But his grave grew wide as the World, and the stars 
 smiled down on his sleeping. 
 
 He made no speech, no sign, for Death has disrobed and 
 
 discrown'd him, — 
 But the scent of spikenard and myrrh was sweet in the 
 
 air around him ! 
 
 So we kept our Brother, tho' dead ! The Lily Flower of 
 Creation ! 
 
 And to touch his dear dead hands was joy in our deso- 
 lation. 
 
 But noiL\ the Tomb is void, and the rain beats over the 
 
 portal : 
 Thieves like wolves in the night have stolen the dead 
 
 Immortal ! 
 
 So peacefully he slept, tho Lily Flower of Creation, 
 That we said to ourselves, '• He dreams ! and his dream 
 is the World's salvation ! " 
 
 But now by the Tomb wo. stand, despairing and heavy- 
 hearted ; 
 
 The stars look silently down, but the Light of the World 
 hath departed. 
 
 And yet, should ho be risen? Should he have waken'd, 
 
 to wander 
 Out 'raid the winds of the night, out 'mid the Tempest 
 
 yonder, 
 
 Holding his Lamp wind-blown, while tho rain-cloud 
 
 darkens and gathers, 
 Feeling his way thro' the gloom, naming our names, and 
 
 our Father's ?
 
 "STORM IN THE NIGHT." 
 
 Nay, for the World would know the face of tlie fair New 
 
 Comer, 
 The graves would open wide, like buds at the breath of 
 
 the summer, — 
 
 The graves would open, the Dead within them quicken 
 
 and blossom. 
 And over the World would rain the flowers that had 
 
 grown in his bosom ! 
 
 Nay, then, he hath fled, not risen ! in vain we seek and 
 
 implore him ! 
 Deeper than Death he hath fall'n, and the waves of the 
 
 World roll o'er him ! 
 
 Storm in the night, Buchanan ! A Voice in the night still 
 
 crying, 
 " They have taken away our Lord ! and we know not 
 
 where he is lying ! "
 
 lo THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 THE BALLAD OF THE MAGDALEN. 
 
 I SAW on the Bridge of Sorrow, when all the City 
 
 slept, 
 The shape of a woeful AVoman, who look'd at Heaven, 
 
 and wept. 
 
 Loose o'er her naked shoulders trembled her night-black 
 
 hair ; 
 Her robe was ragged and rent, and her feet were bleeding 
 
 and bare. 
 
 And, lo ! in her hands she carried a vessel with spices 
 
 sweet, 
 And she cried, " Where art thou. Master ? I come to 
 
 anoint thy feet." 
 
 Then I touch'd her on the shoulder : " What thing ai t 
 
 thou ? " I said ; 
 And she stood and gazed upon me with e^-es like the ej^es 
 
 of the dead. 
 
 But I saw the painted colour flash on her cheeks and 
 
 lips. 
 While she stood and felt in the vessel with tremulous 
 
 finger-tips. 
 
 And she answer 'd never a word, but stood in the lonely 
 
 light. 
 With the evil of eartli upon her, and the darkness of 
 
 Death and Night.
 
 THE BALLAD OF THE MAGDALEN: ii 
 
 And I knew lier then by her beauty, her sin and the sign 
 
 of her shame^ 
 And tonch'd her again more gentl}'', and sadly named her 
 
 name. 
 
 She heard, and she did not answer ; bnt her tears began 
 
 to fall, 
 And again, " Where art thou. Master? " I heard her thin 
 
 voice call. 
 
 And she would have straightway left me, but I held her 
 
 fast and said. 
 While the chill wind moan'd around us, and the stars 
 
 wept overhead, 
 
 " Mary, where is thy Master ? Where does he hide 
 
 his face ? 
 The world awaits his coming, but knows not the time or 
 
 the place. 
 
 " Mary, lead me to him — He loved thee deep and 
 
 true ; 
 Since thou hast risen to find him, he must be risen 
 
 too," 
 
 Then the painted lips made answer, while the dead eyes 
 
 gazed on me : 
 " I have sought him all through the Cities, and yonder 
 
 in Galilee. 
 
 '' I have sought him and not found him, I have search'd 
 
 in every land, 
 Though the door of the Tomb was open, and the shroud 
 
 lay shrunk in the sand.
 
 12 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 " Long through the years I waited, there in the shade of 
 
 the tomb, 
 Then I rose and went to meet him, out in the AVorld's 
 
 great gloom. 
 
 " And I took pollution with me, Avherever my footsteps 
 
 came ; 
 Yes, I shook my sin on the Cities, my sin and the sign of 
 
 my shame. 
 
 " Yet I knew if I could find him, and kneel and anoint 
 
 his feet, 
 That his gentle hands would bless me, and our eyes at 
 
 last would meet. 
 
 " And my sin would fall and leave me, and peace would 
 
 fill my breast. 
 And there, in the Tomb he rose from, I could lie me down 
 
 and rest.' 
 
 Tall in the moonlit City, pale as some statue of stone. 
 With the evil of earth upon her, she stood and she made 
 her moan. 
 
 And away on the lonely bridges, and under the gaslight 
 
 gleam, 
 The pale street-walker heard her, a voice like a voice in a 
 
 dream. 
 
 For, lo ! in her hands she carried a vessel with spices 
 
 sweet, 
 And she cried, "Where art thou, Master? I come to 
 
 anoint thy feet." 
 
 Then my livhig force fell from me, and I stood and 
 
 Avatcird her go 
 From shrine to shrine in the starlight, with feeble feet 
 
 and slow.
 
 THE BALLAD OF THE MAGDALEN. 13 
 
 And the stars look'd down in sorrow, and the earth lay 
 
 black beneath, 
 And the sleeping City was cover'd with shadows of night 
 
 and death. 
 
 While I heard the faint voice wailing afar in the stony 
 
 street, 
 " Where art thou, Master, Master ? I come to anoint 
 
 thy feet."
 
 14 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 "HALLELUJAH JANE." 
 
 " He's a long way off, is Jesus -and we've got to make it loud ! "' 
 
 Glory ! HalJelujah ! March along together! 
 March along, inarch along, every hind of weather ! 
 Wet or dry, shower or ,shine, ready night and day, 
 Travelling to Jesus, singing on the laay ! 
 He is waiting for ns, yonder in the sl:y. 
 Stooping down His shining head to 
 
 Hear 
 Our 
 Cry! 
 
 " 'Alleloojah ! 'alleloojali ! Round the corner of tlie 
 
 street, 
 They're a-coming and a-singing, with a sound of tramping 
 
 feet. 
 Throw the windy open, Jenny — let me 'ear the fife and 
 
 drum — 
 Garn! the cold can't •'arm m?, Jenny — ain't I book'd for 
 
 Kingdom Come ? 
 I've got the doctor's ticket for a third-class seat, ye know, 
 And the Lord '11 blow his wdiistle, and the train begin to 
 
 go. . . . 
 ^Alleloojah! How I love 'em!— and the music — and the 
 
 rhyme — 
 My 'eart's a-marchin' with 'em, and my feet is beatin' 
 
 time ! 
 Lift me up, and let me see them^Lord, how bright they 
 
 looks to-day ! 
 Ain't it 'eavenly ? Men and women, boys and gels, they 
 
 march away !
 
 " HALLELUJAH JANE:' 15 
 
 Who's that waviii' ? It's the Captain, bless his 'art ! He 
 
 sees me plain — 
 It was 'im as 'ad me chris'en'd, call'd me ' 'Alleloojah 
 
 Jane ! ' 
 And the minute I was chris'en'd, somethink lep' in my 
 
 inside, 
 And I saw, fur oflf and shining, Golden Gates as open'd 
 
 wide. 
 And I 'eard the Angels 'oiler, and I answered loud and 
 
 clear, 
 And the blessed, larfing Jesus cried, ' You've got to march 
 
 up 'ere ! ' 
 And I march'd and lep' and shouted till my throat was 
 
 sick and sore, 
 Down I tumbled with diptheery, and I couldn't march no 
 
 more ! ' ' 
 
 Glory ! HallehiJaJi ! Sound the fife and drum ! 
 Brother^ wonH you join us^ hound for Kingdom Come? 
 Wear our regimentals^ spick and span and gay, 
 A nd he always ready to listen and obey ? 
 Form in marching order, stepping right along, 
 While above the angels smile and 
 
 Join 
 Our 
 Song ? 
 
 "Are they gone ? Well, lay me down, Jenny — for p'r'aps 
 
 this very day 
 The Lord '11 read the roll-call, so there ain't much time 
 
 to stay. 
 But afore I leave yer, Jenny, for the trip as all must take, 
 Jest you 'ear me bless the music that fust blew my soul 
 
 awake. . . .
 
 l6 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 I was born in dirt and darkness — I was blind and dumb 
 
 with sin — 
 For the typhus 'ad took father, and my mother's-milk 
 
 was gin, 
 And at sixteen I was walkin' like the other gels ye meet, 
 And I kep' a little sister by my earnin's on the street. 
 Well, they say 'twas orful sinful, but 'twas all I'd got to 
 
 do, 
 For I \id to get my livin', and to keep my sister too ; 
 And poor Bess, yer see, was sickly — for she'd never been 
 
 the same 
 Since she got a kick from father on the back, wot made 
 
 her lame ; — 
 As for mother, she was berried too, thank God ! One 
 
 winter night 
 Been run over by a Pickford, when mad drunk, and serve 
 
 her right ! 
 So we two was left together, and poor Bess, 'twas 'ard for 
 
 'er. 
 For her legs was thin as matches, and she couldn't scursly 
 
 stir; 
 But so pretty ! with her tliin face, and her silken yeller 
 
 'air, 
 And so 'andy with her needle, in her invalidy chair. 
 And wlien at night I left her to walk out in street and 
 
 lane, 
 Tho' I come 'ome empty-'anded, she'd a kiss for sister 
 
 Jane. 
 But 'twas 'ard, and allays 'arder, just to keep ourselves at 
 
 all. 
 Me su precious black and ugly, Bess so 'flicted and so 
 
 small. 
 For tho' only uuc year younger, she'd 'a past for twelve 
 
 or It'ss ; 
 lint, Lor bless ye, she was clevt-r, aii<l ( uuld read and 
 
 spell, could Ik^ss !
 
 " HALLEL UJAH JANE:' i 7 
 
 (She'd learnt it at the 'ospital from some kind nnss, yer 
 
 see.) 
 AVhen I brought 'er 'onie a paper she coukl read the noos 
 
 to me, 
 All the p'lice noos and the murders, and the other rum 
 
 tlimgs there, 
 And for "ours I'd sit and listen, by her invalid}' chair ! 
 
 Well, one night as I was climbin' up the stair, tired out 
 
 and sad, 
 For the luck had been ag'in me, and 'twas pourin' down 
 
 like mad, 
 I 'eard her voice a-screaming ! and from floor to floor I 
 
 ran, 
 Till I reach'd our room and sor 'er, and beside her was a 
 
 man. 
 An ugly Spanish sailor as was lodgin' in the place. 
 And the beast was 'olding Bessie and a-kissing of her face, 
 And she cried and scream'd and struggled, a-trjan' to get 
 
 free, 
 And the beast he 'eard me comin' and turned round 'is 
 
 face to me. 
 And I sor it black and ugly with the drink and worse 
 
 beside, 
 And I screech'd, ' Let go my sister ! ' while she 'id her 
 
 face and cried. 
 Then the man look'd black as thunder, and he swore he'd 
 
 'ave my life 
 If I stay'd there, and his fingers began feelin' fur his knife, 
 But I lep' and seized a poker as was lying by the grate, 
 And I struck "im on the forrid (bet your life he got it 
 
 straight — 
 For I felt as strong as twenty !), and he guv an angry 
 
 groan, 
 Drew the knife, and lep' to stab me, then roll'd over like 
 
 a stone ! . 
 
 B
 
 iS THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 And the landlord and tlie lodgers came a-rusliin' up the 
 
 stair, 
 While I knelt by Bess, who'd fainted in her invalidy chair ! 
 
 AVell, Jenn}', no one blamed me ! — and the p'lice said 
 
 ' Serve him right ! ' — 
 I never saw his face ag'in arter that drefful night ; 
 Bnt ever arter that poor Bess seem'd dull and full of Care, 
 And she droop 'd and droop'd and sicken'd in her invalidy 
 
 chair. 
 Some trouble of the 'art, they said (that shock was her 
 
 death-blow !j 
 And I watched her late and early, and I knew as she 
 
 must go ; 
 And the doctor gave her physic, and she'd all as she could 
 
 eat, 
 And I bought her many a relish, when I'd luck upon the 
 
 street ; 
 But one mornin', close on Easter, when I waken'd in our 
 
 bed, 
 I turn'd and see her lyin' with her arms out, stiff and 
 
 dead ! 
 And I cried a bit and kiss'd her, then got out o' bed and 
 
 drest, 
 Wash'd her face, put on clean linen, placed her'ands upon 
 
 her breast, 
 And she look'd . . . she look'd . . . ,vo pretty ! 
 
 God was good ! I'd luck just then — 
 I sera])' d the money somehow, till I'd nigh on one pound 
 
 tMl, 
 
 And I bought poor Bc.-s a coffin, and a grave where she 
 
 could lie — 
 She got no workus berryiu'— thank God for ihuf.^ sez I ! 
 And the neighbours sor mc foller, all a-gatherin' in a 
 
 crowd, 
 And I never felt as lonesome, but I never felt so proud !
 
 • HALLEL U/A H JANE. " 19 
 
 Arter that, I sort 0' drifted 'ere and there about the town, 
 Like a smut blown from a chimbly, and a long time 
 
 comin' down ! 
 And I took to drink like mother, and the drink it made 
 
 me mad, 
 So, between the streets and prison, well, my luck was 
 
 orful bad ! 
 I was 'onest, tlio', and never robb'd a man, or thief'd uiot 
 
 me !) 
 Tho' they quodded me for fightin', and bad langwidge, 
 
 don't yer see? 
 And at last, somehow or other, how it come about ain't 
 
 clear, 
 I was took to the Lock 'Ospital, and kep' there nigh a 
 
 year. 
 And I felt — well, now, I'll tell yer— like a bit of orange 
 
 peel. 
 All muddy and all rotten, wot jou squash beneath your 
 
 'eel. 
 Well, the doctors 'eal'd and cured me, but one mornin,' 
 
 when they said, 
 I might go to a reformat'ry, sez I, ' No, strike me dead ! ' 
 And I felt a kind o' loathin' for them all, and thought 
 
 of Bess 
 Lj^in' peaceful there at Stepney in her clean white fun'ral 
 
 dress. 
 And I left the Lock next mornin' — I was wild, ye see, 
 
 to go — 
 And 'twas Christmas, when I trampled back to Stepney 
 
 thro' the snow — 
 And I met a chap who treated me and made me blazin' 
 
 tight. 
 And I lost my 'ed and waken'd in the streets at dead 
 
 o' night. 
 And the snow was fallin', fallin', and 'twas thick upon 
 
 the ground.
 
 20 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 And I'd got no place to go to, and my 'ed was wliirlin' 
 
 round, 
 When I see a lamp afore me, and a door stood open wide, 
 And I took it for a publiek, till tliey sang a psalm inside, 
 And I sez, ' It's them Salvationists ! ' and turned to go 
 
 away. 
 When one comes out, their Captain, and calls out for me 
 
 to stay ; 
 And he touch'd me on the shoulder, and lie sez, ' Wot's 
 
 up, my lass ? ' 
 And I sezj ' 7 ain't teatotal ! ' and I larf d, and tried to 
 
 pass. 
 But he look'd me in the face, he did, and sez, ' Wot 
 
 brings j'e ''ere ? 
 Speak out, if you're in trouble, and we'll 'elp j^e, never 
 
 fear ! ' 
 And I sez, 'I ahit in trouble! ' but he looks me in the 
 
 eyes. 
 And he answers sharp and sudden, ' Don"t you tell me 
 
 any Viex — 
 The Lord Jesus 'ates a Har ! ' and at that I shut my fist, 
 I'd 'a struck 'im if 'ed let me, but he ketch'd me by the 
 
 wrist, 
 And hf wliispor'd, oh, so gentle, ' You're our sister, lass,' 
 
 ho said, 
 ' And to-night I tliink our sister 'as no place to lay her 
 
 'ed! 
 Come in — your friends are waitin' — they've been 
 
 waitin' many a day — 
 And at last you've come, my sister, and I think you've 
 
 come to stay ! ' " 
 
 (ilovii ! lldUcliijiih ! J'i</lifiiif/ for the Lord ! 
 Sinners Ineel btfore /^s•, feariuf] fire and sicord! 
 Never ifoti fahc service iiith the DeviVs crew — 
 Here i/on'l/ (jet promotion^ if you're straifjht and true!
 
 " HALLEL UJAH JANE. " 21 
 
 Jema Is Field-Marshal, Jesus^ Heat-ell's King, 
 Poinis us fonvard. foricard, irhiJe ice 
 
 j\[arcli 
 And 
 Sing ! 
 
 " Still a-playiii' in the distance ! 'Alleloojali ! Fife and 
 
 drum ! 
 '"Ere's my blessin' on the music, now I'm bound for 
 
 Kingdom Come ! 
 Well, that night ? — They guv me shelter, and a shake- 
 down nice and clean, 
 And no one ax'd no questions — who I was, or wot I'd 
 
 been — 
 But next mornin' when I wakened, with a "ed that split 
 
 in two. 
 In there comes a nice old lady, and sez smilin', ' How d'ye 
 
 do ? ' 
 And I nods and answers sulky, for ' she's come to preach,' 
 
 thinks I, 
 But we gets in conversation, and at last, the Lord knows 
 
 why, 
 I tells her about Bessie, — and I see her eyes grew dim, 
 And outside, while I was talkin', sounds the loud Salva^ 
 
 tion '3^mn. 
 ' Well,' sez she, ' she's gone to glor}'', and she's up among 
 
 the blest. 
 For it's poor gels like your sister as Lord Jesus likes the 
 
 best ! ' 
 And from that she got me talkin' of tnijseJf, and when 
 
 she 'eard 
 All my story as I've told yer, up she got without a word, 
 And she kiss'd me on the forrid ! then she sez, ' All that's 
 
 gone past ! 
 And there's lots of life before you, now youVe come to us 
 
 at last ! '
 
 22 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 Then I larfd — ' I ain't Salvationist, and never mean to 
 
 be ; 
 Tlio' a-prayin' and a-singin' may suit you^ it won't suit 
 
 me ! ' 
 
 But she sez, ' You just 'ave patience, for the thing wot's 
 
 ■wrong with you 
 Is just this — you're downright wretched, all for want of 
 
 work to do ! 
 One so pretty should be 'appy as a bird upon a tree ' 
 (Jl/e pretty ! and me 'appy !) ' for the Lord, my dear,' sez 
 
 she, 
 ' Likes nice cheerful folks about Him, and can't bear to 
 
 see them sad, 
 For He's fond of fun and music, and of everythink that's 
 
 glad ! " 
 
 We^ll, she got me work, and told me folks must labour 
 
 every one, 
 And I said I'd be teetotal (just to please her, and for fun!) 
 But I allaj's hated working, and my 'eart felt dull and 
 
 low, 
 And thinks I, ' The publick's better, and rehgion ain't 
 
 no go,' 
 For somethink black and "eav}- seem'd a-workin' in my 
 
 breast, 
 And I used to go 'ysteric, and I never felt at rest. . . . 
 But one mornin", when the Arm}' was a-gatherin', I stood 
 
 by, 
 
 And they 'ollerod, ' C-rloiy, glory, to our Father in the 
 
 sky ! ' 
 And I thought the tune was jolly, and I sang out loud 
 
 and gay. 
 And tlio minute I begun it, 'arf my trouble pass'd awa^^. 
 And the louder as I sung it, that great lump I felt inside 
 (»rcw n-liglitci- and a-lightor, while T lop' and sung and 
 
 cried !
 
 «' HALLEL UJAH JANE." 23 
 
 And when the song was over, up the Captain comes to 
 
 me, 
 And he sez, ' That voice of yoiirn, Jane, is as good as any 
 
 three ! 
 Why, you're^ Hke a op'r}^ singer ! ' he sez, larfin'. . . . 
 
 'Never mind,' 
 He sez (for I look'd sulky, and his 'art was allays kind ! ) 
 ' Never mind — there's many among us of such singin' 
 
 would be proud — 
 He's a long way off, is Jesus, so we've got to make it 
 
 loud ! " 
 Then they march'd, and I went marchin', lor I seem'd 
 
 gone mad that da}^. 
 And mj' 'art inside was dancin' every footstep of the wa3^ 
 Yes, and that there singin' sated me ! for the louder as I 
 
 sung, 
 "Why, the more my load was lighten'd, and it seem'd as 
 
 how I sprung 
 From the ground right up to Jesus, and I 'card Him 
 
 'oiler clear, 
 ' Keep a-marchin" and a-singin', for you've got to get up 
 
 'ere/'" 
 
 Glory ! BaUelujah ! March along together ! 
 March along ^ march along., every land of weather ! 
 Wet or dry, shower or .shine, ready night and day, 
 Travelling to Jesus, .singing on the way ! 
 He is waiting for us, yonder in the sky, 
 Stooping down His shining head, to 
 
 Hear 
 Our 
 Cry! 
 
 " Coming back ? Ah, yes, I 'ear them, louder, louder, as 
 
 they come ; 
 Lord, if I might only jine them, march ag'in to fife and 
 
 drum !
 
 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 ... I feels faint. ... A drop o' water !— There, I'm 
 
 better, but my 'eil 
 Is a-swimmiu' to tlie music. . . . Now it's stop't. . . . 
 
 Wot"s that 3'e said ? 
 Theiffe a-stand'uKj 'neafJi the icfiu/f/ / Lift me up, and let 
 
 me see, 
 For the sight of them as saved me is like life and breath 
 
 to me ! 
 No, I can't! — all's black afore me — and my singin's 
 
 a'most done. . . . 
 Now, it's lighter! lean see them! all a-standing in the 
 
 sun I 
 Look, look, it's the Lord Jesus ! He's a-formin' them in 
 
 ^ line. 
 His white 'orse is golden-bridled, and 'is eyes— see, how 
 
 they shine ! 
 'E*s a-speakin' ! Read the KoU-CaU! They're a-throngin' 
 
 one and all, 
 With their things in marchin' oixler, they're a-answ'rin' to 
 
 the call. 
 Ml) turn will soon be comin', for the march must soon 
 
 begin. , . . 
 'AUeloojdh .Idiie ! That's ///(?, .sir ! Rradij / Ready, sir ! 
 
 Fall in .' ••
 
 " HALLELUJAH JANE." 
 
 VENYOl TO THE PRECEDING POEM. 
 
 Nought is so base that Nature cannot turn 
 
 It's dross to shining gold, 
 No Iamb so lost that it may never learn 
 
 The footpath to the fold. 
 
 Be sure this trampled clay beneath our feet 
 
 Hath life as fair as ours, 
 Be sure this smell of foulness is as sweet 
 
 As scents of fresh young flowers. 
 
 All is a mystery and a change, — a strife 
 
 Of evil powers with good : 
 Sin is the leaven wherewith the bread of life 
 
 Is fashion'd for our food. 
 
 God works with instruments as foul as these, 
 Sifts Souls from dregs of sense, 
 
 Death is his shadow — Sorrow and Disease 
 Are both his hand-maidens ! 
 
 Out of the tangled woof of Day and Night 
 
 His web of Life is spun : 
 Dust in the beam is just as surel}'' Light 
 
 As yonder shining Sun !
 
 26 * THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 THE GOOD PROFESSOR'S CREED. 
 
 (inscribed to professor HUXLEY.) 
 
 My creed, withonfc circumlocution, 
 
 I thus deliver clear and pat : 
 I do believe in Evolution, 
 
 In Protoplasm, and all that ! 
 I do believe in all the 'ologies, 
 
 (Except The-olog}', of course !) 
 But common, cocksure, Useful Knowledge is 
 
 The compass which directs my course. 
 
 I don't believe in God or Gammon, 
 
 In powers above or priests below. 
 But I've some slight respect for Mammon 
 
 As representing t<tatus quo ; 
 I hate all eflforts revolutionary. 
 
 All s^'stems that subvert the State, 
 For Law is slow and evolutionary, 
 
 And those low down have got — to wait ! 
 
 Unless (that fact I should have stated !) 
 Unless they're led by Lights like me ; 
 
 For Evolution, though 'tis fated, 
 By gentle Force ma}^ further'd be : 
 
 In fact, I hold like my existence. 
 Since nothing in the world is free, 
 
 That Force to which there's no resistance 
 
 Is always justified, p 
 
 rr sc ! 
 
 I turn from all insipid dishes 
 
 Cook'd by the fools of Laissez fairc, 
 
 \u(\ much prefer the loaves and fishes, 
 So long as / can get my share ;
 
 THE GOOD PROFESSOR'S CREED. 27 
 
 I think the Land is not tlie Nation's, 
 But those -who grab'd it in the past ; 
 
 Statutes, therefore, of limitations, 
 
 Should make all Thieves secure, at last ! 
 
 I don't believe men free and equal 
 
 (/ think so ? Feel my bumps, and tell !) 
 Of all such fads the sorry sequel 
 
 Is anarchy and social Hell ; 
 I do believe in " facts " prodigiously, 
 
 Class, label, place them on the shelf, 
 I do believe (almost religiously !) 
 
 In that most precious Fact, Mj^self ! 
 
 I'm many-sided, many-coloured, 
 
 Socialist, Individualist, 
 I do believe that man a dullard 
 
 Who seeks philanthropies of mist ; 
 I hold that General Booth's tyrannical. 
 
 And all his scheme of social aid 
 Is just Religion turn'd mechanical — 
 
 A Barrel-organ badly pla3'ed ! 
 
 I think that Liberty's a swindle ! 
 
 We look upon it with a smile — 
 I and my dear Professor Tyndall, 
 
 The Peter Parleys of Carlyle ! 
 He knew the " nigger " was " a servant " 
 
 By law of God, or (what's the same) 
 By laws proclaimed by prophets fervent 
 
 Of Nature's Tory end and aim ! 
 
 I turn from every sect and schism, 
 God and all gods I leave behind, 
 
 I sneer at even Positivism, 
 Because it deifies Mankind :
 
 28 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 Such creeds are either false or flighty, 
 Since men are flesh and flesh is grass, . 
 
 And yet . . . one knowing God. Almight}' 
 Regards me — from the looking-glass I 
 
 I do believe that Superstition, 
 
 And what they call •' the larger Hope," 
 Have fled before the new condition 
 
 Of self-reliance and of soap : 
 Free from the falsehoods of Divinity, 
 
 Breaking the bonds by preachers spun, 
 I leave the old creed of the Trinity 
 
 For the new creed of Number One ! 
 
 Moral and physical diseases 
 
 May be eflaced in course of time. 
 But, left to do whate'er he pleases, 
 
 Man leaps from folly into crime : 
 We've got to wash and comb and teach him. 
 
 Learn him the laws of self-control, 
 Wean him from doctrinaires who teach him 
 
 Rubbish about that gas, his Soul ! 
 
 Bo clean, be calm, be thrifty ! These are 
 
 My chief injunctions to the Poor, 
 Give Caisar what belongs to C*sar, 
 
 Don't even begrudge a little more ! 
 Bo very careful in your reading. 
 
 Avoid imaginative stuff; 
 Study tlie rules of cattle-breeding, 
 
 And when you pair, cry '■'■ quantum xiiff'P 
 
 To advance the liuman race I'm willing, 
 So long as it is shrewdly done. 
 
 But never will I give one shilling 
 To any " fad "' beneath tlio sun ;
 
 THE GOOD PROFESSOR'S CREED. 
 
 Wliile the worst fad of all is " Piety/' 
 With all its cant of Heaven o'erhead, 
 
 Philanthropy's a bad variety 
 
 Of that same fad, when all is said ! 
 
 And so I sit with calm pulsations, 
 
 Watching the troubled human fry, 
 Examining their agitp.tions 
 
 With careful microscopic ej'e ! 
 I, Thomas, Omn'mm Scruiatoi^ 
 
 Finding most creatures mean or base, 
 Despise your Homimim Salvaforl 
 
 Man's duty is — to keep his place !
 
 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 THE BALLAD OF JUDAS LSCARIOT. 
 
 'TwAS the body of Judas Lscariot 
 
 Lay in the Field of Blood ; 
 'Twas the soul of Judas lscariot 
 
 Beside the body stood. 
 
 Black was the earth by night, 
 
 And black was the sky ; 
 Black, black were the broken clouds, 
 
 Tho' the red Moon went by. 
 
 'Twas the body of Judas lscariot 
 Strangled and dead lay there ; 
 
 'Twas the soul of Judas lscariot 
 Look'd on it in despair. 
 
 The breath of the World came and went 
 
 Like a sick man's in rest ; 
 Drop by drop on the World's eyes 
 
 The dews fell cool and blest. 
 
 Then the soul of Judas lscariot 
 
 Did make a gentle moan — 
 " I will bury underneath the ground 
 
 My flesh and blood and bone. 
 
 " I will bury them deep beneath the soil, 
 
 Lest mortals look thereon, 
 And when the wolf and raven come 
 
 The body will be gone ! 
 
 " The stones of the field are sharp as steel, 
 And hard and cold, God wot ; 
 
 And I must bear my body hence 
 ITntil T find a spot ! '"
 
 THE BALLAD OF JUDAS LSCARLOT. 
 
 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot, 
 So grim, and gaunt, and gray, 
 
 Raised the body of Judas Iscariot, 
 And carried it away. 
 
 And as he bare it from the field 
 
 Its touch was cold as ice. 
 And the ivory teeth within the jaw 
 
 Rattled alojiid, like dice. 
 
 As the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 
 Carried its load with pain. 
 The Eye of Heaven, like a lanthorn's eye, 
 
 Open'd and shut again. 
 
 Half he walk'd, and half he seem'd 
 Lifted on the cold wind ; 
 
 He did not turn, for chillv hands 
 
 "Were pushing from behind. 
 
 The first place that he came unto 
 
 It was the open wold, 
 And underneath were prickly whins. 
 
 And a wind that blew so cold. 
 
 The next place that he came unlo 
 
 It was a stagnant pool. 
 And when he threw the body in. 
 
 It floated light as wool. 
 
 He drew the body on his back. 
 And it was dripping chill, 
 
 And the next place he came uulo 
 Was a Cross upon a hill. 
 
 A Cross upon the windy hill, 
 And a Cross on either side, 
 
 Three skeletons that swing thereon, 
 Who had been crucified.
 
 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 And on the middle cross-bar sat 
 
 A white Dove slumberiiio- • 
 Dim it sat in the dim light, 
 
 AVith its head beneath its \Ying. 
 
 And underneatli the middle Cross 
 A grave ^^awn'd wide and vast, 
 
 But the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 Shiver'd and glided past. 
 
 The fourth place that he came unto 
 
 It was the Brig of Dread, 
 And the great torrents rushing down 
 
 Were deep, and swift, and red. 
 
 He dared not fling the body in 
 
 For fear of faces dim, 
 And arms were waved in the wild water 
 
 To thrust it back to him. 
 
 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 Turned from the Brig of Dread, 
 
 And the dreadful foam of the wild water 
 Had splaslrd the body red. 
 
 For <Iays and nights he wander'd on 
 
 Upon an open plain. 
 And the days went by like blinding mist. 
 
 And the nights like rushing rain. 
 
 For days and nights he wander'd on, 
 
 All thro' thr. Wood of Woe; 
 And the nights went by like moaning wind, 
 
 And the days like drifting snow. 
 
 'Twas tlie soul of Judas Iscariot 
 
 Came with a weary face— 
 Alone, alone, and all alone, 
 
 Alone in a lonely place!
 
 THE BALLAD OF JUDAS LSCAKIOT. 33 
 
 He wander'd east, he wander'd west, 
 
 And heard no human sound ; 
 For months and 3'ears, in grief and tears, 
 
 He wander'd round and round. 
 
 For months and years, in grief and tears,. 
 He walk'd the silent night ; vf^^ "w 
 
 Then the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 
 Perceived a far-off light. 
 
 K far-off light across the waste, 
 
 As dim as dim might be, 
 That came and went like the lighthouse gleam 
 
 On a black night at sea. 
 
 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 
 Crawl'd to the distant gleam ; 
 And the rain came down, and the rain was blown 
 
 Against him with a scream. 
 
 For days and nights he wander'd on. 
 
 Pushed on by hands behind ; 
 And the days went by like black, black rain. 
 
 And the nights like rushing wind. 
 
 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot, 
 
 Strange, and sad, and tall, 
 Stood all alone at dead of night 
 
 Before a lighted hall. 
 
 And the world was white with snow, 1 
 And his foot-marks black and damp, 
 
 And the ghost of the silver Moon arose. 
 Holding her yellow lamp. 
 
 And the icicles were on the eaves, \ 
 
 And the walls were deep with white, 
 
 And the shadows of the guests within ; 
 
 Pass'd on the window light. 
 
 c
 
 34 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 The shadows of the wedding guests 
 
 Did strangely come and go, 
 And the body of Judas Iscariot 
 
 Lay stretch'd along the snow. 
 
 The body of Judas Iscariot 
 Lay stretch'd along the snow ; 
 
 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 Ran swiftly to and fro. 
 
 To and fro, and up and down. 
 
 He ran so swiftly there. 
 As round and round the frozen Pole 
 
 Glideth the lean white bear. 
 
 'Twas the Bridegroom sat at the table-head, 
 And the lights burnt bright and clear — 
 
 " Oh, who is that," the Bridegroom said, 
 " Whose weary feet I hear ? " 
 
 'Twas one who look'd from the lighted hall, 
 
 And answer'd soft and low, 
 " It is a wolf runs up and down. 
 
 With a black track in the snow." 
 
 The Bridegroom in His robe of white 
 
 Sat at the table-head — 
 "Oh, who is he that moans without? "' 
 
 The blessed Bridegroom said. 
 
 'Twas one wlio loukM from the lighted hall, 
 And answer'd fierce and low, 
 
 " 'Tis the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 Gliding to and fro." 
 
 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 
 Lid hush itself and stand, 
 And saw the Bridegroom at tlie door 
 
 With a light in His hand.
 
 THE BALLAD OF JUDAS LSCARIOT. 35 
 
 The Bridegroom stood in tlie open door, 
 
 And He was clad in white, 
 And far within the Lord's Supper 
 
 Was spread so broad and bright. 
 
 The Bridegroom shaded His eyes and look'd. 
 
 And His face was bright to see — 
 " AVhat dost thou here at the Lord's Supper 
 
 With thy body's sins ? " said He. 
 
 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 
 Stood black, and sad, and bare — 
 " I have wander 'd many nights and days ; 
 
 There is no light elsewhere." 
 
 'Twas the wedding guests cried ont within. 
 And their eyes were fierce and bright — 
 
 " Scourge the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 Away into the night ! " 
 
 The Bridegroom stood in the open tloor. 
 And He waved hands still and slow. 
 
 And the third time that He waved His hands 
 The air was thick with snow. 
 
 And of every flake of falling snow. 
 
 Before it touch'd the ground. 
 There came a dove, and a thousand doves 
 
 Made sweet sound. 
 
 'Twas the body of Judas Iscariot 
 
 Floated away full fleet. 
 And the wings of the doves that bare it off 
 
 Were like its winding-sheet. 
 
 'Twas the Bridegroom stood at the open door, 
 
 And beckon' d, smiling sweet ; 
 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 
 Stole in, and fell at His feet,
 
 36 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 " The Holy Supper is spread within, 
 And the many candles shine, 
 
 And I have waited long for thee 
 Before I pour'd the wine ! " 
 
 The supper wine is pour'd at last. 
 The lights burn bright and fair, 
 
 Iscariot washes the Bridegroom's feet, 
 And dries them with his hair. 
 
 NIGHTINGALE-SONG. 
 
 Deeper now our raptures grow, 
 
 Softlier our voices croon ! 
 
 Yet more slow 
 
 Let our happy music flow, 
 
 Sweet and slow, hush'd and low, 
 
 Now a dark cloud veils the Moon . . . 
 
 Sweet, sweet ! 
 
 Watch her while our wild hearts beat ! 
 
 See ! she quits the clasping cloud. 
 
 Forth she sails on silvern feet, 
 
 Smiling, with her bright head bow'd ! 
 
 Pour the living rapture loud ! 
 
 Thick and fleet, 
 
 Sweet, sweet ! 
 
 Now the notes of rapture crowd !
 
 FRA GIACOMO. 
 
 FRA GIACOMO. 
 
 I. 
 
 Alas, Fra Giacomo, 
 
 Too late ! but follow me ... 
 Hush ! draw the curtain — so ! 
 
 She is dead, quite dead, you see. 
 Poor little lady ! she lies, 
 All the light gone out of her eyes ! 
 But her features still wear that soft, 
 
 Gray, meditative expression. 
 Which you must have noticed oft. 
 
 Thro' the peephole, at confession. 
 How saintly she looks, how meek ! 
 
 Though this be the chamber of death, 
 
 I fancy I feel her breath. 
 As I kiss her on the cheek. 
 Too holy for wze, by far ! — 
 As cold and as pure as a star. 
 
 Not fashioned for kissing and pressing, 
 But made for a heavenly crown ! . . . 
 Ay, Father, let us go down, — 
 
 But first, if you please, your blessing. 
 
 ^ II. 
 
 . . . Wine '? No ! Come, come, you must ! 
 
 Blessing it with your prayers, 
 You'll quaff a cup, I trust. 
 
 To the health of the Saint upstairs. 
 My heart is aching so ! 
 
 And I feel so weary and sad. 
 
 Through the blow that I have had ! 
 You'll sit, Fra Giacomo ? . . .
 
 38 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 ITT. 
 
 Heiglio ! 'tis now six summers 
 
 Since I saw that Angel and married lier- 
 
 I was passing rich, and T carried her 
 Off in the face of all comers . . . 
 So fresh, yet so brimming with Soul ! 
 
 A sweeter morsel, I swear, 
 Never made the dull black coal 
 
 Of a monk's eye glitter and glare . . . 
 
 Your pardon — nay, keep your chair ! — 
 A jest ! but a jest ! . . . Very true, 
 
 It is hardly becoming to jes-t, 
 
 And that Saint upstairs at rest — 
 Her Soul may be listening, too ! 
 To think how I doubted and doubted. 
 Suspected, grumbled at, flouted 
 That golden-hair'd Angel, and solely 
 Because she was zealous and holy ! — 
 Night and noon and morn 
 
 She devoted lierself to piety — 
 Not that she sfomed to scorn. 
 
 Or shun, her husband's society ; 
 But the claims of her Soul superseded 
 All that I asked for or needed, 
 And her thoughts were far away 
 From the level of lustful clay, 
 And she trembled lest earthly matters 
 Interfered with hor (<\:en and pafers ! 
 Sweet dove ! she so fluttered in flying 
 
 To avoid the black vapours of Hell, 
 So bent «)n sflf-sanctifying, - 
 Tliat slie never thought of trying 
 
 To save her poor husbaml as well ! 
 And while she was named and elected 
 
 For place on the henvenly roll,
 
 FRA GIACOMO. 39 
 
 I (beast that I was) suspected 
 
 Her method of savmg her Soul — 
 So half for the fun of the thing, 
 "What did I (blasphemer) but fling 
 On my shoulders the gown of a monk, 
 
 (Whom I managed for that very day 
 
 To get safely out of the way), 
 And seat me, half-sober, half-drunk, 
 AVith the cowl drawn over my face, 
 In the Father Confessor's place . , . 
 Elieu ! henedicite ! 
 In her beautiful sweet simplicity. 
 With that pensive gray expression. 
 She sighfully knelt at confession, — 
 While I bit my lips till they bled. 
 
 And dug my nails in jny palm, 
 And heard, with averted head. 
 
 The horrible words come calm — 
 Each word was a serpent's sting ; 
 
 But, Avrapt in my gloomy gown, 
 I sat like a marble thing 
 
 As she uttered your name. Sit down ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 More wine, Fra Giacomo ? 
 One cup — as you love me ! No ? 
 Come, drink ! 'twill bring the streaks 
 Of crimson back to your cheeks. 
 Come ! drink again to the Saint, 
 Whose virtues you loved to paint, 
 Who, stretched on her wifely bed. 
 With the soft, sweet, gray expression 
 You saw and admired at confession — - 
 Lies poimned^ overhead !
 
 4S THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 Sit still — or, by God, you die ! 
 Face to face, soul to soul, you and I 
 
 Have settled accounts, in a fine 
 
 Pleasant fashion, over our wine — 
 Stir not, and seek not to fly — 
 
 Nay, whetlier or not, you are mine ! 
 Thank Montepulciano for giving 
 
 Your death in such delicate sips — 
 'Tis not every monk ceases living 
 
 With so pleasant a taste on his lips — 
 But lest Montepulciano unsurely should kiss. 
 
 Take this ! — and this !— and this ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 . . . Raise him; and cast him, Pietro, 
 
 Into the deep canal below : 
 
 You can be secret, lad, I know . . . 
 
 And, hark you, then to the convent go — 
 
 Bid every bell of the convent toll, 
 
 And the monks say mass, for your Mistress's soul.
 
 CHARMIAN. 41 
 
 CHAEMIAN. 
 
 Cleo. Chartnian ! 
 
 Char. Madam? 
 
 Clto. Give nie to drink mandragora ! 
 
 Anthony and Cleopatra. 
 
 In the time when water-lilies shake 
 
 Their green and gold on river and lake, 
 
 When the cuckoo calls in the heart o' the heat, 
 
 When the Dog-star foams and the shade is sweet ; 
 
 Where cool and fresh the River ran, 
 
 I sat by the side of the Charmian, 
 
 And heard no sound from the world of Man, 
 
 All was so sweet and still that day ! 
 
 The rustling shade, the rippling stream, 
 
 All life, all breath dissolved away 
 
 Into a golden dream ; 
 
 Warm and sweet the scented shade 
 
 Drowsily caught the breeze and stirred. 
 
 Faint and low through the green glade 
 
 Came hum of bee and song of bird. 
 
 Our hearts were full of sleepy bliss, 
 
 And yet we did not clasp or kiss, 
 
 Nor did we break the happy spell 
 
 AVith tender tone or syllable. 
 
 But to ease our hearts and set thought free. 
 
 We pluckt the flowers of a red rose-tree. 
 
 And, leaf by leaf, we threw them, Sweet', 
 
 Into the River at our feet, 
 
 And in an indolent delight 
 
 Watch'd them glide onward, slowly, out of sight.
 
 42 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 Sweet, had I spoken boldly then, 
 
 How might my love have garner'd thee ! 
 
 But I had left the paths of men, 
 
 And sitting yonder, dreamil}'-, 
 
 AVas happiness enough for me ! 
 
 Seeking no gift of word or kiss, 
 
 But looking in thy face, was bliss ! 
 
 Plucking the rose-leaves in a dream, 
 
 "Watching them glimmer down the stream, 
 
 Knowing that eastern heart of thine 
 
 Shared the dim ecstasy of mine ! 
 
 Then, while we linger'd, cold and gray 
 Came Twilight, chilling soul and sense ; 
 And you arose to go away, 
 Full of divine indifference I 
 I missed the spell — I watched it break, — 
 And such come never twice to man : 
 In a less golden hour I spake, 
 And did not win thee, Charmian ! 
 
 For wearily we turned away 
 
 Into the world of everyda}', 
 
 And from thy heart the fancy fled 
 
 Like the rose-leaves on the River shed ; 
 
 But to me that hour is sweeter far 
 
 Tli.m the world and all its treasures are : 
 
 Still to sit on, so close to thee, 
 
 A\'ere Paradise enough for me ! 
 
 Still to sit on, in a green nook, 
 
 Nor break th»' spell by woi'd or look ! 
 
 To reach out ha])py hands for ever, 
 
 To pluak the rose-leaves, Charmian ! 
 
 To watch them fade on the gleaming River, 
 
 Anrl hear no sound from the world of Man !
 
 THE WAKE OF O'HARA. 43 
 
 THE WAKE OF O'HAEA. 
 
 (seven dials). 
 
 To the Wake of O'Hara 
 
 Came companie ; 
 All St. Patrick's Alley 
 
 AVas there to see, 
 With the friends and kinsmen 
 Of the family. 
 On the long deal table lay Tim in white, 
 And at his pillow the burning light. 
 Pale as himself, with the tears on her cheek, 
 The mother received ns, too full to speak ; 
 But she heap'd the fire, and on the board 
 Set the black bottle with never a word, 
 AVhile the company gather'd, one and all. 
 Men and women, big and small— 
 Not one in the Alley but felt a call 
 
 To the AYake of Tim O'Hara. 
 
 At the face of 0"Hara, 
 All white with sleep, 
 Not one of the women 
 
 But took a peep, 
 And the wives new-wedded 
 Began to weep. 
 The mothers gather'd round about. 
 And praised the linen and laying-out,— 
 For white as snow was his winding-sheet. 
 And all was peaceful, and clean, and sweet ; 
 And the old wives, praising the blessed dead, 
 Were thronging round the old press-bed.
 
 44 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 "Where O'Hara's widow, tatter'd and torn, 
 Held to her bosom the babe new-born, 
 And stared all around her, with eyes forlorn, 
 At the AVake of Tim O'Hara. 
 
 For the heart of O'Hara 
 
 AVas good as gold. 
 And the life of O'Hara 
 
 Was bright and bold, — 
 The boy was the darling 
 Of young and old ! 
 Gay as a guinea, wet or dry, 
 "With a smiling mouth and a twinkling eye ! 
 Had ever an answer for chaff and fun ; 
 Would fight like a lion, with any one ! 
 Not a neighbour of any trade 
 But knew some joke that the boy had made ; 
 Not a neighbour, dull or bright, 
 But minded Komethiuq — frolic or fight, 
 And whisper'd it round the fire that night. 
 At the Wake of Tim O'Hara ! 
 
 " To God be glory 
 In death and life, 
 He's taken O'Hara 
 
 From throuble and strife ! "' 
 J^'aid one-eyed Bidd}^, 
 Tlif a|)j)lt'-wife. 
 "(u)il bless onld Ireland ! " said Mistress Hart, 
 Mother to Afike of the donkey-cart ; 
 " God bless ould Ireland till all be done. 
 She never made wake for a better son ! *' 
 And all join'd cliorus, and each one said 
 Sometliiiig kind of the boy that was dead ; 
 And the bottle went round from lip to liji, 
 And the weeping widow, for fellowship.
 
 THE WAKE OF O'HARA, 45 
 
 Took tlie glass of old Biddy and had a sip, 
 At the Wake of Tim O'Hara. 
 
 Then we drank to O'Hara, 
 With drams to the brim, 
 While the face of O'Hara 
 
 Look'd on so grim, 
 In the corpse-light shining 
 Yellow and dim. 
 The cup of liquor went round again. 
 And the talk grew louder at every drain ; 
 Louder the tongues of the women grew ! — > 
 
 The lips of the boys were loosening too ! 
 The widow her weary eyelids closed. 
 And, soothed by the drop o' drink, she dozed ; 
 The mother brighten'd and laugh'd to hear 
 Of O'Hara's fight with the grenadier, 
 And the hearts of all took better cheer, 
 At the Wake of Tim O'Hara. 
 
 Tho' the face of O'Hara 
 
 Lookt on so wan. 
 In the chimney-corner 
 
 The row began — 
 Lame Tony was in it. 
 The oyster-man ; 
 For a dirty low thief from the North came near, 
 And whistled "Boyne Water" in his ear. 
 And Tony, with never a word of grace. 
 Flung out his fist in the blackguard's face ; 
 And the girls and women scream'd out for fright, 
 And the men that were drunkest began to fight, — 
 Over the tables and chairs they threw, — 
 The corpse-light tumbled, — the shindy grew, — 
 The new-born join'd in the hullabaloo, — 
 At the Wake of Tim O'Hara.
 
 46 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 " Be still ! be silent ! 
 
 Ye do a sin ! 
 Shame be his portion 
 Who dares begin ! " 
 'Twas Father O'Connor 
 Just enter'd in ! — 
 All look'd down, and the row was done — 
 And shamed and sorry was every one ; 
 But the Priest just smiled quite easj^ and free — 
 " Would ye wake the poor boy from his sleep? " said he 
 And he said a prayer, with a shining face, 
 Till a kind of a brightness fill'd the place ; 
 The women lit up the dim corpse-light. 
 The men were quieter at the sight, 
 And tho peace of the Lord fell on all that night 
 At the Wake of Tim O'Hara !
 
 THE WEDDING OF SHON MACLEAN. 47 
 
 THE WEDDING OF SHUN MACLEAN. 
 
 A BAGPIPE BALLAD. 
 
 To tlie Wedding of Slioii Maclean, 
 
 Twenty Pipers together 
 Came in tlie wind and the rain 
 
 Playing across the heather ; 
 Backward their ribbons flew, 
 Blast upon blast they blew, 
 Each clad in tartan new, 
 
 Bonnet, and blackcock feather : 
 And every Piper was fou,* 
 
 Twenty Pipers together ! . . . ^ 
 
 He's but a Sassenach blind and vain 
 
 AVho never heard of Shon Maclean — 
 
 The Duke's own Piper, called " Shon the Fair," 
 
 From his freckled skin and his fiery hair. 
 
 Father and son, since the world's creation, 
 
 The Macleans had followed this occupation. 
 
 And played the pibroch to fire the clan 
 
 Since the first Duke came and the Earth began. 
 
 Like the whistling of birds, like the humming of 
 
 bees, 
 Like the sough of the south- wind in the trees. 
 Like the singing of angels, the playing of -shawms. 
 Like Ocean itself with its storms and its calms, 
 Were the strains of Shon, when with cheeks 
 
 aflame 
 He blew a blast thro' the pipes of fame. 
 
 * Pronounce /oo — /.<?., ' half seas over,' intoxicated.
 
 48 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 At last, in the prime of his playing life, 
 
 The spirit moved him to take a wife — 
 
 A lassie with eyes of Highland blue, 
 
 Who love the pipes and the Piper too, 
 
 And danced to the sound, with a foot and a leg 
 
 AVliite as a lily and smooth as an ^^g. 
 
 So, tAventy Pipers were coming together 
 
 O'er the moor and across the heather, 
 
 All in the wind and the rain : 
 Twenty Pipers so brawly dressed 
 Were flocking in from the east and the west, 
 To bless the bedding and blow their best 
 
 At the AVedding of Shon Maclean. 
 
 At the Wedding of Shon Maclean 
 * 'Twas wet and windy weather ! 
 
 Yet, thro' the wind and the rain 
 
 Came twenty Pipers together ! 
 Earach and Dougal Dhu, 
 Sandy of Isla too, 
 Each with the bonnet o' blue. 
 
 Tartan, and blackcock feather: 
 And every Piper was fou. 
 
 Twenty Pipers together ! 
 
 The knot was tied, the blessing said, 
 Shon was marrie;!, the feast was spread. 
 At the head of the table sat, huge and hoar, 
 Strong Sandy of Isla, age fourscore, 
 Whisker'd, grey as a Haskeir seal. 
 And clad in crimson from' head to heel 
 Beneatli and round him in tlieir degree 
 riatherod the men of minstrelsie, 
 Witli keepers, gillies, and lads and lasses, 
 Mingling voices, and jingling glasses.
 
 THE WEDDING OF SHON MACLEAN. 49 
 
 At soup and haggis, at roast and boil'd, 
 
 Awhile the happy gathering toil'd, — 
 
 While Shon and Jean at the table ends 
 
 Shook hands with a hundred of their friends. — 
 
 Then came a hush. Thro' the open door 
 
 A wee bright form flash'd on the floor, — - 
 
 The Duke himself, in the kilt and plaid, 
 
 With slim soft knees, like the knees of a maid. 
 
 And he took a glass, and he cried out plain, 
 
 " I drink to the health of Shon Maclean ! 
 
 To Shon the Piper and Jean his wife, 
 
 A clean fireside and a merry life ! " 
 
 Then out he slipt, and each man sprang 
 
 To his feet, and with " hooch " the chamber rang ! 
 
 " Clear the tables ! " shriek'd out one — 
 
 A leap, a scramble, — and it was done ! 
 
 And then the Pipers all in a row 
 
 Tuned their pipes and began to blow, 
 
 While all to dance stood fain : 
 Sandy of Isla and Earach More, 
 Dougal Dhu from Kilflannan shore. 
 Played up the company on the floor 
 
 At the Wedding of Shon Maclean. 
 
 At the Wedding of Shon Maclean, 
 
 Twenty Pipers together 
 Stood up, while all their train 
 
 Ceased to clatter and blether. 
 Full of the mountain-dew, 
 First in their pipes they blew, 
 Mighty of bone and thew, 
 
 Red-cheek'd, with lungs of leather : 
 And every Piper was fou. 
 
 Twenty Pipers together ! 
 
 D
 
 50 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 "Who led the dance ? In pomp and pride 
 
 The Duke himself led out the Bride ! 
 
 Great was the joy of each beholder, 
 
 For the Avee Duke onl}^ reach' d her shoulder ; 
 
 And they danced, and turned, when the reel began, 
 
 Like a giantess and a fairie man ! 
 
 But like an earthquake was the din 
 
 When Shon himself led the Duchess in ! 
 
 And she took her place before him there, 
 
 Like a white mouse dancing with a bear ! 
 
 So trim and tin}', so slim and sweet, 
 
 Her blue eyes watching Slion's great feet, 
 
 With a smile that could not be resisted, 
 
 She jigged, and jumped, and twirl'd, and twisted ! 
 
 Sandy of Isla led off the reel. 
 
 The Duke began it with toe and heel, 
 
 Then all join'd in amain ; 
 Twenty Pipers ranged in a row, 
 From squinting Shamus to lame Kilcroe, 
 Their cheeks like crimson, began to blow, 
 
 At the Wedding of Shon Maclean. 
 
 At the Wedding of Shon ]\[aclean 
 
 They blew with their lungs of leather. 
 And blithesome was the strain 
 
 Those Pipers played together ! 
 Moist with the mountain dew, 
 Mighty of bone and thew. 
 Each with the bonnet o' blue. 
 
 Tartan, and blackcock fcath(n' : 
 And every Piper was fou. 
 
 Twenty Pipers together! 
 
 (»h for a wizard's tongue to tell 
 Of all the wonders that befel !
 
 THE WEDDING OF SHON MACLEAN. ,1 
 
 Of how the Duke, when the first stave died, 
 
 Reached up on tiptoe to kiss the Bride, 
 
 While Sandy's pipes, as their mouths were meeting, 
 
 Skirl'd, and set every heart abeating ! 
 
 Then Shon toolv the pipes ! and all was still. 
 
 As silenth' he the bags did fill. 
 
 With flaming cheeks and round bright eyes, 
 
 Till the first faint music began to rise. 
 
 Like a thousand laverocks singing in tune. 
 
 Like countless corn-craiks under the moon, 
 
 Like the smack of kisses, like kirk bells ringing, 
 
 Like a mermaid's harp, or a kelpie singing, 
 
 Blew the pipes of Shon ; and the Avitching strain 
 
 Was the gathering song of the Clan Maclean ! 
 
 Then slowly, softl}^, at his side, 
 
 All the Pipers around replied. 
 
 And swelled the solemn strain : 
 The hearts of all were proud and light, 
 To hear the music, to see the sight. 
 And the Duke's own eyes were dim that night, 
 At the Wedding; of Shon Maclean. 
 
 ^ta 
 
 So to honour the Clan Maclean 
 Straight they began to gather, 
 
 Blowing the wild refrain, 
 
 " Blue bonnets across the heather ! " 
 
 They stamp'd, they strutted, they blew ; 
 
 They shriek'd ; like cocks they crew ; 
 
 Blowing the notes out true. 
 With wonderful lungs of leather : 
 
 And every Piper was fou. 
 Twenty Pipers together ! 
 
 When the Duke and Duchess went away 
 
 The dance grew mad and the guests grew gay ;•
 
 52 rilE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 Man and maiden, face to face, 
 
 Leapt and footed and scream 'd apace ! 
 
 Round and round the dancers whirl'd. 
 
 Shriller, louder, the Pipers skirl'd, 
 
 Till the soul seem'd swooning into sound, 
 
 And all Creation was whirling round ! 
 
 Then, in a pause of the dance and glee. 
 
 The Pipers, ceasing their minstrelsie. 
 
 Draining the glass in groups did stand, 
 
 And passed the sneesh-box* from hand to hand. 
 
 Sandy of Isla, with locks of snow, 
 
 vSquinting Shamus, blind Kilmahoe, 
 
 Finlay Beg, and Earach More, 
 
 Dougal Dhu of Kilflannan shore — 
 
 All the Pipers, black, yellow, and green, 
 
 All the colours that ever were seen, 
 
 All the Pipers of all the Macs, 
 
 Gather'd together and took their cracks, f 
 
 Then (no man knows how the thing befel, 
 
 For none was sober enough to tell) 
 
 These heavenly Pipers from twenty places 
 
 Began disputing with crimson faces ; 
 
 Each asserting, like one demented. 
 
 The claims of the Clan he represented. 
 
 In vain grey Sandy of Isla strove 
 
 To soothe their struggle with words of love, 
 
 Asserting there, like a gentleman, 
 
 The superior claims of his own great Clan ; 
 
 Then, finding to reason is despair. 
 
 He seizes his pipes and plays an air — 
 
 The gathering tune of his Clan — and tries 
 
 To drown in music the shrieks and cries ! 
 
 Heavens ! Every Piper, grown mad with ire, 
 
 Seizes hix pipes with a fierce desire, 
 
 •Snuff-box. t Conversed sociably.
 
 THE WEDDING OF SHON MACLEAN. 53 
 
 And blowing madly, witlt skirl and squeak, 
 Begins lih particular tune to shriek ! 
 Up and down the gamut they go. 
 Twenty Pipers, all in a row. 
 
 Each with a different strain ! 
 Each tries hard to drown the first. 
 Each blows louder till like to burst. 
 Thus were the tunes of the Clans rehearst 
 
 At the Wedding of Shon Maclean ! 
 
 At the Wedding of Shon Maclean, 
 
 Twenty Pipers together. 
 Blowing with might and main, 
 
 Thro' wonderful lungs of leather ! 
 Wild was the hullabaloo ! 
 They stamp'd, they scream'd, they crew ! 
 Twenty strong blasts they blew, 
 
 Holding the heart in tether : 
 And every Piper was fou, 
 
 Twenty Pipers together ! 
 
 A storm of music ! Like wild sleuth-hounds 
 Contending together, were the sounds ! 
 At last a bevy of Eve's bright daughters 
 Pour'd oil — that's whisky — upon the waters ; 
 And after another dram went down 
 The Pipers chuckled and ceased to frown. 
 Embraced like brothers and kindred spirits. 
 And fully admitted each other's merits. 
 All bliss must end ! For now the Bride 
 Was looking weary and heavy-eyed, 
 And soon she stole from the drinkino; chorus 
 While the company settled to deoch-an-dorw^.'^ 
 
 * 
 
 * The parting glass ; lit. the cup at the door.
 
 54 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 One hour — another — took its flight — 
 The clock struck t\yelve— the dead of ni<^ht 
 And still the Bride like a rose so red 
 Lay lonely up in the bridal bed. 
 At half-past two the Bridegroom, Shon, 
 Dropt on the table as heavy as stone, 
 But four strong Pipers across the floor 
 Carried him up to the bridal door, 
 Push'd him in at the open portal. 
 And left him snoring, serene and mortal ! 
 The small stars twinkled over the heather, 
 As the Pipers wandered away together. 
 But one by one on the journey dropt. 
 Clutching his pipes, and there he stopt ! 
 One by one on the dark hillside 
 Each faint blast of the bagpipes died, 
 
 Amid the wind and the rain ! 
 And the twenty Pipers at break of day 
 In twenty different bogholes la}'. 
 Serenely sleeping upon their way 
 
 From the Wedding of Shon Maclean !
 
 FHIL BLOODS LEAP. 55 
 
 PHIL BLOOD'S LEAP. 
 
 There's some think Tnjiiis pison, ami others count 'em 
 
 scum, 
 And night and day they are melting away, clean into 
 
 Kingdom Come ; 
 But don't you go and make mistakes, like many dern'd 
 
 fools I've known, 
 For dirt is dirt, and snakes is snakes, but an lujin's flesh 
 
 and bone ! 
 
 "We were seeking gold in the Texan hold, and we"d had a 
 
 blaze of luck, 
 More rich and rare the stufi ran there at every foot we 
 
 struck ; 
 Like men gone wild we filed and filed, and never 
 
 seemed to tire. 
 The hot sun beamed, and our faces streamed with the 
 
 sweat of a mad desire. 
 
 I was Captain then of the mining men, and I had a 
 
 precious life. 
 For a wilder set I never met at derringer and knife ; 
 Nigh every day there was some new fray, a bullet in 
 
 some one's brain, 
 And the viciousest brute to stab and to shoot was an 
 
 Imp of Hell from Maine. 
 
 Phil Blood. Well, he was six foot three, with a squint 
 
 to make you skeer'd. 
 His face all scabb'd, and twisted and stabb'd, with carroty 
 
 hair and beard, 
 Sour as the drink in Bitter Chink, sharp as a grizzly's 
 
 squeal, 
 Limp in one leg, for a leaden egg had nick'd him in the 
 
 heel.
 
 56 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 No beauty was he, but a siglit to see, all stript to the 
 
 waist and bare, 
 With his grim-set jaws, and his panther claws, and his 
 
 hawk's eye all aglare ; 
 With pick and spade in sun and shade he laboured like 
 
 darnation, 
 But when his spell was over, — well ! he was fond of his 
 
 recreation ! 
 
 And being a crusty kind of cuss, the only sport he had. 
 When work was over, seemed to uh a bit too rough and 
 
 bad ; 
 For to put some lead in a comrade's head was the greatest 
 
 fan in life, 
 And the sharpest joke he was known to poke was the 
 
 p'int of his precious knife. 
 
 But game to the bone was Phil, 111 own, and he always 
 
 fought most fair. 
 With as good a will to be killed as kill, true grit as any 
 
 there : 
 Of hoii£)ur too, like me or 3'ou, he'd a scent, though not 
 
 so keen, 
 Would rather be riddled thro' and thro' than do what he 
 
 thought mean. 
 
 But his eddication to his ruination had not been over 
 nice. 
 
 And his stupid skull was choking full of vulgar pre- 
 judice ; 
 
 With anything white he'd drink, or he'd fight in fair and 
 open fray ; 
 
 Bat to murder and kill was his wicked will, if an Injin 
 came liis way !
 
 PHIL BLOOD'S LEAP. 57 
 
 " A sarpeiit's hide lias pison inside, and an Injin's heart's 
 
 the same, 
 If he seems your friend for to gain his end, look out for 
 
 the sarpent's game ; 
 Of the snakes that crawl, the worst of all is the snake in 
 
 a skin of red, 
 A spotted Snake, and no mistake?" that's what he always 
 
 said. 
 
 Well, we'd jest struck our bit of luck, and were wild as 
 
 raving men, 
 When, who should stray to our camp one day, but Black 
 
 Panther, the Cheyenne ; 
 Drest like a Christian, all a-grin, the old one joins our 
 
 band, 
 And tho' the rest look'd black as sin, he shakes me by the 
 
 hand. 
 
 Now, the poor old cuss had been good to us, and I knew 
 
 that he was true, — 
 I'd have trusted him with life and limb as soon as I'd 
 
 trust you ; 
 For tho' his wit was gone a bit, and he drank like any 
 
 fish. 
 His heart was kind, he was well-inclined, as even a white 
 
 could wish. 
 
 Food had got low, for we didn't know the run of the 
 
 hunting ground, 
 And our hunters were sick, when, jest in the nick, the 
 
 friend in need was found ; 
 For he knew the place like his mother's face (or better, a 
 
 heap, you'd say, 
 Since she w^as a squaw of the roaming race, and himself 
 
 a cast- away).
 
 58 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 Well, I took tlie Panther into camp, and the critter was 
 
 well content, 
 And off with him, on the hunting tramp, next day our 
 
 hunters went, 
 And I reckon that day and the next we didn't want for 
 
 food. 
 And only one in the camp looked vext — that Imp of Hell, 
 
 Phil Blood. 
 
 Nothing would please his contrairy idees ! an Injin made 
 
 him rile ! 
 He didn't speak, but I saw on his cheek a kind of an 
 
 ugly smile ; 
 And I knew his skin was hatching sin, and I kept the 
 
 Panther apart. 
 For the Injin he was too blind to see the dirt in a white 
 
 man's heart ! 
 
 Well, one fine day, we a-resting lay at noon-time b}' the 
 
 creek, 
 The red sun blazed, and we felt half-dazed, too beat to 
 
 stir or speak ; 
 'Neath the alder trees we stretched at ease, and we 
 
 couldn't see the sky. 
 For the lian-ilowers in bright blue showers hung through 
 
 the boughs on high. 
 
 It was like the gleam of a fairy dream, and I felt like 
 
 earth's first Man, 
 In an Eden bower, with the yellow Hower of a cactus for 
 
 a fan ; 
 Oranges, peaches, grapes, and figs, cluster'd, ripen'd, and 
 
 fell, 
 And the cedar scent was pleasant, blent with the soothing 
 
 'cacia smoll.
 
 PHIL BLOOD'S LEAP. 59 
 
 The squirrels red ran overhead, and I saw the lizards 
 
 creep, 
 And the woodpecker bright with the chest so white tapt 
 
 like a sound in sleep ; 
 I dreamed and dozed with eyes half-closed, and felt like 
 
 a three-year child, 
 And, a plantain blade on his brow for a shade, even Phil 
 
 Blood look'd mild. 
 
 Well, back, jest then, came onr hunting men, with the 
 
 Panther at their head, 
 Full of his fun was every one, and the Panther's eyes 
 
 were red. 
 And he skipt about with grin and shout, for he'd had a 
 
 drop that day, 
 And he twisted and twirled, and squeal'd and skirl'd, in 
 
 the foolish Injin way. 
 
 To the waist all bare Phil Blood lay there, with only his 
 
 knife in his belt. 
 And I saw his bloodshot eye-balls stare, and I knew how 
 
 ugly he felt, — 
 When the Injin dances with grinning glances around him 
 
 as he lies. 
 With his painted skin and his monkey grin, — and leers 
 
 into his eyes ! 
 
 Then before I knew \n hat I should do Phil Blood was on 
 
 his feet, 
 And the Injin could trace the hate in his face, and his 
 
 heart began to beat. 
 And, " Git out 0' the wa}^,"' he heard them say, '• for he 
 
 means to hev your life ! " 
 But before he could fly at the warning cry, he saw the 
 
 flash of the knife.
 
 6o THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 " Run, Panther, run ! " cried each mother's son, and the 
 Panther took the track ; 
 
 With a wicked glare, like a wounded bear, Phil Blood 
 sprang at his back. 
 
 Up the side so steep of the canon deep the poor old 
 critter sped, 
 
 And the devil's limb ran after him, till they faded over- 
 head. 
 
 Now, the spot of ground where our luck was found was a 
 queerish place, you'll mark. 
 
 Jest under the jags of the mountain crags and the preci- 
 pices dark, 
 
 Far up on high, close to the skj', the two crags leant to- 
 gether, 
 
 Leaving a gap, like an open trap, with a gleam of golden 
 weather. 
 
 A pathway led from the beck's dark bed up to the crags 
 
 on high, 
 And along that path the Injin fled, fast as a man could 
 
 Some shots were fired, for I desired to keep the white 
 
 beast back ; 
 But I missed my man, and away he ran on the flying 
 
 Injin's track. 
 
 Now all below is thick, you know, with 'cacia, alder, and 
 
 pine. 
 And the bright shrubs deck the side of the beck, and the 
 
 lian flowers so fine. 
 For the forest creeps all under the steeps, and feathers 
 
 the feet of the crags 
 With boughs so thick that j-our path you pick like a 
 
 steamer among the snags.
 
 PHIL BLOOD'S LEAP. 6i 
 
 But right above you, the crags, Lord love you ! are bare 
 
 as this here hand, 
 And your eyes you wink at the bright blue chink, as 
 
 looking up you stand. 
 If a man should pop in that trap at the top, he'd never 
 
 rest arm or leg, 
 Till neck and crop to the bottom he'd drop— and smash 
 
 on the stones like an egg ! 
 
 " Come back, you cuss ! come back to us ! and let the 
 
 critter be ! " 
 I screamed out loud, while the men in a crowd stood 
 
 grinning at them and me . . . 
 But up they went, and my shots were spent, and at last 
 
 they disappeared, — 
 One minute more, and we gave a roar, for the Injin had 
 
 leapt, — and cleared ! 
 
 A leap for a deer, not a man, to clear, — and the bloodiest 
 
 grave below ! 
 But the critter was smart and mad with fear, and he went 
 
 like a bolt from a bow ! 
 Close after him came the devil's limb, with his face set 
 
 grim as death, 
 But when became to the gulch's brim, I reckon he paused 
 
 for breath ! 
 
 For breath at the brink ! but — a white man shrink, when 
 
 a red had passed so neat ? 
 I knew Phil Blood too well to think he'd turn his back 
 
 dead beat ! 
 He takes one run, leaps up in the sun, and bounds from 
 
 the slippery ledge. 
 And he clears the hole, but— God help his soul ! — ^just 
 
 touches the tother edge !
 
 62 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 One scrambling fall, one shriek, one call, from tlie men 
 
 that stand and stare, — 
 Black in the blue where the sky looks thro', he staggers, 
 
 dwarf'd up there; 
 The edge he touches, then sinks, and clutches the rock 
 
 — our eyes grow dim — 
 I turn away — what's that they say '? — he's a-hanging on 
 
 to the brim ! 
 
 ... On the very brink of the fatal chink a ragged 
 
 shrub there grew. 
 And to that he clung, and in silence swung betwixt us 
 
 and the blue. 
 And as soon as a man could run I ran the way I'd seen 
 
 them flee. 
 And I came mad-eyed to the chasm's side, and — what do 
 
 you think I see ? 
 
 All* up? Not quite. Still hanging ? Right! But he'd torn 
 
 away the shrub ; 
 With lolling tongue he clutch'd and swung — to what? 
 
 ay, that's the rub ! 
 I saw him glare and dangle in air, — for the empty hole he 
 
 trode, — 
 Help'd by a pair of lumd^ up there ! — The Injin's ? Yes, 
 
 by God ! 
 
 Now boys, look here! for many a year I"ve roam'd in 
 
 this here land — 
 And many a sight both day and night I've seen that I 
 
 think grand ; 
 Over the whole wide world I've been, and I know both 
 
 things and men, 
 But the biggest sight I've r-vcr seen was the sight I saw 
 
 jest then.
 
 PHIL BLOOD'S LEAP. 63 
 
 I held my breath — so uigh to death Phil Blood swung 
 
 hand and limb, 
 And it seemed to us all that down he'd fall, with the 
 
 Panther after him, 
 But the Injin at length put out his strength — and another 
 
 moment past, — 
 — Then safe and sound to the solid ground he drew Phil 
 
 Blood, at last! ! 
 
 Saved ? True for you ! By an Injin too ! — and the man 
 he meant to kill ! 
 
 There, all alone, on the brink of stone, I see them stand- 
 ing still ; 
 
 Phil Blood gone white, with the struggle and fright, like 
 a great mad bull at bay, 
 
 And the Injin meanwhilej with a half-skeer'd smile, ready 
 to spring away, 
 
 AVhat did Phil do? Well, I watched the two, and I saw 
 
 Phil Blood turn back. 
 Bend over the brink and take a blink right down the 
 
 chasm black, 
 • Then stooping low for a moment or so, he sheath'd his 
 
 bowie bright, 
 Spat slowly down, and watch'd with a frown, as the 
 
 spittle sank from sight ! 
 
 Hands in his pockets, eyes downcast, silent, thoughtful, 
 
 and grim, 
 While the Panther, grinning as he passed, still kept his 
 
 eyes on him, 
 Phil Blood strolled slow to his mates below, down by the 
 
 mountain track, 
 With his lips set tight and his face all white, and the 
 
 Panther at his back.
 
 64 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 I reckon they stared when the two appeared ! but never 
 
 a word Phil spoke, 
 Some of them hiiighed and others jeered,— but he let 
 
 them have their joke ; 
 He seemed amazed, like a man gone dazed, the sun in his 
 
 eyes too bright, 
 And for many a week, in spite of their cheek, he never 
 
 offered to fight. 
 
 And after that day he changed his play, and kept a 
 
 civiller tongue, 
 And whenever an Injin came that way, his contrairy head 
 
 he hung ; 
 But whenever he heard the lying word, " /f s a Lie!" 
 
 Phil Blood would groan ; 
 " A ^n(ike is a Suale, male no mistal^e ! hut an Injin's 
 
 flesh and hone! "
 
 THE GOLDEN YEAR. 65 
 
 THE GOLDEN YEAR: 
 
 AN ODE ON THE JUBILEE OF THE EMPRESS VICTOEIA. 
 
 Now the winter of sorrow is over, 
 
 And the season of Avaiting is clone, 
 'Mid acclaim of the people who love her 
 Our Lady steps forth in the sun ; 
 The green earth beneath and the blue sky above her, 
 She walks in the sight of the millions who cover 
 
 The realms she hath welded to one ! 
 'Tis Jubilee here, and 'tis Jubilee j'onder, 
 As far as the sun round her empire doth wander. 
 From the east to the west wakes the world in her honour, 
 The sunrise and sunset flash splendour upon her. 
 Now winter is over and done ! 
 
 . . . Empress and Queen, the flowers and fruits of nations 
 
 Are heapt upon the footstool of thy throne ; 
 Amid the thronging hosts, the acclamations, 
 
 The trumpets of thy Jubilee are blown ! 
 Glorious and glad, with pomp and pride resplendent, 
 Thy subject Spirits come and wait attendant : 
 Tawny and proud, a queenly sibyl-maiden, 
 
 ' Comes India, clad in woofs of strange device, 
 With fruitage from the fabled Eastern Aiden, 
 
 And gifts of precious gems and gold and spice ; 
 On a white elephant she rides, while round her 
 
 Like baying hounds her spotted 'tigers run — 
 Black-brow 'd as night, to her who tamed and crown'dher 
 
 She comes, with fiery eyes that front the sun, 
 Australia follows, in a chariot golden 
 
 Drawn by black heifers ; on the chariot's side 
 An ocean eagle sits with white wings folden, 
 
 And o'er her head float egrets purple-dyed. 
 
 £
 
 65 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 Tatoo'd Tasmania, witli wild ringlets flowing, 
 
 Followed by savage herds and hinds, strides near. 
 Canada's comes mocassin'd, clearly blowing 
 
 Her forest horn, and brandishing her spear, 
 Albion in martial mail, with trident gleaming. 
 
 Leads an old lion, and a lamb snow-white ; 
 Blonde Caledonia, with glad tartan streaming 
 
 Back from her shoulder, leaves her lonely height. 
 And with her mountain Sister, to the strumming 
 
 Of harp and pipe, joins the rejoicing throng. 
 The world is shadow'd with the swarms still coming 
 
 To hail their Queen with mirth and festal song ! 
 
 For the winter of sorrow is over. 
 
 And gone are the griefs that have been, 
 'Mid acclaim of the people who love her 
 She comes to her glory, a Queen. 
 'Tis Jubilee here, and 'tis Jubilee yonder 
 As far as the sun round her empire doth wander, 
 From the east to the west wakes the world in her 
 
 honour. 
 The sunrise and sunset flash splendour upon her. 
 Unclouded, at peace, and serene ! 
 
 Yet . . . who is this that rises up before her, 
 
 Ragged and hungry, blood upon her hands? 
 Smileless beneath the heavens now smiling o'er her, 
 
 AVild grey-hair 'd Erin on her island stands ! 
 Loudly she crieth, " Crowned Queen and Mother, 
 
 If such thou art, redress my children's wrong ; 
 Upraise the seed of Esau ! Bid his brother 
 
 Restore to him the birthright stol'n so long ! 
 'Mid his fat flocks sits Jacob unrcpenting, * 
 
 Yet starts with lifted wine-cup at my cry ; 
 My children starve — my tribe is left lamenting — 
 
 My dwellings lie unroof d beneath the sky.
 
 THE GOLDEN YEAR. 67 
 
 Even the mess of pottage gives he never, 
 
 For which he bought the birthright long ago ; 
 While joy in Jacob's vineyard flows for ever, 
 
 Esau preserves his heritage of woe ! 
 Justice, Queen, or "' For the rest she clutches 
 
 Her naked knife, and laughs in shrill despair, , . . 
 Queen and Empress, by the piteous touches 
 
 Of Love's anointing fingers, hear her prayer ! 
 Lst not thy Jubilee be stained, Mother, 
 
 By the old sin the sinful past hath known. 
 The wrongs this Esau suffers from his brother 
 
 Are blood-stains on the brightness of thy throne ! 
 
 Now the winter of sorrow is ended, 
 
 And the season of waiting is flecJj 
 Let the blessing by all men attended 
 On Esau and Erin be shed ! 
 'Tis Jubilee here, and 'tis Jubilee yonder 
 As far as the sun round thine empire doth wander ; 
 But Esau roams outcast and homeless, Mother, — 
 At night on the rocks, near the tents of his brother. 
 The weary one pillows his head ! 
 
 bright and beauteous, Lady, is thy splendour. 
 
 The waves of life leap round thee like a sea — 
 Smiling thou hearest, happy-eyed and tender. 
 
 The silver clarions of thy Jubilee ! 
 And yet ... God ! what shrouded shapes of pity 
 
 Are these who cry unto thee from afar ? 
 Huddling beneath the gas, in the dark City, 
 
 Hagar and Mary wail their evil star ! 
 For Hagar still is hungry and forth-driven, 
 
 And Magdalen still crawls from door to door, 
 Tho' He who cast no stone, and promised Heaven, 
 
 Bade her repent and go, and sin no more.
 
 68 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 Long, long hath she repented, tho' foul fetters 
 
 Still bind her to the sin without a name ; 
 And on the children's breasts the crimson letters 
 
 Tell to a cruel world the mother's shame. 
 But thou., too, art a Mother, Queen appointed, 
 
 And //to», too, hast thy children ! Wherefore, heed 
 The crying of the lost one, who anointed 
 
 Thy Master's feet, and save her sinless seed. 
 Feed Hagar and her little ones, whose crying 
 
 Pierces the heart of Pity to the core ! 
 Find IMagdalen, from shrine to shrine still flying, 
 
 And say to him who stones her as of yore : 
 '• The time hath come for justice in full measure, 
 
 For him who shares the sin to share the stain ; 
 No longer shall my triumph or my pleasure 
 
 Be troubled by my broken sister's pain ! " 
 Lady, such a word of vindication 
 
 Shall value all thy splendour twentyfold ; 
 Hagar's new gladness, Magdalen's salvation. 
 
 Would be a brighter crown than that of gold ! 
 
 . . . For the season of waiting is over. 
 And the winter of sorrow is done, 
 'Mid acclaim of the people who love her 
 Our Lady steps forth in the sun. 
 'Tis Jubilee here, and 'tis Jubilee yonder 
 As far as the sun round her empire doth wander. 
 If the weary and outcast are weeping no longer, 
 The wrong'd stands erect, at her feet kneels the 
 wronger, 
 For the Golden Year has begun ! 
 
 The Golden Year ! How loudly and how gladly 
 The trumpets of thy Jubilee are blown ! 
 
 But . . . what is this that loometh out so sadly 
 Yonder, behind the shining of thy throne ?
 
 THE GOLDEN YEAR. 69 
 
 Christ's Tree ? A clond of blackness doth enfold it, 
 
 Beneath it weeping shapes their wild arms toss — 
 Alas ! the bright sun strikes, and we behold it — 
 
 The Tree of Man's Invention, not the Cross ! 
 Blackest of blots upon thy throne pure golden 
 
 Casts this foul growth of evil, with its root 
 Deep as the roots of Hell, this upas olden 
 
 With blood for blossoins, flesh and blood for fruit \ 
 And weeping angels of the empyrsean 
 
 Look down in shame and sorrow from the sk}', 
 While followers of the bloodless Galilean 
 
 With impious rites lead deathless Cain to die ! 
 While this Tree bears, Queen, while earth is sooted 
 
 With its black shadow, woe to thine and thee ! 
 The air around thy throne shall be polluted, 
 
 And Hell must laugh to hear thy Jubilee ! 
 
 By the hope and the faith thou dost cherish. 
 
 By summer now breaking serene, 
 Let the Tree of man's cruelty perish. 
 The Cross of man's mercy be seen ! 
 'Tis Jubilee here, and 'tis Jubilee yonder, 
 As far as the sun round thine empire doth wander, 
 But, long as these boughs of the upas are bearing, 
 The sound of sad weeping, of bitter despairing, 
 Shall trouble thy glory, Queen ! 
 
 merry music ! Drums and fifes are sounding. 
 
 Thy realm is resonant from sea to sea ! 
 A million hearts are gladdening and bounding 
 
 To the great glory of thy Jubilee ! 
 Yet . . . who are these that thy proud throne environ, 
 
 That, ring'd around by swords, with shout and laugh 
 Drag forth the monsters from Avhose mouths of iron 
 
 The frail Sepoy was blown like bloodiest chaff?
 
 70 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 Thy warriors ? Thine ? Not His who came proclaiming 
 
 Love's gospel, while earth's Kings knelt down to 
 hear? 
 O Queen, then Fire and Sword surround thee, shaming 
 
 The peace and plenty of thy Golden Year ? 
 hearken ! From the lonely desert places. 
 
 From graves thy hosts have dug these latter years. 
 The cry of wailing tribes and wounded races 
 
 Breaks on thy queendom with a sound of tears ; 
 And while in cottages and princely towers 
 
 Pale English widows weep and orphans moan, 
 Death comes to set his pallid funeral flowers 
 
 And yew-trees round the footstool of thy throne ! 
 
 Yet gone are the seasons of sorrow 
 
 And winter hath vanish'd (men say) ! 
 Shall Famine and Fire come to-morrow 
 And add to the graves of to-day ? 
 'Tis Jubilee here, and 'tis Jubilee yonder, 
 As far as the sun round thine empire doth wander. 
 Yet Cain rears his altar and slays his frail brother, 
 And men who should cherish and love one another 
 (to smiling to torture and slay ! 
 
 Listen, Empress, to the tearful voices 
 
 That pierce above the thunder of thy State ! 
 Beyond the throng that gladdens and rejoices 
 
 The flocks of human martyrs weep and wait. 
 They know thee great and good, Queen and Mother, 
 
 They hunger for the blessing of thy hand ; 
 But Jacob in his pride forgets his brother. 
 
 And Hagar wanders famish'd thro' the land. 
 Grasping thine Aaron's rod with gentle Angers, 
 
 Touch hearts of stone until the fountains start, 
 Shed summer on the isle where winter lingers. 
 
 Fill the black void in Erin's aching heart!
 
 THE GOLDEA' YEAR. 7 1 
 
 Rebuke thy legions ! Bid them crouch before thee, 
 
 Nor histing still for conquest draw the sword ! 
 Let doves, not battle-ravens, hover o'er thee. 
 
 And Christ, not Moloch, deck thy festal board ! 
 For all this pomp and pride turn black and bitter 
 
 If women weep and mourners wail their dead, 
 The blessing of the sorrowful were fitter 
 
 To crown thee than the crown upon thy head ! 
 hearken yet, this year of years, Mother, 
 
 Proclaim sweet peace from every heaven-lit hill, 
 Let Justice be thy handmaid, and no other. 
 
 And say to all things evil, " Cease, be still ! " 
 
 then shall all sorrow be over. 
 
 And then indeed winter be done, 
 'Mid acclaim of the people who love her 
 Our Lady shall walk in the sun ! 
 The green earth beneath and the blue sky above 
 
 her, 
 Her smile shall shed peace on the millions who cover 
 
 The realms she hath welded to one. 
 'Tis Jubilee here, and 'tis Jubilee yonder 
 As far as the sun round her empire doth wander. 
 But Jubilee brighter shall come with to-morrow, 
 With the end of all strife and surcease of all sorrow, 
 When the night-tide of evil is done ! 
 
 Lady, God lends a torch to light 
 
 Thy path to peace transcending dreams. 
 Uphold it I See, from height to height, 
 Across the day, across the night, 
 
 Its splendour streams ! 
 God gave the realm, God gives the Lights 
 
 How sweet, how bright, 
 It beams !
 
 THE BUCHANAN BALLAD!^. 
 
 That torch is Love, whose lucent x^y 
 Slays all things cruel and unclean ! 
 
 No shadow clouds it night or day, 
 
 While sun and moon keep equal sway, 
 Calm and serene. 
 
 God gives this torch with heaven-fed ray 
 To light thy way, 
 Queen ! 
 
 Let this thy guide and sceptre be, 
 
 And power and peace may still be thine. 
 All mortal men shall bend the knee. 
 All men revere, in thine and thee, 
 
 The Law Divine. 
 Blest shall thy mighty Empire be, 
 While o'er the world, from sea to sea, 
 The sunlight of thy Jubilee 
 Shall shine !
 
 ANNIE." , 73 
 
 "ANNIE;" 
 OR, THE WAIF'S JUBILEE. 
 
 " Tlie magistrate asked her what she had to say for herself. 
 " On]}' this, sir," she replied, "/«ct,s" a gentleman\s daughter once.'^ 
 — Police Eepout. 
 
 ^'- Annie! Annie!''' 
 
 Harl-, it is Father's call ! 
 See, he is coming ! Run 
 To meet him, little one, 
 
 In the golden evenfaU. 
 Yonder down the lane 
 
 His voice calls clear : 
 '• Annie ! " he cries again — 
 jRun down and meet him, dear ! 
 The long clai/s toil is done, 
 
 The hour of rest has come — 
 Ilaste to him, little one — 
 
 Eide on his shoulder lionW! 
 
 . . . What voice is this she hears across the storm, 
 The haggard Waif who stands with dripping form 
 
 Shivering beneath the lamps of the dark street ? 
 With slant moist beams upon the Rain's black walls 
 The dreary gaslight falls, 
 
 And all around the wings o' the Tempest beat ! 
 hark ! hark ! 
 The voice calls clear i' the dark — 
 
 She hears — she moans — and moaning wanders on ; 
 A mist before her eyes, 
 A stone in her heart, she flies 
 
 Into the rainy darkness, and is gone !
 
 74 ^ THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 What a niijlit ! strong and hVnicl 
 Doion the street swoops the Wind., 
 
 Falls breathless J then moans! 
 While again and again 
 Like a .s;^j//vY in pain., 
 
 On the black slipperij stones 
 iSobs the Rain / . . . 
 
 ^^ A)inie ! Annie /" 
 
 Harlx., it is Father\^ call ! 
 See J he is coming ! Bun 
 To meet him, little one, 
 In the golden evenfall ! 
 
 . . . Out from the darkness she hath crept once more, 
 
 That strange voice ringing hollow over all ; 
 Close to the theatre's great lighted door, 
 AVliere smiling ladies, while the raindrops pour, 
 
 Wait for their carriages, and linkmen bawl. 
 She pauses watching, while they laugh and pass, 
 Tripping across the pavement 'neath the gas. 
 Then rattling home. Home ? Ah, what home hath .^he, 
 
 Who onc(^was bright and glad as any there ? 
 Fifty 3'ears old, this is her Jubilee ! 
 And round her Life is like an angry Sea 
 
 Breaking to ululations of despair ! 
 
 Who hath not seen her, on dark nights of rain. 
 
 Or when the Moon is chill on the chill street. 
 Creeping from shade to shade in grief and pain. 
 Showing her painted cheeks for man's disdain. 
 
 And wrapt in woe as in a winding sheet ? 
 Sin hath so stain'd it none may recognise 
 
 The face that once was innocent and fair. 
 And hollow rings are round the hungry ej'es. 
 
 And shocks of grey replace the golden hair.
 
 "ANNIE.'' 75 
 
 And all her chance is, when the drink makes blind 
 The foulest and the meanest of mankind, 
 To hide her stains and face a hideous mirth, 
 
 And gain her body's food the old foul wo^y — 
 Ah, loathsome dead sea fruit that eats like earth, 
 
 Her mouth is foul with it both night and day ! 
 So that corruption and the stench of Death 
 Consume her body and pollute her breath, 
 And all the world she looks upon appears 
 A dismal charnel-house of lust and tears ! 
 Sick of the horror that corrupts the flesh, 
 Tangled in vice as in a spieler's mesh, 
 Scenting the lazar-house, in soul's despair, 
 She sees the gin shop's bloodshot e^'eballs glare, 
 And creepeth in, the feverish drug to drain 
 That blots the sense and blinds the aching brain ; 
 And then with feeble form and faltering feet 
 Again she steals into the midnight street, 
 Seeks for her prey, and woefully takes flight 
 To join her spectral sisters of the Night ! 
 
 Wliat a XigJit ! fierce and blind! 
 Down the street swoops the Wind ! 
 
 How it moans ! how it groans ! 
 White again and again 
 Like « sjjirit in pain^ 
 
 On the Naclc slippery stones 
 Sobs the Rain ! 
 See ! lil'e ghosts to and fro 
 
 Lifing forms swiftly pass^ 
 With their shadows below 
 
 In the gleam of the gas ; 
 And the swells^ icrapt np warni^ 
 
 With their weeds blazing bright, 
 Hurry home thro' the Storm . . . 
 
 Ifs a Hell of a Night !
 
 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 Hell ? She is in it, and these shapes she sees, 
 
 While crawling on, are hateful and accurst ! 
 Light laughter of light lips, mad images 
 
 Of dainty creatures delicately nurst, 
 Cries of the revel, blackness, and the gleam 
 Of ghastly lights, are blended in her dream 
 Of Hell that lives and is, the Hell she knows, 
 AVith all its mockery of human woes ! 
 Darkly, as in a glass, she seeth plain 
 The vision of dead days that live again : 
 The house, beyond these streets, where she was born ; 
 
 The father's face in death ; the hungry home ; 
 The fight for bread ; the hungry and forlorn 
 
 Cry for a help and guide that would not come ; 
 The glimmer of glad halls, the forms therein 
 
 Beck'ning and laughing till she joined their mirth ; 
 Then, pleasures sultry with the sense of sin, 
 
 And those foul dead sea fruits that taste of earth ; 
 Then, blackness of disease and utter shame, 
 And all Hell's infamies without a name ! 
 Then, all the bloom of sense and spirit fled. 
 The slow descent to midnight gulfs of dread 
 Like this she sees ! — Then, in a wretched room 
 Deep mid the City's sunless heart of gloom. 
 Another life awakening 'neath.her heart, 
 A sickly babe with crying lips apart 
 Moaning for food ! — and into Hell she creeps 
 
 Once more to feed it, haunting the black street, — 
 Yea, in the garret where her infant sleeps 
 
 Hell's hideous rites are done, that it may eat ! 
 Then, Death once more ! The sickly life at rest ; 
 
 The child's light coffin that a child might bear; 
 The mother's hunger tearing at her breast, 
 
 And only Drink to drown the soul's despair. 
 She sees it all, on this her Jubilee, 
 
 While the Night moans, and the sick Hell-lights 
 gleam . . .
 
 ''ANNIE." 77 
 
 God ! Motlierhoocl ! Can these things be, 
 And men still say that Hell is Lut a dream ? 
 
 " Annie! Annie! " 
 
 What voice is this that cries^ 
 Amid the lights of HeU^ 
 Where these live shadows dicell 
 
 Under the rain-rent shies ^ . . . 
 What a night ! All one hears 
 Is the torrent of tears 
 
 On a World plungkl in pain ; 
 All one sees is the swarm 
 Of dim waifs in the Storm, 
 Flitting hither and thither, 
 (0 God, icho knoios whither ? ) 
 
 Lile ghosts, thro'' the Rain\ 
 
 . . . Annie I . . . 
 
 She hears the voice, ev'n while she crawls 
 
 'Neath the black arches on the riverside, 
 Then moaning low upon her face she falls . . . 
 Annie / . . . She stirs, and listens as it calls, 
 
 With eyes that open wide. 
 Lost there to Man, dead to the Storm and Strife, 
 
 She lies and keeps her Jubilee till morn, . 
 O'er her, a heap of rags, the waves of Life 
 
 Wash weary and forlorn . . . 
 Is all, then, done ? Nay, from the depths of Night 
 That voice still cries, and dimly gleams a Light . 
 " Annie I " — She listens — Thro' the Tempest wild 
 
 One Cometh softly — she can see him come! — 
 " Father ! Fm Annie ! Fm your little child ! " 
 
 And Father lifts her up, to bear her Home !
 
 7S THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 VENVOI TO THE PRECEDING POEM. 
 
 I. 
 
 Courage, and face the strife of Humankind 
 
 In patience, my brother : 
 We come from the eternal Night to find, 
 
 And not to lose, each other ! 
 
 Think'st thou thy God hath toil'd thro' endless Time 
 
 With ceaseless strong endeavour. 
 To fashion these and thee from ooze and slime. 
 
 Then blot his work for ever ? 
 
 Age after age hath roll'd in billowy strife 
 
 On the eternal Ocean, 
 Bearing us hither to these sands of Life 
 
 With sure and steadfast motion. 
 
 Dead ? Nought that lives can die. We live, and see ! 
 
 So hush thy foolish grieving : 
 This Universe was made that thou might'st be 
 
 Incarnate, self -perceiving. 
 
 Still thine own Soul, if thou would'st still the strife 
 
 Ofi^hantoms round thee flying; 
 Remember that the paradox of Life 
 
 Is Death, the Life undying. 
 
 II. 
 
 How y Thou be saved, and one of these be lost V 
 
 The least of these be spent, and thou soar free ? 
 
 Nay ! for these things are ^/^o«— these tempest-tost 
 Waves of the darkness are but forms of thee.
 
 ''ANNIE." 79 
 
 Shall these be cast awa}' ? Then rest thou sure 
 No hopes abide for thee if none for these. 
 
 Would'st thou be heal'd ? Then hast thou these to cure ; 
 Thine is their shame, their foulness, their disease. 
 
 Bj these, thy shadows, shalt thou rise or fall; 
 
 Thro' these and thee, God reigns, or rests dowli-trod 
 Let Him but lose but one. He loses all, 
 
 And losing all. He too is lost, ev'n God. 
 
 These shapes are only images of thee. 
 
 Nay, very God is thou and all things thine : 
 
 Thou art the Eye with which Eternity 
 
 Surveys itself, and knows itself Divine !
 
 So THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 PHERSON'S WOOING. 
 
 A BAGPIPE BALLAD, AFTER MACHOMER, 
 
 Note. — In tliis Homeric ballad of modern marriage by capture in 
 the Scottish Highlands, several customs are described which are not 
 even yet altogether extinct, — for example, the old Highland custom 
 of midnight courtship in the lady's chamber, described in Pherson's 
 relation of his nocturnal visits to Meg Nicraonail. For the rest, T 
 myself have personal knowledge of a rape of the kind celebrated in 
 the poem. The results, however, were unfortunate, for although 
 the bold lover succeeded in bearing the bride the prescribed dis- 
 tance from her father's door, he eventually died of the injuries 
 inflicted bj- her kinsmen. R. B. 
 
 {Tune 11]), Pipers!) 
 
 With red, unsliear'd 
 
 Beard, 
 
 Fiery eyes by foemen fear'd, 
 
 Form gigantic famed in story, 
 
 Standing on tlie bleak and wide 
 
 Mountain side. 
 
 Cried 
 
 Neil Macplierson of Tobermory. 
 
 {Foot and elbow, now, together !) 
 
 " Pherson is my name ! " (tlie throngs 
 
 Sliriek'd in approbation) 
 " Tuncan Pherson of the Songs 
 
 Wass my blood-relation ! 
 Many a Pherson great and small 
 
 Has been counted clever. 
 And the Phersons, one and all, 
 
 Are goot men, whatever ! 
 Yonder up the heather}' strath 
 
 Dwells sweet Meg Nicraonail,"-^ 
 
 * NoTK. — Prononncc Nicronnell. il/cicPiaonail, in Gaelic, the son 
 of llaonail ; i\7cKaouail, the daiKjhter of Eaonail.
 
 rUERSON'S WOOING. 
 
 Fairest lassie from Cape Wrath 
 
 Soutliward to Strath Connell ; 
 Breastit like the swan so light, 
 
 Lintwhite-lockit Meg is, 
 Eyes like stars, and limbs as white 
 
 As a pullet's egg is ! 
 Many a day, ochone a rie, 
 
 I have woo't this person. 
 On mj naked bended knee 
 Pray'd and pleaded she would be 
 
 Bride and wife of Pherson. 
 Sirs, she langs to be my bride, 
 
 Does this dainty leddy. 
 But her kinsmen, tamn their pride ! 
 Say the knot shall ne'er be tied 
 
 Tho' herself is ready ! 
 Shall I bear their scoff and scorn. 
 
 Leave her and forsake her ? 
 Or, between the mirk and morn, 
 
 Mother-naked take her ? 
 I have call'd you here to speak — 
 
 Speak, then, now or never ! " 
 Loud as thunder rose the shriek : 
 
 " Take her, Neil, whatever ! " 
 
 {Sldrl!) 
 
 Tall, gigantic, 
 Fierce and frantic. 
 
 Tossing down his bonnet. 
 Gray Shon Alastair MacCall 
 Cried, " We're with you, one and all, — 
 
 There's my fist upon it ! 
 Send the message town the glen. 
 Gather all your fighting men, 
 
 Lads of kilt and plaidie. 
 Teach the Raonails (tamn their clan !) 
 
 p
 
 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 How to treat a slientleman 
 When lie coorts a leddy ! " 
 
 {Step tune, cannily !) 
 
 By the waters of the Shiel 
 
 To the ocean booming, 
 Braes of heather 'neath their heel, 
 Hills of heather stiff to speel * 
 
 Up behind them looming, 
 Gather'd Pherson's friends and kin. 
 
 Men of thew and sinew. 
 Crying, " 'Tis yoursel' shall win ! 
 Put some whiskey in your skin ! 
 
 Show the stuff that's in you ! " 
 Up along the lonely pass, 
 
 By the torrent's water, 
 Stood the dwelling of the lass, 
 
 Shon Macraonail's daughter ; 
 And the Raonails from afar 
 
 Saw with trepidation 
 (Knowing it portended war) 
 
 Pherson's preparation. 
 
 (Pipers, still cannily! ) 
 
 There's a Highland law, as old 
 
 As the great MacMoses, 
 Says — if any wooer bold 
 Dares, when flocks are in the fold, 
 
 And the house reposes. 
 In his arms a maid to seize 
 
 Spite her kin's prevention 
 (Duly notifying these. 
 
 First, of his intention), 
 
 * Climb.
 
 FHERSON'S WOOING. 83 
 
 He tlie lassie shall possess, 
 
 After due persistence, — 
 But his failure or success 
 
 Shall be judged hy distance : 
 If beyond her father's door 
 Full five hundred yards or more 
 
 He his prize can carry, 
 Spite of stones and spite of blows. 
 Cracking crown or bloody nose. 
 
 He the maid may marry ! 
 Nay, her kinsmen, when 'tis done, 
 
 Shall admit politely 
 That the bride is fairly won, 
 
 Ta'en and captured rightly ; 
 Casting hate and strife awaj''. 
 
 All, with smiling faces, 
 Shall 'mid floods of usquebae * 
 
 Bless that pair's embraces ! 
 
 That's the custom ! but it needs 
 
 One of resolution. 
 Train' d in strength of doughty deeds, 
 
 For its execution ! 
 Such was Pherson ! such were those 
 
 Thronging round the giant ! 
 Tiptoe, like the cock that crows 
 Battle-challenge to his foes. 
 
 Stood red Neil, defiant ! 
 " Long the lass has let me woo 
 
 In the Hieland fashion — 
 [Och, she is a dainty doo,t 
 
 Full of tender passion !] 
 Many a night outside her bed 
 
 * Mountain dew, or whiskey. t Dove,
 
 84 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 I my shaggy limbs liave spread, 
 
 When no een have seen us, 
 Underneath the blankets she. 
 Keeking out and kissing me, 
 
 But — the claise between us ! 
 While her folk were snoring sound, 
 Fondly clasping arras around 
 
 This most charming person, 
 I of kisses took my fill ; 
 But a kiss, sirs, cannot still 
 
 Love in Neil Macpherson ! 
 I will seize her, by my saul, 
 
 And resign her never ! " 
 Loud as thunder rose the call 
 From the throats of one and all, 
 
 " Take her, Neil, whatever ! " 
 
 {lied time, Pipers !) 
 
 Down Strathconnell ran the cry 
 
 Ringing out a warning : 
 "Neil the Pherson means to try 
 Theft and capture, tho' he die, 
 
 'Twixt the mirk and morning ! " 
 Thick as bees round honied bykes 
 
 Clansmen ring'd the lady, — 
 " Let him come as soon 's he likes ! 
 
 Gott, heUl find us ready ! " 
 Round the fire their cups they drained, 
 
 Arm'd and breathing slaughter. 
 While the sun with crimson stained 
 
 Mountain, moor, and water. 
 Trembling in the inner room 
 
 Lay the longing Maiden, 
 Blushing like a rose in bloom, 
 
 Listening terror-laden . . . 
 Pass'd the dusky Eventide, 
 
 Stars above grew thicker,
 
 FHERSON'S WOOING. 85 
 
 Faster round tlie ingleside 
 
 AVent the fiery liquor ! 
 Crouching on their cutty seats * 
 
 Dame and granddame listened, 
 "While as red as flaming peats 
 
 Angry faces glisten'd. 
 " Tamn the Pherson and his kin ! 
 
 Aal his sheneration ! 
 If he dares to enter in, 
 
 There'll be pother ation ! " 
 Lying in the inner room 
 
 Meg could hear them screaming. 
 Smell the fiery whiskey-fume 
 
 From the circle steaming J 
 
 {Now softly, Pipers !) 
 
 Darker, stiller grew the night, 
 
 Hour b}^ hour departed, — 
 Laughing louder in delight 
 Eaonail's kinsmen arm'd for fight 
 
 Grew more valiant-hearted. 
 " Tamn the Pherson ! In his bed 
 
 Full of fear he's lying ! 
 Deil a step this Avay he'll tread ! " 
 
 Meg could hear them crying . . , 
 Fainter soon the revel rung, 
 
 Sleepy eyes were closing, 
 One by one the clansmen hung 
 
 Heavy noddles, dozing , . . 
 Meg arose, and at the door, 
 
 In her sark,t half-frozen, 
 Listen'd ! Silence ! Then a snore ! 
 
 Then an answering dozen ! 
 
 * Low stools. t Nightgown.
 
 86 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 Then lier liglited lamp she took, 
 
 Full of trepidation, 
 Set it in her window-nook — 
 
 Signal for invasion ! 
 [Even so sweet Hero gave 
 
 Warning to her wooer, 
 Guiding him across the wave 
 
 Mother-naked to her !] 
 Back to bed the maiden flies, 
 
 List'ning (sly young person !) 
 Till, like lightning from the skies, 
 On the clansmen's sleepy eyes 
 
 Breaks the form of Pherson ! ! 
 
 {Hkirl, Pqyers, Skirl !) 
 
 Sj 
 
 Up they sprang and sought their brand 
 
 Near them idly lying. 
 Through their ranks with mighty hands 
 
 Pherson now was flying. 
 Soon he reach'd the chamber dark, 
 Seized the lassie in her sark ; 
 
 Loud she shriek'd (but kissed him !) 
 Bore her crying to the door, 
 Faced the frantic clan, once more 
 
 Ready to resist him ! 
 As a torrent tears amain 
 
 Over rocks and boulders. 
 While the blows fell down like rain 
 
 On his sinewy shoulders, 
 Neil the Pherson all alone 
 
 Swept thro' men and women — 
 Thick as ninepins overthrown 
 
 Fell the kilted foemen ! 
 Bleeding wounds upon his brow, 
 
 Blood his features staining. 
 On he bears the prize, and — wow ! 
 
 He the door is gaining !
 
 PHEKSON'S WOOING. 87 
 
 After him the Raonails stream, 
 
 Striking, cursing, chasing, — 
 Maggie still pretends to scream, 
 
 His strong neck embracing ! 
 Out into the night he flies. 
 
 Panting, struggling, springing, 
 Bearing off the bonnie prize, 
 
 Kissing, cuddling, clinging ! 
 Warm'd by kisses such as those 
 
 From Macraonail's daughter. 
 Heedless of the raining blows, 
 Pherson, followed by his foes, 
 
 Nears the running water ! 
 There, five hundred yards and more 
 From Macraonail's open door, 
 
 Pherson's friends are glaring — 
 Wild their " hooch ! " to heaven rings 
 As the riever thither springs. 
 
 His white burthen bearing. 
 Swift into the nut-brown stream, 
 
 Round his middle gushing, 
 Strides he, while with angry scream 
 
 Come the Raonails rushing ! 
 Raonails now on Phersons clash. 
 
 Shrieking and opposing ! 
 Spluttersmash and splatterdash ! 
 In the shallow pools they splash, 
 
 Like two wrestlers closing ! 
 Long they fight and twist and turn. 
 
 But the race is over — ■ 
 Side by side beyond the burn 
 
 Sit the lass and lover ! {Hooch !) 
 Pherson, wounded from the fray, 
 "Wiping clots of blood away, 
 
 Laughing, takes his plaidie. 
 Wraps it like a blanket warm 
 
 •-?
 
 88 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 Round the dripping, drooping form 
 
 Of his dainty lady. 
 Month to month and breast to breast 
 
 Now they cling in passion, 
 Pherson's very sonl is blest 
 
 Past anticipation — 
 Then with crow of joy and pride 
 
 He his prize npraises. 
 Bears her down the mountain side, 
 AVhile the Dawning sleepy-eyed 
 
 O'er the hill-tops gazes ! 
 
 {Sloiu time, toe and heel, softly, softly ! ) 
 So Macraonail's child was won 
 
 By the law of thieving ! 
 So the doughty deed was done 
 By the Pherson, Pherson's son, 
 
 Valiant past believing ! 
 That day week the feast was spread 
 
 When the sun sank rosy ; 
 AVhile the holy rites were said. 
 Lasses on the bridal bed 
 
 Spread the blankets (cosy ! ) 
 Thronging in the Raonails ran, 
 
 With good whiskey laden — 
 " Pherson, you're a shentleman. 
 
 And deserfe the maiden ! " 
 Of the mighty midnight fray 
 
 Each betrayed some token — 
 Here a lug * clean sliced awaj'', 
 
 There a strong arm broken ; 
 One came hirplingf on a staff'. 
 
 Smiling at disaster, 
 T'other's nose, cut clean in half, 
 
 Clung to sticking plaster ! 
 
 * Ear. t Limping.
 
 PHERSON'S WOOING. 89 
 
 But tlie Phersons with tlie same 
 
 Battle-signs were sprinkled — 
 Some were bandaged, most were lame ; 
 Of MacCall's two eyes of flame 
 
 Only one now twinkled ! 
 With a patch on either eye, 
 
 Features stain'd with slaughter, 
 Pherson sat triumphant, by 
 
 Raonail's dainty daughter ... 
 While they gather in accord 
 Ranging round the festal board 
 
 Broken heads and noses. 
 Grim Shon Alastair MacCall, 
 Patch'd and broken from the brawl, 
 
 Pherson's health proposes : 
 " Here's the Pherson and his clan ! 
 Sirs, he iss the lad who can 
 
 Grife and take a threshing ! 
 Health to all who fought that night ! 
 By my saul, it was a fight 
 
 Pleasant and refreshing ! " 
 Hand grips hand, and all around 
 
 Smile with plaster'd faces. 
 Pipers play, and at the sound. 
 While the kilted dancers bound, 
 
 Neil his bride embraces. 
 " Pherson is my name ! " he cries, 
 
 " Noble is my clan, sirs ! 
 Tamn the rascal who denies 
 
 I'm a shentleman, sirs ! " 
 " Pherson ! Pherson ! " rings the call 
 From the throats of great and small, 
 " Hooch, but he is clever ! " 
 " Here's to Pherson and the wife ! " 
 " Take her, Pherson — all her life 
 
 She is yours, whatever ! "
 
 90 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 THE BALLAD OF MAGELLAN.* 
 
 (Spoken in the Person of one of his Lieutenants, 
 DYING AT Home, Yeaes after the "Wonderful Voyage 
 
 WAS over.) 
 
 Send no shaven monks to shrive me, close the doors 
 against tlieir cries ; 
 
 Liars all ! ay, rogues and liars, like the Father of all lies ; 
 
 Nay, but open wide the casement, once more let me feast 
 my gaze 
 
 On the glittering signs of Heaven, on the mighty Ocean- 
 ways ! 
 
 Who's that knocking ? Fra Eamiro ? Left his wine-cup 
 
 and arm-chair, 
 Come again with book and ointment, to anoint me and 
 
 prepare ? 
 Sacremeiito ! — send him packing, with his comrades 
 
 shaven-crown' d : 
 Liars all ! and prince of liars is their Pope ! The world 
 
 is round ! 
 
 See, the Ocean ! like quicksilver, throbbing in the starry 
 
 light ! 
 See the stars and constellations, strangely, mystically 
 
 bright ! 
 Ah, but there, beyond our vision, other stars look brightly 
 
 down. 
 Other stars, and high among them, great Magellan's 
 
 starry crown ! 
 
 * Magellan was the first man to circumnavigate the earth, and 
 thus to establish the scientific theory that the world was a globe.
 
 THE BALLAD OF MAGELLAN. 91 
 
 Magellan ! Lord and Master !— mighty soul no Pope 
 
 could tame ! 
 On the seas and on the heavens you have left your radiant 
 
 name ; 
 Brightly shall it burn for ever, o'er the ^yaters without 
 
 bound. 
 Proving Pope and Priests still liars, while the sun-kist 
 
 world is round. 
 
 Let the cowls at Salamanca cluster thick as rook and 
 daAv ! 
 
 Let the Pope with right hand palsied clutch his thunder- 
 bolts of straw ! 
 
 Heaven and Ocean, here and j^onder, put their feeble 
 deeds to shame ; 
 
 Earth is round, and high above it shines Magellan's starry 
 name ! 
 
 Have 3"0U vanish'd, my Master ? my Captain, King 
 
 of men, 
 Shall I never more behold 3^ou standing at the mast 
 
 again, 
 Eagle-e3''ed, and stern and silent, never sleeping or at 
 
 rest, 
 Pallid as a man of marble, ever looking to the west ? 
 
 As I lie and watch the heavens, once again I seem to be 
 Out upon the waste of waters, sailing on from sea to 
 
 sea. . . . 
 Hark ! what's that ? — the monks intoning in the chapel 
 
 close at hand ? 
 Nay, I hear but sea-birds screaming, round dark capes of 
 
 lonely land ! 
 
 Out upon the still equator, on a sea without a breath, 
 Burning, blistering in the sunlight, we are tossing sick to 
 death ;
 
 92 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 Every night the sun sinks crimson on the water's endless 
 
 swell, 
 Every dawn he rises burning, fiery as the flames of Hell. 
 
 Seventy days our five brave vessels welter in the watery 
 
 glare, 
 O'er the bulwarks hang the seamen panting open-mouth'd 
 
 for air ; 
 On the " Trinitie " Magellan watches in a fierce unrest. 
 Never doubting, or despairing, ever looking to the west. 
 
 Then at last with fire and thunder open cracks the sultry 
 
 sky, 
 
 While the surging seas roll under, swift before the blast 
 
 we fly, 
 Westward, ever westward, plunging, while the waters 
 
 wash and wail ; 
 Nights and days drift past in darkness while we sail, 
 
 and sail, and sail. 
 
 Then the Tempest, like an eagle by a thunderbolt struck 
 
 dead. 
 With one last wild flap of pinions, droppeth spent and 
 
 bloody-red, 
 Purpling Heaven and Ocean lieth on the dark horizon's 
 
 brink, 
 While upon the decks we gather silently, and watch him 
 
 sink. 
 
 Troublously the Ocean labours in a last surcease of pain, 
 Wliile a soft breath blowing westward wafts us softly 
 
 on the main, — 
 Nearer to the edge of darkness where the flat earth ends, 
 
 men swear, 
 Where the dark abysses open, gulf on gulf of empty air !
 
 THE BALLAD OF MAGELLAN. 93 
 
 Creeping silently our vessels enter wastes of wondrous 
 weed, 
 
 Slimy growth that clings around them, tangle growing 
 purple seed, 
 
 Staining all the waste of waters, making isles of floating- 
 black, • 
 
 While the seamen, pointing fingers, shrink in dread, and 
 cry, " Turn back ! " 
 
 On the " Trinitie " Magellan stands and looks with fear- 
 
 ■ less eyes — 
 " Fools, the world is round ! " he answers, " onward still 
 
 our pathway lies ; 
 Though the gulfs of Hell yawn'd j'onder, though the 
 
 Earth were ended there, 
 I would venture boldly forward, facing Death and Death's 
 
 despair." 
 
 On their knees they kneel unto him, cross themselves and 
 
 shriek afraid. 
 Pallid as a man of marble stands the Captain undismayed, 
 Claps on sail and leads us onward, while the ships crawl 
 
 in his track. 
 Slowly, scarcely moving, trailing monstrous weeds that 
 
 hold them back. 
 
 On each vessel's prow a seaman stands and casts the 
 
 sounding-lead, 
 In the cage high up the foremast gather watchers sick 
 
 with dread. 
 Calmly on the poop Magellan marks the heavens and 
 
 marks the sea, 
 Darkness round and darkness o'er him, closing round the 
 
 " Trinitie."
 
 94 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 Days and niglits of deeper darkness follow — then there 
 
 comes the cry, 
 " He is mad — Death waits before ns — turn the ships and 
 
 let us fly ! " 
 Storm of mutinous anger gathers round the Captain stern 
 
 and true, 
 Near the foremast, fiercely glaring, flash the faces of the 
 
 crew. 
 
 One there is, a savage seaman, gnashing teeth and waving 
 
 hands, 
 Strides with curses to the Captain where with folded arms 
 
 he stands, — 
 "Turn, thou madman, turn!" he shrieketh. Scarcely 
 
 hath he spoke the word. 
 Ere a bleeding log he falleth, slaughter'd by the Leader's 
 
 sword ! 
 
 " Fools and cowards ! " cries Magellan, spurning him with 
 
 armed heel, 
 " If another dreams of flying, let him speak — and taste 
 
 my steel ! " 
 Like caged tigers when the Tamer enters calmly, shrink 
 
 the band. 
 While the Master strides among them, cloth'd in mail and 
 
 sword in hand. 
 
 Magellan ! Lord and Leader ! — only Ho whose fingers 
 
 frame 
 Twisted thews of pard or panther, knot them round their 
 
 hearts of flame, 
 Light the emeralds burning brightly in their eyeballs as 
 
 they roll, 
 Could have made that mightier marvel, thine inexorable 
 
 Soul !
 
 THE BALLAD OF MAGELLAN. 95 
 
 Onward, ever on, we falter — till there comes a dawn of 
 
 day 
 Creeping- ghostly up behind us, mirror'd faintly far away, 
 "While across the sea to starboard loometh strangely land 
 
 or c!oud — 
 "Land to starboard!" cries Magellan — "Land!" the 
 
 seamen call aloud. 
 
 Southward steering creep the vessels, while the lights of 
 
 morning grow ; 
 Fades the land, while in our faces chilly fog and vapour 
 
 blow ; 
 Colder grows the air, and clinging round the masts and 
 
 stiffening sails 
 Freezes into cr3'stal dewdrops, into hanging icicles ! 
 
 Suddenly arise before us, phantom-wise, as in eclipse, 
 Icebergs drifting on the Ocean like innumerable ships — 
 In the light they flash prismatic as among their throng 
 
 we creep. 
 Crashing down to overwhelm us, thundering to the 
 
 thund'rous Deep ! 
 
 Towering ghostly and gigantic, 'midst the steam of their 
 
 own breath. 
 Moving northward in procession in their snowy shrouds 
 
 of Death, 
 Rise the bergs, now overtoppling like great torrents in 
 
 the air, 
 "While along their crumbling edges slips the seal and 
 
 steals the bear. 
 
 With the frost upon his armour, like a skeleton of steel, 
 Stands the Master, waiting, watching, clad in cold from 
 head to heel ;
 
 96 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 Loud his voice rings tlirougli tlie vapours, ordering all 
 
 and leading on, 
 Till the bergs, before his finger, fall back ghostlike, and 
 
 are gone ! 
 
 Once again before our vision sparkles Ocean wide and 
 
 free, 
 AVith the sun's red ball of crimson resting on the rim of 
 
 sea ; — 
 " Lo, the sun ! " he laughs exulting — " still he beckons 
 
 far away — 
 Earth is round, and on its circle evermore we chase the 
 
 Day ! " 
 
 As he speaks the sunset blackens. Twilight trembles 
 
 through the skies 
 For a moment — then the heavens open all their starry 
 
 e3^es ! 
 Suddenly strange Constellations flash from out the fields 
 
 of blue — 
 Not a star that we remember, not a splendour priestcraft 
 
 knew ! 
 
 Sinking on his knee, Magellan prays : " Now glory be to 
 
 God! 
 To the Christ who led us forward on His wondrous 
 
 watery road ! 
 See, the heavens give attestation that our search shall 
 
 yet be crowned, 
 Proving Pope and Priests are liars, and the sun-kist world 
 
 is round ! " 
 
 Sparkling ruby-ray'd and golden round the dusky neck 
 
 of Night 
 Hangs a jewell'd Constellation, strangely, mystically 
 
 bright —
 
 THE BALLAD OF MAGELLAN. 97 
 
 Pointing at it cries the Master, " By the God we all 
 
 adore, 
 It shall bear my name, Magellan ! " and it bears it, 
 
 evermore. 
 
 Storms arising sweep us onward, but each night our 
 
 courage grows, 
 Newer portals of the Heaven seem to open and unclose, 
 Showing in the blue abysm vistas luminously strange. 
 Sphere on sphere, and far beyond them fainter lights that 
 
 sparkle and change ! 
 
 Presently once more we falter among pools of drifting 
 
 scum, 
 Weed and tangle — o'er the blackness curious sea-birds go 
 
 and come — 
 While to southward looms a darkness, as of land or 
 
 gathering cloud. 
 Northward too, another darkness, and a sound of breakers 
 
 loud. 
 
 Once again they call in terror, " Turn again, for Death is 
 
 near ! " 
 Once again he quells their tumult, smiting till they 
 
 crouch in fear. 
 On with darkness closing round them, land or cloud, our 
 
 fleet is led. 
 Fighting tides that sweep them backward, flowing from 
 
 some gulf of dread. 
 
 Next the Vision ! next the Morning, after rayless nights 
 and days. 
 
 Twinkling on a great calm Ocean stretching far as eye 
 can gaze, — • 
 
 Newer heavens and newer waters, solitary and profound, 
 
 Rise before us, while behind us Day arises crimson- 
 crown' d ! 
 
 a
 
 98 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 Turning, we beliolcl the shadows of the straits through 
 
 which we sped, 
 Then again our eyes look forward where the windless 
 
 waters spread ; 
 Overhead the sun rolls golden, moving westward through 
 
 the blue, 
 Reddens down the far-off heavens, beckons bright, and 
 
 we pursue. 
 
 On that vast and tranquil Ocean, folding wings the strong 
 
 winds dwell. 
 Sleeping softly or just stirring to the water's tranquil 
 
 swell. 
 Peaceful as the fields of heaven where the stars like 
 
 bright flocks feed, — 
 So that many dream they wander thro' the azure Heaven 
 
 indeed ! 
 
 Then Magellan, from its scabbard drawing forth his 
 
 shining sword. 
 Grasps the blade, and downward bending, dips the bright 
 
 hilt overboard — 
 " By the holy Cross's likeness, mirror'd in this hilt ! " 
 
 cries he, 
 " Be this Ocean called Pacific, since it sleeps eternallie ! " 
 
 Pastured with a calm eternal, drawing down the clouds 
 
 in dew, 
 Sighing low with soft pulsations, darkly, mj^stically blue, 
 Lies that long untrodden Ocean, while for months we sail 
 
 it o'er ; 
 Ever dawns the sun behind us, ever swiftly sets before. 
 
 But like devils out of Tophet, as we sail with God for 
 
 Guide, 
 Rise the spectres. Thirst and Hunger, hollow-cheek'd and 
 
 cruel-eyed ;
 
 THE BALLAD OF MAGELLAN. 99 
 
 Fierce and famish.'d creep the seamen, while the tongues 
 
 between their teeth 
 Loll like tongues of hounds for water, dry as dust and 
 
 black with death. 
 
 Many fall and die blaspheming; "Give us food!'" the 
 
 living call — 
 Pallid as a man of marble stands the Master gaunt and 
 
 tall, 
 Hunger fierce within him also, and his parch'd lips prest 
 
 in pain. 
 But a mightier thirst and hunger burning in his heart 
 
 and brain ! 
 
 Black decks blistering in the sunlight, sails and cordage 
 
 dry as clay. 
 Crawl the ships on those still Waters night by night and 
 
 day by day ; 
 Then the rain comes, and we lap it as upon the decks it 
 
 flows — 
 " Spread a sail ! " calls out the Master, and we catch it ere 
 
 it goes. 
 
 Now and then a lonely sea-bird hovers far away, and we 
 Crouch with hungry eyes and watch it fluttering closer 
 
 o'er the sea, 
 Curse it if it flies beyond us, shoot it if it cometh nigh, 
 Share the flesh and blood among us, underneath the 
 
 Captain's eye. 
 
 Sometimes famished unto madness, fierce as wolves that 
 
 shriek in strife, 
 One man springs upon another, stabs him with the 
 
 murderous knife ;
 
 loo THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 Then the Master, stalking forward where the murderer 
 
 shrinks in dread, 
 Bids him kneel, and as he kneeleth cleaves him down, and 
 
 leaves him dead. 
 
 Magellan ! mighty Eagle, circling sunward lost in light, 
 Wafting wings of power and striking meaner things that 
 
 cross thy flight, 
 God to such as thee gives never lambkin's love or dove's 
 
 desire — 
 Nay, but eyes that scatter terror from a ruthless heart of 
 
 fire! 
 
 Give me wine. My pulses falter. . . So ! . . . Confusion 
 
 to the cowls ! 
 They who hooted at my Eagle, eyes of bats and heads of 
 
 owls ! 
 Throw the casement open wider ! There is something yet 
 
 to tell- 
 How we came at last to waters where the naked islesmen 
 
 dwell. 
 
 Isles of wonder, fringed with coral, ring'd Avith shallows 
 turquoise-blue, 
 
 Where bright fish and crimson monsters flash'd their 
 jewell'd lights and flew. 
 
 Steeps of palm that rose to heaven out of purple depths 
 of sea, 
 
 While upon their sunlit summits stirr'd the tufted coca- 
 tree — 
 
 Isles of cinnabar and spices, where soft airs for ever creep, 
 Scenting Ocean all around them with strange odours soft 
 as sleep —
 
 THE BALLAD OF MAGELLAN. loi 
 
 Isles about wliose promontories danced the black man's 
 
 light canoe, 
 Isles where dark-eyed women beckon'd, perfumed like the 
 
 breath they drew. 
 
 Drunken with the sight we landed, rush'd into the scented 
 glades, 
 
 Treading down the scented branches, seized the struggling 
 savage maids. 
 
 Ah, the orgy ! Still it sickens ! — blood of men bestrewed 
 our path, 
 
 Till the islesmen rose against us, thick as vultures, shriek- 
 ing wrath. 
 
 Then, the sequel ! Nay, I know not how the damned 
 
 deed could be — 
 By some islesman's poisoned arrow or some Spaniard's 
 
 treacherie ; 
 But one evening as we struggled fighting to our boats on 
 
 shore. 
 In the shallows fell the Captain, foully slain, and rose no 
 
 more ! 
 
 Magellan ! my Master ! my Captain, King of men ! 
 "Was it fit thou so shouldst perish, though thy work was 
 
 over then ? 
 Foully slain by foe or comrade, butcher'd like a common 
 
 thing. 
 Thou whose eagle flight had circled Earth upon undaunted 
 
 wing ! 
 
 Nay, but then my King had conquered ! Earth and Ocean 
 
 to his sight 
 Open'd had their wondrous visions, shaming centuries of 
 
 night :
 
 102 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 Na}', but even the sliining Heavens kept the record of his 
 
 fame — 
 Earth was round, and high above it shone Magellan's 
 
 starry name ! 
 
 How our wondrous voyage ended? Nay, I know not, — ■ 
 all was done ; 
 
 Lj'ing in my ship I sickened, moaning, hidden from the 
 sun. 
 
 Yea ! the vessels drifted onward till they came to isles of 
 calm. 
 
 Where some savage monarch hail'd them, standing under- 
 neath a palm. 
 
 How the w^anderers took these islands tributary to our 
 
 King, 
 Show'd the Cross, baptized the monarch, homeward crept 
 
 on weary wing ? 
 Pshaw, 'tis nothing ! All was over ! He had staked his 
 
 soul and gained. 
 They but reaped the Master's sowing, they but crawl'd 
 
 where he had reigned ! 
 
 Hark ? what sound is that ? The chiming of the dreary 
 
 vesper bell ? 
 Nay, I hear but Ocean sighing, feel the waters heave and 
 
 swell. 
 Earth is round, but sailing sunward with my Master still 
 
 I fare — 
 Other Heavens his ship is searching, — and I go to seek 
 
 him tlure !
 
 THE BURIAL OF PARNELL. 103 
 
 THE BURIAL OF PARNELL. 
 
 (Spoken ix the Peeson of one of his Followers) 
 " We come to bury Ccesar, not to praise him^ 
 
 1. 
 
 We come to bury Csesar, not 
 
 To praise liim ! — yet our eyes 
 Grow dim above the holy spot 
 
 AVhere our dead Monarch lies ; 
 The hungry millions, weeping too, 
 
 Mourn their lost Lord and Friend, 
 While here we stand, the faithful few 
 
 Who loved him till the end ! 
 
 2. 
 
 Csesar lies dead ! — yea, Csesar ! Tho' 
 
 His brows were never crown'd. 
 He reigned, until the assassin's blow 
 
 First struck him to the ground ; 
 He walk'd imperial in command, 
 
 While angry factions raved — 
 Sad Csesar of the woeful Land 
 
 Which he redeemed and saved ! 
 
 3. 
 
 Csesar is dead ! — no golden throne 
 
 Or purple robes sought he, 
 But led, in darkness and alone, 
 
 Legions that would be free ; 
 His armies were the famish'd throng 
 
 That rose and march'd by night, 
 A living Host that swept along 
 
 To some great Land of Light !
 
 I04 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 4. 
 
 The dim Liglit grows, the Dawn is nigh ! 
 
 But he who led us on, 
 Who held the fiery Cross on high 
 
 Thro' the long night, is gone ! 
 Full at his heart the cowards smote 
 
 With many a trait'rous thrust. 
 While Falsehood fasten'd on his throat 
 
 And dragg'd him to the dust ! . . . 
 
 5. 
 
 Ev'n as a Lion fixing eyes 
 
 On something far away, 
 He stood alone 'neath sunless skies 
 
 On his great triumph-day ; 
 Then, while he march'd the battle-place. 
 
 His jackals gather'd in . . . 
 And now ? The things which fear'd his face 
 
 Fight for the Lion's skin ! 
 
 6. 
 
 What one of these shall put it on ? 
 
 Thoii^ weakest of the weak. 
 Who, when thy Lord lay woe-begone, 
 
 First kiss'd, then smote, his cheek ? 
 Or thoUi who mock'd him in his fall 
 
 With foul and impious jest ? 
 Or ihou^ the basest of them all. 
 
 Who gnaw'd the bleeding breast ? 
 
 7. 
 
 Jackals and cowards, mourn elsewhere ! 
 
 Not near the mighty Dead ! 
 Your breath pollutes the holy air 
 
 Around a Martyr's bed.
 
 THE BURIAL OF PARNELL. 105 
 
 Go ! fatten with, the Scribes and Priests 
 
 "Who led your foul array, 
 Or crouch, with all the timorous beasts 
 
 Who folio w'd him for prey ! 
 
 8. 
 
 "Who slew this Man ? The cruel Foe 
 
 That stab'd our Erin first ; 
 Then Brutus, loth, to strike the blow ; 
 
 Then Casca, the accurst ; 
 Then freedmen by his hands unbound, 
 
 And slaves his hands had fed, 
 Joining the throng that ring'd him round. 
 
 Stoned him till he was dead ! 
 
 9. 
 
 Lo, where the English Brutus stands, 
 
 With white and reverend hair, 
 Bloodstains upon the wrinkled hands 
 
 He calmly folds in prayer ; 
 Facing all ways beneath the sky, 
 
 Strong still, tho' worn and wan. 
 This Brutus is (so all men cry) 
 
 "An honourable man " ! 
 
 10. 
 
 Casca and Cassius haggard-eyed, 
 
 Their gaze on Brutus' face. 
 Say, " Surely Csesar had not died 
 
 If ilioii had given him grace ! " 
 thrice-bound Freeman, in whose name 
 
 They proved this dead Man base, 
 Still keep from unbelief and shame 
 
 Thy Marriage Market-place !
 
 io6 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 11. 
 
 There^ where the White Slave, Woman, stands, 
 
 AVearing her gyves of gold, 
 Soothe with the ointment of the creeds 
 
 The body ere 'tis sold ; 
 Preach the high Law of Purity, 
 
 Find out all stains and slurs. 
 And keep the great Slave-market free 
 
 To righteous purchasers ! 
 
 12. 
 
 But, Brutus, thou who conjurest 
 
 In FreedoiVi's sacred name. 
 Back from this grave, mar not this rest. 
 
 Breathe not this Martyr's name ! 
 Priests on thy left hand and thy right, 
 
 Stand up and prate of God, 
 While he thou didst betray and smite 
 
 Lies dead beneath the sod ! 
 
 13. 
 
 Still, where thou standest, bending o'er 
 
 Thy head, and blessing thee. 
 Broods the pale Babylonian Whore 
 
 They name " Morality " : 
 Making a noble spirit blind 
 
 With her polluting breath. 
 She found the means Hate could not find, 
 
 And plann'd the deed of Death ! 
 
 14. 
 
 Who slew this man? Thou, Christian Land, 
 
 Who sendest o'er the foam 
 Mammon and Murther hand in hand 
 
 To shame the Christ at home!
 
 THE BURIAL OF PARNELL. 107 
 
 The Christ ? His painted Image, nurst 
 
 Bj^ knaves who cast on men 
 The curse of Priestcraft — last and worst, 
 
 The Priestcraft of the Pen ! 
 
 15. 
 
 Not till our King lay bleeding there, 
 
 Crept forth with cruel eyne 
 The venom' d things which make their lair 
 
 Beneath the Seven-Hill'd Shrine: 
 Then, in the name of him they priced, 
 
 Degraded, and betrayed, 
 They poisoned, these false priests of Christ, 
 
 The wounds a Judas made ! 
 
 16. 
 
 We come to bury, not to praise 
 
 Our Csesar — yet his knell 
 Joins with the cry of wrath we raise 
 
 'Gainst those thro' whom he fell ! 
 While Freemen pass from hand to hand 
 
 The Fiery Cross he waved. 
 His fame shall lighten thro' the Land 
 
 Which he redeemed and saved !
 
 ro8 THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 TOM DUNSTAN; OR, THE POLITICIAN. 
 ^^ Hoic long, Lord, hoic longf^ 
 
 1. 
 
 Now poor Tom Dimstan's cold, 
 
 All life's grown duller ; 
 There's a blight on young and old. 
 And our talk has lost its bold 
 
 Eed-republican colour ! 
 Poor Tom was crippled and thin, 
 
 But Lord, if you'd seen his face, 
 AVlien, sick of the country's sin. 
 With bang of the fist, and chin 
 
 Stuck out, he argued the case ! 
 He prophesied men should be free ! 
 
 And the money-bags be bled ! 
 " She's coming, she's coming ! " said he ; 
 " Courage, boj^s ! wait and see ! 
 
 Freedom'' s ahead ! " 
 
 2. 
 
 Cross-leg'd on the board we sat, 
 
 Like spiders spinning. 
 Stitching and sweating, while fat 
 Old Moses, with eyes like a cat, 
 
 Sat greasily grinning ; 
 And here Tom said his say, 
 
 And prophesied Tja'anny's death ; 
 And the tallow burned all day, 
 And we stitch'd and stitch'd away 
 
 In the thick smoke of our breath.
 
 TOM DUNS TAN. 109 
 
 Poor worn-out slops were we, 
 "With hearts as heavy as lead ; 
 
 But "Patience! she's coming ! " said he; 
 
 " Courage, boys! wait and see! 
 Freedom^ s ahead ! " 
 
 And at night, when we took here 
 
 The rest allowed to us. 
 The Paper came, with the beer, 
 And Tom read, sharp and clear. 
 
 The news out loud to us ; 
 Then, warm with the "half and half," 
 
 He'd go it, hammer and claws ! 
 And Lord, how we used to laugh 
 To hear him smother with chaff 
 
 The Snobs who make the laws ! 
 And it made us breathe more free 
 
 To hearken to what he said — 
 " She's coming ! she's coming!" said he; 
 " Courage, boys! wait and see! 
 
 Freedom\s ahead! '' 
 
 But grim Jack Hart, with a sneer, 
 
 "Would mutter, " Master ! 
 If Freedom means to appear, 
 I think she might step here 
 
 A little faster ! " 
 Then, 'twas fine to see Tom flame, 
 
 And argue, and prove, and preach, 
 Till Jack was silent for shame, — 
 Or a fit of coughing came 
 
 O' sudden, to spoil Tom's speech.
 
 no THE BUCHANAN BALLADS. 
 
 Ah ! Tom had the eyes to see 
 
 When the tyrants would be sped : 
 
 "She's coming! she's coming!" said he ; 
 
 "Courage, bo^^s! wait and see ! 
 Freedom's ahead ! " 
 
 o. 
 
 But Tom was little and weak, 
 
 The hard hours shook him ; 
 Hollower grew his cheek. 
 And when he began to speak 
 
 The coughing took him. 
 And at last the cheery sound 
 
 Of his voice among us ceased, 
 And we made a purse, all round, 
 
 That he mightn't starve, at least. 
 His pain was awful to see, 
 
 Yet there, on his poor sick-bed, 
 " She's coming, in spite of me ! 
 Courage, and wait ! " cried he; 
 
 " Freedom's ahead ! " 
 
 6. 
 
 A little before he died. 
 
 To see his passion ! 
 " Bring me a Paper ! " he cried, 
 And then to study it tried. 
 
 In his old sharp fashion ; 
 And, with ej'eballs glittering. 
 
 His look on me he bent, 
 And said that savage thing 
 
 Of the Lords o' the Parliament. 
 Then, dying, smiling on me, 
 
 " What matter if one be dead ? 
 She's coming at last ! " said he ; 
 " Courage, boy! wait and see ; 
 
 Freedom's ahead ! "
 
 TOM DUNS TAN. m 
 
 Ay, now Tom Dunstan's cold, 
 
 All life seems duller ; 
 There's a blight on young and old, 
 And. our talk has lost the bold 
 
 E-ed-republican colour. 
 But we see a figure gray. 
 
 And we hear a voice of death, 
 And the tallow burns all day. 
 And we stitch and stitch away 
 
 In the thick smoke of our breath ; 
 Ay, while in the dark sit we, 
 
 Tom seems to call from the dead — 
 "She's coming! she's coming!" says he; 
 " Courage, boys! wait and see! 
 
 Freedom's ahead ! " 
 
 How long, Lord ! how long 
 
 Must Thy Handmaid linger 
 She who shall right the wrong. 
 Make the poor sufferer strong ? 
 
 Sweet morrow, bring her ! 
 Hasten her over the sea, 
 
 Lord ! ere Hope be fled ! 
 Send her to make men free ! . , 
 Slave, pray still on thy knee, 
 
 " Freedom's ahead ! "
 
 1(2 
 
 L ENVOI TO ''BUCHANAN BALLADS." 
 
 U EN vol TO ''BUCHANAN BALLADS:' 
 
 I do not sin [J for Maidens. TLey are 
 
 roses 
 Blowing alone/ the patliway 1 inir- 
 
 sue : 
 No sweeter tilings the wondrous world 
 
 discloses^ 
 And they are tender as the morning 
 
 deiv. 
 Blessed he maids and children : day 
 
 and night 
 Their holy scent is with me as I write. 
 
 I do not sing for Schoolboys or School- 
 men, 
 Jo give them ease I have no languid 
 theme, 
 
 When, weary ivitJi the icear of book 
 and pen, 
 They seek their trim poetic Aca- 
 deme ; 
 
 Nor can I sing them amorous ditties, 
 bred 
 
 Of too much Ovid on an empty head. 
 
 I do not sing aloud in measured tone 
 Of those fair paths the easy-souVd 
 2mrsue : 
 Nor do I sing for Lazarus alone, 
 
 I sing for Dives, and the Devil too. 
 Ah! would the feeble songs I sing 
 
 might swell 
 As Jiigli as Heaven, and as deep as 
 Hell! 
 
 I sing of the stained outcast at Love''s 
 
 feel- 
 Love with his wild eyes on the eveji- 
 ing light; 
 I sing of sad lives trampled down like 
 wheat 
 Uiuler the heel of Lust, in Love's 
 despite ; 
 
 I glean behind those wretched shape 
 
 ye see 
 In the cold harvest-fields of Infamy. 
 
 I sing of death-beds {let no man re- 
 joice 
 Till that last piteous touch of all is 
 given !) ; 
 I sitig of Death and Life with eqmd 
 
 voice, 
 Heaven watching Hell, and Hell 
 illumed by Heaven. 
 
 I have gone deep, far down the in- 
 fernal stair — 
 
 And seen the heirs of Heaven arising 
 there ! 
 
 I sing of Hope, that all the lost may 
 
 hear ; 
 I sing of Light, tliat all may feel its 
 
 ray ; 
 I sing of Souls, that no one Soul may 
 
 fear ; 
 I sing of God, that some perchance 
 
 may pray. 
 Angels in hosts have praised Him 
 
 loud and long. 
 But Man's shall be the last Iriumjjhal 
 
 Song. 
 
 Oh, hush a space the sounds of voices 
 
 light 
 Mix'd to the music of a lover's lute. 
 Stranger than dream, so luminously 
 
 bright 
 Eyes shall be dazzled and the mouth 
 
 be mute, 
 Man shall arise. Lord of all things that 
 
 be, 
 Last of the gods, and Heir of all things 
 
 free !
 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below 
 
 APR 13 1936 
 
 2 7 19-^6 
 
 JUN 1 
 
 ^, JUN2419 
 
 RECEIVED 
 
 MAY 31 1986 
 
 0\ 
 
 Form L-9-15m-7,'31
 
 ■^^^"^ Buchanan 
 
 ballads, old 
 and new. 
 
 
 3 1158 01117 2565 
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACIL 
 
 AA 000 366 485 i 
 
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 AT 
 
 LOS ANGKLES 
 
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